‘You wear a bunch of fucking rings!’ Zayn snaps, not turning around. ‘You pretentious fuck, Harry, I don’t understand what you wear or what you do but I go along with it because I – I –’
Harry grabs at Zayn hard enough that he has to stop, and he claws at the lapels of his suit jacket, at Zayn’s wet face, and says breathlessly, ‘Say it, Zayn –’
‘I trusted you.’














