Café Red (Ziall)

Whole

Author's Note: This is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue though, so don't fret. I hope you all enjoy xo

Something about the way she set the tea cup in front of him; how it was warm and inviting; how there wasn't a sign of apprehensiveness. It had been a while since she had managed to make him feel that way, as if no changes had occurred and she was still the woman of many strengths. But that wasn't Zayn's reality and he was quite reluctant to be there, wishing he could run to anyone else during his time of need; but abandonment was the soundtrack of his life; the disappointing yells from Harry and the distrustful expression written across Niall's face. He hadn't seen Niall in a while, maybe a month, though it sometimes felt longer. He tried reaching out, several texts and calls, several attempts to get a visual of the blond, but Liam always denied him the right to enter into their apartment building. Zayn couldn't be mad at Liam, because he'd do anything to see to it that Niall was safe and secure if his and Liam's roles were reversed. With any ounce of dignity he had left, he found his way to his parents' home, hoping that his mother would be willing to hear him out. He felt as though she owed him that much, that her guidance would always be relevant, even if she didn't agree with all of his choices and decisions. His father was another story; a hard shell with an even tougher core. His father was willing to accept many things, but not those who defied him. "Thank you," the raven-haired man mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the cup. He appeared rough, facial hair thicker than usual and hair unkempt, though still kept that dark tone. He had lost that animate sense of himself, the one that gave him the drive to lead his own path; visioned blurred; strayed off the straight and narrow all because he was being a little selfish while trying to be selfless. Something so complex to achieve all at once. His mother sat across from him, her own tea cup in hand. She took small sips, taking small glances at him every once in a while, awaiting the moment he would say more; the moment he would drop a wall or two and allow her to be there. She would always be there with open arms, but Zayn denied the gesture.

"I heard you spoke to your father," she initiated, receiving a nod from Zayn. Yaser's words remained fresh on his mind, a constant reminder of how his failures were met due to the cards he played; how Yaser could be much more helpful in taking him in the right direction. He always treated Zayn as if he was some manufactured boy, delivered to him in hopes of being the success story that Yaser wanted to create; and when things went astray, he would try to reel the raven-haired man back in. "He said the café was on the verge of being shut down and that you needed some financial assistance," she continued, taking another sip of her tea. For the first time since his arrival, Zayn looked at her; not the small glance of acknowledgement, but a mere scowl. She seemed so nonchalant about things, as if his problems would never be her problems; and, within that, she appeared apathetic. In that moment, Zayn realized where he picked up some of his unfortunate qualities; his stubbornness; his inability to see the bigger picture and all that lied within it. For that reason, he was without a friend, without a lending hand. "How much did you need?" She somewhat exhaled, placing her glasses upon her face before retrieving her wallet.

"Do you even care?" Zayn asked, causing her to become taken aback. The grip on her wallet became somewhat loose. Zayn knew he would be a fool to deny any sort of help from her, but the café being closed was not the issue. The lack of financial stability wasn't the issue. The lack of empathy was. She could hand him a million dollars and he still wouldn't feel as though it was handed to him with an ounce of care or love in mind. He felt like a pest, something only money could make go away. It had always been his parents' tactic. "I went to dad for advice. I came to you for advice, and you both brush it off or find a way to make it about money as if I'm some sort of charity case!" He grew louder in range; tone deep and poor in happiness. He told himself that he wouldn't allow, but he couldn't stop any tear that trickle down his cheeks. He had tried to be strong for so long, tried to strive through the impossible and walk a mile too far; however, he had reached his limit. His mother's expression was blank and, whether or not his words were sinking in, Zayn just wanted her to listen; listen to what he had to say and why it mattered. She would feel it soon enough. He quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks, a dry laugh arising from his mouth before he stood up and pushed his seat in. "The café is closed," he began, "and I can live with it, even if I never see it again. It's just structural and materialistic," he shrugged. "I hope you and father can live with not seeing me again." Her heart shattered and Zayn felt it, but he walked away without doubt and without fault in his decision.

Something about the way Niall stumbled upon Zayn on his porch, as he was headed out one morning; how he was able to still recognize him as if not a single thing had changed; as if several mornings and several nights hadn't passed. Niall's step faltered and he exhaled, chilly smoke escaping from him rosy lips. He found himself wondering how all it took was that moment, that moment, after the lie and heartbreak, for his heart to still leap; for his heart to still beep in a way that only Zayn could trigger. It was betrayal to still feel something that meaningful and genuine. A month of trying to get back on his feet and finally becoming content again, a month of living with Harry, Henry, and Liam and finally finding a sense of whole; how he no longer felt alone in a crowded room. Zayn ascended up one step, not at all intimidated by the thought of Niall possibly turning around and shutting the door on him forever. He placed his hand on the rail, slightly shuffling his shoes upon the pavement beneath him. "Are you still mad at me?" He timidly asked. Niall was taken aback. This idiot. So audacious of him to appear out of thin air, showing no sign of remembrance of their last encounter, and with nothing more than a mere question of "are you still mad at me?" Niall wasn't sure if he hated Zayn more or the fact that he actually found himself slipping; slipping into the raven-haired man's grasp once more.

"Without a doubt," Niall stubbornly answered.

Zayn chuckled, "will it make you love me less?"

"What makes you think I even feel that way about you?"

"Because you're still standing here."