olivia [zarry]

chapter seven| take it off

He'd never say it out loud, but he's thought of being in this exact same spot on multiple occasions before. He'd envisioned it differently, of course, but now that he finally is, he's practically shaking in his boots at the very notion.

He's standing in the doorway of Zayn's bedroom, which he's definitely done in the past, but the situation's changed, no doubt.

For one thing, it's been so long, so there's a sense of nostalgia looming over him. Memories of falling asleep with Zayn on his bed after "dinner and a movie" (as they'd sometimes jokingly referred to takeout and old superhero films) throng his mind, and flashbacks of him studying between Zayn's legs with his back to his chest are making an appearance as well.

Also, last he was here, the fact of him being in love with Zayn was still unknown to Harry himself, so there's that, and along with it comes the greatest source of his woes: all the mental pictures of what they could be doing with this opportunity right now that he's not sure his heart can handle but that his brain keeps throwing at him nonetheless. It's all very nice.

"Aren't you coming in?" Zayn's voice breaks him out of his reverie.

Harry gazes over at him and can't help the smile that graces his features. He looks a bit nervous too. At the prospect of having Harry in his space after so much time has passed, or at how awkward everything is bound to get in only a few minutes, he doesn't know, but it's nice to know that he's not alone.

"I know it's messy, but nothing's gonna come out and bite you." Zayn throws his bag to the ground and pulls on his ear. He doesn't turn for a minute, but when he does, Harry can see an amused twinkle flashing in his eyes. "They're all too shy for that," he adds with a wicked grin, seeming to get a hold of his uneasiness.

That makes Harry chuckle and get his somewhat under control as well. His shoulders slightly sag with ease. "I want to say you're joking, but there's really no way for me to know for sure, is there?" He steps forward to place his things on the chair at Zayn's desk.

"'Fraid not, babe." Zayn winks. "You can sit on the bed while I get everything ready, if you'd like."

False alarm. Harry's nerves come back full circle, and he gulps. Zayn just mentioned the b word.

He supposes it's his own fault for allowing his bag to occupy the only other available seat, so eying the bed cautiously, he sucks it up and wills his inappropriate thoughts to go away. "The bed. Yeah, sure." He strides over to it and supplies a polite smile as soon as he's sat.

I'm fine. This is fine.

"Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea?" Zayn offers, speaking up over the sound of him rummaging through his closet. "Maybe some dinner? I think we've got leftover Chinese in the fridge, if you'd like it."

"I'm alright, thanks," Harry tells him a bit distractedly, because he'd never really thought much about it before, but Zayn has a really nice back. He can especially tell now that's he's crouched down, out of his jacket and only wearing a tight T-shirt.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harry mumbles, tugging on his bottom lip. He tries looking away from the view, and again, tries not think about where he's sitting, and about what they could be doing, but he fails miserably because it's been ages, and he can't quit imagining what it'd be like to bite at the tattoo near the base of Zayn's neck. He wants to kiss every inch of his caramel skin in sight, and he hates that, so he pinches himself. It doesn't really help. He's pitiable.