Archive of Our Own

“You lot are going to kill each other.” Niall says, trying to bite back a laugh.

Harry and Zayn exchange a look. Zayn thinks that’s a gross overstatement. He gets on well enough with Harry - and, if pushed, Zayn would go as far as to say that Harry is his closest friend now that Louis is off being a married father and all. But, he can’t deny that they fight a lot. It’s mostly in jest, but Zayn can’t think of anyone else in his life that annoys the shit out him like Harry does, but then again, there’s nobody else that he would agree to go on a six month expedition across South America with. Zayn doesn’t know why Harry wants to go away, but it’s clearly important to him, and it’s not like there’s anything in London that’s keeping Zayn locked. His job as a photographer allows him a lot of freedom, and ever since Gigi broke up with him, Zayn isn’t all that sure he wants to stay at home either. Besides, his assistant insisted that Zayn get new photographs, so really, this could be called a work trip.

The five of them - Harry, Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Louis met at the University of Manchester. Harry’s roommate Louis ended up being Zayn’s best friend while Zayn’s roommate Liam ended up being in the same law course as Harry. Niall, like all great Irish men, came fully formed and ready to change their life for the unexpectedly better. Zayn smiles whenever he thinks about those early days at university where him and Harry would argue about everything and anything. Now, nearly ten years later, Harry and Zayn still bicker, but it’s more out of habit than anything else. 

The day they’re due to leave for Cartagena, Niall stops by, promising to take care of Zayn’s apartment while he’s away. They’ll work something out about rent later, but at least someone Zayn trusts is taking care of his few but precious belongings.

“You're going to kill each other,” Niall repeats, sitting on Zayn’s sofa, looking at where Harry is packing up the last of his belongings.

Zayn eyes him from the floor where he’s packing his camera chargers away. “Probably, but I hope I’ll get some good photos out of it.”

“We’re not going to kill each other,” Harry says. Zayn eyes him suspiciously. Harry grins. “One of us will definitely kill the other, but we won’t kill each other. That would require fisticuffs, and neither of us are about that life.”

Niall laughs. “Semantics.”

“It’ll be fine.” Zayn says, trying to stuff his parka into the backpack. He has no idea what to expect as far as weather is considered, so he’s packing everything he can. “Besides, I need to find a muse, and Harry here is running away from whatever girl he’s fucking these days so this trip is equally beneficial for both of us.”

“I’m not running away from a girl.” Harry says slowly, like he’s genuinely trying to remember if he did or not. After a moments consideration, he shakes his head. “Yeah, no, I definitely don’t have a girl I need to explain where I’m going off to for six months.”

Niall snickers. “The fact you actually had to think about that.”

“The life of a rock star.” Harry explains with a lazy wave. He stands up, and pulls his backpack on. He smiles at Zayn, all bright and excited. “Ready?”

Zayn picks up his own backpack, double checking for his passport. “No, but I’ll probably never be.”

Harry claps him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”

As they’re walking down the stairs out of Zayn’s apartment, Zayn hears Niall shout after them. “I refuse to take care of the funeral arrangements.”

*

“D’you reckon I could join the mile high club?” Harry asks on the flight after getting an extra beer from the flight attendant who, like most people, seems poorly equipped to dealing with dimples framed by curly hair.

Zayn doesn’t look up from his book. “If anyone can, it’s probably you.”

“Aw thanks, Zayn.” Harry coos.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Not a compliment, you slag.”

Harry just grins, all dimples. 

*

They decide to start in Cartagena because it’s photogenic. The historic stone walled city and colorful architecture are a god send for someone like Zayn, but he finds that the real charm is the people. As he walks the old town with Harry, he can’t help but notice just how lovely everyone is. The Caribbean Sea is visible from all corners, which definitely adds to the overall beauty of the city.

“Sir Francis Drake landed here,” Harry explains, as they walk through the walled Old Town. Zayn wrinkles his nose at the thought. Harry reads the tour guide, which is apparently in English. “It says he explored the Old Town, which was a strategic port for the Spanish, but something tells me that he probably looted more than he explored.”

Zayn makes a face, and takes out his camera. History is nice, really. He should know about it. He just finds that a lot of times, it’s written by people who’s perspective he doesn’t think is all that accurate. Harry probably feels the same because he lets out a huff, and puts away the guide, explaining, “I picked it up in London. I might pick one of the ones here, although my Spanish is dreadful.”

“Should have bought Niall along,” Zayn says casually. Harry lets out an amused hum. 

The Old Town is filled with bright colored buildings, and Zayn takes photos of the blue house, and then the pink shop, and then the purple office building that doubles as a house. Then, he takes photos of Harry for instagram, even if Harry is ridiculous about it. Zayn appreciates a good aesthetic. He can’t do what he does without that, but Harry takes it to a whole new level. Zayn takes ten photos for every pose Harry makes, and then Harry looks through all of them before deciding he doesn’t like any of them. Zayn starts all over again. “You would think I’m an amateur with the amount you’re making me redo my shots.”

Harry grins. “I’m just trying to find my best angle.”

“You have no bad angles,” Zayn says, with a shake of the head. He takes another photo, but Harry wasn’t ready for it. The photo is of Harry looking down at the ground, with a laugh on his face. Zayn can’t bring himself to delete it even if it’s not the aesthetic Harry wants. 

Zayn takes another, and he shows that one to Harry who smiles brightly. “You know what, you might actually be good at this.”

“I should hope so,” Zayn says, trying not to laugh. “I get paid for it.”

“That you do,” Harry agrees, as he skips ahead. Zayn follows him.

The southern hemisphere summer beats down on them, and the high sun is something that neither of them are particularly used to. Harry suggests that they stop by a coffee shop, which seems to double up as a library slash book store. Zayn instantly takes out his camera, and Harry snorts. When Zayn gives him a look, Harry just gives him a lopsided smile. “And you had the nerve to mock me for my aesthetics.”

“It’s my job,” Zayn scoffs, taking a picture of the exposed brick bookshelves. He likes a good exposed brick, and he absolutely adores books. Zayn eyes Harry moving past the coffee bar to actually take a look at the books on the shelves, pulling one out, eyeing it carefully. Something about the way Harry bites his bottom lip in concentration combined with the bookshelf behind him makes Zayn want to take another picture, which he does.

“History of the city,” Harry explains when he walks over. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to check it out and it's in Spanish, but it might be worth looking through.”

Zayn nods, looking over Harry’s shoulders. “The pictures are useful at least.”

They’re allowed to buy the book, which is nice. Zayn thinks the policy is that it’s checkout only, but Harry does the thing where he would smile with just enough dimples to charm his way to anything. Also, the barista probably felt bad for them because they really were pathetic with their half baked Spanish.

*

“So, I reckon there’s a time limit on how long you’re going to wait to tell me why you wanted to do this,” Zayn says casually when they’re walking towards the statue of the India Catalina, biting his shaved ice cone. He thinks it’s called a raspao, and it’s delicious. When Harry only hums in acknowledgment, Zayn continues, “You know, pack up your bags last minute and book a flight to Colombia and, for some godforsaken reason, drag me along.”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t see you complaining when you got all those fancy shots of the sea.”

“I’m not complaining,” Zayn says with a shake of the head, dropping ice shavings in the process. It’s true all things considered. Zayn is having a very nice time. “I just figured you’d tell me what you’re actually running away from."

“Now who said I was running away from something?” Harry asks as he throw an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn goes along with it when Harry pulls him closer. Zayn vaguely remembers their first year at university, and how they were probably the same height. Nowadays, Harry towers over him. Harry looks down at Zayn, smiling slightly. “Maybe I’m running head first towards something.”

“What.” Zayn blinks at that, meeting Harry’s eyes. There’s a lot of things he knows about Harry, but leave it to the other man to be cryptic as fuck when he wants to be. Harry takes Zayn’s momentary pause to scoop some of the shave iced cone, and spilling a chunk of it on to Zayn’s shirt in the process, which snaps Zayn out of it. The cold ice shavings run down the front of Zayn’s shirt to the floor. Harry cackles and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Asshole.”

Harry hums. “That I am.”

When they get to the statue, Zayn pulls his camera out to take a few photos and frowns at all of them. His assistant told him to find some inspiration in South America because all his content is becoming a bit stale at this point, and Zayn couldn’t even argue it. There’s only so many times he can call up Gigi to take some fashion shots of her before it bores everyone. Harry watches over Zayn’s shoulder as Zayn shifts through the pictures until Zayn lands on the one of Harry at the bookstore.

“Send me that one.” Harry says suddenly. Zayn feels his face warm at the idea. Sometimes he takes pictures, and he doesn’t know why, but they’re not meant to be shared. But obviously, since it’s a picture of Harry, Zayn can’t realistically say no. Within minutes, Harry posts it on instagram. “Don’t worry, I credited you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. “You’re going to kill our data.”

Harry stays silent for a long moment, staring down at his phone before shaking his head and bringing himself back from whatever mood he’s falling into. Zayn is about to ask what’s going on with him when Harry smiles brightly at Zayn, and tilts his head towards the boys playing football in the plaza. “D’you reckon we can beat them?”

It’s a diversion, but it works. Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

They absolutely do not beat eight local boys at football. One of them, as polite as possible, told Harry and Zayn that this is why the English can never win a world cup. They’re dreadful, apparently.

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harrystyles: If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. PC: @zayn

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niallhoran: did you google instagram captions about books

harrystyles: @niallhoran no….I came up with it on my own

zayn: @niallhoran I can confirm that’s exactly what he did

*

They go to a club in the newer part of Cartagena. It’s packed with people so good looking that Zayn thinks that they belong on magazine somewhere. He exchanges a look with Harry, who grins, a little dazed. There’s reggaeton inspired music playing over the speakers, mostly in Spanish, but there’s some Portuguese mixed in. It’s a bit expensive, but it’s the place to be, according to some locals they met during the day. Zayn and Harry go their separate ways, and Zayn finds himself talking to a girl. She’s blonde and American, and really nice, even if conversation is all but impossible over the music. 

He’s pleasantly buzzed when she trails a finger down his chest, and grinds up close to him. Zayn looks up, scanning the club to find Harry, who’s leaning in close to a man, with dark hair and tattoos. Zayn’s just a bit dazed when the girl leads him by the hand out the club. He shoots Harry a quick text.

It’s not until Harry stumbles into their hostel room ten minutes later that their living arrangements get a bit awkward. Harry’s with that guy from the club, who eyes Zayn up appreciatively, but Zayn is drawn away by Mallory the blonde who bites at his neck.

Zayn exchanges a look with Harry and says, “I don’t care if you don’t.”

Harry shrugs, too distracted by the mystery man to spare Zayn a glance. “I don’t care.”

This isn’t the first time him and Harry hooked up in the same room with different people. Throughout university, they went out and pulled together, only to stumble back into each other’s apartments. Still, Zayn still finds himself entirely too distracted by Harry and the mystery man, and not nearly as distracted by Mallory as he hoped for.

*

It takes four bus changes, one taxi, and at least eighteen hours for them to get to Tayrona from Cartagena. Zayn’s original itinerary took him to the capitol Bogota, but Harry insisted that they detour because the Parque Nacional Tayrona has deserted beaches on the Caribbean and snow capped peaks in the distance, and well don’t you want a muse, Zayn? Mountains are inspirational. Zayn isn’t sure about that, but he’s committed to this backpacking journey, and that seems to imply following Harry around. The mountains don’t have any snow because it’s not the season for it, but Zayn really can’t complain when they get to Tayrona.

There’s some debate on whether they should stay on hammocks, which Harry insists are romantic, but they’re in a communal room and the mosquito net looks a bit dodgy for Zayn’s taste and he’s not all that keen to see what Harry means by romantic. The hotels, which Zayn thinks are the best idea because they can have their own showers, are quickly thrown out because they’re too expensive and they can’t blow their budget before they leave Colombia. That leaves tents in a communal camp site, which isn’t too bad, even if Zayn has never put a tent up in his life and doesn’t plan on starting now either.

“Are you done yet?” Zayn asks, from his chair, as he flips through his camera roll for the day. He still doesn’t have anything great, which is a shame because he really wanted to send his assistant some new photographs. He watches Harry nail the tent to the ground. He’s shirtless and his back muscles twitch with each movement. 

Harry looks at Zayn over his shoulder. “It would go a lot faster if you would help.”

“This is why I said we should get a hotel,” Zayn says lazily. Harry glares at him, even if there’s no heat in it. “Besides you know I’ve got no upper body strength.”

Harry shakes his head, smiling at the ground, as goes back to putting up the tent. He has a bandana tying his long hair back, sweat dripping down the side of his head. Zayn thinks he looks like something out of a painting in that moment, with the palm trees framing his back, and instinctively, Zayn takes a photo.

At the click of the camera, Harry looks at him again, raising a brow. “What was that for?”

“Memories,” Zayn shrugs. 

Harry smiles cheekily, dimples on full display, but doesn’t say anything and gets back to work. When he finishes, he gets up and sits down on the arm of Zayn’s chair. Zayn shifts so that Harry isn’t completely on top of him. 

“Not bad, huh?” Harry asks, admiring his work.

“Not bad at all.” Zayn agrees. 

Harry looks over Zayn’s shoulder at the photos. He points himself out. “Totally caught me off guard there, by the way.”

“You’re still fit,” Zayn says, not really thinking. He freezes immediately after the words leaving his mouth. He knows Harry is good looking. Harry knows he’s good looking. Zayn just didn’t need Harry to know that he thinks Harry is good looking. It would go to his head, obviously.

Harry preens before smirking. “Yeah, well, you’re quite fit yourself.”

Zayn swats Harry on the arm, which makes Harry laugh. The thing is that Harry is attractive, which isn’t a new realization by any means. Zayn always thought so, but right now, with his tanned, inked skin, dark curls, and green eyes that almost reflect the Caribbean Sea, Harry is devastatingly attractive.

*

They decide to hike up to to Cabo San Juan first thing in the morning, or that was the plan, but neither of them could get out of bed till ten, and by the time they packed their bags for the day, the sun is high in the sky and the heat starts to pick up. The natural light is really good for photos though, and Zayn finds the scenic hiking trail photogenic. He takes a few of the Caribbean beating down on the sand. The locals at their camp site warned them that they shouldn’t go into the water, as the riptide in the area was too strong to swim in. The trail leads to a strip of sand and waters that’s affectionately known as La Piscina, or the pool, and they stop there for a bit. There’s little shacks that sell corn cakes with fried egg that’s probably on the wrong side of too greasy, but Zayn doesn’t mind too much. Harry, on the other hand, throws a fit about having to break his health kick, but then concedes that the corn cakes are delicious.

“Those look good,” Harry says, through a mouthful of food, as he looks at the photos Zayn is flipping through on his camera. At some point, he would need to upload them to a computer, but they haven’t stayed anywhere he feels particularly safe to do that yet. Zayn frowns, which Harry catches. “I take it that you’re not happy with them.”

“They don’t look right,” Zayn explains, with vague frustration. Harry makes a sympathetic noise. “They’re too, I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I keep trying to find something right, and nothing is working. I’ve taken thousands of photos and I’ve had to delete all of them for just being, well, wrong.”

Harry listens intently before he lies down on to the sand. “Did you know I graduated with a first from my law course?”

Zayn nods. He didn’t actually know that, but he figures Harry has a point. Harry continues, “Yeah, so like, I spent all this time and energy looking for the perfect career, and then as soon as I got a job at the firm I wanted to work at, it felt all wrong.”

“So you quit to start a band?” Zayn asks, a little wry. He’d never do that, but he doesn’t judge Harry for it. This is also the first time Harry even acknowledged quitting his job. Zayn matches Harry, and drops down on to the sand, which is too hot to actually be comfortable.

Harry hums. “There was a moment when I was on stage that my life started making sense, and that’s when I knew what was wrong with my actual job.”

“Just like that?” Zayn asks, looking up at the sky.

Harry waves into the air, laughing quietly. “Yeah, just like that.” A silence falls between them, as the ocean sounds wash over them. Then Harry says, “When you find what your inspiration is, you’ll know what’s wrong with your photos.”

Zayn sighs. “My assistant says the same thing. She says I need to find my muse.”

“You’ll find it.” Harry tells him, earnestly, in the way only Harry can. 

There’s no clinical way to be an artist. There’s no switch you can turn on that can help you figure out what it is that inspires you. It’s a journey, and Zayn knows he has to wait it out, but it is frustrating. If he can’t find something in the beauty of his travels, how is he going to find it anywhere?

*

Zayn doesn’t get a chance to wallow in that because Harry pats him on the stomach, and gestures for them to keep walking. The trail itself is twelve kilometers long, passing past the ocean, and trailing into the jungle. Zayn sprays bug repellent as soon as they cross into the wet jungle, but Harry forgets to.

Harry lets out a whine when they walk over a wooden bridge. “Zayn. Zayn.”

“Stop picking at it,” Zayn says, looking over at his shoulder, where Harry is scratching at a bug bite on his elbow.

Harry makes a face. “What if I catch malaria?”

“You got your shots,” Zayn tells him for the fourth time. When they get over the bridge, Zayn pulls to the side, and leans against a tree, and dropping his backpack to the ground. To Harry, he says, “Come here.”

Harry walks over, still scratching his elbow. Zayn tsks, before reaching over to move Harry’s elbow so he can take a closer look at the bite. It’s a bright red bump made worse by constant scratching. If Zayn is honest, it’s probably just a mosquito bite, although he knows that they can catch Dengue Fever or whatever new disease there is from mosquitos. He pulls out the hydrocortisone cream, and gently applies it to Harry’s bite. Harry hisses. “It feels weird.”

“Stop being a baby,” Zayn warns, trying not to laugh. Harry pouts. “This is why you should have wore long sleeves.”

Harry grumbles, “But then I can’t show off my arms.”

“If you die from malaria, your arms won’t save you.” Zayn says flatly, checking the rest of Harry’s arm for other bites.

Harry lets out another whine. “You said I won’t die from malaria.”

“I said you got your shots, which fail about ten percent of the time,” Zayn says, laughing when  Harry squawks. Zayn pats Harry on the arm, tossing him the bug spray. “You’ll be fine. Just spray yourself.”

Harry obeys, smiling at Zayn. “My hero.”

“Your caretaker more like,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. He’s desperately fond, and he hates it a little. “We have about four kilometers, which we need to hit before sundown.”

Harry salutes. “Yes, captain.”

*

They get on the bus to Mompox first thing in the morning. Zayn carefully packs away his camera as they get on the bus. Harry says hello to several backpackers they pass on the way, while Zayn waves in acknowledgement. Zayn quickly realizes that one of the best parts of traveling is meeting new people, and there’s something so serendipitous about meeting strangers and knowing you’ll never see them again, and yet you’re weirdly bound to them forever. There’s a local boy their age named Miguel, who tells them all the tricks and tips of traveling. There’s three boys from Austria that they chatted to on their hike. There’s a girl from Mexico traveling with her girlfriend from Peru. There’s an old couple from America, where the old man is a retired surgeon who apparently was one of the first Indian American brain surgeons in America. His wife, a typical Texas woman, told them very seriously that she never had a chance to get a passport before this trip, which is a thing Zayn can definitely relate to. He loves all of them even if he’ll never see them again.

Three hours into the bus ride, though, the bus stops with a sudden halt. It’s the first time since they’ve started traveling that it’s raining. Zayn eyes the other people on the bus with some panic because the bus driver decides to get out and check on something.

“It’s a mudslide,” Miguel explains slowly. He bites his lip nervously. “These roads are a bit dangerous if the weather is bad.”

Zayn and Harry exchange a look and Harry says, “Zayn, I just want you to know something.”

Harry waits a long moment, and Zayn can felt his anxiety rise. This isn’t the time for bad news, but then Harry grins. “If I die, you have my permission to take photos of my dead body and sell it to horror magazines for profit.”

“Idiot,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. He waits a moment before considerately saying, “I might need that in writing though. I’ve never done a horror photoset, but it might be good to branch out.”

Harry squawks. “You’re supposed to say that I’m not going to die, and that we have nothing to worry about.”

“We’re all going to die,” Zayn says, completely deadpan. Harry widens his eyes before letting out a breathy laugh. Zayn grins. “Can’t wait to monetize your death.”

“You’re terrible,” Harry shakes his head.

Turns out that it wasn’t really a mudslide, and they don’t have anything to worry about. The driver tells them, in Spanish that Miguel translates, that there’s some minor tire problems but it’s been fixed. Zayn lays back, and closes his eyes as the rocky terrain changes into something smoother. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up hours later with Harry’s head on his shoulders, breath soft on his collarbone.

When Harry wakes up, an unreadable expression crosses over his face. His voice is rough from sleep when he says, “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Zayn says through a yawn.

Harry sits up and stretches his arms over his head, and Zayn pointedly looks away from where Harry’s well-worn white, cotton shirt rides up revealing the swallows on his hip bone. When he looks back, Harry flashes him a sleepy smile, dimples on full display.

Cute, Zayn vaguely registers.

*

Mompox is a lovely town, with just the right amount of old time charm to appeal to anyone. The Magdalena River offers a beautiful backdrop, and the town is quite literally frozen in time. Most of the buildings are well over five hundred years old. The first night, they end up sleeping off their long journey in a proper hotel. The second day though, Zayn and Harry decide to split off from each other. Harry wants to check out the old Church in time for Easter celebrations, even if he isn’t overly religious himself. Zayn, on the other hand, wanders the streets looking for something inspirational, for a lack of a better word. 

It’s a small town, really. Zayn finds that he can walk from one end to the other within no time at all, stopping several times to take photos of things that he finds interesting. There’s five churches in total lining the two main roads, each of them completely distinct from the other, and eternally beautiful. There’s several mansions which seem a bit out of place, and a local boy named Andreas, who speaks a bit of broken English, confirms Zayn’s suspicions that it’s mostly out of town upper class people building houses for the aesthetic. Jewelry seem to be the craft of choice for the town, and Zayn spends well over half an hour talking to an old man about the art of gold. The old man, Horatio, knows English and was excited to practice on him. Zayn tried his best at Spanish too, which Horatio had insisted was good, even if Zayn knows it’s awful.

There’s also a lot of monkeys which scare Zayn quite a bit. He nearly got scratched by a red howler monkey, and the locals insist that they’re harmless, but Zayn finds that to be distinctly untrue. 

When Zayn finally meets up with Harry again, he says, “I was attacked by a monkey.”

“Were you?” Harry says nonchalantly, like he doesn’t quite believe Zayn, which is fair because Zayn is definitely exaggerating. Harry says, “I met a lovely old woman named Marta. I couldn’t understand a lick of what she was saying and she couldn’t understand me, but I think I met my soulmate.”

“Did you now?” Zayn asks, with some amusement. They walk down the sleepy streets, hands brushing my their sides. Zayn points out a red monkey in the tree and winces. “That’s the bastard that attacked me.”

Harry looks up and coos. “He looks so cute, though.”

“Looks can be deceptive,” Zayn says, with as much seriousness as he can muster. Before he can say anything else though, the monkey jumps down and hisses at Harry, who jumps back behind Zayn, holding on to his shoulder. When the monkey runs away, Zayn quirks a brow. “Is he still cute?” Harry shakes his head, looking after the retreating monkey. Zayn cackles.

*

They get lunch at a restaurant that overlooks the Magdalena and the main plaza of Mompox. Harry orders a potato and corn soup, while Zayn goes for a chicken soup with root vegetables. Zayn’s main dish is a rica fritter that’s stuffed with ground meat and onions, and it’s incredible. Harry, on the other hand, went for a coconut rice with raisins. Zayn snickers when Harry finds it a bit plain, and starts stealing some of Zayn’s food. Their waitress, a girl named Isabella, tells them that they should walk down to the river bank where there’s canoes that would take them on down the river, and they can see the sunset that way. That’s exactly what they do.

Harry takes off his shirt on the canoe because the humidity drenched through it, and Zayn quickly follows suit. Zayn sprays himself with bug repellent, and makes a move to do that to Harry, who tries to protest. Zayn tsks. “River mosquitos can carry dengue fever.”

“It smells bad,” Harry says, mostly to be petulant. He turns around anyways, so Zayn can spray his back. 

Zayn shakes his head. “Don’t be a brat.” Harry just sticks his tongue out in reply, and sits on the corner of the canoe, staring out at the river.

The Magdalena gives way to marshlands. Their guide, a man named Alejandro, explains that the significance of the river to indigenous culture, as well as the role it played during the Spanish conquest. He points out iguanas and herrings, and Zayn gets some good photos of them. The wildlife in the area is so different than the rest of the country, Alejandro explains. Zayn nods, not quite paying attention and instead taking to watching Harry, who stays quiet for long stretches of the ride. As the sun starts setting, Harry stretches out on his side of the canoe, as he stares out at the pink and orange sky. Zayn feels an inexplicable energy as the dusk light frames Harry’s entire body, giving his dark curls a faint red glow.

“Hey Harry, look up,” Zayn says suddenly. Harry blinks, looking up and tossing Zayn a lazy smile. Zayn angles his camera to take a picture. He looks at it once. Harry looks like a carefree rock star.

Harry still has the same lazy smile playing on his face when he says, “I’m stealing that for instagram by the way. I have no idea how you always make me look good.”

“It’s not that hard,” Zayn mutters truthfully. He thinks it would take more effort to make Harry look bad than good. He smiles at the photo again. It’s a shame he can’t use it for anything because it’s probably his best work to date.

Harry sits up as he crooks his head to look at Zayn, his eyes bright. He takes out his phone and takes a picture of Zayn. He bites his lip, smiling down at his phone, before handing it over to Zayn. He’s quiet when he says, “Give me your professional opinion, Zayn.”

It’s amateur at best, and there’s only so much you can do with an iPhone, but Zayn’s surprised at how good he looks. He’s caught completely off guard, smiling down at his camera screen. Zayn says, “Not bad, Styles.”

Harry grins, laying back down. After a moment, he says, “I’m starting to think unexpected photos are much more efficient.”

Zayn can’t even deny that. Zayn takes out his phone and smiles at Harry’s instagram post of him. He makes a mental note to upload the photo of Harry to his own instagram.

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harrystyles: My photography skills are @zayn approved.

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zayn: don’t push it.

annetwist: you look lovely zayn x

zayn: @annetwist thanks anne!!

*

The streetlights illuminate the old town as they get back to the town. Harry runs ahead to one of the cheese vendors who sell something called queso de cappa, which is apparently unique to the town. Zayn makes his way to Harry, just as Harry hands over the pesos. The vendor hands them a cone with the cheese, and Harry thanks the man politely. As they walk down the dim streets, Harry angles the cone towards Zayn, and Zayn peels a bit of the cheese to eat it.

Zayn makes a face. “It’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” Harry echos, peeling off another piece and licking it off his finger. “The man said the recipe was passed down his family for generations.”

Zayn picks off another bit. It’s a bit marmite, but it’s growing on Zayn. They pass by a goldsmith, who is melting down silver into a chain. It’s the same man that Zayn met earlier, so he raises a hand to wave at him. Harry follows Zayn’s gaze, and waves as well, smiling at the man. Horatio gestures for them to come over to him.

When they walk over, Horatio smiles at them, gently. He pulls out a brooch. “I made this today.”

“Wow.” Harry says, bright eyed. Zayn smiles. “Is there a significance to this pattern?”

There is, which Horatio tries explaining, but then realizes that his English isn’t quite strong enough. He calls over his nephew Jesus, who is kicking a football on the street, into the shop to tell them that it’s a tradition that’s been passed down for generations, and while Filigree jewelry is common across the world, Mompox is known for it in Colombia. Zayn watches Harry listen with rapt attention, which makes Horatio smile proudly. Zayn takes his camera out.

“Horatio,” Zayn says, slowly. Jesus and Horatio look at him. “Do you mind if I took a photo of you and your handiwork?”

Horatio laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Si, of course.”

The picture is wonderful. The old man looks so proud of himself, as he should. His teenage nephew is looking up at his uncle with so much admiration that Zayn doesn’t doubt that the boy will take up the trade at some point. That night, as Zayn uploads the pictures to his computer, he feels more positive about his work than he has in a while.

“I like this town,” Harry says, from his bed. Zayn looks up over his laptop at him. Harry smiles, mostly to himself. “I like the people here.”

Zayn softens at that. “My photo of Horatio and Jesus is probably the best one yet.”

“Here I thought I was your best work yet,” Harry teases, and Zayn rolls his eyes, even if it’s probably a bit true. Harry doesn’t notice though and instead, he sighs happily. “It’s nice that they have something they’re so passionate about.”

Zayn smiles at the thought. “It’s like what you said. When you find the thing that inspires you, everything else feels wrong.”

Harry grins. “I should be an inspirational speaker.”

“Don’t push it,” Zayn scoffs. 

Later that night, Zayn uploads the photo of Harry on the boat.

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zayn: “I’m starting to think unexpected photos are more efficient” - @harrystyles

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niallhoran: well, isn’t this romantic

*

One of the best things about traveling with Harry is that he knows when to leave Zayn alone. Often times, they’ll split off in different directions when Harry wants to do something a bit too bold for Zayn, and Zayn wants to chill somewhere a bit too detached from the hustle and bustle for Harry. Zayn also finds that he loves Harry’s feedback on his photos. Harry always seems to know how much to push with regards to Zayn’s job, and never oversteps his input, even when Zayn asks him to. It makes sharing things with him so much easier.

*

“Mango.” 

“Pineapple.”

“No, mango.” Zayn argues, entirely too fired up, as they make their way through the Mompox old town with Jesus. “You know I’m right.”

Harry shakes his head, glaring at Zayn. “The pineapple juice was way better.”

Jesus looks over his shoulder. “The real answer is dragonfruit.”

Zayn and Harry exchange a look. Harry grumbles, “Fair play, Jesus.”

Jesus snickers. “You two fight like my parents.”

Zayn and Harry exchange a look. Zayn asks, “Are your parents divorced by any chance?”

Jesus considers it and shakes his head. “No, but they should be though.”

*

They spend an entire week in Mompox before making their way to San Gil, which is a lot more adventurous. Their hostel is filled with backpackers from all over the world, and Harry and Zayn find themselves sharing a quad with a man around their age from Brazil and a man from America. They’re both youtubers, Zayn learns, and they find content in everything. Including Zayn and Harry. The American, Matt, tells Zayn that he loves his undercut and tattoos. The Brazilian, Ricardo, tells Harry that he looks like Mick Jagger. They’re really friendly and outgoing, albeit just a bit much.

“I can’t tell if they were propositioning us or not,” Harry says, when they finally leave their hostel. They’re taking the trail that would them to the Cascada de Juan Curi, where there’s a large waterfall that Zayn is desperate to see. Harry walks slightly ahead of Zayn. “I mean, they’re attractive, to be fair.”

Zayn snickers. “Now, I get the feeling you’re propositioning me to consider having a foursome with them.”

“I’d be a lot smoother if I was trying to pull,” Harry says, with a waggle of the eyebrows. Zayn rolls his eyes. Harry puts on an American accent and says, “Oh Zayn, your undercut is so hot.”

Zayn rolls his eyes again. “He was just being friendly.”

“Sure,” Harry agrees, easily enough even if neither of them believe that. “At least he didn’t ask you if he could touch it.”

Zayn runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer now, and the undercut is growing out awkwardly. “We should get to a city soon, so I can get it cut.”

“Nah don’t do that,” Harry waves it off. “It looks - well, hot.”

“Oh.” Zayn blinks. “Uh, thanks.”

The really great thing about Harry is that he’ll never point out Zayn’s awkwardness, so Zayn can get away with being a bit of a mess around him. It goes both ways though because, a minute later, Harry trips over a root and lands face first. Zayn doesn’t even look down at him as he walks past, leaving Harry to run after him, wiping the mud out of his eyes.

*

San Gil is made for thrill seekers, which neither Zayn or Harry really are. The second day they’re there, they go white water rafting, which would be totally fine if the rapids weren’t a solid category four, and the instructor with them wasn’t drunk the entire time. The third day, they decide to check out the bungee jumping, and promptly decide that nope, they’re not doing that. Instead, they spend the day walking through a park that has parrots in it. The fourth day, they try going dirt biking, only for Zayn to fall right off and sprain his ankle, with Harry bandaging him up, and carrying him on his back as they walk down the steep hill.

“Sorry.” Zayn apologizes, with a wince. His ankle really fucking hurts.

Harry lets out a low grunt, taking each step down carefully. “You’re lucky you’re not heavy, or I’d never do this.”

“My hero.” Zayn says, with a mock swoon. Although, he think Harry definitely qualifies as a hero in this case.

Harry’s arms tighten slightly around Zayn’s thighs. “We’re not doing any more adventure sports.”

“Deal.” Zayn agrees quickly. It’s not even his thing. He’s just going along with it because Harry wants to.

*

They try to spend as little time with the two men they’re sharing their quad with, mostly because Harry absolutely doesn’t like the American, which he reminds Zayn of every single time. The American, Matt, has definitely transitioned from mild friendliness to outright hitting on Zayn every chance he gets. For the comfort of everyone involved - mainly you, Zayn, but also me, they decide that it’s best they get the hell out of San Gil as soon as possible. Besides, it’ll be nice to go to a city at some point. Zayn likes nature as much as the next person, but he also likes a good bar and a proper shower.

*

“I don’t see you taking a lot of photos lately,” Harry points out, eyeing Zayn curiously, as they make a pit stop in Villa de Leyva. It’s on the way to Bogota, and the town plaza is picturesque, which is why they decided to get off the bus here.

Zayn hums, walking down the cobblestone roads. “I think we’ve been too busy ditching weird Americans and breaking various body parts.”

Zayn has to look away when Harry studies him, eyes intense. He walks ahead towards where the town church is lit up nicely. Zayn knows that Harry has a point. He can’t remember the last time he’s taken out his camera. He justifies it because they’ve been so busy, but really, Zayn just feels like he’s caught up in the moment, which isn’t the worst feeling in the world. He’s having fun which he can’t always say.

He does take his camera out though, taking three pictures of the church and the plaza major, where crowds of local children and elders are gathered around. He watches Harry walk to one of the juice stands to order something. Zayn eyes another concession selling beer for what looks to be less than one British pound, which is his kind of deal. They spend the evening just sitting around the plaza, talking to locals, and eating. These kind of days are becoming Zayn’s favorite, and sometimes, he just doesn’t want to photograph it.

He does, however, want to photograph Harry as he kicks a football back and forth with a local boy named Nicolas. It comes out exceptional.

*

Bogota is a god send for Zayn, mostly because they check into an actual hotel. There’s some debate, with Harry insisting that they could save a lot of money if they checked into a hostel, but Zayn insisted on needing some quiet time, and Harry didn’t push too much. They found a relatively affordable hotel in a neighborhood with good reviews. The first night they get there, they pass out on one bed, without even changing their clothes. They’re drained. When Zayn wakes up the next morning, with Harry’s breath on his neck, and their ankles tangled, he feels his heart tighten just a fraction.

“Shit,” Zayn mutters to himself, pulling himself out of Harry’s embrace, walking to the bathroom to wash his face. He looks at himself in the mirror, sleep mussed and tired. All the traveling has caught up to him, and he would love to have a lie in. He winces again, running a hand through his hair. 

When he walks out of the bathroom, Harry is sitting up on the bed, as he looks up at Zayn. “Have you gotten over your bicycle trauma yet?”

“No.” Zayn lies, but when Harry grins up at him, Zayn can’t help but chuckle. “What do you have planned?”

Turns out Harry’s plan is to rent a couple of bicycles, and go on a tour of the city. Every Sunday, a section of the city is closed off to traffic, and people on bicycles and roller skates wiz around. At first, Zayn has his worries, but he gets caught up in the environment quickly enough. Zayn makes sure his camera is secure in his backpack, and makes his way up the steep uphill sections of Bogota. Harry finds the whole thing a blast. It’s exhausting. though, and while Bogota isn’t nearly as hot as some of the other places they’ve been in, they eventually decide to give up on their bikes. Luckily, they’re near the Plaza de Bolivar, which is filled with street food vendors. They grab tamales, and sit on one of the steps overlooking the statue of Simón Bolivar.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you,” Harry says, wistfully looking out in the distance where a street performer is performing a song to a crowd. 

Zayn hums, flipping through his camera roll. “You’re going to have to get a bit more specific, mate.”

Harry is silent for a long time before saying, “Just, y’know, for coming on this trip with me.”

That gets Zayn’s attention and he looks over at Harry. A pigeon makes it’s way to their feet, and Harry focuses intensely at the bird and he’s a bit distant when he says, “It’s a bit stupid, but I guess I just wanted to get away from my life and the band for a bit, and I just really appreciate you not questioning it.”

“I thought you liked what you were doing.” Zayn probes delicately. 

Harry gestures in front of him in frustration before groaning. “I do, I do. It’s not that - it’s just, well. I kinda felt suffocated.”

“Oh.” Zayn says evenly. Harry will get there eventually. 

Harry makes a face. “I love music. I love performing and I love making music, but sometimes, the lifestyle is a bit much.”

“And you thought getting away would help.” Zayn suggests, which is probably entirely too simple. He knows nothing about being in a band.

Harry nods, slowly. “I just needed to reset my head, I think.”

“Is it working?” 

“Yeah, I think it is,” Harry says contemplatively. “This trip is a bit inspiring.”

Zayn makes a face. “I’m not sure I found mine, yet, but I am glad you’re getting inspiration.”

“But are you having fun?” Harry asks, biting his lower lip, a little hesitant. Zayn never realizes how weird hesitation and nerves look on Harry.

“Of course I am,” Zayn says, entirely too quickly. He’s having the time of his life. Just because his artistic intuition isn’t clicking into place doesn’t mean he’s not getting something out of it. 

“I’m glad,” Harry says, with a grin. He hops off the steps. “Come on, let’s go check out the man that’s singing.”

*

Zayn spends the entire afternoon playing photographer for Harry. Zayn remembers their first day in Cartagena over three weeks ago, when Harry would pose fifty times, and decide he only liked one picture. It’s a lot different these days. Harry’s instagram aesthetic is completely thrown out. 

“Take a selfie with me, Zayn.” Harry pleads, as they stand in front of another statue of some revolutionary or another. Before Zayn could protest, Harry snaps a picture of them. He looks down at his phone and grins. “Totally instagram worthy.”

Zayn laughs. He doesn’t even care if it looks terrible. Sometimes he forgets that he’s supposed to enjoy taking photos for a living, and that it doesn’t need to be all that serious. Later that night, Zayn checks instagram and sees the photo. Zayn is definitely caught off guard, squinting into the sun, with his sunglasses perched on top of his head. Harry, though, smiles brightly with his dimples on full display.

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harrystyles: we’re having a blast. 

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louist91: @niallhoran you owe me 40 quid mate

niallhoran: @louist91 not yet mate we don’t have confirmation

harrystyles: @louist91 @niallhoran do I even want to know what’s going on?

louist91: @harrystyles don’t worry your curly head over it. I’m just glad you and zayn are having a blast. :)

gemmastyles: adorable!!

*

The second day in Bogota, they decide to sleep in. They stayed up late watching a Spanish movie that neither of them could understand properly, but both of them decide that they love. At some point, one of them fell asleep, and then sometime later, they other fell asleep as well. That’s how Zayn finds himself waking up, curled around Harry, with Harry’s arm around his waist.

Zayn twists, and Harry lets out a whine. “Sleep.”

“Harry,” Zayn whispers, desperate to pull away. “Get up, you fucking octopus.”

Harry blinks awake, slowly registering his surroundings. “Oh.”

“Oh.”

A beat and then Harry yawns, tightening his arm around Zayn. “Just go back to bed, Zayn. We’re knackered.”

Zayn feels the flush creep up his entire body, but Harry is lightly snoring, and well, he’s really tired too. They don’t wake up again until mid afternoon, at which point, they order room service, and promptly go back to bed. This time, Zayn sleeps in his own bed. 

*

They walk through Chapinero on the third day. Several of the bars along the streets play live music, and Zayn found great amusement in Harry dancing with the locals. Zayn snaps a lot of photos of street artists and murals. He meets a lovely older woman who explains the significance of several of the murals. At one of the shops, Harry picks up a ukulele.

“Before this trip, all I knew about Colombia was Shakira,” Harry explains, tuning the ukulele in a coffee shop they’ve decided to stop in. “Which, to be fair, is probably one of the best associations any country can ask for.”

Zayn has to concede that’s true. He quietly thanks the waitress who brings them their coffee, blowing the steam away. Harry strums the ukulele carefully and Zayn smiles. “Didn’t know you played the ukulele.”

Harry hums, drinking his coffee. “I’m broadening my horizons. Ukulele songs are all the rage these days.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Zayn says, doubting it very much. Still, Harry seems happy. “It might just be good to have something with you, so you can write songs again.”

“Yeah, and I could always tweak it to a guitar later,” Harry agrees, absentmindedly strumming along. He eyes Zayn’s camera. “You were snapping away today.”

Zayn did take a lot of photos today. Mostly of people which is a bit different to what he normally does. Sure, he takes a lot of pictures of models who are looking for an aesthetic, but  this time around, he did something new. There’s the picture of all the local boys excitedly posing in front of their favorite mural. There’s the old man deep in conversation with Harry over all the name changes Bogota had over the years, which Harry listened to with the same fascination he has about everything. There’s Harry, always Harry, doing yet another ridiculous thing that just seems so important to get a permanent record of. Zayn isn’t planning on publishing any of these pictures anywhere, but they make him so unbelievably happy.

“I’d say it’s been a pretty successful day for us.” Zayn says, when he realizes he’s been spacing out too long, and Harry is looking at him expectantly. Harry grins at that.

Bogota at night is electric. There’s always something happening. It’s the first night that they haven’t slept early since they’ve gotten to the city, and Zayn eyes each passing club with some consideration. They’re all probably very expensive, and he doesn’t want to spend too much money, especially considering that they’re still in the first country on their itinerary. Zayn decides he wants an early night. He’s picked up some new local comics, and he wants to take his chances at reading them. Harry though, decides, to go out.

*

Going out apparently means staying at some stranger’s house for Harry.

Zayn doesn’t know why he’s angry. It’s definitely better than Harry bringing someone back to their room, and Zayn really isn’t in the mood to sleep on the hostel communal couch while Harry dicks down some random person. Zayn rationalizes his irritation by focusing on how it’s not safe. Sure, Harry is a grown man, and can take care of himself, but it’s still a foreign country, and going back to someone’s private residence always poses some threat. Zayn is also pretty well aware that he’s being completely irrational, so there’s that.

“I still don’t get why you’re so moody today.” Harry tells him as they make their way to El Campin to catch a football game. 

Zayn doesn’t know either. He grumbles, “One of those days.”

“I’m here if you want to talk.” Harry offers, with a casual wave, but sounding genuine nonetheless

Zayn nods. “I know.”

He knows that. He just can’t tell Harry that he’s annoyed, for some inexplicable reason, at the fact that Harry went out and pulled, and went back to some guy named Michael’s apartment. That just comes off as crazy. Zayn figures it’s probably time he got laid as well.

The football match between the two local teams offers a nice distraction though. Zayn isn’t a football fan, really. He used to go to Old Trafford a lot as a kid because his dad is a huge fan, but he fell out of it in university. He would always go to Louis and Niall’s football games though, often times with Harry,  but it’s not really Zayn’s scene. Harry, though, is a proper jock about it. He immediately picks up the songs and chants, and decides which team in the derby he wants to win. When Millionarios score, Harry immediately turns to pull Zayn into a tight hug. Zayn immediately freezes before settling into Harry’s arms. He crooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, laughing until his chest hurts. They take another selfie, which Harry posts to Instagram. In this one, Zayn is mid laugh and Harry is smiling at him. They just look so incredibly happy at everything that Zayn decides that whatever mood he’s gotten into isn’t worth sulking about.

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harrystyles: Football. Beer. Manly things.

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annetwist: you should invite zayn over for dinner one day, love. x

trisha_malik: I second Harry’s mum. Harry, you should come over for dinner, sweetheart. x

harrystyles: @annetwist @trisha_malik sounds like a plan :)

*

They stay two more days in Bogota before making their way to Salento, on recommendation of a backpacker they met on the bus. It turns out to be an incredible decision because Salento is stunning, with it’s vibrant colored architecture. More than the small town though, the surrounding countryside is worth their time. There’s a lot of cows, and Zayn realizes that Harry is terrified of them, which is pretty funny considering up till now, Zayn thinks he’s been the one scared of everything.

“It’s their eyes.” Harry whines, as Zayn takes another picture of the farmland. “They’re so beady and well, weird.”

Zayn laughs. The green countryside is so incredibly bright. It’s been raining today, so the air smells fresh. “I think they’re cute.”

“You’re basically a farmer.” Harry says, letting out a welp when the cow Zayn is focusing his lens on lets out a moo.

Zayn squints at Harry. “You literally told me this morning you want a farm.”

“Yeah, but without cows.” Harry explains, pointedly avoiding looking at them. “They’re scary.”

Zayn laughs again. “Whatever you say, babe.”

*

The thing about backpacking that nobody realizes is that backpackers spend a lot of time doing laundry. Usually hostels don’t come with laundry machines, so they use buckets that they borrow from the front desk to wash their clothes, and hang them over the windowsill to dry. In their case, Harry does his laundry fairly often, and Zayn hates doing laundry. He can get away with it though, usually, because Harry’s clothes tend to fit him pretty well. At some point, with all the packing and unpacking, their clothes get all mixed up. Today, Zayn is wearing Harry’s University of Manchester top with the sleeves cut out, and Harry isn’t exactly happy about it.

“If you’d just wash your clothes…” Harry starts, taking his passport and personals out of the lock safe. “You wouldn’t need to steal my clothes.”

Zayn packs his camera away delicately. “To be fair, you have a lot more clothes than me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Harry asks, eyeing Zayn with some agitation. Zayn shrugs. Sue him for not overpacking. The whole point of backpacking is that he doesn’t want to carry around too many things, and his camera is heavy enough on it’s own. Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re lucky I’m actually kind of into you wearing my clothes.”

Zayn quirks a brow. “Is that so?”

“You like that?” Harry asks, raising his own brow and grinning smugly. Zayn just rolls his eyes in response.

Harry says things, flirty things, without thinking most of the time. Zayn thinks he’s gotten a hang of it, and it’s not like Zayn isn’t also impulsively flirty. It’s just the dynamic they’ve settled into where they’ll flirt casually, and it’s funny and fun. Zayn doesn’t really like to think about it too much. When two attractive people spend a lot of time together, these things happen. It’s just - it’s just a thing. A friends thing. He’s sure that he probably has the same dynamic with Niall, Louis, or Liam. It’s just that they’re not as easily amused as Harry is.

*

They detour to Cali because they’re due a good party, at least that’s what Harry insists on, and Zayn doesn’t argue it. Cali is located right off the pacific coast, and it’s significantly warmer than Bogota which Zayn appreciates because he really wasn’t in the mood to dig out his anorak. The airbnb that they booked almost four weeks ago is beautiful. Cali is also apparently the salsa capitol of the world, and Harry takes that to mean that they’re going to take salsa lessons.

“I don’t dance.” Zayn whines, as he follows Harry into the hall with the lessons. They pay their entrance fees, which is just a bit below two quid. “I’m going to look ridiculous.”

Harry waves him off. “It’s probably all tourists anyways. You’ll be fine.”

Zayn is a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them. He manages to get the timing of his steps down pretty quickly, and he doesn’t have the worst rhythm, but then their instructor tells them to partner off, and Harry slides a hand around his waist and pulls him close. Harry’s hands are a bit clammy, and Zayn’s aren’t any better. The entire hall is entirely too hot, and when the music starts up again, they fall into place. Zayn spins Harry, and he exaggerates it, which has Zayn doubling over in laughter. At some point, Harry steps on Zayn’s toes, and Zayn lets out a yelp, which earns them a dirty look from everyone around them. Zayn raises a hand apologetically, and Harry just breaks out in laughter.

“Told you that you’d be fine,” Harry says, as the song changes. Almost on cue, Zayn missteps and steps on Harry’s toes. Harry huffs out a breath. “Well, maybe not fine. You’re not the worst.”

Zayn snickers. “Not being the worst is my life aim.”

“You’re well on your way there.” Harry tells him, completely seriously. 

Zayn spins Harry again and when he sees Harry’s face again, Harry’s eyes are bright and intense, and Zayn suddenly feels very self conscious under Harry’s gaze, and hyper aware of everything around him. He swallows. “Right - well, you’re not the worst.”

“No, I’m not.” Harry agrees, slowly, with a tilt of the head, eyes still fixed on Zayn’s face. 

“What?” Zayn asks, barely audible over the music.

Harry crooks his head, smiling slightly before shaking his head. “I just - nothing, nevermind.”

“Okay.” Zayn says, blankly. The moment feels uncharacteristically heavy, at least until Zayn missteps again and steps on Harry’s toes again. This time Harry lets out a loud laugh, which just sounds vaguely nervous, but Zayn thinks he’s just imagining it.

*

The first real hitch on their trip comes as they travel through western Colombia before crossing the border into Ecuador. While the border crossing was easy, their bus breaks down about three hours from their next stop, and the backup bus is more than twelve hours away. Luckily, they picked up a tent in Bogota which Harry pitched road side. They’ve been on the road for nearly nine hours and Zayn is exhausted.

“Get some rest, Zayn.” Harry tells Zayn sternly, running a hand through his hair which is matted with dirt and is getting entirely too long. Zayn tries to protest, but it’s lost beyond a yawn. He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable going to bed while Harry is road side in a foreign country. There’s enough stories about bandits to put the very real dangers into perspective. Harry seems to sense his hesitation, and bites his bottom lip. “I’ll be fine. I got enough sleep on the bus that I still feel pretty alert.”

Zayn would argue but the lack of sleep is really catching up to him. He feels dehydrated and bone tired that words don’t feel real, and his brain doesn’t seem to have any processing power to translate his vague anxiety into anything. It takes all his energy to nod. He lies down on the sleeping bag in the tent that’s probably too small for two people. Harry sits down next to him, and Zayn watches him  loop an arm around Zayn’s backpack for safe keeping. Zayn reaches out and takes Harry’s hand. Harry raises a brow.

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I can feel someone attempting to steal you,” Zayn explains, not quite caring that he makes Harry sound like a very expensive bag.

Harry chuckles, voice low. “Whatever helps you sleep, Zaynie.”

“Don’t call me that.” Zayn grumbles, closing his eyes.

Zayn wakes up several hours later feeling refreshed. When he wakes up, he notices that he’s still holding Harry’s hand. Harry is flipping through a map with his other hand. When Zayn shifts, Harry looks down at him, smiling brightly. “Looks like sleeping beauty is finally waking up.”

Zayn uses his spare hand to stick a finger up at Harry. “Good morning to you too.”

If Harry noticed that Zayn doesn’t let go of his hand until they get on to the backup bus, he doesn’t say anything.

*

They take a couple of pit stops before they arrive in Quito. Zayn lost track of what day of the week it is, or even what month of the year they’re in. They’re both sweaty and tired, and Zayn lost count of the number of scratches and bug bites he’s accumulated over the past six weeks or so. They’re both sunburned, and Harry’s starts to peel at some point. The weather is also drastically different from when they started. Quito isn’t cold per se, and it’s definitely warmer than what they’re used to in London, but the change does fuck with their immune systems a bit.

“It’s good for you,” Zayn explains patiently, as he mixes the Emergen-C powder with water. Harry pouts, and Zayn gives him a look. “You’re a twenty six year old man. You can handle Vitamin C fluids.”

Harry bites his lower lip and attempts his best puppy dog face, neither of which work on Zayn. Harry takes the drink Zayn hands him and chugs it in one go. He winces. “I’m not even sure this actually helps.”

Zayn shrugs. His own body feels like it’s going to give up. “Yeah, well, it’s the best we have.”

“It’s a bit romantic how we’re probably going to die together on this trip,” Harry muses, not at all seriously. Zayn chokes on his own Emergen-C. Harry eyes him. “No, come on Zayn, you can’t die yet. I’m behind schedule.”

Once Zayn stops coughing, he glares at Harry. “Asshole.”

*

They take advantage of the fact that they’re in an actual hotel for once, and sleep for a day. Then they take advantage of the fact that there’s actual laundry machines to do their laundry. There’s breakfast too, and cheap massages, and if Zayn had it his way, he would stay in the entire time they’re in Quito, but of course Zayn doesn’t have it his way.

They explore the old town on their third day in the city. They’ve been in many old towns through their travels, but Quito’s has a certain charm to it. There’s several cathedrals, each more magnificent than the last one they’ve seen, and Zayn takes time to photograph each one. He’s pretty much given up on getting anything that he could actually use for work, and instead spends time photographing things he actually likes. Which, more often than not, seems to be Harry.

Harry poses in front of every statue and church, and each pose he does is more ridiculous than the last. At some point, Zayn catches several locals looking at Harry, with his gangly limbs and unruly curly hair, and Zayn feels a weird mix of pride and possessiveness. He shows Harry the photos when they’re sitting at La Plaza de la Independencia with their warm coffees.

“If the singing doesn’t work out, I could always model,” Harry says, as Zayn flips to a picture of Harry with his back to the camera and the Iglesia de San Francisco in front of him. Zayn can’t disagree with the sentiment. He’s spent a lot of time photographing models, and Harry has more charisma than all of them combined. Harry drops a hand to Zayn’s shoulder and squeezes it gently and Zayn freezes, giving Harry a quizzical look. Harry explains, “I like that one.”

It’s a photo of Zayn and Harry in front of a 19th century mansion that one of the locals had taken. Zayn is hunched over laughing as Harry makes a funny face at the camera. There’s other photos in the set that are actual proper pictures, but this one, in all it’s dumb glory, is the one Harry likes the most. And Zayn has to admit that it’s probably his favorite as well.

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zayn: with @harrystyles at casa museo maría augusta urrutia.

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harrystyles: you need to work on your captions.

liampayne: @louist91 @niallhoran I’m pretty sure we have our answer boys

zayn: @liampayne @louist91 @niallhoran ????

louist91: @zayn we’re just glad you’re alive lads :)

zayn: @louist91 I’ve never seen a more disingenuous smiley face

louist91: @zayn :)

*

They decide to split up their fourth day in Quito.

Harry says he wants to join a bicycle group on a trail outside the city, but Zayn has had enough bicycle trauma over the entire trip that he decided against it. He spends most of the day walking through the newer part of Quito. He walks through a pretty park in the middle of the city, and plays with a few dogs that are around. At least he does until a local boy tells Zayn that the strays could potentially carry rabies, so Zayn abandons that.

When Harry doesn’t get back in time for dinner, Zayn decides to go out for the night. He doesn’t know the safety logistics, but at the same time, it’s been an entire month since he’s last gotten laid, and if Harry isn’t making it back tonight, Zayn might as well make full use of their room. The club he picks is pretty seedy, and there’s a lot of characters that he probably wouldn’t hang out with normally, but four drinks in, Zayn finds himself dancing with a British man who has long curly hair and a bright, dimpled smile. His name is David or Derek - or, well, it could be Dylan? It definitely starts with a D, that’s all Zayn knows.

Zayn feels loose limbed and happy when DavidDerekDylan insists they get out of the club. It takes all of Zayn’s effort to not get lost in the middle of a foreign city while he’s shit faced, and he feels a rush of relief when he sees his hotel in the distance. DavidDerekDylan - who’s name is actually just David, pushes Zayn against the door as soon as they make it into the room, kissing up his jaw. Zayn is just about to lose his shirt when -

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Zayn.” 

Zayn winces at the light suddenly turning on, and then winces again when he comes face to face with Harry, who eyes Zayn and then David, who returns Harry’s gaze with a sheepish grin that Harry promptly ignores. Zayn can feel his heart race as Harry rolls his eye and crouches down to the floor where the safe is. After a moment of fidgeting with the lock, he shoves his passport inside before standing up.

Harry pokes David in the chest. “Don’t steal anything.” Then he turns to Zayn, an uncertain expression flickering over his face before settling into a small smile. He pats Zayn on the back and says, “And, you, don’t do anything I wouldn’t - which, lucky for curly over here, isn’t much.”

Before Zayn can respond, Harry is out the door. He feels awkward when he tries smiling at David, and the moment is all but lost. But, like most backpackers, David doesn’t seem to give a fuck and it’s just an easy one night stand, and Zayn figures he should make the most of it.

*

“So, who was muscles?” Harry asks, barging into their room minutes after David left. Zayn had offered to get breakfast for him because he’s polite like that, but he didn’t care and Zayn didn’t care enough to push. Harry stops at the bed and looks down at Zayn, expectantly. “Or, are we calling him curly?”

Zayn waves, looking down at his phone. “His name is David.”

“What a boring name,” Harry says, collapsing on to the bed, and both kicking Zayn and messing up the nice sheets that the room service lady just made up. “Why do you always sleep with men with such boring names?”

Zayn eyes Harry over the cat video he pulled up. “Yes, because Dick in Cartagena and Michael in Bogota had such interesting names.”

“That’s alright because I have a boring name as well, so I can sleep with other people with boring names,” Harry explains with a shake of the head, and Zayn watches Harry’s curly hair fall on to his face. 

Zayn snorts. “Well, I guess that means you and I could never sleep with each other.”

It takes roughly half a second for Zayn to realize what he said, and he immediately freezes. He looks down at Harry, who looks at Zayn with an odd expression, tilting his head to look at Zayn. If Zayn trusted himself to not say something stupid in the moment, he would say something. Instead, he waits, and Harry lays his head back down and closes his eyes.

Harry has a ghost of a smile playing on his face when he says, “You know, I’m really proud of us.”

“Are you?”

“Sure,” Harry says, still not opening his eyes. “I’m the biggest slag you know.”

“Yes, you are.” Zayn interrupts without missing a beat. 

Harry opens his eyes to feign offense, and Zayn suddenly feels lighter. Harry continues, “And you’re the biggest slag I know.”

“I thought that would be yourself.” Zayn says, drily.

Harry considers it a moment. “Nah, I don’t actually know myself, so you my friend, have the dubious honor of being the biggest one I know.”

Zayn can’t even argue it. He likes sex, sue him. “Fair enough.”

“And we’ve known each other like nine years,” Harry says, considerately. Zayn furrows his brows in confusion at what Harry is getting at. He continues, “So, it’s kind of a miracle we never tried hooking up with each other.”

“Oh.” Zayn says, at a loss. He never thought about that. 

Harry snickers. “It’s probably for the best. We’d have fallen in love with each other, or something equally gross.”

“Right,” Zayn says, slowly, even if he’s not all that sure he agrees. Harry doesn’t wait for Zayn to say anything else though, and instead pats Zayn on the thigh before getting off the bed and going into the bathroom. Zayn stares after him, feeling a way that he can’t place.

Their relationship is a weird one. They ran in the same circles for years, seeing the same people, and it’s just a thing that they settled into. Zayn never questioned it because it’s so easy with Harry. They flirt and they fight, and Zayn knows Harry finds him attractive, and he finds Harry attractive. They could have easily messed this up years ago, but like Harry said, it’s probably for the best that they didn’t. Zayn falls in love way too easily, and Harry would rather jump off a cliff than fall in love with anyone, and it would have ruined everything, and he can’t imagine his life without Harry.

*

They realize that camping is the only option that they have in Cotopaxi because all the hostels are booked. Zayn actually helps Harry pitch the tent for once, and he notices Harry’s hands shaking in the cold of the evening. Zayn tosses a pair of gloves to Harry who smiles gratefully as they pitch their tent in silence.

Zayn feels himself shaking from the cold even though they have three layers of blankets, and he’s dressed in a sweater and sweatpants. He finds himself tossing and turning in the tent, trying to limit the air flow to get some kind of warmth. He only stops when Harry shifts and pulls Zayn in close, throwing an arm around Zayn’s waist.

“Harry.”

Harry doesn’t open his eyes. “Sleep, or I will fucking murder you.”

Harry pulls Zayn in closer, until Zayn’s back is flush against Harry’s front, with Harry’s breath warm on Zayn’s neck. Zayn feels his entire body feel warm, and he’s not even sure it’s because of the actual physical warmth emanating from Harry. He wants to shift again, but stops when Harry lets out a whine. Zayn stills, and with Harry’s even breathing on his back, he finds himself drifting off to sleep.

*

“This is by far the worst idea you’ve had,” Zayn grumbles as they settle in at the refuge at the base of Volcan Cotopaxi. It’s also by far the coldest it’s been on their trip, and they had to spend an extortionate amount of money to get gear that actually made sense for climbing a cold volcano. 

Harry shivers. “Yeah, I didn’t think this one through.”

The air at the refuge is very thin, and neither of them are climbers. They’re due to leave the camp and trek up the summit around midnight, and their expedition leader told them to get as much rest as they can; however, neither of them are managing any sleep. Zayn eyes Harry from under his scarf and Harry looks cold. His pale skin is reflecting in the dark and Zayn can see the blue undertones of his veins.

Zayn shuffles closer, and throws an arm around Harry’s shoulder, and Harry crooks his head into Zayn’s neck. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No, we really do,” Harry says with a sniffle. “The top of the peak is supposed to be the best sight in the Andes, and I figured you would want to get a photo of that.”

Zayn softens. God, Harry has this impossible way about him where he’s so effortlessly sweet. He cares so much about everyone, and Zayn’s heart tugs at just how lovely that is. Zayn leans his head against Harry’s. “Thank you.”

They do make it to the top the summit in one piece even though the weather was awful and neither of them were in the best physical shape. Harry was absolutely right though. The top of the volcano is a sight unlike anything Zayn has ever seen. He doesn’t have the words to describe the beauty of it.

Zayn and Harry exchange a look as Zayn smiles, looking down at the snowcapped volcano. “It was totally worth it.”

Harry snaps a selfie of them at the top of the mountain.

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harrystyles: to walk in nature is to witness a thousand miracles.

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liampayne: @niallhoran @louist91 what do we think boys? ;)

trisha_malik: looking lovely boys x

*

After resting for a few days, Zayn decides that they should check out a waterfall in the middle of the forest. The hike itself is two hours long, and they manage that just fine, and the waterfalls are definitely worth their time. Zayn gets several photos that he makes a mental note to send over to his assistant later on.

At the waterfall, Harry immediately decides that he wants to rapple the sheer face of the fall, which just stresses Zayn out. He watches from a safe distance as Harry has the rope tied around his waist, and the harness fastened tightly. Zayn asks the guide several times whether it’s safe or not, and only stops when Harry tells him off for babying him too much. Zayn has to concede that he’s being entirely too protective of a grown man who can totally take care of himself. Except, well, the waterfall is a hundred and eighty feet high, and it’s very slippery.

Zayn walks down the narrow path leading down to the natural pool where he can get a better look at the angle Harry is going down. He winces several times when it looks like Harry pauses mid drop, and at some point, Harry lets out a loud scream, and Zayn absolutely loses it.

“Harry!” Zayn shouts, as loud as he can, when Harry lets out another agonizing scream. “For fucks sake.”

Zayn can feel his heart racing, and his nerves reaching a catatonic level. His hands are shaking uncontrollably, and he’s well aware that he might be going into cardiac arrest any moment, but it all ends up being a bit unnecessary because Harry lands in the natural pool with a light splash, before getting his harnesses off and swimming towards Zayn. Harry smiles when he gets to where Zayn is standing on a rock, and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. 

He looks up at Zayn, the smile falling from his face. “Were you worried?”

“Asshole,” Zayn mutters, trying to school his heart rate down to a normal degree. Harry smiles slightly, and it’s annoyingly infectious, so Zayn finds himself smiling back. He drops down to sit on the rock, dangling his legs into the cool pond. Harry places his arms on either side of Zayn’s legs, and Zayn reaches a hand out to move Harry’s hair out of his eyes before he can control himself. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes follow the movement of his hands. Softly, Zayn says, “I thought I was going to have a heart attack for a second there.”

“Don’t die on my behalf.” Harry says quietly. He might be going for a joke there, but it doesn’t quite come off. When Zayn looks into Harry’s eyes, he feel something flash behind the endless green. The moment feels too heavy, and too long until Harry clears his throat, takes a step back, and says, “You should get into the water.”

“I can’s swim,” Zayn says when he can find his words again.

Harry takes a step back and reaches a hand out. “Trust me.”

Zayn thinks he trusts Harry, so he takes his hand. Cautiously, he gets into the cool water. There’s something about the natural pond that feels different the other times Zayn tried to swim. It doesn’t have the sickening smell of a swimming pool, but he can still touch the floor for the most part, and there’s no riptide that you see in a water. Harry is still holding Zayn’s hand, leading him into the water.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Harry asks after a moment.

Zayn doesn’t know what the question is, but he knows his answer. “Yeah, it is.”

*

They spend a few days in the tourist filled town of Baños. They have a double to themselves in a hostel, and Harry commanders a pair of scissors from somewhere. Zayn’s hair has falling past his ears, and Harry’s has reached his shoulders, and it’s high time for hair cuts.

Zayn cuts Harry’s hair first, looking at a YouTube video to try and get the ends correct. He messes up several times though, and by the end of it, Harry’s hair is a lot shorter than Zayn ever remembers it being. But it’s cut cleanly short, with the top and sides longer. The curls fall across his face, and he looks almost like the boy that Zayn knew in university. Harry eyes himself in the mirror before tossing Zayn a carefree smile. “How do I look, then?”

Zayn shrugs. “Not bad.” Very hot is more apt, but Zayn has some self preservation at least.

For Zayn’s hair, Harry just buzzes the undercut while cutting the top a bit shorter. It’s not professional by any means, but it gets the job done, and it’s not like they’re going anywhere that their hair needs to be done.

“How do I look?” Zayn asks, echoing Harry.

Harry lets out a low chuckle. “You always look good, mate.”

*

They make it to Peru by early May, nearly two months after they started their trip. The first stop they make is Mancora It’s a resort town that’s apparently popular with drunk gap year students and surfers. The party scene ran a bit young, and Zayn and Harry find themselves tiring early into the night lately. Harry, however, decides to go surfing.

Zayn watches from a safe distance as Harry runs into the water like he belongs on Baywatch or something. At some point, Harry starts waving at Zayn from the water, only for a wave to catch him off guard, and he wipes out. Zayn snorts in amusement until he realizes that Harry hasn’t come up from the water yet. His momentary worry dissipates though as Harry comes back from from the water and throws his head back laughing. Zayn puts his sunglasses on and lays down on the sand, closing his eyes. This is nice.

Zayn doesn’t realize he fell asleep until he feels water drop on to his face. When he opens his eyes, Harry is standing over him with a smile on his face. He plops down on to the sand and props himself on to one elbow. Harry smiles at him, dimples deepening on his face. 

Zayn instinctively reaches up to poke one of the dimples. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” Harry says, slowly, biting his lip. Zayn raises a quizzical eyebrow. Harry shrugs. “I was just wondering if you wanna go out tonight to one of the beach parties. It’s a bunch of attractive backpackers, which is right up your alley. ”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at the thought, but Harry looks so eager that he can’t help but agree.

*

Zayn doesn’t know if he’s just getting on, and that’s why he’s not up to partying or if the party itself is crap, but whatever the reason, he just doesn’t feel like being there. He split up with Harry early on, and they made a promise that if either of them pulled, they would get the room while the other sleeps on the communal couch in the hostel. Zayn talks to a pretty girl named Maria and a guy named Ricardo who has tattoos running down his arm, but ultimately he just doesn’t feel up for anything that night. He meets Harry’s eyes across the room and Harry tilts his head towards the door. Wordlessly, Zayn leaves his conversation and meets Harry outside the beach bungalow. 

The evening sand is cool under his feet, and the waves are crashing on to the shore under a full moon. Harry slides up next to Zayn and keeps pace, as they walk silently from where the party was to where their hostel is.

“No luck?” Zayn asks, looking out at the ocean. He didn’t really expect Harry to not find someone for the night.

Harry shoulders brush against Zayn’s when he shrugs. “Didn’t feel up for it.”

“You?” Zayn teases. He’s known Harry for many years, and there’s been very few times Harry didn’t feel like hooking up with someone at a party. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

Harry shrugs again, but this time bumps his shoulder to Zayn’s. When Zayn looks at him, Harry gives him a small, lopsided smile. “I’m full of surprises.” Zayn can’t disagree with that.

At the hostel, Harry pulls out the ukulele and starts strumming away. It’s the tune to a song Zayn heard a few times in a few different stages of development. Harry is writing it for the band, or maybe himself. Zayn hasn’t been able to figure that out.

“It’s about a fish that can’t swim,” Harry explains, when he catches Zayn listening intently. Zayn raises a brow. Harry says, “Or, y’know, that moment you fall in love with someone, and you just want to spend every moment with them.”

“I didn’t realize you had a lot of experience with that,” Zayn snickers. Harry lets out a bright laugh, taking it in stride. There’s a lot Zayn knows about Harry, and his dating habits are one of them. 

Harry’s eyes are crinkled in amusement when he says, “It might surprise you, but I have fallen in love before.”

“Have you?” Zayn asks, genuinely curious.

Harry shrugs. “Sure, but it’s never a sensible, totally requited kinda love. For some reason, it always ends up being a bit tragic.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not like I’ve been any better about it.” Zayn offers, which is just about the truth. He loved Perrie in a young love kinda way. Sure, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but when the time came to make that decisions, neither of them wanted to compromise. With Gigi, he made a lot of compromises but they were just too dependent on each other and it just didn’t work out. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s his fault, or he just didn’t meet the right person yet - or, if there’s even a right person for him. “I’m really good at fucking up perfectly good relationships.”

Harry puts the ukulele to the side, and stops the recording on his phone. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m really good at pining over people that never want me.”

Zayn doesn’t know how that’s even possible. He finds it impossible for someone to meet Harry and not fall in love with him. Zayn watches Harry hunch over, and look out off the porch they’re sitting on at the full moon over the ocean. Zayn reaches out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Their loss.”

Harry shrugs, looking a bit dazed. After a moment, he pulls himself out and shakes his head before smiling. “It’s a hard life.”

*

They stop in Trujillo for a couple of days, so that Zayn can send his assistant, Allison, some of the photos he’s taken. The ones he selects are mostly of nature, but there’s a few of the wildlife and architecture as well. Harry decides he wants to catch waves on the shore, so Zayn has the double in the hostel to himself. 

“You need better material,” Allison tells him as soon as she picks up his call. They’ve never been of the pleasantry type. She’s brisk and efficient and he likes that about her. Before Zayn can protest that some of the pictures he’s taken are actually great, Allison brushes him off. “No, let me finish. Do you remember the photos of the goldsmith and his nephew in Colombia?”

Zayn remembers Horatio and Jesus fondly. “Of course, yeah.”

“Those photos were a hit. Several publications have picked them up, and we paid Horatio and Jesus accordingly,” Allison explains. Zayn smiles. At least there’s that. He would have felt horrible if he used their likeness without them getting compensation for it. “They felt human and different. All the shots you’ve been sending me since are just - well, they’re boring, Zayn. You’re boring.”

Zayn finds that debatable. He thinks he has his moments of proper intrigue, at least he hopes he does. He would hate to find out that he’s spent nearly three decades on this planet boring everyone he knows. 

Zayn pouts to himself, and Allison immediately sighs as if she sensed it. “You know what I mean.”

“That I’m dreadfully boring and I have no future as a photographer?” Zayn asks, just to be petulant. He could almost feel Allison’s eye roll on the other side. “Fine, yeah, I’ll try to take some better shots.”

There’s a lengthy, tense pause on the other end. 

“What?” Zayn demands.

“Nothing,” Allison says, considerately. Then another sigh and then, “Tell Harry we wired him some money. I took the photo of him on the boat and sent it to a publication. He’s getting paid several thousand quid for it.”

“You did what now?” Zayn asks, blankly. It’s a good photo. It’s a really good photo. All photos of Harry are great. It’s just that Zayn now has to explain this to Harry, who probably won’t mind, but still.

“Anyways, I need to go, Z. Do better, yeah?” Allison says, quickly. Zayn makes a noncommittal noise of goodbye, and Allison hangs up.

Zayn spends hours pouring over his photos. He realizes he’s taken a lot of photos of Harry. Some expected, with Harry posing in front of buildings and landscapes, and other unexpected like Harry concentrating on a map or laughing at something funny. There’s photos of Harry playing football with local lads, and Harry asleep on a bus. Zayn is so engrossed into his work that he doesn’t notice Harry coming back.

“How did the call with Allison go?”

Zayn looks up to see Harry lean against the door frame, shirtless. Zayn eyes the swallows on Harry’s hip bones and trails up to the butterfly on his chest. When he meets Harry’s eyes, the other man tilts his chin up in acknowledgement. Zayn ducks his head, weirdly embarrassed at himself.

“Well?”

“What?” Zayn asks, blinking in confusion.

Harry pushes himself off the door frame and climbs into his own bunk. Their room is pretty big for a hostel. The bathroom is a communal one, but there’s only a few backpackers currently, so it’s not totally unsanitary. There’s a bunk bed, and Zayn immediately claimed the bottom one because he’s terrified of heights, so Harry took the top one.

“I asked how the call with Allison went.” Harry says from the top bunk. Zayn can hear some shuffling, and he assumes Harry pulled out his laptop.

Zayn sighs, closing his own laptop. “Well, she called me boring, said my photos were shit, and apparently, you’re now a model.”

Zayn says it all quickly, and then he waits. Harry stops shuffling and there’s a long pause that Zayn wants to interrupt, but then Harry ducks his head over the side of the bed to look down at Zayn.

“Explain.” Harry says, a bit too smug for Zayn’s taste.

Zayn sighs. “Well, you know the photo of you on the boat in Mompox? Well, Allison thought that it was a nice shot and a publication picked it up. She wired you compensation.”

“Huh,” Harry says slowly. “Well, I’m glad to be of service.”

“You don’t care?” Zayn asks. He didn’t expect Harry to care. He’s not exactly shy about it, but it wasn’t a planned photo and they were just messing around. He didn’t expect Allison to go ahead and do that, and he has every intention of talking to her about it in the future, but still.

Harry shuffles back up so that Zayn can’t see him anymore. Harry sounds impossibly smug when he says, “I can’t believe I’m your muse, Zayn.”

“Don’t push it.” Zayn warns, even if there’s some truth to that. His best photos are unfortunately of Harry. He hears Harry chuckle softly, but he doesn’t argue that. After a moment, Zayn muses, “I think maybe we should do a planned shoot at some point. You know, if I can’t find anything else.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Harry says nonchalantly. “That I’m the best option for people who have run out of all other options.”

Zayn snorts. “You’re always my first coice, babe.”

“See, I’d tell you the same thing, but now I don’t believe you,” Harry tells him. “So, that’s why you’re now definitely my fourth choice after Niall, Louis, and Liam.”

Zayn sticks his middle finger up at Harry, even though Harry can’t see it, and goes back to scrolling through his photos.

*

They don’t spend a lot of time in Lima, and instead move on to Huachachina, an oasis built around a small desert lake. The reason they decided to stop there was because Harry heard from other backpackers that there’s sand dunes that you can go sand boarding on. They get to the sand dunes on a dune buggy that Zayn nearly crashes. In theory, they should be good at this because Zayn likes to skateboard and Harry spent the past week glued to a surfboard, and their guide explained that this wasn’t all that different to either of those things.

The reality though is very, very different. Zayn loses control of his feet first and crashes, and his crash causes Harry to topple over and fall on top of Zayn. Zayn chokes past the sand and shoves Harry off, and Harry rolls over with a laugh.

“That’s going to hurt,” Harry says, wincing slightly.

Zayn nods. “At this point, I’ve lost track of all my bruises.”

Harry laughs, as he kicks the board off his feet. Zayn follows suit and they just lay in the sand looking up at the clear sky. Harry takes his phone out and takes a selfie of himself, which he sends to someone - probably Niall, before leaning his head towards Zayn. “Take a picture with me.”

Zayn squints in the sunlight but goes along with it. Harry takes it on his phone and hands it over to Zayn to look at. It’s not a great picture due to the lighting being too bright, and while it might never fly professionally, it’s so them. 

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harrystyles: not pictured: our twisted ankles

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louist91: enjoying your lads holiday, lads? :)

harrystyles: @louist91 mad that we didn’t invite you along?

louist91: @harrystyles oh no I would just be third wheeling you know

zayn: @louist91 I'd never ignore you mate

*

They start on the Inca Trail in the middle of June. Zayn doesn’t know where the time has gone. They left London in the first week of April, and the last two months flew by without thinking. If Zayn is being honest, there was always a part of him that worried that the trip would be a disaster, but he should have known better. 

They spent a few days sleeping because their expedition leader told them that they need all the energy they need. They decided to forego hostels in Cuzco, and got an actual hotel. The trail takes four days to hike, and at the end of it is Machu Picchu. If nothing else, Zayn is absolutely sure that photographs of that will be incredible. Their expedition leader is an Argentinian man named Mauricio. He has long hair that falls right at his shoulders with the ends bleached blonde. He’s well - he’s objectively very nice to look at.

“D’you think it would be inappropriate if I tried to pull him?” Harry asks, as they cross a bridge across the Urubamba River that runs through the Sacred Valley. 

Zayn snorts. “Even if it was, it’s not going to stop you.”

“No, but the logistics of where I can fuck him definitely makes me second guess it,” Harry says, genuinely sounding like he’s considering it. Zayn tries to hold back his laughter, and manages to succeed for about two minutes before he cracks. Mauricio turns around and eyes them, which causes Harry to mock salute. “You’re doing a great job, sir!”

Mauricio grins, totally oblivious, and turns back to leading them through the valley. Once he’s completely out of ear shot, Zayn shoves Harry’s shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

Harry shrugs. “And, yet, you love me for it.”

“Unfortunately,” Zayn mutters, trekking along.

*

The trek through the Dead Woman’s Pass is unbearable. It’s the coldest day that they faced in Peru, and the path is steep and arduous. Zayn finds himself getting dizzy looking down from where they’re hiking through a narrow pass. He might be dehydrated, and he feels like he’s coming down with a fever. At some point as they’re climbing a steep pathway, Harry pulls him to the side. 

“Drink,” Harry instructs, handing Zayn a water bottle. Zayn chugs it down in one go, which definitely helps, but he still feels terrible and cold. Harry moves the hair falling on to Zayn’s forehead to check his temperature. His hand feels cold on Zayn’s forehead, but it’s gentle, and Zayn instinctively leans into it. Harry removes it and moves it to cup Zayn’s cheek. “You’re hot.”

“Thanks, you too.” Zayn tries to joke, but it doesn’t come off. Zayn shivers, dropping his forehead on to Harry’s shoulder with a groan. “Too late to turn back now.”

Harry takes off his jacket and places it over Zayn shoulders, and Zayn dips his arms through. He’s practically drowning in the jacket. Harry pulls Zayn into a hug, and Zayn relaxes in Harry’s warm embrace. He’s so, so cold. Harry’s voice is soft when he says, “Two more days, Zayn. Please hang on.”

Zayn whimpers, but gets it together to walk the rest of the path to their camp site.

*

Zayn wakes up the next morning foggy and drained, with aching muscles and a stuffy nose. It’s only 6 AM, and they’re not due to start again for another two hours, but Zayn feels so cold. He sits up in his sleeping bag, and looks to his left where Harry is passed out, an arm thrown over his face. Zayn quietly shuffles out of their tent, and walks over to the public toilets to wash his face. The sun is rising above the Andes, with the Pakaymayu river running underneath it, and he’s slightly overwhelmed by the expansive valley under him, but he can’t focus on it because the altitude is making his head spin. He doesn’t realize he collapsed until he wakes up half an hour later with Harry looking over him.

“Harry,” Zayn croaks out with every last bit of energy he has left.

Harry places a gentle hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature. “Hey, babe, how are you feeling?”

Zayn winces, and tries to sit up on his arms. “Like hell.”

“You really scared me,” Harry says, quickly and Zayn doesn’t miss the hitch in Harry’s voice. “I spoke to Mauricio, and we’re going to stay here the next two days while the others carry on, and then we’ll leave with his assistant and the next group that comes by.”

Zayn nods before laying back down. He needs sleep. A lot of it. 

*

The next time Zayn wakes up, Harry is spread out on his sleeping bag reading Zayn’s book. When he catches sight of Zayn sitting up, he smiles, dimpling fully. “Better?”

Zayn does feel a lot better. Turns out that all he really needed was a lot of fluids and a lot of sleep. “Yeah, I feel much better.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Harry says genuinely. He shuffles over so he’s on Zayn’s sleeping bag. Just to make sure, he checks Zayn’s temperature again, and Zayn notices Harry visibly relax once he’s satisfied that Zayn isn’t burning up. Harry’s hand trails down from Zayn’s forehead to the collar of his jacket. He fingers over Zayn’s collarbone in an act that’s far more intimate than Zayn is prepared to think about before pulling the collar slightly. He lets out a low chuckle.  “Guess I’m not getting my jacket back then.”

“When we get back home, I’ll get it dry cleaned and return it to you,” Zayn offers. It’s probably expensive. Everything Harry wears is stupidly expensive.

Harry shakes his head. “No, keep it. It looks better on you anyways.”

“Oh,” Zayn says slowly, feeling his face warm in a way that has nothing to do with being sick. “Thanks.”

*

They make it to Machu Picchu four days later, and it’s everything Zayn expects and more. He takes so many pictures. Most of them end up being flops, not particularly useful for Allison or his instragram. Some of them are professional, and when he sends them to Allison, she appreciates them. Still others are just meant for instagram.

“You two are so cute,” Michelle, a fellow backpacker, tells them when she takes a picture of them in front of a ruin. “My boyfriend never manages a good photo.”

Harry and Zayn exchange a look, and the tips of Harry’s ears turn slightly pink, but it clears quickly so Zayn thinks he might be imagining it. To Michelle, Harry says, “We’re both self absorbed and take a lot of pictures.”

“Total narcissists.” Zayn agrees, biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

Michelle takes it in stride though and they thank her for the photo.

Liked by liampayne and 620 others

zayn: it only took six days, but we’re finally here. @ machu picchu with @harrystyles

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harrystyles: we really need to work on your captions

louist91: @harrystyles why don’t you just write his captions for him

harrystyles: @louist91 have you ever met zayn?

*

They cross the border into Bolivia and spend two days at Copacabana before taking a boat to the Isla del Sol. They don’t really have a plan anymore, and they’ve decided to wing it. They spend nearly a week in Isla del Sol, mostly doing nothing but sleeping and laundry. The last day on the island, they meet an elderly woman named Martha who offers to teach them how to make bread.

Zayn liked baking. He doesn’t get to do it often, and it’s been a long time since he’s done it, but he likes it. When he still lived in Bradford, he would bake in the middle of the night with Doniya as they talked about anything and everything. When he went to university in Manchester, he would bake most Sundays with Niall, after Niall would get back from church. He doesn’t bake in London though, and his apartment never seemed equipped with a kitchen that would allow for it, but he still loves it.

Harry is the expert though. Years of working in a bakery made baking almost intrinsic to Harry. Martha tells them that it’s different than what they’re used to, and the utensils are not what people in England would like, but Zayn finds that he doesn’t really care. Baking is about togetherness, and love. 

Zayn is kneading the dough to put in the in the brick oven when Harry slides up to him, throwing an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. Harry says, “Martha is a lovely woman.”

“Totally your type,” Zayn snickers. “She must be about seventy-five.”

Harry laughs. “That she is.” Zayn watches Harry trace his initials in the spilled flour on the wooden table. Zayn leans back against Harry, and Harry tightens his embrace. Harry says, “I hate that we have to leave this place.”

Zayn hums in agreement. He likes the more low key places they’ve visited. “It’s been a nice change of pace.”

With the arm that’s not around Zayn, Harry pulls out his phone. “We should take a selfie.”

“Sure.”

“But I need to do something first,” Harry says, slowly, with a mischievous glint in his eye. Zayn knows what’s coming, he’s expecting it, but he still doesn’t pull away quickly enough to dodge Harry covering his face in flour. 

“Asshole,” Zayn says, with a laugh. He manages to cover Harry’s face with flour as well. Zayn is the middle of laughing when he sees the flash of Harry’s camera. Zayn pouts. “Oh come on, I wasn’t ready.”

“That’s too bad.” Harry says, not at all apologetic.

Martha comes into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, and tells them that they need to clean up the entire kitchen, or they can’t have any of the bread. Zayn and Harry duck their head in embarrassment, but they do clean up the mess they’ve made.

Liked by niallhoran and 415 others

harrystyles: we loaf you very much.

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louist91: that’s terrible, you should be ashamed.

zayn: and you had the nerve to make fun of my captions

niallhoran: I really hope Z throws you off a cliff for that

gemmastyles: this is low even for you haz

liampayne: i thought it was funny :/

*

“How do I look?” Harry asks, looking over Zayn’s shoulders at the pictures.

They’re at Salar de Uyuni and Zayn spent a few hours photographing the salt flats, and then another hour photographing Harry on the salt flat. Zayn thinks that Harry is made to be famous. A lot of people think they are, which is why so many mildly talented singers try to hack it in the age of soundcloud. But, Harry - Harry is made for fame. It’s not just the fact that he looks like an effortless rock star, or the fact that models working for Gucci would probably be jealous of Harry’s modeling. It’s the way he carries himself. Gangly limbs and messy hair would look awkward on anyone else, but Harry owns everything about himself. Zayn still remembers the first day he saw Harry at a university party, and how terrified Zayn was to talk to him. Zayn is still kind of scared of Harry, but it’s different now. He’s no longer nervous and shy around him, but he’s still constantly taken aback by how Harry carries himself.

Zayn shrugs. “Not bad.” 

The pictures of Harry come out really good. There’s ones where he’s posing and those are nice, but there’s also the ones where he’s caught off guard or in the middle of posing.

*

It’s not until they’re on a beach in Vina del Mar and Harry is throwing a frisbee around with a ten year old boy, his father, and a dog that Zayn comes to a devastating realization. He watches Harry in an oversized white shirt and shorts tossing the frisbee around laughing at something the boy’s father said, and in that moment, Zayn realizes that Harry Styles is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. He thinks back to all the times over the years where he found Harry attractive, and none of that matches the sheer devastation of this realization. 

“What?” Harry shouts when he catches Zayn looking.

Zayn shakes his head, feeling his face warm. “It’s nothing.” You’re stupidly fit, is all.

I’m really proud of us for not hooking up and messing things up, Harry had told him in Quito, and now it hits Zayn in an ugly, sincere way that he’s gone and fucked that up. Sure, he has no intention of ever following through with the feelings he has, but it feels like a weird betrayal of trust. 

“You okay?” Harry asks again, furrowing in brows in concern, in such a sweet way that only Harry can manage.

Zayn finds that he now has a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow and it’s just a little harder to think clearly. “Yeah, yeah. Just. Yeah.”

Yeah.

He’s fine.

He’s not fine.

*

Everything changes after that. Zayn finds that he’s hyperaware of every thing Harry does. Every simple, every touch, and every laugh. Zayn likes to think that he hasn’t changed how he is around Harry, and Harry for his part doesn’t call him out on it, but Zayn knows it’s different now. They’re in Santiago when they decide to split up for the day. Harry decides to go on a bicycle tour of the city, while Zayn stays in to get some work done. Or that was the plan until he decides to call Niall.

“Do you think sleeping with someone that you’re not into is a good way to get over someone you are into?” Zayn asks as soon as Niall picks up his Facetime. A beat and then. “Sorry. Hey, Niall.”

Niall snorts. He’s in Zayn’s apartment with a dog that’s very clearly not Zayn’s. “Are you calling me from Chile to ask if you should have a random one night stand?”

Zayn sighs. “Okay, yeah, that was a bit pathetic.”

“What’s going on?” Niall asks patiently. There’s a lot of reasons why Zayn chose to call Niall instead of Liam and Louis, and it’s because Niall is the most patient of the bunch.

Zayn sighs. “Right, so. Harry.”

He doesn’t know what to say. That he has feelings for Harry? That he can’t focus on anything anymore because everything Harry does drives him crazy in both the best and worst way possible? That he’s probably felt this way for nearly a decade and now, in the middle of a six month long expedition through South America, it fully hit him, and now he has nowhere to go and can’t actually run away. Not that he would run away - well, no, he probably would, but still.

Niall eyes him cautiously, and Zayn silently prays for Niall to understand so that he doesn’t have to say it. It’s like someone takes pity on him because realization dawns on Niall, and immediately Niall’s expression turns into a mix of concern and pity - well, Zayn thinks it’s pity anyways. “Oh.”

“Right, yeah, this is dumb,” Zayn says, quickly. It’s fine, they don’t have to talk about it. “Forget I said anything.”

“Zayn, stop being a teenager about this.” Niall says, suddenly and sharply, so Zayn pauses. “It’s fine that you like Harry. I’m just surprised you haven’t figured this out about yourself sooner.”

“That obvious?”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t know how to break it to you mate, but I wouldn’t spend six months living out of Harry’s pockets just for shits and giggles.”

“Right.”

“So now what?” Niall asks, like it’s the simplest question in the room. Zayn admires Niall’s way of never thinking about anything too long or too seriously. It’s never that deep with Niall. “Are you going to talk to him about this?”

“I would rather die.” Zayn grumbles. It’s the truth. Niall laughs, throwing his head back. Zayn glares and Niall raises a hand in apology. “He said that he was proud of us for not messing our friendship up by fucking each other.”

“Huh,” Niall muses, an unreadable expression crossing over his face. “I suppose that’s probably true.”

Zayn nods. “So it’s not like I can do anything about it now. Even if he felt the same way, he probably wouldn’t want this to go anywhere.”

Niall studies Zayn for a minute before saying, “I’m not sure that silently festering in your own emotions is gonna help, mate.”

“I’m just going to fuck it out of my system,” Zayn says. Sure, that’s what it’ll do and it’ll be fine. 

Niall shrugs, but Zayn can feel the judgment seeping through the phone screen. “If you think it’ll help.”

Zayn doesn’t know, but he sure as hell will try. He shoots Harry a text that he’s going out. He’s going to find someone nice, and everything will be fine.

*

Zayn is great at casual sex. The best, actually. Well, maybe the second best. But, still, he’s great at it. He’s good looking and he’s fairly smooth, but mostly, he finds that one night stands are the easiest because you don’t have to be anything more than momentarily smooth, and he can’t disappoint a stranger that he meets in a bar in a city that he’ll never visit again. The girl for the night was a girl named Isabella from America. She’s backpacking with five friends, who all did a thorough background check on Zayn. He doesn’t leave first thing in the morning, and he spends several hours talking to her and her friends about everything. He turned off the phone the night before, and it’s not until he realizes that he has twelve missed calls from Harry that he makes the walk of shame back to his hostel.

When he walks into their double, Harry is sitting on his bed, looking down at his phone. He doesn’t look up at Zayn when he quietly says, “Congratulations, bro.”

Zayn looks around the hostel and notices the patched up window and the glass shattered under it. His blood instantly runs cold, and he turns around to catch Harry’s face, and the horrible bruise forming around his left eye. When he meets Harry’s eyes, he shrugs. Zayn feels like he’s in a ghost state when he walks towards Harry, until he’s standing between Harry’s legs. Harry looks up at him, and his eyes widen slightly. Zayn runs a gentle finger over the bruise, making sure not to push too hard. “Harry.”

“You forgot to lock the room, and I had to fight off the robber for your camera,” Harry explains, without any accusation in his voice, but Zayn feels horrible nonetheless. He can live with anything being stolen, but the fact Harry got hurt in the process kills Zayn a little. Harry’s hands settle on Zayn’s waist and he looks up at Zayn with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope it was worth it, at least.”

“It wasn’t,” Zayn says quickly and quietly, and it’s the truth. Nothing is worth this. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. God if something had happened, I wouldn’t - ”

“Zayn, I’m fine. It’s okay.” Harry cuts him off quickly.

“I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

Harry’s green eyes widen when he looks up at Zayn, and something flashes behind them. Zayn knows that look, and he’s so, so, so aware of their positions. It could be so easy to just - no, he can’t. Zayn’s left hand is a traitor, it moves before he can decide and it lands on Harry’s cheek.  Zayn leans down just as Harry leans up, and then he is kissing him, his lips over Harry’s, like he’s pictured more times than he would care to admit. Harry makes a surprised sound, but kisses him back softly, keeping it slow and delicate. Then he pulls back, holding Zayn away with one palm against his chest, and another on Zayn’s hip.

Realization immediately dawns on Zayn and he splutters, “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” Harry repeats, voice carefully blank.

Zayn shakes his head and takes a step back. “Shit. I just - well, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry.”

“Right,” Harry says, licking his lip and looking away. Zayn doesn’t know what is happening, or if he should panic and explain, or god forbid,  talk like Niall had insisted. He stays quiet. A moment passes until Harry coughs, dropping the hand on Zayn’s waist before standing up, and Zayn immediately puts some space between them. The air between them in tense and Zayn mentally runs through every scenario that could play out. It’s Harry who breaks the silence first. He keeps his voice level when he says, “Don’t worry about it, Zayn.”

“What?”

“Emotions were running high, and shit happens,” Harry says with a shrug, not actually looking at Zayn. 

“You’re not mad?”

Harry still doesn’t meet his eye when he says, “Nah, it’s cool. Besides, I’ve made out with mates before. It’s whatever.”

“It’s whatever,” Zayn agrees, even if his insides feel like they’re going to collapse. “You’re okay, right?”

“Totally fine.” Harry says, smiling slightly. There’s a lie in there somewhere. Zayn just doesn’t know how to push at it.

*

Even though Zayn feels kind of awkward, Harry keeps true to his words, and things settle into something more recognizable. And it’s surprisingly easy to morph their friendship to include that as well. In a way, Zayn supposes that’s why Harry values their friendship as much as he does. They don’t blatantly mention the kiss again, but they don’t act like it didn’t happen either. Zayn thinks there’s little they won’t be able to adapt to, and when that thought makes him start to hope for something else again, he squashes it immediately. He keeps telling himself it’s not worth it.

“Do you think I’d look good riding a motorcycle?” 

Zayn is pulled out of his thoughts by eyeing a motorcycle in Che Guevara’s childhood home that’s now a museum in Alta Garcia.  Zayn tries rolling his eyes, but he knows he looks utterly fond. “Of course you would.”

Harry preens. “Remind me to get one when we get back to London.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees, even if he probably won’t.

*

They sleep for two days straight when they get to Buenos Aires. Their bus ride took about eighteen hours, and by the end of it, they were both too exhausted to think, let alone see anything. The first night they got there, they checked into their hostel only to realize that they’re sharing a quad with two loud university students. They immediately check out, take the hit on their budget, and check into a hotel in a quiet neighborhood. The hotel room has two beds which is a god send for Zayn because he doesn’t think he could handle sharing a bed with Harry again. He knows that they agreed on things not being awkward, but he doesn’t want to push the envelop on that anymore.

The third day they are in the Argentinian capital, Harry insists they get breakfast at the local cafe. It’s filled with locals, and while their Spanish improved significantly over the past four months, they still struggle with the local dialect. 

“Do you think we’re just old now?” Harry asks, ripping the corner of his churro. “I wouldn’t have been able to make it at the hostel.”

Zayn snorts. “We’re definitely old.”

Zayn notices that they fall into silences more often now. They’re comfortable, so Zayn doesn’t feel too bad, but sometimes he catches Harry looking wistfully into the distance, and he wishes he knew what was happening. Today, he catches Harry looking out at an old couple laughing over their churros and hot chocolate. Harry has a slight, dopey smile on his face as the old woman reaches out to feed a piece to an old man who is definitely her husband.

“You should see your face,” Zayn says, softly.

Harry hums. “You know I love love. It’s sweet.”

“You do.” Zayn agrees. He knows that. For someone who struggles desperately to hold down lasting relationships, Harry has always been fond of people in relationships. Louis always used to joke that Harry is more likely to just join someone else’s relationship than hold down one of his own.

Harry looks away from the old couple to take a sip of his coffee. He’s soft when he says, “I wonder if that’ll be me one day.”

Zayn ignores the twist in his heart. “I’m sure it’ll be you one day.”

“I hope so,” Harry says, but his tone suggests that he doesn’t quite believe it.

*

They spend several days taking in the sites of Buenos Aires. It’s easily Zayn’s favorite city on the trip so far. Zayn gets lots of pictures of little corner shops, street vendors, and all the main sights. It’s the closest to home that they’ve gotten on the trip. Buenos Aires is a bit London in it’s glitz and glamour, but it’s quaint streets and cathedrals and obelisks make it unlike anything Zayn has experienced. Zayn spends the last day in front of the large B.A taking photographs.

“We should go out tonight,” Harry suggests casually, but Zayn can feel the undercurrent of his anxiety.

Zayn nods and keeps his voice carefully blank when he says, “Sure.”

*

They decide to go to a rooftop bar in the heart of the city that has views of the whole city. They actually put some effort into getting ready this time around with Zayn dressed in a smart black button down and skinny jeans, while Harry opted with a loose fitting white shirt with the top four buttons undone. He looks good - he always looks good, and Zayn has gotten good at accepting that as a fact of life, but he looks good. 

The bar is dark and busy, with some kind of reggaeton music blaring over the studio. He loses Harry about fifteen minutes and two drinks in, and finds himself in a conversation with a group of backpackers and their Argentinian friends. They’re all lovely, but Zayn finds himself distracted. He catches site of Harry talking to a petite red head girl, and then a tall tattooed man, and then he loses Harry all together. Zayn sighs, and makes way to the bar where he orders another drink. It’s going to be a long night, and he didn’t even want to come out in the first place.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Zayn spins around to come face to face with a man, probably his age, with an accent he can’t place. Zayn fingers one of the rings on his fingers to distract himself. He coughs. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”

“You sure?” The man takes a step forward and Zayn takes a step back. “Wanna dance? My name is Stanley.”

“No,” Zayn repeats, more firmly this time. 

When Stanley takes a step forward again, Zayn is tempted to make a run. He knows how these things go, and he can’t actually get into a fight in the middle of a bar in a country that could easily kick him out. He doesn’t have to do much though because he feels a hand slide around his waist, and a very familiar, very comforting presence next to him.

“Everything alright?” Harry’s voice is ice cold. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, sorry dude.” The man immediately leaves without a second word.

Zayn shoves Harry’s shoulder slightly, even if Harry doesn’t budge at all. “I didn’t need saving.”

“Now, who said I was saving your sorry ass?” Harry asks, dimples slightly flashing. “Maybe I was saving him from you getting into a fight here.”

“I wasn’t gonna get into a fight,” Zayn mutters, even though they both know that’s at least half a lie.

Harry hums, not dropping his hand from Zayn’s waist. “You know, we should dance. Like, you know, you and me.” He looks awkward, running a nervous hand through his hair, and Zayn finds it adorable. Harry, with all his confidence and bravado, still gets nervous.

“I can’t dance,” Zayn says, with a shake of a head, ignoring the fact that his own heart is trying to make him meet his maker. “You remember how Cali went.”

Harry pouts. “Cali was fun though.”

“I’m going to look like an idiot,” Zayn insists. There’s only so much he’s willing to embarrass himself in front of Harry, and he’s pretty much crossed that line ages ago.

“I don’t care,” Harry insists, moving his hand toward’s Zayn’s lower back. “We can look like idiots together.”

Harry flashes him a smile, hopeful and sincere, and Zayn lets out a breath. He’s never been particularly good at saying no to Harry.

“Fine,” Zayn mutters, and Harry’s grin just gets wider.

The music isn’t anything like they’re used to in the clubs of London, and Zayn feels awkward in his own body. At least until Harry does a ridiculous spin, and suddenly Zayn doesn’t feel stupid. He forgets about everything but Harry’s body against his, their hips moving together, and Harry’s hands on him. This is a terrible idea, every part of Zayn’s brain screams. There’s just something so playful, teasing, and overconfident about everything Harry does, and Zayn knows he’s doomed. When he catches Harry’s eyes, there’s the same heat and intensity that Zayn first saw in Cali, but now he knows what it is. He knows because it’s exactly what he feels right now.

“Harry,” Zayn breathes out. Harry’s face does something complicated, like he’s having a silent debate with himself. “Please.” 

Harry seems to settle the debate within himself because he leans down, running a hand through Zayn’s hair before he kisses him. Zayn is stunned, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing back just as vehemently; it’s too wet, too much, but still not enough. Zayn suddenly doesn’t care that he’s one of those people who make out on a dance floor, and he kisses back till he feels it in every part of himself. Harry makes a needy sound in his throat, trying to make his hands let go of Zayn’s shirt, but Zayn holds it in place. He has missed this so much, more than he thought he did, more than he thinks should be possible considering how little he’s had to experience it, but he’s spent every day since Santiago thinking about this.

“How drunk are you?” Harry asks, suddenly, eyes widening slightly.

Zayn shakes his head and leans up to kiss Harry again, hand tangling in Harry’s hair. “I’m not, are you?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

Zayn doesn’t know how they lose their clothes back at their hotel, but they do. Zayn can’t see a thing when he kisses Harry hard, like he’s probably wanted to do for ages. Harry stumbles back against a wall, and pulls Zayn closer.

“God, Zayn,” Harry breathes out. “You have no fucking idea how long I wanted to do this, so if you’re gonna regret it, just tell me now.”

Zayn just kisses him in response. “Less talking.”

*

“Well, we’ve gone and done it,” Harry says the next morning, propping himself on one arm so that he can grin down at Zayn. “It was bound to happen, you know.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees because yeah. He doesn’t know why they didn’t just do this years ago. “Probably should have gotten it out of our system ages ago.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s grin fades a little, and his face does something complicated. Zayn frowns slightly. Harry drops back down on the bed so that he’s looking up at the ceiling fan. “Is that what this is - you know, a one time thing to get it out of our system?”

It’s Zayn’s turn to look down at Harry who still has the same frown on his face, and he pointedly looks away. Zayn puts a hand under Harry’s chin, and tilts it up so that Harry is forced to look at him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“You know how I am.” Harry says, quietly.

Zayn shrugs. “Yes I do, which is why I’m ready to take my chances.”

Harry’s smile is blinding when he kisses Zayn again.

*

It should feel like jumping off a cliff, really. Zayn hasn’t always had the easiest relationship with sex and love. He doesn’t have to think hard to know that most of his relationships failed because he overthinks everything, but it’s so very easy to not overthink with Harry. Sex doesn’t have to be complicated and dark or soulless and distant. It doesn’t have to ruin his friendship with Harry. It’s not like anything changed. Harry still makes him laugh like nobody else, they still fight over bug spray and Emergen-C, and they still can’t dance. Except now Harry makes him laugh during sex as a way to throw him off, and Zayn pays it back in full, and fights over bug spray and Emergen-C only really exist to blow off steam. And they still can’t dance for shit, but at least they have each other when they make fools of themselves. Zayn didn’t think anything could be as easy as whatever he has with Harry now.

“You’re making your thinking face again,” Harry says on a boat in Cabo Polonio. “Be careful or you might hurt yourself.” Zayn sticks his middle finger up, and Harry laughs.  

Zayn muses, “You know, I didn’t really find anything worth proper artistic merit on this trip.”

It’s funny how this whole trip started out as a work endeavor. He was supposed to come here and find inspiration, or a muse, and instead he found - well, he found Harry in all his glory. His assistant might not appreciate it, but Zayn can’t be too mad about it.

Harry hums. “Look through your camera roll again. Maybe there’s something you missed.”

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees, even if he doubts it a little.

*

August turns into September when they make their way into Brazil. After spending several days at Iguancu Falls and making a pit stop to Ilha do Mel, they finally make it to Sao Paulo. Compared to the rest of their travels, the city feels a bit gray. The traffic is chaotic, and everything is just a bit too busy. They try playing tourist for the first few days, but get tired eventually. The people at their hostel insist that the nightlife is to die for, but Zayn doesn’t really feel up for that. Harry does though, which sits a bit weird with Zayn, but he pushes that away and tries to focus on work, Zayn uses the time that they have to go through his camera, and to finally look at the photos he’s taken.

There’s a shot of Harry in Cartagena, laughing with local children. There’s a picture of Harry pitching a tent in Tayrona. There’s photos of Harry with Horatio and Jesus in Mompox, and one of Harry kicking a ball with local children in Villa de Leyva. There’s the picture on top of Volcan Cotopaxi, and one in the heart of the Amazon in Baños. There’s sand surfing in Huachachina, and the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni. There’s Machu Picchu. There’s Harry, always Harry. Beautiful, in the most terrifying way possible, Harry. 

I love Harry. 

If the first realization Zayn has had came as a freight train hitting him unexpectedly, this realization comes as a whimper. Something so easy and expected. Zayn should have known better.

He’s bought out of his thoughts with a click of the hostel door opening, and Harry walking in. His long hair is in a disarray, but he smiles happily at Zayn before dropping his bag to the ground, and getting into Zayn’s bunk.

“No luck?” Zayn asks, mostly out of habit, and not that he thinks Harry would actually hook up with someone else now.

Harry hums. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Is that so?” Zayn puts away his camera, and brushes the hair out of Harry’s face. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Harry teases, but he’s smiling. He shifts so that he’s pulling Zayn half on top of him. Something flickers over Harry’s face. “I wanted this for so long.”

“How long?” Zayn asks, before he can censor himself. He is not sure if he really wants to know, but he can’t not ask. 

Harry’s face goes soft. He leans forward to place a small kiss on Zayn’s bottom lip. “Too long,” he says. “Like, from when we were in university.”

Zayn’s heart speeds up, but he tells it to quit it. This is going to work. He knows it.

*

They make it to Rio de Janeiro at the end of September. They spend a week exploring the city, but they’re exhausted by the end of it all. They ride in a truck all the way to Christ the Redeemer. Harry pulls out his phone when they get to the top. They take a picture of them with their arms out laughing in front of the statue, and then Harry pulls Zayn in to kiss him in front of the statue. 

“I love you,” Zayn says when they break apart. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it at that moment, without any planning, but he just needs to say it. “You don’t have to say it back but like I need you to know that, and I would regret it if I waited, and like, I know you think I fall in love too quickly but - ”

Zayn doesn’t get the rest of his completely unrehearsed speech out because Harry kisses him. “Shut up.”

“Harry - ”

“Fucks sake, Zayn.” Harry says, somewhere between exasperation and utter fondness. “I love you too. I’ve loved you forever. I don’t have a whole speech planned like you, but just, yeah.”

We’d have fallen in love with each other, or something equally gross, Harry had said in Quito. Well, here they are in Rio de Janeiro realizing that. 

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harrystyles: consider this instagram official.

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louist91: finally

niallhoran: finally.

liampayne: finally!!!!!!!!!

zayn: do I need to say finally as well?

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zayn: no caption needed

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louist91: it’s about time

niallhoran: it’s about time.

liampayne: it’s about time!!!!!!!!!

harrystyles: honestly this might be your best caption so far

*

“I always did say that I could be a model,” Harry says, as he drops down on the couch between Zayn and Niall. Most of the pictures of Harry from the trip made their way on to a travel blog.

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this?”

“Aw, but, you love me for that.” Harry says, leaning over to kiss Zayn.

Niall groans. “I know I made fifty quid off you two, but I need you to know that I absolutely hate you both.”

“When did it happen anyways?” Liam asks, strolling into the living room with the popcorn, and Louis right behind him. “Louis bet that it would happen in Colombia, I said Ecuador, and Niall said Argentina.”

Harry and Zayn exchange a look before laughing. The real answer is probably long before this trip.

*