Literature

living arrangements

There's an empty pizza box in the kitchen and no sign of Zayn.

My fingers tap lightly on the bar as I contemplate whether or not I should call him. I towel dry my wet ringlets and tug on his University of Cambridge hoodie. It smells like brown vanilla sugar and tobacco and my nose keeps dipping down to get a whiff.

My ring glints under the light and I smile before sliding it off and washing my hands.

I drop a few slices of bread into the toaster, humming as I turn up his under the counter radio.

look at the stars
look how they shine for you
and everything you do
yeah, they were all yellow

I sing along cheerily as the bread pops back up and I spread some almond butter and add some banana slices before sprinkling some chia seeds.

My bare feet pad against the tile, dancing with myself when the door opens and bright laughter fills my ears.

"Good morning sunshine."

"I made toast."

"I can see that," he chuckles. "Thank you."

He pecks my lips and I pour myself some apple juice.

"That's pure sugar."

"Then why is it in your fridge Zayn? Huh, huh?" I press up against his chest, giggling and his only response is

"Have you already had a gallon of it? Geez Harry. You always had a bottle in class."

"Oh," I blush. "I never really knew you payed attention to that."

"You also love bananas."

I glance at the bread covered in banana slices and laugh.

"Just a little."

"My little monkey," he teases.

"Where were you off to so early Zayn?"

He adverts eye contact and clears his throat.

"I uh...Mason called me."

"Well," my heart is hammering away. "Is everything okay?"

"He isn't moving back home."

"Okay," my foot taps nervously. "What about it," I snap.

"Well he needs a place to stay."

It grows quiet immediately. I gulp down my apple juice and brashly throw the glass into the sink.

Zayn flinches at it shatters and I tuck my hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.

There's still faint music playing from the radio and neither of us move to turn it off.

loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes
but it's the only thing that I know
when it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes
it is the only thing that makes us feel alive

we keep this love in a photograph
we made these memories for ourselves
where our eyes are never closing
hearts are never broken

"Thanks for ruining my glass Harry."

"Seriously?"

I shake my head in disbelief as I back away

and if you hurt me, that's okay baby
only words bleed inside these pages
you just hold me

He switches the radio off, furious and I grapple for the door knob.

"I told him no."

"What?"

"I told him to find somewhere else to stay. He thinks you live with me."

"Zayn I-"

He presses the heel of his hand to his forhead and I trod over to the sink to collect the shards of glass. I slice my finger on a piece and wince.

"Fuck Harry, I don't care about that anymore."

"Don't wanna screw up the disposal," I mutter.

He picks my ring up off the bar and clutches it in his hand.

"I shouldn't have gone to see him at all. I'm sorry. I thought he was in trouble-"

"I'm doing it."

"What," he breathes out desperately.

"Moving in with you."

He drops the ring accidentally and it rolls around before settling on the floor.

A droplet of blood splashes right along-side it and he meets my gaze, wide-eyed.

"I'm scared," he admits.

"Of what?"

"I always hurt you Harry."

He wets a rag and wraps it around my finger before retrieving a band-aid and carefully wrapping it around my skin.

"Now both hands have to heal. Your ring," his eyes water. "You wore your ring on that finger."

"Zayn, why are you so upset?"

I cup his face and kiss him softly before asking if he has a chain I could slip it on.

"Why would he call you so early in the fucking morning," I grumble.

"He's staying in a hotel. He phoned me asking if he could come over but you were still asleep and it pissed me off so I said no."

He saunters off and returns with a thin silver chain. I watch as he slips the ring on and I hastily put my hair in a bun.

It's one of cliché movie movements, him clasping the necklace around my neck and pulling back to smile at me.

"You would never hurt me Zayn," I whisper. "I promise you the same."

"Harry," he murmurs. "Oh my precious Harry."

And my heart tumbles in my chest as he draws me into his arms.

"We haven't talked about poetry in awhile," I grin.

"No poet could ever describe the love we have. Our poem is the most beautiful of all. It's confusing and frenzied...it's a whirlwind of stirring emotions and quickening pulses and snatching kisses. It makes me feel dizzy but it the best possible way. I don't want to-"

"How do you know?"

"What babe," he furrows his brows.

"It isn't complete. How do we know how it will end?"

My question sinks in for a moment. I can almost see the perplexity of his mind, interwoven thoughts and unanswered questions; memories and hopes and dreams and this beautiful chaos.

He doesn't know how we'll end our poem. How can anyone be sure how something ends?

"I don't know," he admits. "Let's just keep writing."

"Okay," I sigh. "But my hand is getting tired."

He simply chuckles and kisses my forehead.

I realize we haven't touched the toast but at least I didn't burn it.

A/N: California? California.