Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)

Chapter 33

Harry’s hopes of getting a cab are dashed when he finally makes it outside to find that the snow is heavier than he thought, the traffic on Praed Street slowing to a chug as it comes down in fast, meaty chunks. He has to get the tube – in rush hour – which slows him down even more, the soles of his deeply impractical Converse skidding so many times on the wet floors and escalators, he doesn’t know how he doesn’t break his neck.

By the time he gets back to his flat, he’s exhausted. His curls have wilted and his toes are so cold, it’s a struggle to walk, but for a swift second he’s glad to see his front door, the promise of a hot shower and dry socks making his shoulders fall. But as soon he opens the door he hears Mrs Burton’s television and his heart sinks to the doormat.

With that, every nerve that had settled back into place after the last week, jumps back up again as he bends down to pick up the mess of envelopes and pizza menus. But as soon as he does, he’s aware of someone behind him and just like that, he’s back in that stairwell at Stamford Bridge, his heart hammering hysterically.

‘It’s just me.’ Zayn rears back when Harry turns to face him with his hands up.

‘Jesus!’ He presses a hand to his chest. ‘You scared the life out of me!’

‘Sorry.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asks, his head is spinning as he steps back to let Zayn come in from the snow.

‘We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘About everything,’ Zayn snaps, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry looks at the pile of post in his hand, furious at himself for how hard his heart is beating at the sight of him, snowflakes melting into his hair so he looks like someone from a black and white movie. But Zayn, ever the contradiction, manages to look soft and rough, all at once, and it’s almost shocking. Harry has never seen him like that – so untidy, so disarranged in jeans and a hoodie, his jaw rough with stubble – that he can’t help but hope that he did it to him. That he fucking broke him.

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ Harry says with a bored sigh, hoping Zayn assumes his pink cheeks are due to the cold.

‘My stylist is trying a new look for the wedding.’

‘What?’ Harry doesn’t look up as he sifts through the envelopes in his hand to see if any of them are for him. ‘Straight?’

Zayn ignores him as Harry puts the pile of post on the first step and heads up the stairs. Mrs Burton is watching It's a Wonderful Life, he can hear Jimmy Stewart’s voice from there, and it makes him so homesick that if Zayn wasn’t there, he’d cry.

‘I don’t know where you think you’re going,’ he tells Zayn as he trots after him.

‘We need to talk, Harry.’

‘I think you’ve said more than enough, don’t you?’ he tells him, raising his voice over the sullen twang of violins as he passes Mrs Burton’s door.

‘That’s just it,’ Zayn says and he sounds out of breath as he follows Harry up the final flight of stairs, reaching for the sleeve of his coat as he approaches his front door.

Harry stops and turns to face him. ‘What’s just it?’

‘What I said-’ He stops to frown, his eyes suddenly huge. ‘It came out wrong.’

Harry feels himself soften as he looks at him, and when Zayn’s fingers curl in his sleeve, he feels a dizzying surge of hope as he wonders if this is it. If this is the speech, the chase-the-girl-through-the-airport-at-the-end-of-the-film speech that he’s been practising for the last three days. Harry wills him to say it, waits until he can feel his jaw shivering and tears pushing at the backs of his eyes, but Zayn just looks at him.