We're on Fire [Ziam]

Strategically Placed Window.

CHAPTER ONE:

Looking around the quiet neighboorhood passing by through the window of the taxi, Zayn creepily smiled to himself. Looks good, quiet, with no people to nose around in his private business and hopefully no stupid grannies at the door interrupting his me time and offering him gingerbread cookies.

"Just stop here," Zayn murmured lowly, when he saw the board boasting the sign "Flower Lane", -seriously? Why not call in Rainbow Land?- and the taxi driver nodded, halting the car to a stop. Quickly fumbling through his backpack pocket for cash, Zayn tossed the crumpled notes in the front seat, and hastily clambered out, before the cabbie could make small talk with him.

The raven haired young man adjusted his backpack -which was stuffed with all the clothes he owned, -depressing, right?- over his right shoulder, and dragged the cardboard box containing his belongings out of the back seat. Shutting the car door with his foot, Zayn finally turned around, and his hazel eyes took in the not-too-shabby apartment complex.

He nodded in approval, and with the cardboard box obscuring his vision, carefully traipsed up the stairs like a blind man. A few seconds later, Zayn collided with something hard, and timidly peeked past the box to see a glass door. Blushing at himself, he pushed the door open with his foot, stepping inside.

Zayn located the elevator, and huffed in relief. Just as he was about to charge straight for the transporting box thingy, "Excuse me sir! Who are you?!"

Zayn audibly groaned, and peeked above the box to see a middle aged woman in red rimmed retro glasses and an ugly sweater, glaring suspiciously at him. He grudgingly trudged over to her. God, can't he go by without any more social interaction today?! It's bad enough that he had to talk to so many rude uniformed people at the airport.

"Who are you sir?" she repeated, moving her head left and right, trying to look past the box so she could see Zayn's face. Zayn set the cardboard box on the marble counter, and sheepishly smiled at the ugly lady, who was now sporting starry eyes because of the rugged young man standing before her.

"U-um, are you new here s-sir?" she asked, then her lipsticked mouth stretched into what she thought was a flirty smirk.

"Yeah," Zayn responded in his low, husky voice, making the lady gulp. "My grandpa lived here, Awais Malik?"

The woman blinked at him.

Zayn sighed, annoyed. "Third floor. Apartment 6. I just moved in here. Goodbye." He informed her curtly, and retrieving his cardboard box, proceeded towards the elevator, making the lady swoon as the cougar admired the hazel eyed man's ass.

~*~

"Not bad grandpa, not bad at all," Zayn commented, nodding to himself as he surveyed the empty apartment, from his position at the threshold of the door. It was decent, with a modest-sized living room, a bedroom, kitchenette and a small closet. More than enough for him. Well, Zayn was so desperate to get away from his family by now, that living in a carboard box was one of his considerable choices.

Of course, a twenty-four year old unemployed lazy-ass living with his mother and teenaged sisters... how embarrassing is that?

So, when Zayn's lovely grandfather had died, it came as a shock to the whole family. The shock wasn't his death, 'cos he old grinch was already pushing ninety. The real shocker was that the old man had left his apartment in Wolverhampton -the only thing to his name- to his grandson Zayn Malik.

The most probable reason was because Zayn was the only one who bothered talking to his secluded grandpa during family get-togethers. And the reason that they somewhat bonded was because they were both social outcasts, both not too fond of people, even their own family.