olivia [zarry]

chapter eight| tell me a lie

"Why are you looking at me like that? Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it? It's bad, and I've not done justice to your painting. It's okay. You can say it. Lay it on me."

Zayn unexpectedly snorts, and Harry doesn't like it. Or well, he does, because it's adorable, but still.

It's several awkward moments later, and he's still lying on the ground in Zayn's bedroom. He wouldn't mind it much if it weren't for the fact that his back has started to ache, and though Zayn's finished painting, he has to stay where he is, because Zayn's head is tilted, and his eyes have been heavily scrutinizing his work for the past couple minutes now. They rake over his body, and goosebumps have taken residence beneath all the paint on him because of it.

He's sure the painting couldn't possibly have turned out poorly since Zayn's the artist behind it, but the way he's looking at Harry is causing him to feel as though maybe it did, and he's not sure that he's ready for the verdict. This is the first time he's had someone painted on him, and this person is Zayn, so he especially wants it to be good.

"I like it, Harry, I promise," Zayn answers eventually with an easy smile. He pats at Harry's thigh. "How could I not when I've got the perfect canvas right here?"

On the inside, Harry's heart thumps unenviably against his chest. On the outside, however, he rolls his eyes and also tries for a smile. "Flatterer."

Zayn grins and doesn't bother denying it. "Do me a favor and stay right there? I promise you can move in a bit. I just need to get a few photos, yeah?"

"Of me? What would your girlfriend say, Malik?" Harry hates the way he thinks sometimes.

"Bet she'd say that you're an idiot," Zayn jokes back, returning with his phone, and yeah, that's fair. He begins snapping a few pictures of his work for class, and Harry does his best to remain still as he does so. He studies the concentrated look on Zayn's face to have something to do, and he sets out to memorize the color of his tongue that's jutting out between his teeth.

"So," he starts when he thinks he's got it down, and Zayn is helping him to his feet. "Are you still treating me to dinner? I did take my shirt and strides off," he reminds him teasingly, "so I think I deserve double."

Zayn chuckles and squeezes both of Harry's hands. "Whatever you want, babe. You've been a massive help, so what would you like-" He cuts himself off as his phone loudly buzzes from where he's just thrown it on the bed. He releases Harry's hands to retrieve it once more, and Harry struggles not to mourn the loss. Zayn smiles down at his cell as soon as he glances at the screen, and Harry doesn't even have to ask who texted. "Looks like you're in luck. Liv just asked if we're about done here because she's on her way over with food, so we don't even have to go out. Yayyy," he mock cheers.

Harry would find it endearing if his heart wasn't breaking. "Oh. That's- that's great. I'll just go get cleaned up then." He'd be lying if he said he didn't physically feel himself plunging into what he's come to know as the dark place, (he's so dramatic) but he guesses this is for the best. Dinner alone with Zayn would have been dangerous.

He heads to the bathroom, where he gives himself a stern pep talk that mostly consists of him stopping himself from pouting, and Olivia arrives just as he's making his way out of it and to the living area. He's now fully clothed, even though he'd prefer not to be, and focusing on how a bit of the paint is still stuck to his skin, but he forgets that and has to halt in his tracks as soon as he sees Zayn leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. His eyes shut down instinctively, and he blows a breath out as he attempts to push the image out of his head.

"There you are, darling. I brought you your favorite." His best friend greets him warmly when she's aware of his presence. "I also picked up a few snacks and stuff. I was thinking we could all hang out here for a while and watch a film or something. You up for that?"