everyone has a limit.

zayn reaches his as the band prepares to head for the asian part of the tour, calling simon with quivering hands to half-demand and half-beg, for a meeting.

it's the first time he's traveled alone in a while, excusing himself from the boys with a shoddy excuse about needing to see his family, but being the sole passenger in first class is perfect for him and the gnawing pain in his lungs. the coughing is worsening by the day, and on the plane alone he vomits twice, yellow bile and yellow flowers as he curls into a fetal position in the aisle. the air hostesses are pitying and gentle, dabbing at his brow with a cold cloth, wheeling in medicines and drinks and wrapping him in blankets galore. he swears one even bites back a sob when she sees the flowers, stroking the engagement ring on her finger reassuringly when she thinks he isn't looking.

they swear to secrecy, wish him all the best with tight hugs that he's sure will suffocate him if the disease doesn't.

he knows looks like he's seen better days, but even then it's startling when simon's overly saccharine grin turns into a gasp of concern. the sallow cheeks, the shaggy haircut, the bloodshot eyes- it doesn't take a genius to see that zayn is sick.

he fidgets nervously, unsure of where to start, but he doesn't need to. a fit of coughs erupt in his throat before he can muffle them, and simon watches in horrified silence as sunflower petals rain down onto his desk.

cough cough cough cough

"hanahaki." simon's voice drops to nothing more than a whisper, gesturing in panic to one of his attendees to fetch a glass of water. "who..." his voice trails off, unable to finish.

"harry."

simon's face has lost all colour, fists gripping the edge of his table as zayn sinks to the floor. he's not sure if he's down there for minutes or hours, only that tears are streaming down his face like a tsunami as he begs to leave the band. even the man who has long prided himself on his ruthlessness can't find it in himself to deny zayn, to deny the boy he saw grow from a anxious sixteen year old whose vocabulary mainly consisted of 'vas happenin' to a twenty-two year old who had taken over the world with his otherworldly voice and charming smirks. he doesn't even bother asking zayn about opting for surgery. if there's one thing simon knows about him, it's that he's stubborn.

zayn tilts his head back up at the man at the root of this all, and he remembers looking up to him- in a very different way back then. simon used to tell him that he was mature in a way unlike liam and young in a way unlike niall, that he carried himself like an old soul. zayn doesn't feel like that now, doesn't feel the years of supposed wisdom and understanding. he feels like a newborn without a mother, lost in a world too big for him.