The year is 1872, the Rogues of London move away from their hometown and out to sea in search of new adventure. However, oceans bite back, pirates are waiting, and stranger love is to be found out there.
Larry Stylinson, including all of One Direct...
Hi! I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please vote and comment, thank you!
Oh, and also, if you look for the good in every storm, you'll end up with a rainbow.
Lucy and the Steamers x
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Tall white walls, wide white floor, pale white skin. Red blood stains on once white sheets. Here I am again, in a sleep that I can't wake up from while my life tries to flee my body once more. I can hear Harry by my side, I can feel him holding my hand. Is he crying? I want him to know that I'm awake, that I'm not dead, but I can't open my eye. I don't want to sound arrogant or selfish but I wonder what he'd do if I never woke up? Since this far along, taking everything into account, I think that I'm ready to give in.
You see, should my soul be willing to leave me, then I'd no longer hold it back. Should my life wish to end, I'd gladly cut it short. I'm a man in love, a man with a family, but I'm still the boy with a body that hurts like Hell. But.. should these walls succeed to trap my life here, these bandages succeed to hold in my blood, then I'd be devastated to wake up.
All that I wanted was to relive the happiest times of my life-but even that, I could not do..
So please, if Heaven's listening, you can come and get me now.
*
Harry's knuckles were white from the grip he had on the hospital bed. Beneath his prosthetic, the white bedrail was dented. His whole body was tense with anger and stress, his knees jolted up and down while he sat on the chair, his eyes were tight shut, and he just hoped that when he opened them again, he'd find himself at home with Louis safe by his side.
"Here." Roxanne gave her best attempt at a comforting voice. It worked. Her hand came out and squeezed Harry's shoulder when he opened his eyes. He was not at home and Louis was still on the hospital bed, soaking the sheets in blood. He took the glass of cold water that Roxanne offered him, downing it while keeping his eyes on his lover. Louis looked like himself, battered and beaten, but he looked pale. Harry didn't understand what had happened to him, he didn't know what had driven Louis to get hurt so badly but he could only over-think the fact that Louis had got hurt again-and once again, no one had been there. Harry hated himself for it. He was ready to lash out at anyone, to accuse anyone, he just couldn't bare to see Louis like this again.
Two nurses ran into the room then, their navy-blue dresses covered by long white pinafores. They kept straight faces, obviously annoyed by the number of people crowded around Louis' bed-which, to be fair, was only four people-and they gave Harry a sympathetic smile when they caught sight of his distress. One of them even attempted to comfort him but Roxanne put out a hand, saying something in Spanish which made the nurse nod understandingly and turn back to Louis.
They pulled back the blanket and Harry turned his head to the floor. He could smell the metallic scent of blood and it drew his eyes back. Louis' was dressed but he seemed dishevelled. His shoe and sock were missing. His trousers were buttoned wrong, his satin ribbon of a belt was also missing, and Harry's glare got ten shades more angry. His mind ran back to the man by the door and came back to rest on the state of Louis' body. It was clear what had happened and Harry was about to explode with rage. He grabbed the sheet and tugged it to calm himself down, his teeth clenched and his mind set on manslaughter. He'd kill the bastard, he'd bloody well beat him to death. He dared to put his hands on Louis, to put his filthy hands on Harry's lover without Louis' consent-he'd burn in hell and Harry would send him there with his own bare hands if he had to.
