Let Me Show You How to Love Yourself (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Chaos

Zayn barely made it out of bed for work on Monday morning, as Liam was always the responsible one who set an alarm -- or three -- set out their suits, and made breakfast. Zayn's morning routine usually consisted of putting on his clothes, brushing his teeth and trying to make it to the door without stumbling.

Now, left to his own devices, Zayn was struggling to put on his suit, and ended up leaving the house with his tie undone. He told himself he was mad at Liam for abandoning him and that this morning's inconvenience was all his fault -- everything was his fault for being so damn touchy and immature. But in reality, Zayn couldn't help but feel blame boiling in his stomach. He couldn't help but feel guilty for the hurtful words he had flung.

When Zayn entered his office a half hour later, after a tube ride delay and minor incident with his tie, he fully expected Liam to already be at his desk, in a clean-pressed suit and tie, starting a fresh case report. It was already 9:23 -- that's how late Zayn was. But when he looked around, Liam was nowhere to be found. "Hey, um, Chris. Where's Liam today?" he asked his associate quietly as he opened his briefcase.

"He said he's pretty sick. Probably won't be back in for a few days. Wouldn't you know that, Malik? He's your roommate, right?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. Zayn shook his head as nauseau wracked his entire body, causing him to shake slightly. "I--yeah. He was. Moved out recently," Zayn stammered. Then he tossed his suitcase onto his desk with a clammer and ran to the bathroom, leaving his coworker both baffled and amused.

Zayn rarely got panic attacks. In fact, his last one had been 6 months ago at an amusement park when he got overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and blatant lack of breathable air at the indoor log flume ride. But now, as he stood over the porcelain sink in the men's room, he felt completely out of control. He was struggling to breathe, his chest rising and falling at an unsteady pace and his heart was racing as if he had just run from London to Doncaster.

Zayn felt his vision begin to get blurry and he lurched forward over the sink, vomiting violently. "Fuck," he bellowed into the sink. He watched a nasty orange substance splatter onto the porcelain and quickly washed it down with a shaky hand before falling to the ground.

Zayn sat in the bathroom under the sink, with his back against the granite wall clutching his stomach and wishing he could fucking feel something--anything--but panicked. Panicked about Liam--where he might be, what he might be doing, if he was even okay. Liam never missed day of work since he started working here. He had come in with the flu a few months ago and worked from dawn until dusk with a blanket over him and tissues by his side just because he had a report to finish. If Liam was ditching work now -- in the midst of report season -- it probably meant something extremely horrible had happened.

"Hungover much?" a voice laughed. Zayn saw a black pair of men's shoes on the floor next to him, and looked up to find a coworker standing over him with a sneaky smile. Zayn mustered up the strength to uncurl himself and crawl out from underneath the sink, readjusting his collar quickly after he stood up. Then he proceeded to wash his face, rinsing his mouth a little. "Stomach bug," he said with a shrug, heading out and leaving his coworker to wash his hands in the sour smelling restroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain showered down softly from the sky, cooling his skin which had felt hot for way too long. Rolling over, Liam turned to face the window. Only it wasn't a window, and it wasn't rain.

Liam was lying in the middle of an alleyway somewhere in Newcastle, staring into his reflection in a storm drain. His vision was blurry, but he could still see that one of his eyes was black and that there was now a long, jagged scrape that danced along the flesh between his left eyebrow and his left ear. And the trickling sensation he had felt before? Turns out it was blood, pouring from a deep, painful wound on his leg.

Struggling to stand up, Liam grabbed onto the base of the storm drain to steady himself, wincing in pain as he tried to move his injured leg. Based on the blue sky and blazing sun beams in his line of vision, it was probably the morning--the morning after a night he could hardly remember let alone articulate.

Liam took a breath and tried to recall the few events he could piece together in his head, desperately attempting to get some sort of clarity, even if it was only a little.

Driving. Lots of driving. Driving for hours. Driving until he was sleepy. Parking. Going to a bar, any bar. Any type of drink -- any type of substance. Shots, pills, powders, smoke. Anything and everything that will dull the pain for just a little while. Too much. It's just too much. And I told him that, but he kept on giving me more. More drinks, more pills. High. Then Low. It was dark. But not dark because it was night. Dark because it was hard to keep my eyes open, hard to see. Hard to feel whose body was one mine -- a man's or a woman's. They all felt the same at this point. And there were so many.

Liam took a deep breath, his stomach tightening as the memories came flooding back. What came next? What led him here to this alley?

Screaming. Screaming to get the fuck off me I want to go home. Falling. Hard and fast. Throwing a punch. Blow to the face. Door opening. Closing. More punches. Falling. Crashing. Fuck. That bottle. They threw that bottle at my leg and that's why it god damn hurts. Burns. So fucking much that I forgot my skull feels like it's being crushed into a fine powder....

Liam's hands quickly rushed to his head, where he tried to stop the pounding, agonizing pain that was pusling through it. His thoughts continued, faster, more powerful now. Racing now, trying to keep up with the pounding in his head.

Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.

I need help.
Need help right now.
Need him.

Without another moment's hesitation, he reached for his phone, dialing the only number he knew could save him in a time like this.