Where You Are (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter Six

(a/n: don't absolutely hate me. I'm feeling inspirational rn. So I'm going to try to make this longer bc last one was so short..)

Harry's POV:

Louis told me that I had stopped breathing. I wasn't breathing. I had no heartbeat.

I was dead and I didn't even know it.

Louis had pestered me about what was actually wrong with me and I noticed, I hadn't actually told him what was killing me. As far as lou knew. There was still a chance I could live. Louis didn't understand that I was dying, and nothing anyone did could stop that.

We were escorted out of the studio with haste. No one wanted to be there anymore. Niall had informed me that the mics had been on the entire time, that interview was live.

After leaving the radio headquarters, we were driven to a large plantation-style home. What are we doing at someone's home?

"Shouldn't Harry be going to a hospital?" Zayn mouthed my concerns.

"Guys, they called and gave me this address, I don't know anything," the driver apologized to us as he let us out.

Several men and women in suits came to guide us inside. This is all very formal for someone's home.

Upon entering the large doors it was obvious this was not someone's home. There were business people rushing about a crowded lobby and people making phone calls, scampering all about.

We were ushered into a large office on the third floor. This office alone was probably larger than most hotel rooms I have stayed in. Certainly more luxuriously decorated.

We all sat in chairs facing a beautiful ivory desk. Ivory like elephant tusks. There was a man holding an aura of importance around him as he sat behind the fancily carved desk.

"Please leave us alone," the unnamed man from the desk spoke to our escort, who complied almost immediately.

"Now gentlemen," he spoke as he stood from his desk and waltzed to a row of filing cabinets on one side of the room, "I have a matter to discuss with you,"
I didn't trust his voice, the way it sinisterly twisted around the words he spoke.

"I was listening to that interview," he paused, "and word gets around fast,"
His tone was that of which you would use on a child.

"Who are you?" Niall was the first of us to speak, drawing his Irish accent out slowly.

"Oh yes," he turned from his position at the cabinets with a file in his hands and sat back at his desk, "My manners are slipping today, I apologize."
He stopped and waited for a response, not receiving one he continued, "My name is Richard Crow. I own two of the largest companies in the world and, oh, your band."
The last words resonated in my head. Our band? I mean modest has our legal merchandise rights, but no one really "owns" us.

"Confused?" He asked rhetorically when he saw our expressions, "That is a topic for another day, today though, I called you here to discuss you Harry." He paused and glanced at me as if it was a gift for his eyes to rest on me.

"Me?" Now I was even more confused. I hadn't done anything wrong. I don't see anything worth discussing.

"Yes Harry, I did some digging and pulled some old files," he slapped the folder he had been caressing in his hands down on the table, "your files,"
My eyes widened.

"My medical files?"

"Ye-"

"Those are private!" I attempted to stand but the weakness in my limbs caused me to fall back to my seat.

"With enough money, nothing is private," he simply flicked open the file and gazed through it. His eyes drinking in every detail as if he was reading a teenage girls diary.

"Oh, this is interesting," he began

"Please don't" it meant to come out as a command, but the way my mouth formed the words made it sound more like a cry for help.

"April 2, 2013," he ignored my plea, "Patient: Harry Edward Styles,
symptoms: abdominal pain, weakness, nausea.
Diagnosis: malnutrition; exhaustion."

"Please stop," I attempted to stand again, nearly falling to the ground before flopping down in my seat.

"April 23, 2013," he continued as if I had never spoken, "Patient: Harry Edward Styles
Symptoms: vomiting blood, stomach pain, headaches, faintness, weakness
Diagnosis: flu
Treatment: Antibiotics."

"Really a shame Harry that everytime you went in to be checked out, they waved it off as something small," he mocked pity at me.

"What does Harry's file have to do with this? That was two years ago almost," Liam asked

"July 14, 2013 Patient: Harry Edward Styles
Symptoms: headache, difficulty breathing, weakness, nausea
Diagnosis: Exhaustion"

"Stop," I demanded more forcefully this time, succeeding in standing up.

"August 3rd, 2013," that was the day I got diagnosed.

"What do you want from me!" I yelled, slamming my fist down on the pure surface of his desk, "Tell me what the fuck you want! You want money? I have fucking money, take it! Leave me the fuck alone!" I heaved out a breath after loosing my temper.

"Mr. Styles, I don't want your money," the innocence in his voice was laced with toxins of all kinds, "I think they deserve to know the truth,"

"Please don't" I weakly begged once again, knowing it would make no difference.

"August 3, 2013 Patient: Harry Edward Styles
Symptoms: vomiting blood, nausea, headaches, bruising easily, weakness, fainting, and abdominal pain.
Diagnosis:,"

"please," I whispered as he paused, " please understand why you can't do this,"

"Diagnosis," he repeated, "Stomach Cancer,"

Louis gasped, the other boys' eyes widened.

"Treatment: refused by patient. Follow up in two weeks,"

I sunk to my knees in the floor infront if the desk. I wanted them to know, just not like this. After I was gone.

"I don't know why your surprised, you knew," Crow stood from the desk and walked over to Louis, "you knew the whole time,"

"No, no he didn't," I turned to the devilish man with tears in my eyes, "He didn't know what it was, no one did," I stood shakily and exited the office, being chased by the other four lads.

"Harry! What was he talking about in there?" Liam caught up with me as I hurried down the stair way.

"If you heard him, he said I'm dying," I snapped. They weren't supposed to know about this.

"Harry!" Louis was the next to catch up.

"Hey lou, I'm calling a cab and going home, do you wanna ride with me?"
He nodded and I dialed for a taxi, ignoring the lads for the rest of the night.

(A/n: okay okay so I had been planning that for a while. I know the dates aren't really "accurate" and doctors would do tests and stuff not just diagnose him and make him leave, but it works this way. Comment questions if you have any. (You won't, no one reads this story)

Is this longer? I can't tell.