Midnight • (Zayn Malik)

counter number five

It was three pm on a Sunday in the horribly lit Jo-Ann's craft supply store of Punta Gorda, Florida and I had resorted to making a stiff beat with my pen and the cash register while mindlessly singing Pressure. (The PCD was real, despite what Violet said.) The sun was out and shining and although I really prefer clouds and rain, it had been a while since I'd been to my grandparents' house by Charlotte Harbor. It was the perfect day to take their boat out on the water and read. I started day dreaming about how gorgeously tan (burnt) I'd get and sighed when I thought about the new book I got right before school began and how I could've started reading it. I was just about to jump off of my grandparents' dock when the sound of sliding doors wiped away the sparkling blue water that mirrored the summer sky.

I hopped off of my cashier counter when the sound startled me, straightening out my apron to appear like I had never been sat up there in the first place. By the time I situated myself the person had already disappeared out of sight. And I got all excited for nothing.

"Monte? Is that you?" I said into the store's intercom.

Several of the older ladies I worked with turned there heads to look at me with withered and confused eyes. I set the intercom down where it belonged and tried to make myself look busy. Which was next to impossible, by the way, so they kept staring and I kept trying not to meet their gazes.

A moment later my phone buzzed in the pocket of my ripped up, bleached out jeans. Some random number had texted me and I slid my finger across the screen to read what it said.

From Unknown: Luna

That's not weird in the slightest.

To Unknown: Who is this??

They replied within a few seconds.

From Unknown: Isle 8 I think, paint section. I need help.

Yeah it kind of sounded like I was meeting up with who could quite possibly be my assassin but I went to the specified location because being on the verge of death was way less boring than sitting behind counter number five. I came to a halt at the end of the isle fully knowing I should've expected this.

"How did you get my number? Like, what? Did you ask someone for it? Are you twelve?" I put my hands on my hips as I stared at the leather clad boy. Emphasis on boy.

"Actually if I recall, you were the one that passed your number along to me," He kept his eyes on the spray cans displayed in rows before him, a slight smirk painted on his face that was just big enough so that I could see it from back here.

"Yeah that didn't happen," I shook my head.

"Oh?" He raised a brow, still staring at the cans of paint with no purpose. He did ask for my help, didn't he?

"No," I stated.

"So you didn't send this then?" He walked towards me slowly and raised his phone screen up to my face so that I could see whatever he was showing me.

From Luna: Zain has a better taste in music than I do

"What the hell? I didn't-" I cut myself off, my mind rewinding back to art class on Friday when I remember saying those exact words as Zain held my phone in his hand.

"The lovely art of audio recording. And that iOS update," Zain smiled easily at me as he put his phone back into his black jean pocket.

And I swear his sole purpose in life was finding new ways to annoy me. Texting me all of the time might find its way at the top of the list here pretty soon.

"You actually make me want to vomit all over the floor," I crossed my arms.

Zain laughed a little bit of his weird laugh that I was unfortunately starting to get used to, "Clean up in isle eight Luna."

"I hate you."

"That's no way to speak to a customer. All that good training gone to waste. This might be the last strike Luna. I might have to let you go for that one," He shook his head.

"You needed help?" I asked, choosing to ignore him like usual.

"Yeah, you wouldn't happen to have a glossy clear coat would you? I can see the matte here but I think a bit of shine might add a nice touch," He explained like he didn't just get on my nerves.

"You're finished already?" that was fast.

He smiled faintly, "No, but nice of you to check up on me," I rolled my eyes, "I just had the idea and wanted to pick some up before I forgot."

"The gloss is on the other side," I said flatly.

"Which side of the isle is it on?"

"Left."

"Which shelf?"

"Lower."

He eyed me for a moment, "Alright, I'm convinced. I'm not letting you go after all. Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

I mockingly saluted him; he nodded his head in approval. I watched until his leather jacket disappeared into the next isle over.

"Moronic asswagon," I muttered.

"Strike two!" He called from the other side.

I groaned.

He strode back over to me, holding a can of glossy clear coat, a satisfied smile plastered to his face. He stared at me for a few moments.

He cleared his throat, "Well?"

"Well what?" I shrugged.

"This can of gloss isn't going to ring itself up."

"You are s-"

He raised a brow at me.

"Such a happy customer," I forced the words out, "let me get right on that for you."

"Why thank you Luna," He smirked as he passed ahead of me to the registers.

I'd do anything to smack that smirk off of his face. My hand went to the bow that tied the apron around my waist and undid the knot. I looked around to make sure none of the old ladies were watching and stealthily whipped the tie at Zain's arm. Close enough I guess. The corner of my mouth rose as I watched his head shake back and forth.

I rang his stupid can of gloss up and tried to keep a straight face as he dramatically rubbed at the spot on his bicep that I had delivered my blow. I handed him the plastic bag containing his item and his receipt.

"You're good to go."

"Trying to get rid of me are you?"

"Yeah actually since you got here. Leave," I half teased because, really at this point he was the only thing keeping me entertained.

"Alright I got the hint. Bye Luna," He waved, then put on his sunglasses before walking out of the sliding doors with long strides.

I watched him walk out of the sliding doors and blew a puff of air from my mouth as I was faced with my boredom once more. Not a moment later my phone buzzed in my back pocket again.

From Moronic Asswagon: Hi Luna

And I quickly wiped the dumb look from my face because that text was actually annoying and I was far from delighted that I had received it.

To Moronic Asswagon: Miss me already?

So I cleared my schedule of playing my makeshift drum set for the rest of the afternoon because talking to the most annoying person ever put on this earth was way less boring than sitting behind counter number five.