These Violent Delights (Zirry Love Triangle)

Five

"Hi, I'm Liam," the new boy said, and suddenly he wasn't the only new thing in the hallway. Harry felt new too, Liam's (what a wonderful name, Harry thought, strong and cute at the same time, which was the perfect way to describe its owner as well) rich accent and clipped words making Harry feel like he didn't fit in his skin anymore.

Harry knew it was rude but he didn't respond to Liam right away, instead taking a moment to look him up and down up close. He was wearing a white tank and light jeans slung impossibly low on his hips, his ass really, and there was a red bandana sticking out of one of his back pockets. Harry hoped that it didn't mean that he was in a gang, but he was pretty sure it didn't because Liam had a certain energy and lightness to him that felt as far away from gang-like as Harry could imagine. So even though Liam's muscles were big enough that Harry was sure he could bench press him, Harry didn't feel scared for the first time all day.

"Hi Liam, I'm Harry," he finally said, sliding his hand into the bigger boy's.

"Hi Harry. Do you have a nickname? I'm big on nicknames."

"Actually Harry is a nickname. Real name's Harold."

Liam seemed to ponder this for a moment. "I'm going to call you Hazza if that's alright."

Harry smiled at him. "That's alright by me."

And just like that, Harry had the first new friend he'd had in Bradford in years.

It hadn't always been that way. He'd met Zayn on the first day of primary school, when Zayn had pushed Brett Claymore off of Harry on the playground. They'd bonded over their disdain of sports and their pension for the arts, if you could call Zayn's scribbling and Harry's playacting the arts, and they were fast friends.

Their friendship grew in Year 2, when their parents forced them to join the football team. They spent a lot of time on the bench together, Harry due to his two left feet and Zayn due to his inability to take direction from the coach without cussing under his breath. Harry had never even heard some of the words that Zayn spat out, but they sounded foreign and exciting, and they'd spent hours in Harry's bedroom, pretending that they were the bad guys from their favorite movies and coming up with new insults, the crazier the better, until they were rolling around on the floor laughing.

Harry loved the times they'd spent together, the bitching on the bench and the hours at the community pool (the only place that Harry was better than Zayn at something, since he knew how to swim - though he never made fun of Zayn for it) and the sleepovers and the hours in detention (Zayn for spitballs and Harry for laughing whenever Zayn hit his intended target).

But in Year 3 Zayn got kicked off of the football team for kicking dirt in an opponent's face, and Harry quit as soon as he heard the news, sure that Zayn would appreciate this show of solidarity.

Zayn did not appreciate it, claiming that Harry was too scared to be on the team without him. They didn't talk for days but the tiff was soon put behind them, though their friendship never quite recovered. Harry was too hurt by Zayn's rebuff, and Zayn was too concerned with his new friends. Friends who dressed like he did and who he didn't have work hard to convince to spray paint his neighbor's cats or to steal a candy bar from the corner shop.

By Year 4 Zayn and Harry were only hanging out when no one else was around, and Harry took what he could get.

By Year 5 Zayn was avoiding spending time with Harry even outside of school, and whenever he did see him he'd spend the whole time complaining about how Harry dressed and that Harry never wanted to doing anything that Zayn wanted to do.

By Year 6 Zayn was ignoring Harry completely, which Harry was sure was the worst thing in the world.

By Year 7 he was proven wrong. Zayn and his other friends had stopped ignoring Harry and started picking on him, taunting him and calling him Harriet and a faggot and anything else they could think of to hurt him.

By Year 8 the insults had turned into assaults, and both boys feigned ignorance whenever someone mentioned that they kind of, sort of remembered that Harry and Zayn used to be friends, once upon a time.

Year 8 culminated with that night, so it wasn't surprising that his mother Anne was a bit shocked to see a smile on her son's face when he walked through the door that evening.

"Did you have a good day at school, Harry?"

"Mum, please. Call me Hazza."