zarry // discontinued
Two broken teens. Two depressed lives. One wrong number that changed everything.
[ WARNING : Story contains triggering themes like abuse, sexual harassment etc. ]
[ STATUS : part 1, completed; part 2, discontinued ]
[ A/N : Dedicated to Ammuali7because you are amazing! Go follow her, everyone! Go!
Credit for the painting goes to the owner. Its so detailed, right? ]
Zayn has never felt as vulnerable and bare in his whole life as he does when Harry inspects his paintings. These paintings are a part of him, and he feels a piece of his soul lying open in front of anyone. But no one really sees what Harry sees. And when Harry's sight falls on the painting of his eyes, the breaths of both of them hitch.
"Is that...?" Harry trails off, gesturing towards the painting. His eyes are wide and kind of begging him to say 'yes'.
"Yes," Zayn sighs, realizing how smitten he sounds. First, he travels all the way to London in hopes to see him, and now he goes around painting his eyes. "Your eyes." he whispers.
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Harry smiles shyly, a blush rising up to his cheeks. He scans the description Ms Grace has typed, his smile growing and blush darkening. "'You don't need to meet a person to consider themselves your guardian angel'... So true." he looks at Zayn "I show you compassion, understanding and love?"
"It's true, you do." Zayn argues, with a small smile.
Something is different, Zayn realises as they stand face-to-face. When they are on phone, its only them and nothing else matters. But now that they are here, standing so close, they could feel the rest of the world fading away. Its almost intimate. Intimacy in its purest form.
"So... You have to, like, stand here all day. Or you can see others' work too?" Harry asks, almost shyly.
"Ms Grace said we can go anywhere, but have to be back by 6 in the evening. It's a strict rule." Zayn smiles "Luckily, we have more than enough time to chat."
Talks come easy after that, as they roam the art gallery. They talk about their dreams, fears, likes, dislikes. Anything and everything. And if their fingers get intertwined at some point, no one has to know.
