Zayn parks out front of the high school where their boys — their three boys — spend five days a week, waiting for the final five minutes before the last class ends so he can drive them all home. It's raining, a constant stream of relaxing 'taptaptap' against the windshield replacing the usual sound of the radio as he slouches in the drivers seat, half-zoned out.
The past few days have been...easier. Niall returned to school after the first weekend of living with them, and now they're on Wednesday so it's day three of Zayn having the house to himself for hours longer than he has had since he'd married Louis. And it's driving him crazy.
He calls his husband every chance he gets, to the point where the other man has reprimanded him like a child on several occasions and told him to 'just watch the TV or something', and he all but counts down the minutes until he can get in the car and pick up the kids from school. He's come close to calling his boss on several occasions and telling her he's available to return, but he quickly reminds himself that he's taking time off for a reason — he knows it's only a matter of time before everything catches up with Niall and the kid might need him there at any point in the day, being at work would make that difficult.
Because Niall has been coping almost too well recently; almost as if he's pretending that everything is fine. Zayn's no psychologist but he knows that isn't the right way to deal with things. He knows it'll only make it hit harder in the end.
Besides, the twelve year old isn't all that difficult to read; the worry is a constant resident in his features, the drawn together brows, the lips that are chapped from chewing them anxiously. And now that the bruises are fading, the bags beneath his eyes are only becoming more visible.
Zayn likes to think he's an intuitive person, especially when it comes to his kids — with Harry, he can always tell the moment his anxiety even begins to think about showing up, and when it gets bad, he usually knows exactly what to do to help it feel better; and with Liam's teenage mood swings, he's good at not overstepping and making it worse by saying or doing the wrong thing, he mostly does what he can to prevent the kid from exploding on them all. But with Niall's current position, it doesn't take intuition, it's just common sense.
The kid's stepfather has just been thrown in jail for a decade after spending years abusing him, and his mother has gone entirely AWOL, essentially abandoning him. Now he's been forced to leave behind the place that he's lived for his entire life and everything has changed, even if it is for the best. Zayn knows that that's a lot for anyone to deal with, but for someone of Niall's age? Well, they shouldn't be so calm and collected about it all, he's sure. There should be more than just a few signs of half-hidden anxiety to show for what's going on inside that head of his.
He jumps slightly as sudden chatter floods the atmosphere, muffled by the closed windows of the car and the rain that only continues to grow heavier — since the first storm the previous week, the weather has only continued to deteriorate from glorious summer sunshine to the first rainfalls of autumn.
The entrance doors are propped open now, a steady stream of students flowing out, all in matching uniforms, some with coats and others with their school blazers or rucksacks held over their heads, some walking as if they aren't being soaked and others running and screaming as if it's an apocalypse and not just a storm.
He lowers his own window in order to scour the crowds for his own boys, smiling and lifting a hand when he spots the two younger boys heading down the pathway to the car park; Harry with a folder held above his head, curls damp and lips curled up into a laugh as Niall walks alongside him, the smaller boy grinning too at something that's apparently been said, his own hair turning dark with saturation.
"Hey Papa!" Harry yells as soon as they reach the car, wasting no time in opening the back door and chucking all of his belongings in before climbing up into the far seat.
Niall smiles and places his own things on the floor of the car before he climbs in too, shutting the door behind. "Hi Zayn," he says softly.
Zayn turns to smile at them both, the two of them already soaked from the short walk to the car, cheeks flushed and eyes cheerful enough. Even Niall doesn't have the signs of anxiety embedded in his features that had been there just this morning.
"What was so funny?" He asks, and the two boys glance at each other before bursting into laughter all over again, Niall always a little quieter than Harry.
Harry shakes his head, wet curls flying everywhere. "You won't find it funny, Papa. You had to be there," he says matter-of-factly, and Zayn smirks, shaking his head in amusement and deciding not to pry.
"Well, how was school at least? Do I get an answer to that one?" He asks instead.
The thirteen year old rolls his eyes dramatically. "It was school, Papa. How do you think it was?"
"Alright, Mr Teenage Angst," he says with a laugh, turning to the blond instead, whose focus is entirely on trying to stop the rain from rolling out of his hair and into his eyes. "How about you, Ni? Everything go okay?"
The kid glances up quickly before giving a nod and a small smile. "Yes sir," he answers, almost as if he's reading off of a script. "It was fine. Um, did — did they tell you anything about my Mum yet?" He tags on, almost hesitantly, the same question he's been asking several times every day since it all happened.
He winces because they haven't, the police haven't been in touch and his mother is still MIA. Zayn doesn't want to think it, but he's almost relieved. A woman who could just stand by and allow her son to be hurt that way doesn't deserve to have a child in her care; the only reason they're waiting for her to be found before they sign the final adoption papers for Niall is so that her rights can be legally terminated — and if she doesn't make an appearance by the time November rolls around, they'll be signing them anyway. The outcome will be the same, but if she shows up, Niall's life is going to be tossed upside down all over again, and that isn't fair on the kid.
Still, he knows how much the boy misses her. After all, he's a child and she's his mother, and he's most likely spent half his life being blinded by his love for her to even realise that she's been abusing him every bit as much as Paul has by not reciprocating that love.
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, honey. We haven't had any calls, I'm afraid," he says softly.
Niall presses his lips together, the scab from the split there almost healed now, and glances away for a moment before he looks up again and gives a tiny nod. "Okay," he murmurs, the happiness that had been plastered on his face just moments ago suddenly weighted down by something dark. "That's okay. Maybe — maybe tomorrow, right?"
He sounds as if he's clinging onto hope, and Zayn would rather die than crush it. He smiles at the boy, catching his blue eyed gaze and praying that the kid could see how much he's worth, how much he really doesn't deserve to be treated the way he's been treated.
"They'll find her," he says, because he knows that they will, eventually. Regardless of how long it takes and how much he doesn't want it to happen (selfish, he knows), at some point, she'll show up again and it's only going to break the kid's heart. "You just keep your chin up, buddy, okay?"
Niall sucks in a long breath and nods a little firmer this time, eyes creasing as he forces a small smile. "Okay." He sinks back into his seat as Harry offers him a reassuring smile too, nudging him gently with his elbow.
Before Zayn can say much else, he catches sight of Liam about to walk straight by, quickly calling his name out of the open window. The older teen glances around with a frown, saying something to his friend before he walks back in himself, the taller boy whom Zayn doesn't recognise as one of the kid's usual posse waiting for him a few feet away, not seeming bothered by the rain.
"Hey Pops," Liam greets, standing by the window and making no moves to walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat. "Uh, I was gonna go over Mikey's place tonight, um, a few of us were gonna study and stuff. For exams. Mock exams. Next month."
The way he stumbles over the sentence stirs suspicion within the man. He purses his lips, eyeing the brown-eyed boy before glancing behind him at this friend of his. "Why do you sound like that?" He asks, making the boy pout as if he's offended.
Harry snickers in the back, leaning forwards to stick his head between the two front seats. "Yeah weirdo, why do you sound like that?"
"Shut up, you look like a wet rat," Liam bites back, reaching into the car with a sopping wet arm to shove his younger brother back.
"Hey!" Harry yells out, trying to lunge forwards again.
Zayn sighs, shaking his head despite his inner amusement. "Boys, that's enough," he reprimands, making Harry fall back into his seat with a huff, Niall gnawing his lips beside him, having watched the entire interaction with his eyes moving from one boy to the other like a tennis game. Zayn turns back to Liam. "You're going to this...Mikey's house, to study?" He asks, squinting.
Liam shifts from one foot to the other, looking close to pouting. "Yes, Papa," he huffs. "Don't make this weird. He can probably hear you."
"His parents are going to be there?" He questions, and the teen nods quickly. Zayn eyes him again. "You're sure?"
"Well, probably. Mikey said his Mum has work at like, six, but I'll be home by eight so that's only two hours," he says, then his shoulder slump, rain dropping off the end of his nose. "You're embarrassing me," he all but whines, before shuddering. "And it's cold. You want me to get hyperthermia or something? Because if you don't say yes or no soon then I'm gonna freeze to death out here and —"
"Alright drama queen," Zayn cuts off the kid's whining with a small smile. "Go have fun with your friends. Behave, alright? And call me if you need a lift back."
Liam grins, practically bouncing on his feet. "Sweet, you're the best, Pops," he says, before sticking his head in through the window, soaking Zayn's lap in the process. "Later shitheads!" He calls out, before he pulls back and runs over to his friend, the two of them joining another gaggle of students and walking the other way.
Zayn shakes his head to himself, humoured by his eldest son though he knows he would have had to scold him for swearing had Louis been in the seat beside him. He glances to the back, where Niall is laughing at Liam's version of a goodbye, Harry pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.
"If I said that, you woulda told me off," he grumbles.
"Alright, alright. Lets just get home and get warm, hey?"
They do just that. Within thirty minutes of being home, the boys are in their PJs, the heating is cranked up, and the three of them are sitting on the floor surrounding the coffee table, sheets upon sheets of year eight homework spread out over the surface.
Zayn leans back against the couch and observes for a moment, realising just how suddenly it's become normal for Niall to be a part of their daily routine; because whilst the kid has essentially been one of them for years now, he hasn't ever been a part of all the little things — the moments spent watching TV on an ordinary day, the bickering in the car after a long day at school, the homework around the coffee table before Louis gets back from work.
Yet here he is, and it feels right. It feels as if he should have been here all along.
He smiles as he watches; Harry sitting on one side of him, chewing on the end of his pen as he frowns at a maths question, fingers running over the printed words as he reads; Niall on his other side, chewing on his pen in the exact same way, head tilted slightly, fingers following the exact same question as Harry's. In every way except appearance, Zayn would think the boys were actually brothers by blood — their mannerisms are almost exact.
The two of them speak at the same time eventually, Harry's "Papa?" coming in maybe a millisecond before Niall's "Zayn?"
Then Niall blushes a little and smiles apologetically at Harry. "Sorry," he says quietly, making the slightly older boy shake his head.
"S'okay," he leans across to peer at the question Niall has stopped at, grinning. "We're stuck on the same one anyway. I was trying to do simultaneous equations but I don't know if maybe I should be doing the quadratic formula instead," he says, pursing his lips as he reads over the question again.
Niall glances at the other boy's paper and then back at his own before he looks up with an uncertain glint in his eye. "I think both. Solve the simultaneous equations with the quadratic formula, then use the value of x to solve the other equation? Maybe. I dunno, actually. That's probably wrong, ignore me," he trails off, his confidence almost undetectable by the end of his deprecating ramble.
Zayn frowns at that, shaking his head as he leans forwards to look over both of their work. He settles a hand on Niall's back between his shoulder blades, feeling the boy stiffen under his touch for a moment before he relaxes again. "Don't doubt yourself so much, kiddo. How about you try both try it and see what you get, hm?"
Niall looks unsure, glancing up at him before he looks to Harry, who smiles reassuringly.
"I think you're right, Ni. Might as well try it anyway," he says with a shrug, and Zayn sits back again as the two boys go back to working, the room silent other than the scratching of pencil on paper.
He keeps his hand on the slightly younger boy's back all the while, watching him with gentle eyes. Just when he thinks that maybe the kid is actually okay for once, the effects of Paul's abuse makes itself prevalent as ever. Of course, he knows Niall won't get over years of such treatment so quickly; that doesn't make it any easier to watch a twelve year old who should be carefree and happy speak about himself in such a doubtful way, as if he doesn't see all that he's capable of.
"What'd you get?" Niall asks sheepishly when Harry sets down his pencil.
"Uhhh, y is seven and x is the root of five," he says, and Niall smiles.
"I got the same," he sounds pleased with himself, and Zayn feels the same fatherly pride settle in his chest that he feels towards Harry and Liam whenever they accomplish anything, big or small.
He playfully pokes the boy in the side, avoiding the areas where he knows the bruises are still tender, and Niall lets out a type of laughter that can only be described as a giggle, jolting away from the tickling touch.
He does the same to Harry, who shrieks. "Papa!"
Zayn just laughs, hooking an arm around both of their necks and pulling them into his sides, pressing a kiss to each of their temples in turn, making Harry squirm and Niall smile with his cheeks flushing pink. "Told you not to doubt yourself, didn't I?" He says softly, smiling back at the shorter of the kids before he ruffles up Harry's hair on his other side. "My boys are smart."
He tries not to draw attention to the way Niall's smile softens and his eyes tear up.
Things are pretty chilled up until dinner; Louis comes home with takeaway for dinner, Liam calls to say he'll be home before the sun sets, Harry and Niall bicker over what they're going to watch on the TV. It isn't until after they've eaten that Niall quietly dismisses himself from the table and disappears up the stairs; and it isn't until he doesn't return for over thirty minutes that Zayn subtly leaves the living room to go and check on him.
He holds his hand up to knock on the locked bathroom door, halting when he hears a tinny voice from inside, thinking for a moment that the boy is speaking to somebody on the phone. However, when he strains to listen in without taking a moment to question whether or not it's an infringement of the kid's privacy, he can just about make out the sound of an automated message, the kind that is relayed when calling a number that no longer exists.
His heart tightens in his chest when he figures that Niall has been trying to call his mother to no avail, feeling for the kid. After what's been a good evening by anyone's standards, all things considered that have happened in the past week, it breaks his heart to know that the boy still turns to calling his Mum on repeat any chance he gets, just in case she answers.
Zayn's no psychic but he can say for almost certain that the woman doesn't plan on making contact with him; and it makes him so angry because she's hurting him just as badly as Paul did, perhaps even worse because it's clear that the boy loves her even after all she's done (or rather, hasn't done). It always hurts worse to be rejected by somebody you care about than it does by somebody you don't. Zayn can't imagine how the kid is dealing with that kind of pain when he's just that, a kid.
He takes a heavy breath, hesitating for a second before he knocks, rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood of the door thrice. The recorded message abruptly shuts off and he takes the silence as his opportunity to speak.
"Hey, kiddo. You okay in there?" He says, staring down towards the carpet beneath his feet, forearm resting on the doorframe as he leans to one side slightly.
There's no movement from the other side so he doesn't wait for the door to open. He hears a chest-aching sniffle and then the boy speaks.
"Y-yeah, I'm okay. I'll — I'll be out in a minute," he calls out softly, voice hoarse from what Zayn doesn't even have to guess is crying.
He winces in sympathy, nodding once despite the action going unseen. "Alright, honey. Just...you know that we're all here, whenever you want to talk. Even if it's two in the morning, you can come wake me or Lou up. You — you do know that, don't you?" He asks gently.
There's another sniffle followed by a sound that he soon figures is a hiccup from suppressed tears. "I — I know, P — um, Zayn. Thank you," Niall murmurs in return, voice close to a whisper. "I'll be out soon. Just — just..."
Zayn shakes his head. "Take as much time as you need, bud. I'll be downstairs, okay?"
"Thank you," the boy repeats, voice even smaller than the last time before he falls quiet again.
Zayn lingers in the upstairs hallway for a moment before he hesitantly starts down the stairs, chest heavy with the thought of leaving the kid behind to cry alone. As such, he gets halfway down before he huffs and moves back to the top step, sinking down on it and leaning back against the banister, letting out a breath as he listens to the unhinged sound of quiet tears from the door just a foot or two away.
He wants to comfort the boy but in this moment, he knows that all Niall needs is five minutes alone. Zayn isn't going anywhere; he'll sit here all night if that's what it comes to, as long as he stays close enough to step in should he have to.
It's all he can do for now.
But, hell, if he could take all of that boy's pain from him and bear it himself? He'd do it in a heartbeat.
AN:
hey, sorry for the delay! hope this was okay, i'm aware its a little short since it's not even 4000 words when usually i try to write at least 5k per chapter, so i'll be posting again tomorrow to make up for it (;
poor Nialler ): i promise the next one is more cheery and actually kinda adorable if i day so myself...
thanks for reading!! xx