Louis: “Shit,” you heard Louis shout from the kitchen. He wanted to make you dinner tonight and you were secretly a little nervous. You ran in quickly to see what happened. He had his hand covered with a paper towel that was quickly turning red. “What the hell,” you panicked looking at the cutting board, which also was covered in blood. Then you saw it, a chunk of his thumb just sitting there with the rest of the vegetables. “Oh my…” you slapped your hand to your mouth unable to finish your sentence, “Is that?” He started running his hand under water, cringing and groaning at the pain. “What else could it be? A carrot,” he yelled, frustrated. You wanted to freak out but you knew he needed you. You went to the drawer and quickly took out a towel then went over and took his hand calmly with both of yours. “That’s enough now raise it,” you explained guiding him then laid the towel over his whole hand. “Put pressure on it,” you instructed and he listened seeming to settle down a little bit. You went over to your computer. “What are you doing, shouldn’t we go to the hospital?” You nodded, “I know, but what do we do with that,” you pointed to the finger. “Good point,” he agreed. You had Louis read the instruction, which said to put the finger in a plastic bag and then put that plastic bag in a bag with ice and a little water. You went over to grab it and decided to use the bag as a glove. “Will you just pick it up? It’s not poisonous,” Louis sassed. “It’s still nasty,” you continued not letting him faze you. “Grow a pair,” he added. You rolled your eyes, “No thank you. By the way how did you even do this,” you asked as you started filling the other bag with ice. He sighed, “I was watching TV,” he admitted. You scrunched your eyebrows and smiled analyzing him. “Come on hustle up, I’m starting to feel dizzy.” You shook your head as you finished zipping the bag, and then quickly grabbed the keys gesturing for him to follow. You opened the door for him as he got into the car and then buckled his seatbelt, which seemed to kind of annoy him that you had to treat him like a kid again. He was silent for the first few minutes of the car ride so you had to check on him to make sure he didn’t pass out. “They’re going to call me nubs. I would,” he finally spoke up. You giggled, “Then you own that name. We’ll see who’s laughing when all the interviewers want to know what happened to your thumb.” He laughed, “It’s still them babe, still them.”
Harry: You quick went out to get a few things that Harry asked you for before you had to drive him to the hospital. He had overworked his voice too much and developed nodes that were making it really painful for him to sing. You came back expecting to find him waiting for you, but he wasn’t in any of the common areas. “Harry,” you shouted to no response. You started checking every room and door you could, and eventually got to one that was closed. You tried to open it, only to find it locked, which was odd because neither of you kept any doors locked. “I wonder what’s behind curtain number five,” you joked as you knocked trying to make him feel better. “I know you’re in there,” you yelled calmly. There was silence. “Are you going to let me in Harry,” you asked hopefully, but you couldn’t hear any reaction on the other side. You took the bobby pin out of your hair and started futzing with the lock. Eventually it clicked and you were in. Harry was lying under a blanket facing away from you, probably pretending to sleep. You laid behind him and scooted closer so you could rest your cheek on his. “What’s wrong?” you spoke quietly. You felt him sigh and he grabbed your hand. “I’m not going. I changed my mind. It’s really not that bad.” You rested your weight on your arm and looked down at him, “Not that bad,” you questioned amazed based off of what he’d been telling you for a long time now. He flipped to his back and nodded looking into your eyes. “What are you so afraid of? Don’t you want to feel better?” He looked down, “What if I don’t sound the same? What if I can’t sing? I’d rather suffer through it than lose my sound forever.” You bit you’re lip, knowing there was a good chance his voice wouldn’t have the same range. “What if it’s better?” you tried to be encouraging. “And if it’s worse I’m done. I love it, do you understand? What would you do if you physically couldn’t do one of things you love most in this world,” he questioned getting really upset. You gave yourself a second to think. “I’d find a way around it,” you answered honestly. He shook his head and looked to the side frustrated. You took the sides of his face and waited until he looked at you. “I mean it. You don’t sound good then you can write for other people. You don’t like writing as much as singing then you work on it, and if it doesn’t get better then you sing anyway. I’ll listen, and I’ll bet I’m not the only one. Your fans are very, very dedicated,” you smiled which made him smile a little two. “Now can we go,” he didn’t move so you nodded his head for him and when you let go he gave you a reluctant but real nod.
