Fake Tattoos • Ziall

Chapter 6

Niall's POV

"Long night you two?" Ms. H asked twenty minutes into the period. Neither Zayn or I had said or moved much since we came in. I decided on coming here instead of the cafeteria because it was quiet and I had a headache.

"Yeah, I went out with Zayn last night to take pictures." I told her, watching from across the table as Zayn switched markers and continued to draw on himself. Ms. H hummed in response.

It fell silent once again, the only sound was the rustling of papers or the clack of Ms. H's heels and the occasional switching of markers from Zayn. I had nothing to do and my head was pounding even worse so I laid my head on the table.

I was almost asleep when I felt a tapping on my forearm. I groaned quietly and picked my head up, meeting Zayn's curious gaze.

"Yeah?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you alright?" His voice was quiet. He tilted his head a little, like a dog.

"Just a headache, no big deal." I told him. He nodded slowly, going back to drawing.

He was up to his elbow now, creating beautiful, intricate patterns that intertwined with one another. I stared in awe as he worked, twisting his arm at odd angles to get to certain parts. Some of it looked painful, but he managed to keep drawing.

Once he was finished, the swirls and patterns were up to his mid bicep, disappearing under his sleeve to give the illusion of having a sleeve of tattoos.

He looked up at me while he put away his Sharpie's, keeping eye contact with me. I wanted to say something, anything, but his eyes rendered me speechless.

"Do you want pictures of this?" Zayn spoke softly, remembering my headache. I slowly nodded, grabbing my camera to snap a couple shots.

As I twisted and turned his arm for pictures, I felt him staring at my face. I glance up at him every so often, making eye contact. He looked confused, his eyebrows furrowed. I don't understand why, though.

"Alright, I'm done." I smiled triumphantly, "You may now have your beautiful arm back."

Zayn grunted and frowned. "No, it's not." He objected, avoiding eye contact when I stared at him.

"What?" I asked stupidly. Why would he deny that? I was just complimenting his art skills.

"Nothing." He kept his eyes cast down, unable to meet my stare. My eyebrows scrunched up in confusion but I slowly shook my head to try and drop it.

I opened my mouth to say something when the bell rang, cutting me off. Zayn shot out of his seat, slinging his bag over his shoulders and darting out of the room, not even sparing me so much as a single glance. What's his problem?

~~~

A/n: sorry it took forever and it's so short. Last update for a while tbh. Things are getting bad again, I'm really stressed out, I relapsed, and my grades are slipping. So I'm going to be taking a small hiatus. It may just be for a week or two, a month or two, I don't know. I'm sorry everyone. I love you all, stay weird. Xxx