I'd Choose You Again Tomorrow [L.S]

Chapter One

Here we go again !!

Please read the trigger warnings before beginning this story. As I am not a medical professional I have tried to avoid heavy discussion of medical topics as I do not wish to spread false information.

This story is work of fiction and has no reflection on the real life characters or relations of the people described.

This story is completed at 50k words and I will update twice a week till fully uploaded !!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think !!

^^^^

January 2020

London, England

Things are not how they should be, that much is clear the moment the static sounds break through. He aches. Every part of him burning like a livewire underneath an invisible pressure. His hands are locked by his side, the weight of his limbs keeping him trapped where he lies, lips cacked together, eyes stubbornly closed. He feels it however when a warm, foreign hand slips into his, a voice breaking through the static. Whomever is speaking to him he doesn't know, even muddled between the white noise he knows he doesn't recognize the voice.

It fades slowly, the murky ringing of his ears giving way to clarity and he makes out the faint, repetitive sounds of multiple beeping machines close by. It only adds to his confusion. Why can't he see, why won't his limbs obey him and move, why can't he open his eyes, why can't he speak?

"Mr. Tomlinson? My name is Claire, I'm a nurse for London Bridge Hospital. You've been in an accident but you're safe, I need you to do something for me though alright?" A soft voice snaps through his silent questions. Registers the hand resting in his, a soft pressure connecting him between his realm of darkness and whatever scene lies beyond closed lids. "I know everything hurts, I know you're confused, but I need you to give us another physical sign you're still here with us alright?" The woman's voice remains soft, patient with him as he screams at his mind to order some part of his body to move at her request.

There's more talking around him, voices other than Claire's but he can't make them out between the muddled state of his mind and the jargon with which they speak.

A long, thin tube has been placed in through his nose, wires and needles poking into his skin in numerous places. His throat feels parched, likely from a lack of exposure to constant fluids. He can feel them all now, an overload of too many sensations when just a minute ago he could only register the one thing.

It takes that rush of sensations for him to find the strength in order to flinch his hand in Claire's. The notion of it strange and tires him instantly. Draining energy from him like free flow, an action so simple bringing a wave of exhaustion racing nearer the surface. Louis knows he's about to crash, aware that he's fighting off the darkness enticing him back down under, wherever that space may be.

"That's it." Claire tells him and he can hear the smile in her voice. "Welcome back to the world Mr. Tomlinson."

He can feel the little strength he has remaining ebbing away by the second, he knows he needs to open his eyes however. That he needs to confirm for himself that this isn't a dream nor illusion conjured up in the depths of his mind. He knows that's likely not the case, but clarity seems to be his only way of knowing the full truth.

Claire's hand in his grounds him, works as a promise that someone is here waiting for him to open his eyes and return to the world. It's steady, like a bridge between the two subspaces and he latches to it with hopes of making it to the other side.

It's draining and takes almost everything he has to pry apart his eyelids and blink against the brightness that floods them the moment they flutter open.

"Dim the lights!" He hears another voice order.

The next time he manages to open them through the blurriness which coats his eyes he can make out shapes and forms. A blank wall across from him, two figures with sure steps make their war around the bed he's lain in, and to his left a figure sits patiently looking down at him.

"Over achiever, aren't you?" Claire's voice rings clear this time in his head, and he cranes his next towards the woman sitting by his side. The movement is jerky, his head spins at the action but the woman comes into focus before long. The first moment he's had of true eyesight.

A middle aged woman whom he assumes is Claire smiles down at him, her eyes kind, crinkles softly etched onto her face. Red hair bound in a tight bun and a bright wedding band resting on her finger.

He moves his glance away from her, studying his uncovered arms which are littered with wires injected into his skin. There's minute, white covered scars in numerous places. Fully healed and faded now but there none the less. As if he'd run through a gorse bush several times over. His chest is covered by a hospital gown which disappears beneath a blanket drawn to just above his waist.

"Can you feel this?" Claire asks him then, removing her hand only to press her thumb softly into the underside of his wrist. He nods in return, if only a fraction.

Another figure, a young man this time dressed in a long white coat approaches Claire's side. His smile is less affectionate than Claire's, not any less genuine but as though the man is on a mission and doesn't care for any distractions.

"Mr. Tomlinson my name is Doctor Quain. You were in an accident, you're currently in London Bridge Hospital. We're going to run some tests now that you're conscious and we're closely monitoring your condition. Your family is currently being notified that you're awake."

There's something significantly more out of place he recognizes in that moment. Like a piece of him is missing, more so than the scars which now decorate his skin and the strength it takes to do just the smallest of acts. Through the dryness in his throat and ache in his lungs he manages to catch Claire's eye once more and croaks out the first thing his mind latches onto.

"Harry."