Work Text:
Niall's fingers are twiddling, aching from all the movement that they're not used to but Niall can't stop it. His mind is whirling, ideas constantly flashing under his eyelids and he can't escape it. He's too stressed, too pressured and all he wants to do is to stop all the negative forces attacking him because he certainly can't stop his emotions. They're eating him away, making his posture more and more curled in. He can't stand straight, can't think straight, he has no strength. The only shreds of energy he has is going into his self-destructive thoughts because he can't stop worrying.
Zayn's there, his presence so bold and loud but at the same time gentle and barely present. He's soothing and calming but at the same time oh so frustrating. Because Niall knows Zayn probably knows how he's feeling but he knows he doesn't understand the exact extent that his emotions have grown to, how powerful they become that they begin to attack any other emotion.
It's all this pent up anxiety inside of him that's preventing him from appreciating Zayn, from even acknowledging Zayn more than a distracted peck to his cheek. He hates it, he hates that he can't stop feeling everything he hates feeling. He hates knowing that yes, outside forces had made his emotions itch so high up but it's his own fault that he let them stay at that elevation. It's his own fault for not being able to deal with it in a better way.
He's not even sure what he needs right now other than to stop feeling like this. But sometimes when his mind feels like it's swelling and pounding, much worse than a hangover, he thinks about all the scenarios that his life would be like presently if the problems he had all disappeared. Then he would have new problems. And he knows, there's really no way around it.
He wants to go back to how he was before, how his sheer will power could have easily dominated his stress and anxiety. If he didn't want to think about it, he didn't have to. Oh, how it was nice to be more in control of yourself.
What's completely, mind-numbingly frustrating is that his unhappiness is effecting others. He can't take that he's the cause of everyone's worry, everyone's concern. Because he's worried and he can't stop it, what if he makes them feel that way too? Why can't he prove to everybody how strong he is and keep all his stupid, pathetic, self-destructing emotions to himself? Why do so many factors go into a single decision? He can't seek help or council without further worrying his loved ones, he can't change the things in his life that are bothering him because there's no better alternative. Heck, if he wants soup he has to check the weather to make sure he's not sweating into his damn food.
There's too many things to deal that he wants to applaud himself for dealing with things for the past nineteen years so blithely. So carelessly that everything just happened to work out okay. But this past year was his downfall, that piece of skin near your nails that juts out and irritates you every time you use that hand. The itch in the back of his mind tells him that all he has to do is revert back to his carefreeness and he'll be able to take things with stride, one day at a time.
But honestly, when is controlling yourself ever been easy? Why is it one of the most difficult things? Why can't we prevent ourselves from being unhappy? Is it simply human nature to possibly think you've learned who you are and your morals and how to protect yourself and how to live your life the way you want to live it only to have it completely questioned, completely shattered when you encounter a simple wall. A wall that isn't too high for you to climb over but it's got no unaligned rocks for you to brace yourself on, no nearby objects to use, nothing in the fucking scenery that will even be the slightest bit helpful. There's a fucking thunderstorm going on as well, the pounding of each booming thunder is in your head, vibrating your skull even when he's not moving it. The rain is all the thoughts that never seems to be different from the ones before that prevents him from being able to even think clearly admist it all.
And he absolutely loathes knowing that others aren't as fortunate as him, shelter wise, material wise, academic wise, financial wise. He absolutely loathes hearing all the commercials promoting their awareness and asking for donations but he barely does anything to help them. Barely anyone really helps them, it seems, since it's still an issue. There's the occasional pound but despite them persuading that even a pound can go a long way, he wonders how could it really. How cheap could supplies be for a pound to go a long way and if so, why is the whole world not like that and why it isn't easy to stop all these people from living unfortunate lives. He barely does anything to help them and he wonders if he truly, completely, and wholly shares everything would anyone help him.
Sometimes the thought of someone helping him isn't enough. He wants to help himself. It's his fault for letting himself get swallowed by the problem, he needs to help himself.
But he can't he can't he can't. He can't do anything other than mope and dwell and self-loathe. He can't do anything but scream and punch and cry.
When he lets it all out, he thinks it's therapeutic in some way because he's finding an outlet and he's doing it himself and he's strong enough. He's strong enough. He's strong enough.
He's really not. He lets himself be absorbed by Zayn's sudden presence, into his warm solid body like he's the mess that Zayn's mopping up. He lets his mouth fall open in silent cries, eyes squinting and squeezing, cheeks pinking but not from embarrassment because he's too far gone for that. He's a mess and he needs help. He's accepted it by now, ten minutes or so into curling up into Zayn's side, and he's not holding on to the comfort that he's obtained. Zayn's soft white fabric is clinging in his fingers, scrunching and wavering as Zayn moves when Niall moves under him. Niall fears the wavering because he thinks Zayn's going to leave, too exasperated or never really caring of Niall enough to comfort him.
Niall becomes a blob of odd emotions at odd levels. He's not sure if he's sad or happy or warm or cold. He feels lousy though, but also kind of good because there's just the slightest relief of pressure and tension off his poor wheezing heart and mind. There's no definite, general emotion. He's not sure if he's okay with that because all he's been knowing for the past is anxietyanxietyanxiety. No spaces. They're all filled up with anxiety. They didn't give him a break. Not until now, but he thinks that that's Zayn's doing.
He knows that he'll be all hopeful after this and think his life is going to better because he'll just start thinking that he can handle it but he knows that's not true. One little thing irks him and he's gone, he's deeper into the depths of his dwelling mind. But he can't himself from feeling the hope that Zayn gives him.
He can't help but surge with a high cry of desperation towards Zayn's lips, moving his lips against Zayn so fervently that he's crying harder. Zayn just tugs at his thighs, rearranging him so that he's perched like he's sitting instead of being cradled. It's easier than craning his neck, it's easier than worrying, it's easier than thinking. Zayn kisses him like he always has but it's somehow more meaningful, more impactful. Niall understands what he's communicating but he can't put it into words and he doesn't really want to. He just just kisses back, his cries fluctuating ridiculously. He cries harder when he thinks and it lessens when he lets Zayn continue to kiss his stupid numb lips.
It's a few hours later and a few stolen kisses later but Zayn's not moved other than to lean his back against the bed post and perch a pillow behind his head, eyes droopy but it's not tired, more like sated than anything. He stares at Niall with an adoring expression and kisses him every time Niall tries to speak. Niall thought it was rude at first, but he realizes that it's easier not to talk. He cries and Zayn seems to welcome it, rubbing soothing fingers down his back and cuddling him closer and closer, dropping kisses on his hair, on his neck, on his cheek.
Niall cries. He cries frustratedly, angrily, yearnfully, nostalgically, fearfully, stupidly, pathetically, happily, , , , ,