As Zayn closed the windows and drew the curtains tight, shutting himself off from the world outside, his heart raced in fear. He slipped behind the bed and curled up, trying to hide himself from an unseen terror. His breath was shallow and rapid, his hands trembling as his chest heaved with each drawn-out breath. The fear, like a heavy blanket, weighed down on him, and he tried to calm himself with long, slow breaths, but nothing seemed to help.
The terror that had taken over his mind was no stranger. It was something that had become all too familiar after the trauma of that fateful night. A deep, insidious fear that would often rise up in moments like this—when the night seemed too quiet, too still. It made him feel vulnerable, exposed, as though something—someone—was always lurking, just out of sight.
Zayn, in his isolation, had developed this coping mechanism over the years. Whenever the fear became too much, whenever his mind spiraled out of control, he would shut himself away, find solace behind closed doors, and hide in the darkness. It was a ritual, one that gave him a fleeting sense of safety—a small, fragile illusion of control in a world that had always felt out of reach.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt like this. Over the years, he had endured more than his share of suffering—hidden wounds, both physical and emotional—that had turned him into someone who was forever on guard, forever afraid of what might be lurking just beyond his reach. It had all started that night—when he had lost everything.
But now, as he sat in the darkness, his heart still pounding in his chest, he tried to calm himself. Slowly, the trembling in his hands began to subside. He breathed in deeply and let the cool air fill his lungs, forcing himself to relax. The night seemed to stretch on forever, and the fear still gnawed at him, relentless. But after a few moments, he began to feel it—the faintest sense of quiet, the fragile return of normalcy.
It wasn't enough to erase the fear, not entirely. But it was enough to keep him from breaking. For now, he could survive it. But the night—this night—would not be a peaceful one. Sleep remained far from him, just as it had on countless nights before.
Meanwhile, Aric, in the solitude of the dark streets, drove his car at high speed, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Zayn. The road blurred in front of him, the hum of the engine like a distant, rhythmic pulse in his ears. He couldn't shake the image of Zayn's soft, pink lips, the delicate scar that marred his lower lip. The sensation of his touch, the memory of how his finger had brushed against Zayn's skin, still lingered on his fingertips.
Zayn's presence—his vulnerability, his strength—had captivated Aric in a way that was both unsettling and magnetic. Every thought seemed to be consumed by Zayn, and it drove him to the edge of something he didn't fully understand. A pull. A connection. Something more than just curiosity, more than attraction.
Aric smiled softly, his lips curling at the corners, as he glanced down at his thumb. The sensation of Zayn's soft lips still imprinted on his mind. He couldn't let it go. He wouldn't let it go.
"He'll come around. His time will come," Aric muttered to himself, his voice low, almost like a promise. There was a quiet, dangerous confidence in his words. He knew what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. And Zayn—well, Zayn was no exception.
But as Aric's thoughts drifted, a familiar voice echoed in his mind. Jack's voice, cryptic and always lingering in the background. "He's not weak, Aric. He's scared. And that's what makes him dangerous. Don't underestimate him."
Aric's lips curled into a slight smirk. He had always been drawn to the challenge, to the fight. He had never been afraid of someone like Zayn. The fear that Zayn carried—it was what intrigued him, what drove him. There was something there, something hidden beneath the surface that Aric wanted to unravel. And once he did, Zayn would be his.
Aric's mind, sharp as ever, couldn't shake a troubling question. Why? Why was Zayn so afraid? What had happened to him, to break him in this way? Zayn was the son of one of Thailand's most successful and influential politicians. He was supposed to be strong, protected, untouchable. And yet, here he was—this man, broken and haunted by something that Aric couldn't quite put his finger on.
How could someone like Zayn, with so much power, let himself be consumed by fear? How could the only son of such a powerful family allow himself to be hurt, to be humiliated?
The questions gnawed at him, but Aric didn't have the answers yet. He wasn't concerned with that—at least not for now. The mystery would unfold in its own time. For now, all he had to do was wait.
As the speedometer of his car increased, so did the thoughts racing through his mind. Zayn's name was on his lips, a silent mantra, an obsession. He could feel the pull, the tension, building inside him with each passing moment.
But back in Zayn's dark room, fear still gripped his heart. The terror of the unknown never quite left him. He had locked the windows and closed the curtains, ensuring that no light could get in, that no shadow could reach him. He had done everything in his power to protect himself from whatever lingered outside.
But even with all the precautions, Zayn couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something had changed. The fear was real, palpable, something that could not be ignored.
He clutched the edges of the bed, his body trembling, and for a moment, he allowed himself to sink back into the solitude, to hide from the world. But no matter how much he tried, sleep never came. His thoughts were too loud, too overwhelming, to let him rest.
And outside, as Aric's car cut through the night, the game had only just begun.
Eric hadn't come to Bangkok for a vacation — and it certainly wasn't a spontaneous, aimless trip either. He had come with a purpose — a purpose that churned like a silent storm behind his calm eyes. He wanted the truth. The whole truth. Raw, unfiltered, painful truth.
And Zayn's condition… it was a living testimony that something terrible, something unspeakable, had been done to him.
It was the fear hidden in his posture. The way his eyes stayed low, as if every glance from a stranger burned like acid. The way he flinched at sudden sounds, stiffened at the slightest touch — they were all signs. Signs that Zayn had endured what would break most people from the inside.
Eric had seen these wounds before — on battlefields, in prison camps, in the eyes of people punished for telling the truth. But never on a face like Zayn's... never on a soul so fragile, so undeserving.
It was Jack's words that had opened the door to this truth.
"He's been bullied repeatedly," Jack's voice still echoed in Eric's mind. "And it wasn't just verbal. They hurt him physically too. Every time, it was Finn who stepped in. He took the beatings. He protected Zayn."
Finn — the last safe place in Zayn's world, the only one who lit candles in his shadows.
Knowing this stirred something strange inside Eric. It wasn't just a need to protect — it was more than that. Something in his heart had dared to claim Zayn, to feel for him not out of duty, but out of something deeper.
Eric's blood boiled. He wanted to see the faces of the boys who had hurt Zayn. He wanted them to feel the same pain they had buried inside Zayn — the peace they stole, the trust they shattered, the laughter they silenced.
But now was not the time for revenge.
Now was the time to be close. Quietly, but with all his heart.
The morning mist hadn't even fully lifted when Eric received the news — Zayn had gone out alone.
That was nearly unheard of.
Zayn, who usually remained hidden behind curtains and walls, had stepped out into the very world that terrified him. All because of one phone call.
It was Finn's birthday.
And Zayn had insisted on buying the gift himself.
Eric quickly took out his car. It wasn't long before he spotted the black vehicle he recognized. Zayn was driving — his grip on the steering wheel tight, half his face hidden behind a mask, but his eyes… his eyes were restless, scanning, watching, alert like prey sensing danger from all sides.
Zayn stopped outside a busy shopping mall. For a moment, it looked like his breath had caught. Slowly, he found a parking spot, and stepped out.
White sneakers, blue jeans, and a loose white shirt — like he wanted to disappear into himself. His mask covered the lower half of his face, and his bangs fell across his forehead, hiding the invisible scars that still haunted his skin.
Eric followed at a distance. Dressed in black, a cap pulled low, his face in the shadow. Hidden in the crowd, but never once taking his eyes off Zayn.
Zayn entered the shopping mall, head lowered. Every time someone brushed past him, his shoulders would tense — like even the slightest contact sent electricity through his body. He hated crowds — Jack had told Eric that. Zayn always avoided places like this.
But today... he was here.
For someone he cared about.
Eric watched him stop in front of a jewelry store. Zayn's gaze settled on a delicate silver chain with a small blue stone. He reached out, touched it gently — like he was silently asking for permission to want something beautiful.
And then — he looked away.
Eric felt his breath catch.
It wasn't just fear that lived inside Zayn. It was courage — the quiet kind. The kind that whispers hope even after every light has gone out.
Zayn wasn't broken.He was trying to put himself back together.
And Eric was watching him — silently, like an artist gazing at his unfinished masterpiece. His heart ached to step forward, to take Zayn's trembling hands in his own, and say:
"You're not alone. Not anymore."
But he knew — not yet.
Because Jack's words had warned him:
"He's not weak, . He's just scared. And that's what makes him strong.
And Eric knew — Zayn was anything but ordinary.
He was a story. A tale written in pain, but still etched with the possibility of light on every page.
And Eric…Eric would wait for that light.
Silently.
Lovingly.
When Aric walked, the world around him parted — not from fear, but from instinct. People made way for him without knowing why. He didn't wear dominance like a crown, and yet, it clung to him like a second skin. His presence didn't need to speak — it simply was. Heavy. Commanding.Like thunder rumbling behind silent clouds.
He never sought attention.In fact, he avoided it.Because Aric's role wasn't to be seen.
His job was to vanish within the crowd — to blur into background noise — and throw dust in the eyes of anyone who thought they could track his every move. He wore plain clothes — neutral tones, no labels, no ostentatious fabrics. A man of few words, but his actions spoke louder than anything stitched into fabric ever could.
He was here to observe.To protect.And his only concern was Zayn.
Zayn stepped into a small, quiet gift shop tucked into the corner of the mall. His frame was rigid with tension, as though carrying a weight no one else could see. His loose-fitting clothes — white sneakers, blue jeans, a soft cotton shirt — hung on him like a layer of fragile armor. But it was the mask — that ever-present veil — that clung to him like a second soul. A barrier not just from the world... but maybe from himself too.
Aric stood just outside, the shop . But his eyes? They never left Zayn.
Zayn felt it.That phantom brush of awareness along his spine — that soft, buzzing instinct that he was being watched. He tried to fight it, turning his focus to the display of delicate trinkets and toys. But his body knew. His shoulders stayed high, his breath came shallow. Like a deer sensing the presence of something unseen, just beyond the trees.
He didn't want to linger.He just wanted to buy something and disappear.Quiet. Unnoticed. Unseen.
Then he saw it.
A white music box — shaped like an egg, resting like a treasure behind the glass. Something about it drew him in, like a whisper meant only for him. He leaned down, breath catching, and turned the delicate key at the base.
A soft, haunting melody filled the space around him. Gentle, mournful, like a memory someone had left behind in sound.And Zayn stilled.
There was something in that tune — something that pulled on threads long hidden. A piece of his past, a breath of his silence, a reflection of everything he'd lost but never truly let go of. It reminded him of the moments he never spoke about.Of the silence that once stole his voice.Of the trust that was broken, and the pieces he had gathered quietly in the dark.
He reached out and picked up the music box carefully, like it might crack beneath his touch.
Aric was watching the music box in Zayn's hands — and somehow, Zayn's choice felt beautiful to him. It wasn't just the object itself... it was the way Zayn saw beauty in something so delicate. That quiet preference of his, it struck Aric deeply. He liked Zayn's taste — more than he expected.Zayn's pain didn't scream.It didn't demand.It was quiet — beautiful — and dignified.Like a wilted flower still turning toward the sun.
When he stepped toward the counter to pay, Aric moved away. Quietly. Without a word. He returned to his car, parked some distance away, his hands clenched on the steering wheel as he waited.
And then Zayn emerged.
A small paper bag swung gently in his hand as he walked briskly across the lot. His pace was urgent — like he needed to outrun a thought — but the tension hadn't vanished completely. It still clung to him. Not loud. Not visible. But there.
Outside, the wind had picked up. Cold. Sharp. Whispering secrets into the night.
The strands of Zayn's hair fell across his forehead, and the breeze lifted them gently, brushing across his face like a ghost. The parking lot was almost empty — a still moment suspended in time.
Then it happened.
Zayn stopped.He reached up — hesitating — and slowly pulled off his mask.
Aric's breath caught.
Zayn's face — the one hidden from the world for so long — was finally visible in the soft light. Pale skin. Lips slightly parted, as if he hadn't spoken in hours. Eyes full of ache... but still burning with something fierce. Something alive.
He didn't know he was being watched.But in that moment, he looked like someone who had finally been seen.
Aric's chest tightened. His thoughts spiraled back to the night before — standing close to Zayn, breath mingling between them, his presence magnetic. The softness of his lips, the quiet electricity of it. Something real. Something more than desire.
Zayn made him feel again.
That feeling had been buried in Aric for so long — the flutter of warmth, the pulse quickening in his chest. And only Zayn had stirred it. Only Zayn had shown him what it meant to feel... deeply.
Zayn made him feel something — something even Zayn himself was unaware of. It was unintentional, unspoken... yet it stirred emotions in Aric that he hadn't felt in a long time.
Watching him now, Aric longed to touch his face, to feel his presence — as if through a single touch, he could understand all the silence Zayn carried. But he knew… he couldn't do that.Not yet.
Because love — real love — is patient.It doesn't push.It doesn't demand.It waits... in silence...Until the other person is ready to hear it.
Zayn turned, walking toward his car. His steps had slowed, just slightly. He still looked fragile — but not like paper.Like glass.Breakable, yes.But capable of catching the light.
He slipped into his seat, setting the small bag beside him.
And just as he did —The first drops of rain began to fall.
Soft. Gentle. Like a blessing from the sky.As though the universe was saying: You made it. Keep going.
Aric, still watching from the shadowed interior of his car, In the light of day, Aric had seen his face clearly for the first time.