COLOR || Larry Stylinson

Grey

When Louis wakes up at 7:30 to either his cat or his alarm (Louis can't really tell which), he cannot decide which emotion is more overwhelming.

His worry for Harry's safety. Or his stupid, cute, childish love for Harry.

He quickly pulls on sweatpants and an old The Who tee, slipping on Toms and messing with his hair for only a small second. He remembers Harry saying the operation would start around 8:00 AM and end around 2 in the afternoon. And he'd like to get there as soon as possible, because he hasn't held Harry's hand for nearly 7 hours now and it's starting to drive him a little mad.

***

When he gets to the clinic, the air seems more tense. Like the whole world is holding its breath.

Harry is stiff. And cold, the nervousness of upcoming events leeching the warmth out of him. Louis hugs him from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder and just holding him, his breath steadily soothing him: it will be alright.

***

The car ride to the hospital is silent. Maisie driving. And Louis sitting in the back with Harry, not letting go.

Harry had told Louis that his parents and sister couldn't make it, that they couldn't be there to hold their breath for him, but Louis just kissed his hands and assured him that there was no reason for them to hold their breath.

Because Louis made a promise, and Louis Tomlinson doesn't break promises.

***

Harry starts to cry when the nurse calls his name, slowly shaking and latching onto Louis's arm.

"Will I be okay?" he asks.

Louis kisses his hand.

"You will be okay."

They exchange one last hug before Harry goes into surgery.

This is it, Louis tells himself. This is the last time that Harry will hug me and not know what he is hugging.

"I love you," Harry whispers, quietly and breathy in Louis' ear, and Louis smiles and says it right back.

"I'll see you in a bit, allright?" Louis says, gently gripping Harry's wrist, and Harry nods.

"No color compares to you, Lou Will!" is the last thing he says before the nurse takes him into the operation room.

***

Louis waits. It's all he does. He doesn't want to psych himself out; doesn't want to remind himself that Harry is in the process of risky surgery and could quite possibly perish.

Eventually, waiting isn't enough, so he pulls out a piece of paper and begins to write everything he knows about colors, begins painting an intricate portrait with his words. Louis will read it to Harry when he can see, and everything will be okay, and they'll watch sunsets together just like they promised.

Maisie eyes him from her chair, temporarily ceasing the practice of biting her nails.

"Do you really love him?" she whispers.

Louis nods.

Maisie cracks a small smile. "I think you two are good for each other. He really appreciated you telling him about the colors. Thank you for that. You made him happier."

Louis smiles and he will not cry, nope, not when he has to stay strong for his boy. "'S the least I could do."

***

About three hours later, at 2:30, Louis starts getting worried. Shouldn't it have ended at two? Is Harry safe? Is Harry alright?

The doctors call Maisie into the room.