fool's gold [zarry] ✔️

seize

Zain misses him like he misses the sun when he is back home and England is showing him grey overcast skies for the whole time, like he misses the sensation of fabric between his fingers when he hasn't had time to sew in a while.

He misses him like he hasn't missed anyone in a long time. He watches the ocean move and thinks of fabric wrapped around Harry, covering and showing him off. He looks at the fruit at the market and thinks about which colours would make Harry glow. He sketches and sketches until his hand aches like he is back in school, balled up paper in heaps next to is desk and still many photographed and saved.

It's been weeks and his breath still catches when one of his songs plays somewhere Zain cannot escape it, when he can't sleep and he listens to the album he swore he wouldn't and breaks his own heart over again.

But he cannot. Maybe Niall had been right — loathe to admit it, he usually was — and Harry could handle him. But he shouldn't have to. He was young, and beautiful and oh so talented.

And then. There was always that ugly fear that still clawed its way up Zain's throat from time to time. The fear that still made him feel like a child playing dress up, the fear that mad words echo in his mind that he had never even told Niall about. It was fear that made him stubborn and mean and that made him need Niall to help him along. Except with this, Niall couldn't help him, like he hadn't been able to all those years ago. At least this heartbreak was of his own making. At least this heartbreak was Icarus, burning his own wings and no one else's fault. At least this heartbreak made him design.

And yet. He listens to Harry's songs and aches, he draws until his fingers cramp and sees only Harry in front of his eyes.

And then it's months and Harry has a woman at his side when he's at events that Zain cannot escape, but he's still wearing Zain's clothes, something his stylist must have gotten from Niall because Niall always knew too much and was far too kind.

As soon as Niall lets him, he leaves, his studio calling. He draws like he is in mourning, heavy fabric, dark and oppressive, then white linen before he can shake himself out of it.

"So I made a mistake," he says when Niall finds him, not moving from where he is laying in the floor, staring at his ceiling.

"Is that a shroud?" Niall screeches, high-pitched, stepping over Zain as he picks up the sketches. "Please tell me it isn't."

"It's nothing," Zain says, dismissive. "You can throw it out." He might be morbid but he was far too stubborn to be suicidal.

Niall does, cursing  him, the paper crinkling as he Niall balls it up, swearing all the way through. He deflates when he has thrown away everything that offends him, sinking down onto the floor next to Zain, pressing the top of his head against Zain's jaw.

"So you made a mistake," he echoes quietly.

"I'm a coward," Zain says, staring at the ceiling.

"A coward wouldn't be where you are today," Niall answers loyally. "But—" he adds and Zain huffs.

"But I am," he says. "He has a girlfriend," he adds.

"Apparently," Niall agrees. "What are you going to do with that?" He adds, like they're back in school, after a devastating critique from the design teachers.

"Two options," Zain says, as he has every time since then. "Cry about it or do better."

"How are you going to do better?" Niall asks, years of the same question echoing between them.

This time, Zain does not think about the fabric, the drape, the colour. "He said to call him. So I guess I will."

"Oh, wow," Niall says, teasing and soft, but with none of that dreaded gentleness. "You, making a call of your own free will. I will alert the media."

"I will fire you," Zain threatens, like he has since before Niall had bound himself to him through a series of contracts that made marriage look simple. "Now. You threw away all those sketches, but I am thinking white linen could be a thing."

"You're not gonna design shrouds," Niall says firmly, sitting up. "It's late. Go to sleep. You have an important phone call to make, hopefully tomorrow."

"Probably tomorrow," Zain agrees, getting up and stretching. His back pops.

"Old man," Niall teases and groans as he gets up, like the old man he is himself. "You know what," he says, stretching. "Let's have dinner first. You're fun in this mood."

"I am always fun," Zain protests, slinging his arm around Niall's shoulder and kissing his cheek wetly. "Whereas you—" He waggles his eyebrow.

"Now you just lie," Niall laughs, pushing him away. "For that, you're paying. Let's go!"

Zain laughs, following him. Tomorrow, he would fall, but tonight he could still pretend he'd reach the sun.

☀️

idek why this is like the third introspective part but I live that is the important but I think