Euphoria | Larry A.U

(xix) - Hurricane

"I'm a wanderess, I'm a one night stand. Don't belong to no city, don't belong to no man," - Halsey "Hurricane"

Their flight back to England was one of the most stressful flights of Harry's life. Not because the plane ride was in any way shape or form bad, but what was to come, was. Stressful, that is.

His dear mother, already set an appointment with a doctor in London because Harry was apparently incompetent and couldn't do it himself.

Note sarcasm, he is competent and completely able of handling his own.

So yes, he was freaking out and he was damn near asking one of the flight attendants where the nearest exit was, and he may or may not of hoped that they'd answer "the window, go ahead and pop that sucker open and oh yeah, you'll die while you're at it," and the fact that Louis was fidgeting and mumbling in french next to him, was not helping, like at all. Neither was the incessant burning sensation in his liver.

He vomited bile at the hotel before they left, and vomited again at Charles De Gaulle, Louis was not aware of this mainly because he was too busy stressing out about the sales in the men's department.

"You okay?"

Louis merely blinked at the printed papers, all written in French that Greg handed him the night before.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Louis yet again, ignored him.

"Louis Patootie, what're you looking at," Louis snapped his head so fast and just gave Harry a glare, still not replying as he goes to look back at the paper work.

Harry just gave up really. At the time Harry was definitely hurt, but now that he's in his Camden home, alone with the printed e-mail his mum sent him with the appointment details in his hands; he's a lot more hurt than he ever could've been.

He doesn't know how to tell Louis, Niall has a gig tonight and is asleep, Liam is most likely unavailable and Harry really doesn't want to go alone.

That's when he realizes how limited his friends are. He can count the amount of people he talks to with one hand. Harry doesn't know what's sadder. Being a nineteen year old unemployed loner, or being a nineteen year old unemployed once very social and out going but now an antisocial loner. They both seem uncommonly sad.

It's heartbreaking is what it is when the weight of the entire situation really hits Harry. He may or may not be diagnosed with a terminal illness involving his liver. His mouth tastes sour and his throat itches, and yet he's alone. He's going to have to face it all, by himself.

For a second he contemplates saying fuck all and cancelling the appointment to go to Cheshire instead.

The second doesn't last long because he does it. He calls the receptionist at the hospital to reschedule and ignores her protests that he's been blacklisted and that the doctor really wants to see him after hearing his symptoms and family history. He's getting himself into deep shit, he knows it, but he's also getting himself a train ticket and that's somehow everything.

Harry blames the exhausting plane ride.

When he climbs on and the faint hum and vibration below his chair becomes too much that night, he clutches on to his torso for dear life because the ache is just too much. The throb in his head is too much, the growl from hunger in his stomach is also too much and the look on his mum's face when she opens the door is too much.

"Harry!" Her familiar voice tears through him and Harry feels tears gather in his eyes and honestly he's such a sap. He's always known it, everyone's already known it but he's never wasted good tears and 'everyone' doesn't really understand it, they don't really understand him but the tears he shed for his mummy were not wasted and that's all that matters. (it all may be confusing to an outsider but Harry is a confusing being, he knows it. He revels in being different.)