That's when they took him from me. A Harry Styles Fan Fiction.

Thirty Six - What Happened To Us?

The muffled sniffs and the sound of crying rang out of Liam’s room, breaking the empty silence of the house.

He’d been like this for hours, days.

He hadn’t left his room and refused any one to come in.

You could tell that he was trying to be quiet, make it out that he wasn’t crying. But I’d hear him, so I’d walk up to his door, knock softly and I would hear him gasp, hear him try to fight the lump that was building up at the back of his throat and then he would say.

“Go away.” He said, his voice strained.

But he would always hide the fact that he was crying because he would feel guilty. He thought that no one had to see him like this, that he was just being selfish. He hadn’t left his room for days, refusing to eat, talk, do anything really.

Louis is getting better, well at least we all say he is. Just to make ourselves feel better. He’s talking now. But he’s hesitant. With everything. The other day my hand brushed against his as we both went to go grab our cups of tea, he flinched back as if a knife had struck him and he waited until I grabbed my cup of tea, so that it was safe enough for him to grab his.

Zayn still isn’t eating as much as he should and I don’t think he ever will. His cheeks are hollowed out. His clothes hung like sacks on his thin bones. Nothing fit him anymore. Even his skinny jeans, they flared out on his thin legs, almost as if they were boot leg jeans. But he continued to tell himself that he liked the way he looked, and he kept trying to convince us that he liked the way he looked too.

~~~

“Liam, open the door.” I said. A tone of warning in my voice, although I kept it as soothing as possible.

“No.” He answered, his voice strained.

“Liam, please.” I pleaded, knocking on the door again, twisting the handle.

There was a long pause, then the ruffling of bed sheets and lights pats of what seemed like feet come into contact with the cool wooden floorboards, become more prominent as they inched their way closer to the door. He door knob began to move and I heard a lock click open. But the door didn’t open. The pats of feet became quieter as they made their way to the opposite side of the room and the bed sheets ruffled again.

I twisted the gold knob in my hands, the cool metal chilling the tips of my fingers. I cautiously pushed the door open, peaking my head through the slit and seeing Liam sitting down cross legged on his bed, his head in his hands.

I inched my way closer to the broken boy. His hands left his face and his eyes were flushed a deep red. Bags hung from his eyes and his hair sat in a tousled mess on the top of his head. His clothes were creased and his skin was an awful shade of white.

“I’m so sorry.” He cried, his voice strained as he tried to fight back the huge lump that had built up in the back of his throat. The tears flowed endlessly out of his brown orbs, masking the white with red and leaving a wet mask on his cheeks.

He fell into my arms with no intention not too and cried into my shoulder. 

“Shh.” I cooed.

“It’s okay.” I tried to reassure him, but I was really only reassuring myself.

I drew invisible patterns into the back of his neck, holding him with my other hand. I rubbed his back soothingly, trying to steady the flow of tears that continued to fall out of his eyes with no intention of stopping. It took a good ten minutes before his head left the comfort of my shoulder, soaking my white top making it transparent.