Liam pushes him into the bathroom, which is hard because he keeps digging his feet into the carpet to try and cement himself to the ground. He doesn't want to be cleaned up or taken care of, he wants to bleed and to feel something other than the aching lump in his throat or the numbness that's started to spread.

"Please, Zayn," Liam begs, to which he complies, walking to the bathroom on his own because Liam sounds defeated enough to make him feel sorry, which is at least a new feeling.

He sits on the counter, holds his hands out, and lets Liam rub a wet flannel across the cuts before picking out the little shards of glass that were still trapped in his cold skin. Each one that he removes stings, but he doesn't necessarily mind it. He just looks away, stares at the light blue bathroom walls and tries not to think about how they remind him of how the sky looked in Paris. He misses it, wishes it could've been how he remembered it, which only makes him hurt worse, takes a lot of if not all of the discomfort from his hand.

There's a sadness behind Liam's eyes that's more intense than it had been before, like he's finally realizing that there's just not a lot of hope left for this boy who used to be his best friend but just isn't quite the same anymore. He thinks that he should've just let him stay with his mum so he wouldn't have to see this side of him, but he knows that that's selfish, knows that Zayn's mum shouldn't have to watch him deteriorate to his lowest point possible.

Zayn can't look him in the eyes for too long without guilt rising in the back of his throat like he's going to throw up apologies instead of bile, which wouldn't be the worst thing if he knew he wouldn't choke on all of them on their way up. He keeps hoping for this to end, for something in him to snap so he can automatically get better, like a light switch turning on and off, but as the days go by and he has to watch Liam pick up his broken pieces, a lot of that hope diminishes.

"You might need stitches," Liam mumbles, rubbing his hand on top of his, the side that doesn't have all the lacerations on it, the side that doesn't resemble the bloody messy state of both their hearts.

"M'not going to the hospital. Not after what happened last time," Zayn answers, truthfully. Liam wants to tell him that he's being irrational, scream in his face that it can't get any worse than it already is, but he doesn't, doesn't think he has the energy to. 

There's a knock on the door that sends Liam down the hallway with a deep sigh and a command that sounds more like a beg for Zayn not to go anywhere. Something in him tells him that it would be best to stay right where he is, bum pressed into the cold granite tile of the bathroom counter, but he follows right behind Liam, to try to prove that he can still walk, like his autonomy is one of the few things he has that isn't broken.

The person at the door is a girl that Zayn doesn't recognize. She has long legs and long hair and looks like one of those Brazilian models in adverts that Liam would drool over all the time. She's smiling and she's pulling on the collar of Liam's shirt like she had a plan set already on her way over here and this doesn't feel like something Zayn should be watching, but he is and he can't look away.

"Zayn's here," Liam mumbles, not yet noticing that the boy in mention is propped up in the hallway only a few feet away, head still swimming with the liquor and his body beginning to ache again.

"Is Zayn the crazy one?" she asks and Zayn wants to think that Liam made another friend while he was off in Paris, another friend with a name that rhymes who actually is crazy because that way they wouldn't have been talking about him, but he knows that there is no point in thinking things like that. He's fairly sure he knows what's going on. It only makes him want to pass out a little bit.

Before Liam has the chance to confirm or deny the answer to her question, before he even has the chance to correct her even though she's right, Zayn speaks up, lets the words burn his throat as he says, "Yeah. Zayn's the crazy one."