Hey, From the prompt list you posted earlier, 7 - “Eat it.” or 33 - “This is too easy.” please. Thanks :)
Thanks so much, Kathy. Gone with both. Hope you like it. This is based on a reality tv programme in the UK called Hunted, starts with Zayn’s POV and then Liam’s and flicks between them both denoted by ** - It’s quite long so most under the cut xx
Drunken bets never end well.
Right now, Zayn wants to go back in time and kill all his friends, and the internet and channel 4, not that you can actually kill a tv station but he’ll have a bloody good go.
Also, the cameraman who won’t stop shoving the camera in his face while Zayn quietly, spoiler alert: not so quietly, starts to lose it. He’s on the list too.
It’s the middle of June, they’re in the middle of the arse end of nowhere and it’s pissing down.
It had all been going so well.
Him and Ant outwitting the hunters day after day. Pissing about on Instagram to fool them. Somehow, thanks to Zayn’s instinct and Ant’s easy charm, finding the right people to help them.
Till they got cocky, decided to split up so that maybe Ant could go and see his mum somewhere no one would spot them.
He doesn’t know for certain that Ant’s been caught, except he does, he knows.
And, Zayn more than anyone should be prepared, knew this was a distinct possibility as soon as they split up and he should be okay.
Would’ve entered the show on his own had he been the type of person to enter a show like this in the first place aside from when he was drunk.
He’s smart, he’s not arrogant, he’s just smart, knows how to outwit others, has a good instinct for people and trusts his gut. Doesn’t use or need it all most of the time cause a twenty-seven-year-old man who runs a music and art supplies shop doesn’t need to outwit others really.
So why’s he having a meltdown that he’s certain everyone will laugh at him for, and that’ll be his undoing?
He’s fucked if he knows. Literally and figuratively.
It’s laughable that for someone who claims to know himself as well as he does, that he’s at a loss right now.
He’d kill for a cigarette.
‘Zayn mate, why are your thoughts so murderous right now’ one part of his brain asks.
‘Shut up’ the other half says.
Ged the cameraman takes Zayn’s attention away from the quarrel going on his head and for the first time today, Zayn’s grateful for it.
“It’s fucking freezing mate, and I’m desperate for a piss so can we maybe get moving somewhere even if it’s into the forest so I can piss in a bush and you can hold the camera while I do it.”
Ged’s from Australia hence why even 17 degrees in June, which isn’t dead warm but warmer than some June days in Zayn’s life, has him complaining.
He’s got a point though, especially as it’s getting late in the day and there’s a chilly wind as well as thunderstorms due later apparently, also Zayn’s hungry and thirsty and could do with a proper bed to sleep in tonight rather than the tent Zayn carries in his rucksack that’s getting tattier by the day.
How’s he going to find all these things in a place like this?
Why Liam thought that moving to the country was a good idea is anyone’s guess.
‘It’ll be solitary, I can be inspired to write, I can go running in the fields and see wild rabbits and foxes and live in some thatched cottage and find the love of my life and not have a tv and just be this mysterious man living off the vegetables and fruit that I grow’
It’s solitary alright. Liam goes running in fields regularly only to get shooed away by the farmer or cows or with enough manure on his trainers to grow a year’s supply for spuds with, foxes keep him awake at night, he lives in a flat above the little supermarket that’s the only one for miles and yeah, he doesn’t have a tv cause the floor in the living room of his flat slopes and the table he’d bought and put together from Ikea was wonky and the two things together mean his TV ended up like he stuck his feet through it in a drunken rage.
As for the love of his life. Ha ha ha ha ha.
He thumbs his way through one of the gossip magazines that his mum always reads, not looking at anything other than the pictures.
Next to the cash register is the notebook that’s open on the third page with a pen optimistically placed next to it.
He should put it in his bag now cause he knows there’s no way he’ll write tonight. Just like last night and the night before and so on.
As he reaches the last page of the magazine, he closes it and turns it over to the front cover, jumps off the chair and opens the door of the kiosk he’s in and walks to the rack of magazines placing it neatly back where it came from.
He looks around him, for something to tidy, something new to read but he’s done that three times already this shift.
And no one comes and gets petrol on a Tuesday night during the school year, not at this time.
He’s living the life alright.
The bang on the window startles him and he whirls around.
There are two men. Both who look vaguely desperate, one in particular who’s unshaven and his eyes are almost wild.
All while he holds a tv camera.
The other one looks a different kind of desperate. If someone as quite frankly fit as fuck from what Liam can make out can be.
So robbers of remote petrol stations now bring tv cameras along to film their crimes?
Or are they reconstructing Crimewatch and Mr. Potter just hadn’t told him in advance? Is Crimewatch even still going?
He definitely needs to buy a telly.
The not so scary looking one aka the fit as fuck one raps his fingers against the window again.
Liam could look around for a weapon but something in him tells him he doesn’t need it, and anyway what good would pelting chocolate bars at them do when they batter him to death with the tv camera anyway?
So he walks over to the door that’s locked after 7pm, belatedly realising as he does that he could have just opened the hatch of the kiosk he sits in to ask them what they want.
The two men nearly knock him down in their hurry to get inside.
“Where’s your toilet mate?”
“I haven’t got any cash on me but if I promise to make it up to you one day can I have a chocolate bar or,” fit as fuck bloke’s eyes scan the shop frantically and his eyes light up, “or a sandwich, please can I have a sandwich?”
“The toilet, please tell me or I may piss my strides and you don’t want that my friend.”
Liam looks from fit as fuck bloke to Aussie wild looking bloke and then back and shrugs.
“The toilet’s over there in the corner, with the big bloody sign and yeah okay, just eat it mate as I’ll be throwing the sandwiches out tonight anyway, but would you mind telling me who the bloody hell you are?”
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