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The thing is, Harry knows how ridiculous this is. After everything they’ve been through, after five years of friendship, of laughter and teasing and fierce loyalty, of stolen glances and confused breaths against sweat-damp necks, after it all, he’s sending a fucking e-mail. As if somehow that can express what he’s feeling right now.
It had been weird after Zayn left. Of course it had, how could it not be; suddenly there were four of them instead of five and Harry was unconsciously leaving spaces next to him, expecting the quiet familiarity of Zayn to fill the gap. At some points throughout their numerous tours together, Harry had needed his space, even being with one of the other boys had felt like too much. Now having three of them around him feels like one too less.
The weirdness is what has stopped him reaching out really. There hasn’t been any hatred between the five of them - there couldn’t be after what they’ve been through together. But he can’t deny the awkwardness and everyone’s refusal to acknowledge that even though they’re doing great as a band, they’re not doing so great as a family anymore. Harry almost feels like their unit has lost a wheel or something, lopsided and struggling to carry on without their final part, which he knows is stupid because he’s mixing up his metaphors and four wheels has proven to be strongest time and time again and anyways Zayn was always more like the steering that kept the four of them on track. He never realised how true that was until Zayn was gone, leaving the rest of them determined to cling to one another and carry on but slightly lost as to which direction to go in.
Harry spends half of his time these days coming up with pretentiously elaborate analogies to try and process what the band feels like without Zayn and the other half scoffing and telling himself to get a grip. It’s not like he doesn’t care about One Direction anymore, he knows that this is what he loves, that the feeling he gets from performing, from changing people’s lives with his words and his voice and his whole self is something he won’t get tired of, probably ever. But when it had been the five of them he had felt like his whole being was invested, and now it feels like Zayn took a piece of Harry with him when left. Not necessarily somewhere really cliché and essential like his heart or his brain, but some part of him deep down, leaving an empty hollow feeling in its absence.
When he hears the announcement, he goes sort of numb and then he has an uncontrollable urge to laugh. It’s such an ironic situation that he feels like he’s in a dumb movie or something, like the films he used to watch with Gemma on a Friday night when neither of them felt like going out and instead would sit around eating unhealthy amounts of popcorn and singing along to the cheesy love songs that played as the shy awkward protagonist wished she was enough to catch the popular guy’s attention.
Harry has never had anything against Perrie, apart from the fact that she had won in a game she wasn’t even aware she was playing, had beaten Harry every time without even trying.
Looking back on it now, Harry wonders if it ever could have worked, him and Zayn properly trying. The hook-ups fueled by alcohol and curiosity, the lighthearted teasing that was never just surface deep, the scarily sober admissions of their feelings. It wasn’t enough in the end, and Harry was fine with that, he honestly, truly was and if he had cried into his pillow or onto the worryingly understanding shoulders of Liam, Louis or Niall then that was nothing, an embarrassing teenage memory that he doesn’t think about anymore. Except he does and every time it comes back to him he’s nineteen again and hearing the words ‘I love you, but I love her more’ for the hundredth time. It doesn’t get less painful.
Anyway none of that matters anymore, because it seems Zayn finally made a decision and he chose himself and Harry can’t even be angry because he’s actually proud if he lets himself admit it. He can’t help but admire Zayn because Harry was there through everything, there through all the hate thrown Zayn’s way, there through all the times Zayn had to shape and push himself in order to please others. He doesn’t think anyone, apart from the other three boys that make - or made, past tense, if he’s being painfully honest with himself - up their small family really understands how much Zayn sacrificed to be a part of the band. It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved it, Harry would happily fight anyone who claimed Zayn wasn’t as committed as the rest of them, but it was obvious that in the end this isn’t what Zayn had wanted. This meaning their style of music, their image, how they were expected to act. And this meaning Harry, when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself.
He feels like he needs to say something. There’s too much history between them for him not to acknowledge this. Even if they weren’t whatever they were at some point, Zayn is still, above everything, his friend and you don’t just sit by when one of your friend’s ends his relationship, especially when he breaks off an engagement. Harry knows the others have been in touch. There’s no way Liam, the one probably on the best terms with Zayn since he left, hasn’t offered his support. And Zayn and Louis may have always fought like brothers but there’s an intensity to their relationship that Harry has always fought not to be jealous of, so there must have been communication there too. In fact Harry knows Louis has spoken to Zayn, both of them probably finding comfort in each other in the face of their respective situations. Even Niall, who surprisingly for all of them has been the weirdest about Zayn leaving, has probably reached out to Zayn after hearing the news. And it’s not like their group chat has been completely dead since March, communication between all of them may be weird but it’s still there.
And Harry, well, he feels like he can’t be judged for how he’s handled things really. He and Zayn have texted, just stupid, frustratingly unimportant information about their days and other insignificant things. Most of the time Harry can hardly bring himself to reply because he never used to have to do this, to update Zayn like they’re living completely separate lives. But he guesses they are now, and casually texting Zayn feels too much like they’re back at home for a few days, apart only temporarily until they’re reunited for tour of for promotion or whatever. Every time Harry replies something meaningless he has to remind himself that this could be it now, that being away from Zayn might not just be a brief thing anymore, but a permanent one.
All of this is why he decides on the e-mail, however ridiculous it is. What he wants to say is too long and honestly too important for texts and he can’t bear to pour his heart into a message only to have it sit their amongst their exchanges about irrelevant shit. If he had any balls he’d just call Zayn, but even the idea of hearing that voice, the one that’s comforted him, playfully poked fun at him, rung out beside him on stage, and more than once held him together when he’s felt like he’s fracturing apart, hearing that voice answer with a detached ‘hello’ or worse, with distaste colouring it, like Harry is an annoyance, that would hurt Harry more than he wants to think about.
So an e-mail it is, because his only other options are paying for it to be written across the sky in smoke or a handwritten letter and that feels so personal and romantic that it makes Harry blush to even think about it. He wouldn’t even know where to send it anyway, doesn’t know where Zayn’s staying in LA, had refused to find out because he was too busy hating himself for wishing it was his own place.
In the end it only takes him ten minutes to say what he wants to, although he spends about an hour moping and listening to too much Bon Iver before he even sits down with his computer. He’s pretty calm when he hits send, not really expecting a reply but feeling a weird sense of peace at having expressed some of what has been eating him up inside for four months.
There’s no sense of closure. He doesn’t think there ever will be when it comes to him and Zayn because if he’s brutally honest he’s never going to stop hoping. Especially now that Zayn isn’t forced to make a choice that will inevitably hurt someone. Harry knows that his hope is mostly empty wishing and unrealistic expectations. Either way he’s resigned to it and the next day when he sees photos of the new tattoo inked into Zayn’s skin he googles the meaning of Lotus flowers and unconsciously rubs over his own rose tattoo as he can’t help but smile at his screen.
When Zayn texts him three days later, it definitely feels like a new beginning.
Can we meet up?
Zayn,
I really couldn’t decide how to start this because Dear feels too formal and Hi feels too informal and you always did tease me about overthinking every word that comes out of my mouth. You used to say that’s why I talk so slowly.
I heard about things ending. I wanted to say sorry and I know that probably sounds insincere coming from me, coming after, well, everything, but I am. I never like seeing you hurt. Not that I know if you’re hurting or anything, I mean I don’t know how you’re doing honestly. But I can’t imagine it’s easy right now. Maybe I get how much you loved her, at least at one point, more than anyone. Maybe it took you choosing her over me for me to see that.
Sorry, I promised myself I wouldn’t let this get resentful. I honestly don’t feel bitter about any of it any more. Or wait, that’s a lie, I do feel bitter about it but not about you. I know things were weird between us towards the end. It really couldn’t have been any other way though because we both know the alternative and we fell into that too easily and too completely and it probably broke us both a bit.
I guess what I really want to say is I hope you’re ok. And I mean that as thoroughly and genuinely as I can. Too many times over the past five years I’ve cared about you more than I probably should have, more than is healthy maybe, and that didn’t just stop when you left. So I really do want happiness for you, and I want you to know that you’re strong. You’ve always known what you want and what’s right and you’re not afraid to pursue it, whether it’s your career or, you know, everything else. And I honestly know you can do it, you can make it, whether it takes a month or a year or ten years.
You’re brave Zayn, braver than I’ve ever been probably.
Don’t feel like you have to reply to this. Or do, I don’t know, too much of what we were was always so up in the air, outside of responsibility and obligation. Whatever you choose, let’s not just go back to texting once every few weeks. I don’t want to be melodramatic and give you an ultimatum or something equally as crazy but I think if I send you this and you message me next Tuesday about a song you heard or a new bar you went to, I might die. I’m preserving my own feelings here, putting myself first. Maybe you taught me that.
So, read this, know that I meant everything I said and then go from there.
I don’t know how to sign off either. Is see you soon too optimistic? I think goodbye might hurt too much.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
Harry