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Harry pulls Zayn down the beach, the snow sprinkled sand sticking to his boots. It’s freezing cold, the buzz of champagne in Harry’s blood not enough to keep him warm. The heavy jacket and scarf he’s got pulled high up his chin nearly do the job, but his nose is still freezing. Zayn doesn’t look much warmer, his jawline prominent as he clenches his teeth, following Harry down close to the shoreline.
They’re cutting it a bit close, but they’ve managed to make it before sunrise, the sky a faint violet as Harry spreads the picnic blanket out on the sand.
“I honestly don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.” Zayn gripes as Harry smoothes out the corners, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, chin tucked into his collar.
“Because I’m pretty.” Harry replies, sitting and pulling Zayn down with him.
“Good thing too.” Zayn mutters, but Harry doesn’t miss the way he melts into Harry’s arms.
“I’ve got cocoa.” He says, digging in his bag and pulling out the blue metal thermos, trying in vain to unscrew the cap with mittened fingers.
It’s a solid forty five seconds before Zayn takes pity on him, pulling his gloves off and opening the thing, handing the cup to Harry. “Hold steady, I’ll pour.”
Harry nods, doing as he’s told as Zayn sloshes the liquid in. “Careful.” He murmurs, snapping the thermos shut as Harry raises the hot chocolate to his lips.
“Stop mothering me.” Harry sticks out his tongue before taking a generous gulp, making a face at the temperature.
“Charming.” Is Zayn’s only reply as he takes the cup from Harry’s mittened fingers, raising it to his lips and taking a tentative sip. Harry watches him, the way his brow furrows with mild confusion, then falls with a sort of tired acceptance. “You’ve spiked it haven’t you. What is this? Baileys?”
Harry nods enthusiastically, more than a little bit please with himself. “Yep!”
“You’re just the epitome of class, aren’t you Harry Styles.” Zayn says dryly, taking another quick sip.
“I really am.” Harry agrees, leaning in to brush his nose against Zayn’s cheek. He knows he’s gone completely pink, the wind and chill making all the blood rush to his face, turning his lips nearly purple and his cheeks rosy, but the only evidence that Zayn is even outside is that he’s wearing a jacket, his trapper hat pulled low over his hair. “I really dislike that you’re able to look hot when it’s this cold out.”
“Well I really dislike that it’s this cold out.” Zayn replies, but Harry doesn’t miss the way the side of his mouth twitches upward at the comment. “I also dislike that I’m outside and awake instead of inside and asleep.
“You’re the one who said they wanted to see the sunrise.” Harry replies, snuggling up against Zayn’s side.
“That was a theoretical thing. Like oh wow I’d love to travel to Africa or God I’d just love to meet Britney Spears not like yeah let’s go and do that right fucking now.” Zayn snips, taking a disgruntled sip of cocoa.
“Don’t be like that.” Harry says, a knowing glint in his eyes. If he was going to make a list of Zayn’s top three favorite activities, they would probably be complaining, getting high, and then complaining about it later. It’s nothing personal, Zayn is just a little bit of diva. Harry doesn’t mind so much, one of his favorite activities is coaxing a genuine smile out of him.
The sky is brightening fast, soft salmon pinks streaking into the lavender sky, swaths of yellow clouds hanging low on the horizon like spun sugar. “Tell me that’s not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He replies, unable to keep the self satisfied grin off his face. Zayn is easily one of the most deliberately difficult people Harry has ever met.
“Zayn.” Harry says, glaring at him with a large share of murderous venom.
“It’s you.” Zayn reaches over, squeezing Harry’s hand in his. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
There’s a brief pause where they both just stare at each other, before Zayn doubles over laughing, nearly upending the nearly empty cup of cocoa. “I’m sorry! I tried to be romantic, I tried!
Harry delivers a smack to his head with a begrudging grin. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN TRY AT ALL.”
Zayn looks back up at him. “I almost tried. Maybe a little.”
Harry leans down, kissing him on the temple. “I appreciate the non effort.”
Zayn smirks, letting Harry lean against his chest as they stare at the sky, the colors blending together, the water reflecting them back up like a slithering mirror. It really is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, besides maybe snowy mornings, firelight, and how Zayn looks when he’s hovering on the edge of sleep.
He can feel Zayn shift behind him, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and sticking it into his mouth, closing his lips firmly around the paper. Harry waits for the the familiar click of a lighter, the sound of contentment he makes when he takes that first drag, the softest little sigh like something tight in his chest is loosening. It’s the same sound he made the first time Harry kissed him.
Zayn’s arm curls around his waist, tucking underneath his arm and keeping him close, their heads titled against each other as the waves crash in the background. It’s a strange clash of seasons, sitting in the sand in their winter clothing, the frigid water slapping the shore.
The sun has nearly broken away from the horizon when Harry looks up at Zayn, the unlit fag still hanging from his mouth. “Not going to light up?”
Zayn shrugs, taking the cigarette from his lips and twirling it in his fingers. “You hate the smell of smoke.” He replies, as if that should be obvious.
“I don’t mind that much.” Harry answers, even though he really does, his head tucked in the warm place right under Zayn’s chin.
“Yes you do.” Zayn replies, placing their knit covered palms over each other.
Harry just nods. He hates smoking, really really hates it, but he honestly can’t picture Zayn without it. He was smoking the first time they met, leaning up against the wall and puffing smoke rings like some ad for big tobacco. He smoked in bed after they fucked for the first time, taking short drags like the husbands in old television shows before they cared about things like lung cancer and fire hazards. He’s learned to like it in some strange way, how Zayn always has a pack in his back pocket, how his hair smells the tiniest bit like smoke even after he washes it.
“I want to sleep.” Harry says finally, the long hours taking their toll. They’re going on twenty four hours without rest and he’s starting to feel the exhaustion in his bones.
“Home?” Zayn asks, and he doesn’t have to clarify that they’re sleeping the day away together. Either Zayn’s mum will let them in with an exasperated shake of her head and they’ll head up the stairs and collapse into his bed, or they’ll sneak into Harry’s house, Gemma rolling her eyes when they pass out on the couch in the family room.
Harry nods, pulling himself up and heading back towards the parking lot, thermos clutched in his numb hands. Zayn follows, the blanket lumped in his arms. Harry digs into his pocket for his keys, smashing the unlock button multiple times before his shitty maroon mazda awakens with a chirp.
Zayn falls into the passenger seat, pulling the blanket around him with one last look at the sunrise, watching as the colors slowly start to fade. “It really is kind of beautiful, isn’t it.” He observes, one of his rare true smiles crawling across his face. There’s no sarcasm there, no self satisfaction, just a soft happiness that looks good on him.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, stupid.” Harry replies, twisting the keys so the car croaks to life, the heater spitting out cold air.
“I know.” He rubs his hands together, breathing onto his fingers, breath spiraling out of his mouth like cigarette smoke. “You’re beautiful too. I know like, I’m really bad at that stuff but-”
Harry cuts him off, fiddling with the dial of the radio. “I know, Zayn.”
Zayn shakes his head. “I love you.”
Harry nods. “I know.” And then, “I love you too.”
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Zayn says quietly, looking like he sometimes does when he doesn’t think Harry’s looking, something just this side of broken. “I guess basically what I’m saying is that I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to make a New Years Resolution and mine is that I want to be better at this. Better at being there for you. Less, well, you know.”
Harry looks over at him, a funny look on his face. “You’re perfect for me, Zayn.”
The tiniest blush stains his cheeks as the car starts to warm up, quiet guitar chords leaking from the radio. “I’m sorry I’m a twat.”
Harry thinks about disputing it, but settles on leaning over the console to give Zayn a quick kiss on the cheek. “I love you, alright?” He shakes his head in fond exasperation, putting the car into reverse. “I thought you knew that.”
Zayn looks down at his lap. “I do.”
Harry nods. “Good.”
It’s muttered, barely audible over the rumble of the engine. “Happy New Year.”
Harry reaches over to grab Zayn’s hand, turning onto the road in the direction of home. “Happy New Year.”