Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zayn can't help but remember. He can't help but recall the way Louis' eyes shone a little when he pushed himself to his feet and turned around to face him. "That's it then Zayn. I have nothing else to say to you." He remembered how somber the Tommo's face was. How uncharacteristic. How tired his eyes looked. And it was all because of him. He knows it's a bad idea but he can't help but scroll through Twitter at night, locked up and alone in the bathroom. 

Fucking terrorist.

You should have left a long time ago, the band doesn't need you.

Free of Zayn and better than ever!

Selfish asshole. You made the other lads so sad.

You just left them.

You abandoned them.

And perhaps that was what hurt the most. Zayn lowered his eyes from his reflection in the mirror. He knew he was a complete mess. It had been half a year since he first announced his departure and things were not getting better. "You have to do what makes you happy," his mom had crooned over the telephone. And Zayn thought leaving, he thought his new album would make him happy.

But it turns out he needed more than that. He needed someone to braid Harry's hair with when the green haired lad was fast asleep. He needed to lean on someone on the bus when he was just ohsotired. He needed that feather haired, blue eyed boy. He needed Louis.

Zayn sank down onto the cold marble tiles and felt the first tear slip out. Louis hated him now.

"If you don't need us..." Louis turned away from Zayn and paused. "...then we don't need you."

"I'm sorry," Zayn whispered. He crawled limply over to the extravagantly curved bathtub and popped the little blade out of the razor. "Louis, I'm so sorry."

Zayn thought it would get better. Louis was an impulsive lad, he would be enraged and lash out at you but afterwards you would find him hovering by awkwardly, holding an ice cream cone with a sheepish grin. But the latter part never came. And so Zayn began to curl up into himself, even more so than when he was in One Direction. Without the other boys, there was no one to drag him out of his slumps. There was no one to remind him that the world is still a beautiful place and his life was worth living.

It was like he was drowning really. Submerged slowly into a sky of white, of interviews he can't remember and foreign words slipping out of his mouth onstage. White when he watched the History music video, white when he saw the empty space between Harry and Niall onstage.

White, white, white. And yet the other boys had managed to move on.

Harry was his usual charming purple. The color of royalty, he only gained more solos, more admirers. Liam was his soft brown, the Daddy of the group, as huggable as a teddy bear with puppy dog eyes.

Zayn let the corners of his mouth lift slightly as he pressed his palms against the cold marble of the sink. And of course Niall was yellow. Always cheerful, always optimistic, always forgiving.

They were happy. And Zayn should be happy too because of that but he wasn't. He couldn't be because Louis was changing. Louis was no longer his mischievous self, Louis no longer laughed in interviews, Louis no longer puckered his cheeks and pouted. Louis was now red, red, red. But it wasn't passion or love or care. It was anger and oh so much of it. And it was Zayn's fault, he knew. He knew the red surging through Louis whenever his name was so much mentioned, he could imagine Louis' red eyes as he watched Zayn's Fader interview.

He dragged the blade across his skin lightly, skimming over the old scars. Start slow, he reminded himself. Start slow and there will be more to cut and the numbness will last longer.

Remember when you had a life and didn't make bitchy comments about mine?

That was the end of it all Zayn thinks. That was when Louis became enveloped in his red and decided to carve Zayn out of his life. Tears plop down onto the marble floor, fat droplets. He didn't know what he was thinking. Maybe...he missed Louis so much he needed to remember what red felt like. And so he lashed out.

And Louis left. It was all his goddamn fault! He struck at his skin mercilessly, choked sobs racking his body as he forgot all sense of control. Red soaked out of his wrists, his thighs, his ankles and onto the floor. It stained the tiles and porcelain sink, beautiful, beautiful red. Red is always better than white.

And maybe in some twisted way, he was doing this for Louis. Maybe he wanted to remember what red felt like. He needed fucking red in his life of black and white and it used to be Louis. Louis who said,"Let's run off to a bar," Louis who said, "Prank Harry with me."

Tears soaked his eyelashes and Zayn couldn't really see anymore. All he could feel was pain, a piercing scream of red in his wrists, ankles, thighs and arms. He continued slicing, sweat matting his hair.

If you really wanted to die, you would cut vertically.

Zayn traced the blade lightly along his vein but stopped. In a brief moment of determination, he scrambled to grab his phone out of his pocket and it was only when the person picked up that he realized he had just called Louis.

"Hello?" The voice asked quietly, as precious and soft as ever. "How did you get this number?"

Zayn couldn't speak, still reeling in shock from what he just did. But he wanted, no, needed to hear more of the Doncaster boy's voice. "Louis," he choked out, voice damp and heavy from his tears.

There was silence on the other end. He knew Louis recognized his voice.

"No fucking way..." Louis whispered. "Z-Zayn?"

"Louis, I--" his voice cracked and he dropped the razor, a loud clatter as he grabbed his chest and sobbed.

"Zayn, why are you calling all of a sudden," Louis voice turned cold. "How did you get this number?"

"I asked Lou," Zayn stumbled over his words, "After you changed your number--"

"What do you want? Spit it out so I can get back to my songwriting."

"I--, I j-just wanted," Zayn cut off and swallowed in a futile attempt to slow his heartbeat. "I-, I fucking miss you," he finally whispered, voice caked in pain.

There were two full minutes of silence before Louis could respond. He had been so angry at Zayn. He had never gotten over it, thinking that the band meant nothing to the Bradford boy, a simple stepping stone. But now, hearing his normally silken and velvet voice so broken, Louis felt all of that rage evaporate. Zayn...missed him? When Louis replied, his voice sneaked."But you left. You didn't need us."

And maybe that's when Zayn broke. He suddenly became aware of a deep ache in his chest, weighing down heavier and heavier until he felt like he was struggling to breathe. Louis would never forgive him. He would never stop hating him.

"You hate me," Zayn whimpered.

Louis' eyes widened on the other end. Something felt wrong. Zayn sounded so broken, so lonely--so shattered. "No, Zayn, I don't hate--"

"You hate me," Zayn repeated quietly, crawling to where he flung the razor away. He whimpered as the blade cut into his skin, much deeper than what he usually dared.

"Zayn are you okay?"

But the boy was far too gone. He was once again, submerged and drowning in a sea of white. He couldn't even flail, he was so tired, so fucking tired and he was sinking. With the blade, red flowers manifested out of his skin. Beautiful designs fluttering in the water, marking the path of his body into the depths of the ocean.

"I'm fine," Zayn smiled into the phone all of a sudden, a chilling soft smile that never reached his eyes. He giggled, "Or at least, I'll be fine."

Now Louis knew something was wrong. He knew Zayn was always the worst at dealing with hate, oh how could he be so stupid. "Zayn, listen to me, I don't hate you--"

He was cut off with more cold giggling from the other end. Louis heart beat erratically and he stumbled his way to the door, car keys jangling as he tried to convince himself that everything was fine. "Are you in your flat? I'm coming over right now, I still have the keys--"

Louis still had his keys. He kept them. Zayn smiled. There was so much red now, beautiful butterflies and flowers dotting the wispy forms of water.

"If you really wanted to die, you would cut vertically," Zayn recited, unaware that he was still on the line with Louis.

Louis froze momentarily, fingers already wrapped around the keys in the ignition. "Fuck Zayn, Zayn don't do it, Zayn--"

The call ended.

Red, red, red.

Zayn laughed and danced in the fluid, fingers playing wildly with the colorful wisps.

He was okay. He would be happy again.

And Louis would move on.

Chapter Text

Louis has never been a safe driver but he completely disregards common sense now. With one hand shaking on the wheel, he tries his best to concentrate on which red lights he can run through and which would only result in him getting held up by the police.

"Fuck Zayn pick up," he grinds his teeth and tries to keep himself from screaming. The beep sounds in his ear but before the robotic voice could even start talking, he had already thrust his phone against the dashboard. "No, no, no, Zayn!"

Louis screeches to a stop and his heart drops when he realized he didn't know where he was. It was probably because he was desperately trying to call Zayn, or maybe because he was rushing too much to know where he was going but Louis wants to fucking stab himself. "How could you forget..." His whispers, his voice raspy. "When he fucking needs you, fuck, Louis fucking Tomlinson..."

"You're USELESS!" He screams and slams his foot on the accelerator. Fortunately, there were no other cars in the dead of the night. He swerved dangerously, tires skidding and screeching until his hood dove into a ditch and his head slammed into the steering wheel.

Though conscious, Louis didn't bother picking his head up. Blood ran down the side of his face, mixing with his tears burning down his face as the gravity of what was happening truly hit him. "Zayn," he pleaded pitifully. "Please..."

You're not helping him by staying here.

His eyes blow open and Louis almost forgets to breathe at the memory. It was when Harry was in one of his slumps, beaten down by all of the "womanizer" remarks. Louis remembers feeling useless then too, wanting to punch a wall over and over again when he kept telling Harry not to listen to the haters but to no avail.

"He needs you and crying here isn't going to help him," Zayn said. He didn't sugarcoat anything, he didn't bother going to Harry because he knew Louis was the only one who could help him.

But Zayn, Louis thinks. It was always you.

You need me now, Louis thinks, almost with a new sense of realization. Zayn, Zayn, Zayn!

Throwing the car door open, Louis limps out and throws himself out of the ditch. His heartbeat accelerates when he realizes he KNOWS where he is, he's so close, Zayn is so close.

He's never run with this kind of desperation before. Mere seconds later, he's at Zayn's door, pounding and screaming for his best mate to come. He throws his shoulder against the door, again and again, bruises dotting his arm but he couldn't care less when the door finally slams open against its hinges.

Louis is met with silence. "Zayn...?" He begins silently. "Zayn!" Heart palpitations rip through him as he races to the bathroom. Why didn't he see this sooner, Zayn always had a problem with hate, he fucking needed acknowledgement, he needed approval and especially from Louis, so fucking useless, he's so stupid--

But everything stops when the bathroom door swings open gently and Louis can finally see Zayn.

The Bradford boy was lying on the cold marble tiles, pink hooded eyes and lips parted slowly. But Louis eyes traveled down and there he was met with nothing short of horror. Blood stained his arms, his inner thighs, the bathroom floor.

Dried. It was dried blood, caked over months and months of scars.

How could he be so late?

Louis lets out a broken sob as he collapses next to his partner in crime, immediately picking up his limp hand.

Cold.

No, Louis whispers in his mind. Zayn was never cold, he--

He was the warmest one out of all of us.

Fingers shaking, Louis barely manages to phone an ambulance and gives the address in a trembled mumble. Throwing his phone away, he grasps Zayn's hand tightly, begging, pleading for those eyes to open. Open, annoyance littered in his typical glare like all those other times when they had a show and Zayn was the one no one wanted to wake up.

But reality had changed and time had whisked them away because the world fucking changes and two young boys trying to stay standing never really manage. Louis' tears drop onto the marble tiles and there he really starts crying, for what's happening to Zayn, for how he's going to deal with the other lads, for their future and the uncertainty of it that's ohsoterrifying.

Zayn's eyes never open and the blood continues to dry in ugly caked scabs and the silence still pounds into them so Louis keeps crying and he keeps grasping those limp fingers.

And so he waits.

Chapter Text

"You know it's not your fault," the nurse gazes at him gently. "You got him here in time, if you were any later the consequences would be much worse."

Louis keeps his gaze trained on his fingers, pressing his body tightly against the plastic waiting chair. "But he still won't wake up."

The nurse sits down tenderly beside him. "I lost a friend to self-harm years ago. I know what you're going through."

"I-" Louis swallows. "I should have noticed so much earlier--"

"Don't ever say that."

"But--"

"It's too late for what if's, it's too early for why," she gestures to Zayn's hospital room through the glass. "Because only he can tell you why, only he can explain to you why he feels that he isn't good enough and then it's your job to make him see it."

"I can't--"

"But that's after he wakes up," she ignores him. "And for that to happen, you have to believe that it will."

She stands up and looks at him, a sort of motherly affection grazing her features softly. "The human spirit is a lot stronger than we think. Show him that there's so much more to live for."

And with that she leaves, clipboard in hand and Louis is left alone, staring through the glass at the boy who seems so small wrapped up in scratchy hospital bedsheets.

-------------------------------------------
Over the next two weeks, Louis buries himself in his songwriting. He spends his days enclosed in his room, nothing but piano keys kissing his fingertips and notes dancing through the still air. And in each chorus he writes, in each backing vocal he can hear Zayn's voice, soothing in its rapture and quiet captivating beauty.

Gotta remember to eat mate.

Louis smiles at that memory and he pushes himself away from his desk to realize it's already two in the morning. He grabs an apple from the kitchen and the corners of his mouth lift slightly. He had so many memories with Zayn. How, how could he ever be mad at him?

The next morning, Louis goes on his daily visit to the flower shop and gets a single scarlet orchid.

"Yo Zayn," he greets softly, replacing the flower in the vase with the new one. He picks up the bucket and washcloth. At first, the nurses were adamant that he let them do their job but after he made it clear that he wouldn't leave, they let him take the task of cleaning Zayn.

Louis wrings the towel to a damp warmth and runs it over Zayn's inked arms. "I finished 'Time' today Zayn. The backing chords might be a bit off somewhere but I know if you sing the chorus, no one will really care."

Dipping the cloth back into the bucket, Louis chuckles softly. "Oh yeah and I couldn't even sleep yesterday. Kept thinking about that one time you woke me up because you said my collarbones were too prominent or some shit like that and wouldn't let me sleep until I ate an apple at three in the morning."

Louis pauses for a moment and racks his brain for something else to ramble about, anything to fill the silence. "Oh, I almost forgot, Liam called me today, he was--"

"You're a boring lad Louis."

A heavy cloth of silence smothers the room and Louis freezes, unable to draw his gaze away from those hazel eyes. The clock ticks loudly in the background and his breath hitches.

"Zayn." He whispers tentatively. "Zayn."

"Oh my fucking God Zayn, I'll get the doctor, wait here, oh god--"
"Louis," the plea is quiet. "Stay."

Louis calms down immediately, sitting back down in the small plastic chair.

Louis bits down his widening grin and tries not to glomp the boy in front of him. "Just let me get the doctor, he has to do checkups on you to make sure you're fine--"

"But you won't come back."

Louis' grin slides off of his face. "W-What?"

"If you stay, I can dream a little longer," Zayn smiles tentatively and reaches for his hand.

"Zayn..." Louis feels the familiar tugging at the back of his eyes and his vision becomes glassy.

"I'm so glad I get this last moment," Zayn continues, almost as if he didn't hear Louis. "Imagination is a wonderful thing, isn't it? You're exactly the same as when I last saw you."

It was this moment that Louis fully realized how broken Zayn was. Perhaps subconsciously, Louis had consoled himself until he believed that everything would be okay once Zayn woke up. As long as Zayn woke up, their last meeting, his scars, all of it would be okay.

But no, Louis thinks with a sinking feeling in his chest. He was oh so broken.

"Zayn." When Louis finally speaks, his voice is firm. "I'm right here. I'm right here and I'm not leaving and I will never leave you again."

Zayn just looks at him blankly, a faraway look in his eye. "Louis?" He asks tentatively.

Louis attempts a watery version of a smile, too choked up to effectively comfort the boy in front of him.

"Louis, oh god Louis!" Recognition slams into his voice and Zayn rips his wrist out of Louis' grip and burrows his face into the blankets.

"Zayn, what--"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Zayn was hysterical, his cries so full of regret and sorrow that it was painful for Louis to listen to.

"Zayn!" Louis panics. "Zayn, calm down. Why are you sorry?"

"Because I left. Because I ruined everything, because I made the band fall apart. Because I'm a fucking terrorist, because--"

"Stop! Zayn, stop!" Louis cuts him off, voice angry and hard. He wasn't sure that Zayn would ever stop by himself. "How long...just how long have you been thinking that?" His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible to the boy underneath the covers.

"Louis, Louis, Louis." He repeats the name like a mantra, as if it was the only thing keeping him from drifting away.

Louis' heart drops and he digs his nails into his palms to keep from screaming. There's no time for you to freak out, he instructs himself. Zayn. You have to help Zayn.

"Hey, hey Zayn," Louis takes the edges of the blanket and pulls it down slowly despite the frail resistance from the other boy. "Look at me. I don't know when you started thinking those things but right now I'm telling you they're all lies. Your voice is the best fucking thing I've heard. The band isn't falling apart and even if it is, it is definitely not your fault--"

"But it is, I--"

Louis ignores him, his gaze turning cold and angry. "And if anyone fucking dares call you a terrorist, I will fucking bash their head under my car tires and don't you dare believe what they say."

His heartbeat finally slows and Louis inhales sharply. "Maybe we've all been broken. For a while now."

He reaches in and takes Zayn's hand, careful not to jostle the bandages wrapped tightly around his arms. "But no more. No more being shattered, no more apologies, no more hurting without me."

Zayn casts his eyes down. "Do you still hate me?" His voice is vulnerable, pleading.

Tears prick at the back of his eyes again. "Zayn, I--" Louis swallows. "I never did. I was angry, yes, but I--I thought you didn't want us anymore. I was mad because I thought you thought you were better than us now, didn't need us--"

Tears stream silently down Zayn's cheeks and he looks at Louis frantically. "I would never think that! Louis, do the others really think that I would do that?"

"Not now they won't," Louis says. "If only we fucking talked to each other..."

"But we can't change that now, can we?" Louis wipes away at his face. "Look at me Zayn." And this time he does.

"Promise, we'll never leave each other again."

Zayn's eyes are glassy, so conflicted with pain, happiness and confusion.

Louis swallows and smiles tentatively. "Take a chonce."

And Zayn finally smiles, the corners of his lips raising into genuine happiness as he runs his thumb over Louis' hand.

"Thank you," he whispers.

Louis only presses his lips to his forehead in response.

--------------------------------------------------
The world is a fucking cruel place and sometimes two boys who try to remain standing don't really manage.

That's why Louis is trying not to freak out backstage because he doesn't know how the fans will react when Zayn comes back out on stage for a last performance with the rest of One Direction.

"Calm down, Lou," Harry frowns as the other boy's pacing around irritated him.

Louis rushes over to him, eyes frantic. "I can't! I promised he wouldn't hurt anymore, oh god, what will the fans do, whose idea was this--"

"Mine, remember?" Zayn strides in next to him and curls his fingers around Louis' wrist. "They need one last performance from One Direction, with every member."

"It'll be fine," Liam smiles.

And so Louis prays.

To be fair, it does go flawlessly for most of the show. It isn't until the last song that everything begins to fall apart.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The last song of this night..."Right Now!"

Louis smiles to himself. He had chosen this song himself, arguing with the other boys and management until he got this song at the end of the lineup. This was the song where Zayn's voice really shined, soaring in all of its ethereal beauty. Plus, the lyrics were just so beautiful.

Louis starts it off. "Lights go down, and the night is calling to me, yeah. I hear voices singing songs in the street."

"And I know that we won't be going home--" Niall picks it up and Louis is practically jumping in his seat waiting for the chorus so he could hear Zayn's voice again.

But everything fades to a dull roar when he looks at Zayn. He's at the edge of the stage, turned away from the audience. His eyes are bright.

He completely missed his cue, Louis gasps. He seeks Harry out frantically and relief overtakes him when the curly headed boy nods in understanding and begins the first chorus in place of Zayn.

He's crying, Louis realizes with horror. Jumping off of the steps, he runs over to Zayn and tries to be subtle with a nudge to his side.

"'m fine," he mumbles but the lie is obvious. Louis frowns and scans the audience until his breath hitches. Towards the middle of the rows, there's a girl screaming, proudly brandishing a sign claiming: "I love One D! EXCEPT for Zayn, fucking TERRORIST."

Louis can feel his blood boil and he knows Zayn can feel his anger as well.

The Bradford boy starts to walk away but Louis grabs his wrist tightly and swings his other arm around his shoulders. Looking straight at the girl, Louis points a finger at her and smirks.

"Lou, what're you--"

Promptly, Louis snarls and throws his middle finger out at her. He would've relished in her shocked expression but he was captivated by Zayn's reaction.

He was laughing. Louis feels a surge of pride rush through him and he smirks again. "Welcome," he says simply.

Zayn just runs his tongue over his teeth and slides out from under his arm, catching the beginning for the next chorus.

"Right now, I wish you were here with me..."

Louis actually closes his eyes at the chords. He had forgotten what Zayn's voice was really like.

"Cause right now, everything is new to me..." Zayn catches each one of the boy's gazes and grins broadly, genuine gratitude and happiness shining in his eyes.

It's true, the world had broken all of them. They didn't remain standing together, their sales were going down, Zayn was still leaving.

But no matter what, the world throws you a scrap of opportunity. And if you take that, if you cherish it and really fight for it, you might get back to the people that you thought you had lost.

Zayn smiles softly and rubs absently at the scars on his arms. But immediately, Niall is by his side, taking his hand away and then Liam is rubbing circles into his back and Harry's hand finds its way into his hair and Zayn looks at Louis who simply smirks and thrusts his hips.

The world is a fucked up place. But then again, they're all broken fuck-ups and so they can be broken together and maybe that means they won't be broken anymore.

You know I can't fight the feeling.
And every night I feel it.
Right now
I wish you were here with me.

Fuck anyone who tells them otherwise.