Need • Zarry

14. The crown

Harry never asked Zayn about the college applications. As curious as he was, he also didn't want to know about his plans. No, not now. The last thing Harry wanted was to ruin anything between them, especially since they had just taken their relationship to the next level of intimacy, and the uncertain future for them seemed too serious to bring into question.

So he went on to read Papillon that night and did everything in his power to avoid looking at that pile of papers gawking at him from across the study, even though the thought still lingered in the back of his mind like this enormous dark cloud, just hovering there above him as if it were a mere few seconds away from rain.

And it remained there gnawing at him throughout the following weeks while Harry's mind did mental gymnastics to keep himself away from approaching the topic in his ever-so-desperate attempt at staying exactly where he was with Zayn, basking in every present minute they had together because their moments were good.

So, so good.

And Zayn and Harry were having a lot of sex.

Like, a lot.

Harry swore that it almost felt like an addiction sometimes because he craved it every second of the day. At work, at home, out with James. At his parent's house. Every kiss, every touch, every time Zayn's skin was on his skin he felt tied down by his magnetic aura, seduced by this devil in between the sheets, drunk on his scent, succumbing to some mind numbing, all encompassing physical and mental high.

It almost felt like Zayn could feel the soul inside Harry's body just with the careful, calculated stroke of a finger tip down his torso that whenever he was touched he felt tremors of electricity. Harry had never taken a drug before, never once, but he was pretty sure there couldn't be any drug in existence that could ever manage to rival the euphoria he felt when he was with Zayn.

But it was also as if they were leading two different lives. The first one was the one people saw, the one that the residents of Montclair, his friends and family could observe. They all saw Harry as this trusty, smart, put together librarian; sensible and normal with nothing interesting ever going on but always kind, generous and helpful.

Unsuspecting.

And then they saw Zayn as this clever, funny teenager from a troubled upbringing, trying to do better, to learn and grow with his old soul mixed in with a bit of a mischievous streak at times, someone likable in the midst of his unique glow, someone who all the girls had started developing a crush on the more he spent time around the high schoolers in town.

Of course they like him. Who wouldn't?

It was this life where Zayn and Harry were both these well-liked men in the community of Montclair; just two straight men who were friends, or more like brothers some would say and there was Harry, a family figure, a role model that Zayn never truly had. And that's how everyone viewed their relationship from the outside looking in. And it all fit. Society respected it, valued it, accepted it. And even though it wasn't exactly the truth of it all, Harry had to keep reminding himself that;

It has to be this way.

Then there was their second life, the one tucked away behind Harry's closed door that they lived out together only when they were alone. The place where they felt good, where they could be unapologetic lovers and friends with their arms wrapped around each other in the warmest of embraces.

It was their life where they couldn't keep their hands to themselves, the one where their mouths and tongues were wetting their skin with this insatiable hunger, this newfound thirst to consume each other whole, as if eating and drinking were just wants, mere cravings compared to the way physical touch was becoming absolutely necessary to have.