If Time Stands Still

10- nice to meet you

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Aylin's POV

"Hellooo." Some tall, muscly guy in a vest greets me at the door, leaving me speechless for a moment as I try to remember if this is the right house or not.

"Hi." I smile, "Um, is Zayn here?"

"Depends who's asking?" He lifts his shades onto his head, revealing misty green eyes that could easily mesmerize someone.

"It's Aylin." I give him a tight lipped smile as he eyes me from head to toe. The second I tell him my name however, he looks up at me, seemingly shocked.

"Aylin." He grins, flashing perfect white teeth. "Nice to meet you." He holds his hand out for me to take and I do so. "I'm Clinton."

"Nice to meet you, too." I chuckle awkwardly as he shakes my hand, looking at me intently. I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. "So is Zayn here or...?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs. Come right in." He steps aside for me to enter. Of course he has hot friends. "Zayn!"

"Quit yelling, my aunt's still asleep." Zayn walks down in black sweats and a hoodie to match- except the hoodie isn't zipped up and he's not wearing anything under.

I had no idea that he had that many tattoos. They're all over his chest and I can't help but stare, trying to figure out what each one is, but all I can make out are some wings.

"Aylin." He speaks up, brows raising. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, I was just in the neighbourhood." I joke, hoping that he at least cracks a smile and thankfully, he does.

"We were just talking about you." Clinton puts his hand on my shoulder, but I can't tear my gaze from Zayn's lean torso and the small trail of hair leading... into his sweats.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"This one made a mess on my vest." He points at his friend, obviously noticing that I was staring. "What brings you over?"

My entire body feels flushed and I struggle to remember why I came over in the first place.

Zayn gives his friend a look, then I feel his hand slide off my shoulder and he chuckles from beside me.

"I'm gonna let you two crazy kids talk." Clinton excuses himself. "It was nice to meet y-"

"Go." Zayn demands.

Clinton merely laughs at the request and leaves us alone in the living room. I watch as Zayn zips up his hoodie just halfway, which isn't any less tempting. I swallow hard.

"I wanted to talk to you," I tell him, "but doing it over text or a phone call would've been lame and you live right here so..."

"Is it bad?" Zayn asks, brows furrowing.

"No, no!" I answer quickly. "It's not. I just wanted to talk in person."

"Oh." He sighs, then looks to his left where his friend is eating in the kitchen. "We can talk here." He points to the couch, "Clinton took my room last night, so it's probably still a mess."

"Sure." I sit down and so does he. He scratches at his beard nervously, waiting for me to continue. I forgot how pretty his eyes are.

"So what's up?" He smiles slightly.

After a much needed talk with María, she encouraged me to try showing Zayn that I am interested in him, because apparently I'm really bad at displaying things like that. Personally, I don't think I am, but she wouldn't lie. So here we are.