riptides ➳ larry

viii. comatose

viii. comatose

When he first became a nurse, his coworkers have stressed that he shouldn't get attached to the patients. Because the thing about patients (especially young ones, at that) is that they get better and leave, or, in some cases, they get worse and they die.

He has some trouble staying unattached, though.

The thing is that the kids are all so lovely. They're just so unfailingly bright and optimistic and scarily intuitive at times that he can't help but form little spots in his heart for each and everyone of them. He's always loved kids, always wanted at least four when he grew older and started having some of his own (even though Greg has talked about never even wanting one and perhaps having them settle on sharing a dog instead). But ever since Louis first met Max, the little boy that used to have a shock of dark hair and steely grey eyes and was diagnosed with leukemia, he always had a special spot of fondness for him over all of his patients.

Maybe it's because when Louis first met him, Max was trying to wiggle his way out of his bed while hooked up to endless monitors and an IV just so that he could kick a tiny football at his wall to pass by the time. Louis of course, being the cool person that he is, helped Max maneuver himself to the wall and had a miniature kick about with him, and in that span of time Louis quickly became to see Max as a little brother.

Max was mischievous but had a heart of gold. And he always said that his dream was to be "bigger than Beckham." And Louis always supported him with it. But then Max slowly got sicker and lost his hair, and he couldn't play with Louis anymore. But he never lost his light. His unflappable enthusiasm for life and the optimism that he can make it through anything. He used to sing this song under his breath all of the time, some silly ended thing about how with every low there is a high, and when Louis asked him about it, Max said that his sister was obsessed with the song and now it's always stuck in his head.

So when Louis got a call from Eleanor while he was sleeping off the stress from his graveyard shift, his heart felt like it was tied to a thousand ton weight and was sent hurling down a dark, endless abyss. He should've known, he should've at least been prepared for a call like this but he wasn't.

So, Louis slides out of his and Greg's bed with the lumpy mattress and fumbles around their room. Sliding on his worn in shoes and leaving the flat with his mobile clutched in his hand like a vice.

"He asked to see you," Eleanor had told him over the phone earlier. "He said he didn't want anyone but you at his bed while he went through this. He needs you, Lou."

And Louis absolutely refuses to let Max down. So he opts out of taking the tube and pays with money he doesn't have to get a quicker ride with a cab that was idling on the corner of their street. But when he steps into the children's ward he still feels like he is too late.

"Mary," Louis huffs out when he reaches the small, overcrowded reception desk. "How's Max?"

Mary's eyes flood with pity, her mouth tilting downwards to one of worry as she takes Louis and his disheveled appearance in. He knows he looks like a right trip, with his fringe lying flat over his forehead and an oversized and overly worn in shirt of Greg's shrouding his frame. Mary reaches out and places a warm hand on his own trembling one.

"He's in his room. But, Louis, you have to know that he's not good." She squeezes his hand comfortingly. "He's reacting negatively to his last surgery. The doctor is giving him until the end of this week. We're about to have him moved to ICU."

Louis swallows, nerves twisting anxiously in his stomach. The world is falling into shambles around me, I can feel it. I can feel everything slowly slipping out of my control. Louis stares down hard at the tattered fabric of his shoes, willing the tears that are building in his eyes to subside before glancing back up at Mary.