Keep This Love (In a Photograph)

Chapter 8

Zayn's bedroom looks like a bomb has hit it. There's clothes scattered all over his bed, there's shoes lying haphazardly across the floor and Zayn's standing in the middle in nothing but a towel wrapped securely around his waist, staring at the mess like he's hoping it'll just tidy itself. And while that's happening, he'll somehow manage to decide what to wear because pulling all of his clothes out of the wardrobe didn't help in the slightest. He'd jumped in the shower mostly because he'd needed a break from trying to pick the perfect casual-not-trying-but-still-hot outfit but also because he's only got an hour left before Harry's picking him up for their night out with Liam, Niall and Louis.

He yanks on a pair of black boxers, dropping the towel over the radiator without any care before he starts trawling through his shirts. He discards everything plaid, all the stripes and anything with a band on it, just in case Liam's got terrible taste in music and doesn't happen to like The Who or Bob Marley. It's something he's trying not to think about because he's not sure he can be mates with someone who's got terrible taste in music. But still, he discards them just in case.

It narrows down his choices a lot and he's left picking up the same four shirts over and over again, wondering if Liam prefers blue or red before he throws them down in disgust. He shouldn't care what Liam prefers because he doesn't even know if Liam likes guys and he certainly doesn't know if Liam likes him like that. Just because Zayn's got a crush on Liam, it doesn't mean that Liam feels the same and he tells himself that over and over like a mantra.

He tugs the grey henley over his head and wriggles into a pair of black skinny jeans without any tears, just in case the bar they're going to has a dumb dress-code. It's always a risk whenever Harry chooses the venue. He opts for black Doc Martins and gives himself one more look in the full length mirror before he turns to his dresser. He slides on his three favourite rings, all on the chunky side because he likes the weight of them and selects two silver chains to wear around his neck.

Zayn checks his watch; he's got fifteen minutes to do his hair before Harry's due to arrive.

Fourteen minutes later and Zayn's answering the door, looking harried and stressed enough that Harry just stares at him for a minute.

"Er, you alright mate?" Harry asks, side-stepping past him into the house. "You're looking a bit pale, Zayn."

"Hair," is all Zayn grumbles before he's back up the stairs, not even caring that Harry's on his heels and ignoring Harry's burst of laughter when they reach his bedroom.

"Still pretending you don't fancy Liam then?" Harry asks because he's a terrible, terrible mate. He clears a space on the bed and plonks himself down before he busies himself by putting clothes back on their hangers.

Maybe Harry isn't quite so terrible.

"Shut up," Zayn murmurs without any heat as he goes back to trying to style his hair into a half-decent style. He barely pays any attention to Harry tidying his room until he turns, finally pleased with his hair to find the room cleaner than when he'd first started trying to get ready. "Fuck, thanks man."

Harry just shrugs. "S'a good distraction."

Which is when Zayn takes in how much of an effort Harry's made for tonight. He's in a pale mustard coloured shirt unbuttoned to his butterfly and he's got a long chain that rests between his swallows. He's got on the tightest black jeans that Zayn thinks he's ever seen Harry in and he's styled his hair for once so that it's almost behaving and falling in soft waves to his shoulders.

"Niall's never gonna get those jeans off you, Harry," Zayn says.

Harry beams at him. "You think he'll try then?"