“Why me?” Was the first question that escaped your lips when you both met up one weekend.
The On The Road Again Tour ended a week ago and Zayn wanted to start as soon as possible.
The now-platinum-blonde boy boy in front of you shrugged and took a long sip of his coffee, “Our music taste was always the same and your poems are very artistic. Besides, you’re the only person you would talk to me now.”
You laugh and your phone buzzes in your pocket and see it’s a text from Harry.
Where are you? You wanna come to my place? 😏
You have never refused an invite from Harry before.
“You can go fuck Harry if you want,” Zayn sighs softly.
“No no no,” you immediately put your phone away, and you decide to act as if yo have never seen the text in the first place. “It wasn’t Harry. It was just my roommate. Nothing important, though. You were saying?”
Zayn smiles and you can’t help but feel a knot twist in your stomach.
You didn’t know if it was from the lies or from his warm, hazel eyes.
“Where have you been?” Harry appears on your doorstep the next night, his hair wet from walking in the London drizzle.
You are quick to knock your bag to the floor, hiding all of your brainstormed lyrics on the floor. You hesitate, then you snap, “I’ve been busy. Don’t act as if the only reason why I’m alive is to be your sex slave.”
Harry is taken aback. “Sex slave?? Y/N, what’s wrong? Did someone say anything? Or–”
Then his eyes dart to the coffee table.
You turn around and then your heart stops.
In a hurry to sweep your bag to the floor, you forgot to pick up your phone. Zayn’s caller I.D. lights up your whole screen. For a moment you both are frozen, eyes transfixed upon each other. Until the rings stop and the voicemail kicks in.
“No–!” You try to knock Harry out of the way but he’s too fast. Too strong. He grabs the phone and holds it high above your head. You don’t have a chance to protest before Zayn starts talking.
“Hey Y/N! I just called to say I thought yesterday’s session was great! We really got a lot done and I hope you still have the papers in your bag! Uh…call me back as soon as you get this and we can maybe plan for a second time?”
When it clicks off, Harry drops his arm and he hands your phone back to you silently.
“Harry?” You didn’t bother pretending you were mad anymore.
“Zayn?” He just says, green eyes torn with hurt. “How–you betrayed me. You betrayed us. How could you do that? What were you two doing?”
You couldn’t speak. Words failed you when you needed them the most. But then Harry doesn’t even bother waiting for you to speak. He just kneels down and empties out your bag. Pages and pages of lyrics poured out.
Harry kneels there, eyes pressed shut.
“Y/N–”
“What do you care?” You didn’t deserve to get this shit from him. Zayn was your best friend too. “Aren’t I just your fuck buddy? What do you care what I do in my free time? Unless you want to hook me to a lease and tie me to a pole? Huh?”
Harry looks as if he’s about to cry. “Y/N–”
“Save it,” you point to your door. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. You can, from now on, fuck yourself.”
Harry has been off the radar for a month, with the occasional picture of him in Saint Laurent’s.
But besides that, he has been huddled in LA, far far away from where you are.
Not like you have been keeping track, of course.
The only light in your life has been those frequent meetings with Zayn at a small cafe where no paparazzi would catch you. He would joke around and always say how you are the only one who he can trust these days and you would blush, pretending it didn’t hurt a little to hear those words come out of his mouth and not Harry’s.
And after weeks, the song was finally done.
PILLOWTALK was composed.
The day Zayn released it, you both were hunched over his computer in his living room, excitedly grinning because you both weren’t sure what to expect.
You certainly didn’t expect it to blow up that quickly.
That night, Harry had sent you one text.
One text to break the silence.
It read: Congratulations.
You didn’t bother replying.
“Y/N!” Zayn calls you up the next day. It was a sleepy Sunday and you didn’t understand why he sounded so thrilled.
“What?” You ask, rubbing the tiredness out of your eyes.
“I NEED YOU TO STAR IN THE PILLLOWTALK MUSIC VIDEO WITH ME!”
You were so shocked you almost dropped your phone. “W-What? W-Why me? Zayn, I think you need a model or–”
“No, I only want you,” he sounded so sincere. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Way more beautiful than any agency can provide and besides, you wrote the song too!”
You’re beautiful, Harryused to say. Brilliantly beautiful.
Your heart twists and you snap out of it. You couldn’t possibly let Zayn down. Not when you both had worked this hard. “Okay,” you try to sound happy. Apparently your plan had worked and he hung up with no complaints.
Zayn was amazing.
He is amazing.
But…
No.
You had to let go of Harry.
He, obviously, had let go of you.
Look at him with those other beautiful girls!
You’re beautiful–No. Harry only said that to get into your pants. One too many times.
You pressed your eyes shut. Zayn was a guy who genuinely thought you had something special. He’s the guy your heart should be tugging for. Tugging towards.
And if you hadn’t blocked Harry’s number right then and there, you would’ve received the following voicemail from him, minutes after:
I love you Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, but I do.