Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Louis had always been good at hiding. Smiles that never reached his eyes, jokes quick and sharp enough to keep people from looking too closely. He’d made an art of it, really. A laugh in the right place, a shrug when people asked how he was doing, a deflection so smooth no one noticed the way his throat closed around the truth.

But tonight he wasn’t hiding. Tonight, his hands shook as he tied the rope, fingers fumbling with the coarse fibers until the knot pulled tight. His heart pounded too hard, a drumbeat rattling his ribs. His lungs felt strangled, a kind of silence pressing down on him that seemed endless. He closed his eyes, because maybe that was easier than looking at the world one last time.

With a sharp breath, he shifted his weight. The wooden chair beneath him wobbled, then scraped against the carpet as he kicked it away.

For a single suspended moment, he felt weightless, then the rope snapped tight around his throat, searing and crushing. His body jerked violently, legs kicking in the empty air, lungs burning with the desperate instinct to breathe even as his mind whispered that this was it.

The world narrowed to pressure and pain and silence.

Then, knock knock.

“Louis?”

The door pushed open with a creak, and Harry stepped in mid-sentence, his rucksack slipping from his shoulder. His words died in his throat, replaced by a sound closer to a scream than a gasp.

Louis was there, hanging, his head slumped, body twitching faintly, the rope digging deep into his throat.

Harry froze for a half-second, shock rooting him to the spot, before instinct took over. He dropped his bag with a heavy thud and sprinted forward, hands shooting up to grab Louis’ waist, his legs, anything, desperate to hold him up, to take the pressure off. But Louis’ weight was too much, the rope too tight, and Harry’s arms trembled uselessly.

“No, no, no, fuck!” His voice cracked, his eyes wide and wet as he scrambled back, his brain racing.

His bag.

Harry spun, nearly tripping, and yanked the zipper open with shaking hands. His fingers closed around cold metal, the little switchblade he carried everywhere, for pencil sharpening, for stupid everyday things. Now it was life or death.

He stumbled back to Louis, flicked it open, and reached up. His hands slipped, the blade scraping against the rope but not biting through. Panic made him wild. He sawed harder, teeth gritted, tears streaking down his face as he muttered a litany of “come on, come on, come on.”

Finally, the rope frayed, fibers snapping one by one until it gave way and Louis fell like a stone, crashing to the carpet with a sickening thud, his body limp, a harsh rasp tearing from his throat as air forced its way back in.

Harry dropped to his knees beside him, the knife clattering uselessly to the floor. “Louis, oh my god, Louis, please!” His hands hovered helplessly, afraid to touch but unable to stay still, chest heaving with terror.

Louis’ chest heaved once, then again, a guttural gasp ripping through his throat like broken glass. His whole body jerked, hands clawing weakly at the carpet as his lungs dragged in air, ragged and desperate.

He tried to sit up, instinct and panic twisting together, but Harry’s hands were already on him, firm, pressing him back down. “No, don’t move,” Harry blurted, voice shaking, curls falling into his face. His palms trembled where they pressed against Louis’ shoulders. “Just… just stay there. Fuck. Louis, what the fuck are you doing?”

Louis blinked against the blur in his vision, throat raw, chest burning. Harry’s words cut sharper than the rope had. His lip wobbled as the shame surged up hot and overwhelming. He’d been caught, exposed at his lowest, most pathetic point. The fight drained out of him in an instant.

A choked sound broke from him, and then another, until he was crying, broken sobs, ugly and unstoppable. He pressed his fists to his eyes as if he could hide again, as if he could erase what Harry had seen, but the tears came anyway, spilling fast and silent down his face.

Harry’s hands hovered, uncertain, torn between pulling him close and keeping him still. His voice cracked as he tried again, softer this time. “It’s okay,” he whispered, almost pleading, his thumbs brushing just above Louis’ shoulders. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, yeah? I’ve got you.”

Louis’ breath hitched, his sobs spilling harder at the reassurance. He shook his head weakly, fists still pressed to his eyes as though he could block Harry out, block the whole world out. But the words burrowed under his skin anyway, gentle where everything else had been sharp, steady where he felt shattered.

Harry’s grip steadied, firm but not trapping. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, as if saying it enough times might make it true.

Minutes, or maybe only seconds, passed in a haze before Harry finally coaxed him upright. “Come on,” he whispered, easing an arm beneath him, careful, like he might break. Louis leaned into him without meaning to, too drained to protest, his head lolling against Harry’s shoulder.

Harry half-carried, half-guided him across the small room to the bed. He pulled back the blanket with one hand, then lowered Louis down onto the mattress. Louis winced as his throat caught, but let Harry tuck the blanket around him, too tired to argue.

Harry sat on the edge, his hands twisting together as he stared down at him, torn between panic and purpose. “I should call an ambulance,” he said suddenly, voice firm despite the shake in it. “Lou, you need…”

“No!” Louis rasped, sudden and sharp, his hand shooting out to claw weakly at Harry’s arm. His voice was wrecked, barely more than a scrape of air. “Please. No.”

Harry froze, looking at the raw panic in Louis’ eyes. He swallowed hard, lips parting like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t, at least, not yet.

Harry didn’t move for a long beat, his jaw tight, eyes darting between Louis’ face and the phone on the desk. But finally, with a shaky exhale, he toed off his shoes, letting them thud softly against the floor.

Louis blinked at him in confusion as Harry climbed onto the bed, not under the duvet, just stretched out on top of it, close enough that Louis could feel the warmth radiating from him.

Louis frowned, his throat raw as he rasped out, “What… what are you doing?” The words scraped, thin and broken, but they carried enough bite to show there was still fight left in him.

Harry turned his head, curls falling across his eyes. His voice was quiet, steady in a way that seemed impossible given the chaos still clinging to the room. “If you’re not gonna let anyone help,” he said simply, “then I’m gonna stay.”

Louis stared at him, chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with the rope burn. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretched, heavy but no longer endless, just the sound of two sets of uneven breaths in the same space.

Louis shifted weakly under the blanket, his brows knitting together. He turned his head just enough to glare, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “Please go,” he rasped, the words sandpaper-rough.

Harry didn’t flinch. He lay there, one arm bent beneath his head, the other resting near but not touching Louis. His gaze stayed soft, unwavering. “Not happening.”

Louis’ throat worked, another broken sound scraping out. “Don’t…” He coughed, wincing at the pain, then forced the rest out. “Don’t stay.”

Harry shook his head, curls brushing the pillow. “I’m staying.”

Louis let out a faint, frustrated noise, half-growl, half-whimper, and turned his face toward the wall. His shoulders shook once, a shudder he couldn’t hide, and then he went still again.

Harry exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing just enough that when he spoke, it was almost a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything. But… you shouldn’t be alone, okay?”

The silence that followed was thick, but not empty.

Eventually, Louis’ eyes fluttered closed. His lashes were still damp, his breaths rough and uneven, but exhaustion dragged him under, his body finally giving in. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only thing that convinced Harry it was real, he was still here.

Harry lay there a while longer, listening, afraid to move in case it shattered the fragile calm. But when Louis’ breaths evened out into something closer to sleep, Harry carefully slipped off the bed.

His movements were quiet and deliberate. He crossed the room, grabbed the chair from where it had tipped, the rope still dangling. His stomach turned, but he forced himself to deal with it, untangling, stuffing the frayed length into the back of the wardrobe, out of sight. Like it didn’t even happen.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the space where it had been, his pulse still hammering, before finally stripping off his hoodie. He tossed it onto the chair, then padded back to the bed.

He eased himself down again, careful not to jar the mattress, lying on top of the duvet just as before. He shifted onto his side, close but not too close, leaving a small gap of air between them.

He pulled out his phone, screen glow harsh in the dim room. His thumbs hovered, unsure, before he typed out a message:

Harry: staying at a mate’s tonight. don’t wait up. love you x

He hit send, then set the phone facedown on the floor. One last glance at Louis, pale still, but breathing, and Harry closed his eyes.

Sleep came slowly, but it came.

•••

The room was pale with early light when Harry stirred. His neck ached from the angle he’d fallen asleep in, and the duvet beneath him was warm where his body had sunk into it. For a moment, there was a strange kind of peace, until he blinked awake and remembered he wasn’t alone.

Louis was sitting up, arms crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders stiff, eyes dark as they stared down at Harry. His expression wasn’t the blank mask he usually wore; this one was sharper, edged with something between anger and humiliation.

Harry’s breath caught. He shifted onto his back, blinking up at him, curls mussed from sleep. “Hey…” His voice was rough, uncertain.

Louis didn’t answer, just kept staring, his jaw clenched tight. The silence stretched, heavy as the night before, except this time it wasn’t exhaustion holding him still, it was fury simmering just beneath the surface.

Harry pushed himself up slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to find words that didn’t sound fragile or wrong. “Louis,”

But Louis cut him off, voice low and raspy but sharp enough to sting. “Why are you still here?” His eyes narrowed, arms tightening across his chest. “Why were you even here in the first place?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the bite. His mouth opened, then shut again, like he hadn’t expected the first words out of Louis’ mouth to be aimed like knives.

Louis’ glare didn’t falter, though his voice wavered under the strain of using it. “You should’ve just… left me.” His throat worked around the words, each one raw, scraped out like it hurt to say them.

Harry’s brows snapped together, his whole face twisting in disbelief. “Left you?” His voice rose, edged with something sharp. “To fucking die?”

Louis’ hands clenched against his arms, knuckles white. “Yes!” he snapped back, voice breaking. “That’s exactly what you should’ve done!” His eyes shone with unshed tears, anger covering the shame burning through him. “I didn’t wanna be here, Harry. Don’t you get it? Everything went to plan,” He jabbed a trembling finger toward Harry, “And then you came barging in and ruined it!”

The words hung between them, ugly and heavy, louder than either of them meant.

Harry’s chest heaved, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Are you serious right now?” he shot back, his voice cracking under the strain. “You think I’d just walk in here, see you hanging there, and fucking leave?”

Louis flinched, but his glare held, stubborn even through the tremor in his jaw.

Harry leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You’re stupid if you think I’d ever do that. I’m not carrying that shit for the rest of my life, knowing I could’ve helped, but just… walked away.” His voice shook, louder with every word, until it was almost a shout. “I couldn’t.”

The room vibrated with the weight of it, their breaths ragged in the silence that followed.

For a moment Louis looked ready to snap back, his mouth twitching with the start of another sharp retort. But the fire in Harry’s voice, the raw conviction, seemed to knock the wind out of him. His shoulders slumped, his arms loosening their grip across his chest.

He dropped his gaze to the duvet, jaw working as though he was chewing on the words before they came out.

When they finally did, his voice was quieter, hoarse and uneven. “Okay,” he muttered, the fight slipping out of him. “You found me. I’m alive… reluctantly.” He swallowed hard, throat still burning. “Now what?” His eyes lifted, just barely, to meet Harry’s. “You’re still here. Why?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again, words catching on his tongue. He dragged a hand through his curls, staring at the floor. His throat bobbed. “Because I care about you.”

Louis’ head snapped up, eyes narrowing, a bitter laugh rasping out of him. “Care about me?” He shook his head, disbelieving. “You don’t even really know me, Harry. We’ve barely spoken outside of class?” The words came out like a curse, dripping with anger and shame.

Harry stared at him, stricken but unflinching. His jaw worked, the muscle twitching as he fought for the right words. When they came, his voice was rough, steady despite the crack at the edges.

“I don’t have to know you personally,” he said quietly, “to know I don’t want you dead.”

The words settled heavy in the air, no sharpness in them, just raw honesty.

Louis blinked at him, thrown off, his anger faltering again under the weight of it. His mouth opened like he had a reply ready, something cutting, but nothing came. He shut it again, eyes darting away, throat tight.

He huffed out a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so bitter, before saying, “Brilliant,” he rasped, flopping back against the headboard. “Didn’t realise you were auditioning for the role of saint.” His lips twitched, but the sarcasm was weaker than usual, his eyes betraying how shaken he still was.

Harry didn’t rise to it. He just watched him, steady, curls shadowing his face. After a long pause, he said, “You should probably tell your mum.”

The sarcasm vanished in an instant. Louis snapped his gaze to him, eyes wide, jaw set. “What? No fucking way. She’d never forgive me.” His voice cracked hard on the last word, but he pushed on anyway, shaking his head fiercely.

Harry’s mouth pressed into a line, his shoulders squaring like he was bracing for Louis to fight him. “Louis, you need help,” he said firmly, the softness gone from his tone. “And you’ve got a massive bruise around your neck. She’s gonna know.”

Louis stiffened, instinctively tugging the collar of his shirt higher. His throat burned at the movement, the rope’s mark raw and unforgiving. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head again, more desperate this time. “I can’t.”

Harry leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked on Louis’. “You can’t keep this secret,” he said, voice steady, no room for argument. “It’s not something you can just… cover up and pretend didn’t happen.”

Louis’ jaw tightened, his whole body coiled like a spring. “Watch me,” he muttered, tugging at his collar again, as if he could physically hide the mark.

Harry shook his head, curls falling into his face, frustration edging into his voice. “No, I’m not letting you bury this. You need help. Real help. And I’m here,” his voice cracked, but he pushed through, fierce and certain, “I’ll be here through all of it if you need. But you’ve got to tell her.”

Louis stared at him, stricken, torn between fury and fear, the weight of Harry’s words pressing down harder than the rope had.

His eyes flashed, his voice rough but sharp enough to cut. “You’ll be here through what?” He shoved himself a little higher against the headboard, arms crossing tight over his chest like armour. “None of this,” his voice faltered, but he forced it louder, angrier, “none of this is your fucking responsibility, Harry. I am not your responsibility.”

The words hit the air like thrown glass, brittle and furious. His breathing came faster, throat raw, but he didn’t look away, daring Harry to argue.

Harry’s chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, his hands fisting in the duvet to keep them steady. He looked like he’d been slapped, but there was no retreat in his eyes, only fire.

His voice shook when he finally spoke, but not from fear, this was anger, raw and ragged. “It became my responsibility the second I had to frantically cut your lifeless fucking body down off a noose.” His chest heaved, eyes blazing, the words spilling out sharper with every breath.

Louis flinched, colour draining from his face, but Harry didn’t stop. “You think I wanted that? You think I’ll ever forget the sound of that rope snapping, or the way you hit the floor? I’m not carrying that shit in silence so you can keep pretending everything’s fine.”

He leaned closer, curls falling forward, his voice lowering into something fierce, almost a growl. “So stop being a stubborn pain in the ass and tell your mum, or I will.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, Louis’ chest rising and falling too fast, his throat working as if the words had choked him.

His eyes blazed, his whole body taut with anger. He opened his mouth, ready to tear Harry apart with another round of stubborn rage, but the words stalled. Harry wasn’t bluffing. He could see it in his face, hear it in the way his voice still shook from last night’s terror.

Louis swore under his breath, slamming a fist into the mattress. “Fuck,” he spat, glaring daggers at the wall instead of Harry. His shoulders sagged, the fight bleeding out of him by inches. “Fine.”

The word was ground out like gravel, dripping with reluctance, but it was there. A crack in the armour. Harry exhaled, tension easing from his frame, though his hands still trembled faintly where they rested on the duvet. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t smile. He just nodded, quiet and steady.

Louis dragged a hand down his face, muttering again, softer this time. “Fucking hell.”

Harry let the silence hang for a moment, steadying himself, then asked, plain and sure, “When does she get home? We’ll tell her today,”

Louis’ head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “We?” he rasped, incredulous.

Harry didn’t flinch. He met Louis’ stare head-on. “Yeah, we. You don’t have to do it on your own.”

Louis scoffed, half-laugh, half-growl. “Christ, you’re unbelievable.” He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration, but his chest ached with something dangerously close to relief.

The house felt too quiet, sunlight creeping in through the curtains like it didn’t know what had happened inside these walls. Louis eventually sat hunched on the sofa, a blanket draped over his shoulders, watching Harry clatter around the kitchen like he owned the place.

When Harry returned, he had a tray balanced in his hands, soup, mashed soft enough to swallow without pain, and a mug of tea steaming gently. He set it down on the coffee table with a little huff, nudging it closer to Louis.

Louis arched a brow, lips twitching. “What’s this then? You planning on spoon-feeding me too, or do I still get to feed myself like a big boy?”

Harry shot him a look, unimpressed. “Shut up and eat.”

Louis snorted but picked up the spoon anyway, muttering under his breath about being babysat. Still, he ate.

Later, they settled in front of the TV. Harry flicked through channels until they landed on a film, not really caring what it was. Louis made a few sarcastic comments about the plot before the warmth of the blanket and the fullness in his stomach dragged him under. His head lolled against the cushion, eyes slipping shut.

Harry stayed where he was, eyes on the screen but attention entirely elsewhere. He glanced at Louis, at the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way sleep had smoothed some of the tension from his face.

After a long hesitation, Harry reached out, hand trembling as his fingers brushed lightly against the dark bruise circling Louis’ throat. The mark stood out stark and ugly against his pale skin, a reminder of how close he’d come to losing him.

His breath caught, his chest tightening with a mix of anger and relief. He pulled his hand back quickly, curling it into a fist in his lap, as though he hadn’t touched him at all.

By the time the clock struck six, the house had settled into a strange hush. Louis sat curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around him, still worn from the night before. Harry sat close at his side, steady but visibly tense, like he was bracing himself for something.

The front door clicked open, followed by the familiar sound of keys on the counter.

“Lou?” Jay’s voice called, tired from the day. She stepped into the living room, shrugging off her coat. Her face softened instantly when she saw him swaddled in the blanket. “You feeling any better? You had me worried, staying home sick yesterday.”

Louis shifted in his seat, throat tight, murmuring, “Yeah. A bit.”

Jay’s gaze flicked to the stranger beside him. She tilted her head slightly, brow raised. “Oh, who’s your friend?”

Harry stood quickly, straightening his jumper before offering his hand. “I’m Harry. We’re in the same English class.” His voice wobbled faintly, but his grip was steady. When Jay shook his hand, he hesitated for only a second before blurting, “Um, could we talk?”

Jay blinked, her stomach dropping at his tone. She set her things down on the armchair, worry knitting her features. “Is… is everything okay?”

Louis swallowed hard, his fingers knotting in the blanket. He sat up a little straighter, shifting so he was facing her properly. “So, uh…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’ve been having a really hard time lately. With… everything.”

His eyes darted to Harry, searching for strength, and without hesitation, Harry slid his hand into Louis’, their fingers lacing together firmly. Louis faltered, a breath catching in his chest, but then he nodded almost imperceptibly, like that simple touch anchored him enough to go on, however strange it made him feel.

“Yesterday,” Louis started again, voice barely above a whisper, “I kind of hit a limit. And I… I found a rope in the garage…”

Jay froze. The colour drained from her face as she realised where the words were heading. Her eyes flicked down, catching the dark, raw bruises circling his throat. Her voice cracked. “Baby, no…”

Louis’ own eyes welled immediately, tears slipping free before he could stop them. His voice shook, broken and small. “I’m so sorry, Mum. I know it was dumb,” He sucked in a shaky breath, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

The words lingered in the room, heavy and suffocating. Jay just stared, her mouth parting like she might speak, but nothing came. The silence pressed in from every corner, so loud Louis could hear the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

And then it broke.

A choked sob tore out of her, sharp and guttural. She stumbled forward, dropping to her knees in front of the couch, arms wrapping around Louis so tightly the blanket bunched awkwardly between them. She clutched him like she was afraid he might slip away again if she let go.

“Oh, my baby,” she cried into his shoulder, her voice shaking with grief and terror. “My sweet boy, no…” Her tears soaked into his hair as she rocked him, desperate and clinging.

Louis collapsed into her embrace, his face crumpling, shame and relief colliding until he was sobbing too. His free hand fisted in the back of her jumper, clinging like a child. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he whispered, over and over, his voice wrecked. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry sat beside them, throat tight, fingers still laced with Louis’, grounding him silently while mother and son clung to each other in the wreckage of truth.

He tried to blink the burn out of his eyes, but it was no use. His vision blurred anyway, tears gathering until one slipped hot down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, hoping neither of them noticed.

Jay pulled back just enough to look at Louis properly, her hands still cupping his face. Her gaze flicked sideways, landing on Harry. She frowned softly, her voice still ragged. “So, how do you fit into this? You said you know each other from class?”

The question hung in the air, not accusatory, but confused, aching.

Harry swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at her. “I… um.” His voice cracked, and he cleared it, trying again. “I’m the one who found him, actually.” He shifted uncomfortably, guilt pulling at his expression. “I came to uh, drop off some work and saw him, and I… I cut him down.”

Jay froze, her breath catching. She turned fully toward him, her face crumpling. “You…” Her voice broke on the words. “You saved my boy’s life.”

Before Harry could stammer out a reply, Jay surged forward, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into the messy, tear-soaked embrace. She sobbed against his shoulder, voice muffled but fierce. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, Harry.”

Harry’s arms hovered awkwardly before finally closing around her, his own tears spilling freely now. He blinked over her shoulder at Louis, who was watching him with wide, glassy eyes, the faintest flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

Louis couldn’t hold Harry’s gaze. The weight of it, the gratitude in his mum’s voice, the raw relief, was too much. His eyes darted away, fixing on some nothing point across the room. His stomach twisted, guilt pressing down until he thought he might choke on it.

Jay pulled back from Harry, tears still streaking her face, and turned straight back to her son. She reached out, cupping his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her even as he tried to duck away.

“No, baby. Look at me,” she said firmly, her voice breaking but her resolve steady. When his glassy eyes finally met hers, she nodded once, decisive. “I’m calling the doctor first thing tomorrow. We’re getting you some help. Proper help.”

Louis’ lip trembled, his throat tightening around a protest he couldn’t quite voice. The shame burned hotter, but under it there was something else, something like fragile relief, thin as glass.

Jay swiped at her face, dragging her sleeves across her damp cheeks before straightening up. She blew out a shaky breath, pulling herself together the way only a mum could. “Right,” she said, voice still wobbly but firmer now. “Have you eaten?” Her gaze flicked between them, then landed on Harry. “Harry, I assume you’re staying?”

Harry hesitated, eyes darting to Louis and Louis shifted uncomfortably under the blanket. “You don’t need to stay,” he muttered, the words rough, almost defensive.

Harry’s brows knit, and he shook his head gently. “I want to.” His voice was quiet but certain, carrying more weight than it should’ve.

Louis looked away, biting the inside of his cheek, but didn’t argue as Harry pushed himself up, sliding his phone out of his pocket. “I just need to call my mum. Let her know.” He offered Jay a polite nod before heading toward the door.

Jay watched him go, then turned back to Louis, brushing her thumb across his cheek like she used to when he was little. Her voice cracked, softer now. “He’s a good one, that boy.”

Louis swallowed hard, guilt twisting with something else he couldn’t name. He tightened the blanket around himself, staring at the floor.

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, pulling the door shut behind him. He took a second on the porch, running a hand through his curls, steadying himself before pressing his phone to his ear.

It rang twice before his mum picked up. “Harry? Everything alright, love? You’re late.”

Harry’s chest tightened. “Mum…” His voice cracked, and he had to stop, sucking in a breath. “Something happened.”

Anne’s tone shifted instantly, sharp with concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry leaned against the porch rail, staring out at the street, his fingers trembling. “A kid from my class. I… I found him yesterday. He… he tried to hang himself.” The words tumbled out in a rush, his throat tightening as the memory flashed behind his eyes. “I managed to cut him down and he’s alive, but,” His voice broke. “It was close, Mum. It was so scary.”

On the other end, silence for a beat, then a stunned gasp. “Oh my God.” Anne’s voice wavered, horrified. “That poor boy…” She exhaled shakily, the sound full of heartbreak. “And my poor boy. What do you need, Harry?”

Harry wiped at his eyes, biting his lip hard. “I don’t know. His mum’s home now and she’s with him. But he’s not okay, Mum. He… he needs someone. Is it alright if I stay?”

Anne’s voice came back firmer, still shaken but with that steady warmth only she could give. “Of course, darling. We’ll be there for them. However they need. However you need, darling.”

Harry nodded to himself, throat aching. “Thanks, Mum.”

Anne was quiet for a moment, like she was weighing the distance, the shock, the sheer weight of it all. Then her voice came back steady, no room for argument. “I’ll be over in an hour.”

Harry blinked, pushing off the porch rail. “Mum, you don’t have to…”

“I do,” she cut in firmly. “Harry, that boy just went through hell, and you were there to see it. You shouldn’t carry that alone, and neither should he. If his mum’s got him in her arms, then I’m coming to stand beside her.”

Harry’s throat closed, tears pricking again. He nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Alright. An hour.”

“Good lad,” Anne said softly. “Stay with him until then.”

“I will.” Harry hung up, tucking the phone back into his pocket. He drew in a shaky breath, then turned to go back inside, his chest still aching but a small thread of relief tugging at him, help was coming.

He slipped back inside, the warmth of the house closing in around him. Jay was still perched on the arm of the couch, one hand resting on Louis’ shoulder through the blanket. Louis sat slumped against the cushions, eyes down.

Harry cleared his throat softly. “My mum’s gonna come by in a bit. She said she’ll drop some things off for me and, uh… just check in.”

Jay’s face softened instantly, her shoulders loosening a fraction. “That’s really lovely of her,” she said, her voice gentler now, touched with relief.

Louis let out a long sigh, dragging the blanket higher like he wanted to disappear into it. “Great,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. The sound was heavy, more weary than sarcastic this time, but the sting was still there.

Harry glanced at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t push, just sat back down beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed through the blanket.

He glanced sideways at him, trying to gauge the tight set of his jaw. “Do you want to go chill in your room for a bit?” he asked carefully. “We could… talk. Or not talk. Whatever you want.”

Louis scoffed, but after a beat he shoved the blanket off and stood. His knees wobbled, his body still unsteady from everything, and Harry instinctively reached out to steady him. His hand brushed Louis’, but Louis jerked away, “Don’t,” he muttered, before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading down the hall.

Harry followed quietly, shutting the bedroom door behind them once they were inside. He barely had time to turn before Louis spun on his heel, eyes flashing.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Louis demanded, voice hoarse but sharp enough to cut.

Harry blinked, stunned. “I… what?”

Louis stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward him, his anger bubbling over. “Making me food, touching me when you think I’m asleep, holding my fucking hand?” His voice cracked, equal parts fury and fear.

The words hung in the air, charged, the space between them suddenly feeling too small, too close.

Harry blinked, caught completely off guard. “You…” his voice faltered, colour rushing to his cheeks. “I didn’t realise you… I thought you were asleep.”

Louis folded his arms, chin tilted high even though his throat was still raw.

Harry dragged a hand through his curls, struggling to find the right words. “I just,” he swallowed hard, staring at the carpet before forcing himself to look up. “I just wanna be near you.”

Louis let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Right.” He huffed, the sound sharp in the quiet. “Look, I get it. What you went through yesterday was a lot. It was traumatic, for both of us.” His eyes flickered, softer for just a second before the steel came back. “But you don’t need to wait on me like we’re fucking trauma bonded.”

Harry flinched slightly at the words, but he didn’t move, his face open and bare in the tense silence. His jaw tightened, the sting of Louis’ words sparking something hot in his chest. “It’s not even about trauma,” he snapped back, his voice low but steady.

Louis arched a brow, arms crossing tighter.

Harry took a step forward, hands twitching at his sides. “I know you’re embarrassed. I can see it every time you look at me, that you don’t want my fucking pity. And that’s fine.” His voice cracked, but he pushed through, eyes locked on Louis’. “But I’m not leaving.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged, their breaths loud in the small room.

Louis’ mouth opened like he wanted to fire something back, but nothing came out. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes darting away for the first time since Harry started speaking.

Finally, he whispered, “You’re a fucking idiot,” but it didn’t land with bite. His arms loosened from where they were crossed, fingers tugging at the hem of his sleeve like he needed something to hold onto. “You don’t even know what you’re signing up for.”

Harry’s chest rose and fell, heavy, but he didn’t move back. “Then tell me,” he pressed, stepping close enough that Louis could feel the heat off him. “Tell me what I’m signing up for. Tell me how awful it’s gonna be, how much I’ll regret it. You can say it, but don’t fucking tell me to walk away when you know I won’t.”

Louis’ breath hitched. He looked down, shaking his head like the weight of Harry’s words was too much. “Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You make it sound so simple.”

Harry’s voice softened, the edge falling away as he tried to catch Louis’ gaze. “It is simple, Lou. I just wanna be near you. I just want to understand.”

Louis’ laugh was hollow, cracking in the middle. He pressed his palms over his face for a moment, dragging them down until they fell heavy in his lap. His knee bounced restlessly, like he couldn’t stay still, couldn’t keep it in.

“You don’t get it,” he said finally, voice low and raw. “I walk around every fucking day feeling like I’m wrong. Like I shouldn’t even be here, like I’m just… some mistake that never got fixed. And I can’t make it stop. I’ve tried, God, I’ve tried, but it doesn’t go away.”

His eyes flicked up briefly, glassy and sharp, before darting off again, staring at some nothing spot on the wall. “It’s like… everyone else got the manual on how to live, and I’m just stuck fumbling in the dark. And the whole time, I’m waiting for someone to finally realise I’m not supposed to be here, and just,” He swallowed, jaw working. “And just take me out of the equation.”

Harry’s throat tightened, his own breath catching at the weight of Louis’ words. But he stayed rooted, steady, forcing his voice to stay calm even as his chest ached. “Lou…”

Louis gave a bitter shake of his head, cutting him off. “You think it’s simple because you’re not in my head. You don’t have to hear it all day, every day, this voice telling you you’re nothing, that you don’t matter, that everyone would be better off if you weren’t fucking here. You don’t…” His voice cracked, and he broke off, biting hard on the inside of his cheek like he could stop the tremor.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the air thick with the confession Louis had never meant to say out loud. His hands twisted together, knuckles white, waiting, bracing, for Harry to recoil, for the pity, for anything that would confirm how broken he already felt.

Harry’s chest burned, but his steps were certain. He closed the space between them, lowering himself until he was level with Louis, close enough that their knees brushed. His hand hovered for a second before he let it drop onto Louis’ fidgeting ones, firm but gentle.

“You don’t scare me,” Harry said, steady and sure, even though his own heart was thundering. “Not the way you talk, not what’s in your head. None of it.”

Louis blinked at him, wide-eyed and almost panicked, like he hadn’t expected that answer. His throat bobbed, lips parting but no words coming out.

Harry squeezed his hands, forcing Louis to look at him. “You think I don’t see it? You think I haven’t noticed the way you pull back, like you’re waiting for me to catch on and run? I’m not running. I don’t care how dark it gets and you can shove me away all you want, but I’ll still be here.”

Louis shook his head hard, breaking their gaze, shoulders curling in like he wanted to fold himself into nothing. “You don’t get it,” he rasped, but his voice shook, weak against Harry’s steady tone.

Harry leaned in closer, so close Louis had no choice but to feel the conviction radiating off him. “Then let me in, because I swear to you, I can handle it. I’d rather carry it with you than watch you drown in it alone.”

Louis’ breathing was shallow, ragged, his eyes darting everywhere but Harry’s face. Still, he hadn’t pulled his hands free.

Harry’s voice softened, breaking just enough to show the raw edges underneath as he repeated, “You don’t scare me.”

Louis let out a sound, like something broken that clawed its way out of his chest before he could stop it. His face crumpled, the walls he’d been gripping so tightly shattering all at once.

“Fuck,” he choked, dragging a hand up to his mouth, like he could shove it all back down if he just pressed hard enough. But the tears came anyway, hot and relentless, streaking down his cheeks. His shoulders curled forward, trembling under the weight of everything he’d kept buried.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He shifted up onto the bed beside him, sliding an arm around his back, pulling him in firmly but carefully, like he was holding something fragile. Louis fought it at first, a sharp shake of his head, a muffled “don’t,” but his body betrayed him, leaning, collapsing sideways until his forehead pressed into Harry’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” Louis gasped, the words jagged between sobs. “I can’t do this. I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

Harry’s grip only tightened, his other hand rubbing slow circles between Louis’ shoulder blades. “Then don’t,” he whispered against his hair. “Don’t force it to stop. Just let me be here with you while it’s shit. That’s all I want. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Louis shuddered violently, his fingers clutching at Harry’s shirt like a lifeline.

A soft knock broke the fragile silence, and both boys jolted, Louis dragging a shaky hand across his face like he could erase the evidence. “Love?” Jay’s voice was gentle, careful. “Harry… your mum’s here.”

Harry blinked, his body going rigid for a moment. He looked down at Louis, still clinging to him, their breaths uneven. He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of Louis’ hair, silent reassurance, before untangling himself just enough to stand. He tugged Louis up with him, keeping his hand wrapped tight around Louis’ wrist like an anchor.

When they stepped out into the hallway, Anne was already there, arms outstretched before Harry could even say a word. She gathered him in fiercely, pressing his curls under her chin.

“Oh, my baby,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she rocked him slightly, like he was still small. “Are you alright? God, I’ve been so worried.”

Harry clutched back, burying his face in her shoulder. “I’m okay, Mum,” he mumbled, though his voice trembled.

Anne pulled back just enough to frame his face in her hands, eyes scanning him as though she could piece together the truth from the lines of his expression. “You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. We’ll sort out some proper help, yeah? Some counselling, someone you can talk to about all of this.”

Harry nodded, throat too tight to argue.

Then Anne’s gaze shifted, softening instantly when it landed on Louis. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and pulled him into her arms. Louis stiffened, wide-eyed, but she held firm, her voice warm and steady against his ear.

“I’m so sorry you felt the need to do this,” she said softly. “I know you don’t know me, but I can see how much Harry cares about you. That’s enough for me. I’m here for whatever you need.”

Louis’ breath hitched, his eyes squeezing shut against her shoulder. He let himself sink into the hug, trembling but holding on.

Anne turned her head slightly, addressing Jay over Louis’ shoulder. “Anything. Everything. Please, just call me. Don’t hesitate.”

Jay, standing a little way back, nodded quickly, her eyes glistening as she looked at the two boys held between them. “Thank you” she whispered, her voice tight.

The four of them stood there for a beat longer, the weight of the moment pressing heavy but not unbearable, not anymore, not with all of them standing there together.

Anne pulled back at last, reaching out and brushing Harry’s curls from his damp face, and grabbed for the bag at her feet. “I brought you a few things, love. Clothes, your charger, all that. Thought you might want them.” She handed it over, her hand squeezing his briefly before letting go.

Jay, still blinking back tears, cleared her throat softly. “Anne, would you like to sit down for a cup of tea? Maybe have a bit of a chat?”

Anne gave her a grateful smile. “I’d love that, thank you.” The two women moved toward the dining table, voices lowering as they busied themselves with mugs and the kettle.

Louis lingered, his shoulders creeping up toward his ears. He felt suddenly out of place, exposed under the warmth of Anne’s kindness, under Jay’s quiet watch. He muttered something indistinct and turned on his heel, heading down the hall. The weight of shame pressed heavy on his chest, each step slower than the last until he pushed open his bedroom door.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers dragging over his face. The air in the room felt heavier than it had minutes ago, and that buzzing self-loathing was already creeping back in.

The door clicked softly a moment later. Harry slipped in, shutting it behind him before crossing the room in a few quick strides. “Don’t,” Harry said quietly, almost pleading. He crouched down in front of Louis again, hands hovering near his knees. “Don’t shut me out, okay?”

Louis lifted his head, eyes rimmed red, the shame written all over his face. “I’m not,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m just… tired. That’s all.”

Harry searched his face, unconvinced, but he didn’t push. He just reached up, sliding his hand carefully over Louis’ clenched fists until his thumb brushed the back of his hand. “Can I sit with you?” he said softly.

Louis’ throat bobbed, his lips pressing together to keep them from trembling. He gave the faintest nod, but it was enough, Harry climbed up onto the bed beside him, shoulder to shoulder, sitting in the quiet until the heaviness in Louis’ chest eased just a fraction.

He shifted beneath the duvet, tugging it higher over his chest as he settled into the pillows. His eyes were heavy, but he wasn’t ready to close them, not with his head still buzzing.

“Want me to put a movie on?” Harry asked quietly, like he was offering something sacred instead of just background noise.

Louis nodded after a beat, voice soft. “Yeah. Okay.”

Harry reached for the remote, flicking through until something light and forgettable filled the screen. He set it aside and slipped under the covers too, careful not to crowd Louis but close enough that their shoulders brushed.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The glow of the television flickered across their faces, the hum of dialogue filling the silence. But underneath it, carried faintly down the hall, came the murmur of their mums’ voices. A kettle whistled, chairs scraped, and then, Jay’s voice cracked, thick with tears.

Louis stiffened instantly, every muscle coiling tight under the blanket. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, but the tension radiated off him in waves, his jaw clenched, shoulders hunched.

Harry’s chest ached at the sight. Slowly, without a word, he shifted his hand under the blanket until his fingers brushed against Louis’. He hesitated for just a second before lacing them together, squeezing gently.

Louis didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed stubbornly fixed on the television, lashes blinking fast, but his fingers curled hard into Harry’s grip, clutching back like he might drown without it.

Harry glanced sideways, just for a moment, taking in the set of Louis’ jaw, the way his throat bobbed with unspoken words. He didn’t push. He just held on tighter, their hands hidden beneath the blanket, a quiet tether against the sound of muffled crying down the hall.

The movie played on, long past the point either of them was really following. Louis’ eyelids drooped heavier and heavier until they finally slipped shut. Harry lasted only a few minutes longer before his own head lolled against the pillow, the steady warmth beside him too much to fight.

Their fingers never loosened. Even in sleep, they’d curled toward each other, shoulders brushing, knees almost touching, hands bound tightly beneath the blanket like neither one could risk letting go.

Time passed quietly until the soft knock came at the door. When there was no answer, it creaked open, Jay stepping in with Anne just behind her.

The sight stopped them both in the doorway. The boys, tangled in their own shy, unconscious way, faces soft in sleep, hands still clasped like lifelines.

Jay’s chest clenched, the sharp ache of worry finally giving way to something gentler. She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wet. Her voice was hushed, reverent. “I don’t know where your boy came from…” She shook her head slowly, gaze locked on Harry, then back to her own son curled safely against him. “But I’ll be forever thankful.”

Anne’s eyes glistened as she slipped an arm around Jay’s shoulders, giving a tender squeeze. She didn’t trust herself to speak, just leaned into the hug, letting the weight of relief and gratitude settle between them.

Together, they stood in the quiet room, watching the boys breathe in tandem, holding on to each other like they’d been doing it their whole lives.

•••

The room was still dim, curtains pulled just enough to let in a thin slice of morning light. Louis blinked awake slowly, his body warm and heavy, cocooned in the weight of sleep. It took him a moment to register the steady rise and fall of breath at his back, the solid chest pressed close, an arm draped over him.

For a fleeting second, Louis let himself melt into it, the warmth of Harry’s body curled against his own, the soft security of a hand resting on his hip. It was grounding, safe in a way Louis hadn’t felt in so long. His chest eased, the storm in his head quiet for once.

Then it hit him.

His whole body went rigid, eyes snapping wide. He shifted slightly, enough to confirm it, Harry was plastered right up against him, their legs tangled, like they’d been clinging all night.

Louis’ heart lurched, panic shoving the brief comfort away. “What the fuck, Harry?” he blurted, voice sharper than he intended as he twisted just enough to look over his shoulder.

Harry stirred at the movement, curls a mess, eyes heavy with sleep. He blinked blearily, confusion written across his face before he registered Louis’ tone. “What?” His voice was scratchy, soft from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Louis shoved lightly at his arm, heat rushing to his cheeks. “You’re all over me! What the fuck is this?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, still groggy. He propped himself up slightly, looking down at Louis with a mix of worry and dawning realisation. “We… fell asleep, Lou. That’s all. I didn’t…” He cut himself off, his cheeks pink now too, “I just didn’t wanna let go.”

Louis scoffed, rolling onto his back and yanking the blanket up like it might put some space between them. “Didn’t wanna let go?” he echoed, voice sharp even as his throat tightened. “Jesus, Harry, do you even hear yourself?”

Harry winced, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know how it sounds.” He shifted back slightly, giving Louis some room, but didn’t retreat entirely. His voice was lower now, careful. “I just meant… you looked like you needed someone there. And I didn’t want you to wake up feeling like you were alone.”

Louis opened his mouth for another snap, something defensive and biting, but the words snagged in his throat. He turned his head toward the ceiling instead, jaw tight, blinking rapidly. “You can’t just,” He stopped, dragging a hand over his face. “You can’t just do shit like that. It’s not fair.”

Harry leaned on his elbow, watching him, his expression raw but steady. “I don’t care if it’s fair. I care if you’re breathing when I wake up. That’s it.”

Louis’ chest heaved, the sharp retort on his tongue turning to ash. He hated how his lip trembled, how the sting in his eyes betrayed him. He hated that Harry’s words landed exactly where he didn’t want them to.

“Fuck,” Louis muttered, dragging the heel of his hand across his eyes, more furious at himself than at Harry. “You make it impossible to hate you, you know that?”

Harry let out the tiniest laugh, shaky but genuine. “Good. I’d rather you didn’t.”

Louis shot him a sideways glare, but it was watery, weak, lacking its usual fire. He exhaled hard, finally letting his head loll back toward Harry, though he didn’t speak again. And Harry didn’t push, he just stayed there, close but not crowding, waiting for Louis to decide if the wall was going back up or if he’d let it crack a little wider.

The knock came first, then the creak of the door. Jay leaned against the frame, her voice soft but brisk in that mum-way that meant she wasn’t here to negotiate.

“Morning, lads,” she said, eyes flicking briefly over their rumpled state before politely ignoring it. “How’d you sleep?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, sitting up a little straighter. “Uh… good, thanks.”

Jay’s eyebrows arched at Louis, “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Doctor’s expecting you.”

Louis dropped the blanket dramatically, glaring like a sulky teenager, “Can’t we just,” his voice was muffled but clear enough, “pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Not a chance,” she shot back, firm but not unkind. “Up. Dressed.” With that, she disappeared back into the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading toward the kitchen.

The room was quiet again, Louis staring at the ceiling in defeat. Harry sat there awkwardly, chewing his lip, before his voice broke the silence, quiet and hesitant. “Can I… come?”

Louis’ head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed but he held Louis’ gaze. “I just, maybe it’d help, having someone there. Someone you don’t have to… pretend with.”

Louis barked a humorless laugh, sitting up to rummage for the clothes Anne had brought. “Why the hell would you wanna do that? Sit around while I spill my guts to some stranger?”

Harry shrugged, small but earnest and Louis paused for a fraction of a second, shirt clutched in his hands, before scoffing again to cover the crack in his chest. “You’re weird.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah. You’ve told me.”

Louis yanked the crumpled shirt over his head, his voice muffled through the fabric. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, tugging it down and grabbing another from a pile near the dresser. He tossed the old one aside and shoved his arms through the clean sleeves. “Let’s make a fucking day of it, shall we?”

Harry blinked at him, startled, then tried to bite back the grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t think sarcasm counted as consent, but I’ll take it.”

Louis shot him a look, though there was no real venom in it. “Don’t push your luck or I’ll change my mind.”

Harry held up his hands in surrender, though the corners of his lips stayed tilted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Louis tugged the hem of his shirt straight, running a hand through his hair. His heart was hammering, but he wouldn’t let Harry see it. Not when the truth was that he wanted him there, needed him there, but couldn’t say it without his throat closing up.

Instead, he grabbed his jeans off the chair and muttered, “Come on then. You’re the one who asked for it.”

Harry stood too, slipping on his hoodie. His voice was quieter now, more serious. “Yeah. I did.”

Louis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, something in his chest twisting, but he only huffed and bent to tie his shoes.

The doctor’s office was too clean, too bright, the smell of antiseptic clinging to the back of Louis’ throat. He sat hunched in the chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while Jay quietly filled in his name and details at the reception desk.

When they were finally called in, Louis shuffled into the little consultation room like he was walking into a trap. The doctor, a kind-faced woman with wire-rimmed glasses, gestured for him to sit. Harry slipped into the chair beside him without asking, close enough that their knees brushed.

“So, Louis,” the doctor began gently, tapping a pen against her notes. “Can you tell me what brought you in today?”

Louis’ mouth went dry. His tongue felt heavy, stuck. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, staring at the floor tiles like they might give him the words. “Uh… I…” He swallowed hard, throat burning. “It’s just, I’ve not been… I don’t know. Right. For a while.”

The doctor nodded encouragingly, waiting.

Louis’ chest tightened, his voice breaking as he tried again. “I get these thoughts. Like I’m not supposed to be here. Like I’d be better off if I just… wasn’t.” His voice trailed off, the air thick with his admission.

He wanted to curl in on himself, wanted the ground to swallow him, when suddenly Harry’s hand slid across the back of his shoulders. Not pressing, not possessive, just there. A grounding weight. His fingers threaded absently into the hair at Louis’ nape, stroking lightly.

Louis froze. His brain stuttered. Why is he doing this?

The touch was warm, steady, achingly gentle. His stomach flipped violently, heart pounding too loud in his chest. Heat crept up his neck, fluttery and unwelcome, and for a split second, he almost leaned into it.

But no. Not here. Not now. He shoved it down, clamping his jaw and dragging his attention back to the doctor, forcing the blush from his cheeks.

Harry didn’t say anything, just kept that quiet, steady touch at the back of his neck while Louis stumbled through the rest. And for all the shame and awkwardness burning through him, Louis had to admit, it helped. He didn’t feel like he was choking alone.

Louis’ words tumbled out clumsily, stuttering around the edges as he gestured vaguely toward his throat. “It was just,” he swallowed, wincing a little, “I tried… well, you can see…” His fingers hovered at the bruised skin around his neck, shame burning hot across his face.

The doctor’s expression softened, her voice careful but steady. “I understand, Louis. You don’t need to explain any more than you’re comfortable with.” She shifted slightly in her chair, her tone professional but kind. “Would it be alright if I have a look?”

Louis hesitated, darting a glance at Harry. Harry’s thumb pressed just once at the back of his neck, encouragement, silent reassurance. Louis exhaled shakily and gave a stiff nod.

“Thank you,” the doctor said gently. She pulled on a pair of gloves and leaned forward, tilting her head. “If you could lift your chin for me?”

Louis did, reluctantly, the movement exposing the angry marks along the line of his throat. The doctor’s fingers were cool as they pressed lightly along the bruises, testing the skin and deeper tissue. Louis flinched at the contact, jaw tightening, but he stayed still.

When she finally sat back, her face was thoughtful but calm. “I can see some bruising and tenderness, which is expected,” she said. “But I’d like to be thorough. I want to order an x-ray, just to check for any internal damage, especially around your windpipe. It’s better to be safe.”

Louis blinked at her, throat bobbing. “An x-ray? Right. Okay.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he tried to cover it with a cough. Harry’s hand stayed steady at the back of his neck, grounding him even as Louis’ chest tightened with unease.

The doctor shifted her attention toward Jay, outlining next steps with quiet efficiency, arranging the referral for an x-ray, the timing, what to expect. Jay listened intently, nodding, her lips pressed into a thin line of worry.

Louis, though, barely heard a word. His chest felt tight, his throat raw not just from the bruises but from the weight of everything pressing in. Slowly, almost against his own will, he turned his head toward Harry.

Harry was already watching him, eyes soft and tired, the faintest crease between his brows. For a second Louis let him see it, the flicker of fear, the silent questions.

Harry’s mouth twitched into a weak, reassuring smile. He reached up without thinking, thumb and forefinger brushing under Louis’ chin, tilting it just slightly until their eyes locked. “It’s okay,” he murmured, steady as anything, before letting his hand drop back into his lap.

Louis blinked at him, throat working. That flutter was back in his chest, messy and inconvenient, but he shoved it down hard, turning quickly back toward the doctor and Jay as if nothing had happened.

Harry stayed quiet, hands folded now, but the ghost of his touch lingered at Louis’ chin like a brand.

The ride home was subdued, the hum of the car the only sound between them. Jay kept glancing at Louis in the rear-view mirror, but he didn’t say much, just nodded when she told him she’d take him for the x-ray tomorrow. His gaze stayed fixed out the window, the world blurring by in muted colours.

When they pulled into the driveway, Jay turned off the engine and twisted in her seat. “You two should go back to bed for a bit,” she said gently. “I’ll make some lunch for later.”

Louis started to protest, but the words stuck. He just nodded again, pushing the door open and trudging inside. Harry followed close behind, their footsteps soft on the hall carpet.

Back in Louis’ room, the quiet wrapped around them again. Louis kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers without a word, exhaustion written in every line of his body. Harry lingered a moment, then slipped in beside him, lying on top of the duvet this time, propped up on his elbow.

He watched Louis for a beat, his chest aching at how small he looked curled on his side. Then, carefully, he asked, “Do you… do you think you’ll go back to school soon?”

Louis shifted, eyes flicking up to Harry’s before darting away again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly not sure how to answer.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp. “I’m not ready,” he muttered, fingers tugging at the duvet. “I don’t want anyone to see this fucking mark around my neck.” His hand drifted up unconsciously, brushing the tender skin before he shoved it back under the blanket like it burned.

Harry frowned, his voice soft. “What about your friends?”

That earned him a scoff, Louis rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, I’ve got friends. But they’re just… typical sixteen-year-old boys. Loud, stupid, always taking the piss. They probably wouldn’t give a shit.”

Harry tilted his head, not convinced. “I don’t know about that,” he said carefully. “I’m sure your mates care about you, Lou. Even if they don’t know how to say it.”

Louis’ jaw flexed, the faintest twitch of something vulnerable in his eyes before he masked it with another huff.

Harry leaned closer, trying again, his voice steady but gentle. “Message them. Just… see how they respond. You might be surprised.”

Louis turned his head to look at him, skeptical and sharp, but there was hesitation there too, a crack in the armor. “You really think it’s that easy?” he asked, voice low.

Harry gave a small shrug, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes, yeah. People can’t show up for you if they don’t know you need them.”

Louis sighed like it physically pained him, but after a long pause he reached toward the nightstand. His phone was still there, face down, a thin layer of dust across the screen. He hadn’t touched it in days, not since… well. He shoved that thought down and pressed the button.

The screen lit up, blinding after the dim room. His thumb hovered, hesitating, before he swiped it open. Notifications flooded instantly, missed calls, unread messages, pings stacked one after another. His stomach twisted.

With a deep breath, he tapped the group chat.

Fifty unread messages.

He scrolled through them, eyes widening at the barrage of texts.

Niall: oi tommo where the fuck are you?
Liam: you’ve gone ghost, mate. everything good?
Zayn: answer your phone, dickhead.
Niall: seriously if you don’t text back we’re coming round.
Liam: jay okay with us turning up?
Niall: don’t care, we’ll show up anyway.
Zayn: don’t think we won’t.
Liam: you’ve got us worried, Louis.

Louis’ chest tightened, a strange mix of dread and something softer pressing against his ribs. He hadn’t expected this. He thought maybe one or two messages, then silence. But fifty? His mates all but threatening to storm the house?

Harry, watching quietly from beside him, leaned in to glimpse the screen. “Told you,” he murmured. “They care, Lou.”

Louis swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. He set the phone down on his chest, staring up at the ceiling.

“You gonna reply?” Harry asked gently.

Louis dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t even know what the fuck to say.”

Harry tilted his head, watching Louis chew at his lip, phone still balanced on his chest. “Want me to reply for you?” he asked quietly.

Before Harry had even finished the sentence, Louis shoved the phone into his hands, like it was scorching him. “Be my guest,” he muttered, eyes darting away.

Harry blinked at the suddenness of it, then looked down at the screen, the group chat still buzzing with unread messages. He hesitated for only a second before typing, fingers quick and sure.

Harry: Hey, it’s Harry from English class. Louis is okay, but he’s having a rough time. He could really use some support right now, if you guys are up for it.

He stared at it for a moment, debating if it was too much, too forward. But then he thought about Louis’ face, the bruises, the silence he’d been drowning in. No, this was right.

He hit send and almost instantly, three dots appeared. Then another set. And another.

Niall: the fuck? is this harry styles??
Zayn: english harry?? the curly one??
Liam: wait why’s he got lou’s phone?
Niall: is louis actually okay or do i need to cycle over rn?
Liam: don’t joke about this, harry!

Harry’s thumbs hovered, but before he could type back, Louis snatched the phone, glaring at the screen even as his ears went pink. “Bloody hell, you’ve caused a riot already.”

Harry gave him a sheepish smile. “Better a riot than silence, yeah?”

Louis bit the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to yell or laugh, then he huffed, rolling his eyes, but his fingers were already moving over the screen.

He typed quickly, shoulders tense but determined:

Louis: hey it’s me. Sorry I’ve been quiet. Things got… kinda messed up. I’m alright, just not been in a great place. Didn’t mean to worry you lot.

The chat exploded almost immediately.

Niall: NOT BEEN IN A GREAT PLACE?? LOUIS U DISAPPEAR FOR DAYS AND THAT’S ALL YOU SAY??
Liam: we’ve been worried sick, mate
Zayn: you’re a knobhead.
Niall: we’re coming over rn. don’t try to stop us
Liam: agreed. 20 minutes tops.

Louis groaned and dropped the phone onto the bed like it might bite him. “Brilliant. Exactly what I needed, those idiots storming the house.”

Harry bit back a smile, leaning against the headboard. “Storming the house because they actually give a shit about you.”

Louis shot him a glare, but it lacked real venom. His chest was too tight, too conflicted, to put up much of a fight. “They’re gonna make a whole bloody scene.”

Harry nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Louis’ lips parted like he was about to argue, but nothing came out. He just huffed and flopped back onto the pillows, muttering under his breath.

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, followed by a loud thump on the door that could only be Niall, “I’ll get it,” Harry said quickly, sliding off the bed before Louis could protest.

Louis groaned, dragging the duvet over his face. “This is gonna be a fucking disaster.”

When Harry opened the door, three figures spilled in at once, Niall, Liam, and Zayn, all talking over each other.

They skidded to a stop when their eyes landed properly on Harry, standing awkwardly in the hallway as he offered a half-smile and stepped aside. “Uh… hi.”

Three sets of eyes narrowed, confusion plain.

Niall’s brows shot up. “What the fuck are you doing here English class Harry?”

Jay appeared then, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Relief spread across her face at the sight of them. “Oh, boys, you’re here. He’s been needing his friends. Go on through.” She patted Niall’s shoulder, gave Liam a soft smile, and even Zayn a nod, before disappearing back toward the kitchen.

The lads exchanged looks, then looked back at Harry, clearly waiting for an explanation. Harry cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “I… uh. I’ve just been helping out. He’s in his room.”

They didn’t look convinced, but none of them argued. Instead, with a silent, collective shrug, they followed Harry down the hall like he was some reluctant tour guide.

At Louis’ door, Harry paused, glancing back at them. “Don’t… don’t push him too hard, yeah?”

Three sets of eyebrows shot up again, but before they could question it, Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside first.

Louis sat up in bed, duvet pulled tight around him, scowling even though his ears burned red. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Didn’t know I invited the cavalry.”

The lads shuffled into the room, not nearly as rowdy as Louis expected. There was an edge to their energy, like they weren’t sure whether to joke or just… look at him.

“Alright, Tommo,” Liam said gently, sinking into the desk chair. Zayn leaned against the wall, arms folded, and Niall hovered just inside the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets.

Louis sat up straighter, tugging the duvet down like he was proving a point. The hoodie he’d thrown on earlier slipped slightly at the collar, the fabric shifting just enough to expose the dark, angry bruise ringing his neck.

Niall froze. His jaw dropped, all the colour draining from his face. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word cracking.

Liam’s head snapped toward him, confused, before his eyes followed the line of Niall’s gaze. His breath caught audibly, shoulders stiffening. Even Zayn, stoic and unreadable Zayn, straightened against the wall, his arms falling slack at his sides.

Louis immediately dragged the hoodie higher, jaw tight, but the damage was done. Niall took a shaky step forward. “Lou…” His voice was thick, strangled. “What the fuck happened?”

Louis clenched his fists in the duvet, looking anywhere but at them. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Don’t make it a thing.”

Harry, perched on the edge of the bed beside him, stayed quiet but his hand twitched, like he was one second away from reaching out again.

The air in the room was heavy now, the lads standing there in stunned silence, none of them knowing what to say, none of them ready for how bad it really was.

Harry’s gaze was steady, unwavering, his eyes silently urging Louis on. Tell them.

Louis blew out a long, shaky breath, dragging his hands down his face. “Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, voice rough. He looked at the lads, their faces a mix of confusion and dawning horror.

“Look,” Louis started, words tumbling out fast before he could lose his nerve. “I’m not well. I hit a limit, and I tried to top myself, alright?” His voice cracked, but he forced himself through it, staring at a spot on the wall instead of their eyes. “I’ve been seen to, I’ve been chewed out, and nurse Harry here’s been on my case for days, so…” He shrugged stiffly, biting down on the tremor in his jaw. “That’s where we’re at.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Niall’s mouth opened, then closed again, his eyes wet and wide. Liam sat forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees like he was steadying himself. Zayn’s hands twitched at his sides, jaw tight, but his expression cracked with something softer than his usual calm.

Harry stayed still beside Louis, close but not crowding, ready to catch him if the weight of his own words crushed him.

Niall finally croaked, “Jesus, Lou…” his voice breaking, “why didn’t you just tell us?”

Louis’ voice broke sharp against the silence, his fists clenching in the duvet. “Because I didn’t want help, alright?” He looked at them all in turn, defiant even as his eyes shimmered. “I just wanted to go.”

The words landed like a blow. Niall flinched, his face crumpling. Liam sank back in the chair, running both hands over his face like he couldn’t process it. Zayn swore under his breath, low and harsh, turning his head away for a moment before looking back, eyes dark and wet.

Harry’s heart lurched, but he stayed steady beside Louis, his shoulder brushing his in quiet support.

“Lou…” Niall’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, hands lifting helplessly. “You can’t just… you can’t say shit like that, mate.”

Louis’ throat bobbed. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “What, you want me to dress it up nice for you? Sorry to ruin the mood.”

“Don’t,” Liam said firmly, leaning forward again, his voice heavy but gentle. “Don’t hide behind jokes. We’re not stupid, Lou. You scared the shit out of us. You matter to us.”

Louis swallowed hard, jaw tightening. He tried to look away, but Harry’s hand twitched at his side, a silent stay with me.

Niall dragged a shaky hand across his face, his eyes red as he tried to pull himself together. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and looked between Louis and Harry with something caught between confusion and desperation.

“Okay,” he said, voice rough. “So that’s where you’re at…” His words trailed, hanging heavy in the air before he shook his head. “But why the fuck is Harry here?”

Three sets of eyes turned squarely on Harry now, the weight of the question pressing down. Liam’s brow was furrowed, cautious but curious. Zayn’s gaze was sharp, unreadable, like he was trying to piece the puzzle together. And Niall just looked bewildered, like he’d missed three chapters of a story he should’ve been part of.

Louis shifted uncomfortably, hoodie tugged high around his neck again. “He… he’s the one that found me. Wrong place, wrong time. Or right place, right time. Depending on who you ask.”

Harry, still steady beside him, spoke up before Louis could spiral. “I didn’t want him to go through it alone,” he said simply. His voice was quiet but firm. “So I stayed.”

The lads blinked, all three at once, like they weren’t sure if that answer made it better or worse. Niall’s head tilted. “Stayed? Like, for days?”

Harry nodded once. “Yeah.”

The room fell heavy after Harry’s answer. No one quite knew what to do with it. He shifted, his knee brushing Louis’ for a moment before he stood. “I’m, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a small smile. “I’m gonna go check if Jay needs anything. Let you guys… catch up.”

Louis shot him a quick look, something almost like panic flickering across his face, but Harry gave him the softest nod, you’ve got this, before slipping out and shutting the door gently behind him.

The silence didn’t last long.

“Right,” Niall said, immediately climbing onto the bed like he had every right to be there. He plopped himself at Louis’ feet and crossed his arms. “Spill. What the fuck’s going on with you and English class Harry?”

Louis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “There’s nothing going on.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow and perched on the edge of the mattress near Louis’ hip. “He’s been here for days, mate. People don’t just do that.”

Liam, ever the steady one, shifted closer and sat properly beside him. “Louis. He’s still here. That doesn’t just… happen.”

Louis buried his face in the pillow, muffling a curse as Niall leaned forward, grinning despite the worry in his eyes. “You like him, don’t you?”

Louis jerked upright, glaring. “I almost died and that’s your fucking question?”

“Exactly!” Niall shot back. “You almost died, and now you’ve got Harry Styles sleeping in your bed like some Florence Nightingale with curls. We’re not letting that shit slide.”

Zayn smirked faintly, though his voice stayed quiet. “So? You like him?”

Louis’ ears went pink, but instead of the usual shove and sarcasm, his voice cracked sharp, raw. “Fuck off, all of you. I’ve just told you I tried to kill myself, and you’re going on about me having feelings for the fucking kid that had to cut the rope? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you anything.”

The words hung heavy, cutting the air in two.

Niall’s grin fell instantly, his face paling. “Lou…” he said softly, regret lacing every syllable.

Liam shifted closer, his voice careful, earnest. “You’re right. We messed that up. We should’ve listened first. I’m sorry.”

Even Zayn, who usually never faltered, let his shoulders drop, his expression stripped bare. “Didn’t mean to make light of it. Just don’t know what to do with… all of this.”

Louis swallowed, jaw tight, his chest rising and falling too fast. The silence was different now, not suffocating, but aching, the lads looking at him not with teasing eyes but with something closer to grief.

Niall shifted forward without hesitation, sliding across the mattress until he could throw his arms around Louis. “C’mere, you dickhead,” he muttered, voice breaking even as he tried to make it sound casual.

Louis went stiff, glaring half-heartedly at the ceiling, but Niall only tightened his grip. A moment later Liam leaned in too, one arm coming around Louis’ shoulders, and then Zayn followed, hesitant but firm, his hand landing on Louis’ back.

They were clumsy, too many elbows and knees on the small bed, but none of them let go.

Louis huffed, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t fight them off. His arms stayed pinned under the duvet, his jaw clenched like he wanted to make a cutting remark but couldn’t quite get it out.

Niall’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “We love you, Lou. You know that, right? We’re really, really sorry.”

Louis blinked hard, throat tight. He rolled his eyes again for good measure, but the sound he made betrayed him completely.

Louis groaned under the weight of them all, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “You lot are suffocating me,” he muttered, his voice rough. But then it cracked, softer, reluctant. “And… I love you too. Fucking idiots.”

The words hung there, fragile but real.

Three sets of eyes lifted, soft and glistening, staring at him like he’d just handed them something precious. Liam’s lips pressed together in a quiet smile, Zayn gave the smallest nod, and Niall’s whole face went warm, his mouth twitching like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Louis huffed a laugh, breaking the tension. “And as annoying as he is.. maybe I…” he trailed off, his cheeks blooming pink, “am starting to like Harry. Just… a little bit.”

That was all it took.

Niall let out a triumphant yell and launched himself fully onto Louis’ chest, Liam laughed and joined in, and even Zayn cracked a grin as he shoved at Louis’ shoulder.

“Knew it!” Niall crowed, shaking him as Zayn smirked, murmuring, “Soft bastard.”

Louis wheezed under the pile of limbs, swatting at them but laughing for real this time, something lighter breaking through all the heaviness.

The door creaked open mid-chaos, and Harry poked his head in, a mug of tea in one hand. He stopped dead at the sight before him: Niall sprawled across Louis’ chest like a human blanket, Liam tangled in at his side, Zayn leaning over them both with a smug grin, and Louis half-buried, hair sticking up in every direction, laughing breathlessly despite his protests.

For a second Harry just froze, blinking. Then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and a laugh slipped out, warm and startled. “What the…” He stepped fully inside, shaking his head. “You lot look like puppies in a pile.”

Louis shoved weakly at Niall, trying to get a breath. “Tell them to get the fuck off me!”

Harry’s grin widened, but then his eyes caught on the faint bruise peeking above Louis’ collar, and the laugh softened into something more careful. “Alright, alright,” he said, setting the mug down on the desk. “Be careful of his neck, yeah?”

The boys stilled immediately, guilt flashing across their faces. Niall scrambled back, muttering, “Shit, sorry, Lou,” while Liam and Zayn shifted off more gently.

Louis rolled his eyes, tugging his hoodie up higher. “For fuck’s sake, you’re all acting like I’m made of glass.”

Harry just smiled, sinking onto the edge of the bed beside him. “Not glass. Just… slightly damaged.” His eyes lingered on Louis for a second too long before he glanced away, cheeks pink.

The lads traded looks behind them, silent but smug, already bursting with questions they’d save for later.

Louis caught the look that passed between the three of them, the glint in Niall’s eyes, Liam’s twitching smile, even Zayn’s faint smirk. He narrowed his eyes, voice sharp despite the pink in his cheeks. “Don’t. Say. A fucking word.”

That was enough to keep them in check, at least for now.

The afternoon stretched a little longer, the lads settling into softer conversation, careful questions and stupid stories that had Louis half-smiling despite himself. But eventually, the clock ticked on, and one by one they stood.

Niall pulled Louis into another hug, whispering, “Love you, mate. Properly. We’re here whenever.” Liam followed, firm and steady, telling him, “You don’t have to go through this alone. Ever.” Zayn lingered last, his hand squeezing Louis’ shoulder with quiet conviction. “We’ve got you,” was all he said, and Louis nodded, throat tight.

Before leaving, each of them clapped Harry on the back in turn, their unspoken gratitude plain in the way they said, “Look after him, yeah?” Harry just nodded, quietly certain.

Niall, of course, couldn’t resist one last parting shot. He winked at Louis over his shoulder, muttering something about “Florence Nightingale,” before darting out the door.

Louis groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurt. And then, suddenly, it was quiet again. Just Harry and Louis, the air still buzzing with everything unsaid.

Harry shifted on the bed, glancing sideways at him. “Well. That went… better than expected.”

Louis snorted, tugging at his hoodie strings. “Speak for yourself.”

The silence stretched again, softer this time, and Harry just looked at him, really looked, like he was waiting, patient as ever.

Louis tugged at the loose threads on his sleeve, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The silence had stretched long enough to make his skin itch, and finally he cleared his throat.

“Look,” he muttered, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “About the lads.” He glanced up at Harry, then away again just as quickly. “Thanks for making me tell them.”

Harry blinked, surprised by the softness in Louis’ voice. His lips tugged into a small, careful smile. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Louis said quickly, his tone sharper than he meant it, like he needed to cover the rawness underneath. He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “I’d have kept it bottled up, carried on like nothing happened, and they’d have never known. And maybe that’s what I thought I wanted, but…” His voice trailed, throat working as he swallowed. “I don’t feel so… alone in it now. That’s down to you.”

Harry’s chest tightened, and for a moment he didn’t trust his voice. He just reached out, his fingers brushing against Louis’ wrist where it rested on the duvet. “You don’t have to carry it alone. Not ever again, if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

Louis’ lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just let out a long breath and leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut.

Harry slid down against the headboard until he was stretched out beside Louis, the warmth of him settling into the space like it belonged there. For a while they just breathed in sync, the quiet humming between them not uncomfortable for once.

Harry’s hand twitched where it lay in the gap between them, his fingers flexing like they were restless. He edged it a little closer, hesitating, before the tip of his pinky brushed against Louis’.

Louis cracked an eye open, catching the move, and the tiniest smile tugged at his lips. “Just hold my fucking hand if you want to, you knob.”

Harry let out a startled laugh, cheeks pink, but he didn’t waste a second. He laced their fingers together properly, his thumb brushing over Louis’ knuckle in a quiet, steady rhythm.

Louis shut his eyes again, the small smile still lingering. He didn’t say anything more, but the way his grip tightened, solid and sure, said enough.

A moment later, Harry was still grinning like an idiot, thumb brushing along Louis’ knuckle, when Louis cracked one eye open again.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Louis muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with another twitch of a smile.

Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What, holding your hand? Didn’t realise it was such a crime.”

Louis snorted. “Not a crime, just… weird. You’re sat there acting like we’re in a fucking rom-com.”

Harry’s grin widened, dimples deep. “If this was a rom-com, you’d have fallen for me ages ago.”

Louis barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Fall for you? Please. I’d sooner fall off a cliff.”

Harry clutched his chest dramatically, still grinning. “Wow. Right in the heart, Tommo.”

Louis smirked, giving their joined hands a pointed tug. “I think you’ll live.”

“Barely,” Harry said with mock solemnity, then softened, his thumb brushing over Louis’ knuckle again without really thinking.

Louis noticed, of course he noticed, but he didn’t pull away. He just huffed, turning his face toward the ceiling so Harry wouldn’t catch the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. “You’re so weird.”

Harry leaned back against the headboard, his shoulder brushing Louis’. “Maybe. But you’re still holding my hand.”

Louis’ lips twitched despite himself. “Only ‘cause you’d cry if I let go.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, alright. Keep telling yourself that.”

The room fell quiet again, not heavy this time, just a sort of tentative calm. Their hands stayed locked, Louis’ thumb tapping absently against Harry’s once or twice, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

The knock at the door was soft but enough to make them jolt like they’d been caught red-handed. Both of them instinctively yanked their hands apart, Harry shoving his into his lap while Louis rubbed his own against the duvet like nothing had happened.

“Boys?” Jay’s voice floated through before she pushed the door open a crack. Her eyes swept the room, landing on the pair of them sitting a little too stiffly, a little too far apart.

She smiled, warm and knowing, but didn’t comment. “Dinner’s ready. Come down when you’re set.”

Louis gave a quick nod. “Yeah, alright.”

“Thanks, Jay,” Harry added, his cheeks still faintly pink.

Jay lingered half a second longer, her eyes softening at the sight of them, before she slipped back into the hall and shut the door.

As soon as she was gone, smiled, dragging a pillow over his face. “I think she knows.”

Louis groaned, low and a little nervous, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing to know.”

Harry’s laugh was soft, disbelieving, dimples flashing as he leaned back on his hands. “Right. Okay,” his tone teasing but not pushing.

Louis shot him a glare before finally tossing the blanket aside with a huff. “Shut up.”

Harry just shook his head, still grinning, and swung his legs off the bed. “Come on then.”

They shuffled into the dining room, still shoulder to shoulder, Louis dragging his feet while Harry tried (and failed) to hide the grin on his face.

Both of them froze halfway to the table. Anne was there, setting down a jug of water like she belonged at the table.

“Mum?” Harry blinked in surprise. “Didn’t know you were coming back.”

Louis’ brows knit together, not sharp, just weary. “Oh, an audience. Brilliant,” he said quietly, sinking into the nearest chair.

Anne smiled at them both, smoothing the tablecloth as she sat. “Jay invited me. Thought I’d bring some pudding, too.”

Jay followed in from the kitchen with a stack of plates, setting them down in front of the boys. “I just thought it’d be good to have both of us here for dinner,” she explained gently.

Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Okay. Just… didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

Jay gave him a quick look that was firm but fond. “It’s just family dinner. Sit, eat.”

Harry sat beside Louis, still watching his mum curiously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anne reached over, brushing her hand across Harry’s curls. “Didn’t want to make it a big thing, darling. But I wanted to see you both. That’s all.” Her eyes lingered on Louis as she said it, soft but steady.

Louis shifted in his chair, tugging at his sleeve, but didn’t argue. “Fair enough,” he muttered.

The food made its way around the table, the clatter of cutlery and low murmur of conversation slowly filling the room, a strange but not unpleasant blend of heaviness and comfort.

The four of them settled into the meal, the clink of cutlery filling the silence between small, cautious exchanges. Harry picked at his plate while Louis hunched over his, eating in silence, sleeves tugged down almost to his knuckles.

It was Jay who broke it, her voice gentle but deliberate. “You boys doing alright?”

Harry glanced up quickly, giving her a faint smile. “Yeah. Fine, thanks.”

Jay hummed, not pushing, but she flicked a glance across the table at Anne. “Louis has an x-ray tomorrow morning. Just to check for any damage.”

Anne made a thoughtful sound, her fork pausing mid-air. “That’s good. Best to be safe.” She turned her eyes to Louis, soft but steady. “Hopefully everything’s okay.”

Louis shifted, suddenly fascinated with his potatoes. “Yeah. Hopefully.”

Anne’s voice gentled even further. “And how are you feeling, love?”

Louis’ throat bobbed. He gave a little shrug, not looking at her. “Tired. Bit sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Harry glanced sideways at him, like he wanted to call him out but thought better of it, and went back to poking at his food.

Jay reached across to pat Louis’ wrist over the table. “That’s enough to be going on with. Rest and food will do you good.”

Louis gave a tiny nod, eyes still on his plate.

Anne set her fork down gently, her eyes never leaving Louis. “Is there anything else I can do, love? Anything at all, you only have to say.”

Louis’ fork paused halfway to his mouth. For a long moment, he didn’t look up, chewing slowly, staring at the plate like it might give him an answer. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he set the fork down and lifted his gaze.

“I’m fine, alright?” His voice wasn’t sharp, just tired, frayed around the edges. “I appreciate you checking in, I do, but I just… I just wanna forget any of this happened. At least for now.”

The words hung in the air, heavy but honest. Anne’s eyes softened, and she gave the smallest nod. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll leave it there.”

Jay reached across the table again, giving Louis’ hand the gentlest squeeze before letting go. “Eat your dinner then. That’s all you need to worry about right now.”

Louis nodded once, his shoulders dropping as he picked his fork back up. The room settled into a careful quiet again, the mums letting the boys eat in peace.

The last of the dinner plates scraped clean, Harry gathered them all up before Louis could even move. He carried the stack to the sink, rinsing them off like it was second nature.

Jay smiled at him softly from where she stood by the counter. “You’re a good boy, Harry. Thank you.”

Harry leaned over to kiss her cheek, dimples flashing faintly. “Anytime.” Then he straightened, glancing toward the table where Louis was still hunched, fiddling with his sleeves. “Lou? Want to head back up?”

Louis gave a tiny shrug, muttered, “Yeah, alright,” and pushed himself up from the chair.

They slipped down the hall, up the stairs, and into the quiet of Louis’ room. As soon as the door shut, Louis sank onto the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. The sigh that tore out of him was heavy, like he’d been holding it in all night.

Harry lingered a moment, then crouched down in front of him, settling into the space between Louis’ knees. He tilted his head, trying to catch his eye. “Hey. Look at me.”

Louis shook his head, staring stubbornly at the floor. Harry’s voice was gentle but firm. He leaned in closer, curls falling into his face. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Louis’ throat bobbed, his jaw working like he was biting back everything at once. Then it broke. His shoulders caved, hands flying up to his face as a sob ripped free. The sound was raw, cracked, and impossible to swallow back down.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He reached forward, sliding his hands over Louis’ wrists, gently tugging them down so he could see him. “Lou…” he whispered, steady and sure.

Louis shook his head again, but the tears kept coming, hot and messy, dripping off his chin as his body shook. “I can’t,” he gasped, voice shredded. “I can’t fucking do this.”

Harry shifted even closer, kneeling fully now, his hands sliding up Louis’ arms until they gripped his shoulders, grounding him. “You can.”

Louis blinked at him through blurred vision, chest heaving, and for once he didn’t push back, he just let himself unravel.

Harry didn’t give Louis the chance to fold back into himself. With a steady tug, he pulled him down off the edge of the bed and into his lap, arms wrapping around him tight. Louis collapsed against him with a broken sound, fists clutching Harry’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You can do this,” Harry murmured fiercely into his hair, rocking them both slightly. His voice was rough but unwavering. “I’m right here. You hear me?”

Louis shook his head against Harry’s chest, tears soaking into the fabric. His voice cracked, ragged from crying. “I don’t want to be here, Harry. I don’t want to fucking be here.”

Harry’s grip only tightened, his hand cradling the back of Louis’ head, thumb rubbing slow circles against his nape. “I know, but you’re not here alone,” he whispered, steady and insistent. “Be here with me. Just one step at a time, yeah?”

Louis gasped against him, trying to drag in air, but it caught in his throat. Harry pressed their foreheads together, his own breathing deep and deliberate. “Breathe. In… and out. That’s all. Just breathe with me.”

Slowly, painfully, Louis matched him, his sobs hitching into uneven breaths until the rhythm evened out, the shaking in his body easing just enough. Harry didn’t loosen his hold, didn’t stop whispering into the crown of his hair: “I’ve got you.”

Louis’ grip on him stayed iron-tight, but Harry eased back just enough to see his face, still wet with tears. His hands cupped Louis’ cheeks, thumbs swiping gently across his skin, catching the damp tracks. Louis’ lashes fluttered, red-rimmed eyes refusing to meet his, but Harry waited, patient and steady.

For the briefest moment, Harry’s gaze dipped lower, to Louis’ mouth. His chest tightened, the pull undeniable, but no. Not now. He dragged his eyes back up and instead leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to Louis’, curls falling into the space between them.

They stayed like that, breathing the same air, the world outside the quiet bubble of them blurring away.

Eventually, Harry stood, tugging Louis with him, and guided him back toward the bed. Louis sat heavily, wiping at his face with his sleeve, and muttered, “I’m fine.”

Harry shook his head, climbing in beside him. “Shut up. Just… let me hold you.”

Louis hesitated, the instinct to resist flaring up again. But Harry’s hand found his, squeezing lightly, and the fight drained out of him. With a soft sigh, he shifted closer, letting Harry’s arms curl around him.

Harry tucked Louis against his chest, his chin resting in his hair. “That’s it,” he murmured, breathing slow and steady. “Just match me.”

Louis closed his eyes, his cheek pressed against Harry’s hoodie, and let the rhythm of Harry’s breathing guide him, inhale, exhale, steady and safe. Little by little, the tension left his body, sinking into the warmth that held him.

For the first time in days, the storm in his chest quieted, replaced by something fragile, something he didn’t dare name.

•••

The morning light crept in soft and pale through the curtains, painting the room in a quiet hush. Jay pushed the door open gently, careful not to startle either of them.

She stopped just inside the doorway, her hand tightening a little on the knob.

The boys were tangled together on the bed, still fast asleep. Louis lay curled on his side, his head tucked firmly against Harry’s chest, one hand fisted in the fabric of Harry’s hoodie like he’d been afraid to let go. Harry’s arm was draped protectively around him, his curls messy against the pillow, his breathing deep and even.

Jay’s chest ached at the sight, equal parts relief, sadness, and something softer. For the first time in days, Louis’ face was peaceful, the sharp lines of tension gone, his body loose in sleep. And Harry looked like he’d been born to anchor him there.

She lingered a moment longer, taking it in, thinking ‘God, that’s really sweet.’

Then, with a quiet sigh, she stepped closer and leaned over the bed. “Louis, love,” she murmured, brushing her hand lightly over his shoulder. “Time to wake up. You’ve got your x-ray today.”

Louis groaned softly, burying his face deeper into Harry’s chest like a child avoiding school. Harry stirred, blinking groggily, his arm instinctively tightening around Louis before his eyes focused on Jay.

“Uh, morning,” Harry mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning, darling,” Jay whispered back with a small smile. “Up you get, both of you.”

Louis muttered something unintelligible against Harry’s hoodie, making Harry huff a sleepy laugh.

As soon as Jay padded back out and closed the door, the room dipped back into quiet. Harry shifted, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, but Louis didn’t budge.

Instead, he groaned low in his throat and pressed himself further into Harry’s chest, fingers fisting tight in the fabric of his hoodie. “Don’t wanna go,” he mumbled, his words muffled and petulant against Harry’s ribs.

Harry huffed a laugh, curling his arm back around him. “Morning to you too.”

Louis only burrowed closer, dragging the duvet over his head like that might make the appointment vanish. “She’s evil. Waking us up for this.”

“Pretty sure that’s called being responsible,” Harry teased, voice still heavy with sleep. He tilted his head down, curls brushing Louis’ temple. “Come on, it’s just an x-ray. In and out. Then back here to bed if you want.”

Louis groaned again, shaking his head stubbornly, but his grip on Harry didn’t loosen.

“Lou…” Harry coaxed gently, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ve gotta do it.”

Louis finally tipped his head back enough to meet Harry’s gaze, his eyes bleary and narrowed. “Fine. But only if you come with me.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a small, sleepy smile. “Of course.”

The hospital waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee, the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead making everything feel harsher. Louis sat hunched in the stiff plastic chair, his hoodie pulled tight around him. He’d been quiet since check-in, only muttering the occasional word, but now his leg bounced uncontrollably, his trainers squeaking faintly against the linoleum.

Across the hall, two voices carried, low, but not low enough.

“That’s the boy. Sixteen, tried to hang himself. They want the x-ray to check for laryngeal damage.”

“God.” A pause. “So young.”

Louis’ stomach twisted sharply, the words clawing through his chest. His throat felt like it was closing, the very thing they were here to check straining under the weight of shame. He clenched his fists against his knees, the bouncing of his leg quickening. Why the fuck did he have to hear that? Why did they have to say it like that?

Harry, sat right beside him, noticed instantly. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Lou?” His hand hovered near Louis’ thigh but didn’t touch, not until Louis gave him something, any sign it wouldn’t make things worse. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Louis shook his head, jaw tight, eyes burning. “They’re… they’re talking about me,” he muttered, the words sharp with panic. “Like I’m not even sat here. Like I’m…” He broke off, chest heaving, unable to finish.

Harry’s brows pulled together, his chest aching for him. “Hey,” he said firmly, steady. “Look at me, don’t look at them.”

Louis dragged his eyes up, reluctantly meeting Harry’s. Harry’s smile was small but steady, dimples faint even in the harsh hospital light. He held his hand out, palm up, like he was offering Louis a lifeline.

Louis didn’t even hesitate. His hand shot out, gripping Harry’s with a force that startled them both. His knuckles went white around Harry’s fingers, clutching like if he let go, he might unravel right there in the waiting room.

Harry’s chest squeezed at the desperation in it, but he didn’t flinch. He shifted in his chair so he could angle closer, curling his fingers firmly around Louis’, letting him squeeze as hard as he needed. His thumb brushed slow, soothing lines across the back of Louis’ hand, steady as a metronome.

“It’s just me and you,” Harry murmured quietly, just for him. “Don’t worry about them. Just me and you.”

Louis ducked his head, jaw clenched, eyes hot and burning, but his grip didn’t ease. If anything, it tightened, like he was testing how much Harry could really take.

Harry bore it without complaint, his own hand aching under the pressure, but he didn’t care. He’d take it all if it meant easing even a fraction of what was twisting Louis up inside.

The murmur of the doctors carried on in the background, but it faded against the quiet bubble between them, Louis’ breath sharp and uneven, Harry’s thumb never stopping its gentle rhythm, anchoring him there.

The door at the end of the corridor opened with a soft creak, and a nurse stepped out, clipboard in hand. “Louis Tomlinson?”

Louis’ stomach lurched, his leg bouncing harder until Harry squeezed his hand again. Jay, who’d been sat on Harry’s other side flicking absently through a magazine she hadn’t read a word of, immediately looked up.

“That’s us,” she said quickly, standing at the same time as Louis.

Harry started to rise too, but the nurse gave him an apologetic smile. “Just Louis, I’m afraid. And Mum, if he wants.”

Louis looked back at Harry, panic flickering across his face for a second before he masked it with a scoff. “You better still be here when I’m done.”

Harry gave him that steady, lopsided smile. “Always.”

Louis glanced back to the nurse, his throat tight, and muttered, “Mum can come.”

Jay touched his arm gently. “Alright, love. I’ll come with you.”

It was colder inside, the air sharp with disinfectant. Jay hovered just inside the door, her arms folded tight but her eyes never leaving Louis as the technician guided him over to the machine.

“Chin up slightly,” the man said, adjusting the angle.

Louis tugged his hoodie collar down reluctantly, the bruising stark under the harsh light. His stomach churned, but when his eyes flicked to the side, Jay gave him a reassuring smile.

“Just a couple of pictures,” the technician explained. “Won’t take long.”

The machine buzzed and clicked, each sound grating against Louis’ nerves. He stood stiff as a board, fists clenched at his sides.

“That’s it,” the man said finally. “All done. We’ll send the results to your GP.”

Louis tugged his hoodie up again, muttering, “Brilliant,” under his breath.

Jay slipped an arm lightly across his shoulders as they walked back out. “See? Nothing to it.”

Louis tugged his hood back into place and shuffled out beside Jay, his trainers squeaking against the floor. The moment he spotted Harry waiting, already half-risen from his chair, his shoulders sagged like the tension had finally caught up with him.

“All good?” Harry asked softly, eyes sweeping over him.

Louis huffed out a breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, then let himself tip sideways, collapsing into Harry’s arm. Not dramatic, just a weary lean, like his body had decided Harry was the easiest place to land.

Harry steadied him instantly, slipping an arm around his back, warm and solid. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured, dimples flashing faintly as he tucked Louis in closer.

Louis didn’t move away, his cheek brushing Harry’s shoulder as he muttered, “Fucking hate hospitals.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But you did it. It’s over.”

Jay watched the exchange, her lips pressing together, equal parts worried and relieved. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and gave them both a little nod toward the door. “Come on then. Let’s get you two home.”

Louis didn’t straighten, just stayed tucked into Harry’s side as they walked, his muttered complaints softened by the quiet comfort of being held up.

The car was warm, the hum of the engine steady as Jay guided them out of the hospital car park. Louis slumped in the back seat, immediately letting his head drop onto Harry’s shoulder, hood pulled up like he was trying to disappear.

Harry shifted just enough to get comfortable, angling his body so Louis had a better spot to lean into. “Careful, Lou,” he teased quietly. “People will think you like me or something.”

Louis huffed, eyes closed, voice muffled against Harry’s hoodie. “Piss off. You’re just convenient.”

Harry grinned, resting his cheek lightly on top of Louis’ hood. “Conveniently comfortable, you mean.”

“Conveniently irritating,” Louis shot back, though his words were slurred with exhaustion.

Jay’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, catching the sight of the two boys tucked together in the back. Her heart ached and softened all at once, but she didn’t say a word, just kept her focus on the road.

Harry let his thumb trace little patterns on the back of Louis’ hand where it rested between them, hidden under the drape of the hoodie sleeve. “Admit it,” he murmured, lips twitching. “Best hospital pillow you’ve ever had.”

Louis gave a tiny snort, eyes still closed. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

Harry’s smile widened, dimples deep, as he let Louis drift heavier against him. “I’ll take it.”

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Louis was out cold, head buried against Harry’s shoulder, his lips parted just slightly in sleep. His grip on Harry’s sleeve hadn’t slackened, even unconscious.

Jay turned in her seat, voice low. “Should we wake him?”

Harry shook his head quickly, a curl falling into his eyes. “Nah. Let him sleep a bit. I’ll stay here with him, take him in soon.” He adjusted his arm around Louis, holding him a little steadier, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jay’s gaze lingered on the two of them, her chest tightening at the sight. “You’re a good one, Harry,” she said softly. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

Harry looked down at Louis, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly over the fabric of Louis’ sleeve. “Don’t think about that,” he murmured. “He’s still here. That’s all that matters.”

Jay’s throat worked, her eyes bright. “I’m glad you’re here. For him. He’s stubborn, but… he clearly trusts you. That means something.”

Harry gave a small, shy smile, cheeks pink even in the dim light. “It means everything to me.”

Jay reached across the console, squeezing Harry’s free hand for a moment before slipping out of the car, leaving the boys tucked together in the quiet and Harry leaned his head back against the seat, holding Louis close.

Eventually, Louis blinked against the light, disoriented. His lashes fluttered as he pushed himself upright. The car windows were fogged faintly from their breath, the house quiet outside. His neck ached from the angle he’d been sleeping, head against something warm and solid.

He turned, confused, to find Harry still there beside him, arm slung across the back of the seat like he hadn’t moved in an hour.

“Afternoon, sleepy head,” Harry said with a crooked grin, dimples flashing.

Louis frowned, his voice scratchy. “What the fuck… are we still in the car?”

Harry nodded, utterly unbothered. “Yep. You were out cold. Figured I’d let you rest.”

Louis rubbed at his eyes, still bleary. “For an hour?”

Harry shrugged, the grin still tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t mind. You looked peaceful.”

Louis blinked at him, utterly thrown, before dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re mental.” But his voice was soft, his cheeks a little warm.

Harry leaned over, nudging him lightly with his shoulder, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He climbed out first, stretching long and easy before circling around the bonnet. He stopped at Louis’ side, pulling the handle and swinging the door open with a little flourish.

Louis blinked at him, still groggy, then scoffed as he slid out. “What are you, my chauffeur now?”

Harry’s grin widened, dimples flashing. “Just being a gentleman.”

Louis tugged his hoodie hood higher to hide the heat creeping into his cheeks. “Yeah, well, I’m not impressed.”

“Sure you’re not,” Harry teased, falling into step beside him as they trudged up the drive. “That’s why you’re smiling.”

“I’m not,” Louis shot back too quickly, biting down the twitch of his lips.

Inside, Jay’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “Hello, boys! You’re back. Hungry?”

Louis shook his head immediately, still tugging his sleeves down. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“Same here,” Harry added.

Jay poked her head around the door, smiling at them both. “Alright. I’ll leave something in the fridge for later, then.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Louis muttered, already tugging Harry toward the stairs.

“Thanks, Jay,” Harry said warmly before following him up.

Back in Louis’ room, Louis dropped onto the bed with a theatrical sigh, one arm thrown over his face. “Opening doors for me. What’s next, pulling out my chair at dinner?”

Harry sat down at the edge of the mattress, smirking. “Don’t tempt me, ‘cause I’ll do it.”

Louis peeked at him from under his arm, trying hard not to laugh, when suddenly Harry’s fingers jabbed lightly at his side. Louis yelped, twisting away. “Oi! Pack it in!”

Harry grinned, dimples deep. “What, this?” He poked him again, gentler this time, right above his hip.

Louis squirmed, rolling onto his side to fend him off. “Harry, I swear to God!”

But Harry was already laughing, leaning in to tickle just under Louis’ ribs. Careful, always mindful of the bruises around his throat, but relentless everywhere else.

Louis let out an undignified bark of laughter, writhing on the bed. “Stop! You absolute twat!”

“Not until you admit you love my chivalry,” Harry teased, fingers dancing over Louis’ side.

“Never!” Louis squealed, shoving at Harry’s shoulders. His legs kicked out instinctively, nearly knocking Harry off the mattress.

That only made Harry laugh harder, the sound bright and unguarded. “You’re gonna regret that,” he warned, before grabbing a pillow and swatting Louis lightly with it.

Louis grabbed his own pillow, swinging it back with a sharp whump against Harry’s arm. “Bring it on.”

The bed devolved into chaos, pillow smacks, tangled limbs, muffled laughter. Harry was always careful, pulling his hands back if Louis flinched too close to his neck, but Louis barely noticed, too busy laughing until his stomach ached.

Finally, Louis flopped onto his back, breathless, hair sticking up in every direction. “You’re the worst,” he panted, grinning despite himself and Harry collapsed beside him, still chuckling, curls a wild mess.

Harry’s phone buzzed against the duvet, the sharp sound making both boys glance down. Louis, still catching his breath from their pillow war, flopped onto his back with a groan. “If that’s Niall again, tell him to piss off.”

Harry smirked, scooping the phone up. “It’s not Niall.” His face softened when he saw the screen. “It’s my mum.”

Louis hummed, rolling his head to the side. “Course it is. Bet she’s checking up on you. She worries more than my mum does.”

Harry unlocked the phone, scanning the message. His lips moved as he read under his breath:

Anne: How are you and Louis? How was the x-ray? Is he going to go back to school soon?

His chest tightened, a mix of warmth and ache at the concern threaded through her words. He glanced over at Louis, who was pretending to study the ceiling, jaw tight. “She’s asking about you,” Harry said gently, holding the phone out a little. “About how you’re feeling. About school.”

Louis groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “Brilliant. Two mums fussing over me now. Exactly what I needed.”

Harry’s dimples flashed faintly as he typed back, but his tone was careful. “She just cares, Lou. That’s all.”

Louis peeked at him through his fingers, voice muffled. “What’d you tell her?”

Harry hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Thought I’d say the x-ray’s done, you’re hanging in there… and that school’s not the priority right now.”

Louis blinked at him, surprised, before quickly looking away again, muttering, “See. You actually get it.”

Harry smiled softly, letting the words settle. “Yeah. I do.”

He typed carefully, thumbs moving slower than usual.

Harry: The x-ray went fine. Just waiting on results now. School’s… not really the priority at the moment.

He hesitated a second before hitting send. Louis didn’t press, just lay there beside him, hoodie hood pulled up, staring at the ceiling.

A moment later, the phone buzzed again. Anne’s reply filled the screen.

Anne: I totally understand, love. It may take some time. And while I’m happy for you to stay with Louis a bit longer, you need to think about going back to school next week x

Harry’s stomach dropped, the words making him feel instantly queasy. His thumb tightened around the phone, his chest twisting. The idea of packing up, walking out, leaving Louis here to face all this without him was unthinkable.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his face neutral, but Louis must’ve noticed something in his silence.

“What’d she say?” Louis asked, turning his head just enough to catch Harry’s expression.

Harry blinked, startled, then tried for a weak smile. “Just… that she’s glad I’m here. That it might take time. And uh…” He faltered, the rest sticking in his throat.

Louis frowned, propping himself up on his elbow. “And what?”

Harry’s grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles whitened. “And that I should… think about going back to school next week.” His voice cracked at the end, raw with something he couldn’t quite hide.

The room went quiet, heavy with the weight of it. Harry’s chest heaved as he tried to mask the sickness curling in his gut, the thought of walking away from Louis clawing at him like panic.

Louis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared down at the crumpled duvet between them. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, voice low and rough, he muttered, “She’s right, you know.”

Harry blinked, startled. “What?”

Louis forced himself to look up, though his eyes were glassy. “You can’t sit in this room, rotting away with me forever. You’ve got your own life, Harry. Friends. School. A mum who probably doesn’t want you playing babysitter for some fucked-up mess of a lad.”

Harry’s chest ached, the words cutting deeper than Louis probably intended. “Lou.”

But Louis pressed on, his voice tightening. “I’m not saying I don’t want you here. God knows I do. But you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t throw everything else away just ‘cause I can’t get my shit together.”

His hands twisted in his lap, restless, desperate to hide the crack running through him. “You deserve better than this.”

Harry’s head snapped up so fast his curls bounced, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare say that,” he shot back, his voice sharp enough to make Louis flinch.

Louis opened his mouth, but Harry barrelled on, leaning forward, every word tight with conviction. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my life. Because right now? This,” he gestured between them, hand shaking with the force of it, “this is my life. Being here. With you.”

Louis’ breath caught, but Harry didn’t give him time to argue.

“I’m not here out of pity, I’m not here because I have to be. I choose to be here, everyday. And if that means missing a bit of school, then who fucking cares?” His voice cracked, but his gaze stayed locked on Louis’. “I care about you more than any of that.”

Louis sat frozen, throat working, his fingers curling into the duvet like he needed something to anchor him. His usual armour of sarcasm and scoffs wouldn’t come.

Harry’s chest heaved, and he shook his head, softer now but still fierce. “You don’t get to decide what you mean to me. That’s mine to decide. And I’m telling you, right now, you mean everything.”

The silence that followed was thick, Louis staring at him like Harry had just stripped the skin off his chest, panic simmering under the surface as Harry’s words echoed between them.

He wanted to argue, to scoff, to brush it all off with something biting and cruel, but the truth was too raw, too close. So he lashed out with the only thing left.

“I still don’t wanna be here,” he snapped, voice trembling even as he tried to make it sound cold. His fingers dug tighter into the duvet. “That hasn’t just gone away, Harry. You think a couple of nights holding my hand fixes it?” His eyes burned, but he didn’t blink. “I tied that rope. I kicked that chair. It wasn’t some fucking accident.”

Harry flinched at the words but didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact.

Louis’ throat worked, words tumbling faster now, jagged and messy. “And okay, fine, I’ll admit, having you here has been good. It’s made me feel less like… like the world is eating me alive.” His voice cracked, and for a second he looked young, terrified. But he forced it back down, hardening again. “But you don’t need to deal with this, Harry. You shouldn’t. Because I will drag you down with me.”

The silence after was deafening. Louis’ chest heaved, his knuckles white against the duvet. He expected Harry to shrink back, to finally realise how ugly it really was, to leave.

But Harry didn’t move, “I don’t give a fuck,” he snapped, voice low but vibrating with fury and something rawer beneath it. “Don’t you get that? I don’t care how dark it is in your head, or how heavy it gets. I don’t care if you kick and scream and tell me you’re poison, I am not leaving you.” His chest rose and fell hard, eyes locked onto Louis like he could will the truth into him.

Louis blinked rapidly, mouth parting in shock, but Harry pressed on, fiercer now. “You think you’re gonna drag me down, but I’d dive headfirst if it meant not letting you drown alone.”

Louis’ lip trembled, the words shattering through every defence he’d tried to put up. His hands fisted tighter in the duvet, as if anchoring himself against the sheer force of Harry’s conviction.

Harry shook his head, softer now but no less determined. “You could tell me a hundred times that you don’t want to be here, and I’d still sit right here with you. I don’t care how ugly you think it is, I don’t care if it scares me, I’m not walking away. Not now. Not ever.”

Louis’ breath came in sharp, broken gasps, his whole body trembling under the weight of it. He wanted to argue, to shove it back, but the words tangled in his throat. All that came out was a hoarse, “Why?”

Harry’s hands twitched, like he wanted to reach for him but didn’t want to push too far. His voice was steady though, heavy with truth. “Because, Lou. I told you, you mean everything to me.”

Louis let out a shaky huff of laughter, pushing through the tears that blurred his vision. His voice was hoarse, broken around the edges, but still sharp enough to sting.

“You don’t even know me,” he rasped, shaking his head. “You’ve got this… idea in your head, Harry, but you don’t know the half of it. You’ve been with me for what, a few days? You’ve seen the mess, and you think that’s enough to really know?” He scoffed again, but it cracked halfway out, the sound more wounded than mocking.

His eyes darted away, unable to hold Harry’s anymore. “You don’t know the shit I’ve done, the way I think, the things I can’t make stop. You don’t know how bad it really gets.” His hands twisted hard in the duvet, his knuckles bone white. “And if you did, if you really did, you’d run as far as you fucking could.”

The words hung there, trembling and cruel, like he wanted to slice Harry open before he had the chance to leave him, but Harry dragged a hand down his face, letting out a long, weary sigh. The fight in Louis’ words cut deep, but instead of snapping back, his voice came out calm, steady in a way that made Louis’ stomach twist.

“I can’t have this conversation again,” Harry said quietly, his eyes fixed on him. “You can fight me all you want, Lou, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m in this, with you.”

Louis froze, blinking at him, like he’d been expecting another argument, something he could parry back with sarcasm or venom. But Harry’s calmness left him with nowhere to throw the knives.

Harry leaned in again, his voice firm but gentle, unshakable. “You can keep telling me I don’t know you, you can tell me I don’t understand and that I should run, but I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not when it gets hard.” He swallowed, eyes softening even as his jaw stayed tight. “I’m here.”

The silence after stretched, Louis’ chest rising and falling too fast. He wanted to snap again, wanted to throw up his armour, but the tears stinging his eyes made it impossible.

Harry’s hand twitched at his side, like he was resisting the urge to reach out. “So, you can keep pushing me. But I’ll keep showing up.”

Louis turned his head sharply, jaw tight, the muscles in his neck straining as he angled himself away. His shoulders hunched like he could make himself smaller, like he could fold the tears back into his skin if Harry couldn’t see them.

But they fell anyway, hot and unchecked, sliding down the curve of his cheek and dripping onto the duvet. He bit down hard on his lip, breath hitching as he tried to swallow the sob clawing its way up.

Harry watched, his chest aching, but he didn’t reach out, not yet. He let the quiet stretch, steady and patient, giving Louis the space to fight his own losing battle.

“Lou,” Harry said softly after a moment, his voice careful, like he was afraid to spook him. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Louis shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall, fists twisting in the fabric of the duvet. “Don’t, just… don’t.” His voice cracked, betraying him, and he dragged the heel of his palm roughly over his cheek like he could scrub the evidence away.

But Harry stayed calm, unshaken, his words low and unwavering. “I’m still here. Even if you don’t look at me. Even if you don’t say a word. I’m not moving.”

Louis let out a ragged breath, another tear slipping free despite himself. His chest heaved, the fight in him splintering.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. Watching Louis crumble just out of reach, watching him try to hide when every tear was a scream for help, it tore him apart.

He reached forward, fingers curling into the fabric of Louis’ hoodie. “Come here,” he murmured, tugging gently.

Louis stiffened, trying to pull back, his voice raw. “Don’t. I’m fucked up, Harry. You don’t get it.”

Harry’s grip only tightened, his jaw set. “I do get it. And I don’t fucking care.” He gave one firm tug, pulling Louis off-balance and straight into his chest.

Louis let out a broken noise, struggling weakly for half a second, but Harry wrapped his arms around him and wouldn’t let go. He shifted, guiding them both down onto the bed, his body curling protectively around Louis like a shield.

Louis’ fists stayed bunched in Harry’s hoodie, caught between resisting and clinging, his breath hot and ragged against Harry’s collarbone. “You shouldn’t want this,” he choked out, but his body betrayed him, sinking closer with every second.

Harry pressed his cheek to Louis’ hair, his hand rubbing slow, steady lines down his back. “Don’t tell me what I should want. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Louis shuddered violently, and then the last of his resistance cracked, his body melting into Harry’s hold, burying his face in his chest like he’d been waiting all along to collapse there.

They lay there in the hush of the room, Harry’s heartbeat steady under Louis’ ear. Louis’ breathing was uneven, catching every now and then as a fresh tear slipped free, but the storm was starting to settle. His fingers twisted in the fabric of Harry’s hoodie, holding on like a lifeline.

After a long silence, Louis whispered into the cotton between them, his voice raw. “You deserve better than this.”

Harry’s arm tightened around him, his lips brushing Louis’ hair as he murmured back, steady and sure, “I don’t want anyone else.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than either of them expected. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t shouted, but it sounded suspiciously like a confession.

Louis froze, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, almost fearfully, he shifted, lifting his head just enough to see Harry’s face. His eyes were red, lashes clumped with tears, but his gaze locked onto Harry’s like he needed to know if he meant it.

Harry didn’t flinch. He just looked right back, curls falling into his eyes, his own expression bare and open in a way Louis had never seen before.

For a beat, neither of them moved. The air between them buzzed with something fragile, something unspoken that suddenly felt far too close to breaking free.

Louis’ gaze dipped before he could stop it, lingering on Harry’s mouth. His chest tightened, heart thudding painfully as he dragged his eyes back up, meeting Harry’s wide, steady stare.

For a moment, it felt inevitable, the way his body tilted forward, slow and hesitant, like gravity itself was pulling him closer. He leaned in, breath trembling, their noses brushing.

But Harry’s hand came up, gentle yet firm, pressing lightly against Louis’ chest. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the effort. “Not yet.”

Louis froze, confusion and hurt flashing in his damp eyes. “Why not?” His voice cracked, soft and raw.

Harry swallowed hard, his thumb brushing once against the fabric of Louis’ hoodie where his hand rested. “Not when you’re feeling like this. Not when you’re breaking. It wouldn’t be fair.” His eyes shone with the weight of it, his jaw trembling with restraint. “And… I want it to mean something, Lou. Not just comfort. Not just because you’re hurting.”

Louis’ throat worked as tears welled again, but this time they weren’t sharp, they were something else, something softer. He sagged forward, pressing his forehead against Harry’s instead, his breath shaky.

Harry closed his eyes, holding him steady. “When you’re actually ready,” he whispered. “I’ll still be here.”

Louis gave a shaky laugh that broke halfway through, his forehead still pressed against Harry’s. “By then, you’ll realise I’m not worth the trouble.”

Harry pulled back just enough to catch his eyes, brows knitting tight. “Shut up,” he said, not harsh but firm enough to cut through the air. His hands slid up, cupping Louis’ jaw, thumbs brushing gently across damp skin. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

Louis blinked at him, throat bobbing, the words sticking somewhere between protest and disbelief, but Harry’s voice cracked, low and raw. “I do want to kiss you. Please don’t think that I don’t.”

Louis blinked at him, startled, his breath catching. For a moment he just stared, lips parted, like the words didn’t quite fit in his head, “Then…” His voice wavered. “Why say no?”

Harry’s thumbs brushed over his cheeks again, steady, grounding. “Because I wanna be sure that it’s because you want me and not because I was here to save you when everything turned to shit.”

Louis swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. He let out a shaky laugh, half a sob, and dropped his forehead back against Harry’s. “Okay.”

Harry’s mouth curved, soft and certain, “Okay.”