23 Days Hiding - Larry Stylinson

Chapter Nine

Much to his distaste, Louis felt like shit when he woke up in the morning. It was early, it was pouring, and it was dreary.

He wanted it terribly to be one of those days where he could just stay in bed, watch shitty movies, turn his phone off and just rest. He wanted to be at peace in his room, he didn’t want to do anything but just stay in bed and cuddle with Harry and listen to rain splatter against his window frame—

Wait. No. Cuddle with Harry? No. Louis was still fighting his emotions. He needed to, even if it was just for Eleanor’s sake. Which it wasn’t; if Harry never replicated Louis’ emotions, then Lou was left in a place that he couldn’t get out of. It’s one thing to love someone and not have them love you back. It’s a whole other thing to love your best friend, who is the same gender as you, and have him not even be interested in what’s between your legs, never mind love you.

Nonetheless, Louis wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. But, the buzzing of his phone on the nightstand beside him reminded him that that was the last thing he could do.

“Hello?” he answered groggily, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

Eleanor’s bright, perky, chipper voice blasted through the receiver, much, much, much too loud and happy for this hour in the morning. “Hey Louis!”

Louis held the phone back from his head, her voice breaking the silence of the room. “Jesus, El, could you get any perkier? How are you this bloody energetic this early?”

“Louis, it’s almost eleven,” Eleanor reminded him. “If that’s early for you, then I think you might need to switch time zones.”

Louis allowed himself to smile. Eleanor always did have a little joke in her that she had saved up for him every day. It wasn’t much—it wasn’t the idiotic pranks that Harry pulled or the terrible puns Harry always cracked—but it was enough to grace Louis with a soft grin. “Shut up,” he defended, throwing the blankets off of him as he got out of bed. “I never get to sleep anymore. Someone is always bothering me, coughcoughyoucough.”

Eleanor’s smile could be heard through her voice, as it always was. “That is a lie, I never bother you! Stop whining.” She was so happy all the time, so cute. “I’m bored, and I miss you way too much. Come on, Louis, let’s go do something!”

Louis shuffled out of his room, kicking some stuff to the side as he went, and stumbled out into the hallway. The apartment was eerily quiet, and that set Louis off. He was used to mornings with the television blaring from Harry’s room or his soft snores coming from the door down the hall, but everything was silent. It was as if Louis was suspended in time.

“Alright, El,” Louis gave in, chuckling. “Your pick, I’m too tired to bother with what we’re going to do. I just want to see you.”

“It’s so gross out. Why don’t I just come over there for a corny, stereotypical rainy day filled with chick flicks and cuddling and hot chocolate? It’s been a long time since you’ve been manhandled, Lou, and I know you miss it. When was the last time you spooned with anyone?”

Louis threw his head back and laughed heartily. It was a real, personal Louis laugh—not hysterical like Niall’s was, not a deep, rough chuckle like Harry’s, not a giggle like Zayn’s and not placid and placed yet happy like Liam’s. It was Louis’ laugh—when he was just too content to care. Eleanor had hit his plan for the day, spot-on. He wondered blankly if she had read his mind.

“That sounds absolutely perfect. I’m free all day, but unfortunately I have to pack for an interview soon, so, yeah. I’m going to go hop in the shower. Can you be here by one-thirty?”

“Of course, babe. I’ll see you soon.”

The click at the other end of the receiver signaled Eleanor’s sign-off. Louis dropped the phone on his bed and walked into the bathroom, staring at the new shower door. It was the same as the old one, but it was shinier and obviously newer. It made him feel sick to his stomach. How’d they clean all the blood up? How’d they get the glass out of the floor of the shower? How’d they—

Louis shook his head, shoving the visions and thoughts out. He wasn’t going to let himself relive that moment any more than he already was. The nightmares had just stopped—and the nightmares were horrible, by the way—and he wouldn’t think about it anymore.

In the shower, Lou ran his hands through his hair and wondered what today would be like. He hadn’t seen Eleanor in forever. Would their date be awkward? Their phone calls were quite normal. But seeing her might be weird. Lou had lost weight—even more than he had throughout he Up All Night tour—and what if Eleanor didn’t like that? What if Louis didn’t know how to talk to her, or he wasn’t cuddling her right, or…

The negativity continued as he got out of the shower and went to his room to get dressed. He absentmindedly slipped on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a simple graphic tee shirt that he had randomly grabbed from his drawer…

He looked down at the shirt after he pulled it on. Oh. It was Harry’s black Ramones shirt.

Louis sighed and began to towel-dry his hair. What he had on didn’t matter to him in the slightest right now. The only thing slightly bothering him was that it was Harry’s shirt, but that didn’t matter. Eleanor and Harry never really hung out much, at least not enough for her to notice that it was Harry’s shirt, and Louis actually rather liked being in Harry’s clothes. 

Wait. No he didn’t. He hated being in Harry’s clothes.

When his hair was tolerably dry, he grabbed his phone, flung open the door to his room, and was whacked with the smell of food.

He absentmindedly staggered down the stairs, hand running through his still-damp hair, and stopped in the kitchen to see a shirtless Harry leaning over the stove, staring down at two eggs in a frying pan. 

Lou’s mouth watered, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the eggs or from the person cooking them.

Harry glanced up to catch Louis, standing near the doorway. “Morning, Lou,” he greeted before turning back to the eggs. “I got up and I was hungry and you were in the shower so I just decided to make some breakfast, is that alright?”

Oh, God. He still had his morning voice. And he was cooking for Louis. Louis had to keep himself in check to stop from barreling into Harry and hugging him like he had come back from the dead (which he basically had.)

“Thanks, Harry, that’s really thoughtful of you,” Lou mumbled as he pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, gripping his phone tightly in his hands. He noticed that it was almost one o’clock—Eleanor would be here in a half hour. He grew increasingly nervous. Why was he so nervous?

Harry set down a plate of eggs, pancakes, and toast in front of Louis, snapping the older boy out of his thoughts. Lou glanced up at Harry, and the curly-haired boy gave him a grin before sitting down next to him with his own plate. Louis tentatively picked up a fork and stared at the food.

“Well, Louis,” Harry suddenly mumbled through a mouthful of food, “I’d hate to break you out of your little trance, there, but eggs aren’t good cold, from what I remember.”

That’s when Louis realized—how did Harry remember how to cook food? As Louis shoved a forkful into his mouth, he added, and make it this good? 

He voiced his question.

“I don’t know, really,” Harry began, biting a piece of bacon off. “I just woke up and I was thinking about this one time where I remember someone cooking with me, and we were making this, and, I don’t know, I just remembered.”

Louis felt his food sit like a rock in his stomach.

“Louis, what in the world is it you’re trying to do?” Harry asked, coming into the kitchen. Louis was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. He was covered in flour, there were two egg cartons on the table, a large bowl was filled with God-knows-what, the entire table was nearly covered in white flour, a jug of milk lay deserted on the counter, three sticks of butter were open on the table (coated in flour), and two loaves of bread were open.

Louis’ head snapped up at Harry’s voice, obviously not expecting him to be up. It was only eight in the morning—it was a day off for them, and they usually slept until about ten. “Oh, uh…”

Harry laughed out loud before Louis could even finish his sentence. “Don’t tell me, you were trying to make breakfast but couldn’t figure out how?”

Louis’ cheeks blushed a harsh pink beneath all the flour.

“Come on, get up, I’ll help you.” 

Louis obeyed and shook his hair out, flour going everywhere. Harry laughed again, heartily, as Louis grabbed a carton of eggs and went over to the stove, where a large frying pan was sitting. Harry grabbed one of the three sticks of butter and cut a piece off of it, dropping it into the pan as he turned the stove on, waiting for it to melt. Louis just watched, the carton of eggs in his arms, as the butter turned into a liquid. Harry grabbed an egg from the carton and cracked one into the pan.

“Quick,” Harry directed Lou. “Go mix a cup of flour, two eggs, and a half cup of water, we can make pancakes.”

“Oh,” Louis mumbled as he picked at his remaining egg. “That’s cool, I guess.”

*

“Louis!”

Eleanor stood in the doorway, grinning like a total idiot. Louis couldn’t help but smile back—he really did miss her, that wasn’t a joke—and opened his arms, letting her slam into them in a hug.

She was the same height as him. Harry was taller than him. His hugs with Eleanor were quite awkward—they didn’t know where to put their heads—but his hugs with Harry were perfect. Louis’ head fit right into that spot where Harry’s neck met his shoulders and Harry’s curls tickled the top of Louis’ forehead and—

Stop. What the fuck, Tomlinson? You are with your girlfriend and you’re thinking about your best friend who barely remembers who you are. Just fucking stop and focus on the gorgeous girl in your arms.

“Hey, Eleanor,” Louis said, his voice just louder than a whisper. They finally pulled away, just to have Eleanor lean over and give him a peck on the lips. The kiss felt unfamiliar.

“I missed you so much,” she announced perkily as she came into the flat. She was dressed in simple black leggings and a tailored fall-off-the-shoulder tunic. She looked comfortable and girly and cute and nothing at all of what Louis wanted.

“I missed you too,” he said instead, ushering her into the kitchen. They walked past the table and went down through the kitchen into the living room. She slowly lowered herself down onto the couch, and Louis took a seat next to her.

She stared into his eyes, and Louis had to admit—this made him quite uncomfortable. “So, how’s he doing?” she asked softly. The whispered words almost annoyed Louis, but he ignored the feeling.

“He’s okay,” Louis mumbled, just as Harry came down the stairs.

“Hi!” Eleanor loudly greeted, causing Harry to stop in his tracks, iPhone in hand. 

He looked at her, puzzled, as the gears started to turn in his head and he tried to put two and two together. When he couldn’t, he asked instead, “Who are you again? Sorry.”

Eleanor laughed, which just confused Harry even more. He continued to stare, totally baffled, as she cracked up. Louis actually had to nudge her to remind her to snap out of it.

“Oh, I’m Louis’ girlfriend, Eleanor,” she announced, and Louis could almost swear that he saw Harry visibly flinch. 

He looked like he was about to shrink in on himself, but he quickly straightened back up and smiled. “Girlfriend?” he asked, speaking to Eleanor but eyes focused on Louis. “Ah, Lou, you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

Fuck. “Oh, uh, I didn’t really—“

“He’s joking, Lou,” Eleanor cut in, defending Harry for a change. “Don’t worry about it.”

Harry gave a brisk nod. “Yeah, mate,” he agreed. “Don’t worry about it.” He took himself to the armchair across the room and collapsed into it, pulling his legs up, curling into a small ball. 

Louis was confused. Why the hell was Harry acting so defensive? He never had liked Eleanor much (Louis didn’t really know why) but right now, he was showing flat out distaste, and he didn’t even know who she was. And why was he getting all weird when he found out she was Louis’ girlfriend?

Suddenly, though, Eleanor was in his arms, and he wasn’t given much time to think anymore. 

“So, I thought we could pick a movie, I actually wanted to watch ‘My Sister’s Keeper,’ but I don’t know if you’d like to see that, so I really don’t want to make you pick but it’s between that and ‘The Notebook.’ And, why don’t you go get that blanket over there? It’s so gross out and I just want to cuddle and…”

“We can watch ‘My Sister’s Keeper,’” Louis absentmindedly confirmed, not really knowing what movie he had picked. He just chose the first one he heard.

They were about halfway into the movie—Eleanor was close to sobbing into his shoulder, Harry was staring blankly at the screen (to his credit, it had been like he wasn’t there for the entire date), and even Louis was trying to hold back tears. This movie was sad. Sadder than he had expected it to be.

That was probably because the whole thing reminded him of Harry. The hospital stays, mostly. Every time he saw the vision of a hospital room in his head, he would envision the youngest boy, so pale, so fragile, buried in the scratchy linen and accompanied by the sound of the heart monitor and respirator. Louis hated it. He hated having to relive the painful moments all over again. But he genuinely wanted to make Eleanor happy, and if this was what he had to do, then so be it.

Louis was paying more attention to Harry than Eleanor, though. He hadn’t shown much emotion during the entire thing, but something about him set Louis on edge. It was unusual. There was something going on in his head—you could see it in his expression—and it occurred to Louis that Harry was remembering something. 

As Louis turned and leaned down to kiss Eleanor on the forehead, Harry suddenly got up off the chair and bolted up the stairs. This caused both El and Lou to shoot upright, breaking their spooning position that they had been assuming before.

“Is he okay?” Eleanor asked, her voice full of genuine concern.

Louis shoved her body off of him and untangled his legs from hers. Once standing, he announced. “I have no idea, but I’ll be right back.”

He ran up the stairs, his heart absolutely pounding in his chest. What if something was wrong with Harry? There was a huge possibility that he could have been having some type of seizure or something. A dangerous side effect of the medication he was on included vomiting, dizziness, and fainting, and if those problems arose, Louis was to call a doctor. What if Harry had been throwing up in the bathroom and some kind of bacteria from the medications he was taking was eating a whole in his stomach and it was digesting itself because of the ulcer?

When Louis reached the top of the stairwell, he didn’t hear retching sounds, and that calmed him a little bit. He went over to the bathroom, peeking his head in, but didn’t see anything. Walking past his own room, he gently nudged open the door to Harry’s room.

The boy was curled into himself on his bed, shaking. He was gripping his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, holding them tightly to his body. It looked like he was crying—good God, was he crying?—and his breathing was jagged, shaky. His hair fell over his face, half of which was shoved into a fluffy pillow, and his whole frame quaked violently.

“Harry!” Louis exclaimed, immediately jumping over heaps of stuff and going over to Harry at once. “Harry, what’s going on?”

The younger boy didn’t answer; instead, he just picked his head up slightly, looked at Louis and turned away. He was definitely crying.

“Harry, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Louis pleaded. 

Harry’s grunt was aggressive and told Louis without words to go away. “I have a headache, leave me alone.”

Louis’ stomach clenched on itself, and he felt sick. Flashbacks of finding Harry in the bathroom hit him in waves again. “Harry, don’t say that,” he begged, dropping down onto the bed, his hands clawing at Harry’s shoulders. Harry remained facing away from Louis, only curling into himself tighter and tucking his head down. “For the love of God and all that is holy, Harry, please don’t tell me you have a headache. Please.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry muttered, and Louis let a breath come out of him, but he was still terrified.

“Tell me what’s really wrong. Are you okay?” Harry didn’t respond, and Louis climbed up onto the high bed, perched there on his knees. He placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but when Harry didn’t acknowledge that, he grabbed the youngest boy’s other shoulder and shook him violently.

Harry finally turned over and sat up, revealing red-rimmed emerald eyes and thin lips. He looked exhausted. Louis realized that the shaking of his body had been caused by silent sobs. Louis barely ever saw Harry cry, and he hated it. It made him feel like he had failed at a friend and it just blatantly hurt Louis to see his best mate upset.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, the word coming out in a huge gush of breath. “What’s happened?”

Harry cast his eyes downwards, blinking quickly, as if he were trying not to cry again. “Louis, I’m scared,” he finally said, very very quietly.

“About what, Harry?” Louis didn’t want to acknowledge the nagging, tugging feeling at his gut that said, Hey, maybe he’s scared about the same thing you told Liam, but he did. He shoved the thoughts away, though. There was no way that Harry felt the same way about him, not at all.

“I was, um, just realizing,” Harry murmured with a broken voice. “I just realized how much stuff is wrong with me. I don’t remember anything, Louis, I hate this. I don’t want to have to ask who your girlfriend is, even if I don’t really like her. I don’t want to have to look up how to cook foods that I had memorized before and I don’t want to mix up Niall and Liam on a regular basis. I don’t like not remembering things, Louis, and I’m scared that maybe I won’t remember everything, and then, what happens then?”

Louis didn’t have any other instinct than to gather up Harry into the biggest bear hug he could muster. Much to Louis’ surprise, Harry’s arms wove tightly around Louis’ body as he buried his face into Louis’ neck (which was becoming damp with tears.) Louis couldn’t help but realize how right this felt, how content he was, even if Harry was sobbing in his arms. 

“Shh, Harry, I know,” Louis gently cooed. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You’re going to remember everything. And even if you don’t, you’ll still be learning things, so it won’t even be different at all. Don’t worry about anything, Harry, we’ve got your back, all of us.”

Harry nodded but continued to cry as Louis continued to hold him. Louis felt too good at the moment, too happy, too at home, too content. When Harry pulled away and looked into Louis’ eyes, Louis regretted holding him like that and letting his mine slip away. Harry’s lips were pink, his eyes were tired yet still a bold and striking and gorgeous green, and his skin was soft. Harry’s lips were parted just so as he wiped his face away. That tiny reveal of pearly white teeth and that soft, pink tongue, Louis couldn’t resist. Completely forgetting that Eleanor was downstairs, he leaned in closer to Harry, closer still, until…

“Holy shit, Louis, what are you trying to pull?” Harry suddenly exclaimed, pushing Louis away from him. The force of the shove threw Louis off the bed, and he lay on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. The pain was appropriate, he had to admit.

Why in the fuck had he just tried to kiss his best friend?