next to you ❀ l.s.

thirty nine - shaking reality

The tea cup clattered noisily across the counter, spreading dark liquid across the white, speckled surface. The sound was intrusive and abrupt in the quiet peace of Harry's apartment, knocking the entire atmosphere off course.

Traces of paranoia still zipped through Harry's veins (especially because Louis hadn't come back from the bar yet) but he felt a thousand times better having Liam there with him -- even if his friend insisted on dumping tea all over his clean counters.

"Liam," he deadpanned. "Could you be a bit more careful where you're tossing your tea? My countertops seriously can't take much more abuse."

Liam glanced at him sheepishly as he reached for the paper towels. Even the subtle rip of the paper towels tearing from the roll seemed harsh and amplified. "Your mugs are slippery," he commented defensively as he mopped up the spilled drink.

"No, you just have clumsy fingers."

"I do not!" Liam exclaimed defensively. He tossed the used towels in the trash can, shaking his fists in a silent celebration when he actually made the shot. "Seriously, Haz. Ask anyone in the world to try to hold on to one of these, and they won't be having an easy time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Harry grinned, taking a small sip of his unspilled tea.

Liam shook his head, amused, then took advantage of the somewhat convenient opportunity to change the subject. "Louis told me that you've been really paranoid lately. Ever since Steven showed up at the store?" He busied himself putting the kettle on again, hoping to take some attention away from the sensitive topic.

Harry took another long drink of his tea to buy himself a moment of time. Then he nodded, placing the cup carefully on the counter. "It's stupid, I know. But yeah."

"Of course it's not stupid," Liam assured him. The stovetop click click clicked before the small fire erupted underneath the pot. "Louis has been worried, too. It's not just you."

"Steven just . . . he just makes me really nervous. He's never too happy when he doesn't get what he wants."

"I never liked him," the other boy announced, as if Harry didn't already know that. "He always gave me a bad feeling."

"Well, he's kind of a douchebag," Harry conceded. He wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. "And he's also sort of insane, isn't he?"

"Yeah, yeah. That would be putting it lightly."

"I just have this ridiculous feeling that he's going to pop up wherever I go," Harry admitted. "Like he's lurking in alleys and staircases, just waiting for the moment I'm alone. I try not to think about it, though, because if I do, I'm honestly going to end up following Louis around twenty-four seven."

The kettle whistled urgently.

"Oh, stop. Louis wouldn't mind at all if you -- oh, wait. Hold on. It's Niall." He picked up his phone from the counter, answering it with a tap of his index finger. "Hey, Ni. What's going -- whoa, whoa, okay. Slow down."

Harry looked on, his brow furrowed when Liam shot him a concerned look. Unbeknownst to him, on the other end of the line, his entire world had come crashing down.

The short drive to the hospital was a blur. Harry barely waited for Liam to park the car before he was tearing through the parking lot, running into the tall building in nothing but a short-sleeved shirt and pajama pants. His footsteps pounded steadily against the tile floors, echoing down the long, white hallways. He couldn't even hear Liam behind him anymore.

He stopped at an intersection of two hallways, whirling around to face his friend, who was panting heavily. "Wh-Where . . ?" he cut himself off, his voice bordering on cracking.