Third Person's POV

Zayn is a great artist, he glides his brush along his canvas everyday, creating what he calls a masterpiece.

But he's only human.

His boyfriend Harry isn't that much of a human. Well his heart isn't. It's cold and merciless towards none other than Zayn. He doesn't mean it and he doesn't know he's the cause of Zayn spilling red paint on the floor everyday.

"Clean the goddamn house Zayn, why is it so dirty? What do you do all day if I'm the one who is working to put food in your mouth huh, you don't do anything right here. You're such an idiot." Zayn looks around, the house is spotless as he had just cleaned it an hour ago; did he drop paint somewhere? If Harry doesn't like it, it means it's not good enough; he's not good enough.

Later that night, Zayn finds himself painting with red again, the contrast of the color against his tanned canvas is a marvelous sight to behold; well to him. He's not in his, their, own room because Harry's cross with him so he has to sleep on the couch for tonight.

Zayn blows the candles of his birthday cake alone; Harry missed it, again. He goes to bed this night without drawing, he's so devastated. Harry returns home at 1:00 am of the next day. Zayn is still awake with tears brimming his eyes. He usually doesn't show emotions, only when he's using his brush, but it just hurt so much. Harry always shuns him to the side, like Zayn is the last thing on his list of priorities. Zayn wakes up and goes to bed with one thought on his mind; it included a certain green eyed angel in Zayn's eyes. He knew Harry wasn't the one to let his guard down easily, but it's been two years now.

Zayn only endures the torture he receives by his lover because he's infatuated by him. The contours of his body are his favorite show to watch and memorize. His eyes are his favorite book, always showing many stories that only Zayn could read. To other people, Harry's eyes were cold and plain, but to Zayn they were a force drawing him fiercely towards said boy. He could perfectly entwine his hands with Harry, because the younger boy's hands fit perfectly with his own and they enveloped them as well. He had the honor to hold his hand only twice. Once, when they were walking down the stairs and Zayn managed to trip and stumble back on top of Harry. The curly headed boy swiftly caught Zayn in his arms, setting him back on his own feet, and wordlessly took his hand and pulled him down the stairs. The second time was on their one year anniversary. After a night, surprisingly, filled with laughs on Harry's side and stories on Zayn's; Harry took Zayn's hand and led him into their room, slowly and passionately making love to him that night.

It was after that night that everything crashed down. Harry became even more closed off, thus producing his harsh attitude towards Zayn. He missed his birthday last year and did it again this time. It's not like he forgot, Zayn knew that, for Harry always came back one hour after the 12th of January.

When Harry slipped into the bed, keeping a fair distance away from the still awake Zayn, he quietly placed a rose next to him and delicately kissed his cheeks. He was surprised when Zayn sprang up and looked at him with his tear-brimmed eyes.

"Why do you do this to me?" Was a simple question that fired up immense guilt in Harry's heart; it wasn't enough to make him talk to Zayn just yet. Zayn got up and finally found a motive to go glide his unique brush along his canvas, to glide his blade across his arms. Harry remained oblivious to it all.

Overtime, people develop a routine and they do things according to it. When one thing changes, the equilibrium is knocked off, making a mess that is not so easy to clean or restore. So when Harry comes back home early at the time when Zayn is busy 'painting', everything changes. His first decision was to head to the bathroom as well; that's where Zayn was.

Harry walks in, catching Zayn in the middle of what he calls his release. His heart falls to the pit of his stomach. This can't be real, Zayn can't be doing that; it must be a sick joke. What made it worse was that Harry knew it was he harsh reality and he was the cause of it.

"Why are you doing that Zayn?" Harry's chocked voice tugged at Zayn's broken heart strings, he never liked it when Harry was upset, but what surprised him that Harry now had tears streaming down his face. He cared, Harry still cared about him,

"You don't treat me like a human, so I wanted to do something inhuman too." Was Zayn's simple reply.

Harry collapsed to the floor and Zayn hurried to his side. They weren't a perfect combination, but they were for each other.

A/N~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one seems to be reading this anymore and I don't know why I updated it.

So I started a new Narry fanfiction, mind checking it out please and tell me what you think.

If you're still reading this send me a prompt please.

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