CHAPTER 8:

"They don't know how special you are, they don't know what you've done to my heart." ~They Don't Know About Us, One Direction.

Tuesday, 13th August 2013

HARRY'S POV

Damn nervous. That's what I was right now. Why? 'Cos it was an hour after school, I was standing in front of a huge and fancy house with iron gates, with my book bag slung over my shoulder, waiting for someone to open said damn gates. Or more specifically, the damn gates to Zayn Malik's house.

The bastard hadn't even given me his address and I had to ask Dani to ask Liam to give it to me.

After standing there awkwardly for a few minutes, looking around, I spotted and walked closer to the intercom on the wall, pressing the button. It buzzed. Then, "Name?" A voice demanded.

"Uh, Harry Styles."

After some static, "Come in."

The doors opened and I tentatively stepped inside, expecting some huge guard dogs to sick me. My mouth was hanging open at the beauty of the estate. The amazing red brick building of the house with tall columns, the lush garden, and I was just overwhelmed with the freaking size of everything. Every single thing screamed rich. And I didn't like it one bit. I'd gladly choose the 3 room apartment I share with my mum any day.

OK, I'd choose a slightly bigger apartment but you get my point.

I rang the doorbell beside the tall wooden double doors and stepped back. "I'm coming!" A voice called from inside and seconds later, a blond woman in her late sixties opened the door. She seemed that nice grandmotherly type who you can instantly warm up to.

"Hello sweetheart! You must be Harry, yes? I'm Helen," she greeted with a Scottish accent and opened the door wider for me to step inside. Hm, so Zayn told her I'll becoming. Inside, everything was just as lavish as outside, every single thing spelling rich.

"Hi."

"You can find Zayn in his room. It's upstairs, second door to the right," she instructed with a smile and walked to the kitchen. I'm thinking she must be their maid. I was thinking that Zayn's mum would've opened the door. I wondered where his parents were.

I thanked Helen and walked up the marble staircase and it suddenly hit me. And I became nervous all over again. I'm at the guy who I have an unnaturally big crush on's house and am now going to his room. His room. I gulped. I thought we were going to study in the living room!

And I had always daydreamed that I'd get to see his house, his room, but under different circumstances. Like... When he'd bring me to his house to meet his parents... as his boyfriend. Yeah, ok. I have an active imagination.

Engrossed in my daydreams, I had reached the second door on the right which had a "Keep Out" sign attached to it. I rolled my eyes. How childish.

Music was floating out and I grimaced. Punk rock, eugh! I'm more of a classical ballads sort of guy. Yeah, I'm aware I sound even more gay right now.

I knocked on the door, ready to pound on it like a mad man to be heard over the obnoxious music but thankfully it stopped and seconds later a dishevelled and extremely sexy, sleepy Zayn peeked out from the door. I think this was the first time ever I'd seen his hair unstyled and his bed head was even sexier.

And how the hell was he asleep with all that noise?

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

I blinked. "Uh, well, I remember you told me to come an hour after school for the tutoring," I shrugged, trying to keep my wavering voice under control. He sighed and rubbed his face.

"Damn! I forgot and fell asleep." He wouldn't wake up with all that music but woke up with just a single knock? Pssh, right.

"Can't you go away?" He asked exasperatedly.

Before I would've nodded and cowered away, but I learnt this myself that the more I show that I'm nervous or weak around Zayn, the more he'll step all over me. So I try really hard to never show him I'm nervous, and it works! Like it did in the cafeteria yesterday.

He doesn't embarrass me, he teases me. Well he still embarrasses me, but I take it well now, unlike all those years ago. I don't even feel nervous around him anymore. Not as much as before, at least.

I snorted. "Buddy, I'm here for your good. Doing you a favor. I'm not here 'cos I want to," I countered coolly.

Yes I'm here 'cos I really wanted to see you and your house in a creepy slalkerish way. And to tutor you. That might be a tiny factor as well.

He raised a sexy eyebrow. "Where has this sassy Harry come from all of a sudden? I miss the stuttering Harry," he remarked with a smirk.

"Well he's long gone. 'Cos he understood that if he keeps acting scared of you, you're just gonna keep making fun of him."

"Oh? Who says I won't make fun of this Harry as well?" He challenged. I just shrugged.

"Do you want to pass the test or not?" I asked him finally.

He sighed. "Fine. No point in kicking you out." And then he left the door open behind him. I walked behind him and— oh god damn! He was freaking shirtless. Deep breaths, Harry. Deep breaths.

I'm in Zayn freaking Malik's room with him. Alone. And he's shirtless. Oh dear God give me strength.

"Make yourself at home Curly," he offered sarcastically and gestured to his room grandly. He then disappeared into what I suppose was the bathroom, hopefully to put a shirt on and end my torment.

I then pried my discreet eyes off of Zayn's back and looked around his room. Wow. It was just like the rest of the house— rich and fancy —but it had a touch of Zayn.

There was a whole wall filled with rows and rows of books (I know right?! A smart jock!) and the opposite wall was filled with CDs. Whoa. That's what I call a collection. I sure wish he'd let me borrow some of those books. And just 'cos of those damn books I think my crush just got a little more bigger if that's possible.

Then my eyes landed on a painting on the wall near the window and I got up to admire it. It was simply beautiful. Unique and mesmerizing. Dark and light. Peaceful and troubled at the same time. The painting was of a young boy.

"Come on! Let's get this stupid tutoring thing over and done with!" Zayn called out annoyingly. I sighed and got back to the couch in the corner of the room.

Thank the Lord he had put a shirt on.

~*~

Boy, Zayn really wasn't lying when he'd said he couldn't remember dates. He sucked at history. And after three hours of torturous tutoring— well I wouldn't really say torturous. I actually spent some time civilly with my enemy/crush so it wasn't all bad.

"OK, we're all done!" I sighed, slapping a hand on my thigh. "You should pass now. Hopefully."

"Hopefully? Damn Curly, I want to get at least a B! You'll never see those curls of yours again if I don't get a good grade!"

I rolled my eyes mentally. "You will don't worry. But why do you care about your grades all of a sudden?" I asked curiously. He then rolled his eyes.

"It's none of your business. But for starters, Dad won't get me a new bike if I don't get a good grade. Also, Coach won't let me play in the front line on the team. You need at least an average grade to play if you didn't know." I nodded, understanding.

"Well I better go now. And I have to come back on Thursday before the final test?" I asked.

Zayn scowled. "Yeah. Thursday. And yes, please, thank you. Go!"

I rolled my eyes and picked up my bag, stuffing my books in it. My eyes landed on that painting I saw earlier. "Hey Zayn? Where did you get that painting?"

He sneered at me. God doesn't he know how to smile?! "None of your business hipster. This—" He picked up his history book and waved it. "—was your business. You're done with your business. Now the door is that way. Kindly leave." He instructed with a sickly sweet tone and dramatically gestured with his hands to the door. I raised my hands up in surrender.

"OK, sorry! Jeez I was just asking. It's really beautiful," I murmured, looking at it again. I glanced at Zayn again and OH MY HARIBOS I'm hallucinating! Was Zayn Malik actually smiling?

Oh damn. He was. Genuinely. And he looked so damn cute!

"Thanks," he whispered, almost unconsciously.

"Oh. So you painted it?!"

He snapped out of it and realized what he said and slapped his hand on his forehead. "Damn!" He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes, frustrated.

"I painted that, OK?! Happy? Now leave. And you can tutor me at the library next time. Not here."

He didn't give me a chance to say anything and practically shoved me out the door. I stood in front of his closed door for a few seconds, blinking in surprise.

Oh God wow he painted that freakin' awesome picture that belongs in a freakin' art gallery and I'm sure he wasn't lying about it.

And I guess I saw a glimpse of the real Zayn today. The thought made me smile big. The real Zayn smiled genuinely when I complimented his painting, the real Zayn who is a damn talented artist and loves to read. And also the Zayn whom I really like.

The Zayn I'm trying to find and now I'm finally having a bit of success.

~*~

Woo! Hiii!

Early update again 'cos you gave me the required votes, comments and reads! Thank you! *bows down to all voters and readers*

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