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Take a pic [before it's too late]

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It all starts on 12th January at 02:37. Harry knows the exact time because in order to see it one just needs to look at the down left corner of the video. His phone is turned off because he is tired of hearing the constant beeping and buzzing which has been continuing since the early morning. He's hungover and needs a break; not a lecture. Most importantly, he doesn't need drama. His management, his mum, Gemma, the boys, his band members, every journalist who has his number, possibly even Obama himself have been trying to reach him.

Getting drunk on 11th January was one of his worst ideas. Although the throbbing in his head and the soreness in his muscles aren't half as bad as his big mouth was last night. The point is, he's the 'honest drunk'. But that's okay. That's okay because he only gets drunk with his close friends whom he trusts with his life, let alone his secrets; because no matter how wasted he is, they always take care of him. What's not okay, however, is the fact that he wasn't in the club with them yesterday.

He wasn't planning to get this drunk. He wasn't planning to get drunk at all - it wasn't his fault, really. If anyone's, it was Gigi Hadid's. And partly his fault because no one made him scroll her instagram and see the photo. It was just a normal couple photo, kind of cute if Harry's honest, but the wound was still too fresh. On the second thought, it wasn't Gigi's fault either, it was Zayn's. Or Mark Zuckerberg's for owning instagram.

But he got drunk. Zuckerberg isn't aware of what he caused, but the spiral goes down from there. Harry got drunk on his own, went to the club, and had fun. Until it got out of hand, and he started talking. Whining, actually. About everything; about missing his mum while on tour, about his old controlling management, about the lame music he used to make in One Direction, about losing the connection with people he called family (the members of said band). Finally, about his past relationships. He thought he was over it - apparently not. He was over all of them, all but one. But only one mattered in the end. "Harry Styles crying over Taylor Swift" would be a great headline too, albeit not as dramatic and shocking as "Harry Styles confirms he's in love with Zayn Malik". See the difference?

The headlines aren't exactly that, because he didn't say anything like this. Yet the audio in the video of him talking about Zayn is surprisingly clean, and it's not difficult to guess that him "missing Zayn" isn't exactly platonic. Arguing about it would be pointless - everyone heard what he had said. Harry wouldn't believe himself if he suddenly released a statement claiming that it was "out of context". People aren't stupid; especially not the One Direction fandom. 

As if talking with random people about his biggest secrets wasn't bad enough, he was being filmed. It was filmed and uploaded to the internet and, as Simon Cowell loved to remind them back at 2010, would remind there forever. If Harry's children and grandchildren will ever feel the need to listen to their wasted grandpa talking about some boy he loved, they will be free to do so. At least, the person uploading had the decency to take it down after a couple of hours, seeing what they had unleashed. Unfortunately, way too late. 

 Harry, remaining in the haze state of mind, decided that what is done is done. If the world knew he loved Zayn, then so be it. (At least for now).


Chapter Text

The bright light of the computer screen is blinding him, and even though he watched the video a hundred times already, he still hopes it will change after the thousand rewind. 

The bar is crowded, but surprisingly well lit. As some analysis pointed out (they're already there, of course, terrifyingly accurate and detailed) the recorder was asking specifically for information about Zayn, and Harry, drunk out of his mind, was more than happy to ramble about him.

Harry: [inaudible] And he left. Just like that, 'course I asked him not to. He didn't care though. Not a call, not a 'fuck off'. Nothing.

Girl: I'm so sorry, Harry. He's a dick.

Harry: I booked the same hotel room in Jamaica. It's like... He was there, innit? Like, I was closer to him. I wrote the songs. 'Wonder if he likes them. 

He clicks the pause button and lets out a shaky breath. Thoughts are swirling in his head, and he feels even more tired than he did when he woke up at midnight after the whole day in bed. His careless approach to the situation is long gone - he wishes he could stay in this hotel room for the rest of his tour. Or for the rest of his life. 

He finally decides to turn on his phone, waiting for the avalanche of messages; although he's going to answer only his mum's and maybe Gemma's. He is not ready for the rest - definitely not ready to see what kind of articles are written about him already. He especially isn't curious about Zayn and Gigi's responses if there are any. He wonders for a moment why hasn't anyone barged into his room yet - his bandmates should have. Maybe they are more merciful than he thinks.

Besides all the unanswered calls, there are around a hundred texts. He gladly chooses to ignore then and reads his mum's last message.


Mummy: I'm coming


He immediately stands up from the bed, letting the duvet fall from his lap. He is ready to call her - as much as he loves her, he isn't keen on the prospect of having her with him at the moment. He hopes she isn't on the way to him yet. However, before he even presses the 'call' button, he receives a message. He would ignore it, of course. If not for the name of the contact.

And it's not fine. Unfair even. Not fine at all, because he was supposed to sulk for half a year more and move on. He really was. He was supposed to avoid all drama, make his own music, play concerts in a way smaller halls than he used to (and he loved it), and finally, sing his heart out and let it heal. This message is just unfair.


 Zayn: where is ur next concert


Harry, as much as he prefers to remain clueless, knows Zayn too well. He realises it's not difficult information to find. It's a question "Can I come?" or a statement "I'll be there". He doesn't know which, so he sends back a quick "Manchester". It's an automatic response - when he sees the 'sent' on his phone, he wonders if he's still drunk.

If not, he should get drunk.