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Still high from the adrenaline of the final show and a very successful tour, they decide to drive off on their own, Niall’s range rover in along for the ride. It had been such a year for them indeed. Winning more awards than an artist could ever achieve, selling out arenas after arenas, acing shows after shows. Sometimes it’s all a bit too much – a crowd that’s a bit too loud, too many – but hey, that’s what they love doing. And it gets tiring because of course it does, but a little break every now and then is all they need.
An indie song is bursting through the car speakers, Niall thinks it’s probably Harry’s, he doesn’t know why it’s there, though, but they enjoy it anyway. Laughing in at the right times, telling all the right jokes, all sweats and smiles. Liam finally decides to cut the music off by rudely turning the volume to a zero and chiming in a very breathy, “We fucking did it, boys.”
Niall just smiles, eyes on the road. He can see from his rearview mirror how Louis slings an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, eyes crinkled from what seemed like a really happy line Liam had just said. He loves how Liam’s still so appreciative of everything. And Niall can’t blame him, because to be quite honest, there are times in his life when he still doesn’t realize that he’s actually in the world’s biggest boyband. And he’ll probably never get used to it, but he’ll spend all his life trying.
“I can tell, Li’s swearing. Way to go,” Harry makes a failed attempt of joking as he slid down into Liam’s lap, kissing his thighs to show him that it was supposed to be a mock and something that isn’t personally taken. Thing is, they didn’t have to do things like those anymore. Little pieces of proof every now and then of how one were putting a joke against the other, and that it’s not something that ought to be taken too seriously. They’ve – Niall, most especially him, he thinks – learned how to read between the lines now, and it’s not something other people could easily decode. How Louis’ breath hitches a little when he’s about to sing his solo and the crowds go wild and man, he’s still nervous, or how Harry still gets flips in his stomach when he does the bridge of What Makes You Beautiful right, or how they have to leave Zayn alone when he’s talking to his family over the phone, or how Liam still tries his best to keep things together when they’re all just not okay and tired and hurt.
After a few seconds of silence that is anything but awkward, “Where are we going lads?” He asks to nobody in particular because he’s pretty sure they’re far off the city by now and he has no idea where they are.
“Anywhere Ni, ‘long as we’re together,”
He didn’t have to look back to know who answered that; an accent too familiar, too known, words far too unmarked for him to not register who did.
“You’re so fucking sappy Louis,” He looks back at him for a moment, just enough time to see him smile and turn back around to get his eyes back on the road.
Then it happens. All too quickly, too fast, too unseen, but – this, he thinks – was inevitable.
Lights too bright, shattering sounds too loud, all a bit too much.
He moves, one. Tries to lift his legs up, two. It’s stuck and it hurts, three. He counts on, four. He can’t hear anything. The silence was deafening. Something was wrong. Ten.
He looks around, trying to find any sign of someone – anyone – with a life. Anyone breathing. Anyone alive. Blood everywhere, blood everywhere. They can’t die. He can’t die. The boys can’t die. There’s just no way in hell. He tries not to mind the aching thump in his right foot, or the shattered glass that’s a few inches away from his eyes; tries not to mind the whimper at the back seat, he looks for his phone, fails and falls asleep to something that sounds like a cry.
-
“Boys!” Liam, he thinks. That must be Liam. That is Liam. He hears it, feels his eyes at them – him, but he doesn’t look back. And when he does, he figures he’s not the only one.
Zayn’s going towards the back door; Harry’s heading for his car and Louis’ walking to wherever he was to go, obviously anywhere but there.
“Harry?” Liam calls, and for fuck’s sake, of course he does, he’s Liam. Harry looks aback, sadness in his eyes; a pool of tears that are about to spill, too soon, too painful. “Harry, where are you going?”
“Home,” he responds – lies. He’s not going home. He is home.
A flash of hurt appears in Liam’s eyes, but were soon replaced with anger. And maybe, just maybe, he had the right to be angry.
It had been six months since the accident, six months of a sad montage between fights and fits and misunderstandings. Niall doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t ask why because he’s too afraid, doesn’t attempt on doing anything but keeping it together; keeping their now ruined shit together. He’d cried for the last six months of what seemed like a long eternity of missing four people that were an inch too far from his fingertips. He remembers everything like it happened yesterday: the adoring masses of people, the screams, the flashes, the friendship. He’s not sure if Louis let go of his tight grip around Zayn’s shoulder blades during the crash, or if Harry stood up from where he was propped in Liam’s thighs amidst the breaking glass and the all too noisy car parts flying everywhere; not sure if this was happening because at one point, when there was a thin line between dying and living, some of them let go and decided to die alone instead of dying together, hands on blades and cheeks on thighs. Niall’s sure of one thing though, he’s sure he’d tried saving all of them, he hadn’t let go of the steering wheel, hadn’t let go of what was once a fivesome.
“It – it was my fault,” he blurts out, all too sudden, and Zayn and Louis stop right at their respective tracks.
“Jesus Christ! Are you that fucking stupid Horan? Nobody ever said it was your fault!” Zayn was raging, and Niall could feel him hurt amid the mountains between them.
“No one has to, and I’m sorry but –“
“I wish you hadn’t let go,” Louis turns around, and whispers. All five of them are there now, looking at each other in an irregular circle that used to be tight. He’s not sure when they all seemed so far away, because he was lost in a place he didn’t know and he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to come back to his home ever again.
“I didn’t.” Niall whispers ever softer, internally screaming believemebelievemebelieveme because it was the truth. “I don’t know when we stopped trying, or why, but we made it work millions of times before; can’t we make it work now?”
Never had he seen Zayn so vulnerable, or Louis so fragile, or Liam so delicate, or Harry so small, but he guesses this’ll be the last he’ll see them of anything. And he knows he can’t fight the battles he’ll end up losing, games he’s bound to be defeated, but he’ll try anyway.
One minute they’re all across each other, the next thing he knew they’re all huddled in a sweaty pile of shirts and hair and trainers and hoodies, tightly gripping the last of the once unbreakable camaraderie.
“Sometimes you have to stop trying so hard, Nialler.” Liam whispers to all of them, soothing voice muffled by someone else’s hair. When did that nickname sound so foreign to him? When did their voices sound all too different from what he’s used to? Why in the fucking world did Liam give up this time? He was the group’s glue, the one keeping them on their tracks when everything was a little difficult to handle, why was he quitting?
He’d stay there forever if it was possible, tangled arms and sweaty cheeks, bloodshot eyes and tight grips, but nothing lasts forever. It happens all too soon, too quick, too unseen when one – he’s not sure which one – lets go and the others do the same and he’s left at the studio’s roof deck, looking back at the last – best – three years of his life when there was five of them on that same spot, looking at the sun setting, saying things like ‘We’re going to do this for the rest of our lives.’ And it’s bullshit, he thinks, because if it was true, he wouldn’t be here alone after waking up on that car crash six months ago praying for them to live even before he thought if he, himself, was still breathing.