Zayn Malik was quite glad when Monday morning rolled around, his 7am alarm clock waking him from his nightmare of a weekend. He had scrubbed his body clean in the shower before dressing himself in one of his favourite shirt and tie combo's, his feet rather glad to be back in his expensive leather shoes. His life was starting to like nothing had happened, and he couldn't be more relieved.
His teeth gleamed white, his dark hair was slicked back against his head and his wrists held one of his many expensive watches. He looked over himself in the mirror and nodded a little in a self-determination, telling himself that the last weekend was simply a now forgotten blip and his life would go back to normal. He would return back to his office, drink a coffee that his assistant had grabbed for him before going through more numbers and figures of the month for his Father, as he did the first Monday of each month.
Yes, he thought to himself, he was back to business.
Zayn was a morning person and his routine showed this through and through, from the way he never missed eating a bowl of muesli with brown toast, washing any mess with plenty of time to switch on his radio and get the morning news from around the capital. He liked to hear the traffic news in preparation for his journey to work.
He prided himself on his appearance and punctuality, something that his Father had drilled into him from a young age, and he was rather thankful for that. As men of business, and a soon to be head of business, Zayn had a lot on his shoulders and so tried to appear as cool, calm and collected at all times as he could. When he knew that his appearance was good, he felt a lot better on the inside. Plus, sometimes some things were much better being kept inside than out, he recognised as he straightened his tie in the reflection on the floor length mirrors that ran though his open plan living area.
The male checked his watch once more before deciding that he was now ready for work, and he grabbed his briefcase and laptop, brushing off needing a jacket due to the slight amount of British sunshine that shone into his flat. He was locked up and heading downstairs in moments, his brown eyes darting to his watch every so often just to make sure that he was still on time.
He had followed his precious routine through completely, as his feet strode across the apartment complex's large, private carpark and towards his pitch black Audi TT. He had brought it for himself as an upgrade from his first car which had been a present he had loved from his parents when he first started driving. By 8:15am, he was sat in his car ready to go, his thumbs switching through the songs of the CD that was in his sound system.
He smirked to himself as the car revved up and he drove off as he recognised that this morning might just be one of his personal best's. There had been no hitches, he was human and as much as he loved his routine, he knew that he wasn't perfect by far. His car started to swerve inbetween traffic lights and other morning traffic as he made his way across town, his cologne filling the small space of the car.
Zayn Malik may have thought that his morning and what he considered, his fresh start, went well, he failed to make sure that the mobile phone which was slipped neatly inside the pocket of his jacket was in fact his own. He was oblivious to the fact that a brunette sex God had cheekily exchanged the phones as he had left the apartment, a plan within his head forming. With the dark haired male being stuck in such a determined routine, his hand had patted the pocket where his phone would go and simply assumed it was his own.
He was clueless to the fact that Harry's hands were the ones holding his precious iPhone.
The male simply drove across the city streets in an effort to arrive to work on time, his mind more concentrated on that coffee that his assistant would have ready for him, as previously stated.
He'd barely been sat down ten minutes when the phone in question had buzzed eagerly in his pocket, the vibration and message tone completely different to his own, and he had found out about the whole situation. The male didn't need an explanation, he simply knew just what the curly haired boy had done, and he sighed in exhaustion.
He needed his phone due to his contacts and emails that were on there, and plus his homescreen was organised perfectly to how he thought it should be, Zayn couldn't bear the thought of getting a new phone just to go through all of that scuffle all over again.
His marbled eyes looked down at the screen and recognised the missed calls from his own number, and so he promptly dialled and readied himself. He could have been working, but instead he felt like he was playing that game with toddlers where you tie string to cups and talk through them. He decided that that was what it was like talking to Harry full stop, before the boy in question answered.
"Zayn Malik speaking, posh black suit business incorporated, how can I help?" His voice chimed happily through the phone, and Zayn was glad that his office door was shut so his assistant wouldn't have been able to hear.
"Firstly, we're a shares business, figures and numbers. And why do you have my phone?" He tiredly replied, his hand holding his chin up as he leaned against the dark wood of his desk.
His office was fairly modern, large white chairs for his clients to sit across him in, large windows and décor that was designer. The desk had been his Father's first desk, and a good luck charm to his son when he had first started.
"Well why do you have my phone?" Harry simply replied down the phone, the smirk that was most probably on his lips ingrained into Zayn's poor brain.
"Because you switched them around." Zayn replied almost as simply, except he wasn't smirking.
"If you know that then why do you ask? I think you should work at silly suit incorporated, Mr Silly Suit." The boy giggled down the phone.
Zayn could have slammed his head against the wood in annoyance, but his hand remained firmly on his chin.
"Look, just come down to the firm and give me my phone, you ask the front desk downstairs for me and they'll give you instructions, now grab a paper and pen." Zayn instructed, before he waited as the boy started humming and mumbling to himself, before he told Zayn that he had grabbed a pen.
"We don't have paper so I'll write it on my hand." He stated, causing Zayn's eyebrow to rise slightly.
"Go to the business quarter of the city, by the canal...it's a building right next to the large bank, Malik and Associates, you can't miss it." He informed the lad, before figuring out that he may as well get an online map and send it to him on his own phone, knowing that the boy would need it.
If he had an online map and directions, it would probably keep him from calling for guidance, and it could mean he could get on with some work as he waited for the boy's appearance.
"I'm going to tell my assistant to expect you, you got all that?" Zayn asked once again, as he presumed the boy was scribbly sentences down his own arm.
"Er, think so...when's your lunch break?" He replied.
"Twelve on the dot, why?"
"I'll come then, I'm in bed and I can't be arsed to get out of it until atleast eleven. See you then, silly." Harry sang down the phone, before the call was cut short, and Zayn could only pray that his morning would pass by quickly as he set out finding a map to send to the boy.
It was the out of curiosity he started to poke around on Harry's phone, just glancing through the amount of texts that were waiting for him from his own phone, in the other boy's hands. They consisted of a range of messages, questions of if he had found the phone and if he thought that Harry was very cute and cunning. There were some random emojis sent in solo messages, as well as being accompanied by a message that was purely,
"Indian or Chinese food?" sent at quarter past two in the morning. No wonder the boy couldn't get out of bed this early, Zayn tutted.
He was about to close the page and put the phone into his desk drawer, when his eyes bulged from his head at the sight of the photo that the boy had sent to him. The boy's boxer clad body was tangled within black duvet sheets, only making the porcelain colour of his skin more appealing to a deep, dark urge deep inside of Zayn. His front was as toned as he remembered, but seeing the boy's teasing face send a toothy grin, his front teeth latched onto his soft bottom lip.
His stomach churned in that deadly way and he found himself throwing the phone across the room before grabbing a pen and clicking it on, in an attempt that some morning signatures that manage to erase the picture from his brain.
Of course, the curly haired sex god was way too strong of a pull for him.
His hand fumbled a little as he went through the piles of papers on his desk, but his eyes drifted down to where he had thrown the phone, the face now blank due to the loss of activity from his fingertips. For the first time since he had woken up on Sunday morning, he felt like he had finally realised why he had been attracted to the boy in the first place, despite his annoyingly cocky attitude. The boy was carved by a hierarchy of high angels that only carved a handful of beautiful people in a lifetime.
He heard himself slowly exclaim a fuck, before he jumped up and scrambled for the phone, letting his knees fall onto his office floor as he tried to find the photograph once more. Once he did, he wasted no time in saving it onto his computer, and then from that onto a red memory stick. He had no idea why he did, but he simply pushed both phone and memory stick into his draw and locked it, before exhaling a deep breath he had been keeping in.
His brown eyes glanced to the clock, and counted the many hours before noon. He suddenly felt impatient and he didn't understand, or like, it.
The sound of his phone ringing seemed to pierce Zayn's ears as he jumped up from the figures he had been going through on the large screen of the iMac in front of him. He reached for the button on the phone and awaited his assistant's voice, something he had done all morning when the phone had beeped at him.
"Mr Malik, a Harry Styles is here for you, shall I send him in?" the young male's voice asked politely.
Zayn was about to reply with an answer, when he was cut short.
"Hello Houston, we have a Harry Styles here." Came the male in question's voice, almost unmistakable through any piece of technology.
Zayn's mind started to wonder if his voice had been that deep on the phone earlier as it sounded now, or whether that was simply the awful impression he was doing over the intercom. He could almost imagine the gangly boy craning right over the high reception desk in the most embarrassing way ever, literally arse over tit, to mumble into the intercom. The churning of his stomach disappeared as he realised what a fool the boy was.
"Show him in, Marcus." Zayn mumbled to his assistant, before his eyes wandered to the large clock on the wall to see it was literally twelve on the dot.
His hands started to organise the files of paper on his desk ready for him to resume once his hour long lunch had finished. His office door was pushed open and he glanced up from his large black folder to see his assistant walk in, introducing the boy almost warily and showing him in, before disappearing and closing the door behind him, almost as if he had heard Zayn's prayers for him too.
Harry was dressed in torn, old black jeans that seemed to cling to his legs and hips desperately, whereas a baggy white T-shirt seemed to droop off the boy's shoulder's and collar as if it were hell-bent on falling off the boy. His feet were clad in some boots, his hair a mess about his head and a large smile plastered to his face.
"Did you get it? The Houston thing? Like off the telly?" The boy immediately blabbed excitedly, before plonking himself onto one of the large white chairs opposite the dark haired male.
For a moment, Zayn was quite torn. As he looked over the boy who was now kicking his shoes off to sit cross-legged, and barefoot, on his impeccably clean white chairs, he almost lost who the boy in the photograph was. When Harry's hands leaned forward and placed a couple of large baguettes that he had obviously picked up on the way here with a toddler's proud smile, he started to wonder how the boy had quite possibly turned into such a desirable state that it had made the pit of his stomach bubble.
But then, as his hazel eyes hovered over the veins in his toned arms and biceps, he remembered the boy was a stripper. As he had half expected, the bubbling returned and he found himself trying to concentrate on what to do next.
"Well, you're not vegetarian so I brought one ham and one chicken...I didn't know what you liked better, but I'd really like to bagsie the ham one because ham is one of them foods that go so well in sandwiches." The boy started to babble, before he looked up at Zayn with an expectant smile.
Zayn simply reached for the chicken baguette as his eyes tried to trail to the locked drawer with the phone and memory stick. Maybe that should be his next move?
Before he could decide, the brunette was already exclaiming a delighted, sweet, before he grabbed the baguette and dug in, crumbs falling down himself. Once again, Zayn felt slightly contradicted and so he simply took a bite out of the baguette before he realised he hadn't even said thank you, or asked why the boy had even brought him lunch. A voice deep in his mind told him not to bother and just let it go.
The two sat in a short silence as they ate, Harry's curious green eyes roaming around the room as Zayn's simply roamed over him.
"Styles?" Zayn then heard himself ask, as he had caught up with his assistant's words.
The boy opposite simply turned to him with a small smile.
"Is that one of your weekday names?" Zayn pondered a little, the name almost seeming too perfectly concocted to belong to a ditsy boy like the one in front of him.
"...That's my actual name." The boy simply answered, his eyes looking over Zayn a little cautiously, almost putting the male on edge, before Harry simply laughed.
"Don't you believe me?" He asked once again, as Zayn merely shrugged and bit into the baguette once more.
He felt slightly inadequate for the first time since he'd met the boy, and he didn't particularly like it. He was starting to see the boy in a different light for no particular reason, bar a very dirty picture purposely sent to him, but now he had turned up with sandwiches and he just felt scatty, completely not like himself. He stayed quiet as he ate, planning on kicking the boy out as soon as he felt brave enough to speak in his presence once again, which would soon come about.
Harry Styles had pushed himself up to throw his empty sandwich wrapper into a small bin, but his bare feet carried him around the office as his green eyes hungrily took everything in. Zayn could only watch his slow plod of a walk as he tried to finish his own lunch. His eyes glanced to the drawer once again, and he knew that once the phones were swapped that Harry Styles could pop along on his way and he would once again go back to normal, and he could work.
His hands crushed together the empty packet before he reached for the drawer, turning the lock a little to release it and its contents. The sound must have caught Harry's attention as he made his way over from the corner of Zayn's eye. His hand simply brought out and went to put it down on his desk when the boy in question plopped himself down onto it, decreasing the space between them as he sat in front of him, legs swinging gently.
"There's your phone, give me mine." Zayn simply stated, before reoffering the old blackberry that belonged to Harry.
The curly haired boy giggled a little as he took his and passed Zayn his back.
"I saw you opened my picture, did you like it? I was hoping you'd open it last night, but better late than never." Harry started to speak, leaning down towards Zayn from the top of the desk he was perched on.
The cupcake personality turned into something with a much bigger kick to it in front of his eyes, as the dark haired male's chin tilted up to meet Harry's gaze, his hands fumbling with his own iPhone in his lap.
"It was inappropriate." Zayn simply spoke quietly, nodding a little as if to reaffirm his own words, to back himself up.
Another giggle slipped from the brunette's lips as he leaned down even more on the desk.
"I took a lot more for you on my phone though, I figured you'd like them." He smirked happily, his green eyes blinking in the most innocent, yet sexy way Zayn had ever seen.
He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up on their end's, and he quickly forced himself up in his seat to stand up so that the brunette was now looking up at him, the curious smile not leaving his face.
"Really not appropriate, Mr Styles, now if you're quite finished, I'd like to thank you for the lunch and get back on with my work." Zayn began to spoke.
He slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and started to head around the other side of the desk in an effort to escape the long legs of the boy that was laying on it like a mermaid. He watched in a slight horror as the brunette crawled onto the desk even more, his profession making itself known as he managed to straddle it with an excited smile while avoiding the computer and phone.
"What? I thought we would hang out more, I just want to sit and flirt! You ever had a blow job at your desk? That's hot, I bet you haven't but I bet you've wanted too!" Harry started to excitedly babble loudly, which made the male cringe eagerly and reach down to pick up the boy's shoes and hold them out to him.
"Would you please go!" Zayn hissed, as he looked over his shoulder to make sure that the door was closed.
If anyone came out at this particular moment, he could easily become dog food, and he couldn't risk that.
"B-But Zaynie," Harry started again but Zayn threw the boots next to the boy's original climb was of the desk.
Two green eyes looked up in despair as his mouth slipped into a pout. He swivelled his body gracefully so that he could slip his old boots on easily as he stood up from the desk, his shoulders slightly slumped. Zayn knew not to let the demeanour get to him though, the boy was a jack in a box and would pop up with something cringingly awful to hear at any moment.
He escorted the brunette from his office in a silence, eagerly wanting to get back to work and forget the sight of the boy straddled eagerly on the desk. There was something hanging over Zayn today, and it was definitely a curse caused by the curly haired boy next to him.
"Leaving for lunch, Mr Malik?" The assistant called when they approached the reception desk.
"No, but call Mr Styles a taxi home please, Marcus, I'm going back to those monthly figures." Zayn mumbled, and was about to stop and turn when it happened, the jack in a box moment came.
"He's leaving me to go back home alone, what's the point of an office if you can't play hooky and entertain your boyfriend every once in a while," Harry Styles burst out excitedly, grinning over to Zayn.
"He's a cleaner." Zayn deadpanned bluntly, looking to Marcus almost as if it was something the assistant's life depended on knowing.
It was something that Zayn's did.
"That's what he told my parents, he gets so shy about me." Harry giggled once more, before his arm was yanked roughly by Zayn who was dragging him across the small lobby, where they were out of sound of the assistant, who was looking on rather delirious of the new gossip that was now his to spread.
"Would you pack it in? These people can't know I was with you, I'll be well and truly fucked so I suggest you shut up and go home, Styles." Zayn hissed, his reputation getting the better of him as he started to hear all the rumours run around his mind. His hands shook a little as they removed themselves from the boy's arms.
"But Zayn," The curly haired boy tried to start but was cut off, for the first time in one of their shared conversations.
"Go home." Zayn tried to reason quietly once more, before he heard something that seemed to break the angry walls he was slowly building up around him.
"Please don't make me, let me go to yours please, I won't make a mess I promise I just really want to be with you..." The boy almost begged, his green eyes widening as they looked over Zayn's face, hope glistening.
The low, desperate tone somehow managed to win the dark haired male, and he made a point of pushing his house keys into Harry's palm.
"I get home at six, now scram." He simply hissed, before turning to return to his office, grunting to Marcus once again that the now happy brunette was most definitely a cleaner and nothing else.