The Little Things; Ziall & Larry (AU) *Completed*

Chapter 10; YOUNG ZAYN & YOUNG NIALL

Authors Note; I want you all to tell me what you want to happen. I haven't written the next chapter, and i'm deeply curious what you would like to see happen! So, please, comment and tell me what would please you to read. ! <3 ~Leam

Chapter 10; YOUNG ZAYN & YOUNG NIALL

The sound of glass breaking was all around, amplified and terrifying and dramatic. It was resounding off of the white walls.

“Zayn, I’m scared.” Opaque whispered, tip-toeing behind her older brother, who had a finger pressed to his lips to quiet her down.  All Zayn did was smile at her, cracking opening the door to his bedroom and ushering her inside with a wave of his hands. She darted inside, her little pink nightgown flapping around her ankles. The metallic toenail polish she had on was chipped and reflected the light. Her black hair fell in waves down her back, tickling her hip bones, and her hazel eyes were wide with fear and tremors.

Zayn knelt down on the floor, his baggy gray shirt looking like layers of skin, and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her right in her small eyes. “I know baby, but its okay. It’s okay.”He smiled at his younger sister and tried to keep his voice steady, “You remember what to do? For me?” When he got no response but that typical dear in the headlights look she had already been giving him. “You don’t? Well I need you to remember. Don’t you want to make me strong? You want me to be great, yeah?” He asked the trembling child, his eyes so wide you could see a ring of white. All she did was nod. “Then I need you to sing, and what else do you need to do?” He prompted her by stroking her dark hair, “Baby, what else, for me?”

“Plug my ears. Real tight.” She said, and shoved her fingers into her ears as if to show Zayn what she meant. He nodded his approval, standing up as his mothers screaming started. A horrible list of profanity.

“Okay, time to start,” He ushered the small girl into his closet, tucking her behind his dangling shirts. He laid a plaid button up over here, and draped his thick, warm jumper over her. She used a pair of his high tops as a pillow, and he watched she plugged her ears and began to sing. She didn’t know that she was drowning out her brother’s pain. She opened her mouth and began to sing, and Zayn whispered;

“I love you.” He watched her blink away tears and bent down, kissing her between the eyes and stood up again. He was a small twelve year old, with a dark fringe and unpleasant eyes that seemed to assess the damage you could inflict upon him. He was overly suspicious, and he was smart. So when he closed the door on his eight year old sister he crumpled a bit. It was harder to be brave without an audience, but he could do it. He’d done it before.

He pressed his ear against the wooden door and heard his baby sisters’ rough version of Twinkle Twinkle. That’s when he knew her ears were plugged and her eyes were shut, when she began singing. So he left the closed door, after rapping three times to symbolize he was leaving. She heard her response of eight taps and then fled.

He walked out into the hallway, his shirt dangling around his knees and his eyes full of courage’s tears.

“Mother!” He called loudly, “Here I am!” He walked out into the kitchen, greeted with a sneer and the slap of cold fingers across his face. They stung, but he ducked under her arm and led her into the office, where the walls were thicker. This was the one room he was happy to get beat in. His sister couldn’t hear, and the carpet was such an odd color that the blood stains were almost invisible. Almost. He would take the beatings though, for his sister. He would keep her hopeful and singing and unaware.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from crying out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his mother to have that satisfaction, it was that he didn’t want his sister to know he was being hurt.

So tomorrow he’d smear some make up on his young face and pretend to be happy, in then later, when it got real dark, he’d sneak out and stand on the street corner.

*…..*……*……*…..*

“Oh my god, Niall! Don’t do it!” Greg and Maura yelled, bending over themselves to laugh at the twelve-year old in front of them. Niall had an almost demolished cake in front of him. He was holding a forkful of the white dessert up to his lips, and his tongue felt thick in his head. He wondered if he’d be able to finish the cake. But he shoved the forkful into his mouth, almost choking, and swallowed the lump of food in his throat.

In then he continued to tucker into the cake, not a care in the word. The icing smearing his face, his brown hair flopped onto his head childishly, and his grin showing the truth youth. His eyes were full of praise, and his face was chubby with a simple, contented innocence.