Behind Closed Doors

9. Unsaid

Tracing all the stars that we counted
Hoping that this all leads to something
Losing my way had me wandering
Colours seem to fade every time I try to say
-"I Won't Let You" by MorMor
***

Zayn was parked in front of Harry's London home wearing black from head to toe. He had a bit of stubble but not quite a beard, and his hair was fairly long considering he hadn't shaved it all that long ago.

The time was 12:10pm, with Zayn running late as usual. He would've been early but he enjoyed showing up to events late. Zayn felt it allowed him to make an entrance and keep those who were waiting for him on their toes, left to wonder where Zayn was.
His heart was pounding with anticipation.

As he went to pull out his phone and tell Harry he'd arrived, the garage door to the closed off estate rose up, telling him Harry already knew he was there. Perhaps he'd been watching him through a security camera, Zayn thought.
Once Zayn pulled the car into the property, Harry was suddenly at the passenger side of Zayn's car, making Zayn gasp in shock. Harry chuckled at this reaction and Zayn began to exit the car, standing across from Harry. The two stared at one another longer than what would be deemed "normal."

Zayn wanted to take him all in, scared that every second he spent with Harry would be taken, wanting to memorize his every movement, the flick of his hair, scratch on the nose, how he pulls his sunglasses down from atop his head.
Harry looked as stunning as ever. He wore a beach themed shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest; Black skinny jeans, ray bans, a few rings, and of course his silver cross.

After the staring continued, Harry cleared his throat and said, "follow me."
Zayn obeyed without hesitation as Harry turned around and led Zayn inside his home.
Inside was very light and airy looking. In a way, Zayn stood out like a sore thumb with his all-black-everything attire inside the light and bright home. It exhumed positive energy. Zayn was unsure if that was simply because it was Harry's, or the color scheme, perhaps just a bit of both.

"Sick place mate." Zayn said as they walked past the entrance way and into Harrys sitting room. Zayn walked over to the bright purple couch, "love this color, it's so bold but like... it works, mahn."
As Zayn continued to walk around, taking it all in, Harry went to the all-white kitchen, opening the refrigerator. "Water?" He asked.

Zayn was in the middle of looking at the art Harry had hung up. Without looking over he answered, "sure, fanks."

"Ahh, mate. You've got an original Andy Warhol. So sick, Haz." It took Zayn a moment to realize he had called Harry, Haz. Once he did, he sort of froze and grew nervous, his face searching Harrys to see what his reaction was. It was a natural thing to call Harry but that was long ago. Now, Zayn was nervous he'd crossed a line that Harry would not be comfortable with. Harry hadn't shown Zayn too much of anything, clearly keeping his cards close to his chest. It was unlike him, but Zayn understood. He wanted to respect the boundaries Harry put up, mainly to not overstay his welcome too soon. Zayn wanted to bask in Harrys presence even if said presence was unusually closed-off.

To his relief, Harry simply smiled at him and handed Zayn a water bottle.

"Yeah, I actually styled this entire floor around that painting. I knew I wanted like, a sick and expensive piece of art. One that would grow in value with time. So I decided Andy Warhol was my guy. His stuff is always so bright and flashy, which I sort of felt like I could relate to. It fit my energy ya know?"

"F'sure. Definitely fits you."

"Ya... so pretty much I told my decorator like, this is going here, let's try and match this vibe. And I think she did pretty well, but I suppose I am bias...."