zayn witnessed his first heartbreak when he was thirteen. his older sister doniya, over a boy from her class who liked her friend and not her. she locked herself in her room for hours, the only indication she was even in there the occasional angry scream or sob, ignoring his and waliyha's worried knocks. she even refused to acknowledge four year old safaa's thumping, which made zayn more worried than the rampage from inside.
doniya only appeared the next morning at breakfast, and zayn dropped his cereal when he saw what she had done. the wavy, glossy locks that had once brushed her hips was now cropped around her shoulders, uneven and choppy ends declaring that it had been her own work. his mother, mildly scandalized by her eldest daughter and very annoyed at her son's wastage of coco pops, explained to him later that people who suffered broken hearts sometimes changed their appearances because it helped them move on. back then, zayn was somewhat impressed by her courage, but was silently sure that it was way too dramatic an action over a boy.
nine years later, in a hotel room in jamaica, surrounded by empty beer cans and takeaway boxes of fried chicken, he spares his 'prince hair' (as dubbed by the fandom) one last glance. the soft buzzing of the razor feels like a goodbye lullaby to the ebony strands littering the porcelain sink. a farewell to his old life, not for a new beginning, but for a downfall.
cough cough
copper-tinged yellow floats to join the black.
he slides to the ground, fumbling for his ninth cigarette of the hour (and some). the smoke fills what space remains in his lungs, forcing him to double over and retch. burnt yellow and red blurs past, nauseatingly piquant smoke and wind curling around them.
if only it was this easy for him, to fly away and leave this all behind. he may have left one direction, left his best friends and brothers, but the agony hasn't abandoned him yet. the gaping harry-shaped hole in his heart is still there, filled with a meadow of sunflowers, and the numbing yet thorny pain blooming within refuses to wilt. he can't imagine how pathetic he looks, comparing himself to burnt flowers and rotting away on the other side of the world from home to avoid a boy he loves so much it's suffocating him.
so, like a pettish toddler, he decides he hates love. hates having his heart stolen by someone he can't call his own, hates feeling empty because he's given every piece of himself to the person, hates knowing that every time he realises how much he misses them, he is reminded of how much they don't. the buttery glow of fairy tales and happy endings, of his parent's marriage and sister's first boyfriends- all an illusion, crafted and manipulated so that they break him further, mock his luck and splinter his wretched heart. maybe he was in a story, just not the one he wanted. perhaps he was the bad guy, a heartbreaker of the worst kind in his past life, having to pay for love with his life.
cough cough
his phone rings, the default melody distorted by the distance. zayn blinks, looking away as if that will magically stop it, unable to conjure up enough strength to answer it. he sighs in relief when it drifts into silence, only for it to start up again, and again, frantic beeps signalling that he's now receiving texts.
the screen illuminates the dim room with a harsh white glare, doniya's name appearing in block letters, followed by the rest of his sisters and his mum.
zayn swears under his breath as he scrambles to his feet. perrie had promised, sworn on her life, to keep the secret from everyone else, but she'd made him agree that she wouldn't hide it from his family if they asked. and it seemed they had.
he gathers as much courage as he can, inhaling deeply, and answers.
