for your eyes only

T W E N T Y - F I V E

Zayn has been happier here in London than he has been most of his life. He met Harry, and four amazing new people who are so different from each other, but still so inseparable. He didn't think of any negative thoughts since he has got here. So, of course, he doesn't, when he gets Alec's call at eleven at the night one day, when he is laying on the bed in his hotel room.

He has been in contact with both Alec and Claire since he has arrived, so he didn't it was out of the ordinary.

"Hello? Alec?" he says, grinning ear to ear "You won't believe it! I have been hear for barely ten days and I have already made five amazing friends! Who knew —"

"Zayn." Alec says, and Zayn knows something wrong. His voice, serious and so, so calm it's unsettling, hits him like a punch to the gut.

He gulps, "What's wrong Alec?"

"It's Claire."

Zayn launches himself out of the bed, his breathing coming in quick puffs. "What is it?" he says, though he doesn't want to hear. Tears gather in his eyes, and he starts pacing around, so fast he gets dizzy.

"She is in the hospital, Zayn..." Alec's voice has stopped being calm. It gets more desperate, more helpless, and more cautious.

Zayn's gut feeling hits him full force. Just like when the prey knows the tiger is near, but it can't do anything as the magnificent beast jumps at him, Zayn can feel himself being ripped apart too.

"Hospital?" his voice sounds strange, foreign to even his ears.

"Hospital.." Alec trails off, and then says the next word "Dead."

The time stops. And then everything starts spinning. The floor nearly gives away from beneath his foot. No tears come to his eyes. No sound leave his mouth.

"Zayn?" Alec is saying on the phone, but Zayn can't hear it. He can't hear anything anymore. The call of 'Zayn' gets louder and more frantic than the last. But he doesn't reply. He can't.

"Dead?" Zayn forces out a humourless laugh. And then he sprints.

His phone falls from his grasp, cluttering on the phone. But he doesn't even notice. He is out of the door, running. Running as fast as his feet can carry him. When he steps out the hotel, the cold hits him at once, but he doesn't stop.

There are a handful people in sight, but those who are, give him a concerned look. Who wouldn't? A 17 year old running at top speed at almost midnight, so frantic it's worrisome.

He keeps running, until a familiar house comes in view.

His fingers jam the doorbell repeatedly, eyes, ears and nose — everything burning. When no response comes for five second, he starts knocking on the door so hard his knuckles crack open. He doesn't stop until Anne opens the door, dressed in old pyjamas.

"Zayn?"

And that's when the tears come. He collapses on the threshold, crying and sobbing and screaming and Anne can only hold him.