𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏.


when he delivers the news to the band, he receives different reactions. maybe it's because he conveniently leaves out the details of his slow death, maybe it's because it seems so random yet it's impossible not to miss the signs when you look closer. either way, it hurts just the same.

niall is the easiest to deal with, always the most level-headed during a confrontation despite his energy. the blonde looks more childlike than ever now, shrinking into himself as sunlit-blue eyes search to find the reason for the sudden, drastic decision. worry twists his brows into one line, pink flush fading to a sickly, translucent white and hands wringing each other out with such vigour zayn is afraid he'll break them. yet it's not his hands he has to worry about, because zayn's heart breaks with much more fervour when niall dips his head, chin trembling in tell-tale tears. before he can say anything, he's interrupted by a low thump of feet on marble.

zayn feels the punch before he sees it. louis sheds any inhibitions as his fist strikes his now-former bandmate square in the face, zayn staggering back at the impact. he clutches at the wall to steady himself, chest heaving as liam holds his eldest bandmate, his best friend, his brother, back. curses spew out of louis's mouth like a waterfall, heavy and ceaseless, drenching zayn in guilt and regret. it hurts much more than the punch to see his partner-in-crime like this, to see him angry and bitter and mad. zayn wants to explain, to tell him everything, for louis to be by his side again instead of opposite him. instead, he squeezes his eyes shut, the metallic tang of blood overpowering the constant earthy aftertaste engraved in his taste buds.

in these few minutes alone liam seems to have aged ten years. his broad shoulders hunch over in a defeated arch, another burden added to the weight on his back as he struggles to do what he always has: to be the peacemaker, to be strong even when things go wrong, to keep the lads together. even his perpetually upbeat puppy eyes are sunken, a dazed sheen over them as he slips away into the past, evaluating and analysing moments to find where he went wrong. 'daddy direction', they used to call him as a joke, but zayn finds his stomach churning as his best friend places his head in his hands, finally too exhausted to keep everyone upright alongside himself.

zayn thinks it hurts to look at the other three, but one look at harry's trembling frame is enough to steal the breath from his lungs. as cliche as it was, zayn had always believed that eyes were a window, and through harry's zayn could see his soul. he could see every flaw and fault exposed, like sea glass held up to the light. he could see the strength blooming through the weakness, buds of spring pushing through the winter grit. he saw harry, and the love that would catch him when he didn't even know he was falling. he saw home.

and so zayn looks, straight into those jade eyes as harry hurls unsaid questions at him. did we do something wrong? did i do something wrong? are you tired of us? of this? why are you doing this? silent accusations that pierce him like relentless bullets. you're being selfish! this isn't just your dream! think about the fans! think about us! you promised me you'd be here forever! for a slow speaker, the words come fast enough for zayn to lose track, the letters melting into each other and forming their own sentences, those that tell of betrayal and hurt. his throat is seizing up with muffled coughs, eyes brimming with tears and breaths turning shallow. harry shouldn't be able to do this, to throw him off-kilter with a single look, to send his heart cart-wheeling with a giggle, to send bone-crushing pain through him with a tear. but then again, zayn is dying because of him.

he doesn't try to explain. he can't, because if he opens his mouth then he doesn't think he can hold in the coughs, and consequently his flowers too. harry's, as well, because the sunflowers strangling zayn represent all of him, from the happiness to the warmth to the one sided love. so instead he stands there, as louis's voice raises, curses become more obscene, shattered promises and half-hearted threats screamed with a eerie detachment, and focuses on harry. it's a strange sense of familiarity, knowing to seek out those curls whenever things got overwhelming, when work became too much, when the fans were too boisterous. and yet, when zayn needs him the most, he can't have him.

can't have harry, who is currently knuckling away tears, pain finally condensed into a deluge of rain. harry, who is gasping for breath and sniffling, the tip of his nose turned scarlet. harry, who zayn wants nothing more than to hold close and cradle until they meld into one being, cracks smoothed over and shattered pieces rearranged.

instead, he whimpers and presses his back flush against the wall when the youngest band member steps forward, raising a quivering hand to stop him. his knees knock as he tries to right himself, guilt erupting in his stomach when he sees the tension in the green-eyed boy's face drop into exhaustion and confusion. still, he manages to right himself, painting on the indifferent- bordering on defiant- front he practiced on the flight back; swallows the sunflower rising in his throat dry, satiny petals grating on his raw insides and finally speaking.

lies. lies so blatant he knows that niall should start laughing at him, liam scolding gently and louis teasing him about the terrible acting. they don't, silence forming a fragile bubble between them as spouts bullshit regarding wanting to be a normal boy- he isn't stupid, he can't ever be regular again- and spend more time with perrie- he loves her, but not like this, not like marriage, and they know it- and how one direction has become more than he can handle- as if he would ever leave them like this, even if it did. he uses every excuse he can think of, paparazzi to hate, lack of family time to fans.

and all this time he spends spitting bitter fibs, he keeps his gaze fixed on harry. hoping, praying, begging, that he will finally understand.

harry never says a word, barely breathes as he stares straight at him with eyes the same green as zayn's sunflowers, eyes as painful as the petals slowly killing him. 

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top