If you came in a bottle I would drink you up, let you seep through my skin, course through my bloodstream. And if your voice was my alarm clock, the snooze button would collect dust. If you were a movie I'd sit in the front row. If there was alcohol in your walk, I would get drunk on your footsteps. Because you...you are a constellation and I was born a telescope. Until I met you, breathing was the only occupation I had ever known. I didn't have a reason to do it. Never gave my heart a reason to beat. He was a tornado in my life, destructive and leaving ruin in his wake. I guess I was a storm chaser, was always up for the thrill. But since you're a constellation, now there are stars in my eyes and galaxies in my feet. You're what I latch onto, you're all I have to hold onto, so my soul doesn't drift out to sea. You know love, I've always been so scared of the ocean.

I toss the notebook aside, with a sigh. It's still early, the sun peeking through the blinds. If I listen closely enough, I can hear the waves lapping onto shore.

He finds me in the kitchen, with a smile like the Pacific Ocean. It's just beyond these walls but he brought it inside. I want to drink the sunlight in his skin. His skin sings songs and his eyelashes are violin strings, creating symphonies when he blinks. My heart climbs my ribs like a latter as his arms wrap around me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

But really, what does he have to be sorry for? It isn't his fault Mason keeps ringing him. And I shouldn't have snooped on his phone.

Mason: Tell me you remember Zayn

Zayn: Just stop

Mason: I found it under my bed Zayn, flicked through cover to cover. I know you meant it. Admit it.

Zayn: I am admitting it Mason. I can't deny that I had feelings for you.

Mason: I miss you

Zayn: Why didn't you try harder to keep me???

Mason: I'm fighting for you now

Zayn: It's too late

7:34 AM

"Did you have a notebook for Mason?"

"Babe," he coaxes, his hands cupping my cheeks.

"I know you did Zayn."

I hate myself for crying over it but I just can't stop the river behind my eyes. I felt so special when he gave me his moleskin, said I could read the words his heart drips onto the pages.

Sea salt air and frizzy hair and stifling heat and there's a ringing in my ears. I just want to get out of here.

"I'm sorry. I can't," I feel like I can't breathe. My breaths are rugged; staggered and short I wonder what happened to all the air in the world.

"Harry," he catches my arm as I head to the door. Catches my shallow breath too. Snatches it and I heave, my fingers shaking. "Don't go."

I know why he's scared of drowning, the sensation of getting caught underneath the tide never to resurface. This is what it feels like.

"No," he exhales with some uncertainty. "You can't leave."

"Is that what you said to him? Did you plead for him to stay? Think of all those wasted words, pens that ran out of ink and here I am thinking I'm special..."

"You are Harry. Go back to sleep, come to bed with me."

I sob stupidly into his shoulder. Of course he loves me. I've always been too sensitive, scared he'll replace me. Scared that fire he had for the pretty dark skinned lad hasn't burned out. He leads me back into the bedroom and pulls the covers up around us.

"I like what you said about the alarm clock," I clear my throat, blushing.

He chuckles and kisses away my tears.

"What can I say? I admire your voice, that bit of rasp in it when you first wake up."

My cheeks are completely flushed now, his lips finding my neck. His fingers card through my curls and I hum contently.

"I'm trying to make a scrapbook of us. I can carry your words and you can carry moments through photos."

"I like that," his smile reaches the corner of his eyes.

My tongue traces over my bottom lip but I decide I like his lips better, sucking his lip into my mouth, biting gently until they're obscenely red and swollen. His eyes darken as my fingers tug roughly at his hair. I'm on top for once, my arms bracketing his waist.

"Nice view," I grin.

"I bet," he laughs lightly.

My pale hands roam his olive skin, feeling every intake of air, skirting over his abs and ribs.

"Your hands are cold," he shivers.

"Sorry," I mumble before kissing his collarbone, my lips moving and stopping at his sensitive nipples. My tongue wets his hardened buds, my teeth grazing over them. His neck flinches as I kiss down to the flat plane of his stomach. My thumbs slip under the waistband of his underwear but I laugh as I move up off of him.

"Could I interest you in some coffee?"

"You're joking right? You gonna finish what you started?"

"Nope."

He springs out of bed, lunging forward, his fingers tickling my sides.

"Stooooppp, I can't breathe. Zayn, please stop. Zaynnn."

"Want you to beg for me more," his hot breath fans across my neck. He licks at the shell of my ear and my heart stammers.

"Please," I whimper. He's sucking love bites into my skin now.

"Want me to fuck you good?"

I moan, my hips snapping forward.

"Yes," I reply breathlessly.

"Tempted to leave you hard."

I blink slowly, my teeth sinking into my lower lip. His hips are grinding against me, the friction of our clothes cocks unbearable.

"Coffee does sound good right now. What do you think?"

His hand tucks under my boxers, his hand wrapping around my member.

"A shot of creamer."

He swirls his thumb over my tip and I swear I'm going to cream. He's choosing his words carefully. Every syllable deliberate, every movement calculated.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for doubting you, I-"

He's palming me expertly, squeezing and tugging like a pro. It's his right hand, the same hand he makes art with, jots words on paper with.

It doesn't take long for me to make a mess.

"Letting my fingers dip in your depths, letting me have just a taste."

My eyes are blown wide, my hair a messy frame around my face as he licks his fingers clean.

"Better wash your hands before you brew the coffee."

He throws back his head with laughter and I crack a small smile.