The Beauty of Defiance

Chapter 12: Clothes

Chapter Text

Zayn woke up at a quarter past three in the morning.

He dozed in and out of consciousness, mind darting between things that had happened (The kiss, the coffee mug, dark red soup) and things that might (Liam pressed up against him, early morning suns, smiles across the room). He made it all the way through until half past eight, when Perrie slammed the front door and dragged her luggage noisily through the front yard.

They had, yet again, spent the night in separate rooms and avoided talking.

Zayn put on the television and watched four hours of endless news reruns, fretting silently, immobile, frozen on the spot. It reminded him of his first casting for some spring runway show, with all the models lined up and a team of so-called experts evaluating. He had felt more uncomfortable than ever when the editor-in-chief lady tapped her pen against his jaw and told everyone it was too much drama, they needed some clean, fresh faces, but he hadn’t budged.

Maybe his silence had worked for once, because they booked him anyway.

Now he was sitting around, awaiting yet another judgment to be made. Did Liam want him? Did he want him in his show? In his silly, pink, flowery designer pieces? Would they book him again? It took him some time to realize he had fallen asleep, and that his muddled brain had mixed everything up. He tried to imagine Liam as a designer and couldn’t help but snort – he would bring in the good old worker’s overall, in varying blue, orange and fashionable light grey.

Then again, it wasn’t all that ridiculous when he thought about the things people had made him wear during his career. Nothing wrong with a little working class charm.

He was so deeply immersed in his weird web of thoughts that he completely missed the electronic tune playing from the doorway downstairs. It took him another minute to realize it was the new doorbell and yet another to jump up and sprint down the stairs.

He halted while walking past the large, framed mirror, scrutinizing himself. His hair was messed up, but he had stopped caring about that quite some time ago. He was still wearing shorts and the soft T-shirt. His jaw was stubbly.

It was obvious he was far from his prime – but within all the tired sleaziness he could sense that he was still desirable. That people on the streets looked at him and thought that unkempt hair and characterless black T-shirts were his style. He sucked in a deep breath and opened the door before he could overthink yet again.

The sudden brightness reminded him that he hadn’t left the house since his last shift. The air smelled of dry grass, proving that the gardener Zayn never cared about had just been by. The traces of Perrie’s luggage went all the way down the pebbled path. Zayn made his eyes focus and walked towards the gate, barefoot. He could see the outlines of Liam through the high fence, and for a moment he felt like pausing and just taking in.