Hold On Sweet Dear Morning Will Come (Ziall Oneshot)

Daylights and Shadows

This piece of work is dedicated to the wonderful zialltops, for showing grace and talent like none other. Thank you for gracing me with your presence and hopefully this piece of work will be up to par , Enjoy. xx

I'm sorry if there are mistakes, I'll be sure to edit it when I have time

Zayn looked in the distance and saw him - the boy whose eyes were like the infinite ocean, whose skin was like the pale moonlight enshrouding the darkness with a soft glow, whose voice was like the cry of a thousand men, whose entirety was like a poem. A poem riddling with rhyme and rhythm, moving fluidly and constantly punctuated by metaphors and similes creating depth and mystery, a character whose beauty seemed endless, moving languidly and fluidly through words and verses, he was a madrigal sweet and contrite, a haiku so simple and brief,  a sonnet so romantic and sensual. He was a poem written by children, lovers, parents, friends and intellectuals, he was love and sorrow and depression and rage. He is a thousand wars and a single moment, a hundred verses and a single couplet, he is a memory so nostalgic and a fantasy so enticing, he is brevity and intricacy and though he was all these things, so complex and perplexing he was one thing that every poem was; Niall was beautiful.

He looked at the boy standing there a smile etched on his delicate face and Zayn remembered the first time he saw him, that day he wasn’t sporting a smile nor was he emanating this glow of contentment, that day Niall face was contorted into a grimace.

+++

Zayn walked the familiar halls, as he heard the familiar ticking of footsteps here and there, the constant noise buzzing through his ears. He felt the stares and whispers as he walked through the linoleum floored walkway his feet clattering resoundingly with the plastic, he wasn’t looking at anyone but he knew they were looking at him. He knew people defined him through his looks, he knew they only saw the markings on his skin, they only saw the permanent inked embedded on him. But what they didn’t know that these embellishments were stories, he was a canvas and these were his paintings. These images were not merely for show, these intricate murals were memories and fantasies, thoughts and aspirations, these markings were him, and it was his way of showing what he was. Because that tattoo of a skull on his collarbone wasn’t just there for nothing, that skull was a representation of the emptiness of humanity, the sense of mortality lost as he represented this through this empty skull, barren and lost. That tattoo of a spaceman adorning his bicep wasn’t just to seem ‘cool’ no it was because he wanted to explore ideas of the unknown; he wanted to grasp the knowledge of the untouched and alien. No one knew these things, nor would they ever will, because they only saw the exterior of a person, the front of a person they never really bothered to look any deeper, to find the stories locked within the confines of everyone’s mind. To them Zayn was cigarettes and tattoos, and Zayn didn’t need to bother with anything like that, because it was pointless to think about it, everything has gotten to superficial for his liking and never took action to correct their misreading, because they weren’t worth it.

Zayn followed the path predisposed on his legs, moving languidly and ritually through the busy hall, his feet dragging and his eyes boring into the ceilings as he looked at the bright fluorescent light its brightness spitting daggers on his eyes, as he closed his eyes and tried to readjust himself to the normal lighting he found a sight which he hasn’t really noticed until now. The boy with blond hair standing by the lockers, his pale face punctuated by freckles a soft rosy tinge caressing his cheeks. He had bright blue eyes which reflected the light, but there was dullness, a sort of bluntness which perpetuated throughout his body. Zayn found the boy enticing and interesting his blond hair askew and his face so delicate and beautiful, but there was deepness in the boy that Zayn had never seen, a pointed reformation consumed by a yearning which Zayn wanted to discover. Though he didn’t believe in love at first sight, he did believe in serendipity, and the moment that he chose to look at the blinding fluorescent light brought him to the discovery that he would have never seen if he didn’t look up at that moment. And in that moment of pure coincidence Zayn found the person who would change his life drastically