Don't Forget Me (Larry AU)

Bullet Proof

The Mad Hater: Have I gone mad?

Alice: I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

~~~

Beep, beep, beep.

The beeping was subtle and faint. But yet it was the loudest thing in the room.

I stood over Niall's unconcious body. He looked peaceful, and I was grateful that he was alive. Although the doctors said his body wasn't reacting to any of the medicine or treatment. For now I could hold onto the hope that he was okay.

My mum and Lottie walked into the room.

Lottie hugged me. "I'm so glad he's alive." She said.

I nodded.

I was half-happy. Once Harry was found, I'd be almost happy. I needed to find Harry. I was going to find Harry.

"I need to make a phone call." I said, stepping out of Lottie's embrace.

I glanced at Niall one last time, before slipping out of the room, and down the hall way.

There were two important phone calls that I needed to make.

Once I was locked inside of a bathroom stall, seated on the closed toilet seat, I took out my phone. I scrolled past names I hadn't talked to in years, until I came across the one I was looking for. I took a deep breath and clicked the name, watching as the screen transformed into a different image, then the dial ring blaring from the speaker.

I put the phone to my ear and waited patiently until it was picked up.

"Louis? Louis Tomlinson?" Came the surprised voice.

"Hi, sorry, I know it's been awhile and I'd love to catch up, but..." I said nervously.

"It's cool, man. What's up?"

I itched my chin, pausing for a perpetual dramatic effect. "I need your help."

~~~~~~~~~

If you were to go to the outskirts of London, into the shaddier area of the city, what would you find? Well, you would find probably a lot of drug addicts, drug dealers, maybe some homeless people, and you would find Zayn Malik.

There were a lot of people in the world, rich people, poor people. Rich kids with rich parents, poor kids with poor parents. Then you have Zayn Mailk. Poor kid, rich parents.

In a dark, muggy, hole-in-the-wall pub, people were dancing, grinding, people were drinking, people were smoking. Zayn Malik was in the corner of the dark, muggy, hole-in-the-wall pub. Come to think of it, Zayn Malik didn't even know the name. He only came to the dark, muggy, hole-in-the-wall pub because it was the only place in the area where he didn't want to punch every idiot in the face.

Zayn Malik had moved to the sketchy part of town soon after his best friend disappeared. It was his choice, though. Drop out of high school. Escape his controlling parents. Make his own decisions. Build up his own life.

So far it wasn't going to well.

After months of sleeping on friends couches and job hunting, he landed a job working as a bartender in London. He kept up that job until he could afford a studio flat, then he landed another part-time job mowing rich people's lawn.

Zayn Malik was one of those people who wanted to work for everything he got. He hated people giving him things for free, out of guilt or pity, or just because they could. He liked to look at his things and know that he worked for them and got them himself.