escapade.

first.

C H A P T E R O N E.
→ MUSIC INVITES FRIENDS, NO MATTER GOOD OR BAD. ←
"ONE FLOWER, TWO FLOWER, THREE FLOWER, FOUR. LET YOUR HAND TOUCH ANOTHER ONE AND YOU'LL BE DEAD ON THE FLOOR."

TRANQUILITY AND MATCHA tea were the two very things being able to infatuate him in the most subdue way possible. the emptiness sound of absolutely nothing was so essential for zayn to have possessed within his life at all meanings. tranquility, to zayn, meant a lot of things, such as being with peace in your mind and the growth to your mental health and teaching yourself how to interact with being at ease. it was so paramount to be able to rest your mind and secure time for yourself to actually think— in peace. zayn was in fact a man who prized comfortableness and the engaging thoughts his mind had to spare— but how exactly could you do all of this without being in the state of tranquility? you couldn't, it would be impossible. you had to be at rest with yourself, in a place of comfort and composure, enjoy a steaming cup of matcha tea to warm up you up as you let your mind wander.

tea— matcha tea— and tranquility made him the happiest, and as of right now, he so desperately needed these two things to come in the place of act because he wasn't happy at all.

two fucking days. two fucking days, new in the neighborhood and he was already having complications with mindless, inconsiderate, lousy ass neighbors. or, it was just simply the self orientated fucking teens whom mothers and fathers could not control them and tell them the sound limits to the ear splitting rap music they blared through their portable loud speakers. it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the sun still rode upon the wave of the high pitched, baby blue sky, trailing behind soft kisses only visible though the thin whisk of puffy clouds.

zayn ran his pale, tattooed hands through his messy splash of darkened hair, the silky texture sliding right through the glides of his thick, single fingers. his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed and the skin at the top of his forehead wrinkled roughly, as he sighed out in pure frustration. again, it was 3 o'clock in the damn afternoon and the loud, loud chorus of 'bust that pussy open' radiated throughout the room of his neighbors, managed to bounce off of the walls of his home, echoing and thumping into the air, clustering his ears. that's just how loud it really was. and it was just too bad that he was legit their next door neighbor. houses side by side. ear to ear. zayn's moist tongue charged so effortlessly, so lazily across this face of his cracked and dry bottom lip. exasperation is clear in his beautifully crafted face. palms gripping the handle of the desk chair, he used it as support to stand up from out of the chair before heading to the rather loud problem.

you'd think she'd just gotten her heartbroken by the way she sang along with the words to 'love' by kendrick lamar so passionately and fluently— almost like she was practicing for an audition on the x-factor or american idol or something. she sang the song with intensity clear in her voice, words coming out wild, heartfelt, like she was singing to her boyfriend (in which she didn't have because she thought boys weren't worth not even a second of her precious time) of three years who did her so dirty and imperfectly but all she wanted was love from him and to be with him, despite all the fucked up shit he had done to her. she loved this song and felt as though it truly spoke to her, besides it just being so rhythmically perfect and beautiful, every beat, every verse being so pristine and engaging. once you heard the soft electrifying melody and zacari's soft vocals angelically chanting, you'd fall in love with it. and let's not forget kendrick's relating rhymes topping it all off with solid glitter gold.