Night Changes // l.s.

▰ 13; pt. I ▰

[i really love louis tomlinson like you don't understand

Alsoooo
You can go read my Zayn short "I Won't Mind" it's stupid short and yeah. it sucks but I mean hey.

Also, also
My doctors think I have sickle cell but they aren't sure. I will keep updating. I can't leave you guys hanging but I can't make any promises anyway carry on]

Louis turns his head quickly just to make sure he heard Nick correctly. Nick's eyes were trained on Anne as he repeated himself.

"You need to talk to him, Mrs Cox. Do you think you can?" He asks, gently. She looks at Robin and Gemma briefly and then Louis and he gives her a reassuring nod.

"Yeah," she says, still in a slight state of shock, "yes."

"Okay. I'll get the lines set up. Would you like to empty the room," he asks.

"Um," she around her and then shakes her head, "no."

▰

Harry is stubborn.

That's a fact that everyone in this room knows. When Harry hears Anne's voice, Louis assumed that Harry would immediately give in and let the doctors sedate him.

He doesn't.

Nick sighs. Anne is crying. Robin is holding Anne. Gemma left the room. And Louis is pissed off.

Louis wants to pluck Harry's big forehead and yell at him, "this will save your life, you idiot."

"I've got an idea," Nick says, smiling like this is the best thing he's ever thought up. Nick grabs the phone off the table and shoves it in Louis direction. "Talk to him."

What?" he asks hoarsely.

Nick looks genuinely troubled by this, like he's trying to keep Louis hopes down. "He's suffered a major trauma and not seen or heard anyone familiar for over a month, exception of his mother;" he says, "he's disoriented, I'm sure. Scared. We think it might help, if he hears your voice."

"But Anne -"

"Just listen, Louis," Nick says.

Louis blinks, nods at him to go on.

"He's not going to be able to talk back, he's still on the ventilator. You know this. But just talk to him. Tell him all the boring shit you can think of, anything that'll make him feel like he's at home."

No. His brain is overrun with questions and impossibilities and problems and no. He sits back down, shaky.

"I can't do this," Louis whispers. "I...I can't fucking...what, tell him how the weather is and, and, fuck," he says.

"I know," Nick says gently, "I know. It's a lot. But I need you to do this, for him. Talk to him. Tell him you're waiting for him, that you'll see him soon."

"And will I?"

He doesn't mean to say it. Doesn't mean it to spill out like that, harsh and cracked and blunt. Nick swallows, nods.

"Yeah," he says, "you will. Once we put him under for a couple of days, drugs'll clear his infection, he'll go to Germany. He'll stay there for a bit, maybe have a couple of procedures done, then he'll come home. Remind him of that. Remind him you're here."

Louis sits back down, bites his nail. He doesn't want to do this, because what if he fucks it up, what if he makes it worse, what if Harry doesn't want to hear his voice, doesn't remember him in his state of drug-induced delirium.