chasing zayn || ziall || discontinued

chasing zayn || 18

AN: thank you so much for 2K votes 💕
But another thing, I'm not gonna be one of those authors that threaten to not update unless they reach a certain number of votes, but if you're reading please do vote. It's part of what motivates me to keep writing, not saying that I'd stop if you didn't vote, but saying that it helps. Know that I appreciate each and every one of you in your entirety.

PS: Ziall Heat ;)

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—

I was nervous.

Well nervous was an understatement.

Mortified.

Calm.

Terrified.

Optimistic.

Pessimistic.

Relaxed.

It was a constant push and pull.

I mean-- I've met Zayn's family before, and they loved me, especially his sisters. I know that his parents can be traditional at times. But they were never uptight or radical. They were usually very nice and welcoming. Zayn gets out of the car, and I follow suit (with slight hesitance). He goes to back of the car. Grabbing his duffel-bag and my backpack.
Slinging mine over his shoulder and holding his to his side. I look back at him, from my place at the bottom of the porch steps.

"We don't need the suitcases?" I ask.

He doesn't respond verbally but he does respond with a shake of his head. I head up the steps, and Zayn follows. I stop at the door, not really sure if I should knock, ring the door bell, open it, or let Zayn do it. I step to the side, and Zayn keys the door, pushing it open and motions for me to enter first, I do. Things look different than the last time I was here, which was almost two years ago. But I remember Zayn's mom mentioning this 'feng shui' thing when I first met her. She had a habit of moving things around often. Zayn's mother, Trisha, was a very-- mellow woman. Not many things bothered her, she also enjoyed doing yoga and things of that nature and I could remember the last time I came here with Zayn, she tried getting us to do yoga cause she thought it'd help us release the stress of touring. But I couldn't even begin to achieve the poses and positions she would tell us to get to, I mean I tried which is more than I can say for Zayn, who absolutely refused to even try.

After entering the foyer and toeing off our shoes at the door, the woman in question entered, screaming excitedly. Gliding over to her son, Zayn smiled embracing her. They were mumbling words to each other, but were too incoherent for me to make out any of them.

When she finally did let him go, she turned to me giving me a sweet smile. She raised a hand and rested it on my cheek. "Niall, how are you?"

"Great." I beamed.

"You look great." She noted.

"You look better." I rebutted.

"Definitely not, you look better." She teased.

"Nope—"

"Niall-- stop flirting with my mother." Zayn Muttered next to my ear.

"I am n—" I stopped when I saw his raised eyebrow. "Come on- I'm not flirting, I'm just-- trying to ease her up for when we y'know— tell them."