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Other chapters | 1DFF I’m still topless in Zayn’s house. (For artistic purposes.) I don’t know how long I’ve been laying down while Zayn painted away on my back, but I’m actually quite content. It’s been a long time since I’ve relaxed in peace and quiet. Sure, we had some small talk here and there about school, our families… but neither of us have mentioned the wedding, or the complicated situation both of us are in. I wanted to keep it that way. I’ve been humming along to the soothing music that has been playing in the background, but Ne-Yo’s classic bop “So Sick” comes on. Of course, I gasp and excitedly sing along at first, before quieting down. I’m not trying to be obnoxious (unlike Harry who tends to act like he’s starring in a musical in public sometimes). “Why’d you stop?” Zayn asks while switching to a bigger paintbrush, dipping it into his palette. I shrug, “I don’t want to distract you.” “No no,” he insists, his quick response surprising me, “You don’t have to… I like your voice. It’s pretty.” I have this dumb smile on my face, so I look the other way. “Thanks, it means a lot.” It really does. My entire family can sing well, so it’s hard to really impress anyone anymore. (Well, except Harry - everyone is always impressed by him.) I change the subject, “So how long has it been, anyway?” “Mm, maybe an hour or so?” he murmurs while his free hand moves to another area of my body. I try to not visibly hold my breath when his thumb briefly rubs my bare skin while his other hand continues to paint. “Damn, really?” I crane my neck to try and relieve its stiffness; my muscles are starting to ache from laying in one position. “Do you mind if we take a break? I should probably check my phone.” “Sure yeah, of course,” Zayn paints for a couple more seconds before moving away from me. I’ve grown comfortable to his warmth, so I shiver once it’s gone. When he stands up to stretch, I’m about to do the same before I remember that I am - indeed - topless in Zayn’s house. “I’m just gonna… um, face this way -” Zayn clears his throat, “Uh yeah, that’s probably a good idea… I’ll just pass your phone over.” I nervously scratch my hair, really hating this awkward nonsense. Carefully standing up, I face the opposite direction of him and raise my arms to stretch. A satisfied moan slips when I crack my back, which I hope doesn’t make things weirder than they already are. I’m just stiff, okay? “Mary?” His breath tickles my neck and I jump, not expecting him to be so close to me. Yeah, things are definitely weirder. I grab my phone from him without looking him in the eye, “Thanks.” Even though I’m not facing him, one of my arms is covering my boobs while my other hand unlocks my phone. My eyes bulge out of my head when I check the time, “An hour or so? Zayn, it’s been four hours!” I scroll through my notifications: a text from Tatay asking when I’ll be home, a couple e-mails from school, a million texts from Niall demanding to know if I’m banging Zayn (and if he’s any good), and a text from Perrie asking how things are going. Damn, I really shouldn’t have left my phone on silent. Zayn sheepishly says, “Er… I’m sorry. I tend to lose track of time when I paint. Do you need to go soon?” “No no, I just…” I trail off, speaking more to myself, “I just didn’t realize how long it’s been. I usually don’t lose track of time.” “You? Not losing track of time?” I turn my head to shoot Zayn a look at his sarcasm (that’s my job!), making him smirk. He wipes his stained hands on his shirt while looking through his phone, “Hey, did you wanna go to an art show with me next week? It’s for extra credit.” “Why don’t you ask -” I stop myself, because I’m reminded that Perrie is going to be gone next week. That’s the only reason he would ask me to come, right? “I mean, yeah. Sure, okay. We can also go over wedding stuff.” He looks disappointed when he nods, and goes back on his phone. Sighing, I toss my own aside and offer, “Or, we can just hang out? Take a break from all of that?” “Yeah, that’d be cool,” Zayn grins before adjusting his beanie, then rocks back and forth in his heels, “Liam doesn’t really like this kind of stuff so… yeah.” “Neither does Niall,” I find myself blurting out, even though I’m sure he would actually demand to come along, “So just us then?” “Yeah. Is that cool?” “Of course, yeah. Totally cool.” God, I sound so eager. I hate myself. “Soooo, are you almost done with me or what?” “Yes… promise,” he heavily sighs, “I know it’s exhausting, but imagine how I feel.” “Hey! At least you can get up whenever you want! What about when I need to pee?” I retort defensively. “Damn it, do you need to pee?” he exasperatedly cries, “Can you hold it, Mary? You might smear paint on the toilet. I also don’t want you looking at your back until I’m completely done… artist policy.” I gasp and hold my hand against my - well, naked chest for dramatic measure (even though it’s not in his view), “You don’t trust me?” Instead of saying anything, he crosses his arms and knowingly purses his lips at me. “And how dare you ask me to hold in my urine?” Zayn chuckles and shakes his head, “Listen. I’m the artist and you’re my muse. I would appreciate if you could follow my rules until we’re done.” I abruptly face the wall completely so he doesn’t see my face burning up. My muse. Red alarms are going off in my head. I don’t say anything when I lay back down on my stomach, my body a lot more tense than before. When Zayn sits beside me again and prepares his brushes, I try my best to relax even though I’m having a lot of trouble doing so. We’re silent for awhile, the only sound to our ears are the slow jams still playing on his stereo (I make sure to not sing out loud this time). Then Zayn clicks his tongue, annoyed. “Fuck.” He says this under his breath, and I really hate how one damn word makes me feel some sort of way. “W-what? What is it?” Did I stutter? What the hell. I never stutter. He sighs in frustration, “I just - I keep messing up. I’m so, so close to being done. But I really need these details and I just can’t… ugh.” “Uh, do you need me to move or?” “No. I think I need to move, if anything...” He strokes his chin in concentration, his eyes focused on my back. “Do you mind if I straddle you?” This is said ever so nonchalantly, as though he asked how my day was going. Or if I could pass the fucking salt or something. While I, Mary Bandong, Queen of Composure and Ferocity, is a sputtering and bumbling mess. “I… what? Huh?” This makes Zayn look up at me from my back, finally giving me his full attention. But he laughs. Laughs! At me! The nerve. My nostrils flare and I feel my cheeks warming again, in embarrassment this time. “What do you mean by that?!” I’m getting really pissed on how he keeps making me act like… like this. I’m not myself, and I don’t understand why. “Sorry. I just feel like my position of being next to you prevents me from reaching parts of my painting. If I were to, ahem, straddle you… then I think I can do it.” He determinedly taps his fist into his other palm, not noticing that I’m staring at him again. Wow. Why does he have to be so damn sexy? Especially when he’s painting… on me? Zayn looks at me, probably taking my blank stare as discomfort, “But um, I understand if you’re not comfortable. I’ll only do it if you’re okay with it.” “And what do you want to do?” I challenge, my confidence and sass returning from wherever they went. This causes Zayn’s eyebrows to slightly raise and lean back on his palms. “Well… I certainly wouldn’t mind doing that.” Something about his tone makes me want to turn my entire body over to face him. I prop my elbows up and rest my chin against my shoulder, shamelessly drifting my eyes up and down his figure. While my breasts are still hidden and against the floor, my cleavage is now exposed in this position. “Do it, then.” My calves go up and down playfully. Zayn swallows, but plays it off by coughing into his fist. Now I’m the one smirking. I return to my original stance that hides my upper body completely, because come on, I’m not that easy. He gets on all fours right next to me before placing his right knee parallel to my hip. While Zayn is carefully hovering over my butt, I can still feel the fabric of his sweats against me since my thin leggings are my only barrier. I haven’t had sex since my last relationship with Louis (more than a fucking year ago), so I’m sure that’s the reason my entire body feels like it’s on fire. Because Zayn’s knees are the only parts of him pressed against me, for Christ’s sake. The blaring red alarms are now sirens when I start thinking about what could be pressed against me, and then I hear Zayn’s husky voice, “This all right?” “Y-yeah…” I stammer again, cursing inwardly because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of me losing control of… well, whatever this is. I turn my head down to keep my face hidden in my arms. His left hand rests next to my arm. I feel his brush stroke me again, but it’s his soft exhales against my back that erupt my skin with goosebumps. His face is dangerously close to my ear when he whispers, “You have goosebumps.” I slightly adjust myself, my ass rubbing against Zayn. If he weren’t already close to me, I probably wouldn’t have heard his quiet, low groan. That sound alone makes me close my eyes as it sends tingles in forbidden areas. I move my head away from hiding in my arms when I softly murmur without thinking, “Zayn…” “Yes?” We’re both speaking in hushed voices, like we’re trying to keep a secret. But the thing is, I think we are. I think we both know that we are. I can’t bring myself to say anything; my thoughts are going haywire in confusion, but on the other hand, my body knows exactly what it’s craving. I haven’t dared open my eyes during this moment of heavy breathing and thick tension in the air. We’re completely still for what feels like hours, but probably only a couple seconds. Although he’s still only hovering, his body heat is radiating onto mine as though he’s completely on top of me. I feel his shirt brushing against the paint on my back, but that seems to be the least of our worries at the moment. Then he says my name, in a certain way I haven’t heard before, which prompts me to look at him. I don’t even need to turn my neck because his face is already leaned in close. His hungry eyes are traveling my entire face, but they constantly find their way back to my mouth. Instinctively, my tongue licks my lips, which makes Zayn bite his own. When he inches his lower body closer against mine, painfully slowly, I lose the ability to think. God, my attraction for him has not faded one bit since the day we met. No matter how much I try to deny it. “Just… tell me if you want me to stop.” No, don’t stop. My response is closing the small gap between us by arching against him, a desperate whine escaping my lips. “Fuck.” I’m certainly thinking this, but it’s actually him who swears out loud. For the second time, Zayn uttering that one damn word makes me hot and bothered. This is wrong. I know it is. But then I feel him firm against me, and my morals are forgotten. The sounds coming from Zayn causes me to roll my lips together, holding back the noises I’m close to making myself. My hips hips are moving on their own as they slowly grind on him, and it’s not long before he is incredibly hard and stiff. “Mary…” Zayn moans my name, and I’m completely done for. I want to turn over so he can use his lips and teeth and tongue to make art on my body. But I can’t do that because - “Your project,” I find myself mumbling, “It’s not… it’s not done yet.” Then everything hits me. Shit. It’s awful that my first thought is his project getting ruined, and not his damn engagement getting ruined! We both freeze our movements in unison, but his hard on is definitely still - well, hard - against my ass. Zayn is the first to get off of me. I try to not show any signs of disappointment, but I’m probably doing a shitty job when I ask, “Wait but… don’t you need to finish?” Okay, so I probably could’ve worded that sentence differently. Oops. When he narrows his eyes at me, I clarify before letting out a short laugh, “Finish your painting.” He scoffs, and I see him reach over to get his phone, “Honestly, it’s pretty much done. I’m just being a perfectionist. You mind if I get some photos?” I’m impressed with him being able to act like nothing happened, even though I still see the tent in his sweats. The warmth between my legs is also difficult to ignore. My head is buzzing and I’m still feeling tingly all over. I wonder if he’s feeling the same way. Still, I care about his grade so I insist, “Are you sure? You can finish up if you want -” “Trust me Mary, I want to,” Zayn rubs his temples with his eyes shut in frustration. I’m not sure if he means finishing up his painting like he intended, or finishing up… well, you know. “But it’s fine.” No, it’s not fine. It’s anything but fine. Things are different now, and I don’t know what the hell to do. I choose to not speak up on that though, because I know this art project is important. That’s the reason I’m here in the first place. Right? Right. The shutter sounds from his camera on his phone go off, so I keep my head faced down again. My face is probably flushed, which is not something I want documented in a photo. Zayn calls my name (definitely in a different way than just a couple moments ago), so I look over my shoulder on instinct. But then the fucker takes a picture. “God dammit, Zayn! I didn’t want to show my face!” “Come on, I wanted at least one with your face. You’re my muse, remember?” I ignore the stupid butterflies in my stomach and change the subject, “Can I see the painting yet? I’m gonna need to pee soon.” Yeah, I’m pretty sure the sexy mood is pretty much destroyed now. But that’s probably for the best. “Well, you can just look in the bathroom mirror then. It’s better seeing it in person than in a picture,” he remarks absentmindedly, still on his phone. I’m a little bothered (and not hot and bothered in the way that I’d like to be) that he’s so composed and not at all affected by what happened. Unlike me. I stand up and stretch, not bothering to face the other way. Yes, I’m bitter he’s not paying attention. However, he decides to choose this exact moment to look up from his phone; my first thought is to cross my arms to shield my tits, instead of - oh I don’t know - turning around. His eyes glance at my chest, but they lower to below my belly button. I follow his gaze and I’m horrified to see the very visible damp spot on my leggings. This feels equivalent to seeing Zayn’s boner, but at least his is gone now. Unfortunately, a stain doesn’t just fade away when I’m not horny anymore. Before he could say anything, I hurry to the bathroom. I don’t get embarrassed easily because I usually don’t give a shit about what people think of me. And I usually have a witty remark or something to save myself. But this time, I actually care about what Zayn thinks of me and I have nothing to say. Is there anything that can save me from this situation? My reflection in the mirror is exactly what I was expecting: pink cheeks, flustered expression, messy hair. I lean over the sink to wash my hands and splash some water on my face, and then I remember the mysterious art piece on my back. I’m tempted to just turn around, but it doesn’t seem right looking at it without Zayn. On cue, there are knocks on the door. “Mary? Can I come in? Or are you peeing?” I’m glad he’s at least trying to lighten the mood, so I don’t feel too ashamed anymore. For a moment, I consider telling him I’m taking a dump so I can have some space because his presence is overwhelming. I grab one of his towels to hold in front of my chest before opening the door. He looks slightly conflicted with his furrowed brows. “Hey um… I’m sorry?” I’m not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, especially since it sounds more like a question. I look at him blankly and shake my head. I’m not going to say “it’s okay,” because it’s not - whatever he’s sorry about. And it’s probably best to not acknowledge anything that has happened at this point. “I didn’t look at your painting yet, I wanted to wait for you.” He casually leans against the doorframe, “Well look at you, obeying the artist policy.” Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms against the towel covering my chest. “Can we just do this?” I’ve just about had it with his confusing and inconsistent attitude. First he hates me, then he’s nice to me, then he wants me, and now he’s all… aloof and shit. Zayn twirls his finger around to indicate me turning around, but my dirty mind is thinking otherwise. I finally look at my reflection and the mysterious art on my body is… Absolutely breathtaking. The bottom of the painting, along my tailbone, is a silhouette of buildings in a city with a dark grayscale. As I gaze upward on my mid-back, the colors begin to transition into gradient purples and blues to depict a night sky. The mixture of cool colors is blended well, and the hint of sparkling glitter for the stars is a perfect touch. “Wow,” I breathe out, genuinely almost speechless at the beauty. “Zayn… this is amazing. You’re really talented.” Zayn shyly shrugs and only glances at me through the mirror. “Thanks, but I still need to practice. This was my first time painting on a person, so it’s not necessarily my best.” “Not your best?! Are you kidding me?” I exclaim in disbelief, “This is outstanding! Seriously. What do your other pieces look like then?” His eyes light up, “I can show you some that are displayed at school, if you’d like.” His enthusiasm is quite endearing, and I accept his offer with no hesitation. “So, is there any significance with what you painted?” I converse before I could dwell in how attractive Zayn’s passion is. “I know a lot of people think every piece is symbolic and shit, but… I’m not really that complicating.” Huh. I beg to differ, but anyway. “Starry nights are my favorite, and the city is inspired by my hometown in Bradford, England. I was feeling a little homesick.” “Why did you leave then?” “I wanted a change in scenery at first, so I literally Googled ‘best art schools.’ I wasn’t surprised when LA came up, so I just went for it. It was exciting, taking a risk like that. It was the best decision I’ve ever made because I really love my school. And then I met…” he trails off. I finish for him, “Perrie.” He nods and looks away from me again. I’m curious about them two though. They seem like completely different people from different worlds, even if they’re both from the UK. “How did you both meet?” “Mutual friends. I actually had no idea she was ‘Perrie Edwards of the amazing group Little Mix’ when I met her. I thought that would be a relief to her or something, but she was actually pretty offended,” Zayn lets out a humorless laugh, “We met three years ago at one of my college friend’s parties, and dated not too long after. Then I proposed last year, and yeah.” I pick up on how he didn’t go into detail, and how his tone was… indifferent. Just like his overall attitude whenever we would plan his wedding. His love and passion for art was so clear just moments ago, but now he seems distant. But it’s not my place. Just like how it probably wasn’t my place to come here and allow him to paint on my body. As a wedding planner and groom-to-be, we really crossed the line. “Wow that’s… that’s great,” I sound forced, but at least I’m trying. “Um, do you mind if I use your shower?” All he does is nod and start the shower for me, and an uncomfortable silence falls upon us. I speak up, “Do you need anymore pictures or anything before I wash it off?” To be honest, I wish I don’t even want to wash it off. If I could, I would get this tattooed on me. “Nah, I think I’m good. By the way, do I have your consent to develop these pictures of you to show my professor?” I purse my lips at him, “Not the one with my face, you little shit.” “All right all right, fine,” Zayn dramatically throws his hands up to surrender, in which I immaturely stick my tongue out at him. He’s about to leave the bathroom before he pauses, “Hey Mary?” “Yeah?” “Thanks again. For doing this.” Even though my stomach is contorted in knots because reality is starting to sink in, I still smile at him. “You’re welcome. I know you’ll get an A, the painting is really beautiful.” “It’s all because of my muse.” Before I could say another word, he closes the door behind him without looking back at me. *** I need something constant. My life has been nothing but planning, routines, and organization - and I liked it that way. I have two planners: one for school/social life (let’s be honest, I just need to keep track on when I’m going to get dinner with Niall and when I’m going to go to the Farmer’s Market with my lola) and one for work. I knew exactly what to do in a couple hours, the next day, the next week. Of course, unexpected surprises are inevitable - but that’s why I always have a backup plan. I don’t have a backup plan for this though. But then again, how could anyone? How could I have possibly prepared for falling for the groom of a wedding I’m planning? A wedding that determines if I get hired or not? How could I have possibly prepared for my childhood friend popping in my life after how many years, relying on me to marry him so he can be a US citizen? As I was saying, I need something constant. So, I’ve been spending the last couple hours on this wonderful Saturday doing homework. My online Econ class requires about twenty assignments to be finished before the semester ends. Each assignment is consistent with questions based on the corresponding chapter. Nothing complicating. My routine is finishing one or two each week, which I’ve been faithfully doing for the most part (okay, I missed a week or two because of work - sue me). But now? I’ve legitimately almost done with everything. And I have a month until everything is due. I’ve truly outdone myself. Look, if I’m going to distract myself from fuckboys, I might as well be productive about it. Although, I am a little worried about my other class, Business Responsibilities in Society, that’s actually on campus. I missed a couple classes in the beginning of the semester (because of, you guessed it, work), which lead to me not doing so well in tests. I learned my lesson though, so I’ve been busting my ass trying to get my grade back up. My professor has been lagging with grades, so I have no idea if I’m back at an A or down to a C. That’s pretty damn terrifying, especially for me - an honor student since the womb. I need to keep my 4.0 GPA. I need to. “Hoy. You go play Scrabble or no?” Tatay’s gruff voice interrupts my train of thought. I curse under my breath because Scrabble practice somehow slipped my mind. What is with me, lately? I tiredly rub my eyes and grunt, “Yes po, just give me a couple minutes to get ready.” I close my laptop and stand up from the couch in the living room. I shouldn’t be surprised by Tatay’s snide remark. “Wow, talaga? You’re always working working, I thought you would be living there by now.” He’s repeating words for emphasis, so I know he’s serious. It takes a lot of self-control for me to not snap back at him and walk back into my room. Times like this I wish I lived on my own, somewhere close to my job. But that’s just too damn idealistic for me right now. Maybe once I’m actually hired as a wedding planner and get paid. I don’t make much of an effort with getting ready by throwing on some clean clothes lying around. I’m about to knock on Lola’s door to check if she’s ready, but Tatay stops me. “Anak, anong nangyari?” “What makes you think something happened?” I say a little too quickly, and I’m glad my dad doesn’t catch on. Still, he pushes, “I know you. What’s wrong?” I stay quiet, because I have no idea how to even explain myself to him. Telling him everything happening to me is absolutely out of the question because he would probably kick me out of the house. My father gestures towards my grandma’s door, “She’s wondering where you go too.” If he’s trying to guilt trip me (very likely), he’s doing a pretty damn good job. I still drive my lola wherever she needs to go, take her blood pressure, pick up her medication… But it feels like forever since we just spent time together. “I’m sorry.” Instead of accepting my apology or comforting me, he thinks he’s being discreet when he comments, “Harry ask me where you are too.” “Really, Tay?” I groan, not even bothering to mask my annoyance. My dad is usually a serious guy. So when he’s being playful and mischievous, it’s hard to not laugh along (whether you’re actually amused or not). He has his rare, goofy grin while suggestively raising his eyebrows, “You know, he’s going to be at Scrabble today. Why not pasyal pasyal?” “Tay…” I begin to walk away, but my dad and his persistence follow me. “Mary! Harry cares for you. Ever since… uh, how you say…. childhood!” This makes me stop in my tracks. “Why you no give him a chance? Sige lang, what are you afraid of?” Harry and I probably had crushes on each other when we were kids, and didn’t know what to do about it. But then I moved here, and we lost touch. Yes, I was sad at the time, but life goes on. I moved on and barely thought of him - especially when I had my first boyfriend. Now that he’s here, after all these years, it’s like no time has passed with him. He’s still the same ol’ charming, guwapo Harry Styles trying to court Mary Bandong. Although he can be overbearing and loud and annoying, he truly has cared about me ever since. He’s… constant. Maybe Harry is what I need. --- Well. I most definitely did NOT follow my outline. So Mary grinded on Zayn’s wood because he asked to straddle her (why do my stories tend to consist of grinding on boners, I don’t know). Were you expecting that because I sure as hell wasn’t. I haven’t updated since I received Honorable Mention - Best Love Triangle from the 1DFF Rooftop Awards!!! Thank you so, so much. Seriously, I know I sound like a broken record, but it truly means a lot to me. I’m not used to my stories getting recognition like that, so it’s very motivating. Another pleasant surprise! This fic also got nominated for Best Harry (???? how I don’t even know, I’m nominated along so many other amazing fics like ????) and Best Dialogue (again… ????) for the 1DFF Shadow Awards! I would greatly appreciate if you voted for this fic here (along with your faves)! Best of luck to the nominees! I’m not sure I’ll win, but getting nominated is awesome regardless. So thank you, whoever did so :) Here are some review questions if you’d like to reflect a bit: -Why do you think Mary doesn’t act like herself when she’s with Zayn? Do you think that’s a good or bad thing? -What do you think Mary is going to do with Harry? Is she going to ~court~ him too? -Do you miss Niall? (He’ll be in the next chapter, I promise) -Do you think Mary is making the right choice by considering Harry because he’s safe? -Of course, I would love to know if you ship Mary/Zayn or Mary/Harry because maaaaybe it’ll change the outcome of the plot…….. -The Justin/Selena drama may as well be a fanfic, amirite or amirite Thank you so much for reading! -Angel

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