Work Text:
Trees. Fields. Cows. Noise barriers. Fields.
The landscape hurrying past the tinted windows became a blur in front of Zayn’s tired eyes. He yawned and curled up more tightly into his little corner of the van, turning up the music on his iPod and willing himself to finally fall asleep. It wasn’t usually this hard for him to nod off. Even with the noise and excitement of his fellow band members around him, he could drift off quite easily.
Something wasn’t right.
Of course, there was the big, undeniable fact that Louis was missing. He had stayed behind, due to make an appearance somewhere with Eleanor. His work day wasn’t over yet. So maybe that was it: Maybe Zayn had gotten so used to the boisterous chatter and sharp elbows next to him, that now he couldn’t fall asleep without it.
But when he sat up and looked around the van blearily, it became clear to him that it wasn’t Louis absence so much as Harry’s silence that perturbed him. In the beginning, when they were still strangers sharing air beds in the bungalow, he sometimes felt like punching Harry in the mouth, simply to get him to shut up for a minute. But in time, he realized that Harry wasn’t always loud and hyperactive and annoying: When he was comfortable, when he was around people he knew well, when he felt like he had nothing to prove, he was quiet for long stretches of time, until he felt like being loud again. So it wasn’t Harry’s silence in and of itself that disturbed him, but the quality of this particular silence.
Harry was sitting next to him but they were separated by the empty seat where Louis would sit, if this was an ordinary day. The space in between them seemed cold and vast. Harry was mirroring Zayn’s earlier position, curled up with his face resting against the window, his breath painting little clouds of moisture onto the glass. He seemed strangely small, his shoulders more slumped than usual, his arms hugging himself tightly around the middle as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Maybe trying to disappear completely.
Zayn had once said something during an interview – the way he would sometimes say embarrassing things without blushing simply because he felt them so deeply – that people tended to forget how young Harry really was, because he seemed more mature than his age suggested. Right now he was painfully aware of how young Harry was. He couldn’t see his face, but from the faint reflection in the window he could tell that Harry’s eyes were wide open and that he was chewing on his lip, biting down on it hard. Maybe there was something he wanted to say but knew he shouldn’t. If there was one thing they had all learned since they had become famous, it was how to bite their tongue. (Well, maybe Louis hadn’t yet learned that particular lesson – and a part of Zayn hoped he never would.)
Zayn wasn’t sure whether he should try to distract his bandmate, or just give him space. Niall and Liam were talking animatedly in the seats in front of them, laughing and throwing handfuls of crisps at each other’s heads. It was normal behaviour, but tonight it seemed more urgent, almost desperate, as if they were trying to create enough of a racket that Louis absence wouldn’t be noticed. They were failing.
Even while he was still contemplating this, Zayn’s arm lifted – as if on its own will – and his hand came to rest gently on Harry’s wrist. When Harry’s arm slid down from where it was drawn up around his stomach, Zayn grabbed his hand, carefully pushed his fingers in the spaces between Harry’s and squeezed his hand gently. Harry seemed to relax a little, but didn’t look at him. So they sat for the rest of the drive, the silence a little less oppressive.
Without making a conscious decision about it, Zayn found himself following Harry home. He got out of the car with him, walked into the building and stepped into the elevator after him. The other boy looked at him blankly when the doors closed but didn’t speak. He was standing far away in the opposite corner of the elevator, looking pale and porcelain in the harsh fluorescent light. A few seconds later they reached their destination. Zayn walked a few steps behind Harry until they reached his and Louis’ flat, where it took Harry a while to retrieve his key from the deep back pocket of his ridiculous jeans and an even longer while to open the door with his shaking hands. The tension inside him seemed to be rising, anticipating the moment when he could close the door behind himself and fall apart. Zayn wondered for a moment whether he was intruding, whether he should leave Harry alone to do what he needed to do, but when his curly-haired friend pushed open the door and held it open for him – always courteous – Zayn stepped through it without hesitation.
Harry discarded his shoes and bag at the door and made a bee-line to the couch.
Zayn went to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, drumming with his fingers on the smooth stone work surface until the tea was ready and he took the two cups through to the living room, where Harry was now sitting with his feet resting on the coffee table, a re-run of Keeping Up With The Kardashians on the TV and his phone in his hands.
He looked at Zayn for the first time when he took the cup of tea from him, a tired smile on his face. He set down the phone and pressed the cup of tea against his chest, savouring the warmth.
“He’s not replying”, he said after a minute, when Zayn had already resigned himself to spending the evening in silence.
“Maybe”, Zayn swallowed “Maybe he doesn’t have his phone?”
It had happened before. Phones being taken away, tablets and computers being taken away.
Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”
He took a sip from his cup and started crying. The cup was set down on the glass coffee table with a loud clank and Harry’s hands flew to his face, knuckles pressing against his eyes as if trying to get the tears to stop by force.
“Sorry”, came Harry’s voice, rough, shaky, but with a trace of his usual awkwardness.
Zayn found himself wrapping his arms around his friend, hugging him tightly, holding him together to make the shaking stop.
“It’s okay, babe”, Zayn murmured into the hair that tickled his nose. “It’s okay. He’ll be back in a couple hours. I’m sure he would have replied if he could.”
“I just…” Harry had to stop talking to suppress the sobs that were rising in his chest. Zayn could feel the tightness in his muscles as he was pushing them down.
“He’s just working, mate. That’s all it is”
“I KNOW that…”, Harry seemed to be trying to break away from him but Zayn kept holding him tightly. For some reason it seemed to be of vital importance to keep holding on to him.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I just feel so fucking stupid.”
“You’re not, though. The situation is fucking stupid.”
“I don’t know…”, Harry was now pushing his face so hard against Zayn’s chest that it was hard to understand what he was saying.
“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling.”
Zayn tried to think of what to say, but all his words felt clumsy and inadequate, so he stayed silent and just kissed Harry’s hair, feeling a bit useless. Harry kept shaking and trying so hard to keep from crying, and Zayn held him close. They sat like that for a long time, until Harry’s breathing evened out and he became still and boneless in Zayn’s arms.
“I think it’s time for bed, yeah?” Zayn suggested and Harry followed him obediently, his eyes red and puffy and his lips pressed together. Zayn could almost feel the headache emanating from his friend.
He got him to take off his jeans and t-shirt and tucked him into bed, still feeling a bit out of place, a bit useless. He decided to lay down on top of the covers next to Harry to keep him company, because the thought of leaving him alone in this huge empty flat was unbearable.
“Turn on the TV?”, Harry mumbled and Zayn grabbed the remote from where it was tangled in the bedsheets.
There was a documentary about manatees on the discovery channel. Harry didn’t complain. He was facing the wall, and even though Zayn could only see his back, he was sure that he was still clutching his phone to his chest.
Zayn went out for a smoke and when he came back, Harry was shaking again, his sobs muffled by the pillow. With a frown, he climbed back onto the bed, crawled slowly over to Harry’s side and put a gentle arm around him, spooning him awkwardly over the blankets. He pressed his cold nose against Harry’s warm neck and heard him take a deep breath, his sobs getting quieter and eventually fading. Zayn didn’t give himself much credit for this. He suspected that it was the familiar smell of cigarette smoke that had a soothing effect on the boy, the way it always clung to Louis’ fingers and his shirt collars and his scarves in the winter.
“Zayn?”, Harry’s small, tired voice said then, almost as if he had been listening to Zayn’s thoughts. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
Zayn wished that Harry would just look at him for once. Usually his stupid expressive face spoke louder than his words. But he assumed the boy felt self-conscious after his cry, all puffy and red-eyed. He kept his face pressed against Harry’s neck so the other boy could feel his smile.
“Don’t worry about it, babe. Love you too.” Harry made a small sound of acknowledgement and went quiet. After a while he stopped resisting the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing slowed and the muscles in his back relaxed. Zayn held him a bit tighter and listened to the narrator on the TV talking about the complex social life of the manatee. The gentle manatee that flew through water like a sparrow through air, enormous and weightless, misshapen and majestic. It wasn’t long before he drifted off himself, his dreams filled with blue light.
He woke up when a person climbed over him and wriggled into the space between him and Harry, a person with cold feet and hair that tickled his nose.
“Loueh?”, he opened his eyes and saw his best friend grin back at him. He looked exhausted, and seemed jittery and manic in his movements, as If he had crossed the waters of tiredness and reached the shores of shaky hands and giggles.
“Yep. Miss me much?” Zayn lifted himself up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes.
“Not as much as that guy, I’m sure”, he pointed over at Harry and saw a look pass over Louis’ face, only for a split second, but he thought he knew what it was.
“Lou, it’s not your fault. You know that, yeah?”
Louis was looking at him in silence. For a second or two he was completely still. Then he ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a long-held breath.
“Yeah… It’s all just bullshit, innit?”
Zayn nodded sagely.
Harry was stirring now, waking from his slumber. Slowly, like a great manatee stranded on the shore, he was turning around to face them and reached for Louis’ arm.
“Hiiiii…”, he pressed himself close to Louis’ side, desperate for closeness but with weary eyes.
Louis turned to his boyfriend and pushed his face into the crook of his neck, whispering fiercely in his ear. Zayn could only hear fucked up and love and sorry sorry sorry.
Feeling like an intruder all of a sudden he made to climb quietly off the bed, but was held back by a hand gripping his arm. Harry was pulling him back, and then Louis was hooking an arm around his neck and pulling him into their hug. His face was pressed close to theirs and he could hear their breathing and smell Harry’s sleep-warm skin. Lou was pressing his lips to his neck in a kiss because that was the only place he could reach. And Zayn understood what it meant. Thank you for taking care of him. Thank you for not letting him be alone.
“Now get out of here. Me and young Harold have important business to discuss”, he said a second later, playfully shoving Zayn off the bed. Louis’ eyes were sparkling again and it was as if just being in Harry’s proximity for one and a half minutes had completely replenished his energy supply. As for Harry, he was smiling for real now – a big giddy smile, dimples and all. He was already tugging at Louis’ shirt.
Zayn raised both of his middle fingers at the reunited lovers and left the room, his heart feeling a lot lighter now that the world was back to normal.