the fallen;; zm {slow updates}

twenty two

i finally updated on time omg im so proud of myself anyway lowercase intended and unedited :-)

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zayn pulled me into a private lounge room where there were pretty girls wearing revealing clothing and they were everywhere in the room, lingering around men in suits. they didn't take notice of our presence but i noticed some girls eyeing him with grins on their faces but he just walked past them.

he lead me to where there was a huge canvas on the wall at the end of the room. it was covered in spray paint and it looks just like the graffiti on the walls outside but this time, they're on a canvas and much more artistic and appealing to the eyes.

we stand infront of the artwork and i trace the outlines of the images with my fingers. then, he asked, "what do you think?"

"it's amazing," i say truthfully. "is this what you wanted to show me?" i look at him and he nods, shifting the canvas a little so it was straight. "did you make this?

i see a smile tugging on his lips and waited for him to answer me but he kept quiet. as i was about to ask him again but walked away from me and i followed him, leaving the lounge room and back to where the pool tables are.

zayn chose the table farthest from the stairs and also farthest from my friends and stood infront of the cue racks and scanned for the one that he wanted. once he picked one, he turns to me and says, "go on. the cue ain't gonna choose for itself, you know,"

"i've never played pool before," i confessed and his smile grew wider. "and you didn't answer my question,"

"choose a cue first, then, i'll answer your question,"

"fine," i did as i was told and lifted one down and carried it to the pool table. he trailed behind me and stand on the opposite of the table, wiping a hand to erase a smile. "what?"

"you can't hit a home run in pool,"

i nodded at that. "no home runs. got it."

his smile stretched and shakes his head, "you're holding your cue like a bat, angel,"

i looked down at my hands. he was right. i was holding it like a bat. "but it feels comfortable this way,"

he placed his cue down and moved behind me, placing his hands on my hips and positioned me infront of the table. he then slid his arms around me and took hold of the pool stick.

"like this," he says, repositioning my right hand up a several inches. "and. . .this," he went on, taking my left hand and forming a circle with my thumb and index finger. then he planted my left hand on the pool table, like a tripod. he pushed the tip of the pool stick through the circle and over the knuckle of my middle finger. "bend at the waist,"

i leaned into the pool table, with zayn's breath warming up my neck. he pulled back on the pool stick and it glided through the circle.

"which ball do you want to hit?" he asked, referring to the triangle of balls arranged at the far end of the table. "the red one infront's a good choice."

"blue's my favourite colour,"

"blue it is," he drew the stick back and forth through the circle, aiming at the cue ball, practicing my stroke.

i squinted at the cue ball, then at the triangle of balls farther down the table and said, "you're a tiny bit off,"

"how much do you want to bet?"

"five dollars,"

i felt him shake his head, "your jacket,"

i furrow my eyebrows, "you want my jacket?"