The Beautiful Escape [ZARRY]

25

Zayn knew straight off he'd not fall back to sleep for some time- his feverishly active mind was racing like an overwound clockwork toy. He glanced at the illuminated fingers of the clock on the bedside table and groaned; it was only two a.m.

His bedroom set beneath the eaves faced due north, and the wind was battering against the window-panes, sneaking through every odd creak or cranny in the well-insulated room. The Hall wouldn't be well-insulated...

"Oh hell, why did I go and think that...?" He rolled onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head to drown out the noise. I will not think about him, he told himself angrily.

Trouble was, he did.

His family had been surprised when on his return he hadn't brought the injured man to eat with them. Their collective comments to its effect had served to add to the burden of his own guilty conscience until he'd eventually exploded. 

"If you want to feed him, feel free, but don't expect any thanks. Me, I've had enough of him for one evening," he'd announced.

After that, they'd let it alone, but he'd been able to tell that they thought he was being mean and he'd caught Doniya regarding him speculatively several times during the evening.

Thirty minutes after he'd woken from his restless sleep, Zayn, armed with a torch, blanket and a flask of coffee, made his way up the lane towards The Hall.

There was no front door to knock. The beam of his torch feebly illuminated a very sorry state of affairs. Horrified, Zayn explored further; things didn't get any better.

"And I didn't even offer the man a cup of tea," Zayn groaned, stepping over a pile of ladders that lay across his path. "And why...? Just because he accepted no means no. If I find him dead from hypothermia or in a coma it'll be my fault." The knowledge increased the urgency of his search for signs of life.

A room with a door seemed a logical place to look. His efforts ere rewarded with the sight of the smouldering embers of a large fire in the wide inglenook.

Tentatively he approached the large human-sized bundle on the floor. He put everything down but the torch and knelt down beside the figure. His ears were straining for signs of healthy breathing- in his present frame of mind he'd have welcomed the odd wheeze or two.

One minute he was shuffling a little closer to the figure with his hand raised, the next moment flat on his back, pinned beneath a heavy figure. An ungentle hand was pressed over his mouth.

"If you don't want to get hurt, stop struggling," an ugly growl advised him. "Are you alone?"

How the hell did he expect him to reply with a dirty great hand over his mouth...? It seemed his assailant's thoughts were running along similar lines.

"I'm going to take away my hand, but if you try and yell to your mates you'll regret it. Understood?"

 Heart pounding, Zayn shook his head vigorously as his position would allow. If he hadn't known this was Harry he'd have already died of heart failure. To his relief the suffocating hand lifted.

"For heaven's sake, get off me, you idiot! I can't breathe!" Zayn gasped.

"Zayn!"

The pressure across his ribs eased but Harry didn't shift completely. "Of course Zayn," he grumbled crossly, "Who did you think it was?"

"A burglar."