"Soo... what about your Mum?" I inquired while unpacking the boxes Zayn had carried into our new 'home'.
"Well, considering your parents have covered this house for an entire year, not much will change. And at least Sunshine will have both her parents under one roof, so you can't complain about being a single parent anymore," he replied, giving me a playful wink, causing me to send him an unimpressed look. Leaning down, he scooped up Sunshine, who had been curiously sniffing around the boxes. "Isn't that right, Sunshine?"
Sunshine responded with a soft paw on his chest, making adorable purring noises as Zayn held her close for a moment before setting her down. She meowed, rubbing against Zayn's legs affectionately before darting off to explore the rest of the room. "Which room is ours?"
"Ours?" I squeaked, the word catching in my throat. "Did you forget about our rules?" I moved to grab a box but my foot caught on another one, I stumbled, arms flailing, before landing with a soft thud on the floor. Zayn let out a chuckle, which only fueled my embarrassment. I huffed as I got up, dusting off my designer clothes as I glared at him. "We're sleeping in separate rooms."
"Come on." He tilted his head to the side, stepped closer until there was barely any space between us. "I would sleep a lot better with you in my arms every night," he purred, his voice low and suggestive, yet tinged with a teasing edge.
I searched his eyes for a moment, and found what I was looking for. There was a flicker of amusement dancing in his gaze that told me this was him playing with me yet again. It was like we were in some kind of ongoing game, constantly trying to one-up each other and see who could outsmart and make a fool of the other. And right now, it was pretty obvious Zayn was trying to pull a fast one on me. I could practically see the invisible sign hanging above his head that read, 'Gotcha, Liam!' Rolling my eyes at his antics, I stepped aside, not about to let him win this round. "Nice try, but I'm not falling for your fake flirting anymore." With a shrug, I turned my attention back to the task at hand.
Zayn let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disappointment as his eyes followed me. "Damn, that usually works on the ladies."
"I'm no lady," I retorted back. "And as a punishment for misgendering me, I'm taking the room with the balcony." With that declaration, I grabbed hold of one of my suitcases and began rolling it into the room, making my decision final.
Zayn chuckled at my response. "I knew you'd take that room," he said before turning to head to his own room. Just before disappearing behind the door, he added with a grin, "Oh, and there's a surprise waiting for you in there."
I raised an eyebrow at Zayn's cryptic comment but decided to focus on settling into my new room. As I pushed the door open, my eyes immediately landed on the bed, where neatly folded barista hat, shirt, and apron laid. I furrowed my eyebrows.
These were Zayn's, weren't they?
"Zayn? Why are your uniforms in my room?" I called out, turning to look at him as he left his room and approached mine.
He leaned against the doorframe with a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm sorry. Did you forget the one rule I had during this agreement?"
My eyes widened with realisation. "Does that mean..."
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
"You should be ashamed of yourself for making a guy as fabulous and handsome as me work!" I wiped away my fake tears dramatically.
I couldn't believe I was decked out in one of those hideous barista uniforms. I mean, come on! Aren't I the CEO here? Why can't I wear whatever I want?
"There's a handsome guy here?" Zayn looked around the empty shop, and laughed at my annoyed expression, making me seriously consider kicking him in the balls.
"Why are we even here so late?"
"I'm not about to teach you how to make coffee in front of paying customers." He sauntered over to the espresso machine, flicking switches and adjusting knobs with practiced ease. "Lattes are the go-to order here, so that's what you'll learn first." Without wasting much time, he began preparing the coffee, motioning me to watch and learn.
Is he even serious? I don't even make my own coffee. I mean, who needs to learn how to make coffee anyway? That's what coffee machines are for.
I watched reluctantly as Zayn expertly ground the coffee beans. His movements were precise and confident, giving me the perfect opportunity to play around a bit.
"You know..." I started in my sweetest voice, drawing his attention away from the coffee grinder. "You're so cute when you make coffee."
Zayn paused, his expression caught between confusion and amusement. "What?"
"I mean it," I continued, my tone dripping with faux admiration. "The way you grind your beans is..." I trailed off, pretending to be in awe of Zayn's physique, which is partly true, as I eyed his body appreciatively. With a seductive bite on my bottom lip, I added, "So incredibly hot."
Zayn raised an eyebrow unimpressedly before returning to his task. "If you continue being weird, I'll make you sweep floors."
Rolling my eyes, I put my hands up in surrender. "Jeez, okay, I apologise."
He ignored me and continued with the coffee-making process, instructing me to mimic his actions so I could eventually make my own coffee. With a half-hearted attempt, I obliged, still feeling utterly ridiculous in the barista uniform.
I clumsily imitated Zayn's movements, pouring milk into the steaming pitcher and frothing it with the wand. He patiently guided me through each step, correcting my technique whenever I did something wrong. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the task, I couldn't help but appreciate Zayn's patience with me. He could definitely be a proper teacher.
When we finished, I slid my cup onto the counter with a huff. "There. I made a stupid coffee," I muttered, stifling a yawn behind my palm. "Am I done?"
I tried to look proud, but the truth was, I felt more out of place than ever. My usual realm was shops, parties and night clubs, not some cheap cafe.
He checked my cup of coffee before offering a nod of approval. "Not yet. Here we do latte art."
"Why though?" I pouted, feeling a bit impatient.
His eyes momentarily lost their focus before he cleared his throat and continued. "It's what we're known for. Besides, people love it."
I let out a tired sigh and acknowledged his point with a nod.
"So you're gonna pour milk into the cup carefully to make latte art." He handed me the steamed milk.
"What do I even draw?"
"Whatever you want. Just keep it simple."
After a brief contemplation, I settled on drawing a simple heart. Without knowing how to do it exactly, I tilted the milk pitcher, my hand shook a little as I poured the milk into the cup, but I focused, determined to get it right. It started off a bit shaky, the lines wavering and the edges uneven. But as I continued, my movements became more confident. I slowly swirled the milk around, creating curves and arcs, until finally, a recognisable heart shape emerged in the foam. It looked good at the end. A bit smudgy, but still beautiful. "Easy!"
"Wow." Zayn voiced out beside me.
I turned to him. "Does it look good?"
"Yeah. You're not bad for a beginner." He nodded with an approving downward curve of his lips. "Here, I'll teach you how to do a more complicated pattern."
He positioned himself directly behind me, his hand covering mine as we held onto the milk jug. My heartbeat kicked up a notch unexpectedly; sure, his intentions were innocent, but with him so close behind me... Well, let's just say my mind isn't exactly focused on coffee right now.
His wrist moved with mine in fluid motions, crafting intricate designs on the coffee's surface. His proximity grew increasingly distracting. I could feel his warmth radiating, his chest rising and falling gently against my back. His fingers intertwined with mine, his touch gentle yet firm. It was like the aroma of the coffee mixed with an entirely different kind of warmth, one that sent shivers down my spine.
And as Zayn guided my hand, creating those beautiful patterns and slowly filling the cup to the brim, I wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on me. Did he know the way my breath hitched ever so slightly when he leaned in closer? Could he feel the way my pulse quickened under his touch?
But, of course, I couldn't dwell on that. We were just making coffee, after all. There was absolutely no way he felt the same, it was evident in the way he focused only on the coffee we were making.
"See, it's all about the wrist movement," Zayn murmured, his voice smooth as melted chocolate and his breath warm against my ear as his fingers delicately adjusted mine. With a flick of his wrist, he created intricate swirls and loops on the surface of the coffee, his movements smooth and precise. It was mesmerising to watch, but also incredibly distracting.
Instead of concentrating on the latte art, my mind wandered to places it shouldn't. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the scent of his cologne, and the rhythmic motion of his wrist sent my thoughts spiraling into forbidden territory. I fought to suppress the butterflies in my stomach and regain control of my wandering mind but it was almost impossible. And let me tell you, I was genuinely disappointed with myself. Why was I acting like a hormonal teenager?
But in my defense, it's been a really long time since I've been in an intimate proximity with someone like this. I tried to shake off the unsettling awareness of his presence, attempting to focus on the task at hand. However, Zayn seemed intent on making it difficult for me to keep my thoughts in check.
"There's an art to this, you know. You have to feel it."
Feel it? Oh, I was feeling something, alright. Something I wasn't entirely prepared to acknowledge. The closeness, the shared moment, it all felt too intimate for a simple coffee-making lesson. It stirred sensations I hadn't anticipated, ones that lingered beneath the surface, waiting to be satisfied. It made my pulse quicken and my cheeks flush. Thankfully, I had my back to Zayn and the apron I wore offered some concealment for my... little enthusiasm.
I hate myself.
As if the situation wasn't already a test of my composure, Zayn was taking ages to finish that God damned coffee. "You're a natural, Liam. I'm impressed."
In response, a nervous chuckle escaped my lips. My neck was incredibly tense as I refused to turn my head back to him. "Well, it's all thanks to the expert guidance," I managed to stammer out.
Zayn's laughter danced around me like a melody. "Next time you want to impress someone, you can surprise them with your new latte art skills."
He stepped away, and the sudden absence of his presence left me feeling oddly bereft. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself to feel that warmth again. It was like someone had pulled the plug on my own personal magnet. I stood there, blinking like a lost puppy, before letting out a deep breath of relief and shaking myself out of it with an awkward cough. Get a grip, Liam! I mentally smacked myself for getting so flustered over a simple coffee lesson.
I managed to focus solely on the cup in front of me, now finished. There was a beautiful swan made out of milk foam, gracefully floating in the middle of the coffee surface.
"No way!" I burst out, spinning around to confront Zayn. "I did it!"
He chuckled in response. "Well done. Go ahead and taste it."
"Okay, but I think it's way too pretty to drink." I carefully picked up the cup, admiring my creation for a moment before taking a sip. It was amazing-just how I like it.
"Well?"
"It's delicious!" I savored another sip, a satisfied hum escaping my lips.
"I can tell." Zayn's voice was soft, almost tender. "You've got a bit of foam on your face there." His fingers brushed against my cheek as he leaned in and gently wiped it away, his touch sending a tingling sensation through me.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Try it." I held out the cup to him, coaxing him to take a sip.
Zayn took a sip from the cup I offered and hummed in delight. "Good job," he praised, his voice soft and genuine. With that simple affirmation, the tension between us seemed to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable ease.
After a few more attempts and several hours, we had an array of surprisingly impressive latte art creations adorning our cups - flowers, hearts, and even a questionable attempt at a caricature of Sunshine - by Zayn, of course, I'm not that much of a pro yet.
"You're not half bad when you're not being a posh pain in the arse, I guess." Zayn remarked, glancing over at the filled cups with a satisfied grin.
"Me, a pain? I'm hurt, Zayn. Deeply hurt." I placed a hand over my heart dramatically.
He chuckled. "Maybe I've misjudged you."
"Maybe you have," I replied with a playful wink, taking a sip of the latte.
His eyes lingered on my face for a good minute, and there was a different softness in his gaze that hadn't been there before. I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. Was there something on my face again? Milk foam?
I brought my hand to my face, checking for any smudges, but no, it was all clear. And Zayn's expression remained unchanged. Was he sleeping with his eyes open? Or maybe he was secretly a mind reader and was probing my thoughts right now.
I thought back to that time I watched a documentary on mind-reading, but that was just nonsense, wasn't it? Either way, I guess I should just think about something ridiculous to throw him off. Like... 'pineapples are the best topping for pizza', or 'socks are just foot prisons'.
As I was trying my best to keep my mind busy with the most absurd thoughts imaginable, his expression shifted into one of contemplation, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. I could see a glint of appreciation in his eyes. "You know, Liam," he finally spoke, making me exhale with relief. "You're not what I expected."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and what were you expecting, Barista Malik?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Honestly? I thought this whole spoilt, stuck-up prince thing would make you arrogant and, well, not that fun to be around."
Leaning back against the counter, a smirk played on my lips. I was amused by his honesty. "Sorry to disappoint you. But it seems like you got stuck with a spoilt, stuck-up prince who's also fun to be around."
"No, seriously. You're more than that." Zayn's gaze softened, and he met my eyes with sincerity. "You're... beautiful, Liam."
I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected compliment. "Um, thanks?" I stammered, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth as I avoided his gaze. "Anyway, shall we clean up and call it a night? It's getting late."
He nodded, the warmth in his eyes was still there. "Yeah, let's do that."
We tidied up the coffee-making mess, stowing away the milk jugs and giving the counter a wipe down. The soft hum of the coffee machines and the occasional clink of mugs being stacked filled the air. It felt strangely domestic, a far cry from the posh life I was accustomed to.
As I wiped down the counter, I heard him call out to me. "Hey, Liam? Do you want to-"
His sentence was abruptly halted by a deafening crash, and my head snapped up in alarm. "What was that?" I whisper-yelled. My heart raced and my breath quickened as my eyes swept around the place frantically until they landed on the source of the noise - the shop's glass window, now completely shattered, with glass fragments strewn across the floor like fallen stars.
Zayn rushed past me towards the window, his expression a mix of concern and annoyance. "Probably just some bored teen pulling a prank," he clicked his tongue, his tone tinged with frustration. He knelt to inspect the damage, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "This is stupid. It's gonna cost so much money to repair."
While he spoke, I edged closer, crouching down to examine the scene. "Uh... Zayn? I don't think that was some random kid," I murmured, my eyes narrowing as I discovered the source of the disturbance.
"Why?" He turned to face me.
I got back on my feet and showed him the heavy brick, which was the reason for smashing of the glass, along with the note that was tied to it.
He stood beside me with a scowl as I untied the paper. "What the hell?"
Zayn's brows furrowed as I unfolded the note, revealing messy handwriting scrawled across it. The atmosphere in the cafe turned tense as we both read the note silently.
End your fake relationship or I will.