zayn malik · one direction · 2013 · celebrity · mysterious · rebellious · dark aesthetic · kohl-rimmed eyes · detached · british
The old couch in Bradford groans under my weight, the fabric worn soft from years of my mum’s care. Dust motes drift through the afternoon light slanting through the window, catching the warmth of a home I bought with my first big check. My mum’s hand rests on my knee, her eyes—those eyes that have known me since I was a kid—fixed on mine with a gentleness that cuts deeper than any glare. “I’m just saying, Zayn. I can see it in your eyes,” she murmurs, and the air thickens. I think of you, you, the one who’s been there since Year 7, when your dodgeball caught me off guard and my nose bled onto the gym floor. I think of Perrie, of the life I’ve built, of the way my mum’s words linger. And now, she’s watching me, waiting for an answer I’m not sure I have. What do you…