Daisies • Zarry

22. Walt Whitman

Zayn sat cross legged on the floor of his childhood bedroom after Christmas dinner with his palette of paint colors and various brushes, just staring at the canvas in front of him, nearly finished with the painting that he was working on for Harry as a last minute Christmas present. It was more abstract than he had anticipated, but decided that he preferred it that way. The colors dripped down from the top, this midnight blue into red, bleeding into yellows and greens he swiped across the canvas, a touch of aquamarine peeking through behind three long stemmed daisies. He smiled satisfyingly, finishing up the last touches as he heard a knock on his door and his sister, Doniya, emerged, leaning idly against the wall. 

"Wow, I love this painting Z," she remarked. "It's pretty. What's it for, anything special?" 

"Yeah, it's a belated gift actually."

"Yeah? Is it for your boyfriend?" she teased, grinning as she walked towards him, examining it closer.

"Maybe," he replied, blushing. 

Zayn had felt such an incredible weight lifted from his shoulders earlier that day when he found it so easy, so freeing to be able to talk about his personal life with his family and explained what happened with Elias and how he found this serious love in Harry. Doniya was especially over the moon about his admittance because she had already known, and he spent the last hour of dinner just going on and on about Harry, raving about him to her and she smiled, expressing how happy she was for Zayn that he found that sort of connection with someone. He clutched the locket in his hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb as he finished the last few strokes of red on his painting and sat up, taking a step back to admire it. 

"Why daisies? Is that his favorite flower or something?" Doniya asked curiously. 

"Daisies just remind me of him," he answered, smiling to himself. "That's where we met, at the coffee shop, and he fills the mason jars with them every week. His mom owns the shop and he said when he was little she asked him what he wanted to name it and he said daisies because that's what was on the dress she was wearing that day. He's just...he's like sunshine, I can't even describe it, Don. He's just so..."  

"Oh my God Zayn you are so fucking in love with this guy it's sickening me," she retorted, laughing. "I'm genuinely going to throw up if you don't stop," she added playfully and Zayn started chuckling too, because he knew she was right. 

* * * * * 

Zayn stood outside the train station a few days later, waiting for Harry to come pick him up. It had only been less than week since he'd seen him, but it felt like an eternity some how. He had his painting wrapped up beside him, which was a pain in the ass to take on the train with him and everyone glared as it took up an entire seat, but he didn't care. Zayn was so excited to see him, to kiss him, to look into Harry's eyes again and he was practically shaking with anticipation with his hands shoved into his pocket, his breath fogging up in front of him in the incredibly cold, night air. Then he saw Harry pull up in this old, red vintage Jaguar and he got out right away, tucking his curls behind his ears and placing a black beanie on his head, all bundled up in this suede, tan jacket with faux fur trim and nearly ran toward Zayn, toppling him over as he reached his arms out and hugged him so tight. 

"Was it five days or fifty?" he asked, pulling away and planting a small kiss on Zayn's lips. "How was the trip? You good? Need anything on the way back home?" 

"I'm good, babe. I only need you," Zayn replied and Harry grinned, grabbing hold of his hand. 

"I shmoozed my way into driving my uncle's Jag to impress you. Isn't it sick? Figured I'd give you a nice ride," he said, looking so undeniably hot as he opened the car door and Zayn felt himself getting already turned on by something so simple; this was Harry's curse upon him.