Why? ✘ z.h.

Then

Then, after Zayn found me...

~Then

He took me back to his house, and took my wet blanket and threw it in the wash to dry and get clean. I sat in his living room, it was nothing special. A brown sofa, a maroon chair in the corner of the room, a TV in the front and a coffee table set in front of it. A few books were set on the table, and I leaned forward to read the spines. First Folio, The Phantom of The Opera, and other classics. A total of 5 books were stacked on the table, and bookcases lined the room, filled to the rim with books. Some of which were beaten and bruised, as if they were used constantly. "Love all, trust few, do wrong to none." I thought out loud, smiling slightly to myself.

Footsteps were coming towards me, and I took my original position on the couch. Zayn smiled at me, and sat a respectable distance away from me, his quiff back up from its droop, and his shirt changed. It was a plain black shirt, and it was baggy. "We should change your clothes." He commented, and I just realized I was shivering. My clothes were soaked, yet he didn't care about the sofa. Zayn took my hand in his delicate and soft one, and lead me up to a room. It was a closet I think, it was full of clothes. "Take your pick, I'll be in the next room." He said, his voice quiet, and reminding me strangely of Robert Pattinson. Once I was alone, I looked around the closet and picked out clothes.

I picked out a white tee, old worn jeans, and left my trainers. I followed Zayn's footfalls into his room I guessed, but wasn't sure. There was no bed, and if there was it was hid by the massive piles of books and music. A white wood dresser held a stereo system, and a black one of identical one on the other side of the room had his phone and laptop charging. Zayn was perched at the door that led outside, and his room was a good 10 foot gap between it and the ground. The walls were stained glass, translucent, and a door that was normal glass separated the room and outside like a large window, intriguing me.

Zayn was reading, and when he saw me he placed the book dangerously close to the edge of the room, and stood up. He cocked his head to the side slightly, and I felt self-conscious. "You know," he started, the smile coming back and his tongue between his teeth.

"You can tell a lot about someone by the clothes they wear. Someone depressed may wear black, or dark colours, or normal clothes. But there will always be an edge to what they wear. A bracelet, or a necklace, or even a smudge of makeup, can define a person. And you, you had a whole closet full of designer clothes to choose from, yet you chose a simple blue jeans and t-shirt.

Why? If you don't mind my asking."

I stood there, letting the words sink in. Once they finally did, I looked at him, really, looked. His golden brown eyes, the irises delicately lined in green, as if someone painted them. Dark purple rings lined under them, and his face looked older than he let on. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept in months. His mouth was slightly agape as he finished his thought, and that left a slight view of his perfect teeth. I took a deep breath before answering. 

"I'm not a sophisticated person, as you might've known, having found me in an abandoned cabin." I started, wording my sentences carefully, "And I've never seen anything like your home, might I add, but I didn't see anything that said me. Maybe -if I was a different person- I would've chosen something different. But I didn't, and I couldn't say why. I couldn't say these cloths define me, because cloth can't in my case. But they can for others. And I truly believe that." I finished, leeting out a large gulp of air.

Zayn nodded, taking in my words, and I waited. His brow furrowed, his forehead coming together in what seemed like distress. He huffed, staring at the floor. Zayn looked up at me, meeting my eyes. "I can't read you, Niall. And that scares me." 

~~~

Yes, I spelled clothes "cloths" for a reason.