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Harry’s head suddenly starts pounding, right where it met the nape of his neck. He tries swallowing on reflex, but his mouth is dry — too dry, the type that makes his throat ache a little. He gets up to take a glass of water and, as soon as he is out of his chair, he realizes he needs to pee badly.
His stomach hurts where his bladder is and he can’t believe he didn’t realize he was so desperate sooner. He rushes to the bathroom, thirst and headache forgotten, pushed to the back of his mind as his second and third problem of the moment.
He sighs in relief as he lets go on the toilet, but it is gone soon, overshadowed by the reminder of his pounding head and raspy throat. He washes his hands quickly and takes a cold water bottle from the fridge, gulping most of it down at once.
Two problems down. One to go.
Harry closes his eyes to try to gauge how bad his headache is, if it is strong enough to take ibuprofen or not. But, as he does, he gets thirsty again. He sighs in frustration but, before he can even drink the remaining water from the bottle, realization hits him.
Of fucking course he is having hyperglycemia. That’s all that he needed now.
An influx of emotions overcomes him and he feels his eyes watering. On some days, he is just so tired of living with this illness that will never go away. It’s unfair that, out of all the people in the world, he is one of the unlucky ones to have it. Harry just had to be born with the fucked up genes that made it so his immune system decided to attack his own fucking pancreas.
Useless, stupid body.
He takes a few breaths to calm down and stop his hands from shaking with the frustration and anger that momentarily filled his chest, and then drinks the last of the water. He fills up the bottle at the sink before walking back to his room.
He looks from his table to his bed a few times, debating what to do about his predicament. He could check how high his blood sugar is and take some insulin, but that would demand needles pricking him twice when he is already so sensitive.
He could ignore it, take something to make the headache go away and resign himself to needing multiple bathroom breaks while he studies, but that would only make him worse with time. Or, he could nap the worst of it off, which wouldn’t actually help, but Harry is nothing but dedicated to living in denial when he is overwhelmed.
Harry climbs under the covers but, as soon as he closes his eyes, the doorbell rings.
He muffles an annoyed scream against his pillow, feeling like he could cry once again. He slowly pads towards the door, shouting that he’s coming when the person tries ringing once again.
He pulls the door opened in a haste, uncaring about how rude it could come across as. He just wants to deal with whoever it is by the door as soon as possible and go take his now well-deserved nap. The world is conspiring against his peace of mind today.
“Are you okay?” Louis asks instead of greeting him.
Harry can feel the tension leave his body and his shoulders relax.
“I’m fine,” he replies automatically, but even he can hear how unconvincing he sounds.
Louis closes the door as he takes his shoes off and hugs Harry, arms interlacing behind his neck. Harry immediately reaches for his waist.
“You’re not,” Louis pecks him quickly, “What happened?”
Harry sighs, sneaking his arms around Louis to bring them even closer together.
“I think all that walking around we did yesterday took more out of me than I imagined. I had hypoglycemia twice last night and then another one earlier today.” Harry folds himself down to let his head rest against Louis’ shoulder. “Then, of course I overcorrected, so now I have hyperglycemia. Because my blood sugar can’t stay at a decent level even if it kills me. Literally.”
Louis tuts, bringing a hand up to play with Harry’s curls.
Harry lets out a pleased hum, waiting for Louis to speak. He always takes his time when trying to sympathize with Harry, so he doesn’t offer unhelpful solutions. During the time they’ve been together, he has learned that only makes things worse for Harry.
“I’m sorry that’s happening, baby,” Louis tells Harry softly. “What can I do to help? What are your symptoms? Are you feeling sick?”
Harry shakes his head as best as he can. “No, just thirsty and I have a headache. I’m a bit sleepy, too. Was gonna take a nap before you came.”
“Oh, I could nap. My last class was cancelled.”
That explains why Louis came over when Harry wasn’t expecting him to.
He pushes himself off Louis and takes his hand, walking them to his room. Louis is quiet on the way, possibly sensing Harry isn’t really in the mood for mindless chatter. Harry goes straight for the bed, but Louis takes his time closing the blinds and the door before he follows Harry.
The room doesn’t really go dark, but the break from the brightness already soothes Harry’s senses. He lets his body melt against the bed.
Louis pokes his hips until Harry turns his back to him and, as soon as he does, Louis attaches himself to his back. They shuffle around a bit, until they’re both comfortably snuggled into each other. Louis drops a kiss to the space between Harry’s shoulder blades before resting his forehead against it and sighing.
Harry squeezes the hand around his middle in reciprocity. “G’night, Lou.”
“Sleep, love. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”
Harry smiles to himself, his heart growing in affection by Louis’ infinite support and softness. He could never, in a million years, find somebody as good to him as Louis is.
“Love you,” Harry whispers, eyes already heavy and breath slowing down.
Louis says he loves him too against his back, and that’s is the last thing Harry hears before falling asleep.