A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AU

chapter thirteen

It was a Sunday night, last proper school night before summer holiday, and Zayn was lying in his room.

Half asleep with a fizzy drink in hand, he was catching the end of a footie match on his sister's mini-telly. She'd got a new television for her birthday the week before, so her old telly was gifted to his room. He wasn't about to let it go to waste.

So, it was already a big night for Zayn—all done his revisions, new-ish telly, Real Madrid crushing Man U—and it only got bigger when the electronic stadium chants faded into frantic tapping on his bedroom window.

It was dark, but Zayn could still make out his best mate's face through the glass. Smirking, Zayn hopped off his bed and slid up the windowpane, absolutely expecting some type saddened concession from the boy—there were seconds left in the match, Zayn's team was sure to beat his—but Zayn was met with no such thing.

Louis was less than a foot away and Zayn could barely recognize him.

He recognized the tiny slash through Louis' eyebrow though, the dried blood congealed in his eyelashes and running down his nose bridge, the reddened imprints of ringed knuckles across his cheekbone. He just never thought it would actually happen.

So Zayn hauled him into his room in an instant, shoving a pair of school trousers at him to apply pressure before going for the lamp.

It got worse when the light flicked on.

There Louis was, slumped against his best mate's bedframe, bleeding onto the lower half of a school uniform with a blankness in his eyes. His hair was windblown, his skin red and raw, his blood smeared up the left wrist of his jumper—it was clear that he'd been holding his face while he ran, his jaw still chattering from the late summer air.

It was Louis' favourite jumper, the blue one, and he never wore it again.

Even when Zayn made a joke about ruining the clothes, trying to haul Louis back from wherever his mind was, Louis didn't laugh, he barely moved, staring down at his hands even while Zayn switched out the trousers for a face cloth. Next, Zayn went for Louis' jumper, carefully lifting it over his head and replacing it with his own.

That's when Mrs. Malik appeared in the doorway. She was ready to scold them, glancing up from her cuppa with incredulity in her eyes as the boys turned her way, but she stopped just as quick. One look at Louis and her anger evaporated.

The next half hour was spent washing away the blood, blotting Louis' eyebrow, and steri-stripping the cut. With bandage wrappers and reddened tissues littering the floor, and the lamp relocated to Louis' side, Mrs. Malik worked quickly.

She didn't say anything about the stained trousers. In fact, she didn't say much at all. She merely rested her palm against Louis' cheek for an extra moment after she'd finished up, and then headed back downstairs.

They lay awake for the next two hours.

Maybe Zayn's bed wasn't all that comfortable for two, or maybe Louis' cheek was aching a little too much. Either way, as each second ticked by, Louis grew more and more fidgety. Zayn could feel him moving, practically hear him thinking, until he was telling Zayn what happened before either of them even realized it.

His mum had gone out to the store before dinner. The girls were in their rooms, Louis was sat at the table opening mail, and his dad was on the sofa watching the same match Zayn was. Traffic made her late, alcohol made him impatient, an acceptance letter made Louis ecstatic, and his dad was absolutely not having it when his mum tripped over Louis' feet and dropped the roast on the floor.

It was Louis' fault, he'd said it himself—he wanted to tell her he'd be going to school with Zayn, danced around her with the letter in his hands, not waiting until the groceries were safely down on the table.

When his dad got up from the sofa, eyes trained on the duo in the kitchen and the spilt beef on the tile, Louis knew what was about to happen. Despite the seventeen years of verbal abuse to him, his four younger sisters, and his mum, it hadn't happened before.

It was only ever always a matter of time.

So, Louis threw himself between them—between his dad's fist and her cheek.

With a sickening crack, Louis was knocked down onto the tile. He saw red before he felt anything else, looking up at his dad with blood in his eyes. Louis could only watch as his dad shook out his ringed hand, ready to go again with a house full of young kids, but the shock of pulling back to see the wrong person on the ground caused him to hesitate.

Louis had just enough time to scramble to his feet, bracketing himself against the fridge, and when he turned to his mum for help, she was already crowding her husband's space.

With her son's blood under her feet, she was clinging to his heaving chest, begging for his forgiveness and vowing to never do it again. She said it was a warning they deserved for ruining dinner and acting so childishly, and there was something sincere in her voice.

Their voices died in the wind as Louis bolted down the street.

The next morning, Mrs. Malik drove Louis home. The windows were dark when they arrived, pulling into the empty spot where his dad's car used to be. And when his mum opened the door to her bandaged son, she looked almost disappointed that it was Louis who was returning home, and not him.

Louis could see it, his sister's could see it, Zayn's mum could see it, but she couldn't.

That was the end of it.

They graduated. Louis stayed at Zayn's all summer. Mrs. Malik moved them to university in September. His parents divorced in December. His mum's been calling ever since.

Zayn had seen Louis cry at less. Louis' eyes were dry that night. Zayn can't help but think that this was when Louis made the decision to never go home again.