flower crowns // l.s.

✿18✿

Harry was sick again. And it was bad. He had missed two days of work so far, and that only means it had been three days since he'd last spoken to Louis. To make things worse, Harry had caved in yesterday and double-messaged Louis. But he left him on read. That only made him feel like Louis was ignoring him and he hated that. It made Harry feel like a problem. A nuisance. A thing that needed to be avoided. And all he can think about is that moment when he was at Louis' house and opening up to him about his Mom. Louis was so kind and gentle towards Harry that night, what had happened? And the night he rushed over to the restaurant Harry was eating at because the voicemail reached its limit. And the aquarium. Louis almost kissed him. . . .

Harry knew he was over-thinking but he couldn't stop. Surely, he did something wrong. Maybe he hurt Louis in some way and didn't realize it. He felt horrible mentally and physically. When something like this happens, he instantly feels like gum underneath someone's shoe. He thought he was stronger than this. He thought he was doing so good, but it turns out, three days without hearing from Louis was enough to tear him apart. Harry knows it wasn't a thing he could stop, becoming attached to Louis, but maybe he could have used these emotionally stable months to improve himself. To prepare himself for the drop. For months he'd been chasing Louis, trying to get him to at least like him as a friend. He had for a month. Only a month. Now it feels like Louis really isn't supposed to be for him. Has it always been this hard to get the one you like to like you back?

In his sprawled out position on the bed, he buried his head in the crack between both of his pillows on the bed and moaned out sadly. He'd already drenched the pillow with his tears, and now there was snot on it.

"No," he muttered when he heard his door creak open. "Leave me here to die, please."

"I made you some soup, Harry," Liam said.

That made Harry, with closed eyes, lift his head just inches above the pillows. "Karen's recipe?"

"Duh. I know how much you hate the canned chicken noodle soup. Better eat it while it's hot, too."

Slowly, Harry flopped onto his back with a groan. His throat ached and his head hurt and his nose was raw from all the constant blowing. "Why aren't you in class?" Digging his palms into the mattress, he pushed himself in a sitting position and rested his back against the wall. Liam handed Harry the soup.

"I have to get back soon, I just came here for lunch to make you this," he said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a bottled water and then tossed it on the bed beside Harry. "You better keep yourself hydrated. And my Mom mentioned for you to sit up like you are now for better circulation. I don't know how she put it, but if you're having trouble breathing, it's better to just sit up."

Harry nodded and told Liam to thank Karen for him. She's always been so sweet to Harry, and after his mother died, Karen made it clear to Harry that she'd be there for him for anything. After Liam left, Harry started in on the soup, even though he couldn't taste it. He could feel the burn on his tongue when he devoured too much of it, though. When he was nearly done with it, he felt his stomach lurch into his throat. He knew what was coming, so as fast as he could, he sat the soup down on the bed (it wound up falling over and spilling on his covers) and hurried out of the room and to the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he dumped out the contents of everything he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours. Even when he puked up everything he could, he was on his knees dry-heaving that hurt his stomach in an awful way. Harry hated being sick like this, hated throwing up, and that just caused him to cry because he felt so helpless. Reaching for a towel on the rack, he clung to it to clean his face. He hoped he was done with that for the day. He'd brushed his teeth and rubbed his sore knees before collapsing on the couch in the living room, drenched in his own sweat.