Blunt *Ziall Fanfiction*

Chapter 8

Niall's POV

To say that the encounter with Zayn's friends (or whatever he might call them) was interesting was an understatement. I actually had made effort to learn their names; Debby, Rachel and Dianne. Three totally different characters yet they seemed to work together just as well as Lilo and Stitch, hence me for liking such a kid's film.

I couldn't help but feel as if me and those three ratchets would get on well in the future despite them being sort of irritating with their bubbly personalities; they seemed to be radiating sunshine and happiness off their bodies. They were those type of women, who would have a Friday-sleepover, where they watch chick flicks and gossip about everyone's sex life from their colleagues at work (maybe even half the town).

Even though I still thought about these things as foolish, I couldn't help the smallest hint of a smile, when I imagined them sitting on a bed, face masks covering their faces and one slice of pickles on each of their eyes while discussing the ridiculousness of their boss' new relationship.

Zayn's distant voice brought me back to the present as he suddenly turned around to me. “We're here,” He said. My gaze wandered around to inspect my surroundings (it usually wasn't like me to drift off into some dream world or be so caught up in my thoughts that I wasn't quite aware of my surroundings any more); we were in a stairway and standing in front of a door, obviously an apartment complex this whole building.

I guessed we were standing in front of Zayn's flat.

“Wanna take a look inside or do you want to stand here all day?”

I averted my gaze back onto Zayn and after a moment of silence I quickly hurried into the now open-doored flat.

The inside of the flat looked almost exactly like I had imagined before in one of my restless nights, which I – unfortunately – seemed to be getting the acquaintance with.

The walls were almost all white, from what I could see, except for a green painted wall to my left, where there hung a painting of a tree with already orange-brownish and partly red leaves (some of them already fallen on the ground).

There were six other doors in total in this small hallway. One at the very end (opposite the tree-painting-wall), three on the other side of the entrance door and two additional ones beside the entrance.

But my eyes were drawn back on the painting of the tree for some unexplainable reason. It was kind of ironic to place a painting, which clearly resembles a tree in Autumn on a light green wall that would remind most people of the summer. But I liked the contrast of character and the irony of it, although the shades of colours fit together perfectly.

I wondered if Zayn chose this particular place for the painting unintentionally or on purpose.

“Is something wrong with that picture?” Zayn must have noticed my lingering gaze on the painting.

“Did you hang it up there?” I asked curiously, still eyeing the abstract resemblance of the tree.

“No, my mum chose it. She knows a lot about art and that stuff. She teaches art at one of the universities here in London.”

I looked at Zayn. He shrugged before opening his mouth again, “You can take off your shoes and jacket and put them there,” he pointed to where he had out his shoes and hung up his jacket, “I'll be right back.” Zayn disappeared behind the door that was diagonally opposite me.

I hurried to take off jacket and shoes. By the time I had both put away Zayn was already back; just this time he had on a pair of fluffy socks, pink fluffy socks. My hand immediately went upwards to my mouth to stifle my chuckle.