In My Veins - Chapter 6

[oceanfires]

pairing: arry/Louis
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).

This chapter written by Shea.



Those damn blue eyes.

Every night Harry went to sleep thinking about those eyes. And every night he dreamt about those eyes. And every morning, he woke up with those eyes on his mind. But it wasn’t just the eyes he thought about. It was the person those eyes belonged to. It was the body those eyes were on. The person he should not be thinking about. It was Louis Tomlinson, a drug worse than heroin, Harry had found. He was intoxicated by the image of the young doctor and his blinding focus on Dr. Tomlinson was similar to the haze he felt whenever he did drugs. It was beginning to be a bit bothersome. Sod it, it was really fucking bothersome. Harry preferred to let this little fantasy of his fade out of his system, like the drugs always had. He didn’t care for these thoughts. In fact, he didn’t care for anyone (except Nialler) and so he pushed all inappropriate daydreams out of his head and focused on his own miserable self.

Harry fell asleep on his pillow, for once craving the nightmares that would await him when he closed his eyes.

~

Harry never bothered knocking. He was always either bursting, or being shoved, into Louis’ office, rather rudely in fact. Which was why it came as a shock to the older lad when he heard a timid tap on his door, so faint he almost missed it. The hesitancy of the person behind the door had Louis worried, when he was normally so used to an either overbearing or seething attitude.

Dr. Tomlinson got up from his chair and approached the door, curiosity beginning to take hold. What he found was heartbreaking, to say the least. Harry Styles, the somber and brooding and defensive and stubborn party-crazed kid, was looking at Louis with a look of apprehension, of guarded self-preservation. Louis’ heart sank as he realized his plan for today’s session might be a little bit difficult to enact with Harry’s apparent withdrawn attitude.

“Hi, Harry. I’m proud to inform you that this is the second time in a row you have arrived on time. Too bad I ran out of gold star stickers,” Louis ribbed the younger lad, in a desperate attempt to break past the hooded expression in Harry’s eyes; he had hoped to see the open, exposed Harry from their little “date,” rather than this reserved figure. The joke, however, was lost on the boy, who just looked tired and dejected. Dark circles collected under Harry’s normally bright green eyes, which were currently clouded by a mixture of emotions and in part due to a lack of sleep. His normally bouncy curls hung loose and limp around his face and the boy’s gaunt figure looked even more the worse for wear as the pale tone of Harry’s skin gave the boy an almost sickeningly transparent hue.

Let’s hope this works. Louis sent a silent prayer for his planned goal of the session.

“I thought we’d try something different today, Harry...” Louis trailed off as he saw the recognition in Harry’s eyes upon spotting the object seated in his office chair. The guitar he had procured from Liam, who had once aspired to be a musician himself, lay seated on his chair, under the watchful and hesitant gaze of the 19 year-old singer.

“Harry, I want you to sing for me.” Louis bluntly stated, facing the lad, who suddenly fixed his gaze on him almost fearfully.

“I- no. I can’t.” Harry’s face was closed, and Louis could almost see him withdrawing, pulling away from anything that might make him vulnerable. But Louis was resolved. Louis noticed Harry’s gaze flicker back towards the offending instrument. Despite the careful air of nonchalance that the boy was putting off, there was a look of longing. A look of need that Louis did well to notice.

“Harry, you can. I know it.” Louis persists, purposefully making eye contact with the bloodshot eyes of his patient. “Just because you lost yourself doesn’t mean you lost your voice, too. I think this could actually be an important step towards rediscovering yourself again, Harry. Maybe, if you can find your voice, you can also find your way back to the old, self-assured, sweet, cheeky lad who won X-Factor. Harry, just try for me, please.”

“...Louis, please...”

Louis, shocked at the familiarity of Harry’s tone, almost consented to the lad’s pleas. Until he realized that not only did Harry need this, but so did Louis. And he was too damn selfish to give up a chance at hearing the voice of the beautiful ghost of a boy in front of him. “Harry. Look at me.” Louis made sure the boy focused his gaze on him. “Harry, I know how hard it is to face the one thing you want most to accept, even while your head is telling you to give up. It isn’t easy to love something so much, yet fear it all the same. But that’s why you have to pursue it. The easy things come free to us, but the best things in life are the ones that we have to fight for. And that’s what you have to do, Harry. Now sing for me.” Louis commanded, firmly. It didn’t come as much of a shock to Louis when he realized that his little motivational speech wasn’t just for the boy in front of him, but was also his own method of expressing his feelings, declaring his frustrations.

“...okay...” It was almost inaudible, Harry’s softly murmured assent, but Louis heard it.

He knew exactly which song to sing. It was as if the words were ingrained in his soul, forever filling his heart, forever reminding him of the utter hopelessness he constantly felt. Harry hesitantly took the guitar from the chair, strummed a few chords, and began singing:

I thought I saw a girl brought to life
She was warm, she came around, she was dignified
Showed me what it was to cry

Harry thought back to the first time he showed signs of his unravelling. Of the disappearance of Harry Styles, the cheeky lad from Holmes Chapel, and the emergence of a mature and cold boy, aged beyond his years due to a newfound utter lack of faith in people, as well as in himself. It had been after the X Factor, when he had his first big interview, namely with a host named Caroline. The two had hit it off immediately, despite the age gap of of 15 years. Which might have been why Harry fell so hard for her. As sick as it sounds, she offered him comfort, and Harry had been so long without a really close confidante that he couldn’t help but develop strong feelings for the older woman. Too bad she didn’t give a flying fuck about him. Harry found this out one awful night after coming upon her with another man, blatantly displaying herself for the paps, who had eagerly jumped on the lead of allegations of Harry Styles’ recent “fling” with another man. To make matters worse, she denied rumors of their relationship the next day, claiming Harry was just a “friend” and that the two just “get on really well together.” Right after, she proceeded to promote her new line of clothing that just so happened to be needing the right amount of wrong publicity to catch public attention. Harry knew he had been used. That night, he had gone home and cried himself to sleep...alone. He hated himself for being so oblivious, so dense, so completely blind. He felt disgusted with his own body. He couldn’t stand the feeling of knowing he had served his purposes for her and that she had only used him for selfish self-promotion. Harry found it ironic that his fame, which had helped build him up, was now the product of his own destruction.

But I don't know her anymore

That same night, he got drunk. Like really wasted. So wasted he didn’t even know his own name. The alcohol running through his veins comforted him because he just wanted to feel something. Some emotion that would maybe help him realize his love for music once again, while forgetting the abuse he had just suffered under the woman that he had thought he loved. That night, Harry took some random chick home, banged her, and instead of feeling inspiration, he felt disgust. Instead of forgetting, he was only reminded that he had just used someone when he himself was hurting over being used. The girl, however, was too drunk out of her mind to care, or, better yet, recognize him. Which comforted him, knowing that this girl wasn’t using him for his fame, but for sex. Although, how “good” that was for him, he wasn’t too sure. That morning, he looked in the mirror at the bloodshot eyes, the ruffled hair, and the yellowish skin and he didn’t recognize himself anymore.

There's nothing left, I used to cry
My conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's fine I'm torn

Sometimes, the alcohol didn’t work. When the sex and hangovers failed to erase the pain from his memory, he resorted to drugs. The sensation when he shot up blocked out all other memories, effectively driving his mind to that space of oblivion. Too far gone to care and just present enough to feel that rush of excitement, that knowledge of knowing that you finally had control over one thing in your life. This decision was his own. Not management’s. Not Simon’s. Harry Styles was the one in control, even if the the things he did weren’t.

I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor

Harry had been doing well, actually. Okay, minus the recent incident where he had ended up in the hospital with Simon chewing his head off and Niall threatening his arse. Harry had been laying off the drugs...temporarily. Until that night. Until the event that led him to meet an even bigger problem: Louis. Cocky, arrogant, bossy, charismatic, Louis Tomlinson. He hated Louis for making him feel so open, so vulnerable. He hated Louis for making him feel as out of control as the drugs themselves. He hated Louis for filling every waking, and sleeping, thought of his. Most of all, he hated Louis for making him feel things he had sworn he’d never allow himself to feel again. Harry hated one thing more than the doctor, though. He hated himself. He hated what he had become. He hated that he couldn’t dream, because he no longer had a dream. He hated that he couldn’t stop himself from imagining how good Louis would be with his hands. Harry quickly felt a new rush of self-loathing as he brushed those images aside and acknowledged that he was only feeling this way because he was alone. And Louis was hot. Which meant Harry was horny. Which was the only reason Harry was thinking these things. Harry quickly accepted this excuse and returned to pouring his heart into the music that he had finally come to accept again. Even if only for a moment.

Illusion never changed
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn

As Harry finished the song he was horrified to feel a wet sensation on his cheeks. Fuck, I’m crying, he thought in dismay, praying Louis hadn’t yet noticed the water leaking from his eyes.

Louis had, however. The song had been Harry’s last desperate cry for help, and Louis had heard.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times, but crying is healthy for you. It’s a release, and frankly, one that’s way healthier for you than drunken binges and temporary highs,” Louis tried to assure Harry. The silence in the room scared him as Harry quickly focused his gaze on the carpet, ashamed at his weakness. Harry desperately tried to fix the mask back onto his face.

“I don’t know if my opinion matters as much as Simon’s, but if it’s any consolation, you’re voice is amazing. Even better than when I heard it on X Factor. Although, it’s not as good as mine when I’m rocking put in the shower...” Louis added teasingly, wanting to relieve the stifling tension in the room.

“Pfft...”

He almost missed it. That beautiful, snorting noise that, against the boy’s will, fell from his mouth. Then, it turned into these adorable poorly-contained giggles. Until finally, it was full-blown laughter that erupted from the curly-haired lad’s lips. Louis couldn’t help but join in. The moment was perfect and the tension slipped out-like Harry’s emotions when he sang.

Until it all went to hell.

Louis had just finished giggling along with Harry when he noticed a slight bruised, red mark on the inside of the bend of the boy’s arm. He couldn’t contain the small, sharp intake of breath when he recognized the telltale mark of an injection site. Louis, upholding his duty as a professional, had researched signs of drug abuse. Harry had used. And recently. The bruise was faded, but Louis couldn’t help the sinking feeling of disappointment.

The laughter immediately faded from Harry’s eyes the second he recognized Louis’ observation. His walls were up. His guard was up. And he was quickly up out of the chair, in his desperation to escape the confinement of the room, the judgmental gaze of his doctor, the dizzying sensation at the realization of what he had done. Harry was well and truly fucked.

Louis beat him to the door.

Harry backed off when he noticed Louis’ hard and determined expression, but he quickly broke eye contact, opting instead to focus on the extremely interesting coffee stain on the carpet of the office. “I just bumped it on a table...” Harry weakly offered as an explanation for the noticeable mark. He already knew that that lie was complete and utter bullshit and that Dr. Tomlinson was far too smart to just accept the pathetic aspersion.

When Louis refused to move from his spot in front of the office door, Harry hardened his gaze, folded his arms across his chest, and evenly met the blue eyes of his doctor, expecting to see harsh judgement. He was fairly surprised when he realized the look in Louis’ eyes was not one of judgement, but rather of pity. That horrified Harry even more.

“You have something you want to fucking say, or are we going to stand here staring at each other all day long? If not, I’d kinda like to head back home.” Harry finally broke the silence.

“What? So you can go shoot up some more?” Louis retorted, feeling a slight pang when he noticed Harry cringe at his remark.

“Look, I’m sorry, Harry. I just...I’m not...I don’t know what to do to help you.” Louis hated to admit this newfound weakness that he only felt with this infuriating patient. It scared the hell out of him. Louis wasn’t weak.

Harry’s gaze softened and he looked up at Louis, speaking in a soothing tone, which was ironic considering the situation. “It’s not your fault. It was just...I was just...it was a rough night.”

“Harry, you can’t keep this up. You’re killing yourself. The drugs have to stop, or else your heart will.” Louis insisted.

“You know what, Louis. Fuck you. I’m sick of this. Simon may think he can tell me what to do. Syco may think they can tell me what to do. But you can’t. I’m done. Leave me alone.”

Louis couldn’t prevent the wince he made as his door was jarringly slammed shut, leaving him alone. Wondering what the fuck he could do. And why the fuck it bothered him so much that he didn’t have an answer.

~

Louis was at his wit’s end. Despite those few and rare moments where he would recognize Harry’s vulnerability, he felt they had not made much progress in their two months of sessions together. He was frustrated, damnit.

Liam cheerfully walked into the room, wary of Louis’ noticeable mood change, and hoping to bring his mate out of the recent slump he had been in as of late.

Liam wasn’t stupid. He knew the cause of the young doctor’s moodiness had everything to do with a certain curly-haired popstar. Liam, anxious to bring Louis out of his pensive and withdrawn state, invited Louis to go grocery shopping with him. He half expected the lad to refuse, but was mildly surprised when he caught a glimpse of a slight nod from the mess on the sofa.

“Well, come on then, mate!” Liam exclaimed, half-dragging Louis to the door of the flat. Louis couldn’t help but chuckle at his mate’s desperately eagerness.

They were walking down the aisle at Tesco’s when the shit hit the fan.

Okay, not really. Louis was walking down the magazine aisle when he happened to bump into a tall, muscled figure. Firm hands reached out to steady him as he almost lost his balance.

“...Louis...?” Harry dropped the formality, having been surprised to have literally run into the doctor. Blushing, he realized he still had his hands on Louis’ shoulders and quickly dropped them, clenching his fists to his side.

“Harry. How nice to see you out and about. Didn’t realize celebrities had to do their own grocery shopping.” Louis smirked, no malice in his tone, only glinting humor that had suddenly appeared in his eyes.

“It’s a tough life. I usually have my slave Niall do all the work for me...” Harry finished his sentence as he noticed Niall coming within earshot of him and the shorter lad. An awkward silence fell upon the two, as they both reflected back to their latest session, and the awful way it ended, harsh words having been exchanged and doors having been slammed. Louis was confused as to where they stood at the moment and Harry was nervous as to how Louis felt about his latest blowup.

“Oi! I heard that! If you don’t come help me decide right now which flavor of Ramen noodles you want, you’re going hungry tonight!” the Irish lad shouted, approaching the boys from one end of the aisle.

From the other end, Liam came upon them with a shopping cart, surveying the trio with amusement, and then noticed who it was comprised of. Harry Styles. The reason behind Louis’ pensive, and extra bitchy, attitude lately.

Liam’s attention, however, was quickly averted from the curly-haired singer’s face to the slim blonde boy next to him. His bright blue eyes shined with mirth and his smile seemed impossibly wide. The boy turned his face towards Liam’s and his smile grew a fraction more as he took in Liam’s chiseled body and chocolate brown eyes. When Louis coughed obviously, both boys quickly broke eye contact, blushing profusely, and looking anywhere but at each other.

“Looks like the feast of champions,” Louis dryly remarked, taking in the large amounts of Ramen noodles, frozen dinners, and microwave meals in the Harry and Niall’s grocery cart.

“Shut the hell up, Tomlinson,” Harry retorted, sinking back into a casual tone with his doctor, hoping last week’s events had been forgotten. He regretted his overreaction and he hoped Louis noticed that this was his way of apologizing. Putting problems aside, ignoring the issue, and acting as if everything was fine. That’s how Harry Styles liked to operate.

Louis seemed to accept this. Liam, however, could not accept the pitiful excuse of food lying in the shopping cart Niall was in charge of. “Instead of choking down that awful mac-n-cheese you have there, why don’t you come have dinner at mine and Lou’s flat tonight? It’ll give me a chance to show off my cooking skills.” Liam ignored the poorly-contained snort elicited from his best mate and he looked expectantly into Niall’s eyes, completely ignoring the bemused singer at his side.

Harry was about to protest, when Niall squeaked out an excited, “we’d love to!” And that was that. Louis was too shocked to remark and instead focused on the potential for disaster that this “dinner date” embodied.

Harry stalked off in annoyance, heading to the check out counter, narrowly avoiding knocking over a canned pyramid of soup on the way.

Niall was smiling at Liam, having forgotten about his grumpy mate, and looking forward to a proper meal for once. Plus, it helped that the boy cooking the meal was more than a little attractive.

The only words Louis managed to utter occurred when he and Liam were exiting the grocery store, equipped with preparations for the night’s dinner.

“But Liam, you don’t know how to cook.”

~

All was not calm at the Payne/Tomlinson flat.

Liam was a mess, having despairingly realized that Louis’ words actually rang true. He didn’t know the first thing about cooking. But he’d be damned if he screwed up a nice dinner with his best mate’s patient and his hot friend. He was scrambling around the kitchen, attempting to follow a recipe he had found online.

Louis, on the other hand, kept his nerves to himself and calmly relaxed his younger friend, telling him that the food smelled great, Liam looked great, and that he would set the table. Liam’s face relaxed and he thanked his friend, returning to the unfamiliar territory of their kitchen.

The doorbell rang and Liam flung it open, warmly greeting his guests, who were awkwardly standing outside the door of the flat. Liam welcomed them in, his glance lingering appreciatively over Niall, who grinned right back. His grin grew even wider when he glanced at Liam’s apron and remarked, “We’ll see how good your food is, first,” winking at Liam while the lad glanced down at his red apron and the words clearly bolded on it, KISS THE COOK. Liam groaned and covered his face in his rands, rushing back to the kitchen when he heard the timer go off.

Harry had somehow managed to make his way to the living room of the flat, where Louis was sprawled on the sofa, mindlessly watching something on the telly. “Hey, Louis....I mean, Dr. Tomlinson.” Harry fumbled over his words when he caught the gaze of the older lad. But Louis simply smiled, motioning for him to take a seat on the couch.

In the kitchen, Niall and Liam were deep in discussion, already settling into a comfortable companionship, bonding over their emotionally overwrought best mates.

“Harry’s been acting really off lately. It was understandable back when he couldn’t go through an entire day sober, but now his behavior is different. It’s...I don’t know how to explain,” Niall finished lamely, finding it hard to think straight when the apron ties were causing Liam’s shirt to ride several centimeters up his back.

“I know what you mean, mate. Louis’ been acting strange too. He’s even more of a sassy bitch than before, but then sometimes he just comes home in these moods. It’s almost impossible to talk to him when he’s like that, because all he does is sit and stare and think.” Liam stirred the saucepan, completely ignorant to the blue eyes raking down his spine.

“Those two are a mess.”

“True, but they’re a mess for each other.”

~

Dinner was interesting.

Harry was jealous.

Niall was smitten.

Louis was oblivious.

Liam was smitten.

“Come help me clean up the dishes, Lou!” Liam commanded, dragging Louis by the hand from his seat, completely ignorant of the glare Harry sent towards Liam. A warning glare. One that he had been frequently sending that night after observing Liam and Louis’ interaction amongst each other, and deciding that no, he did not appreciate all the casual touching that went on between the two.

“Actually, I can help, if you want?” Niall tentatively offered, gaining confidence at the bright smile that appeared suddenly on Liam’s face. “Thanks, Nialler!” The nickname casually slipped out and felt right.

Unlike Harry, who was shifting in his seat.

Unlike Louis, who was twiddling his hands.

Louis looked up at Harry, who avoided his focus.

“How are you, Harry?”

“I’m not high, if that’s what you’re asking” the boy bit back, with more venom than necessary.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, can’t I ask you a bloody question without you snapping at me?!” Louis demanded, his frustration finally snapping him. “I’m so tired of you getting all defensive when I’m just trying to help! Which, at the moment, seems like a bloody impossible task!” Louis had finally said it, and watched an obviously hurt expression cross the singer’s face before Harry’s gaze hardened and he got up from the table.

“Sorry for being such a problem for you. Tell Niall I’ll be waiting for him in the car.” With that, Harry gave a terse nod goodbye and walked out the door.

Louis sat alone at the table, wondering if maybe Harry wasn’t the only one who needed help.