for your eyes only

O N E

Zayn has always remained wary from people, which is evident from the fact that he has only three contacts in his phone. So, to see an unknown number flash across the caller ID, makes him frown heavily. He doesn't recall giving his number to anyone else.

When his curiosity gets the better of him, and he slides his thumb across his phone screen, picking it up.

"Hello?"

No one answers from the other side. At least, not until Zayn nearly hangs up the phone.

"Uh, this is not Adena by any chance, is it?"

Zayn doesn't know what he expected when he picked up the call. But he knows, he certainly didn't expect this.

He didn't expect a deep, raspy voice fluttering through the speakers of his phone; he didn't expect the voice to be hoarse and at the edge of crying; and he certainly did not expect his heart to flutter in his chest like a trapped butterfly, begging to be introduced to freedom again. Especially when freedom includes that voice.

"Hello?"

His voice speaks again, drawing him out of his trance.

"Oh, uhm, yeah, what did you say?" Zayn pauses not more than a second, taking a deep breath and letting it out, trying to tame his erratic beating heart "Adena, you say? No, it's not her."

"Oh, I am so sorry. It's must be a wrong number then. I am sorry. I won't bother you agai—"

"WAIT!"

Zayn mentally curses himself for sounding too eager. What is happening anyway? He is not the one to be at a loss of words. He is not the one to be awkward, though he does take a reasonable amount of time (at least on his part) to let them in his protective shield.

"I mean, wait," he quickly composes himself, hoping feverishly at the same time that he is not making a complete fool out of himself "Just a quick question."

"Oh, okay. Sure go ahead."

"Are you okay?"

The other side of the line goes completely silent, and Zayn can almost imagine the guy freezing in his spot, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, as he drinks in the unexpected question that has been thrown at him.

"Why–why do you care?"

His voice is shaky, and it's only a matter of time before he breaks, and all his emotions come pouring out like torrential rain—heavy, dangerous.

"Because," Zayn says "every life matter. Yours do too. And ... I feel that you need someone right now. So ..."

A loud sob interrupts him.

"I am sorry, I ... didn't mean to. Sometimes it's hard to control my emotions but ... You are so sweet. Are you ... even real?"

"Aww, baby, listen—"

He is cut off by some shuffling from the stranger's side. Zayn could hear the heavy, jarred breathing of the guy's. When he speaks up again, his voice is scared and panicked and on the verge of crying again.

"WAIT! Okay, SHIT! I–I have to go!"

"You have to?" he can't even keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Yeah ..."

And Zayn senses in his voice the reluctance of hanging up; the disappointment to cut the connection.

"Can I call you again?"

Zayn thinks his heart bursts with happiness in his rib cage when he says, "Of course! I am Zayn, by the way. And what's the name of this voice?"

Amidst giggles, the stranger lets out, "Harry."

"Harry..." Zayn tries, loving the way it rolls effortlessly down his tongue "Harry ... I will surely call you again. Bye."

"Bye ... Zayn."