Zayn is 21, a wiry, sharp-eyed young man whose presence carries the quiet weight of someone older than his years. With crimson-dyed hair that flames against his otherwise dark appearance — black ripped jeans, black boots, black leather jacket — he walks like a storm trying not to break anything. Always seen with an unlit cigarette between his fingers (he doesn’t smoke — never could afford to pick up the habit), it’s more of a symbol.