You like to preach with a vodka in your mug

Chapter eleven

"ID, please."

Dumbly, Louis fishes his driver's licence out of his phone case and hands it over. The receptionist types a few things up and tells Louis Harry's patient code. Jesus Christ. Gemma had mentioned how rigorously they check visitors but Louis wasn't prepared to give his whole backstory just to see his boyfriend. He has to empty his pockets just before he's allowed in and his keys, bank card and phone all get confiscated.

"We sometimes have patients with kleptomaniac tendencies," the security guy says when he clocks onto Louis' reluctance, "and no sharp items or internet access is allowed. Anything else on your person?"

Louis shakes his head so is allowed through to the corridor that splits off into the common room and patient's rooms. At some point in the long list of rules, Louis was told he couldn't go to the patient's rooms as they're not camera-ed. He is greeted by a nurse when he first enters the common room and gives Harry's name. She reminds him of his patient number – something about confidentiality among other patients – and points Louis in the direction of one of the side rooms. Apparently he's doing arts and crafts and Louis can't stop himself from smiling fondly when he walks into the room and sees Harry giving his full attention to glueing something.

Harry's much paler than Louis remembers him just last week. He thinks it's a little harsh to completely isolate him from anyone outside the clinic for the first week. There are dark circles around his eyes but he still lights up a smidge when he sees Louis.

"Hey, baby," Louis coos, giggling as Harry presses kiss, after kiss, after kiss onto his face. "Miss me much?"

Harry nuzzles his face into Louis' neck. His hugs are tight and warm again and Louis feels terrible when he starts crying.

"Lou, what's wrong?"

"I've missed you!" Louis sniffles, pulling Harry closer again. Harry teases him that it's only been a week. "It's been longer than a week since I've seen you. Like, you've been in front of me but you've not been there."

"I'm sorry," Harry sighs. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, baby. You're getting healthier for a reason, yeah?"

"I feel better already. Like, physically I'm exhausted and really aware of everything and I'm not used to it but in my head I reckon I could do anything."

"I'm so proud of you, H," Louis mumbles, his eyes flickering to Harry's lips.

"Wanna go to a quieter room?" Harry hums teasingly. "I can't have visitors in my room but there's one place no one uses: it's just got like a sofa and it's super cramped."

Louis nods gently and trails after Harry. He notices the blue bracelet on his wrist. It reads Alcohol abuse in bold letters and has his code underneath it. Louis can't help but wonder if it's shit having your addiction plastered across your bracelet for anyone to see.

True to Harry's word, there's no one, and also true, the room is cramped. There's the most impractical TV on the wall; Louis reckons he'd get neck cramp from watching it considering how close the sofa is to it, and the sofa is a little low down. Harry plops down on it with crossed legs and has Louis do the same.

"What do you do in here then?" Louis asks gently. "'Cause I doubt you're watching that tele."

"Yeah, I don't know who designed this room. Maybe they made it an intentional make out room."

"We're making out then, are we?" Louis teases, poking Harry's ribs. "Come on, I've gotta get at least five minutes of conversation out of you before someone watches us snog on a security camera. They'll think I'm not a gentleman."