800 Days of Remembering You ➳ l.s.

Chapter Two

The next time Louis wakes, the boy with the curls is missing.

He tiredly groans when he sits up, his back clicking and his feet tickling like TV static. He bats his eyes to the chair Harry was sitting in earlier, a bag of crisps resting in his spot. There's a glass of water on his bed side table, now that he looks further right, a little letter too, a post it note with the pen over the message.

Louis reaches and takes it from the table, the stickiness uplifting as he peels it from the wood. Just an "if you wake up without me, just wait. I'll be back. I love you. H. xx". Fascinating. 

So Harry loves him. Harry's his boyfriend. Harry is in love with him and for God knows what. Louis longingly remembers being straight. He knows he's straight. Christ, before this accident how did his mind think he was into guys. Harry knows every little thing about Louis but Louis knows fuck all about his own boyfriend. Harry's his boyfriend! Louis is straight. He has a fucking boyfriend who has given him a promise ring and has held his hand and has said I love you every five fucking minutes since meeting and... this shit is fucking absurd. 

Harry's mad. Harry's absolutely mad. Why is he still here, after two days in the hospital, holding Louis' hand and telling him shit will be okay. Louis doesn't even know him, and Louis can't care anymore than what he's tried to. He can't handle the idiot, and now he has to live with him until everything is better. Nothing is going to get better. 

Louis screws up the note and throws it leftward. He hums in his spot and folds his damaged arms over his stomach, waiting for Harry's return. 

He does return around twenty minutes later with a mug of something in his hand and papers in the other. Veiling Harry's footsteps is a nurse, the same one from earlier with the cherry red lips and the stethoscope choking her neck. Louis eyeballs her instead of his own boyfriend, and he's sure Harry's not pleased with the lack of attention Louis is giving him. 

"One more test, my love," the nurse grins, heading over to his heart monitor - now switched off - and picks up a clipboard. She scribbles something down, and Louis doesn't take his eyes off her. She's rather pretty, actually. Her hair is up in a nice bun with bangs framing the sides of her pale face. She looks up from the board, her eyes meeting Louis' and she gives him a small nod of greeting. Louis grins wider, and suddenly, there's something crushing his frail hand.

Louis sharply snaps his head around to see Harry's enormously stupid hand engulfed around his. Harry's smiling, bum nestled in his small seat and eyes sparkling up to Louis'. Louis doesn't react. He can't react. He needs to deal with it. Harry's his boyfriend.

The nurse takes another sample of Louis' blood for the final test. When she leaves the room, he almost calls out to try and get her back in. He doesn't want to stay alone with Harry. Not again. Harry's going to remind him of the other disgusting things they used to do, that they used to get up to. Louis doesn't want to remind himself. Louis is straight. Louis can't do this with Harry.

"How're you feeling?" His voice is low, soft. It's soothing if Louis is honest. Louis looks down at him, hands still tucked together but not intertwined, and then blinks three times.

"Yeah," he answers with a shrug, carelessness bouncing in his words "good."

"Are you... are you feeling sore or anything?"

"Harry," Louis hisses with eyes narrow. "I got out of a motorbike accident two days ago. How about you take a guess?"

Harry's eyes fall down to their hands, and his smile fades with the sigh that slips past his mouth. "S-Sorry, I," Louis feels Harry's pinky curl around his, and it brings a sense of warmth between them, "just thought maybe you'd be a little better than yesterday..."