Entangled | Zayn Malik

Chapter Twenty-Five

The feeling of Zayn nuzzling into my neck wakes me from my sleep - his stubble lightly scratches at my skin, but it's comforting.

"Good morning." He says sleepily.

I open my eyes to look at him and his eyes are still closed.

"Morning." I say, my hand finding his hair and gently playing with it.

He finally opens his eyes with a sleepy smile and I find myself wondering how does he look so good in the morning?

I don't even remember drifting off last night. The majority of the night was spent worrying, I must've worried myself to sleep.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks, lifting one of his legs and wrapping it around mine.

"Yeah I did." I lie, because I'd rather not tell him about the stupid thoughts that I was having.

"Hungry?" He asks, untangling himself from my body and standing up from the bed.

"Little bit." I tell him. I'm not usually that hungry first thing in the morning but right now I think I'd eat a horse.

"I'm ravenous." He says, bending down to pick up a pair of grey joggers from the floor.

"You're always ravenous." I say, enjoying the view as he pulls the joggers up his legs and over his boxers, the muscles in his back and thighs flexing as he does.

"So are you." He says. He doesn't bother putting a t-shirt on which I am definitely not complaining about.

"True." I say as he outstretches his arms and pulls me up from the bed.

We walk into the kitchen and Zayn opens up the blinds, letting the sun illuminate the room.

The mansion is completely different in the light of day. I don't feel as edgy and uneasy when the sun is shining through the rooms.

"What'd you fancy?" He asks, opening up the fridge and staring intently into it.

"You." I say, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

"You're such a cheeseball." He laughs.

"You love it." I snuggle my face into the soft skin of his bare back.

"I do." He says, moving his hands to my forearms.

"No but seriously, I kinda fancy a bagel." I say.

"Good shout."

He searches the large freezer for bagels until he finally finds them and pops them in the toaster. I take the margarine and cream cheese from the fridge.

"Coffee?" I ask.

"Please." He says.

"What'd you take?" I switch the kettle on and take two mugs from the cupboard.

"Milk and two sugars." He tells me.

"Such a copycat."

"I'm older than you, so technically you're the copycat."

"You're older by a month! It doesn't count." I say.

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

"You have the mentality of a six year old." I laugh.

"That would be a more defendable argument if you didn't just spend thirty seconds of your life playing yes it does, no it doesn't with me."