mirrors (larry stylinson au)

epilogue: you were right here all along

Harry had thought crying more would be impossible. Apparently, he had been wrong.

The moment the nurse had come out and told him Louis hadn't made it, had been the worst moment of his life.

Well, isn't it that all bad moments feel like the worst moments in our lives until another bad one comes?

Harry was feeling quite sick anyway.

He had run inside the room as soon as the nurse ha finished speaking, and he has looked at Louis, at his Louis, his boy, lying there in the bed, a green hospital cloth covering him all the way to his stomach, looking peacefully asleep. He knew how Louis looked when he was asleep, and it was just this way. Maybe without the bruise next to his eye and the cut on his cheek, but still.

Harry approached him slowly, and brought his hand to Louis' cheekbone.

He was warm, his skin covered in the thinnest layer of sweat, as if he had been fighting for life just minutes ago.

And he had lost.

Harry falls to his knees next to Louis' bed, holding his hand.

He stands there for a while. He then sits back on the chair, because he can feel Louis' hand is only warm anymore because of him holding it, and he can't stand it.

He starts going over all the stupid shit that could have saved Louis. Him not going to that stupid café, if Harry had interrogated him about what was on his mind before, all those times he had seen him lost in his mind. Him not going to London that day, if Harry hadn't invited him to tag along, because he was going to be working on the project anyway, and Louis would have to say around around the city, alone. Him not needing to go find his stupid self if Harry hadn't been so needy. If Harry and him hadn't met. If Harry hadn't been crying in front of that stupid mirror, what seemed a life ago, making Louis so moved he had crossed.

Shit, it is all his fault. It is all his fucking fault. What is he going to do now? What is he going to do with Louis' family now? How is he going to...to get up again? Last time he lost someone dear, Louis had been there to help him. This time, he has lost that thing that always pushed him up again.

He is fucked. He has fucked up Louis' life and now he is paying for it.

He feels something on the back of his neck then. It is a soft touch, like a whisper.

He looks up, surprised, and somehow defensive too, thinking maybe someone has come to get him out of the room already.

There is no one in the room, but then he feels something more.

A soft brush of cold on his lips, a lingering sensation.

He puts his fingers to his mouth, shocked.

Then, Louis' body disappeares from the bed. Into thin air. The bed is empty, only a mattress covered in a plastic bag, ready to be made when needed. There were no stains, no connected machines... the curtains were open, afternoon sun coming through it, a nice afternoon outside of the building.

Harry gets up fast, thinking maybe he has been dreaming or maybe... maybe he is dead too?

He shakes his head, trying to make his vision clear.

It is as if Louis had never been there. The only thing that remains is Harry, his cheeks wet and his hair messy.

A piece of paper comes flying from the ceiling, landing on the pillow under Harry's astonished expression.

It is his own writing. But he is certain he has never written that.

It only says

The other side. Be strong for him, he loved you very much xx.

Harry looks up, trying to find where the note came from. Whoever did that had a really disgusting sense of humour.

A nurse comes in the room then, whistling as she rolled a cart with sheets and a pillow. She seems scandalised as she sees Harry.

"Excuse me, Mr, but you are in a restricted area! Please follow me."

Harry is too dumbfounded to complain. Anyway, he has nothing else left in that room. If his intuition is correct, Louis' body is on the other side of the mirror.

He follows the nurse through the corridors until the IVU entrance, and out of it.

"Visits ended two hours ago, come back tomorrow" she says before leaving him and getting back inside the hospital area.

Harry stands there, not too sure of what he should do next, so he starts walking slowly toward the lift that will take him downstairs, to the ground floor, and to the streets.

He looks at the note again as he waits for the elevator doors to close.

"Wait, hold the door!" someone says. Harry hits the button on the wall, and stares back at the note while someone else gets in the lift with him.

"Thanks, I didn't think I'd make it!"

The person has a familiar voice.

Harry looks up from the note, and is shook as he realises he is staring at Louis.

He is wearing a barista uniform.

A fucking barista uniform.

From the fucking coffee shop Louis, his Louis, was when the fucking car crashed.

Harry knows he must be staring at Louis 2, because he cocks his head to one side, curious.

"Do I know you? You seem... kinda familiar... If not, I'm Louis. Louis Tomlinson."

Harry is still staring at him, and knows Louis must be thinking he's crazy. So he shakes his head, and forces a smile, that maybe is not as forced as he is trying to make himself believe, and offers his hand.

"I'm Harry. Harry Styles. Nice to meet you."

...

Louis goes upstairs, as Liam has told him to. He was really nice when he came into Harry's dorm, and after making a little chit-chat, he had told him that Harry was at his room and that he would surely be coming out soon, that he usually took long when he was getting ready, but that he also could simply knock his door. That door over there, he had said befor eleaving to the library. So he did that, and knocked the door, but he had found no answer.

So he opens the door, slowly. After all, it has only been four days since he met the other boy, and while he has liked him from the beginning, his face looking very familiar, he doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by going in his room uninvited.

When he is able to see what's going on in the room, the only thing he sees is a normal university dorm: quite small, one bed, one closet and a desk and chair. The bathroom is outside, shared with Liam, his nice flat mate.

He then hears a sob, and his hearts starts beating faster. Why is Harry crying? He had looked pretty sad in the hospital too, but he hadn't said anything, and he had even invited him to a coffee, in the elevator, seconds after they had met. Quite a strange way of clicking instantly. But a good story to tell your grandkids nevertheless.

He then spots the boy. He is crying, sitting on the floor, his back resting on the bed, his fingers covering his face, and trying to stop his sobs with the hem of his shirt. He is surrounded by mirror pieces on the floor, and there is a black suit thrown, a mess, on the bottom of the bed.

Another estrangled sob shakes Harry's shoulder, and something he doesn't understand pulls Louis toward him. he knows he has just met him, but he feels like he knows him. He kneels beside him and hugs him tightly.

Harry looks up at him, and when Louis smiles kindly at him, and holds his hand, his touch lingering on his fingers, Harry is a mess.

He sees Louis holding his hand in a different way, fingers intertwined. He sees them both walking around the streets, going to the cinema, having a pic-nic under the red birdge in Holmes Chapel. he sees the going to that Lumineers concert he still has tickets for together, he sees them kissing in Manchester, under the stars, he sees them going to university together, Louis leaving him with a soft kiss on his lips before running to his school.

He doesn't know which Louis is which.

But he smiles at the boy. What else can he do.