69 For 28 || l.s

56.

The hospital room was cold and empty the day Harry left it for the first time. He had pulled his jacket tight around himself as the cold autumn wind hit him. The pouring rain hid his tears everytime he left the hospital.

He witnessed death the year his grandmother died. He was seventeen and she was eighty-five. After two severe strokes she made it, she managed to join their yearly vacation. He saw the change in her eyes and he couldn't hide the hurt in his own eyes when she stopped listening to him. When she started to avoid eye contact and blantly stared at the sea. She stopped reading even though it was her favorite thing to do. And then, half a year later, she fell asleep and didn't wake up the next morning. The last evening he spent with her was the evening he knew she would die soon. She was smilling and laughing, she looked like she drunk in their faces to kerp herself from forgetting.

Harry grew up without her. Years past and it never stopped hurting when he heard her voice in the voice-mail he had kept on his phone. The vivid image of her had been fading since the day she passed. Ever since then he avoided hospitals.

Until he was faced with death again.

Louis spent nearly three weeks in a coma. The smoking and poor eating habits added to the damage of his recovery. When he woke up, he had lost 5% of his memories, which doesn't seem like much, but it turned out to be too much. His character was probably the worst change; he didn't care about anything. For weeks he stared into the distance, slept and refused to eat. The emptiness in his eyes was reflected in his appearance. If Chrissi didn't visit him every Wednesday, he wouldn't have changed his shirt for weeks. In the therapies he said nothing, not a single word, and fought tooth and nail against the rehab.

At some point it became clear to Harry that Louis didn't want to get better. The years in prison had traumatized him so clearly and Harry blamed himself every day for not paying attention on the day of the wedding.

The trial went on for two months, Louis won through Harry's lawyers and many millions in bribes. But neither of them was happy. Louis never looked him in the eye, sometimes nodding or crying bitter tears when Chrissi was there. He looked at her, he apologized so often. Each time, Harry's heart tore more. His opinion of her had been wrong.

Because after the divorce, which followed three weeks after the wedding, she was the one who went to the hospital and took care of Louis and even offered to take him home.

But Louis was too broken to accept her offer.

Even Niall came, he spoke calmly to Louis, he held his hand and kissed his forehead in remorse. But it had to come to that, that he finally realized his wrong actions.

Eventually, however, it began to go uphill. The sun peeked through the clouds and the fog disappeared. The first frost and the first snowdrops appeared. The winter months returned and with them the improvement, and also the hope that Harry carried deep in his heart.

Ironically, he held on to Louis. In a new house, outside of london. Hidden behind mountains by a stream. A woodland cottage, two stories high, furnished in modern white tones.

Here Harry cooked for Louis every day, made him do pilates to exercise his joints, and tried to read him the newspaper every night. He slept in the same bed with Louis again, and learned to trust him.

Even though there were endless arguments at the beginning.

Now Harry sits on the couch, his phone in one hand, his pencil in the other. The branch tour starts in a few months and he still doesn't know how to bridge the time away from Louis. To postpone the problem, he does crossword puzzles. Only he's not very good at it, so he Googles the answers to most of the questions.

He is bored. His morning pilates was three hours ago, he's already eaten his toast and showered. It's a rainy Friday. The forest is wet, and a few trees have been struck by lightning overnight. Clifford lies next to him on the couch, the dog's snout resting on Harry's thigh. It's almost 2 p.m. Louis should have been up long ago. Harry didn't have the mental strength to push him out of bed at 9 a.m., and now it's too late.

Harry sighs, the questions overwhelm him. He gets up, followed by Clifford, he goes up the stairs and knocks quietly on the bedroom door. "Lou?" He asks cautiously.

No answer.

"Louis, it's a little after two." He repeats fervently. His hand is on the handle as the door slowly opens.

"I'm awake. I'm fine." He says wearily. His sleep-drunk eyes look bleak, almost dead in the sense. His white shirt hangs loose from his thin body. His protruding collarbones make him look even more sick. A constant reminder that he is not only mentally drained. The pale skin covered by dark jeans, the blue is washed out and the pants clearly too big. Louis' hair is unbrushed and his three-day beard is now a five-day beard.

"You don't look fine, have you slept badly again?" Harry asks anxiously. He puts a hand on Louis' back and slowly leads him to the bathroom.

"No. I slept fine."

Louis sits down on the edge of the bathtub. He stares into space as he takes off his shirt and lets it fall to the floor beside him.

The air in the room is cool and strained. Harry washes the razor in the sink, taking a towel and shaving oil with him. In front of Louis he puts two fingers under his chin and lifts it. He shakes his head sadly as Louis lowers his eyes straight to the floor. The scars on his shoulders stand out slightly from the cold. A few of the blows have left deep irritations on the skin, a few are from Louis' own carelessness.

Harry applies the oil to Louis' beard, gently stroking his cheek. Then he takes the razor and runs the sharp blade down Louis' cheek, down over his chin. Louis doesn't even close his eyes, he sits silently until Harry is done, dabbing his chin with a wet washcloth.

"You look so much younger." He says, a trace of old lost euphoria in his voice. "Suits you." He adds.

He strokes cream over the scars and bruises that adorn Louis' body. As he does so, he is carefully mindful of Louis' reactions. Sometimes he still flinches away, or shakes his head non verbally to show Harry that it won't work. The psychologist Louis had gone to three times for Harry's sake had assured him it would get better. Eventually. The beatings had damaged nerves in his brain and caused trauma that manifested itself in the form of dissociations and nightmares.

"Thank you. I think I'll take Clifford for a walk." Louis' voice is calm and much quieter. He wants to smoke, even though he's not allowed to, because his lungs have also been damaged.

"I'll join you."

"No. You stay here. Save your helper syndrome for someone who needs it."

With that, he left the bathroom. Minutes later, Harry heard Clifford bark joyfully and scratch at the door.

Then the door slammed shut and the house fell silent. Harry sighed and let his head sink into his hands.