Parole | Zarry

15

VOTE | COMMENT

His mother was a crier and a screamer, the type of person who saw the worst in everyone and whose glass was always halfempty.

Well, except for her tumbler of Southern Comfort, which she kept diligently filled.

Several pages of the album contained photos of places Harry didn't recognize.

A beach where a teenaged Zayn squinted into the sun and looked adorably awkward in swim trunks.

A place with colorful stucco buildings and palm trees. A cobblestone street that was obviously older than any city in the France.

Harry wasn't widely traveled, and he wondered where these places were and why Zayn had visited them.

He hoped they could find a way for Zayn to tell the tales someday.

.
.
.

But now Zayn was turning the page again, and there he was, sitting at a desk with a big computer monitor in front of him, grinning and holding up a thick stack of papers.

He was shirtless, and his hair was a mess, which led Harry to wonder who had snapped the picture.

"Was that one of your books?" he asked.

Zayn nodded and held up a finger.

"Oh.Your first book.That must have been really exciting. I can't imagine creating something like that."

Zayn looked slightly wistful-which hadn't been Harry's intent, then shook his head slightly, and his face cleared.

He pointed at Harry and then made an odd motion with both hands, as if he were slowly pushing something forward.

He had to repeat it a few times before Harry understood.

.
.
.

"Well, yeah, I finace. Nothing interesting. Nothing anyone's ever gonna care about. I read that book you gave me, the one you wrote. Which is kind of a thing, because I'm usually not much of a reader."

He paused, wondering if he'd given too much of himself away, but Zayn just waited.

Well, Zayn had been to Harry's apartment and surely noticed that it was not overflowing with reading material.

.
.
.

"I really liked your book, Dusk till Dawn, that you gave me last time. It was exciting and that cop with the bad rep was cool and that thing with the identity theft, I totally didn't see that coming. You know, even if you never write anything again, you've already done way more than most people."

Zayn nodded slowly, as if he'd never thought of it that way before.

Then he sighed and flipped quickly through a bunch of pages of him signing books in various places.

He stopped when he came to a photo of himself holding another of his books in one hand, his other arm thrown around the shoulder of a young man with black hair and a slightly stubbly chin.

.
.
.

The man wasn't exactly handsome, but he had an interesting face, and he was staring at Zayn with adoration in his eyes.

Zayn pointed at the man, his finger almost stabbing into the photo.

"You dated him?"

Harry asked carefully, and received a single nod in return.

"Was it... serious?"

Zayn nodded again.

Then he bashed his palm against his forehead, pointed at the ex again, and swept his hand in a go-away motion toward the door.

"He split after the accident?"

With his jaw clenched tightly, Zayn nodded.

He pointed at his own mouth, which was as silent as always, and shook his head.

.
.
.

"Oh. He couldn't handle you having trouble talking. That,Christ, Zayn. He was an asshole and he didn't deserve you. I have better conversations with you than with guys who can talk a mile a minute."

The anger and hurt in Zayn's eyes faded, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

That was really nice to see, Harry thought.

But he had to ask another question.

.
.
.

"How long were you guys together?"

Zayn held up five fingers.

"Five years?"

God, Harry had never lasted even five days with anyone before.

Knowing that Zayn was the kind of guy to make that sort of commitment didn't really surprise him, though.

And, amazingly, it didn't scare him away.

• ☘ •

- Only few people are reading the book. I'd love it if you all will share your thoughts.