when you lose something (a series of unfinished universes)
title: when you lose something (that you can't replace)
fandom: one direction
pairing: louis tomlinson/harry styles, ot5
word count: 1,005
note: this isn't intended to offend anyone; this is so in my ballpark it's ridiculous.
universe: paraplegic!harry
It's tuesday morning, and you wake up blissfully forgetful.
For nearly a full minute you're able to stay in the place between half-awake and half-asleep, where everything is completely fine and wonderful and nothing in the world is wrong.
But, like these moments always do, the world comes into focus and memories clear away their sleepy eyes, and suddenly you remember everything, everything that's gone wrong, everything that's got to happen before things can start to get better. It weighs heavy on your chest, your stomach, (your legs).
You catch sight of the wheelchair by your bed just before you tug the duvet back over your eyes and try to go back to forgetting.
It's tuesday morning, and you want nothing more than to never wake up feeling like this again.
"We need to take a while." Lou says softly to you, sitting by the edge of your bed, petting your hair like he does when he knows you've had a long day (long week, long couple months, long life.) "The five of us. We'll go away for a bit?"
You don't say anything because there's nothing for you to say, so you nod and turn your head back into the pillow, watching as the news drones on about things that have no bearing on your life. You can feel Louis watching you, intently, like he always does. You remember when his eyes used to make you feel happy, or safe, or aroused. Now you feel nothing.
"Hazza," He sighs, and before you know it he's curling up on the bed with you, tucking his arms around your waist, pressing his chest to your back. "Talk to me." He tangles his legs with yours in ways you only feel through a phantom touch, not there anymore, never real in the first place.
"S'nothing to say." You manage to get out, before the tears threaten to prick your eyes again. You want him to go away, don't want him to see you like this. How many times have you cried today alone? Every time you go to stretch your legs? Every time you want to walk out into the kitchen and get something to eat? Every time you remember?
"You're Harry Styles," Louis chuckles softly into your neck. "You always have something to say."
"Not this time." You reply, and you can't even find it in yourself to sound sullen. You just sound empty.
Louis sighs and curls his arms around you tighter, and you know what he's trying to do, trying to remind you that you can still feel, that you can still be held, that you can still hold back, that you can still be loved. "It'll get better, Harry." He says quietly, then before you can even begin to contemplate how to answer something as blatantly untrue as that, Louis presses a kiss to your forehead and stands up, and then he's gone from the room entirely.
You want to turn to watch him go, but supporting yourself on your arms is too much effort for the time being. You let out a small breath and curl back into the covers and try not to let anyone hear you cry.
The car ride to the cabin is longer than any ride you've ever taken. The boys talk and talk at you and talk to you, and you answer them the best you can, fake your smiles the best you can, but it's all a cracked image, and they can see that as much as you can feel it.
Your legs try to remind you to stretch them every couple hours or so, aborted nerve signals that die before they even start to send. Your hips, still somewhat feeling (it's strange how you can't pinpoint it, where everything stops and goes cold. you're so used to having moments that start things, clear starting lines and finish points, but now everything's grey), tell you to wiggle them, stretch them, run a mile and a half. The impulses stab you somewhere in the stomach and you have to turn away from conversation until you get a hold of yourself and your emotions and your failures.
The cabin's big, bigger than a cabin really should be, but it's the boys and he has no doubt they had your best intentions in mind when they found it, and you're determined to at least try to be pleasant about this, try to remember what normalcy with them felt like. (who are you kidding, nothing's ever been normal between the five of you.)
Niall gets your chair out of the back, and Louis and Zayn lift you, a bit awkwardly, from your spot in the car, positioning you until you're stable enough to shift about, balancing on your arms. The chair feels nowhere near sturdy beneath your hands, although the doctors assure you it's only psychological, the need for stability heightened.
Louis runs his fingers over the spot where your shoulder meets your neck, and it makes you shiver, and he chuckles, because if something hasn't changed, it's the way he knows you and your body inside and out, like he could wear you as a second skin if he wanted to.
(why would he ever want to? a voice inside your head replies simply. you're broken.)
"You're thinking again." Louis' voice brings you out of yourself for just a moment, and then Liam's pushing you forward towards the ramp that looks like it's been newly built into the cabin door.
"You don't have to push me." You manage to say without sounding completely pathetic. "I can push myself, I have the gloves and all."
"Nope," Liam says cheerily, and it's to his credit that it doesn't sound safe at all. "You're going to need those hands for better things, later. Zayn and Niall brought pretty much every video game they own."
You crane your neck to look back around at Liam, who's grinning like this is completely normal, and for a minute, you feel like it might just be.