The Game - Epilogue
Warning: LAST FUCKING “THE GAME” CAHPTER EVER. TEARS MAY COME.Pairing: Zarry! With some Larry trying to interefere.
Rated: M
Chapters: All chapters here! FanFic
A/N: I just answered a fucking anon, and was fine. I click text post and start typing and like fucking crying and shaking. And seriously guy thank you again SOOOO much. Without you all there would be no story. Edited and cried like at the end alot, cause you know it’s done. Message me, we can cry together, tell me what you think, tell me what you didn’t like. Just Thanks Guys!! Till the next story :)
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The breeze outside the airport has that familiar cool bay scent, the one that no matter where I go or what I do, will always mean home. I squint into the afternoon sunlight, my hand shielding my eyes as I wait. I smile when I see him pull up, top down, expensive shades, and still those wolfish movie star good looks.
"Hey, you brought the Mustang. Nice." I grin and toss my duffle bag and suitcase onto the back seat.
"Yeah, well anytime you want to take it off my hands, it’s still yours." Harry gets out, pushing his shades messily up into his honey-brown colored hair. He looks good. He looks healthy—a light tan contrasting against a crisp, white shirt—kinda the California opposite of the New Yorkers I see everyday now.
There is a pause, a moment of us just looking at each other, because it actually has been a few years and it’s a lot to take in. He was supposed to come to New York with Liam last summer, but then something came up with work and the time before that I skipped out on the chance for a San Francisco trip in favor of some beach vacation with some at-the-time boyfriend. Maybe we do it on purpose. I mean, I rarely go a week without hearing the man’s voice on the phone, but we’re not so talented with the face-to-face thing.
"You look really good," he says, fingers running hesitantly up the tattoo of the flower haired deity on my left arm. "This is new."
"Yeah, I have almost as many as you do now. You like that one? He’s the Aztec god of artists and homosexuals."
His brow knits. “Seriously? That’s a real thing?”
"Yeah, seriously. Come ‘ere already and hug me, for God’s sake. Stop being so awkward." I open my arms and then Harry is reaching out pulling me into a good, tight embrace. He smells like hair product and aftershave mixed with his own personal scent and I let my cheek rest on his shoulder for a moment.
"Thanks for coming," he says into my hair, ticklish.
"Like I’d miss Liam’s graduation!" I pull back and look up at Harry. "He told me he’s decided to go to Berkeley in the fall. That’s got to be nice having him so close to home."
