The evening had barely begun, yet the garden behind the old mansion was already swallowed by shadows. Faint whispers of wind moved through the overgrown trees, rustling the leaves like secrets shared between ghosts. The scent of earth and something older hung heavy in the air, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
Zayn stood still—frozen like a statue beneath the pale glow of a dying sky.
He hadn't meant to be here. Not in this garden. Not face-to-face with him.
His throat felt dry—so dry it ached. That bitter scratch at the back of his mouth was familiar. It always happened in moments like this. Whenever he found himself near strangers… whenever someone unfamiliar stepped into his world… the fear would rise, thick and quiet like fog rolling in over cold ground.
For Zayn, it wasn't new. He'd lived with it his entire life.
A stranger's presence was all it took to knock the air out of his lungs. He would freeze. His chest would tighten. And worst of all—his voice would vanish, swallowed by panic and shame. Every word he tried to say became a battlefield. His tongue would turn against him, heavy, hesitant, as though it didn't belong to him at all.
And now, here he was. In the garden. Facing Aric.
And it was happening all over again.
Zayn wanted to speak. He needed to speak. But his voice wouldn't obey. His tongue stammered, staggered, and slipped.
"Z...z...z...za...za...Zay...Zayn," he stuttered helplessly, his own name broken and barely recognizable.
His heart pounded in his chest, wild and unsteady. His hands trembled by his sides. Panic squeezed his lungs, making it harder to breathe. He clenched his fists, not in anger—but in quiet desperation, as if holding himself together was the only thing he could do.
The more he tried, the worse it became. The stutter gripped him tighter, more violently, like it had a mind of its own. Like it knew how badly he didn't want to be seen this way.
And still, Aric said nothing.
He stood there, tall and unmoving, with a strange quietness in his eyes. His expression unreadable—neither amused nor cruel. Just... curious. Studying.
Aric tilted his head slightly, the way a hunter watches a creature it doesn't quite understand. The soft light danced along his sharp features, making him look more shadow than man.
This wasn't what Zayn had expected. He didn't even know what he had expected—but it wasn't this. Not Aric's silence. Not his stillness. And definitely not that quiet, unreadable gaze that seemed to strip him bare.
Then Aric spoke—his voice smooth, low, threaded with something unreadable.
"So, tell me… Zzzzazazayn, what exactly are you doing here, in my garden?"
The words weren't loud. They weren't harsh. But something about the way he said them felt like a challenge. A test.
Zayn's face flushed with heat. Was he mocking him? Was he repeating his stutter on purpose? The thought twisted in his chest like a knife.
His eyes dropped to the ground. His heart pounded louder, faster. Shame bloomed in his stomach, mingling with the fear already clawing its way through him. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
That's when he saw it.
Aric's hand slid slowly into the pocket of his coat.
Zayn's gaze snapped to the motion—and there, glinting in the low light, was something silver.
A knife.
It wasn't large, not even fully visible. But it was enough.
Zayn froze, eyes wide.
The sight of the blade sent another wave of terror through him. His breath caught in his throat. His pulse thudded in his ears. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
Why did he have that?Was it for protection? Or something else?
His mind couldn't focus. All he could see was that shimmer of steel. All he could feel was the primal, animal fear crawling under his skin.
And Aric… Aric noticed.
He saw the way Zayn stiffened. He saw the way his eyes locked onto the knife. He saw the way his entire body betrayed him with fear.
And he smiled.
Not a cruel smile. Not one of mockery. But something else. Something almost… intrigued.
Then, just as suddenly, Aric pulled his hand from his pocket—not holding the knife—but a pack of cigarettes.
Seeing the cigarette pack in his hand, Zayn felt a flicker of relief—like life had returned to his body.
Zayn exhaled shakily.
The panic hadn't gone, not completely. But something inside him shifted—just a little.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then forced himself to speak. He had to answer. Even if his voice broke. Even if he stuttered. He had to try.
His lips parted.
"M-Mm...mm...I...I-I'm h-h-h-here... f-f-from... F-F-Finn..."
The words came out broken. Slow. Uneven.
But they came.
And that, somehow, was everything.
"Hmm," he murmured, voice low. "I see."
There was no laughter. No smirk. No ridicule.
Just a quiet kind of curiosity in his eyes. A stillness that felt like… interest.
He looked at Zayn then—not with cruelty, not with pity, but like someone seeing something they hadn't expected. Like someone recognizing fragility—and choosing not to break it.
Zayn stood there, breath shaky, heart still caught between fear and confusion. But inside him, something small stirred.
Not safety. Not quite trust.
But maybe... the beginning of something.
Something uncertain.
Something new.
Aric's hand moved again—this time slowly slipping into the pocket of his coat.
Zayn's breath caught.
A sharp fear shot through him like ice in his veins. His wide eyes locked onto the movement, and in his chest, his heart felt like it froze completely.
Now he's going to pull out the knife.Now he'll attack me. Right here.
The thought hit hard. Terrifying. Real. His entire body tensed, paralyzed in place.
Zayn's heartbeat wasn't just fast anymore—it was pounding, like a storm trapped inside his chest. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't move.
He wasn't standing like a grown man anymore.
He was scared—just like a small, helpless child. Afraid of something sharp. Something dangerous. Something cold and silent.
And all he could think about was escape.
He didn't care anymore who was watching. He didn't care if it looked strange. He just wanted to run—to get away before it was too late.
But then...
Aric pulled his hand out of the pocket.
And it wasn't a knife.
It was just a lighter.
A small, metallic lighter that clicked softly in his fingers. The tiny flame sparked to life, glowing for a second before settling into a steady burn.
Zayn blinked, confused. His panic hadn't left—but it had stumbled. His breath shook in his chest as he watched Aric lift the flame toward the cigarette between his lips.
Aric's voice broke the silence.
"You don't mind if I smoke here, do you?"
He asked it casually—without looking at him.
Zayn stood still. Then slowly, he shook his head—no.
Even if he had a problem with it, he wouldn't have said anything.Why would he stop him?
After all... who was he to stop someone like Aric?
He wasn't anyone special. Not here.
And especially not to him.
Zayn lowered his eyes again.
Somewhere deep down, a bitter thought echoed:
Even if I hated it... I wouldn't tell him.Because I don't matter enough to stop him.
Time passed. Quiet. Heavy.
Back inside the mansion, Jack was starting to get worried.
He looked around the room, then down at his phone. Then back again.
Zayn was gone.
And he'd been gone for too long.
Jack hadn't meant to lose track of him. He'd just been caught up in a conversation with Alex, his older brother. Nothing important. Just talking.
But in that small moment—Zayn had disappeared.
Now Jack's chest was tightening with worry.
He knew Zayn.
He knew how uncomfortable he got in unfamiliar places.How quickly silence turned into fear.How easily he could become overwhelmed... and lost inside his own mind.
And now Jack had no idea where he'd gone.
He wouldn't leave on purpose, Jack thought. He wouldn't do that to me.
But still... he wasn't here.
With a quiet curse, Jack pulled out his phone and dialed Zayn's number.
The ringtone played.
But not from far away.
From the table.
Zayn's phone was still lying there, untouched.
Jack stared at it.
You left your phone? Seriously, Zayn?
He ran a hand through his hair, a soft groan of frustration slipping from his throat—not because he was angry. But because he cared. Too much, maybe.
He hated how Zayn slipped away when he wasn't looking.
Damn it, Jack muttered, turning toward the staircase. Where the hell did you go?
His steps quickened.
As he climbed the stairs, his eyes drifted to the large window on the left—tall, wide, and framed with ivy.
That's when he saw it.
Outside, through the glass.
There—near the edge of the garden—two figures stood under the moonlight.
Zayn.And Aric.
Jack froze.
He leaned closer, pressing his hand lightly to the glass as his eyes focused.
Zayn was facing Aric—but he didn't look relaxed. He looked... tense. Fragile.
His posture was stiff, almost afraid. And Aric was just standing there, tall and calm, a cigarette between his fingers and a strange look in his eyes.
Jack couldn't hear anything through the window.
But then—
Zayn opened his mouth to speak.
His lips moved slowly.
The words came out broken.
"I-I-I... I c-c-came h-h-here... f-f-from F-F-Finn... t-t-to m-m-meet..."
Each syllable felt like it was dragging through thorns.
His voice cracked. His mouth trembled. But he still tried.
Even in front of Aric.
Even though his chest was tight.Even though fear still held him by the throat.
He still tried.
And Jack, watching from the window, felt something twist in his chest.
He knew how hard that was for Zayn. He knew exactly what it took for him to push past the stutter. To force the words out even when they came slow, shaking, and uncertain.
No one else would understand the pain behind those sounds.
But Jack did.
He saw it in the way Zayn's shoulders rose and fell. The way his eyes stayed low. The way his hands stayed perfectly still.
Every part of him was bracing for a response.
But Aric didn't laugh.
He didn't mock.
He didn't walk away.
Instead—he exhaled slowly, smoke drifting past his lips, and gave the faintest nod.
"Ah, you're here for Finn's party, huh?"
It wasn't judgment.It wasn't cruelty.It wasn't even cold.
It was just... a response. Calm. Neutral. Almost like understanding.
Zayn sat trembling in the gazebo, his body stiff with fear. The evening air was cool around him, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. Every breath he took felt shallow, his thoughts scattered like broken pieces of glass, too sharp to touch, too painful to piece together.
And there, blocking his only path to freedom, stood Aric.
Zayn's heart pounded in his chest, each beat ringing louder than the next. His gaze stayed glued to the ground, unwilling to meet Aric's eyes. The pressure of his stare felt like it could crush him, and Zayn didn't know how to face this, didn't know how to escape this overwhelming sense of dread tightening around his chest.
Jack, meanwhile, felt a surge of anger unlike anything he had ever felt before. Yes, he feared beast—he feared the unknown, the wild and uncontrollable. But today, it was something else entirely. Something stronger.
Anger.
The kind of anger that twisted his insides and made his fists clench involuntarily. He wanted to march over and yank Aric away from Zayn, to drag him out of there, away from the danger, away from the suffocating tension. But his feet refused to move. He was rooted to the spot, caught in his own frustration and helplessness. His heart raced, but his body refused to act. The more he stood there, the more the frustration bubbled inside him.
And then there was Aric, His gaze remained fixed on Zayn, unwavering, as though he was studying him—trying to understand the layers beneath the fear, beneath the guarded silence. Zayn's face was open, vulnerable, and Aric noticed every little detail, every fragile aspect of him. His porcelain skin, the tiny beads of sweat dotting his forehead, the faint pink of his lips, and those eyes—those eyes that were so expressive, so filled with uncertainty.
Even though Zayn's face carried the scars of past pain, stories of struggle and survival that no one else could see, Aric found his beauty impossible to ignore. There was something about the delicate way his features were shaped, something that made Aric want to reach out, to trace the lines of his face, to feel the softness of his skin under his fingertips. But Aric held back. He knew he couldn't do that—not yet. Not while Zayn was so fragile, so locked in his fear.
But Aric couldn't help but be drawn to him—pulled by that vulnerability, by the fear that radiated from Zayn like a magnetic force. It was strange. It was unsettling. But it was real.
Then, finally, Aric spoke. His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was something else—something gentle hiding underneath.
"What happened to your face?" he asked, his words hanging in the air like smoke.
At the sound of Aric's voice, Zayn lifted his head, just slightly, his eyes meeting Aric's for the first time. A sharp breath caught in his chest. His body tensed, but he couldn't look away.
For a brief moment, if Aric had been the hero of a movie, Zayn might have found him impossible to resist. He was handsome, impossibly handsome, like someone from a dream. The kind of handsome that made people stop and stare. But right now, Zayn could barely stand the sight of him.
Not when Aric was the one causing the fear to claw at him, to make him feel so small, so vulnerable.
But Aric didn't mock him. He didn't laugh. He didn't make fun of the way Zayn's words were struggling to leave his mouth. Instead, he simply exhaled slowly, the smoke from his cigarette swirling in the air between them.