Zayn and Niall: Everybody Needs Somebody Sometimes

Getting Away

Niall didn't know where he was.

It was just a small town, somewhere a few hundred kilometers off London. Probably not even dotted on the map. That was good, because things here were quiet, gave him time to think.

He got out of the car, walked down a rickety pathway of stones, following a sign that said "ILEANA, POPULATION 369." As he walked, he could hear the leaves crunching under his feet, the silence grower louder each second. He felt around his pocket for his phone, attempted to send a text to Zayn, but it said NO SIGNAL so he sighed and continued walking.

The small town lights came into view, a cluster of little houses, a church, a few schools and diners. The voices of people comforted him, and he neared the town, going straight into the first diner he saw. It was a small, dimly lit place. But it was cosy, and nicely furnished so that it reminded him of his grandma's fireplace back in Ireland, where she'd rock him on her lap as she sat on the red armchair and told him long stories about dragons and knights who would save their princesses from danger and torment.

Niall felt like asking her if the knight had any problems of his own too.

He found a small round table near the glass window. He saw headlights wink out as people stopped their trucks outside and walked in. They seemed to be enjoying every moment of their lives, living out the long slow days and relishing every bit of it. Niall wished he could be like that too. It wasn't like he didn't appreciate the fame. He did, and he loved his fans so much more than anything else. But sometimes he was afraid of how quickly his small Irish hometown had changed into this big world. Sometimes he just wanted to lay low and laze around instead of being pushed for rehearsals or stalked by girls or judged for his accent.

"Can I take your order, mister?"

Niall looked up at the sound of the high girlish voice. It was a petite brunette, with a small oval face and sparkling emerald eyes set above sharp cheekbones and a little button nose. She was wearing a white waitress dress that skimmed above her knees, and her silky coffee-colored hair cascaded down to her below her shoulders.

"Some coffee would be good, thanks," he said.

She scribbled it down on her notepad. "Would you like home-brewed or the one from the coffee machine? You get more options with the machine, and its free too."

"Nah, I'm in the mood for home brewed," Niall shrugged. "Cream and two sugars, with some caramel and add all the whipping and sprinkles you want on top."

She nodded and left into the kitchen, and Niall sighed and leaned back in his seat. He tried his phone again, and this time the signal was working. His first thought was to call Zayn, but if he was gonna apologize for blowing up at him, it was best to do it in person.

Besides, he had a reason to be angry. But he didn't want to think about that now. He wanted to calm down, breathe in and breathe out, before going back to face reality again. He'd enjoy himself out, maybe even stay the night at some hotel after getting proper drunk.

But Zayn needed him.

The thought came out of nowhere, just flashed in his mind the instant he imagined the nice soft hotel bedspreads, made from that expensive technology that no one else knew. The lavish white rugs, uncountable soft duvets and the fragrance of rose perfumes wafting around the room.

What if Zayn cut himself again?

The mental image of Zayn slitting his wrists with whatever sharp object he used made Niall cringe. The fact that Zayn started harming himself made Niall feel like punching him, asking him how he dared to do that to himself; because his body didn't just belong to him. It meant just as much to Niall, and he was not okay with the boy he loved self-harming.