Collision; Larry

26.

Warning for mentions of blood and wound treatment. All in the first half of the chapter.

Louis doesn't feel.

The whole thing goes by as a red blur. It's a never-ending stream of I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die and then all of a sudden they're dragging him out of there and away and away, Harry's trembling body right behind him and Louis doesn't know if he's not in pain anymore or if he's just finally become numb to it but then it's I didn't die I didn't die I didn't die I didn't die I didn't die I didn't die I didn't die and at last they stop by a portal in the darkest, smallest room in the deepest part of Eris' temple, and they just throw Louis in there and Louis doesn't even do anything as he falls, falls, falls.

(He'll always fall from now on, he thinks.)

And then finally, he hits the ground. The place is lit up only by the faint light from the portal, perched several feet up in the air, all too far out of reach. Everything around him is black—it's like he's fallen into an endless pit of shapeless darkness. It doesn't even terrify him.

And now it's why didn't I die? Why didn't I die? Why didn't I die?

Harry lands right after him, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he hits the ground, and Louis thinks that in some way he should be able to find peace knowing Harry hasn't left, hasn't been taken away, that Louis isn't all alone. But there's still a swelling burn etched into his back like a thousand needles being pressed into his pores, and there's still a hot wetness running down his back and slicking his shirt to his skin, and there's still the blurred sting stretching in an empty V on his back so stubbornly reminding him of what used to be there, what should be there, what ultimately isn't there, and it's too overpowering. It's all he can focus on.

Louis is not alone, but in this moment, he thinks he might as well be.

He slowly pulls his knees up to his chin as his eyes set on a spot of nothingness a few inches before him, and he can hear Harry move behind him, can see him in the corner of his eye when the spirit drags his body closer to Louis'.

Harry's not touching him, hands tightly fisted and tucked against his body like he's scared reaching out and brushing fingertips against Louis' skin would make Louis worse. Louis is glad he doesn't. He wouldn't want Harry touching him now, when his skin is still crawling with toxicity and loss, when the anguish of it is still sloshing through his veins.

"Louis." Harry's voice is thin but urgent, and it sounds like he's speaking through a tunnel. "Louis, can you—do you—Can you listen to me? Listen to me. You can't give up now. You can't do that. You're not doing this, you're hurting, and I know, god, I know, but you can't give into it. I know how much this feels like the end of the world, but it's not, Louis, I won't let it, you can't give up on me now. We can't make all of this to be in vain, and it's going to be in vain if you don't—oh my god, you need to get up again. I know you need time to grieve, I know, I understand, but you can't do it here because once you let go this place is never going to let you come back up. It's going to consume you. Lou."

Louis doesn't feel.

He knows he should speak, knows he should reach out and calm Harry down, knows that hearing Harry sound as agonizingly pleading as he does now, hearing the wobble of tears in his throat should send ice cold, stabbing shivers throughout Louis' entire body and fill him with an impulse to make it go away immediately.

But it doesn't.

Because Louis' body still doesn't feel like a body. His whole being is an open wound and he's scared that taking words into his mouth might cut into him deeper, like moving might infect him further. Every breath he's taking twists his chest and wrenches his lungs and he's bleeding onto the ground and down his pants and his shirt is rubbing against his ripped flesh in a way that makes him feel unreal. He can't react. Harry wants him to, but he can't. Not right now.