zm fics [discontinued]

Wonder Woman

There's a reason why Zayn never wakes up this early. His eyes can barely stay open, half lidded like he's only seconds away from drifting off into a far from pleasant slumber that probably wouldn't be all that pretty for anyone around to witness—there'd probably be too much snoring to actually be comfortable with listening to, probably be too much drool spilling from the corner of his slightly parted mouth; gross—and his mind can only focus on one thing and one thing only: getting the fuck out of this seven AM lecture (and really, seven in the goddamn morning of all bloody times? Really?) and taking his lazy ass right back to sleep. He would never actually—emphasis on the never—willingly sign up for a class that started at anytime before the afternoon, that's for sure, unless he had a reason to. Which, unfortunately, he does, and it sucks, it fucking blows for lack of a better term, but there's nothing he can do about it at this point. It's too late; he's already tried everything he could to get out of it.

The only reason he signed up for this godforsaken class was because he had no other choice but to do just that. It's a class he needs for his major that he couldn't get out of no matter what, and the only available one had been between this one and a nine PM one, which, God no, he'd rather die a slow and painful death than give his nights away every Monday and Wednesday for some class. That just—that idea seemed worse than actual torture, so that was definitely out of the question for him. No way. And as much as Zayn hates waking up at the ass crack of dawn, as much as it physically pains him to have to wake up to an obnoxiously annoying alarm before the sunshine even makes an appearance in the sky, what use is there in complaining when there's absolutely no way for him to get out of this mess at this point? And he could, too, complain that is. He could complain for days upon days if he wanted to, had a proper long list of complaints just ready and waiting to be announced in the back of his mind. He wouldn't, though. There's really no need.

Zayn sighs to himself, trying not to be too loud, scrubbing his palms across his face in a tired motion before he slumps lower in his seat while he waits for his professor to show. His fingers are crossed tight where they rest against his lap in hopes that his professor will end up not showing up to class, but he knows that wish is one that's a bit far fetched. It's nearly the middle of the semester and his teacher has never missed a single day yet. Always been right on time, too. What a bummer.

He starts to scribble random little doodles on the edge of his notebook out of complete boredom, begging to be taken out of his misery as soon as it could possibly happen. That never happens, though. Unfortunately his time never comes, but that's okay. Maybe next time, he thinks to himself. Tries to come up with a master plan in his head that could somehow, maybe get him out of this class for, who knows, the rest of the semester maybe? Seems impossible when he thinks about it, but hey, life is totally unpredictable.

He's in the middle of scratching his pen against his blank piece of paper, rough and messy until a hole starts to peek through and the ink bleeds onto the page underneath, when a figure beside him makes him stop the motion of his fingertips. Usually he's the last to be seated in his row, there's always an empty chair next to him that no one ever seems to want to occupy which is something he's definitely been okay with before, it's never really bothered him at all. Zayn's seen her before, the girl that claims the chair adjacent to him now, but he's never bothered to remember (or even learn for that matter) anyone else's name in this class unless he necessarily had to. (Which, obviously he didn't seeing as the only person's name he knows is his own and the professor's—he's never been good with them anyway, so).

He's seen her in passing, caught glimpses of her whenever she took her usual seat two rows before his own, but nothing else more than that. And she's—she's definitely something to look at, Zayn realizes for sure now. She always has been, a sight to see, but he's honestly never paid much attention to her to really care. But she's awfully beautiful, he thinks. Even with her hair messily strewn about, wild and free like she hasn't tamed it in days, across her shoulders, and even in her baggy t-shirt and under eye bags to match, she's still fairly attractive. She looks as if she's seen better and brighter days, Zayn's not going to lie, wouldn't be surprised if she just so happened to spend the entire weekend locked up in her dorm room like a prisoner with no lights for her to see and no human contact whatsoever, but that's okay because she makes the whole scraggly, I-haven't-been-to-sleep-at-a-decent-time-in-literal-weeks look work. Somehow. He doesn't understand how that's even possible at all, but he's not gonna question it.