The Boy in the Typewriter (Ziall) (Ruby Sparks AU)

Sanctuary

He could only feel, feel the beating of his heart, racing in between his chest, the chaotic thrum of the muscle reverberating throughout his entire body, the rushing of blood encompassing his consciousness, Nothing but the thrum, the unyielding thrum only reminding him of the pain and the sorrow , the emptiness which persisted into the night.  The fear and anxiety escalating throughout his body as he thought of those last words evoked unto him, those simple words clinging on to him, like a leech which sucked out every morsel of happiness present in his body, slowly ebbing the remaining joy in his spirit leaving him empty and shallow, leading him to this unmasked sorrow, the impeding naught suppressing any other feeling to permeate his features. Only the permanent scowl was present on his muscular face his lips formed into a sharp, unmoving frown, his eyes downcast and blank as he withstood the days that passed. He stayed in his house those days, unmoving and uncaring, indifferent of the passes of life, for his life has halted into this moment of hysteria and anxiety. The silence consumed his entirety as the ache burst within him, withholding and suppressing each and every receptor of happiness, melting and seething into a pool of nothing.

His seclusion lasted for two days, two days of clear and utter nothingness, the metronomic tick of his heart being his guide of life, churning his very chore as he basked in the null of his life. The third day was awakened with a tray of food placed neatly on his bedside table an array of eggs and sausages adorned the ivory plate a tall glass of orange juice placed neatly to its side. Zayn’s eyes opened his chest tightening with anticipation, words would not come out as his heartbeat increased tenfold, as his anxiety turned into this flickering hope, and as he rose from his desolate nest and as he bounded through the empty halls, he called out the person he desperately wanted to see.

“Niall!” he screamed his coarse voice echoing through the large expanse of space his head reeling with a sense of joy and anticipation as he waited for a reply. He traipsed down the stairs and into the kitchen his face etched in a hopeful smile trying to locate him.

“Niall!” He screamed once again letting his gravely tone blanket the entire house, but when he reached the kitchen his face turned gaunt and his features turned pale. In front of him stood a man with unruly curly hair and a frown plastered on his face, he had a pan in his right sizzling with morsels of bacon and sausage, he looked at Zayn with a look of sympathy as he carefully placed the bacon onto the plate and carefully put it away. He moved to Zayn’s side and supported the man to the couch. Harry then proceeded to whip out a napkin and started dabbing on Zayn’s face as the tears slowly started to descend the man’s chiseled complexion. Zayn closed his eyes and murmured a thank you to the man before he asked him to leave him on his own. Harry silently complied and made his way towards the kitchen leaving Zayn alone as he wept.

Harry sighed as placed the plates on the table, just then the door opened permitting Louis to come in, Darcy in his arms and Hatchi trailing behind him. He moved towards the kitchen to greet Harry and saw the less than enthusiastic expression on his husband’s youthful face.

“Harry, babe what’s the matter?” he inquired moving towards Harry and holding his cheek.

Harry shook his head while grasping Louis hand and saying

“It’s not me,”

Louis looked at the direction Harry was looking at and found the purpose of them coming over sitting silently by the sofa his body slumped and his hair in disarray.

“I’ll talk to him,” Louis said handing Harry their blubbering daughter.

“He said he wanted to be alone, I think we should leave him be for a bit,” Harry murmured in response.

“Harry he’s been alone for the past two days, he’s had time too much time with himself,” Louis stated plainly before heading towards his brother.