Zephaniah // z.m

Thirty two

Hannah

It was Thursday, meaning tomorrow was the last day we would work on Zephaniah's room, and he was coming home. I couldn't wait to see the little boy again, especially after the tension that had hung between me and Zayn.

He had apologised several times, but so did I. It wasn't fair from me to ask such things, knowing the subject was extremely sensitive to him. I could relate. Why didn't I act like it? I guess we were both just confused about different things. I didn't feel like talking about it anymore and neither did Zayn.

We made small talks, laughed, but the conversations weren't deep like I would've hoped they would be. I agreed to do this because I wanted to get to know him better and when it came to his way of expressing emotions and feelings- I already knew him way too well, but the other things? I didn't.

I decided to let it be. Zephaniah was my main reason, not his father. Although.. I sighed. He wouldn't ever see me in that way, and I honestly didn't even know what I felt for him either.

The outburst he had yesterday was put behind us, and we were currently seated on the couch the tv on a news channel, plates full of chicken curry Zayn had made on our laps.

We were tired after today. The dog wallpaper borders were up, the chalk paint on his door and all the frames were painted, the newspapers removed from his floor and his brand new lamp hanging and attached to the ceiling.

The last thing we needed to do was moving his stuff back into the room. We decided to do that tomorrow morning, so we could pick him up after that.

"Hey, uhm, I just wanted to say thanks for helping with Zeph's room and all," Zayn said awkwardly, looking away when we made eye contact.

"It's okay." I gave him a small smile and quietly ate my chicken curry, which was amazing, may I add. "Thank you for the food. You're an amazing cook."

Zayn smiled a little and although it was already becoming dark, I could swear I saw his cheeks coloring pink. "Oh, thanks. Mumma taught me."

"I figured. I haven't forgotten her chicken and spinach yet." I placed my plate on the small table in front of me and took a sip of my water.

"She's the best cook," He admitted shamelessly. I couldn't agree more.

"Zeph's lucky with a father like you. Grandmother's recipes are the best, that's what they say." I said, Zayn staring at me for a few seconds long. I didn't really know why.

Zayn placed his plate on the small table as well and slouched back on the couch, "He doesn't like a few things that I love. It's his autism, he doesn't like the texture of some food so he refuses to eat it."

"Oh, really?" I asked curiously. I clearly didn't know everything about his autism yet, but I was eager to learn about it.

Zayn nodded, "He gets really upset. He doesn't like any types of pasta, mushrooms, fish, beans, even more." He ran a few fingers through his hair, "It's all a bit of the squishy types of texture."

"Poor boy," I frowned sadly and played with my fingers as I thought about him.

Zayn hummed, fishing his phone out of his pocket, "Speaking of Zeph, I haven't checked mum's messages in a while."

His phone lit up his face and I could see how his soft expression changed into a concerned one. "Everything alright?"

"Shit. Zeph's had a seizure. Wait, let me call my mum." Zayn quickly dialed her number and put the phone on speaker, so I could listen with him. It made me feel relieved. I knew he had to include me with things about Zephaniah, but I didn't want him to say that I was curious, like he said in his outburst, because that really wasn't the case.