He stared at the coffee machine, fist clenched around the small paper cup in his hand. It was almost crushed yet he was about a hair's width away from actually succeeding in crushing it. His next resort was to press the button once more, waiting for the steaming liquid to come out yet nothing happened. Of-fucking-course.
"Work you stupid piece of machinery." He mutters, tapping his finger along the frail cup – the wrinkles around the rim were increasing, ripping almost yet he couldn't find himself to care.
A breath is sucked in and he politely presses the knob, hoping that the new outlook of his attitude somehow translates to the machine holding the most important part of his day; the morning coffee.
He tilts his head to the side, shuffling about – grunting every couple of seconds in major aggression and annoyance.
"Dear God, what did I ever do to deserve this?" He whispers to himself, bridge of his nose pinched tightly between two fingers. Then, the button gets pressed again. No response.
"Fuck you then." He growls to the machine, ripping the flimsy paper cup in half, going to turn around yet is faced with his smirking best friend.
"Let's get you a coffee then." He grins, brushing past the Bradford native to the machine. He simply taps the silver with a tight fist – almost knocking. Then, a thin trail of pure black coffee comes spilling out and into the tray to catch it. "Do you pay attention to any of the notices?" He chuckles, grabbing a cardboard cup from the neatly stacked pile, wavering it underneath the falling substance, filling it to the brim.
"What notices?" He scoffs.
"There and there." He points out toward the two laminated papers with the words 'Tap coffee machine a couple of times for usage. It will be repaired in the next couple of days'.
"So we're the highest funded government facility in England and we can't afford a proper coffee machine?" He breathes slowly, grabbing the freshly poured coffee off his best friend – who was still amused at the little melt-down.
"That's how it works, Malik." He grins, slinging his bag up – the two of them walking toward the hallway.
"How was your night?" Zayn resorts into sighing, his head bowed.
"I had to do some filing... yet I got side-tracked." He replies, lips carefully moving.
"Booze?" The raven-haired bloke questions, lip bitten.
"Yes, but that's not what side-tracked me." His best friend chuckles about, shaking his head as they enter the elevator.
"Then what was it?"
"New neighbour." He responds, wetting his lips as Zayn leans forward and presses for floor 5.
"Ah... You're of the official welcoming committee." He rolls his eyes and leans up against the grey-ish stone panel wall, flicking his hair up.
YOU ARE READING
The Assassin And The Agent - Ziall Horlik
Random"Don't think I don't know you Niall." He gazes fondly. "Think? There's no such thing as that." Or where Zayn's next mission is to take down the mysterious blonde florist whose far too sweet to even be thought of in the light Zayn's agency is castin...
