Echo Of Us • Zarry

OK! 1

Over the years in the show business, Harry's learned that gossip rags are right about roughly eighty per cent of the information they decide to print on the pages of their magazines. He guesses that he's been lucky since nothing too crazy has been said about him. Yes, there have been his million and a half girlfriends but it's never gotten any nastier than that. This time, he's even luckier.

Harry throws another magazine against the wall of his New York apartment, tears of frustration welling in his eyes. It's been eight excruciating days since he talked to Zayn. Ironically enough, the magazine that's lying on the floor right now was sporting the photographic evidence of the aftermath of their last conversation on the very front page.

But he's very fortunate, really, because what truly happened is much more fucked up than what the gossip magazines are reporting.

The official story is that Harry cheated and Zayn kicked his arse out, called off the wedding and that's it. Cut plain and simple. In reality, it's not so straightforward.

Harry plops down on the couch with tear-stained cheeks, resisting the urge to grab another bottle of red wine or the nasty vegan ice cream that's been in the freezer for god knows how long. Instead he just sits and stares out of the floor-length windows and regrets his life decisions. It's too late to change it and everything reminds Harry of it. The ticking of his massive designer clock on the wall by the kitchen. His phone that's been silent for days. The grim quietness of the flat, Harry being the only occupant.

He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about the jagged slew of terrible decisions that got him where he is right now. The first one was innocent enough. Just a line with Nick during a night out after he had finally left the studio. Harmless, right? It'd been years since he was a stupid teenager middling around in the wrong social circles. It had been years since Harry even took anything hard at all. In hindsight, it was the neverending work and stress about the wedding squeezed between more work that finally got to Harry. All he wanted was to stop thinking for an hour or two. And it did work. It worked too many times, even if the number of instances he reached for it were in fact low.

Zayn noticed within two weeks. They were both in London for some time, a rare instance that Harry essentially ruined. And Zayn isn't stupid. He knows how Harry looks drunk and how he looks high. He knows from his own experience and from knowing Harry better than anyone.

When Zayn confronted Harry about it, Harry should've kept his mouth shut and flushed the little he got leftover from the party down the toilet. Instead, he downplayed it, in spite of knowing their history with these things. They know how to fight, anyone with a hotel room next to theirs while they were in the band could corroborate that, but it's different now. Zayn didn't yell, he explained to Harry in great detail that he doesn't want to be around drugs because of what happened the summer after he left the band. Harry nodded like a toddler, promised he wouldn't touch it again and then got high again two days after.

Miami was just the culmination of weeks of this bullshit. Harry knew why he hadn't touched it for years and yet he didn't stop. Then one night in a club, Harry took it too far and some compromising pictures were leaked to the media. He himself isn't sure if he actually kissed the guy or not. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter.

Harry had come from the club to Zayn's hotel room late, he was sobering up and he clearly remembered how he had gotten in the bed when he woke up. His head felt like it was about to burst as he woke up, his phone was vibrating violently against his calf and Zayn was chain-smoking on the balcony. This trickled down to a nasty anxious feeling, a PTSD from his younger years. The moment Zayn saw that Harry was awake, Harry knew he had fucked up somehow.

"You don't understand," Harry defended himself once Zayn had come back in and thrown his iPad at Harry, the article open for him, Harry undoubtedly in the pictures. "Nothing happened. We weren't kissing."

"You know what, Harry?" Zayn scoffed, his arms crossed against his chest. "It's not even the fucking point. It doesn't matter. You lied to me. You promised you'd stop and you didn't. That's one fucking thing I wanted from you. You know how hard it is to get all that crap out of your life. You do know, just as well as I do, because we already did it once. I never want to fall into that again, I don't want you fucking with that shit again."

"I'm not a fucking addict, Zayn," Harry argued.

"I'm not saying you are," Zayn sighed, "but you need to stop."

"I could say the same fucking thing about you and your weed," Harry remarked. "I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing."

"Weed is different than fucking coke!" Zayn exclaimed. "You won't stop with coke and you will be an addict eventually. And I didn't ask to marry someone who does lines in the bathrooms of some posh fucking clubs full of people who are fucked up. Do you sometimes realize what you've been saying, Harry?"

Harry stayed silent because with these words, he understood at last what was on the line there.

"We're planning our wedding, Haz," Zayn breathed out, defeated. "You talk my ears off about having kids and what not and then you go and get fucked up and cheat on me. What do you want? Do you want this life you keep talking about or do you want to party like you did when you were nineteen? Because I can't read your mind. You need to communicate all this."

"I'm sorry," Harry said in a whisper, his head hanging low. He didn't want to look at Zayn and see the disappointment in his eyes. Their relationship wasn't supposed to end up like this.

"I can't marry you if we're not on the same page," Zayn said quietly. "I don't want any drugs in my life, I don't want this stupid fucking shit. We're too old for it. I know we used to party and cheat and hurt each other. But I'm tired of it. I can't do this again, Harry."

"I didn't cheat," Harry choked out, his eyes already full of tears. "I swear to god, Zayn, I love you, I would never cheat on you. In those photos... we were all messing around, playing a drinking game, it wasn't like that."

Harry dared to look at Zayn but his gaze was focused on the outside. Maybe he couldn't bear to look at Harry in that state, maybe he just hated him because of the things that Harry did.

"Can you leave, Harry?" Zayn asked then, still not looking at Harry and it was like the Earth changed its rotation. He could feel the dread seeping through all the veins and capillaries in his body. His fingers went numb with it, his head seemingly floating away from his neck. It was destruction in action, Pompeii burning and people dying in pain but all of it was taking place in Harry's heart.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Harry managed to ask, somehow thinking straight for enough time to gather the words and form a sentence.

"I'm not sure," Zayn replied while looking at his hands. "But the wedding is off, definitely. We're clearly not ready. Just- get clean, gather your thoughts and then we can talk again. I'll call you."

Without any more words, Zayn left the room and went to the balcony, wordlessly kicking Harry out. It was more violent than if he had thrown Harry off said balcony, letting him splatter on the pavement outside and leaving his corpse to be eaten by seagulls.