Even when I lose I'm winning \ Ziam

Day one

“Zayn. Zayn, love.”

“Piss off.”

“Zayn Malik, don’t you tell your mother to piss off!”

“It’s four am!” Zayn whines, burrowing his face into the pillow. “Nothing is worth getting up at this time for!”

“You’ve made that clear in the past, love.”

“Mum, let me sleep!”

“Well then, you can be the one to explain to Danny and Ant why you missed your flight,” his mother huffs, trying and failing once again to yank the duvet off him. “Zayn. Now!”

“This holiday was a stupid idea,” Zayn grumbles as he rubs at his eyes. “I don’t understand why we had to book a flight for half seven in the morning.”

“Because I’m paying half, that’s why,” Trisha snaps, throwing Zayn’s towel at him. “Now shower and get dressed. I’ll make you some toast.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he mumbles, reluctantly sliding out from under the duvet and clicking his back. “Be down in ten.”

Twenty minutes later he finds himself in a taxi with his two best friends (who won’t stop singing despite the fact that it’s fuckface o’clock in the morning) and he’s already one hundred percent done with the idea of a lads’ holiday.

“Ayia, Ayia, Ayia fookin’ Napa!” Danny screeches right in Zayn’s ear, making him jump. “Oh, cheer the fuck up, Malik, we’ve got ten days in sexy sunny paradise to look forward to.”

“Think of all the girls in bikinis,” Ant says gleefully on his other side. “How easy they’ll all be after six shots of tequila.”

“You’re both disgusting,” Zayn hisses.

“Ah, yes, I always forget your little penchant for cock,” Ant says, pulling him into a headlock. “We’ll go gay clubbing at least one of the nights if that’s what you want, bebz.”

“I’ve never snogged a guy before. Might be a nice little holiday experiment,” Danny puts in, nudging Zayn playfully in the ribs.

“Please. Stop talking,” Zayn groans, already wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea. Ten days he has of this. He’s already had enough after half an hour.

They arrive at Manchester airport and check themselves in before Danny insists they have their first pint to soften Zayn’s first flight nerves. They settle for a pokey Wetherspoons and Zayn orders a stiff drink and a plate of eggs on toast.

They’re just paying for their orders when they hear a lot of shouting and a large group of people are suddenly hurrying through towards their gate. A few seconds later a string of paps are seen following them, the shouting getting louder as they snap photo after photo of, to what Zayn can see, just four teenage boys walking.

“Who’s that?” Danny asks, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of their faces.

“Looks like that boyband,” Ant says. “What are they called, First Direction?”

“One Direction,” the bartender corrects, sidling over to them. “Got teenage girls swooning left, right and centre. My little girl has a big thing for the one called Liam.”

“Which one’s he?”

“The taller one, not the one with the curls but with the almost Mohawk. Think he’s wearing a snapback now, mind.”

Zayn’s eyes follow the group, his eyes settling on the one he assumes is Liam. He’s tall and broad, a red snapback resting on his head and a black vest leaving very little to the imagination covering his lean body. He definitely doesn’t lick his lips.