Work Text:
"Breathe with me, baby."
Harry's never the one to hyperventilate in stressful situations. Never. He's normally cool, calm and collected. He's the one who makes sure other people don't hyperventilate. And yet, there he is, in a fucking parlour, hiding with his boyfriend who somehow omitted a few little, inconsequential details about his family.
"How am I supposed to breathe?" Harry snaps, snatching his arm away from Zayn. "You forgot to tell me your parents lived in a fucking manor house and were bloody aristocrats! How do you even do that? I bought them a bottle of wine from Tesco Metro on my way home from the tube! They probably only drink that kinda stuff that... dunno, Beyoncé and her husband drink."
"Baby," Zayn says gently, once again trying to grasp Harry's arm. This time Harry allows it. "They don't care about wine. You absolutely do not need to worry about any of that. They just wanted to meet you."
Harry whines pitifully. "So they can call me a peasant and bring in some dutchess over dessert for you to marry? I've seen The Prince and Me, I know how you lot work. And The Princess Diaries too."
"I'm not a prince, darling," Zayn shakes his head and pulls Harry closer by his hips. "You don't need to be scared or stressed out. My parents are chill, trust me. Technically, only my mum's an aristocrat. She met dad at uni."
Harry scoffs. "Yeah, they met at Cambridge. Where did we meet? At a grimy club in Camden."
"Babe, it doesn't matter where we met," Zayn rubs Harry's arm, a timid smile on his lips. "I love you, that's what matters. And my parents will understand it."
Harry freezes. "So they don't know we're dating?"
"No, of course, they do," Zayn shakes his head and laughs like it's a ridiculous question, which it isn't. Harry has valid concerns. "They might not know we live together."
"What?" Harry asks numbly. "We've lived together for four months."
"I know, I know," Zayn rushes in, his hands sliding down to Harry's hands. He takes them into his and starts rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Harry's hands. "I've been meaning to tell them but I knew they would be pissy if I told them I moved in with someone they haven't met yet. I'll tell them tonight, don't worry."
Harry's shoulders drop, dread setting in. "Do they even know I'm a man? Because I've dated a bloke with homophobic parents before and I don't want to do it again, I'm sorry, I love you but that's a step too much for me. Wait, you have a title running in the family, right?"
"Yes, we do," Zayn frowns a little. He quickly realizes that his expression is alarming to Harry and promptly replaces it with a smile. "But it's fine, they know you're a man. If we were ever to, you know, get married, it wouldn't really be any different. Have I answered everything?"
Harry takes a moment to think. "There are gonna be those weird tiny spoons and forks, right?"
"Probably," Zayn shrugs.
"Fucking hell," Harry takes in a sharp breath. "I'm gonna look like a right dickhead, aren't I?"
"No, you're not," Zayn says adamantly and kisses Harry quickly. "You use them from the outside in. No fuss. You'll be fine and my parents will love you."
Harry looks down at his feet. This is a fucking nightmare. Literally, the crap that you dream about and wake up in cold sweat, sometimes even screaming.
"Love?"
"God," Harry lets out a deep breath and tilts his head up. "Our relationship is on a line right now and I don't want to lose you, alright? I love you so much but I obviously don't fit in with the kind of life you're expected to lead, you will lead. I mean, we're different, we're so different. I don't know the first thing about, I don't know ascot races or horse-breeding or fancy parties or proper etiquette or- or all these bloody rules you all have. I just don't. Are you laughing at me?"
Zayn's smile doesn't drop as he shakes his head. "Yes, because you're being silly," he says and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, drawing their bodies together. "I don't give a fuck about what you do and don't know about this part of society. I don't care about it much myself. But I care about you, Haz. I love you and no one could make me leave you just because of status or what's proper and what isn't. It's the 21st century, not the 18th."
"I feel like I've seen a film like this," Harry grins. "You'll be all nice to me and then you'll use me for some kinda blood ritual to the devil or eat my flesh."
"But you're so delicious," Zayn drawls and attacks Harry's neck, kissing him and lightly nipping at the skin.
"Stop!" Harry squeals, giggling quietly. "If I show up with a fucking hickey, they'll think I'm a slag."
"I don't care as long as you're my slag," Zayn murmurs and kisses Harry on the mouth.
And yeah, maybe Harry can do this.
xxx
He can't do this. Not in a dining room that looks straight out of Downtown Abbey or some crap. Harry used to go to manor houses like this on field trips from school, not for dinner with his boyfriend's parents. He's gonna fuck it up, he can feel it. Either he's going to utterly embarrass himself by spilling and breaking something or not following some etiquette he's clueless about, or Zayn's parents will hate him and have him dragged out of the house. The possibilities are actually endless.
Thankfully, the dinner doesn't have a million courses, just three like any other slightly normal dinner in a posh restaurant. Still, in restaurants, you don't have a flock of staff serving you. Harry manages to keep a straight face during the appetizers, despite feeling like a complete alien. When did his life turn into a fucked up version of the Princess Diaries?
As they move onto the main course, without any mortifying moments, Harry begins to think that he will be spared the interrogation. But he's wrong. Oh, he's so wrong.
"So, Harry," Zayn's mum smiles at him in a very polite yet menacing way. Harry might be exaggerating. "What is it that you do?"
Harry looks to his left at Zayn with mild panic but Zayn just gives him an encouraging smile that in no way helps. Still, there was an effort.
"Ehm," Harry chokes out after swallowing. "I work in PR. I did philosophy and communications in uni."
"Is that the career you want to pursue?" Zayn's dad asks and Harry's certain he's judging him. God, he's definitely judging him.
Harry licks his lips. "Probably not. I graduated two years ago and I was planning to get my masters but this opportunity came along. I'd like to, ehm, pursue another degree in the near-ish future, though. While I'm still young and not completely decrepit," Harry laughs nervously. Zayn's parents smile politely which in short means he's absolutely fucked. Harry breaths in sharply and a moment later, he feels Zayn's hand on his knee. It calms him down a little, knowing that at least someone at this table isn't judging him.
"How about your family?" Zayn's mum asks. No one's even really eating. This is literally just an interrogation in a very fancy room with art from the 17th century that's worth an arm and a leg.
"Oh, I'm originally from Cheshire," Harry says. "I've an older sister. My mum and dad divorced when I was little. But then, um, I had an amazing step-dad but he passed away like two years ago. We're all really close despite the physical distance between us now."
Zayn's parents nod and Harry can't read their expressions for the fucking life of him.
"Is the interrogation over now?" Zayn asks, his voice vaguely bored. Harry turns to him, trying not to stare like a deer in the headlights. "This is not a job interview, you're meeting my boyfriend. If I had known you would pull this stunt again, I wouldn't bring Harry here."
"Darling," Zayn's mom scoffs, suddenly interested in her dinner again. "We are just trying to make sure you are not wasting your time with someone... who's not a good fit for you."
And there it is.
"Harry's the best possible fit for me," Zayn says sternly. "In fact, we've lived together for almost five months."
"What?" Zayn's dad bellows. "Why haven't you said anything? Five months?"
Zayn shakes his head a little. "Because I knew how you would react. I'm fed up with you two sticking your noses in my relationships. Can we get back to the dinner now, please?"
Harry wishes a hole would open up underneath him and swallow him whole, or at least teleport him somewhere else. Great, this is going just fucking great.
xxx
"I'm sorry about them," Zayn says when they're up in Zayn's room after dinner, after the very awkward dinner that Harry wants to erase from his memory.
"It's okay," Harry gives him a sad smile and wraps his arms around his neck. "They mean well. They just want the best for you." Saying the words out loud hurts a little.
"Maybe," Zayn sighs and pulls Harry closer by his hips. Their bodies are completely pressed against one another, Zayn's cheek against his. "They have all these, bloody expectations about what I should do and who I should be with. It's horrible sometimes."
"I distinctly remember your saying your parents are 'chill'," Harry teases. He lets his arms drop down and snake around Zayn's middle. "Isn't that what you said?"
"I know, I was trying to calm you down," Zayn sighs. "But they're not horribly strict or anything. If I brought you over as a friend, they would've been laughing and joking all night and my mum would've invited you to her bloody book club, trust me. In terms of a relationship, however, they accept that I'm bi but they're not very keen on the idea of me marrying a man and they start to get like this once I date a guy for longer than three months," Zayn pulls away a little and places a gentle hand on Harry's cheek. "I'm genuinely sorry about tonight. It's irrelevant to me that they're envisioning me with some girl with a title who knows how to play polo and runs a foundation. I quite like us together and that is what is important to me. So please, don't pay them any mind. Still, it wasn't as bad as I expected, believe me. You might not be the perfect match for me in their eyes, but everything is alright regardless of that."
Harry smiles wistfully, looking down. It's easy to say the words. "Okay," he says, not believing himself. "It's fine, babe. At least they didn't call me a peasant."
Zayn chuckles miserably but a smile appears on his face soon. "They do like you, Haz. It's just this whole fucking thing with-"
"I know," Harry interrupts him. "Don't worry about it. Let's make this night a bit better, yeah? How about we make love on that bed right there that's probably three hundred years old and witnessed some cousin-fucking or whatever the people were into back then?"
"Are you sure?" Zayn asks, a light smile dancing on his lips. There's still worry lining his eyes. "We can get into a car and drive back to London right now. We don't have to stay."
"No, no, it's fine," Harry shakes his head, slapping on a smile to cover his melancholy. "I've never stayed in such an old place, could be fun. Maybe I'll see a ghost during the night, huh? C'mon, take this shirt off of me, the tag in the back is chafing me."
"You're eager tonight, love," Zayn chuckles but he doesn't protest and moves his hands to the buttons of Harry's shirt. "What do you want, darling?"
Normally, it's a simple question of consent, something that's both sexy and soberingly adult and responsible. Tonight, it holds Harry's whole world inside those four simple words.
"You," Harry replies with the honest, raw truth. "I just want you." And it's not just about sex then. It's about everything because Harry wants Zayn. He needs him, he craves him, he wants him forever but it's impossible. Ever since they first met, Harry knew this relationship would lead nowhere. He was very well aware of it and at the beginning, he kept his distance, tried to keep feelings and emotions out of reach but it was a feat that proved too hard to go through with. Zayn caught Harry and reeled him in and Harry fell in love, foolishly, hopelessly, and perhaps forever. As time went on and nothing seemed to crumble and disintegrate underneath them, Harry dared to hope that he would get to keep Zayn forever, that he wouldn't have to scrape off all the love from his heart with pain and blood. Tonight proved him wrong. Nowhere is here and their train is in its final destination. And they have to say goodbye.
"Okay, whatever you want," Zayn says quietly and then kisses Harry's jaw tenderly. He could always read him like a book you've re-read a hundred times, one that you nearly know by heart. This kind of connection is hard to come by, one where your lover senses your energy, knows your soul. A lover that fits you better than a bespoke cashmere sweater that feels like pure warmth and love. A lover that is also a friend and a soulmate.
They don't speak much as they get underdressed, the action now almost automatic after doing it at least a hundred times. They're in sync and there is no need for instruction. Instead of talking, they kiss and kiss and kiss, leaving tender imprints of lips on skin, one after other after another. Harry revels in it, basks in it and tries to make an imprint of this memory on this brain like the one would find on a vinyl record. Then like with the needle of a record player, he'd be able to find this and remember those bittersweet moments that will stay with him forever.
Harry lets himself be guided into bed, dropping into the soft pillows and the firm mattress resting on a bed that's older than both their ages combined. Who knows what this room has witnessed over the centuries. Lovers, mistresses, husbands and wives. Fights and reconciliations and bitterness and love. Hellos and goodbyes.
"I love you so much," Zayn whispers into Harry's neck, leaving damp kisses there before he moves down along his naked body. Harry wishes he could repeat those words right now because he does love him, God knows he does. His heart could burst with all the love he feels for Zayn. It's everpresent, almost omniscient - the love coursing through his body. It's in the tips of his fingers and in the shiver on his neck. The follows the goosebumps, the warmth after a kiss. But he can't physically make himself to say those words. It would be like slicing his tongue with a razor.
Harry lets out a breathy moan when Zayn starts kissing the insides of his thighs. He's gonna miss this so much. He closes his eyes as he cards his fingers through Zayn's hair. It's long now, so much longer than when they first met. It got another disapproving look from his mum.
Bittersweet wasn't a word Harry used often. He never associated a specific feeling and emotion with it. Until now. It hurts, in a way. Pleasure is coursing through his body and the man he loves the most in the world is carefully opening him up with slick fingers while leaving kisses all over his stomach and thighs. He should be happy. To an extent, he is. But Harry can't neglect the bitterness because he knows this is their last rodeo. It's a goodbye. It's their one for the road. In the morning, it will be over.
"You're so beautiful," Harry whispers when Zayn's hovering above him as he's fucking him slowly. Zayn's beauty is what stroke Harry about him the most, at least at first. They met at a club in Camden and Harry was pleasantly drunk. He was getting a round for his table when suddenly, there was the most beautiful man Harry's ever seen talking to him. And that beautiful man wanted him and then kissed him on the crowded dance floor and then took him home and they were never really apart since that night. Sometimes, Harry found himself watching Zayn doing the most menial things or doing nothing at all and admiring his beauty because such a thing is rare. He was falling more and more in love with every blink of Zayn's ridiculously long eyelashes and he didn't mind at all.
Zayn gives him a soft smile. "You're more beautiful."
Harry just shakes his head. He wants to say something but he's scared of what would come out. Maybe the tears that have been prickling at his eyes would be let free. Maybe he would cry out. Maybe he would beg Zayn to never leave him, to never let go of him. So Harry keeps quiet and pulls Zayn closer to him, their chest pressed together and sticky with sweat and it's heaven. It's almost as if their heartbeats sync up and their soul becomes one, split between two bodies.
They come moments from each other and it's fireworks, it's magic, it's heartbreak. Because now it's truly over. That little bubble of time has ruptured and the fairytale has ended.
Harry struggles to sleep afterwards. Even with Zayn pressed against his back, his arm hanging over Harry's waist, sleep eludes him. His mind can't seem to quiet down and it's torture. His heart is being torn into tiny little pieces, multiplying them with each stinging memory that Harry's brain provides to him. They've been reduced to just that now. And Zayn doesn't know yet. Harry wracks his head, thinking about how to do this. Should he leave now? Call a ridiculously overpriced Uber to the middle of nowhere and leave? Pack up his stuff at their apartment and never say a word to Zayn again? Or is that too cruel? He deserves an explanation. Harry knows he'll protest, threaten to do ridiculous things but while Harry can be selfish, it's never at the price the size of this.
He'll figure it out in the morning. For now, he should try to sleep and enjoy their last night.
xxx
Hours pass and sleep is yet to come. Harry doesn't look at the time as he gets out of bed, knowing exactly how to do it so Zayn doesn't wake up. It's not a hard feat since it's pretty damn impossible to wake Zayn up once he's in deep sleep.
Harry takes out the pyjamas he packed in his holdall and puts them on. He almost never wears pyjamas, preferring to sleep naked or just in his underwear but it felt wrong to do that in his boyfriend's parents' house. He also threw a pair of Vans in there so he puts them on and grabs a sweater he meant to wear on the way back.
Somehow, he feels like he's breaking and entering as he walks into the eerily silent hall. The lights in the old sconces are on, dimmed just so everything is slightly illuminated. What a fucking waste of electricity.
It's easy enough to get downstairs and find one of the back doors. Harry hopes some alarm won't go off. It should probably work only from outside, right? He tries his luck and opens a French door leading to the large, sprawling gardens. It's basically a park. As they were arriving in the late afternoon, Harry saw a gazebo on a little hill not far from the house. That sounds like a nice place to be in.
There are enough lights in the garden for Harry not to trip and fall on his face on the way to the gazebo. It's a bit of a trek. Or maybe it isn't. Harry's probably just tired after not sleeping all night and barely eating anything of his dinner because his throat was choked up and he just wanted to run away and never return.
He plops down on the marble bench lining the insides of the gazebo, which probably isn't really a gazebo but it's called something else, something posh that Harry doesn't have in his vocabulary. Either way, he frankly doesn't give a fuck about it.
Over the horizon, weak orange rays are peeking through, signifying the incoming sunrise. As Harry lets his minds wander, his eyes losing focus while staring at the antecedent of the sunrise, the first tears fall from his eyes. He's been keeping them hostage for hours, ever since they pulled in and it all clicked. His face is cold and the hot tears are unpleasant. Yet they keep coming and coming and coming.
Harry doesn't know how he's going to face Zayn again, how he's going to keep a straight face. It seems impossible. Perhaps it is. But he needs to do this. He can't let the love they still have grow bitter and ruin whatever they have left. It seems counterintuitive but the best things have to end at their height because when you ride out that wave, you'll be left bruised and hurting and your heart bleeding black.
He thought that he had found someone who was the one for him. Maybe he has but not in this lifetime. They didn't meet at a wrong time, they met at a completely wrong plane of existence but they can't change it. Harry wishes he had a magic wand and was able to whoosh all the problems and obstacles away but he can't. Life can seem magical but it's only a vision.
Harry wishes he smoked so he had something to do with his hands, something to distract him and bring him some reprieve. He should've got a joint before coming here, those he does smoke from time to time. Again, just like with the pyjamas, it felt wrong. He's gonna have to get some once he's back in London.
"Harry?"
A muscle in Harry's neck starts to burn after he whips his head to the side.
"Oh my god, Zayn," Harry breathes out, frantically wiping his face to conceal the tears. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he says as he sits down next to Harry, at a bit of a distance. He knows something is wrong.
"I couldn't sleep," Harry shrugs. "Did I wake you?"
Zayn shakes his head. His face is unreadable, taking up the look his parents had throughout the whole dinner. "I started feeling cold, that's why I woke up. I tried looking for you. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, even. Then I found you here."
Harry hums in acknowledgement.
"Are you alright?" Zayn asks. He moves his hand, wanting to put it atop Harry's on the bench but he stops at the last minutes.
"Not really, no," Harry says, his voice wet. "I'm sorry."
Zayn frowns. "What for?"
Harry breathes in deeply, agonizingly. "It's over. Us. It can't work. I can't- I can't do this us-against-the-world bollocks. I just can't. I love you so much my heart feels like bursting but nothing is working in our favour. And I don't want to find ourselves, years down the line, with you hating me because I fucked your family up or- or, I don't know, your parents don't speak to you because you married me or something. I don't want this. This is real life, not a period drama I binge over the weekend. I'm sorry, Zayn, I can't. I honestly can't."
"No, no, no, please don't say that," Zayn pleads and grabs Harry's left hand with both of his. "I know the dinner was a disaster but it's not what it looks like. Truly. They don't hate you, they're not gonna make us break up. This isn't a film, they are not threatening me with... losing my inheritance or something if I stay with you. I can't lose you because of them, Harry, I can't."
Harry shakes his head, his lips pressed together as he's fighting the tears. Nevertheless, they come streaming down his cheeks again. "It's not them, babe. It's me. I have some self-preservation and I know you won't be happy with me. I mean, look at us. We don't fit together. I don't fit into this life," Harry stands up and crosses his arms. Zayn holding his hand was only making this hurt more. "We've been together for just over a year, this is infatuation. I'm not someone you would want to spend the rest of your life with. I wouldn't be able to keep up with all... this."
"Haz," Zayn says breathily, a slight smile stretching his lips. "You're all I want."
Harry shakes his head again. "I can't be. It doesn't make sense."
"There is one more reason why I wanted to come home," Zayn says. He stands up, taking two small steps until he's in front of Harry. "I needed to get something from my mum. Something I wanted to give you. Only you and no one else in the world."
Harry's brows furrow. He lets out a little scoff but he can't put together anything coherent. "No, I- you can't-"
"I very well can," Zayn says deliberately and reaches into the pocket of his equally sparsely used pyjamas. "Just so you know, before you run away again, my mum gave it to me willingly. And she likes you, a lot. Despite what it seemed like. She'd never truly stand between us." He then pulls out a small rectangular velvet box. Harry blinks at him in confusion.
"What is it?" Harry asks.
Zayn smiles, a flash of hesitation tinging it. "It's a question. It's a promise, too." And after he opens the box, a beautiful gold ring with a rectangular ruby set in it is revealed.
Harry's breath hitches. He lifts his eyes from the ring back to Zayn. "What is this?"
"Well, some people like to call it a proposal," Zayn chuckles, suddenly shy as his eyes avert to the floor. It doesn't last long and he looks at Harry again. "I wanted to do this differently I guess but then you started freaking out because my parents can be a little... conceited, sometimes. So before you decide to make this breakup permanent, as ridiculous as the sequence of these sentences sounds, would you perhaps consider marrying me?"
Harry's head starts spinning, his jaw drops wide open. "What did you just say?"
Zayn laughs, his nose crinkling as he puts his hand on Harry's hip warily. "I'm gonna use a little bit more words now. I love you, Harry, so fucking much it's insane. And I know it might be a bit premature. You absolutely don't have to say yes. I'll understand. But I'm begging you, please don't leave me because of... what my parents might think or what you assume about my upbringing and my future. The only thing I want in my future is you, Haz. That's all I care about. It would absolutely destroy me if you left me, knowing you still love me but only some foolish presumptions and prejudice and such things are standing in our way. Because nothing truly is. My mum likes you, she gave me this ring with wishes of happiness for us. We have this engagement ring that's been in the family for generations but it felt wrong giving it to you so I asked my mum to find something else. This one is even older but I think it's even more beautiful and it's not associated with any arranged marriages.
"You're a fool to think I'd want that. That I would want someone of my... status, I guess, just to preserve the status quo and whatnot. I don't care, babe. It's all bullshit anyway. I love you, only you and that is not going to change. And deep in my heart, I know that you're what I want. That I want to grow old with you and build a family with you and wake up next to you every single day, for as long as you'll have me. That is why I'm standing here, in my pyjamas, at the arse crack of dawn, trying not to lose you. In fact, I'm trying to keep you so close to my heart I would dig out another chamber there and keep you inside. Since I can't do that, will you marry me, Haz?"
Harry blinks slowly. A disbelieving laugh escapes his lips. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"
"Yes, I believe I did," Zayn chuckles. "You're the one who needs to answer now."
"Oh my god," Harry breathes out, laughing softly. He's still crying, he realizes when he cups his hands over his face. "You can't be serious. Me? You're asking me to marry you?"
Zayn looks around. "Do you see someone else?"
"No," Harry admits. "Fuck, you- you want to marry me?"
"I do," Zayn nods once. He wraps his arms around Harry's waist carefully. "Do you?"
"I-," Harry chokes up. "Of course, God, Zayn, how could you even ask that? Of course, I want to marry you, you absolute fool. But is this going to fuck with your life in any way?"
"No, it won't," Zayn shakes his head with a smile. "Everything is fine. It's more than fine. Fuck, I love you," one of his hands comes up to Harry's face, grabbing his cheek gently as he pulls him into a kiss. "So that's a definite yes? No running away?"
Harry smiles widely. "Yes, a million fucking times yes. I'm- is it really alright with your parents?"
"It is," Zayn affirms it with another short kiss. "Even if it wasn't, the whole world couldn't stop me from being with you. The Queen herself could march in here right now and prohibit me from marrying you and I'd still do it. I'd probably run away from the UK first but still, nothing and no one could make me abandon my love for you. Nothing is worth it."
"I love you so much," Harry chokes out, the tears making an appearance again as he embraces Zayn so tightly it's as if he was trying to merge their bodies together. "So fucking much. I never wanted to leave you, I didn't. But tonight, fuck, it felt horrendous, like this huge black hole swallowing me up and sucking all hope out of me. I could just see you being miserable with me because our being together estranged you from your family and- I couldn't do that to you. I never would've been able to live with myself."
"Everything is fine, babe," Zayn says quietly, his hand in Harry's hair. "You don't have to worry about anything. I love you more than these frivolous, superficial things."
Harry pulls away, quickly wiping his face. "I love you so much."
"I know," Zayn smiles briefly. "I think we forgot something."
"What?"
"The ring."
"Oh!" Harry exclaims. "I hope it's not cursed."
Zayn frowns as he opens the box again. "Why would it be cursed?"
"Just, old jewellery," Harry shrugs. "You never know."
Zayn shakes his head with a laugh. "Give me your hand."
Harry takes in a deep breath and raises his left arm. This feels strange but so fucking good at the same time. Harry's quite sure he doesn't even breathe the whole time as Zayn slides the ruby ring on his left ring finger. He's used to rings but somehow, this one feels different. It's probably just in his head but this is a new chapter. It's a symbol, a little piece of memorabilia to remind Harry that despite his doubts, despite his insecurities, Zayn still loves him.
What a fucking rollercoaster of a night that's been.