Deep (Zarry AU)

Sleepless

...until we found .....the one thing...

It was 2am and Harry couldn't sleep.

Remembering. How it started.

He's just pretty isn he?

The sexy curly haired one.

The tmh tour: wild, intense flirting. Which Harry didn't admit to himself was even that. It just seemed like he and Zayn were having fun, at the time. More fun than he'd ever...

Smiling all the time around him. His smile, mirroring back. Touching him at every chance. Kisses; of course Harry had denied it when Louis pointed out that he always seemed to be kissing Zayn. Well, he wasn't allowed to kiss Louis any more was he? So who else was he going to kiss? And no, of course there was nothing in it...

And then he knew what it was; that it wasn't just having fun - because something changed and jealousy clutched at his insides like an icy hand: sudden and unexpected and out of nowhere. Zayn brought Perrie over to join him on the tour. And Harry could no longer tell himself that it didn't matter, that she was another one of those girlfriends who would amount to nothing. Like his always did. And misery took over; and he didn't know how to be any more.

Then when Perrie left, and Zayn was quiet and thoughtful and self-sufficient and didn't seem to need Harry any more, Harry had tried to bring those magical moments back. But Zayn was distant: far away even when he was seated right next to Harry.

That was when Harry had made up his mind to forget about Zayn. Because Harry didn't like feeling tied to someone. It wasn't like him to be jealous; he made other people jealous. Not the other way round. That was how it was.

Oh yeah, Styles, he thought, staring up at the mosquito net that he was supposed to have untied so it fell softly around the four poster. That was how it was. Just look at yourself now though.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled hard through his nose, ran both hands through his hair that was still clumping together from the pool's water. He looked at his phone. 2.30 am. He wished he could feel tired. Wished he could forget this... shit. Could forget him. But he couldn't . It would be like trying to know somebody you never met. He smiled at the words; they had just appeared in his head.

Villa 9. That was Zayn's. Harry had made sure he remembered it, when he saw the number carved on the wooden keyring that Zayn had been turning over and over in his hand earlier that evening - when Harry had no choice but to stick around talking in a group with him and Ben and Lou... when all he had wanted to do was to get Zayn on his own....

Villa 9. He could go there now. Tell him. Talk to him again. Maybe even...

Harry chewed on his thumbnail, shook his head. Stupid idea. He looked around. Everything was white in his villa. Well everything that wasn't wood. And the lights inside were so bright and there were no dimmer switches, so that the whiteness glared at him and kept him awake and the only alternative was to turn the light out completely and then it would be dark... dark and velvety with only the moonlight and the whirr of crickets and the soft swish of the waves, and that would be too...

Hmm. He looked back, caught sight of the bottle of beer still on his bedside table.

He reached out to it and took a drink.

... the one thing....we could never ever...