Take Me Home

Chapter Two

Two years passed and not a lot more changed.

Zayn and Liam were pals, they would watch football together maybe once or twice a fortnight, hold light conversations with each other whenever they happened to meet in the hallways and every other weekend either before or after Zayn's shift, depending on whether he was covering nights or not, Zayn would go to the group home to visit Harry.

Harry was now nine years old, and he was certainly growing up to be tall because his limbs were long and lean. Zayn always told him they would be good for sports but Harry wasn't interested in any of that. He was much more creative, he enjoyed painting and drawing, and his doodles were like nothing either of the men had ever laid eyes upon, he was definitely talented. They both felt oddly proud of him.

Harry was the only person in the group home who had stayed there for the full two years with no failed fostering or adoption situations. Zayn knew he must have felt unwanted, but he never said anything about it. He seemed to be a happy enough kid, quite confident so long as he was wearing a shirt that would cover the scars on his arms from the fire that seemed like a distant memory to him now, except for when he dreamt about it. Luckily, the nightmares didn't occur often, and when they did, Liam was always there to soothe him.

All of the other kids would come and go like clockwork, some returned to their families, others were adopted into new ones. And all the while, Harry had a room to himself with a spare bunk and walls he had decorated himself.

Harry was used to how things were.
Liam was used to how things were.
Zayn was used to how things were.

And then something - or rather, someone, came along and things seemed to change all over again.

It was spring, heavy rain and thunderstorms covering the entirety of the country, and Zayn hated it because it meant that by the time he had gotten from his car, across the car park and into the hospital, he was soaked or at the very least, damp and cold and miserable.

And that day, somewhere in the middle of April, he didn't even have time to get dried off before an old lady of perhaps sixty or seventy stopped him.

He had barely even stepped foot into the department before she had rushed over to him. She was short and frail looking, with grey hair and sterling eyes, wearing a lavender coloured cardigan and a hat that looked like it had been made out of straw.

"Excuse me, sir, we've been waiting for hours to be seen and my grandson -"

Zayn cut her off there, because he was due on the night shift and he was early. "Ma'am, there are plenty of other doctors around here, I just -"

He stopped abruptly half way through a sentence as he spotted a small boy with light brown hair clinging onto the old lady's leg. His head was rested against her cardigan and he was looking up at him with an expression that reminded him so much of the one he had seen on a certain green eyed lad as he had begged him to stay.

Which confused Zayn, because he couldn't quite figure out why this little boy who couldn't be more than three or four would want him to stay.

So he crouched down and smiled warmly at the boy, who squeezed the lady's leg a little harder. "Hey, little dude," he said, and he smiled at the blush that entered the boys cheeks. "What seems to be the problem then, hm?"

A deep grumble sounded and Zayn's attention was drawn to a bigger built old man who looked to be a similar age to the woman. "Exactly what I've been asking the whole way here. Really, Helen, the boy's a wuss," he stated, shaking his head.

Zayn felt instantly defensive of the young boy. "Sir, he's a little boy. Don't you think you should select your words a little better?" he said, raising an eyebrow at the man, who simply scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Zayn turned back to the boy. "Alright, how about we all go to a cubicle and get you sat up on a bed, hm?"