Echo Of Us • Zarry

DM 3

Zayn answered to the short, polite, meaningful email. 'Aha it's okay bro we've all been there. And sure, see you tomorrow night. :)'

            It's great news actually, since it kickstarted Harry's plan to get over Zayn. Now all he has to do is not drink too much, bury all memories of Zayn's lips on his skin into some inaccessible part of his brain and act like Niall. Be chill, don't let anyone force you to drink more than you want and pretend like your ex is an old acquaintance. Just three simple steps that he has to keep in mind. He should manage it. Perhaps this would've been simpler if he listened to Dua when she shoved him the lyrics to 'New Rules' for the first time. 'You'll never get over him if you keep thinking about him, babe. Just get him out of your head, you know?'. She was right, of course. Harry realized it a bit late, but he did nonetheless. Maybe he should call her and get her to make some rules for him. It would sure make his life a hell lot of simpler.

            Seeing Zayn for the second time in one week after all three years of nothing feels alien, as if they didn't use to be together 24/7, always touching, talking, kissing. Harry gets an eerie sense of dejá-vu, something about seeing Zayn walking up to him with a smile and whiskey on rocks in his hand both as familiar as coming home after a long day as it is strange, unknown. His heart is beating in his throat, all the blood rushing through his head so loud it overpowers the sound of the party all around him. It makes the chatter of dozens of people and clatter of hundreds of glasses almost inaudible, like something that's happening miles upon miles away. Nothing matters right now. Nothing except Zayn being almost in front of him again.

            Harry closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a few deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Then he smiles, as wide as he can. Zayn is just his old friend, even if Harry has to chant it over and over in his head like a mantra.

            "Hey," Harry says when Zayn's finally in earshot. The smile stays glued on his face, as if it was the only seam left that's keeping him together, keeping him from falling down in tiny little pieces.

            "Hi. Having a good night?" Zayn asks and takes a sip of his whiskey. Looking at his throat, how his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows almost brings Harry to his knees and all of his hard work would be worthless. Why can't Zayn be ugly? Just really unattractive so Harry wouldn't feel on fire every time he looked at him.

            "Sure. You must be having an awesome one though. Congrats, by the way."

            Zayn rolls his eyes but a smile takes over his face shortly after.

            "It's all Taylor. These old dudes hate me."

            "Stop being so modest. Your voice is the best part of the song and you know it," Harry mentally slaps himself. What a way to go, arsehole.

            "It's not, trust me. Anyways, let's go sit down somewhere, shall we? You mentioned catching up if I remember correctly," Zayn says with a small smile.

            Harry's dumbfounded. How is it possible that Zayn seriously wants to talk? After all this time, after Harry's nonsensical words at the pre-party, after everything that happened? Why does he have any kindness left for Harry? He knows that he doesn't deserve even a proper glance from Zayn, not even a polite 'Hello' and yet, here he is, grasping the opportunity like a starved animal.

            Harry barely recognizes the person that Zayn is now. A certain grace and aloofness that surround him are a complete novelty. He's all easy smiles and keen eyes, ultimately ignoring the whole room around him. There are curious eyes everywhere, staring him down with envy, admiration and lust but Zayn pays it no mind. Something that would've made him fidget and run out of the room for a cigarette break now slides past him like a racing car that Zayn gives zero fucks about. And Harry's aching to know more, see more of the person that Zayn grew up into while Harry was sulking and nursing his broken heart with fleeting distractions and smooth curves.