Wild (sequel to Deep) - Zarry AU

Fix

Harry was in his house, the last day before he had to return to promotional duties for the new album. He'd been on the phone most of the morning. Now he was on the phone to Simon for the third time. Simon was keeping him waiting; Harry tapped the edge of the marble kitchen-island with a pencil, while he waited for Simon to finish giving instructions to some secretary.  Yet another of the many minions that circled the Overlord constantly, Harry remembered, all with the job of keeping Syco running to Simon's exacting standards.

Finally Simon was free.  "Yup, ok I can talk - sorry."   He sounded impatient and Harry felt a bit awkward.  It took a lot for Simon to tire of his favourite charge, but it was clear that Simon was getting fed up. "Harry – let it go. Why do you want it so bad?" The words hung in the air.

" I just... I just don't want it out there, Si, that's all," he lied.

Simon sighed.

"Have you had someone call the Sun direct or do you want us to do it?"

"No, I've already called them – I mean Victoria's called them. They said they're gonna confirm through their lawyers that all copies have been deleted. The original sources are supposed to be doing the same... because they're under the same ... umm... contractual ... you know... too."

"Contractual obligation, Harry – yes, that's how it usually works. Who are the original sources, though? Do we know?"

Harry chewed on the end of the pencil as he listened to Simon, removing it to respond.

"The Sun won't say. Said it was against their policy as journalists or something"

Simon snorted. "Yes, because they are just so ethical..."

Harry tried to laugh.

"Look, Harry, I think you've done everything you can. Just forget about it now and concentrate on promotion."

"Ok." Harry pressed his lips together. The pencil snapped.

Simon seemed as if he was about to hang up but suddenly seemed to remember something.

"Oh, Harry – before you go - there is just one more thing you should know."

Harry stopped, his eyes closed, dying to get off the phone so that he could punch the nearest pillow... or wall, even.

Simon continued: "Because it cost us quite a lot to shut this down, we have contacted Zayn's representation to ask for a contribution. After all, it's as much in Zayn's interests as yours to keep this tape out of circulation."

"And?" Harry was still, staring at the fridge which buzzed quietly in front of him. "What did they say?"

Simon laughed. "They haven't returned our calls."

*

Harry was alone, in bed, at noon. Ignoring the phone ringing, the texts, the tweets, the DMs, the e-mails. The pillow was still damp under his cheek.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself. "Why you? Why the fuck...."

He sat up, suddenly, his self-pity fading into urgency. ".... Is it always you...?"

He pulled his laptop from the floor, waited for it to awaken and punched in the numerous security details. Extra firewalls for people like you, the technician had said.

Incognito. 

Zarry, he typed.

Videos, fan accounts, insta, tumblr, twitter.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. A smile darted into his cheek. 

Videos.  

Harry took a deep breath, sat back and watched. First, a foetus video.

It felt good to laugh at the idiots they were, to see the two of them together again. Moments that the camera didn't capture: befores and afters, jokes and glances and touches that Harry remembered were never quite as accidental as they looked – at least for him. How hard it had been for Harry to stay away from Zayn with his dark, breathtaking beauty and low-key cool... almost impossible at times. Harry remembered how he would take the untamed energy that fizzed up inside him whenever he was near Zayn's body and direct it somewhere else: the fans, the boys, an interviewer.... And how it all came out that one night...God, he never knew he could come so hard ... and so many times...  

Harry looked up from the screen. Trailing a finger up and down his bare chest as he stared at the view of the hills from his window. What it would be to have that again, he thought. To have him again. A solitary hawk crossed the sky in front of him. Harry watched as it rose, motionless, surfing the air currents of the cloudless LA sky. Below it pulsed the smog-blurred dark line of the Valley.

Where was He now? What was he doing?

Harry had a brief recollection of Zayn in those early days, feet up, a spliff between his fingers and a laptop balanced on his thigh. He heard his silvery laugh, saw the white smile, heard the familiar "Harreh!". It was back when they had first realised people wrote fanfiction about the band. "Harreh, there's loads about you!" Zayn had said, scrolling furiously. The memory faded.

What if – right now - Zayn was also sat googling Zarry? Harry smiled at the thought.

And then Harry remembered what Zayn had told him in the Irving Club. The fanfiction that he said started him thinking about Harry as more than a friend. The one that Zayn said was so well written.

He'd never read it. Why had he never bothered to read it; to see exactly what it was that got Zayn going; that got him thinking of Harry in that way, as more than just a friend?

What was it called? Zayn had told him once. Review... reset...

Rewind

That was it. Rewind.

Harry started typing.

Ok so inevitably there was more than one Zarry fanfiction called Rewind. But Harry remembered at least that Zayn had said it was on a site called Fanfix. So he searched and ... sure enough, a long, seemingly very involved story came up. He glanced at the writer's profile. Her name was RatedRIssa which he thought was quite clever.

"Harreh you're too nice!" he could hear Zayn's voice again. "You think everyone's good and talented and nice and clever. As if you're not."

Back then, Harry thought to himself, he was too nice. He missed that innocent Harry Styles. He had too much bitterness now. He wished he could go back to that time before he knew what it was to be rejected. Back before he constantly felt like an addict who had had his stash confiscated.

But it was no use looking back, he told himself, as he played with the heavy silver chain he had taken to wearing around his wrist.

He took a deep breath and started to read.