Skinny Love (One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

I hesitantly step towards the table, noticing that my companions eyes have barely looked at me once, instead focusing on the quick game of chess they were quickly playing with themself using the salt and pepper shakers.

“Couldn’t sleep?” They say, shifting the saltshaker around the peppershaker and little box of sugars.

Checkmate.

I shake my head, the casual conversation unnerving me; I never understood it, how to deal with it, why it had even been invented. The person across from me notices my discomfort and slides an object across the table over to me with ease.

“You left it back when you dropped your bag…” They trail off and I look at the screen of my phone from its position on the table.

2 Missed Calls: Rick

Just perfect.

“I promise I didn’t like check it, or read texts, or anything,” They quickly add, drumming their fingers against the table. “A guy called Rick tried to call a couple times, but I only know that because it lit up my pants.” They pause again and laugh a bit. “It was in my pocket- That’s why it, like, lit up my pants.Literally.”

I cock an eyebrow a little, noticing they’re rambling, something that they have always done whenever they are uncomfortable. “I know you didn’t check it, it’s got a passcode.” I smile a little and they let out a deep, short chuckle.

“’Course it does…” 

I smile, my right index finger tracing around the rim of my coffee cup rhythmically, while my left hand presses the power button on my iPhone several times, watching it go light-dark-light-dark. A silence passes through the room, only occasionally interrupted by one of us taking a sip of our respective drinks, and I shift uncomfortably, not able to stop fidgeting, something I’ve always done whenever I’m uncomfortable. I finally bring myself to look up, only to find them shaking their head a bit, and running a hand through their hair, eyes still fixed on the table, attention still occupied by their little checkers game they must have won a thousand times already.

“What are we doing exactly, Zayn?”

He lets out a sigh, his gaze shifting to meet mine for only a moment before falling back down to his hands on the table. “I don’t know.” He exhales another sharp breath, as if me being there is actually physically paining him. “I just- I have planned what to say.”

I give him a questioning glance, not quite understanding what he means. If he has planned what to say, then why wasn’t he saying it? His eyes remain staring at his fingers, shielded by his eyelashes.

He clears his throat, and runs his hand through his hair again. “I just- Well, I mean, I just have planned what I would say- To you, if I saw you again.”

A silence passes, and my finger stops tracing the coffee cup. If he planned it, then why wasn’t he saying it? I cock an eyebrow, a slightly amused smirk crossing across my face. “Well…” I trail off, waiting for him to tell me his so called rehearsed speech.

“Well, that’s it.” He says with a sigh, his eyes slowly rising up to meet mine again. “I planned it all out- From the I’m sorry part, to the I’m angry part, to the I missed you part, to the why’d you leave part, to the confused part- I had questions, and rants, and, well, just everything, all planned out and practiced.” He exhales. “I had sleepless nights where I’d just stay up asking myself questions and trying to figure out exactly how I was feeling. But now that you’re here, like sitting in front of me, I just- I just can’t think of anything I wanted to say, I don’t know where to start.”