Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 26: The Other Malik

LUNA

Zayn's hands rest on my rear as I straddle him on my bed. His back pressed against the headrest and his eyes watching me closely while I trace the outline of his large chest tattoo, large dark wings stretching across the width of his torso to each shoulder blade.

"I think I'd like to get a tattoo." I hum as my finger continues its mapping of his cold skin "One that isn't a shitty stick and poke on my back."

"Oh yeah?" He squeezes my left ass cheek "What would you get?"

"I don't know, how did you choose yours?"

He scoffs "I'm not sure much forethought really went into most of them, doll. Someone would suggest a tattoo, and I'd get it. A few have meanings, though."

I run a hand through his hair "What would you tattoo on me?"

"That's a dangerous question, my love." His eyes darken "I think my name would look great on your-"

"Be serious." I interrupt him "I mean it, what do you think I should get."

He pauses for a moment, thinking, but then his fingers go to push the strap of my bra from my shoulder, drawing circles over my existing moon tattoo.

"You could get this redone, refined, add a sun on this other side, the duality of man, but that feels too obvious for you, too on the nose." He frowns "I read this love story once, between the moon and the ocean. I've always liked the imagery of that. If I were you, I'd get something that shows how the ocean mirrors the moon. Doesn't have to be about love, but I think it could be about how you, the moon, Luna, are more powerful than you think, influencing one of the most powerful elements in the world, the ocean."

My hand clutches around the thin sliver chain around his neck, I kiss him instinctively, drawn to him like the ocean in his story. His hands grip me tighter and my heart thuds faster. There is nothing on this earth as satiating as being known by this man, seen, absorbed.

"That's beautiful." I whisper.

"Mmh." He hums as he kisses my jaw and the feeling of his lips on that spot imprints in my brain as I grip onto every second of my existence next to him.

"I'm going to get some water." I lift off him and slide from the bed, pulling the t-shirt Zayn discarded on my desk chair over my head.

"Oh, I hate to see you go," He grins, playful in tone with eyes glued to me as I walk away from him "but I love to watch you leave."

"Don't be gross." I pout, closing the door behind me.

The tiles of the kitchen are cold on my feet, but I am burning hot, my nerves buzzing and rattling from the intimacy shared in my room. I press the patterned water glass to the filter built into the silver fridge, watching it fill.

I hear a noise. One that snaps me out of my hazy state. Footsteps. Slow, but certain. Shoes tapping against the tiling of the foyer. I freeze. Zayn is in my bed, practically naked, why would he be walking around the foyer in shoes?

I feel the familiar loss of function in all my limbs as the realisation sets in that it probably isn't Zayn in the hallway, coupled with the fear of who might be. I set the waterglass down before I drop it and sink down to the floor, pressing my body to hide behind the kitchen island and try to focus on slowing my breath, knowing my accelerated heart rate is an easy way for an occult to pick up on my location.

However, my efforts are in vain as I hear the door to the kitchen creak open and my heart jumps into my throat. The footsteps are louder, and whoever it is walks to the left side of the island. I build up enough courage to peak and see the tip of black combat boots, the kind I imagine a soldier would wear. Mud scuffs the front of them, fresh and wet.