💎 Z A Y N 💎

13

'Killing me' - IKON

Unedited

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Taking a deep breath, Zayn evaluated himself in the mirror. He'd just stepped out the shower. Now he had to get ready. He grabbed his blade and begun shaping up his beard from his neck, then his cheeks and around his mouth. God, it was tiring, shaping up everyday.

Next he grabbed some shears; his locks had now gone a little past his neck, telling him he needed a cut. He'd had no time to go to the barbers so he'd just have to DIY it. He snipped the ends little by little, cutting more on the sides and also shaping up his side burns. Done. He brushed off any stray hairs and rubbed some leave-in conditioner in his hair. This time he did his hair like he'd done when he and Syra had gone to the mall - styled yet messy. He rubbed in some moisturiser and SPF, doused himself in Lynx body spray and changed into his uniform.

He was kind of glad to have a uniform right now - he didn't know what the fuck he should wear for this type of occasion. He took out a new crisp white shirt, a new belt since his old one was so worn and grey trousers this time - his black ones had begun to slowly accumulate lint balls. He wore his school tie and actually bothered to form the knot properly and pushed it all the way up for once. Rah, he had even purchased cuff links. After some struggle he managed them on. Pulling on his socks, he then checked his phone. Syra has seen his messages when he had informed her that he'd be gone with Aboo but she hadn't replied. Strange. But he'd see her today.

Zayn pulled out his new cologne from its packaging, and carefully put a moderate amount on, not wanting anyone to suffocate anyone within his proximity. He checked he had everything : phone, dirt bike keys (Aboo gave them back once they had returned), school bag and his vape. Yes, he had finally got a nicotine-free vape pen, not through illegal means, because he was still a little addicted to nicotine. Hopefully using this would help his habit even if it didn't give him nicotine. He was still hiding it from his parents; he didn't want to get disowned.

Zayn surveyed himself in the mirror. He had gains; he put on some weight and worked out more, so he was no longer bordering underweight for a 6"4 seventeen year old fella. His cheeks weren't as hollow, had some colour in them. His face wasn't dead; but a hint of a smile graced his lips, like he was about to smirk any minute. His silver-grey eyes shone with mirth, with life. Funny how a few days away brought back the old Zayn. The one who loved laughing just as much as loved making others laugh. He set off down stairs, grinning his head off.

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"Assalamualaikum, Zayn," a soft voice greeted him, bringing him out of his dazed state.

He snapped his head up to see Syra. Looks like she had put in an effort today too. Not that she had too. God he sounded so cheesy. She wore a little makeup, he didn't know what but he saw that god damn glossy shit on her lips again. She had switched her black skirt and scarf for a navy one, her Pumas for those boots she'd worn to the mall. Her white blouse wasn't the usual one either, it was a more fashionable one. Okay, he noticed it was a little more fitted too. After giving her an up and down, he responded to her greetings,

"Walaikumasalam, Syra. Been a few days. How are you?" he grinned a little, earning a soft smile in return, emerald eyes shining.

"Alhamdulillah, good as usual. Khairyat? You look very happy and, well, more tidied up," (All praise be to God) (Everything good?).