Sidemen Shots

Little White Ones ~ Minishaw

For emweraldwarr.

~ Features some improper drug use, nothing too extreme.

Harry didn't understand why he felt like this, so there was no way that his husband could. Right? Obviously.

If Harry himself couldn't pinpoint a reason as to why his heart felt like a pin cushion these days, then there was definitely no way that Simon could.

~•~

Simon exhaled through his nose as he pulled away from his husband, his chest rising and falling with the jagged breath he took. He fought to keep his eyes open as he did so, his nostrils flaring and twitching so minutely the actions were unnoticeable unless you really looked for them.

Simon laughed, a laugh so devoid of the barest traces of humour it caused his heart to ricochet around his ribcage unpleasantly. "Fuck, Haz. Okay. If that's what you want."

The thing is, despite his words, Simon didn't know what Harry wanted. By the look Simon caught on the younger boy's face before he turned away from him, then Harry didn't know what he wanted either. At least at this point in time.

"I'll give you some space, then, yeah?"

Harry nodded, his eyes glistening, but Simon didn't see the action. He was already walking out of the room. Maybe he would go take a walk. Get some fresh air, and all that.

~•~

When Simon returned from his walk, it was to find his husband - surprisingly - in a different position to the one he had left him in, though the previous one was definitely preferable. This way, resting stock still with his head on the floor but his legs in the air, pressed against the back of the sofa, Harry looked... well, a split-second glance was all Simon needed in order to panic. To fear that the other wasn't wholly conscious.

(If his confused anger from before his walk hadn't already fizzled out during his leisurely stroll around the streets of London, then this sight would have absolutely obliterated the tight coil of hurt-scared-loving-angry-baffled that had not so long ago wreathed within him.)

"H-harry?" Simon's voice, through no effort of his own, was pitched higher than what came naturally, his husband's name barely more than a puffed out breath into the empty evening air.

"Unghh?" The responding sound was little more than a groan, but Simon detected a slight questioning air to it.

His heart, in contrast to his brain, didn't cease in its mindless panic as he approached the body of his partner. His brain, rationally, saw sense and realised Harry was awake. His heart, on the other hand, was still screaming out with: Harry, Haz, checkpulse; Harry, Haz, dosomething; Harry, Haz, callambulance; Harry, Haz, getJosh.

For a second, Simon didn't know which noise rang out louder inside his ears, the sound of Harry's groan or the incessant beating of his heart inside his chest, like a chained beast fighting to get out.

As soon as Simon identified the origin of the groan to not be physical pain, the thumping of his heart won out.

As he drew closer to the younger man's prone form, Simon swallowed the build-up of saliva that clogged his throat due to his own worry.