Freeze

Ever since he had left for his home country, she couldn’t get him out of her head. It was everything about him that intrigued her - his eyes, his lips, his smile, his laugh, his voice, the birthmark she’d kissed over once too many times, the new haircuts he’d gotten to create his own image, and the way he shifted when asked about how he liked America. Of course he liked America, but it was the girl residing in California that made it all the better. His cell phone number was still in her phone. Calling him seemed like a mere fantasy, a reoccurring dream that pulled her from her slumber. He still had her number. Calling her seemed to be the number one thing on his list of ‘Things To Do When I Grow A Pair’. She was spread out across her bed, fingers lightly grazing through her husky’s fur. He was on her television, sitting on top of an amp with the other four boys in the group. His part was after Zayn’s, and his eyes focused on the camera as he sang his solo for the song. She couldn’t help but sigh softly at the sound of his voice. He’d used to sing to her when she was on the verge of unconsciousness and she needed an extra something to push her over. His arms would be wrapped around her, fingers lightly tracing patterns on the skin of her stomach. She’d try to sleep, yet forced herself to stay away to hear him sing. Then, he’d check to see if her eyes were still open.

“Another one?” He’d whisper to her when he discovered they were still partial open.

“Yeah,” she’d whisper back, “Do I’m Yours.”