Achilles Heel |h.s|

38. Astar- Graffiti

Warnings: Mentions of religion, being forced out of religion and homophobia. I did a bunch of research for this chapter and if anything is wrong or off, please don't hesitate to tell me. The last thing I want to do is wrongly portray someone's faith. Just remember that not everyone is like this and the culture and religion itself is beautiful. Thank you. Much love.

"No. We're flipping a coin. Heads you leave this club and come with me, tails you stay," Zayn smirks, handing me a pound sterling. I stare down at the brass coin with a blank gaze, hesitating just a bit before finally reaching forward to take it from between Zayn's fingers.

"Seems as if you've got yourself a deal," I grin, cupping my hands around the coin before leaning down to breathe onto it for good luck. Once I've breathed onto the coin, I encase it in my hands and shake it a few times before placing it atop my thumb and pointer finger before flicking it up into the air.

I make sure to catch it before it falls onto the ground, placing it atop my other hand and of course, it has landed on heads.

"Fuck yes," Zayn breathes out, turning around and punching the air. "Sick. Alright, follow me doll." He grins, placing his hand on my lower back before leading me out to where Oliver is waiting patiently for us.

"What? No bikes?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at the lad.

"Hell no. After the horror story I heard from not only Harry but Louis, I'm staying off of them. Can't mess up this pretty face can I?" he smirks, opening the door of the blacked-out range rover so I'm able to hop inside.

My eyebrows raise right as my lips turn down in agreement, murmuring a little, "Hm," under my breath.

"And what? I can mess up my pretty face?"

This causes Zayn to turn and look right at me as he closes the door to the Range Rover, hand coming up to cup my cheek as his eyes very slowly look over my face. I can see everything on his face. His pores seem nonexistent. How long his eyelashes are. The little hints of gold in his eyes. How white his scleras are. How thin but also pretty his lips are. The way his beard shapes his face and creates the perfect jawline. How his nose piercing will occasionally twinkle in the light right as it hits it.

"Mmm..." he breathes out.

His breath smells like a mixture of menthol cigarettes and coffee. Coffee with oat milk specifically.

The rings that he's wearing on his fingers go from cold to warm as he continues to caress my cheek, refusing to drop his hand.

"Personally, I don't think you've messed up your face. Still look gorgeous to me but to each their own I suppose," he shrugs, finally letting his hand fall from my cheek and he backs away.

I have to force myself to blink a few times considering it seems as if I have forgotten to do so. My eyes were starting to burn and water.

Zayn then pulls out a cigarette from the packet, pushing down on the filter until it clicks and he's placing it between his lips. I watch without a care in the world, eyes moving down to where his hand flicks the lighter and it comes to life, lighting the end of the cigarette and he inhales right as it lights.

"Want a hit?" he questions once he's inhaled, offering me the cigarette but I just politely decline.

"Suit yourself," he shrugs, taking another long drag from the cigarette as he presses down on the button to roll the window down so his smoke has a way to escape.

"So, what's going on between you and boss man, hm?"

The cigarette is still hanging from his lips as he speaks.