I quickly asked Zayn to share his location. Without waiting for another word, I left the wedding, my heart pounding and my mind focused entirely on finding him.
The bar was softly lit, a sharp contrast to the glowing celebration I had just left behind. My eyes searched through the scattered crowd until they found him, Zayn. He sat slouched against the counter, shoulders heavy, eyes glassy. His fingers curled loosely around a glass, half empty, though it was clear from his sluggish movements and the bitter scent of alcohol that this wasn't his first drink tonight.
"Babe," I called softly as I approached.
His head lifted slowly, his gaze finding mine with a weary recognition. "Yes," he murmured, voice thick, his hand already reaching for the glass again.
Before he could lift it to his lips, I caught his wrist and gently slid the cup away. "That's enough," I said firmly but softly, my heart breaking at the sight of him like this. "We should go."
