The Beautiful Escape [ZARRY]

24

Whilst it might have been wiser to leave Harry in ignorance, given the dangerous sexual chemistry in the air, Zayn wanted the satisfaction of establishing himself as a mature man of the world in his eyes. Perhaps for once in his life, he craved for the forbidden apple...? 

"Nineteen... twenty maybe." 

"I'm twenty-seven."

Harry's chin came up and the eyes lifted up. His narrowed eyes swept Zayn's face. "Not possible."

"Furthermore," Zayn continued, breathless after Harry's intense scrutiny, "I'm not some chaste teenager," Zayn shouted at himself in his mind as soon as the words left his mouth.

"What are you, then?"

"Your best hope of getting home, mate."

Harry's mobile lips quirked; his expression was still held. "I'd not forgotten about that. I was actually wondering what you do when you're not doing the angel-of-mercy act."

A wistful expression flashed across Zayn's face. "At this moment, I would be skiing."

"But you were lured away by the glamour of deepest, darkest Yorkshire?"

His sneering irony brought an annoyed frown to Zayn's face. He took any criticism of his beloved homeland very personally. 

"There was a family crisis," he told him tensely.

"So they called you." That would figure.

Zayn resented his tone. "I don't mind," he flared, "Who else would they call?"

"You tell me. My recollection is a bit cloudy, but there didn't seem any shortage of family members from what I saw."

"You don't know the half of it," he mumbled. "I get a panic attack every time I think about how many people I'm meant to be cooking Christmas lunch for."

"Is this the same boy- sorry, man, who considers every strand of tinsel sacred...?" Harry taunted gently.

"This is the man," Zayn countered angrily, "who is trying to step into his mother's shoes and failing miserably."

The instant retort emerged from his lips he regretted it; he regretted it, even more, when he saw the curiosity on Harry's face.

"Your mother's ill...?"

"No, she's not. She's... away."

Harry's brows lifted. "Another man..." It might have been a trick of the light but Zay thought his hard eyes actually softened. "Bad luck, kid. It happens."

Zayn was furious and horrified y his casual assumption that his mother would have an affair. "Not to my family! My mother has gone to a retreat to recharge her batteries, that's all..." Tears prickled the backs of his eyelids and his voice thickened emotionally. "And I'm not a kid."

Harry looked down into Zayn's stormy upturned face. "Want to talk about it?" he was surprised to hear himself offer; he wasn't prone to encouraging soul-baring.

"Not to you." Zayn thought Harry looked relieved rather than disappointment by his blunt response.

"Fair enough."

Zayn eyed him suspiciously before he eventually nodded and blew on his icy fingertips. "If the interrogation's over, perhaps we should get along before hypothermia sets in."

Face burning with embarrassment and humiliation, Zayn turned abruptly and deliberately turned his face to the icy embrace of the cold north wind and, as luck would have it, found the car almost immediately.

"I can't find the keys," he admitted after turning his pockets inside out.

Harry, who had watched his feverish attempts silently, walked around the car to join him.

"Might these be what you're looking for?"

The relief was mingled with the dismay as he saw Harry was indicating the familiar bunch of keys inserted in the driver's door. Harry pulled them out, and instead of dropping them into the palms, Zayn held out he placed them in a way that meant his fingers brushed against his wrist. The tingle that shot up his extended arm was neat electricity.

"Thanks," Zayn mumbled without looking at him. He couldn't decide whether or not that touch had been as coincidental as it appeared.

Harry inclined his glossy head graciously. "My pleasure."

The fit inside the car was even snugger than Zayn remembered. Harry's head brushed the top of the car and in order to accommodate his legs he had to daw his knees towards his chest at an awkward angle.

Zayn went to turn the ignition key but Harry reached out and covered Zayn's hand with his own, and if anything this time the sensation was even stronger.

Zayn's eyes, wide and startled, lifted to his. "What's wrong?"

"This kissing thing."

Zayn wriggled his hand from beneath his and crossed his hands as a protection shield. "What kissing thing?" he asked, all of a sudden a victim of amnesia.

"You wanting to kiss me."

"You mean you wanting to kiss me." 

"That too," Harry agreed. "The point is, now that you know I am not a married man and I know you're not a teenager... or for that matter a 'chaste teenager'..." A choking sound emerged from Zayn's throat. "Incidentally we have that much in common. There's no actual reason we shouldn't."

"Shouldn't...?" Zayn hoped Harry wasn't going to say whatever he thought he was going to say- he did.

"Kiss."

Zayn almost kept the wobble from his cool response. "Other than the fact I'd scream murder, probably not." Zayn sent up a silent prayer that his claim would never be put to the test.

"Ah...! You've gone off the idea... Maybe it's for the best," Harry conceded casually, before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

Zayn didn't expect him to get suicidal, because Zayn had said he didn't want to kiss him, but he could at least have the decency to look as if he cared... It was, Zayn decided, eyeing Harry's profile with loathing, a matter of simple good manners!