in the hills • zayn malik

seven- warmth

seven- warmth

song for this chapter: 'a moment’s grace' by Boy and Bear

>>><<<

“If... I... had... the... power... I... would... kill... this... hill!” Zayn moaned, wanting nothing more than to just lie down and hope that some birds would lift him up and fly him back to Iris’ house.

But despite the fact that his back was still throbbing slightly from where Iris had hit him, and his legs were burning from all the exercise he was doing, all was going well. Sure, he hadn’t seen a car since he got here, but he didn’t have another incident of walking up in the dark. He went down to his car early in the morning, and came back by lunch.

It was his fifth day here, in the hills. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it out here, because he loved it: he loved the freedom, he loved that it was just Iris and him, and the cows and sheep, of course. Zayn loved how it was just so simple, with no hidden meaning.

He found every time he walked up this hill, it became a little easier. He would never forget that time when he was walking up the hill in the darkness though, and knew that it would haunt him in his nightmares for a long time.

Finally, the ground levelled out, and Zayn began to breathe normally. He stopped for a moment and stretched, the fresh air cleansing him, and bringing a smile to his face. He ran a hand over his face, and frowned as he realised that his beard was getting out of control.

He laughed to himself as he pictured how he must look like; he probably looked like he was attempting to turn into Santa Claus or something. He’d have to ask Iris if she had a shaving blade or something.

Perrie had never liked when he had a beard, so whenever he came back home he made sure that he was clean-shaven, just for her. But in his own way, he thought it made him look more mature, and he knew it sounded slightly vain (God, so many Vain Zayn jokes, but it was true).

Thoughts of Perrie suddenly flooded through him, and he started to frown, not wanting to ruin the day with thoughts of her. He just wanted to move on, because that was what he was supposed to do now.

Zayn couldn’t deny that he loved her: because he did, and that was the plain truth. He knew that after what she said, what she did, he shouldn’t love her, but he couldn’t control it. He’d just have to wait.

He found the parting in the trees, and walked down, hoping that Iris would be in, not out in the fields where he could never find her if he tried. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked through the front door, whistling to himself.

“Iris?” He called, taking off his top and chucking it on his bed.

“Yes Zayn?” She called back, making Zayn smile and shake his head.

“Just checking if you were home.” Zayn said, walking over to the basin full of water that Iris must have put in that morning.

He heard the sound of footsteps, and Iris appeared at the door, her hands on her hips. “And where else would I be?”

He turned properly to face her, and noted how she just basically checked him out. Her eyes brazenly looked over him, perhaps admiring his toned chest, or just looking at his tattoos, which could have also been possible.

“Like what you see?” Zayn asked, and her green eyes moved up to meet his.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Iris said, though Zayn could see that a little colour came to her cheeks. “Lunch is ready.”