Always You (L.S)

His Aid: 37

LOUIS' POV:

I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. The room was lit up by the morning sun, the air was cold, it was a quiet morning, as the smell of coffee smothered the room.

I laid in bed thinking to myself. I was exhausted, my body felt weak, I had lost everything in a month. Suddenly everything in my life became a blur. I found myself living the same day over and over. The treatment was healing the cancer, however, it was killing me slowly. Treatment after treatment, I always returned home a little broken than before. I couldn't even continue to do any of the things I loved.

I couldn't walk my dogs without having a cough attack every two minutes, I couldn't walk to the damn bathroom without my legs giving in. My body was growing weaker, I knew it was.

I did this. This is my fault. I knew about my genetics, my mother had leukemia, along with my biological father. I knew the risk and Ignored it. People would always tell me to watch myself when I would smoke, but I never listened. I was angry at the people who would tell me to quit smoking as if it was that easy. I could have prevented this from happening. Just like I always do, I push people away who try to help me.

It had been over a week since I threatened to leave Harry. He and I hadn't talked much after that. Every time I walked into the same room as him he would leave, and wouldn't even make eye contact with me, he just up and left. The closest thing we had to conversations was of him leaving notes. He would leave little notes, along with my medication with a glass of water every day on the kitchen island. He would either be in the living room, or his room playing guitar, he'd even go out sometimes, but that was rare.

It was like living with a stranger. I knew I was at fault for this, and I missed him so damn much. I cry myself to sleep every night, hugging the pillow wishing it was his body. I ate dinner wishing he was sitting across from me. Everything I did I wanted him there, every second of every day my body ached for his touch or look. I ruined it, but this is how it had to be.

It was better to have him hate me than to love me. I would never forgive myself for dying and leaving him behind, so maybe if he hates me, he won't feel that pain. He won't have to feel the pain of losing me if he hates me. So I ruin it, I do things to get him on his last nerve, hoping he'll leave me, yet he never does.

So I push him away, I shut him out, I snap at him any chance I get, hoping his heart hates me a bit more every day. I don't deserve someone like Harry, someone so selfless.

I sighed as I got up from the bed, quickly getting dressed, faintly hearing the living room TV play. I opened the door, making my way towards the kitchen, my bare feet shuffling against the cold wood floors.

On the way to the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks to take a second to admire Harry. He was shirtless, sat on the living room sofa eating biscuits with a cup of coffee, as 'Family Guy' aired on the screen.

I cleared my throat, before walking into the kitchen, in the corner of my eye seeing Harry whip his head around to me. I heard the sound of his coffee mug hit the glass coffee table, along with the sound playing from the TV to be ended.

I sighed, knowing he was most likely making his way to his room to get away from me. I sat down onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, reading Harry's note, as I took my medication.

I stared at his note, his handwriting brought me comfort, usually, all the notes ever read was "Please take this."

However this time it read, "Please take this <3." I knew it wasn't much, but him writing a little heart meant a lot to me. I traced over his letters with my fingers, only to see Harry appear in the doorway to the kitchen.

He leaned against the door frame, examining me. I watched him stand there tall, his body was so perfect. His skin was exposed due to the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt, I trailed his tattoos with my eyes, falling upon all of our matching ones. The butterfly tattoo that went along with my 'it is what it is' tattoo, the ship that went along with my compass. The rose that was painted onto his arm, matching my dagger. My eyes traveled over his torso and arms, my heart aching at the sight of him.

"We need to talk.." Harry said, awaking me from my thoughts.

My eyes fell from him and down to my feet. I didn't feel like talking to him, the sound of his voice made me want to kiss him so badly. It made my heart feel ten times better, and I feel like I don't deserve to hear the sound of his voice.

"There is nothing to talk about,"  I said making my way up from the barstool, trying to walk past him, he tightly gripped my arm. I looked at him in disbelief, his face holding a look I had never seen before. I tried yanking my arm from his grip, but it was useless.

"Let go of me!" I snapped, fighting his touch, still not being able to escape his grip.

After a minute or two of fighting his touch, Harry finally removed his grip from me, throwing my arm away from him, before making his way into his room, slamming the door behind him. I stood at the entrance of the kitchen, tears forming in my eyes. I tried to collect myself, as I felt anger rise in me. Anger turned into tears, becoming angrier at the fact I was crying.

In frustration I turned around dragging my arm across the kitchen Island, knocking everything off of it. The sound of glass hitting the wood floor made me realize what I had done. My heart sunk seeing my favorite mug shattered, it was the mug Harry had gotten me for my birthday.

I got on my knees, picking up the big glass pieces, tears overflowing, making my eyesight blurry. I accidentally cut myself with the shards of glass, I flinched falling onto my bum, throwing the pieces in my hand back onto the floor. I brought my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, burying my head in my chest.

I sobbed in anger, beginning to hate myself. I hate how I was treating him, it killed me to hurt him. He deserved so much better than me, and I hate that I couldn't give him that.

I finally let my cries be heard, continuing to sob into my chest, hugging myself tightly.

"Louis, what the hell?"  I guess I was lost in my sobbing. I didn't even hear Harry make his way over to me.

I looked up, pulling my head from my chest, to meet his already red puffy eyes. He was crying too, not at the sight of me, but before when I had told him off. Harry sighed, wiping his eyes, grabbing the broom, I watched him clean up the glass, sniffling as he finished.

Harry leaned onto the sink, taking deep breaths, his back facing me, I still sat on the floor. Harry grabbed a rag, turning on the faucet, running the rag underwater.

He cleared his throat, making his way over to where I sat, he reached his hand out. I looked at him confused. I hesitated before finally giving in, taking his hand with my non-injured hand, lifting myself. I stood in front of him, avoiding his eyes, slowly taking my hand out of his.

Harry took my injured hand, I flinched at his touch, as he ran the wet towel over the cut. I stood still, allowing him to aid my hand. "Stay here, don't move please,"  Harry asked, leaving for the bathroom.

Harry returned with a roll of bandage in his hand before he stood before me once again. No longer fighting his touch, I let him aid me.