(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
I can see you standin' next to me,
In and out somewhere else right now
You sigh, look away...I can see it clear as day
Close your eyes, so afraid...hide behind that baby face
Cage The Elephant | Cigarette Daydreams
I woke up early, and he was on my mind. All night, actually. I dreamt about him quite vividly. We were walking the historic streets of Bradford, brushing our fingers together, dying to interlock them. I was showing him a few of my old haunts and let him meet the local barber. Then we headed over to my tattoo spot and picked up a few ideas for later appointments. Afterwards we spent a while in the kitchen with my mum, seriously deliberating what happened to Malaysia Airlines flight 370. I was a conspiracy theory guy meself, so I was right at home in this conversation. We each offered our own theories and explanations for what may have happened, and mine had a lot to do with aliens. Haz thought there must've been some sort of Bermuda Triangle responsible. My mom was the only practical one among us.
Why couldn't I stop dreaming of him? It was pathological at this point. A symptom of some deeper psychological plight gone undiagnosed for too long. Part insomnia. Part insanity. I propped up onto my elbow beside him now. He lay facing me unconsciously. Baby soft face, unguarded in sleep. His adorable pouty mouth. Unable to resist, I pet his hair, allowing the warmth this gesture generated to swirl around my gut unchecked. Willing him to wake up and kiss me stupid.
"I'm right here, baby..." was all I could think to say. "I'm right here..."
As my strokes deepened and gradually hit home, he blinked awake. Whirling green met timid brown, and for a split second I levitated. He smiled tiredly and I reciprocated, feeling far too full to make sense of the moment. Feeling far too good. At my wit's end with yearning. Desiring him in ways I was incapable of satiating in the physical. Things that could only be settled between our spirts.
"I can't stop thinkin' about youh..." I said quietly, unsure of how I expected him to respond to such a statement. His lids lowered with a rested heaviness.
"Then don't..." he pressed the back of my hand to his cheek, then we kissed deeply.
I was mid-piss a few hours later when the alarm sounded. A high-pitched, omnipresent ringing that for a moment seemed to come from inside my head. I grunted and bore down, forcing the rest of the piss from within me, then haphazardly washed my hands. Stumbling out into the bedroom, I shoved one boot on before fumbling for my mobile. The telly had been frozen by the hotel staff, and an emergency message was planted across the screen; also translated into English. Apparently, there was an emergency in the building, which would explain why the hotel phone was ringing off the hook. I thought briefly of answering it, but was dissuaded when Preston burst into my room, red-faced and out of breath.
"Come on Zayno! Move, move, move!"
"Fuckkkk me," I gaped in disbelief, startled by him barging in. "Is everythin' alright?"
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Neon Red [Zayn] [Pre-order The eBook)Fanfiction
(Preorder the eBook on Kindle now.) The sequel to: This Thing Upon Me. Author of his own destiny at the start of 2016, Zayn Malik enjoys the spoils of his meteoric chart success and a steamy relationship with one of fashion's fastest growing prospec...