The Romantic & the Cynic

Sky finished her day with the guys, her camera never leaving her hands. She was invited to share dinner with them at the beach house again but she easily declined, aware of just how much work she had ahead of her. During the week, she had taken over three thousand pictures. She had quickly reviewed them each night but had done very little editing or sorting. Her plan had to been to do them on Sunday when she could curl up in the couch with her laptop, a cup of coffee and dress in her comfiest track pants so she could engross herself in the job. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to her during the week that part of the decision in regards to whether or not she would be continuing would be based not only on the chemistry she had with the group but on the shots themselves. Of course Liam and the others would want to see them, would want to evaluate just what she was able to produce using the tools of her trade.

She packed up her bags, said goodbye to the group and drove herself to Jake's apartment. Her first task when she arrived home was to immediately get the memory cards she had used that day and slide it into her laptop to transfer the photos of that day to her hard drive. As the photos transferred over before her and began to pop up on as tiles on the screen, she immediately began to pick the photos that grabbed her eye. The initial sort would not take into account the 100 photo limit but would only be based on what caused the emotions to stir in her. The process of transferring the photos and moving her choices into a separate folder took about twenty minutes, her hand trusting her gut reaction and making fast choices.
After her basic sort of that day's work, she moved into her kitchen and made a quick dinner that consisted of a salad she had picked up on the way home and a piece of chicken she had cooked the night before. A quick meal and a glass of milk before she changed into her comfy sweat pants and a faded tank top and made her way back to the family room where she curled up in a blanket with her laptop and began the much more laborious process of sorting through all of the photos she had shot.

Like the first round, she didn't count the photos she was moving into the new folder, going only on emotion. As she saw a photo she liked, she clicked on it and moved it over. And as she went through the different days, she saw the subtle changes that had come over the photos as she had worked with the group. The initial photos were textbook and stilted, not bad but a sense of separation between her and the subjects showing through the paper. But as the week had gone on, her familiarity had grown and the photos went from being observational to being in the middle of the action.
Like she usually did, Sky felt herself being absorbed into the photos, reliving the moments and emotions she had captured.

She went on like this for a couple of hours, her eyes trying to catch every nuance of the photos she was looking at. Some made her smile, some made her laugh, some tugged at emotions that warmed her soul. And reminded her for a second why she enjoyed this as a passion and not just a job. She was on Thursday's photos when she was finally pulled out of her computer screen and back to the apartment.

The phone woke her from her deep concentration, the shrill tone sounding angry to her ears. She slid her computer off of her lap and reached for the it. She had tossed it on to the table when she had arrived home since this one was not her usual phone. It was a phone she had been given by Liam the first day she had arrived at the studio and one that she could only contact the group and Paul on. They had it even made it so that it listed each of them as a contact but did not show their actual numbers, only their name to keep their privacy but she could still get them on the phone. And at the moment the screen was showing that it was Zayn phoning her.
After a moment of very distinct surprise, she slid the bar across the phone and put it to her ear.

"Hello," she said as she slid her glasses off her face and set them on her table. She hoped the surprise was absent from her voice since she thought that he would probably be annoyed by it. But instead of Zayn's voice coming through, all she heard was silence. "Hey Zayn, are you there," she said with a soft and easy voice, hoping to coax a conversation out of him.

Silence for a few more moments, barely perceptible breath coming through the handset. Finally, he cleared his throat and words trickled through.

After a moment of very distinct surprise, she slid the bar across the phone and put it to her ear. "Hello," she said as she slid her glasses off her face and set them on her table. She hoped the surprise was absent from her voice since she thought that he would probably be annoyed by it. After a number of silent moments, Zayn finally spoke.

"Sky."

In one word, his voice sounded tired and sad and Sky's heart reached out to him. She immediately pictured him alone in his room, his body collapsed on the bed and his arms flung over his eyes as he spoke. She held in her sarcastic remark in regards to caller i.d., knowing he wouldn't appreciate it.

"How are you," she asked with a genuine concern. She remembered that Perrie had called him the night before and wondered if this sadness was a hang over from that call.

"I'm fine." Another pause but Sky held her words, waiting to see what direction he wanted to take the conversation. "Look, I'm sorry but I must have hit the wrong number. I didn't mean to disturb you so late."

Sky knew immediately that he was lying but didn't call him on it. "You're not disturbing me. I could use the break actually. I am brain deep in photos that I have to get organized for Liam tomorrow."

"Yeah, I heard the assignment he gave you. I am sure the results will be great." She heard him move, the phone crackling as it slid against what she assumed was his skin. "Look, while I have you on the phone, I just want to say ... well, you were ... I never quite ..." He stopped and took a deep breath as if that act would help him to organize whatever he was trying to say. "I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."

That wasn't it, she thought as she listened to him stumble over his words. There was more to what he wanted to say. She waited for him to speak it but the explanation never came.

"I'm looking forward to it too," she said as she slid her glasses back on and pulled the laptop closer to her. "I'll be there first thing in the morning."

The two said stilted goodbyes and then he was gone, like a hot whisper in her ear. And Sky returned to her work, pushing Zayn out of her mind.

As she moved the files from folder to folder, yes to no to maybe to no to yes, the sheer number of photos were overwhelming. What had been a group of five hundred photos three hours before had become a still daunting four hundred. She took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes, her mind racing as she photos flipped them through the mind. She had to come up with a system, some way to quantify the emotions she had caught on film. Liam had given her a budget of 100 photos and she had promised herself that she would stick to it. She knew it was a challenge to her and she desperately wanted to meet it.

Forcing her mind to pause for a moment, she thought rationally about what she had to do. One hundred photos to explain the relationships she had captured and the lines of emotion that tied them together. And yet she had to show their distinctive personalities. Show Harry's casual sexiness, Niall's impish sense of humour, Louis' hidden maturity, Liam's deep sense of loyalty. Even Zayn's quiet brokenness. She wanted to show it all. And that was when she finally decided what system she would have to use. Twenty photos of the group. Photos that showed what bonds that had formed since they had met on a talent show five years earlier. The whole boys to men thing. The remainder of the photos would be individual shots divided equally among each of them. Shots that would focus on each personality.

And that was what she did. She spoke to herself as she began to harshly cut photos. She didn't question her decisions, trusting her initial instincts. If a photo was a no when she looked at it again, she slid it back and didn't go back to it. There had to be a reason that she had denied it and whatever that reason was, she had to go with it. It was the only thing that would save her sanity.

By the time Sky finished, it was three o'clock in the morning and she was exhausted. But she had done it. She had picked the photos that would decide if she was staying in Los Angelos.

After Zayn had hung up his own phone, he didn't have anything to distract him like Sky. Her quick mental picture of him as he had called had been fairly accurate even though he didn't know it. He was alone in his room, a worn pair of jeans covering his bottom half and an equally worn grey shirt skimming across his torso. His hair, usually properly arranged, lay flat and haphazard on his head and more than a day's coating of stubble covering his face.

His call to Sky had not been by accident, even though that was what he had told her. He could tell by the way that she had spoken that she knew it was a lie but appreciated the fact that she didn't question him about it. He had deliberately selected her name from the contact list on his phone after his thumb had hesitated over it for over half an hour. He had finally put the call through and felt his breath stop as her voice had come though the line.

An apology had been stuck in his throat as he had been speaking to her. And a thank you. An apology for the glares she had received over the last couple of days, a thank you for helping to cover with Liam.

But that wasn't the only reason he had called. He was in desperate need of a distraction. He hadn't been able to stop himself, he was only salting his own fresh wounds, he had done it. He had googled Perrie and Jackson, scrolling through various versions of grainy pictures of the canoodling couple. More pictures had happened recently, right up to two days earlier when they were shot outside her flat and rumors had started about a harsh breakup between the new lovebirds. Just before she had called him. He had loved her little apartment she kept in London. It was hardly the flat of a famous singer but it suited her tucked into a corner of the building and overlooking the common garden. They had spent as many hours as possible with each other there, wrapped up in their own world. What he now knew to be his own fake world.

He had also called to try and get some of that quiet strength that seemed to emanate from her. Perrie was calling him again tonight and it was a struggle for him not to slide his finger across the screen. His phone had rung at least ten times since they had gotten back from the studio and each time, her too-bright smile shone back at him. He had been able to stop himself so far but with each call, his resilience was weakening. He had hoped that a conversation with Sky, one where maybe he would be able to share some of the thoughts that were bouncing around his head. A conversation with someone who didn't know him before, who didn't look at him with pity because they had a feeling all along that something was wrong with him and Perrie. A conversation with someone who only wanted to know his favorite color.

But he had chickened out. He had choked. And the opportunity was gone. He had said goodbye and hung up and none of his intended words had escaped his lips. And now he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and his phone still clutched in his hand.

Suddenly, he felt the phone vibrate again. He had turned the ringer off because the sound of her ringtone pierced his soul each time. He hoped that it was Sky calling back but as he brought to screen into his view, it was Perrie's face that greeted him instead. And his resolve finally vanished. He slid the bar across the screen and slowly lifted it to his ear.

"What do you want," he said with no introduction. He tried to force as much raw emotion as he could, not wanting Perrie to know how much he was ripped apart inside. The non-greeting seemed to catch her by surprise, even though he didn't think it should. She stayed quiet for a second before speaking. And when she did, it was barely audible.

"Zayn," she said as almost a whisper. "I didn't think you would ever pick up."

Her voice sounded so broken, s little like what he was used to. It made him wish she was lying beside him and tucked into his arms so he could make her feel better. But there was one heartbreakingly valid reason she wasn't.

"I don't know why I did," he said. "I shouldn't have."

The line remained silent, neither of them sure what to say. The energy for a screaming match was absent but they still had everything to say. It was Perrie who broke it.

"Just tell me what to say. Tell me what will make you understand that I made a huge mistake, I still love you and don't want to lose you." Her words sounded genuine and Zayn wanted to believe it. He wanted to forgive everything and get her back in his life. But it was still too hard to do it.

"How can I trust you? How can I not second guess everything you say or ever trip you take?" Pictures began to flash through his brain, pictures of a back alley in Italy. "I can't erase those pictures."

"I know. But Zayn, I still love you." A heavy pause. "Do you still love me?"

The words were spoken before he could catch them. "Of course I love you. We spent four years together, years I thought were happy, years I thought would continue."

Her words were simple. And Zayn was about to jump in when he heard them. "They can," she said with hope in her own voice. "Let me come to L.A. so we can figure this out. I can ..."

And then he heard it. The solid sound of a door closing in the front of the apartment, a set of keys dropped in the white ceramic bowl he had picked up for her when he had travelled to Australia for the first time after she had mentioned she didn't have a place to put them, a pair of boots walking across the beautifully scuffed floor that she wanted to refinish but he begged her not to, a creak of the door to her room door opening because he had forgot to oil it for her the last time he was there and one simple sentence. The sentence that shut down his heart.

"Babe, who you on the phone with?"