I'm Not Gay

7

“Are you going to tell us what the hell is wrong with you?”

Zayn looked at his brother and snorted, seeing his stern gaze. “I know you’re ancient, but I’m not exactly a kid anymore, Zach. I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

Zach’s expression didn’t change, his brown brows furrowed as he looked at Zayn inquisitively.

“You’ve been brooding. You don’t brood. You aren’t me.”

Zayn smiled faintly. It was a bit of a family joke that while Zach and Zayn looked creepily alike, they couldn’t be more different as far as their personalities were concerned. Zach was reserved and responsible, inclined to ordering people around; Zayn was easy-going and laid-back—as long as it didn’t concern something or someone he truly cared about. If it did, he was prone to being…too intense. Come to think of it, maybe he was a bit like Zach. Maybe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zayn said at last, focusing his eyes on the FIFA match between Tristan and James. James was absolutely trouncing his half-brother, which was kind of hilarious, considering that Tristan was a former football star.

He could feel Zach’s unimpressed gaze even without looking.

“We’ve barely seen you for weeks, but then you turn up at my house and practically move back into it. Not to mention that your best mate called our bloody landline several times, and you asked us to lie to him that you weren’t here. What the fuck? Since when do you avoid Harry?”

Since I started sticking my cock into him, Zayn thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. No, it wasn’t correct: things had been fine in the beginning. He hadn’t even thought of what he did with Harry as real sex—they were just mates who got off together, nothing more. He didn’t see Harry as an object of attraction. But that last time, he had looked down at Harry’s silly O-face and instead of feeling amused or even affectionate, he’d felt a twinge of pure male satisfaction and want. And it had freaked him out. 

Zayn didn’t want Harry. He had never wanted him. He’d always resented the idea that gay men couldn’t be good mates with straight guys without secretly lusting after them. Maybe avoiding Harry wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but he didn’t have a better one. He wanted to sort out his head, and he couldn’t do it if he kept sticking his cock into Harry every day.

Goddammit, he didn’t want to fuck up their friendship. He had been so reluctant to agree to Harry’s insane idea for a reason: too many things could go wrong if people introduced sex into their friendship. He still hadn’t expected that he would be the problem: he’d thought Harry would be the one to freak out on him. It seemed almost amusing now.

Zach heaved a sigh. “Fine. Don’t talk. But I’m warning you that if you don’t tell me what got you brooding, Tristan will get it out of you anyway, and he will be a lot more annoying about it than me.” He sounded exasperated but endlessly affectionate. Loving.

Zayn couldn’t deny that a part of him was jealous. Not because of Tristan—he was well over his crush on Zach’s husband—but of what they had. Zayn wanted that, wanted to meet a guy who’d make him sound so ridiculously in love when he talked about him. He was twenty-five. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted something stable. The Hardaway men generally didn’t do casual. They all were about partners and family.

The older Zayn got, the truer for him it was. He did want a relationship. He just didn’t seem to be able to commit to any of his flings. His friendship with Harry had pretty much been the only constant in his life for years, and he would be damned if he lost it because of his prick.

“I think I may have fucked up our friendship,” Zayn said with a sigh. 

“In what way?” Zach said, his gaze on the FIFA game.

Zayn made a face, wondering how he was supposed to explain the situation without making it sound insane. Not to mention that he didn’t exactly want to tell Zach about Harry’s sexual preferences. He might mock Harry for his totally straight desire to be fucked, but he felt too protective of him to tell anyone about it.

“I just…I looked at him and had some thoughts I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have about my best mate.”

Zach’s gaze flicked to him, his brows drawing together. “He’s…fit,” he said. “Isn’t it natural to be a little attracted to a fit bloke if you’re gay?”

Zayn almost laughed. It was kind of hilarious that Zach was married to a man but had no experience of being attracted to other men. Zach had been straight as an arrow until he met Tristan. 

“Are you attracted to every beautiful woman?” Zayn said, very dryly.

“Okay, you have a point,” Zach said.

“Besides, Harry isn’t even my type,” Zayn said. He shot Tristan a leering look, just to piss Zach off. “Tristan is.”

Zach snorted, looking unbothered, the fucker. “So what about Harry? Are you into him now?”

“No,” Zayn said quickly. “I’m pretty sure it was just a one-off.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why are you avoiding him?”

Zayn pulled a face. While he was pretty sure his thoughts had just been muddled by the sex and he would feel nothing for Harry but friendly affection when he wasn’t balls deep in him, there was still the underlying fear that it wasn’t a one-off.

Goddammit, he didn’t want to want Harry. Having a thing for one’s straight best mate was a recipe for disaster. It had nearly ruined Ryan and James’s life-long friendship. Sure, they were together now, but their relationship had been one hell of a clusterfuck at the time. Back then, his brother had told Zayn that James’s unrequited feelings for him were the worst thing that could have happened to them. Only their freaky codependency had stopped them from never seeing each other again.

Harry and Zayn were definitely not codependent, so any awkward one-sided attraction would eventually end their friendship. He didn’t want that. While hypothetically he could function perfectly without Harry, Zayn was still fond as fuck of that idiot and didn’t want to lose him. They’d been friends forever.

“I just need to deal with this shit before seeing Haz again,” Zayn said.

“And how are planning to deal with it?”

Zayn smiled grimly. First things first: he had to put an end to their fuck-buddying. No fucking, no problem. The only problem with that plan was that he wasn’t optimistic about his chances against Harry’s green, puppy-dog eyes and sad pout. So he needed a reason—a good one—to stop what they’d been doing.

“I’ll get a boyfriend,” Zayn said.