Treading Slowly
T H E ♡ P R O L O G U E
Zayn Malik raised shaky fingers to his lips and took a long drag of his cigarette, instantly feeling the weight in his chest rolling off like water and dropping to his boots-covered feet. It was a damp, humid summer again and he found himself parked in an empty parking lot by the ocean, smoking his life away and letting his mind wander. Love had been—in the simplest of terms—absolute shit. He had a lack of better words to describe it, but nothing had ever gone the way he had wanted, he had planned. His hands curled indignantly as he pressed his back against the car door and slid down to the pavement, gentle lips parting to release a bending wave of smoke.
It fell onto two-hundred and thirty seven days since he and Perrie Edwards taken small, bit assertive steps into their relationship, tightening the emotional bonds with soft touches and hands searching for a place to call a permanent home; she looked him into his eyes with her grip on his broad shoulders, and told him she was in love . . . love? In love? Zayn had never thought of it before since they began their romantic duet. He cared for Pierre, he always pulled her to her feet in her darkest days, and even stayed up for two nights straight to watch over her when her alcohol problem went to a higher level, but never once had he stared into her eyes and thought love. I’m in love with this woman.
Needless to say, things didn’t go well when he responded with a shaky, “You’re beautiful, Perrie,” and nothing more. Blue eyes darkening, she prodded and poked for something akin to let’s get engaged, or I love you more so much more, but Zayn was tight-lipped, uncertain, shivering in the 100 degrees weather. And—just like that—she shouted, he shouted, she cried, he left. Returning to the spot he always felt he belonged, Zayn smoked bitterly on into the dark, orange evening and wished he could remain there for the rest of his life.
♡
Somewhere in between his fifth cigarette and a sleepy, night time breeze, Zayn dozed off, his phone buzzing with missed calls and messages in the leather seat of his locked car. His mind drifted to a previous, stinging world he felt he could relive over and over again. “Zayn,” a voice whispered in a thick accent against his ear. “Zayn!”
His eyelids opened quickly and he jumped from his spot on the grass [when did he get here?], alert and a little frightened. A startled laugh came from beside him; he turned his bright eyes in the direction, where Niall Horan sat—legs folded and arms behind his back—grinning like a fool at him. “Had fun sleeping, mate? You even missed the best part!”
Zayn wiped his eyes, blinded by the young boy staring into his eyes with his bright blue ones. Niall Horan was [and always had been] an incandescent angel. Every smile that spread across his soft face; every giggle, shuffle, emotion that touched every inch of his body, and sound that came from him was the best thing Zayn had ever witnessed. He didn’t realize it then, but he was in love. Desperately in love. There was a boy whom he shared every waking moment with when he was in his younger years—they held one another in their arms before they slept under stars, danced in the streets until a policeman told them they were disrupting traffic, laughed at videos of comedy movies until they were piled on top of one another, chased one another down shallow rivers and straight into the ocean, and looked at one another and knew that maybe their friendship wouldn’t last, but it didn’t matter in that very moment. Zayn didn’t see it then, but he was in love with that boy.
“What’d I miss?” Zayn asked, dazed.
Niall fell back onto the grass and threaded his fingers on top of his stomach. “All the fireflies came out and I caught, like, three in one go!” His eyes drifted back to the other boy’s. “It must’ve been a new record, or something.”
Zayn still didn’t quite know how he got there, back in a nearly forgotten memory, but he didn’t really care then. Smiling foolishly, he dropped back next to Niall and gave him a gentle, affectionate shove. “Really, mate? I hate that I missed it!”
Niall turned his head towards Zayn, eyes flickering beneath the glow of the nighttime sky. “Yeah.”
They stared at one another in wonder. Something streaked across the sky and glistened for only a few mere seconds before disappearing forever, but neither looked to see. A wind shuddered the trees and made them dance; Zayn honestly wondered if this was heaven.
“Niall—” he began, broken, determined to say what he never said then.
“Yeah?” Niall was beginning to blur. His blue irises did first, quickly followed by his lips, and then the rest of his face. Zayn shot up in the grass and reached out for the Irish boy, but never touched him, even when his fingers reached the other boy’s arm. Every color, every tree, every star in the sky spilled its colors around Zayn, and soon it became a remarkable blur of black.
“—I lov—”
Zayn Malik jerked awake. He was back against the car, curled up onto himself, pack of cigarettes resting on the pavement beside him. The ocean was now a dark, mysterious body in the distance.
Shifting, still looking lost and confused, his phone continued to buzz.
It fell onto two-hundred and thirty seven days since he and Perrie Edwards taken small, bit assertive steps into their relationship, tightening the emotional bonds with soft touches and hands searching for a place to call a permanent home; she looked him into his eyes with her grip on his broad shoulders, and told him she was in love . . . love? In love? Zayn had never thought of it before since they began their romantic duet. He cared for Pierre, he always pulled her to her feet in her darkest days, and even stayed up for two nights straight to watch over her when her alcohol problem went to a higher level, but never once had he stared into her eyes and thought love. I’m in love with this woman.
Needless to say, things didn’t go well when he responded with a shaky, “You’re beautiful, Perrie,” and nothing more. Blue eyes darkening, she prodded and poked for something akin to let’s get engaged, or I love you more so much more, but Zayn was tight-lipped, uncertain, shivering in the 100 degrees weather. And—just like that—she shouted, he shouted, she cried, he left. Returning to the spot he always felt he belonged, Zayn smoked bitterly on into the dark, orange evening and wished he could remain there for the rest of his life.
♡
Somewhere in between his fifth cigarette and a sleepy, night time breeze, Zayn dozed off, his phone buzzing with missed calls and messages in the leather seat of his locked car. His mind drifted to a previous, stinging world he felt he could relive over and over again. “Zayn,” a voice whispered in a thick accent against his ear. “Zayn!”
His eyelids opened quickly and he jumped from his spot on the grass [when did he get here?], alert and a little frightened. A startled laugh came from beside him; he turned his bright eyes in the direction, where Niall Horan sat—legs folded and arms behind his back—grinning like a fool at him. “Had fun sleeping, mate? You even missed the best part!”
Zayn wiped his eyes, blinded by the young boy staring into his eyes with his bright blue ones. Niall Horan was [and always had been] an incandescent angel. Every smile that spread across his soft face; every giggle, shuffle, emotion that touched every inch of his body, and sound that came from him was the best thing Zayn had ever witnessed. He didn’t realize it then, but he was in love. Desperately in love. There was a boy whom he shared every waking moment with when he was in his younger years—they held one another in their arms before they slept under stars, danced in the streets until a policeman told them they were disrupting traffic, laughed at videos of comedy movies until they were piled on top of one another, chased one another down shallow rivers and straight into the ocean, and looked at one another and knew that maybe their friendship wouldn’t last, but it didn’t matter in that very moment. Zayn didn’t see it then, but he was in love with that boy.
“What’d I miss?” Zayn asked, dazed.
Niall fell back onto the grass and threaded his fingers on top of his stomach. “All the fireflies came out and I caught, like, three in one go!” His eyes drifted back to the other boy’s. “It must’ve been a new record, or something.”
Zayn still didn’t quite know how he got there, back in a nearly forgotten memory, but he didn’t really care then. Smiling foolishly, he dropped back next to Niall and gave him a gentle, affectionate shove. “Really, mate? I hate that I missed it!”
Niall turned his head towards Zayn, eyes flickering beneath the glow of the nighttime sky. “Yeah.”
They stared at one another in wonder. Something streaked across the sky and glistened for only a few mere seconds before disappearing forever, but neither looked to see. A wind shuddered the trees and made them dance; Zayn honestly wondered if this was heaven.
“Niall—” he began, broken, determined to say what he never said then.
“Yeah?” Niall was beginning to blur. His blue irises did first, quickly followed by his lips, and then the rest of his face. Zayn shot up in the grass and reached out for the Irish boy, but never touched him, even when his fingers reached the other boy’s arm. Every color, every tree, every star in the sky spilled its colors around Zayn, and soon it became a remarkable blur of black.
“—I lov—”
Zayn Malik jerked awake. He was back against the car, curled up onto himself, pack of cigarettes resting on the pavement beside him. The ocean was now a dark, mysterious body in the distance.
Shifting, still looking lost and confused, his phone continued to buzz.
Any chance you'll be updating this?
2/21/14