nebula :: [malik]

[ iv :: portrait ]

"That's it-I'm asking Niall."

"No," Louis cries. He's laughing, just like he's been doing for the past half hour and Zayn is scowling, running his hands through his hair.

He's dropped his pen onto the table.

"Zayn, no," Louis exclaims, chuckling. "Alright," he straightens in the seat across from his mate, holding the portrait up to his face with an acute attention to the angles. "I'm ready, I'm ready."

"You've been saying that for nearly an hour, Lou," Zayn snaps. "You know what, just forget about it," he looks about their living room. "Forget I'd even asked. M'hungry, anyway."

"Alright, alright," Louis drops the frame on the stool in the room and watches as Zayn paces away, his hands through his hair. When he grabs for his leather jacket and feels around for his Marlborough's, Louis furrows his brow.

"What's with you, today?"

"It's just..." Zayn shrugs. "It's late, Lou."

Louis shakes his head, following his friend about the flat. It's Wednesday evening, it's a bit past four-thirty and this is typically the time that Zayn's got Contemporary Culture - he's skipped, today - and this is typically the time they spend together before Niall goes off to practice and he's off to Astronomy and Louis finds something to do to kill time before the three of them meet up with the rest of their friends and find something to eat for dinner.

"S'not that late, Zayn," Louis says as he watches his friend struggle momentarily to push up the window that sticks shut occasionally, and throws his legs onto the fire escape.

He watches him grab for his lighter, flicking it on and off in the cool air.

Louis comes to lean against the window frame, standing and watching as Zayn rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, cigarette in his mouth, free fingers gripping the windowsill.

"What's the matter, Malik? Go on; out with it."

"Nothing, Lou."

"You're brooding. Why are you brooding, then?"

"It's nothing," he says more firmly. "Look," he takes a final drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out with the toe of his Dr. Martens. "Look, I'll see you-got class."

"Whatever, then," Louis says, throwing a hand in the air.

Zayn crawls back into their flat, now.

"When you feel like talking, you know where to find me," Louis says, retreating towards his bedroom.

God-Between him and Anais (who's been sulking for the past week and a half over Lucky), s'like everyone in his life's just been trying to test his patience.

And Zayn meets the chilled air outside of the house with a jaw clenched tighter than usual.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, Zayn makes his way towards the Physics department.

Louis was right.

He was brooding.

A few nights ago he'd found himself up late working on a piece that he felt the need to receive instant gratification for.

He and Louis had gone out, they'd gotten high, and somehow, Zayn had listened to Niall's additional, "What'cha need is some fresh air and a pint," and so he'd taken his mate's advice and wound up in a local bar that he'd frequented multiple times before.

It was called The Duke's Arms.

It was on Broadway and 4th Street.

It was a traditional English pub that reminded him a lot of home, and he loved this place but hadn't been in in a while, the reason being?