We're Okay

Chapter 1

Zayn

 

The sound of a phone ringing echoed loudly in the room. Zayn groaned and waited a second, praying it would just stop. It didn’t.

His head hurt. Nothing unbearable, though. In fact, waking up with a hangover was kind of the usual for him, at this point. It was more like a steady ache than the pounding, sharp pain that it used to be. A large cup of coffee and maybe an Advil or two and he’d be fine.

“You going to get that?” a quiet female voice asked.

Zayn rolled over to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes and raised brown eyebrows. She was pretty, at least. Too bad he couldn’t remember what the hell her name was, or if she’d been any good. Not that it really mattered. The whole night before was kind of a blur. He really needed to stop partying on weekdays.

“Hey,” Zayn said slowly. He vaguely recalled her mouthing a name to him over the loud thumping of music. Something with a ‘c’ or a ‘k’. “Cassandra.”

“My name’s Kate,” she snapped, climbing out of bed. Zayn didn’t apologize, but he did watch as she pulled on her clothes, going much slower than she probably usually did, attempting to give him a show. “You know, you might be great in bed, Zayn Malik,” she told him, grabbing for her shirt without a bra, “but you’re a real prick.”

Zayn grinned at her. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” she hissed. “In fact, don’t bother calling me.”

Zayn nodded. He wasn’t going to anyways. And he didn’t think he had her number. He hoped she didn’t have his. “Bye.”

She slammed his bedroom door behind her as she went, and the sound made the aching in his head double. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to get all the sleep out, and reached blindly for his phone with the other hand. It had started ringing again.

“What?” Zayn demanded as he answered it.

“You still sleeping?” the voice on the other end asked. Steve -- fuck, he hated Steve-- didn’t wait for Zayn to answer. Probably didn’t need to. “Well get up, you shit. I need you to do a run for me.”

Zayn pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. It was only ten in the morning, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten home until around three, and then he’d hooked up with Katrina or whatever her name was, so he probably hadn’t passed out until around four. He sighed loudly.

“Where?”

“Verton College, the one by--,”

“I know where it is,” Zayn told him.

“Right, well, you’re looking for a kid with curly hair, drives a shitty little green car. He’s meeting you in the lot. Name’s Harry.”

Zayn swung his legs out of bed, phone still pressed to his ear. He hated dealing at any school, to be honest. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and the fact that a teacher could walk out at any moment tended to make him a bit too paranoid.

“Alright,” Zayn agreed anyways, because this was Steve, and he couldn’t afford to shoot Steve down, not when he was normally the only reason Zayn made enough money to pay the rent on his apartment. “I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

“Course you will,” Steve agreed. “Then stop by my place. I’ve got someone who can take an ounce off your hands.”

Zayn made another sound of affirmation and then ended the call. It was too early to talk to Steve for more than five minutes.