✓ lights /styles au/

17 Blame

[A/n: The set-up might be messy and italics are for memories. Sorry for the mistakes and confusion.]

you can hold me down and remind me why i hate myself.

Everything happened so fast.

One minute Harry was waking up and the next he was in a room with white walls.

One minute his arms were draped around Joey's waist and his breath was evenly fanning out between them, and the next he was sitting in a too-quiet room trying to catch his breath and pretend he wasn't burning. He was trying to pretend it was okay that he wore a sweater when he messily walked over because it was winter and it was snowing, but it felt to him like it was nearly 78° (so he was burning).

He stripped himself of his jacket, but hours ago he was wearing only a short sleeved shirt and Niall was in the living room cleaning dishes after Jo made breakfast that he never got to eat.

Hours ago he was rubbing at his eyes and freaking out because there was this window in his bedroom that he always used to keep closed because the sunlight burned his eyes too much. He was rubbing at his eyes and scratching at his eyelids because the burnt sunlight never made its way into his corneas and all he was seeing was black. He was still seeing black.

His mouth was dry and he remembered silently reaching out for Joey and pointing at the window. He felt the warmth; could feel it as it gently warmed his face and nearly set his veins on fire, but things were different and it was all going so fast.

He couldn't see anything and he still felt that racing feeling in his chest when he said it aloud.

"What's wrong?"  She shifted her weight to ask him.

He shook his head and ran his fingers down his face. Tried to keep calm as he scowled at the heavy silence of the room where his doctor still wasn't inside of. He was late. His doctor was always late.

His throat tightened in anxiety as he let her go. "Are the curtains drawn? I don't- I can't-"

"Harry, relax. Calm down and tell me what's wrong." She caught his fingers in hers. Everything was slow but he was making connections in his head and his skin was burning.

"Joey," he moved away, rubbing at his eyes harder than he ever had. They didn't hurt, weren't straining. They weren't dilating or itching, but they weren't doing the only job they'd been doing for years. They weren't catching the only light they were suppose to. They weren't catching the burnt orange or red streaks of light that came from the sun he couldn't see. They didn't hurt, but he wished they did. Because that meant they were doing something. "Jo, I can't see."

He felt the urge to call her. And maybe Niall too. Because he didn't remember a lot from what happened in the morning, but he remembered how vulgar he was being and how aggressive his words sounded.

He remembered not squinting against the lights and not fighting the intensity of the bright colors he always had to. He was suppose to have one more year.

"Harry," she said calmly, pressing one of her hands against his chest to keep him from shaking. He didn't know he was quavering until she touched him.

"No," he said quietly, now ferociously rubbing at his eyes. He knuckled at them and then put his wrists against the irritated skin, running his fingers over his eyelids before pulling away and trying to see anything other than the black film that wouldn't budge. "Not now, I had time," he whispered, rocking back and forth on the bed. "I have time, I'm not-"