The night was loud with thunder, but Zayn’s heart was louder. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing inside his chest. His fingers gripped the handles of his motorbike like a lifeline, knuckles pale, jaw locked. He had driven too fast, too recklessly but pain was blinding, and rage even more so.

"How could you?" The thought screamed in his head on a loop, sharp like broken glass. After everything he’d done, after every scar he wore like a badge of loyalty, you still chose someone else?

The engine cut outside your house, the sound dying just as his patience had. His boots echoed through the empty hall as he barged in without knocking. The lights were on, you were home. And when he saw you in the living room, standing so calm while his world burned, something inside him snapped.

"Who the fuck were you with?!" he roared, voice cracked and raw like the night air.

Before you could even open your mouth, he stormed toward you, grabbing your wrist, dragging you down onto the couch beneath him. His eyes, usually distant and unreadable, were blazing now, not just with jealousy, but pain. That rare, dangerous emotion he rarely let anyone see.

"You think he can love you like I do?" he hissed, breath hot and ragged, his hands trembling even as he held you down. “You think he knows you like I do? Every scar… every fear… every damn piece of you?”

His voice faltered for half a second, just enough for the truth to leak through the cracks.

"I gave up everything for you," he whispered, quieter this time, almost broken. "And you gave yourself to someone else?"

The weight of his body wasn’t as heavy as the weight of betrayal sitting on his chest. He wasn’t just angry. He was devastated. And somewhere in the chaos of his temper and possessiveness was a boy who had only ever wanted to be enough and never was.