next to you ❀ l.s.

forty eight - the aftermath

When they finally reached the apartment after a hauntingly quiet drive, Louis just guided Harry to bed, whispering words of comfort in his ear as he did. He usually found that the easiest thing was for Harry to sleep it off. For a split second, he considered heading back to his own flat, but he immediately decided against it -- he didn't want to leave Harry alone -- and settled into bed behind Harry.

Harry's body was soft and pliant during an episode. He melted into the sheets like they could just swallow him whole. The world was blurred around the edges, and so was he; his brain devolved into the belief that he didn't really exist; that he didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all.

Louis tucked the covers around his unresponsive boyfriend's body, making sure his bare arms and shoulders were covered. "Harry, sweetheart? Can you tell me where we are, my love?"

Harry didn't say a word. He stared blankly at the wall, still and silent, his breathing shallow.

"Alright, love, that's alright. Here, how about this?" He wrapped Harry's fingers around his own, squeezing a few times before prodding gently, "Can you squeeze my hand, baby? Just like that."

Not even a twitch.

"Okay, sunshine, that's okay," Louis soothed him. He felt like he was talking to himself, but there wasn't anything else he could do. So he just brushed the curls from the back of Harry's neck and pressed his lips against the exposed skin. "Let's just go to sleep for a while, okay? I'll be right here with you the whole time."

And Harry didn't answer, but all Louis could do was take his own advice.

Drifting off was much harder than usual. He was in the habit of waiting until Harry's breathing evened out, slowing the rhythm of his own lungs to match the gentle puffs of air that spread over his skin. Harry barely seemed to breathe when he was dissociating, though, like even the oxygen he needed to survive was too much for him to ask of the world. The room was far too quiet and Harry's back was far too still against his chest, but finally, Louis fell into a fitful, restless sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, though, Louis could tell that something was wrong. Harry wasn't in his arms anymore, and he groped blindly about the bed to find him. The space beside him was warm but empty, and he panicked, his eyes flying open so suddenly that the light from the window made him flinch.

Finally, as his vision adjusted to the morning sun, he found Harry. The younger boy was curled up in the furthest corner of the bed, his long legs folded tightly to his chest. His shoulders were hunched over toward his knees, terrified to take up space.

He had an open book in his lap, but he was staring out the window, his eyes still distant and glazed over. Louis could see the bookmark still poking out of the open page, indicating that Harry hadn't actually made any real progress.

He startled when Louis touched his thigh. "How long have you been awake, sunshine?" the older boy asked softly, rubbing his thumb over the soft flesh.

Harry blinked, slowly, as if he was only now seeing Louis for the first time. His voice was deep and raspy with sleep when he spoke. "A while."

"Not too long, I hope."

Harry just shook his head slightly, his wide eyes still watching Louis carefully.

"How's the book?" Louis asked casually, still trying to get a solid gauge of Harry's engagement with the world around him.

Harry glanced down at his lap, a mixture of surprise and confusion flashing over his features. As Louis suspected, Harry had probably moved about in his own little world since he woke up, his consciousness still buried somewhere deep inside of his troubled mind.