Work Text:
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Dawn settles over the hotel room, golden calm and blessedly quiet. Louis snores in his bed as Harry blearily knuckles the sleep from his own eyes.
He looks over at Louis, chuckling at the familiar sight of his friend tangled up in the sheets, mouth askew, thin line of dribble accumulating at the corner of his lips. Yawning, Harry considers waking Louis up with a particularly loud rendition of the boy's least favorite song ("Call Me Maybe," Harry is proud to know) sung straight into his ear. In fact, he's swinging his legs out of bed when his limbs seem to freeze of their own accord.
And then something hits Harry in the chest, some foreign force or emotion. And all of a sudden, he can feel the world as he knows it begin to melt away.
In its place blossoms a world that is at once frightening, unsettling, seething, demanding.
Obsessive.
Harry feels it itch along his spine before wrapping its fists around his brain, taking hold and shaking with a vigor that's terrifying.
"One Direction," the voice whispers. "Larry. Ziam. Niam. Zarry. Carrots. Management."
Before the world goes dark and Harry goes under, his last coherent thought is:
"Fuuuuuuck."
He knows he's in trouble.
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When Louis wakes up, Harry is staring at him.
Not that this is in itself an altogether new occurrence, but.
There's something... off... in the way Harry is staring. Like he's about to burst into tears or cut off a lock of Louis' hair. Both options are mildly alarming, and Louis furrows his brow warily.
"Er. Alright, Harry?" Louis asks slowly, sweeping the fringe from his eyes. There's a strange stillness to the way Harry is standing. As if he's holding himself back or something.
"Louis," Harry breathes. He leans forward.
And bursts into song.
"She wears high heels and I wear sneakers, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers--"
Louis blinks.
"--dreaming about the day when you wake up and find--"
Louis narrows his eyes.
"--that what you're looking for has been heeeeere the whole timiiie--"
Louis beans Harry in the face with a pillow.
"Well," Louis says serenely, "You've turned into a raving lunatic." He sits up in bed, peering down at the ground where Harry is sprawled out. "Are you crying?"
Harry rubs at his face, an expression of anguish twisting at his features.
"I just have a lot of feelings right now," he mutters. "Like, about this band. And us."
He stops, seems to stare at his own mouth. "Us," he says again, delight setting in. "Uzz."
Another pillow in the face stops that in its tracks.
"Right," Louis says decisively. "I'm going to take a shower. When I get back, I hope you're slightly less..." he gestures at Harry, "cat in the hat."
"Uuussssszzz," is Harry's reply.
"Right," Louis says again, and leaves.
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When Louis comes out from the shower, Harry's looking in the mirror intently.
"I am so fit," Harry says, a weird combination of disgust and--lust?--in his voice. "Like, it's actually a bit ridiculous. How do I exist? Why am I real?"
Before Louis can answer, there is a knock on the door.
"Lads," Paul says, and pokes his head in. "Morning to you both."
Harry tears his gaze from the mirror and catches sight of Paul. For a moment, he looks like he's about to hyperventilate. "Paul," he breathes. "Oh wow, Paul. The Higginator! My Higganigga!"
Paul blanches, physically recoils. "That's--" he starts. "That's really racist terminology, Harry."
Louis wrinkles his nose. "And not a bit clever," he agrees. "But old Harry's been out of sorts since he woke up. And when I say out of sorts, I mean mentally unhinged."
Paul rubs a hand over his face. "Louis," he sighs. "Handle it."
He gives Harry's pyjamas a defeated glance and sighs again. "You've got an hour to eat, then we've got a packed day. Interviews out the arse."
"Literally, I can only hope," Louis remarks to Paul, who only sighs again, shutting the door.
"Literally," Harry echoes gleefully. "Hilarious. I can see why you and I are--" he coughs and sends a significant look, "--friends."
Louis just smiles blandly, tweaking Harry's nipple as he passes. "Weirdo," he says. "You know we're more than friends--"
A thud.
Louis would say more, talk about how of course him and Harry are more than friends, they're practically brothers at this point, but.
Well.
Harry's fainted dead away.
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"I knew it," are Harry's first words upon waking, and Liam only looks confused.
"You alright?" Liam asks, waving his hand in front of Harry's face. "Louis said you went mad and then decided to take a nap on the floor. Thought I'd better check on you." He pats Harry's cheek solicitously. "Knew it, you said?"
"Me and Lou," Harry responds, and swats Liam's hand away. "I liked your hair better the other way," he adds, and clambers up to stand.
Liam only looks confused. "Er. What?" he asks.
"Your hair," Harry explains. "And Lou."
"What?" Liam asks again.
Harry narrows his eyes. "Never mind," he sighs. Taps his nose significantly. "Just that they can't fool me with Loueleanor." A wink. "I know a Larry Stylinson moment when I see it."
He whistles a jaunty tune and makes for the door.
"What?" asks Liam.
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The thing is, Harry's been screaming since he woke up this morning.
They're not blood-curdling shrieks or anything, not like in the horror movies. More like short, sharp bursts of intense noise. Really intense noise.
There's no rhyme or reason for the screaming, either. No one's quite sure what really causes Harry to erupt, then flush red, clapping hands over his mouth and bouncing on his heels. Sometimes he'll say something like, "Oh my god I am going to diieee," which is fairly troubling for everyone involved, but then he just goes quiet, folds his hands together, clasps them to his chest, and sways. In place. For two minutes straight, staring at them all with an expression of deep adoration on his face.
Honestly, if the other lads knew what it was they were doing to cause Harry's apocleptic fits, they'd probably stop. Because it's...startling, to say the least. Plus, Niall--who's never liked screaming even when he can expect it's coming--looks ready to murder someone every time Harry opens his mouth.
Of course, that could be due to the fact that in between screaming and swaying, Harry will clutch the sleeve of Niall's jumper, look earnestly into his eyes, and say:
"Niall. You are perfect, just the way you are."
Or even worse, "Po-tay-to!" followed by another gale of laughter.
Really, between Harry's shrieking and Niall's death grip on his breakfast utensils, it's a wonder no one's been killed yet.
"Zayn! Look! A mirror. Try and restrain yourself, bwahahahaha--"
The day is still young, though.
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Unsurprisingly, Zayn's not too keen to sit next to Harry on the ride to the first of many interviews. But as the rest of the lads are feeling rather wary about the
(Massive amount of drugs he seems to have taken, according to Louis)
change in Harry's personality, it's Zayn and Louis who end up having to sandwich him in the van.
"Guys," Harry says, oblivious to the tension, "Imagine."
Zayn drops his head into his hands.
"Imagine a girl named Kaydee--or Jade, that's such a pretty name--came to one of our concerts and like, while we were singing, one of us--probably Niall, because Niall's still looking for his princess--saw her in the crowd and just. Imagine that was it. And Niall started singing that one part in 'Stand Up' to her, about it hurting to think that she'd ever cried, because she's been screwed over by so many awful guys, and they just, just like. Fell in love. And he said to everyone at the concert, 'Sorry everyone, I've found my princess. Jade, come here.' Guys, imagine that."
Harry's voice, usually low and rough, sounds high-pitched, a bit breathless, in his excitement. His earnest suggestion is met with silence.
Then:
"Harry. You know...you know that would never happen, don't you?" Liam asks, honestly concerned. "It'd be really dangerous to call a girl out like that, even if we did...er. Fall in love during our concert."
"Yeah. Also, we don't even play Stand Up," Zayn adds helpfully.
"And I would never say something so naff," Niall protests, folding his arms grumpily.
"Plus, how would Niall know her name?" Louis asks reasonably. "If he just sees her in the crowd, he's not just going to have an epiphany and say, 'oh she looks like she's called Jade,' is he? And what if people slaughter her before she makes it onstage? What if she's a serial killer and she slaughters Niall?" He shakes his head. "Negative points for lack of thinking this through, Styles."
Harry frowns for a moment, staring out the window at the hordes of girls that have begun running after the van.
"Okay, new game," he says. "That girl." He points to one particularly distraught looking teen with red hair. "I ship her with Niall, she's probably Irish too, so they have that in common--"
"You're putting me on a boat?" Niall asks, confused. "Harry, did I piss in your cornflakes or something, do you hate me, I don't get this--"
"And that girl! The one wearing the headband. She looks sensible. Goes to you, Daddy."
"Please call me Liam," Liam asks politely. "Like, really. Please."
"Oooh, and that one," Harry points to a girl with dusky skin and dark hair. "Obviously I'm shipping her with you, Zayn."
Zayn narrows his eyes. "Obviously?" he asks quietly. "How come obviously?" His elbow is dangerously close to Harry's balls.
Louis interjects. "What about me?" he asks, by now looking morbidly curious at the tailspin Harry has now entered.
Harry frowns even more deeply, considers the crowd instead of looking at Louis.
"This game is stupid," he announces. The car is silent for a long moment, as everyone exchanges not-so-private, bewildered-edging-on-panic looks.
Then Harry pipes up again:
"Hey, let's all talk about how old my last girlfriend was!"
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Right before the first interview starts, the boys find out they'll be conducting a press segment on the beach later that day.
"RIP Australia," Harry says dramatically, as they enter the interview room and splay out in their chairs.
This is met, like most things Harry has said today, with silence.
"Remember?" he asks. "How when we took our clothes off and went on a boat, the entire population of Sydney and then the world basically expired on the spot? Because of how fit we were?"
A beat.
"No? No one remembers? Liam went shirtless for half the day, I've never seen so many pictures of gratuitous semi-nudity afterwards, shame about his ugly hat--"
A flurry of shrugs.
"Well, we ought to do it again. Zayn's obviously been working out--this time, maybe he won't wear denim out on open water, do you know how many hearts you broke, man--"
And then the interviewer comes in and Harry's attention is diverted by the One Direction pens that she is giving them to write with.
"I'm using the Liam and Zayn ones," Harry declares, even though the Liam pen is a rather horrible light green and the Zayn pen is a barely discernible golden yellow. "They would hurt too much to be separated," he adds, smiling cheekily at the interviewer,before shooting very knowing--and obvious--looks at both boys in question. "Their love is too strong to be denied," he whispers loudly, dancing the pens around.
Zayn and Liam promptly exchange worried looks.
RIP Australia, indeed.
More like RIP Harry's sanity.
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The day wears on and things don't get better.
"Liam! What are you doing?" Harry demands, popping out of nowhere as Liam takes his place in the buffet line in between interviews.
"Gah!" A plate flies out of Liam's hand and lands on the floor, scattering his platter of vegetables everywhere.
"Aw, Harry. Look what I've done. I'll have to get a new plate for Zayn and I now." He gives Harry a disapproving look, which only seems to heighten the glee beginning to spread across Harry's face.
"Oh," Harry breathes. "Zayn. I thought you were getting food for Louis, because you know, he likes veggies. I read on Tumblr that his favorites were courgettes, but as you know it's actually carrots and--" Harry stops, smiles brightly. "But anyway. Getting food for Zayn is alright." He winks. "Getting food for Zayn's more than alright, actually." A beat. "And I suppose Niall would be fine, too. But not Louis."
'What?" Liam asks, eyebrow raised.
Harry points a stern finger at Liam, who looks increasingly confused. "Stay away from Louis. No one is here for LiLo."
And then he walks away, leaving Liam to stare after him.
"...What?"
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When Liam sits down, he realizes Harry has stolen all the spoons.
"Are you kidding?" Liam asks, and this is when he starts to sort of lose it. "Harry, give me my spoon."
"No," Harry says stubbornly. "You shouldn't be made to use one, Liam. I know how they shock you."
"How they--" Liam's eyes widen incredulously. "Harry, you know I was lying in that interview, right? Just like Louis was about the carrots? Just--having a laugh, yeah?" He shakes his head. "No one in their right mind actually believes I'm scared of spoons, do they--"
He breaks off, because Harry's started to tear up.
"That's not true," Harry says in a small voice. "You would never lie. You're Liam."
Niall chokes back what sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
"And Louis does so like carrots. He wants fans to be healthy and, and it's funny, and my entire lunch plate right now is carrots, okay--"
"Jesus," Niall interrupts, reaching over and snagging the spoon from under Harry's place-setting. "Don't have a nervous breakdown, Harry."
Liam takes the spoon from Niall gratefully, and Harry sniffs.
"Whatever," Harry says darkly. "Zayn, stop looking at Liam like that."
Zayn, who's actually halfway asleep at this point, startles. "Like what?" he asks.
"Like you want to shag him senseless," Harry scowls. "Don't tell me in between the hand-holding and cuddling and intense looks and 'I love you Liam's and 'I love you Zayn's you missed the fact that you're actually like, in love."
The boys gape at Harry, then at each other.
Harry shakes his head, all God you guys are dim, and picks up the carrot on his plate glumly.
Into the awkwardness, Niall cracks up, snorting up bits of his pudding.
"Aw," Harry sighs, taking a bite of the carrot. "LLN."
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The carrot and spoon revelation seems to subdue Harry enough that he stops sneaking loaded looks at Zayn and Liam during the ride to the beach, instead poking away at his phone.
"Whatcha doin," Louis asks, nudging Harry with his knee.
Harry shrugs sullenly.
"Haz my lad, come on, confess. Texting one of your numerous rumored lady loves? Playing with another trendy smartphone app? Looking up possible side effects of head trauma?"
Harry squints. "I didn't hit my head," he says. "I just have a lot of--"
"Feelings," the band says in unison.
Harry looks put out. "Yeah," he mutters, and presses another button viciously. "Anyway, I'm not texting or playing a game. I'm tweeting." He snorts. "And for once, it's something people won't have a fit trying to understand."
Niall gives an enthusiastic whoop. "Alright!" he says. "Love twitter. Anything interesting? Aside from another horrible trend like the last one, what was it--"
"Hashtag welcome home, flawless homosexuals," Louis drawls, eyebrow raised. "Same day as Louannah gate, and the day I became known as even more of a twat to the legions of people who hate me for no reason." Louis sighs. "Ever so kind, our fans are. Experts at the backhanded compliment."
"Or, you know, just a tad ignorant," Niall pipes helpfully.
"Or that," Louis allows.
Harry shakes his head. "No trends today," he says. "Well, there was one about Brazil needing 1D again, they're going to tear us apart if we ever set foot in their country, they're so thirsty--"
But then:
"Although I have to say." Harry leans forward earnestly. "Liam, punctuation won't kill you in the occasional tweet. Bless your heart but your entire twitter feed is one long--albeit adorable--run-on sentence." At Liam's offended look, he gives a winning smile. Turning to Zayn, Harry seems to warm to the subject.
He says: "And Zayn, your use of 'aha' rather than the more traditional 'lol' is really confusing. Are you laughing or having an epiphany, I don't even know."
Zayn blinks.
To Niall, Harry opens his mouth, and then shakes his head. "Niall," he says sadly, "I don't even know where to start with you."
Niall narrows his eyes. "Harry, seriously--" he says, but Louis cuts him off.
"And me?" Louis asks. "How're my tweets?"
Harry tilts his head. "Perfect, if I'm honest." The cow eyes he gives Louis are almost comical. "Let's be real: you and I have the best tweets of the band."
The other three boys squawk in protest, but Louis just smiles. "Yep. We're meant to be."
And just like that, the cloud over the van is lifted. Harry's shoulders lose their slump, and he beams. Rolls down the window too fast for Paul to even realize.
Sticks his head out as the wind rushes by. Yells out:
"Honk twice if Larry Stylinson is real!"
Honks all down the highway until they get to the beach, and for the first time all day, this is a brand of crazy the boys can handle.
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Of course, the exasperated affection doesn't last.
"Clap your hands if Larry Stylinson is real," Harry commands, pointing to the photographer when they finally get to the beach.
"Touch your nose if Larry Stylinson is real," he whispers to Paul, giving him a playful noogie.
"Flap your wings if Larry Stylinson is real," he coos to a seagull on the boardwalk, crouching after it as the bird tries to fly away.
"Pinch your bum if Larry Stylinson is real," he cheeks, and gives Louis' bum a tweak.
Louis hasn't got a leg to stand on if he protests, seeing as he's pinched every single one of the boys in various intimate body parts since the band was formed. And really, he doesn't want to protest, because it's rather funny.
But Harry's sort of--leering, and it strikes Louis that he shouldn't encourage this behavior.
Especially because whenever someone does say something, Harry narrows his eyes and says, really accusatorily:
"Directionator."
Which, just.
Louis sighs.
Before anyone can tell him not to (poor lad doesn't spend as much time on the internet as the rest of the boys) Zayn cocks an eyebrow and asks what makes someone a Directionator rather than a Directioner.
Harry gets a manic gleam in his eye. He actually rubs his hands together in anticipation.
"How many R's?" he demands. "What did Jimmy protest? How many nipples? Who's Niall's first love--trick question, it's not a who, it's a what, it's Nandos. What's the first song we ever ever sang together even though no sane person could know that because we surely sang together before it was televised so this is a stupid indication of whether someone is a fan? All those girls at school who wear backpacks--they don't even know." He leans close to Zayn. "Also, vas happenin'--"
Paul chooses this moment to pick Harry up and throw him over his shoulder, carrying him to the shoot and effectively aborting the impromptu quiz.
As Harry's led to to the water, waving crazy arms, they can hear:
"Horan the world?" then, "Curls!!!"
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Once near the shore, Harry spends the first 20 minutes writing in the sand.
Before the wave washes the words away, Louis gets a glimpse:
AmaZAYN
BrilLIAM
FabLOUIS
PhenomoNIALL
ExtraordiHARRY
And that's when he knows it's time for something to be done.
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Later, in their secret meeting place (the loo), sans Harry:
"He keeps asking me to follow his friends on Twitter. Says they're really awesome girls and it's their birthday and they deserve it," Liam says morosely.
"I keep getting pictures of your face with a heart drawn around it," Zayn says ominously. "Literally, he's cut out photos and stuck them in my pockets." He places a hand on Liam's knee. "I don't get why he thinks we're a couple."
"Yeah," Liam says, placing his hand absently over Zayn's. "Wasn't it supposed to be Niall and I?"
Zayn scowls.
Niall scowls, too. "Well, apparently I'm singled out for the worst of it. He keeps telling me he loved me even before the braces. And every time I try to eat something, he laughs his face off. Or he's drawing things on my arm!"
Niall holds up his arm to display the boldly written "NEMI" written in big letters. "I dunno what this even means," Niall says earnestly. "Think he's joined a cult?"
Louis interjects. "Yeah, in his loads of free time, he's gone off and been indoctrinated in the ways of Kool-Aid and heavenly ascension. No, Niall. Think of the behaviour Harry's been displaying. What's it remind you of?"
Liam furrows his brow. "Well, he's been acting quite--loud--around us all," he says slowly. "And he keeps pushing us together, like he actually called us 'five gay boys' to Paul in the van, and when Paul told him off, he said it was okay because obviously we were all in love with one another, and anyway, it was an inside joke for true fans only."
Everyone looks at Liam in semi-horror.
"Yeah," Liam says helplessly, "Probably should've known something was off right then."
Louis squints. "Look," he says. "We know what this is. We've seen it before. Basically..." He stands, knee aloft, hand held high as if holding a sword. "Friends, Romans, fellow lads with incredible hair--well, except you Liam, sorry--we've got to do something."
"Harry's turned into a fangirl."
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Once they all squeeze out of the loo, earning some very odd looks from production assistants on the shoot, the boys still have to figure out what they're actually going to do.
Thankfully, Paul's got Harry in a headlock somewhere, so they've got time.
Louis says, "Think of every crying, hysterical, slightly-mad fan we've ever met. The one in front row in Brisbane who drew my face on her finger and kept kissing it the entire concert, then tried to climb a security guard to get onstage. The one who tracked us down in the wilds of New Jersey and made us phone and say hello to her ex-boyfriend so he would think she was dating on of us. The one wrote a haiku about Zayn and Liam--"
Niall cackles. "Ziam deniers/hate puppies and don't read books/won't ascend, sorry," he recites, then cackles again.
"--and the one who spent our entire meet & greet talking about how fit Paul was because she was too embarrassed to say she wanted to marry Niall--until the last two seconds, when she started sobbing down on one knee. Or those two sisters who kept saying they were going to tear their faces off because we were so ughhhhhh... just to name a few."
Liam, Niall, and Zayn all wear the shell-shocked faces of teenage boys who aren't sure what to do when the world around them is going nuts.
Louis gentles his voice. "Think about those sweet girls and how we gently defused the insanity and escaped with our lives and hair intact."
Zayn furrows his brow. "Didn't we just..." he trails off, and all the boys adopt a look of dawning understanding.
Louis nods grimly.
"Exactly," he says. "Operation Restore Harry to Normalcy, commence."
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Their plan isn't actually all that genius. Mostly because, if they knew the secret to calming legions of fangirls down, they would employ it. Avidly.
But it's something, at least. And they need it now more than ever, as Louis can see when they return to their van, ready to head back to the hotel.
"NO!" Harry is yelling, looking legitimately frantic. "Tumblr can't be down, who do you think you are, Tumblr, Livejournal? Don't you know I need you?"
Liam frowns. "That's twice Harry's talked about Tumblr," he says. "D'you think he's one of those..."
"Tumblr girls," Zayn says, and looks pale.
"Ten quid he's taken blurry instagram photos of us all," Niall says. "And they're about to be posted on his own personal stalking blog."
Louis doesn't quite fancy a picture of his backside (a peach of a bum, Harry had called it during lunchtime) plastered all over the blogging site. He groans and strides towards Harry, finally fed up.
"You've got to stop," Louis says firmly, snatching the phone from Harry. "You are literally weirding me out."
Harry protests. "I was just texting my mum!" he says, red ringing his cheeks.
Louis arches an eyebrow. "I'm sure Anne would love a--" he checks the phone, "lengthy report on the undeniable sexual tension that exists between each and every member of this band." His jaw drops as he scrolls. "This is like ten pages long, Harry. Where do you find the time, oh my God, get a life, seriously--"
Liam is the one who finally says, "Alright. That's it." And then he and Louis frogmarch Harry to the van, throw him in, and look at Zayn and Niall expectantly.
Operation Restore Harry to Normalcy--commenced.
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In the end, they exorcise Harry with hugs.
"That's the thing," Liam says, quite reasonably. "We're not fighting crazy. We're fighting love. After all, every mad thing that's ever been done by ours fans isn't because they passionately hate our faces--"
"Yes it is," Harry interjects, voice petulant as Louis keeps him in an amicable but firm bearhug around his waist.
"--it's because they really love us. And the best way to answer love is with more love. So much love they explode."
Or something.
Privately, Louis thinks Liam--like the rest of them--just doesn't know what else to do, because Harry has gone really fucking mental.
"You don't understand," Harry insists, struggling in Louis' embrace. "I'm trying to help you guys. Danielle is no good for you, Liam, and seriously, this hair is not your best look, you need those curls back as soon as possible--"
"You don't get a say in that, Haz," Liam says gently and takes hold of Harry's shoulders. "I know you love me--"
"--and your flashing toothbrush," Harry says tremulously. "And your twitcams. And your beatboxing, your beatboxing is my favorite--"
"--and all that, erm, other stuff. But... you don't own me. No one can own another person. And everytime you try and make us into these images you've got in your head, you're ignoring that we're our own people." Liam ruffles Harry's hair. "You've got to respect our choices, Harry."
For a moment, everyone holds their breath, wondering if this extremely reasonable plea for sanity has been heeded by Harry. And for a moment, it seems like Harry's eyes flash and a change has come over him.
But then he shakes his head violently. "No! It's not your fault," he says. "It's management. They're the bad ones. Uncle Simon telling Niall he couldn't dye his hair--"
"That was a rumor," Niall supplies readily, stepping up and taking Harry's hand.
"Paul never letting us hug or kiss our fans anymore--"
"They would tear you apart limb from limb," Zayn says, taking Harry's other hand. "Oh, but. Out of love," he adds hastily, at Liam's look.
"--the ridiculous tour schedule--"
Louis tightens his grip around Harry's waist as the other boys wait expectantly. "Well, he's got a point, they have been stupid about that one, at least. Scheduling a tour a year in advance is sort of rude to people with actual lives."
"See!" Harry says. "You don't understand what it's like to have this much love for a group of people you don't even know--" He looks for confused for a split second, but then bursts into tears.
The boys all exchange looks and close in ranks. Liam's got his hands anchored in Harry's hair, cradling his head, and Louis' nestled his chin against Harry's shoulder, and Niall and Zayn each have a tight hold of Harry's hands.
"But you do know us, Harry," Louis mumbles into his jumper. "Remember? We're your best mates. We've lived through all this together. X-Factor, tours, press, shows, recording albums, all of it. Together."
"You're Harry," Zayn says, squeezing his hand. "You're our brother."
"Not a fan, and thank God for that," Niall adds, squeezing his other hand.
"So come back to us, Harry," Liam orders, and ruffles Harry's curls again, papering a kiss to his forehead.
"Come on, that's a good lad," Louis says, and nuzzles at Harry's neck.
And slowly, as they rock Harry even as he cries his ugly tears ("Tears of bloooood," he's mumbling, "Why are you all so preeeeetttyyy--") his body goes limp and pliant.
Finally, he sleeps.
And the boys can only hope that the morning brings their bandmate back.
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Harry wakes up to a new dawn and a ringing headache. Vague memories of yesterday play through his mind, but the that weird second presence that was so prevalent in his brain the day before is gone, taking with it his/her crazy thoughts and crazy ideas.
Yawning, he looks over to Louis.
Like always, Louis is still asleep, drool ever-present, hair sweetly mussed. Harry waits for that wrenching feeling to hit him again, for that terrifying oblivion to take him under...
But all he feels is the overwhelming urge to take a piss and then come back and dip Louis' hand in warm water.
So he does.
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end