When Love Arrives (H.S.)

Chapter 28

"Breakfast of champions, eh?" Zayn said, inhaling a drag from a joint and exhaling it directly above him. He was sprawled out on the floor of his room, not bothering to blow his smoke out the window since his roommate wasn't home. 

I was sat on his window seat, my legs folded up and my arms wrapped around them. I closed my eyes, as my eyelids were feeling increasingly heavy. I was wearing a big, dark gray sweater and black leggings. My hair was still drying and trapped under my favorite purple beanie. I felt like I was wrapped in a big blanket. "Yeah, this sure beats class... Or dealing with Harry."

"No, no, no!" he tutted, jumping up with the joint in his hand. "We're not thinking about any of that! You had a rough night." 

I nodded, accepting it from him and taking yet another hit. I tried to hold it in my lungs for as long as I could, and only coughed once while exhaling. I definitely liked smoking better than drinking, but I felt weighed down by the small voice in my head that was scolding me for my irresponsibility.

Zayn ignored my inner turmoil and smiled at me. "You're getting good at this."

"My parents would be so proud of me. That's probably why they both called me this morning," I said, looking out the window. 

He laughed, taking a seat across from me. "I mean... They're probably not, but I am."

"Thanks."

"Why did they call you, anyway?" 

I shrugged. "I didn't answer."

Zayn nodded, he was always the most understanding of my distain towards my family.  

We sat in a comfortable silence, the kind where you don't feel obligated to say something to fill it. It just lingered; it was comfortable and warm. We weren't sitting there thinking about how silent it was, we were just enjoying it. That's how Zayn and I were.

Our friendship wasn't as longstanding as mine and Erica's, but it was definitely just as real. Growing up with Gabriel, Zayn truly is the closet thing I've ever had to a brother, and the newfound relationship was more than welcome. 

I grabbed the joint from him and took another hit. "Ya better be careful there, love. You're already pretty smacked," Zayn said. "And it's only noon." 

We both laughed at that, that kind of giggling, airy, uncontrollable laugh that really only comes out when you're stoned or when you just, unfortunately, have a really annoying laugh.

Actually... No... It kind of sounded like Harry's laugh, which could never be annoying. I don't mean his premeditated, polite laugh that will come out when he's talking to my Grandpa or when we're in a restaurant or when he's just met someone. That's a different laugh. When I think of Harry laughing, I think of when I catch him off guard. When I make a really good pun about condiments or when I tickle his overly-ticklish sides while he's not paiyng attention. It's airy.

It's like bubbles, and not bubbles as we see them in our adult lives, like just these things floating through the air. It's like bubbles as perceived by children. Like magic... Like how could something be so absolutely wonderful and life changing? I must tell the world.

"You're doing it again," Zayn said, snapping me back to reality. 

"Doing what?"

"Thinking about Harry... You like," he stopped to take one final drag, discarding it out the open window. "Have these internal monologues about him. Like you're writing a poem."

"I... How do you know I'm thinking about Harry?" 

"You're blushing," Zayn said matter-of-factly.