The Bucket List || Larry

1: Test Results

Louis realises that he's probably fine, that the test results will come back with zilch and he'll be home-free, but that doesn't stop the worry that's racing through his mind at lightning speed.

A dreadful and not at all attractive hospital gown is draped over his body, just barely reaching past his knees, the back side open except for a few ties and the boxers he has on. The walls that make up the room have pictures of puppies, the apparent theme of it. He supposes they're there to relax the patient and distract them all the same while a needle pierces through their skin, probably, but he's also sure the golden retriever with a work hat on isn't doing much to ease his worries.

There's only a chance that he has it, and it's fairly large; his mum had it, his grandmum had it, and so did his great grandmum. Which. Okay, so they didn't survive it (besides his mum, she's perfectly healthy and very much alive) but Louis will, right? They were women, he's a man, those odds don't apply to him...at least he hopes they don't. He's twenty two for crying out loud, things like this don't just happen.

You're fine, he assures himself, breathing in deeply and releasing it as the doorknob to the room slowly turns and in walks his doctor.

"Mr. Tomlinson, how are you doing?" he asks, trying to ease the tension that's thick in the air.

Louis wishes he would get on with it already. "Good. Results?"

His doctor laughs, but then it turns into a face, that face, the one parents do when they tell their child that the family dog went to the 'farm' a few hours away. Such doesn't exist. If only Louis knew that when he was eight and was told the same exact thing.

"We ran a few tests, and you... You have cancer, Louis," the doctor says, and Louis' heart drops to his stomach the second the six letter word leaves his chapped lips. "I'm sorry."

Louis gulps visibly, gripping the cushion he's sat on tightly.

"Where is it?"

"Your left pointer finger," is the response he gets.

Oh. Oh, it's in his left pointer finger. Is finger cancer even a thing? Well, it is now, and he's not just going to make a small deal out of it because after all, cancer is cancer and there's a possibility of it spreading, as his doctor informs him, which also means there's a possibility of death. Which could be avoided if they remove his left pointer finger, and that's not going to happen, so.

So he's got a plan set, already brewing in his mind and it's probably unnecessary, but so is the cancer in his left pointer finger.

"Right. Listen, Doc, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta go," he hastily says, suddenly hopping down from the table and landing on the tile with a soft thump, pulling on his trousers underneath the gown and untying the back.

The doctor shields his eyes.

"What? Never seen a man before, as you are one yourself, right?" Louis inquires, putting his jean fur coat on that he wears with everything and slipping his vans on his feet.

"Uh... It's just, some-"

But Louis doesn't have time for that. "I'll see you real soon, Doc!"

He dashes out of the room and into the lobby, nearly running right past the pay desk before the lady behind it calls after him, and he backtracks.

"Louis Tomlinson, just a checkup," he says, and the woman prints off a paper and has him sign. He hands her his insurance card.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" she asks, tilting her head to the side as she hands back the card and Louis slips it back inside his wallet, which then goes back into the pocket of his jeans.

As he turns away and starts to head for the exit, he calls back over his shoulder,

"To get shit done!"

-

this was kinda just an introduction to the story idk

bUT I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS OH MY GOD

QOTC: who tops?

AOTC: i don't even know anymore man