“Christopher”, that was all that was going through his head as Zayn Malik was driven back to the hotel in Ghana. Every time he would try to think of something else, his mind would be drawn back. Back to that small bucket of water, his ‘bath’. Back to the suffocating heat, the dangerous roads, the children. The innocent children, with no one to protect them, no water, no food, no money, no love. Zayn sighed, rubbing furiously at his eyes with the back of his grubby hand.
He glanced at his phone; some texts from the boys “You okay, mate?x” “How did it go?x” “You’ve been a while!x” “Z, are you alright?xx”, he couldn’t bring himself to reply. Couldn’t even think what he’d say: “Yeah, I’m fine. I just met the nicest, bravest child I ever have in my life, who is living in the depths of poverty, living with no one to care for him, and I’ve left him there. I’m sat in the back of a fancy car, being ferried off to a nice hotel where I’ll be waited on hand and foot, yet that child is out there, working 10 times as hard as any one I have ever known and he is being left there? Yeah, I’m great”. He couldn’t reply.
The car pulled up outside the hotel, so Zayn forced his phone back in his pocket, sighing to himself before he got out.
“Niall, I’m pretty sure you have to pay for the mini bar, you know. That stuff isn’t going to be free.” Zayn heard Liam say as the boys came into view, Niall was stood with his back to Zayn, although he could tell his arms and pockets were definitely full of food from his posture. They were all in the reception, probably waiting for rooms to be allocated. Zayn let his bag drop to the floor, a half hearted attempt to let the boys know he was back.
“Zayn.” Harry breathed out, automatically walking over and hugging him. Harry knows Zayn. There is no denying that. Knows how to make the laughter erupt from him so that his head tilts back and his face scrunches up. He knows when he is tired, angry, hungry, happy, drunk, and he certainly knows when he is upset.
Zayn wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, burying his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. His breaths ghosting along Harry’s collar bone. He forced his eyes shut, willing no more tears to come, no more.
Harry rubbed soothing circles on Zayn’s back through the muddy, damp t’shirt that clung to him. The boys knew to leave it, knew it would do neither them nor Zayn any good by getting on his back about this. So they all just gave an apologetic look to Harry and a small squeeze to Zayn’s shoulder or arm and left to their rooms.
“C’mon, Z.” Harry whispered after a few more minutes, fiddling with the keys as Zayn once again picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
The walk to the room was a silent one, the only communication that was needed was the linking of hands as they got out of the view of the public. Once in the confines of Harry’s hotel room Zayn’s mood dropped even more. He’d never felt like this. Never felt this helplessness, this overwhelming sympathy.
Harry perched on the end of the bed, having put his keys on the side and removed his shoes. He watched as Zayn paced, his fingers interlocked behind his head, arms bent either side of his face. The Bradford boy exhaled deeply, his mouth hanging open, tongue darting across his lip, eyes shut. Finally he took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair, stopping to stare out of the window. The sun from outside highlighted his cheekbones, the damp smears left by the tears still evident on his cheeks. Harry finally let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, watching as Zayn put his hat down and spun around to face him. He took in all the features of the boy at that moment, captured the moment in his mind and thought “I’ll never let him feel like this again”. Zayn was all swollen eyes, and red, damp cheeks, and grubby, beautiful hands.
Harry stood, freezing by the bed for just a moment. Watching as Zayn stood motionless, leaning back against the windowsill. Harry began walking slowly over to the vulnerable lad and stopping right in front of him, just so that his feet were in between Zayn’s and his chest was mere inches away from the latter’s. Zayn lunged forward, linking their bodies again, but this time it was different, desperate, despondent. The curly haired boy held on as Zayn seemed to let go of all the emotion he had stored up that day. He could only hold him tight, stroke his hair and rub patterns into his back, his hand wandering over the bare skin underneath Zayn‘s t‘shirt.
“It’s okay, babe” Harry whispered, in an attempt to help Zayn calm down. Zayn just looked up, staring Harry in the eye. His eyelashes were stuck together in a few long clusters, wet, and glistening. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks tearstained and pink.
“It is not okay, Harry.” Zayn replied after a while of looking deep into Harry’s eyes, those beautiful green eyes, so full of empathy and love.
“We, we’re in here; safe, and comfortable. Why? Why aren’t we out there helping? We’re not helping. We need to help.” Zayn said his voice getting frantic and fraught with pain, his hand shaking and tears streaming down those olive toned cheeks once again. Zayn’s breath hitched in his throat as strangled sobs broke from his lips and he bought his hands up to cover his face.
Tears threatened to spill from Harry’s eyes as he watched Zayn falling apart. The desperation on his face, the worry, the sheer pain.
“We are helping, Zayn.” Harry stated, moving closer. Zayn let his hands drop to his sides and Harry wiped the tears from hischeeks, only for them to be replaced by new ones as the boy blinked.
“That’s why we’re here, we’re getting the word out. Making people see, making them notice what‘s happening. You know people will donate. We’ll donate, our fans will donate. There is no question in it.” Zayn’s eyes fluttered open, his tongue wetting his bottom lip slightly. “You’re helping, Zayn.” Harry stated softly, letting his thumbs glide along Zayn’s cheek bones, his fingers stroking the short hairs at his neck.
And that was all it took for Zayn to crash his lips with Harry’s. Melting into his support, and love. Their lips moved together in perfect synchronization, Harry holding Zayn’s face, his thumbs running gently back and forth over the boys blotchy cheeks. Zayn just held, gripped the back of Harry’s shirt in his fists, pulling Harry further towards him. Just needing the feeling of support, love, and calm. The feeling of Harry.
They finally broke apart, letting their foreheads rest together, just breathing each other in. Harry let his eyes wander down Zayn’s perfect features and wandered to himself “How did I get so lucky?”, Zayn sniffed, both of his hands rubbing the small of Harry’s back through his shirt.
“I am so proud of you, Zayn.” Harry finally broke the comfortable silence that had filled the room. Zayn looked at him inquisitively, his eyes searching Harry’s face. Staring at his plump, parted lips, and green eyes that still had tears refusing to fall. His curly hair pushed back, forming a chocolate brown halo around his beautiful face.
“You care, you really care. You’re loving, and compassionate, and beautiful. You’re helping those people by being here, by giving our time, and doing it for nothing. You’re helping by donating, and asking others to do the same. You. Are. Perfect.” Each of those three words punctuated with a kiss. Then finally after a long, stressful day, due to nothing more than Harry’s words, a small smile graced Zayn’s lips, because for the first time that day, he felt like he was making a difference, he believed that he was helping.
