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Someone is chasing him. Something is chasing him.
No matter how fucking far Liam runs, this thing is always just a few steps behind him, trailing him, reaching out for him with razor sharp talons that have sliced up his shoulders and back. As he runs, he feels sweat, blood or a mixture of both running down the backs of his legs.
He’s out of breath but he’s screaming, begging it to just leave me alone, please, I’m sorry, because he knows what it wants, and he knows why it wants it.
He doesn’t stop running; come to think of it, he doesn’t think he can stop. Ahead of him is a seemingly endless alleyway and he has a strange and unnerving sense of déjà vu when he runs past a pile of trash that he’s seen about four times now. Being in what feels like a loop makes him even more frantic. He’s gonna die, it’s gonna kill him. It’s gonna catch him and kill him.
“Please! Stop!” he cries, and he can see his breath hit the freezing air around him. His legs hurt, his lungs hurt. He's only able to take one last breath before he trips, legs buckling under him, and the thing running after him lunges.
Liam wakes with a jolt, throwing himself off the bed. He doesn’t scream though, he’s passed that stage weeks ago.
Weeks ago, Liam thinks to himself, sighing bitterly. He’s been having these fucking dreams for weeks now.
He lands on his stomach, knocking the breath out of himself once he hits the floor. He curses, lifting a shaking hand to his face to wipe the sweat from his forehead. When he lowers his hand again, he realises his finger tips are bloody. He’s so exhausted he doesn’t even check to see where he could have scratched himself. His entire body hurts, especially his chest where his heart is beating maybe four times as fast as it should be.
He realises belatedly that he’s not laying on the hard wood floor but on the pillows and bedclothes that he apparently kicked off the bed. Cheers to himself, then.
He doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t want to, but reaches up to the bedside cabinet and grabs his mobile, squinting against the light. There’s a missed call and a message from him already.
babes you okay?
02:34
Liam checks the current time. It’s 03:45, meaning that he’s probably already on his way over.
“Fuck!” Liam shouts, throwing his phone on the bed. Zayn is always so fucking smart, always knows when shit like this happens, knows that if Liam is still asleep by a certain time that he’s more than likely to have a nightmare and end up in the position he’s in, lying on the floor in a puddle of sweat and anxiety.
He should probably get up, wipe off his hands and find where he’s bleeding from but he’s tired. He doesn’t even call Zayn back; he knows it’s pointless because he’s already in his car, probably speeding over to Liam’s house because Liam clearly can’t fucking take care of himself.
He lies there until Zayn lets himself into his bedroom, eyes immediately falling to where he knows Liam still is, lying on the floor and trying to drown himself in blankets. Zayn’s careful when Liam gets like this: he doesn’t sigh, doesn’t complain. Doesn’t look at him with pity because Liam hates that, hates feeling vulnerable, even in front of him, and Zayn doesn’t want to do anything to make that feeling worse for him. So he drops his bags at the doorway and sits on the floor beside Liam’s crumpled form. He knows not to ask if he’s okay because Liam will either lie or get mad.
And no, Liam getting mad doesn’t scare him. Liam would never hurt him. Ever. In the seven years of knowing him, Liam’s never made him feel unsafe. But when Liam is mad he stops speaking, stops responding overall, and gets this distant look in his eyes like he isn’t fully there. Liam told him it was dissociation, and it was exactly what it looked like: his mind just signs off and he’s out, gone somewhere else completely.
Zayn’s becomes worried when he looks at Liam’s face and sees that same blank look, and he takes time to discreetly check him for injuries. He sees blood on his fingers and under his nails, and by his shoulders. It's not a lot, but it's still enough that Zayn sucks in a little breath. When he looks back up at Liam’s face he’s watching him.
“You’re bleeding.” Zayn says dumbly, dropping his gaze back to Liam’s shoulders. Liam himself brings a hand up and touches one of the more raw looking spots and winces. He’s shaking a little.
“Yeah, mate. That I am,” he says with a hint of a laugh in his voice, but his eyes are still blank.
Zayn offers him a half-smile, careful not to frown like he wants to. He opens his mouth to ask something, closes it, then opens again and takes the risk, “Can I go get something to clean you up?”
He holds his breath when Liam tenses, but after a second he relaxes again and gives the tiniest of shrugs. Zayn gets up before he changes his mind, going over to his bag and grabbing cotton and Savlon out it. When he comes back over he sits and gets to work, wetting a big piece of cotton with the antiseptic and wiping the blood from Liam’s skin with it.
“Did you,” Liam stops as his voice wavers, clearing his throat before he continues. “Did you bring those from home?”
Zayn’s movements falter for a bit, but he continues stroking over Liam’s shoulders. “Nah. Stopped at a twenty-four hour corner store on my way here. Got us some waters too.”
Liam doesn’t respond but Zayn keeps cleaning him up. He sees where the blood is coming from: three lines, scratch marks, on his left shoulder running diagonally from his arm pits to the nape of his neck. Zayn sees that the other side is in the same state and quietly cleans those up too.
“Ya might wanna cut your nails, yeah?” Zayn offers when Liam flinches after he wipes at a particular spot.
Liam rolls his shoulders, effectively getting Zayn to stop touching him.
Oh fuck.
“I can do what I want, yeah?” Liam says mockingly, sitting up. Zayn re-corks the bottle of antiseptic and reaches out for Liam's hand. Liam jerks out of his reach.
Zayn frowns. “That’s not what I meant, babe, you know that,” he says quickly, but Liam cuts him off.
“I don’t need anyone to come coddle me or tell me what to do, Zayn. I’m a grown person.”
“Yes and I get that but-“
“There is no ‘but’ Zayn! For fuck’s sake,” Liam shouts, and Zayn flinches, dropping the bottle and the piece of bloody cotton. Liam deflates, standing up from the floor and sitting on the bed with his back turned. Zayn sees that the scratches have stopped bleeding.
“Just- Just go, Zayn.” Liam sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. Zayn sits and stares at him for a while before blinking, standing wordlessly.
Liam hears him stop to grab his bag before he exits the room. He just manages to hold it in until Zayn shuts the door. He flails, throwing himself into the middle of the bed. He hits the mattress with his closed fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels himself start to cry. He hates crying, more than anything.
He rolls over and realises that Zayn left a bottle of water for him at the doorway, and he sobs.
Zayn wipes away the tear that’s rolling down his cheek as he slides down the wall beside Liam’s bedroom door before sighing.
It’s gonna be a rough night.