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The first time Zayn sees him is on a Saturday. Doniya wasn't able to take her little sisters to the beauty parlour, so now it's become his duty. He can't help the grimace that's plastered on his face when they enter the shop. A million different scents hit him, itching down his throat and making his eyes water. He feels out of place - everything is just too girly.
This is for your sisters, he tells himself as he carefully guides his bouncing sisters towards the desk, reminding the lady behind it of the appointment he made earlier. She just nods, and a few seconds later, in come swooping two younger women. Zayn gladly lets them take his sisters as he moodily shuffles to the waiting area. He then pulls out his phone after taking one glance at the magazines available and commences with checking his twitter feed, favouriting his friend's earlier tweet. Something to do with Zayn going to the dark side.
He doesn't at all notice the looming figure in front of him, his thumb still lazily brushing over the screen. Only after hearing someone clear their throat, does he look up. His hand movements still and he gapes up at the stranger; at his wild brown curls and eyes that make you wonder if he's wearing contacts or not, because they're impossibly beautiful.
''You don't look like you're enjoying yourself.''
The stranger's voice is gravelly and deep, and he talks slow. But Zayn doesn't mind, because it gives him more time to look at his insanely pink mouth as it forms words that Zayn can't really hear. There's a soft thud as his phone slips into his lap and Zayn licks his lips before chuckling and nervously voicing a response.
''I- My sisters..''
He couldn't even form a proper sentence, his cheeks glowing warm and red. The stranger rewards him with a dimpled smile and offers his hand.
''Name's Harry. Come on.''
Zayn had taken his hand, expecting to receive a shake, only to be pulled up from his seat. He doesn't protest, though. His hand is tingling and he raises an eyebrow, giving Harry a questioning look when they stop at a small table with two chairs. There's a woman sitting a few tables away, chatting away while getting her nails done.
''You seem nice and all, but I'm not here for anything.''
Zayn puts up his hands and tries to slowly shuffle away, only to stop when Harry juts out his bottom lip and lets his shoulders drop. Feeling his apprehension slowly resolving, his hands drop to his sides. Only a few more seconds pass before he grunts and slumps down in the seat. The look on Harry's face is worth it, though.
''Alright, hands on the table.''
Zayn rolls his eyes and puts his hands on the table in front of him, feeling oddly exposed. He can feel his cheeks warming up again as Harry assesses his hands, nodding carefully before grabbing some tools Zayn isn't familiar with. They all look like nail files to him.
''You have nice hands.''
He thanks Harry, trying to sound casual, but it comes out a little choked. He can't be fidgety, because his hands are on the table, so he just shuffles in his seat a bit, feeling uncomfortable and like he's in the spotlight.
Zayn tries not to jolt when Harry takes one hand, very tenderly, and inspects his nails. He feels ridiculous and looks around anxiously, as if afraid his friends will come bursting through the door to laugh at him. But, there's no shame in this, right? It's just a bit of manly pampering. Even if Zayn came out long ago, he insists on avoiding anything that makes him look like a stereotype gay.
But right now, as he watches Harry do his job, he finds it oddly relaxing. His gaze travels to Harry's hands which are laden with rings, but kind of.. beautiful. Everything about him seems beautiful. Zayn sighs and finally relaxes, smiles lazily up at Harry who peeks up at him through his eyelashes.
''So.. what's your name, love?''
His insides flutter slightly as he clears his throat, eyes now trained on their hands. Time apparently flies, because Harry has moved on to the next hand already. Zayn can feel the opportunity slipping out of his hands, but his nerves are winning the battle.
''Zayn.''
The smile Harry gives him is warm, their eyes meeting briefly before Zayn has to look away again, feeling like his heart is about to leap out of his chest. There's just a comfortable silence in which Zayn tries to gather up the courage to say something, but his knees are shaky and his palms are starting to sweat. It makes him feel like an inexperienced schoolgirl.
Ten minutes later, he pushes his sisters towards the door with one last glance at the curly headed boy, regret already eating at him. Giving him a curt nod, he opens the door and closes it behind him - already a plan forming in his head for his next visit.
****
The second time he sees him is when Doniya is back in town. Because she wasn't able to go last time, he told her he would treat her. She was stunned when he willingly wanted to go, because last time it involved a lot of convincing and bribing.
This time the girly decorations don't bother him. Zayn stands impatiently behinds his sister as she chats with the woman behind the desk. His eyes wander around the parlour, and his stomach does a somersault when he sees Harry's lanky figure, chatting animatedly to one of his co-workers. Zayn only looks from a distance, scratching at his beard as an embarrassed gesture when he catches Harry's eye.
His attention was directed towards his sister when she asked him something, both her and the lady behind the desk looking at him expectantly.
''Sorry, what?''
Doniya rolls her eyes at her brother, tapping her fingers against her leg.
''D'you want a trim? Jenny here says you could use one.''
Zayn tries not to narrow his eyes at the woman, just nods slowly. Because maybe, he's been growing out his beard on purpose, secretly hoping for Harry to be there that day. He and his sister are separated as she is pointed towards a different section. He thanks the desk lady - Jenny - as he sits down, looking in the large mirror in front of him. He's bouncing his knee up and down, feeling his mouth become dry and his stomach twisting.
Suddenly he's pulled out of his reverie by a soft cough. His eyes shoot up, widening when he sees Harry behind him in the mirror.
''So, decided to come back, have we?''
Zayn laughs nervously, only nods his head and chews on his bottom lip. It's been over a week since he last saw him, his mind not doing Harry justice. When Harry asks him what he wants, he almost chokes on air, because the way he asked it was almost sensual, causing Zayn's cheeks to glow. He almost squeaks the response, telling Harry he's just here for a trim.
''Hmm, alright. Although I like this look on you very much.''
Harry winks at him through the mirror and Zayn's glad he's sitting on a chair, because at this point his legs feel like they're made of jelly. He keeps his gaze fixed on his knees in front of him, his hands gripping tightly onto the sides of the chair when Harry's fingers graze the back of his neck, fastening the vinyl cape.
He's forced to look up when the same fingers gently hold onto his chin, his eyes meeting green ones briefly before flickering back down again. Zayn honestly starts to almost regret his plan, because his palms are sweating profusely and it's getting entirely too hot underneath this ridiculous cape. The entire time he tries to ignore the burning feeling of Harry's hands on his face, the tingling along his spine and the erratic fluttering of his heart.
Yes, this was definitely the worst idea ever.
When Harry is finished and frees him from that cage, Zayn tries to subtly wipe his hands on his jeans. He looks at the result in the mirror, his beard now trimmed to perfection and his cheeks positively glowing. Feeling a gaze burning in the back of his head, he stands up and swirls around. Harry is looking at him from the other side of the room where he dumped the hair in the bin, smirking when he sees Zayn give him a wide-eyed look.
Zayn only watches as he strides towards him, a hint of mischief in those green eyes. His painfully dry throat almost won't let him swallow the big lump in there and his stomach starts to twist. Harry stops in front of him, placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side.
''Have dinner with me.''
Zayn sucks in his bottom lip, taking a stuttering breath before replying.
''You asking me out on a date?''
He tries to sound coy, but it comes out breathy and nervous. Harry's laugh bounces of the walls, his eyes squeezed shut. Zayn can feel his stomach drop, afraid he's embarrassed himself. It wouldn't be the first time.
''Yes, I am. Meet me back here in two hours, that's when my shift ends. I'm not waiting any longer.''
Zayn nods and gives him a shy smile, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. When he reaches the front desk, his sister is waiting there, a smirk plastered on her face.
He'll never hear the end of this.