war | ziall boyxboy

05

Tuesday, 15th March

The hope that had at one point been radiating off Zayn, had slowly begun to disappear. One month after Niall's return, the blonde had gone to the pub when Zayn was at work, returning home completely hammered with only one shoe. At first, Zayn brushed it off- he would learn his lesson when he woke up with a killer hang over the next morning. Apparently not, Niall continued to intoxicate himself, Zayn receiving numerous phone calls to come and get his husband because the blonde was passed out against the bar or becoming violent. It wasn't intentional, but there was a clear feeling of embarrassment coursing through Zayn as he dragged his spouse from the pub, thanking the bar tender and paying the fees. He didn't have enough money for Niall to keep doing this forever, at least he was a light weight.

It was a Tuesday, Zayn was just returning from his lunch break. Scrolling through his Twitter feed with a bored look on his face. The familiar sequence of instruments sounded from his phone and the usual phone number of 'the brick makers arms' pub flashed up on his screen. He groaned loudly, wanting nothing more than to cry at the obvious falling apart of his husband.

"Hi, Terry," he muttered into the phone, putting on a slight tone of faux happiness,

"Hey, Zayn. I'm sorry about this, but Niall has literally gone berserk, he's telling me to load my gun and keeps crouching behind everything. He punched the new barista for offering him a seat, claiming she was blocking his aim." If you asked Zayn when his breaking point was, there would be no doubt he would say the moment he heard this. Two pm, Niall is drunk and abusing a member of staff at the pub that always cater his drinking needs, even through they know how bad he gets.

"Uh, okay. I'll be by soon." Zayn murmured. Hanging up and letting a few weak tears slip down his cheeks. He roughly rubbed his large hands down his face and too in a deep breath, breathing out only when his lungs begged him to. "Louis, can you tell Mr. Styles that Niall is having some troubles and that I had to go?"

"Sure," Zayn's good friend and co-worker, Louis Tomlinson, smiled knowingly. Whenever Zayn and arrived at work he tended to ramble to the caramel haired twenty four year old about whatever happened with Niall the night before as the two rode the lift to the seventh floor.

"Thanks, mate," Zayn waved and quickly hopped into the lift, pressing the ground floor button immediately and anxiously tapping his foot against the black laminate flooring. His mind was swirling and his sleep deprived brain could hardly keep up with his movements as he strode out to his car and shoved the keys into the ignition. The whole idea of Niall being off his face hours earlier than usual was obscure, the blondes motive was extremely unclear and his every move kept Zayn on his toes.

Zayn clumsily climbed out of his car and jogged towards the open pub doors, where there was a lot of shouting. As he entered the building, Zayn's amber eyes widened, he had never seen Niall is such a state before and was unsure of how to react. The blonde was standing over Liam, one of the baristas, with a bar stool in his grip. He was screaming down at the boy with a red face and fired eyes, Liam just stared with a small sweat starting to gather on his forehead. The blonde didn't look intoxicated, haunted- yes, but drunk- no.

"Niall." Zayn bellowed, deciding that there was no time to think through what he was doing as the brunette on the floor was obviously in danger. "Put down the stool," he said, quieter this time and in a more soothing manor. He watched closely as Niall analysed his tanned form before slamming the stool down on the floor beside Liam's head. Zayn took a step forward, keeping his eyes locked with Niall's, as he got closer he noticed the blood on his knuckles and the amount of shattered glass that lay around the bar. "Come here, Ni. It's me, it's Zayn, okay?" He soothed, his spouse carefully stumbling towards him. Stepping on pointed pieces of glass that seemed to sink into the soul of his thick shoes.