The next few days, weeks, whatever pass by generally the same. The coffee was bitter and the boys were much too cheerful for it to pass as them not trying.
His mum tried to get him to go out and do things, even if it was just driving to the petrol station and back, but he felt too weak and suffocated to do so. She didn't force him, couldn't, realized that he was too old to be told what to do and when to do it. She realized that pushing him would only make him more hesitant, so she just let him be, making him soup when he wanted it and helping him put together puzzles.
His dad didn't talk to him much, didn't really know what to say or how to say it. How could you approach your son that looked like a ghost and didn't even get out of bed some days? How could you approach your son that had cried so much that his eyes seemed to be permanently bloodshot? If he knew how, he would in a heart beat.
The boys were scared, but were trying to get used to the constant fear brewing in the pit of their stomach. They secretly knew that they couldn't, that it would be there until Zayn was better, and nobody knew when that would be. Louis and Harry went home after three or four days, excusing it with the need to care for their house plants and the cat when everyone knew that neither one of them could take it anymore. Niall was the next to leave, staying another half week longer than the other two had, realizing that he had run out of vacation days at the bar and he really needed to get back to work. Zayn kept expecting Liam to come into his room one day, packing up all his things and saying his goodbyes with the same somber smiles as the other boys, but he never did.
Liam stayed, told him that he would stay as long as he needed and Zayn hoped that it wouldn't be forever but with the way he felt he figured it could be. As long as his eyes were home to purple circles and tears that just wouldn't dry, the other boy would be there with a comforting smile and a glass of water so that he wouldn't choke on apologies or memories of what could have been.
After another week, he starts craving a cigarette and some whiskey. He feels good enough to smoke and drink, thinks it might help him ease back into becoming a person again and not just a shell that sulks and cries. Liam doesn't think it's a good idea, but doesn't ask anyone else because he knows that they'll just confirm that it's a bad idea and then Zayn won't get to do what he wants. He hasn't wanted anything in so long so they both just let it slide and they try not to think about the side effects of his medication cocktail.
They drink at Liam's house so his mum won't find out and he doesn't want to admit it but he kind of likes Liam's house better than his own. It's unfamiliar and the perfect balance between hot and cold and the feeling of being there doesn't get stuck to his skin of lodged in his throat. It's the first place that he's found since Paris that is just easy to be in.
He had forgotten how good alcohol can taste when your mind is tired and your body feels heavy with emotion. It's hard for him to not drink the entire bottle once he starts and he would if he couldn't see the worry that was trapped inside Liam's gaze.
"Feel good?" Liam asks as he sees Zayn begin to sway and he no longer has that look on his face that makes him look like he's a prisoner in his own skin. If he didn't know any better, he would think that he actually looked happy, but he does know better. He knows that it's just the liquor, knows how it feels to be temporarily light just to crash back down to Earth in a few hours and he needs to be prepared to pick Zayn up off the ground.
He starts telling Liam he loves him when the bottle is two thirds of the way gone and he really does mean it but doesn't know where it's coming from because the word love leaves behind a weird taste in his mouth that makes him feel like he needs to brush his teeth. He wishes he could feel like this all the time and just be sat on Liam's couch with cinnamon whiskey sloshing around his insides forever.
Then the memories of her start flooding in and he swears that he can smell lavender and banana bread even though that wasn't there when he came in earlier. He starts spiraling into this never ending cycle of memory of the way her hair looked and the way she smiled and how some days her bones looked like they were going to pick out of her skin. That had to have been real, there's no way it couldn't have been. He forgets Liam and he forgets where he is and he even forgets most of who he is and all he can remember is the way her voice sounded when she woke up in a good mood.
The bottle is in his hand and he doesn't even know what he's doing when he lets it shattered onto the hardwood floor, doesn't noticed how scared Liam looks even though he's looking at his best friend in his own home. There are shards of glass poking into his hands and his feet and he wants to be with her but he can't push the doubt that he never will be out of his mind.
