Scars And a Cup of Coffee | Zarry [complete]

Chapter 13: Zayn

Scars And a Cup of Coffee

Zayn watched Harry help the old man that seemed as confused when he left as he was when he entered, causing him to chuckle under breath. Zayn sipped at his coffee, enjoying the hot, bitter liquid stream down his throat. He had gotten his computer set up nearly an hour ago and had been downloading a new version of Microsoft word. He had also been watching Harry for the last five minutes,  being awkward behind the counter not having a thing to do but organize the pastry filled display case.

Zayn watched as Harry's fingers gently held the puff pastries, putting them in the front for all to see. The long digits were elegant and thin, an interesting mix since they seemed so strong. Zayn shivered,  imagining feeling of that hand in his, the way they would comfortingly wrap around his palm and essentially engulf his hand in warmth. Zayn's fingers curled, a slight twitch at the tips desperate for something that was missing and belonged in the negative space. He could imagine the feel of those fingers behind his neck, the hairs there raising, a firm grip, reassuring and lovely; he imagined those giant hands grasping at his hips.

Zayn flushed.

He stared at Harry, not caring for the sun that annoyingly shone in his eyes ever so often, he couldn't be bothered just as long his view wasn't obscured. Harry's stance was calm and cool, portraying grace in his own way. The slight wavering as his weight shifted from foot to foot, it was just so... Harry.

Zayn smiled. Harry was his own being. Someone that sought nothing but to stay. As weird as it may have been, it wasn't, not to him in the least.

Zayn admired him for a little while longer before, Harry and his aloofness faded, fear making its own terrifying appearance on his face. Zayn tensed as he saw a customer stroll in, the way the stranger conducted himself was all but welcoming. It was a vicious wave that radiated off the man like a blatant signal of danger. Zayn fisted his hands as a ways not to just sprint out of his seat and push the man out the door. His eyes narrowed as he observed the interaction between Harry and the stranger.

Harry was stepping back as the customer stepped closer, the discomfort evident, and Zayn tried so hard not to break off the edge of the table in frustration. He didn't know what to do, it made his lungs burn with each breath and head pound every other moment. Zayn was conflicted between doing what his gut told him to and save Harry from his obvious suffering, or wait it out and watch how it goes. Harry emitted a strangled moan, and the man pulled him into one of the back rooms.

Zayn got up, speed walking to the door only to find it locked. He panicked. He jiggled the doorknob, and tried harder to get the thing open when a scream and the echo of something being thrown against metal was heard through the walls. Zayn rammed his shoulder into the woods, pain shooting up his arms as he realized he used his left arm. To hell with it, he thought as he tackled it again, hearing the broken plea of an all too familiar voice. Rearing back, he forced all his weight into his shoulder and collided with the door, the thing finally giving in.

It took mere milliseconds before he processed just what the scene held for him. Harry face was swollen, his lip split open as tears streamed down his face. The man had his hand ready to punch Harry for another round of agony. Zayn could feel the anger boil inside him with vengeance, ready to burst.

No one hurt, Harry.

Zayn gripped the abuser by the shoulder making sure to maneuver it just like they had shown him in boot camp to dislocate a shoulder. Zayn felt the pop, before he pushed the man to the ground, and enjoyed as he watched him fall, his head comically bouncing of the tile. Zayn kneeled over him, making sure he'd pay ten times worse for what he did to Harry. He felt the rush as his fist collided with the stranger's cheekbone, the power of making him pay tenfold.