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If there is one thing Zayn hates it’s hurrying. He’s already pissed at himself for allowing his eyes to slip shut one more minute - which never actually is one minute - and then he forgets his wallet. There are bad days and then there are bad days.
Fast forward thirty minutes and he’s sprinting to catch his train back to London, because it’s Sunday and he’s got a class tomorrow and still needs to unpack his bag and- shit, the train is already there, looking like it’s about to leave. He pushes his legs forward like he’s trying to win the Olympics and jumps on board, almost knocking into a lady with a stroller – who even allows those in these cramped spaces? He tries to mutter an apology but all he can manage is a wheezing breath and a weak wave of his hand, feeling somewhat guilty when the woman scowls at him as he wanders off to find a seat. The journey is already long enough and he doesn’t want to spend it standing.
It’s strangely quiet and Zayn finds a nice enough seat by the window, no weird stains and no going backwards so he can actually look outside without feeling like someone’s stuffed his stomach in a washing machine. He plugs in his earphones to listen to some music because it’s easier. That way he wouldn’t have to feel bad about being so awkward when it comes to interacting with other human beings. Some people say it’s cute, but Zayn does not want to be the cute kid for the rest of his life. And he’s not even a kid anymore.
He rests his feet on his duffel bag and allows his mind to wander as he looks at the passing scenery outside. It isn’t anything special and he’s already seen it so often that he closes his eyes, just for one moment-
‘’Oi, wake up!’’ Zayn wakes with a start, eyes flitting around to see people standing and lining up to exit the train. He looks to the person the voice belongs to, finding bright blue eyes that seem kind enough. Zayn takes a moment longer to notice the – probably dyed – blond hair poking out from underneath a snapback. That’s when he blushes and realises he should probably thank the guy.
‘’I, uh – Thanks for waking me up,’’ he stammers while he pushes himself to his feet and picks up his bag, cursing when his phone and earplugs crash on the floor – they had slipped out of his ears and landed up on his lap which he completely forgot about. He can hear a chuckle but he’s too disoriented to really think anything of it.
‘’’S alright, mate. Rough night?’’ the guy asks conversationally while Zayn follows him towards the end of the carriage.
‘’Not really. I’m just always falling asleep,’’ Zayn admits as they follow the stream of people onto the platform. He runs his hand through his hair and supresses a yawn, his jaw tensing from the effort. Zayn watches as the guy cracks a smile and shakes his head, turning his body away from him.
‘’Well, try not to fall asleep on public transport, yea? See ya ‘round,’’ he says, throwing his hand up in the air while he walks off and disappears into the crowd. Zayn stares after him for a second, still trying to wake up properly and thinking of his next steps. He feels groggy and his limbs are like dead weights. There’s a moment in which he just stands there looking stupid, people bumping into him, before he shakes his head and starts walking. He has to catch the tube back to his flat.
So there isn’t anything special about him, really. He’s just Zayn: uni student, brother, son, best friend and occasionally artist. If he feels like it. He nudges his way through the bustling crowds, earning a few glares here and there, but he doesn’t feel bad about it. Has to keep up his reputation as a troublesome youth. That’s what he looks like from the outside, at least. So what if he happens to like leather jackets, suggestive prints and looks like he’s afraid of colour? Appearance doesn’t say anything about a person, and he wishes other people would just understand that. It can work in his favour though, because when he takes a seat in the somewhat empty tube, nobody sits next to him.
Zayn’s once again saved from human interaction, but sometimes it saddens him that nobody actually seems to want to talk to him. It’s always him that has to make an effort. He puts his bag on the seat next to him and crosses his arms, eyes taking in the other people on the tube. Life is such a strange thing, he thinks. Everyone is doing the same, but they’re also not. There are people with different connections, friends, hobbies, jobs. The list is endless. Sometimes Zayn wonders if he’s just strange or if others think the same way – if they’re as mesmerised by human life as he is and if they look at him and think: what is he up to?
The train jumps to life with a jolt and Zayn once again curses, feeling his composure flicker along with the bad lighting. He usually isn’t this snappy but he didn’t even have time for his morning tea and he can feel a headache approaching so he quickly averts his eyes from the windows. This time it feels like the walls are moving and it’s making him dizzy.
Zayn pulls his phone out of his pocket to check his Twitter feed, something he doesn’t do often. Only when he needs something else to focus on. After he favourites a few of Doniya’s – his older sister – Tweets, Zayn closes the app and starts up a silly game. At least it will keep him occupied. And awake. He doesn’t want a repeat of this morning.
The train slowly starts to roll to a stop, which is an indication for Zayn to pocket his phone and get ready to stand up and worm his way out. It jolts to a stop and this time something crashes on Zayn’s head with a slight thud, followed by a clattering sound. His hand shoots up to rub at his scalp while his eyes start to look for the cause of his pain. There’s a small book – presumably a diary - on the ground, the exterior worn and even looking at it makes it feel like he’s invading someone’s privacy. It must have fallen from the luggage rack, but when Zayn looks up there are no bags to be found – and no person they could belong to. Maybe it slipped through an opening of someone’s bag, he wonders as he picks it up and hurriedly exits the train.
He decides to wait for a few minutes, just to see if someone’s going to rush back in search of something they lost but the longer he stands there the more he starts to doubt whether that’s going to happen. Won’t someone notice if they lost something this precious to them? He lifts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and starts walking, eyes following the signs that will lead him to the ‘Lost & Found’ service. It would be worth a try, right?
He comes across a small booth, a surly looking fellow sitting behind a glass window pane with a pen lodged between his teeth and a paper spread out in front of him. Zayn walks up to it, raps on the glass and waits for the man to drop his pen and slide open the window, giving him a glare while asking him what he’s looking for.
‘’I found this on th-‘’
‘’Just throw it in the bin, nobody’s going to look for that,’’ the man interrupts him with a scoff, and Zayn feels tempted to throw the book at his head and making a run for it, because it’s early and this insufferable man is getting on his last nerves.
‘’But I’m supposed to-‘’
‘’G’day,’’ the man says before sliding the window pane shut and leaning back in his chair, lifting up his paper and effectively blocking Zayn from his view. Zayn has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down before he angrily stalks off, diary still in his hand. What was his problem? If there’s another thing Zayn hates it’s rude people, especially if they are being rude for no particular reason. He’s still seething by the time he gets outside and starts the ten minute walk to his flat. For a moment he’s glad he actually has a filter because otherwise he would be spewing profanities, and people are already giving him dirty looks.
Zayn goes through the small park that somewhat acts as his flat building’s garden and fishes his keys out of his pocket, letting them dangle noisily in his hand. There are students on blankets, chatting away or reading books and some of them greet him as he walks by. He only nods at them because he’s afraid that when he talks he’s going to sound too harsh and if there’s something he doesn’t like it’s being rude himself. Not to people that have done nothing to deserve it. This thought calms him somewhat, reminds him that looking unpleasant and generally acting snappy won’t get him any more friends.
He makes his way to his door on the second floor, ‘KEEP OUT’ sign plastered on it and scratches around the keyhole that are evidence of his and his best friend’s many nights out. They grew out of that phase, now more content with staying in and wasting the night playing Xbox games and drinking cheap beer. When Zayn opens the door he’s not surprised to find his mate sprawled out on the couch, in the midst of a Mortal Kombat game in just his boxers and a T-shirt.
‘’Still tryin’ to beat the final boss, Lou?’’ Zayn quips, dropping his bag on the floor and standing next to the couch while watching Louis try to win the battle. He stands there with a smirk because he knows Louis gets nervous when people are watching and it doesn’t take long before he loses his second round in a row.
‘’Asshole. What’s that?’’ Louis nods at Zayn’s hand - the one still holding the diary - and sits upright. Zayn kind of forgot about it in favour of annoying his best friend, but now his attention is brought back to it, so he flings it onto the couch, falling down next to it.
‘’Diary. Found it on the tube,’’ he says, taking it again and looking at it properly, seeing small doodles on the cover. He didn’t notice them at first.
‘’So you took the bloody thing with you? What you planning to do with it?’’ Louis always asks the sensible questions. Zayn just shrugs, throwing his feet on their coffee table.
‘’Return it to its owner, even if that means I have to read it.’’
It’s easier said than done. Reading the diary, that is. Zayn left it on his desk so he can get right to it the next day, but every time he looks at it, he feels like the police will come barge in to arrest him. Even if that’s impossible, it feels like he’s committed a crime.
‘’Just read the thing. Who knows, maybe there’s even a number or address. Just stop being a wuss,’’ Louis once more reminds him over breakfast how much he’s overthinking it and for a brief moment Zayn has enough courage to walk to his room and grab the book – before dropping it on the couch and telling himself ‘he’ll do it later’.
But when Zayn comes home from his morning and only class of the day and sees it on the couch he’s tempted to throw it out, because it feels like it’s mocking him. So out of spite he grabs it and unclasps the tiny belt to reveal two pages full of doodles. No address, no name, no number. He skips to the back, but there it’s still crisp and clean, and quickly leafing through it only reveals more pages full of doodles and writing. Anything but a way to return it. Zayn curses and throws it back on the couch, gnawing on his bottom lip while he stalks to the kitchen to make himself some tea. He shouldn’t feel guilty for this, for wanting to do the right thing.
Zayn comes back to the living room with a steaming mug of tea and a bit more courage, which he uses to sit down and place the diary on his lap. He’s got a few minutes to spare before he has to start on his coursework, so he wants to make the most of it. He skips past the doodles and finds himself on a page, dated three months back. The handwriting looks neat and somewhat girly, but still has the essence of a man’s writing. Or a boy, Zayn didn’t have a clue. He bites back a laugh when he sees it starts with the typical ‘dear diary’.
Or is that too obvious of a start? It feels weird to be talking to a book. This is my first time starting a diary, so it’s not like I have much experience. Like, what do I do? Do I talk about my day? Well, if you insist.
Honestly today wasn’t anything special. I moved into my flat. It’s lonely, but I’m not sure if I want a roommate yet. Sometimes it’s exhausting to be myself and I feel like I need my own space. Can I write things like that? It’s not like anyone will read it. I guess that’s a good thing. So I kind of miss my family already, but I guess it’s also exciting because I will finally get to do new things.
Tomorrow I’m going to look around and explore the area. Maybe try to make new friends. I hope people will like me.
-H.
In the end, that didn’t reveal much. All Zayn knows now is that the kid’s probably around his age, his name starts with ‘H’, and that’s about it. He can’t shake off the feeling that it’s weird to do this, that he could never find the boy anyway. But he’s always been someone that has to try, it’s just how he’s built. Couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.
He walks back into his bedroom and places the diary on his nightstand, telling himself he’ll read more before he goes to sleep. There’s plenty of research he has to do for his class so he starts up his laptop and walks back into the living room to retrieve his mug, sipping idly on the now slightly cooled tea. Zayn will have an hour of peace to get work done before Louis gets home and is going to cause a distraction. But that’s Louis for you.
***
It’s late in the evening, both Louis and Zayn sitting on the couch slurping spaghetti out of their bowls. There’s nothing interesting on the telly so it doesn’t take long for a conversation to start.
‘’Have you read it yet?’’ Louis starts once the commercials kick in, and even though he doesn’t mention it, Zayn knows what he’s talking about.
‘’I have,’’ he replies vaguely, because he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing anything else. He’s already intruding and he won’t start telling their secrets.
‘’Anything?’’ This time Louis turns towards him, as if he’s expecting a whole speech about the things Zayn found. What did he find? Zayn goes over it in his head, thinks back to the pages he ended up reading when his coursework didn’t go as planned. It literally felt like the book was staring at him and Zayn’s got no self-control when it comes to curiosity.
There were detailed descriptions about the people ‘H’ came across and Zayn couldn’t help but feel a strange connection, like the guy might see the world in the same way. With the same amount of awe but also contempt, because there are flaws. So many flaws that other people overlook or simply choose to ignore. ‘H’ went off on a stupid rant about school systems and how they worked and how essentially everything’s just made up. It made Zayn laugh – actually laugh. Because ‘H’ is so right: it’s all tests made up by humans for humans to decide how well they were going to do in a specific field and yet that specific field also was built on made-up information and oh- how Zayn suddenly longed to talk to him. What would he be like?
His entire life Zayn’s felt kind of alone. Alone in the sense that nobody shares his mind. Of course he could talk to Louis but that doesn’t always work out. And now it seems that he might have found that person, but at the same time he didn’t. He found their diary, which isn’t enough. Zayn can’t help but feel that he’s not just reading the diary to return it anymore, but also because he really wants to meet ‘H’. That something might happen that could change his life forever but he doesn’t know what.
When Louis nudges Zayn’s leg with his foot, he simply shakes his head and twists the last few strings of spaghetti around his fork. There are plenty of things Zayn’s found, but nothing he wants to share with Louis. It’s a strange feeling, almost like his best friend is asking him for his own diary.
‘’Really, Zayn? C’mon I’m dying to know here,’’ Louis pushes further, dropping his empty bowl in his lap.
‘’Nothing that will help me find him,’’ he supplies, getting up on his feet and taking both their bowls with him to the kitchen. He can hear Louis trailing behind him, voice chasing after him.
‘’Him? Thought diaries were a girl thing.’’
‘’Apparently they’re not.’’
‘’C’mon mate don’t be so cold.’’ Zayn sighs and turns around when he’s finished putting their dishes in the sink. Louis is right, of course. He’s being distant – something he does sometimes. There’s no need for it but sometimes he can’t help but feel cornered, which brings out the worst in him.
‘’If I find anything, I’ll let you know,’’ Zayn says, patting Louis on the shoulder before retreating back to his room. For a brief moment he stands at his desk, about to continue his coursework when he turns around and eyes the diary on his bed.
A little reading never hurt anybody.
So what if he becomes a little obsessed with the book? Zayn’s rushed his coursework the past few days just to get a bit of extra reading in, to learn more about ‘H’. The only thing that saddens him is that he doesn’t learn many new things. Nothing grand that might help him find the boy, any indication that he even lives in this part of the country.
Nothing until a certain chilly morning, just three weeks after he found the diary. It’s Saturday and he hasn’t actually bothered to get out of bed yet, the sheets wrapped around him so comfortably that he’s trying his hardest to convince himself he’s only imagining his stomach rumbling. So he decides to read a bit to distract himself, and the nearest object just happened to be the diary. He flips it open where he stopped last time and starts reading.
Dear diary,
I can finally say I found the best little café there is. After a month of exploring and trying everything I decided that ‘The Den’ is the place to be. Not just because of their delicious coffee and baked goods, but also because of their incredible service. Alright so I’ve only been served by one person. His name was Liam and he seems like a cool bloke – good looking, but not my type. I did see someone else, though. But I felt kind of afraid to approach him. I’ve only seen him two times so far but he always looks so busy and I’m sure I would only bother him.
Oh and Niall’s coming around soon. Can’t wait to see him! I miss my best friend.
-H.
Zayn drops the book on his face and shoots up, scrambles out of his sheets and crawls to the foot of his bed where his hand slips so he face plants to the floor with a painful thud. He rubs his face as he sprints out of his room and nearly slips when he reaches the kitchen where Louis is standing with a bowl of cereal and raised eyebrows, looking at Zayn like he’s lost his mind.
‘’The Den!’’ Zayn nearly shouts, arms raised like he’s just crossed the finish line and won first place in a race. Louis just tilts his head and gives him a curious look before realisation hits him and he places his bowl on the counter top.
‘’You know where to find him?’’ he asks, while Zayn composes himself and sits down on his chair – the rickety one that’s just perfect for balancing on the two back legs. There are feelings of euphoria washing over him and he can’t quite explain the other feelings that go with it but he’s bouncing and suddenly so awake that he wants to sing and greet the birds and-
‘’Mate, calm down,’’ Louis laughs, grabbing his bowl again and shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth which is probably soggy by the looks of his scrunched up face. Zayn just nods and places his hands on his knees to still himself.
‘’So he likes to go to The Den, which means he- He might even go to the same school! Oh my God, Lou! Do you know what this means?’’ Zayn is having trouble containing his excitement but his best friend only nods slowly and with the slightest disinterest.
‘’It means you can finally ask him out on a date,’’ Louis says, placing his bowl in the sink and facing Zayn as he leans against their countertop. There’s a moment in which Zayn nods, bright smile plastered on his face – only for it to be erased the next.
‘’Shit,’’ Zayn says, because it’s true. Along with finally discovering that ‘H’ probably lives nearby, he found out that the guy’s into blokes. Which is incredibly convenient because Zayn happened to like him. A lot. He only just realised that.
‘’But how can I? I’ve never met him and I-‘’ Zayn cuts himself off, not sure which word was going to leave his mouth but he wasn’t quite ready to admit anything. Not if he just found out himself.
‘’You’ve been reading his thoughts and everything. It’s kind of like a creepy one-sided long-distance relationship,’’ Louis explains, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal.
‘’That sounds awful. I’m awful,’’ Zayn sighs, placing his head in his hands and closing his eyes while he tries to think away the guilt that’s gradually building.
‘’Well, your intentions are good. There’s really nothing to worry about. Just… don’t act like a creep when you do find him, yea?’’ Louis says and pats his shoulder as he walks by on his way to the living room, leaving Zayn alone with his thoughts. This is why he can’t always talk to Louis. He leaves Zayn confused and even though he doesn’t do it on purpose he makes Zayn feel shitty.
He goes back to his bedroom where he looks down at the diary and decides it’s time to stop reading. There are still a lot of pages left but he wouldn’t feel comfortable reading them because it’s not absolutely necessary, and he knows enough now. Knows enough to possibly find the guy.
***
Zayn’s gotten ready in record time, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck while simultaneously trying to walk down the stairs of his flat building without falling. It’s only a short walk to The Den and Zayn has to stop himself from nearly asking every guy he sees if they’ve lost a diary – which is currently in his bag. There’s a spring in his step and he can’t quite help the nervous smile on his face. When people start smiling back at him he realises he actually likes it and should probably smile more often – just for the hell of it.
It’s still morning so when he reaches the little café it’s not too busy, aside from a few students that are ambitiously working on their assignments. He shuffles up to the counter where Liam’s scrubbing the surface with a rag, whistling a soft tune. Liam’s been in a few of Zayn’s classes, so they’re somewhat familiar with each other.
‘’Zayn, mate! What can I get you? Haven’t seen you in a while,’’ Liam beams, slinging the rag over his shoulder and rubbing his hands together as the slight cold from outside Zayn brought in when he opened the door finally reaches him.
‘’Um, there’s actually – I don’t quite know how to ask…’’ Zayn starts, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. He’s suddenly incredibly nervous, his hands shaking and heart thumping wildly in his chest. Before Liam has a chance to ask anything, he continues.
‘’I found something that someone lost but the only thing I know is that they might be a regular here and their name starts with an H,’’ Zayn rambles on, catching his breath at the end of the sentence and trying to shake the nerves out of his system by wildly moving his hands at his sides. He must look ridiculous.
‘’Oh! I think you mean Harry? He’s lost his diary recently, hasn’t stopped moaning about it,’’ Liam jokes, rolling his eyes and adjusting the rag, keeping it from slipping off his shoulder. Harry, the name’s bouncing around the inside of Zayn’s skull and he has to stop himself from saying it out loud, just to test it. What it would feel like to finally say his name.
‘’Yea, it’s – I found a diary,’’ Zayn nearly chokes on his words, merely looks at Liam with wide eyes and suddenly has the strange urge to turn around. He feels like he’s being looked at.
‘’Really? Well look no further because Harry’s over there in the corner by the window. He’s the one pouting. Bloody child,’’ Liam mutters the last part but Zayn can’t be bothered to pay attention because he’s already turning around, eyes immediately flickering to the corner and-
Harry was looking at him, but quickly looked away and now he’s staring out the window, pretending he wasn’t just looking at Zayn. He’s suddenly very aware of his breakfast in his stomach and his dry throat and his sweaty hands and God, Zayn’s done for. Harry is absolutely beautiful, even from this far away. Luscious curls framing his face, like a painting. And his mouth, Zayn isn’t sure if he’s wearing lipstick because even from a distance they’re just so pigmented and he has to stop his train of thoughts because he’s losing his mind. Zayn is already comparing him to art and he hasn’t moved from his spot yet. He really has to stop looking like an idiot.
So he finally moves, tentatively puts his feet forward and with every step he comes closer to Harry and suddenly it feels like something clicks. Until now he’s been a person living inside Zayn’s head with no real appearance, almost an idea. Something he’s grown strangely attached to. But now he’s in front of him and Zayn is looking down into a pair of stunning green eyes and it feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. There are so many things he wants to know but the first word that leaves his lips is the one he has been craving to say for what feels like his entire life.
‘’Harry?’’
Harry’s eyes widen and he nods, quickly gaining his composure and smiling up at Zayn – who, isn’t faring so well in comparison. He promptly sits across from Harry, the chair scraping across the tiled floor and attracting a few glares and mutters from other people. Zayn ignores them in favour of looking at Harry, really looking at him. There’s a certain delicacy to his features, not just the shape but the colour as well and Zayn suddenly feels like painting again. Harry hasn’t said a word yet and only then does Zayn realise he hasn’t explained a single thing. His own stupidity sometimes really surprises him.
‘’Sorry, I – My name’s Zayn. I think I found your diary?’’ he blurts, clasping his hands together under the table and awaiting Harry’s response.
‘’You..? But how did you- oh God,’’ Harry groans, placing his head in his hands and taking a deep breath, ‘’You read it, didn’t you?’’ His voice is muffled but Zayn can still hear him just fine, can hear the slight tremor in his voice and now he just feels like a complete asshole.
‘’Not all of it! I stopped as soon as you mentioned this place. Promise,’’ Zayn rushes the words and has to keep himself from actually reaching out. Instead, he chooses to open his bag and places the diary on the table in front of Harry, offering him a tentative smile. Surprisingly, Harry actually squeaks and his hands shoot out towards the diary at the speed of light. Zayn only stares at him, mesmerised, as he clutches the book to his chest and looks up at the ceiling like he’s thanking some sort of God. But why would he? Zayn’s the one that found the bloody thing.
‘’Thank you so much! Zayn, was it? I really have to – how about lunch? You could tell me more about yourself. It’s not fair that you know all about me yet I still only know your name,’’ Harry drawls on, suddenly having gained a strange amount of confidence. Honestly Zayn’s just surprised because from reading his diary confidence was the last thing he expected. If anything he just feels overwhelmed.
‘’Okay?’’ he tries, not quite sure how to react. Even if he knows so much about Harry, he doesn’t really know him and it all feels backwards, making Zayn shift in his chair like he’s sitting on a hot plate.
‘’Great! Just give me your number so we can settle this.’’
Zayn doesn’t know what’s happening to him.
***
Louis laughs for a full five minutes after Zayn tells him about his small adventure. Okay, he doesn’t really laugh, just snickers occasionally and rolls his eyes, but it still manages to get on Zayn’s nerves. So what if they’re going out for lunch tomorrow? So what if Zayn really likes him and asked Louis if lunch wasn’t actually the road towards friendship, with its boring asphalt and traffic and-
What Zayn wants is a beautiful deserted ocean of love and sunshine, something that belongs just to him. Wait, love? This thought puzzles him, and it takes him a full hour of moping and mumbling through the flat to figure out that if it’s something he wants in his future doesn’t mean he’s feeling it now. It’s perfectly fine to want a future with someone and it’s also normal to want to love that person after a certain amount of time. Although he can’t help but feel like he’s going too fast because he doesn’t know Harry. Again – backwards.
So, boring asphalt it is. At least he can’t drown.
Except he does. Or he feels like it. Can’t quite get rid of the stuffy feeling in his chest when he’s lying in his bed at night, fingers drumming on his stomach. It is exceptionally difficult to fall asleep this time, and it feels like he just skipped an entire part of his routine and that his body will stay awake until he has fulfilled that one particular step. But the thing is: he can’t. Doesn’t have the diary anymore to distract him from his thoughts. His head can get messy if he doesn’t let it out once in a while and reading the diary had helped with that. In its own, strange way.
Zayn eventually falls asleep after a lot of tossing and turning, dreaming of tomorrow.
***
When tomorrow does come it’s entirely too fast and before Zayn knows it he’s tying up his boots again and this time carefully looping his scarf around his neck. Louis is standing in front of the door like his mum would do when he was younger and saw him off for school. It’s oddly comforting.
‘’Just, you’ll be fine, yea?’’ Louis offers, obviously feeling like he needs to say something. This happens to be one of those rare occasions his words actually make Zayn feel better, so when he’s ready to leave he engulfs Louis in a quick hug and thanks him.
‘’Alright you sap, get going already!’’ Louis pushes him out the door and Zayn laughs the entire way to the staircase, enjoying the way it bounces off the walls. He’s quiet when he reaches the street and starts to walk towards the little lunchroom, a place he’s somewhat familiar with. He’s suddenly nervous and feels like he’s meeting Harry all over again, although he’s fairly sure they are going to get along just fine.
The lunchroom has a pleasant vibe, filled with mostly people his age but also a few small families. It’s serene and the pastel colours somewhat dull the sharp sting of nerves, but there’s a spike when he spots Harry and stumbles his way over to the small table at the back. Zayn’s suddenly very conscious of the way he walks and curses his feet. Of course Harry beams at him when he reaches the table and actually stands to pull back Zayn’s chair, like the weird gentleman he is.
‘’You’re right on time,’’ Harry says as he sits back down and watches as Zayn somewhat awkwardly gets out of his coat and scarf. He’s sweating and really hopes Harry doesn’t notice. Zayn rolls up the sleeves of his white Henley and takes in Harry’s appearance, notices he’s got a different scarf wrapped around his head this time and is wearing a lovely sweater that makes him look all soft.
‘’I’m normally not,’’ isn’t really what Zayn means to say, but they smile at each other which makes it kind of okay.
‘’You’re one of those people that’s always late, then? Should I feel special?’’ Harry jokes while a waiter hands them their menus and asks if they’d like anything to drink. They both order tea.
‘’No,’’ Zayn snorts and opens his menu, ‘’I always make it in time,’’ he continues. Harry raises his eyebrows at this, because Zayn didn’t deny the latter. Just said he’s not always late. After looking at the menu for a while they decide to stick to the Sunday roast, which results in Zayn having to try to not blush again, because he’s really not doing this on purpose. Maybe they just like the same things.
‘’So, Zayn… What do you do?’’ Harry asks and leans forward on the table, giving Zayn a clear look of the rings on his fingers. They’re nice hands, smooth and big.
‘’I uh, I’m studying psychology. And you?’’ Zayn looks at Harry over the rim of his teacup, studies the way his face moves.
‘’I’m into business… stuff. I’m not sure yet,’’ Harry chuckles nervously, clearing his throat and mumbling a thank you when the waiter brings in their plates full of food.
‘’That’s alright, got plenty of time, yea?’’ Zayn assures him, feeling a little flutter in his stomach when Harry smiles at him and he realises then that yes – he’s pretty much gone already.
Conversation quickly becomes easier and Zayn finds that he tells more about himself than he usually would, but Harry seems genuinely interested and soon the subject starts to steer towards the diary. Zayn still feels uncomfortable whenever it’s brought up because it suggests that he knows stuff, but he really doesn’t, because this Harry is so different from what he imagined. Not in a bad way, though.
From reading he wouldn’t have known that Harry’s voice is deep and rumbly and that he talks slow, but it’s oddly calming and combined with the intense gaze of his eyes, Zayn finds himself drawn in completely. It’s like they’re floating. So when the waiter comes to their table with the check he’s once again reminded of reality and that time, in fact, does not stop. Zayn’s reluctant to go.
‘’So… wanna hang at my place? Niall’s coming over, he’s been dying to meet you,’’ Harry suggests once they make it outside, a chill breeze blowing those lovely curls out of his face. Zayn’s momentarily distracted by these thoughts, but quickly nods and walks along Harry’s side as the boy rambles about his best friend. It’s so easy to join in on the conversation, to laugh and to tease Harry when he’s being silly.
Zayn thinks it’s also easy to notice the strange connection they have. But he doesn’t mind.
Harry doesn’t live far away from Zayn at all. It’s really a miracle they never met before, since they both like to go to the same places and generally are into the same things. It’s weird, Zayn thinks, but as he’s following Harry up to his flat it feels like they can finally start to catch up on all the lost time. The first thing he notices when they enter is the sweet smell wafting through the flat, something along the lines of cookies. Not that that’s a bad thing, but this smells like the artificial kind and Zayn’s suspicions are answered when he sees a bunch of candles gathered on a little stand.
‘’Those yours?’’ he asks, nodding towards the candles while he carefully takes off his scarf and coat. He tries to think back to the diary and for the life of him he can’t remember if Harry ever actually mentioned a roommate.
‘’Wha- oh. Yea, but I can’t really smell them anymore,’’ he sighs while he hangs Zayn’s coat on the small rack, allowing Zayn to step further into the flat to investigate. Or, investigate isn’t really the right word. There isn’t much to see – it’s all very minimalistic, with soft tones and generally very light colours. It’s a soothing blend and Zayn finds himself liking it, more than the harsh blacks in his and Louis’ place.
‘’Well, make yourself at home. Want anything to drink?’’ Harry asks and Zayn turns around, catches him fiddling with his hands and biting down nervously on his bottom lip. It’s all a bit distracting so it takes him a bit longer to respond.
‘’Nah, ‘m alright.’’ Harry only nods before retreating to what is presumably the kitchen while Zayn lets himself fall down on the white sofa, feeling the cushions dent under his weight. He squirms a bit because he’s used to the hard surface of his couch at home and when Harry enters the living room with a glass of water he feels like he’s going to be swallowed whole. There’s a very short and quite uncomfortable silence in which Zayn watches Harry sit down next to him, suddenly very aware of his own breathing.
‘’You have a- uh, nice place,’’ he almost mumbles and feels his ears heat up because he’s not sure if Harry understood him and he honestly doesn’t want to repeat himself.
‘’Thanks! Although Niall keeps complaining about the smell,’’ Harry jokes, nudging Zayn with his elbow who only laughs nervously and suddenly feels very unsure about everything. He’s here at Harry’s place but what does it mean? What is he supposed to do and say? He’s cursing himself for not going out more, because it’s like he completely forgot how to interact with humans. Not that he ever really knew.
‘’Speaking of Niall, he should be here soon,’’ Harry remarks and reaches for his glass to take a sip. Zayn gets a bit carried away watching him, eyes drawn to the glistening of Harry’s bottom lip and it suddenly feels like someone’s kicked him in the back because he has this incredible urge to surge forward. He can see brief flashes in his mind of him and Harry kissing but when he blinks there’s just Harry watching him curiously. Zayn really is making a fool of himself.
‘’Right, Niall. Does he live here, too?’’ he asks, looking down at his hands and idly brushing his thumb over the swallow tattoo.
‘’Nah, ‘s just me. You got a roommate, then?’’ Harry sags back into the couch, legs spread and hands folded on his stomach. He looks very relaxed, something Zayn is absolutely not.
‘’My best mate Louis. He can be a right pain in the ass,’’ he chuckles, angles his body towards Harry so he doesn’t have to crane his neck so much.
‘’Ah yes, you’ve mentioned him,’’ Harry muses, head snapping in the direction of the front door when there are a few curt knocks. He bounds up from the sofa and almost runs to the door while Zayn stands up slowly, nervously brushing his hands on his jeans. Not that they’re really sweaty – it’s just a habit. There’s loud cheering and when Zayn looks at the direction it comes from he can see a tuft of blond hair. A weird tug in his gut makes him take a few steps forward and when Niall’s freed from Harry’s grip Zayn can finally see why he looked so-
‘’You’re that guy from the train!’’ Niall cheers, coming up to clap his hand on Zayn’s shoulder, who feels somewhat relieved because it’s not a complete stranger.
‘’You know each other?’’ Harry asks, looking puzzled and somewhat put-out that he didn’t really get to introduce them.
‘’Nah not really, woke this idiot up ‘cause he was sleepin’ on the train,’’ Niall laughs and Zayn can feel his cheeks heating up when Harry joins in on the laughter. It’s a beautiful carefree sound and suddenly Zayn wishes he could hear more of it.
From there on it’s really a whirlwind of laughter and talking and Zayn can see why they’re best friends. They both come across as – confident isn’t really the word. Comfortable, is what Zayn would describe them as. Absolutely fine being themselves, not being afraid of being present, like Zayn who sometimes feels like he needs to hide in the shadows because otherwise things might get overwhelming.
But that’s what people like Niall and Harry are for – they demand your attention, which gives Zayn some space. It also makes time go ridiculously fast and as the evening approaches, their rumbling stomachs are asking to be fed. He’s reluctant to admit it, but immediately cheers up when Niall suggests they all go out for dinner.
‘’Maybe Louis wants to join us?’’ Harry suggests, turning to Zayn after standing up, their empty drinks in his hands. Zayn nods and then grimaces, because he completely forgot to text Louis and when he checks his phone he can see a lot of texts – some friend he is. His fingers already start typing a message when he decides against it and just rings him, biting on his fingernail while waiting for Louis to answer.
‘’Mate, you ok?’’ is the first thing Zayn hears and he’s glad that at least Louis doesn’t sound angry, just somewhat worried.
‘’Yea, ‘m fine. Harry wanted ‘t know if you’re up for dinner. Four of us,’’ Zayn explains, directing his gaze towards the floor when he notices two pairs of eyes on him. Makes him nervous.
‘’Who’s the other one? And yea I’m up!’’
‘’Cool, I’ll text you the address ‘n stuff. His name’s Niall, by the way. You’ll like him,’’ his voice goes soft at the last part, almost whispering, but it doesn’t help. Niall’s heard him anyway and can’t stop smiling, nudging Harry and whispering something in his ear. Zayn’s definitely getting the piss taken out of him later.
‘’Alright, mate. See ya,’’ Louis finishes, hanging up and leaving him alone with the two snickering fools that are looking at him like they’ve got something planned.
***
They’re sitting at a booth in Nando’s, Zayn idly picking at the last of his fries while he listens to Louis’ laughter. Harry’s sitting across him, eyes flickering between Niall and Louis with a somewhat sombre look. Before Zayn realises he’s done it, his foot has gone out to nudge Harry’s under the table, feeling a spark of happiness when he receives a small smile. The chatter dies down as the end of the day approaches and they’re finally starting to grow tired, none of them willing to admit it because it’s Sunday and soon they’re going to have to return to their duties.
‘’I think we should all head home,’’ Harry speaks up after he’s been quiet for a while and Zayn’s somewhat disheartened by the fact that Harry is the one to suggest they leave. What if he’s sick of Zayn? The fear he feels at this thought shocks him and he feels like his dinner is about to come back up. So what he does is stay quiet, follows the rest and watches their backs as they leave the restaurant. He turns down his head, avoiding eye-contact and waiting for Louis to say goodbye so he can nod his head and walk back home with him, but is surprised when Harry tugs on his arm.
‘’Um, wanna do this again sometime? Two of us,’’ Harry asks nervously, fingers tensing around Zayn’s arm. He’s honestly taken aback and it takes him a few seconds to answer.
‘’Like a date?’’ he asks, feeling a smile creep up on his face. He can’t help it.
‘’Yes? If you like.’’ Harry quickly releases his arm and suddenly Zayn misses it, wants his hand back, anywhere.
‘’I’d love to,’’ Zayn beams, ignoring the snickers in the background. He’s having a moment and won’t let Louis and Niall ruin it. And Harry couldn’t look happier, his dimples showing and curls dancing as he sort of hops up and down. Cute, is what it is.
‘’Alright! Well, see ya,’’ Harry says, moving to drag a laughing Niall with him while Zayn watches fondly, and jumps when Louis pats his shoulder.
‘’Zayn, I’d say he’s perfect for you.’’
Zayn can’t agree more.
They go on dates, text back and forth, and Zayn honestly feels like he’s living someone else’s life. He can’t remember the last time he was just so utterly consumed by someone, because that’s what it feels like. He thinks of Harry at random and when he does Louis always scoffs and-
‘’Shut up,’’ Louis says and kicks Zayn’s leg. They’re both spread out on their couch, watching a movie neither of them are really interested in.
‘’Wha? I didn’t say anything.’’ Zayn frowns and tucks up his legs against his chest, out of Louis’ reach.
‘’You were thinking stuff. You had the face again,’’ Louis argues and tosses the remote at him. Zayn shrugs and starts changing the channel but stops when he feels a buzzing in his pocket. It’s a message from Harry and he doesn’t even notice Louis snatching the remote back again as he’s reading it.
Soo, you up for a party? It’s tonight and I’d really like to see you again… xo
Zayn can’t say no but he also can’t go alone, not to a party. He needs someone to fall back to, so he turns to Louis and smiles big, clutching his phone to his chest.
‘’Bloody hell, what now Zayn?’’ Louis groans, dropping the remote on the couch and rubbing his eyes tiredly.
‘’Haz says there’s a party,’’ Zayn starts off, waiting for a reaction only to be disappointed when all Louis does is raise his eyebrows. So he pouts, because he knows Louis can’t resist that.
‘’I’m not going to babysit you, man. And I can’t believe you’ve already got disgustingly cute nicknames for each other. Does he call you Zayniebear?’’ Louis jokes, pushing at Zayn’s foot when he tries to kick him.
‘’Nuh-uh! He calls me Zee. Why won’t you come?’’ Zayn whines and he knows he’s acting like a kid, but sometimes Louis brings out the worst in him.
‘’Because I’m knackered and not in the mood to watch you make out with Harry all evening,’’ Louis sighs, momentarily letting his attention drift to the screaming woman on the telly. ‘’You’ll be fine, Zee.’’
Looks like Zayn’s going to a party. Alone.
***
At first he’s afraid he’s not going to find the address, but he figures the booming music is obvious enough. Zayn shivers, pulls his coat tighter around him and walks up the first few steps, hesitantly pulling at the string that’s dangling out of the letterbox. Harry told him he was supposed to let himself in, so that’s what he does. There’s a click and when the door opens he’s met with people standing in the hallway, leaning into each other and talking while the smell of sweat and alcohol intensifies, along with the music pounding against his ears. He quickly takes off his coat so he’s left in his red Henley and carefully tucks it in the corner behind the umbrella holder. He doesn’t want it to get lost in the sea of coats.
It’s quite dark, the dim lights just enough to avoid him bumping into any objects. Now that he’s here, he’s happy to discover it’s not as busy as he thought it would be, his eyes easily finding Niall’s mop of blond hair. Zayn knows that means Harry’s not far off-
‘’Hey, you!’’ There’s a hand on his shoulder and even though he recognises the voice he’s still startled, turning around quickly and ending up stepping on Harry’s foot. He hisses but doesn’t take his hand off Zayn’s shoulder.
‘’Careful… Let’s get you a drink, yea?’’ Zayn nods and lets Harry grab his hand and drag him further into the house, which he was told is owned by three students. They occasionally throw a party, just because they can. Zayn watches Harry as he bends down to grab a can of beer from the fridge – he’s wearing tight dark blue jeans and a sheer black top. He suddenly has the urge to reach out and feel him, so he’s glad when Harry hands him the can, effectively stopping his hands from wandering.
It’s only just past midnight but some people are already looking on the brink of things, stumbling against walls and whatnot. Zayn’s glad Harry seems somewhat normal – he wouldn’t know how to deal with a drunk Harry. At least not sober. The atmosphere changes when a different song comes on and people start dancing, some silly and others grinding. Suddenly Zayn’s very nervous, so he takes a large gulp of his drink and eyes Harry, who’s looking longingly at the dancing bodies. Their eyes meet and Zayn is tempted to look away but can’t, the can pausing halfway to his mouth while his breath hitches and Harry looks like he’s about to –
‘’Wanna dance?’’ Harry bites down on his bottom lip and Zayn’s forced to say yes, because he is completely mesmerised. So he downs the contents of his can and follows Harry to a slightly darker corner, where they wouldn’t have people constantly bumping into them, closer to the speakers. There’s a moment in which he’s unsure what’s expected of him, his hands dangling awkwardly by his side, but Harry – bless him – seems unfazed and takes said hands, placing them on his hips.
Zayn takes a step closer, feels more natural with less space between them and then joins Harry in moving, at first a bit stiff, but eventually more freely. He can feel himself slowly forgetting about his nerves and reminds himself that this is Harry, he can be himself and knows it will be appreciated. Zayn isn’t sure if it’s this revelation or the alcohol, but he actually has the courage to draw Harry closer to him, their noses nearly touching.
‘’Zayn,’’ Harry breathes against his mouth, hands clutching Zayn’s arms and suddenly he doesn’t want to dance anymore, wants to feel Harry’s mouth and soft skin, wants to revel in his warmth and drown himself in his lovely smell. And maybe Harry’s having the same thoughts, because the next moment all Zayn’s questions are answered: how his lips feel, how it would feel to have his body pressed against his and what sound Harry would make when he presses him against the wall – it’s a soft huff of breath, edging on a moan. Zayn forgets to listen to whatever song is on, because they’re making music themselves, kissing wetly and drawing harsh breaths in between.
Zayn knows the moment has been coming for a while and now that it’s finally here he feels so alive, revels in the feel of Harry’s skin under his hand. Feels his jaw go slack under his hand and the deep rumble in his chest when their tongues meet, the taste of beer and gum and something that must be Harry. He suddenly has the urge to cry, because this is all he really wants to do – wants to kiss Harry, hold his hand, feel his muscles tense when he touches him. He pulls away to breathe deeply, nosing along Harry’s neck and keeping his hand at the small of his back.
He finally looks up to see Harry giving him the same desperate look, eyes dark and wide and completely stuck on Zayn. One of his fears is to take things too fast, but this feels right. This feels like them claiming what’s theirs and has been for so long, only out of reach. And it’s not like they’re drunk - far from, actually. So when Harry finally asks the question he’s been waiting for, he doesn’t even hesitate.
‘’Wanna go to my place?’’
The click of the door to Harry’s apartment is like a button that slows everything down. It’s dark, Harry’s outline visible, shoulders moving up and down rapidly. Zayn feels like he’s stuck in a dream, with everything right at his fingertips, but all he has to do is reach out and touch and that confirms that this is in fact very real. Them pulling desperately at each other’s clothes and feet trying to blindly find their way to the bedroom, lips glued to each other. Zayn has never felt like this, as if he could fall apart with just one touch and be put back together by the same, the need for it overpowering.
Eventually they make it to the bedroom, dressed down to their jeans and chests pressed together tightly. Zayn gives Harry a nudge and watches as he promptly sits down on the bed, looking up at him through his lashes. He can feel the blood pulse in his veins, feels it rushing down to the hardening bulge in his jeans and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much he wants to do to Harry, but the decision is made for him when Harry tugs him forward by his belt so he’s standing in between his knees, crotch in front of Harry’s face. Zayn’s breath hitches when Harry noses around the outline, slowly unclasping his belt and popping open the button before dragging down the zipper. He bites on his bottom lip and shivers when he feels his pants being dragged down roughly, cold air hitting him.
Zayn presses his hand against Harry’s cheek, thumb brushing his bottom lip. He can feel his harsh breathing, sees the want in his eyes and he’s sure he looks the same: utterly blown away. Harry tentatively leans forward, licks a stripe up his dick before slowly taking it in his mouth. Zayn still has his hand on Harry’s face and moves the other one in his hair, hissing when he can feel the pull in his gut and a spike of pleasure as Harry takes him deeper still. The air feels thick around them, almost like static. Zayn groans and pulls at Harry’s hair when he can feel his muscles start to spasm, bending down to lick into his mouth and press him down into the mattress, their sweaty chests sticking together.
‘’Zee,’’ Harry whines, mouth dragging across his collarbones and biting down when Zayn cups Harry’s bulge, quickly working open his jeans to pull out his cock, spreading the bead of pre-come and slowly tugging at it. Zayn is pleased with the moans he receives, chuckles at the whine he gets instead when he moves away. But he has to remove Harry’s jeans and step out of his own, and when he’s done with that just takes a moment to look down at Harry, on the bed. He looks flushed, chest red and glistening with sweat, hair pooling around his head and tongue flicking out to lick his plump lips. For a moment Zayn can feel his knees tremble and he’s afraid he’s going to fall, through the ground and into the deepest pits of hell because he surely didn’t do anything to deserve this, yet Harry’s still here. Lying on the bed, completely trusting and open and waiting for him and fuck – he’s sure he must have made a deal with the devil and forgotten about it.
‘’Top drawer,’’ Harry croaks, and the movement catches Zayn’s attention. He’s moved up the bed, his head landing on the pillow and eyes trained on Zayn. So he follows the instructions, stumbling across a bottle of lube and some condoms. Swallowing, he takes them and gingerly moves back onto the bed to nestle himself between Harry’s slender legs, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. It suddenly feels much more intimate, like his mind just woke up and he’s suddenly very aware of what’s about to happen. But he still wants it. Wants it so bad.
‘’Hey, ‘s ok,’’ Harry whispers, tugging Zayn down by his neck to bite at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and releasing it to move down to his neck, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. Zayn shudders and grabs the lube, covering his fingers and trying to somewhat warm it. He looks down into Harry’s sure eyes when he starts to guide his fingers down, circling one around his hole before slipping it in. He presses their mouths together, tries to kiss away the discomfort, distracts himself with the slide of their tongues and the growing heat that’s his desire.
When he’s up to three fingers, Harry’s bearing down on them and panting heavily into Zayn’s mouth.
‘’Fuck, just – Zayn,’’ he moans, hands reaching out to snatch the condom off the bed. Zayn lets his fingers slip out and sits back on his knees, letting Harry slowly roll the condom down onto his dick because his own hands are shaking, applying a generous amount of lube afterwards. When he lowers himself again, Harry’s legs wrap around him. Zayn feels caged in the best way possible, which only intensifies when he slowly guides himself into Harry, moaning at the hot tightness.
‘’Haz-‘’
‘’Just move,’’ Harry interrupts him, wrapping his arms around Zayn and pulling him closer. Zayn feels like he might disappear, fall into Harry and out of existence. He snaps his hips forward and moans, because it’s all he can do anymore. It feels like he’s blacked out, the only thing driving him are Harry’s low moans and the building heat around him, inside him. He’s fucked before, but this is different, so different. Zayn isn’t even embarrassed by the sounds he makes, the sounds they make together – skin loudly slapping against each other and bed creaking in protest.
He grabs onto the headboard for leverage, looks down at Harry; at the long expanse of his neck and his glistening skin, the dark flush and closed eyes. There’s a transition in his features and when Zayn sees it he knows he’s close, so he adjusts the angle, which allows him to stroke Harry’s dick and fuck into him with rapid speed at the same time.
‘’Oh!’’ Harry gasps and arches his back, promptly releasing onto his stomach. Zayn fucks him through it before he allows himself to let go, almost sobbing when his muscles spasm and his orgasm hits him. He takes a deep breath, smells Harry and sweat and something heady. Carefully, he slips out of Harry and allows himself to roll onto his back next to him on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with a smile.
The bed creaks again when Harry moves off it, disappearing into another room and emerging with a wet washcloth, cleaning them both off and discarding the condom. When he’s back in bed he cuddles up to Zayn, nosing at his jaw and yawning loudly. The sheets feel soft against his skin and the last thing Zayn can remember before he falls asleep is kissing Harry tenderly and wondering if he could dream about the smile he can feel against his lips.
***
Zayn wakes up not to the feeling of Harry pressed against him, which worries him, so he sits up and looks around the room. There’s light filtering through the curtains and it takes him a moment longer before he finally registers the smell of something – pancakes? He runs his hand through his already dishevelled hair and clambers off the bed, only to realise he’s naked. After searching for his boxers, he quickly pulls them on and stumbles out of the bedroom, hearing noises coming out of the kitchen. When he’s finally reached the doorway he can see Harry flipping a pancake and idly scratching at his belly, looking incredibly domestic. Zayn hasn’t made a single noise, but still Harry looks up at him and smiles, eyes shining with happiness.
‘’Morning! I hope you like pancakes,’’ he says and nods at the pan. Zayn hums and approaches Harry, let’s himself wrap his arms around his waist and press a kiss to his bare shoulder.
‘’Morning, love,’’ he muses. Harry’s warmth makes him sleepy and he’s suddenly reminded of his thought last night – about Harry’s smile. Even if it’s just a feeling, he’s fairly sure about it. Can feel it in his bones, knows there’s no other way for them. And nothing makes Zayn happier than knowing he wouldn’t have to dream about Harry’s smile.
Because he has the rest of his life to admire it.