Deep (Zarry AU)

First night

...when no one's watching.....

"Niall hates the red carpet, doncha Niall?"

Liam was straightening his tie in the mirror while Niall scrubbed his hands through his hair, messier and blonder after an afternoon with Lou and her team.

"No I don't. Juss don like all this dressin up shite. Not fer like ten minutes of photos and a coupl'interviews. An then sittin in a fookin cinema dressed like a penguin. Juss wanna be in me jeans, f'I'm honest. Doncha think, Harry?"

"Mmm? Wha'?"

Harry was chewing on a cocktail stick from the plate of canapés that the boys had demolished within five minutes of its arrival at the hair and make-up studio. He was being tended to by Kavita, a new make-up artist that Lou had brought in. Niall kept looking over as Kavita dabbed strange flesh-coloured pastes on Harry's forehead. Harry never knew what was going on when make-up artists did their work. It was a strange kind of alchemy; usually he would take an interest and ask questions; making conversation, especially with a new, young girl whose hair swung as alluringly and smelled as nice as Kavita's did; but today he wasn't in the mood.

"You'd prefer to be in your jeans fer these kinda things, wouldncha, Harry?" Niall said, louder this time.

"Mmm... I guess," Harry said.

"But there's an after-party, isn't there?" Liam said. "So it is worth dressin up a bit."

"D'we have to go??" Niall said.

"That would be a yes,"

"Aww, yer kidding! I wanted to see the PGA live tonight! You wanna see it, doncha Harry?"

Harry frowned. "Mmm" he said.

Niall sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I'd give up now if I were you, Kavita," Niall said, smiling at her, "there's no hope of improving Harry's zits after the week he's had."

Kavita swung her hair towards Niall and returned the smile, humming into a diplomatic "I wouldn't say...".

Harry's gaze stayed fixed on a window, his mouth rolling the cocktail stick rhythmically from side to side.

Zayn was in another room.

*

Harry sat at the other end of the row to him. It was easy to engineer. They were always accompanied to premieres by people from Modest, minders and other hangers-on that Harry could put between himself and his bandmates if he needed to. Now and again he glanced along the row. Zayn was sat low in his seat, elbows propped on the velvety armrests on each side, chewing gum, looking for all the world as if he didn't want to be there. The movie wasn't interesting enough for Harry to lose himself in it so he texted for most of it, but every time he looked up, his eyes pulled to the left. Along the dark floor, or to that part of the screen. That part of the screen where he could see him, just, out of the corner of his eye.

*

Harry had passed him in the hotel lobby, where the guests were massing for the after-party, and their shoulders had brushed together. It was light, but to Harry it felt like tendrils of electricity were unfurling down his arm from the spot they had collided. He hadn't even looked at Zayn, but he sensed Zayn's head lower as Harry approached; felt his gaze follow Harry's feet along the floor and his head scoop back up towards him as he passed and their shoulders connected, as if he was expecting Harry to stop. Harry didn't. He kept walking until he found a group of people he vaguely knew in a far corner of the room where some tables stood and a small opening in the wall revealed a chrome-edged bar with shelves lined with dozens of different types of vodka. Harry stood so he was almost completely hidden from view - next to a member of the film's production team called Seth who Harry had met once before in LA and who Harry guessed weighed about 300 pounds - but so as, from where Harry was standing, he could see Zayn through a gap in the crowd.

"And as we were running the truck through the back of the building..." Seth was saying, in a loud West Coast accent.

Seth glanced at Harry, who nodded and flashed a smile before refocussing on the other side of the room.

"...the stunt guy shouts "Jesus Christ, I think my tits are melting!!!"

Everyone was laughing and Harry smiled, dropped his head and nodded some more. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, hoping Seth wasn't going to speak to him directly. Luckily for Harry, Seth started questioning a woman opposite him. The woman's heels must have been at least six inches, Harry thought, and her lips reminded him of a cartoon fish. Harry looked away. The conversation hummed. The room hummed. But then everything got very silent for Harry. An annoying obstruction to his view had shifted and across the lobby he could see the straight black fringes of Zayn's eyebrows, knit in their permanent frown, his equally dark eyes darting from time to time down or to the side or up and his mouth pulled in at the corner as if he were chewing on the inside of his cheek. He's just as detached from this as I am, Harry suddenly thought. And for a few moments Harry couldn't move; couldn't hear; couldn't do anything, other than stare at Zayn. It was going to get embarrassing when someone noticed.

"Fuel!" he announced, clapping Seth on the back. "Can I get you a refill?" Seth looked down at his nearly-full champagne flute, one of a number that a waitress had just handed out. "No... I'm...er... good, thanks" he said. Harry moved away.

I dont think I can keep this up. Too hard. Not when he looks like this.

Nick replied. My advice matey is to turn your attention to someone else. There must b plenty of choice! Oh wait! I feel so sorry 4 u - cuz there must be NOBODY else there to chat up!! Am I right? Oh and by the way, you typed he instead of she...anyone would think you were talking about a man...(:

There was a pause, then Harry's phone buzzed again.

Seriously mate just get wasted.

The room was swimming. Harry had followed Nick's advice. All of it. He didn't remember much after that - talking in the hotel's basement which was some kind of nightclub to a lot of girls in very sparkly dresses. He had no idea what he was laughing at when Zayn came up and fixed him with a dark stare. Harry wanted to smile at him, to hug him so that everything would be right again but Zayn started shouting - something about the texts he'd sent that Harry had ignored (he hadn't told Nick that part) and then Zayn had gone off and Harry hadn't known what to do and had felt suddenly sober.

Next thing Harry found himself upstairs, in a hotel corridor. He was convinced he was looking for something but he couldn't remember what it was. The corridor was smooth and white. Everywhere. But it was dark now and the lights were really low so the white walls glowed a kind of yellow. And Harry thought it was weird that the floor felt like it was made of some strange kind of rubbery surface, but then he realised that maybe it was because he was drunk. The floor must have been uneven too, he thought, because his shoulder kept bumping against the wall. Then there were metal things hung here and there - art things - sculpture-y things - and he was trying not to bump into them. He stopped, leaning against an empty part of the wall. He took a deep breath. His head wasn't spinning as much now. But he could hear something. A soft, slow, rhythmic noise. Footsteps. Behind him, coming closer.

Someone was coming up the corridor behind him.

He turned.