Archive of Our Own

Louis wakes with a bundle of anxiety in his stomach.

A look around their master bedroom and a peak out the window has his eyes following the snowflakes floating through the cloudy sky and drifting to the blanket of snow burying their yard. More importantly burying their garden that Harry tries to put effort into each and every year. 

It’s the first snowfall of the year in England and on his birthday, too, mother nature couldn’t have picked a better time.

He starts to think more about the winter weather he's craved for over a month now and less about the panic coursing through his veins. He doesn't know why he's anxious, but he doesn't give it much thought either. After all, it must not be important if he can't think of a proper reason. 

Winter is his favorite time of year. He loves everything about snow and the season in general. From the literal weather to the abundance of cuddles Harry gives to the amount of times he can whack someone with sweater paws, he wouldn't trade this time of year for any other. 

Harry doesn't enjoy winter nearly as much, but he still toughs through the holidays with a smile and quite a few presents for Louis' younger siblings. 

Christmas is always a positive, too. It's never been about Louis' extravagant birthday parties or presents underneath a faux tree for either of them. Though, they can't speak for their families. 

They two of them have always had some sort of vacation around the holidays and it's very sentimental for them, given the opportunity to sit in front of a blazing fire, snuggled in a cozy blanket, surrounded by family, and singing endless renditions of Baby, It's Cold Outside.

Though, they do regret the lack of alone time they're allotted themselves by giving in to their families pleas. 

But the past few days have just been Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis, and no one else. Aside from Bruce, of course, no one could ever forget about Bruce, with his piercing howl and tendency to beg and whine for attention. 

He's a good dog, though, always watching out for and taking care of Harry. Louis couldn't ask for anything more. A second set of eyes is more than reassuring when his fiancé's poorly. Even if they are a set of dog eyes, he can use all the help he can get. 

Louis glances to his right where Harry is sprawled out beside him. His body takes up more than half of the mattress. One arm dangles over the side of the bed, his fingertips brush against the carpet, while the other is stuffed inside his sleep pants.

Parted lips and clenched eyelids take over his soft facial features. His hair is disheveled, tangled and matted in the back, but small, loose ringlets lay messily over his pillow case.

He can't help but watch over his baby in awe. Harry is innocent, precious, and relaxed, all while he sleeps. 

Louis had fallen asleep spooning him earlier in the night, but Harry can never stay in one place while sleeping. He struggles from moderate insomnia from time to time, causing him to toss and turn for hours on end. There's some nights where he hardly catches a single decent hour of sleep, depending on how severe it proves to be. 

It's his medication, sometimes, and other nights it's his anxiety. There's typically always some type of terrible thought dwelling in the back of his mind, varying anywhere from conscious nightmares to the thought of unprovoked seizures. 

His epilepsy has never stopped with convulsions on a dirty floor and a variety of injury. Those are only physical aspects.

The mental ones are ten times worse. Living in constant fear of losing his life or losing Louis because of a single, misplaced fit is far worse than spraining his wrist or busting his head open - which he's done a countless amount of times.

He can heal an injured wrist. He can't mend a broken heart.

Even despite how many times Louis tells him that he would never leave over something as minuscule as a seizure, the thought remains drilled in Harry's brain and he can never shake it no matter how hard he tries to.

Epilepsy should really have to pay rent for settling in his brain and causing all the damages it does. Medication tries to persuade it from causing more disruptions, but it's reckless. It has it's own ideas. A mind of it's own.

The landlord even came in to battle it, force it out, and it was gone for a while, but unfortunately not all good things can last.

It's the second Christmas since his procedure. Things have been...fine, more or less. They've been just fine. He isn't falling out as often as he was, hardly at all, but the seizures that he does have came back more severely than those prior to the operation.

He's only had two fits. Two major fits, that is, he still struggles with absences and partials often.

The first grand mal that happened left him with a tube shoved down his throat for three days. 

Somehow in the midst of all the panic and screaming, his brain forgot to give him his involuntarily reminder to produce carbon dioxide. He wasn't able to breathe. His lungs contracted and despite his desperate wheezing, they wouldn't expand, no matter how hard he subconsciously tried. 

The doctors said it had something to do with his body not remembering how to handle the stress of a major seizure. He hadn't experienced one in over a year and his body was finally beginning to recover. 

Crying. That's all Louis can recall from that day. Harry seized for close to three minutes before he stopped breathing. He coded in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and didn't come to for three days.

The second happened six months later.

They, the lads too, were at an awards show, backstage, going on stage to perform after a commercial break, and it wasn't two minutes that Louis looked away, but in those two minutes Harry's neural activity fumbled and the switch flicked off.

It wasn't as severe, but tremors and convulsions did wrack through his body for a record four minutes and thirty seven seconds. His doctor says they'll digress in severity with time, though none of them have ever specified how long or other options to neutralize the rigor at which they occur.

Louis prefers it this way. He doesn't want their relationship to be chalked full of bullshit and false hope, not anymore than usual, at least. He'd rather the doctors be honest with him. If they don't know, then they don't know. There is nothing Louis can do himself to make epilepsy entirely fade from Harry's existence.

He smooths out the crumpled areas of Harry's t-shirt, gliding his hand over the dips in Harry's back, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Harry arches his body against Louis' touch, but doesn't wake, instead rolls himself to lay facing away from Louis.

"C'mon darling." Louis whispers, sweetly. "You've got to wake up so we can leave on time."

There was supposed to be a surprise birthday party at a club tonight, but after seeing a few blatant texts between his mum and Harry and his eldest sister accidentally talking about it in front of him, surprise has now dropped from it's full title.

The location has changed too. Louis wasn't too keen having a party at a night club where his younger siblings would be expected to entertain themselves and to make matters a bit more honest, his fiancé, who can hardly watch a YouTube video without some sort of repercussion, would never make it five minutes in a place with infinite pulsating lights. 

So, now his birthday party, slash Christmas celebration is being hosted at a extremely lavish and expensive country club.

Louis breathes out a laugh. His tone is scolding, but only slightly, "Harry." He rests a hand on one of Harry's love handles, shaking him slightly. "Come on gorgeous. It's time to get up."

Harry groans and heaves the blanket further up to cover his head. His words are blocked by the fleece throw. What he has to say comes out as garbled mumbles that Louis strains to hear. "Leave...'lone."

Louis begins to become irked then. He'll tease and goof around with Harry all day, but when Harry doesn't give it back to him it does tend to get under his skin.

Harry is usually witty enough to come back with sly words and phrases. Sometimes though, when he's in one of his moods, like he is now, he comes back with witty, but mean comments.  

He can be hurtful when he isn't feeling up to par, but Louis' very much use to it. He's dealt with it for close to six years and he'll deal with it for another six, but that doesn't mean it isn't annoying. 

He isn't hurt about Harry not teasing him back, he's upset the first thing that came out of Harry's mouth wasn't "happy birthday Lou". Instead, it was a command to be left alone.

"I'm not going to leave you alone until you wake up and tell me what today is." Louis replies, trying his hardest to keep ease in his tone, but a certain dryness controls his voice.

A groan falls from between Harry's lips. "Fuck off."

"Excuse me?" Louis arches an eyebrow. Harry can't see the challenging expression nor does he care. He doesn't want to start his day yet and finds it a bit ridiculous that Louis expects him to.

Louis reaches and yanks the blanket off of Harry's head without warning. As soon as the light from the window reaches Harry's line of sight, again, he mutters a string of curses under his breath.

"Fuck off?" Louis presses. "You're honestly telling me to fuck off on my birthday? Christmas Eve? I'm supposed to fuck off? Seriously?"

The natural lighting is making the ache in Harry's temples spread across his entire skull and it soon becomes a palpitating pain behind his eyes. Pain is always worst behind his eyes. It's almost as if someone's taken his optics nerves and twisted them until they've literally left them hanging by a thread.

He hates early morning migraines. They have a tendency to ruin the rest of his day, but he's hoping that, perhaps, by chance, if he takes his medication soon enough it will solve the problem and the migraine will flood out of his head like helium out of a balloon.

Though he knows the odds of the problem solving itself are slim to none. He's going to have to deal with this for the rest of the day.

To make matters worse, he has Louis testing him. Yes, he knows it's his bloody birthday and yes, he also knows that it's Christmas Eve. He should be more cheery and less hostile, but he doesn't have the energy to try.

Speaking of Louis, his voice quickly draws Harry back into the real world. "I'm talking to you. Listen Harry I - "  

"I hear you. Christ, can't I have a fucking moment to myself? I just woke up and you're already complaining and I can't hear myself think." He shuts his eyes. His own voice is aggravating his head more. The pain feels like it's spread through his entire body, but that's impossible, he has to tell himself that he's being ridiculous even though it hurts to lift a finger. 

Louis' taken back. He doesn't say anything else to Harry. An annoyed huff and a sag of his shoulders occur before he's out of bed and slamming the bathroom door shut. Arguing with Harry over something petty is not worth it.

Although, his birthday isn't petty is it? He's twenty five today and despite it not being a major birthday, he's excited. He hasn't had a birthday party in a few years and everyone is supposed to be there.

Liam, Niall, Zayn. His sisters and Ernie. Immediate family. Grandparents. Friends. People who work for them. Everyone.

A squeak of the faucet and running water fill the void of silence. Harry sinks against their mattress and covers, letting out a soft sigh. "Shit."

He didn't purposely upset him, especially not on his birthday. It's just - Louis' voice is like nails on a chalkboard when his head hurts as bad as it is now.

There's nothing he can really do to make the pain fade, though the ache he felt through his entire body a few moments ago has faded and returned to a constant pounding in his head, which has to be a good sign.

But he can't do anything to fix the migraine, aside from taking a few too many aspirin and sleeping, but Louis won't let him do that, not today and it isn't a short day either. He won't be back in bed until at least midnight.

He has to be at the country club far earlier than the guests - three this afternoon compared to everyone's arrival at seven tonight.

Catering has to be done. Decorating has to be done. The cake has to be picked up. He has Jay, Lottie, Gemma, and his own mum to help, technically Louis too, but he wants it to be a solo project with minimal outside help, not a group project.

Deciding that he has to toughen up and make it through today, like he thought he was going to be able to do weeks ago, he finds his strength, steps out of bed, and goes downstairs.

His medication is kept on the top shelf of a cupboard in the kitchen, even he has to use tiptoes to reach the orange pill bottle and he's quite a bit taller than Louis is.

It's kept away from Louis on purpose. He worries far too much about anything pertaining to the subject and as soon as he gets involved with Harry's medication there will never be an end to it. 

Harry uncaps the plastic cylinder and pops two capsules into his mouth. He lets them sit on his tongue for a few moments as he retrieves a water bottle from the fridge. He downs the pills with a gulp of water.

As soon as the cylinder is put away he cuts a bagel and sticks the two sides in the toaster. He can't have an empty stomach with those pills or else he'll throw up. He finds eating after taking them helps his stomach settle more.

The bagels pop up, out of the toaster, as the machine dings. He butters the two bagels slices, places them on a paper plate, and takes a seat at the table with his bottle of water in sight.

He's always been a slow eater in comparison to Louis who can finish three helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy before he can even finish one.

Louis comes downstairs when he has half of the second bagel slice left to eat. He wears a burgundy sweater and a pair of black skinnies. His hair lays limply across his forehead, but he still manages to look gorgeous. Louis can make any outfit and hairstyle look fashionable.

The sweater drapes off of his shoulders, baring his prominent collarbones, and his jeans showcase his thick thighs and bottom.

Harry doesn't get a chance to gawk for very long, considering Louis changes the subject and ruins any naughty thought Harry could have possibly had with a single question. "Did you take your pills?" He asks, sliding into the chair at the opposing end of the table, and doesn't take his eyes off of Harry once.

Harry isn't as great at holding eye contact. His eyes drop down to focus on his plate as soon as he notices he's the center of Louis' focus. "Yeah."

Louis still makes him nervous from time to time. "That's good." He says. His voice holds no emotion, no encouragement, no pleasure, no anything. "You're done being a dickhead now?"

"I'm sorry." Harry sighs, rubs his forehead with fumbling fingers. God. He fucking hates his hands and their inability to relax. They're always shaking and he can't stand it. "I didn't sleep very well last night," Lie. He actually slept well, for once, but he can't have Louis worrying about his head all day. "and I didn't mean to be so rude to you."

"Do you want to talk about?" Louis asks, sighing under his breath. 

Harry takes a bite of his half eaten bagel. "Bad dream. I'd rather not. I'm just really sorry for taking it out on you earlier." 

Louis taps his fingers along the table surface, thinking over Harry's apology. It doesn't take him long to come to a proper conclusion. "It's okay. I forgive you." He stands once more and treads over to where Harry's sat. He leans down, presses his forehead to Harry's, and whispers, "Where are my birthday kisses?"

"Right here." Harry kisses his lips twenty six times - twenty five for Lou's age and one more for another hopeful year. It's the same routine every year, for both of them, but neither of them ever get tired of it. "Happy birthday sunshine. How does it feel to be a year older?"

Louis laughs against Harry's lips. "I'm another year closer to becoming prime minister. It feels bloody amazing if I'm being honest."

"When you're in charge, does that mean you're going to leave me to have sex with pigs?" Harry breathes.

Louis smirks. The press story and alleged accusation of their prime minister having sexual relations with dead pigs was one that no one could ever forget. "Don't forget that they were dead H."

"Oh yeah." Harry says. "You're going to leave me to have sex with dead pigs. Doesn't that make you a necrophiliac?"

"I suppose we'd have to ask David Cameron himself." Louis laughs. "He knows the answer, I'm sure."

Harry's eyes are locked on Louis'. He still can't manage to understand how anyone's eyes can resemble the depth of an ocean so closely.

There's layers to Louis' eyes. They're mainly blue, but speckles of green and grey encompass them. His eyes are the only ones Harry can think of that dramatically shift shades depending on his mood.

A perilous, dark blue, nearly the shade of a processed denim, when he's angry. Grey when he's sad. Bright blue, the shade of a cloudless afternoon sky, when he's crying. Teal when neutral.

It's beyond amazing and beautiful.

Louis grazes his cheek with tender fingertips. They share one more kiss, this one long and passionate, before Louis pulls away. "Why don't you go take a shower? It's already half past noon, you lazy bugger, we've got leave out of here by two if we're going to make it there by three."

Harry doesn't put up an argument. "Of course. I'll be back in a flash." He says before standing up and disappearing out of the kitchen.

Louis' left with the sound of the stairs creaking before he's left with no noise at all.

He sighs, runs a hand through his damp hair, and looks up at the ceiling as if the big guy's there with a prepared answer to his question. "Why can't he just be honest with me?" He whispers, but not to his surprise, no one is there to answer and he'll never know the one hundred percent truth. He doesn't know why he spends all his time wondering when Harry will never trust him enough to be completely honest.

They arrive at the country club five minutes past three, making them a whole five minutes late, and it drives Harry near insanity. He hates being late and Louis knows that. He tried his hardest to get them there on time, going over the speed limit as soon as he recognized the odd behavior Harry adopts when being tardy comes into play, but then again it's not his fault.

Not really anyway. He isn't the one who took a twenty five minute shower and spent half an hour, at least, trying to get his hair to lay a certain way, but they're here now and that's all that matters.

Stepping out of the car, the exterior immediately catches their eye. The landscaping is telling of how high-class the club is. Te building itself is huge, stretching across multiple parking lots. Acres and acres of golfing ranges encompass the ginormous building. 

The inside is even more incredible. Harry rented out an entire party room and it's the close in size to an entire floor of their own home. There's a bar with cabinet after cabinet of different alcohol is at one end of the room. Stools are lined up, side by side, tucked neatly against the counter.

Filling the majority of the room are large round tables with two to four leather lounge chairs circling them. Large plate glass windows make up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, and beyond them is a balcony leading out to a pool house.

Louis can only imagine all the drunken swims bound to take place tonight. He's excited, secretly hoping it will be him and Harry sharing a drunken swim. Preferably, a nude drunken swim. He'd like that much more.

His mum interrupts his slightly naughty thoughts. "There you are Lou!" She pulls him into a tight, warm embrace, forcing him to release his hold on Harry's hand. Immediately, the scent of her perfume and nostalgia take over his entirety and he feels like he's at home. As if he never left to become a worldwide phenomenon. "How's my darling birthday boy?"

It's certainly a strange feeling. All of his birthdays warp together and he experiences them all at once, but it's also refreshing as his mind does circles around the last twenty five years.

He feels five again, stealing Christmas cookies off of his nan's kitchen table, and laughing when his nan flicks flour at his nose and ruffles his hair.

Soon five shifts to feeling eight, he’s dressed in a itchy Christmas sweater, the one with the ugly reindeer printed on the front, and he's making one year old Lottie laugh by blowing raspberries on her stomach just like his mum showed him.

Then he's thirteen and he's riding his new bicycle around the block and coming home with bleeding elbows and a sprained ankle, but his mum doesn't complain. Instead, she helps him clean up and fixes him pizza for dinner because she told him he could have anything in the whole entire world for dinner and he. of course, wanted pizza. 

He's seventeen next, near tears because of the new car parked in his driveway. There's a big red bow on the hood and he's looking at his step-dad in disbelief, but Mark only encourages him to go on a test drive. 

Finally he’s twenty two, wrapped in Harry's embrace, crying because there's no way Harry made a twenty two minute video of their three and a half year journey over night and it's so well put together that it looks like a professional directed it, but, no, it was all his beautiful boyfriend. 

He loves him so much, more than anything.

A few blinks and a squeeze from his mum has his mind flashing back to reality. “All right, poppet?” Jay asks, eyeing her son with both suspicion and concern.

“Fine.” He whispers, kisses her hairline, and brushes a loose strand of hair from her neatly pulled ponytail back behind her ear. “Just daydreaming. Can’t believe it’s my twenty fifth birthday.”

Jay smiles, widely, though most of it is directed past Louis and towards Harry. “Me neither. I remember when you were a little darling. Only twenty five months old. What a troublemaker you were.”

Harry can only regret and wish that he could have known Louis long before he was eighteen. Sometimes though, it feels like he’s known him for an eternity. He is the best person he’s ever met. “You mean what a troublemaker he is. He never lost that with age.” He corrects.

“Very true.” Jay agrees. She touches her palm to Louis' cheek and meets his eyes. “I love you and I am so proud of you. I'll see you in a bit. You know, Harry has tonight all planned out. He's done a great job.”

And Louis smiles at her, continues to smile to himself as she disappears out of the lounge, but there’s a slight discomfort in his stomach. It’s been there all day, ever since he’s been awake, and this twinge of pain or guilt or worry or whatever the hell it is seriously beginning to bother him.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong and there’s a possibility that it’s nothing, there is, but somehow his conscience is telling him far differently.

He forgets about it as soon as Harry steps to stand behind him, places his hands on his shoulders, and gently kneads his long fingers large knuckles into his muscles. “How’s my birthday boy doing? You look nervous.”

Louis has to bite his lip to prevent a moan from popping out of his mouth and dragging the attention of anyone who may be in the vicinity and is not named Harry Styles. “I’m okay. Just nervous about having everyone in one place, I guess.” He lies.

“Well I have it taken care of and you shouldn’t worry about it.” Harry says, but hesitates and corrects himself further. “Not like this anyway. Christ Lou. You have a knot in your shoulder the size of a softball.”

“Fuck. That feels so good H.” Louis’ back arches and he steps back to have more pressure applied to those dreaded tense spots. “Keep going. Don’t stop now.”

And Harry does, gladly. He has to stop when his mum pops through the entrance, but even then he sneaks secret touches with Louis throughout the entire set up.

They finish decorating and catering at quarter to seven and guests start to arrive mere minutes later. Harry greets them, thanks them for coming and adding to the surprise factor of Louis' birthday, but doesn't spend as much time with them as Louis does, especially Louis' friends whom he can't stand. 

Louis' friends are alright guys and Louis seems to like them, which is an obvious plus, but they've never been very nice to Harry. Harry has his issues. Epilepsy causes him to have a few health issues, but Louis' friends don't understand that and they're known for poking fun at him. He doesn't let it get to him most of the time, but the few times it has have made him upset past comfort.

But Harry knows Louis wants them here and that's why he invited them. He tries not to let his jealously get the best of him the few times Louis disappears with them as the party starts. Louis doesn't pay much attention to any of the other guests, like his grandparents and their old team and his band mates. Harry tries his hardest to understand that Louis just wants to spend time with the people he hasn't seen and had quality time with in years, but it bothers him no matter which way he looks at it.

The party is a success. Everyone who Harry invited actually shows up and he’s never seen Louis look so happy. The crinkles by his eyes are permanent tonight and it's a great feeling, knowing that he's caused his fiancé's happiness. 

There's only one thing bothering him and that's Louis' lack of presence in the lounge.  

He disappeared half an hour ago to have some shots and a few cigarettes with his friends, which is fine, Harry’s glad he’s involving himself in some of the fun tonight. It is his birthday party, after all, but Harry really wishes he would stay with him.

His head is pounding and he’s been feeling worse as the minutes pass them by. He isn’t sure what’s wrong, but it’s awful whatever it may be. He hasn’t felt this poorly in months.

He’s sat down now with Gemma sitting opposite of him. As he starts to relax, he begins to feel a tad better, but it isn't a major difference. He still feels light-headed and disconnected, as if life isn't a reality and he's stuck in some abstract loop. His body is tingling all over and not in a good way. It feels like he's being pricked with a million different pins and needles, but it's past hurting. He's uncomfortable. 

Gemma keeps throwing glances his way and she hesitates with asking if he’s alright. She knows how much he hates being coddled, but if the situation’s severity is being reflected by how ill her brother looks then it needs to be handled properly.

He’s a flushed, clammy mess. He’s on his third glass of water, but he’s drinking like he’s dehydrated and it’s obvious he has a headache. He’s holding his head tighter and tighter every time she looks in his direction.

This isn’t good, but she doesn’t see a point in frustrating Harry more when there’s already something wrong with him.

It’s all of a sudden that Harry's trying to shove his chair back, but his legs and arms feel weak. Not just sore, but completely unable to move at all.

He needs to leave the room. Pull Gemma aside. Head for the bathroom. Find Louis. Anything. All he needs to do is get himself as far away from this situation as possible, but the more effort he tries to put forth, the more lethargic and disoriented he begins to feel.

"Harry." Gemma says, begins to stand, all while watching him struggle to do whatever the hell he’s trying to do. She isn't sure what's happening, not exactly anyways, but whatever it is, there's something severely wrong with her brother.

She can tell by the way his irises and their pupils are beginning to roll behind his eyelids and his lips are parted. Saliva is spilling between his lips, dribbling down his chin, and dripping all down the front of himself. It soaks his blouse and his lap.

He's foaming at the mouth and as soon as she rushes forward to touch him and move him to a private area, his body lurches forward and he's vomiting on himself and the floor.

"Shit." Gemma hisses and runs to side with him. Everything in his stomach comes up. In between bile and acidic food building up his throat and exploding past his lips, he's dry heaving and hyperventilating. She reposes her hand to rest on his extremely tense back, whispering, "It's okay. You've got to get it out H and then I'll get you home, okay? Come on babe it’s okay.”

But it’s not okay, it’s really not fucking okay, and she knows that. She can recognize the signs of an impending seizure.

She’s not an idiot. Her mum basically put her through a class of her own in order to learn the signs of a seizure, how to prepare for a seizure, the aftercare of a seizure, and it’s stayed with her all these years. It’s important.

His fingers are trembling more than usual, spasming in oddly timed intervals, and fumbling, trying to touch his face. The failed attempts to touch his lips allows her to know that some type of aura sensation is attacking him his mind. It must be some type of taste. He has that often, mostly a metallic taste, but typically he has to deal with scents of gasoline and garlic. 

If those weren’t big enough hints, the slur and confusion of his words is the biggest. “Don’t no no - feel gooo … en is groooss.” She doesn’t know what he’s on about, but she understands the gist of it. He doesn’t feel good and she knows why, unfortunately.

To her relief, Niall pops up beside her, mostly in curiosity, but also in concern, and as soon as he gets a proper glance at Harry, he knows what's happening too, but he needs a confirmation. “What’s happening?”

“He’s going to have a seizure.” Gemma says, her voice is fearful yet hostile, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of Harry. “I need you to find Louis or Jay or someone who can help me. Go now and be quick about it. I don’t have very long.”

Niall takes her demand very seriously. He rushes out of her sight and shoves past throngs of people gathered, asking them all if they’ve seen Louis or Jay. Gemma needs either one of them primarily. Anne headed back to their hotel and there's nothing she can possibly do to get here quick enough to help. 

Everyone sort of laughs at his sense of panic, some even telling him to chill out, but how can they say that when he’s in such blatant distress? It must be the alcohol consumption that's making his current predicament comical. 

But he doesn’t bother arguing, doesn’t say a word, and keeps pushing past everyone in search of someone who can help Gemma.

He would, but he can’t, he truthfully can't. He’s been around for a few of Harry's fits, but he’s never been able to step in and help him. He can’t bring himself to help him when he’s too afraid of injuring him or handling something the wrong way.

Meanwhile Gemma watches Harry, biting down on her lip. She’s trying to think of a solution, but there isn’t one. No matter what she chooses to do, he’s going to have this fit and she isn’t going to be able to properly help him, not by herself, because he’s too big.

She knows how to handle a fit. She’s had to handle a lot of them on her own, when babysitting, on vacation, at school, she knows what to do but now he’s just too grown and she can’t move him if he falls the wrong way or if he rolls onto his stomach or back.

He’s a foot taller than her, at least forty pounds heavier than she is, and the most she’s ever had to carry was a toddler with a wet diaper and that was a struggle of its own. She isn't weak, she just isn't in a profession where she does a lot of heavy duty work. 

Before any of this starts, she he has to get him on the floor. She needs to secure him safely on a flat surface. That was always the first thing her mum told her to do when Harry started seizing. As she begins to step around him to grab and lower him to the floor, he stands up. Actually stands up. He’s hunched over, curled in on himself, but he’s standing and she doesn’t have a clue how or why he’s done it.

She thinks that perhaps the seizure is digressing and it was a false alarm, but she can’t take the chance. “No, no, no, what are you doing? Harry, what are you doing? Sit. Please sit.” Her hands wrap around his forearms, in order to try to force him to sit down, but as soon as the contact is made, his entire body tenses. She realizes then that's he already having the seizure. Sometimes they cause him to do unprovoked or odd actions. 

She's witnessed his violent seizures before. He's yanked on her hair and pushed her around before because of the mentality he gets thrown into. 

“Harry? C’mon Harry, why don’t we take a seat and relax for a second?” She whispers, tries to meet his eyes once, twice, three times, but there isn’t any focus or personality behind his pupils. He’s here physically, but not mentally, and that proves to be true as soon as his body gives out and he crashes into a pile of long limbs on the floor.

He comes down with two thuds, once when he smacks his face off the table and the second when he hits the floor like a stone.

Gemma has to step back. She screams. Everyone in the room turns to face them then, but nobody moves forward to help her, instead they either move closer to gawk or they exit the room.

He isn’t seizing yet. His entire body is tense, tight like he’s a puppet and being held still by his master, and he's flat on his stomach.

Outside, Louis whips his head around when he hears a horrified scream from the lounge. He hesitates for a moment, but shares a laugh with his friends and downs another shot rather than figuring out what the problem may be.

Harry has it under control, he assumes, but he doesn’t know that Harry is the center of the problems tonight.

He’s grabbing another shot glass when Niall shoves in between his group of friends. Oli and Calvin start to argue and protest, but Niall wastes no time in letting Louis know what’s going on. “Harry’s having a seizure.”

The shot glass falls from his hand and shatters into thousands of little shards on the cement. It’s quite dramatic, but Louis’ sobered up and he doesn’t have time to place the shot glass back.

Harry needs him and needs him now.

“Fuck,” is all that he manages to say at first. His breath feels like it’s caught in his throat and it’s near impossible to remember to breathe. He forgets about his friends, they’re not important right this moment, and he takes Niall’s arm in his hand. “Where is he? Fuck, you’ve got to take me to him. How bad is it?”

His words come out in a blur of blinded emotion. He doesn’t know what to think or do, really. The last two fits Harry had were so terrible that he can’t even imagine how awful this one will evolve to be.

“I don’t know.” Niall honestly tells him and begins to lead him inside and through the throngs of awed people. “He wasn’t seizing when I left to find you.”

Louis feels faint. The two of them are moving quickly despite the hesitance of their words. “He’s not by himself is he? Shit.”

“Gemma has him. It’s okay.”  Niall whispers. He doesn’t know for fact, but he needs someone to stay calm and collected during this entire exchange, and it won't be him. Harry’s seizures scare him more than anything else, even despite the amount of times they’ve happened in front of him.

Partly because it’s not Harry. The petrified, wide-eyed stare and the pained whimpering is not Harry. The convulsing and inability to speak a coherent sentence are not Harry.

Harry has always been made out to be the strong and charismatic one. He isn’t the one who should be disoriented and hurt half the time. It isn’t him. That isn’t the epitome of who Harry is.

Harry is strength. Harry is wisdom. Harry is kind.

Niall manages to get Louis through the final group of people circling Gemma and Harry and he wishes he hadn’t. Gemma’s beside Harry, on her knees, crying, and trying to get him off his stomach. He isn’t spasming, not yet, but it’s heart wrenching to see her upset over the inevitable.

“Try to get people to back off. I need tables pushed out of the way. It’s going to be a big one.” Louis directs and wastes no time in getting to Harry. He drops to his knees and brushes a piece of his hair back. “Darling, it’s Louis, it’s me and I don’t know if you can understand me but you’re having a seizure. It’s going to be okay. I’m right here and Gemma’s here too.”

Harry’s still completely conscious, unable to move and mentally hidden, but completely conscious. Slurs of nonsense are pouring from his lips, garbled partially by the numbness of his tongue and lips and partially by the floor.

It’s awful. There’s nothing else to say. It is a horrific and disturbing scene. Harry’s going to be embarrassed when he comes to id he finds out about all of these people watching and doing absolutely nothing to assist them

“I - I can’t…” A sob falls from Gemma’s lips. She’s overwhelmed, simple as that, and Louis doesn’t blame her. He couldn’t imagine Lottie or Fizzy in the state Harry’s in right now.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Lottie standing among the crowd and he only shakes his head to ward her away. She listens to the gesture. The next time Louis looks, she’s out of sight and he's glad. She doesn't need to see Harry having a fit. He's never allowed for her to see them before and he's not going to start now. 

Meanwhile he tries to process Gemma's nonsense. “I need you to take a deep breath. Talk to me. What can’t you do?”

“I can’t get him on his side. He’s going to choke to death on his fucking spit because I can’t move him.”  She cradles her forehead. Her eyes are bloodshot and there’s tears streaking her makeup down her face.

“I’ve got him.” He forces her to move out of the way before he takes Harry by one of his shoulders and slides his other hand underneath his tense fiancé.  Every muscle in Harry's body is clenched. “Here we go Harry. I’ve got you. Easy does it, right?” Gradually, his grip tightens and he rolls Harry on his side. There isn’t absence in sound, though, Harry gasps and wheezes the entire time Louis tries to get him moved into an appropriate position. “Shh, love, it’s okay. Hush. Take it easy. I’ve got you.”

Louis keeps his eyes focused on Harry’s tense face. He grazes his cheek with the back of his hand and it’s nearly as soon as he withdraws his hand that the convulsions begin.

Harry’s wrists curve in on themselves and his legs spread slightly as he’s overrun with shakes and whimpers. His head smacks off the floor, each time his neck snaps back, and Louis can see a bit clearer where he’s busted his chin. The spasms are violent, his entire body jerks. 

There’s more blood infused saliva and mucus sputtering out between Harry's lips than Louis’ ever seen and it’s everywhere. “It’s okay gorgeous. Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m right here.” He hums.

Harry’s gagging and Louis nods, knowing that he has to let Harry get it out himself. He’ll hurt him if he starts touching too much. “Try to come out of it baby. You’re doing great, okay? I need you to keep breathing for me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe for me.” He starts to exaggerate his own breathing to lead Harry, even though there’s no way he can possibly hear him past his own ragged breaths and cries.

He rubs Harry’s upper arm when he starts to get too wound up, tossing and jerking violently, and whispers, “No, no, no. Calm down for me. You’re okay gorgeous. I’ve got you. Gemma’s here too. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'm going to take care of you." Louis glances over at Gemma, who’s still shocked, wide-eyed, and in tears. “Call Anne. Tell her I need a change of clothes and his medication as soon as possible.”

He peers back towards Harry, his baby, his baby who is seizing and crying, and swallows down the lump forming in his throat. "Come on Harry, come back to me. I need you here and I love you very much. You've got to try to come out of it for me. I've got you." 

The seizing hasn't faded when Harry starts to act on the impulses in his head. He's still withering when he begins to touch and pull at his crotch. A wet spot is growing there with passing seconds. “No, Harry, stop that. You’re peeing. It’s okay. We’ll take care of it later, sweetheart. You’re okay. Don't hurt yourself."

And he’s still seizing when he tries sitting up moments later, but he’s rocking and spasming too severely to even remotely push himself up from his laying down position. “No, no, lay down angel. You need to lay down. Relax. It’s okay. Harry, lay down babes. Come on. Lay down for me." He presses a hand to his chest and guides him to lay flat on back for the time being.

Harry starts hacking up more bloody saliva and that’s when Louis starts to use the sleeve of his sweater to wipe his lips and chin. He doesn’t have anything to wipe either of Harry’s messes up.

He can’t soak urine up with his sweater and there’s far too much of it to even begin to sop up. It’s carpeting underneath them and he only wonders the fee they’ll have to pay to the country club for a dry cleaning bill.

He can overhear Gemma’s conversation with Anne if he listens closely. “Harry’s having a seizure mum.” She whispers, her voice raw, and she holds her forehead. “It’s not...he’s been seizing for a few minutes, but I think he’s starting to come to. Yeah I think...I don’t know can you please just bring a set of clothes and his medicine? His first aid kit too.”

Harry’s head jerks to the side and as soon as Louis tries to touch his cheek to calm him, he begins to slap and scratch at Louis' arm. He doesn’t want to be touched - rather, his mind is subconsciously telling him that there is someone he doesn’t know, a stranger, trying to invade his privacy and hurt him.

“No Harry, baby it’s me. It’s me. You know me. It’s Louis. I’m your fiancé. You remember me, don't you?" Louis whispers, but Harry isn’t having it. His wheezes become deeper and closer together until he’s vomiting, again, but there isn’t any substance to it.

As soon as he finishes puking for the second time in ten minutes, he squishes his cheek to the floor and his eyes continue to roll behind his eyelids. Louis watches him and avoids touching him for only a few moments before he’s brushing his fingers through Harry’s mangled hair. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

He’s still shaking, not nearly as severely, but tremor is still causing him to look like he’s rocking back and forth. He hasn’t come to yet, Louis can tell by the empty and unfocused look in his eyes as he tries to follow Louis’ hand when it glides through his hair and over his cheek. “I’m so proud of you baby. You’re okay. We’ve only got to push past a few more minutes and you’ll be back. Try to come out of it for me. It’s okay if it takes you a while.”

Gemma moves closer to Louis. “My mum’s on her way. I told her to bring the first aid kit so we have aspirin and wet wipes and stuff.”

“Good idea.” Louis says. “His chin’s pretty busted up too. I’ll have to get a better look at it when he comes around. I think he may have hit where the scar was.”

“Is he starting to come around?” She asks, watching her brother’s chest rise and fall, and tries not to listen to his choked gasps. He’s trying to spit out all of the residue in his mouth, but he can’t do it while he’s laying down.

Louis will help him sit up as soon as he shows signs of coherency. When he starts talking and he can call Louis by his name or title and recognize where he is only then will Louis help him off of the floor. He needs to be certain that Harry isn't going to have a second fit because that happens from time to time, as well. 

“I think so.” Louis replies. “It wasn’t as bad as last time.” He glances away from Harry and that’s when he notices that the crowd has faded and Niall’s the only one left, leaning against one of the tables, watching the three of them. He nods his head at Louis and turns on his heel to exit the room. 

Louis weakly smiles at him before directing his attention back to the groaning love of his life . “There we go babes.” He presses his lips to Harry’s temple. “I’m right here. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

Harry blinks quite a few times before his eyes lose their glazed over appearance and he’s narrowing his eyes at Louis as if questioning him. A wave of nausea hits him and he knows then that something's wrong, but his mind isn't correlating with the odd sensations throughout his entire body. He doesn't know what's going on. 

“L...Looou.” He slurs and attempts to reach out for his fiancé, but it hurts far too much.

Louis notices, takes his hand, and intertwines their fingers. “Hey gorgeous.” He whispers, smiling softly. ”I’m glad to have you back. You had a seizure. I need you to relax.”

Harry’s eyes wander and he catches Gemma staring at him. His vision isn’t agreeing with him quite yet. Flashes of black still vacate his sight, but each time he manages to gain proper eyesight, Gemma still has the same horrified look on her face.

She swallows and draws in a sharp breath. “Mum’s on her way. She wants to see you before she decides if you need to go to the hospital.”

Harry doesn’t understand her. It’s too many words and too much information at once. He glances towards Louis for assistance, but Louis only shakes his head, telling him, “Don’t worry about it. Just relax. I’m going to take care of you, like I always do.” He brushes his thumb across Harry’s pulled knuckles.

Harry can’t apply much pressure, but he’s holding onto Louis’ hand with everything he has.

Anne arrives minutes later, bearing an armful of supplies, and she slowly approaches them. “How is he?” She asks as if Harry’s invisible or unconscious. She lowers herself to kneel on the ground beside him and sets the items she was holding to the side of her. “How’s my baby doing?”

He can’t stand the baby talk. He’s a grown man. Albeit he understands that he’s an epileptic grown man, but he’s still able to take care of himself, most of the time. He doesn’t need extra coddling coming from his mother.

“He’s doing better.” Louis answers. “Still a bit woozy and disoriented, I think, but he’s doing better every minute. Isn’t that right, angel?”

Louis has a way with words and tone. Yes, Harry did just have a major fit in front of all of Louis’ friends and family and yes, Harry is mortified, but Louis has a way of drawing attention away from the blatant situation at hand.

When he speaks, it isn’t condescending or coddling, it’s just how Louis speaks to Harry and he appreciates that more than anything else. Most people treat him differently post seizure, but never Louis. He knows that the normalcy helps Harry recover faster.

Harry hums. “Mm.”

“All I want to do is take a look at your chin before I help you change and we’re out of here.” Louis carefully cups Harry’s cheek and lifts his head up. He examines it for a few quick moments before he speaks, “Doesn’t look too bad darling. I think you might have cut the skin open, but it isn’t deep, we’ll get a band-aid on that later. Does anything hurt?”

Harry shakes his head. Nothing hurts now, but in the morning it'll be a whole other story. Everything will hurt. It’s a good thing that nothing important is happening today or tomorrow, he starts to think.

Oh. It dawns on him soon after. Tomorrow’s Christmas and today was Louis’ birthday and he’s fucked everything up.

He starts to apologize, but doesn’t get one word out before Louis’ shushing him and wiping his mouth and chin with wet wipes. He tries it again, a second time, after Louis’ finished wiping the blood and other bodily fluids off of his face, but he’s cut short again when Louis turns to Gemma and Anne. “I’m going to help him change and I’m sure he doesn’t want either of you here when he strips, so...”

Anne finishes for him. “We’ll stop by tomorrow. Christmas can wait a few days, but we’ll do something small tomorrow depending on how he’s feeling. I’ll talk to Jay about it, but I’m going to call later to check in on Harry.” Anne says and Louis nods. He likes that idea, quite a lot, and he appreciates the lack of argument put forth by anyone.

Gemma and Anne disappear after wishing Harry a gentle goodbye and Louis, a weak happy birthday and another promise that they’ll get together tomorrow.

Louis sighs while looking at Harry. He only has one thing to say regarding anything concerning his birthday and the holidays.

“Tonight’s been very interesting.”

The sentence in it’s short, dry entirety bothers Harry, but his brain won’t properly connect with his mouth. He can’t say anything, not even "I’m sorry" because his lips won’t move when he wants them to. Instead, he makes a grunt like noise.

Louis arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t say another word about the subject. “Let’s get you sitting up and I’ll help you change if you need it, alright? We need to get you out of those soiled clothes.”

He sounds upset, really upset, and Harry feels like shit. He didn’t mean to ruin his birthday. He sincerely didn’t, but of course, the one night he needed his epilepsy to stay at bay he has a major episode.

The birthday party was such a great idea. He ruined it, though, and he isn’t surprised. He ruins all good things.

Louis slips a hand underneath his backside and with the little strength Harry has, pushes him up into a sitting position. Harry’s feet and palms press flat to the carpet. They’re the only things stabilizing him and keeping him from falling on his back. 

He tries to impress Louis, by pulling his own shirt off, but he can’t. His fingers won’t curl around the fabric at once and when they do they fumble too much. Louis has to change him, as if he’s some kind of invalid child, and he loathes it. From the shirt to the underpants, he can’t change his clothes at all, but Louis doesn't say a word as he collects the soiled clothes and slips the fresh ones on Harry's aching body. 

He fucking hates himself.

When it comes time to stand up and head home, he can’t even do that by himself. He relies on Louis for everything. He has to lean on him and even then he still stumbles with each step they take. It takes them longer than expected to get out to the car. 

He fucking hates it.

When they’re finally at home, Louis helps Harry with a shower and to bed, but doesn’t stay with him. He exits the room and Harry doesn’t recall when or if Louis ever does spend the night with him.

He only knows one thing. He's a fucking disgrace. 

The next morning, he wakes to Louis' side of the bed being empty, the covers aren't even rearranged, Louis didn't sleep with his last night, and he has to swallow down the realization emotions crawling up his throat.

His eyes ache with impending tears. He shouldn't be as upset as he is. This is his own fault. This is his stupid, useless, weak brain's fault. He's lost Louis and on Christmas, too. He can't believe that it's over, but he shouldn't be surprised. Louis' put up with his bullshit for six years and he's finally had enough of it and Harry honestly can't blame him. Epilepsy is hard enough to deal with, but trying to have sexual and romantic relations with an epileptic is impossible.

This kind of relationship isn't meant for everyone and so he tries to prevail as a strong protagonist for once, but as soon as he clambers out of bed, his muscles turn to mush and he's back on the floor in a massive heap of futile emotion, sobbing and pleading for things to be different. 

Not only has he lost Louis on Christmas, but his body aches and he feels sickly. He'll probably have another fit because it seems the world and fate are out there just to spite him and all the happiness he has. Louis was his only source of happiness. With One Direction on hiatus, his abnormal bond with his family from time to time, and his stupid disorder, he only had Louis and now that's gone.

Harry lays on the floor for what must only be two or three minutes when he hears a combination of loud footsteps charging up the stairs. Great. It's probably his fucking mum and she's going to start with pitying him over Louis' absence and then he's going to have to actually talk about his feelings.

He hates this. There's no way he's going to be able to get off the floor today and he's going to have to hear his mum's complaints about it.

But he really doesn't care. He's fine just like this. If he could, he'd probably stay here for the rest of his life. What's the point of going on without Louis? Louis has given him so much in the past six years and he's gone now.

He taught him how to be courageous. Confident. Selfless. Kind. Reliable. Easy-going. Most importantly he taught him how to love himself and others, pushing his disability aside. No one ever treated him like Louis and no one will ever treat him like that again.

He's going to end up driving himself either insane or into a treatment center. Louis kept him sane while everyone else struggled. It came so naturally to Louis. As soon as he met Harry and learned of the disorder that practically ruled his life he made sure he was everything Harry ever missed out on.

He was the traits Harry lacked, but learned over time. Louis was compassion. Louis was admiration. Louis was dignified. Louis was humble. And everything Harry learned from him feels like it's flooded out of his system with a flick of a switch.

So when he hears a panicked voice, one he recognizes far too well, coming from the doorway, it takes him by surprise. "Fuck! Harry? Harry, what's wrong? Oh my god. Are you having another seizure? Shit." There's a loud thud, like something's been dropped and it hits the floor with a crack.

That can't be Louis, Harry thinks to himself. It must be to good to be true. It's his mum, it has to be. He's too caught up on Louis and now their voice ares warping together. It's morbid. 

The person with the voice that sounds an awful lot like Louis' drops to their knees beside him and they start cradling his face with trembling hands. "H? Harry, shit, what's going on? Angel, are you okay?"

Hold on. Only one person calls him angel and that's Louis. The more he starts to puzzle things together he problem solves and realizes that Louis really is the one cradling his face and near tears as he calls his name.

Harry shifts away from Louis' touch and their eyes meet. "Hi." He whispers.

"What the fuck was that?" Louis shrieks, flinching away. He has an urge to smack some sense into Harry, but refrains. He won't hit him, especially when he's had a awful fit the night prior. "What's going on? Why are you on the floor? Are you crying?" Louis takes hold of his chin and tilts his face forward and downward. "You are crying. What's wrong gorgeous? Are you feeling okay?"

Harry doesn't manage to say anything at first. Louis is in front of him right now. Louis is truly, genuinely, seriously in front of him when he was certain Louis had abandoned him and their relationship in the middle of the night.

He can't believe he was being that ridiculous. Louis would never leave him. He has too much respect for him and their six year relationship. What was he thinking.

Harry swallows and his eyes well up with huge tears once again. "I thought you left." He whispers.

"You thought I left?" Louis repeats. "You mean...you thought I left you?" A wounded laugh leaves Louis' mouth and Harry is left wondering why Louis is reacting the way he is. "Where on earth did you get such a ridiculous idea?T

His voice doesn't hold any vigor and to make manners worse, his words come out twisted and slurred. He sounds cringe worthy, but Louis doesn't seem to mind it, at all. Though, he never does. "After last night I just thought - "

"You thought I gave up and left?" Louis guesses. He shakes his head in disbelief, wondering what he's possibly said to allude to that and give Harry the idea that he wanted an exit out of their relationship. "Christ." He hisses.

"What?"

Louis presses. "You thought I left you over one small seizure?"

"I mean it was your birthday and I ruined your entire party." Harry replies, flatly.

Louis busts out laughing and Harry shrinks in on himself. He doesn't understand how Louis could possibly be laughing at a time like this. There isn't one single amusing word or phrase to come out of Harry's honesty.

"You didn't ruin anything." Louis says, seriously. "If you think that a particular seizure is going to draw me away from you then you must have hit your head a lot harder than I thought." He points out. "I've been here through brain surgery, Harry. You couldn't even walk or talk, but I never thought about leaving you once. You've had so many seizures. It'll take a lot more than one more to push me out the door."

Harry listens to him with expecting ears. He expects to hear Louis say that he can't do this anymore or that he wants to take a break, but it never comes. It honestly never comes.

"You had a seizure at my birthday party, so what? You've had seizures at worse times and you'll continue to have them at bad times. We can't predict when you're going to flake out, can we?"

"Well, I mean - "

"No we can't." Louis finishes. "Yeah, I'll admit, I was kind of disappointed about it happening at my party, but I got over it. I wasn't angry, just a bit upset, but it's alright now. I'm thankful that it happened at my party and not somewhere else. I was able to protect you and that's more than I can ever ask for. I want to keep you safe."

Harry sighs, glances away from Louis, and turns his attention to the ceiling. He hates this. Louis shouldn't have to protect him, not like this. "It isn't your job to watch after me."

"I know it isn't. I don't treat it like a job." Louis places his hand on Harry's neck and rubs his thumb along Harry's jawline. "You're an epileptic, yeah? You've been an epileptic for eighteen years and you're always going to be an epileptic. The truth is that you're never going to get better. There is no way for you to get better. There isn't a cure. This is a part of you and I've learned to embrace it."

"I'm glad one of us comfortable with their life." Harry mutters.

Louis has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "It isn't about being comfortable. It's about learning to accept something neither of us can change. I would love for you to wake up and never have to deal with another seizure ever again. I would give up everything to see you happy, okay? But it's just not probable Harry. You're going to have seizures no matter what I say and the sooner we're both on the same level, the easier conversations like this will be."

"I just don't see a point in discussing it. You'll get sick of it eventually and leave. Everyone does. It's a matter of time, Louis. I'm a ticking time bomb. Right now, this is a lifeline. Someday something really bad is going to happen to me because of this and you're going to be so fucking caught up on trying to understand when really you should know what's good for you and you should get the fuck out when you can."

Louis can only scoff. "You really don't understand the basis of our relationship then. In sickness and in health, Harold. Through thick and thin I'll be here for you. We're all going to die someday and I hope you die knowing that I loved you through everything."

It isn't supposed to push Harry over the edge and into an abyss of tears, but it does. He has Harry crying in front of him now, on Christmas morning, because of something he's said and possibly ruined.

"Harry, no, I didn't mean to - "

Harry interrupts him. "Do you really mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said? You've loved me through everything?" He whispers. Tears are streaking his cheeks, but there's a hint of something, charisma, excitement, happiness, something that makes his eyes sparkle past the tears.

Their eyes are locked on one another's and reposes his hand from Harry's neck to his cheek. "I haven't stopped loving you since I've met you. I will love you forever. Wherever we may be in ten years, twenty years, thirty years, together or apart, I will always love you, my sweet, darling angel."

Their lips graze each other for a brief second before Louis makes the first move and presses his soft lips to Harry's chapped ones. Their noses brush against each others and Louis' ends up mushed to Harry's cheek as the kiss evolves.

He crawls forward until he's finally straddling Harry and he has his hands pinned to the floor. The rings on Harry's fingers prick the webbing of Louis' fingers, but he doesn't complain. He quite enjoys the sensation.

Harry opens his lips against Louis' and their tongues meet in the middle. Their foreheads press together and Harry squeezes Louis' hands tighter. Louis' body rolls against Harry's in rhythmic motion. The fabric concealing both of their throbbing cocks rubs against each other and Louis moans into Harry's mouth.

The pressure of Harry's cock against his makes him ache through his entire body. He releases Harry's hands, though he doesn't let his touch trail off Harry's flushed, clammy skin once. His fingers skim over his fiancé's arms, down his torso, and beneath the band of his underpants.

Harry's hips buckle up in a silent, but desperate plea and Louis laughs against his lips. "Easy. You've got to take it easy, if you want me to give it to you good." He whispers. Pubic hair scratches at his fingertips and he almost has a proper grip around Harry's warm cock when there's a knock at the door.

He jumps, rolling off of Harry in blatant embarrassment, and it's Harry's turn to laugh and once he starts, he can't stop.

"Very funny." Louis mutters and stands up. He brushes his clothes, or lack of, off. "I bet it's your mother. Look at her, ruining a beautiful moment, again."

Harry smiles. "You better get it. You know how she hates being ignored."

"Merry fuckin' Christmas." Louis says under his breath right before he slips out of the bedroom.

"A Merry fuckin' Christmas indeed." Harry agrees. He pushes himself into a sitting position and he gratefully glances around their bedroom.

Maybe life isn't so bad after all. He should really lend fate a little more trust and perhaps things would have a positive ending more often.