"What's a sweet woman like you doing here all by herself?" His voice is low and raspy, it's hot. He reaches down and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, waiting for my reply.
"I'm not sweet. Go back to your table." I tell him firmly. A gl...
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Maddison's POV:
"This coffee tastes weird." I grumble and shove Zayn's mug back at him, the momentum sloshing some of the liquid over the rim, sending it splattering on the floor.
"Probably because it isn't coffee," he says, way too chirpy for this time of day and ignoring the new mess.
"What the fuck is it then?" I ask him as I squeeze the last remnants of toothpaste out the tube into my finger.
"Whiskey. Now better question, why you using your finger?" He grimaces at me as I start rubbing the toothpaste onto my teeth.
"I believe I put my toothbrush in the microwave and melted it during some kind of bad trip." I shrug, my words muffled by my finger brushing against my molars.
"Yeah. I'm not gonna ask you to elaborate on that." He sighs, breaking our eye contact to inspect the random cigarette butts, food packets, liquor bottles and items of dirty clothing scattered about my bathroom.
I leaned down to spit into the sink, "stop acting like you're any cleaner than me."
"I don't have to 'act' like it, it's true, most people are." He says, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest kind of sassily.
I roll my eyes, something I often do when Zayn is around, and rinse my mouth with water from the tap dramatically to annoy him before spitting it out.
I look up and catch Zayn staring at the smashed mirror above my sink with a troubled expression, "don't ask."
He sighs and leaves the bathroom to wait on my couch. I put in my cheap silver hoop earrings -that I definitely didn't pay for- as the final touch and head out to Zayn.
I prop one foot at a time on the cushion beside him, without question he start ties my heels up my calf how I once taught him. "You look amazing," he mumbled below me.
I carry on staring out the miniature square window above my kitchen counters, "mhm."
He pats my calf to signal he's done so I stand straight, brining my foot to the floor. "The food better at least be good if we have go through with this."
"And the drinks," he adds, his eyes looking as tired as I feel.
Ever since the incident with Vincent, he's been working me and Zayn like dogs. I haven't slept in days, although that's not unusual.
Zayn throws his arm over my shoulders navigating me out my apartment and down to the garage. "I hope you're ready for a long fucking night," he drawls out.
I settle my arm around his waist, not bothering to voice my reply as we both know what it would be.
Harry's POV:
Sharp jab, after sharp jab. The needle pierces my skin repeatedly as I suck on the joint that's lazily hanging out my mouth.
I zoned out a while ago when Niall started grumbling aggressively about the guy who stole his gig at an actual arena, a tiny arena but an arena all the less.
