Five

The drive back had been nearly silent. The only sounds came from the radio, some talk show. Farrah just stared at the car floor. She was afraid that if she looked at any of the four men sharing the two back seats with her, she’d burst into tears.

Or punch something. One or the other.

After they’d all gotten back into the hotel, she went straight to her room and locked herself inside of it. She’d spend the next three hours staring into the ceiling, questioning everything. Would the band survive? Would they be okay? What would she do? These five boys, men, whatever they were, had been her life for four years. More than. And now they weren’t the same and things weren’t the same and she didn’t know what to do about that. How to feel, or react. Most of her was sure this was it. This was the end of One Direction.

But there were voices deep down that swore she was wrong.

And more than anything, a voice among all the others was angry - angry that she had to be questioning at all. Everything was fine the night before. Hell, everything was fine when she woke up that morning. But now, here she was, completely unsure of herself, of the band that she loved, of her career. Of anything.

And that was because of Zayn.

What about Preston? His security guard? What would he do now that his job, his source of income, his reason to be out on this tour, had just quit? Was he still havin’ a job, or was he done for? What would happen to all the people that worked with Zayn?

She couldn’t help but feel a small fire building in her gut.

But she couldn’t get the heartbroken look on his face when he said he’d always love her out of her mind. She knew he meant it. She knew she’d been a huge part of his life, she knew he was being honest.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still angry at him for what he’d done. The choice he’d made. It didn’t help knowing that he’d been in the studio all this time. She was certain he was leaving to start a solo gig. And that made a wave of confused and muddled discomfort rush over her.

“Paul!” a voice clammered. She wasn’t sure how many hours it’d been since they’d all gotten back, but she knew the show was at seven, and she knew that now was not the time for someone to be as nervous as the voice was that just went running past her hotel room door.

With a brisk pace, she hurried to her door and tugged it open. Three doors down, Paul stood outside of his room, his face contorted in disbelief and frustration. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ me,” he spoke sharply, turning away from the roadie that stood there. The kid, not even 18, had been with them only this tour, barely two months into his first gig and all this was happening. Farrah kind of felt for him.

“Paul, what’s going on?” she asked, stepping up to the two of them. Down the hall, Lou and a few others poked out of their rooms. Paul shook his head.

“Nothin’, Fanny.” With that, he let out a huff and turned on his heel, going into his room for his walkie and headphones. She turned to Jimmy, the roadie, urging him to explain with a simple nod of her head.

The roadie pointed down the way. “Niall’s acting crazy. I think he’s been drinking, he’s just yelling profanities and hotel security is trying to get in and stop him. He’s not listening to anyone.” Two stories up from where they stood were the boys’ rooms. Farrah immediately frowned, reaching out and grabbing onto Paul’s tensed, angry arm as he stormed past her.

“Paul, let me. I can take care of this.” He looked back at her; her soft face, honest eyes. She just needed to take care of Niall.

He sighed heavily and gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “Come on.” That was all he said, and all he needed to say. She nodded, patting Jimmy’s shoulder as he slumped back into the wall and she took off after Paul. His pace was fast. He passed the elevators, and Fanny didn’t question it, instead following him into the stairwells and jogging up after him. She hopped up each step after Paul and she knew him. She knew the way he was. She knew the running was helping him blow some of the steam off. He wouldn’t have had the patience for the elevator.

They reached Niall’s room to see two hotel security members banging on the door. Paul sighed heavily and set one fist against the door. “Niall. Open up. Now.” All they heard in return was a set of obscene words and the sound of something hard thudding against a wall.

“You need to take care of this now,” one of the guards said gruffly, “We’re getting serious complaints.”

Farrah didn’t wait for allowance into the situation. She knocked softly on the door. “Niall…” she said softly, but firmly. “Niall, it’s Fanny. Can I come in?”

“No! Go… Go ‘way, Fanny…” he shouted, slurring his way through the words. The girl sighed heavily and ran her hands down her face.

“Is there a reason you guys haven’t used your master key?” she asked quietly, turning to face them. She knew she didn’t have the authority, nor was she in any place to demand an answer of them, but seeing as she was the first to get even the slightest calm response from Niall, she felt she deserved some kind of reply.

“We were told to wait for a response from the artists’ management. He’s been threatening various things since we got here if anyone tried to come in. It’s for everyone’s safety.” She frowned heavily at the words and turned back to the door.

“Niall, please…” she mumbled, her heart hurting as she heard shaky breathing from inside the room. She leaned her forehead to the door, closing her eyes tightly. “Just… Let me in. We don’t have to talk. Just… Let me in.”

Paul crossed his arms, waiting beside Farrah. The all stood there, hanging in wait for a response.

The only sound that came was the shuffling of drunken footsteps, followed by a nearly silent click in the door knob. The door slid just slightly ajar, just enough for it to remain unlocked. The hotel guards went to go in, but Paul put his arm out. The large arm was quite the barrier, and the two men took that as their cue to back off. Paul met eyes with Farrah and sighed, slowly nodding. He may have been their “tour dad”, but he knew what they needed was their Fanny.

She frowned at the uncertain look in his eyes as she walked through the door, silently shutting it behind her. She bit down onto her bottom lip, her eyes landing on Niall as he trudged to the other side of the room. He picked up a bottle, lifting it up and bringing it to his lips. He knocked it back, downing several gulps.

She’d promised she wouldn’t talk, though. So she moved across the room and quietly sat herself down next to the bed.

They were both quiet. Niall’s fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle so hard that his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched. Everything in him was tense. Deep down, he was terrified. But he’d never meant to say that out loud.

“This…” he started to mumble through his gritted teeth, “This is it, no… No more One Direction.” He gave a harsh, dry chuckle, one that sent chills down her spine, and lifted his arm back, just about ready to throw the half empty bottle of alcohol across the room. He wanted to hear the satisfying sound of the glass shattering against the surface. Just as he began the swing, a hand softly grabbed at his wrist.

“Niall-” she started, taking the bottle from him. His eyes widened, and he swung himself forward in an attempt to grab it.

“No!” he shouted, “Give it back!” His accent was thick, drenched in whiskey, and his eyes were sad. But everything else about him screamed anger. Frustration. Blame.

Blame.

Blaming him, blaming Zayn, for the sudden crash and burn of a chapter of Niall’s life he’d thought would last so much longer. Because of Zayn, it was all going to go away. He wanted to break everything in sight.

“Niall, stop!” she retorted loudly, quickly bringing the bottle to the bathroom. He paled as he saw her going for the toilet, dumping the bottle into it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yelled, bounding towards her without thinking. He was blinded. He nearly shoved her as he grabbed for the bottle, realizing quickly that it’d been emptied entirely. “Fuck!” he growled, letting the bottle hit the floor, shattering everywhere. Fists banged on the hotel room door once again, but Niall was cornering Farrah before he could think clearly. She was backed into the wall, staring up at him in fear.

“I-It’s okay, Paul...!” she called shakily, “Just dropped the bottle. M-My fault!” The banging came to a stop at the door, as well as the shuffling of keys as the guards prepared to force their way in.

Niall froze as he realized where he was. Came to, just a bit. He saw both of his hands pressed up against the wall, on either side of a girl who’d been there for him through everything for more than four years. She was afraid, but there was something in her eyes - a trust. A trust in him that kept her standing there, not asking for anyone’s help. She knew he’d never hurt her, and suddenly that trust broke him. He shattered just like the bottle, his limbs going limp as he fell forward into her arms.

“Fuck, Fanny, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered into her shoulder, “I swear I’d never hurt you, no matter fucking what, I’d never hurt you.” Farrah let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she realized the anger had passed.

She quickly wrapped her arms around the boy, one hand going to the back of his head and running through the short hair there as she held him tightly to her. “N-No,” she whispered, “Nialler, don’t be sorry. It’s okay… It’s okay…”

“I… I just…” he inhaled slowly, shakily, against her skin. “It’s over, Fanny… I’m so scared that it’s over…”

She closed her eyes tightly. Her own fears, voiced in the words of someone who held the answer. He didn’t know it, but he could stop it from happening. He would, of that she so wanted to be sure.

“Breathe, Nialler…” she whispered, “Breathe.” She could vaguely hear the voices of the other boys shouting at Paul outside the room. Wherever they’d been when this all started, she was glad that they hadn’t been here. This was one moment she was glad they didn’t see him fall apart - some part of her felt like what they needed now was to think each other were held together. They needed to have faith that the others weren’t giving up.

The Niall of just a few minutes before… Well, he wasn’t so sure.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered softly into his hair, “Everything will be okay.” The words Zayn had promised her just hours before echoed through her mind. She wanted to believe them. And so she said them.

The Irish boy clinging to her in his hotel bathroom stopped shaking, just slightly. “I’m tired, Fanny…” he mumbled. Her shoulder was sopping, and she closed her eyes, nuzzling into the side of his head.

“Okay, Niall…” she whispered. “Okay. Let’s go lay you down.” He nodded into her neck and slowly stood himself up. He was so shaky. She held his hand, and he looked to the side. His eyes widened and his heart dropped to his feet as he really looked at the shattered glass all over the floor.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” His words were breathy as she turned his head away from the mess and tugged him with her into the bedroom. He followed exhaustedly and she made him lay into the bed, removing his shoes and tucking him under the blankets. He looked up at her, wanting to apologize that she was having to care for him as a kid. She sensed his conflicted emotion.

“It’s okay, Nialler, this is what I’m here for.” She managed a small smile at him, trying to hold back how she felt. She was so angry, but she’d never tell him that she felt he was right to do all he’d done. She knew exactly where he was. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to fight away the dizziness.

“If you rest, you’ll be okay for the show,” she told him. She leant down and pressed her lips to his forehead. He nodded slowly and swallowed hard.

“Right. Okay…” He reached out from under the covers and choked back a quiet bubble of emotion, smiling sadly up at her and holding her hands. “You were right, Fanny. I believe you. Everything will be okay. The band’ll be okay and we’ll keep goin’ and… The dream isn’t over, is it? Yeah?” She brought his hand up to her lips, softly kissing the back of it.

“Yeah, Niall. Of course.” She smiled down at him. “I’m gonna send the boys in. Don’t listen to what Paul tells you.” He chuckled dryly and closed his eyes. He knew his head’d be hurting in a second.

She left him with heavy feet, making her way for the door and slowly stepping out of it. The three boys standing there with Paul, the two security guards, and a small group of other crew members who’d wanted to make sure everything was okay, were all looking at her with anticipation. She bit her lip.

“He’s okay now, he’s laying down. Just had a bit of… Well, he’s a bit upset. But he’ll be okay.”

Liam didn’t listen to the rest of it, barely grazed her cheek with a kiss before hurrying into the room. Louis sighed softly and managed a small smile, and he and Harry slid into the room after Liam. The crewmembers slowly trickled away, and the security from the hotel finally went back to their jobs. Paul went inside to give Niall a “talking to” as he called them. He was all sides of tour dad, at all times. He had quite the job, that Paul.

Suddenly alone in the silent hotel hall, Farrah found herself echoing in a giant void of her own thoughts. Murky and angry, all of them. Disappointed. How could Zayn do this? How could he sit there, ready to start his own solo career, off in the studio and off doing his own thing. Had he even thought about the boys?

She knew he’d thought about her. Put it off for her. She was extremely aware of that. But had he thought of Niall? Harry? Liam? Louis? Had he thought of what they’d go through, of how they’d cope with suddenly being without one of their brothers? Did he even think about the fact that, all this time, whenever things were tough, the one thing they could count on was that they’d always have each other through it all, and now even that was gone?

With every incredulous thought, Farrah’s heart contracted painfully. She thought of Niall’s tear-soaked cheeks, his face when he said “it’s over”. You did that, Zayn. You did. she thought to herself. Her teeth came together and pressed, and her cheeks flushed and her eyes welled and her fists clenched. Had Zayn thought about whether the boys would be hurt, had he even wondered if they’d be okay? Had he cared? Was he sitting on the plane back to London, just planning all of his new songs? Was he looking to his future as the four boys who’d been there with him through everything were slowly but surely breaking? Was he okay when they were falling apart?

With that thought, a growl left her lips and her fist travelled through the air, coming into contact hard with the nearest wall. She gasped in shock at her own action, pulling her hand back in pain and grabbing at it. She could’ve cried at how bad that’d hurt. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

She stared at the wall, not much damage had been done. A scuff a bit. Luckily though, the wall had won the fight with her fist.

But amidst all the tearing up and punching the wall and the angry thoughts, a pair of feet had stepped through Niall’s hotel room door.

“Farrah…?” the voice asked softly, his dimples gone for what she feared might be forever and his long, curly hair left hanging loosely down on his shoulders. Shoulders which hung in defeat, his eyes concerned as they were met with a trembling girl whose anger had gotten the best of her. “Farrah…” he murmured again, this time differently. This time with emotion, this time with understanding, realization. And somewhere in there, however he felt about her was welded deep. She just looked at him. Watched him with a broken heart as he made his way to her.

She clutched her aching hand as she thought once again - had Zayn realized this was what he would do to them? Did he know this was what he’d done?