A Howl In The Night ✔ » l.s

33

Louis never left Harry's side, ignoring the kink in his neck because of his position when he spent the nights sitting, hand holding Harry's. It had been two days since they'd brought Harry into the hospital, and Louis hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep since.

They'd been told that just like the other residents of Blue fair, Harry had inhaled a big amount of toxic smoke that caused his health to deteriorate, and still continued to risk his well-being, and dare he say it, his life. Louis had tried to stash away his pessimistic side at that very moment, determined to stay strong for Harry and the others, but eventually he ended up running into one of the bathrooms to cry his eyes out, sobbing angrily and punching at the wall, feeling the pain in his chest intensify even more.

But, as always, he returned outside with a calm, collected exterior, smiling and conversing normally as though this wasn't effecting him. He could tell that Zayn could see right through his facade, and when he offered to talk about, Louis waved him off.

The truth was, he'd never been more scared in his life. He had been a Trooper since he was sixteen years old, he'd grown up under Benedict's tough rules and even tougher hands, he'd faced numerous enemies—people and vicious beasts alive, but this was the very first time he felt like he would collapse from fear and worry and guilt—it was all eating him up.

Anyone who'd ever been in love would know that seeing the person you loved dearly hurting was the most scarring experience.

Harry was critical. There had been news of people with the same condition dying in their sleep—and fuck, Louis didn't take that news lightly. He had immediately went into Harry's room, took his pale hands within his and just cried, wishing and praying to anyone listening that Harry would wake up.

The shock still hadn't completely worn off after two days, but Louis was a lot more stable now. He was a lot more himself, which, he gave himself a pat in the back for because the last thing Harry needed was for him to be weak.

"Hey, Lou."

Louis looked over his shoulder to find Zayn with some take out food, giving him a small smile. Sometimes, Louis felt quite selfish. He often forgot that this was hard and draining for Zayn and the others as well, and that he wasn't the only one struggling judging form the dark bags beneath his eyes. Sometimes he forgot that so many other people cared for Harry too—but it comforted him to think that Harry did get the love (although not really enough) that he deserved.

"You should eat," Zayn said, dropping a styrofoam container on the foot of Harry's bed.

Louis nodded noncommittally, his attention immediately returning to Harry. Harry still looked so pale and frail, but at least his wounds had been treated. Louis watched the gentle rise and fall of his boy's chest, wondering what he'd do with himself if it ever stopped. He couldn't even bring himself to think about it without being reduced into tears.

Louis played with his curls, taking in Harry's soft features—his dark eyelashes which contrasted starkly with his porcelain skin, perfectly-shaped cupid bow lips which had thankfully regained its natural pinkish color, smooth cheeks that still contained some baby fat, and his beautiful pointed nose—one Harry would always complain about being too big, but then Louis would always kiss the tip and tell him that it was perfect, just like him.

He was still caressing Harry's cheek when Zayn spoke again, "He'll be fine, Lou. Harry's strong. We all know it."

Louis nodded, eyes still fastened on Harry's peaceful, sleeping face. "I know. He never disappoints, does he?"

Zayn shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. "I miss him, really. His bright excited eyes, that dimpled smile of his."

Louis had never related more. "So do I."