Hungry for Release

Part 3

3am. And he still couldn’t sleep. Even though he’d been exhausted all day. Even though he’d only managed to get through two Breaking Bad episodes with Liam before he’d decided to call it a night - about three less than usual, considering how addicted the pair were to the show.

He’d had a few sharp stomach pains earlier, but nothing really awful. Nothing that he wasn’t used to. Besides, that dull, constant ache was almost a companion these days. A reminder of how far he’d come over the past three months, and a sign that he was doing something right. Unfortunately, the insomnia that had arrived hand in hand with the hunger was a far less pleasant guest.

Every night the same. Zayn would sink gratefully into his bed - only to find himself still tossing and turning, getting increasingly wound up as the deep sleep he so craved refused to take hold.

At first he’d tried to use the time effectively, engaging in some Twitter sprees and answering fan questions. That soon backfired though, and, along with some snarky comments about the least popular Directioner getting desperate for a share of attention, there was a spike in all other abuse too.

Fat bastard. Talentless idiot. Racist taunts that sent his heart hammering in fury - things he knew he could have the bullies convicted for if he wanted - but that would only generate more attention, exhausting hours of explanations, and, worst of all, sympathy from the boys. Heartfelt, genuine, and guaranteed to make him feel about two foot tall.

So he simply logged off, deleted the app, and took to obsessively stalking Pintrest and Tumblr for health and fitness inspiration instead, even though the bulk of the recipes looked far too calorific for him to contemplate actually incorporating into his steadily shrinking range of ‘safe’ daily foods.

He was just loading up his favourite page on his iPad when a loud ‘WHAMP’, followed by a giggle and, what sounded very much like a five foot eleven lad drunkenly stumbling over his oversized Converse interuppted his thoughts. Zayn sighed, and headed to open the door. 

“Hello, Harry,” he grinned, taking in his utterly inebriated, bushy haired friend. "You're back early!"

"Yeah, I missssed you!" He chuckled, drawing out the phrase as he lunged forward to wrap his arms around Zayn.

"Quiet you berk, you're gonna wake the whole floor and get us in shit" Zayn hissed, ushering Harry into his room. Experience had taught him that when the youngest band member got in this state, his homesickness usually came to the fore. The best thing to do was to keep him company and try to calm him down until he fell asleep.

Considering that Harry was currently sloppily bouncing on the bed like a down-and-out Tigger, it looked like that point might be some way off. Frankly though, Zayn was more than happy to have a distraction. Even a manic, slurring one.

"Sit down Harry. Have you eaten? I'll get you some toast or something. I'm definitely not giving you any coffee though."

"THANKS THANKS THANKS!" Harry bellowed, stumbling as he dismounted from the mattress, apparently tiring of that particular game. "LET'S WATCH SOME..."

"Shhhhh..." Zayn cautioned.

"SORRY! Let's watch some tele." he continued, speaking this time in a comical stage whisper. Zayn shrugged, figuring that, if it worked to shut up his little sister, it might help keep the man-boy quiet too. Surely enough, thirty minutes into a late night Will Ferrell marathon, he was lying on one side of the bed, a happy but slightly glazed expression on his face. 

Erring on the side of caution, Zayn had ordered up a large order of toast. Nothing that would be too awful to clean up should Harry's state take a turn for the worse.