Reason To Be (A Zouis Family AU)

Part Three, Chapter Eleven

He asks to move his bedroom around when he's allowed home. Obviously Dad and Papa refuse initially since he's supposed to be taking it easy, but he's been taking it easy for a whole two weeks (over half of which he had spent retching into one of the hospital sick bowls and living life like some fever dream) and he doesn't want to keep on sitting around in his own head.

He wants to rearrange, change the scenery or something. Eventually Papa gives in and helps him shift his bed onto the opposite wall and move the chest of drawers and wardrobe around as well.

"We could paint this wall, you know?" Papa says afterwards, gesturing to the plain grey wall as the two of them sit side by side on the edge of Niall's bed.

Niall hesitates. He hasn't painted anything for a while. Hasn't had the motivation to.

And he's still getting used to feeling everything again. Time is speeding up to its usual place and he's there for all of it in a way that he hasn't been for months.

He shrugs, scratching at the inside of his left wrist. His skin feels like it's crawling and his heart still skips a beat every once in a while. The shakes haven't stopped. The doctors assured him its normal.

He doesn't feel very normal.

Papa waits for a few more seconds before he rests a hand on Niall's back and gives it a firm rub. "It'll do you good to find a project to focus on. Something to keep that head of yours busy," he says.

"It's already busy," Niall huffs, looking down at his hands in his laps, curling his fingers in tightly to stop the tremors running through them.

He met his therapist before leaving the hospital. A man called Ashton who had used big and scary words like 'addiction' and 'recovery' and a 'probation period'. He had said that Niall coming home would only be temporary if he tried to return to drugs; they would have to send him off to some inpatient facility for 'other kids like him'.

He hates that thought.
So even on the days when he can't stop thinking about how it feels to be high, he tries to suppress them.

Ashton had also pushed him towards the decision of not taking his ADHD meds until he felt ready to do so. Meaning that his mind is slowly but surely returning to the hyperactive, fast, too busy mess that it has been his entire life.

His knee bobs off the edge of the bed until Papa rests a gentle hand on top of it.

"You know you can talk to me, kiddo. Let it all out," he murmurs.

But Niall's too tired to talk. He won't admit it, but just pushing around a few pieces of furniture for an hour has taken up all of his energy.

"I know, Papa," he mumbles, lifting a shaky hand to rub at his eyes. "Maybe we can paint it some other time," he changes the subject back to the wall ahead and the man stares at him for a few moments longer with his honey eyes all conflicted and sad before he gives a nod.

"Alright...tired?" He asks after Niall muffles a yawn, and he gives a small nod. "Wanna come lay down on the couch?"

It isn't really a question and Niall knows it. They don't trust him to be alone, even though his entire room and all of his clothes and school bags have been ransacked. He doesn't have any more. He took it all that day where he'd ended up having a seizure and going to the hospital.

The memory still makes him shudder.

Harry is curled up in the armchair in the living room, laptop open and papers spread out over the coffee table in front of him. Niall tugs his blanket tighter over his shoulders and lays down on the couch with a huff, head against the armrest.