Escapade » z.m

64. I Start Screaming At Four A.M.

Lucas opens the door of the dorm after the tenth knock. His eyes are an abyss, out of which lasers seem to be coming out. If only lasers did come out of your eyeballs. It could have been cool, but no one gets to see what could have been.

The truth is, he doesn’t need lasers to kill Zayn. He can do that by his bare hands and the toothbrush he’s holding. He has fantasised about impaling him in grave detail in the last thirty minutes. But, standing in the doorway with windswept face, a bright red nose, and eyes that are swimming with unshed tears and outraged, Zayn himself looks like he would commit his own murder. So, out of sheer pity, and, of course, the very big, gigantic heart he owns, Lucas gives a rain check on all his fantasies.

“So?” Lucas asks as Zayn slides in with a loud sniff, but doesn't get a reply. Zayn's glasses are fogged, his hair half tied and pushed back with a headband. He doesn't clean his glasses before abandoning them on the strewn desk, empties his jacket of the pen drive, keys, some torn sheets and goes to sit on his bed. Another sniff, and then the only noise in the dorm is the clattering of Zayn's teeth as he stares at the door wistfully.

Lucas sighs and leaves him to it. He goes in the bathroom to keep his toothbrush, washes his face one more time to get rid of the sleep, and walks out rubbing his face with the towel.

Zayn is standing near the window with a blanket wrapped over his head and shoulders, trying to light a match to turn on the stove. The kettle is already kept on it. The curtains are still drawn, the sun hasn't risen over the horizon yet.

"I told you the burner would come in handy. You said it was a lousy investment but I say I'm a psychic." Lucas quips, drying his hands. "Did you find it then? Any leads?"

Zayn spins on his heels, jaw clenched. The steam from the kettle billows behind him. "Does it look like I have any leads?"

“Wow, look at that attitude at four in the morning.” Lucas rolls his eyes, hanging the towel on the chair to dry.

"It's five." Zayn replies, turning back to the stove. He takes off the lid of the kettle and stirs, "And I’m not going to listen to you lecture me about work ethics or sportsmanship or whatever the heck you’ve-"

“Isn’t that amazing, taking out all the anger on me." Lucas interjects, turning the plastic chair around and sitting. "Its almost like all of this is my fault." He says indifferently. "I’m the one who went and punched Mitchell in his face, I’m the one who wrote my entire dissertation on an old crappy computer. I’m the one who woke me up at four, screaming about screwing up my scholarship. Which, by the way, was already going to be cancelled if Every hadn’t interfered. Be thankful this isn’t your present and just a future possibility." He finishes, emphasising his last words. Zayn turns around with two mugs in his hand, face grave and mouth pursed in a thin line, the blanket is still draped over his head. The light in the dorm is dim, and with half his face shadowed, Lucas looks a little threatening.

"Maybe you can talk to Professor Redon, get some extension on the deadline," Lucas provides as Zayn hands him the steaming mug of coffee. "But we all know how much he hates late submission, and I doubt you’d be able to do the entire dissertation again in two weeks. Its hopeless. I say give up."

"Oh wow, Luke, aren’t you just an angel," Zayn sings, sitting heavily on his bed. "Solving all of my problems with a swish of your wand. So sweet of you. What can I do to return this favour, a dance together at the Yule ball, maybe?" He adds, offering his own mug to Lucas with an impish smile.

Lucas rolls his eyes again. "Fuck off."

Zayn laughs despite himself, "I can see your girlfriend’s vocabulary is rubbing off on you." He says, blowing on his coffee. He takes a sip, flinches, his tongue slightly burnt, and straightens. "Uhm, what did you say before the deadline thing?"