Echo Of Us • Zarry

DM 1

Their first face-to-face encounter after two years, eleven months and one day is exactly like their relationship used to be. Unexpected, undiscussed before it happened and a total whirlwind of emotions. It was fitting, for them to meet like that. They saw it coming but not really. It was creeping up on them and when some concern arose, the moment that would eventually change their lives was perfectly situated in a blind spot, concealing itself and blocking them from avoiding it once again.

            The moment Harry saw Zayn at the pre-Grammy party, Harry proclaimed himself a dumbass. A real fucking stupid piece of shit. Of course, it was such a Harry thing to do, go to an industry party, get drunk off his ass with Jeff and some old men whose names he barely even remembers and then fucking run into Zayn, who he hasn't seen in almost three years. And of-fucking-course, Zayn was mostly sober, he looked and smelled like a fucking dream and that was it really. Harry was done. He had no fighting chance because once Zayn laid his eyes on Harry again, staring at him with this wide-eyed Bambi look of his, Harry was back at the exact same place he was almost three years ago. Damn all that time he tried to get over Zayn. Fuck the angsty album that Harry hoped, fucking prayed would finally get Zayn out of his system, out of his heart. Screw it all because Harry was still in love with him.

            "Harry? Are you alright?" Oh. Yes. Zayn's standing in front of him. Harry should say something. Talking. Communicating. Why does using his jaw and tongue sound so exhausting?

            "Y-yeah. 'm fine. Hi." That's good, right? A simple greeting, like simple old friends with simple non-romantic past. Harry's doing great, so fucking great he might as well forget how his breath is getting caught in his throat or how the liquid in his champagne glass is sloshing around ever so slightly because his right hand is shaking as if it were -50°C.

            "Hey," Zayn replies and continues to eye Harry sceptically. Harry's convinced his heart is beating along with the movement of Zayn's eyes, which can't possibly be healthy. But every single little shift, how Zayn's gaze travels from Harry's eyes to his hair and all over his face, every single one makes Harry feel like he's drowning.

            "You look a bit pale, are you sure you're okay?" Harry almost scoffs. So Zayn's concerned about him now? Interesting.

            "I'm just drunk, you know me. Can handle my alcohol every other weekend but only if the Moon's in the right position. Which is almost never, according to you."

            "O-kay, I'm gonna go now." Zayn tries to make an exit, but Harry uses the little sober part of his brain to grab his arm.

            "Where the fuck do you think you're going? I miss you, arsehole. Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean we can't hang out."

            "Hang out?"

            "Yeah. What, you think I didn't know you met up with... pretty much everyone but me? Shit. I guess you really hate me, huh?" Harry's grip on Zayn's forearm must be really uncomfortable by now but Zayn barely even blinks. If the alcohol wasn't restricting Harry from perceiving and living out this situation as he should, he'd even enjoy touching Zayn again after so long. Perhaps he wouldn't. It's still an option. Maybe it would make him want to crawl in bed and don't leave for about two years. Guess he'll never know now.

            "I don't hate you, Harry. I never did." Harry chuckles. If only that was true.

            "Hm. Let's see. 'Me and Harry never really spoke', yeah? That's news for me. I don't remember us like that. Oh wait, I guess we were too busy fucking to talk, yeah? And what happened to 'finding me when the time is right', hm? For you the time is never right, is it?" Harry laughs and then hiccups. Fuck, he's so drunk. He's getting pretty damn dizzy. Fuck. Nevertheless, Harry loves the shocked look on Zayn's face. Actually, Harry loves all of him, despite him talking shit and now gaping at him as if Harry said there's a demon in the man's bathroom.

            "Harry, shut up. Someone could hear you."

            "Oh, someone could hear me? You don't say, love. Poor you, what would people say if they knew you don't like fucking just nice blonde girls, hm? That you loved me more than you could ever love any of them? If they knew that you broke my fucking heart because you were a coward, because you didn't want to fight for us. Because you didn't believe we could make it in the end. I love- "Harry cuts himself off and throws up in a potted plant.

            He feels a gentle hand on his back, soothing him and whispering 'it'll be alright, you're gonna be fine'. Harry feels like the lovely voice and hand belong to Zayn, but that must be just his imagination, hallucinating his deepest desires before Harry passes out right there in the middle of the hallway.

            Harry wakes up a few hours later, the remnants of memories of Zayn's silky voice grazing the edges of his mind. Maybe they were from a dream, maybe they were real. It doesn't matter since Zayn isn't the one sitting next to Harry in the back of the car, playing on his phone; it's Jeff.

            I fucked up. That's all Harry can think about.

            After almost three years of not seeing each other, this is the best they can do? Bicker in a dark hallway during a party neither of them really wanted to go, ambushed by fate or whatever finally getting tired of their antics. They didn't talk properly despite it being long overdue, didn't make any promises to catch up. The cherry on top was how this exchange ended – with Harry almost confessing his love in public and then promptly throwing up into a potted plant like a fucking sixteen-year-old at his first party.

            Harry feels sick. Not in the way he felt earlier this evening but sick of his life, sick of feeling empty, sick of eternally missing someone. There's a great gaping hole inside his chest with his heart hanging out of it. The skin around it is torn and bloody, has been for nearly three years. He just wants to fix it. Wants to be able to love freely again. Wants to go online without his breath getting caught and his pulse racing when he sees Zayn's name or even worse, his face. Harry wants to get over Zayn. Finally leave him in the past, un-love him and let his heart be free. It may be impossible, but he has to at least try.

            He saw it tonight. Saw it so clearly it actually hurt his eyes. Harry might've been hammered but not even his clouded mind could conceal how Zayn looked at him – like he was nothing. A stranger that somehow knows Zayn. An old friend that Zayn isn't even sure what his name is. A person Zayn never thinks off anymore. If Harry were younger, more naïve, more hopeful, he might have tried to make himself believe that Zayn still loved him too. That Zayn's wide-eyed look and shaky breaths indicated that he was just as shaken and fucking relieved to see Harry as Harry was him. It wouldn't be the truth, though and Harry knows it now.

            Zayn doesn't love him. A fact, a truth, a dagger. Their lives aren't a romantic comedy where they were just waiting for a chance meeting like this to ignite the fire of their love that's been smouldering for years. Reality is harsh, cold and never works in your favour. Harry needs to accept it, the sooner the better.

            First step of getting over Zayn is apologizing for the debacle that was tonight. A yoga instructor of Harry's once said that he can't move on if he's got a hundred pounds of baggage on his back and that he should leave all the negative things in the past. And that is exactly what Harry's going to do – cleanse his life out of everything Zayn-love related. At the end of this, Zayn will be just a past lover, someone that broke Harry's heart and Harry won't have to look back at some of his best years with anguish. It will be all over and Harry will be ready to love again.