eep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
His head is pounding. And not in the hungover , I know last night was a goodun way. No, in the end my life this hurts so fucking much I could scream way. He can barely open his eyes it hurts that bad, and he really, really wants to cry. He wants his mum. He wants it to stop.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
He thinks he's in a bed, or maybe he's floating. Wherever he is is soft, he's sure of that much. That and the pain in his head. That's all he knows right now.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
And the beeping. There's a beeping coming from somewhere, maybe somewhere near his head. Locating things seems like a Herculean task right now. Thinking seems like the hardest thing in the world, so he stays put, eyes still closed, and he listens to the beeping.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hold on a minute. There's a voice talking from somewhere near him too, and it's a voice he doesn't think he knows. He doesn't really know what they're saying, but the voice is deep and sad. It's the voice that makes him want to open his eyes, because he wants to know who it is, and maybe try to cheer them up if he can.
Oh, right. He can't open his eyes, let alone speak. His throat feels clogged anyway, rough and out of use and tired. Everything hurts, he realises with a jolt – it's not just his head. He tries to fold his hand up into a fist but even that feels like a marathon effort, so he stops trying and just lies there.
Sleep pulls him under not long after.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
*
The next time Louis comes close to waking up, it's his mum's voice he hears. She sounds like she's been crying. His visceral reaction is to force himself awake, so he tries, and he tries, but he can't. He tries again, but everything is blurry and everything hurts. He's too weak to work out exactly when he drops back unconscious but it doesn't take long.
*
When he finally manages to open his eyes an unknown number of hours later, he blinks awake to a person he was not expecting. He had been expecting his mum to be in the room, especially because he remembers hearing her earlier, but instead he's greeted with the sight of an unfamiliar man. He's got his shoulders slumped and he's biting his thumbnail, not looking at Louis but out the window to their left instead. He's bouncing his knee, the clip clop of his shoe deafeningly loud against the harsh flooring. Louis wants him to stop.
"Um," he says by way of greeting. His throat itches and his voice comes out rusty, like he hasn't said anything in a while. He wishes he knew what was going on.
The bloke reacts like he's been slapped round the face. He leaps to his feet, something akin to a sob leaving his mouth as he crashes to the ground. He sweeps up Louis's shaky hand in his and starts crying before Louis can put two and two together.
"Louis, fucking hell," he starts to weep, damp lips pressed onto the back of Louis's hand. His breath is hot, and it's only then that Louis notices there's cannula in his hand. "Louis, oh my... L-Louis, I'm so... I..."
"What's going on?" Louis says loudly. He doesn't want to come across as alarmed, but he is. He's got no idea who this guy is, but the grip he has on Louis's skin is bordering on painful. "Why am I here?"
The man sniffs. "Fuck, Louis, fuck. You... I could kill you. How many times have I told you not to climb ladders with your phone in your hand?"
