Change Your Ticket

This still is really too cliché

Might have to edit this chapter in the morning - but I still wanted to post ...

Harry's POV

Honestly, these past few hours are a blur to me. All I remember is Niall and Liam ordering us shots and me losing counts of how many I have already gulped down. Although, after a few that burning sensation of the tequila or the vodka, or whatever the hell the two have ordered, wasn't even noticeable anymore. I remember Zayn drinking just as much as me, which eventually led to him poking my dimples because he said "they looked adorable". And I also remember to have blushed at that comment. I remember Lou and the girl from the reception, Eleanor, heading off to the dance floor, followed by Liam and Niall, which left Zayn and I at the bar. I remember, after drowning two more shots, Zayn has grabbed my hand and led us to the dance floor as well. I remember a lot f giggling on my part, although I got to see one of his crinkled smiles as well, which he rarely has shown throughout that little time that I have know him. All I can think about is how him smiling is literally the moment where I would have described him as cute. His eyes had sparkles in them and I could get lost just staring into them. Besides, the happiness he was oozing off in that moment wasn't only excessively catching, but also utterly endearing to me.
That is all I really remember, though. And right now, right now all I can think about, are Zayn's hands on ms waist, pulling me closer, pressing me up against his front. I can feel his radiating body heat. I can feel every fiber of my body being ignited. I can feel every little touch of his fingers on my arms, neck until they eventually fall back into holding my waist. Completely on the loose, I lean back against him, all inhibitions gone. All nervousness that I have had, got lost after, maybe the second shot.
Zayn's faint breath is sending shivers down my spine, making me feel hot and cold at the same time, although I'm not quite sure if that is even possible.
We move sensually to the beat, swaying our hips, however, I'm more grinding onto him. No inhibitions after all.
"God, who taught you to dance like this?", he questions with a raspy voice, "You look absolutely stunning."
I spin around at that, immediately wrapping my arms around Zayn's neck, pulling him closer until our foreheads are almost pressed together. Our bodies are still moving, as I can feel his breath only millimeters away from my lips. Bravely, I gaze into his golden brown eyes, searching not for permission but for the same amount of want and urgency that has build up inside of me. Even though we are drunk, Zayn still manages one of his cocky smirks, apparently knowing quite well what I'm about to do, or more like what I want him to do with me.
"Come one, babe", he smugly says, although the glimmer in his eyes reveals the anticipation on his side. Never having properly kissed anyone, I hesitantly lean closer towards him, staying like that for a moment and already lacking the needed oxygen.
"Fuck it", Zayn disrupts my hesitant behavior and crashes his lips roughly onto mine. His lips feel good on mine, the stubble of his beard slightly scratching me, but not in an uncomfortable way. No matter how good it already feels to me, I can feel him needing more than what I am giving. "You gotta move your lips, silly", he chuckles, his drunkenness showing again. Albeit, his words put some sort of sense into me and this time when he kisses me, I slowly manage to kiss back, moving my lips with his. The beating of my heart has become erratic and no mater how cliché it sounds, it feels like butterflies in my stomach are doing flips. When his hand suddenly starts to sneak under my dress shirt, his fingers tracing over my skin, I let out a small gasp, because of sensing his bittersweet taste and now also his touch.
Before I know it, we are French-kissing. His tongue being granted the entrance to my mouth, starting tenderly touching mine, before swirling lightly around it. That is when I start to move mine a bit as well, until they simultaneously dance with one another. Our sweet kiss is quickly turning into a rough one again, since Zayn is becoming more and more ferocious, now clearly dominating the kiss until I eventually have to pull away, needing to regain some oxygen again.
"That was...", I am lost for words.
"Breathtaking", Zayn chuckles, clearly referring to me pulling away because he has indeed taken away my breath.
However, I don't roll my eyes in annoyance because of his stupidly self-assured behavior, instead, I nod my head in agreement.
"Wanna get out of here?", his voice disrupts my thoughts again. Again, I nod.
"Good", he says contently. Not caring to inform the others about our departure, in case that they are even concerned, which I doubt, we are leaving the club again.
The air outside is a bit more freezing than expected and I have to shiver from the cold since I am only wearing my thin dress shirt. Zayn seems to have noticed, because he already starts taking off his newly bought leather jacket.
"Zayn", I almost whine, loving how considerate he is being, but not wanting to accept his offer.
"Just take it", he retorts genuinely, but I shake my head, "why not, Curly?"
"Because you are only wearing a thin shirt yourself", I reason out, "and as much as I like that you are trying to be a gentleman, I cannot accept it."
"Seriously?", he replies disbelievingly.
"I don't want you to be cold because you are lending me your jacket, whereas I have been simply to dumb to take one with me myself", I argue further.
"You talk to much", is all he states, and before I have comprehended his sudden intention, he is pressing his lips on mine. I am taken back by the change of events, but quickly melt into the kiss. I realize that kissing, or more like kissing Zayn, isn't hard at all, just in the beginning I have felt insecure about doing it right, but now it already feels somewhat natural.
When Zayn purposely bites down onto my bottom lip, I let out another whimper and his lips leave mine after that.
Irritated I stare at him, my eyes searching for the reason of him pulling away. "I want you to wear that jacket", he speaks sternly and as if he already notices that I am about to protest, he adds, "Harreh, this isn't an offer, it's a demand."
I am struck for words at that, but because I am simply in admiration with this guy, I don't mind this side of him and comply with his demand.
Albeit, I can't hold back a" This still is really too cliché." And I am certainly not exaggerating since he hasn't only lent me his jacket, but the two of us are walking hand in hand under the starry sky of Paris. I swear, this could happen in all of these cheesy rom-coms, except that we are missing out on the music.
To be honest, I don't mind it. I don't mind feeling all giddy and happy. Not at all. And I also don't mind being engulfed in Zayn's scent and the one of the thrift shop, since it still is lingering on the jacket a bit. I don't mind having our hands intertwined. I don't mind sharing a few kisses every few minutes or stealing glances at each other.
I only mind, when we almost run in front of a car, because we are still drunk, maybe not as much as in the start but still enough to behave like idiots.
"Fuck, you're good?", Zayn worriedly asks and even though the almost accident has given me an adrenaline rush for a second, I am not as frightened as I might should be.
"Yeah", I reply, before suddenly breaking into a fit of laughter.
"Why are you laughing?"
"I don't know", I answer, still holding my stomach from laughing too hard. And weirdly enough, Zayn joins in my laughter.
We stay like that for a few minutes, coming down from the shock-moment in our way, until Zayn is the first one to stop, looking more serious again.
"I still want to go to the hostel now", he states more firmly, seeming to have gained back a bit of sense.
"Why is that?", I want to know.
"Because no one will be there yet", he seductively whispers into my ear, "which means we'll have the room to ourselves."