The Color Yellow - A One Direction Fan Fiction

Chapter Three - Flustered

Zayn's POV

The room was loud. The boys were singing and screaming, Leo jumping around the room yelling words that made no sense at the top of his lungs. Floyd's neighbors would, no doubt be unamused and annoyed at this, but nobody seemed to care.

Through all the noise and chaos going on my mind was only focused on one thing, my ears were only focused on one thing: music.

It was loud, but ever so soft. It echoed through my ears but left a pain in my heart. The tune was hauntingly beautiful and made the room feel empty. Emotions streamed from the persons soft, yet incredibly strong voice.

The music was coming from downstairs and drifted to the room us boys were in.

The voice was not Floyd's, the voice wasn't even a girls. But every once in a while I could've sworn I heard a higher voice join in with the sweet melody.

Leo must've noticed I was distracted by something because he was walking my way. He sat down next to me on the small comfy couch and silently and didn't say a word.

He closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. "Get Up" he said randomly.

Confused, I slowly stood up from the couch watching Leo with a concerned look.

His eyes opened and searched for me next to him. When he realized I was standing in front of him a small giggle escaped from his lips.

"It's the name of the song" he giggled some more, "I didn't mean for you to get up".

I chuckled and shook my head slightly, sitting back down on the couch.

"It's by Barcelona" he started talking again. "Not one of her favorites... But they're good. She normally listens to them when she's sad.." His voice trailed off when speaking the last statement and then his small body is leaning against mine.

He spoke again, his voice quieter then a whisper that I barely heard, "I'm worried about her".

Normally, whenever somebody said they were worried about someone I didn't take it to heart so much. Maybe the person was having some trouble, but most of the times the reasons why someone was worried about somebody weren't very realistic.

But with Floyd, it was different.

A six year old boy was concerned about her: An incredibly intelligent six year old was worried about his older sister. And when a young child is concerned about a young adult, other people should normally be worried too.

"She doesn't sleep" he whispered, "And she has three jobs". Leo looked up at me with his wide brown eyes as he laid his head down in my lap. "She's stressed a lot, and is always doing things for me, but she needs to do something for herself".

I became curious to what he was saying. How did a six-year-old know these things? It was highly unlikely for Floyd to tell him them, she didn't seem like one to want others worrying about her.

I wanted to question Leo further, but he looked exhausted and I don't think Floyd would want me knowing the things that I already do.

He curled up into a ball, let out a large yawn, and snuggled into my chest. "Can you take me to say goodnight to Floyd?" He asked tiredly, letting out another yawn.

I smiled down at his innocent features and nodded, picking him up generally to not disturb his sleep.

As I walked down the steps that leased to Floyd's art studio he spoke one last thing, "It's common sense". It was shocking, the fact that he tried to finish talking about it and seemed to know what I was curious about.