Escapade » z.m

8. I Mentally Stab My Dorm Mate

The mere idea of having to ask for an exchange of beds brought all the blood to his cheeks.

"I'll leave you two. Chap, if there's anything you need, just bug Zayn." Zayn shot him a look. George left, shutting the door loudly. Zayn could bet on his dinner, he saw a sneer on George's face.

Zayn glanced at his dormmate, unfolding his arms hesitatingly. "Er- er, make yourself at home- dorm. Which, I know, is yours too. I mean- it's your dorm also. I don't know what I'm saying..."

He heard him laugh. "You're Zayn, right?"

"Yeah." I guess that's what George just called me.

The boy brushed away the brown hair that fell in his eyes, and Zayn observed how dark his eyes were, even from the distance. He suddenly wished they were blue hued like Every's hair. But he knew that wasn't possible with eyes.

The lad perched on the bed, which creaked from his weight. "You don't always have to remain standing." He pointed at Zayn, beckoning him to come over to his bed.

Zayn awkwardly scratched his hair, doing as he was told. He threw the dorm keys at him and he caught it easily.

...

"I think I've seen you somewhere." said Zayn finally. They were both sitting cross-legged in their respective beds. With Zayn continuously watching the other guy as he unpacked his luggage on the bed.

He looked at Zayn, his eyes raking him up and down. "I think too." He spoke, a smirk pasted on his lips as he went back to emptying his bag. "I think I've definitely seen you." Zayn frowned, not understanding a thing.

He fumbled with the earphones, lacing the wire around in his fingers. "But that's kind of not possible. I just came here. Could have been one of those coincidences." He shrugged, untying the wire now.

"I know." He nodded.

"Know what?" Demanded Zayn.

"That you just came here. You don't have the accent, anyone can tell you're not from Ravenford." He left the bag, sliding off the bed and went inside the closet.

When he came back, his smile confused Zayn. "Plus, George told me a lot about you."

Zayn's frown deepened. "What- what did he tell?" His voice sounded meek, and he hated that. What he hated more, was someone else talking about him. And what did he know about Zayn to tell anyway? So he knows him for like a day?

"Nothing very crucial..." He eyed Zayn sheepishly. "If that's what you are concerned about..."

"I'm not concerned about anything." snapped Zayn, burying his knees in his chest. He plugged the earphones again, turned the music on and leaned against the headboard.

He tried not to avert his eyes from the phone, he really did. But every now and then, he glanced at the guy who was roaming everywhere to settle his things. All of this shuffling agitated Zayn, but he kept quiet.

"I don't really buy it." The guy spoke to him, leaning on the bed just like Zayn.

Blankly, Zayn's eyes flickered at him, but he pretended he didn't listen. Avoid, avoid. He told himself. When he initiated again, Zayn lost his demeanor. It wasn't in him to be so indifferent, regardless of the story his face told.

"Sorry?" Zayn finally faced him, turning the volume down.

"Oh? You really weren't listening? I thought-" He sniggered, "Let it be. I said it's suspicious why Headmaster let you in after almost a month?"

Zayn held his breath, licking his lips nervously. "What part of I-was-late do you not understand?"

He flung his legs down the bed, confronting Zayn face to face. Zayn hated another thing today. There was no way their beds could be side to side, he wanted to heave it out of the balcony.

"I also applied for scholarship. I wasn't late." He said matter-of-factly.

"Are you suggesting that I'm lying?" Zayn arched his eyebrow, looking at him expectantly.

"Who knows." He shrugged. "I can help you, by the way. And don't refuse, you'll need it. I can help you catch up with your studies- a lot can be taught in a month."

Zayn looked pensive, a weight lifting from his chest with the sudden change of subject. "I wasn't going to refuse."

"Good choice." He pursed his lips. "What subjects do you have?"

"I opted for English, of course." Zayn said, taking his earphones out. "Language and Literature. History and Sociology. And I'm thinking of taking Psychology too."

He nodded, processing it all. "What about the vocational subjects?"

"I haven't thought about it."

"Think soon then." He said.

"What's your name?" Zayn asked, suddenly.

He smirked again, "I'm quite popular. You'll know it anyway."

Zayn scoffed, crushing the wire in his fist. "I'm not here to conduct a questionnaire about who knows your name, jerk." He bit his tongue. He didn't want this to come out like that.

"I'm Lucas." He said sharply, staring at Zayn. "Lucas Dankworth." Zayn gulped, worrying he might have taken this too far.

Lucas shuffled, fixed the pillow and pulled the duvet over him. Turning his back at Zayn, he pretended to sleep. Zayn pulled the duvet also, scowling deeply at Lucas.

"Don't befriend with the wrong sort." He spoke, still not facing Zayn. "I know where I've seen you."

"What?"

"Nothing, just wake me up when the bell chimes. It's the call for dinner. I don't like missing dinner." His voice was muffled. He must have covered it with the duvet.

"Me too..." said Zayn, listening to his stomach growl.

__________________________________________________________________

Well?

I guess it was pretty predictable who his dormmate was?

It's getting cold here. I mean, not in the story but as in, climate wise.

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