No One Does It Better

Chapter 13

It's an hour later that Harry's able to convince his mum to get some sleep at his flat. She leaves with a pat to his shoulder and a kiss to the top of his head, and it's only after she's closed the door that Harry can focus on the two sleeping figures he hadn't seen behind the chair she'd taken. Zayn is sat on the floor in the corner with his back to the window bench seat, one leg splayed out flat and the other triangular with the ground. His head's tilted slightly to the side, resting against the white wall beside him, and his mouth is slightly open with soft breaths. Liam's curled up on his side, his head resting on Zayn's thigh; his nose tucked into his boyfriend's hip, his back is to Harry. Niall is still fast asleep, stretched out on the window bench seat and soaking in the sunshine like a cat. Zayn's leather jacket is tucked beneath his chin and Harry knows that means he was the first to fall victim to the sandman.

It's quiet now. His throat feels raw and empty and dry, but he doesn't call a nurse for water. Instead, he glances around with half-lidded eyes. He hasn't been in a hospital room in two years. He's been in and out of the ER a few times for minor accidents (like when he and Niall decided to create a real-life game of Fruit Ninja and he ended up with a pretty impressive gash on his shoulder. He still isn't completely sure how that happened), but he hasn't been in a room, with all its insistent beeping machinery and icy, sterile air and lingering feelings of dread and stress and loss, since Louis' accident.

When it comes down to it, this room isn't much different than Louis' was. He should know, he practically lived in it for four months. It's still as boring and cold as he remembers.

He breathes deeply, and he's glad his friends are here. He smells the faintest hint of cigarette smoke and iced coffee and Liam's fabric softener and his mother's perfume, and if he were to close his eyes, he would be at home.

He's almost smiling at the thought when there's a soft knock on the door. He turns his head toward the sound, readying his list of complaints for the nurse that would follow. When the door opens, however, all he sees is blueblueblue and his breath hitches. "Louis," he breathes.

"Hi," he says quietly, looking from Harry to the lazy puppy pile to his left.

"What are you doing here?" Harry doesn't mean it in an accusatory or mean fashion, but his voice doesn't sound exactly comforting either.

Louis falters momentarily, only halfway in the room, still holding the door open. He looks at Harry, but breaks contact quickly in favor of looking at his beat up Chucks as the scuff against the tile. "I-," he coughs awkwardly, stepping completely in the room and letting the door click behind him. "I got a text from Niall last night. Told me they were here and that he'd need a ride home before he went to the shop with Zayn." He's shoved his hands in his front pockets, shrugging lightly at his explanations, looking up at Harry from beneath his eyelashes, looking bashful.

Harry wants to hit him. And kiss him. But mostly he wants to fucking scream.

"Oh," is all he says, and it's more like a gust of wind that's been knocked out his lungs by Louis' presence. "Well," he says louder, straining his voice and mentally begging it to just fucking cooperate, "Might want to wake them up then."

There's a tense silence and Harry looks up to find Louis looking at him - really looking at him in an alarmingly detailed way that makes Harry feel more naked than he has in a long time - and he stares back with matched interest. It's so strange to think that they saw each other just two days prior. To Harry, it feels like years, and, in a way, it has been. He's standing just across the room, but he feels light-years away. There's so much space between them and it feels like that space is filled with mountains and valleys and oceans and stars and planets and galaxies that keep them apart. And Louis looks contemplative, like he feels it, too, but doesn't know why. Harry knows why. He can see all the things that live in those spaces that Louis can't. From where Louis stands, there's just tile and air separating them, but to Harry, there's memories projected on every surface around him, haunting and hanging around like the ghost of a bad dream he can't shake or step away from.

"I'm glad you're okay," is what Louis says next, and he's not speaking to Harry in the voice he hates and he isn't smiling at him. His eyebrows are in a line, a small crease beneath him, and, if anything, his lips are slightly turned down at the corners, but he means it.

"Thanks."

Louis nods once, breaking his gaze and shifting his eyes back to the three boys so blissfully unaware of the uneasy air they're breathing in. He pulls his hands from his pockets, walking over to Niall and squatting down. He pushes some blond hair off his forehead and rubs circles in his wrist, softly pulling him from sleep, and something tugs in Harry's chest. Niall was an absolute pain to wake up in the morning - could give Zayn a run for his money - and Harry remembers always sending Louis to wake him up when he would stay at their flat for this exact reason. Louis is so bright and full of love and happiness and sunshine, and he carries a sort of warmth beneath his skin that's inherently gentle. Harry's always loved that about him.

Niall makes a soft noise of protest, wiggling sleepily before blinking his eyes open slowly, "Lou?"

"Hello, mate. You and Zayn have to be at work soon, yeah? Let's get you in a shower." Harry can't see his face, but he knows Louis' is scrunching his nose up with that last sentence and Niall laughs groggily and nodding his head. When he sits up, he accidentally hits Liam's hip with his foot, and Liam flops over onto his back with a quiet hum of annoyance that, in turn, wakes Zayn up.

Louis herds them out of the room after they've taken turns kissing Harry's curls and promising to visit him that night. Louis is hallway out of the door, taking up the end of the line, when Harry calls his name. He pauses instantly, turning his head to look back at him.

"Thank you," is all Harry says.

Louis looks confused, but says manages to breathe out "You're welcome," anyway.