Empty.

Chapter One

this chapter kind if jumps right into the story, the main characters introduced and the basic theme is presented. it's quite short but its extremely to the point. idk if its any good, but I really hope y'all enjoy! :)))

be sure to comment and all that jazz x

"Are you going to eat that?"

Harry blinked a few times before he realized that Zayn was talking to him, and he was gesturing to the untouched biscuit that lie on the table before him. Harry shrugged, then gestured with his hand for Zayn to take it.

He smiled sheepishly before scooping up the baked good and devouring it.

Harry smiled slightly as he watched his friend eat the biscuit, which happened to be his third, and then sit back with a sigh of satisfaction.

This was routine, Harry and Zayn going out every Sunday morning for some tea and a chat. Zayn always ordered some sweets for Harry but just looking at them triggered a bloated feeling in the curly haired lad. He enjoyed watching Zayn eat, the way his square jaw, which was lined with black stubble, moved quickly as his tongue pushed back the food into his throat. He was anything but delicate with his food; he gobbled it down as though it were going to run away.

Nothing about Zayn's appearance was gentle, his arms were lined with spontaneous tattoos and his golden eyes had a dangerous glint to them. But Harry knew Zayn was really a softie on the inside, but only late at night when they were cuddled up on his sofa watching a romantic film.

"You're not hungry, mate?" Zayn asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Once again he replied with a shrug, taking a sip of his tea while Zayn continued to eye him down.

"What?" He choked out, giving Zayn his best glare.

"You haven't been skipping meals have you, Harry?"

A blush crept its way into Harry's cheeks as he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "No, Zayn." He rolled his eyes exasperatedly. Zayn gave him a look that he would expect from his mother and Harry felt his teeth clench. Harry hated the feeling of embarrassment that rose as his throat began to burn. He hated it when Zayn asked him about his eating habits, especially in public. He hated the fact that had to ask in the first place, though. He hated that he was a 19 year old boy and he still needed to friends to look after him.

Zayn's face fell as he realized that Harry was trying to fight back tears. "Oh, Harry. I-I'm sorry...I didn't mean to embarrass you I just had to check, you know? Don't cry, it's no big deal. I... Sorry, okay?"

Harry bowed his head and took deep breathes, scolding himself for being an emotional twit. "I just hate it when you do that, Zayn..."

They were silent as Harry collected his thoughts. Zayn got up quietly to throw out their napkins and his empty tea cup.

Harry had been skipping meals, but Zayn didn't have to know. Harry was extremely thankful that Zayn was either at classes or at work during the day, so he wasn't able to monitor Harry's actions.

He couldn't help it-he tries every morning to swallow the scrambled eggs Zayn leaves him everyday for breakfast, but the thought of the food sliding down his throat and landing there in his stomach repulsed him. He didn't want to hurt Zayn on purpose but he just couldn't help it.

A shadow loomed over him, and Zayn's tan hand reached down to grab Harry's. Harry snatched up his tea and allowed himself to be dragged out of the café and into the cold streets of London. Harry didn't think about where Zayn was taking him, because Zayn always knew where to take Harry after their morning tea.

They ended up in a park, shivering on a bench as they watched the birds waddle and a scattering of joggers and old couples.

Harry liked the silence that Zayn had to offer whenever they went out. It was a silence that comforted him; it was different from the silences he felt at night. With Zayn, Harry found himself studying the older boy's features, occupying himself by tracing his tattoos or fooling around with the zipper on his leather jacket.

But the silence at night-that was the silence he dreaded, the silence he hated. It made him think, and Harry hated to think. He hated the way his mind nagged at him about the fat that lined his thighs or the extra skin on his stomach. He wished that he could cling onto Zayn all day; he wished he could take him with to bed with him, but the request always got lodged into his throat before he could get it out. And so he lies alone each night, clutching his pillow tightly as he chokes on salty tears.

Harry felt an elbow nudge at his side and he looked up from Zayn's tattooed hand and at his face.

"Look," He gestured across a stretch of land to a crowd of people. Harry's eyebrows arched, and he looked back at Zayn who shrugged.

They both stood, Harry stretching his limbs until they gave a crack. And then they both walked across the park to the crowd, hoping to see what was going on.

"What do you think is happening?" Harry asked, his shoulder bumping into the other lads.

"Someone got hit by a car?" He stated flatly, and Harry rolled his eyes and bit back a giggle. He loved Zayn's dry humor, and Zayn loved the way he could make Harry smile at the smallest of quips.

They got closer, and the melodic strumming of a guitar filled Harry's ears, and he felt himself speed up. He knew that song; he recognized the beat from somewhere. And then they were closer, in just a foots reach when Harry heard voices singing, more than one.

It was an interesting sound, a harmony of high and low. The voices practically called to him, and he felt himself straying from Zayn to push through the crowd of people.

Then he was in the front, and before him were three boys, singing the song that Harry couldn't figure out how he knew.

An artificial blonde strummed on the guitar with a contented smile and two brunettes stood on either side of him. He harmonized with the boy with a muscular build and hair that was in an awkward growing phase, and harry listened to the lyrics in hopes that his memory would recall the name of the song.

"So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen."

The boy with the hair sang with a high voice, and the blonde had an underlying accent. But Harry's focus shifted to the third boy.

His hair was fluffed up and he wore a wine colored cable-knit sweater and grey jeans that fit his long legs perfectly. His eyes were shut as he sang out the following lines.

"And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world"

Harry found himself in a trance as the boy's voice filled his ears. It was like a feather, so soft and fragile. The way the words spilled out so delicately from his pink lips, and the way he moved his hands every time he hit a note were mesmerizing. And he opened his eyes, and harry was taken aback by the bright blue-grey that he found looking back at him.

And those grey eyes brought realization to him-- no wonder he knew the song. It'd been her favorite.

Harry felt his throat clog up and the boys kept singing. For the second time that day Harry felt tears springing in his eyes. He spun his heels and pushed through the crowd, fishing around until he found Zayn's arms.

And Zayn held him, steering him away from the crowd. And Harry couldn't help but think that he'd love to hear the feathery-haired boys voice again, even if he were singing that wretched song.