Smoke & Mirrors • Zarry

6. Give me what you owe me

Zayn sat on his couch icing his hand, wincing as he began wrapping it up tight in an ace bandage. It hurt like a bitch and he was pretty sure he probably sprained it from how hard he hit that guy, but the more he thought about it, the more he decided he didn't regret it. Zayn had experienced assholes like him before and Zayn had a temper, a severe intolerance when it came to anything like that.

Zayn remembered the first time he ever punched someone in the face when he was just 17. It all started at a party, actually, much like the one he was just at, and Zayn had been caught making out with some guy he was casually talking to by his own cousin, Jawaad, who ended up outing him as bisexual to his entire family later on, who then treated him like complete shit because of it and Zayn showed up to his house later that same day, punching him right in the nose and breaking it.

And Zayn still didn't speak to Jawaad all these years later, and as for his family, he still wasn't very close to any of them either because they just didn't understand or accept it. But Zayn didn't care; he didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.

He sighed outwardly and leaned back, flicking on his TV with the remote and propped his feet up onto his coffee table, reaching beside him for the joint that laid on the couch and lit it up, hoping to numb some of the pain with a good buzz and some stupid, slapstick comedy when he heard banging on his apartment door. He checked his phone; no messages. Normally Zayn didn't answer the door unless he knew who it was, because as a dealer he was on high alert at all times, since there was always the risk of getting busted, so Zayn just ignored it and lowered the volume on his TV.

But they knocked again.

"Zayn open the door," Harry's voice rang out, which startled him.

He groaned inwardly, putting out the joint in the ashtray and peeled himself off the couch, trudging toward his door, looking through the peephole to see Harry standing there alone in the hall. Zayn cleared his throat and opened the door slowly, peering at him.

"How did you get in? You're supposed to buzz in downstairs," Zayn said. "You know that."

"Your neighbor Marjorie was on her way in and she needed some help carrying her groceries up the stairs, so I gave her a hand," Harry replied. "Sorry, I forgot that you're so paranoid. Can I come in?"

"Sure I guess," Zayn said, opening the door and Harry walked in, looking down and frowning at Zayn's bandaged hand right away.

"That looks bloody painful," Harry said.

"I'm fine," Zayn lied. "Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were alright," he answered. "You really fucked that guy up you know," he added, walking towards the living room and plopping down on Zayn's couch. "And all his prick friends were looking for you afterward."

"Let them find me, I don't give a shit," Zayn said, shrugging it off as he took a seat beside Harry instead of where he normally sat, which was either in his chair or on the opposite couch.

"But why did you do it?" Harry asked.

"Because he's a piece of shit," Zayn responded.

"Well yeah, but it's not like I haven't been called every slur in the book. You didn't have to defend me like that, I could have handled it."

"I'm surprised your boyfriend didn't stick up for you," said Zayn.

"What boyfriend?"

"What's his name...Xander, right?"

Harry started laughing to himself, shaking his head as Zayn said that and looked over at him, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend," Harry answered, snorting under his breath.