"Please," Zayn begs. "Just... let me kiss you."
Diamond gives him that look - the one she always gives him. The one that makes him feel like a small child being denied ice cream. "Sorry, but you know it's against my policy."
She doesn't sound sorry...
Not on youtube so Spotify???? Idk man listen to it
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Zayn is writing another song - or at least, trying to. The page of his notebook is completely blank except for some subconscious half-hearted doodles, nothing appearing even when he puts his pencil to the paper and tries to force something out. He doesn't know what to write about. The obvious choice is Diamond, but what about her? They're not together, he hasn't known her very long, and they haven't done much but fùck and watch movies on his living room couch. Anything he could write at the moment would be obsessive and creepy - which is a vibe he's trying to avoid - but Zayn has been trying to scrape something up for four hours now.
"Fùck this," he huffs, placing his notebook aside just as his phone buzzes. It's Jason, one of the many àsshole stoner buddies he's made through his putrid solo lifestyle.
U comin out 2nite?? Ladies' nite @ the club opp mine, bound to b easy lays there
Zayn scoffs, though a couple of weeks ago he probably would have gone. He can't remember why he became friends with Jason and his clan, nor why he tolerates them - probably something along the lines of cheap weed and entrance to underground clubs (though some name-dropping would probably get him both these things anyway). Although he and Diamond are most definitely not exclusive, he still feels sick to the stomach at the thought of sleeping with someone else. He sends Jase a snippy rejection, throws his phone to the end of the bed and reaches into his bedside table for a joint and lighter.
As he lights it and inhales deeply he thinks about the very woman who's been consuming his thoughts lately, wondering if she'd approve of him smoking. He stopped smoking cigarettes years ago (one of the rash things he'd done to try to convince Perrie to take him back) but weed has quickly replaced the old habit. Sure, he doesn't smoke it as often, but it's still enough to be questionable. It's still enough for him to wonder whether Diamond would refuse to ever be with him over it.
"You're fùcking ridiculous, Zayn," he mutters. "Acting like a crazy girlfriend."
He picks up his pencil again, his mental joints now well oiled and loose. He can write about his old life, maybe. How it's lost all his appeal because of a woman he barely knows. How he's a twenty-seven year old man turned lovesick teenaged puppy.
He snorts.
I found my life in between shots and getting high
He hums. Decent. A bit deep, but decent. After all, he did meet Diamond whilst drunk and high - though he'd probably sobered a tad by the time she arrived. He chews on his bottom lip, thinking about that fateful first meeting and the warmth of her mouth, how he thought he'd never see her again but she'd come back.
