Work Text:
Louis’ in the middle of trying to multitask, which consists of typing a letter to a client while also shoveling heaps of salad into his mouth, when the phone rings. He's on one of those "healthy" diets - which he can only make last for a week or two, at most - and considering this is day eight, he's proud of himself this far. Harry’s been encouraging him to eat more cautiously, mostly because he is on a restricted diet himself, and Louis always wants to please him.
He ignores the phone call, assuming it’s not important enough. Everyone who knows how to contact him at his office knows to ring his receptionist in case of a serious issue or emergency.
Besides, Harry’s at home with Jagger, probably sleeping or working on some paperwork for the charity. The two of them are lucky because as soon as Louis gets home they have three whole days to enjoy themselves.
The girls are away with their aunts for the next few days. Gemma and Lottie offered to take them to France fora vacation, as they've been gone for four days already, and it's given Harry a lot of time to relax. They won't admit it, but that's definitely the reason behind their offer.
And Louis’ sure nothing is wrong over there either, despite them being in another country. He trusts Gemma with their lives.
His phone ceases to ring, and he’s grateful. It’s shrill pitch is rather annoying after all.
A few typed words and two forkfuls more of leafy greens later and the phone starts ringing again. “Jesus Christ.” he grumbles, blindly moving his hand from his keyboard to clutch the phone to his right. “Louis Tomlinson speaking, who am I talking to?”
“Lou?” He instantly recognizes the voice as Harry’s. It’s a bit odd that Harry’s calling him in the middle of the day, but he isn't alarmed.
Harry usually knows to refrain from calling him at work, not because Louis doesn't want to talk to him - he does - but because he always has an abundance of work to do since he isn't at the office as often as he used to be.
They speak on the phone at 12:30 everyday or Harry pops his head in a couple times a month. On those days they go out on a date for an hour or two. It's a nice break from reading fine print and talking to people he couldn't care less about.
It’s only 11 right now. It’s early for Harry to be calling him, but Louis isn't worried. He figures Harry has his knickers in a twist because Louis left the house this morning without bidding goodbye to his spouse.
But Louis swears it's not his fault. It's just been a shit day. He woke at 8:45, fifteen minutes late for the meeting he and Liam had scheduled for a new client, then managed to spill coffee down the front of his brand new Ralph Lauren button up. Not to mention he tripped over the bloody dog on his way out the door, and this all happened in a span of ten minutes.
Louis must not answer quick enough because another call of his name blurts out of Harry’s mouth. “Lou?”
"Sorry babe, got distracted. What’s up?" Louis asks, piling a forkful of salad into his mouth. Of course, he can speak casually to his husband, it would be a shame if he couldn’t. Harry doesn't answer at first, in fact Harry doesn’t verbally answer at all. In fact, all Louis can hear is his breathing. "Harry, you know I love you dearly, but I really don't have time to talk." he explains.
Harry doesn't answer, again. Louis can hear a bit of shuffling on the other end, assuming it’s his husband shifting position in bed. He's hoping Harry is taking the day to relax after the last few weeks. He planned a huge televised charity event, and it drained him of all his energy, but the outcome was amazing. He raised nearly five hundred thousand dollars for his organization.
Louis sighs at his husband’s silence. "I appreciate the thought, but I've got a pile of paperwork the size of my bloody head." he chuckles, softly, before stating, “I’m gonna try to get out of here early tonight, and maybe we can go out to dinner or a movie or something.”
There's more shuffling, followed by a deep sigh that has Louis wondering why Harry still hasn't responded. Finally the younger boy says a single word, "Head."
Louis stifles a laugh, though he doesn't quite understand what Harry means. He takes it in the most sexual way possible. "As much as I would love for you to come and give me head, I'm afraid it'll have to wait until later. Maybe after the date, eh?”
"'Hurts." Harry mutters out, finally. "Bad."
With those two words, Louis can hear the struggle in Harry’s voice. He sits up in his chair. "Come again?"
"Hit head." Harry grumbles, exhaling heavy before coughing. His cough sounds painful.
"What? You hit your head?" Louis asks, eyebrows furrowing.
Just as he's about to further his question, Liam walks into the room with a binder, “Oi, did you see what that Martin fucker wrote on -” He stops speaking, pausing the doorway upon sensing Louis’ frantic state. “Louis, what’s going on mate?”
"What do you mean you hit your head? How hard? On what?" His eyes are horrifyingly wide as he meets Liam’s from across the room. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Harry hitting his head is not good, at all.
"Seize an' fell." Harry mutters, sounding exasperated. "TV stand.” He sucks in a sharp breath, then Louis hears him whimper.
Louis tries to make sense of the staggered dialect Harry’s speaking in, but it’s a bit difficult as he’s having trouble understanding Harry’s speech.
"It’s alright love, I’m leaving the office right now, okay? Can you tell me if you’re bleeding? Do you see blood?" Louis asks, rising to his feet, and walks to the other side of the office to collect his things. The thought of Harry crying, curled in on himself, lying on the floor is making him feel nauseous.
Harry takes a few seconds too long to answer. "Uh...I no no." he huffs.
"Harry, baby? Can you touch your head for me? See if you're bleeding?" he guides. "It doesn't have to be long, just tell me if you've got red stuff on your fingers."
He’s trying to stay as quiet and calm as possible. If Harry detects any sort of fear, he’s bound to start panicking, and that's the last thing Louis needs in this predicament.
Liam watches Louis in bewilderment. "Louis, what’s going on? Is he okay?”
Louis shakes his head, waiting for Harry to respond. He shrugs his coat on. "Uh..." Harry coughs again, deep and sharp. “Sticky.”
"Fuck.” Louis swallows, thick. He doesn't know if he should call for a medic or not. How long had Harry waited before he called him? What if he's concussed? "Do you feel poorly? Have you thrown up?"
"No." Now, if Harry sounds certain about one thing, it's that. Though Louis knows to take everything he says with a grain of salt as he isn't in the strongest frame of mind.
"That's good, love, that's really good. I'm coming home now." Louis encourages, and as he starts to walk past Liam, his younger friend grabs his bicep. He pulls the receiver from his mouth ever so slightly. “I'm so sorry, Liam, god, I'm sorry.”
“Hey, no, don't you start with that.” The dark eyed man says. “Do you want me to follow behind you? Call an ambulance? Anything?”
Louis wants to thank him, but the words fall numb on the tip of his tongue. “I don't know how bad it is yet.”
“Give me a ring when you get everything sorted then, alright? I'll get you two whatever you need.”
Louis nods, not saying another word as he hurriedly walks down the hall to the elevator. "I'm gonna stay on the phone with you, babes. Have you tried to get up? Harry?"
Harry mutters a very quiet answer.
Louis figures he’s just said no. "Can you try for me? Try to sit up, prop yourself against a wall or the couch, so you’re not laying on the floor.”
The cry Harry chokes on makes the hair on the back of his neck stand pin straight. “Can't...hurt Lou.”
“Alright, baby, it's alright. Don't move until I get there, okay? Can you do that for me? Stay still?” Louis rushes to says. His fingers repeatedly stab the numbers on the elevator keypad. “C’mon you stupid fucking piece of shit!” he shouts, biting down on his lip as soon as the words unconsciously leave him. “Sorry love, the bloody elevator isn't working.” he forces a laugh.
Harry moans, brokenly, “Mad.”
“I'm not mad, sweetheart, just a bit frustrated with the elevator,” he admits, breathing in relief when the lift doors finally open and he can step inside, “You still doing okay?”
“Fine.” The younger boy mumbles. Louis instantly knows it’s not true.
“I love you, my strong boy. I'm only a few minutes out, and I’ll be there to help you.” Louis promises, swaying side to the side as the elevator takes it's time creaking down to the main floor. "I'm so glad you called me, I was having such a shit day. I love listening to your voice."
“Bye bye.” Harry sounds confused.
“I'm going to stay on the phone with you, remember? You've got to let me know if your head starts to hurt worse or if your chest feels funny, okay?”
“Okay.” Harry whispers, voice catching in his throat.
“How's your chest feel now?” Louis asks, regretting it almost as soon as he’s asked the dreaded question.
He's been worried about Harry’s chest since his doctor explained heart attack could be a side effect of a seizure. As he grows older, the likelihood increases, and Louis is scared to death of that outcome.
Harry mumbles a incomprehensible response.
As soon as the doors open, Louis races out to the car park, ignoring his receptionist as she calls after him. "Mr. Tomlinson? Mr. Tomlinson, you have a call!"
He scrambles into the car, pulling out of the lot before the car even has a chance to process anything. The silence grows between them with Louis asking him a question every couple minutes to check his response time.
Soon enough he pulls into their driveway. “I'm right outside love, so I’m going to hang up for just a second.” He does just as he told Harry and quickly treks up to the door.
Fumbling with his key, he manages to unlock the door after several shaky attempts. As soon as he steps inside, he finds Harry sprawled on the floor, lying on his side, trembling. Though it doesn't seem he’s shaking from a seizure, Louis doesn't quite know why he's shaking.
As soon as Harry opens his mouth, blood pours down his chin, and Louis knows he's bitten down on part of his tongue or cheek. He gets down on his knees beside him, touching his cheek. "Hey there. It’s okay love, I'm here now. I'm gonna help you. Let's get you sitting up.”
“No Lou. Hurts.” Harry’s face spasms underneath Louis’ touch, whimpering. He's scared, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out, and Louis isn't sure if Harry will let him touch him any further. But he needs to look at his head, so he needs to approach this appropriately. "Darling, you're so cold, let me grab you a blanket, then we'll get a good look at your head, okay?"
Confused, Louis doesn't know where Harry’s hurt. It could very well be his head or another area of his body. It’s too early to rule either option out.
Harry stares at him, blank in expression, and tries to nod his head, but his body is far too jerky for him to move concisely.
Louis wastes no time at all, grabbing one of the plush blankets he has folded over the back of the couch, and brings it back to Harry. He drapes it over the younger lad and pulls it down, so it fits him snug.
This might be an intention of comfort, but it doesn't stop his husband from crying and continuing to shake. He has no sense of anything. "You're okay, bub, shh it's okay. Relax for me, I’m gonna take good care of you." he touches his chin, and carefully adjusts his head. It's not a hard wound to find, and as soon as Louis' eyes come across it, his breath catches in his throat.
Blood is pouring out of the back of his head. A deep and long laceration covers his scalp. How did Louis not notice it as soon as he walked in the door? There's blood everywhere. No wonder he's fucking shaking like this. "Oh my God.” he blurts, only catching himself when Harry weakly shifts his attention to him. “I mean, it's not as bad as I thought but we've still got to get you cleaned up." he lies.
It's going to take a little more than cleaning up. He's going to need stitches or staples or something to close the wound up. He's literally got a hole in his head. "Stay just like this, love. I'm going to grab something to clot it up.”
He rushes to peel his blazer off, bundling it up, and holds it to the back of his head. "Here we go sweetheart, let me see your hand."
Harry doesn't comply, so Louis tries to move his hand himself. He doesn't expect a brash cry to leave Harry’s mouth. “What's the matter? What's wrong?” he asks.
“Hurts.” Harry whispers, meeting Louis’ eyes. His eyes are glazed over with both confusion and impending tears.
Louis doesn't understand. “What hurts?” he questions, patient.
“Here.” Harry mumbles, touching the left side of his chest with his left hand. The small movement of his left arm makes him wince.
Louis’ heart starts racing then. Is this it? This can't fucking be it. Is Harry having a heart attack? “It's alright, love. I'm gonna give someone a ring to come help us, okay? Relax for me, it's not doing you any good to stress.” He calmly takes his phone out of his back pocket, dials 999, and waits for an operator to answer.
“999, what service please?” A collected female voice answers after several rings.
Louis adjusts his hand to hold the blazer still on the back of Harry’s head. “Ambulance service.”
A new woman picks up the line. “Ambulance service, what’s your emergency?”
“My husband had a seizure and hit his head. He’s bleeding a lot. He’s also having some discomfort in his chest.” Louis explains, trying to keep his voice steady. If Harry catches on to his panic, it will be detrimental to the younger lad.
He hears a keyboard clacking on the other end. “An ambulance is en route. Please stay on the line. What’s your name?”
“Louis.” He’s been through this several times. They ask all sorts of questions to keep the calling party calm.
“Alright, and Louis, can you ask your husband if he feels pain anywhere else? In his arm, jaw, back, or stomach?”
Louis glances at Harry who’s simply staring up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. “I can't. He’s not competent at the moment. I know there's pain in his arm. He’s refused to move it for me.” He shifts to move closer to Harry. Usually, he’d be laying beside him, rubbing his chest, but he doesn't know what's wrong with his chest, so he won't risk it.
The female operator takes a moment to note this. It seems she's uncertain of what else to say. “He's still coherent then, correct?”
“Well, he's as coherent as he can be after a seizure.” Louis replies, dryly.
A few more minutes pass before two medics barrel through the front door and maneuver over to the two of them. Louis knows the drill. He moves out of their way, but stays close enough to hold Harry’s hand. “I won't get in your way, promise.” he stated before either of the medics can speak a word.
From there the two medics - one a burly man with kind eyes and the other a younger fellow - take over. The burly man, Thomas, asks Harry simple questions, which he seems to have trouble answering, while the younger fellow, Oliver, checks his vitals.
Each question Harry answers wrong makes a shot of worry blast through Louis’ entire being.
“We’re going to transport him over to St. Michaels.” Oliver says, firmly.
Louis is left with absolutely no information. “Is he going to be alright? I mean, what about his chest pain? What’s causing that?”
Oliver meets Louis’ eyes. “I can't disclose any information to you right now. We need to move quickly.”
“But…” Louis stops himself. He's my husband, I deserve to know what's happening, I need to know who to contact, are all questions resting on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he silently stands, keeping his eyes on the floor as he hears them transport Harry from the floor onto the gurney. He figures Harry has a neck brace on, perhaps a oxygen cannula, maybe an I.V., though he doesn't check his assumptions. “Am I allowed to go with him?” he asks.
“I'm afraid not, but you can follow behind in your vehicle. As soon as anyone has any information, you’ll be the first to know.” Thomas explains, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Why don't you come tell him you'll see him in a bit? He's starting to panic. The stress isn't good for him.”
Louis nods and approaches the gurney. Not that he cares, but his assumptions were all correct. He bends down and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I'll be at the hospital as soon as you get there, okay? I love you, so much.”
Then, Harry’s being wheeled away and all Louis is left with is a huge blood stain on the carpeting and his panic.
Somehow this doesn’t seem right.
He walks into the Accident and Emergency entrance and beelines straight for the receptionist’s desk. “My spouse was just brought in by ambulance. Harry Tomlinson.”
The nurse, who looks a bit bored with everything, scans the computer for his name. “He’s currently receiving treatment. A doctor will be out to speak with you shortly.” she says.
“What kind of treatment?” Louis snaps, rubbing his hand over his face. “Fuck, I mean he is my husband, I would like to know what they're doing to him back there.” he snaps, shifting his attention accusingly to the double doors.
The nurse’s expression doesn't change. “A doctor will be out to speak with you.” she repeats.
Louis sighs, plopping down in a seat far from any of the other poor saps gathered in the lobby.
He feels numb and unsure of what to do. What can he do? Nothing, there's fucking nothing in this world he could do to fix what's happening behind those double doors.
He decides to send a text to Gemma, who will surely inform anyone of importance:
Harry had a seizure, whacked his head, but he was having some chest pain. I don't know what the cause is, so I’m waiting to hear from the doctor. Please, don't worry and don't tell the girls. Enjoy the rest of your vacation and I’ll call you if anything changes .
Unsurprisingly, it’s only a minute or so before a responsive text pings through the lobby. He receives a lot of dirty looks, but he doesn't care.
What do you mean he was having chest pain?! Did he have a heart attack? Fuck Louis, how do you expect me to enjoy the rest of my vacation when my brother is in the hospital?
A fucking heart attack. God, it sounds strange to correlate those two words with Harry. He doesn't reply to Gemma, not even when his phone rings for several minutes straight does he answer her phone calls.
As Louis thinks about the entire situation, one thing stands out in his mind; where was Jagger?
Jagger was always by Harry’s side, but it was strange that the dog hadn't been around when Louis stepped foot in the house. However, he doesn't see it to be more important than staying at the hospital with Harry.
His phone rings several more times. A few from Lottie, two from his eldest daughter Kyra, and another couple from Gemma. He can't bring himself to answer any of them. In fact, by the time the seventh phone call comes through, he crumbles into a blubbering mess, sobbing into his hands.
He can't sort the fucking situation out, and he hasn't a clue what he's supposed to be doing. There has to be something he can do aside from sitting his ass in a plastic chair, waiting to hear some news he probably doesn't want to hear.
A doctor comes out from behind those double doors and is directed to Louis. She sits beside him - luckily, she's a bit sympathetic - and places a hand on his back. “You must be Mr. Tomlinson, I’m Dr. Chambers. Is there anything I can get for you? A glass of water, maybe?”
Louis lifts his head, wiping at his eyes, “No, no, I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed.”
The middle-aged doctor offers him a soft smile. “I understand. I wanted to come out and discuss your husband’s condition one on one, is that okay?”
Louis feels relief flood through his chest. This means Harry’s alive, and God, the thought of Harry dying was the one thought haunting him all this time. “That's great. How is he? Is he okay?”
“The seizure him to hit his head and caused a rather significant laceration to his head. We stitched it for him, but the impact of his fall brought on a mild concussion, which we need to monitor for the next few days. Also you should know he did suffer from somewhat of a minor heart attack.” Dr. Chambers wastes no time getting to the point. Louis respects that despite his second outburst happening right in front of her. “It's okay, take a moment.” she encourages.
Louis shakes his head, keeping his eyes focused on his lap as he listens. One hand covers his mouth as he talks, his speech sounds muffled. “Just continue, please.”
“I suspect his primary doctor spoke to you about the correlation between heart attack and epilepsy. In your husband’s case, it seems it was caused by arrhythmia, which is irregular heartbeat. Usually, we see irregular heartbeat causing cardiac arrest. Has Harry ever complained of his chest hurting after seizures before?” she asks.
Louis shakes his head, swallowing thickly before answering, “Not that I recall, but uh, his heart usually does race after he has a seizure. I don't know if that's anything.” He can definitely recall Harry’s heart beating fast after seizures. With his hand rubbing his chest, it's hard not to.
“It could be a side effect of the epilepsy.” she adds, then continues with her educated speech from beforehand, “In Harry’s case, the arrhythmia caused blood to clot in his heart’s chambers, which brought on the heart attack.”
Louis listens, finally glancing up to meet her eyes, “Forty three seems awfully young to me is all.”
“It is young, but you have to remember that heart attack can happen to anyone. No one is excused from it.” Dr. Chambers, explains, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ll be happy to know that we were able to treat it in time and he isn't going to need a stent or bypass surgery. I administered some nitroglycerin and morphine to keep his pain levels moderate.”
Louis feels tears spring to his eyes yet again. This time for good, fulfilling reason. “And recovery, what does that look like?”
“He’s going to make a full recovery. About four days in the hospital so we can monitor him, and he'll be on his way. I'm going to suggest he take a few days to relax. And since he does have an aggressive form of epilepsy, he doesn't need any added stress on his body. I’m going to suggest he take it easy from here on out.”
“What do you mean?” Louis asks, waiting for her explanation.
“Have you noticed the weakness on the right side of his body? It would be fairly recent.” she says, rather than answering his question.
Louis doesn't quite understand where she’s going with any of this. “Perhaps a little, but it's mostly after seizures. Why, has it gotten worse?”
“Mostly.” Dr. Chambers echoes the one word.
Suddenly, he's uncomfortable with her tone. “Harry’s clumsy. He trips over his own feet at least three times a day.”
“It's only going to get worse, Mr. Tomlinson. When a seizure occurs, as I’m sure you know, the person is tossed back and forth, much like a rag doll, which isn’t good for the spinal cord. Since Harry’s file reads that he’s been having seizures for about forty years now, it’s not surprising that he’s starting to experience neuropathic pain. In fact, it's actually surprising it's taken this long to occur."
“How do you know he’s experiencing neuropathic pain?” Louis asks, trying not to sound too cynical.
Dr. Chambers flips through her clipboard, preparing to show Louis the data if he so insists on viewing it. “His reflexes are slow on the right side, and after speaking to him, he’s mentioned key signs of it.”
“Which are?”
“Cramps, sharp or otherwise burning sensations, numbness...does he have a hard time sleeping through the night without disturbances?”
His silence must answer her question. The only thing that crosses his mind is what has Harry been refusing to tell him? Has it been bad? Louis doesn't work as often as he used to, now he works three days versus the six days it used to be. “What do we do to fix it then?”
“He’s a young man. I understand, so here’s our best option. I’m going to get into contact with his primary doctor and we’re going to have him begin to walk with the aid of a cane. We’ll administer new medicine as well. I want you to understand that it isn't going to get much better, but we can slow the progression process. I can have him fit for a cane by his discharge.”
Louis nods, making a mental note of everything. His heart breaks at the thought of Harry using a cane to get around, but what else is there to do? He has to be strong for the younger lad, there’s no way he's going to take this lightly. “Whatever you think is best.”
“Now, I’m sure you’re tired of this medical professional speech, so why don't I take you to him?” she stands and gestures for Louis to follow as she walks towards the double doors.
Harry isn't very far from the lobby. They make about three turns down different wings before they’re finally at his room. “We’re going to move him to his own personal room tonight, but I’ll make sure a nurse gives you the information before you leave.”
Louis can't help but smile at her despite their overwhelming conversation. “Thank you for all your help.”
She bids him ado, then carries on her way to another patient's room. Louis steps into Harry’s room and immediately catches his spouse’s attention.
“Lou.” Harry croaks, lazy smile crossing his lips.
Louis takes a seat in the chair beside his bed. “Hey darling, how you feeling?” he asks, brushing the younger boy's fringe off of his forehead. “You want some water?”
Harry has a nasal cannula and I.V. drop, but he looks well, aside from appearing a bit flushed and having a huge bandage plastered to his head. “Yes.” he whispers.
Taking the pitcher of water beside the bed, Louis pours him a small cup of water, then holds it to his lips. After waiting for him to finish drinking, he sets the cup back on the table. “How you feeling? Your chest better?”
Harry meets his eyes. “Much. That lady doctor was saying I had a heart attack, literally.”
“You did, love.” Louis touches his cheek, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone. “It was bad. You kept telling me it hurt, but I didn’t have a clue. I should have guessed.”
Harry coughs into his hand, wincing when it jars his chest. “Don't start with that bullshit. I don't really remember, but I can tell you it's definitely not your fault.” He tries sitting up, but again the movement jars his chest and a groan leaves him.
“Take it easy, would you? Christ.” Louis hushes, touching his bare shoulder. He has a hospital gown on, but his top half is bare, since they have EKG stickers plastered all over his chest, most likely to monitor his heartbeat. “Do you remember anything? Like, maybe where the hell our dog went?” He's joking with Harry, though he does want to know where Jagger ran off to.
“Fucking hell.” Harry sighs, shutting his eyes, “The dog is outside. Before I sound like some kind of jerk, you have to know that he wouldn't stop barking at the telly, and it was making my head hurt, so I put him outside. Now, I understand he was probably barking at me.”
“Probably.” Louis echoes, squeezing Harry's shoulder before leaning in to leave a kiss.
“Anyways, last thing I remember I was coming back in, and I felt that fucking switch in my brain turn off. I vaguely remember falling backwards and coming down on the corner of the tv stand, but after that, it's all a blur.” he explains.
Louis stifles a laugh. It's not funny, really it's not, but he's amused anyway. “So you quite literally knocked the sense out of yourself, yeah?”
Harry isn't amused at first, but upon understanding, he laughs. “I suppose I did.”
“Well at least you had enough sense to call me at the office.” Louis continues, but then feels numb. Had Harry not called him, he would be dead. Fuck, if Harry never called, Louis would come home to his husband dead on the floor, and he never said goodbye this morning.
Harry furrows his eyebrows. “What's the matter?”
A moment of hesitance passes. “Nothing I was just thinking, babes. Uh, actually, I'm gonna go have a wee, do you want me to bring you back anything?”
He stands and tries to act as mundanely as possible. “Oh yes! Some of your wee water, please.” Harry jokes, and while Louis is glad Harry can make the situation seem less serious, it doesn't take away his own pain.
So, he forces a laugh, managing to exit the room without a sign of discomfort, but once in the hall, he combusts, trembling and sniffling from the thought of losing Harry.
His boy is so unknowing of what the future holds. God, he doesn't even know he's being demoted to a cane, how the hell is that one going to roll over smoothly?
It can't possibly. Harry's going to be so upset.
Before long Louis’ thoughts bring on involuntarily gags, and he's seriously running to the bathroom to heave. He doesn't know the last time he's thrown up from nerves - he’s sure it was sometime in his prime, while he was still in a boyband - but this incident is the worst by far.
He rests his forehead against the cool porcelain, not giving the potential bacteria build up a second thought, as he spits into the bowl, trying to rid his mouth of the bitter taste.
After taking a few minutes to slow his rapid breathing, he finds the strength in himself to retrieve his phone out of his back pocket. Ignoring, the unimaginable amount of texts and calls from the Gemma, Lottie, and his girls, he searches through his recents for Liam’s number.
He keeps himself propped against the toilet, one hand tugging at his disheveled hair, as he waits for the bloody thing to stop ringing.
“Louis? Hey, is everything okay?” Liam immediately asks. Louis senses that he’s no longer at the office as he hears a little girl, Liam’s daughter Violet, calling for him to which Liam says, “Not right now darling, daddy’s on the phone.”
And Louis doesn't know why, he thought he had himself all sorted, but another round of crying starts. This time he’s unable to get ahold of himself, speaking incomprehensibly. His shallow, ragged breaths are first to go through the phone. “I fucking...Harry...and the bloody...why us? Fuck, why us?” he cries.
“Hey, it’s okay. What’s going on? Where are you?”
Louis hears a creaking noise in the background, almost as if Liam’s climbing out of bed. This is followed by a soft voice, Sophia’s soft voice, asking, “What has you in such a hurry, huh? Can't you lay here with me for a few more moments, you’re always on the go.”
“Louis and Harry babe, I’m sorry.” he says, though it doesn't sound too apologetic. Louis wants to apologize for interrupting whatever they were doing, but words aren't coming easy to him. “Where are you?” Liam repeats.
Louis tries to get himself together, but it isn't working. He rubs his hand over his face. “Hospital...bathroom.”
“St. Michaels?” Liam asks. It's the closest one around, considering both Liam and Louis live about five miles away from each other, it’s somewhere in the middle.
Louis hums, unable to produce any words. He shuts his eyes, trying to stifle the cries building up his throat. It feels as though a weight is on his chest, pressing down on his lungs, and he doesn't know he’ll ever be able to breathe again.
“I'll be there as soon as I can.” Liam says, then the line goes dead.
If this is what Harry feels like when he has panic attacks, then Louis wants to apologize to him for all the grief. He can't breathe and his body feels shaky. He isn't sure he would be able to stand if he needed to.
The bathroom door opens a few times, and he makes out the sneakers and boots of a few men as they use the restroom, and in those moments, he tries to remain quiet. If there's one thing he doesn't want, it’s attention.
As he finally starts to calm himself down, humming a tune to himself, the back of his head rests against the metal stall.
His perception of time is off. He has no idea how many minutes tick by - though it feels like hours at one point - before he hears the bathroom door open, followed by a call of his name, “Louis? Mate, are you still in here?”
It’s Liam. He's never been more happy to hear the younger lad. “Yeah.” he breathes, getting on his knees to unlock the stall. He doesn't have it in him to stand yet.
“Louis…” Liam sighs, seemingly unbothered as he steps into the stall, and offers Louis his hand. “Let's get you off the floor, and we can find somewhere more reasonable to sit.”
Louis takes his hand and rises to his feet. His legs feel shaky, but he’s able to stand nonetheless. They walk down to the cafeteria, and Liam leaves Louis at one of the tables for a moment while he retrieves coffee for the two of them.
He sets a steaming cup of sweetened coffee in front of Louis before sitting down across from him. “What happened Tommo?”
“Harry, he had a seizure, but the doctor told me it caused a minor heart attack, so they have to monitor him for a few days.”
Liam shuts his eyes, exhaling deeply, “I’m sorry.”
“And um,” Louis has trouble saying it. “He’s gonna have to start using a cane.”
“You're kidding.” Liam sounds exasperated, trying to meet Louis’ eyes despite the blue-eyed boy keeping his focus pinpointed to his cup. “Why?”
Louis shakes his head. “I wish. The doctor was saying he’s showing signs of neuropathic pain from the exertion the seizures cause, and it's only going to get worse.”
It's hard for Louis to imagine, and he's sure it's difficult for Liam too. Harry used to be so youthful, jumping and dancing all the damn time, whether it be on stage or not. Harry has never been physically limited, and now at just forty three years old, he's going to be limited to a cane.
Needlessly said, the thought kills Louis. “He doesn't even know yet, Liam. How does someone even go about telling him?”
Liam doesn't know what to say. “What does that mean anyway? Neuropathic pain?”
“She said pain, weakness, and numbness on the right side of his body. His reflexes are slow, I suppose, I don’t really know.”
Taking a prolonged sip of coffee, Liam speaks again once he sets the cup down. “You know Gemma called me on the way here, she’s worried.” he changes the subject.
“What did you tell her?”
“I said Harry was getting treatment. She asked if she should bring the girls home from their trip, I told her no. She said she tried calling you like twenty times, mate.”
Louis sighs. “I know, I fucked up, but I couldn't hold myself together enough to talk to her. I could barely hold myself together trying to talk to you and you're my best friend.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Liam asks, blatantly not knowing how to stay on one topic. Realistically, what is he supposed to say?
“Will you help me make the house a bit more Harry friendly? I just want to clean it up a bit, and make sure it's easy for him to get around. I don't want him worrying about anything.”
Liam doesn't hesitate remotely. “Of course.”
“I'm going to go back up, and say goodbye to him. I don't know if you want to see him too?”
“You know I do.”
So, the two of them walk back to Harry’s room, and despite him being asleep, Louis walks over to him, brushes his hair out of his face, and places a kiss to his forehead. “I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning, baby.”
Liam walks over to him, squeezes his shoulder, whispering, “Get better kid. I'll see you when you're feeling up to it.”
After that, they walk out to the car park, and Liam follows behind Louis in his car as they ride back to his house. Liam pauses in the doorway, his eyes catching on the huge blood stain in the carpet. "Shit." he hisses.
"I know." Louis sighs. Instead of grabbing the cleaner first, he goes to the backdoor where Jagger is panting heavy outside. Letting the dog inside, he instantly drops to his knees, burying his face into the German Sheppard's fur as he pets his side. "I'm sorry bud. We'll get you a big bowl of water and some treats, okay? Harry isn't doing too well."
Jagger acts almost as if understands Louis, howling loudly at the mention of Harry's name. "I know you wanted to help him, but you know how stubborn the bugger is. Come on lad, come on." he rises to his feet and grabs a fresh bowl from the cupboard, filling it with cold water before setting it down in front of the big dog. He digs out a rawhide for Jagger, setting it down beside the water bowl.
Liam walks into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know how you do it man."
"Honestly, I don't know either." he replies, leaning against the counter. "You want something to drink? I've got beer. You can help yourself."
"He bled a lot." Liam concludes.
"Yeah, he did. I ought to clean it up. Do me a favor and make more spaces between the couches and recliners." Louis steps away from the counter, finding the carpet cleaner underneath, then he treads into the living room, beginning to clean it up.
Sometimes he wishes things were different, now is one of those times.
“I'm going to be home with dad in about half an hour, after he finishes changing, so please keep your manners, yeah? Take it easy on him.” Louis says into the phone to his eldest daughter. “And please, do not say anything about the cane, alright? He’s already having a hard enough time with it.”
Kyra sighs. “So, we just have to ignore the situation?”
“For now, yes. Tell your sisters the same thing, alright? We’ll talk about it later. I’m gonna give him a hand and then I'll be home. Love you, bye.” he says, disconnecting the call, and places the phone in his back pocket.
He walks back into the hospital room, finding Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, all clothes on except for his shirt, which hangs over his shoulder. Louis can’t help but gawk at him as he’s still rather defined in his abdomen. “How we doing love?” Louis asks, stepping closer to his husband.
“Fine.” Harry sighs, and while can tell something is bothering him, though he doesn't know whether it's appropriate to ask. He watches as his spouse pulls his shirt over his head and slides his arms through the holes in a matter of seconds.
How is it this man in front of him is in need of a cane?
“Just fine?” Louis asks.
Harry nods. “I want to go home is all Lou. Four days in the hospital with a bunch fucking wires and a thousand different specialists was a bit much, don't you think?”
“You needed all of it, there's nothing wrong with that.” Louis replies, keeping his eyes on Harry.
“Four fucking days, Louis, I’ve been laid up in a hospital for four days. I'm just so tired of it.” Harry stands, and Louis notices the quick grimace that flashes over his features.
Understandably, Harry’s been a bit irritable since the doctor came in to talk to him two days ago about using a cane. Louis has rarely seen him snap at someone other than himself or the girls, but he was such a dickhead to her that Louis is surprised she was able to keep a steady stream of speech.
He doesn't want to use a cane because he doesn’t see the value in it. It makes sense, he doesn't walk with much of a limp or it doesn't seem he struggles to walk, but if the doctor is suggesting it, then odds are it’ll help in the long run.
“I know you are, but we’ll be home soon. We’ve got to wait for the nurse to discharge you.” Louis explains. It’s a matter of signing off on a form and having a nurse push him to the main entrance in a wheelchair as procedure.
Fortunately, as Harry becomes more aggravated with each moment that passes, a nurse comes up five minutes later, smiling as kindly as she can despite Harry behaving pompously. Everything is sorted in two minutes as she recites the discharge information to Louis, then she has Harry hop into the wheelchair for a joyride.
Louis knows she's waiting for him to hand over the cane to Harry when they get outside, so he holds it out to his husband, waiting for him to take it.
The look Harry shoots him is one of solemnity as he grabs the cane.
Yesterday, a specialist came in to show Harry how to walk properly with it, so he's well trained in the process of standing and walking with a cane.
Harry presses the tip down on the cement, pushing his weight on it as he stands. He grips the cane in his left hand because it’s supposed to provide more support for his “bad” leg.
“Good luck with everything.” The nurse says, smile plastered on her face still. She turns around with the wheelchair, so Louis figures she’s cursing their names as she walks back inside.
“You got it babe?” he asks, standing parallel with Harry.
“I don't need this, Louis.”
“If you didn't need it, you wouldn't have it. You're not being punished.”
Harry huffs and continues on forward, not particularly satisfied with his answer. They walk to the car, which Louis has parked toward the front, and he doesn't bother getting the door for Harry, figuring he’ll snap at him if he does so.
He starts the car once Harry’s inside and settled and they continue on with their ten minute journey to home. “The girls bought us a candle set over in France. Smells like heaven.” Louis says, trying to rid the awkward tension.
Something in Harry must flip because he immediately glances at him. “Is there a vanilla one?”
“Vanilla bean. I was thinking you and me could use it tonight...when we take our bath together.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “We’re taking a bath together?”
“Tonight, baby, you and me, that vanilla bean candle, some sultry music for good measure.”
“Sounds nice.” Harry hums.
Louis grins. Now he has him wrapped around his finger. “Figured it would be a nice introduction to our break.”
“Break?” Harry adjusts his position in the passenger seat so he's facing Louis entirely.
“I'm taking some time off of work, H, don't worry about it.” He keeps his eyes on the road until they come to a red stoplight. He peeks over at Harry.
“How much time? Louis I -”
“A couple months, maybe more, it depends.”
"Depends on what?" Harry asks. Instantly, the intimacy is gone.
Louis sighs. "It depends on how you feel."
“I don't need you to do that, I’m fine.” Harry argues, sounding rather bothered.
“Harry, you're not.”
“Louis -”
“Harry, you're not fine. If you were fine...you know what? Never mind, I’m not having this conversation with you, not right now.”
Harry isn't letting it go. “If I was fine what?”
“Nothing.”
“What were you going to say?” he persists.
“Nothing, Harry.”
“Say what you mean, Louis, come on. I can handle it.”
“Fine!” he exclaims, hitting the brakes in the middle of the street. Cars and trucks honk at him, but he doesn't care. “If you were fine, you wouldn't be using a cane, you wouldn't have had a heart attack, you wouldn't have seizures triggered by the wrong noise or light, and you wouldn't be fucking falling apart in front of me.” he struggles with saying the last part, chest heaving with sharp inhales. “And I can’t lose you.”
Harry swallows. “Louis, I've had a great life.”
“Harry don't - ”
“But I have. I have a beautiful husband, three gorgeous little girls, the most amazing friends. I was a sex symbol for millions of people, I’ve made successful album after successful album, I’m a bloody movie star, and I’ve made an impact on so many, and I’m happy with everything in my life. Why can't you be happy for me?”
“You're my everything , don’t you understand that? If I were to lose you, I don't know what I would do. Thirty years Harry, we’ve been together for nearly thirty years, how do you expect me to just be content with losing you?”
Harry shakes his head. “Drive, I want to go home.”
“Maybe you’re satisfied with everything, but I’m not. I won’t be satisfied until we’re old and grey and our daughters are successful and happy and we can say that we lived our lives to the fullest."
“I'm not saying I’m satisfied, I’m just saying if something were to happen I’ve had a great life and I wouldn't change a thing, okay? Can we go home?” Harry asks, turning his face from Louis. "I love you so much, babe, I just don't think we have anything to worry about for a long while."
He can't argue with him anymore. "I love you too." he whispers, proceeding with driving the last few minutes. He pulls into the driveway five minutes later, and waits for Harry to climb out before locking the doors. “The girls will be so happy to see you.”
Harry doesn't say anything, taking it slow as he walks up the three front porch steps. Holding open the door for him, Louis glances towards the girls who are gathered in the front room, watching a movie. “Look who’s finally home girls.”
“Daddy!” Lydia shouts, running to Harry. She hugs his legs, since she only comes up to his thigh, and Harry rests one hand on top of her head, playing with her red curls. “Daddy, what's this?” she asks, touching the cane.
“Just something to help daddy out, lovebug.” Harry answers. He looks to Louis, biting down on his bottom lip, then returns his attention to the littlest of his girls.
Lydia rubs her hand over it. "It looks like a candy cane daddy!"
Harry chuckles. "I guess you're right honey."
"Maybe daddy'll let you paint it. Oh, come here!" Louis picks her up, blowing a raspberry against her little neck. "I love you!"
Sylvia stands next, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders as she approaches , “How are you feeling?” she asks.
Kyra glances at him once, says a quick “hi dad” then returns to her movie without another care. Harry still doesn't understand why she's distant towards him, but Louis continues to tell him not to worry. She very recently came out to them as gay, and for whatever reason it’s only worsened her relationship with Harry.
It hadn't taken a genius to figure out that she was hiding something. After all, she and her best friend, Victoria, often went up to her room for hours on end and Kyra would come downstairs with lipstick marks and hickeys on her body. Also, there were the times Kyra would accidentally say she instead of he and her instead of him.
Though, the secrecy never made much sense to them. They're gay, so it didn't bother them, at all, that she preferred women over men.
He’s closest with Sylvia, feeling as though she relates best to him, as she’s recently been diagnosed with her own problem, and perhaps that's why she understands him a bit more than the other two. Her diagnosis of Diabetes had been rough, and since then Harry has seen a lot of himself in her. A lot of fear and anxiety sprouted from her, but knowing Harry understood childhood illness seemed to aid her through the entire experience.
He moves his hand to Sylvia’s shoulder. “I’m much better. How was France babes?”
“It was the best dad! Aunt Gem bought me a new floral dress, it’s gorgeous. I can't wait to show you.” she gushes.
He touches her face. “Yes, I'm sure you look beautiful in it.”
“And we brought you back candles and French dessert! Did you know they eat dessert before their meals sometimes?”
Louis smiles when he watches interest cause Harry’s eyes to sparkle. “Really?”
“Yeah! Come sit, I have so many pictures to show you.” She’s always been a talker, an enthusiastic one at that. She takes his hand in hers and leads him over to the couch, not caring that Kyra is laying there. She pulls her phone out and starts flipping through photo album after photo album before finding the one titled ‘French Adventures!’. “I'll show you after papa.” she says, making sure she includes Louis.
“You better.” Louis hums, glancing around their home. His eyes fall on the kitchen, which reminds him of supper. “So what does everyone want for dinner?”
“Anything?” Kyra asks, mouth dropping open. The don't usually pick their meals.
For some reason, the most unhealthy, greasy foods Harry can think of are now the most delectable sounding.
Louis smiles. “Anything you want. We can go out if you’d like.”
Harry shakes his head, warding Louis away with a wave of his hand. “How about something normal. Pizza?”
“You, the man who always yells at me for eating junk food, wants to eat a big greasy pizza for dinner?” Louis asks, because, well, that is so strange of Harry. Harry has always been the healthnut. Then again, he doesn’t blame him for wanting to indulge himself in something that isn’t under cooked or entirely inedible, like some of the hospital food.
“I’d like that very much.” Harry says. Louis tries not to notice the wince and scrunch of his nose when he moves the wrong way, jarring his chest. “I want something that doesn’t taste like the bottom of my shoe.”
Louis doesn’t say anything about the matter to him, knowing better than drawing attention because it’ll upset him.
Harry smiles at Sylvia’s pictures, making comments about particular ones, while Louis orders pizzas. “I like that one a lot Sylvie. You look so pretty.” He uses his fingers to zoom in on it.
Louis returns to the living room, sitting in one of the recliners. Lydia climbs onto his lap, cuddling into his chest. He hardly notices the stain in the carpeting now, though it’s still there. The area is darker than the rest of the carpet, but no one should be able to tell its blood, Harry’s blood. “Did you have fun Ky?”
Kyra shrugs at him. “It was okay. Aunt Charlotte was on my back the entire fucking time.”
“Hey, watch your language.” Louis warns, then asks, “Why was she on your back?”
“I guess she had nothing better to do. By the way her sons are brats, I hate them.”
He sighs. “You don't mean that.”
“Can I get back to my movie now?” Louis doesn't say anything else. “Thanks.” She rolls her eyes.
Harry’s booming voice pulls his attention from Kyra’s bad attitude. “Those were beautiful! You should really go into photography babes, go show your papa.”
Sylvia comes over to him, leaning over the arm of the couch as she flicks through the photo album. Occasionally, she glances at Louis to gauge his reaction. “Aunt Charlotte looks just like you in this picture.” she says when they come across one particular selfie.
“It's the eyes.” Louis comments. He laughs at a silly selfie of Sylvia, Lydia, and Lottie’s twin sons, William and Harry - who is definitely named after Harry, though she denies it.
“This is my favorite.” Sylvia says, stopping at a picture of Kyra with her back turned to the camera. It's taken on a beach in France, presumably early in the morning since the sky is full of pink and orange hues.
“You should enter that into a contest or something, wow.” Louis says, awestruck. He glances up for a split second to see Harry starting to slump over. “You okay, sweetheart?” His questions grab all the girls attention as they look towards Harry.
Harry nods. “I’m just really tired. Can I sleep before dinner?”
“Of course.” he answers. “Do anything you need to do sweetheart. Kyra move over so your dad can lay down.”
She groans but does as he asks, sliding over to take up a smaller portion of the couch.
Almost as soon as he lays down, he’s out like a light. Louis stands, grabbing the blanket newly draped over the back of their loveseat, and swathes it over the sleeping love of his life.
He slips into the kitchen, quiet as he treads towards the fridge, and peeks at the last mark left on the calendar taped to the fridge. The month is July and all the dates are crossed off until it reads Friday the 18th.
Today’s the 23rd. It’s been five days since Harry had his seizure and for some reason Louis can’t fathom time. It doesn’t feel real.
He questions everything for a moment. Perhaps he’s been dreaming this entire thing and he’ll walk back into the front room and Harry will be shouting at some singing competition show, but deep down he knows that he won’t.
He’s going to walk back into the front room and Harry will still be sleeping, with his cane at his side, and Louis’ just as okay with that. Things don’t have to be as they were before to make him happy.
This didn’t happen for the good of anyone. Some people have had the audacity to tell him this entire situation happened for a reason, Harry has epilepsy for a reason, Harry couldn’t speak or walk for months after he had his surgery for a reason, their future has been severely strained for a reason. Anyone who has bothered to tell him any of the above is wrong.
There is no probable, well-deserved life lesson learned from the past years and there will be no powerful life lesson learned in the months following this. What happened was not to show them that together they can overcome all odds.
No. Harry had a seizure, he has epilepsy caused from some incurable genetic malformation found only recently, and through that Louis loves him more, but there was nothing of value that came from those strenuous years and months of not knowing.
He didn’t know if Harry was going to make it for the longest time. There wasn’t any time for him to revisit the greater powers and their workings. His husband needed him, needs him, and will always need him to some extent.
But he’s okay with that. He can’t predict the future. He doesn’t know if there will be long after this, but he does know that he has his best friends, his daughters, and, most importantly, his husband, who is somehow more of a miracle than he had originally thought and with them everything will be okay.
They’ll be okay.