Homophobic (l.s)

Chapter 13

It's all a complicated mess. All the words the doctors are speaking blur together, and the brightness of the lights are blinding. In the sea of random faces, Anne's stands out the most. Her soft green eyes are filled with tears and she's speaking but her voice is too far away to hear. Harry can't hear over the sound of the beeping. He can feel his mother's hand holding his in a vice tight grip, and he can see the bloody mess he's created. The only thing he can't see is Louis. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was Louis carrying him gently towards a car, wincing in pain.

"Where is he?" His own voice sounds so foreign; so weak.

"He's being treated himself. Are you okay honey?"

Anne blinks through her tears, pushing her hair out of her face and desperately wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Harry has to take a moment to reply.

"Yeah. I'm okay,"

He's far from okay. The pain is unbearable, and he knows he's still bleeding. His mouth tastes like blood, and his face is swelling with each second that passes. The corners of his vision are starting to blur and he can feel himself starting to fade out of consciousness for the second time that night. It's when he's wheeled into a private room a few seconds later, when he drifts into unconsciousness.

**

It's hard to comprehend what happened, especially when it comes down to the fact his drama teacher saved his life. Louis stands at the foot of Harry's bed, his hand in a cast. Diagnosis; a few broken knuckles. Louis swears it's not an issue, but it really is.

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly, for the millionth time.

Louis' face falls slightly and he exhales for a second gently. His skin is glowing under the lights, and Harry can't catch a break. Louis' hair is neatly gelled back and is wearing a pair of denim jeans and a navy button up. He looks fine.

"Please stop apologising. It's not your fault,"

"It is. It's all my fault,"

"It's his fault Harry. You won't be seeing him anymore, okay? The main thing is that you're safe and okay,"

"You've broken your hand though, Mr Tomlinson," Harry frowns, eyeing the cast from his bed and staring at Louis who looks deflated now.

"Just call me Louis for now. I don't need this hand, really, it's fine," Louis chuckles to himself

"I just feel terrible. I wish it never happened,"

"Don't we all. I do have a question though Harry,"

"What?"

Louis chews the inside of his mouth, looking towards the ceiling. He's trying to think. He wants to find out everything, without sounding harsh.

"What exactly happened before I arrived? I'm still in the dark about that,"

Harry stares, as Louis' blue eyes twinkle with wonder. The story had been told so many times and now it's just too much. But Harry knows he owes Louis that much. The memories come flooding back, like a raging river, and it's enough to make Harry's stomach twist, and to start tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"It's a long story,"

"You don't think I have time? It's okay. You've probably repeated it a thousand times, but I just want to know,"

Harry blinks, and clenches his jaw in a desperate attempt not to cry.

"Mum was out; I was home alone. Mum hadn't left my side since the first incident, so I told her to spend the night out with her friends. She didn't really want to, like, she was kind of reluctant but I convinced her. So she went. I was watching TV in the lounge-room and I heard something in the kitchen- and well..." Harry trails off, flinching at the graphic memories