Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)

Chapter 23

When he comes to, it’s slow and sticky, like waking up on the sofa and realising that he’s missed the end of a film. He has no idea where he is, but when he licks his lips and peels his eyes open, Zayn is looking down at him with a frown. He asks him if he’s okay and Harry smiles loosely, his eyelids fluttering shut again as he feels the warmth of Zayn’s hands on his cheeks, sure that he’s dreaming, but when Zayn shakes him and asks him again, Harry finally feels the foghorn of pain through the haze and groans.

‘Who the fuck was that?’ Zayn asks when Harry tries to sit up and can’t, his head spinning so suddenly it’s as though someone’s kicked in the face.

‘I’ve called the police, Zayn.’ Harry hears someone say and forces his eyes open to find a security guard standing over them with a matching frown.

Harry waves his hand. ‘No police,’ he says, trying to sit up again, Zayn’s left hand moving around to cup the back of his head when the pain punches him back down.

The security guard ignores him. ‘They’re on their way, Zayn.’

‘No police,’ he pleads, looking at Zayn who’s clearly furious, but takes the hint.

‘It’s alright, Neil,’ Zayn tells him with a sigh, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket with his other hand to hand him his keys. ‘Just bring my car around, yeah?’

He does as he’s told and as soon as they’re alone, Zayn shakes his head at Harry.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ he asks, helping him to his feet.

‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

‘Sure you are,’ Zayn murmurs, catching Harry and curling his arm around his waist when his legs buckle suddenly. ‘Can you stand up?’

Harry nods, even though he’s pretty sure that he can’t, but he needs to get out of there – and away from Zayn – before the security guard comes back with his car.

‘I’m okay,’ he says, which isn’t as convincing when he has to stop and reach a hand out to steady himself on the wall. He winces when he does, yanking his hand away and frowning at the rough gash on the heel of his palm. There’s one on his left palm as well and when he catches himself looking at the stairs, he touches the tender spot on his cheek as he remembers how the second punch sent him falling back onto them. As soon as he thinks it, the small of his back throbs and he can’t help but reach back and rub it with his fingers, sure that he already has a line of bruises from the edge of the step.

‘You sure?’ Zayn asks, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

Harry nods.

‘Where you going?’ he asks when Harry begins walking towards the door. He has to stop after a few steps, every muscle in his body screaming, and when Zayn reaches for his elbow, he’s suddenly so exhausted that he has to stop himself leaning against him.

‘Harry, you can’t even walk.’

‘I’m fine. I just want to go home.’

‘I’ll take you home. Just wait for Neil to come back with my car.’

Harry shakes his head so furiously that he almost loses his balance again, his heart hysterical at the thought of Zayn in his flat, seeing the drying teabags in the sink and his unmade bed. Then he thinks of Zayn on his back on it, the sheets leaving pink creases in his skin, and Harry’s heart starts to beat even harder.

‘What if someone sees us? Just go back to-’ He tries to say her name but can’t.

‘Like fuck am I leaving you in this state.’

‘I’m fine. I’ll just jump in a cab.’

‘You’re not fine,’ Zayn tells him, not letting go when Harry tries to pull away. ‘And if even if you were, no cabbie is going to take you when you’re pissing blood.’

Harry feels it then, the wetness around his nose, and wipes it with the back of his hand. Touching it just for that second hurts so much it makes him gasp and when he looks down at the blood, too bright and too red against his pale skin, he gasps again.

‘Let me see,’ Zayn says, putting his hands on his shoulders.

‘It’s only blood.’

Zayn doesn’t listen, turning him so his back is against the wall and taking his face in his hands, tilting it back. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, when Harry turns his cheek away.

‘I told you, I’m alright.’

‘Does your neck hurt?’

‘Everything fucking hurts.’

Zayn holds up three fingers. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

‘Eleven,’ Harry says with a theatrical sigh then rolls his eyes and regrets it as a sharp pain stabs at his temples.

‘Well your sarcasm is still in tact, so that’s something.’

‘What are you doing?’ he mumbles when Zayn turns his face to one side then the other to check his ears then starts rooting through his curls to inspect his scalp.

‘You’ll live,’ Zayn tells him, stepping back to look at him. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’ He plucks the striped handkerchief out of his breast pocket and hands it to him. ‘If I hadn’t stopped him, fuck knows what he would have done to you.’

‘It was nothing.’ Harry dabs at his nose and winces.

‘Nothing? I thought he was going to kill you. Who the fuck is he?’

‘Dunno.’ Harry shrugs, looking at the blossom of blood on Zayn’s handkerchief in case his cheeks look as hot as they feel. ‘He just jumped me from nowhere.’

Zayn puts his hands on his hips. ‘You’re a shit liar, you know that?’

Harry almost laughs because he is. He wears his heart on his face, his mother always says, but it never occurred to him until he met Zayn that it was a bad thing.