Disintegrate - Z.M

1 - return

Song: Loveology - Regina Spektor

It's a chilly Thursday night, and the air feels as brittle as the dead leaves littering the sidewalks. The people scurrying to their destinations are bundled from head to toe, not an inch of skin uncovered. This is the type of weather that whispers the threat of frostbite into your ears and weaves its way between every goosebump on your body. Teeth chatter, breaths condense, and bodies shiver.

Luckily, Zayn and Ali don't have to worry about that for much longer. Hand in hand, they've just nearly reached their little flat on the south side of town. It's approaching ten o'clock, and both want nothing more than to be nestled inside their comfy little home, wrapped around each other like blankets.

"I told you I should've brought my scarf," Zayn grumbles. His nose is bright red, a sharp contrast from his otherwise pale skin.

"Shut up, you baby," Ali snorts, and his heart flutters a bit at the lilt of her slight accent. "I told you you can't wear that ugly thing in public."

"What's wrong with it?"

She raises an eyebrow at his oblivious tone and snorts once more, a sound she makes far too often. "It's bright orange with polar bears on it."

"It's cute!" he protests defensively. "And besides, my mum gave it to me."

"Another reason not to wear it," she mutters under her breath. That statement wasn't meant for his ears, but she always underestimates his acute sense of hearing. He frowns at her words and tightens his grip on her hand.

No words are necessary to communicate what he wants to get across. With a sigh, she nods slightly, and they continue on their way silently until they reach the set of steps that leads to their door. Their footsteps clang loudly on the metal steps, ringing through the open space.

"You got the keys?" she asks before wiping at her nose with a gloved hand.

"Yep." He extracts them from his pocket, and after managing to drop them a grand total of six times, swiftly opens the door, ushering her inside.

They remove their layers one by one, hanging coats on racks and stuffing sweaters in closets. The only sound that can be heard is the banging of drawers and the shuffling of socked feet on plush carpet. Ali yawns widely with a soft sigh and stretches her arms overhead as she moves into the bathroom, mind buzzing from the long day she's endured. She's been on her feet from dawn until dusk, running errands and visiting various friends and acquaintances. She's exhausted.

She can hear Zayn in the room beside her and knows that he's praying, knees on the floor and lips murmuring words she's forgotten how to say. Her heart is heavy, weighed down by a thick fog. She wishes she could join him.

Minutes later, she feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist from behind, warm and familiar. Zayn rests his sharp chin on her shoulder, and she closes her eyes for a moment, imagining herself lost in an oblivion she's not sure exists anymore.

"Are you sleepy?" he whispers. His breath fans her cheeks, oddly smelling of something with sugar and cinnamon.

"No," she mumbles.

"You sure?"

"Mmhm."

"Then let's watch a movie," he suggests happily. His body is pressed up flush against hers, and she can feel his excitement thrumming through her bones.

"I have work tomorrow," she protests, knowing full well that objecting is futile. Zayn isn't apt to give in when he wants something, and he definitely wants to watch a movie.

Before she can get out another word, he's picked her up clean off the ground and swung her around to face the door. She doesn't have the heart to tell him that his arms are digging into her stomach painfully, and that she hates being lifted, though she's told him that well over a thousand times. He gently sets her down on the sofa and plops down next to her. An array of films ranging from loud drama to louder drama (this is why she never lets him choose the movie) is already spread out on the table.

He turns on the TV quickly, the machine whirring to life with a quiet hum and a faint glow. The news is on, and the day's biggest headlines are plastered across the sleek screen.

"We're coming to you now from the site of the grisly car accident that claimed the lives of five people, three of whom were children," the reporter declares solemnly. Pictures of a grim freeway and emergency responders fill the background.

They both pause to stare at the screen, entranced by the tragedy displayed. The woman continues to speak, but it sounds like background noise now. Sorrow is thunderous, even through this shitty video footage.

"That's so sad," Zayn murmurs, eyes burning with tears he refuses to shed. Something heavy is surging in his chest, a river of sorrow flowing underneath the steady beat of his heart.

Ali simply nods. She knows that these things occur all the time, that sorrow is inevitable. It's sad, but she's too weary to weep for every lost soul. She blinks a bit slower than usual and saves her tears for another day.

The commercial break starts, and Zayn clears his throat, trying to clear his sadness away with it. "Okay, pick a movie."

"These are all shitty movies," she groans, wrapping a strand of glossy dark hair around her finger.

"What? Didn't you see Kal Ho Naa Ho? And Scarface?"

"Trust me, I saw them," she mutters.

Zayn mumbles something rude under his breath, but a smile lazily finds its way to his lips. Still, she nudges him hard with her elbow before leaning into him, absorbing his body heat. The opening credits for some loud movie begin to roll, and she sighs, trying to be grateful for the fact that the boy sitting next to her is worth enduring a thousand cheesy movies.

pretty boring 1st chapter but i promise it'll get better. thanks for reading!

(also look at neelam johal on the side :') is she not the most bootiful thing you've ever seen)