His head aches and he's worse than normal, world spinning and hazy, his eyes can't focus on one point without a painful throbbing making its presence known; yet, his phone won't stop ringing.
People from magazines, health and celebrity gossip programs are jumping at each other's neck, fighting the right to be the first to get an interview with Zayn Malik, ex-One Direction member and a Hanahaki Disease carrier.
Lou is frantic; she calls him every day thrice a day, desperate for some news and wanting to apologize for not doing anything when she clearly saw his condition waning show by show, interview by interview. Paul too, the bodyguard/father figure is more discreet about his concern and guilt, but the texts he sends each day prove he worries just as much.
4/5 of One Direction? Oh...
The four of them call non-stop, texts overflowing his phone; his Twitter is full of theirs and fans' posts, apologies mixing with questions and begging and would you please open the door? I want to talk's in a cacophony of digitalized words, messing with his lethargic mind, which struggles to try and grasp requests and organize them.
Someone's banging on the door, strongly so he thinks this someone will break it; he gets up slowly – it hurts more than normally today, the roots squeeze tighter, the petals are everywhere, red, not yellow – and stumbles, heading for the door. It is Harry? Surely the beautiful rough voice can only belong to him, but why it sounds so strange? Like a filter, distorting Zee, are you there?! Please open the door! Zayn!
He's falling, bones cracking above the cold floor.
Zayn hears a loud bang. The last thing he sees are red petals tumbling out of his mouth and a pair of desperate, wet green eyes.
... Cough.
YOU ARE READING
Sunflower | ZARRY
Fanfictionwhere there's a type of disease that makes people throw up flowers when they suffer from one sided love, and Zayn is one of them.
