I'm fine, We're fine [boyxboy]

Eight

A/N: As usual, let me know what you guys think! Vote, comment! (: Toss your ideas out! I'm posting this a little sooner than I thought because I have no control! xx

Louis POV

"Hurry the hell up."

"Harry, I'm trying..."

My vision was swimming. The door knob I was trying to jab my key into was wobbling, the slit wavering just away from the tip of my key every time I went in with it. Or was it my trembling hand? I blinked hard a few times and squinted through my dry contacts.

A hand jabbed the small of my back and I could feel Harry. He was close to me. The warmth of his body came off in waves and it wasn't comforting. I grew weary.

"Just fucking move. Give it here." Harry snatched the keys from my hand and pushed me to the side. He was worse than me. The key hit everywhere except the knob and deadbolt. It scratched the green paint on the door and left a knick in the side of the handle. A stream of curses left his lips.

It wasn't wise to take the key from him, my gut told me so, but I did. I pried it gently from his cold fingers and by the grace of God, I heard the tumblers inside click and twist when the key finally went home. It swung open and as I went to go on, Harry pushed me. I stumbled over the threshold and my keys fell out of my hand. They clinked the floor, I caught myself on the small foyer table just on the inside. I didn't say a word or move until Harry stalked past me.

I watched him stumble down the hall and disappear into the bathroom. The sound of him retching and heaving into the toilet soon sounded. Only then did I push myself up from the table. There would be a bruise on my knee, I could feel where I hit the hardwood. Snatching my keys, I tossed them on the table and hurried to the kitchen.

Before I went into the bathroom, I inhaled to steady my breathing. Harry is just drunk. He just needs to rest. I knew he got irritated when he drank and I should have stopped him at the bar. When he went for that third shot, I should have taken it from him. Harry's reaction, his anger, the way he was puking; this was my fault. He was upset, hurting and it was my fault.

"Babe..." I avoided my reflection in the mirror and squatted down beside him on the floor. I had to put the glass down and grab the counter to keep from toppling over. My hand was still trembling when I reached out and laid it on his shoulder. "I got you some water. Look at me..." His body convulsed under my touch. The contents of his stomach expelled into the toilet. Bits of partially digested nachos hit the water in a mixture of soupy yellow bile. Nausea clawed my own throat and I focused back on Harry.

I traced patterns along his shoulder and neck until his body went limp against the porcelain seat. For a second I thought he had passed out and was readying myself to carry him to bed when he took a shaky breath. "Harry," I said immediately and took the glass in my hand again. "Here, rinse your mouth out..."

To my surprise, Harry turned my way and let me hold the glass to his lips. I heard him slosh it around in his mouth and spit it into the toilet. He drank a little and finally rested his head against the cold seat. I pushed the water onto the counter and pulled a few curls that were stuck to his face with sweat. "Come on, let's get you changed and in bed." Harry swatted my hand away from his hair.

I should have looked after myself at some point. I was sweaty, nauseous, and my throat was hurting. When I swallowed there was an uncomfortable pressure, but I couldn't worry about that. My world was in front of me, half passed out against the toilet and I couldn't leave him there. He was drunk, he was angry, but I still loved him.