With Open Arms

Broken Bonds

Niall goes to the same alley as he had the last time - runs all the way there so by the time he leans his back against the rough brick wall, he's out of breath and soaked in sweat. His school uniform sticks to his skin and his shoulders shudder as they rise and fall.

He's ruined it. He knows he has.
Because he's just a temporary part of the Maliks' lives and they're just a temporary part of his, and so calling them Papa or Dad is a bad idea.

They don't see him as their son.
He doesn't see them as his parents.

(Lies. They're the closest thing to a real family that he's ever had.)

He knows they'll find him faster this time. The exact same space he had run to just a week ago; complete with the smashed syringe beneath his feet and a new littering of empty beer bottles. The heat makes the dumpster stink even more than it had last time, but he doesn't even flinch.

It's Zayn who reaches him first, his name leaving the man's lips quietly. Niall doesn't look up at him, he hangs his head and swallows down the lump in his throat.

And he waits. For the man to smack him for running off again, or for the yelling to start, or for the usual line of 'this isn't working out, we think you'd be better off somewhere else'.

Somewhere else is never better for him. It only gets worse.

"Come on, kiddo. Lets get you home."

His head snaps up at that, eyes widening at first before he narrows them and eyes both men with his heart hammering in his chest.

Home.
When he was little, he used to dream about having a home. A real one; to him, that home had always been with a mother and a father and a nice little house with a huge garden. When he thinks about it, he supposed that life with the Maliks isn't a whole lot different.

Home.

"Aren't you mad?" He asks quietly, because if they are, he'd rather they just outright told him now. He doesn't want to deal with waiting for them to blow, doesn't want to have to listen to the paranoid voices in his head.

Zayn offers him a small smile, glancing over his shoulder at Louis - the other man pressing his lips together with gentle eyes.

"We're not mad. Though this whole running away every time things get a little rough thing isn't ideal, kiddo," Zayn says softly.

Niall holds his breath and waits for the man to work himself up into yelling but he never does. Instead, he just holds out a guiding arm and smiles the same smile he'd worn when gifting Niall with the guitar just an hour or so ago.

A guitar. The best gift he's ever received, and he'd just run off and acted entirely ungrateful, yet the men aren't going to punish him? It's too good to be true, so he keeps his guard up.

"Come on," he says again with a quick nod of his head towards the end of the alleyway where the car is presumably parked.

He glances around the alley once more. It's dark and dingy even with the sun out, and the smell is starting to bother him now. That's the only reason why he agrees to go back with them.

Not because he wants to.
Not because he likes it there.
Not because there is the closest thing to home he's ever had.

"Okay," he mumbles with a short nod, walking past Zayn's lifted arm and ducking his head. Louis falls into step alongside him but doesn't say anything.

He smiles, though, when Niall glances up at him before he climbs into the back of the car. It helps to curb some of the nerves.

The men try to make small talk as they drive.
The men; Zayn and Louis. Not Dad and Papa.
Maybe Harry and Liam have the privilege of calling them their parents, but Niall does not. They're just his foster carers.