Work Text:
Louis watches Harry pace in front of the set of bunk beds for the sixth time before deciding the situation isn’t productive or optimistic for either of them.
The lads left to explore the shops and attractions within Amsterdam, leaving Harry and Louis to themselves on the tour bus. They were meant to spend the day in the city as well, having used Google maps to plan their route to all the shops and even a highly recommended Dutch diner.
They shopped for a few minutes in one of the novelty stores, then Louis glanced at Harry, and instantaneously began to fret over his pale and shaky appearance. Considering Louis’ high level of precaution and the likelihood of Harry experiencing a seizure, he felt as though there wasn’t another option aside from traveling back to the bus.
“Lay down, come on,” Louis says, clutching Harry’s elbow into his hand, tugging him onto the bottom bunk, “If it happens, then it happens love, no sense in working yourself up.”
“I don’t want to have a seizure,” Harry whispers, rubbing his hand over his face. He sits on the edge of the bed, back turned to Louis, his shoulders hunched.
A recurring headache has served as a psychological scare for two days now. Headaches are never a good sign, predictably meaning he’s encountering increased seizure activity, but this particular scenario is odd, his headaches don’t habitually extend over a few hours without repercussion.
He’s had his handful of absences - typical, as they occur frequently - but as for complex partial and tonic clonic seizures, they’ve yet to settle in.
Louis hopes, even prays, they don’t happen, though with the severe headaches and upset stomach Harry has been struggling to cope with over the last forty eight hours, they’re extremely plausible.
“Maybe you won’t,” Louis suggests, leaning forward to place his hand on Harry’s back, “Come on, lay with me for a few minutes, it’ll make you feel better.”
Harry doesn’t argue. He crawls into the cramped bunk with Louis and curls into his side, burying his face against Louis’ chest. “My head really hurts,” he mumbles.
“I know it does,” Louis sighs, carding his fingers through Harry’s soft brunet curls. He doesn’t understand why any nineteen year old should have to go through such intense struggles. On top of having epilepsy, Harry is constantly fighting against the image the media have painted him as, trying to prove himself as something greater than a reckless womanizer.
Not too mention, he’s still a teenager, really just a kid, who was thrown into the limelight too quickly. “If you don’t think you can do the show tonight, then you don’t have to. I’d rather have you safe and healthy.”
Harry pulls away from Louis’ chest, staring up at him, “I can do the show,” he says as though it’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard, “Couldn’t bear it if I disappointed all the fans.”
His eyes are glossy, nearly bloodshot, and his irises aren’t bright green, rather a dull shade of grey. His skin is ashen, even the spray tan their hair and makeup artist suggested doesn’t mask the discoloration, and a thin layer of sweat plasters to his skin. “You’re poorly,” Louis points out, brushing Harry’s hair off his forehead. He isn’t running a fever, but his flesh feels disturbingly clammy.
“I’ll be fine,” Harry argues, no force or venom laced within his words. “If I don’t have a seizure by the time the show starts, then we should just write it off. Call it a fluke and move on.”
Louis shifts, laying on his side to face Harry. “Alright but,” he stops, “if you don’t feel any better by the start of the show, I’m not letting you go out there.”
“Deal,” Harry forces a smile.
The lads return to the bus around four, allowing for a bit of time until they have to be at the arena for check in and vocal warm-ups.
As always, they’re loud, shaking the bus with their horseplay and shouting, but upon seeing Harry asleep, they stop. Louis has an arm protectively draped around his waist, holding him close. He’s turned inward, back curved towards the outside of the bunk, face partially hidden by Louis’ shoulder.
“Shit, sorry,” Niall mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “How’s he feeling?”
Louis glances at Harry, then at Niall, “Dunno. His head’s still bothering him.”
Zayn sits on the bunk across the narrow walkway. “Is he- he didn’t have a seizure did he?”
“No, thankfully, he didn’t,” Louis replies, meeting Zayn’s eyes, “He’s insistent on performing.”
“You’re going to let him?” Liam asks.
Louis sighs, “I don’t have a choice. If he says he’s well enough, then what argument do I have? I’ve got to trust him.”
Zayn opts for taking a nap while Liam and Niall walk to the front of the bus to watch television. Their driver pulls in the back lot of the Ziggo Dome - the arena they’re headlining for the night - and Louis gently shakes Harry awake, “Harry, we’re at the arena. We’ve got a show.”
When Harry wakes it’s clear he’s disorientated. He presses the heel of his palm into his temple, shutting his eyes as a wave of pain expands through his head. “You alright?” Louis asks.
“Fine,” Harry mumbles, drawing his hand away once the pain returns to a steady ache.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Louis asks.
Harry nods. “Have to.”
"You don't-" Louis stops, "Okay."
Harry is rather unstable on his feet - tripping over them occasionally as he walks the back hallways of the Ziggo - and Louis hesitates to comment on it. The last thing he wants is Harry to fib about how he’s feeling because he’s upset with something misplaced Louis has said.
Their cooking staff sets up a buffet table of food in one of the green rooms for the boys and their team to enjoy. Harry ladles soup into a plastic bowl and eats, maybe , three spoonfuls before turning green in the face and pushing it away.
Louis notices, but again, doesn’t comment, eating his hamburger as he stares at Harry. His eyes follow Harry the entire time the two of them are sat at the table, even during the ten minutes he buries his face in his hands, grumbling pained curses under his breath.
Suddenly Harry’s standing, fist pressed to his mouth, and running out of the room. Louis sets his burger down, shoving his chair back as he clambers to his feet, and follows Harry.
He isn’t hard to spot. At the end of the hallway, bent over a large rubbish bin, retching. Their hair and makeup artist, Lou, has her hand on his back, rubbing, whispering something - probably words of comfort - into his ear.
Louis walks behind them, staring for a few moments, as Harry quite literally braces his weight against the edge of the trash bin with a white-knuckled grip. Lou meets his eyes and nods for him to take her spot.
“The soup was that bad, huh?” Louis asks, half-heartedly, tracing the outline of his spine. He has a black tee on and a pair of ripped skinny jeans to match. “I won’t be sending my compliments to the chef I’m afraid.”
Harry starts to laugh, but before he’s granted the chance to appreciate Louis’ morbid humor, he vomits into the bin again.
“I really don’t think you need to be performing,” Louis says, honestly, using his fingers to brush a loose curl away from Harry’s face.
“I’m okay,” Harry spits into the garbage bag, “Really, I’m fine.”
“Of course you are,” Louis sighs.
Harry steps away from the trash bin, letting Louis’ hand slide off his back. “How much longer until we have to be backstage?”
“Twenty, twenty five minutes,” Louis answers, understanding he’s lost Harry to the thrill of performing, “Something like that.”
They disperse. Not by Louis’ choice, but Harry’s. He needs a few minutes to himself without Louis breathing down his neck, studying his every move. Though he does understand the older boy means well and has no foul intentions.
There’s more color to his complexion when Louis sees him backstage a few minutes before the show starts. “You’re looking better,” he says, touching Harry’s cheek. His face is structurally mature for only being nineteen years old. “A lot better.”
“Told you it was a fluke,” Harry says, showing his pearly whites. There’s something about his smile that’s absolutely contagious. Perhaps it’s the curve of his lips when he smiles or maybe it’s his two front teeth, which are noticeably bigger than the rest of his teeth. “Just think I needed to get it out of my system.”
Louis smiles. “That’s great. I’m so happy.”
When Harry Styles is determined to perform, he does just that, and puts on a hell of a show. His stage presence is special and no one is able to successfully imitate it. He loves people and it’s always well construed with the way he talks and flirts and jokes around with the diverse audiences at their shows.
He knows how to entertain people without ever having to open his mouth. Wherever he goes, he carries high energy and charisma with him and loves to celebrate it with the world. Performing is what makes Harry happiest and for him to lose out on even a night of it would destroy him.
Needlessly said, Louis is glad Harry convinced him to carry on with the show.
There’s a few times where Harry stumbles, but Louis has to keep in mind how clumsy he is. Once he remembers how graceless Harry is he’s able to relax, allowing his heart rate to steady, and his breathing rate to calm.
He exchanges several glances with Harry from time to time as if silently checking in on him. Every time they lock eyes, Harry nods at him, occasionally winking or smiling.
The show ceases. They thank the audience for taking time out of their busy schedules and lives to come out and watch them perform.
Liam slings an arm around Louis’ shoulders as they walk through the corridors of the arena. “And just to think we were worried about him. Look at him,” he says, nodding to where Harry is, quite a distance ahead of them, prancing and shaking the hand of everyone involved with the production of their concert. “He’s having a great time.”
“I’m glad he’s feeling better,” Louis answers, a grin spanning over his lips as he watches Harry accidentally bump into Niall. The two of them shake it off with a bout of laughter.
Later in the evening, once they’re back on the bus and they’ve stuffed themselves into a cramped bunk, meant for one person rather than two grown men, Louis reaches for Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers, “Is your headache all gone?”
“Yeah, I feel a lot better,” Harry kisses Louis’ cheek. “Thank you for being so concerned, love, don’t know what I would do without you.”
“It’s what I’m here for. Forget the band, I was never hired in to be a singer, I’m here to stay on your ass about your health,” Louis kids.
Harry shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too much,” He leans his head against Louis’ chest, shutting his eyes, “Seriously though, I know I’m not always appreciative, but I really don’t know what I would do without you. “
“You’d be shit at taking your medicine,” Louis says.
“Very true,” Harry nuzzles against Louis’ bare chest, tucking his legs against his boyfriends. “I love you, Louis. Thank you.”
“I love you too. Now get some sleep.”
Harry falls asleep, snoring quietly, an indication of his relaxed state. Louis doesn’t know how soon after he falls asleep, but he does know it’s nearly quarter to four in the morning, judging by the time glowing on his phone due to a Twitter notification, when he wakes.
There’s something else, though, that captivates his attention. Whimpering, petrified whimpering, sounding off right beside him. “Harry,” Louis calls. It’s too dark on the bus. He can’t see a damn thing. “Harry,” he tries again, reaching over to touch him. He has to feel around for Harry, touching only the blanket and mattress the first couple times, until finally grazing Harry’s arm.
He’s shaking, like proper trembling, and a surge of panic crosses Louis. He scrambles for his phone, feeling for it’s cold metal exterior, and upon finding it, he turns the flashlight on. “Shit,” he hisses as soon as the bunk is lit and he can see Harry withering. “Fuck, it’s okay Harry, you’re alright.”
“I’m-” Harry tries to get out, but chokes on a cry, neck straining upward, veins abnormally protruding out of his flesh. “I’m- I’m-”
“I know, shh, it’s okay,” Louis whispers, reaching over to tug the curtain concealing their bunk back. “I’ve gotta get you on the floor. Can you move, Harry?”
“I-” Harry clenches his eyes shut, words breaking over a sob, “I- I don’t-”
Louis shakily inhales. “It’s alright, love, don’t worry. It’s gonna be okay,” he encourages, carefully climbing over Harry to get out of the bunk. In the process, he manages to smack his head off the top of the bunk, hissing out a curse.
“Can you two like shut the fuck up?” Zayn tiredly snaps from his bunk.
Louis bites his tongue, holding back a rude comment. It’s not important now. Harry’s having a seizure and he needs to make sure he’s okay before he even thinks about doing anything else.
“I’m gonna lift you onto the floor, okay? Try to relax for me, baby, it’s gonna be alright,” he cautiously slides his arms under Harry’s stiff form, one arm beneath the underside of Harry’s bum and the other around his broad shoulders. He doesn’t react when he feels the moisture of urine seeping onto his bare arm. He doesn’t care if Harry wet himself because it’s not as though he can really help it and they have a bigger issue on their hands right now.
He sets him down on the wooden floor. The bus is in motion which happens to make it rather bumpy and hard to keep him still, but it’s the best option they have right now.
“L- Lou-” Harry gasps as a spasm passes through him, causing his neck to arch and his head to smack off the floor. Louis reaches for a pillow on the bed and gently guides it under his head to keep him from repeatedly hitting his head.
“You’re alright, shh, you don’t have to talk baby,” Louis whispers, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t want Harry to panic. It’ll make the outcome so much worse. “You’re doing so good for me right now, I’m so proud of you, Harry. Stay just like this for me, nice and calm like you are.”
The sound of a curtain being ripped open sounds followed by a heavy breath. “I'm serious man,” Someone - Zayn - is prepared to tell them off until the light overhead switches on and a deep breath leaves him instead, “Shit, is he okay?” he asks.
Louis shakes his head. “He’s having a seizure. Just- can you grab me a wet cloth, please? Wring it out.”
“Right, of course,” Zayn mutters, feet treading against the wooden floor as he rushes to find what Louis has requested. It isn’t much later that Liam and Niall wake in their bunks and start asking what’s going on.
“He’ll be fine,” Louis says to settle them, “He needs room though, so just stay in your bunks.”
Harry cries out like he’s been struck by a fist rather than a set of spasms. Louis’ face contracts, lines of concern visible in his pained expression, and he uses his fingers to caress Harry’s cheek.
Harry groans, stiffening his neck and burying his face against the pillow, “You’re alright, baby, shh, it’ll be over soon, sweets.”
Zayn returns with a damp rag. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Hold onto it,” Louis pulls his hand away from Harry’s cheek upon feeling the spasms intensify, except this time they don’t stop. It starts on the right side of his body, in his arm and leg, then the convulsions spread through the rest of his body, causing him to tremble and cramp in ways no person should. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay,” Louis whispers.
Harry’s breathing isn’t normal. It’s loud and heavy, as if struggling to catch his breath, followed by a repetitive choking noise in the back of his throat and clucking of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He starts foaming at the mouth, bloody saliva dripping off his lips and down his cheeks, then finally onto the floor.
“Oh God,” Liam whispers, shaking his head. He has to look away.
Harry shifts, convulsing on his side, limbs knocking against the floor in a sporadic manner. “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay,” Louis exhales deeply, watching Harry with helpless eyes. “You’re doing so good for me love, so good, it’s okay.”
He wants to touch Harry so badly, craves it, but knows he puts Harry in a risky and dangerous situation if he were to. He could cause more damage than it’s worth to Harry - dislocated joints or broken bones - or even to himself, if Harry were to accidentally jolt and hit him. “It's okay, baby, shh, you’re okay,”
Not being able to touch Harry when he's in such a state of defenseless is heartbreaking for Louis. All he wants to do is help, though there's truthfully nothing he can do to help Harry aside from waiting the convulsions out.
“Should I get someone?” Liam asks. Niall seems to be in too much of a shock. At this point, Harry’s only had one other seizure in front of the lads like this, so their level of concern and fear is understandable.
“No,” Louis answers, hand hesitating above Harry’s face. He doesn’t even look like himself when he’s convulsing like this. “No, don't do that. Last thing we need is more people around. It's not entertainment.”
Harry spasms a bit more intensely against the floor, weeing himself again as the spot grows between his legs, head bouncing off the pillow several times, before it all comes to a slowed stop.
Louis reaches behind him for the damp rag. He doesn't have to say anything for Zayn to hand it to him. “Oh, you did so good, H, it's okay,” Louis whispers, using the cloth to wipe Harry’s lips. He’s breathing loud, eyes still unfocused as he gutturally inhales and exhales, excess saliva dribbling down his face, “It’s gonna be alright love, I’ve got you,” he encourages, holding Harry’s cheek as he tenderly rids his face of the sticky, blood-infused mess.
Harry remains “conscious” in this twilight state for about two minutes, then his head is thrown back and he’s choking on another cry. “Shit, shit ,” Louis hisses, upon realizing he’s having a second fit, and moves away from him again.
“Why is he-” Niall sputters, voice tight, “Shouldn't he have stopped?”
“He's having cluster seizures, not uncommon, just never very common for him,” Louis mutters, speaking quickly so he can tend back to Harry. Harry is repeatedly groaning, loud enough for Louis to know he’s seizing harder than he was the first time. “You've gotta come out of it for me, baby, I know, angel, I know, shh,” He methodically adjusts the pillow under Harry’s head, ensuring he won't roll off of it and hit his head on the floor.
Despite not wanting any unnecessary and invasive company, a few members of their team appear in the doorway, having slept in one of the back rooms and being awoken by the loud thuds and cries ensuing from One Direction’s bunks. “Oh goodness,” a women, a representative from their management, cries, “Do you need medical?”
“No, I don't need bloody medical,” Louis snaps, glaring over his shoulder, “I need everyone to give him some fucking space, that's what I need. He doesn't need a crowd of people watching him seize. This isn't for your entertainment.”
The boys seem to understand that Louis isn't speaking to them in this rude manner, which he’s grateful for, because he isn't, nor would he ever intentionally.
He's frustrated, and always his been, with people standing around, gawking at Harry in the middle of a medical crisis. Either give him the privacy he deserves or do something productive to help him, but don't just stare. “I'm fucking serious, go away,” he demands.
Harry’s right arm bends at the elbow, tucking itself over his rib cage as he stiffly bucks against the ground. “It's alright, love, it’ll be over soon, shh, you're okay,” Louis coos, eyes catching on his as they blankly stare. He hesitates, “Shh, it's okay, Harry.”
The only thing keeping Louis sane is the lack of emotion in Harry’s unfocused eyes - usually, it's better when he can’t see them at all - because then at least he knows Harry isn't mentally there and he isn't feeling the wrath of the seizure in the moments it occurs.
The second seizure is slower to cease, but it inevitably does. Louis hesitates to touch Harry, in the worry there may be a third seizure, which would be relatively uncommon. After he lets a few moments pass, he decides they’re in the clear, and leans over Harry’s stiff form to wipe at his mouth, chin, and cheeks again. “I’ve just gotta get you cleaned up, then I’ll get you back in bed, love,” he says, even though it's likely Harry doesn't understand.
Everyone finally breathes upon realizing Harry isn't going to fall into another seizure.
“Is there anything else you need?” Zayn asks.
Louis nods, “Grab him a pair of boxers and sweatpants, thank you,” he brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair. It's damp, in fact his entire body is damp with perspiration from the exertion a seizure provokes. His face is flushed, like properly flushed, there isn't any color to his complexion, appearing almost translucent. Though, there is a splash of discolored blue twinged against his lips from a lack of oxygen.
Saliva is still dripping out of his lips and Louis tries to wipe it away as it comes, stroking Harry’s cheek in the meantime. “You're alright, try to come back to me, baby,” he encourages, waiting for Harry’s eyelids to flutter open and a spark of emotion to cross his eyes.
Instead, he stares unblinkingly at one of the bed posts, showing no sign of coherency.
Zayn bends down, setting the folded clothing beside Louis, “Anything else?”
“No, you lads done more than enough, thank you,” Louis praises, looking around at all three of them, “Sorry to wake you lot up. He woke me up crying and I didn't- didn't have time to move him some-”
“Don't even worry about it, Louis, we’re just glad he's okay,” Liam assures.
Louis touches Harry’s face, sighing quietly when there's no reaction, “Hate to do this to you lads, but I gotta help him change, so if you could-”
“Got it,” Niall mutters, jumping down from the top bed, and nods for Zayn and Liam to follow, “Come on, boys.”
After the three of them exit the room, Louis tucks Harry’s hair behind his ear, “Let’s get you in some fresh clothes,” he whispers, despite Harry’s unresponsive state. Helping Harry change when he can’t move or respond is strange - Louis feels as though he’s doing the wrong thing and briefly wonders if he ought to continue - but he manages, sliding his soiled pants and boxers off his stiff legs and replacing them with a clean ones.
He folds the old clothing, setting it to the side for the time being. Harry’s eyelids twitch, then he blinks a few times, attempting to move his head with a weak moan. “Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to move yet. Take it easy,” Louis says, shifting to enter Harry’s line of sight. He touches his cheek, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s clammy skin. Harry shifts away from Louis’ touch, weakly fighting the sensation, and lets out a groan. “Look at me, Harry, it’s okay. Can you look at me?”
Harry tries, but doesn’t seem to have control over simple functions yet. “It’s okay love, don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re coming around,” The boys quietly enter the room, slipping into their bunks, remaining out of sight, as to not overwhelm Harry. “You had a seizure, love, we’ve gotta give it a little bit of time.”
He’s confused and disoriented, judging by the expression spanned across his face, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed as he slowly peers around the room. It would be endearing if it wasn’t the aftermath of two intense seizures. “Do you have any idea where you are?” he asks.
Harry doesn’t speak, head lolled against the pillow as he stares at the ceiling, bewilderment spanning in his discolored eyes. Louis rests his hand flat on Harry’s stomach, bending over the trunk of his body as he continues to whisper encouragements to Harry.
Typically, Harry experiences emotional postictal symptoms, but he’s incredibly impassive and pathetic. Louis doesn’t quite understand why as he’s never seen Harry behave so strangely after having a seizure. “We should get you back in bed,” Louis says. There’s no point in forcing Harry to answer questions he clearly can’t comprehend. It’s evident that he doesn’t know who Louis is or where he is and there’s a possibility he doesn’t know who he, himself, is. “I’m gonna lift you, okay love? Don’t think you’ll be able to stand yourself up.”
It’s much more difficult to lift Harry into bed then it was to lift him out of bed. There may be a slight age difference between them, but it does nothing to aid Louis, not when Harry is taller and broader than he is. He hooks one arm around Harry’s back and the other under his knees.
“Do you need a hand?” Liam asks.
Louis shakes his head, “I’ve got him.” He lays Harry on the small bunk bed, then grabs his legs, adjusting them so they don’t hang off the side. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, placing his hand over Harry’s thigh and squeezes, “I’ve gotta clean up a little bit, then I’ll come lay with you,” He leans in, kissing Harry’s forehead, before tending to the mess they’ve left on the floor.
The time passes relatively quick. He cleans the saliva and blood off the floor, then tosses Harry’s old clothes, and finally settles in the small bunk beside Harry.
It feels like as soon as he shuts his eyes to gain a little bit of sleep, his alarm for the morning blares through his phone speaker, succeeding with waking all the lads up, including Harry.
There’s light from the sunrise coming in through one of the windows, making it easier to see exactly what’s going on. Harry blinks a few times, evidently not feeling too well, with the color still washed from his face and his eyes red and watery.
“Hey,” Louis whispers, laying on his side to face him, “It’s good to see you awake, how are you feeling?”
Harry shakes his head.
“Not too well, huh?” Louis sighs, flattening Harry’s uncouth hair to his head, “Is there anything I can get for you? Some tea? Some water?”
Harry, again, doesn’t speak. He turns his back to Louis.
“It’s alright,” Louis whispers, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He won’t force Harry to talk or do anything he isn’t comfortable with doing. “Just stay here, try to get some more sleep. I’ll grab you some water.”
He slides out of bed, stretching his shoulders and back, and wanders into the kitchen area, where the other lads are sitting, eating take out from McDonald’s. “We saved you and Harry some hashbrowns and egg and cheese biscuits,” Niall says, pushing the greasy paper bag towards Louis.
“I appreciate that,” Louis stops, “but I don’t think Harry will be able to stomach it,” He walks over to the fridge, withdrawing a water bottle, and pivots around to face the lads. “Where are we?”
“Germany,” Liam answers, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. He takes another bite of his breakfast sandwich, chewing when he adds, “We’ll be in Oberhausen soon. We have another show tonight.”
“Tonight?” Louis asks.
“Yeah, then we play in Denmark on-” There’s a sudden thud from the bunk area that forces all of them mute, and Louis drops the water bottle, fear escalating. He can’t be having another seizure.
“Harry, babe? Are you okay?” Louis calls as he races towards the bunk beds. He stops in the doorway. The loud noise must have been from Harry trying to stand and falling to the floor. He’s slumped against the side of the bed, too weak to push himself back onto the mattress, face a sickly green color.
Louis falls to his knees, taking Harry’s face in his hands, “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting,” He scared him half to death. His heart is still racing.
“Bathroom,” Harry mumbles, pressing his forehead into Louis’ shoulder. Louis can hardly understand the word because Harry isn’t speaking clearly.
“You’ve gotta go to the bathroom?” Louis asks, holding the back of Harry’s head with his hand. Harry nods. “It’s okay. I’ll help you to the loo.” He grabs under Harry’s arms, fingers sinking into his tattooed flesh, and as he stands, he pulls Harry up with him. Only problem is, Harry can’t stand and his body urges to gravitate to the floor. “It’s alright, wrap your arm around me, love, I’ve got you. There you go.”
He guides Harry into the bathroom, arm wrapped around Harry’s thin waist. The bathroom isn’t fit to hold more than two people, but Louis manages it anyways, kicking the door shut behind them. “Here, sit. You can wee sitting down.”
After Harry finishes, Louis holds him up while he washes his hands, then practically carries him back to bed. “You’ve gotta stay laying down. You’re not gonna feel any better until you get some rest,” Louis says, holding his shoulders down to reinforce his words, “Now, I’m gonna grab your water and I’ll be right back, do you want anything else?”
Harry sighs.
“Okay, I’ll be right back love,” Louis says. He returns to the kitchen and the boys glance at him awaiting answers to unasked questions, “He fell over, but he’s okay.”
“Is that normal?” Zayn asks. “Like, he shouldn’t still be unsteady should he?”
Louis shrugs his shoulders. “He had two seizures on top of each other. It isn’t surprising,” One of the lads must have picked up the water bottle he dropped because it’s sat on the table, unopened. He grabs it and says, “We might as well put the notice out now. He won’t be able to perform.”
“Seriously?’ Liam asks.
“He can’t stand. He can hardly talk. I doubt that’s going to change by tonight,” Louis points out, “and I don’t know if he’ll be fit to perform in Denmark tomorrow night either.”
Niall glances at him. “We’ll cancel then. We can’t perform without Harry.”
“What?” Liam furrows his eyebrows. “Cancel the entire show?”
“We could always reschedule,” Zayn suggests.
“Guys, I don’t know…” Liam forces a laugh, trying to be reasonable. “We haven’t canceled a show, like ever.”
Louis swallows. “The three of you can go out there, but I won't be joining you either, I'm not leaving Harry by himself,” He squeezes the water bottle, crinkling the plastic. “I’m gonna go back to him.”
He walks back to the bunks, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He touches Harry’s jaw. “I brought you some water. You’ve gotta sit up though.” Harry doesn’t comprehend what Louis is asking of him, slowly blinking. “Up, you’ve gotta sit up, Harry.”
Harry struggles to do so, but manages. There’s some kind of communication issue between his brain and the functions of his body. Louis uncaps the water bottle and holds it to Harry’s lips, tilting it slightly to guide the water in between his lips. “Small sips, love. Don’t wanna put too much stress on your stomach.”
After he’s finished, Louis sets the water bottle down on the floor, turning to face Harry, and pushes his hair off his forehead. “Is there anything else you need, sweetheart? Another blanket, maybe?”
“Head hurts,” Harry mutters, nuzzling the side of his face into the pillow.
Louis sighs, cradling Harry’s cheek, “I’ll see if I can find you some Tylenol, okay? You can take them with your medication.” He wanders off to find medicine which - not surprisingly - happens to be in Harry’s suitcase along with his prescription pills.
He has to watch what medication he gives Harry because there’s certain ingredients within medication that can cause seizures, such as diphenhydramine found in Benadryl or any other kind of allergy medicine. There’s also particular antibiotics he isn’t supposed to take when he’s sickly with an infection. Although, these regulations don’t go for all people with epilepsy as epilepsy is apart of such a large and broad seizure disorder spectrum.
For example, aspirin isn’t always safe for Harry - depending on his prescription - because it both puts him at risk for more seizures and increases the unwanted side effects of his medication whereas someone else with epilepsy may be able to absorb it without issue.
“Here we are, love,” he holds the tablets out for Harry to take, but the younger boy doesn’t understand. “Give me your hand Harry,” Louis grabs his wrist and tugs his hand forward, forcing his fingers open. He drops the four pills in the palm of his hand. “And here’s your water. Take your pills with the water,” he hands him the water bottle, continuing to talk as Harry swallows the medicine, “I found one of your anti-nausea pills, too. Hopefully it’ll help settle your stomach.”
Harry holds the water bottle out for Louis to take. He does, setting it back down, out of the way so no one will bump it when they walk down the aisle way. “Is it okay if I lay with you, Harry? Just for a little bit?”
The younger boy doesn’t say anything. Louis assumes he’s okay to do so. He shuffles into the bed and squeezes into the small space Harry’s left him. If Harry was in his right frame of mind, he would’ve moved over, pushed his body against the wall, giving Louis a reasonable amount of room. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t.
Louis stares at him, studying how magnificently beautiful he really is, even if he doesn’t look his best. His eyes aren’t as green as they typically are - they don’t have their sparkle - and his cheeks appear rather gaunt, but Louis still thinks Harry is the most handsome man in the world. “You’re beautiful,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Harry’s plump bottom lip. He won’t bother kissing him because Harry doesn’t need to be taken advantage of in a naive state. “I wish you understood just how much I love you.”
Harry shifts, resting his head on Louis’ chest. Louis curls his fingers around dark brunet strains, rubbing the tips of his fingers into his scalp. He places a kiss to the crown of his head, humming a soft tune under his breath.
Harry’s falls in and out of sleep for the next few hours. At one point he starts fidgeting against Louis and for a moment, Louis worries he’s going to start seizing again. It isn’t until he starts swallowing thickly and pushing his fist against his mouth that Louis realizes the nausea medication didn’t help and he’s going to vomit.
He manages to help Harry to the bathroom in time, though not the toilet. He throws up in the sink and Louis has him sit on the toilet while he rinses it down with soap and water. “You alright?” he asks warily, peering at Harry. “You’re not gonna be sick again, are you?”
Harry shakes his head.
They lay back down for a few more hours, then Louis leads him to the kitchen area, where the boys are laughing and shouting, showing off bags of souvenirs they bought in town. They quiet down as soon as they lay eyes on Louis aiding a staggering Harry into the room.
“Here, you can sit him here,” Zayn says, standing, and leaves an empty spot at the table for Harry.
Harry won’t make eye contact with any of them, eyes lethargically wandering, and he plays with his hands, twisting and pulling his fingers.
Louis helps Harry sit and places his hand on the underside of his jaw. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. We’ll see if you can keep that down.” He roams over to the cabinets and searches through the contents until he finds tea bags. Liam stands to join him. “So, what’s happening with the show tonight?” he asks.
“Cancelled,” Liam answers, setting the spare iron kettle on the counter. “We’re going to reschedule and if anyone asks for a refund, we’ll give it to them.”
Niall places his hand on Harry’s shoulder, kneading his thumb into the flesh, “Hey, pet. How are you feeling?”
Harry glances at Niall, then shakes his head, looking back down.
“That’s alright,” Niall says, exchanging a sad smile with Zayn, “You’ll feel better in no time.”
Louis nods, filling the kettle with water, “Good,” he says, turning the stove on and setting the kettle on top. “I hope the fans understand. There was no way Harry would have been able to perform.”
“Think our rep put out a vague statement. Didn’t really go into detail,” Liam adds.
Once Harry’s tea is finished, Louis sets the cup down in front of him, reminding him of how hot it is before he even grabs for it., “Let it cool down first, Harry.” He sits down beside him, resting his hand on his back.
“We actually picked you up a little something, Harry,” Zayn says, digging around in his bag for said item. He withdraws a small package and sets it down in front of the youngest lad. “Hopefully, it’ll make you feel a little better.”
Harry fumbles with it the first few times he tries to pick it up, but, nevertheless, eventually grips it and holds it front of his face, examining it. Louis leans over his shoulder, eyeing the item as well.
They’re pieces of colorful cement, closed off in a small plastic bag. Louis doesn’t quite understand what it is until he reads the fine print above it. Despite the German diction, Louis can comprehend what he’s looking at.
“Those are pieces of the Berlin Wall,” Liam explains. He doesn't know how authentic they are, but they're intriguing nevertheless. “Pretty cool, right?”
It’s a not a well known fact, but Harry’s a history buff. He loves anything to do with the past, especially history pertaining to twentieth century Europe. “That’s wicked,” Louis says, eyes following Harry’s as he observes the pieces of rock, flipping the package around in his hands. “Do you know what those are, babe?” he asks.
Harry nods. “Th…” he groans, rubbing his forehead, “Thank you.”
“Of course, H, anytime,” Niall says.
Harry finishes his tea and Louis leads him back to the bunk area for the night. It’s not late, but too much sleep is better than not enough. He lays beside Harry, stroking his face until he drifts into a peaceful sleep, breathing steadily rising and falling.
The next morning is better. While Harry isn’t completely himself, he’s better than yesterday, and actually puts forth effort. He’s still unsteady on his feet, needing Louis’ arm around him to stay upright, but he can walk more than a few steps without his legs buckling underneath him.
“You know who I am, right?” Louis asks as they sit at the kitchen table. The other lads are playing a video game on the Xbox in the living space.
Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Louis. Why…” he stops, trying to conduct a clear thought. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You were out of it yesterday. You knew I was around to help you, but you didn’t know who I was,” Louis says.
A look of confusion washes over Harry’s expression. He doesn’t say anything as he picks the crust off the lightly buttered toast Louis set out for him.
“You don’t remember having those seizures, do you?” Louis asks in awe.
“I- what?” Harry shakes his head. “I- fuck, I didn’t know- I-”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Louis places his hand over top of Harry’s clammy one. He may be feeling better, but he’s still not well. He threw up as soon as he woke up and the pining headache hasn’t disappeared, though it could be from hitting his head on the floor when he seized the other night. Louis is most worried about his inability to keep food and drink down. If he doesn’t manage to stay hydrated or keep his blood sugar high enough, then he’ll have to go to the hospital and get an I.V.. A lack of either can be a trigger for seizures. “Don’t worry about it.”
“When did I- I must have- when?” Harry asks, eyes nervously studying Louis’.
“It was about two nights ago, the middle of the night,” he squeezes his hand in reassurance, “You woke me up crying and you had them shortly after.”
“ Them?” Harry asks, horrified.
Louis rubs his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “You had two, not on top of each other, but within a few minutes of one another,” he says, “You were real sick yesterday, could hardly walk or talk, I’m just glad you’re feeling better today.”
“I- um, but like- uh,”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, shh,” Louis stands, moving closer to him. He crouches down in front of him, placing his hands on his knees, “Don’t worry about it, it’s not important, love. It’s okay, really, it is.”
“I’m just-” He lets out a frustrated groan. He hates when he’s unable to string his words together. The inability makes him feel worthless and incompetent, “fuck, I- I’m really sorry.”
“No. No, you don’t have to be sorry, love, it’s okay,” Louis reposes his hands from Harry’s knees to his cheeks, tugging his head down to look him in the eyes. “I’m here for you, at your best, at your worst, it doesn’t matter. I love you very, very much, and I will always be here for you.”
Harry’s eyes start to water. He turns his head away, staring out the tour bus window. They’re not currently in motion as they’re parked in the back lot of a hotel upon Louis’ request. Harry needs the chance to shower, clean himself up, and sleep on a real mattress.
Tears begin to streak Harry’s cheeks. He suddenly doubles over with a sob, crying into the palm of his hand, and apologizes profusely. “Hey, no,” Louis coos, hands still on his cheeks, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, “Don’t cry, baby, you don’t have to cry, it’s okay. You’re gonna make me cry.”
“I- I’m-” Another cry catches in the back of his throat. Louis waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts and words. His own eyes start to prickle with surfacing tears. “I’m only- I’m nineteen and I-” he shakes his head, upper body trembling with forceful cries, “I can’t- can’t even- take care of my- myself.”
“Shh, no that isn’t true, come here Harry,” Louis rises to his feet, engulfing Harry into a tight embrace as he sits. Harry presses his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, bawling against him. Louis presses his lips to a spot above Harry’s ear, whispering, “That isn’t true at all. You take care of yourself just fine. Breathe, love, take a deep breath.”
Harry shakes his head, words mumbled against Louis’ flesh, “And you- you always- you-”
“Enough,” Louis hushes, peppering kisses against the side of his head, “This isn’t about me right now. You do a good job taking care of yourself, love, such a good job. It isn’t your fault, none of this is your fault, and no one thinks any differently of you because of it. Now relax for me, you’ve gotta breathe.”
Harry sniffles, hiding his face while he concentrates on steadying his breathing. He pulls away from Louis once he’s calmed himself down, eyes bloodshot, and cheeks flushed pink from crying.
“Better?” Louis asks.
He nods.
Louis kisses his forehead. “Finish your toast, okay? Then you should lay back down, rest up.”
The sun catches Harry’s eyes and the glimmer has returned, shining bright, green like a fresh, untouched blade of grass.
Louis knows they’re going to be okay.