Dirty Imagines

Zayn Malik *Homeless Fic*

I've decided to make a Homeles Fic for the rest of the boys as well... ;)

Zayn Malik          *Homeless Fic*

You walked down the sidewalk in the city of New York wearing a large brown over coat, sweater, skinny jeans, and boots. Snow crunched underneath the soles of your boots and your breath could easily be seen in front of your face coming out of your mouth in white puffs. It was rather busy out as people rushed to and fro trying to make it to their loved ones in time for midnight. Yes, it was that time of year again: New Years. Your best friend, (y/bf/n), had invited you to her get together but you simply weren't in the mood. You were an author and your deadline was in just a couple of weeks, but you still hadn't written anything down yet. You give out a slow frustrated sigh and shook your head, "Fucking writer's block." You mutter as you continue your way down the street.

As you approached the four star hotel you'd be staying at, you noticed that the streets were becoming less and less crowded. 'Thank fucking God!' You think to yourself and stretch your arms over your head. It's not that you were claustrophobic or didn't like other people, you just weren't able to move your arms very well without someone elbowing you in the ribs.

The vibration of your phone in your back pocket grabs your attention and you pulled out. As you approached a small shelter you stop walking and answer her/his call. "Hello?" You ask in a tiresome yet joyful voice.

"Are you seriously not coming, (y/n)?" (y/bf/n) asked you, he/she sounded somewhat saddened.

You inwardly groan and nod your head, "Yeah, sorry, I have a deadline and if I don't meet it, I don't get paid, and then how am I going to afford that amazing trip I have planned for your birthday?"

"You have a trip planned?! Holy shit! You take all of the time you need, (y/n), I won't judge!"

You let out a laugh and are about to respond when the sound of a door opening caught your attention. You looked ahead and saw that the shelter door had been opened and a man about a year or two older than yourself had stepped out. He had dark brown--almost black--hair that was slightly tousled. His skin had a slight tan and even though he wore torn and old clothes, he still looked very fine. A woman than stepped out from the door as well, "I'm sorry, we just don't have enough room for anyone else. Why don't you go and spend time with your family?"

You and the woman both wait for his reply. "I-I . . . they don't want me anymore..." His accent is what gets to you the most--British.

Tears welled up in your eyes and you shakily say to your friend, "I have to go." You hang up and approach the man as the woman stepped inside once more and closed the door behind her. The man stood in front of the door, arms slack against his sides, and his head bowed in shame. You reach out once you're close enough and gently rest your hand against shoulder. His head slowly looks at you and you offer a friendly smile, "Hey, I couldn't help but over hear your conversation with that woman, and I just wanted to let you know that you can stay with me if you need a place."

His eyes held hope and gave you a kind smile, "Really? You'll let me stay with you? But, I'm a dirty bum."

"You're still a person," You reply, "And I don't think anyone should be alone on this day." You smile at him and patiently wait for his answer. When he nods his head your smile only grows and you outstretch your hand for him to take, "I'm (y/f/n)."

"Zayn Malik," He replies, "Aren't you an author?"

A blush stains your cheeks, "You know who I am?"

Zayn nods his head, "I hang around the library sometimes and read. Your books are quite magnificent,"

You give him another smile and then lead him to the side of the road where you hail down a taxi. You open the door for Zayn but he shakes head and motions for you to step inside before he does, "A lady as beautiful as yourself should always be treated kindly." You thanked him and once you were both inside of the taxi you told the driver what hotel you were staying at and he was quick to get you there. It took a while but you managed to make small talk with Zayn on the way there. You had found out that he was twenty-years-old, wanted to be a painter, and that his dad kicked him out because he thought he was useless--his mother hadn't even done anything to help him. Zayn was more than surprised when tears started dribbling down your cheeks when he told you about why he had been kicked out. You sniffled and gave him a small smile as you thought to yourself, 'I just found my muse!'