Caught | 1D AU

15.

Gotta Be You - One Direction

I thought I was hallucinating, getting lost in his green eyes—worried with a frown. As if he was kneeling beside me. I could practically feel his fingers caressing my hair, I pressed my face into his hand at the prospect of human contact. I reached up to touch his wrist. It felt real, warm and soft. He came back for me. "Harry," I gasped through dry lips.

I sat bolt upright. I didn't believe it. I threw myself at him, feeling the warmth of another person, the touch of skin, the smell of cologne. It smelled dark and woody. I hadn't realized that I'd missed it, but it instantly brought back that memory of when he gave me a piggy back down to the waterside, and I had to cling to his back so I wouldn't fall, and that had been fun, hadn't it? I remembered laughing a lot at least.

"Finley," he breathed, wrapping me up in his arms, making the world seem a little less scary. Like being close to him made me feel more complete. Like I had been missing something and I hadn't even realized it. "I missed you," he kissed my head, "I missed you so much."

"Never leave me again," I said into his shoulder without thinking. I pressed my cheek into his warmth. I wasn't sure if I meant it, but I think I did in that moment. It was such a relief to not be alone.

"I won't," he said, "never again. Even when we fight." I pulled away to look at his face, "Don't look at me like that, Finley. We're going to have fights, we can't help it. You make me crazy, and I'm sure you get just as crazy as I do. It's just something that happens, but I love that about us. So I promise you, I will hold my temper next time." I nodded deliriously, not following his words at all, but his eyes were nice and green and calming to look at. He traced my jaw line and cupped my chin in his hand. "You look like you've had a rough week." I nodded some more. "Will you let me take care of you now?" he asked.

"Please," I breathed, ready to agree to anything as long as he didn't lock me up in this bathroom ever again. He beamed at me, picking me up bridal style, and carrying me out into the living room, spinning around until the world went dizzy. I squealed, trying to hold my stomach in place, feeling nauseas—not that there was anything to throw up. He laughed more before setting me down on the couch. It was the softest, cushiest surface I'd felt in forever. Pure ecstasy compared to the tile bathroom.

He grabbed something from the cabinet, and handed me a sleeve of crackers, "start with these, I'm going to heat up a bowl of soup for you. Eat slowly, I don't want you to upset your stomach." I grabbed the crackers and ripped the package open, shoving three in my mouth right away. He laughed and ruffled my hair like I was a child. I smiled up at him as I chewed, probably looking like a chipmunk. Whatever makes him happy.

He turned back to the kitchen and got to cooking. The mouthful of buttery salty cracker, now just mush in my mouth, was a little too dry and it was hard to gulp down. It felt weird to finally be eating something. I suddenly couldn't recall if I had eaten that bar of soap, or if I had just thought about it. I took another cracker, trying to slow down like he told me. On the coffee table in front of me was a magazine. It sat there innocuous, like he had just randomly picked it up, and decided to bring it back to flip through when we were bored. I looked back up at Harry, , he had his back turned to me working in the kitchen, and I wondered if this was a test.

I looked back down at the magazine and stared at Zayn's picture staring back at me. My Zayn, on the cover of a magazine. He had a new haircut, bleached silver blond. He was showing off a tattoo with a funny looking coat that I'd never have pegged him to wear before. I wondered what the article inside said about him, and if he was doing okay with the label controlling him. Did he choose that look for himself, or did someone dress him up? Was he changing because he wanted to? I wondered if I'd crossed his mind since he dumped me.

I didn't dare pick it up though. I shoved another cracker into my mouth. And Harry was turning around with a steaming bowl in his hand. He mixed it a bit with a spoon as he sat down next to me. "It's a bit hot," he said, picking up a spoonful of the split pea soup, and blowing on it. He held it up in front of my face, and it took me a moment to realize that he was trying to spoon feed me.

I leaned forward and took the spoonful in my mouth, catching his eyes as I let the spoon slip out from my lips. My stomach twisted in a knot when he gulped. He looked down at the bowl as he got another spoonful. I sat there as still as I could, and let him feed me, but kept my eyes averted after that.

When the bowl was empty he set it down on the table and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to lean against him. I curled up into his chest, and laid there, ready to fall asleep again. I felt like I shouldn't be so sleepy, but the warmth of the soup was putting me into a food coma, and I let my eyes flutter shut. Harry sat up a little bit, and I heard paper sliding against the table, then he was leaning back, holding something above my head. I opened my eyes and looked up to see he was flipping through the magazine. My blood turned cold.

He stopped turning pages and looked closer at an article. I shifted slightly, so that I could peer up and see it. A spread of photos showed Zayn posed in weird ways, looking off in the distance or straight at the camera. "I can't believe I used to know him," Harry said. "We were in a band for five years," he looked down at me, "did you know that?"

I shook my head, but barely, afraid that anything could set him off.

"Of course, he didn't tell you. He drops people without a second thought. Burns bridges and never looks back just to get ahead. I'm sorry he hurt you, I shouldn't have brought the magazine in the house, I know you probably don't want to see his face," Harry flung the magazine across the room into the fireplace, it landed on a log and immediately started crinkling up brown, bubbling green ink with plastic. The fire curled and licked around Zayn's face, and I felt sad that I wouldn't even get the chance to sneak out late at night when Harry was sleeping and read it in secret.

"What was your band like?" I asked. He seemed calm enough, and I was curious since Zayne had never told me about it.

He looked at me as he twisted his finger around a strand of my hair. "It was one of the best times of my life," he said. "It was called One Direction because the only direction we were going to go was up...But we were just a bunch of blokes right out of our A-levels, and we thought we'd have a better chance in the States, ya know, with the accents and how well the Beatles did. So we got on a plane, and just showed up. Didn't have a penny between us. We started playing around dive bars, and getting gigs, not that many. We had to get side jobs to stay afloat, worked at a bakery sweeping floors for the longest time, but... I miss it sometimes." He sighed in the memory of it all.

It was strange that Zayn had never mentioned it once in the three years we dated. His explanation for showing up to the states was just that he liked the American Dream and his dream was to make music. "Are you good at singing?" I asked Harry, "Do you play an instrument?"

I felt his chuckle in his chest against my cheek, "I play the guitar, the piano, and the kazoo."

"The kazoo?" I asked.

"Yes, the Kazoo. It's tricky, not many people appreciate the unique notes a kazoo can bring to a song."

"You'll have to show me some time," I said. I found myself absentmindedly tracing my fingers across his chest. It was quiet here, all I could hear was the crackling fire, and the crickets outside. I had been intently listening to the crickets for so long, trying to decipher any other sound that might be too quiet to be heard over them, and it was driving me insane. "Can you sing me a song?"

He cleared his throat, and I giggled when I realized that he really would sing to me. He started quietly, singing about the disappointment in my eyes, and how he tore my heart apart, but he just needed one more chance. "Cause there's nobody else," he sang quietly in my ear, "It's gotta be you."

NOTE--

Bestfriends are throwing a party tonight in (their) house, and they really want me to go, but Exboyfriend is going to be there too because it's his house party as well.