True [Zayn Malik AU]

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Fury was what had him trounced, as Zayn stomped his way against the white marble-layered floor, the condensed air from the air-conditioners smacking hard against his face, due to the intense pace of his strides. Every worker of that office, (or spy-lodging according to him) knew this dark-haired, stealthy boy very well, so there was no need to stop him from where he seemed to be headed to, but those overly outrageous vibes was what got a few of them concerned.

Trashing on all courtesy, his palm spanked the non-see-through glass door open, as he promptly barged in. Walking right to the other side of the unnecessarily large and florescent-lit cabin, Zayn’s furious gaze locked onto the bald-headed man’s, remaining there, as the man retreated a phone off his ears, having ended his ongoing conversation earlier than intended.

“Good gracious, who do I see here,” He beamed up brightly at Zayn, motioning for him to take a seat, across his perfectly burnished office desk. The man threaded his fingers together, displaying an appalling smirk to Zayn.

“How?” Was all Zayn voiced, now seeming more in disbelief than anger. “How the fuck do you even- how do you even manage to get so low?” He stuttered in utter disgust.

“Oh, I, I’m sorry, this seat’s kinda low, I know,” He nodded his head in agreement, patting his palms against his comfortable revolving chair’s arms. “You know what, I’ll just stand up, so you’re not towering over me nor am I too low anymore,” He excitedly announced, now rising up to his feet, incensing Zayn further.

“Rackham, just fucking quit on this shit drama!” Zayn yelled exasperated, as the stout, elderly man faked a gasp, scurrying quickly over to Zayn, before resting a chunky arm around the young boy’s shoulder.

“Dear God, Zayn, you’re making me sweat now; it’s frightening, this attitude,” He cooed to the boy. “Karma probably won’t, but payback might get to you ken doll. Might wanna rest the excited little nerves,” He whispered.

Picking up a couple of tissue-napkins off the box placed atop the desk, Rackham pressed the soft papers to Zayn’s forehead, causing the guy to clench his fists in enrage, as he recalled that morning’s events, a sudden surge of guilt travelling all the way down his spine.

 

Earlier that morning

Having grabbed a bottle of his preferred cranberry juice, and a platter of the traditional English fish and chips, Zayn headed towards one of the few vacant tables in the school cafeteria, almost every female around allowing the hunk at least a piece of their attention, if not all of it. He had only placed the tray of ample food down onto the table, that the phone in his jean pocket began sending vibrations through the fabric.

Swiping a hasty finger across the screen at noticing another one of those daily anonymous numbers, Zayn answered it immediately, to be dumped in a sudden outburst of instructions. “Walk right out and to the lockers; silver key hanging off your locker knob. Grab it, go straight ahead – second left, first right, third door – locked one.” The line went dead, without a further word.