not in love || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER THREE

HARRY / PRESENT

It was three in the morning. After a long evening of wedding planning we were both hungry for sleep. Darby was lying on my chest, her long blonde hair pooling at the crook of my neck, her index finger tracing the tattoos on my chest until she quietly drifted off. Arthur, her haughty French Bulldog, was snoring at the foot of the bed.

I glanced at my guitar in the corner of the room. In the darkness it looked like a ghost. I had been writing again. After all this time I was finally ready. It was a completely different sound, my own and no one else's. I even surprised myself. Louis was a writer, not me. A few record labels were interested, but I wanted the songs to be perfect before sharing them with anyone besides Darby. I was going to do things differently this time, on my own terms.

There was a crash. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Another flat in the building had been broken into recently, so my heart jumped. Arthur looked up at me blankly. "Some guard dog you are."

I crept around the corner as quietly as I could and picked up the first thing I could find. An American Music Award on the hall mantel. It was heavy. Good for bludgeoning. I stepped out and raised the trophy over my head.

"Zayn?"

He was shirtless helping himself to a cup of tea. "Whoa, take it easy mate."

I placed the trophy on the kitchen island between us. Once I recovered from the shock he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in for a hug, our body art merging into an intricate canvas. "Missed you bother," he said.

"The wedding is a week away."

"Sorry mate. I lost the invite. I knew is was June-ish."

I laughed. It was a cock-up on his part but I was giddy that he was there. While it was nice having Liam so close by, Zayn and I were cut from the same cloth, our bond unsaid, spiritual is the only way I could think to describe it. We didn't have to say much to understand exactly what the other was thinking. "At least you came before the wedding and not after."

He held up his cup of tea, "Cheers," then took a sip. "This tea is shite, mate! Can you get a decent cuppa in this country?"

I held my finger over my lips motioning that Darby was still asleep. "That's green tea. It's Darby's..." I went to the kettle and began to prepare a fresh cup the way I knew he liked it. Strong with a splash of milk. "Did you come straight from the airport? Alone? Did no one see you?"

"Nah. I have my ways." He winked.

It was true, Zayn was the only international popstar I knew that could move from place to place like a secret agent. He was rarely papped or spotted. But it was especially impressive given that he had launched his solo career just a year earlier.

Zayn and I were the only ones still making music.

The sides of head were shaved. He kept his jet-black hair long and tied into a ponytail the way I liked it. I lovingly smoothed the top of his head.

"So," he said darkly. "Are you sure about this?"

"The wedding?"

"Darby, she's different. Great, obviously. But different from..."

"I'm different too. I want to be happy now. I want to be with someone who actually wants to be with me."

"Don't get me wrong, I love your girl Darby. But you could have anyone, everyone. You even snogged me once for Christ sake!" That was saying something. Zayn was the straightest men I'd ever met. He bedded more women in one night then most men had in their entire lives. "Probably would have let you go a lot further too." He said sheepishly batting his long dark lashes.

"Shut it," I snapped him playfully with the dishcloth. "It's not about that. You know it's not. I feel... safe with her."

Just then, Darby sleepily emerged from the bedroom. "Zayn?"

"Hi love." Zayn kissed her cheek, a little longer than what's considered friendly or appropriate. It was funny. Darby was exactly the kind of girl I always pictured Zayn with—blonde, laid back, smart and tough as nails.

"You're a little early."

Zayn checked his watch, which was barley visibly among the tattoos snaking down the length of his lean, wiry arm.

"I mean three weeks early. But I'm glad you're here. You can help Liam with the stag and doe."

"Perfect." He and I exchanged helpless looks.

Darby grabbed him by the hand and dragged him over to her computer.

She showed him her plans for the wedding. Pictures of her dress—antique lace.

"Aw, lovely." He squeezed her shoulders. "You'll look like an angel. You already do."

I shook my head. Zayn simply couldn't help himself.

"That's if Harry doesn't upstage me with his prettiness."

"Sorry, love, but nobody's prettier than Hazza here."

Darby had the excel spreadsheet open with the guest list. Next to Louis' name was red "x".

Zayn was visibly pained by this. "He's not coming? What the fuck? Nah, Harry, don't tell me that."

"We invited him, he said no, what more could I do..." I bit my lip to keep from crying.

Zayn tried to deflect the awkward tension that was building. "Must be the new job. Stress and that."

"What new job?"

"He didn't tell you? Maybe it's not my place..."

"Zayn, tell me."

He looked down. "Louis' working at Modest Management."

If I wasn't trying so hard to save face in front of Darby, I would have had a nervous breakdown.

"So he has a new job? What's wrong with that?" she asked.

Zayn shot me a look. I knew that look. It said: You haven't told her? Why the fuck haven't you told her?

"It's nothing," I said briskly. "It's just not where we pictured him ending up, that's all."

Zayn furrowed his brow. "It's getting late."

"Yeah," Darby whispered. "I'm turning in." She eyed me suspiciously as she left the room.

I watched as she padded down the hallway into the bedroom, and then waited to hear the sound of the door closing before turning to Zayn. He took me in his arms. I pressed my tear soaked face into his naked shoulder.

"She can't know about me and Louis," I murmured. "She can never know."

A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. All comments welcome! And please vote!