When Louis didn't wake for two days, Harry called the ambulance and watched as they took him away. He knew this would happen sooner or later, he just had hoped for later. He hoped that Louis would have lived to see his 29th birthday.
He called everyone on the way to the hospital, hoping that they would make it to him before he was gone. Before the world was lost. Before the sun stopped rising. In the hospital bed, he almost didn't recognize Louis. He was so small, so pale, he was everything that was so not Louis, he was convinced they had given them the wrong room. Because that wasn't his Louis. His Louis was soft and tan, his hands were warm, and his eyes were kind. His Louis talked with angels, he made him cry, he made him angry, he made him want to curse the skies, but mostly, his Louis made him laugh. His Louis made him smile. His Louis made him want to live forever if it meant another second together.
That was not his Louis in the hospital bed. That Louis was being kept alive by a hose, being fed by a tube, and did nothing at all. That Louis was pale, and the only thing that Louis did was make him cry. That Louis made his heart break and his mind go numb. Because that was not his Louis. That was not his sunrise.
But the sunset.
So he sat next to this man, the man who was imitating the love of his life and he held his cold hand, and looked at his sharp bones. He kissed his pale forehead and when he sat on the edge of the bed, he tried not to crush his frail bones. He stroked the brittle hair from his forehead and ran his thumb across his brow, because maybe his touch would wake him. Maybe when Harry touched him, life would spark back into him and he would get to see those ocean eyes again.
But life didn't work that way.
So when his family members trailed in the room little by little, he wondered if they didn't know who that man was either. He wondered if they saw what he saw, because that was someone foreign to him. They wept at his bedside and said their goodbyes, and Harry watched without an emotion. Because that wasn't Louis.
And when they were all done, and gone, and crying, Harry crouched by the bed because he couldn't make himself sit in that awful chair. He crouched by the bed and held Louis's hand, and he couldn't help but look at that spot where his tattoo should've been, and drew an 'H' instead. Because he would always be Louis's. Just like Louis would always be his.
He glanced around the room at the others, the tears on his face made him understand that this wasn't some sick dream anymore. That this was the new reality that he had to face. This was the after. The after Louis. And they all had to see him in the During.
Lottie, Daisy, Phoebe, and the three boys he had shared so much of his life with. Maybe he should cry now, but he couldn't. He was so numb with emotion and trauma that he couldn't muster a tear. But his throat was tight and his brain was so flustered with fog it was like he couldn't even think right. So he watched everyone say goodbye to Louis. But Harry couldn't let himself focus on that, he couldn't let himself hear their last words to him. So he listened to the sound of Louis's heartbeat on the monitor. Slow and weak, but still there, anyway.
"It's okay, Lou." Harry whispered to his knuckles. "You go now. It's okay."
Harry kissed his forehead and caressed his cheek. He was clutching that horrible green hoodie so tightly in his fist that he almost forgot he was holding it. He had brought it just in case. Just in case he woke up and was chilled, like he so often was. Because it was his favorite after all.
But he wouldn't need it anymore. Louis wouldn't need that hoodie anymore. Louis wouldn't need that hoodie anymore. That was the hardest thing he had to accept. Louis didn't need him anymore. He was okay now, wasn't he? Harry looked at him, laying in the bed. He was on his back. He hated sleeping on his back. He got a mental image of Louis, curled in on himself in bed with the blankets pulled to his chin and it made his gut twist. None of this was right.
So after everyone had left and Harry was all alone, he sat next to Louis and held his hand. He held the hoodie to his chest and laid his head down on the bed. "It's okay, Lou. We'll be alright without you. You can go now, darling."
And then he was gone.
Harry was alone when he got home. He patted Bruce on the head when he walked through the door and set Louis's hoodie on the counter. There really was nothing left anymore. The flat was cold and empty without him. The blanket on the couch was as still a mess, it still outlined his shrunken frame from when he laid there last. Harry didn't cry. Not until he saw their bed. Their blankets were askew and he could still see the indent of where Louis's head laid. That's when he finally fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Everything that he was keeping buried deep down from the last couple of months had toppled over again. The exhaustion, frustration, and misery was all overflowing because he was gone. He shoved Bruce away, hating the way his tongue felt against his hands as he tried to calm himself down. The dog whined and tapped his feet on the floor, but that only fueled his anger.
"Shut up!" He snapped at the dog. Louis's dog.
"Hey," a voice called from behind him. Harry froze, used his fingers to wipe his eyes and looked up.
"Zayn." Harry said, unable to control the tears that fell down his cheeks. He kept wiping them away, but they continued one after another after another.
"What'd Bruce do to you, mate?" He asked gently, squatting down next to him. Harry just shook his head, guilt rising in his chest.
"I'm sorry." Harry croaked. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, no one expects you to be strong all the time." Zayn said, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. "Let's get you in bed. It's been a long day."
But Harry didn't want to lay in that bed. He didn't want to ruin one of the last things Louis left him. His smell, the shape of his body in the blankets, but he let Zayn guide him to the bed. Then it hit him, the flash drive. He rummaged for his computer and then through the drawer of the bedside table.
"Harry, what-"
"Sh!" He snapped, cursing at his computer for not loading fast enough. When the box appeared, he realized that Louis had left him a voice memo. Zayn had fallen silent beside him and waited. Harry thought he should kick him out, made sure that this thing that Louis had left him was just for him. But he realized maybe Zayn needed to hear it too. So he pressed play.
"Hey, Haz. It's- it's a Louis. I suppose you knew that already. I feel like a fuckin idiot right now but ehm- I wanted you to have something from me that was just for you. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to be strong all the time, okay? I know you're stubborn and you'll isolate yourself from everyone, but don't you do that, Harry. I don't want to see you in the after for a long time, alright? It's okay not to be okay- shit that's fuckin cheesy- but yknow what, it's true. You can fall apart sometimes, and as long as you pull yourself together in the end. Anyway-" he paused to laugh. "Sorry Niall's being a fuckin idiot in the other room- uh anyway. It's okay. You don't have to be strong for me anymore, love. I know you're going to try your best every day and I can't tell you what that means to me. But I suppose it's over now. When you're watching this. And it's okay. I can't hurt anymore. Don't drag yourself down because of this. I'm okay. And I love you."
Harry played it again. And again. Then one more time. Because he got to hear Louis's laugh again. And it sounded like him, genuinely. Then there were fingers touching his face, wiping his tears away, and then Zayn was holding him. It was so strange, because it wasn't Louis. Zayn smelled like warm leather and cigarette smoke, like the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It was everything that wasn't Louis, well except for the cigarettes. Because Louis was soft cotton and butterfly kisses. He the remnants of his cologne, and apple cider. And Zayn was everything except that. But he cried into Zayn's chest, soaked his t-shirt and wiped his snot away on his sleeve.
"'M sorry." Harry said, referring to Zayn's now probably ruined t-shirt.
"'Salright." Zayn murmured, and then Harry realized that he must have been crying too. "I didn't much care for this shirt anyhow." He chuckled, and Harry laughed a little too, through the tears.
"How long have you been here?" He asked, realizing then that Zayn hadn't come home with him.
"A while. I wanted to make sure you were okay, Harry." He whispered.
"I'm not okay." He replied softly. "I'm really not okay."
"I know." Zayn replied softly. "Me neither."
