Here at the End, Zayn/Niall (original) (raw)

Zayn tosses and turns, listening to the snores of the boys around him, and dreams of Niall.

“Zayn!”

Zayn looks up just in time to catch Niall as he jumps in his arms, both of them going down hard on the grass in a tangled heap.

“Niall,” Zayn yells in response, laughing as they squirm against each other, protecting his sides when Niall goes for his most vulnerable, ticklish spots.

“You took forever,” Niall complains. He straddles Zayn’s lap and pins both of Zayn’s wrists down in his hands. His body blocks out the sun, and Zayn looks up at him, at the bright glow that surrounds him, and at his wide, shining smile.

_“Well if someone hadn’t demanded lunch, I’d have made it a lot sooner,” he says. He wriggles out of Niall’s hold, flipping them over and reversing their positions. He ducks his head, trying to kiss Niall through their smiles, and hums as their mouths meet, breathing in the smell of fresh grass and flowers that surrounds them.

“What would I do without you?” Niall asks minutes later, already tearing into his sandwich after they come up for air. He grins around a mouthful of turkey and bread, a small bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.

“Starve, probably,” Zayn says, shaking his head. He looks out across the field, watching Harry chase after Louis, both of them jostling the other as they try to steal the football they’re kicking around. Liam is on the sidelines, stripping out of his hoodie as he calls out to them. Zayn can’t hear him from where they’re sitting, but he watches as Harry throws back his head and laughs, distracted enough for Louis to kick the ball away, crowing triumphantly as he makes off towards the goal.

“You gonna join in?” Zayn asks, nodding over to the pitch and the other boys.

“Probably shouldn’t, with my knee and all,” Niall says, frowning. It’s been bothering him more lately, and Zayn’s been helping him with his therapy exercises every morning, counting the seconds under his breath as Niall breathes through the pain.

“Besides,” Niall begins, crumpling the sandwich paper in his hands as he forces Zayn back down on grass. He cuddles up against him, curling up on his chest as Zayn puts an arm around him. “I like where I am right now.”

Zayns looks down at him and smiles, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes against the sunlight. “Me too.”

------

Zayn starts suddenly, choking on the breath caught in his throat, terrified that he’s stuck in that place between dreaming and waking. He stumbles to the bathroom, stepping over the boys’ sleeping bodies as he tries to maneuver quietly in the dark. He splashes water on his face from a bucket on the floor and leans his arms against the sink, trying to calm his breathing as he stares down the drain.

He can still hear Niall’s laugh, if he listens.

Then: “Bad dream?” a familiar voice asks, and when Zayn looks up into the mirror at his reflection Niall is there behind him, just over his shoulder. He looks like he did the last time Zayn saw him, dirty and terrified while they ran for their lives. But he’s even paler now, and Zayn can see the open wound near his hairline where the blood has trickled down his face. His smile is unsettling, and Zayn can feel the coldness of it in his bones.

He squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can. Not there, not there, Zayn tells himself and minutes later, when he finally opens his eyes, Niall is gone.

------

He wanders into the loft’s small kitchen, hands shaking as he sits down and tries to take a fag from the crushed pack on the table. The dreams have kept him awake for days, and he knows it’s catching up with him, a heavy weight around his ankles, dragging him through the hours unwillingly. He thinks about the scavenged pills at the bottom of his backpack and reminds himself that they can’t afford to be careless. Not now, not if they want to live, anyway.

Zayn lights a match and listens to the stillness, the buzzing in his head, and thinks about dying and coming back again and wonders if any of it could possibly be worse than this.

“It’s just a matter of time, Zayn,” Niall says from across the table, legs flung out in a careless sprawl. “They came for me, and they’ll catch up with you.”

Zayn pointedly ignores him and takes a drag of his cigarette, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms until he sees stars.

“C’mon, love. Sort yourself out,” Niall admonishes. The blood has traveled further down his face, staining the collar and neck of his t-shirt. “Do you really think you lot can run forever? You think that you can fight this?” Niall’s laugh is cruel, something Zayn’s never heard before, and he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks not there, not there, not there.

“You think you can protect them all from what’s out there, Zayn? You’ve seen the boys – Harry and Louis. Even Liam. They’re ragged now, mate, here at the end, and what happens when you have to put a bullet in them, too, huh? Just like --”

“Shut UP,” Zayn yells, slamming his hands down on the rickety table, panting harshly as he stares into his dead boyfriend's eyes.

“Zayn?” Liam asks suddenly, breaking the tension in the room as he steps into the kitchen. He glances around the small space and gives Zayn a concerned look. “What's wrong? Who’re you yelling at?”

Zayn looks up sharply, caught, and glances over to the space Niall was occupying just moments before.

“Tell him,” Niall says, his grin wide and open. Just like that day in the park.

Niall’s teeth seem a little sharper, this time.

“No one,” Zayn replies, shaking his head. He can still see Niall out of the corner of his eye. He gives Liam a strained smile and takes his hand, letting him lead him down the hallway and back to the loft’s tiny bedroom.

He hears Niall call out to him, but he doesn’t look back.