Radiohead

by Alejandro-C (JLYCHELSEA11), JLYCHELSEA11

Summary:

Louis knows emptiness—the absence of everything, the silence that feels like relief. He chases it in the haze of pills, in the fleeting moments when his mind finally stops screaming. Harry finds it in hunger, in the weightlessness of a body fading away—two extremes of the same obsession, two ways of escaping themselves. But when darkness collides with darkness, what once felt inevitable begins to shift, taking on colour. After all, what is an accident if not the convergence of two forces that were never meant to meet?
Louis doesn't care, and neither does Harry, about the fact that they might destroy each other, they're willing to try.

Chapter 1

Louis crushed the powder with his scissors, arranging it meticulously on his agenda, using the old Neverland park card almost mockingly. A bitter laugh escaped him—he couldn’t believe what he was putting himself through.

It was his first day back at school, and he felt like shit. He’d only come back because he needed to get out of the house, to escape everything and everyone, to sink deeper into his own mess. To be alone with it.

He caught himself lost in his thoughts, so deep that he nearly choked on his own saliva, coughing hard enough to scatter the powder across the floor and his pants.

"Shit," he muttered, wiping it off, packing the rest of his things. This was all he had left, anyway.

But he stayed there, sitting cross-legged on the toilet lid, trying to breathe. No meds left. He’d just have to pray his brain stayed quiet for the next two hours until class was over.

He heard someone enter the stalls—slow, hesitant. The guy sat next to him, the last stall. Louis covered his mouth, steadying his breath, trying not to let the quick rhythm of it give him away.

He wasn’t in a place that allowed imperfection. Sadness? Sure, but only if it was about not getting a club ticket or the newest phone. His parents worked too hard to pay for his private university; this was a world where everyone was scrambling to be better than everyone else. Louis wasn’t better than anyone. He was nothing.

He heard the guy next to him struggling. His breaths were sharp, uneven, like he was holding something back, scratching at his throat. Louis felt it—a pang of empathy, maybe understanding. He knew that feeling, that constant urge to hurt yourself, just to feel something other than numb.

The guy was fighting it. Fighting the urge to self-destruct. Louis didn’t know him, but he could feel it—could hear it. And it was gut-wrenching.

Louis tapped the wall lightly, the sound almost lost in the silence between them. The guy froze, his breaths loud in the sudden quiet.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked, his voice shaking slightly, nerves spilling into the words.

The guy stayed quiet for a second, then gave a dry, raspy laugh. After a spit and the sound of the flush, he muttered, “Yeah, the breakfast didn’t sit right. What’re you doing in there?”

“I was about to get high,” Louis answered flatly, resting his head against the wall, feeling the cool of the bathroom button digging into his back.

“Did I interrupt?” The guy’s voice was unsure, but there was a laugh in it. Confused.

“No. It fell,” Louis sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I was about to go home, eat a cake, and throw it up. You know, calm the anxiety down.”

“Idiot,” the guy growled from the other side. Louis heard him shift, probably sitting on the floor. His backpack hit the door with a dull thud.

“If you really felt bad, you wouldn’t care so much about being quiet,” the guy muttered, voice heavy with something Louis couldn’t place. Silence fell again, both of them lost in it for a moment.

Then, after what felt like forever, the guy’s voice came through again, quieter, more uncertain: “Were you really about to get high?”

“Yeah. Want some?” Louis’s tone was lighter, almost mocking. He could hear the hesitation on the other side, and it made him chuckle.

“How much for?”

“We can share.” Louis didn’t miss the laugh that came next.

“Better smoke it at home. Wouldn’t want you taking the subway with a car or something out there,” Louis said, his voice picking up a small rhythm. It wasn’t anything special, but it was something. It felt like normal. For a second, he forgot how bad everything felt.

“What’s your name?” the guy asked.

“I’m not telling you,” Louis replied, his voice distant but amused.

“Okay. What’re you studying?”

“Psychology.”

“Ah, me too.” The guy paused. “This never happened, alright? Whatever we do with our lives... that’s our business.”

Louis smiled bitterly to himself. He knew what it was like to keep things to yourself. "Not like I was planning to tell anyone. I don’t even have many friends. Just some classmates."

“Me neither. And honestly, if you told anyone, it would be worse.” The guy’s voice grew distant like he was already moving to leave.

“I’m leaving,” he said, gathering his things.

“Okay.”

Louis stayed silent for a beat, hearing the guy’s footsteps retreat, the door creaking open.

“Don’t puke anymore today. That’s enough.” The guy glanced at the door, his voice steady now. He couldn’t even see Louis’s shoes, not with him sitting like that. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Mhm.” Louis cleared his throat, sensing the conversation was done. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, moving toward the door.

He stepped out of the bathroom, unsure of his next move. His chest still felt tight, his hands still shaking a bit. He checked the time on his phone and realized he was already late.

He took a deep breath, tried to shake it off, and headed for the classroom, trying to appear like he had it all under control.

Chapter 2

Entering the classroom was both a relief and a new weight at the same time. As soon as he crossed the door, he froze, staring at the professor’s assistant. She wasn’t intimidating; on the contrary, she was sweet, no older than twenty-three, with red hair and big glasses.

“Could you tell me your last name? I’m just taking attendance,” she asked.

“Tomlinson,” he replied. She nodded, signaling him to sit. He chose the last row of desks, with Niall and two other guys sitting in front of him.

“Dude, you took forever,” his friend turned to look at him.

“I totally lost track of time, I was messing around on my phone while it was charging,” he lied, taking his stuff out.

Colson glanced at him and lowered his head.

The door opened, and two girls walked in with their coffees, laughing without caring that they were interrupting the class. Behind them, a guy with curls falling below his ears and green eyes entered, wearing oversized black clothes. Louis knew the color of his eyes when they went toward Niall, who scanned him up and down, making the guy lower his gaze and head to the other side of the room. Louis didn’t pay much attention to that, too focused on how handsome the guy was.

“Guys, your last names,” the assistant called out. The responses were ‘Gonzales, Rybak, and Styles.’

Louis opened the WhatsApp group and searched for that surname, but it wasn’t there. He cursed internally.

Styles propped his legs on his own chair effortlessly while using his phone, seemingly not paying attention to the class at all.

He kept to himself. Despite having a familiar face in the class, it was as if he moved in a plastic bubble that kept him from interacting with anyone. His awkward style and reserved attitude made him stand out, but not in a good way; the girls chatted, and the guys looked at him from above. It bothered Louis, especially considering they were psychology students, but he couldn’t say anything.

He didn’t realize he had been lost in thought until he saw Niall get up with another guy and leave the classroom. He considered approaching Styles, but for some reason, his body didn’t respond. He knew he couldn’t just walk up to him and talk as if nothing was wrong. The guy usually sat alone, and that loneliness seemed like a barrier Louis didn’t know how to cross. He wanted to find a way to start a conversation without being horribly rejected.

He stood up, but Colson grabbed his arm. The blue-eyed guy hissed.

“Why are you late?”

“You’re hurting me,” Louis murmured, not wanting anyone to hear—“let go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to the new guy.”

“There’s no new guy,” Colson frowned but turned when Louis nodded toward the other side of the room. “He’s been with us since the start.”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“He used to blend in, now he’s weirder.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Louis, if you go up to him, who knows if Niall…”

“He can’t control our lives,” Louis interrupted, planting his hands on the table and leaning closer to Colson’s face.

“It’s Harry Styles, remember him?” He noticed the guy glance at them when his name was mentioned, so Louis sat down. “He used to be really close to Niall.”

“He was fourteen the last time I saw him at a party, never talked to him.”

“There’s a reason no one talks to him.”

“Would you like to be that alone?”

“No, that’s why I stick with you guys and don’t do stupid things like what you want to do.”

“He’s gonna be alone for the next four years.”

“Louis, it’s not our problem. Every stray dog isn’t our responsibility.”

“We were in his shoes, and we got lucky. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Do whatever you want. Just don’t bring him around here if you want to stay with us.”

“Are you gonna leave me?”

“I won’t, you know that,” Colson sighed, looking at him pleadingly.

“I’ll see you outside.” Louis grabbed his stuff and headed toward the curly-haired guy.

He looked at him when he got closer and forced a smile when Louis sat in the third seat, leaving the middle one empty. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you understand anything from the class? This is pretty much Japanese to me,” the guy smiled softly, nodding. Louis hadn’t expected that answer.

“Want me to explain anything?”

“Everything,” Louis laughed. He noticed the smile wasn’t soft; it was tired. He was afraid of overwhelming him. “Sorry to bother you, but my friends don’t have anything.”

“No, it’s fine, no problem,” he handed him his phone, placing it on the desk. All of his notes were neatly arranged in a Word file. “Or do you prefer I send it to you on WhatsApp?”

Louis smiled internally, trying not to look too eager. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Are you okay if I sit here?”

“The seats don’t have names,” he answered. Louis was about to respond to the guy’s rude tone, but he blinked a few times and shook his head.

“Sorry, yeah, of course, you can sit. I slept for two hours, and sometimes I come off as rude, but that’s just how I am.”

“I’m the same, or when I’m really hungry,” Louis added. At that, Harry looked up, silently studying him. Louis didn’t understand it but decided to stay quiet.

-

When Louis stepped out, he thought about trying to talk to the curly-haired guy again, but Harry was already moving too fast.

"Hey, I gotta go to the library, you guys go ahead," he told his friends, who nodded without looking up. They were already deep in conversation, like they hadn’t even noticed him.

Louis watched as Harry walked towards the far end of the building, avoiding the crowd by the main elevator. He didn’t waste any time catching up.

"Harry," he called, voice steady. Harry turned, eyebrows raised, but the moment he saw him, his face softened.

"Hey," Harry said, still with that smile, and went to press the elevator button.

“I wanted to ask you for your Instagram,” Louis let it slip, his breath catching. Harry swallowed, pulled out his phone, and nodded.

"Just give me your username, and you can follow me after."

"Cool," Louis muttered under his breath, too caught up in the moment. The elevator doors opened, and his heart raced. He hated places like this.

“You coming?” Harry asked. Louis nodded, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to hide how badly he was shaking.

He couldn’t tell if it was the fact he was talking to Harry, the small space of the elevator, or just how damn pretty he was.

He stepped in behind Harry, who pressed the button for the ground floor. They stood there quietly, but Louis caught that subtle smile on Harry’s face, the way his cheeks were flushed.

He hated how he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to hear that voice again, wanted his eyes to lock on him the way they did earlier.

"Ground floor," the voice chimed. Harry smiled, stepped out, and adjusted his bag.

"Nice meeting you, Louis. Talk later."

Louis barely got the words out, throat dry. "Yeah, see you."

Chapter 3

Harry closed the door behind him with a tired sigh, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tossed his bag onto a chair, along with his coat.

He stripped down and entered the bathroom, turning on the heater. He waited for what felt like an eternity for the bathtub to fill with hot water. His bones ached, the cold had gotten to him, and he just wanted the warmth.

As the water ran, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His body was fragile, thin, marked by prominent bones and bruises he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten. The tears from the bathroom at the university were still fresh in his mind, but now, alone again, he faced his worst enemy—the one staring back at him in the mirror.

He carefully stepped into the bath, letting the heat wash over him, easing the pain. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in his body dissolve into the water.

He turned off the tap and relaxed completely.

As he submerged himself, his thoughts drifted back to Louis.

He sank deeper, eyes closed, hands gripping the sides of the tub. He felt every bone in his body, his body deflating—like it was an addictive, comforting sensation.

He came up for air and rested his back against the edge. He thought of him again—Louis, standing outside the subway, smoking. The way he stood tall with his backpack, in those baggy pants that somehow still accentuated his ass, the tattoos on his hands, his deep blue eyes. He couldn’t help but let his hand trail down his chest to his thigh, imagining Louis’ touch.

He sighed, eyes still closed.

Louis kissing him in one of those empty classrooms below ground, undressing him slowly. Those images kept flashing in his mind, but after several minutes of touching himself, he couldn’t get his mind, his body, and his fantasies to align. He opened his eyes, only to realize there was no sign of arousal.

He felt pathetic. There were no traces of desire, even though he knew he wanted the boy with the blue eyes.

The buzz of his phone on the floor snapped him out of his head. He hesitated for a second before drying his hands and stretching. It was a notification from Instagram—Louis had liked his only three photos.

He kneeled in the tub, quickly typing a simple message.

‘Heyyy :)’

Chapter 4

Louis had invited a guy he met on Grindr over to his place to watch “movies,” but it didn’t go well.

The blue-eyed boy lowered his gaze before getting up to lock the door, silently crying as his hands traced the scars on his arms and hips. He accidentally burned his hand with the cigarette, but it didn’t hurt much, though he did put it out and leave it on the table.

He pulled out the medication box from a cupboard, throwing everything on the counter. He grabbed a small bag, then the spoon, a syringe, his lighter, and a new needle—he always kept them around.

With trembling hands, Louis closed the bathroom door and leaned against it for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. Pain and shame enveloped him like a thick, suffocating blanket.

He flicked on the light and avoided the mirror, sitting on the floor by the toilet. It was his ritual to escape the pain.

As he waited, he watched the flame of the lighter, his thoughts drifting back to Troye and the disgust in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time someone had reacted like that, but it hurt more each time. He tried, he really did, even if it was with a stranger, but he couldn’t handle the way they looked at him.

Soon, the syringe was filled with liquid gold. He tied a rubber band around his arm carefully, searching for a vein—he knew how to do it; he had seen his mom practice. Even his skin bore the scars of past encounters with the need to escape.

Minutes, time, everything faded away in the fear and excitement. Would he die? Was this the end?

The liquid entered his bloodstream, and a sigh of relief, almost like a moan, escaped his lips. The emotional pain melted away, replaced by pleasure, calm. He lay down on the bathroom floor, staring at the ceiling as the world around him blurred into numbness. He thought he had come in his pants or had an accident, but he wasn’t sure.

His phone buzzed. He couldn’t make out the letters clearly, but saw something like Harry’s name and felt a little happy. He called him, unable to type out his name.

“Hey,” his voice sounded oddly tired, almost post-orgasmic to Harry’s ears.

“I didn’t expect you to call.”

“I couldn’t write, saw your name, called,” Louis smiled, thinking of the curly-haired boy. “I’m cold,” he started feeling strange. “I’m fine,” he exhaled heavily, then laughed. “Wanna come over? I’ve got water.” He bit his numb tongue, tasting blood.

“It’s like, almost eleven.” Harry laughed, puzzled.

Louis pulled the phone from his ear and opened WhatsApp, sending Harry his location—Third floor. “I’m not leaving anyway,” he hung up.

It wasn’t that far—maybe twenty minutes at most. The guy didn’t seem so bad, and though it sounded strange, maybe it would lift his mood, so he carefully got up and dried himself off. Meanwhile, he ordered an Uber.

Chapter 5

Louis was slouched by the door, in a shitty old building that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the '80s. It had that vibe—like an abandoned brothel next to train tracks, with the cracks in the walls telling a story of neglect. His eyes were red, swollen from too much crying, staring at the damp mess next to him.

Harry approached, not rushing, eyes scanning the scene. He reached his hand out, careful, like touching him might break him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Louis sniffled, his eyes sore and irritated.

"You told me to come…" Harry crouched, close enough to make out the brokenness in his voice. "You alright?"

"Everything’s fucked, but whatever. Don’t stay out here, it’s not safe."

"And you're out here, in the middle of it."

"To this place, I’m just another addict," Louis muttered, his voice distant. The door creaked open. It was the nicest place on the block, but that wasn’t saying much.

Louis nodded slowly, not fully there, and motioned for Harry to follow. But the door wouldn’t budge.

"Let me help."

"I’ve got it," Louis sighed, trying again. Fifteen failed attempts before it finally gave way.

They took the elevator, one that looked like it’d drop to the ground any second. Top floor. Only two apartments up there. Louis had the biggest one, but it didn’t really matter. Everything inside was chaos. Three baskets of dirty laundry, dishes piled up like some kind of junkyard. The smell of incense and weed was thick enough to hide everything else.

Harry noticed the blood on Louis’ arm, frowning at it.

"Sorry for dragging you here, didn’t think it through. But c’mon, my room’s at least clean."

"Why’s the rest of the place a mess?" Harry asked, voice flat.

"Don’t use the room. I crash on the couch. Got a TV there."

Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t belong here, in this mess, but he wasn’t about to leave Louis like this.

The room was big. A bed too high off the ground, a desk with just a computer and a lamp, books scattered on the floor, collecting dust. The whole place felt like it didn’t belong in time, like it’d been stuck in some warped version of reality.

"Lie down," Louis said, his voice low, pulling Harry’s arm gently.

"You too," Harry grabbed his wrist. "You called me here. I'm worried about you."

"Why?" Louis’ voice was slow, not fully processing it.

"You’re… you don’t even remember asking me to come. Something’s different. Don’t you feel different?" Harry wasn’t sure if Louis was even hearing him.

"I’m not here anymore"" Louis shrugged, eyes half-closed.

Harry sat on the bed with him, massaging his shoulder, pulling the covers over both of them. Louis felt like skin and bones, but it was still Louis.

"Sorry, for making you come" Louis murmured.

Harry patted his head, not thinking too hard about it. Louis wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

Strangely, Harry fell asleep next to him. The bed was too damn comfortable for it to feel wrong.

Chapter 6

Louis woke up a few hours later, feeling an overwhelming urge to cry, like a weight pressing down on his chest. His stomach hurt too, more than usual. It hadn’t been real—he’d spent the whole night alone, curled up with his pillow.

He got out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, nausea gnawing at him, hoping to throw up like he usually did, but nothing came up.

He turned the faucet on and let the cold water hit his face, spitting repeatedly. The remnants of last night were still there, scattered on the floor: the syringe with blood at its tip, the burned spoon, the lighter, the cotton ball. He grabbed the bag and stuffed it into his pocket.

When he left his room, everything looked different—clean. The plates were drying on the towels, neatly stacked, the medicine box organized on a shelf, only one basket of clothes left to wash. The air smelled like floor cleaner.

There was a note on a napkin, written in black pen:

“You’re not alone, Louis. Call me when you need help, or maybe just to hang up the laundry. H.
P.S.: They canceled class today because the professor had a problem and they couldn’t find a substitute.”

Louis grabbed his phone and read the conversation from last night. So it had been real after all.

He quickly typed back: “Sorry for what happened, and thank you so much for what you did for me.”

Harry replied almost instantly before logging off:
*“Hope you keep it that way.”*

Louis laughed softly and put his phone away. He pulled the heroin out of his pocket again but tucked it back in quickly, then reached for a glass of water to ease his thirst and nausea.

He checked Harry’s Instagram, just to look at him again. There were pictures of him at the beach with a girl who had brown hair and green eyes, her back against his. She looked way too much like him to be his girlfriend, and beside her, a blonde woman, probably his mom.

Scrolling down, he found photos of Harry by himself, smiling with squinted eyes, from recent dates—it had to have been from the same vacation. Lots of pictures at the beach, but nothing showing his body beyond his arms. Just a regular, slim but healthy guy. Louis knew he was thinner than that now. Even the light in his eyes was gone.

He looked at the photos where he was tagged—some with guys he didn’t follow anymore. They were older photos, though—before 2011, when his cheeks and arms still had some fullness. But nothing before that.

Chapter 7

It was Wednesday. Louis smiled when he saw Harry sitting at the back of the classroom an hour early, wearing his headphones, well-dressed, and looking delicate. It was just the two of them.

Louis popped half a clonazepam tablet, his anxiety weighing on him since he left his apartment.

Harry looked up when Louis walked in and took off his headphones, tucking them into their case and putting them in his bag.

"Can I sit here?"

"Of course. I leave a seat in the middle for the bag. Put it there if you want," Louis said, smiling as he dropped his bag next to Harry's. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Maybe I switched out of a couple of classes. The boring ones, I’m gonna do intensives for," Harry said, giving a soft smile and nodding.

"At least I’ll see you more often. But seriously, do you find Neuro interesting?"

"It’s easy," Harry shrugged.

"Wish I had your brain."

"Actually, it’s your brain you’d want," Harry replied, trying to hide the discomfort Louis’ comment had caused.

"Listen, about yesterday... I’d rather not talk about it ever again."

"What happened yesterday?" Harry pretended to be clueless. Louis smiled.

"How about we go grab lunch after class? I know a cheap place with good food."

Harry seemed mortified. He wanted to go out with him but didn’t want to eat without knowing what he was putting in his body.

"Don’t overthink it. You can just get two toasted sandwiches and a coffee."

"Do you want to come to my place? I’m a little tight on cash."

"I don’t want to bother you."

"Seriously, come. We can work on the history assignment together. What do you say?"

Louis nodded.

---

Both of them walked toward the exit, heading to the curly-haired guy’s apartment. It was only ten blocks from the university, so they could avoid the subway, which Louis appreciated.
Harry’s apartment was perfectly tidy and smelled nice. The only thing in sight was a breakfast mug and a plate waiting to be washed, but nothing else.
Harry hung his coat on the rack and motioned for Louis to do the same. He smiled faintly in response.
— “Do you like breaded aubergine?”
— “Never tried it.” He walked up to Harry, who was rummaging through the freezer.
— “Today’s your day,” they both laughed.
— “Today’s the day. How can I help?”
— “While we wait for it to cook, we can start the assignment. You can bring the computer, it’s on my desk in the room,” Harry nodded as he walked down the small hallway.
His bed was a double, with four drawers at the base—two on the sides and two at the feet.
Next to it was a small nightstand, and against the window stood the desk. It was simple but modern and nice. The closet was part of the wall, with sliding doors.
Louis grabbed the computer and charger, noticing the books on the shelf. There were all kinds, from recipes to Russian revolution books, or sewing ones.
— “Any of them catch your eye?” the guy asked from the door.
— “I have no idea what’s in front of me,” he laughed. “Your room is really nice.”
— “Yeah, I set most of it up myself. It was destroyed before, now it’s kinda okay,” he approached. “Don’t like reading?”
— “Yeah, but I prefer psychology books, philosophy maybe, or some astrophysics, but not much more.”
— “Nerd,” Harry joked, turning to face him, his hand on the desk while Louis watched him. “Let’s go, I already put the food in the oven.”
Louis grabbed the cables, and Harry took the computer.

They both ate lunch while typing on the computer, Louis reading from a photocopy to highlight.
— “I hate this subject, it’s so boring.”
— “I think it’s interesting.”
— “And I’m the nerd?” he laughed, passing the mate.
— “We’re both kind of geeks.” Louis bit his lip, trying not to laugh.
— “You’re such an idiot.” He laughed. “Go ahead, I’m not kicking you out.”
— “Sorry,” Harry covered his mouth, laughing. “You caught me off guard.”
— “I never asked if you have a girlfriend. What’s up?” He watched him, fully focused on him, while drinking. Louis shook his head, holding back his laugh.
— “What? A boyfriend?”
— “Nope. Hardly anyone is my type.”
— “What’s your type?”
— “Matthew Daddario. Dark-haired, green-eyed, kinda smooth talker. What about you?”
— “Mhm,” Harry pretended to think, looking at the computer. “Liam Gallagher, or James Dean. I have a thing for those eyes.” He took the last of his mate and handed it to Louis.
— “High standards.”
— “You’re not far behind, Daddario.”
— “You said James Dean. There’s no man who compares.”
— “I know a couple,” he laughed, playing dumb. Louis rolled his eyes.
Louis took the mate, but this time he did it slower, glancing at Harry while speaking.

— “Has anyone ever met your standards?” he asked, handing the mate back, though his gaze lingered on Harry a little longer than usual.

Harry smiled, leaning slightly toward him, as if about to tell him a secret.

— “Sometimes I think so... but then I realize my standards are more flexible than I thought.” Louis raised an eyebrow.
— “Sounds like you settle for less.”
— “Not at all,” Harry replied, looking at him intentionally. “But sometimes you realize that what really matters isn’t something you can put on a list.”

Louis bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but the warmth in his cheeks gave him away.

— “Philosophical,” he tried to sound indifferent, but his tone betrayed him.
— “Well, I’m more than just a pretty face,” Harry joked, before turning his gaze back to the computer.
Louis chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
— “Idiot.”
— “But I make you laugh, right?” Harry replied, looking at him again with a soft smile. Louis couldn’t help it; he let out a small laugh.
— “Too much, I’d say.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but there was something different about it, a nuance neither of them wanted to address. Harry grabbed the mate again, and just before bringing it to his lips, he spoke with a tone that was more serious, yet still light:

— “Sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.” Louis stared at him, trying to read between the lines, but Harry just smiled and returned to focusing on his screen.

Louis couldn’t help but keep looking at him for a moment longer. Harry was focused on the computer, as if he hadn’t just dropped a sentence that left Louis’ heart beating a little faster than usual.

— “What if what’s in front of me is above my standards?” he said, almost challenging, but in a tone light enough for Harry to decide how to take it.
Harry looked up, smiling. His dimples showed; the blue-eyed boy melted.
— “You can always improve them... your standards. Sometimes, it’s worth it,” he replied, not breaking eye contact.

Louis felt an uncomfortable and strangely pleasant tingle all at once, that mix of nerves and curiosity he hadn’t experienced in a while. He lowered his gaze to the mate in his hands, trying to regain some control over himself.

— “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he murmured, playing with the straw to distract himself.
— “Depends on who I’m talking to,” Harry replied, leaning on the table with both arms, slightly leaning toward Louis. His tone was calm, but his gaze intense.
Louis raised his head, meeting those green eyes again that seemed to study every move he made.
— “And now?” he dared to ask, without thinking too much. Harry smiled, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Louis to notice.
— “Now, I’m not sure if I have that much confidence, but I’m being honest,” he shrugged as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “You can’t carry loneliness unless you’re a bit full of yourself.”

The air between them seemed charged with something new, something neither of them was ready to name but both could feel. Louis wanted to say something, anything, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Finally, he cleared his throat and looked away, returning to the screen in front of him.

— “Better keep working. You’re distracting me too much.” Harry let out a laugh, but didn’t insist.

Notes:

They're drinking 'Mate', a hot infusion made with leaves of the yerba mate plant. It's drank in a small cup made of pumpkin and a a metal straw with a filter at one end to prevent the leaves from being sucked up, so it'ss used to drink it.

Chapter 8

Louis tried to focus on what was in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to Harry’s words and that look that left him unsettled. A few minutes passed in silence, each of them seemingly absorbed in their task, until Harry interrupted again.

— What do you listen to when you study? — he asked, turning his chair slightly toward him.
Louis looked up, grateful for the distraction.
— It depends. A lot of Radiohead, for everything.
Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised.
— I didn’t peg you as a Radiohead fan.
— Why? — Louis frowned a little defensively. — What’s so strange about it?
Harry laughed and raised his hands in a peace gesture.
— Nothing, nothing. I just didn’t expect it. I love them too.
— They’re perfect for me. In Rainbows is unbeatable.
Harry paused for a moment, smiling, as if processing the answer.
— I have this weirdly pathological love for Reckoner.
— Romantic — Louis joked, leaning back with a teasing smile. — You know when they played "Fake Plastic Trees" live in the 90s? All the pain in his voice... it’s like you can’t breathe until it’s over.
— It’s like he says everything you want to say but don’t know how. That’s why I love it.
Louis looked at him, almost forgetting the conversation. There was something in the way Harry spoke, in the passion with which he expressed his thoughts, that made him impossible to ignore.
— Play something, then — Louis blinked, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility.
— Now?
— I’m sure you’ll pick something good — he got up. — I’m gonna heat the water.
Louis grabbed his phone and scrolled through his playlist. A few seconds later, the first chords of "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi" played.
— It’s one of my favorites.
— One of mine too, — Harry admitted quietly.
The song shifted to "All I Need," and the atmosphere in the room grew more intimate. Louis rested his head on his hand, distractedly staring at the monitor of his computer, though he had long stopped reading.
— Have you ever felt like you’re breaking a little more every day? — he sighed, overwhelmed by the amount of information he was summarizing. He didn’t think about what he said, it just spilled out.
— All the time, — Harry smiled, resting his cheek on his arm. — It’s like this invisible wear and tear, right? You only notice it when you stop and realize you’re not the same as you were before.
Louis nodded slowly, staring at the mate bulb between his fingers.
— We study to understand people, but sometimes I feel like I can’t even understand myself.
— Most people study this to understand themselves more than anything, consciously or not, — Harry said, setting his computer aside to focus completely on Louis. — I think that’s what’s going to make us good at this. Broken people tend to see the cracks in others better, and it’s easier to empathize.
Louis let out a small, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sigh. If Harry knew he had lost that ability years ago, he’d be scared.
— You think? — Harry shrugged.
— That’s what I tell myself when I have bad days, at least all this inner chaos serves for something.
Louis looked at him for a moment, as if weighing whether to open up more or stay silent.
— I’ve always thought that what I have is some kind of... emotional inertia. Like I’m floating, but not moving, — he laughed when Harry tilted his head slightly, like a puppy trying to understand his owner’s voice. — I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.
— Maybe because you know I won’t judge you. I think you can tell I’m not perfect either. — Louis looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn’t have to hide anything.
— It’s hard not to judge yourself, huh? — he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.
— That’s why everyone needs therapists. You need someone else to remind you that you’re not as bad as you think. Friends help too, but I don’t have many, — Louis let out a small laugh, this time less bitter.
— I thought we were friends, — he feigned offense, handing over the mate. Harry smiled to the side, crossing his arms over the table.
— I thought you didn’t think so.
— Come on, — he mocked, clicking his tongue.
The silence that followed was filled with something deep, a connection that went beyond words. Louis looked away, uncomfortable with how intense the moment was, but he didn’t want to break it completely.
— What about you? — Louis asked finally, trying to return the conversation. — Where does your chaos come from?
— I think it comes from wanting to understand everyone but myself. It’s easier to worry about others than face what’s inside.
— I guess that’s why we’re in this, huh? Psychology is like an escape that at the same time forces you to face everything you try to avoid.
— A kind of masochism, a punishment that’s also a refuge. — They fell into silence again, letting the music fill the gaps. Harry broke the moment with a casual but loaded question.

— Do you think we’ll ever stop feeling this way? — Louis looked at him, thoughtful.
— I don’t know. But I think if you find someone who makes you feel a little less alone in it... maybe that’s enough.
— Well, — Harry cleared his throat. — I told you my story...
— No, you just told me you’re a masochist. — They both laughed.
— I wasn’t losing anything by trying.
— With enough alcohol, I’d think about it, — Harry forced a smile, avoiding looking at the bruises on his forearms from the needles. He frowned, remembering something, and his breath caught. — They poked me wrong when they drew blood. — Louis laughed, rubbing his arms but quickly looking away.
— The first day of neuro I talked to you.
— Actually, I talked to you.
— No, in the bathrooms, it was you, right? You study psychology, and you use... you use— he stopped the sentence there. — The smile faded, and he looked at Harry’s nails, his index and middle fingers slightly shorter than the rest, and the bruises on his knuckles. — Is that why you talked to me? Did you recognize me or something?
— No, I didn’t know it was you.
— Don’t lie to me.
— Why would I lie to you? If I had known who you were, I wouldn’t have risked talking to you.
— Do you think I would’ve said something? — He closed the laptop. — If I fell, you’d fall too.
— I didn’t mean it like that, sorry, my tongue goes faster than my brain.
— What a shitty excuse, — he scoffed, standing up.
— No, come on, Harry.
— You need to think before you speak.
— I can’t think properly, I take medication that makes me all fuzzy, I don’t think, — he confessed halfway. In reality, it was mixing the divalproex with other types of drugs. — I didn’t mean that, it’s complicated, and I’d really like to explain it, but I can’t.
Harry stared at Louis for a moment. He sighed, leaned back in the chair, and stretched as if he was releasing the tension of the conversation.
— I think it’s best to call it a day, — Harry said with a tired smile. — We’ll continue later, okay?
Louis nodded, but he didn’t want it to end there. He knew the conversation had been heavy, but he wanted to know more about the guy. He looked at him, feeling a little uncomfortable.
— Let me invite you to eat, as an apology.
Harry looked at him silently for a second, surprising Louis with his soft expression.
— Why? — he joked, smiling slightly. — What did you do that was so bad? — Louis shrugged, blushing a little at the gesture, but feeling like he had to do it.
— I don’t know, for making this so... complicated. — Harry laughed, accepting the small gesture without thinking too much.
— I can now ask for something low-key, right? — Louis smiled, relieved that Harry didn’t take it badly. It wasn’t the grandest apology, but at least he felt like he could do something to ease the tension of the moment.
Louis was stepping into dangerous territory.

Chapter 9

When they left the apartment, the night was pretty cold, but in that corner of downtown Núñez, everything seemed to fade away. Sitting on the sidewalk, against the wall of a closed store, they shared vodka mixed with Sprite. The bottle in both their hands seemed like the perfect excuse to get a little closer.

Louis opened the bottle, taking a sip and feeling the warmth of the alcohol go down his throat.
"I don't know, this has a hint of something... but I'm not sure what," Louis said, smiling sideways, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Harry took the bottle and took a long sip, not stopping his gaze from meeting Louis's sparkling eyes. The way Louis spoke, that confident smile, made Harry feel a knot in his stomach.
He didn't answer, just got a little closer, almost without thinking. The distance between them was minimal, as if the air around them was charged with electricity.
"Do you prefer Sprite or Coke?" Louis smiled sideways, raising an eyebrow. He was already drunk.
"I don't know. As a former PR guy, I think about important things, like... who has the best can," Harry said, playfully toying with the drink and looking at Louis in a bold way.
Harry clicked his tongue, pretending to be serious.
"I drink a lot of Coke Zero, but my can is much more classic." He leaned a little closer, provocatively.
"I don't know, but this—" 'a shitty bottle,' he thought, looking at it— "has something that none of the others have... a touch of freshness." His gaze lingered on Harry's lips for a moment, and he couldn't help but feel a slight tingle in his chest. Harry bit his lip, smiling.
Louis leaned back against the wall, his face just inches from Harry's, breathing almost in sync.
"You have nice eyes when you're drunk," Louis laughed softly.
"My legs are nice too," Harry said without thinking.
"Risky... Do you think I'm the type of person who takes risks?"
Harry smiled, lowering his gaze to the can in his hands. He was playing, of course, but there was something about Louis that made him feel like he was stepping farther than he had planned.
"I don't know..." Harry let his answer stretch out, enjoying the game, and leaned a little closer, so close that he could feel Louis's breath on his skin. "I think you're the type of person who isn't afraid of what might happen."
Louis's breathing quickened slightly, not breaking eye contact with Harry. The vodka had done its job, but so had the intensity with which Harry was looking at him. He smiled, a little more genuinely this time, as if he couldn't help it.
"Not true. Everything scares me," Louis said, keeping his gaze steady. Harry leaned toward him, almost touching his face, the closeness now undeniable.
"I don't know how true that is," Harry said, lowering his voice, as if they were in their own world where nothing else mattered. Harry's eyes were shining, and Louis couldn't stop noticing how the proximity made him feel more present, more alive.

Louis, with a tight smile, raised the can and took another long sip, never breaking eye contact with Harry. Something in the air between them had grown thick, electric. He was so close; he could hear his own heartbeat, as if his breathing was syncing with Harry's.
"Mhm... what if I take a risk right now?" Louis paused, just for a second, then smiled again, this time even closer, almost as if he wanted to see what would happen if he crossed that line between them.
Harry didn't hesitate. He couldn't. He leaned forward, brushing his shoulder against Louis's, feeling how his skin tingled from the simple touch.
"If you take a risk," he whispered, his voice vibrating between them, "there's no going back." Louis let out a small laugh, as if he liked the idea of having control, of being on that dangerous line that neither of them had planned.
"What happens if I don't want there to be no going back?" Louis whispered. His body moved just a bit toward Harry, and the tension between them became more palpable, more intense.
Harry couldn't help but smile, both of them caught in this game they had started. The closeness, the palpable desire in the air, everything they'd said until now was just the beginning.
"Then..." Harry got even closer, his face now in front of Louis's. Harry's eyes didn't stop shining, and his breathing was almost in sync with Louis's. "I want to know what happens when the risk has no limits."

Louis smiled, a flicker of something deeper crossing his gaze, but before he could respond, they fell into silence, immersed in the electricity of the moment. They were too close, too present.

The tension between them grew with every passing second. The night was cold, but the heat was undeniable. They were so close, their breaths mingling, and every word, every glance seemed to charge the air with something neither of them knew how to describe.
The distance between their bodies was minimal, and although neither of them would admit it out loud, they both felt like they were walking a fine line, where any movement could break the balance.

Louis, with a playful smile but something vulnerable in his eyes, leaned toward Harry, almost as if daring him to take the next step. Without thinking much, he took another sip of his can.

Harry, for his part, stayed still, watching every gesture of Louis, every movement, every blink. He felt how his body tightened being so close, how the electricity between them made him feel like the world was just a bubble around them. His breath became erratic.
That gaze, that way Louis had gotten closer, everything about his attitude gave Harry the sense that the next step was no longer something between them but something that would inevitably happen. They were so close, the air between them so charged, that he couldn't help but think Louis was going to kiss him.

But Louis, feeling the brush of Harry, saw his fixed gaze, and for a moment imagined that Harry would do it. As if the next step were natural, almost predictable. He allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, a thought that was just his: What if I do it now?

Harry swallowed, feeling his heart race faster. The idea that Louis might kiss him made him shiver, but at the same time, he felt a sort of relief, like everything was okay, like it was what was meant to happen. But Louis didn't do it. Not yet.

And then, without warning, Louis took a step back, breaking the tension, breaking the moment. His mind had played against him, and he realized he had left everything in the air, without a definite answer. But before he could say anything, Harry also stepped back, looking at Louis with slight confusion, as if he too had thought the kiss was about to happen.
"What?" Harry laughed, a little uncomfortable, but also relieved not to have done anything impulsive. With a nervous laugh, he looked at Louis, unsure what to say.
"I don't know," Louis said, looking at Harry with a tense smile, "nothing."

Louis took a deep breath, watching Harry with an intensity that surprised him, but he didn't look away. Something inside him, something deep, told him he should get closer, that he should do something, even though he didn't know what.
Louis didn't think much about what he was doing. He couldn't shake the feeling that this closeness, this tension in the air, needed to be resolved somehow.
He moved a little closer again, his heart racing faster than it should, and in a rush he hadn't anticipated, his lips brushed against Harry's. It wasn't really a kiss; Harry exhaled without pulling away, before placing his hand on Louis's neck and pressing his mouth to Louis's.

The moment was so intense it felt like time stopped. Louis, pulling away, said nothing. He just looked at Harry, his eyes fixed on him, waiting for a reaction that he wasn't sure if he wanted or feared. Harry, for his part, stayed silent, his eyes a little wider, as if he were just now understanding what had just happened.

They stayed in absolute silence, so dense it was almost palpable. They stared at each other, unsure what to say or do. The tension was still there, but now there was something else. Something new, and uncomfortable.

Louis leaned back a little, nervous, trying to hide the anxiety he felt, but he couldn't help but let a slight smile sneak onto his lips. Harry, still processing what had just happened, tried to smile, but the discomfort wrapped around him, as if he were looking for a way to break the ice, to figure out whether what had just happened was real or just a fantasy induced by the alcohol.

Louis didn't know what to say; he just hoped Harry would say something.

Harry, in a move as impulsive as it was confusing, didn't wait another second. His mind, dazed by the alcohol and the closeness, pushed him to do something he hadn't planned, but felt inevitable.

He moved desperately, placing his hands on Louis's thighs. In one motion, he pulled him toward himself, pressing his lips against Louis's.
He kissed him with an intensity he couldn't control; it was deeper, more demanding.

The alcohol had blurred the boundaries, but in that moment, all that was left was the touch of their lips, the rapid beat of their hearts, the whisper of the air between them.
It felt strange getting to know someone in the way he had over the last few hours, the electricity of his touch, and desiring it, but feeling nervous.
Harry's hands moved up to Louis's face, caressing his skin with his fingertips, searching for something more than just contact. Louis, for his part, grabbed Harry by the shoulders, gently pulling him in, getting closer, as if he could no longer separate.
Their lips were still warm, and his heart beat so fast he thought it might burst out of his chest.
He ran his tongue over his own lips, lingering on Louis's taste as he pulled back a little. He sighed, looking into his eyes.
"Uhm..." he laughed. "It's late."
"Yeah, I should go."
"It's kind of dangerous, huh?"
"I'll be careful." They both stood up.
"Wait..." Harry began, his voice barely a whisper, trying to catch his breath and organize his thoughts. "I'm going to feel bad if something happens to you, stay for today. Also, you left your things."
Louis looked at him, his cheeks flushed and lips still slightly parted. He didn't say anything, but he was waiting for something that could make sense of what had just happened.
Harry breathed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Louis's eyes again.
"Where do you want this to go? Because we both know what could happen if I stay."
"No, it's not like that," Harry let out a small nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't want you to think I don't want to... it's just...," he sighed. "None of this, I'm kind of new at this," he confessed, his voice trembling.
Louis looked at him with a mix of surprise and confusion, his eyebrows slightly raised. His mind was still tangled in the warmth of the kiss, and those words made him pause, trying to understand what Harry was telling him.
—What do you mean? —Louis asked, his voice low, almost incredulous.
—I've never been attracted to guys. Like, I know I'm gay, but I never...
—You've never been with one —he laughed at the tenderness. Harry shook his head, with an expression that mixed embarrassment and a bit of shyness.
—No —he replied, looking down for a second before lifting his gaze again.

The atmosphere was heavy, charged with the weight of their unspoken words, but they both knew they couldn't stay in that moment forever. The night had changed them in ways neither of them could fully understand, but there was an undeniable connection that lingered in the air between them.

The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable. Louis watched him, noticing for the first time something he hadn’t picked up on before: the vulnerability in the confession.
—I'll take you home and call an Uber —he insisted. Harry looked disappointed but nodded.
—Don't give me that look —he gave his cheek a light squeeze— and just to clarify, I’ve never been with anyone either.
—I don’t believe you —Harry rolled his eyes, both of them starting to walk.
—Believe me —he gently bumped his shoulder— Did you enjoy the amazing outing?
—The best night ever —Harry replied, his eyes shining.

Chapter 10

The sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating the mess in Harry’s apartment. Louis blinked a few times before furrowing his brow, disoriented. The blanket that had covered him had slipped down to his waist, and the makeshift mattress on the floor reminded him that he wasn’t at home.

It took him a moment to realize where he was, and another for the memories of the previous night to come rushing back, as if they had been waiting for him to wake up. The laughter, the alcohol, the brushing of lips... He felt a slight warmth rising up his neck and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

From the kitchen, the sound of a coffee maker echoed, followed by the soft clink of cups. Louis turned, trying to be discreet, and saw Harry with his back turned, moving calmly, though his posture seemed a little more rigid than usual. "Is he thinking about it too?" Louis wondered, but quickly pushed the thought aside.

It didn’t make sense to dwell on it. It was early, and his head still throbbed slightly from the vodka. He picked up his phone from the floor and turned it on. The screen lit up his face: 9:37 a.m. His notifications were empty, except for a couple of meaningless messages he decided to ignore.

—You woke up early for how much you drank —Harry commented from the kitchen, not looking at him. His voice sounded calm, almost casual, but there was something in the tone that made him sound more aware of the situation.

Louis cleared his throat, sitting up a bit on the mattress. —I wouldn’t call this early. Besides, you’re awake too.

—I’m not that bad with hangovers —Harry replied while serving the coffee. His curly hair was more tousled than usual, and his old pajamas made him look almost vulnerable, something Louis couldn’t help but notice.

Harry walked over with two cups, placing one on the coffee table in front of Louis and taking the other with him to the couch. Louis murmured his thanks and took the cup in his hands, the warmth of the coffee making him feel a bit more awake.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the apartment being the distant traffic and the occasional sip of coffee. Louis tried not to stare too much, but his eyes kept going back to Harry, as if there was something magnetic about him, in the way he didn’t mention the obvious. Harry, for his part, seemed focused on his cup.

Louis was the first to move, standing up and stretching while letting out a small groan. The movement made Harry glance at him out of the corner of his eye, without saying anything, but with a slight smile on his lips. Louis scratched the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the silence.
—I’m going to wash my face —he said, pointing to where he remembered the bathroom was.
Harry nodded with a quick gesture. —It’s at the end. There are clean towels on the shelf.
Louis walked toward the bathroom, grateful for the excuse to leave the room for a moment. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a deep sigh. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing how messy he looked. He leaned over the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing his face. The temperature shock helped clear his mind a bit.

"Why isn’t he saying anything?" he thought, rubbing his cheeks with his wet hands. But he quickly dismissed the question. What did he expect? A detailed analysis of what had happened? Maybe it was better this way, leaving it in that strange limbo where everything seemed untouchable, where words couldn’t ruin it.

When he returned to the living room, Harry was standing, moving some things from the couch to the floor. Noticing his presence, he looked up and smiled, but didn’t say anything. Louis flopped back onto the mattress, grabbing his cup and taking a sip. This time, he was the one who broke the silence.
—The coffee’s good —he said, not looking at him.
—It’s the only one I had —Harry replied, shrugging.
The silence settled between them again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that made space, filling the air with something that didn’t need explanation.
Louis was facing Harry, his gaze fixed on the cup he held in his hands. He seemed to be deciding how to say something, and Harry noticed it right away.
—I think I’ll go back to my place —Louis said suddenly, in a flat voice, without looking at him.
Harry put his cup down on the table, his throat tightening for a moment.
—And university? —he asked while Louis stood up, grabbing the guy’s cup and trying to sound neutral. He didn’t know what to say without it sounding like a desperate attempt to keep him there.
—Tomorrow is another day. I’m taking today off —he grabbed his things— thanks for everything.
Harry shivered. Everything felt so awkward and unpleasant, and the night before...
—Is everything okay between us?
—I’ll see you tomorrow —Louis smiled, messing up his hair— yeah, everything’s fine.

Chapter 11

None of them really talked about what happened two weeks ago. Though the memory sometimes surfaced, neither seemed willing to cross that line again, at least not yet.

Louis was waiting for Harry outside his class, arms crossed against a column, headphones on, with The 1975 playing on loop since his class had ended. During those minutes of waiting, he tried to organize his thoughts, but he always ended up in the same place: he liked the guy as a person. He wouldn’t be there otherwise, nor would he be wearing clothes that smelled like freshly washed perfume.

Harry walked out, greeting him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, which made Louis take off his headphones and awkwardly stuff them in his pocket.

—What were you listening to? —Harry asked as they started walking toward the exit.

—Chocolate, by The 1975. Do you know it?

—Yeah, you have great taste in music —the curly-haired boy chuckled, looking at him with a knowing expression—. But my favorite song is Somebody Else. What other bands do you like?

—Oasis. And Black Sabbath when I’m in a really good mood, though that doesn’t happen often —Louis joked, lowering his gaze. Then, without transition, he changed the subject as he noticed Harry putting his things away slower than usual—. How did class go?

—Good, though I’m really tired and feel terrible. You don’t know how much my head hurts.

—What did you have for breakfast? Because I assume you had something —Louis asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow skeptically.

—A mandarin. And mate.

—No wonder. You must have your sugar at -10. —He made a face of disgust, though he couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh.

—Idiot. —Harry lightly hit him on the arm as he laughed.

—Thanks for agreeing to have lunch with me. —Louis shook his head.

—No need to thank me.

—I know it makes you uncomfortable.

—I don’t mind eating, actually, I love food, but that’s the problem.

—You seriously don’t see how skinny you are?

—It’s like, when you live with your body, you can’t really see it. I used to be chubby, and it’s like I can still see the belly I hate in the mirror, I can see that I’m wide. I used to get bullied for that in school, and yeah.

—But what’s wrong with being a little chubby?

—Louis, I don’t know a single person who eats too much because being big is attractive, but I do see people killing themselves in the gym and with diets to avoid it.

—That’s what you see, I’m asking what’s wrong with it.

—That I don’t want to be ugly.

—You won’t be ugly, even if you try. But it’s not just about that. —He shook his head, not bothered by talking about these things.

—I see it as a less painful way to die.

—Really? It must be like dying from a paracetamol overdose. It’s awful, because for days you feel like you’re going to die but don’t know if it’s going to happen or not. Not eating is the same, every day it hurts or it’s harder to do things, until one day you won’t know if you’re living or dying, you’ll just be suffering and with a tube up your nose.

—I’m not at that extreme.

Louis looked at his wrists, disturbed, because Harry actually couldn’t see that he looked like someone who could be admitted.

He decided to stay silent and moved closer to buy the food. Harry didn’t speak much during the process, and his distraction led to Louis paying for everything:

—Keep that.

—No, you paid yesterday.

—Don’t argue, keep it.

—When do I pay?

—When you’re faster.

They both sat down to eat outside the place. Louis bought a pretty large sandwich with mashed potatoes on a tray, and Harry a salad with a variety of toppings and fritters.

The blue-eyed boy ate disgustingly fast because he hadn’t had breakfast, and for him, moments of abstinence after so much time of daily substance abuse made him very hungry. Too hungry. He had gained 5 kilos already, and it was still going up since he stopped using, and he hated that a lot.

His friend, on the other hand, ate slowly and had trouble keeping up, but he finished his meal.

Louis was trying, the least he could do was try too, thought the curly-haired boy.

So, while separating the cucumbers from his plate, he concluded that neither of them really wanted to die, for the other they were trying, seeking the least they could do to hold on, for a chance.

—Everything good? —he asked noticing Harry’s nervousness.

—Yeah, it’s the oil... I don’t like it —he sighed, doing something with the fritters that Louis looked at with great concern.

—Harry, nothing will happen if you eat that little bit of…

—Actually, yes. My body doesn’t process fatty things well. It gives me a really strong tachycardia.

—Doesn’t that scare you?

—Not enough —he looked at him, finishing his plate while maintaining eye contact—. Stop looking at me.

Chapter 12

Louis passed his arm under Harry's, resting a hand on his shoulder. The curly-haired boy mirrored him, relaxing as the blue-eyed boy began to speak and crack jokes. They laughed all the way to the train station, and the younger one was grateful to feel his stomach lighter after the walk.

There were a lot of people, so they sat near the front car, which was almost empty except for a group of teenagers on bicycles.

The younger boy rested his head on the older boy's shoulder.

...—Is it okay if I sit here?

—It doesn’t bother me —He smiled, putting an arm around his shoulder.

They dozed off, awake, minutes later, holding on to their backpacks and keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Still, Louis woke up after three stops, looking out the window.

He was thinking too.

The relationship he had developed with Harry in such a short time felt stronger than the one with Colson, who had been his friend since they met at the club when they were twelve. Maybe because they didn’t have much in common, but Harry was really good at cheering up his afternoons.

Harry had his demons, though not the same ones. But Louis understood how hard it was to be addicted to something, how it felt to love the emptiness in your stomach or the lightness in your head.

It was like being empty, with no pain or fear of people. There were no psychological diagnoses, no problems, just seeing the world and not understanding what was going on around you.

He was addicted to feeling nothing.

He didn’t know what he would do without all of that, or if he failed Harry. He hated thinking about either of those things.

Why did it matter so much what Harry thought of him?

‘Maybe because I want to keep him in my life, I don’t want him to go away because my problems make me unbearable. I’ve already pushed my family away, I miss the hugs.’

He sighed at everything, feeling Harry shift in his seat and place his hands on Louis’ thigh, causing the younger one to involuntarily contract his abdominal muscles.

...—Harry —He touched his shoulder— We get off at the next one.

He received a nod and a tired sigh in response.

Chapter 13

The walk to Louis' place felt longer than it usually did. Maybe it was the quiet between them, or the weight of everything that still hung in the air. The city felt colder tonight, as if it too could sense the tension that lingered between them. Louis kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill, but he didn’t mind it. It felt grounding, like it kept him from floating away with his thoughts.

Harry walked beside him, not saying much, just keeping pace. Louis could tell he was tired, maybe more than he let on, but Harry didn’t complain. He never did. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick with the things they didn’t say. The things neither of them seemed ready to talk about yet.

Louis glanced at Harry, his eyes lingering for a second longer than usual. He still wasn’t sure where they stood. Every time he thought he was starting to figure it out, Harry would do something that made everything confusing again. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that being around him, walking beside him like this, felt strangely right.

“So, what’s next for you?” Louis asked, his voice quieter than he intended, the question feeling heavier than it should have. “I mean, after all this... everything with... your stuff.”

Harry’s pace didn’t change, but Louis could see the shift in his expression, a slight tightening in his jaw before he answered. “I don’t know. Just keep going, I guess. I don’t have a plan, really.”

Louis nodded slowly, feeling the sting of those words more than he expected. He could relate to that. It seemed like everyone around him had their lives figured out—except for him. Harry wasn’t the only one who felt lost. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he’d stopped feeling like he had any control over his own life.

As they neared Louis' building, the familiar sounds of the city became muffled, and he could almost feel the weight of the door in front of him. His place, where he could disappear into the safety of his own space, where the world wouldn’t judge him.

They reached the entrance, and Louis pulled open the door, holding it for Harry to pass through first. The soft buzz of the elevator echoed in the quiet hallway as they stood there, neither of them quite ready to break the silence.

When they reached Louis' floor, he opened the door to his apartment, stepping aside to let Harry in first. The space was cozy, nothing too fancy, but it was his. He was used to being alone here, but tonight, it didn’t feel quite as empty with Harry beside him.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to stay or... if you needed to go,” Louis said, unsure of what he was even asking. He wasn’t ready to be alone again, but he didn’t know how to say it without it sounding too needy

Harry stood by the door for a moment, looking around the room, then back at Louis. “I’m okay staying for a bit,” he said quietly.

Louis didn’t know why, but the way Harry said it made him feel a little lighter, like the space between them had shifted in some small, but important way.

Without another word, Louis moved to the kitchen and set down his keys, opening the fridge to see what he had. He didn’t know what Harry wanted or needed, but he was done overthinking things for the night. It was just them, two people trying to make sense of their lives in a world that often felt too big and too overwhelming. For once, he wasn’t going to force an answer. He’d take it one step at a time, just like Harry said.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Louis asked, trying to make things feel normal again.

“Water’s fine,” Harry replied, sitting down on the couch. He looked more at ease now, his shoulders less tense than before.

Louis grabbed two glasses, filling them both, before sitting down beside him. They didn’t talk much, but the presence of each other was enough. For now, it was just about being there. And that felt like something.

Chapter 14

The blue-eyed boy was having a very bad night since his health insurance no longer covered the sleeping pills, and he couldn’t afford them. He hadn’t slept in two days. Harry stayed with him after their daily walk.
He gently stroked his hair, hoping he’d relax and fall asleep, but his foot kept moving restlessly.
Two hours had passed.
— I want to cry — he sighed.
— Do it, I’ll be here for you — Harry pulled him into a tighter hug, Louis hiding his face in his neck and closing his eyes, letting himself feel.
He cried almost silently, except for the whimpers coming from deep within his chest.
— What’s wrong?
— I don’t know. Sometimes I’m really anxious, and I don’t know why, I just think about disappearing, or I get really anxious and it’s hard to sleep because I need to do things. There’s no middle ground — Harry thought about the medication he took, valproic acid, and that vague explanation of symptoms resonated with him.
— Is there something I can do for you? — Louis shook his head. — What makes you happy? — He shrugged.
— Things aren’t so bad when you’re with me, or when I used to spend time with my family.
— Why don’t you see them?
— I don’t want them to see me like this, or bring them pain. I talk to them on WhatsApp, but that’s it. My parents don’t know where I live — he exhaled heavily — the rent where I was before… well, nothing, my life’s a mess. Now maybe I can move since I don’t spend on what I used to.
— But now you’re recovering, you could talk to them — Louis stayed silent for a few minutes, not knowing what to say.
— I’m really scared of being sober, because I feel so much at once that I just want to die, I don’t want my mom to carry that burden — Harry intertwined his fingers with his — maybe I’ll talk to them, later, not now.
— The worst thing you can do is isolate yourself. I think you can find other ways to deal with those feelings.
— Like stop eating, for example? — He blurted out impulsively.
— I don’t want you to suffer from a pain you’re causing yourself, Louis, there has to be another way.
— Because you don’t.
— Why do you always bring this up!? — He stood up abruptly from the bed, standing in front of the older boy — I care about you! I want you to be okay but you keep attacking me! I don’t want to get better, I don’t want help, I just want them to care, to stay with me! You’re alone by choice and I’m alone because my family doesn’t care!
— You need help.
— Shut up — he weakly hit his arm when he stood up and held him.
— No. We both need help, and a lot of it — he hugged him, sighing.
They hadn’t expected to end up crying in each other’s arms, feeling pathetic.

Harry stared at Louis, the hurt evident in his eyes, but his jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists at his sides, like he was fighting a battle he didn’t know how to win.

Louis couldn’t meet his gaze, his head spinning with self-loathing and guilt. He wanted to apologize for being so dense, but the words felt so small, so insignificant. There was no fixing this, no mending what was inside.

But then, in the quiet, broken place between them, something cracked. Without warning, Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing Louis by the back of his neck and pulling him forward. It wasn’t a kiss fueled by love, not by desire. It wasn’t gentle or soft; it was harsh, desperate, like they were trying to punish each other—no, not each other, themselves. They kissed like they hated who they were, like they couldn’t bear to look at the people they’d become. It was a collision of pain, of everything they couldn’t say, every feeling they couldn’t express, all of it coming out in that one violent, raw connection.

Louis didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean in either. He kissed Harry back with equal intensity, angry at himself, at everything he had lost, at the person he could never be. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about connection. It was about feeling something, anything, other than the gnawing emptiness inside.

Chapter 15

Defining the relationship between Harry and Louis would be limiting it because everything was uncertain. Neither of them understood it, but neither did they want to. They had spent their lives overanalyzing things, but not this. They just let it flow, and that was enough.

They were both lying on their chests on the floor of Louis' room, holding hands, spinning on the carpet as if they were cylinders. They sang random songs that came to their minds and ate spicy chips.

Louis had been sober for two weeks.

"But I'm a creep," Harry sang.
"I'm a weirdo," Louis extended the "O", laughing and moving the dirty clothes that were in his way.

"Today marks three months since we met."
"Only three? Feels like it's been longer."
"I swear." Louis smiled.

"Do you want to stay the night?"
"I don't want to be a bother."
"Who are you going to bother if I live alone? If you don’t want to, that’s fine, you can tell me."
"It’s not that I don’t want to, I swear. It's just... I feel embarrassed."
"Embarrassed about what?"
"Sleeping in front of someone."
"Are you messing with me? There’s embarrassment for other things." Harry shrugged. "Dude, you’ve seen the worst of me. Of all people, am I really going to judge you for sleeping with your mouth open?" He made Louis laugh.

"I'm going to see what we can eat."
"Tangerines. It's the only thing in the fridge."
"Should we order noodles from Pedidos Ya?"
"Whatever, you know I'll eat whatever comes."
"You're so cute when you don’t complain about my culinary choices."
"Gastronomic choices, not culinary, because you wouldn’t even grab a pot if your life depended on it."
"Shut up" Louis gave him a soft nudge. Harry watched him, then looked at his lips.

"Your lips are dry."
"Yeah, I know." Louis licked them, realizing how thirsty he was.
"I’ve got something that will help." Harry pulled out a small jar of aloe vera petroleum jelly from his backpack, passing it to his friend.
"How do you put it on?"
Harry laughed, opening the jar and using his finger to apply the jelly to Louis' lips. Louis lowered his gaze to Harry's mouth. His slim face made his already full lips stand out more. All Louis could think was, "I need to buy one of these." He smiled.

"Here, take it. It's a gift."
"No, man, leave it."
"I have another one, don’t worry." Harry smiled, leaving it in front of Louis and then picking up his phone. "Ramen, then?" The blue-eyed boy nodded.

Chapter 16

Louis and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, the aroma of ramen filling the room as they picked up their chopsticks, each taking a bite with a content sigh.

“So, have you figured out what you want to do with your life?” Harry asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Louis slurped his noodles thoughtfully, tapping his chopsticks on the bowl. "I don't know. Probably nothing that matters." He gave Harry a sideways glance, his lips curling into a playful grin. “I mean, you’re the one with the grand ambitions, huh? What’s your next big move?”

Harry snorted. "Ambitions? I don’t know about that. I’m just trying to not screw things up for once." He shrugged, clearly not overly concerned about the future. "I guess I’m just trying to make it through the week."

Louis laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, sounds about right. Every day feels like just getting through the day, not really thinking about anything else."

Harry leaned back against the wall, using the edge of the bowl as support. "It’s nice, though, right? Not having to think too much about what's next. Just... living in the moment, however shitty it is."

Louis nodded, his gaze fixed on his ramen as he fished out the last piece of tofu. "I guess. I mean, at least we don’t have to pretend everything’s figured out. We’re kind of in the same boat, huh?"

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry agreed, cracking a smile. “Except you’ve got your shit together more than me.” He motioned to Louis, who was, despite everything, calmer than Harry ever could manage.

Louis raised an eyebrow, looking at Harry like he’d lost his mind. "You’ve got to be kidding. I’m still figuring out how to not ruin my life. The only thing I’ve got going for me is not being completely miserable, I guess."

“Yeah, I mean,” Harry chuckled, “at least there’s that. I’d take not being miserable over anything else right now.”

Louis met his eyes then, his own grin softening a bit. "We’re good at that, huh? Just... getting through. Not falling apart every second."

Harry’s expression softened. "Yeah. Just not falling apart."

They ate in silence for a moment, the clink of chopsticks against the bowl the only sound filling the space between them.

Louis broke the silence again, his voice quieter this time. "It’s weird, you know? How comfortable this is. Just... being here. With you."

Harry looked up, his lips pressing together for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "I don’t mind it. It’s better than being alone."

Louis smirked, taking another bite. "You always were the weird one."

Harry laughed, almost choking on his noodles. "I’m not weird! I’m just... me." He made a face, then poked Louis in the side. "You, on the other hand, are definitely weird."

"Hey!" Louis shoved him playfully, almost knocking over their bowls in the process. "You take that back."

But Harry just grinned, leaning back again. "Nah, you know it’s true. But it’s what makes you... well, you."

Louis huffed, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. You're lucky I like you."

"Oh, you like me?" Harry, setting his ramen aside.

Louis gently pressed a kiss on Harry's lips.

''Yeah, I do''

Chapter 17

Niall: “What’s your problem? You've been ignoring us for weeks now''*

*Louis: “I’ve just been busy lately.”*

*Niall: “I don’t buy that. You’ve been distant for a while now.”*

*Louis: “It’s nothing, really. Just need space.”*

*Niall: “Space from who? Us? You’re not just pushing me away, you know. Everyone’s noticing.”*

*Louis: “I’m fine, Niall. Really.”*

*Niall: “You sure? Cause you know you can’t just keep running away from everything. You won’t have anyone left.”*

*Louis: “I’m not running from anything.”*

*Niall: “Really? Cause you’re acting like you are. Not even with Harry anymore? Funny, you always seem to be there for him when things get tough.”*

*Louis: “It’s not like that.”*

*Niall: “Isn’t it? I don’t know, Louis. You always liked the attention. Maybe you just want to keep playing the victim.”*

*Louis: “I’m not playing anything.”*

*Niall: “Then stop hiding. You really think Harry’s gonna stick around if you keep acting like this?”*

*Louis: “Don’t bring him into this.”*

*Niall: “Why? Is he your savior now? I’m just saying, he won’t stay around if you keep shutting everyone out. Not forever.”*

*Louis: “I don’t need your advice.”*

*Niall: “You know what I’m talking about, though. You’ve always known. And if you keep pushing us away, you’ll just end up alone. Again.”*

*Louis: “I’m not like I used to be.”*

*Niall: “You’re still the same, Louis. Don’t kid yourself.”*

*Niall: “You think you can just forget what happened? That you can walk away from all that?”*

*Niall: “You think Harry’s gonna protect you now?”*

*Niall: “Always whining about how shitty your life if but you never do anything to change it, you don't even try, it's like you don't want to”*

*Niall: “Maybe I'll go to your place if you keep ignoring my texts :(”*

Chapter 18

Louis quickly typed a message, but it wasn’t to Niall. His hands shook a little as he tried to stay calm. He didn’t want to overthink it. He couldn’t afford to.

Louis: “Hey, can I come over?”

He stared at the screen, waiting for a response. The seconds felt like they stretched on forever. The room felt too tight, and he needed to get out, even just for a little while.

Louis: “Please…”

Harry: "I'm not at the apartment right now, I'm heading to the movies. Want to meet me there? I'm by myself."

Louis: "Yeah, please, send me the location."

---

Louis caught one of the last trains into the city, and the walk from the subway to the mall entrance felt like it took forever. The city lights blinked above him, and even though the night air was cool, the anxiety inside him burned hot. When he finally reached the entrance, he scanned the crowd, his heart racing.

He hated crowds.

But then, through the mess of people, he saw Harry. Even in the dim light, Harry stood out. He was leaning against a column, absorbed in his phone, but Louis could see his eyes flicking around, waiting.

When Harry spotted him, a soft smile spread across his face, and it hit Louis like a wave of relief. The tension in his body eased as he walked toward him. For the first time that night, his own smile felt easy.

"Hey," Louis said, his voice quieter than usual but warm, as if he could finally breathe.

Harry straightened up, his face softening. He took a step toward Louis, pulling him into a quick hug. “Hey, you made it. You okay?”

Louis nodded, his smile a little wider now. "Yeah. Thanks for waiting. And sorry for dragging you into this."

Harry shrugged, giving a small chuckle. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I come to the movies by myself a lot. Not many friends, you know? But I’m glad you’re here.”

Louis held onto the calm that Harry’s presence brought him.

They walked toward the ticket machine, and as they did, Harry’s hand brushed against Louis’. Before he could react, Harry had gently wrapped his fingers around his. It was a simple thing, but Louis felt it deep inside. It was the kind of warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.

Louis glanced at Harry, surprised by the touch, but Harry just kept walking, his expression calm. Louis let himself relax into the moment, something inside him feeling safer than it had in a while.

When they reached the ticket machine, Harry released Louis’ hand to grab his wallet. Louis opened his mouth to protest, wanting to pay for his own ticket, but Harry was already on it.

“I got it,” Harry said, punching in the numbers. “Don’t worry about it.”

Louis hesitated for a moment, still wanting to argue, but Harry looked up at him, his eyes gentle but firm. “Let me. Please.”

Louis bit his lip, nodding quietly. He watched as Harry paid for both tickets, his heart lighter for it. There was something about how easily Harry did it, as if it was nothing, but to Louis, it meant a lot more than it should.

“Thanks,” Louis said softly as Harry handed him his ticket.

Harry just smiled, his usual calm expression in place. “You're welcome.” He brushed his hand against Louis’ once more as they walked toward the theatres. Louis didn’t pull away this time.

As they walked down the stairs to the cinema section, Louis caught sight of the snack counter. Louis glanced at Harry, trying to shake off the last bit of tension in his chest. "Hey, you like your popcorn salty or sweet?" he asked, eyeing the large display of popcorn options '' Since you paid for the tickets, let me invite you to something to eat''

Harry just shrugged, not particularly fussed. "I don't mind."

Louis ordered a large bucket with both salty and sweet popcorn, figuring Harry could pick whichever side he wanted. As the cashier handed over the bucket, Louis felt a brief, strange sense of satisfaction.

When they reached the counter, Louis handed the bucket to Harry. “Here, you can have the first handful.”

Harry took it with a smile, grabbing a few pieces from the sweet side before looking at Louis. "Guess you know how to keep things interesting," he teased, his tone light.

Louis chuckled, feeling his shoulders loosen a little. "Just trying to make up for not knowing what you like."

Harry gave him a reassuring glance, his eyes soft and kind. "It's fine, really" He struggles to swallow but, either way, he does.

Chapter 19

The theater was dim, the flickering images of *Nosferatu* playing on the big screen, casting shadows across their faces. The film had its eerie charm, but Louis wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have. The air between him and Harry felt charged in a way he couldn’t ignore. Every little movement Harry made, every glance, seemed to heighten the tension in the small space between them.

Louis shifted in his seat, trying to focus on the film, but his thoughts kept wandering. He could feel the warmth of Harry’s body next to him, the soft rustle of popcorn in the bucket between them. The theater was almost empty, and the isolation of the moment seemed to wrap around them, making the space between them feel all the more intimate.

After a while, Louis could feel Harry’s presence beside him more keenly than the movie itself. It wasn’t that Harry was doing anything different—just a casual shift in his position, his leg brushing against Louis’ under the armrest—but it was enough. Enough to make Louis’ breath catch in his throat.

Harry’s hand, which had been resting on the armrest, moved closer, his pinky finger brushing against Louis’. Louis froze for a moment, his heart racing at the simple contact. He didn’t know why this felt different from all the other times. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the moment, the way the darkness made everything seem more intense.

Harry didn’t pull away, and Louis didn’t either. He turned his head, catching Harry’s gaze. There was something soft in Harry’s eyes, something that made Louis feel like he wasn’t alone. Something that made the tightness in his chest start to loosen, just a little.

Louis didn’t think, he just leaned forward, his lips meeting Harry’s in a kiss that was slow, tentative at first, as though they were both testing the waters. It was nothing like the frantic, rushed kisses of the past—just soft, quiet, and full of something neither of them had words for.

The taste of popcorn was still on their lips as they deepened the kiss, and Louis could feel his heart thumping in his chest, louder now, more insistent. Harry’s hand found its way to the back of Louis’ neck, his fingers threading through the mess of his hair, pulling him closer. Louis let himself be pulled in, the warmth of Harry’s body making him feel like he could breathe again.

There was nothing forced about it, nothing that felt like it was happening too fast. Just two people, caught in the quiet of the moment, sharing something neither of them knew how to name. But Louis didn’t care about the name. He just cared about the way Harry’s lips felt against his, the way Harry’s touch grounded him when the world outside the theater felt like it was slipping away.

When they pulled back, both of them a little breathless, Louis couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It felt different than anything before, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he wasn’t just surviving—he was here, with Harry, in a way that made him feel like he was allowed to be.

Harry smiled back, his forehead resting against Louis’ for a moment. “I didn’t expect that,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Me neither,” Louis said, his voice not more than a whisper.

Harry pulled back, his forehead still resting against Louis’, his breath warm on Louis’ skin. The quiet hum of the movie’s soundtrack filled the space between them, but Harry’s words, soft and close, cut through the silence.

“Wanna come over to mine after?”

Louis blinked a couple of times, the question hanging in the air for a moment. He wasn’t sure what it meant—whether Harry was asking for more than just company, or if it was just a simple offer to continue their time together. Either way, it felt like the kind of question that deserved a careful answer.

Louis nodded slowly, his lips curling into a small, shy smile.

“Yeah, I’d like that”

Chapter 20

They walked to Harry’s place, the cold night air wrapping around them, but Louis didn’t mind. It felt easier, walking beside Harry like this. The city noises around them were muffled by the buzz of Louis’s thoughts, which were centred on Harry’s warm presence — not his body, the boy’s body was so cold and Louis didn’t need to wonder why; Louis was pretty sure Harry weighed at least 10 kg less than the minimum required for someone so tall.

As they got to Harry’s apartment, Louis felt calmer, that place was way better than his, but because it was clean, not at the point of obsession, but it wasn’t the mess Louis had at his.

“Make yourself at home,” Harry said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. He seemed more relaxed now, his earlier nervous energy replaced by a quiet ease. Louis did the same, draping his coat over the back of a chair before following Harry into the bedroom.

Harry disappeared into the kitchen for a minute, emerging with two mugs of tea. He handed one to Louis and gestured toward the couch.
“Figured this would help warm us up”

“Thanks” Louis wondered why was he so awkward around Harry, all the time.

They sat side by side on the bed, the silence between them no longer heavy but companionable. Louis glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the stack of records.

“You’ve got good taste,” Louis said, nodding toward them. He could see Fleetwood Mac, The Neighbourhood and Radiohead among the titles. Louis wondered how he hadn't seen them before. Harry smiled, setting his mug on his desk.

“Music’s kind of my thing, you know… Like, apart from psychology, is my not-so-viable hobby”

Louis chuckled. “Same to be honest. I guess you play tho” Louis gestures towards a hung Gibson guitar and a Yamaha piano inside the closet
“I'd like to think I'm good. I'm not sure I am tho…’’
‘’I bet you are’’ Harry sat nearer Louis.

‘’Think so?’’ Louis nods with a smile "Well, if you’re that confident in me" he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make Louis’ stomach contract "maybe you should let me show you what I can do with my hands"
Louis swallowed, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way his chest tightened. “Yeah? That an offer?”
Harry’s eyes flickered with amusement, his fingers reaching for the edge of his mug as if giving himself something to do. “Maybe. Depends if you’re a good… audience” Harry smirks, noticing the effect he had on Louis, most specifically, in his trousers.
The space between them seemed to shrink, Harry’s gaze flickering from Louis’ eyes to his lips and back again. Louis noticed the way Harry’s fingers flexed against his knee like he was holding himself back, deciding whether to close the distance or wait for Louis to do it first.
Louis didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could.
Harry exhaled, slow and measured, before reaching out. His fingers brushed over Louis’ jaw, tracing the edge before his thumb ghosted over his cheekbone. Louis didn't have time to register the touch before Harry leaned in, his lips pressing against Louis with a certainty that sent a shiver down his spine.
Louis kissed him back without thinking, his hands finding the fabric of Harry’s hoodie, gripping as warmth bloomed in his chest. Harry tasted of tea, his lips soft but insistent, tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss. The room felt quieter somehow, like the world had faded, leaving only the soft press of Harry’s mouth and the steady thrum of Louis’ pulse in his ears.
Then, without breaking the kiss, Harry shifted, guiding Louis onto the bed. His hands were careful, one pressing against Louis’ hip as he hovered over him, his weight a solid, grounding presence. Louis let himself sink into the mattress, heart pounding, his hands sliding up to curl around the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry pulled back just enough to look at him, his curls falling over his forehead, his breath warm against Louis’ lips.
Harry kissed him deeper, his body pressing just enough to make Louis feel the warmth between them. As their lips moved in sync, Louis felt a slight shift—Harry was kicking off his shoes, using the back of one foot to push the other off in a clumsy motion.
Louis smiled against Harry’s lips “What are you doing?” he mumbled, his voice laced with amusement.
Harry huffed a soft laugh, nudging his nose against Louis’. “Getting comfortable.”
Louis watched as Harry wriggled his other foot free, socks half slipping down his ankles. The sight made something light stir in Louis’ chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with their closeness. He grinned and, without thinking much about it, mimicked him—lifting his feet, pushing his sneakers off with just his toes, the motion making his legs tangle with Harry’s.
Harry chuckled, his lips brushing over Louis in a fleeting kiss. “See? Feels better, doesn’t it?”
Louis giggled, settling back against the pillows. “Yeah. Didn’t know taking off my shoes could be so fun.”
Harry smirked, shifting to lay more comfortable against him. “Stick with me, love. I’ll teach you all sorts of life-changing tricks.”
Louis rolled his eyes but his heart swelled a little at the softness of it all, at how easy Harry made everything feel.
Harry’s hands moved, fingers tracing Louis’ sides as their kisses deepened. There was nothing rushed about it, just warmth and the quiet comfort of being close. When Harry’s hands slipped under Louis’ shirt, tugging at the fabric, he let him. He wasn’t thinking much—just feeling, breathing him in.
But then the shirt was off, and the cool air against his skin brought him back to himself. His stomach twisted. He could feel the raised lines, the reminders of things he didn’t like to think about – like Zayn–, exposed under Harry’s gaze.
Harry’s hands stayed on him, steady, warm. His gaze softened, thumb tracing over a patch of skin with the same tenderness he had before. He didn’t stop, though, he focused on kissing Louis’ neck now, his hand caressing Louis’ lower belly, near the waistband of his joggers.
‘’Can I touch you?’’ Harry whispered on his temple. Louis nodded, letting out a shaky breath.
Harry spat on his hand, at the lack of lube, and in slow and gentle movements started stroking after he took Louis’ erection out of his boxers, not pulling them down. Louis’ hips twitched as he closed his eyes; he could only focus on Harry’s hand, his lips on his cheek, and the way he panted. He loved the way Louis reacted, it was genuine but controlled, but maybe a bit desperate.
Louis, meanwhile, thought about why it was so easy for him to get into heated situations, but he couldn’t allow himself to give it much thought, fearing if he did, he would get soft.
‘’Fuck’’ Louis let out a whine, now worrying because he felt like he was about to come at any minute, but neither wanted this to be over so fast.
But damned be Harry, he got the tip of his erection in his mouth, only the tip, and started licking and sucking. He tried to control his body but after no more than two minutes, his legs started shaking, his abdomen contracted and his toes did too. He scratched his outer thighs and came in a whine, so ashamed of it, but Harry didn’t seem to mind, just got it out his mouth so it would all be on his face.
Louis closed his eyes, trying to get his heartbeat to slow down.
"You good?" Harry whispered as he, in slow and gentle movements, wiped his face, then his lips brushing against Louis' cheek.
Louis nodded, exhaling "Yeah"
Harry searched his eyes for a second, then kissed him again. He fixed Louis’ trousers and lay next to him, fingers tangling in Louis' hair. Louis let out a quiet sound between a sigh and a hum.
‘’Wanna talk about it?’’ With extreme gentleness, Harry traced his scarred arms with the tip of his fingers. Louis shook his head, intertwining Harry’s hand with his ‘’Okay’’ Harry whispered, handing Louis his shirt back on.
Harry shifted closer, resting his head on the pillow as he pulled Louis toward him. Their hands stayed tangled, neither of them wanting to let go. Louis let out a soft sigh, his cheek brushing against Harry’s shoulder, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his chest seemed to lift, even if just a bit.
The room was dim, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows, but neither moved to turn it off. Louis closed his eyes, his breathing slowing to match Harry’s steady rhythm.
Harry’s fingers found their way back to Louis’ hair with gentle movements.
They stayed like that until both of them fell asleep.

Chapter 21

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft, warm beams across the room. Harry stirred, blinking a few times as he woke up. The bed beside him was empty, and the cool spot where Louis had been made his heart sink for a moment. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, glancing around the room.
"Louis?" Harry called, but there was no answer. He slid out of bed, a small frown forming as he noticed the door to the bathroom ajar. He pushed it open, finding Louis sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall, blank stare ahead.
Louis didn’t move when Harry entered. He didn’t even seem to register Harry’s presence at first.
“Hey, you okay?” Harry asked in a soft voice, kneeling next to him.
Louis didn’t respond. He was breathing too rough, almost like he was trying to make it through each inhale and exhale. His face was drawn, his eyes distant, and there was a tightness in his chest Harry could feel from just looking at him.
“Lou” Harry tried again, his hand reaching out to touch Louis' arm, but the moment his fingers made contact, Louis flinched. It wasn’t violent, but it was enough to make Harry pull back.
“Sorry,” Harry murmured, his heart heavy with confusion. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m fine,” Louis cut him off, his voice quiet, almost too soft. His gaze remained unfocused.
Harry’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push it. He could see something was wrong. He could feel the shift in the air between them, and though Louis was trying to hide it, Harry knew.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked, his tone careful. He wanted to give Louis space, but he also couldn’t just pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t.
“No... I just...” he let out a shaky breath.
Harry nodded, sitting next to him on the floor, close enough that they weren’t touching but still in the same space. He didn’t say anything else for a while, just staying there, hoping Louis would talk when he was ready.
The silence stretched between them, but Harry never left. He just stayed, offering the quiet presence that Louis had never asked for but seemed to need. It was all Harry could do.
As the minutes passed, Louis’ breathing began to steady, but there was no sign of the calmness Harry had grown used to the night before. It was as though a fog had settled over him, and even the simplest things seemed too heavy.
‘’Do you have an aspirin?’’
“Yeah, let me go grab it. You can shower too, if you need to” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stood up.

-

Harry stood in the kitchen, the dull hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the quiet apartment. He reached up for the aspirin and, as he turned to grab the bottle of water, his eyes caught sight of Louis' phone, still sitting on the counter, unlocked. He frowned for a second, a strange feeling creeping up his spine.
Louis had been acting off since this morning, and now his phone was just sitting there, unlocked. Harry glanced back at the bathroom door, making sure Louis wasn’t coming out yet, then hesitated. He didn’t want to invade Louis’ privacy, but when he saw like ten new texts from Niall, something felt off.
Harry felt a knot form in his stomach as he read through the last set of texts. The tone shifted from worried to accusatory, and it didn’t sit right with him.
Niall’s words rang in Harry’s ears as he read the final message: “Maybe I'll go to your place if you keep ignoring my texts :(” Harry couldn’t ignore the feeling that Niall’s intentions weren’t entirely out of care for Louis.
The new texts were worse.
Niall: "Look at you, hiding behind Harry like a coward. Still running from everything, huh?"
Niall: "You think I’m gonna keep standing by while you fuck everything up? I’m done with your bullshit."
Niall: "You always act like you’re the only one with problems. News flash: you're not."
Niall: "You think you can push us all away and expect things to be fine? You’re fooling yourself."
Niall: "You know what? You don't deserve any of us. You can't even be honest with yourself."
Niall: "Keep playing this ‘poor me’ act. Maybe it’ll work on Harry, but not on me."
Niall: "It’s pathetic, Louis. You’ve always been the centre of attention, but now you’re just a burden."
Niall: "Harry might stick around for now, but I don’t think you’re fooling him either."
Niall: "You know what? I’m done. You keep treating me like shit, but I’m not gonna sit around for it anymore."
Niall: "You’re nothing but a fucking wreck, Louis. You’ll beg for us to take you back once you drop out of this course like you did these past fucking years"
Harry frowned and let out a choked sigh, he knew Niall was a prick back in high school, damn well he knew, but now it was a whole new level.
Louis stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes red and swollen from crying, his face tight and exhausted. He tried to keep his composure, but the weight of everything felt unbearable.
He cleared his throat when he saw Harry with his phone in hand.
Harry turned, noticing Louis's state. His face softened in concern, and he opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself when he saw the rawness in Louis' expression.
“I’m sorry” Harry whispered, setting the phone down and giving Louis the aspirin.
Louis didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, staring at the floor, trying to keep his emotions from spilling again. After a long silence, he finally lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s and grabbed the water and the pill.
“I’m not upset about Niall if you were wondering, well, not that upset,” Louis said, his voice hoarse. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to clear the tears. “It’s just… my landlord. I got a message from him this morning. Rent’s gone up. Doubled. So I need to call Mum and I— I can't do this to her. I can't pay because I can't stay fucking clean”
Harry blinked, confusion and concern filling his face. “Doubled?” he repeated, stepping closer “How much do you owe?”
“It doesn't matter, I can pay -them- but not the landlord so… I don't know, I'll figure something out” Louis muttered, his voice breaking as the frustration and panic started to seep in.
His voice faltered, the weight of everything hitting him all at once. He didn’t know why he was telling Harry this, but for some reason, it felt better once it was out because Harry hugged him.
“I’ll help you figure something out I promise”
Louis closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath as he started sobbing again.

Chapter 22

It's now Wednesday, and the morning light is unkind. It cuts through the classroom windows, too sharp, too indifferent to the way Louis drags himself to his seat. He barely notices the lecture starting—words blur together, white noise against the pounding in his skull. His hands feel cold, his skin tight and wrong, like he’s wearing someone else’s body. There’s a tremor in his fingers when he grips his pen, but he doesn’t even try to take notes.
People glance at him. He knows he looks bad. His reflection in the bathroom mirror had already confirmed it—sunken eyes, skin pale enough to make the deep shadows under them stand out like bruises. His head is heavy, filled with wet cement, but at the same time, it feels empty. He should care. He doesn’t.
Somewhere, between the droning lecture and the whisper of pages turning, a presence settles beside him. Warmth. Familiar. Louis doesn’t turn his head, but he knows it’s Harry. A bottle of water appears in his peripheral vision, then a protein bar is placed on his desk, and Louis knows it’s for him because Harry despises them. Louis swallows. He hasn’t eaten. He can’t. He stares at it anyway.
The professor’s voice pulls Louis out of the haze just in time to hear his name. His stomach clenches. Group work. Of course. This was God's way to punish him again because nothing was enough.
Niall, Sabrina, Matt, and him. His gaze flickers toward them. Niall meets his eyes, unreadable, then looks away. A reminder lingers between them—yesterday’s words, sharp and pressing. Louis hasn’t forgotten. He doubts Niall has either. It doesn’t matter. He still needs to keep him close.
Dragging himself to the group feels like walking underwater. His limbs are too heavy, his head stuffed with cotton. Sabrina greets him with a polite nod. Matt doesn’t bother looking up. Niall doesn’t say anything.
"Alright," Sabrina starts, turning to the textbook, "who wants to start?"
Louis stares at the page, but the words refuse to settle. They slide around, break apart, and shift in and out of focus. His hands tighten into fists under the desk. He can't hold a thought together, let alone read.
"I’ll do it" Matt mutters, already skimming through the section.
Louis exhales, relieved but still drowning. They talk around him, voices blurring, meaning lost before it even reaches him. His head pounds, his throat dry and tight.
"Louis?" Sabrina’s voice cuts through. "What do you think?" He blinks at her, then at the page. He doesn’t even know what they’re talking about. Silence stretches. Niall leans back, arms crossed. Watching. Waiting.
"Yeah, sounds fine" Louis mutters. His voice doesn’t feel like his own.
Sabrina and Matt exchange a glance, but they move on. The conversation resumes, but Louis is already elsewhere, sinking, trapped in a class he hates, stuck with people he doesn’t trust, locked inside a body that feels impossible to bear.
The classroom felt suffocating. The air was still, pressing down on Louis as he forced himself to sit with the others. His pulse pounded in his ears, his skin clammy under the fluorescent lights.
Niall sat behind him. Silent, but there. His stare burned into the back of Louis’ head, heavy, expectant. Not a word had been spoken between them since yesterday, but Louis felt the weight of it all like a hand around his throat. Keeping him in check. Keeping him from slipping.
Sabrina didn’t even look at him, already focused on flipping through the textbook.
Louis looked at Matt’s notes, his neat handwriting, highlighted, and organized. Matt caught him looking, though, and Louis felt so awkward.
‘’I envy your notes’’ he tried to keep his tone light and amiable, but Matt’s expression was in superiority, almost some sort of disgust.
‘’Why?’’ He asked, the same expression.
‘’Because you’re quite organised’’ Louis managed to get out, feeling so stupid. He knew most people were mean at that university, but didn’t think quite., on the other hand, sighed loud enough to make sure everyone heard. "You gonna read or are we gonna sit here all day?"
Louis sighed. He tried. He tried again. His eyes traced the lines of text, but the words refused to settle, shifting and breaking apart like static in his brain. His head throbbed. His vision blurred. He gripped the book harder, but it didn’t help. The letters didn’t make sense.
His breath came too quickly. His chest felt tight. The classroom tilted, the voices around him stretching, pulling apart. He needed to ground himself. Needed to breathe. But all he could focus on was the crushing weight in his skull and the hollow feeling in his gut.
Matt clicked his tongue and held back a chuckle as he looked at Niall. Louis noticed his task, the fourth and last, was the longest one to write. Louis squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was about to pass out.
‘’Class is over. I’ll expect the task to be done for the next class, all of it’’ Louis tried to breathe, and he managed to do so when Sabrina, Matt and Niall left to their seats to pick up their stuff.
Louis grabbed everything and got out of that classroom.

He stumbled down the hallway, each step uneven, his vision blurring at the edges. The fluorescent lights above felt harsh, stabbing into his eyes, making everything worse. He gripped his bag tighter, his nails biting into his palms, but it wasn’t enough to steady him. His chest felt like it might cave in, his breath shallow and frantic.
He didn’t register the toilet door swinging shut behind him. The sink was cold under his hands as he leaned over it, his head hanging low, his stomach twisting. He needed relief. Needed to empty himself of the ache that had taken root deep inside.

Louis shoved the stall door open and locked it behind him with shaking hands. His breath hitched as he pressed his back against the cold wall, his head spinning. The small space felt suffocating, but at least it was his, at least no one could see him like this.
He dropped his bag before he was on his knees, hands gripping the toilet seat as he tried to force himself to throw up. His stomach twisted, but nothing came up. His nails were too long, scraping uncomfortably, making it impossible to go through with it. Frustration clawed at his throat.

Without thinking, he brought his hand to his mouth and bit down. Hard. He ripped at the nails, one by one, the sharp edges splitting under his teeth. The taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn’t stop until they were short enough, uneven and raw. His hands shook as he reached for his throat again—
But before he could try again, the weight in his chest spilt over. He let out a choked sob, his knees buckling as he sank to the floor. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unrelenting. His shoulders shook, his hands falling limp against the cold tiles.

He couldn’t stop. Every breath hitched, every gasp sharp and painful. The task, Matt’s laugh, Niall’s stare—it all circled back in his mind, louder and louder, until it was unbearable. He pressed his forehead to the wall, the cool surface grounding him just enough to remind him he was still here, still breathing, no matter how much he wished he wasn’t.

He stayed there, curled in on himself until his sobs turned to shallow breaths and his mind numbed. The relief he’d sought never came, only a hollow ache that stayed lodged in his chest, heavier than before.

Louis fumbled with his phone, his fingers slick with sweat as he tried to dial. The numbers blurred, but somehow, he managed to press the right ones. He stumbled out of the bathroom, heading for the stairs, feeling like his body was moving without him.
"Mum," he sobbed as the call connected, his voice shaking. "Mum, I... I don’t know what to do... I..." His words cracked, and the tears came again, hot and relentless.
The phone shifted, and Addison’s voice filled his ear, soothing in its familiarity.
“Lou, breathe. What’s going on?”
“I think I’m having a panic attack,” he forced out, his chest tight and heavy as he stepped into the open hall, seeking some kind of space to breathe. He collapsed under a small roof, the cool air doing nothing to ease the pressure in his lungs.
“Do you want me to call an Uber for you to come home?” Addison asked, her tone steady, the calm he clung to.
“No, no, I just—I miss you. I wanted to talk to you,” he choked, the sobs breaking through again. "Everything feels so wrong. I hate this place, but at the same time, I love this course, but I feel like a failure... like I won’t make it. And even if I do, I’m scared I won’t be good enough, that I won’t be a good professional."
There was a pause on the other end. Addison’s voice softened even more. "Lou, listen to me. Maybe it’ll take four years, maybe six, but you’re going to finish university. I know you love it. I know you’re happy when you talk about your lessons. These subjects... History, whatever... they don’t define you, they don’t define what kind of psychologist you’ll be. What matters is that you love it. You’re gonna make a difference because you care so much, okay?"
Louis wanted to argue, to tell her it wasn’t that simple, but the words never came. He felt too tired, like every ounce of energy had drained out of him, leaving him hollow.
"You think you can get home safe?" Addison asked, her voice gentle but firm as if she could sense how fragile he was.
"Yeah... I’ll just call an Uber," he sniffled, trying to gather himself, but his body still felt frozen in place.
"I’ll wire you the money," she said. "Please, text me when you get home."
Louis closed his eyes, clinging to the sound of her voice as the weight of the world pressed in on him. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it, and whispered, "Thanks, Mum’’
"I love you, Lou. Get home safe."

Chapter 23

Louis barely registered the Uber ride home. The city lights blurred past the window, neon smudges against the dark. He sat slumped in the back seat, his head against the glass, feeling the faint vibration of the car beneath him. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t check it. He already knew who it was.
When the car stopped in front of his building, he fumbled for the door handle, stepping out on unsteady legs. The air outside was sharp, but it barely touched him. His body felt distant like he was moving without really being there. He paid the driver with shaking hands and headed inside, the elevator ride up stretching longer than it should.
The apartment was silent when he entered. Too silent. He kicked off his shoes at the door, let his bag drop to the floor, and made his way straight to his room. The second he sat on the edge of the bed, his phone vibrated again. He stared at it for a moment before flipping it over, the screen down.
Harry: Are you home?
Louis exhaled, rubbing at his face. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his temples. The phone buzzed again.
Harry: Louis.
His stomach twisted. He wanted to answer, to tell Harry to leave him alone, but he knew how that would go. Harry wouldn’t stop. He never did. Louis couldn’t deal with that right now—not with the weight pressing against his ribs, making it hard to breathe.
Another vibration.
Harry: Just tell me you’re okay.
Louis clenched his jaw. His chest felt tight like something inside him was splintering.
The final text came seconds later.
Harry: I’ll come over if you don’t answer.
That got him to move. His fingers trembled as he picked up his phone and typed the shortest response he could manage.
Louis: I’m fine. Just tired, I'll go to bed in case I don't answer.
He tossed the phone onto the nightstand and lay back, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, the only light coming from the city outside, flickering through the blinds. He should sleep. He needed to. But the heaviness in his chest wouldn’t let him.
He turned onto his side, curling in on himself. The sheets smelled stale. His hands still ached, raw and torn from earlier. He tucked them under the pillow, trying to ignore the sting.
Outside, the train made the whole complex tremble. He stayed still.

Chapter 24

Louis hadn’t moved from his bed since… he couldn’t remember when, maybe that Wednesday, maybe he did go to class that Thursday, but he wasn't sure.
His body felt like it was made of stone, weighed down by something that made it impossible to get up, impossible to care. Days bled into each other, each one starting and ending the same way, with him staring at the ceiling, his mind numb and empty. He couldn’t even think about the rent—how would he tell his mum he couldn’t pay it anymore? The thought alone felt like too much, something he couldn’t even begin to untangle.
Then, Sunday came.
His phone buzzed for the first time in days, breaking the silence. Louis blinked, staring at the screen before his tired eyes focused. Harry’s name. A text.
“Hey, can I come over?”
Louis stared at the message for a long moment, the words hanging in the air. He didn’t have the energy to think about it, didn’t have the strength to pretend. He just typed back, the words almost not registering as his fingers moved.
“Yeah.”
That was it. He didn’t care to add anything more. He couldn’t.
He dropped the phone next to him, his hand falling back onto the bed like it was too heavy to move. The seconds dragged on. Time crawled. And still, he lay there, too exhausted to even process what was coming next.
Harry would come, and they would do… what? He couldn’t think. He didn’t care.

Chapter 25

Louis dragged himself to the door, his legs feeling like they might give out with every step. When he opened it, Harry stood there, a frown already pulling at his features as he stepped inside.
The moment he entered, the smell hit him. It was sharp, unsettling—ammonia mixed with something else, something foul. Cat urine. But Louis didn’t have a cat. Harry’s brows furrowed, his gaze flicking around the apartment. The place was dim, the air thick with neglect.
Then he saw it. On the table, a stash of drugs, now empty, the remnants scattered across the surface like forgotten trash. His stomach turned.
Louis stood in the doorway, his face pale and hollow. He seemed to notice Harry’s gaze shifting to the table. Harry swallowed, trying to steady himself before he said anything. He couldn’t ignore it, but he didn’t want to make things worse either.
“Louis,” Harry said, his voice softer than usual, trying to mask the concern creeping into his tone. “What’s going on here?”
Louis didn’t respond right away. He just stared ahead, his eyes glazed over. Harry stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the table.
“Louis...” Harry repeated, this time a little firmer.
Louis blinked, his gaze flicking to Harry’s face for a brief moment before he turned away again, his voice not very audible.
“Sorry” he whispered, the words sinking into the room like they didn’t belong.
Harry’s heart clenched. He didn’t know what to say to that. He took a slow step forward, hesitant. He didn’t care about the mess, about the smell, about any of it. He cared about Louis.
“Come on,” Harry said, his voice steady as he reached out, guiding Louis back into the apartment “Let’s sit down.”
Louis didn’t resist. He let Harry lead him further into the living room, but his eyes never left the table, and the weight of what was left behind hung heavy in the air.
Louis’ scent hit Harry —cigarettes, stale and thick, clinging to his clothes, his skin. It wasn’t just the smell. It was how Louis looked, how he couldn’t move.
“Louis,” Harry said, stepping closer, his voice firm. “You need to take a shower. We can talk after”
Louis shook his head, his gaze locked on the floor. “I can’t... move...” He stopped, his voice faint.
Harry pushed the frustration down. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Louis’ arm. “I’ll help you,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you in there.”
Louis didn’t resist. He didn’t say anything else. Harry guided him to the bathroom, his hand steady against Louis’ back as the weight of him dragged Louis forward, every step slow, like moving through something thick and heavy.
When they reached the bathroom, Louis stood in the doorway, his eyes still on the floor. Harry reached for him, helping him remove his jacket, and guiding him towards the shower. Louis didn’t argue but his body trembled, stiff and unwilling, which Harry noticed so he gave him space.
In the shower, Louis didn’t move much. He sat on the floor and hugged his knees under the water, eyes shut, his body cold and distant. He used all his energy to grab the soap and scrub himself clean.
The sound of water filled the space. Harry stood near, his presence constant, watching the closed bathroom door, as if the world had stopped mattering.

Louis stumbled out of the bathroom, wearing the same dirty, baggy shirt and a towel around his hips. Harry frowned when he saw him, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching as Louis moved to change, his movements slow, almost mechanical.
Harry stayed quiet, leaning against the wall, waiting for Louis to finish. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Words didn’t seem to reach him, and Harry didn’t want to push. He just wanted Louis to feel something other than this numbness, but he didn’t know how.
Louis took his time, still not meeting Harry’s gaze, his hands shaking as got out of his bedroom and pulled the shirt over his head. Harry stayed still, eyes fixed on the floor, the tension in the room heavy but unspoken.
Once Louis finished, he dropped onto the couch again, collapsing into the same position as before, his body sinking. He didn’t look at Harry, didn’t move like he was fading into the couch itself.
Harry sat on the edge, unsure, close enough that his presence was there, even if Louis didn’t acknowledge it. He took a deep breath because Louis lay slouched on the couch, eyes hollow, fingers absently pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Harry said, watching for any sign that Louis was listening, but he wasn’t there so he just went to the point "I talked to my mums, and I wanted to offer you to move in with me."
Louis’s fingers froze. He blinked, slow, before finally sitting up.
"What?" His voice was hoarse like he hadn't used it in days.
Harry gave a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Happy early birthday?"
Louis swallowed, his shoulders stiff "No. I—" He shook his head. "I can’t, I don’t wanna be a bother. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out"
"You’re not a bother," Harry said, unwavering. "We already spend all day together, and the apartment is bought under my name, you wouldn’t have to worry about rent, though I would need help with other expenses, I won’t lie, but well, rent is the most expensive of your bills."
Louis stared at him, something cracking in his expression. He rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his palms into his eyes. "I don’t know, I can’t ask you to do that..."

Harry moved closer, leaning in enough that Louis could feel the warmth of him. "Just say yes" he murmured ‘’please, I can’t let you live here like this’’
Louis exhaled, hands dropping to his lap.
He looked at Harry, exhausted, raw...
"Thank you" he couldn’t help to start crying, but the days he kept bottling up his feelings, all this, was so overwhelming he couldn’t help it ‘’Yes, thank you’’
‘’You can come home with me tonight and before the end of the month we’ll come clean up and empty the place’’ Harry reached out and pulled Louis into a hug. Louis let himself be held, his fingers gripping the back of Harry’s hoodie like he was afraid to let go.
‘’I’m so sorry’’ Louis sobbed ‘’You don’t have to do this’’
‘’But I want to’’
Harry held on, his arms steady around Louis, grounding him. Louis didn't pull away. His body felt too heavy, too worn to move, so he stayed there, leaning into Harry like he was the only thing keeping him from sinking further.
"You should pack some things," Harry said after a moment, his voice softer now.

Louis didn't respond, didn't nod, just sat still until, after a few seconds, he forced himself to stand. His legs shook under his weight, but he moved toward his bedroom. Harry followed, close enough to catch him if he collapsed.
He hadn't looked before. Not really.
The room wasn't like the first day. Clothes were thrown across the floor, tangled with empty bottles and cigarette packs. The bedsheets were twisted, and stained, and Harry tried not to focus on how some marks looked like dried blood. His stomach turned at the thought, wondering if that was why Louis didn’t want help undressing earlier. The air sat thick, and stale, like the window hadn't been cracked open in weeks.
Louis stood in the middle of it, staring at the mess like he didn't know where to start.
"I'll help," Harry said, stepping in.
"You don’t have to." Louis sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. "Give me a minute."
Harry didn't wait. He picked up a duffel bag from the floor, shook out whatever junk had been stuffed inside, then grabbed the first hoodie he could find. Another one followed. He folded them, set them in the bag. Louis watched, his face unreadable.
"Get your meds," Harry said without looking up.
Louis went still.
He pushed himself up and moved to the nightstand, shifting through old receipts and lighters until he found the bottles. He picked them up, his fingers tightening around them.
Empty.
Harry frowned. "How long has it been since you ran out?"
Louis didn’t answer. His breath caught on something, a sharp inhale, and he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.
"I don’t remember the last few days."
Harry stopped what he was doing.
"You’ve been high this whole time? That’s why you’re crashing—"
Louis shook his head. "That’s not why, but it doesn’t matter"
Harry looked at him, the shadows under his eyes, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still. It did matter. But Louis was already closing the nightstand drawer, already turning away, like the conversation was over.
Harry packed a few more things—shirts, a pair of joggers, socks that didn’t match. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get Louis through a few days. He zipped the bag shut and gave it to him.

Chapter 26

''Already at Harry’s apartment, while they waited for the food— which Louis paid for out of guilt for being there in the first place— they put on a movie.

Harry was curled up, arms around his legs, chin resting on his knees. His stomach ached slightly from the nerves of eating a normal dinner in front of Louis, of sharing space, of everything that came with it.

Louis was sweet, and it was difficult to grow tired of him. He understood Harry’s body, his need for silence, for solitude. In part, because he was the same way.

Harry turned to look at him. Louis sat back against the couch, arms crossed, his expression neutral as he watched the screen.

Feeling eyes on him, Louis glanced at Harry. His face softened, and he smiled.

''What?'' he murmured.

The younger boy shifted slowly, leaning his head against Louis’ shoulder, his legs folding back into his chest. He couldn’t help but close his eyes when Louis slid an arm around his back, resting his hand on his shoulder.

Louis felt the warmth of Harry’s breath against his neck, each exhale slower, steadier. He knew something about this closeness made Harry feel safe, even if he would never say it out loud.

The movie kept playing, but neither of them seemed to care. It had become a habit lately— the world stopped mattering when the other was too close. Louis, however, couldn’t help but notice the way Harry’s head fit against his shoulder as if it belonged there.

For a second, Louis wondered if he should return that look he had felt on him moments ago. It wasn’t the first time he caught those glimpses in Harry’s eyes, different from the ones during their intense kisses. This was something else, something softer, something warm he couldn’t quite decipher.

The silence between them had stopped being uncomfortable long ago. It was as if they both understood that words were unnecessary when their bodies spoke like this when a simple touch could say more than either of them was willing to admit.

The doorbell interrupted the moment. Harry sat up instantly, but Louis kept his hand on his shoulder.

''I’ll get it,'' he said, his voice soft, quiet.

He smiled and got up to hand Harry the keys.

He turned back to the screen, trying to focus on the movie still playing, but his mind wandered the way it always did when he was left alone.

The ache in his stomach, which had been nothing more than a slight discomfort, started to intensify. Maybe it was just nerves, he thought.

There was something terrifying about being so close to someone who understood him without words, about that silent complicity forming between them. It was beautiful but overwhelming. He loved Louis, felt things for him he had never felt for anyone, and feared that his emotions would push him away.

His thoughts tangled in chaos. He wanted to be fine, to be normal, to enjoy these moments, but sometimes his mind betrayed him.

The dizziness came suddenly, like an unexpected wave. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to take a deep breath, but the air didn’t seem to reach his lungs. The pressure in his chest and head grew stronger, his surroundings spinning. Maybe if he just sat down…

He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t respond. His thoughts blurred, fragmented, and a sharp pain spread through his head. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, the world around him started fading away.

A comforting warmth surrounded him, and then everything went black.

Chapter 27

Louis took the elevator up, uneasy. He felt that tingling in his stomach that he knew well, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to have a situation over Harry resting his head on his shoulder; he didn’t want things to be weird.

When he reached his floor, he stepped out of the elevator and unlocked the apartment door. The first thing he noticed upon entering was that there was no sign of Harry on the couch.

"I’m back," he announced, his voice still hoarse as he closed the door, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw a figure on the floor. His heart stopped for a second.

He dropped the bags by the table, not caring if they spilled or got crushed.

Harry was collapsed, motionless, his skin pale, his breathing barely noticeable.

Louis knelt beside him, trembling, not knowing what to do for a moment. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. He cupped Harry’s face with his hands, searching for any reaction. The pulse was there, but he wasn’t responding.

"Harry," Louis whispered, his voice breaking with fear.

He lifted Harry’s shirt by accident, and that’s when he noticed how the line of his leg bone connected so evident to his hip, how it protruded so much that his stomach didn’t even touch the waistband of his pants.

To make things worse, he was always so cold it felt like touching a corpse.

Louis tried to keep his hand steady on Harry’s back, hiding the fact that he was shaking, watching every small rise and fall of his chest. He knew seconds could feel like hours, but he couldn’t panic. His mother always said that, in many cases, someone who faints regains consciousness a bit after.

He just held him.

Harry’s breathing began to deepen, becoming more rhythmic. His body started to show signs of returning to himself. A faint sigh escaped his lips, followed by a slight twitch of his fingers.

"Harry," Louis murmured, leaning in a little but not letting go.

A few seconds later, Harry’s eyes began to flutter open, as if the world around him was piecing itself back together. He blinked several times, disoriented, trying to focus his gaze. He brought a trembling hand to his head, feeling the dull pain from the impact, the lingering dizziness clouding his thoughts.

"What happened?" he rasped, feeling the floor beneath him and, above all, the warmth of Louis’ hand on his back.

"You fainted," Louis replied, surprised at how calm he sounded. There was no panic in his voice now.

Harry blinked again, trying to process Louis’ words. He still felt weak, but his awareness was returning.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, trying to sit up, but Louis pressed his shoulder, stopping him from moving too fast.

"You don’t have to apologize," Louis said with a half-smile, though his eyes held nothing but concern. "Take it easy," he murmured when Harry tried to get up again, but his body tensed, and he semi-collapsed forward once more. Louis caught him and lifted him onto the couch.

"I’m cold," Harry whispered. Louis grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around him, clumsy- before focusing on finding something salty.

The only thing he had was salt itself, so he opted instead to open the food and drinks they had ordered, handing Harry the Sprite he had asked for—since Harry never drank anything with sugar.

Harry made a funny grimace of disgust.

"How long has it been since you ate?" Louis asked, his fingers running through Harry’s hair, keeping his voice steady.

Harry didn’t answer right away. He stared at the plate in front of him, frustration and shame pulling at his face.

"This morning," he muttered, the lie bitter on his tongue. It was obvious he hadn’t eaten since then. He hadn’t eaten for more than 24 hours. Only had tea with a splash of milk.

Louis didn’t believe him, but he didn’t call him out on it either.

"Eat," Louis said, pushing the plate closer. Harry didn’t want to, but he picked up the fork.

Louis watched as Harry ate, his movements slow, deliberate, but he didn’t struggle with the food—not in a pathological way. It seemed easy for him, even though his body wasn’t in the same condition as before. Louis noticed how his bones were becoming more pronounced, even if it wasn’t in the same way as it had been with him.

"Are you feeling better?" Louis asked, glancing at him. Harry nodded but didn’t answer.

"I have low blood pressure. It’s normal, don’t worry about it."

Louis didn’t buy it.

"It’s not normal," he said, his tone sharpening. "It’s not normal because you’re not healthy."

"What do you want me to do?" Harry’s voice was flat. He picked up a piece of bread, chewing without looking at Louis.

Louis leaned in, his stare hardening.

"Stop lying. I don’t believe you’ve eaten today."

Harry glanced at him.

"Then why ask if you know I’ll lie?"

Louis stayed silent for a moment, his gaze unyielding.

"You’re not fine. Can’t you see it? You don’t look fine."

Louis rubbed his face, and Harry’s eyes dropped to the table.

Louis sat across from him, his eyes tracing the outlines of Harry’s body—how thin his arms looked, how his face had sharpened. He couldn’t ignore it, even though Harry was trying to act like everything was fine.

"Yeah, I’m fine. I know I’m thin, but it’s not that bad. I’m just like you."

Louis didn’t blink, his gaze unwavering.

"No. I can see your bones."

Harry’s eyes hardened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared back at Louis. His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed like he was holding something back. Then, he scoffed.

"Shut up."

His voice was quieter now, irritation clear, but Louis wasn’t going to let it slide. He wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t noticed what was going on.

"Don’t shut me out, Harry. I’m not blind. You’re not fine."

Harry’s eyes flickered to the side, but he didn’t respond. He picked at the food in front of him, pushing it around without eating.

Louis watched him, his heart heavy with the frustration of trying to get through to someone who kept shutting him out.

"It’s not just about being thin. It’s about what’s happening to you. You don’t look okay."

Harry took a deep breath, looking up at Louis with an unreadable expression.

"I’m fine. Really. I’m not like you."

Louis’ lips tightened, but he stayed silent. The silence stretched between them, thick. Harry reached out, his hand hovering near Louis’, but he pulled it back.

Harry didn’t look at him again, his hands shaking as he picked up the fork and took a bite, mindfully chewing.

"I’m sorry."

Louis’ frustration boiled over, but he held himself back, biting his tongue as he watched Harry. He couldn’t explode—not with him.

"It’s okay," he whispered, setting the plate on the table. "I’ll be right back."

Louis walked toward the bathroom, locking himself inside for a few minutes just to cry while looking at his bruised arm, at the cuts above, at every tattoo covering those deeper scars that would never disappear.

Chapter 28

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night, but now it was three in the morning, and Louis was sat at the kitchen table, his chin resting on his hand, eyes lost in the empty space in front of him. The dim light from the fridge cast faint shadows on his face, and despite the stillness of the house, he couldn’t escape the restlessness inside him.
"What are you doing up at this hour?" Harry asked, stepping into the kitchen with a bottle of water in his hand. He looked half-awake, his hair disheveled, still wearing his sleepwear.
Louis lifted his eyes just enough to glance at him. "I can't sleep," he muttered. He felt too tired to keep his head up, but sleep wouldn’t come. His body ached for rest, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate.
"Don't you want to take a shower? Maybe it'll help," Harry suggested, his voice still thick with sleep.
Louis gave a tired smile, a faint curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. "Do I smell bad?"
"Idiot." Harry’s voice softened, but his eyes were full of affection as he sat down beside him. His hands gently began massaging Louis' neck, the tension in his muscles clear from the way Louis instinctively leaned into the touch.
Louis closed his eyes, letting the soothing pressure relax him. He felt his forehead drop toward the table, the cool surface helping ground him. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence, his voice a little softer now, more like an invitation than a suggestion.
Louis shook his head, exhaustion creeping deeper into his bones. "No. Go back to bed. You have class tomorrow."
"We have class," Harry corrected, a teasing hint in his voice despite the tiredness.
Louis couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, his eyes still closed. “Go to sleep, I’ll be fine.”
Harry gave a reluctant sigh but didn’t push it further. Instead, he stood up, moving to the counter to grab a glass of water before pausing and glancing at Louis once more.
"Come" Harry got Louis up, his free arm intertwining with the boy’s hoping he’d cooperate, he couldn’t move him just relying on his force.
They walked to Harry’s room, where he forced Louis to lie down. He drank from his glass of water before lying down by Louis’ side and spooning him.
‘’Try to rest’’

Notes:

I'll try to keep updating, but I need a few days, I'm quite sick rn :(

Chapter 29

The morning seeps in like an unwanted guest, slipping through the curtains and stretching weak fingers of light across the sheets. Louis stirs first, dragging himself into consciousness with all the enthusiasm of a man facing the gallows. His body feels like lead, his head pulsing with the aftermath of—well, everything. But the warmth at his back, steady and real, keeps him from slipping too far into the weight of it.

Harry is still asleep, breath slow and measured against Louis’ shoulder. For a second—just a second—Louis lets himself be still, staring at the ceiling, mind sluggish and unwilling to boot up for the day. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to exist just yet. But then his stomach twists, a dull ache reminding him that eventually, he’s going to have to.

With a sigh, he peels himself from the bed, standing for a moment until his body catches up. The walk to the bathroom feels longer than it should, like gravity’s working overtime just for him. Cold water helps, a little—shocking his skin, running down his face, settling in the hollows under his eyes. He looks like hell. No surprise there. He runs a hand through his hair, gripping the sink for a moment before pushing himself back into motion.

When he steps into the room again, Harry’s upright, a tangled mess of curls and sleep-heavy eyes blinking blearily at him. He rubs at his face before rasping, “‘You okay?”

“Just needed water,” Louis says. Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth, either.

Harry hums, stretching like a cat before dragging himself out of bed. “Come on, I’ll make us breakfast. Not much in, though—money’s shit.”

Louis swallows around something thick in his throat. He doesn’t know how Harry makes it look so easy, standing there buttering toast like he hadn’t fainted last night from starving himself. Like it’s just another morning, another routine.

They eat in near silence, the clink of cutlery and the hum of the fridge filling the space. Louis watches Harry push food around his plate, barely eating, jaw tight like every bite is a battle. He knows that look. Knows it too fucking well.

“You don’t have to go to class if you feel like shit,” Harry says eventually, not looking up.

Louis breaks the crust of his toast between his fingers. “I’ll go.” He’s not sure if he means it, but saying it makes it real, at least for now.

Harry nods absently, dipping his spoon in his tea. He’s only eaten half a slice of toast, slathered in what Louis is fairly certain is ancient strawberry jelly.

“That all you’re having?”

Harry shrugs. “Not that hungry.”

Louis says nothing, just watches him take another deliberate bite, like he’s proving something. He knows the game too well. Knows the rules, the strategy. Knows how to spot someone playing it.

His own stomach twists, but for entirely different reasons. His anxiety’s been a wrecking ball to his insides for months, making a meal out of his gut, leaving him with knots and an embarrassingly loud stomach growl every time he dares put something in it. He’s learned to avoid it, let the hunger sit until it becomes something distant, something easy to ignore.

He pushes past it. “Thanks. For everything.”

Harry shakes his head with a small smile. “I’m just glad you said yes. Needed a roomie.” He sips his tea, then grins, “Maybe we can… I don’t know. Keep each other in check.”

Louis snorts. “Well, I’m going to class. That’s something.” He slouches back in his chair. “Which one today?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Language. You’re not in it, though.”

“Tragic.” Louis scrunches his nose. “Hate my class. Bunch of pricks, and my teacher’s a proper dickhead.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I know you wish you had me there. I’m so miss-able.”

Louis scoffs. “Not even a word.”

“God, you’re such a mansplainer.”

“What you gonna do about it, huh?”

Harry smirks, eyes flicking down for half a second before he exhales dramatically. “Your turn for dishes.” He stretches as he stands. “I’m gonna shower before we go.”

Louis groans, slumping further into his chair. Fucking fantastic.

Notes:

I know the way I write varies, and it's because I initially took a big break between chapters. Now it's just translating it.
Hope you'll still like it

Chapter 30

The classroom is a melting pot of exhaustion, filled with students from every course imaginable—business majors, engineers, artists, a couple of IT students who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days. The air is thick with the stench of body odor, cheap cologne, and stress, the kind of scent that clings to your clothes long after you leave. Louis hates it.
He slumps in his chair, staring at the whiteboard where the professor is rambling about formal email etiquette, but his mind drifts. Four hours of this bullshit. Four hours of "Dear Sir or Madam" and "Best regards" like they’re all meant to be corporate drones. He taps his pen against the desk, considering whether it’s worth pretending to take notes.
Stephanie, who sits beside him, nudges his arm. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”
Louis smirks. “Thinking about it.”
She grins, adjusting her long, straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “Fair. But if you die, at least wait until the break. I need someone to suffer through this with.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Didn’t peg you as the type to enjoy writing emails.”
“Oh, I don’t,” she says easily, twirling her pen. “I just like talking shit with you.”
Louis rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Steph’s one of the few people in class he can actually stand. She’s eager about everything in a way that should be annoying but isn’t, always quick to fill the silence with whatever’s on her mind.
“Didn’t sleep last night,” she says suddenly, like they’re mid-conversation. “My kid kept waking up.”
Louis blinks. “You have a kid?”
“Yep. Four years old, already my boss.” She leans back in her chair, smirking at his expression. “Surprised?”
“A little.”
She snorts. “What, you think I just show up to class, look pretty, and go home to a peaceful, responsibility-free life?”
“Kinda.”
She laughs, nudging his arm again. “Nah, mate. I work in IT, study marketing, go to the gym every day, and raise a tiny dictator. Multitasking queen” she says, her glossy and full lips curving in an honest smile. Then, tapping at her notebook without actually writing anything, she asks “What about you?”
“I’m in psychology. Been through a lot of courses, this one is easier, and I enjoy it I guess, but apart from that I don’t do much” Louis mutters. “How do you have time to breathe?”
“I don’t. But that’s life.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Thought about studying psychology before. My kid’s autistic, so I figured it’d be useful, but I’m too sensitive for that.”
Louis doesn’t argue. He just nods, letting the words settle between them.
They lapse into silence, the hum of the professor’s voice blending into the background. Around them, students either pretend to listen or mindlessly scroll on their phones. Stephanie goes back to doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook, and Louis stares at his blank page, neither of them bothering to even pretend they care.

 

The moment the professor starts calling out groups, Louis already knows he’s fucked.
He’s been in this class long enough to know how things work. The same cliques, the same unspoken rules. And, of course, the same people who make it their mission to make him feel like shit.
When the professor pairs him with that particular group—a bunch of girls and a guy who have made it painfully clear they hate people from his country—Louis tenses. He’s worked with them before. They ignored him, talked over him, gave him the worst parts of the assignment, and when he dared to say anything, they acted like he was the problem.
His jaw tightens.
“Miss, can I switch groups?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay even.
The professor doesn’t even look up from her list. “No, it’s too late for group changes.”
“But—”
“You’ll manage, Tomlinson,” she cuts him off, already moving on to the next name.
Louis exhales through his nose, pressing his lips together. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He could argue—should argue—but he knows how this ends. So, instead, he swallows it down and drags himself toward the group’s table, sliding into the seat as they all exchange pointed looks.
The air is tense, the kind of forced politeness that barely hides disdain. The guy doesn’t even bother looking at him, and the girls are whispering between themselves like he isn’t there.
“So,” one of them finally says, her tone as flat as her expression. “We have to write an expository text on AI and a big business.”
Silence.
Louis waits, but no one continues. No one even acknowledges him. Classic.
“Alright,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair. “Who’s taking what part?”
No response.
He grits his teeth. This is going to be a long fucking assignment.
Louis watches as the girls immediately start working on the text, their heads close together, whispering like he isn’t sitting right there. The guy, meanwhile, opens a PowerPoint and starts putting together slides without saying a word.
Fine. Whatever. He’s not about to beg to be included.
“I’ll do it,” Louis says anyway, because if they’re going to ignore him, at least he can get this over with on his own.
But no one acknowledges him.
The girls are already typing away, adjusting the format of the document between hushed comments. The guy clicks through the PowerPoint like it’s his personal project, adding bullet points in some ugly font.
Louis clenches his jaw. If they’re going to pretend he doesn’t exist, he might as well make himself useful. He scoots a bit closer to the guy, peering at the screen. “I can help with the slides,” he offers, reaching for the keyboard.
The guy barely reacts, just leans back slightly to give him room. Louis takes it as permission, fixing the alignment on a title and rewording a sentence that sounds like it was written by a ten-year-old.
The second he lifts his hands, the guy clicks “undo” twice, setting it back to the way it was.
Louis stares. “Seriously?”
No answer. The guy just keeps working, as if Louis never touched it.
Louis exhales sharply through his nose. He tries again, tweaking the layout so the text isn’t crammed awkwardly to one side. The guy waits all of five seconds before undoing it again.
This time, Louis leans back in his chair and just watches him.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The guy clearly doesn’t want his help, doesn’t want him involved at all, but Louis isn’t about to waste his breath arguing over a PowerPoint slide.
Instead, he crosses his arms and smirks. “Yeah, looks great, mate,” he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.
The guy doesn’t respond, just keeps working, acting like Louis isn’t even there.
Louis taps his fingers against the desk, staring at the clock. This is going to be the longest four hours of his life.

Chapter 31

Louis bolts out of the classroom like he’s just crawled through a warzone. The air outside feels cleaner, like freedom, but the relief is only half there. He’s already scanning the hallway for Harry when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

“Hey, Tomlinson,” Steph calls, slipping into step beside him, annoyingly chipper. “Had fun with your new besties?”

Her American accent grates on him in a way that’s almost funny. Almost.

Louis doesn’t bother masking his irritation. “Don’t even start. That fucking group,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I could’ve been a ghost in there, and it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Steph snorts. “Yeah, sounds about right. My group’s a joke too. Me and this guy Alexis are the only ones doing shit. The other four just sit there staring at their phones like we’re in a waiting room.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, all dry and unimpressed. “People are useless, aren’t they?”

“Tell me about it. And you’re the one studying psych, mate. Shouldn’t you be figuring them out?”

They walk in silence for a bit, both probably thinking the same thing—how much easier life would be if people just did what they were supposed to.

“Anyway,” Steph finally says, breaking the quiet, “I’m grabbing lunch before work. You coming?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. See you next week.”

“Later, cutie,” she teases, flashing him a grin before turning down the hall.

Louis watches her go for half a second, then sighs and heads downstairs, back into the mess of the main hall.

Louis pushes through the main hall, weaving past slow walkers and people standing around like they’ve got nowhere better to be. The place always feels too crowded, and too loud, and he’s just about had it with today. But then he spots Harry by the entrance, leaning against the wall like he owns the place, fag between his fingers, looking like he hasn’t got a single worry in the world. It’s the kind of sight that makes Louis breathe a little easier.

“Oi, Haz,” he calls, striding over, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Still haven’t kicked the habit, huh?”

Harry chuckles, holding up the half-smoked cigarette like it’s some prized possession. “What can I say? Gotta have something to take the edge off, mate.” He takes a slow drag, exhaling into the cold air, eyes flicking over to Louis. “Not like I’m the only one,” he adds with a knowing look.

Louis pulls out his own pack, tapping one out and lighting up. First drag in, and the bullshit from class gets shoved to the back of his mind. “My group’s a right pain in the arse,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Can’t get anything done with them. I might as well be a fucking ghost.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You’d think, with your personality, they’d at least notice you.” He nudges Louis, all teasing.

Louis snorts. “Yeah, well, they’d rather ignore me and stare at their phones. Real productive lot.”

Harry shrugs, grinning. “Could be worse. My group’s not half bad, to be fair. Work actually gets done. And my teacher for language? Proper legend. Doesn’t dick about.” He pauses, taking another drag, then smirks. “Actually makes it interesting, y’know?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Pfft. Yeah, well, good for you, mate. I’m stuck with a bunch of numpties and a teacher who thinks they’re some kind of motivational speaker.” He flicks ash onto the ground. “Boring twats, the lot of them.”

Harry grins. “Could be worse, yeah? At least you’re not with my lot in the morning. Bunch of wankers too.”

Louis lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point. I’m just ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry agrees, flicking the last bit of his cigarette away. He jerks his head towards the street. “C’mon.”

Louis takes one last drag before tossing his own, falling into step beside him. The air outside is sharp, but next to Harry, it doesn’t feel as harsh.

They barely make it back without collapsing from exhaustion, Louis kicking off his shoes the second they step inside, Harry tossing his jacket over the back of the couch like he’s got zero plans of picking it up later. The place is cold, colder than it should be, but Louis isn’t about to check why. He’s too tired to care.

He’s the first to drag himself off the couch, flicking the kettle on for coffee and rummaging through whatever’s left to eat. The whole “end of the month” thing had turned into more of a “mid-month” situation, given the near-empty fridge and the fact that it was only the 16th. So, toast it was. Half a loaf of bread, some cream cheese, and a bit of lettuce. Sorted.

Wrapped in a blanket that barely covered him, he shuffled to the kitchen, steps slow, dragging, bones aching from a day that felt twice as long as it should have.

“I’m freezing my arse off,” Harry muttered, barely thinking as he slung his arms around Louis, both of them crowding the stove for warmth.

Harry hummed, not moving, not pushing him off either. Louis sighed against his shoulder, shutting his eyes for a second.

“I love your hugs,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of Harry’s hoodie. “But your kisses? Way better.”

Harry snorted, half amused, half tired. “Yeah? Then why don’t you give me one?”

Louis grinned, lazy and smug, but he wasn’t in the mood for a show. “You do it then.”

“Mhm,” Harry murmured, barely glancing at him like Louis had just suggested something groundbreaking.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Everything I do around here. Honestly, it’s like I’m living with a brick wall,” he muttered, pecking Harry’s lips, deliberately messy since Harry wasn’t making an effort.

But then Harry did move, hands sliding to Louis’ face, pressing him back against the counter, eyes locking onto his like he’d just decided something important.

“Guess we won’t have to eat that rubbish that tastes like grass this way,” Harry whispered, shifting just enough to kiss Louis properly.

Louis kisses him back. Stupid. He knows it’s stupid. Knows it the way he knows not to touch a hot stove, not to stare at the sun too long, not to get attached to things that were never meant to be his. But Harry’s warm, and his hands are careful, and Louis is so, so fucking tired.

The kiss isn’t desperate, not in the way it should be, not in the way Louis feels like it should rip through him, make him regret something real. It’s just… nice. Too nice. Like slipping into clean sheets after a long day, like stretching sore muscles and finally feeling relief.

Which is exactly why he needs to stop.

Louis pulls back first, blinking at Harry like he’s just remembered who they are, what this is. Harry just watches him, thumb brushing absentmindedly over Louis’ cheek like he’s cataloguing something for later.

“What?” Louis mutters, defensive for no reason.

Harry shrugs. “You like me?”

The words hit him harder than they should. Maybe because Harry says them so easily like it’s just a casual question, like he isn’t pressing a hand to Louis’ waist, like Louis isn’t half-wrapped around him just to keep himself from falling apart.

Louis opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His chest is too tight, everything inside him coiling up like a spring about to snap. He presses his forehead to Harry’s shoulder instead, arms locking around him, gripping like he can hold himself together if he just holds on tight enough.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, the word barely there, breathless.

Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t push for more. He just lets him stay there, pressed up against him, silent and shaking with the weight of something Louis isn’t ready to name.

Harry swallows hard, blinking up at the ceiling like it might stop the sting in his eyes. He’s not gonna cry. He’s not. That would be fucking stupid.

Louis is still holding onto him like he needs something solid, something real, but all Harry can think is—maybe this isn’t real. Maybe Louis just likes the warmth, the closeness, the easy way Harry gives. Maybe Louis just wants a body next to his at night, someone to kiss in the kitchen when it’s too cold to think straight.

Maybe that’s all this is.

Harry forces a breath out, slow and steady. His hands stay where they are—one on Louis’ waist, the other against his back, fingers curled in just enough to feel but not enough to keep. He’s careful. He has to be.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice even, detached. "Fuck." A small laugh, like this is funny. Like it’s not tearing something open inside him.

Louis doesn’t move, still pressed against him like he can’t quite let go, like he’s waiting for Harry to say something else, maybe something reassuring. But Harry doesn’t. He just stands there, staring past him, trying not to feel the way Louis fits against him too well, the way it would be so fucking easy to just let this happen, whatever *this* is.

But if Louis doesn’t *want* him, not really, not the way he wants Louis, then what’s the fucking point?

Louis felt it before he saw it—the shift. Harry still had his hands on his face, still close, still warm, but the weight had changed. The kiss ended, but Harry stayed right there, watching him, like he was waiting for something. Like he expected Louis to say something, do something. And Louis knew what that something was, but his throat had locked up, chest too tight, brain screaming at him to move, to say literally anything other than what was actually sitting at the back of his tongue.

He let out a breath, tried to smirk. "Look at you, already addicted. Told you my kisses were better."

Harry let out a laugh, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. The kind that said, I see right through you. The kind that made Louis’ stomach twist because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be seen at all.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, stepping back, running a hand through his hair like he needed something to do with his hands now that Louis wasn’t letting him use them. "Guess I’m just easy to please."

Louis wanted to say something—wanted to fix whatever had just cracked in real time between them—but he didn’t. He just turned back to the counter, picked up a piece of toast, and shoved it in his mouth like that would somehow fill the hole in his gut.

Harry didn’t say anything either. He just grabbed his coffee, took a sip, and leaned against the counter, looking anywhere but at Louis. And that was worse than anything else. The quiet. The way he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t asking for more.

Maybe this was it. Maybe Louis had done it—built the wall high enough that Harry wouldn’t try climbing it again. Maybe that was a good thing.

So why did it feel like absolute shit?

Louis stared at the toast like it was the answer to all his problems, but it wasn’t. Nothing was. He shoved another piece in his mouth, chewing with a kind of mechanical precision, hoping the mundanity would drown out the awkwardness. But Harry’s presence—the air between them—was thick, and no amount of bread was going to choke it down.

He could feel Harry’s gaze even when he wasn’t looking. Could hear the unspoken things, the ones Harry didn’t say but left hanging in the space between them like an open invitation. *Look at me,* it whispered, even as Louis kept his eyes fixed on the half-eaten toast.

God, it was suffocating.

He swiped the plate to the side, suddenly not hungry anymore, and leaned back against the counter. He wished Harry would just leave the room so he could breathe. But Harry didn’t leave. Harry was still there, leaning against the counter, still too close for comfort, still too calm, like he was pretending everything was fine and Louis was the one losing his mind.

Louis’ head throbbed with the pressure of *not* saying anything. *Say something, Louis.* He could feel the weight of it, like the silence was a choice, and that was worse than the guilt. Worse than saying nothing.

But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at Harry. Instead, he fiddled with the hem of his sweatshirt, his fingers pulling at the fabric like it was the only thing grounding him.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Harry spoke, quietly and casual, like the space between them didn’t exist. “You gonna keep ignoring me, then?”

The question didn’t even feel like a question. It felt like a verdict. Like Harry had already decided Louis wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

Louis clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. He couldn’t look at Harry now. Not with the weight of everything hanging over him, suffocating him like that stupid blanket earlier, too thick to be comfortable, but too thin to protect him from the cold.

He sighed, finally meeting Harry’s eyes, his chest heavy. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Harry didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He just tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You don’t know? Really?”

Louis hated how his heart skipped a beat at that. Hated how easily Harry saw through him.

“I—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. *The truth?* God, that was a joke. He couldn’t even tell himself the truth, let alone anyone else. “I’m not what you think, okay?” The words tasted wrong as they left his mouth, like he was lying, but also telling the truth. *You’re not what I thought either*, he wanted to add, but he couldn’t say it. Not like that.

Harry’s eyes softened, the faintest crack in the mask he’d been holding up, and it sent a chill through Louis. Harry was *too* calm. *Too* understanding.

He didn’t like it.

“I know you’re not,” Harry said, taking a step forward. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop trying to figure you out, and that's not a bad thing” He reached for Louis’ hand, but Louis pulled it back, his pulse quickening.

Louis swallowed, the bitterness creeping up his throat. “It is when I don’t want to be figured out.” His pupils dilated, his eyes narrowed but widened at the same time, he could feel his eyelids touch his eyebrows but his gaze was cold, -sirenesque-. Hated how exposed he felt. “I don’t want this, Harry. Not… not like this.”

Harry paused, his brows furrowing. “Not like what?” His voice was gentle like he was afraid to push too hard.

Louis pressed his lips together, fingers digging into his palms. “This,” he repeated as if that explained anything. “You… You’re making me feel things I don’t want to feel. And I can’t… I can't.”

Louis thought Harry might back off. But he didn’t. He just stepped closer, their chests almost touching, and Louis could feel the warmth radiating off him. *Too much. Too close.*

“You don’t have to do anything, Louis,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not asking you to. But I’m not gonna walk away either. I don't care how long it takes me, and I don't know why you're so afraid of this, but I won't really give up... not when I felt like I found a lost piece of my soul”

Louis felt his throat tighten, the air around them thick and heavy with something he couldn’t quite name. Panic, maybe. “You should walk away, I’m not good for you. I’m not—” He cut himself off, closing his eyes, his hands shaking. “I'm just not, you need to believe me”

Harry’s hand found his again, steady and sure, and Louis didn’t pull away this time. “I’m not looking for someone perfect, God knows I'm not, that I'm such a mess, that I can't keep food down because weighing more than 140lbs is terrifying, that I panic at people watching me chew, that I can't even take hot showers without almost fainting” Harry held back an ugly cry, but his eyes were crystallized ''And I know you like me despite all that, so please, don't leave me now, please Lou, you're the only one who gets me, who...-''

Louis interrupted him, kissing him as his shoulders were shaking in a soft cry. He hugged Harry, gripping on his hoodie.

''I hate you so much'' Harry hugged him as tight as he could ''You better not leave me because I'm choosing to stay, and if you do, I swear I'll go mad''

''You already are. We are'' he chuckled in a sob, his face on Louis' neck.

Chapter 32

Louis stared at the message for a second too long, thumb hovering over the send button like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. The words were too easy, too simple: *I’ll be out by next month*. His mind screamed *do it*, because it would be the cleanest way out. No more rent hikes, no more debt, no more bullshit. Just him, free of everything.

He hit send.

Immediately, his chest clenched. Panic twisted inside him like a fist, tightening, suffocating. The words felt like a noose around his neck. He stared at the screen as if he could will the message to disappear, to take it back, but it was already there, already real. *Fuck*, he thought. *What did I just do?*

His finger moved before he could think. The message was gone, but not gone enough. He’d read it once, twice. Now it was stuck in his head, repeating like a broken record. *I’ll be out by next month.*

He dropped the phone into his lap, hands shaking as the weight of what he’d done hit him all at once. He could already see it—what he’d turned into. The guy who just cut ties without a second thought. The guy who walked away from everything the moment it got hard. But was that really him? Or had he just convinced himself it was easier to leave than to stay and face what *this* was?

Louis pushed himself to his feet, pacing around the roof like it could help burn the guilt away. But it didn’t. It was still there, gnawing at him. It didn’t matter if he deleted the message. He knew what he’d done.

Fuck.

He wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. But the thought of staying, of facing Harry again with that mess in his head, made his chest tighten even more. He didn’t know how to do this. How to stay without fucking everything up. How to keep running and not hate himself for it.

But that was the choice now, wasn’t it? Stay and risk everything, or leave and wonder what might have been.

Louis felt the walls closing in on him, his breath catching in his throat like someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs. He tried to calm himself, tried to focus on anything but the spiraling thoughts, but nothing worked. His chest was tight, his hands shaking, and all he could do was stare at the ground below—thirteen stories down, the street a blur of movement, people walking, cars driving, like everything was moving at a pace he couldn’t keep up with.

His heartbeat was all he could hear now, thudding in his ears like it was going to explode, and his vision was going white around the edges. He gripped the edge of the roof, nails digging into the concrete, the coolness doing nothing to steady him. The panic hit harder this time, faster, like it was rushing in from every corner of his mind. *You fucked up. You’re losing everything. You’re alone.*

He tried to breathe. In. Out. But his chest wouldn’t move right, the air was too thin, and every inhale just made the pressure worse. His hands flew to his face, rubbing at his eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and quick, mixing with the sweat on his skin. He hated this. Hated how weak he felt, how fucking pathetic he was. *Why is this happening?*

His knees gave out, and he collapsed, back against the cold wall, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to keep his insides from falling apart. He couldn’t stop the sobs, couldn’t stop the way his whole body trembled with every ugly cry that ripped through him. He was choking on it, on the noise, on the mess of his own mind, as if everything that had happened in the last few weeks was crashing down at once.

He kept his eyes trained on the void below, the street that felt miles away, but the distance only made it worse. *What am I doing?* His thoughts tangled into knots, all those self-destructive instincts fighting with the part of him that *wanted* to get better, wanted to stop running. But it was easier to let the panic win, easier to let the tears come and not try to stop them.

The fear of what would happen if he stayed, if he kept trying, was too much. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how to fix himself.

*Maybe it’d be better if I just let go.* The thought hit him like a cold wave, and it was like everything inside him stopped, frozen in place. The silence in his mind was deafening, just for a second, before the reality of it slammed into him.

No. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He sucked in a breath, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, trembling hands clutching the fabric, eyes screwed shut like he could shut the world out. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. The panic, the guilt, the uncertainty. All of it, sitting heavy on his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I can’t,” he whispered into the cold air, his voice barely there. “I can’t do this...”

Louis stood at the edge, the street below nothing but a blur of movement. His heart was pounding, his whole body shaking, but there was this... urge. A thought, cold and quick, slicing through the panic like a knife: Just step off.

It felt stupid, almost laughable, but at the same time, it didn’t. It felt right. Like the only way to stop this mess, to make everything go away.

He took a step forward. One more, and it would be done.

But before his foot could hit the ground, something slammed into his back.

A sharp shove sent him reeling, and he stumbled, catching himself just before he fell. His heart skipped a beat, a rush of adrenaline and confusion flooding his veins.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice grumbled, rough, but calm. “What the hell are you doing?”

Louis spun around, breath still stuck in his throat, and found a man standing there. Probably in his fifties, with a look on his face that said I’ve seen worse. He was dressed like someone who didn’t give a damn—jeans, a simple jacket, but his eyes were sharp. The kind of guy who didn’t need to ask questions, just acted.

The man, still standing there like he wasn’t sure what to do with the mess of Louis in front of him, frowned. His eyes softened just enough, and before Louis could even process it, the guy was kneeling in front of him. He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just pulled Louis into a hug, arms strong but careful.

Louis froze for a second, surprised by the sudden shift. He could feel the man’s warmth, his presence like an anchor in the storm of his head. For a moment, he thought about pulling away. About pushing this stranger off him. But the weight of it all hit him at once. He wasn’t strong enough to fight it. Not now.

So, he let himself break. Let the sobs come harder, deeper, his whole body shaking as the man held him. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to make it better. He just let Louis cry, like he wasn’t ashamed of it. Like it was okay.

And that was the worst part. The part that made Louis feel so fucking weak. But it also felt like the first time in a long time that he wasn’t alone with it.

It was just silence for a while, only Louis’ cries and the occasional shifting of the man’s hands, holding him there. There were no words to fix this, no quick solution. But for a second, Louis didn’t need one.

He kept his arms around Louis, giving him the space to just cry without trying to fix it. But after a while, he leaned back slightly, keeping his hands on Louis' shoulders, a solid presence grounding him in the mess.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice soft but firm, like he wasn’t letting Louis off the hook so easily. The Swedish accent gave his words a sharp edge, but there was no judgment in it, just... curiosity. Genuine curiosity.

Louis wiped his face with the back of his hand, sniffling, trying to steady himself. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to this guy. He didn’t even know him. Why the hell was he even helping me? He couldn’t figure it out.

Louis sat there, still feeling the weight of the man's arms around him, but the worst of the panic had started to fade, replaced by something that felt almost like exhaustion. The tears didn’t stop, but they slowed, leaving Louis raw in an almost comforting way. He didn’t know how long they sat there in silence, but it was that man who broke it.

He didn’t rush Louis, didn’t pressure him to say anything he wasn’t ready to. Instead, he waited, his presence steady and unrelenting, as if he already understood that some things couldn’t be forced out. So Louis, slowly, began to speak. He didn’t talk about the specifics at first—he didn’t even know where to start. It was more the feeling of it all, the pressure that built up until it felt like his chest would cave in. The constant thoughts. He tried to make sense of it, to put words to what had been churning inside him, but it felt like the words were always just out of reach. The man didn’t interrupt. He let Louis find his rhythm, even if it was a messy, broken one.

Eventually, Louis talked about what happened to him when he was younger and he cried along with him, but he never stopped holding him.

He didn’t offer advice or empty words of reassurance. He just gave Louis the space to say what he needed to, no judgment, no pressure. It felt both like relief and discomfort, and Louis couldn’t quite reconcile the two.

The man didn’t need to speak right away, but his posture softened, and Louis felt it, the sudden shift in energy.

“I’m Jakob,” he said, his accent clear, a little rough but not unkind. “I don’t know if you care, but I’m dating a psychologist. She’s the one who always says ‘talking helps,’” he added, a slight chuckle in his voice. “I don’t know if you agree, but it’s something, right? Maybe you could talk to her?”

He didn’t know if Jakob was trying to offer reassurance, or if it was just an introduction to make things feel more grounded. Either way, it worked. For a second, Louis didn’t feel like he was just floating in the mess of it all. He felt a little less alone.

Louis let out a breath, still feeling the remnants of the panic that had gripped him not long ago, but the intensity of it had dulled. He wiped his face again, realizing for the first time how much his hands were shaking. The weight of Jakob’s presence, steady and unyielding, kept him tethered. Louis wasn’t sure how he even got to this point, sitting on the rooftop, sharing things he’d never said out loud before.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, the words rough, like he hadn’t used them in a long time. "Thanks," he muttered, the sound too small for what he meant. "For... pulling me back from the edge."

Jakob just nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t look for any deep, heartfelt gratitude. He just let it hang between them, the silent acknowledgment that Louis had needed someone there—and Jakob had been that someone.

Louis swallowed hard, still processing everything. He didn’t know how to repay the kindness Jakob had just shown him, but he could at least offer the simplest thing he had: his name.

“I’m Louis,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words felt solid for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Jakob’s gaze softened like there was some kind of understanding there.

''Come on, it's cold outside, yes? Come on, boy''

Chapter 33

Louis pushed the door open, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering in his foggy mind. The apartment felt quiet—too quiet. But it was home, or at least, it was supposed to be. The weight of everything he’d just spilled to Jakob still sat heavy on his chest, but he wasn’t sure how much of it was his to carry anymore. He stepped inside, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp near the couch. Harry was sitting there, his feet propped up on the coffee table, scrolling through his phone. His head snapped up the second Louis walked in, and it was impossible to miss the way his expression shifted.

Louis didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. He couldn’t. Instead, he kicked off his shoes, letting them fall haphazardly onto the floor before he dragged himself toward the kitchen. His movements felt mechanical, like his body knew where it needed to go but his mind was still lost somewhere far away.

But Harry was already on his feet, his gaze tracking Louis the entire time. It only took a second before he was next to him, and Louis knew what was coming before Harry even opened his mouth.

"Louis," Harry’s voice was softer than usual, an edge of concern slipping through despite the usual guardedness. "Hey, what happened?" His eyes scanned Louis’ face, his frown deepening when he noticed the red-rimmed eyes, the blotchiness of his skin from crying.

Louis shook his head quickly, brushing past him to the fridge. "Nothing," he muttered, grabbing a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with shaky hands, trying to ignore the way Harry’s gaze followed him, like he was seeing through every lie Louis was trying to put up.

Harry wasn’t buying it. He stepped closer, his tone still gentle but insistent. "You’ve been crying," he said, like it was a simple fact, not an accusation. "What happened?"

Louis froze, the water bottle hovering at his lips. He didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to tell Harry what had happened, what he’d been feeling. It felt too personal, too raw. Too much.

"I’m fine," Louis said quickly, his voice cracking despite himself. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself.

Harry was quiet for a second, just watching him. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, his hand brushing Louis’ arm in an attempt to get his attention. "Louis," he said again, more softly this time. "What’s going on?"

Louis closed his eyes, a wave of frustration washing over him. He didn’t know how to answer that, how to explain that he wasn’t sure what was going on with himself, that it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

"I said, I’m fine," Louis repeated, more harshly this time, trying to push past Harry’s concern. He needed space. He needed to breathe.

But Harry didn’t pull back.

Louis' eyes were still glued to the bottle in his hand. He hated how easy it was for Harry to see right through him.

"Come on," Harry said, softer now, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gently nudged Louis. "At least let me know I’m not crazy for worrying about you."

Louis turned, meeting Harry’s eyes for the first time since coming in. His throat tightened, and a lump formed that he couldn’t quite swallow. He didn’t know how to say what he was feeling—he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling—but Harry was still there.

Harry was patient with him, far more patient than Louis deserved. He didn’t ask any more questions, just moved around him with quiet efficiency, like he’d done this a thousand times before, even though Louis knew he hadn’t. Harry guided him toward the bedroom without a word, his hand light on Louis’ back as if he were afraid any more pressure would crack him in half.

Louis could barely move, every part of him heavy, like his body had forgotten how to function outside of the numbness that had swallowed him whole. He let Harry do most of the work—helping him undress, guiding his stiff limbs into loose, comfortable clothes. Louis barely registered the feeling of the fabric as Harry pulled a soft, oversized shirt over his head, then tugged at his sweats to make sure they sat right on his hips. Everything felt distant, the movement sluggish and slow, like he was watching himself from far away.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked quietly, but the tone was less about trying to get an answer and more about making sure Louis knew he wasn’t alone. Louis didn’t answer, though. He couldn’t, not with the way his body was rebelling against him, not with the fog still clouding his mind.

Harry pulled the covers back, settling them around Louis as he climbed into bed beside him, staying close enough that Louis could feel his presence without having to acknowledge it. Harry didn’t ask him to talk, didn’t push for any more than what Louis was willing to give. He just stayed, his hand brushing the back of Louis’ head like he was trying to soothe him, to ground him, even if Louis didn’t know how to let himself be grounded.

For a moment, the room was quiet again, the only sound being Louis’ shallow breaths. He stared at the ceiling, blinking away the last remnants of tears, but the weight was still there, pressing down on him. His thoughts were tangled, a mess he couldn’t fix.

The tears came hot and relentless, the kind that clawed their way out of his chest and ripped through him like a storm, the ones you don't force, they just fall. Louis didn’t have the energy to hold them back anymore, couldn’t even if he tried. His breath hitched, a strangled sob escaping his throat, and the weight of everything—everything he’d been hiding, everything he couldn’t face—finally broke through.

His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his throat burning with the effort to cry to ease the pain. It felt like it would never stop, like the floodgates had opened and there was no way to shut them again. His body shook, trembling with the force of it, but still, he couldn’t look at Harry. Couldn’t face him through the mess of everything inside him.

But Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just kept his hand in Louis’ hair, slow and steady, a gentle caress that seemed to anchor him to the present, to something solid. Louis could feel Harry’s fingertips, the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, it was the only thing that didn’t feel like it was falling apart.

“Shh,” Harry whispered, but it didn’t feel like an attempt to quiet him. It felt like an invitation, a safe space to let it all out, to be as broken as he needed to be.

Louis couldn't stop. The tears came faster, more violently, and his breath caught in his chest, painful and jagged. His face was buried into the pillow, the sobs muffled but still impossible to control. His heart felt like it was pounding in his throat, like it was too big for his chest, too full of everything he couldn’t say.

Harry’s touch didn’t stop. It was constant, reassuring. Every stroke of his fingers in Louis’ hair felt like a silent promise. Like Harry wasn’t going anywhere, not now, not ever. He could feel Harry’s presence beside him, could feel his warmth, and for the first time in so long, Louis didn’t feel entirely alone. Even if he didn’t have the words, even if everything felt like too much, Harry was here.

He hated how much he has grown to need him.

-

It took a minute for Louis to realize Harry was shaking him awake. He groaned, pulling the covers over his head like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing altogether. Harry didn’t give up that easily.

“C’mon, Lou. You need to get up,” Harry’s voice was soft, but firm. Louis didn’t even open his eyes. He just wanted to sink deeper into the mattress. His body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and he had no idea how to make it feel light again.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his voice rough, not entirely convincing even to himself.

Harry’s hand on his back didn’t relent. “You’re not fine. You haven't got up in two days” There was a beat of silence, then, “You’re coming with me. I don’t care if you don’t want to.”

Louis sighed, throwing the covers off with more force than necessary, his limbs protesting. He hated how Harry could make him do things. He hated how Harry cared when he couldn’t seem to care about himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed. The floor felt too cold, and every movement sent a new wave of dizziness through his skull. He wasn’t sure if it was from the exhaustion or from not eating enough. Or maybe both.

He let Harry lead him out of the apartment, his sneakers scraping against the floor like they were holding him back. The city noise was muffled as he walked behind Harry, barely registering the movement around him. There was a point where he thought about turning back. It would’ve been easy, wouldn’t it? Just say he wasn’t feeling it, go back upstairs, curl up, and pretend like he was okay.

But Harry wouldn't let him.

-

If there was one thing Louis loved, was spoiling Harry, he figured as they reached the store.

Not for any particular reason—or maybe for a million of them—but mostly because seeing him calm, seeing him happy, was worth whatever it took.

They walked through the health food store, fingers loosely laced, because why the fuck would they care what anyone thought? If life had taught them anything, it was that it could end—just like that, no warning.

"I'm gonna grab some fags. Wait for me if you finish first," Louis said, already heading for the door.

Harry nodded, scanning the labels on the shelves like they held the meaning of life. He tossed a pack of vegan biscuits into the basket, then paused, lips pressing together. A second later, he put them back.

"Harry."

"What?"

"Promise you, nothing bad’s gonna happen if you eat the damn biscuits." He squeezed his shoulder before stepping out, and Louis was pretty sure Harry muttered a soft ''Piss off'' while smiling, but he couldn't swear on it.

The convenience store was barely half a block away, so he didn’t bother fishing out his wallet yet.

He almost didn’t hear his name.

“Louis?”

The voice was familiar.

Fuck.

Louis turned, already bracing himself. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed Colson walking past.

“Shit—hey, mate. Didn’t see you”

Colson grinned. "Been a while. How you been?"

"Y'know. Same shit, different day. Studying, mostly. What about you?"

''Here on business'' Colson snorted. “If you need a little help with that, I’ve got something. Safe stuff.”

A prickle crawled up Louis’ spine, settling in his jaw, his throat.

"What you 'ave?"

"Speed's the go-to," Colson said easily, lighting up a cigarette, same brand they used to split back when this all started. ago. Back when it all started to be suffocating.

A muscle twitched in Louis’ hand. He shoved it in his pocket. “Got anything else?”

Colson exhaled, sizing him up. Then he nodded. “Course. Downers? Kickers? Depends what you’re after.”

And that was the moment. The split-second where his brain went fucking haywire.

Because he *could.* He *could* say yes. Could have a few, just for tonight. Just to take the edge off. Just to quiet the constant *noise*.

But then, across the street, the store doors opened.

And there was Harry.

Squinting, looking for him, a small bag of biscuits in his hand. And—Jesus—*eating one*.

A boy addicted to emptiness, still stuck, still unable to buy a fucking snack without guilt clawing at his ribs—*and he was eating*.

Louis exhaled sharply.

"How much for just uppers?" he asked ''And kickers'' he ended up saying in a murmur.

Colson smirked. “For you? I'll leave it at five, cos you're my friend after all.”

Louis looked at him. Then past him. Then back at Harry, who had spotted him and was making his way over, chewing.

Louis’ fingers twitched. His throat felt dry.

"Yeah, alright," he said, reaching for his wallet before he could think about it too much.

Colson moved fast—too fast. Like he’d known Louis wouldn’t say no. A small plastic bag exchanged hands, a flash of baby blue and white inside.

"Pleasure doing business," Colson murmured, grinning as Louis shoved it deep into his pocket.

"I gotta go," he muttered, stepping back.

Colson raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "See ya mate."

Louis was already turning away, already meeting Harry halfway, already lying through his teeth.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, voice softer, eyes brighter than they had any right to be.

''Colson, one of my mates, he needed some cash, and I owed him from one time we went clubbing, so'' Louis said, looping an arm around his shoulder.

Harry huffed, offering him a biscuit. Louis opened his mouth with a soft smile as Harry fed him the biscuit, chuckling when Louis bit down.

And from across the street, Colson watched.

Chapter 34

They bolted through the downpour, streets flooding under their feet, rain soaking them through in seconds. By the time they stumbled into the apartment, dripping and breathless, they were laughing—careless, pressing kisses into each other’s wet skin like they had all the time in the world.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun running,” Louis snickered, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist as he set the grocery bag down on the table.

“I’m changing before I catch something nasty,” Harry muttered, grinning when Louis pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He liked this—small affections, the kind that didn’t need a reason.

He peeled off his jeans first, then his shirt, replacing them with pyjama bottoms and the thickest socks he could find. For the top, he went straight for his fleece hoodie—warm enough that he didn’t need a shirt underneath.

A knock at the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, I’m dressed.”

Louis stepped in, tugging his sweater and shirt off in one go. “So, what’s the plan? Can’t go to the park, it’s hailing outside.”

“We should study. You need to catch up,” Harry said, already anticipating the complaint.

Instead, Louis wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder.

Harry huffed a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Let me have a nice moment with you first, then we’ll study.”

Harry exhaled, pretending to consider it. “Alright, we’ll sacrifice today. That means tomorrow’s free.”

Louis sighed against his shoulder. “Fine, but Sundays are off-limits.”

“Not even for cooking?” Harry teased.

“Not a chance. I’m making something.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Harry said, watching Louis grab his bag and head toward the kitchen, looking content.

Louis exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Then, once out of sight, Louis reached into the pocket of his soaked wet jeans, fingers grazing the little plastic baggie. He shook one pill into his palm, rolled it between his fingers, and tossed it back dry. Then he hid the stash in a pair of socks in his drawer, setting them at the end.

The familiar rush crawled up his spine, warmth blooming in his chest.

Now he could be present. Now he could enjoy this.

Chapter 35

Louis was serving dinner—a "fancy" pasta recipe he found on Instagram —when a dull thud hit the floor, causing him to freeze.

That sound— His stomach flipped over, a tight knot forming in his chest.

“Harry?” he called, trying to keep his voice steady. It came out more like a question than a command. He wasn’t sure if he was asking if Harry was okay or just hoping for some miracle response.

Silence.

“Harry, fuck” He rushed into the bedroom, eyes scanning, looking for the chaos that didn’t quite make sense. There he was, crumpled in a heap by the dresser, face white as paper, his chest barely moving.

Fuck.

Louis dropped to the floor, his hand grabbing Harry’s shoulder like he could just shake him back into consciousness. “Hey, come on, wake the fuck up.”

Nothing. His heart was beating so loud in his ears it was drowning out everything else.

“Okay, don’t freak out, don’t freak out,” he muttered, his voice like a prayer. “Okay. I’ll be fine. This is fine. Everything’s fucking fine.”

He ran to Jakob’s door, pounding like he was trying to break it down. Jakob’s bright blue eyes peeked through the crack, still half-dressed.

“What the hell, Louis?” He opened the door, frowning.

“My roommate, he passed out, Harry, yout neighbour” Louis snapped, too frantic for politeness. “He’s not waking up. I need help”

Jakob blinked at him, confused for a moment, but Louis didn’t have time for that shit.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Jakob said.

“No time for that,” Louis cut in, stepping forward, hands trembling. “I hate to ask but I need to take him to a hospital now, and I can't really afford an Uber that far right now”

Jakob turned to Jean, his partner, who was already standing there, looking like a calm fucking angel in the chaos.

“I’ll drive,” Jean said, her voice soft as she grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.”

Louis didn’t argue. He just nodded, feeling like a kid who was too scared to argue with an adult. It wasn’t that he trusted her more, it was just that he needed to be *doing* something.

Jakob, a tall, nordic, big man, picked Harry in his arms like he was just a plushie. Well- Harry weighed as much as an empty water bottle, but still.

They got Harry in the car somehow, Louis’ hands shaking so badly it felt like he was trying to move a ghost instead of a person. He kept one hand on Harry’s wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, but it wasn’t enough. It felt wrong. Too slow, too fast—like Harry’s heart couldn’t decide if it was trying to break through his ribs or just give up altogether.

Jean drove in silence, but Louis couldn’t stop talking to Harry, even though he was getting nothing in return. “Come on, you stubborn bastard, wake up. Just—fuck, please.” His voice cracked, and he hated how weak it sounded.

''Jean, pass me the hand sanitizer'' Jakob said, his voice raspy. As soon as he got it, he put a bit on his index finger and put it right below Harry's nostrils, to which Harry choked and coughed, but started gaining consciousness.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice was barely audible. “What the fuck’s going on?”

He just rested his head on Louis' shoulder and closed his eyes.

When they got to the hospital, Jean practically threw the car into park, but Louis was already yanking Harry out. The second his feet hit the pavement, Harry’s body jerked—slow, shaky movements like a malfunctioning machine. Louis’ heart skipped a beat.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice was barely audible.

“Louis... my chest... it feels... wrong.”

“Jesus,” Louis muttered, his stomach dropping to his knees. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Harry’s voice came out strained.

Louis didn’t have time for this, so he grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him upright. But then—

Bile.

Harry heaved, and Louis didn’t even flinch as it splattered across his shirt. He stood there, frozen for a second, as Harry continued to retch like his body was trying to give up. Louis just wiped his face with his sleeve, because honestly, he couldn’t care less right now.

“Jesus Christ,” Jakob muttered, but there was no anger in his voice ''Come on'' Jakob picked Harry up again and rushed him, the man exasperated because Louis was too slow in reaction.

All he could think was: *Not today, Harry. Not fucking today. Not after everything*

 

---

Hospitals had a way of making everything feel worse. The white walls, the fluorescent lights, the sterile fucking smell—it all pressed down on Louis like a weight he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t moved from the chair beside Harry’s bed, one hand clenched into a fist on his knee, the other gripping the armrest like if he let go, he’d float off into the sheer panic of the past few hours.

Harry looked like hell. Worse than hell. The tube in his nose made Louis' stomach turn, taped to his cheek like a cruel reminder of how deep this went. His skin was pale, almost grey under the harsh lighting, and his lips were cracked, his usually soft curls stuck to his forehead in messy tangles. He was breathing, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured movements, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fucking enough.

Jakob had asked for updates before leaving. Slipped Louis his number, a quiet, *"Keep me posted, alright?"* before disappearing down the hallway. Jean had squeezed his shoulder, a brief moment of warmth in the middle of this freezing, antiseptic nightmare.

Now it was just them.

Louis exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward. “You scared the absolute shit out of me,” he muttered, voice rough. “Genuinely, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to strangle someone and hug them at the same time this much in my entire life.”

Harry stirred, eyes fluttering open, slow and unfocused. It took a second for them to land on Louis, and when they did, something flickered behind them—apology, maybe. Guilt. Something useless.

“Hey,” Louis said, softer this time.

Harry licked his lips, winced. His voice was barely above a whisper. “M’sorry.”

Louis let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Well, I don’t want your fucking apology, I want you to *not* pass out half-naked in our flat and scare me into an early grave.”

Harry’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t have the energy for it. “‘S dramatic.”

“Fuck off, you *died* for a solid two minutes in my head.” Louis' voice wavered at the end, and he cleared his throat, gripping the edge of the chair like it could ground him. “You had me pounding on Jakob’s door like a lunatic. I didn’t even think, just—ran.” His jaw tightened. “Ambulance was gonna take too long. Jean drove us.”

Harry blinked, taking that in. “Did I throw up?”

Louis huffed. “Oh, *yeah*. All over me. Full exorcist moment.” He gestured vaguely at his hoodie—one of Harry’s, because his own shirt was somewhere in the hospital’s biohazard bin. “I smell like stomach acid and regret.”

Harry’s lips parted, his breath a little shallow. “Shit. Sorry.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You already said that. New material, please.” He hesitated, the teasing edge slipping away. “They said you weren’t eating enough.” His voice was quieter now. “Electrolyte imbalance. Dehydration. Your heart’s…” He couldn’t even say it. It felt too real.

Harry swallowed, and it looked like it hurt. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”

Louis inhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay still, to not shake him and demand what the *fuck* he thought was going to happen. “You collapsed.” His voice came out sharper than he intended. “How much worse were you gonna let it get?”

Harry didn’t answer. He just looked at the IV in his arm, the wires on his chest, the tube in his nose. Everything that screamed too late, too late, too late

---

Louis let the silence stretch, let Harry sit in it. He wanted him to feel the weight of it, of everything he’d done to himself, of everything Louis had nearly lost.

Then, because it had to be said, Louis forced the words out. “Your heart’s fucked.”

Harry’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp and wary. Louis clenched his jaw. “They said it’s bradycardia. Your heart rate’s too low. Malnutrition, electrolyte shit, all of it catching up to you. The doctor—” He stopped, inhaled slow. “They said if you keep going like this, one day your heart might just… stop.”

Harry flinched. Not much, barely a twitch of his fingers, but Louis saw it. Saw how his throat bobbed when he swallowed, how his breathing went shallow.

“Louis—”

“No,” Louis snapped. “No Louis, no excuses, no ‘I didn’t know it was that bad’ because you fucking knew. You knew, and you still—” His voice cracked, and he dragged a hand down his face, gripping his knee like it might keep him from shaking apart. “Christ, Harry.”

The tube in Harry’s nose shifted when he moved, his face scrunching up like it was unbearable. His hands hovered near it, like he wanted to rip it out but didn’t have the strength.

Louis shot forward. “Hey. Don’t. Don’t.”

Harry’s breath hitched. “It hurts.” His voice was thin, barely there, like a child’s. “Louis, it hurts.”

Louis reached out, pried one hand away from the tube, laced their fingers together. “I know,” he murmured, voice rough. “I know, love.”

Harry made a small, broken sound, and then the dam broke. Tears slipped down his temples, his whole body trembling with exhaustion, pain, whatever the fuck was eating him alive from the inside.

Louis hesitated before saying it, already bracing for the reaction. “They had to call your mum.”

Harry went rigid. His breath hitched, and then, like a reflex, “Fuck no. No, no, no—” His fingers clutched weakly at the blanket, like he could physically hold the news back. “Which mum?”

Louis frowned. “What do you mean which?”

Harry let out a breath that sounded like a laugh but had none of the humor. “I have two. Callie and Arizona.” He ran a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. “Please tell me they called Arizona.”

Louis blinked. “I—I don’t know. They just said ‘his emergency contact,’ and I was too busy watching you look half-dead to ask for a fucking full name.”

Harry groaned. “If it was Callie, I’m screwed.”

Louis frowned. “Why?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He just swallowed hard, looking up at the ceiling like it might hold an escape route. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “She’s not… the easiest person to deal with.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “You mean she’s an arsehole.”

Harry huffed a tired laugh. “I mean she’s not Arizona.” He wet his lips, winced. “Arizona’s the one that's... nice, I guess.”

Louis’ stomach twisted. “That’s fucked”

Harry didn’t argue. Just looked away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

---

The door swung open, and Louis barely had time to register the sharp click of heels before Harry groaned, long and miserable.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Louis turned, and there she was—Callie, standing in the doorway in dark blue scrubs, arms crossed, looking both exhausted and pissed off in equal measure. Her badge was still clipped to her chest, a half-finished coffee in one hand, like she hadn’t even stopped to change before making the drive over.

“You’re alive,” she said dryly, stepping inside. “That’s something.”

Harry slumped further into the pillows, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where’s Arizona?”

Callie rolled her eyes. “Are you serious? I just drove two hours straight from a twelve-hour shift to be here, and the first thing out of your mouth is ‘Where’s Arizona?’”

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Louis had to bite the inside of his cheek. Probably not the time to laugh.

Callie let out a sharp breath through her nose, her expression briefly unreadable before she shook her head. “She’s working. Like I was, before I got a call saying my son was in the hospital because he forgot how to eat.”

Harry flinched. It was quick, barely there, but Louis caught it.

Callie sighed, pressing two fingers against her temple like this was just another migraine she had to deal with. “Jesus, Harry. You couldn’t have given me a heart attack some other way? Maybe just setting my car on fire?”

Harry scowled, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Didn’t you?”

Louis’ jaw tightened. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

Callie blinked at him, like she’d just remembered he was there. “And you are?”

“The one who saved his arse when he collapsed,” Louis shot back, crossing his arms. “Maybe a thank you would be nice before you start with the guilt trip.”

Callie let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because I’m the bad guy for being pissed off that he almost died.”

Harry exhaled sharply, turning his head away. “I’m tired, mum, not now”

Callie pursed her lips, then nodded once, briskly “Don’t let him guilt you into sneaking him out or something I'll go talk to the doctor.”

Louis scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll make sure not to smuggle him out in a wheelchair while the IV pole acts as a decoy''

Callie narrowed her eyes but didn’t bother replying. She just turned on her heel and walked out, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Louis looked at Harry, who was staring up at the ceiling, jaw clenched.

“She’s a piece of work,” Louis muttered.

Harry let out a breath. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Chapter 36

The door opened again a while later, and Louis tensed. He had a feeling that things were only going to get worse from here.

Callie entered first, still in her scrubs, looking like she hadn't had a moment to breathe. Behind her was a tall, dark-haired guy in a set of matching scrubs, followed by two nurses who immediately set about checking Harry’s vitals and adjusting the IV.

Louis recognised Derek, which only made Louis' frown deepen, and the way Derek looked at him, confused, which made Louis feel even more uneasy.

Callie didn’t waste any time. Her voice was sharp and clinical, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Harry, listen to me for a second.”

Harry tensed at the sound of her voice, but it didn’t stop her from barreling on.

“You need to be admitted,” she said, her tone unrelenting. “To the psych ward. For your safety.”

Harry’s whole body stiffened at the words, and Louis could see his chest rise and fall a little faster, the panic already setting in.

“No,” Harry rasped, his voice hoarse and thick. “I’m fine. I don’t need—”

Callie interrupted him before he could finish. “You’re not fine, Harry. You’re barely eating. You’re dangerously dehydrated, and your heart’s not holding up. I’m *insisting* you get admitted.”

Louis’ stomach twisted at the weight of her words, but he didn’t say anything. Harry was already turning toward him, his eyes pleading.

"Tell them, Louis," Harry whispered, his voice cracking. "Tell them I don’t need to be locked up."

Louis swallowed hard, staring at Harry for a beat longer than he should have. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what was worse: the fact that Harry clearly couldn’t see how bad it was or the fact that Louis couldn’t ignore the reality of it.

Before Louis could answer, Derek stepped forward, his hands shoved deep into his scrub pockets. His gaze was steady, like someone used to delivering hard truths.

“Callie’s right,” Derek said softly, his tone calm but firm. “You need help, Harry. We can’t just let you keep going like this.”

Harry shook his head, desperation in his eyes. “I’m not— I’m not crazy. I don’t need this.”

Louis felt the tension in the room spike. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was too busy watching Harry’s chest rise and fall, the panic that crept into his eyes making it feel like the world was closing in.

''You're not crazy, but you need help. A kind of help that neither your mum as a doctor or your friend can give you''

Callie’s voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Harry, we’re not asking. We’re telling you. If you want to get better, you have to let us help you.”

The room was thick with a quiet tension. Harry’s breathing was shallow, but the rise and fall of his chest was steady, at least. He still didn’t look at Callie, not really, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Louis.

Harry was already too far gone for words to make a difference now. And then, Derek’s gaze briefly met his—somehow, their eyes locked for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The same heavy, unspoken tension that had hung between them earlier was still there, but Louis couldn’t place it. Not now. Not with Harry on the bed, still barely holding it together.

"Please, don’t," Harry whispered again, but Louis wasn’t sure if he was asking for help or for them to leave him alone.

Harry's breath hitched, the dam breaking as tears pooled in his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. His voice was barely a whisper, broken, defeated. "I can't do this, Louis. I don't want to. I don't deserve it. I'm—"

Louis' heart squeezed at the sight, but something inside him snapped. He stood up, stepping back as the frustration boiled over. "You don't get to do this, Harry." His voice was sharp, louder than it should have been, but it didn’t matter anymore. "You don’t get to cry about it and tell me you can't. Not when I’m here, giving you everything I fucking have, and you’re just… rejecting it. Do you think I want to do this? To make you do this? But I will, because you’re fucking killing yourself, and I’m not just going to sit here and let you go down like this."

Harry flinched, his tears falling harder, and Louis could feel his chest tighten in response—but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fucking stop himself. "You’re so goddamn scared of everything, but you’re too proud to see how much you’re hurting. This isn’t about deserving it, Harry. You need it. You need to see that. You need help, or this will kill you. And if want to die, then I won't stay because I can't, not now, I can't watch you die."

The words hung in the air, harsh, unforgiving. And Louis hated himself for them, for sounding so cold, but he hated what he was seeing in Harry even more. This denial, this damn unwillingness to see the truth—their truth.

Louis stood there for a moment, chest heaving, every breath feeling like it was too heavy to take. "You can cry all you want, but I’m still gonna make you face this. And if that means making you hate me for it, so be it."

"Louis. come with me" Derek's voice was calm, but there was an edge of urgency in it. The way his fingers lingered on Louis' skin, just a moment too long, made Louis feel like he was a kid again, like nothing had changed, like he wasn’t the one who’d pushed Derek away years ago.

Louis shrugged him off, not meeting his eyes. “I’m fine.” The words were flat, defensive.

Derek didn’t buy it. His grip tightened as he guided Louis out of the room, away from Harry, away from all of this. Once they were in the hall, far enough from prying ears, Derek dropped his voice, quieter now, more personal. "You need to calm down, Louis."

Louis swallowed, feeling the bite of guilt clawing at him, the way his insides twisted when he thought about his own mess. His past. Derek knew it all too well.

“I’m fine,” Louis repeated, but it was weaker this time. He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable, restless.

Derek didn’t seem convinced, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes scanning Louis like he was something to be fixed. “You’re not. If you’ve relapsed—”

Louis' breath was shaky, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch a break. The tears were relentless, slipping down his face in torrents that he couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head, barely registering that Derek was holding him, his hand on Louis' back, trying to offer comfort. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t *matter*—everything felt too much. Too loud. Too suffocating.

“Louis,” Derek said again, voice soft but firm, pulling him in closer. "Did you relapse? Did you use again? If you promised you’d go to rehab if Harry then—" His voice faltered, but he steadied it, letting the question hang heavy in the air between them.

Louis couldn’t form words, couldn’t even look at Derek’s face. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of guilt and fear, a tidal wave of everything crashing over him all at once. He felt like he was drowning in the weight of his own mind.

“Fuck…” Louis managed to choke out. His voice cracked, breaking under the pressure. “Don't tell mum, please, she doesn't know, she hasn't seen me in months” His breath hitched, and he felt another sob rise in his throat.

Louis hugged Derek, and he held him tighter, the warmth of his hands grounding him, but it only made the emptiness inside Louis feel worse. He closed his eyes, trying to push back the storm inside him, but it was useless. Every second felt like too much, like he was falling further and further into this black hole he couldn’t escape from.

Derek’s voice softened again. “You'll be okay, we'll make it work this time, okay?''

Louis didn’t respond right away. All he could think about was the pain inside him, the guilt that felt like it would swallow him whole. But through it all, there was a tiny spark—somewhere deep inside him—that wanted to be better. He just couldn’t see how to get there.

“I don’t want to lose him, Derek,” Louis whispered, his voice trembling. “I can't, not again”

Louis wiped his face with the back of his hand, still trembling but trying to steady himself. He could feel the panic and the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him, but he knew they had to go back in. He couldn’t keep running from this. Not now.

When they stepped back into the room, the atmosphere was heavy, tense. Harry was lying there, the IV still running into his arm, his body weak and drained. But his eyes were clear, almost too clear, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, for the decision to be made. His lips parted when he saw Louis, and for a brief second, there was something unspoken between them—a silent agreement that had been building up in the tension between them.

“Okay,” Harry said, his voice quiet but firm, the exhaustion in his eyes matching the resignation in his tone. “I’ll do it.”

Louis froze for a split second, his breath caught in his throat. *What?*

“Do what?” he asked, his voice sounding a little too sharp, like he wasn’t ready to hear the words Harry was about to say.

“I’ll go inpatient,” Harry said again, his eyes not leaving Louis. “But only if you go too. You promised.”

Louis blinked, the weight of the words hitting him harder than he expected. His throat tightened, his chest aching like he had swallowed a rock.

Fuck.

He swallowed hard, looking at Harry’s face. It was the first time in what felt like hours that Harry wasn’t asking for something else, something he couldn’t give. This time, it was the opposite. It was a demand, and it was one Louis had already made to himself a hundred times over. But hearing Harry say it—hearing him ask for this—was a blow to the gut.

Louis clenched his fists, his mind racing. He had promised, hadn’t he? And now, the truth was right in front of him.

“I—” Louis’ voice faltered.

“Promise me, Louis.” Harry’s voice was soft, almost too quiet like he was afraid of what Louis would say next.

Louis felt the weight of Harry’s gaze on him, felt the pressure of the words that had been hanging in the air for too long. And as much as it terrified him, as much as his mind screamed for him to back away, to make some excuse, to run, Louis knew what he had to do. He had promised. And he wasn’t going to break that promise, not now, not when Harry was clinging to him like this.

“I’ll go,” Louis said, his voice thick, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. But it was a promise he couldn’t take back.

Harry nodded, relief flashing in his eyes before he shut them briefly, as if he’d been holding his breath too.

Louis stayed where he was for a moment longer, fighting the urge to break down again.

They had no choice now.

Chapter 37

Notes:

Trigger warning: Suicide attempt

It's been a month since Louis got himself in rehab for his addictions.

One week since he's back home.

Something about the air outside the hospital—so full of life, so heavy with everything—felt wrong. It was wrong that he was still here. Still breathing. He couldn’t escape the feeling that everything had been a mistake, that nothing had actually changed. The therapy, the medication, the well-meaning looks from the people who claimed they cared—they didn’t mean anything. They never had.

He’d promised he would get better. But that promise had felt like a noose the moment he said it. So, what was the point of trying when he didn’t deserve to be here?

It wasn’t until he stood in front of the mirror that he really felt the weight of it. He wasn’t just seeing his reflection. He was seeing everything he couldn’t escape—the depression, the guilt, the sharp, gnawing feeling that he was nothing but a burden. He grabbed a bottle from the counter, the pills within it gleaming like a promise. Maybe it would make it all stop. Maybe it would be the thing that finally brought him peace.

He didn’t care. Not really. Not anymore.

But as he opened the bottle, the sound of water running echoed through the silence. It was strange, almost a whisper beneath everything else. He turned on the tap, the hiss of the water mingling with the deafening quiet of his apartment. His mind spun, detached from his body. He wasn’t thinking. Not really. Everything was numb. But as the water ran on, it was like he was locked into the motion.

Louis now lies in the bathtub, his ragged breaths mixing with the echo of his sobs. Tears ran down his cheeks while anxiety gnawed at his mind.

The blood ran too.

There were days when he was active, when he did a lot of things and didn’t tire, his mind silent. Other days, the majority, he just wanted to disappear, to die.

He was terrified that his future wouldn’t work, but also terrified that it would—and his depression would sabotage it. Look at him now, he was out of uni again. He would need to start again in August.

The voices in his head never stopped, each one fighting for supremacy over his thoughts. They repeated incoherent things over and over again, screams louder than the inner voice everyone has, filling his mind with darkness.

Louis stared at the ceiling, his red and tired eyes. He felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions dragging him down into the water, making him believe he would never find peace.

He remembered the times when he had felt euphoric, full of energy, followed by moments of deep despair and detachment. It seemed like he was in a constant emotional swing that he couldn’t control.

Something they always pointed out in his swimming classes or at the summer camp was that he could stay underwater for a long time.

Tears mixed with the water, and Louis felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He wondered if he would ever find purpose amidst the confusion and pain. The idea of living the rest of his life trapped in this darkness seemed like a reasonable reason to die.

As the minutes passed, Louis felt a sense of relief enveloping him. He no longer had the strength to keep fighting, to pull himself from under the water. He felt like he was about to surrender, to go down the drain the moment he pulled the plug.

---

Derek’s boots thudded against the floor as he pushed open the door to the flat. He’d been meaning to check in on Louis. It wasn’t like him to leave things unresolved, to let a kid he once helped fall through the cracks. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Louis was a limp figure in the water, his skin pale and slick, the room heavy with the suffocating silence that only came from someone too deep into their own despair to fight back. Derek didn’t hesitate. His instincts took over, his hands shaking as he lunged toward the tub.

“Louis!” His voice cracked through the air, sharp and desperate, as he reached in and grabbed Louis by the shoulders, pulling him up with a force that only half reflected his panic. Louis was barely conscious, his body a dead weight, water sloshing around them. Derek’s heart hammered in his chest as he fought to keep Louis upright, trying to clear his airways as quickly as he could. He could feel the wetness of the blood on Louis’ arms, the sharp, metallic tang in the air, and it was enough to make his stomach lurch.

He pressed a towel to Louis’ arms, applying pressure with a practiced hand, the fabric darkening under the blood. “Stay with me, kid,” Derek muttered under his breath, desperate, fingers trembling as he wiped at Louis’ face. He turned him slightly, trying to make him gag, to throw up whatever pills he'd swallowed, but Louis was limp, barely responding.

The seconds felt like years, the weight of the moment crushing him. Derek’s mind raced as he forced Louis to sit up, holding him steady. He was slipping through his fingers, and Derek couldn’t let that happen.

“Come on, Louis, I need you to spit it out. You’re not dying here, not like this,” Derek said, his voice raw. He wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t in control, just acting on pure desperation. His thumb brushed across Louis’ lips, trying to coax him into moving.

The sight of the blood, the stillness in Louis’ limbs—it was like being thrown back in time, to another moment, another version of this boy he thought he could protect. But Derek wasn’t about to lose him.

Derek’s hands were shaking, but there was no time to waste. He couldn’t think too much, couldn’t afford to let his mind slip. Louis was barely breathing, his body limp in Derek’s arms, and the warm, stagnant water around them was starting to feel like a tomb.

“*Come on, Louis, you’re not doing this,*” Derek grunted, pulling him fully out of the tub, water dripping from his skin and trailing down to the floor. Louis’ face was blank, ghostly pale with a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, his lips blue. The towel in Derek’s hands was now soaked through with blood from the slashes on Louis’ arms, but he didn’t care. He needed to get him to respond, needed to get him to wake up before it was too late.

Derek’s breath came in short, frantic bursts as he yanked Louis toward him, his grip unsteady but desperate. Louis was a ragdoll, dangling in Derek’s arms, his body too far gone to resist, his body too numb to move. He needed to get the pills out, needed to reverse whatever poison Louis had swallowed.

“*Louis, stay with me!*” Derek’s voice cracked as he pulled him up, his arm going around Louis’ torso to keep him propped up. Derek slapped his face once, then twice, hard enough to feel the sting in his palm. Louis didn’t flinch. He didn’t do anything.

Derek swore under his breath and tilted Louis’ head back, fingers plunging into his mouth, forcing it open with a violent press. He didn’t think. His thumb pressed against the back of Louis' throat, trying to trigger the gag reflex.

Louis’ eyes flickered, but they were empty, hollow, like he was miles away. Derek’s hand trembled more, but he kept at it, more frantic now, more desperate. He could feel his own pulse pounding in his ears, could feel the overwhelming urge to scream. He shoved his thumb deeper into Louis’ throat, and after a moment—finally—a weak retch escaped Louis’ lips, his body jerking, then another.

But it wasn’t enough.

The first puke that came was a horrible mess—half-digested pills and stomach acid, thick and stinking, sliding out of his mouth and dripping down Louis’ chin. Derek gagged, his stomach lurching in protest at the sight and smell. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t back off now. He wasn’t going to let Louis die like this. He shoved his thumb down again, forcing Louis to throw up more, more pills, more bile, until the whole room reeked of sour, bitter vomit. Louis’ body jerked violently, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, but Derek wouldn’t stop.

The whole process was disgusting—Louis coughing and choking on the regurgitated pills, some still slipping down the back of his throat as his body reacted to the assault, convulsing with the effort of trying to expel more. Derek’s fingers were covered in vomit now, his hands slippery with the mess, but he didn’t care. He just needed to see the pills gone, needed Louis to breathe again.

After what felt like an eternity of horror, Louis stopped convulsing, his body sagging back into Derek’s arms. He was still alive, but barely. Derek blinked hard, forcing the sting of tears from his eyes. He wasn’t ready to break down. Not now. Not until Louis was safe.

He was half-carrying, half-dragging Louis down the stairs when the street door swung open.

Jakob stood there, eyes wide with shock, looking between the bloodied mess of Louis and Derek. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, stepping forward without waiting for an answer. His eyes flicked to Louis—pale, unresponsive—and Derek saw the panic flash in his gaze.

“I need to get him to a hospital. Now” Derek said, his voice low and clipped. He wasn’t asking for help. He wasn’t offering an explanation.

Jakob didn’t hesitate. His face was a mix of confusion and fear, but his hands were steady as he moved to Louis' other side, helping Derek lift him. “I’ll drive. Come on.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command, but it wasn’t for the sake of argument. It was for the sake of urgency.

They stumbled to Jakob’s car, Louis between them, his weight dead on their shoulders, each of them trying to hold him up as best as they could. Derek could feel his fingers digging into Louis' skin, but Louis wasn’t responding.

Jakob’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white as they sped through the streets. Derek’s eyes were on Louis the whole time, watching for any sign, any little indication.

Louis’ eyes stayed shut, his breathing still shallow. Derek kept whispering to him, quiet, useless words, but it felt like nothing was enough. The hospital couldn’t come soon enough.

 

---

 

The ER was a blur of sterile white lights and the cold hum of machines beeping relentlessly, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and panic. Derek was still trembling as they wheeled Louis into one of the treatment rooms, his hands slick with sweat, his mind racing, unable to settle.

He sat down on the nearest bench, knees too weak to hold him up any longer. His body felt heavy, a weight pressing him down as the reality of what just happened hit him. His breath was uneven, shaky. Louis was barely hanging on, and Derek had been sure, for just a split second, that he’d lost him.

Jakob stood next to him, silent, watching him with a careful eye. He’d been trying to keep it together, but Derek could feel his energy crackling with worry. He could see it in his face—the quiet panic, the question of whether they’d gotten there in time.

"Hey," Jakob said quietly, his voice a soft anchor amidst the chaos. "He's in good hands now. You did everything you could. He’s still breathing."

Derek nodded, but the knot in his throat wouldn’t loosen. He wasn’t sure if he could ever breathe again properly, or if his lungs would ever work the way they should. Derek reached for his phone, his fingers slick against the screen, fumbling slightly.

The call to Addison was the hardest thing Derek had ever done. His stomach twisted as he dialled the number, his finger hovering over the screen before he pressed the button. The phone rang, each second feeling like a lifetime.

When Addison’s voice finally came through, smooth and calm, it felt like the world was closing in on Derek.

“Addison," Derek choked out, the words barely leaving his throat. His body shook, and he had to clear his voice before speaking again. “It’s Louis. He—he tried to…” His voice broke, unable to finish the sentence.

Addison’s voice faltered on the other end. “What happened?” she asked, her tone shifting immediately, a sharp edge creeping into it.

“He tried to kill himself,” Derek whispered, though it felt like he was screaming the words in his head. “I—I didn’t know if I could save him. I- I'm sorry”

There was a pause, a deep, painful silence, and Derek felt his heart beat in his ears, the quiet moment before Addison processed the shock. And then, finally, her voice came back, heavy with emotion but firm, resolved.

“I’m on my way,” she sobbed, almost gagging.

The line clicked off, and Derek’s stomach twisted tighter. He dropped his phone onto the seat beside him, his hands trembling with cold shivers.

 

---

The room was too bright, too sterile, and too fucking real. Louis could feel the cold against his skin, the harshness of the sheets he was tangled in, the steady beeping of machines that were supposed to reassure him but only made his chest tighten. The blood they were transfusing was a reminder of how far he’d fallen—how much damage had been done. It was almost like he was fading into the backdrop of this hospital room, becoming part of the machinery and the panic.

The door creaked open, soft at first, like it wasn’t sure if it should interrupt the stillness. Louis didn’t look up, couldn’t. He couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face *her.*

And then he heard her voice.

“Louis?”

''Mum...?''

It cracked through him like thunder, harsh and unexpected. He didn’t know how to respond, his throat closing up as the weight of her presence sank in. There she was—Addison, standing in the doorway. His mum. The one person he had been running from for months, the one face he couldn’t bear to see now that he had slipped so far into the darkness.

She stepped closer, her eyes wide with terror, her hands trembling. And then, when her gaze landed on him, it all came crashing down.

Addison’s face fell like she had just been sucker-punched by the reality of him. The son she hadn’t recognised, the one she hadn’t been able to save.

Louis didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could barely breathe.

And then, her face contorted, and she broke.

The sound of her sobs—loud, raw, desperate—shook Louis to his core. His chest tightened, and he wanted to scream, to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to become this, to become someone who could break her like this. But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.

Addison rushed to his side, her hands trembling as she gently cupped his face and pressed her forehead to his, like she was afraid he would slip through her fingers. Her voice cracked, softer than it had ever been in years, strained with years of unsaid things. “My baby, why?” she whispered, the words torn from her, guttural with the weight of her own guilt. “Why did you—why didn’t you tell me? Oh my God!” She cried harder when she saw Louis had slit his wrists way more than he did the last time and all the fading bruises on his inner elbow from the needles.

He broke, he couldn’t stop himself anymore. He let it out—ugly, choking sobs—his body wracked with the weight of everything. Everything he had been hiding from her, everything he had kept inside until it had almost drowned him. His emotions were too big, too raw, too impossible to contain anymore. The floodgates had cracked open, and he couldn’t shut it off.

Addison collapsed into him, pressing her face into his hair, her arms locking around him like she was afraid if she let go, he’d disappear.

Her tears soaked into his skin as she whispered brokenly, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve known, Louis.”

Louis couldn’t answer, not through the pain, not through the overwhelming weight of the moment. It felt like his heart was shattering with every sob that racked through his body. He was so fucking tired—tired of the facade, tired of pretending everything was fine when he knew it was falling apart.

Addison held him tighter, like if she squeezed hard enough, she could force the years of distance and silence away. She cried like she had lost him already like she didn’t know if she could ever get him back.

Outside, Derek and Jake were waiting. They were quiet in their agony, standing apart but bound by the same unspoken weight. Derek’s face was pale, his body hunched over with exhaustion. Jake, trying so hard to hold it together, had his back to the door, giving them space. But their eyes flickered between each other and the closed door, both of them knowing that Louis was facing something none of them could fix. They weren’t enough. But they’d never stop trying.

Louis clung to his mum like he had never known how to. His chest heaved with sobs that didn’t feel like they’d ever stop.

It wasn’t just the grief. It was the guilt. The shame. The feeling that he wasn’t worth saving.

And as his mum held him, sobbing into his skin, Louis felt like he was coming apart.

Notes:

I'll try to keep uploading these days. My migraines worsen with electronics, so I'm tryin to find some balance

Chapter 38

Notes:

tw: violence

The days blurred together, bleeding into one long stretch of antiseptic white walls, check-ins with doctors, and the cold, sterile air of the psych ward. Louis stopped counting after the first week. There wasn’t much point. Every morning, a nurse came in with his meds, and every evening, a different one checked in to make sure he hadn’t tried to hurt himself again. In between, there were the mandatory sessions with the psychiatrist, the group therapy he barely spoke in, and the silent hours spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was supposed to fix him.

It had taken them a while to settle on something concrete. Depression, sure. Anxiety and PTSD, obviously. But when the psychiatrist had finally sat him down and said borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder, the words had felt heavy, like a label he wasn’t sure he wanted.

"Do you know what that means?" the doctor had asked, voice careful, watching him too closely.

Louis nodded, voice flat. "Yeah. I'm a psychology student."

The doctor paused, clearly caught off guard. "Right," he said, adjusting the papers in his lap. "Then you know it’s not a death sentence."

Louis huffed, eyes flicking up to meet his. "I know what the textbooks say." He sighed "I know it’s not technically the end of the world, but I also know what it means. It means I’ll never be normal. That I’ll always be too much or not enough, that my own brain is wired to sabotage everything good, or before it even fucking starts." His throat felt tight, but he forced the words out anyway. "It means I can’t trust myself. Can’t trust my own fucking emotions. And I don’t—" He swallowed hard. "I don’t wanna live like that."

The doctor didn’t look away. He didn’t shift uncomfortably or try to tell Louis he was being dramatic. He just nodded, like he understood.

"It means your emotions are intense," he said, voice even. "It means you struggle with identity, with relationships, with fear of abandonment. It means your pain is real, and it’s big, and it’s hard to carry alone. But it doesn’t mean you’re beyond help."

Louis let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah, sure. Drug me up, slap a label on me, and I’ll be fine, right? All fixed up, ready for my dear daddy to pick me up from rehab and pretend I was never a problem in the first place?” His voice cut through the quiet, sharp as broken glass.

The doctor didn’t flinch. Just watched him, calm, unreadable. “Is that what you think this is?”

Louis didn’t answer. He pulled his sleeves down to cover his bandages better.

A pause. Then—

“I know this feels like a death sentence,” the doctor said, voice even. “Like it’ll follow you forever. But that’s not what this is. It’s not a life sentence. It’s like... an instruction, a way to understand yourself,” the doctor said, leaning in. “A way to make sense of the things that have felt so out of your hands for so long. It’s not about fixing you. You’re not broken. It’s about giving you the tools to live a better life.”

Louis looked up, eyes burning. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“I never said it was easy,” the doctor said, voice steady. “I said it was possible.”

Louis exhaled hard. His ribs ached. “I don’t think I can do this.” His voice was quiet, scraped raw.

The doctor didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let it sit, let it breathe. Then, carefully, he said, “You don’t have to do it alone.”

"So, what?" he muttered, voice tight. "I just have to accept that this is my life now? That I’ll always be one bad day away from fucking everything up?"

The doctor sighed, setting his clipboard aside. "No. It means you’ll have to work harder at things that might come naturally to others. It means your emotions will feel overwhelming sometimes, and you’ll need to learn how to manage them. It means stability is possible, but it takes time. It takes effort."

Louis scoffed. "Effort."

"Yes," the doctor said evenly. "Effort. The same way someone with diabetes has to manage their insulin, or someone with a heart condition has to take care of themselves. This is part of you, but it’s not all of you."

Louis stared past the doctor at the white walls, the empty space, the nothingness of it all.

"And what if I don’t want to do that?" he asked, in a low voice.

The doctor didn’t flinch. "Then we work on getting you to a place where you do."

Louis let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "You work on it," he said. He looked back at him then, eyes dark. "You don’t get it. You can’t get it. I’ve felt like this my entire life. Like I’m always on the verge of falling apart. You really think that’s gonna change just because you put a name to it?"

"It won’t change overnight," the doctor admitted. "And I won’t pretend this will ever be easy. But I do know that with the right treatment, the right support, it can get better."

Louis pressed his lips together. "And if it doesn’t?"

The doctor held his gaze. "Then we keep trying and trying until you can live a proper life."

Louis swallowed, something raw pressing against his ribs. It wasn’t hope, not exactly. More like exhaustion. Like he was too tired to argue anymore.

He let his head fall back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just give me the fucking meds."

The doctor didn’t push. He just nodded, scribbled something down, and said, "We’ll start slow. I’m prescribing divalproex sodium, it’s a mood stabilizer. It should help with the swings, the highs and lows. The idea is to help you stay more balanced. For the depression and anxiety, I’m starting you on fluoxetine, an antidepressant. It’ll help with both the low moods and the constant worry you’ve been dealing with, these panic attacks you have before sleeping."

"We’ll start there and see how you react. But before I prescribe anything, I just need to ask a few more things. It's important to get a full picture."

Louis stared down at his hands, picking at the skin on his fingers. He didn’t look up when the doctor continued.

"Have you ever experienced any delusions?" the doctor asked. "Thinking something is happening around you, but no one else seems to notice, or thinking things are real when they aren't?"

Louis shook his head slightly. "No. I don’t think so."

"Have you ever had hallucinations? Seeing or hearing things that aren’t there?" the doctor pressed.

Louis’ mind skipped over the words like they were too heavy to touch. He shook his head, trying to focus on the doctor’s face rather than his own thoughts. "No," he muttered, but then the question lingered. "I mean, sometimes I... feel disconnected. Like, I’m not really here, or something"

"Can you tell me more about that?" The doctor looked up, trying to hide certain level of concern.

Louis sighed, pressing his fingers into his temples to ease the headache. "I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. There was this one time, a while ago, I didn’t even know how I got home. Like, I was just on a train, and then I was... not on it anymore. I don’t remember anything in between. It was just this, like, blank space."

The doctor nodded, scribbling something down. "And how did that feel? The not remembering, the confusion?"

"It was... weird, like I wasn’t even real. Like, maybe I was the only actual person in the world, and everything around me was fake, no one would notice me, and I remember I got down at this station, crying because I was... I don't know, anyway, it wasn't my stop and I knew that, but I had to wait for the next train... My brain convinced me to''

"Did you feel like you were losing control?" the doctor asked. Louis thought about it. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah. It was like I was going crazy. I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

The doctor scribbled something down, nodding. “Did that scare you?”

Louis hesitated. “Yeah. A little. But I was too tired to think about it much. It’s not like I did anything dangerous or that I could've hurt someone; I just got... lost.”

“You got lost in thought in a dissociative state. That’s not nothing,” the doctor said, voice calm “You might not have done anything dangerous that time, but what if it happens when you’re in an unsafe place, like at night? Or if you’re driving?”

“I don’t drive because of this, I get too lost in my mind to even get my license” Louis chuckled, the doctor smiling too.

“That’s good. Well, it's good that you're aware, but it’s still something we need to track. You said it’s happened multiple times. Do you notice any patterns? Does it happen when you’re stressed? When you’re feeling low?”

Louis thought for a moment, rubbing his thumb against his knuckles. “It’s always after something that makes me really anxious, like a build-up? ” he admitted. “Like my brain just checks out and leaves my life in hands of natural selection or something.” Louis jokes to ease his nerves, the doctor smiling and nodding.

“That makes sense. Dissociation is often a coping mechanism” The doctor tapped his pen against the clipboard. “I think the medication will help stabilize things, but if the dissociation keeps happening, we may need to consider other options”

Louis gave a half-hearted shrug, smiling. “I’ll take whatever works.”

The doctor smiled back, the first hint of warmth in the conversation. “That’s the spirit, young lad” The doctor stood, pushing his chair back. "Alright. We’ll start with these meds today and adjust as we go. Therapy’s still a priority." He looked at Louis, his expression unreadable ''Okay?"

Louis didn’t answer.

"Okay?" the doctor repeated, firmer this time.

Louis sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

"And I need you to be honest with me. If something feels off, if you’re struggling, you have to tell me. Even if you think it’s stupid. Even if you think it’ll scare me off. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot, and you’re by far not one of my scariest patients."

Louis let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That supposed to be comforting?"

The doctor’s lips twitched in a smile. "It’s supposed to be honest, because that's what I'm asking from you. So, anything else you want to tell me before we wrap up?”

Louis shook his head, exhausted. “No.”

The doctor studied him for a second, then nodded. “Alright. The nurses will bring your meds soon. Rest now, I know all these tests and talking it's exhausting, especially when talking about all these painful experiences” and with that he left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Louis alone.

Louis let out a breath, staring at the ceiling, his fingers drumming restlessly against his knee. The room felt too quiet now that the doctor was gone, too sterile, too much like a place where time stretched thin and the walls closed in. The breeze from the barely open window wasn’t enough. He liked how cold it was outside, made him feel even sadder, and he liked that a lot

He turned his head toward the door just as it creaked open.

Derek stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be here. He looked exhausted. Older. Like the past week had aged him years. Louis swallowed, his throat tight. He hadn't expected Derek to come back. Not after—

"Hey, kid," Derek said, with a soft but tired smile. Louis stared at him, chest tight, still. He didn’t know what to say.

Derek stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Addison called me," he explained, like Louis didn’t already know that. He hesitated for a second, then sighed. "You asked for me."

Louis exhaled through his nose, looking away. "Yeah."

A beat of silence.

Derek pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. He didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch Louis, just sat there, giving him space. Louis scratched his eyebrow, staring down at his hands. His brain was still fogged from the talk with the psychiatrist.

''I'm listening'' Derek said, leaning back on the chair, his voice soft as always.

"You—" His voice caught, and he had to clear his throat. "You saved me."

Derek let out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah," he murmured ''Since you told me where you were living uhm, I guess you weren't entirely pushing me away, so... yeah''

There was something sharp and unbearable settling in his chest. His eyes burned. He gritted his teeth and bit his tongue, trying to fight it off, but it didn’t matter. The words were already crawling up his throat, desperate, aching.

"I’m sorry," he choked out.

Derek’s head snapped up. "Louis—"

"I'm so sorry, you saved my fucking life" Louis said, voice cracking. He dragged a hand down his face, frustrated with himself. "and I— I said horrible things to you, I— I didn’t mean—"

"Hey," Derek interrupted, getting up to hold Louis in a hug "Stop that."

Louis shook his head. "I was— I was *awful* to you, I—"

"You were in crisis," Derek said firmly. "That wasn’t you, Louis. That was pain. That was trauma. That was all the shit you’ve been carrying for too long."

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking. "I told you you weren’t my dad." Derek let out a heavy breath, his expression softening. Louis sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "I— I don’t—" He swallowed hard. "that I don’t have one." Derek was silent for a moment. Then, he reached to rest a gentle hand over Louis' forehead.

"Maybe not," he said, voice steady. "But you’ve got me."

Louis let out a broken sound, pressing his free hand against his mouth. His whole body ached. He felt young, too young, fifteen again, like a scared little kid who didn’t know how to stop hurting.

Louis let out a sharp, broken breath, his fingers gripping the blanket like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were caving in. He wanted to stop crying, but the tears just kept coming. Louis’ throat worked around the words before he could stop them.

"I said what I said because I'm so mad at you, because I wish you were my dad instead of Jake" he cried, in ragged breaths.

Derek inhaled, sharp, like the wind had been knocked out of him. His hug on Louis’ tightened; he needed something to hold onto, too. Louis sniffled, forcing himself to look up, eyes red and watery. He half expected Derek to tell him he shouldn’t say things like that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a slow, careful breath, blinking hard. His own eyes were glassy now, something raw and aching in his expression.

"Louis," he murmured, "I know I’m not with your mum anymore. And I know I’m not—" He broke off, clearing his throat. "*Biologically* anything to you." He exhaled, steadying himself. "But none of that changes how I feel about you. I've always loved you like a son, my son. I don’t care about blood. I don’t care about any of that. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere if you let me stay" Louis let out a wrecked, shaking breath, his face crumpling. He let himself fall forward, and Derek caught him easily, pulling him into a firm, steady hug. Louis clung to him, his body still wracked with quiet sobs. He needed that so much.

"I love you, Lou" he murmured, his voice warm and steady and safe as he held him tight "And I’ve always got you, and your mum loves you too, so much"

 

---

A few days before:

It had started with a look. It always did.

Derek had been sitting beside him, voice careful, steady, saying something about how it was okay, about how he wasn’t mad, about how nobody was mad—

And then Louis had snapped.

It was like his body moved before his mind caught up, like something deep inside him had shattered all at once.

"Shut up," he had spat, chest heaving, hands curling into fists.

Derek had stayed calm. Too calm. Like he was talking Louis down from a ledge.

"It’s alright," he had said.

"No, it’s not!" Louis had yelled, voice cracking. His heart was pounding so hard it made him feel sick, like his whole body was overheating. He had shoved himself up from the bed, dizzy and shaking, his whole world narrowing to the man in front of him. "You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I don’t see it? You’re just—just here because you feel bad. Because you think I’m pathetic. But guess what, Derek, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you care—"

"I do care."

"You are not my dad. You never were, you never—never wanted to be, and now—now what? You feel bad? You feel guilty? That’s so fucking funny, Derek, you—" His voice pitched high, laughter choking in his throat. "I don’t have a dad. I never fucking had one—"

"No!" Louis exploded. "Stop talking like you know me! Like you love me! You don't love me, you never loved me, you only loved my mum, and when she left you didn't even try—"

"That’s not true."

That was when Louis lost it.

He had reached for whatever was closest—the plastic water pitcher, the cup on the bedside table—and launched it.

Derek flinched when it crashed against the wall, water splattering across the floor.

"Louis—"

"Get out!" Louis had screamed. "Get the fuck out!"

Then it had been the box of tissues, his own hands, shaking so badly that he could barely grab hold of anything. His breathing had turned erratic, the world slipping in and out of focus, everything too loud, too fast, like the walls were caving in.

Derek took a step forward, cautious.

"Get away from me!" Louis shrieked, voice breaking apart, chest heaving. His own heart pounded too loud in his ears. His own hands trembled, nails digging into his palms, too much, too much, too much.

Derek didn’t listen.

"Stay the fuck away!"

He barely got close before Derek caught him, arms tight around his torso, pinning him in place.

"Get off me—!" Louis fought, his body jerking, nails dragging down Derek’s arm, his face, kicking the air, but Derek only held on tighter.

"I’m not letting go," Derek gritted out, his voice strained, struggling to keep Louis still.

"Don’t touch me!" Louis thrashed, twisted, his chest aching from how hard he was breathing. "I hate you—I fucking hate you— Let me go, let me go, let me go—" His head was spinning, his body overheating, nausea creeping up his throat. "Make it stop, make it stop, please—"

"Help me! Nurses!" Derek shouted.

The door burst open. Hands. So many hands.

Louis screamed, raw, his throat raspy fighting against them all. "Get off me—please—" he cried ''Stop—let go of me!"

"You’re okay," he had murmured, even as Louis thrashed against him, even as he fought like a wild animal, fists impacting against Derek’s arms. "I’ve got you."

Now male nurses.

Strong hands had grabbed at him, pinned him to the floor, pressed him down.

''Careful, he's scared, he doesn't know what's going on'' Derek said when they got maybe rougher than they should've. Louis had screamed, the sound raw and ragged, the sheer force of it ripping through his chest.

''We need B52'' one of the nurses says, and other charges an injection.

"No, no—don’t—please don’t—" But then the needle had sunk near his hip, probably intended to his bum. Derek’s hands were on his shoulders when they turned him around, his voice low and steady, whispering, "I’m here, I’m here, I’ve got you,"

Louis felt like he was floating in a heavy fog. His body was a distant, uncooperative thing, disconnected from his mind. The world around him seemed muffled, like he was listening through layers of thick cotton. Every movement, every shift of his limbs, felt too slow, too deliberate. His thoughts were foggy too, swirling like smoke, never quite settling.

The grogginess was a suffocating blanket, but it didn’t come with the peace he expected. No, it was more like being trapped in a half-dream, stuck between one world and the next. His heart pounded in his chest, as if it was trying to escape, and his body wouldn’t stop trembling. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t form a coherent thought, just flashes of memories and feelings—his rage, his helplessness, the sound of Derek’s voice, the weight of his screams echoing in his ears.

He couldn’t remember the exact moment when he had gone from desperate to delirious, but he could still taste the panic that had driven him, the fear that he was being suffocated, that he was losing control. The memories were fragmented, but the emotions were raw, still carving through him like jagged pieces of glass.

And now, in this drugged stupor, all he could do was lie there, trapped inside his head, unable to fight back against the numbness seeping into his bones. The world felt too big, too overwhelming, and yet somehow, too empty at the same time.

His head lolled to one side, disoriented, eyes flickering but never quite focusing on anything for too long. The sedatives had hit him hard, and the fog was thickening, but he still fought it, still wanted to break free of the heavy, numb feeling that was taking over.

Derek was careful, trying not to make it worse, though Louis could still feel the tension in his grip as he helped Louis sit down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t speak much, just guiding him, hands steady as they maneuvered his body.

“You'll be okay” Derek murmured, his voice low as he caressed Louis' hair, trying to keep Louis calm even though Louis couldn’t answer in any way. With a small grunt, Derek helped him lie back, feeling the weight of Louis’ uncooperative body as it sank back into the mattress. It was harder than it should have been, but somehow, he managed to get him settled, his body splayed out awkwardly against the pillow.

Louis’ breath was slow, ragged, like he was still fighting for air, and his eyes fluttered but refused to stay open. Derek sat beside him, his hand resting on Louis’ shoulder, trying to give him some comfort.. He hated seeing him like this—too out of it to even react.

Chapter 39

Four days into the meds, Louis had been quiet, a little less restless. The fog of the medication kept his mind from spiraling, but it also kept him numb, detached from everything, like he was floating somewhere above his own body.

But then came the pain.

It started slow, a dull ache in his stomach, something he tried to ignore at first. It wasn’t anything new—he’d had stomach issues before, stress, anxiety, whatever. But then the ache sharpened, turning into something deep and searing, a relentless twisting that made his breath catch in his throat.

Louis tried to breathe through it, but it only got worse. He sat up, clutching his stomach, but the pressure didn’t ease. It felt like something inside him was being twisted, pulled, about to tear apart. His body tensed, and he bent over, curling into himself as a wave of nausea hit. The pain was so intense, it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. The kind of pain that made him question if he was even alive anymore, if this was the thing that would finally break him.

He stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before he threw up. It felt like his insides were coming out, hot and bitter and endless. His body was shaking as he retched again, and then again. It wasn’t stopping. He couldn’t stop. He could feel the tears coming, hot and frantic, but they didn’t make the pain go away. Nothing did.

He barely noticed when a nurse rushed in, her voice frantic, asking him if he was okay, if he’d eaten anything bad. Louis couldn’t answer. He could only hold onto the counter, his knuckles red by the force of the grip, his head spinning, body trembling with the force of it.

“We need to get you back to your bed. You’re dehydrated. Let’s get you some fluids.”

But Louis couldn’t move. His body was betraying him, and every time he tried to stand up, he felt like he might collapse. His stomach felt like a warzone, and he wanted to scream but couldn’t. He was barely conscious of the nurse’s hands helping him back to the bed, the way she kept asking if he was alright, her concern practically radiating off her.

He was vaguely aware of them hooking him up to an IV, the needle piercing his skin, but it felt distant, like it wasn’t happening to him. Everything was spinning, the room going in and out of focus, and the pain didn’t stop. It only got worse.

Louis let his head fall back against the pillow, breathing shallowly, his whole body tight with tension. His stomach churned violently, and the tears kept coming, though he didn’t know why anymore. There was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do.

He felt like he was dying. Maybe it was his appendix?

Louis' breath was coming in short, sharp bursts as the pain in his stomach intensified again. The nurse was still by his side, her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him steady as he curled into himself, his face pale. He could barely focus through the agony. The room spun, and his insides twisted, making it impossible to hold anything down.

"I—I think I’m gonna throw up again," Louis muttered weakly, his voice raw and strained from the earlier vomiting. He barely had the strength to lift his head.

The nurse quickly grabbed a small bucket from the table beside his bed, placing it in front of him just in time for Louis to lean over and empty his stomach once again. The sensation was brutal, violent, and as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he could feel his body shaking uncontrollably.

He barely noticed when the nurse hovered, watching him with concern.

"I need to get up," Louis whispered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "To the toilet... Please, I can't just lie here like this."

The nurse looked at him, hesitating, before gently placing a hand on his arm. "Louis, I know you're feeling awful, but we need to be careful. Can you stay put for a minute? I’ll help you."

Louis shook his head, his face scrunching in pain as the pressure in his abdomen increased again. "I need to go," he repeated, eyes wide with panic. "Please."

''For now just throw up here, okay? You'll be really dizzy, too much to stand'' He barely had time to sit up properly before another violent wave of nausea hit, and he ended up vomiting again. The bucket at filled quickly.

He could feel his body going into autopilot, his stomach refusing to cooperate as he emptied whatever little was left inside him. He barely had the strength to hold his head up, tears welling up again, the entire ordeal feeling like it was never going to end.

"Okay, just breathe, Louis, deep breaths" the nurse murmured, her tone gentle but firm. Louis didn't answer. He just nodded, wishing the whole thing would stop.

Louis barely managed to sit up, still clutching his stomach in agony. The nausea was overwhelming, but now there was a deeper, more uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The tight, cramping pressure had shifted, and he could feel his body betraying him in a whole new way.

“Fuck” he muttered, his face draining of color "I—I need to— the toilet"

The nurse’s eyes flicked to his, catching the panic in his expression. She didn’t need him to finish. “It’s okay, Louis, I’ll get you there,” she said quickly, her voice calm but efficient as she helped him get up.

But there wasn’t much time.

Before he could even process it, the pressure in his stomach dropped to an unbearable level, and Louis felt the sudden, uncontrollable urge. He barely made it to the toilet in time, the nurse standing at the door frame to give him some sort of ''privacy'', which was bullshit because the door was obviously wide open, in case he fainted. The pain from his stomach and the unexpected embarrassment made him dizzy, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself on the seat.

''Do you need help?''

''No, no, I can do it''

"Just breathe," the nurse said, not judging, just helping him through it. "It happens."

Louis couldn’t even look up, too consumed with the discomfort and his shame. He felt every second of it, every inch of his dignity slipping away. As if the vomiting wasn't enough, now his body was betraying him in every way possible.

When it finally passed, he cleaned himself up and washed his hands, the nurse having to hold him because he couldn't stand by himself. The nurse got him back onto the bed. Louis laid back down, eyes squeezed shut, wishing he could just fade out of existence.

''Is the nausea still bad?'' Louis shook his head ''Okay''

The nurse wiped away the remnants of Louis’ discomfort from his chin and neck. Louis, still hunched over, shuddered at the effort, feeling his stomach churn again, but he didn't feel like throwing up or anything again.

When the worst of it passed, the nurse helped him sit back a little, leaning his head against the bed, and handed him a small plastic cup. "Here, let’s get you to rinse your mouth, okay?" she said softly. Louis hesitated for a moment, his face pale, but he took the cup from her, carefully bringing it to his lips. The water tasted bland, but he swished it around, feeling it soothe the burning in his throat, before he spit it into the small basin she had set aside for him.

"Good," she said, wiping his mouth gently with another tissue. She reached for a glass of water, offering it to him with a soft, encouraging smile. "You should drink a bit of water now," she said, holding it to his lips. "Just a sip, slowly"

Louis tried, but his throat felt tight, as though the simple act of swallowing had become a battle. He managed to take a sip, but as soon as he tried to swallow, it felt like the water was stuck, thick, and stubborn. He couldn’t get it down. He let the water sit in his mouth for a moment before he slowly leaned forward, spitting it back into the glass with a quiet, apologetic murmur.

"I’m sorry," he muttered, voice hoarse, a little embarrassed. "I can’t do it. My throat won’t let me."

The nurse nodded understandingly, setting the glass aside"It’s okay" She gave him a warm, reassuring smile, careful not to make him feel any worse about it.

Louis let his head sink back into the pillow, exhausted and frustrated, feeling weak and small. The nurse stayed nearby for a few moments longer, just in case, making sure he was comfortable.

The nurse noticed the paleness in Louis’ face, his flushed skin betraying the fever he’d developed, and the way he barely had the energy to sit up straight. She tried giving him the water again, her tone gentle as she coaxed him, but he struggled, spitting it back into the plastic cup.

"I’m gonna get you some help, okay?" He nodded weakly, but she could tell he was starting to feel even worse. The dehydration was setting in, his body wasn’t responding to the fluids, and he was too weak to even swallow properly. This wasn’t just about the stomach issues anymore—his body was struggling. She quickly set the water aside and moved into action. "Let’s get you some fluids through an IV," she said, her voice low but firm, knowing exactly what needed to be done. She checked his vitals first, noticing his pulse was a little fast, likely from both the dehydration and the stress on his body. His skin was clammy, and there was a faint tremor in his hands.

She gathered the IV supplies. "I’m going to make this quick," she told him, wanting him to understand that he would be okay. She cleaned the area on his hand where she planned to insert the IV, swabbing it with alcohol. Louis, barely awake, didn't seemed to notice, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She took the sterile needle and swiftly inserted it into the vein in his hand because he refused to show his stitches. The fluid started to drip into his body almost immediately. Louis winced but didn’t move much otherwise.
"Good, there we go," she murmured, adjusting the IV drip to ensure the flow was steady. She pressed the button to start the saline solution, observing as the liquid began to flow. As the needle was in, she took a quick moment to check his overall condition, looking at his face again. "I’m just going to call the doctor now, alright? I’ll be right back,"

''Thanks'' he sighed in low voice. The nurse nodded with a smile and stepped out of the room.

 

Thirty minutes later the psychiatrist stepped in, his eyes immediately scanning the room for any sign of improvement in Louis’ condition. He looked over at the IV drip, then back at Louis, who was still lying back in bed, eyes closed, his face flushed but slightly less pale. The doctor approached slowly, his voice calm, but laced with concern.

"How’s he doing?" the psychiatrist asked, addressing the nurse who had been with Louis.

"Better," she replied, nodding toward the IV. "He’s starting to respond to the fluids. He was too weak to drink earlier, but we’ve got him on a steady drip now. He hasn’t thrown up in a bit, so that’s a good sign."

The psychiatrist moved closer to Louis, checking the IV line and then gently tapping the back of his hand, just to check his responsiveness. Louis shifted slightly but didn’t wake, his body exhausted.

"Louis," the psychiatrist said softly, watching him. "How are you feeling?"

Louis barely stirred, his voice thin and distant. "Tired," he muttered, eyes still half-closed, a weak smile barely tugging at his lips. "Really tired."

The psychiatrist gave a small nod with an understanding smile. He glanced back at the nurse, but also at Louis. "We'll stop the fluoxetine; it's uncommon but it happens, some people don't tolerate it. Once you feel better, we’ll switch you to drops of Lexapro instead. That should be easier for you to tolerate. I want to start stabilizing his mood without overwhelming his system. We must give him the right meds in the right amounts—don’t want to make him worse by switching too quickly. He needs some time to bounce back from this."

Louis, hearing bits of the conversation, frowned "Am I… okay?" he asked "Am I gonna… be okay?"

The psychiatrist gave him a gentle, reassuring smile, looking again at him. "You’re going to be alright, Louis. We’re just taking it one step at a time. I know it’s been tough, but we’ll get you through it. Just rest for now," the psychiatrist added. "We’ll check on you later, but once the fluoxetine leaves your body completely, you should be okay"

 

---

 

Arizona’s hands were gentle as she packed Harry’s things, a little bit more neat than he would. The same way she always had been with him—calm, patient, like she understood how hard it was for him to be here, to be anywhere. She may have been blind, not knowing about Harry's eating disorder because of how uncommon it is, hell, she was more worried about her daughter skipping lunch, but with Harry... it was not that noticeable.

Harry sat there, his head tipped back against the wall. He was trying not to look too overwhelmed by the weight of it all—the hospital, the recovery, the months of silence. Now that he was two kilos away from sixty, they let him go under the condition of day hospital, checking in every five days. He hated his current body with his entire soul, how his stomach was no longer concave and his thighs were bigger, his ass, his arms, the stretch marks on his hips, his puffy face. He couldn't wait to lose some weight or at least, be allowed to start the gym.

“Do you have everything?” Arizona asked, giving him his favorite hoodie to put it on. “Phone? ID?”

Harry blinked, not realizing she’d asked him something. “No, I have to ask for my ID at the front desk”, he muttered, his voice still rough, unused.

He stood up in slow-mo, like his body wasn’t used to this kind of movement anymore, but Arizona was quick to catch the strap of his bag before it slipped off his shoulder. She adjusted it, making sure it sat right, not too heavy. "Okay" she sighed with a smile ''Let's go home. I really want to stop by a café and catch up; our visits are quite short for that''

Arizona smiled as she pulled open the door, letting Harry step out first. The hallway felt colder than he remembered, the air sharper against his skin. He adjusted his hoodie, pulling the sleeves over his hands as they walked toward the front desk. His legs still felt weak, almost unfamiliar, but he pushed through it.

At the desk, a nurse handed him a small envelope with his ID and a few other documents. “Take care of yourself, Harry,” she said kindly, her voice light but firm. He just nodded, slipping the envelope into his bag without a word.

Arizona walked beside him in silence until they reached the exit. The moment the automatic doors slid open, the outside world hit him all at once—sounds of traffic, the crisp scent of the city, the distant chatter of people who had no idea where he was coming from. It felt too real, too fast. He hesitated for a second, staring at the sidewalk like it was unfamiliar terrain.

Arizona seemed to notice. “Hey,” she murmured, nudging him lightly. “You okay?”

Harry forced himself to nod. “Yeah,” he lied.

She didn’t push. Instead, she hooked her arm with his like she used to when they were younger, guiding him toward her car. “C’mon,” she said, her voice lighter now. “Let’s get that coffee. You still like caramel lattes, right?”

Harry swallowed, his stomach twisting. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t drink them anymore, that he couldn’t. But instead, he just hummed. He still resented his mum for everything, but he still loved her, still wanted to make her happy.

Even by just saying yes to a sugary drink he hasn't allowed himself to drink since he left his town and got into university.

The car ride was quiet. Arizona kept the radio low, something soft playing in the background, like she didn’t want to overwhelm him. Harry stared out the window, watching the city blur past, the world still moving like nothing had happened.

She didn’t ask how he was feeling, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t have an answer anyway.

When they pulled up to a small café, Arizona parked and turned to him. “We can go somewhere else if you want,” she offered, like she could sense the way his shoulders had tensed.

Harry shook his head, already reaching for the door handle. “No, it’s fine.”

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the smell of coffee and pastries, sugar, honey... The kind of place he would’ve loved before. Now, it made his stomach twist.

They found a small table by the window. Arizona went to order while Harry sat there, picking at the skin around his nails. When she came back, she placed a caramel latte in front of him and espresso for herself.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything to eat,” she said carefully, like she was testing the waters.

Harry stared at the latte. “I’m not hungry.”

Arizona nodded, not pushing, but he could see it in her eyes—she wanted to. Instead, she just stirred her tea, watching the steam rise. “So…” she started, leaning back. “What’s the first thing you wanna do now that you’re out?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, thinking. He knew what he *should* say—something normal, something that made it sound like he was okay. Instead, what came out was the truth.

“I just want to go home.” Arizona nodded and smiled, soft and understanding.

Arizona stirred the sugar in her drink, glancing at Harry before setting the spoon down. “I’ll be staying with you for a while,” she said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“What? Why?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because you just got discharged from a hospital, and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself. You've been starving yourself for months, so I won't let you get away with it again, mister''

Harry let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head. “No, mum—”

“I’m not negotiating,” she cut it, sipping her drink. “It's not to punish you, it's to help you. You're twenty years old, no big deal”

Harry wanted to argue, but something else crossed his mind. His stomach twisted. “And Louis? He's staying in the second room, I can't just kick him out” he pressed his hands on the edge of the table, trying to avoid this situation.

“He’s staying with his family for a while.”

Harry frowned. “Why?”

She met his eyes. “Because neither of you can live by yourselves or together when you're struggling with addictions.”

''Are you saying we encouraged each other?''

“No. I’m saying it’s hard to heal when you’re living in a place where he couldn't take care of himself, or you of yourself... And with the way things were, it wasn’t healthy for either of you.” Harry stayed quiet, sinking into the chair a little more, his gaze on the table, the silence stretching longer than it should’ve.

''Louis helped me eat... I don't want you to think he might've fed on my problem, he actually really helped. Mum, please, I-''

''Louis is still at the hospital.” she interrupted ''that's the other reason why''

Harry blinked, trying to make sense of what she said. “What do you mean still? Is he okay?”

Arizona’s lips curved down at the corners. “He got hospitalized again.” She said it so matter-of-factly, but Harry’s stomach dropped. He was already dreading the worst. Overdose. Drugs. Relapse.

Overdose.

Drugs.

Relapse.

Swallowing thickly, Harry asked, though he already had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Why?”

Arizona hesitated for a second, a quiet moment before her voice softened. “It was a suicide attempt.”

Harry choked on his drink, the cup slipping from his hand and spilling over the table. His breath hitched, eyes wide, the air thick in his chest as everything inside him froze. He wiped his mouth, swallowing the lump that formed there. “A… a what?” Harry’s vision blurred. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His head felt like it was spinning, and his heart pounded against his chest in a way that made him want to curl into himself.

Louis had tried to kill himself.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore—his hands trembled, his voice cracking as he barely got the words out. “How—why didn’t you tell me?” His chest tightened painfully. “Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“I couldn't, Harry, you were in treatment” she said, patient like she was explaining it to a child. “What was I supposed to do? Call the hospital and be like, ‘Hey, I know you’re being force-fed and monitored every second of the day, but guess what? Your best friend tried to commit suicide’”

Harry gritted his teeth, the words slicing through him, because—yeah, it made sense but didn't make it any better. He was so happy to get out because it meant seeing Louis again and now this. He shoved his chair back, metal legs scraping against the floor. He felt sick. Like really, properly sick. Like he might throw up his entire fucking stomach right onto the café floor.

“You okay?” Arizona asked, her voice too calm, too level.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” Harry snapped, running a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots. His whole body was wired, restless, like his skin wasn’t sitting right on his bones. “How—how did it happen? When?”

Arizona exhaled, setting her cup down like this was just another conversation. Like she wasn’t about to tell him something that would split him clean open.

“A few days after he got discharged, I think...” Harry’s stomach lurched.

No. No, that wasn’t—no.

“He—” Harry swallowed, blinking hard, his voice dropping to something raw. “He was alone?”

Arizona nodded. “You were still inpatient. No one knew until it was— his stepdad found him, he's a doctor so he could... take care of it properly.”

Harry pressed a hand against his mouth, his breath coming too fast, his lungs fighting against it.

Louis was alone. Louis was alone, and Harry was eating hospital food, sitting in therapy groups, pretending to care about breathing exercises while Louis was—

His throat burned. He needed to throw up.

He needed to make it happen.

“What did he do?” Harry asked, barely above a whisper. He didn’t want to know, but he needed to.

Arizona hesitated.

“Mum!”

A sigh. A flicker of something in her expression before she gave it to him straight. “Pills, and he cut himself”

Harry pressed his fists against his eyes, digging them inside his skull, hoping they would get into his brain and he'd die.

Okay, maybe too much.

“Is he—” His voice cracked. “Is he okay?”

Harry could barely get the words out. “Is he—” his voice cracked, his throat raw. “Is he okay?”

Arizona nodded. “He’s been in treatment since,” she said, steady and sure, like she needed him to believe it. “They have him on meds, under constant and strenuous vigilance. He’s safe, Harry.”

Safe.

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, but it didn’t make it easier to breathe. His hands still shook, his head still spun. Safe wasn’t the same as okay. Safe wasn’t the same as *Louis*.

“He—he’s still in the hospital?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. She nodded, Harry swallowing hard, trying to process, trying to make sense of it. Louis was alive. Louis was in treatment. Louis was—

“I need to see him.” It came out choked, desperate. “I—I need to see him, mum.”

“Not yet. Give it a few days.”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “A few days?”

“Harry,” she said, her voice firmer now. “You just got out of the hospital yourself. You need to settle first.”

He shook his head, crying now. “I don’t *need* to settle, I need to—” He ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply. “Mum, I love him. I love him more than I love a best friend, please”

Arizona watched him for a moment, then leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and grabbing his. Arizona’s voice softened. “You can see him soon, I promise, but first, I'm taking care of what matters the most to me, my son's wellbeing.”

''I need to get out of here. I'm sorry, mum, I need to- we need to leave. I need air. I need to get out of the smell of sugar and pastries when I just want to throw up'' Arizona quickly got up and just held him in a hug

 

---

 

When they pulled in front of Harry's building, the first thing he noticed was Jakob crouched beside his car, a bucket of soapy water next to him. He was scrubbing at the hood, his sleeves pushed up, looking as effortless as ever.

Jakob glanced up at the sound of the car, and when he saw Harry step out with his bag slung on his shoulder, he smiled “Well, well, look who’s back!” he called when Harry and Arizona crossed the street, dropping the sponge into the bucket. “Finally free I see”

Harry huffed a small laugh, his arms swinging back and forth at the sides oh his body. “Guess they got sick of me.”

Jakob grinned and walked over, giving Harry a hug, which was weird but made Harry feel a bit warm, like he was missed. “You look a lot better” he hesitated, choosing his words to be sure he wouldn't trigger Harry

“Thanks” Harry said, voice dry but smiled.

Jakob clapped him on the shoulder, firm but careful. “It’s good to have you back. Is this your sister?”

Arizona, who had been standing slightly behind Harry, stepped forward with an easy smile. "No, but thanks, I’m his mom," she said, offering a hand. "Arizona."

Jakob’s eyebrows shot up slightly, but he recovered quickly, shaking her hand. “Oh, wow, sorry—didn’t expect that. You are really young.”

Arizona chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jakob nodded, then glanced at Harry. Jakob dried his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder. “Well, if either of you need anything, I’m gonna be around, either me or Jean''

''I wanted to thank you properly, you and Jean helped Lou to take me to the hospital. I'm really grateful'' He smiled at Jakob, Arizona caressing Harry's arm.

''You can thank me by taking care of yourself, eh?'' He chuckled ''I should go back at this'' he gestured towards the car ''se you around''

 

---

 

Harry wrinkled his nose the second he stepped inside the apartment. The sharp scent of bleach clung to the air, sinking into the walls, the floors, everything. His stomach twisted a little, though he didn’t know why.

Arizona walked in behind him, setting her bag down by the door. She knew. Of course, she knew. But she didn’t say anything, just acted normal, taking a glance around like she was assessing the place. She exhaled through her nose, moving toward the kitchen, opening a cupboard like she was checking what he had left.

Arizona shook her head, peering inside the fridge like she expected something to be there. There wasn’t. Just half a carton of almond milk, an expired yogurt half eaten, which made her heart heavy by what that meant, and something in a Tupperware that was probably a biohazard by now.

“We need groceries,” she said as she cleared her throat, turning back to him. “We can go to that health store you like.”

Arizona grabbed her purse from the counter, not giving Harry much room to protest. “Come on, let’s go before it gets late.”

Harry was still stuck on the thought, standing there with his arms crossed when they walked out again. He hadn’t been home in weeks, hadn’t touched any of his things, and yet the place didn’t feel foreign. Just… altered. Like someone had been here cleaning up a mess he didn’t even remember making. Maybe because it just proved how much had happened while he was locked away in that hospital, how much had shifted without him being part of it.

Arizona snapped her fingers, waiting at the door. “Earth to Harry.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a once-over, like she was checking if he was really with her. Then she softened, resting a hand on his back as she forced him toward the door. “Come on. A walk will be good for you.”

Harry didn’t argue. He grabbed his phone and put it in his pocket as they stepped out. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows over the pavement. Jakob was still outside, wiping down the hood of his car, but Harry didn’t pay him much attention this time. His mind was elsewhere.

The walk to the store was quiet at first. Arizona didn’t push him to talk, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. She just walked beside him, matching his pace, letting him sort through his thoughts.

Harry fumbled with his phone as soon as it buzzed in his hand. His stomach twisted, and in that split second of shock, the phone slipped right through his fingers, crashing onto the sidewalk with an ugly crack.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, his heart slamming against his ribs.

Arizona turned to him, brows raised. “Harry?”

But he was already crouching, snatching the phone off the ground. The screen was cracked, a jagged spiderweb creeping across the glass from the upper part, but he didn’t care now. His hands were shaking as he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” a low, funny voice he knew very well drawled. Harry snorted as he started crying, the sound escaping before he could stop it.

Notes:

I'll start posting on weekends since now I got back to uni, sorry :(

Chapter 40

Louis laughed softly on the other end. Not the full kind, not like before. It was quieter, almost cautious. But it was him.

Harry turned slightly away from Arizona, wiping his face with the back of his hand, even though he knew she’d already seen.

“I missed you, you freak,” he breathed.

“Missed you too,” Louis replied, a beat slower. There was a pause, like maybe he was lying down. Harry could imagine it — white hospital sheets, the window open a crack, Louis curled up with the phone pressed to his ear like it was holding him up.

“You sound tired,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Louis admitted. “They’ve got me on a cocktail of stuff. Makes everything a bit foggy. But I wanted to hear your voice. Been thinking about you.”

Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. “Where are you?”

A breath. Then, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it fucking matters,” Harry said, sharper than he meant to. “I want to see you.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Then Louis, gentler: “You can’t right now.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

Arizona watched him quietly from a few steps away, pretending to read the label on a can of tomatoes. She didn’t interrupt.

“I just want to know you’re okay,” Harry said, voice cracking right in the middle.

Louis was quiet again, but Harry could hear the slight rustle of his sheets, the soft hitch in his breath. “I’m not,” he said finally. “But I’m trying. That’s all I’ve got.”

Harry shut his eyes. Nodded even though Louis couldn’t see. “Okay. Okay.”

“Your mum’s with you?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Arizona, who smiled faintly. “She’s dragging me around, trying to make me eat vegetables.”

“You eight again?” Louis chuckles, but in a banter way, of course. A breath passed between them. Then Louis whispered, “I’m glad you’re out.”

“Wish you were too.”

“Soon,” Louis said. “I hope.”

Harry didn’t ask anything else. He just listened. Stayed on the line while Louis’s voice got slower, softer, until eventually a nurse in the background asked for the phone.

''Love you” Louis took a deep breath, and when Harry didn't answerimmediately, he said it again ''I love you, Harry, I do... a lot''

''Love you too'' he sniffed, drying his tears.

And then the line went dead.

Harry stood there for a second, phone still clutched in his hand, his thumb hovering over the dead screen like maybe if he waited long enough, Louis would call back.

Then his knees gave out.

He crumpled onto the sidewalk without a sound, sitting hard against the concrete like the weight of it all had just slammed into his chest.

Arizona was beside him in a heartbeat, her joints cracking as she knelt down, not caring if her bag slipped off her shoulder or if people were watching. She wrapped her arms around him tight.

Harry leaned into her like he was eight years old again and had just scraped his knee. He buried his face in her shoulder and started crying—really crying. Not the quiet kind.

Arizona didn’t say anything. She just held him, one hand cupped over the back of his head, the other pressing firm between his shoulder blades like she could keep him from splitting open.

“I can’t—” he choked out between sobs. “Oh God”

“I know,” she whispered, even though she didn’t. Not really. But she held on tighter. “I know, baby.”

The sun kept dipping lower behind the buildings, casting long gold streaks across the pavement. People walked around them. Some stared. Most didn’t.

Until he finally looked up, red-eyed and hollow ''Let's go, I need to... To not think'' Arizona nodded''

 

-----

The nurse took his phone gently, like she thought he might fight her for it. He didn’t. He let it go without a word, fingers lingering a second too long before curling into his palm like they missed the weight of it already.

She told him something about rest. About meals. About boundaries. Louis didn’t hear most of it. He just nodded and watched the screen go black as she stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that followed felt different now. He’d gotten used to the kind that came at night—low, clinical, padded by routine and pills. But this was louder. This was silence that echoed.

Louis lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. He could still hear Harry’s voice in his head, that sharp inhale when he picked up, the way it cracked when he said *hello*. And the way he cried. God. That sound had twisted something in Louis’ gut.

He shouldn’t have called. He shouldn’t have done the voice. He thought it’d break the ice, that it’d make it easier. But then he heard Harry cry and suddenly Louis wasn’t a boy with a clever line anymore. He was just a wreck in a white room, with bandages wrapped too tight around his wrists and a mouth full of guilt.

He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, trying to slow his breathing. The sheets smelled clean, and he remembered how once his smelled like piss, and a granny's ass.

The call had lasted less than ten minutes. Just a stupid joke. One they used to make during first-year seminars when everyone was too anxious to speak. *What’s your favorite scary movie?* And Harry had laughed. Then cried. Louis had nearly dropped the phone too.

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until stars burst behind them. He didn’t know if it had been a mistake calling. He didn’t know if it was fair.

He couldn’t sit still.

The blanket on his bed scratched at the back of his thighs. The room was too bright. The nurse had taken his phone. And all Louis could hear was Harry’s voice in his ear, thick with tears .

Louis had stared at the wall for ten minutes after that call, swallowing around the knot in his throat, pretending he wasn’t shaking. Pretending he didn’t want to smash his head against the concrete just to shut his brain up.

But his arms were worse. That itch had started behind his elbows, crawling up into his shoulders like ants under the skin. He rubbed at them hard, using his palms at first. Then his nails. Just little scratches at first. Nothing serious. Nothing they’d see.

Then he saw the scab. One from last week—thin, reddish-brown, almost gone. And something in his chest cracked.

He dug his nail under it and pulled.

It peeled off in a strip, the edge of it raw and shiny pink underneath. He stared at it for a second, then pressed harder, dragging his nails down, over and over again. The skin gave way easily. Blood came up quick—thin at first, then thicker, welling into little beads and sliding toward his wrist. It felt hot. Not painful, just hot.

He scratched harder, fast, the sting spreading like fire. His heart was pounding now, blood loud in his ears. He didn’t even realize he was breathing through his mouth until he caught a metallic taste in the back of his throat.

His left wrist next. He rolled up the sleeve, hands trembling now, fingers slick with blood from the other arm. He didn’t care. The skin there was already pale and thin—easy. He used the tip of his thumbnail, pressed it in just below the crease, and pulled. A sharp, burning line bloomed in its wake.

He hissed, but didn’t stop. He *couldn’t*. The rhythm of it helped. It gave shape to the noise in his head. A beat, a pattern. One he could follow. One he could control.

His forearms were a mess now—red and raw, some places smeared, some still oozing. He pressed his sleeves down over it all, hissed when the cotton touched the open skin, then bit down on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

He was tired.

So fucking tired.

And all he could think about was how badly he wanted to see Harry again. And how little he thought he deserved it.

Notes:

So sorry for being so ia, I really try to rwrite but barely have time for it. Hang on, I'll make it worth it babes :(

Chapter 41

It had been a little over two months—maybe closer to three—since Louis last saw Harry. He was free, for now, still had to go every day to check in, do drug tests there, therapy in groups, and also by himself. He started painting and writing again. That was definitely a big achievement.

They agreed with his mum that it was safer for Louis to stay at Derek’s for the first couple of weeks. Neutral ground, less crowded. Addison thought it was a good idea, Derek agreed—hell, even Louis knew it was probably for the best.

He was technically living between Addison’s and Derek’s, before moving out, switching back and forth like a kid in some weird divorced-parents situation, except this wasn’t about custody. It was about Jake.

Not that Louis would ever admit that out loud. No way. He just mumbled some excuse about "needing space" when anyone brought it up, but the truth was, he didn’t want to be under the same roof as Jake. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it.

Derek’s place was quieter anyway. It smelled like old wood and mint tea, and there was always some shitty vintage record playing in the background. It felt like somewhere you could breathe without having to earn it. Derek wasn't the type of guy to be angry, not like Jake. He would go to the pub sometimes, or he'd drink at home with his friend Mark. They'd shit talk a lot, sometimes about ferries, sometimes about Addison, or about Derek's new girlfriend, whom Louis didn't want to meet yet.

Louis sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection like it might tell him what to do. His hair was a mess, no matter how much he fussed with it, his jeans felt tight in all the wrong places, and his hoodie bunched awkwardly around his stomach when he sat down. He looked different. He was different. He didn’t know what scared him more—seeing Harry again, or Harry seeing *him* now.

He’d spent almost three hours getting ready, trying on every shirt he owned, every pair of jeans, even shoes he hadn’t touched in months. Nothing felt right. Everything clung too much, showed too much.

Derek leaned against the doorway, watching him with that tired look.

“You look good, Lou” he sat on the bed next to him, giving him a cuppa ''What time is he coming?''

''Like an hour or two, he has a Zoom meeting with his shrink'' Derek nods.

Derek let the silence sit for a minute, sipping his tea, before clearing his throat. “Listen, uh,” he started “, if you and Harry... y'know... decide to do anything, uh, intimate while you’re here—”

Louis froze, ears burning red, staring at Derek in horror.

Derek kept going, unfazed. “Just, like, gimme a heads-up so I can take a very long, very educational walk around the backyard or somethin’. You don’t need me sitting here like a ghost while you're...” He waved vaguely.

Louis groaned, setting his mug on the nightstand and hiding his face with one hand. “Derek, please,” he muttered, voice strangled.

“I’m just saying!” Derek chuckled, patting his leg. “I want you to feel safe. Comfortable. No weirdness.”

Louis peeked at him through his fingers. “You’re literally making it weird.”

Louis stayed quiet for a moment, stirring his tea even though he wasn’t gonna drink it. His hands were pink around the knuckles, nervous. Then, without really looking at Derek, he muttered, “We haven’t really... done anything.”

Derek blinked, kept still. “You mean—”

“Yeah.” Louis rubbed at his eyebrow. “Not like that. Not really.”

Derek didn’t say anything right away, just sipped his tea and let Louis take his time.

“I want to,” Louis said eventually. Quiet, but clearer. “I think I do. I’ve never... You know. I’ve never done it. Not properly. Not like that. Not with someone who actually—" He paused, choosing his words. "—cares.”

The room felt warm, a little too still. The sound of the oven fan was the only thing keeping it from being dead silent.

Derek looked over at him, brow softening. “You don’t owe anyone that. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Louis nodded quickly. “It’s not like that. I just—he’s important to me. I love him.” He twisted the sleeve of his hoodie around his fingers. “And I think maybe I’m ready. I just don’t know how to... start. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t mess it up,” Derek said “If it’s the right time, and he’s the right person, it won’t feel like messing anything up. You’ll just be figuring it out together.”

Louis leaned into him a little, his head on his shoulder. “You’re weirdly good at this.”

“Years of being forced to learn boundaries and emotional intelligence because of your mum,” Derek said dryly, earning a small smile from Louis.

Louis stared at the black screen of the TV. He could feel it crawling up his throat—the truth, raw and ugly and sitting there, waiting to be said.

Louis opened his mouth once, closed it. Swallowed hard.

"There was..." he started, voice small, breaking apart before he could shape it into anything real. His chest burned. He couldn't breathe right for a second.

Derek didn’t move. He didn’t fill the silence with questions or reassurances. He just sat there like a wall Louis could lean against if he wanted.

Louis tried again, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat. "Before. A while ago. Someone... I—" He cut himself off. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, toes curled over the rock, knowing he was about to fall and not being able to decide if he wanted to jump or back away.

"Never mind," he croaked out, voice wrecked. "Forget it."

Derek didn’t say anything right away. He just watched Louis for a moment, steady and quiet, like he was holding something fragile in his hands and didn’t want to break it by mistake.

“If there’s anything you’d like to tell me,” he said finally, his voice so gentle it almost made Louis flinch, “I’m here, Lou. You don’t have to, but… if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Louis nodded, shakily, his jaw trembling. He brought his hand up to his mouth like he could keep the sob from slipping out, but it didn’t work. His whole body shook with it, one of those ugly, heavy sounds that seemed to echo inside his chest.

“I don’t…” he started, but the words stuck. He tried again, and again, his face crumpling with effort. “I don’t know how.”

“Doesn’t have to be clean, or clear. I’ll hear you anyway.”

Louis sniffed, eyes wet and glassy as he finally managed to speak. “It was—” His voice cracked. “It was when I was little. I think I was… I don’t know. Eight? Maybe nine... the first time. My first... time”

Derek sat up better, his hand on Louis' back ''What are you talking about?'' His voice was confused, but also shaky.

“It didn’t stop. Not for years. At thirteen, maybe. I don’t—” He pressed his fingers hard against his temples, like he was trying to push the memories out of his head. “I don’t remember everything. But it was years.”

Derek didn’t move much. Just kept his arm there, steady, a warm line across Louis’ shoulder blades.

But he was crying.

Louis' breath hitched. “It was friends, boys I went to school with. Some were older. Some... same class. They’d come over sometimes, or I’d go there. I used to think it was—” he blinked, lashes wet. “normal, like I could take it, like it wasn't a thing people warn girls about when they're young.”

He wasn’t crying anymore. It was something worse—something flat and far away, the way his voice sounded when he said it. Like he was telling someone else’s story. Like it had been buried for so long, he didn’t even know where to find his voice inside of it.

Derek can't help but hug him “It wasn’t your fault, Louis,” he said, low and even. “None of it.”

Louis shook his head “You say that, but I didn’t say no” His throat was raw from holding it all in. “It should've stopped when he started literally torturing me, tying me up, locking me in dark rooms that they told me were haunted, force feeding me raw eggs, or...'' Louis starts crying ''When he did other things. I told mum I was getting beaten up by him, but after a year, he called and apologised, and mum convinced me it had been a year to forgive him... so I did. And it started again, and when I started feeling sick... he taught me how to throw up''

He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “They said things. Called me stuff. Made me think I liked it. That I wanted it. Sometimes I did—” He stopped, his voice cutting off with a sharp inhale. Louis’ eyes dropped to his lap. “I feel filthy.”

“You’re not.” Louis didn’t nod. Didn’t believe it yet. But he also didn’t argue. ''Lou, listen to me, you're not, they are filthy, they made you go through things no one should go through, no kid, no adult, anyone. It wasn't your fault, okay? It wasn't '' He just breathed, uneven and shallow, and leaned in when Derek gently pulled him closer, letting his head rest against his stepdad’s shoulder like he was five again, and safe.

Derek stayed silent for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation hang in the air. He shifted slightly, taking in the situation, then turned to Louis, his expression soft but firm. "Louis, I think it might be a good idea if Harry comes tomorrow, not today," he said carefully. "I really want to talk to you about all of this, and I don't want to rush anything. I need to make sure you're okay with everything, you know? That we take it slow."

Louis' breath caught, the thought of pushing things off making his stomach churn, but Derek’s tone was gentle enough that he didn't feel the pressure to act immediately. He nodded slowly, trying to sort through his emotions. "Yeah," he muttered, not really looking at Derek. "I get it."

Derek leaned forward, his gaze steady but concerned. "And, Louis... does Harry know about all of this? What you just told me?"

Louis froze, his chest tightening at the mention of Harry’s name. He shook his head quickly, the words coming out like a quiet confession. "No... he doesn’t know. I haven’t told him, you're the first person I tell..."

Derek’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press, giving Louis the space to explain. "Have you talked to your shrink about this?" Louis nodded too ''What does she say about this?''

Louis bit his lip, struggling with the knot in his throat. ''I don't want to talk about this anymore''

''I don't have an issue if Harry does come here, but this was, emotionally, a lot. Maybe you should rest, instead of adding another stressing tool''

''Yeah, you're right'' Louis sniffs ''wouldn't want another breakdown'' he chuckles, dry, and Derek just nods.

''I'll go bring you something to eat with your meds'' Louis coughs and nods, grabbing his phone.

Louis stared at the message he’d drafted for a solid five minutes before pressing send.

hey h, something came up here, can we meet tomorrow instead? same place, same time x

It only took a minute for Harry to reply.

oh thank god lol i’ve had the worst stomach bug since morning. was still gonna go tho. thanks for saving me 💀

Louis huffed out a soft laugh through his nose, already typing back.

you were gonna show up sick?? you miss me so much, dramatic

Harry replied instantly.

no more dramatic than someone who changes outfits 3 times before lunch

Louis felt his cheeks heat up despite himself. bastard, he muttered under his breath, thumbs working over the screen.

how do you know i changed 3 times??

Derek, came the reply. she sent me a pic of the pile on your bed. told me to call you pretty even if you wore the first one again

Louis groaned, but a smile tugged at his lips anyway.

he’s banned from my room

you looked good in the black sweater btw, can I borrow it? just that no leggings 😘

Louis stared at that one a moment longer. He bit his bottom lip, let himself grin a little too wide, then replied.

maybe...

pleaseee!!! i’ll bring you tea. no stomach bug tomorrow i swear

good. you better not bail again or i’ll cry and tell everyone you broke my heart

noted. wouldn’t survive the scandal.

Just as Louis set his phone down and leaned back against the bedframe, since he didn't know what else to say, screen dimmed, it lit up again with a new message from Harry.

He picked it up absentmindedly, still smiling from before, and nearly dropped the phone when he opened it.

It was a mirror pic. Nothing full-on, but Harry’s hoodie was hitched up a little too high over his stomach, showing the faint V of his hips, him standing on his side with this shorts a bit lowered down on the hips. Just a glimpse of his ass—enough. His lips were slightly parted like he'd been caught mid-laugh, hair a mess, skin flushed. There was a caption too.

this what u were hoping to see today? sorry for the delay x

Louis choked. Literally. His saliva caught in his throat and he coughed so violently Derek startled from the kitchen and looked over in alarm.

“You alright?”

Louis turned the phone face-down with the speed of sin. “Yeah,” he wheezed, voice cracking. “Just… swallowed wrong.”

Derek narrowed his eyes and chuckled, going back to the kitchen. “Right. Well, I'm heating up some of the butter cookies” Louis cleared his throat, cheeks burning as he nodded. When Derek left, he glanced down at his phone again like it had cursed him. And maybe it had. Because now all he could think about was tomorrow, and the way Harry’s eyes would look in real life, and what the hell he was going to do with himself if Harry ever looked at him like that on purpose.

Another photo came in.

This one was blurry, Harry lying in bed, sheets pushed low on his hips. The tiniest glimpse of skin, that goddamn mole under his ribs, his lips red and bitten, his lashes dark against his cheek. Caption:
can’t sleep. missing you. this is your fault

Louis’s stomach flipped. He clutched the phone like it might detonate in his hands.

A few seconds passed. Then another one. This time, Harry was holding his hoodie in his mouth, half-covering his grin, letting his collarbones show. Louis didn’t even know someone could be that pretty lying down.
should i stop?

Louis typed:
yes
Deleted it.
absolutely not
Deleted that too.

What he did send was:
i swear to god if derek sees these im killing you myself

Harry’s reply came back with a photo of him biting his lip and the words:
guess i better send them faster then

Louis whimpered out loud. Derek, across the room, raised an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Louis said, voice three octaves too high. “Fine. Just—texting with a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek muttered, going back to his tea. “Just don’t end up back in the hospital choking on your tongue or something.”

Louis turned bright red. His phone buzzed again. He didn’t even look. He just tossed it under a cushion and buried his face in his hands.

Tomorrow was going to kill him.

He set the phone down. He really did. Screen down, far from reach, next to his water glass. Then he had a biscuit with Derek—jam-filled, still warm from the oven—and took his meds like a good boy. Lamotrigine, Lexapro drops, the whole bitter lineup. He smiled at Derek, told him he might nap a bit, that the meds were kicking in.

And he did go to his room. Closed the door quietly. Pulled the curtain so the sun wouldn’t bother him. Curled up under the sheets. But he wasn’t sleepy. Not even close.

The phone was back in his hand within minutes.

His fingers scrolled, slow at first, then faster. The pictures were all there—Harry with the smirk, Harry biting the hoodie, Harry's skin glowing under bad bedroom lighting. Louis’ chest hurt. It was too much and not enough all at once. He wanted to tell him: *less clothes, please. Just less. Please.* He wanted to be the kind of person who could just ask. *Let me see more, let me have you, even if it’s pixelated, even if it’s through a screen.*

But he didn’t type a word. Just looked. Just stared too long. His hand moved to his stomach, fingers resting on the waistband of his joggers. He was hard already, embarrassingly fast, just from a smile and a hint of Harry’s hip. He bit his lip.

The hunger in him was old, aching. He wasn’t even sure if it was about sex or just needing to feel Harry *closer*, pressed against his chest, skin to skin, real and warm and safe.

But still, his hand slipped lower, clumsy, rushed.

His hand shook a little when he typed it—*less clothes. please.*
Not even a full stop. Just that. Desperate, whispered between his fingers like a prayer.

The read receipt hit instantly. Then came the typing bubble.

Louis stared, breath held.

And then it landed. A photo. No teasing now. No hoodie in the way. No waistband. Just skin. Skin and shadows and Harry’s long, freckled body stretched on a bed Louis didn’t recognize.

Louis blinked. Swallowed hard. Tried to sit up but couldn’t. His body had other plans.

He was already hard, but now he ached.

He didn’t even remember breathing. His chest rose shallowly, his mouth parting, his eyes wide, frozen. There was something intimate in the way Harry looked in the picture, like he’d been thinking about Louis the whole time. Like the picture wasn’t meant to provoke but to offer.

Louis bit down on the inside of his cheek and typed something, deleted it, typed again.

His hand went back to his waistband, lay on his side, back facing the door.

Tried to pretend he wasn’t flushed, his hips weren’t shifting on the mattress, that he hadn’t just stared at that photo of Harry for five whole minutes like it was going to disappear.

But then his fingers were already there—unlocking the phone, opening the camera.

He didn't even bother to pose properly. Just pulled his shirt up, bit his lip, snapped one with his hand still half in his boxers.

Then another. Less cropped. Lazier. His thighs spread, his stomach soft and flushed, the waistband of his pants low enough to show the shadow of hair.

He didn’t add text. Just sent it.

Seconds passed.

Then came Harry’s reply:
fuck
and a voice note—Harry’s breathy laugh, low and wrecked, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Louis groaned and let his head fall back into the pillow, grinning like an idiot now. His thumb hovered. Then he took one more picture, bolder this time—hand wrapped fully around himself.

Sent.

He didn’t even wait for the reply before tugging his boxers lower. He bit the pillow, trying to muffle himself.

Harry’s message came in with that familiar little buzz. Louis barely looked—just unlocked his phone with the lazy, smug confidence of someone who knew exactly what was waiting for him.

He didn’t expect *that*, though.

Full-body mirror shot, low angle. Lower clothes off. His hand holding the phone while the other pulled down the back of his underwear just enough to show the curve of his ass, skin flushed and smooth and shameless. His hips slightly turned like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he'd practiced it.

And the caption—just a few words under the photo:
i need it so bad, lou

Louis actually whimpered. Out loud. No one to hear but himself, sprawled in bed, panting already. His fingers clenched around the phone. His whole body went hot.

He typed something—deleted it. Then tried again.
baby, he sent first.
i’ll lose my fucking mind

Louis stared at the photo like it held some kind of spell over him. His thumb hovered on the screen, tracing the edge of Harry’s hip, the soft dip of his lower back, the way his skin looked flushed and warm even through a damn pixelated screen.

He felt dizzy from it. Like his body wasn’t big enough to hold what he wanted, not even close. He wanted to be cruel with need, messy with it. He wanted to tell Harry that he’d spread him open with his mouth and keep him like that for hours. He wanted to press the heat of his nose to that soft skin and feel Harry shiver from it, be rough.

But he also wanted to be gentle.

He thought about Harry on the other side, flushed pink and fumbling with his phone, maybe trying to take another picture but not knowing how to get the angle right, or where to put his hands. He’d told Louis once that he didn’t really know how to wank properly. That he usually just tried for a bit and gave up because it felt awkward. Because his mind got in the way. Because he didn’t know what he liked, or how. Louis wanted to teach him. Wanted to show him exactly what to do. Where to touch. How slow to go. How soft.

Harry: [video]
Harry’s lips wrapped around two of his fingers, slow and teasing. He looked straight at the camera, eyes hooded, pupils blown. After a wet pop, he whispered,
“Let me take care of your pretty cock, baby. I’d make you feel so good.”

Imagine my mouth instead of your hand, like how I did that night
Warm, soft, slow. Or fast if you begged
You’d let me, right? You’d let me be good for you?
I’d swallow every drop

fuck harry you can’t just SEND THAT
you’re evil

Harry replied with a halo emoji.

Chapter 42

''He wouldn't stop talking about you' Derek commented when Harry hung himself around Louis.
''Dad'' He complained, burying his face on Harry's neck.
''Just saying. Dinner will be ready in a bit, I made vegetarian shepherd's pie because Louis told me you don’t eat meat''
''Yes, thanks'' Harry smiled shyly.
''I’ll leave you two alone'' he left, and in that moment, they separated.
''Let's go to the rooftop''
The garden they had to walk through was quite beautiful, with a large, old rose garden on the table in the yard and several flowering bushes, all well-maintained.
They walked up in silence while Louis struggled with the gate. He rummaged through his pockets for the cigarettes he used to smoke. He offered Harry one, who nodded because he knew it wouldn’t be easy to hear whatever Louis had to say.
They sat against a wall, facing the waning moon, the curly-haired one looking into Harry's eyes while lighting his cigarette with a lighter painted with the cover of *Amnesiac*.
''So... '' He exhaled the smoke, shifting his knees and massaging them.
''I just need you to promise me that if you don't want to talk after this, you'll disappear. Don't talk to me, don't give me explanations, just do it''
''Lou...''
''No, Harry, seriously'' He sighed, trembling.
''I'm not going anywhere''
''First, listen to me... '' Harry grabbed his hand, caressing it. ''I talked with Derek, and figured I should tell you so you could choose. When I was a kid, I got bullied a lot, I was weird and didn’t talk much. I think by eight I realized how dark my mind was, though I had signs of it by five. I’ve always been obsessive; if I wanted someone or something, I’d do anything to get it, and if they hurt me, I’d do anything to make them feel worse than what they made me feel. I felt so much anger, though I always ended up imploding. I never hurt anyone... until something happened — He sniffled. — I changed schools because of all the trouble I had, and I was unlucky enough to meet a group of really rough boys. There are a few things I don’t remember they did to me, but it’s not necessary to repeat them. I don’t want you to have them in your head... — He looked at the sky, the stars. He remembered that one time during a psychotic episode while manic, he was looking out the window and started to believe he was Superman when he could see through the bars of his room, which was actually just that his eyes had crossed.
He remembered crying over Zayn but never spoke to him again.

...— I was so lonely. After an episode I don’t even remember, my best friend drifted away, and that made my symptoms worse because he was like part of my soul. He was always there, knew everything about me, got to know me like no one else did, and he took all of that with her. Now I just feel like I can't love anyone — Harry nodded, licking his lips and looking away. ''On the first session, at the hospital after I tried to commit again, she already had an idea of what was wrong'' He laughed. ''She said I was describing a textbook disorder''

''Which one?'' Harry hugged him sideways, resting his head on his shoulder. Louis was trembling violently by this point.

''Bipolar, and later on, BPD. She sent me to a psychiatrist that same day, and we kept working through the post-traumatic stress. Before that, I got diagnosed with depression, when I was like 18 maybe. Erm... they gave me pills, and that’s the only way I could go back to university, but well, old habits die hard, I had been using for years before that, never quitted ''He started crying, not understanding why ''It’s a lifelong condition, bipolar and BPD, I have to take pills so my brain doesn’t convince me to kill myself''

''Why didn’t you tell me earlier...? '' Harry could only say

''I was scared'' He murmured. ''Of how you might react''

''How could I judge you for your disorders? Me, Lou, who had a tube down my nose to my stomach because I didn’t want to eat solids'' He laughed, making Louis laugh too. They both laughed without reason, until they were crying. ''I’ll support you in whatever way I can. You won’t be alone''

"Do you want to stay the night? I have a curfew at eleven, I have to be on my way home by then, or preferably already here."

"If Derek don't mind, sure."

"No, I don't mind," Drek commented, his head popping out from the stairs. "Dinner's ready."

"We'll be right there," the Louis replied, helping the curly-haired one get up.

--------

Dinner was quiet, the kind of calm that settled over people who had grown used to each other's presence. The room smelled of the savory warmth of the vegetarian shepherd’s pie Louis had made, a comforting, earthy scent that filled the space as they sat around the table. Derek was the only one who didn’t look like he was still stuck in his head, trying to figure out the weight of the conversation that was still hanging in the air.

Louis and Harry barely spoke, letting the silence stretch between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a shared understanding. Louis’ hand brushed over Harry’s thigh lightly, once, just enough to let Harry feel the warmth of his touch. Harry responded, his fingers sliding down slowly to Louis’ inner thigh, a quiet, intimate exchange that didn’t need words to be understood. They were both lost in the moment, in the feel of each other.

Derek, noticing the small gestures but not drawing attention to them, broke the silence. "So, you two planning on going back to uni?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

Harry glanced at Louis, then nodded. "Yeah," he said simply, his voice still rough, but the uncertainty was gone. Louis followed suit with a small, quiet nod.

Derek felt a quiet relief wash over him. Louis back at university meant something—he couldn’t quite put it into words, but it felt like a step in the right direction. It was something to hold on to, something that wasn’t as fragile as the moments that had passed. They both needed to start the new cuatrimester, but that didn’t seem as important right now. What mattered more was that Louis was here, with him, with Harry.

At least Niall and the guys wouldn’t be there, Derek thought with a private, silent relief.

-------

Louis had fallen asleep half an hour ago because of his medication, and Harry—just to make absolutely sure he wouldn’t be heard—stepped out of the bedroom and sat in the hallway to cry.

He was terrified. Not of his boyfriend, but of not being able to handle it, of hurting him, or himself. He was scared because he’d spent hours Googling borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder, and the instability, the anger, the dependency—they were all *too* present.

Derek came in from the patio carrying a watering can, which he set down beside a small table, frowning when he saw him.

“What happened? You two are arguing?” he asked, helping him up and guiding him toward the kitchen.

“He told me, I don’t want to hurt him, and I feel like anything I do *will*,” he said, covering his face, ashamed to be crying in front of his boyfriend’s step dad—and because of his son. But instead of judging him, he took one of his hands.

“Look, Louis is like an hourglass on an unstable base. His highs and lows take a while to shift, but before you even notice, the sand starts falling again. You just never know when—or if— the hourglass will fall and shatter into a thousand pieces.”

“I don’t get it”

“He’s stable, more or less. But neither you nor I can predict if—or when—those ups and downs will shift into something else. And I won’t let you carry that on your own. He has his therapist, and he has his family, so if you ever don’t know what to do, you have us.”

“I thought a first talk with you would be more threatening, sir” he joked, wiping his tears.

“Don’t call me *sir*, I’m young,” he said with a silly grimace. “And I’m not going to threaten you. Louis adores you. You’ve got my affection too.”

“Thank you,” he said as he gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Go back to sleep. It’s late. If you need anything, I'll be around”

Harry walked quietly into the room, noticing Louis tossing and turning, crying in his sleep. He approached and sat on the pull-out sofa where Louis was lying—he’d given Harry the bed that night.

He had no intention of waking him. He knew how hard it was for Louis to fall back asleep, so he simply brushed a hand across his cheek. But Louis jolted awake and grabbed Harry’s wrist tightly, startling him.

Louis let go as soon as he came to, realising he was safe in his room, though his breathing was heavy and painful.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay. You had a nightmare," Harry said gently, cupping his face and massaging his scalp with his fingertips. "You’re here with me. I’ve got you." He helped him lie back down, continuing to soothe him.

"My head hurts," Louis muttered, covering his eyes.

"Go back to sleep. It might go away."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you," he said, turning on his side to watch Harry switch the lights back off. He was too sleepy to notice the redness in Harry’s eyes.

"Don’t worry, I woke up on my own," Harry lied.

"Come here," Louis said, opening his arms. Harry crawled into them with a sleepy smile.

"This your evil plan to make us sleep together?" he asked. Louis nodded, shifting toward the center of the big bed-couch.

"What you’re doing is very naughty," Harry teased. Louis let out a soft laugh "Don’t say it."

"You gave yourself away. It was way too easy." Louis sighed, teasing.

"You’re such a perv,"

''Maybe'' he cupped Harry's face and started kissing him.

"Then maybe I shouldn’t sleep with you. We need to stay virgins till marriage." Harry panted, grabbing Louis' shoulders.

"Right," Louis said teasingly ''says the guy whose nudes I wanked to'' they started chuckling, and Louis couldn't help but to start kissing him again, Harry discreetly pressing himself on Louis.

"We’re not gonna do this as often now, and I kinda got addicted to it."

"You mean you got addicted to having my ass glued to you, just admit it" Harry whispered,trailing his mouth down Louis' neck and over his collarbones. He drew a breath out of Louis, who wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Yeah. You’re too gorgeous. I can’t help myself." Harry dropped his gaze, hugging him tighter and hiding his face in his chest.

-------

Sunlight slipped through the cracks in the blinds, waking Louis.

He barely opened his eyes, realizing Harry was watching him sleep.

"Hi," he whispered, curling into him.

"Good morning," Harry replied, pressing their lips together softly. "Beautiful." Louis hid his face shyly, and Harry nearly melted from how sweet he looked. He gently pushed back some of Louis’ messy hair.

Louis slid an arm around Harry’s waist and shifted just enough to pin him slightly beneath him. Harry brought his hands to Louis’ face, and they both burst into soft laughter between kisses, mouths meeting again and again.

They didn’t talk much. They just enjoyed the warmth, the closeness, the quiet kind of morning that made them feel like they had time for everything.

Eventually, Derek knocked on the door to tell them breakfast was ready.

"We’re coming," Louis called out, pressing a final kiss to Harry’s forehead before sitting up. Harry was slower to move, wincing a little as he shifted.

"What’s wrong?"

"My back and legs hurt a bit. And I’m cold," Harry mumbled, rubbing at his thighs.

Louis crossed the room to his closet and pulled out a thick sweatshirt with *high and dry* embroidered on the front. He handed it over.

"You don’t have to, Lou."

"Put it on," he said, rolling his eyes.

Harry hesitated, but eventually slipped his arms through the sleeves. It fit loosely—not oversized, but like a piece of clothing that *used to* fit, and now didn’t quite. It didn’t look great on him.

But it smelled like Louis, and that made it perfect. Louis watched, charmed by how cute Harry looked in his clothes.

"I don’t know if I’m giving this back," Harry admitted with a laugh, rubbing his arms.

"Keep it," Louis said, reaching for his hand, then pulling him in by the waist.

Derek smiled when he saw them. There was something different in their eyes.

At the round table, Harry sat next to Louis, their feet hooking together underneath.

Derek was finishing up the coffee at the counter, his back to them.

"Did you guys sleep well?"

"Yeah, you?" his son replied, brushing his fingers lightly over Harry’s thigh.

"Yeah, though not much," Derek sighed. "I have to head out soon, but I wanted us to have breakfast together and talk." He placed the coffee and milk in front of them, then sat down, opening a pack of Don Satur biscuits.

Harry stuck to coffee and milk, eyes down.

"I know you’re both adults, over twenty and all, but I just want to ask you to be responsible."

"What do you mean?" Louis asked, pouring milk into his cup.

"Just... be careful when you’re intimate."
Harry choked on his coffee. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.

"We’re not—no, dad, Jesus," Louis laughed.

"If you ever do. I don’t know if you two are officially dating or what."

"We are…" Louis admitted, while Harry turned bright red, "but we’re not doing anything like that. Not right now."

"*Not right now*," Derek repeated. "I just want you to be safe."

"Was breakfast really the time for this talk?"

"There’s never a bad time. It’s normal between couples, nothing wrong with it. Just had to say it."

Harry wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Louis noticed and had to fight off a grin.

"We’re waiting until marriage," he said, deadpan. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Guess I’ll be buying a tux next month," Derek teased, clearly amused by Harry’s expression. "Hasn’t proposed yet? He’s taking his time."

"I already told him it’s about time."

"And *I’m* the intense one," Louis said, dropping a biscuit into Harry’s coffee. Harry shot him a look.

"If I were you, I’d think it through. He’s kind of unbearable."

"I’m sensing a conspiracy here," Louis muttered, making Derek chuckle.

"I’m off. I should be back around nine if everything goes well," Derek said, finishing his cup and setting it in the sink.

Both nodded. Louis got up to say goodbye, and Harry did too.

Now they were alone.

Chapter 43

They kissed on the couch, 'In Rainbows' playing randomly in the background. Harry sighed against Louis’ lips, Louis underneath him, his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist and back. Having him like this, wearing his clothes, drove Louis crazy.

"Lou…" Harry gasped as he slid his hands down Louis’ lower back. "We have to go… for... For the re-enrolling"

"We can go tomorrow" Louis traced with the tip of his tongue down his neck.

"God… We have to do the language assignment…" Harry can't help but moan softly.

"We’re doing it," Louis smiled, tucking Harry’s hair behind his ears as he leaned in to kiss him again.

Harry sighed, a soft moan escaping his lips, making him blush. Louis smiled, satisfied, sitting up to hold him tighter and ease the tension.

"Yeah, we should probably go."

"Yeah," Harry cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together.

-----

Harry was smoking a cigarette in the plaza in front of the station while waiting for Louis to get the photocopies. He had taken longer than expected because of the crowd, so there he was, legs and arms crossed, ignoring the discomfort in his stomach. He couldn’t eat, feeling full in a bad way, as if it was painful and not pleasant at all.

"Hey," Niall stood in front of him, backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Hey," Harry replied curtly, barely looking at him from the side.

"How are you?"

"Good, you?"

"Good," he smiled, but Harry could feel the insincerity in it. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No," Harry lied.

"You haven’t changed, I see."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You’re still a liar. Although, I guess you're better than before, physically," Niall said, and Harry looked at him with disgust. Niall knew about his eating problems.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out.

Niall took a step closer, too close, invading Harry’s space without hesitation. His smile stayed on his face, but there was something unsettling in his gaze, something that made Harry’s stomach tighten even more.

"Relax, I just wanted to talk for a bit," Niall said, leaning in slightly as if sizing Harry up. He reached out a hand and, with slow deliberation, let his fingers trail down Harry’s arm, from his shoulder to his elbow.

Harry froze, a cold shiver running down his spine. His body tensed at the contact, and a wave of revulsion hit him.

"You don’t have to get so tense," Niall murmured, his tone trying to be soothing but coming off more like a veiled threat. "We’re just talking."

Harry gritted his teeth and, with a quick movement, tried to pull away, but Niall gripped him harder. Harry looked away, his jaw tight as the discomfort began to shift into something worse. His whole body screamed at him to leave, but the sickness kept him still, as though his legs refused to move.

"I need to go soon," he said, his voice firm, though his hands were starting to tremble from nervousness.

"So that’s why you’re here, alone?" Niall taunted, getting even closer. "Don’t act like you're hard to get, Harry. You’ve always liked the attention."

Harry felt a pressure in his chest, a kind of uncomfortable shame.

"I’m not alone, I’m—" Harry stopped himself, realizing he had said more than he wanted. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the urge to pull away. He didn’t want to show vulnerability—not to someone who had known how to manipulate him before.

Niall raised an eyebrow, entertained.

"Waiting for Louis," he said mockingly, knowing exactly how to push Harry’s buttons. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "It’s obvious. When you’re around him, you act like a fucking VIP slut, waiting behind him hoping he’ll want to fuck you. In other times, maybe he would’ve done it quickly, especially considering you were—"

Harry slapped him hard before he could finish his sentence, his lips pressed tight, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled a mix of anguish and anger.

"Asshole." Niall shoved him back, making Harry stumble and fall "I haven’t done anything to you for you to treat me like shit. You’re a fucking prick."

Harry tried to get up, but Niall’s foot pushed him back down onto the ground.

"I can’t believe so many people want a guy who only knows how to deep throat his own fingers to throw up, who can’t even let others touch him because he’s too disgusted with himself," Niall continued. Harry let out a sob, still on the ground with his hands scraped. "Pathetic."

Niall yanked him by the arm, pulling him up, but Harry couldn’t hold himself up and fell to his knees. Niall didn’t care, he just kept walking away. When Harry saw him turn the corner, he staggered to a trash can and vomited without even trying. Everything he had been holding in, all the food he had eaten during those three hours in the early morning when he had finished everything in the house, was now in a trash bin at the Caballito station.

"Are you okay?" A girl and her boyfriend approached. "We saw what happened from afar."

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine."

"Here," the guy offered him a Baggio juice box.

"No, no, it’s fine," Harry shook his head. He didn’t need the sugar; it made him anxious. "Thanks anyway."

"Do you want us to call someone? You look kinda pale," the guy said, signaling his girlfriend to look at Harry’s arms, which Harry decided to ignore.

"Harry?" Louis jogged over from the corner with the papers under his arm.

"Here comes my friend, it’s all good," the girl nodded, helping Harry to stand up a bit. "Thanks."

The couple walked off as Louis got closer.

"What happened to you?"

"I fell. I don’t feel good." He looked at his hands, which were red and scratched from glass shards.

Harry broke down in tears, and Louis thought it was because of the burn and the vomiting.

"Come here, sit down, I’ll take care of your hands." Louis was thankful Addison made him carry a small first aid kit everywhere, with a tiny bottle of Pervinox and a small pack of gauze, taping them down with scotch tape from his pencil case because he didn’t have anything else. There were no shards embedded, just cuts, so it wasn’t all that bad. He was gentle—the older one—never made it hurt more than it already did.

"You never know when you’ll need an emergency kit," he smiled, putting everything back into his backpack. "Wanna head back?"

''No, let's go'' he sniffs, holding back his tears.

''Baby, come on, tell me what's wrong'' Harry can't help but to start ugly crying again, so Louis packs up his first aid kit and sits next to him, hugging him ''hey, hey''

''I hate myself so much''

''What's wrong? Baby...'' Harry shakes his head, trying so hard not to hyperventilate.

''Niall, just... I don't want to talk about it, but I talked to him, he was around... He pushed me, so'' Louis helps Harry get up and grabs their stuff.

''I'll kill him if he speaks to you again, I swear''

''No, Lou, it's fine just... I want to go home, maybe we can go tomorrow for the re-enrollment''

''Okay, at least we have the paperwork now'' Louis sighs and nods. He didn't want to allow this, to let Harry spiral and NIall affect him, but he knew how hard it is to push past that physically sickening feeling of disgust.

Caballito felt loud. The cars, the shouts, the fucking birds. Everything sounded sharper than it should. Harry kept his eyes down, cheeks blotchy, breathing shallow and uneven. Louis didn’t know if he was crying or just holding it in so hard it burned.

He hated this. Hated seeing him like that—small, shaky, humiliated. He wanted to go back and tear Niall apart, slam his head into the pavement until there was nothing left of that smirk. But instead he squeezed Harry’s hand tighter and let him be quiet.

When they crossed Yerbal, a street vendor called out an offer—strawberries, 40% off per kilo. Louis didn’t think, just stopped, bought a bag, gave the man the quids, and turned back to Harry.

"For you," he said simply. Harry smiles, satisfied and endeareded, because he actually loves them, and also the guy who bought them for him.

He promises to cook something tasty, warm, and sweet for him, but now they eat straight from the bag, not caring about any possible stomach bugs they migh't get.

Harry didn’t say anything, but he took a strawberry, bit into it, and immediately made a face.

“They’re a little sour,” he murmured, lips stained red.

Louis grinned. “Good, you deserve a little punishment.”

Harry snorted weakly, and that was enough—Louis would take it. They kept walking. By the time they turned down the quieter side street that led to Harry’s building, the bag was half empty. Harry’s fingers were sticky and red, dripping juice down the side of his hand.

“God, you’re disgusting,” Louis said, laughing under his breath, and stopped him gently. “Gimme.”

“What are you—”

Louis brought Harry’s hand up to his mouth and wrapped his lips around two of his fingers, slow and warm, sucking off the juice. Harry froze, wide-eyed for a second, then let out the tiniest giggle.

“You’re so gross,” he said, his now sticky fingers dragging across Louis' cheek ''though you've got skills for sucking''

“You too'' he tries not to smile, sucking the juice from his own fingers now ''made me cum real good that night''

Harry snorted again, and this time he actually looked a little embarrassed, his grin tugging sideways like he was trying to fight it off.

Harry blinked. “Oh my God, Louis,” he muttered, staring at him like he’d just announced it to the entire street. “You’re deranged.”

“Bit late to act shocked, isn’t it?” Louis shrugged, tossing a strawberry in his mouth. “You were the one crying about it.”

“Crying?!” Harry shoved his shoulder, but he was laughing now—soft and slightly mortified. “I did *not* cry.”

“Right, right, I must’ve hallucinated the part where you almost choked on it. Which reminds me, I owe you a cum me thinks...”

Harry covered his face with one hand, groaning. “Shut up”

Louis grinned, wicked. “You started it.”

“I literally didn’t—”

“‘That’s how good you suck it?’” Louis mimicked, putting on a breathy, doe-eyed voice that made Harry want to crawl into a sewer and die.

“Oh my *God*.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t moan in the middle of the street,” Louis added, popping another strawberry in his mouth like it was nothing.

 

They turned onto Harry’s block, fingers still tangled. Louis swung their hands a little, casually. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just said “cum” out loud while an old man on a bike rolled past them.

“Bet you still think about it, though,” Louis said, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry let the silence stretch a little after Louis' last tease, cheeks still warm, shoes scuffing against the cracked sidewalk. Then, voice low and casual, he said, “You act like you’d be the top.”

Louis raised his brows. “*Act*?”

Harry glanced at him. “You’re like... five foot nothing.”

“Oh, so now it’s about height?” Louis scoffed. “You’re telling me you think you’d top me just ‘cause you’ve got longer legs?”

“I’m not saying I *would*, I’m just saying people would assume—”

“People can assume all they want, babe,” Louis cut in, licking juice from his thumb. “But when we actually fuck, you’ll be the one face-down.”

Harry tripped a little on the curb. “Jesus Christ.”

Louis laughed, wicked and smug. “Told you not to get cocky.”

Harry cleared his throat, trying to hide his grin. “You *do* talk a lot for someone who’s never actually seen my dick.”

“Oh, I’ll survive the suspense. I’ll just let it ruin my life a little until we fix that.”

“‘We’?!” Harry’s voice cracked from the effort not to laugh. “You already planning the wedding too?”

Louis bumped their shoulders. “Nah. Just the positions.”

Harry bit his lip, eyes flicking down the street like maybe someone could overhear, but it was just them—shadows on the walls, cracked pavement, and the slow drip of strawberry juice still staining their fingers. “You talk like you’ve got it all figured out,” he mumbled, voice lower now.

Louis smirked. “I do.”

Harry squinted at him. “And what if I wanted to fuck you?”

Louis didn’t blink. “Then you’d have to earn it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’d have to beg.”

Harry coughed out a laugh, surprised by how fast that hit him somewhere deep in his stomach. “Beg? You think I’d beg for your ass?”

Louis shot him a look. “You’d *whimper* for it. You’d say please, Lou, let me. I’ll be good. I’ll take care of you.”

Harry’s knees nearly gave out. He stopped walking for a second, trying to find his breath. “You’re literally insane.”

“And you’re hard,” Louis said, sing-song, not even looking at him now. “Admit it.”

Harry turned red, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re such a freak. This is harassment.”

Louis shrugged. “You started it. Said you wanted to fuck me.”

Harry stepped closer. “Maybe I do.”

“Then prove it next time we’re alone, because if you leave it to me...'' Louis leaned in close, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. He could feel the shiver that ran through Harry’s body when his lips grazed the skin, and it made him smile “I’d make you beg,” Louis whispered, voice thick with intention. “I’d get you so fucking desperate you wouldn’t be able to think straight, I'd drive you crazy until you become addicted to my cock''

Harry’s breath hitched, a mix of disbelief and arousal flashing across his face. “Louis, for fuck's sake”

“I’d kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, make you forget everything else, and then... slow. So fucking slow, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t think about anything but me inside you.”

Harry was silent for a second, the weight of the words catching up with him. His heart was racing. Louis could feel it, even in the way Harry shifted next to him.

“Stop talking like that,” Harry finally said, voice barely above a whisper, but there was no hiding the way his body reacted to every word Louis said.

Louis grinned, leaning back just enough to meet Harry’s gaze. “You want me to stop?”

''Of course not, but if you keep going, might as well get to buy some lube now before we get home. Arizona is at work...''

Louis grinned, an amused glint in his eye. “Well, yeah. Might as well make things easier, right? No point in waiting if we know what’s coming.”

Harry looked around, then shoved Louis lightly, like he was embarrassed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, whatever, let’s just get it over with.”

They kept walking, and Louis pulled Harry towards the little convenience store down the block. It was one of those places that sold everything from snacks to the more... private items.

“Please don’t make this weird,” Harry muttered as they entered, half-laughing and half-nervous.

Louis didn’t even try to hide his grin. “What, are you embarrassed?” He looked around, as if the store might be full of people. “Relax, it’s just lube. Every guy needs it.”

Harry rolled his eyes but walked up to the aisle with him. He felt oddly exposed, like everyone knew exactly what they were about to do, even if they didn’t.

“Okay, pick one,” Louis said, glancing at the shelves. There were several options—scented, unscented, flavored, warming, cooling, you name it.

Harry scanned the bottles, feeling oddly overwhelmed by the sheer variety. “You pick,” he said, trying to play it cool, but he couldn't help his awkward laugh.

Louis grabbed one, a simple, no-frills bottle, and tossed it in the basket. “This one should do. Straight to the point.”

Harry laughed, trying to act nonchalant. “Yeah, no need for any *extras*, right?”

Louis raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling on his lips. “You sure? There’s this one with a *very* interesting scent—coconut and pineapple. Might remind you of a beach vacation.”

Harry shook his head, walking a little faster toward the counter. “Let’s just go. We’re already in here, no need to make it a whole event.”

They got to the counter, where the cashier gave them a knowing look, and Harry could feel the heat in his cheeks. Louis, on the other hand, didn’t even bat an eye as he placed the bottle on the counter, his usual cocky grin in place. He added a bag of chips and condoms too.

“Thanks,” Louis said casually as he paid with NFC ''Have a nice day”

As they left, Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That was... a lot more awkward than I thought it’d be.”

Louis just laughed, slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders as they walked back to his apartment. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“God, I hope not,” Harry muttered, but he was laughing too, relieved the awkwardness had passed.

They made their way home, each step feeling a little lighter, like there was some new layer of comfort between them now. A little bit of weirdness, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

But now they're in the apartment, and Harry's heart beats way too fast.

''Have you done this before? Like, I don't know how... I've never even watched porn, like, maybe a video, but I'm pretty sure it was staged...'' He says, his voice coming out faster than Louis knew Harry could speak.

''Breathe'' Louis smiles and hugs him by the waist ''Trust me, okay? Don't worry... This uhm, this is my first time too, but I know'' Louis feels it like a lie, but uncovering his past reality would be such a turn off...

So, in some way it's true. This is his first time.

He took off his clothes, not wanting to let his eyes linger too long on Harry’s body—there was a good chance he’d stop if he did, because Harry had lost a bit of weight and his bones were prominent, prominent like Louis' belly. He pulled down his pants and slipped off his sleeves, tossing his hoodie to the floor. He had nothing on underneath.

He grabbed the waistband of Harry’s pants and pulled them down along with his underwear, kneeling as he did and brushing soft touches against his skin.

Then he sat on the bed, legs stretched out, reaching out his hand to Harry and giving it a gentle tug to invite him over.

Harry straddled him, placing one leg on either side of Louis’ body, a soft smile on his face as his hands rested on Louis’ shoulders.

Louis ran his hands along Harry’s calves, never breaking eye contact, then up to his lips, inviting him into a kiss.

Harry leaned in—started a slow, deep kiss, sighing against his mouth as Louis' hands kept moving, now sliding up his inner thighs, closer to his groin, sending a strange spark of electricity through him.

—He started running his fingers through his curls as he spoke, resting their foreheads together but keeping his eyes on Harry’s.

The curly-haired boy brought his hands up to Louis’ face, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks.

“I want to do this but…”

“...the anxiety,” the older one finished the sentence with a soft smile. Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and resting his cheek on his own arm.

Louis closed his eyes and held him by the waist, pressing his lips to the back of his neck.

He thought about the music, the warmth, the calm that came with intimacy, Harry’s slightly shaky breath from nerves—how it would sound.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, not moving.

“I love you more.”

Louis smiled, licking his lips. Then he sucked on his neck, fully intending to leave a hickey.

"Can I tell you something with all the confidence in the world we have?" He took the small bottle and put a lot of lube on his fingers. Harry nodded ''for someone so skinny'' he began to speak, touching the curly-haired boy's entrance to moisten it. Harry gasped, tightening his grip on the blue-eyed boy's hips. "You have a great ass." He barely inserted two fingers, then pulled them out and repeated the movements.

He had to kiss Harry at one point when he gasped a little loudly, both laughing and feeling silly when they remembered they were alone.

He could already feel his erection present under his only garment, so he pulled it down with difficulty, using only one hand.

The curly-haired boy let out a low moan, broken by nerves, seeing him completely naked.

"Relax," he whispered as he removed his fingers, placing kisses on Harry's cheek.

He grabbed a condom from the box, and carefully opened it before handing it to Harry to put it on Louis.

"Like in sex ed classes," he joked when he saw the curly-haired boy's nervousness. He didn't know why, but touching that area of ​​the older boy filled him with embarrassment, as if being naked didn't matter, just the contact.

He pressed the tip of the condom between his fingers and unrolled it to the base of his member. He exhaled heavily. He didn't know why he was so nervous; he'd wanted this for months.

Louis dripped a lot more of the viscous liquid onto his member and on his fingers to lubricate as much as possible before starting. He hissed at the sensation.

"Lou," he left one of his arms on the bed, the blue-eyed man intertwining their fingers while kissing him with need but also great affection.

He parted his legs a little further and began to probe his entrance with the tip of his member, running it there, teasing, before slowly beginning to penetrate him.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and unconsciously squeezed Louis's hand. He let out a pained moan, to which the older man decided to pull out, pour more lubricant, and try again.

He caressed his cheek, entering slowly, but it was difficult. He opted to go in and out until he could take him completely. "Easy," he leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

Harry rolled his eyes, moistening his lips as he gripped the sides of the pillow tightly.

Louis gasped heavily and swallowed as he pulled out and began to rock back and forth. It was like feeling the sky surrounding him, in a way that felt something inexplicable and edgy that he didn't want to end.

For Harry, saying it didn't hurt would be a lie. He didn't expect anything else anyway; it was his first time, and they were both inexperienced.

The younger whimpered and tensed when he entered, panting with a grimace that alternated between pain and pleasure, so Louis was gentle, pampering every inch of his body during the first few thrusts.

"Do you want me to stop?" he murmured breathlessly.

"No, keep going." His eyes were bright, lost in LOuis' gaze.

Harry began to moan through pursed lips when he stopped pausing, clutching his arms behind Louis's back, digging his nails in.

The moans that turned into groans, the deep panting in his ear, the friction of his skin against everything around him that kept all his senses on edge, the obscene noises their bodies made, and the kisses on his neck made him feel sensual, and very good.
The new experience of having someone inside him, giving him a pleasure he hadn't known until recently, and having that someone love him, began to overwhelm him.

"God, there." He contracted every muscle. He felt that 'something,' the tickling in his pelvis, his thighs, his throat, that drove him crazy—yes—his open mouth hurt his lips a little from the dry friction with his teeth, but nothing mattered now.
He arched his back when Louis pressed himself against his chest.

"Get on all fours," he gently grabbed his face, running his tongue along his jaw.

"Mhm," he nodded breathlessly, almost panting, but this didn't stop the blue-eyed man from handling him as easily as a doll.

He placed a pillow between the headboard and the wall, then quickly grabbed Harry's hips to press his butt against his pelvis and thrust again. It hurt mostly and for some reason his bones, but it was bearable once he started moving back and forth.

The curly-haired moaned so much he felt he wouldn't have a voice tomorrow, his saliva dirtying the pillow he bit to keep from making so much noise, but sounding like grunts to Louis.

"You like it, huh? Look at you." He grabbed Harry's asscheeks and separated them, thrusting faster and harder.

''Oh, God, yes'' He gripped the sheets tightly until the fitted sheets were pulled out of place, his heart pounding against his chest. He reached a point where he almost needed to scream from how good he felt. A few tears fell, a mixture of tiredness and pleasure ''God! His whole body tensed, now feeling the older man inside him even more, to an uncomfortable point while his legs shook shamefully and violently. ''Mhm'' He closed his eyes and hugged the pillow tightly.

Louis didn't stop moving his body until he gasped and his muscles tensed, which was the moment when his grip pressed him completely against his pelvis, the curly-haired boy's body jerking backward and stifling a groan of pain.

He felt something inside him so addictive that he didn't want it to ever end, like a vibration, if that's how it could be explained, accompanied by a deep gasp against his back.

His mouth was dry, he couldn't take it anymore, so he struggled to place his hand on Louis's to move it and get him to release his waist, but he couldn't stop trembling because not only was he overstimulated, but he felt like he couldn't reach orgasm.

Louis noticed he didn't come, so he began to jerk him off, moving a little inside him.

He leaned his chest back on the mattress, not on his hands anymore, and gladly accepted the help, licking his lips and panting softly, barely moving his hips to thrust into Louis' hand.

Minutes passed, and a sudden cold sweat ran through his body, then heat. A beautiful tranquility enveloped him that he hadn't felt so intensely before. The feeling when he came out of him wasn't pleasant; it was as if something had been removed that had brought him comfort, even though it was painful, but he was relieved.

Too much, in fact, almost to the point of feeling like he was going to faint. He wouldn't stop shaking, and that worried Louis.

"Easy" he whispered. He grabbed his waist and helped him lie more comfortably on his stomach. "Are you okay?" Harry nodded, inhaling and exhaling deliberately.

"Yes," Louis hugged him, pulling him against his body. Harry crossed one arm over his chest, caressing his own waist, and ran the other over Louis's body to caress his back

"So beautiful," he gently stroked his leg, generating a spasm there. He placed a soft kiss on his lips and then on his cheek "I missed something." He cupped his jaw so their faces were pressed together, Harry already blushing quite a bit.

"What...?" – He looked straight into his eyes, smiling.

He parted his mouth with his thumb. He began to kiss him in a messy, disastrous way, before spitting into his mouth, still holding his face firmly.
Harry was embarrassed to let out a needy moan, but he couldn't help it because Louis was eating his mouth, almost literally. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, nibbled at his lips, sucked on his tongue.

He could end it just with that.

"I love you," Louis murmured in his ear before kissing his cheek, and it was strange to see the curly-haired boy's eyes glazed over at that.

"I love you too." The curly-haired boy had a soft smile on his face as he caressed the other's cheeks. "Can I have a kiss?" Harry brought his face closer to the blue-eyed boy, who would never deny him one.

The movements of his lips on the other's were gentle, trying to keep the very intimate connection that had formed alive.

Harry caressed Louis' back, and the latter massaged his waist. They both smiled knowingly as they settled in.

"What had you so tense?" He pressed their foreheads together. Harry smiled, biting his lip. "What?"

"Thinking you were going to be inside me, because you're kinda... Big... and doing it wrong, I don't know." Louis smiled tenderly and placed a kiss on his lips.

"You're so beautiful, you couldn't do it wrong." The younger boy rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his stomach.

"Was I good?"

"The best experience of my life." He kissed his neck, nuzzling there and sighing.

Chapter 44

Louis used to flinch when anyone touched him above the knees, when he tried to engage in casual sex but unconsciously made people leave. For years, sex felt like something he could never do right, or worse, something that might break him. He used to cry after jerking off, felt nauseous. That was before he understood how his brain worked – how his brain twisted everything into fear of abandonment and how bipolar depression stripped away any desire, any feeling at all.

But then came the shift. He learned that dopamine craved novelty. That serotonin didn’t flow steady in him like in others. That mania whispered *you’re invincible* and depression said *you’re worthless*, and somewhere between both he found a quiet hum of wanting. Once he started having sex, the wanting didn’t stop. The rush felt like adrenaline, like he was alive inside his own body, a feeling similar to when he pressed his nostril and alae to inhale powder from a key or the tip of an old card, and he felt the instant relief.

It made sense. Because for Louis, sex wasn’t just sex. It was dopamine. It was serotonin. It was a drug with a skinny shape, stretch marks on the hips, and calloused knuckles.

Harry’s chest was pressed flat to the bed, arms bent under his pillow. His back arched beautifully, ass up, thighs spread wide. Louis watched from behind, thumb circling the head of his own cock before he lined up and pushed in slow. Harry let out a soft, broken moan, his fingers gripping the sheets.

“Good boy,” Louis murmured, sinking deeper, feeling the tight heat clench around him. His voice came out rough. “If only you could see how good you look right now.”

Harry shivered at the praise, burying his face into the pillow, his breathing ragged. Louis set a slow rhythm, hips rolling forward with each thrust, watching the way Harry’s back curved down to his slim waist, his ribs sticking out and his concave belly moving fast on the tired breathing. He grabbed Harry’s hips hard, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above his ass, holding him steady.

“Fucking perfect,” Louis whispered under his breath. He could feel the need boiling in his chest, that sharp dopamine edge that made him want to go faster, harder, deeper, until he couldn’t think. Until his body felt heavy and buzzing, full of that raw pleasure he’d craved since the first time.

Harry whined when Louis thrust deeper, his thighs trembling. Louis smirked and leaned forward, pressing his chest against Harry’s back, his cock buried all the way inside.

“You like this, huh?” he breathed into Harry’s ear, letting his teeth scrape the shell lightly. Harry moaned, nodding frantically, pushing back against him for more.

Louis gripped his hair and pulled his head back, just enough to see the flushed cheek pressed sideways to the pillow. He pulled out almost fully, then slammed back in, making Harry choke on a sob.

“That’s it. Good boy, so good.”

He set a rough pace, feeling Harry’s body jolt under him, the bed creaking with every thrust. Sweat dripped down his spine, his thighs burning and itching. He felt like he could keep going forever, like his body couldn’t get enough. Each slap of skin against skin sparked something electric in his chest, something that told him *yes, yes, yes, this is what you’re for.*

Harry was gasping, drooling a little onto the pillowcase, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Louis reached around to grab it, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Harry’s hips twitched at the touch, his moans turning into desperate whimpers.

“Cum for me,” Louis ordered, voice shaking with need. “Show me how good it feels.”

Harry cried out, his whole body seizing as he came hard over Louis’ fingers and his own stomach, thighs trembling. Louis kept fucking him through it, feeling the slick heat clench around him until his own orgasm tore through his spine, white-hot and blinding. He buried himself deep, grinding his hips down as he emptied inside Harry, his breath ragged and uneven.

For a moment, everything felt quiet. Louis stayed pressed against Harry’s back, both of them shaking, their skin sticking together with sweat. He kissed Harry’s shoulder gently, tasting salt.

Harry didn’t know. He didn’t know that for Louis, it wasn’t just about pleasure, it was about that rush, that flood of dopamine and adrenaline, the proof that he was wanted, that he was good, that he existed in a body that someone craved. And for now, Louis didn’t want him to know.

''Pull out'' Harry let out a tired sighed and got on his side, and then on his back. He covered his eyes with his forearms, trying to normalise his breathing. Louis did the same, but staring at Harry's stomach, hipbones, ribs, how his ass bones were prominent, how he could see his knee bones moving.

''Can I go grab some water?'' Harry snorts and nods.

''You don't have to ask. Be a peach and bring me some too''

Louis nodded and sat up, grabbing his boxers and trousers to put them on, though he didn't bother on wearing his shirt. He walked barefoot -well, in his socks- and grabbed a 1L bottle of water and two plastic mugs. He also grabbed two bananas.

When he came back, Harry hadn’t moved much. He was still sprawled on his back, forearms thrown over his eyes, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. His curls were damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead. Louis set the mugs down on the bedside table and placed a banana beside Harry’s thigh.

“Here,” he said, his voice low. He unscrewed the bottle cap and filled both mugs, handing one to Harry.

Harry peeled his forearm away from his face, blinking at the cup before taking it with a grateful groan. His hand was shaking as he lifted it to his lips.

“Thanks,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He drank half in one go, then let the cup rest on his chest, his eyelids fluttering shut again. “Fuck… you really wore me out.”

Louis just hummed under his breath, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed, his own mug in his hands. He watched the water ripple as he drank, feeling the coolness settle in his chest. His eyes flicked over Harry’s stomach, the taut muscles still trembling slightly. Over the jut of his hipbones, down to his thighs. He could see the outline of Harry’s knees shifting every time he adjusted his legs, the sharp edges of bone moving under flushed skin. His gaze trailed back up to Harry’s ribs, the way they expanded with each deep breath. Harry looked thin like this, stretched out and boneless, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

Louis swallowed hard. Something twisted low in his stomach, a mix of protectiveness and hunger he couldn’t separate. He set his mug down and picked up the banana, peeling it slowly. The smell hit him instantly, sweet and soft, and he broke off a piece, pressing it to Harry’s lips.

“Eat,” he said quietly.

Harry let out a lazy chuckle, eyes still closed, lips parting to take the piece into his mouth. He chewed slow, his tongue darting out to lick a smear of banana off his lower lip.

“Mhm. Thanks love.”

Louis smirked and ate the rest of the piece himself, feeling the mushy sweetness dissolve on his tongue. He broke off another chunk and pressed it to Harry’s lips again, watching his jaw work as he chewed. Watching his throat bob with each swallow.

Harry chewed the first piece slowly, eyes still shut, his lips sticky with banana. Louis broke off another chunk and pressed it to his mouth again.

“Come on,” Louis said softly, his voice low and coaxing. “Eat a bit more.”

Harry let out a tired sigh through his nose, his brows pinching . He opened his mouth obediently and took the piece, chewing slower this time. But halfway through, he stopped. His face twisted and he swallowed with effort, blinking his eyes open for the first time since Louis came back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, his voice thick and strained. “I… I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Louis stilled, the banana still in his hand, his chest tightening at Harry’s pale face and glassy eyes. Harry pressed the back of his wrist to his lips, breathing through his nose, his chest heaving in short, shallow pants.

Harry grabbed a tissue and spat it out ''Fuck, sorry, I'm disgusting'' Louis shook his head and stroke his back

''It's okay. Just drink some water for now'' Louis stayed still, eyes fixed on Harry’s face as he rested against the pillows. The soft lines of his jaw caught the dim light, the faint shadow of stubble darkening his skin. His lashes fluttered low, thick and dark against pale cheeks flushed from exertion. Louis found himself tracing every detail—how Harry’s breath came slow and uneven, how the slight crease between his brows softened when he relaxed.

But it was Harry’s eyes that held him, half-lidded and heavy with sleep, that made Louis catch his breath. They were beautiful, so clear, like liquid green glass catching whatever light was left in the room.

Harry caught Louis’s gaze and let out a soft, almost shy chuckle, the kind of breathy laugh that always made Louis’s heart squeeze.
“What?”

Louis blinked, now aware he’d been staring too long. His cheeks warmed but he couldn’t look away.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said quietly, voice low and thick with something he couldn’t quite name.

Harry’s lips curved into a tired, crooked smile.
“So cheesy” he said softly, just a kind of gentle teasing, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the sudden softness between them.

Louis reached out before he could think twice, thumb brushing over the curve of Harry’s cheek, tracing the faint sheen of sweat that still lingered there. The skin was warm and delicate beneath his touch.
“Can’t help it,” Louis murmured, eyes searching Harry’s, trying to memorize the way they held him, even in this quiet exhaustion.

Harry’s eyes crinkled at the edges, a spark of amusement and something tender flickering in their depths. He swallowed, then let out a breathy sigh, his lashes dropping again.

Harry shifted slowly, muscles stiff and thin beneath his damp skin. He pulled the loose pajama shirt tighter around his ribs, the fabric hanging on his slender frame like a ghost. The room felt cold—cold enough to make the air feel sharp when he breathed it in, the thin sheets not warming his skin enough.

He rolled onto his side, eyes heavy but restless, and muttered,
“I’m gonna go wash up. Then I’ll come back and try to sleep.”

Louis nodded, swallowing the warmth that pooled low in his chest and twisting it into a tight knot of worry. The quiet click of Harry pushing himself off the bed echoed in the stillness, his bare feet ghosting against the cold floor.

Harry’s spine showed sharp ridges beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his shoulder blades like small mountains under his skin.

Louis didn’t say anything, just nodded, watching as Harry moved across the room—deliberate but fragile, like he was careful not to break himself on the way.

The bathroom light flicked on, stark and bright against the dark, cold room. Louis heard the quiet click of the shower starting, the steady drip of water hitting tiles. He lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, the cold pressing in through the thin walls, wondering how Harry could be so fragile and yet still so alive in the quiet.

Harry’s breath fogged in the cold air as the water ran in the small bathroom. The sound was a steady, comforting rhythm in the otherwise silent apartment. Louis lay still on the bed, watching the faint glow of the bathroom light spill into the dark room, casting long shadows across the cold floorboards.

The chill from the night pressed against the windows and walls, seeping into the room like a slow, unwelcome visitor. Louis pulled the blanket tighter around his waist but it did little to ward off the cold creeping into his bones. He thought about Harry—thin, fragile, his ribs sharp beneath damp skin, the way his shoulders tensed as if holding in every ache.

He imagined the water washing over Harry’s body, warm and relentless, chasing away the cold that clung to his skin. But Louis knew the cold wasn’t just in the room—it settled deep inside Harry too, beneath that bony frame, in the spaces where loneliness and exhaustion lived.

Louis closed his eyes, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket, heartbeat slow and steady but heavy with quiet worry.

Minutes passed. The shower’s steady drip slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

The bathroom light flicked off.

Louis felt the shift before he saw Harry return—the soft sound of bare feet on cold floor, the faint scrape of fabric as the pajama shirt slipped over thin shoulders again. Louis reached out, fingers brushing the pale skin of Harry’s arm, cold beneath his touch.

“Cold?” Louis asked softly.

Harry gave a faint nod, eyes half-lidded “Mhm.”

“I’ll change the sheets,” Louis offered. “Get some fresh ones on. Make the bed nice and warm.”

Harry gave a tired nod “Thanks.”

Louis moved, pulling back the thin, stained sheets and peeling them off the mattress. He grabbed the clean sheets folded in the closet, their crisp scent a small comfort in the quiet room.

Back in the doorway, Harry was still leaning there, now brushing at his hair with a towel, droplets flicking onto the floor. The soft black of his shirt clung to his slender frame, the grey joggers loose and comfortable but doing little to hide the sharp angles of his knees and hips.

Louis pulled the fresh sheets over the mattress, smoothing out the wrinkles with deliberate care, willing the warmth to seep into the fabric. The bed looked softer and inviting, like a cloud.

When he was done, he climbed back in, curling close to Harry’s side. Harry let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to rest against Louis’s shoulder. The wet curls tickled Louis’s neck as he leaned down to press a kiss just below Harry’s ear.

“Better?” Louis murmured.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile, eyes closing again. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Much better.”

Harry shifted beside Louis, settling closer but with a stiffness that made Louis pause. His usual easy warmth felt edged with something else—unease, maybe. His fingers twitched at the hem of his shirt, picking at the fabric like he was trying to will himself into calm.

Louis glanced down, noticing how Harry’s jaw clenched just slightly, his lips pressed tight. His eyes were half-lidded but flickered with a restlessness beneath the surface. The slow breaths Louis had grown used to were now uneven, shallow, as if Harry was holding something back.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, nudging Harry’s arm with his own. “You okay?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet but clipped. “Just tired.”

Louis wasn’t convinced. He’d seen this before—the way Harry could put up walls even when everything inside was spinning out. The way his body tensed like it was bracing for a storm.

“You’re acting weird,” Louis said carefully, fingers brushing over Harry’s wrist. “What’s going on?”

Harry looked away, gaze drifting to the dark window, eyes reflecting the faint city lights outside. After a moment, he sighed, voice dropping lower. “I don’t know. Just… my head’s a mess''

''Like always'' Louis says, making Harry chuckle ''talk to me baby''

''I feel like... how can you find me attractive? I mean, I don't like myself when I gain weight, but I also don't like how skinny and flat I am''

''You know why. You know this is a mental disorder, not a weight one. Your problem is not with your weight''

''I study psychology too Lou'' Harry sighs ''I want to feel pretty, and I just worry you might not think of me as pretty. I mean, I don't have an ass at all, and my arms are fucking sticks. I can't even give you a decent blow job because I gag like a freak'' Louis holds him close and strokes his arm.

''I love you; I love how you're such a good person, humble, sweet, introspective, so thoughtful, so brilliant. Baby, don't think for a second your body might change that. And I like you so much, you're so beautiful. Yeah, I'd like you to be healthy, but that's all. If you were healthy now, or if you weighed 100kg, I would still love you and want you the same, okay?'' Harry swallows thick his tears and nods ''Harry, do you trust me? I love you, sick or healthy, but I want what's best for you, you get it, right?''

''Yeah'' he says against Louis' chest ''I'll try to get better''

''Do it for yourself, not for me. I want you to be okay with or without me''

Harry’s breath caught, breaking into soft, ragged gasps that filled the quiet room like a fragile song. His cheeks glistened with tears, warm trails slipping down, slipping past the crease where his jaw met his neck. He buried his face against Louis’s chest, shoulders shaking beneath thin skin.

Louis wrapped his arms tighter, the weight of Harry’s trembling pressing against his ribs. His hand moved over Harry’s arm in slow, soothing circles, each touch gentle, steady. His fingers traced the lines of muscle and bone, feeling the tension ease beneath his palm. Louis bent down, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple, lips soft against skin.

Harry’s breathing started to even out, the sharp edges of his sobs dulling into a quiet hush. His body loosened bit by bit, melting into the steady warmth Louis offered.

The room held a fragile peace as the night wrapped around them. Louis stayed close, hands never ceasing their gentle rhythm. Harry’s tears slowed, then stopped. His eyelids shut, but Louis didn't stop kissing him. At least, not until he fell asleep too.

--------------------

After Louis left around 7, the apartment felt emptier, colder—not just the chill in the air but the quiet that settled deep inside Harry’s chest. He moved to the kitchen, the soft hum of the small city outside reaching in through the windows. The pale glow of his laptop lit his face as he sat on one of the wooden stools, fingers twitching near his mouth.

His teeth caught at his cuticles, a nervous habit that left his fingertips raw and tender. The screen flickered with recipe after recipe, each promising something warm, something homey, but every time Harry glanced at the calorie count, his stomach clenched.

He scrolled past the rich sauces and creamy desserts, the carbs piled high and the fats swimming over the page. None of it felt right—not for now. The numbers felt like heavy weights pressing down, threatening to drown any small hope he clung to.

But then, after what felt like hours of searching, he found one that seemed different. Simple ingredients, modest calories—something he could maybe manage. A chicken stew with vegetables, something his mum would like. It felt safe, familiar, even comforting.

Harry’s fingers paused above the keyboard, then clicked to save the recipe. His mind raced a bit, imagining the smell of the stew simmering on the stove, the soft chatter he’d have with his mum while stirring the pot, the way the kitchen would fill with warmth.

He pictured Louis sitting beside him, maybe leaning on his shoulder, stealing little tastes as they cooked together. The thought made his chest tighten, but in a different way—less pressure, more something like hope.

He closed the laptop and stood, stretching stiff limbs. The kitchen was cold, the tiles hard beneath his bare feet. He went to the fridge, pulling out the few basics he had: a carrot, some celery, a couple of potatoes, a chicken breast wrapped in cling film. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He set the ingredients on the counter, his hands steady despite the anxious flutter in his gut. He peeled the vegetables, the rhythm soothing, almost like a small act of kindness toward himself. The knife scraped through the carrot, the sound crisp and clean in the quiet room.

As he chopped, Harry’s thoughts wandered. Cooking felt like a bridge—a way to hold on to normal, to care for someone else when it was so hard to care for himself. He imagined the small smile on his mum’s face when he served the stew, the way her eyes would soften, the warmth between them that no illness could touch.

He measured the ingredients, adding the chicken to the pot and covering it with water, setting it to simmer. The steam began to curl upward, carrying the scent of home, safety, a quiet promise.

Harry stood by the stove, stirring, feeling the heat seep into his cold joints. He wasn’t sure how this would all turn out.

Harry stood by the counter, eyes scanning over the ingredients laid out. The carrot, the potatoes, the chicken breast. The celery sat there, pale and crisp, but his stomach twisted at the thought of its bitter taste. He set it aside without a second thought, pushing it back into the crisper drawer, out of sight.

Instead, he focused on what he knew he liked—the sweetness of carrot, the softness of potato, the sharp savour of spices. He grabbed the small rack of condiments from beside the stove, lining up the little jars and bottles like an army on the counter. Paprika, garlic powder, onion flakes, cayenne, thyme, oregano, a dash of cumin. He unscrewed each lid, tapping careful measurements into a small glass bowl, writing them down on the notepad beside his laptop: 1/4 tsp garlic, 1/2 tsp paprika, pinch of cayenne.

The chicken breast sat waiting on the chopping board, pale and damp. Harry cut it into small chunks, wiping his fingers on a clean dish towel between each slice. He turned on the stove, letting the small pan heat up, and dropped in a measured pat of butter. It hissed as it melted, the smell rich and warm, filling the kitchen with a fleeting comfort. He drizzled a teaspoon of soy sauce into the butter, watching it bubble into dark foam before adding the chicken pieces one by one.

The scent grew stronger as the chicken browned, butter and soy sauce clinging to each piece, steam curling around his face. He stirred it with slow, deliberate movements, making sure each side cooked evenly, each bite coated in that salty glaze.

In a separate small pot, he mixed a spoonful of tomato paste with water, whisking until it thinned out into a rusty red sauce. He added garlic powder, black pepper, thyme, and a small pinch of sugar to soften the acidity, tasting it on the tip of his spoon, then nodding to himself. He poured in a handful of rice, stirring it through the sauce so it could absorb the flavour as it cooked. He wrote down each step in small, neat handwriting on the notepad: “30g rice, 1 tbsp tomato paste, garlic, thyme, pepper.”

The warmth from the stove spread across the cold kitchen tiles, fogging up the small window above the sink. He stirred the sauce again, pressing the back of the spoon to his lips, and felt the faintest flicker of pride at the taste—spicy, savoury, sweet.

He didn’t hear the door at first, lost in the quiet rhythm of cooking, but then Arizona’s voice drifted through the hallway.

“Something smells good,” she said, her tone light with surprise as she stepped into the kitchen.

Harry looked over his shoulder, cheeks flushed from the steam, curls falling into his eyes. He shrugged, stirring the rice again. “Just… dinner.”

Arizona set her bag down by the table, breathing in deep. “Smells amazing, H. What are you making?”

“Chicken stew. Kinda,” he said, voice quiet but steady. He wrote down the final cooking time in his notes, then set the spoon down and turned to her with a small, fleeting smile. “Wanted to try something new.”

She smiled back, warm and proud, though she didn’t say it. She just walked over to the pot, leaning over to inhale the spicy, buttery steam curling up into the cold kitchen air.

Without thinking, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said, her voice quiet and sincere.

Harry shrugged, eyes still on the pot as he stirred. The touch of her lips lingered warm on his cold skin, and something in his chest loosened just a bit. He swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen, her eyes catching on the used spoons, the stacked bowls of condiments, the cutting board dotted with carrot peels.

Harry shook his head, brushing a curl back with the back of his wrist. “No, it’s fine. You just got back from work. Go wash up, maybe set the table after?”

Arizona smiled, brushing his shoulder with her hand as she passed behind him. “Alright, sounds good.”

She headed down the hallway toward her room to wash her face and change out of her scrubs.

Arizona came back to the kitchen in a soft grey hoodie and loose sweatpants, hair tied up in a messy bun. She moved around him easily, grabbing two plates from the cupboard and setting them on the table, then reaching for forks and glasses. The table was small, pressed against the kitchen window, with only two mismatched chairs, but she set it with care, like it was something worth making nice.

Harry turned off the stove and stirred the pot one last time. The sauce had thickened, rich with tomato and spices, clinging to the grains of rice. The chicken was golden and tender, its edges darkened from the butter and soy sauce, speckled with red and brown from the paprika and pepper. It smelled warm and deep, like something that could carry them both through the night.

He spooned out servings onto their plates, careful to split it evenly. His stomach twisted as he watched the food pile up, but he ignored it, carrying the plates to the table and sitting down across from Arizona.

She sat with her legs folded under her on the chair, lifting her fork to take a bite. Her eyes widened as soon as she tasted it.

“Harry, this is really good,” she said, her voice full of surprised warmth. “Seriously. Like… restaurant good.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks.”

He picked up his own fork, twirling the rice through the thick sauce, pressing a piece of chicken onto the tines. The smell was strong—spicy, buttery, tangy with tomato—and for a moment, his throat closed up, but he forced himself to take a bite.

The flavours burst on his tongue, so rich and warm it almost felt like too much, but also… good. Comforting in a way that made his chest ache.

Arizona kept eating, humming with each bite. “I mean it. This is amazing. You should cook more often.”

He snorted softly, focusing on his plate. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Halfway through, he felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach, like a hand squeezing him from the inside. He put down his fork, breathing out slowly. Arizona didn’t comment, just kept eating, giving him that quiet space she always did.

After a few minutes, he picked the fork back up and ate some more. The flavours settled heavy in his mouth, but he kept going, finishing the first plate. His chest felt tight with pride and dread mixed together, but Arizona’s smile felt like a warm weight pressing it down, holding him steady.

When she offered him a bit more, he almost said no, but the smell was too good to resist. He let her spoon another small serving onto his plate. He ate half of it, each bite slower, but he finished. One and a half plates.

When he pushed his plate away, his hands trembled faintly, but his chest felt warm. Arizona leaned back in her chair, hair falling around her face as she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she said again, softer this time. “It’s so nice to come home to this.”

Harry sat back in his chair, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his empty plate. The warmth of the food sat heavy in his stomach, an ache that felt strange but also… steady. Arizona was still watching him, that soft smile on her lips, her eyes warm with pride and relief.

He swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. “I’ll… I’ll try to cook more often,” he said, voice low but sure.

Arizona’s smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing over his hand, warm and light. “I’d really like that.”

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the small smudge of sauce on his plate. The smell of the stew still hung in the air, sharp with garlic and soy, sweet with tomato and carrot. He felt the weight of his tired body pressing into the chair, but for once, it didn’t feel like punishment.

''I'll set aside some for my lunch tomorrow. My pink tupperware I'll take to work, for your lunch will be the yellow one'' Harry nods and pushed himself up from the table, gathering their plates and carrying them to the sink. The cold air from the window brushed against his skin, goosebumps rising along his arms, but he didn’t mind it tonight. As he ran the tap and watched the warm water steam against the basin.

''Why don't you cook and invite Louis over someday?'' Arizona says while putting on the refrigerator the tupperwares.

''I don't know, he usually has dinner with Derek so. But I guess I could ask some day'' Arizona smiles and nods.

''That would be nice. Well, thanks for dinner baby, I'll go brush my teeth and head to bed, okay? Need anything?'' Harry shakes his head ''Okay, goodnight honey'' she kisses his cheek and hugs him from the side. He smiles and makes himself smaller in the hug.

''Go rest, bye mum''

-----------------

Later that night, Harry lay in bed under the heavy quilt, the room dim except for the soft glow of his phone screen. The sheets smelled of softener and tomato sauce from his hair, still carrying hints of dinner. His body felt tired, heavy from the food, but not in a way that felt punishing tonight. Just… full.

He scrolled through his messages until he found Louis’s name. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before he started typing.

Harry: made dinner for me and az today.
Harry: it turned out really good. like… actually good.

He hit send, the little whoosh echoing in the quiet room. A minute later, his phone buzzed with Louis’s reply.

Louis: oh yeah? what did u make

Harry’s lips twitched into a small smile as he typed back.

Harry: chicken with rice and tomato and a shit ton of spices lol
Harry: az liked it a lot. i did too

Louis’s reply came almost instantly.

Louis: proud of u. invite me over next time so i can eat too lol

Harry snorted softly, warmth blooming in his chest. He pulled the quilt up to his chin, curling onto his side with his phone pressed close to his cheek.

Harry: maybe i will

He set the phone down on the pillow beside him, the screen still lit with Louis’s name. Outside, the city moved with faint sounds—distant cars, a dog barking somewhere down the street.

Harry blinked at the screen, eyes heavy and almost closing with his hand up with his phone on it. He shifted under the quilt, feeling its weight press him further into the mattress, grounding him in the quiet of his room.

Harry: i think i’ll go to sleep
Harry: i’m tired

He watched the typing bubble appear almost immediately, the small pulsing dot bringing a faint, tired smile to his lips.

Louis: okay baby
Louis: i’m having dinner now
Louis: talk tomorrow yeah?

Harry: Yeah. Nite baby ❤️

Louis: love uuu 💕

Harry tucked the phone under his pillow, closing his eyes.

Chapter 45

The kitchen was warm, quiet, and smelled like butter and oregano. Derek had made pasta—thick rigatoni with sausage and red sauce—and there was salad too, with croutons that were still warm. Louis had a great apetite tonight, this was his second serving.

Derek sat across from him, twirling pasta around his fork. “You sleeping okay?”

Louis shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?”

Another shrug.

Derek studied him, but didn’t push. He knew the signs. Louis had that look—like he was sitting on something, trying to find the words. He always got weird when he needed to say something important.

Halfway through the meal, Louis cleared his throat and set his fork down. His plate was half-empty, which was already a win.

“I had sex,” he said flat, like he was ripping off a bandage. “For the first time.”

Derek blinked. His fork paused mid-air, then settled back on the edge of the plate. He nodded once, slow, and intertwined his fingers on the table. “Okay”

Louis stared at him.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“Well…” Derek exhaled a quiet breath, leaned back. “I mean, I’m surprised. Not judging. Just—you’re twenty-one, I figured it had happened already.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know. Most people think that. Even my old therapist was surprised”

Derek softened his voice. “Was it okay? Is there... is there a reason why you're telling me?”

Louis nodded. Then added, “Yeah. It was with Harry. I just wanted to tell you, I mean... I tell you most things I do, and this is kind of a big deal I guess” Louis looked up. “Is it weird that I waited this long?”

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I hesitated because I wish you hadn’t had to wait for the reason you did. Not because you waited, it makes sense Lou.” Louis’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes starting to glaze over again. He blinked fast and reached for more pasta “And thanks for trusting me. I mean—would I have preferred you told me before it happened? Maybe. So I could freak out quietly, alone, in the car or something.” Louis laughed under his breath. “But you’re not a kid. And it’s not my job to control what you do with your body.”

He looked down at his socks, one of them twisted, and said, “I feel bad though...”

Derek glanced at him, ''why?''

Louis exhaled, his voice coming out flatter this time. “Because I guess I wasn’t… really a virgin.”

Derek looked up. His expression didn’t change much—but Louis noticed it. That barely-there flicker. Jaw a little tighter. Breath held. His eyes, suddenly glassy.

Louis’s stomach sank. “What?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed, but it cracked halfway out of his throat.

Derek held his gaze. “Why are you saying that?”

Louis swallowed. “I didn’t bleed. This time.”

Silence.

Derek stepped forward, close enough to drop his voice, and arranged a chair to sit next to Louis. “You’re not supposed to bleed, Louis. That’s not what makes it your first time.”

Louis blinked. “But it’s not… I mean. It wasn’t the first. Technically. You know that”

Derek’s eyes didn’t move, but his hands stroked Louis' arms. His voice was steady, but low. “What happened to you—that wasn’t sex. That wasn’t you choosing something for yourself. Lou, you were raped, and I know that the concept of virginity is engraved in all of us, but... God, Lou, some things are sexual, but it doesn't make it sex. Sexual assault isn't it, it's violence, that's why you bled, but... No, Lou, oh my God” Derek broke down crying and held Louis in a hug ''Sex is a violent act for your brain, your body, it's loud and sometimes uncomfortable, but it can be so beautiful, erotic. That's what counts, what really counts''

Louis pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, jaw tight. He felt cold all of a sudden. Like the kitchen lights were too bright, like his skin didn’t fit right.

“He said I was beautiful,” Louis started sobbing as he, with a gentle touch, allowed himself to be held, his hands on Derek's arms. “And I wanted to believe him. I really fucking did.”

Derek smiled in tears, holding his face to make him look, squishing his cheeks without intention to. “You are.”

“I'm not—”

“You are, you're a beautiful boy” Derek repeated, drying Louis' tears ''and I wished the eyes you see yourself with remained as innocent as your soul, the same kind of innocence you had when you were eight and looked yourself in the mirror and said you looked 'frabulous' '' Louis chuckled in between sobs ''I'm so sorry Lou, so, so sorry''

It's only after a few minutes of holding and crying in each other's arms that Louis dares to ask, voice flat but audible:

“Is sex addiction real?”

Derek looked up. Not dramatic, just focused—like something clicked into place behind his eyes. He didn’t answer right away. Just watched Louis for a second, then frowned slightly.

“Why are you asking me that?”

Louis didn’t look at him. His thumb picked at a flake of dried cheese on the table.

“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it.” He hesitated. “Is it possible to get addicted to it? Like… not just because it feels good, but because you start needing it in a way that feels like it’s covering something up.”

Derek leaned forward, holding Louis' hands, voice low and careful now. “Lou...”

“I’m not saying I *am,*” Louis added. “It’s not like I’m compulsively hooking up with strangers or anything. Obviously. I’ve only been with Harry. But…”

He exhaled. “I just think I got scared. After. Of how much I wanted to do it again. Immediately. Of how it made everything else go quiet for a bit. Like it replaced something.”

Derek didn’t break eye contact. “What do you think it replaced?”

Louis swallowed. “The usual. Feeling like shit. The thoughts. The tightness in my chest. It was like someone turned the volume down.”

There was a pause. The TV murmured faintly from the living room, a commercial about cat food or something equally stupid. Derek’s eyes were still on him, steady.

“Okay,” he said finally. “So… yes. Sex addiction exists. It’s real. But it’s also *rare.* Like, medically rare. It’s not just about liking sex a lot. It’s when it becomes compulsive. Disconnected. You start using it to numb *everything*, and you lose control over when or how you’re doing it. You hurt people. You hurt yourself.”

Louis nodded once, eyes still on the table.

“But what you’re describing?” Derek continued. “That rush you felt? That quiet? Your body craves safety. Intimacy. Pleasure. Relief. If sex was the first time you felt those things all at once—of course you’re gonna want it again.”

Louis looked up now, face open in that raw, defenseless way he only showed when he wasn’t thinking too hard. “It felt like nothing else mattered. And that scared me.”

Derek softened. “Don't be scared, you just... experienced something that feels extremely good for like, 99% of people”

Louis’s throat bobbed. “But what if I want to use it to avoid the dark stuff?”

Derek was quiet for a beat.

“Then we talk about that. We keep checking in. But listen to me—this is the part where I need you to believe me. You’re not broken for liking sex. Or for needing closeness. Or for wanting your boyfriend.”

“So I’m not fucked up”

Derek snorted. “You’re a little fucked up. But not because of this.”

Louiscracked a smile.

Derek squeezed him in a side hug and wiped his dry tears, sighing and getting up from the chair. “You’ve got a heart and a sex drive. Welcome to being twenty-one.”

“About damn time I guess. I think I’m scared of losing control again, just that this time isn't anesthetics, just Harry.”

“People who really lose control don’t stop to ask if they’re losing it, they just don't care.”

Louis sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, then exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I really, really like him.”

Derek gave him a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured.”

“I’d let him do anything.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that,” Louis muttered, flushing. “Just… I trust him. Too much, maybe.”

“There’s no such thing as *too much* trust with the right person,” Derek said. “You just have to know where your limits are. And make sure he’s someone who listens when you say them.”

Louis nodded. Quiet again, but calmer now.

Then he added, “I think I just wanted someone to tell me I wasn’t gross for wanting it.”

Derek frowned. “Who the hell told you that in the first place?” Louis looked down ''Lou?''

''Reddit'' Derek snorted and let out a smiley sigh ''Hey, don't laugh, I was worried''

''You've got a family full of doctors, yet your source of information is reddit? God Lou''

“Have you ever felt it?”

Derek raised an eyebrow “What, feeling like I’m addicted to sex?”

“Yeah.”

Derek smirked but didn’t answer right away. “Not answering that.”

Louis groaned, smiling despite himself. “You’re a child.”

“You’re the one asking your dad about his sexual health” They both laughed softly, but then Derek’s smile faded into something quieter. “Alright,” he said, voice low and steady. “You wanna know the truth?”

Louis nodded, more serious now.

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve had moments, yeah, especially when I was younger. Times when it felt like sex was the only thing that could shut off my brain. When it felt like a quick fix—like hitting a reset button on the stress, the grief, the noise in my head. I was going through a rough path with Addison, so... It’s easy to confuse wanting relief with needing it compulsively,” Derek continued. “Addiction, in the clinical sense, is when you lose control. When the behavior stops being about connection or pleasure, and starts being about escape. When it begins to damage your life or your relationships.”

Louis glanced up, voice softer. “Did it ever feel like it was taking over for you?”

Derek gave a small, honest smile. “Sometimes. But that’s when you have to slow down, look at what else is going on” He leaned back, more relaxed. “Medically? There are real physical effects too. Hormones spike, your body’s on overdrive, heart rate up, adrenaline pumping. If you’re not careful, you get drained. That’s why rest and hydration matter so much.” Derek yawned, covering his mouth ''I'm gonna clean up and head to bed, I'm tired''

''It's okay, I'll clean. You go rest'' He hugged Derek.

''Thanks Lou'' he hugged him back and kissed his hair, breaking the contact to walk to his room ''don't stay up late. Love you''

Louis cleaned up in silence, moving slow and steady like he was underwater. Plates scraped, leftovers sealed and shoved into the fridge, glasses rinsed and lined on the drying rack. The ache behind his eyes throbbed dull and mean, wrapping tight around his skull.

He opened the cabinet above the sink, fingers fumbling past blister packs and allergy meds until he found the Tylenol. He popped two 1mg tabs out and stared at them in his palm for a second. Then he uncorked the wine Derek had left on the table—half his glass still sloshing in the bottom—and swallowed them dry-mouthed with the bitter red. It burned a little going down. Good. He wanted it to hit hard.

He wiped the counters down with a damp cloth and tossed it toward the laundry basket by the door. Missed. Didn’t bother picking it up.

Lights off. Doors checked. Everything still, finally.

He dragged himself into his room, dropped his jeans to the floor, and climbed into bed in just a t-shirt and briefs. The sheets were cold, and his skin felt too tight. He turned his face into the pillow, fingers pressing at his temple like he could squeeze the headache out through his skull.

The wine sat warm in his gut. The meds were kicking in, slow and heavy. He exhaled, long and quiet, and let the dark pull him under.

He lay on the floor.

Naked, back flat against the wood, arms out like he'd given up mid-exorcism. The boards were cold—blessedly cold—and a little sticky in places, dust sticking to the sweat at the base of his spine. He hadn’t swept in months. Didn’t really care. Something about the grime made it feel earned, like his body belonged more to the earth than the bed.

He’d stripped down without thinking, tugging his shirt off by the neck and shoving his briefs down one leg, stepping out of them with the slow determination of someone trying not to throw up. His head throbbed. Every pulse behind his eyes like a heartbeat in the wrong place.

Radiohead was playing through his headphones, soft and tinny in one ear. *All I need.* That first synth loop, that crawling ache of a song. It helped. It always helped. Thom’s voice sounded like it had headaches too.

He splayed his fingers against the floor, let his skin soak up the chill. Cold was better than pain. Cold was *less*.

Eventually he’d move. Put on boxers, brush his teeth, crawl into bed. But not yet. For now he let himself exist there, naked and raw and pressed to the filth, counting slow breaths and waiting for the Tylenol to help.

His stomach felt swollen, tight under the skin, like the pasta was still expanding inside him. Two full plates—he hadn't meant to eat that much, not really—but Derek had kept talking and the food was warm and it felt good to chew and swallow and keep up with the rhythm of it. Now he was paying for it.

He rolled onto his side on the floor, groaning low, one hand pressing into his belly like that might coax it to shrink. He hated the way it felt—round, useless, heavy like failure. His throat burned just thinking about purging, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He’d already taken two Tylenol, downed them with wine like an idiot. If he puked now, he’d have to take more. His head still pounded behind his eyes, deep and low and stubborn. But more pills meant more pressure on his gut, more bloating. It wasn’t worth it.

He lay still, face half-buried in his arm, letting the cold of the floor take the heat out of him. Letting Radiohead drag him under again, like they always did. He counted backwards from a hundred. Tried not to think about the pressure in his abdomen, the wine on his breath, the taste of regret.

His mouth was dry. He closed his eyes.

He shifted onto his left side, the ache in his stomach pressing downward, dull and full. The tile was cold against his skin—real cold, like the kind that reached through muscle and numbed the nerves—and he welcomed it. Let it bleed into his back, his shoulder, the edge of his hipbone. His hair stuck to the side of his face with sweat.

The music hummed low in his ears, something from *Amnesiac*, slow and shapeless. It blurred the thoughts just enough.

He got up and got in bed, curled a little tighter, and the sudden change from cold to warm comforted him. The air in the room felt stale, the floor smelled of dust and cum, but he didn’t care. Not now. His fingers twitched once, then went still. The pain in his head dulled.

Chapter 46

The ring was shrill and unfamiliar. One of those awful, jangly landline rings that didn't belong in this century, much less in their apartment. Louis jerked awake, curled on his left side, heart hammering from the abrupt noise. His mouth was dry. His head was pounding. He blinked up at the ceiling, confused. The room was dark, a soft grey leaking in through the blinds, but not light enough to be morning.

It rang again.

Who the fuck was calling the landline?

That phone hadn’t rung in years—Derek always said it was unplugged, leftover from when people still had voicemails and fridge magnets with emergency numbers. Louis pushed himself up, groaning at the weight in his belly. He still felt bloated from the pasta, and the Tylenol-wine mix left a chemical taste on his tongue. He scratched at his ribs as he stumbled to the door.

He heard Derek’s steps in the hall before he saw him—barefoot, in sweats, shirtless, groggy but alert in that way only doctors and soldiers knew how to be at 5:30 a.m.

“Stay in bed,” Derek said when their eyes met. His voice wasn’t stern, but it wasn’t gentle either.

Louis stood frozen by his doorframe, one hand on the knob.

Derek walked past him and into the kitchen, where the phone was mounted on the wall, like it was still 1999. Louis heard the click of him picking up.

“Hello?”

Pause.

Derek’s tone changed fast. “Yes, this is him.”

Louis crept a little closer. The silence on the other end of the line was long, and Derek shifted his weight, one hand dragging through his curls.

“When?” he asked. “Is she alive?”

Louis’ stomach dropped.

He watched Derek turn away, shielding his voice like it was muscle memory. “Do I need to come now?”

Another pause. Derek nodded, eyes shut for a moment.

“Okay. Yeah. Thank you for calling.”

He hung up with the same quietness he'd answered. The line clicked dead.

Louis leaned against the wall. “Who was that?”

Derek exhaled, like someone had cracked his chest open and let the cold in.

“Someone I haven’t spoken to in a long time,” he said.

“You okay?”

Derek glanced over at him. “I’ve got four sisters.”

Louis blinked. “What?”

“I always say three,” Derek admitted. “Nancy, Kathleen, Liz. You know them.”

He sat down at the kitchen table, elbows on his knees.

“There’s a fourth. Amelia.”

Louis didn’t move. “You never told me about her.”

“I haven’t talked to her in... a long time. She’s a drug addict. She’s been in and out of rehabs, jail, god knows what else.” His voice was low, like it might wake something. “I stopped counting the times she called me high at 2 a.m. swearing she was dying, only to disappear for another year.”

Louis came to sit across from him.

“Why’d she call now?”

“She didn’t. The hospital did.” Derek looked down at his hands. “She OD’d last night'' he sighed, tired ''She’s stable. Guess my mother wasn't answering the phone and they called me.”

Louis sat with that. The hum of the fridge filled the silence. Outside, the city hadn’t woken up yet.

Derek rubbed his face. “I didn’t want you to know about her. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I didn’t want her anywhere near you.”

Louis just nodded. “Are you gonna see her?”

“No” he shook his head ''I'm glad she's fine, but I can't. She's done too much damage to our family by being an addict'' Louis sat beside him. Close, but not too close. The air in the kitchen was dry and thin. The kind of morning where things felt louder than they should.

“You’re ashamed of her?” Louis asked. Quiet, but flat. Derek didn’t answer right away.

“It’s not that simple.”

Louis looked at him. “It is.”

“I’m not ashamed she’s an addict,” Derek said. “I’m ashamed of the things she’s done while she was using.”

Louis’s jaw clenched. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Derek, slower. “You mean like lying to people? Hurting them? Disappearing? Stealing, maybe?”

Derek held his gaze. “Yeah. All of that.” Louis let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. It wasn’t.

“Sounds familiar,” he muttered, leaning back in the chair.

Derek sat up straighter. “Louis”

“No, it’s okay,” Louis said, nodding. “I get it now. I didn’t know there was a fourth sister because she turned into someone you couldn’t be proud of.”

“That’s not what—”

“I was that kind of mess,” Louis snapped, looking him dead in the eye. “You know I was, and I'm sorry but I also hurt our family, and you didn't kick me out of your life because of it” Derek went quiet “You’ve read my chart, you've taken me to rehab. You saw what they wrote. Suicidal ideation. Poly-drug use. High relapse risk.” His voice cracked and he cleared it, sharp. “So if Amelia doesn’t deserve to be your sister, what the fuck does that make me?”

Derek looked stricken. Like something just clicked, and he hated how long it took.

“Lou,it’s not the same. You're my son and you're Addison and Jake's responsability. You're my responsability too, but she's my sister, and I had to take care of her since she was a teenager because my mum didn't want to. It's not the same because she'd tell me 'you're not dad to tell me what to do' - can you please try to understand? I could never be ashamed of you, because you are trying, she doesn't want to anymore, and I can't make her”

“Tell me about her”

Derek rubbed his face. “She’s brilliant. The smartest out of all of us. Always was. Became a neurosurgeon before she turned thirty. Like… a genius. Funny, too. Arrogant as hell. She used to tell guys in bars she could remove their spinal cord and still make it to dinner on time.”

Louis gave a little snort, despite himself.

“But,” Derek went on, “when she was five, she saw our dad get shot at a convenience store. Right in front of her. He bled out holding a chocolate milk.”

Louis blinked. “Jesus.”

“She never came back from that. She started using as a teenager. Got clean for a while. Then relapsed after her fiancé died next to her.”

Louis’s face changed. “What? What happened?”

“Overdose. Same drugs she used.”

He swallowed.

“She got sober again. Started over. Fell in love with someone new. Got pregnant.” Derek’s voice lowered. “The baby had anencephaly. He lived for forty-three minutes.”

Louis felt a tightness bloom in his chest.

“She named him Christopher,” Derek said. “Held him until he died.” They sat with that.

Louis stared at the floor. Then whispered, “You should go see her.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You know she’s not gonna get better alone,” Louis added. “You wouldn’t let me.”

Then reached across the table, placed a hand over Louis’s. “You’re not her, I need to think about it''

“I want to meet her,” Louis said, voice careful.

Derek shook his head. “Absolutely not”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe.”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“She’s not sober, Louis.”

Louis stared. “And?”

“She’s not in recovery. She’s not in treatment. She’s spiraling, I can't risk it triggering you into relapse too”

Louis leaned in. “All the more reason. She needs someone who understands.”

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“I know what I’m capable of,” Louis said. “And people still gave a shit. You gave a shit.”

“That was different—”

“It wasn't.” Louis pressed the heel of his palm into the table. “You think because I’m wearing clean clothes and taking my meds and eating that I’m not still one bad day away from falling apart? I was living in an old brothel by the train tracks instead of the old apartment Jake made me rent because I was spending all the money in all kinds of drugs, I was passing out on a dirty floor, starving to save money for more drugs. I know how fucked this path is” Derek sat there like someone had carved a hole straight through his chest. His shoulders dropped, sharp and sudden, like the air had been punched out of him. His jaw stayed tight, but his mouth parted a bit, as if trying to say something he couldn’t quite form. His hands trembled, useless on his thighs “Dad, please'' Derek stood. Paced.

“No.”

“Please.”

“She’s not like you. She'll get in your head” Derek stopped pacing. Turned toward him.

Louis stood too. “I’m not trying to push you into something you’re not ready for. But you can’t keep pretending she doesn’t exist. You said she’s brilliant, funny, arrogant—good. That means she’s still in there. Someone’s gotta remind her.”

Derek’s jaw tensed.

“I’m just asking to meet her,” Louis said. “Let her decide if she wants to talk.”

Derek closed his eyes.

Then: “If you go in, you go in alone. I won’t come with you”

Louis nodded. “Deal.”

Derek’s breath caught in his throat. For a second he tried to speak, like maybe there were words that could steady the way his shoulders had started to shake. But there weren’t. Just a short, raw sound, the kind that splits the silence wide open.

Then he broke.

He covered his face with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The kind of crying that doesn’t build gradually — it just hits, sudden and violent, like a wave that’s been waiting too long to crash.

Louis didn’t say anything. Just stepped forward and pulled him in.

Derek folded into him like he’d been starving for it. Like he didn’t even realize he’d needed to be held until the moment it happened. His arms wrapped around Louis’s back, tight, desperate. Louis felt his shirt dampen where Derek pressed his face into his shoulder, breath coming in heavy bursts.

“I’m sorry,” Derek choked out, voice wrecked.

Louis held him closer. “Don’t be.”

“I should’ve done more, she was a dumb teenager, and I just—” He broke off again, sobs shuttering through his chest.

Louis didn’t let go. He didn’t flinch. Just stood there barefoot on the cold tile, still heavy from last night, still with the taste of acetaminophen and regret in the back of his throat, and let the man who raised him fall apart in his arms.

It was the first time he’d ever seen Derek cry like that, and it made something twist deep in his gut. Because Louis had always thought Derek was the strong one.

The hospital was quiet in that way early mornings always were — low fluorescent lights, soft-echoed footsteps, nurses murmuring in corners. Louis walked beside Derek, neither of them saying much, just the steady shuffle of their shoes against linoleum. Derek’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his coat. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

They rounded the corner near the nurses’ station, and there she was.

Addison.

Red scrubs, dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled up in that familiar tight bun. She blinked when she saw them, like her brain had to catch up to her eyes. Then she was moving.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, wrapping Louis in her arms before he could even brace for it. She smelled like soap and antiseptic.

Louis let her hold him. He didn’t feel like saying anything yet.

She let go, then turned to Derek. There was a second of hesitation before she stepped forward and hugged him, too. He smile, grateful.

“She's stable,” Addison said, stepping back and crossing her arms, eyes darting between the two of them. “Vitals are holding. No signs of internal bleeding, tox screen's still running but… she’s not awake yet.”

Derek looked like he was bracing for a second blow. “Do they think she will?”

Addison’s voice softened. “We don’t know yet. The Narcan worked, but it took a while to get her breathing again. There might’ve been some… damage.”

Louis shifted, staring at the tiled floor. The weight of the hallway, the fluorescent hum, the way Addison’s voice dropped when she said damage. He could feel it all crawling under his skin.

“Why are you checking on her?” Derek asked. “You’re not—” His voice cracked. “You’re not ICU. You’re OB. What the hell are you doing near her chart?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just held his gaze, her expression neutral but exhausted, like she’d rehearsed this moment in her head already. Like she knew it would come. Then she sighed.

“She was pregnant” Addison gave the tiniest nod. Louis froze mid-step, blood draining from his face.

“She was, but it wasn't because of the overdose. She probably lost the baby before that” Addison squeezed Derek's shoulder.

It was too early in the morning for this kind of truth. Too cold. Too bright.

Derek didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there in the middle of the corridor, spine stiff, jaw locked, eyes wide and still. The kind of stillness that only ever came before something broke.

Addison reached for his arm “Derek” He flinched. Like her hand was fire.

He was choking on air. His knees buckled. His hand shot to the wall like he needed to steady the world Addison helped him sit.

Louis had never seen him cry like that. This was different. This was older, messier, like something from before Louis even existed. It spilled out of him without grace, without apology. Ugly, full-bodied sobs that tore through him and echoed down the polished hallways. A grown man in pain. And everyone looked away.

Addison just stood there, eyes brimming, her hand still half-outstretched like she didn’t know what to do with it now. Louis stepped between them.

“Dad” he whispered, voice breaking. But Derek wasn’t hearing anything. He was crying like it had been waiting for years. Like grief had found a crack to get out through.

Louis glanced up at Addison, who nodded once and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Take him home,” she said, brushing Derek’s hair back once, like she would with Louis when he was younger. Louis didn’t answer. He just moved closer, placing a tentative hand on Derek’s back. Then both arms. Then the weight of him.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” It was like dragging a man underwater. Derek was heavy with sorrow, a deadweight of memory and guilt. Louis managed to guide him through the hallway, away from Addison, away from Amelia’s room, away from the buzzing machines and the scent of antiseptic that clung to everything in this hospital.

He just kept crying. Not the quiet kind. Not the kind you could hide. The kind that felt like punishment. Like something inside him had broke and couldn’t be shoved back into place.

Louis didn’t let go. Not even in the elevator. Not even when Derek started whispering her name.

“Amelia… fuck, Amelia…” Louis held him tighter.

“She's gonna wake up,” he whispered. “She'll be okay” Derek shook his head. He felt so guilty for Louis having to hold him, but no matter how much he resent Amelia for her choices, he loved her, and it hurt him so much it was unbearable.

--------------------

Louis helped him out of the shoes first, crouched and quiet, like he’d done this before—because he had. Not with Derek. But with people who shook the same way. Who blinked at the floor like it was too loud. Derek didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said a word since the car.

The covers were still thrown from the night before. Louis straightened them with one hand while guiding Derek down with the other, gentle but firm. “Lie down, I got it.” He didn’t know if Derek could even hear him, but he nodded, eyes glassy.

Once Derek’s breathing had evened out a little—his chest still hitched now and then—Louis stepped into the hallway, phone in hand. Scrolled to **Dr. Hunt**, thumb trembling. He exhaled through his nose and hit *call*.

“Dr. Hunt?” Owen answered, voice rough and deep.

“Hi. It’s Louis, Derek Shepherd's son” he said, too fast. “I just—uh—I wanted to explain something”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Derek. He’s not doing well. I got him home, but he’s… he’s not okay. I think he needs to take the day off.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Owen said, steady and kind, “Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it. He has the day. Tell him not to worry about anything here.”

“Thanks,” Louis said, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Really.”

“Take care Louis, and tell Shepherd to take care too'' Owen said before hanging up. Louis set Derek's phone on his nightstand and walked to his room. He sat on the window frame, small space between the chain fence on his window and the actual room. His thumb hovered over his phone before he sent a quick message:

Louis: Call me when you can, yeah?

He lit up a cig and rested his head back.

A little while later, his phone buzzed. It was Harry.

“Lou? Call me” Louis pressed the phone icon

“Hey babe. Why are you awake so early?”

Harry yawned. “We were supposed to go for the re-enrollment this morning. Are you okay?”

Louis’s throat tightened. “I can’t make it. Something happened this morning with Derek—his sister overdosed. He’s really shaken up.”

There was a pause, then Harry’s voice softened. “Don’t worry about it, love. That’s understandable. Stay with your dad”

Louis sighed. “Sorry I can't go with you”

“It's okay Lou, you have to stay with your dad” Harry said “I’m calling a car to get me there. I’m too tired to take the bus anyway, so we'll keep in touch.” Louis nodded to himself, even though Harry couldn’t see it “I can go after paperwork if you want?”

“Erm, we'll Skype, I don't want Derek to be overwhelmed or anything. And maybe we'll go to the hospital later. Just- text me when you get there, and call me when you're home''

''Okay, are you alright with all this?'' Louis sighed, taking a long drag.

''I guess it's complicated. I'll tell you later, I don't want to waste your time'' he said as he blew the smoke ''Go shower, stinky, we'll talk later. Send me pics while you're it'' Louis snorts, making Harry chuckle too''

''I'll think about it. Bye, talk later'' he made a kiss sound and Louis did too, cringeing the immediate moment after.

Louis stared at the screen for a second after the call ended, thumb hovering like he might redial. He didn’t. Just tucked the phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pressed the cigarette to his lips again, already down to the filter. He crushed it in the ashtray, wiped his eyes, and headed back inside.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

He peeked into the bedroom—Derek was still curled on his side, hands balled under his chin, blanket pulled up like a kid. Louis leaned on the doorframe, unsure what he was waiting for. A twitch. A whisper. Something.

But there was nothing.

He walked back to the kitchen. Stood still for a while. Opened the fridge, closed it. His fingers hovered over the kettle but he didn’t want tea. He didn’t know what he wanted.

He just sat on the floor against the cabinet, knees up, staring at a smudge on the tile like it might explain something. Maybe he’d call Addison later. Maybe not.

His phone buzzed.

Harry: made it. receptionist was SO annoying lol.

Louis smiled at the screen without meaning to.

Louis: Good luck. tell them ur name is Harry Cowgirl

Harry: Thanks, Louis Comes-in-3-minutes

Louis: You're welcome, Harry Cumslut

Harry: Looking forward to it :P, just try to last longer.

Louis: My dick can't resist when it comes to your ass.

Harry: STOP you perv, I'm waiting for the interview you can't give me dirty thoughts.

Louis: Interview?

Harry: Yeah, I thought it was just paperwork and stuff, but the dean is interviewing me, they said it wouldn't be long. Still quite nervous tho

Louis: you're gonna b great, everyone loves you

Harry: you too? 🥺

Louis: so so so so so much I can't breathe without you, you're my everything

the peach to my cream

the ddl to my pancake

Harry: sounds so kinky

Louis: Yeah, it's my way of saying 'I'm tying you up tonite'

Harry’s reply took a minute. Long enough for Louis to imagine he’d gone in already. But then—

Harry: Well now I’m gonna be hard during the interview, so thank you for that 😐

Louis laughed under his breath. He felt lighter, like the tension in his chest had shifted a bit sideways.

Louis: Just think about math or whatever. Or our philosophy teacher. Instant boner killer

Harry: Now I can only think of you in a tie and a button up shirt and black pants and a belt 😛

Louis: It's too early don't u think????

Harry: No. She called me in, wish me luck

Louis: you're gonna ace it, love you

There was no response for a while. Louis stared at the thread until the “Harry is typing…” bubble popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again. Then nothing. He tossed the phone on the counter, stood up, cracked his back. Walked back toward the bedroom and leaned on the doorframe again. Derek hadn’t moved.

Louis whispered, “I’ll make some toast, yeah?”

''I'm okay Lou, I just want to rest'' Louis nodded, but still brought a glass of water. Derek smiled and patted Louis' hand ''Thanks. Why don't you go rest a bit? You had the same shitty morning as me''

''Call me if you need anything, I'll be in the living room''

He walked out slow, like noise might attract more chaos. The apartment felt different now, like the air had thickened, settled. Grief had a way of making everything quieter without muting it—just dull enough that the silence scraped. Grief of a siblings relationship, not because someone died, but because it felt like someone might.

The couch greeted him like it knew. Familiar creaks under his weight, a slight shift in the cushion where he always sat. He lay back with one hand tucked under his head, the other resting over his stomach. His body felt raw, like it had done too much or not enough. He kicked off his shoes with his heels and curled his knees up a little, the way he used to when he was younger and couldn’t sleep.

The sky outside was dull and grey. Not stormy. Just blank.

His phone was a few inches away on the coffee table, screen dark. He didn’t reach for it.

For a few minutes he stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing nothing. His breathing slowed, everything started to blur around the corners. The couch was warm under him. The cushion had sunk just right. His spine relaxed one vertebrae at a time.

And then, nothing. He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

-----------------------------------------

The apartment had gone still, holding its breath around him. Somewhere in the blur between sleep and drifting, Louis barely registered the faint *ding* echoing from down the hall. The second one pierced a little clearer, followed by the mechanical rattle of the computer's fan kicking in, like it always did when it hadn't been used in a while.

He blinked awake on the couch, brow furrowing, cheek creased from the fabric. The light outside had shifted—late afternoon now. The *ding* came again, soft but insistent.

He sat up, rubbed at his face, then stood. Padding barefoot down the hall, the old floorboards cool under his soles, he pushed open his bedroom door.

The laptop was open on the desk, screen glowing pale in the otherwise dim room. The Skype logo pulsed. A call was coming in.

He leaned down, checked the name ''Harry babe''. He clicked “Answer.”

Harry’s face filled the screen—blurry at first, then settling into focus as he adjusted whatever lamp he had nearby. He was sitting cross-legged on a twin dorm bed, damp curls still sticking to his forehead, face flushed from the heat of the many layers of clothing Harry would wear. A half-eaten protein bar sat next to his laptop, and his room behind him was bare—just two posters, a pile of clothes on a chair, and a cracked-open window because he gets sick often, so to help air flow ebtter

“Hi babe” he said, a smile on his face

They looked at each other a second. Harry blinked first. “Did I wake you?”

Louis nodded, rubbing his eye. “It's fine tho. Fell asleep on the couch. Didn’t mean to.”

“Figured.” Harry smiled a little. “You still look soft.”

Louis scoffed, leaned his cheek into his palm. “Shut up. You look like a drowned cat.”

Harry grinned. “I showered. Sent you that pic, but you didn’t open it.”

Louis reached for his phone. “Did you cover your bits or is it the good kind?”

“I was being respectful,” Harry said, mock offended. “I had a towel.”

“Boring” He sat his phone down without even opening the snap

Harry laughed. It filled Louis’ room in a way nothing else had all day. His voice was warmer than the screen could hold.

“I wanted to see you,” Harry said after a second, quieter again. “The meeting went okay. They asked why I took time off, I told them I had to take care of stuff back home. They were chill. The dean was nice. Young. Like, thirty-something. She complimented my file.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Course she did, Mr awesome”

“Wish you were here,” Harry said in a sigh.

Louis exhaled through his nose. “I know. Me too.”

Harry stretched out on his back, bare legs tangled in sheets. “You look all warm.”

“I’m not.”

“Still—” Harry tilted his head, watching him through the screen. “Wish I could lie there with you.”

''Wanna come over?”

''I don't wanna bother. I'm gonna change, keep talking'' Harry got up, unbottoned and unzipped his jeans.

''Nice ass'' Harry snorted, shimming in joggers ''oh come on, I wanted to see more''

Harry smiled, eyes tracing the corners of Louis’ mouth. “Is he okay? Your dad?” he changed topics

Louis shrugged. “Better than this morning. I got him to sleep. He doesn’t usually break down like that.”

Harry was quiet, gaze steady. “And you?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it.” There was a beat. Then Harry gave him a look—knowing, warm, but he didn't comment on it.

Harry licked his bottom lip as he nodded, just once, and Louis caught it.

“I know that look”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re trying to look innocent while thinking about my dick.”

Harry grinned. “I’m not!”

Louis leaned closer to the screen, voice low. “You really want to start this now, baby?”

Harry shrugged, all fake coy. “You started it. With your little ‘my dick can’t resist your ass’ message.”

Louis raised a brow. “Don’t act like it didn’t make you squeeze your thighs together.”

''Perv'' Harry chuckled, taking his shirt off ''I could come over and help you with dinner if you want. Don't think mum would mind'' He said as he put on an oversized hoodie and rolled up the sleeves.

''You'd do that?'' Harry nodded ''Yeah, I could use some help to be honest. Plus, I really need a cuddle'' Harry sat back down and had this soft smile.

''I'll be there at 6?'' Louis shook his head ''later?''

''Earlier, I don't want you to be travelling alone when it's sunset''

''Five then. Need anything?''

''Cigs?'' Harry shook his head ''chips and dip then''

''Better. I won't feed your addiction'' Louis rolled his eyes ''I mean it''

''Thanks I guess. I'm gonna go shower and rest a bit. I'll see you later, yeah?''

''Okay, call me if you need me earlier or anything'' Louis nodded ''Love you''

''Love you too'' Louis winked and blew a kiss, which Harry did too before hanging up.

---------------------------------------------

The kitchen radiated warmth, illuminated by the gentle glow of the overhead light, while the soft hum of the stove filled the air. Harry moved with quiet confidence, his hands chopping vegetables with a practiced precision. Beside him, Louis peeled garlic cloves and passed ingredients as needed, falling into the familiar rhythm of cooking together, as if they had done it countless times before.

“Pass me the basil,” Harry requested, his gaze fixed on the cutting board.

Louis handed it over, captivated by Harry’s focused expression and the way his curls caught the light. For a fleeting moment, everything felt serene and normal—a small oasis of tranquility amid the surrounding chaos.

The creak of the door interrupted their moment, drawing both their attention. Derek stepped inside, his face weary yet alert.

“She’s awake,” he said “I’m going to see her.”

Louis nodded, holding a spoon suspended in mid-air. “Uhm, we were making dinner. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to join us.”

Derek offered a tired smile. “Thanks, but I think I’ll have to pass.” He approached and gave Harry a greateful side hug. “Good to see you, Harry.”

Harry returned the smile, his eyes reflecting understanding. “Don’t worry. We’ll save you a plate.”

Derek’s smile softened further. “I’ll keep you updated'' He kissed Louis' forehead and hugged Harry again, grabbing his phone and jaket before rushing out.

Chapter 47

That Monday, Harry was starting his course again, five days a week in the mornings. Louis, on the other hand, was debating wheter to go back.
So, he decided to ask for a little help to unwrap his mind.

He’s curled sideways on the chair next to his desk, his phone up with the WhatsApp videocall with Alejandra. He fidgets with a screw there, stabbing his fingers with it.

''I'm thinking of going back to uni. Same course, new batch. Which is just—” he breathes out through his nose “—sitting in a room full of people who still think uni is cute starbucks pics and I'll always be the guy who's in his second yeaar but only passed 5 subject by now, when the average is 10 subjects per year”

“You’ll have a clean slate,” she says.

He laughs once, no humor in it. “No, I’ll have the same brain. The same…” he waves a hand “thing that made me stop showing up last time. I’ll be the same person who couldn’t even sit through a seminar without wanting to bolt”

“Louis, you like this course” she asks ''you enjoy it, like going to class, even if you don't admit it, you just don't work well under stress. That's okay, you have to lessen the amount of stress. Maybe try 3 or 2 subjects instead of 5-''

''Absolutely not, 2 is too little. I know in public unis is normal, but not here. 3 is too little, just for those who work, 4 well, seems fine I guess''

''Have you thought about getting a job''

He shrugs, not looking at her. “I don’t know. I'd like to, I sent loads of cvs but no one wants me, not even to clean at Neverland so. And I can't even handle uni, how can I manage a job and studying?'' Alejandra nods and writes down ''I don't know, I'm just tired at this point'' he presses the screw so hard his finger starts bleeding, but he doesn't even flinch.

The silence stretches, and she lets it. He hates when she does that — it makes his thoughts feel louder.

“I just…” he starts, then stops, sighing. “Last time, every week I fell further behind. Even when I was in class, I wasn’t really there. My brain would drift, and I’d stare at my notebook like it was in another language. It wasn’t even panic at first, just… blank. I don't feel anything anymore, I'm not even scared, because most people are driven by fear, it makes you react, but not me, I just don't care. I failed 3 out of 5 subjects, so what? I fell behind, so what? I don't care that I failed because I was lazy, I care because it will take more time to graduate, and get a job, and get the fuck out of here” Alejandra never minded bad language, she encouraged saying whatever comes to your mind first.

Alejandra nods, still leaning back in her chair. “Louis, I think you cared so much, your mind had to stop caring at all. Your brain is like, 'I can't care this much, because when I fail, because I will, it'll be so overwhelming I will lose control', am I wrong?''

''I don't know anymore. I do lose control sometimes, I get this rage, like, with my parents when they just say this is life, that everyone misses a few night sleeps to study. But it's so much, I guess I can't give myself the luxury to care. If I have 3 make-up exams in a week, I'll most probably fail two, and if I care... If I care about everything that goes wrong, I'd kill myself''

''Why? You wouldn't deserve to live if you failed? It's not the end of the world Lou. I know you have the economic pressure, and your parents's, but is failing 3 subjects enough to make you want to die?''

''It's not about the subjects itself, it's about failure. I'm not good at anything'' Alejandra shakes her head ''I am''

''We don't have much time left, but, for next session, you'll make a list. You'll have to name ten or more positive aspects about yourself, and 5 things, or more, you're good at. And you better do it, or we'll do it together, live'' Louis scoffs a chuckle and nods ''take care Lou, see you next week''

''Yeah, see you next week'' Louis smiles, and hangs up.

Louis is pacing the edge of his apartment, keys and paperwork clutched in one hand, the other hand tapping a nervous rhythm on the counter. There’s this odd electricity in his chest, a jittery pull he can’t place. Not fear. Not excitement either. Just… tension and speed and a feeling like something is crawling under his skin. He shrugs into his jacket, grabs the folder of forms he’s been triple-checking all morning, and pockets his headphones, blasting Radiohead to drown his thoughts.

The trip across town, the train, the underground, feels faster than usual, his legs moving without thinking, his mind racing without making sense, bouncing over cracks in the sidewalk, heartbeat rising with each step of Let Down echoing in his skull. For a minute he’s not thinking about deadlines or professors or old classmates. He’s just moving, just there, and the weird surge keeps building in his chest and fingertips.

By the time he’s approaching the Chile 2 building, the Health Faculty looming concrete-gray in the sunlight, the surge is a buzz, a weird thrill behind his ribs. He’s scanning the plaza, absentminded, ignoring the other students who shuffle past, heads down, earbuds in.

''Lou!'' that low voice. His ''hey, babe'' someone hugs him from behind.

''Hey handsome'' Louis chuckles, moving his face sidewards to kiss Harry's cheek ''what are you doing here?''

''Came to pick a book. Are you here for the re-enrollment?'' Louis nods, reading his paperwork ''You'll ace it, I know. You're the master of persuasion''

''Am I?'' Louis grins, eyes glued to Harry's lips.

''You are'' Harry steals a quick kiss ''Go on, I'll wait for you outside''

Hallways echo with footsteps and the occasional slamming door. He scans the signage, trying to remember which office handles re-enrollments — his mind bouncing between the directions and the surge in his chest, fingers tapping against his folder as if it could channel some of the energy out.

Every step feels like it’s faster than it should be, almost reckless, and his pulse hammers in his ears. He slips into the office, the clerk giving him a polite nod. “Hello. How can I help you?”

Louis clears his throat, shaking off the jittery energy threatening to spill over. “Hi, I… need to re-enroll. For next semester. I have the forms right here.” He slides the folder across the counter, aware of the rapid tapping of his fingers on the wood, trying not to look too manic.

“You’ll need to speak with the dean before we can finalize your re-enrollment. Just a short interview to confirm your plan for the semester.” she says as she reads the paperwork to check everything's in order, then grabs a folder with Louis' surname on it and saves it there.

Louis freezes, the folder slipping in his hands. “Wait… interview?”

“Yes,” she says, flipping through a small stack of papers. “It’s standard for every new student. You never had one before?”

''Erm, no, I had one while I was in PR, but it was a group interview, never in this faculty'' the clerk nods and smiles.

''That's strange. Well, it won't take long, don't worry''

He swallows, looking at Harry, who’s grinning, eyebrows raised. Louis understands Harry’s earlier comment about persuasion — it wasn’t a casual compliment. “Oh… that’s why you said I was persuasive,” he mutters under his breath, panic and the manic buzz already rising in his chest.

“Julie will be with you in a moment” the clerk gets up and gives the folder to another girl.

A few minutes later, this tall, blonde woman, wearing a red formal suit and high black heels approaches.

''Hi, I'm Julie, the Psychology's dean. We're glad to have you back, Louis. Come with me'' Louis smiles and nods as they shake hands.

''I'm glad to be back''. white mid-lie.

He into the dean’s office, the glass door clicking shut behind him, it was a one-way mirror office, very modern. They sit, both on one side of the desk, chairs in front of the other.

“So, Louis” the dean begins, voice calm and kind of informal “I understand you’re re-enrolling after some time away. Can you tell me why you chose psychology in the first place, and why you want to continue now?”

Louis shifts, still forcing a small smile, hands on his knees, trying to tame the nervous energy jittering in his limbs. “I’ve always been curious about people. About why we do what we do, how our minds work… never thought about following this course until I started PR and communication, and one of the subjects was psychology. I loved it a lot more than intro to PR, and I choose to change courses. I wanted to help people in a different way” He leans back on the chair, appearing calm.

''Oh, nice, I'm studying PR now, not to quit my job here, but to understand better the human psyche in a different perspective. I respect your choice''

“Yeah, it made me realize I don’t want to just watch from the sidelines. I want to understand it. I want to help. It just feels right.”

The dean nods, leaning forward with a smile from ear to ear. “And how do you see yourself applying that understanding? You like the clinic?”

Louis chuckles, looking up, left side. “I don’t really know yet, I guess I'll have it clearer once I experience more subjects on different branches of psychology. But I like cognitive neuropsychology, or forensic, but I do want to work with adolescents and kids'' he nods, looking at her, twitching his mouth a bit. Everything calculated.

“That’s a thoughtful perspective,” the dean says. “It’s clear you’ve reflected a lot. What about your time away? Has that influenced your approach?”

“It… forced me to look at my limits. I’ve had to figure out what I can handle and how, it helped me grow, in a way'' liar. liar. liar.

The dean studies him, hands folded, but nods, she believes it. “And socially? You’ll be returning to a cohort that’s already formed some bonds. How do you see yourself engaging with your peers?”

“Part of psychology is learning how people connect, forming new of these bonds, I don't think that'd be a problem”

The dean smiles “Exactly. I think you understand more than most do at this stage. I’ll approve your re-enrollment, Louis, I expect a lot from you, you're a well-spoken young man, colleague.”

Louis exhales in a smile, tension giving way to a shaky mix of relief and excitement. “Thank you.”

Louis steps out of the dean’s office, heart hammering, cheeks flushed, and that strange, electric surge still thrumming through him. The sunlight hits his face, and the whole plaza feels sharper, louder, alive. He doesn’t even notice the polished floor or the students passing by; all he sees is Harry standing there, leaning against the wall, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Lou!” Harry says, voice warm, and Louis doesn’t even think — the buzz in his chest turns impulsive. He’s moving before his brain can catch up, crossing the few steps between them in a blur.

“I'm in!” His hands find Harry’s shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, and without a second thought, he presses forward, kissing him hard on the mouth, letting the relief, excitement, and energy pour out in one impulsive motion.

Harry melts into it with a smile, wrapping his arms around Louis. When they pull back, Louis’ forehead rests against Harry’s chest, breath coming fast and shaky, a wild grin spreading across his face. Harry laughs, brushing Louis’ hair back from his face. “I knew you would ace it. You've conquered the art of persuasion”

Louis closes his eyes for a second, letting the energy pulse through him “I'm such a good liar,” he whispers, almost to himself, before leaning up to steal another quick kiss.

--------------------------------------------------

The apartment is quiet, dark except for the soft glow of the computer screen. Louis leans back in his chair, stretching, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I guess Spanish and Statistics start tomorrow,” he murmurs as he ticks the box to accept the terms and conditions of the subjects he chose to do: stats and social psychology, virtually, psychopatology on tuesdays, spanish on wednesdays, and labour relations on thursdays.

Only sharing classes with Harry on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for Psychopathology and Labour Relations.

His chest hums with nervous energy, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. He glances over at Harry, sprawled on the bed, phone glowing, hair messy, the kind of effortless presence that makes Louis’ pulse slow down.

“Done?” Harry murmurs

“Yeah,” Louis says, exhaling as he gets up and almost jumps on top of Harry “All set for the semester” Without thinking, Louis presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips. Harry pulls out the earbuds, sets his phone on the nightstand, and grins, propping himself up on one elbow.

“You know,” Harry murmurs, voice low, teasing, “we should celebrate.”

Louis blinks, heartbeat skipping, already knowing what he means. “Celebrate?” he asks,grinning, still on top of him.

Harry leans closer, hands brushing against Louis’ sides, fingertips tracing light lines along his ribs and unbuckling his belt, then unbottoning his jeans. “Yeah. You know… for getting back into uni” His voice drops, rougher now, as he unzips it and lowers it down, his boxers still on.

Harry’s fingers slide over Louis’ shoulders, tracing the curve of his neck before moving lower, peeling the shirt free.

''Your hands are fucking freezing'' Louis complains, and Harry pinches his nipples. Louis slaps him, not hard.

''Don't do that unless you want to turn me on even more'' Louis snorts and know wraps his hand on his neck, pinning him on the bed.

''Slut'' he slaps him again, both grinning.

''I'll only be a slut by the time we reach like, 20 bangs''

''You are because you keep provoking me'' Harry rolls his eyes, gripping Louis' wrist ''see? you have fuck-me eyes, for fuck's sake'' he takes out his belt and wraps it around Harry's wrists, Harry's smile widening ''you better apologise to your ass for what you're about to put him through''

''You really turn me on when you get all daddy with me'' Louis makes a disgusted face

''Don't call me daddy, freak'' Harry pouts ''absolutely not''

''Fine, sir?''

''That sounds less weird I guess'' he turns Harry around, undressing him ''God, seriously, daddy?''

''I don't have a dad, Louis, you're the closest thing I have to a paternal figure''

''WHAT THE FUCK, HARRY'' Louis pulls down Harry's boxers, just below the cheeks, and spanks him ''you belong in an asylum''

''You're shaming me, you know?''

''So you want to bang your paternal figure? What's wrong with you?!'' Louis stretches to open his drawer and grab lube “You really think you can call me that and get away with it?” he murmurs as he lubes his fingers, pressing Harry's thighs together but still getting them in to stretch him.

Harry pouts, biting his lip, but the tension in his body betrays him, the mix of embarrassment and anticipation clear. “I—It’s just… you’re… you know,” he stammers, trying to reclaim some control ''I like the authority''

Louis smirks, brushing a hand down Harry’s side. “You’re going to have to apologize for testing me, little one,” he says, tone playful but firm, leaning into the dynamic. “Be a good boy” he spanks him again, a bit harder

Harry shivers, nodding, lips parted, caught between laughing and groaning. “Fine… sir,” he murmurs, the words tasting strange but thrilling on his tongue.

Louis presses a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder, letting the playful authority settle between them. “That’s better,” he murmurs, voice a little rougher now.

Louis moves closer, letting his hands trail over Harry’s back and shoulders before he reaches for the belt still wrapped around Harry’s wrists. Tightening it just enough, he secures Harry in place, the fabric biting into his skin. Harry lets out a sharp breath, chest rising, eyes wide and bright with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

“You ready?” Louis murmurs, voice low, teasing, letting his hands roam over Harry’s taut torso.

Harry swallows, nodding, lips parting. “Yeah… I’m ready… sir.” His skin is warm and clammy under Louis’ hands, a mix of nervous sweat and excitement that makes Louis grin.

Louis leans in, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck before shifting lower, feeling the heat and tension building between them. As he gets in, no pauses, going at it deep in one movement. The first moments are a little rough — a sting of pressure, a burn of intensity — but the warmth, the closeness, the way Harry writhes against the bindings.

“Ah… fuck…” Harry groans, voice shaky, biting the pillow to try and bear it. Louis chuckles, running his hands along Harry’s sides, teasing, adjusting his angle to keep him on edge. “God… that’s it… just like that,” he moans.

The rhythm builds, each movement hot, clammy, bruising, but full of shared energy and trust. Harry’s moans fill the room, ragged and breathless, while Louis keeps the dynamic — teasing, guiding, holding him just right — until Harry, after a deep thrust and a rough grip to spread his ass cheeks, sobs, but also starts uncontrollably shaking.

''You alright? Harry'' Louis pulls out and turns him around, noticing the small stain of cum ''Oh, so pain -really- turns you on''

Harry, still shaking and tearing up, looks at the ceiling ''shut the fuck up'' Louis slaps him

''Watch your mouth'' Louis grabs his jaw, noses pressed. Harry smiles, lips part, and gets his tongue inside Louis' mouth, licking his palate and then the back of his front teeth, drawing a moan out of his boyfriend ''God you're so dirty'' he chuckles, kissing him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It's Wednesday morning. Louis slouches in the chair, pen tapping against his notebook, eyes half-lidded as the professor drones on in rapid Spanish. He can follow everything — he’s C2 level; catching idioms, conjugations, and nuances, it's easy — but the discussion is slow, the examples painfully simple.

His notebook is mostly blank except for a few doodles in the margin, a small airplane here, a scribbled sun there. He glances at the clock every few minutes, counting down the seconds until class is over. Around him, other students are scribbling, struggling to keep up, and Louis can’t help the little smirk that creeps onto his face. He’s bored, and annoyed.

He doodles Harry’s name in the corner of the page, shaking his head at how distracted he is, then underlines it twice, imagining texting him later. The professor gestures enthusiastically, asking questions that Louis could answer in his sleep, and Louis lets out a soft sigh, tapping his pen against his knee in time with the words he’s barely listening to.

Even though the lesson is tedious, Louis sits through it, forcing himself to look attentive, nodding when called on, but his mind drifts — to lunch, to stats homework, to Harry, to the thrill of just being back in the rhythm of university. The Spanish class is supposed to be an academic requirement, but for Louis, it’s more like a warm-up: he’s here, he’s present, but his brain is already two steps ahead.

The professor pauses mid-sentence, glancing at Louis with a sharp look. “Louis, ¿puedes introducirte primero?” she asks, voice kind and too cheerful.

Louis blinks, caught off guard, and straightens in his chair. He clears his throat, the boredom sliding away for a second as he switches. “Sí,” he says, voice calm, precise. “Me llamo Louis Tomlinson, tengo veintiun años, y estoy en mi segundo año de psicología” the teacher nods, and goes to the guy behing him, one of Niall's friends.

Matthew leans forward, voice rolling out fast and confident, cocky as always. His sentences tumble over each other, smooth in rhythm but jagged in grammar.

“Hola, me llama Matthew, y tengo veintiuna años. Yo estudia psicología porque quiero ayudar la gente''

Louis' grin is wide, self-assured, and sheepish. The professor leans forward, watching, nodding with a smile and going to the next person.

The professor claps her hands as they finish, drawing everyone’s attention. “Good, chicos, ahora van a escribir un ensayo sobre el impacto de las plataformas online en la sociedad. Make friends, groups of two or three people, preferably three”

She glances around the room, pointing to Matthew and his group of friends. “Matthew, please include Louis, so he isn't working alone”

Matthew ignores her, so do his girlfriends. Louis just smiles to the professor, and starts writing, the only one in his rof ow seats. Louis just leans back in his chair, smirking to himself. He starts writing, on paper, since he didn't bring his tablet. The words are messy, some arguments half-formed, a few sentences he doesn't even think through. He chuckles under his breath as he adds in a cringey conclusion.

He finishes and gets up to show the professor his essay. She reads it, ticking with a green pen, a smile tugging at her lips. “Excellent, Louis. You're free to go. the essay is well-structured and persuasive.”

Louis smiles and thanks her, satisfaction curling in his chest. He had done the minimum, mocked the topic a little, but still managed to shine. Meanwhile, Matthew’s group exchanges frustrated glances, trying to make it work. Louis just chuckles.

He walks out and presses the button for the elevator. He won't walk nine floors down, so he just waits.

Louis just stands in front of the elevator, scrolling through his phone, when he notices Colson from the corner of his eye. The guy is standing near the stairwell across the hall, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes fixed in Louis’ direction. There’s a pause in Colson’s stance, maybe weighing whether to approach or stay put. Louis doesn’t look up, pretending not to see him, tapping on his phone screen.

Colson shifts his weight, glances around the hall, then back at Louis, but he doesn’t move. There’s a subtle tension in the air — a quiet standoff — neither engaging, both aware of the other. Louis can feel the faint prickling at the back of his neck, that little flicker of awareness that someone is watching, but he keeps his posture casual, shoulders relaxed, head bent as he scrolls.

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. Louis gets in, and looks at him, but Colson’s gaze turns, walking toward the stairwell without making eye contact again.

Louis exhales as the doors close, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. The corner of his mouth twitches, almost amused, as he shifts the bad under his arm, fingers brushing over the braille as he presses 0.

Louis leans against the wall, phone in hand.

A flicker of memory pricks Louis’ chest. They’d dated when they were thirteen, broke up, went back to friends — the most toxic, chaotic friendship he could remember. Five months of barely talking, even if they were boyfriends, laughing, breaking and mending, all of it spiraling out of control. It had been unstable, Colson sickeningly jealous, and so was Louis. Their kind of violence was silence, Colson befriending a girl called Louise, blaming themselves for everything that happened to them, for their miserable lives. And through it all, Colson had never kissed him. Not once. Just hugs that lingered too long, brushings of hands, a closeness that felt like they were two Chinese lovers in some BL love series. That memory presses against his ribs now, sharp and quiet.

Louis swallows down the secret, the ache of what had been, forcing it into the back of his mind. No one knows what happened between them. Not even Harry.

Chapter 48

Notes:

WARNING: MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND VOMIT

Also some allusions of toxicity, not too extreme.

It's known that relationships aren't easy, that arguments are common, and jealousy is healthy, to a certain point.
They thought, as relationship rookies, that they were above that, that if something happened they would talk. But this wasn't the case.

Now they don't see each other much because their schedules are a mess, only when they had free evenings, but with exam season that became less frecuent. They still talk every day, do Meet calls to study or watch movies, yet it's not the same at all.

It's a Tuesday; psychopatology, class they share. They are playing Word of Wonders, something like that, on Louis' tablet while some girls do a presentation on language disorders. It was useless, a project made because the teachers wanted to speed the teaching process a bit, but everyone had the book to read, and no one payed attention to 6 girls reading a Power Point.

Harry's hand is on Louis' thigh, stroking with his thumb the inside while completing words. His phone buzzed in a message, to which one of the teachers turned around and shushed him. When her attention went back to the girls, Harry rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone while Louis played the level.

''Who is it?'' Louis asks in a whisper, more curious than prying.

''No one'' Harry answered without even thinking and smiled at Louis, fingers moving fast as he typed a quick answer and then sat his phone down, screen facing down. -That- made Louis take a deep breath and glance with a side eye to his boyfriend ''wanna go to the toilet? they won't take attendence until 10:30'' he asked, which in reality meant 'let's get out of here to somewhere private'

Louis didn't answer, just nodded and turned his keyboard and tablet off, grabbing his phone. They 'sneaked' out, 'sneaked' because no one really gave a fuck if they were there or not.

They walked to the Independence elevator at the end of the corridor, pressed the 'up' button to go to the eleventh floor, which only had two closed 'conference' rooms where some special classes were recorded, and unisex toilets. No one actually went there, those classes where recorded during mid july or late december.

''I missed you'' Harry got Louis in the last stall and kissed him, Louis locking the door behind Harry.

''Who were you talking to?'' Louis murmured on his lips.

''Why does it matter when we're in a closed space, alone?'' Harry chuckled it off, but Louis was serious ''Why does it matter?'' Harry's voice carried his frown too, letting Louis' arms go.

''Because you acted off when I first asked you''

''It's just one of my mates from Methods, Louis, it isn't that important we just need to do a presentation together''

Louis studies his face for a beat, lips parted, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. He doesn’t like the way Harry says “mate.” Like it’s casual, but also a little too quick, like Harry’s trying to shut the subject down before it grows teeth.

“You could’ve just said that the first time,” Louis mutters, arms folding. His back hits the tiled wall of the stall, and the air between them suddenly feels too small.

Harry exhales, annoyed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Lou, you’re making it sound like I’m hiding something. I’m not.”

“Then why brush it off like that? Put your face screen down like you're hiding something” Louis snaps

Harry’s jaw flexes, that flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. “Why are you acting like I’m—what, cheating? Talking to someone I shouldn’t? I can talk to whoever the fuck I want to, that doesn't mean I'm hanging with someone else” Harry scoffs ''Do you really think I’d— Come on, be reasonable”

Harry blinks. “Do what?”

“Pat me like I’m overreacting when you won’t even look me in the eye and say their name.”

Harry finally turns, really turns, meeting Louis head-on. His voice is flat, firm. “-Her- name’s Sofía. She’s in my Methods class. That’s it. Happy now?” Louis swallows, pulse stuttering, the name rattling around in his chest ''Are you gonna accuse me of lying about my sexuality too?'' Harry leans closer, cupping Louis' face, but he jerks away, his back hitting the wall “If you don’t trust me enough to handle a text, then what the fuck are we doing?”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, words caught somewhere between ''I do trust you'' and ''I don’t like how easy it is for people to leave me''

Harry’s stomach twists when Louis doesn't answer. “You’re insane if you think I could—”

Louis laughs, bitter and broken ''Fuck you! You could’ve just—just told me! Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough? Like I’m not supposed to see what’s going on in your life?”

Harry flinches, eyes widening, defensive. “I don’t need to justify every little thing to you! I'm your boyfriend not your property! You don't need to know everything! Stop acting crazy, like I’m some… some… cheater or something!”

“Crazy? Insane?” Louis’ laugh is bitter, sharp, a little broken. His shoulders shake as he grips the edge of the stall. “You call me crazy for feeling like you’re slipping away from me? You think that’s fair? You think that’s fair, Harry? I barely see you lately and when I do you act like this!”

“I—I just—” He takes a step back, hands raised before unlocking the door. “I can’t—I can’t deal with this right now when you get irrational. I’m done.”

Louis freezes, chest heaving, eyes wide as he grabs Harry's wrist. “Done? You can’t just—”

“I don't want to see you or talk to you right now!” Harry interrupts, voice rising, shaking with the weight of frustration. He spins on his heel, shoving past the edge of the toilet's door, leaving Louis staring after him, heart pounding, hands trembling. He froze.

 

That was last week, and they haven't talked since.

 

Louis is scrolling on Instagram while sipping a can of beer, since it's friday night and Derek allows him to drink with him. He presses on Katy Perry's story, and when he presses on the right, a story of Harry with a brunette guy, skinny, great ass, and a blonde girl with blue eyes -amazing body too-, Louis chokes on his drink. They're out partying in a costume party, which Louis found ridiculous but the girl in a bunny costume and the other guy shirtless in low waist leathered trousers was just blood boiling.

Harry was in an 'angel' costume, white tank top and very short jean shorts. His cheeks and eyes were covered in golden dust, and he had small angel wings and an fuzzy halo from the kids section at the party supply store.

Louis hurls the phone onto the couch. His chest is heaving, and before the burn in his throat can spill out in words, he grabs a pillow and screams into it, raw, muffled, almost feral. It doesn’t help—if anything, it leaves him shaking harder.

He flips onto his back and grabs the remote Netflix hums to life on the TV, bright colors and cheerful thumbnails that make him want to punch a wall. He scrolls until some kdrama starts playing, some noise that can maybe drown out the image of Harry with glitter on his cheeks and strangers pressed against him.

He tells himself he’s not gonna think about it. Not about Harry’s stupid golden dust. Not about the bunny girl. Not about the leather-trousered guy. Not about how his boyfriend looked so fucking happy without him.

He keeps the volume up loud enough that Derek calls from the other room to turn it down. Louis doesn’t. He just stares at the screen, trying to convince himself he doesn’t care. Trying to ignore the ache in his chest that says he does.

Derek walks in, hair mussed from lounging. He squints at the TV, then at Louis.

“What’s going on?” His voice is calm but edged, the kind that doesn’t need to be raised to feel heavy.

Louis doesn’t answer, just jabs at the remote to turn the volume down a notch, like that’ll make Derek go away.

“Louis” Derek says, stepping closer, lowering himself onto the arm of the couch. “You’ve got that look. The one where you’re about to put a hole in my furniture, what's with you?”

Louis huffs, sharp and bitter “Nothing’s wrong. Just watching a movie.”

“Right,” Derek mutters, eyeing the TV where a girl is questioning her bullies about their dreams “Because you always scream into a pillow and down beer like water when you’re enjoying a film” Derek sighs, softer now, sitting next to him “You both still haven't talked?” Louis doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but the silence is answer enough.

Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, tone turning sharper. “Louis. Look at me.”

Louis doesn’t. He grabs the blanket tighter around himself and mutters, “Fuck off.”

The words hang in the air like smoke. Derek’s jaw locks, and he snaps back without hesitation. “Watch your mouth. I’m not one of your little uni mates”

Louis flinches, then glares, wet-eyed and stubborn. “Then stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Derek sits back, shaking his head, a humorless laugh escaping. “You live under my roof, drinking my beer, screaming into my pillows. Don’t tell me it doesn’t concern me when you’re unraveling right in front of me” Louis shrugs, and Derek’s patience snaps. He grabs Louis by the arm, and hauls him up from the couch.

Louis jerks back, hissing, “Let me go!” but Derek doesn’t loosen his grip. Louis digs his heels into the rug, useless against Derek’s weight and determination “Derek! I said let me—”

The glass door slides open with a rough shove, cool night air spilling in. Derek marches Louis outside and shuts the door behind them-

“You’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on,” Derek says, voice low but sharp, the kind that leaves no room for games. “Because I’m done watching you rot in your room and binging anything you find, you tell me now”

''I’m just—fuck, I’m just mad, alright?” He paces a jagged line across the backyard “Harry’s out there, dressed like some slutty angel, grinding on people I don’t even know, and I’m here drinking with my stepdad like I’m fucking sixty'' He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head, curls falling into his face. “You don’t get it, Derek. He’s supposed to want to be with me. Not with—with her, not with that stupid guy.”

Derek folds his arms, steady in that way Louis hates—like he’s the only adult in the room. His voice is calm but carries weight, sharp enough to cut through Louis’ rant.

“Harry isn’t yours, Louis,” Derek says “He’s your boyfriend, not your property. He gets to go out with his friends without you breathing down his neck. That’s what people do. You don’t own his time.” Louis glares “And you know what?” he adds, tone firm, not unkind. “Maybe if you actually made some friends of your own, you wouldn’t be sitting here obsessing over what he’s doing every second. You’ve built your whole world around him, and that’s not fair.” The words land heavy, making Louis shift uncomfortable “You’re jealous, I get it,” Derek sighs, softer now. “But jealousy doesn’t fix a damn thing if you don't talk to him”

Louis just sighs and nods, walkiing to his room in no mood to talk anymore.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------

It was 2 a.m. when Louis’ phone buzzed. A simple text: *open up*. He frowned, half-annoyed, half-curious. Rolling out of bed, he padded and opened the door to see Harry standing there, still in his angel costume, the angel wings were folded and he was wearing a jacket now, but the sight still made Louis’ chest tighten in that familiar, complicated way.

“You look… nice” Louis muttered, trying to hide his remaining jealousy.

Harry just tilted his head, lips twitching in a guilty smile. “I missed you, can I come in?”

Louis stepped aside. “Yeah” His voice was clipped, still carrying that edge of irritation and hurt, but he let him through anyway, them walking in silence to Louis' room.

Louis shut the door with a firm click. Harry leaned against it for a second, golden dust glinting under the dim light, taking off the halo. Louis didn’t even glance at the costume before he was pressing forward, hands grabbing Harry’s wrists, the playful edge in his grip hard and rough.

''Did you like my insta story?'' Harry bit his lip in a chuckle ''I know you saw it''

''Oh, trying to make me jealous now?''

''I figured I like making you jealous more if it's on purpose, instead of you just snapping at me. So? Did it work?''

Louis’ hands were everywhere, rough but deliberate, manhandling him from the waistband down, drawing sharp little gasps from Harry with each movement. “You think you can just look like that and get away with it? Dressed like a slut?”

''You say that and you haven't seen my undies'' Harry sighs, pupils dilated and eyes shiny ''I know this is not the way, but maybe just for this time, we could fix things this way?'' Harry gets his hands beneath Louis' pyjamas.

''You are putting your ass in jeopardy'' Harry tried to reply, voice catching, but Louis didn’t give him the chance when he wrapped a loose hand on his throat ''maybe next time, before going out like that, you'll send me pictures before going out''

''Are you gonna control how I dress now?''

''I'm not that controlling, no, but I'll need to know what clothes I'm gonna get rid of later'' Harry chuckles, breathless.

''You are controlling, you almost asked me to check my phone''

''I'm sorry for being a dick, I'm not usually like that''

''I forgive you, and I'm sorry I called you insane'' Louis picks Harry up, wrapping his legs around himself, and pressing him to the wall ''you kinda are''

''Yet you still choose me''

''So you know it, I choose *you*, not anyone else, you're the only guy one I love, who I like enough to let undress me, touch me, and do whatever he wants to me'' Harry got down and sank to his knees, hands resting on Louis’ thighs as he looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. Louis’ grip on his curls was firm, guiding him with an impatient roughness, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above the waistband of his shorts. Harry coughed under the weight of Louis’ gaze, the low hums of approval and growls urging him forward.

He pulled down Louis' pyjamas and boxers, grabbing and licking with the tip of his tongue in repeated movements. He spat there and smeared it with his lips, but for the most part using his hand.

Every movement was deliberate, slow at first, Harry adjusting, tilting, following the subtle shifts of Louis’ hips. His own breath hitched with every coaxing push from Louis’ hands. Louis’ chest rose and fell , every low curse or whispered encouragement fueling the electricity in him.

''Easy'' Louis hissed, grabbing harder his hair, when Harry brushed with his teeth the middle part. Harry didn't stop, but was more careful to cover his teeth with his lower lip.

The scent of Louis, the heat of his skin, the tautness of his muscles under Harry’s fingers—it all pressed against Harry, grounding him, pulling him into the intensity. Louis’ hands tangled in Harry’s curls, tilting his head, keeping him exactly where he wanted him, murmurs and moans filling the small room.

Harry’s knees ached, arms shook, but he stayed, driven by the rough, intimate command in Louis’ hands; lost in the heat and closeness of the moment, Harry had to pull it out his mouth to cough and gagged a bit. Louis chuckled and asked, ''you okay?'' Harry nodded. His eyes were tearing but when back to it, fixing a bit his posture.

He felt a sudden sour twist in his stomach making his eyes widen. He tried to push through, tried to keep the rhythm, but the nausea hit too sharply. Before he could stop himself, he gagged, coughing, and a little of what he’d swallowed came up.

Louis froze the second he realized what had happened, eyes widening, chest tightening. The warmth and the unexpectedness made him flinch back, his mind racing with alarm. He hadn’t expected anything like that—Harry’s face, so small and terrified, the sour, almost powdery tang in the air, the unnatural look of it—it hit him hard, and for a moment he didn’t know what to do.

“Harry… hey, it’s okay,” Louis said, composing himself as quick as he could, voice low but firm, grabbing a tissue and carefully wiping himself, making sure not to hurt or embarrass Harry further. His hands were steady, but his eyes kept flicking up to Harry’s.

Harry’s whole body shook, mortified beyond words. “I—I’m so sorry,” he started crying, cheeks burning, eyes wide and glossy. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to hide it, trying to push away the shame clawing at his chest.

Louis kept his touch gentle, guiding Harry’s hands away, wiping his mouth, murmuring “It’s okay, really. It can happen, okay? It's not your fault”

Mortified, Harry pulled back , hands shaking as he pressed them against his mouth. “I—I’m so sorry,” he hiccuped, cheeks burning crimson, eyes bright and frantic. “I didn’t mean—God, I just—” His voice broke. Louis blinked, caught off guard by how affected Harry was, but his hands didn’t let go. Instead, he held Harry close, voice low and firm, grounding him: “It’s okay. It’s fine baby”

''I couldn't pull away, I didn't get off on time'' Louis frowned, cradling Harry's head and brushing his cheek with his thumb ''Fuck, 'm sorry''

''Harry, you don't have to apologise, I swear it's okay'' now the subtle endearment Louis felt at the beggining shifted in 360° to utter worry; Something was wrong, he could feel it, his senses and perceptive personality made it easy to figure ''Babe, you would tell me if something was wrong, right?'' He held him, letting Harry hide his face on Louis' chest, his chin on Harry's curls ''Haz''

''I'm sorry'' he sobbed ''I don't want you to hate me'' Louis takes a second to breath.

''Were you with somebody else?'' By Harry's ugly crying, he could tell the answer was yes ''Was it because of our fight? Was it the guy in the picture?''

''No'' Harry sobbed, wiping his nose with the back of his hands ''I didn't know him, he just grabbed me. I didn't move, I couldn't pull away, I didn't get off on time. I stood there for two seconds before he basically had his tongue down my throat'' Louis frowned, making Harry look at him ''I'm so sorry Lou''

''Harry, did you want to?''

''I don't know'' he tried to talk, but it was shaky and watery ''but I didn't move, he grabbed my arms and gave me like, a few seconds to pull away but I couldn't, I felt so fucking weird and- I- I didn't'' Harry let out a grunt and bent forward, crying so hard Louis started crying too, because he had never seen his boyfriend like this, and that was to say a lot considering they saw each other at their worse times.

''Harry, I'm not mad, but I need you to tell me what happened''

''He was an animal!'' He pressed his hands to his face, letting out guttural, choked-out sounds, each one tearing through his throat as if he were forcing the pain from inside him, his chest heaving with every harsh, rasping sound ''Fuck!'' Louis grabbed his hands to uncover his face and then cup his cheeks.

''You can tell me, okay? Talk to me''

''He- he literally shoved his tongue down my throat, and then when I moved my face away he started licking my face and my eyes, he got his fucking disgusting hand beneath my shorts and-'' Harry started hiperventilating and kind of drooling, to which Louis nodded and brushed his hair off his face. Harry's face was red, his eyes too.

''Harry, I get it, okay? I get it, but you have to breathe, yeah? Breathe'' Harry tried but it was a mess, shaking ''Harry, can you talk?'' he shook his head ''Okay,is it okay if I take your jacket off?'' Harry nodded, but he couldn't even move his arms, so Louis had to struggle a bit.

Louis hurried a bit and stood up to open the window wide open ''Come on, up'' Louis picked Harry up and got him on the couch next to the window ''It's nice, it's windy'' Louis grabbed wet wipes from his backpack and wiped Harry's face, exerting a bit of pressure on his cheeks and forehead -He grabbed those since they were cold, and also to get rid off the glitter- ''Focus on it, on how it's a bit raspy... Also cold, and a bit sticky. Feel my hands, yeah?''

Harry nodded, letting Louis’ hands guide him. He shivered, half from the cold in his whole body now, half from the lingering shock that still rattled through him. Every exhale came ragged and uneven, the sound of it harsh in the quiet apartment. Louis’ thumbs moved across his forehead and cheeks, pressing, as if he could knead some of the tension and fear out of him.

Harry’s lips trembled, and he let out another strangled, throat-heavy sob, grunting as he tried to force the cry out while keeping his body from shaking apart.

Harry leaned into him, letting his head rest against Louis’ chest, curling into the side of his body. Louis adjusted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, anchoring him with the warmth of his body.

“I feel filthy” Harry croaked, voice cracking.

Louis pressed a kiss to the top of his curls. “I know baby, I know'' he pressed his cheek to Harry's hair ''But none of this is your fault. I swear to God, it’s not, and I'm not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong, Haz. You just… froze, and that happens sometimes, you couldn't process it”

Harry hiccuped, throat constricting again but now it was just that. Louis just held him, hands moving in steady, reassuring circles. “I know it feels like it’s still in you,” Louis murmured, and Harry nodded ''Would a shower help?'' he shook his head ''Okay''

''I can't stand to see my body naked, I feel filth and dirt all over my body and I don't know if I can scrub it off'' he just tears up, caressing Louis' body ''How? How could this happen? I was fine, I was fucking fine and now I feel tainted, in just two minutes I got tainted''

Louis couldn't answer to that; He understood, but he couldn't act nor react, and that crushed him.

''I'm gonna make you something warm, and then we'll figure how to get you in some more comfy clothes, okay?'' Harry nods ''I'll even let you choose a hoodie from my wardrobe'' his boyfriend forces a smile, but doesn't talk. ''Okay, come on''

Harry’s hands trembled as he grabbed a forest green hoodie, Louis smiling because Harry really liked that one.

First, he put on the hoodie, but not the sleeves yet. He wiggled, arms bent on his chest below the hoodie, to take the tank top off and pull it off by his head, just when that was done he got his arms on the sleeves. The fabric was warm against his skin, and the motion gave him a strange sense of cover, a little shield against the lingering shame and panic. Louis’s hands lingered on his shoulders for a heartbeat, grounding him as Harry exhaled.

The shorts were worse. Louis wrapped a towel around Harry's waist, and he took care of taking off his shorts. Harry bent, curling as Louis helped him untangle his feet and guide the shorts and underwear off. Harry gripped the towel around his waist. Louis helped him slide on a new pair that hung loose on his skinny hips, tying the waistband and tight, no underwear because Harry made this almost invisible grin of disgust when he stared at them pooled on his feet.

Louis tossed the discarded clothes into the laundry basket and exhaled “There'' he unwrapped the towel “All done. Get in bed while I get you something warm'' Harry nodded and sank onto the bed; Louis stayed close, hand brushing along his arm before heading to the kitchen, still feeling the tight knot in his chest from seeing Harry like that.

He opened the cupboard, pulling down a mug with a cheesy phrase and the small bar of 70% chocolate they’d been saving. He broke the chocolate into chunks, dropping them into the mug.

He poured milk in a kettle and turned on the stove. He waited for a few minutes until there were bubbles, and with careful hands got it on the mug, on top of the the chocolate clinking and melting into a glossy, dark swirl. He grabbed a spoon and stirred, watching the silky waves turn darker as it dissolved, filling the kitchen with that warm, cocoa smell. He turned off the stove and the gas and headed to the room.

He set it on the night stand next to Harry, who peeked up from beneath the covers with wide, tired eyes. “Here,” Louis said “A submarine. Helps a little, yeah?”

Harry sniffed, a small shiver running down his spine from the warmth and the scent. Louis sat next to him, fingers brushing against his nape as he stirred the drink one last time, waiting while Harry took the first tentative sip. Harry made a grin ''Too hot?''

''A bit'' he answered, voice raspy ''but thank you''

Louis kissed his forehead and sighed.

Chapter 49: ❤️

I wanted to thank every person who read Radiohead, where I poured every bit of my heart into making, and it took two years to make it word, though I still have in my heart the original version, which got kind of lost in translation. This is the story which I enjoyed writing the most, it helped me heal and recover, as well as dealing with a life-long diagnosis of mental illness. I gave Louis the support system that once failed me, but I was in exchange given the amazing friends I got.

This was Louis' journey, so it's time to narrate Harry's from his point of view. If you enjoyed, please read my new story Badlands ❤️

Love,

Alejandro Lesnicki

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Radiohead