Liam didn't know how long he'd been watching them, he just knew that he was. The ice in the glass of water he'd prepared himself was melted and the two boys on the patio had already smoked three joints, taking long and slow drags that probably made Louis feel outstanding and Zayn hurt just a wee bit less.
He knows that drugs don't go well with medication, but he's never seen his best friend break down and look like a third of a person. Zayn looked paper thin, like he would break if he stomped his feet, and it was the scariest thing Liam had ever seen.
"Let's get you two to bed," he said, finally snapping back and taking responsibility over two of his best friends.
Louis just slowly stumbled into bed with Harry, something familiar that Liam didn't have to remind him to do, but he was careful with Zayn. He asked him if he needed anything, he said he needed food but didn't end up eating, and made sure that he was comfortable where he was sleeping. He put extra blankets on top of him because he felt like someone that looked so weak and frail would be colder and he even brushed his hair out with his fingers because his hair was longer, easier to tangle.
Zayn's tattooed arms opened shortly after his eyes closed like he was holding someone that wasn't there. It scared his overprotective best friend because he didn't want this for him. He wanted him to live a happy life, maybe letting his art career take off, maybe selling his lyrics for extra cash. Zayn was capable of pretty much anything and everyone knew it.
Liam lay down with him because it made sense in his head. They'd done it before and it shouldn't have been a big deal, but the boy who had his sobriety and a huge heart felt that Zayn wasn't really Zayn anymore. He was a book with a few chapters ripped out or a sunflower without half of it's petals.
Liam didn't sleep, too busy making sure that Zayn was still breathing. Those damn cigarettes were ruining his lungs and the emotions that tried to climb up to his throat through screams weren't exactly helping either.
In the morning, Zayn thought that he was holding her in his half asleep daze. The feeling of the skin felt wrong, not foreign but wrong, and the frame was much too masculine for it to be her. The person between his arms and tucked beneath his chin was warm, so warm that it radiated through him and made him feel almost at ease.
He realized it was Liam after a while, but still didn't move. Liam had been a form of home for two years before Caroline came along, or well he thought she did. They were never anything, just friends who cuddled when either of them needed it and took care of each other, like really took care of each other. Harry never hesitated to point out that that's how him and Louis got together, but no one really thought anything of it.
What felt like hours passed before sock covered footsteps sounded through the living room and two other boys piled on top of the two who were almost asleep on the couch. To them, it felt real and comforting and like coming home for Christmas, but Zayn still felt empty. His ribs still aches with the pain of something that he still couldn't put a finger on: despair, grief, anger.
They were trying to help him unlearn the past years of codependency and he wasn't even ready to eat breakfast without her.
