Tfios (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 3

February 7th - Day 22

The chair with the rough blue fabric and the duct tape patch on the top was starting to feel familiar, slowly becoming not the chair by Harry’s bed but my chair. Harry was sitting in his signature position, laptop on his knees, blankets wrapped around him. He’d given me a marginally friendly greeting when I’d entered, a hello that, while not cheerful, had a bit of life to it.

“Any plans for today?” I asked, setting my bag in my lap and moving so I was facing him.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

“We could go out again.” I offered, wondering if he’d been looking forward to our meeting as much as I had. The week had seemed to drag and I’d found myself counting down the days until I could see him again. I hadn’t meant for this to happen, but he was slowly worming his way into my consciousness. I wanted to know him, to know his insides and outsides and I wanted to fix him, more than I’d ever wanted anything in the world.

He shrugged, sliding his laptop off his thighs and crawling deeper into his covers until he was laying on his side, wide green eyes trained on me. He curled his hands into the big blue duvet, bringing it up over his head like a hood. “I don’t want to go anywhere today.” He looked so vulnerable all curled up there, nose just barely peeking out of the folds, that I couldn’t bring myself to pressure him into doing anything. Besides, I could empathize with his desires as I wasn’t having the best day myself. One of my patients, a younger girl with rhabsomyosarcoma, a kind of muscle cancer, was getting worse, and I wasn’t sure she’d make it through the month. Plus, I wasn’t feeling all that stellar myself, my throat all swollen like I was coming down with a cold, my joints just the littlest bit achy. Suddenly, hiding under a duvet cover didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Have you ever made a blanket fort?” I asked slowly, sticking my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, relishing in the feel of the warm fleece.

He nodded, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes. “Cher and I used to make them in my living room when we were younger.”

“Do you want to make one now?” 

He seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before nodding, slipping out of his covers and standing in front of me, looking down at my upturned face with just a hint of a smile. “Okay.”

I got up, sliding my messenger bag off my shoulder and onto the chair, reaching for the blanket. “I think if we tuck it at the foot of the bed we can make a kind of tent, right?”

He gave me a businesslike nod. “You do that, I’ll get pillows.”

I pulled the the thick blue blanket back and over the bottom of the bed, noticing how the entire room seemed to have a smell just a little bit different from the rest of the hospital. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, it was just an intangible aura that spoke of warmth and Harry.

I stretched the blanket taunt, securing it by placing the leg of my chair over one corner and the leg of the table on the other, giving us a little right triangle of a tent. Harry tossed some pillows into the cave, arranging them so the tile floor was fully covered, and then ripped his sheets off, draping the star printed cotton over the exposed sides until we were completely enclosed in the dimly lit space.

It was nice in the fort, the light from the hall and Harry’s small lamp filtering in blue, shadows drifting in the small space. It was only after we settled in, me propped against his bed, he on his back, feet resting near my head, that Harry spoke, softly as to not break the silence that had descended over us like smoke. “Louis, are you okay?”

“I’m here to talk about your problems, not mine.” I said, avoiding his question as I tried not to let out the sigh that risen up in my chest, attempting to give him a smile. I’d been holding it together just fine all day, but there was something about this room, the way his eyes seemed to spear me through, that made it impossible to pretend anymore.