Zayn's body was slumped in an awkward position, wedged between her tall dresser and the wall beneath her window. His legs stuck out before him and his blood seeped into the plush white area rug at the foot of her bed, turning it bright red at a rather alarming pace.
Harry looked into the face of his friend and knew the truth; the girl was stunned and seemed to be in a daze or perhaps paralyzed by fear.
She was also wrong.
"Well he's still breathing so that's not exactly true, but it certainly will be if you don't do what I asked you to." He turned to face her but her eyes were trained upon Zayn's face in a look of awe and possibly intrigue. The idea of her actually getting him what he needed seemed hopeless. "Where are your tampons Kitten?"
He gave up trying to prod her into helping, but as he stood to go hunt them down himself she suddenly leapt to her feet and rushed into her bathroom returning in mere seconds with sanitary napkins and clean white towels.
"I don't use tampons. I can go get some from the store though. I'll run...but do you think it'll be necessary once I call the ambulance?"
She held her phone and dialed as she asked, Harry stopped tending to Zayn's wound long enough to snatch it from her and throw it to the bed.
He knew Zayn well enough to know that he'd always been as careful in his work as he was lethal and therefore he had no record and the police had no reason to be looking for him, or to care if he showed up in hospital. But showing up in hospital with a gunshot wound that could easily be traced back to the gun of someone involved in the Tottenham drug trade was the equivalent of falling down a dangerous and question filled rabbit hole, one that Harry suspected that Zayn would prefer to avoid at all costs.
For the time being his friend was simply passed out, the result of having lost too much blood too quickly. He was unconscious but he was still breathing very faintly which meant no damage had occurred to his brain, and the open holes on both sides of his wound meant the bullet had gone clean through the front of his shoulder and out of the back; this made things far simpler and meant that if he could get the wound to stop bleeding Zayn wouldn't need to go to the hospital at all.
"But Harry look at him!"
"Go pull the couch bed out for him. No fucking ambulance."
She rolled her eyes but protested no more as she went into the living room. He placed the makeshift bandages on the wound which had stopped bleeding so profusely and then tightly wound the torn pieces of fabric of his shirt around Zayn's shoulder to hold it all in place.
He's unfortunately nursed enough wounds and enough people from the brink of death to know that Zayn would be alright. They needed to lay him down and get him to wake up, but he'd live.
"Zayn!" He lifted his head from the wall and shook it from side to side by its cheeks. "Wake up. Talk to me. Can you hear me mate?"
The flutter of his eyelids was enough for Harry for the moment. Color had slowly returned to his cheeks and though he was sweating and looked like death his breathing was slightly more noticeable.
They managed to move him from the bedroom into the living room. She looked absolutely exhausted as she retreated back into her room and shut the door tightly behind herself. As he laid in bed beside Zayn, watching over him to keep an eye on his breathing, Harry found his mind wandering to the oddest place, wondering what magic had kept her towel on so securely throughout the entire ordeal.
He also let himself remember the way she'd called for him, immediately, when she needed someone. He chalked it up to the fact that he was indeed the only other person around, but the feeling of pride it sent going in his chest couldn't be reasoned with; he decided it was best to ignore it.
Then her door began to open slowly and his eyes lingered on it in the dark. Her silhouette filled the doorframe and she leaned against it; it was clear in the way she hesitated that she couldn't tell if he was awake or not. She rested her head on the wall and whispered into the room.
He wanted not to hear it, but he did. He sat up slowly and turned on the lamp on the side table.
She looked mortified and kept her eyes trained on the floor as she shuffled over to the bed. To his surprise she crawled in next to him and wrapped her arms around his body before resting her head on his chest. Mercifully she'd changed into her pajamas, and as he thanked God for that he also pondered a way to get her to leave without seeming rude.
"I can't sleep in there all alone and I have to go to work in a few hours. It's only for a little while."
She was speaking with closed eyes and clearly no intention of moving. Gradually he allowed himself to reach and turn off the lamp and then relax back into his pillow, though he laid there with his eyes wide open in the dark. He found her presence beside him more terrifying than watching Zayn almost bleed to death. He felt his heart race and hoped she couldn't hear it with her ear against his chest. He moved his arm like an idiot in the air, awkwardly bringing it close to her shoulder then quietly pulling it back, not sure if he should rest it against her or not.
This was new for him; he was usually sure of himself when in bed with someone if no where else. He had been successfully conning people into believing he loved them for years, this felt absolutely absurd to him; she wasn't even a stranger, he knew she didn't want anything from him, so why he felt like he had no confidence or experience in such things he had no idea. Nothing was happening and yet he felt on the verge of a panic attack. He wished it would stop; it was uncomfortable and unfamiliar territory for him.
But then she let out a heavy breath and rubbed her face deeper into his chest. She clutched a piece of his shirt very lightly and somehow brought her body even closer to his. She was warm and she smelled sweet, and he made the mistake of breathing in and getting a nose full of her perfume, which immediately made him drowsy and dissipated his nerves to enough of an extent that he felt content. He bent his arms behind his head and shut his eyes to sleep.
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H. A Harry Styles A.U.Fanfiction
'It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom...