With Open Arms

The Start of a New Beginning

It takes almost an hour by the time Niall has calmed down enough that his breaths have evened out and the tear tracks have dried on his cheeks. He sits so still that Zayn briefly questions whether he's fallen asleep with his head rested on Louis' chest on their couch.

His question is answered in the negative as the boy jerks up at the movement of him coming to sit on the armrest of the sofa with a glass of water in hand, keeping that one hand curled up in Louis' shirt as he pulls away to sit back against the couch cushion properly, eyes bloodshot and damp, lips swollen from sobs. His knees move up against his chest as Zayn tentatively holds the glass out to him.

He eyes it for a moment, shoulders hitching up with a shaking inhale before he reaches out with one trembling hand to take the drink. "Thanks," he whispers, voice raspy from sobs before he takes the smallest of sips from the cup.

Zayn had called Sally in the hall less than an hour earlier. Demanded to know the name of Niall's previous foster parents; she'd explained to him that Mr and Mrs Chesterfield are some of the most genuinely kind people she's ever known and that she'd be absolutely appalled if she ever found out they'd done anything to harm Niall. He had simply told her that he would be in touch again about the adoption after they had spoken with the police.

There's no way he's giving up on the boy now. He needs them.

When Niall lowers the glass again, Zayn gently takes it from him and leans forwards to put it on the coffee table. The kid curls back into Louis chest, tucking his head beneath the man's chin, seemingly unfearful of the hand gently rubbing up and down his back.

They sit in silence for a few moments then, the soundless atmosphere transpiring between them all only broken by shuddered breaths and quiet sniffles.

"Did you call the police?"

It's Niall who puts a halt on the silence, voice little more than a whisper, not even moving in the slightest from his current position so that Zayn pauses for a moment to question whether he'd imagined the tiny voice.

Then the boy turns his head slightly, red-ringed eyes moving to focus on him.

"I called Sally. She's calling the police," he explains quietly, and the boy lets out a shaking breath and curls back into Louis, who continues with the comforting hand rubbing against his spine. "We're gonna fix this, kiddo. It gets better from here."

And he knows it isn't something he can promise, or even know for sure; but he does know one thing, and it's that the boy has told them something that has been suffocating him from within. There's no way that it can go downhill from that.

Niall sniffs. "I'll have to tell the police, won't I? They're - they're gonna ask me questions and -" he breaks off as a few more tears fall.

Zayn locks eyes with his husband over the kids head, the two of them sharing a sympathetic look before Louis speaks up in his softest voice.

"We can stay with you for it, if you want us there? They won't be here until later on I wouldn't have thought anyway," he explains gently, and Niall nods against him.

"Stay. Please," he whispers.

And they do stay. Even after the room falls back into a heavier sort of silence that not even the soft sounds of breaths and whispers can interrupt. At some point, Niall reaches out a blind hand and finds one of Zayn's, grasping it tightly and pulling it up to hold against his chest, right next to the hand that he has twisted up in Louis' shirt - clearly craving some sort of touch that is innocent and comforting.

They stay. Zayn cuddles in on the other side of the kid, keeping him sandwiched between his two foster parents, keeping him safe and protected and all the other things he deserves but has never been.