Work Text:
When the song was uploaded and pushed out into the world, Zayn felt as though he had been flayed. He was certain that his long-simmering love for Harry Styles had just been announced to the world, that Gigi would never speak to him again for the blatant disrespect to her this song represented, that his parents would disown him and his friends titter behind his back. He struggled with whether this would go on Icarus Falls, his second album, but he was so damn tired of himself and his frustrated desires.
For too long he had careened between bitterness at his old bandmates and at Harry, who had let him leave, who made a joke of his leaving, and a longing so intense that it took his breath away when he let it. If an emotion had dominated on a song, it had always been bitterness. He had never been able to let the longing come through purely, except this one time. He missed Harry. He missed being with someone every day who made him laugh as much as he lusted. He had never felt for a man what he felt then and still felt for Harry, which was a craving that fighting and finally separation had done nothing to diminish. He desired Gigi; she was beautiful and unapologetic about her sensuality. If he could only fuck one woman for the rest of his life, he would be fine with it being Gigi. She wasn’t Harry, though. As lovely as she was, she didn’t make his pulse quicken at the sight of her. She never made him feel the unbridled joy that he felt every time Harry Styles looked at him.
He waited in his apartment, alone. Gigi as usual was working; she was nothing if not industrious. If she had had her way he would have been much bigger. Only Harry ever understood, he thought, despite everything, that he didn’t want to be big. If he never had to perform on stage again, he wouldn’t miss it. If he never had to go to an industry function, he wouldn’t care. Everything Harry was good at it, Zayn could barely do at all. He always loved people who were good at this business of fame, as though through being with them his own aversion would be wiped out, somehow. He just wanted to do the music he liked and to be left alone, but he was used to the money. He wanted to play, Harry had said during one of their fights, but he didn’t want to pay. “This is the price for buying your parents that great house and wearing the great clothes and flying first class everywhere, Zayn. You can’t have it both ways!”
So he waited for the backlash, for texts from Gigi and from his parents, for his Twitter feed to explode. He was surprised when the song was portrayed as shade at 1D, shocked when a random tweet of Louis’ turned the attention to their brief past Twitter beef. He and Louis made up ages ago; they still talked from time to time. Louis understood how Zayn was, how he could get paranoid when he had a long bout of anxiety, how he could start thinking that his friends weren’t his friends. He never held anything Zayn said at those times against them. A message arrived:
z i dont know wtf all this is about probs btwn us but im fine love new song have u hrd frm h ha not likely
He texted him back to say yeah, I know, and no, I haven’t, and no, it isn’t, but he wished that if no one else could see his beating heart laid out that Harry would. He was paralyzed as always by fear, mostly fear of being laughed at. Harry could be cruel at times, and even though he hid it better now Zayn had no reason to think it wasn’t still true. Harry sometimes would laugh at him for his earnestness, for the very qualities that Zayn liked best in himself--his care for the people he loves, his generosity, his lack of artifice. Harry was generous too, but he took as much as he gave. It was always a problem between them, how much Harry would take.
He wanted to give Harry everything, though. He still did.
Zayn couldn’t stop himself. He played “Good Years” over and over again throughout the day, and he cried and smoked. He remembered the nights when they had thrown themselves at each other in desperation, when he had literally clawed at Harry because he couldn’t get close enough to him.
Gigi texted: are u feeling mad at them again things ok
He answered, knowing from experience that if he didn’t she wouldn’t stop.
im good its an old song wrote it when feeling bitter u know how i get
Three days later the door buzzed, which confused him. Only Gigi had the code to get in the building, and he’d not heard from her since the one text. It was the super, he thought. There must be a maintenance problem that Zayn would prefer be left alone. He was miles from wanting anyone in the apartment with him. Maybe Gigi, although if he saw her, he would confess everything that he had kept from her for years. He would tell her what he denied every time they went through a rough patch and she accused him of still loving Perrie. He would out himself, he was sure of it.
He opened the door, though, and like a dream Harry was standing there, looking soft and smiling slightly. He was bundled up in woolens; it must be cold out, although Zayn hadn’t been out in days to know firsthand. He stood there too long, long enough that Harry had to raise his eyebrows as if to say, “Can I come in, Z?” As if he had to ask, ever. Zayn had to know, first.
“Why are you here, H? What do you want?”
“To say I’m sorry? Let me in, Zayn. I don’t care what the place looks like. It was hard to come. If you make me wait I might still run away.”
At that, Zayn moved aside and let his Harry in, murmuring, “It’s alright, Harry, it doesn’t matter. You’re here.” He thought, in the moment before reason deserted him and love and lust overwhelmed, that the only person who needed to understand him had.