"Stay," Harry whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Louis' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Louis stay.
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{not my story}
COMPLETED
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•••
Harry likes sing to him, likes to tell Louis stories. Louis likes being read to, but he likes it more when Harry just talks, because his voice is always quiet and he never speaks too fast for Louis to understand. Mostly, though, Louis just likes to listen, and it's weird because Louis is usually the one talking, filling the room with his presence but things are different now and Harry gets that and it's good. It's okay.
"Do you remember these?" Harry asks him one morning, fingers brushing against Louis' rope tattoo as he moves to point to the anchor on his own wrist.
Louis purses his lips, eyes narrowing and tongue poking out a little as he concentrates, trying to find the memory from wherever it's buried deep in his brain. Finally, with a look of hopelessness and defeat, he shakes his head, eyes getting glassier by the minute.
"It's okay," Harry assures him quickly, stroking his cheek, even though it feels like. "Just means that I'm your anchor. Just like you're the compass that guides me," he explains slowly, pressing his fingers gently to Louis' compass. Louis gazes at it curiously, as if he doesn't even know how it got there. He looks frustrated when he gazes up at Harry, glassy eyes seeming to say I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't remember, I'm so so so sorry.
Harry just holds him close and whispers, "It's okay. It's okay, Lou. It's just a bunch of ink, anyway. What's important is that I love you, okay, and you love me too, right?"
Louis nods quickly, pressing his cold palm to Harry's chest. Of course I love you, the gesture says. Harry kisses his cold little nose and lets him rest, waiting until he's sure Louis is asleep to let his face relax and crumble.
He really doesn't want Louis to see him cry.
Harry knows it's coming. It's been coming for a long time and frankly, he's gotten more time with Louis than he ever thought he'd get since the day he was diagnosed, and he should be grateful but instead he's just angry, angry because he doesn't want to lose Louis and angry because Louis can't remember a damn thing anymore and one of these days he's going to wake up and forgot Harry's name and that's going to be it, Harry thinks. That's going to be the last straw, and he can't deal with Louis dying not knowing who he is, not remembering every detail, every night they've spent tangled up together, every morning making heart eyes at each other over breakfast, every show with adrenaline pumping through their veins and love in their hearts, and.
Fuck. Harry can't do this. Fuck.
Louis is alive on Harry's birthday. Harry can't believe it, and he sort of feels like the luckiest person on the planet.
"Didn't...didn't get you anything," Louis says sadly, clutching the paper airplane and heartbeat charms tightly to his chest. His eyes are apologetic and almost embarrassed.
Harry almost crushes him with his hug, whispering, "You're here. You're here with me, Lou. That's the best present I could've ever asked for."
And it is.
Louis' eyelashes flutter. He thought he was tired, and he was. But this time, sleep doesn't take him immediately. It's strange.
Harry's voice catches him off guard - it sounds harsh and broken and tired. He's not used to hearing Harry like that. Peeking out through his lashes he spots Harry sitting in the corner of the room, face illuminated in the dim light of the desk lamp, phone pressed to his ear, head down.
"Fuck, I don't know. He's getting really bad. Like, worse than usual. He's having a lot of trouble understanding the things I'm saying and he won't eat or drink anything. Fuck, it could be tonight. It's like he's just barely hanging in there." A pregnant pause, then, "Fuck, no. I'm not ready. I'm really not. I'm scared to sleep, because I don't want to...miss it. I'm scared that I'm gonna doze off and when I wake up he's going to be gone. I don't want him to be...like, alone. When it happens, you know? Just want him to be okay."
It's certainly not a conversation he would be having if he knew Louis were awake, and somehow that just makes it even worse.
He doesn't want to die, except that he does.
But the thought makes him sad, so he just rolls over and squeezes his leaking eyes shut tight tight tight, brain imploding and exploding over and over again and he just wants it to be over.
