He asks to move his bedroom around when he's allowed home. Obviously Dad and Papa refuse initially since he's supposed to be taking it easy, but he's been taking it easy for a whole two weeks (over half of which he had spent retching into one of the hospital sick bowls and living life like some fever dream) and he doesn't want to keep on sitting around in his own head.
He wants to rearrange, change the scenery or something. Eventually Papa gives in and helps him shift his bed onto the opposite wall and move the chest of drawers and wardrobe around as well.
"We could paint this wall, you know?" Papa says afterwards, gesturing to the plain grey wall as the two of them sit side by side on the edge of Niall's bed.
Niall hesitates. He hasn't painted anything for a while. Hasn't had the motivation to.
And he's still getting used to feeling everything again. Time is speeding up to its usual place and he's there for all of it in a way that he hasn't been for months.
He shrugs, scratching at the inside of his left wrist. His skin feels like it's crawling and his heart still skips a beat every once in a while. The shakes haven't stopped. The doctors assured him its normal.
He doesn't feel very normal.
Papa waits for a few more seconds before he rests a hand on Niall's back and gives it a firm rub. "It'll do you good to find a project to focus on. Something to keep that head of yours busy," he says.
"It's already busy," Niall huffs, looking down at his hands in his laps, curling his fingers in tightly to stop the tremors running through them.
He met his therapist before leaving the hospital. A man called Ashton who had used big and scary words like 'addiction' and 'recovery' and a 'probation period'. He had said that Niall coming home would only be temporary if he tried to return to drugs; they would have to send him off to some inpatient facility for 'other kids like him'.
He hates that thought.
So even on the days when he can't stop thinking about how it feels to be high, he tries to suppress them.
Ashton had also pushed him towards the decision of not taking his ADHD meds until he felt ready to do so. Meaning that his mind is slowly but surely returning to the hyperactive, fast, too busy mess that it has been his entire life.
His knee bobs off the edge of the bed until Papa rests a gentle hand on top of it.
"You know you can talk to me, kiddo. Let it all out," he murmurs.
But Niall's too tired to talk. He won't admit it, but just pushing around a few pieces of furniture for an hour has taken up all of his energy.
"I know, Papa," he mumbles, lifting a shaky hand to rub at his eyes. "Maybe we can paint it some other time," he changes the subject back to the wall ahead and the man stares at him for a few moments longer with his honey eyes all conflicted and sad before he gives a nod.
"Alright...tired?" He asks after Niall muffles a yawn, and he gives a small nod. "Wanna come lay down on the couch?"
It isn't really a question and Niall knows it. They don't trust him to be alone, even though his entire room and all of his clothes and school bags have been ransacked. He doesn't have any more. He took it all that day where he'd ended up having a seizure and going to the hospital.
The memory still makes him shudder.
Harry is curled up in the armchair in the living room, laptop open and papers spread out over the coffee table in front of him. Niall tugs his blanket tighter over his shoulders and lays down on the couch with a huff, head against the armrest.
"You okay?" Harry asks in concern, and god, he's so sick of that question.
"Fine," he grumbles, fumbling into the pocket of his hoodie beneath the blanket and tugging out his phone as it buzzes.
He frowns when he sees all the unread messages and missed calls from Luke. James has only messaged him once. None of the other people he calls friends have bothered.
Luke
where were you at school today?
nvm your friend said you were sick.
hey, i came by your place and no one was home??
harry said you're sick. can you call me back so ik you're okay???
sorry if im being annoying. your brother said youre still in hospital and im worried.
hope you're okay.
He sighs as he reads through them, feeling nothing but guilt for the way that he has treated his best friend lately.
Niall
sorry. im home now.
you're not annoying.
im a rubbish friend sorry.
Luke
you're not.
are you coming back to school?? what happened?
Niall knows he won't be going back to school. Dad and Papa already made it clear that he won't be returning until after Christmas now and when he does, it'll be somewhere new. A fresh start, they had called it.
Niall
can you come over tomorrow? ill explain everything.
He sets his phone down before bothering with reading the reply, closing his eyes before jumping when his legs are suddenly lifted from the couch. He relaxes when he sees it's just Dad, resting his feet on his lap. He smiles tiredly at the man.
"Sorry sweetheart. Everything okay?" He asks, eyeing the phone almost suspiciously.
And Niall wants to be irritated, but he doesn't really blame them all for not trusting him. He's spent the past month or so lying to their faces every single day.
"Just messaging Luke. Can he come over tomorrow?" He asks quietly, and Dad hesitates for a moment.
"He's not...involved in any of this, is he?"
Niall shakes his head quickly. "No, Dad. Luke would never..."
Never be as stupid as you, his brain finishes.
Dad nods then. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Just, door open if the two of you are upstairs," he says softly.
Niall doesn't answer. He just closes his eyes and tries to ignore the emotions filling his mind after so much time spent being numb.
Luke comes over the next day as planned and the two of them end up sitting opposite each other on Niall's bed with the door slightly ajar.
He's aware he looks a state in another oversized hoodie with his skin all pale and the bags beneath his eyes dark, but Luke doesn't seem to care. In fact, the second he walks in, he throws his arms around Niall and the two of them just squeeze each other tightly for a while. It makes him realise how long it's been since the two of them have properly spent time together.
So they make small talk for a while before Niall gets serious, eyes watery as he looks across at his taller friend. The two of them are sitting criss cross legged opposite each other.
"I didn't mean to push you away," he murmurs, and Luke stares at him in surprise for a moment before a frown settles on his young face.
"Then why did you?" He asks quietly.
Niall gulps, before deciding to be completely honest with his friend. "I didn't mean to," he repeats. "It's just...I think about Danny a lot. And it doesn't seem fair when it's just you and me and he isn't here. I thought it would get easier but it feels like it just gets harder," he whispers.
Luke hesitates at that before he lets out a sigh. "I miss him too. I know you guys were closer, and - and you saw him on the bus and that's probably a really messed up thing to go through," Niall flinches a little at that. "But Danny would want you to be happy. And I dunno, Ni. You haven't seemed very happy lately."
He gives a small shake of his head, gripping his hands together in his lap and staring down at them. He hasn't been very happy for a long time.
He isn't sure whether he feels good or bad that people are finally starting to notice.
"I just wish you would talk to me," Luke murmurs.
He looks up at that, vision blurred with tears. "I'm sorry. I will from now on. I promise," he says, voice cracking in the middle in a way that makes Luke move around in the bed to sit beside him. Niall wraps his arms around him, feeling his best friend reciprocate with twice as much force.
He feels better after he leaves, and he and Papa decide to start painting the wall.
His hands are still shaky as hell but Papa does all the edges and careful parts. They decide on a northern lights scene, and Niall finds himself enjoying doing something he's always loved.
Painting has the same effect as always on him. It calms his mind. Distracts him.
He even ends up laughing and joking with his Papa, the two of them flicking paint at each other.
Papa leans forward and paints a stripe of blue over his cheeks and he yelps before breaking into laughter.
"Papa!" He whines, trying to scrubs at it with his sleeve with a faux glare at the man, before he proceeds to paint a thick stripe over the man's forehead, reaching up on his tiptoes.
The two of them end up getting paint everywhere, both red in the face from laughter in a way that reminds Niall that it's been so long since he last found anything so funny.
Eventually, Papa wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into his side, resting a paint-covered cheek on top of his head. He gestures forwards with a paintbrush to the completed wall in front of them. It's much more bright and colourful than it had been, and Niall manages a proud sort of smile at their work.
"You see what you're capable of, kiddo? That right there is pure talent. You're incredible Ni. I don't understand how you don't see it," he murmurs.
Niall chews his lip then gives a small shrug. "You did all the best parts," he says softly, and Papa sighs against the top of his head before pulling away and holding him at arms length.
"You have a talent, Niall. Don't let it go to waste, you hear me?" He says.
He glances at the painted wall and then back to the man in front of him. He enjoys painting. And okay, maybe he's pretty good at it. But he'd rather be clever like his brothers.
"Don't you wish I was good at maths or English or science or something instead?" He asks quietly.
Papa raises an eyebrow in an amused sort of way. "Ni. I teach art for a living. I might be a little biased in saying this but I think creative people have the best minds," he says softly.
Niall contemplates this for a moment before he manages a teary smile and nods up at the man. "That's pretty big-headed, Papa," he jokes lightly, and the man lets out a laugh before pulling him into a hug.
"You and I need to wash up before your Dad has a heart attack over the mess."
Liam and Emily come over for dinner a few nights later. Niall joins in with the conversation without really realising it, rolling his eyes and biting back when Liam teases him about his height.
"Shut up, you're just mad because you can't grow a proper beard," he says with a pout, and Liam raises an eyebrow, reaching across the table to poke Niall's chin.
"What, and you can?"
"I'm thirteen, dumbass," he retaliated, at which Dad clears his throat.
"Language," he warns, before turning to his oldest. "And Liam, stop winding up your brother."
"Sorry Dad," they both grumble at the same time, but not before Niall flicks a pea off of his plate at the twenty year old.
Dad just laughs this time, rolling his eyes before the conversation fazzles into something else. It eventually comes back around to the painting on his bedroom wall.
"I'm surprised you haven't dragged Liam and Em up there to show them," Dad says, turning to the two twenty year olds with a proud sort of smile. "It looks like we got a professional in."
Niall feels his face flush at that, resisting the urge to grin at the attention and shrugging it off instead. "Papa did a lot of it -"
"Lies," Papa declares, shaking his head. "All I did was the edges. The rest was all down to you, Shorty."
Niall grumbles something about the nickname even though he feels all warm inside at the praise. It's been a while.
Liam waits until the table is cleared until he moves around to sit beside him. Niall doesn't have time to say anything before he's being pulled into a hug. Without hesitation, his hands automatically move up to grip onto his oldest brother's back.
"Proud of you," Liam murmurs, words muffled against his shoulder.
Niall just squeezes a little tighter. Because really, that's all he wants.
It takes twelve days post-hospital for James to message him again. He's trying to sleep with his door half open and the light from the hallway painting a strip of brightness across his room. He sighs at the notification bell, leaning up on his elbows and wincing at the screen.
James
heard about what happened lol. i did tell you to be careful.
anyway, jase wants to know when you need your next hit.
so let him know.
He reads the texts over a few times, angry first and then upset and then too caught up in trying to take a deep breath that he doesn't even care about the fact that his so called friend isn't really a friend after all.
He sits up in a panic, rubbing at his sternum with his knuckles and the pain in his chest feels a lot like how it felt the day he went to hospital. And it frightens him.
He feels like a little kid all over again as he scrambles out of bed in such a hurry that he almost falls over his own sheets. His breath comes in short puffs and he's not sure when he started crying but he knows his vision is blurry as he stumbles out into the hallway.
He ends up at the door to his parents room, lifting a hand to bang against it, rubbing at his chest over his thin pyjama shirt.
Dad opens the door, looking surprised and then, quite instantly, concerned. "Ni -" he starts, but Niall shakes his head and rubs a little harder at his chest.
"Can't breathe," he manages, panic embedded in every fibre of his being and he can't think straight, he can't take a breath, he can't stop crying and -
Dad takes him gently by the elbows and leads him over to the bed, sitting him down whilst Papa kneels in front of him. He's still rubbing at his chest when the man pries his hands away and holds them tightly in his.
"Papa -"
"You're okay, baby. Just take it nice and slow. You're having a panic attack," the man says slowly, softly. There's no underlying force in his tone, and Niall latches onto that. He trusts him.
Dad's hand is still rubbing over his spine gently and Papa's thumbs are tracing over each of his knuckles in turn.
"Okay. Don't fight it," Papa soothes. The man forces a tight smile at him. "Just look at me, okay? Focus on my ugly mug," he grins.
Niall can't bring himself to laugh. His mind is racing and so is his heart. He tries to focus on his Papa's face; the slight stubble on his chin, the worry lines in his forehead, his honey coloured eyes soft as ever. He manages a shallow breath and the man smiles a little more genuinely.
"That's it, darling. Nice and easy," he says, and Niall hiccups on another breath, more aware of the tears running from his eyes now.
"J - James -" he chokes out, and the man shakes his head.
"Hey, hey. No talking -"
"Papa," he forces out, exasperated.
The man manages a weak laugh. "Hey. No bossing me about right now. Lets get your breathing under control first."
Niall doesn't fight this time, tugging a hand away to grasp at his chest as it tightens again.
Dad is speaking beside him but his voice sounds almost far away. "His chest, Z. Do I need to phone for -"
"No, no, let's not panic him further," Papa says, turning back to him with another forced smile. He lifts a hand to brush through his fringe. "Isn't that right, kiddo? We're not panicking , are we? We're just taking nice, deep breaths."
Niall tries to nod, attempting to suck in another breath but failing. And he's trying not to panic but it really feels like - like -
"Feels like m'dyin'," he chokes out, and Papa is quick to shake his head.
"That's not happening. Not for a long, long time, bud. You're okay. You're gonna be just fine," he reassures. Then he moves a hand to press against Niall's chest, fingers splayed, lifting one of Niall's hands to hold against his own chest. "You feel that? I'm breathing fine," he says. "So you just try and match that for me."
Niall closes his eyes and tries to turn all of his focus to the rise and fall of his father's chest. It takes time before he even comes close to matching his breathing (seconds or minutes, he can't be sure), and as soon as he can feel the air reaching his lungs properly again the sobs burst through.
Dad pulls him in closer and Niall buried his into the man's chest. "Shh, it's okay. You're okay, Nialler," he soothes.
Papa keeps ahold of his hands, thumbs tracing gentle circles over them. "You wanna try talking again now, bud," he asks after a few moments.
He takes a few moments before he takes a few deeper breaths and shakes his head. "S'so dumb. I don't - I don't even know why I freaked out about it," he says weakly, and Papa shakes his head quickly.
"No, baby, no. Whatever it is, it clearly got to you," he murmurs.
Niall just sniffles and gives a shrug. "Just - just someone messaged me. A - about buying some...stuff. I thought he was my friend, but he doesn't even care. None - none of them care," he murmurs, more tears falling. He watches as his Dad and Papa make eye contact with each other before Papa looks back at him.
"Ni...sweetie, these people - this person who messaged you - James, you said? Is he the one who gave you the drugs to begin with?" Papa asks gently.
He isn't sure whether he should tell them. He doesn't want to get anyone into any trouble.
Except, he'd almost died. And all James and Jase and probably Ethan too are worried about is the money.
He shakes his head, still resting against his Dad. "No. He - he's got this older brother who throws these parties. And the first one I went to, there was this guy called Ethan, and - and he was really nice. He looked after me, and then he introduced me to his friends. Some guy called Jase gave me some weed, and - and then he started giving me coke - and it's my fault because I asked for it because I'm a stupid, stupid -"
Papa tightens his grip on his hands at that, shaking his head. "No. None of that. You are not stupid, Niall Malik -"
"But I thought they were my friends, Papa. And they don't care. They don't," he forces out, and he has to bite on his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling like a baby.
Dad holds him tighter and rests his chin on top of his head. "Then they don't matter. You have me and Papa and your brothers, and you have Luke-"
"But I don't have Danny," he whispers, before he stops trying to hold it all in and the sobs come bubbling out.
"Oh, darling," Papa breathes, moving up to sit on the other side of him and wrapping his arms around him too, so that he's sandwiched between both of them.
"I really - r-really miss him and I know it's been s-so long and I should be - I should be over it," he chokes out. "But I think about it every day, and - and I still see him all - all covered in blood in the bus and it's - it's so messed up. Why'd he have to die like that, Dad?"
And it's like a weight off, because he's avoiding speaking about it for so long and now it's finally out in the open...he can breathe again.
"I know, baby. I know, it isn't fair. I'm so sorry we never made you talk about it sooner," Dad says, but he shakes his head, moving his hands up to rub at his eyes.
"But you did. You - you guys took me to therapy and I just lied. I - I just feel like everything I do is one big fat lie and - and I'm sorry," he breathes, trying to wipe away the tears as soon as they fall. "And I want you to let me say it, instead of telling me it's okay. 'Cause it's not okay and I'm not okay, and the only reason I - I tried all that stuff was because it was easier than telling the truth. I don't wanna keep pretending," he chokes out.
"No more pretending. That's good, baby. That's so good," Sad praises, and Niall leans a little heavier against his side, allowing the men to hold him.
"Did you message him back? James or Jase or whoever?" Papa asks quietly after he's calmed down a little.
Niall sniffs and shakes his head. "No," he whispers. "I won't - I won't...do that stuff anymore. Even - even when I really want to. I won't."
It's a big promise to make. One that he knows already will be hard to stick to. But he won't let himself break it.
Papa nods and presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Hey. I'm proud of you for coming to us. That was a really big step. A brave one," he says softly.
He swallows down the lump in his throat, nodding. He isn't sure why he's always had such a need for everyone's approval, but it makes an appearance again at his Papa's words. He latched onto the praise and tries to internalise it to make himself feel better.
"I just always want people to like me," he admits quietly. "When I was little it was by making people laugh or showing off to get attention, 'cause I was so scared that people would forget about me. And - and it's always there. I just need people to like me, and so when James wanted to be friends with me, I - I felt like I had to prove myself to him. And so I did all that stuff, just to feel cool or popular or liked or something. And - and it helped with the inside stuff as well. I dunno. There's something wrong with me, isn't there?" He mutters, wiping at his nose.
His parents are quick to jump at that, shaking their head.
"Kid, no. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you," Papa breathes, at the same times as Dad presses a kiss to the top of his head again.
"Nobody could ever forget about you, Ni. Whether you're loud and happy and funny or you're sad and quiet or anything else. You're still you. And the people that matter are gonna be there with you through every day. Rain or shine. You're our boy, Ni. We love you and your brothers love you. And I know it's hard, but you need to start being more honest with us. You did good tonight. So don't go disappearing on us again, hm?" Dad says.
Niall tears up again at the speech, nodding. "No more pretending," he whispers, before he pulls away to look up at the two men. "Can I - can I sleep in here tonight? Please?" He asks quietly.
They both nod immediately. "Course you can, Shorty," Papa says with a smirk.
He manages half a laugh at that, drying his face with his hands. "M'not short. Everyone else is just freakishly tall," he mumbles.
He waits until the lights are out and he's tucked up between his parents like a little kid all over again before he lets out a long breath.
"I love you guys too."
AN
did not intend for this one to get so emotional again ahaha. anyway, the next interlude is coming soon after the next chapter and the interludes are always shorter - plus this one is extra fluffy and mostly happy so there's that!!
hope this was okay!
stay safe dudes :)