Chapter Text
Zayn was eight years old the first time he saw his parents fighting.
Or, okay, well, he had seen them have their little spats before. Sometimes they argued over what movie they wanted to watch after he went to sleep, and sometimes they got heated while discussing who would do the dishes. While those types of rows were getting more frequent, it wasn't anything unusual. It didn't disturb Zayn, and if he mentioned it to Niall, or Louis, or Harry, or Liam they would probably know just what he was talking about.
However, Zayn had never seen them fight like this. Never. He didn't even know mommies and daddies could get so nasty; he thought that was just for stupid kids on the playground and the bad guys on Power Rangers. Parents were supposed to be mature, not aggressive.
It was around noon on a Saturday, and Zayn had just sat down to a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Being eight meant getting a big, daddy-sized bowl of noodles instead of a little kid one, but it also meant that most of the orange cheese sauce ended up on his face rather than in his mouth. (Zayn was still kind of a messy eater, but at least he was better than Harry, who needed someone to pick pasta out of his hair every time they had spaghetti.)
Zayn's mom was in the living room, folding laundry, when she swore. It was a little surprising -Zayn wasn't used to hearing such language- but it wasn't as surprising as what happened next. The woman stood up with an exasperated sigh and went to the bottom of the stairs, shaking a pair of his dad's pants over the banister. "Naveed…?!" she called, scowling when his daddy didn't answer. "Naveed. Get the fuck down here, do you see this?" Zayn's mom yelled up to the master bedroom.
Zayn squirmed in his seat at the table, just able to hear his father's muffled shout back. "What do you want, Aisha? I'm busy!"
Uh-oh. Zayn knows that tone. That was the one his dad used when he was done being patient for the day. If Zayn were his mom, he would probably stop talking to him and just let it go until later because when his dad used that voice, it meant he was very close to getting angry.
"Busy doing what? Watching TV? I can hear it from down here! Get off your ass, and come look at what you did to these pants!" she shouted. A door slammed open upstairs and Zayn's dad appeared on the steps, his face hardened in anger.
"What? Aisha, they're pants," his dad quips, like the whole situation was idiotic, and she shoved them into his hands.
Zayn slumped back against his chair, wishing he could disappear. His mom was using all kinds of bad words. She had been a bit snappy at him all day, but she hadn't been so angry before. Now she just seemed so, so mad.
"No, look at the pockets. You left a whole fucking pack of gum in them and now they're ruined in this globby, shitty mess," she snapped. His dad instantly glowered, looking at his mom as if she had killed his pet dog or ran over his baby blanket with a lawn mower (which would be especially sad because baby blankets were private, and you wouldn't be able to cry about it to anyone or they would make fun of you, like Louis did when Zayn brought his to sleep away camp).
"Why didn't you check the pockets before you put them into the machine?" his dad questioned, and there's a steely quality to his words that Zayn doesn't like. He doesn't like it one bit.
"You're a grown man, Naveed, you can check your own pockets. I do so much for this family, I work all day in this fucking house, and you can't be bothered to take your shit out of your pants, like it's my job to take care of you. I take care of Zayn, that is enough, stop being such a child," his mother complained.
And then it was World War III.
Zayn's dad started screaming, and his mother raised her voice right back at him. Zayn heard more curse words in that one conversation than he ever had in his entire life. It was terrifying and scary, and it came out of nowhere; one second he was eating lunch and the next he was watching his parents go to war.
Zayn forgot he was supposed to be eating; he was so absorbed in watching the first of what would be many blows to his parents' marriage. His Kraft mac and cheese slowly started to turn dark and glue together just like it always did when it sat out and still for too long. It was okay, though. He didn't want it anymore.
Instead of eating, Zayn slipped off his chair to hid beneath the kitchen table. He watched his parents yell in each other's faces from between chair legs and willed himself not to cry. Everybody got in fights sometimes. Once he even yelled at Niall, and Niall was Zayn's best friend in the entire world.
Eventually, Zayn's mom threw the pair of ruined trousers into his dad's chest, forcing him back a bit, and stomped upstairs, absolutely furious. His dad screamed obscenities up after her as she climbed the steps before throwing his pants to the ground like a frustrated toddler. He stormed into the kitchen, threw open the refrigerator door, and grabbed himself a chilled bottle of beer.
"Daddy?" Zayn spoke up weakly, and his father seemed to realise he was there for the first time. He didn't look happy.
"What, Zayn? And what are you doing under the table? Pick yourself up and go to your room," he ordered, and Zayn nodded, scampering off to his bedroom. It wasn't the response he had wanted.
He had wanted a kiss on the cheek and to be told things were okay and that mommy and daddy were all right and happy, but that's not what happened, and now Zayn wasn't sure what was going on. His dad hadn't even hugged him, and Zayn could use a bit of a snuggle more than anything else at the moment.
Zayn dug out his baby blanket from under the covers at the foot of his bed and held it close. That hadn't been fun. That hadn't been fun at all.
"Louis, Louis! Pass it here, pass it here!" Harry yelped, jumping up and down across the playground and making grabby hands for the Frisbee they were playing with. Harry always begged for someone to toss to him, even when it wasn't his turn. Zayn has a feeling he'll get it this time. Louis always did whatever Harry asked.
As if on cue, Louis sent a questioning glance towards Liam, despite the tangled mess of hair covering his eyes. (Louis never let his mom or anybody give him a comb, even when Zayn asked nicely.)
Liam just shrugged his shoulders, officially giving his turn to catch the Frisbee to Harry, and a bright smile split across Louis's face. "Okay, Hazza! Here!" he yelped, tossing it towards the other boy. Louis had the shortest arms of all of them, even though he was the oldest, but he could still throw a Frisbee better than anyone else could.
Harry lunged for the flying disc and missed, tumbling to the ground. Zayn was worried until Niall positively erupted with laughter at his side, and by then he's laughing too, while Liam and Louis rushed to a scraped up Harry's side.
It was one of the last days of summer before they all had to go back to school. Zayn was going to be in third grade with a brand new teacher and a brand new room. It was a bit nerve-wracking to say the least, but Liam kept saying that it would still be the same playground, and they would all still be on the same bus, and they would still be the same best friends in the whole world, and all of those constants made Zayn feel a bit better.
So many things in his life were starting to feel terminable. His mom and dad hadn't been happy together for ages now. He remembered when Louis's parents got divorced with startling clarity, even though he had only been in kindergarten at the time. He remembered Louis crying a lot and his mom coming over to talk to Zayn's mom all the time. He also remembered that Louis used to be in a grade above his, but after having such a rough year, Louis had to do first grade again, this time with Zayn at his side.
It wasn't so bad, cause then they met Liam, and Niall, and Harry, but if Zayn had to do third grade again while his friends moved up to fourth, he would be all alone.
But whatever. He was trying not to think about that now. Summer was nearly over, and they were letting it go out with a bang. All of their parents had driven them to the park for a picnic and a play date together. It was nice to get out of the house and away from all the fighting for a little bit. He always had fun with his friends, and today was no exception, what with Niall laughing in his ear.
However, while Zayn was having a great time, Harry was most definitely not. Tears poured from his eyes as blood poured down his scratched knee. "Harry, don't cry. Harry, don't cry. Harry, don't cry," Louis repeated over and over, stress rendering him repetitive.
"I'll go get your mom," Liam decided, running off towards the pavilion housing all of their parents, and Zayn followed Niall's lead as the blonde went over to Harry and started tickling his armpits.
"St-st-ssssst-stop!" Harry squealed. The curly haired boy was squirming in the grass, tears still rolling down his cheeks but now from laughter instead of pain. Mrs Styles was there in a flash, though, cooing as she saw the gash on his leg and easily pulling the smiling, joyful Niall off of the slightly less miserable Harry. She lifted Niall and put him to the side, and Zayn is amazed by either how strong Harry's mom was or how light Niall was, he wasn't sure.
"Oh, no! My poor little baby! Let's get you all bandaged up!" she promised a woeful little Harry. It was clearly more of a struggle to lift her son up than it was Niall -the blonde was a bit scrawny for his age- and Louis getting under her feet and tripping her up as he fretted over her son wasn't helping in the slightest.
Zayn watched Niall as Niall watched them go back to the picnic tables, where Liam was sat in his mom's lap. "You wanna go see if Harry is okay?" he asked, and Niall turned back to look at him with the same smile he'd been wearing all day still on his face.
"Nah. I wanna keep playing. You wanna go on the monkey bars? I bet I can do them faster than you can," he said, crossing his eyes goofily at him.
"Sure, race you there!" Zayn replied, tearing off across the grass with Niall hot on his heels. He wished he never had to go to school so he could keep playing in the park with Niall forever. Zayn needed a bit of fun in his life, and he was going to miss all this freedom when it was gone. School wasn't going to be so great.
Fortunately, he had some good mates to get him through it all.
Zayn waited anxiously at the bus stop. He kept crossing one foot over the opposite foot again and again as he squirmed in place. All the yelling at home was making him quite nervous and fretful, and third grade just seemed like such a big deal, and such a scary thing, and such a bad time that Zayn was struggling to breathe a little bit while he anticipated his bus
All too soon, the big yellow vehicle appeared down the street and screeched to a stop at his corner. Zayn really, really, really didn't want to go to school. He really didn't want to get on this bus. His mom usually held his hand before sending him off, but now she was gone, and Zayn was alone.
"Zayn! C'mon! I saved a spot for you!" Niall yelped with his head out the window and a sunshiny smile on his face. Zayn's heart settled a little bit at the sound of one of his best friends calling out to him, and all of a sudden it wasn't so hard to gather up enough courage to step on the school bus. "Sit here, Zayn! Sit here, sit here!" Niall demanded, only to be shushed by the rule-following Liam.
"Niall, we're supposed to use our inside voices, 'member?" Liam questioned from the seat behind him as Zayn threw himself on the bench, his legs and arms brushing with Niall's.
"Oh, right, sorry!" Niall apologised. His voice was just as loud as before. Zayn couldn't hold back a giggle, especially when Louis started snickering across the aisle from him. Liam looked a bit disgruntled, but it wasn't long before Harry boarded the bus -his curly hair flopping all over and a backpack with a nose, mouth, eyes, and ears like a kitten donning his shoulders- and he could put Liam back in a right mood.
"You have Mrs Nancy for your teacher right, Zayn?" Louis asked, and Zayn nodded.
"Oh, wait, Zayn, you too? That makes three of us, then!" Liam managed to exclaim despite the way Harry was smothering him. The younger boy had planted himself in his lap and was now practically attacking him with hugs. (Harry was unusually snuggly, especially when one of them seemed a little down or frustrated, and Zayn appreciated all of his cuddles, even when Niall had better ones to give out.)
"I have Mrs Kearny," Niall said with a pout, and Harry made a surprised gasp.
"Don't be sad, Niall, I have Mrs. Kearny, too!" he yelped, all of a sudden crawling over the bus seat from his spot in Liam's lap. A stray sneaker kicked Liam in the face, while Niall laughed as Harry slithered between him and the window.
"Stay in your seat!" the bus driver yelled from the front, and Harry's ear quirked up in attention, his shoes still in the air by Niall's head while his hair brushed against the sticky floor.
"Haz, you're crazy," Louis said, sticking out his tongue, to which Harry quickly reciprocated. Zayn took in a deep breath.
Maybe school would be okay. He could get away from home, and all his classes would be with two of his four best friends. That wasn't so bad. It would be okay. Zayn was positive that things would be okay.
Third grade, as it turns out, is about as okay as Zayn figured it would be, once he got over his nerves. Mrs Nancy was really nice, which was lucky because from what Niall and Harry keep saying, Mrs Kearny was really, unbearably mean.
Zayn especially likes how many pictures he gets to colour this year. Mrs Nancy says drawing things out and colour coding everything is the best way to learn. Zayn quite agrees. He likes getting to pull out his fancy pack of magic markers for every assignment. Mrs Nancy says he is a very good drawer, too, which only encourages Zayn to scribble out more and more pictures at school and at home, and he eventually decides that art makes him happy and he really likes it.
It's a big thing for Zayn to realise because not a lot of things had been making him feel all that good recently. In fact, almost everything but his friends and colouring put him in a bad mood, though he wasn't sure why.
He's not exactly grumpy, more like sad.
"I don't think I'm very good at this," Niall frowned, glaring at the lump of clay on the table in front of him. Zayn hummed, etching out the top rim of his bowl and rubbing a bit of slip between the layers.
Niall and Zayn both chose art as their special elective -Liam, Harry, and Louis had all picked choir- and this week they were making little pottery bowls out of long snakes of clay. They were supposed to coil their worm-like strips into a bowl shape and scratch up the connecting pieces before putting in a bit of slip -like glue- to hold it together. Zayn was very nearly finished. He had focused very hard to make a tiny, curvy vase shape, and he hadn't even looked up to see what Niall was doing.
He glances up at Niall's work and immediately starts laughing. "I don't think you're very good either," Zayn snorted. He wasn't exactly sure what Niall had been trying for, but it ended up as a blob on his square of newspaper.
Niall's nose crinkled up. "How did you even make that? It's all…" Niall gestured vaguely in about the same curvy shape that Zayn's vase was in. "You made it go out and in and every which way," he complained, and Zayn just shrugged, his tiny hands now smoothing over the edges of his finished piece.
"Dunno. I like clay," he answered, and Niall didn't respond, just watched him work.
"I miss you during math, and reading, and stuff," he spoke up eventually, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. Zayn bit his lip. He missed Niall, too. It was the first year they weren't in the same class, and Zayn felt weirdly separated from the blonde. He had never shared a teacher with all four of his friends at once, so he should be used to feeling a bit of a hole in his heart during his lessons, but Niall being in a different class left him feeling more empty than ever before.
"I miss you, too. I hafta read Frog and Toad with Louis, but he doesn't make the same voice for Toad as you do. You're the best Toad," Zayn assured him, moving away his masterpiece to start fixing Niall's.
"Mhm," Niall nodded, seemingly weirdly nervous. "And you're the best Frog," he promised. There's a pause for a beat or so -Zayn had quickly gotten caught up in his creative mind-set as he righted Niall's bowl- until the younger boy piped up again. "I asked mammy, and she says you can come over after school today, if you want," he offered, scratching his forehead and getting bits of clay stuck in his eyebrow. Both his and Zayn's hands were covered in grey.
"Yes!" Zayn yelped a little too quickly. He really didn't want to have to go home. He hated going home. That one fight over cleaning out pants pockets had opened the floodgates at Zayn's house, and now no one was ever happy at home. It was terrible.
Niall didn't seem to notice how overenthusiastic he was, however, and merely smiled at him, bouncing in his seat a little bit. "Yay! Okay! We can do lots of reading! I just got Flat Stanley from the library, and also some of those weird boxcar kid books you like? The mysteries? But also, wait, I don't like reading, so maybe let's just play Power Rangers. Unless you wanna read. I know you like to read," Niall babbled, and Zayn wrinkled his nose in thought.
"I think we should do both. Can we do both?" he asked. Niall nodded encouragingly.
"Yes! We'll do both. And it's Tuesday, which means mammy is baking cookies, so we can have those, too," the blonde beamed. Niall and Harry were the only two of Zayn's little group who still called their moms 'mommy'. Or, in Niall's case, 'mammy'. Sometimes Louis teased them for it and said they shouldn't do that if they wanted to be grown ups, but Zayn didn't think anything was wrong with it. He just thought that sometimes Louis forgot how much bigger he was than everyone else, mostly.
"I like cookies," Zayn said, putting the finishing touches on Niall's resurrected bowl. "Also, finished! Now you can paint next week!" he exclaimed, presenting the completed work to his friend, and Niall cheered.
"Whoooo! Sweet!" he shouted, earning a 'shhhhh' from their art teacher and sending them into a fit of giggles. Niall was just so loud all the time, but Zayn wouldn't have him any other way.
It was ten o'clock on a school night, but Zayn was still awake. It wasn't his fault, though. Not really, he just… he couldn't sleep with all the yelling.
His mom and dad were best at fighting when they thought Zayn was out of earshot. Mostly, his mom complained about all the work she had to do and how unappreciated she was, while his dad screamed back at her out of laziness and stubbornness. Sometimes, though, they fought about money or just… stupid, stupid insults. Whatever the topic, it usually managed to creep through the floorboards from the kitchen and into Zayn's bedroom, no matter how many prayers he sent up to Allah that it would all stop.
Zayn didn't really understand praying. He didn't know much about mosques or religion or being Muslim outside of celebrating Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha. He was pretty sure you called praying Sadat (Salat?) and you did it on your knees facing… facing something…
Okay, well maybe Zayn didn't know anything, but he still found himself kneeling on the floor and whispering desperate prayers about things that confused him.
He just wanted this all to stop. He wanted to have a happy home, like Harry, or Liam, or Niall, or even… even Louis cause at least all the fighting was over in his house…
Regardless, Zayn found himself slipping out from under his covers and getting on the floor with his baby blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He folded his hands and bowed his head like Niall, Harry, and Liam did at their dinner table, words quietly tumbling out of his mouth as he begged for something better.
Zayn watched -excitement growing in his eyes- as Liam sneakily bent down and started packing a snowball in his hands. "Who are you gonna throw it at?" he whispered, not wanting to call attention to him. Liam brought a finger to his lips and pointed at Louis, the other boy very seriously traipsing up the hill and through the snow with Harry and Niall trailing behind. They'd mentioned something about the best sled ride ever, but Liam had gotten snow all up his back after loosing control of his disk and Zayn had offered to stay behind with him as he sat at the bottom of the hill and felt sorry for himself.
"I'm gonna hit him when he comes down," Liam replied conspiringly, a bit of mischief flashing in his eyes. Liam had been getting more and more naughty, what with all the time he spent with Zayn and -mostly- Louis in class. Teachers still liked him, but Zayn had a feeling it wouldn't last much longer.
Zayn giggled at the thought of Louis getting snow all in his already messy hair. "Okay, okay! They're just about to come down!" Zayn yelped, excited, and Liam clamped a mitten over his mouth.
"Shhhh! He'll know!" Liam replied, before propping his sled up in the snow to work as a makeshift fort. Zayn quickly packed some snow around the base to hold it steady and ducked behind their newly made wall with him. They peeked out above the top of the disk, nothing but hats, earmuffs, and eyes visible to the boys at the top of the hill. The pair watched like hawks as the three boys squished themselves into their sled, Louis fortunately in front. "Almost…" Liam squeaked, obviously excited. "Almost…" he repeated as the trio set off down the hill.
"Now!" Zayn yelped just as Louis came into throwing distance, and Liam complied, his snowball soaring through the sky.
It splattered in a slushy mess right in the older boy's face.
"Ah!" Louis yelped, hands reaching up to his eyes instead of holding the rope of the sled. The string tumbled out of his lap, lodging itself underneath their sleigh, and catching the nose of it. Louis flew forward face first in the snow, and Harry and Niall -both considerably smaller than Louis- went soaring, landing on either side of him. Zayn leapt up and rushed over to him.
"Oh, no! Louis, are you okay? Did you die? Did we kill you?! We didn't mean to kill you!" Zayn exclaimed. He knelt by Louis's side while Liam, paralysed with fear, watched on with a rapidly paling face.
Louis shakily got up on his elbows. "That… was… awesome!" Louis cheered, popping up with renewed enthusiasm. "Niall! Harry!" he called, the two drowsily waking up from the snow with ice clinging to their scarves and eyelashes. "We have to do that again, but this time you guys throw snowballs too! We'll take turns! Like a real action adventure!" Lou plotted, his eyes glimmering, when Liam barrelled into him, tackling him back down onto the ground.
"Don't scare me like that!" Liam complained as Louis laughed beneath him.
A sense of relief washed over Zayn as he watched Liam and Louis wrestle and giggle while Niall and Harry constructed another fort on the opposite side of their sledding lane. Nobody was hurt, the sun was still high, and the snow would still be here for a good while longer. This was good and this was safe to the point where Zayn didn't even have to think about how good or safe it was or what was to come. He could just relax, finally relax.
Zayn tugged his hat on a little tighter over his ears and jumped on top of Liam and Louis. "Both of you, don't scare me like that!" he demanded, squealing as the other two teamed up against him and near buried him.
Zayn barely even noticed when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him out from the pile, but somehow he was free from his attackers and Niall's cheery face was looking down at him. "I saved you!" he exclaimed, loud as ever with a smile overtaking his rosy cheeks.
"You did," Zayn replied slowly, a bit disoriented. "Thank you."
"You're welcome!" Niall answered. The smaller boy collapsed on top of him and stuck the wet thumb of his glove into his mouth, sucking the melted snow out of it. "I'm, like, the best superhero ever," he mused, making a sweeping gesture at the sky with his free hand, and Zayn hummed, watching the clouds and making up stories to go along with their shapes.
"This is the best day ever," Zayn decided, and it was. Niall was a heavy weight on his chest and the sounds of Liam, Louis, and Harry bickering over snowballs filled his ears. The snow made the world still, and Zayn… Zayn felt still too. Peaceful, though he couldn't quite comprehend it.
Maybe he just needed to spend more time with his friends -more time with Niall- and things would be okay.
"Zayn, what the fuck is this?" his dad screamed, gesturing to the wet floor. Zayn shrunk back a bit into his beach towel.
Third grade was officially wrapping up to a close, and the weather was starting to grow a bit warmer, which meant the neighbourhood pool had officially been opened. Louis's mom had offered to take him to the pool, and Zayn had agreed without asking his parents. (The house had been tense, and Zayn had just wanted to leave.) He had just gotten home, little body still wet and dripping with chlorine water, and the air conditioning in his house was freezing him to the bone. His soaked, squelching sneakers had tracked a puddle through the house, when his dad came across his watery trail.
"I dunno," Zayn answered nervously, hoping he could pin the blame on anything else but him. He didn't like how his dad was swearing at him. Normally he only cursed when he was talking to his mother. It only served to make Zayn feel all the more anxious and scared, when he already had been anxious and scared just to walk through his own front door.
"You're lying, just look at you! You're soaking; where have you been?" his father demanded, and Zayn tightened his grip on his towel, pulling it a bit more closely around his scrawny shoulders.
"At the pool with Louis and his mom," he squeaked in response, figuring he was all but caught now. (He had been in trouble from the start of the conversation, but all hope was officially lost now. There was no weaselling out of this one.)
Anger flared over his father's face, eyes heating up, before the man set his jaw firm. He yanked the towel off of Zayn's shoulders and shoved it into his arms, knocking Zayn back a step. "You will clean the floor and then you will go to your room until your mother comes up to deal with you," his father informed him, nostrils flaring. The man stormed off and Zayn obediently got on his knees.
He sopped up his mess with his towel, unable to bite back tears. He didn't like being yelled at. He was very tired of yelling in general, and it sucked to be on the receiving end of his father's screaming as much as it sucked to hear it pounding through the walls when he hid in his room.
He finished mopping up the floor -artificial air mixed with wet skin making his teeth chatter- and submissively climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Zayn didn't like making his dad angry, so he always did what he asked. It was best to keep him happy. It was Zayn's job to keep him happy; his mom certainly wasn't doing it.
He pulled on a sweatshirt, too young to think about how the chlorine would make it stink and too young to think about how long he would have to deal with it because his mom certainly didn't do laundry anymore, she was too tired of dealing with his dad not right-side-outing his clothes to bother with putting a load in. Zayn then threw himself on his bed and bit his lip to keep anyone from hearing him cry.
It was stupid. He was a big boy now, he was eight-years-old and everything, but here he was, crying over a stupid time out. (Or, okay… it was a little more than a time out, but still… Zayn wasn't proud of the way he was behaving.) It was just so hard not to sweat the small stuff, when the whole, big picture was such a horrible mess.
A wave of understanding washed over Zayn as he realised why Louis had such a hard time when his parents were fighting. At least Zayn's parents still wanted to be together, Louis's had gone and split up. At least… Zayn figured his parents wanted to be together, they still slept in the same bed and Zayn remembered that Louis's hadn't. Louis used to cry about how he only had his mommy to go to when he had nightmares.
Zayn buried his head under his covers and bit back sobs. He just wanted so desperately for his parents to be okay, and he wanted so desperately for this part of his life to be over. Snot and tears soaked his already dirty sheets until it was late at night -his mom never came, probably because his dad had never told her- and Zayn was sticky with pool water and his bed was gross from crying.
He collected his sheets and trudged downstairs, stuffing his blankets and his swimsuit and sweatshirt all in the washing machine together and fiddled with the soap and buttons until it started whirring and doing stuff, which he figured meant good things. Zayn ran himself a bath, got into PJs, and then went to sit in the laundry room until the washer beeped.
He changed the wash over and fell asleep on the floor, tired and done with his life and everything in it already, despite the fact that he was just eight years old.
He was only eight years old.