stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 64

Charlotte

It's pouring. I grew up in the rain, but when it's falling over Los Angeles it feels so foreign - like an unwelcome reminder of home.

I pad into the kitchen with a frown on my face, because my beach plans are thwarted and it basically means I'm stuck in the house all day since it's terrifying to drive around in the rain here. I hope I have food to eat in the fridge.

He's sitting at the counter, perched on a stool, eating a banana and reading the paper. I'm not sure where he got it, but I'm more puzzled that the twenty-three year old is willingly reading up on current events in such an archaic form.

"Brought you a donut." His monotone voice purrs, green eyes peer up over the newspaper. "Why so sad?"

"I don't like the rain," I offer. Simply. Because it's easy to talk to him extremely simply. "And I miss Zayn."

I reach the donut he's laid out on a gold plate as if it were the main course at a fancy restaurant. "Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it." He never sounds sleepy. It's only eight AM on a Sunday. He definitely went to bed after me, and God knows how early he went out for donuts and the paper. I wonder if he's a vampire.

"You even got my favorite kind," I remark before taking a massive bite.

"You seemed like a pink sprinkled donut kind of girl." He shrugs, like that's a really normal thing to be. "Why don't you like the rain?"

"I grew up in Seattle. Got sick of it. And I wanted to go to the beach today."

"Why on earth would you let rain stop you from that?" Sea foam green narrows at me, and he dramatically drops the newspaper on to the counter like he's personally offended.

"I don't know, because I've never heard anyone ever say the beach in the rain is a good idea."

"Well I happen to love going to the beach in the rain. Especially in April." He folds his newspaper up and tosses it in the recycling bin. "Get your suit on. And a sweater."

He's so odd. He's the oddest human I've ever met.

But I have nothing better to do, so I listen. I head to my closet, slide on a bikini and pull a black sweater over top, just as instructed.

"Harry, what kind of shoes should I wear?" I call out, standing frozen in front of my shoe shelves.

"Trainers!" He bellows from the guest room down the hall.

I giggle, because of course, and slide my black high top converse on with my bizarre rain outfit. I grab a few beach towels and wander back into the kitchen, where Harry is waiting.

He's wearing a wide-necked dark grey sweater, a pair of black swim trunks, and neon yellow Nike trainers. Because of course he is. "Oh good, you got towels. Towels will be very useful. Are you ready?"

I give him a hesitant nod, which he seems to accept as a confident yes.

"Alright then, follow me."

I do. I follow him out the front door and down the steps that lead us to the beach below the house. The drizzle has changed to pretty substantial drops that plop against my cheeks and I'm surprised how warm the air is despite the gloomy sky.

Once we reach the matted down sand Harry shakes out his long hair and smiles over at me.

"So what does one do on a rainy beach exactly?" I dare ask.

"Swims of course. It's nice to have a little shower with your swim."

I want to protest and say no way, the water must be freezing, and has he gone mad? But I'm reminded of begging Zayn to swim with me a bunch of times on this very beach and I decide to just take advantage of having a swimming buddy, no matter how strange the circumstances.