Echo Of Us • Zarry

PM 1

            The universe is working against him, Harry decides. Just when he feels happy at last, content with his personal life (if he overlooks the small detail of the guesswork that is his and Zayn's relationship), he has to leave it behind. It has been a little over a month since he and Zayn started talking again, something around two weeks since the snogging appeared and that has not been enough in the slightest. The new routine is ideal – get up, work out, play with Ruby, rehearse for the tour, hang out with Zayn, sleep, repeat. And while he knows this couldn't go on for a long period of time since he'd miss working and doing stuff, he would very much like to keep it precisely like it is for at least one more month.

That is what he complains about to Nick, his face staring at him from a laptop screen while Ruby sits on Harry's lap and plays with his necklaces.

"Harold, you're literally the spoilest brat I've ever met," Nick laments and takes a bite off his sandwich. Ruby lets out an excited wail, maybe at Nick, maybe just because.

"That isn't even a real adjective, Nick," Harry scoffs and shifts Ruby so she doesn't fall off his lap. She still seems pretty captivated by Harry's necklaces, tugging at them, trying to chew on them. The movement is probably going to chafe his skin, but what wouldn't he do for a child's joy?

"It is when it concerns you," Nick argues. "Besides, what's going on between you two? Are you really just hanging out? Seems impossible if you ask me."

"No, we're not just hanging out. We're not fifteen. Although I did do much more sexual stuff at fifteen than I do now."

"That is just tragic. Have you at least sucked his dick yet?" Nick asks offhandedly, shuffling through some papers on his desk, as if he were asking what's the weather like in LA.

Harry covers Ruby's ears with a gasp. She barely even registers it, being too busy chewing on the lapels of Harry's shirt and babbling nonsense.

"Nick! There's a child present! At least spell it out, for god's sake."

"She doesn't know what it means anyway!" Nick cries. Harry rolls his eyes and scoffs.

"No, only the next thing you know, she's shouting out D-I-C-K around the house. She's very impressionable at this age, she'll repeat anything she hears."

"Why is she even with you right now?"

"Well, her parents deserve some free time too. They don't really trust babysitters, so it's a good thing I'm staying at their place for now. And we're doing great, aren't we ladybug?" Harry coos at Ruby, who rewards him with a grin and shouted "Hawwy!"

"See? She can even say my name."

"You're a good mother, Harry Styles. But enough of that, before you start talking about diapers and bibs. I want the gossip on your lover."

"There's nothing to gossip about, we haven't slept together yet. Well, we have just not in the recent weeks or more like, years," Harry admits rather reluctantly. He knows Nick will make fun of him, as it's such a Nick thing to do – make jokes about something that isn't funny at all.

"Weird. Very, very weird," Nick mumbles. "Don't forget to get your arsehole bleached, love."

"Nick!"

"Fine, alright, you don't have to. But don't you dare say I never give you any good advice. Are you at least proper boyfriends?"

"I'm disconnecting this call, you're being rude and inappropriate in front of Ruby. Goodbye, Nick."

"Wait, Harold! You haven't answered my question!" he shouts before the Skype window makes a 'ding' and Nick's face disappears. Harry sighs and stands up, holding Ruby on his hip. Harry didn't answer because how can he answer a question he doesn't know the answer to? Besides, Nick has not helped him at all. He should've called his mum, she always knows what to say. The Skype call was just wasted twenty minutes that he could've spent doing something useful with Ruby or simply reading a book. There's no one in the whole world who can waste his time as efficiently as Nick.

"We should put you to bed, ladybug. Do you wanna sleep yet?" Harry looks at Ruby, who's staring up at his with a clammy smile and big, big eyes.

"Dick!" she shouts. Harry suddenly has a solid urge to throw himself off of a cliff.

+

They haven't talked about it yet. Not a thing about their past has been mentioned, everything still kept securely in a big overflowing chest with a sign 'DO NOT OPEN'. Harry puts it down to the opportunity for having a serious talk not being presented so far. The thought is always itching at the back of his mind, nagging him and reminding Harry of its presence. He's wanted to try and initiate the conversation but always decided not to at the last moment. Harry never feels like ruining a nice lunch, a romantic dinner or a hot snogging session with being serious about stuff. He could ruin everything with just a few simple words and even if this... thing between him and Zayn doesn't last, Harry wants to keep him as long as he can.

Their entire romantic reconciliation has been seasoned by something that absolutely isn't them. It's like putting oregano in chocolate cake – it doesn't fit, no matter that the dessert has all other correct ingredients. More than anything, the whole thing feels like there's something missing. Something vital like basil in basil pesto or a cliché love declaration in a rom-com.

In the nearly two weeks they have been constantly kissing and for the first time in their lives, going on proper dates, but they haven't fucked. While Harry knows that sex isn't the most important part of a relationship – it's communication, of course – it feels oddly strange, since he and Zayn have always been better at the sex part than the communication one. Harry doesn't hate it though, quite the opposite. He finds it selcouth – unfamiliar and yet astounding. He's found joy in just kissing, savouring the feel of Zayn's lips on his, their tongues exploring each other's mouths. They're in the middle of a lengthy process of rediscovery. With each kiss, each touch, they're bringing back the knowledge from a time they've both pushed to the backs of their heads. But in the end, it's a wonderful mixture of old and new. For instance, Harry's in love how Zayn's body feels under his hands now, no longer bony and sharp but strong, with new muscles Harry worships with his lips, makes a map of them in his mind.

Harry treasures each moment they spend together, talk or no talk, because he doesn't know how long it will last, how long till he won't be waking up to a string of texts Zayn sent him at 4AM, pics of Stitch and random snippets of his songs. For all he knows, they can be back to pretending they're strangers in just a few more months. So he doesn't say anything every time the words are basically hanging off the tip of his tongue. He swallows them, pushes them to a forgotten part of his mind and kisses Zayn for the millionth time because he could never possibly get tired of it.