chance connection |1| [zarry] (✔️)

fiftyfour

Sexual content ahead

"You're here!" Harry says, staring at Zain in his hallway, in his house, just standing there toeing off his boots like a real person. He shakes his head and hugs Gemma quickly, then moves on to Zain, wrapping himself around him tightly and kissing him a bit too enthusiastically. Zain tastes like chocolate.

"Your house is fucking huge, babe," Zain says when Harry lets him breathe. He looks around with a raised eyebrow, his hand slipping under Harry's t-shirt. "And in London, too. When you said you were doing well you didn't say you were fucking loaded."

"Right," Gemma says with a disinterested nod, pushing past them. "Rich arsehole, nothing new. You cooked for us at least, Harry?"

Harry rolls his eyes at her, watching Zain worriedly out of the corner of his eye. "I made soup and got some bread. It's ready if you are. When are you leaving, Gemma?"

"We're meeting at nine at the pub, see where the night takes us. I probably won't be back before the morning but keep it to the bedroom," Gemma shrugs again, dropping her bag and not waiting for them.

"That's not why I asked," Harry huffs, pulling Zain after her towards the kitchen. Zain comes easily and fits himself against Harry's back when Harry steps up to the stove, turning up the heat for the soup again. He's already set the table and Gemma plops herself down on the kitchen bar, playing with the napkin. Zain rubs his belly and leans against him heavily, his forehead against Harry's shoulder.

"Sure it isn't," Gemma says, smirk evident without Harry turning to look at her. "I'll be back for breakfast, though. Depending on when I get home I'll grab stuff from that bakery on my way home."

"Sounds good," Harry nods, turning the stove off when the soup begins to cook. "Text me if you do. If not, I'm just gonna run out and grab stuff tomorrow morning."

"Sure. Now gimme the food," Gemma says. "I'm hungry and I still need to get ready."

"For the pub?" Zain asks, sitting down next to her when Harry elbows him gently away. "You never get dressed up when we go to the pub."

"Do you?" Gemma asks, taking the ladle to serve herself. "Last time we went out you had tomato sauce on your t-shirt."

"I'm taken," Zain says with a shrug, accepting the bowl Harry hands him. "I'm allowed to let myself go."

"Are you?" Harry asks, blowing on his spoon to cool the soup.

"What, taken?" Zain asks, yawning into his elbow. "I was under the impression. Was I wrong? Do I have to look for alternatives? Gems, what about it?"

"Of course, babe," Gemma says, leaning towards Zain and fluttering her eyelashes, "I always take my brother's sloppy seconds."

"Allowed to let yourself go," Harry says with an eyeroll, interrupting them before they can escalate things.

Zain blows Gemma a kiss and smirks at Harry, reaching out to poke his dimple. "Good thing you're going back to America, so I can hide how much I'm gonna let myself go."

"What are you even going to do?" Gemma asks with a snort, ripping the bread apart and dunking it into her soup. "Not shower? Not shave? Not exercise? Drink beer and smoke? You already do all that."

"What can I say," Zain shrugs. "I'm a catch."

"You are," Harry says, surprising even himself with his earnestness.

Gemma laughs loudly. "Idiot," she says, pushing her bowl away. "I'm gonna get ready. I'll be gone in half an hour so please keep it in your pants until then."