hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again

7.

•••

Louis does a lot of research, scrolling through articles on his phone or the computer from the minute he wakes up to early hours of the morning, light from the screen hurting his eyes and certainly doing nothing to help the pain in his head.

Not like anything is really going to help at this point.

And the doctor was right - there's not a lot they can do. There are medications he can take to help with the tumor swelling and they can remove some of the tumor but even if they remove most of it he's still going to die; removing it is only going to buy him an extra year or so, if he's lucky. A year of radiation and chemo and constant hospital visits he doesn't want it, doesn't want any of this. He wants to see his brothers and sisters grow up, wants to buy a house with Harry, wants to be allowed to hold his hand on the street. He wants to go on tour again next year, wants to travel more, he wants so much and there's just no time for it all, even with treatment.

The average survival length for glioblasoma patients without treatment is four months. Maybe five.

It scares Louis when his weary brain whispers, that's more than enough.

He's just so tired, is the thing.

It's two days, six hours, twenty two minutes and twelve seconds when Louis makes his decision.

It hits him right in the chest like a bolt of lightning and he sits bolt upright in bed. Harry wakes up  immediately, reaching out for him.

"What's wrong, boo?" he asks, voice hoarse from sleep and cracking with concern. It makes Louissad that he knows he's going to have to get used to it.

But looking at Harry's tired eyes, he knows now isn't the best time to tell him. Maybe it'll be better to tell him in the morning, when light is warming his face and his brain isn't so muddled with thoughts and pain – so much pain. So instead he just lays back down, cuddling into Harry's chest and mumbling, "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream is all. Back to sleep now, you."

If Harry notices how badly he's shaking, he doesn't say anything. "So," he begins quietly, so quietly he's not even sure Harry's heard him, but Harry's head jerks towards him almost immediately. "I, um. I think I decided."

Harry's posture visibly stiffens and he mutes the tv, turning so he can look at Louis head-on. "Okay," he says, nodding jerkily and, shit, this is going to be harder than he'd hoped.

And all at once, Louis can't do it.

He's not used to crying so much but now it feels like there's an endless supply of tears waiting to come raining down his cheeks because he can't fucking do this. He doesn't want to die, but he's going to die anyway, and he doesn't want them poking around in his head but if they don't he'll probably die sooner but he doesn't want to live longer if it means he's going to be bedridden for months on end, sleeping his days away and waking up not knowing where he is, but if he tells Harry the truth it's going to kill him, because he knows Harry wants him to try. Harry wants to exhaust every single possibility, and if he had it his way he'd let them poke around in Louis' brain and pump him full of poison if it meant keeping him alive, and Louis knows he means well, but. Harry's not the one with the cancer.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now," Harry soothes, rubbing circles on Louis' back with his hand. "Harry," he gasps, peeking out through his eyelashes that are heavy and dripping with tears, "Harry, I don't want them poking around in my head."

"Lou," Harry murmurs sympathetically, fingers carding through his hair, clutching at him like he's scared Louis is just going to fade away. "Baby, I know you're scared b-"

"No, Harry," he cries, clutching Harry's shoulders and pushing himself up so he can look Harry in the eyes. "No."

Harry is shaking, eyes glassy as he looks at Louis helplessly. "What do mean, Lou?"

"I mean I don't want them poking around in my head, or feeding me drugs through a tube or any of it, I don't because it's going to get bad no matter what Harry, and I'm not sure I want to be around when that happens." Louis exhales shakily.

"Lou," Harry whispers, blinking in disbelief. "Are you...do you want to die?"

Louis shakes his head quickly. "Of course I don't, but I'm going to anyway, Harry, don't you understand? And I'm so scared but I don't want to like...I don't want to suffer...more than I have to. Fuck. I don't know if that makes sense but I just. I don't know, Harry, I don't and I'm sorry." His words are only little gasps at this point before Harry grabs his chin and kisses him, hard, like they're running out of time. And, well. They are.

"I'm sorry," Louis whimpers when Harry pulls away, cheeks flushed prettily. "I love you so much, and I'm sorry, and I understand if you don't want to stay."

Harry's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean, if I don't want to stay?" His face crumbles as the realization dawns on him. "Oh, baby," he sighs, gathering Louis up in his arms. "You know I'd never leave. Would never fucking leave you, not ever."

Louis is on the brink of a panic attack, desperately trying to convey his point to Harry. "You do realize it's going to get bad, right? It's going to get bad, Haz. I'm going to get really, really bad and you're gonna have to...like, care for me and it's going to be horrible." His voice is barely a whisper.

"Do you really think I would leave now, of all times?" Harry looks wounded. "Don't care, Lou. Gonna take care with you. Gonna stay with you. Forever, okay? I promised you forever and I meant it."

"You mean that now, but you're going to regret it," Louis protests shakily.

Harry just pulls Louis close, kissing his hair. "You're so brave, baby. I love you so much. You're

so brave, Lou."

Louis blinks, confused. "You're not mad?"

Harry shakes his head, taking both Louis' wrists in one hand and holding them down. "'M not mad. Scared, yeah. Not mad, though." He closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. He's still shaking a little. "Really scared."

"Me, too," Louis says in a tiny voice, eyelashes fluttering against Harry's cheek.

They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressed together in the silence, breathing each other's air.

•••