Deep (Zarry AU)

Bruised

To say that Simon wasn't best pleased would have been the understatement of the year. No, make that the understatement of the century. Harry had gotten Lou to break the news to the Overlord, over the phone, as Harry sat in her revolving hairdresser's chair, head hung low while Lou stood, phone to ear, tapping her thigh with a tailcomb, chewing on her lip.

"Yeah... no.... yeah, we'll be able to. Jen's a genius with concealer. We can just say he... he's got a cold, if they think he's a bit umm... puffy. Yeah."

Once Lou had persuaded Simon that her team's make-up skills would render Harry's bruises invisible on stage, Simon was mostly concerned about the papers picking up on the story of Harry getting into a fight.

"Yeah, Si... Haz says 'e was only talking to her... yeah, some blonde at the bar... yeah, I know... and this boyfriend or whatever came out of nowhere. Yeah. Bloody thug probably thought it was cool to take out a celeb. 'Specially Harry. Guys always seem to have a problem with him don't they. Harry says he wasn even hittin on her.... No, he agrees no police. We couldn't control the publicity could we."

Harry's long fingers were spread over his thighs, his boots propped on the footrest under the shelf where Lou piled all the surf spray and paddle brushes, as he listened to her slow, south-London mmms and yeahs, Simon's voice a dim crackle behind them. He felt very un-Harry-like. Kind of small inside; a bit empty. He wasn't used to being hit, other than by flying objects on stage. His face still hurt, the skin still felt like it was stretched too tight over his nose where the swelling was still visible. His eye was bloodshot and still watered a bit too easily, but this time it wasn't tears. Part of him wanted to go back to LA and return the favour; part of him wanted to curl up and never see Zayn Malik again. And part of him was willing to forget all that and cling to the fact that he had to be really special to Zayn to arouse that kind of reaction in him.

That part was winning.

When he told the other boys (using the jealous-boyfriend story) they were fired up, like the street gang or the sports team they sometimes saw themselves to be, all trash-talking and making plans to jet straight over to California and find the "big guy with the Weeknd-style afro" who had done this to their bro. Harry, of course, played his wounds – internal and external – down but kept the boys happy by promising them that, next time they played a gig in LA, they would all go out looking for the guy who had beaten him up... of course.