The Institute

If anyone anted to know why I haven't updated my Story My Love For You it's because I was working on this. I didn't want to make it into chapters so it's just one big thing! So I hope you enjoy it 🎶

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Feeling... (Ziall Mental Rehab AU) Full Story

Zayn Malik is not depressed. Zayn does cut though, scars lining his arms from years of doing it. But Zayn isn't depressed, he's not anything. He doesn't know when he stopped feeling, when he went numb, but he does know that he can feel when he drags a razor across his skin. He feels afterwards too, relief washes over him as he is reminded that he is alive, he can feel. But then his mom found out, now he's living in The Institute.

Niall Horan is depressed. He's well aware of his depression that has had no real trigger. He had it all back in highschool, he was popular, captain of the footie team, he wasn't even bullied after coming out. But he was depressed. He would look in the mirror and all he would see was fat, globs of pale skin in all the wrong places. So the simple solution was to stop eating. But that didn't work, Niall couldn't not eat. Plan B went into effect then - throwing up. He had only been doing it for a few weeks when his brother found out, now he's being sent to The Institute.

Join the journey of Niall and Zayn learning how to feel again. Friends come along the way, a schizophrenic, mute and a multiple personality disorder patient. They're an odd group, but they get along and slowly live their lives in The Institute.

Prologue

Niall's eyes never left the window as they drove, the slowly sliding rain making the dreary mood that much more obvious along with the softly playing slow music. Everything was as if it was perfectly set up for the beginning of a movie... Only this wasn't a movie, this was Niall Horan's life. Or, more of his new life. In his mind, he knew this was probably for the best, but he couldn't help but feel almost betrayed by his own mother. Why couldn't she just help him? Why did she have to send him away to some rehabilitation center?

"Niall, you know I can't help you the way you truly need it," she had said, trying to soothe her hurting son, but Niall took none of it. He didn't see what the big deal was, he needed to lose weight anyway. If only he was eighteen, the legal age of consent, but no, he was still too young to be making his own decisions. He was being sent to prison all because he threw up a lot.

"Mum, do I really have to go?" Niall suddenly asked, voice raspy and cracking due to the damage done to his throat. That was one bad side effect, he supposed, not being able to sing anymore. Maura looked over to her son, their eyes meeting for the first time in a week, and her heart sank at the dull yet pleading ache in them. She sighed, biting her lip and turning back to face the road.

"You know you do love... I'm sorry, but I can't be your hero anymore," she whispered, guilt lacing into every word. Niall sighed once more, watching with a sinking stomach as they pulled up to a large, grey building, looking similar to a hotel, but with barred windows.

The two got out of the car, hurrying to grab Niall's bags and get out of the rain. They walked through the sliding glass doors and were met with a brightly lit room. It was simple, the colour scheme full of warm reds and oranges, but it was almost trying to hard to be welcoming... Or maybe that was just Niall. At the front desk was a woman with melted chocolate looking skin and caring eyes, her burgundy lips in a smile.

"You must be Maura and Niall Horan," she said, voice just as lovely as her eyes, "I'm Rebecca, welcome to the Institute." Maura said a gentle thanks while Niall simply glared. He didn't want to be here, didn't need to be. He stood back, looking around the lobby type room once more, his eyes landing on a pair of large double doors. The glass was flawless and easy to see through, as if they were freshly washed. The inside was a large room, bright and colourful ("Like a kindergarten room...") with many teenagers walking around. Many looked happy enough, as if this place wasn't horrible, but one lad had caught his eye. He was different than the others, not socializing but simply sitting alone at a table, working at some type of drawing it seemed. His hair was nicely styled, tattoos visible even from afar, as were his lashes. Niall wondered why nobody was talking to the gorgeous lad... Was he a psycho murderer? No, this isn't real prison...