Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 3.2

One benefit of his mom being a nurse is that she knows what to give him to stop it hurting so badly.

He's got bruised ribs from front to back, maybe a few fractures. He refuses to go to the hospital, fights petulantly and holds his covers over his chest when she tries to pull him away. Eventually, she just sighs and goes downstairs to grab a concoction of tablets and some wet tissues to clean around his swollen eye and disinfect the cuts on his face.

Once he's choked down a few pills and his skin feels tacky and only slightly clean, fatigue settles right down into his bones as he lies propped up in bed. It hurts to close his eyes and it hurts to keep them open, so he settles for just staring blearily, half-lidded, out his window at the sky. It's a beautiful day.

He can't go back to school. He doesn't want to go back to school.

As much as he tries, he can't stop his mind from wandering. With nothing to occupy him except the thudding ache in his cheeks, his imagination warps visions of fierce whispers and narrowed eyes, of disgusted grimaces and leering. Almost unconsciously he curls in on himself in his own bed, thick-hot panic circling his throat and pressing its open palms over his ribs.

Of course, he can't stop his mind from wandering to Harry, either. Louis hopes that he's smart enough not to go to school. Zayn's face pops into his head and it makes Louis crumple, thinking of all the fresh friendships. He'd finally been accepted, properly. That was all wasted now.

Guilt flushes over him for turning Harry away last night. He's stuck in this awful state of wanting to see him, be surrounded by his comforting warmth, and retreating into his own space, secluded and away from the rest of the world. He wants nothing more than Harry's lips against his neck, whispering soft assurances and making him warm. But he also wants nothing more than to pull his sheets over his face and hide.

It seems at some point the heavy dose of medicine he'd taken kicks in, because when he opens his eyes after a slow blink, late-noon darkness has settled over him. The curtains have been drawn so that only thin strips of orange light slip through, walls an odd translucent yellow and soft glow. His tongue feels tacky in his mouth, and Louis shifts upright a little with a wince.

"Oh, you're awake."

Louis lets out a startled shout, curling his legs up to his chest and fisting his sheets as he swivels his neck out of reflex. The whole movement sends pain shooting down his entire body, making him wince again and omit a tiny sound of pain. His heart is beating steadily against his ribs, making them thump with rattling aches.

"Shit, sorry," Liam says. He closes the book in his hands with a quick snap, looking sheepish sitting in front of Louis' bookcase.

Louis blinks down at him and feels all color drain from his face, air charged and unsettling around them. Of all people, he'd expected Harry. Peering down at Liam, he can feel fear crawling up the back of his spine.

Liam is just staring at him with his lips bitten into his mouth, eyes running over the bruises on his face.

"What are you doing here," Louis mutters, throat croaky and odd from sleep. Liam stands carefully and slides the book he was reading back into the stacks.

He sits on the edge of Louis' bed gingerly and rests his elbows on his knees. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," Louis whispers in surprise. He pulls the sheet up over his shoulders.

Liam glances over at him. His face is resting against his fists, cheeks squished awkwardly. "How long have you known?"

Louis breaks his eyes away, lips pressed together. "A long time."