Infectious (Ziall)

Wayward.

Dear self,

Gradual changes. I've been at Harry's home for nearly three days and he has yet to initiate anything more than small talk. The only lingering touches are the soothing ones, the ones that happen when I'm in the midst of an emotional breakdown. I find it to be quite odd, to say the least. I'm not sure if he doesn't want to come off as inconsiderate, but that quality has always been within his character. He cuddles me at night; however, he's never there when I awaken, and I can only assume the tension and awkwardness has a way of sneaking up on him in the morning. He makes me breakfast though, despite my appetite being nearly nonexistent. I haven't spoken to my parents much since running off. Zayn, well, because he's out of touch, hasn't returned home since I warned him not to. I guess, in a way, I was expecting him to fight his way back into our lives, for him to put his foot down, remind me who's really the man of the house, and then work on things with Niall; however, I realized I was expecting too much; too much from someone who cares too little. Niall, on the other hand, only answers my calls once a day. I'm not sure what goes on for the remainder of the time, aside from him going to work, but I could only imagine that he locks himself away when returning home. I sometimes wonder why it's so simple for him to remain there, given everything that has been transpiring; how he's able to lie in that bed at night, turn every corner of that home, knowing that it brings him nothing but sadness and a sense of hopelessness. I guess I'm like Zayn in that way, always running away and trying to take the road less traveled; always winding up in dark corners where I don't belong. My cigarette awaits on the ashtray.

Sincerely,

Lost, but somewhere safe.

London Streets.

[The streets are talking; reminders of scattered hearts].

With his hands tucked in his pocket, Niall walked the avenue. His head remained held up, like a string in his backside keeping it steady; and elderly men sat in front of department stores, singing old blues about broken hearts and weary days; and Niall was suddenly wondering why life had became so shallow. All in a matter of a few short months, the home he worked so hard to build had managed to crumble into the ground, and his family was only held together by the blood running through their veins and nothing more. All because he was too hurt to forgive and feeling too prideful to allow things to fall back into the way they were. He found himself missing Zayn, never once forgetting the way his husband's breathy, sultry voice sung that tune of desperation and need in his ear that night. Sometimes, Niall would feel guilty, wondering if he had allowed that moment to happen, would things be better. Would things have refrained from escalating; would his husband still be around instead of running off to God-knows-where. He feared that the raven-haired man would never return, either finding himself in a harmful situation or feeling too fed-up with Niall's abandoning ways and finding a place elsewhere in the world. As messed up as it sounded, Niall couldn't deny that he missed seeing Zayn around, even if it was them walking around each other without muttering a word or seeing Zayn's silhouette in the middle of the night as the man wearily walked down the hall; aching bones and a sense of distress. All just a stubborn love leading them in circles. They had even managed to push their son away. Niall always thought he wasn't fit to be a father, but somehow holding Chad for the first time washed away that uneasy feeling; and he was suddenly wondering where the time went; where his family went; the scattered remains.