All the Leaves are Brown (Zarry AU)

Chapter 7

His name’s Harry, so he tells Zayn between mouthfuls of chips on the walk back to his flat. Zayn hates living across the road from a kebab shop (especially at 4 a.m. when two blokes are kicking the shit out of each other over a girl who’s already halfway home in a cab), but after a party when only chips and pita will do, it’s a Godsend.

Harry follows because that’s what he does apparently, he steals your clothes and follows you to kebab shops and tells you not to put vinegar on your chips. Zayn’s about to tell him to fuck off when he grabs a handful, something he’d normally object to, but the kid’s earned them. After all, if he didn’t know how to say thank you in Turkish the guy wouldn’t have given him an extra scoop so he’s only eating what’s his.

‘What’s your surname?’ Zayn asks as they amble across the road. Somewhere he can hear someone singing It's a Long Way to Tipperary and it makes him smile.

‘Styles,’ Harry says and Zayn isn’t entirely sure he believes him because he’s also told him that he goes to Manchester Uni as well, which is clearly bullshit.

‘What you studying?’

‘English Lit,’ Harry says, breaking eye contact for the first time. He’s still wearing Doniya’s scarf around his head, something that garnered the attention of a group of girls in the kebab shop who insisted on having their picture taken with him.

‘Me too!’

‘Yeah?’

He gulps and Zayn smiles slowly. ‘What year?’

‘Second.’

‘Me too.’

‘I mean, I’m about to go into my second year.’

‘Oh.’ Zayn nods, looking for his door keys when they get to his front door.

He mustn’t look convinced, because Harry adds, ‘When I’m done with finals.’

‘You’re not done?’

‘Not yet.’

‘How many more you got?’ Zayn asks, opening the door and stepping over the mess of pizza menus. He knows full well that finals are over – that’s the point of his party – but he can’t resist teasing him a little when Harry holds up a finger.

‘Freud?’ he says and Harry nods. ‘They always leave that one ‘til last.’

He looks relieved and smiles loosely. ‘Exactly!’

‘Professor Geller’s such a dork,’ Zayn tells him as Harry follows him up the stairs.

‘Right?’

‘But don’t eat his sandwich.’

When they get to the top of the stairs and Zayn stops outside the door to his flat, Harry stops too and closes his eyes. ‘There’s no Professor Geller is there?’

‘Of course there is.’

Harry inches an eye open. ‘Really?’

‘In Friends.’ Zayn tilts his head at him as if to say, BUSTED.

When Harry starts playing with his bottom lip, Zayn should tell him to go home, he knows, but then he realises that he’s tugging on his goatee and stops.

‘Okay.’ Harry sighs and tilts his head from side to side. ‘Maybe I’m not strictly a first year.’ Zayn arches an eyebrow at him and he adds, ‘Yet.’

‘When will you be a first year?’

‘Soon.’

‘How soon?’

‘Soon soon.’

The more he grins the younger he looks. Right now he looks about twelve.

‘How old are you, Harry?’

‘The same age as you.’

‘You’re twenty?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Okay,’ Harry concedes, ‘but I feel twenty. That has to count for something.’

‘See how far that gets you in a pub.’

He licks his lips and smirks this time. ‘I do all right.’

‘Go home,’ Zayn tells him as soon as he’s caught his breath and he needs to because the urge to run his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip is distracting.

‘I’ve missed the last train.’

‘And that’s my problem how?’

The look Harry gives him lets Zayn know that it is now.