Part 25

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The address apparently belongs to a trailer park. It's really not the most charming location, but Harry figures it must be temporary. He's waiting at the gate, where Zayn said he would meet him, and kicks at the gravel. A little dust cloud floats up and he follows it with his eyes until he can hear footsteps approaching, the grind of gravel under heavy boots.

''Hey,'' Zayn greets him, squinting against the evening sun. ''Found it alright?''

Harry nods. ''It wasn't that hard. Just unexpected.''

''Yeah.'' Zayn chuckles and looks around, kicks against the chain link fence. ''It's got its charms, though.''

''I guess.'' Harry takes a nervous breath, smiling shyly when he catches Zayn's eyes. He doesn't think he's ever seen such beautiful eyes in his entire existence, much less that they would be focused on him so much. It shakes him, makes him stumble and lose his breath. He would love to get to know the person behind them. ''Want to show me your place?''

''Sure.'' Zayn starts walking and Harry follows behind him, looking at the worn homes and long washing lines fluttering in the wind. It looks a bit forlorn, like humanity's dump for the hopeless. Some people are sitting outside and nod at them in greeting as they walk past, enjoying the last bits of sunlight before the day ends and the cold of the night creeps in. It's obvious when they reach Zayn's trailer, because it sticks out like a sore thumb with its shiny new exterior. Harry has to admit it's kind of cute. Not enough to live in it permanently, though.

''This is it,'' Zayn says, turning around and spreading his arms. ''My palace.''

Harry snickers and walks past Zayn, pretending to look inside through the window. ''Don't tell me it's bigger on the inside?''

''Not really.'' Zayn fishes some keys out of his pocket and walks up the tiny steps to the door. ''You could just use your imagination, though.''

''Of course.'' Harry waits for him to open the door and then follows him inside, noticing how it still smells somewhat new, with only a hint of Zayn. ''It's lovely,'' Harry comments, observing the light wooden interior and surprisingly modern appliances. ''Not what I expected at all.''

''I have standards, you know.''

Harry feels his face heat up. ''That's not - I wasn't implying-''

''I know, it's okay.'' Zayn softly squeezes his arm as he slides past him to look inside the fridge. ''Take a seat! Want a drink?''

''I'm good, thanks.'' Harry sits down on the tiny sofa after taking off his coat and hums to himself when the sun shining through the window warms up his back. He scoots to the side to give Zayn more room, eyeing his drink with a curious look. ''A juice box?''

''I like them.'' He shrugs and places it on the little side table. ''And they're cheap.''

''From the looks of this trailer I don't think money's an issue for you.'' Harry sits back on the sofa and watches Zayn, without his disguise, so comfortable in his own environment. He really looks like a different person. More confident, perhaps? It suits him.

''It's not,'' Zayn muses, turning in his spot so he can lean his arm on the back of the sofa and look at Harry without having to crane his neck. ''I suppose you want to know why.''

It's not a question, so Harry doesn't feel obliged to answer. He just waits until Zayn's ready to tell whatever he needs to. Or maybe he won't; Harry doesn't know anything about him, nor does he have an inkling of what to expect. It's because Zayn seems to keep so much under the surface and is in control of every single thing and movement. Harry doesn't know how he does it. He's more of a 'go with the flow' kind of person, himself. To a certain extent.

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