“Zayn still repeats those words to himself every day. Even this drunk, even when he tipped back shot after shot, he still mumbled them under his breath, because he won’t forget them. He won’t let himself. Believe nothing. Trust no one. Not a single word. That’s why when Harry turns and walks to his bed, sits on the edge of the mattress first, before he lies down next to Zayn and kisses him softly, like he’s saying ‘get some sleep’ again, but silently now, doing everything without speaking a single word, Zayn sighs and inches towards Harry’s warmth until he has his arm wrapped around his waist. Zayn sighs because he has nothing to believe in, no reason to trust Harry’s words when he doesn’t say them. Zayn’s thankful for it, because at least this way, he can go to sleep without lying to himself.”
A piece of paper falls out of the bundle, and Louis snatches it and starts reading before Zayn can prise it off him.
“He’ll have eyes as green as frogs.” Louis arches an eyebrow at his brother. “Very romantic, Zayn. He’ll wear sparkly boots and he’ll be marvellously kind. He can juggle, and he—four nipples?” Louis barks out a laugh. “Zayn, such person doesn’t exist!”
“Hey.” Harry hears from behind Yaser’s back and the sound of it makes every knot untangle in his stomach, every rope tied around his neck go lose and float away like they were never there to begin with. “You came.”