Chapter 43

LAST CHAPTAAA LIKE OMG WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT

*Zayn's POV*

"Jess, come here, quick!" I yell to her. She's in the kitchen, I'm in my bed. It's night right now. I'm assuming she's spending the night. She been doing that sometimes for the past couple of months. I kind of like it.

"What is it?" She says back to me as she starts jogging into the room, holding a Popsicle that happens to be one I bought for myself. It's not even a cheap one. It's mango and strawberry and it was the last in the box.

"Watch this with me," I say, and I point to the television.

She rolls her eyes, lagging at the door in an effort to get me to release her. "Zayn, I-"

I stop her mid-sentence. "You have to watch this," I repeat, almost glaring at her.

She gives a defeated sigh and comes and sits on the bed next to me.

I have to scoot over a bit because she decides to come to the side of the bed I am on. She sits close to me. I watch her eat the Popsicle and I grab it from her hand. She yelps.

"Thanks for my Popsicle," I say then I attempt to eat it.

"Aha no," she says all sassy back, then quickly grabs it out of my hand.

I glare at her and she glares at me. "Whatever," I mutter. Then I put my attention back on the television.

The scene starts: "The olive theory!"

"Olive theory?" Jess asks me.

I hush her.

"What's the olive theory?"

"Is this How I Met Your Mother?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "Shut up."

"People either love olives or they hate 'em, right? Very few undecideds there. So here's the spooky thing I observed: in every great relationship, there's an olive lover and an olive hater. It's like positive and negative ions. Perfect symbiosis."

The important part of the scene ends there. That's all I wanted her to see.

I mute the television and I smile. I hope the memories are flooding her mind. I know exactly what this is referring to. It was right before Christmas. I came to her mom's house, we were eating pizza, and she said she loves olives. I told her I hate olives. And I'm praying she remembers that.

She stares at me confused, and my hope slowly diminishes. "Well?" I ask.

"I love olives," she says, with a scrunched up brow and a quiet voice.

"And I hate them," I finish for her with such suggestion in my voice. I hope she's thinking what I'm thinking. I mean it. I do think we have a great relationship. Perfect symbiosis. I think our relationship can last. I've been thinking it a lot recently, and I can't help but feel it's true.

Her eyes drop to her Popsicle, but I can see her smiling. "You're... stupid."

I grin. "Stupid?" I ask like I'm offended.

She looks at me with soft eyes and nudges me with her shoulder. "Stupid and perfect."

"Perfect?" I respond with a smirk.

"Stop it," she says and she shoves my arm.

"Whatever." I sit up in bed, grabbing a paper off the nightstand and quickly hiding it behind my back. "I have a question to ask you."

She gives a skeptical stare. "What is it?"

I laugh at her apprehension. Apparently my laughter causes her to worry more.

"Okay now I'm nervous," she says.

"Don't be nervous," I say quickly. "You frown when you're nervous, and you're already showing wrinkles."

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she mutters.

"I'm kidding," I say.

She just shakes her head and sighs.

My smiles retreats. "You can't take a joke?" I ask her, trying hard to bother her.

She slaps her hand on the bed. "What the fuck do you want, Zayn?"

I put up my hands as in defeat. "Okay! Calm down," I say. She shuts her eyes and bits her lip, like she is having trouble controlling her anger.

I love it. I half smile a little. "Jesus," I mutter.

She punches my shoulder. She didn't punch hard, but I'm not doubting that she can. I decide to leave it alone for now. If I keep it up she can get actually angry.

I clear my throat. "Remember Lou and Tom?" I ask her.

Her eyes glance to me, looking me up and down with curiosity. "Sort of, yeah. Why?"

"They're getting married," I say. I hold out the invitation.

She looks at it and she starts to smile. She grabs the paper from my hand. Her eyes light up as she reads over the sophisticated invitation. "Aww, that's so cute!" she says with a soft smile.

"Yeah, adorable," I say, mocking her.

She pouts and looks at me with annoyance.

I grin. Annoying her never gets old. "I wanted to ask you to be my plus one to the wedding?" I say.

Her eyes peek up to me, with probably the most light I've seen in them yet. I think she really likes the idea. "Of course," she responds, giving me a quick kiss by my lip.

"It's formal, you know," I tell her.

"It's a wedding, no shit," she says to me.

"So sassy," I respond, and I feel like I've annoyed her plenty.

********

*Jessie's POV*

The wedding comes a month after Zayn tells me about it. God. That day he was so annoying. He tries to be, too, which is the worst part. I think he thinks I secretly like it, which isn't true. I put up with it, though, because regardless of the fact that he tries to frustrate me, he has great charm and humor, and he knows how to make any situation a good one. I can deal with his teasing if it means I can have him to make me happy.

The wedding ceremony has already passed, we are at the reception now. It's outside, and frankly, it's a little cold. I have goosebumps. Even so it's beautiful.

I'm sitting at a table alone, waiting for Zayn to come back with some drinks.

I see him walking up to me, and I smile at him.

He puts the drinks down on the table. "The wedding's nice," Zayn says, draping his jacket over my shoulders.

Butterflies evolve in my stomach at his gesture. I smile softly, feeling the blush starting to heat my cheeks.

He sits in the chair next to me.

"It's beautiful," I say to him. "I like that it's outdoors, under the stars. So romantic."

I observe the glowing lights laced above our heads and smile. The reception is beautiful. The wedding was amazing. The nicest wedding I've ever been too.

I catch Zayn's eyes. He is smiling at me. I chuckle and look at the table, slightly uncomfortable.

He stands up, extending his hand to me. "Dance with me," he says.

I freeze. His words take me by surprise. I hesitate to answer, all words get trapped in my throat. Maybe he's joking.

I stare at him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly.

Shit, he isn't.

I'm nervous, if I'm honest. But something in this moment makes me not want to miss this. I shake away my fear and attempt to be adventurous. I nod and put my hand in his. "Okay," I answer, trying to hide my apprehension.

He smiles. His hand grips onto mine and pulls me out of my seat. Zayn maneuvers us through the tables of people to the dance floor, which is sparsely scattered with couples that dance to the slow song.

I begin to feel fear again. Fear of the unknown, and this is the most unknown thing there is between Zayn and I. We joke and we fight. That's our thing. We don't dance. Sure, we can be sweet to each other, but not this. So as I consider these things, my fear only grows, and I find myself becoming more nervous.

We stand at the side of the dance floor. Zayn pulls me to him, putting his hand on my waist and holding my other hand in his. I slowly place my hand on his shoulder. I can feel my breath shaking and all I do I hope it isn't noticeable.

Zayn inches me closer to him, looking me in the eyes. I find them hard to look at at first, but then I really look at them. Soft, brown eyes that I have forgotten somehow. His familiar touch and smell and voice. His smile.

Any weight of difficulty seems to be picked off. In his arms is the one place that I should never be worried. Nothing should scare me when I am with him. He calms me down.

He begins to lead, his body telling mine in which direction to go. Surprisingly, he's great at it. It's not awkward, not too fast or too slow, and I kind of like it.

"We never do this," I say to Zayn, trying to see if his answer will hint that he is feeling anything like I am.

"Maybe we should start," he says. "I kind of like it."

My smile grows as he speaks his honest words. "Me too," I say. I do like it. It's not as terrifying as I thought it would be, mainly because Zayn acts like he knows exactly what he's doing. "You're pretty good, Malik," I say. "Have you been practicing?"

"No," he says, and he shakes his head. "I'm just naturally a genius."

I smile and roll my eyes. One thing that has never changed about Zayn is his cockiness."How could I forget?" I say with sarcasm. "You have to remind me about it all of the time."

That makes him laugh. He kisses me quickly on the lips, catching me off guard. I yelp when it happens.

"Thanks for putting up with me," he says to me with a grin on his face.

It takes me completely by surprise. I furrow my brow and smile.

He just chuckles down at me.

The song starts to fade out, ending, beginning a new, slower song.

I pull back from Zayn, assuming we are done.

He holds onto me. "No, stay," he says, pulling me back to him. He pulls me closer to his body, pulling my head to his shoulder.

"Alright," I say, agreeing because he wants me to.

The song is slower, much slower. I'm not nervous anymore, but I'm wondering what Zayn plans for this type of dance.

His hands leave their original positions, coming together around my waist.

I smile, realizing what it is. I hold my hands around Zayn's neck, resting my head on his shoulder.

I get this sort of Prom-dance type of feeling, but I don't care. I like it like this. We take small steps in small circles, hardly moving from out position. I love it like this. Feeling as if we are alone in the room, in the universe. Just the two of us.

I can feel his chest move up and down with the slow breaths he takes, my own timed to be in sync with his. I listen to the faint sound of his heart beat, continuous and constant. Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the lights and the soft music. I never want this moment to end.

Zayn's head moves, bringing me back to the wedding, back to the real world. I get worried that he wants this moment to end. I'm afraid that the song ended and I didn't notice. I don't want it to end.

I shakily exhale as his head comes down to my ear, first leaving a kiss on my cheek. He nudges his way past the hair by my ear, taking in a breath to whisper. "I love you," he says.

I smile. It is the first time he has said it to me. It doesn't faze me at all. It makes so much sense to me. Perfect Symbiosis. I think Zayn was right when he showed me the Olive Theory. I normally would think something like that is ridiculous, but look at the proof. Okay, so our past was difficult, but our relationship now feels like it will never end. "I love you," I say back to him. Then I begin to grin.

I can feel him smile on my cheek. He lifts his head and looks at me. We smile against each other's lips. He kisses me softly. Those butterflies that only mean good things swarm in my stomach and in my chest and in my heart.

Sadly, the song ends. Zayn holds my hand as we walk back to our seats. I'm thinking now, all about Zayn and I and our past and our possible future. And we are silent.

"What are you thinking?" he asks me as we sit down in our seats.

I smile. "I'm thinking that you need to stop lying and come clean about how you've been practicing dancing."

His eyes widen and his grip tightens on my hand as he grins. "I told you, I'm not lying!"

"You've never danced with me before," I argue.

"Because you're a stubborn ass and there's no way you'd let me ask," he argues back.

I should be offended, but that whole moment we had back there is not allowing anything to ruin my night. And he's not serious I'm pretty sure. "Well you were wrong," I say. "I did let you." I take a sip of my drink while he reasons over that. I put my glass down. "I'll force your secret out of you sometime."

"My secret is I love you," Zayn says.

My heart flutters, but I try to stay level. "That's not a secret," I tell him.

His smile widens. "Oh, that's right. I told you that already," he says. "I love you."

I blush and look at the table. It's funny how blunt he can be. A blessing right now, but also a curse. "I love you, too," I say quietly.

Zayn doesn't allow a second for silence. "Since we're on the topic, do you have a secret that isn't a secret anymore?" he says, keeping the conversation moving.

I quickly come up with something, not wanting to disappoint him with a negative answer. "Well," I say. He cocks his head. "I don't know if you could tell, but I've never slow danced before."

His eyes go down and he gives a small chuckle. He picks up his drink. "Oh, love, that wasn't a secret," he says with a laugh, then he sips his beverage.

"So rude," I say with a lot more pain in my voice than I felt.

He furrows his brow. "But you haven't left me yet. Why not?"

"You want the truth?" I ask.

He nods.

I take a deep breath and shake my head. "Honestly, you have great hair."

The night progresses on along with our conversation. He compliments my hair in return, and I take it. Then he criticizes me for taking the compliment too readily and being too conceited about my hair. Then we fight about who has better hair. That's how we finish the night. Fighting about our hair.

That's what we do. We fight and we argue and we tease. And although it can be annoying, there is no way we could exist together doing anything else.

I guess I'll just get used to it then.

Last Author's Note This Is Legit So Weird:

I always wonder if anyone understands my references to past chapters. For example, the olive theory is a reference to Chapter 35 when it was Christmas. Remember? no?

Anyways.

That's it. It's done. No more chapters now. Haha I know I should've ended it better but I'm beyond done with this story so I'm done. (Wow I'm getting goosebumps writing this right now this is so weird)

Wow. I can't believe it's done. I've been writing this for over a year... Not writing it is going to be so strange. It's crazy how this little fanfic has become part of my life.

I'll probably start another one, hopefully learn from my mistakes and make it a better story. We'll see.

I've learned so much from writing this. Mainly:

1) Your first story will always suck.

2) Plan. Plan until the end. Plan every chapter. Plan everything. Plan. Then write.

3) Write what you want to write, not what you think other people want you to write.

4) Don't tell anyone you're writing it or your family will eventually find out and your mom might read it regardless of how many times you beg her to not>:(

That's what I've learned. (Plus a few other things, but this note is already long enough haha)

Thanks for reading it. You reading it is what forced me to finish it, and finishing it was something that helped me learn so much.

Thanks again.

Goodbye.

I love you.