"Babe?" you rested one hand on the side wall as your other hand bent to take off the heels that had been torturing you all day. "Babe? I'm home!" you called relieved to be at home after that hell of a day. "Zayn?!" you cried a little louder, starting to get worried. You threw your purse onto the couch and walked into your bedroom. The bathroom light was on so you tiptoed inside. He wasn't there. You glanced in the mirror, where your fancy updo was more of a messy downdo. You groaned, slamming down the light with your thumb. "Zayn?" you called again confused, "This isn't funny." As soon as you walked out of the bedroom, you felt a strong gust of wind. Taken back, you balanced yourself with your arms standing back up straight. It was the glass door. Your flat had a big glass door in the back of the wall, that led to a little porch. Your eyebrows dipped at why the door would be open, but then you knew. As soon as you walked towards the darkened door, you smelt it. The pungent, rare scent of cigars. You slipped out onto the wooded lanai. "Zayn," you whispered. He was standing with his arms bent over the edge, his legs crossed in a comfortable position, his eyes looking out at the lit city, and his fingers intwined with a small cigar butt. "What are you doing?" you whispered. He nearly dropped it over the building, as he turned to face you. He obviously hadn't noticed you standing there. He gazed into your eyes before staring back into downtown London. He brought the cigar back up to his lips before you jabbed in. You smacked the thing away from his mouth, leaving it to hurdle over the edge. "What the hell was that for?" his words were gruff and harsh, his breath was fumed and hazed. "You told me you stopped," you whispered not wanting to think about the old Zayn. But he had promised, he had promised he would change. "It's none of your business," he spat, smoke flying up into the air with every syllable. "Zayn! What the hell has gotten into you," you cried out. He ignored you, walking over to the small table to grab another cigar. "Zayn stop!" you yelled, "Talk to me!" "What?" he growled back beginning to light it again. Your fingers intervened throwing the cigar over to the edge once again. "Zayn. You told me you stopped," you whispered again looking at his cloudy eyes. He reached down to grab another one, "Stop doing that. Just leave me alone Y/N. I can do whatever I want." You cocked your head up in an attempt to stay strong. But instead you crashed back into the house, leaving him to stand on the porch. Right inside your flat you felt his strong hands attack your arm, not letting you go any further. You broke free walking to your couch. His hands gripped onto you again, this time harder. Fear ran through your bones afraid he was going to hit you, hurt you. But he spun you around only to kiss your lips hard. It was hard to get past the cigarette taste but his lips tasted even better. "I'll change," he whispered. Those words were said before, and you believe him. But something didn't change your mind this time. You would talk in the morning, you were way too tired to deal with this right now. You pulled away coughing. Your hand went up to his chest, throwing him down onto the couch. "Don't kiss me with cigarette breath."
