Harry stood paralyzed outside Zayn’s door. His hands were pressed against the wall; little by little he inched his head closer to the door, which was open, just a sliver, just enough for him to hear what was going on inside, but not enough for him to be seen. He swallowed hard as he listened.
He had come up moments ago to ask Zayn if he wanted to go get something to eat. It was late, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He knew it was a long shot that Zayn would even be awake. As he approached, he had noticed that the door wasn’t closed fully, so he thought he had lucked out.
His fist was hovered over the door; ready to knock when he heard it. At first he thought he was hearing things, so he froze. He pressed his body against wall and listened.
It wasn’t abnormal to hear one of the other boys…pleasing himself. Harry couldn’t count the number of times he had laid in his bunk pretending he couldn’t hear the panting or the sound of skin against skin. It was something they all just accepted and overlooked. But this wasn’t just panting.
Harry moved to the other side of the door so he could look through the crack. He hid in the shadows just in case Zayn happened to look up.
Zayn was lying on his bed, the sheets covering his legs to mid-thigh. His eyes were closed; his left hand rested on his stomach; his right hand glided over his member. He was panting; low moans fell from his lips.
Harry had convinced himself that he was in fact hearing things and was about to walk away when he heard it again. Just as Zayn came, his back arching off the bed, he muttered two small syllables: “Harry.”
***
Harry paced his room. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He had backed away from door, and practically ran down the hall, before Zayn recovered. He chewed on his thumbnail as he went over the situation in his head again. The problem was going over the situation meant seeing Zayn, sweaty, panting, saying his name…
He shook the image from his head. He didn’t know what to do. Did he pretend it didn’t happen like he usually would do if he had just heard the moans? Did he chalk it up to sexual frustration and exclusion from the outside world?
No, he couldn’t. Zayn had said his name. He had moaned his name. That wasn’t something he could just ignore. But it wasn’t something he could bring up in normal conversation.
He plopped down on his bed and dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair. He decided there was nothing he could do, not at the moment anyway.
He pulled his blanket down and climbed under them. He tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Zayn.
***
Harry hadn’t meant for it to get weird, but it did. He couldn’t look at Zayn. Whenever he did, he averted his eyes quickly, turning his focus to the ground. He never sat next to Zayn, and if he was addressed by him, he answered shortly.
The worst part of the whole situation was that he wanted the opposite of this. All he wanted to do was confront Zayn and tell him what he heard, what he saw. He had envisioned it so many times. Zayn would get embarrassed, he would start stammering, but Harry would quiet him by pressing their lips together. Zayn would pull back, momentarily shocked, but then he would smile and pull him close again.
“Harry?” Louis called, pulling him out of his daydream. “Harry, we’re leaving.”
“Oh, right.” He gathered his things and stepped in next to Louis who wrapped an easy arm around his shoulders and smiled at him. Harry thought he saw Zayn glance back at them, but he could have been wrong.
