paint · ziam au

xiii

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(words: 1.859)

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Zayn is sitting on the kitchen table as he draws on a piece of blank paper that he had found. With his pencil he lightly shades the pot he is sketching (which was the first thing he saw), making it seem more realistic with the dark grey shadows around it.

As he continues drawing, there is 90's music playing softly in the background, making it all so peaceful. Zayn hums the familiar songs as he adds a bit more detail to the pot.

He wonders what Liam is doing.

He's is probably sitting on his desk, his hair messy from running his fingers through it due to the stress of paperwork and receiving calls, his tie and the first three buttons of his shirt undone. A bit of scruff growing on his cheeks, since he had shaven just yesterday morning. He would look effortlessly sexy.

Zayn scowls at himself for having such naughty thoughts about Liam.

Sure, he does find himself thinking about how would Liam's soft and plump lips would feel on his. Or how it would feel to be hugged and be told sweet things in his ear. Waking up every morning in a tangled mess of white sheets. But that was it, he wouldn't let his mind go any further than that. Because he doesn't want to fall for someone that won't fall for him, back.

Zayn sighs and continues sketching, humming along with the slow and peaceful music.

Until there is a knock on the door and Zayn is jumping up from his seat.

Maybe it's Liam. He thinks, as he approaches the door. He could've forgotten his keys when he had left for work that morning.

So as he turns the door knob (not bothering to look through the peep-hole), there is a smile on his face, ready to receive Liam with a big hug.

Except his smile fades when he sees that the man at the door, is in fact not Liam.

The man has anger filled in his emerald eyes and his fist are tightly balled up. There is a sinister smirk that crawls on to his face as he chuckles lowly. His appearance and actions make a shiver go down Zayn's back. There's a terrible yet, vague memory that crosses Zayn's head, involving the same cold eyes.

"I told you I'll find you." The same voice from the call the night before, says. His tone is raspy, maybe even raspier and it's all too familiar to Zayn.

Zayn stands there, frozen, trying to say something but nothing comes out. He is speechless and frightened and he doesn't know what to do at the moment. Should he run? Should he answer? Should he scream?

But he suddenly unfreezes when he is charging forwards, his hands are out in front of him as if he's planning on strangling him. Zayn quickly reacts, before he can get any closer, and slams the door shut. His breath hitches as he presses his back against it, squeezing his eyes shut as he prays for him to leave.

He begins to slam his fist on to it, harshly banging it against his back. Zayn gasps at the sudden impact and whines, as he darts his eyes around the room, hoping to find something that could help him.

"Open this goddamn door, Zayn!" There is a sudden harsh kick and Zayn cries out, feeling as if the door is about to collapse on top of him. He presses his back closer, as he slips on to the ground. He turns around, with his hands pressed firmly against it, he begins to add the lock and door chain, hoping that it will help.

As he is desperate searching for something to help him with, he finally spots the phone on the couch. He gasps and quickly runs over to it and snatches it. He runs back and presses against the door again. "Go away or I swear, I'll call the fucking police!" Zayn says harshly, loud enough for the man to hear him.