Parole | Zarry

05

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It opened, and there was Zayn.

He wore only a pair of tight jeans, and his beautiful raven hair was a mess, as if he'd been asleep.

But he was gorgeous enough to take Harry's breath away, and Zayn smiled broadly and gestured him inside.

Harry found himself in a small living room with a polished wood floor and a few pieces of comfortable-looking furniture.

There were three bookshelves, all of them jammed full, and a small TV.

It was a cozy room.

Not sterile like his own bland apartment, in which Evie and his hairball were the only things of interest.

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"That's a lot of books," Harry observed.

Oh, brilliant.

Sparkling conversation.

"Did you used to be a teacher or librarian or something?"

Zayn shook his head, then beckoned Harry over to one of the bookshelves.

He pointed, and Harry peered at the books.

They all appeared to be of different Genres.

Icarus Fall.

Mind of mine.

Calamity.

Dusk till Dawn.

And half a dozen others, every one of them by the same author.

Zayn Malik.

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"You wrote all these?" Harry exclaimed.

Zayn pulled one off the shelf and opened it, showing Harry the back flap of the dust jacket.

Sure enough, there was Zayn, looking a few years younger and more relaxed, wearing a black leather jacket and leaning back against a brick wall.

"Wow,"

Harry said, taking the book so he could look more closely.

It was a good picture.

"I never met a real author before. That's Oh, fuck. You used words for a living."

With a tiny shrug, Zayn looked away.

"Well, look. I stopped by 'cause...well, because I was wondering if you wanted to get some grub. I mean, after I go home and wash up."

After a pause, Zayn nodded.

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Great! So, I could be back in, say, an hour? And in the meantime, you decide where you want to go."

He tried to hand the book back, but Zayn wouldn't take it.

He pointed at Harry.

"I can keep it? Really?"

Nod.

"Thanks, man! Okay, home to degrime. I'll be back soon, bright and shiny."

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While he showered and shaved and brushed, he tried to remind himself that this was not a date.

It was just two guys going out for burgers or something.

But the reminder didn't help, especially because he'd eaten every fucking meal alone since he'd left.

Cheshire, and even platonic company was a cause for celebration.

He practically trotted back to Zayn's house.

And Zayn must have cleaned up too, because although he had on those same tight jeans.

He was now wearing a silky golden-brown sweater that matched his eyes, and his slightly long hair was tucked behind his ear, strands of hair falling on his and forehead.

And he looked good enough to eat.

Harry swallowed.

Hard.

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"Um, did you decide on a place?"

With a nod, Zayn led him to the detached garage.

Which proved to house a gorgeous Mercedes-Benz with gleaming black paint and towering tail fins.

• ☘ •

- Getting bored?