CHAPTER 221: CHAPTER 221: OUR HOME, NOT JUST MY HOUSE

~Evric’s POV~

Zayn stopped, his back ramrod straight, and slowly turned around. "Oh, I forget," he said, the sweetness of his jealousy turning to genuine fury. "Then I’m packing out!"

I stared at him, genuinely shocked. This wasn’t just playful anger; he meant it.

Zayn didn’t wait for me to process the shock. He spun around and stormed toward the large walk-in closet where our clothes were kept, immediately pulling out a duffel bag and starting to pack his things.

I ran a hand through my hair, following him quickly. "Babe, what is going on?" I asked gently.

"Don’t you get it?" Zayn snapped, tossing a shirt into the bag. "You don’t keep your promise."

I reached out and tried to take his hand, pulling him back toward the bedroom. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry."

But Zayn snatched his hand away in a fit of cute, desperate pique and tried to march past me, heading back for the bedroom door.

"Zayn, stop!" I shouted, the word cutting through the space between us.

He shouted back, his voice thick with emotion. "Don’t you dare shout at me! You can’t even keep a promise and you dare shout at me?" He tried to open the door again.

I took two quick strides and blocked the door, cutting off his escape. "Don’t leave the room. I’m sorry for leaving only you alone in this house."

"Yes, you left me alone!" Zayn cried. "Nobody to talk to, nobody to praise me while I was cooking alone in the kitchen! I was doing everything on my own, is that right?" he asked me, his eyes wide and accusing.

"No," I answered immediately. "It’s not right."

"You promised to be back early," he continued, the hurt pouring out. "And you went drinking with a friend and forgot I was here! You proved to me you can leave me alone just fine!"

"I’m very sorry, okay? Such will never happen again," I pleaded. I gently caught his hand, bringing it to my lips. "Please forgive me, baby."

He pulled his hand back slightly. "Forgive you for what?"

My voice was soft, laced with genuine remorse. "I was an idiot. I was tired, and seeing my friend felt like a break, but I completely forgot the time. It was a stupid, selfish mistake, and I regret it. I never, ever forgot about you, my mind was on you the whole time, that’s why I was checking in, even if it was just three texts."

"You felt relaxed with your friend," Zayn muttered, avoiding my gaze. "That’s not me."

"I’m sorry, babe. You are the only thing that matters, Zayn. I swear it won’t happen again. I won’t go out without telling you, and I will be home when I say I will."

He finally looked at me, his expression softening slightly. "I was waiting for you all day. Because I was missing you."

"I’m sorry. I miss you more." I pulled him into my chest, holding him tight. "Please don’t talk about packing out. You are not a guest, and this is not just my house—it’s our home. I need you here. I need to be able to wake up and see you, or the entire day is pointless. I am begging you, baby. Don’t leave me."

Zayn was quiet for a moment, completely softened by my apology and my fear. Then, like a child still trying to enforce punishment, he pushed me away. He walked over to the closet, retrieved a blanket and sheet, and meticulously placed them on the floor beside the bed. I watched him walk back to the bed, climb in, and then with a huff, he threw a large pillow from the bed onto the floor as well.

"Babe, what does this mean?" I asked, completely baffled.

"Sleep on the floor," Zayn replied, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"Stop asking me questions!" he snapped. "If you want me to come and sleep on the floor, I will sleep on the floor, and you can take the bed since it’s your house." He made a move to stand up and join the makeshift bedding.

"No, no, stop!" I immediately raised my hands in surrender. "I will sleep on the floor!"

Zayn sighed and finally lay down on the bed, pulling the duvet over himself. He turned his face toward me just before settling in. "Make sure you went to eat that food I prepared for you," he commanded sternly. "Don’t waste my food." With that, he covered his head with the duvet and closed his eyes.

I couldn’t help but smile. This cute, annoying side of Zayn’s told me he was already forgiving me.

I kissed his cheek, then quietly left the room. I went downstairs and sat at the dining table, gratefully eating the food Zayn had prepared. It was delicious, of course, his cooking always was, even when he was mad at me.

After eating, I went back upstairs, took a quick shower, and changed into my nightwear. I returned to the bedroom. Zayn was already a motionless bump under the duvet, the pillow and blanket neatly arranged on the floor beside the bed, waiting for me. I dared not disobey or retreat to another room; that would only escalate the punishment.

I carefully lay down on the floor. I tossed from side to side for a while, the soft carpet a poor substitute for our mattress, but eventually, exhaustion and the sheer relief of being forgiven took over, and I fell asleep.

I woke sometime in the middle of the night, not to noise, but to a gentle warmth settling beside me.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, immediately recognizing the soft touch. Zayn had joined me on the floor. He was playing with my lips, brushing them gently with his fingertip. I remained perfectly still, pretending to be deep asleep.

Then, I heard his quiet, almost silent whisper: "Bad boyfriend. He can’t even keep a promise."

He pressed a simple, warm kiss onto my mouth. A moment later, I felt him shift and curl up completely, slipping his arms under my neck and nestling into my chest. He was now sleeping soundly in my arms on the floor.

I finally opened my eyes. I gently brushed Zayn’s hair back from his forehead and pressed a kiss there. "I love you, big head," I whispered, a private, loving tease. Then I wrapped my hand securely around his waist, pulling him tighter.

And together, we both slept soundly on the floor of our bedroom.

I woke up the next morning feeling the unfamiliar hardness of the floor beneath me, but the warmth of Zayn wrapped in my arms made it the best bed in the world. I looked down at his peaceful face, still nestled into my chest, and smiled. I lowered my head and kissed his forehead.

"Good morning, babe," I whispered.

Zayn mumbled something unintelligible. His hand moved around, searching, until his fingers brushed against my growing morning erection. He instantly snapped his eyes open.

I immediately apologized. "I am so sorry about last night," I said, my voice husky with genuine regret. I kissed him, trying to erase the memory of the floor fight and the fear it caused. "Now, get up."

"Why?" Zayn asked, still half-asleep.

"We are going out today. Follow me out."

"What about the public?" he asked, his anxiety immediately returning.

"It’s fine, baby. They don’t know your face," I reasoned, rubbing his arm. "Your face hasn’t been plastered everywhere. And just because there’s a rumor I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t have a male friend. You can be my business partner, my childhood friend, or even my distant cousin I’m showing the city. We are not hiding today. We are going to live our lives."

I looked him in the eye, needing him to agree. "Let’s go out together, okay?"

Zayn looked hesitant for a moment, then the need to defy the invisible pressure, and the excitement of spending the day with me—won out. "Okay," he nodded.