When Worlds Collide - A Zayn Malik Fanfic

17; Lunch dates, new relationships, and hatred

Zayn

 

"Hey, you're here." Niall enters our dorm and chucks himself down on his bed, beginning to take off his shoes. "Haven't seen you since last night."

"Speaking of which, how are you?" I ask him.

"Horrible. But I'm not as bad as poor Ave. She really doesn't handle that stuff, eh?" Niall shakes his head. "Thank god for Violet. Did you know she took care of me?"

"Hey," I interrupt. "I did, too," I say, because I totally did help. Violet can't take all the credit.

Niall looks up at me as if I've just told him I'm actually David Beckham. "You did?"

"Don't fluff around about it. We didn't do much, just carry you here and lie you down."

"I can't believe this!" He cries, jumping to his feet. "Zayn, mate, Zayn-o, god, I really owe you one. I didn't think you were that thoughtful and kind and-"

"Hey, enough of that."

"Let me take you out to lunch," Niall says, completely seriously.

I look at him. "What?"

"To lunch. In town. I'll shout you."

"Er, no thanks."

"No, look, just let me. There's this great restaurant in the middle of town and they have the best pasta. Let me shout you. Come on." He looks at me with doe eyes.

I sigh. Lunch with Niall? If that isn't the gayest thing I have ever heard then I don't know what is. But, I do like pasta. And hey, if it's free... "Fine. But only because you're paying."

Niall actually leaps in the air, startling me completely. "Yes! Oh, hey, this is fantastic. You free this Saturday? Screw your plans; make yourself free. I'm gonna go have a shower. See you later, my homeboy Zayn-o. Love you, man."

I stare at him with a look of disgust as he enters the bathroom. Why? Out of all the roommates, why him?

I decide to get some sleep. It's not that late, but I have nothing better to do. Plus, I don't really want to be awake when Niall gets out of that bathroom. I slip my shirt over my head and slide in under my blankets before falling fast asleep. But not before I hear one last 'Zayn-o!' that makes my head throb.

------

"What are you doing for the holidays?" Brittany asks me as we stand in front of my locker. Her hip's balanced on the locker beside mine and her head's resting on her hand, holding her up.

I stay staring ahead, my back against my locker and my arms folded across my chest. I shrug. "Nothing."

"You going home?"

I've never really thought about it 'til now. Am I going home? Or more importantly, could I go home? If I went home now, with nothing to show for myself, I'd prove to my family just how much of a lowlife I actually am. And I can't have them being right; have them holding that judgement over me. I can't go home. Not yet.