NOW THIS IS WHAT I LIKE ahem ok let us try
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when it comes down to it, harry’s not actually sure why he’s here. it could be a hundred different reasons–it could be the photo he saw on instagram yesterday, blurry photos of zayn leaving the airport, it could be the sign he’d walked past this morning. or it could be the wine he’d had with dinner, strong and sweet on his tongue.
or it could be the fact that a few weeks ago, harry had clicked on a link to find in big, bold letters: to be honest, i never really spoke to harry even when i was in the band. so i didn’t really expect much of a relationship with him.
he doesn’t know. but he’s here now.
there’s a strange sort of inevitability around it, like it was always meant to come to this, always meant to end up this way. despite everything, despite the tearful fight and the harsh words and the subtle, hurtful things they’ve said to each other in the press, they were always, somehow, meant to come together.
back when they were in the band, harry never really took the time to watch zayn perform, never really paid attention to the way he held himself and the way he sang. now, it’s the only thing he can focus on.
zayn on stage is mesmerizing. he’s quiet–he doesn’t move around a lot, nor does he interact with fans in the way harry tends to do. but he commands their attention, draws them in with his gorgeous voice and his runs. it’s times like these that harry wonders how he’d missed this, back when they were still in the band, back when they were still in speaking terms. but then again, harry never really bothered to look.
he’s looking now.
he manages to make it unseen for most of the concert, and he’s beginning to think he might make it to the end unnoticed when in the break between two songs, while taking a sip of water, zayn’s eyes fall on him.
harry knows zayn sees him, because his eyes soften, the way they used to. back when they shared a bed together. back when harry would wake up and find zayn smoking by the window, watching him.
and then zayn sings, and harry–
harry hears himself.
it’s too much, all at once–harry had never listened to zayn’s first solo album, nor did he buy it–and everything hits him like a punch to the gut. the yearning, the longing, the pain. the way zayn croons when you’re looking like this i just can’t resist it, every emotion jam-packed into the melody, the tune. every piece of him that he’d given to zayn is reflected in the song, desperate and helpless.
and all throughout, zayn hasn’t even looked away.
it’s too much, all at once. harry leaves.