Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Mixed Feelings

Louis' Point of View

I had been in the hospital for nearly a week and I wanted to go crazy. The whole accident had happened on a Friday and Harry basically lived in the hospital for the weekend, which I found wildly inappropriate given the terms that we're on. But he said he wanted to be there for me, and I didn't have much of a choice. If I was being honest, it was kind of nice having him here, or just having someone who cared enough to stay with me in this big white death chamber.

I hated hospitals before mum got sick, but after she fell ill, I hated them increasingly more. It was always so sad and serious. Never good news. The pitiful looks the doctors and nurses would give her. The awful diagnoses. I swore to myself I would never go to another hospital again. But here I was, hooked up to a fucking feeding tube for destroying my own throat through my very own idiocy. Bravo, Louis. Bravo.

On Monday, I told Harry he should go to work. I was feeling better (sort of) and it wasn't okay for him to miss work. I was probably going to be in here for a while, and I didn't want to hold him up. He agreed reluctantly, ensuring me he would come back and visit as soon as his shift ended.

That same day, before he left, I broke down in front of him, crying about mum. It was the first time we had touched in two years, and it was essentially me sobbing into his arms, broken and devastated. He felt the same as he always did — at least did towards the end of our relationship. Muscular, strong, stable. But I know that I didn't feel the same as I did before. Not by a long shot. The way Harry tensed up when he felt my bones, the way he looked at me with pity as I fiddled with the tube in my nose. He knew how bad it was. He knew all too well.

I didn't even care at this point about the food or the weight or any of it. I just wanted to fucking go home. To be somewhere other than this stupid hospital bed. I was going mad after watching hundreds of shows on Netflix. The nurses tried to get me to write stories or do art projects, but I didn't want to write anymore. I was fucking fired. So why should I write another word? Clearly, I wasn't good enough.

It was Friday when they finally told me I could leave, and at that point I was mentally worn out. I hardly opened my eyes anymore, and just lay there, apathetic as they took my vitals and changed the formula in the feeding tube. This was my life now.

But when they said I was being discharged, that I should be able to eat and drink normally, aside from alcohol and spicy food, I was so relieved. I couldn't wait to get that god damn thing out of nose, and to get my hands on a pack of cigarettes. I was nearly mad without them.

"That's so great, Louis," Harry said when I told him the news. I nodded, trying my best to look excited— because I was. But now it was hitting me that I was going home to no job, no friends, no family.

"Are you going to be okay? On your own?" Harry asked quietly. He was wearing his work clothes today, a pale pink button down with blue dress pants and a black belt. He looked rather charming, I will admit. I had been much more forgiving of Harry lately, maybe because he had helped save me from a dangerous situation or maybe for a deeper reason I didn't want to admit. But even though I was warming up to him, I was still very scared he would hurt me. And I didn't want to get my heart broken a second time.

"Yeah," I said with feigned confidence. "Gonna start looking for a new job." Harry nodded, but wrinkled his brow. He didn't look convinced.

"Well, we still have that opening I told you about," he said with a smile. I shook my head frantically. "Don't need your help," I replied quickly. I was getting my voice back slowly, and now it was nearly restored.

"Well. I just... Can I help you somehow?" Harry asked. His green eyes connected with my blue ones. "Harry, honestly you've helped me a ton already," I said with a smile. I meant it. Just him visiting was enough to brighten my dull, depressing day.

"I just... Are you going to be okay? Eating?" Harry whispered. He looked at me with a concerned expression, but I rolled my eyes.

"Harry I'm not your problem," I sighed, crossing my arms. "But I used to be yours," he said back, his lips quivering a bit. He was right. I did used to care for him in his darkest moments. Perhaps he was just trying to return the favor... perhaps he didn't really care about me at all.

"Haz," I said, my face reddening as I used his nickname. "Are you trying to repay me for what I did for you? Because I did that then because I loved you...."

Harry shook his head, curls flying as he interrupted me. "No. I just care about you. And I'd like to show you that. I never stopped caring," he replied. He stepped towards me, perhaps to touch me, but stopped.

My stomach lurched as I thought about what he said. It was too much. Everything was too much. He left me. He fucking left me and never called once. Not once. He did stop caring.... he certainly did.

"Harry you should go," I said, shaking my head. He nodded, turning towards the door. "I'm sorry," he said from the doorway.

The door shut and I heard his footsteps down the hall. I should have been relieved, but all I could think was: when is he coming back?