Day 29 of the #31DaysOfLarry
Zayn loves nights out with Louis. He loves to lose himself in the music of clubs he can’t name, loves running down darkened streets in search of adventure, loves the wild things Louis dreams up once they get going, things he’d never have thought of – like climbing up the outside of a kid’s playground or somersault racing through parks.
He loves nights in with Louis, watching corny movies or shit television with massive bowls of popcorn. Sometimes Harry will join them, though Zayn has threatened to dump his bowl on them more than once when they got a little too distracted.
He loves seeing them together, loves how soft and supportive and strong they are with each other, but sometimes he just wants to drag Louis away. He’s not sure if it’s envy
He hates nights like tonight. Nights where Harry calls him and just says, “He needs you, Z.” And Zayn will always come, because as much as he hates seeing Louis like this, he’d do anything for him.
Louis is curled up in the corner of the living room when Zayn arrives, letting himself in. His back is pressed to the wall, his knees pressed tight to his chest, his cheeks red and streaked with tears. Harry sits at his side, rubbing his leg gently. Zayn crouches on his other side, reaching in to hug Louis.
“Hey, man,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
Louis’ body is stiff for a moment, almost frozen, and then his arms wrap around Zayn, holding him so tightly Zayn is momentarily concerned for his ribs.
“Nothing is okay,” Louis chokes. “God, Zayn, I just hate it. I hate it all.”
“I know,” Zayn says simply. “It’ll be okay.”
Harry catches his eye, his hands twisting nervously around each other. Zayn nods. Go, he mouths. I’ve got him.
Harry nods gratefully and obeys, pausing only for a moment in the doorway to look back at them. Then he’s gone, probably headed for the kitchen to stress-bake or -clean or something. He’ll be fine. Zayn has bigger concerns.
He carefully sits down beside Louis, who hasn’t loosened his grip an inch. Zayn runs his hand along Louis’ back, murmuring comforting words as Louis shakes beside him.
Normally, when Louis is feeling low, he turns to Harry. They’ve been through so much together, they understand each other like no one else can. But sometimes, the comfort Harry provides is twisted together with the pain until it hurts almost as much to have him as to miss him.
Those are the nights when Harry calls Zayn.
“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers after what feels like an eternity. “I know you have your own stuff, and this all probably seems-”
“Don’t apologize,” Zayn says, his voice slightly sharper than he means it to be. He softens it as he continues. “You have every right to be angry, to be hurt. Anyone would be. It’s not a competition. You’re so strong, Lou, but the stuff you’ve had to deal with… it would fuck with anybody.”
“I just…” Louis bites his lip. “I hate that I can’t protect him. I hate that no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
Zayn wants to tell him it is enough, wants to tell him Harry wouldn’t ask for anything more. He knows that’s what Harry would say. He also knows that’s why Louis doesn’t want to tell Harry, doesn’t want to burden him further. It’s not about whether it’s enough for Harry. It’s not enough for Louis.
“I can never decide what hurts worse,” Louis continues. “Lying, or watching Harry lie. Going on stunts, or watching Harry go on stunts. And I know it hurts him too, either way. And there’s just – nothing I can do. I’m helpless.” He chokes on a sob, and Zayn rubs tiny circles into his back.
Louis has always needed to protect people. He comes off as immature and irresponsible, but as much as he loves running wild, causing chaos and making mischief, he’s always the first one to notice when someone is feeling down or uncomfortable or afraid. He’s always the first one to volunteer for the hard jobs, or to pitch in for a charity event. Helping is in his blood, so being helpless… he almost doesn’t know who he is without it.
Harry always wants to fix it when Louis gets like this. Zayn wishes that were possible. But these nights are the nights when Louis is most honest with himself, and that honesty aches, but it’s also healing. He has to break himself open in order to be able to breathe again. Zayn can’t fix that. No one can. All he can do is sit with him, and bear witness – tell him, I’m here, I see you, you’re real.
Harry reappears in the doorway with a pair of steaming tea mugs, which Zayn takes gratefully. He presses one into Louis’ hands, wrapping his icy fingers around it and lifting it to Louis’ lips. Louis sips obediently, shivering as the burning liquid courses down his throat.
“You’ve got this,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you think. You’re a survivor, Lou. A fighter.”
Louis takes another sip and says nothing. His eyes are still damp, his face still drawn, but his breathing is easier. Zayn gives it five minutes before he starts to droop. After a good night’s sleep, he’ll be okay – exhausted, and not as lively as usual, but okay.
Four minutes and twenty-six seconds later, Louis’ head tips onto Zayn’s shoulder. He pulls himself upright, blinking hard, but Zayn knows it’s time. He pulls the half-empty mug from Louis’ limp grasp and sets it aside, then scoops Louis up. He feels almost feather light in Zayn’s arms, and fits perfectly. His head rests against Zayn’s collarbone, his breathing slow and deep.
Zayn carries him upstairs, and Harry finds him as he lays Louis on the bed. They tuck the blankets carefully around him, and Harry presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to say goodnight to Zayn, okay babe?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll be right back.”
Louis’ head moves slightly in what might be a nod, and Harry and Zayn step into the hallway, pulling the door almost closed behind them.
“How was he?” Harry asks quietly, waiting for Zayn’s signal – whether he heads for the door, or for the guest room that’s been designated as Zayn’s. It’s almost a barometer of its own; he doesn’t stay over every time, but sometimes Louis wakes up again in the night. And tonight was…
“Not good,” Zayn says honestly. He heads down the hall to the guest room, and Harry follows him with a worried sigh. Louis sometimes asks him not to tell Harry what he says, and Zayn lies and says he won’t, and Louis pretends to believe him. It doesn’t feel dishonest. There’s nothing Louis and Harry don’t share, but there are some things Louis just can’t say. “He feels guilty that he can’t protect you. That no matter what he does, what he takes on or what you do, it still hurts you both.”
Harry nods. “I do too,” he admits. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You can’t,” Zayn says simply. “You just be there for him. Just like he will be for you. Just like I am for both of you, and Niall, and Liam. We’re a team. We’re a family.”
“Thank you,” Harry says as they reach the door. He reaches out, tugging Zayn into a hug that’s half gratitude and half a desperate need for comfort.
Zayn hugs him back. He feels both too. He’s grateful that Louis trusts him enough to open up to him. He’s grateful that Harry trusts him enough to call him. He’s grateful to know that they both have his back on the nights when he needs them. But he so desperately wishes that none of them needed it.
....sorry? I didn’t realize this was going to be an angsty one from the prompt, but as soon as I started forming the scene, it was. I think a part of me just wants to rebel against expectations, against what’s obvious or easy. Or maybe I just have too many emotions and want to give them all away. Like Oprah. You get an emotion! You get an emotion! Everybody gets an emotion!
Anyways, if you’ve forgiven me for this, please consider reblogging or commenting. Honestly, I’m okay with messages accusing me of cruelty too (I probably deserve that...). If you liked what you read (masochist) and want more, you can find more of my work here (I swear it’s not all angsty!!!). If you’re able, please consider donating to Louis’ birthday drive or Harry’s birthday drive. And be sure to check out the giveaway!
