Over Pickles and Twix

ii.

Harry slinks closer and closer to Zayn, staying as quiet as possible. He hovers near his station as Zayn's putting some kind of dough together.

"So now I'm trying this shortbread recipe with a different proportion of white sugar," Zayn says to the camera. "And then- oh, Harry, hi."

"What are you making there?" Harry says, watching as the dough tries to come together under the spatula.

"I'm making Twix this time," Zayn sighs. "I'm gonna need to incorporate all this with my hands, this isn't working. The butter is too cold." He starts taking off his rings, leaving them on the countertop. Harry eyes one, a silver piece that looks like a rose. He picks it up as Zayn washes his hands at the sink next to him.

"This is nice," Harry remarks, turning the ring over. "Looks delicate yet chunky enough. Good work. A nice little English rose, huh? Neat." He abandons the ring where he found it and leans against the countertop.

"You're a bit of an English rose yourself," Zayn comments, a slightly amused look on his face as he's drying his hands. He comes back to his dough, disregarding the conversation. Harry's a bit lost.

"What's really an English rose?" Harry asks. "I've been hearing it all around forever. In like, poetry or I dunno, people calling other people that. It's not about the flower? I've always thought it's about the flower and everyone was just using it weird."

"No, it's not like that," Zayn says as he works the crumbly dough between his fingers. "It's a person, kind of a description. Not sure where it came from but probably from romantic poetry in the 19th century or something. It describes a person who has light eyes, fair complexion and usually is a bit delicate."

"Oh, really?" Harry furrows his brows. He clears his throat, flexing a biceps. "How delicate are these absolute guns? I'd... crush roses with them," he puts his arm down and awkwardly shuffles around. "Not like, people but you know, plants. Although it's not really nice, at the end of the day, those plants are just doing their best, like all of us are."

Zayn gives him a look. "You do have nice cheekbones, I'd say. Those are pretty delicate."

Harry puts a hand to his heart, trying to mask his genuine shock with theatrics. He blinks a few times, a slight grin on his lips. "Well, thank you! You do have quite nice cheekbones yourself," Harry's soon met with Zayn's gaze again. Completely stoic, his hands still stuck inside the bowl with the dough, Harry's assaulted with his unfiltered attractiveness. "And eyelashes," Harry sputters out. "I think. Yeah," he looks over at the camera, trying a close-lipped smile. "We're men!"

"Okay, Harry, I really need to concentrate on this," Zayn says, huffing out a breath. "If you're not gonna help with anything, just go to your fermentation station or something."

Harry puts his hands up. "Alright, alright, I'm gone already. Never been here." He walks backwards for a while, before he remembers. "Save me a Twix! I'm leaving to film in Washington state with Jeffrey tomorrow."

Zayn doesn't reply but Harry knows better. When he returns to the test kitchen, he finds a small container with one gourmet Twix bar inside the reach-in fridge. There's a post-it on top of it saying, ' Saved you one. You can let me know how you liked it Friday over dinner?' Harry doesn't think he's ever smiled so wide.