Stand By Me

Chapter Twelve

By the time Friday comes around, there's still no word about Niall's Mum and no longer is he just worried and upset, he's afraid. Because in his mind, it's becoming more and more likely that something bad has happened. What if Paul really has hurt her and she's somewhere that she can't escape from? Worse than that, what if he...what if he killed her? He hates to even think it, yet it's one of those thoughts that he's been unable to stop taking over his mind the past couple of days.

And things have been good at Harry's house (his house too, now, he supposes, even if it is only temporary); Louis tucked him into bed last night when he thought that he was asleep, and he'd cried out of the sheer niceness of it when the man had quietly crept out of the room after. Zayn makes him laugh a lot, even with everything that's been going on in his head, the man draws out a real sort of laughter that ends with his eyes watering and stomach aching. Liam hasn't been home much, mostly at a friend's house to study, though Harry thinks he's with a girl, really, because they'd seen the older boy with some blonde hanging off his arm in the lunch hall the day before. And he and Harry are just the same as always, the only difference is that now they live together.

Despite all of that, it doesn't stop his mind from wandering to the darker places when he's at school. In class, currently, with Harry sitting in the seat next to his at the same desk, his eyes have swayed from the front of the room to the window, staring out at the clouds. The end of his pencil is a collection of teeth-shaped indents as he chews on it, all sound mushing together into one steady hum that he easily ignores as the teacher drones on. Instead, all he can hear is what's inside of his head.

What if Paul killed her? What if he found out that Niall told the Maliks about everything at home and he took it out on his wife? What if he hurt her because Niall wasn't there for him to hurt? What if — what if — what if —

"Niall?"

He blinks back into reality, sounds and colours separating into clear focus as he yanks his gaze away from the sky on the other side of the window and looks around instead. The rest of the class is working, conversations taking place as their pens and pencils scratch over their papers. By his side, Harry is watching him with his lips pressed together and his eyebrows narrowed.

Their English teacher, Ms Clark, is crouches down in front of their desk, forearms rested on the wood and her chin resting on the back of her hands as she peers at him with that look a few of his teachers have been regarding him with since he returned to school a few days ago.

"Sorry," he says quickly, voice so soft it's barely even there.

Ms Clark shakes her head, smiling carefully at him, eyes scanning over his face for a moment before she takes a breath. "Can you spare five minutes at the end of lesson? I just wanna have a quick chat before you go," she says, and he blinks, heart clenching.

Did she get a message from the office about his Mum?

He gives a jolty nod. "Um, y-yeah. Yeah, that's fine," he stammers, and the woman smiles a little easier this time, reaching out to pat his wrist tentatively before she stands, moving away from their desk and making her way over to somebody who has their hand waving in the air.

He frowns down at the blank paper in front of him for a moment, dropping his pencil down onto it.

"What do you think that's about?" Harry asks softly, and he jumps slightly, looking up at his best friend to see him regarding him with a small pucker between his brows, curly hair almost obscuring them.

He gives a small shrug. "I don't...I don't know. Maybe — maybe your Dad and Papa called about my Mum," he says tentatively, bottom lip catching between his teeth before he begins to gnaw at it now that the pencil is gone.