Soft Spot (Zayn Malik)

XIII

Chapter Thirteen: Lord Ass

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 Rosewood is pretty. Fairly pretty. With the thin layer of February snow on the ground and little squirrels peeking their heads out of tree holes. The rivers are melting and the weather has been above sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Little islands of grasses have been sprinkled on each street, topped with little weeds and dandelions. It's also been proper to wear cardigans and not much on heavy coats and beanies, which makes everything a lot exciting for spring to come. We might just have a pretty spring this year, with actual warm weather and birds flying and grasses greener than ever. Times like these are when I appreciate Rosewood the most. Usually, in England, it takes until April or May for everything to calm down. It should've been still cold now, which is exactly why I'm surprised that it rained on our dance. It could've snowed, but instead, it rained. Another surprising thing is the fact that I've been able to wear dresses and shorts without having goosebumps all over my legs. Guess there really are a lot of turns of events this year, not just in Rosewood High, but also in the city Rosewood.

We left Woodbury half an hour ago and we're just driving around, constantly chitchatting about the randomest of things. We talked about the weather and how surprised we were that it's been warm, when it's usually freezing cold in February. Then we talked about the parks. He told me that his favorite park in Rosewood has always been Everett Park. He said every time he visited Rosewood from Bradford, him and Niall would immediately go to Everett Park. Whether it be to play football or basketball or just chat on the swings, they're always there. My favorite park would be the Chelmsford Park. It's the little park right beside Rosewood Elementary, fifteen minutes away from Aeanne's house. Ever since kids, Aeanne and I have always been in that park. Until now, we still go there when there's nowhere else to go.

"I heard it's snowing tonight," Zayn coughed, taking a quick glance at me, "just a tiny drizzle though."

"Why?" I pouted, "the weather's been great. I've been waiting for the snow to melt down."

"It's starting to." He laughed, pointing at the tiny island of grass besides the small diner by our school, "see that? Grasses are starting to grow."

"Then they'll die again because of the damn snow." I scoffed.

"At least we can wear thin clothes now." He shrugged.

"True." I agreed, gently fumbling with the hem of my shorts, "I just want it to be spring already. Why can't we have normal springs? It's not fair."

"Nothing in England is normal spring," he chuckled, "it always has to snow."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that it's only February and grasses are already everywhere," I pursed my lips, "we actually might have an early spring this year."

"I hope," he sighed, "I miss the warm weather."

I just nodded in agreement, sighing heavily to myself. I looked out the window, smiling when I saw tiny bulbs of lillies growing by the edge of our school. They were shades of light and dark green and little bursts of purples and pinks were spurting from the tip. They were surrounded by dandelions, which were gone as soon as the wind blew them away. The way that they were blown away was pretty too, they looked like little feathers ready to seek their adventure.

Everything seems pretty today.

Then, there's Zayn. I wouldn't say that Zayn Malik isn't pretty, because he is, and saying he isn't would be lying. Zayn is a bratty bitch with a tipped up nose and slicked up hair and ebbed up ego. But God, is he beautiful, with dark eyelashes and a sharp jaw and perfectly darkened skin. And his eyes. The stupid Bradford eyes I seem to be addicted to, the honey-brown eyes that always sparkles with amusement that goes along with his pink, smirk-formed lips.