Room 301 [Zarry]

temporary home

Sand rinses down the drain, I hum a soft tune as I work my shampoo into a thick lather, the cool steady stream of the shower head clearing the cobwebs inside my brain. I nearly wash off the phone number, panic as I shut off the water and hop out of the shower, slipping on the wet floor. I can't catch myself from the fall, nearly collide with the title when I feel him secure me.

"Trying to die or something," he asks with a chuckle.

I'm completely mortified, deep blush spreading across my cheeks as I realize my nakedness is on display.

"What's this," he asks curiously, thumbing over the smearing ink.

"Can you get me a towel," I ask, voice squeaky.

"Only if you explain what had you so shaken up, you have to be more careful Harry. You scared me," he lowers his voice.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just need to write this down, this could be my big break-"

"Breathe, Harry." He wraps me up in a fluffy towel, laughs about the suds still in my hair. "What's all this about?"

"Kit," I smile. "This girl I met at the beach, her father works for Columbia Records."

"That's great! You need to put together a cohesive demo, something that showcases your vocals and captures your style. Do you have any ideas?"

"Um...a few. There are a lot of moving parts inside my head, I feel kind of overwhelmed," I admit with a frown.

"No worries," he caresses my cheek and my knees cave slightly. "I'll help you."

I quickly rinse the soap from my hair and wash my body before slowly stepping out of the shower and putting down a mat. How did he know I was in danger? A shiver runs through me as I think about what could have happened.

He might have just saved my life.

The number stares me in the face, jotted messily on a legal pad on the nightstand. The heat of the sun and the burning in my calves, the resistance from walking on the sand wore me out. I focus on the soft whirl of the ceiling fan, eyelids fluttering closed.

It's only a queen bed but it feels massive, like the mattress stretches on endlessly. I keep tucked to my side, facing the balcony. Even through the curtains I can see the glimmer of lights, feel the pulse of the city like my own heartbeat.

"What are you thinking about," he inquires, voice so close it startles me. I feel his fingertips brush the nape of my neck, his breath fanning across my skin.

"Just thinking," I reply dumbly, mind drawing blank.

I occupy such a small amount of space that I actually miss my full bed at home, shudder as the loneliness closes in on me.

His arms wrap around my waist and I try not to lose it, heart so lound I can't hear my own thoughts.

"You're trembling," he murmurs. "If you're uncomfortable or afraid-"

"No! No...it isn't you."

He's quiet for the longest time but I still feel his presence. My heart settles and his scent envelopes me, the faint smell of amber, apricots and vanilla. Sweet but musky, with just a twinge of tobacco. It's distinctly him and it brings me so much comfort, I can't explain it.

My heart aches less for home, the distance seems to close. Maybe it isn't the setting, it's the people that your heart finds familiar. You can find home in someone you trust, in an unforgotten memory, in a song on the radio that reminds you of a long lost friendship. It can be found in anything that feels safe.

Home is safety. It's where you let your guard down, the one place you can always go back to when life leads you astray. Maybe it doesn't have to be a physical place at all.

"Are you alright," he asks, breaking the silence. "Why are you crying?"

I don't even notice until my fingers  sweep away the wet tears, until one finds its way into my mouth, salty taste left on my tongue.

His words linger and I search for a response, a reason I was moved to tears but it's nothing in particular.

"Hold me tighter," I request, not caring how desperate it sounds.

I think I found my temporary home, I seem to forget that he's a spirit and that I've never seen anything but a faint glow and blurred edges, the outline of a misguided man. If he's lost, so am I.

☆

I wake up drowsy, sleep crusted in the corners of my eyes. I let out a tiny yawn, stretching as I try to adjust. The stiffness goes away and I smile, happy about the soft sunlight filling the room. No cloudy days.

It takes me awhile to notice Zayn's absence, I can't feel him anywhere. I brew some tea, memories of last night flooding my mind.

I'm startled again as I feel hands on my shoulders, a gentle squeeze. "Sleep well?"

My body relaxes, tiny tingles on my skin. His hand moves to the small of my back and my breath hitches. Does he know how he makes me feel, how strong his spell is over me?

"Yeah," I smile sheepishly.

"You're afraid of being alone," he observes, hand still rubbing in a circle. He presses the heel of him palm into my back, works his way up, slowly kneading out the soreness. I let out the softest moan, feel his lips brush the shell of my ear. "Does that feel nice?"

How is it possible to have feelings for a ghost? Am I this desperate for touch? It concerns me.

My thoughts switch over to Kit and her silky blonde hair, eyes the clearest blue I've ever seen. She seems so soft and timid and I think I should give her a chance. Maybe she'll be good for me.

"I have to get dressed," I finally respond.

"Oh," he replies flatly. "Yeah, don't let me get in your way."

Just like that, he's gone, leaving nothing but a gust of cool air in his wake. I dial her number on the landline, take a deep breath.

She picks up, words all jumbled together. "GoodmorningHarryhowareyou?"

I laugh, reply that I'm doing fine. My stomach is stuck on spin cycle and I'm suddenly nervous.

"Do you want to go out," I ask quietly. "I need someone to share my music with before I drop off my sample-"

"Yes! Yeah of course," she exclaims, cutting my words short. "That sounds perfect."