Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fuck! Mm, shit — fuck. Oh, god. Fuck.”

“Louis, mate, you alright?”

He was most certainly not alright. Louis was on the ground clutching his right arm, curling in on himself and swearing, face gone ghostly white as he panted.

“I’m— I, fuck, ow.” He couldn’t get out a full sentence when the blinding pain was limiting his vocabulary. “Arm.”

Someone came over and tried to lift him by the shoulders, but he cried out and slapped them away as hard as he could with his good hand. The flash of pain that accompanied their touch dizzied him, and before he knew it he was unconscious, falling from his seated position to slump on the ground, his back hitting the pavement with a solid smack. His cheeks were tapped enough that he roused within seconds, but he wished he’d stayed under forever. The return of the stabbing in his arm made him nauseous, and he tried so hard to push whichever friend it was out of the way so he could roll to his good side. He wasn’t strong enough, so he got sick all down his shirt instead. So many voices surrounded him, but he wasn’t sure how to respond to any of them.

“Get him up, he’ll choke. Hey, Louis, are you with us?”

“I — ah, fuckin’, ow — I need ‘elp,” he coughed out, his head whirling and throat burning, but the agonising pain in his arm overtook any other possible discomfort. “Need H.”

“Mate, he’s not here. What the fuck’re we s’posed to do? Who’s got his number? How can we help y— oh, shit.”

The increased pain brought back the whirling nausea, and Louis continued being sick… or at least trying to, once his muscles grew too weak to follow through with more than wrenching coughs. The motion of his torso as he bent over rocked his arm which made it hurt worse which made him feel nauseous which made him get sick which rocked his arm which made it hurt worse which made him feel nauseous which made him get sick which rocked his arm…

“Jesus, we need to get you to a hospital, Louis. Anyone call for an ambulance yet? We’ll get y’looked at, mate, don’t worry.”

Normally, Louis would deny any hospital care. Not only did he hate the sterile smell of the patient rooms, but he didn’t want to be spotted when he was in such a vulnerable state. Bad enough that there was a crowd around him now, why not kick up even more of a fuss with even more people and even more questions and fuck where was his husband?

“Don’care wh’ y’do. Jus’call ‘arry.”

Just as distant sirens grew closer, someone’s drunken hands dug around his pocket to fish out his phone. It was shoved sloppily into his functional hand, but before Louis could even get it unlocked, he was bombarded by the too-bright lights atop a massive ambulance that pulled over by the group.

He couldn’t answer questions. He was in so much pain that he hardly knew his own name, but what he did know was how to navigate to the little green square on his screen that held his one chance at contacting comfort.

“Hi, darling.” Harry’s voice had some vibrance behind it when he picked up the call—far healthier than he’d sounded when Louis left his still-ill love behind for New York City. That flu wouldn’t quit, but it seemed that Harry was finally bouncing back. “How was the show?”

“Hi, H.” Louis was out of breath, and he couldn't match the audible grin in Harry’s voice, still buzzing from post-show energy until his inevitable post-flu crash.

“You just run another race or something?” Harry noticed that Louis was outside, and after raising the brightness on his screen, he could see a sheen of sweat visible on his skin due to the flashing lights in the vicinity. “Where’re you at?”

“Eh, I-I, erm,” he trailed off, gasping when one of the EMTs adjusted his body.

“Lou?”

“Ibrokemearm,” spilt out of him before he clenched his teeth against the manipulation of his torso. “Fuck, shit.”

“You what?” Harry wasn’t sure if it was all a big joke, what with his own off-handed comment about Louis’ past clumsiness.

“Arm. S’broke bad.”

When Louis broke his elbow, Harry was the one who panicked. This time, the tables had turned. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn’t a running-into-the-wall type situation, and he felt his mouth go dry at the helpless look on Louis’ clammy face.

“How’d you—”

“Hurts, baby.” For Louis to be so fully unguarded, to whimper and tear up in front of anyone but him, especially his friends—that really communicated the gravity of the situation. Harry heard some voices in the background that seemed to be clearing away the group for Louis’ privacy, since the chatter decreased significantly. The lack of what Harry could only assume was Louis’ drunken friends meant that he could hear his husband’s little pants as he tried to hold himself together.

“Shit, babe. I can— I’ll get on a plane. I can be there soon, Lou, but you gotta tell me where you are.”

“Hurts. It’urts, H.” Tears began to fall, no longer able to be embarrassed by how desperate he was, how few words he could remember when his vision was riddled with black spots. “Baby.”

“Okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart. You can do this. Take a big breath, just like you tell me, no? Good job, good job. How about anoth— oh, shit, Louis.” Harry grimaced when his husband cried out in pain again upon being lifted to a stretcher. He immediately leaned over to the side to throw up, and Harry just barely caught the splatter on the concrete below.

Louis could still hear Harry, yes, but he couldn’t hear him. He wasn’t responding coherently to any of Harry’s questions, the stabbing pain causing him to lose focus on anything around him and provide nothing more than desperate pleas for his baby to do something, anything. He could cling to whatever familiar sounds came from his phone for support, but processing them correctly was far more difficult.

“Hey, angel, who’s with you?” Thankfully, Louis did answer that question. He stuttered out Oli, and Harry nodded. “Okay, thank you, love. Good job, Lou. He around?”

Harry heard a vague greeting from the man off-screen, and the knot in his stomach loosened a bit with the knowledge that Louis’ most trusted friend seemed to be standing guard at his side.

“You wanna give me to him quick? Promise I’ll be right back for you, I promise.”

The phone was shakily passed over, and Harry cut the video.

“This is bad, mate,” Oli mumbled, phone to his ear as he turned away from Louis. “I seen him do a lot of dumb shit, but he never ends up like this.”

“What even happened?”

“I-I didn’t see it, but he’s not exactly sober. Biffed it on the stairs is my guess. It wasn’t even that steep, but if he lost footin’…” Oli seemed to have a reasonable level of concern and lucidity for someone who was clearly a few drinks deep. “Ended up on the pavement, somethin’ snapped. Only had a drink or two, though, so I dunno what went wrong.”

Harry sighed and pursed his lips to keep from saying something he’d regret. That wasn’t helpful, why was nobody being helpful? Why was Louis on the other end of a pointlessly large country, and why was Harry not there at his husband’s fucking side? Neither of the men had seen Louis reaching out, trying to tap his friend’s back. He was too far away to reach, and they didn’t hear the man’s pathetic begging with the medics for his phone—he needed his phone and his husband, please give him back to Harry—before the wheels on the stretcher unlocked and began to roll him away.

“Hand me to him, please. Camera on, if you can.”

“Yeah, of c— oi! Wait, fuck, Louis. Hold it—” There was a rustling and indistinct talking, but the next voice in his ear wasn’t Louis.

“Harry, I-I’m sorry. They got him in, literally jus’ drove off. I’m— fuck, m’so sorry.”

Oli never thought he could be scared by silence, but his palms began to sweat as he waited for a response.

“Just get to my husband,” Harry snarled. “Now, Oliver.”

“O-okay. Yeah, right. I’ll update you on everythin’.”

“You fucking better.”

“And why won’t they let you in?”

“I dunno. I truly don’t know.”

“Well, how long’s it been since he got there?”

“…An hour, maybe more? I mean, I got here at one-somethin’, but he came in the ambulance, so. They can’t tell me where he is ‘cos m’not family and we didn’t come in together. Won’t give me updates, m’honestly not sure.” Oli sounded sober enough now that Harry believed he’d tried his best, but being tipsy was no excuse for a lack of determination in Harry’s eyes. If it were him, he’d be pushing and pushing until someone gave in and led him back to Louis, no matter how long it took.

“Well I’m family, so how ‘bout you find someone who is sure and pass me along to them, hm? Critical thinking skills.”

After some indistinct conversation, Harry heard Oli from a distance, mutterings from which he could only make out Tomlinson…bulance, and I’ve no idea where…ou don’t understand, his par…lifornia for work…real upset and…nda scary, mate, please jus…inute of your time or…will flay me alive.

Damn right he would.

It seemed like he wouldn’t have to, though, since he was greeted with (reasonably) good news.

“Right, eh, I got a nurse on for you.” Harry had no response to that; he just waited until a new voice was on the line.

“So, what’s the problem exactly?” She sounded confused, and Harry didn’t blame her; it wasn’t likely that she was approached by nervous visitors claiming their lives were at risk over a phone call every shift.

“That’s what I want to know. What’s going on? What are they doing to him? I-I just need to know if he’s alright, please.”

“I’m really not at liberty to provide details of Mr Tomlinson’s situation to anyone but his immediate family without his express permission.” His desperation didn’t seem to sway her and, as admirable as it was for her to follow the ethics of her profession, Harry wouldn’t have any of it.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m his husband, alright?”

Contract broken.

What a shame.

“He’s, um, he doesn’t…” she trailed off, not finishing her thought, and Harry fumed. If only she could see the look on his face. Fully setting off his temper was difficult to do, but from what he’d been told about himself, she wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the glare he was giving the wall in front of him.

“I’m sorry, are you questioning me right now?”

“N-no. No, it’s just that—”

“‘Cos it seems like you’re makin’ some assumptions here that I find incredibly unprofessional.”

“No, I didn’t mean to be—”

Treat People With Kindness was thrown out the window. It wasn’t that he was grossly unkind, but he was stressed and exhausted and aching to comfort his boy, so he wasn’t holding much space for a respectful explanation.

“You think you know him just ‘cos you know his name? You know nothing. I’m the immediate family, I’m the next-of-kin, I’m the bloody emergency contact. Any of those words ring a bell to you?”

“Yeah, I’m familiar, but—”

“No. There’s no but. How can I trust you to treat him now that I know you’re all in his business? Y’know what — if you won’t tell me what I need to know, put me on the phone with my husband. Now, please.”

“There are rules that—”

“Give me six hours, and I’ll walk right through those doors and break rules you haven’t even written yet. I’m holding on by a thread here and unless you’d like things to get nasty, I’m begging you to please give my husband his goddamn phone before I hit the roof.”

“Right. I… can I, um—” she was clearly in a bind, not sure which consequences would be worse: a HIPAA violation or a furious husband on the verge of a mental break, “—could I get your name? To confirm with him?”

“Seems you already know,” Harry scoffed, still incredibly agitated by the knowledge that Louis might be in the hands of people who treated him like Louis Tomlinson, not a patient with an agonising injury and a loving husband who he so desperately needed by his side.

“Yes, yeah. Alright. I’ll get you to him.”

“Quickly, please.”

“Of course, Mr Styles. I’m sorry.”

11:16      Don’t let her set foot near my Louis

               I don’t care how you do it but I swear to god Oliver I’ll kill you if you don’t

Oli Wright:

11:17      got it handled mate, they took his phone

               you’re terrifying

11:17      Good

~ Incoming Call: L~

“Louis, baby, are you alright? What’s going on?” Though he promised himself he’d keep calm, he found himself teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack. He would rather die than force Louis into a caretaking position while he was the one in need of steadiness, so he fiddled with his ring and used his breathing techniques to keep himself centred.

“H, they got questions an’ I dunno what… I-I need you.”

“What do you need, my love?” Harry’s brow furrowed and his chest shattered upon realising that Louis wasn’t the calm, level-headed man he always tried to be in a hospital room when the tables were turned. His response was nothing more than a grunt and mumbled m’usband, and he must have tilted the phone toward someone who seemed to be in charge.

“We’re having trouble with some of the intake information, if you’d be able to help?”

“Yeah…yeah, of course,” Harry stuttered, now forced to believe all of this was really happening with the proof that Louis was in a room surrounded by complete strangers. His stomach sank, and he had to do his best not to lose his cool, for Louis’ sake.

“Any past surgeries or procedures?”

“Fractured the right elbow back in, erm… in April. Not really surgery, so I dunno if it counts. Got bad luck with that arm, think he broke the wrist… twice? That right, Lou? Yeah, twice as a kid. God, erm, anything el— wisdom teeth! Had those out last year in spring, I think? Don’t think there’s more.”

“Significant medical history?”

Harry was blanking. He should know everything about Louis, but in his shock, he was absolutely blank. How does Louis do it, he wondered, but he must have memorised the arsenal of questions by now what with the number of times he’d taken Harry to a doctor or hospital for over a decade. When Harry was near-delirious, distraught, or asleep, someone needed to be responsible for him, and Louis could so easily spout off Harry’s information while he lay dazed and feverish on the same stiff bed that supported Louis in all the places he wished he could touch.

“N-no. I don’t think so. Pretty healthy lately, ‘sides the elbow.”

“Any medications?”

“No, none.” Harry knew that one for sure, so he felt like less of a floundering arse.

“Think he got the rest down. Anything else we should know?”

“Erm, he’s a big smoker, dunno if that matters.”

He heard Louis’ little babe, irritated that Harry brought up his habit in a way that seemed accusatory.

“Sorry, love, but you know it’s not good for you.” When a new set of hands helped to manipulate his shoulder, Louis cried out. Harry felt like he could be sick on the spot. Though he couldn’t see what it was that brought his boy so much pain, it didn’t matter. Pain is pain, and Harry wasn’t there to kiss it all away. “God, Lou, do you want me to leave right now? I can ask, see if there’s any way—”

“Want. Need you, Harry, please.” Louis was begging, and it was undoubtedly caused by the fact that he could hear his love again, so close but so damn far away.

To give him a little something to latch onto, Harry started his video. When Louis reciprocated, Harry was confronted with a heartbreaking sight. Sweaty, pallid, and wide-eyed with fear, Louis’ expression made Harry want nothing more than to sprint state-over-state to get to him.

“I-I’ll see what I can do, my love. Christ, Louis, how’d you get like this?”

His chalky face paled even further, so Harry didn’t press the subject, not wanting to upset his stomach again. Whatever was going on with his examination was causing him excruciating pain, and Harry needed to find a way to make up for his inability to stroke a hand down his husband’s cheek and comb through his hair and make it all better because fuck, I need to make it better.

“Okay, alright. Let’s not talk about that. How ‘bout we… sit with Cliff, hm? See your baby?” Harry stood from his place in the kitchen and whistled for the dog. He came bounding up in seconds, and Harry led him to settle on the sofa. Louis relaxed the slightest bit when he saw his fluffy boy on screen.

“Cliffy,” Louis whispered. His tears fell at a much slower pace, and his eyes were no longer flickering between the screen and his arm. They focused solely on Harry and Clifford, the only two things in that room that could possibly make him feel better, pain medicine included.

“Aw, he’s so excited to see you, love. Look at that tail go! Hey, stinky, how ‘bout we tell your daddy what we did this morning. That sound good, Lou? A little distraction?”

Louis nodded, desperate to hear anything Harry had to say, whether or not he would be able to take it in properly through his addled brain. The animated story about how Clifford dragged himself through a muddy patch of grass, dirtying the fur all up his legs and requiring a long bath was a decent distraction, but another shifting of his shoulder caused him to whimper. Looking down, Louia saw scissors cutting off the sleeve of his cardigan to grant them access to his injury. The t-shirt could stay, he was told, but the rest had to go, and it was safer to remove the fabric than move him that drastically. He was fully sobbing again by then, and he wished he could hide his face without setting Harry down, but considering his husband would need to be pried out of his cold, dead hands, that wasn’t an option. He settled for tucking into his good shoulder and letting himself go.

“No, Lou — oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, love. Everything’ll be alright, I promise you. I promise.”

“Cuttin’ me cardigan,” he informed Harry, absolutely losing it when the gift from his husband was destroyed without a second thought.

“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you a thousand more, lovely, so please don’t cry over it. It’s an easy fix, right? I can order one tonight, no problem.”

“B-but I like this one.” Louis had no previous emotional attachment to that specific garment, but it was from Harry. It was from his Harry and he needed his Harry. They took away the one thing that held him together, the one fucking thing on him that tied him to Harry, and where was his husband where was Harry he needed Harry I need Harry I need Harry I need my Harry.

“I know you do, but I’ll fix everything, my love. That’s a problem I can solve, so you just put it right out your mind.” There was no need for all of the tears, but Harry knew there was no chance of stopping them. “I’m so sorry I’m not there. I’d do anything to be at your side, but for now, I’m right here. You got me in the palm of your hand.”

“Want your hand,” Louis mumbled, still sniffling over his cardigan that Harry gave me where is Harry I need Harry. “M’scared, H.”

For Louis to openly admit that? Harry was scared too.

“It’s alright to be scared. And I know it’s not the same, but you got Oli out there, don’t you? Bet he’d hold your hand if you asked.”

“M’not alone?”

“Certainly not alone. All you gotta do is say you want him in. They can bring him back for you right now, darling.”

11:48       Should be letting you in soon

               Please be gentle with him he’s so upset

               I’m begging you just hold his hand please

Oli Wright:

11:49      yeah anything he needs

It was a nail-biting hour before Louis’ contact came up on Harry’s screen again. He didn’t want to hover, but he so wanted to hover. As anxious as he was, he needed to trust Oli. If there was an issue, Oli would call. He knew that. He’ll call if he needs me… but didn’t Louis already need him? Why wasn’t he resting atop Louis’ pillow, camera angled to face him and watch over him for endless hours?

The moment Harry saw his home screen change, he took the call without a moment to waste.

“Hi, love. You hanging in there?”

“Princ’ss,” Louis slurred, his tears long-stopped to show their resulting red eyes and pink nose. “Th’gave m’the good stuff. Don’ feel nothin’ n’more.”

Tears pricked Harry’s eyes at the thought of how serious that break must be. It must be looking truly grim if he needed high-level pain medication like that, and he knew how anxious Louis got about having an IV stuck in him, regardless of whether or not he let it show. Did he have a hand to squeeze while the needle wiggled around under his skin? Did anyone remind him to look away while it was inserted, turning his head into their chest and shielding his eyes comfortingly? Who would be the one to stroke a thumb on his forehead when catching a glimpse of it made him nauseous and ask the nurses to cover it up and quell that small part of his discomfort?

“That’s-that’s good, Lou. M’glad you’re not hurting anymore.” Harry wished he was the one to take away the pain, not drugs pushed through his husband’s veins.

Someone in the background said something about x-rays. It was so frustrating to be able to hear just enough of those conversations to feel involved, but not enough to get the full picture of anything. Whatever it was seemed to agitate Louis, and he visibly tensed up.

“No. Won’do it. Don’touch me.” He was weak and didn’t have a free hand to defend himself what with Harry in his left and shattered bones above the right, so he was forced to thrash around on the bed so that nobody could keep hold of him, not quite kicking due to his drug-induced sloppy coordination, but he certainly wasn't keeping his legs still.

“Hey, Lou, don’t fight. You’ll hurt yourself.” If Louis truly couldn’t feel anything, he would most certainly cause more damage while he resisted treatment.

“Fuck off,” he snarled to one of the people off-camera. “G’way.”

“Louis,” Harry said sternly, and the man turned his foggy attention back to his phone. “Get your x-rays done, please.”

“Nuh uh. Th’tryna take y’way fr’m me. Need m’sunshine.”

“I can be here once you’ve finished up, I promise, but you need to cooperate with them.”

“Don’wanna,” he whined, sounding like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

“Lou, please? For me? Just be good for me, please, my love.” Damn, is this what it’s like to handle me? Harry made a note to be more cooperative with his care, though he wasn’t likely to remember by the time he was in that deep anyway.

“F’you,” Louis finally relented, and he was instructed to leave the phone in the room. “L’you b’by.”

“Love you forever, angel.”

And Harry hung up the call, the fingers of one hand buried in the fur of his husband’s dozing dog while the others lost their grip on his phone, dropping it to his lap when they began to tremble.

Harry hardly slept that night, rousing every hour to check his phone for notifications that never came. By the time five rolled around, he gave up on trying to get any more rest.

5:15      Updates??

5:17 ?

5:26 ???

Oli Wright:

5:27       doctor’s checking in real soon. around 8

              you’ll be the first to know mate

              xray if you want to see?

5:28      You really have to ask?

             Send it I need to know

When Harry’s phone pinged again, he almost fainted. Seeing his boy’s bone cracked into three pieces made him want to sob. He wanted to scream, to lose his shit and give his husband’s friends a piece of his mind, but he knew what Louis would say. He knew Louis would insist that it was an accident, his own mistake that couldn’t have been prevented by his mates who weren’t expected to be watching out for him every moment of the night—or at any moment, to be fair. They were all grown adults, they didn’t need to be looked after. Harry would have looked after him, though, and then maybe he wouldn’t have to be lightheaded in his bed staring at a photo of his poor Louis’ skeleton.

5:31      Fuck

             Lou awake or no

Oli Wright:

5:31      medicine’s strong. he’s been out of it since after the scans

             might be up, hard to tell

Hard to tell? How could Oli not know? Why wasn’t his husband being dutifully monitored at every moment? In what world did it seem like a good idea for Oli to take his eyes off Louis for a single second? What if he needed a sip of water, or what if the IV-delivered medicine gave him strange dreams the way it often did for Harry, or what if he just wanted to feel the warmth of another body at his side? Nobody would give Louis the attentive care he so deserved, and Harry was on the verge of angry tears.

Angry with Oli.

Angry with the hospital.

Angry with New York.

Angry with the fucking stairs.

Angry with himself.

He should be there.

~Incoming Facetime: L~

“Good morning, my love. How’s that arm?”

“Shit,” Louis mumbled with a long sigh. “Y’look nice, though.”

“Mm. Just woke up, m’still in bed.” His voice was proof of that, its deep rasp scratching his words and washing a wave of familiar comfort over Louis.

“Yeah. S’me favourite.” He managed a little smile, and Harry’s dimples grew to match. “Sleep well?”

“You know I couldn’t,” Harry responded fondly when Louis asked the question he certainly already knew the answer to.

“Worry too much,” he mumbled, turning pink on his cheekbones with the attention, finally getting a sliver of the attention he craved.

“I think m’justified in worrying over a bone that broken. What even happened?”

“I fell, H.”

“No, I know that, but—”

“I really don’t wanna talk ‘bout it right now. That alright?” He looked pale again, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was make his husband black out in his hospital bed.

“Yeah, but… later?” Louis nodded with another tired smile that made Harry swoon. “Hey, when’ll you be out? It’s been what, six hours? Seven hours? Want to book a ticket to see you, but I doubt I can be with you in there without triggering a PR nightmare.”

When Harry saw Louis look off to the side, presumably at his friend, and swallow hard, his stomach twisted the slightest bit.

“Why’ve they not released you yet?” Louis licked his lips and stared blankly at his screen as if Harry had put himself on mute. “Louis, what’s going on?”

“Can’t, eh, y’can’t come.”

“Why’s that? I’ll cancel the show tonight, fly to you.”

“H, you can’t do that,” Louis said, an ache in his voice that had nothing to do with the never-ending throbbing of his right side.

“I’m still not feeling fully well, I can make an excuse f—”

“M’gettin’ surgery,” he blurted out, cutting Harry off and sounding on the verge of tears. “Needs surgery. Makin’ me stay through tomorrow, maybe the next morning.”

Harry knew Louis wasn’t particularly fond of hospitals, and it was so rare for him to be the patient rather than the caretaker. He was usually the pillar of support for Harry, not the one being poked and prodded and admitted overnight. Everything must have been so incredibly overwhelming for the man, and the air was knocked out of Harry.

“…What?”

“Surgery. Y’know, when they cut you open and shit.” Louis tried to sound like his normal, casual self, but Harry could hear more than clearly the wavering of his voice.

“When’d you, erm, when’d you hear about this?”

“Early mornin’.”

“And I wasn’t informed because…?” His tone was flat and his nostrils flared, something which didn’t go unnoticed by Louis even on the small screen.

“I told him not t’tell you. Please, H, don’t be like this. I—” his voice caught in his throat, “—I wanted to tell you.”

He was starting to tear up, and Harry felt awful for responding the way he did. He shouldn’t have taken it personally because this is about Louis, damn it, this is all about Louis and now I’ve gone and upset him and I’m not even there to give him an apology kiss.

“Okay, baby. Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

“M’so scared.” The whisper was hardly audible, clearly only meant for his husband’s ears, and Harry managed to pick it up.

“I know you are, angel. This, fuck, this is terrible, I’m so sorry. Everything will be alright, though. They know what they’re doing, they’ll fix you right up, and we’ll move along from there.”

Sniffling and biting his lip, it looked like Louis was doing everything to hold back tears and on the verge of failing in the endeavour. Quickly swiping his thumb up his screen to move Louis’ face, Harry typed as fast as he could.

5:40      Could you give us some space please

He heard the opening and closing of a door in the distance as Oli left them alone, and when Louis looked back to see that there was nobody but himself and Harry in the room, he let himself cry.

Chapter Text

“Sun, I-I-I can’t do this.”

Louis’ voice was as broken as Harry’s heart, breaths hitching between his words as he tried to speak through the tears.

“You can, Lou.” A whimpered no made Harry’s chest ache with sympathy. “You can.”

“No, H. I can’t. They’re gonna cut me tattoos.”

Despite his best efforts, Louis couldn’t help the sobs that tore from him. He was sure that he could be heard from outside the door, but he only hoped nobody would happen to pass by until he got through the worst of it. There was only so much embarrassment he could handle, and considering he’d already shed a few tears while aggressively cursing out the nurse who adjusted his splinted arm that morning, he felt he’d already hit his limit for the day.

It wasn’t difficult for Harry to sense the frustration that fuelled his loss of control, and it twisted his stomach. Louis loved his tattoos—he was so proud of his collection, and for them to be dissected would undoubtedly be traumatising for the man who was already so terrified.

“Listen, my love, it’s gonna be alright.” The calming tone of voice that Harry tried to channel was only making Louis more upset. Why wasn’t Harry understanding him? Nothing was going to be alright, especially without Harry at his side, and Louis couldn’t be convinced otherwise when he knew it was the fucking truth.

“No. Me stag. They’re gonna cut him open. He’ll die.”

“Oh.” Harry was taken aback since Louis’ voice only ever got that whiny when he was being playfully dramatic and pouting for attention. It seemed that the combination of his vulnerability and whatever they ran through his IV line had him reeling. “Oh, no, honey, he won’t die. He’ll still be there when you wake up.”

Though he knew the stag was one of Louis’ favourite pieces, Harry was grateful that none of their matching tattoos would be affected. He could only imagine the crisis that his husband would experience if they had to split open the dagger or his compass—that would certainly have seen his phone blowing up with texts from Oli along the lines of he’s taking swings at the hospital staff please for the love of god come to New York before they arrest him. There was no way he could say at least it’s only the stag without sounding insensitive, though, so Harry kept it to himself.

“They’ll cut him up, I can’t let them do it. Tell them t’leave me arm broke. Call ‘em, H, please, they’ll listen t’you. Leave him be, he didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

The medicine seemed to be doing a number on him since he was starting to sound a lot like Harry—all sensitive and scattered and irrational the way the younger partner tended to be during the worst of his panic attacks. After living through so many stressful years side-by-side, Harry was certainly no stranger to looking after Louis while he wasn’t in a proper state of mind, but it was odd to flip roles with him so intensely. No matter the reason for his distress, Harry had held Louis’ hand through it all—physically and emotionally—but it was Harry who had the tendency to work himself up to an inconsolable state, not the other way around.

“Whoa, angel. Slow down, alright? Let’s take some breaths again… yeah, just like that. Keep that up now.” Harry gave an encouraging nod and a sad smile crossed his features when Louis took a shaky breath to copy him. “Could I talk for a minute?”

“Can y’come here and do it?”

“You know I can’t, Lou.”

It was truly surprising that Louis was still crying. A handful of years had passed since Louis allowed himself to fully break down despite clearly being on the brink multiple times. He wasn’t afraid to shed a few tears, but there were some moments when he had clenched his jaw tight and marked up his palms with his fingernails as he tried to shove it all down. Harry was sure to remind him that he was allowed to be open and vulnerable, but Louis had become far too adept at compartmentalising his feelings to do anything but soldier through those awful days. As heartbreaking as it was to watch Louis sob, Harry figured he needed it. He needed to get a good, long cry in to find his way back to equilibrium.

“Hey, L—” Harry’s voice was the softest it had ever been as he tried to get through to his husband, “—my perfect angel. My beautiful boy, my sweet love: everything’ll be fine.”

“No it won’t.” The words were still wavering and high-pitched as he refused to believe the repetitive reassurances. “I don’t f-feel right. Everything’s so much.”

“That’s probably the medicine, darling. Makes your brain all fuzzy.”

Harry’s gentle shushing didn’t do much, but he was trying his hardest to encourage him to please relax, Lou and slow his breathing.

“Harry.” Louis was reaching the end of his rope, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check while he came up with a plan of action.

“Louis, honey, do you remember Jamaica?” Watering eyes were still distraught as they locked on the screen, the man silent except for his teary breaths. “Do you remember?”

“Mhm.”

“You remember when we fell asleep in the sun, I had my hand on your stomach…we woke up and you’re all golden ‘cept for a little handprint. You had that tan line for weeks, love, it was real cute.” Louis nodded slowly, and the little peek of Harry’s dimples started to tug apart his furrowed eyebrows. “And do you remember when we were playing footie with the lads on tour, and we knocked heads real hard? Had to get those face bruises covered up every morning so we could go out without looking like we just had a fistfight. Mine healed faster ‘cos you took such good care of me all week. At least two-hundred kisses a day, I reckon.”

Louis’ eyes had softened, less fearful and more attentive as he reached back into his memories and blocked out the pain of the present.

“Do you remember when we were at mum’s, you had all the cats climbing on you and—”

“Skye scratched me leg,” Louis finished the sentence for him. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, cats are sharp little bastards, aren’t they? But we cleaned it up, got a plaster on, and it was gone in a few days.”

“Got all swollen and itchy.” His face scrunched up in displeasure, but there was only one tear left on his cheek now. Talking him down seemed to be working, and Harry couldn’t be more pleased.

“Yeah, but it went away, didn’t it? That’s the thing, Lou. Your body’s amazing. It fixes itself, sometimes with a little help, but all those things? They all went away. I don’t still see my handprint on your belly, our faces aren’t purple and blue, and the cat scratch faded months ago. If they have to cut through a tattoo or two, then they cut through them. You got good doctors who’ll line you up close as they can, and once it heals, we get you a touch-up. That’s all, love.”

“But I don’t want it,” he pleaded desperately, though Harry could see his shoulders dropping ever so slowly as the face on his screen shook less and less, Louis’ hands slowly steadying as he calmed.

“Well, you didn’t want Skye’s claws in your leg either, but sometimes it’s just like that. Mistakes are made, accidents happen, and that’s alright.”

Even though all of the distraction and support had worked to uncloud his head, Louis’ visceral fear and insatiable desire for Harry didn’t allow him to think rationally.

“Can’t you do it?”

“Do your surgery?” Louis nodded, and his lower lip poked out the slightest bit. “You’re being silly now.”

“B-but you fixed everythin’ else. Want you t’fix me… jus’ like always.”

God, did Harry want to fix him. He wanted so badly to patch him up and make him feel better, but he wasn’t the right fit for the job. No matter how much tender affection his hands could radiate, they would never be enough to rebuild bones and take away the suffering that speared his heart straight through.

“I can’t fix you like they can, darling. If you wanna use your arm, you’ll need the doctors to help.”

A little sniffle voiced his disappointment, but it seemed Louis was coming closer to accepting his fate.

“Can… do I have to?”

“Would you like to move your arm again? Yeah? Then I think you have your answer, my love.”

The silence between them was heavy, and the two wanted nothing more than to gather each other up in their arms and stay there for ages. If given the chance, they would never let go. If they had their way, the pair would never be separated for the rest of their lives—not for a single moment. Too many years of loneliness had passed them by, and their very souls ached to make up for that lost time while they stared wordlessly into their phones.

“Lou?”

“Hm?”

“What’re you so afraid of?”

“What if I—” he paused to swallow the lump in his throat, “—what if I don’t wake up? And we didn’t get t’say goodbye?”

That was a conversation Harry didn’t want to have. It was highly unlikely considering the scope of the procedure, but it seemed that Louis had clung to the worst-case scenario. That was rather out of character, but Harry couldn’t blame him—he knew he’d do the same. Channelling his inner Louis, Harry tried to steer the conversation away from doom and terror.

“You’ve been under anaesthesia last year, and you came up fine that time, right? They’re only messing with your arm, this isn’t exactly a life-threatening procedure. Should take about two hours, I’ve read, then you’re awake again.”

A shaky hand rose up to Louis’ face so he could bite his nails, but Harry’s simple don’t was enough to get him to stop.

“But… what if they put a tube in my throat? It’ll be all sore.” When Harry looked confused, Louis continued to clarify. “So I breathe.”

“Well, you’d be under. Won’t feel a thing if you’re asleep.”

“But I’ll know after,” he insisted.

“By then it’ll be done, love. You won’t remember a thing, so there’s no need to worry, no? And I can make you a nice milkshake if your throat’s sore.” Despite his reassurances, Harry knew that if Louis could cross his arms over his chest to accompany his deep frown, he certainly would.

“Wanna leave it broken,” Louis grumbled, passing the phone down to his swollen right hand so he could wipe his tears away with the left.

“We can’t do that, Lou.”

“Wanna go home.”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know, honey.”

“I want you.”

Trying to comfort Louis wasn’t making it any easier on Harry, but he wasn't close to losing his cool yet. He couldn't be—not when Louis needed him so desperately. His husband really needed someone to lean on, and Harry would be as sturdy as he could manage.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there soon though, I promise. As soon as I can, but Oli’s gonna look after you while I’m gone. He’ll do just fine, and I’m a phone call away whenever you need me.”

“But I’ll always need you.”

Harry’s eyes stung.

“And I’ll always be here. One day we won’t have to worry ‘bout all this anymore. All the worries and sneaking around. I know I’m not there right now and I’m so fucking sorry, but I’m always in your heart, baby. Once you’re home, I’m gonna hold you and kiss you and make you the best damn milkshake of your life. Hell, I’ll make you a thousand milkshakes because you’re so fucking brave.”

“M’not brave… I’m scared.”

“You can be both. The things we need to be bravest for are the scariest ones, are they not?”

He tried so hard to reason with them. Harry tried so damn hard to get someone, anyone to sway to his side, but it seemed that profits were, as usual, more important than his feelings. Despite the fact that Harry was the brand, his voice counted for so much less than he felt was fair.

“I still feel kinda shit, though. Woke up with a little temperature again, and my chest is still congested, and… I dunno. Something ‘bout that tells me I’m not fully well. Can’t we cancel? For my sake and his?” Harry was pleading, but nobody would hear him out. “Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something? ‘Cos at this point I’m hardly above it.”

“Won’t matter if you do, you already have your answer. Unless you want to shit all over your reputation, we’re not cancelling any more shows.” The words were deadly serious, but Harry couldn't help laughing as he shook his head in complete disbelief.

“My reputation? My reputa— for fuck’s sake, my husband’s getting surgery tomorrow and you won’t let me see him ‘cos of my reputation? They’re putting metal in his bones and I can’t be with him for that?”

“He won’t be awake during it, he’d never know if you’re not there.” One of the men was focused on his laptop, not bothering to look up from his laptop as he spoke.

After opening his mouth to respond, Harry found himself at a loss for words. How could someone have such little empathy? A quick glance at his left hand showed no wedding ring, and Harry had to work ridiculously hard to hold his tongue and keep Harry Tomlinson at bay as he insulted the man in his head. No wonder he’s not married, he thought, ‘cos nobody could possibly love that little fucking rat.

“You can’t be serious.”

Nobody defended Harry. Not a single person seemed to disagree with the man’s sentiment, though a few exchanged pointed looks as if they’d rather be anywhere but there amidst the brewing conflict. Enough of them had witnessed a Louis-related argument over the years that they could sense the potential for disaster, yet every voice in the room stayed silent as they refused to step up to Harry’s defence.

“Just…just say no. You don’t have to be like that. You don’t have to hurt me.” Harry, already a sensitive man, was always easier to irritate when it came to anything involving his relationship. “Do you not have any family?”

As his eyes filled with furious tears, he saw Jeff start to shuffle in the periphery before making his way over.

“Alright, I, uh, I think we’re done here. H?” Harry’s eyes closed when he cocked his head in frustration with his manager’s announcement, but Jeff’s next words were spoken low in his ear, accompanied by a firm grip on his shoulder. “C’mon, kid, let’s go.”

Still seething with anger, Harry continued staring down the group at the table over his shoulder as Jeff led him out of the room, aggressively shaking off his manager’s hand because who the fuck did he think he was to touch him while he was so upset.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’. Only Mitch can call me ‘kid’.” Harry’s voice was thick with emotion as he struggled to stave off a meltdown. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

When he didn’t get a response, Harry stopped walking. Jeff was forced to look over at him, but his expression was unreadable when he gave his disappointing response.

“It wouldn’t change their minds, and you know it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t defend me. You’re not… on their side, are you?” Harry’s stomach sank at the silence. “Where’s Mitch? I-I need… I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Okay, H, I’m sorry. You have to pull yourself together, though. Get in the car, then we can text Mitch and see if he wants to come over, sit down with us and talk ab—”

Jeff had opened the car door for him, and that gesture only contributed to Harry’s anger when his hand stayed in place to stop it from being pulled shut. It was yet another display of control — to make sure Harry couldn’t leave until he was ready for Harry to leave.

“You’re not coming.” Harry jerked the door forward into Jeff to remove his hand before slamming it closed and shoving his key in the ignition. He ignored the sharp knocking on the window and turned up the music to nearly full volume, drowning out the attempts to bargain with him with All This Time before speeding off.

“Well, they’d said that, eh, they told me that I, erm… there’s so much that’s… there’s a lot of—”

Clearly nervous, Harry was babbling on in a pitiful attempt to explain the situation to his husband. The man cut him off, and he wasn’t nearly as kind as he would usually be whenever that anxious ramble invaded Harry’s speech.

“Harry, stop. I jus’ — I need t’know when I’ll see you. M’stuck in fuckin’ New York for days ‘cos I can’t fly home like this. Will I see you here or do I have t’wait?”

He didn’t blame Louis for being snappish, but Harry couldn’t avoid the hurt that came with the response.

“I don’t know, darling. I-I don’t know. I don’t wanna make you wait.”

“But I might have to?”

“You might have to. But I promise I’m trying my best to work it out, Lou, I swear. I’ve tried but they don’t listen and I’m really sor—”

“Jus’ leave it, H.” That shut Harry up immediately, and he didn’t know if he liked Louis using that commanding tone with him outside of the bedroom. “I can’t do this right now. Me body feels shit and I fuckin’ hate it here and I… can’t do this. Gonna be honest: ‘less y’got good news, I don’t wanna talk.”

God, Louis. Harry tried not to be offended, but that hurt him so very badly.

“It’s not my—” Harry stopped himself, not wanting to cause any more trouble. “I get it. I’ll, erm, let you go.”

“Mhm.”

“Keep me updated, alright?”

“Mhm.”

“…Alright. Well, feel better, my love.”

The sudden beeping of the call’s end was too loud in his ears, and Harry’s eyes stung with embarrassed tears. It wasn’t frustration, it was pure embarrassment that he, a grown adult who should have control over his every decision, was unable to book a goddamn flight to go support the man who had, on more than one occasion, dropped everything for him. He was embarrassed. He was ashamed. It was humiliating, this complete lack of power.

Maybe Louis was right. Maybe he should give it all up for a while.

He was always worked like a fucking dog. He’d been drugged up to his ears for weeks while recovering from his flu so he could go on stage and make himself worse, only to start the cycle all over again the next night. He loved performing, but sometimes it felt like he was an animal in a zoo for observation while people stood and watched him through phone screens, never singing or dancing the way he wished everyone would because that was why he loved to do the things he did.

His life was amazing.

Talking with people he would never see again was fun, though if he did, he would certainly remember their faces. Names might slip his mind, but he would always know a face. He was good at that, and quite proud too.

His fans had been a very dedicated, creative, well-connected, and all-around lovely bunch. They made every show fresh and warmed his heart with the effort they put into their generous and thoughtful gifts.

It was only because of their help that he could wave his flags—to celebrate his identities in the loudest way he could manage. He could speak to his people, to everyone out there who was just like him, and show them that not only was he there to support them, but he was one of them.

But nothing was perfect.

It grew stale, seeing the same signs each night, and Harry sometimes struggled to find connections among the homogenous sea of unenthusiastic people who had enough money to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fun to be just another thing for people to flex their wealth while knowing that his own was built in part by bank accounts drained so low that rent couldn’t be paid for a month or two just for a glimpse of his silly little outfit from balconies away.

Of all the on-stage hypothetical disasters he’d ever dreamt up—and there were many—a Skittle to the eye was nowhere on the list. How dehumanising to not only have food thrown at him, but for it to cause actual harm… and for it to be a Skittle of all things, for fuck’s sake. It was no surprise that his fanbase was on the younger side, but even preteen One Direction fans had more decorum than the twenty-somethings in his crowds. Was he getting old and jaded, or had concert etiquette truly gone out the window?

He missed the days when he could walk off the stage, no need to sprint away from desperate, invasive hands for his own safety just as he’d done in the band. He’d lost the ability to kiss his supporters on the cheek without the wariness of germs that hadn’t been quite so prominent until two years ago. Fond memories of being showered with dozens of bouquets each night of Live on Tour flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but ache for those moments. It wasn’t the flowers that he missed per se—to be quite honest, they weren’t much help for his allergies in such a large quantity—rather the way that he could thank each and every one of them for coming, for their heartfelt gifts, for their love and support and kindness that he yearned for in an industry full of spite and disappointment.

Now he was a queerbaiter. He was exploiting the community. He was a straight man in a queer costume. He took those flags for attention, as a marketing stunt, as a way to trick people into liking him through such desperate pandering. God forbid he posted a photo with one of them—a disappointingly sizeable portion of the comments was more than enough to remind him that heterosexuality is and always will be more profitable than authenticity. Both in the band and solo, Harry Styles was a product to be sold. He wanted to foster a safe space, but now he felt like nothing more than a liar and a fake. But he raised that flag every night. What was it he’d told that girl in Connecticut? Something about raise the flag, you are officially out.

It was Harry who raised that flag every night, was it not? He was screaming for someone to understand him as loud as he could, but no. How could he possibly be queer? He was stuck with the director. Or the model. And the actress, then that one model. Oh, don’t forget the model, the other model, and that one model again. He couldn’t escape that treatment, and neither could Louis.

The most disappointing part was that Treat People With Kindness no longer held any weight. Why was it that Harry noticed woozy faces in a sea of thousands, that he found those poor people on the verge of passing out rather than anyone around them? He was happy to stop the show and check in, but he shouldn’t have to. Fights broke out in the pit, and he hadn’t seen a crowd of his shove each other around since his days in the band. People no longer helped each other; they no longer sang and danced and cried with the strangers surrounding them. It was just a group of individuals, not the shared experience of a collective.

He could hardly sneak around with Louis anymore. Though he couldn’t possibly care any less about people knowing that he had a husband who he loved more than anything in the world, love remained a legal issue. When he went solo, Harry expected to have a bit more freedom, for a chance to rebuild his image as someone much more aligned with his reality. He placed all of his trust in Jeff, not noticing the subtle manipulation that tainted their friendship until it was too late.

In order to keep your fans, Harry, you need to stay the same.

And so he was shuttled from woman to woman, though less often and less prominently at this stage of life than before. Despite a lack of cleanliness clauses, there were still reputation-based portions of his contract. He’d tried to negotiate his way out of them, but he was young and inexperienced and so desperate to succeed that he signed despite the red flags. What if there was someone else who would have given him a looser leash?

Then again, what if there wasn’t?

Everything that made him successful was tainted by the fact that Harry Styles was not allowed to be H. The intersection was so very slim. His beautiful clothes, his mannerisms, that confidence and swagger: that was him, but he was so much more than that. How was anyone to know who he was when his contact was so limited? So rarely was he granted interviews because god forbid he say something that wasn’t discussed in his pre-press meetings, or answer a question that deviated from the norm. How were people supposed to know him if he couldn’t freely show himself?

Harry Styles wasn’t H, and he never would be.

H was shy and sweet and gentle and well-spoken. H was flawed and messy and jealous and a bit of a moody prick when they felt like it. H spent time with their real friends, those who’d never once seen a paparazzi lens. H had a mother and a sister and a husband whose family, though not related by blood, loved them just the same. H was in love, and not with some hardly-relevant woman they wooed on a yacht.

H had been in love for longer than Harry Styles was created. So many nights they stayed awake, cursing him for his existence; they blamed him for everything that they were in the present, but it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Harry Styles’ fault that H was in the predicament that was making everything so fucking difficult. Harry Styles was born from the grooming, manipulation, and worship by an industry and world that would never understand H.

The blame was not on Harry Styles, and certainly not on H.

Harry wanted to remind Louis that it wasn’t his fault, wasn’t his choice to not be able to stick by him while he was in surgery, but there wasn’t anyone else that it could be pinned on. Who could be blamed but the collective of everyone who had ever misguided him since the day he stepped foot out of Holmes Chapel, not knowing he’d never truly return.

With all of those thoughts plaguing him, being alone didn’t seem like a great idea. Harry didn’t like to be alone, especially when he was in an argument with Louis. If he couldn’t have his rock, he needed someone else to rely on.

11:15        Come over?

Mitch(ell Rowland):

11:17        now?

                Please

                be there in 20

                want coffee?

11:20       Yes please. Thanks

                stop being so polite you’re freaking me out

                Thanks dickhead

                That better?

                much lol

“They won’t let me fly out.”

“Well, hello to you too,” Mitch greeted him as he stepped through the doorway and kicked off his shoes.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” he responded simply.

Being gently guided out of the room by a hand on his back didn’t upset Harry the way it had with Jeff. That hand wasn’t patronising. There was a selfless motive behind that hand’s touch. It was a desire to comfort and care rather than take control of his actions, so Harry didn’t complain when he was led through his house and directed to have a seat on the sofa. Though he’d spent the past few days going from sofa to bed, he didn’t mind cosying up there again. Even after days of staring at those same four walls, he hadn’t tired of it. It was perfectly warm, dimly lit—as he’d drawn the curtains to tamp down his headaches—and it still smelled like Louis.

“They said no?”

“I knew they would, but they’re—” Harry swallowed hard before continuing, “—they were so fucking cruel about it. Not Jeff, but… the others.”

“Hm.”

Mitch’s response may have seemed aloof or uncomfortable to anyone else, but Harry knew that he was engaged in the conversation. A few years of friendship were more than enough to learn to speak the other’s language, and Mitch knew that Harry needed a listening ear before they could begin to problem-solve.

“And they said… they said that he — that, like… and I, erm, he…” He took a shivery breath and clenched his teeth against the rush of emotions. “It’s like they don’t… y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I think.”

Again, that might have come across as disinterested to an outsider, but Harry knew that his friend understood. Each man could tell how the other felt based on their bare-bones dialogue, and feelings were far more important than words when they both knew there was so little that could be done. Harry didn’t have anything much to say for a minute. He rubbed his thumbs on the textured cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup and watched steam float up through the hole in the top.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be so vulnerable, but he was feeling guilty about inviting his friend over to watch him have a breakdown. Mitch wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to, though. That was something Harry reminded himself of over and over while he paced through the kitchen, awaiting the chime of the doorbell. Even though Harry hadn’t explicitly said what he needed, there was no way Mitch hadn’t known what he was in for. The younger man only got so overly polite when he was on edge, so those messages said more than enough for Mitch to glean that he was in need of some emotional support.

“And, um, what’d Louis say?”

Harry didn’t have the willpower to stop the single tear that slid down his cheek, so he didn’t bother looking up to show it off. He just stared at his knees and sniffled while Mitch frowned over at him.

“Not good?”

When Harry shook his head, Mitch offered him a palm-up hand. His friend was a very tactile person, and being able to feel someone else’s warmth would likely help him stay grounded. He didn’t want his presence to be overwhelming, though. If Harry could initiate the touch, it would certainly give him a sense of control that he must have been lacking in such a ridiculously unfair situation.

“Not good,” Harry whispered, clutching Mitch’s hand and feeling a warm shiver run through him when his fingers were squeezed tight. “He fucking hates me.”

“Doubt he hates you.”

“Said he doesn’t wanna talk.” The tears made Harry’s nose run, so he set down his drink and reached to grab a tissue. It was only then that he was hit with the embarrassing realisation that he hadn’t yet tackled the disaster his home had become since Louis left California. “Shit, m’sorry — it’s a fuckin’ mess.”

The pile of pillows he’d brought from the guest bedroom were all half-flattened and escaping their pillowcases. There was a blanket that was certainly in need of a wash tangled up on the floor which was littered with tissues that hadn’t quite made it into the overflowing bin. His cheeks burned a deep red as he made a move to tidy up, but Mitch grabbed his arm and guided him back down, ignoring the insistence that it’s gross, let me at least fix the blanket.

“I change diapers every day, H. That’s gross. I don’t give a shit though, ‘cos I love my kid—” he ruffled Harry’s hair, “—and I love you, kid.”

“You only love me ‘cos I pay you,” he lamented, and Mitch was grateful to see his friend joking around again.

“Damn straight, Styles.”

Having Mitch’s calming presence around was more than helpful. While they continued to talk, Harry laid his head on his friend’s shoulder and accepted the arm that wrapped around his own. They didn’t have much time together, seeing as they both had various tasks to finish up before the show, but Harry was endlessly grateful for the assistance with putting himself back together. He hadn’t bothered to check his phone since Mitch’s arrival, but his heart jumped to his throat when he retrieved it from the kitchen to find a handful of new messages.

L:

1:32        Babygirl I’m sorry

                Just don’t feel good at all. I didn’t mean to be a dick

               Oli chewed me out already

               And they gave me different pain meds…that helped

               Brain works better now haha

1:48        Really am sorry though love I swear

               I hope you’re alright, let me know if you wanna talk soon

               I really love you

2:00        Not angry?

                Not angry

                Just sorry

               You call me whenever you’re ready. I miss you already, princess

Though he wanted nothing more than to hear Louis’ voice, Harry knew he wasn’t ready. He’d moved past the hurt and frustration, more or less, but until he had some good news, Harry wouldn’t call Louis back. He didn’t want to ramble on about hypotheticals any longer, so he would stay silent until there was a timeline. Despite his predicament, Louis might try to intervene and support his husband against the tour’s management team, and Harry didn’t want to add any more stressors when he’d already delivered so much disappointment that day. The next time Louis heard his voice, he would be able to count down the hours until his husband’s arrival.

2:02        Ok

               Love you x

Chapter Text

Soundcheck was a regular part of the routine. Harry was more than used to it by now, but this time, his irritation had only increased as the minutes went by. He did his best to not take it out on the staff, barely holding himself together as his usual lighthearted manner was replaced with what could only be described as a measured, fragile politeness that not a soul dared to provoke.

It went on exactly as long as it needed to and not a minute more, with the crew not wanting to test Harry’s obviously thin patience by fiddling around with the settings too much. If they needed to make more adjustments, they could certainly do so during the opening number. Any imbalances in the audio would be inaudible over the screaming of the crowd anyway, so it didn’t much matter.

The second he was released, he gave a quick thanks to the crew before setting his guitar on the floor and jumping off the side of the stage—a move probably not advisable considering the height and his half-on-half-off Vans, but if he broke an ankle, so be it. Husband solidarity or something.

Despite his best efforts to be alone, Harry was intercepted by Jeff on his way into the dressing room. He was clearly trying to start up a conversation, but Harry didn’t want any part of it.

“Looks like a good show tonight. Should be a full house,” Jeff commented, trying his very best to be casual.

“Cancel it.” The grumble was hardly intelligible, but Jeff had enough experience communicating with an irritated Harry to pick up on it. “Please, Jeff? He’s upset and I’m upset and I feel like my marriage is a failure and you know I won’t put on my best show while he’s in surgery ‘cos I’ll be too nervous and distracted. Please?”

“It’s not a failure, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’ll be as dramatic as I want to—” Harry countered as he hopped up to sit on an empty table, “—because Louis is in a hospital bed without me by his side. I think I’ve more than enough reason to be entirely too dramatic today.”

Looking as if he was seriously contemplating his response, Jeff began to fiddle with his wedding ring. It took a few long seconds of fidgeting before he hit Harry with more disappointment.

“If there wasn’t a show, I’d think about it.”

“You’d think about it? You wouldn’t just say ‘oh yeah, H, you can absolutely go fly to your husband to support and care for and love him while he’s in debilitating pain and getting major surgery because you’re married and that’s what husbands do for each other’? You’d have to think about it, Jeff?”

“There are a lot of moving parts, H, and—”

“I don’t care how many parts are moving, just make them stop. Oh, wait, give me a moment.” Harry leaned back to fish his phone out of his pocket and put it up to his ear, faking an incoming call. “Hello? Oh no, that’s terrible. How tragic, I’ll be sure to tell him right now.”

He slammed the phone down on the table at his side and smiled cruelly at Jeff, a look which clashed unnervingly with his innocent dimples.

“That was the hospital,” Harry said with a hand on his heart and the most theatric look of concern. “Glenne fell down the stairs. She’s just been taken up in an ambulance.”

“H, don’t joke about that.”

“She’s broken her arm and she’s in so much pain. It’s excruciating, really. She’s all alone there, Jeff.” It was more than clear that he was riling up his manager, and his smirk twisted in pleasure with the flaring of Jeff’s nostrils.

“That’s not funny, Harry.” Jeff’s teeth were clenched painfully tight, knowing that Harry was only looking for a fight. He was pushing his buttons because he was in pain and rightfully irritated, but Jeff wouldn’t give the man what he wanted. Not when the result would make a mess far too large to clean up before showtime.

“Oh, I know, right? So not funny to think about your wife sobbing, broken, and terrified after an accident while you're away. It’s not funny to think about how alone she must feel, how you aren’t there to care for her. All she wants is you, Jeff, but you’re too busy with your silly little job to be with her right now.”

“Harry—”

“She needs you, Jeffrey. Her arm is snapped in half—oh how terrible that must look! I just hope it didn’t break the skin, don’t you? And there’s sick in her hair ‘cos nobody was there to hold it back when moving her half a centimetre blinded her with pain.” Despite his best efforts, Harry could feel his eyes start to burn as he held back the angry tears that ached to join his little performance. “Oh, but don’t worry, they’ll get her some opioids in soon. Keep her dizzy enough to shut her up, that’s the easiest way ‘round it. I reckon she’s got a massive bruise where her head hit the ground, too. That’ll be so hard to look at while you’re lying next to her in bed, won’t it? While she’s there just watching you sleep, still awake ‘cos she hurts too bad to let go.”

Jeff tried to interject again, but Harry raised his voice, not giving him the opportunity to interrupt his rant.

“Isn’t it just so sad to know that of the dozens of people in and out of your beautiful wife’s room, not a single one will hold her hand or kiss her forehead or tell her that everything will be alright? Don’t you want to go do that for her, Jeffrey? Imagine if that was real — oh, wait, it is!”

He finally snapped, and Harry felt a rush of satisfaction that came from the darkest part of himself as his manager lost his temper.

“Stop it! Fucking stop it, Harry. You’re acting like a goddamn child right now.”

“I’m not acting like a child. Answer my question, Jeffrey. Wouldn’t you want to be with your sweet, lovely wife of almost two years if she was hospitalised?”

A lone tear dripped down Harry’s cheekbone, and he dug his perfectly manicured fingernails into his palm. It was a necessary punishment for losing control of himself, just as he’d been told time and time again. Just as he’d been trained so many years ago.

“Yes, but—”

“So you see how I’m feeling? You see what I mean? Louis’ been there for me for twelve years. Near half my life’s been devoted to this man, and I’m expected to just move on and forget that this is what’s happened to the love of my stupid fucking life across the other side of this godforsaken country?”

Quickly pulling up the x-ray that Oli had sent him, Harry turned his phone to Jeff who grimaced at the sight of the injury. It seemed he was preparing to snap back at Harry, but he let out a long breath and pulled himself together.

“And I get it, I really do, but I have to strongly advise you to not leave Los Angeles.”

Harry wasn’t exactly one for strong advice at the moment, so the sentiment had no effect on him.

“Could you give me a single coherent reason why? ‘Cos I’m not hearing anything of substance come out your mouth today.”

“They’re releasing the first breakup article on Friday, Harry, alright? I got them to push it up a few weeks because of everything that’s going on with you lately, and I’m just trying to keep you away from trouble until then so they don’t back out. I came in here to tell you, but you didn’t give me a fucking chance to speak.”

The air was still, charged with the weight of the news.

“You… did what?”

“I negotiated for you. You’ve been so sick and you still did your goddamn job, so I figured I better do mine. I’m not always the bad guy, H. Now if you wanna cancel your shows and go out to New York tonight, have at it, but I can’t guarantee you a way out. My bet is they’d extend it, so if that’s what you want… feel free. I won’t stop you, but I also won’t dig you out of whatever hole you fall in. I’m dead serious.”

Harry looked entirely distraught, and Jeff softened the slightest bit upon seeing the anguish in his eyes.

“I know. It’s a difficult choice. I know he’s suffering and I know it hurts you, but if I were you, I’d think about what’s best for you and Louis in the next six years. Not six days.” Jeff began to walk out, to leave a shocked Harry to himself, but he stopped when he got to the doorway. “Keep your eyes on the horizon and stop focusing on every step. Call your husband, Hersh. Come find me when you’ve cooled off so we can talk it over.”

The solitude Harry sought was finally granted, but the sudden silence made his skin crawl. Looking down at his clenched fists, Harry forced himself to relax the curled fingers. It seemed he’d nearly broken the skin of his palms, carving deep red grooves into the flesh that he didn’t think would ever disappear. He hoped they wouldn’t. After all, he deserved them, didn’t he?

He deserved the pain more than Louis.

There was no chance of drawing it away from his husband, though. With no way to take it all on, he had no choice but to manufacture his own.

This only upset him more, since he knew what Louis’ response would be to seeing Harry treat himself in such a way. He knew Louis would remind him of what they’d worked on, of how far he’d come… but he failed. He failed his husband, and he had no way to make it up to him. Harry should be happy, though. The stunt was nearly over. He was almost free of the burden that weighed him down for far longer than he’d ever expected, but he just couldn’t see the bright side. Not when the horizon was clouded and hazy and so very far away. No matter how long he travelled, how far he sailed, he would never find the line where the sun met the waves that pushed violently against his progress. He was just as far as ever.

Always so far.

It was the buzzing of the phone in his pocket which startled Harry from his despair, the unexpected sensation making him jump. If it was who he thought it was, I swear to god I’ll kill him right now, leave me the fuck alone, Jeff.

Facetime: L

Not Jeff. Harry still found his stomach constricting with the name since he didn’t know how he could possibly speak to Louis when there was so much swirling around in his head. Too much. There was too much for him to process and not enough time because there were only so many more rings before the call would be missed but fuck he didn’t know what he could possibly say.

What was Harry supposed to say? He couldn’t just tell Louis what Jeff said, could he? He should have a plan of action first. He should already be prepared with a booking confirmation and an ETA for when Louis could expect his flight in, but he was still lost and without a plan. If there was one thing he’d promised himself, it was that when Louis called next, he would have a plan… but here he was, all alone backstage with a pounding heart and empty brain and no fucking plan and he was such a disappointment. He would have to break the news and he was a disappointment, and Louis would certainly not want to speak to him after he kept letting him down time and time and time again.

“Erm, hey, Lou.”

“Where you walkin’ to, babygirl?”

“Oh, erm, I—” Harry hadn’t realised he’d been pacing the room—he hadn’t realised he’d even stood from the table—and he stopped in his tracks. The halt in momentum made his head go a bit dizzy, and he tried his best to keep a straight face as his eyes blurred for a moment.

“You look off,” Louis pointed out as he scrutinised his husband, seeming to notice that none of the colour had yet returned to Harry’s stunned face.

“No, I, erm… I’m — everything’s fine.”

“You’re nervy.” Harry was going to deny the accusation, but he couldn’t get any words out in time before Louis continued. “I might be drugged off me arse, but I know your sweet face. What’s happened, love?”

“I-I wanna talk about you, honey,” Harry deflected, unprepared to discuss his argument with Jeff as he’d not had a single moment to process it on his own.

“Well I don’t, and I’m the one with the arm thing. So we’ll talk ‘bout you. Why d’you look like y’jus’ witnessed a murder?”

Harry was afraid that if he said it out loud, he would jinx himself. But maybe if he told Louis, it would feel that much more real. He realised he’d been holding in his breath, so he very carefully let it go to prepare himself.

“I— baby, the stunt’s over.”

Louis stared blankly at Harry through the screen for a moment before frowning - the complete opposite reaction to what Harry had expected from such a big turn of events.

“…Right, never mind. Think I got too many drugs — the hell’m I on?”

“Well, that might be true, but I— you heard right. She’s gone, I’m out. I dunno what that means for us, but the stunt’s over by next weekend. It’s over, Lou.”

The ever-present furrow of Louis’ pained brow released as he lit up with a massive grin, his pain pushed away by an overwhelming sense of relief.

“Oh, baby, m’so fuckin’ happy for you. Finally done. Y’did so well, and s’finally fuckin’ done.” Harry felt the tops of his cheeks warm from Louis’ praise, and for a moment, he completely forgot why the news had been troubling him in the first place. “Shit, I can’t wait t’see you. H, fuck, that’s… when’s your flight get in? Wanna celebrate — best I can post-op, anyway.”

There it was. Harry really wished he’d let the call go unanswered to give himself a few minutes to prepare. His husband was a forgiving and understanding man, but he feared that the forgiveness and understanding wouldn’t stretch quite so far this time. Not when he was hospital-bound and aching and desperate for Harry’s companionship.

“That’s why I, eh, we need to talk ‘bout that.”

“What, you puttin’ out a breakup article ‘bout me too?”

“N-no, but—” Harry felt a sting behind his eyes—was it tears again? maybe exhaustion?—that cracked his voice, “—if I want it to go through I have to keep real clean this week. Jeff thinks it’s best I don’t go anywhere. Just stay at home ’til they can’t retract it, ‘cos if I upset any of them, they could stretch it out. Again. Guess he’s got something in writing, I dunno, haven’t seen it yet. So I, um, I know the shows’re done Tuesday but I dunno if I can come until after the article’s out on Friday. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry, Louis.”

“Har—” he tried to respond, but he was quickly interrupted by his rambling partner.

“No, I know, I’m a shit husband. I really am, and I’m sorry I can’t be there for you because all I ever want to do is—”

“Babe.”

“—to be there for you and I’m stuck and you’re hurting and I’m so sorry. No, y’know what… I’ll look at flights. It-it’ll extend the stunt, but I don’t care anymore ‘cos I should be there right now, fuck, I’m sorry, Lou. Will you be staying at my flat? You had a key for after the One Night, right? ‘Cos if not, I can g—”

“H.” Harry finally cut himself off to turn his focus back on the screen. “Take a breath. S’alright.”

“It’s not.” His voice was tight and he was on the verge of tears, but nothing about Louis’ demeanour suggested that he should be so penitent.

“It is. M’not angry. Stay in California, be good, and stick it out. Book a Friday flight, baby — I can wait.”

The beating of his heart slowed just enough to turn down the rush of blood in his ears, and Harry was completely caught off guard by the response.

“R-really?”

“H, I’d rather be missin’ you this week if it means we’re gettin’ closer.” Something about Louis’ voice made Harry feel so utterly silly because of course Louis wouldn’t be angry with him. Of course he wouldn’t, because he understood. He understood Harry, and he was the most accommodating partner anyone could ever ask for.

“Even with the surgery?”

“Sure. Broke me arm alone before, might as well do it again.” Louis’ confidence was clearly a bit put on, not wanting Harry to have any hard feelings, but it wasn’t fully convincing.

“Not like this,” he insisted, almost wishing that Louis would get upset, wishing he would demand that Harry fly to be at his side immediately, but Louis kept his calm demeanour.

”Well… no. Not like this, but I can take it. And if you’re not here, then Oli’s gotta give me the sponge bath, and I think that’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

A little smile was painted on Louis’ face, but Harry didn’t know that he could fully believe him. This wasn’t just a few stitches and a plaster—there was absolutely no reason Louis should be so calm about it all, and Harry was almost unnerved by the complete lack of animosity.

“Lou, if you’re angry you can tell me. You can shout at me or whatever, I know I deserve it.”

“Babygirl, I’d never be angry over good news,” he assured the younger man. “Actually, makes it feel loads better, y’know what I mean?”

“Are you sure that’s not the drugs talking?” That was only half a joke. If Louis’ expressions of pain in their prior phone calls were any indication, whatever they had him on this time was some potent shit.

“Very. H, I got the greatest support for me album right now. I’m proud of the work I done, and for people t’see that and enjoy it as much as I have? Makes this all a bit easier. Knowin’ I gotta do surgery without you is fuckin’ terrifyin’, m’not gonna lie, but I’m not in it alone. Got me best mate over there, and I got you in here. Long as it means we’re one step closer, I’ll deal.”

One step closer. Hearing Louis say that out loud made everything feel so much more powerful. The article would come out and they’d be one step closer to each other, physically and metaphorically. We’re one fucking step closer.

“But… I told you I’d be there soon.”

“As soon as you can,” Louis quoted Harry, “And if that’s as soon as you can, I’ll take it. Get her outta the picture, then we’re one step closer. Happy days ahead, sun.”

There was nothing to do but stare at Louis in awe. The way he took things in stride, rolled with the punches and gracefully took the ones that knocked him to the ground only to pop back up again—it was unfathomable to Harry.

“How are you always so positive?” The question pulled the smallest laugh from Louis, and Harry’s body warmed with pleasure at the sound. Fuck, he’d missed that.

“Jus’ keepin’ me eyes on the horizon, ‘cos that’s where me sunshine is.”

The lasting smile drew lines around his eyes, and Harry felt as if he was being wrapped up in a warm, heavy blanket of comforting love.

“God, I fucking love you, y’know that?”

“Well I sure hope you do. But… if I’m not mistaken, you got places to be.”

“Gotta be right here with you,” Harry responded without hesitation, but Louis shook his head fondly.

“Said you’ve gotta be a good boy this week, right? So go be good. Do your things or whatever. Be a good boy for them.” Harry’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion and he looked as if he was about to disagree, but Louis stopped him. “If not for them, for me?”

“For you,” he agreed, though his lip pouted out the slightest bit in opposition. “I’ll go do my ‘things or whatever’.”

They were both slightly blushed, missing each other so desperately that it only took a few words for their yearning to swell beyond anything considered reasonable. One of them had to hang up first, but they were at a stalemate. Neither man wanted it to end, each hoping the other would take on the task for him.

“Talk soon, baby.”

“Talk soon.”

They were stretching it out as long as possible, if only to get one more second to look into each other’s eyes before returning to reality.

“And, H?” Harry only hummed. “You don’t deserve to be shouted at.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t very convincing, so Louis gave him a pointed look. “I believe you, I promise.”

“Alright, princess. Love you loads.”

Harry blew him a kiss, and Louis, unable to catch it with his phone in his only functional hand, tilted his face so it would land on his cheek. Seeing as he had double the thumbs to access to his phone as compared to Louis, Harry bit the bullet and ended the call.

Louis wasn’t angry. Harry could rest easier now knowing that Louis wasn’t holding anything over his head or blocking his number or serving him papers on the spot.

Louis wasn’t angry, but when the call ended, he felt undeniable dread pool in his stomach. Harry would be there. Harry would be there for him no matter what, and he would be physically there soon, but Louis neglected to tell him that booking a Friday flight meant their overlap would be so very slim. Unless he found a way around it, by four o’clock on Friday, he would need to be out the door and on his way to JFK.

It wasn’t his choice to leave New York. Well, it was, but he had serious regrets about not running plans by Harry before allowing them to be set in stone. He’d begged, pleaded to leave the country and go back home where he would be comfortable, but you can’t fly a day after surgery, Louis. His demands that they get him home as fast as fucking possible were met with a ticket booked for Friday evening—the soonest they could safely move him. It wasn’t wise to set out on a commercial airline for a multitude of reasons, the main one this time around being his injury, but they felt it was worth justifying the environmental damage to take a private charter rather than be crammed into what was a decently roomy first-class seat while needing to wake every few hours for his medicine and deal with the discomfort of an already swollen arm becoming more inflamed from the change in pressure. Add onto that the constant vigilance that comes with being so known and the near one-hundred percent chance of him being in a sour mood, and it was hands down the best option.

Louis had sent more than enough strongly-worded messages while under the influence of agony to back out on the travel arrangements now, so he had no choice but to stick to it. The soonest they could move him was Friday, but the soonest Harry could arrive was… Friday. People had scrambled to make the international booking for him, after all, and it would be ungrateful to assume they would just scrap it because he changed his mind. But if the soonest Harry could arrive was Friday…

H:

1:21     When’s the procedure again?

            6

            3 yours

             I know how time zones work baby x

             That’s so soon

             Yeah

              You’ll be alright. I promise <3

Louis was unconvinced. No matter what Harry said to comfort him, he wouldn’t be able to make it better. Not if he wasn’t there… but he couldn’t just say that. He needed Harry there—if not immediately, then as soon as possible.

1:35      Hey love couldn’t you fly Thursday night

             You wouldn’t be with me until Friday

             Doesn’t break a rule. Loophole?

             Can I check with Jeff?

             Of course

A stomach-twisting fifteen minutes passed before Louis got a response from Harry, but he was met with a screenshot from his husband’s messages with his manager.

              Well, as long as you’re not seen

              We can plant you in LA that morning, I’ll schedule drivers

              Finally a stunt I can get behind

              Thanks Jeff

              I owe you

              4:15 LAX sound ok?

              Midnight-ish arrival. Private JFK

              And you don’t owe me

Louis thanked the universe for the lack of convincing that was required to fulfil the man’s request, and the pool of dread now resembled a puddle. It couldn’t evaporate entirely, after all, since the time would eventually come that he would have to tell Harry why he needed to arrive early.

Maybe he could just tell him now. Would that make things better? Maybe he should he wait until after Harry’s show… but then he’d be just out of surgery—who knows how long it would be until he woke enough to hold that conversation? He would certainly be more emotional about it if he was in pain, so it was probably best to break it to Harry before it was too late. He should just do it. It was easy, all he would have to do was—

1:45      :) ?

—tell him. All he had to do was tell him.

Thank you beautiful xx

Can’t wait to see you

Chapter Text

The next few days were filled with nothing but stress. Harry was lucky if he could go ten minutes without thinking about his husband–wondering if he was feeling alright, if he had taken his medicine, if he was fed and hydrated and clean and comfortable…

Everything made him think of Louis, and that was the only way he kept himself going.

Looking out of the window as he woke, the sky was a beautiful blue that matched Louis’ eyes and carved an anxious hole in Harry’s stomach. His appetite was often shoddy, but he knew Louis would want him to start his day with something, so he would work on a piece of toast while flaking off his nail polish onto the kitchen counter. He used his husband’s shampoo for days, desperate to feel close to him in any way he could.

He didn't hide his feelings from his friends, knowing that it would be a struggle to keep a constant poker face in public and deciding it wasn’t worth it to try in private. They noticed how stuck inside his own head he was, and they all made it their mission to prevent him from isolating himself. That would do more harm than good, and there was already more than enough on Harry’s plate.

They all patiently listened to his rambling concerns—even as the same worries were expressed time and time again, the group did their best to reassure Harry and gently discourage him from abandoning his responsibilities. The first two days were the most difficult, with Harry staring at his phone so often that it became a major distraction. When someone suggested he put it away, the band looked around at each other nervously, unsure of what kind of reaction that would bring about.

“Hey, H, mind putting your phone away for a few minutes? There’s a lot to get do— where’re you going?”

Harry looked up from the screen silently, eyebrows raised. He had nothing to say, he just stood and walked silently out of the room while a few voices called after him. It only took two rings for Louis to answer Harry’s call, and his tired face appearing on the screen made Harry pout.

“Aw, Loubear,” Harry cooed, and Louis didn’t protest the name. “How’re you feeling, my love?”

“Throat hurts from th’tube,” he said with a rough cough. “Want more tea.”

“Do you think you could—”

“Oli,” he mumbled, not wanting to elaborate on account of the pain that a full sentence would bring his sore throat.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Forgot.” He took a deep breath while he analysed Louis’ pained face. “How’s your arm, honey?”

“Bad.” The whisper was hardly audible, and his eyes shut. “Feel sick.”

“I… what can I do?”

There was very little he could do, and it was incredibly distressing. By the third day, however, Louis’ throat had stopped aching and his brain was a bit more clear. Conversations were less one-sided, and Harry felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders.

“So she screwed the big pieces together, got metal plates holdin’ ‘em in. Little piece’s pinned up against them — said another screw’d crack it. Too small.” Louis sounded almost excited as he told Harry what had been done to fix him. It was interesting, how they could go in and put him back together with nothing more than one cut, but Harry couldn't let himself be fully impressed when he was still so displeased.

“Will they ever take them out?”

“I mean… someone could? I dunno. I’m not exactly itchin’ t’go under the knife again, so I didn’t ask.” Harry’s lower lip jutted out, and Louis’ turned up in a little smile. “What?”

“I don’t want you to have a robot arm,” Harry lamented, but his dramatic feelings were not shared by Louis.

“S’not a robot arm. It’s, like, ten pieces of metal.”

“Robot arm,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “Robohusband.”

All Louis could do was laugh, yearning for the upcoming days to pass so that he could kiss that pout right off his boy’s lips.

It was night four that stressed him the most. He’d received a call from Louis in the early hours of the morning, the injured man unable to sleep due to his discomfort.

“Hey, baby, s’goin’ on?” Harry’s voice had its deep morning rasp and he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” Louis mumbled, almost ashamed of himself for calling. “Jus’ wanted to see your face. Sorry t’wake you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry said simply, but it did nothing to help Louis.

“You were sleepin’ though.”

“And you weren’t. What d’you need, my love?” There was no resentment or irritation in Harry's voice. He truly didn't mind having been woken—not at a time like this.

“Jus’ wanna see you. M’alright, really.”

Harry set up his phone against the pillow that should have been Louis’ so that he could still be seen while he tucked his sleepy hands up by his cheek.

“Are you alright though? You look pale.”

“I been better,” Louis tried to joke, but he couldn’t bring a smile to his face. “Hurts like a bitch and m’all nauseous.”

That twisted Harry’s stomach, as if his body decided Louis shouldn't feel alone in that ache.

“You have a bin?” Louis nodded, closing his eyes and sucking in his lower lip for a second, trying to settle his nausea.

“Yeah, but I dunno if I’ll need it. Think s’a fever thing.”

“Aw, you poor th—” Harry cut himself off. “Wait, Lou, you have a fever?”

“Mhm. Little one.” He scratched his chin against his shoulder, having no free hand to use. It was endearing, but not distracting enough for Harry to forget his concern.

“You need to call your doctor, babe. Like… now.”

“Nah, s’no big deal — I googled it.”

For how many times Louis had to remind his husband that Google’s not a doctor, babygirl, Harry thought he would have some more sense when it came to his own health.

“Louis, darling, that’s the one thing they say to worr—”

“It’s only a concern if s’over thirty-eight, love. I’m at thirty-seven point seven. Literally the smallest fever.”

“That normally wouldn’t make you feel sick, though,” Harry reminded him, failing at keeping his panic down. It bubbled up in his stomach, building up his sympathetic nausea. “You’re pretty tolerant with that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, but me arm’s throbbin’ and m’on so many fuckin’ drugs. Already makes me feel gross, so I guess m’jus’ bein’ whiny ‘bout it.” Harry still looked terrified, and the glistening of his eyes washed a wave of guilt over Louis that he knew his husband wouldn’t want him to feel. “Don’t work yourself up, H. M’jus’ healin’. Promise I’ll call if it goes up. Alright?”

A little nod from Harry brought a tired smile to Louis’ face, but he couldn’t feel fully at peace after hearing the subtle sniffle that meant Harry was trying his best to hold tears back.

“I’m gonna come there and fix you, alright? I’ll fix you up just like always.”

“I know you will,” Louis murmured with a semblance of that fond smile he saved just for Harry. “I know you will, baby.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, I swear,” Harry’s voice was unsteady, and even in the dim lighting and through a phone screen, he could see the shining of green eyes.

“I know. Twelve-thirty.”

“I’ll fix it, Louis.” The tightening of Harry’s throat was clear in his voice, and Louis couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic sound in response.

“Hey now, princess. There’s nothin’ to cry ‘bout, alright? M’not upset, remember?”

“I just… can’t wait to see you.” Harry’s words were low and hardly audible, and he was rather relieved that Louis didn’t acknowledge the tear that trickled down his cheek, making a strange trail across the bridge of his nose on account of lying on his side. “I wanna hold you s-so bad.”

“Can’t wait ’til you do, H, but would y’get some sleep for me, love? You know how I worry…”

The request made Harry break out into quiet tears, sniffling and hitching breaths smashing Louis’ heart. He wanted nothing more than to run fingers through those tangled curls, to kiss his partner’s forehead and murmur into his skin. He just wanted Harry to feel better, but so long as he kept going the way he was, Louis wasn’t sure the man ever truly could.

“Baby, listen. We’re alright. Close your eyes, and tomorrow we’re one day closer.”

“One day closer,” Harry echoed quietly, wiping tears away with his fingers far rougher than Louis would have if he were there. “But you can’t sleep.”

“I can now I’ve got you.”

The days were far too long, and by the time Friday morning came around, Harry was buzzing with anticipation. There was no way to move his flight up no matter how many times he pestered Jeff, and Louis finally convinced him to stop asking because four-fifteen is only six hours away, and you should start packing, shouldn’t you?

What Louis didn’t know is that Harry had been packed since Sunday. Considering he was the type to plan ahead and make a list, gathering up the items and folding them nicely into suitcases, it shouldn’t have been surprising. Louis, on the other hand, often had to bribe Harry into ironing his shirts whenever they got to a new destination as his method was more centred around shoving as much as he could into one bag. All it took was a few kisses for the man to agree every time, and Harry came to expect it after travelling together long enough.

He settled on going out for lunch to take up his time. It was one of his last free days, after all, and he wanted to feel like a normal person for even just an hour or two. Normal was a very loose term, since he knew he wasn’t likely to make it around without being spotted at least once. This was a rare occasion when Harry hoped he would be found, though. It was all part of Jeff’s little plan to plant Harry in Los Angeles when he was all the way across the country. Luckily for him, two people locked eyes with him, and he gave them a small smile as if to welcome them to approach.

He immediately recognised the girl—though he wasn’t sure when they’d met, he never forgot a face—and that made him feel even more confident in the plan. Knowing that excited fans tended to post their photos as quickly as possible, he figured that if they’d already been acquainted, surely the two could be talked into playing along.

“How long are you two staying in L.A.?” Asked Harry casually as the conversation came to an end, easing himself into asking for their help.

“We’ll be here a few days.” That was all he needed to hear.

“You wanna do me a massive favour?” Nobody could say no to that dimpled smile, so of course they agreed without knowing what it was. “Maybe don’t tell anyone ‘bout this just yet… you took those pictures tomorrow morning, alright?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Absolutely. We were never here, right?” She said, turning to her friend, and the boy mimed zipping his lips.

“Will you promise me? Just sit on the photos for a day and don’t tell anybody. It’ll be our little secret.” The thought of sharing a secret with him seemed to be more than enough to seal the deal.

“We won’t tell. I — we promise.”

“You’re amazing. Can’t wait to meet you tomorrow,” he said with a wink before making his way back to his car.

He stopped back by his house to load up his luggage into the dark-windowed vehicle that was sent to transport him to the airport. Secret driveways and hidden entrances were the perfect way to get Harry to the jet without being noticed, but he still dressed in an ill-fitting hoodie and jeans to avoid any prying eyes from being drawn his way.

The goal was to sleep on the way there, to be well-rested enough that he could look after Louis’ needs rather than his own, but Harry wasn’t able to turn off his brain. He knew Oli had left earlier that afternoon—what if something happened to Louis? Running through upsetting and unlikely scenarios was no help, so he shut himself in the back room and spent some time with his breath until he evened out his anxious thoughts. Louis would have told him if something went wrong, after all, so everything must have been fine.

Time passed quickly, but it simultaneously felt as if it was dragging along when Harry checked his watch every two minutes. He got lonely so easily during those short few hours, but just as he started to feel his chest constrict, his pilot came over the intercom to alert him to the upcoming landing. He scrambled to a seat and buckled in, the reality that Louis was close finally setting in. The pressure of the descent was surprisingly soothing, and by the time their wheels were on the ground, Harry felt that he too had been grounded.

Getting from JFK to Tribeca was agonising. He'd forgotten that even though he'd arrived in New York, he wasn't home. The trip would normally take upwards of an hour, but past midnight, it was relatively clear and the time was halved. Harry hadn’t expected Louis to be awake when he finally came in, but stumbling over a discarded shirt that lay in the middle of the floor caused the man’s head to turn his way. Harry’s whole body flushed with the shy oops he whispered.

“Hi.” Blue eyes teared up, and Louis smiled wider than he had in days. It was that special little smile that was reserved for his husband, and his cheeks warmed a pleased pink because Harry was finally there. Harry was home.

“Did I wake you?”

“No.” He was watching Harry as if he didn’t believe his partner was truly there, and the sentiment was reflected in Harry's expression. “Been up for the medicine.”

“Oh, good. I, eh, can I—” Harry paused, and Louis rolled his eyes at the man’s hesitance. With his functional hand, he patted the spot next to him on the bed, inviting a cautious Harry to join him.

Sitting down as slowly as possible, Harry settled next to Louis, their thighs touching while green eyes flitted all over his body, his partially-revealed chest heaving with anxious breaths that Louis could feel puffing between them.

“You gonna jus’ sit there or you gonna hug me?”

With that permission, Harry warily curled up into Louis and buried his face in the older man’s throat. His lips were all over, placing sweet, gentle kisses on Louis’ pulse points as if he needed proof that the man was still alive after the whole ordeal. As much as he’d love to poke fun at Harry for his unnecessary reverence, Louis just let his husband do what he had to comfort himself.

“How’s your arm?” He whispered against the delicate skin, and Louis pressed a long kiss into Harry’s sloppy hair.

“Better now you’re here.” Louis nudged his knee against Harry’s awkwardly-bent legs, inviting them to rest over his lap.

“What can I get for you?” Harry asked as he pulled away, one cold hand still gentle where it lay on Louis’ bare stomach. “Water? Food? Do you need more medicine? I… what can I do?”

Harry nearly purred when Louis scratched his head, so desperate for his husband’s skin on his own after everything they just went through.

“Oli’s set me up with all that. All I need is you.” The reassurance clearly wasn’t taken to heart, since there was no loosening of Harry’s overly-tight muscles.

“But—” Harry paused, “—but I wanna do more. I-I wanna look after you, please. Please.”

“Relax, love. I’m sure I’ll think of somethin’, but m’all set now.”

“Please,” Harry’s broken whisper made Louis frown and place a soft kiss on that furrowed forehead. “I need t’do something, Lou, please lemme do something.”

Harry was jumbled, words tripping together as his tired tongue couldn’t keep up with the brain which was fogged over with weeks of exhaustion. He was clearly uncomfortable, and all of the sleeplessness following Louis’ procedure seemed to be weighing heavily on Harry’s spent body.

“H, you’re not feelin’ well, are you?”

“M’fine.” Lips pressed between his eyebrows, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m… I can't sleep. M’tired.”

“Well, I’d bet you are, poor thing. Been workin’ you too damn hard. You jus’ need some lovin’, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Despite his own aching desire to be comforted, Louis stepped up for his partner and put on the soft yet insistent voice that Harry so loved whenever he was all clingy and needy. He could feel Harry melt into him, head dropping to bury his face in the crook of Louis’ neck with his nose nudging the small gap between the sling’s straps. There was a whispered missed you, and the warm breath nearly made Louis shiver.

“Missed you too, babygirl. So much.”

Louis’ good hand rubbed up and down Harry’s back when he coughed against his skin, completely unbothered by the lack of courtesy and knowing he was long past the point of actually being ill. The younger man was finally winding down after who knows how long, and Louis knew he couldn’t help but drop his manners while he was only half aware. The touch had Harry wanting more, so he slithered his arm sleepily over Louis’ stomach and tried to wrap the hand around his waist beneath the loose dressing gown he recognised as his own. Louis sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and Harry’s heart stopped.

“M’sorry. I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Ah, no you’re alright. Didn’t know.” Louis tried to hide the pained grimace that accompanied the bumping of his arm, but Harry finally took in the full picture. He wanted to be sick.

“Shit, fuck.” Harry swallowed hard and sat up off of Louis, picking at his fingernails and staring intently at the injured arm as if waiting for it to fall off or explode.

“Love, no, don’t worry ‘bout—”

Harry’s guilt and exhaustion got the best of him, and he couldn’t stop the panic attack that gripped him within moments. After holding it off for so long, something in Harry just snapped. He slid his legs down Louis’ to safely swing them away and pushed himself off the bed with shaking hands, standing up as his eyes got that haze that meant he was no longer in control.

“H, breathe. S’not your fault.”

“I—” Harry didn’t say anything more before walking out of the room, and Louis heard his footsteps increase their tempo once he was out of view. He didn’t know where Harry was off to, and he was torn. He could let him breathe, give his partner a moment to himself to splash some water on his face and tame his heartbeat on his own… but when he heard stomach-churning coughs coming from down the way, he knew he’d have to get up.

With some difficulty, Louis rose from the bed on weak legs, feeling his arm throb now that its weight wasn’t supported by the plush pillows. He slowly shuffled to find the source of the noise, and it wasn’t all too difficult.

Harry wasn’t crying much despite the sobs that tore from him—only a few tears slid down his cheeks while he gasped for breath and hung over the toilet bowl. Despite his position, Louis had a suspicion that he hadn't actually been sick. He didn’t even notice Louis’ entrance, so the man knelt at his side and touched his back to gain his attention.

“Y’shouldn’t be up,” Harry gasped, startled by the contact.

“I know, but y’can’t be alone. Not like this.”

No good alone, Harry reminded himself, and he was only hurting his own feelings by reading into those comforting words.

“Go b-back to bed,” Harry whimpered, and Louis dropped his cheek to rest on Harry’s shoulder, no less exhausted than his husband.

“Come along, baby. Lie down for a while.”

“Stop taking care of m-me,” Harry lashed out, and his pale, tear-streaked face whipped around to confront Louis. “You’re not s’posed to take ca-are of me right n-now.”

“I’ll take care of you whenever y’need me, no matter what.” There would never be a more true statement, seeing how quickly Louis’ ache for Harry’s attention was thrown to the side and replaced with an overwhelming desire to protect.

“But you ne-ed me. You need me and I-I hurt you and I haven’t even been h-here and it’s my fault and I’m so tired a-and I don’t fe-el good and I just wanna be what you n-need right now but I’m a fu-fucking mess, Lou. I’m a mess.”

“What I need right now—” Louis gently corrected him, tucking back a piece of hair, “—is me husband. Don’t care how I have him. I jus’ need you here.”

“You need me stronger.” Harry hung over the toilet again, but Louis knew he didn’t have the energy or need to get sick. He leaned forward to poke his nose against Harry’s cheek, getting him to turn his head. Their lips nearly touched as an intense gaze was locked, both sets of eyes tinged pink from sleeplessness.

“I need you here.” He didn’t kiss Harry, just let their breaths mix in the hopes that he could somehow breathe his comfort into Harry’s lungs. “Come rest with me. You’re not doin’ well.”

“M’al-alright.”

“You’re not doin’ well,” Louis repeated, gentle but unwavering. “Overall, love. You’ve not been me happy boy lately, and y’know I worry so much. Please, H, if y’wanna do somethin’ t’help me, jus’ come back t’bed, put your head in me lap, and fall asleep for a while. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.”

“I’ll h-hurt y-ou.” A new round of tears slipped down Harry’s cheeks, and Louis couldn’t help feeling discouraged. So rarely was Harry as intractable as he was in that moment, but the combination of his physical state, the sight of the broken arm in front of him, and his position next to their toilet was escalating his fear by the minute.

“How ‘bout I show you where it hurts so we can be careful ‘bout our hands, hm?” Louis gestured for Harry to hold his left hand, but there was no immediate move to take it.

Louis knew better than anyone how nervous Harry got about injuries. Illness was certainly anxiety-inducing, but Harry could fix that. He could heal his husband with medicine, attention, and endless doting, but there was nothing he could do to speed along the process of a broken bone or sprained joint. A sick stomach could be calmed by a soft massage, a sore throat dulled with lozenges, and headaches soothed by sympathetic kisses until sleep stole the pain away… but no amount of adoration would be of any help when a simple touch did more harm than good. He carefully laced his fingers over the top of Harry’s when the hand didn’t rise from his leg, and they moved very slowly toward his injured arm.

“No.”

Harry choked on the word, but Louis had expected that reaction. He kept his hand in place, squeezing Harry’s tighter to keep it from escaping. And so he continued ever so slowly, guiding their combined hands across the elastic strip that secured his right arm tight to his side, wrapped around his chest and crossed amidst the other support straps. Ten fingers pushed away the dressing gown, and Louis ran them along the hard plastic of the splint that reached up to his shoulder before allowing Harry’s fingertips to gently brush the wound’s dressings, stained by iodine and spots of deep brown dried blood. The younger man took in a shivery breath, a small tear slipping out of one of his dull eyes which were still trained on the arm.

“A-am I hurting you?”

Louis left his husband’s fingers resting there, trusting their pressure so that he could use his good hand to tilt Harry’s face in his direction.

“No.” The corner of his lips turned up when Harry bowed his head so their foreheads could press together. “You’re fine, baby.”

Hurting Louis was a fear that they’d discussed before, especially in regard to their size difference. As they’d grown up, Harry’s hands became bigger, his arms stronger, and his body larger than Louis’. The older they got, the more concerned Harry became about sitting on his lap or being carried around. He was too heavy, he would insist, but Louis would ignore all protests and prove to his partner that there was nothing to worry about. Harry was taller, yes, but he was slender and sinewy and the perfect size to be cradled against Louis’ chest.

That wasn’t all the time, though. Most days, Harry would flop into Louis’ lap without a care in the world, weaselling his way into his arms and clinging on like his life depended on it, but there were off days. There came a time when Louis noticed Harry no longer dropping his full weight onto him, leaving a half-eaten plate for every meal and spending a bit too long staring at his reflection before settling in bed for the night. Without hesitation, Louis stepped up. It wasn’t easy at first, getting Harry to eat, but it was the most important job he had. He couldn’t cook, but he made sure Harry always had something to nourish his body—continuing to grow since he was still just a kid, no matter how mature their world forced them to feel.

Both men were insecure about their appearance at times, as was inevitable when the world did nothing but comment on their bodies, but Harry had a nagging worry when it came to their visual differences. They had long established that thei size difference was one of Louis’ favourite things, and meeting resistance when it came to cuddles or lap-sitting or scooping him up from the couch grew far less common as the years went by. Harry being taller meant that he made the cutest little spoon, all curled up and easy to snuggle. The crook of his long legs was the perfect place to slide an arm beneath and lift him close to his chest when Louis wanted to scoop him up and carry him around.

Harry was nothing short of perfect. Louis made sure to tell him at every chance he could, but the reassurances weren't enough to override the thoughts that had been programmed into him from years of offhanded comments.

“So gentle, sweetheart,” Louis praised, and Harry’s teeth released his lower lip. “You know I love you, right?”

Curls bounced subtly with the nod, and Louis leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek at the corner of his lips. Harry pulled back slightly, breaths still too fast for Louis’ liking.

“I got vomit mouth.” He was ashamed of himself, but there was no reason to be when that was far from the worst that Louis had ever seen him. Louis was sure now that Harry hadn't actually been sick. The room smelled of lavender, no sour note to be found, so all was well. Harry was just overstimulated and his brain was in disarray, but Louis could put it back together. Choosing not to correct the man, Louis just nodded before whispering back a response.

“I know.”

Their kiss was as gentle as Harry’s hand, which pulled away when their lips broke apart.

“Y-you should rest,” Harry reminded his husband, stroking a thumb across his slightly pale cheek.

“You should rest.” Defeated, Harry sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Together?”

“Always, princess.”

It was easy for Harry to push himself up to stand, but Louis was struggling. Between his exhaustion, the darkness, and the stabbing pain that started to shoot up into his shoulder again, he really wasn’t at his most coordinated. The taller man’s breaths were still uneven and poorly controlled as he wasn’t quite free of his panic, but he helped Louis to stand by offering a hand and pulling him up while the other supported the man’s back. A few silent tears returned, but Louis just led Harry by the hand to the bed. He settled himself first before his pleading eyes convinced Harry to lie with his head in his lap, facing his stomach so they could see each other properly. The tears slowly tapered off, only little hitches in his breaths now that they had stopped. Harry’s head grew heavy on Louis’ thigh, and the older man looked down at his sleeping love, blinking back the tears that filled his eyes at the sight of those clumped lashes and splotchy cheeks before knocking out himself.

It wasn’t a long rest on account of the blaring four o’clock MEDICINE alarm, though Louis wished Harry could have slept a little longer. A little sniff signalled to Louis that he was awake, and those puffy eyes squinted open.

“Hey,” Louis whispered with a fond smile. “M’jus’ up for me medicine, go back t’sleep.”

“What can I do?” Harry asked, the words sparking his brain to wake, and Louis could tell that giving him any task would be the right thing to do.

“Wanna get that pill box thing for me? Yeah, that one in the basket — there should be five in there. Water too, if you could. Thanks, love.”

Seeing the edited labels on his pill box made Harry’s stomach twist with sympathy. He had so many medications to keep track of, and it had been altered so that each compartment corresponded not with a different day of the week, but with a different time of day.

      Sunday           Monday         Tuesday       Wednesday       Thursday           Friday           Saturday

|      00:00      |     4:00      |      6:00      |      8:00      |      12:00      |      16:00      |      20:00      | 

He popped open four o’clock, only to find nothing.

“Erm, Lou?”

“Oh, fuck. S’it empty?” Harry held it upside down in confirmation, and Louis peered at the bottles. They were strewn around in a small basket that was kept at his side, making sure that anything he needed was within his left arm’s reach. “Right, eh, shit… so it’s one of them and one of them, two from this one, and… one from that last one.”

“Dunno if they gave you enough,” Harry joked halfheartedly as he removed the proper doses, but inside he was more than frustrated with himself. Louis shouldn’t have to tell him all that because he should know what to do already. He should have a whole page of notes in his journal with every single word the surgeon said so he could be responsible for Louis’ care day in and day out.

But he didn't.

“Were you up long?” He asked, rubbing Louis’ back when the man grimaced from the feeling of swallowing so many tablets in one go.

“Not too long. C’mon back now.” Louis patted his lap, but Harry buried his face in Louis’ good shoulder, still in that sleepy and vaguely disorientated state that followed his panic attacks despite the nap that separated him from the experience.

“Is me sweet princess all shy today?”

“No.” Harry’s bashful voice didn’t help his case, so Louis wiggled his shoulder slightly to get Harry to reappear. The younger man tried to hide a little yawn, but Louis didn’t miss it.

“You’re adorable.” He couldn’t help but kiss Harry’s forehead—it looked irresistibly soft in the moonlight. “Feelin’ any better in there?”

“Yeah, m’sorry.”

“No sorries, baby,” Louis cooed, guiding Harry back down to lie in his lap again, tracing a finger around his cheek once he settled in. It wasn’t even half a minute before Harry was asleep again, and Louis took a moment to appreciate the man’s efforts. He’d pushed through days of illness and arguments to finish an exhausting final show, only to sit at home and stress himself to death for days until he could be by Louis’ side knowing he would need to be up and out the door within days to jet off to another country and do it all over again.

There was no way he was getting enough sleep, and despite the fact that Louis was the one who just had surgery, it was his husband who seemed the most fatigued and scattered and worn the hell down. Louis found that his pain was genuinely lessened from simply looking at Harry’s relaxed features, and he smiled fondly at the near-silent snoring that came on account of his parted lips. He draped his good arm over the man’s body and was lulled to sleep by the feeling of Harry’s warm, even breaths fluttering his t-shirt.

Six.

Another alarm startled Harry awake. He’d regained most of his attention and balanced his emotions through that second short rest, but Louis was harder to rouse this time.

“Lou. Louis, honey, gotta take your medicine.” Harry had sat himself up very carefully, now murmuring the words into Louis’ hair while he kissed it over and over.

“It’urts,” he whined, and Harry was surprised by the complete one-eighty that Louis pulled. This wasn’t the same steady man he greeted earlier that morning. It seemed that his body finally allowed himself to be sleepy and vulnerable now that he’d given Harry time to even out, knowing that he would have his every need catered to now that the younger man was feeling better. Just in the same way that Louis had for him, Harry pushed aside any lingering drowsiness and fog leftover from his little episode so he could treat Louis with the tender care and love he deserved.

“I know it does, angel, that’s why it’s medicine time, hm? I got it all ready, all you gotta do is lift your little head. You’re already sat up, it’s nice and easy.”

Louis obeyed and took the painkillers without a fight, though he did grumble about it under his breath. The moment Harry guided him back onto the pillows, he was dead to the world.

As much as he wanted to fall asleep by Louis’ side, Harry just couldn’t make it happen—not when there was so much to worry about. Getting up as carefully as he could, Harry made his way to the kitchen. He read every last instructional paper that Louis had brought home from the hospital, organised more of Louis’ medications to have each upcoming dose prepared, and paced back and forth while his mum tried to talk him down.

“I’m just so worried,” Harry told her for the tenth time in about as many minutes.

“I would be too, H. He’s been doing alright these last few days, though, so I reckon he’ll be even better with you there. Make sure he’s eating, drinking, and keep on top of those prescriptions — that’s the most important part. And don’t forget to do the same for yourself. You still need to hydrate and rest up.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Harry trailed off when he found an unexpected paper amongst Louis’ medical documents. “Look, Mum, I-I’ve gotta go.”

“You two’ll be just fine. Give me a ring if you need anything else. Love you, H.”

“I love you too.”

Harry set his phone on the counter and examined it closer. It was a flight confirmation for later that evening. Oli must have forgotten it when he left the previous day, so he sent him a quick message with a photo of the paper.

6:21    Hey mate you left this behind?

            Don’t know if you need it

Harry chose to wake Louis a few minutes early for his eight o’clock dose, figuring he would rather have soft hands and kisses than a screaming alarm to pull him from sleep.

“Darling, medicine time. Lift up for me, handsome.” Louis shuffled up on his pillows without complaint, but he looked drowsy. “I reckon we should get some food in you so you don’t feel sick. That’s, what, ten pills in since midnight? Far too many for an empty stomach.”

Knowing that his husband would likely be hungry, Harry had timed a delivery order just right. Normally he would cook, but he didn’t want to shop for groceries lest anything was left behind to spoil when they only had two days there. It wasn’t until Louis was done with his pancakes that Harry resumed his fussing.

“You should go back up and sleep again,” Harry urged, but Louis disagreed.

“Been doin’ so much of that, I’m runnin’ out of sleep t’do. I’d much rather be with you anyway.”

They reached a bargain—Louis would go back to sit in his bed, but if Harry asked him one more time to go to sleep, Louis would have no choice but to lock him in the bathroom. A bit harsh, Harry thought, but the cheeky grin that painted Louis’ face showed Harry that he was far from serious. The couple sat on their bed again, Louis curled very carefully under Harry’s arm while they bathed in the calm of each other’s presence. There was still a faint crackle in some of Harry’s breaths, but Louis finally got him to stop apologising for his frequent throat clearing. At one point, however, he could hear a catch in Harry’s chest, and shallow, unsatisfying breaths followed it up.

“Cough, love,” Louis encouraged him, having already told Harry a thousand times that he didn’t mind.

“Gotta move you.” Harry’s hand helped Louis to sit up and separate himself from him just in time for deep, body-shaking coughs to tear through him. He was panting by the end, leaning forward for the water bottle only to find his hand meeting Louis’ as they both stretched to reach.

“Sit back, Lou.”

“That’s not soundin’ good,” Louis pointed out, ignoring Harry’s request and handing the water to him, stealing it back once he was done to take a long sip of his own.

“I’m fine. Just lingering flu stuff." Cheeks burned deep red when Harry had to acknowledge his health. Even after twelve years and endless reassurance from Louis, it was still embarrassing to know that his husband had seen him in such a state.

“I reckon you should get checked out. I really don’t like the sound of it, and s’been, like, two weeks since—”

“No fever, no doctor,” Harry challenged him, and Louis had no choice but to agree. “M’better now, come back.”

“Nuh uh, your turn.” Louis tugged him over and urged his head into his lap where he could twirl the slowly growing hair around his fingers. That was probably a smart idea, since that initial cough set Harry’s lungs off. He would break out in little coughing fits that left him increasingly more wheezy, and it was easier for him to lift himself off of Louis’ legs than to shuffle out from behind him every few minutes. Before Louis could do anything more than rest his palm on Harry’s constricted chest, the man shifted to get up.

“Gon’ get…inhaler. Be back.”

When Harry left, coughing roughly into his arm, Louis grew anxious. He knew he’d have to bring it up soon, but he really didn’t want to.

Oli Wright:

9:15     You two need to talk

It was a screenshot of his text thread with Harry, showing that the man had unknowingly discovered Louis’ travel plans through the flight confirmation he’d foolishly left lying around where it could be easily found.

Shit.

There was no time to formulate a plan of action because Harry was already traipsing back into the bedroom with a huge, dimpled smile.

“Ooh, much better,” Harry sighed, tossing it on the bed beside him just in case he would be in need of it again.

“That’s good, babygirl,” Louis mumbled, kissing Harry’s shoulder when he sat.

“Hey, Lou, what’re you thinking for dinner tonight? I was kinda craving… well, no. I want you t’pick. Anything you’d like.”

Harry’s precious face was blooming with affection, and that made it all so much worse for Louis.

“I dunno if, eh, I dunno if I can eat dinner," he trailed off at the end, looking at his lap to avoid eye contact.

“Why? Have you been feeling nauseous?” Harry was quite concerned, and he sat up fully to rest a hand on Louis’ knee.

“No. I, hm, I’ve got a… flight. At five.”

Harry stared at Louis, the smile dropping from his face immediately. That paper hadn’t been Oli’s after all. Didn’t even read the damn name on the ticket, fucking idiot, Harry thought, and he could feel his ears warming.

“Five. Today.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry’s voice was flat, but Louis could still sense the hurt behind it

“I’ve arranged you a flight home tonight if you wanted it—” he informed Harry casually, trying to tuck hair behind his ear but missing when Harry pulled back, “—but, by all means, go direct t’Mexico Sunday mornin’.”

Daggers were stared into Louis, and it truly hurt his heart to break Harry’s with such short notice.

“Louis, why wouldn’t you just tell me?”

“Y’got here soon as you could, H, s’not like—”

“I would’ve come sooner. I would’ve come so much fucking sooner if I knew we’d get, what, twelve hours together?” Louis muttered fourteen, but Harry didn’t lighten up. “Louis, I love you.”

“And I love you,” he agreed, but Harry wasn't having it.

“Really? ‘Cos it doesn’t feel like it. Not when you’re keeping shit from me. Not when I come all the way out here and now, what, I’ll be alone again? I don’t wanna be alone again, Louis, you know that.”

“Look, m’real sorry, but I didn’t tell you because I love you. I knew you’d come and put yourself at risk with the article, and I love you too much t’be the reason you get another year of imprisonment with that disaster contract.” His good intentions didn't soften Harry, and he was kicking himself for not just telling him. The more that Harry said, the more Louis regretted digging him into that hole.

“You didn’t even let me make the choice, though. You know my priorities lie with you, and I didn’t get any say in the matter. Probably would’ve stayed behind anyway ‘cos you can convince me of anything, but I didn’t get to decide, did I? I’ve not been around for you for a moment this last week and now, what — you’re just ripped away from me? And you knew?”

“I didn’t mean t’hurt you, H, I jus’—”

“I don’t care what you didn’t mean to do, ‘cos you did it.” Harry’s eyes were filled with tears and he shifted so he was facing mostly away from Louis. “And I really don’t wanna be angry with you right now ‘cos you’re suffering, but I’m having a lot of fucking trouble.”

“You can be angry, love,” Louis offered in an attempt to make peace, but his permission was infuriating to Harry.

“Well, I don’t want to be! I just want to be with you like normal people would. I wanna be responsible for you and dote on you and take away your pain, but now I don’t get the fucking chance to try ‘cos even though we got a few hours left I’m so fucking irritated that I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

His face was glowing bright pink, and Louis could see his jaw clenched painfully tight as he glared down at the duvet between them.

“Calm down, love, it’s really alright.” The moment the words left his mouth, Louis knew that was possibly the worst thing he could have said.

“It fucking isn’t, and don’t you dare say that. I’ve not done a thing to help you that Oli hasn’t already, and I’m s’posed to be your caregiver. But no, you wanted Oli to do it instead of me. Bet he helped you in the fuckin’ shower and all, didn’t he?”

“Harry, c’mon now.” Louis grew serious, not appreciating that Harry was bringing his best mate into it after all of the effort he put into looking after him day after unpleasant day.

“Ooh, Harry — using the big boy name, are you?” He sneered, and Louis had to hold back an eye roll.

“Yeah, y’know what? I am. ‘Cos if you wanna be the responsible one, I’m gonna need you t’sit here and talk your feelings out with me like an adult.”

“I don’t wanna talk it out.”

“Fine, then we spend our last few hours fumin’ and ignorin’ each other. Thought you wanted t’look after me, help me out maybe, but I’ll gladly do it all meself if you’re gonna act like a cunt. I don’t need you. Oli’s set me up jus’ fine.”

Knowing how much that would irritate Harry was the reason Louis said it. He felt a shiver of spiteful satisfaction when Harry’s nostrils flared, and the younger man moved slowly to sit on the bed again, shins on the mattress as he settled back on his heels.

“I can do more than Oli. I’m better than him.” He swallowed down a cough, not wanting to break the intensity of his glare. “I’m better.”

It was easy to push down the jealousy and resentment on account of the necessity that someone look after Louis while he was away. Now, though? Now that he was there with Louis, being provoked and disappointed beyond belief?

“Tell me I’m better. Tell me you like me more than him.”

“Christ, Harry. You’re me husband, you know the answer t’that. Y’really need to take a fuckin’ breath, though. You’re stressed. You’ve not properly rested in days, and I can tell it’s gratin’ on you. You’re all over the place, love.” Louis stroked a calm hand down Harry’s arm, exercising the patience he always tried to grant his partner when he got worked up despite how badly he wanted to fight back. “Let’s talk.”

“Treatin’ me like some child,” Harry muttered under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest, and Louis was so close to losing his restraint. His patience with Harry was waning fast, and he really hoped it wouldn't be tested further.

“Well, yeah. If you’re gon’ kick up a fuss like a child, I’ll treat you like one. Behave, H.”

“Fuckin’ behave when you deserve it.”

That was the last straw.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Nothin’,” Harry replied with a shrug, and Louis had enough of his brattiness. He didn't care if he was in the wrong—he was so over Harry’s behaviour.

“Harry, if you’re not gonna say anythin’ constructive right now, I’m gonna need you t’leave. I’m sorry I’ve upset you — I really, truly am — but I can’t argue with you and I don’t wanna jostle me arm, so… you’ll be the one t’go.”

The suggestion was surprisingly taken, and Harry huffed, leaving the bed and only turning around to face him again when he reached the doorframe. He looked Louis up and down, and the slow trace of those eyes along his body made Louis’ blood boil.

“You’re right-handed.”

“What does that fuckin’ matter?” Louis spat, but Harry didn't answer him.

“Arm hurts?”

“Yes."

“Hurts pretty bad?” Harry’s tone was patronising, and Louis squirmed on the spot, debating whether he should try to get up or if he was better off staying where he was.

“Fuck — of course it does.”

“Can’t move that hand, can you?” It was almost like he was being taunted now, and Harry knew exactly how to press all of his buttons.

“No.” Louis spoke through gritted teeth, and Harry was happy to see that he succeeded in riling him up.

“Real inconvenient right now—”

“Styles, I swear to—”

“—’cos you’re about to tear the seam on your boxers—” Harry pointed out, “—and you’re right-handed.”