After six years ( Zarry)

Chapter 2

harry stepped into the diner with a smile on his face.

Looking around the tables, he wasn’t able to spot Zayn anywhere and furrowed his eyebrows slightly, wondering if he was early. He checked his watch and saw that, no, he was just on time.

After turning down a waitress asking if he wanted a table, he propped himself against the wall by the door and waited, his hands lazily slung into his pockets. He rolled his eyes, and chuckled a little to himself as he remembered that Zayn has always been late, even if it was six years ago.

He peered down at his feet, surrounded by his clippy-cloppy cowboy boots. His legs were clad in a pair of tight designer jeans, which he’d splashed out on the week before, and his torso wore a black shirt. He’d spent a decent amount of time on his hair and his face,

Zayn pressed himself against Harry’s body, their sweat mingling as their limbs did the same. Harry’s lips touched Zayn’s and then there was nothing but skin between them. Zayn’s hands ran lazily over Harry before he raised them; aiming to sink his hands into Harry’s hair, but found it impossible.

“Then you’re just gonna have to occupy your hands with something else…”

Harry crossed his legs over at his ankles and looked up, his eyes glinting against the shiny lights. He lifted his head to have another look around and this time just spotted Zayn walking into the diner, altering his cap a top of his head. Harry smiled when he recognized the hat. 

Zayn grinned at Harry and pulled on his jacket, trying to find something to do with his hands. “Hey,” he said as he arrived and Harry stood up straight from the wall.

“Hey,” Harry replied, his hands still in his pockets.

The two stood together for a quiet moment. Harry was rocking from his toes back to the balls of his feet repeatedly as Zayn watched him sway. He coughed, “You look nice,” Zayn said finally, breaking the quiet and sending red all through Harry’s face. “…Hot,” he dared to add.

Harry felt his ears heat up and he took a step forward. “You don’t look too bad, yourself,” he quipped, and Zayn ducked his head bashfully.

Zayn was wearing what he had always worn, that being him His black Leather jacket , which matched  his quiff hair, and his jeans were a dark wash, 

“Table, sirs?” the same waitress from before asked, her tone dreary and boring, like she had asked the same thing one million times before.

Zayn looked to Harry and raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” Harry said, “for two.”

The girl led them to the opposite side of the diner, Harry’s boots clacking all the way across the tiled floor, and they sat down, menus in hand, though neither planned on eating.

“Drinks?” she drawled, pulling out a tiny notepad and pencil from her apron pocket.

Zayn spoke up, not even checking with Harry. “Two full cokes, no ice, please,” he said, and the waitress finally tottered off.