(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
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"Sweet creature...wherever I go...when I run out of road...you bring me home."
Harry | Sweet Creature
Noon arrived the following day, and I pulled over on a road somewhere northeast of Bel-Air to read his latest text. There was a change of plans. He had arrived early to the place he'd chosen for discretion, yet was instantly recognized by the staff. He grabbed the coffee anyway, and now wanted to meet at his place instead to ensure privacy. Moments later, he sent over the lower Bel Air Roscomare address, and I felt sick. It was happening. He was unstoppable. I was falling into him again, and he was dragging me feet-first directly to his lair.
Although the meeting was purely platonic, I felt unnerved, as if it were a first date with a stranger, or the first time visiting a new friend's house in school. The sort of occasion where you anticipated the way things would play out, moment by moment, until you were assaulted by so many converging possibilities you felt dizzy. Would the house rise-up to judge you? Would it make you feel inferior for having different customs? Lesser decor? Would they have a more sophisticated way of living? Were they more cultured?
In many ways, venturing to a stranger's place tended to result in a commentary on your own (with the boundless comparisons and self-consciousness it was sure to evoke). I had to prepare myself for the sights, smells, and inner workings of an alien domain. A new Malik residence, entirely foreign to me. My stomach did flips at the mere thought. Meanwhile he would be at ease, rendering me more awkward and desperate to belong. All I could think was, What if his friends were there? Normally that wouldn't present an issue, because I was highly sociable and got along well with strangers of diverse backgrounds, but something about the idea of his friends daunted me in ways I couldn't define.
Worse yet, what if SHE was there? What if I saw her things strewn about? I might feel sick then (more than I already did) and might have to leave abruptly. Then he would be off-put by how cringy I was, and then we may never speak again. He might come to realize that, in truth, he was much better off without me. With a growl, I leapt out of my head, swallowed my reservations, and simply replied OK to his text. For him, I'd go anywhere and endure anything. I just needed to shut the f—k up about it already.
For a change, I was alone and doing all the driving, so I plugged the address into my navigation and allowed the robotic voice to guide me to either my salvation or my damnation (I wasn't sure yet.) Now he was twenty minutes away, and it took me a mere fifteen to get to him, based on the way I drove (like my life depended on it).
Roscomare was a quiet, heavily wooded street with two inactive lanes. The properties were steep, many of them hedged about so deeply that you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Zayn's place was just so, lost among deep shadows and hillsides and great neighboring facades.
Located hundreds of yards down a private drive—the approaches were locked behind a tall, white gate; more like a wall. If it weren't for the GPS, I would have missed it nine times out of ten because it was just that shrouded. I deduced he must have a hell of a time finding it at night. Before long, I turned near a post which displayed the address in white letters, and stopped near the intercom.
"Yeah?" he answered, once I buzzed.
"Z? Hey, guy...it's me." There was a pause and a bit of interference in the speaker. Then a broken,
"H-hey, Haz—g-glad you made it. Youh alright? —come on in—"
"Ok, will do. See ya soon."
"In a bit—" There was a remote cranking, then the gate parted and revealed several hundred more feet of sequestered pavement. No house in sight; just a long, private driveway flanked with so many hedges it looked like a tunnel.
Like me, he was dwarfed by palatial homes on all sides—many upward of 20,000 square feet and priced upward of 10 million. They weren't livable. They were the esteemed handiworks of fervid developers—more so statements of capital and architectural flair than they were actual homes. No one could really feel at home in those cold, outsized labyrinths. Not even if you had a dozen children to fill them all.
When I got out of the car, Z took a moment to marvel at the model (a black Audi R8 coupe), then set the drinks on the hood and hugged me. He was still warm and lean from last night, but this time I got to touch bare flesh and nearly lifted him off his feet in a violent squeeze.
"Heyyy..." he breathed softly, allowing me to crush him as long as I wanted; wrapping his arms tighter around my neck. It reminded me of 2014; the nights when he would just cling to me whenever I came to his room after a show. Now I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder and huffed; meditating on his realness. On the smell of smoke dancing about his favorite Gucci fragrance.
"Stylerrr..." he whispered, so tenderly that my breath hitched.
"I missed you." I murmured, clinging.
"Youh too...so much."
When I pulled away, he ran his hands down my arms and absently clasped one of my hands; clinging to my fingers until the last possible second. It made me feel faint. Finally he took my glasses off to see my eyes—squinting up at me through the sun. His quiff was a pale, faded pink, laying in loose waves which he flicked to the side in order to see me clearly.
"I thought you'd never get here," he grinned.
"Good thing I floored it."
"Gud. Got this for ya. Cheeky little coffee," he muttered (as if he just remembered) reaching back for the drink.
"Ugh caffeine! Awesome, mate, thanks. I needed it..." I hung my glasses on the front of my shirt and accepted the cup.
"Is it alright?" he asked. I took a sip and went ahhh for his benefit.
"It's perfect, actually. You remembered?"
"Yep," he laughed.
"How's things?"
"All gud, broh, yeah. Youh?"
"M'alright. Change of plans, huh?"
"Ugh, it was nuts. The minute I walked in they were just shocked. Like...they went 'Zen, Zen!'" he snickered. I was always amused by the way he pronounced his own name. "M'not complainin' or anythin'...I'm just like, sh-t, now we're f—ked. Do y'know what I mean? Can't do it here. Won't work," he shook his head with a grin. "That's when I text'd ya."
"Sh-t...yeah, well...there's not really many places we could, uh, go and not be spotted, y'know? Not in LA anyway."
"True, true," he nodded, eyeing me tenderly, placing a hand along his brow to shade the direct sunlight. "Youh look really gud."
"So do you." I inclined my head, registering the details of his outfit again. He smirked and kicked at my tire with a faultless boot.
"Still with a different ride every time I see youh, yeah? How's that garage lookin' anyweh?" We laughed a bit. I held up a hand, as if in confession.
"I'm gonna be honest, mate, it's a bit out of hand now."
"Oh yeah?!"
"My dad's upset, since the cars only depreciate."
"He's right though. Broh, youh change cars like some girl's change bags! What do youh call dem things? Purses or whateva..."
"Sh-t, mate..." I laughed. "But, this is true." Seeing how well he still knew me made me feel flush all over. I took my hat off and ruffled my hair before setting it back in place. "I think I'm just gonna buy more houses, right? That'll help! Those'll appreciate, right? If I look after them, proper?"
"And they'll store everythin', yeah? Brilliant. That'll do!" he chuckled and shook his head. "C'mon in." He led me between two oversized urns and into the main lounge. He forgot his coffee on the hood, but I had grabbed it, and sipped mine along the way. Out of respect for the polished concrete floor that stretched before me (in utter resplendence), I kicked my boots off. When he spotted it, he said there was no need, but I did it anyway.
"Want some slippers or sumthin'?"
"Thanks, I'm good."
"Just mind your step, alright?"
"Will do." He didn't want me to slip. He hadn't changed a bit. I grew warm remembering how he was always the first person to run to me whenever I fell onstage in his vicinity.
As I stood and registered the living room, nothing seemed intimidating anymore. Nothing even felt unfamiliar. I got an overwhelming sensation that I'd been there before; and instead of ridiculing me, everything welcomed me with a resounding Zayn-ness. The decor was minimalist to the point of being bare—almost boring. Except for the rooms that he took extra pains to dedicate his energy to; like the master suite and sound studio.
"Mate, this place is sick. Cheers!"
"Youh think soh?"
"F--k yeah. I love it!"
"Thanks, broh." He grinned, ducking his head. "It took sum gettin' used to..."
"What's not to like? And it's nothing like the place in London, from what I can see."
"Noh, not at all. And nothin' like me Mum's either. It's just a different vibe here, y'know?"
Right away I noticed we were completely alone. That took a load off. I didn't have to acquaint myself with new faces, or be concerned with them watching me and interpreting my body language—or questioning my intentions with their beloved Zayn.
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