°•

"Why don't any of you people fucking listen to me?" Zayn yelled, slamming his fist down on the table and scaring the employees in the conference room.

He was different today, he was cold and indifferent. His now raven hair was disheveled and there were bags under his eyes. He had a rough night, to say the least.

"Uh, Mr. Malik," a nervous thirteenth floor worker raised his hand as if he was in a class room. His name was Phil Jackson, dark hair, dark skin, nice beard. He was around thirty years old.

"What?" Zayn snapped, his bloodshot eyes trained on the older man.

"We," he cleared his throat, "we don't exactly understand why we're here."

"What the fuck--" Zayn bit his lip, standing up straighter, "my sales have went down by approximately two thousand dollars and I want to know the fuck why. Why are people not doing what they're supposed to be?"

Andrea bit her lip. "Sir, it's normal to lose a bit of money, especially such a small amount like this--"

"I didn't ask that, Andrea," he seethed, "I asked why you pieces of shit aren't doing your jobs."

Andrea was so close to speaking her mind, Crissle could tell, but Zayn moved on.

"I expect a a better answer than that in two hours," Zayn spat, "get out of my sight."

The employees slowly got up, all being ushered out the door by Crissle, who had to face her boss directly for the first time today. She knew business Zayn and how he was, but this was another Zayn, a Zayn who was dealing with personal problems rather than business related issues.

She closed the door behind the last person, Andrea, who gave her an apologetic look as if she didn't know what was going to happen. Crissle didn't know either.

Zayn Malik sat at the head of the conference table with his head in his hands. Crissle stayed near the door just in case.

"I'm fine," he muttered unsurely, his voice hoarse as if he was a chain smoker.

"No you're--"

"I'm fucking fine!" He yelled again, finally looking at her. His eyes seemed redder, as if he was still crying or he was under the influence of something.

Most likely the latter.

Crissle flinched, her back hitting the door. She winced in pain, something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"What did I do now?" he groaned, standing up and marching over to her.

"No, no, no," she cowered away from him, her arms covering her eyes. She didn't deserve any of whatever he was going to do to her.

Zayn didn't hit her, though.

In fact, he stopped right before her, a littler closer than arm's length. Crissle peeked up from her hands and looked at him. His eyes brimmed with tears and he balled his hands up and looked away.

"I wouldn't hit you," was all he said, "never again."

She sniffled. "I..."

"My mum called me today," he started with a shaky breath, "said...said my grandma died last night."

Crissle watched Zayn tear up, he rubbed at his eyes.

"Zayn," she whispered softly, reaching for his arm but he turned away, "no, Zayn. Come here."

"No," he kept wiping his cheeks and closed his eyes, backing up against the table.

Crissle stepped forward, locking the door and grabbing Zayn's arm again. She shushed him and sat on the table. Zayn's face went straight to her neck, his arms encasing around her as he silently cried.

Zayn never cried, never. Not that Crissle knew of. If he was more sober, she was sure he probably wouldn't have cried in the workplace. He couldn't help it, though, his tears soaking her bare shoulder as his body shook with silent sobs.

"Zayn, baby, you're fine, alright?" she kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back, "I promise you'll be okay. I'll be here."

°•

"Yeah, mum," she heard Zayn sniffle from the bathroom, "I'm okay."

Crissle waited on his bed, a faint smile on her face. She was proud of him for mustering up the courage to FaceTime his parents, who, by the sound of it, were going through something much worse.

"Yeah, she's still coming," she heard him say and her heart sank. She didn't want to go if she felt like she was in the way. "H-How's Saf?"

"She's alright" his mom said, her voice shaky as well, "but...she's sad everyone else is sad."

"Oh," the water cut off and Zayn exited the bathroom. Crissle was playing with a loose fabric in her cotton night shorts. He crawled on the bed and gently pushed her down, his head laying on her chest. She worked her fingers through his hair and she hummed.

"Yaser is..." she briefly saw his mum shaking her head, "he's not okay."

"I figured," Zayn mumbled, pointing the camera a little towards Crissle, "mum, this is my girlfriend."

"Zayn," she groaned, turning away from him.

"She's pretty, sunshine," his mom added, I'll be meeting you soon, pumpkin."

Crissle was way too shy to reply. "Zayn, stop it."

He actually chuckled -- it was strained, but he chuckled -- kissing her arm and turning back to his mom. "Hey, I'll see you next week, yeah?"

"Yeah, sooner than expected," she mumbled.

"Mum..."

"I'll see you next week, beta," they exchanged a few goodbyes in another language and Zayn hung up. He took a deep breath, snuggling against Crissle even more.

"Zayn, I don't feel all the way comfortable going with you to England." Crissle finally spoke up after minutes of silence, "you have family to be with and--"

"Please come with me," he begged, his eyes still red from earlier. He leaned up and rested his chin on her chest. "I need you."

"Um...okay," she hesitated because if Zayn started crying again, she was gonna lose it, "I'll be here."

"That's all I ask."

°•

correct me if I'm wrong but I've seen the word beta used before and I looked it up and it means son or child.

okay and...yeah