Reaper [Zarry]

death sixteen

"This rice is so good," I moan. "And the sauce, whatever it is-"

"Tzatziki sauce," he chuckles and folds his grilled pita, feta cheese, chopped tomatoes and kalamata olives spilling out.

"What are those?" I point curiously, nose scrunching up.

"Pepperoncini peppers."

I snort and try to muffle my laughter as I dig back into my food.

"What's so funny?"

"Isn't that redundant? The word pepper is already in the name yet you still specified that it's a type of pepper."

"Whatever smartass, that's what they're called."

He bites back a smile and my hand covers his, thumb stroking over his pale skin.

"You feeling better?"

"Feeling stuffed," he jokes. "Thanks for taking me out. We haven't really been on a lot of dates," he frowns. "I'd like to do more with you...maybe take some photos of you with my camera if that's okay."

"Yeah, of course! Do you mind sharing some of your photography with me?"

He smiles brightly, eyes glimmering.

"I'd love that. You're actually interested? I'm still a bit of an amateur," he blushes.

"If it makes you happy I fully support it. Besides, you can always take photography classes."

"Hey Zayn...why don't you rent out your flat? You moved in with me anyway."

Where do I go once you're gone?

I swallow thickly and blink back tears.

"It's okay, I can afford things just fine."

He gives me a suspicious look and I sigh, fingers carding through my hair.

"I work at the bookstore on campus. It isn't much but it's something. Plus I'm getting paid to be a research assistant and the pay for that isn't half bad-"

"You never actually seem to be at school."

The worst lie you could have possibly fabricated. I'm in school.

"Fair enough," I shrug before tearing apart a piece of my pita bread. "I still want to go stargazing with you but maybe I should let you pick a location you want to photograph and we can make a day of it."

"I like that," he grins. "We should go to Brighton, spend some time at the pier or maybe a weekend away in London."

"I'd follow you anywhere," I reply softly.

His cheeks flush, eyelashes grazing his skin as he looks down. I swear he grows more beautiful each day.

"Sorry I upset you earlier angel. You're honestly, whole-heartedly the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Zayn," his voice snags, tears welling in his eyes.

I just want to hug him.

"Babe, don't cry."

The pad of my thumb swipes away his tears and I lean across the table to kiss him, not caring where we are.

"I guess I have to head back to work," he laughs and I happily pay the bill.

Our fingers lace together as we walk to the car and I'm smiling, heart as full as my belly.

"This was nice," I admit. "We can always have a relaxed evening, dinner and a movie. Maybe some fancy wine."

"Or board games and video games," he gives me a dimpled grin.

"That too."

I ruffle his hair and be purrs before pulling me close, catching me by surprise as he parts my lips. He has me pressed against the car, fingers lost in my quiff and it's so fucking good.

He's warm skin and tender kisses and he smells cozy and comforting with a hint of lingering musk.

And his mouth is so wet.

His skin is porcelain, cheeks rose tinted.

Everything about him is familiar to me. He pulls away with a sigh and I trace the outline of his lips.

The swallows beneath his collarbone, that butterfly tattoo I found completely hideous but have grown quite fond of and the smaller ones scattered on his arms, trailing to his thumb where the small cross is.

He's dotted with freckles. Along his back, scattered in other places.

Harry is the only thing that has ever felt like home. I ache to be near him, to simply be touching in some way. Hips pressed together, fingers grazing...anything.

I used to be so merciless. Ruthless and cold and closed up but now I mourn souls I never knew.

As free and boundless and Harry is, I love him that much and if he ever doubts his existence I want him to know that he couldn't be replaced by a thousand stars.

Shiver, melt, never move on.

I've decided he smells the way January feels and speaks feathery soft. I fall asleep to dreams of him, his nose pressed to my shoulder blade. The boy who smiles at babies babbling their own secret language, who laughs at dad jokes.

Sometimes when I'm alone and my soul feels thick, the heaviness of sorrow weighing at my shoulders, coldness seeping into my pillowcase, I can feel the moonlight laugh at me; beautiful but jagged and I think of how much he loves the stars.

He is a star. I place my right hand over my left side, feeling the steady beat of my heart. Something promises me that I am alive for a reason.

Harry.

Dull thuds against cold fingers, rattling in my dusty ribcage. I swallow all the bitterness I can and wring out my tear soaked heart.

He's there to paint the silver beneath my tired eyes down to the curves of my cheekbones and graces my skin with his lips.

He tells me to breathe.

And I weep silently and tell him the world wants him to wake up tomorrow.

I want him to wake up.

"What are you thinking about babe?"

"How much better life is when I wake up next to you."

"I'm hopelessly in love with you," he whispers.

He embraces me, nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck and my heart blossoms like a well watered seed.

"We are definitely making love tonight," I chuckle.

"I like that. With Louis is was just sex. It was sloppy and rough but I don't want to rush with you."

"We'll take it slow babe," I ruffle his hair. "I'm going to cherish you," I kiss the crook of his neck and open the car door. "Work calls, huh?"

"Always," he rolls his eyes.

"First work, then play," I smirk.

A/N: all the feels