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too young to care
Harry is young when his mum and dad sit him down on the sofa next to his sister and tell them that they aren’t all going to be living together anymore. He doesn’t understand but Gemma- who is three years older and infinitely wiser- starts crying. Harry cries because she does, and follows her lead when she storms into her room. He’s only three, though, and he can’t toddle away fast enough before his dad picks him up and hugs him tight like always.
Harry lets himself be soothed, mostly worried about Gemma at this point, and watches with wide eyes when his mum slips past them and goes into his sister’s room. His dad takes him into the lounge again, setting Harry on his knee and opening one of his vintage car magazines for them to look at while Anne handles Gemma, and Harry’s easily distracted as he dad points out the 1953 Morgan Plus Four on the page in front of him. Harry traces his finger over the glossy page, picturing him in the car next to his dad as they go driving one day, and he forgets all about their earlier conversation.
His dad puts him to bed that night and kisses his forehead, telling Harry he loves him and he’ll see him soon.
His things are gone the next day and their regular weekend visits seem ages apart in Harry’s head.
~*~
His mum introduces them to Robin one day when Harry’s six and a half. Robin’s really nice; he takes Gemma and Harry to the zoo and talks to them about all of the different animals. He buys them ice cream even though Anne frowns and reprimands him when they meet back up where she’s been sitting at a picnic bench with their pre-packed lunch ready.
Harry- delighted with his vanilla cone and trying to lick it fast enough before it melts down to his hand- watches as his mum’s scowl fades into a smile when Robin produces an ice cream cone for her from behind his back, handing it over with a brief kiss and a laugh. Harry thinks he might like to have someone look at him like that one day, someone who can buy ice cream for him. Gemma laughs when he tells her this, almost eight and wiser than ever before. She tells him that he’s the boy, he’ll have to buy the ice cream and Harry pouts.
He doesn’t cry, as he knows his mum thinks he’s getting too old to cry about everything, but he comes close until Robin kneels down in front of him and tells him that, if he waits patiently enough and promises to be nice whenever possible, he’ll find someone that will buy him ice cream.
“Even if I’m the boy?” Harry asks, sniffling back a tear and licking miserably at a drop of vanilla that manages to hit his thumb.
“There’s lots of different relationships, laddy. You’ll find someone who wants to buy you ice cream, I’m rather sure of it. You just have to wait a bit, still. For now, your mum, dad and I will be the ones buying it for you.”
Harry smiles, instantly relieved. Anne is smiling at him, too, but Gemma just sticks her tongue out at him. He sniffles again and eats his ice cream cone, ignoring the urge to stick out his own tongue at her.
~*~
Harry is eight when they move in with Robin. His mum tries to explain that she and Robin aren’t going to be married like she had been to Harry’s dad but Harry doesn’t really understand what that means and he doesn’t much care. He’s a bit nervous- hasn’t lived with anyone but his mum and sister since his dad moved out- but Robin’s nice and always plays adventures with him. Mostly this consists of pretending that Robin’s a dragon guarding the tower where Harry’s future ice-cream person is being held captive, just awaiting a rescue. Though the prisoner has changed identities a couple times since they had met, lately it has been Ian McKellen after Robin had taken Harry to see The Lord of the Rings.
They live together in Robin’s house for a few months until they move into a new home in Holmes Chapel, Robin wanting to move them one more time so they could be closer to Harry’s dad, who lives just outside of Manchester. Harry gets to see his dad more and stay with him even on school nights sometimes, but it’s nearly a half hour drive in the mornings so it doesn’t happen often.
It is a couple days after Christmas when Harry- having explored every inch of the new house after losing his playmate when Robin had gone away on a business trip- grows bored of playing by himself.
His mum is singing softly in the kitchen when Harry walks past, and he thinks about going in there with her and singing along with the radio but then he catches a glimpse of the windowsill in the corner of the front lounge and he rushes forward, eyes wide when he sees the fat flakes of snow falling from the sky. There’s enough on the grass to cover it completely, and he runs to find Gemma, asking in almost a shout if she wants to play outside with him.
Surprisingly, she agrees quickly. They get dressed, Gemma helping him into his puffy coat and mittens, and their mum comes to the door to watch them, laughing when they abandon building a snowman after only a few minutes in favour of tossing handfuls of snow at one another.
With a mitten piled high with lightly packed snow, Harry chases Gemma across the garden. Something makes her stop running suddenly, and he smacks into her back hard enough they both stumble but only he falls. Having tossed the snowball into the air as he went down, he brushes the wet flakes out of his eyes as he glares up at her.
“What did you do that for?” he asks, staring through the damp press of his fringe against his forehead.
“There’s a boy looking at us.”
He looks over in the direction she’s pointing, startled when he sees a boy about her age with a shock of black hair, standing on his front step and watching them both. He pushes his hair back from his face. “Let’s go see him.”
“Harry- no-“ Gemma says, trying to snatch at his coat but he slips through her covered hands and runs over to the other house, slipping only a bit on the snow.
“Hullo,” he says, smiling wide. “I’m Harry.”
The boy stares at the hand Harry’s holding out, trying to mimic what he’s seen Robin do whenever he meets new people. Harry tries to be like Robin a lot. It makes his mum laugh.
“I’m Zayn,” the boy- Zayn- says, smiling a little and sticking out his own hand.
Something about the smile looks different to Harry, and he feels pleased with himself for a moment as if the smile was hard-won when, in reality, he wasn’t doing anything particularly special. He doesn’t know how long to hold on for, still shaking until Zayn lets out a little laugh and gently slips his hand away.
Zayn looks over towards Harry’s house. Harry turns as well and sees who he is looking at. “That’s Gemma. She’s being a brat and wouldn’t come say ‘hello’ with me,” he explains. “And that’s my mum,” he adds when she steps outside.
Gemma clearly ran back to the house to tattle on him, as his mum hadn’t been at the door for some time when Harry had seen Zayn, but he didn’t go any further than he was allowed when they lived next door to Jaime in their old house, so he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong.
When his mum waves a little and smiles, he knows she isn’t mad.
“I’ve got three sisters, but the two are just babies,” Zayn says, turning back to look at Harry. His eyes aren’t a colour Harry’s ever seen before. It’s different, and Harry likes different. “Mum told me to come play outside and stay out of her hair,” he continues. “I think she forgot that Michael moved, though, ‘cause I’m not allowed to go to anyone else’s house.”
“We can play if my mum says so. Shall I go ask her?”
Zayn looks over at Harry’s house again before nodding.
“Do you want to come, too? She’ll probably want to meet you.”
He glances back at his front door. “I’m really ‘posed to stay in sight of the big window,” he hedges.
“We’ll be okay, I think. Come meet my mum and Gems.” Harry grabs Zayn’s hand once he smiles again, gripping tightly through two pairs of mittens and tugging him along. Zayn follows him dutifully.
“Mum, this is Zayn,” he says excitedly.
“Hello, Zayn, how are you?” his mum says with a smile, coming to the bottom of the step and fixing Harry’s hood where he’s pushed it back and off his head.
“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” Zayn answers, not smiling anymore but looking up at her with his wide, pretty eyes.
Pretty eyes. That’s a new thought for Harry to have. He shrugs it off, can’t see how it matters. The scariest part about moving in with Robin- and then moving again after only a few months- had been him leaving behind his friends, and he’s excited that he’s met Zayn now.
“I’m quite well,” his mum answers back. “You can call me Anne if you’d like. Is your mum home?”
Zayn nods.
“Do you think she’ll have time for a chat if I come over now? I don’t want to interrupt.”
“I think it’ll be okay,” he answers, nodding again.
“That sounds great. Let me just pop on my coat and I’ll be over in a moment. Harry, why don’t you play quietly in the front garden with Zayn for a bit, okay sweetheart?”
Harry nods and Gemma slips back into the house, rolling her eyes. She’s clearly uninterested in playing with them outside anymore, but Harry doesn’t mind. He does pout a bit- he isn’t allowed in the house by himself ever since he stuck a metal magnet in the light socket to see what it would do- but then he realizes he’s still holding Zayn’s hand when he tugs him back over to his front garden.
They finally let go to play a bit in the snow, rolling a snowman. His mum comes over after a moment, a bright smile on her face when Zayn’s mum comes to the door with a baby in her arms and a grin of her own on her face. She waves to them a bit as she lets Harry’s mum inside, closing the door behind them to probably keep the cold air out.
Although Harry’d be alright with abandoning their snowman partway through like he and Gemma had done, Zayn seems determined to keep going until it’s finished. So Harry does.
“We don’t have a hat,” Zayn says after a moment, once they’re mostly finished.
Harry frowns, thinking. “I can put my hood on it,” he suggests after a moment. He tries to reach behind his neck to the snaps keeping his hood on his coat but he can’t reach with his puffer coat on.
“Here, I’ll help,” Zayn offers, coming behind him. The snaps pop as he pulls off the hood, setting it carefully on the snowman’s head.
They comb the yard for rocks and sticks, finding two twigs large enough at the base of the trees separating their back gardens. All of a sudden, they hear someone calling out and Zayn’s head snaps up, looking regretful.
“Oh, shoot, that’s mum,” he says, keeping ahold of the stones in his hand as he rushes back to the front.
Harry follows behind him, carrying the twigs over his shoulder. It’s stopped snowing and their feet have stomped down most of what’s fallen, making everything a bit muddy and slippery. When he catches up to Zayn, both of their mums are on the porch with frowns on their faces.
“Sorry, mum,” Zayn’s saying.
Harry’s eyes are wide as he looks between their faces. They don’t seem too upset, but Harry feels bad. Zayn had told him he wasn’t supposed to leave the front garden but Harry had made him help look for stones for the snowman’s face. “It’s my fault,” he says, stepping forward and in front of Zayn. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey, it’s alright,” Zayn’s mum says. “We didn’t think you two had gone too far, but we’d like if we could keep an eye on you.”
“We’ll be better,” Zayn says from behind Harry’s shoulder, making no move to step out from behind him. Harry likes the way it feels, but he doesn’t really know why.
“Please don’t make us come inside,” he pleads. “We’re nearly finished with the snowman and Zayn really wanted to finish it.”
Their mums both laugh and Harry smiles his most charming smile. His mum always tells him it’s his ‘winningest look’ and he hopes it works.
“A little bit longer,” his mum allows. “But we’re gonna have you come inside soon to warm up while we finish our chat, alright?”
They both nod and thank their mums, turning when they head back inside to finish the snowman’s face. They carefully stick stones in a smile for the mouth, using the twigs for his arms and bigger stones for his eyes. They have to dig a bit to make a hole for those rocks. Once finished, they step back and take a look.
“I think it looks amazing,” Harry proclaims. “You did really well, Zayn.”
Zayn smiles and ducks his head. “Thanks. You did, too.”
“I’ve an idea,” he says. He convinces Zayn to hide behind the snowman, ignoring the sound of his giggles while Harry pretends to fight him off in order to save Zayn. He’s using a spare stick as a sword, stabbing and swiping through the air.
In the end, he defeats the monster soundly, stabbing his stick into the middle of his belly. Zayn’s still laughing, cheeks red from the cold when Harry drags him away. Harry collapses onto the ground, chest heaving from his own laughter, and Zayn lays down next to him, turning and looking over at him.
Entranced by the flush, Harry lifts his mittened hand and presses it to Zayn’s skin. Zayn stops laughing but doesn’t stop smiling, blinking slowly until Harry’s laughter quiets as well.
“Will you be my best friend?” Zayn asks. “Michael was mine, but then his mum moved them away.”
“I’ve never had one,” Harry admits with a frown. He doesn’t want Zayn to think he’s a baby, but the only boy he’d liked well enough to be best mates with had been best mates with someone else. Harry doesn’t know what it means, but he thinks he’d like to be Zayn’s.
Smiling wider, Zayn clearly doesn’t think it makes him a baby at all. His eyes are bright and narrow, and Harry lets his hand slip away. There’s small wet crystals of snow on Zayn’s cheek where his palm had been. He doesn’t brush them away.
“I get to be your first best mate,” Zayn whispers, appearing pleased.
They go inside after that, the both of them wet from lying in the snow and cold throughout. Zayn’s mum- who tells Harry that he can call her ‘Trisha’- makes them put take their damp clothes off. She hands Harry a pair of Zayn’s pyjamas and his own mum takes the wet ones home with her when she goes to check up on Gemma.
“Be good for Mrs. Trisha and come home before tea,” she tells him before she goes, using his undershirt- which had been the only thing left on him that was dry- to get some of the wetness out of his hair. “And don’t take off your hood anymore.”
Harry nods and pulls the sleeves of Zayn’s sleep shirt- a bit longer than Harry’s arms- over his hands. Trisha gives them milk and two biscuits each, setting them up at the dining room table as she feeds the baby. After he’s done eating, Trisha lets him hold Zayn’s littlest sister.
“This is Safaa,” she says as she helps him get his arms under her head. Zayn hangs around his mum’s side, watching Harry like a hawk. It makes him hold the baby even more carefully than he was already, seeing how important Zayn takes it.
After a moment, Zayn crawls into the chair next to him, his mum helping Harry hold Safaa so Zayn can get settled. They balance her between the two of them after that. Safaa smiles at them a couple times but quickly falls asleep. Harry looks up when his arms start to hurt, and Trisha takes her quickly.
“Thank you for your help,” she tells them as she settles Safaa into a playpen in the longue, piling her toys against the side so she’s flat on her back with nothing around. “Perfect timing, too,” she adds, looking back up at them with a grin. “I need to get tea started. Are you staying, Harry?”
Harry wants to nod but he remembers his mum telling him to come home. “No, I hafta go home. Thank you for letting me play with Zayn and hold the baby,” he says.
“You’re welcome to come over any time,” she says easily, helping him get his coat and boots on. “Just tell your mum to send you back with Zayn’s pyjamas next time you come over, okay? He’s got plenty to last for a while.”
“Thank you,” he says again. He looks at Zayn, who is shoving his own feet into boots and putting on his coat.
“I’m just gonna say goodbye,” he tells his mum. He shuts the door behind them when they’re on the front porch, standing in front of Harry with his hands in his coat’s pockets. “Thanks,” he says.
“For what?”
“For playing with me. There aren’t a lot of kids who want to come over.”
“Why not?” Harry asks, annoyed. Who wouldn’t want to play with Zayn?
Zayn sighs, cheeks flushed again though they’re only been outside a moment. “It’s ‘cause we’re Muslim,” he explains.
“Well, I don’t know what that means but they’re all stupid cause you’re a lot of fun and your baby sister is cute and your mum makes really good biscuits.”
Zayn smiles, his mouth open enough that Harry can see the tip of his tongue pushing against his top teeth. “You’re a good best friend, Haz.”
He doesn’t know why, but the nickname makes him feel as warm as he’d been with the baby on their laps and their sides pressed together in the chair. He waves goodbye before running back to his house, checking before he gets to his door. Zayn is still watching. They wave again before he gets inside.
He’s distracted enough by the surprise arrival of Robin- back a full day early from his trip- that he forgets to ask a question he has until Robin’s tucking him into bed.
“Robin?”
“Yes, lad?”
“What’s ‘Muslim’?”
Surprised, he stops tucking the duvet around his shoulders and looks at him. “Did your new friend Zayn tell you he’s Muslim?” he asks. Harry hadn’t stopped talking about Zayn all throughout their meal.
Harry nods, biting his lip. He doesn’t know what it means, but he doesn’t want it to be something that would keep him from being allowed to play with Zayn again.
Robin just smiles, though and brushes Harry’s hair back from his face. “Well,” Robin says, settling further on the bed next to him. “A Muslim is someone who practices a religion called Islam. It’s different from Christianity a little bit- which is what we believe in- but there’s nothing wrong with it. Why do you look scared?”
Harry shrugs under the duvet, feeling relieved. “Zayn said that other kids aren’t allowed to play with him because he’s Muslim.”
“Ah, I see,” Robin says. “Well, there are a lot of people who aren’t very nice to other people when they’re different. Being Muslim- or being black or Asian or anything else- is no reason to not play with someone.”
“I know that,” Harry says, nodding. “I like that Zayn’s Muslim.”
“You do?” Robin laughs.
“Yeah, it makes his eyes really pretty.”
Robin stops laughing at that but he’s still smiling. He brushes Harry’s fringe back again, resting his hand on his hair for a moment. “I’m glad you made a new friend today.”
Harry agrees, eyes growing heavy as he nods and yawns. He says goodnight to Robin and rolls onto his side, cheek pressed to the pillow and eyes closed tight.
~*~
Zayn’s only a bit older than Harry is- one year ahead in school and way more fun than Gemma. They spend most of their time together in one room or the other as they grow up, always with the best of intentions at being quiet while they play. It’s easy enough when they do art projects or read books when it’s Zayn’s day to pick, but Harry likes playing adventures even when he’s eleven (and a half, though Gemma tells him he’s too old to use fractions) and on days where it’s Harry’s choice, they usually get scolded for their noise level.
More often than not, they’re over Harry’s house because his older sister might be a right pain but they get yelled at infinitely less when they interrupt Gemma studying than they do when they wake up Safaa from a much-needed nap.
When Zayn ages out of primary school, Harry cries so hard his mum grounds him. She tells him he’s much too old to throw a tantrum because his neighbour is going to be in a different building.
“He’s not my neighbour,” Harry says, aghast even through his tears. “Zayn’s my best mate ever.”
“Yes,” his mum sighs, removing his Xbox from his room. “And now you’re going to spend the first weekend of your new school year grounded instead of playing outside with him.”
Harry pouts in his room all day Saturday, but Robin takes him out fishing on Sunday.
“You know why you’re grounded?” he asks Harry while they’re lines are cast out and waiting.
Nodding, Harry sighs. “I acted like a baby over something small and mum says I need to start learning how to channel my emotions better.”
Robin nods as well at that, seemingly impressed. “That’s a fairly believable reason,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you get involved with some kind of hobby or sport.”
“Zayn doesn’t play sport,” Harry says, somewhat sullen.
“That’s right, Zayn doesn’t play sport but that doesn’t mean Harry can’t play sport. I don’t see you spending your days painting, yet he loves to paint.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Harry allows, flicking the line a bit to make ripples appear in the water. Robin frowns at that.
“Leave it alone,” he grumbles. “Gonna scare the fish away. You need patience.”
“I have patience,” Harry grumbles right back, putting his fists on his hips and fighting a smile when Robin realizes that Harry is mocking him.
“Aye, you’re full up with it,” Robin agrees.
In the end, they don’t catch any fish, but his mum lets him play at Zayn's that evening anyway.
~*~
Though Harry doesn’t take up sport like Robin had suggested, he does find a bit of a hobby in the online Lord of the Rings fandom. He gets himself a Tumblr and follows as many LOTR blogs as he can find, reblogging the things he likes most and, slowly, begins to write his own short blog posts.
In the beginning, they’re poorly worded poetry about Sir Ian McKellen, but he gains a bit of a following anyway, and begins making friends.
Friends on the internet: what his mum always warned him about.
It passes the time when Zayn can’t hang out with him, but it doesn’t completely fill the void. Harry always misses his best mate, and comes to find that the times they get to hole away with each other without worrying about or even mentioning their other friends are easily the times when Harry is happiest.
In the summer, they’re together all the time again. On a rather hot day in the middle of summer when most of their neighborhood is out of town on holiday, Harry convinces Zayn to go with him to the river. The trees in the wooded part offer shady relief from the sun, but it’s still warm enough that they end up shucking off their shirts after making sure no one else is around.
Harry’s a bit self-conscious of the fat he still has clinging to his waistline, his hips soft in a way that he doesn’t think will ever change, but Zayn isn’t even really looking at him, just bundling his shirt under his head like a pillow and lying back on the ground.
He’s still for only a moment before he notices something on the tree behind them and scrambles to his feet to jog over and look.
“What?” Harry calls out from where he’s still on the ground, a ways away.
“Look at this,” Zayn says, “I think these kids are in my year.” He beckons Harry closer, pointing out the initials carved into the tree in the middle of a rudimentary heart.
“That’s awfully mean,” Harry pouts. Zayn looks at him confused, so Harry explains why he’s upset. “Why’d they have to hurt the tree? It didn’t do anything to them.”
Zayn smiles fondly, the way he does when Harry’s being a bit childish. He never calls Harry out on it, though, and Harry’s forever grateful. “They’re saying they love each other,” Zayn explains, turning back.
“That’s a bit silly, then. Why can’t they just buy each other ice cream?”
Another confused look is aimed at him.
“That’s what Robin did for my mum when he took us to the zoo. He told me to wait for the person who’ll buy me ice cream even if I’m a boy.”
“Why wouldn’t someone buy you ice cream if you’re a boy?”
Harry shrugs. He’s never really understood what Gemma had meant by that and she hasn’t repeated it since. “I guess the boy is supposed to do the buying.”
Zayn thinks about that for a second, hand reaching out to trace the lettering in the tree.
“What if there’s two boys, who buys then? Or two girls? Someone has to buy the ice cream,” Harry muses out loud. He knows he’s being annoying, prattling on about something silly, but Zayn’s head is tilted to show he’s listening and he turns to Harry when he quiets.
“I’ll buy you ice cream, Haz.”
Harry doesn’t know why he feels suddenly a bit sick in his stomach, like when he’s got a tummy ache and his mum makes him drink ginger ale. He crosses his arms over his bare stomach, palms flat on the space below his belly button.
He’s always known that boys can like boys and girls can like girls, and that some people like both and some people like neither. But he doesn’t think he’s supposed to like Zayn as much as he does. Zayn’s his mate- his best mate- and he doesn’t know why he suddenly wants to tell Zayn how pretty he’s always thought his eyes are or how much Harry wants to hug him all the time.
It isn’t that he thinks Zayn would mind, but he doesn’t think that’s how he should feel about his friends, either. It makes gooseflesh break out on his arms, and he tugs his shirt back on and picks up his bike.
“Race you home!” he shouts, running next to his bike to build up enough momentum to cross the muddy field with his tires.
Zayn shouts his protest behind him- he hates racing, especially when he has no chance of winning, but Harry can then hear the pounding of his feet against the grass as he follows.
~*~
By the time he joins Zayn in secondary school the next year, things are already different. Though Zayn has never really mentioned anyone to Harry and has only introduced him to Louis and Steven- two friends in his year- he’s constantly surrounded by people every time Harry sees him. Even though Zayn begins trying to include him, the gap between eleven and twelve is somehow miles wider than the one between nine and ten ever was.
It’s not that Harry is jealous. It really isn’t. It’s just-
To this day, Harry is pretty sure he's still the only one who knows how Zayn's voice broke the first day they met, when he confessed to Harry why he didn't have any friends. He’s positive that Zayn has never let himself be so vulnerable with anyone else.
And that has to mean something. They’re best mates. Nothing can change that.
One day, partway through October, Harry is sitting at his small desk on his computer, surfing his Tumblr for interesting pictures or gifsets, when he hears the front door snap closed. He frowns, knowing his mum and Robin are downstairs in the den watching Coronation Street and Gemma is at the movies with her friends.
That only leaves one person and, sure enough, Harry hears a familiar voice call out hellos to his mum and Robin, feet pounding up the stairs before Zayn’s crashing in through Harry’s cracked-open door.
“Hey,” Harry says easily, closing his laptop and turning around.
“Yeah, hi,” Zayn mumbles back, out of breath a bit and flushed from his rush.
“Didn’t know you were coming by.”
“I’ve got a ton of revising to do, probably shouldn’t be here,” he admits, flopping onto Harry’s bed.
Harry waits him out, knows Zayn’ll tell him why he’s over when he’s ready. He’s got a fierce look of determination on his face when he sits up and levels Harry a look.
“Jackie Lane’s party is tonight.” is the only explanation he gives.
Harry tries to figure out without asking why Zayn is so upset. He soon gives up. “What’s that mean?”
“It’s my first boy-girl party,” Zayn admits with a flush forming across his already dark cheeks, looking down at his shoes.
Harry’s a bit insulted. “You come to Gemma’s parties all the time,” he says.
Zayn rolls his eyes, looking a little less nervous for a second. “I come to see you, silly Hazza. I don’t come for Gemma.”
Harry’s pleased with that explanation, and he settles onto the bed next to Zayn before turning to look at him. “What’s the big deal about boy-girl parties anyway?”
“There’s supposed to be a lot of kissing,” Zayn says with a pinched look on his face.
Harry thinks vaguely that it’d be nice to be kissed by someone who isn’t his family or Robin. He snuggles closer into Zayn’s side almost out of instinct. It’d be quite nice to be kissed by Zayn. “So what?” Harry says, a natural social butterfly. Kissing sounds great, why isn’t Zayn excited?
“I don’t like any of the people that are going,” Zayn pouts, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t want them to be my first kiss. Don’t get along with a lot of them.”
The first thought that crosses Harry’s mind is: you seem to get along with them enough to not hang out with me.
The second thought- almost coming on top of his first in a way that makes it hard to process them both- is: it could be me.
He’s so confused about what he’s thinking and what he wants that he speaks without thinking or planning his words. “I can be your first kiss. It could be me.”
Zayn looks over at him quickly, brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”
Harry pouts, offended. “Why wouldn’t I be good enough? I’d try really hard to be a good kiss.”
“But you’re my best mate.”
“Robin is mum’s best mate and they kiss all the time.”
It seems as if Zayn accepts that logic, as he shifts a bit until they’re both sitting up with their legs crossed underneath their bums. Their knees are touching each other, and Zayn puts his hands on his own thighs.
“How do we do this?” Harry asks in a whisper.
“Close your eyes and we’ll go on the count of three, okay?”
Harry nods and does like Zayn says.
“One.”
Harry puckers his lips.
“Two.”
He shifts forward just a bit, hands going to grip Zayn’s knee through his denim.
“Three.”
And then he’s leaning forward blindly, searching with his nose until it brushes the tip of Zayn’s. He inhales sharply and pushes forward the last little bit, brushing their lips together in a bare hint of a kiss. It’s a foreign act but it seems so natural all at the same time, and they pull back for a moment before Harry leans in again.
The second kiss is already a bit different, longer and more pressure this time. When they pull back, he opens his eyes and sees Zayn looking at him. His hazel eyes are wide, and he licks over his bottom lip.
“I want to do that again,” Harry says, ignoring the fact that he’s already taken a second kiss when they’d only planned for one. He shifts so he’s up on his knees, placing his hands on Zayn’s shoulders and leaning in.
In his naiveté, he doesn’t even consider Zayn not responding. There’s a moment where nothing happens and he isn’t sure what to do, but then Zayn brings a hand up to his cheek and their mouths are, once again, meeting.
Harry copies what he’s seen in the movies, parting his lips and leaving his mouth pressed against Zayn’s. Zayn follows his lead and they breathe against each other’s mouths for a moment without moving before Zayn leans his head back, severing their tie.
“I like kissing,” Zayn says before he opens his eyes, face bright pink the way it is whenever Harry makes him do physical activity outside.
‘I like kissing you,’ Harry thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he stays quiet and lets Zayn shift them around until they’re cuddled together like normal at the head of his bed. Without caring what it is, Zayn starts the DVD already in the player, laughing a little when the title menu for Fellowship of the Ring starts up.
Since they’re normally pressed so close that it’s a wonder they haven’t yet fused into one being, Harry doesn’t feel like he’s giving too much away when he ducks under Zayn’s arm and rests his head on his chest. Without comment, Zayn’s fingers begin playing gently with Harry’s curls, careful not to pull any tangles.
“I still remember when you had poker-straight hair,” Zayn says quietly over the sound of Bilbo’s birthday party. “Where’d these curls come from, then?”
Harry laughs and shrugs, nuzzling his cheek against the thin cotton material of Zayn’s t-shirt. They watch in silence for a few more minutes before Zayn leaves to get ready for his party. It’s not awkward when he goes, but Harry feels anxious for the rest of the night that it’s going to change things.
The next day, Zayn calls and tells Harry proudly that he kissed Jackie- the birthday girl herself- and that they’re dating now and he can’t kiss Harry anymore. He doesn’t cry once they hang up but it is close and almost impossible to resist. He tells his mum he doesn’t feel good so she’ll let him stay home from school on Friday and inside the rest for the entire weekend, so miserably affected by his jealousy that she believes it for a stomach bug without much convincing.
His room becomes his escape a bit. He’s always been a fool when it comes to his feelings about Zayn but he can’t hide them from them or himself anymore, can’t push his thoughts into the back of his mind to worry about another time. He’s proper hung-up on his best mate and he doesn’t know what to do about it, doesn’t know if anything can be done.
He writes some truly sappy poetry about shiny dark hair and wide brown eyes, includes a line in one of his poems about the sunlight casting highlights in the hair and making those same eyes appear amber-coloured. He puts the poems on Tumblr. He feels no shame from doing so, as none of his identifying details are included on his page- he’s even going by the name ‘Edward’ just in case anyone from real life finds him without his knowledge or approval.
It’s a relief, in a sense. Having his thoughts and feelings posted in such a public place. He gets a few notes on them, one doing well in particular. It’s the one Harry wrote about loving the boy next door, and it seems to have a bit of mass appeal.
By the time school starts again on Monday, Harry’s managed to keep at bay his panic over being in love with Zayn. He greets him when they see each other, but Jackie’s suddenly with Zayn everywhere he goes and Harry doesn’t know her well enough to feel bad about disliking her a bit. He should- she does seem very nice and Zayn’s clearly happy, can’t stop smiling- but he doesn’t. She has Zayn, after all, and Harry wouldn’t expect that all the jealousy in the world would be directed at him if he got to hold Zayn’s hand between classes and after school.
old enough to know
Harry hates labels. He comes to this definite conclusion when he is nearly fifteen years old. He had never thought much about the fact that he wanted to kiss a boy until one of his friends had called someone a ‘poof’ in school and Harry realized he’d need to figure out if that word applied to him at all. He’s never been more thankful for having his own computer- and, from that, the ability to look up anything he wants to without having to worry his mum will find out.
Every time he searches for what to do when you like a boy, he gets nothing but advice column search results from magazines like Cosmopolitan or Seventeen. When he corrects the search to being a boy who likes a boy, he gets a lot of rude results with only a couple links to actual advice.
The divide is evident, though. Everything he searches for is going to culminate in a specific term. Gay. Straight. Bisexual. Queer. And that’s not even mentioning all of the derogatory ones. He hates them all. Why can’t he just be Harry Styles, fourteen (nearly fifteen, though Gemma tells him he’s wasting his time trying to rush to get to the next age)? He wants to just maybe like Zayn and maybe like girls, too and definitely like Sir Ian McKellen- it’s a love that will never die, he’s come to realize.
Everyone online is labeling themselves. He sees it all over Facebook and Tumblr: geoffrey, 18, gay or sometimes he’ll see l1s4 l0v3s b0y5! and he’ll have to spend way too long figuring out what it says around the numbers.
Harry just wants to be himself, just wants that to be his defining word. He doesn’t want to be gay or straight or even bisexual. He’s almost fifteen, he just wants to be a little bit in love with Zayn and have that be okay.
~*~
For some reason he can’t really explain, he sits on his research for a long time before he says anything to anyone. He doesn’t even tell Zayn that he’s questioning what he is; he doesn’t know how to go about telling people.
Zayn and Jackie were over pretty quickly, practically before they even started, and he hadn’t dated anyone else for the rest of that year. Once he’d turned sixteen, though, he’d been in a string of relationships with pretty boys and pretty girls alike. He’s still Harry’s best mate, but they’re both busy with separate friends and separate hobbies- Zayn with art club and Harry with his blog, which is becoming increasingly more popular and time-consuming- and they don’t hang out as much as they used to.
When they do make time for each other- usually every other weekend when Harry isn’t visiting his dad- it is like nothing has ever changed and they’re still as close as ever. It makes something in him settle, a nervous sense that he and Zayn are growing apart is silenced.
They don’t talk about the kisses they had shared, though. Zayn dates a boy in the summer, an older lad named Jared who’s almost eighteen- a year older than Zayn- and treats Harry like a child. Zayn hasn’t told his mum they’re dating, has barely even told Harry really, but he still makes time to hang out with Harry during their usual Sunday afternoons- so he doesn’t say anything negative about Jared to Zayn.
He writes about him a lot on his blog, though, angry posts that he doesn’t attempt to censor apart from using initials for Jared and Zayn. He gets his emotions out that way, and gains some new followers as well. He befriends one in particular right away, a boy around his age who just goes by the initial ‘S’.
S is hilarious, teases Harry about his pining blogposts in a way that seems entirely too familiar for someone he’s never met before. It’s reassuring as well, though. It makes Harry realize he’s being a bit overdramatic about it all, and he ends up teasing S right back once his new blog begins filling up with pictures of Take That and hipster pictures of the moon. Overall, it is an eclectic mix with some rugby and even a couple original posts of sample hip-hop beats interspersed throughout. It intrigues Harry and gives him something to look forward to when he gets home from school. Soon, they’re messaging every few days. It’s much more communication than Harry is able to have with Zayn- who is notoriously bad at replying to texts and nearly impossible to see in person lately.
Though his poetry posts have made it obvious, he’s sure, he messages S one day during the Christmas break, just before he turns sixteen. All he says is ‘so, i think i like boys too’ and he doesn’t wait longer than twenty minutes for a response. ‘that’s cool! proud of you! Me too, if you ever wanna talk about it in particular.’
Harry had already known that, of course, from the bio on his blog where it states ‘S. 15. Gay.’ but it’s still nice to hear someone else say it out loud. Zayn’s never said the word- hasn’t really said much about it or his sexuality overall, to be honest- and it is a relief in a sense to see one of his peers be so open about it.
He waits until the next day before he tells his mum, and he makes her take a seat when he knows that Gemma’s out with friends and Robin’s working in the bungalow.
“I think I like boys, too.”
Six words, simple. His mum doesn’t react for a moment and Harry gets nervous- he’s read horror stories from people online whose parents have kicked them out or hit them. He knows that would never happen with him, his parents have always been accepting, but he really couldn’t handle it if anyone treated him any differently.
Then she smiles, big and wide and wraps him up in a hug. No matter how tall Harry gets or how old, his mother’s hugs will always be the most perfect thing he can imagine.
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispers, hands pressed tight to his shoulder blades through his t-shirt.
“I haven’t told anyone else, yet. Do you think Robin or Dad would mind if I tell Zayn next, before them?”
A hint of something Harry doesn’t recognize crosses his mum’s face. “Zayn doesn’t know yet?” she asks, voice careful.
Harry shrugs. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told him, at least, though I guess it says online how many times people will know without you saying anything, anyway.”
“People only know what you tell them,” his mum reassures, though she’s still making a weird expression. He doesn’t think it’s really directed at him, so he doesn’t worry too much about it.
He takes off for next door, stopping only long enough to kick off his slippers and shove his feet into his snow boots before he’s outside in his sleep pants and jumper. It’s been ages since he’s knocked on Zayn’s door so he doesn’t now, just opens it easily and calls out a ‘hello’ to Trisha before stomping up the stairs.
“Zayn’s not home, love,” she calls out after him.
Shrugging, he bounces back down to the landing, ducking into the den with her. Safaa is in the room as well, with a book in her hands that she eagerly waves when she seems him. He smiles, leaning in to kiss her forehead, always surprised she’s so big at five when she’d been just a tiny infant when he’d first met her.
“When’s he coming home?” he asks as he fakes like he’s stolen Safaa’s nose, laughing when she does and picking her up to spin in a circle. She’s getting a bit too big for him to do this, but it always makes her laugh really loud and he likes that.
He’s smiling until Trisha answers, at least. “He’s staying the night at Jared’s, sweetie. Did you want to stay for tea anyway? Doniya and I were just about to get it started.”
“Erm, no thanks. I already ate,” he lies, setting Safaa back on the floor and slipping out of the house as quickly as he’d entered.
Harry doesn’t like Jared but he does like the way Zayn’s eyes get soft when he talks about him, even though it makes Harry burn with jealousy. It’s been killing him that Zayn’s told him for the last week or so about how he’s ready to have sex, and he wants to have sex with Jared. He’s only a couple weeks from seventeen, and Harry wants to tell him to wait but he doesn’t know how to say ‘wait for me’ like he wants to, so he hadn’t said anything and now he’s confident he knows what Zayn is doing.
Zayn is ready, and Harry is just his silly little next-door neighbor who thinks he’s making some revelation by announcing that he likes boys when, really, he just likes Zayn.
(And Sir Ian McKellen, of course.)
~*~
The next time he sees Zayn, he tries to be subtle and look for a sign that Zayn’s had sex but he doesn’t seem any different. He’s happy and a bit hyper, willing to race Harry on their bikes to what they’ve started thinking of as “their spot”: a clearing in the woods that’s perfect for picnics and bike rides and building forts with twigs. It’s a place their mums have let them come to at the end of every summer since Harry was ten, spending one night in a tent as a faux-camping trip, though they’re never far from home.
The day seems a bit different. Harry doesn’t know exactly what it is, but something about Zayn is changed and they’re just not the same together. He doesn’t know if it’s just the possibility that Zayn’s had sex, but suddenly he is sharply aware that they’ve grown apart despite seemingly still fitting together on the surface.
“You okay, Haz?” Zayn asks after almost twenty minutes of silence, Harry on his back and watching the clouds.
Harry shrugs as best he can in the dirt. “Just don’t feel well.”
“Mum said you came by yesterday and were being a bit weird then, too.”
Harry shrugs again, shifting so he can look at Zayn.
“Don’t mind me,” he says, hair sticking to the back of his neck.
Zayn scoffs and drops to the dirt next to him, looking up at the sky. “You’re my best mate, of course I’m going to mind you. Who else will put up with you if I don’t?”
Harry laughs because he knows that’s what Zayn wants. He doesn’t say anything else, not even about the fact that ‘best mates’ doesn’t seem to fit them anymore.
~*~
Harry tries to fill the space Zayn’s left in his life.
He joins a couple of clubs at school and spends the rest of his time online, talking with the friends he’s made over the internet. He thinks he has a bit of a flirty relationship with S at this point- they video chat once and Harry blushes scarlet when he sees how cute he is. He tells him his name was Steven and Harry confesses that the ‘Edward’ his blog is under is actually his middle name.
Steven laughs at that, loud and fond already, and they spend half the night talking until Gemma bangs on the wall for him to go to sleep.
Soon, he and Steven swap phone numbers and make vague plans to meet up in Manchester on one of the weekends Harry is there to see his dad. He keeps putting it off a bit, doesn’t know exactly why before he finally makes a plan on a Monday in January, determined to stick with it.
He’s honestly excited about it, too. They are planning to see a band play on Friday whose lead singer is a friend of Steven’s, so they can get into the pub though they’re both under eighteen. Harry can head to his dad’s house after and meet up with Steven again over the weekend if Friday goes well.
He hopes Friday goes well.
Well, he does for a bit at first. Until, that is, he sees Zayn in school Friday and feels the same overwhelming swoop of affection for him that he’s always felt since the day he saw him standing on his front porch. He ducks away before Zayn can spot him in the crowd, hiding in the loo and feeling a bit sick to his stomach. He realizes that he feels as if he is cheating on Zayn by meeting up with Steven even though he and Zayn are less than nothing and Steven could actually be someone who might like Harry. He gets along with Steven so well, more than he should since they’ve never really met. He can be happy being, maybe Steven’s boyfriend.
Well, he can try, at least.
The vibration of his mobile twice in quick succession against his leg startles him. He tugs it out from his trouser pocket, surprised when he sees a text each from Zayn and Steven.
Saw you run away. Hope you’re not mad I cancelled the other day. You’re still coming over tonight, right? It’s the 22nd
Harry double checks the date because that can’t be right, can it? Already? Sure enough, his mobile confirms that it is the day of their annual birthday dinner together. They’ve celebrated this day, just the two of them, since they first met once they realized it was the exact middle point between their birthdays. They’ve normally celebrated with sleepovers with all-night movie marathons or sneaking out of the house to go down to their spot by the river and mess about, but they’d always thought their sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays would be somehow earth-shatteringly different than all of the ones before.
He can’t even remember, now, what they’d had planned for today’s celebrations. Zayn’s parents are away with the younger girls and Doniya is at university, so he knows they were going to take over Zayn’s house but he doesn’t know past that.
He never thought he’d find a day when their mock-birthday would have actually slipped his mind.
Deciding to not answer right away, he thumbs over to Steven’s text instead. He finds himself smiling when he reads it. hey mate, hope you’re having a good day. excited to see you later !!
He bites his lip, still grinning, and texts back me too :) x
Well, that’s that decision made then. He feels a bit guilty when he types out sorry, raincheck? I forgot and made plans with someone else to Zayn but he’s had Zayn cancel on him enough times and they’ve always been fine after.
~*~
He doesn’t hear back from Zayn until he’s getting on the train later that day.
Okay. Just let me know what day works better
It’s possible the finest passive-aggressive text Zayn’s ever sent, but Harry can’t see it that way. He just pictures Zayn feeling upset and alone because Harry bailed last minute on their standing birthday-date- though he hadn’t meant to and he knows that Zayn understands. He spends the train ride going over the text again and again, re-reading it and debating on how to best respond.
~*~
The next day, Harry doesn’t stay at his dad’s a minute longer than necessary. He’s red-faced and irritated, and he spends the entire train back home fuming a bit at himself until he decides to fume at Zayn instead. He walks to Zayn’s house first, doesn’t even bother knocking or announcing his presence in any way, just storms inside and up the steps until he’s flying through Zayn’s bedroom door.
“I like boys, specifically you and I’m sad that we’re not friends anymore.”
The words fall from his mouth before he’s even really recognized them, but he forces himself to stand his ground as Zayn calmly sets his phone down on the nightstand, rolls out of his bed and pads barefoot over to Harry.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Harry demands of him. He needs some kind of response to this earth-shaking confession he’s made.
Zayn shrugs, but he’s smiling a bit and his hair is soft without product in it and Harry’s so honestly in love with the infuriatingly passive person in front of him that he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.
“Want to go make snowmen with me?” Zayn asks and that-
Well, it wasn’t what Harry expected to hear at least.
“What?”
“We always build one on the twenty-third.”
“You want to build a snowman?”
“Yeah.”
“Not discuss what I just told you?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I mean-“ Harry hesitates. “No? Yes? I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s go outside while you figure that out.”
Harry stands there, dumbfounded, as Zayn pulls a jumper over his bare chest and slips on a pair of thick socks that Harry instantly recognizes at his own. “C’mon,” Zayn says when he passes Harry, close enough that his arm brushes his chest. Harry follows after a moment, a bit dazed when he finds Zayn already outside in mittens and boots, rolling snowballs on the ground.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks.
“Making a snowman,” Zayn says simply.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Haz. We always make snowmen and it’s snowing at the perfect moment. I thought it might be a good idea.”
Harry seems to come to his senses at that, getting irritated again. Zayn’s turned back to his work and Harry impulsively bends down and scoops up a handful of snow. He packs a ball as quickly as possible and tosses it as hard as he can at Zayn’s back.
“The hell-?” Zayn says, turning around and looking at Harry with wide eyes. “What’s your problem?”
“You!” Harry shouts. “You’re my bloody problem! I went on a date yesterday- an actual date with an actual boy who might have been interested in me but all I could talk about and think about was you and how much I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”
“You went on a date?” Zayn asks.
“Out of everything I just told you, that’s what you get?” Harry asks, exasperated.
“Was it someone I know?”
Harry growls and grabs another handful of snow, tossing it at Zayn again.
“Oi!” Zayn shouts around a laugh, stooping and gathering up a handful of his own and throwing it right back at Harry’s face.
It startles a laugh out of Harry at the absurdity of the situation, and begins a snowball fight where they chase each other around the front of Zayn’s house. There’s more on their coats than there is on the ground by the time they’re finished. Finally, Harry catches Zayn around the waist as he tries to shove more snow down the back of his jumper, pulling him in close so he can pin Zayn’s arms between their bellies. Zayn looks up at him, both of them panting from exertion. Their breaths come in little puffs between them and Harry realizes with a start that his latest growth spurt has him already a few inches taller.
He trails his gaze from Zayn’s eyes, over his pink cheeks, and resting on his bright lips, chapped from the cold and his constant lack of lip balm. Harry licks his own lips subconsciously, only aware of it when Zayn’s mouth parts and he gasps audibly.
“I should go inside,” Harry says, mind reeling, though he makes no move to pull back. Zayn’s grip on his shirt tightens anyway. Harry feels himself leaning forward before he’s even aware that he is.
When their lips meet in a kiss, it’s like they’ve rewound the tape to all those years before. Harry still has no idea what he’s doing but he keeps Zayn pressed against his chest anyway. He parts his lips when Zayn does, doesn’t pull back at the strange sensation of Zayn’s tongue slipping into his mouth.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know if he should stick his own tongue in Zayn’s mouth or just leave his where it is. His eyes open after a second, wanting to see how Zayn looks, but they cross at the closeness of the other boy’s face and he has to pull back enough that his eyes relax.
Zayn cheeks are- if possible- a deeper red than before. Harry smiles at him in what he hopes is a reassuring way, the tip of one gloved finger tracing his thin bottom lip. “Let’s go inside. Both of us,” he says, amending his previous statement. Zayn nods, tugging at the sleeves of Harry’s jacket as he turns and leads them back into his house. They stumble a bit as they kick off their shoes, giggling as they kiss again before they tackle the stairs.
He’s nervous and unsure- doesn’t know what he’s meant to be doing with his hands or where his eyes are supposed to land- but he’s eager for whatever kind of progress they’re finally making. Zayn gets Harry out of his jacket and lets it fall to the floor, brushing snow off his jeans before he presses at Harry’s chest to get him to lay back on the bed.
Trisha is going to freak about the puddle forming on Zayn’s wood floors but he finds he doesn’t mind when Zayn’s pulling off his oversized jumper and crawling up the bed next to him.
“Hi,” Harry says when they’re face-to-face.
“Hi,” Zayn repeats softly, almost shy.
Harry runs a hand through Zayn’s hair, encouraging him to lean in and fit their mouths together again. He’s more relaxed now, and the kiss is better and less awkward than it had been outside. When Zayn shifts a bit so he’s hovering over Harry’s body, Harry just settles further into his pillow and keeps his hand brushing back Zayn’s fringe. Harry lets his tongue press teasingly against Zayn’s, lets his free hand rub along Zayn’s naked back- counting the bumps of his spine until Zayn pulls back- their breaths coming quick between them.
“You’ve been kissing other people,” Zayn accuses, the fake-hurt tone of his voice trying to mask the honest hurt he probably feels by thinking Harry’s been keeping secrets.
“Never kissed anyone but you,” he says honestly. “Never really saw the point.”
Zayn beams at him and Harry pulls him back in again.
~*~
In the morning, Harry wakes to Zayn pressed tight against his back, one arm warm around his waist. He smiles and purses his lips, feeling where they’re a bit bruised still from the amount of kissing they’d done the night before.
“Morning,” Zayn croaks from behind him, arm squeezing his middle a bit.
“How’re you?” Harry asks, shifting so he’s on his back and Zayn’s leaning against his side.
“M’fine. You? Sleep alright?”
“Always do when I’m here, don’t I?”
Zayn smiles a bit at that, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Harry’s skin near his armpit. He bites at the soft skin there, giggling when Harry squirms away, ticklish.
“Knock it off,” Harry scolds, scooting down a bit so their faces are near each other and he can press a close-mouthed kiss to his lips.
“I think we need to talk about all of this,” Zayn says. “And do you know what goes well with a serious conversation?”
“A full English?” Harry teases.
“You’re pretty smart,” Zayn confirms.
They slowly make their way out of bed and into the bathroom, taking turns at the sink to clean their teeth before they head downstairs with their fingers linked together. Zayn gets a kettle on and Harry starts putting together a proper fry-up, brushing a bit of olive oil over the grill plate. He gets the sausages going and the bacon next, skipping the mushrooms since he isn’t much of a fan and slicing tomatoes instead. Zayn helps him a bit, mainly by pulling out the brown sauce and getting the baked beans ready, but Harry smiles at him anyway.
They’re eating after not too long, taking slow bites as Harry begins noticing the awkwardness in the air. He fidgets in his chair, settling only when Zayn gets a hand on his knee.
“It’s okay,” Zayn says. “Nothing to be nervous about.”
“Can’t help it,” Harry shrugs.
“I love you. Just in case I haven’t actually said that yet- I’m so very much in love with you.” Harry feels his cheeks grow warm at that but Zayn presses on. “That’s mainly all I needed to tell you- I’m in love with you right back and I have been for so long.”
“How long?” Harry breathes.
“Always, Haz, I don’t know. Since you stood up to my mum so I wouldn’t get in trouble for going out of sight. Since you got upset that someone carved their initials into a tree. Since you told me that best friends can kiss and there isn’t anything wrong or weird about that.”
Harry’s smiling, cheeks most likely scarlet as Zayn speaks. “I still don’t much like what they did to that tree,” he says.
Zayn laughs, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips. “I know you don’t. Do you remember what else you told me that day?”
Harry tries to think back. It hadn’t been too unusual of a day, just one of the many they’d spent by the river. He shakes his head after a moment and Zayn stands, his hand going to Harry’s shoulder.
“You told me that people buy each other ice cream to show they’re in love.”
Harry laughs, his childlike obsession with that day at the zoo coming back to him in full force. “Right,” he says around a giggle. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Of course I do,” Zayn says, clearing their plates and heading to the sink. He rinses them and sets them aside for later, always a bit lazy about doing chores. Harry stands to wash them now- it’s easier when the mess is fresh- but Zayn holds up a hand to stop him. “You’re the first person who ever said out loud around me that boys liking boys wasn’t a big deal, and that someone would have to buy the ice cream in the end. It shouldn’t matter who it was.”
Harry’s not entirely sure where the conversation is going. He tilts his head, trying to make sense of it. Zayn smiles and crosses over to the freezer and tugs open the door.
“I wasn’t sure if your tastes had changed,” he says a bit shyly. “I just bought every kind I could find that would fit.”
Harry’s jaw literally drops as he sees almost a dozen different brands crammed into the freezer, from milk chocolate ices to Cornetto cones, from Viennetta to Mini Twisters, Zayn’s shoved so much ice cream into such a small space Harry is almost overwhelmed.
“You bought me ice cream?” he asks, stepping forward.
“I wanted to show you last night. I had a whole speech prepared, a better one but it didn’t seem right to give that speech now. I’m so sorry I was never honest with you. I’ve just always been the kid no one really wanted, only good for a quick shag in secret, but you’ve been my best mate for ages and you’ve always accepted me and I was so scared of messing it up that I went on and messed it up.”
“You didn’t-“ Harry tries to protest.
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I made you think I wasn’t interested. I’m sorry you went on a date with someone else. I’m sorry you had a bad time on your date, too.”
“No you’re not,” Harry says, smiling to soften the blow.
“I am,” Zayn insists, finally closing the freezer door and stepping closer to Harry. “I hated the thought of you making plans with other people on our night, but Doniya told me I didn’t have any claim on you and I hated how true that was.”
“You’re all I think about,” Harry admits. “Always, since the day we met, you’ve been my best mate. I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you, and I’ve been bitterly jealous of every person you’ve dated. I hated that Jason guy.”
“Jared.”
“I don’t care what his name was, I hated him.”
Zayn laughs at him, pulling him into a hug. “I hated him a bit because he wasn’t you. It was unfair of me.”
“I hated him because he made you go all soft around the eyes when you’d talk about him.”
Zayn pulls back. “I did no such thing.”
“You did,” Harry insists. “You’d get such a fond look on your face.”
“I look like that when I’m talking to you, Harry. Mum and Doniya are always teasing me about it.” Zayn’s flushed as he speaks, clearly embarrassed, and Harry gets a hand on his jaw to tilt his face back for another kiss, soft and concentrated against his bottom lip.
“I’d really like to go back in bed and snog for the rest of the day,” Harry says.
“The day’s just begun though.”
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
“We’ll have to stop snogging to eat.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun, but we can try.” With that, Harry grabs Zayn’s hand in his own, making to pull him out of the room and up the stairs but Zayn digs his heels in. “What?” he asks when he turns to face him.
“I feel like we have more things to discuss.”
Harry thinks about it for a moment, honestly giving it his full consideration. “I don’t,” he says simply. “I love you. You bought me ice cream, which means you love me. You’re going to uni in the fall and I’ll be there a year after you and we’ll have our own flat with a freezer full of ice cream at all times and maybe a couple cats.”
“Cats?” Zayn asks, smiling. “We didn’t discuss any of that.”
“It’s exactly what you’d pick though, isn’t it?” Harry challenges.
Zayn smiles and lets Harry tug him up the stairs this time. He’s behind him when he speaks next, but Harry hears him clearly when Zayn’s soft voice agrees.
He pulls him up the stairs faster, feeling young and reckless and pretty desperately in love with his very, very best friend.
let's, you and me, make a night of it
“Let’s stop for a bite,” Zayn urges, tugging at Harry’s hand where their fingers are linked.
“Zayn, we don’t have time for ice cream. Mum’s gonna be at our place any minute now, and your pants are still on the floor. I’ve got to get home to tidy.”
Zayn laughs, tugging more urgently. “It won’t be the first or last time your mum sees the mess you let me make,” he teases. “C’mon, we’ll split a cone. Any flavor you want.”
“Any?” Harry asks, finally letting himself be pulled back a bit. He’s weak for ice cream, okay? It isn’t his fault.
Zayn smiles, a hint of relief around his eyes as he leans his back against the door to the ice cream shoppe, pushing it open and walking through it backwards. Harry doesn’t let their hands fall, though it’s a bit awkward as they step through the door. The inside of the shoppe is a bit dark after the bright sunshine outside, and Harry has to blink his eyes a few time to adjust.
When he looks around, trying to find the counter to put in their order for the double-fudge and mint chocolate chip two-scoop cone he’s going to make Zayn buy them to make up for the fact that he’s going to get a proper ribbing from his mum for the state of their flat, he’s startled to see so many people crowded into the small store. Startled, twice, when he sees it’s their families and some of the friends they’ve made since they’d moved to London for Zayn’s art and Harry’s music careers.
“What’s going on?” he asks, smiling uneasily.
He focuses back on Zayn’s face, at the bright and fond expression that Harry sees every day of their lives together, and then looks down to his hands. The one not clasping Harry’s hand is sliding into his jeans pocket, coming back out with a simple silver band.
“Oh fuck me,” he breaths out, earning a chuckle from Zayn and a laugh from the people gathered.
“Later!” Someone calls out, most likely Gemma or Louis, the both of them with the same crap sense of humor.
Harry flushes and ducks his head, feeling his eyes already watering. Zayn goes down to one knee, still holding Harry’s left hand as he presses a kiss to his fingers. “I have never met anyone like you,” he says first, lips still brushing against Harry’s knuckles. “You have always believed in me and trusted in me. I’ve never once done anything worthy of deserving your kindness, but I’ve loved you with my whole heart for so long that I can’t really remember a time when you didn’t take up the entirety of my focus.”
Harry’s practically sobbing at this point, sniffling in the most unattractive way possible as he brings his free hand to his eyes and wipes away his tears.
“Don’t cry, love,” Zayn says, smiling brightly up at him. “I want to marry you, I want you to marry me. I want to be the only person who buys you ice cream, ever, and I want to be the man you start a family with.”
“Y’have to ask a question!” the same voice shouts out, and Harry can see when Zayn rolls his eyes, most likely regretting the setup he’d chosen.
“I’m getting to it.” His eyes don’t leave Harry’s though, and he kisses the ring in his hand once before placing it at the tip of Harry’s ring finger. “Will you marry me? I will work hard for the rest of my life to be the best person I can be, just to keep you happy.”
“Yes, of course I will,” Harry says, smiling wide when the people around them start clapping and Zayn pushes the ring back on his finger. “Come up here and kiss me,” Harry says, grabbing at the shoulder of his shirt and tugging.
“Just want to wipe yer nose on me shirt,” Zayn mock-grumbles, but his eyes are damp, too, and he stands quickly and kisses Harry on the mouth, ignoring the mess of tears as they smile against each others’ lips.
“Can’t believe you did all this,” Harry laughs, burying his face in Zayn’s shoulder and indeed wiping his nose discreetly with the sleeve of his own long-sleeve tshirt.
“I’d do anything for you,” Zayn replies, but then their families are swarming around them, offering hugs and kisses, smiles and congratulations. They’re pulled apart, their hands finally separating, but Harry doesn’t mind. He thumbs at the ring on his finger as he gives Robin a hug, smiling bright and wide as he watches his mum kissing Zayn a meter away. Zayn looks over at him, a bright red smack of lipstick on his cheek, and Harry’s heart feels so very, very full.