#them. like it’s not easy to explain but to parch the stakes are these kids | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweeetsky · 7 years

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What if we decided to live by choice? .

Harry always drove way too fast. Nothing like what he used to do, pushing a hundred and fifteen in one of the Bugatti's to escape his old world problems. A cheap stake high of adrenaline, because let’s face it, his life back then in Hawaii was less domesticated then it is now. So, if you live for nothing as they say, you crash fast and burn slow.

But now was different, by all means this is what most people call unfair. Because he's abiding by the state laws of the road. Going an even forty miles per hour, sitting in his precious Mercedes, the one with all the memories, about to carry on through the green light on Third street when a semi-truck comes pushing out of his blind spot and into the right side of his car.

If you ever knew Harry, you'd know that the kid never liked to leave things alone. Never liked to leave things hanging and unanswered. And maybe that's one of the reasons he could never shut up. How he could never let anything down or give up on anything, or anyone. It was out of his nature to really be "scared".

"Fears just hope saying what if." He said once to whoever would listen, and he'd grin that awful grin of his when he was about to do something wildly bizarre.

But now he wasn't grinning, and fear, oh fear was fear was fear and Harry right then, when he felt his body lose its gravitational pull, felt his arms snap back into an ungodly angle as he and the car flipped for the eighth time, he knew. He knew he was going to die.

You don't count your blessings, you eat them. You sever each one out of its vine -like the ribs poking out of Harry's chest. Pick out the seeds- like the organs in his body, one by one shutting down. Cut the fruit- his body, if it were ever to be salvaged would be useless. And you'd hear about the double amputee on the late night news, the one who made it after being hit by a semi-truck and flying off of the highway bridge and he does seminars for other people with missing limbs, and his family would finally come as a collective to support Harry the Hero, overcoming it all. But Harry will never be that lucky.

But, you remember them, you remember your blessings and how they smell like a burning body waiting to become a phoenix. And you bite into it, ignoring the salt taste of ash , watch the juices flow out and down your chin- a greedy little thing to want to live. To beg in the back of your mind and in the sorrow filled places in your heart, to live. A shard of the dashboard glass cuts deep inside Harry's throat digging deeper the harder Harry fights to breathe. Thrashing right underneath his jugular till blood comes spraying out in eerie precision, and he chokes on it, his body gives out and when he can hear the remnants of the car crushing above him, he's gone.

"I didn't think I'd leave like this... I don't wanna leave like this." Harry is talking somewhere in his head or maybe in the back of an Uber on the way to Heaven or wherever. But he doesn't see anything, it's still pitch black, as if his eyes are still closed, and he'd like it that way for some reason. The blinding light and all was never his thing.

"I was supposed to be home in an hour, we were gonna take the yacht out, go fishing. He finally had this week off, he's gonna be so mad." Harry says in his own mind.

Maybe it's true, that thing about the brain still functioning as if it can, in the last moments of death, and Harry continues to talk to himself, leaving foot prints in the dark.

"I know it could be for the best and all, and I have no contingency or say so in how this story is supposed to end, but I really didn't want it to be this soon." Harry can hear himself panic finally as if the spit in the back of his throat has finally dried and if his chest could rise again it would pant.

"I didn't even call my mom back... Sophies gonna be pissed... they’re all gonna be so pissed." Harry was thinking of unnecessarily redundant and unimportant things, but those little small things always left the biggest holes.

"A car accident, are you fucking kidding me? He's never gonna be okay after this- I'm so sorry babe..." Harry can feel himself slipping away, like he's being gently pulled into warm unknowing arms.

"Who's never gonna be okay?" A voice says.

If Harry could, he'd burst into tears.

Needless to say, if Harry West were to die. It'd be a circus of obscenities, a year or three of annoyance, not because Harry's dead but because of everything around him.

The media, the money, the rumors. But, he'd make sure everyone he loved were taken care of. It was already written down on paper somewhere in his lawyer’s office. And if it were possible, he'd let his spirit somehow cast a warm spell.

It's alright, I love you all, you can let me go now.

And he'd rest, watch over his best friends and his sisters.

He'd whisper sweet sweet nothings into Zayns ear when he's asleep, as if he were alive, he'd be lying if he said he'd let him go so easily, but he'd learn... maybe.

"You can open your eyes now." The voice says, it's neither feminine or masculine, just a voice with enough vibrato to get his attention.

Harry is afraid for some reason, it always feels like a fast rush into a scam, and honestly he isn’t sure if he’s ready to see pearly white gates or rock and roll hell fire, yet t’s been too long. Weeks, months, years? Harry isn’t sure, but time feels absent and as a wanderer he’d used to think that would be a good thing, but now it just feels wrong. An impending hunger, a loss of caution he’d never thought he’d miss.

“Yeah, c’mon, you’re almost there.”

What is this? Harry asks in the pit of his mind, and it feels like the first thought he’s ever had. This could be birth.

“You’ll never know with your eyes closed.” The voice says.

Harry means to say, “what?” But it comes out as a gargled sigh and his throat feels vile. Parched, cracked and dry like the floors of the Mojave. But his eyes open, his lids feel stuck to his brows because the light is blindingly bright and all at the same time he feels like he hasn’t slept in millennia.

“You’re hungry.” The voice says, and Harry still can’t focus on a thing, it’s all white and bright and his eyes are begging for color.

But how the hell can he be hungry when he feels like a sore thumb personified.

“Trust me.” The voice sounds soothing almost melancholic, but amused. “You are.”

Harry feels his mouth open, still looking up into nothing, eyes stinging till something red is poured between his lips and before Harry can realize what is happening, why he’s reacting the way he is, he can’t get enough.

He swallows it down, forgets to look for whoever is pouring the substance in his mouth like a waterfall and basks in its salvation.

Harry is sitting up now, neck arching, tongue out like it’s instinct as his hands curl around a wrist. He sucks into what feels like flesh. Severed skin ripped in two, giving him all that he needs to feel alive again. And he’s hungry, he is hungry, the voice was right as he makes a satisfied sound besides himself.

“There you go.” The voice chuckles softly, “easy… it’s okay take your time.”

Harry gives out no questions, not now, he needs this more than anything, just a little bit more and he’ll stop.

“This will hurt a bit.” The voice says next, and Harry doesn’t pay attention till he feels his back hit against something hard.

“Fuck.” He groans and suddenly it’s like a mist of thick fog is clearing up as he sees a man crowding his space, the light behind them wraps around like a sullen halo.

They said, you were pretty. But Harry doesn’t see them speak, more like he’s heard him in his head.

“Hey.” They say gently out loud, he blinks softly as if he was always waiting. Harry follows his finger as it traces to the side of his cheek, and picks up a drop of blood.

“Woah, that’s-“

“Blood, yeah. You took a lot, but from what you’ve been through, It’s forgivable.”

“I-…” Harry starts but he feels heavy all over like his boots are sinking into quick sand. “I… I don’t think I understand.” He panics as he tries to lift himself up.

But the person, this guy pushes him back gently and Harry has his hands wrapped around his wrists and he can feel the cool metal accents in his jacket.

“You’ll be alright but, you need to lay down.” He says without making it sound like a suggestion and pushes Harry back till he’s laying down again, moving thin strips of hair away from his blood stained lips.

“I thought I…died… I’m dead right?” Harry starts again, this time tears are waiting to fall.

“Just listen okay.” The guy looks back at something reaching for a wet wipe for a second before he turns and smiles warmly, wiping all traces of blood away. “The blood I gave you should do you good for a while, I don’t have much time to explain but you did die.” He looks at Harry as he starts to panic for real this time.

“Shh, calm down. Listen to me okay? You’ll be fine, really. Just… whatever you seen in movies and all that shit, isn’t true. Well most of it technicalities and all but, you’re perfectly capable of living with other humans and to sun bathe, like you usually do. You’re just aware now, and I know it’s scary especially for your kind but you’re different.”

Harry stares at him wordlessly, dumbfounded for the very first time. But the man continues to talk, throwing away the wipe in his hand. Harry tunes back in somehow as he says, “and a word of advice, you’re only as powerful as you want to be.”

“What the fuck does any of that shit mean?” Harry shouts back. “What does-where you going?!” He asks as he watches the man open the door of the hospital room, he pauses before he leaves.

“I’ll see you soon Harry.”

Harry spends the next fifteen minutes grumbling to himself wincing as he pulled the IV needle out from his arm. This had to be some weird fucked up dream, yet, here he is, laying on a gurney trying to make sense of it all. It had to be a lie, if he were to look at this logically, his clothes from what he remembers putting on this morning are still intact, his body still a wholesome whole, he just felt weak like someone had drained him dry.

He fumbles with the nurse’s pager trying to find it on the side of his gurney as he struggles to get up, his knees bending and wobbling on groggy weight. Harry needed to get out of here, he needed to call Zayn.

If this was real, he also needed to go home amp up on some serious pain killers and sleep till he’s new again.

Instead just as he was thinking about him again, his mind wondering and worrying tightening a brutal knot in his stomach, Zayn rushes in.

He stands there for a second, Harry can see his chest move up and down frantically, his face unreadable. Harry is weak as he is slumps back on the gurney barely getting a word out before Zayn practically flies through the space between them to hug Harry tight.

It’s a jumble of words that they’re both saying in unison. A mixture of thankful rhythms that they can both decipher somehow. Harry holds on to him just as tight, his face buried into his neck, his shoulders already shaking.

“Kya hal ai?” Zayn asks in a worried rush but moves a bit to get a look at Harry, his hands gripping his face. His eyes are wide and red, aching.

“I mean-“

“I’m… okay. Better now, you’re here.” Harry honestly looks like he’s about to pass out.

Zayn holds him tighter, grounds him. “You scared the fuck out of me… it’s not your fault but-I-“

“I know… I know... I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I was just driving and then everything was gone.” He’s holding on to Zayns jacket as if he might disappear fists curling around leather fabric. “It was so bad... it was so bad. I thought I left you.” His nose is already red, and tears are sliding down his face. Zayn stares at him with as much sanity he can gather. Then Harry goes still and Zayn knows him all too well before his cheeks are swollen red and he’s hearing Harry’s short stocky breaths that sound like pure terror, not joy or excitement. Just fear is fear is fear.

Zayn doesn’t bother with a nurse or a doctor he knows what to do.

Relief doesn’t wash over Zayn for at least a year and even then, it’s just radio silence when he isn’t feeling jittery, worried, overloaded with overthinking, and somehow radio silence is worse. Harry is traumatized he knows. The accident did more to him than expected, yet Zayn is patient and understanding he’s gone through it with Kelly.

But it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel like Harry will bounce back like he usually does. Maybe he’s not supposed to either way. It’ll take baby steps he tells himself as he sips on a drink, eats his lunch and feels the watchful eyes of his parents from up above. Literally he’s eating lunch at their mural and in any case he feels a bit better where he can line up his thoughts, encase them back to their shelves like books and check on them later.

He still can’t shake it but whatever.

When Zayn walks into the penthouse, he can hear the soft buzz of music bouncing against the walls and it warms his heart a little bit.

“Haz?” Zayn calls out as he walks down the hallway. He opens the door to their bedroom but, doesn’t see Harry anywhere at first. Instead an array of vinyl’s and books lay on their ruffled bedsheets, the duvet is half way off the bed and Zayn sits where it’s peeled over, warm and heavy with Harry’s light scent. It’s almost foreign as he takes it all in, they haven’t slept in the same bed for the last couple of months now. Harry wanted his space and he respects that. But it doesn’t stop his heart from jumping just a little bit.

The room feels airy all of a sudden, empty even though it’s filled with a familiar voice he finds comforting. His back hits the pillows when he reads over a Marvin Gaye vinyl from his own collection but something pricks at his spine. Zayn lifts up the pillow behind him and finds the open pages of a journal. Harry’s journal.

Zayn was always curious what filled his pages, sometimes Harry would let him read things here and there, things that usually made him blush and awe at, but those days died and instead of scribbled cursive, Zayn took the journal into his hands, the pages opened to a sea of surprisingly detailed drawings. Black ink covered majority of the pages, harsh curves and lines, it was shocking honestly. Not that Harry was drawing, but Harry was sketching something meticulously sinister.

“Do you like it?”

Zayn heard Harry’s voice break his panic and distant curiosity. He closed the journal just as he heard him, tucked it deep into the pillows.

“What?” Zayn sounded almost breathless, Harry wasn’t even looking at him. His back was turned standing over by his desk, turning the vinyl to its other side and putting it back on the record.

“Franks album?” Zayn was still looking at his bare back, teeth biting into his bottom lip. “He sent it over with some other stuff, took the bastard long enough innit he?” Harry lightly laughs, looking through a thick magazine now.

“Yeah, it sounds really good.” Zayn realizes his hand is still tucked under the pillow where he threw the journal before running that hand over his head. “Harry?” He says abruptly. Harry doesn’t budge, still looking through the magazine. “Harry.” He says again, “can you sit with me?” Zayn pats the empty space next to him.

Harry puts the magazine down this time and does as he’s asked. His feet are bare, only a pair of black joggers sits on his loosely at his hips. Zayn can still see his hair is wet from a shower. softly quietly he moves hanging strands behind Harry’s ear. It’s a small victory when Harry doesn’t flinch. But his eyes stare into Zayn but for the first time, he can’t really read them. Zayn keeps a hand against the nape of Harry’s neck where it’s eerily hot. Harry moves closer then, pressing his cheek against Zayns, lines his jaw right where the friction of his scruff scratches against Harry’s smooth skin. It sends dripping sparks of chills down Zayns back. Harry stops right next to his ear.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Harry confesses, and even though the music gets louder, Zayn can still hear his hesitance, the shake in his voice, and his throat goes dry.

“I…” Zayn grips him tighter, he feels Harry’s warm breath at the curve of his jaw. “I don’t want anything… just you Haz. Whatever that is.”

Harry laughs, and it almost sounds cruel and sad, Zayns expression is twisted, something like confusion and worry, if he looked deeper, maybe anger now as Harry drew back. Stone cold and apathetic as they stare at one another.

“Did you look at my journal?” Harry asks, Zayn eyes go wide again then narrow giving a curt nod.

The string of silence feels like years when Zayn decides to speak again, “please… just tell me. Why won’t you let me in? Why are you acting like nothing happened?”

“Are you a fucking therapist now?” Harry looks at him coldly, his pink lips puffed. Zayn twists to drag the journal out from its hiding place and opens to the worn out parts of the drawings.

“Are you fucking Michael Angelo now?” He spits back and shoves the journal at Harry as he snatches it back.

“Fuck off.” Harry stands now and walks into the closet and Zayn gets off of the bed.

“You don’t just get to fucking hide all this shit from me, like I don’t fucking exist.” His stomach bottoms out for some reason, all the harbored feelings claw their way out from a hidden pit he’s refused to look at, the bravado in his voice is shaky but nonetheless there.

“What? You think all of a sudden I’m going to open up to you when you want me to?” Harry comes back trainers on his feet as he tries to zip up his hoodie, forsaking a shirt underneath. “You looked through my shit! You know how I feel about that. Even so, I’m not gonna fucking sit here and kum-ba-fucking-yah with you about the shit that I see, dreams that I fucking have. I don’t do that shit. Not with this.”

Zayn feels another twist in his chest and ignores the burn settling behind his eyes. “You’re acting like if I don’t understand. Like I’m casting you out or some shit!”

Harry is almost out the door before he stops, “you already fucking did.” He breathes, and gets his keys from the desk. “You and Sophie put me in that fucking place when I begged you not to. I fucking begged you Zayn.” His eyes feel raw and his voice won’t stop shaking. “That shit worked for Kelly and you thought it’d work for me? Clever mate. God knows Soph needed that place more than I ever did.”

Zayn moves then, grabs his arm turning him around before he tries to leave. “You don’t get to fucking say that.” Zayn searches Harry’s empty eyes, it almost makes him ask, where he’s gone all this time, why he’s stopped letting him in when all he wanted to do was save him to tell him he’s seen it too. “Harry you wanted… you hurt yourself, what were we supposed to do? Your sister was trying to look out for you.”

He moves close, even when Harry braces himself he’s stoic to it all. “Harry please, I know… I know somethings changed. And I’m not talking about us, I know… “His voice goes soft despite himself as he swallows. “We have to talk about it… what happened.”

“We don’t actually.” Harry looks bizarre with no emotion on his face. He can hear the cramping thud of Zayns pulse ringing in his own ear, but never his thoughts, that’s never changed. “I just want you to drop it. I just want you… to forgive me already. I can’t fucking keep walking around with you worrying like I’ll explode.” He clenches his eyes shut in frustration, “I gave you your out and you wouldn’t take it, remember that.”

Zayns hands are shaking but he folds them into fists as he watches Harry leave.

When the front door slams shut, it’s the loudest he’s ever heard it close.

Moments later, Zayn traces a ringed finger on the hairline fractures framing the door like mossy vines. He stands back a little looking at them, how they contrast to the crisp white of the walls. He thinks of how they look just as harsh as the lines Harry drew in his journal.

Harry doesn’t bother with the car, not that it scares him. He just isn’t going very far. He finds himself about three blocks down from his apartment, walking in brisk strides as he tries to cool off. He can hear them again, scratching against his eardrums it makes him crane his neck and shudder. He takes a short cut to a park not too far and by the time he gets there the streetlights are on in the skies straining sunset. He thinks about Zayn through the whole walk.

People pass by like slow moving water, blurring into his thwarted backdrop and before he can contain it, he feels his jaw ache. Stress makes his vision worse and when he turns to look at a stranger about seven feet away they stare at him, and their face changes. It morphs into his constant nightmare, a demon pecked in dotty burnt flesh, only a shredded hole for a mouth. Harry stops in his tracks and closes his eyes as it comes closer and closer stammering in its long steps. He can feel it’s drowning presence, and if he opens his eyes it’ll get him, rip him into pieces. The voices get louder one long eerie screech after the other, Harry covers his ears.

“You look so silly.” Harry suddenly hears a familiar voice. It breaks the tantrum swirling in his mind.

It’s only him again, the guy from the hospital, the one who gave him blood to drink. He’s standing there in front of Harry, a beret on his head and pink docks on his feet, sucking on a lollipop.

Harry only scowls before finding a bench to sit on. He appears on the other side. It’s annoying really, they haven’t showed up more than a handful random times since the hospital incident and in all honesty even if Harry had a million questions and a million (not so nice) things to say to them, he doesn’t bother.

Maybe this visit is another lesson. He’s been practicing controlling premonitions. Even if most of them are futile.

“I didn’t think the change would make you so quiet.” He says simply, “I’m disappointed in you Harry.”

“Get in line then.” Harry blinks, he watches inattentively at a group of guys playing basketball, their skin wet with sweat, the ball dribbles in a constant arrhythmic pattern. He keeps watching hoping the other will go away.

“I’m not going anywhere right now.” He hears him say. “You feel yourself getting stronger.” It isn’t framed as a question but Harry answers with a nod.

“Good.” He sighs, “It won’t be easy but I’m-“

“Why does it feel like it’s making me crazy?” Harry interjects in his thoughts, speaking Is unnecessary. He grazes his thumb over his own lips eyes glued to the basketball court a good fifteen feet away. The sky looks like a bruised peach now.

He can hear the other sigh deeply and make a popping noise as the lollipop leaves his mouth. “It’s not an it. The thing you call craziness is a part of you, always has been.”

Harry looks at him this time incredulously and partly annoyed, everything had to feel hopeless didn’t it? Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he really did die in a car accident or when he tried to slip into a lifetime of sleep in Sophies old apartment, a white carpet bleached in red.

“You can’t die. So don’t do that shit again Harry.” He spoke. “Not that way anyway.” He sighed bored as he talked. “You really should stop being a dick head to your boyfriend by the way.”

Harry took this as his que to leave, but before he could Mr. Mystery was already at his side, pushing him down.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Harry said aloud, it earned him stares from people who passed by.

“I need you to get your shit together. You’re one of a kind honestly. And you’ve wasted so much time already.” He sighed again a deep furrowing brow growing on his face. “You’re seeing demons, having premonitions, hearing everything, seeing everything, feeling everything it’s a cluster fuck of senses I know, trust me I know. But I need you to put that all away now. I taught you as much as I could in a very very short amount of time but.. that demon you seen next time won’t just stare at you, it’ll want to kill you, you and everyone you give a shit about.” He pauses to look at Harry, “I’m also seeing that list has become short.”

Harry, presses his hands together to keep from punching him square in the jaw, even if he did again, it wouldn’t even plot a dent on that perfect face. “People change.” Is his only explanation.

“Yes, they do. They also trust. You’re going to need people you trust just as much as you need to find your control dude.” He puts the lollipop back into his mouth. “Vamp hybrid or not you’re lucky you have someone in your corner trying to understand you. People search a lifetime for that.”

Kelly makes thinks sound so easy. Zayn had been on the phone with her for the past hour, she called after he seen what Harry did to the door, but he didn’t tell her about it, or the things from five months ago. But she picked up on the broken hints in his voice, his evasive clipped manner he’d be in after a fight, and he was in more of those this year than he cares to count. You didn’t give up on me. Yeah that was true but Kelly wasn’t pulling doors out of their hinges, drawing and writing disturbing things on the walls or in her journal, beating dirtbags to a bloody pulp or sinking her teeth into his jugular.

Harry would cry, he’d forgive him, Harry would draw away from him or he’d feel flighty, they’d fight, and Harry was right, he was given an out a long time ago. Yet, he stayed, the reason- he’d like to think was somewhere between love, loyalty and care. But honestly the real reason was starting to evade him maybe it was just madness. At this point anything was possible.

Zayn sat back on the sofa now he changed out of his clothes into something more comfortable and watched the sunset with a tall class of wine. The sky was purple the gloomiest shades of lilac and peach he’s ever seen. The window sits open in the hot apartment a small breeze carries the curtain out as it flutters gently in the air. Zayn gives his wine glass a lengthy sip as he discarded his thoughts.

Kelly was right, he never gave up on her, he’s waited patiently, stood by when he was needed, did everything that he could. He wasn’t fucking perfect but he tried, and fuck Harry for not seeing that. The glass gets empty and Zayn finds himself pouring another after the next. A coil of anger builds inside the hidden pit in his stomach, it’s flushed with wine, but righteously it rumbles with anger at something spoiled, something he doesn’t like feeling but Zayn lets it wash over him.

When he knocks out, he dreams, he dreams of a body long, bare skin showing through a slashed t-shirt, a body that lays still as blood pools around his feet. When Zayn steps closer the person on the ground moves to reveal their face. It’s Harry, he smiles faintly just enough to where Zayn can see his bloody teeth, molars sharp, but not as sharp as the knife Zayn has clasped in his hand.

He wakes up in a jolt, a little breathless and shocked to see Harry, staring down at him. He’s sitting on the coffee table as Zayn stays still on the couch. He’s come home.

Zayns expression doesn’t change his feelings from before have not pacified since he left.

“I’m going to leave you.” He says bitterly, his voice groggy but certain, he’s sick of being the only one looking hurt. He can be cruel too.

“That so?” Harry asks, hands clasping together, a mild type of surprise rings in his voice, he’s careful not to clench his hands into fists.

“Yeah. We should have been over months ago don’t you think?” Zayn blinks back at him.

It works, Harry looks like he did hours ago, hurt somehow, angrier. “Yeah, maybe.” It doesn’t last though, after a while his fists sit flat on his own thighs, leaning forward slightly.

“What makes you think, I’ll let you out that door?” Harry is serious, his eyes go clear in the dark apartment. Traffic light from below stream in thin awkward lines on the walls.

“You’d do anything for me.” He simply puts it. Harry closes his part lips and looks as if he’s thinking about it. What’s the point when it’s true? It doesn’t stop the trickle of fear wander through his mind though, partially deterring his boldness. He wants to tell him about the dream, that he killed him, blood at his feet and dripping down his arms like he was shedding an old skin. Allah forgive him. It tasted sweet.

Harry, suddenly leans down and kisses Zayns forehead, he doesn’t stir, only stares at Harry.

“I would.” He breathes in his ear. “I’d also go out that door and bring you right back. Somehow, either way you look at it, we’ll end up here if we tried leaving each other or however you want to put it. I’m yours. Nothing’s ever gonna put us apart, I realize that… and I can’t die now, but I’d find a way if you do.” Harry sounds cold, but warm all at the same time, and Zayn’s head is spinning. For a second he’s not sure what to say as he stares at him.

“Fetch the knife for me then.” Zayn can’t believe his own voice, but it doesn’t stop him. He tastes wine and anger in his own mouth. “I’ll get you on your way.”

Harry raises a brow then scuffs. “Zayn, I’d rather snap your neck.”

He cranes it just then, so beautiful and ready, Harry wants to dig his teeth into the patch of smooth skin. Not yet though not yet. “Go ahead.” Zayn pleas, “if you’re fast enough you can drain me, isn’t that what you want?”

They stare at each other testing each other in the silence. Zayn can’t hide the way his heart pounds and Harry can’t either. Harry’s the first to look away, he gets up from the coffee table and walks away.

Zayn lets out a breath, the colors in the dark swirl above his head.

A minute later and he sits up, his shaky thoughts have clouded his better judgment, and he’s not sure what to feel after that.

It feels like an inconsistent buzz under his skin, he knows this could be wrong. He plays the words over in his head. “What makes you think, I’d let you walk out?” …. “You’d do anything for me.” Zayn closes his eyes for what feels like eternity. This is wrong.

He hears Harry call his name from the bedroom.

When he reaches the bed, Harry is already under the covers the hoodie long gone from his broad shoulders. He doesn’t move then, instead they look at each other and Harry’s eyes are glossy.

“I’ll tell you everything.” He says silently apologetic in a way Zayn can only sigh to.

“No.” He says quietly, “show me.”

Harry releases a shaky breath, “okay.” He bites his bottom lip then. “I will.”

“And now?” Zayn can feel Harry shifting closer, he doesn’t elude himself into thinking he can touch him, so he doesn’t. Instead he tucks his hand under his head as support.

Harry hasn’t touched Zayn in almost a year, well after the accident they tried a few weeks after the accident, and Harry bit him, right at his jugular so hard Zayn almost passed out. So really it’s been out of fear that Harry would lose control. And even then Harry didn’t want to be touched at times, it wasn’t Zayn’s fault and he knew.

“Now… can you stay in bed with me?” Harry asks, he’s on his stomach, elbows bent in front of him, his curls splaying over his shoulder. Zayn scuffs and nods his head. He closes his eyes again but they open when he feels Harry closer, shifting under their sheets. Zayn feels too lazy to ask, but he does anyway.

“What do you want from me?” He says, eyes heavy, the sheets move lower to the base of Harry’s spine, his skin smooth like a valley that goes on forever.

Harry moves, leaning into Zayns space as he kisses him on the mouth, slow and focused as Zayn finally gives and kisses him back. “Harry.” Zayn warns.

Harry pulls back breathlessly, almost offended, “ I got what I want. Now kiss me back” he nudges at his arm, and pulls him closer by his t shirt. “kiss me.”

Zayn can’t help but give in to the consistent feel of his lips finally touching his own again, the soft strands of curls that get caught between their lips and Zayn pushes against it holds Harry’s face with two hands now and Harry is eager for his lips and how wet they’re getting, it makes him moan when he feels his tongue digging into his mouth as he lets him in.

Zayn draws back and pulls the covers off with one swift motion. Harry is on his back naked already. “Typical.” Zayn chides, running one straight line from his sternum to his stomach, if he looked closely the butterfly flutters softly at his touch.

Harry gathers his hair away from his face and smiles, that lop sided smirk, “just trying to stay consistent here…” He looks up at Zayn now and see’s galaxies in his topaz eyes before kissing him. “I’m still the same.” Zayn straddles him breathing out a sigh. He will not elude himself into thinking it so. “Lying isn’t going to change anything” He bites down on Harry’s lips “I still hate you.” Harry can’t help but whimper Zayns hips weighing on top of him”I know.” he’s breathless as Zayn rolls on top of him, hips slow like sliding honey”I know.”

#tw: suicide mention #tw: blood mention #tw: slight violence #tw: emotional manipulation #what did i do

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