Archive of Our Own

The air conditioner fails to operate the simplest task. At least, in Zayn's apartment it does. He can never get it to work properly as humid, hot heat ventilate through his home. It shouldn't be a butterfly sanctuary with all this thick air, instead his abode deserves to have cool air conditioning that should make his goosebumps standout. But apparently, Zayn doesn't get to engulf himself in that luxury. That's why he settles for Harry Styles's home ─ his parents' furnished attic.

Not only does his air conditioning toil with his day to day lifestyle, but he's laying on Harry's couch — with what he thinks is a stain from a milkshake spill — while contemplating whether he should go through with the marriage proposal or not.

A rattle from the ladder in the center of Harry's room interferes with Zayn's mental debate. He wanders his eyes around cautiously because, even if Harry's attic appears as a typical bedroom with a low ceiling, it still creeps him out.

Harry's dumb head with his charming smile pops up from the floor when Zayn's about to stand up. He's mentioning all drawl, "My mum just left, we could go downstairs because I know how you feel about the dusty smell."

Zayn hates the smell of old textbooks and what people call mildew, while Harry's grown too in love with it after living up here for two years. Zayn's offered Harry to move in with him, but Harry denied saying he'd rather live in an attic for free than to deal with Zayn during his 'morning zombie mood.'

Waiting for Harry to exit first, Zayn crawls to the ladder instead of getting up, to save time because there is no point in standing just to crouch down to exit. That's another thing pathetic with Harry's living status, and Zayn has told him plenty of times. At least it's cool up here, at least the air conditioner functions.

"How was work today?" Zayn says when they're both settling at the kitchen's bar.

"Like you care about the order I put tomatoes in people's sandwiches." Harry rolls his eyes and starts to microwave leftover smoked salmon, which is not surprisingly made by Harry. And Zayn loves it but would never admit any of that. Nor would he admit that he genuinely loves to ask Harry about his day. Harry never gives any real response though.

"You're right, I don't." Zayn lies with casualty, earning a smile from Harry that makes the ends of his mouth reach from ear to ear.

When it's a beep of silence, a little over a minute while they're setting up lunch on the table, Zayn concludes that he's desperate for advice. He doesn't ask people for help, prefers not to share his personal problems. But about now the best thing he could do is go to his best mate, for what feels like decades, though it's just more than half that.

Predictively, Zayn doesn't have to make a decent introduction for his needs because Harry's already placing a fork down before he gets a bite, "Alright. Talky-talk time. What is it?"

"You already know Meg." Zayn says with a sigh. He doesn't mean to sound so upset when the name snakes off his tongue but, he knows it gives him this sort of edge that makes him unhappy. His lip a little wavering, he continues, "I don't think I can really like marry her. I told you couple weeks ago how my dad thinks it's good to settle early now. I don't really know about it."

"And how did this come about?" Harry's question is vague so Zayn figures that Harry doesn't know what to do with this information. He doesn't blame him, this is a dumb problem to dwell over.

Zayn shrugs because he's gone shy over the topic. He picks at the salmon with its soy sauce, losing appetite from the embarrassment. Harry seems to notice because he sets his fork down and walks away from the dining table. Zayn thinks, great, because not only was he foolish but now Harry thinks Zayn is so pathetic he needed to take a step out of the kitchen.

Sitting in the silence, Zayn puts his food back into its container which will gain a scold from Harry eventually ─ if Harry wants to even talk to him. But there's a groan coming from the end of the kitchen breakfast bar. Harry's striding over with a large whiteboard that's usually in the first floor office room.

"What is that Harry?" Zayn questions, voice dripping in a tone that would seem to belong to a parent seeing their child's hand all muddy after going missing in the backyard for half an hour.

"A whiteboard, duh. Dry erase one too." Harry sets it down on the counter and leans it against the wall.

"But what's it for?" Zayn hates when Harry doesn't answer questions completely, then again he also strongly dislikes whenever Harry just answers a question too much. Both end up concluding a to very little incomplete response eventually. Harry’s tangents, in general, the worst. This thing with the whiteboard however, Zayn doesn’t know.

Harry retrieves a marker from out of his front pocket and titles the very top of the whiteboard, Ways To Prepare Zayn For Marriage.

From seeing the title, Zayn is frantic to interrupt, "I don't need preparation. I need more time. I don't want to get married yet, Harry."

Harry doesn't respond, a sly grin creeping up his face when he crosses out the title with a different color and writes, Ways To Prevent Zayn From Getting Married.

It's a title Zayn will settle with, although he doesn't like the idea that they're using a whiteboard and basic titles to distinguish Zayn's ineluctable future. He sits down, watching how Harry could make this work. At least he's helping Zayn like this, and not teasing him for refusing to get married.

"So. Tell me the story again." Harry says and makes this annoying squeaky noise with the marker and its cap when he twists it.

Zayn sighs before starting, "My father insists that I marry now for whatever reason. Apparently, Megan is perfect. So there's some knowledge about now or never. He dragged me the other day to have a father-son bonding time, when he actually made me look at engagement rings."

"Ah, so this all routes from your dad. You're technically doing it for him." Harry talks like a professor trying to understand a student's (irrelevant) answer.

"If I get married, yes. It's because of him. I don't want to do it yet." Zayn's voice gets a tad softer, "And I don't know if I want to with her."

Harry is quiet, too, putting down the pen and patting at Zayn's shoulder. He gets lemonade from the fridge and slides it over to Zayn as if it'll cure this funk he's got going on. Harry sits next to him, different than earlier when he was across. This way though feels oddly intimate rather than any sort of comfort because Harry has a hand on his lap and around his shoulders, making Zayn feel really weird. He's used to being very close with Harry, but again, they don't ever talk about feelings, so all of this is just absurd.

"So, it's way more than obeying your dad then. Zayn. You need to like figure out all of this before even thinking about serious stuff." Harry says softly and Zayn would scold him with something like obviously, but he doesn't because Harry is trying.

"We should just go drink or something. Drink til' we're both pissed and won't remember this stupid therapy session tomorrow." Zayn shrugs Harry's arm off of him and rests his forehead flat onto the table.

Harry abruptly bolts up like he's been struck by lightning. He's shoving at Zayn, causing both of them to topple over slightly and strides over to his whiteboard. Fingers around the top of the marker, he hastily uncaps it and writes so aggressive that the ink bleeds thickly on the whiteboard. Harry faces Zayn with a sly look and points at the messy writing with full enthusiasm, "Marry me instead of Meg."

"Harry." Zayn actually slaps his forehead because he had high expectations from Harry’s anxiousness but there’s still nothing impressive coming from him now.

"It's foolproof.” Harry cheers. He positions the whiteboard on the dining table surface and begins to put bullet points along the vertical edge. “So, we get married. Fake married, if you want. Then you tell your dad can't because you're married to me."

Zayn snickers in that way he does when he’s laughing at the silence following after Harry makes a joke, "I'm not even gay, Harry."

"Okay, well you don’t do labels actually. But aside from that, I’m not one to say anyways. But... That's the thing. No one will think you cheated. Let me backtrack so it makes sense!" Harry leans forward to get a better angle to write, blowing at the curls that hinder his eyes. "We get so drunk that we end up getting married. We’ll tell everyone we're going to divorce. Things like that take a while so that should give you enough time to consider what you'll want to do about your dad and Megan."

Harry’s red arrows and blue font all over the whiteboard look like a work of art. It’s confusing and sloppy, but everything seems to make sense. It resembles a city street map in a way. And Zayn can see that this is such a mess, but it’s a good blueprint for whatever scheme he and Harry are coming up with.

Thinking about the plan, it isn’t as awful as it seems. Besides, he’s got Harry’s support. Peering at the plan once more, then over to Harry who looks like a patient puppy, he speaks with a tiresome voice, "You're something Harry. I hate you so much."

"But?" Harry cuts before Zayn could proceed. Doing as much as to lean over the table, being inches away from Zayn’s face with his chin on his palms.

"It's good enough." Zayn says, reaching for the container of Harry’s smoked salmon — because of Harry, he actually feels better.

Time flies between them easily. It doesn’t take going out nor inviting a crowd to enjoy each other’s company, one to one. But when Harry’s parents come back home, it always seems like their party of two is immediately ruined. Their movie dvds are discarded into Harry’s cardboard bin that is covered with Zayn’s spray paint graffiti and snacks are back into the pantry because Harry’s mum has a rule for no eating in his bedroom because she fears for bats and rats.

It’s when Harry’s arse is in his face while they’re climbing into Harry’s attic bedroom an idea occurs. Zayn plops onto Harry’s silk covered bed, sighing contently because if he were to do that at home, it would be nothing but springs creaking. Harry’s bed is a pool of feathers meanwhile, Zayn sleeps on the tip of thumbtacks.

Dropping the pros of Harry’s living status, he remembers how terrible it also is, so he intrudes his thoughts to project them vocally, “Since you’re doing something for me, I’ve got my own proposal. It benefits you and I.”

“Okay. What is it?” Harry is dusting the bookshelf that never seems to have any dust on it. Zayn is even more thrilled to address his proposition.

“The deal is that you help me lease a new place."

"Shouldn't you be paying me, if anything? Even if money does fall out of my curls when I shake them, I don't owe you money. I came up with the idea, Zayn." Harry says slightly defensive.

Zayn continues to explain because Harry didn't understand the concept he intended on introducing, "What I meant was that we should live together. You're living in this thing that isn't exactly homey status, and I've got a shitty apartment in a neighborhood with sirens going off and cats always fucking. We can split rent in a new place."

The look on Harry's face is unreadable. His lips purse out like a duck from a city park nibbling at bread from tourists — it's endearing in a way Zayn doesn't understand, either. Harry's always been so dumb, in a way that isn't so negative (when it comes to Zayn having a plan that involves Harry). Whenever Harry contemplates on an idea, usually mentioned by Zayn, he's make a stupid scrunchy face that always allures a smile from Zayn. As the past goes, Harry recreates it. He says what he would always say to Zayn and his deals, "What could go wrong?"

x

During the second week of May, a week after Zayn and Harry's cunning ideas, a lined paper etched with sloppy black ink is taped onto his kitchen fridge. He can't wait to get a stainless steel fridge with magnets for important things — assuming Harry's mother will want him to have only the best kitchen appliances. But as of now and the next week or so, Zayn has his weekly agenda tapped onto his fridge as he reads it while drinking orange juice.

There are two bullet points beneath Friday, one being haz+home. Zayn's got to meet up with Harry to have a walkthrough of this actual house that Harry's mother found a few days ago. It's somewhere off in the hills, almost distant from the city. The ones that freeway routes pass through and people wonder, how did that car get into the lane that's going up the hill? He's always envisioned the view from this location, never thinking he'd be able to step foot into it unless he was a nanny or pizza man — something like that. Though Zayn didn't expect to live halfway across town from his current home, he'll settle for anything that is better than this one.

Another thing on his itinerary today is to see Megan and talk to her about what happened between him and Harry. He doesn't know how to address the situation, how it would even occur in a casual conversation. But he needs to tell her soon before she goes suspecting that they're going to marry soon. His mom had already told Zayn that she spot Megan in a jewelry store, looking at rings.

Zayn is about to have leftovers for breakfast until he gets a text from Harry about free tomato soup day. Before Zayn could even decline the offer, Harry responds that he'll let Zayn choose his favorite soup instead of the shop's special today.

Inside Loaf and Devotion, steam rises from this paper cup on the counter with Harry setting packaged crackers next to it. "Good morning!" Harry shouts, a little too early for ten in the morning Zayn thinks. He takes a seat on the bar stool that spins and scrounges a few dollars out his pocket to throw in the tip jar. A tip jar created by Harry with a drawing around the glass that says, two mates’ toes are stuck under the jar, help!

“Thank you. Oliver and Ned will be saved in no time.” There was this long story once about how Harry got the name of Oliver from restocking olives, and Ned from the time he was kneading homemade bread. Zayn did have an aversion for Harry’s jokes and puns in the beginning of their friendship, but now six years later he’s always flashing smiles just to boost Harry’s confidence, but Harry doesn’t have to know that Zayn actually likes his wittiness.

It’s creamy clam chowder that burns Zayn’s tongue while Harry goes on an everlasting meander about their future kitchen backsplash. Zayn would listen more thoroughly but he’s too occupied enjoying his favorite soup, and he doesn’t even understand why kitchen backsplashes matter when it comes to having a “complementary dining table,” as Harry mentions. Eventually, it doesn’t take long for Zayn to finish his first meal while Harry has a few customers with simple orders.

Once they’re outside, Harry huffs out, “No, we are not taking that.” He leans against the lamppost perched in front of his shop with a pout that resembles a child who’s seconds close to throwing a tantrum.

Zayn rolls his eyes, undoes the helmet straps from his bike and hands it to Harry. “Well, what? You’re going to wait for your mum to get here and drop you off, then what after that? She’s got work by afternoon, you know.” Harry remains silent so Zayn assumes he’s convinced Harry, especially with Harry hitching a leg onto the other side of the bike.

It’s definitely a peculiar feeling to have another person on the bike with him. First off, Harry’s fear is obvious through his body language. Tightly securing his arms around Zayn’s waist. Harry’s knees digging inwards on the outside of Zayn’s thighs. And another thing, Zayn has to tilt his head to remind Harry to lean a certain way when he makes a turn so that the bike will have an equivalent balance to cruise smoothly. It’s all weird but he isn’t sure if it’s just having a second rider, or having Harry. Megan has never even ventured out on a motorcycle with him. So, maybe it’s not Harry.

Even the environment is strange — in a way that’s more satisfying than weird. He’s never not had a helmet on, but he’s sacrificing it for Harry. With the winds racing many miles per hour as he rides on the hills, he’s feeling a sense of tranquility and freedom. Too occupied in a perfect muse, he almost forgets to turn into the proper neighborhood until Harry’s pinching at his hip.

Where the hills are nothing but dead grass and barb wire fences where it’s closer to the roads, Zayn is surprised to see a stony path that leads after the neutral shaded boulder and brick community sign, Stone Coast - Luxury Homes.

Zayn’s speed decreases and he encourages Harry to raise his voice when distinguishing their house. He already loves this area so much that he must call it as he sees it already.

“Left on Eden. It’s number 717.” Harry shouts while pointing a finger at the upcoming stop sign.

Dumb shrubs, Zayn thinks. It’s one of those neighborhoods, where people shape their bushes in the front of their houses. He’s thankful that the house they pull up to does not consist of a single fancy shrub. But he’s aware of some flowers that he doesn’t know about, so that makes him glad. Mostly because he can see Harry already wanting to nurture these plants like his own children. That’s an eyesore that Zayn would love.

“So, it’s pretty right? I like the front we can fit more than two cars if the guys ever stop by. Which, they will because I want to have a housewarming.” Harry notes while fluffing out his curls.

“Great.” Zayn is speechless because coming from a torn up apartment to a two story light grey stucco-inspired house is something different.

The two of them take steps along the pavement that twinkles with some type of glitter in the charcoal grey concrete as they wait for their realtor. Zayn spends his minutes admiring the vast windows from the front while Harry adores and envisions where to place a patio set on the grass.

“Afternoon, men.” A man in an overdressed fancy suit approaches them after parking in the driveway. He goes by the name of Nicholas and insists that he can give them the greatest house tour of their their lives. Zayn doesn’t bet on it because he’s already certain it’ll be good.

The walls are too white, Harry complains almost immediately, but soon insists, “Zayn you should hang your art here. Draw on the brick gate if HOA or the neighbors let you.” Harry’s support for his art thrills Zayn even more as he already sees loads of blank walls that can be injected with a vast palette.

Everything is so roomy with dark wood ground and environmental friendly white light bulbs even if the house isn’t furnished. Zayn pictures friends during late nights in one of the two large rooms music and smoke fog haay in the air, or even just he and Harry in the kitchen for dinner with plates that match the cup coasters.

Tall structures make him feel small, makes him feel smaller than Harry does but Nicholas says most people get hanging light fixtures installed for that situation. The living room’s high ceiling even occupies the second story. But for the most part, it’s all spacious upstairs still with only two bedrooms and a balcony in the loft. It’s enough for the two young adults. At least, way better than where they are currently living.

Zayn and Harry have a moment to themselves on the rooftop (another perk where they climb out of Zayn’s — already chosen, future — bedroom to get to flat ground of the first story) where they discuss formal talk.

“House is ours if we put a higher offer than the last person. When you were playing with the dim lights in the bathroom, he said we could move here in two weeks.” Zayn informs, trailing towards the edge of the roof where he could see the world at its finest — other people’s backyards, street cars on the freeway, even across the city.

“This is probably the best stipulation you’ve ever had me agree on, Zayn.” They exchange their personal handshake and walk down the angled staircase to the center room that gives a first impression when walking through the front door.

Harry is the one to tell Nicholas the great news from them and takes quite a while when Zayn is starting up his bike.

“So where to now?” Harry prods, already hitching himself over and buckling the helmet on.

Zayn shrugs, already had a plan — as his sloppy agenda stated. Just because it’s a bit messy, doesn’t mean he does not follow through (he’ll have to ask Harry for organization pointers the second they’re all settled in). “Going to drop you home then go to Meg’s.”

“Oh, is it about us?” Zayn nods in response, getting more questions from Harry, “Can I come too then? I think it’s better if I go too.”

Zayn is about to decline, until he thinks about the consequences if he does not get involved. Without Harry to back him up, since it is his idea, then he might explain vaguely which would lead to an upset and misunderstood girlfriend. “Okay.” He finalizes with.

He drives down the unfamiliar street, and towards the familiar one.

“Can we ask her to go like to a store or something. I am scared for her to yell at me. Or worse, make me unconscious.” Harry mentions when they’re at the sidewalk of Megan’s house. Harry has always been afraid of her ever since that one time she kicked Harry in the face by accident for hiding in her closet to startle her as a prank.

Zayn doesn’t neglect Harry’s comment, but doesn’t know what to say either, he just mumbles, “Uh, okay.”

It takes Harry one knock and Megan is opening the door with unblended concealer around her eyebrows. Harry flinches and Zayn swallows down his laugh (because of Harry’s reaction, of course not because of Megan - that would be rude).

“You know you don’t need all of that. But if you do, could you hurry up? It’s kinda weird.” Harry says and leans against the doorframe.

Minutes in, with Zayn and Harry in the living room, Harry and Megan bicker over where to go to have a conversation, which Harry introduces as, “Tea.”

“If it’s tea, you don’t want it to spill do you? Keep talking here, Harry.” Megan says before she skips off into the kitchen to make Harry’s favorite version of her hot chocolate.

As much as Harry and Megan appear to hate each other by spitting rudeness left and right, Zayn knows that they’re probably (almost) best friends. And if Harry had not confirmed his homosexuality, Zayn would of figured that this thing between them in high school would of been some weird sexual tension.

“So, are you telling her or am I?” Harry leans over the armrest with a whisper that does not sound anything like a whisper at the same time.

“I should tell her, duh Harry. Shut up.” Zayn rolls his eyes because Harry is making it seem like they’ve had an affair. Well, technically. But more like a fabrication of infidelity.

Megan’s voice rings loud when she questions, “Tell who what?” Her tone seems not ignorant but surely defiant and not the friendliest, even if she does have three warm cups of chocolate drinks in cute winter mugs (in the near summer, to mention).

“Zayn and I are married!” Harry shouts exaggeratedly. He puts a hand against his heart and takes a deep breath. Even from the distance, Zayn can see Harry’s chest rising and falling abnormally. He misses to understand why Harry is so apprehensive and jittery anyways. After all, it may be Harry’s idea but this is Zayn’s problem here.

“How funny.” Megan smiles from ear to ear and sits at Harry’s end of the couch, “Now tell me what really happened or --” She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead nudging her chin at the mug that will tip over and spill onto Harry’s crotch any second now.

To prevent Harry from being harmed in any way, though Zayn admits it would be brilliant and funny, he encourages Megan to stop and explains on his own, the best way he can as Harry described the week ago they shook on this. “Harry and I were intoxicated when we came up with the getting married. We signed papers at city hall. We are currently filing for a divorce with some advice from one of Harry’s lawyer pals.”

“You guys are really dumb. Why did you think it was a good idea?” Megan shakes her head. She looks disturbed but not upset so that’s a good reaction, for Zayn it works, it’ll do because Megan isn’t yelling at him nor kicking Harry in the face.

“We’re best friends, Meg. What better way than to be joined forever!” Harry applauds then rests his hands on his lap, fakingly nervous (Zayn can tell the difference), “That’s what was going in my head when I initiated it. That’s all I remember.”

Megan’s pointer finger glides along the edges of her maroon mug, “Thanks for telling me I guess?”

Zayn is more than relieved to hear no aggression in her tone whatsoever. Looking over to her again, he can’t read any expressions of her being upset either. Still almond eyes and a soft smile. Even giving Harry a scolding look a moment later, it doesn’t mean anything because she always does that.

“I guess we’re done here. Could you drop me off home now?” Harry stands up with a dramatic yawn as he stretches.

Zayn forgets to kiss her goodbye, still feeling weird that she was caught looking at rings. He spends the night at Harry’s instead, sharing his lap to browse for furniture with Harry’s laptop.

x

“How’s living with Harry. Isn’t he like a control freak?” It’s Louis who interferes while waiting for Harry to finish tipping the delivery man -- delivery men actually, because the team who is bringing the couch in arrived minutes before the pizza man.

Louis is always so brash with his word choices, despite not meaning to actually be arrogant. If it came from another mouth, Zayn would assertively defend Harry. Taking that into consideration, he jokes along, “We’ve got a chores chart and who gets mail on what days.”

They haven’t even been here that long, just a couple days. But Zayn’s usually alone because Harry still has dinner at home, only once has given Zayn leftovers. Being alone in the vacant space with nothing but microwaveable packaged foods and a bean bag reminds him of when he first moved into the very first shitty apartment he’s gotten. But this here, it makes him feel more secure in ways even if his old place on the first day of living in was already furnished.

The aroma of greasy pizza is present the same time there’s the sounds of the front door shutting. It’s got this really distinct sound when it closes, like an old junky laundry washer with a top lid accidentally shutting itself, making a loud slam with the metal. Louis’ says that’s a good thing, even if it’s already irritating Zayn.

“I tipped extra to the guys who dropped off the couch so they gave me a deal for other furniture at their warehouse.” Harry flutters his eyelashes exaggeratedly and places the cardboard pizza box on Louis’ lap and waves the yellow note paper in Zayn’s face.

“I’m sure that’s not all you did.” Louis says with an eye roll.

Zayn doesn’t eat with them because he would rather put priorities first. Harry has told him, eating is a requirement, but sometimes Zayn just forgets. It’s not like he sees a plate of food and decides to deem it; he forgets the first step, to even make a plate.

So, as he’s painting one of the livingrooms a light beige shade -- something Harry chose called moonsand -- he’d get mouthfuls of Harry shoving cut pieces of pizza into his mouth, along with a straw for sipping.

Harry should leave by now, would leave like he did the past few times, back into the living room where he and Louis have their duty of turning pages of an instruction manuals with greasy fingers. But instead, he sits on the floor and watches Zayn use the paint roller vertically on the pale white wall. “So, what else are we painting?”

“You mean, I. As in, me.” Zayn comments while continuing to distribute the thick paint evenly, “You just wanted to paint this room and the bathrooms. Whatever else you might want, you’re doing it.”

“But I wanted this mural in my room and I thought you could do it.” Harry says in this soft voice that resembles a child that isn’t granted what they want. Zayn knows this tactic too well coming from Harry. It usually consist of some begging afterwards and some bribing, then soon enough, he has Zayn on a ladder reaching for the stars to give to Harry.

Zayn is exhausted.

Certainly doesn’t see himself falling for any of Harry’s whiny moods today because he’s already taped the three rooms to paint, already brought most of Harry’s boxes to put into his own room (because apparently too much clutter gives Harry no inspiration on how to design his room), already done too many things while Harry just stocked the kitchen with utensils and ate pizza with a dumbfounded look because he probably didn’t understand the instructions to the handbook. Louis has been here all day too and hasn’t done a thing besides sweep and distract Harry from assembling the coffee table.

He thinks he doesn’t need either of them, then again of course he does because Harry is the one handling all the expenses for every little thing they’re doing to renovate their home a bit. And he needs Louis because he has a good playlist (okay, he doesn’t need Louis here on second thought).

“You’ll love it, Zee. It’s something we can work on together. Like how I said we should do the garden together. You’re not doing anything alone.” Harry mentions with a grin. Zayn feels a tap at his shoulder and sees Harry a slice of cake — which, really shows how Zayn is really putting labor into the house because he wasn’t even aware that Harry bought cake. Harry feeds it to him anyways. Satisfaction on Zayn’s tongue, he’s now less stressed because it’s his favorite strawberry and custard.

Zayn concludes that Harry is paying him in food, he senses, and should quit right now.

Because Zayn can never say no to Harry, he requests that Harry picks up a brush and starts painting the bathroom so they can already call it a day and do the mural tomorrow. It’s suddenly become a priority for the two of them to finish Harry’s room first because that way, all of Harry’s belongings can move from Zayn’s room to his. That’s the only reason why Zayn gives into painting Harry’s room.

Harry’s room is spotless (of course it’s vacant with nothing in there yet), while Zayn’s is an absolute mess to where all the boxes are open and things aren’t even in them anymore. They don’t really know what’s Zayn's, or what’s Harry’s. It’s kind of just theirs now, but Zayn isn’t living in Yours, Mines, Ours. This is definitely the reason why Zayn lets Harry plan to buy spray paint.

It’s not because Harry offered to buy a new working desk for Zayn’s bedroom, nor is it that Harry proposes to sleeping in the living room instead of Zayn’s bed until Harry’s comes in, and definitely not because they bet for Harry to finish building the coffee table in less than twenty minutes.

“So what is the design?” Zayn asks while he starts to put on his shoes, not the slippers he’s been using to do the dirty work in their new home.

Harry must notice because he asks, “Where are you going?”

“Hardware shop nearby closes at eleven. We’ll go shop to buy paint. So can you tell me already?” Zayn throws his keys to Harry, which impresses him when Harry catches them immediately, because Harry is usually a klutz and lets his forehead become a target.

Harry is such a child sometimes. But Zayn appreciates that. If he hasn’t grown up with Harry, he would of remained very reserved like a turtle in its protected shell. But Harry sort of is Zayn’s turtle shell — he’s the type of security that Zayn needs. With Harry’s young at heart personality, he makes Zayn feel the same.

Shopping with Harry is a delight, the one thing that triggers those emotions most. Zayn feels the kid spirit in him when he follows Harry’s footsteps, needing to suppress giggles to look less of a maniac when Harry dances because there’s a camera and monitor by the store entrance. That same Harry, strolling the cart in the shop while putting both feet on the bottom rack. He gets closer to Zayn and jumps into the cart, telling Zayn to push it while he shares his concept for the Harry Styles mural.

“Don’t you think they’ll kick us out?” Zayn asks while running a hand through his hair. Harry is always reckless, usually needing Zayn to keep them settle. It’s why they’ve got an incredible friendship — their contrasting personalities.

“Zayn,” Harry drawls, “They can’t say no to a paying customer. Besides, I’ll say I’ve got a sorry ankle.”

“Whatever. Just don’t complain to me if your arse goes numb because of the metal.” Zayn kicks beneath Harry with the tip of his shoe making Harry flinch. Zayn almost says something inappropriate but decides against it.

Going to the paint aisle, they finally choose colors to match with the image that Harry had addressed minutes ago.

Harry inches forward while complaining to Zayn that he can’t reach any of the palette samples against the wall. Zayn can’t do anything but give them to Harry before he makes a dramatic fit.

“So, since my bedroom is already a very light grey — thanks Zayn — I would like this mural to resemble prom that I’ve never went to. The gold and silver and maroon. All shiny things, all things that just pop when you enter.” Harry goes on, talking about how this is the wall that is eye level with those who would enter his bedroom door.

Harry happens to drift off to even more things, like how he’s got chevron pillows that are maroon and grey, how he’s got a tapestry that resembles the shade of the a city lamp. Starts to go on too much that Zayn tugs at a few loose curls, “Hurry up, they close soon.”

That makes Harry request for the best brand of those colors in spray paint, which he knows nothing of. So Zayn requests an employee to open the locked up glass to access those, while Harry just waits in the cart by the paint generator.

Zayn loves the heaviness of full cans because it makes him aware that there’s numerous things to do with something so condensed into a bottle like this. He throws them onto Harry’s lap.

Harry doesn’t complain like he usually would tease in a pouty way, instead he says, “I’ve asked the man for one gallon of a few colors, flat with no gloss because you said that was best.” He even mentions the purpose for each color and what they could do with the leftover liquid paint.

Zayn learns that Harry is amazing with choosing complementary colors. He’s got a way with how he speaks about his designs for his bedroom. He’s got a creative vision and Zayn has to propose, “Should be an interior designer with a mind like yours.”

“What is my kind of mind anyways?” Harry tries to turn but winces instead from accidentally hanging his head against the shopping cart’s child seat above.

Zayn flicks at his ear, “Harry, do you hear how happy and sure you sound when you talk about your plans? Really good ideas you’ve got.”

“I’m so flattered. You’re not getting out of this if you thought you would.” Harry says, and within a millisecond — Zayn couldn’t even see it coming — Harry’s crouching up and lunging forward to peck at Zayn’s jaw before making the cart rattle with his movements and all the rolling paint products.

Nearly midnight, Harry nearly breaks the speakers by blasting Pink Floyd at maximum volume. Zayn is really out urging to have Harry’s bedroom complete, so he’s determined to have them two stay up all night to paint Harry’s floral mural.

“Want me to make like a dawn time dinner?” Harry offers when they’re putting newspaper on the ground surface.

Zayn shakes his head, simultaneously shaking the spray cans, “Don’t think I’ll be hungry after this. Wanna crash.”

“Yeah, midnight snack instead. I’ll make something right now!” Harry grins and the child at heart attacks again as he’s jumping up from his place.

“Harry! You’re not getting out of this, either. Come here.” Zayn manages to guard the door before Harry can escape.

Harry sighs returns to his blank canvas and picks up a sharpie. It’s sort of stupid, but harry does it anyways; he dips his fingers into the maroon paint and makes a streak on his cheekbones. He then sticks his tongue out at Zayn with a determined expression before starting on his creation.

It’s a pleasant sight. Harry and the curvy and straight lines coming from his ink. It’s a mix of different flowers, and a myriad of outer space doodles, and palm trees and banana leaves. Everything scattering as outlines the whole star grey painted wall.

All Zayn has to do is shade them in with Harry’s colors and touch up the outlines with the metallic spray paint. Like the teamwork Harry emphasized, he surprisingly helps, doing more of everything than Zayn hadn’t expected.

Because of the aroma from Harry’s room, they lull out Harry’s mattress into the loft and share the space. As usual, Harry’s a starfish — and not just the way he sprawls out. The title even includes Harry being the little suction cups because he clings into Zayn like he needs to.

x

Zayn doesn’t attend school for a few days following the little renovations, an official week of living in this new environment, completely moved out of his previous one.

The last two days were devoted to transferring his old furniture to here, but it wasn’t like he had too much back then anyways. So it consisted more of unpacking and putting items in different piles just because he was exhausted seeing brown boxes all around the whole house. He was also just flat out tired and needed to replenish his body with some shut eye, so right, he wasn’t the most productive.

He’s been spending today tidying up. Mostly consisting of organizing art supplies that are displaying on a brand new bookshelf, and doing the same with all his books as they’re organized by height and spine color. It’s his only highlight of his bedroom considering he’s just got this bookshelf and a bed, while all of his clothes are hung or folded on the floor of his walk in closet.

Because Harry — Harry is capable of purchasing tons of brand new furniture left and right. Doesn’t need to worry about putting a dent in his bank because it’s all his parents fortune; and one day he’ll be a successful lawyer, so he has this thing where he doesn’t feel guilty because he’ll pay them back (but he’s won’t have to, because Anne is Anne, always caring for Harry and wouldn’t even want Harry’s money).

At times, he does feel desperate, almost to ask Harry if he could buy a large rug for Zayn in his bedroom. But Zayn isn’t like that, wouldn’t. He already has Harry paying a bit more for rent than he is — though it took a bit of Harry throwing his shoes at Zayn in order for Zayn to accept the offer of Harry paying a couple hundred more.

So today happens sort of like the last.

While Zayn is touching up the crown molding in his bedroom, Harry barges in from just getting out of his lecture and plops onto Zayn’s bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Your room is so plain, Zayn!” Harry adds the notice of his rhymes, laughing at that. Zayn just nods, shuffling to the other end of his bookshelf so Harry goes on, “Watch when Meg comes here. She’ll be so bored. I’m so bored.”

“Been too busy perfecting your room.” Zayn isn’t necessarily lying, because he’s given his all his effort to Harry. Not even just his bedroom, but prioritizing the living rooms and kitchens too, with some of his old home items being distributed into those rooms.

“I love you for that and all but let’s go order a few things to make your bedroom more homey.” Harry suggests and Zayn fears for blood rising to his forehead because he’s upside down on his head, dangling from the edge of the bed.

“I need to save up for my fall classes.” Zayn announces.

“Those aren’t for another four months.” Harry is such a distraction, now rolling himself into a burrito with Zayn’s blankets. Zayn settles with putting his things down and bringing all of his attention to Harry. “We can have a yard sale for your old stuff so you can get some decorations in here! Can I buy you a lamp? Would look nice since you’ve got this big room. It’ll cast off nice at the corner. Maybe a couch too, with a rug! Can I, please?”

That, now that part isn’t an awful idea. He didn’t want to accept anymore of Harry’s offers in spending his parents money on him, but he wouldn’t be so opposed to getting rid of the old furniture. Because in the meantime, all his bulky furniture from his past location currently remains in the loft — Harry doesn’t think it suits their (his) interior intentions.

“Zayn! Come on. We can recycle some of your little junk as props and it would look really good on the bookshelf instead of your art supplies, and books.”

“Bookshelves are for books.”

Harry gets up and touches the bookshelf, more like caressingly the surface gently, “The one you bought is more for design. You don’t actually store things in there. If you want, I would buy you an installing closet to do that.”

“What are we? Married? You don’t have to buy me anything, Harry.” Zayn scoffs.

“Actually we are. I am here to domestically and financially support you. I say that you allow me to help you and once you’re up on your feet, then maybe I’ll consider on giving you all the receipts to pay me back. But of course, there are other ways.” Harry gets into one of those attitudes again, where he sounds so firm and prepared to make a prosperous negotiation. This is why he’d make a great lawyer, though Zayn still doesn’t see it too much. Aside from Harry’s strong arguments — somewhat strong — he learn see Harry in that pitiful because he gets sensitive and vulnerable. He wouldn’t be able to call someone out on any flaws; he would fight for somebody but have a weak endurance with the back to back argument.

Lost for words, too deep in thought as well, Zayn doesn’t really have a response. Only coming up with a dumb one with a dumb tone, “Not really, really married.”

“Whatever you say. But we live together and we share each other’s schedules and have food for each other and line up each other’s shoes. We are married, Zayn.” Harry says firm with his arms crossing as he purses out his lips — to the point where he’s basically kissing his teeth.

“Is it really alright?”

As Harry always comforts Zayn, he does so now. He kneels down to where Zayn’s sitting on the ground, tipping over slightly to the point where he ends up crawling right next to Zayn and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I know you’re striving to be the best you can be with your art career. You’re selling your creations online just to purchase more supplies to work on even more projects. You’re very passionate on that.”

Harry presses his cheek against Zayn’s and Zayn thinks he could pass out echo now from the tight embrace. So he doesn’t say anything but Harry pays no mind to his heavy breathing and continues, “Think of it like this. You’ve brought me here because you listened to my deal. Now this is my deal to you again, how we always go back and forth. Let me give you a little stability. You’ll always know where to find me in the end of it all.”

“Where? You’re all over the place. Wild with your luscious locks.” Zayn asks whimsically.

“I’m just saying!” Harry groans, “I’m very happy with this huge step and I feel like I owe you. So let me help.”

Zayn doesn’t say anymore, just tugging Harry by the waist and clinging onto him tightly as a silent thank you.

And Harry gets it, because he snuggles up to where his curls fan against Harry’s cheek and he says, “Good. No changing your mind, okay? Don’t make me throw shoes at you. Or worse, your precious hardcover, crinkle-less books.”

x

Zayn and Harry do host a yard sale and manage to make enough for Zayn to buy a few paintings for his empty walls. Harry does purchase the working desk like promised and it goes against the same walls with the skyline of San Francisco frame. He even gets Zayn a raggedy-styled rug and a matching comforter.

x

Their first serious argument that happens is something really pathetic and unnecessary. It isn’t really an argument, just a disagreement between the two of them because Harry wants a housewarming party, but Zayn is certain they can live without one. He complains that the floors will get stained with grimey footprints; while Harry insists that people will be giving gifts, that they can exchange gifts they don’t like for money or pay to have someone clean the floors after the event.

“I think it’s more than just the mess you’re worried about.” Harry says and throws a couch pillow in Harry’s direction.

“Obviously, Harry. I don’t want people here because I don’t want either of us to need to to provide food for them or decorate this place all nice. I don’t want people to have to drive all the way up here and realize that wow it’s such a good house for a party, let’s ask if we can throw our own over here. I don’t want any of it.”

Harry exaggeratedly sighs, “Fine. No housewarming.”

“Whatever, Harry. I know you already invited people. So just do your houseparty. I won’t be here.” Zayn wants to dismiss this conversation already. He knows Harry won’t listen to him either way.

“You’re right. I did.”

x

Zayn submits one of his major projects today, finding himself extremely proud. He even thanks Harry because Harry suggested the most eye popping colors that left his sculpture looking awfully dynamic in ways that other people’s didn’t.

He just loves the pure dedication that Harry gives him. Whether it’s towards his aspiring career as a sculptor (though now Zayn’s leaning towards an architect because of all this home stuff lately that he’s been learning because of harry and their new home), or what to wear in the morning, or what book to read, perhaps which brand of chocolate chips to buy versus another one; Harry gives his Zayn his all.

Zayn just... loves that.

Cruising home in pursuit to make dinner today, he accidentally runs two red lights and nearly an elderly on her aerobic stroll. He doesn’t falter with himself, however, and parks on the left side of the driveway. Because like sharing beds, Harry occupies the right.

Zayn enters with a big bang, putting his shoes and helmet way at the nearest entry closet. “Harry, I’m home!”

He’s so happy to —

“Fuck! Harry!” Zayn shouts the second his eyes roam over to a nude Harry Styles in the center of their home. He reaches for the nearest couch blanket and wraps it around his waist. “What did I say about walking with your prick out?”

Harry swats at Zayn’s hands in attempt to unravel the blanket but Zayn snakes his arms around Harry’s whole body, making Harry struggle to get out of the grip. Seconds in, Harry finally deflates and yaps, “What is so wrong with it anyways? I’m in the comfort of my own home!”

Zayn guides Harry to the family room where there’s less windows (because this is a traditional room for a television unlike the living room with just furniture — Harry explained it once). “Yeah. Do it in your bedroom then, with the blinds closed. You don’t know if the neighbors creep through the windows.”

Feeling weird from holding Harry in such a way, aware of nothing really between them besides a wool blanket, Zayn flinches to distance. He loves to hold Harry, cuddle him, hug him, being the right protection for him. But right now he’s unsure what to do as Harry is practically naked, with a pout in attempt to be offended. He would rather just... not touch him right now. It makes Zayn feel weird, like he’s feeling a different connection.

Harry sighs in content, likely relieved as well that Zayn finally detached himself. He adds, “Well if they do, they better have a good look and send me secret admirer letters in the mailbox.”

“Harry.” Zayn says stern, hands mindlessly finding their way to to the brown wool and grabbing the heavy ends to make a knot. He pays no mind to Harry’s bits that do get exposed because he’s seen it plenty of times before, but this time peculiarly, he feels heat all over his skin.

It’s Harry who laces their fingers together, walking them towards the kitchen, “Anyways, why are you here so early?”

“Just went to hand in my project.” Zayn attempts to separate their fingers but Harry’s like sturdy glue barely being activated, tightening their grip. He shakes his head leisurely and leans forward to rest his forehead on Harry’s, “Wanna cook you dinner. Or like, try to cook us something.”

Harry chuckles in all this soft sweetness, yet so awfully loud — head tilting back, showing a two full rows of whites before piping up, “Happy Thursday to you, too. I’ll be in the nearest living room. Probably with a bucket of water just in case.”

“I’m not going to burn down the house. I’m better than that.” Zayn says with an eye roll, letting go of Harry’s hand to slap at his chest. Sure Zayn’s got a reputation for forgetting things, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be tender and attentive with his food he’s cooking.

“I know you are. I need the water because you’re just so hot when you’re playing house. Chef and all.” Harry purses out his lips and the tip of his finger brushes against Zayn’s forearm before he leaves Zayn standing alone in the kitchen with another weird feeling.

“Shut up, H.”

Zayn begins with a large silver pan — stainless steel as Harry had requested for all of their damn kitchen appliances — and a wooden spoon, and... well he’s unsure what to make so he doesn’t know what else he needs.

Accessorizing himself with an apron, he trots over to the kitchen where he sticks his head out over the breakfast bar arch to see Harry lying on his chest.

Sitting visibly from this angle, Harry’s got the television on quietly while he’s filing at his nails. Zayn would scold him, something about the likeliness of Harry making a mess in the living room, but he opposes. And instead coos, “Hazz, what do you want to eat?”

“On a scale of one to ten how hard do you want it?”

Zayn’s mouth drops as his mind goes off into another place. He doesn’t know what he just heard Harry say (he did but Harry had said it in a way where it closed off his tongue so smoothly, in almost an alluring way), so he asks, “What?”

Harry groans and rolls onto his back so that he and Zayn are making proper eye contact now, “I mean like heating up frozen food, or perhaps intermediate levels or five star quality? Come on, Zayn. Stop thinking like that. You aiming to make like Mac and cheese or like something really nice with seasonings and all?”

“Whatever you want.”

Turns out that Zayn ends up looking for a recipe of black peppered chicken, which is something he and Harry had the day they were having an overview of the house, getting familiar with the newest fast food joints around their neighborhood. It’s tangy, a saucy layer over batter that’s all sweet with a ting of spice. Zayn doesn’t know if he could do it, but he’ll try for Harry because he remembers the delightful moan that Harry released it first landed on Harry’s tongue — not that this thing (to hear it again) is Zayn’s motivation, but it sort of is.

Zayn starts off with sauteing the chicken, allowing that to heat up with various sweet sauces while he chops the vegetables he’s using — vibrant celery that’ll turn an olive green in the process, and two types of onions. His kitchen is already clouding up with steam from his pan and he feels he could almost taste the flavors i the aroma filling the air.

Not only does Zayn seem to believe that, but it apparently reels in Harry like a hungry puppy because he’s following the smell. Zayn sees him through the arch between the two rooms, sees his delightful face, a loud hum following.

“Smells amazing.” Harry coos when he’s walking into the dining room with smooth polished nails, and only one finger with a dark purple shade coated in his nail.

Zayn doesn’t ask why Harry does that. If he remembers anything, Harry’s bedroom floor used to be scattered with multiple colors against his bed frame. Probably Gemma’s but he’s never really brought it to their attention, assuming that Harry probably painted them and removed the paint before exposing them to anyone.

Harry stands near the stove, tapping the counter absentmindedly but it also seems like he’s seeking for Zayn’s attention. Zayn ignores it anyways, and fetches his wooden spoon to scoop some of the water residue from beneath the chicken. He taps Harry’s lip with his thumb before blowing on the spoon and making Harry play airplane with him.

“It’s a bit too salty.” Harry comments. But he doesn’t do anything about it, so Zayn shoves him aside and lowers the heat. If there were something going on wrong, Harry would never hesitate to fix, or assist, the correction he’s made; in this case, Harry didn’t do a damn thing, so Zayn knows his meal is exemplary (mosty).

Grabbing two plates from the cupboard, Harry ends up taking them away from his hands, “I’ll set the table. Just keep an eye on your food.”

“I am done. That’s why I was grabbing our plates.” Zayn says addly. When Harry fixates his gaze over his shoulder, Zayn barely realizes that he’s left the stove on.

Zayn gathers a generous portion into a bigger sharing bowl, as if they were eating it in a restaurant, grabbing out of a takeout box or a main plate. And over at the table, Harry is already situated with their two plates and two tall glasses of iced water.

Harry’s posture is so straight and his hands are folded politely over the dining table, eyes raking Zayn with the plate. Zayn knows. Harry does this to joke and tease, acting overly eager because he thinks that Zayn thinks Harry is extremely zealous — supportive and anxious to let all his positivity radiate towards Zayn.

“I am your judge for today. Chef Styles, here. And today we will be determining whether Malik, here, has perfected the my favorite dish. If there’s any indication that ameatur chef Malik qualifies, it is up to me.” Harry announces in his full attempt to play the role of a judge or host off the cooking channel, or food network — Zayn doesn’t know the difference, only alert that Harry could spend hours engrossed in a culinary tournament.

Zayn settles with no remarks, just handling the bowl gently and placing it on the table. He scoops some rice onto the plate in almost what it seems like, is a perfectly circled pile. He then gathers a gradual amount of the chicken, letting it shower over the white rice, finalizing it with a sprinkle of black pepper.

The dynamic of this moment feels eerie, almost serious at this point, as if whatever Harry does say might make or break his nonexistent cooking career. He plays along, though it really doesn’t feel like a game, and conducts a decent distance between himself and the table with his arms behind his back.

“Your presentation is a bit average.” Harry looks down at the plate with an apathetic expression. Zayn would assert himself, but remembers that Harry is the ‘judge’ here, so he remains silent. If he were to refute, Zayn would reason that his plate is decent, all the food made it with nothing spilling within its tracks. And the veggies are bright. Bright and edible-looking enough.

Zayn’s body movement is a bit stagnant as it really feels like Harry is using the food to debate whether he kicks Zayn out of the house for the night and calls him a bad husband. His bones are so tense, yet he’s feeling like he’s melting a bit because the room is suddenly hotter than when the steam was rising through the roof.

“Can you like just eat it already.” Zayn says a bit snappy, not meaning to but he’s very anxious to get this over with already, even if Harry is just in character. Because Zayn doesn't want to be, doesn’t like the feeling of being judged for something that he personally thought he did good on.

“That’s one point lost.” Harry murmurs and slides the plate further from himself.

Zayn closes his eyes while he takes a deep breath and it seems to ease the tension in his body, and sort of alleviates it in their environment right now. He smiles, recollecting the mindsight that they’re best mates having a meal, and now he feels more normal again. There’s nothing really holding him back by now when he’s spooning a fair amount of rice and chicken, feeding it to Harry — almost like the last time, but now he’s just direct without the playfulness, being that he’s ready to hear Harry comment on whatever compliments or criticism he has to offer.

Just minutes ago, when Zayn eagerly wanted Harry to shut up, his wishes were dismissed. But now, Harry is subdue and Zayn doesn’t know what conclude from it. He slowly pulls out the seat next to Harry (sort of, considering its just a square coffee brown table with only for seats all around), and settles on it, just laying a steady gaze on Harry chewing. “I mean, tell me now. So I can like get you some water or something. Or call like a — ”

“Are you kidding?” Harry shouts and Zayn’s about to say something dumb like, no but you’re being a kid right now, because he doesn’t really understand Harry’s up and down mood at the moment, yet he really doesn’t have much room to talk.

Harry is frantically stirring the meat and rice together making a it blend together gradually and he’s sliding his own plate over to Zayn’s side of the table. His eyes are all bright and he’s chewing at his bottom lip as if that’s the only place that stimulates a faint memory of the meal. Zayn absorbs his appearance but still, doesn’t know what to do with his whole behavior.

“You haven’t tasted it yet?” Harry asks feverish. Zayn shakes his head, earning a gasp from Harry. “Babe! Try it.”

Harry’s word initiates an odd spark in Zayn’s mind. A fraction of his mind — or body, whatever it may be — is insisting him to be sly about this all, and kiss Harry. Because, after all, Harry did try it and what better way to do what Harry told him, than to taste it from his own lips.

Of course, Zayn doesn't actually do that and while feeling incredibly pathetic, he ends up not letting Harry feed him either. He takes a new spoon from off the table surface — one free of Harry's tongue and lips and all — and musters a spoonful to indulge his own creation (that technically isn't his because he originally looked up an online recipe).

Everything is comfortable. Harry and Zayn's legs often meet beneath the table a little too closely, but comfortably, throughout their silent lunch. There's only the noise of their spoons scraping along the glass plates, aside from Harry's implied gratitude. Harry still hums with every other bite like he's still in awe with the meal and Zayn can't tell if he really does enjoy it, or if he's just being nice. He concludes with the latter even though he knows he's really reinvented himself to Harry's good side.

Harry willingly does the dishes and cleans after Zayn's stove skillet while Zayn puts away the leftovers. It's mostly normal to fall into this pattern when they're both home. But considering it's a Thursday where Harry doesn't attend any classes and Zayn is home early, they don't know what else to do to waste the day. There's also no school or work for both of them on Friday, as usual, giving them a three day weekend. So technically, this week is a four day weekend and they should really be out doing something interesting.

Zayn is out of ideas — never had any to begin with — so he asks, "Anything we should do? Because it's only afternoon."

"Do you want to go like golfing or something?" Harry shrugs, even though his body is slouching like the couch is quicksand.

"No, why the fuck, Haz?" Zayn denounces, because Harry not only takes forever to come up with his final answers, but also manages to let the most irrelevant things slip out of his mouth.

"Well you tell me what to do then, or else I'm taking a nap or something." And that could be a valid thing because the lt couple of weeks due to moving in has really strained the both of them — mostly Zayn — so a nap could be a solution to wasting time.

Along the lines of just sleep, Zayn's mind wanders to a prior memory from when he and Harry were just fifteen or so, being a bit reckless with their youth. They are still young now, but not as young or as dumb as they used to be. And they've got a car.

But alright... He's being reminded that it's still barely afternoon and there are no movies playing on weekdays for the drive-through event that he had in mind. Somehow, it doesn't stop his bursting enthusiasm, then bouncing off the couch and changing into something decent. Seeing Harry from over the stair railing while straightening out his shirt. he nearly slips off the stairs when he asks, "Coming?"

Within the twenty minute drive out of the valley hills, they reach a superstore a bit far from home, but it's the closest, surrounded by other shops in this plaza. Zayn brought his good shoes because he had a feeling that Harry would want to shop around other than at their main destination. And he says so the second they exit off the freeway, where they have a visible view of the shops out of the car windows.

In the coolness of the store, Zayn strolls the cart with Harry, to his side this time and not inside the cart. He mentions, "Do you remember when we snuck into that outdoor theater and sat on someone's van roof?"

"Yeah, we dented it. Didn't we?" Harry strangles out because of his laugh accompanying his slurry response.

Zayn remembers how Harry's curls were more tamed than how they were now. Back then they were proper curls, luscious locks sprouting out of his head like those garden chia-pets. Currently now, they're not so curly but still just below his ears flowing all ostentatious now. But everything remains the same. From Harry's alluring green to his wholehearted smile. To think that Zayn's conflicted teenage mind almost had a crush on Harry — that was foolish. At fifteen he didn't know how to compare a crush to just appreciating company. He didn't understand but knew he loved Harry and would settle for any way he could have it. Those thoughts surfaced while he and Harry shared the space of the van, with Harry laying on his side while Zayn tilted his head up, perched on his folded arms behind his head. Harry was supposed to be watching the film and so was Zayn, but Zayn was too busy counting stars in the dark. He didn't know why Harry's attention was averted away from the vast screen though.

"Do you remember what movie it was?" Harry asks suddenly, drawing him out of his little timeline flickers. And Zayn wonders if Harry was waiting awhile for a response earlier, or if time was passing by slow. Because when Zayn was deeply involved with enraptured thoughts, time was frozen.

"Six years ago. You expect me to remember?" Zayn covers up his sudden nervousness with a laugh.

"Well I do. And why'd you bring it up then? How'd you possibly remember something like that and forget the movie we watched?" Harry mumbles while bumping shoulders with Zayn, a sign showing that he's not that offended. Zayn wants to tell him something sappy, something like how he was too busy watching him from the corner of his eyes. But he refrains against it. They joke like that, but right now doesn't seem like the time to be flirting all friendly.

Zayn just answers with something that's a lie but still sort of not, "Just curious."

Because what he doesn't want Harry to know, is that they're shopping for tons of junk food and drinks to fill up the back seat of the car and have a tiny sleepover while they spend evening to dusk watching movies outdoors.

x

The following day, Zayn begs that Louis goes out to take Harry somewhere all day. He doesn't care where, or what they do. As long as they leave the house in the afternoon and come back by six.

He wants to have enough time to prepare without any questions. And knowing Harry, he would ask why is Zayn being so gentle, setting up his trunk with the items they purchased yesterday. Harry already bombarded him with an endless amount of questions yesterday. Things like so why are you buying all of this? and can I actually eat any of these when I get home? Zayn had declined all of Harry's questions or waved them off saying it wasn't important for him to know. He did buy frozen alfredo pasta topping pizza and tea for Harry instead.

Zayn lays in bed for about an hour after waking up, looking up the movie viewing list. He waits to hear for any signal of Harry leaving because it should be very soon. He gets exactly what he wants minutes after Louis texts that he's arrived and they're going to some lake hosting a summer event. Harry is shouting, "Bye Zayn! Breakfast on the counter!"

It's like Zayn's bedroom is a thousand degrees, because he scurries out of there like the heat will take over. He ignores all the regular morning things like washing his face or brushing his teeth because he's just so set on this. He smells butter and honey — Harry's morning bird breakfast additions — when he's in the hallway to the garage, tempted, but it doesn't deter him from initiating his plan right away.

Zayn warms up his car to listen to the basic radio music while he fixates with the trunk. He’s never really done this part alone, usually being assisted by Louis or his parents. Like that day he moved and they didn't believe in renting trunks from other people when Zayn could make commutes and borrow their cars to help. So, right now, Zayn struggles to adjust the seats so that they fold into the trunk. He manages perfect fine after what feels like ten minutes.

A blanket, his heaviest and warmest one, goes on the flat surface of where the seats and trunk compartment had been. It’s a bright red that seems a bit alluring, enticing enough for Harry to find comfort in it. It’s cozy and thick enough to make the ground of the car softer. It seems so when he tries it for himself, making nonexistent snowflakes amongst the layer.

Pillows are thrown lousily with a great distance so Harry doesn’t think he’s weird or anything. They share beds and stuff and are close on the couch, but still, something about this whole decorated trunk still feels oddly intimate to Zayn. There’s tons of pillows, almost like they’re the cushions of a couch that give it the soft, fluffiness; seems like a couch too, how all walls of the car are protected with these feathery bags (that’s basically what pillows are, Zayn thinks to himself). He did have to take these from his bedroom, and the winter supply of blankets, too. Harry really should appreciate this grand gesture of Zayn trying to hard to perfect this private little space.

Lastly, he grabs one of Harry’s picnic baskets, despite it not really being one. It’s just a large metal bucket shaped as an oval with brown rope for the handles, usually Harry uses them for little laundry or sometimes to put drinks in ice when the fridge doesn’t have any space for their canned drinks. In this case, Zayn decides it’s stellar to carry all of the snacks he’s purchased last night — without Harry really offering. Harry still doesn’t suspect a damn thing; Zayn hopes.

Inside the kitchen, Zayn neatly, and a bit compulsively, organizes the items aligned in a punctilious manner. Sour, fruity snacks display themselves on the outer layer of the bin, while he puts boxes chocolate snacks — like the ones you purchase expensively in the theaters — on the inside making sure they stand all straight. He shakes his head, aware that it looks too attempted, like he tried to hard. Zayn resigns with that approach and shakes the bucket so that the snacks look thrown in casually. There’s a thing about the sight, this disheveled arrangement; his eyes settle to it comfortably and he thinks finally.

"What did Zayn do today?" Louis' voice is booming in the distance, intentionally because Zayn informed him to be a little bit obvious just so Zayn is alert.

Zayn sits up from his spot in the family room where he was previously balancing reading between an old comic he found from when he was emptying his old house, and some magazine about house owners maintaining their yard. That one, he discards in one of the junk drawers in the kitchen because he doesn't really want Harry to know that he's considering on gardening or something.

Following the sounds of Louis and Harry's voices and footsteps, he happens to bump into Harry. Their bodies meet in the center room, his hands gripping at Harry's waist, all while he's got his curls hindering his eyes. Zayn brushes it off his face and to the side, mumbling a timid, “Hey.”

“Zayn! I got some cool prizes because they had like these tiny games around the lake.” Harry grabs a tote back that Zayn is certain he hasn’t seen before, meaning he must of won that. Inside the bag, Harry’s tugging at this button with a smiley face on it and clipping it to the collar of Zayn’s shirt. He also has a pen with a stamp at the end where he stamps Zayn’s neck with — also a smiley face on it.

Harry laughs and trots off upstairs announcing that he’ll be down in a minute because, “I’ve been holding my wee too long!”

Looking in the same direction Harry once stood, Zayn sees Louis leaning against the wall with a smirk. Zayn shakes his head and utters out a lousy, “What?”

Zayn doesn’t get anything back in response so he just juts his thumb out in the direction of the kitchen, where Louis willingly follows. His comic still lays there and Louis takes at it. Besides that, Zayn just sits across him unsure of what to say really. He’s not really going to tell Louis why he needed him to take Harry out for a bit. All he really offers is, “Thanks a lot, Lou. You can like go now. I’ll pay you back.”

“Harry’s not charity. You don’t need to pay me back, you fool.” Louis tangles his fingers in Zayn’s hair before taking a soda can from the fridge and dashing off, not until he shouts ear-piercingly, “Bye you two! Have fun, lovebirds.”

“Louis!” Is all Zayn musters our because the door slams before he could call him an idiot. He hopes Harry didn’t hear what Louis just regarded. For one, Louis implied they’d be doing things, and secondly it was irrelevant for him to say lovebirds. What lovebirds, where? Zayn doesn’t understand; what an absurd thing.

Minutes turns into a decade of minutes because Harry never comes back downstairs and it’s nearly six now. Just as he’s about to go upstairs and haul Harry down, he contemplates if he really wants to do this. Because he’s just some guy who decorated his trunk for someone he considers a best mate. It doesn’t really make sense, in a platonic sense. Now Zayn’s feeling pathetic, he really shouldn’t have done this.

“Are you alright?” A creak comes from the stairs. Zayn looks up to see Harry with a worrisome expression, and he barely becomes aware with how he’s been pacing back and forth.

“I’m fine. Get in the car with me?” The words sort of just spew out softly, despite the internal battle in debates of whether to continue this night or not. He supposes nothing can really go wrong. It’s just Zayn wanting to bring back the memories of fifteen year olds, Zaynie and Hazza.

The sun beams against the dashboard, making it difficult for Zayn to drive straight forward because the sunlight is detering his view of the street. It's difficult to get to the destination, Zayn is a little uncertain about navigating the two of them off somewhere they haven't been for years. But apparently where he's going is right, and Harry already senses Zayn's agenda because he's murmuring, “We’re not going where we think we are. Stop, Zayn.” Harry’s dismissal isn’t really a strong one, he’s just laughing so Zayn decides not to drive off road towards the opposite direction.

Upon arrival, Harry grins and keeps flashing Zayn looks of amusement. Almost like it's his first time at the zoo, or a candy shop, or an amusement park. Because that's the exact expression Harry constantly plasters up while their car is in line with all the others, waiting for the entrance gates to open in ten minutes.

"This is why you asked." Harry squeals. He takes off his seat belt and adjusts his head out of the window to take a photo of the movie listing sign.

There are seven boundless, white walls that are supported by parallel wooden bars used as the screen. And eventually each of the screens display a film off projection screens. These movies are aired the following week after they've been broughten to public theaters. So these movies are fairly new and he remembers Harry talking about some sappy romance over the course of last week. That's the movie they'll play until midnight plays another movie, and then another movie. Hopefully they'll be there until the sunrise is visible from behind the projection boards, rays of yellow casting over the blue sky with a hint of pink are summer sunrises here. Zayn hasn't seen a sunrise in a while.

Right now, the sun is still up, but the moon is slightly visible like it's been erased multiple times. The gates are now opening, so Harry's small talk throughout this movie about different popcorn brands don't matter anymore. Zayn signals to the right to change a lane to a booth with no cars, and they get through immediate with satisfaction.

"Where do you want to park?" Zayn asks, also reminding them that their film viewing is on the last screen in the corner.

"At the very back of all the cars. Like where no one sees." Harry points towards the redwood fences and Zayn carries on over there with no disagreements — even if it does get a bit dark back here and he's unsure how safe that is really.

Harry is awful sometimes really, always too neutral. Like he always checks up on Zayn and always wants to be fair with things. Some days, it's good because Zayn gets what he wants. Other days he just wants things to be all about Harry but its hard because Harry is too considerate. He really is too generous when he says, "Do you not want to park here? We can go to the front a little."

"It's okay. Easy to drive out and avoid traffic later." Because it is almost the beginning of summer and people are enjoying this activity for all the right reasons — like how the sunset casts more beautiful than normal, or how the weather isn't cold at all but not too hot, a good temperature to be out at midnight with their arms fully exposed. All for good reasons, mostly the same reasons; Zayn's is different than theirs though.

Reminding himself of that, he ends up parking in a different direction, where his trunk lights face the screen instead of the two front seats of the car. He gets a thread of sentences from Harry while doing, "We're facing the fence. I am not sitting in the trunk if that's what you're thinking. You know, I might sit on the hood if you don't turn the car back around.

Zayn, being complete with positioning his car, rests his cheek against the steering wheel and averts his eyes towards Harry, just staring at him. Harry is all but angry. He makes a pout, with his eyebrows channeling inwards, like he's not about to tolerate this messiness, but Zayn knows him, sees right through him, that he's not actually mad. Zayn just laughs tiredly, "Just shut up Harry, please."

Harry fumbles with the car radio station to find the correct station to hear where the movie's audio will be playing. Zayn's aware of Harry's little silent treatment game (but Zayn did ask, so he's mostly glad that Harry obeyed). Ignoring Harry's childish — yet respectful, and Zayn likes it a lot — attitude, he gets out of his side and slams the car door making it shake a bit.

"What?" Harry says a bit snappy when Zayn opens his passenger door. He crosses his arms, "Face the wrong direction and break your car door. Why don't you."

"You know, I know you're not even a little bit irritated with me. Try harder. Besides, you won't want to be. Come here." Zayn says it all smooth and sly, like he's enticing Harry into some sort of trap. But this isn't really a trap... just memory lane, or something sappy like that. Everything about this is basically, very, very awfully sappy.

Harry rolls his eyes but proceeds, following Zayn out of the car until the two of them are standing near the trunk. Harry's eyes wander around the premises and he fakes a yawn while Zayn just stands there, intently watching Harry. He's waiting for Harry to say something, for Harry to do something so he can present his little surprise when he least expects it.

"Okay, like —" Zayn adjusts his fingers beneath the opening handle of the trunk and it raises open like it has support from balloons with helium. There in the open, it's the back of Zayn's car adorned — some mushy, embarrassing attempt to make a first time romantic and memorable.

Looking over to Harry apprehensively, Zayn edges his attention to Harry, only to witnesses a jocular expression on his face. He's twiddling from side to side grinning goofily seconds before ramming his body towards Zayn, embracing him with one of their hugs. The one's where Harry's arms are over Zayn's shoulders and Zayn just wraps his arms around his waist so tight, making his shirt rise up a bit. And Harry resembles being in space because Harry suddenly seems so light whenever they hug, most of Harry's body is practically on top of Zayn and Zayn latches on like he needs Harry to breath. That type of hug leads them to the back of the car where they topple over one another until their on opposite ends of the trunk with an uneven breathing pattern. Harry knocks the air out of his lungs lots of times.

"This is cute. Thank you." Harry comments with a soft voice, looking anywhere but at Zayn. He's still admiring the abundance of pillows and blankets in the back. Zayn isn't sure if Harry saw the bucket of binge snacks, so he ends up lifting it from his side and exchanging it over to Harry's lap. His face is still as bright as ever. Zayn thinks that if he stares to long, he'll lose his eyesight, because Harry's smile is so fucking resplendent. There's tons of words that resemble bright, but it really wouldn't do justice.

Harry places the bucket by his legs and lunges over to Zayn's side and leans his head against Zayn's chest, "You're not going to keep that distance all night are you?"

"No, course not." Zayn runs his fingers through Harry's hair. He feels a little tense, so he excuses himself to adjust the radio for the movie since Harry uncompleted the task with nothing but rustling static.

Outside, where he's surrounded by the tons of boards with trailers playing, he's taken back to how he felt to have Harry oh so close to him under the stars. His breath fanning against Zayn's neck and his hair tickling his chin, his hands snaking around Zayn's waist. He didn't get it at the time, but now he knows and doesn't want to repeat history, where all of this just might confuse him, again. Zayn doesn't want that. Sure, it's often they sit together closely, watching movies at home or back at Harry's attic but always felt like Zayn was just hovering safely over Harry. They don't do this a lot, hardly ever. Being public makes him a bit uncomfortable — even if they've only ever been close like that on a rooftop and will be in the trunk, basically a wall from everyone else.

Seconds after queuing the correct station, he crawls to the back instead of getting outside because he doesn't want to have to think hard anymore. Harry's slouching against the colossal stack of pillows and when he sees Zayn back in his spot, he sets his phone aside. Harry tilts his chin up and asks, “So, do you have anything to drink?”

Zayn goes rigid, completely forgetting about beverages. Whether Harry was suggesting alcoholic drinks or just sweet, leisure drinks for the movie, he still forgot. Zayn rubs at his face with his palm and groans, “Fuck. Shit. Damn it. Sorry. No.”

“It’s fine. Do you want to go to the food court with me?" Harry asks with a hand on Zayn's knee, "And snacks are good, but you don’t have real food, you know?”

“Uhh, no. I forgot about that.” Zayn's thinking about a full course meal. Should he of bought fish and chips, or chicken tikka masala, or even cheese pizza, or some meaty meal with vegetables on the side that'll satisfy Harry for dinner. Well, fuck. Harry’s basically implying that he should of brought a microwave, too then — for all the little munchies of ever more processed junk food because after all, they're here till three in the morning.

Harry seems aware of Zayn’s tenseness and his hand utterly adds another heavy weight to that because he's rubbing his palm in circles. Harry adds, “Like, we'll just buy nachos. Or chicken tenders. All that regular American fatty fast food stuff they eat when they do things like this.”

“Alright, yeah. I’ll bolt up.” Zayn assists Harry out of the car, additionally wrapping a light blanket over his shoulders before shutting the trunk and operating the car, rolling up the windows and locking it.

The two of them bump shoulders when they begin their stroll, distancing themselves from the car. Harry leans his head against Zayn's shoulder and Zayn feels immediate comfort in the tender warmth. There's even a kiss against his cheeks that follows up from the interaction, just before Harry says smoothly, "You didn't do anything wrong. You did all you could, and I just suggested something. Don't beat yourself up over it. I love all of this." Harry reaches for Zayn's hand without hesitance and every step they take together to their destination is simultaneous.

It's awfully bright despite the sun still surfacing over the sky — half way in the sky actually. What's so bright is the food court marketing sign, illuminating a neon yellow and red. Without it, it's a likely chance Zayn and Harry would've lost direction on where to go since the parking lot is massive with cars parked in various directions. But there also are only two buildings in this location, so it really couldn't of been difficult. Zayn and Harry just make everything tough on themselves, really. They banter too much, always wanting to be correct and prove each other wrong. Zayn would be certain about one way, but Harry would think another. So even if the lighted up sign is a waste for this time of day, Zayn is gracious that he saw it or else Harry would of guided them elsewhere.

Good thing there aren't too many customers because Zayn wouldn't want to deal with a crowd. Even when they'd get fast food before studies, Zayn would wait in the car when there was a bountiful amount of people in line to order. He doesn't like being shoulder to shoulders with others. And sometimes he thinks they'll start a conversation about which sauce goes best with their nuggets; Zayn doesn't like giving away too much of his opinions in the fear that they'd disagree or prolong the debate. Not to rely on Harry so much, but he does and can't help it.

The noise from others are a bit loud, but bearable. Floors still maintain their cleanliness but it probably won't last long after a couple hours. In line, there's a radiating comfort from Harry, meaning Zayn's free to avoid any possible interaction, but again, there aren't that many people anyways. Zayn didn't realize their hands lost each other's touch until they're at the counter. Zayn begins to get cash from his wallet but Harry dismisses him and swipes his card before Zayn could access his back pocket.

"Dumb overpriced prices." Harry rolls his eyes when they're a few feet away from the employee, waiting for their order. "Babe, could you get like ketchup and napkins?"

"I — yeah." Zayn falters, preventing his defiance because its Harry, so of course he'll do it for him.

Walking over to the condiments stand, he gathers all Harry asked for, and extra things because he's certain Harry will mumble complaints of the things he wished he had. He almost bumps into someone on his way back, spewing out apologies instinctively.

Zayn is a bit timorous when he doesn't see Harry where he last left him, but over by the exit, he sees a familiar curly headed boy waving at him with one hand while the other has a brown cardboard box. Meeting Harry where the warm breeze engulfs them by the exit, Zayn stops Harry from walking with a hand around his wrist. "Something is missing." Zayn says when his eyes flicker from Harry's occupied hands to his. He sighs, "Drinks. What you needed most."

"Yeah, it's okay. There's a water fountain there." Harry shrugs and takes the napkins away from Zayn to place alongside of the tray with fresh fries and nacho chips.

"I'll get back in line!" Zayn says and strides over before more people could beat him to it.

There's an energy behind him, who only happens to be Harry. He's resting his forehead against Zayn's right shoulder and Zayn can somewhat feel the grin playing on Harry's face even if his mouth isn't against Zayn's skin at all. Harry wraps a free arm around Zayn's waist, making Zayn wonder what it looks like from another perspective. All the thoughts that could come about in his mind, could be like how's the movie going to turn out, but instead he thinks about what others think about two boys being awfully close in a food court line.

"Do you think it would get cold?" Harry says, cuddling himself into the blankets before picking at the fries in the middle of them.

"No. Want my blanket though?" Zayn offers it anyways and slips off his shoes by toeing at the back. He grabs one of the candy boxes — chocolate covered raisins — and puts his lips against the open edge, eating them without having to get his fingers stained with melted chocolate.

"Just wondered if we'll see the screen if we close the trunk." Zayn knows Harry's comment is peculiar, looking over at his direction and just grinning because of how irrelevant that suggestion is. Harry seems aware, and moves the fries onto his lap before saying, "Or maybe I just want to be closer to you."

Harry rests his head on Zayn's lap and indulges on the fries, which are half gone already only minutes into the film. Zayn thinks that the fries and nachos won't last by the time they get to any of the good scenes. But he doesn't mind because there's loads of sweet snacks anyways — not because there's an excessive amount but, mostly because he's certain Harry will be too absorbed into the movie, not bothering with snacks.

Occupying himself all day with preparations for this impressive outing, Zayn feels his eyelids getting heavy and it's just the beginning of this all. With Harry nestling his head from left to right occasionally on Zayn's lap, it leaves him feeling secure and tranquil. He doesn't realize he falls asleep, spilling some of the chocolate bits in Harry's hair.

"Zayn?" Harry's voice wakes him out of his sleepy trance, but Zayn doesn't do much to stage himself responsive. With his eyes eyes closed, he senses that his body is somehow laid appropriately on the trunk ground and he's tucked with blankets. Most importantly, instead of him sitting up with Harry's head on him, Harry is his makeshift pillow this time. Blinking his eyes a bit and with the flicker of the bright end credits, he sees their fingers laced and a pile of something disposed in the corner — Harry's food that remains in only trash now. The snack bucket is nearly empty, meaning he didn't accompany Harry to laugh or cry or be in awe and eat with him during the movie. He'll make it up to him, eventually, but he's still exhausted. He only hums in response.

"There's still more movies. Did you want to watch more or go home? Not like you stayed awake for this one though." Harry giggles, this time being the one to stroke Zayn's hair. The fingertips direct themselves naturally, from Zayn's hair, down to his jaw. Zayn tucks himself closer, curling himself over Harry's body without another word. He knows Harry isn't much of a big spoon but it feels nice to be held for a little bit.

"Stay." Zayn's vision with a full sight of Harry happens to blur before it goes black again. He clutches onto whatever it is that keeps him so content, comfortable like a childhood blanket embracing him. It's Harry, he knows.

They eventually do go home before the second movie, with Harry driving this time while Zayn remains in the back, staring outside the back window that appears crooked with his positioning. They separate two different ways, two bedroom doors; and the bed feels colder, and sleeping alone without the comfort of warmth he had earlier feels strange, even if that warmth was apparent when he was exposed to dusk's cool breeze.

x

Saturday consists of Zayn working on a new miniature sculpture, molding clay this time and getting creative with colorful pipe cleaners and bottle caps. He doesn’t really see Harry because when he’s in too deep with his work, he’s too focused. So of course, all day, he manages to escape his bedroom only for getting a drink or using the restroom. Though, through all of his effort and dedication his muse is Harry.

x

It’s 2:54 am, Zayn can see the red glow glaring at him. Thing is, he’s a deep sleeper but when he senses Harry, it’s just there. He’s awake and alert, available with open arms or a shoulder for comfort or soothing whispering words. He knows it’s bound to happen when he just feels Harry from the other room — footsteps and creaking floors, and little flickers of light switches swapping from off to on.

There’s light from under the little gap beneath Zayn’s door. Zayn doesn’t move anymore than how he is positioned now, with his blanket over his body and head, only his eyes peeking out to see if Harry will come to him. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s waiting for Harry. All he can do is to remain until Harry wants to come for him.

And when the hallway light is off, Zayn thinks it’s over. He flutters his eyes shut and rolls in the opposite direction where he faces out the window instead. He’s mistaken when his door creaks open lightly and he hears the pitter-patter of his favorite person. The way the door shuts, it’s faint, as if Harry doesn’t want Zayn to know he’s intruded. And the weight of the bed is also timorous too, because Harry replaces the empty space slow and cautiously with his own body.

“Zayn.” Harry whispers. And Zayn’s just testing the feeling of the room, he doesn’t return a response just tries to maintain a slow breathing pattern.

Due to the silence, Harry must assume Zayn is still asleep but it doesn’t stop him because Zayn feels Harry’s arms around him despite Harry always claiming the role of a little spoon.

Faking a yawn, Zayn murmurs in a sleepy tone that’s nearly as fake as the yawn, “Oh hey, Harry. Bad dreams?”

It’s simple for him to adjust himself completely, all of his attention towards Harry as he gets a careful arm draping over Harry’s body while his other one remains folded at the elbow while he head perches on it. He can see a faint glow of Harry’s face due to the street light illuminating into his bedroom window. It’s also open just a dent, so it’s some excuse for his body to be propped so close to Harry’s without any judgement because even if it’s early June, the nights are still averagely cool.

The silence deepens — just crickets out and late night cars — it feels like there’s a bigger issue than Harry just wanting company. He sees it in the expression of Harry’s face — eyebrows furrowed, looking like an upset kitten, and his bottom lip juts out in the most dramatic pout. With all of this unsure tension, Zayn extends his arm out and runs his fingers through Harry’s hair in a comforting way he that he knows Harry loves.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry whispers in this hushing tone, as if he were to talk too loud, he’d get scorned for doing so.

Zayn doesn’t know where that delirious assumption comes from, but he makes it obviously clear that it’s untrue by snuggling Harry closer, point where he reaches for Harry’s body to rest on his. He tightens his grip, and sure, his stomach and lungs might hurt a bit but it sort of tickles and feels warm, so he lets all of Harry’s weight just crush him as he promises, “Not mad at you.”

Harry tucks his head against Zayn’s neck, lips against Zayn’s collarbone making Zayn at ease because it’s always somehow been really comfortable with Harry just being this close to him. He’s also drawing circles into Zayn’s hip from beneath his shirt, so that’s even more reassuring. Harry shakes a little before drawling out again, “Cause you didn’t come out of your room after we had the night out.”

The blanket is no longer necessary, with Harry’s warmth. Zayn adjusts so that he takes the blanket off, hearing a content sigh from Harry. He secures his arms over Harry’s familiar body and gets a hand beneath the back of his shirt to rub at his bare skin, to make him feel better while he explains, “I was working on my project due soon. Sorry, babe.”

“You owe me tomorrow then.” Harry mumbles. Zayn nods at that, a silent promise. “Yeah. Old fashion diner breakfast. Then we’ll go hiking. And then visit a vintage shop for more house decorations. Oh, and then eat at a food truck in downtown. At the end of it all, I’m coming back here. It’s so cozy. You’re cozy.”

“Didn’t we do enough the other days. Spent enough time together.” Zayn groans, but he knows he’s thrilled to have a whole day planned with Harry.

“With you, my days are timeless. Doesn’t matter to me. I could spend forever with you.” Harry’s voice seems tiresome, making Zayn feel uncertain about his words. But he feels at ease when Harry bites at his jaw, “I’m still awake you git, don’t doubt me. I mean every word.”

Zayn chuckles, getting a bit of Harry’s curls in his mouth but he doesn’t mind it, “How’d you know?”

“You think too hard. You’re always so obvious. I never have to read you too deep. Even if people say you’re mysterious. I’m not them. I get you.” Harry settles with a hum, then it’s more quiet than ever, that Zayn feels like he can see the noise in the pitch dark.

Sometimes Harry knows him more than he knows himself, he doesn’t know how Harry acquired that talent. Because Zayn is always up and down, left and right, sometimes rigid yet smooth. He’s such a fucking roller-coaster sometimes, unaware of the movement of his own life or what choices are bound to be best, but Harry’s like, his conductor.

x

It's stupid really, really — how Loaf and Devotion feels like home sometimes. The sun is shining too bright, even his sunglasses don't suffice. He figures he should thank Harry for this morning because he wouldn't let Zayn leave the house until he applied a generous amount of sunscreen onto his face. Over at Harry's workplace, it's cool. Always cool for a sandwich shop, probably because of the display glass remaining open on one side to that maintain the sandwich ingredients from spoiling. It's where he finds himself on this scorching Tuesday.

Aside from the coolness he's inexpensively provided, he intentionally visits Harry to ask about the guests that are attending the housewarming. (He says inexpensively because he's certain that Harry will make him pay for his own soup this time since Zayn got away with it last week.) Zayn really hopes there won't be a lot of people — at their house and inside the shop.

Raising his sunglasses over his head, he steps in through the doors hearing a tiny chime above his head, ding. Harry's attention averts toward him immediately with a welcoming grin. Zayn wonders if he does that to all his customers or just had a hunch that it was Zayn, like some intense, phenomenal friend telepathy thing. Regardless of whether that smile is for him or not, he proceeds to an empty stool that is (not really but technically) always reserved for him.

"Good afternoon, sir." Harry says, as if he's assisting an actual customer, and not his own friend. With that type of teasing attitude, Zayn doesn't reply. It takes Harry a couple of seconds, only blinking at him before sighing and throwing a plastic utensils packet at him, "What do you wanna eat, twat?"

"No, just want to ask a question." Zayn watches how Harry leaves the counter and heads towards the sandwich bar instead. He seems to be gathering oven roasted chicken and some green and red vegetables. Zayn calls for him to come back, but gets no response. Zayn is just anxious to go home, though enjoying the air conditioner, but it's quite odd for him to be here not ordering anything and begging for the employee to talk to him, while there are several real paying customers.

Harry arrives with brown parchment paper and a sandwich so bright and vivid from the abundance of various vegetables. Zayn glances at the flat surface where Harry's assembled sandwich situates itself. He flickers his eyes back to Harry and — even though he's perfectly clear of what this is — he mumbles, "What's this?"

"It's afternoon, and you had class today. Didn't eat breakfast. I am pretty certain that this is your first meal." Harry crosses his arms and saunters off to where he's filling up a cup and opening the glass display pantry. He comes back sliding a paper cup in Zayn's direction, and a chocolate chip cookie. "You can only eat that after you've finished most of the sandwich."

"Yeah, yeah, mum." Zayn mutters, but does engage in his meal, nodding to Harry with a smile after his first bite. Not only is Loaf and Devotion dumb sometimes, but so is Harry. Because, who knows how to make bread and chicken taste so good. He's seen Harry work, always gets captivated with how quick his reflexes are when gathering all the requested toppings. Surely, Harry's hands deserve to be useful elsewhere than assembling sandwiches, but Zayn's not complaining.

Zayn is halfway done when he's about to interrogate Harry about the bunches of people on his invite list, but Harry's attention is focused on a man to the left of Zayn. Harry's going on giggling at some joke that Zayn didn't even think was funny — then again, Harry has the most awful type of humor sense beyond anyone he’s ever met. He develops a sudden aversion for how he's excessively surveying Harry's demeanor. It's not like he means to feel this weird vexation so abruptly, but he kind of just wants to shove this man off his stool. It's the way Harry sways his body while nibbling at his bottom lip, how his fingers are curling around the edge of the counter with crinkly eyes — it's all there, while talking to this man, and Zayn just doesn't like how he's witnessing it.

It hardly ever happens. Usually occurs when Zayn's trying to prevent Harry from chatting it up with a creep. But the guy next to him isn't, he's a fit guy, Zayn thinks. Like, from Zayn's perspective, but he doesn't think he's Harry's type, he thinks. Zayn actually doesn't really know what to think, he's just certain he needs to impede this whole connection very soon.

"Harry. Someone spilled something." Zayn comments, patting down on the counter — or well, maybe unintentionally slamming his hand down too roughly on the flat white surface.

"Oh, where?" Harry observes his surroundings, looking over the counter on Zayn's end but shrugs.

Harry continues to ignore Zayn (basically), and Zayn’s always had this thing where he couldn’t not have Harry’s full and undivided attention. For any matter, really. If Zayn and Harry couldn’t be class partners, he demanded that Harry still stopped by his desk to ask any necessary questions on the assignment. He didn’t like it when Harry got rides from others either, because Anne trusted Zayn to bring him home safely (and simply because Zayn didn’t like knowing Harry was confided in a tiny space with someone he didn’t know). To call Zayn a bit possessive is relevant, but he doesn’t completely call himself controlling or anything — just a bit protective.

Above all, he really loathes when Harry’s busy without him. Especially when Zayn would be right in his stretch, yet Harry is occupied with another, like he’s dissolved into vapor.

Now, this he doesn’t fully intend. It happens mostly by aggression, as Zayn rests his head onto the counter flat to avoid looking at them. Zayn’s arm retracts out so he could lay his head on it, but he ends up drawing to forcefully, too quick, to the point where he knocks over his cup of water, causing it to fall on Harry’s end. He flinches at that — they both do, really — and then Harry’s jumping in the air like something just crawled on his feet. It’s just water Harry, Zayn mentally groans. Albeit, apart of him is elated to know Harry’s regards are elsewhere.

Peering his attention towards the guy in the booth next to him, he intends to have just a quick peek to see if his first impression was all that accurate. It’s all thrown out of the window by now to even think about any of that (plus, he can’t believe it himself that he was about to do a double look), instead Zayn is alert of how the stranger’s got his phone out, directing it at Harry. Zayn leans back a bit to have a more vast view of the guy’s phone. He ends up seeing the video settings on and scoffs, “Mate, what are you doing?”

The man in a rough voice responds with a deep laugh, “Ah man, don’t worry about me. Nice accent by the way, you and the employee are from the same place.”

Zayn rolls his eyes because this man is a fucking idiot, but being the intellectual that Zayn is, he doesn’t make any judgements, only enlightening him with a correction but he doesn’t get too far. Because all Zayn is capable of is, “No man, we aren’t. Just because we have a different accent from —“ before the man waves him off with sounds something like a lousy yeah, right, right.

“You think he wants you doing that?” Zayn interferes, his voice more stern and determined now. Because he is all that Zayn defended him for not being. He’s a creep, and Zayn feels some guilt to had disregarded it earlier — all because Zayn thought his looks were the slightest bit attractive.

“He’s fine. It’s just a picture.” The man says.

It frustrates Zayn because averts his eyes to where Harry’s on his knees wiping at the floor with Zayn’s mess — and no, it is not just a picture. Zayn snatches the phone from the rugged looking man, prying it but the other person’s grip is too strong. “Delete that fucking photo, mate.” Zayn threatens, with no threat at all besides a dark tone that is probably filled with zero amount of venom.

Now he’s standing up tall, and Zayn’s nervous. The guy’s shadow nearly hovers over Zayn’s smaller figure. “Or what?”

“I don’t know.” Zayn says quickly.

“Is he going to kick me out? I wouldn’t miss an opportunity. He positioned over like that. Anyone would’ve thrown the towel down and just used their foot. It was a show. He’s — “

Zayn acquires his moment to return the rude interruption, rudely cutting of the guy’s speech, like he had done. He does it with a punch that’s got his knuckles aching and his heartbeat ringing in his ears. The ignorant man nearly lunches forward and Zayn would’ve gotten trampled if it wasn’t for Harry throwing Zayn’s leftover sandwich at him. “Get out of my shop!” Harry shouts frustratedly, but more emotionally.

Surprisingly, the man listens, shoving at Zayn before exiting. His soup remains, but not his phone, so Zayn scorns himself for that. It’s not like Harry was in that much of a promising position but the fact that this stranger had invaded Harry’s privacy, he’s livid.

It’s Zayn who cleans up Harry’s mess this time, picking up the discarded tomatoes and chicken and banana peppers and other greens. He adjusts his posture to see Harry leaning against the counter that’s further from Zayn with a pout and his arms crossed. Zayn debates whether Harry is upset over the man’s words, or if it’s because of Zayn’s initiative action.

“Do you know why I did it?”

“No, but you looked angry. That foolish, mean one you get sometimes.” Sometimes, is all Zayn really focuses on. Because he rarely gets angry like this, and if anything, Harry’s only witnessed this about two or three times. Harry wouldn’t know anything about sometimes. But it means something to Zayn because if Harry distinguishes this from other angry moods Zayn has dealt with, then it’s important because Harry’s noticed enough to tell the difference.

“Well, he was fucking disgusting.” Zayn spits out and finally sits back on the stool. But his body is sorta moving like the speed of light, like they say in science. He feels still upset, but jittery in a way. He feels like he did not solve anything, yet he feels like he saved Harry.

Harry also defended him by throwing something at the invader, so that’s a good sign to because Harry doesn’t know why Zayn did such a thing, but backed him up blindingly. It’s a nice feeling, to know that Harry didn’t scold Zayn for punching the man he was flirting with.

“Oh,” Harry’s face softens and he inches closer to the counter between him and Zayn, “Tell me what he did. Better be a good reason for me to waste the chicken sandwich.”

“Did a really inappropriate thing, H. I don’t want to talk about it.” Zayn doesn’t want to begin with how he was zooming in on Harry, doesn’t want to end with the foul reasoning coming out of his mouth. He refuses to say anything in between from the moment he even started talking to this filthy stranger.

Zayn almost flinches involuntarily, but settles calmly the second he’s aware that this hand on his cheek is Harry’s. His thumb glides along Zayn’s skin comfortingly and he whispers all soft and drawl, this indirect thank you, “You can eat the cookie now.”

Harry’s eyes and nose crinkle up from his wide smile. He looks so youthful and free spirited with and Zayn remembers why he always felt the need to be overprotective with Harry, even if Harry is a bit taller and does have more arm mass. Doesn’t matter, because Harry’s heart is too pure and he’s so delicate, he wouldn’t know how to handle any harsh words directed at him because he’s so damn sensitive. That’s why Zayn is there for that part.

x

It's the midnight of Harry's housewarming and Harry is roaming around naked with nothing but a cotton apron on, claiming that he's more relieved when he's nude. Zayn doesn't know if that's true or not — Harry's productivity and ease when he's has the weight of no clothing articles on — but he allows him to do it anyways with all the curtains shut.

Currently, Harry is ordering him to perfect these little swirls above the cupcake tops, which Zayn adapts to rather quickly. He silently praises himself for doing ten cupcakes within about thirty seconds.

Across the kitchen while Harry is sitting at the dining table with Zayn occupying the bar stool at the island counter, Harry rolls these marbles that are mushed from warm cake and crisco — apparently called cake pops but Zayn's never heard of them. He's anxious himself to see how this will turn out because it already appears that Harry's utilizing his one hundred percent effort into preparing it.

My little hard worker.

"Do you need help with those cake balls?" Zayn asks when he's on his final cupcake, a chocolate batter with cookie crumbs in the vanilla icing.

"I'm just rolling them." Harry mumbles. It looks like he's just playing with clay dough but Zayn doesn't comment on that, instead takes a seat next to Harry and observes before attempting his own. Harry smiles and averts his eyes to Zayn, "Great, now that you're doing that, I'll just coat these with melted chocolate."

The kitchen aroma floods with a scent of melted milk chocolate and despite Zayn not being the biggest junkie for sweets, it smells incredible.

Harry inches over with bowl that looks like a plate because of how flat it seems. Zayn is alert of the chocolate in that uncanny kitchen dish, casually slipping his finger into it to get a taste. He retracts immediately as if the chocolate was a flaming bullet he just dodged.

“You’re an idiot, babe. It’s hot.” Harry reaches for Zayn’s hand and rubs at his index finger gently before shoving him away and catering to his soon-to-be cake pops.

Zayn frowns, “Why’s it hot for? Can’t you just put those in regular frosting I used?”

“They’re different types of coatings. I’ll use this milky one, then let it cool down, then design it.” Harry gives Zayn an example by dipping the paper stick into the chocolate mix, sticking the pop into the mushy ball, and following off with all he’s mentioned. “Simple. Maybe you can decorate.”

Zayn rests his head against the table, fondly observing Harry, even if his cheek is against the cold surface and his back is aching a bit from lounging with a bad posture. “We haven’t really talked, talked in a while.”

Harry hums in response, not looking at his direction. Zayn craves it because the only thing he’s done during the last several hours was giving Harry all of his undivided attention, but Harry doesn’t reciprocate it.

“How’s school, H?” Zayn attempts.

“About that. I didn’t tell you yet. I wanted to make sure that I would be okay before I failed in front of your face.” Harry comments while placing his recent cake pop on the parchment paper. He now faces Zayn, tilting his head, “You made me realize I might want something in the whole designing industry.”

“What did I do?”

Harry smiles, “Yeah, you did something good. I like seeing you work on your art. And I like when you tell me I am good at decorating the house. I know you’ll tell me that I’m stellar at putting the toppings on these cake pops. It all makes me happy. I want something like this.”

“No more law?” Zayn asks and pokes at Harry’s frown. If he suspected that Zayn would be upset, he stands corrected because even if Harry didn’t tell him his new aspired workforce route, he’s assured that it’s only because Harry didn’t want to disappoint — which makes Zayn the slightest bit hurt that Harry seemed self conscious in his abilities.

“Do you think I could be firm like that? No. I like justice and all, but I cannot do that for a living. If I wanted to argue, I would marry my enemy.” Harry yawns. “Business suits, too? No fun patterns.”

“Got you, babe. I like your decision.”

“Your suggestion. And I’m taking.”

Harry insists that Zayn waits until tomorrow when the cake pops are cooled to have a very first experience indulging them. Though he doesn’t listen, taking one from the styrofoam stand and forces a smile with a tiny gap between his teeth for a nibble. Harry groans for him to at least take a big bite to taste all the flavors together, so he hollows his cheeks and the treat is suddenly bite sized, vanishing between his lips.

“How is it?” Harry asks while piping over another cake pop with golden drizzles. It fascinates Zayn that he doesn’t really respond with a delightful hum of approval.

Harry is Harry and everything he does, he masters. Zayn isn’t surprised that the treat futile a spectacular, sweet taste with this moistness that lingers on his tongue after it’s all gone. It’s peculiar, but he imagines his taste buds thrashing around like being in a mosh pit, craving for more.

Discarding the stick — targeting it into the sink lousily — Zayn caters to the cake pops with the assistance of Harry. It’s a hands in experience as Zayn nibbles the end of a sandwich bag for the chocolate to filter out through, and begins making abstract designs that resemble Harry’s.

Zayn envisions the two of them doing this on a regular basis, well, he knows they’re already like this — offering helping hands to one another and just doing things together at home. Though, with this whole baking thing coming into play, it provides a more wholesome feeling to their domesticity.

Maybe they should own bakery shop together in their very house and cater to complex requests. Zayn finds himself actually suggesting it, which leaves Harry to tease him, “You need to get better first.”

“With your help, I’ll be a pro in no time.” Zayn says then drizzles some zig zags on the parchment paper with gold flakes sprinkled on it, just to prove to Harry that there’s been some improvement since the last couple of minutes ago.

“Actually,” Harry starts and turns towards Zayn to take the makeshift piper from him, "Thank you for your help tonight.”

I told you so — Harry would goad him with those words, but Zayn decides it’s alright to be wrong sometimes. He admits amicably, “I know I say that this is your housewarming and all, but I'm happy to help. I can’t for tomorrow.”

Harry squeezes Zayn’s hand comfortingly, “I knew you’d come around.”

x

The sudden rays of sunlight against his eyelids strike him awake. Presumably, Harry is standing by his windows pulling at the blinds and banging on the wall to get him out of bed. Because he knows he didn’t keep the curtains and blinds open, nor does he recall having an alarm ringtone that blares, “Zayn! Zayn! Wake up, Zayn! Today’s the day!”

It’s Harry’s fault for keeping him up last night, and it’s still Harry’s fault that a migraine surfaces due to the strobe lights and his squeaky, shouting voice. Zayn concludes that Harry could interfere all he wants, but he can’t separate Zayn and his bed.

“Harry, shut up.” Zayn groans and retrieves the pillow from beneath his head to suffocate himself with it.

“You have to help me prepare. We’ve got to decorate! You need to arrange furniture for my buffet tables!” Harry booms even louder, additionally stomping like a child throwing a fit.

Zayn ignores him for several seconds, and then Harry’s ignorance suddenly evaporate like vapor. The room is split into this silence that Zayn can almost visually see in the darkness of his shut eyes. It occurs to him that Harry is gone now, therefore Zayn adjusts himself comfortably beneath his sheets and attempts to fall back asleep — even if it’ll just be a few more hours.

Just when he thinks his mind is warping into his deep sleep, there’s a heavy weight shifting on the side of his bed. He tugs the sheets over his shoulder even tighter and sighs, “Haz, it’s too early.”

“Drive me to pick up my orders or else.” Harry’s voice is daring but doesn’t bother Zayn. “Or else then, yeah? Fine.”

Like everything else that has been function far too fast to get a grip on within the past few minutes, Zayn feels the warmth and comfort of his blankets casting away. The temperature shifts, making Zayn shiver and locate some type of coverage with his palms. To his dismay, he doesn’t get a grip of anything, so he bats his lashes momentarily before seeing Harry kneeling down next to him, and all of his sheets discarded on the ground.

“What! What do you need?” Zayn kicks his legs abruptly up and down all whiningly.

“Look at me.” Harry says flatly, leaving a bit of confusion on Zayn’s end because Harry’s never been more direct unless he’s got something coming — typically never good.

Zayn averts his eyes up instead of just blinking at the blank wall. With his attention flickering to Harry, he meets a bowl of ice before green orbs. With his heart suddenly plummeting out of his chest and sinking into the mattress, Zayn squirms off of bed and shouts, “No! No, no. I’m up!”

Harry grins widely just before he’s delicately placing the silver bowl of ice onto Zayn’s nightstand. He begins to fold Zayn blankets that were on the ground, whilst Zayn sits on his rollin chair rubbing at his face. He’s only in a tank top and briefs, waiting for Harry to leave so he can officially start his day.

It’s like Harry senses him just staring because he comments, “I’m folding these because I know you’ll jump back in bed. And I’m not leaving until you’re dressed.”

“I promise if you leave, I’ll be out in like five minutes.” Zayn mutters.

“And I don’t trust those words coming out of your mouth, mister.”

It’s not the way Zayn would make his bed — setting the folded blankets on the top side of the bed — but he’s thankful, nonetheless. Even more or so when an idea perks up quite abruptly at the sight of Harry functioning so close to his nightstand.

Zayn retrieves the bowl and starts racing out of his bedroom so fast that his heels ache from the fast acceleration, where it’s necessary to make right turn after escaping through door frame. He didn’t stop so he nearly topples over and slams against the wall, but even then, he still doesn’t stop.

He comes into view with Harry’s bedroom where he spots Harry’s outfit for the day laid out. It’s flashy as usual, too nice for a regular day. But then again, technically today isn’t just any day in Harry’s eyes. He hears the shouting of, “Zayn! What are you doing?”

“Don’t drag me with you or else.” Zayn mocks with a more childish-like tone compared to the way Harry had said it. He has the bowl of ice with some now swimming in the pool of the melted ones, and he’s prepared to slip them into Harry’s attire for the day.

“Fine.” Harry grumbles and there's a dainty tone Harry uses when he mumbles, “Just wanted to spend time with you."

The expression that Harry sports — from his pouty lips to the blown eyes that almost scream somber — delivers a feeling of insane guilt. Zayn advances closer to Harry and combs his curls with his fingertips apologetically, “Harry, I’m sorry."

Harry fails to give Zayn any attention, but succeeds at making Zayn feel worse. He inches closer, if possible, and strives to alter Harry's gloomy presence in exchange for the happy Harry he saw just minutes ago before he gradually became upset. He would embrace him, but he's in a muck because he's still holding the frozen bowl and he's not really sporting any layers (because evoking the last time he hugged Harry, while Harry was nude, it just felt odd).

Zayn has an untold list that runs miles long when it comes to all the things he's ever done for Harry out of guilt. He never wants to disappoint him, just like he literally turned the house upside down within a few days just to please Harry, or how he continued to play chef with Harry just to keep a smile on his face. Harry is an instant glutton whenever Zayn obliges. Therefore, he accepts Harry's previous proposal by announcing, "We'll go together."

"Good! Get dressed, then I'll meet you downstairs." Harry cheers and takes a hold of the ice bowl, patting Zayn's shoulder. His hand glides down to Zayn's wrist as he walks him out of his bedroom then comments, "By the way, you don't have to shower."

"Why not? People are coming over today."

Harry disregards Zayn's concern. With the angle he's standing at, it's difficult to really see Harry's face because the sun is glaring into his vision. Besides the matter, Harry's answers aren't given, instead, his waistband is no longer snug against his stomach as Harry's got a finger curling around it. Zayn can't even swat Harry's hand away because he's already pouring all of the cold contents of the bowl into Zayn's pants.

"That's why. Bye now!" Harry shouts just before pushing Zayn roughly with two hands on his chest and slamming his bedroom door shut.

Following, only a lock turn sounds and Zayn doesn't even shout. The gust of wind, along with the ice cubes, leaves him shivering and already concocting a scheme to make them even.

Zayn embarks on a not-so-adventurous adventure with Harry, visiting multiple stores for party decorations and visiting two places to pick up appetizers — those being finger-foods that come with sauce for dipping. One of the shops smell like old carpets and the area fills with staticy, eerie background music. He stands close to Harry the whole time, not bothering to scope through other asiles on his own (because he’s lazy, is what he tells himself).

Harry implores that Zayn does not sample any of the entrees throughout the drive home. He does have a taste of the sweet walnut shrimp whist Harry visits a tiny market by their home to buy matches. Apparently, canned fragrances are no match to burning incense and candles.

It doesn’t stop when they conclude with the hasty errands either.

"So, I am ordering you to lift the coffee table elsewhere because I want leg room." Harry instructs, pointing at the table, kicking at one of the legs.

"There's a family room and a living room, what more entertainment space do people need?" Zayn complains. Doing heavy lifting right now only calls for more labor to reposition it all after the day is done. Another note Zayn has come up with is, "The weight of the furniture will leave four deep squares on the rug that'll be obviously noticeable to guests."

"Whatever then. Help me haul in the table I'm using for all the food."

There is one thing that amuses Zayn. He lets his creativity sprinkle in the kitchen as Harry insists he takes over the table, decorating it with whatever Harry purchased.

There’s a theme Harry aims for — one that he chose weeks ago, reason why his desserts are designed so meticulous — that being silver and maroon. Therefore, Zayn assembles the table with a maroon sheet and uses silver thin banners to twist and twirl and dangle off the edges of the table. He’s delighted to position the food trays on the table and play with the burner’s flames for a mere second until Harry is shouting at him to get back to business.

“So, I think this is it.” Harry smiles to himself when they both fall back onto the couch simultaneously.

The two house owners admire the arrangements of silver that resembles the moon glistening on water, and maroon accents that leave the rooms with a positive energy. There’s streamers hanging from each corners of the walls, meeting in the center. All of the furniture end up being arranged to suit the taste of the party and Zayn didn’t complain the second time around. The previous scent of black chardonnay and pomegranate becomes taken over by the oily entrees that are way to much for a group of about twenty guests.

At the door bell’s signal, their first guest is Megan, which is an awful surprise because Zayn didn’t expect her arrival. She did say something about the drive being awfully far, which seemed like a disappointing excuse because upon her past, she’d never miss any of Zayn’s occasions for the world.

But here she stands front in center of Zayn, here in the center room of he and Harry’s home. He cups her face and kisses her for what seems like forever until there’s a startling scoff in the corner. It’s usually the typical tease emitting from Harry; Zayn turns around and his instincts are spot on.

“Room tour later, you’ve got to help me.” Harry comments and wraps his fingers around Zayn’s elbow — which, Zayn never noticed how they could possibly cover around his whole arm from finger to finger.

“Help do what now?”

“The… curtain looks like it’s about to fall. I need to secure it. You need to hold the chair so I don’t fall.”

It’s a pathetic, chary request, but in retrospect, Zayn can never decline. Zayn turns to Megan with a soft smile before directing his attention back to Harry. He’ll probably invest on a ladder so he could avoid this duty in the mere future.

Louis enters with a bottle and an arm around Eleanor who sports a baby bump. It's difficult for Zayn to hug her but he manages successfully. He leaves Louis' empty handed then proceeds to walk the two of them into the dining room where Harry is nowhere to be found because he's crawling under the table, storing away the extra refill snacks and drinks.

"So what is this again?" Louis asks lousily with an apathetic expression, "Because... looks like Harry's gone a bit extra again."

Megan grins and pats at Harry's shoulder before agreeing, "Right? He should plan your baby shower."

"Already ahead of that!" Because Harry is Harry, of course he says that and it's an honest fact because Harry has scrapbook pages — a binder of planning, alphabetically — all dedicated to Louis and Eleanor. Harry chuckles and fans his fingertips down Zayn's face and announces gleamingly, "And this is me and Zayn's engagement party. Glad you could all make it! We have goodie bags, too."

Zayn pushes away from the wall he was propped against and takes a seat next to Louis who throws an arm around Zayn upon his arrival. He purses out his lips and taunts, "Oh, fuck off, Styles." He averts his eyes to Harry and then to the crowd of their few guests and says a bit lazily, "Welcome to Harry's housewarming. He planned it all. I had nothing to do with any of this."

Harry grins at him, that everlasting one that doesn't seem to be fading anytime soon, "Don't be embarrassed." He averts his attention to their friends and coos, "He arranged the furniture all cozy to accommodate with the decorations and food displays but was really nervous that his mum wouldn't approve."

"Why not?" A questioning tone comes from someone that Zayn can't detect because he's still sending a wave of glares in Harry's direction for being too talkative.

Zayn irritatingly sight something like a whiny ugh, before revealing, "She's coming today and doesn't like the style. For my last house, I arranged it to something fitting for me and she said to let Harry take care of it instead and do what I do best."

"Right, what does she mean when she tells him to let him do what he does best?" Harry chuckles, sets himself down on Zayn's lap. Making Zayn feel like malleable clay dough, Harry squishes his face with his palms. "Everything he does is at his best."

Harry can't stop touching him for some obscure reason. Zayn casually waves it off, seeming unaware of the touchy affection. It's definitely nothing indifferent, except for the fact that he's visibly undergoing this interaction around all of their close friends. There's a tinge of endearment, but also discomfort on behalf of his state of mind towards Harry within these last couple of weeks since living with him.

Thirty minutes into their aimless mingling, Zayn and Harry’s parents arrive together. The both of them are rather alert over their actions, however the whole fake aspect is a thing neither of the boys revealed to their families. For all they know, ZaynandHarry are reckless boys who don’t think about the consequences (as Harry has told Zayn that their mums agreed on that one day when he decided to visit).

As for Zayn’s father, well he hasn’t spoken to him at all since the announcement reached his ears. He knows he messed up, but that is what he thinks on the surface if he forgets that he and Harry never actually got drunkenly married. Yazer stopped prodding him with marriage questions, or of Megan -- those are the only pros out of their lack of communication.

Unsurprisingly, Trisha notices Harry of all things first, and the many marvellous things she expects of him, “Oh, Harry lovely room you’ve got here. The two single chairs are so fitting alongside the coffee stand.”

Harry grins while detaching herself from the hug, “It’s actually Zayn who did that.”

Trisha pats Zayn on the back while stepping in further into the room and undoing her shoes. “I’m sure he helped. But give yourself some credit.”

“No, really Zayn bloody did it all.”

“Alright, nice for you Zayn.”

Yazer doesn’t even glance in his direction and Zayn suspects of course he’s still upset. Sadly there isn’t much he could do to alter his father’s mood, but then again he could also care less.

This is a lovely environment, decorated for a lovely occasion. He’d rather not make a scene of plead or aggression for his parents to acknowledge him.

At least Harry’s parents noticed him as they both greet him with the warmest smiles and kind comments towards the place.

In a way, Harry’s mother has always been the sweetest towards Zayn. He remembers when he’d visit Harry after curfew hours when he was feeling defiant at home; Anne wouldn’t complain or be disappointed at either of them. She always understood more than his mother did, meanwhile, its clear Trisha is a better sport with Harry than she is for Zayn.

It’s pleasant to think that two best friends get along with each other’s family so greatly.

Rooting from the slight frustration on behalf of his mother, Zayn splits away from the crowd of comfortable faces. There’s a pool of frustration and utter embarrassment swimming and he’s swimming in it, barely above the surface. It isn’t so often that he gets upset, and he loves his mother dearly, but sometimes she seems so incapable of believing in Zayn.

There are footsteps following him within radius. He expects that its Harry who enters his bedroom behind him, but turning around it’s Megan. Zayn falls into the solace of his mattress before patting down a free space for his girlfriend, which, sometimes that word doesn’t make sense to him anymore.

Maybe it’s the expression that plays on his face, uptight and apathetic, because Megan does what she’s always done whenever Zayn tries to prevent his emotions from being obvious. He just doesn’t like his upset moods radiating out of him, but clearly he’s doing a bad job if Megan is practically cradling him in her arms. Something about being in this position makes him feel safe, as if his big spoon is absorbing all of this negative energy.

Shutting his eyes and allowing himself to lodge in this realm of consolation, he just thinks about irrelevant things. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how larger arms feel more secure around him, or how he would prefer a flat chest for his head to rest against, and he really shouldn’t be thinking about that distinctive fruity-vanilla wash compared to this cherry blossom flower scent.

When Zayn shakes off the discomfort — Megan’s arms and his baffling thoughts — he catches the sight of his ceiling and props his arms beneath his head. He expects to lose himself in the silence all on his own while staring into the blank white nothingness, but Megan fixates herself on his lap.

“Has Harry ever invited anyone over yet?”

Zayn chuckles and hesitantly brings a hand to her hip, “No, I’d have a full security check on any mate he brings over.”

“So do you think he’d be upset if we — “ Zayn doesn’t want her to finish her sentence. Something about all of this feels awfully wrong in ways he can’t comprehend.

“I don’t feel like it.” Zayn shoves her off, hoping he wasn’t too aggressive. By the looks of it when he’s standing up, she’s perfectly fine.

“Sorry.” Megan mumbles under breath but still, he can sense what he had done stung her.

It’s ironic, in a way, for her to apologize. Because she did nothing wrong. It gets him into a hysterical mood, “And why would he be upset? It’s my house. This is my bedroom. You’re mine. And he has no business with this.” He takes a deep breath, alert of his amplifying defense, “I just don’t want to do anything.”

“Alright, alright.”

x

Today is dedicated to spend some time with Louis as the irritating fucker he is, constantly prying Zayn to watch a game with him at his place; and then Megan, who he hasn’t spent any time with in couple weeks, not including the housewarming a few days ago.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Zayn says the second Louis swings the front door open, welcoming him with a not so thrilled look upon his face.

"Let me guess." Louis eyes wander inconspicuously, almost at teasing rate, before darting his blues at Zayn, "Harry?"

Zayn nods then steps inside due to Louis' silent request. "Yeah, man. He might be able to be trusted to drive on his own now. I let him drive to his work, that took some time because he was going a bit slow. I rushed here just for you though."

"Of course." Louis mumbles while walking off. Zayn contemplates whether that was a good thing or not, because Louis said it rather peeved.

There's this eerie tension that is threatening their typical comfort with each other. Zayn considers that it has to do with Louis still being upset. Personally, it's childish and petty, but Zayn has great knowledge when it comes to the way Louis coordinates. Apologizing is the only sincere way to alleviate the poor, pathetic look that's constricting Louis from smiling. "Look, sorry for my late arrival. I'll make it up to you, we'll go out and watch the game instead!"

Louis bursts into a fit of hysteric cackles before wiping an invisible tear. "Not mad at you for showing up late. I'm frustrated because you're so dense."

"Why? Or, how? Tell me." Zayn beseeches genuinely as the statement is so vague to him.

"It's nothing. About the outing, are you paying up?" Zayn nods, he supposes he will since he'd insist upon it. Though, he's still curious about the root of Louis' frustration.

"Honey chicken, and barbecue chicken, and teriyaki chicken. I want those flavors. You can pick a limit of one more, then it’ll call for our platter." Louis says jubilantly while he places the laminated menu back onto the flat surface of the shiny table.

Zayn purses his lips out for a second to reason with Louis' order that is clearly unfair ad insensitive. "But we have four options, why do you get to choose three?"

"Ah, ah now. You're the one taking me out. Don't I get a say in what I want to eat? Of course, if you do disagree, you can order another platter for yourself with your own choices." Louis voice is sly in addition to his devious remark.

Zayn fails to correct Louis' bold cunning attitude, thinking that one day it'll get him into some real deep shit, but for the meantime, Zayn finalizes with sweet and sour tossing for his chicken flavor.

When the waitress gathers their order, Louis also requests a casual drink and also ordering one for Zayn (because he's one year behind Louis, considered as underage for drinking alcohol — it's one thing Zayn is glad about while dining with Louis, but then he remembers that he's paying).

"So..." Zayn says, then sips on his water — barely a kitten lick, "I am dense?"

Louis sighs before uttering, "Do you ever think you do too much for Harry?"

Zayn makes a quick haha because the answer is certainly obvious to him, "But no. I am paying for this meal of yours aren't I?"

"That's not what I am talking about. For any close friend of yours, you'd provide an abundance of food and a roof over their heads if needed without hesitation. Though, Harry. He gets like greedy with you."

Flattered is what Zayn is, but for only the first few seconds. He flatly comments,"Rude." Tilting his head and searching for any distinction that Louis only wants a banter to surface, Zayn doesn't find anything. "Are you jealous or something?"

"I can't tell if — No, no, bad phrasing." Louis pauses for a second but to Zayn, reading Louis clear now, all leading up to one theory. Zayn can only conjure up the fact that Louis knows something, he wants to say something. Zayn is unsure of what that is. Louis murmurs something unintelligent that Zayn can't hear but then onwards he presses, "Why do you baby Harry like he's some child? I think you waste too much time on him, and not in some like older role model who offers guidance. But you're literally his own training wheels."

"Name a time I was ever Harry's babysitter." Zayn sneers, adding a scoff because of his vocabulary — technically it's Louis' absurd word he used to imply that it was the perfect label for Zayn.

"I don't know, I mean like maybe ever since you moved in with him?" Louis raises his hands and pokes at each finger while listing out: giving his bedroom a grand makeover, taking him to work all the time, having him drag you across town to cater to his own event.

"He deserves help like that. I don't see how it's too much."

"Right, sure. But it seems awfully boyfriend-like." Louis emphasizes.

The food finally arrives however, it doesn't catch all of his attention because Louis' opinion is so foreign to him. He doesn't understand the terminology, nor grasping why this is the keyword for Zayn's action. Debating whether he should be amused or offended, he decides to just ask first go all, "What's that mean?"

Louis straightens his posture, no more tiresomely giving Zayn a lecture. He picks up a chicken wing and rudely begins eating all while responding, "I am the one she calls when she needs me to help construct some new dresser with foreign instructions. I adjust my schedule to make time to take El places. Not that she needs to rely on me — it's a bit sexist to think right? But we just do things like that, together. And why? Because we're dating."

Zayn shrugs with a timorous smile, "I answer my phone when Meg calls."

"Not the point."

"What is then?"

"That whether you see it or not, Harry is using you for all these boyfriend-y things. Friends don't waste time together decorating together or cooking for each other almost every night. Yes, Harry has informed me that you're a spectacular cook." Again, flattered. Yet, it's a whole concoction of flattery with a sprinkle disappointment.

Never has it occurred that Harry was taking advantage of him. Zayn always perceives these requests as a way of spending time together — Louis even said so, that it happens, but apparently Zayn and Harry are different. Reason he complies with Harry is because he feels that there are numerous things Harry deserves for putting up with Zayn, and also because every moment with Harry is an event. Even if it is a masked importune, it doesn't feel like a task at all.

"Roommates do." Zayn comments simply.

Louis chuckles, "Do roommates surprise each other with car trunks designed for a first time fuck?"

"How? How do you..." Before Zayn can get his hands on a chicken wing, Louis slaps it away.

"You know him better than I do. Of course he would ramble on and on about that." Louis rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his tequila sunrise, responding to the taste with shiver.

"I don't get it." Zayn furrows his eyebrows and observes his surroundings, where the roaring noise is now a distraction that he didn't notice earlier. The aroma of the various chicken flavored tossing is making his nose tickle a bit, becoming sort of misleading because he's unsure which flavor he'll want to indulge first. He's thinking a lot at the moment beneath the circular ceiling lamp that illuminates above the booth he and Louis dine at. Collecting the whole conversation, Zayn is just left with one assumption, "You want me to stop being so nice?"

"Do whatever you want, Zayn. I just think one day it'll backfire one of you."

When he drops Louis off after eight wings and barely a taste of the alcoholic beverage, he almost looks up his GPS system for the directions to Megan's house. It's been a couple weeks, and it doesn't mean he's completely forgotten but he did blank out for a mere moment.

Far too exhausted as well from Louis lecture, if that's the appropriate term, he reclines his driver's seat back and unwinds by raising his arm over his eyes to hinder the sunshine. He needs a power nap of some sort before visiting, even if he is already in the driveway of his girlfriend's house. It's not that its an intrusion for him to just occupy the bed for sleep, but he feels like he's stepping towards somewhere unfamiliar.

To enter her home without any interaction, and even very little exchanges of conversation, for ages just seems odd. She isn't a stranger, but that's what it resembles — what they're leading up to. The distance lately has easily been covered up by excuses, like settling in the new home and maintaining to keep up with the last few weeks of class. They remain tolerating each other as usual, but the label doesn't have any significance. Probably because there's no time for either of them to see each other. Time, Zayn laughs to himself. Because he's clearly got all the time in the world to spend every waking moment with Harry, even if he's got a project due or is lazily unwinding. Harry is always there, assisting him with suggestions or filling the air with irrelevant topics. Zayn disregards that recollection, sticking with — not an excuse, but a reason. The reason why he has more time for Harry is simply because Harry lives with him.

One thing that he deciphers is that he's tremendously nervous. Deep down, as much as he shakes off the root of his fears, he's certain that he's afraid to confront Megan about his recent discovery — in all things Harry (what he's been thinking that edges out of the platonic path, and what Louis lead into his head) and about the rings (that for whatever reason she did it, he's not ready to hear).

Zayn confesses that he knows about Megan looking at engagement rings, how he felt a bit perplexed and unprepared. It doesn’t end well. He leaves with a faint mumble in the distance, can’t a girl dream? And he’s heard that plenty of times in the dramas and romance movies Harry has made him sit through. There’s usually a happy ending though.

x

Zayn arrives home by the evening time where the sky paints itself with a mix of blue like the ocean and a light purple that resembles lavender on stems. He spots Harry in the kitchen with his laptop in front of him, the screen glow illuminating his face indicating that awfully close to the screen. Zayn is a bit concerned but he ignores his own judgment.

“Have you eaten?”

“I have, eaten. I did.” Harry says slowly as if his answer isn’t within reach. He bites his lip before responding again, “Have you?”

“I did.”

There’s an eerie silence, nothing to be concerned about. It’s just quite mysterious. The knitted eyebrows and pouty lips contorted on Harry’s face resembles the atmosphere. “So, why are you asking then?”

Zayn is keen to answer, “I wanted to eat with you, if you haven’t.”

“Well, okay… sit down then?”

The screech from the legs of the chair comes to attention. Zayn is quick to occupy the seat and states the obvious, “You ate already, though.”

“I’d still like to spend time with my favorite boy.”

Zayn feels the heat surfacing on his cheeks. “Oh, thanks.”

After Harry’s fingers make an inconsistent rhythm with his laptop keys, typing away, he addresses a new topic, “How have the sculptures been doing?”

“It’s okay… I guess.” With Zayn’s lack of inspiration, he hasn’t sold, nor created, a single thing, though he’s too ashamed to admit that.

The last thing he created was prior to the housewarming, an abstract contemporary dancer made of tin cans and magnets which actually props itself in Harry’s bedroom with one of his best piece of work happened to sell during the garage sell for big bucks. Besides all of this, he feels unsure about the success in this career.

Zayn fetches a pudding cup from the fridge, a comfort snack because he doesn’t want to really dwell on the stress that didn’t really occur until Harry just had to mention it.

Harry’s hands are quick to swipe the cup before Zayn could indulge on a first bite. He says with a mouthful of pudding, “I’ve got something.” He wipes his mouth with a faint trail of drool now on his cheek, “Alright, so as you know, I’ve got my associates degree. I had told you that I was going back to a four year for law, but since that dream has vanished… I wanted to start a home business!”

"A what?" Zayn sputters out. He knows what that means, but why would Harry want their home to be a store?

Harry claps and throws his arms in the air, "Home! Business!"

"I heard you, but like you're turning this into a grocery store or something?"

Zayn visually imagines Harry converting the living room into room full of fruits and vegetables in large baskets, then the kitchen being his own fast food shop that sells hot dogs on a stick. Perhaps Harry's bedroom is where people drop off pants for him to tailor in return to them with the perfect trim on around ankles. He doesn't know where these quirky imaginations come from, but that's what occurs when he hears home business.

"No, silly." Harry rolls his eyes, adjusting his laptop screen to face Zayn.

The screen presents a catalog of furniture. Wardrobes, ladder bookcases, office desks — it's an endless scroll of numerous house furniture. Harry directs the browser to a new category page somewhere on the top left. He's welcomed with tons and tons of different portraits, designed shelving boxes, and decorations for tables or bookshelves.

Zayn furrows his eyebrows just scanning ths screen, "A home business?"

"Right, so interior design. My goal. I would like us to make furniture and sell them, with a touch of my own flair!" Harry continually announces that he would take advantage of his natural talent, distributing his decorating abilities towards the furniture they construct. He goes on about making bookshelves that can dual power as a chair, knitting his own pillows as seat cushions for the surface. He wants to create a blog to stage decorations on bookshelves and display his arrangement of formal dining room tables with their fancy plates and rolled up utensils in tablecloths.

Zayn does admits that this could be a promising hobby and job. This even draws them to bit of a bonding experience as they contribute their individual talents to project towards something bigger, in their very own home.

Plus, he thinks Harry would be a lovely, tremendous business man. He was never the most reliable as a lawyer student since the start of college with his bookworm attributes but lack of internship or any personal knowledge for that matter. But this, he's done his fair share of bargains at the yard sale and at numerous flea markets to get the best prices. He's got stellar charm that'll influence shoppers, who will become loyal patrons. Even if this is an online shop, Harry will do great with promotions on social sites to reel customers in, and even then, purchasers would still love Harry and his items on display.

Zayn acquiesces, raising his hand up in gestures to exchange a high five with Harry because he's proud to know that Harry came up with a roadmap for a successful dream.

It's not even that either, but he even wanted Zayn to be apart of it. He's reminded of why he just loves Harry so much. They've stuck with each other since prepubescent teenage years where they gave each other deodorant suggestions, to still now in the present of time where decisions like lifestyle occupations are way more needed of support.

"Another thing I want to bring to attention to my most favorite person in the whole wide world!" Harry says, in that cunning tone. Zayn waves his hand as if it's to say go on, and Harry wastes no time in saying in a sing-song way, "There's this convention I'm going to."

Zayn nods respectfully though he honestly could care less. He even adds, "Okay, just tell me the date so I don't freak out when I notice you're gone."

Harry’s curls bounce on his shoulder while he stands his ground by putting two palms on the table with his frame hovering over Zayn’s that he can barely see any light because Harry’s damn body blocks the ceiling light. "Let me word this better. There's this artsy, homeowners convention that I want you to take me to. As in, you're coming with."

Zayn exaggeratedly yawns, "Artsy and homeowners? I have never heard of such a thing, Harry."

“Yes, please. We’ll rent a car too because yours isn’t reliable. And I already booked a decent motel.” Harry assures.

“I don’t want to sleep in a motel.”

“If your concern is towards the sleeping arrangements, well there are two twin beds.”

“No, it’s not that. Aren’t those places creepy and unsanitary.”

There’s a snicker emitting from Harry’s end, all deep and almost snide. He locates another browsing screen and presents a page to Zayn, where he then says, “You think I would settle for something less than three stars, cute.”

x

While Zayn bussies his afternoon — aimlessly doing nothing in particular, actually — there's a blaring knock at the front door, which actually sounds more like kicking. He disregards their smart home alert with a notification about motion being detected, instead he decides to take a look for himself. Harry's more into playing with the security manager rather than Zayn, so off he goes looking into the door’s peephole.

What appears is an old face that baffles him. He’s not struck by who’s here, but why. It’s mostly for the matter that he hasn’t seen this man in nearly three months; and because he’s their realtor. Nick Grimshaw stands on their sandy shaded welcoming mat with a cylinder bottle that reminds him of pomegranates for an unknown reason, probably because of the wrapping paper that’s used is a dark dripping purple and red.

Zayn realizes he’s been scanning Nick for moments now, because Nick sits down at their porch swing. He shakes his head not aware of how much time has actually passed and begins to open the door.

“Hey, sir!” Zayn introduces, the door barely open enough for him to peep his head out.

“Nice to see you, Zayn. Can I come in?”

“Sure. I wasn’t expecting you.” Zayn respond in a perturb way, one that suggests this is a question instead of a statement within small talk.

Nick scrapes the bottom of his shoes against the scruffy mat before entering the large front door. He feels suddenly small to know that Nick is nearly as tall as the door itself. Raising the bottle close to his face, Nick grins, “Harry told me to get this for you. Said he feels bad for leaving you on a Good Friday.”

“Oh, thanks. But he’s not leaving.” Zayn comments, certain that Harry had intentions to be the last to lock up at night while Zayn plans to go out with Louis at a cheap dingy bar (because they want to put on a show with the karaoke machine and the Flamingo Crown is the cheapest spot for a gig).

“We’re going to dinner.”

Zayn’s eyes nearly bulge out of his eye sockets, he feels his fingernails digging into his skin, “Dinner. With each other?”

“I’m taking him to some place with nice lighting fixtures and overpriced steak. But he’s a pasta guy, isn’t he? It’s fine. They serve that too, with shrimp.” Nick nods with a tight smile, where Zayn can’t tell if this is mockery (only for the matter that he’s going out with his best friend, duh) or if it’s just that Nick really doesn’t know how to conceal his excitement.

“Harry!” Zayn shouts abruptly. “Harry! Get down!”

“So,” Zayn peers over his shoulder to where Nick observes some of the artwork on the walls, “You’re going on a date with our realtor?”

“He’s not anymore. Yeah, why?”

“But, I mean… why?”

“I asked you first. It’s quite rude to answer with another question, you know?” Harry places a quick peck on Zayn’s forehead before sauntering in Nick’s direction.

Because this is an over eighteen bar, Zayn has approval to slump on a torn up leather bar stool and linger in the staticy tunes escaping the speakers. On the contrary, he doesn’t have any access to any drinks. Because he’s in this ominous, out-dated location with Louis, he’s also under the supervision of him -- with perks. Basically, Louis purchases drinks for himself and leads the two of them to a corner booth where he slides the tall glasses to Zayn.

“So, what do you want to sing today?” Zayn asks, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass, not having a taste just yet -- the content within being something bubbly and yellow, assumably just beer.

“2000s pop, or some 50 Cent type of shit.” Louis suggests, already looking for the thin plastic debit card in his wallet.

Louis trots over to the booth with the uncanny customer service. Despite the somewhat skeptical environment, all dim and silent with just men sporting the fluorescent light on their hairless heads, it’s the only place Louis and Zayn would want to spend their money on during their leisure time for such a thing like singing with a microphone to an instrumental beat.

Gradually, there’s a funky beat emitting from the poor speakers. It makes the eerie ambience transition to a place of unwinding and good vibes. Little beats thumb, sounding electric and too pop to be even qualified in the pop genre in this generation. Zayn tries to get a glimpse of familiarity but lacks and recognition of the song.

Zayn snatches Louis’ shot glass -- there are two anyways, so one really should be fore him -- and raises his chin to down the liquor before any eyes avert to him. He’s not legal, but it doesn’t seem like the old woman working behind the counter would even care. Not that he’s taking advantage of the worker, but hey, he needs to drink a bit to suppress the reminder that Harry, his Harry, is actually on a date.

There isn’t wrong with Harry going out. He, himself, is out. Though for Harry, it’s different. To be utterly honest, it really isn’t. Zayn is aware of that. But Harry could have asked them to be apart of their karaoke night, could of proposed a plan for tonight to go dine out so he wouldn’t be home alone. Instead, Harry goes to a fancy restaurant with a businessman who helped them get an offer on the house. It’s unsettling to say the least.

One part of his zany mind considers on mentioning it to Louis, albeit his mind is also cloudy thinking that Louis will mock him. From their last outing, Louis basically implied Zayn liked Harry, which is so foolish, Zayn would probably tell it as a joke to one of the bystanders at the bar. In this case, Louis would definitely ridicule him for being clingy or possessive with Harry. If Zayn were to bring it all to attention that he doesn’t like this concept, Louis would tease him for interfering.

Ignoring his nauseating judgement over Harry, Zayn recollects himself rather quickly by deducting his negativity for another day. He remembers that he’s with Louis and they’re about to do an annual (every last Friday of the month) best friends singing battle.

Louis ends up choosing Poker Face and One Less Lonely Girl, while Zayn sings So Sick, and the memory of Harry not being here does not surface once, even if he sings about heartbreak. There’s no connection whatsoever.

Tossing and turning, Zayn illuminates his bedroom with a faint glowing green with the color changing light on his working desk. He sits on his desk, propping his knees against his chest as he stares blankly out the rectangular window adjacent to his current position. He’s listening to cars pass by and mindlessly observing trees sway barely the slightest bit.

A creak comes from behind him and a thin line of yellow reflects against his back to where he sees his shadow on the wall. His eyes find Harry peeping his head in with a frown, still in his attire that he left with -- looking overly glitzy and ornate as typical, that it should be normal but still strikes Zayn amusingly most of the time.

Mumbling, he introduces Harry into the room, “How was it?”

Harry shrugs with his smile making this night-dark room brighter already. “It was just dinner between acquaintances. I didn’t even let him give me a goodnight kiss on the cheek.”

Something about that makes Zayn reciprocate the same expression as Harry. He’s left alone in his room with this effervescent feeling in his stomach like intaking poprocks and soda simultaneously, like he and Harry tried at sixteen after reading an online article about it being impossible.

One thing being impossible: concealing his feelings for Harry.

x

Because Harry knows Zayn all too well, he suspected Zayn’s outlandish behavior the other night, he takes them out for a one on one day.

With a summer day being on the boardwalk together with sweat stuck in their skin because of the scorching heat radiating from the sun, chowing down on traditional Mexican tacos and sweet caramel popcorn, they end the day lazily with conversations coming and going.

“Want to know the first time I kissed a boy?” Harry murmurs, hollowing his cheeks around the lollipop before discarding it back into its wrapper.

Harry tugs at Zayn’s hands and from that, Zayn is slipping off the couch and his knees are hot as they rub against Harry’s from across him. He’s reaching from behind where the bowl of candy sports itself on the coffee table. Zayn remains silent with no questions because he’s always been just an observer anyways. For the most part, Zayn can make an assumption that this is taking an uncanny route because Zayn and Harry are far too close and Harry keeps fiddling with a candy wrapper and a smirk playing on his pretty face.

“Ready?” Harry asks, same cheeky grin playing on his face that Zayn draw endlessly.

When Zayn nods, Harry adjusts himself to his knees and places two firm hands on Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn has to look up through his lashes to see Harry hovering over him. “I told him that if he could suck the candy to his end, I would bring him cookies the following day.”

“Bribing, H? To kiss you? I’m not surprised.” Zayn chuckles, almost like a mechanism to alleviate the fact that he’s feeling very squirmy right now.

Harry’s forehead presses against Zayn’s and he smiles, so wide that Zayn can almost feel it on his cheeks even if Harry’s lips are a faint distance — it just radiates. “Want to try?”

Zayn nods, keeping quiet because he refuses to ruin the moment of whatever this is. Given the approval, Harry positions one end of the candy wrapper in between Zayn’s lips as it’s untwined already, only needing one more roll in order for either one of them to access the cherry candy in the center.

“Simple really. Suck.” Harry instructs.

Harry cups Zayn’s jaw and inches closer to where their noses press against each others cheeks. Zayn feels the warm breath that belongs to Harry tickling his lips and chin whilst Harry’s fingertips feel so gentle along Zayn’s scruff while he holds him in place.

It’s instinctive for him to surge forward as the bigger picture — aside from getting familiar with Harry’s kissing story — is to actually win the little contest. He tilts his head anxious to suck the candy towards his direction like a miniature and more intimate version of tug-o-war.

There’s a growl coming from Harry and his curls no longer fan Zayn’s face. He barely accepts the fact that it was a victory screech. Harry retracts back and waves his hands in the air rabidly while he cheers boisterously, “I won!”

Zayn applauds to be supportive and to shake off this feeling. Within a second, Harry has a sudden laugh attack, falling to the side where he leans against the couch, “If you were into it, I would of gone further and made my sucking joke. That — in which — I did not come up with until high school.”

“So you tried it to several guys then?” Zayn says momentarily after spitting the empty wrapper out of his mouth.

“I never lie to you. But I’m never promiscuously sinful either. I’ll just say maybe.” Harry smirks playfully and gets back onto the couch, folding his knees himself and tucking his legs underneath his weight. He’s squeezing the nearest couch pillow with a squeal before throwing it at Zayn.

What he contemplates as of now feels impulsive, but clearly not if he had to think about it for half a second. Something happens absentmindedly with his body, his mind not attached like a helium balloon to a wrist. Zayn’s body falls loosely against Harry’s without a single trace of tenseness. He fails to understand why he isn’t so nervous as it should seem, but something's got him feeling valiant.

“So you’re like — will you, I mean — can I actually — never mind. I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Zayn shudders, cheeks feeling like the street pavement on days hotter than a hundred degrees. His legs begin to bounce, and as much as he puts his hand down to suppress it, nothing is preventing it from stopping anytime soon.

“Yeah, Zaynie? Spill it. I’m curious now.” Harry scoots closer, as if that was even possible. They were tight enough previously, but now one of Harry’s arms drapes around Zayn’s shoulder on behalf of it resting on top of couch and another hand is on his chest. It’s comfortable and they’ve always done things like this, but now that it concerns how Zayn might feel about Harry — it’s unusual.

“I want to know.” Zayn doesn’t exactly trail it off subtlety. He says it direct, as if he doesn’t need to keep going for Harry to understand.

Harry doesn’t understand the vagueness, moving his hand off of Zayn’s chest and swinging his two legs over Zayn’s lap. “Tell me. I’m here you know? Just, let me help.”

Zayn lunges forward, lips make contact with Harry almost instantly. Their kissing dynamic feels like unrestrained magnets that naturally attract because Harry keeps hastily inching closer as Zayn does. It doesn’t feel like the cliche, classic romantic. Not quite. More sillily as they frantically bump heads trying to continually inch closer every second. He catches onto an idea when he feels Harry’s hand on his lap to support himself leaning forward. Zayn takes the initiative to hold Harry’s face in place and properly kiss him.

A proper kiss turns out to be everything that isn’t a round two of their candy sucking.

It’s languid, and a concoction of being lustful yet so chaste. Harry kisses Zayn like he’s fragile, with every pucker is the likeliness to accidentally make Zayn shatter. He tries to deepen the kiss but Harry doesn’t comply, only patting at Zayn’s thigh as if he’s attempting to maintain Zayn’s obedience.

Zayn likes the kiss enough, because it’s comfortable and feels right. But he’s seen the way Harry used to kiss other guys. He’d kiss them like their lips released a drug that Harry needed to feed off in order breath. He’d rake his hands into their hair and tug and tug until the other would groan against Harry’s lips. He’d do so many things, all that isn’t happening between the right now.

Assuming that Harry just doesn’t like the kiss, he pulls back quick. He barely considers Harry’s feelings when they’re just staring at each other after the separation.

Zayn has just kissed Harry so suddenly — his own best mate. Surely, Harry took it surprisingly but for some illogical reason, Zayn didn’t sense it in the beginning. He just knew Harry didn’t resist and beneath his palms, he felt no body language of refusal, so he continued the kiss. He was too overwhelmed to think about how Harry felt, only thought about how Harry kissed him.

“How was that?” Harry says after a few breathy pants exchanged between them both.

“I just needed to know how it felt.” Zayn nods with a smile that feels like it was constructed from an overdose of something euphoric.

Harry reciprocates the same expression — only more fond and sincere, “To kiss me?”

Zayn is unsure whether to expose all of his truth, or avoid tackling on all of it. He settles with another nod (which is apparently his go-to when he’s high strung on edge), “Just in general. A boy.”

“Right.” Harry’s smile falters within this millisecond that Zayn surprisingly witnessed. There’s a tight smile that makes itself go noticed before Harry parts his lips again to continue, “Well, if you need that again, I’m here. I’m always here, Zayn.”

The atmosphere feels pleasant. Zayn confessed some, and the walls didn’t shake and break, the glass didn’t shatter into itty bitty crystals. Zayn decides to accept the how all of this can further on without a mess, “We’ve known each other for a while. But I never bothered to ask. When did you find out? And like, what made you know?”

Harry starts off with, “Doesn’t everyone have the same story? You just realize who you look at more in school. Or you try to be like the other kids but it doesn’t feel right. That’s all Zayn.”

Zayn knows that. But he expects to hear a more mushy story — like Harry would tell. He wants to hear Harry in the phase of infatuation, then the denial and uncertainty with his parents or himself, wants to hear how Harry just knew. Because those were the steps Zayn took to get to Harry, so he wants to hear it all.

Harry knows Zayn enough, knows what he’s thinking. He laughs a bit, “But the first time I think I really fell in love was high school.”

“More. Come on.” Zayn whines, tickling Harry’s knee. Harry flinches and rests his head against the couch arm rest, leaving Zayn with a gorgeous sight of him looking restless, yet so at ease.

Zayn reaches for Harry’s hand, feeling that maybe he’s stepping over some invisible line. Harry responds by delicately lacing their fingers, so Zayn is assured that this is perfect fine. “I loved everything about him. I never faced any challenges with him, but we never dated. I knew he sort of loved me back, so it was fine.”

“Who wouldn’t love you? It’s a hard thing to do.”

“Him.” Harry sighs, “He never loved me like that. Sometimes I think maybe. Then again, I might never know.”

“You have me.” Zayn feels a sudden tight squeeze, then the comfort of Harry’s hand vanishes to nothing at all.

The cushion of the couch rises as Harry’s weight is absent, leaving Zayn to raise his chin so he could get a decent view of Harry stretching and mumbling on, “I can always give you advice. Or if you need any experimenting, you won’t have to owe me anything.”

“Cause you like it don’t you?” Zayn teases, just to alleviate this strange aura. Their eye contact is the most unsettling part, in a way where it’s not weird, but because Harry’s orbs radiate this little sparkle that makes Zayn’s heart beat at an accelerating rate that he isn’t used to around him.

“Shut up.” Harry with his gangly figure, damn long legs and all, prances towards the staircase, before seeking up the stairs he whispers with a scrunched-up smile, “Maybe I do.”

On the level with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, Zayn finds himself in the space in Harry’s bedroom, cascading onto the cozy bed, feeling like a beanbag of majestic goose feathers and carnival cotton candy. He doesn’t mean to be creepy but he raises one end of Harry’s duvets over his face and inhales the scent. Harry and his dumb peaches and cream, but somethings cucumber and melons; rarely ever flowers, which he admires so much because Zayn despises perfume like flowers or expensive Paris.

“Are you done yet?” Zayn shouts from underneath, suffocating from the pleasant scent rather than the heat of his breath and the cotton sheets.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Harry responds as it echoes from the connected bathroom to his bedroom.

Zayn surfaces from the bedsheets, tucking his cheek against it instead. His eyes wander towards the mural, giving him some nostalgia over prom. It takes a few seconds for him to just admire the way all the horizontal lines meet vertical ones and how the paint colors complement each other. It gets him wondering him why Harry wanted this theme anyways for a mere moment until he’s drawing to the memory that Harry never attended prom.

Recollecting any inkling of their past, he recalls being taken aback by Harry’s physical appearance. He had a pink suit, pink. With a frilly cream collar around his neck and the cuffs of the white sheer top meeting his wrist bone. And his hair, it was done with a curly loop above his forehead and a bit more product everywhere else than necessary to tame the short curls.

Zayn doesn’t want to remember how he felt when he had walked down the attic on his own and accompanied Harry with a helping hand so his pants wouldn’t rip (since they were quite tight compared to a formal fit, anyone would of noticed the seams coming undone between the thighs). If he had to confess, the feeling with his hand that came in contact with Harry’s touch took him back to the same feeling he thinks he always had — just to a more powerful extent. It resembled a sting he experienced once when he touched a thorny stem, or when his hand came into contact with fire that he and Harry created themselves in the backyard.

As for himself, he doesn’t even remember his appearance that day — though post people would. He just knew he felt awfully stunning, impressed that for one he found the appropriate suit jacket for his tiny arms but broad shoulders. He could never forget the cheesy jokes and terrible pickup lines that Harry constantly told him while they waited for Anne to drop them off at the event center (she just had to go out and buy a memory stick for the occasion to take photos since she’s never even used this digital camera Zayn gother as a thank you one time).

Though when Zayn was catering to a bubbly champagne bottle that he hid in the empty drawer that none of the household members used, his grip around the neck of the glass was a tad too tight while trying to unwind the corkscrew. He end up losing grip of the bottle, and in an unfortunate way, it tipped over and shattered in his hands.

The transparent shards in his palm during that moment still remain clear as day. He would never forget the way his eyes were allures to the bloody sight and how Harry came in and screamed frantically, then slipped over the puddle of pink juice and foamy bubbles. They had to wait for a motherly appearance, the same woman who was supposed to take them to their prom but instead rushed them to the hospital. It wasn’t even a big deal when they arrived. With Zayn getting less than ten stitches in the emergency treatment center and Harry receiving just an ice pack for his hipbone, they decided to call off the prom night.

Zayn’s eyelids get droopy as he admires the mural, a vision of young Harry and Zayn dancing in the backyard surrounded by the tall trees with hanging christmas lights stored in a box that was stored in the garage. He thinks that he would’ve kissed Harry that night if it weren’t for the glowing carnation flower over Harry’s shoulder that resembles Megan — who left school to travel during summer in advance.

The faint sound of footsteps come into attention, even the water drops make tink tink sound against the hardwood floor. He would open his eyes to welcome Harry, and say I’m here, but he doesn’t want even more feelings to surface. So, he scoots to the further end of the bed, getting under the covers, and doesn’t bat an eyelash at Harry. He waits patiently to feel the bed dip in, until it does.

Zayn lays there until who knows how long. But he’s awake long enough to know that the moon shines brighter in the sky just like the stars do. And maybe he hears Harry hum himself to sleep until there’s just a mumble, then silence. He’s amused that neither of them touch each other for all the hours they’ve spent sharing the same space.

x

Really, because he didn’t apply for any summer classes, nor can he really afford to purchase new art supplies, he goes to work with Harry. It’s quite hot out so he takes his bike while Harry contemplates on trailing behind or attempting to drive with Zayn’s car — though Zayn convinces him on how he’s only creating an excessive amount of air pollution and carpool can prevent that.

Prior to the last two months, when Zayn had school, he dropped Harry off to work; on the lazy days, Zayn travels as far as to the nearest bus stop and Harry rides the public leather seats for the rest of the way.

This considerably marks probably the third time Harry’s ever shares the same bike seat with Zayn. It’s an adrenaline rush every time Harry’s arms wrap around his waist like a perfectly tailored suit made just for him.

Today just feels even better.

Upon location, Harry walks forward picking at his wedgie, claiming oh hush I will triple my hand washing time when Zayn chuckles.

It’s not the busiest day, so Zayn sits at his spot and he eats a sandwich that’s a newly addition while having today’s special soup on the side. He sits on the swirly seat that rattles whenever he moves to share his chips with Harry when he isn’t tending to a customer. They play tic-tac-toe and Harry asks for opinions on which music system seems appropriate to for the atmosphere of Loaf and Devotion.

Just as Zayn’s about to prance out the door with a jolly-good, exuberant mood, Harry turns him with a hand on his shoulder. His cheeks are tainted red and Zayn considers it’s because the heat of the kitchen. “Open this envelope.”

“What is it?” Zayn asks, thumbing the tiny flower sticker that seals the light green envelope. It even smells like a nice scented candle, lavender probably. He speaks of the sticker, not the paper envelope itself. Harry does things like that -- collect cute stationery items, often sending away thank you letters and greeting cards during the holidays.

“Just stop asking and open it already. I have to be back soon.” Harry retorts, crossing his arms and stomping his feet.

Zayn teasingly hesitates while picking at the sticker, using the tip of his fingernails to scratch a separation between the stickiness and the thick paper. He discerns Harry suppressing a whine, influencing him to keep up the drawl gesture. It’s barely until he hears Harry groan open it already, he obeys.

Inside with the flimsy triangle top facing upwards, he spots a few rainbow shaded cardstock papers that resemble concert tickets. Taking one out, Harry’s writing in bold black marker makes itself obvious.

Zayn reads, “Harry’s Crisis Coupons: Exchange when needed.”

“Read the back!”

Exchanges that Apply:

Queries regarding your queer thoughts. A helping hand (I’d rather you not find some bloke in the alley). Kisses that aren’t from the missus.

Zayn studies the redeemable coupons, considering that Harry’s intentions were rooted from last night’s interaction. He appreciates Harry very much, and is awfully fond of the effort, but he just doesn’t know what to do with them. He actually likes Harry now, but it only seems like a game for Harry.

Tickets to support Zayn’s uncertainty? Is that what Harry thinks? In Zayn’s eyes, he thinks Harry only did this because Harry’s assumptions are in another orbit, where he thinks Zayn is having some post-college identity crisis. But Zayn and Harry’s lives aren’t like that, they don’t go out and meet others and find themselves in other people. They’ve always had each other since high school, and quite frankly, Zayn only wants Harry.

If he’s exchanging these coupons, he only wants to make Harry realize that he isn’t looking for anyone else, nor does he just want to mess around because this is the age range of searching. Whatever, however it goes. He wants all of these things that Harry has offered in the card, and he’ll do it all with Harry, but he just doesn’t think that it’ll be helpful because if there’s one thing Zayn is sure about, it’s that he just seems to like Harry.

Harry clears his throat, making Zayn feel like he was probably in another world for far too long. Glancing at Harry, he sees him with a timorous smile, “You redeem them. When you feel curious about anything at all.”

Zayn decides to be the slightest bit truthful because he doesn’t want to confess anything yet, but he doesn’t want Harry to try and be helpful when this is honestly useless. With Harry treating his body and mind like an experiment for Zayn, it’s more like a punishment; he’ll be getting to explore different dynamics with him, but he might never gather the courage to express his feelings to Harry. If he does, and it backfires, he would be left with the memory of Harry’s skin against his own for whatever Zayn might ask for.

“I don’t need these.” Zayn says.

“Sure. Just take them. I gotta go now.”

Harry inches closely to Zayn, embracing him in a tight hug and barely now, Zayn reflects to the last time he and Harry hugged, but he doesn’t even remember how long ago it was. But this feeling is surely different. He always feels warm and giggly inside, but this time it’s way more than that in a way where his body just feels numb. Even when Harry whispers into his neck, “I support you.”

x

No doubt, Harry and Megan’s qualities are within the same spectrum. They do vary in their own individual ways, though Zayn should’ve known that he was looking for Harry in a girl all this time.

Where Harry’s inclination is to live everyday with optimism and a generous heart, Megan would be in favor to strive for the same. They’ve both got a knack for talking before they think; awful jokes spewing out of their mouths and chirpy compliments ricocheting to every bypasser that apparently has a lovely smile (Harry usually appreciates strangers’ smiles). Both of their jaunty auras impact those around them, especially Zayn.

If it were three years ago, having two great figures in the palm of his hands that he loves unconditionally, he wouldn’t of been able to choose over either of them. Today he considers that he is under Harry’s influence. It’s all Harry and has always been since the start of their quirky and unfortunate friendship.

Quite frankly, the way he crossed paths with Megan resembles his first interaction with Harry. Both consisted of a rambunctious environment with children screaming and funky-pop music blaring, holding another hand securely just so he wouldn’t lose himself in the crowd.

Zayn was at a child’s party for who-knows-who. It was that type of family gathering where you didn’t know the kid, but you sort of knew the parents. Mostly, you attend because your parents dragged you out of the house so they can gloat about their child’s success during the catching up conversations with other family member’s that you don’t even know about.

He was going to wander off the vicinity to play old school arcade games rather than these new vibrant, loud machines that only attract people with their obnoxious flashing lights. There, he held his mother’s hand because she had a bad leg that week from something having to do with overworking herself. He ignored all of these frantic kids who threw balls outside of the ball-pits just to get to the reserved tables.

Upon arrival, he sat for a few minutes to appear respectful to his mother’s friends. Kicking his feet up and down, he noticed something shaking in the distance. It was a kid struggling with their hand stuck in a claw machine, one that he noticed from second period, though only having class for a week, with the disheveled curly hair and vivacious greetings to his fellow classmates whenever he stepped in the room.

“Ma, I will be back.” Zayn collected a few coins that were distributed to the guests and he fled off, sure enough to not bump into kids with sticky fingers and booger-filled noses.

When Zayn invaded this stranger’s embarrassment, he stood for a mere moment to understand the situation. Sure as he determined before he got here, he was indeed, stuck. His arm bent and unwilling to retract itself from the prize pocket. He said hesitantly, “Do you need help?”

The curly headed, gangly kid just shivered, averting his eyes in Zayn’s direction. “Um, yes. Please.”

“You should let go.” Zayn stepped a few inches forward, scrutinizing the tall machine with the transparent glass full of stuffed jungle animals like monkeys with bananas and pink gorillas.

“I can’t. I won this fair and square and it got stuck on the edge and I want it!” He said with slightest irritation, but mostly poutiness.

Zayn’s presence became a gift to Harry. There was an exchange of small talk while Harry got comfortable, leaning against the machine with his arms stuck in between the metal door that wouldn’t budge open unless a prize activated the motion censored from the inside. Zayn had to play about thirty dollars worth of tokens because the dumb classmate refused to ask for assistance from matniance because he feared that he would get banned from the playpark. In the end of it all, Harry promised friendship and lunch snacks if they decided to hangout at school, it was freshman year anyways.

Zayn and Harry decided right, and so far Harry has kept that promise. Even if another person took half the space in Zayn’s heart that was once reserved only for him.

The second time around was at a different location, but nonetheless, with kids blaring from left and right with himself in the center of them all, clutching to a sweaty palm. Harry’s to be utterly exact, because Harry did not want visit this kid-jungle all alone… and wanted to take advantage of free desserts from the neighbor next door.

Harry had his first babysitting session on a Friday in exchange for baked delights. In this particular occasion, being quite the expert with children, Harry figured it would have been brilliant to take Lux to the public playhouse with games and pizza. Unfortunately, while Harry was exchanging for tokens during the passing time with Zayn in the restroom, the little girl had gone missing. She was under Harry’s supervision then somehow vanished. They frantically walked around the first level, seeking for a child in a pink dress and a puffy white coat, but it almost seemed hopeless.

Zayn faintly remembers the tight grip around his arm like Harry’s nail digging into his left bicep while cradling Harry’s other hand in his. Harry’s words mumbled all baffled in his neck while they scoped the peremisses. Something fought Harry’s cries, a distant screechy announcement from the intercom, calling out something about at the front desk and to claim your child.

That’s not only where they met one girl they were hoping to find but it felt like a serendipity thing when he looked at Megan for the first time. He didn’t get to say much aside from all of the thank yous for finding her (Lux was picking bacon bits from the salad stand by the token exchanging machine). Harry had tugged Zayn and told her to hold Lux’s hand so that she was in the middle as their main priority.

Because he didn’t get to see this front desk worker for the rest of the evening, he told Harry that they should visit this place again next week. It end up being every few days until Zayn could finally gather the nerves to talk to Megan, but those days didn’t consist of Harry nor Lux because the babysitting was only necessary for a week. It provided him the chance to find out the name of Harry’s lifesaver.

Zayn and Megan ate pizza where he found out that she attended their school one grade above he and Harry, meaning that she graduated a few months after their first date.

Everything, everything was Harry wrapped up in a little bottle and tucked into Megan’s heart where Zayn couldn’t ever find. For the next two months, it was the way she talked to him with encouragement and crazy stories like Harry had always done. It was gentle hugs that felt like being wrapped in a snuggly childhood blanket. His infatuation only grew but he still remembered Harry, the same Harry Styles happened to who push him into starting a relationship. Feelings were exchanged after Megan’s prom and from there, he thought he was living his best life while he lost everything with her.

It’s clear now, as he’s sitting in front of Megan, that all he can think about is how he would rather want all of that from Harry and just Harry, only. There isn’t a thing he could -- nor would want to -- change about the past, but maybe Harry could be all of those first times, of course in a different way. He finds this metaphorical bottle and finds the root of his current happiness. And it oh-so happens to be the person who’s been there for him for over six years.

Oh, and his fake fiance.

… as Megan reminds in their small talk.

“You know, you never actually mentioned what you two did. Disregarded the details, anyway.”

“It was fake.”

Megan tilts her head, scrunching her face. Though she doesn’t seem perturbed. The ticking of a nonexistent clock chimes in his ears the longer they sit in this silence, because she isn’t saying anything and Zayn does not know how to furtherly explain what just trickled out of his mouth. He figures the most mature thing to do is start from the beginning and make his way through progressively rather than jumping all over the place, because like most things, there are steps. This is a step in his relationship where he thinks it’ll be the final one, once he explains everything.

“I wasn’t ready to commit to anything.” That’s the best you could do, for fuck sakes, that’s something that probably seemed to obvious on the surface.

“I know. But why? Like, why was Harry such a cover up? I would’ve been fine if we talked things through, but for two months you never even tried to talk to me in general.” Her voice remains calm and Zayn feels terrible because isn’t she supposed to be fiery angry or like wanting to stand on her heels and shout?

“I thought we were going to soon and I didn’t want to disagree, but now I don’t think I could do it.” He doesn’t mention his father’s encouragement into furthering the relationship, nor does he mention how thrilled his mother was when she saw Megan ring shopping. Because they haven’t even talked to him since he moved with Harry. This isn’t really about them anymore, he’s noticed.

“I’m sure you’re talking about more than the marriage, so… okay then.”

“Okay what?”

“I mean like, you’re free to go. I guess. I prepared myself for this since the housewarming.”

It seems so mutual, she didn’t even bother. Something about that makes him more upset than the fact that he’s lost someone he’s had with him for nearly three years.

x

The airport is absurdly hectic, as always, with its passengers fleeing for international vacations or tending to business trips. That one undying love, romance cliche hasn’t happened once. Actually, Zayn wouldn’t know anything about that because he and Harry aren't interfering with the takeoff department where this romantic scene would typically take place, rather, they surround themselves in the lobby of the airport, seeking a key to their rental car they booked for their trip down south.

In the car, Harry bluetooths his music, and that just means Zayn has no choice but to endure it. But they do talk about the itinerary for the next two days which alleviates the way Zayn has an aversion for Harry’s music taste. He’s gotten used to Harry’s old taste, but lately he’s been listening to awful modern pop that just has beats rather than any lyrics. They are repetitive and don’t commit to any passion or story. Zayn sighs at that.

The air is thicker in this city two hours from home, even if it’s still considered as SoCal. It’s humid, though bearable for the two of them to endure a small distance on feet. Because there are tons of people lining up for a taxi, Zayn figured they should just walk to the outer lot of the airport to get picked up there rather than waiting for one.

It works out fine and Harry initiates a kind conversation with their driver through the whole commute, which is roughly ten minutes because Harry wanted a place to stay that was in walking distance from everything.

“It’s not too much. We won’t even be here because I want to explore.” Harry mentions when they’re riding the elevator to the twenty seventh floor.

“That’s fine.” I just hope there isn’t only one bed, because Harry would do something like that, Zayn wants to say but goes against it.

To Zayn’s dismay, everything is all wrong. When Harry said it wasn’t much, it was clearly a lie because this isn’t just a hotel room. Rather, it’s a suit. There’s a tiny corner that is suitable to be claimed a kitchen (well, a microwave, fridge, and sink but luxurious enough), and right… that damn single king bed. They’re sharing, but at least Zayn can create some sort of distance. It’s nothing new, to be close to Harry, but again, these obvious feelings just makes everything worse.

“This is nice. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zayn comments.

Harry shrugs. “Not too much as in the sleeping arrangements. Is it a problem for you?”

“No, why do you assume?”

“You’ve been a bit distant. It’s okay, sorry for dragging you to this event with me.”

Zayn drops all of his baggage and extends his arms out so that he squeezes Harry. Squeezes him like Harry is his own personal stress-reliever toy, even earning a little squeak from Harry.

“Sorry if it seemed that way.” Zayn apologizes, he never meant to make any of his feelings obvious. He figured it was better to keep a fair distance but now Harry’s caught on.

Harry pecks his cheek. “Just get ready. We’ll go out.”

Unlike tomorrow, today has no perfect agenda. They didn’t even think they would arrive to the location with the sun still on duty. To get the most out of their so-called vacation with the summer weather being splendid at this hour, they locate a popular outdoors restaurant.

It’s got tiny tables. Zayn thinks he and Harry might as well get separate tables because of the lack of personal arm space and not enough surface to hold more than two plates. Sitting across one another, Harry insists that the assemblance of this whole place is to attract a connection during dates. Which, Zayn did not agree to eat at a place that has an intimate environment.

“There’s happy hour desserts. Don’t pout.” Harry says while navigating the menu with all the cavity-prone options.

“It says we have to buy a drink and a kid’s menu to get half off, Haz.”

Harry squints, scrutinizing the laminated menu once more. “Oh.”

“It’s fine, I’ll remain polite without a pout.” Zayn insists only because he just really wants Harry to have a good weekend, even if the concept of this restaurant makes him queasy and slightly embarrassed.

Because come on, I’m at a romantic patio restaurant with the boy I love, which, I barely realized recently -- that I love-love him.

Dwelling on that, he figures that once Harry finishes ordering, he’ll tell him about the split up. Harry was there since the first time they met, he was there the first time that they officially got together (which, Harry helped him plan a decent proposal). Harry might as well hear this part too, most of all, because he is his best friend.

“So,” Zayn gives Harry a second to put down his glass of water, “Megan —”

“No, Zayn. No thanks, but we’re like hours from home. Can we not?” Harry is rather vague with what he’s refusing to do, but Zayn doesn’t push it.

“Okay.” Zayn says instead. He recollects his thoughts for a couple of seconds. It’s never been this difficult to talk to Harry, but he does understand why he is struggling. He just wishes he wasn’t. After what feels like hours, he finds a rebound topic, “What’s the convention about again?”

Harry’s eyes shine like two full moons in the pitch black. “It’s not completely a convention. Plenty of interior designers, and construction workers, and realtors — all that stuff — come together and just few different models. It’s like IKEA, you know, right?”

“Sounds cool.” Not really. He doesn’t want to be in a cumbersome setting with other people elbowing his ribs just to get a feel for the texture of the couch in the living room. He doesn’t want to — well, he’ll get to see Harry lost in curiosity and excitement looking at the staged rooms, so maybe there is a good thing coming out of this.

“Sure, sure.” Harry pinches Zayn’s cheek before deepening the conversation. “There’s even workshops. We’re teaming up to build a nightstand, okay? Then I want to paint it this very bright yellow. It’ll look nice beneath your mosaic glass sculpture.”

That makes Zayn a bit excited for tomorrow.

The rest of their hours fly to an ice cream shop down the street instead of purchasing the over expensive sundae at the place they ate dinner. Zayn continues to walk a bit closer to Harry, trying to find it in himself to alleviate the nerves and treat the night normally like any other day between the two of them (before the feelings, of course). He almost manages just fine until Harry hooks arms with Zayn then snuggles so so damn close to him. He’s right back to this flustered prepubescent boy who thinks love is like being tickled by a feather; him all squirmy and giggly, yet like a punishment, so hurt at same time.

Zayn wakes up before Harry, mostly because he was greedy with the sheets, leaving Zayn shivering himself awake. He searches through his suitcase for something comfortable on behalf of what Harry said about doing some dirty work at the event today. He wakes up Harry by jumping around on the bed until Harry cuffs his fingers around his ankle, making him tumble off.

A banter with Harry is a lovely way to start the day. Especially with Harry straddling his lap with their faces inches apart — excluding the tickles, of course.

With a small amount of bystanders, Zayn appreciates the way bodies don’t press against him. There’s a decent distance between his shoulder and another stranger’s as he and Harry pick up on the GPS’s monotone directions to the convention center.

“You want something to drink before we get there?” Zayn asks, glancing at the buildings with numerous shops around them that say open.

“We don’t have time! I want to be there with a good seat.” Harry runs like he’s being chased, hauling Zayn with him.


Zayn imagines this event being like a showcase for someone addressing the launch of a new iPhone. It’s almost like that, with hosts in casual clothes but shiny shoes standing and pointing at a projection screen that leaves a fuzzy image.

It’s a bit rude to reach for your phone in the middle of a presentation but Zayn’s really bored at the moment. He slouches in his seat, listening to a man in a dark blue suit talk about different tiles to put in a kitchen floor. Glancing over to Harry, he disregards all his thoughts and genuinely tries to appreciate this because Harry is being all alert and Zayn’s so fond of his dedication.


“Are we really doing this?” Zayn groans, standing besides Harry who’s got a hammer in his hand, giving Zayn gloves with the other.

“First team to build this nightstand first gets to not only keep the ones they’ve created but they get a matching coffee table!” Harry coos.

Zayn listens because Harry is Harry and he wants to show his support. He kneels down and puts an arm around Harry while instructions for this little activity get further in depth. Something about ten minutes and playing fair and it’s just for fun for people to experience assembling their own furniture.

Working with Harry feels like taking care of a child because Harry is so stubborn, never wanting to cave into Zayn’s suggestions. Though he’s a great listener, after his plan fails of course. He does what he wants, in this case put the legs of the night stand first without securing the screws into their given positions. He doesn’t listen to Zayn’s instructions until the bulky pieces of wood toples over.

Zayn and Harry come in second place, but they get free macaroni and cheese, plus a fifty dollar gift card to their nearest hardware store.

The more and more this day passes by, with Harry walking around with tons of different pamphlets and spewing all these absurd questions, the more he considers this home business of theirs. Ayn seems to like this thing very well, possibly even more than Harry.

Zayn runs his hands through Harry’s curls, purposely getting his fingers stuck within some of the locks, just so he has a reason to keep his hand here if curiosity from Harry surfaces. He feels Harry’s heartbreak against his chest, generating curiosity from Zayn, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Once.”

It’s slightly unsettling because Harry’s never made it obvious if he were ever in love the last six years. He’s told Zayn about his crushes and the two relationships he’s gone though. But love, it’s a mystery.

“How’d it end?” Zayn would want to know if he still loves whoever this may be.

“It hasn’t.” Harry says too straightforward with hesitation. Anger and sadness roam his system, it’s that familiarity he felt during the night where he admit to himself that he had feelings for Harry.

“Alright.” Zayn becomes aware of his tense limbs. He doesn’t want to make it obvious, especially not with Harry being within such a tight space with him.

Harry curls himself even closer, if possible. He scrunches his nose and shakes his head into Zayn’s neck. “You know him.”

“I do?”

“Closer than you think.”

“It’s not Louis, is it?”

Harry’s boisterous laugh floods the hotel room. He’s banging on Zayn’s chest all manicacilly with his fists tight and his mouth resembling the same with his eyes all squinty. “No! Never. Not Louis.”

“Megan?”

“Please. Of course not.”

x

Something happens a couple of days later where Zayn can’t stop thinking about Harry. He cannot not think about how Harry just breathes. Everything Harry does happens to be the only thing that Zayn’s mind focuses on. He can just be standing there in the same room and Zayn’s mind would go in a frenzy thinking about his long legs, to have them around him, to be in between them -- all of it. He would be reading a book and Zayn would wonder how it would feel to have those focused eyes on him as if he were one of the words in the print.

It’s how he ends up shoving Harry against the wall the second Harry arrives home, cornering him with his parallel arms hovering above Harry’s shoulders. He leans forward without a thought and kissed Harry with all he’s got — all those emotions and thoughts caused by Harry Styles.

Pouring everything into this single thing doesn’t last long because Harry slaps at his hand that’s reaching for the button Harry’s jeans. “Don’t.” Harry murmurs, pushing away.

“I, uh…” Zayn puts his hands up in protest, feeling awfully apprehensive, “Curiosity crisis coupon!”

“No. I can’t.”

Zayn spirals into a black hole. Or at least, he wishes he could when he sees Harry leaving from the same door he came in from. The one he always comes through every single day, making Zayn's heart soar because they’ve both got each other to come home to. He’s not so sure about tonight.

Hours later, Zayn is curled on the couch with a remote in his hand, staring blankly at the network logo bounce from all corners. He hears heavy shuffling coming from the stairs, he’s been waiting for Harry to get out of his room ever since he came back, which was a only good ten minutes. Harry is awfully slow when approaching the room and say, “I am staying at mum’s for a few days.”

“Great. Is it because what I initiated? I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry, please stay.”

“I can’t.” Harry responds abrupt and firm, opposite of Zayn’s prior sympathy.

Zayn only wants to question him in the same tone, “Why not? Why can’t you? I need you here, you know that?”

Harry takes a deep breath, lips pursed and eyes seeming awfully stressed. “No, you don’t. You can cook fine, we both know that. And we have an alarm system, you’re safe. I will still pay this month’s bill, if that's what you really need me for. Don’t worry about anything. I promise.”

“Harry, you have to stay, please.” Zayn gets up from his spot, invading Harry’s space.

“My turn to ask. Why? Why do you need me here so much? Why is it so important? Why?”

“We’re married.” Zayn babbles without a thought.

“No we aren’t. Not even close.” Harry chuckles in a way that seems so scornful, “Nothing we do, nothing we have together is even close to a couple, at all.”

It all propels from here, Zayn’s emotions, that is. Feeling like a domino effect, with every word Harry says, it triggers this pain and exasperation all simultaneously. “Fine then, give me your keys.”

“Excuse me?”

“House. Front door key, mailbox key, backyard key. Give me them all.” Zayn extends his hand out, cupping it in expectations that Harry will do as he says and get the hell out already.

Harry’s expression contorts into something that almost makes Zayn feel guilty. Almost. He’s too whirled in Harry’s attitude that he could care less. Harry crosses his arms and a new formed, even more upset look plays before he says, “You can’t be serious. Are you?”

“Won’t know until you leave the keys.” Upon that, Harry nods and leaves with answer obvious.

x

“Is Harry alright?” Zayn asks the second Anne swings the door open. She stands with sharp pointed scissor, startling Zayn for a mere second before he meets a few stem cut flowers in her other hand.

Anne sighs, letting him in. “He’s been in his bedroom the last few days.”

“You mean his attic.”

“Sure, Zayn.” Anne pulls out a chair for him at the counter and continues to busy herself with her daisies. “So what’s the matter with you two? Haven’t heard a fight in forever. Not since you guys had an argument over which curtains to use in the living room, and that was nothing major at all.”

“I might — or well, I think,” Zayn attempts to collect all the words from his limited vocabulary just to say the right thing, “I have feelings for him.”

Anne crosses her arms with this fierce motherly look. “And that led you to kicking him out?”

“He said something lousy about our relationship. I got upset because he made me realize this little plot in my mind is unrealistic. It’s impractical. We’re not actually going to get married one day. I have a girlfriend.” Zayn immediately pauses, “Oh, fuck.”

“What part is the matter here?”

Zayn groans because of course he could be so damn dumb, “I left Meg but hadn’t bothered to mention it to Harry. He probably thinks — oh.”

“Because you love Harry?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You loooove my dear, Harry.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Anne, but in a fond way. He can’t lie to her, because he loves her too much, and because she already knows.

“Might.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Gee thanks. Did you not hear what I said though, Anne...” Zayn swirls around on the bar stool before meeting right back with her, “He made it clear that we would never work. He said something about how we aren’t even close to marriage in any way. But I’d argue that we’re quiet domestic at home. I feel like we’re like an old married couple. Why’d he say we aren’t? He knows it just as I do — that we’re the closest close of close that anybody could ever be.”

Now Anne rolls her eyes, picking off the leaves from the stem carelessly, “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

“Anne stop it. You’re not helping.”

“Can’t help if you won’t help yourself.”

Zayn laughs, one that he only shares with family and elders in grocery stores. “Have you and my mum been talking lately because you sound too much like her.”

“Mothers’ instincts. We can’t give you all the answers. Just think about it and you’ll figure it out for yourself. Promise.” Anne raises her hand, tucking one of her daisies behind Zayn’s ear.

“I’ll come back another day?”

“I’ll tell him as much as I love him, he needs to go back home.” Anne announces and scrunches her nose, “That’s you.”

“Oh Anne, stop. That’s so pathetic!”

x

It’s been several days since the talk with Anne, also seventy two hours, give or take, since Harry’s been home.

The cream daisy that Anne offered him remains taped onto the fridge, something sentimental. As he keeps his focus on the single flower, a flicker of an idea washes up. He scrutinizes the little details: fuzz on the greens stem, eight tiny petals that resemble cartoon teardrops, something about photosynthesis and the birds and the bees right in the center.

Zayn distinctly recalls Harry’s crave for a flower garden in their very own backyard. Zayn would like to fulfill that.

After a minutes of browsing — more like half an hour, really — Zayn manages to locate the nearest flower shop, which give or takes, is also thirty minutes away, nowhere near their community.

Pale blue and creamy white; the cotton thin shade hovers over Zayn’s figure as he reads the address on the window, just to be certain he’s at the correct location. He was expecting an open field with various blooming flowers embracing a dusty brown pathway to an entrance. Lily’s Flowers in a bold white cursive font says enough on the window for him to take the initiative to embrace himself in the public-free air conditioner.

Browsing for the uttermost perfect flowers are a bit complicated and tedious because he’s being picky. It’s not Zayn, he would grab all the flowers if he had a choice, though, he’s specifically filtering his choices by what seems to resemble Harry and his personality the most. It seems more intricate and meaningful to Zayn if he contributed a little more effort with a concept like that.

Harry will love me for this.

The sales people are way more useful than he thinks. Most times, retail employees are pests because they like to reel Zayn into purchasing something off the sale’s rack that ends up adding up to the same as buying one shirt and getting another one for fifty percent off. Something like that. In this event, he’s showered with support and help towards purchasing the right blooms.

Now, it’s a bit pathetic.

Zayn didn’t really study the proper way to gardening. He doesn’t exactly know if buying flowers that are snipped away from their original root and shoving it beneath soil is good. But, this way, it might lead to Harry coming back home and taking care of their garden. And then he’ll help Zayn and teach him, and yeah, they’ll be so happy with bright flowers all around them.

So, he’s on his knees with a cheap orange shovel, burying some of the seeds that haven’t flourished yet, while sorting some of the grown flowers into the ground. Because again… He really, did not tell the ladies at the shop about his wild plan. They don’t know that he purchased bouquets just to stick them into the ground as if he were a child playing with dirt.

The outer surroundings of backyard is embraced with all things yellow. From sunflowers to daffodils, and even something called basket of gold. It reminds him of Harry’s pretty face with his smile, radiating with this brightness that feels like a cure.

Where they walk out of their backyard door and down the porch stairs, Harry would be met with the strangest named flowers because upon Harry’s arrival in any circumstance, he just shows up questionable. He’s weird, nonetheless, but in a good way, worth wanting to know. These flowers with their first impressions have some odd names, probably look strange, but he loves how they have their own little stories.

There are seeds, yes at the left side of their backyard that was once just dirt, but they’ll soon have a blanket of the summer’s seasonal flowers. There’s also a strip of a vibrant pink flowers -- peonies, hibiscuses, and daisies -- that separates the soil from the concrete.

The best and most favorite one he decided to purchase remains in his hand, one that he’ll give to Harry once he meets the sight of the stems and petals painting their backyard ground.

“Mum, where are we going? Why do I have to wear this? Can’t you just tell me? I’m a good boy. I would keep my eyes shut for myself. This feels very weird for my mum to cover my eyes with a blindfold. How do I know you aren’t selling me to some man who lures children from the alley.” Harry's peculiar questions seem to keep on coming without filter like a weak, unfunctional dam.

Zayn suppresses a laugh, but it isn’t so successful, as Harry’s gasping, assumably registering that the deep was does not belong to his mother, “Zayn. I know that little annoying choke from anywhere. What do you want?”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“That’s not even how my mother talks!”

Previously, Zayn had visit the household and told Anne to trust him and just blindfold Harry. Obviously, she agreed, and is quite anxious for things to go well. Harry just needs to comply. Zayn gives in, but only a tad bit, “I have a surprise for you. So just, hush and I’ll explain when we get home.”

There’s a growl coming from Harry before he retorts, “I was already home.”

“No, pouting.” Zayn grumbles.

It’s like he can smell every single flower that floods the floor, though he knows he’s just overthinking it because it doesn’t seem that possible anyways. He knows that he possibly smells like soil and grass-stained jeans, but he did shower -- washing away the stress along with the gardeny scent.

“Please watch your step.” Zayn comments when he notices that Harry despises the hand around his waist by clawing it away.

“Well, it seems more simple to just give me my vision back.”

Zayn sighs, trying not to reveal any irritation. Though, he must admit, he doesn’t think he’s mad at all. More endeared, and the even most strange feeling: patient. He wants this to lead up gradually. He likes the way Harry is being petty because the surprise gesture might put him more in awe, probably even making him him a bit regretful for ever being so rude.

They navigate the large house of decorated walls and carpeted floors until the two bodies meet the glass door that’ll lead them to Zayn’s best creation.

“Do as you please, now.” Zayn offers and Harry is quick to undo the knots of the blindfold.

Harry remains still as a sculpture. Not the ones that undergo a process with flimsy joints and loose pieces, but an actual genuine, stiff sculpture that Zayn still lacks mastering to the fullest.

Zayn did not think of any negative consequences, like what if Harry doesn’t like this? What if Harry reads this all wrong and takes this as an apology gift, rather than a confession? Zayn only imagined the desire that Harry would have to leap into Zayn’s arm as they both fall into a pile of petals. He didn’t think.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it.” Zayn musters hastily.

Harry’s walk is languid, he looks like a feather going with the wind at his pace. He’s following the path and observing the details with not much of an expression playing on his face. Zayn still does not know how to judge this appearance but he feels as if Harry is in some fragile state because he’s curling himself into a tiny ball where he’s crouched down with his arms around his knees that are tight to his chest.

“Is this okay?” Zayn asks with tiny steps in Harry’s way.

Harry loosens up, dropping his arms to his sides. One of them actually reaches out for a rose but he retracts his hand as if he’s touched a flame instead. He rubs at his eyes instead. “You know, I don’t know why you do all of these things. It’s kind of torturous.”

“They don’t have thorns.” Zayn insists, unsure of what to really gather from that vague comment.

“I mean, you do all of these things that make me love you more. It’s very difficult to live with feelings that never seem to vanish. It’s only worse when you’re giving me more reasons.”

“Well —”

“You see, I am like one of these flowers.” Harry touches a single leaf from the flower he intended on reaching for earlier. “They absorb the love you give them, it allows them to grow. But if you water them too much, just as not doing enough they’ll wither. Do you know that?”

“I think so?”

“No you don’t. Because if you did, then you wouldn’t give me everything, and yet, nothing.”

Zayn feels like he’s looking in a crystal ball, having an understanding of what he’s seeing but nothing is clear as it seems. Morphed up and sophisticated, really. “I don’t understand.”

Harry turns his head in Zayn’s direction, “I don’t know whether I can stand your friendship anymore because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.”

“I brought you here so you can come back. You’re not about to leave, Harry.” Zayn pleas. He doesn’t know how to comprehend any of this but, if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that there’s something about communication and honesty. Isn’t that what Anne said before he left here? Besides, lies and covering things up never really helped in the first place. If only he told the —

“I tried very hard to do this whole gardening thing. It’s something I actually like doing now, despite the struggles with the skills involved in the craft. I know you wanted one, and I did it for you. I think we could do this together. I want you here still, because I want to pick up on all of these interior design hobbies you like and you are the best person to live with. Mostly because I maybe like you a lot and always have.”

Harry hits Zayn like tidal wave. Not in any aggressive fashion, but it’s more like a waterfall than a wave, to think about it. He embraces Zayn in this tight hug that seems almost refreshing like cool water on a hot day. Zayn reciprocates the gesture, tightening his arms around Harry’s waist, clinging onto him like Harry’s his only source of life. Zayn doesn’t know why Harry is holding him after the confession, but he accepts it anyways because it could be a good thing. Harry would of walked off or literally hit him if it wasn’t.

“I love you, you idiot.” Harry shouts, lulling Zayn’s head back with a grip on his hair. “It was always you. All the stories I’ve ever shared about love.”

“Oh.” Zayn mumbles a few seconds after. He never knew that, nor did he ever pick up any little hints. It would of saved them the drama all these years, and they would of been happier and very likely engaged — officially, with none of those lousy schemes.

“Today is good.” Harry smiles. “Love what you did with everything. Honestly.”

“Wait, it’s not everything!”

Zayn reveals to Harry his favorite flower; frangipani. He lets the petals feather against Harry’s wrist bone before setting it in between his fingers.

Harry grins, nose being tickled by the star shaped flower that smells like just pleasant things. To Zayn, it reminds him of everything that makes up Harry’s well being. It seems sweet, yet wild, and natural.

Contrasting from his prior happiness, Harry fumbles with the stem in between his fingers with a sigh, “What about —”

It’s evident and Zayn doesn’t want to make Harry reevaluate anything. He confesses, “I dropped the first person I loved for you. Come to think about it, I think it’s always been you, too. I just needed to put the puzzle pieces together.”

Things escalate quickly when Harry tugs on his arms, walking them up the stairs, begging that he needs this and wants this.

It’s not that Zayn is inexperienced, well who is he kidding, of course he’s fucking inexperienced when it comes to Harry Styles and all of his boy bodily functions. He confesses that this whole new realm is over the edge nerve wrecking, but because his love for Harry is unruly and they both awfully want this, he’ll overcome all of these nerves. After all, of all people, Harry knows him best and would ease him into everything comfortably without making him feel more timid than he already is.

“You can tell me, you know. You can say no. But again, it’s not like you’re undergoing anything unfamiliar with your role.” Harry giggles, providing somewhat a less tense atmosphere.

“I want to.” Zayn says keen, a bit of the nervousness on the surface gradually vanished.

Harry flashes him this bright smile that goes up to his eyes, but even in them, there’s a twinkle of hesitancy. Zayn assures Harry that everything is above alright by reaching for his hand and tugging him onto the bed with him. With a timeous chuckle, he asks, “How do we begin?”

“You’re not that dense, Zayn. Come on. You know.” Harry buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder, emitting more laughter into it. He shakes his head before inching his hand down Zayn’s arm and intertwining their hands together. “You could do it. Or I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own.”

“What would I be doing?”

Harry crosses his arms, a sigh escaping his lips. He begins to stand up but Zayn’s grip around his wrists anchors him in place. He’s quick to wrap his arms around Harry before he leaves. He doesn’t know why Harry feels tense in his hold, an apathetic expression knitted on his face. With this uneasiness, Zayn alleviates space between them and asks, “Am I doing something wrong?”

Harry whines — ugghhh — dramatically before raising his voice, “You’re doing nothing! That’s what’s wrong. You’re acting like such an idiot, I swear.”

Zayn can’t tell whether Harry is teasing him like they do or if this response is all truth from the bottom of his heart; because after all, Harry did express an exasperating laugh. This all leaves Zayn unsettled, but if there’s one thing that makes everything fall into place, it’s a little bit of reasoning and honesty.

“I’m nervous, aright. I want this with you. I am genuinely asking questions because I want this right. And because it makes things less tense if we’re messing around.” Zayn halts because Harry’s apathetic expression falters into something scornful. He sighs, “I might have worded that wrong because we aren't messing around. But, well you know what I mean! I like you a lot and I want it all perfect. These things don’t ever go planned, though, so I guess we’ll take it however it happens. I’m babbling a lot and like, I’m just going to kiss you now.”

Instinctively to his words, Zayn leans in forward, capturing Harry’s lips with his. Obviously, this isn’t their first kiss, albeit it seems like it is. He wonders how long it’ll be until he finally feels used to Harry’s lips because right now, everything is brand new all over again. It’s nothing alien though, he still remembers the little things that Harry appreciates in kisses — things that have been told and what he’s tried before.

Attempting to act on what Harry likes in a kiss, he lets his body gravitate with Harry’s body, letting himself hover above Harry with their lips still in tact. He grinds down, letting his hips meet Harry’s until his hips are being locked in place by Harry’s knees.

Harry squirms beneath him with a breathy moan. Because of that, Zayn leans down and attached his lips to Harry’s neck, sucking feverishly around the pale smooth skin just to get a taste, and to find the spot that makes Harry go wild at most. He nibbles at the skin, feeling bad that this beautiful surface will be splotched in red within a matter of minutes.

Zayn feels the heat between their hips, both growing hard with each other pressed so close. He rocks his hips against Harry eagerly before Harry manages to somehow flip them over. It knocks the breath out of Zayn but he gets into drive smoothly.

With Harry hovering above him, it makes him the slightest bit apprehensive. Harry’s rolling his hips in circles as he straddles him, his face comes closer as his hot breath fans against Zayn’s ear, nibbling at the lobe. Just then, Harry drops his head into Zayn’s neck and squeezes him.

“You’ve never been sucked by a guy before then, huh?” Harry trails his fingers down Zayn’s shirt, resting his hand comfortably in between Zayn’s thighs. Teasingly, he slips the zipper in between his fingers but doesn’t make any intentions of undoing it.

“Haz.” Zayn groans in frustration — sexual frustration, at that. He did stall in the beginning but that was from pure nerves, but this is Harry utterly teasing him with his hands in every which way.

Zayn shoves Harry off of him, anxious to see what’s beneath all of these layers. Under his clothes he’s got a wild heart — all free spirited and exuberant. But for now Zayn just wants to physically see him. He’s already seen it all before but he wants to have ogle without pretending that he wasn’t.

His fingers tickle Harry’s stomach before completely discarding the shirt, over and off. His eyes meet the sight of Harry’s baby-smooth chest and those outlandish nipples they he’s learned to love, after a handful of times teasing them. He leans down attracted to the sight, licking at each four buds, giving all of them his time and dedication.

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry sighs in content, his hands clench and unclench the sheets beneath him.

Zayn nibbles at one of them whilst undoing Harry’s jeans. Tight, so damn tight, fitted jeans. He groans while at it, chucking them off, then playfully poking at all of Harry’s toes.

“You, too. Come on. No fair.” Harry whines, pushing Zayn so that he tips over while he was previously on his knees with them digging into the mattress.

While he discards all of his articles, Harry fetches whatever they possibly need for tonight. He sort of just sits there, a tent beneath his pants, waiting anxiously for Harry. He’s nervous, but he’s ready.

Harry plops back onto bed right alongside Zayn, his dick bouncing just as Harry’s body. Zayn, without a thought, reaches for Harry’s cock in admiration. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before but it’s rock solid this time, making his mouth water. He palms at it eagerly, feeling it harden in his hands.

Harry’s breath hitches and it makes Zayn feel all bubbly inside. “So were just going to use our hands?” Harry scoffs, hooking his finger within Harry’s waistband. He takes Zayn in his hands, pumping with no hesitation. “God, I want you in me.”

“So, we’re just going to start now?” Zayn queries, pecking Harry’s shoulder.

“This is supposed to be natural, babe. Can we try to just do this?” Harry sighs, averting his attention to somewhere other than Zayn.

Because this despondent voice surfaces again, Zayn is certain he’s upset Harry. He refuses to continually do it as this boomerang has been launching all night. The moment he exhales heavily, something about his breath fanning along Harry’s neck gives him determination to change the whole atmosphere — both, their mood and the tense air.

Preventing Harry from expressing anymore disappointment, he releases his comforting grip around Harry’s shoulders and palms down his back, making him jolt forward. He trails kisses around Harry’s shoulders down the knobs of Harry’s spine just before pushing him further into the bed. He picks up Harry’s hips so that he’s on his hands and knees, Zayn chuckles in elation.

“Gonna watch you.” Zayn reaches for Harry’s wrist and puts them around his back, coating his fingers with lube. He chuckles to himself as Harry sighs in content, because If that means anything Harry must be glad that Zayn is taking control of the situation.

“Wait,” Zayn stops Harry’s fingers from moving, “Are you comfortable like that.”

Harry nods in response, and Zayn disregards his previous concerns, sliding his hand to Harry’s hip instead and caressing his smooth skin that reminds him of dripping paint — it’s so smooth and such a sight to just admire, especially when they’re working in slow motion.

It’s like he’s teasing all over again. Harry’s finger works in his entrance languidly, as if he’s utterly bored. He’s already got two in, not making a sound escape from him pretty lips, not a quiver coming from his thighs whatsoever.

“Is this how you normally do it?” Zayn fingertips play on Harry’s skin during his curious questioning. He ogles at Harry’s stretched rim surrounding his pale fingers, all pink and wet. He’s wanting a touch.

“Ehh, not really. You should join me.” Harry, well he reads Zayn’s mind more than most of the time.

“Um?”

“Add one, I beg you.”

Zayn smirks, eager to rile Harry up, “Well I don’t hear any begging.”

“Please. Need your fingers.” Harry moans out sinfully. It seems like a joke, like he’s playing along. Because Zayn isn’t used to this, unfamiliar with how hot Harry could he. Like, he always knew, but this is a whole new level of hot that Zayn needs to keep up with.

Zayn gets closer to Harry and observed how he massages his rim with two fingers. He tucks them in for a few seconds then slowly pulls out, reminding Zayn of the way people open soda cans before sipping. He wants a taste of this, not to really taste Harry — not yet, anyway — but to do some hands on work. He slips his finger in without any warning, making Harry suppress a shaky breath. He and Harry simultaneously begin fucking their fingers into Harry’s entrance, aware of how he accommodates with the stretch.

“Fuck me now, come on.” Harry whines out, pulling his two fingers out whilst Zayn still leaves a remaining digit.

“You sure?” Zayn asks because Harry really only fingered himself for a good couple of minutes. He doesn’t know how this exactly works but he’s pretty certain that three fingers shouldn’t of been enough, even if Harry’s fingers are so damn long. They’re long but they aren’t thick, and Zayn knows himself. Harry needs more time, right?

“I’ve waited six years. I can take the slight sting. I mean I bared that, too.”

Zayn frowns at that response, but it perks up when Harry’s pulling him; like opposite magnets, they attract. Their lips resemble the same as their bodies. It feels like they could be one while they’re chest to chest, licking and nibbling on each other’s lips.

“How do you want your first time to be?” Harry asks. Zayn would retort, but decided against it. He’s right for the most part anyways.

“I want to see you.” Zayn shares.

“I want that too, but —“ Harry props his weight on his elbows, peering through his eyelashes.

“What?”

“I swear I’m not insulting you, I’m just saying in general like overall, I just don’t think it will feel good if you...”

“Oh, gee! Thanks, Harry!”

Harry shakes his head, collecting the bottle of lube and lathering it onto Zayn’s cock. Zayn sighs in content at Harry’s contact, tilting his head back in bliss because who knew Harry’s hand could feel so fucking good. He feels the warmth of Harry’s fist alleviate and soon enough, his eyes meet harry who’s laying flat on the bed with his arms and legs spread.

“I don’t want to use anything else if that’s fine.” Harry warns, and at Zayn’s nod, he barely whispers, “Come and get me,” with his head nodding and his fingertips motioning him.

Zayn crawls, as if he were some rambunctious animal, over to Harry. His knees meet Harry’s thighs as he strokes himself a couple times before taking a deep breath. All of this is about to happen and it seems so unreal, but it’s here. He might ask Harry to slap him, albeit that seems too soon.

Slowly thrusting in inch by inch, he admires the way Harry engulfs his cock. He trails his hands up and down Harry’s inner thighs before guiding them up his chest and settling them above Harry’s shoulder.

This is definitely a different feeling, nothing awfully new, like Harry had promised, but he can simply confess that he might like this better. He does like this better, with Harry’s dick hard and obvious between their close bodies, and the way he can feel Harry pulsating within the tightness — something so foreign, but for sure not for long.

Zayn starts rather slow, having no intentions of acceleration because he fears for the control he has. He doesn’t know what would be right or wrong as he’s only been in Harry for a couple of minutes. He remembers all the late nights where he’d been over to Louis’ house and they’d all vanish into separate rooms but he had to suffer the gasps and moans that released Harry’s lips through the thin walls. He wants that, wants to hear the bangs rooting from the bed frame hitting the wall, wants to hear Harry’s wanton vocals release from his lips in a way where it’s all too loud as it echoes through the room.

“You won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Harry whispers, bringing a hand to Zayn’s jaw and giving him open mouth kisses along the area.

Zayn nods, trusting Harry. He’ll do what he wants, and he’ll believe that Harry will be okay. Because quite frankly, the tightness and heat of Harry’s hole makes him feel close already. The thought of his body pressing against Harry’s with the inevitable that they’ll be coming together just makes him frantic and keen on doing this.

Gradually, he picks up his pace and his muscles feel awfully tight, in a a good way. Harry’s just so —

“You feel so good, so good.” Zayn promises, praises, pants. He does it all while deep in Harry, adoration flooding just like the pre come from Harry’s tip at that statement.

Zayn lets all the worries and comparisons vanish because he wants to make this first time of his, surely one to remember. Of course he could never forget Harry, but it would feel like a good thing to at least remember the way he felt, or how he did during his first little anal sex interaction.

His thrusts are vigorous, sounds emitting between he and Harry’s skin. He grips on his hips and trusts his own judgement because even if it’s the first time doing such a thing to Harry’s body, he’s known it for six years. He’ll understand the pleas, in a sense of begging for more or if there’s discomfort. In the meantime, he thinks Harry is eager and rather pleaded with his hasty hips.

Harry grins, Zayn can see that. He tells him in between few more kisses to his lips, “Yes, yes. You’re doing perfect. Promise.”

The cries that escape Harry’s lips are simplicities, in the case that they emit naturally angelic, everything in the sense of being so soothing. Sooo raw and real where he thinks he can feel these moans crawling under his skin and turning on a few buttons to encourage Zayn to maintain his snappy thrusts.

Zayn finds it difficult to comprehend. How can someone like Harry be beneath his body in such an ostentatious way; with his plump lips that resemble the inside of a sweet strawberry and his curly locks that outline the structure of his face sticking onto his damp forehead. His nipple buds still perky and the skin beneath Zayn’s palm is so hot, shaking lustrously.

Harry always looks beautiful, so good, but in this particular moment, everything is heightened to a degree that Zayn can’t describe, even if he's skin to skin to prove reality. It should be easy to obtain, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Harry and every inch of his lanky body with the abnormal nipples and overly sized hands that makes him unique.

“Hey, you okay?”

Harry’s little whisper sounds concerning, making Zayn aware of the situation. He thinks he’s crying a bit because there’s a water drop from his chin that cascades down onto Harry’s chest. His thrusts have gradually decreased without him being alert either.

Zayn dismisses Harry’s sudden worry, instead giving him a smirk before repositioning himself so that he isn’t too close to Harry anymore. If he’s so close, either, he might come too soon, or worse, he’ll be drawn into Harry’s look all over again. He’ll start crying to Harry on how perfect he is and how he’ll never let this sink in (that he’s finally dating Harry, that he’s fucking Harry). He rests a palm on Harry’s hips, the opposite spreads his legs further, accommodating his body to juncture between his thighs more comfortingly.

Unexpectedly, his new position must be a grand alteration because Harry jolts forward, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s body and his legs locking Zayn in place by the waist. He moans out in bliss, letting his nails rake down Zayn’s back. It makes Zayn adapt to this rather quickly because he’s done something right.

For the first time tonight, he finally believes he hasn’t disappointed Harry.

The more that Harry quivers and whimpers underneath him, the more determination he has set in his system to get Harry over the edge. His jumbled speech inspires him to rack his hips forward in a quick pace with shallow thrusts, and often, only slowing down to tease Harry because when his thrusts are languid and deep, Harry is mute but he feels Harry’s body tense and his nails giving deeper.

It’s almost too much — take that back — it’s definitely too much, the whole atmosphere with Harry and how he projects his sensational state all vocal and so obvious with his limbs. He ends up feeling his stomach tickle, that’s something familiar about the whole night, but what isn’t is the fact that he’s already close to coming.

Erratic, inconsistent thrusts follow because of the heat between his hips that seems so awfully uncontrollable and he’s releasing with a shout of Harry’s name (three times actually: HarryHarryHarry).

Zayn collapses above Harry, basically unconscious and unaware that he should be pulling out. He’s emitting large, heavy pants into Harry’s neck while he feels the soft touch of Harry’s fingers dancing on his shoulder.

“Get off.”

Harry murmurs, getting Zayn’s hair caught in between his fingers and it’s the one thing that pulls him out of this trance. But he doesn’t necessarily pull it of Harry at all.

“I’m — holy fuck.” Zayn groans, putting his palms on either sides of Harry’s head and raising himself up. He places his forehead on Harry’s, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply. He just wants to capture this moment, sort of just take a mental photo of this all and make sure it transports to somewhere safe and snug for him to remember.

Harry tugs Zayn in for a chaste kiss then suppresses a coy laugh, “What was that earlier?”

“Was sweat, is all.”

Zayn pulls out and tries not to dwell on the fact that he indeed, did cry earlier. Glancing at Harry again, he realizes he hasn’t gotten off yet. He curses to himself stroking Harry’s sides, unsure how to be help if he’s honest.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, no. It’s okay.” Harry insists.

“Do you want me to... um — this.”

“I have an idea.” Harry chirps, “Since everything is a your first time. Like, anal. And, with a boy.” He straightens his posture and continues, “I was thinking go big or go home.”

Zayn nods, only slightly frustrated with Harry who never seems to have a complete answer. “Yeah? What do you mean. Come on, Harry. Keep talking. Stop running in circles!”

“Finger me while you suck me off.” Harry lies himself flat on the bed, running his hands over his chest and down to his cock. “We didn’t find my spot earlier.” There’s a second where Zayn projects a frown that harry catches, responding before Zayn could eat a word in, “I’m talking about during prep!”

Zayn crawls in between Harry’s legs and gives him a quick kiss. With Harry responding, “You got me good but you came and squashed me and I lost my high!”

“I can try.”

“I’d like it a lot. Do you want to do that to me?”

“Anything for you.”

Harry adjusts himself to his comfort, with a pillow beneath the end of his back so there’s access to his hole. He looks so inviting, Jimin wouldn’t mind initiating a second round but Harry asked for this and he doesn’t want to decline. Besides, this is a night for breaking some boundaries and trying new things.

Zayn wonders how quick Harry comes with fingers in him and a mouth on his cock.

The only way to find out is by figuring it out for himself. He fists the root of Harry’s cock before giving him a few strokes, testing the waters to be sure Harry still wants this. Approval comes from a head nod and slowly but surely, his mouth comes to contact with Harry’s tip, experimentally sucking on it as if he’s got a lollipop between his lips.

“Doing perfect.” Harry coos, running his fingers through Zayn’s hair before flopping back onto the bed. Zayn doesn’t blame him, this position is bizarre with Zayn nearly falling at the edge of the bed. There’s too much of a distance between them, the least Zayn could do it offer his hands and mouth.

Another thing Zayn does is act upon any slight inkling of experience. He works his mouth around Harry the way he knows he likes. Burying his mouth all the way to the root, be practically motorboats before coming back up for a quick breather. He cradled Harry’s balls while kitten licking the tip. Harry’s hips buck and for a mere second, Zayn remembers that he’s catering to both Harry’s ass and dick.

With nimble fingers, he lets them dance from Harry’s cock to his thighs, inching around Harry’s hole but contemplating whether he should start now.

“Add your fingers.” Harry mumbles in reassurance, voice a little higher than usual. “Should be slick from your come.”

Zayn furrows his eyebrows, a bit on the verge of laughing — or maybe shrieking. “This means I’m going to touch my own come.”

“That’s what you signed up for when you asked what you could do for me.”

“It didn’t go that way, but fine.” Zayn comments. He glances at Harry’s fluttering hole and there’s no denying that he wants to touch it again, however he can.

“Hey, I’m sure your fingers have been lathered with come plenty of times.”

There’s no use in retaliation because Zayn wants this. He obeys to Harry’s request and gradually slips a finger in to the knuckle, thrusting it a few times while watching Harry’s heels grind into the mattress. If that means anything, which of course Zayn can read that it surely does, he slips in two more digits on behalf of Harry already being thoroughly stretched to a good degree.

Zayn figures that he’s ready to multitask, which will lead up to seeing Harry wrecked — that’s what he wants most out of this night. His fingers work simultaneously while he engulfs Harry’s cock, bobbing his head to the rhythm in which his fingers work.

The feeling of Harry’s walls swallowing his fingers is extreme, something so hot that he would get off to just that. Then there’s also Harry’s dick in his mouth, hard and pulsating. He’s never had the sensation of these two factors, its making him go insane. There’s even the way that Harry is moaning in delight, a subtle happiness radiating from him.

Zayn wants more though. “How do I find it?”

“It?”

“I did something good earlier.”

Harry grins, raising his hand and hooking his fingers. “You’ve just gotta crook them. Maybe twist a little. Scissor them. Like what you do a girl.”

“Hmm.” Zayn responds, smoothening his thumb around the ring of Harry’s entrance. He gets a little curious, working in a way where he’s almost playful with it all. He slips a digit in and watches the way it sinks in, same goes for the other two. He thrusts them in a hasty pace before decreasing his speed and testing the different angles.

As he hooks his fingers, a gasp emits from Harry’s lips. He continues his gesture the same way, prodding more roughly because he knows for sure that’s what Harry likes. He feels fuzzy while he fucks Harry with his fingers, whilst taking Harry back into his mouth.

Harry’s whimpering a spiral of curse words with the initiation, “Fuck, yes, yes, yes.”

Zayn grins at that, he feels so satisfied to know that he’s satisfying Harry. He gets a bit pretentious as well, to say. He leans down and licks Harry’s the skin of perineum, nibbling around the radius. His fingers come to a halt and he advances by licking at Harry’s rim, curiously. It’s an odd thing but he isn’t opposed to it, he’s even more in tune from the yesyesdoitplease that Harry emits.

His tongue prods Harry’s hole, attempting thrusting it with a quick pace. He laps his tongue over the heat, a thick stripe of his saliva coating it. He nearly forgets that he’s neglecting Harry’s cock, so he fists it tightly and begins pumping at a vigorous pace all while his fingers and tongue fight for attention from Harry’s hole. There’s a sudden tightness wrapping around those two factors, then all at once, Harry’s crying out while Zayn’s other hand feels wet.

Zayn looks up to see Harry’s face contorted all tight, lips parted, eyes shut. He’s coming with Zayn’s name on his lips. And Zayn, he helps Harry get off smoothly, fucking Harry’s cock with his fist, and as well his fingers in his ass. He looks so obscene, so lovely.

After a moment, Zayn kind of just sits there before he realizes that he should clean them both up. He gathers all the ends of the fitted sheet until they snap towards the center to where Harry’s body lies tiresomely. He then rolls up one end, rolling Harry as well.

“Laundry time!” He shouts with a blanket burrito, attempting to pick up the sheets with a caged Harry but he’s too exhausted so he just cuddles up Harry’s body all wrapped in dirty sheets.

A chime comes from the hallway before Zayn could unravel the layers to give Harry a breather.

“I’ll be back.” Zayn decided to wrap himself up in one of Harry’s robes to prevent scarring a stranger.

Zayn’s toes are cold against the surface beneath his feet, so he manages towards the door quick just so he can go back to soaking up Harry’s warmth in the sheets.

“Hello. Can I…” Zayn trails off without another thought because Megan stands front and center of him with a box that reads Zayn, after he hasn’t seen her in about three weeks.

“I knew it.” Megan’s soft hands — all so different compared to Harry’s — run up and down his neck, then tugging at his collar. “Right, right. Well then, here’s all your items.”

“I’m sorry.” Is the only thing Zayn can comprehend enough.

Megan chuckles, seeming inappropriate during this interaction. “I’m not. It’s Harry. I know. Isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“Always knew a little. You always dropped everything for him.” Megan smiles, something so genuine that Zayn feels it in his chest. “Just wanted to bring these. Good luck to you both.”

Zayn watches her figure get smaller and smaller with every step. When he glanced at the cardboard box of memories from the last two years, he sees a golden framed photo of he and Harry during their housewarming, bodies closer than friends should be.

x

Harry just completed an online website demo as a draft before submitting a final product for it to be a professional service. Meanwhile, Zayn just paints the legs of this rocking chair that was actually requested from a regular at Harry’s part time (he told all his co-workers and asked the boss if he could put up a flyer).

“Beautiful.” Harry mumbles into Zayn's neck from behind.

“You chose the color.” Zayn urges while drawn into the lemony green pastel shade.

“But you sanded it down and painted it.”

They distribute the workload fairly, though if there are complaints, it consists of who deserves the positive credit. As much as Harry admires his efforts, Zayn knows it’s all Harry.

“I think we should get a pet.” Harry says out of the complete blue while they’re watching a house renovation show that’s been hosted all day and later in the day for the next eight hours or so. Binging with Harry, the best.

“What do you want?”

“Mhm. A dog. A protective one for our house. We’ll name him after a fruit or a vegetable. So when we’re at the park and shouting out a food, people will think we’re crazy!” Harry coos, leaning forward and wrapping his arms over Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn chuckles, fond of the idiot that’s finally his. “We should name him Kale. It sounds badass, yet it’s a veggie. Your favorite, babe.”

“Shh.”

Having Harry in his personal space makes him wild. Everything he wants is right here, yet there could be a few things give or take that could be added but they’re tiny little fragments that would be making up their relationship. He just thinks out loud without any hesitance, “Do you know what I think now?”

“Hmm, baby?”

It’s all in the spur of the moment when he says, “We should get engaged. Like for real.”