Be My Happy

Chapter 1

Louis Tomlinson walked into the doors of an all too familiar hospital building he has come to despise. He knew it was his job, but seeing dozens of depressed patients that had death waiting around the corner for them sometimes deemed too much to handle. It was the first time he entered the building for about a week. His last patient, Emily Harrison, only ten years old, had died of a severe cardiovascular disease. Getting a little closer to this patient than usual for she reminded Louis of his little sisters, he had stopped by her room every Tuesday and Thursday for six months when she was diagnosed with minute-childhood depression. He helped her cope with the fact that she would most likely have to say goodbye to her parents, her little brother, and her grandparents very soon. Louis made the process easier, and brightened up her remaining days with his unique humor. It’s safe to say that when she died, Louis had been more torn up than usual. His boss gave him a week to recover.

                As he made his way up to the front desk, he thought about Emily, and the last words he ever heard her say:

                “Be my happy, Louis.”

I will be your happy, he thought, and he put a smile on his face and greeted Niall the security guard with a fake aura of enthusiasm.

                “Morning Mr. Horan!”

                Niall chuckled. “How many times do I have to tell you, Louis? Call me Niall.”

                “Mate,” Louis said to him, “I’ll call you Niall when you stop making me nervous. I mean, I feel like you’re about to arrest me!”

                “Stop being a twat. Who are you seeing today?”

                “A kid named Harry Styles,” Louis said as he took out his file, “says he’s eighteen, brain tumor, half a year to live, severe depression and history of an eating disorder.” He looks up at Niall. “Boss said he would give me an easy one after Emily… said this guy was already too far gone.”

                Niall looked skeptical. “Louis, if anyone could save him, it’d be you.”

                He gave Niall a “stop being such an idiot look” and started down the corridor towards the brain injuries/terminal illness’s section of the hospital.

                “I’m serious, mate!” he heard Niall yell to his back.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“101…102….103….” Louis muttered as he walked down the hallway. “Ah. Room 104.”

                He straightened the collar to his shirt and patted his hair down in the front. Re-strapping his business satchel to his shoulder, he knocked on the door a quick three times. After waiting a good few minutes, he didn’t get an answer. He knocked again.

                “Jesus fuck,” he heard a quiet voice mutter inside the room. Louis had to practically strain his ears to hear it. After some movement and rustling of sheets, the voice said only a little louder, “Come in.”

                Louis walked in the room only to be met by darkness. The lights were off, and the curtains seemed to be closed.

                “Ummm..” he muttered, not sure what this meant.

                “Oh, ehrm, sorry. I had a migraine last night… you can turn the lights on.”

                After a few moments of patting and searching the wall for a light-switch, his hand landed on a circle. “So, uhm, is this circle thing it, or—“

                “Oh, yea, sorry. Just turn it a little to the right so it dims.”

                Louis did as he was told, and the room suddenly filled with a dim light. The room was meant to be a double, but Harry’s bed was pushed to the center of it. It was relatively empty, surprising Louis a bit. Usually young patients had balloons, presents, flowers—but this room was bare except for a bed. He looked at Harry only to be met with lifeless green eyes and a mop of curly hair. Looking closer, he noticed purple bags under those eyes, and chapped lips following downwards.

                “I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to keep the blinds closed..” The boy said, playing with the strings of his blanket.  “My headaches have been getting worse, so.”

                Louis cleared his throat as he heard Harry’s voice properly for the first time (low and scratchy and holy shit Louis he’s eighteen) and pulled up a chair next to his bed.

                “No, that’s perfectly okay. I’m Louis.”

                Harry looked at Louis, studying him. “Are you another therapist? Because I didn’t ask for another one, after the last one gave up.”

                Louis tried to stumble out an answer, losing his usual confident façade to one of nervousness.  This boy seemed so lost… like he was already dead.

                “You know, ehrm, you don’t, like, have to call me a therapist. I could be a friend, or—“

                “A mentor, a companion, a father figure…” Harry finished for him. “Although, I don’t think it’ll be the last one. You don’t look as old as my last therapist.”

                “Well, I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” Louis chuckled, only receiving a forced grin from Harry. “I’m twenty-one, actually.”

                The younger boy raised his eyebrows. “You’re twenty-one and at a hospital spending time with depressed people?” He closed his eyes. “That must suck.”

                Louis laughed. “Well, enough about me. Let’s talk about you, Harry.”

                Harry opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m Harry. I’m eighteen. I had a very good childhood. I used to work at a bakery and baked a lot. I was going to school to become a lawyer, but I started getting headaches. Turns out I had a tumor growing in my brain since I was five. Tried an experimental treatment, lost all my hair, but it didn’t work. I was given a year and a half to live. I’ve stopped eating, stopped talking to my friends and my family because I don’t see the point anymore.. I’m going to die anyway… but they’ve forced me to stay at the hospital so I don’t kill myself before nature takes its course.”

                Louis was rendered speechless only a moment before he muttered out, “Well. That seemed a bit rehearsed.”

                “Louis, right?” Harry asked. Louis nodded. “I’ve had a total of eight therapists before you. I know how this goes. And I know you’ll have already left before I’m dead.” He went back to picking his blanket.

                Louis sighed. Niall was wrong, and his boss was right. This boy was very, very far gone, and Louis wasn’t sure if he had enough experience or stamina to give him hope before he passed away. He’d have to make a game plan when he got home tonight, he thought. Study Harry Styles inside and out. Find a way to give him hope. Find a way to be his happy.

                “Before I go, give me one positive thing that has happened since you’ve been here. There’s got to be one.” Louis almost begged.

                Harry thought a moment before answering.

                “I got my curls back.”