"It's a good thing you brought her in when you did. From what it looks like, that metal piece had a chip of mercury in it and she was at risk of poisoning. That should account for the nausea and weakness, but she'll pull through with the medicine." The doctor said, handing Harrison the report. He gave it a once over, and then turned back to your bed. You were finally asleep, the sedatives knocking you out so you could sleep properly.
"Thanks, doctor. I'll let her family know, hopefully she'll just sleep for a while." Harrison said, moving to sit down next to you. You looked so peaceful now, completely unbothered by anything. Truthfully, Harrison hadn't seen you like this since Tom came back from shooting. You'd been killing yourself trying to spend time with him and do things for him, only to have Tom brush you off or avoid you all together.
It was eating away at you, and Harrison knew it was just a matter of time before you broke apart.
A ping from his phone drew his attention away from you, and he took a deep breath when he read the text message.
I just got to Tom's, Haz.
He's a wreck.
"Tom, you have to let me in!" Harry shouted, banging on the bathroom door. He'd been outside the door for fifteen minutes, listening to his brother cry on the other side. Occasionally there would be silence and the sound of something shattering, and Harry knew something was very wrong. When he heard Tom's voice break softly, Harry grew more desperate.
"Alright, if you don't open this door in the next minute I'm breaking it down!" Harry said, feeling his resolve crumbling. He was trying to be strong for his older brother, but he'd never seen Tom like this before. Of course there had girlfriends and break ups before, but he knew you and Tom would be different from the first time you met. You two were soulmates, everyone was convinced of that. Nobody knew Tom the way you knew him, and nobody made him happy the way you did.
It was like a perfect equation, because you and Tom equated to that kind of everlasting love you read about in books.
But now it felt like someone had come in and ripped out the happy ending, and Harry was struggling to piece the story back together.
"Tom...please..." Harry whispered, a sinking feeling taking over his body, "I don't know what happened with you and Y/N, but I know one thing. You love her, Tom. You've loved her ever since you met her, and I know she loves you too. Just please, let me in."
Harry fell against the door, finally spent with emotion. A tear escaped fom his eye as his head hit the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. He'd texted Harrison a couple minutes ago, but hadn't gotten a response back. Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he was or if you were with him. But the situation must have been bad if Harrison wasn't responding and you were nowhere to be seen.
"Shit." Harry's phone flashed with a low battery warning, and he was about to get up to find a charger when he heard the lock to the bathroom door unclick. It was so soft that he would have missed it, if not for the fact that he was sitting with his back to it. Harry's breath hitched and he dropped his phone near the wall, slowly turning the handle.
The bathroom was so dark, Harry almost stumbled over his own feet. But a sliver of light from the window illuminated his brother's body, slumped against the cold tile walls of the shower. Tom wasn't moving, just breathing quietly and staring at the wall behind him. The light shone on his face, and Harry could make out dried tears and the start of fresh ones. His eyes were sunken and lifeless, like he'd been dead and propped up against the wall. Tom barely stirred when Harry walked over, just glancing at the space in his direction.
"Tom...what happened?" Harry breathed, crouching down to look at his older brother. At close proximity, Harry could see Tom better. He looked completely exhausted, the life drained from his face and his eyes glossy. His hair was hopelessly disheveled, and Harry knew he must have paced for hours running his hands through it in anxiety. He'd clearly been crying for a long time because his shirt was still wet, clinging to his chest like a worn out rag.
