fool's gold [zarry]

sept

Zain grumbles when the door bell rings, that annoyingly chipper chime that came with the house, which was annoyingly bright and white. Natural light was good for working out colours - to a degree - but it was very annoying when he was trying to sleep in, or wallow as Niall liked to call it. Everything about LA was too bright.

He blinks, surprised and confused and maybe hallucinating, at the person at his gates, alone, but presses the buzzer.

Harry grins up at the camera before pushing through. Zain pulls the door open, blinking down at Harry as he walks up the path to Zain's house like he's been here a thousand times before.

"What are you doing here?" Zain says bluntly. One of the reason Niall never let him talk to anyone halfway important on his own.

"I need to get dressed for tonight," Harry says, like that was a reasonable thing to say.

"That's not how it works," Zain reminds him, scratching his beard and wondering of he looked as scruffy as he felt.

Harry smirks slightly, hooking a finger into the waistband of Zain's jogging bottoms, which was not ok on several levels but mostly because Zain had forgotten to put on underwear and he'd rather not - get excited.

"Niall gave me your address," Harry says, walking right into Zain's personal space and tilting his head down slightly.

Zain snorts, the absurdity of it breaking the spell he had been caught up in, slapping Harry's fingers away and stepping back instead. "Niall would never. What have you done to him?"

"Nothing," Harry lies, looking around Zain's entryway with interest. "But I need to be dressed by seven either way, you can call him."

"I don't just have suits lying around in my house, especially not for random people," Zain says, even though he might have started a little collection with just Harry in mind. Niall knew and still called it - or him - Zain's little obsession. It was infuriating.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Harry smirks slightly, running a hand through his hair and making it look even worse, all greasy and tangled.

"You should wash your hair first," Zain says, too easily, and Harry's whole face breaks out onto a smile.

"Oh," he says lightly, still grinning. It would be frightening if it weren't so attractive, to see him light up like this. "I thought we could have sex before any of that."

Zain blinks at him dumbly for a moment, considering if maybe he was high and had just forgotten. Or maybe he'd finally lost his marbles, like Niall said he always would.

Harry is still grinning, dragging his fingers down Zain's chest, making his breath catch in his through. He turns away, towards the open and very white staircase.

"Where is your bedroom then?" he asks, throwing a glance at Zain's couch. "That sofa looks extremely uncomfortable."

"It is," Zain says, still feeling like he's been hit over the head. "It came with the house."

"Come on, then," Harry says, leaving Zain behind as he walks up the stairs.

Either he was very confident or Zain looked a lot more pathetic than he'd ever feared. And he used to think he was smooth. He's always told Niall he was.

He follows Harry upstairs, Niall's disapproval almost audible to him. But how could he not, when Harry's arse looked so nice in those atrocious jeans and he was so bright and sure of himself.

He catches up with Harry at the top of the stairs, catching him by the waist, cupping his arse.

"And now?" Harry asks, his voice deeper than Zain's ever heard it.