Harry
"Zayn?!"
I was completely surprised when, in front of the open door, a male figure clings to the door frame on wobbly legs.
"Harry," babbles a visibly drunk Zayn.
His upper body bends forward. He seems to fall into the house at any moment.
The otherwise perfectly dressed Pakistani looks very deranged. His trousers are dirty, his shirt partly hangs out of his trousers, some buttons are missing and his black, thick hair is tousled.
"Darling!" calls Gigi relieved and storms into his arms.
"What were you doing? Where have you been?", she bombards the poor, drunk guy.
He looks with glassy eyes at his hysterical wife, rolls his eyes and looks through her as if she were not present.
"Iii dddon't wwwant ttto tttalk ttto yyyou. Iii juust wwwant to talk to my fffriend Hhharry," he whines and tries to reach for my hand.
"Zayn"! What are you talking about?" the blonde screams indignantly.
"Nnno, Haarreeeh...Iii wwant tto ttalk tto Harry. Ggooo aaway," he replies in a harsh voice.
So that the situation doesn't escalate, I try to reassure his wife, who is now completely out of control. Taylor comes along and puts her arm around the young woman to calm her down. Zayn clings to the door handle and shifts his entire weight forward.
"Gigi, let me talk to him. Go back to the living room for a moment. I'll take care of him. Please,' I say to her and gently push her out of the hallway. Her blue eyes look uncomprehending.
"What? No way. What's all the fuss about you and Zayn," she angrily nagged.
"I want to know where he was and why he turns up at your place, of all places!"
"Gigi, please," my wife interferes now. "Let him talk to Harry. Let's hear what he's got to say."
I breathe a sigh of relief. Angry women like Gigi are really tiring. I think.
Zayn is now standing in our hallway, tugging the clothes hook and I have the feeling that the wall is about to collapse.
"What is the matter with you?"
My neighbour clings on to me, buries his face in my neck and I smell the alcohol.
"Zee, let me go," I ask him.
"Hhhaarryyy, yyou...yyou". He doesn't bring out a sensible word, but he tries to concentrate on it desperately.
"Where have you been?" I finally want to know.
I mean, it's almost three in the morning, I'm actually dog-tired and have to deal with a drunken Zayn and his hysterical wife. What could be more depressing?
"Ohhh, Hhharry... yyou looook so beautiful. Youour hair," he whispers confusedly, grabbing at my hair.
"Zayn, don't do that."
"Where were you tonight?" I repeat my question.
"Iii dooon't kknow," he says, looking with puppy eyes.
"You don't know?"
I am horrified. He can't remember anything?
"What does that mean, you don't know?"
"Huh? Ii wwas on the wway, Ii guess," he mumbles and tilts his head to the side.
"On the way, then. Well, that's what I'm assuming. Zayn, you have some nerves!
"Ddoo you rremember the ppub? Ii wwas there."
This dreamboat sits in front of me, his head tilted to the side and grins mischievously. My goodness, if he didn't smell so bad, I could smooch him. He's just too cute.
"How many drinks have you had, Zayn?"
"One drink, Haaarrreehhh. I hhad a glass of bbeer," he babbles and shows with his thumb and index finger the amount of alcohol he consumed. The whole behaviour of him makes me less and less angry. On the contrary, it's ravishing.
"Zee," I say gently and hold him, because his body keeps falling forward.
"Reallyyy, I only had oooone beer. I ssswear," he answers happily.
"All right, all right. I get it."
"You were nooot there. Yyou left mmme aalone. You aare mmean to mme!", he describes the cause of his condition.
"Yes, yes, blame me for the boozing," I say.
I'm actually shocked. Just when I look at his outward appearance . Now he tries to stand up, but staggers back and forth. He presses both hands against the wall.
"You ddon't wwant me," he complains.
"Zayn, sshh, you need to lower your voice." I murmur. "Gigi and Taylor are in the living room."
Exhausted, he falls over and clings on to me. He could not stand on his feet anymore. For minutes we lie (involuntarily) in each other's arms. I missed him so much.
"Baby, come here." I embrace Zayn tenderly. "I got you, Zee. Calm down. When you're sober tomorrow, we'll talk in peace. Okay?", I'll whisper in his ear.
Zayn nods eagerly like a toddler and still won't let me go.
"Ii ddon't wwant tto ggo. Ii wwant to sstay hhere - ffoorever," he shouts.
"Baby, you need to rest, sleep it off."
"Ii wwant to bbe hhere wwith you. iI wwant to sleeep nnext to you..." he demands.
"Zayn, you know very well that this is not possible. How am I supposed to explain that to my wife, huh? You belong at Gigi's side. She almost died of fear."
"Nooo...I stay heeere with my huusband", he defiantly replies.
Pouting he crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking with big eyes. Tenderly I kiss him on the tip of his nose. The Pakistani immediately takes it as an invitation to more tenderness and presses his full mouth onto mine.
"Zaayynn." I mumble. "Please, you are so drunk and smell terribly. I can smell the booze seeping out of your pores right now.
"Bbut I wwant to kiss you," he says and caresses my face. "Juust a little kiiss."
Despite the stench, I give in and kiss him. This little kiss develops into a passionate smooching. If I don't interrupt it in time, it gets out of control. Our longing is so great. I can't keep my feelings in check.
"Zee," I mumble, pushing his hands away, which are already wandering under my shirt.
"Bbaby, I wwant you," he moans and I feel his hands on my skin again.
"That doesn't work and you know it very well. We are not alone and I don't want to take advantage of your helplessness. You can't even think clearly," I answer.
My ( ex?) lover completely ignores my concerns. Again and again he pulls me greedily to himself and his fingers stroke over my chest. We are excited. The lower abdomens rub against each other violently. Zayn kisses me with so much passion that I'm ready to tear all our clothes off. We need a break - before we completely lose control.
"Stop it, Zayn!" I yell. He won't listen to me.
"I said stop it, Zayn!"
"Mmmmhhh...I don't wwant to. I wwant you," he gasps.
"No, listen to me," I speak in a loud voice. "We have to be reasonable."
"I ddon't want to. I want sssex," he just bursts out and reaches into my pants.
"Ohh, I am sure you want sex. But we might have to sort out where you've been tonight first", I laugh and push him away from me.
My eyes wander over his clothes. He couldn't possibly have just been in the pub."
"I wwent with a wwonderful wwoman," he slurred.
"What are you talking about? You hooked up with a woman?"
My stomach turns in just one second and I'm about to throw up. I was prepared for everything, but not for cheating. My voice trembles and I am stunned.
"No, no, no...sshe hhhooked up with mme," he replies laughing.
That ruined my good mood.. What's the difference? He simply goes along with a woman who is completely strange to him?
"Did you two... uh... have sex?" I ask carefully.
Actually, I don't want to know the answer, because it could hurt.
"Wwwhat ...no...we just kkkissed," he says.
My heart's back to normal. Nevertheless I have a bad feeling. What did he finally get of the night at all? Who was that woman and did they really only kiss? His ripped clothes tell a different story.
Zayn clings on to me like a koala and I feel his hands all over me. I am turned on by the thought of having sex with him - despite his condition. Meanwhile my sensitive part of the body is in his hands and makes me moan loudly. At the same time his lower abdomen rubs against me and brings Zayn into ecstasy.
"Baby, we should stop." I'm panting in his crook of his neck.
"Bbut I don't wwant to," he moans and knows no mercy.
If we don't stop now, I have an orgasm with a drunk in my hallway and two waiting women next door. Holy Christ! That is awesome. The depressing farewell in his apartment is completely forgotten.
"That's enough, Zayn." I say loud and clear. "You go to bed now, sleep it off and shower properly tomorrow and then we talk. That's it!"
"Bbut I'll sstay here," he sulks again and cleverly tries to place his hands on my butt.
"I'm warning you, Zee. Get your hands off me," I yell at him.
"I'm nnot ggoing wwith Ggigi. I'll sstay wwith you and ssleep in your bbed. You aare mmy hhusband. Tthat's the wway it hhas to bbe.
"Zayn, you sit here now. I'll get you a painkiller."
With these words I run into the bathroom. When I walk back into the hallway a little later, this wonderful painter is lying on the floor, curled up like a baby and sleeping.