take care of me // larry au

08

Harry does not stop by his room the next day, and Louis spends most of the time brooding, even though his mun visits. And he's sort off angry at the curly haired boy though he knows that, rationally, he shouldn't be. Yes, Harry said he'd be there, but it's not like Harry really owes him anything.

Louis spends the rest of the night attempting to finish his sketch, but with merely his memory to work with just isn't working.

When he tries to remember the exact shape of Harry's nose, or the way his eyelashes framed his eyes, his thoughts always seem to drift off to the way Harry laughs and how he faintly smells like hospital, but mostly like vanilla and cinnamon, and the fact that he probably tastes as sweet as he smells too.

The next day he has his surgery, and he is hoping to see Harry beforehand. Harry is not there though, and even when Louis rolls through the halls on his floor and the two below, he doesn't see him at all.

When he gets back to his room he almost balls up the stupid fucking sketch, but instead he turns to a fresh page and ends up scratching banners with the word ''love'' in them until he nearly rips through the paper.

~*~

He is high. He is floating, drifting, ethereal. He is not Louis. He is everything. He is in the air and he can't feel the bed and the pain anymore. He watches the dust that wafts through the room, only visible when the light shines on it just right. He is warm and he is cold; he is comfortable, yet he is uncomfortable.

He is really, really fucking high. And it's sort of really fucking awesome. Whatever pain meds they have him on are incredibly potent. He can hear his own laughter, and he looks around the room, almost expecting to see it materialize in the air, there for him to grab and touch because it's everywhere around him.

"They've got you on some good stuff, then?"

Louis tilts his head, realizing that he's in his room. He can make out a fuzzy shape in the chair next to him, but when he tries to focus on it his eyes don't seem to participate in that desire. Which is just hilarious really, so he laughs. "Harry," he says, because he doesn't need to see him to know it's him. "Smells like vanilla."

"You didn't tell me you had your surgery today," Harry says, and Louis feels like he's being scolded. Again he laughs even though he doesn't know why. "You're very pleasant on drugs, did you know that? I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

Louis grins at him because he has to. It literally hurts his face not to. "You like rom-coms," Louis says for reasons completely unknown to him. "I like that. I like you."

"I'm going to come back tomorrow," Harry tells him. "Your mum's here."

Louis tries to sit up, but nope. That's not happening. "Bye, Harry!"

A moment later someone pushes him back down onto the bed. "So, who's Harry?" he hears his mum ask.

"Harry likes rom-coms," Louis says, voice thick and slurred. He is so tired all of a sudden. "I like Harry."

He closes his eyes, and then he is no longer floating. He is falling, sinking, descending into darkness.

~*~

Louis is in so much pain the next day, and it puts him in a worse mood than usual. Zayn already stopped by and left after Louis snapped at him repeatedly for talking too loud and for smelling too strongly of cologne.

His head hurts, his leg throbs and his ass is cramping from sitting in a weird position for a long period of time because it's the only way he can sit unless he wants his leg to feel like it's being chopped in half by a dull axe.

And they won't give him anymore pain meds than what he's already got inside his system, but what he's already got in his system obviously isn't fucking working.

"Should I come back?" Harry asks, startling him.