Tell Me I'm Your National Anthem

Zayn was never one to look himself up on the Internet. He also never made it a habit to see what his bandmates were up to from the media’s point of view because it was all nonsense in his opinion. It was also pointless because he and his bandmates never kept much from each other, especially Harry. But there it was, plain as day on the Internet, Harry out and about, painting the town red, leaving no pub or club untouched. Zayn felt pathetic that it had come down to this, that he’d have to rely on the dumb Internet for information. Harry’s thoughts, secrets, and opinions were things never hidden from Zayn, no matter how shocking or even trivial. Zayn had noticed Harry’s distance, even if the boy dismissed it with a, “I’m sorry, I’m just busy” text. It shouldn’t have mattered, and it shouldn’t make him feel this much frustration. And the frustration wasn’t even towards Harry constantly brushing him off. The frustration was towards himself and his bruised feelings. All he knew was that he needed to get a hold of Harry. He needed to make this right, even though he wasn’t sure where to start.

—-

“Hey!” came Harry’s voice on the other line. Zayn couldn’t make out the tone of it. Perhaps a mixture of surprise, forced excitement, and a hint of annoyance.

“We haven’t really seen much of each other outside of work. So I thought I’d ring you,” Zayn said.

“Sorry, mate. I’ve just been—”

“—Busy. I know.”

The silence on the other end was awkward, with an obvious panic, scrambling for words. “Um, listen. What are you doing tonight? We could stop by Jalouse.”

Harry had been there not too long ago, with some blonde in tow, according to various gossip sites. But Zayn wasn’t about to bring that information up now, “Jalouse? Yeah, sure.”

“Right, I’ll come round to pick you up. Ten on the dot.”

“Sounds good. See you, Hazz.”

“Bye.”

Zayn lowered his phone and fixed his eyes on the screen long after Harry had gone, and he couldn’t help but feel that strange unknown stab in his chest. This wasn’t how they were. This wasn’t how it’s supposed to be. Curt replies and awkward silences didn’t make sense in their friendship, but there it was anyway. It was just a little after six, and he had about four hours to mentally prep himself for a night that could either end in disaster or some sort of success. He hoped for the latter, for the sake of the chemistry in the band, and most of all, their friendship.

—-

A cab pulled up right in front, and Harry’s head poked out of the backseat window. “Malik! We haven’t got all night!” Ten on the dot.

Zayn hurried out the front door, made his way to the cab, and joined Harry in the backseat. “A cab?”

A small smirk appeared on Harry’s face and he leaned back in his seat, looking over at Zayn, “I plan to get as pissed as possible. Might’ve pre-gamed at home.”

“Of course you did,” Zayn rolled his eyes, deciding that it would probably be a long night consisting of him babysitting a drunk Harry with no chance of properly speaking to him about their present situation. Did Harry even realize there was a situation, or was everything just fine for him? It sure seemed like it.

“Lots of fit girls there,” Harry continued. “‘Course that doesn’t really apply to you, does it?” It could have been Zayn’s imagination, but the last two words had a bit of an edge to it.

“No, guess not.”

“Yep. Guess not.”

Zayn felt something stir in his stomach. A bit of nausea and nerves, since he was completely unsure what he had done to offend Harry. Whatever it was, it had caused an obvious gap in their friendship. “Harry, I’m not sure—.”

“We’re here,” Harry announced, interrupting Zayn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, paying the driver, telling him to keep the change. He quickly got out of the cab, forcing Zayn to just bite back his words, and follow suit. If Harry purposely wanted to avoid whatever it was that needed addressing, he was quite good at it.

It was a bit of a frenzy, the two of them out together. Rising princes of pop, out about town. The cameras loved them, their names were called from every direction. Zayn glanced over at Harry, who had a placid, but smug expression on his face. He’s just eating it all up. He loved the public, and the public loved him.

Zayn always thought there was something electric about Harry. He had this magnetic vibe that most found themselves automatically drawn to; powerless to fight off. Eyes were always fixed on him, hearts skipped beats, breathing hitched. He was a boy who had the charm of a man who lived and loved many lifetimes. He wasn’t of this world. This cosmic, otherworldly, beautiful being who broke hearts without knowing it. And he unknowingly broke Zayn’s.

Despite the hurricane raging inside him, he put on a happy face and followed Harry into the club. It was dark, a little crowded, a decent turnout for the weekend. They were approached almost immediately, which was always expected, but not always welcome. Especially tonight in Zayn’s case. He and Harry were gracious and polite, but excused themselves after a few minutes of small talk. Harry made a beeline towards the bar and ordered two shots, handing one to Zayn.

“What is it?” Zayn examined the amber-colored liquid, trying to guess.

“Not important. What is important is that it could get you plastered. With a few more of course.”

“Not really aiming to get plastered, Harry.”

Harry just laughed, clinked the glasses together, and they both downed it at the same time. Zayn scrunched up his face, nearly gagging at the awful taste it left in his mouth, and the burning sensation in his throat.

“Excellent, huh?” Harry grinned and clapped him on the back before turning to the bartender to order two more drinks.

Zayn leaned in close to his friend, moving his mouth to his ear so he’d be able to hear him, “Listen, Harry. I—” But he was interrupted once again as Harry pulled back to shove a glass in his hand.

“Drink up!” he insisted, immediately starting on his. Harry motioned for Zayn to follow him as he made his way to a table. He sat and stretched out lazily with one hand on his drink as he scanned his surroundings, acting like a young king presiding over his court. They weren’t left alone for too long, as a group of girls hesitantly approached the table, a few targeting Harry, some targeting him. Zayn obliged them with some small talk and a bit of humor. More drinks were delivered to the table and he found that the alcohol had loosened him up some. Glancing sideways at Harry, he saw that the desired effect had taken over. Harry was getting close to one of the blondes in the group, and this particular sight caused a sharp jab in Zayn’s chest.

It had been happening often lately. Those jabs. Those random physical reactions he got whenever something had to do with Harry. He refused to acknowledge them and he dared not look into them for fear of the unknown. Zayn wasn’t ready to address something he wasn’t familiar with, but seeing Harry like that in front of him was overwhelming.

But when Harry leaned in to kiss the nameless girl, something inside Zayn snapped. He stood quickly, though a bit wobbly, and took a stride forward to grab Harry by the arm.

“What the fuck, Zayn,” Harry growled, as he yanked his arm back. But Zayn was persistent and took a hold of him again, firmly this time. He pulled him up to his feet and dragged him away from the table, not really sure where he was going. He opted for a dark corner a little ways off from the main crowd, so they wouldn’t be seen or heard.

Zayn let go of Harry’s arm, ignoring the fact that the boy looked confused and was fuming. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m sick of you cutting me off every time I’ve got something to say. Don’t play like you haven’t got the slightest clue what’s going on. You’ve been doing it all night,” he took a deep breath, suddenly feeling light-headed. “Not to mention, it’s like you can’t stand to be in the same bloody room as me!”

Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, the expression on his face was caged anger, which was worse than something unleashed. He took a step closer to Zayn and hissed, “You’re mad. You’re bloody mad. You take this opportunity to have a heart to heart just when I’m about to—”

“Are you serious?” Zayn’s voice rose. “You’re fucking unbelievable! Shagging some random girl who probably has got some raging herpes is your priority? More important than what’s happening here?”

An unamused smile slid on Harry’s face and he took a few steps back, “Here? What’s happening here?” He motioned to the space between him and Zayn. “Clearly, everything is more important than what’s happening here.” He motioned wildly in between them again. “You’re so fucking oblivious to so many things, Zayn, it’s almost laughable. And it’s pointless to even talk about it with you.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Harry?”

“Nothing,” he snapped. “Nothing important to you, which might as well be nothing important to me. And you should had to go ruining tonight instead of letting me be. Instead of letting me deal with things my own way, on my own time.”

Zayn’s head was spinning by now, unable to grasp whatever was happening or what Harry was talking about. The fury rose in him and he got right in the other boy’s face, nearly shouting, “What did I do?!”

The reaction that followed wasn’t something Zayn expected. Harry’s face twisted, and the muscle in his jaw twitched as if he were clenching his teeth hard. A small sob escaped his lips, which seemed to surprise them both, and Harry quickly clamped a hand over his own mouth, trying to muffle any other sounds. His eyes squeezed shut, and he dropped his hand, then inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes, they were wet.

“Nothing,” he finally replied. “You did nothing, Zayn. At least not on purpose. And I.. I…” he gritted his teeth again when he began to stammer. “I’ve just got to deal with it in the best way I know how. And I need you to let me do that.” He turned, ready to walk away, but Zayn caught a hold of his wrist, keeping him still.

“You’re my best friend, Harry,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me what to do.” Zayn waited, but there was no answer. Tugging on Harry’s wrist, he drew him closer, and placed his hands on either side of his friend’s face, forcing him to look up. “Harry, you’ve got to tell me what to do.”

There was silence between them. Silence so loud, it drowned out the rest of the club, making everything else irrelevant. All they heard was each others’ breathing, and Zayn felt Harry’s racing pulse beneath his fingers.

Then it crept in, hitting hard. That elusive and strange feeling came over Zayn. The unfamiliar. The unknown. But he wouldn’t let go this time, and he would bravely hang on. Harry was more important than the fear.

“Tell me what to do,” he repeated in a low voice.

Harry drew a shaky breath, finally lifting his eyes to meet Zayn’s. They were green and stormy, still a little wet. They were also hesitant and terrified, but he managed to speak in a voice so quiet, it was a whisper.

“Love me.”

Zayn’s breathing stopped. Shock had taken over his body and he lowered his hands slowly from Harry’s face, then took one step back from him. Harry’s face paled, and he shook his head, looking mortified and on the verge of tears.

“Ha, well fuck me, right?” Harry said in a trembling voice. And without another word, he turned around and quickly made his way to the exit.

Zayn was finally able to gain control of his body after getting over the temporary shock, and he sprinted towards the doors of the club. He made it outside only to see Harry get into a cab, but before he could make another move, it drove off. He stood there, dumbfounded, but bursting with something he couldn’t quite describe at this new and confusing information. He felt like he was floating, but the flashes of a dozen cameras suddenly brought him back down to earth. This wasn’t over yet.