Yellow.

thirteen.

"Iman has...has...has a date," his voice lowly rasps, adjusting on the warm sofa, next to the fire place and making sure the blanket can cover his long legs.

This is the fifth time Harry is repeating the exact phrase, and Zayn has chose selective deafness for the short moment. As soon as he picked Harry up from the Library, the phrase was mumbled and Harry took a quick nap. On the road, in the rush hour traffic, Harry woke up and decided to repeat himself. They stopped over to pick up some groceries and a few items from Sainsbury's, and Harry still repeated himself. It is not planned by him, but that's how he makes it known that something is on his mind, and he has to let it out.

Zayn's house is a small cottage like home, not far from Harry's flat. It is extremely comfortable and has a homey feel to it. He is never there to fix things up, but with his homemaker and perfectionist of a girlfriend, the house is ever in shape. The red brick walls are hard enough to protect them from bitter cold, and the fireplace is letting warmth, allowing Harry feel more sleepy than ever.

The tiniest of comforts makes Harry feel sleepy, and it is on the long lists of the fascinating aspects of his complexity. It could be simply stroking his head, rubbing his back or the patters of rain. Anything soft, gentle and warm will make him sleep like a baby.

There is a sizzling sound from the pan, and the air is perfumed with the smell of fresh pastry from the kitchen, and Zayn is all over the place. He is repeatedly adjusting his red and white floral apron around his thin waist, cussing at himself as he repeatedly gets burned by the side of the pan and mentally listing what next needs to go into the pan.

The kitchen is not far from the living room, it is almost like a joined space because of how cosy and small the area is. Harry drags his eyebrows in frustration, shooting Zayn a look and wondering why he is taking forever to reply him, again.

"Wow a date! Iman is beautiful, I am not surprised," Zayn muses, wiping the back of his hands against the apron and giving a small smile.

Harry sinks lower into the sofa, still frowning and a bit confused. "Boy! Iman...Iman has a...a date with a boy,"

"Were you expecting a girl?" A frown form on Zayn's face. "I am sorry but I am a bit confused, did you think she was...Harry, what are we talking about please?"

"Iman...you know Iman, my b-beautiful friend? Yes, she has...has a date," Harry repeats himself, trying to make his words clear and not stutter.

The oil in the pan pops a little and Zayn immediately switches the gas over, he never knew making samosas was this exhausting. All he wanted was a great evening with his friend and make sure Harry does not start asking for things out of reach, and now that might just happen to them. He ensures everything is turned off and runs a hand through his hair, still trying to understand where Harry is heading at with his statement and a thought comes to his head.

"That sounds sweet, I bet it will be romantic," Zayn coos in fake admiration, clapping his hands together and wiggling his eyebrows.

"Uh...why please?" The question from Harry is a bit too blunt, and laced with a bit of annoyance.

"Well because dates are supposed to be nice, I mean she is a very pretty and nice girl, so he better make it worth it. What do you think?" Zayn asks, crossing his arms and walking towards his friends on the sofa.

"Harry...Harry is not...not sure, because...this is...is crucial for Iman," he answers, kicking off the blanket with his legs and sitting up.

"She is not going to war, remember that please." Zayn mutters, rolling his eyes and knowing how dramatic his friend can be when it comes to using heavy words and connecting them to light events.