Work Text:
Harry remembers the first time he had an attack. He was five years old and was trying to get his toy out of Gemma's hands. She'd always find a way to annoy him; it could go from hiding toys, to ruffling his hair, or picking at his food when he wasn't looking. That afternoon, she'd decided it would be fun to snatch his favorite power ranger figurine from his hands and run away with it, making Harry groan and jump to his feet, chasing after her in an attempt to get it back.
After running up and down the stairs, running in and out of the kitchen multiple times and chasing each other in circles for what seemed like an eternity, Gemma giggling and Harry whining, Harry's breathing became strained. He'd always get unusually tired after running or playing with his friends, even if it was for a short amount of time, but his mum had never really paid attention to it; she'd attributed it to Harry being smaller and noticeably calmer than the rest.
He had stopped for a little bit in an attempt to compose himself, pressed a hand to his chest and took deep breaths, but it only seemed to make it worse.
As panic seeped into his body, he felt how his chest tightened and his breath fastened. Tears surged as he fought his own body, tiny hands looking for something to grasp. Dizzyness seeping as time trickled by. He couldn't get air through.
The last thing he remembers is a confused Gemma calling for their mother and frantic hands all over his body. Everything's a bit blurry after that, but he'd been told it had gotten very bad, to the point where his lips and nails turned blue as his mind was knocked unconscious from the lack of air.
Fortunately, the paramedics got there in time to help Harry breathe again, and that's how it all began.
After that, his mum had been absolutely paranoid. His disability came with a lot of trial and error, so growing up had always been a constant feeling of being wrapped in bubble foam; things like not being able to play with his friends, or not going out without an excessive amount of coats when the winter came becoming priorities.
Even though his asthma attacks are something he'd rather leave as a side-note and not a main topic, Harry had made sure the boys and the crew knew about it. Being on stage always makes his breathing agitated; the adrenaline rushing through his veins forces him to jump around to the point where resisting it is just absurd and quite frankly impossible. Mix that and his incredibly (not) healthy airways and you've got a recipe for disaster.
They'd developed a small sign system, just a precaution in case Harry ever did have an asthma attack and he was somehow not carrying his inhaler.
It's quite simple, he'd stick a side-ways thumb up out and add a little wiggle; whoever was closer to the front or the sides of the stage would fetch it for him, he'd take the medicine and it'd all be done in a matter of seconds.
Even though this had only happened once, and everything had gone well, Louis insisted on carrying one in his pocket, because ("What if they don't get it on time, baby? You might die!") After letting out a small snort of amusement, he'd kissed Louis until there was silence instead of whining, and assured him that everything was going to be fine, because it has never not been fine.
He'd always tried to play nonchalant when it came to his asthma. Sometimes it felt as though it defined a lot of moments in his life, which made him push it aside as much as he could. As soon as Louis had heard about it though, he'd never taken his eyes off of Harry, always making sure he was alright, constant worry framing his eyes. And, even though annoyance plays a big part in Harry's brain at times, the feeling of warmth that spreads throughout his body everytime Louis showers him with protection overpowers it.
They were now in the middle of the "Where We Are Tour", about to perform in Los Angeles, and having what could very well be the best time of their lives. Earlier that day, Harry had felt the familiar tightening feeling in his chest, but had ignored it, knowing that if he told Louis it would only get him worked up, and erasing the giddiness he'd been radiating recently would be crime-worthy; specially when he knew it was just a faint symptom of an actual attack. Definitely a manageable one.
Before walking out on stage, Louis had pulled Harry away from the changing room and into the hall. They'd kissed for what seemed like hours, Louis' gentle lips kissing the panic rising in Harry's head away. Even though he'd done this about a thousand times, he still felt the nervousness coiling in his tummy before going on stage, and of course, as always, Louis was there to melt it away.
"You're going to do great, darling." he had said. Clear, sparkly blue eyes looking down at Harry. Instantly, his once panicked body felt like goo; too focused on the hypnotizing gaze.
Harry loves when Louis looks at him that way. When he can stare into his eyes and feel the admiration radiating through them, making him feel protected, special. He loves it when Louis pulls him closer, broad arms around his body, chin resting on top of Harry's head, Harry's face tucked into his neck; his musky scent filling his senses as their bodies blend into one, as if they were made for each other.
He had always been tiny, ever since he could remember. It was always one of his main flaws, one of the favorites to get picked on by his classmates in school, to the point where he'd gotten insecure.
It was a fading insecurity, however, because Louis had been the person that came and turned it around. Louis was that person, his person. The one that was there for him to appreciate every detail and turn it into something admirable, something precious. The only one that was able to lift up what he had forgotten to embrace.
After kissing his nose and the top of his hair, he gave Harry that soft, cherished smile, crinkles beside his eyes. He'd laced his fingers with Harry's, had brought them up to his lips and kissed them as they pressed their foreheads together. They'd taken a deep breath, exhaled their nerves away and walked together towards the back of the stage where the boys were standing. With one last press of hands and a shaky smile, the crowd erupted as they ran out.
-
The concert has been amazing so far, and Harry thinks it's probably one of the best gigs they've had in a while.
After "Truly Madly Deeply" however, his chest tightens once again. It'd been happening throughout the concert, exactly the way it usually does before an attack. Panic is settling in once again as he realizes that he forgot his inhaler backstage, too distracted with his busy thoughts to remember. Amidst the stress, he convinces himself that asking for his inhaler isn't necessary, tells himself that it would only disrupt the show, make the fans worry, make him look weak.
His airways constrict more and more as they battle to let air in, and the amount of activity he's putting them through is only making matters worse. He concentrates on keeping the attack down and tells himself that he only has to wait for one more song and then there's costume change, where a much needed break (and medicine) awaits him, and tries to focus on anything other than the constricting feeling.
As the music of "One Thing" begins, he feels his chest tighten and pain shoots up from his lungs, up to his trachea, making him cringe. He doesn't make a big deal about it, just presses at his chest with his knuckles, and tries not to think too much of it.
He catches a glimpse of Louis throwing him a worried look, but he just smiles, trying to seem nonchalant and reassuring even though he knows it's futile. Louis can see right through it.
He ignores his stare and turns to shout the next lyrics into his microphone, jumping around just to prove that he's fine. Even if Louis isn't convinced by his facade, there's no time for him to dwell on it as something on his side of the stage distracts him completely.
When he shouts the lyrics a little louder, jumping around as he does so, pain shoots up from his lungs again, this time harder, and he presses his hand tighter onto his chest. He tries to conceal the wince that pulls through him and his breathing becomes so agitated that when his solo starts he's too short on breath, so he doesn't sing. Liam picks up on it quick, though. The boys know Harry sometimes needs time to catch his breath, and they all make up for it when necessary.
Besides the worried look Louis had thrown his way before, no one is paying attention to why he isn't singing anymore. Even Louis hasn't realized, too caught up in a conversation with Zayn. After a couple of seconds, he feels his chest constrict again. This time the pain much worse and he feels the panic he'd been trying to hold bubble up from the bottom of his belly all the way to his head.
His coherent side springs up in alert, tries to tell him to run backstage instead of causing a scene, but the overwhelming anxiety and fear of collapsing in the middle of an arena filled to the brim with concerned fans overpowers it, and he loses control.
He wheezes, and he's suddenly losing balance, and he tries, tries so hard to get someone's attention, to throw the boys the sign, but no one seems to notice.
The wheezing gets louder, he can't get enough air through his lungs, and he's terrified; bloody terrified because he's going to die, he's going to fucking die.
His eyes prickle with tears and he slowly faces away from the crowd, bends down, and places his hands on his knees. The sounds he's making sound inhumane and he can't register what's real and what's not.
White dots blur his vision, and he needs to breathe. He needs to breathe and he wants Louis and where the fuck is everyone? Where is Louis?
He turns his head slowly, his wheezing aparent to anyone within an 80 mile radius. The crowd gets louder, as frantic as he feels, and he tries to let out a cry of relief that doesn't come out due to the lack of air when he sees the look of concern painted across Louis' face.
As soon as they lock eyes, Louis sprints towards Harry, and he wants to cry because he loves Louis. Louis who is always there, Louis who with only one touch can make all of the pain and panic disappear.
He feels a pair of hands on his back, and he melts into the touch, managing to let out a heart-wrenching sob out of his mouth. Louis rubs his back and leans down to face him. He's talking into his ear, trying to get him to concentrate, but it takes a while for Harry to be able to register what he's saying.
"It's okay baby, it's okay. I'm going to carry you okay, love? Make it all better for you." Louis says. Harry tries to nod, feeling his muscle stiffen at any unrequired movement, and then strong arms are picking him up.
Harry's crying now, and it's making his attempts at breathing worse, but it doesn't matter because Louis is an angel. He's convinced Louis is a fucking angel, with his baby blue eyes and feathery fringe, with his fragile fingers and tender touches. His soft lips and his saccharine voice.
His Louis.
He looks up, studies his tense jaw and his straining neck; the way his eyes look frantic as he dodges anyone who comes at them in an attempt to help, and he wants to say thank you, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you; because he knows he's safe now, but all he manages to get out is a painful sound that sounds more like a mixture of a groan and a sob. Louis looks down immediately, hard eyes turning soft.
"Shhh, darling. It's okay baby, I'm here. Hold on, okay? You'll be able to breathe in a bit, love, hold on for me, sweets. Hold on." He says. His sweet, breathy voice making Harry want to jump around even when he feels like he's dying.
Louis settles him on one of the couches there is backstage, and Harry can barely make out Louis yelling at everyone to "Back the fuck up! Don't touch him!" while he shakes the inhaler, and then he's looking back at Harry, eyes full of worry, a frown framing his face.
"Here baby, deep breaths, come on, deep breaths." He says, cradling the back of Harry's head with one hand and holding the inhaler to his mouth with the other. Harry takes a deep breath, lets the medicine shoot through his airways, and closes his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks.
Suddenly, as if a stream had just been released, he feels his muscles open slowly, letting the air ease in again. He takes steady, deep breaths, and keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he might see if he opens them now.
"Good job baby, so good. That's it. That's it, darling. I love you, I love you so much." Louis kisses his forehead, and then he's sitting down on the couch, lifting him up carefully and cradling him on his lap.
Harry lets a few more tears slip from his eyes as he tucks his face into Louis' neck, small hands fisting his shirt. Louis' warmth overcomes him, and he inhales his scent, sighing as the familiar smell fills his airways, replacing the all too familiar medicine with it.
Home, Harry thinks. Louis is home.
He's rubbing his back gently with one hand, massaging the back of his head with the other while he mumbles sweet words of reassurance into Harry's ear, soothing him in a way no one else can.
After a while, Harry's wheezes turn into soft breaths mixed with sniffles, and his bloodshot eyes move to look up at Louis.
Louis smiles at him and lifts his other hand from where it has moved to lay on Harry's hip, towards the side of Harry's face; touch sweet, delicate. He kisses his forehead, fingers intertwining with Harry's curls, his thumb tracing his cheekbone.
"You scared me to death, Haz. Please tell me when something's wrong next time. I can't stand it when you're hurting, baby." He says, pressing their foreheads together.
He's relieved, his frantic emotions fading as Harry nods against him. Harry knows this won't happen again; knows he won't let it happen. He wants to reassure Louis, wants to say sorry over and over and over, but fights against it. Louis knows. Louis gets it. They're okay.
Louis presses a tender kiss to his lips again, and it's the only thing his mind needs to settle down.
When they part, time stops. Nothing matters anymore. Their breaths intertwine, green meets blue again, and Harry thinks he couldn't get luckier.