summary: anyone else remember when harry and zayn attended the same party in early 2016? cos i do. this is a little zarry something, very loosely based on canon.
rating: explicit
word count: 2,864
warnings: just some references to drug use and drinking, and a little bit of angry sex, but it’s Nothing Major.
a/n: this is a birthday gift for my buddie Alison/@elaric, HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING AN AMAZING TIME!!!!! also, this is based on this post by @wepush, who graciously allowed me to piggyback off their idea to create this :)
By the time Harry’s drinking catches up with him he’s nearly three sheets to the wind, leaning up against the open bar while some up-and-coming songwriter prattles on in his ear about working her way up and networking and it’s been interesting, but Harry’s not really listening.
He’s been focused on Zayn since the second he walked into the room.
Harry’s sure Zayn’s noticed his staring at least once or twice, but the most he’s gotten in return was a blank stare and a cold shoulder to match the one Harry’d been ready to give.
He’s annoying himself with how fixated he’s become on Zayn. He honestly hadn’t thought about him in weeks, months, and now, simply trying to share a room with him has become unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, giving a polite nod to Amy or Ashley, whatever her name is, and pulling out his cell. “I’ve got to give my mum a call. Promised I would.”
She makes a strange cooing sound and dismisses him with a wave of her hand, telling him something about getting in touch with him via email. He smiles and turns away, shoving his phone back into his pocket before heading to the restroom.
Changing his mind, he switches his course and heads for the open doors that let out onto the crowded patio outside. He leans up against the railing that fences the property, staring out at the twinkling nightlife of Los Angeles as the after party rages on behind him.
He picks up his phone again, thumbing through his voicemails and scrolling down to the last time Zayn called him. Three months ago. They haven’t actually spoken in so long, years, but that doesn’t stop Zayn from calling him when he’s partied too hard or gone too long without a decent night’s sleep. Harry pushes on Zayn’s latest voicemail, holding his breath as he brings the phone up to his ear.
“Miss you,” Zayn had slurred into the phone, clearly under the influence of something or other, laughing quietly into the phone as the voicemail stretched on in silence. “Still waitin’ for you to call me back.” More silence, then the sound of a lighter clicking on in the background. “But you never do.”
He brings the phone back down with a sigh, thumb hovering over the ‘delete’ button when he hears footsteps approaching.
“Wondered how long it was gonna take you to come out here.”
Harry lets out a sigh when he hears Zayn’s voice, shoulders sagging as Zayn gets closer.
“What?” Zayn asks, leaning against the railing next to Harry. “Didn’t think I was gonna say anything to you?”
“Why would you?” Harry asks, not looking at him.
“I miss you.”
“You only miss me when you’re high,” Harry says, finally turning to look at Zayn. And he’s not wrong, his eyes are red and he smells of smoke.
“Well you only miss me when you’re drunk,” Zayn counters, raising an eyebrow. “Phone works both ways, y'know.”
Harry rolls his eyes, not caring for the reminder of his weaker moments, dialling Zayn’s number into the phone and leaving the kind of voicemails one should never, ever admit to. He pushes off the railing and turns to go back inside. “Enjoy your night.”
“Yeah,” Zayn says, scoffs, pulling a pack of cigs and a lighter from his pocket. He turns his head to watch Harry’s retreating back as he passes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “You, too.”
-/-
It’s not even ten minutes later before their paths cross again, this time on the way to the men’s washroom. Harry doesn’t know why he thought he’d be able to avoid Zayn for the rest of the night, but clearly the universe is intent on proving him wrong.
He takes a deep breath and continues walking, offers Zayn a polite smile of the benefit of any curious eyes or cameras that may be watching. He slips into the restroom, letting out a quiet sigh as he looks himself over in the mirror. He’s definitely drunk now and it’s starting to show a little. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back and away from his forehead. He’s fixing the collar of his shirt when he hears the loo door open, barely surprised to find Zayn standing behind it.
He rolls his eyes, making for the exit, but Zayn stops him, a hand around his wrist.
“Doesn’t have to be like this, y'know.” He says, letting go when Harry wriggles his hand free. “You don’t have to run out of a room any time you see me.”
“I know I don’t have to,” is all Harry says, standing his ground as Zayn stares back at him.
“Then don’t,” Zayn takes a step closer, hesitant. “I know you miss me.”
And that’s how Harry knows he’s drunk now, those five words ringing in his head and tugging at his heart as he shakes his head at Zayn even as he lets Zayn take another step closer.
“Only cos I’m drunk,” he says, trying to sound ambivalent but he knows he can’t, he knows Zayn has always been able to read him like an open book.
“See?” Zayn laughs, dopey and inebriated, “Told you.”
It’s then Harry figures, ’why bother?’ and allows himself the one thing he’d been thinking about all night. He reaches out and tugs Zayn closer by his shirt, not stopping until they’re in each other’s space, breathing each other’s air.
Zayn looks back at him and Harry can’t tell what he’s seeing in Zayn’s eyes, aside from the effects of whatever he’s taken tonight.
Harry goes in for the kiss then, harsh and unforgiving, claiming Zayn’s lips as he pulls him even closer until they’re pressed together wherever they can be, standing in the middle of the ornate bathroom, white porcelain framed in gold trimming nearly everywhere Harry turns his eye. But he doesn’t have much time to peruse the décor, barely even enough time to make sure they’re alone before Zayn is pulling him back in, pressing a hard, biting kiss to his lips.
Harry almost sobs with the feeling he’s keeping inside, the want you’s, miss you’s, need you’s, getting caught in his throat as he bites at his lip, letting Zayn mark his way down Harry’s neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin the way he knows Harry likes it.
Harry gasps, fingers combing through the quiffed hair at the top Zayn’s head, mussing it with his hands as he tugs and holds it tight in his closed fist just to hear the way Zayn groans in response.
Neither has said anything yet, Harry’s been holding tight onto Zayn, eyes clenched shut as if this will all disappear if he opens them. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a dream that felt so vivid.
Zayn backs him up to the counter in front of the mirror, getting his hands under Harry’s thighs to prompt him to hop up onto it, and Harry does, pulling Zayn into the vee of his legs and into another kiss.
It feels surreal, to him, how Zayn can still feel the same, look the same, taste the same, after all the time that’s passed, all the anger and resentment that lingers, the sour feelings shared between them, the bitter comments made in interviews, the –
“Turn your brain off,” Zayn says, speaking for the first time in what feels like ages. “Stop thinking so much, Harry, you’re gonna ruin it.”
There’s a joking lilt to his voice, but Harry can hear what’s underneath it. He can see the pleading in Zayn’s eyes so he nods his head, fumbling for the waist of Zayn’s jeans and popping the button open. Soon he’s got his hand on Zayn’s cock, fingers curling around the girth of him and Harry bites back a moan, pressing his face into Zayn’s neck as he strokes him slowly.
“Come on, Harry,” Zayn groans, fucking himself into Harry’s hand. “Let’s not waste time.”
“When did you get so bossy?” Harry mumbles, brows furrowing as he pulls back, holding up the hem of Zayn’s shirt so he can watch the head of Zayn’s cock peeking through his fist.
“Lot’s changed,” is all Zayn offers in reply, leaning forward to catch Harry’s lips in a rushed kiss. He reaches a hand behind himself and into the pocket of his jeans, coming back with a small sachet of lube. He sets it down on the counter and takes a step back from Harry, tucking his dick back into his jeans before tugging Harry down off the counter and flipping him around so he’s facing the mirror.
Harry catches sight of himself then, taking in the reflection of himself and Zayn, pressed close together against the counter, Zayn’s mouth working at Harry’s neck as he reaches round to undo Harry’s trousers. He makes eye contact with Harry in the mirror then, letting out a quiet laugh to himself as he asks, “Just like old times, innit?”
Harry shuts his eyes then, offering silence in response. He’s not interested in reliving old times. No matter how many times he’s remembered those nights on his own, watching himself wank in hotel mirrors, trying to imagine the touch of Zayn’s fingers on his hips, bruising and tight as he holds Harry down, he doesn’t want to think of it now. Not when he has the real thing here with him.
He leans over, bracing his elbows on the counter when Zayn prompts him to lean forward. He holds his breath when he feels the slickness of Zayn’s finger pressing against him, winding his hips back against the intrusion.
“Who brings lube to a fucking pre-GRAMMYs party, anyway?” Harry asks, huffing out a breath when Zayn jabs his fingers in harshly as a means of response.
“Someone who knows you,” Zayn says, snarky as he adds a third finger, fucking Harry with them until his hole is looser, wet with lube. Harry feels like he has no time to really reply before Zayn’s cock is right there, pressing against him before pushing forward.
Harry bites his lip against a groan, letting his eyes slide shut as he tips his head back, hips winding until Zayn’s all the way in, the head of his cock pressed snugly against Harry’s prostate.
“Fuck,” Zayn breathes through clenched teeth, “forgot how good we used to fit.”
‘I didn’t, I could never,’ Harry doesn’t say, instead rolls his hips back against Zayn as a way to tell him to get moving. He does, fingers finding their way to Harry’s waist and pressing, making Harry whimper quietly as Zayn fucks him like they’re back on the tour bus or sharing a bed on a hotel night.
He hates how much he misses it, hates Zayn for making him miss it at all.
He feels a stab of anger pierce his gut at that; none of this is his fault, he’s not the one that left, he shouldn’t have to be the one on his knees grovelling for forgiveness.
He reaches a hand back, gripping at Zayn’s hair and tugging it, distracting himself from his angry thoughts by focusing on the feeling of Zayn’s lips at his neck, Zayn’s fingers on his hips, the drag of Zayn’s cock inside him.
“Fuck,” he gasps, eyes flying open when one of Zayn’s hands comes around to grip the base of his cock, squeezing it tight before sliding up toward the head.
“Easy as ever,” Zayn taunts him, stroking Harry off as he fucks him deep. “’S like nothing’s changed.”
‘Everything’s changed,’ Harry’s mind argues, even as he feels his cock throb in Zayn’s hand, fresh precum pooling at the slit before getting caught by Zayn’s fingers.
Harry tunes out Zayn’s voice as he continues to talk, focusing on how close he is to coming instead of the words Zayn’s saying. He doesn’t care. Really, he doesn’t.
“Haven’t got all night,” Harry groans, impatient. “Fuck, make me come.”
“Why?” Zayn asks, slowing the roll of his hips until he’s barely moving in or out, grinding his cock deep. “So you can run out of here and act like this never happened? ’S that what you want?”
Harry gives a frustrated laugh in response, batting Zayn’s hand away from his cock and stroking it himself. “Don’t need you,” Harry says, pulling himself off with quick, tight strokes around the head of his cock. He bites his tongue before his more spiteful side can add, ‘never did.’
He’s painfully close to coming by the time the shocked expression leaves Zayn’s face, instead being replaced by one of annoyance. He’d laugh if he couldn’t feel his orgasm starting in the pit of his stomach, balls drawing up tight as he feels himself rolling closer to the edge.
Zayn seems to unfreeze then, getting a hand between Harry’s shoulder blades and pressing until he bends at the waist again, narrowly stopping himself from face planting on the counter with his free hand held out in front of himself.
“Fucking—” he stops himself short when Zayn cuts him off with a hard thrust, knocking the air out of him.
“Don’t need me, huh?” Zayn asks, voice low and quiet. “I don’t need you either,” he says, fucking Harry hard, the sound of their hips meeting echoing through the empty bathroom. “But here we are.”
Harry wants to reply, say something mean back, but he can’t find the words as his orgasm finally rolls through him, tensing his body as he comes into his own hand, shooting over his fist.
Zayn gasps when he feels it, giving a few harsh thrusts before he’s coming himself, hips moving until he’s spent.
He’s pulling out of Harry in a second, saying nothing as he quickly cleans himself up, giving one last glance to his own reflection in the mirror before slipping out of the bathroom and leaving Harry there, trousers down around his ankles and Zayn’s come running down his thigh.
-/-
Niall wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating loudly against his nightstand, screen lit up and shining brightly in the darkness of his bedroom.
He reaches for it blindly, swiping across the screen and bringing the phone to his ear without even checking to see who it is.
“'Lo?” His voice is deep and tired, eyes clenching shut as he tries to wake himself up.
“What’s your stance on fate? Or like, destiny?”
He instantly recognizes Harry’s voice, letting out a quiet sigh as he rolls onto his back. “Did he call you again?”
“Not this time,” Harry answers, drumming his fingers against his thigh, feeling antsy in his own skin. It’s been hours since he left the party, since he shakily cleaned himself up and tried to pull himself together before ducking out through the rear entrance. He’s back at his house now, lying awake in bed. The clock on his nightstand says it’s just after midnight, which means the sun is barely risen in London where Niall is.
“I saw him.” Harry says, tactfully leaving out the part where he let Zayn fuck him in the washroom. He doesn’t quite feel like that’s something Niall needs to know.
“Where?”
“GRAMMY party.”
A quiet, “Hm,” is all Niall offers in answer, letting the call stretch on in silence for a few moments. Harry doesn’t mind, he really only called cos he didn’t want to be alone.
“Does it mean anything?” Harry asks, tugging at his bottom lip. “Do you think?”
“No, Harry,” Niall sighs, his voice quiet. “Nothing’s changed. He’s still who he is and you’ll always be you. I don’t know what you’re expecting.”
“Me either,” Harry agrees, even as he feels the knot in his stomach tighten. “I really don’t. I just—”
“I know, Haz,” Niall assures him. “I know.”
-/-
The rest of the year comes and goes without incident, Harry finishes his album and gets to work on promoting, lining up interviews and guest spots and appearances and performances.
It feels good to be busy again, to get out of his own head and throw himself into his work. He’s missed that.
He’s riding in a limo, on his way to Radio 1 for an album listening party with Nick, when he feels his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks down at the screen, recognising the sender’s number even though it isn’t saved in his phone.
The text he’s received is short, but it makes his stomach flip nonetheless:
from the dining table, huh ?
sounds kinda familiar
He lets out a sigh as he reads and rereads Zayn’s text, unsure whether or not he should answer. He knows he’s not going to, knows Zayn knows that, too, but he still ponders it as he looks out the window of the car, watching as London flies past in varying shades of grey.
His phone vibrates again a few minutes later, this time with an incoming call from the same number. He stares down at it, taking a deep breath before swiping his thumb across the screen to answer.
lmao zayn is so messy. what that girl said is true tho. Harry stans see him as this authentic second coming of jesus when he's old those wealthy men he surounds himself with's little bitch...
zayn and harry are literally the biggest angst story of this decade. harry’s new song is going to be about how much he secretly loves and misses zayn and wishes they were best friends
let’s recap some post-breakup zarry highlights
-zayn “accidentally” liked that post about harry being beautiful
-harry kicked zayn’s cardboard head off stage
-zayn tried to seduce harry at the grammy’s pre-party by wearing a low cut shirt and it worked
-harry compared zayn to his favorite animal, the zebra, because harry doesn’t know how to handle his conflicting feelings toward zayn so he shouts out random animals
-zayn literally put out a harry diss track with Like I would
-harry unfollowed vogue because they posted a picture of zayn
-zayn wearing the harry styles inspired gucci jacket at his high snobiety shoot
-zayn and harry sharing shirts in august of 2016...only a few days apart
-harry saying the paperwork was the hardest part, because it settled in that zayn was leaving
-zayn making a song with harry’s biggest enemy taylor
-harry shading gigi on the red carpet
-zayn defending harry in that twitter group chat in arabic
one problem with your ask is...how can harry be the second coming if zayn already came
• The Tide Rises by Peachyhaz
“It’s our yacht and I can proudly say that I’ve never fucked somebody in the middle of the Mediterranean.” Harry announced proudly. Zayn frowned down at him. He didn’t believe that for a second, especially since Harry was dripping with money that anyone would do anything to get to. or Harry is filthy rich and wants to fuck Zayn on their new yacht
- Words: 6,124. Chapters: 1/1
*Need Ao3 Account*
• Fractured by thisonegoes
“Can you tell me your name?” A nurse's penlight flashes in front of Zayn's eyes, first his right, then his left. A quick back and forth. To test him. To see if he’s still here. He blinks it away. It’s too bright, stop it, I’m here, am I dying?
- Words: 33,023. Chapters: 1/1
• Flower Power by Suzie_Shooter *underage*
15 year old Harry gets lost at a festival and meets biker!Zayn, who is all too happy to take care of him...Written for the prompt of 25 y/o bad boy Zayn with flat hair, dressed in docs, ripped dark skinny jeans and his worn leather jacket, covered in tattoos and snake-bite lip piercings domming a very innocent flower crown wearing 15 y/o pretty little sub boy with big green eyes and plump pink lips, named Harry.
- Words: 6,074. Chapters: 1/1
• Fast Life Fuck Slow by crybaby
He swallows before he says it, leaning in close enough that his lips brush against the shell of Zayn’s ear when he breathes, ‘I want you to fuck me tonight.’- Miami, 2013; Harry gets fucked for the first time
- Words: 8,070. Chapters: 1/1
Prison!AU - Character 1 and 2 meet in prison and a romance sparks. Character 1 is arrested for a minor crime while Character 2 is serving life for committing murder. Once Character 1 is released they continue to visit everyday to see Character 2.
xXx
Week 1, Day 1:
Zayn huffed as he flopped down on his bunk. It was uncomfortable, but he wasn't exactly expecting five stars. It was prison, after all.
Well, it's a 'juvenile containment centre', but that's just a fancy way of saying 'kid's prison'.
He had noticed the top bunk of his bed, but wasn't particularly happy when another boy wandered into the room. "Oh, so they decided to give me a roommate?" the curly-haired boy mumbled, climbing up onto the top bunk.
"Obviously," Zayn replied, sounding bored.
There was a long silence before the other by spoke again. "Harry," was all he said.
"Zayn," came the response.
Another silence preceded Harry asking, "What're you in here for?"
Zayn snorted; how predictable. "Assault and minor theft."
"Huh." Harry shifted on his bunk.
"You?" Zayn asked, putting both hands behind his head.
The next silence actually made Zayn slightly uncomfortable. "Murder."
Zayn's eyes widened. He'd been put in a room with a murderer? "Really?" he asked conversationally, hoping he didn't sound worried.
"No, I didn't kill anyone, but the court thinks I did, so I'm here," Harry huffed.
"So… you shouldn't be here?"
"Can we stop talking about this?" Harry snapped. His tone held a note of finality, and the sound of his bunk creaking as he rolled over prompted Zayn to shut his mouth.
With a roll of his eyes, Zayn shifted on his bunk until he was as comfortable as he would get, then closed his eyes as he tried to sleep.
Week 1, Day 2:
It turned out that no one really spoke to Harry. Zayn watched his roommate during the day, noticing people deliberately avoiding the curly-haired boy and looking away when he walked by.
Heading to the table Harry was sat alone at during dinner, Zayn asked, "Can I sit here?"
Harry just grunted and shrugged one shoulder.
So, once he was seated and had started eating, Zayn noted, "You're not very popular around here, are you?"
"No," Harry muttered, sending Zayn a glare. "The only person less popular than me is Derrick, over there." Harry gestured with his head towards a boy on his own right in the corner, but he didn't seem too phased that he was alone.
"Why's he here?"
Harry looked right into Zayn's eyes. "Rape."
The following silence was full of understanding; even in the criminal world, rape is seen as unforgivable. "Right," Zayn nodded. "But they all avoid you because they think you killed someone?"
Harry glanced up from his food. "Yeah." He tilted his head to the side, looking at Zayn curiously. "You don't think I did?"
"Well, you said you didn't," Zayn shrugged. "And you don't look much like a killer to me. Besides, do I have any reason to believe them over you?"
"S'pose not." Harry went back to eating, but Zayn thought he could see a slight smile on his roommate's face.
Week 1, Day 3:
Once their room had passed inspection, Zayn set out his playing cards on the table and began a game of patience. It wasn't long before he felt a presence behind him, glancing over his shoulder to see Harry watching his game. "You 'right?"
Harry bit his lip and headed to his bunk with a mumbled, "Sorry."
Zayn sighed and shook his head; no way did this kid kill anyone. "D'you want a game?" he asked, gesturing to the cards.
With a tiny smile and a shrug, Harry sat himself at the table opposite Zayn. "Sure."
Collecting the cards up into a deck, Zayn asked, "What do you wanna play? Snap, go-fish…?" He smirked.
"Oh, I don't think I can manage snap," Harry smirked back, rolling his eyes. "I guess we'll have to stick with something simple like strip poker."
Zayn eyebrows shot up. "Oh? But I still don't know you," Zayn pointed out with a slight smile. "Maybe regular poker until I decide how much I like you."
With another smirk and single shoulder-shrug, Harry agreed, "Fine by me."
Week 2, Day 1:
Zayn had been planning on taking a walk around the boundaries today, but the weather had other plans. It was pouring down with rain, the water drumming loudly on the iron roofing. Instead of walking, Zayn was sitting by the barred window, watching the rain trickle down the glass.
"You okay?" Harry asked worriedly, sitting beside him.
Zayn nodded, then sighed and shook his head.
"Starting to miss home?"
Closing his eyes, Zayn sighed, "Yeah, I am." He gazed out through the rain. "I didn't just attack someone and pick-pocket them, y'know," he said quietly.
"No?" Harry replied just as quietly.
"No. I was protecting my sister."
Harry smiled sadly. "Yeah, me too."
Watching Harry through the corner of his eye, Zayn withheld the urge to ask for an explanation. He merely patted Harry's shoulder, the two of them staring out at the rain.
Week 2, Day 6:
"Zayn?" Harry spoke up, lying on his stomach on his bunk.
"Hmm?" Zayn was doing the opposite of Harry, his hands behind his head as he stretched out on his back on his own bunk.
"How did you protect your sister?" Harry asked carefully.
Zayn sighed. "She was beaten up in an alley beside her school and her wallet was pinched. The guy who beat her left the alley but I chased him. I attacked him and took my sister's wallet back, but the witnesses only saw me, not my sister. The court believed the massive group of adults over me and my little sister, obviously."
Harry nodded in understanding. "Family's important," he said softly.
"So… who didn't you kill for your sister?" Zayn asked.
Harry chuckled slightly. "Her ex-boyfriend."
"Really?" Zayn asked in surprise. "If you didn't, who did?" He second-guessed his question when Harry stayed silent, but his roommate spoke before he could take it back.
"She did."
Zayn stared up at the mattress above him. "She did?"
"Yeah," Harry whispered. He didn't say anything for a while, then Zayn heard a sniffle.
Biting his lip, Zayn hopped off his bunk and climbed up to Harry's. He laid down behind his roommate and wrapped his arms around him. "It's okay, Harry," he said softly.
"I-It's not," Harry sobbed.
"Ssh," Zayn whispered, rubbing Harry's shoulder.
Harry rolled over and buried his face in Zayn's shoulder. "I'm stuck here, Zayn," he whimpered, fisting his hands in Zayn's T-shirt. "When I t-turn eighteen, th-they'll move me to the proper prison. I c-can't even handle it here, how the hell will I cope in with all the creeps th-there?"
Zayn just shushed him again and held him as he cried himself to sleep.
Week 4, Day 2:
Since breaking down in Zayn's arms, Harry had come to trust the older boy more. They hadn't discussed his sister anymore, but they had talked about Waliyah, Zayn's sister, along with the rest of his family.
A knock on their door drew the boys' attention from their card game. "Styles," the warden said calmly. "A letter for you."
Harry stood and headed over to the warden, avoiding the man's eyes as he took the letter. "Thank you, sir," he said softly, then returned to the table.
"I hope you realise that is the only way anyone will ever want to communicate with you again, boy," the warden sneered, turning on his heel. His boots clunked heavily on the concrete floor as he headed away.
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, then carefully opened the envelope. He glanced up at Zayn, silently asking for him to sit with him.
Reading in Harry's face that he needed support, Zayn wandered around the table and sat beside his roommate, wrapping an arm around him as he unfolded the letter.
'My dear Harry,
Gemma told me what happened. Harry, you have no idea how furious I am with her! Why didn't you tell me, love, of all people? I would never have let this happen to you, sweetheart, never.
I couldn't believe what Gemma told me to start with. Why would he do that to her? I understand why she did what she did, but that doesn't make it right. And it certainly doesn't make your position right.
I'm calling for an appeal. I know it might not be much, and that they likely won't believe me, but you didn't kill that boy. I refuse to leave you in there when I know I can do something about it. Even if it means Gemma goes to prison, I won't see you stay there.
Hopefully, I'll hear from these people soon and we can get you out of there. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.
Love, Mum.'
Zayn looked to Harry's face and wiped away the few tears that were streaming down his cheeks. "She'll do what she can, Haz."
But Harry shook his head. "No. No, she can't, she'll get Gemma in trouble, she can't-!"
"Ssh." Zayn pressed a finger to Harry's lips to silence him. "Harry, you are the most important person right now. Not your sister, you. You're terrified of transferring out of here, with good reason, but your mum's giving you the opportunity to get out."
"But Zayn… G-Gemma…" Harry covered his face with his hands.
"She told your mum," Zayn pointed out. "Maybe she wants to do this for you."
Harry sniffled. "But I don't want her to."
Pulling back and looking Harry directly in the face, Zayn asked, "Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that you're okay with being locked up for the rest of your life with criminals for something your sister did?"
Harry's lower lip trembled. "No," he whimpered. His shaky breathing slowed slightly as he gazed in Zayn's eyes. "Thank you, Zayn," he whispered.
"What for?"
Closing his eyes, Harry shook his head. "Just thank you." He snuggled close to Zayn's body, taking deep breaths.
"I get out in a month," Zayn said softly, rubbing Harry's back. "Let's see if you can, too." He pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, hoping it could pass as friendly comfort.
Week 6, Day 1:
Zayn was sitting on his bunk drawing when Harry scooted in beside him, leaning his head on the older boy's shoulder. "What're you doing?" Harry asked.
"Drawing," Zayn replied absently. "It helps me relax."
Peeking over Zayn's arm at the drawing, Harry queried, "What is it?"
Zayn chuckled and turned the page more to Harry. "It's you," he explained.
"Me…?" Harry ducked his head shyly. "Really?"
"Yeah," Zayn laughed. "Who else here has curly hair and dimples?"
Harry covered his cheeks with his hands. "I don't like my dimples, they make me look like I'm about six."
"Zayn," Harry complained, batting his hand away. "Don't."
"Sorry, Haz," Zayn snickered, ruffling Harry's hair before returning to his picture.
Watching Zayn draw, Harry told him, "You're very good at that."
Zayn just smiled. "Thanks."
Week 7, Day 3:
"Your boyfriend's not here to help you now, is he, murderer?" Zayn heard someone shout from outside. He frowned and headed out, his eyes widening when he saw Harry on the ground with a group of boys towering over him.
"Killing your sister's boyfriend. Did you want him for yourself, freak?" one of the boys jeered. "If you couldn't have him then neither could she? Was that it?" He landed the heel of his boot hard in Harry's stomach.
"Hey!" Zayn marched over to the boys, shoving them away. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled.
The other boys sneered at him before retreating. "Pansies!" one called back at them.
Zayn knelt beside Harry, who was struggling to breathe. "Hey, hey," he murmured, rubbing Harry's back soothingly. "C'mon, let's get you inside."
Harry coughed a few times as Zayn helped him to his feet. "I'm already inside, how much more 'inside' can you get than prison?" he huffed.
"Not for long, Haz, not for long." Zayn managed to get Harry into the room, laying the younger boy on his bunk. "Your mum will get you out of here."
Harry looked up at him helplessly. "Zayn, it's been weeks. Nothing's gonna happen, I'm stuck here."
"No you're not," Zayn said firmly. "You're getting out, Haz, you've done nothing wrong."
Harry coughed a few more times, closing his eyes and just accepting Zayn's words.
Week 8, Day 5:
Zipping up his bag, Zayn sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the top bunk. Today was the day.
"I don't want you to go," Harry whispered from the table behind him.
Zayn turned to the younger boy. "I don't wanna leave you here," he replied.
"No, Zayn, I really don't want you to go," Harry insisted. He walked up to Zayn and grabbed his hands, staring sadly into his eyes. "I-"
"Ssh," Zayn hushed. He sighed and kissed Harry's forehead. "Don't say it."
"But-"
"Please, Harry," Zayn begged. "Don't say it."
Looking away, Harry blinked back tears. "Okay," he croaked.
Zayn slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out, Harry following along behind him pathetically. "Sir," Zayn nodded when they approached the warden at the door to the prisoner's area.
"Malik," the warden replied. "Good luck out there. I don't want to see you back here again."
Zayn bit his lip and nodded. "You won't. Not as an inmate, anyway." He glanced to Harry, who looked ready to burst into tears.
"Styles can't go with you," the warden stated firmly.
"No, I know," Zayn sighed. He turned to the accused murderer, giving him a strong hug. "See you soon, Haz."
"Yeah," Harry whispered, not trusting his voice.
Pulling back, Zayn patted Harry's shoulder and headed through the door, the warden following him out and locking it behind them. They headed out through another door and into the reception area.
"Your family is outside," the warden told him, signing a paper. He held it out for Zayn.
"Thank you, sir." Zayn signed the paper, too, then handed it back. "I'll be back to visit Harry."
The warden simply guided Zayn outside. There were tall wire fences either side of the drive that led to the outside world, and behind those fences were the other inmates.
"Zayn!" A girl a bit less than a head shorter than him rushed up and hugged him tightly.
"Waliyah," Zayn sighed, squeezing back. "God, I missed you." He found himself being hugged by his mother, father, and other two sisters as well, closing his eyes and taking in the moment. "I missed all of you."
An all too familiar sniffle reached his ears and Zayn looked to the fence. Harry stood on the other side, eyes bloodshot and lower lip trembling. Untangling himself from his family, Zayn headed to the fence, threading his fingers through Harry's where they were gripping the wire. "Don't leave me here," Harry sobbed, his tears breaking free.
"I don't want to," Zayn whispered. He squeezed Harry's hand as much as he could. "I'm coming back, okay? I'll come back and see you."
"It's not the s-same." Harry leaned his forehead against the fence, crying quietly.
Zayn pressed his forehead to Harry's. "Harry. Harry look at me." When Harry's eyes met his own, Zayn murmured, "Come here."
They shared the simplest of kisses through the wire, lips pressed together for as long as they could. When they broke apart, Zayn squeezed Harry's hand one last time before pulling away completely and returning to his family.
Looking to the warden, he sniffed back his tears. "And you think he's a murderer," he scoffed.
He could feel the pain of leaving Harry worsen as he walked further down the drive with his family, waiting until he was in the car before letting his tears fall. He sobbed into his hands, his older sister pulling him into a hug.
Freedom - Week 2, Day 4:
Quiet was all Zayn had been since returning home. He currently had his laptop open, searching through the results until he finally found what he wanted. Then, grabbing his car keys, he scribbled down the address he wanted and hurried towards the garage.
He had no idea how long he had been driving, but he finally reached his destination. He pulled himself together, then knocked on the front door.
"Hello?" A slightly shorter woman looked up at him in confusion when she opened the door.
"Mrs Anne Twist?" Zayn asked.
The woman looked at him suspiciously. "Yes…"
Zayn sighed in relief. "Thank God. My name's Zayn Malik, I'm-"
"From the prison!" Anne exclaimed. "Oh my gosh, come in." She ushered Zayn in the door, sitting him down in the living room. "Harry wrote and told me all about you."
"He did?" Zayn asked quietly.
"He did," Anne confirmed. "Oh, he's head over heels for you, darling. He misses you terribly."
Keeping calm, Zayn asked, "How's the appeal coming?"
Anne snorted. "What appeal?" She folded her arms and huffed. "They've done nothing about it. They don't want to know."
"Mum?"
Anne glanced to the young woman in the living room doorway, then back at Zayn. "Yes, Gemma?" she asked coolly.
Zayn looked Gemma up and down. She didn't look like a killer, either… until you saw her eyes. They looked like the spark that should be there had died, almost buried by the guilt her irises were filled with. "Gemma?"
"Are you Zayn?" Gemma asked.
"That's me," Zayn nodded. He felt like bursting and letting out all the hateful words and demanding questions that were building inside him. 'How could you do this to your brother?' 'You're disgusting for making him go through this.'
But the guilt in those eyes stopped him.
"I want to take his place," Gemma stated clearly. "I can't live with myself knowing he's in there when it should be me."
It wasn't just the guilt and haunting death, though. There was something else about Gemma Styles that almost made Zayn feel sorry for her.
"Why did you kill him?" Zayn asked her.
Gemma closed her eyes, seemingly bracing herself. "Because he raped me."
And now Zayn felt sick, because he had been hating her for what she did to Harry. But Harry knew the whole time why Gemma had done what she did. He knew, he understood why, and he wanted to protect her from further harm.
Burying his face in his hands, Zayn breathed out heavily. "Shit."
"I'm gonna call about that appeal again," Gemma said, making to head down the hall.
"No," Anne ordered, making Gemma freeze. "Antagonising them won't make it any better."
"I've gotta go see him," Zayn said finally. He stood up, but Anne grabbed this wrist and stopped him.
"I'll come with you," she whispered. "Maybe we can get something done if we take Harry's lawyer, too. She wants to help him, because she believes that he never killed anyone."
Zayn nodded firmly.
Freedom- Week 2, Day 5:
Zayn ignored the stares inmates gave him as he strolled towards the doors with Anne and Harry's lawyer. They headed into reception, asking for the head officer in charge.
Once Anne and the lawyer were busy discussing Harry's appeal, the warden organised visiting for Zayn.
"I understand you have a specific relationship with Styles," the warden said as they waited.
"Nothing official," Zayn shrugged. "Nothing ever happened before what you saw when I left." He blew out a nervous breath, clasping his hands together.
"Nothing?" the warden asked dubiously.
"Nothing," Zayn confirmed. "We were just really close."
The door opened and a guard walked in followed by a tired-looking Harry. The second he could, Harry ran up to Zayn and flung his arms around him, burying his face in the older boy's shoulder. "Zayn."
"Hey, Haz," Zayn whispered. "I said I'd come see you."
Harry just squeezed him tightly, then pulled back and looked into Zayn's eyes. "Zayn, I didn't get to say last time that I-"
"Don't," Zayn interrupted, covering Harry's mouth with his hand. "Don't say it, not here." Pecking Harry's forehead, Zayn murmured, "Those words need to be saved for freedom. When we prove you're innocent and you're walking free like me."
Harry smiled, tears gathering in his eyes. His smile turned sad quickly. "Zayn, they're never gonna go through with the appeal."
"They will, you'll see," Zayn assured him. He leaned up and pressed their lips together, giving them both butterflies. They kissed for several sweet minutes before the warden cleared his throat.
"There's so much I wanna say, but at the same time I just wanna sit with you," Harry whispered.
"Then we can sit and do a bit of talking," Zayn smiled, sitting them down.
"Yeah." Harry curled into Zayn's side, sighing heavily. "Thanks for coming to see me, Zayn."
Kissing Harry's forehead, Zayn chuckled, "They couldn't keep me away if they tried."
There was a short silence, then Harry asked quietly, "Why were you gone so long?"
"My family," Zayn sighed. "They didn't want me coming back too soon. Trust me, Haz, I would've come back the day after if my family didn't mean so much to me."
"Don't blame her," Harry pouted, sitting up to face Zayn properly. "It was my choice."
Rolling his eyes, Zayn huffed, "Your choice to lie and say you killed her ex when it was her? That's not right, Haz. I know what he did to her, but you shouldn't get the wrap for something she did. Yes, he raped her, but she should've gone to the police. She should've said something to someone in authority instead of-"
"She did," Harry whispered.
Zayn frowned. "She did what?"
"Told the police," Harry explained. "She called them straight after it happened, and the officer came around to ask her questions. When she told him what happened, he said she mustn't've made herself clear enough and that she shouldn't go 'wasting police time with petty boyfriend-troubles'."
Zayn felt sick. "This is why I hate the justice system," he spat out. "They do nothing, then wonder why people take matters into their own hands. You shouldn't be here, Haz, and Gemma shouldn't have to be, either."
Leaning his head on Zayn's shoulder, Harry told him, "If I never came here, I wouldn't've met you."
And Zayn had no answer for that.
The warden, who had sat through the whole conversation, finally spoke up. "That's time, boys," he said gruffly, acting as though he hadn't just heard every word they had shared. "Time to go back, Mr Styles."
Harry's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded silently. Leaning closer, he stole a soft kiss from Zayn, then gave him a final squeeze before standing and heading back through the door he had entered.
"Better get you back out," the warden told Zayn, leading him back to the reception area.
Anne was just leaving the head officer's office, fists clenched and shoulders rigid. Harry's lawyer followed her out, looking downhearted. "Nothing," Anne hissed, folding her arms. "He won't give him an appeal."
Even though she was trying to hide it, Zayn could see the tears building in Anne's eyes, just the way Harry does. "Let's go," he suggested gently, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Blowing out a breath, Anne agreed, "Let's go."
Freedom- Week 3, Day 7
Zayn hadn't heard from Anne since the day at the prison, so when his mobile phone started to ring with an unknown number, he couldn't help but feel hopeful. "Hello?" he answered, maybe a little too eagerly.
"Zayn, come over as fast as you can," Anne instructed, her grin audible. "Come over, it's Harry."
Already grabbing his keys and racing out the front door with a quick wave to his mum, Zayn asked, "What about him?"
"The appeal. It went through, Zayn, the appeal went through! We've done the trial and everything, and they've found him not guilty!"
"Already?" Zayn asked in surprise as he started the engine and headed off towards Anne's house. "Doesn't that stuff normally take months to process? And I thought you said that bloke wasn't gonna give him an appeal?"
"He wouldn't when I asked, but someone convinced him to and hurried the paperwork along and…" Anne was so excited she could barely form sentences. "He's coming home!"
"I'll be there as soon as I can," Zayn promised.
The two exchanged farewells and hung up. Zayn wasn't sure if he was driving at the speed limit or not, but he made it to Anne's house in a surprisingly short space of time. He jumped out of the car and didn't even make it to the door before Anne was outside and hugging him tightly.
"He's coming home, he's coming home," Anne repeated over and over. "Zayn, my baby boy's coming home!"
Pulling back, Zayn asked, "What's happened with Gemma?"
"She was given a much lighter sentence because the court accepted that she wasn't mentally stable when she killed him. Six months and counselling for as long as they deem necessary," Anne nodded.
Zayn had to lean against the porch railing, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. "Whoa," he half-laughed.
"Mum!" Before Zayn could even turn around, Anne was knocked backwards by curls and a sob. "Mum, Mum, Mum…"
"Harry," Anne breathed out, squeezing him tightly. "My baby." She stroked his hair, pushing him back enough to kiss his forehead and hold his cheeks. "Harry…"
"I missed you," Harry sniffed, hugging her again.
Smiling fondly, Zayn put a hand on Harry's back. He chuckled a little when Harry whipped his head around to see him, laughing properly when the younger boy flung his arms around his neck. "Hey, you."
"Zayn," Harry whispered, face buried in Zayn's neck. "Thank you."
"What're you thanking me for?" Zayn asked, arms wrapped tightly around Harry's middle.
"You came to see me," Harry mumbled. "The warden listened to us. He… he fixed up the appeal for me. I think he felt bad for treating me like he had."
"He believed us?" Zayn asked in amazement.
"We weren't trying to convince anyone. We were just talking to each other."
Pulling back slightly, Zayn caught Harry's lips in a kiss, sighing happily through his nose. "You're free," he murmured, gently bumping their noses together.
"Which means I can finally say this." Looking right into Zayn's eyes, Harry stated, "I love you."
Zayn grinned, kissing Harry again quickly. "I love you, too."
Freedom- Year 3, Month 5, Week 2, Day 4
"Zayn?"
Shifting a little in the unfamiliar, but certainly not uncomfortable, bed he was cuddled up in, Zayn blurrily blinked his eyes open to land on the grinning face beside him. "Morning, my love," Zayn hummed, leaning closer and kissing the man beside him.
"Zayn… we got married yesterday."
Zayn had to laugh a little. "Yes, Harry, we did. I was there, you know."
Harry swatted at Zayn's arm, fighting to hide a smile. "But we actually did it. We tied the knot."
"That we did," Zayn chuckled, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him closer. "It was kinda nice that the warden was there," he noted after a while.
"Yeah," Harry murmured, settling his head on Zayn's shoulder. "It was." With what could almost be called a giggle, he added, "We still don't know his real name."
"Even if we did, would you use it?" Zayn smirked, laughing along with Harry when he shook his head.
