Somewhere In Between The Rainbow

Chapter 7: Strings Attached (Aug - Dec 2013)

DISCLAIMER: "Somewhere In Between The Rainbow" is a work of fiction and is intended for entertainment purposes only. The events and relationships depicted in this story are entirely fictional and do not reflect the actual lives, personalities, or experiences of any real individuals, including the members of One Direction or other public figures mentioned. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental. This work is not affiliated with or endorsed by any members of One Direction, their management, or any associated entities.

TRIGGER WARNING: Grooming, verbal abuse, psychological abuse, eating disorders, sexual assault, drug use, death.

Chapter 7: Strings Attached (Aug - Dec 2013)

The summer had been a blur of neon-lit nights, bass-heavy parties, and the sharp burn of liquor numbing whatever reality they were trying to escape. Cocaine lined glossy tables, joints passed from hand to hand like a lifeline, whiskey bottles drained long before the sun even considered rising. It was a season of indulgence—heedless, fleeting, and utterly consuming. August slipped away like a bottle of wine, each sip intoxicating, yet leaving behind a bitter aftertaste.

One night Zayn sat outside on the hotel balcony, taking a slow drag from the blunt, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling into the warm night air. His mind drifted, hazy and restless, replaying the last few weeks—the way he and Harry kept finding their way back to each other.

Ever since the pyro incident, they had been slipping away together, disappearing into hotel rooms. What had started as an occasional escape had turned into something more. By August, during their break, their hookups had become more frequent. They had spent entire days locked away together, breathing each other in, hands roaming over familiar skin—speaking in ways they never could with words.

Zayn thought about the complicated mess he had found himself in with Harry. How their secret encounters existing in the quiet between them blurred the lines between friendship and something more. Zayn still ached for Liam, still longed for the day Liam might look at him the way he wanted, but Liam wasn't looking. Harry was. And Harry had a way of making Zayn feel special, like he was wanted, needed—even if Zayn knew deep down he wasn't Harry's first choice.

Afterall, Harry had many lovers that summer. Some nights, Harry was slipping into Zayn's bed, his touches slow, his kisses lingering, like maybe he was trying to forget something—or someone. Other nights, Harry was with Louis acting like his boyfriend, while Eleanor remained oblivious, halfway across the world. And then there were the nights where Harry didn't belong to anyone—lost in the haze of a club, wrapped around some random girl whose name he wouldn't remember by morning.

No one had any idea about Zayn and Harry's affair. Not Liam, or Niall and especially not Louis. Louis was unaware that his best mate had become another one of Harry's conquests. Every time Zayn let himself fall into Harry's touch, guilt twisted in his stomach like a knife. While Zayn was off enjoying his time with Harry, he was simultaneously betraying his best friend Louis.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, pressing down as his mind drifted back to something Harry had told him once—something he had barely been able to put into words.

The billionaire's island.

Harry had faltered when he spoke about it, his voice shaky, his expression unreadable. He had tried to explain, but there were gaps—things he couldn't remember or maybe just didn't want to. Zayn had seen that haunted look before. He had worn it himself.

A memory surfaced, murky and fractured, something Zayn had buried deep.

He was 17, barely out of Bradford, still wide-eyed about the industry, when a producer invited him to a house party. It had seemed harmless at first—music, drinks, empty promises of connections. But when he tried to recall the details, everything blurred. Faces melted together, voices echoed and overlapped, and something sick churned in his stomach. Flashes of being cornered, pressure building, the feeling of losing control.