About the River and Cliché | Zarry

Chapter Eight

The disaster in the kitchen has been dealt with when they return home. When Harry steps into the dining room, the table has been full of bountiful dishes. Gemma gives him an awkward smile when their mother turns around to collect tableware. Harry sits down next to his sister. Zayn is three plates away from him, feeling uneasy in a stranger's house.

Gemma and Zayn's sisters become friends pretty fast, probably because of the earlier incident. Gemma laughs a little louder at Waliyha's joke than what is allowed in their dinner time, which draws Lorie's warning glare. Harry can't help but beam a shallow smile on his face. Lorie has strict table rules, but she soon gives up her insistence when the young girls' laughter infects the entire atmosphere. She breaks through her reserve as soon as Gemma mentions the wedding in two days. According to Lorie, there won't be a solemn ceremony, but a lovely lunch feast in the garden with only a few of their close friends. And when she turns her head at Harry, asking how he has been in California, Harry's mind drifts away to that job interview, sitting in the middle of the broad room alone and wondering the same question that he's just been asked: why'd you want to be here?

Mr. Malik keeps quiet most of the time, only nods and smiles when Lorie brings him up in the conversation. So does his only son. Harry takes a furtive glance at Zayn, who is cringing in the corner of the tiny dining room and staring at the home-cooking uncertainly. Sensing Harry's sight, Zayn lowers his head and takes a wary sip of his soup. Apparently he doesn't really enjoy the country food. Another smirk spreads across Harry's face that he needs to put some bread into his mouth to hold the urge to giggle. He knows Zayn notices it, even though both of them are avoiding eye contact. And he knows Zayn is still upset at him, even though that feeling is mutual.

The night falls promptly. Harry is feeling a little bit moody under the sultry weather. He doesn't really want to talk to anyone, but there isn't really any place for him to escape. The girls are out for a walk. Lorie and Mr. Malik are staying in the living room together. Harry'd like to hide inside his room again, but the dry air can't keep himself steady.

The wooden floor cools him down as he trots down the stairs barefoot. Harry walks into the kitchen, reaching a teapot on the top of the cabinet. It is not the best weather for a cup of hot tea, but making tea can always soothe his emotions. Harry raises his head as the water starts boiling, and he notices the light on the porch is turned on. He sighs slightly and looks at the empty tea cups on the table for a long while, grabbing two of them in the end.

Zayn frowns immediately when he sees Harry pushing the door open with two teacups in his hands. He puts down the book on his thighs, watching Harry's face flush in embarrassment. "What?" asks Harry uncomfortably, putting down the cups on the table next to Zayn's chair.

"What's that for?" Zayn points at the tea with his chin.

Harry shrugs, almost spilling the hot water on his hand. "I think there's better way for us to interact than hating on each other."

Zayn sneers, "Ok, then what in the world is it anyway?"

"Lemongrass. It is good for a hot day like this. It helps cool your body down." He answers while huddling himself up in another chair. But when he turns his head, he sees Zayn's face fill with disgust.

"Lemongrass?" gasps Zayn with aversion, "How old are you, eighty? Who the hell on Earth actually drinks this?"

Harry gasps at Zayn's unbelievable answer, "And who the hell on Earth hates lemongrass?"

"There is one in front of you." Zayn pulls his attention back to his book. Harry feels like there is fire around his neck, so he sits back and grabs his cup unhappily, glaring at the starry sky that he hasn't seen for ages. He sips his tea loudly as revenge. Although the hot water burns his lips and he has to hold the urge not to let the tears fall down from his eyes. So Harry gives up, putting the cup back onto the table. The night breeze brushes through his long hair. He strengthens his bare legs in his short pants to fight back the drowsy air.

"You're sexier when you're not an asshole."

Zayn's voice breaks the silence and Harry nearly falls from his chair when he tries to hide his yawn. Harry supports himself up, staring at Zayn, whose eyes still lock on his book.

"Are you flirting with me?" Harry whispers, raising one of his eyebrows, "your future stepbrother?"

"Why, I thought I was being offensive."

Harry snorts, "By calling me sexy?"

"Nope. That means you're just nothing but an attractive asshole." Zayn shuts his book, turning around to pinch the handle of his cup with two fingers. He frowns at the smoking surface, and then puts the cup back. Harry gives him a dry laugh. Zayn adjusts his position, and then throws his book on the floor. "Well you were really sexy. I mean, I don't always remember everyone I've fucked. And you looked smart."

"I looked smart?" Harry widens his eyes and chuckles, "Smartly sexy? Are you looking for people who moan astronomy facts when they hit orgasm?"

Zayn ignores him and continues, "You looked like you knew what the fuck you were doing. But unfortunately, that wasn't true. Not even close."

"Oh," Harry lies back to his chair, curling his hair with his finger. "As if you do know what you are doing."

"I don't. But at least I'm honestly about it."

"Are you implying that I'm a liar?"

A small piece of leaf falls from the roof, dropping down elegantly to Zayn's cup. Zayn picks it up and tosses it into Harry's tea. "A pretty little liar, yeah."

"Very funny." Harry crosses his arms and stares at the leaf floating in the water, "I'd say that's a gift, because that's what lawyers do. Be charming, and lie. That's why we are assholes."

"You are an asshole, but not a good lawyer." Zayn replies curtly.

Harry narrows his eyes, "what gives you that idea?"

"Good lawyers don't make people see their intentions." Zayn leans over, dipping one finger into Harry's cup and stirs slowly. The little leaf follows his path and spins around. "But you, are so easy to read, even when you try to lie about it. It's like covering a spot with a magnifier."

"So, what's my intention then? Mr. Witty-words." Harry holds his cheek and asks.

Zayn stops his action, raising his eyes at Harry abruptly. Harry nearly obeys the strike in his chest and looks away. He clenches the armrest with his left hand, attempting to slow down his heartbeat. And then Zayn beams a smile that only exists for a second.

"You're so eager to be someone else." Zayn says in a low tone, "that's not something bad. But at the same time, you purposely push away your old self as if he never existed. Wait, you not only just push it away, you literally hate on it. Unfortunately, you didn't become a new person, you just pretend to be."

"Or maybe I'm just growing up?" Harry sniffs.

"By skipping steps? That's not how it works, baby."

Harry's spine shivers when he hears the word "baby". He takes a deep breath and pulls his body backward, smiling gently, "You really have a lot of comments about me."

"Not everyone gets to fuck their stepbrother. I need to figure out what kind of person brought me here." Zayn shrugs, standing up to pick up his book. Harry laughs coldly, "Will you still fuck me, after this bullshit?"

Harry hears the book drop again, and then it's Zayn's voice. "Are you seducing me?"

"Well, you disapproved my personality," Harry blinks his eyes, replying in a breezy tone, "but you didn't say shit about my bed skills."

"You're so full of yourself." Zayn shakes his head, turning around to face Harry. He walks forward, pressing his palm against Harry's chair and looking down at Harry's half-naked thighs. "Will you ever take me to that river?"

The unexpected question makes Harry roll his eyes impatiently, "Can't you stop giving a damn about that river?"

But Zayn just bends over, whispering beside Harry's ear, "if you bring me to that river, I will fuck you right there. Along the bank. Or against the tree, hopefully there is one."

Before entering the house, Zayn's hand stops with his hand on the doorknob.

"And of course, from behind. Twice, if you do it well."