Parole | Zarry

11

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"I can't. I want to. God, how I want to. But I have to go home and feed Evie."

The pain was replaced with confusion.

"Evie's my cat."

Zayn looked relieved, and Harry explained.

"I found him a couple weeks after I arrived here. He was skulking around the trash bins outside my building, kind of half-feral. I never really wanted a cat, but... well, he's blind in one eye. Vet says he must've had an infection when he was a kitten. So I figure we were sort of meant for each other. But man, he gets pissed if he misses a meal. As do I, now that I think of it."

Zayn snorted, but he stood and gave Harry a hand up.

Harry was a little sore, probably more from the rolling around on the tile floor than from the fight that preceded it.

He found his clothes scattered in the tub and next to the sink, and he pulled them on slowly.

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At the door, he and Zayn shared a long, lingering kiss that made Harry wish even more that he could stay the night.

"Want to come over to my place tomorrow? We can watch some football"

Zayn made a horrible face.

"Okay. Football's not your thing. Got it. Okay, we can watch not-football and have a pizza or something. And hey, I have Monday off. Paid holiday. So you could come over and we could hang out and I wouldn't have to leave to go feed my cat because he's already there, and if you didn't want to leave either, well, I can sleep in on Monday. If you wanted."

Zayn waited patiently for him to finish babbling, then smiled and tapped at the spot on his arm where a wristwatch would be if he were wearing one.

In fact, he wasn't wearing anything at all, and that was pretty damned distracting.

Harry shook his head to clear it.

"Um. Sixish?"

After a nod of agreement, Zayn kissed him again and gave Harry's ass a sort of proprietary pat as he walked out the door.

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When Harry got home, Evie glared at him, but Harry didn't care.

He was smiling so much his cheeks ached.

"Hey, you arrive with the pizza. Now, that's service! And holy shit that smells good. Come on in, Zayn."

Zayn did, looking around curiously.

"I'm, um, not much of an interior decorator. What kind of gay guy am I, huh? They'll probably revoke my membership card."

Harry took the box from Zayn's hands- it was from Hot Lips, which he passionately believed had the best pizza in town-and he put it on the coffee table.

"Feel free to take the self-guided tour. I even shoveled a path through the dirty clothes."

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Actually, he'd spent most of the day cleaning the place, and it was more sparkling than it had been since he'd moved in.

Zayn poked around a little as Harry gathered plates and opened a couple of beer.

They met up in the living room, and he handed one of the bottles to Zayn before they both collapsed on the couch.

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"So how would you like to spend a fine evening of couch potatohood, my good man?"

Zayn snatched the remote from Harry's hand.

Harry would have wrestled him for it, but then he would have spilled his beer.

So instead, he scrunched up against the other man and resigned himself to the UFC channel.

Ugh, but bearable when he had Hot Lips at his fingertips and Zayn's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

• ☘ •

- Don't get bored guys. Simplicity is beautiful.