Drawn Out Dreams. [A Zarry Fanfiction.]

Chapter Four

At the boys’ school, all sixth formers were required to take Personal Social Health Education, or, PSHE. It was one hour every two weeks, and was purely a way of the Sixth Form to install drink and drug awareness into the boys, as well as talk about health issues, and of course, the ever awkward cherry on the top of the cake, sexual education. Most of the boys already knew most of it from the classes they had had in lower school, but it was compulsory.

Zayn Malik never looked at it as a bad thing. When all of the other sixth formers would moan and grumble as they walked into their classrooms, Zayn wouldn’t see much of a problem with it. He thought it was interesting. The boys were allocated into small groups of around seven or eight, and the other boys in Zayn’s group never really paid much attention to him, but Zayn didn’t mind, because Harry was in his group. That made the lesson a little better, because Zayn enjoyed listening to the curly haired boy crack out jokes and long winded stories about drunken nights out, the teacher rolling his or her eyes and telling him to quieten down, even though they were laughing as much as the other boys.

When the bell rang to signal the start of PSHE, Zayn left his art classroom with his large art sketchbook and rushed towards the classroom where his PSHE lessons were held. His drawing book was in his backpack, which made him a little paranoid due to the fact that it wasn’t in his arms safe, but it soon would be. He darted through the sixth form building and into the classroom, and smiled when he realised he was the first there. He went over to his desk by the only large window in the room, and sank down into it. He smiled to himself as he pulled out the chair next to him and placed his schoolbag on it, so that he could save it. Maybe Harry would sit next to him if he saved him a seat?

He carefully pulled the seat out a little more than halfway, and smiled a little as his fingers brushed over the texture of the plastic chairs. The other boys always moaned at how uncomfortable the chairs were, but he liked the feeling of them, they always reminded him of sand. He placed his bag down on the seat before he pulled out his pencil tin and his drawing book, now feeling relieved that he had it and it was alright and no one had done anything to it. The door opened and the other boys started to file in, completely ignoring Zayn sat by the window, smiling away to himself as he waited for his curly haired friend. They all walked in conversing with each other.

When the door finally opened and Harry Styles walked in, Zayn smiled widely and turned to look at the door. Harry was wearing the blue watch around his wrist, his blazer sleeves around his elbows once again, which caused Zayn to mentally tell himself off for forgetting to put his own blazer sleeves around his elbows. His bag was hung off one shoulder, and Zayn quickly looked down at his backpack, wishing his bag was as cool as Harry’s. He started to plod lazily into the room, looking everywhere in the room but on Zayn. When Harry neared Zayn’s desk, Zayn reached over and picked his bag off his seat with a small smile, trying to gesture for Harry that he had saved him a seat, but Harry’s green eyes hadn’t reached Zayn yet, but the boy patiently waited for the moment when they would. They did, for a split second, before he focused his attention on the other boys in the class yelling his name out.

Harry walked straight past Zayn without even a glance and slipped down into a seat next to one of the other boys. Zayn watched his swift movement for a moment, before he shrugged a little and placed his bag back on the chair. Harry had obviously not seen him, and plus, his friends were calling over for him, so Zayn understood. If he had friends that were calling for him from the different side of the class, he would have done the same thing as Harry. Zayn knew it was unintentional, and so smiled to himself a little, before diving into the world of his pencils and drawings.

Zayn didn’t hear the hushed voices of the other boys as he was too immersed into the half drawn picture of Tom the cat. His mind was going over all of the little details that he had remembered after looking at the cat in his Nanna’s front room. Zayn had a photographic memory, when he was drawing from memory, it was almost like his head was an overhead projector. His mind would show the image and project through his chocolate brown eyes, where his pencil would quickly start shooting across the page drawing in every last inch of detail.