Larry.

For you.

A/N *warning* vulgar language, mentions of death, suicidal actions.

The dark clouds that past his lips flow up to the sky, in hopes of joining the others, only to disappear after only inches or accumulate under the walls of his ceiling.

His lungs screamed as they drowned in the fire that burned them, although, the disease was racing the flames.

He'd always thought of cancer. He'd always thought about it. How he lost someone because of it. Now he was slipping, but he didn't know it.

He sputtered at the burning sensation. Tears were brought to his eyes as he looked outside. He saw droplets cascading down the pane of glass.

He loved the rain.

It wasn't because of how calming it was to watch the clear water splat on the cement or window. Or how pleasing it was to see them joining together as they slid down the glass, only to have them break again. He felt like he could relate.

He wasn't crying alone.

His bones were shown clear on display under the thin layer of skin on his fingers, gripping the cancer stick between two. He gasped as he gripped his side, his nails leaving red trails of swollen skin along his ribs as he struggled to reach his lungs.

He stomped on the white and orange stick, watching as the ashes and fire slowly burned and died under the sole of his shoe.

His cries for help were only but whispers that disintegrated beneath the sounds of others. The world was black and grey to him, but as he faded slowly, the only color that stood out was black.

The next was white. It was blinding. He thought he died, that he would finally be free of the miseries of Earth. But, the only misery he was faced with was the rough sheets of a hospital bed and the suffocating smell of cleaning supplies.

His lungs fluttered, rising and falling like the lids of his eyes as he struggled to stay in touch with reality. What happened?

-

It had been months. It went by like years. But at the same time, when he was allowed to leave to visit family, hours felt like minutes. Especially when he had smoke burning his lungs just like the un-flicked ashes of his cigarette that fell onto his skin.

He didn't want to be saved. He wanted to be alone.

But, he's met someone. An old friend.

He hated life, hated how it took his mother away from him. Now it was doing the same to him. He didn't know if he wanted it or not.

That's what he was doing to him. Louis didn't know what he wanted anymore, and it scared him so bad.

His emerald eyes that showed so much happiness, even when he cried. When tears streamed down his face at the sight of Louis still smoking, even after he found out he had lung cancer. Louis brought it up.

"Why are you always so happy?" He asked, voice rough like gravel.

"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice deep and smooth, like velvet. He watched Louis with curious eyes as he started at the pack of cigs on the table.

"You're always... happy. I don't understand. There's nothing to be happy about. I'm dying. And smoking... I've got cancer, Harry, for god sakes."

"I'm not always happy. I'm positive. I'm positive you can beat this. But, you have to try. It does hurt me to see you like this... Like, you want to die. I'm going to be positive because I know all you know is negative. I want to show you something different for a change."