When an unknown number lit up Harry's screen later that day, he first ignored it. He never acknowledged numbers that weren't saved.
It was the second time in the same minute that he figured he ought to answer the urgent caller. He sat up and rolled out of the bed he had been crying in since he left Louis' place.
"Hello?" He answered, annoyed.
"Harry, it's Jake!" The boy practically yelled through the phone. Harry was even more annoyed now.
"What do you want?"
"Come downstairs," he ordered with a shaky voice. "The ambulance is on the way."
Ice struck his veins as he hung up the phone without a word and rushed out of his apartment. Not even bothering to wait on the elevator, he sprinted down the stairs to his floor. A million thoughts crossed his mind. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he knew two things at least: Louis was not okay, and alcohol was likely involved.
The door was already opened to a scared blonde boy looming over a limp body. Knives pierced his heart.
A loud sob escaped his lips as he ran to his husband; he checked for a pulse and could only feel the faintest of drumming through his sickly skin. The questions bombarded his brain. Was this his fault? Would he lose him forever?
As the sound of sirens grew nearer, Harry cradled Louis, rocking back and forth and begging him to stay. It'd been the first time he begged him for anything, but now it was the only wish he had.
And he wasn't quite sure he'd get it.
