One Direction One Shots (Slashes)

Zouis - State of Dreaming (Part 1)

Zayn's POV

I stared out at the busy city from my window. It was only a few stories high, but it felt like I was on top of the world. I could see everyone move and wander around the big open city. I could see them chat easily with one another with friendly grins slapped on their faces.

The only problem with watching happy people from the window, a few stories high, was that I wasn't actually a part of the people. I wasn't down there exploring the city as if it was a maze for me alone to solve. I wasn't down there, faking a silly grin at strangers just to make my day that much easier. I wasn't on top of the world. 

I was far from it.

I took a long drag of the cigarette, before I smashed the end of it onto the wood of the window frame. I watched it disappear as I threw it out the window and down onto the sidewalk. The hum of the crowds kept me company. But it wasn't enough. I was an outsider. They wouldn't want someone like me to walk amongst them. 

A 'damaged soul', they might call me. They're afraid of people like me. They are afraid of what we might say. What seed of thought will I intentionally plant inside their own minds? Nothing. I just wanted to paint out how I felt. I wanted to express myself to the world around me with colors and quotes and places. 

But none of that matters anymore. I hadn't felt the urge to paint in what must have been months. I couldn't keep track of the days. They were all blurred together as one lone day of smoking by the window, watching the rest of the world go on with out me.

The phone rang. 

I didn't answer. If I were to talk to them, what were I to say? Explain myself for months of isolation, just because I'm what they would claim as 'sad'? No. I couldn't do that. They wouldn't understand.

I let it go to the answering machine. 

The soft ring of Niall's voice rang out through the empty flat, "Zayn, buddy! Where have you been? Haven't seen you in ages! Just giving you a ring to see if you wanna go out to lunch sometime and catch up!" He paused for a moment, as if he knew that I was listening, and was waiting for me to pick up. "Alright, I guess I'll call you some other time. Bye." His voice became thick with disappointment near the end, but I couldn't focus of that right now; I needed to make myself dinner.

I stirred the hot water after the noodles had cooked in the foam cup. These quick devices were basically all I ate, seeing as how cheap they were. Of course, being a very talented painter, you get a lot of money. Being on a 'temporary' hiatus, means no money coming in, so I basically had to use my savings just to keep money going towards rent. Food was second on my mind. I used the rest of the money to buy cheap microwaveable foods. 

It's not great, but I survive.

I keep telling myself that I should start painting again, just to earn the much needed money, but for some reason, I can't stop staring at the white canvas. 

The phone rang again.

I let it go:

"Mr. Malik. I'm calling again for the fourth time today, informing you of your situation. You've run out of paintings to auction off, and people are beginning to lose interest in you and your work. Please pick up another brush and just make something before the both of us go bankrupted." My manager's unnaturally deep voice rumbled in my chest as he echoed through the empty flat. "Also, try to pick up the damn phone once in a while."

I could hear him slam the phone down, then he hung up.

I took my sweet time wandering to the painting room, the foam cup that held hot ramen was in my hands. The white walls surrounded me, made the white blank canvas in the middle of the room look almost beautifully innocent. Unopened paint given to me by my manager lay scattered around the wooden floor.