the family

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zayn•


"Uh, mum, I got something to tell you," he gulped, "um, see, I got someone pregnant -- no -- we're having a baby -- wait," he huffed, "I know this girl that's pregnant and coincidentally, I'm the father."

Zayn stared helplessly at his reflection, the small bags under his eyes evident. He had no sleep last night, mostly because Chiara was craving a McFlurry and there was a twenty four hour McDonald's an hour away.

He didn't tell her he was tired, then she'd feel guilty as she scarfed down her Oreo milkshake.

"What the fuck," he muttered, "I wouldn't even like me after this."

His ringtone played seconds later and he accepted the FaceTime call. Chiara's face popped up and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You'll get gray hairs if you stress too much," was all she said with a knowing look.

"Ugh, Chi, I. I'm moving away, I'm sorry, come with me. I can't face my parents."

"Dramatic," she sang, walking around the house aimlessly, he guessed, "Zayn, really, you'll be fine."

"Ehm--"

"Should I come with you?"

"Negative," he replied quickly, walking back into his room and setting the phone down, "she'll most likely point something of yours out and hang it over your head. And then, when all is good and your life is back on track, she'll keep bringing shit up just to make you feel like--"

"Zayn," she stopped him, "You snapped, dawg."

He sighed again, pulling a shirt over his head. "I've always felt like they were disappointed in everything I did. Dunno."

"Doesn't mean you can't possibly disappoint them again and tell them about me," she pointed out.

"You're right," he searched for some pants, "again. Mother's intuition."

"I'm not a mom yet," she whined.

"It's a role you were destined for."

"Quit."

"Just kidding, babe. So, I'll see you after my mum kills me?"

"Possibly," she smiled, "good luck."

"Thanks," they exchanged a few more goodbyes before Zayn hung up and slipped shoes on. He walked back in the bathroom and looked at himself.

"Huh," he touched the what seemed to be lighter bags under his eyes. He shook his head, grabbing the brush on the shelf and beginning to style his hair.



•zayn•



"You're what?"

Zayn inwardly flinched, ready for his mother to assault in any way, whether it was verbal or physical.

Twenty minutes he had sat with his mum, who was all ears today when she usually paid him no mind and talked on and on and on.

But he had her undivided attention the second he asked if he could speak to her. And Zayn was glad he decided to have lunch with her, in a public setting.

"Zayn," Trisha, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "honey, what...how?"

"I think the protected sex became unprotected by accident," he explained slowly, his eyes still half closed as he was ready for her to hit him.

"Really?" she pondered, "just say the condom broke, please."

"Well--"

"Are you guys even close? What's her name?"

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