Ziall Horlik One Shots (prompts open)

Only Human

As Zayn walked in the door of his suburban home, the mere idea that something was off never crossed his mind. He smiled to himself as he heard his son's shouts of joy coming from the living room, most likely because some famous football player had just scored a goal. Walking behind the sofa, Zayn asked a qusetion that he could've answered himself by just looking at the screen.

"What's the score?"

"Man U's at three and Hull City's got only one so far." Niall was leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs with his hands dangling in front of him.

"Next commercial break come help me get dinner ready, yeah?"

"It's only gonna be us. Can't we eat in here?" He knew it was useless to ask, but hey, it was worth a try, right?

"No. And it's only gonna be one if you don't help me." Zayn would never deny Niall a meal, besides, he would probably eat something else later.

*

Soon enough the pasta (angel hair, to be exact) sat in a pot on the small table along with an assortment of other things. Silverware, plates, cups, and a variety of different foods were displayed against the dark wood.

Niall came thundering down the stairs just in time, because as soon as he touched the back of the chair, his father was already slipping into his own.

Zayn raised a single eyebrow at his only child.

Niall gave the kind of apologetic smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and eyelids almost shut.

**

Not even five minutes after the last cup was placed in the washer's top rack, Niall dashed up the eleven steps to his room, only giving his dad a "Gotta study."

Seeing as Zayn was a professor himself, he had a few theories set in mind. One was that a students worked better on a full stomach, and if that was what it took for Niall to keep his grades above a C-, then so be it.

Little did he know however, that his son wasn't studying at all. In fact, what he was doing was falling asleep on top of his desk, with his head stuck somewhere else.

***

It was exactly 9:03 p.m. when Zayn quit his grading of 27 English essays on the topic of national poverty. He let out a loud yawn, rubbed his eyes, and stood up, placing the numerous sheets of notebook paper in the front pocket of his black laptop bag.

The weary man trudged up the same eleven steps that his son had bounded up exactly two hours before and, finally reaching his destination, opened the door to his room.

Zayn let out a long, deep sigh as he sat down on the edge of his bed and began to untie his shoes. Groaning in defeat when he realised he still had to go to the bathroom in order to brush his teeth, Zayn slowly got up (yet again) from his untouched bed and rounded the corner to th small restroom just down the hall.

****

The near 30-year-old man exited the room, only to be reminded that he should probably turn Niall's light out, considering that it was still on.

He slowly ceaked the door open until he could easily slip inside, then started towards the lamp to switch it off, until he saw that his son had fallen asleep in his desk chair, his long, sun-shine-y hair everywhere.

Zayn scooped his small child up in his arms, and only for a minute cradled him to his chest just like on the first day that he had adopted him from St. Peter's Home for Boys.

He gently laid his most prized posession down on the black and white plaid duvet and pulled Niall's shoes off, and then tugged the bedspread over his resting body.

Zayn was about to reach for the lamp cord (which was lying limply on the floor next to some dirty socks) when he noticed something hidden beneath Niall's bed.

An orange something with a white child-safety cap.

*****

Every parent's very worst nightmare seemed to have come true that night. As Zayn picked up the oh-so-familiar cylinder up, he hoped, he practically prayed, that it wasn't what he thought it was.

It was.

Rotating it around in his hand he stopped at the white label.

"ANTI-DEPRESSANT" it read.

"No." he cried. "Not my son. Not him"

******

He was (or seemed to be, at least) frozen in time.

A quiet "Dad?"

He spoke again, but this time it was closer. He had gotten out of bed and climbed down onto the floor.

The next sentence was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"What's there to be sorry for?"

A few minutes passed by before Zayn spoke up again. "I can't blame you."

"I should've told you sooner." What Niall had said was quiet but deafening all at the same time.

"Why?" Zayn didn't mean to say it that harsh, it's just the way it came out.

"I thought they might help." Niall replied, almost shamefully.

"That can't be the only reason."

That was when he broke.

*******

After a half-hour of Niall's broken sobs racking his body, he finally felt like he could speak again.

"I-I felt li-like I was th-the onl-ly one." The cries hadn't completely left yet; they were just starting to subside. His sniffles were as constant as the occasional shuddering sigh.

All that Zayn could think to do was to just pull his broken child's body into his lap and let his tears stain his shirt.

"You can't do this to yourself, Little Bear. It'll make your heart sick. It weighs you down."

The crying man only hugged his little boy tighter.

********

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too. Your my son and I wouldn't have you any other way."

I FINALLY POSTED SOMETHING WHAAA