So Niall may have dropped the bomb early, so what? It's not like Zayn won't understand. Zayn's an amazing person. Who's completely understanding. So why would Niall worry about what he would be like if he went all out and told him the truth as soon as possible?
But that's not really the problem. The problem is that Niall doesn't know what the problem is. And this was not the kind of situation he was hoping for, actually. He wasn't expecting a situation straight out of a corny sitcom. No, he was just hoping that he could confide his worries and Zayn would be there to help him. He knew how gullible Zayn was--but he wasn't joking. Joking won't be any fun if he was trying to be serious, anyway, so why joke in the first place?
He knew there was something wrong with him even when he was still a child. However, instead of directly dealing with the problem, he just shunned it away. Instead of accepting that he was different, he ignored it and covered it up with a bright, cheery, happy-go-lucky attitude, a dazzling smile, and a funny persona.
Niall had hoped--knew, even--that Zayn would take him in and listen to his problems with a sympathetic ear, and help him get through this phase. It was the reason he flew back to London from Ireland, after all. He had counted on his friend's willingness to forgive and general sympathy, and, however selfish it may seem, Zayn's traits appeared to be currently working in his favour.
"Skitzo--Schizo what?" The confusion in the black haired boy's eyes was evident. He beckoned Niall inside, albeit a bit begrudgingly, and quickly shut the door behind him. Niall hovered beside the couch, unsure whether to sit before Zayn did.
"Well?" Zayn asked, brows raised, as he settled himself on the blue upholstered armchair. Niall sat down, before meeting his friend's gaze. He felt much more confident now.
"It's a disorder. I... I hear voices, telling me what to do." Niall's hand shook, jerking as he tried to clamp down the urge to pull Zayn out of his armchair--just because he could. The Malik had a pitying expression on his face, making Niall want to balk. "It's hard, especially when I can't control myself from doing things. Like spontaneously laughing, having mental breakdowns, urges to punch or kick or just hurt someone."
The blonde took a deep, shuddering breath.
"So I take it out on myself. When I was having strong, disturbing thoughts about taking a knife and committing suicide, I begged my father to let me go back here."
Zayn looked wary all of a sudden. Not that Niall could blame him--his disorder must've spooked the lad.
"Have you... have you gone to a doctor?" It was a trick question, of course. Zayn knew Niall hadn't--the Irishman was too independent to let his family take responsibility of him, much less place himself in the care of others.
The small shake of Niall's head confirmed Zayn's suspicions.
"'Course not." Said the blonde, expression dark despite his wry smile. Zayn closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face.
"'Course not." Zayn echoed, voice hollow. They stayed there for a long time, each lad trying to assess the other, before Zayn came to the conclusion that his life was totally, completely, absolutely fucked up.