The Human Among Wolves Chapter 52

Aurora

I took my time in his bathroom, letting the soft hum of the fan and the faint smell of his shampoo ground me. I brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush he gave me—and splashed cool water across my face. Droplets clung to my skin, running down my neck as I leaned over the sink, breathing in the faint scent of his soap.

When I finally looked up, the mirror showed me something I hadn’t seen in weeks—a version of myself that didn’t look exhausted, hollowed out, or frayed at the edges. I almost didn’t recognize the softness in my own reflection. I still had puffy eyes from crying, sure... but I looked better than I did yesterday.

I pulled on yesterday’s clothes slowly, smoothing the fabric as if that could make me look less rumpled, less out of place. By the time I stepped back into the room, Zayn was already waiting by the door, hands in his pockets, his gaze finding mine like it always did. Without a word, we left his dorm together, the morning air cool against my still-warm face.

The walk to the canteen felt… different. Normally, I took this path half-asleep, earbuds in, hoodie up, invisible to the world. But now, with Zayn walking beside me, hands shoved casually in his pockets like he owned the damn place, I felt every set of eyes on us.

Or maybe that was just in my head.

He didn’t seem bothered at all—didn’t even glance at anyone. Meanwhile, I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, like I was on some kind of mission.

“Relax,” Zayn muttered, leaning down just enough so only I could hear.

“I am relaxed,” I lied, way too quickly.

He snorted softly. “You look like you’re walking to your own execution.”

“I’m not used to… this,” I said under my breath.

“This?”

“Walking in here with you.”

That earned me a small smirk. “Why? Afraid it’ll ruin your reputation?”

I shot him a look. “What reputation? And no. It’s just… weird.”

He didn’t say anything else, just pushed the door open for me, and the warm, food-scented air of the canteen hit us. The place wasn’t packed—it was still early—but there were enough people around to make me feel exposed.

We grabbed trays in silence, and I was hyperaware of how he moved—confident, quiet, unbothered—while I tried to keep my hands from fidgeting. When we finally sat down at one of the tables near the windows, I caught a couple of girls at a table across the room glancing at us before quickly looking away and whispering to each other.

I stabbed my fork into my eggs. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” Zayn asked around a bite of toast, like he had no idea what I was talking about.

“People staring.”

“Let them stare,” he said simply, not even bothering to look up from his plate.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered, picking at my food.

He finally looked at me then, one brow raised. “You’re acting like I dragged you out here.”

I sighed, feeling ridiculous. “I know. It’s just… weird, okay?”

Something softened in his expression, barely noticeable, but it was there. “You’ll get used to it.”

I looked down at my plate again, trying not to think too hard about what he meant by that—or why the idea of “getting used to it” made my chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, the low hum of chatter around us filling the space between us. I kept my eyes on my plate, but I could still feel him there, solid and quiet, like some immovable presence that made it impossible to focus on my scrambled eggs.

Finally, I set my fork down and looked at him. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t look up, just took a slow sip of his coffee. “You just did.”

I gave him a flat look, and he smirked like he couldn’t help himself. “What is it?”

I hesitated, then blurted it out before I could lose my nerve. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

That got his attention. His dark brows pulled together slightly. “Ask you what?”

“Why I showed up at your door crying like a lunatic.” My voice came out softer than I expected, and I hated how vulnerable it sounded.

Zayn leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He didn’t rush to answer, which only made my chest tighten.

Then, finally, he said, “Because I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

I blinked at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” His gaze was steady, almost disarming. “I’m not in the business of forcing people to spill their guts. You were hurting. You needed… I don’t know, somewhere to go. So I let you in. End of story.”

I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “Most people would’ve at least asked.”

He smirked faintly. “I’m not most people.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the little exhale that slipped out—relief, gratitude, maybe both. “Still… thanks. For not pushing.”

His smirk softened into something that looked almost like a real smile. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Or maybe you won’t. Either way, it’s not my job to drag it out of you.”

The words settled over me like a blanket, heavy but warm. No expectations. No demands. Just… space.

For the first time that morning, I actually managed a small smile.

*** * ***

Breakfast was over before I even realized it. My plate sat empty, my coffee had gone cold, and still, I felt like I hadn’t really been there—like I’d been moving through the morning on autopilot.

Zayn stood first, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and I followed him out of the canteen. The hallway outside was quiet, the usual weekend chatter echoing faintly from somewhere deeper in the academy.

I trailed a step behind him, my fingers brushing against the strap of my bag, my thoughts loud and restless. I wasn’t ready to face my roommates yet. I wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I loved them, I really did, but sometimes they were just… too much. Too loud, too nosy, too eager to pull me into their whirlwind of energy when all I wanted was quiet.

We passed a group of students heading in the opposite direction, laughing about something, and I found myself shrinking a little closer to Zayn’s side, as though he could shield me from being noticed.

“Um…” My voice came out softer than I meant, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Um… can I ask you something?”

He slowed his steps and glanced at me over his shoulder, one brow raised in silent question. The look he gave me—patient, steady, waiting—made my heart thump strangely in my chest.

"Can I…” I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the hallway felt with just the two of us. My throat felt tight, but I pushed the words out anyway. “Can I stay in your room a little longer?”

The second the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. It sounded wrong—too forward, too desperate—and my cheeks burned hot.

“I mean,” I rushed to add, my words tumbling over each other in my hurry to explain, “not like… stay-stay. I just—I don’t want to go back to my dorm yet. I’m not ready to talk to my roommates, or deal with… anyone, really. And you—" I gestured vaguely at him, at his quiet, steady presence. “You don’t share your room with anyone, so it just… felt like maybe I could…”

I stopped, my voice faltering. The longer I spoke, the more ridiculous I felt, and my face was on fire now.

“You know what? Forget I asked,” I muttered, shaking my head, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “That was stupid. You probably don’t want me hanging around anyway.”

I started to take a step ahead of him, as if to walk away and erase the whole awkward moment, my chest tight and my stomach knotted with embarrassment.

Before I could take more than a single step away, a warm hand closed gently but firmly around my arm, halting me in place.

“Do you always talk that much?” Zayn’s voice was quiet, almost lazy, but there was a thread of amusement running through it that made my heart stumble in my chest.