halved (part III)
part III ( part I, part II)
only love is all maroon/ lapping lakes like leery loons/ leaving rope burns, reddish ruse
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: this isn't real, unless you'd like it to be
word count: 21,000 (total, 3 entries)
summary: harry finds louis, and things make less and more sense then they ever have
rating: r
Harry sometimes thought about how, every morning, he woke up with no way to fathom what the next hours, even minutes, would hold. How events could traipse along behind the sun like a trail of airplane exhaust during the course of a single day, setting and settling down into his life and changing its direction entirely. How maybe that was always the path his life was meant to take, but it was the kind of journey during which he wasn’t meant to see where he was going until his feet were firmly planted there. But, in that moment of awakening, hovered on the line between sleep and alertness, the knife-edge of focus and blurry, sweet dreams, the day to come was entirely a mystery. And maybe that was a blessing.
-
Harry was not a morning person. He was when he was required to be, because Harry could be anything when it was required of him, but given the choice he was happy to stay warm and sleepy in the down nest of Louis’ bed, especially in the particular bitterness of December weather. Louis usually had work in the mornings and would disappear out of the flat, leaving the butterfly whisper of a kiss against the soft curls above Harry’s ears, waking him for an instant and imbuing the rest of his sleep with a sense of contentment that was better than any kind of blanket. He was tired these days, filled with a need for sleep that sapped him of energy quickly. He had never liked winter and figured it was a combination of that and the impending loss of Louis over the holiday which was allowing his body to sleep often and long and waking him up more exhausted than before with a kind of fierce, perpetual headache.
The day before Louis left to go home for Christmas, however, he woke Harry with a cup of tea and a chocolate croissant, a sneaky smile on his face that told Harry this was more than just breakfast in bed. “I called in sick to the bookstore,” Louis offered, and Harry raised an eyebrow, concerned mostly with trying to avoid covering the bed in flaky pastry crumbles and failing pretty thoroughly. Louis waited patiently for a solid half second before whining “don’t you wanna know why?” Harry smiled at him silently through a mouthful, knowing full well he was going to hear whether he asked for it or not. Louis was good at magically transforming into a six year old, an impatient one at that, and Harry loved the control it gave him in these moments.
“We’re taking Theo and Olivia on a field trip!!” Louis blurted, practically wagging his tail with excitement and self satisfaction. He danced around Harry as he got dressed, bouncing on his tiptoes and planting funny little kisses against the bones in Harry’s shoulders like maybe that would speed him up. Harry was thrilled, secretly, but riling Louis up was too much fun, so he went as slowly as possible, spending an infuriating amount of time debating which sweater to pull over his unruly curls and trying to find matching socks in Louis’ dresser, a centuries-long quest.
It turned out Louis had really done a stunning bit of planning. Melissa greeted the two of them at the door with a grin, a giant thermos of hot chocolate, and the car keys, handing over a wriggling set of kiddos who clearly were far more aware of the plan than Harry was. They took the van, Louis driving, Harry DJing, Theo and Olivia singing along to Graceland at the top of their small but powerful lungs (Harry had been slowly but surely weaning them onto Paul Simon as he was convinced it was the most important nutrient for growing bodies). They drove into the countryside for a long while, Louis clearly unable to keep the kind of smile off of his face that looked like it could’ve powered a small city with its wattage.
When at last Louis pulled off of the road and parked, they spilled out of the artificially heated cocoon of the car to the bank of a small pond, frozen over and lovely, flashing in the sunlight and seeming to beam their excitement right back at them. Louis popped open the trunk and with the dramatic flourish of someone revealing masterpiece art presented Harry with a pair of gleaming ice skates. Harry felt like the smile he wore was probably breaking his face, but he couldn’t put it away, instead leaning forward to kiss Louis while Theo and Olivia giggled wildly, clearly both scandalized and enchanted. Louis met the kiss with a sudden calm, as if now that Harry understood what was happening he had regained a modicum of control and was ready to revel in the brilliance and sweetness of his plan. “My family and I came here every Christmas as a kid,” he offered, and Harry crinkled his eyes with the loveliness of it all, knowing Louis was sharing it with him very specifically.
Olivia and Theo, it turned out, were master ice skaters. Next to them Harry felt like a colt learning to walk for the first time, sure that the blush of his cheeks was enough to keep all four of them warm against the bite of the air. Louis, of course, skated actual circles around them all. His green pants flashing by like the scales of some exotic fish, he stopped only occasionally to nibble the corner of Harry’s ear just as he was getting the hang of things and causing him to lose his balance spectacularly all over again as shivers wriggled their way down his spine. Olivia stuck close by, sometimes slipping her mittened hand into Harry’s own, sweetly giving him a sense of security, like the mere fact that he could easily cover her entire fist with his palm meant he was actually in some sort of control. Theo fell a few times, his facing clouding over for an instant before he picked himself up shakily, the small frame of his body wracked with determination to do it over, to do it better, to not cry. Harry marveled. He couldn’t help but touch their heads as they slid by him, enchanted that he was able to be a part of the lives of these small entities, their pale blonde curls made lovelier in the icy air, eyes glittering with tears from the wind and the glare of the sun. He wasn’t tired or achey for the first time in days, confirming his suspicion that he had been making himself sick only with worry and the threat of loneliness.
At some point Louis decided it was time for a treat, clamoring off of the slick surface of the pond and making his way clumsily towards the car. Harry watched him go, feeling his body physically grow colder the further away Louis was, wondering if he would be able to do anything for the next week but stay curled into the smell and comfort of Louis’ bed like a hibernating squirrel until his return. Wondering, also, if he wanted to.
The moments immediately after those thoughts defied the laws of any world which Harry knew. Time seemed to slow, stretch out like saltwater taffy, punctuated only by the sounds of cracking, tearing, errupting, the world coming apart at a seam, breaking with itself in a massive and unruly display of unrest. It was eternity in the space of a heart beat, the fluttering of eyelashes, like the world was being filmed from a dark space behind Harry’s eyes, directed by panic and terrifying calm in equal measures. He turned without turning, moved without moving, saw the ice cracking and choking apart and the descent of Theo’s body through cataracts of undiluted horror. Suddenly his own clumsiness wasn’t so laughable, the skates on his feet were shackles, Olivia’s screams slow and torturous and unbearable.
Afterwards, Harry couldn’t have explained what happened next had his life depended on it. Louis watched from his place frozen beside the car, close enough but a million years away, as Harry fell to his stomach and slid towards the hole in the ice, bleeding fear and determination, his arms reaching for anything they could find. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because where was Theo. He hadn’t surfaced, wouldn’t, no matter how hard Louis willed the blonde crown of his head to appear in the diamond crusted surface of the water.
And then Harry was in, Louis choking on his own yell and saliva, suddenly propelled forward and gasping at Olivia to get off of the ice, heading as close to the edge of the hole as he could. Years passed in the seconds before Harry appeared, sputtering and clutching Theo’s small body, his eyes glazed in something that Louis couldn’t identify but which terrified him nonetheless. Louis was momentarily riveted to the way Harry’s eyelashes were clumped together, glittering with ice and the kind of beauty that builds from sheer terror. Louis got down on his stomach, and by some superhuman and adrenaline infused power between the two of them, he and Harry managed to get both bodies out of the water and across the tundra of space between them and the car.
Louis knew the hospital was only a few minutes away, and he drove like he had never driven before, his focus razor sharp as he monitored the icy road, Harry’s uncontrollable shivers, Olivia whimpering as she pressed her body against her brother, breathing shallowly, his eyes fluttering in a horrible parody of sleep. Harry was speaking nonsense to the two of them, cradling Theo’s head in his ridiculously large and trembling hands, trying to keep himself and Theo awake through the weight of panic and the warm lure of sleep that was seducing him.
Theo was by far the worst off, his small body affected by the icy plunge far more than Harry. Both were admitted to the hospital and stabilized eventually, Melissa appearing and remarkably under control, delivering hugs and a sense of security that Louis wanted to inhale. She took his face between her hands and said “this is not your fault” and it was too much, Louis finally unclenching his muscles and trembling so hard Melissa’s grip was the only thing keeping him standing. She sent him to lay down with Harry, awake but severely shaken, eyes wide in an attempt to take in so much of the present world that he couldn’t see any of the events of the morning. Olivia snuck in a little while later to deliver the news that Theo was definitely ok, but would be staying overnight to ensure he wasn’t developing pneumonia or other cold-related complications. Harry was sure he would be the same but waited patiently for the doctor, focused only on the fact that Theo was fine, he was fine he was fine he was fine. Olivia burrowed between them on the bed, letting her warmth and comfort seep through Louis and Harry via the palms of her delicate hands.
When the doctor appeared, ghostlike, in the doorway of Harry’s room a little while later, ostensibly back with test results and good news, Louis had fallen asleep, the edges of his body fastening themselves to Harry around the anchor of Olivia, also asleep and clutched to Harry like a koala, whuffling out reassuring little breaths. He had been playing with her hair, the soft strands through his fingers a sensory distraction that he could attach to with blurry focus, like corn silk in his hands, feeling like the only thing he could trust himself with believing in.
And when the doctor was at the edge of his bed, Harry registered the darkness on her face with a weird sense of peace, sure that whatever the news was for him he could handle it, he’d welcome something to put stock in instead of the exhausting task of not remembering anything from Theo’s accident. They needed to do blood tests? Okay. There was some concern? Okay. Theo was fine, Harry was prepared for anything.
-
But, bacterial meningitis. Undiagnosed for too long, probably from contaminated food, the reason he had been so tired and out of sorts. And, more than that, consuming him at an unusual pace, symptoms having remained veiled like a malicious and secretive vendetta under his skin. It meant the sickness was at a stage wherein it was a serious threat, now catalyzed impossibly further by the shock to his immune system from the cold water, leaving him nauseous and seriously ill, teetering on a precipice of something terrifying and dark and unfathomable. No. No, Harry wasn’t prepared for that.
Now
Sometimes, as he drifts in and out of a tentative consciousness, Harry can remember a time before Louis. If he lets his eyes slide out of focus, tugs coaxingly on the smeared, blurry edges that hang just out of sight in the corners of his eyes, he can snag the memories until all at once they slide down and settle out, rippling like little ridges of lake water. But he isn’t particularly sure he likes doing it. These memories run with crackles down the middle, scratches on the tape, lacking the sharp relief that his more recent recollections are thrown into under the supervision of Louis’ dazzling grin. In fact, Harry realizes now, his life can be divided cleanly in two, a halved sort of existence defined in terms of Before and After Louis. Occasionally the thought occurs to him that really, it is as if he has lived two separate lives entirely. He knows he became a wholly different person upon Louis’ loud and gangly entrance, tripping in from stage left like the cacophony he is. But that kind of admission is hard, and Harry still wants to believe that he can exist on his own, not feel as though he has a vital organ operating outside of his own body. Or, more importantly, he wants to believe that Louis can do the same, because it matters now. Or it will matter soon, this particular kind of independence.
Sometimes, Harry can remember that time before Louis. Sometimes, he’d rather not. He closes his eyes and lets Louis’ face take up the whole screen behind his eyelids, steady, warm, unflinching. Sometimes.
-
It feels melodramatic, but Harry is certain he has forgotten what fresh air tastes like. It’s only been four days in the hospital, four days of jello and telenovelas and Louis stretched out next to him on the flimsy mattress, face lined with worry. Harry told him once, on the second day, that it wasn’t his fault, that if anything Louis had saved him by getting him medical attention in time. But Louis had been asleep at the time, because Harry knew he wouldn’t have heard a word of it if he were awake, and maybe this way it could sink into his consciousness by osmosis.
Liam has come back early from his parents’, spending his days rotating between work and the hospital room, his eyes heavy with concern. Because, it turns out, Harry really isn’t doing well. He’s developed pneumonia on top of the meningitis, he can barely eat, he’s exhausted. He loves seeing Niall and Zayn when they came, hands tucked lazily into each others’ pockets though unable to disguise shoulders bent with worry, but he keeps feeling like he should be chastised, loyal friends bearing down on a boyfriend who hurt one of their own. They seem to think his own body is already hurting him enough.
The doctor comes in as Lou dozes beside him, and Harry knows before he speaks that the news isn’t good. He can feel it in his feverish limbs, the unhealthiness that has settled across his lanky frame. “We’re going to try one more drug to turn things around,” the doctor says, pressed a large warm hand into Harry’s shoulder in a manner that is meant to be comforting but just feels like one more thing shackling him to this white, starchy bed.
When Louis snuffles awake, his features settling into guilt before he’s even opened his eyes, a wearying look that Harry wants to smooth away with his palms, Harry has a plan. This drug might be his last hope, and he doesn’t want Louis there, stressing and pacing and doing his best not to touch Harry too much, not to transmit his own deep unease. So when Liam and Zayn and Niall arrive to pull Louis out of the room, Harry puts on his glimmeriest smile. It doesn’t fit quite right anymore, like his charm is all out of fuel, but he must do a convincing enough job because Louis allows himself to be taken away after pressing only 13 or so feverish kisses across Harry’s face. Harry can feel the love in them, the sorry, the comfort, and he lets that carry him through the installation of the new IV and into a dreamless sleep. His last coherent thought is that maybe an end wouldn’t be so bad if happened like this.
Waking up in his body these days is like trying to haul himself over a cliff edge, and when Harry comes to around at 4 am, he feels less and less inclined to make the final effort. But he does, and he realizes he’s being shaken awake by a nurse, who’s beaming. This is good this is really good this means he’s ok and he can breathe and he hasn’t even realized how fucking terrified he was, terrified for himself and for Louis and for wanting to watch Theo and Olivia grow up and for not existing anymore in the only world he knows. Relief seeps through him like honey, like water after a thaw, like the godawful jello that definitely won’t be the last thing he eats. It’s really ok, it is, and then
Liam
Liam is there
Crying, sobbing, there is snot and hiccups and Niall and Zayn are right behind him and Zayn’s face is colorless and there are words
Words like “drunk, we got him so drunk and it was lovely he was ok for a few minutes”
Words like “he snuck out after we fell asleep he promised he wouldn’t but he didn’t want you to wake up without him”
Words like “the car didn’t have lights on”
Words like “oh God oh God ohgodohgodohgodgodgod oh my fucking God”
And all Harry can think is: here it is, here is the Hurricane Louis which Niall promised him so long ago.
-
Louis is never supposed to wake up again. He is never supposed to giggle at Harry’s clumsiness, stretch while he yawns so that a strip of his perpetually-golden stomach is exposed, rub a licked-wet thumb across Harry’s earlobe or fix him a cup of burning hot tea or flip Olivia upside down while Theo hangs from his neck laughing wildly or lick his way across the expanse or Harry’s body, which belongs to Louis as much as his own does. Harry hates the bandages on him that keep their skin from touching, the veiny blue of Louis’ eyelids that keep him unseeing. He wants to bargain with someone, feels like this is beyond unfair. His life was the one teetering on an edge, and why on earth would Louis’ replace his own on that precipice just as he was getting better?
Harry spends one afternoon in Louis’ room at Basecamp, screaming. The apartment is empty except for Clive, terrified and burrowed into Harry’s side as he lays facedown in the bedding, trying to suffocate himself on his own horror and panic the heady smell of Louis that lay in heaps across the sheets. He screams until his throat is raw, until the other three come home from their various outings to find him weeping, his hair damp with tears from laying on his side, his chest blotchy and heaving, the sheets snotty and pulled off of the corners. Harry ses them and loathes himself: Louis is their friend too, they love him just as much and have for longer, but when he tries to speak he only wants to scream again. Zayn disappears silently and then reappears with the phonebook and a stack of old Sports Illustrated magazines, and at their confused glances demonstrates his intent by taking a handful of pages and tearing right through them.
They sit on Louis’ bed together, the four of them, Harry’s sniffles the only sound besides ripping as they tear through the stack, growing more violent and wild and at some point Harry looks up and realizes they're all crying, Liam silent, Niall heaving big breaths in between whimpers, Zayn biting his lip so hard there are small pearls of blood appearing. They fall asleep like that, across crumpled paper and crumpled fear, fear of loss and the unknown and total lack of control.
-
When Louis does wake up, Harry knows he is never going to imagine a time without Louis ever again. There won’t be one, he decides, so there’s no reason to imagine it, and when Louis looks at him for the first time in 17 days he tastes it, tastes blood and love and his whole world in a golden, soft, lovely boy.
only love is all maroon/ lapping lakes like leery loons/ leaving rope burns, reddish ruse
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: this isn't real, unless you'd like it to be
word count: 21,000 (total, 3 entries)
summary: harry finds louis, and things make less and more sense then they ever have
rating: r
Harry sometimes thought about how, every morning, he woke up with no way to fathom what the next hours, even minutes, would hold. How events could traipse along behind the sun like a trail of airplane exhaust during the course of a single day, setting and settling down into his life and changing its direction entirely. How maybe that was always the path his life was meant to take, but it was the kind of journey during which he wasn’t meant to see where he was going until his feet were firmly planted there. But, in that moment of awakening, hovered on the line between sleep and alertness, the knife-edge of focus and blurry, sweet dreams, the day to come was entirely a mystery. And maybe that was a blessing.
-
Harry was not a morning person. He was when he was required to be, because Harry could be anything when it was required of him, but given the choice he was happy to stay warm and sleepy in the down nest of Louis’ bed, especially in the particular bitterness of December weather. Louis usually had work in the mornings and would disappear out of the flat, leaving the butterfly whisper of a kiss against the soft curls above Harry’s ears, waking him for an instant and imbuing the rest of his sleep with a sense of contentment that was better than any kind of blanket. He was tired these days, filled with a need for sleep that sapped him of energy quickly. He had never liked winter and figured it was a combination of that and the impending loss of Louis over the holiday which was allowing his body to sleep often and long and waking him up more exhausted than before with a kind of fierce, perpetual headache.
The day before Louis left to go home for Christmas, however, he woke Harry with a cup of tea and a chocolate croissant, a sneaky smile on his face that told Harry this was more than just breakfast in bed. “I called in sick to the bookstore,” Louis offered, and Harry raised an eyebrow, concerned mostly with trying to avoid covering the bed in flaky pastry crumbles and failing pretty thoroughly. Louis waited patiently for a solid half second before whining “don’t you wanna know why?” Harry smiled at him silently through a mouthful, knowing full well he was going to hear whether he asked for it or not. Louis was good at magically transforming into a six year old, an impatient one at that, and Harry loved the control it gave him in these moments.
“We’re taking Theo and Olivia on a field trip!!” Louis blurted, practically wagging his tail with excitement and self satisfaction. He danced around Harry as he got dressed, bouncing on his tiptoes and planting funny little kisses against the bones in Harry’s shoulders like maybe that would speed him up. Harry was thrilled, secretly, but riling Louis up was too much fun, so he went as slowly as possible, spending an infuriating amount of time debating which sweater to pull over his unruly curls and trying to find matching socks in Louis’ dresser, a centuries-long quest.
It turned out Louis had really done a stunning bit of planning. Melissa greeted the two of them at the door with a grin, a giant thermos of hot chocolate, and the car keys, handing over a wriggling set of kiddos who clearly were far more aware of the plan than Harry was. They took the van, Louis driving, Harry DJing, Theo and Olivia singing along to Graceland at the top of their small but powerful lungs (Harry had been slowly but surely weaning them onto Paul Simon as he was convinced it was the most important nutrient for growing bodies). They drove into the countryside for a long while, Louis clearly unable to keep the kind of smile off of his face that looked like it could’ve powered a small city with its wattage.
When at last Louis pulled off of the road and parked, they spilled out of the artificially heated cocoon of the car to the bank of a small pond, frozen over and lovely, flashing in the sunlight and seeming to beam their excitement right back at them. Louis popped open the trunk and with the dramatic flourish of someone revealing masterpiece art presented Harry with a pair of gleaming ice skates. Harry felt like the smile he wore was probably breaking his face, but he couldn’t put it away, instead leaning forward to kiss Louis while Theo and Olivia giggled wildly, clearly both scandalized and enchanted. Louis met the kiss with a sudden calm, as if now that Harry understood what was happening he had regained a modicum of control and was ready to revel in the brilliance and sweetness of his plan. “My family and I came here every Christmas as a kid,” he offered, and Harry crinkled his eyes with the loveliness of it all, knowing Louis was sharing it with him very specifically.
Olivia and Theo, it turned out, were master ice skaters. Next to them Harry felt like a colt learning to walk for the first time, sure that the blush of his cheeks was enough to keep all four of them warm against the bite of the air. Louis, of course, skated actual circles around them all. His green pants flashing by like the scales of some exotic fish, he stopped only occasionally to nibble the corner of Harry’s ear just as he was getting the hang of things and causing him to lose his balance spectacularly all over again as shivers wriggled their way down his spine. Olivia stuck close by, sometimes slipping her mittened hand into Harry’s own, sweetly giving him a sense of security, like the mere fact that he could easily cover her entire fist with his palm meant he was actually in some sort of control. Theo fell a few times, his facing clouding over for an instant before he picked himself up shakily, the small frame of his body wracked with determination to do it over, to do it better, to not cry. Harry marveled. He couldn’t help but touch their heads as they slid by him, enchanted that he was able to be a part of the lives of these small entities, their pale blonde curls made lovelier in the icy air, eyes glittering with tears from the wind and the glare of the sun. He wasn’t tired or achey for the first time in days, confirming his suspicion that he had been making himself sick only with worry and the threat of loneliness.
At some point Louis decided it was time for a treat, clamoring off of the slick surface of the pond and making his way clumsily towards the car. Harry watched him go, feeling his body physically grow colder the further away Louis was, wondering if he would be able to do anything for the next week but stay curled into the smell and comfort of Louis’ bed like a hibernating squirrel until his return. Wondering, also, if he wanted to.
The moments immediately after those thoughts defied the laws of any world which Harry knew. Time seemed to slow, stretch out like saltwater taffy, punctuated only by the sounds of cracking, tearing, errupting, the world coming apart at a seam, breaking with itself in a massive and unruly display of unrest. It was eternity in the space of a heart beat, the fluttering of eyelashes, like the world was being filmed from a dark space behind Harry’s eyes, directed by panic and terrifying calm in equal measures. He turned without turning, moved without moving, saw the ice cracking and choking apart and the descent of Theo’s body through cataracts of undiluted horror. Suddenly his own clumsiness wasn’t so laughable, the skates on his feet were shackles, Olivia’s screams slow and torturous and unbearable.
Afterwards, Harry couldn’t have explained what happened next had his life depended on it. Louis watched from his place frozen beside the car, close enough but a million years away, as Harry fell to his stomach and slid towards the hole in the ice, bleeding fear and determination, his arms reaching for anything they could find. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because where was Theo. He hadn’t surfaced, wouldn’t, no matter how hard Louis willed the blonde crown of his head to appear in the diamond crusted surface of the water.
And then Harry was in, Louis choking on his own yell and saliva, suddenly propelled forward and gasping at Olivia to get off of the ice, heading as close to the edge of the hole as he could. Years passed in the seconds before Harry appeared, sputtering and clutching Theo’s small body, his eyes glazed in something that Louis couldn’t identify but which terrified him nonetheless. Louis was momentarily riveted to the way Harry’s eyelashes were clumped together, glittering with ice and the kind of beauty that builds from sheer terror. Louis got down on his stomach, and by some superhuman and adrenaline infused power between the two of them, he and Harry managed to get both bodies out of the water and across the tundra of space between them and the car.
Louis knew the hospital was only a few minutes away, and he drove like he had never driven before, his focus razor sharp as he monitored the icy road, Harry’s uncontrollable shivers, Olivia whimpering as she pressed her body against her brother, breathing shallowly, his eyes fluttering in a horrible parody of sleep. Harry was speaking nonsense to the two of them, cradling Theo’s head in his ridiculously large and trembling hands, trying to keep himself and Theo awake through the weight of panic and the warm lure of sleep that was seducing him.
Theo was by far the worst off, his small body affected by the icy plunge far more than Harry. Both were admitted to the hospital and stabilized eventually, Melissa appearing and remarkably under control, delivering hugs and a sense of security that Louis wanted to inhale. She took his face between her hands and said “this is not your fault” and it was too much, Louis finally unclenching his muscles and trembling so hard Melissa’s grip was the only thing keeping him standing. She sent him to lay down with Harry, awake but severely shaken, eyes wide in an attempt to take in so much of the present world that he couldn’t see any of the events of the morning. Olivia snuck in a little while later to deliver the news that Theo was definitely ok, but would be staying overnight to ensure he wasn’t developing pneumonia or other cold-related complications. Harry was sure he would be the same but waited patiently for the doctor, focused only on the fact that Theo was fine, he was fine he was fine he was fine. Olivia burrowed between them on the bed, letting her warmth and comfort seep through Louis and Harry via the palms of her delicate hands.
When the doctor appeared, ghostlike, in the doorway of Harry’s room a little while later, ostensibly back with test results and good news, Louis had fallen asleep, the edges of his body fastening themselves to Harry around the anchor of Olivia, also asleep and clutched to Harry like a koala, whuffling out reassuring little breaths. He had been playing with her hair, the soft strands through his fingers a sensory distraction that he could attach to with blurry focus, like corn silk in his hands, feeling like the only thing he could trust himself with believing in.
And when the doctor was at the edge of his bed, Harry registered the darkness on her face with a weird sense of peace, sure that whatever the news was for him he could handle it, he’d welcome something to put stock in instead of the exhausting task of not remembering anything from Theo’s accident. They needed to do blood tests? Okay. There was some concern? Okay. Theo was fine, Harry was prepared for anything.
-
But, bacterial meningitis. Undiagnosed for too long, probably from contaminated food, the reason he had been so tired and out of sorts. And, more than that, consuming him at an unusual pace, symptoms having remained veiled like a malicious and secretive vendetta under his skin. It meant the sickness was at a stage wherein it was a serious threat, now catalyzed impossibly further by the shock to his immune system from the cold water, leaving him nauseous and seriously ill, teetering on a precipice of something terrifying and dark and unfathomable. No. No, Harry wasn’t prepared for that.
Now
Sometimes, as he drifts in and out of a tentative consciousness, Harry can remember a time before Louis. If he lets his eyes slide out of focus, tugs coaxingly on the smeared, blurry edges that hang just out of sight in the corners of his eyes, he can snag the memories until all at once they slide down and settle out, rippling like little ridges of lake water. But he isn’t particularly sure he likes doing it. These memories run with crackles down the middle, scratches on the tape, lacking the sharp relief that his more recent recollections are thrown into under the supervision of Louis’ dazzling grin. In fact, Harry realizes now, his life can be divided cleanly in two, a halved sort of existence defined in terms of Before and After Louis. Occasionally the thought occurs to him that really, it is as if he has lived two separate lives entirely. He knows he became a wholly different person upon Louis’ loud and gangly entrance, tripping in from stage left like the cacophony he is. But that kind of admission is hard, and Harry still wants to believe that he can exist on his own, not feel as though he has a vital organ operating outside of his own body. Or, more importantly, he wants to believe that Louis can do the same, because it matters now. Or it will matter soon, this particular kind of independence.
Sometimes, Harry can remember that time before Louis. Sometimes, he’d rather not. He closes his eyes and lets Louis’ face take up the whole screen behind his eyelids, steady, warm, unflinching. Sometimes.
-
It feels melodramatic, but Harry is certain he has forgotten what fresh air tastes like. It’s only been four days in the hospital, four days of jello and telenovelas and Louis stretched out next to him on the flimsy mattress, face lined with worry. Harry told him once, on the second day, that it wasn’t his fault, that if anything Louis had saved him by getting him medical attention in time. But Louis had been asleep at the time, because Harry knew he wouldn’t have heard a word of it if he were awake, and maybe this way it could sink into his consciousness by osmosis.
Liam has come back early from his parents’, spending his days rotating between work and the hospital room, his eyes heavy with concern. Because, it turns out, Harry really isn’t doing well. He’s developed pneumonia on top of the meningitis, he can barely eat, he’s exhausted. He loves seeing Niall and Zayn when they came, hands tucked lazily into each others’ pockets though unable to disguise shoulders bent with worry, but he keeps feeling like he should be chastised, loyal friends bearing down on a boyfriend who hurt one of their own. They seem to think his own body is already hurting him enough.
The doctor comes in as Lou dozes beside him, and Harry knows before he speaks that the news isn’t good. He can feel it in his feverish limbs, the unhealthiness that has settled across his lanky frame. “We’re going to try one more drug to turn things around,” the doctor says, pressed a large warm hand into Harry’s shoulder in a manner that is meant to be comforting but just feels like one more thing shackling him to this white, starchy bed.
When Louis snuffles awake, his features settling into guilt before he’s even opened his eyes, a wearying look that Harry wants to smooth away with his palms, Harry has a plan. This drug might be his last hope, and he doesn’t want Louis there, stressing and pacing and doing his best not to touch Harry too much, not to transmit his own deep unease. So when Liam and Zayn and Niall arrive to pull Louis out of the room, Harry puts on his glimmeriest smile. It doesn’t fit quite right anymore, like his charm is all out of fuel, but he must do a convincing enough job because Louis allows himself to be taken away after pressing only 13 or so feverish kisses across Harry’s face. Harry can feel the love in them, the sorry, the comfort, and he lets that carry him through the installation of the new IV and into a dreamless sleep. His last coherent thought is that maybe an end wouldn’t be so bad if happened like this.
Waking up in his body these days is like trying to haul himself over a cliff edge, and when Harry comes to around at 4 am, he feels less and less inclined to make the final effort. But he does, and he realizes he’s being shaken awake by a nurse, who’s beaming. This is good this is really good this means he’s ok and he can breathe and he hasn’t even realized how fucking terrified he was, terrified for himself and for Louis and for wanting to watch Theo and Olivia grow up and for not existing anymore in the only world he knows. Relief seeps through him like honey, like water after a thaw, like the godawful jello that definitely won’t be the last thing he eats. It’s really ok, it is, and then
Liam
Liam is there
Crying, sobbing, there is snot and hiccups and Niall and Zayn are right behind him and Zayn’s face is colorless and there are words
Words like “drunk, we got him so drunk and it was lovely he was ok for a few minutes”
Words like “he snuck out after we fell asleep he promised he wouldn’t but he didn’t want you to wake up without him”
Words like “the car didn’t have lights on”
Words like “oh God oh God ohgodohgodohgodgodgod oh my fucking God”
And all Harry can think is: here it is, here is the Hurricane Louis which Niall promised him so long ago.
-
Louis is never supposed to wake up again. He is never supposed to giggle at Harry’s clumsiness, stretch while he yawns so that a strip of his perpetually-golden stomach is exposed, rub a licked-wet thumb across Harry’s earlobe or fix him a cup of burning hot tea or flip Olivia upside down while Theo hangs from his neck laughing wildly or lick his way across the expanse or Harry’s body, which belongs to Louis as much as his own does. Harry hates the bandages on him that keep their skin from touching, the veiny blue of Louis’ eyelids that keep him unseeing. He wants to bargain with someone, feels like this is beyond unfair. His life was the one teetering on an edge, and why on earth would Louis’ replace his own on that precipice just as he was getting better?
Harry spends one afternoon in Louis’ room at Basecamp, screaming. The apartment is empty except for Clive, terrified and burrowed into Harry’s side as he lays facedown in the bedding, trying to suffocate himself on his own horror and panic the heady smell of Louis that lay in heaps across the sheets. He screams until his throat is raw, until the other three come home from their various outings to find him weeping, his hair damp with tears from laying on his side, his chest blotchy and heaving, the sheets snotty and pulled off of the corners. Harry ses them and loathes himself: Louis is their friend too, they love him just as much and have for longer, but when he tries to speak he only wants to scream again. Zayn disappears silently and then reappears with the phonebook and a stack of old Sports Illustrated magazines, and at their confused glances demonstrates his intent by taking a handful of pages and tearing right through them.
They sit on Louis’ bed together, the four of them, Harry’s sniffles the only sound besides ripping as they tear through the stack, growing more violent and wild and at some point Harry looks up and realizes they're all crying, Liam silent, Niall heaving big breaths in between whimpers, Zayn biting his lip so hard there are small pearls of blood appearing. They fall asleep like that, across crumpled paper and crumpled fear, fear of loss and the unknown and total lack of control.
-
When Louis does wake up, Harry knows he is never going to imagine a time without Louis ever again. There won’t be one, he decides, so there’s no reason to imagine it, and when Louis looks at him for the first time in 17 days he tastes it, tastes blood and love and his whole world in a golden, soft, lovely boy.