Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Meeting your soulmate is like walking into a house you’ve been in before – you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to.”

- Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun

////

September 2001

 “Mom,” Harry whines for what has to be the hundredth time, but Anne still fusses with his hair, again and again, as if it wasn’t in the same state of messy curls as when he walked down the stairs in the morning.

“Harry, stop fidgeting or I’ll make a scene when you get out of the car,” she warns and as soon as the words are out of her mouth, Harry stiffens, stock still, only leaning his head closer to Anne’s hand tangled in his hair. “If you had roots for hair, maybe I could do something with it…”

“You’re gonna make me late.”

“Just… there,” she leans away and turns him by his shoulders, inspecting her work. “Perfect.”

Harry smiles as wide as he can, making his cheeks hurt. “Can I go now?”

He’s been impatient for two weeks. Since the day they went shopping for notebooks and pencil cases, the big one with three zippers just like Harry wanted, because it has an entire compartment for just his coloring pens. Harry got a big backpack that barely fits on his back at this point – Gemma assured him taht he’ll grow into it – and textbooks, some of which are still wrapped in plastic, and the others that have been carefully read but barely understood. Not that Harry really knows what they were about. He’s not the best reader yet, mixing up some of the lowercase letters.

But he’s not the only one nervous now, because he’s at the point where he’s supposed to get out of the car and run to the big scary doors without a hand to hold for his very first day of school. Harry sees it in his mom’s telling lip twitch, but she’s smiling all the same, in that warm way that Harry associates with sunflowers growing in their backyard all year round, even through autumn winds and winter’s snow – the yellow petals glowing through the thick cold layer of white.

“Yes Harry, you can go,” Anne says, but the nerves that have been upsetting his stomach melt away to make room for the need to buckle himself back in and never leave the car as soon as he realizes that this is it. This is it.

He can feel Anne looking at him and smiling, but Harry can’t find it in him to appreciate it right now. He isn’t very good at it – Anne said it takes time – but his hands feel like when a storm is coming, like there’s a tornado miles away that twirls in his gut too.

“Sunshine,” she coos, “today is a big deal.” She runs her hand over his curls, undoing all her careful work. “And it’s okay to be nervous for a big deal, right?”

“Right.” Harry swallows dryly.

“Right, so. Head up, smile, have a good day…”

“And don’t step on any flowers,” Harry finishes, saying his part just like he always does, like he’s heard Anne say countless times. Don’t step on any flowers Harry. They feel it, even if you can’t see it.

“Exactly.”

“Okay.” Harry nods to himself, firm and quick, gets out of the car, waves back at his mom as she drives off and makes his way to the big doors that he knows won’t look as scary in a week.

////

There are kids everywhere. Harry recognizes some faces, knows a few names that are probably just as nervous as he is and thinks Gemma should be around here somewhere too, but then she might already be in her class. He’s not supposed to talk to her if they bump in to each other. Keep your head down and keep walking was what she told him last night, but it might have just been a joke. Either way, Harry’s going to take it as one.

First years are all meeting in the gym, he was supposed to remember that, to not get distracted and wonder around looking at everything pretty and shiny, no getting distracted by the fish tanks on the second floor, but go straight to the gym that’s down the end of the hallway on the left. It feels like there are at least a thousand kids running around the basketball court when Harry pushes past the swinging doors, not forty. It feels like an oncoming storm, the screaming and the rushing vibrating through the tips of Harry’s fingers.  

They’re all settled down on the bleachers in the next minute, friends sitting with their heads together to whisper throughout the principle’s speech that flies right over Harry’s head as soon as she starts talking. He’s busy looking around himself, smiling at the kid at the end of his row, Grayson from his block, and Niall, who’s right in the top row waving down at Harry. There are teachers standing next to the principle, smiling brightly at the kids, but they’re waiting for her to stop talking too, Harry can tell. When she does, everyone claps and there’s a loud holler heard from the back, a woman in a bright yellow shirt comes to stand in front of them all. She starts calling out names alphabetically, Harry can tell by the last names. He thinks she looks like the sun.

First, Samantha Aniston is called, then Lucas Bennett, Grayson Bull and so on, as another teacher lines them up in a neat line down the side of the gym. It’s the first class with Michael Simmers standing at the end. And then Miss Sun – if the name fits – turns back to the ones still sitting and calls out the rest of their names; Billy Clay, Niall Horan, Harry Styles and lastly, Jackson Zimmerman, creating two classes of first years, where if Harry hears right, he knows only one other person.

Standing somewhere towards the end, Harry repeats Don’t step on any flowers and thinks of a fresh spring day, his favorite, when the bushes and trees in his backyard start waking up with blossoms the color of a sunset. He thinks of the days when sun is warm, but the air is still fresh against his cheek as he has his toes buried in the green grass to ground himself and feel the sky above his head. Happy thoughts.

“Okay,” Miss sun shouts, trying to be heard over the loud ruckus. “Here we are. Class on my left, you’re A and class on my right, you’re B. Welcome to Wheeler Primary School. As Principle Gill said before, I hope you have a wonderful journey with us. I know I’m gonna try to make it the best for you.”

She sounds nice. Harry hopes she’s his teacher. He’d like to go on a wonderful journey with Miss Sun.

“Now, follow the teacher at the end of your class line and remember,” she lifts one finger in the air and everyone seems to settle, turning their eyes on her unquestioningly. “No abilities in school.” There’s a chill in the air as she says it, like someone had turned down the AC, until she smiles again and chirps, “Happy first day of school.”

////

It turns out Miss Sun is the counselor at the school, not a teacher that would make Harry want to come to class to learn and listen as long as she’d wear that yellow shirt every day. Her name, Harry finds out on the second day, when she pops into class to see how everyone’s doing is Miss Hayley Davis, which doesn’t fit her at all. She’ll stay Miss Sun in Harry’s head.

His teacher isn’t completely awful though. Mr. Flake is tall and his voice is deep, his hair’s a bit gray when the sun shines through the windows in the morning, and other than giving them homework every day, he’s okay. He doesn’t make Harry think of the sun and he doesn’t make his chest feel warm, there’s no color of falling leafs thumping in his chest when he calls on him for an answer. He’s more a cold winter morning, which isn’t bad, Harry guesses. He likes when the tip of his nose goes icy and red.

Besides, Niall is his sitting partner, so there’s no lack of sunshine during school. He was the only one Harry knew more than by name or face, from the times their mom’s got together and Harry and Niall were free to play football or watch their dads play guitar together. They don’t do much of that now, not since Harry’s dad moved to a different house to the other side of town. But Harry and Niall still get to play football on the weekends, except not they have to do their homework first.

Harry finds he doesn’t mind school. Being forced to recite the alphabet over and over again is making him dizzy, but not when he gets to copy the words from Niall, and art class makes up for getting homework. Almost.

But it’s the lunch breaks that are Harry’s favorite. Or he knows they’re everyone’s favorite, because none of the kids eat in the cafeteria, even when it starts to get cold enough for coats and scarfs, when they have to hold their sandwiches with gloved hands so they can watch and stare and awe.

The Wheeler school doesn’t have many rules. No running in hallways, no phones in class, no yelling, no fighting – Harry thinks those rules are in every school. But the one that they were told to be especially careful about is no abilities. There’s no one walking around on four legs or breathing fire in the hallways. Harry hasn’t seen anyone’s eyes glow or sparkle. Though he’d love to see someone fly in gym class or get their things out of their locker with just their mind, there’s not a whiff of abilities anywhere inside the school. And Gemma tells him that not all schools are so strict about that.

During lunch break, however, all the kids can run outside to the courtyard and do whatever they like, as long as they follow the rest of the rules. Harry finds that okay, because he wouldn’t want to see anyone fighting inside or out on the courtyard. The only downside is Gemma going invisible on him all the time, so Harry can’t pin her down to say hi during lunch. It’s been almost a month and he still hasn’t seen her in school.

There’s always a bunch of older classes huddled in a circle in front of the school, putting on a show, making a big spectacle of themselves and what they can do. Harry and Niall usually sit on the steps along the edge of the courtyard and eat their lunch while they uh and ah with their mouths full.

“What do you think that kid can do?” Niall asks, starting off their Guess the power game before they even sit down.

“Run really fast.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“I don’t always say that,” Harry says, affronted. He doesn’t. “Okay, he can fly.”

“Pff, fliers are rare.”

“Yeah well, I bet he can.”

“Mhm.” Niall isn’t paying much attention to the circle forming, or the kid with bright blue hair he pointed at, too busy buttoning his coat tight and getting his hands on his sandwich to care, but Harry watches intently, the banana in his hand half forgotten. “Hey, could you, warm me up a bit? I’m freezing here.”

It is cold for October, unusually so, Harry can feel it in his toes, how the warmth from the past months is seeping away to make room for the chill and the rain. Autumn always tingles.

“Sure.” He lifts his banana and flicks his wrist from left to right, bringing a gush of warm wind to wrap around them. He did it on the second day, when Niall’s teeth were shattering and now Niall asks for Harry to conjure up a warm draft every day. It’s not a big deal though. “Good?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” Niall hums happily, biting into his sandwich.

“You should consider wearing a sweater under you coat instead of just a t-shirt.”

“Shush, it’s starting.”

“Niall..”

“Yes, I will wear a sweater tomorrow.”

Harry smiles with victory, feeling like punching his fist into the air because he likes having his way, but it’s shadowed by the show starting. Gemma said that it’s usually the younger kids from lower classes, the ones just starting school like Niall and Harry that participate, because they still think that powers are cool, but standing around the edge are older students, maybe even older than Gemma. Harry must not be the big loser she makes him out to be.

The kid Niall pointed at before is standing in the middle of the gathered crowd, Tyson something if Harry remembers right, a year older than them, an inch taller. But there’s something about him, something in his confident smirk and his blue hair that makes Harry doubt he’s going to develop premonition as well.

“Ready?” A boy shouts, short enough to be almost completely hidden by the tall heads around him.

He was the loud one, the one that made everyone applause on first day as he descended the stairs to join the class for line A, Louis. Harry doesn’t know how a first year ended up running the show this year, but it probably has something to do with the buoyancy of his voice.

Tyson nods. He spreads his feet out, bends his knees a little in a half crouch and says, “Hell yeah,” right before he claps his palms together to make lighting shoot out between his fingers and up at the sky. It looks pretty cool, especially because the bright purple lightning splits the sky for a second, blinding and shaking the ground. But he can’t fly, so it pales in comparison.

“That looks so good,” Niall says with his mouth hanging open, as Tyson keeps clapping. “Wow.”

“Kind of, I guess.”

“Easy for you to say,” Niall scoffs. “It’s what you do except smaller, and less important. It’s still pretty cool though.”

Harry agrees with a nod, waiting for the next kid to step into the circle. Niall goes back to eating his sandwich as they look at who is next in line, but Harry keeps his eyes on his palms. He wonders if he could do it, clap and make lightning spring from his hands, purple of white, but he guesses that it’s not how it works. Or it’s not how he works. Harry could make lightning strike with a clap, but it wouldn’t come from his hands – he makes sure to remember that for later.

“Okay, what about her? I say she’s a shapeshifter,” Niall says, nodding at the girl that’s stepped up.

“Isn’t she your neighbor?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Then I say she’s a shapeshifter too.”

Niall looks at him sternly. “That’s against the rules.”

“There are rules?”

“There are now,” he says and they both end up laughing, neither knowing why. “Let’s just watch. She’s a lion.”

“Lioness?”

“I thought so too, because she’s a girl and all that, but she’s got a mane and everything. It’s so cool.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry’s only begun to realize that abilities have no limitations. Anne told him a good year ago that if he wanted to, Harry could turn rain into sunshine and he didn’t really know what that meant, because it sounded cool. Then he wondered if he could do it the other way around too, sunshine into rain. Or if he could color a rainbow out of thin air. The possibilities grew with each day. Harry’s just learning how to call on a wind that doesn’t just warm him up or ruffle feathers.

And true to Niall’s word, the girl starts shaking as soon as Louis steps back from the center, vibrating in a way that even Niall and Harry can see from where they’re sitting, but then it’s like she shrinks into the crowd while everyone oh’s and ah’s around her.

“Let’s go down here, I wanna see her in action.”

“But I haven’t finished my lunch yet,” Harry whines, his half eaten banana in his hand still.

“Oh just bring it with you, I swear you don’t want to miss this.” Niall’s already jumping down from the steps, running off and shouting for Harry to follow. He’s got no choice really, so he takes a bite and steps down carefully, not one to jump without breaking something. They make it past a couple of people quickly, following their eye-lines until they’re standing right there, in front of the girl that’s not a girl anymore.

Harry’s never seen anything like it. The girl is stalking around the inner circle of people with giant paws covered in think fur, a golden mane around her head and ferocious growls coming past her sharp teeth. She really is a lion. Which is what Niall said, but there’s a difference between imagining the endless possibilities and seeing one with your own eyes. Harry thinks about it some nights when he can’t sleep, about anything and everything that someone out there can do, can be, instead of counting sheep. There have to be more people like him, who can sense a storm coming and feel the sun in their chests even on overcast days, their fingers itching to pull the clouds away too. Gemma’s friend pulls at emotions like that, but not like Niall. Niall makes you feel whatever he wants, she just pulls the deepest one to the surface, the one thing you’re trying your hardest not to feel. She’s usually not fun to be around. And Harry has thought of others, of those that can fly and read minds and make the earth shake.  He’s just never thought about a lion girl walking around the courtyard of Wheeler school in Providence, Rhode Island.

“Wow.”

“Right? I remember when I first saw her, she was just walking in front of her house like that. It was so weird, but so awesome.” Niall waves at the girl and murmurs, “Definitely better than clapping lightning,” close to Harry’s ear.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, flexing his fingers. “I like that too.”

“They’re both better than what I’ve got, that’s for sure.”

“No,” Harry’s learned to be quick when Niall says something about his powers. “It’s not, yours are amazing.”

“Yeah, ‘s just too bad I could never show ‘em off like this.”

“Why not though? You could just-” Harry starts to explain, because he’s thought about this, how Niall could make the whole crowd laugh and everyone would love it, or Niall could just make them love it. He could definitely make a spectacle out of it, but in the middle of trying to explain that, Harry swears his brain starts to melt. He doubles over with the pain, clutching at his head and then his stomach, because he’s sure he’s about to be sick all over himself, when it stops as quickly as it came and he can breathe again.

“What was that?” His ears are ringing.

“No need to applause, I know, I know,” Louis is saying from where the lion was standing not a minute ago. “You’re all lucky I didn’t over do it. Or you know, you’d be bleeding brain.”

There are noises of disgust heard all around and someone chides Louis quickly and effectively, “Are you crazy? Never do that again.” But Harry is worried, because Louis doesn’t look like he was joking . Not entirely.

“Okay, who’s up next?” Louis goes to ask, as everyone else is either checking their pulse or trying not to vomit.

“That was insane,” Niall whispers, but when Harry turns his head to agree, Niall is smiling as wide a he’s ever been. “Talk about awesome abilities. He can literally force you to hear what he can do.”

“I mean, I guess, but that’s not really nice is it?” Harry’s half way defending the right to not hear someone’s sonic scream without at least a warning, because it must go against some rules he’s sure have to exist, when Niall’s eyes widen and he’s shaking his head.

“What about you? What’s your name again?”

Niall coughs into his fist and looks down as he says, “Niall,” more to himself than anyone else.

“And what can you do Niall? Wanna show us?”

“Naah, I’d rather not, it’s nothing special.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Louis leers, smiling with his sharp incisors showing. Harry’s surprised he’s not a lion too.

“Believe me. But Harry here,” Niall says, making Harry want to dig a hole for himself. “He’s got something to show.”

“Let’s see it then.” Louis makes a motion with his hand, as if the makeshift stage of a courtyard is all Harry’s, when he wants nothing but to run away.

“Um…” Harry wants to feel angry, he really does, but the only feelings he can pinpoint are enthusiasm and happiness, which, looking back to see Niall giving him a thumbs up, aren’t Harry’s doing. “Okay, well…” He comes to stand right in front of the first line of onlookers, not really in the middle of the open circle, not really anywhere close to it, when he flicks his wrist like he did before, to bring a rush of warm wind around the group, warming up their cheeks and hands.

Louis brings a hand up to touch his face with a small smile. “That's it?” he asks, and Harry knows what he means by it, the insult dripping from his tone.

Harry's ready to shrug but he feels determined now, like he could conquer the world, any world, no matter how far away. It makes him chuckle instead, because he knows what it feels like when Niall messes with his emotions.

He doesn't like doing it too often, because he feels like he's imposing on something that shouldn't be under his control. Sometimes, for his mom or when Gemma asks him politely, he brings the sun out from behind the clouds. Or he'll paint the sky a deeper purple, add more orange, and bring the clouds closer if they're really pretty, but other than that, Harry tends to stay away from the sky. Twirling wind around his finger is good enough for most days But he guesses a little something won't hurt anyone if he doesn't do too much.

Harry steels himself, takes a breath and a step forward. “No, it's not.”

“Well, by all means.”

Harry doesn't like Louis, he really doesn’t. Not his voice, especially not when it goes sonic, and Harry doesn't appreciate the pushing either. But it gets him moving to the center, where he's surrounded by kids his age and teenagers all looking at him closely, either waiting for a whisper of warm air again or for him to fail. Harry feels determined again, but now it's him, there's not a hint of Niall, because he's gonna give them neither.

He's looking straight at Louis when he feels it, like Tyson is holding his heart in his hands, sending electricity down to his toes and to the tips of his fingertips. He turns his face up to the sky and feels for it beats above his head. There are looming clouds, it's an overcast day, typical for autumn when the sun is hidden away somewhere until Harry raises his hands, palms turned up and it's like someone turns on the lights, the seasons shifting backwards and it's summer again, the Earth spinning backwards to cath the sun as all the clouds roll away. There's an audible awe that spurs him on, because that's nothing, a sunny day is what he does for his mom's birthday, so he closes his hands into fists and opens his eyes - a loud thunder claps what feels like under his feet. There's wind, lightning, real, ominous lighting in the distance before all the shadows disappear, the sun long forgotten as the autumn leaves rustle on the ground with a breath of wind. It swoops them up into the air, brings the orange and red leaves closer to Harry until they start flying in circles around him.

It's easy to get lost in it, in bringing the storm to his hands from somewhere far away. A sunny day makes him feel warm, like he could smile for the rest of his life, but a storm makes Harry want more, like a spoiled child stomping his feet in the supermarket, it makes him shiver with heat in his stomach.

Harry leans his head further back, aiming his face to the sky, as the leaves dance to the tune of thunder he calls closer to himself. He hears something when the ground beneath his feet shakes, like a piercing echo trying to get to him, hit him and pummel him to the ground, until it feels like a warm summer day is playing in front of his eyes, spreading through his chest.

That’s how summer feels, like Harry’s chest has to expand to fit the season inside where Harry can keep it safe, but he can’t do that with a storm. He couldn’t contain it like that, so it thrums in his fingertips, always right there on the edge, just a breath away.

But it's the red, the brighter-than-anything hot red light flying in front of his eyes like a blaze of glory wrapping him up in its arms that makes Harry open his eyes right before he makes a cloud break in half. It’s fire. The leaves around him are on fire and closing in on him, getting closer and closer until he has to stop, because the eyes looking back at him are blazing in a blinding blue.

When Harry takes a breath, lightning strikes again but the wind eases up, the clouds drift away from the sky, losing their dark shadows as they get smaller.

There's a boy standing in front of him with fire in his eyes, burning and beautiful, but it’s like a fiery sunset Harry can’t keep his eyes off of, because with the orange and the reds, there’s a tinge of blue in the flames, like a sky on fire, until the boy blinks t Harry and the fire dies down to a flickering ember.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his breathing coming as quick as Harry’s.

“What?” The leaves are still circling around them, still on fire when Harry looks around and sees everyone's gone except for Niall's and Louis, but even they aren't standing as close as they were before. Harry spears them barely a glance though, because, “Your eyes.”

“You went a bit supernova on us,” Louis shouts towards them, but it isn’t sonic, just regularly louder.

“Isn’t that more of Zayn's thing?”

“Are you okay?” the boy in front of him repeats. He must be Zayn, the one with his eyes on fire. He lifts his hand and spreads his fingers, and then the leaves aren’t on fire anymore, just smoldering and falling to the ground at Harry’s feet.

Harry shakes his head. He's never done that before, never gotten quite so lost in himself. He lifts a finger and with a breath of wind, the embers from the leaves fly to the sky. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“I'm Zayn, by the way,” he smiles kindly.

“I'm Harry.”

“I’m Louis,” they hear loud and clear from the side and then Niall shouts, “And I’m Niall,” up into the air with his arms spread out wide.

July 2007

Harry rings the doorbell once and then again, because the Malik house is usually loud on Sundays when everyone’s home. Either one of the girls could be fighting with another and that always turns into an event of screaming proportions to rival Louis at worst of times. Harry was there once, sitting on the floor of Zayn’s room while they plowed through homework together when a comb went missing. Doniya threatened to turn both of the girls into stone if they didn’t stop fighting, but Waliyha shifted into Trisha to make Safaa confess and even Harry remembered it wasn’t the best idea to make Safaa mad. Zayn didn’t joke about the Hulk being based on his little sister for nothing. In the end, Safaa was furious and it was up to Zayn and Yaser to calm her down – Zayn with a flickering flame trick and Yaser with his light. He got so bright that Harry dreamed about it for a week afterwards – what it must feel like to have so much power, to be so bright and magnetic.

Harry's house was never like that, never too full or too loud, with more people around you can remember names. If anything, it gets too quiet, like the square space his house stood on was stuck in stillness, in a virtual reality where noise didn’t exists. Gemma doesn't like showing herself when she's home or in school or anywhere else and Harry gave up on finding her years ago. He hasn’t really, he just knows better now – if Gemma doesn't want to be seen, then not even a fresh batch of her favorite cookies will bring her out of her invisibility cloak.

And Anne gets lost in their backyard sometimes, either repotting plants over and over again, watching them grow, making the vines climb up up up on the side of their house until only three walls are left visible and it looks like their house is a forest, like it’s been abandoned in medieval times, overgrown and hidden behind thousands of small green leaves. Harry found her sitting in the middle of their yard once, right on the grass with her eyes closed and a small smile spread on her lips as she angled her face towards the sun. Anne sat there for two days.

Harry spend those days at Zayn’s, because Malik's aren't like that, they don't let each other be invisible, they don't get lost or worry too much, because there's always someone there to find you. Usually it’s Yaser with his bright light, calling you closer like a lighthouse.

It's him who ends up answering the door with a loud, "Harry!" and a pat on his shoulder, but it’s never good when he answers the door. Harry prefers when Trisha does it, because she takes him straight to the kitchen and gives Harry cookies and asks about school. Or Safaa, because she’s fun. Zayn would be ideal, but that’s happened once in six years that he’s been coming over. Harry has no idea what takes him so long to get ready.

Harry can't look anywhere else but at Yaser as he leads them into the living room. He doesn't think anyone can take their eyes away from Yaser, but that’s part of it Harry guesses, how his ability works. Yaser shines with a pure white light escaping everywhere around him, like his skin is glowing, his eyes, his smile. Like his skin has tiny cracks that let his light seep through. He’s a literal light-fixture in the house, the sun that made Icarus fly too close, a constant supernova. Or that’s how Harry sees it. And it's not like he needs it, what with his general good-looking-ness. But apparently, that's inappropriate to say about your best friend’s dad. Whatever, Harry can look at whoever he wants in whichever way he feels like as long as he doesn't get caught.

“Zayn's running late, huh?” Yaser says right before he sits down on the couch, getting back to watching the evening news.

“Yeah, he kinda always is.” Harry smiles weekly, trying to keep his eyes on the TV.

“Doesn't get it from me,” Yaser jokes just as Trisha walks into the living room with a dishtowel hanging over her shoulder.

“What are you trying to say?”

Yaser laughs, throws his head back with it and Harry thinks if this is the last thing he ever sees, he'll die happy. It's practically blinding how bright Yaser's face is, like he's the sun, the stars and every other celestial being all wrapped into one.

Harry hears Zayn jump down the stairs, but even when he says, “Hey, let's go,” Harry can't move. The world has stopped spinning so that it can look at Yaser, at his bright glowing eyes and the smile that could make Harry do anything it pleased.

“Harry,” Zayn grunts and grabs his shoulder, shaking him out of it. “Stop staring and let's go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry stutters, he doesn't even know how because he swears he isn't breathing. “Bye Mr. Malik.”

“Bye boys, have fun.”

“Bye mom,” Zayn manages to shout just before he closes the front door and pushes Harry down their walkway. “You have got to stop doing that.”

“It's not my fault,” Harry whines, because it isn't. It's not anyone's fault really. Yaser can't exactly control it, not since he met Trisha and his ability shifted – always on, always shining. It's by far Harry's favorite ability, there's just something about being light.

“Wait outside next time.”

Harry stops in his track, in the middle of crossing the street, because, “Rude.” But then he takes one look at Zayn, shaking himself out of being around Yaser, and sees the tight line of his shoulders, his downcast eyes and asks, “What's wrong?” because something is. It’s obvious.

“Nothing's wrong. Now come on, get off the road.”

“No.” Harry stomps his foot. “Tell me what's wrong.” He's quite firm with it, believable, even if he'd jump away at the first sign of a car.

Zayn scowls at him, not that it's ever worked on Harry, but he's not gonna tell him now. Harry can see him giving in. “I got into a fight with Wali, okay? Now move,” Zayn says and starts walking.

Harry shrug and follows after Zayn down the street. It's not a long walk to Niall's. They have a block and a half left and then a quick run through the park. Harry bets he could make Zayn laugh by the time they get to Niall's front door.

“What was the fight about?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I want to know.” Harry skips his way into step with Zayn and then he turns, manages not to fall and walks backwards with Zayn. “What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything,” Zayn mutters. He takes a second to weigh his options, because he can either tell Harry and get it over with, or Harry can tell Louis about it and they all know what that would be like. Zayn's smart though, the smartest in his class, probably the entire school, so it doesn't take him long before he says, whiney and annoyed like he always does when Harry makes him spill his guts, “She keeps shapeshifting into me. Even when I'm right there.”

“And...”

“And?” Zayn screeches. “And, it's disturbing.”

“So tell her that it bothers you and ask her to stop.” It might just be him, but he doesn't see the big issue here, not one worth scowling at him for anyway.

“You think I haven't done that?”

They stop right at the edge of the park, where some kids are playing on the monkeybars. A girl is hanging off the top bar, holding on with her hands and as they stand there, her torso starts elongating, getting longer and longer until her little feet touch the ground and she start giggling. Harry smiles at her, she smiles back and Zayn grunts at the entire thing.

“I think,” Harry starts, calmly, because you can't make Zayn listen if you rush. “I think you were bothered and then you looked at her,” he wiggles his fingers towards Zayn face, “in that way where I always think you're trying to set someone on fire with your eyes.”

“I told you, that's not how it works.” Zayn sidesteps a rock and sticks his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Yeah, but sometimes you wish it did,” Harry reasons. “Don't think I don't know.”

“Oh, cause you know me so well, huh?” Zayn asks and there's a hint of a smile in his eyes. Harry's getting through to him. He always does in the end.

“The best, better than anyone.”

“Even Louis?” Zayn raises his eyebrow in question, almost smirking,

“Yes, but don't tell him that,” Harry whispers and that's it. Zayn chuckles, shakes his head and takes the last step out of the park.

They cross the road quickly, running right up to Niall's front door where Harry's stopped from ringing the doorbell by Zayn's hand on his shoulder. “Thanks,” he says, with the smile that crinkles his eyes and makes the fire in them light up a little, like they could shine just as bright as Yaser if he tried. “I'll talk to her tonight."

Harry returns his smile and nods, happy to have helped. “Tell me how it goes.”

////

“You're not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“You're lying. Are you lying?”

“Louis,” Niall breathes out, not really frustrated, probably just tired of repeating the same thing for the fifth time now. “Why would I lie about kissing Sam?”

“Samantha from your class?” Louis points at Niall and Harry, who wants nothing to do with this conversation. “Sammy Samantha?” Louis gives Niall the kind of look Harry would run away from, but then Louis just slaps his knee and congratulates Niall for becoming a real man.

“That's the standard?” It's Zayn that pipes up this time, but as long as he doesn't stop moving his hand in Harry's hair, he can do whatever he wants.

“What're you talking about?”

Zayn pulls on one of Harry's curls and smiles curtly at Louis. “Nothing, forget about it.”

“Anyway,” Louis says a bit too forcefully, laughing afterwards as they all cringe.

“Louis...” Zayn warns.

“What? It's part of who I am.”

“That's bullshit.”

Louis gasps, affronted and too dramatic for his own good. They've all noticed he's been getting worse since he signed up for drama club.

“Do you see me setting shit on fire everywhere I go?”

“Well...”

“I did that on purpose,” Zayn insists quickly. He doesn’t do it anymore, Harry wants to add. Zayn had a stage, which Harry knows is normal, because Harry tweaked with the weather forecast for the entirety of November two years ago. He didn’t want to live in rain for a month, so he made it sunny. The consequences of having to live through Anne’s berating afterwards – grounding him for a month in December while he had to make sure it rained every single day, because the earth needed it – was a good enough lesson for him not to do it ever again. He doesn’t even want to think about doing it again. Trisha stepped in as well, when the smoke coming from under Zayn’s bedroom door reached her limit. He almost set their house on fire once, by accident Zayn explained, because he didn’t mean for all of his posters on his walls to just catch fire, I swear I didn’t do it, when Harry was over his house once. Harry was just thankful Trisha was there to splash water over the walls, waterfalls cascading from her hands as she did.

“Mhm,” Louis hums though, all knowing and judgey. Harry makes sure to squeeze closer to Zayn where they’re sitting on the couch.

It’s the middle of July, that time of year everyone’s beginning Harry for overcast days and cold winds, ‘Do you think you could make it snow?’ Niall asked a week ago, and although Harry honestly wondered and Louis’ eyes sparkled with the idea, Harry shook his head and said a very firm ‘No.’ That night, the thought didn’t let him sleep, so he waited for two days, because he could feel a summer storm coming and flicked up a single snowflake, though it was more than a flick – he was drenched in sweat – and it definitely wasn’t just the one snowflake. But Harry would do much more to see Zayn look up at the sky like that again, when he ran over his house in the middle of the night to show him. Harry’s always loved summer, but he’s never been more reluctant to change the seasons back as he was that night.

It took a few years of nagging and pleading, offering all kinds of favors to Niall’s brother, but Greg finally relented and let them hang out in the basement of the house, where he was usually hauled up with his friends, who were much older and much, much cooler than Niall and his group of kids. It’s always been their goal, to just sit on the couch and play Greg’s video games and pretend like they’re any good at ping-pong and don’t just end up cheating all the time. They forwent playing darts since Harry almost threw one right at Niall’s head. But it wasn’t until recently, when Louis tackled Zayn on the couch –  just for fun he said, because he wanted to prove to everyone that he could, even if they insisted that nobody cared – that they found Greg’s stash of dirty magazines. They’ve abandoned video games and ping-pong to look at naked women stretching over tractors instead, guessing it was a kind of rite of passage they couldn’t pass.

“Do you think it really looks like that?” Louis asks with his face screwed up in question, frowning at the page he’s got open on his knees.

“Like what?” Niall looks over and his eyes widen.

“I don’t know… I just, never thought it would look like that.” Louis stays on the page for a second longer, like he’s trying to figure something out. They’ve been through the magazines backwards and forwards, but it’s lost its charm about two weeks in, which was more than a month ago. Harry and Zayn even made up names for them, Stacey and Lindsay, the twins looking at each other on the double spread. Now it’s usually Louis who pulls them from underneath the cushions and Niall that reluctantly joins in with his questions, while Harry and Zayn play Mario Kart and listen, look over once or twice when Louis turns the magazine their way, saying, “You have to see this.”

“This one though,” Louis whistles, ogling the photo and turning the magazine to show it to them, letting the flaps unfold until it’s three pages long, the entire girl fitting on it. “I like this one.”

“I second that,” Niall agrees, looking around Louis’ arms to see.

It’s Courtney, the girl with long blonde hair flowing around her shoulders in see-through underwear – lingerie Louis explained unnecessarily – with a tattoo of a dragon all along her thigh, wrapped around her leg from head to spikey tail.

Zayn shifts his eyes from the game to the photo, the tips of his ears turning red as he admits, “I don’t think I like any of them, but the dragon is sick.”

Harry grabs the magazine, pausing the game as Zayn whines, but looks closer too.

“If you’re gonna get that invested, at least use a bathroom. Honestly, Harry,” Louis chides, snorting along with Niall.

“Shut up, I’m looking at the tattoo.”

“Sure you are.”

“Show,” Zayn says, leaning closer to Harry so their heads are bumped together. It’s weird, having his face this close to a photo of a half-naked woman with Zayn’s face just as close, but it’s fine, it’s not like they’re focusing on the naked bits.

“It looks so good, look,” Harry points to the head because the eyes of the dragon are looking right back at them.

“The details are crazy,” Zayn agrees, tracing the body with his finger

“Are you two done fantasizing about tattoos? You know that’s not how these work, right?”

“Shut up,” Zayn throws back. But he leans back into the couch, controller at the ready, so Harry guesses he should just close the magazine and hand it back, but he wants to flip through it again, look for any other tattoos the girls have.

There’s an audible ruckus coming from upstairs when they all settle back, Louis and Niall hunched over a different magazine. Niall looks up at the ceiling just as someone yells, “Going to the mall,” and they all hear the front door close. There’s a moment after that they all sit in silence, no one moving or speaking or even breathing as they listen for the car to start and pull away from the driveway.

As soon as it does, Niall and Louis both jump up, the papers flittering to the floor from their knees. They look at each other with the same expressions of glee and mischief, exclaiming, “Beer,” in harmony before they jump over the back of the couch and each other in a mess of hurried limbs, trying to get to the kitchen as soon as possible.

Zayn’s laughing at the game, shaking his head, but it’s easy for him to find them amusing, because he doesn’t mind the taste of beer like Harry does, turning his nose up at the bitterness. He doesn’t want to say it, but the bubbles hurt his throat.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” Zayn says then, noticing Harry’s silence. “No one’s gonna force you.”

“You’re not gonna force me, Louis on the other hand…”

“Nah,” Zayn bumps their shoulders. “I won’t let him.”

“Aren’t you nice.”

“I am, thank you.”

“Hey, um,” Harry starts. He doesn’t like talking about this in front of too many people, because they tend to ask questions, especially Louis, because Niall just gets this weird look, but Harry doesn’t like that just as much. Zayn gets it though, knows how abilities sometimes affect people or the ones around them. “Do you want to come by later?”

Zayn gives him a look as well, but it’s not so much confusion or worry as it’s understanding. “Your mom gardening again?”

Isn’t that all she does? Harry thinks bitterly, because it is. It’s been a harsh summer, even if Harry makes it rain a bit harder some nights, pulls the clouds an inch closer to the sun so it wouldn’t be so intense, but she always gets like this during summer, taking care of her garden, of her plants, of the life outside instead of the one inside her house. If Harry’s alone, Gemma going out or pretending like she isn’t there, invisible as soon as she walks through the front door, he finds himself sitting by his bedroom window looking down at their backyard, at Anne sitting barefoot on the grass with her legs crossed, her palms spread flat on the ground, grass sticking out between her fingers.

She talks to them, takes care of them, makes sure everyone’s getting enough shade and sun, drinks enough water that’s in constant flow from their garden hose. It gets unnerving, but Harry sits and watches. He can’t fall asleep knowing his mom has been in the garden for two days straight without taking a break.

“Yeah,” he sighs, dropping his head down, because he never likes thinking about her like that.

“It’s okay, I’ll call my mom later, tell her I’m staying over.”

“Thanks.”

“Harry, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is though, isn’t it?” he asks, quieter, more contained, because he’s not sure he wants to let go of his thoughts so easily. It is a big deal, he thinks, but not in that way where his stomach turns uncomfortably. It does make feel a bit sick though. “She shouldn’t be so…”

“Look,” Zayn cuts him off before he manages to think of a word. “There are bigger deals than your mom taking care of her garden. It’s her ability, right? She’ll be back tomorrow.”

It’s sound logic, because there are bigger deals, of course there are, and because he’d rather think of anything else, Harry counters him with, “Then name one.”

“What?”

“Name a bigger deal. If you do, you get to pick the movie tonight.” It’s meant to be a game, and Harry’s already making a list of I barely get to see my sister, and then I never get to see my dad anymore, and your dad is way too good looking for you to be annoyed with me when I can’t stop staring.

But Zayn isn’t smiling at him to accept the challenge like he usually does. It doesn’t look like he’s making a list of his own. He bites his lip and looks down at his hands, his fingers intertwined in his lap. He takes a breath, deep and slow, and it’s making Harry worry.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to tell.”

Harry pouts. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Promise,” Zayn insists, the fire in his eyes flashing.

“Okay, I promise I won’t tell.”

“I, um… I haven’t kissed, um, anyone. Yet.” Zayn’s bright red as he says it, even the tips of his ears coloring up hotly. It makes Harry think of last summer, when they went over to Maya’s house for her birthday and seven minutes of heaven later, Harry had his very first kiss in the small closet beneath the stairs and good thing there wasn’t a light in there or Maya would’ve seen how Harry’s face was burning up.

“That’s – it’s not a big deal,” Harry shrugs, because it’s not. Or it doesn’t have to be. He thinks first kisses aren’t meant to be forced. His mom would say it should be organic or something like that. Anything she said would make Harry scoff and think she’s right.

What he says makes Zayn scoff. “It is.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is to me,” Zayn insist, getting louder and waving his hands about, so it makes Harry take the bait.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why is it a big deal to you? It’s not like it’s important.”

“Yeah, you can say that, because you’ve already kissed someone. Everyone’s already kissed someone.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“You, Louis. And now Niall.”

“That’s everyone?” Harry teases even though he knows he shouldn’t, because Zayn doesn’t laugh like he thought he would. It’s apparent that to Zayn, having his first kiss is a big deal. And by relation, it’s a big deal to Harry too now. “No but think about it. There are a lot of people in our class that haven’t kissed anyone yet.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Well,” Harry tries to think of someone fast and ends up saying, “Tommy,” just because he’s fairly sure.

Zayn looks at him with wide eyes, like he’s ready to burn the whole house down. “Tommy’s got those braces that go around his head! He couldn’t kiss anyone even if wanted to!”

“Okay, fine, fine.” Harry’s trying to think of someone else from his class, maybe from Zayn’s class, but he’s just not sure how often his classmates have make-out sessions with each other. And then it’s like a light flips on with the most brilliant idea he’s ever had. “What about – and hear me out, okay?” Harry cautions. “What if I kiss you? Or, I guess, you’d be kissing me in this case, wouldn’t you?”

“What?”

“What?” Harry pauses his hands in midair, fingers sticking out this way and that as he tries to explain, because the look on Zayn’s face isn’t one of agreement and excitement.

“Why would you – Harry – that’s so stupid,” Zayn huffs, burring deeper into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest, but he keeps flicking his eyes to Harry.

“It’s not stupid.”

There’s a second that drags on as it passes where they don’t speak, just look at each other – Zayn with doubt while Harry tries to smile wide in return. He hopes he has some persuasion tricks along with his regular ability.

“We’d just kiss, no big deal. And you wouldn’t be able to complain about it anymore.”

“It wouldn’t even count.”

Harry frowns. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” Zayn throws his arms out again. “’Cause you’re my best friend? And you’re a boy…”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. A kiss is still a kiss.”

“It’s not like you want to kiss me.”

“Zayn.” Harry shakes his head, disagreeing completely.

“Harry, come on…”

“Can I kiss you?” Harry cuts Zayn off before he can finish that thought. It’s a brilliant idea. Zayn would get to kiss someone and it would be Harry, which means it would be with someone that likes to think they know what they’re doing. And, Harry emphasizes with himself, kissing Zayn wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen. He’s got pretty lips. Anyone would agree with that logic. Boy or not. He’s trying to figure that part out.

“Harry.”

“I’m not gonna kiss you if you don’t say yes.”

Zayn looks at him as another second drags on, before he bites his lip and nods. He keeps his eyes on Harry’s when he does it and the little burst of fire he can see makes Harry smile to himself.

It’s quick. Harry leans forward, puckers his lips a little and presses them tenderly against Zayn’s, holding the hinge of his jaw, lingering for a second before he leans back with a, “Hmm.”

“What?” Zayn touches a finger to his lips, frowning. “What?”

“I don’t know, I though… I thought, I guess I thought you’d taste like fire?”

Zayn looks at him like he’s grown an extra head, but he’s falling over himself in the next second, laughing and snorting in a way Harry’s never heard him do before. It makes Harry snicker to himself as well.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“You thought I’d taste like fire,” Zayn gasps through his words. “Harry.”

“What?” he whines, it’s completely logical. Of course Zayn would taste like fire, something hot and spicy, not like mint gum and orange juice.

That night, they build a fort around Harry’s couch and watch Ghost Rider again. Zayn says he’d like to have a motorcycle when he grows up. He thinks he could set it on fire while he rides around town, look just like Johnny Blaze.

Harry keeps thinking how Zayn doesn’t taste like fire after all.

November 2010

Louis came up to them a week ago, whining about, “this boy in my gym class, you should see him, he’s so…” and ending with a heavy and heart-eyed sigh. There have been past spectacles, because there’s really no other way to describe it when Louis gets a crush. Sighing hopelessly, memorizing schedules for stalking purposes, and a case of a love letter in the wrong locker that taught all of them to never trust Zayn with an important task ever again – Louis had to run away from Taylor for a whole month afterwards, because who knew she’d feel the same way? – are just some of the things Louis will do when infatuated with someone. And Zayn’s still paying for the last mishap.

But now Harry senses a difference, because Louis isn’t coming up with any ludicrous plans before his crush can be made aware of Louis’ existence. He has been sitting in the cafeteria with his cheek on the table since they sat down and it’s the fact he’s doing it silently that’s throwing Harry off.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks that day, because he’s getting slightly worried. Louis’ never been quiet for this long. All Harry gets as an answer is another sigh. “Wanna talk about it?” A shrug this time.

“Wow,” Zayn murmurs under his breath, unamused, and almost loses an eye with rolling them so far back.

Louis is upright and pointing in the next second, spitting, “Don’t mock me,” so he must be fine after all. “You don’t get to mock my love.”

“Love? Please,” Zayn scoffs.

“Yes love.”

“You met him when? Tuesday?”

“For your information, it was last Monday.”

“It isn’t love.” Zayn doesn’t sound harsh, just bored and annoyed. It’s making Harry frown at him and then at Louis, because they don’t argue often, but when it happens it’s as confusing as it’s downright frightening.

Louis spreads his arms wide and makes sure to talk unnecessarily loudly. “Hold on everyone, we’ve got a love guru among us. So, tell me, master of love, when and where will I meet my lucky fella?”

“Ha ha Louis.” Zayn’s getting shifty in his seat.

“No no, please, don’t hold back. I want to hear your words of wisdom.”

Zayn grunts, leans over his mashed potatoes and continues to eat as if nothing ever happened. Confusing, Harry quickly decides. It’s what Zayn does when he’s confronted. He closes his eyes and pretends like he’s not there, as if he has Gemma’s power, and it makes the problem go away on its own if he ignores it. Harry’s usually good at bringing him back, making him open his eyes and see what’s staring right at him, but today he’s not feeling up for it, because sometimes it can be as difficult as setting fire to the rain.

So Harry asks, “What’s his name?” instead, to try and divert the entire situation.

Louis sighs again. He’s gonna have to stop doing that if he wants Harry to take him seriously. “Liam.”

“Oh, he’s the transfer kid, right?”

“Yeah, I asked around,” Louis explains, and it’s never good when he starts a sentence with that. “He moved from Boston during summer break, but no one knows why. He lives down the road from Niall here.”

“Hey,” Niall acknowledges, but doesn’t do much else and goes back to eating his lunch soon after.

“He’s into sports, on the baseball team actually. And I know, I know, it’s awful. But he’s so good looking,” Louis whines the words, as if they weren’t bad enough by themselves. “Harry, you should see him with his top off, it’s insane.” Louis waves at his own torso. Harry can imagine what it is he’s talking about.

“Thanks, yeah, I’ll do that,” he says, only half joking. “What’s his thing?”

“Oh, he’s a healer.” Louis’ so proud to say it, like he’s ready to explain ten years down the line when they move to a new house with their two kids and a neighbor of theirs says, ‘My wife’s a mind reader,’ Louis would go, ‘My Liam’s a healer’ while his eyes radiated love and affection.

It’s both cute and sickening.

“Did you, um,” there’s no good way to ask, so Harry just goes for it. “Did you feel anything when you saw him?”

Louis looks absolutely scandalized. “No? Do you think I should’ve? Should I scream the next time I see him to test it?”

Zayn snort at his food. “Oh yeah, melt his brain, that’ll make him love you.”

“I thought we established you were going to stop talking.”

“Louis, don’t be rude,” Harry says, eyeing both of them cautiously.

“He’s the one being rude.”

“I’m being realistic,” Zayn counters and because they are juniors in high school, almost ready to move out of their parents’ house and go off to college, a clear sign of growing up, Louis sticks his tongue out at Zayn and Zayn flips him off.

“Can you two stop?” It’s Niall that steps in finally. Harry’s never been more thankful for him. “It is kind of unrealistic to fall in love at first sight Lou, you know that. But,” Niall goes on just as Louis opens his mouth. “We’re all happy for you, aren’t we Zayn?”

They all turn their heads to see Zayn skulking at the potatoes, but he ends up shrugging and saying a quiet, “Yeah,” anyway, so Harry rubs at his back as a reward for playing nice.

“I do get it okay, I just… I think he’s cute.”

“Well, then don’t go –” Zayn starts to say quickly, like Harry isn’t going to jab his elbow beneath his ribs if he gets the words out fast enough.

Luckily, Louis was too busy blushing to hear what Zayn wanted to say.

////

It’s only a week later that they meet Liam.

“Boys, this is him.”

“Who?” Niall asks, looking up from the video game just long enough to see someone standing next to Louis.

They’re hauled up in Niall’s basement, now officially their full time hangout place because Greg went off to college and is suddenly too old and sophisticated to lie around on the couch all day. They’re not though, and since it isn’t a school night, they all met here, Maura letting them hang out as long as they don’t break anything. Again. But that was by accident, so it’s not likely to happen again.

Harry has to admit that Louis’ absence was more than noticeable at first, what with all the peace and quiet and the ability to play video games without anyone shouting and throwing things at their heads, but as they played, two at a time with Harry mostly watching Zayn stealthily beat Niall time and time again, the fact Louis wasn’t there slipped his mind.

But now he is, and he’s standing in front of them with a tall and muscular boy next to him. Or half on him, Harry guesses.

“Liam. My soulmate.”

It’s the audible version of an atomic bomb, because everything goes silent and no one moves and it feels like it’s gonna be like that forever: Louis standing there grinning like a madman while Liam blushes from head to two, and the three of them sit on the couch next to each other with their mouths hanging open.

There are those people, lucky or not, depending on where you stand, who meet their soulmate young, a little clueless and their heart too whole to cry at a love song about loss. Harry's classmates from primary school were put together on a project, and next thing they knew, they both practically lost their powers. And Harry can't help but think how awful that would be, to meet the person you're supposed to be with when you're eleven years old, inexperienced and much too young to even know what it means. A match made in heaven that's supposed to tie two people together for a lifetime if you don't change your mind halfway through. But who would break up with their soulmate, right? Harry doesn't think there's anything wrong with it, because he doesn't want to know what his favorite song is without hearing it first. He doesn't want to love without feeling his heart break a little first, over someone he won't even remember in twenty years. He doesn't want to know how he'll die or when, doesn't want to walk into his surprise birthday party only for someone to come jumping out from behind the couch before he even opens the door fully. It ruins half the fun, makes it all pointless. And never having your hear break doesn't sound that bad, but Harry believes in love and in soulmates, so if he loses some of that love in the meanwhile, in the time it takes for him to meet his soulmate, he won't be any worse off.

Knowing that it happens, that your perfect match is out there somewhere for you to find doesn’t ease the fact Louis is holding hands with Liam and they’re both smiling at each other in that way. The way that tells Harry they aren’t joking. They don’t think, they know it, it’s true.

“Congratulations,” he manages to say with his suddenly dry throat. “And hi, I guess. I’m Harry.”

Liam jumps where he’s standing, muttering about manners as he shakes all of their hands with, “I’ve heard so much about you all.”

“Really? Because we’ve never even met.”

“Zayn,” Harry hisses. The tone Zayn’s using doesn’t mean anything good, and Harry knows he has to nip this before it can escalate into something Liam isn’t ready to see. And it’s better he do it than Louis. “Be nice.”

“Whatever,” he grunts back, crossing his arms and scowling at Louis. It’ll do for now.

“How did you, you know, find out?”

“Oh, well we had gym class on Wednesday and I sprained my ankle – Harry I’m fine, don’t look at me like that. Anyway, Liam was kind enough to fix me when his powers went a bit wonky.” It’s weird to see Louis talk so energetically about someone standing right next to him, holding his hand and by the looks of it, not planning on letting go.

“Did you lose it?” Niall asks, intrigued.

“It um,” Liam starts shyly, scratching at the back of his head. “Got really strong.”

“He didn’t just heal me, he probably gave me a couple extra years of life.”

“Wow, that’s…” Harry doesn’t know what to say. Great, would be an understatement for meeting your soulmate.

“And you?” Zayn says, more controlled now, but not at all happy.

Louis looks at Zayn, must tell him something that only their eyes can understand, and says, “I lost mine,” with an air of sadness that he can’t quite contain.

“Louis,” it feels like they all say it together, even if it’s Harry speaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nah,” he waves them off. “I’m fine. I can still go a little sonic, just nothing that could melt brains.”

Before Louis can finish speaking, Zayn’s already standing up and Harry’s trying to stop him before he takes the first step, because he’s either going to hug or punch Louis and at this point, Harry doesn’t know what’s going on in Zayn’s head.

They all have their own thoughts about it, whether it’s worth it or not, the whole soulmate thing. Niall says that if it’s destiny then it’ll happen no matter what, if he actively tries to find his or not. Which is a healthy attitude to have when there are people that never meet theirs, drifting by life without their perfect match. People like Zayn don’t care. No matter how much convincing and arguing Harry has done with him, Zayn doesn’t budge on the idea of simple happiness. It’s not important who it is, you know, as long as you’re happy. Which is stupid. Because Harry wouldn’t ever want to settle. Harry’s going to find his soulmate and they’re going to be perfect for each other and they will be happy, thank you very much, and in love and all that. He wants to feel the shift when it happens, when they lock eyes or touch for the first time, maybe kiss, maybe Harry’s going to spill a drink on them – no surprise there – and know that it’s where he’s meant to be. Harry wants that surge of knowing and feeling your power adjust because you’ve finally found who you’re supposed to be with, the Romeo to your Juliet, the Jack to your Rose, Noah to Allie.

Harry is unconvinced of Zayn’s intentions until he crashes into Louis with a hug that dislodges him away from Liam. They stand there wrapped around each other, mumbling against their ears too quietly for Harry to hear just long enough for him get jealous and have to squeeze up to Niall to make up for it.

They end up playing ping-pong, Louis and Liam against Harry and Zayn, because it’s the closest to another pair of soulmates they can get on short notice according to Niall. They would argue, but Louis started spitting curse words at them since the game was mention as a part of his, “intimidation tactics,” whatever that means.

Louis and Liam lose, which does actually surprise them.

“I’m trading you in for a better fit,” Louis threatens, but when Liam goes pale, Louis is already making it up to him with a disgusting display of affection they all turn away from.

“Okay, if you’re gonna continue with that,” Niall waves at their general direction without actually looking, “Then you need to go to a different room. Preferably in your own house.”

“We’ve got a date tonight actually. Liam’s taking me to the movies.”

Zayn snorts a, “Good luck,” and Niall warns, “He’s gonna be louder than the movie.”

“Why am I friends with you two?”

When Harry is about to take the compliment with a genuine smile, Zayn looks at him and winks, so it’s his fault that Harry says, “Liam, I’m really happy for you. Just know we have a no-return policy on Louis. Once he’s yours, you can’t give him back.”

So it’s with an exasperated groan from Louis and a slightly worried chuckle from Liam that they leave, right before Zayn yawns and Niall throws them out as well.

////

“The weather’s a bit gloomy tonight, wouldn’t you say?” Zayn asks, sweet and innocent, like he’s throwing out a random observation after passing through the park and seeing the overcast sky above them. Harry looks over at him and Zayn’s waggling his stupid eyebrows.

But it is gloomy, the clouds illuminated by the moon and nothing else. It’s like they’re drawn on the dark canvas of the sky, standing out like those pop-outs in the books Harry remembers he used to love. Even if Zayn didn’t say it, Harry would’ve done it, but since he asked politely in his true Zayn way, Harry agrees with a hum. “I don’t know, I think it’s gonna clear up.” He lifts his arm at his side, rotates his wrist so that the sky clears up, chasing the clouds away.

Zayn bumps his shoulder. “Much better.”

He keeps his eyes on the clouds, not just the way they slither away, but disperse on all sides of the sky, falling behind the horizon until it’s like they were never there, the moon hanging up there alone. “It’s crazy right?”

“What is?” Zayn asks. He must’ve been watching as well.

Harry waves his hand around, this time with no power behind it. “The whole Louis and Liam thing.”

“Ah yes, that.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Zayn,” Harry says, because it’s not. Anything Zayn wants to talk about, Harry does as well, but it’s the things Zayn wants to keep quiet about that make Harry push a little, just to see what’s going on in his head. It’s rare for those thoughts to see the light of day. “What is it?”

“It’s just –” Zayn starts, but then he must change his mind, think it over while he bites his lip and distracts Harry for the time being, until he continues with, “It’s not so much crazy as it’s weird to see it happen, you know?”

“What, Louis actually finding someone that’s supposed to tolerate him forever?”

It makes Zayn smile, but only in that distant way he does when he’s just about ready to disappear with a sure promise to never come back again. It’s probably Harry’s least favorite smile of his. “I think we’re all gonna have tolerate him forever.”

“True.”

“I just never thought about meeting someone and knowing like that. Because you know, just like that.” Zayn hums to himself, and Harry’s sure there’s something he’s not saying. “It’s weird.”

“Your parents are soulmates though, aren’t they?”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Don’t they ever, I don’t know, talk about how it was for them? Like what happened and how it happened?”

The memory must come back to Zayn, of being told what is was like, because he chuckles quietly and says simply, “Dad lit up like a bulb when they met, so there wasn’t much more to it.”

“That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Harry teases, wiggling his eyebrows like it’s a joke.

“Can you please stop crushing on my dad? It’s creepy.”

“Have you seen your dad? I can’t be held accountable.”

“Gross.”

Harry shrugs it off. They walk down the road until they get to the bench that’s opposite Zayn’s house. It’s where he makes Harry wait for him to come out of the house when Yaser is home, saying he doesn’t appreciate the look on Harry’s face. Or the fact he stares and drools all over his dad. Harry can’t help that he can’t seem to close his mouth around Yaser, or be drawn to him like a moth, an innocent bystander to his light like it’s calling him home.

They sit down, like they usually do when it’s early enough and it doesn’t feel like it’s time to go home yet. Not quite.

“You still stuck on the soulmate thing?” Zayn asks, wrapping his arms around himself, because even if the days of July are hot and sweaty, the nights can get cold without the sun out. So Harry moves his fingers, one after the other until the wind picks up, bringing warmth, wrapping itself around them pleasantly.

“I’m not stuck.”

“Aren’t you though?”

“No,” he’s shaking his head, “I’m just set in my ways.”

“So you’re stuck,” Zayn says, poking his tongue out with the tease. Harry wants to bite it off. Or not off, maybe just bite it.

“I just want to feel it, that’s it. You’re the one that’s stuck.” Zayn frowns and grunts at him, like he’s ready to quip a smart remark, but Harry beats him to it before the night can get too grumpy. “Don’t you want to be like your parents? Light up like Yaser did?”

“Well, I guess, but I don’t want to set myself on fire.”

“Maybe you’ll lose it like Louis did.” Or Trisha, Harry thinks, but doesn’t add. She didn’t lose it completely, that almost never happens, but it’s usually how it works. One gets all the power while the other’s dwindles to the point where they learn to live without it. Sometimes they both lose it, sometimes both get intense, enhanced and crazy, bubbling over the brim. It’s rare; Harry’s never met a pair with loose powers like Yaser’s. “Or maybe you’ll set everyone on fire. Don’t you want to experience that?”

“We all do,” Zayn agrees. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t be happy without my soulmate.”

Not everyone finds theirs. Some people think like Zayn, happiness and committed love being enough. They don’t search for their perfect half, their soulmate, the power shift that tells them they’re the one. It’s an inkling feeling, Harry remembers someone telling him one day. Your eyes meet and you feel like your power is on the tips of your fingers, as if it moves all over you until it settles and you know.

And Harry wants that. He’s not stuck, he’s romantic. He doesn’t want to fall in love with someone that might not be perfect for him, then get married and have two kids and be happy until he’s not. Because that can happen, people can change their minds or they can meet their actual soulmates ten years down the line, get divorced and leave, without realizing Gemma wouldn’t want to show herself for months and Harry would worry if it was something he did. Not enough sunny days, too much rain, too many clouds.

“Well I’m gonna wait. I’m gonna hold off until I meet him.”

Zayn smiles at him, small and slow, because he knows why Harry has his heart set, he knows why Harry can’t be with anyone else but his soulmate. Anything less just won’t do.

Clearing his throat like he’s breaking the moment, Harry says, “Can you imagine losing your powers though? Wake up one morning and nothing?”

“You get to be with your soulmate though.” Zayn doesn’t turn his head and Harry doesn’t either, doesn’t want to, but he can feel Zayn eyeing the side of his head. “That counts for something, right?”

“Um…” Harry bites his lip. He feels how dry it is, chapped because of the weather changes that follow him around. “I guess.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the hopeless romantic here? Anything in the name of love and all that?”

“It’s just… That would be awful,” he whines. “To lose everything like that?” He doesn’t fail to notice how Zayn’s face falls, so he adds, “Who’d make your days sunny?” to fix it.

“I couldn’t breathe fire anymore,” Zayn agrees with a burst of laughter right after Harry looks at him as if he’s said he could fly. “Yeah, I don’t think I can do that.”

“But you’ve never tried?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“You could try,” Harry suggests nonchalantly, but he’s putting it on the list of things he absolutely has to see. A flier, without a doubt, is also one of them.

“I’d rather not, thanks.”

“Zayn,” he whines when Zayn gets up, because that means they’re going home now and he’s going to run out of time to convince Zayn. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

“I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t just say that.”

“You’re really going home? Just leaving me like this?” Harry throws his arms out, practically throwing a tantrum as Zayn turns to walk away from him backwards so that he can grin at him. “I hate you,” he sings when he gets up as well.

“Good night, Harry.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Harry grunts and then because he can’t help himself, he shouts, “Good night,” as well, waving Zayn off like he doesn’t care, but he still stands there to wait for Zayn to cross the road and jump over the two stairs leading up to his front porch. Harry stands there until he sees the light in Zayn’s bedroom turn on. Zayn comes to stand at the window, hands on his hips, like he knows Harry has to say, “And I don’t hate you,” before he can go home.

He huffs when Zayn nods and walks away from the window, and stops the wind, feels the fresh air bite at his exposed arms. Looking up at the clear sky, he starts walking and pulling the clouds back in. If they’re fuller then they were before, no one has to know.

April 2012

Anne is crying. She’s hiccupping loudly, like she can’t contain the ugly sound of happiness that’s bursting from her lips as Harry stands in front of the mirror, ignoring her and fixing his bowtie. There’s a handkerchief pressed against her nose, her eye and then her nose again, a camera hanging around her neck, waiting to pounce the moment the doorbell rings.

“You’re so handsome,” she stutters and if she wasn’t smiling the whole time, Harry would be more concerned, but he can understand the feeling, he thinks, that’s overflowing from Anne, as if he’s a sunflower she’s making grow in the middle of winter.

“Thanks mom,” he answers dutifully. He’s nervous, touching the bowtie again, the buttons on his suit, his lapels. It’s not a big deal, not like he imagines it was when Anne was his age and slipping into a pristine and what he imagines must have been a puff of a dress the color of freshly cut grass. It’s not a big deal, Harry doesn’t need to put his head up and smile, breathe through it or something equally ridiculous. But the sound of Anne wiping her nose doesn’t make Harry feel better. “Wanna take a photo before Calvin gets here?” he prompts, because he knows she needs distracting. He’d sent her to the backyard if she’d come back in five minutes.

“Yes, yes.” She jumps, walking backwards until Harry fits into the frame from styled curls to his shiny new shoes. “Smile.”

It probably looks fake, mouth wide open and teeth showing, his eyes tired from staying up too late last night. But it’s not, he is happy, he looks good, this should be recorded for a later time, because Harry’s going to want to remember tonight. Prom night, he thinks, just as the doorbell rings.

Louis had begged for a limo since the end of summer, insisting it’s their night, that they should splurge, live a little and typical things he says to try to get them onboard with his plans. In the end, they all go separately with their own cars or their parents’ cars or like Zayn and Niall, they pick up their dates together and decide to walk down the road to school where the gym’s been transported through time, all the way to the glorious eighties, with a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and strobes of neon flashing from the lights set around the space.

Calvin picks Harry up and Anne takes the photo of them standing in front of the house, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, Calvin’s tie matching the color of Harry’s bow. Anne offered to drive them, because Calvin lives practically adjacent to the school, but he insisted it was the proper thing to do. Harry blushed, just like he did when Calvin stopped him in front of his locker and asked him to be his date for the prom. They have a couple classes together, so Harry knew who Calvin was – the tall captain of their baseball team – and he remembers winking at Calvin during a game once, he knows he did, but he didn’t think it would lead to them walking into prom together, hand in hand.

“Do you want something to drink?” Calvin asks as soon as they’re standing under the flashing lights, people already crowding in every corner.

“Yeah, thanks.” It’s awkward, it is so awkward. During the five minute drive over here, Harry’s tried to think of something to ask Calvin and besides, “So you play baseball?” he hasn’t come up with anything. Not yet. He will though, by the end of the night, Harry will drink a bit of the punch that Louis will hopefully spike as promised and he’ll be full of interesting questions Calvin will jump to answer. Harry is absolutely sure.

But for now Harry just watches as Calvin moves to the side of the gym for a second, as soon as someone jumps on his back and derails him away from the punch though, Harry sighs and starts looking around to jump on someone back as well. There are puffy dresses, skimpy ones that make Harry’s eyes linger and fitted suits – some too big, too tight or fitting perfectly, like the trousers Louis is bending over in. Harry promises to himself to never have a similar thought again in his life and walks over to the table instead. Walking closer to Louis doesn’t help his new resolution.

“Harry!” It’s Niall that jumps up from his chair and crowds around Harry until he’s completely wrapped around him. “You’re here. You’re finally here.”

“He found my flask,” Louis cringes apologetically.

“Is there anything left?”

“What’s happening?”

Harry turns around with an arm full of Niall, towards the voice, and he blushes for the second time tonight. As far as perfectly fitting suits go, Zayn’s is top level, all black and tight over his shoulders, but Harry knew it would be either that or slightly too big, and he’s happy Zayn has decided in everyone’s best interest. There’s a simple back string tied around the collar of his white shirt. Harry holds Niall a bit tighter so as to not stretch over and fiddle with the ends of it.

“Niall’s drunk,” he says, smiling happily, because the nerves jittering in his stomach are melting away now that he’s no longer confined in a car with Calvin.

“How are you drunk already?”

“It’s Louis fault,” Niall says, pointing his finger in the opposite direction of where Louis is standing with his hands on his hips.

“How is it my fault that you couldn’t fucking wait?”

“Louis.”

“Don’t start. I am not exaggerating this time,” Louis snaps at Liam, but as soon as he turns around to snipe at him again, he must change his mind, walking over and falling into Liam’s arms much more gracefully than Niall did into Harry’s.

Which reminds Harry… “Okay, come on, you’re sitting down.”

“But you’re so comfortable,” Niall murmurs into his shoulder.

Harry groans. “I swear to god Niall, if you drool on my suit –”

////

Harry’s takes two steps back and Calvin matches him, taking two steps forward, then to the side, left and right, rolling their arms at their sides and waving them in the air, smiling giddily at each other though that has an air of Niall mixed to it, so Harry doesn’t think it has anything to do with dancing to the Bee Gees.

They’re a good fit, or maybe they’re just good dance partners, but after drinking some of the barely spiked punch and taking small sips out of Calvin’s own flask, Harry flitted off to the dance floor when the clapping and the drums of Rasputin started playing and Calvin followed, smiling at Harry as they fell into step together. And it’s been like that through Daddy Cool and Like a Virgin, twirling and laughing, bumping into Louis and scowling at Niall when he felt a surge of something burn in the pit of his stomach.

While everyone was dancing, Niall was making out in the corner with Barbara, probably the prettiest girl in school if Harry remembers those kinds of things right. Louis said Niall had to fuck with her brain to get her to do it, but even with the general mood of the gym being in its height, Harry doubts Niall is making Barbara giggle in his neck like that. Niall’s a bit too drunk and still disbelieving she said yes when he asked to prom to do anything but keep himself close to her.

And it’s not like everyone is dancing. Harry might have his back pressed close to Calvin, but he can see a group of guys sitting around their table, pretending to be immersed in their conversation while their eyes keep skipping over to the dance floor. And all the teachers are standing off to the side, too busy talking with the chaperone-parents to notice how the students are dancing dirtier with every song, falling over their own feet or throwing up in the bathroom. Poor Samantha.

And then there’s Zayn. Last year around this time, when everyone was hoping to get asked to prom by a senior, because that was a big deal, Zayn was already complaining, swearing he wouldn’t go next year, no matter what. Harry likes to think that with months of persuasion, sweet promises of fun and a drunk Niall – delivering on all parts, he thinks happily – he managed to convince Zayn to show up. Though it might have had something to do with Jordan, the second prettiest girl in their class, because she talked Zayn into going as well, since they’re boyfriend and girlfriend and all that. Harry didn’t exactly get the points she was making about dancing and romantic and everyone going, but if she did have something to do with it, he’s just happy she got Zayn to come.

Not that he’s dancing. And neither is Jordan. Harry might be twirling around on Calving finger, but he can’t miss the sight of them, sitting slouched over in their chairs, smiling at each other every time their eyes happen to meet. It isn’t the fun Harry was talking about, but it’s also not Harry’s fault, because Zayn doesn’t dance. He would bet good money that Jordan wanted to join everybody to twist and turn a little, but Zayn down right refused, crossing his arms and scowling at her long enough to make her suddenly change her mind. Zayn did what he does best and was an asshole until Jordan refused to dance as well. No one, but especially Zayn, likes being alone in their misery.

It might be the fact Calvin keeps leaning closer to Harry’s face even though the slow song is over and they’re back to jumping around, making a fool of themselves and not caring who sees – as long as no one takes a photo of it, but when he does, Harry has to shake his way away, turning his back on him until Calvin’s stood an inch from his face again and Harry has to repeat the dance routine.

He doesn’t want Calvin to kiss him and he doesn’t want to kiss Calvin either. Harry just wants to dance and laugh and feed off of Niall’s high for a night. He wants to not think about Anne sitting in the backyard or finding his soulmate or how Calvin isn’t it. It might be all of those things combined that make him shimmy to where Louis and Liam are waltzing around to It’s Raining Men.

“Let’s go to the pitch,” he gasps, breathing heavily while still trying to keep his rhythm.

“Why?” Louis whines, but Liam shrugs and says, “Okay,” dragging an only slightly protesting Louis along.

“Niall!” Harry shouts, nodding his head towards the exit and miming batting a ball to him. Niall throws him a thumb up, so it only leaves one.

“Hey.” Harry approaches their table carefully, eyeing them both up and down to determine the mood. “Um, we’re going to hang out on the pitch if you want to join?” Harry tries to look at them both, but he ends up focused on Zayn when he asks, because as much as he’d like to, he isn’t inviting both of them.

Zayn clears his throat and he’s trying not to look at Jordan as well. The look he gives Harry isn’t any better. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay.” He smiles, at both of them this time, because he isn’t completely rude and runs off. He doesn’t want to, but he still hears Jordan’s, “We need to talk.”

////

Niall’s in the middle of explaining, in painful detail, what he and Barbara were up to while the rest of them danced. “Man, her lips. You wouldn’t believe,” Niall starts again, because he’s described Barbara’s lips a dozen times since they’ve sat down, comparing them to pillows and bed sheets – thankfully he’s not passionate about studying literature – when he’s interrupted by Louis’ loud, “Zayn, you’re here.”

Zayn huffs and looks around their circle, at Niall lying on his back with a dopy grin on his face, at Louis sitting with his beck pressed again Liam’s chest and then lastly at Harry smiling up at him, because he did overhear Jordan and he knows what that look on Zayn’s face means. Harry could probably count how many times Zayn ran his ringers through his hair – enough to have it flop down on his forehead. Then he sits himself down too, in between Harry and Niall, with another huff and puts his head in his hands.

“She broke up with me.” It makes them cringe and Harry doesn’t know why he didn’t say something to them, to prepare them so that they wouldn’t just be sitting there with twisty grimaces on their faces while Zayn doesn’t even look up at them.

So he guesses that it’s up to him, but then all Harry comes up with is, “I’m sorry,” because he never liked Jordan. With studying every day and most of the night to keep his GPA up and then for the SATs – though Zayn let Harry sit quietly next to him while he read a page over and over again, willing himself to remember every single word scribbled on it – and spending time with Jordan, Zayn didn’t have a lot of time left to spend it in Niall’s basement, to just hangout.

Harry thinks quick and adds, “What happened?” because Zayn may want to talk about it, and if he doesn’t he can sigh and Harry will just change the subject. Maybe he’ll talk about how Calvin is probably looking for Harry, or how he’s hiding from him.

Zayn doesn’t sigh though, it looks like he isn’t breathing at all when he lifts his head and looks at Harry, pleading him to understand or to not mock him or a mixture of both. “She said it’s because I didn’t want to dance with her.”

“Zayn,” Liam coos softly. He must be the only one who understands though, because the rest of them are frowning, looking at each other for help.

“What does that mean exactly?”

“I just… I don’t dance. And she thought I didn’t want to dance with her.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes out. He thinks he gets it. “She thought you didn’t want to be with her anymore. Right?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“But you did?” Niall asks. His head is angled away from his body where he’s lying on the ground, but he still looks more confused than in any pain. He’s going to feel that tomorrow.

Harry would’ve never guess Zayn was going to say, “Not really, I guess,” then, with a sigh of relief, as if he’s just having his first taste of freedom, which is ridiculous to think, because he’s been dating Jordan since his birthday, which is no time at all. Definitely not long enough to feel imprisoned by another person, and Harry knows that feeling. The sense of confinement, restriction and obligation that follows as soon as someone asks, Wanna go out with me? and you say, Sure, because it sounds nice and not at all like they’ll call and text the next day, setting up another date and the one after that and the one after that. Harry never answers those texts, doesn’t pick up the phone. He wonders if Calvin’s going to send the, I wanna see you again, that always makes him feel especially bad for ignoring it. It’s nice, but that’s all it is.

“Good for you then.” Louis lifts his flask, somehow magically full of something that Harry can smell all the way from where he’s sitting.

“She looked so… I don’t know. Disappointed?”

“Also good,” Louis interjects. “Means she actually liked you.”

“You’re not helping,” Harry says, because he knows Zayn would’ve much rather ended it on a happy note, using going their separate ways for college as an excuse for not making it work in the long run, like Harry knew he had planned. “Are you okay?”

Zayn smiles at him, says, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I still think we should be celebrating.”

“Doesn’t have to all be bad,” Liam shrugs apologetically, because they all know Louis has been rubbing off on him since they started dating, which means Liam went from being polite and shy, to pranking and missing baseball practice, which Harry can’t imagine happened before he met Louis.

They fit though, more perfectly than Harry’s ever seen soulmates click with each other, and the fact they’re the only soulmates he’s had a closer look at doesn’t factor in. When Louis inhales, Liam breathes out to make room. Liam injures himself in a game and Louis swears feels a pinch in his ankle for the next week even if that’s not how it works. Louis loses his sonic scream, but he doesn’t care because he has Liam, and like the rain falling down in front of the sun, Harry likes to think soulmates make rainbows arch over the sky. Unlike him and Calvin, or Zayn and Jordan.

“I didn’t want to hurt her feelings,” Zayn starts his long winded explanation that Harry doesn’t really need to listen all that carefully to, because Zayn never wants to hurt anyone’s feelings and he wanted for it to work, he could’ve been happy with Jordan – Harry could talk instead of him, because he’s that predictable. So as soon as Zayn leans back on his hands, Harry shift until his head is propped up by his thigh, a bit bony but still comfortable.

“Think about it this way. If you were still together, that would probably hurt her feelings as well.”

“I guess.” Zayn doesn’t sound convinced, but he scratches Harry at the nape of his neck in thanks. It’s all he wanted.

“Happier thoughts though,” Louis smiles widely, turning to look at Liam proudly before he announces, loudly and boisterously in his true Louis way. “Liam got accepted to St Joseph’s.”

“Congratulations,” they all say in one, whooping and smiling. Harry, Zayn and now Liam all got their acceptance letters already, so now they’re just waiting on Louis and Niall to have a toast on their success.

Liam blushes and hides behind Louis a bit. “Thanks.”

“He’s really happy,” Louis says instead of him. “Karen’s still crying probably and you should’ve seen my mom go on and on about houses and apartments and weddings. That woman…”

“Weddings?”

“They want grandkids too,” Liam nods at Harry. “A boy and a girl, though my mom wouldn’t mind two girls.”

“I miss Barbara,” Niall says, looking off to the side.

“It’s it a bit early?” Zayn asks, and Harry can hear his frown.

“Why?” Niall sits up suddenly. “Do you think I shouldn’t go find her?”

“You should definitely go find Barbara,” Harry smiles at him, and then he feels himself blush, butterflies erupting in his stomach without reason. “Niall,” he chides.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m going.”

They all watch him stumble back to the school, until Louis says, “I don’t know, is it?”

“You’re still in high school.”

“We wouldn’t have kids right now.”

“Don’t you want to finish college first? Have jobs and all that?” Because that’s what Harry would want if he was already with his soulmate. He’d want it to be just them for a while, dates and staying up late to talk and getting drunk and walking around Roger Williams Park because it’s beautiful this time of the year, as the sun starts to gain strength, lingering up in the sky and awakening the cherry trees as it does. He’d want to feed the ducks old bread and run away from swans because they’re monsters disguised in white feathers, but it’s worth it if he gets a photo kneeling next to one. No rush, no pressure, just being together until it would feel right and he’d have his own restaurant and they would live in a house not too far away from Anne so she could help out. Harry always wanted to live on Hope Street. He likes the way it sounds – a house on Hope Street that’s stuck in that time between spring and summer when the air is pleasant and nights are cool and there’s a rainbow stretching from one side of the backyard to the other.

“Sure, in a perfect world,” Louis says as Liam shrugs with a quiet, “Probably.”

They look at each other for an ominous second and do that thing where they talk with their eyes, as if they both have telepathic abilities, arguing with their mouths closed until they reach some sort of consensus and Louis smiles, because he always gets his way, even without muttering a single word.

“Probably,” Louis says, “we’ll see,” and leans back into Liam, who, with an exasperated smile that screams love to anyone that listens, wraps his arm around Louis’ waist.

Harry closes his eyes when Zayn rubs his thumb behind his ear, settling further into the grass when the touch lingers and his finger moves along his jaw. He opens his eyes and sees Zayn smiling down at him. “You tired?”

Harry feels himself out, smacking his lips once, twice, and stretching his legs up into their air, first the left and then right, wiggling his toes in his new shiny shoes. He’s comfortable, warm in his suit that’s getting more wrinkled and stained the longer he stays lying down, but Zayn wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t tired himself, so with a slow blink of his eyes, which Harry thinks is only half convincing, he drawls out a quiet, “Kind of.”

////

It’s actually just as warm out as Harry thought it was, but he might be drawing in a bit of an unaware summer breeze, or maybe it’s Zayn, because he’s learned a couple of tricks in the past years, like how to keep himself warm with a fire kindling right beneath his skin, the kind only he could feel unless Harry got close enough.

After Niall left to find Barbara again, they stayed on the pitch for a while longer, spread out underneath the clear night sky, talking about next year, about chapters closing and being unnecessarily sappy even for prom night. Louis was right, of course, so instead of making each other melancholic about something that hasn’t ended yet, Harry and Zayn listened to Liam’s soft murmurs without hearing what he was saying to Louis. It was probably something just as sappy, but Louis wasn’t fighting it anymore. He rarely had anything to say when Liam spoke to him like that, quiet and right against his ear.

Liam and Louis left, walking with their arms wrapped around each other until there was a loud yelp from behind them and Liam had a Louis on his back, piggy backing to Liam’s house, which was in the opposite direction of where Harry and Zayn’s were going. They laughed and Harry pretended to jump on Zayn’s back as well, but then Zayn actually caught him by his thighs and held on to him until Harry swore he heard the seams of his suit tear and the fun was over. But it could’ve just been the fact that Harry was getting dizzy from their closeness and he didn’t want to say anything.

They keep bumping their shoulders as they walk now, or Harry is doing that on purpose, he’s never really sure when it comes to Zayn, because Harry’s found himself consciously taking the space next to Zayn on the couch, the chair next to his, the lap of his legs, because it’s right there and Harry knows how comfortable it is. It’s not though, because Zayn’s legs are bony, so his knees are always digging into Harry’s ass. There was a time years ago when Harry could sit next to Zayn without thinking about getting closer, when a hug was just a hug because they hadn’t kissed and Harry didn’t think about it while lying in bed late at night, as soon as he woke in the morning or during random parts of the day. Lather, rinse, repeat, except there wasn’t a way Harry could scrub away the image of Zayn sitting there on the couch opposite him with his eyes closed, nodding and letting Harry be his first kiss. If Harry could travel back in time that would be the moment he’d be returning to. It would be one of those memories he just couldn’t let go of, no matter how old or battered it got, how he remembered it down to the very last detail – to the mint and orange juice. It would be his safe place, a better time if everything went to shit, which, if Harry was a time traveler, he imagines it would, because he’d mess it up and do it wrong. Harry would go back to that Sunday, but he’d do it properly if he could and maybe that’s the reason he keeps brushing his hand against Zayn’s. Maybe he wants an excuse to do it again now, without being someone else traveling along in a different universe.

“Do you want to, um,” Zayn starts when they bump hips this time. “Do you want to come over? It’s still kind of early.”

“Sure,” Harry agrees without a second to think. He’s always preferred Zayn’s house to his own – too quiet, too still.

“I’m home alone.” Zayn’s eyes shine when he says it, like it’s a good thing, like he doesn’t know the main reason Harry likes it so much is because of the constant noise, constant movement and creek of the walls. He won’t forget the first time he heard the door slam shut when Waliyha stormed off to her room after Trisha told her off for picking on Safaa again. Harry felt giddy with it for the rest of the day.

Harry smiles back at him for a second, but only for a second, because he thinks of something, quickly does the math in his head even though he’s never been good with numbers that didn’t involve a recipe. “Did you… did you invite Jordan over?”

Zayn laughs, but it doesn’t sound happy. “Doubt she’s still coming.”

He did. Zayn invited Jordan over because he’s home alone and she’s his girlfriend, was his girlfriend and you’re meant to spend prom night with your date not your best friend who can’t get over  the one time you happened to kiss years and years ago.

Instead of pointing that out, because Harry doesn’t think he’d be doing anyone any favors with it, he shrugs and nods, trying to seem sympathetic and not slightly too happy that the night turned out this way.

They stop at a crossroads, wait for a car to pass and walk down the street to get to Zayn’s yellow and green house. Harry always thought they should’ve moved, exchanged their houses – brick for colorful walls. Maybe that way Anne wouldn’t cover theirs in leaves and branches. Maybe she would’ve left them alone and bare.

They let the silence linger until they stumble through the front doors, limbs over head in a race to take their suit jackets off before the other. No one wins by the time they’re sitting on the couch, their jackets neatly hanging on the hooks by the front door.

“We’re not watching it again,” Zayn says, shaking his head at the bulky television box.

Harry tries pouting, but Zayn’s completely ignoring him, so he whines, “Come on, you haven’t seen it start to finish yet, this could be the time you don’t fall asleep,” instead.

“It’s boring.”.

“Oh, ‘cause those Marvel movies are so fun, huh?”

“At least they’re not about fashion,” Zayn scoffs.

“The Devil Wears Prada is so much more than just fashion,” Harry says. He’s said it before, explained for what felt like hours and he’ll do it again, Zayn knows he’ll do it again if he has to, because Harry likes to think he’ll go through the same ups and downs once he’s looking for an internship and then a job. The turmoil, the horrible boss that grows on you, the one person who has your back even if you have no idea what you’re doing – Harry wants that. And until then, he’s going to make Zayn watch the movie with him.

“No.”

“Zayn.”

“Absolutely not.” Zayn shakes his head again and holds the remote closer to his chest, like it’s one of his favorite toys – the Thor he never let Harry touch because Zayn said he always always breaks everything. But his eyes are sparkling, like he’s enjoying this, like he wants to see what Harry will do, because they do this too. They argue about innocuous things, but it’s usually in front of Louis, because it annoys him that he’s not part of their fight as well. They don’t do it because Harry likes it when Zayn gets heated up, when his eyes glaze over with a fiery shine and they don’t it so Harry can feel the heat radiate from Zayn’s skin. They aren’t doing it for that now, picking arguments when they’re alone in Zayn’s house, like which movie to watch. But maybe they also are and maybe it’s gotten much, much more fun since Harry started playing dirty.

Harry leans forwards with his eyes on Zayn’s and he doesn’t mean it, but he doesn’t exactly not mean it, because he’s only human, as he slips his hand alone Zayn’s knee and higher up his thigh, saying, “I’ll make it up to you,” low and husky. It flusters Zayn enough for Harry to grab the remote from him with a victorious, “Aha!”

Harry’s already searching for the movie when Zayn murmurs, “That wasn’t fair.”

“Why?” Harry smirks over at him. He doesn’t enjoy this as much as he puts on. It’s something watching Zayn blush when he’s embarrassed, but Harry can’t help but prefer the blush that would spread over Zayn’s chest. He’d prefer seeing that as well.

When he started thinking about Zayn like that, Harry doesn’t know. He also doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that.

Zayn groans, like he does when Louis is so set in doing one of his ridiculous plans that not even Zayn can get to him. Like he does every time he gives up. He crosses his arms and sits back into the couch as far away from Harry as he can get.

Harry also doesn’t know when he started noticing the red in Zayn’s cheeks, how his face would burn up every time he whispered something close to his ear, pressing his lips against the shell of it. He knew Zayn would agree to whatever he was saying like that, close and personal and rumbled deep in his throat. There was a time when Harry wrapped himself around Zayn’s back, hands holding his hips, chest pressed to his back and said, “You sure you wouldn’t rather go to the lake?” because he needed a majority vote on his idea and Zayn was the only one left undecided. The moment he practically melted against Harry with a sighed yeah started it. Harry’s sure that’s why he does it. A little bit to annoy Zayn, but mostly to hear that breathy sigh again.

But he doesn’t do it as often as he’d like, because Zayn gets shifty afterwards and sometime during last summer, it stopped being as fun as it got Harry flustered too. Harry doesn’t know when it happened, when he stopped looking at Zayn like his best friend and more like someone he wants to kiss. Kiss again, which may or may not have something to do with it.

But it wasn’t the kiss. Harry likes kissing as much as anyone, he likes kissing in general, getting close to someone, taking their breath away, tucking the sounds they make as he bites their lip somewhere safe, where he can replay it, use it for when he’s alone.

It doesn’t matter in the end, because having Zayn sit so far away from him when Harry should be lying on top of at least half of him, busies Harry’s thoughts throughout more than two thirds of the movie, which means he’s missed all the really good Meryl scenes. And that just won’t do.

“Can you please just let me cuddle you?” Harry whines, having enough. This isn’t how they watch movies together. They always sit over each other and Zayn tries to cover up laughing at the funny bits when Harry puts one of his romcoms on, coughing into his fists like Harry doesn’t notice it every time he does it. Zayn might put up a fight, but they both know he likes the hopelessly romantic plots just as much as Harry does. Harry doesn’t judge though, because next time, he’ll get excited over the fight scenes he tried to insists are overly violent and completely useless, and Zayn won’t say anything either.

Now that Harry thinks about it, they haven’t watched a movie together, just them, in a while. It’s probably been a few months, and while Harry wonders if it was because Zayn was too busy studying or if he was busy with Jordan instead, watching movies with her, Zayn laughs and pulls Harry closer. He scratches his nails over Harry’s hair and just as he’s about to complain, they settle down and Zayn’s fingers go from scratching to twisting in his curls, just like Harry likes it.

“You were being really mean.” Harry’s missed so much of the movie, he can’t get his interest back up again. So he’s not going to let Zayn watch the rest of it either.

“Me?”

“Yes you,” Harry huffs. “You were ignoring me.”

“You’re the one that started it.” Which just isn’t true, Harry should point that out in a calm and collected matter, like maybe Liam or Niall would – definitely not Louis – but he’s in a mood tonight.

“I did no such thing,” he insists, twisting himself around until he’s sitting on the couch with his legs over Zayn’s lap. Maybe he’ll be tempted to give him a foot massage, thought that hasn’t happened yet. And Harry’s tried.

“You were teasing and you know it.” Zayn’s shaking his head and laughing quietly, like he’s doing it privately just to himself, but Harry still sees. He can see how Zayn’s eyelashes curve when he looks down at the feet in his lap as if he’s thinking it over, the possibility of giving Harry a foot massage finally. Then his tongue pokes past his lips and Harry’s always loved that, because usually it means Zayn can’t make his mind up and if that means Harry’s getting a massage, then that’s the reason why he follows the way Zayn wets his lips with his eyes.

“I was?” Harry doesn’t know why he’s asking, because he knows he was, so there’s no need to play coy. He did it on purpose and he’d do it again. He will do it again, as soon as he can, just not right now, because Zayn’s lifting his head and he’s looking right back at him and his hand is on Harry’s leg, so he might not get a massage but he doesn’t care anymore.

Zayn nods, once, slow, keeping his eyes where they’re peering right at Harry, as if he’s reading his mind, but he’s not. Zayn is fire and heat, he’s power and he’s always so warm. It’s why Harry tries to sit as close to him as he can, he manages to remember that now, so he scoots closer until his knees are bent over Zayn’s lap, but it’s good, he’s closer. They’re closer.

And now Harry can watch how Zayn’s eyes sparkle, glazing over with a lick of a flame, blazing with something Harry’s sure would burn the tips of fingers if he tried to touch it, but then he’s never known how not to touch or feel or make the wind come from the mountains, not the sea. From up, up, higher than air corridors, higher than he can see.

He wants to ask what Zayn is thinking of. He’s always wanted to know what sets his eyes on fire like that, but when Harry opens his mouth, he whispers, “Can I kiss you?” that works just as well, because Zayn nods, clearly he nods even if Harry was being polite more than anything else, because he wants to know if he can fuel the fire, if he’s good enough to do that.

They look at each other for a passing moment, like they’re giving themselves an out, a no questions asked, just walk away and we’ll forget this ever happened pause that lingers until Harry leans forward. He tries to keep his eyes open, because he wants to see it happen from a different perspective. Harry wants to sit on the coffee table in front of them, so he could watch Zayn’s reaction, how he moves to meet Harry half way, if his hands wander awkwardly through air before he settles them on Harry’s calves. Harry wants to see if his eyes change color, from orange to red to that deep blue that Harry hasn’t forgotten about.

But it’s not so bad from where he is sitting, because this way Harry can feel the heat radiating from Zayn, his cheeks pleasantly warm when Harry cups his jaw. He thinks Zayn’s breath hitches at that, but he’s not sure. All Harry can think about is how he’s going to kiss Zayn, again, how Zayn nodded and a small flame sparked behind his eyes. All Harry can think about is how he knows Zayn won’t taste like fire, because they’ve kissed already, but he still expects it.

He isn’t worried about getting burned or Zayn catching fire, spontaneously combusting in his arms, yet as he presses his lips against Zayn’s, Harry hopes something happens. Maybe a symbolic candle lights up when Harry licks the seam of Zayn’s lips because they’re not thirteen anymore. They’ve both had other kisses after that time in the basement, when Harry wouldn’t admit his hands were shaking a little, the quickest peck Harry’s ever had, since Zayn’s first kiss. They’ve had plenty of other kisses, just not with each other. But when Harry presses closer, parts his lips and tentatively touches his tongue to Zayn’s top lip, he wishes there would be a sign, like a gust of wind or stray sunray shining through the window at half past midnight, because that would be… Harry can’t think of the word, the reason why he wants that to happen, because this isn’t their first kiss, so it should make Harry feel less giddy than overwhelmed, but he can’t help smiling into it as he presses himself closer to Zayn. It may not be their first kiss, but Harry’s going to make it count. He’s going to light that candle himself if he has to, because it’s Zayn and Zayn isn’t just someone in the closet underneath the stairs.

The living room window is open and that’s perfect, because as Harry starts climbing into Zayn’s lap – all awkward limbs and eager groans – he can flick up a gentle warm breeze to make it better, to make Zayn’s heat mix with his own. In a second, the air in the room is sticky and hot, hotter than it ever should be.

Zayn’s blushing with the fire kindled underneath his skin when Harry takes a good look at him before he kisses him again – not as soft, less patient. Zayn allows it for a minute, sighing when Harry messes up his hair, but then he pulls away, laughing out, “Harry.” It could mean stop, but Harry doesn’t want it to mean anything except, please go on, do that again.

“What?” His breathing is quick and Zayn won’t stop laughing. “What is it? You’re ruining the moment.”

“Harry,” Zayn says again, holding Harry’s face with his hands as he does and it feels like summer’s got a hold on him. It’s easy to lean his head to get closer to it, but then there’s a spark of something else running through his fingertips when Zayn asks, “Do you want to stay over?” in a soft whisper, his eyes practically shining with that bright blue light that makes Harry straighten up.

Harry’s stayed over more times than he could count. Every time Anne said she was going to be in the garden if Harry needed anything – he’s learned a long time ago to never need anything when she gets lost – he ran over to the Malik house. Moving was always difficult after Trisha’s dinners and declining offers of a bed just upstairs even more so. But Zayn’s never asked while Harry sat on his lap with his lips bitten red.

Instead of whining out a yes too enthusiastically, Harry kisses him again, which defeats the purpose only when he grinds his hips down. “Upstairs?” he asks, saying the words into Zayn’s neck, because he doesn’t want to be presumptuous, but he doesn’t want to tiptoe around it either. Harry’s never been good at walking on the tips of his toes anyway, always falling over at the first step.

Zayn’s hands move down to Harry’s waist, gripping tightly and without a single groan, like his mind has been set for a while, Zayn says, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Harry is off his lap, grabbing Zayn’s hands. “Let’s go.”

With the sound of Zayn’s laughter, he drags both of them up the stairs and to the second bedroom on the left.

////

Zayn’s room is the smallest in the house. There’s a bed, a desk, a tiny closet and not much leg room. Harry would always insist they study on the floor together, because he couldn’t see Zayn all the way from the bed and being cramped together sounded much better than leaving too much room in between that Harry couldn’t reach over with his hand to just touch Zayn whenever he pleased. There’s a single batman poster on the wall, right next to the window, because all the others burned down that one time Harry tackled Zayn on the bed. Like they were dosed in gasoline, the single spark flying from Zayn’s fingertip lit them up in a blink of an eye and a puff of smoke. Harry’s instinctive reaction to bring a quick breeze of wind into the room, admittedly, wasn’t his brightest moment.

Air and fire don’t mix – lesson learned.

There’s no poster, no furniture besides the bed and Zayn lying on top of him now though, nothing but the grind of their hips and Harry’s pitiful whispers to get closer, to get off. But Harry would swear there are sparks too, flying all over the room, left and right, as Zayn groans and Harry takes his shirt off for him, because now is not the time for indecisions and second guessing. The less the amount of clothes, the better.

“You too, you too,” Zayn’s saying onto his lips and Harry’s shirt gripped in his hand, rucked up on his stomach. “Off.”

“Yeah, yes,” he agrees, how could he not, and nods, scarifying a moment worth of kissing to take it off. But seeing Zayn pant, his eyes on fire, Harry pauses, “Hey.” He ghosts a finger over Zayn’s cheek, following the lines beneath his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“What?” The whole room stills with Zayn’s voice, with Harry’s question. Maybe the earth stops spinning, Harry’s doesn’t know, but with the look on Zany’s face, it sure feels like it. “I’m –” Zayn waves his hands around, looking frustrated as his finger catches on Harry’s bare stomach. “Yes I’m sure, are you sure?”

He’s looking at Harry with his mouth open slightly, and his lips are shiny, red, definitely the best Harry’s ever seen them look. His eyebrows are pulled together in a nervous arch. Zayn’s impatient, probably nervous, so Harry smiles to himself and shakes his head.

“I think we’re both pretty sure.”

“Good,” Zayn nods. “Great. Now get on with it.”

“With what?”

Zayn smirks. He’s never smirked like that at Harry before, like the filthiest thing is going through his head. Harry wants to go on with that, he definitely wants to exactly that, whatever it is.

“What you’re thinking about doing right now,” Zayn drawls slowly and Harry can’t pull him down fast enough.

Zayn bites his lips, pulls it into his mouth and Harry transcends to a different universe, where all he does all day is kiss Zayn, their lips raw and wet, never separating for more than to take a breath. They’re a mess. Harry’s the first to get rid of his pants, quick and clumsy as Zayn sits on the bed and watches, biting his lips and doing absolutely nothing to help.

“Harry…”

“What?” Harry’s biting his tongue as he shakes the pants off, folding them neatly at the knees and placing them gently over the back of Zayn’s chair. “Why are you laughing? What happened?” He turns around to see Zayn laughing and shaking his head where he’s perched against the wall, his legs spread out on the bed. Zayn’s still wearing pants, Harry thinks vaguely in the midst of the airy chuckles and crescent eyes that pull at his attention.

So as Harry gathers his thoughts again, he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear and pulls them down in one glorious move, shutting Zayn up in less than a second. He saunters over the two steps it takes to get to the bed, swinging his hips left and then right, before he’s straddling Zayn again, because Harry’s pretty sure he has a point to prove and if grinding down on Zayn while he bites the lobe of his ear will do it, so be it. But it does momentarily postpone what they were in the middle of doing, because as Zayn whines – this desperate sound that makes Harry throw the ones he’s gathered until this point out, because he only wants this one tucked away for later – Harry doesn’t want to get off Zayn’s lap to let him get naked too.

“Harry.”

“Yes?” he drawls, licking up his neck. He’s never done that before. Harry can’t say he’s never thought about it, what it would be like to lick at someone’s skin from collarbone to jaw, be so unreserved while in someone’s lap that he’d want to run his tongue over their skin over and over again, any space he’s be able to reach. So he does it again, sucking at the skin behind Zayn’s ear just because he’s thought of doing that too.

“Get off.”

“No.” Harry revels in Zayn’s raspy voice. “You deserve this.”

“Harry,” Zayn huffs again, trying to pick him up, but Harry doesn’t budge, just rolls his hips again and puts more weight into it. Zayn whines again, gripping at Harry’s hips like he wants to throw him to the floor as he whispers a quiet, “You’re gonna make me come in my pants.”

Harry licks his lips. Zayn sounds embarrassed, he’s probably blushing, not that Harry can see or will look up to see it, because he’s too busy sucking a bruise above Zayn’s collarbone.

“Fine by me,” he says before he bites down on the skin there.

“Harry,” Zayn says again, but it’s sharp this time, blazing hot, the word reverberating underneath his skin and Harry can feel it right on his lips, the moment his skin goes from warm to burning, as if Zayn’s setting himself on fire.

“Shit, okay, okay.” Harry relents. Getting a second degree burn wasn’t how he imagined tonight going, so he rolls off him to give Zayn room. “You were gonna have to take the pants to the drycleaners anyway.”

With his pants pulled to the middle of his thighs, Zayn stops to look up at him. “That doesn’t mean I wanted them to find dry come stains, Harry.”

He shrugs, spreading himself on the bed and hitching an arm beneath his head, so he can look at Zayn as he says, “Yeah, well, it would’ve been fun to watch you come like that.”

The temperature shifts again. It’s like Harry’s lying on the sun, not Zayn’s bed. It makes his blood boil, his skin itch, his thoughts go blurry, and he swears there’s a literal flame in Zayn’s eyes as he stands there, as they look at each other, letting Harry’s words sink in.

“Fun?” Zayn’s pulling his pants off again, tugging them past his ankles and throwing them at the wall without taking his eyes off of Harry. It doesn’t look like he even blinks, just walks over and crawls on top of Harry, stopping when his ass reaches Harry’s knees.

“You’re gonna show me fun?” Harry’s trying to be funny, but it’s hard to talk when Zayn looks like that, when his face is so close to his dick.

“Shut up.”

He does. Harry shuts his mouth, bites his lip and loses all sense of coherency as soon as Zayn’s hand slips from his thigh to the base of his cock, hard and achingly ready for release five minutes ago.

Harry’s been here before. He’s sat on beds, couches, a toilet lid once, stood against the wall for support with a pretty pair of lips around the tip of his cock, making him see starts. He’s been the pair of lips, had his knees bruised from the cold tiles in the gym’s locker room with an impatient hand in his hair pulling him closer. Zayn might’ve been too, but he’s less vocal about these kinds of things, tries to be more than just a quick fix, an immediate release that you don’t have to call the next morning.

But Harry’s never been here before. He’s thought about it, dreamed it embarrassingly often, but he’s never had Zayn between his legs, licking the underside of his cock, tracing his way up to the tip with his tongue before he sucks his way down again. Zayn doesn’t make a nose, doesn’t slurp or hum, doesn’t take Harry deep enough to gag, but Harry’s still never been this close to tearing out of his own skin. If he had wings, they’d be ten feet in the air right now.

Zayn takes his time. He’s slow, uses just his hand for a while so he can kiss his way to Harry’s tense stomach, bite his hip, because Harry’s so easy for it. “Zayn…” he whines when Zayn presses the tip of his tongue against the tip of his shaft, licking the precome with is eyes closed. He doesn’t just see stars, Harry is catapulted into the black void.

“Good?” Zayn murmurs into his thigh, as he keeps pulling Harry off with his hand. He sounds so timid and careful that Harry would laugh if he could breathe, because he’s barely able not to come all over Zayn’s hand each time he even so much as thinks about what’s happening or the look on Zayn’s face, staring right back at him.

“So, so good.” He’s talking to the ceiling, keeping his eyes glued to the white paint, because he doesn’t think he can hold off with the image of Zayn jerking Harry off like this, his lips glossy from spit, red from the stretch, right there.

He knows he’s absolutely right when Zayn circles his tongue around his tip again, before he’s pulling Harry up by his hips, saying, “Come on, sit up,” as he manhandles Harry to sit against the wall with his legs wide open so Zayn can sit in the space between them and wrap his legs around Harry’s hips.

 But at least Harry can open his eyes now, even if his cock is left to lie against his stomach again, not needing much more attention than a long look to come all over himself. It would be embarrassing if Zayn wasn’t just as hard, if his eyes weren’t burning with a blue ember, like ice on fire.

Harry kisses him them, because he remembers he can and brings Zayn closer, because he needs them to be. They need to be kissing and they both need to come soon or Harry will combust.

“Do you want to –” Zayn asks in between looking down at himself and trying to keep his lips on Harry, and for once in his life, Harry doesn’t need explaining. With their chests pressed together, breathing in the same air, Harry licks his palm and while trying to deepen their kiss, to lick himself into Zayn’s memory, holds both of them together, his hand shaking and slick with spit and precome.

Harry pulls them both towards the edge with one hand on the small of Zayn’s back, helping him move his hips in time with his other hand, twisting and gripping them together. They’re a mess. Harry’s encouraging, “Yeah, just like that, so good, oh fuck,” Zayn on as he trembles in Harry’s lap. His breathing is erratic until it isn’t, Zayn barely has time to inhale before he stops breathing altogether, and Harry can’t keep his eyes off him, he has to watch.

He has to see the moment Zayn’s shoulders slouch and his nails bite into Harry’s shoulder. Harry twists his wrist again, pressing his thumb into the head of Zayn’s cock and watches Zayn’s eyes lose focus in a fiery turquoise, like a lagoon of fire as he comes over Harry’s hand, pulling him through it.

The moment, the same second Zayn inhales again, Harry bites his lip and hitches his hips into his own hand, once, twice, until he’s groaning into Zayn’s neck, tasting fire on his skin, coming over his hand and Zayn’s stomach.

Their breathing is a distant echo, the rustle of curtains Trisha’s had to replace one too many times, because they keep catching on fire, rippling through the room along with an easy stream of wind, brisk against their overheated skin. It was supposed to be a clear night, just the stars and the moon with a lone cloud illuminated on the sky, but Harry can feel the shift of air outside, can sense the clouds sitting in front of the stars as Zayn’s sitting in his lap, breathing hot onto his ear. There’s a tingle in his fingertips, but he thinks that might just be Zayn’s doing.

“I think you stopped breathing for a second,” he whispers. Their skin is sticky and too hot, clammy with sweat, the fact Zayn is still burning up isn’t helping, but Harry keeps stroking his fingers over Zayn’s back, waiting for an answer.

Zayn smiles at him. “It’s because I did.” 

They both laugh, small and tired, collapsing against each other.

“We should definitely do that again.” Harry tries for casual, but it’s hard to do while they’re naked and panting, trying to catch up with the calmness of the quiet house again. He has a vague understanding what he’s suggesting, because he wants to do it again right now, as they’re still panting and too tired to move – Harry thinks they could make it work if they tried hard enough. But then he also remembers how candles didn’t light up, how he’s still pulling in a breeze into the room to wash away the smell of what they just did, the same way he always has.

“Yeah?” Zayn leans away to ask. His eyes are back to their regular kindling ember without any hint of razor blue, the same way they always are.

Harry knows what he’s saying and how something, that click of shift or whatever people call it isn’t there, how he and Zayn aren’t meant to be. But maybe they can forget about fate and destiny for awhile, at least until Zayn’s still sitting in his lap. So Harry nods and says, “Yeah,” with a small smile.

“I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“What are you insinuating, Malik?” Harry pushes him further away, but his smile is growing wider and so is Zayn’s, who shrugs with a smirk and starts dislodging them apart further, but he isn’t quick enough. Harry grabs his hips and keeps him in his lap, so he can look at him when he says, “That was far from being the worst.”

“I know, it’s what I said.”

“It’s the way you said it,” he tries to sound stern, but they’re both smiling like they can’t help it. It’s how it feels when Niall gets excited and starts jumping in the seat next you – you start jumping as well, with your arms above your head and a feeling as if your body has been taken over, because it has. It’s the same principle now, because as Harry tries to hide his smile in Zayn’s cheek, he just smiles wider, because he knows Zayn’s smiling just as wide. “Try again.”

Zayn groans, goes as far as to roll his eyes when he says, “You can make me stop breathing again anytime you want.”

“Anytime I want, huh?” Harry waggles his eyebrows, but then Zayn’s slapping at his chest and wiggling out of his grip. Harry holds on to him a little longer, so that Zayn doesn’t fall when he leans in to kiss him again, because he’s still in Harry’s lap and they aren’t thinking about fate right now. Not yet.