Tunnel Vision » Ziam AU «

Chapter Sixteen

"We know you're a very private person," the interviewer says, and Zayn bites his tongue. He's done enough interviews to know that this is only going to lead to personal questions, and he wants to avoid that, if he can. "But, come on, your fans would love to know what you're like when you're in a relationship."

That- isn't too bad of a question, surprisingly. He was expecting something closer to 'boxers, or briefs?' but this he can handle. He shifts a bit in his seat, still smiling politely and he'll continue to do so, even when his jaw starts to ache. "It depends," he says. "If it's casual, I like it to be private, less messy, you know?" The interviewer nods. "But when I'm really - when I care about people, I have a hard time hiding it. I think that if I was really in over my head, totally in love with someone, I'd want to tell everyone. So I guess I'd be the type of boyfriend who would spoil you. Try to give you the world and show you off. And I love to cuddle."

"Do you hear that ladies?" the interviewer coos. "He likes to cuddle."

Zayn shrugs, grin widening. "What can I say? Cuddling's nice."

"Now," the interviewer leans forward, "we know you're single at the moment, but there is one very special woman in your life, isn't there?"

Zayn frowns. "Um, I don't-"

"And we happen to have her on video call with us," the interviewer continues. Zayn sucks in a breath. He probably looks fucking terrified right now, but only because he can't figure out what this chick's talking about. What special woman? What-

"Hey, sweetie."

Zayn's head whips around. There's a large screen just behind him, has been the whole time he's been here, only it had been blank before. Now, he sees a familiar face, smiling and huge, magnified, and - "Mum?"

Zayn has this - rule, if you will. He doesn't call his mum often. It's just so hard on them both, all the time. There hasn't been a single phone conversation between them in four years that didn't involve tears from one of them at some point. And they always leave him feeling hollow and empty. So he only calls occasionally, and then whenever he can he flies out there and spends a week or two at home because it's just - easier to talk to her when he knows there isn't miles between them. When he can wrap his arms around her and know that one of his sisters is just around the corner, or his dad is in the living room.

The last time he'd spoken to her had been just before he left for the tour. He called her, told her what was going on, promised to come see her as soon as he could. And they'd both cried, because that's what they did, and afterwards Zayn had spent the entire day curled up in his bed, missing home and childhood so much it ached.

And now he's got to do this on live television. No fucking warning. He's pissed, but more than that, he feels tears prickling his eyes already and they haven't said ten words.

"I miss you," his mum says, and the crowd aws and coos.

"I miss you, too," Zayn says thickly. He can see the kitchen behind her, and he bets it smells like spices and cookies, the way it does in his memories. "Lots."