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The morning sunlight spilled through the wide glass windows of the Alaric estate, casting golden streaks over the marble floor.

Zayn yawned as he stretched his toned arms above his head, the silk sheets slipping down his bare chest. His tousled hair was a mess of perfection just like him.

He dragged himself out of bed and walked straight to the mirror, standing shirtless, lips curled into a smug smile.

“Damn,” he whispered to his reflection, giving himself a wink. “Too sexy to be real.”

He tousled his hair a little more on purpose messy but hot. His neck bore faint marks from last night. Another name he wouldn't remember. Another night that didn’t matter.

Zayn threw on an oversized sweatshirt and loose joggers, then walked downstairs, humming a pop tune. He slid into the dining room and flopped onto the chair  no, not on the chair, across it with his legs stretched out on top of the dining table.

His parents were already seated. His mom, Amelia, looked tired. His dad, as usual, was glaring.

“Zayn, what the hell is this behavior?” his father snapped, putting down the newspaper. “No manners. No discipline.”

Zayn rolled his eyes lazily and popped a grape into his mouth.

“So dramatic, Dad. It’s breakfast, not a royal banquet.”

His father’s nostrils flared. “Seriously, Amelia? Is this what you've taught him?”

Before Amelia could respond, Zayn’s feet knocked over a spoon as he leaned back further.

“Zayn!” his mom gasped. “Feet off the table, now!”

Zayn kicked the edge of the table lightly with his heel and stood up in one smooth motion, still chewing.

“I lost my appetite,” he mumbled, turning away.

“Zayn, at least finish your breakfast!” Amelia called after him.

He paused at the door, tossed a hand in the air lazily without looking back.

“Feed your husband, Mom,” he muttered, and walked off.

Silence. His dad stood up in disbelief. “Did you hear that, Amelia? Did you hear what he just?”

But Zayn had already stepped outside into the warm morning air, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes.

He muttered under his breath, with a smirk curling his lips

“Fucker.”

---

Zayn slammed the car door shut a little harder than necessary. His black convertible shimmered under the sun, drawing a few stares from the students outside the college building. Not that he noticed.

His sunglasses were perched low on his nose, jaw tight, mood sour.

Breakfast disaster? Check.

Dad yelling again? Check.

Mom trying to fix everything with fake smiles? Double check.

God, today already sucks.

He strutted through the gates like he owned the damn campus, ignoring everyone, phone in one hand and his earbuds in but no music playing. It was his way of avoiding conversation.

That didn’t stop them, though.

“Hey, Zayn!”

A voice called from behind.

Zayn turned, more annoyed than curious.

A guy was jogging up to him brown hair, lean body, hopeful smile. Too confident for a nobody.

Zayn pulled off one earbud and raised a brow. “Yeah?”

The guy smiled bigger, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

“It’s me. Liam.”

Zayn blinked. For a second, there was nothing. Then, it hit.

Last Friday night. Rooftop party. Too much vodka. Zayn in someone’s lap, shirt halfway off.

Oh.

That Liam.

He stared for a moment, then made a face like he’d just smelled something rotten. “Right,” he said slowly, voice dripping with mock realization. “You’re that mistake I made after four shots.”

Liam’s smile faltered. “Uh… well, I was wondering if maybe we could… go out sometime? On an actual date?”

Zayn looked at him. Just looked. Then

He laughed. Once.

Then louder.

Then so loud that people actually started to turn and look.

“Wow,” Zayn gasped between laughs. “That’s a good one. A date? With you?”

Liam blinked. “I mean, yeah.”

“Get lost,” Zayn snapped, his smile vanishing like it had never been there. “I don’t date anyone. That’s not my thing.”

Liam tried again, “But Zayn listen.”

“No. You listen,” Zayn growled, stepping closer, his tone suddenly sharp. “Fuck off. And don’t ever show me your face again.”

Liam flinched, embarrassed, his eyes darting toward the onlookers.

Zayn didn’t care.

He turned on his heel and walked away without another glance, whispering under his breath:

“Delusional trash.”

---

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