Archive of Our Own ^beta

~*~

Three hours before the wedding, a vague sense of nerves settles in the pit of his stomach. His groomsmen say it’s just pre-wedding jitters, cold feet, and he tries to believe them. He really does.

Two hours before the wedding, he’s thrown up everything in his system, which is basically a few half-sips of ginger ale that have clearly done nothing to settle his stomach. His best man pulls him aside and asks him what’s wrong.

One hour before the wedding, he’s waiting around the corner from the bride’s suite. He watches that same best man approach the doors, knocking sharply and smiling wide once they open. He watches him coax the bridesmaids out for some pre-ceremony pictures, leading them down a hallway away from his hiding spot. He counts to four- too impatient to reach five- before he’s slipping through those doors as well.

His bride looks up when he enters. She’s beautiful as always- in just her white slip and bustier with her dark curls still loose around her shoulders though he knows from the many meetings she’s had with her stylists that her hair will be pulled back for the ceremony. Her green eyes seem to smile when she sees him, sparkling even while she tells him how much bad luck he’s causing by being in the room. The sparkle fades when she takes in his slumped posture and the pallor in his cheeks that he’s sure is obvious.

Seven words have been clawing at the inside of his throat for so long now, not only the past couple of hours but the days, weeks and maybe even months leading up to this moment. Hell, maybe they’ve been inside of him for years before he ever met his bride.

Seven words, that’s all he has to say, and he closes his eyes like a coward- can’t bear to look at her light fade any further- when he finally lets them out softly.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

~*~

One hour after his wedding should have begun, Zayn’s walking along a country lane, trying to avoid any routes the guests may take after leaving the church. Whoever had sewn together his shoes had certainly never anticipated they’d be crunching through gravel and dirt, and they soon prove more painful than going without would, so he kicks them off and retreats further from the road, walking across the grass in naught but his Power Rangers socks that Danny and Ant had gifted him in luck the day before.

He’s wondering if he should probably bury their so-called luck six feet under when he hears the tell-tale rumble of a vehicle. He ducks his head, hoping against hope that it isn’t one of the hundred-plus people they’d invited to what had been listed in the society pages as the ‘Wedding of the Year’. He peeks as subtly as he can from his peripherals, relaxing his posture when he sees the beat-up nature of the four by four in question, at least a centimeter of mud packed all along the bumper and cab steps.

The truck’s slowing down as it approaches him from behind, and Zayn finds himself actually stopping. He’s got his shoes in one hand and his suit jacket thrown over his forearm, tie loose around his neck where his collar’s undone. He can feel the road dust mixing with the sweat on his forehead and tear tracks on his cheeks, and he’s sure he looks a right mess. It pulls over anyway just slightly ahead of him, over to the left with all four tyres in the mud along the road. Zayn assumes it is so as to not block anyone on the narrow two-lane country road, though he hasn’t seen another car the entire time he’s been walking.

After a moment of a new kind of nerves running down his spine, the driver door opens. From his vantage point on the passenger side, Zayn can’t see who gets out too well until he comes around the front end.

The man standing a bit away from him is taller than Zayn and a little broader in the shoulders, a check shirt stretched over his shoulders even though it’s unbuttoned almost to his navel over a black T-shirt. He’s wearing a ridiculous fedora that Zayn would normally comment on, but he’s so shocked at the man’s appearance and the way the day had transpired that he can’t even work up the words.

“Everything alright?” the man asks, in a slow northern drawl. He leans back against the bonnet, arms folded across his chest.

“M’fine,” he mutters, loud enough the man should be able to hear him.

“You don’t exactly look fine. Look like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle.”

Caught off-guard, Zayn manages a snort of laughter at that. “You don’t look old enough to use phrases like that,” he admonishes.

The man smiles softly and tilts his head in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“Suppose I’m not entirely fine,” Zayn allows after a moment. He’s suddenly exhausted- emotionally and physically- and he lets his head hang back as he looks up at the sky. At the incredibly dark, gray sky. “Oh for the love of…” he sighs. “Of course it’s about to rain.”

“I can give you a lift,” the man offers.

“Pretty sure my mum warned me about riding in cars with boys.”

That earns him an outright laugh though it’s hardly funny, and Zayn smiles slightly as well. His eyes are dry after crying and worse from the dust, his feet ache like he’s been walking barefoot across burning coals and he’s developing a headache so large he’s quite convinced Athena herself is going to saw his skull open and step out any moment. All in all, it feels nice to smile.

“What way are you headed? I can drop you off. The train station’s not terribly far from here.”

Unsure of where ‘here’ even is- knowing that he couldn’t have walked too far but being unfamiliar with the area chosen specifically for its rural location away from paparazzi- Zayn admits, “I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

“Well you can’t walk forever,” the man says reasonably. “You’ll have to pick a destination soon before the rain comes.”

“I-“ Zayn starts to say but just then, as if accepting the challenge to come quickly- the sky opens up in a downpour as if it hadn’t been dry a moment before. Zayn’s too shocked to react at first, eyelashes heavy with raindrops as he sees the man step forward. He lifts his jacket above his head, not caring in the slightest that it’s Versace, and looks at him.

“My name’s Harry Styles and I own a farm up the road. I raise and sell livestock and I grow fruit and vegetables and I have a lot of chickens.”

“What?” Zayn says, shouting to be heard over the sound of the rain pelting down on the land around them and the metal of the truck.

“I’m Harry, so I’m not a stranger anymore,” Harry says, his long hair soaked where the hat’s brim isn’t wide enough to protect it. “Get in and I’ll take you to the train station.”

Zayn hesitates another moment, though he obviously doesn’t have a better option. His Power Rangers socks are soaked completely through, already dirty on the bottom but now covered in mud near to his ankle from the way he’s been sinking slightly into the soft ground.

Harry opens his mouth as if to convince him further, but a crack of lightening and deafening rumble of thunder sound out just then and Zayn startles forward, brushing past Harry and yanking the passenger door open to climb inside.

He thinks he hears laughter, but then Harry’s running around to climb in on the driver’s side. His cheeks are wet when he looks over at Zayn with a smile still on his face. “Never thought I’d have to convince someone to not drown in a summer storm,” he teases as he turns the key in the ignition.

Zayn glares at him, lowering his jacket and folding it over his knee. “Well, it’s still technically spring,” he says, smiling despite himself when Harry laughs. He kicks off his muddy socks with a mumbled apology, shoving his bare feet into his Louboutin shoes.

“I’ve got a towel in the glove box, help yourself,” Harry says with a nod.

Zayn opens it and grabs the hand towel he sees there, wiping his face and his chest where his shirt’s still open at the collar. Harry shifts into first gear, using his indicator as he merges back onto the road though no one’s around to benefit from it. Zayn’s endeared by the safe driving for the whole of a moment until Harry starts making conversation.

“Were you at that fancy do? The wedding?”

Zayn panics a bit, not sure what to say. He isn’t that surprised that Harry doesn’t recognise him- Linsey was the famous one, after all- but he’s had enough media training sessions to know better than to give up the anonymity he’s been afforded. In the end, after Harry looks over to him when he doesn’t answer, he takes a small risk.

“Yeah, I was there,” he admits as they drive, the windshield wipers whisking away the rain as quickly as they can. “It didn’t, um, happen though,” he adds, figures word will get out quickly enough that Linsey Townsend’s fiancé ditched her at the altar.

He’s going to be the most hated man in the whole bloody United Kingdom.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Harry murmurs, slowing to a near-stop before taking a sharp turn that Zayn can barely see through the rain. “I hope everyone’s doing okay. Were you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“Groom.”

“I heard the bride’s that actress everyone likes.”

“You don’t like her?”

“No, no,” Harry assures quickly, as if he’s trying to not offend. “I just don’t know much about her. Don’t often have time for telly or films when working on a farm. I took my nephew in for the summer, though. He might know more about her.”

Zayn hums his acknowledgement, calming.

Until Harry says, “We’re here,” and Zayn realises they’ve reached the train station. He sees the overwhelming mass of wedding guests hiding from the rain under the viaduct at the unmanned station, no doubt heading into Manchester proper or even to the airport to fly back into London, and feels his panic start to build again.

Harry must sense his hesitation, because he’s gentle when he asks, “Do you not get on with them?”

Zayn looks at him, can feel how wide his eyes are and can only imagine the terrified expression on his face that he’s trying to soften. “I don’t quite fit in with them,” he answers after a moment, turning back to the front.

There’s some attention on Harry’s four by four, one of Linsey’s friends eyeing them suspiciously though Zayn thinks the distance and the rain are enough to keep his identity safe. Nevertheless, he brings a hand up to hide behind, trying to think desperately of an alternate way to get home.

“Is everything okay? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Harry asks, voice growing nervous.

Zayn sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand over his face. “No, I’m not in any trouble. Not with the law at least. I just- I can’t really get on a train with those people right now. They’re not the biggest fans of mine.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry says, though the bewildered look on his face when Zayn peeks at him begs to differ.

It makes Zayn smile anyway, the corner of his lips tugging up into a smirk against his will.

“No need to look at me like that,” Harry says, crossing his arms and pouting against a smile of his own. “You’re sitting there, all handsome and rain-soaked, telling me cryptic things about how you don’t fit in with a fancy lot when your shoes cost about as much as my yearly mortgage. How’m I supposed to know what to think?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn admits, smile fading. He leans forward, resting his forehead on the glove box. “I don’t know what to do.”

This isn’t Harry’s problem. He tries to remind himself of that and wills himself to just step out and face the music but he’s too much of a coward. He doesn’t think he can face the wedding guests, knowing that they’re all aware that he’s called off a wedding not even an hour before it was to begin. He’s the very worst kind of scum.

“We could try another station?” Harry offers. “There’s one only a bit north of here.”

“I don’t even really know where ‘here’ is,” Zayn admits. “I landed at Manchester airport late last night with a bunch of people and piled into a town car. Couldn’t tell you what way we went, I’m a bit turned-about.”

“Well, that’s easy to solve,” Harry says with a grin. “We’re just outside of Manchester in Hyde.”

“Am I the worst Brit ever if that doesn’t clear it up much for me?”

“No, that’s normal,” Harry assures. “We’re just in a tiny village in Hyde now, but mine’s even smaller. Hardly anyone has heard of Mottram. I kind of like it, though, being in the country.”

“Yeah, Linsey did, too. She wanted to get married somewhere the press wouldn’t find out about. Think she just threw a dart at a map of England, if m’honest.”

“Were you close with her?”

Zayn sucks in a breath, closing his eyes and sitting up straight. “Not really. We hardly knew each other at all.” He isn’t even sure if he’s lying, and he knows it’s all his fault.

There’s another moment of near-silence, only the sound of the rain pelting the truck from all sides. Finally, when so many people are looking over at them Zayn’s tempted to bolt and try his luck on foot again, Harry shifts in the driver’s seat to look at him.

“I’m going to be completely honest: there’s something you’re not telling me and I know that. And it’s okay. But I need to get back home at some point, I can only leave Graham with the neighbours for so long before Mrs. Galepski will have my head.”

Zayn nods, already reaching a hand to the door, stopping only when Harry continues speaking.

“That being said- hang on, m’not kicking you out. I’ve an idea. There’s a train that comes hourly tomorrow, you can just stay with me tonight- since you’re clearly uninterested in being around those people- and I’ll bring you back when I go into the city tomorrow.”

Not believing the words- a place to stay for the night, no questions asked- Zayn scoffs. At Harry’s earnest expression, though, he pulls his arm away from the door. “You’re offering me a place to stay? In your house? Even though you don’t know me?”

“You seem pretty harmless and Graham loves company, doesn’t see enough new people anymore.”

“You’re mad.”

“Possibly, but I think I can take you in a fight and I have a hunting rifle in my room,” Harry shrugs.

Zayn stares.

“I really do need to get home-“ Harry starts, looking regretful that he’s making Zayn commit to a decision, as if he hasn’t completely interrupted his day just to get Zayn where he thought he needed to be.

“Yeah, yes, I’ll come home with you,” Zayn says, stopping short when he realises how it sounds.

Harry must hear it, too, laughing as he starts up the vehicle again. “Easiest pull I’ve had in a while,” he jokes.

“Not sure what part of me has been ‘easy’ yet,” Zayn teases back, realising with a pang of guilt that he’s flirting with Harry. He bites the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes again as he turns to the window.

Harry must read his body language enough to know to let the conversation drop, because he turns the radio up a little louder. The sounds of a local station fill the air, Zayn smiling lightly when he hears Harry begin to hum along with an old song he only knows from hearing his mum sing it when he was little. He feels another pang of guilt that he’d let Danny handle everything after he’d bailed, knows his mum is probably worried sick for him. He pulls his phone from his pocket, seeing the mess of notifications. He ignores them all, opening a new message to his mum.

I’m okay, just couldn’t do it. I’m so sorry I never told you I was worried. Please tell dad and everyone that I’m okay. I’m staying at a friend’s tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow. Might need to borrow my old room back for a bit.

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns it off and fiddles with it in his hands as he watches the countryside pass them by.

~*~

The rain’s finally letting up, calming to just a few sprinkles on the windshield by the time they pull up in front of a modest home. They’re in pure country, now, and Zayn could probably count on one hand the number of houses they’ve passed in the last ten minutes.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry says, getting out of the cab and making his way up the drive.

The front door opens before he can reach it, though, and Zayn can see a flash of blond hair as a kid darts down the front steps and dashes past Harry towards the car. Alarmed, Zayn sits up to have a better look, but the kid just comes up and pulls open the door.

“Um,” Zayn says as the boy’s green eyes look startled when they see him.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Zayn.”

“Okay.”

With nothing further asked, the kid just opens the rear-hinged door and climbs into the backseat. Zayn doesn’t say anything else, either, just shuts his own door and looks through the windshield where Harry is talking with an older woman. He wants to laugh, trying to imagine the woman ‘having his head’ for anything when she’s hugging him and smiling, turning her cheek for a kiss before Harry turns away from her with a smile.

His grin fades, however, once he climbs in and gets it into reverse. “That was very rude, Graham,” he scolds gently. “Mrs. Galepski deserved a thank you for watching you today.”

“You said you’d be back over an hour ago,” Graham says from the back, voice full of hurt and betrayal.

“I know,” Harry sighs, instantly losing his scolding tone. “I had to help Zayn here. He’s going to stay with us tonight, is that okay with you?”

“Okay,” Graham says, voice still just as small.

Zayn can see the stress in Harry’s expression but no one says anything else as they pull back onto the road. The drive from Mrs. Galepski’s house is only a couple minutes long and Zayn doesn’t see another house, just acres and acres of green fields until they’re hidden from view by a line of trees. Harry turns into a hidden drive, muddy from the rain.

The trees end after only a couple rows, and Zayn holds back a slightly dramatic gasp when he sees the picturesque barn and farmhouse set back from the drive, a pasture of sheep just behind the barn.

“You didn’t mention the sheep,” he says dumbly when Harry looks over at him. “You just said chickens.”

“And livestock,” Harry says, tone far too reasonable. “Do you… not like sheep?” he asks slowly.

“Don’t they bite?”

Graham laugh from the backseat in the way only a child can get away with, and Harry’s smiling, too, when Zayn looks over at him. “All animals bite, I suppose,” he says in the same patronisingly reasonable tone. “But you don’t have to go near them if you’d rather not.”

“Right, yeah,” Zayn says.

They come to a stop just outside the barn, the truck slowing easily until Harry applies the brake. Immediately, Graham shuffles around in the back, knees against Zayn’s seat until he realises he wants to get out. Harry starts to scold him again for his impatience but Zayn just shakes his head to tell him it’s okay, opening his door and letting Graham get his rear-access door open as well before he jumps from the car, shoes squelching in the mud as he runs into the barn.

“He like to act like he doesn’t want to do his chores but I find him in the barn mucking out stalls all the time. Think he likes talking to the horses.”

“What kind of farm do you run?” Zayn asks, making to jump out as well.

“Wait, hold on, your shoes,” Harry says, sliding out of his own door and running around again. “Stay there, I’ve got some old ones you can put on for now.”

Touched by his concern, Zayn stays where he’s told, carefully taking his shoes back off. He bundles up his muddy socks, making a face at the mess they make of his hands. Harry laughs when he comes back and sees the expression, taking the socks and shoes from him once he passes over the beat-up sneakers. They’re big, especially when he’s barefoot, but they only have to get him into the house so he doesn’t mind too much.

“Hope they fit alright,” Harry says, holding out a hand to help Zayn down from the cab of the four by four. He ignores it, cheeks burning as he slips in the mud and ends up flinging out an arm for Harry anyway. He’s giggling as he helps Zayn steady himself, his chest brushing Zayn’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, biting his lip as he takes a step gingerly.

“They’re not the best shoes for mud,” Harry admits, gracefully allowing Zayn an ‘out’ for his incoordination.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, finally letting go of Harry’s arm and following him up walk to the front door. He kicks off the shoes once he’s inside when Harry does the same, reaching down and rolling up the bottoms of his suit trousers to contain any dirt that might be on them as well.

“Don’t bother,” Harry says with a wave of his hand. “Graham will have this place a muddy mess once he comes in. Can’t keep the house clean.”

“I’m ace at cleaning,” Zayn says instantly. “I can- to thank you for letting me stay the night, I can clean this place spotless before you take me back for my train.”

Harry looks at him from the corner of his eye and Zayn begins regretting what he’s said, thinking he’s implied that the house is dirty when a quick glance around reveals that it really, really isn’t. It certainly shows signs that a child lives in it, but it’s otherwise the right balance of clean enough for friends but maybe not family the way his childhood home always was when he was growing up.

He startles himself with the second comparison between Harry and Zayn’s childhood, hasn’t had any reminders of that home in Bradford for a long, long time. Linsey’s place was decidedly posh and remarkably neat, with all of the furniture white and all possible surfaces made of glass. It’s possible that Zayn’s affinity for cleaning came from his time spent loafing around her penthouse flat while she was at work.

“That would be a fair trade,” Harry’s saying when Zayn tunes back in.

He’s followed Harry into the kitchen blindly, and he takes a moment to look around. It’s obvious that the house is very old, from the wooden dumbwaiter chute to the phone niche still moulded in the wall. For all of the original and antique characteristics, though, it’s just as obvious that the home’s been loved and modernised. All of the appliances are brand new and just as nice as anything where Zayn’s lived. A picture is now where a corded phone once hung, one that must be of Harry’s family from the way the two women in the photo with him have identical smiles.

“Your house is incredible,” Zayn says, meeting Harry’s eye again where he’s stood at the fridge.

“It was my mum’s but she passed away a few years ago,” Harry explains, turning towards the counter with a pitcher of water in his hand. He pours Zayn a glass, passing it over and smiling easily.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Zayn says, the words sounding dull to his own ears.

“Thank you,” Harry says as he takes a sip. “Anyway, mum left it to me and my sister but Gemma’s never been one for the farm life so it’s mine now. And Graham’s. And yours, for tonight I guess.”

Zayn laughs. “A guest staying in your house gets to claim it for the night?” he teases.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Harry replies easily.

Zayn grins easily, feeling some of the day’s stress fade away finally. He knows he’s going to have to face it all eventually, but standing here in Harry’s kitchen with the comfort of home surrounding him, he feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in weeks.

“I need to tend to the animals,” Harry says after a moment. “I’m sorry, but we’re a bit behind schedule what with-“ he cuts himself off with a wave of his hand, the ‘what with stopping and interrupting my day for you’ going unspoken, “but I’d normally be started supper around now. We might have to just stick with some leftovers. We had chicken and vegetables last night and there should be enough for all three of us if I make some more frozen veg.”

He looks like he’s regretting the words as he uses them, as if him feeding Zayn is something he needs to apologise for. Zayn feels another kind of guilt wash over him, for all the ways he’s put Harry out already. He doesn’t want to overstep, but he takes a chance anyway.

“I could cook, if you’d like?” he offers. “I’m pretty good at it, and that way I can make whatever you’d had planned for tonight.”

“You wouldn’t mind? You’ve had a busy day already,” Harry says slowly, concern clear in his tone.

“I might need a change of clothes first,” he says, pointing out his still-soaked clothing.

“Yeah, f’course,” Harry says, speaking quickly- for him. “Come with me, I’ll show you the guest room you can have for the night and we’ll find something of mine you can wear.”

Zayn follows him, looking him up and down dubiously as he tries to think whether Harry’s clothes would fit him. They’re a couple inches apart in height, but the problem is the broad set of Harry’s shoulders, visible through his check button-up. Anything he gives Zayn is just going to dwarf him.

He walks into Harry’s room behind him, decidedly not giving into his nosiness and keeping his focus on the span of Harry’s back. In retrospect, he maybe should have looked at the room instead. Harry turns around, a tilt to his mouth when he catches Zayn looking, but he doesn’t say anything and just motions at his walk-in wardrobe for Zayn to head inside.

“The sleep trousers are all right here,” Harry says. He’s pink in the cheek when he admits, “I don’t normally wear any so there’s not a lot to choose from.”

Zayn decidedly doesn’t focus on that either, just shuffles past Harry as he approaches the shelf. He selects a pair at random, feeling the worn-soft fleece of the grey bottoms as he steps back. Harry puts a gentle hand on his elbow, guiding him a little further into the closet and reaching above his shoulder for a stack of t-shirts.

“It’s usually plenty warm at night, even in the spring,” he says, his voice quiet in the still air. “Normally a t-shirt is enough unless you’d like something more?”

“No, it’s okay,” Zayn answers just as quietly. He takes one of the white shirts, can already tell it’ll be big.

“I can show you to your room now?” Harry asks, looking in Zayn’s eyes.

They’re barely an inch apart, could brush their chests together with just a deep inhale each, and Zayn breathes deep. Harry’s scent teases his nose, and he finds himself leaning forward imperceptibly, trying to get closer to the hint of sweat and soap he smells.

He realises what he’s doing, immediately putting space between them. Harry reacts to the abrupt movement, pulling back as well as Zayn mentally berates himself. He has just left someone at the altar, what the fuck is he playing at by letting himself flirt with Harry?

“Come this way,” Harry says as he backs away, turning when Zayn starts following.

He keeps his distance this time, eyes on the floor as he makes his way into a bedroom a couple doors down from Harry’s. “The bathroom is the door between us,” Harry says awkwardly. “There’s a fresh toothbrush and everything you’ll need in the bottom drawer. You can help yourself to a towel and shower, I’ll be in the barn for probably an hour or so and Graham shouldn’t be a trouble if he beats me back in.”

“Any special diet restrictions I should know about?” Zayn asks, trying to keep his head about him.

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ as he rocks onto his heels. “Graham’ll eat anything you put in front of him, and I’m far from picky. There’s chicken and beef and pork-“

“I don’t eat pork,” Zayn cuts in inanely, not sure why he felt the need to point it out.

“Okay,” Harry says easily. “I typically take my livestock to and get my meat from the kosher butcher in the next town. He’s always fair with prices and provides the best product. Kosher meat is typically halal food, too, right?”

Zayn’s touched that Harry puts that much thought into his choice of butcher, and he smiles softly and nods. “Yeah, kosher is fine. I’m not like- super devout or anything,” he tries to reassure but Harry waves him quiet.

“I like it, the fact that you stand for something. There’s loads of fresh veg and a well-stocked pantry, too, if you’d rather just make vegetarian. Mrs. Galepski comes by every couple weeks to make sure we’re eating right.”

Zayn laughs despite himself. “She’s adopted you a bit?” he teases.

“Oh yeah, she was always fond of me mum and now she’s turned her attentions on Graham and I. She’s sweet. Bakes us far too many pies, though,” he frowns, patting at his stomach as if he’s got an extra inch to spare. The check shirt is open far enough it may as well not be buttoned at all and the black T-shirt underneath is thin enough Zayn can see the outline of tattoos against pale, muscled skin underneath.

“Rough life,” he says, tearing his gaze away. Harry looks caught-out, but smiles easily when he sees Zayn’s grin. Zayn can appreciate the way Harry’s taking cues from him, knowing when to pull away and when to relax based on how prickly Zayn’s being- and he knows he can be the most prickly when he shuts down.

They stand there in silence for another moment until Harry shakes his head, his long hair bouncing under his wide-brimmed hat. “I’m gonna head out. Let me know if you need anything,” he says.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says as Harry walks out of the room. He decides to take a shower after all, choosing a towel from the airing cupboard that’s just as soft as his borrowed joggers. He basks under the water pressure for a moment longer than he normally would, using an orange-scented shampoo in his hair and soaping his hands up before washing himself off quickly. He steps out of the shower, regretting his lack of foresight when he realises he doesn’t have a clean pair of pants.

He slips into the joggers anyway, pulling them around his hips and using the shoelace strung through the waist to tighten it until it stays. They’re baggy on him like he knew they’d be, pooling around his bare feet even when he folds the waistband down a few times to cut some of the length.

The t-shirt is hopeless, way too big to be functional. He pulls it off and pads down the hall to Harry’s room, walking in through the open door and swapping the shirt for another one that looks more fitted. It’s black and long, but the shoulders are narrower and he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in it the way he had in the white one.

He takes a wrong turn before correcting himself and heading back down the stairs, the old farmhouse full of little nooks that disorient him until he’s stood in the kitchen. He takes a moment to familiarise himself with the kitchen, checking the stock in the fridge and pantry before deciding on a quick dish his mum used to make.

He gets a skillet with oil and saucepan full of water on heat quickly, sautéing the minced beef and bringing the water to a boil. He chops carrots and onion quickly and adds them to the beef until it’s browned and the onions are caramelizing. He dices potatoes just as quickly, adding them to the water just before it begins to boil and then finishes adding ingredients to the skillet until the beef and tomato paste mixture is ready. He spreads that into a pie plate he finds under the stove.

When the potatoes are soft, he drains them and mashes until they’re smooth like his mum would make, as few chunks as possible. He adds some milk and whips them with a serving fork until they’re light and fluffy. Spreading that over the beef filing, he tops it with some cheese and slips it into the oven.

He’s just taking the cottage pie out of the oven when the front door bangs open, Graham rushing into the kitchen a moment later.

“Hi,” Zayn says when he stops and looks at him.

“Are you here to take my uncle away?”

“Erm, no?” Zayn asks, not as firmly as he’d like to since he doesn’t exactly know where the kid is going with his question.

“My mum’s boyfriend said that and now she’s gone,” he accuses.

“I’m not Harry’s boyfriend,” he says patiently. “He’s just helped me out of a tight spot today.”

“Okay,” Graham says, though he doesn’t seem to place must trust in Zayn’s words.

“Do you want to help me make the pudding?” he asks after a moment. Graham nods and Zayn sends him into the downstairs toilet to wash his hands, nodding in satisfaction when he comes out.

They make Angel Delight quickly when Zayn finds two packets. Graham likes whisking it but he makes a mess that Zayn’s just finished cleaning up when Harry joins them in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says to Graham, his expression one of surprise. “Didn’t think I’d find you down here.”

Graham shifts next to Zayn, leaning into his side for a moment. “Zayn said I could help.”

“And he did really well,” Zayn says, settling a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Got our pudding whisked just right.”

“That sounds lovely,” Harry says sincerely. “Do I have time to get cleaned up before supper?”

“’Course,” Zayn says.

“Can we eat in our pajamas?” Graham asks, stepping closer to Harry. “Zayn’s wearing his and I don’t want him to feel left out.”

Zayn snorts out a laugh, seeing Graham’s lips smirk in profile and even Harry chuckles. “Yeah, sounds fair enough.” He winks at Zayn over his nephew’s head, motioning for him to follow as they both head upstairs.

Zayn gets the table set as best he can, searching for napkins for ages until Harry clears his throat from behind him and he whips around, turning his back on the cupboard he’d been rummaging through as if he’d done something wrong.

“I was looking for napkins,” he explains.

“Oh, yes, let me-“ Harry says, stepping into his space again. They’re mirroring their earlier position in the closet, Harry reaching over Zayn’s shoulder, but this time his hat’s gone and his wet hair is gathered in a bun at the back of his head. His shoulders are stretching out a white t-shirt, possibly the same one that Zayn had been swimming in, and his pajama pants are just brushing the floor as if they’d been tailor-made for Harry’s long legs.

The scent of oranges from both of them overwhelms Zayn, and his lips part around an exhale just as Harry looks down at him. The moment stretches for an eternity, Zayn’s gaze locked on green eyes, and it passes only when Graham makes his presence known as he races loudly into the kitchen.

“Can we have pudding first?” he asks, and the spell is broken, Harry stepping away with his hands clenched around a handful of cloth napkins.

“Absolutely not,” he says, voice rough and low, eyes still locked on Zayn’s face.

He ducks his head after another few seconds, not trusting himself to make smart decisions if he keeps looking his fill. “Can you finish the table?” he asks in a near-whisper, his voice stuck tight in his throat.

Harry agrees, slipping around the worktop island to the dining room and table, Graham looking between them for a moment until Zayn smiles shakily at him.

“Would you mind helping me carry the cottage pie?” he asks.

Instantly, Graham perks up. Zayn’s caught on to the fact that he likes having tasks to do, must like the feeling of having responsibility, and he lets Graham take in the serving dish, following behind with a quickly sliced side of fresh veg to hopefully cut the heaviness of the meat pie. If it doesn’t work, the Angel Delight will surely do the trick.

~*~

Dinner is slightly awkward. Harry stares a bit too intensely at Zayn, hardly paying attention to the food he’s eating. Graham’s withdrawn and quiet, even when Zayn tries to prompt him to speak. He’s ignoring Harry’s looks, guilt over the way the morning had progressed coming over him in another wave. He wonders how long the feeling will ebb and flow, wonders if he’ll ever get over the unforgivable way he’d handled himself. He should have told Linsey his concerns months ago, should have been honest with himself before he’d ever proposed, but he knows now that her life wasn’t made for him. He’s never been posh, never been one for the spotlight. And the fun they’d had at the beginning of the relationship- the sneaking around to avoid photogs and ritzy holidays in the south of France- quickly faded into something that felt like more work than reward.

But Linsey had been happy, had possibly never noticed Zayn’s growing troubled thoughts, and he had owed her an explanation that didn’t come at such a cost.

He’s busy feeling sorry for himself and for Linsey- the guilt and self-pity all rolling into one ugly emotion- that he takes a moment to realise they’ve all finished and are waiting for him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, wiping his mouth with his napkin and standing to get the plates. “Who’s ready for pudding?”

“I can help,” Graham offers eagerly, darting out of his chair when Zayn nods.

“I can get the plates,” Harry says, but Zayn shakes his head at that.

“This is my way of saying ‘thank you’ for letting me have a night to get my head together. You’ve done me a kindness now let me do something for you.”

He quickly heads into the kitchen, spooning the pudding into three glass bowls. He sets them down to put the leftovers back in the fridge. When he turns around, he’s startled to see that Graham is trying to balance all three glasses in his small hands. The recipe for disaster proves true when Graham catches his shoulder on the edge of the fridge as it closes, being knocked forward and fumbling the desserts. He watches helplessly as one glass slips from his fingers, shattering on the ground. A thousand pieces of glass no doubt scattering on the tile as the mound of pudding plops in a small heap in the middle of the mess.

His green eyes well up with tears immediately and his face turns red as he tries not to cry. Harry’s in the doorway instantly, shoulders broad enough to fill the frame as he takes in the sight before him. “Don’t move,” he orders both of them, stopping in his tracks himself when he sees a shard of glass near his big toe. “Graham, seriously, stand still for a moment, okay?”

Graham nods, bottom lip still trembling, and Harry leaves the room for a moment, coming back in a pair of house slippers with two additional pairs in his hands. He gives one set to Zayn, who carefully takes them and slips them on where he stands. The other pair he sets on the worktop, stepping over the worst of the mess and taking the two remaining intact bowls from his hands gently. He picks him up carefully and carries him a step until he can seat him on the counter next to the last pair of house shoes.

“Put these on for me while Zayn and I clean up the glass?” he asks.

“You’re not cross with me?” Graham asks back, hiccupping as he tries to take in a breath.

“Of course I’m not,” Harry assures, wiping his blonde fringe back from his face. “You of all people know how clumsy I am. Accidents happen, it’s okay. I just don’t want you to cut your feet on the glass.”

Zayn crosses the room and heads into the pantry, grabbing a broom he remembers seeing before. He and Harry work well together to clean up the mess efficiently, Harry focusing on the food while Zayn sweeps the entire area three times to insure all of the shards of glass are gathered.

When they’re done, Graham hops down from his perch with his slippers on. “Now there’s only enough for two,” he says, frowning but in much higher spirits than he had been directly after the mess was made.

“We made extra,” Zayn reminds him at the same time Harry says, “Zayn and I can share.” Harry looks unabashed and smug when they make eye contact, one of Zayn’s eyebrows raised. “Is that so?” he asks.

“I’ll even feed you,” Harry teases, thumbing at his own chin and lower lip in a nervous tic he probably isn’t even aware of.

Zayn feels colour high in his cheeks as he shakes his head and crosses the room to restack the broom and dustpan. He washes his hands perfunctorily and grabs the bowl of extras, spooning some into a fourth glass and helping Graham carry them into the dining room. Harry’s taken his spot at the table again, and he smiles wide enough to dimple when Graham places his dish before him.

“This looks amazing,” Harry says sincerely, taking a big bite and humming happily.

Graham laughs, rolling his eyes at Harry’s overdramatics, and Zayn feels charmed. He tucks into his own serving, realising quickly how much he’s missed the simple dessert. It makes him remember home in a way he’s growing too used to around Harry, all of the memories making him forget the mess he made earlier in the day and feeling instead like he’s done right by it.

The thought makes him feel sad, that he can be happy on a day where he’s basically ruined his life, and he falls back on his foolproof way of feeling better: teasing the closest potential victim.

“This is delicious,” Harry says, taking a scoop of the butterscotch mousse and licking the spoon clean.

It makes Graham laugh and heat curl in Zayn’s belly all at once and, before he’s really realised what he’s saying, he’s spitting out, “We almost were forced to use the gross banana packets until I spotted these.”

Harry’s jaw drops, an affected look of hurt on his face. “Excuse me, Zayn, but the banana just happens to be my favourite flavour of Angel Delight.”

“As evidenced by the four packets you have,” Zayn agrees with a smirk, taking a small scoop.

They continue their back-and-forth, joking about whether bananas are appropriate to eat in front of company under any circumstance, and Graham soon finishes his pudding and grows bored of their conversation.

“May I be excused?” he asks in just above a normal volume.

“You may. I’ll clear the dishes,” Harry agrees, waving him away.

Now alone, Zayn determinedly avoids making eye contact. He doesn’t trust himself, if he’s honest. Harry doesn’t know his history, doesn’t know what he’s done today. He doesn’t deserve the interest Harry’s bestowing on him, definitely doesn’t deserve the kindness, and he makes to stand when he’s finished but Harry’s touch to his arm stops him.

“I meant it: I’ll do this part,” Harry says, his fingers brushing Zayn’s unnecessarily when he takes the glass from his hand. “Consider it a ‘thank you’ for including Graham. He can be a bit of a handful but he seems to like you quite a lot. More than he likes me, anyway.”

Zayn wants to wipe away the slight frown on Harry’s lips. “He seems to adore you.”

“He has trust issues. His dad left when he was very small and his mum’s left him here for the summer but I think he knows he’s probably going to be here a bit longer.”

“Everything okay with his mum?” Zayn asks, glancing at the family picture in the phone niche. The girl around Harry’s age has a tight smile and tired eyes, her looks most likely more from her dad where Harry’s a spitting image of his mum. “Is that her, your sister?”

“Yeah, that’s Gemma. She’s fine, just a little adrift I think. Losing our mum hit her pretty hard, and she’d had Graham when she was so young. Things just got to be too much and she met someone who didn’t like kids so. He’s here with me.”

“That’s-“ terrible is what Zayn wants to say but knows better than to get in the middle of family disputes. “It’s really great that you’ve opened your home to him,” he says instead.

“It’s his home, too.”

Harry’s tone is firm as if he’s had the argument before, and Zayn is suddenly reminded that he doesn’t know Harry much at all. It feels as though it’s been longer than it truly has since Harry stopped at the side of the road to help him, and Zayn presses a warm hand to Harry’s arm where he’s scrubbing the pudding glasses.

“You’re a very, very good man,” he says softly when Harry meets his eye. “You helped me when you didn’t have to and you opened your home to me. What you’ve done for Graham may seem like nothing to you but it’s going to mean the world to him one day.”

Heat’s radiating from Harry’s bare arm, and Zayn squeezes once before pulling away. Harry’s still looking down at him, eyes unreadable and lips parted slightly. He looks like a bad decision, Zayn thinks, stepping back once more.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” he says, ignoring the faint light still above the line of the horizon. He’s never been this exhausted before in his life, the day’s stress adding to the lack of sleep he’s had in the pre-wedding festivities.

Harry blinks once and then twice, exaggeratedly slow. “Yeah, of course,” he says, turning back to the sink.

‘Bad decision, bad decision,’ Zayn reminds himself as he climbs the stairs to his guest room. He shuts the door behind him firmly before crossing over to the bed. His abandoned mobile rests on the bedside table and he picks it up, weighing it in his hand before deciding to not turn it on just yet. He tosses it back and then turns down the duvet, slipping his shirt off in the warm room and sliding into bed.

He’s asleep almost immediately.

~*~

Never one eager to wake up and face the day, he’s surprised when he rolls over in bed the next morning, feeling honestly refreshed and ready to get up. The sky is still dark- darker even than it had been when he’d fallen asleep- but he can hear movement on the ground floor so he slips his bare feet into the house slippers Harry’s given him the night before, tugging his shirt back on as well before he heads downstairs.

“Morning,” he says quietly when he enters the kitchen.

Harry startles, turning from the kettle and blinking bleary-eyed at him. “Didn’t think you’d be up,” he says, voice rough.

“I wouldn’t have thought it either,” he admits, slipping fully into the room and coming up next to Harry so their hips just brush.

“There’s plenty for both of us, I didn’t know if you like tea or not,” Harry says.

They’re both being quiet when they speak, as if in an effort to keep the day at bay. Zayn nods and accepts a mug with a smile, fingering the small chip in the ceramic along the bottom as Harry takes the kettle off the heat.

They make and sip their tea in near-silence, Harry clearly needing the extra time to wake up. Zayn feels jittery for some reason- it’s almost as if he’s going to fly into a million pieces- and he’s relieved when Graham comes into the room, the early hour no match for the constant energy that seems to surround him.

“Do you ever sleep Uncle Harry?” Graham asks, dragging over a footstool and stepping up to reach a specific cupboard above the sink.

“Nope,” Harry replies, instantly seeming to wake up.

He’s transformed from the bleary-eyed and haggard man he’d been a minute ago, forcing his eyes open wide and a smile on his face. Graham snorts out a laugh as he pulls down a bowl, sliding his stool over and climbing up again to reach a box of cereal from the next cupboard.

“You’re running on empty,” Zayn admonishes him, turning in a bit to keep the words low.

Harry shrugs but doesn’t argue, pouring himself another cuppa and letting two bags steep while he shuffles around helping Graham pour his bowl of cereal. “Zayn?” he asks, motioning with the box in his hand.

“I’m okay,” he declines, finishing his tea and cleaning the mug out before setting it to the side to dry.

He heads upstairs to use the loo and have a quick shower, startled when he comes back downstairs to see both Harry and Graham dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, pulling wellies on their feet.

“Are you going to festival?” Zayn teases with a laugh.

Harry smiles and shakes his head, slipping into a jacket as well. “Time for chores.”

“Gross,” Zayn says before he can stop himself.

Graham finishes shoving his feet into his boots, looking up at Zayn with his brows furrowed. He turns to Harry. “Doesn’t Zayn have to do chores?”

“Zayn’s a guest,” Harry answers.

“I’m a guest, too!”

“You’re family, that’s different.”

“Not fair,” Graham pouts, stomping out of the house and into the barn.

“I can help,” Zayn offers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a guest,” Harry says, standing up from the stairs, boots fitting snug against his calves.

“You did say I get a claim to the house for the time I spend here,” Zayn reminds.

“You really want to go muck out stalls?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to keep them company and stuff.”

Harry laughs but looks him up and down. “We’ll have to get you something else to wear,” he says, heading back upstairs.

Zayn follows, a bit apprehensive about being in the small closet with Harry again, but he’s already got clothes in his hands when he enters the room. “I think these should fit,” he says, handing them over. “They’re tight on me. Also, I just went to the shops not long ago so I have some fresh pairs of pants. I didn’t really think about that last night.”

Zayn flushes dark, thanking Harry as he takes the clothes and rushes into the guest room before he can say anything else. The jumper he’s given Zayn is slightly large on him no matter how tight on Harry they may be, but the pants fit and so do the trousers once he rolls the bottoms. He slides his feet into the thick socks Harry’s given him, tugging them over his jeans so the sizable bulge of excess hemline isn’t as noticeable.

He finds himself fiddling with his hair distractedly, cut too short for the wedding though he knows how quickly it will grow. He avoids looking in the mirror on his way downstairs, firmly telling himself it doesn’t matter how he looks because he’s not trying to impress anyone.

Yeah, he’s quite used to lying to himself.

Harry’s sat on the worktop island waiting for him, a pair of boots on the ground near his feet. “I don’t really have extra sizes for these, but they should be alright.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says, balancing on one foot at a time to pull on the boots. Harry’s right, the wellies are too big for him, but he’ll be able to manage.

“I used to love that jumper,” Harry says out of the blue, heels kicking at the worktop base. “Wore it all the time at uni.”

“Grew out of it a bit,” Zayn notes, flopping the ends of the arms where they fall past his palm, pushing them to his elbow and ignoring them when they slide back down.

“Looks nice on you,” Harry says. Zayn doesn’t know how to respond so he stays quiet until Harry clears his throat a moment later. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Nodding, Zayn follows when Harry hops down from the counter. It’s raining again, and Zayn carefully steps through the mud to the barn, kicking off chunks from his boot once he’s back inside. The first thing he sees when his eyes adjust to the darker interior is a giant horse in a stall near the door. He jumps back a step in surprise when the horse blows a sigh out of his nose, giving Zayn the most profound side-eye he’s ever experienced.

“Y’alright?” Harry asks, smile practically audible in his voice.

“I just didn’t realise they were so… big,” he replies dumbly, pushing his sleeves back out of habit and surprised when they catch around his elbow enough to stay.

“You’ve never been around a horse before?” Harry asks, stepping around Zayn.

“No,” Zayn says, laughing at the thought of Linsey on a horse. She’s always had horrible luck with animals, they never seem to like her and she never seems to like them, but now that Zayn’s over his initial shock, he’s beginning to wonder in the horse’s nose is as soft as it looks.

“Can I pet him?” he asks.

“Her,” Harry corrects even as he nods. “Margot’s super friendly. She’s Graham’s horse. It’s not really the farm for a mare, but he’s already had to give up so much from home that I couldn’t tell him no.”

“I meant what I said last night, you’ve done something remarkably nice for this boy and for me. I get the feeling people don’t tell you that often enough.”

Harry flushes but continues patting Margot’s snout, cocking his head to the side to encourage Zayn to step closer. He does so, holding out his hand palm up and giggling when the hairs on the tip of her muzzle tickle his skin. She noses at his hand for a moment, snorting out a breath when she realises he doesn’t have a treat for her. She doesn’t object when he lifts a hand to pet her, though, just nudges into his palm until he’s stroking her head like Harry had been.

“See?” Harry smiles, slipping into the stall with a pitchfork in his hand that Zayn hadn’t seen him grab. “You’re a natural with her.”

“I wanted to be a vet when I was young,” Zayn admits, smiling himself when she sighs into his touch. “Not for anything big like horses,” he adds quickly. “But I wanted to fix cats and dogs and stuff like that.”

“Why aren’t you, then?” Harry asks simply.

“How do you know what I do for work?”

Harry stands and faces him, lips pulling down in a worried frown. “Oh, I didn’t- I guess I don’t know, something about how you said it sounded as if you weren’t,” he says, the apology clear in his tone though he doesn’t say the words. “What is it that you do, Zayn?”

“I’m a glorified personal assistant for a wardrobe stylist.”

“That’s not quite the same as a vet,” Harry says gently.

“No, that’s true,” Zayn admits, redoubling his efforts on Margot’s nose, trying to get to her rub into his palms again. He beams when she does just that, looking over to see Harry watching him fondly.

“So why aren’t you a vet, then?” he asks when he sees Zayn meet his gaze.

“Because I had to grow up and stop dreaming. I wanted to be an actor for a bit but then I fell into styling and- it just worked out,” he says, biting his bottom lip. He hadn’t meant to stop where he was, but when Linsey had retained Caroline as her permanent stylist, Zayn’s life had changed as well.

“There’s nothing wrong with being happy where you are,” Harry says, “even if it isn’t what you had planned.”

“I know.”

“I can take you back to the train station after morning chores are done,” Harry offers. “There’s an eight o’clock Sunday train.”

“Is that how early you’d normally go into the city?” Zayn asks.

“It’s a bit earlier than usual but I can adjust.”

He’s resumed mucking out the stall. Zayn’s thankful for the respite of Harry’s heavy gaze when he says, as nonchalantly as possible, “I don’t have anywhere to rush to. I haven’t cleaned yet either like I promised I would.”

Harry laughs, his shoulders shaking through the pull of his light jacket. “You really don’t have to do that,” he stresses. “That meal was way, far too much already.”

“The pudding was all Graham. Speaking of- where is he?”

“He feeds the chickens in the morning and gets their eggs,” Harry explains. “I’m running a bit behind today, normally I’d have the pigs done too by now.”

Though he had first been feeling a twinge of guilt for slowing down Harry’s routine, it’s all pushed aside with the mention of new animals.

“Pigs?” he asks, excited. “Do you really have pigs?”

Harry grins back at him, eyes bright. “You want to see?”

“Not that Margot isn’t the most beautiful girl,” Zayn coos, stroking her nose once more. “But I’d really, really like to meet the pigs.”

“Let’s go then,” Harry says, finishing the stall quickly and then replacing the pitchfork, leading Zayn down the length of the barn. Their boots make thuds against the concrete floor as they walk, Zayn’s steps a little quicker than Harry’s. He laughs but indulges him. “They’re just around the corner,” he calls out when Zayn breaks into a jog.

“Thanks!” Zayn shouts back, turning his head to look at Harry smiling at him. He takes the corner without looking, failing to remember the muddy ground outside, and his wellies are no match for the soft ground once he hits. He slips slightly, almost keeps his balance anyway, but then he over-corrects and ends up falling on his bum with one leg tucked underneath, the squelch of the mud deafening in the mostly-quiet morning air as his knee takes most of his weight.

“You alright?” Harry asks, hurrying to help him up.

“Ow,” Zayn says even as he’s laughing, put weight on his knee gingerly. It’ll hold but he must have twinged it, and he doesn’t realise how much he’s relying on Harry to keep him upright until he tries to take a step and his bad leg buckles. “Ups-a-daisy,” he giggles, leaning further on Harry’s arm. “Guess you’re gonna have to carry me around,” he teases, looking up finally into Harry’s worried face.

Harry’s eyes are very green.

There’s more to that observation- like the fact that there is also yellow and blue and some flecks of gold as well- but all Zayn can think about is how green they are. They’re so close he can feel Harry’s body heat all along his side, his fingers firmly gripping onto Zayn’s arm and keeping him upright.

“Hullo,” Harry says, reaching his free hand up to brush off some mud from Zayn’s hip.

“Hi,” Zayn whispers. “My knee took a hit.”

“I saw that.”

“I still really would like to see the pigs.”

Harry smiles at that, worried expression fading away. “On we get, then,” he says, clucking at Zayn as if he’s an animal even as he helps him step forward.

He could put more weight on his knee if he tried, he’s far from seriously hurt, but it’s nice having Harry help him forward and around the corner, and he needs the support when he sees the pigs and tries to go a bit faster.

“Easy there,” Harry laughs, getting them into the pen and letting Zayn balance on the edge of the water trough.

“There’s so many!” he laughs, looking out over the four big hogs, two brown and two pink. They all eagerly approach him, nosing at his trackies. One of the pink ones takes his trousers in his teeth, tugging and yanking at them and Zayn crows in delight. “What are their names?”

“That one is Kermit. She’s a British Lop cause of her floppy ears,” Harry says, indicating the pink one still nibbling on his clothes. “Then Freckle is the Middle White one.”

“Let me guess: she’s a mid-sized white pig and that’s where the name comes from?” Zayn teases, biting his lip when Freckle head-butts his hip because he’s paying too much attention to Kermit. “Hello, lovely, I’m here for you as well. Though you don’t seem to have a single freckle on you, not sure why your daddy gave you such a silly name.”

They snort and snuff at his hands, pressing into each other to greet the new person.

“Those two are sisters, both Saddlebacks. The one on the right is Betty and the one on the left is Wilma.” Zayn laughs at the Flintstones reference until Harry continues, “Wilma is pregnant and due to drop next week.”

“Piglets?” Zayn asks, looking up at him with wide eyes. “There’s gonna be piglets?”

“Five or six, I think,” Harry confirms. “I really should have her separate from the rest of them this close to delivery, but she missed them too much when I tried.”

“Aww,” Zayn coos, surprised when he finds himself wet around the eyes.

“You alright?” Harry asks, concern clear in his tone.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says, waving him off. “I just- I love pigs? Is that dumb? And baby pigs are just the very cutest things.”

Harry’s giggling at him, moving away to begin shoveling away the used straw. “You can always stick around and help- I’ll be busy the next coming weeks with getting her settled and then monitoring the little ones.”

“Are you asking me to stay?” Zayn says, suddenly distracted from the pigs in front of him. They’ve since decided that he doesn’t have any scraps for them, and they mosey away. All except Wilma, who stays near him.

“If you’d like,” Harry says, back still turned. “You don’t seem to be in a rush to get home and I don’t mind if you hide out here a bit longer.”

“Hide out?” Zayn asks, stomach clenching at the thought that Harry’s discovered his secret. He doesn’t know why, but the thought of Harry knowing what awful thing he did to Linsey is stressful to him.

Okay, that’s a lie. He knows why. He’s got the worst crush on Harry already even after less than a day. But he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t, which is why it makes perfect sense for him to say, “Yeah, I think I will stay a bit longer then,” before Harry even clarifies what he’d meant by ‘hiding’.

He looks over at him, beaming. “You just don’t seem eager to leave, that’s all I meant to say.”

“I’m not,” he confesses. “Not really anything waiting for me at home, if m’honest.”

“Stay as long as you’d like.”

And no one has ever sounded as sincere as Harry does with those words.

~*~

So Zayn stays.

He helps get Wilma settled in her farrowing pen the next day, visiting her every hour or so when he isn’t helping around the house or farm, bringing spinach leaves and tomatoes for her to snack on. He notices her abdomen hanging lower and lower every day, and he can barely contain his excitement. Harry teases him about it, but Zayn sees the way his eyes get soft when Zayn goes on a rant about piglets at dinner that night, so he doesn’t censor himself about it at all.

They drop Graham off at Mrs. Galepski’s for a few hours the morning after while Harry drives Zayn into town for some basic necessities he’ll need now that he’s staying longer than planned. He gets some pants and socks that’ll fit better than borrowed ones, but ignores the pajama bottoms, secretly liking the soft and worn-in ones he’s nicked from Harry and doesn’t plan on returning. He does purchase a few pairs of jeans, though, as the one pair Harry has given him are honestly too big to wear.

Next he heads to a drugstore to grab some basic things and a phone charger since Harry’s mobile is practically an antique and won’t fit Zayn’s iPhone, meeting Harry out front like they’d arranged when he’d left to head to the animal supplies store. He’s loading up the back of the pickup and Zayn heads over, setting his own bags to the side as he subtly watches Harry haul heavy feed bags into the bed.

“Need any help?” Zayn asks.

Harry laughs at him, and Zayn tries to fake outrage but he’s honestly just pleased that Harry knows him so well already. “That’s the last of it,” Harry says, wiping his brow with his short sleeve, bicep pulling the fabric tight. “You want to get something to eat before we head back?”

“Oh,” Zayn says dumbly, caught off-guard. “What about Graham?”

“We can get something to go. C’mon, my mate runs the diner just down the street. He makes the best fish and chips, you gotta try it.”

Convinced, Zayn nods and they head down the pavement side-by-side, close enough to brush arms as they leave room for people passing them going the opposite direction. Even when no one is coming, Harry doesn’t step away and Zayn flushes, enjoying the proximity and the way everything with Harry is exciting and easy still. They’re in a delicate place, balancing between friendship and flirting, and Zayn sometimes forgets why exactly it’s a poor idea to encourage blurring the lines.

The restaurant is near-deserted when they step inside, pre-dinner rush on a Tuesday, and Harry ushers them to the bar top at the front with a large hand to the dip of Zayn’s back. He nudges his stool closer, as well, smiling unabashedly when Zayn gives him a look.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing,” Zayn responds, fighting a smile of his own.

The bartender comes out from the back to greet them, smiling wide when he sees Harry. “Mate! It’s been a long time since ya come t’see me. How’s Graham doing?”

“Still fights me, but he’s just had it a bit rough lately. Gets on proper well with Zayn here. Zayn, this is Niall.”

“Niall Horan,” he clarifies, as if Zayn happens to know many blond-haired, blue-eyed Irish lads who own diners in Cheshire. He takes the hand Niall extends, shaking firmly and smiling in what he hopes is a calm manner.

Is he imagining the double-look Niall’d given when he’d come from the back?

“What’ll it be, gents?” Niall asks, grabbing a pad of paper from his back pocket and the pen from behind his ear.

“I’ll do-“ Harry starts, but Niall just snorts.

“A water and Fish n’ Chips, I know. I meant Zayn, really.”

“I’ll do the same, actually. Can I get warm water, though, with a side of lemon?” Niall nods, giving no indication whether he’s surprised at the request. Harry, on the other hand-

“Warm water with lemon?” he asks when Niall heads off, putting the order in with a brunette man in the back with warm brown eyes, evident even across the distance. The man waves at Harry with a grin, eyes crinkling in a smile when Harry waves back.

“It’s good for you,” Zayn insists.

“Sounds a bit gross, mate.”

“No, it’s something me and Lin- my ex used to do.”

“Ah,” Harry says, nodding and shifting on his stool. He’s no longer touching Zayn’s thigh with his knee, though he’s still turned to face him, and Zayn feels cold where Harry had once been. “How long ago was this ex?”

Niall’s slicing a lemon near them, most likely too far away to hear but Zayn still feels a sense of unease at speaking so openly. “It was recent,” Zayn answers, knowing he’s being purposefully vague. “Over for a long time but I dragged it past the point I should have.”

His honesty costs him another flush in his cheeks, and he presses his comparably cold fingertips to his warm skin for a moment before Niall sets down their drinks.

“So, you never told me you had met a new lad,” Niall says, clearly aware of the invasiveness of his question from the smirk on his face. Zayn can respect that, even if he ducks his head, biting against a smile as Harry turns red as well.

“He’s helping me while Wilma farrows.”

“Oh yeah, hard to find good help.”

If possible, Harry flushes darker at that but Niall just laughs. Zayn knows he’s missed something, an inside joke possibly, but then their food is up and Niall’s going to grab it, breaking the air.

~*~

“Tell me more about your ex,” Harry says once they’re heading home on the thirty minute drive back to the farm. A takeout container of lunch for Graham is in the backseat, filling the air with the mouthwatering scent of food though Zayn swears he’s never been so stuffed in his entire life.

“What do you want to know?”

“When exactly did it end?”

He asks the question in a way that Zayn knows he already has an idea of the answer, and he confirms it by sighing and admitting, “Saturday. It ended Saturday.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to be around all of those people.”

“Yeah, it was a bit messy. I told you: I let it drag on a long time when I should have been honest.”

Harry looks over at him, a small smile on his face. “I’ve had relationships like that. Not very proud of them, either. But I don’t think it makes you a bad person.”

“I might disagree on that last point.”

Harry’s quiet for most of the rest of the drive, not speaking again until they’ve pulled into Mrs. Galepski’s drive and he’s killed the engine. “Animals are a really great judge of character, and Wilma’s accepted you into her farrowing pen days after meeting you. It may not sound like a lot, but it really is.”

He gets out then to collect Graham, who is in much better spirits than he was the first day.

“Hi Zayn,” he says as he climbs into the back seat, buckling himself in and smiling. “Uncle Harry says I can ride Margot after tea. D’ya want to watch me?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Louis is teaching me how to stand up on her back when I ride, I can try that for you, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Zayn says, Harry’s voice like an echo as he overhears the tail end of their brief conversation when he slips back into the driver’s seat. They smile at each other as Graham groans dramatically.

“You two are no fun.”

Zayn feels a spark of something when Graham lumps them together like that, a sensation that has been building since Harry first found him threatening to spill over. He gets it under control quickly enough.

~*~

Four days later- four days of constantly being in Harry’s presence, four days of building sensations, four days of shared meals and shared looks and too much, too soon thoughts- Wilma goes into labour.

Zayn’s taken to stumbling from his bed every few hours to check on her the last two nights, using the infrared lights to see her in the dark. He notices that she’s begun panting, and he runs into the farmhouse to get Harry. He answers his door in joggers that sit too low on his cut hips, no shirt and hair in a halo around his head. Zayn takes exactly one second and a half to appreciate the view before blurting out, “I think it’s baby time.”

It’s early morning, hours before dawn still, but Harry’s instantly awake and rushing past him down the stairs. He grabs his coat without buttoning it and shoves his feet into a pair of boots at random, not caring he’s still half-naked as he rushes out into the night chill with Zayn close on his heels.

Wilma’s on her side still, panting heavily and snorting, turning her head and seemingly giving Zayn an evil look. “Can I do anything to help?” he asks as Harry steps into the pen, looking her over carefully.

“Her water’s not broken yet but she’s definitely in labour. Can you stay with her? It’s her first farrow and she’ll like being petted and calmed in case she’s worried.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go call the vet and warn him in case he’s needed. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, watching as Harry runs back into the house. He turns to reach Wilma better, scratching her neck gently and sweeping his other hand along her back in what he hopes are soothing motions. She snuffles and kicks a back leg gently, whimpering. He sees a wave of contractions roll through her, and he starts singing to her softly.

It’s a song he’s heard on the radio more times than he can count, though he hardly knows half the words and can barely remember the melody. It seems to do the trick, though: Wilma’s panting stays strong as ever but her snorting is quieted and she only whimpers when another contraction tightens her belly fifteen minutes later.

Zayn’s going through his catalogue of songs as well as he can, trying to keep the pauses between them as short as possible. He doesn’t even hear Harry approach until his boot crunches the straw inside of the pen, and he looks up at him.

In the dark and infrared lighting, Harry’s eyes seem almost black and his lips appear blood red, his curls tied back with a bun and a stack of towels held in his hands. “Your voice is amazing,” he says, setting the towels down and kneeling on the floor next to Zayn. “You ever think about being a singer?”

Zayn smiles, shaking his head as he forces himself to pick the song up again after a snort of reproach from Wilma.

Harry switches places with Zayn about an hour later, soothing Wilma while Zayn goes into the house to change out of his pajamas. He also gets Graham up and makes a quick breakfast of eggs and toast for them, wrapping a plate for Harry and keeping it in the warm stove.

They head back down together, Graham stopping by the pen to pet Wilma and wish her good luck before he leaves to begin his chores.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“I think she’s got about another hour,” Harry says after a moment. “But that’s just a guess- it could be another half-day or no time at all.”

“There’s a plate for you inside. Why don’t you let me sit with her and I’ll come grab you the second something changes.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says. He stands but doesn’t leave, staying even after Zayn takes his spot. “Thank you for being here, Zayn.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He watches Harry walk away, using both hands to pet at Wilma’s warm side, gently pressing his palms flat to her abdomen when she has another contraction. He traces his eyes over the broad expanse of Harry’s back, lets himself have a moment to reflect on the way Harry had looked when he’d opened the door- as if he slept naked and had whipped on a pair of pajamas just to cover himself- when Wilma grunts and kicks with her front leg, aware that she’s lost his attention.

“Sorry beautiful girl,” he coos, picking up singing again.

At least when he sings he doesn’t give himself time to daydream.

~*~

She holds out for another three hours before she begins pushing, and then she’s delivering a piglet about every fifteen minutes or so. Graham’s perched on top of the pen, a notepad and pen in hand as he writes down birth order, distinguishing features, gender and approximate weight. Harry’s helping her deliver, pulling out each piglet’s umbilical cord if Wilma’s pushing stops before he comes too, wiping the piglets down with a towel and then making sure they go for milk right away. Zayn-

Zayn just stays out of the way.

He’s fascinated by the entire process and only grossed out a little bit when Harry explains that the infrared lights- which are on even though the sun is coming up- are there to draw the piglets to their heat so the mum doesn’t smush them.

“Wilma’s a great mum,” he defends between deliveries, stroking her neck soothingly. There are four piglets already, three boys and a girl with different sized and coloured spots on their bodies. Harry says her scans had shown six, and Zayn’s definitely got his fingers crossed for more girls.

Harry laughs. “She’s a great mum,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean that she’s superwoman. Piglets are small and they will like to burrow into her side for warmth when they’re all full from her milk. Pigs aren’t always aware of their surroundings.”

“You are superwoman,” Zayn says in a mock-whisper, eyes narrowed when Harry picks up the first three piglets in his oversized hands, penning them in a small enclosed area near the infrared lights. They press against each other and bury themselves in the extra straw there, one of them disappearing completely. “What are you doing?”

“Training them to use the light. They are all measuring around the average weight, maybe a bit over, and they can take a break from eating. The last two will most likely be smaller, so they’ll need more time for milk without bigger, stronger piglets bullying them out of the way.”

“You are so mean,” Zayn laughs, standing from Wilma’s side and going to the piglets. Graham’s already petting one with a large brown spot on its belly that wraps halfway up his sides, and Zayn traces a finger each along the other two’s backs. “You guys aren’t bullies, huh?”

Laughing still, Harry stands when Wilma begins pushing again. Zayn stays back and out of the way, focused on the last piglet still with his mum, and there’s soon another one being swept up into Harry’s waiting towel as he wipes off any remaining embryonic sack and also dries them before they sniff out their milk.

“Fifth piglet,” Harry begins for Graham, who is standing at the ready with his pen in hand. “One near-black ear, the other white. Front left paw and half of snout black as well. Female-“

Zayn interrupts with a cheer, earning a laugh from Graham and a fond smile from Harry before he estimates the weight and lets her go.

“Good on you, Wilma dear,” Zayn says. “You’re making some pretty cute babies.”

Harry just shakes his head, still smiling, and Zayn resumes playing with the three penned piglets, who seem to be confused when they don’t see their mum. Her nearby scent and their own instincts must keep them calm, however, and they all allow Zayn to pet them as he starts brainstorming to himself the perfect names for them.

The sixth piglet comes thirty minutes later and is a boy, and any disappointment Zayn might feel at that is quickly gone when he sees his all black nose and all pink body.

“Oh, he’s cute enough to make up for the fact that he’s a boy.”

Harry laughs at that, is always laughing at him and it makes Zayn laugh at himself as well. The air is tinged with a happy aura as Harry finishes with Wilma and gets her comfortable, moving the fourth piglet into the pen near the infrared light and letting the last two drink their fill.

~*~

Zayn’s dressed and out his door the next morning before Harry’s even begun stirring in his own room. The sound of rain is loud on the roof and he pulls on his borrowed wellies and nicks Harry’s hooded jumper as well. There’s a bundle of scraps for the pigs, Wilma’s set aside from the one for the others, and he grabs both. They’re heavier than he’s realised, but he throws his hood up and steps carefully through the mud outside until he’s near the pigs.

He sees three shapes under the hooded shelter area, still sound asleep, and he opens the first bundle and sets it in their trough as a surprise breakfast treat. The second one he takes into Wilma’s farrowing pen.

Wilma’s on her side when he arrives, stretched out with six eager piglets suckling. He opens her bundle and sits cross-legged near her head, petting her and stroking her ears until the babies are mostly finished and he can coax them away and into the warmer pen like Harry had shown him the night before.

It’s warm in the pen, and he takes off his borrowed jumper, hanging it on a hook on the wall before coaxing Wilma to her feet and leading her to her scraps. She’s eating a special feed Harry had mixed for her the night before, meant to increase her iron. She drinks deeply as well while she’s up, but she soon lays back on her side, snorting to him in a ‘hello’ sort of fashion.

“Hi, mum,” he says, patting her side gently before letting out the piglets.

Some of them stay snuggled up together near the lamp, but the others venture out and start exploring around, taking an interest in Zayn in particular. The fifth piglet with the two-toned ears is smaller than the rest, but she doesn’t squirm too much when he lifts her into his arms. Wilma tilts her head to look at him and he’s ready to put the baby back down but she just snuffles and relaxes, and Zayn feels like he’s earned a great privilege.

He hears footsteps behind him and he turns, grinning hard enough that his eyes crinkle when he looks up at Harry. “Morning. You look damp.”

“Morning,” Harry responds, voice still rough. “Damp happens when someone steals my jumper.”

Zayn doesn’t stop grinning. Harry has two travel mugs in his hands, most likely tea made exactly the way Zayn likes as usual, but he sets them down before he enters the pen, coming over to stand above him.

“What are you up to?” he asks, staying still so the other piglets, who’ve just woken up at the sound of the new visitor, can investigate his boots.

“I’m thinking of names for them.”

“You’re naming the piglets?”

“Of course I am,” Zayn says, surprised. “Do we- do you normally not?”

Harry shrugs and settles on the ground next to him, cross-legged when the pigs lose interest. He grabs the other girl and one of the boys, giggling when they wiggle, and sets them in his lap. “We don’t normally,” he admits. “But you can name them if you’d like. What’s her name going to be?”

“Mulan.”

Harry’s smile turns weird, as if he’s unsure whether or not Zayn is joking. “You’re going to name her Mulan? After Disney?”

“Well, that’s where I heard of her, yes. But I’m naming her after Hua Mulan herself, woman warrior.”

At Harry’s laughter, Zayn glares.

“Are you trying to tell me you think this little piglet here-“ and he lifts her up in Harry’s face- “wouldn’t be capable of saving China from the invading Huns?”

He’s biting the inside of his cheek as hard as he dares in order to keep a smile off of his face, but Harry’s giggling too hard and he ends up grinning and laughing as well.

“Of course she can save China, she’s fierce and ferocious,” Harry says in as close to a deadpan as he can manage.

“That’s right,” Zayn agrees around a smile.

Harry looks at him for a long time, near staring and intense as usual, but Zayn’s used to it and he just glances at him with a grin every few minutes. Finally, Harry turns his attention to the remaining piglet in his lap, the other having made a break for it when his attention was otherwise captured.

“Well,” he says with a long sigh, looking down at the little girl and brushing a finger in the space between his eyes, “if you’re going with a Disney theme then this one should be named Bambi.”

“Why’s that?” Zayn asks, trying to look over him for any Bambi-inspiring markings. None.

“Her eyes are so big and expressive. Reminds me of you a bit, and Bambi.”

Zayn burns with a flush at that, ducking his head. Mulan makes to get away and he lets her go, watching as she heads to her mum for more milk. Harry sets down his piglet as well- Bambi, apparently- and he shifts closer.

“Tell me this isn’t all in my head,” Harry says, voice low. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling like I’m drowning every time I look at you or hear your voice.”

“You’re not,” Zayn says, refusing to look up.

“I’ve never once felt this much, this quickly. I need to not be the only one.”

“You’re not.”

“Then look at me.”

Helpless to refuse, not when Harry’s voice sounds like it’s a second away from breaking, Zayn looks up. He has a brief, brief moment where he almost lets the guilt take over and make him pull back, but then Harry’s moving a hand to the back of his neck, grip tight as he pulls him in even closer.

The clean-shave Zayn had had the morning of his wedding is long gone, a thick scruff in its place that Harry trails his lips over, tracing the edge of his jawline in just a hint of contact before he’s dragging the tip of his nose over Zayn’s cheek, lips seeking out lips.

After that, Zayn’s only thought is that he’d really, really like to keep kissing Harry as much as possible.

Harry kisses like he’s starved for it and is determined to enjoy every moment, lips firm and still soft against Zayn’s before he pulls back just a bit in order to press back in again. His hands grip into the excess of Zayn’s borrowed jumper as he pushes himself onto his knees and Zayn’s hands go to where they’re naturally drawn, fingers spread as they slide through the still-damp hair at the nape of his neck, resisting the urge he has to tug as he parts his lips.

Harry whines when he tastes Zayn like this, his posture shifting so he’s following the curve of Zayn’s neck, using his height advantage to crowd over him as he takes him completely apart with just his mouth.

A boot scratching at the ground near them pulls them apart, and a blue-eyed lad with swoopy fringe looks down at them with a smile that Zayn can only think of to describe as Peter Pan-esque.

“I expected more from you, Styles,” the man says, mocking him fondly. “Thought you’d at least wine and dine them, not snog a bloke in the middle of an actual pigsty.”

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry mutters, smiling when he finds Zayn’s eye again. “Just ignore him,” he says in a stage whisper. “I usually do.”

“Lies, completely inaccurate.”

“Um, who are you?” Zayn asks, not trying to be rude but he kind of hates the boy who interrupted the best first-kisses he’s ever had.

“Louis Tomlinson, veterinarian. Haz called me to come check on mum and the piglets.”

“Is something wrong with them?” Zayn asks, fully pushing Harry away and taking inventory. He counts six wiggling piglet bums where they’re all crowding against Wilma’s belly, and he sighs.

“They’re fine,” Harry assures, standing and helping Zayn up as well. “It’s just her first time and I want to make absolute certain. Plus,” he hesitates.

“Plus what?” Zayn asks, getting stressed again.

“Mulan’s weighing in a bit under what I’d originally estimated. It’s okay,” he says when Zayn’s eyes go wide. “I just want Lou to look her over.”

“Mulan, eh?” Louis asks, stepping into the pen and clucking to get the piglets’ attention. “Didn’t know we name our bacon at this farm.”

Zayn feels his stomach turn at Louis’ joke, feeling like an idiot for having forgotten the purpose of the piglets. Harry glances at him, probably to check his reaction, and it just makes him feel worse. When no one responds to his ribbing, Louis looks back at them as well as he pulls on a pair of gloves.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, appearing completely sincere when he glances at Zayn’s face. “I put my foot in me mouth all the time, my mum’s always yelling at me about it.”

“S’fine,” Zayn says, feeling distraught when one of the boy piglets noses at the tip of his boot. “I’m going to go- just, into the house,” he says, trying to not act like a baby.

“Zayn-“ Harry says, trying to follow him but Zayn just shakes his head.

“It’s alright, I already knew. I’m just being a huge baby right now.”

Harry stops advancing towards him, face drawn. Zayn looks at Louis briefly before he turns around, the man’s face having turned from regretful to curious as he glances between the two of them. Feeling even more embarrassed that he’s undoubtedly become another punch line in Louis’ jokes, he turns and heads back into the house.

Graham’s up already, possibly even back inside from his chores, and he’s excited to show Zayn a new game he likes from the Sunday weekly they hadn’t had time to look at the day before. He’s spreading the newspaper pages open on the worktop, trying to find the advert he’d seen before, when Zayn sees himself on the front page.

It’s a shot from one of Linsey’s red carpet appearances. She’s in an expensive dress and he’s wearing a full-on penguin suit, but they look really, really happy. The headline reads ‘RUNAWAY GROOM BREAKS LINSEY TOWNSEND’S HEART’ and he groans. “Can this day get any worse?” he says aloud.

As if the universe is accepting the challenge, footsteps are heard coming into the house at the exact moment Graham says, “Zayn, that’s you!” with a wide smile on his face.

“Zayn’s who?” Harry asks with a grin, coming down the hallway behind them.

Zayn turns to him, page gripped in his hands though he doesn’t remember tugging them away from Graham. Harry’s smile is puzzled but he comes up to him on the side, leaning against him as he looks over the paper.

From his angle, Zayn can’t see his face, but he feels the way he stiffens and he can hear the sharpness in his voice when he says, “Graham, Lou’s here. I bet he’ll let you listen to Margot’s heartbeat again if you ask him nicely.”

Clearly more interested in why Zayn’s face is on the front of the paper, he hesitates for the exact length of time it takes for Harry to look up at him and tell him again to go and then he bolts.

“Harry, I can explain-“ Zayn says, voice rough from the tears he’s been holding back since Louis’ off-hand comment about Mulan.

“It’s fine,” Harry says, voice short. He tugs the paper from Zayn’s grip, folding it inside-out and tossing it onto the worktop.

“I should have told you. I just, I liked that you didn’t know who I was. It’s been so long since someone’s not recognised me, though it’s always just as ‘Linsey Townsend’s boyfriend’ or, now, the one who broke her heart.”

“I wouldn’t have, like, sold your story or anything,” Harry says, leaning back against the counter and looking at him as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know why you didn’t say anything.”

“I’d just left someone at the altar- someone kind and sweet and far too good for me. I’d led her along for the past year because it was easier than breaking up.”

“Did you ever love her?” Harry asks.

“Yes, of course I did,” Zayn snaps, dragging a fist through his hair. “I just- I didn’t love her the way I should, the way I do with-“ you he’s about to say, but it’s too soon to call his feelings for Harry ‘love’ no matter how strong and distracting they are. “We weren’t passionate about each other,” he settles on. “We never really were.”

Harry nods, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll go pack my things then,” he says, feeling exhaustion roll over him in a wave. “Maybe Louis will give me a lift to the station.”

Another nod is all the acknowledgment he gets.

Feeling ridiculously heartbroken, Zayn heads up the stairs and into the guest room he’s grown incredibly comfortable in. He makes the bed quickly, tucking in the edges of the duvet and setting the pillows to rights before he begins sorting through his things. They’d done the wash the night before, messy from the farrowing, and Zayn’s thankful for it because it makes it easier to make two piles- his things and Harry’s things.

His pile is pitiful.

There’s the suit he’d worn for the wedding that never happened; the socks, pants and toiletries he’d bought in town with Harry; and his cell phone and new charger. He’s turned his phone on exactly once since making the decision to stay at the farm, just to call him mum and tell her he needed more time. She’d been worried for him but understood, and he thumbs the power on now, unsure of what he’s going to find.

Harry’s pile is actually sorted into two because the amount of things was too tall, when stacked, to stay upright. He’s still wearing the jumper of Harry’s he’d grabbed on his way out, and he tugs it off, folding it and placing it on the top of one pile. He runs his fingers along the worn-in joggers from his first night, already missing how soft they are now that he knows he’ll never wear them again.

His phone buzzes uncontrollably on the nightstand, startlingly loud in the otherwise silent room, and he whips it off the wood to mute it, switching it to silent as he settles on the floor next to the bed. The amount of emails, texts and voicemails pouring in are insane. He deletes all of the emails at once and then wades through the texts and deletes any that aren’t from his family, Ant, or Danny. The voicemails he leaves for another time when he’s stronger. He wastes precious minutes that should be better spent asking Louis for a ride by calling his mum and putting her on speaker so he can look at the photo he has of them as her contact icon.

“Hi sunshine,” she answers, same as she has every time he’s called her, ever. “Are you coming home yet?”

“Yeah,” he says, having to clear his throat and try again when the word gets stuck. “Yeah, I’m coming home today.”

“You don’t sound okay, love, you alright?”

“I’m alright mum, you alright?”

“I’m just worried about you, Zayn. I didn’t know you and Linsey were so unhappy together, never thought you two were settling. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know, you know?”

“Yeah, mum, I know. I wanted to tell you so many times but we were happy we just weren’t… as happy as we could be.”

“You sounded happy when you called me the other day,” she says, her tone gentle, without reproach. “Really happy, and I realised then that I hadn’t heard you sound so happy for such a long time. I should have realised before.”

“Mum, it isn’t on you to make sure I’m happy. ‘M a grown man, I am,” he laughs, feeling on the verge of tears. He hates when he makes his mum worry or blame herself for what he does.

“I know, I know,” she laughs, sounding blustery as well. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been this past week? Was there… someone else?”

“Mum, no. I would never do that.”

“I didn’t think so,” she defends herself. “I just know what you sounded like and it’s how you sounded when you first met Linsey, or when you dated that young lad, Steven. You sounded like you were falling in love.”

I was, he wants to say. I am. But he keeps that thought to himself, letting his head fall back and rest on the mattress as he stares at the ceiling.

“Will you be home in time for tea?” she asks after a pause.

“Yeah, not sure exactly when yet. I’ll text you when I’m at the train station.”

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll let you go then. I love you, Zayn.”

“Bye mum, love you.”

He doesn’t hang up, staring at the picture until it disconnects and then for another minute after. He’s almost never felt so tired in his life, not in any of the past days of manual labour or the previous year of false emotions. The ache he feels now is bone-deep, a weariness he can’t describe. He just wants desperately to give his mum a hug and have her tell him it’s all going to be okay.

A knock on the door startles him and he looks up, seeing Harry in the doorframe.

“Louis is about to leave,” he mutters, not meeting Zayn’s eye. “I asked him if he’d give you a lift.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says, awkwardly getting to his feet and picking up his things. He stuffs the meager pile into a leftover shopping bag and then looks at the pile of Harry’s clothes. “Where should I put-“ he starts to ask, but he’s alone when he turns around and his voice fades away.

~*~

“So you’re the sod who broke Linsey Townsend’s heart,” Louis says as they pull away from the farm. Zayn has tear tracks on his cheeks from saying goodbye to Graham, who’d looked betrayed and confused when Zayn had told him he had to go back home.

“You aren’t going to stay to help with the piglets anymore?” he’d asked, giving Zayn a hug when he’d asked.

“No, not anymore,” Zayn had confirmed.

“Is it because of what I saw in the paper?”

“No, love, it has nothing to do with you.”

Telling an eight year-old that something isn’t their fault is a surefire way to convince them it is, but Zayn had hugged Graham tightly and then stood to face Harry.

Not able to think about the blank look that he’d found in Harry’s eyes- the man he’d been kissing for the first time less than an hour before- Zayn turns to Louis. “Yes, I am,” he says, answering what he isn’t even sure was a question.

“Your life is going to be rough when you get back in the real world. You were smart to stay at Haz’s for a while, he’s about as far removed from society as an extrovert could ever be.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, not really in the mood to chit chat. Louis, though, doesn’t seem to notice or care, and he rambles for the entire time it takes them to reach the train station.

Which, Zayn realises, takes a lot longer than it should. “I don’t know who ‘Liam’ is,” he snaps finally after a solid five minutes about hearing the bloke’s name, looking out the window at the endless-looking countryside sprawling around them. “Are you lost or something?”

“’Or something’,” Louis answers easily. “Liam owns the diner with Niall. They’re platonic life partners who are probably both in love with me.”

Zayn shakes his head, amazed at the amount of shit one person can say. “Seriously, where are we?”

“We’re almost there, don’t worry. Niall told me Harry’s found a stray. Knew who you were immediately, of course.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Zayn says, remembering the double-take Niall’d done when he’d come from the back of the restaurant.

“We’re not real big on running our mouths around here,” Louis says. Zayn gives him a disbelieving look and his smile stretches wide like the Cheshire cat. “Not about important things, at least. He figured you and Harry had a reason for not saying anything. Don’t think we considered that maybe Harry didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know how to tell him,” Zayn admits, reconciling himself to the fact that he’s going to have to share something to get Louis to back off. “I’m not famous on my own, only when I’m with Linsey. I didn’t think it’d be right to act important and I also liked the way he looked at me when he didn’t know what I’d done.”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you in the pen when you’d left. He’s proper gone about you.” Zayn scoffs. “Seriously,” Louis presses. “He’s never let me name a pig.”

“Oh, don’t talk about that,” Zayn mutters, brushing his open palm over his face. “I can’t think about that right now, too.”

It’s blissfully silent for another couple of minutes. Zayn starts fidgeting. “Seriously, how much longer? It didn’t take nearly half this long to drive from the station to the farm last week. If you’re going to drop me off somewhere and hope I never make it back to town, ya can do that now: I’ve no idea where I am and my internal sense of direction is completely off-centre.”

Louis barks out a laugh at that, giving Zayn an appraising look. “I do like you quite a bit,” he says. “Haz is an idiot for letting you walk away: you’re exactly what he needs.”

Zayn’s about to snap out a response, the last comment pushing past his threshold of biting his tongue, but then they turn and the train station comes into view.

There’s a familiar four by four parked out front.

“Thank god, the lad’s not completely daft,” Louis breathes out as they pull up next to Harry’s truck. He’s sat in the front seat, head on his hands where they’re resting on the steering wheel, and he doesn’t react when they park until Louis honks his horn. “Hey, loser!”

Harry looks up, his expression beautifully confused. He’s opening the door and jumping out as soon as he sees Zayn, who barely has the cognitive ability to get a hand on his door when Harry’s yanking it open. “I thought you’d already gone, I pulled up just as the train was leaving,” he says, getting a hand on Zayn’s shoulder as he steps out of the car.

“Louis got lost,” he says, mind in a daze as Harry pulls him into his chest for a crushing hug.

A scoff is heard behind him. “I didn’t get lost. Damn, you’re just as big a numpty as Haz. I was giving him enough time to beat us here.”

“I’ve been sitting here ten minutes,” Harry laughs, pulling Zayn in impossibly closer. Zayn’s hands come up to fist into his jacket on either side of his hips, needing something to hold on to.

“I got a little lost on the way back,” Louis admits.

Zayn laughs at that as well, burying his face in the broad expanse of Harry’s chest, warm through his thin t-shirt. He wants to press in as close as he can. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mumbles.

Somehow, Harry understands him anyway. He pulls back, chuckling when Zayn whines at that, and picks his chin up with a just a finger to his jaw.

“I’m sorry I reacted so poorly when I found out.”

“I’m sorry I’m still here witnessing this,” Louis says from inside the car still. “Can I leave? Are you two going to play nicely?”

“Louis, go away,” Zayn says, smiling up at Harry when he chuckles.

“Bring him around for tea one night, Harry,” Louis calls out before Harry shuts the car door and they both watch him pull away.

“I do need to get home,” Zayn says after a moment. “I need to sort my life out there before...” He trails off.

“Before what?” Harry asks.

“I want to come back to the farm. Not like… I’m not asking to move in, or anything. But I’m going to miss the piglets and Wilma.”

“Just the pigs?” Harry teases.

“I’ll miss Graham a bit.” Harry smiles at him, seeing through his bullshit easily so he gives in and tells the truth. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“When are you going to come back to me?”

“I need to get some of my things home from Linsey’s place. I need to pack a bag of some clothes-“

“Not sure why,” Harry interrupts, “you’re not going to be wearing anything unless it’s mine.”

“Caveman,” Zayn teases.

“I like seeing you with sweater paws because of how much littler you are than me.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Zayn says, blushing. He’s not that much littler than Harry is: he’s just slightly shorter, and narrower at the waist, and at the shoulders, and his hands aren’t quite as large and-

Okay, he’s a bit smaller. But he’s solid muscle and fighting fit. He’s always been able to hold his own.

Harry’s hands smooth down his sides, as is he’s proving how much smaller Zayn is by gripping his waist at the dip with his too-large hands, and Zayn tips his head back into the kiss he knows is coming. Sure enough, Harry’s lips meet his gently, just a hint of pressure before he pulls back with a grin.

“I want to do this right,” Zayn says, hands coming up to rest against Harry’s chest. “I want to be honest and open with you and I want to take things slow. I want Graham to keep opening up to me and I want to learn to take care of the animals as well as you do.”

“I can hire you on, make you feel like you’re actually working instead of bumming around or whatever.”

“I don’t think paying me is going to make things better,” Zayn admits with a frown.

“Well,” Harry sighs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “that’s a bit of a shame. I’m going to need more hands on deck, you see, since I’ve suddenly found myself with a few extra pigs than I’d originally planned.”

“You mean-“ Zayn asks, eyes wide and standing so still all of a sudden.

“We’re going to keep the girls,” Harry confirms, laughing when Zayn smiles. “The boys will be sold as hogs and not for food, and we’ll keep the girls on as sows.” Zayn jumps on his tiptoes, giggling in relief but Harry pulls back, bringing one hand up and pointing a finger. “I can’t do this every time, Zayn,” he warns. “I have to sustain the farm and we have to sell future pigs for food. No more naming them, I can’t afford to keep two pigs from every farrow just ‘cause you want to name one after a woman warrior from Chinese myth.”

“Hua Mulan is not a myth,” Zayn jokes, feigning that he’s aghast at the suggestion. “Besides, you are one to talk.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Bambi, seriously? Can’t believe you named a piglet after me because you wanted in my pants.”

Harry doesn’t even deny it, grin turning a little dirty as he leans in for another kiss.

“I heard you on the phone with you mum,” Harry says, pulling back just far enough to whisper his confession against Zayn’s lips. “I didn’t exactly mean to but I didn’t walk away when I heard you, either. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

He pulls back further, looking Zayn in the eye. “She said you’ve been happy here, with me.”

“I have been,” Zayn assures, patting his hands against Harry’s chest softly.

“She said you hadn’t been, though, for a long time. And she hadn’t noticed.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what could be said since Harry obviously doesn’t need a confirmation.

“I want to try to make you happy, because you make me so happy. I don’t know everything about you, yet, but I’m can promise you that I’ll try to always notice your happiness. I didn’t like the way your mum’s voice sounded, like she’d let herself down.”

“I wasn’t much a fan of it meself,” Zayn admits, frowning at the memory.

“I’ll keep an eye on you for her,” Harry promises, coaxing another smile from Zayn. “I want to keep you with me as much as possible: I love watching you with the animals, and you’ve brought Graham so far out of his shell it’s amazing he’s the same boy from a week ago. You’ve changed everything about my life in just a week, it’s a bit mad.”

“Afraid to give me more time? You might be growing pineapples this time next year.”

Harry laughs, ducking to rub the tip of his nose against Zayn’s. “I’m not sure how well Cheshire can grow pineapple, but I’m interested to see what happens a year from now, if we are still… whatever we are.”

Zayn likes the sound of that. Instead of the cloying, panicked feeling that came with the thought of his almost-marriage in the months leading up to the day it didn’t happen, he feels nothing but excitement thinking about a potential future on the farm with Harry.

It should feel strange, rushed, weird. It doesn’t.

He tilts his head back for another kiss, sighing when Harry obliges. Harry settles back against his truck, pulling Zayn against his chest as he keeps their mouths together. Zayn loses track of time, falling easily into the rhythm of their slow snog until Harry pulls back, glancing at his watch and frowning.

“The next train will be here in a few minutes,” he says, looking up and meeting Zayn’s eye.

There’s hope and happiness written clear as anything on Harry’s face, and Zayn feels an overwhelming urge to make sure that Harry never loses his willingness to wear his heart on his sleeves. He doesn’t let Harry stand up straight again, keeps him pinned to the truck with his hands to Harry’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Zayn says, smiling up at Harry. “Kiss me for a few minutes, then. Give me something to remember you by.”

Harry smirks at that, filthy and slow, and Zayn giggles as he replays what he’s said. Instead of trying to save any face, he just crowds against Harry again and brings their mouths together for however long they have until the train comes.

Being in Harry’s arms, Zayn finally feels found.