Work Text:
"When did you first start thinking that?" Louis Tomlinson asked the young boy curled up on the couch across from his chair. The boy wiped a wet hand across his face, shuddering as his next words were spoken hardly above a whisper, "Right after they died. No one cares. I'm alone, and I just want the pain to go away," he finished, sobbing heartrendingly, hands flopping in his lap helplessly.
Louis hopped out of his chair to kneel in front of the child, pulling one of his hands from his face and holding it, smiling softly to help the boy, Jackson, stop crying. It was always harder for Louis when the kids cried. It hurt him. They usually always did, though.
"No, no, I'm here, remember? Whenever you feel like this, remember that I'm here for you, that I care. You can talk to me about it and we help make it feel better. You know that, right, Jackson?"
Louis continued talking to and listening to the twelve-year-old boy, who was in foster care now after the tragic deaths of his parents in a car accident over eight months ago. It was going slowly, but steadily. Four months ago, Jackson had hardly spoken at all and had vacantly stared at the striped-papered walls of Louis' homey children and juniors psychology office in silence, tears threatening to well over, but not quite falling. They fell like rain now.
Jackson's parents had been his only family, no siblings, no grandparents, aunts, or uncles. He was simply and wretchedly alone, and Louis keenly knew how that felt, to loose someone you had relied upon wholly and completely.
"I'm gonna tell you something that someone I adore very much told me, a while ago now. Uh," Louis started," "it was, 'cherish your loved ones now, taking care of them and spending time with them and appreciating them while you have them. If you let them slip through the cracks while they're here with you, you won't be able to remember them like you should. Your parents wouldn't want you to store their memories alongside so much pain and heartbreak. They loved you so very, very much, Jackson, and they want to to look down and see you living your life happy, wholesome, complete, and remembering them with so much love. I know it's a hard concept for you to grasp right now, and it will always be hard to comprehend. But I promise -promise- that I will help you through this."
No more words were needed, Jackson silently laid his head against Louis' chest and continued to let his tears cascade, nodding as he heard the words. Louis was right, right now all they did was hurt him more. But Louis could help him; will help him.
Louis fought back tears of his own as held the grieving, involuntarily abandoned boy close to him, feeling Jackson's pain shake through him.
He would never forget the hours, days, weeks, months, and years he spent like this himself, where all he could do was gasp for breath and hold onto whoever and whatever still remained in his tattered shreds life for the support he desperately needed.
Louis had vowed, after he'd managed to partially regain clarity and come to terms with his loss, that he would do anything he could for anyone who lost the light of their lives. For anyone who was unfortunate enough to have to continue with living after the person they'd loved had left this world.
There was no feeling like realizing you were never, ever going to see that beautiful, shining beacon of light and warmth again for all the days that you would have to keep slugging on. Nothing like the deep feelings of angst and torment you would slip into when you would see a picture of them, or see a scrap of their handwriting. Maybe video footage or some clothes they used to wear.
It was the worst kind of torture.
Some people would say that that exact feeling is why you don't let yourself grow attached to another person. That isn't and never will be the answer. You'd end up just as blackened and diamond-hard from cutting out anyone for your entire existence than you'd feel after you lost the person or people you valued the most.
Louis was determined to show people how to love.
The hard part of helping to teach that lesson is that you also have to teach how to lose the ones you have decided to love.
THREE YEARS EARLIER
"Glad to hear it. I hope we keep seeing more complete signs of recovery over the next week," Harry Styles ended the phone call, turning around to take a clipboard from the hand of a waiting nurse who dressed entirely in pink scrubs.
"There's a patient in room fifteen waiting for you, and then the rest of the rooms off the chart follow, Dr. Styles." Ruth Payne, the nurse, smiled, before trotting off to her next task.
Harry didn't know how anyone could possibly be that perky at not even six-thirty in the morning. He'd been doing early morning doctor shifts at the Cheshire, England County Hospital emergency department for close to six months now and he still dreaded getting out of bed.
Of course, the issue could just be not that he hated waking up, but that he hated leaving the warm bed where his equally warm and cuddly husband of five years was curled up in his arms every morning without fail. Harry knew that was the real reason.
As he walked the long hospital hallways, briskly trotting to room fifteen, the usual hospital smells of sickness, strong disinfectant, and mortality entering his nostrils, Harry thought about Louis with a smile playing all across his features. Even though the loving man didn't have to wake up for close to three more hours, he was always up at five-thirty a.m. to send Harry out the door with a gentle kiss (or kisses, depending on what they'd done the night before) and a cup of coffee, made exactly as Harry liked. And sometimes, if Harry was lucky, he might even get a pre-shower blowjob thrown in to sweeten the deal even more.
Harry reached room fifteen and began attending to the girl lying pitifully in the hospital bed, her mom and sister nervously surrounding her. According to paperwork, she'd suffered a seizure during the night.
The fifteen year old girl, an Eleanor Calder, looked pained, her hair a ruffled, oily mess and acne on her chin, IV pinned in her hand. Emergencies strike at the lousiest times.
She was wearing ratty purple pajamas, the pants a fluffy microfiber. Harry remembered Louis owned a pair like that. He loved to run his hands over the fuzz against Louis' thighs, tracing patterns into it while they snuggled together on the couch and erasing them with a simple stroke of his palm.
"So, how are we feeling? It's been about three hours since you were brought in, now, yea? Any dizziness at all?" Harry asked, examining the chart on the wall. Eleanor's mum shook her head after glancing at her daughter for confirmation.
"She says she feels perfectly fine, right, El?" the girls' mum clarified, speaking for Eleanor like all mums do. Eleanor nodded. "Yea, just a headache, really, but not dizzy. 'M tired, too, and achy. Nothing else. It's weird."
Harry nodded. "That's common with seizures, because basically all your muscles constricted up at once like a tough work out, and now you're tired and achy. I'm leaning towards the seizure being due to unusual amounts of stress, increase in hormones, or low blood sugar, as you haven't had one before this. . .?"
Eleanor shook her head. "Nothing."
"All right then, we'll wait to get the results of your CT scan back, then I'll check them over. If I don't see anything serious, I think we can discharge you in an hour. I'll need your regular doctor's information to fax everything over. They will also need to do blood work to make sure that you don't have a vitamin deficiency of some kind. In the mean time, take it easy, and stay off technology. That little phone of yours can cause seizures as well. Messes with your brain patterns," Harry finished up with a wink as Mrs. Calder threw a seriously shaded look at her daughter at Harry's "get off your phone" remark.
"Thank you so much, Doctor. We appreciate your time," Mrs. Calder then said.
Harry smiled. "Of course, and don't hesitate to come back to the emergency room in case of another seizure. That could signify something more serious than low blood sugar."
A parting wave, and Harry was out. Checking his wristwatch, he counted down the hours till the end of his shift. Five and a half more. God, hospital life was brutal, especially these early shifts.
On to the next one, then.
///
"Hey babe," Louis said coming through the back door into the kitchen of their house, wrapping his pleasantly-small arms around Harry's muscled torso, who's back was to him as Harry fried something in a pan on the range-top.
Louis felt Harry chuckle beneath his grasp. "Hey. I missed you. You worked late."
Harry had been home since about noon, when his shift ended. It was close to nine now, and Louis usually arrived home around six.
Louis stood up on tiptoe to kiss his husband's black tee-shirt-clad shoulder before pulling away to grab the plates, cups, and flatware necessary for setting the table, out of their white kitchen cabinets. All their kitchen appliances were black, and all the furniture and trim pristine white.They'd decided they liked the color contrasts when they had redecorated their little home right after they'd moved in. All the other rooms had color-coordinated themes as well, thanks to Harry's color matching obsession.
Six blocks over from where the curly-haired doctor had grown up, the pretty little cottage with a brick front walk and shutters was a perfect fit for the two.
"Yeah, yeah, there was a whole new topic I was researching for a lecture. Missed you too. How was work, Mr. Domestic?" Louis explained, dubbing Harry with the teasing nickname as he accidentally dropped a fork under the table.
Harry shuffled around with a little laugh, tossing some onions into the pot, the kitchen filling with the spicy smell.
"As usual, I suppose. Not terrible. How was yours? You didn't drop anything on anyone did you?"
Louis rolled his eyes, crawling under the table to retrieve the fork. Harry admired Louis' pert backside, curves hugged in a pair of tight brown trousers to match his silky brownish-grey jumper, from where he stood.
"No, I did not, and the same really, besides the lecture study," Louis said, tapping Harry's chest with the fork before dropping it in the sink and grabbing another. He finished setting their places just in time for Harry to bring the pot of stir-fried chicken and vegetables over, along with a fresh green salad.
Harry generally made dinner most days of the week until Louis cracked and dragged his health-foodie doctor husband out for a good, old-fashioned burger, chips, and a beer.
(Harry liked to tease Louis with super healthy foods because it was fun to watch Lou eat it and say it was good even though he hated it just because Louis loved Harry and wanted to make him happy. Harry did try to serve plenty of the carb-and-calorie-laden foods Louis liked too, and only let them go out to eat rarely, when they both wanted a fun night out.)
They ate in silence, content, and glad to be home after their long day.
Louis began cleaning up as Harry retrieved his briefcase, spread his papers out across the end of the table, and began reviewing tests and blood work reports, and multiple other things Louis didn't usually understand.
After loading the dishes in the washer and wiping the counters, Louis got his papers as well. It hadn't been a busy week, but a quick glance at his schedule told him he had a new patient tomorrow at six pm. So, another late night, due to extra paperwork. Louis worked his meetings around the patients' schedules to make them more willing to come to therapy. So if they wanted a meeting at eight p.m., Louis obliged. He looked up to inform Harry that he wouldn't be home until nine again at least, but he seemed deeply absorbed making notes on a file in his elegant doctors' scrawl as he flipped from paper to paper.
Their work was never done. Louis began reading some patients' reports he had asked them to do, a form of introspection: 'Write down what you're feeling during a dip into depression, in a moment when your anxiety is high, when you're scared somewhere, alone in the dark, anything, and we'll go over it and discuss it.' Generally a diary for emotions, something like you would have done in English class for a good grade.
So far, all the patients that had agreed to try it out seemed to be coping well with it. They said it was almost a distraction from the pain they were feeling, to write about it. To write why they felt like they felt. Louis was proud of some of the progress they had made.
Louis remembered having to do a work study project a bit like this emotional journal through university.
University, where he'd met Harry.
Louis slid his gaze back over to Harry, a gentle and fond smile caressing his lips as soon as he'd watched him for a bit. Harry's curls were falling into his face out of the headband he'd worn to cook dinner, and instead of tucking them back under the band, Harry would brush them away over and over every few seconds before making another note in his wild doctor scrawl.
Louis stood and slipped over behind Harry, reaching to brush the curls behind his ears. Harry closed his papers in his bag and cast his lovely green eyes up to Louis' face with a tired smile.
"I'm sorry, you ready for bed? It's almost midnight."
Louis smiled, rubbing a hand over his eyes and reaching over to brush a hand through Harry's hair again, effectively knocking the scarf headband out onto the table. "Yeah, let's go." They flipped all the lights off as they walked, Harry wrapping his arm around Louis and tugging him along to their room and and closing the door behind them.
Louis watched as Harry pulled off his clothes with a smirk; he always slept naked and Louis loved it, loved to smooth his hands over Harry's chest, arms, anywhere there was skin, Louis loved to touch.
Louis tossed his own clothes into their hamper on top of Harry's, and sat down on the edge of the bed, Harry pushing his way in between Louis' knees.
Harry ran his hands first up Louis' arms, which clung around his neck, up his small shoulders, stopping when he tangled his ridiculously long fingers into Louis' angel-soft hair. Tugging him down, Louis leaned up and pressed their lips together and wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, inhaling a bit when Harry reached down to grip his bum and pick him up, holding him in the air.
Curling around Harry like a little monkey, Louis giggled when Harry pressed a kiss to his collarbone and up his neck to his jaw. He loved it when Harry picked him up and made him feel small and loved. "I thought you were tired," Louis whispered.
Harry shook his head, curls cascading into his eyes. Louis brushed them back softly as Harry spoke.
"'M never too tired to make you feel good."
Harry sat down on their bed, pulling Louis onto his lap. "Do you have to get up early tomorrow?" Louis whispered, a habit left over from when they'd lived in a dingy flat with paper thin walls. They could hear everything their neighbors said and vice versa.
Harry groaned, wincing. "Yeah, I have to take a four-thirty a.m.-through-noon shift."
Louis exhaled, cuddling closer. "We need to just go to sleep then. I could easily keep you up 'til four and that isn't very responsible of me at all," he snickered, poking Harry's dimple.
"I guess," Harry replied, "but didn't someone once say you need to be irresponsible every once in a while to keep life interesting?"
Louis laughed. "I have no idea, but the price of greatness is responsibility. Winston Churchill said that one. We don't want you to overdose some poor old lady on saline water or whatever you dump into those IV's because you were up all night getting fucked."
Harry's eyes playfully darkened at Louis' words. "Why, exactly, would it be me getting fucked? I thought you liked it when I topped. I know I like it when I top. And you put all kinds of things into IV's."
Louis swatted at Harry's stomach. "Whatever. It's my turn anyway."
They laid back on their bed, legs hanging over the edge, still curled up together. "Can we just. . . never leave again? Let's just stay in bed for the rest of our lives," Louis said wistfully.
Harry let out a little hum. "You don't know how much I would love that. . ."
Louis sensed he wasn't done speaking. "But?"
"But we've got lives to save. It isn't just about us, at the end of the day."
"That's true. Harry?" Louis said, tilting his head back to look up at his curly-haired other half.
"What, beautiful?"
"You're the reason I do end up getting out of bed every day. I have nothing to live for without you. And I love to think about you all day long."
Harry gently ghosted his lips across Louis' upturned mouth, carding his long fingers through Louis' caramel-colored hair, his voice low and thick as he answered, "And you're my reason, but you do have so much more, baby. Don't just give up if something happened to me."
Louis whimpered, distressed by the thought of losing his Harry somehow and their kiss became more intense as Louis pressed his lips deeper to Harry's, their legs and ankles tangling in the sheets as they pulled as close together as possible and slid all the way into bed.
Several tired kisses later, they fell asleep, side by side like always.
/// three months later ///
{a/n:
I'm sorry that the timeline is possibly slightly confusing to you, but essentially we're living a flashback and working our way up to "present day," okay? You'll know when we get back to the "present day," I'll make it very clear. Sorry again and thank you for reading x.}
"I didn't. . . I never. . ." the girl broke off into broken, dry sobs. She'd just told Louis more about how her father had drunkenly -and soberly- abused her and her mother when she was young.
"He'd be out almost all night. Then when he'd get home, early in the morning, he'd wake me and my mum up and force us to. . . do things." She began crying harder, unable to speak.
Louis felt his heart break, the pain seeming to sear a hole straight through his chest, in one side and out the other, a hot poker stick forcing it's red-hot way through his soul.
Why were all of his cases bearing down on him like this? Why was he having trouble breathing, trouble dragging himself to work every day? The cases seemed to be becoming harder every moment. He seemed to be being dragged along by the hands of his patients, falling with them into their dark wells. Darkness seemed to be becoming more of his friend than light.
Louis wasn't stupid, he knew the signs of depression.
He knew how to deal with it in others, yes. Himself? Not so much.
And Louis didn't know what to do. If he took a break from work, what would all of his patients do?
He'd been fighting an internal battle for the last several months, saying nothing to anyone, not even Harry, wearing a pristine mask.
Take a rest, and loose the ability to help all of his patients, or keep going, and loose himself?
Louis found his mind wandering to something Harry said a while back as the girl talked.
"We've got lives to save. It isn't just about us, at the end of the day."
Exactly. It Isn't about us. It's the patients that matter at the end of it all. Not us.
Louis tried to shrug away his own darkness, taking more of it from the girl onto himself. All that matters are others. The patients. Not his own darkness.
Give away pieces of yourself to fill others' holes.
"I'm not going to be home tonight, Louis, I'm sorry. I'm having to work a double shift, another doctor has the flu," Harry spoke over the phone to Louis, who was at home curled up in bed.
The blackness wouldn't go away. All he could do was sit, motionless. All he wanted to do was have Harry hold him.
But Harry wouldn't be here, would he.
Louis forced his usual chipper tone on. "It's okay, love. I'll just get an early night. Stay safe."
He heard Harry chuckle.
"You too, babe. Bye, Louis."
"Wait, Harry. Harry? Harry. . .?" Something was pulling on Louis, making him need to say an official goodbye. He didn't know why.
"Yea, Louis?"
"I love you. So much. Goodbye." Louis allowed no sadness into his tone.
"I love you too, Boo. Bye."
The phone lines died.
Louis stared out the window, through which darkness poured in. More darkness.
What was it he always told his patients when the sadness hits? Something like, 'stay positive.' What bullshit. He'd never say those words again.
What was there to be positive about?
Positive about the black hurt flooding his heart and crowding every waking thought?
Why bother fighting it? Why not just. . .turn it off? Forever?
Louis stumbled out of bed, dragging a blanket tangled around his leg with him to the bathroom. His eyes landed on a bottle of Xanax. He'd taken it from work today. Planning on studying the dosage levels or something. Couldn't remember.
Louis grasped the bottle before slowly sinking down to the edge of the bathtub, the bottle clutched in his hand.
DO NOT STRAY FROM RECOMMENDED DOSAGE. WILL CAUSE:
CLUMSINESS
CONFUSION
DISORIENTATION
FAINTING
BREATHING ISSUES
COMA
AND EVEN DEATH.
Death.
Louis popped the top of the bottle open.
Around 50 pills filled it, and he poured 6 into his palm.
Was life worth the pain?
Was it worth it to hold on?
Louis' reflection in the mirror caught his eyes. When had he turned into this sallow-faced person who couldn't escape from the darkness in his heart? When had the light left his eyes?
Death.
How would it feel to never have to worry about the ever-present darkness again? To be free? Louis brought the pills close to his lips, one thought stopping him from opening his mouth.
Harry.
What about Harry?
Surely Harry would understand? All they'd ever said to each other was that they wanted to be happy. This was Louis' way of getting happiness. It wasn't. . . he wasn't getting happiness from life anymore.
But Harry. . .
He couldn't do it. Louis poured the pills back in the bottle and threw it across the bathroom, curling up into a ball on the floor in the sheet.
He'd stay for Harry. he'd stay until he decided Harry would be okay without him.
"I love you," Harry whispered, kissing Louis again, pulling him closer under the sheets two days after Louis' first suicidal thought. Plenty more had been hitting him sense then. Louis had been trying to distance himself from Harry, so it would be easier on him when Louis did finally end it.
"I love you more," Louis whispered reply came half-heartedly; he was only responding at all so Harry wouldn't become suspicious.
The pills stayed tucked under Louis' night table, never far from his reach.
He and Harry had just had just made love to one another. The usual tired feeling of calm set in and they started to drift off, still wrapped together as close as they could without physically becoming one person.
"You'll have to fight me on that one. Pretty sure I love you more, Boo," Harry chuckled out the words before he began breathing heavier, the sign that he was asleep. Louis, cuddled up, spread his hand out as wide as he could across Harry's chest. It didn't even go half-way.
He'd miss him. His big, over-sized, fluffy ball of love.
A hell of a lot more than Harry would miss him, that's for sure. Louis knew that for sure.
"You and me together. Nothing is better," Louis whispered, hardly even whispering. Just mouthing the words.
"I think I'm gonna stay late tonight. . . at the office," Louis said to Harry, over the phone as usual. He'd been avoiding face-to-face conversations for a little less than a week now, coming home at 2, 3 AM to avoid having Harry see the drawn, blatant signs of depression covering him like a thick blanket.
He'd stopped keeping the Xanax under his night table, instead always carrying 10 tablets with him in his pocket in a small Ziplock bag. 10 should be enough. When the time came.
"Again, Louis? I've hardly seen you all week. And I've been working half-days, so that's saying something," Harry whined.
Louis was momentarily drawn to the idea of going home, sitting beside his husband on the couch, and binge-watch a random TV show and making out all evening till they went to bed after showering together.
Like they used to. . .
Before there was nothing but dark surrounding Louis in everything he did. He wouldn't be able to hide it from Harry for more than a minute. Then Louis would have ruined everything, and Harry wouldn't be able to let him go when the times comes. Harry would become a worrywart and follow him around with flowers and chocolate and bear hugs, which would help nothing. Better this way.
"Yea. . . I-I'm sorry, I just have a lot of studying to do. I can do it better here," Louis explained away his decision.
"Oh, c'mon. Come home. Give you a shoulder rub while you do the work? Please?" Harry begged.
Louis pretended to think it over. "Ugh. . . as good as that sounds, I need to stay here with my computer, all the patient files. I'll be home around 2 or 3, I promise."
"Louis," Harry whined again, "I want you." Harry dropped his voice, trying to be seductive. "I really do miss you, more ways than one."
"Harry," Louis said in his stern voice he only used when he was being dominant. He was sick of lying to Harry and just wanted this conversation over with. "I have to work. I'll check if I can grab some hours off this weekend, but we'll see, okay? Don't press."
Silence radiated from the other line.
"Okay, Lou. You aren't. . . you aren't cheating on me are you?"
Louis choked out a laugh. That wasn't artificial-sounding, was it?
"Of course not, Hazza Bear. It's you and only you till I die. I love you so much."
Sooner than you think, Harry.
......
Louis did actually attempt to go over his patient files, trying not to make his excuse to Harry be a complete lie.
As Louis read one account after another, the black fog descended again. It was thick, suffocating almost. It dragged Louis' head down to lie on his desk, tired after days and days of trying to fight through work with very little hours of sleep.
As he lay there, his cheek pressed against the cool wood surface, his mind flickered to the pills. The always-present escape route. Louis had of course heard people say that suicide was the fool's way out. The lamest escape. Running away from problems instead of fixing them.
But honestly? The people who said those things didn't suffer from depression. They weren't constantly cloaked in the distinguishing robes of black, dark hell.
They didn't know how good the ever-present ability to run away felt.
Louis ran over all the suicide options he had, sitting right here at his desk. It was a practice they'd done in college, seeing how many ways were available to off yourself within a 5 foot perimeter.
'Thinking like a suicidal person.'
Yea, well, Louis was suicidal right now.
The pills, of course.
A sharp letter-opener.
Ball-point pens. Surely those would do something.
Louis absently retrieved the letter-opener, lightly pressing it down on his wrist.
How would it feel, to drag it across his skin, watching the bright red blood of life pour out from him?
There was only one way to really find out: trying it.
But Harry would become suspicious of the bandages, wouldn't he? Harry knew every inch of him; there was no place he could scar his body that would go unnoticed. Maybe Louis should go away to end it. A hotel or something. Harry wouldn't like it. . . but Louis wasn't asking his permission to commit suicide anyway.
Harry wouldn't understand.
Louis began to wonder whether it was time. Had he suffered long enough for his parting to be less painful to Harry?
He remembered their words on the phone. No, Harry wasn't ready. Louis needed to put more space between them. He wouldn't come home tonight. Or tomorrow night.
Harry would think Louis didn't love him anymore. Louis didn't want that, but what else was there? A note, of course. Almost every suicide leaves a note.
Louis had never been good with words. He didn't want to think about that right now. He'd write it right before he took the pills. Maybe even while they were coursing through his body. Surely he'd be able to write better in the last moments that he would while he was still looking at days more suffering. He wouldn't be able to properly write down how much he loved Harry while he was still being suffocated in black. It would just be dark and unnecessarily painful.
Around 4:30 Louis flicked off his computer, pulling his phone from his pocket. 3 texts from Harry.
From: Sunshine
>where are you
>you are coming home, right?
>are you ok, babe? where are you?
He responded with a quick:
<too much work. not coming home. sleep well x
Harry did not reply. Hopefully he'd gone to bed. Louis reclined on his patients' couch, turning his face into the cushions so the world couldn't watch him cry.
......
Harry spread his arms out in his and Louis' huge bed. He felt so alone. And tired, because Louis wasn't texting back and it was super late and he couldn't sleep until he knew Louis was okay.
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was out of bed, dragging his black pants up his legs, a random dirty t-shirt off the floor. Could be his, could be Louis'. Didn't matter.
If Harry drove to Louis' office, maybe he could help him with some work and they could come home to sleep. Harry didn't really know what, exactly, he was doing. All he knew was Louis wasn't texting back, it was late, and he was worried. Anything could have happened to him. Multiple scenarios began racing through Harry's head as he ran to his car, jamming the keys into the ignition, hardly looking where he was putting them and therefore having to try three times to turn the motor over.
Mugged, kidnapped, raped, murdered, anything. Harry pressed his foot down on the pedal as far as it would go, racing down the road to the end of the street his and Louis' house was on.
The chime of his phone stopped him short.
from: Peach Baby
>too much work. not coming home. sleep well x
Harry slid down in his seat, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, still pulled over on the side of the street in the sleeping neighborhood.
Was Louis mad at him? He hadn't sounded that strange on the phone hours ago. Just maybe. . . work-pressed. Harry wasn't sure what he could have done to have angered his beloved husband, but began making a list of any transgressions that could have happened the last week anyway. (There wasn't space for many, as they'd hardly seen one another.)
He hadn't given fresh water to their parakeets a couple days ago. Louis was mildly upset about that as they were their first pets aka children and they'd had them for three years now. The green and blue birds, dubbed Brit (Louis', the green one) and Aussie (Harry's, the blue one), were exceedingly important to Louis, and the one time he'd asked Harry to do anything major with them he'd of course forgotten.
Louis had been all well and good after they'd watered the sweet little birds and played with them a slight bit. It couldn't be that.
Harry could think of literally nothing else he had done to make Louis upset to the point where he couldn't even stand to sleep in the same house with him.
Harry couldn't fight the waves of emotion and nausea that rolled over him as he thought about the possibility of Louis finding someone else, loosing interest in him, and leaving him. leaving their life together.
Harry didn't even hardly notice the hot, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks as his brain dragged up sad vision after sad vision of what he life would be like if Louis told him that he'd moved on.
Harry was lost, broken by the thought of being without Louis, even if it was maybe just for tonight and he was being extra with this whole thing.
But he knew that in times like this before, when one of them was having a bad day, or fears, or any problems at all, they'd been there for each other, ready to pull each other in their arms, holding them, fighting the world off for them.
Louis wasn't here for Harry now. He was off. . . filing some shit papers, or reading some boring study books on how to equally distribute empty fears around the subconscious during nocturnal periods of rest or something strange like that. Why he had to do it all day and all night, Harry would never know. He never used to.
The young doctor turned the car off, just sitting on the side of the road, unable to cope as the tears fell faster, harder.
If Louis thought that this was okay in any way, that he could just leave Harry for days on end like this with no real contact or affection, he was ridiculously and seriously wrong.
Louis was more to him than just a spouse, Louis was his world, his happiness, his sunshine. His inspiration, his motivation, and the definition of perfection in his eyes. The joy that Louis could easily bring to Harry on a daily basis just by seeing him smile was extraordinary. Their lives were beyond dreamlike in their complete happiness. They were sensational together, as perfect and flawless as a brilliant-cut diamond.
What happened to that? Harry had no idea. What he did know was that he was going to find out. He decided at that moment that he was going to take a week off from work and spend every spare moment with Louis, in his office and in his arms whenever possible. No way was he letting Louis go. That man meant too much to him to let him go.
......
"Isn't is great?! I can come with you to work, help you with stuff. All week long!" Harry told his news of time off from work that he'd demanded through much pain and convincing. His superiors weren't happy about him taking all his days off at once, understaffed as they were, but Harry didn't care. He sited "personal time to recuperate mentally from stressful circumstances" as his excuse. They had to let him off.
Louis' reaction wasn't as enthusiastic as Harry would've desired, but he'd take it. And he'd take the kisses Louis gave him after he said those words without a complaint.
"It's completely wonderful, my love." Louis whispered into the curls beside Harry's ear where he sat on the larger boys' lap. It was Saturday, and Louis had managed to force himself to come home for longer than a few hours.
It was physically hurting to keep up a smile and stay "happy." With his face buried in Harry's neck, he was free to grimace and let the depression have its way with his expression out of Harry's sight.
Louis needed to think of a way to keep Harry from coming with him to work every day this week, stat. He thought he was creating space between them quite nicely, and he didn't want to have to start all over. He couldn't take it. Louis wanted to escape, now. If Harry tried to move closer, they'd have to start all over. How was he supposed to keep Harry away though? He loved him so much and wanted nothing more than Harry to be with him every second, kissing between clients, fucking on his desk during lunch break instead of eating food. But that would hurt Harry too much, at the end. Miserably.
Louis felt like all the faces he melded his expression into were total masks, the looks of emotions he no longer felt, and instead had to fake, almost. . . as if someone had turned him into a machine that was programmed with a few menial desires and reactions. Louis wasn't faking it, per say, but nothing was sincerely felt.
"It's wonderful, but. . ." Louis trailed off, dragging the mask of "regret" onto his face as Harry pulled away from him to look Louis in the eye as he completed his deferring.
"But I. . . I have the doctor/patient confidentiality thing to think about. What will my patients think when they see my husband sitting in my waiting room? Some of them don't even know I'm gay," Louis ranted. Blatantly ignoring the hurt building in Harry's eyes, he continued.
"I could loose people's trust, things like that. How about. . . I take Monday off instead and we have a three day weekend? Would you like that? We can, I don't know, take all the pillows and blankets in the house and pile them on our bedroom floor and have a camp out inside. I just genuinely -genuinely- can't take the risks of having you at my office all week long, babe." Louis didn't even know what the hell he was ranting about, all he knew was he couldn't hurt Harry, they needed space. They needed this. Louis needed to get away. How. How. How.
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Louis really didn't want him, then. This is rejection. He'd experienced it before he'd gotten with Louis, but never after. Harry managed to keep tears from falling from his painful thoughts as he gently slid Louis off his lap, noticing he could feel Louis' rib age more than usual through his thick jumper. Was he loosing weight? Probably. He wasn't eating right, being gone so much.
Louis licked his lips as Harry stood. "Where you going, H?" Louis asked, looking tiny there on the couch. And defiantly thinner, Harry noted.
"To make you some food. You're thin as a post, it's my job to keep you healthy, what will your mum think when she sees you next? Also I need a piss." Harry jogged off to the bathroom, locking the door, which he usually never did.
Harry stared at his own reflection in the mirror, his eyes flitting to the picture of his and Louis' feet on the beach, in a silver frame. A picture Harry had taken. The downstairs bathroom had been decorated in a beach theme. The picture where their toes were digging into sand, clear water rushing up around their ankles, had been perfect for this room.
And it was there that Harry lost it for the second time, wrenching sobs finding their way up his throat. Harry hardly managed to keep them silent. Louis really was trying to get rid of him. Why the hell was he doing this to them? Harry's shoulders shook violently as he watched his red-rimmed eyes spill saltwater down his cheeks, crisscrossing them with their watery patterns down to his lips. At least his tears would fit in with the bathroom theme.
Gaining control, Harry splashed water on his face and flushed the toilet for the benefit of pretending to use the bathroom, just in case Louis was listening. Next order of business: make a pudding cake with extra and feed the entire thing to Louis. Full of sugar and unnecessary fats. There was always the hope that Harry could win Louis back with his fabulous cooking. Ha. . .ha. . .ha.
After the cake was in the oven, Harry went back into the living room only to find Louis curled up around a pillow, out like an old light bulb, the television on to some worthless show. He was completely overworked.
Suddenly, Harry was struck with an idea. Didn't Louis always keep an appointment book thing on his phone? Maybe Harry could get into it, find all his appointments for the week, and reschedule them all for the next one. Louis would probably be mad as hell, yes, but he needed a damn break. He'd be no good to any of his precious patients dead.
Harry carefully sat down beside his sleeping lover, attempting not to make any more movement than necessary. Slowly, carefully, Harry slid his hand up Louis' skinny thigh to his pocket. His phone was defiantly in there. Harry began trying to pull it out unnoticeably. Eventually he got it. Taking long strides back to the kitchen, prize in hand, Harry set about attempting to unlock the iPhone. If he remembered right, the password was 0020, the time of day it had been when he'd proposed to Harry. Eight o'clock.
Password Incorrect.
Well. Louis had obviously gone security-crazy. Having no idea what the heck Louis might possibly have changed it to, Harry instead decided to check out Louis' notifications. Nothing interesting, but there were a lot of them. Just reminders to call people and boring shit like that. At least he had an excuse to give to Louis when he awoke. 'Your phone was blowing up, I had to see what was wrong while you were out.'
The timer went off for the cake.
Harry took it out, cooled, and glazed it, still disappointed his phone plan hadn't worked. Why would Louis change his password, unless there was something there Louis didn't want anyone to see. . .
Pouring some glasses of milk and bringing the whole thing to Louis is the living room, Harry shook Louis awake gently. Louis woke up, glassy eyed, fuzzy, and absolutely adorable. Harry grinned at his cute appearance.
"Made you a cake, love. Some milk too. Well, I didn't make the milk, I just. . . Bought it. You know. Try it, okay? You have to eat a lot." Harry talked incessantly, and Louis just stayed there curled up, grinning slightly up at him.
"Thank you. And I'll try to eat lots. You're beautiful from this angle, you know," Louis randomly spouted, making Harry blush.
"You're beautiful from any angle, of course. Just. . . Perfect. Always perfect." Louis continued. "I love you."
For fucks sake. Was Louis bipolar or some shit? Harry smiled happily, because no matter what was wrong with Louis he loved him so much too.
"I love you more. Now eat." Harry spooned a bit of cake into Louis mouth, making Louis laugh. He was laughing. This was good. Maybe he'd just been really, really tired and bent out of shape.
After Harry had forced a fourth of the cake down Louis, they curled back up together, Harry pulling Louis again onto his lap and planting kisses to the top of his head.
"There's no way I can make you change your mind about this week?" Harry asked. "No little. . . things I could do?"
Louis shook his head, slowly but determinedly. "I really don't think so. But you could do these other things just because, couldn't you?"
Harry smirked. "Of course, when have I not?" Louis shrugged. "I don't know. But let's sleep some more and do things later, yea?"
Louis knew making an effort was the only way to get Harry off his case. Choking down gallons of cake and milk even though Louis was sure it was coming right back up as soon as Harry wasn't looking. Playing coy and sexy. Pacifying their flailing relationship. It was so hard. So fucking hard. But all for Harry. That's all he ever did things for anymore. He didn't even see patients anymore. He was lying through his teeth, setting fake alarms and meetings. He'd already lost so many patients. That's why Harry couldn't come to work. He couldn't see how far Louis was falling until he was already down.