Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

XXIII

Louis rushes to call a doctor once he is sure Harry is in a state of complete consciousness. An army of nurses and doctors burst in through the doors after Louis' not-so threatening growls, and immediately start to poke him with needles and asking him nonsensical questions like a playschool kid.

The stomach-churning silence of the room completely unfurls as the medics continue their examination as though Harry is some extra terrestrial being who landed on earth and is the greatest discovery known to mankind.

Louis spits curses after curses when Harry winces at the nurses trying to move his injured limbs. He growls mindlessly, threatening to shut down the entire infirmary, when Harry groans particularly loud in agony, and no matter how hard the doctor tries to explain the importance of examining him in a conscious state, Louis doesn't budge at all, instead, he settles to glare anyone who touches Harry with the slightest bit of harshness.

The doctor leaves after informing Louis that they have put Harry on pain reducing sedatives and warned him that he will not be on a reasonable mental space—in short; high. When the doctor left, apparently some Dr. Browne, Louis did not miss the angry glare he received and the comparatively loud door shut. Rude mother fucker.

Niall and Zayn have been gone for almost an hour while Liam went home to change and bring Louis some change of clothes too since he refuses to move his perfect bum from the room. He knows Niall and Zayn are not returning for a long stretch, at least not until the world is ridden of someone's weight. He sits here, in the unnecessarily all-white room, while Harry blurts nonsense.

At least he's not quiet.

"Lou-eeeeeee,"

A whine rings in the drums of his ears when Louis zones out. Hearing about how unicorns can poke each other's butts isn't necessarily interesting, at least not for twenty three minutes straight. "What, my love?" not like Harry's going to remember the nickname afterwards.

"How will I wank with a broken wrist?"

Harry's lips pull out a killer pout, while Louis breathes in a laugh. Fucking Man child. "You can use the other hand, Harry," Louis says in between a suppressed laughter and Harry's pout continues with intense creased brows—but suddenly lights up, and gives Louis a sweet, sweet smile. Too sweet.

"You can help me!" He says all too happily with a heart melting giggle for someone suggesting what he is suggesting. But then again, the kid's high and Louis can't do anything but simply play along. "Sure, love, whatever you want. Now get some sleep you minx, you've lost a lot of blood." Louis says while caressing his somewhat tinted cheeks.

He still can't believe Harry's here, alive and with him. That he gets to hold him, see him smile and talk batshit. "Louuuu," he whines again, his working wire-attached hand making grabby gestures and Louis complies, holding his pale, thin hand securely while sitting on the edge of the depressing bed. "You are hot," Harry giggles tiredly and shuts his eyes. "And you are high. Sleep now." Louis says sternly with a disbelieving shake of head, fond smile spread over his thin lips as the younger drifts off with a few incoherent mumbles until all that is left is a silence filled with Harry's soft snores and the annoying monitor beep.

*

"Lou."

Louis feels a careful warm hand shake him awake. He groans when he realises he's got a terrible case of stiff neck and a bitching back ache. He lazily opens his eyes and realises he has fallen asleep, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding Harry's hand which he hasn't let go still. He adjusts to the lighting before he carefully turns to a concerned-looking Liam with a bag full of clothes.