Archive of Our Own ^beta

Louis’ brain feels muddled. He can remember some vague feelings, but nothing really concrete, nothing to hold onto. There’s pain, floating around in his head… or maybe in his body? He was hurt — or, no he is hurt. It hits him suddenly, the pain that’s wracking his body. He’s not sure where he is, or what he’s doing, but he can feel his body, which feels like it’s badly bruised all over. There’s a sharp pain in his left leg, like someone’s just stabbed a knife into it. God, he hopes he’s not bleeding. He tries to move his left arm, but it feels like it’s made of stone. Or maybe that it just doesn’t exist. He can’t feel it at all.

It takes him far too long to realise that he’s awake, but he hasn’t even opened his eyes. Right, seeing . That might help with figuring out what’s going on. 

It takes a surprising amount of effort for him to crack open his eyes and actually register his surroundings. It looks like he’s —

Well, he’s going to assume that he’s not where he thinks he is. He thinks he would remember going to the hospital.

Then again, Louis tries to turn his body, and the sharp pain in his leg hits his whole body so extremely that he wants to scream. He doesn’t, though; he can’t make his mouth open enough in order to do that. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s in the hospital, judging by how hurt he seems to be.

So, he can’t turn his body. He’s stuck on his back. His neck, though, he can turn his neck and see more of his surroundings. It feels like he’s walking a half marathon in 30 degree heat, the energy he has to exert to angle his head to look at his side. 

There’s a man there, sitting in the beside chair, and he looks vaguely familiar, but Louis just… can’t remember where he knows him from. He’s having a little bit of an issue with that, with remembering. He can’t remember what happened to him, how he got here. He can’t remember who this man is. If he thinks about it, he can’t really remember much of anything.

He knows this: he’s Louis Tomlinson. His mother is Johannah Deakin, and his father (for all extents and purposes) is Mark Tomlinson. He has six little siblings, including the two new babies that his mother had with his stepfather, Dan. He just graduated uni, getting his degree in Early Childhood Education, and he already has a really good job lined up at the daycare Daisy and Phoebe used to go to. 

He can’t put a real date to anything; he’s not sure if it’s May, or maybe late in the summer. He’s not sure what he was doing, if he was on holiday, or at home. He has no idea how he landed himself in the hospital.

He has no idea who is sitting next to him. It’s not like he’s a doctor.

The man next to him is focused on a book, his head angled far enough down that a curl has fallen down onto his forehead. His green eyes are moving back and forth as he reads the words on the page, his eyebrows furrowed enough that he looks slightly angry, almost. The book is in his lap, far enough down that Louis can’t make out the title or even what the cover looks like. What Louis can make out, though, is the slope of the man’s nose and the pink of his full lips. He’s gorgeous, without any debate, and if Louis wasn’t lying in pain on a hospital bed, he might have flirted with him.

A weird thought crosses his mind, that maybe this man is some guardian angel who saved him from the wreckage of… something. A car crash, maybe. Louis can almost imagine it, this angel of a man lifting a car off of him and carrying him on his back all the way to the hospital.

Louis’ vocal chords feel like they’re all scratched up, but he makes a noise that’s almost like a laugh, and it must be loud enough that the man looks over at him. 

“Oh, my God, you’re awake,” he says, and Louis’ foggy mind is so interested in the deep timber and slow drawl of this man’s voice that it takes him a little bit to register the words that he’s saying. He’s awake? Which is a shock? Was he asleep for very long before? “I’m sorry that Eleanor’s not here,” the man says, and then with that, he’s rambling, closing his book and looking very nervous. “She said she had work, and didn’t really seem interested in sticking around, and I mean, I guess I get it, and my work is more flexible, so I stayed, I hope you don’t mind that. Eleanor didn’t seem to mind it when I suggested it, but she’s not you, obviously.”

Louis manages to open his mouth, and about a million questions rack his brain. Like, first off all, who are you? That’s up there, right along with why am I here? and what happened?

Louis opens his mouth, and all that he can manage to get out is, “Who’s Eleanor?”