𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 .

26.

third person's pov.

no nightmares.
it was the first thing zayn noticed when he opened his eyes in the dawn of the early morning- no gruesome images, pacing insomnia or tormenting whispers of underlying paranoia that showed him his deepest fears, or the ones that had already became true.

for the first time in recent years, zayn had slept- not sober, but peacefully.

the brunette exhaled deeply, allowing his concious to fully come to terms, stifling a yawn before he glanced down at the boy wrapped in his arms. zayn couldn't help but to find the sight somewhat amusing. the smaller boy slept like a brick, blissfully unaware of anything, completely vulnerable in the elder's arms who silently looked upon him. even in his sleep he was beautiful- his messy, sporadic curls felt like silk in zayn's stroking fingers he couldn't seem to keep away from any part of him. his swollen lips rested in a natural pout that seemed to loosen during his heavy sleep, barely moving under the weight of his own tire that sprawled him carelessly over zayn's chest who was not at all used to such close contact, and definitely not embracing anybody but it seemed he had no control over anything when it came to the naive boy in his arms who had almost immediately settled into the spot, at first as a method to hide away from the embarrassment those green eyes caused him, but it had quickly turned into an unyielding slumber he had trapped the older into.

even so, zayn didn't mind; he did not mind that pretty frame tangled in his at all, or mahi'ai's needy embrace; he did not mind the sleepy promises he whispered from his bashful lips; he did not mind the earnest, touchy affection mahi'ai readily caressed him with because truth be told zayn had almost no honesty in his life. he hadn't felt the touch of somebody who genuinely cared for him since his mother had given him up to a life so uncertain it may as well have been like sending him to his own death. zayn could recognize a touch to the surface right away- those that birthed out of lust or self-desire or manipulation or violence. when zayn touched, he was either fucking or hurting someone- taking something. it was so normal to him that it was almost as simple as riding a bike.

enjoyable or not, the teenager had began to have consensual sexual relations around twelve- so young his body had not yet developed. it wasn't as if it was taboo for zayn. people had touched him as early as he could remember. the only thing that had changed was their age and how they approached, but it didn't quite matter. if he knew they wanted it, he'd give it to them.. but five years later, the enjoyment that one would assume he'd gain never lingered or much mattered to zayn who wondered if it had ever felt good. he was good at fucking; his inward aggression always allowed for his violent sense of passion, but sex- the very thing humans harnessed in their own bodies- he had hated since it had been forced onto him.

the idea of intimacy made him feel violently, even animalistically uncomfortable but you didn't have to worry about it as much when you can't even see the face of who you're shoving into. what he could manage to felt good sometimes- even great. sometimes it felt like he wasn't even in his body- maybe watching it from some secluded tower in his pre-frontal cortex.. perhaps because he could not value it. he didn't value the girls he slept with or the semanticism of how they made his body feel, because those feelings only existed in his body, and even then, feelings are nothing but that.. feelings.

it was simply a function that his body had been performing for others since the age of ten so it was no surprise the way the boy in the bed bewitched him and while zayn knew all things sexual, the innocence of
mahi'ai's touch seemed to threaten him with ruthless seduction- it was as if it was the only real one he had felt in his life.

zayn stifled slightly, exhaling a deep sigh of tire that gently brushed against mahi'ai's senses that seemed to jump awake at the mere sign of life from the older. the younger said nothing, his tired, golden eyes only seeming to silently treasure the olders' green ones, still intact with the same tender adoration that seemed to consume him so clearly it ignited the curious flame in zayn's complex mind that didn't even recognize it's own truth.