Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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There was a time, not long ago, when Harry would immediately go to Louis the second something was wrong in search of comfort. It wasn’t like that anymore, though. After Louis’ I’m Not Ready For Commitment freakout, the two boys parted ways. He just needed space, that’s what Louis told Harry, they wouldn’t be apart forever. Louis quickly realized that even a minute apart from Harry felt like forever.

So when Louis goes to Niall’s dorm that night to have a drink with him and catch up, he isn’t prepared for Harry to be there. He certainly isn’t prepared for Harry to be there, looking dead on his feet, curled up on Niall’s sofa with tear tracks staining his cheeks and a Rudolph red nose, looking smaller and sadder than Louis’ ever seen him look in the ten years they’ve known each other.

It’s hard to miss how terrible Harry looks.

The boy’s eyes are glossed over and hazy, to the point where they don’t even look like his crystal clear, green-as-the-forest eyes. They have a darkness under them that looks like a black and blue; like someone pressed their thumbs right below his eyes until they bruised. His skin pale and breathing heavy and shallow at the same time.

“Oh,” is the only thing Louis can squeak out when he opens the door, ever so eloquent.

Harry whines at the sound, and squeezes his eyes shut against the fluorescent hallway light shining in from the doorway. “Ni.”

Louis frantically looks around, though he’s not really sure what he’s looking for. Niall, probably. Where is Niall? Why isn’t Niall here? Shouldn’t Niall be home? Okay, yeah, he’s definitely looking for Niall. He needs Niall. Like, right the fuck now.

“‘s not Ni, sorry,” he finally answers. “Um, I’m just gonna...I’m gonna go. Didn’t mean to barge in, er, sorry.”

Harry’s eyes fly open when he finally realizes who’s talking. It’s the fastest Harry has moved in probably five days and his head shoots a blinding pain when his eyes readjust to the light. Oh God. That’s Louis’ voice. It’s Louis.

“No. No, no. Niall. Need Niall,” Harry’s voice is watery and so, so sad. He can’t deal with the pain in his head and his chest and his bones and his fucking everywhere. And definitely not with the pain of seeing Louis.

Fuck. Louis is fucked. He wants nothing more than to run away and not have to face Harry - especially a sick, sad Harry. He wants to find Niall and yell at him for not telling him Harry was in his dorm, and then he wants to get drunk in the privacy of his own dorm so he can wallow in his lonesome. But Louis isn’t a bad person. He knows he shouldn’t leave Harry alone like this.

Y’know what, no, it’s fine. This is fine. Louis is mature and brave and a good friend. Harry’s friend. He’s still Harry’s friend. He can do this.

“I don’t know where Niall is, lad,” Lad? What the fuck is he doing? “Let me give him a ring, yeah? Do you know where he is?”

Harry blinks at Louis, who is still awkwardly standing by the door. He tries to remember where Niall went, but his mind feels like it’s in a cloud and he can’t seem to remember anything. He’s not even sure he can remember his own name if someone asked. His eyes well up, a single tear rolls off his cheek and onto the cushion beneath him.

Louis takes Harry’s silence as a no. “Okay, it’s okay, um. Everything’s okay. Let me call Ni and see where he’s gone and he’ll be back in no time I’m sure.”

He finally walks into the dorm and closes the door behind him. The room is nearly pitch dark with the door shut, only a little sunlight peaks over the horizon as it sets, bleeding in through the slit in between the closed curtains. Harry must be really ill. Shit. Louis pulls his phone out of his back pocket and clicks on Niall’s contact with shaky, nervous hands.

“Hey, Lou! I’m picking up some things at the shop right now, but I’ll be back on campus soon. We still on for tonight? How’s 6?” Niall’s voice is bright and cheery and Louis wants to cry.

“Niall,” he whispers, not wanting to hurt Harry’s clearly aching head more. “I just finished at my last lecture. I, um, I’m at your place...thought you’d be home. But, er, you’re not. So, uh…”

“Oh,” the excitement in Niall’s voice immediately vanishes when he catches on to what Louis is trying to tell him. “Right. Um, I wasn’t expecting you to stop by so early.”

Louis wants to be mad at Niall but the rational voice in his mind tells him that he’s the one who came unannounced. “My fault for coming early, shouldn’t have just popped in like that. Harry’s here,” he states dumbly.

“I- Yes. Harry is there,” the guilt in Niall’s voice is practically tangible, “He’s been really poorly for the past few days and Liam- d'ya know Liam? His roommate? Or, never mind, doesn’t matter- um, and Harry’s been alone. So, like, I didn’t want something to happen when no one was there…”

Poor Niall sounds like he’s trying to explain himself to his primary school principal after he got in trouble. The guilt hits Louis then, too. Ever since his and Harry’s split, their friends have been caught in the crossfire, walking on eggshells to keep them apart and keep everything as un-tense and un-awkward as possible. This is all Louis’ fault. He makes a mental note to give a proper apology to their friends. His mind is wandering. Harry. This is about Harry.

“It’s not your fault, Ni...I was calling because, uh, Harry wants you?” Louis feels a little embarrassed about how high and nervous his voice sounds but he can’t help it. He is nervous. “He couldn’t remember where you went and he’s- he really wants you.”

Louis hears Niall swear under his breath, but his response is interrupted by a choked sound and a coughing fit. “Come back as soon as you can please.” With that, Louis hangs up the phone and goes to Harry’s side.

“Okay, okay. You’re okay. Let’s sit up, yeah? You need to get some air into your lungs, Harry.” Louis has helped Harry through countless asthma attacks, so he has a few tricks up his sleeve. Harry was always able to breathe better when he was sitting upright, opening his airways. But is he allowed to touch Harry? All Louis wants to do is touch him. He wants to rub circles into his back and rest his hand on his chest, the pressure being a silent reminder that he’s here and he cares and he loves him. Wait. Fuck. Shit. No. Not love. He can’t.

Harry attempts to use one arm to hoist himself up but immediately collapses back into the couch. He wants to sit up, he wants to do what Louis is asking. Air. He wants air. “Sit,” is what he manages to croak out.

“I’ll help you sit up, no worries, I can help, okay.”

Louis slips his arms under Harry’s armpits and pulls him up. Louis ignores the spark of love and electricity he feels when he touches Harry. God, he hasn't had any physical contact with Harry in months.

His skin is burning and damp with feverish sweat, but Louis never wants to let go.

He does.

“Louis,” Harry croaks. It’s the first time he’s shown that he knows who’s there. The first time he’s said Louis’ name. “Please.”

The desperation in Harry’s tone is so vulnerable and innocent and Louis hates it. His heart hurts. “Please? Please what, mate? I- I don’t know what you need.”

Harry’s eyes tear up again in a way that makes his eyelashes clump together and one more tear rolls down his face. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry so ill. And Jesus Christ, why isn’t Niall back yet?

Harry starts coughing again, this time it’s deeper and crackly. Louis hopes being sat up makes it hurt at least a little bit less. Harry covers his mouth with one fist and brings his other hand to his chest. He’s clawing at his throat and hitting his fist on his chest and he can’t calm down. He can’t breathe. There are tears blurring his vision again but this time it’s from how violent and painful his coughs are. His body jolts forward after a particularly powerful cough and, if it weren’t for Louis standing in front of him, he would have faceplanted onto the cement floor below him. He’s able to inhale, albeit shakily and unevenly, after a moment, but that somehow doesn’t make him feel better. His head swims and vision fuzzes into a bright white light. He’s going to pass out. A rush of freezing cold travels from the tip of his spine to his feet, all the while feeling as if he’s on fire.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, holding all of Harry’s deadweight and doing his best to not drop the boy. “Jesus, Harry. Have you seen a doctor? How long have you been feeling like this? This sounds pretty fuckin’ bad.”

Harry’s chest heaves with deep, shuddery breaths; he can finally breathe and he’s certainly not taking it for granted. “Dunno...Um, think five days? Six? I ‘aven’t been sleeping, m’sleep schedule’s all messed up, so I...I don’t know how many days. Um.”

“Niall said you’ve been staying with him for a few days, hm? Has he taken you to the campus clinic to get you checked out?”

Biting his lip, Harry tries to remember. He feels sicker than he’s ever felt before and even thinking takes too much energy. “Dunno,” he answers again. Why does Louis keep asking him all these questions? “No.”

Louis isn’t sure that he trusts Harry’s answers, but he nods along. “Okay, well Niall should be back soon and then he can take you to the clinic. I think they’ll be able to help you feel better.”

“I...I don’t like the d-doctor’s,” Harry’s voice cracks as he speaks, “Am scared.”

Louis sighs. He should have known Harry wouldn’t want to go. He thinks back to the time when Harry’s asthma was acting up and he had to go to an appointment to get a new medication and Harry almost had a panic attack in the waiting room. “I know you don’t like it, but you’re really ill. I don’t think I’ve seen you so poorly, Haz”

Harry whines and looks like he’s going to cry.

Louis doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t feel well or because of the nickname Louis accidentally let slip.

He doesn’t want to know.

Fast footsteps are heard in the hall and Louis whips his head towards the door. Niall. Thank God. Harry doesn’t react to the commotion, which certainly doesn’t comfort Louis.

“Harry,” Niall immediately jogs over to Harry, “Harry, mate. I’m so sorry I left ya here alone. You told me you were feeling better, I wouldn’t have gone to the chemist if I knew you were feeling worse, babes. Lou- er, Louis phoned and said you wanted me. Did something happen?”
When Harry finally acknowledges Niall’s presence, it takes no time for him to burst into tears, a painful sob ripping through his raw throat. He swats at Niall’s chest until the Irish boy realizes he wants a hug. Niall crouches down to Harry’s level and scoops him into his arms gently. Harry continues to cry into his shoulder, and his previously stuffy nose starts to run instead. Louis is standing awkwardly, but figures he should make himself even slightly useful, so he pops out of the dorm to go to the communal toilet down the hall in hopes of finding some tissues. Louis’ face softens when he sees the tissue box. It’s pink with cute, little strawberries printed on it. It’s obvious Harry bought them. There’s no way any of these obnoxious uni blokes that just ooze toxic masculinity would buy the box and his heart clenches when he imagines Harry running to the shop to buy tissues and walking past the adorable patterned box. He can practically see the way Harry’s eyes must have lit up when he saw it on the shelf. Niall probably gave him a hard time when he brought it back to their hall, but would have given in to Harry’s irresistible puppy dog eyes.

Fuck, he misses Harry.

“Lou,” Niall’s shout snaps him out of his pity party. “Fuck, Louis. I need your help.”

His heart rate spikes when he hears that and runs out of the bathroom, completely forgetting about the stupidly precious Kleenex. He’s back at Harry and Niall’s dormroom in record time. “What? What? What’s going on?”

His question answers itself when he hears the heavy wheezes coming from Harry, who is now standing up, leaning all of his weight on Niall. His eyes are half closed and bleary and his body shakes with every heaving breath.

“Niall, shit, Niall! Where is his inhaler? Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know where it is Louis. Bloody hell, I’m a terrible friend,” Niall blubbers. “Oh, God. Fucking God. Where is it, Harry? I need you to tell me. Please.”

Harry tries to talk but splutters around the words. He’s panting and sweating and wheezing and his chest feels like it’s being squeezed shut. He shakes his head against Niall and gives up. His knees buckle and his body weight drags Niall down with him.

“Call 999, Louis. Now.”

The oldest boy feels frozen. He hasn’t seen Harry in months and the first time he sees him again, he’s blacking out and gasping for breath. This is not how he wanted this to happen.

“Louis! Now!” Niall yells again, more firmly.

Louis nods numbly and unlocks his phone, dialling 999.

“999, where is your emergency?” A soft, feminine voice picks up.

“Uh, um, I’m at the University of Leeds, at Lyddon Hall. I need- we need an ambulance, please. My friend is having an asthma attack, he’s really sick. Please just send someone. Please.”

“Okay, sir. Stay calm for your friend. An ambulance has been dispatched.”

“O-okay, thanks. Um, thank you,” Louis’ voice shakes. This is very well the most scared he’s ever been. He risks a glance at Harry and immediately regrets it. His lips are tinted blue and Niall is freely sobbing at this point.

“Help is on the way, sir. Your friend will be okay. It’s okay.”

Louis doesn’t know if he believes her.

Chapter Text

"Louis, if you don't fucking sit down," Niall snaps, "You're going to end up as Harry's hospital roomie if you don't stop moving."

Louis winces at Niall's tone but brushes it off. They're both just stressed. He doesn't mean it. And, well, he has a point. Since Harry was admitted a couple of hours ago, Louis can't recall if he's sat down for more than a few seconds in those two hours. He can't seem to find a single fiber of him that is calm enough to sit still. He's too scared. Every time he stops moving and fidgeting enough for his thoughts to start creeping back, he can't unsee what happened. He'll start seeing Harry's face again every time he blinks.

The sounds of the horrible wheezing while he chokes.

The sight of spit dribbling down his blue lips while his throat closes.

The nauseating smell of antiseptic in the hospital while they're forced to wait in the sterile waiting room.

Why can't they go see Harry? Why won't the doctors let them in? Why is it taking so fucking long?

"Are either of you Nicholas Grimshaw?" A nurse's voice breaks the suffocating silence.

Niall and Louis share the same shocked look.

Nick? Fucking Grimshaw?

"Sorry, is that a no?" The nurse presses. "Do you know Nicholas Grimshaw, then?"

"I- No. Neither of us are Nick," Niall finally answers. "Um. We do know Nick, yes. Is he- Did Harry ask for him?"

The nurse shakes his head. "No, Mr. Styles is still sedated. Mr. Grimshaw is listed as Mr. Styles' emergency contact."

Louis wants to scream.

"Oh," Niall looks almost as startled as Louis. "I don't think Nick is, um, around. Can you talk to us?"

"Sorry kids, I'd either need permission from Mr. Styles, which isn't plausible right now, or I'd need permission from Mr. Grimshaw," the nurse looks apologetic as he explains the rules, "Until Harry wakes, I'm afraid I can't share his medical records."

Louis silently slips out of the sliding doors and heads towards the parking lot. He needs some fresh air.

And a cigarette.

Or two.

Or ten.

On his way out of the hospital, he almost bumps into a crying man who's rushing his baby inside and Louis finds himself tearing up too. He thinks about the millions of conversations Harry had started about having a baby. He's supposed to be with Harry. They're supposed to have a baby. They're supposed to get married and buy a house and have kids and pets and a white picket fence. They're supposed to be HarryandLouis.

But they're not HarryandLouis. Not anymore.

They're Harry and Louis.

That thought makes him want to cry more.

He tries not to think about Harry for even just a second, but it's nearly impossible. His eyelashes are clumping together with the wetness of his tears and his heart aches. His mind is swirling like he's looking into a kaleidoscope that's surrounding him with Harry. It's always Harry.

The smoke burns when he inhales and he holds it in his chest for as long as possible. Louis' sure there's a twisted metaphor for him smoking in a hospital parking lot. There are dozens of people inside that hospital who can't breathe on their own and Louis at least has half a mind to feel guilt tug at his chest. Harry is in there because he can't breathe. The harsh reminder is enough to nauseate him, and he has to slide down the wall to sit in order to keep from losing his lunch on the sidewalk.

Nick.

Harry changed his emergency contact from Louis to fucking Nick.

He feels nauseous again.

Louis knows that he hasn't been in Harry's life and that his bitterness is unjust, but he also knows how much of an absolute wanker Nick is to Harry. Out of all the people Harry could go to, he chose Grimmy. He needs to have a chat with Niall and see if he knows anything about this.

It doesn't feel fair.

Louis was there when Harry quietly told him he thought he was gay. He was there when Harry proudly told him he knew he was gay.

Louis was there when Harry first met Nick. He remembers the day he got a phone call from a bright, bubbly Harry who excitedly told him Nick had asked him out on a date— A real proper date, Lou! Can you believe that? He's so fun and fit and he asked me out!— Louis had tried his best to match Harry's happy tone, but his heart had broken. He had glanced over to the lone rose that he had bought the day before that he was going to give to Harry that evening. He pulled all the petals off and let quiet tears fall as he listened to Harry ramble about Nick.

Louis was there when Nick broke Harry's heart. He was there when Harry showed up to his flat that night. Harry had run in the rain from his dorm all the way to Louis' place off campus, sobbing the whole time. He was there when Harry finally mumbled two words that made Louis the angriest he'd ever felt. He cheated.

And now, Louis is here while Harry lies sedated in a hospital bed. He's here now and knows that Nick has somehow convinced Harry to crawl back to him. He's here now and loves Harry more than ever.

His pathetic breakdown is interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Louis swipes at his eyes to attempt to hide the tears and looks up to see Niall.

"Hey," he looks awkward and tense. "So, um, Harry's awake. The doctor asked him if he could share his information and Harry gave him permission. You don't have to come back in if you don't want, but if you want to see Harry now, we can."

It's Louis' turn to look awkward. "No, no. I want to- I'd like to talk to the doctor, see if he's okay. I don't really know if Harry wants to see me, so I'll wait in the hall. I would like to chat with the doctor just to check on him, though. If that'd be alright?"

"Of course, Lou. Yeah, come in. I can go in and let him know you're here? Catch him up to speed if he doesn't remember much, y'know? Maybe he will want to see you."

Louis looks skeptical but nods. "Sure, okay."

The two boys walk through the winding corridors together in an uncomfortable silence. Neither of them dare to bring up the whole Emergency Contact Nick situation. Louis is more than fine with that. He'd like to forever continue pretending that they had never heard it in the first place. Ignorance is bliss. Right?

When they finally reach Harry's room, Niall shifts on his feet nervously and nods towards the door. "I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah, yeah. Go on," Louis rushes out before he can think about how he has to wait outside and not see Harry. "I'll be here. Just- Yeah. Just let me know if you need anythin'."

Niall smiles tightly, sympathy and unease apparent in his face, before nodding one last time and opening the door and heading inside.

The first thing Niall sees when he enters the room is a Friends rerun playing on the dinosaur of a TV on the wall. It's always been Harry's go-to comfort show and a smile (a real one, this time) makes its way onto Niall's face. The smile is short lived though when he sees Harry. He looks better than before, physically, but now he has tubes and wires and needles and inhalers and IVs. It's so much and it scares Niall.

Harry's unfocused eyes manage to land on Niall's and his lips twitch upward from under his nebulizer mask. Niall sees him mouth his name but there's only a hint of a whisper that passes his lips. Niall grins.

"Hey, Hersh," Niall makes his way over to the guest chair that's next to the bed and takes Harry's freezing cold hand. "I missed ya, bud. Gave us a big scare back home."

Harry looks confused and wordlessly mouths Us? at Niall's statement.

Shit, he already messed up. "Us, yeah. Um, I was havin' a friend over for a movie night and he came early. I didn't know he was coming so soon, but, to be honest, I'm kinda glad he did. I don't know what I would have done if I had to see you like that by myself."

Harry looks genuinely remorseful when he realizes how bad he must've scared his best friend. He squeezes Niall's hand in hopes of getting his apology across. He's still too drugged up to feel embarrassed that Niall and some stranger had to see him like that. That'll definitely hit him later, though.

Shaking his head, Niall replies with a gentle, "No apologies, Haz."

Their sweet, albeit one-sided, conversation is halted when the same nurse from the waiting room knocks.

"Hiya, Mr. Styles," his voice is too cheerful. "How're we feeling?"

Harry pushes himself up against the pillow to try to sit up straighter. He feels it's more respectful. He weakly lifts his hand and gives a small thumbs up. Niall wants to chuckle as the contradiction of giving a thumbs up with the same hand that has an IV in it. But that's just Harry; always making sure he's okay to make other's lives easier.

"Good, good. I'm glad you're feeling better. I just wanted to check in and keep you updated on everything. Your chest x-ray came back and there's no sign of a puncture in either lung, though there is slight bruising on your right lung which we assume to be from the intercostal muscle strain. Your chest and ribs will most likely be tender and sore for the next few weeks, so if it's possible, try to take it easy..."

It's obvious that Harry isn't absorbing any of the information the nurse continues to spew at him, so Niall makes a conscious effort to listen closely and carefully for him. He's just grateful Harry made it out of this with only some bruising and pulled muscles. Louis will be glad to hear the news as well.

Speaking of Louis, the nurse ends his spiel with "Oh, and the boy outside is welcome in, by the way. There's no visitor limit so long as it's visiting hours."

Niall freezes.

Harry sleepily looks over to Niall for answers.

"Oh. Thank you," Niall's short answer proves to be enough for the nurse and he leaves the room quietly.

"W-who– Who- is here?" Harry's voice is like a bumpy gravel road personified. They're the first words he has (semi-)successfully squeaked out since the attack and it's obvious. The crackling makes Niall's own throat ache.

Niall briefly thinks about lying to Harry but when he looks him in the eyes, he knows he can't do that. Lying would hurt him more than the truth. He scratches the back of his neck anxiously before whispering a single word. "Louis."

Harry's reactions are slow and languid, but they're there. He shrinks into himself and takes his hand from Niall's. A feeling of betrayal sits on his chest and makes him feel like he can't breathe all over again.

"I-I'm sorry, Harry. We were going to hang out tonight and I just...I didn't think. We planned it a while ago, before you were staying at mine, and..."

"'s ok'y," Harry tried to console, but he was too tired to hide the heartbreak on his face.

"He was really worried about you," Niall adds. Maybe that'll help? "Wouldn't stop pacing and sit down in the waiting room. I don't know if I've ever seen 'im so worried."

"C'n he-" Harry cuts himself off with a wet cough. He tries to pull the mask from his face but his hands are shaky and fumbly. He hears Niall telling him to keep it on anyway, so he gives up, and continues coughing. He's convinced he can feel every single one of his ribs break with each seize of his lungs. He chokes on some of the spit that's collecting in his mouth and this time Niall takes the mask off.

"Okay, okay," he soothes. "Let's calm down, yeah? Don't worry about the dribble, H, it's not a big deal. Just try to take a breath, I'll get you all sorted out. Do you want the doctor?"

Harry shakes his head at the question and is finally able to inhale fully. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wipe at the phlegm and slightly bloodied drool but Niall is quick to jump in with a tissue from the bedside tray.

Another knock echoes into the room, followed by Louis' voice calling Niall. There's a flash of fear in Harry's teary eyes but Niall reassures him with a kiss on his cheek. "You okay? Give me one second?"

Harry nods and Niall opens the door, slipping out to the hall.

"He's okay, he's fine."

"I heard wheezing–"

"He's alright, Lou. It's normal after his asthma attacks, you know that. He'll be okay. The nurse said there's no serious damage, just some muscle straining and bruising. He's just sore. They've got him on fluids and a morphine drip and he's got a nebulizer. He's doin' well, considering. Calm down, mate."

Louis wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Right, sorry, yeah. It's just hard, y'know? Seeing someone you love hurting and not being there."

Niall ignores the use of the word love (for now) and pats Louis' shoulder and brings him in for a hug. "Ah man, I know. I'm real sorry you had to be here for this."

Louis shakes his head against Niall's shoulder. "Don't be. I just miss him, s'all."

"Maybe he'll want to see you. I told him it was you that was here, so he knows. D'ya want me to ask him?"

The color drains from Louis' face at the thought of Harry refusing to see him, even though he'd understand. "Ehm, okay. You can ask him, but just, like, don't pressure him. I completely get it if he says no, so don't make it a big deal."

Niall's eyes light up. "Of course, I'll be cool and casual, you know me," he nudges Louis teasingly. "He doesn't seem to remember what happened earlier and I don't think he remembers seeing you, just so you know. So..."

And with that, Niall goes back into Harry's room to ask him if he wants to see Louis.

Chapter Text

“No.”

Niall flinches. He was hoping for a different answer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you, but I know how much comfort Louis brings you-”

“Brought,” Harry cuts him off quickly. Louis is in his past. Louis isn’t here anymore.

“Of course. Um, but maybe having him here would help? And that way I can go back to campus and grab some things for you, in case you’ll be here for a little while.”

Harry pauses for a moment and Niall is positive he’s going to say no again or tell him to fuck off, but Harry takes a steady (read: wheezy) breath in and looks Niall in his eyes. Harry sees the pain and stress in his best friend's face. It’s obvious that Niall feels stuck and exhausted and Harry feels his chest tighten, but this it’s not from an asthma attack. This time it’s with guilt.

“Okay,” Harry rushes out before he can think of the millions of reasons he should be saying no.

The relief that washes over Niall’s features is enough to make this bound-to-be-awkward situation worth it. Niall gives Harry one last peck on his forehead, telling him he loves him and that he’ll see him in the morning, and goes to grab Louis.

Harry waits and it feels like an eternity. He looks around the room properly for the first time and shivers. He was a bit preoccupied when he first came in –y’know, trying to fucking breathe and survive and all– and the fear of how sick he got was starting to make an unwelcomed home in his heart. Harry knew he has asthma, of course. He was diagnosed back as a kid, when he was left breathless and panicked in the middle of his primary school football match. The doctor assured his mother that pediatric asthma was very common, and he’d most likely grow out of it by the time he turned sixteen. Clearly the world hates Harry, though, because here he is; in the hospital, at 20 years old, with an annoyingly uncomfortable cannula on his face and an even more annoyingly loud IV pump hooked up to his arm.

And not to mention an annoyingly beautiful ex-boyfriend right outside the door.

The world definitely hates him.

Harry’s stomach twists along with the door handle. They’re not the same bright, magical butterflies that often flitted around his tummy before. They were moths now. Dull and ugly. This feeling was much less desired than his old butterflies. He’s nervous to see Louis again. He really is. He doesn’t remember seeing Louis earlier even though he knows he was there. Niall told him.

The door finally opens and there he is.

Harry almost cries.

“Harry. Hi,” Louis attempts to break the choking silence.

Harry does cry.

A single pathetic tear bubbles over and falls. Louis’ voice. He had spent so long blocking the light, raspy sound out of his memory and now all of his hard work is ruined because Annoyingly Beautiful Louis is really here. He’s here and he said his name.

“L-L-Louis.”

Louis’ face softened. The reserved, shy expression dropped as soon as he heard Harry talk. He didn’t even sound like himself. He could barely croak out one word. This isn’t how Louis imagined reuniting with him.

“Here,” Louis quickly crosses the room to hand him the Dixie cup on the table. “Have some water, yeah? Your throat sounds terribly painful. Be careful, H.”

The way Louis so easily falls back into his role of caring for and protecting Harry does not go unnoticed by either of them. It had always been innate– knowing exactly what the other one needs and doing everything you can to do that for them. It was automatic to them. Loving each other was like blinking. It just happened.

Apparently Louis never lost that trait.

“Thank y- Thanks. For, um, h-helping. Niall told me,” Harry has to stop talking multiple times during the sentence to suck in a big breath. He never knew talking could be so tiring. “...Niall told me y-you were the one who, like, um, called. 999, I mean. So- yeah. I don’t know w-what would’ve happened if-”

“Don’t- Please don't finish that sentence. I really don't fancy thinking about that.”

Harry bites his lip nervously. He doesn’t want to think about that either, to be fair. Harry settles for a nod.

Louis briefly wonders how they went from being so inseparable to being barely able to hold eye contact. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re okay, Harry. Really glad.”

“Me too,” Harry whispers. It hurts less than talking, he realizes. He hopes Louis can hear him, he doesn’t have it in him to deal with the emotions of chatting with his ex-boyfriend for any longer than necessary. It hurts his chest just as much as talking does.

The youngest shifts in the hospital bed and lazily points at the chair adjacent to the bed. “Y’can sit.”

Louis accepts the quiet invitation and relaxes into the uncomfortable old chair. His knee immediately starts bobbing up and down and his sneaker makes a hideous squeaking noise against the linoleum with each bounce. Harry always hated that noise. And it seems he still does, if the squinched face he’s making under the breathing mask is anything to go by.

He stops bouncing his knee.

“I wish I knew what to say,” Louis reluctantly admits.

Harry lets out a sputtery laugh. “That’s n-new.”

Louis smiles with him. “S’not often I don’t know what to say, huh? Always blabbering about meaningless shite, me.”

“Endearing,” Harry shrugs. Harry takes his time with his thoughts and finds himself less talkative than most because of it. He can still hear all the times Louis would assure him that he talks enough for the both of them. It’s perfect, he’d say. We balance each other out.

Louis hopes Harry is still out-of-it enough to not see his cheeks burning. Curse Harry and his beautiful soul. “Debatable, but I’ll digress. But seriously, Harry. I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“Y-You’re not a doctor. I don’t expect you to know how t’fix-”

“No, no. Not this,” he gestures to the room, then between the two of them. “This. Us.”

Harry freezes. “Oh,” he pauses. “Um.”

“You don’t have to say anything, H. I just hope you know that I do wish I could change this. I wish I could make it hurt less. Well, I mean, I don’t know if it hurts you, but it still hurts everytime I think of you. And I think of you a lot. I wish I didn’t ruin everything.”

Louis regrets telling Harry he didn’t have to say anything because he’s just staring at Louis with those bright doe eyes of his and the quiet is torture. He actually contemplates bolting out of the chair and running away if Harry stays silent for much longer. Is he really not going to say anything? Oh God, he messed this up even more.

“I feel tired,” is what Harry finally murmurs out.

Louis cocks his head at that. That’s...not the response he was expecting. “Oh? Uh, right. Do you want me to go? I can go and, y’know, let you sleep. I should do that. I’ll go. You sleep.”

“Don’t,” Harry grabs Louis’ wrist before he can get up. His grasp is weak.

“Sorry?”

“Please. Stay. Don’t leave.”

Louis desperately avoids looking into Harry’s eyes again. He can see them clear as day in his mind already. If he looks at him for too long, he knows he won’t be able to turn away for a second time.

One time was heartbreaking enough.

He settles back into the seat and sits with Harry while he falls asleep. He doesn’t leave.

As he listens to Harry’s laborious breaths and small snores, Louis’ mind drifts to the conversation with the nurse. Yet again. He can’t get the words out of his head. He’s trying so hard to not dwell on such a minute detail, but it speaks volumes. It feels like a knife to the heart; a haunting told you so. He can practically feel Grimmy’s stupid smirk.

Was Harry really back with Nick? The question is a lump in Louis’ throat that’s urging him to shake him awake and tell Harry – beg Harry – to tell him that it’s all just a misunderstanding. Maybe it was a mixup on the hospital’s side. They got confused and looked at an old file when Nick was his emergency contact. Surely that’s what happened. Harry wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t go back to Nick, not after how they ended.

Louis takes a deep breath when he feels the familiar stinging behind his eyes as he fights off the tears. He will not cry over this. Harry is an adult and can do whatever he wants.

The tears finally win, though, and Louis finds himself leaning over his ex-boyfriend in a shitty hospital room on a Friday night, crying over everything he lost. It’s pathetic, really.

Everything he lost is right in front of him, but it's not his anymore.

His happiness is right there, but it’s not his anymore.

-

When Harry wakes, the sky is still dark and the birds haven’t begun their singing yet. He’s not sure why he’s awake until his breath hitches and he falls into a coughing fit. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in this much pain before. He can definitely feel the bruising that the doctor had mentioned. With each cough, he can feel every muscle in his abdomen stretching and pulling in ways they shouldn’t. He feels like he just did a million situps and then immediately got run over by a massive train. He can’t do this alone. He manages to loll his head to the side and spots a sleeping Louis. He’s choking on saliva as he flings his hand at Louis, luckily successfully reaching him. Louis wakes with a start and his eyes go comically wide when he takes in the scene in front of him.

“Fuck. Harry. Shit,” he curses, reaching for the nurse call button next to the bed. “Oh, lovely, I know it hurts. Let’s try to slow your breathing, okay? A nurse will be here in just a mo’ and they’ll get you all sorted.”

Harry nods along but everything feels blurry. He’s having a hard time focusing on anything other than the searing pain in his chest and torso. He feels hot and sweaty, but so, so cold. He can see the shadows of two people now, but there’s bright red flashes every time he tries to blink.

“Harry, hon, I need you to look at me, just for a second. Then you can go right back to sleep.” It must be a nurse. Maybe the nice older woman who inserted his IV.

His eyes roll when he tries to look at the nurse and he can’t seem to focus them. More fuzzy conversation is heard between who Harry assumes is Louis and the nurse before he feels the nasal cannula being taken off him. He panics more, knowing the small tube is the only thing that’s getting him any oxygen.

“Mmm, ah,” Harry groans, trying to get his point across that Dear God, please don’t take that off, I need that. He bats his arm at the nurse(?), almost hitting them in the face.

“Okay, okay,” Louis’ voice is closer now. Clearer. He holds onto Harry’s wrists lightly, not wanting to make him feel stuck but wanting to protect the poor nurse from his frantic hands. “Careful there, H. We don’t wanna hit Nurse Molly, love. She’s here to help, I promise. We’re gonna take off the cannula and get you the nebulizer again. It’ll get you some medicine and you’ll feel much, much better.”

He’s still scared, but Harry will always trust Louis.

He nods.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” the other person - Nurse Molly, apparently - chimes in. “I know this has been a tough night for you, kiddo. We just want to get you feeling not so poorly anymore. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

The nurse manages to get the mask on the barely-conscious boy and gives Louis a reassuring smile and pat on the back before leaving.

“G’nna sleep now,” Harry murmurs through the mask. He turns onto his side so he’s facing the door.

Harry’s back is to Louis now, and he totally doesn’t overthink it. He tells himself that it’s not a big deal; that Harry just prefers to sleep on that side. But as he’s drifting off, the years of sharing a bed won’t let him forget that Harry was always afraid to sleep facing the door.

But it’s not a big deal.

It’s not a big deal.

Chapter Text

It’s been over a week since Louis fell asleep in the creaky chair of Harry’s hospital room, meaning it’s been over a week since Louis fell asleep without an ache in his heart.

He’s never believed in fate or soulmates– no matter how many times Harry used to challenge him on that, claiming that he and Louis must be soulmates. There’s no other explanation, Lou. I accidentally pissed on you at a random gig, and now here we are, dating in university after we bumped into each other in the bathroom, Louis. The bathroom! Again! Louis would stubbornly tease him every time he brought it up. Coincidences are very much real in Louis’ world. Though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t maybe wondered just a teensy, tiny bit if him and Harry meeting all those years later could maybe be fate. Maybe.

The longer Louis goes without seeing Harry, the heavier his heart feels, and the slower his movements become. He knows it’s his fault – he had been the one to end things, after all – and he doesn’t have the right to mope about losing Harry, but he can’t help it. Things were finally starting to feel okay again, or as okay as Louis’ life can be without those green eyes at least. And now here he is… back at square-fucking-one. He sits awake most nights as his mind tries to envision all the different ways this could have happened. Louis always knew that he would see Harry again, but this wasn’t like anything in his daydreams. This could have all been avoided if he hadn’t gone to Niall’s early. This terrible, dizzying whirlwind of emotions would have never had happened if he hadn’t agreed to Niall’s stupid movie night. Now he’s lost, spiraling, unable to block out the thousands of what-ifs whispering to him 24/7.

Fuck the butterfly effect, fuck the butterflies in his stomach, and fuck the pretty boy with the butterfly tattoo.

He’s not bitter.

So when Louis gets a call at three in the morning on a Tuesday night, of course he’s awake.

“Can I come over?” It’s Harry.

“Oh- I- sure? Is everything alright?”

The line is quiet for a moment and it’s suffocating. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, everything’s fine. I just kinda...I just can’t sleep, and um. Yeah.”

Letting out a sigh, Louis caves. “Alright. Yeah, yeah. C’mon then. Don’t want you getting in trouble for sneaking into another hall, though. So be quiet. Be good.”

“Always am.”

With that, Harry ends the call and leaves Louis in his dark room. Louis won’t let his mind humor the double entendre that came with him telling Harry to be quiet and be good. It’s certainly not the first time he’s said that to Harry… all the times when they were still living at home, the possibility of one of their mom’s hearing them– no. Nope. Stop it, Louis.

Louis knows he should be frantically tidying the room, picking up the haphazardly discarded articles of clothing and piling up all of the half-drunk mugs of tea. He doesn’t want Harry to think he’s gone back to being a slob without the younger boy’s cute nagging. Messy bed, messy head, Lou! He was with Harry long enough to pick up his habits, even if he’s too stubborn to admit that his mind really does feel less cluttered when his room is clean. He’s not sure he cares enough to make his bed and fold his laundry anymore. He’s not sure he cares enough about anything anymore. Not when he doesn’t get to care about Harry.

So he doesn’t clean. The wait for Harry’s knock at the door feels excruciatingly long and Louis is pretty sure he’s stared at the door handle since hanging up the phone. He just sits and waits, gnawing at the corner of his thumbnail anxiously. Why is he so fucking nervous? He needs to get a grip. He’s certain it’s been at least a century since Harry called. A watched pot never boils, and apparently a watched doorknob never turns.

Until it does. Followed by a sleepy, soft looking Harry peeking his head in.

“Hi,” he whispers, still not entering the dorm.

The anxiety is immediately lifted upon hearing Harry’s quiet greeting. God, he misses waking up next to him. He missed the absolute honor of getting to see Harry so cozy and pliant, eyes blinking slowly and breaths even. Louis laughs at Harry’s shyness. “You can come in, Harold. Get outta the hallway or you’ll get caught.”

Harry squeezes himself through the small crack of the wooden door and keeps the knob twisted as he shuts it to reduce any noise. It reminds Louis of all the times Harry’s done this before. The times when he’d sneak into Louis’ building so they could cuddle, amongst other things. Little does he know, Harry is reminiscing about those times as well and is grateful Louis’ lights are off when he feels his cheeks flush.

“Do they even enforce the sneaking-someone-in rules anymore? I must’ve snuck into your room hundreds of times and no one’s ever yelled at me.”

Louis pats the little ottoman next to his bed, a wordless reassurance that Harry’s still welcome here. A quiet Make yourself comfortable. My home is your home. Forever. He shrugs. “Maybe you’re just too adorable to yell at.”

Harry tenses at that. “Don’t think so.”

Okay. Louis subtly grimaces at the response and immediately files that strange answer in the Things To Remember About Harry But Not Bring Up Directly So He Won’t Feel Confronted File for later. It’s a pretty hefty file, sadly.

“Mmm, I disagree.” He can’t completely ignore it. Sue him. “I still want you to be careful, though. I’d hate to know you got in trouble because of me.”

“I mean, I was the one who asked to come here. So it’d be my fault, not yours. You shouldn’t have to worry about my own deserved repercussions,” Harry protests.

The older boy briefly wonders if Harry’s still talking about sneaking in.

“Never mind that, then,” he shifts the conversation. “What’s got you up at past three in the morning? Your chest okay? You breathin’ alright?”

Harry’s playing with a loose string on the hem of Louis’ duvet cover when Louis looks over at him. He looks sad, Louis realizes. “Oh, uh, just kinda stressed, I s’pose. My asthma’s fine. Much better. Got a bit of that pneumonia still lingering, but not too bad.”

Louis pokes Harry’s knee with his foot to get the boy to look at him for once. Eye contact has never been Harry’s favorite thing, always squirming under people’s gazes, but this is a whole new level. Harry does lift his eyes to Louis’, knowing that’s what he wanted.

“Hey,” Louis says. He realizes that he’s using his Harry Voice, as their friends so kindly used to call it. He’s a loud guy, but with Harry, it was always…different. Harry deserved softness. He wasn’t boisterous and in-your-face. He was gentle. And he deserved to have that gentleness respected.

“Hm?”

His throat still sounds sore. “D’ya want some tea?”

The grateful, albeit small, smile brightens up Harry’s face. “Thank you. Please.”

Louis smooths a frizzy curl off of Harry’s cheek and selfishly lets his palm rest along the sharp (but so, so soft) edge of his cheekbone. He almost risks dropping a kiss where his fingertips just lay, but he doesn’t. He won’t make Harry uncomfortable. Especially not when he might be seeing someone. Seeing Nick.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “You still like lavender at night? ‘m out of honey, though, if that changes your mind.”

Harry shakes his head. “Lavender is good, thank you, Lou.” Maybe it’s the mild sleep deprivation, or maybe it’s just the safety that Louis brings Harry, but he decides to move from the small chair up onto Louis’ bed. The ottoman was hurting his back is all, is what he tells himself.

As the water is heating, they’re interrupted by a stupidly cute alarm coming from Harry’s phone.

“Seriously, H?” Louis can’t help but laugh. “Your alarm sounds like fucking pixies sprinkling fairy dust everywhere”

Harry blushes at the teasing. “It’s gentle...I like it. The normal alarm sounds startle me.”

“I think that’s kinda the point of an alarm…” Louis retorts. “Wha’s’it for then? Do you need to be somewhere? It’s nearly fuckin’ 4 a.m.”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. Jus’ a reminder to do my breathing treatment. I have to do it a few times a day for a couple weeks since I- yeah. But I’m tired, I’ll do it later” Harry shrugs noncommittally.

“Y’know, for some odd reason, I don’t believe you,” Louis challenges. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve known you a very long time and I don’t think I’ve ever seen your stubborn ass do anything you claim you’ll do ‘later’.”

Harry bites his lip at that. He’s not totally wrong… “Well, I’m a taurus rising. You can’t blame me for that.”

“A taurus wh– actually, I’m not even gonna ask,” Louis gives up. “Just promise you’ll do your stupid treatment when you leave, you twat. I refuse to have to see you like that again.”

Harry smiles. “You love me.”

“Wh– Harry. I- I do not–,” Louis stammers. This is a trap. This is a setup. “Shut the fuck up, Harold. You’re a jerk.”

The kettle comes to a boil, and the saying ‘saved by the bell’ has never felt so fitting. Louis quickly turns it off once it begins whistling. He shoots Harry a guilty whoops face at the noise. He doesn’t comment on Harry’s new seat.

“Hope that didn’t wake up Sam. He’ll do me in if it did, surely. Always complainin’, that one,” he rolls his eyes. “The walls are thin, Tommo. Your telly’s too loud, Tommo. Turn down the music, Tommo. Blah, blah, blah.”

Harry chuckles and nods a thank you when Louis hands him his mug. “You made me be so cautious and stealthy coming in here, yet you blast music all day?”

“Oi, sassy,” Louis tsks. “I was protecting your honor, not mine. Mine’s out the window long ago.”

“All the guys and girls you invite back catchin’ up with your reputation?” Harry dares to joke.

Louis doesn’t take it so lightly. “You think I’m sleeping around?”

Harry freezes and looks like a deer in headlights. Frantically shaking his head, he manages to choke out an explanation. “No, no. I didn’t- It's not a bad thing. Like, if you are. I didn’t mean it to be- I wasn’t trying to, um, accuse you of anything. Was just, like, messing around. Y’know, locker room talk, or, um. Yeah.”

Locker room talk. Their years of pure, wholehearted love have been reduced to two lads bragging about their shags? Louis wants to scream. “Harry. You’re mad if you think I’ve not stopped thinking about you in months.”

Harry’s response is instant. “What?”

Louis chuckles, though it’s pitiful and humorless. “Christ, H. I’m not sleeping with anyone. Couldn’t even get past snogging with this girl I was trying to see. It wasn’t fair to her.”

“Wasn’t fair?” Harry ventures.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “S’not fair for me to date her when all I was doing was comparing her to you in me head the whole time. She wasn’t you, and apparently you’re all I want.”

Harry feels like the worst person.

He is a horrible, horrible person.

He feels sick with guilt. He ruined Louis. And if Louis knew what he’s done– who he’s done– since their split, Louis would surely hate him even more than he must right now. “I- I…Sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh- God. Oh, I’m so fucking sorry, Louis.”

Harry scoots himself to the edge of Louis’ bed, placing his mug on the nightstand. His hands are trembling and he’s pretty sure some of his piping hot tea splashes his hand from the shaking. He doesn’t feel it. He just needs to leave. He has to go. Louis tries grabbing the younger boy’s hand to sit him back down, but Harry is quick to pull it back and attempt to play it cool.

“Right, um,” Harry’s voice sounds like someone’s hands are wrapped around his throat, choking and crushing him. “I have to- I’m not- It’s late. Um, I should go, um. Gotta do my treatment. Thank you. For letting me come, uh, come over. Sorry I kept you up.” He numbly points to the door with his thumb, nodding his head towards it. “I’m just gonna…Okay, um. I’ll see you around, Louis.”

And just like that, Harry’s gone.

Louis flops back onto his bed and drags his hands down his face. He screams into his pillow. Fuck Sam and his goddamn thin walls.

He is so utterly fucked.

Chapter Text

Louis’ movements the next day are languid and robotic. His legs move him from lecture to lecture. His hand copies the pages his professors project on the board. His friend drags him to the dining hall. His jaw chews, his stomach digests. His lungs fill and deflate. He thinks his nose tickles and sneezes at one point, but he can’t be sure. His body is doing it all. There’s no thought, no emotion, no brain behind any of his actions. Have you ever tried running as fast as you can through a pool of deep, sticky molasses? Okay, neither has Louis, but he’s pretty damn positive this is what it’d feel like.

He walks back to Devonshire Hall, passing Lyddon Hall as he goes. His eyes are glued to the window he knows is Harry’s dorm. The lights are off and the curtains are closed. He wills his gaze away from the building and back to the uneven concrete of the sidewalk. There’s cigarette butts tossed carelessly along the pavement and various wrappers and old receipts. He wonders how many of the fags are his. Too many. Harry hated the smell. It’s the first time his mind has thought anything at all today. He wishes his only thought wasn’t about Harry.

Speaking of the boy, after scanning his student ID at the entrance and auto-piloting his way to his door, he’s met with an upset looking Niall hurling millions of questions and expletives at him.

“What the fuck did you do to Harry?” It’s the only one that sticks out to Louis.

He wordlessly puts his key in the doorknob and opens the door. Niall pushes Louis in, stronger than Louis’d have liked, and shuts the door behind them.

“What did you do to him, Louis?” Niall repeats. Louis isn’t used to seeing Niall so stern. He’s honestly kind of intimidated.

“I didn’t do anything, Niall,” Louis defends. It’s the first time he’s spoken today and even he is shocked by how monotonous his voice comes out.

It’s true, though. Sure, he was a little forward about how he’s probably still madly in love with his ex-boyfriend. He didn’t really think it was a secret, to be fair. He made sure it was extremely clear when they parted that it was never about him not loving Harry. Never.

Niall doesn’t appear satisfied with that answer. He shakes his head disparagingly. “I’m fucking serious, Louis. I’m worried sick about him and I’m not going to let this go.”

Louis is starting to feel the same worry. Harry seemed uneasy last night, he won’t deny that. But he’s not sure Harry’s behavior seemed to warrant being worried sick. Did something else happen? Something bigger? “I don’t- I don’t know, Niall. Honestly.”

He sees Niall’s expression soften the slightest bit as he pulls out Louis’ desk chair and sits. He runs his hand down his face nervously.

“What happened, Ni?” Louis finally asks.

Niall exhales shakily. “I don’t know, man. I just- I saw him leaving his room this morning and he looked a mess. Figured he just slept in by accident, but something wasn’t right. I stopped ‘im in the hall, and he just… He wouldn’t look at me, ya know? And, like, he just looked terrified. I asked him what was wrong, of course, but he just said he needed to go.”

Louis chews on his lip anxiously. “Did he- Was he in class?”

“No,” is Niall’s response. The response Louis didn’t want to hear.

He shifts his weight between his feet, trying to think of something he can say to help. He feels lost. He’s never lost when it comes to Harry. Harry is the one thing that Louis always knows. Taking care of Harry was easy. He supposes it’s past tense for a reason, though.

He has to ask. “Do you think he’s at Nick’s?”

“I really fucking hope not.”

They both know that he is.

And that’s that.

-

Louis doesn’t do any of his coursework that evening. If he thought he didn’t care about anything this morning, this evening must be absolute apathy, then. He isn’t sure how many cigs he’s smoked or how many big red stop signs he’s pictured in his mind when an unwanted thought of Harry popped up, but he knows the answer to both of those questions is shameful.

He calls him.

“Hi, you’ve reached Harry. Or, well, you tried to reach Harry,” there’s a small giggle at his own joke, and Louis wants to die. “Leave me a message and I will get back to you. Thanks!”

“Harry,” is apparently how Louis greets the voicemail. “Um, it’s Louis. I just wanted to, uh, check in and make sure you’re alright. I know I maybe said too much last night, and I would say I’m sorry, but I… Well, I just don’t think I am. I don’t think I could ever be sorry for loving you. Anyways, er, if you could just give me a ring to let me know that everything is okay, I’d really appreciate it. Or, call Niall, at the very least. The poor kid is just a bundle of nerves at this point. He really cares about you, Harry. We both do. And it’s important to us that you’re okay. Give him a call. Please.”

The tears finally come, and Louis can’t bring himself to even try to hold them back.

-

An hour, maybe two, passes before Louis hears anything from anyone.

His phone vibrates in his cold, sad hands and he opens the text immediately. It’s the fastest he’s moved in the last 24 hours. The text is simple, just two words. It’s from Niall.

come here

Louis rushes out of his room with nothing but his phone in his hand. It’s the middle of January, but the chill that stings his bare arms is evanescent. He doesn’t know if “here” is Niall’s dorm or Harry’s, but they’re both in the same hall, so Louis just runs. He’s back on auto-pilot, but this time it’s from fear. He briefly yearns for the callous, dull auto-pilot from that morning. At least it was less painful.

After bumping into several people and tossing some s’cuse me, sorry’s over his shoulder, he’s finally met with the glass door of Lyddon Hall. He can’t get in, he instantly realizes. Their fobs only work for their designated buildings and Louis has never hated modern technology more. So he does the first thing he thinks of. He starts banging on the door. He probably looks ridiculous, insane even, but Louis can’t find it in himself to give a single shit. He continues pounding the door with the side of his fist until he hears a Bloody hell, what are you doing? from behind him. Louis thanks the gods above.

“Oh my God,” Louis sighs as some of the adrenaline ebbs. A feeling of relief rushes over him. You’d think a helicopter finally saw his S.O.S. spelled out in the sand on the island he was stranded on. He’s marginally aware that maybe he’s being a tiny bit over-reactionary, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong. Harry could be having another asthma attack. Or maybe he’s hurt. “Do you live here? I need to get in.”

The lad looks at him skeptically, most likely wondering whether or not to let this crazy, frantic stranger into his building, but ends up shrugging. “Yeah, ‘lright. C’mon in.”

Louis smiles (he tries to smile, at least) at the boy and makes a beeline to the stairwell. He decides to check Harry’s room first since it’s on a lower floor than Niall’s, but when he knocks on the door, a confused guy opens it. “Um. Hi?”

“Fuck,” Louis groans. This must be Harry’s roommate. Luke, was it? He knows Niall mentioned it once, but he can’t remember. All he knows is Harry’s not in his dorm. Niall’s it is, then. “Christ. Sorry, lad.”

The first thing Louis notices when he gets closer to Niall’s door is the sound of crying. It’s a dry, loud sob; the kind that you can just tell catches in your chest and tears your throat. This isn’t good. He doesn’t bother letting them know he’s there, he just opens the door.

The sight is gut wrenching. His best friend and ex-boyfriend are crumpled in a pile of tears on the cold, dirty concrete. Harry is visibly shuddering and his head is hidden in Niall’s neck. Niall, bless him, is pale as a ghost, holding his friend as close as he possibly can. They don’t notice Louis over the sounds of Harry’s cries and Niall’s soothing hums.

“Ni?” He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder blade, comforting the comforter. Niall’s never been the best at dealing with people’s emotions, with his go-to technique of saying “fuck it/them” and taking them to get a beer only going so far.

The look of pure reprieve that lights up Niall’s face would almost be comical if they weren’t in this situation. “You’re a fucking livesaver. He’s breaking my heart, I don’t know what to do.”

Louis smiles pathetically. He rubs a calming pattern up and down Niall’s back a few times before going over to Harry. He crouches down, squatting in a position that will most definitely hurt his knees later, and places the lightest, faintest, gentlest hand on Harry’s shoulder. The reaction is skittish, as Harry flinches away from the unknown touch. He falls out of Niall’s embrace, landing on his bum and winces. Seeing Louis’ face, however, seems to relax him, and he throws himself onto the older boy. It’s Louis’ turn to stumble and wiggle his way to a more comfortable position for the both of them. He manages to scoot the two of them next to the wooden bedframe so he can get some of the weight of Harry off of him. Harry readjusts, essentially curling himself into the tiniest ball against Louis’ side.

Now that they're more settled, Louis is able to do a cursory scan of Harry. He runs his fingers through his curls, taking them down the front of his chest. His hands travel up and down Harry’s torso, feeling for any bumps or blood. He stops without delay when Harry weakly swats his hand away when it gets to the bottom of his abdomen. Okay. He doesn’t seem physically hurt, as far as he can tell. His left cheek looks a little red, but that’s most likely from the crying. He’s glad Harry doesn’t seem to be hurt, but now he’s left clueless again.

He looks to Niall for any ideas. “What the hell happened?”

“I couldn’t find him,” Niall explains as if Harry wasn’t even there. “I tried to ignore it when he didn’t come to our first class, but after he didn’t show up to the physio lecture, I went to his room. Liam was there, but he wasn’t. Asked him where he was he said Harry’d mentioned going to a friend’s.”

Louis sucks in a breath.

“I called you when I was on my way. I knew I had to go to-” he cuts himself off.

“Nick’s,” Louis urges.

“Right,” Niall pauses. “He was there. Looked fucked out. And fucked up. Think he had something with Nick.”

Jesus. This wasn’t Harry. Was he fucking high? He didn’t smell like weed. Nor did he smell that strongly of alcohol. Maybe a bit of wine, but not strong enough to be considered “fucked up”.

“Can we…” Louis trails off. He doesn’t want to kick Niall out of his own room, but he also doesn’t want to make Niall uncomfortable with all the prying and awkward emotions he’s planning on doing.

“I’ll give you guys a minute. Phone me if you need me, yeah? Keep me updated.” With that, Niall softly opens the door and slips out.

Louis glances back to the miserable boy lying across his legs. “What am I gonna do with you, darling?” It’s nothing more than a whisper.

Harry doesn’t say a word, but his previously inconsolable wails slow to pitiful little whimpers. His soft fingers make their way to Louis’ frozen ones. He toys with Louis’ fingers, entwining their fingers, then letting them go. He twists and twiddles them, calming himself with the repetitive movements. He’s always done this, grabbing and playing with Louis’ hands. He used to tell Louis it’s just something he loved doing whenever he’d ask. Louis always let him. And right now is no different.

The choked, frenetic energy in the room stills after some moments. It’s replaced with a thick silence.

A quiet that’s begging to be broken.

So Louis breaks it.

“What were you doing at Nick’s house, Harry?”

Chapter Text

“I needed love.”

Harry’s whispered explanation felt more like a confession. A dirty secret that he’d be scolded for. Louis feels like he’s been stabbed. If he looked down at his chest, he’d surely see the rich, red blood, much like the Merlot Harry’s tipsy on, dripping from his wounded heart.

If it was up to Louis, Harry would never need to look for love. He wouldn’t have to try. It would be given to him. Unreservedly.

Every stranger he’d walk past would smile and wave, wishing him a good day.

Every baby he’d meet would giggle and wrap their chubby hand around Harry’s finger like Louis knows he loves.

Every friend he made would listen and care, never letting him even wonder if they were there for him.

Every partner would treat him as if he hung the stars and moon. They would show him off. Every work event, every get-together with old friends, every holiday with their family, Harry would be there. They’d want everyone to see Harry - to know Harry. They’d want everyone to know Harry was theirs and they were Harry’s.

They would talk about him until their friend’s would roll their eyes and beg to change the subject. Their friends would tease them for never shutting up about their boyfriend, about Harry, but they wouldn’t be able to help it.

They would lie in bed at night, visions of the future dancing behind their eyelids. And wake him up in the middle of the night with a phone call to tell him about all of their fantasies about the home they dream to settle down in with him and all the ways they want to propose to him. They’d tell him about the perfect name they thought of for their future son or daughter. They’d tell him how much they love him. They’d wake him up, simply because the love was so strong that they couldn’t wait until morning.

Every partner would be lucky to get to love Harry.

Louis should have done all of that. He should’ve done all of that and more. He knows that now.

“Does Nick love you?” He doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“Dunno,” Harry admits. “He pretends he does f’r a while, at least.” He chuckles dryly. Even in his hazy, deadened state, the insecurity is clear in his voice.

“What did you take, H?”

Harry shakes his head confidently. “Nothin’, Lou. I don’t- I wouldn’t.”

Louis reaches for the lamp on Niall’s bedside table. With the new light, Louis can see Harry more clearly and for the first time in his life, he wants to look away from him. Niall was right. He looks a mess. The first thing he notices is his cheek. The redness that he had thought was from Harry’s hysterics had obvious, noticeable fingerprints. His pupils were huge; only the tiniest ring of emerald circling them. There was a glaze covering the usually bright eyes. They were wide and blown out. Lost.

Harry isn’t okay. And it appears that whatever he got from Nick was not love. What he got from Nick was a quick fuck and some kind of high that he’s yet to come down from. Not love.

“I need to know, Harry,” Louis pries. “I’m not mad at you. I just need to know what you did so I know if, or how, I need to help.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harry repeats. He looks sure of his answer.

A thought crosses Louis’ mind that he wishes never had to. Nick was a shitty guy, Louis was beyond aware of that, but he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that. Right?

He approaches the topic vaguely, hoping Harry won’t catch on. Hoping Harry won’t try to protect Nick. “Did…Did Nick take anything, Harry? Do you know if Nick had something?”

Harry tries to think for a moment. “Like. Like, the- wine?”

Louis shakes his head and urges Harry to think again. “I know you had wine. I need to know if he had something else. Did you see him take anything at all?”

“He- He had a, um, like a headache?” Harry suggests, though it sounds a lot like a question.

Louis combs his fingers through Harry’s hair to keep him docile. He doesn’t want him to feel interrogated, but Louis needs to know what happened. “Okay. So he took something for that?”

Harry nods in confirmation. “Yes. Had, like, green?”

You would think Louis is trying to get top-secret information from a spy with the vagueness of Harry’s answers. Or maybe a child who hasn’t quite learned how to string together a sentence. Louis’ not sure which comparison is more accurate. “What, a green what? A green pill? You saw him take it?”

“Well. Well, no. But like. He had it in his hand when I went to the, uh, the bathroom? And- and, um, was gone when I came back.”

Louis sees red.

“And you drank some nice wine when you came back out, didn’t you?” He asks it casually, like he’s simply interested in Harry’s day.

“Mmm,” Harry nods. “Had wine. I didn’t like it though. Was too tart. Pr’fer fruity wine.”

A stubborn tear finally falls down Louis’ cheek. “I know, love. I’ll buy you some of your very favorite fruity wine another day and make up for that yucky, terrible, awful wine from Nick. Okay? I promise, Harry.”

He doesn’t know why or what he’s promising Harry, but he knows he means it.

Harry furrows his eyebrows at Louis. “It didn’t taste that bad Louis. You don’t- y’don’t need t’cry.”

It was that bad, Louis thinks, perhaps not the flavor of the wine, but the bloody Rohypnol that Nick Fucking Grimshaw slipped in it was more than “that bad”.

–

After managing to tuck a knocked out Harry into Niall’s bed after he falls asleep in his lap, Louis calls Niall. His voice is quiet. He doesn’t want to wake up Harry and risk him hearing the vexatious conversation, but he won’t leave Harry in the room alone. For Harry’s sake, and his own.

“Wait,” Niall drawls when Louis explains the situation. “I don’t- I don’t think I’m understanding.”

Louis rubs his temples with his thumb and middle finger, trying to massage away the anger hidden behind them. “I think you do understand, Niall.”

The line is silent.

“Rohypnol,” Niall repeats. “Like, the thing guys roofie girls with at pubs?”

“Bingo,” Louis nods. The tone is scathing. Cutting. He has given up on trying to remain level headed.

“Did Nick…” He refuses to finish the sentence. Louis gets it, he doesn’t need to say anything further.

Sparing a glance back at Harry’s sleeping frame, Louis chokes on a sob. He brings his palm over his mouth to attempt to withhold the cries. His eyes are squeezed shut in pure agony. He doesn’t even know if anything happened, but the fact that it is a possibility has made Louis’ blood turn to ice.

The thought of someone hurting Harry is something Louis has never coped well with. There had been a few instances during their relationship where a judgemental scowl or crass remark was tossed their way, as though the sight of two boys holding hands had shattered the strangers’ days. Harry would squeeze his boyfriend’s hand and keep them moving. Louis, on the other hand, would stand his ground and glare right back at the insensitive, homophobic Tory twats. He may or may not have socked a guy in the face at a party after he heard him talking about how Harry was “dressed like a queer”. Harry still doesn’t know about the whole punching thing. Louis’ planning on keeping it that way.

“Lou…” Niall’s staticky voice calls through the receiver.

“Sorry, sorry, m’sorry,” Louis breathes. “I know it’s…it’s not- I’m just overwhelmed, I think. I don’t ever want anything to happen to ‘im, Ni.”

He hears shuffling in the background of the phone call and Niall mumble something along the lines of I’ll see you later, I’ve gotta go to whoever it is he’s with. “I’m gonna come back now, Lou. That okay? I really don’t want you to be alone, man.”

Louis leans against the wall and lets his knees give in until he’s seated on the hard floor. “Please.”

—

Louis isn’t sure how long he’s been resting his head on Niall’s shoulder, blankly staring ahead, when he hears Harry’s tired voice. “I didn’t sleep wi’ him, Lou. Didn’t.”

Niall’s body stiffens under him. Louis presses himself up from his arguably commiserable fetal position, ignoring the cracks and pops his achy joints make, and walks over to Harry. His eyes look crisper and he’s able to keep them steady on Louis. The words are less blurred together, though the sentences are still choppy. It’s an improvement. He doesn’t know how to respond to Harry’s admission, so he sits at the foot of the bed and waits for Harry to (hopefully) continue on his own.

And he does. “I r’member, Louis, and… and I didn’t- I didn’t let him. We, um, kissed. M’sorry. And I… I did- something else. But Louis, I di’n’t do that. Swear.”

Louis, once again, isn’t sure how to deal with this kind of situation. He also doesn’t know why Harry is apologizing in the first place. Even if he were one-hundred percent sober and clear-minded, and had sex with Nick, it’s not like they were still together. Louis wouldn’t have the right to stop him, nor would he. It kills him, the thought of it, but he made his bed, and he has to lie in it.

Louis looks back at Niall with a help me expression, which Niall just unhelpfully reciprocates. Great. What are they supposed to do? “Okay, Harry. That’s okay.”

Niall clears his throat apprehensively. “Do you remember if you did… that stuff… before you went to the bathroom, H? Or was it after?”

Harry seems surprised by Niall’s presence and Louis really hopes he did the right thing. He prays that Harry won’t be mad at him for sharing the information with Niall. He knows it’s personal, but what he told Niall was solely the important parts. Not that Harry had been able to give Louis any risqué details himself; which, really, is the whole problem.

Harry doesn’t seem offended, and simply answers the other boy’s question. “Before. It was- I went to the toilet to, um, fresh’n up.” Harry’s cheeks warm and the tips of his ears redden.

He continues, “But then we had a drink. An’ then I started not feeling well, so I asked t’leave. He got, um, mean. Didn’t want me to go. I kept tellin’ him that I was poorly. Went to his door and he- he slapped me. He hit me.” Harry pauses, taking a moment for his groggy mind to process that his ex-boyfriend, someone he loved, someone he trusted put his hands on him. “He called me some, um, some names, told me to leave. And I guess I just… Just wasn’t worth th’ trouble.”

The thick silence from before rushes back and spreads to every nook and cranny of the small dorm. Louis feels a small wave of solace at the confirmation that nothing intimate happened while Harry was under the influence. The dark, black sludge of anger is still settled in his stomach like tar when he remembers the fingerprints on Harry’s cheek. He can’t lie to himself that it was just from crying anymore.

“Do you want to tell someone, Harry?” Niall is the one to finally interrupt the stillness.

“I… I mean, it doesn’t feel good to be slapped, but, um, I don’t think it’s worth telling someone?”

Oh.

He hasn’t connected the dots.

“Nick put something in your wine, Harry,” Louis bites out. “The green pill for his… headache. It was a sedative.”

Niall fishes his phone from his jeans pocket and goes to Google to find a picture of Rohypnol, a scored green tablet popping up. He turns his phone, showing it to Harry. “Is this what Nick’s bloody Excedrin looked like?”

“Oh…Oh,” Harry gasps. “Wha- why? But. What?”

“I’m so, so sorry, love. I… My heart is aching, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Bewildered, Harry continues shaking his head. That can’t be right. He was going to sleep with Nick. He thought he had made it pretty damn clear when he asked to go over. Why would he need to fucking roofie him? “I don’ get it. I was- I was going to. I, we made out. I got him off. Why did he… Why?”

“He needed to make sure he got what he wanted,” Louis explains, unable to mask the spite from his tone.

“I.. I have to- I’m not-” Harry cuts himself off. “I think ‘m gonna be sick.”

Louis grabs Niall’s rubbish bin and helps Harry through the painful, physical manifestation of the overwhelming anguish. His hand strokes Harry’s hair, keeping it from his face and off his sweaty neck and talks to him gently. Harry’s back muscles are tensed and strained, and Louis knows he’s crying. This is not where he thought his day would go when he woke up and threw himself his pity party that morning. His sorrows have never felt smaller.

Niall reenters the room when Harry is done, a cool washcloth and a glass of water in his hands. “Here, man. Drink some water. Small sips.”

Louis takes the flannel and ever-so-softly wipes the tears and sweat from Harry’s cheeks. He allows the cloth to rest at the nape of Harry’s neck while he pulls the curls that are long enough into a small half bun. He still wears an elastic around his wrist.

“I don’t wan’be alone,” Harry croaks out. His throat sounds sore and it reminds Louis of their unexpected reunion and the awful night in the hospital that followed. Louis wishes Harry could catch a break.

“Of course not, H. Never. I won’t leave you alone,” Louis appeases easily.

“My roommate is coming back tonight from visiting home. I’ll be more than happy to stay with you, too, but it’d have to be at Louis’,” Niall adds guiltily, not wanting to make Harry go out of his way.

“S’kay, Ni. Can stay with Lou.”

Louis tries to not let worry show on his face. Spending the night alone with Harry sounds terrifying enough on its own, but spending the night with a traumatized, fearful Harry and not being able to do anything to help sounds like torture. Actual, literal, blatant torture. Ripping his fingernails off one-by-one? No biggie. Helplessly watching as Harry cries? Actual, literal blatant torture.

Chapter Text

“I don't want to talk about it, Louis.” Harry had shouted after waking up in Louis’ dorm that next morning. His words may have been stern but his voice was anything but. The exhaustion in his tone was clear as day, despite desperately trying to not show it.

“Harry, we have t-”

“Drop it.” 

Louis dropped it.

Harry left.

So, yeah. You could say things between the pair haven’t been great… Not that it had been great before, but it was certainly better than this hostile, touch-and-go limbo they’ve fallen into. After the dramatic-but-seemingly-amicable crossing of paths in Niall’s dorm last month, Louis (naively and desperately) thought that meant they could begin their reconciliation. He clung to the hope that his relationship with Harry wasn’t entirely unsalvageable, since Harry had called and visited Louis in the middle of the night. Clearly, he wouldn’t have wanted to see him if he hated Louis’ guts, right? 

Now, though, that optimism is fading as quickly as it came, with the two of them arguing any time they see each other. 

-

“I knew I’d get hurt eventually,” Harry admits the following Thursday after the millionth time his ex-boyfriend has – accidentally, according to Louis – bumped into him around campus. Harry doesn’t believe him. “As much as I wanted to brush it off as my silly insecurities, I knew it’d happen. You were already in uni with an established group of fun friends that you and I both knew were too cool for me. You’re fun and outgoing, and I just got in the way of you living out your wild, bachelor years at college.”

“Harry- I didn’t-“

“I know you didn't mean to hurt me,” he finishes the other boy’s sentence, “but it happened. Sure, it was my fault, too, for trying to get you to settle down. That wasn’t fair of me, but…” He trails off with a shrug, his eyes cast down where he distractedly kicks around a loose pebble in the cement.

“We just… We needed space, H. You had to have seen that too. I know it wasn't only me. We started butting heads in a way we never had before. We were too stressed. You needed to focus on your first year. And I needed to sort shit out. I needed to pull myself together and stop being so freaked out by how in love with you I am. It just wasn't working, y’know, at the time.”

“And what? It’d work now? Why?” Harry challenged, his tone growing defensive, “Because you're jealous I fucked Nick? Because you saw me fall apart like a pathetic twat and now you, what, pity me? Huh, Louis?”

Louis just barely succeeds at biting his tongue before he starts lecturing Harry on the difference between  fucking and attempted rape. They don’t need to have that conversation. Again. “No, Harry. Because I know what’s important now.”

“Louis…” When Louis finally gets the courage to look at Harry, the younger boy has his bottom lip pinched between his thumb and index finger. He looks defeated, like the light has been sucked out of his soul, one tired day at a time. Louis really wants to hug him.

“It’s you, by the way… You’re, um. You’re what’s important. If that wasn’t clear…”

“It’s- yeah. I got it.”

“And I know you're not a little kid anymore, and I don't need to make, like, executive decisions for us in order to try to protect you. I know you can take care of yourself.”

The tiredness in Harry’s eyes shifts to anger as he laughs humorlessly. “Right. I can take such good care of myself. So much so that I crawl back to my psycho ex and get blasted so he can fuck me like some kind of desperate slut .” He spits out the last word bitterly. He hears Nick’s dirty, persuasive voice in his head.

“Christ, Harry. You’re not- God, don't say that about yourself,” Louis nearly feels physically ill at the words. “How many times do I have to tell you that you didn’t do anything? That was all him.”

“Well it’s true, no? I can't take care of myself as much as I thought I could. Maybe you were right to break us up. I was pissed that you made a decision for me, but maybe you were right.”

“I wasn’t right.” The statement is honest and raw.

“Oi! Can you two get a room?” A random student shouts as he walks by the arguing pair. “And get out of the middle of the fucking walkway, dickheads!”

Okay, maybe the pavement outside of the library wasn’t the most suitable setting for a conversation like this, but Louis had a feeling Harry wasn’t particularly keen on going back to his place to sit down and chit chat over some tea and biscuits. So middle of the fucking walkway it is, because Louis is getting real sick of Harry ignoring the massive fucking elephant in the room– or, well, the elephant in the campus quad.

“I’ll see you later, Louis.”

-

“You just…walked away?”

“Yes, Niall,” Harry rolls his eyes. He doesn’t see what the big deal is. “Is that so unfathomable?”

Niall’s um, yes, what the fuck? expression betrays him when he answers with a flat, “No, Hersh, no. If that’s what you felt was best, you had every right to end the conversation.”

Harry finally puts down his ridiculously expensive Kinesiology of the Musculoskeletal System textbook that he has been pretending to read and looks at his friend. “I know you, Niall, in case you’ve forgotten. And you’re incredibly easy to read. I know there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“I just think, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to hear him out. I know you two had your, er, moments, but it’s been nearly a year–”

“–Nine months.”

“Fine, whatever, nine months. That’s still a long time, H. You can learn and grow a lot in that amount of time. Mate, you could have a whole-ass baby in that time. And you,” Niall pokes him with an accusatory finger. “Little Miss ‘If I don’t get straight As in all of my courses, I’m a failure’– you have made tons of progress with your anxiety and perfectionism. Surely Louis is capable of maturing in nine months.”

“I know, Ni,” Harry pouts while he leans back and drums his fingers rhythmically on his chest to get out the pent-up stress buzzing in his fingertips. “I guess I might be acting the tiniest bit stubborn, but he really hurt me before. I trust you when you say he’s settled down, I’m just hesitant to do anything about it. Plus, I slept with Nick after Louis left. Do you know how shitty of an ex that makes me?”

“You left before you really did anything with Nick. You’re not a bad person for freaking out after that night Lou told you he still only wants you. You were craving something familiar, and that just so happened to be Nick.”

Harry’s face contorts with utter guilt and he shakes his head. “No… Before that. He saw me crying into a McFlurry at McDonald’s one night not long after Louis and I started our break .” He scoffs at the word. “He offered me a ride back to the dorms and he was just so nice and comforting. I know he was a shitty boyfriend, but I thought maybe we could be friends. We started talking more and we went out to get some closure about things. We got so fucking drunk and, God, we fucked in the pub’s bathroom. It was horrible and I regret it so much, trust me, but I still did it. Louis only knows about what happened last week. He would proper despise me if he knew I really did sleep with Nick.”

“I- Wow, that’s… I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, I figured you two had been talking again, after what they said at the hospital, but I didn’t think you guys were, like, sleeping together. And in a pub toilet? What were you thinking? That’s- Yeah, that sounds a little shitty, H, I can’t lie.”

Harry is pretty close to throwing himself out of his window. He feels like he’s in that one episode of Friends. He was always on Rachel’s side, too. And now he was Ross. What has he become?

It’s safe to say he hates himself.

“I am fully aware that it’s shitty, I wasn’t thinking. It’s not like me at all, I–,” he freezes. “Wait, back up. ‘What they said at the hospital?’ What?”

“Well, with your emergency contact,” Niall explains like it’s obvious. “When Louis and I went to the hospital with you and they wouldn’t let us in while you were sleeping ‘cause you changed your healthcare proxy.”

Harry abruptly stands from his rickety desk chair, shaking his head wildly. “No. No, no. I didn’t change anything. Louis is my emergency contact and my proxy. You know I changed it when I came to Leeds. It’s Louis.”

“It’s Nick.” Niall feels just as confused as Harry looks. “I’m sure of it. Louis was ready to tear ‘em all a new one after they made it plenty clear that we couldn’t get any information without Nick’s permission.”

“But I didn’t change it, Niall. It’s Louis. Louis is my emergency contact while I’m here. I fought so hard to get my mum to agree to it. It’s supposed to be Louis,” He grabs his coat from the back of the door and glances back at a stunned Niall. “I have to- I gotta go do something. You can stay or let yourself out or whatever. I just- I have to go.”

He struggles with his coat as he speeds through the halls and out the door. The route to Devonshire Hall is ingrained in Harry’s mind and muscles, and he gets there before he can even think through what he’s doing.

The door is propped open with a rock like Harry knew it would be. Devonshire was known around school for being rather welcoming to guests, if you want to put it modestly. It’s where most of the football team lives and the himbo, frat-boy stereotypes are mostly true, apparently.

He nearly trips over his own feet on the way up the stairs before bursting through Louis’ dormroom door. “You’re supposed to be my emergency contact!”

Louis barely had time to process the intrusion before Harry started talking. “Fuckin’ hell– I could’ve been wanking or something, Harry. Hi, um, what?”

“My emergency contact! I want it to be you.”

“Okay… Why did you change it to Nick then? It’s fine that you did, I mean, I get it, we’re not together anymore, but-”

“I didn’t change it to Nick, I don’t know why or- or how he got it, but it’s you, Louis. I always want you to be my emergency contact.”

Louis walks to Harry and rests a calming hand on his bicep. “Hey, hey. Slow down. I’m a bit confused here, lov– Harry. Um, sorry. I just– at the hospital, like… They said you changed it.”

“Oh my god,” Harry’s body pitches forward like he’s been physically knocked over as it begins falling into place. “He took me to the doctor last month after we– after we went to the bar. I couldn’t keep anything down the next morning and I thought I was having some kind of reaction to one of the drinks I tried…”

Louis holds onto his arm tighter, keeping the shaking boy from falling victim to his buckling knees. Harry continues to frantically ramble, mostly to himself, while he untangles the foggy memories. “I was so hungover, he filled out the paperwork for me. He- he must’ve… I thought- I’m so fucking stupid. Why did I think I could trust him again?”

Before Louis can jump in with comforting words, Harry completely breaks. “What the fuck am I doing, Louis? What- Why am I like this? I’m going crazy, Lou, that has to be it. I don’t feel like myself anymore, and I’m really scared, Louis. Please, Louis–”

“Shh, hey, Harry, no. You’re not going crazy. Come on, come inside, you’re still in the hall, love. In you get,” Louis ushers him inside, guiding him to his unmade bed. “You’re okay. Big breaths. You don’t feel like yourself anymore because Nick is getting in your head. This happened when you originally found him cheating, yeah? Remember? And he kept making you feel like you were blowing it out of proportion and that it was just a silly little fling. He twisted every single one of your words to make himself look like the good guy. He made you feel like it was your fault for not being ready instead of his fault for not keeping his dick in his pants. Nick is a very charismatic person that knows how to get what he wants. And he wants you, Harry.”

“We fucked.” The guilt bubbles over and spills out in a sinful confession.

“I know. At Gill’s,” Louis nods solemnly. “Oli saw you guys together. He finally told me the other day. I haven’t been able to stop worrying about you, and he got fed up with how I wasn’t focusing on anything he was saying… It fucking sucks to know the love of your life went back to their ex, but I left you. I abandoned everything we had just because I was scared. I had a feeling he’d try to win you back once he found out we separated.”

“I– No,” Harry all but sobs. His cheeks are burning red and he can’t get the tears to stop falling. “I’m a grown adult. I should’ve known better. I don’t know why I thought we could be friends after everything. It’s my fault.”

“Maybe a little,” Louis shrugs. Harry’s not wrong, per se, but Nick… Well, Nick is Nick; all narcissistic and coercive. And Harry is Harry; trusting and hopeful, with stars in his eyes. “But you were also vulnerable and lonely, and Nick is a sleazy cunt who isn’t above taking advantage of people if it means having someone to fuck. He’s horrible, Harry, and I’m sorry, but he’s always treated you like shit. Except for when he wanted something from you.”

“I miss you so much. I have felt so fucking lost without you, Louis. God, I’m so dumb. I can’t do it anymore. I feel like I can’t br-breathe without you and, and- I need you and I’m s-so sorry for not fighting for us. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to settle down t-too fast. I know uni’s supposed t’be fun, but I only want you. I hate that I slept with…with him. I want you and I- I want you to want me. It’s selfish, I know—”

“Stop, H. You’re going to hyperventilate, for fuck’s sake. Stop and take a breath,” Louis coaches. He sits down on the mattress next to Harry and pulls him into his chest. Slowly rocking him back and forth, like he knows Harry loves, Louis shushes his cries softly. “You’ve cried too much recently, darling. I hate that you’ve been so sad. You’re okay. You don’t need all the tears, I promise. You have me, Harry. You’ve always had me and you always will.”

Harry nuzzles into Louis’ chest, wet eyelashes dampening his collarbones with each blink. “I’m tired of pretending to hate you.”

Louis chuckles, his own throat feeling tight with choked-back tears. “You can stop, then.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees simply. “Thank you.”

“Close your eyes, Haz, take a nap. We can talk about everything once you get some rest,” Louis promises.

“Will you- Can I kiss you?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you every moment since our last.”

It feels like the first time they kissed. It’s hesitant and nervous, neither of them knows how far they can take it before they lose the innocence that envelops them. It’s hungry in the purest of ways, with no traces of lust or lewdness, but full of love and need.

“Sleep now. No more kissing until we talk,” Louis drops one last kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, “’Cause we have a lot to talk about.”