Your Creation • Zarry

5. Leather

The smell of pancakes and coffee wafted through the air, waking me up from my sleep. Groaning, I attempted to lift my head off the pillow, but it felt too heavy. I looked around and realized I was still in Zayn's living room, but I hadn't remembered falling asleep. I did, however, remember that very erotic dream. It still felt so real.

It had been, by far, the sweetest dream I ever had and I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. I grabbed my phone and checked the time - noon already?

Zayn walked over to me and placed a plate of pancakes, some marmite on toast and a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. He looked like he was in a pretty good mood and I hadn't remembered the last time he cooked anything; that was more-so something I would have done.

"Look at you being all domestic," I said, half smiling.

"Don't get used to it. You're lucky it was your birthday. How ya feeling?"

I groaned again, forcing myself to sit up. My head was pounding.

"Like shit to be honest."

Zayn chuckled and handed me the coffee with some headache meds, which I graciously gulped down within seconds.

"What happened last night?" I asked hesitantly, just in case there was some small sliver of hope that the dream actually hadn't been a figment of my imagination and we were going to have some confrontational conversation about it, or perhaps do it again, if I had it my way.

"You showed up drunk off your ass. We chatted a bit and then you passed out," Zayn replied in a nonchalant manner, plopping down next to me while taking a bite of the toast from the plate.

"Oh damn. I hardly remember anything," I answered, half-lying and hiding the bit of disappointment that I was feeling.

I knew it had been too good to be true. Fucking hell. He was my best friend for God's sake. What was wrong with me? Why was I fantasizing about him all the time and why was I stupid to believe that he was even into that sort of stuff.

Zayn put his arm around me, which was something he usually did, but this time I felt my skin flush. What was wrong with me? Jesus, I needed to calm down and fast, because my mind was racing and I didn't feel good at all.

"It's alright. Happens to the best of us. Eat up, Haz."

Zayn got up off the couch and walked out of the living room without saying anything more to me so I sat there staring at the breakfast he made with a mixture of feelings. There was so much about myself that I just didn't understand. Was I into guys? Was this some weird phase that I was going through? I didn't think about anyone else like this but him and I knew that I liked girls. But as much as I tried to ignore this, it continued to haunt me at the most random times.

God, I had such a headache. I scarfed down the breakfast quickly and then Zayn returned soon after with a wrapped gift in his hands.

"Almost forgot to give you your birthday present," he said, handing me the small, rectangular shaped item. "That is why you came here, right?"

Well, that's what I had said, but that's not exactly why I came over to his house, but I wasn't about to tell him that I missed him and just wanted to hang out because that was weird.

"Aw, thanks Zayn," I said with a genuine smile as I removed the wrapping paper to reveal a brown, leather bound journal.

"I figured you might need a space to write down your masterpieces. I know you've got some songs in your head for the world to hear."

I felt myself grinning. It was a very Zayn-like gift to give because it was specific and full of thought, and that's the sort of person that he was. Zayn wasn't the kind of guy to get you some random present that didn't have meaning. He took the time to get to know people and bought them something thoughtful, which I really liked about him. Plus, I had been telling Zayn for awhile now that I wanted to write more songs. We had been singing songs from our writers in the band, but I was starting to feel more confident with my creative input and I liked writing. There was constantly an array of words and thoughts dancing around in my head, things that I wanted to say but I never could quite figure out how to say them out loud. It was the perfect gift and I couldn't have been any happier to receive it, especially from him.

"I'll use it all the time," I responded and grinned at him, which he returned and cleared my plate for me.

Once my headache finally subsided I got dressed and called a car to come get me. Once it arrived I got inside and asked the driver for a pen on the ride home and opened up my journal and sat there staring blankly at the page. I started to think about Zayn, the light dancing in his eyes, the way that he looked when he slept, the way that he made me feel happy. I thought about the strange, impulsive decision I had to be with him on my birthday and how he hadn't even flinched when he woke up and saw me serenading him with Elvis Presley. He's the only person I was thinking about. And I thought about my fantasy and how I wished it had actually happened. I finally put my pen to paper and on the first page I wrote:

The sweetest dream.