No Absolutes

Part One

There are very few things that he finds exciting anymore. Lately the sky has been a consistently hazy cloud from dusk 'til dawn. The weather is always a few degrees shy of being warm or cool enough to be pleasant, and there has been a scratch that persistently refuses to be scratched somewhere that he just can't quite reach.

However, today is decidedly different. Today has successfully excited Louis. The sky is clear for the first time in months (he might be exaggerating, but no matter), the weather is perfect, and the hippo handled back scratcher that he received as a white elephant gift days ago is perfect for scratching all of his itches. Most importantly though is the set of keys that he's twirling around his index finger; the set of keys that he never thought would actually be in his possession. Those keys are going to ignite the engine to the new silver car with the black stripe racing across its hood and they are going to cross the first thing off his list.

Now, he's not dying. That's not what his list is for, but instead it's for making sure that this new year is as successful and positivity-centered as possible. His previous years pre-list have been rather the opposite, so the list should prove, and has so far, to be an improvement to his overall existence. It's only January 1st, but he's hopeful. The fact that his list has gifted him this beautiful 1972 Chevrolet Chevelle SS that he had to have shipped across the pond with the blessing of his new year's bonus only serves to bolster his point; the point he's been making to himself and no one else.

At this moment, he could vomit a rainbow if he really wanted to, but there's a fresh cup of tea with his name on it waiting across town and despite the joyous event that is receiving this beautiful work of American steel, he does have to actually get to work at some point today. So, he climbs into the front seat, inhales the sweet scent of personal victory (and maybe a little pride), and the smell of clean, ebony leather before starting the engine. He runs his fingers over the steering wheel and smiles a little wider.

"Happy days," he hums as he pats at the gearshift and pulls it into drive. "Fucking happy days, man."

With the windows down, he weaves in and out of traffic. Music is blasting probably a little too loudly to be considered anything but obnoxious from his speakers, Louis may be singing at the top of his longs along with the cassette – it's a classic car, there's no way in hell he's ruining it by changing the stereo out for the sake of bluetooth connectivity – and he's typing a text out to Eleanor, the office secretary.

Crossing off number four, right now. Keep my desk warm for me pumpkin. I'll be there in ju – and his phone is flying out of his hand.

It doesn't process at first. He doesn't see it. He doesn't feel his foot slamming down on the brake. He does hear it though; he hears it over the screeching of the song that currently plays. He hears the screaming of his new brakes, hears something sliding up the hood of his car, and hears the distinct cracking of his windshield. He doesn't understand. His fingers are wrapped in a white knuckled grip around his steering wheel. His stare is focused on the speedometer arrow that has fallen back to zero and the full fuel gauge.

Searing panic spreads through Louis' lungs and he heaves as the dots begin to connect. He was texting. He took his eyes off the road for three seconds at most, right? He probably just hit a cone or something. "Just a cone," he repeats aloud to himself. He can't look away from his dashboard. He doesn't move from his seat. The cassette falls into silence as it waits for Louis to flip it over to the B side.

"Someone's been hit!"

A tremore settles deep into Louis' bones. There had been someone in the road. There had been someone in the road and Louis just hit that someone with his car.

Certainly, his list is weird, very weird, but hitting unsuspecting pedestrians with his new car has never been on it. Being surrounded by several people that he doesn't know, who all seem intent on staring straight into his soul, is definitely not on there either.

It takes him a long moment, but he eventually manages to clamor out of the vehicle before he promptly vomits onto the cement. This isn't what was supposed to happen today. He was supposed to pick up his tea from his favorite shop. He was supposed to head into a business meeting with his boss and some new author. He wasn't supposed to make a stop in the middle of an intersection, get out of his new prized possession, and lift his head to see a young man spread out on the pavement.

This definitely isn't how he's supposed to handle this either. Staring at the nest of brown curls and the expanding halo of crimson around them isn't how he's supposed to deal with this at all. For all Louis knows, he could be –

"Is he dead?" a bystander asks from the safety of the sidewalk.

A breath shudders from Louis' lungs and there are tears on his cheeks now. Is he dead? Is he? Did I kill him? I fucking killed someone. He clutches at his stomach as he heaves up the last remnants of his breakfast.

The bystander pushes past him and jams a finger at Louis' chest before he kneels down beside the man Louis hit. The dead man, Louis' brain helpfully reminds. "Call an ambulance," the bystander commands calmly.

For a small moment, Louis flounders. He tries to think of where his phone went when it wasn't in his hand anymore. He tries to ignore the fact that if he had just waited to tell Eleanor about his new list feat at the office, then there wouldn't be a dead man on the concrete in front of him.

"Call an ambulance, sir!" the bystander repeats louder this time.

Startling hard, Louis stumbles back to his front seat. He locates his phone under the accelerator and dials the emergency line with shaking fingers.

"Emergency dispatch, do you need fire, police, or medical?" a woman asks through the phone.

"I–I killed a man with my car..." Louis stammers out. A panicked noise catches in his throat.

The bystander is quick to interject, "He's not dead."

There isn't any relief for Louis to feel at his words. "He... He isn't dead. I'm sorry," he corrects quickly.

"Take a deep breath, sir. Could you give me your location?"

"Victoria and Old Pye," Louis supplies as he leans back on his now dented hood and tries to take his eyes off the unconscious man lying in a pool of blood a meter away from the lips of his shoes. He can't, though, can't stop memorizing the soft face, the youth and life that he has likely destroyed.

"Help is on the way. Could you give me your name, sir?"

Fear and adrenaline erupt in Louis' veins.

There's a larger crowd gathering now, people staring, gawking, and taking pictures. They're capturing the blood, the aftermath of his oversight in the lenses of their phones.

Tapping the end call button, Louis drops his phone into his pocket. "I–Is he going to die?" he questions quietly.

The man kneeling before him looks up from where he's pressed a scarf to the back of the stranger's head. He doesn't say anything for a while, his stare even and focused. "I would start praying, if I were you," he finally relents as he lets his eyes fall back to the scarf in his hands.

So, Louis does. He prays to the God his mother drug him to church on holidays for. He promises he will change, that he will live a better life and that he will pay more attention to the fragile lives around him. The sirens of an ambulance bounce off the street ahead of them and he whispers out a soft amen.

Anxiety overflows into Louis' nerves and he bolts. He leaves his new car in the middle of the street. He lets the bystander's calls for him to stop fade into the sound of car horns and paramedics. The sky above him has slipped back into clouds, the wind chills him straight through his clothes, and his skin is absolutely crawling. He doesn't stop running until he nearly runs face first into his best mate's door.

Frantically, he raps his knuckles against the door. His lungs are burning and his heart is slamming against his ribs like a hammer. He's made a mistake. He's made several mistakes.

"Lou?" Zayn questions tiredly as he opens the door. His raven hair is falling over the right side of his face and his hazel eyes are blurry with sleep. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

A sob racks Louis' chest as he wraps his arms tightly around Zayn and buries his face in the soft space between his jaw and shoulder.

"Louis?" Zayn tries again, more urgent and aware now as his arms settle around Louis' shoulders. He leans a little away like he's trying to assess Louis for any possible damage or injury that might warrant this early morning arrival. "What happened?"

"I'm going to jail," Louis wheezes. "I'm going to jail, Zayn."

Pulling back to usher Louis inside his apartment, Zayn closes the door quietly behind them. "What are you on about?" he presses as he pushes Louis down onto the couch. There's a pinch between his eyebrows and his arms are crossed tightly over his bare chest. "What actually happened?"

"Everything was going perfectly. I–I got the car today and I was just following my routine..." Louis starts as he runs his trembling fingers through his hair and tugs at the strands. For a small moment, he closes his eyes and all he can see is curls and crimson. "I–I hit someone with my car, Zayn."

The furrow deepens and Zayn frowns. He's quiet for a second before he sits down beside Louis. "So, you ran," he surmises.

"I fucking ran, Zayn," Louis repeats pathetically. "I just left him bleeding on the street!"

"Shit, Lou," Zayn sighs heavily.

Wiping blindly at the tears on his cheeks, Louis attempts to steady his breathing when he searches out any stability Zayn can offer, "What the fuck am I going to do?"

"I mean, you have two options," Zayn answers after a beat. He splays his hands out between them like they might hold all the details they could need. "You could go to the police and tell them what you did... Possibly go to jail. Or, you can, well, not."

"There was so much blood, Zayn," Louis begins helplessly. The information won't change the choices, he knows that. He just needs to get the image out of his head and into the air as far away from his thoughts as possible. "What if he dies? I can't just... This isn't how today was supposed to go. I–I mean really, I'm an assistant to a literary agent, not a... I'm not a fucking murderer. I'm going to get fired and... that guy could die."

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, Zayn holds it out to Louis as he suggests, "Call your boss. Tell him you were in a wreck. Then, you can make the right decision."

So, Louis does. He sucks in a shaky breath and calls Mr. Cowell, who tells him he's disappointed that Louis won't be in the office today and that it will be a hassle to find someone else to sit in for his meetings. The call ends with Mr. Cowell thinly wishing Louis well. Zayn makes him a cup of tea and smokes through a cigarette while Louis tries to tame the shaking of his hands. He doesn't move from Zayn's couch.

After an hour of flitting around the apartment, Zayn flips on the television and places a cold beer in Louis' hand. It's only now that Louis realizes there are bruises blooming along his knuckles. He must have smacked it against the dashboard when he dropped his phone earlier. I deserve so much worse, he thinks.

"This morning a tragic accident occurred downtown when a young man was struck by a driver while crossing the intersection of Victoria and Old Pye," the news anchor announces and Louis chokes on his first sip of beer. "The driver disappeared from the scene on foot and left his vehicle behind. Unfortunately, the license plates were registered to the former owner. Police will be releasing a sketch of the driver some time in the next few hours," the anchorman continues as a video of the ambulance at the scene plays in the background.

"Shit," Zayn breathes quietly.

"A positive identification of the hit and run victim has yet to be made. If you have any information regarding this incident, please dial the number shown at the bottom of the screen. In other news..." the anchorman's voice trails off into another story.

Nerves jumping beneath his skin, Louis turns on Zayn. "I can't do this. I can't do this, Zayn! They're going to find me and I'm going to go to jail! Do you know what they do to people like me in jail?" Louis questions as he abandons his beer in favor of grabbing Zayn by the cheeks.

"Lou, mate," Zayn plaintively starts as he places his hands over Louis'. He waits for Louis to make proper eye contact with him before he continues, "Don't flatter yourself. There's a person in the hospital, probably the ICU, right now because of a mistake you made."

"I have to go to the police, don't I...?" Louis asks quietly.

Nodding his head, Zayn pulls Louis from the couch, "I'll take you."

The drive is quiet, Zayn plays the radio on a low volume and Louis tries not to notice that his car is in the impound lot when they pull into the station. "I'll be right here, Lou. Just be honest with them. It might not be as bad as you think."

Taking a deep breath and sending another prayer to a God he isn't sure he believes in, Louis stumbles inside the police station. He approaches the officer at the desk as his limbs order him to run back to the car.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she questions. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose as she looks up.

"I–I... The accident from this morning... I'm the driver..." Louis fumbles weakly.

The woman appraises him for a second before she walks around the desk and motions for him to follow her down the hall. "Come with me, sir."

"I didn't mean to..." Louis tells her as he follows her to a small room with a table and a set of chairs.

Without much acknowledgement, the officer tells him to take a seat as she retrieves a pad of paper and a pen. "Tell me your name, sir. Then, in your own words, describe for me what happened this morning," she starts as she levels him with a stare.

The tremor has returned to his fingers again. "Louis Tomlinson. I had just picked up the car and I was on my way to work... Well, I was going to pick up tea first at the Tea Exchange, but then I was going to work. I–I didn't even see him. I had a green light," he tells her. The information sounds silly to him. I was just going to work.

"Were you distracted? Using a device or simply not paying attention to the road?" the officer queries as she glances up from where she has begun taking notes.

Yes. "I was texting someone at the office," he admits quietly.

The officer nods before starting into a practiced spiel, "Mr. Tomlinson, you will have three separate penalties placed on your license. The first being a violation of the AC10 code, failing to stop after an accident, the second being a violation of the CD10 code, driving without due care and attention, and the last being a violation of the DD10 code, causing serious injury by dangerous driving. You will be called with a date that you will appear before a judge, and that judge will decide the number of points that you will have on your license." She pauses to pull a form from beneath the pad of paper. She makes a few notes on the form before placing it in front of Louis. "Your license will be temporarily suspended. Sign at the bottom if you understand the charges."

That's it? Louis signs his name in the worst cursive he's ever seen and exits the police station before someone realizes that they really should arrest him. He doesn't understand why they didn't. He almost killed someone with his car and all he got was a few demerits? It's practically the legal version of a slap on the wrist.

"How did it go?" Zayn backs out of the lot and doesn't bother to take Louis to his own flat.

"Three code violations and a suspended license," Louis relays.

The furrow is back between Zayn's eyebrows. "You sound disappointed."

"It just doesn't make sense. Like, I caused someone bodily harm with my car. He could die and it's like it doesn't even really matter," Louis airly announces. He rubs his hands over his face and hauls in a breath.

"Lou, just remember what happens to guys like you in jail and be grateful," Zayn throws his own words back at him before patting Louis' head. He pulls into the parking garage outside his flat and adds, "Also, you're forgetting about public ridicule. You're not going to get off that easily."

Groaning, Louis tips his head back against the headrest. He hadn't thought about what people might think of him.

"Look, instead of sulking about your poor decision making, why don't we cross off something else on your list?" Zayn offers likely out of pity. "There's something about dying your hair, isn't there? The public will have whatever sketch they released, and we can make you look different. When that guy gets out of the hospital, you can make a formal apology or whatever and this will all go away. Relax."

How can you make all of this sound so simple? "My list says get highlights not plastic surgery, Z," Louis sighs as he reaches into Zayn's pocket to pluck a cigarette from his carton.

Rolling his eyes, Zayn dismisses him, "Hair color, facial hair, and clothes, Lou. You'll look different enough for a few days and things will die down."

"Just a few days," Louis nods as he lights his cigarette and Zayn lets them into his flat. "Nothing vibrant, okay? I still have to work."

"You just sit back and keep your mouth shut," Zayn grins. "I'll see what my cousins left the last time they were here."

Sitting back on the couch with the cigarette pinched between his lips, Louis tries to follow Zayn's guidance. He focuses his attention on the television, and oh. There's his license photograph staring pitifully back at him. "For fuck's sake, Zayn. Hurry up with that dye."

"We have just received an update on this morning's tragic hit and run. The missing driver turned himself in to the police earlier this evening. The police are not releasing too much information about the driver, but he has been identified as twenty-three year old Louis Tomlinson," the anchorman reappears on the screen as Louis' photo is reduced to a little thumbnail in the corner of the screen. "The victim of the accident still remains unidentified. However, he is listed as being in stable condition at St. Luke's hospital."

"Zayn, if he's not dead, how can they not identify who he is?" Louis calls over the back of the couch.

After a long pause, Zayn appears from the bathroom with two bowls of dye and black gloves on his hands. "Means he's probably not awake," he suggests.

"Ah," Louis breathes. He takes a long drag of his cigarette until his throat burns and his lungs have small fires burning through them. "What color did you pick?"

"Don't worry about it," Zayn shrugs. He begins massaging the dye into Louis' hair before he can protest. Louis can practically hear the grin in his friend's voice, and not for the first time today, he feels regret.

While the dye sets, the boys order some delivery food from the Thai restaurant that's within walking distance and Louis turns off his phone. He's received thirty too many messages that either inquire too insensitively about the gore he witnessed or question his moral standing (or lack thereof).

They light a spliff while Zayn rinses the dye from Louis' hair. As the smoke curls pleasantly in Louis' lungs, he closes his eyes. "You should be a massage person, Z," Louis tells him.

Shutting off the water, Zayn runs a towel over Louis' hair. "Piss off, you're not going to like me in a minute anyway," he asserts.

"Why's that?" Louis questions as he scratches at the scruff lining his jaw.

Then, there's the sound of a razor turning on. "Don't move," Zayn instructs.

Opening his eyes, Louis considers making a beeline for the nearest exit. "You're not shaving me," he says.

"Course not," Zayn replies breezily. "Not your face anyway. I'm just going to shorten the sides of your hair a little."

Frowning, Louis doesn't stop Zayn when the razor starts to shear off his wavy hair. Just for a few days, he reminds himself. Then, things will go back to normal. He places the spliff back between his lips and takes a hit that only does a little to quell the panic that has refused to leave him. "Are you going to tell me what color it is yet?"

After he finishes razoring everything but the lengthy hair on top of Louis' head, Zayn pulls out his phone and takes a picture. "It looks good, chill."

"It's... oh." Louis stares at the photo for a long while. He does certainly look different. The top of his hair is still long and messy, bedhead-like, but it is definitely... "Is that purple or blue?"

Shrugging, Zayn peels the spliff from Louis' fingers, "Dunno, mixed 'em."

"Right," Louis nods a little. The short sides are still brown and well, he's not going to admit it, but he kind of definitely likes this. "Not bad, Z."

With a smoky laugh, Zayn puts out the spliff in an empty bottle of beer by the sink.

They lounge on the couch in comfortable silence until Louis falls asleep with his face pressed into the cushions and Zayn wanders off to his own bed.

The next day, Louis takes the underground to work, fields as few questions as he can about the previous day's misgivings, and heads right back to Zayn's flat afterward instead of returning to his own. He's found that his friend's consistent company does wonders for keeping images of blood and curls from his thoughts. The day after follows suit. Then, the next day comes and goes with only the event of Zayn picking up Louis' car from the impound lot. Before he knows it, a week and a half goes right past him and there's still no identification of the man that Louis hit.

So, on the following Wednesday morning, Louis finds himself at the front desk in the lobby of St. Luke's hospital.

"What can I do for you, sir?" the receptionist smiles politely at him.

Folding his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and blinking away the strands of his wavy purple-blue fringe that are hanging in his eyes due to the beanie that's smashing his hair against his forehead, Louis fumbles for an answer, "My, um, my cousin was admitted a few days ago with a head injury... from a, uh, car accident. What floor would he be on?" He probably looks suspicious and so horribly uncomfortable.

"Oh! Ninth floor, just take the elevator down the hall. The floor receptionist will direct you from there," she smiles and he disappears in the direction she pointed him to.

The elevator ride is silent. What am I doing? It's not like he can just go into a stranger's room, a stranger that he nearly killed, and even if he did... What then? He scrubs a hand over his face as the elevator dings for the ninth floor.

"Fuck," he murmurs quietly as he steps out. For a long moment, Louis just glances about the hallways before him. He has no idea where to go from here, and he's definitely not going to ask where the guy is. So, he takes to wandering the halls, and ducking his head whenever a doctor or nurse passes him.

By the time he's almost made a full circle around the floor back to the elevator, a painfully familiar nest of hair catches his attention. The lights in the room are dimmed and the blinds are closed by the shadowed figure resting on the bed is not to be mistaken.

Stilling in the doorway, Louis fidgets with the beanie on his head. He merely stares for a while, focusing on the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor beside the bed. "Just sleeping," Louis sighs as he steps further into the room. He hesitantly sits in the chair beside the monitors. "He's just sleeping, Louis... Can't hate you for almost killing him if he's sleeping..." he tells himself. He takes in a breath and lifts his stare to the man.

There are bruises lining the left side of his face and an array of white bandages wrapped around his head and through his curls. He looks so much younger and the weight of what has happened finally settles on Louis' shoulders.

"I'm so sorry..." Louis admits weakly. He knots his fingers together in his lap and he can feel the tears beginning to brim on his eyelashes again. "Fuck, you're just a kid aren't you..." he heaves a breath and pushes himself quickly from the chair.

When he runs out of the room, he doesn't look back and he's not patent enough to wait for the elevator, so he trips down the stairs as quickly as he can.

It takes until that night when he and Zayn are watching some 80's action film, for him to blurt out what he's done. "I saw him today."

"Saw who?" Zayn mumbles around a mouthful of hamburger.

"Him," Lucas reiterates. He shifts on the couch so that he's facing Zayn. "Him, Zayn, him."

Twisting his mouth in thought, Zayn sets aside his burger. "Him," he repeats before his eyebrows lift and it dawns on him. "Louis, you didn't! You went to the hospital? Are you insane?"

"He was asleep! I just had to see for myself that he wasn't really dead, you know? Don't give me that look, Zayn. You know me, if I don't see it then it isn't real," Louis reasons as he stuffs fries into his mouth to shut himself up.

"Louis, you really are an idiot," Zayn groans. "Don't do that again. Don't even go near that place. Do you understand?"

Taking a long drink of his soda, Louis tries to nod, "Yeah, Z. Course."

For a little over a week, Louis keeps to his word. He keeps busy with reviewing some manuscripts that Mr. Cowell is interested in, and buys some new hoodies and a set of nice oil paints to thank Zayn for letting him hole up in his flat. He even watches two seasons of an American dramedy to pass the time.

Then, on the ninth day, Louis finds himself on the ninth floor of St. Luke's and he's really not that successful at keeping his word anymore. Nervousness turns in his stomach and the boy in the bed hasn't moved since Louis last saw him.

"Still sleeping, Curly?" Louis voices quietly as he takes a seat beside the bed. He pulls his messenger bag onto his lap and pulls out one of the manuscripts Eleanor handed off to him the previous morning.

"Excuse me, what are you doing in here?"

Nearly pissing himself, Louis stands up quickly and faces the nurse who definitely appeared out of nowhere. "Oh, I, um... I'm a volunteer. Here to, uh... Read to the patients," he stammers out with a panicked gesture to the pages in his hand. What am I doing? he wonders not for the first time.

The nurse eyes him warily, but nods nonetheless. "You know he's in a coma, right? He can't hear you. Also, you need to sign in."

Coma, and that makes much more sense. Louis thinks he might vomit. Is vomiting a stress-induced habit someone can have? It's not what he needs right now. "Sign in, right. I'll come do that," he agrees quickly. He sets his bag and book aside before following the nurse back to the reception desk.

"Just write down your name, the organization you're with, and the time you got here," the nurse instructs as she places a clipboard in front of him.

It takes Louis almost a beat too long to process the request. He can't write his own name, can he? What kind of violation would that be? He already lied. He doesn't need to be arrested for harassing a kid in a coma. Fuck. So, he scribbles down Matty Parker and London City College, his alma mater. The 1975 was playing on the ride over and well Spider-man is always in the back of his head, so yep. He's creating a small web of lies. Zayn's going to murder him.

"Might as well actually read to you now, right Curly?" Louis suggests when he makes it back to the room. He wishes that he knew his name, but he supposes he wouldn't be here if he did.

For a while, Louis merely stares at the first page. This is fucking weird. What I'm doing is fucking weird. He hit this kid with his car and now he's reading him a book. This is wrong, right? Zayn's definitely going to kill him. He clears his throat.

"This is, uh, called 'The Seaside'," Louis begins softly. He reads each page carefully as his knee bounces against the back of the papers. He inhales quietly and glances up at the boy on the bed every now and again.

Before Louis realizes it, the sun sets behind the closed blinds of the room, and he's spent his whole day off reading to a boy that likely can't even hear him. For the first time though, he feels a little more at ease.

"Probably enough for now, right Curly?" Louis asks before pausing to let silence spread through the room. He waits for an answer that he knows won't come before gathering his things. He casts one last glance at the boy, takes in the sharp jaw and soft cheeks, before letting out a breath. "Goodnight then, Curly."

At the reception desk, Louis signs out and the nurses tell him to come back soon. He takes a bus back to Zayn's and pulls his hood up to block the wind as he climbs the steps.

"What's that smile on your face for?" Zayn asks. He has his back to the door and a canvas in front of him. There's paint splattered across his fingers and some sort of music playing in the background that sounds a little like a cover of the Script.

"Still fawning over that Youtube guy, Zayn?" Louis questions back instead as he drops his bag on the kitchen table.

Flicking paint at Louis, Zayn grimaces, "I thought we agreed that was on the blacklist, Lou. Plus, come on. You can't tell me that he isn't good."

"What's his name again? Neil? Nico?" Louis teases as he grabs a beer from the fridge and wanders over to where Zayn is staring down at his canvas. An array of pinks and blues are swirled across the material.

"Niall. It's Niall, Lou. You know that," Zayn mumbles as a flush creeps up his cheeks. He swipes black paint onto the painting with a sulking noise.

Popping off the cap of his beer, Louis takes a swig. "Are you sure? I could have sworn that it was Mrs. Malik. Isn't that what's written all over your diary?" he snorts.

"Piss off," Zayn huffs with a roll of his hazel eyes. "And I only said that one time."

"You said it a lot of times that one time," Louis laughs as he pinches Zayn's cheek. "It's cute, Z. He follows you on twitter, doesn't he? Why don't you see if he's going to be in London any time soon? You can fawn all over him in person. Propose, maybe."

A bit of pink paint is smeared across Louis' face when Zayn swats at him. "Dick," he huffs.

"So cute," Louis grins before making a kissy face at him.

"Where were you today anyway? Eleanor called me four times," Zayn turns the conversation back on Louis, clearly unhappy with how his preferences have been dug into. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it easily.

Right, I might have missed a meeting, Louis frowns at himself. He had turned his phone on silent when he went to the hospital. He was mostly working out-of-office today, but he was probably supposed to show his face for something or other. "Oh, what did she want?" he asks.

With a shrug, Zayn takes a drag. "Dunno," is what he offers.

"Right, you don't ever answer the phone. I, um, may have joined a volunteer program for a college I no longer attend," Louis admits lamely as he shuffles around so Zayn can't see the guilty look on his face.

"A volunteer program?" Zayn repeats a little incredulously.

Making a dismal noise of agreement, Louis supplies, "Mm, I, uh, read to coma patients now."

"Is that so," Zayn replies as he moves to face Louis. His paint splotchy hands are placed firmly on his hips.

"Thought I would give back to the community," Louis reasons innocently.

With a considerably not convinced look, Zayn leans in to see Louis' face, "And by community, you mean the John Doe you ran over with your car."

"Zayn, come on," Louis sputters. "Don't you want to tell me more about Niall? What's his favorite color? Any new music? Have any pets?" he rambles.

"He's twenty-one, his favorite color is blue, and no, he doesn't have any pets. He's self-producing an album right now," Zayn deadpans. "Look at that, we're back to you. So, let's talk about you. Tell me something, why are you continuing to get yourself involved in this?" he presses as he steps closer to Louis who is intent on backing into the bathroom.

Laughing nervously, Louis waves his hand dismissively, "You know, I remember the days when you would hardly speak. I think I miss those days. Where's that Zayn when I need him?"

Jabbing a finger at Louis' chest, Zayn levels him with a stare. "Louis," he starts and it sounds so much like a warning. Yet, he pulls back a moment later and lets out a deep sigh. "Look, just don't get yourself into more trouble."

"It's harmless, Z. I signed with a fake name and I'm just reading books. I look like a good little delinquent," Louis placates as Zayn takes another long, weary drag on his cigarette.

"Good little delinquent," Zayn repeats in exasperation. He rubs his temples with his free hand. "Do you hear yourself at all?"

Honestly, Louis might personally be responsible for Zayn developing gray hair early in his life. It would look good on you, probably. You should really thank me, he thinks. "Self-producing an album? Really?" he segues with a half-hearted shrug.

Merely groaning like Louis' simple existence pains him, Zayn stalks back to his canvas.

"How much money did you donate to him to help the cause, Zaynie?" Louis asks as he follows along behind him.

"Don't bother me and I won't bother you," Zayn growls.

Two weeks later, Louis is sat in Curly's room working on a read through of an author's contract agreement when he finds Curly's backpack in one of the drawers. He wasn't trying to snoop. Really, he wasn't. He needed a pen, and he didn't want to go bother the nurses again for one.

Now that he's found the bag though, he can't just unfind it. Plus, maybe there's a pen in there, right? He's just trying to find a pen. That's all. So, he takes the bag out of the drawer and sets it on top of the dresser.

"Just looking for a pen, that's all. I promise, Curly, I'm not trying to invade your privacy," Louis gently assures over his shoulder as he unzips the largest pouch. He takes a deep breath and begins rifling through it with care. There's mostly just clothes from what he can tell and his fingertips may have brushed against a toothbrush, but he isn't entirely sure. So, the safest thing to do is to dump all the contents of the bag onto the dresser, right? Pens are small and difficult to find. Yeah.

For the most part, Louis is correct. The bag was mostly filled with tightly packed clothes, and if he tried to dig through the items, he would have just made a disrespectful mess. On the top of the pile of things that Louis most definitely shouldn't be touching is a worn, leather bound notebook. And that, that is interesting. Plus, maybe it has the boy's name in it. So, if Louis were to peek at it then that would only be for the good of everyone involved, right? Right.

"I'm really not trying to invade your privacy, Curly, I promise," Louis asserts again over his shoulder as he stuffs the clothes and bag back into the dresser drawer before taking the notebook back to his seat. Hesitantly, he opens the notebook to the first page where This Book Belongs to is printed in delicate black ink. Directly below the message is a splotchy watercolor of dried brown liquid that has smeared into oblivion whatever text was written there. Beside the spill, whoops is scrawled in pencil.

Snorting a little, Louis flips the page to find a lengthy list of cities written in neat penmanship with dates beside them:

T: Amsterdam, Netherlands 30.08.2014 – 31.08.2014

T: Brussels, Belgium 01.09.2014 – 09.09.2014

T: Paris, France 10.09.2014 – 01.10.2014

T: Bordeaux, France 01.10.2014 – 18.10.2014

T: Madrid, Spain 19.10.2014 – 07.11.2014

T: Barcelona, Spain 07.11.2014 – 01.12.2014

B: Rome, Italy 01.12.2014 – 14.12.2014

T: Milan, Italy 14.12.2014 – 31.12.2014

P: London, United Kingdom 01.01.2015

B: Mullingar, Ireland

"Are you a traveler, Curly?" Louis asks quietly as he focuses on the date beside London. If this kid had arrived one day earlier or later, this wouldn't have happened. He would have been on his merry way traipsing off to explore and not... not sitting in this bed. Was there anyone else with you? Is someone waiting for you to come home? "I bet you had a lot of fun, didn't you? Seeing the world... You're definitely more well traveled than I am," he murmurs as nausea turns in his stomach. He tries to ignore the ache as he begins flipping through the other pages. There's a page or two for each city scrawled with the boy's thoughts about the places he went and the people he met. There are photos and transportation tickets stuffed between the notes, but no name.

'Amsterdam...

Well, hm. Amsterdam is... nice. It was. The lights were pretty at least. Some guys from the station recommended that I try out the Red Light District. It was... well. Definitely not my thing! Maybe, I'll bring Li back here. He might like it. Aren't those girls cold?'

Covering his mouth to stifle a laugh, Louis glances up from the pages to the boy on the bed. He may not know Curly's name, but at least now, he has a way of knowing a little bit more about him. He's definitely overstepping his bounds, but he shoves those thoughts away from his mind.

'Brussels!!!!

I have to bring the boys here. There's this little statue of a boy peeing, and it's absolutely so cute. It's called the Manneken Pis, I think. There are literally eighty different outfits for him. I kind of want one. I wonder if Ni would let me have one in the flat. I don't know. I sketched it though, so maybe I can convince him. We could dress it up for the holidays like mum does with that goose on her doorstep. We could name him Sprouts. Haha!

Saw Notre Dame du Sablon also. That was pretty beautiful. I tried to sketch that too, but it isn't as great without the color.'

Sketch, sketch, sketch. "You're an artist, Curly?" Louis looks back to the dresser, but there wasn't a sketchbook in the bag.

'Paris' is scrawled on the next page with extravagant care.

'The cathedrals here are beautiful. The Eiffel Tower was a little dirtier than I imagined though, but... I did meet someone. Maybe I'll stay a few extra days.'

'Bordeaux...' The writing on this next page is a little sloppier and there are water spots wrinkling the paper and running the ink. Louis frowns a little.

'Luc came with me from Paris, but he left tonight. I think he took my phone. I miss home.'

"Luc?" Louis sighs and casts a glance at the boy's face. "You had to know that he would have been an ass, come on," he mumbles, but now he feels worse. The nagging thought that he's invading comes back in full force and he truly knows that he is. This boy has a life, a home, and a family that he misses. Louis lets out a breath.

With less enthusiasm, he flips through the other pages catching glimpses of 'someone took my sketchbook from the hostel,' 'I hiked Montserrat today,' and 'the boys are probably wondering where I am.' The photographs are probably the worst: a smiling, curly haired boy with bright green eyes posed in ridiculous ways with scenes and local people that he appears to have charmed.

"I'm so sorry, Curly..." Louis apologizes numbly as he runs his fingers through his fringe. "You've just got to wake up, you know? You can get back on the road... Finally head to Mullingar. Although, I don't really know why you want to go there. Isn't that a tiny town?"

After a stretch of silence, Louis takes the pen from where it's tucked in between the pages of Milan and London. He sets the notebook on the side table and pulls his work back onto his lap. "I'm not going to read to you today 'cause I've got some work to do... but maybe some music?" he offers before waiting for a response that doesn't come. Then, he turns on the shuffle on his phone.

"I should run you a hot bath, fill it up with bubbles. 'Cause maybe you're loveable, maybe you're my snowflake... Your eyes turn from green to gray... In the winter, I'll hold you in a cold place," Ed Sheeran croons through the small speakers of his phone and Louis relaxes into his work.

With a small pinch between his eyebrows, Louis reads through the contract before him. He doesn't understand how author's can demand the entirety of all the profits when the publisher has to manufacture and produce all of the pages including the cover. Speaking of covers... He needs to phone the graphics designer for one of the books that was due for print last week. Fuck.

How much work has he missed or overlooked while in the midst of trying to sort out the mess he created? He should probably sit down with Simon in the morning and let him know that he hasn't lost his mind after running down a seemingly lovely pedestrian. Yeah, he'll do that. He should also probably call his mother and let her know that he's still got his head on right as well. Also, he has yet to explain himself to her, and he should definitely, probably do that. Shit, yeah.

Shuffling over to a new song, his phone plays a cover of Arcade Fire's Wake up by that guy Zayn is obsessing over. "Somethin' filled up my heart. Someone told me not to cry, but now that I'm older, my heart's colder, and I can see that it's a lie..."

Curly's fingers twitch against the sheets covering his thin torso, and Louis smiles softly. "You like that one, do you, Curly? Have you heard this song before?" he voices as he watches the fingers still. He sighs weakly.

Finishing his work to the tune of Semisonic's Closing Time, Louis packs up and leaves the hospital before pinching a cigarette between his fingers. He'll cross quit smoking off his list later on in the year, maybe. His list doesn't feel all that important anymore. He smokes through two more by the time that he gets back to Zayn's flat.

Sprawled out on the floor by one of his news canvases with a mostly burned spliff hanging from his lips, is Zayn. His eyes are closed and his eyelashes cast spindly shadows over his olive cheeks.

"Z, please, don't tell me you're asleep down there. You could set the house on fire," Louis acknowledges as he nudges his friend with the tip of his Vans.

Yet, Zayn doesn't move. There are speckles of teal and white paint freckling his skin, and he truly looks peaceful.

Can't have that, Louis thinks as he lets out a huff. He pulls the spliff from Zayn's mouth before tossing it into the sink. "Mate, there's a couch like a foot from you. You're like a cat, you can fucking sleep anywhere, can't you? Did you just light up and pass out right here?" he asks as he grabs Zayn under the arms and begins dragging him toward the couch.

By the time Louis actually maneuvers Zayn up onto the cushions, the bastard is smiling. "Niall messaged me back," he murmurs.

"You messaged him? What did you say?" Louis questions as he lifts up Zayn's head and sits down beneath it. "Oh my god, Z, your eyes are so red."

"Shh," Zayn hushes and turns his face to rest his cheek on Louis' stomach. "My cousins brought by some good shit and I got really, really up... So, I messaged him like you told me to... He's coming down here for a show at the end of March."

Petting Zayn's hair, Louis smiles, "Did you say anything else? Maybe ask him on a date? Out for pints? Maybe you wanna share some of that 'good shit' next time?"

"Rest of it's by the sink..." Zayn mumbles as his eyes close again. "You've been eating too much takeout... Maybe you should go home so you can cook..." he hums as he rubs his cheek against Louis' tummy.

"Don't call me fat," Louis snorts with a light flick to Zayn's cheek. He relaxes back into the couch cushions. "I'm glad you're going to meet your husband, Z."

A smile splits Zayn's lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, "I'm so fucked."

"That's right, you're going to be so fucked," Louis nods as he touches Zayn's hair again.

"You're twisting my words, Lou," Zayn laughs airily. "How was John Doe?"

Stilling with his fingertips wound in Zayn's hair, Louis quietly tells him, "I found a notebook of his when I was looking for a pen. He was backpacking through Europe, I think."

"World traveler," Zayn mumbles.

"An artist, too," Louis adds with a tap to Zayn's nose. "Just like you."

With a small noise, Zayn nods, "Sounds like a sweetie."

"I like that you're not lecturing me," Louis grins, but the feeling doesn't reach his eyes.

"Order me a pizza and give me an hour," Zayn blinks up at him. "Then, I'm gonna yell at you."

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Louis relents, "I hope you do."

They order pizza and eat while watching the third season of Modern Family that Zayn definitely downloaded illegally just for Louis' sake. When they're finished, Zayn lectures Louis through deep sighs about invading people's personal privacy and Louis teases Zayn about wanting to shag a Youtube personality who could quite literally be the biggest dick in person. They smoke half of Zayn's stash and pass out on the sofa.

The following morning, Louis starts his day with a shower where he carefully avoids looking himself in the eye afterward (Zayn has told him he's starting to look unwell, but not in as kind of words) and a call to the office.

"Laurellville Publishing Company, this is Eleanor. How may I direct your call?" Eleanor chirps.

Lucas heaves a sigh, "El, it's Louis."

"Ah, the murderer speaks," Eleanor laughs. This is how she's greeted him since the incident, and it's less charming each time. "Phoning to let the big boss know you're 'working from home' again?"

"Lovely to be speaking with you as well, Eleanor," Louis groans. "Could you just transfer me over to Simon? I need to speak with him about some things."

With another dainty laugh, the line clicks and a dial tone fills the line as his call transfers. As he waits for Simon to answer, he hauls in a tight breath and tries to think of what exactly he wants to say.

"Simon Cowell speaking, what can I do for you?" Simon answers and his voice is so forcefully cheerful. Briefly, Louis wonders if anyone actually buys into that.

"Mr. Cowell, it's Louis. I just wanted to phone you about some of my work," Louis informs as he scrubs a hand through his wet hair.

There's a scoff through the line before Simon says, "I wouldn't really call what you've done lately work."

Wincing, Louis fumbles, "Well, I spoke with the graphics designer for that novel about the island kids. The art should be done by the end of this week. Also, I reviewed the contract for Murs' autobiography..."

"The cover work is late. I need you to see what you can do to speed up the process with the designer. We need three mockups for the author to look at this coming Monday," Simon continues on as Louis scrambles for a pen and paper. "That contract needs to be on my desk in the next hour. Fax it, email it, whatever you have to do to get it here by then. Also, I want four new pieces on my desk by Friday. We need something sent to print by next Wednesday. Please, Tomlinson, no more children's books about puppies and pigeons. I could not give less of a shit as to whether they escape the clutches of a witch or drive a bus. I hope they don't. Lastly, phone Jensen, the editor with the snotty kid and tell him that he skimmed me on that last sale. There was some sort of convenience fee that I need back in my bank before he gets a foot up his ass."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Cowell. I will get right on all of that," Louis stammers.

Humming his assent, Simon replies with what is a thinly veiled warning, "Get it done, Tomlinson."

"Have a good day, Mr. Cowell," Louis quickly tells him, but the line clicks off before he's finished and he heaves a heavy sigh. "Fuck."

"Better get moving, Tomlinson," Zayn laughs from where he's throwing paint at one of his canvases.

Groaning, Louis rubs at his face, "Why can't I be like you? It must be nice to just smoke and paint all fucking day. It's nice, isn't it, Zayn?"

"I'm a starving artist, Lou. Starving isn't nice," Zayn responds easily.

"Starving my ass," Louis huffs as he hauls himself off the couch and pulls a beanie down over his wet hair. "I think I've fed you more in these past few weeks than I've fed myself ever," he snorts as he tugs one of Zayn's shirts over his head and slings his messenger bag onto his shoulder.

Merely grinning, Zayn waves him off with a flick of a paintbrush. "Bye-bye, sweetums. Have a nice day."

"Fuck off," Louis grimaces as he walks out. He lights a cigarette as he wanders down to the nearest FedEx center. He photocopies the edited contract he finished looking over the day before and sends it off to Simon. Then, he finds himself walking back to the hospital, a place that he too often winds up these days. On the way, he dials the graphic designer's office.

"Sigma Designs, this is Sophia. How may I help you?" the secretary answers mundanely.

Rubbing at his temples, Louis tucks the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he lights another cigarette. "Hi, yes, this is Louis Tomlinson with Laurellville. I called yesterday about the cover work for the young adult novel Kings of Man Island. I am willing to make an offer to expedite the process. Also, Mr. Cowell wants to request two additional mockups," he exhales around a cloud of smoke.

"It takes three to five business days for one mockup, Mr. Tomlinson. This information is posted clearly on our website as well as in all of our contractual agreements," she replies monotonously. Louis can practically hear the roll of her eyes.

"We are willing to increase our offer by a quarter. Miss, listen, this is the first thing on a very long list of things that I have to deal with today. Please, the offer is generous, do not make us take our business elsewhere," Louis presses with a long drag.

The secretary huffs, "What are you going to do? Run us down if we don't take your offer?"

What? Louis trips on the cement curb as he crosses the street. "If we don't see those mockups in our office by tomorrow afternoon, I might just consider it, Sophia," he bites as he hangs up with a bitter taste in his mouth. "What the fuck?" he mumbles. He pinches at the bridge of his nose and finishes his cigarette on the steps of the hospital.

Whether to punish himself or something else, Louis takes his time walking up the steps to the ninth floor. His skin is crawling a little as he ascends each set of stairs. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't mean to put this kid in the hospital. I made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. "For fuck's sake..." Louis growls as he stomps onto the ninth floor landing.

"Good morning, Matty," the nurse behind the reception desk smiles at him.

Startling a little, it takes Louis a moment to get his posture to relax. "Morning, Ms. Jane," he smiles meekly.

"Come to read to him again? Or are you going to try out some of the conscious patients today?" Ms. Jane grins kindly as she signs him in.

"I think I've gotten attached," Louis tries to joke, but it falls flatter than he would like.

With a nod and a small laugh, Ms. Jane waves him on, "Go on then, he's waiting."

Grabbing a tea from the small beverage station in the hall, Louis heads off toward the room. "Morning, Curly. I hope that yours has been better than mine." He sets his bag down and looks up at the boy on the bed with the hope that for once he might be looking back at him. He has imagined it several times; had a dream or two about walking into the room and seeing the boy stare at him in confusion, maybe asking Louis who he is. He's had nightmares about it more than anything; woken up drenched in sweat with the boy's muddled voice still ringing with blame in his ears.

"My morning has been absolute shit so far," Louis announces as he blows the words across his tea and takes a seat. "I've got a nicotine headache, which I hope that you've never had because they suck. You smoke so much that you're dehydrated and you get this pounding in your head. So, you should smoke less, but you can't smoke less because you smoke so much. On top of that, I'm probably going to have to start using this fake name to do business because people are throwing this mistake I made in my face... You know that I didn't hit you on purpose, right?" He pauses and watches the boy's face.

The silence stretches and Louis rubs at his temples again. "Of course, you don't. I put you in a coma. I would hate me, too," he relents as he takes a sip of his tea and pulls out one of the books he's supposed to review. "Well, I've got another book for you... I thought you might like this one 'cause it's about adventure..." he announces before cracking the manuscript open. He leans back in his seat and starts reading the tale of two young brothers on the run in Venice.

For the next few hours, Louis breathes the words into the strained silence. He wonders whether or not Curly can actually hear him, if the sentiment of so many movies and doctor dramas is true. He follows the winding curls on the boy's head with his gaze and his voice dies in his throat. There are tears brimming on Louis' eyelashes and he doesn't know when they came to be there.

"I know that I keep telling you, but I don't think that I can say it enough..." Louis coughs and sets the book aside. He wipes his sleeves across his cheeks and sucks in a breath. "I'm so sorry that I put you here... I just... I need you to wake up so that you can hear that, okay Curly?" He shoves up from the chair and grabs his cigarettes from his bag.

In the halls, he ducks his head until he escapes out into the courtyard that's really just a balcony with a few potted trees and benches with a glass barrier to prevent anyone from actually escaping into the beautiful view. He lights the cigarette with a small sigh and scratches at his scruff with his free hand. "Fuck," he heaves in a cloud of smoke.

Before dialing their editor's number, he tries to collect himself. If he gets this checked off his todo list, he won't have to ruin his weekend with it, and his day's already shitty enough, so why not?

"This is Jensen, what's up?" Jensen answers on the last ring.

"Ah, hey, this is the rep from Laurellville," Louis exhales. If he can avoid stating his name, it might be the best for now on. "I've been looking over the invoice from our last transaction and I have a few questions."

A laugh echoes through the phone, "Tomlinson? Good to hear from you. What's your question?"

Shoulders relaxing a little, Louis supplies, "Mr. Cowell just wants to know what the convenience fee is for."

"Convenience fee?" Jensen pauses. "Oh, right. That covers the online credit transaction. It's an unavoidable cost."

"Right, right. I'll let him know," Louis nods as he takes a small drag.

There's shuffling on the other end of the line before Jensen barrels on, "No problem. Hey, I heard about what happened. Are you alright?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I'm alright," Louis tells him. It isn't true, but he's much better than a particular someone not too far from him. "I've, uh, got to get back to work. Tell the family I said hello, would you? I'll see you at the next meeting."

"Sure thing. Take it easy, Tomlinson," Jensen tacks on before the line clicks off.

Finishing his cigarette in silence, Louis sends Jensen's information to Simon in a carefully worded email before he heads back inside the hospital. When he reclaims his seat, he tucks the book he was reading back into his bag and turns his phone back onto shuffle. Mat Kearney's Dancing in the Dark cover plays softly through the speakers and Louis tries to center himself.

"I get up in the evening, and I ain't got nothing to say..." Louis hums quietly along. "I come home in the morning, I go to bed feeling the same way. I ain't nothing but tired, man I'm just tired and bored with myself... Hey there baby, I could use a little help..."

Curly's fingers twitch against the sheets and the tears are dripping down Louis' cheeks again. "You can't start a fire, you can't start a fire without a spark... This gun's for hire even if we're dancing in the dark..." he continues weakly and wipes a hand over his face. "Message keeps getting clearer, radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place. I check myself out in the mirror; I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face... Man, I ain't going nowhere, I'm just sitting in a dump like this..."

The fingers still and Louis quiets down. He stuffs his papers in his bag and shuts off his phone. "I'll be back another day, Curly. I'm sorry... I just..." he shakes his head as he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out quickly.

"Leaving early today, Matty?" Ms. Jane questions as he passes by her desk.

Ducking his head, Louis tries to hide the tears that are still slipping down his cheeks. "Ah, yeah... I've just got to get home so I can do some... homework," he reasons around the lump in his throat.

"Oh, alright," Ms. Jane replies gently. "Have a good day, sweetheart."

Waving half-heartedly as he heads into the elevator, Louis uses the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe roughly at his face. "He's got a family and friends and you fucking hit him with your fucking car," he growls at himself. He tugs at the bits of hair that escape his beanie until it stings a little. "For fuck's sake, Louis, you're not supposed to take your eyes off the road. You know that."

When he finally exits the hospital, he rushes to board the bus that runs by Zayn's flat and tries to steady his breathing. He smokes two more cigarettes outside Zayn's front door before Zayn almost runs into him on his way out.

"Lou? What the hell are you doing out here?" Zayn grumbles with his own unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. "How long have you been standing here?"

Whining pathetically, Louis splays his hands out between them, "Z, I really fucked up."

"What did you do now?" Zayn asks suspiciously as he leans back against his closed door.

"I don't think he's going to wake up, Zayn," Louis admits as he wipes at his face in an attempt to clear his watery vision. "He's never going to wake up and there are people out there that are waiting for him to come home; friends and family just fucking waiting by the phone to hear from him. That's all my fault."

After lighting his cigarette, Zayn drapes his arm around Louis' shoulders and drags him into his chest. "It may be, but..." he sighs. "They're going to figure out who he is, and if he doesn't wake up before that... Then, his family will come for him, yeah?"

"You know, a fucking secretary asked if I was going to run her over because I asked her to expedite something today," Louis sniffles in exasperation at mostly himself. "A fucking secretary, Z."

Rubbing Louis' shoulder, Zayn takes a small drag and offers, "Now, that's fucked up, Lou."

"It is," Louis laughs wetly.

"Take a deep breath, mate, everything's going to be fine eventually," Zayn placates and ushers him back toward the stairs with a hand on Louis' back. "Let's take a walk to Tesco and calm down, 'kay?"

They take the steps quietly and Zayn tells Louis about the creep that bought one of his paintings. Louis focuses on the soft and level tone of his friend's voice as some of the tension slowly eases from his shoulders. They pick up cigarettes, ten too many frozen dinners, crisps, and absolutely nothing that could be considered good for them.

After they check out, they carry the groceries home and sprawl out on the couch. Louis rolls a spliff and Zayn plays Youtube videos on the television with a poorly hidden smile on his lips.

"You know, this would be funny if it wasn't bordering on obsessive," Louis grins faintly as he finishes rolling.

"He's a good musician. I thought that if you saw his face, you would understand," Zayn reasons as he nudges at Louis' thigh with a cold toe.

Laughing, Louis snorts, "I'm not sure what his face has to do with his musical abilities. I think you're just trying to condition me to like him."

"Just watch, dickhead" Zayn grumbles before snatching the spliff from Louis' fingers and lighting it.

"Dickhead isn't an endearing term," Louis replies.

Choosing to respond by blowing a ring of smoke in Louis' face, Zayn huffs, "Watch."

"Hey, Niall here," the blonde on the screen grins wildly. His wavy hair is sticking out from beneath a green and white backwards hat. His blue eyes sparkle a bit like a Disney prince and Louis thinks that he might vomit over the fond look on Zayn's face. "This cover's for my mate that's out there traveling right now. Pick up your phone arsehole," he laughs and pulls his guitar onto his lap.

"I think he's actually dating the person that he's talking about," Zayn theorizes with a little pout. "He talks about them a lot."

Promptly rolling his eyes, Louis takes the spliff back.

Strumming effortlessly on his guitar, Niall begins to sing, "Put your dreams away for now. I won't see you for some time. I am lost in my mind; I get lost in my mind... Mama once told me: you're already home where you feel loved. I am lost in my mind; I get lost in my mind."

So, maybe, Louis sort of gets this thing that Zayn has for the blonde. It's still verging on the edges of creepy, but at least it makes sense. The boy has a weird charm and his voice is pretty well, lovely.

"Oh, my brother, your wisdom is older than me... Oh, my brother, don't you worry 'bout me. Don't you worry, don't you worry, don't you worry 'bout me..." Niall hums. "How's that bricklaying comin'? How's your engine runnin'? Is that bridge gettin' built? Are your hands gettin' filled? Won't you tell me, my brother? 'Cause there are stars up above... We can start movin' forward."

Tapping his fingers on his thigh along to the beat, Louis takes a small hit and admits, "You know, I think I get it..."

"Shh," Zayn hushes quickly.

"I get lost in my mind; lost in my mind... Yes, I get lost in my mind... Lost, I get lost... I get lost..." Niall finishes the song with a slightly softer, sadder smile. "Mate, if you're hearing this... Fucking give me a ring, yeah? I mean it. Everyone else, all my lovely people out there: I love ya. I hope to see you on my mini tour. The details are below, and oh, fucking subscribe? Bye!" The video ends with a link to the next one.

Whining, Zayn plucks the spliff from Louis' lips. "See? Told you they're dating."

"If his mate and him are dating then, that other guy's a dick at best. Apparently, he's ignoring the guy. I would like to assert that you would be a much better lay. Trust me, Z, when he comes to town you're gettin' it in," Louis assures with a bright smile that clearly only serves to piss Zayn off.

"Fuck off," Zayn groans with a kick at Louis' face with his foot.

Rolling his eyes and leaning back against the cushions, Louis tries to appease his friend, "You have my permission to play more."

"That's what I thought, dickhead," Zayn grumbles as he clicks through to the next video and they settle in for the longest musical marathon that Louis' ever had to sit through that wasn't actually a concert.

It's during Niall's cover of Tove Lo's Habits (Stay High) that Louis finally passes out.

Morning comes with more Niall apparently. Louis' not confident that Zayn actually slept.

"It was our first week at Myrtle Beach when it all began. It was a hundred and two with nothin' to do. Man, it was hot, so we jumped in," Niall sings through the speakers. "We were summer time sippin', sippin'... Sweet tea kissing off of your lips. T-shirt drippin', drippin' wet... How could I forget?"

"Dear God, Zayn... How many videos does this guy have?" Louis groans into the crook of his elbow.

Blinking tiredly at him, Zayn owlishly responds, "He's just so..."

"Oh my fucking shit," Louis laughs as he sits up pulling his feet from Zayn's lap in the process. "Turn it off, Zayn, and give me your laptop. I think you're addicted."

"I bought tickets for us to go to his show..." Zayn yawns. He's entirely unfazed by Louis' feigned attempts at concern. "It's... It's in a few weeks."

Rubbing at his eyes, Louis nods, "Of course you did. Go to bed." He shuts off the television and ushers Zayn toward his bedroom. "I'm going to go about my day like a normal human being, and when you wake up in ten hours, I hope you paint all of your unrequited feelings so that I can monetarily gain from this nightmare you've created. Goodnight, Zayn."

"Fuck off..." Zayn mumbles as he shuts the door in Louis' face. "You could always go home!" he huffs through the wood.

Nah, Louis thinks. Part of him worries that if he were to return to the silence of his own flat, that his thoughts might try to drown him. Plus, the peace Zayn offers, despite his odd obsessions, has been good for keeping him sane. "Bye, Z! Sweet dreams my little lovesick pup!" he shouts through the door just to spite his friend.

With Zayn's loud groan as the only response, Louis smiles a little to himself.

After a few minutes of quiet from the bedroom, Louis takes his phone out to pull up one of Niall's cover playlists. For the sake of their friendship, Louis will never admit to Zayn's face that he has come to enjoy the music. This is also mostly so he can retain his large amounts of integrity, of course. However, in the privacy of the bathroom as he fixes his hair, he lets himself listen.

"Tangled up, so in love... Let's just stay right here," Louis hums along as he runs some texturizing gel through his hair. "'Til the sun starts creepin', creepin' up... Right then, I knew just what you were thinkin', thinkin' of when I looked at you."

Once he's finished with the difficult art of tousling his hair, the purple-blue is faded now and he'll probably have to make Zayn' fix it soon, he digs some clean clothes out of the dryer and gets dressed.

On the way out the door, he stashes one of his favorite books and another contract he needs to review into his bag. He takes a leisurely walk to the hospital instead of the bus and picks up a tea from his favorite shop on the way. He finishes a cigarette on the steps of the hospital and throws a few hellos over his shoulder as he makes his way up to the ninth floor.

"Morning Curly," Louis calls softly as he settles into what has become his seat with his tea held firmly between his hands. "You know what I realized today? Tomorrow's Valentine's Day. There's hearts all over everything. It's a little sickening. Do you have any Valentine's?" he asks as he tucks his legs up beneath him and takes a sip of his tea.

For a small moment, he watches the way the boy's eyelashes curl against his pale cheeks. "I bet you've had lots of Valentines, much better ones than that guy from France. Did he wine and dine you, Curly?" Louis continues with another long sip. "When you wake up, trust me, this story will get you laid. So, at least that's a plus, right? My mate's probably going to use my part to get it in with this Youtube guy. He's probably going to say that he's been burdened with a criminal best friend," he sighs with a shrug.

"But you know, whatever. If it helps him, then I'll take the fall on that. Zayn really likes the guy. Which I don't understand because he's never actually met him. Also, he's a bit too plucky and cheery for me, but hey, whatever," Louis allows before setting aside his tea and tugging his bag onto his lap. "You can tell me what you think about him," he suggests as he restarts the playlist and begins working on his contract revision.

"It's been a while since the two of us talked; about a week since the day that you walked. Knowing things would never be the same with your empty heart and mine full of pain. So, explain to me how it came to this..." Niall sings The Script's Before the Worst. "Take it back to the night we kissed. It was Dublin on a Friday night. You were rum and coke, I was Guinness all night..."

Watching Curly's fingers move against the sheets for just a moment with a faint smile on his face, Louis relays, "I'll let Z know that you approve..."

"We were sitting with our backs against the world, saying things that we thought would never hurt. Oh, who would have thought it would end up like this? When everything we talked about is gone and the only chance we have of moving on is trying to take it back before it all went wrong," the music continues on and Louis does his best to focus on his work. He edits as much legal jargon as his brain can handle and tries to ignore the way his skin crawls when he skips the idea of a cigarette break. It's almost like there's a little Louis sitting on his shoulder and screaming into the void hey, hey you, you know you want one, hey, hey don't ignore me every time that he comes across a word that starts with the letter 'c'. The thing is that it's mostly his own fault too. He was supposed to start working on kicking the habit the day that the new year began and then, well. Things just sort of went to shit, so who can really blame him. Louis is a man of needs and a lot of weaknesses.

When he grabs lunch from the hospital cafeteria, he makes sure to pick up a heart shaped brownie too in the spirit of the holiday that he's never really liked much anyway. He climbs back into his seat with it and hums along to Niall's cover of Stay With Me as he munches on his dessert.

"Guess it's true. I'm not good at a one-night stand, but I still need love 'cause I'm just a man. These nights never seem to go to plan. I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand?" Niall croons.

Munching delightedly on his brownie, Louis wonders aloud, "Curly, I'm gonna take a guess that you're a romantic guy. I mean, you knew that French guy for what, like a month? You cried over someone that you knew for a month." He wipes at his mouth with his sleeve and sighs, "Who am I to criticize though? I'm sure that he was great in some way. You probably fell for the accent, right? I bet he was a poet or something. He recited some sonnets for you while the sun set beneath the Parisian rooftops then invited you for some vintage wine back at his place or something."

I bet you're the kind of person that gives every bit of yourself to the people that you meet, and when you don't get the same in return, you don't complain. Am I right?" Louis prattles on as he sets his empty plate of food aside. "Despite how things seem right now, with being in a coma and all... There still is good out there, you know? Your friends and family are waiting for you. Someone will give back to you like you deserve."

Sitting in silence for a moment, Louis listens to the steady beating of the heart monitor. With his pen, he taps out the rhythm on his thigh. As he's about to close his eyes to the beat, it changes; quickens. "Curly?" he murmurs as the sound sharpens. The monitor screeches and panic builds in his veins. He pushes up from the bed and steps back. The sound blends together into a mottled, flat line. "Ms. – Ms. Jane!" he shouts. His voice doesn't sound quite right.

"I need a crash cart in here!" Ms. Jane orders over her shoulder as she pushes past Louis.

A few other nurses and a physician rush into the room, and Louis thinks he might be sick. "Is – Is he going to be okay? Is he okay, Ms. Jane?" he stammers.

"Matty, you need to go," Ms. Jane instructs firmly as she presses his bag into his hands and ushers him swiftly out the door.

Unable to move himself further than the doorway, Louis merely stands there and listens as the staff shout out orders to one another. He only manages to stumble toward the elevator when Ms. Jane pulls the door closed. "He's okay... He's going to be fine..." he mumbles to himself weakly as the elevator dings all the way to the bottom floor. "He's okay, right?"

In a daze, Louis trips out of the hospital. It takes him three blocks to realize that his phone is still blaring music and another two blocks to think to turn it off. Some teenager in a school uniform bothers to ask him why he's tweaking at the crosswalk before Zayn's flat. Louis promptly vomits on his shoes, and only finds it in himself to murmur through an apology before running the rest of the way to Zayn's.

By the time he gets into Zayn's room where his mate is still passed out with his head buried in the pillows, Louis' shaking so much that he can't even light his cigarette. He curls up on the mattress by his friend, desperate for some sort of comfort that he most definitely doesn't deserve.

"Lou?" Zayn grumbles sleepily.

"I can't..." Louis starts as he tries to get his lighter to ignite. "I can't fucking light it, Zayn... It's not fucking..."

Turning over onto his side, Zayn props his head up on his palm, "Lou."

"It's not working..." Louis chokes on the breath he tries to pull in.

"Louis," Zayn interjects more insistently as he pulls the lighter from Louis' fingers. "Take a deep breath, mate," he continues as he lights the cigarette for him.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Louis turns his eyes on his friend.

"What happened?" Zayn prods carefully. "You were so loudly cheerful this morning."

"I think he's dead," Louis wheezes as he scrubs a trembling hand through his hair. The sound of the heart monitor is still ringing in his ears and he wonders if it will ever stop.

With a furrow between his eyebrows, Zayn appears to consider this before he goes on, "You think he's dead?"

"His heart just started beating really, really fast and I..." Louis tries to explain before he takes a drag and exhales around a wet cough. "They made me leave. They had the paddle things out... The things that do the shock stuff..."

"They had to use a defibrillator," Zayn clarifies as he watches Louis' face. "Why don't... Why don't you take a nap, yeah? I'll go with you to the hospital when you wake up to make sure he's alive."

Nodding softly as Zayn plucks the cigarette from his fingers, Louis curls up in the sheets. He doesn't protest when Zayn begins to play music on a low volume. "He likes this guy..." Louis voices brokenly as Zayn pulls the comforter up to his shoulders. "His fingers always twitch when I play his music."

"Lou... After we go to the hospital later, we're going to talk about what you can do instead of going to the hospital everyday," Zayn sighs before changing the music to something more instrumental.

"I think I'm attached," Louis replies quietly.

Petting Louis' head, Zayn starts off toward the shower. "I think you're still feeling guilty, Lou. You've got to let yourself off the hook," he suggests gently.

To the sound of the shower turning on, Louis closes his eyes and drifts off into the worst sleep he's ever had. He dreams of walking into that sterile hospital room and seeing the boy with his family. They don't speak to him, but they don't have to. He feels every bit of their loathing and sadness. He dreams of a funeral for a boy that doesn't have a name and of empty seats.

"Hey," Zayn nudges Louis an hour later. His dark hair is dried and falling over his forehead. "Come on, Lou. I packed a bowl just for you."

"Have to get to St. Lukes..." Louis grumbles in return as he sits up.

Shaking his head, Zayn pulls him up off the bed and chastises, "Where's the Louis that wanted a hit the other day. I miss that Louis." He might be trying to joke with him, but Louis' too empty to entertain the notion.

"Fine, one hit. Then, we're going to the hospital," Louis agrees mostly because he feels like he needs something to level him out. He rolls his neck and pops his back as Zayn ushers him into the kitchen.

Possibly pleased with Louis' ability to get out of bed, Zayn offers up the freshly packed pipe. When Louis lifts it to his lips, Zayn kindly lights it for him.

Inhaling the smoke until his lungs burn, Louis holds it in. He lowers the pipe before exhaling through his nose. "Happy?" he asks as the thick air sits between them.

"Thrilled," Zayn supplies before patting at Louis' chest and pulling on his coat.

Rolling his tired eyes, Louis rubs his hands roughly over his cheeks. He tugs on a beanie as a warm feeling curls in his limbs and they leave the flat.

"I'm sure everything's fine, Lou," Zayn assures absently when they board the bus. They huddle into a seat near the back and he leans on Louis' shoulder.

"Yeah," Louis replies. What if it isn't fine? He rests his chin on Zayn's hair and tries to focus on the puffs of breath he hears escaping Zayn's mouth.

When they reach their stop, they pick up chocolate covered marshmallow hearts from the convenience store on the corner and head into the hospital. "You know, these are really disgusting," Zayn grumbles around a mouthful of sweets.

"They're my favorite, I think," Louis responds as he stuffs another piece into his mouth as they step into the elevator. "I wonder if he likes them. He probably does. I'm pretty sure that he's all into the romantic, cheesy shit."

"Louis, this whole thing really is becoming an attachment problem," Zayn starts in a concerned tone.

With a shrug, Louis steps out onto the ninth floor. Nervousness singes through his skin and he takes in a long breath.

"Matty?" Ms. Jane calls from the desk. "What are you doing back here?"

"Matty," Zayn repeats with a lift of his eyebrows.

Coughing, Louis explains, "Ms. Jane, I just wanted to check and see if he was okay... If that's okay."

A soft look comes over the older woman's face, but she smiles nonetheless, "I can't share much as you know, but he is stable now."

At that, Zayn pats his back and Louis' shoulders slump with relief. "Great."

"And who is this lovely, young man with you? Is this your boyfriend?" Ms. Jane smiles brightly in her expertise of moving away from information that she is unable to share.

"Oh... Oh! No," Louis stammers as a flush burns his cheeks. His head is starting to swim a little.

Extending a hand with a polite grin, Zayn clarifies, "I'm Zayn, a friend of... Matty's. He was really worried so I came down with him."

"That is so sweet of you. It would be so nice if more of the kids from the London City program were diligent volunteers like Matty here. We could use another one, if you would be interested," Ms. Jane winks.

"The London City program?" Zayn repeats with a grin at Louis. "Interested? I would love to help out with..."

Fidgeting and feeling both caught out and like he should have smoked more before coming here with Zayn, Louis fills in, "With reading... We volunteers read to the patients."

"Oh, uh huh," Zayn nods. "That sounds fantastic. I'll be sure to come with Matty the next time he visits."

With a delighted look, Ms. Jane begins to return to her desk and adds, "I'm sure that the other patients on the floor would be so excited for some company. Oh, and Matty, you're welcome to stop by the room if you would like to before you go. If not, I'll see the two of you when you come back."

"Bye-bye, Ms. Jane," Louis smiles hesitantly before practically dragging Zayn down the hall. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Who? Me? I'm joining the college volunteer program, but I'm not sure we've met. I'm Zayn. Nice to meet you, Matty," Zayn grins a little wider.

Sighing as they stop outside the room that Louis definitely visits too often for it to be good for his health, he starts, "This is, um..."

"Well, this just became very real," Zayn nearly whispers and all traces of his amusement have vanished. He doesn't step into the room when Louis moves toward his normal chair.

"Are you going to come in?" Louis queries as he takes a seat.

With trepidation clear on his face, Zayn moves into the room and pulls a chair up beside Louis'. "Lou, don't get me wrong, but this is definitely weirder than I previously imagined it to be."

"Well, I just... Someone has to keep him company until he wakes up, right?" Louis reasons lamely as he crosses his legs beneath himself and pulls his bag up onto his lap.

"Does that someone need to be you?" Zayn tries before stopping himself. "What do you even do while you're here? It's not like he can talk to you. Not all the patients on this floor are coma patients, right? I'm going to read to conscious people?"

A small laugh catches in Louis' throat, "No, there are awake people too, I think I mean, I read some of the books from work sometimes. Other times, I'll just talk to him about random things. Most of the time though, I just play him music while I do my work. He really likes that Niall guy, or maybe he really hates him. I don't know." He takes a breath and mentions what he had tried to tell Zayn earlier, "His fingers always move when I play his music."

"Really?" Zayn replies looking unconvinced.

"Yeah, put something on," Louis suggests as he leans back in his seat.

Shrugging lightly and apparently willing to entertain Louis, Zayn pulls out his phone. It takes him a moment, but soon enough Niall's voice fills the quiet space.

"Regrets collect like old friends here to relive your darkest moments... I can see no way, I can see no way. All of the ghouls come out to play..." Niall sings mournfully. "And every demon wants his pound of flesh, but I like to keep some things to myself... I like to keep my issues drawn. It's always darkest before the dawn."

They watch the boy's hands on the bed carefully, but nothing happens.

"And I've been a fool and I've been blind... I can never leave the past behind. I can see no way, I can see no way..."

"Well, maybe it's just the song," Zayn offers when Louis' posture deflates. He flips to the next song quickly.

The soft tones of a piano fill the room and Louis winds his fingers together on his lap.

"My belief is in pieces. My sheets have grown cold, and I wish you could feel this, but you'll never know. 'Cause you're perfectly perfect and you're never alone. You'll be blind 'til you find what I found in you, in me..." Niall sings and he sounds less chipper than he usually is; less like he's putting on an act of sadness and more like he's feeling it wholeheartedly. "'Cause we're two different people... I'm from Mullingar. You're from Holmes Chapel, and I should've warned ya. We aren't the same at all... You're strong; I like to fall for you..."

The fingers still don't move and Louis doesn't understand. "That always works," he murmurs quietly.

"Maybe the twitching is just involuntary," Zayn rubs a hand across Louis' shoulders. "Could be a coincidence or something, you know? Plus, that one's one of his really old covers. Maybe this kid hasn't heard it."

"That's not comforting," Louis tells him blankly as he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He shouldn't be as bothered as he is, after all, Zayn is probably right, right?

Pushing up from his chair when Louis does, Zayn rushes, "You're not going to stay?"

"I can come back tomorrow. I've got work to do anyway," Louis replies. There's not a chance in hell that he's going to get any work done tonight, but he needs a reason to get away from here. "It'll be Valentine's Day tomorrow and no one should spend that alone, right?" he directs the question more to the boy on the bed than his friend. I'll keep you company on any holiday, I just need to leave for a bit. I hope that's okay.

"Guess that means I'll be reading love stories to basket cases tomorrow then?" Zayn tries to lighten the mood.

For the attempt, Louis offers a small laugh. It sounds hollow even to his own ears. "How sweet of you, Z."

"Bye-bye, Curly," Zayn calls over their shoulders as they exit the room in favor of heading toward the elevators.

"That's what I call him," Louis admits with the littlest of grins.

With an eye roll, Zayn steps into the elevator car. "You're not exactly clever for that name, Lou."

"If I had a name, I would call him by it," Louis tells him.

They spend their evening picking books out over cups of tea and exhales of smoke. Louis lets Zayn take some of his unpublished novels to lessen his workload and Zayn fixes Louis' dye job.

"Think you're ever going to go home?" Zayn questions while he rinses Louis' hair in the kitchen sink? It's a little more violet this time around.

"Kicking me out?" Louis asks back with his eyes closed.

A beat passes before Zayn answers, "No. Just figured that I might as well get a bigger flat if you're not going to ever leave."

"I think that is the most insulting invitation to live with someone that I've ever heard, Z. I'm flattered, really," Louis snorts as he briefly opens his eyes. When Zayn flicks water on his face, he closes them immediately. "I mean, I am here all the time. That nasty couch has been giving me this awful cramp in my neck. Plus, someone has to make sure that you don't starve."

"I was thinking it would be cheaper for me, but sure let's go with those things," Zayn chuckles before turning off the tap and dropping a towel on Louis' head.

Letting out a pleased sigh, Louis smiles, "This is going to be a beautiful step in our relationship, Z. What is it now? First comes the flat, then comes the awkward marriage between two mates and an unaware blonde guy with a guitar and the voice of an angel?"

"Shut up," Zayn groans loudly before he walks into his room and slams the door.

"Goodnight, my soon-to-be shared husband! Kiss that body pillow of Niall for me!" Louis shouts after him.

When Louis finally falls asleep pressed deep into the couch cushions, he doesn't dream, and it's probably the best night of sleep that he's had in weeks.

In the morning, the boys get ready together, Zayn with a tired frown, and Louis with a renewed, slightly misplaced determination. Zayn emails his landlord about moving to a two bedroom flat, and Louis calls his own about subleasing the flat that he hasn't been to since December 31st of last year. They pick up heart shaped balloons and Zayn grabs a bouquet of chocolate roses to hand out to the patients he's going to see.

"So, how do I introduce myself?" Zayn asks as they climb into the elevator. "Do I just, like, pop in and give them a flower?"

"You're reading to them, not asking them on a date," Louis snorts as he tightens his grip on the bundle of balloons.

Sighing, Zayn appears to be contemplating this too much. "Should I use a fake name too?"

"Did you hit any of them with your car?" Louis asks flatly.

"Don't be cruel to yourself, Lou," Zayn asserts with a pat on Louis' back when the elevator dings for their floor.

Ms. Jane greets them with a haggard smile and helps them sign in before Zayn heads off down the opposite hall, and Louis returns to what has started to replace his day job.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Curly," Louis announces as he ties his set of balloons to one of the empty chair's armrests. "I brought you some balloons. You know, the cheesy ones that say uncomfortable non-platonic type things? Zayn brought chocolate roses for the people he's going to see, but... Well, if I brought those then I would be the only one eating them and that would be really depressing."

Once he takes his seat, Louis knocks his shoes off under the bed. "I hope you don't mind the smell," Louis says in lieu of an apology. He props his feet up on the edge of the bed as far from Curly's hand as he possibly can. "Zayn says that my feet smell like death, but I don't think so. I just don't like socks. They're so confining. Oh, Zayn is the one that came by with me yesterday. He's a really great guy, I promise. I think that you would probably like him. It's hard not to. He's a romantic type of guy, too. He hasn't had too many good runs though. I think it's his distance issues, but who am I to talk? I've got a worse score than he does."

The last guy that I was with dumped me the night of my twenty-first birthday. Now, two years later, here I am sitting in the hospital room of a guy I hit with my car," Louis frowns at himself. He watches the steady rise and fall of Curly's chest. "Is your heart, okay Curly? You really scared me yesterday, you know," he admits with a weak breath and rubs his hands together uncomfortably.

"I'm gonna stop talking now, yeah. You probably just want to rest, not hear me blather on about things that you don't care about. I, uh, brought a book though. I was going to read it to you the other day, but I never really got the chance to," he continues as he pulls his book out and sets his bag on the floor beside his chair. "This is Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. It's one of my favorites and probably part of the reason that I joined the business that I did. I guess you don't know that about me... I'm sort of a middleman between authors and publishers? Well, that's speaking higher of the job I do than what's really true... I guess that's just how I like to think of it... I'm blabbering again, sorry."

Inhaling a shaky breath, Louis opens his book. The spine has cracked over the years that he's had it, not that it was in great condition when he found it. He reads quietly through the beginning, feeling the tension slowly ease from his shoulders. His words follow the rhythm of the machines in the room.

"'When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it," Louis reads. He wiggles his toes a little and glances at the boy's face. "Is it dumb to wish that I could even make the choice to not tell people your name?" he voices and shakes his head at himself almost immediately. Very dumb, he thinks.

"Hey Lou – Matty, want to grab something to eat with me?" Zayn suggests a while later when he pokes his head into the room.

"Oh! Uh, yeah, sure," Louis startles. He sets his books carefully on the bedside table and pats his pocket to make sure that his wallet is there instead of in his bag. "Let's go."

They pick up chicken salad sandwiches, bags of crisps, and heart shaped cookies before they settle onto a bench on the ninth floor balcony.

"How's the book wagon going?" Louis questions around a mouthful.

There's a smudge of lipstick on Zayn's cheekbone and there might be some nail polish sparkling his fingers. "Well, not everyone's a fan of books," Zayn shrugs.

"I can see that," Louis grins.

"Hey, if an old lady with Alzheimer's wants to call me George and a little girl with a concussion wants to paint my nails, who am I to say no?" Zayn mumbles as he stuffs a few Doritos into his mouth.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Louis picks apart his cookie and relents, "You're a saint, really."

"I've enjoyed it though. Maybe it's just being away from the paint fumes, but it's been nice," Zayn admits.

"Cute male nurse?" Louis surmises as he raises an eyebrow.

Coughing, Zayn waves his hand and dismisses him, "He was just a plus."

"They don't quite hold a candle to Niall though, do they?" Louis grins a little wider and wipes at the lipstick mark on Zayn's cheek with his thumb.

"No," Zayn grimaces as he smacks at Louis' hand. "Why don't we talk about you and Curly instead?"

With a scowl, Louis groans, "Wasn't it you who told me not to be cruel to myself?"

"It was, but that doesn't mean I can't be cruel to you," Zayn snorts as he pats at Louis' knee and finishes up his sandwich.

"Whatever," Louis huffs as he fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it while Zayn follows suit. He takes a small drag and exhales slowly.

For a moment, Zayn is quiet, merely tapping on his phone and his cigarette. "Do you even know anything about what's going on with him?" he asks.

"Ah," Louis starts. "Not really. I mean, I know that he's in a coma and that he probably went into cardiac arrest yesterday. I don't know, I looked it up. Plus, it's not like I can really ask."

"True," Zayn shrugs as he tucks his phone back into his pocket.

Tapping the ash off his cigarette, Louis pries, "Who've you been texting over there?"

"Niall. He messaged me on the bus this morning. He's coming to London a week early," Zayn trails off toward the end like he doesn't want to offer much else.

"Ooh-la-la," Louis snickers.

Blowing smoke in Louis' face, Zayn continues, "We're going to meet up for drinks."

"I can hear the bells," Louis sings. "I can hear them ringing –"

"For fuck's sake, put the Hairspray songs away. I thought we agreed those were never to be heard again," Zayn grimaces as he puts his head in his hands and Louis laughs brightly.

For a while, it's nice. The boys wake up and go to Louis' flat for a few hours every day to pack up Louis' belongings. They spend probably too much time in the hospital. Zayn puts smiles on charmed patients' faces and Louis keeps a certain curly haired boy company until visiting hours are over.

Then, it's the third week in March and things aren't so nice anymore. Louis wakes up to a disgruntled voicemail from Simon telling him that he hasn't been satisfied with Louis' performance and that if he doesn't pick up the pace soon, he'll be happy to find a replacement for him.

When Louis buries the offending phone into the couch cushions, Zayn emerges from the bedroom with a miserable look creasing his features. His hair is disheveled and he's got a cigarette pinched between his fingers as he loudly pulls a mug from the cabinet, clinking it against the counter as he sets it down.

"Simon's going to fire me," Louis begins.

"Niall canceled his tour," Zayn replies as he drops the kettle onto the stove coils.

Pushing himself up from the couch, Louis pulls a mug for himself from the cabinet. There's a chip in the lip of the ceramic; Louis finds it fitting for the day. "Why?" he eventually asks.

"Don't know," Zayn supplies as he lifts one shoulder and drops it helplessly. He props his hip against the counter, takes a long drag and looks up at Louis through his lashes. "Why's Simon firing you?" he questions on an exhale.

"Inadequacy," Louis frowns as he plucks the cigarette from Zayn's pliant fingers and takes a small drag. "Did he message you to tell you or was it another video?"

Shifting a little, Zayn pulls his phone from his pocket and loads a video before turning the screen toward Louis. When Louis takes the phone, Zayn turns back to the kettle and pours the heated water into their mugs.

Worried smudges of sleeplessness are etched beneath Niall's eyes when his face appears on the screen. He doesn't speak at first and after a moment another lad with honey colored hair slips into the frame. "Um, hi guys," the other guy starts. He pats comfortingly at Niall's leg before he continues, "I'm Liam, as some of you know. We have decided to cancel the remaining tour dates for right now due to a..."

"A family emergency," Niall supplies softly. He wrings his hands together on his lap as his eyes stay glued on something below the view of the camera.

"Yeah. I will be commissioning refunds later today. We are both very upset to have to do this, but please be understanding. I ask that if you feel you must ask questions, that they be directed to me. Thank you for respecting our privacy during this time," Liam finishes and the video abruptly ends.

Dipping a tea bag into his mug, Louis sets aside the phone and turns his attention to Zayn. "Maybe you should message him, see if he's alright?" he suggests.

"Nah, not my business," Zayn shrugs again as he pulls the cigarette from Louis' hand and drops it into a bowl of water in the sink. "Have you been fired for sure?"

"No, but thinking about it..." Louis fumbles for the words he wants. He rubs his hands over his face, feels the rough scruff scrape against his fingers, and when was the last time he bothered to shave? "I'm so behind, Z."

Nodding slowly, Zayn puffs at the steam spilling from his cup as he surmises, "Today blows."

"Yeah," Louis agrees weakly.

The boys walk to the hospital instead of taking the bus. Zayn tucks his chin into his scarf with what could only be described as a sad sigh, and Louis phones Simon to resign before Simon can properly drop the axe on him.

"Tomlinson," Simon breathes the word heavily. "I don't know what has been going on with you. Whether it is the incident from January or if it's just pure incompetence, but I have to say that I am deeply disappointed. You were a diligent worker, Tomlinson, but you've been turning in contracts late and we've lost several clients to the English branch of Penguin Publishing. You haven't even been in the office at all since last month and that time you showed up in less than professional apparel. It's absolutely unacceptable."

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Louis apologizes profusely before he drops the phone back into his pocket. He lights another cigarette and leans into the placating embrace Zayn offers with a lift of his arm.

"Things will be alright," Zayn tells him as they cross the street. He tugs Louis' hood up over his hair and squeezes his shoulder.

"I loved that job," Louis coughs. "I was good at it."

With a small nod, Zayn pulls Louis in closer and suggests, "Maybe you should go and join that other publishing group. I bet Simon would be singing your praises then. I mean, Lou, this is just a bump on the rollercoaster that is life."

"Shut up," Louis laughs wetly. "I wish I could have a bump right now. Would make the whole day better." He startles a little at the words coming from his own mouth. It's been so long since he even thought of getting high on anything outside of weed.

"You're not in uni," Zayn responds shortly with a less than good natured pinch to Louis' shoulder. "Coked up gay twink isn't a cute thing to be anymore."

Silence settles between them and they climb the steps to the hospital. Louis stubs out his cigarette and tries to ignore the way that his fingers are already itching for another one.

The reception smiles at them as they pass and take the elevator quietly. "What else is on your list Lou? Gotten to any of the other things, yet? Zayn asks as the elevator dings for each of the floors they pass. There's an edge of concern in his voice that Louis isn't sure how to interpret.

Is that because of what I said? I was kidding, Louis thinks dryly. "I mean I've just done two of the things," he says. "I got the car, which I can't drive, and dyed my hair. The other things though... I haven't had the time or the interest, really. There was going to the gym twice a week, save a life – kind of went the wrong way on that one – quit smoking... Climbing a mountain was on there, I think. I don't know."

The elevator stops at their floor and Zayn stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Maybe we can knock some things out together," he offers despite previously lack of interest in Louis' absurd list. "Like the mountain thing, maybe? It's not like we really have any other plans. I could use some art inspiration. Staring at your dumb mug all day has left me painting blackholes."

Knowing that Zayn is trying to make him laugh, Louis tries to make the noise, but it doesn't come. His own stupid and off-handed comment has made the itch for a cigarette turn into an itch for something else, and Zayn's reaction has only spurned it on. Familiar words that he used to drown out with such substances settle like rocks in his lungs. Failure. Disappointment. Shameful. He blinks at the space around him, frowns at how quickly his thoughts have turned on him and tries to breathe around the jagged stones in his chest. It's been a long time since he let himself fall down the hole that he's starting to now. Has it though? "Yeah, we can do that," he replies weakly as Zayn pats his back and disappears down one of the other hallways.

With a shaky breath, Louis passes the exit for the courtyard and only pauses a moment to consider another cigarette before heading into Curly's room. He takes a few steps before turning around and stepping out into the fresh air. The temperature is still a bit brisk and he zips up his hoodie to further block out the wind.

Lighting his third cigarette of the day, he leans on the balcony railing and rests his forehead against the glass that prevents him from falling nine stories to the ground below. There's a drumming that's beating against the back of his skull that he's trying desperately to ignore. This wasn't how this year was supposed to go. He was supposed to complete his list at a ridiculously quick pace, so that he could brag about being worldly and sophisticated. He was supposed to be up for a promotion in May. Things were supposed to run smoothly because he's not a kid anymore. He doesn't spend his evenings with shots of tequila or with white powder dusting his nose in the back of shoddy pubs. He doesn't forget to call his sisters to check in on them; he doesn't disappoint people anymore. He was successful; he had everything under control.

When did things start spinning so quickly?

January 1st, Lucas snorts derisively to himself. He coughs wetly and wipes at his eyes. Maybe he was never that successful. He was careless and who was he trying to fool anyway? He was never really that great at his job. He likely got it by accident or someone on the review board pitied him. It was only a matter of time before he screwed it all up, right? Right.

A text buzzes through to Louis' phone a moment later.

'Mr. Cowell would like you to drop off any manuscripts you have as well as your ID badge. I'm sorry, Lou.'

Before resigning to finishing his cigarette, Louis deeply considers throwing his phone off the balcony. He inhales the best that he can and forces his feet into motion. The door clicks shut behind him as he stumbles back inside. He's not going to cry over any of this, he isn't. He isn't a child anymore. Things like this happen. People lose or quit their jobs all the time. Right.

"Hey, Curly," Louis greets solemnly as he sags into his normal chair. The responding silence weighs heavier on his chest this time as he takes in the boy's face. He's losing his mind, isn't he? He can't stop the trembling of his fingers like the chilled air from outside has clung to his very bones, and he wants to beg this boy to open his eyes. He wants – needs – so desperately for this boy to just open his eyes and look at him for a moment. That would fix something, wouldn't it?

"Want to hear... Want to hear another song, Curly?" Louis asks plainly. There's a quiver to his voice and he feels so small like he's been tipped off the edge of stability that he's been clinging to since the incident happened. His vision blurs as he nods at nothing in particular. "I'll even sing it for you," he fumbles a little and picks at the skin around his nails.

Softly, Louis hums and scrubs harshly at the tears that spill over his cheeks. He may still be more of a child than he would like to admit. "I'm coming up only to hold you under, and coming up only to show you you're wrong..."

Curly's fingers don't twitch and his toes don't curl under the cream sheets. It's been weeks.

"And to know you is hard; we wonder... To know you all wrong; we warn..." Louis hiccups as a weak breath shudders through his chest. "Really too late to call, so we wait for morning... To wake you is all I've got..." he cuts himself off with a hard swallow.

Burying his face into his hands, Louis shoulders shake as he cries. "Come on, Curly..." he begs as his voice cracks. He would give anything for things to just stop for a moment. "Just give me something... Wake up. Tell me to fuck off. Something... Please."

The silence stretches with the beating of the heart monitor and Louis feels like he might be sick. The rocks pile higher in his lungs and he needs another cigarette or alcohol or something. He just needs something to make his head swim so much that he actually drowns because life is beginning to bury him alive.

"I'm so sorry, Curly..." Louis voices as he tries to suck in a breath and fails. "I fucked it all up and I fucked up your life too. Man, I fuck up everything, don't I?" He laughs bitterly at himself.

The tremor of his hands spreads straight through to the marrow of his bones. "I'm sorry," he repeats worthlessly as he pushes up from the seat and stumbles back out to the courtyard.

For the next few hours, he bides his time curled up on one of the benches with his chin tucked into his knees and cigarettes pinched between his fingers. The wind dries his eyes until he's left with red rimmed eyes and clumped together eyelashes.

"Lou?" Zayn's voice rings through Louis' haze and is it time for lunch? "Louis?" He quietly sits in the remaining space on the bench and rests his hands on Louis' knees.

"I've fucked everything up," Louis coughs. He can't quite make himself lift his head enough to meet Zayn's stare, so he stays as still as he can.

Sagging back against the bench, Zayn leaves one hand on Louis' knee as he lets out a soft breath. "Things are going to be okay, Lou," he assures. He moves his hand to Louis' and squeezes it lightly.

"They're not, Zayn. They're really not. Nothing is okay," Louis denies with a shake of his head. "There's a kid in there that may not wake up because of me. You know that, right? The longer that he stays like that, the less likely it is that he will wake up. I've ruined everything..."

"You don't know what's going to happen, Lou," Zayn tries. He doesn't let go of Louis' hand as he angles himself to face him more.

"I think I might call Stan... I just need something to bring me up a bit, you know? I feel like I can't breathe, Z," Louis hears himself say. His mouth feels numb.

Tightening his grip on Louis' hand, Zayn's voice is firm when he speaks, "Louis, no. You're not going to do that, and do you know why?"

It takes too much effort, but Louis eventually lifts his eyes to Zayn's face. He doesn't find the disappointment he expects, but instead there's a warmth and a little bit of sadness in Zayn's eyes.

"You're not going to do that because you're better than that, Lou," Zayn tells him earnestly as he squeezes Louis' fingers.

It hurts and Louis wants to pull away, but he doesn't move.

"You're an adult and you're just so fucking good at – adulting, Lou," Zayn asserts.

A weak laugh escapes around the smoke in Louis' lungs.

"So, this sucks right now," Zayn begins again. "There's always going to be shit like this. You didn't screw any of this up on purpose. If you call Stan right now and take whatever he gives you... That's on purpose. That's you fucking up. Whatever high you get will only leave you right back here when you come back down. Except, it will feel a lot worse and you'll probably just go right back like when we were kids. You know where that's going to leave you?"

"Where?" Louis questions around a swallow.

Releasing his hand finally, Zayn pushes his hair away from his eyes. "It's going to leave you broke and depressed and alone." He bites his lip before he continues, "You're going to pick yourself up from this, do you understand me? You're my best mate, man. Who's going to feed this starving artist if you don't?"

"Zayn," Louis breathes. He drops his cigarette onto the cement and shuffles across the bench until he's curled into his friend's side. I don't deserve you, he thinks.

"I love you, man," Zayn replies around a mouthful of Louis' hair.

Burying his face in Zayn's scarf, Louis breathes deeply for the first time in hours. The tension is still twisting in his muscles, but he knows that Zayn is right, at least a little anyway. "I'll keep feeding you," Louis tells him around a small breath.

They sit quietly for a while before Zayn shifts so he can look down at Louis' face. "You know, I was talking to this guy earlier. His name was like Aiden or something. I don't remember, but he had this wicked scar on his face... Anyway, he's a big hiker. He got bit by some snake and that's why he's here..." Zayn drawls as he waves his hand about like the details don't matter. "He was telling me about this hike that he did. It's this beautiful trail up to the Edale Skyline – he showed me a photo – absolutely beautiful. I think it would be a great thing to do. It'll get us out of the city for a bit and it'll even cross something off your list. How does that sound?" he asks as he rests his chin on top of Louis' head.

"That's in Derbyshire, isn't it?" Louis murmurs as he crosses one leg over the other. "Isn't that a long hike?"

Nodding a little, Zayn affirms, "We can make a weekend out of it. We'll pick up a tent and some boots. It'll be good for us; good for you."

"Yeah," Louis replies into Zayn's scarf.

They leave the hospital early with only a little of Louis' protesting and make their way to the closest sporting goods store. It takes them a bit, but they eventually settle on a red and white tent that has an extra area with a screen, so that they can sit inside, avoid the bugs, and still see the sunset if they want to. Louis grabs them two sleeping bags and Zayn picks up their hiking boots. When they finally leave the store with their purchases, Louis feels a little bit lighter like the stones in his lungs have begun to erode away.

For the rest of the day and into the evening, the boys spend their time sprawled out on their stomachs with beers in their hands and trail maps before them. There's little room for negative thoughts. Zayn plays music that isn't that of a certain blonde for once and Louis throws his focus into their planning.

"Thirty-five kilometers of walking," Louis reads aloud incredulously. "You sure you're up for that, Z?"

"I'll just make sure that you carry me if it gets to be too much," Zayn snorts as he takes a swig of his beer and rolls over onto his back.

With an exasperated grown, Louis rests his chin on the floor. "You may be starving, mate, but I'm not going to be able to carry you for that long. When are you thinking of doing this anyway? Aren't we supposed to, like, train or, I don't know, prepare for something like this?"

"We'll be fine," Zayn smiles up at the ceiling. "We said we would make a weekend of it, so let's just go tomorrow. Get it over with, you know? The longer we wait the more time, I will have to find a reason not to go."

"You make the offer of your company so appealing, you know that?" Louis chuckles as he taps his beer against Zayn's forehead.

Swatting the bottle way, Zayn sits up and leans back against the base of the couch. "You'll love me until the day that you die a sad, old pensioner," he claims.

"Who are you trying to fool? We'll be sad, old pensioners together. We'll be sitting on some porch in rotting rocking chairs with our cups of tea and the occasional bitching about the spoiled children that race too fast down the road, splashing mud onto our flower beds," Louis smiles as he props his chin up on his palm.

"Whatever you say, Lou," Zayn relents with a laugh. Little crinkles form around his eyes as he shoves up from the floor and nudges Louis' rib with his toe. "Budge up, let's pack."

With a groan, Louis obliges.

When the sun rises the next morning, they gather their backpacks and tent gear before taking the train to Derbyshire. A rickety shuttle brings them straight to the base of Pennine Way from there.

"Ready for this?" Zayn asks as he checks the laces on his boots for the third time.

There's an urge for Louis to tease Zayn, to poke fun at his friend's efforts of hiding the nervousness that Louis could spot from a distance away, but he bites his tongue. He knows that Zayn is pushing through this for him. "Ready to run," he grins as he takes off toward the path. His backpack bounces against his back, and he tightens his grip on their tent bag.

"Louis!" Zayn shouts as his footsteps pound against the grass in an attempt to catch up. "You – fuck! Slow down! It's a hike not a sprint!"

"We both know I would win if it was!" Louis laughs brightly until a cough racks its way through his lungs and he slows down to a walk.

Finally falling into step beside him a moment later, Zayn huffs, "Smoke less and you'll outrun me, you arse." He punches Louis' shoulder half-heartedly and snatches the tent away from him. "If you 'run' off again, I'm keeping the tent. You can sleep outside, you dickhead."

"Zaynie-bear, come on," Louis wheezes around a laugh as they begin walking up the path.

"All by your fucking self," Zayn grumbles. He stomps a few steps ahead.

A smile spreads over Louis' lips and he inhales deeply; takes in the smell of growing grass and clean air. For the first time since January, he thinks of nothing but his friend in front of him and the steps that lie ahead.

Two hours later and halfway through Pennine Way to Jacob's Ladder, Louis' feel up and up.

"Hush now child and don't you cry, your folks might understand you by and by," Zayn sings as they trip past fields of green and hills of stone. They've been working through a mixed matched repertoire of songs for the better half of the last hour for no reason other than that they can. "So, in the meantime, move on up toward your destination though you may find from time to time complications," continues as he pokes at Louis' stomach before spinning on his heel to skip over a rock that protrudes from the path.

They look ridiculous. Louis doesn't care. "Bite your lip and take a trip though there may be a wet road ahead," he joins in and slings his arm around Zayn's shoulders. The tent swings between them. "And you cannot slip, so what you wanna do... Just move on up for peace you will find, into the steeple of beautiful people where there's only one kind!"

Some other hikers, heading down the path in the opposite direction, hide their grins into the rims of their windbreakers and stifle laughs with the backs of their hands as they offer little claps at the boys' presentation.

"So, hush now child and don't you cry. Your parents might understand you by and by," they sing together. "So, what we're gonna do is move on up for a greater day, but just you gonna make it. You put your mind to it. You can surely do it –"

The toe of Zayn's boot catches on a loose rock and he falls forward dragging Louis down with him. They tumble to the ground in a pile of limbs and hiking gear.

"Not supposed to trip, you shit," Louis laughs as he pulls himself away from Zayn.

"Fuck off," Zayn grimaces. There's a scrape on the underside of his chin and on his palms much like the state of Louis' own hands.

A hiker with graying hair stops a few feet in front of them with his hands on his hips. "Alright there, lads?" the man asks and his lilt reminds Louis of Scotland and wide green pastures. Maybe sheep, too.

"We're fine!" Louis chirps as he pushes himself up using Zayn's shoulder as a prop.

"Fucking arse..." Zayn mumbles and Louis promptly kicks a little dirt into his face.

Smiling as he continues past them, the hiker advises, "Be careful. The hike only gets harder from here!"

With a wide smirk, Louis waves the man on. "Come on, Zayn, take nothing less than the supreme best," he sings down at his friend as he holds a hand out to pull him up.

"You can really be a piece of shit," Zayn growls before shoving Louis' hand away and pushing up to his feet on his own.

"You do love me though," Louis grins devilishly and Zayn merely grumbles in response.

They reach the peak of Edale Head just as the sun begins to set. It takes them a bit to figure out how exactly to put up the tent – "Lou, we didn't even open this at the flat. How the fuck did you lose the instructions already?" – but eventually they do get the job done.

While Louis unrolls their sleeping bags, Zayn sits cross-legged in the screened in portion of the tent. He's massaging his feet over his socks when he speaks almost reverently, "Lou, I think I could live up here."

"Peaceful, isn't it?" Louis replies as he moves into the space beside his friend.

The fading colors of the sunset paint the boys in gold and hues of orange. There's nothing but the wind and the buzz of nature around them. Yeah, Louis thinks. Away from everything else... I could live up here, too.

As Louis rests his head on his friend's leg, Zayn sketches the rolling mountains and the shadowed valleys. "I wonder if Niall's alright," he murmurs after a moment. His pencil scratches across his notebook.

"Zayn," Louis groans. "None of that exists up here. I thought that was just an unspoken rule or something."

"Maybe I should just send him a message," Zayn continues on as he sets his notebook on Louis' face.

Pushing the notebook away, Louis grumbles, "You're not going to get any service up here. You can message him tomorrow when we get back to town, you lovesick ninny."

"I suppose you're right," Zayn sighs and taps his pencil against Louis' nose.

After the sunset fades to stars and darkness, the boys curl into their sleeping bags and drift off to the sounds of the wind sifting through the world around them. Louis dreams of bright green eyes and of a lazy smile that he's only seen in someone else's photographs.

Morning comes with Zayn's hand smacking against the side of Louis' head. "The fuck, Z," Louis rasps as he moves the hand away from his face. His friend doesn't respond more than snuffling in his sleep.

In the time that it takes Zayn to wake up, Louis drinks a bottle of water and eats through two granola bars.

"This time should not exist..." Zayn croaks into the edge of his sleeping bag. His eyelashes cast dark smudges across his cheeks as he refuses to open his eyes.

"That road rash on the bottom of your chin is a real turn off, Z," Louis responds dryly as he stuffs an empty wrapper into the side pocket of his backpack.

At that, Zayn stirs, his eyes opening to little angry slits. He reaches for his phone before tilting his head up to take a picture of the damage. "Fuck – Lou, it looks like a proper rash," he whines before dropping his phone back into his bag.

"Proper rash?" Louis snorts. "Posh now, are we?"

"It's your fault," Zayn asserts as he heaves a helpless breath and runs his fingers along the jagged scrape.

With a pout, Louis pats at Zayn's arm and fawns, "Poor, poor baby."

Swatting the offending hand away, Zayn continues to rub at his chin. "When do you want to head back down?" he asks after a beat.

A chill settles into Louis' bones and those rocks aren't just crumbled gravel in his lungs anymore. For the first time in hours, Louis thinks of the cigarettes he chose to leave back at the flat and of all the worries he deserted once they boarded the train to Derbyshire.

"Lou?" Zayn prods with a poke at Louis' leg. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah," Louis startles a little and over compensates with a vigorous nod. "We can head down after you eat something. I have to feed you, remember? Someone has to do the adulting," he reasons before shoving a handful of granola bars in Zayn's face. He turns away to hide the tremble that's beginning to set back into the tips of his fingers.

When Zayn finally agrees to chew through a bar, the boys begin packing up their things. They take in the skyline one last time in silence once the tent is down and packed away.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger," Zayn hums as he rests his hands on the straps of his bag. The morning sun has sparked his eyelashes with gold. "While traveling through this world of woe... Yet, there's no sickness, toil or danger in that bright world to which I go..."

For a long moment, Louis is quiet, simply listening to the soft tone of his friend. He watches the sunlight lick the peaks and valleys before them, and follows the small dots of hikers beginning the trek up from the land so far below.

"I'm going there to see my father... I'm going there no more to roam. I'm only going over Jordan; I'm only going over home..." Zayn knocks his knee against Louis' and inhales softly.

"I know dark clouds will head around me... I know my way is rough and steep, yet beautiful fields lie just before me. Where God's redeemed their vigils keep..." Louis sings along softly. He twists his hands together in his lap and tries to ignore the nagging in the back of his mind about what they're going back down to.

Reaching, Zayn pulls one of Louis' hands into his own. "I'm going there to my mother... She said she'd meet me when I come. I'm only going over Jordan; I'm only going over home..."

Briefly, the tension in Louis' shoulders melts away because no matter what he goes back to, Zayn will be there. No matter how hard it gets to breathe or how suffocating it is, he always will be. "Cause I am a poor, wayfaring stranger traveling through this world with you, and there's no sickness, toil or danger in that bright land to which I go..." he trails off and squeezes Zayn's hand.

"This was fun, Lou," Zayn appraises softly as he props his chin up on Louis' shoulder. "What else is on your list that we can cross off together?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that I wrote 'swim with killer whales' on there," Louis laughs into Zayn's hair. "You know why that one's out. I think I was fairly drunk when I wrote that one anyway. Plus, that's pretty fucking terrifying. Did you see that movie Black Fish? They drown people for fun, Zayn."

A puff of breath against Louis' neck is the only indication that Zayn found that remotely amusing. "I would drown myself first," he voices as he rubs a hand over his eyes.

"Hm... What else was there? Oh, we could tightrope over the city together or bungee jump over the Thames. Those would be fun," Louis lists as he tucks his free hand into his pocket for warmth.

"Sure, Lou. That's exactly what I want to do. I can see the headlines now: 'starving artist dies after taking plunge voluntarily into the Thames' or 'tightrope to hell leaves two idiots dead; London is better for it'," Zayn snorts. He leans away before pushing up to his feet. He slings his backpack onto his shoulders and picks up the ten. "Come on then."

With a soft smile and a lingering glance at the skyline, Louis grabs his own bag. "We should hike the rest sometime," he sighs as they begin the walk down from the peak.

"I don't know. I kind of really like this one," Zayn admits with a glance around at the peaks in the distance. "Maybe we'll just come back to this one. It'll be our peak."

"Should've brought a flag," Louis tells him. In the back of his mind, he wonders if Curly's ever been here; if this was one of his destinations or if he's ever been here with his friends. A sick feeling twists his insides and he sucks in a breath.

Slinging his arm over Louis' shoulder, Zayn nods, "Yeah. Maybe next time we will."

The descent from the peak is much easier than the trek up even though their legs are burning in protest of their every movement. Despite Louis' constant insistence on stopping for photographs that he pesters other hikers into taking, they reach the bottom of Pennine Way two hours faster than when they ascended. At the base of the path, they pose for one final photo with their cheeks flushed and hair mussed up by the wind before boarding the shuttle back to the train station.

A little over three hours later, they manage to set foot back into what has become their flat and Louis flops face first onto the couch. "I climbed a mountain," he grumbles into the cushions as the exhaustion of the event finally begins to settle over him.

"We did," Zayn agrees. He sits on the backs of Louis' thighs with his eyes half open. "I think I'm just going to sleep through all of tomorrow. Tomorrow no longer exists to me. It's just extended sleep day."

"Agreed," Louis hums. Now that he's completely still, he can feel the ache that radiates from his strained muscles. Really, this workout could have lasted him a few weeks, if he equated the distance to what he would attempt on the treadmill at the gym. "Think I can cross off 'go to the gym' too?"

Patting at Louis' bum, Zayn snorts tiredly, "Sorry, mate. I don't think it counts."

"Fuck," is all Louis responds with; feeling too worn down to express more than the basics of his current state of discontent.

A few minutes later, Zayn trails off to his bedroom and Louis tugs a blanket over himself. He should really shower, but he falls asleep with a clear head and a pleasant burn riding on his limbs before he can.

True to their word, the boys sleep late into Sunday evening. Zayn only stirs once Louis climbs into his bed and demands that he accept it. Sleep tugs them back under and the evening rolls right into Monday morning.

"Lou, make me muffins..." Zayn demands as he pats blindly at Louis' face.

"I'm not making you shit..." Louis replies around a yawn. He moves away from him on the bed and an ache runs down from his shoulders to the tips of his toes. "Make me pancakes."

With a defeated noise, Zayn sits up and pitifully asserts, "You're the adult."

"So good at adulting," Louis concedes before burying his face back into the pillows.

"Well, while you decide how you're going to feed me, I'm going to shower. You stink, by the way, so you should think about doing that, too," Zayn advises as the mattress shifts when he gets up. Moments later, the sound of the shower spray fills the silence of the flat.

Eventually, Louis does move. He lifts the blanket to get a whiff of himself, and oh. He is a bit ripe. He chuckles a little at himself before climbing off the bed and wandering into the kitchen. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he fumbles through making scrambled eggs and a few pieces of burnt bacon. He keeps his thoughts carefully blank, deciding to only focus on the task at hand instead of the day that lies ahead (or what it could possibly hold for him).

Hair pushed wetly out of his face, Zayn emerges from the bathroom and accepts the plate Louis offers him with only the smallest of grimaces. "Thanks," he murmurs as Louis heads off to the bathroom.

Once under the warm spray of the shower, Louis takes his time scrubbing the dust of the hike from his skin. He only relents to leave the hot water once he's certain that he smells more of citrus and lavender than sweat and nature. His reflection looks tired when he catches his own eyes in the mirror, but he feels... okay. The chaos of the last visit to the hospital has left him, and while he isn't sure why he spiraled so hard, he's certain that it won't happen again anytime soon. I'm okay.

"Ready, Lou?" Zayn questions from where he's perched on the couch when Louis appears from the bathroom fully dressed. There's a white beanie tugged down over his hair and he looks comfortable.

"Yeah," Louis replies as he runs a towel over his damp hair once more before tossing it back in the general vicinity of the bathroom.

They take the bus this time, only making a small detour past Louis' former office so that he can return his things before heading the rest of the way to St. Luke's. On their usual floor, they depart with easy smiles.

"Tell that George guy about our hike, if he's still here," Louis calls over his shoulder at Zayn's retreating back. There's some sort of response that he doesn't quite hear as he turns down the hall toward Curly's room.

Just as he reaches the room, something tells him to stop. There's someone in Curly's room. There's a young man sitting in Louis' chair with his hands twisted in his lap. Louis can't see his face from where he's stalled in the hall. Out of fear, he quietly sits down just outside the doorway.

"Three months," the guy is saying. His voice is thick with sleeplessness and an accent that Louis could recognize anywhere.

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Peeking around the doorway hesitantly, Louis catches a glimpse of fading blonde hair, and the air sticks in his lungs. Niall. Memories of the videos Zayn played for him rush to the forefront of his mind.

'This cover's for my mate that's out there traveling right now.'

'Mate, if you're hearing this, fucking give me a ring, yeah?'

"You told me that you would be at my mum's house a week ago, but you've been here for three months... You didn't show up, and I just thought you decided to stop somewhere else first. Harry..." Niall rambles with a weak breath.

Stilling, Louis' heart hiccups in his chest. Harry.

"I told you to always look before you cross the fucking street," Niall coughs wetly as a weak laugh pours from his lips. It doesn't sound right. "Your mum and Gemma will be here in the morning... I'm here now though, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Lifting a hand to cover his mouth, Louis can feel the tears spilling over his cheeks. It isn't like he hadn't thought about it, about Curly's – Harry's – family and friends worrying about where he is... If he's safe. It's just that now, he's seen one of them, basically knows one of them. He has another face to put to his careless actions.

"The, um, the nurses told me that you had a visitor that's been keeping you company," Niall begins again and his voice is so broken now. "They said he plays you music and that maybe it can help you because you can hear it... So, how about I sing you the last one you sang for me before you left? It's your favorite isn't it? Or it was..."

So desperately, Louis wants to run, but his limbs won't agree. He shouldn't be here. He never should have been here.

"A year from now, we'll all be gone. All our friends will move away. They're goin' to better places, but our friends will be gone away..." Niall sings softly as a hoarseness creeps into the edges of his tone. "Nothin' is as it has been and I miss your face like hell. I guess it's just as well... But, I miss your face like hell..."

Trying to breathe, Louis places his fingers over his heart and feels the beat against his fingertips. The air doesn't come and nothing is working quite right anymore.

"Been talking 'bout the way things change, and my family lives in a different state... If you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate. So, if you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate..." Niall hums with a shaky inhale. "Rivers and roads... Rivers and roads... Rivers 'til I reach you..." The singing stops and Niall's sobs are audible now.

"You've got to wake up, Harry. Please," Niall begs.

Forcing himself up, Louis nearly sprints down the hall to where Zayn disappeared. He wipes at his eyes furiously as his steps fumble across the sterile, tile flooring. It takes him almost a beat too long to find Zayn in a room with an elderly man.

There's a bright smile on Zayn's face, but it drops the moment that he spots Louis in the doorway. Politely, he excuses himself from the room.

"Curly is Niall's mate," Louis heaves the words out as the tightness in his throat grows. "Curly is Niall's friend. The one that was traveling. The family emergency."

Eyes widening in realization, Zayn only manages, "What?"

"Niall is here," Louis clarifies with a panicked gesture down to the otherside of the hall. "Curly's name is Harry."

Following the movement of Louis' hands, Zayn is silent for a long time. "Fuck, Lou," is what he eventually says.

"Yes, fuck, Zayn..." Louis agrees as he scrubs a hand over his face. "Fuck," he repeats like it adds something to the conversation.

"This... This is a good thing, Lou," Zayn continues on as he nervously tucks a tuft of hair into his beanie. "Look, take a deep breath for me. This is a good thing."

An exasperated breath forces its way out of Louis' lungs. "A good thing? What do I do?"

"Nothing," Zayn replies easily. "You do nothing, Lou. They don't know who you are. You leave it alone. You do nothing."

"They do know who I am," Louis tries to reason. "My name is out there. They know. They'll figure out that I've been coming to see him. They'll be so pissed –"

Placing his hands on Louis' shoulders, Zayn makes Louis look at him before he states, "Louis, this isn't a manhunt. They're not going to come after you with pitchforks and torches. Breathe."

Biting his tongue, Louis nods shortly. They should, he thinks.

"Listen to me, okay?" Zayn instructs. His voice is firm and calm in a way that Louis can't begin to understand. He squeezes Louis' shoulders before dropping his hands to his sides. "If you really want, there are some options. One, you can go home like I think you should. Two, you can keep pretending to be Matty and volunteer to bring his family coffee or tea to torture yourself. Or you can out yourself. Own up to what you did and get it over with."

Own up. Louis swallows around the rocks that are piling higher in his chest. "I – I should maybe... Maybe I should bring him something to drink and then go home. I mean, he was crying –"

"Niall was crying?" Zayn cuts in.

"Of course, he was, Zayn," Louis huffs as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

With a little frown, Zayn glances down the hallway again. "Alright, well bring him something and we'll go home."

"Okay," Louis nods along. Numbness climbs through his muscles and a stiffness winds along his bones.

"Go on then," Zayn urges gently. "Come get me when you're done."

Fumbling away from the security of his friend, Louis tries to grapple with the way his arms and legs have begun to feel foreign to him. He can tell Zayn's eyes are still on him when he reaches the small beverage station and prepares two cups of tea. His throat is dry when he turns to face Curly's room once more.

Inside, Niall has resigned himself to pulling his chair closer to the bed. He's got one of Harry's hands clasped firmly between his own and he's quiet.

"Sorry," Louis clears his throat.

Startling a little, Nial looks up. "Oh."

"I, um, I'm Matty," Louis starts weakly as he holds out one of the cups of tea with trembling fingers. I should go. I need to leave.

"The volunteer," Niall surmises as he takes the styrofoam cup. A grateful look crosses his face and Louis feels sick. "So you're the one who's been keeping Harry company," he starts again. His voice is raspy and thick.

With a weak nod, Louis refuses to move any closer. "Now that you're here, I'll leave you to it," he murmurs before turning quickly back to the door.

"Wait," Niall calls as he grasps at Louis' wrist and pulls him to a halt.

Blood running cold in his veins, Louis stills. He knows.

"You can – should stay. I don't mind," Niall rushes to tell him. He only releases Louis' wrist once he turns around. His bright blue eyes are dull in the fluorescent lighting and rimmed with red.

"I really don't want to intrude," Louis tries, but Niall merely shakes his head.

Blowing at the steam that rises from his tea, Niall gestures to the chairs on the other side of the room. "Please," he insists quietly.

I should say no. I need to get out of here. Fighting the urge to run, Louis finds himself pulling a chair a little closer to the opposite side of the bed and sitting himself down. What the fuck am I doing?

"I'm Niall and this is Harry," Niall informs him with a gesture to the boy on the bed.

"My mate's a big fan of yours," Louis replies stiltedly just for something to say.

Lifting his stare to Louis' face, Niall smiles meekly, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis agrees. He keeps his eyes firmly on the sheets of the bed. "He's here volunteering too." He isn't sure how he's forming coherent sentences or why he's bothering to say anything at all. The more words that escape him, the heavier the weight of the guilt on his shoulders feels. He lets his shoulders slump as he leans back against the chair.

"Well, when things get better maybe I can say hi," Niall offers. He's being polite. Louis should ask him to stop. "What's his name?"

There's a pause where Louis' quiet. If Niall really tried, he could probably find out that Zayn is in fact friends with Louis and that Louis is definitely the cause of all of this. "Zayn," he finally announces despite every fiber of his being telling him to shut his mouth. Own up. Just fucking own up, he orders himself.

"Zayn?" Niall repeats as his expression shifts and a small frown tugs at the corners of his mouth again. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Seems like a good guy," he laments with a sip of tea.

"Yeah, he's great," Louis concedes. He takes a long gulp of his own tea; feels the way it burns all the way down his throat.

A beat of silence passes before Niall speaks again, "So how did you get to be a volunteer? You're a bit scrubby, no offense."

Coughing on his next swallow of tea, Louis tries to formulate an answer, "I, um..." Court ordered? Kind soul? Like to help people? His lungs constrict unforgivingly. Own up. "I've, um, put someone in the hospital like this before... So I – I don't know. Still paying for the guilt, I guess.'

At that, Niall is quiet. His stare is contemplative, focused and calculating as it never leaves Louis' face. "That's nice," is all he says.

For a long minute, Louis picks at the top of his cup and avoids the eyes that are on him. Get up. Leave. Run.

"Is the person okay now?" Niall presses after a moment. His tone is flat and unreadable.

Swallowing hard, Louis refuses to look anywhere but the sheets in front of him. "Not yet, no." He can't breathe.

Another break of silence passes and Louis wonders if Niall does know, if he's figured it out and is trying to goad him into admitting it.

"I'm sure that he would forgive you, if he could," Niall muses, but his voice is thin.

I don't deserve that. I don't, and I never will.

"Harry's just like that though. Forgives people when they don't deserve it. He can't hold grudges, even when he should," Niall carries on and the bite in his tone slips through.

Thoughts crumbling to a halt, Louis finally lifts his eyes to the boy across from him. He takes in the white knuckled grip Niall has on one of the armrests like he's trying to resist getting up and the deep pinch between his brows. He memorizes the look, the anger and the heat in those blue eyes. That, Louis thinks, I deserve that.

Unmoving, a resigned look overcomes Niall's tired features as he releases the arm of the chair. He flexes his fingers and pushes his hair away from his face. He isn't telling Louis to leave, yet.

"I..." Louis begins, but he doesn't know how to finish.

"Harry left to 'find himself'," Niall cuts him off, his tone offering Louis no room to speak. "Said he was tired of wandering around town and that he wanted to get out. He wasn't happy."

With a tighter grip on his tea, Louis bites the inside of his cheek silently and keeps his eyes on Niall.

"He wanted to see the world and figure out how exactly he fit into all of it. So, he quit his job and just left. Just packed a bag one day and said he would be home in a few months." Niall presses on with a hard blink. His eyes finally fall to the sheets and away from Louis' guilty face. "Because of you, he may never see home again, Louis," he bites as a few stubborn tears spill over his lashes. He wipes at them roughly, leaving behind red streaks on his cheeks.

There it is. Louis can't find the apologies that he should say. Anything I could say would be meaningless.

"How could you do this?" Niall asks as his voice falters to helplessness. He lifts his watery eyes to Louis.

Making to stand up, Louis pushes himself up from his chair. Almost immediately Niall matches him.

"How could you?" Niall repeats. It sounds so much more desperate this time. His tea has been abandoned and his fists are balled at his sides.

"I –" Louis starts.

Niall swings at him, his left hand hitting Louis' cheekbone and knocking him back a few steps. "Henry would forgive you, but I never could," he spits out the words bitterly as his hand drops back to his side. "Get out."

Nodding jerkily, Louis rushes out of the room. He stumbles into the elevator and smashes the button for the lobby. Pain spikes through his skin and he stuffs his trembling hands into the pockets of his hoodie. When he manages to get to the bottom floor, he shoots Zayn a jumbled text to tell him where he is. He trips outside and fumbles for his cigarettes. It takes him a good minute to get the lighter to catch flame and he sucks in a cloud of smoke that does nothing to quell the panic that's overflowing within him.

I should have just gone home. Why the fuck did I stay?

A few moments later, Zayn emerges from the hospital with his bag slung over his chest haphazardly. "Lou?" he calls out and his voice sounds so distant; so far from the haze in Louis' head. He leans to look at Louis' face before assuming, "Told him, didn't you?"

"I should have listened," Louis supplies wetly. He inhales hard and holds the smoke in his lungs until he feels like little fires spark within them.

"Going to be a nasty shiner," is all Zayn offers in return as he runs his thumb along the swelling below Louis' eye.

With a shaky shrug, Louis refuses to meet Zayn's eyes. "Deserve it."

"Maybe," Zayn laments as he tilts his head. "What are you thinking about?"

"Drowning," Louis answers honestly as he watches the cars pass behind Zayn.

Gently, Zayn drapes his arm across Louis' shoulders and knocks their heads together. "Drowning?" he repeats softly.

"I think I need to go home," Louis continues eventually as his shoulders cave.

"Okay," Zayn agrees quickly. He moves his hand to press into the small of Louis' back. "Let's go then."

Shaking his head fervently, Louis turns out of Zayn's grasp to face him. "No, home."

"Doncaster?" Zayn hesitates. His hand is still outstretched for Louis. "Okay, we can do that."

"Zayn, it's okay. You don't have to take care of me. You go back to the flat," Louis refuses. He runs his hand over his face and winces at the pressure on his cheek. "You need to do your own thing. I've been dragging you around – I mean, fuck, Zayn. I literally dragged you up a mountain."

A pinch settles between Zayn's eyebrows and he looks uncomfortable, maybe even a little ruffled. "Louis, you're not making me do anything," he asserts stiffly.

"I just want to see my family, Zayn," Louis grits out. He waves his hand about in misplaced frustration when he adds, "Can't you just leave me alone for a bit?"

An unreadable look crosses Zayn's face before falling into a mixture of hurt and surprise that disappears almost immediately. He looks off toward the street and stuffs his hands into his pockets hastily with a stiff nod. "Yeah, right. Course. I'll see you when you get back," he concedes flatly as he tugs his hoodie closer around him.

And that, Louis didn't mean for that. "Zayn," he starts again.

"No, no, you're right, Lou. I've been micromanaging," Zayn states. He turns on his heel to walk back toward the bus stop. "I'll see you around."

Biting his lip, Louis tries to clear his head. He wants to call out, to tell Zayn that he's sorry, that he's always sorry, but the words don't come and Zayn is climbing onto the bus without a second glance. A sick feeling twists through his insides as he forces himself in the opposite direction and away from what he's come to accept as his safe space.

Tugging his phone from his pocket, Louis dials a number that he's attempted to delete one too many times.

"Lou?" a voice answers after the last ring and it's so familiar that it hurts.

"Stan," Louis breathes weakly. "Stan, I need your help."

A cough filters through the receiver before Stan responds airily, "I'll meet you when you get here, yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis agrees pathetically and the line clicks off. The ease of being at the edge of Edale Head feels so, so far away now. His feet move without his consent as he stumbles to find the right bus line.

The ride from London to Doncaster spreads Louis thin over each hour that passes. He thinks of Harry and the look of well-earned hatred on Niall's face. He imagines Harry's mum seeing her son for the first time in months and not being able to properly have him back like she should. He hears the crack of glass from the day all of this started. He wonders if he would be here if that day had gone differently. He misses Zayn.

Once Louis steps off the bus, a new wave of dread washes over his bones. Stan is waiting for him with his dark hair swept neatly over his forehead and his hands tucked carefully into the pockets of his jacket. There's an easy smile lifting the corners of his lips.

"Long time," Stan says in lieu of a greeting as he reaches out and pulls Louis into a hug.

"Been busy," Louis replies numbly.

With an understanding nod and a curious head tilt, Stan wraps his arm around Louis' shoulders to lead him in the direction of his car. "Busy being a grown up?" he asks. His tone is light and airy.

"Something like that," Louis supplies. He can feel the nervous twitch to Stan's fingers against his shoulder and he wonders how it is that they got to this. In the back of his mind, he can remember the days when they were just kids mucking about the city without a care or a thought for the things they would get caught up in as they grew older. Louis escaped the cycle, but Stan seems to be content living in it.

"Going to see the girls and your mum while you're here?" Stan questions once they've gotten in the car. It smells of smoke and fast food.

That's why I'm really here, isn't it? He hadn't thought about calling Stan until Zayn had walked away. Now it's like this is just one more thing on the list of ways that he's screwed up this year. "That's the plan." It's a lie now though. He knows that.

"Good. What's it been? Four years? Five?" Stan suggests as he starts the engine in one swift motion and begins the drive back to his flat.

"Four," Louis affirms, but in the back of his mind, he wonders if Stan even really cares or if he's just filling the silence until they both get to where they would rather be. He watches the tremor of Stan's fingers against the steering wheel and follows the line of his arm up to his neck and the pale of his face. The baby fat has long since faded from his cheeks with the wear and tear of harsh habits.

You're not going to do that, Zayn's voice rings loud and clear through the haze floating behind Louis' eyes. You're better than that, Louis.

I'm not though, Louis tells the voice. I'm not and I never have been.

After parking the car, Stan leads Louis up a set of rickety wooden steps that creak beneath their weight. "I think I had this place the last time you came around, but if not... Well, welcome to my home," he announces unceremoniously with a dismissive wave of his hand up at the building. He pushes open the front door a moment later.

You're an adult, Zayn's voice insists.

Footsteps weighted down, Louis forces himself forward. There's a numbness to his lungs and it's difficult to see the line that he's crossing that should tell him to run as hard as he can in the opposite direction. All he can see when he blinks is Harry and the look on Zayn's face before he turned away; before he gave up on Louis.

Flitting about the room, Stan pauses in front of a drawer. "I haven't had a chance to pick up more, but I should have just enough for you," he assures as he tugs a small plastic baggie out. There's a Batman symbol emblazoned on the side of it and things really haven't changed since Louis was last here. The memory is still fresh of the time that Stan had joked about the name of his brand before the reality of it all truly set in. Before the parties and the money and the nights without recognizable faces.

If you call Stan right now and take whatever he gives you... That's on purpose. Louis watches in silence as Stan empties the baggie onto the glass coffee table. He doesn't move as Stan carefully cuts the powder into thin lines. That's you fucking up.

Pulling a tenner from his pocket, Stan rolls the bill before holding it out to Louis. "All yours, mate. I'll give you the best friend discount this time since you look so fucking sad," he laughs.

Whatever high you get will only leave you right back here when you come back down. Louis takes the rolled bill and shuffles closer to take the seat on the couch closest to the table. The shaking of his hands has settled and the only feeling he has left is the echo of pain spiking through his cheek; it's a persistent push in this direction, a go ahead and do it. He leans down toward the table as Stan mills about the rest of the room.

Except, it will feel a lot worse and you'll probably just go right back like when we were kids. You know where that's going to leave you? Why won't his thoughts just be quiet?

"The girls are going to be so excited to see you. I've bumped into them around the shops a couple of times. Those twins are getting really sassy. They're the sweetest pair of little terrors," Stan rambles on as he moves a stack of books from one shelf to another aimlessly.

Broke and depressed and alone, Louis thoughts supply for Zayn's voice. He inhales two of the cut lines and thinks, but Zayn, I'm already there.

A thin smile spreads over Stan's face as he finally takes a seat in an armchair across from Louis. He's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt when he says, "Old habits die hard, yeah?"

The heartbeat so distant in Louis' chest begins to pick up, feels like a hammer against his lungs and ribs. It's so much like the day of the accident when he was trying to regain his bearings. The numbness in his skin buzzes straight through to his bone and the pain of his face slides away into the furthest reaches of his thoughts until there's nothing left but light and air. "Just this once." He feels the words form on his tongue like sparks.

"Isn't that what it always is?" Stan chuckles as he pushes up from his perch. He wanders over to the speakers in the far corner of the room and soon enough, music fills the empty space.

A warm laugh bubbles up in Louis' chest as he leans back into the cushions. "Always," he snorts. The bass vibrates through his veins and spikes the beating within him.

"Mouth is made of metal, metal, metal. Pocket full of yellow, yellow. Pocket full of gold and I hope you find – I hope you find your dreams, yeah," Stan shouts along to the song with too much fervor to be anything but a joke. "What did you say to me? I'm dreaming of Malbec cruising. May be talking crazy, but I want it."

Latching onto Louis' wrist, Stan pulls him up from the couch in one smooth motion. The music around him is too loud, yet he somehow speaks over it, "I've missed you man."

With a grin, Louis settles into the grasp; feels every nerve in his skin light up with the touch. The rush is heady and everything is so far away. There are no thoughts beyond the space around him. There's no doubt or blame. There's no disappointment. "Maybe I missed you," he breathes into the dark hair curling around Stan's ear when he's pulled in close.

Pushing him away, a grin exposes Stan's sharp teeth and it's as devilish as Louis always remembered it to be. He slinks off to the other side of the flat to light a cigarette.

"I'm living like a silent movie. Shut your mouth and see straight through me. Finding that you're hiding in your money," Louis hums as he drags his fingertips over each surface he passes. "I got a million ways of losing, but nothing in my life's worth proving. Chasing, all my time is wasted..."

The minutes tick away and Louis pleasantly ignores the incessant buzzing of the phone in his pocket. "It's the push and the pull; it's the rise and the fall. I don't owe you a single thing. I don't owe you anything," he sings faintly as he plucks the dwindling cigarette from Stan's fingers and takes a small drag before Stan grabs it back with a too loud laugh. "It's the push and the pull; it's the big and the small. I don't owe you a single thing. Not a goddamn thing."

"Not a goddamn thing!" Stan booms with his cigarette raised high in the air.

An hour or so falls away as the boys flit about the flat. Stan matches Louis' energy beat for beat until everything crashes. The light through the blinds fading to blackness as the rush behind Louis' eyes drops to a sluggish crawl. His breath catches in his throat as he falls back into an armchair with his legs hanging over the side.

"You're sweating a bit, mate," Stan acknowledges as he reclines on the couch. He has a thin bottle of vodka cradled between his knees and it's only now that Louis' able to see the dark circles shadowing his eyes.

Heaviness presses down on Louis like lead and he pushes his hair away from his face. There's a dampness to the tips of his fingers and he misses the constantly up feeling almost instantly. What am I doing?

"Down?" Stan continues after Louis' silence.

Nodding jerkily, Louis' head is swimming with a renewed onslaught of that's on purpose, that's you fucking up. Shame and guilt bleed straight to the marrow of his bones and he's itching with it: the need to run and get up again. I can't pick myself up, Zayn. I can't.

"There's like a bump left, if you want it, Lou," Stan offers with a motion to the bag on the table. He lifts the bottle from his lap to his lips before holding it out to Louis as well. "Probably enough to level you out," he shrugs.

"No," Louis manages, the words forming like cotton and sticking to his tongue. "I should get going," he forces out despite how desperately his body insists that he stay.

A resigned look crosses Stan's face before he resolutely states, "Don't take so long to come 'round again, alright?"

"I'll be back soon," Louis responds and this might be the only thing that he's sure of at this moment. His limbs beg for the ease of another line to cling to the feeling of being so far away, but he grabs his discarded coat instead. He ducks out the door and stumbles down the steps before he can change his mind. He trips over the last two and tugs his phone from his pocket.

There's an array of messages from Zayn ranging from: I'm sorry for the overbearing thing, I'm just worried about you to I know that I pissed you off, but can you pick up? I need to talk to you and lastly, I called your mum, Lou. Where are you? Please, call me. Please.

Gripping at his sweaty hair, Louis tries to steady himself; tries to breathe, but everything feels so heavy and it wasn't this low before. Was it? He looks about his surroundings desperately as he walks. Unease cuts through his skin and jars his thoughts. He wants to call Zayn. He wants to run to his mum and to his sisters, but he can't. He can't let any of them see him like the wide-eyed shaking mess that he is. He's supposed to be better. He's supposed to be in control. He isn't though. Was I ever?

The phone in his grasp buzzes again as a call from Zayn comes through. Louis crumbles, tears spilling over his cheeks and his lungs heaving against the confines of his ribs. He shakes his head at himself as he lifts the phone to his ear.

"Louis?" Zayn asks quickly after the line clicked through only to be met with silence. "Louis, answer me."

A sob hitches in Louis' throat and all he can hear is broken and depressed and alone. How did everything fall apart so quickly? Maybe it didn't. Maybe he's been slowly losing it since January, but now he's spiraling; nose-diving to the bottom.

For a beat, Zayn doesn't speak as his breaths come in short through the phone.

I'm sorry I failed, Louis thinks, but he can't apologize anymore, can he?

"Listen to me, okay Lou?" Zayn starts with a voice that's soft and sad. "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe in: one, two... Breathe out: one, two..."

Hiccuping on a breath, Louis nods even though Zayn can't see him. He tries to follow his friend's steady instructions, calm and ever present even though he knows that he deserves it the least.

"Keep going... In and out," Zayn tells him. "Good, Lou. That's really good."

"Please be mad," Louis finally speaks. "Please, Zayn, be angry."

A cough rings through before Zayn replies in strained words, "You don't need me to be angry with you. Not right now."

Scraping his nails over his bruised cheek, Louis tries to wipe away the wetness as he cries, "I can't pick myself up, Zayn. I can't." Depressed and alone – that's you fucking up.

"You know that diner we used to go to? The one that served the root beer floats and had the really good cinnamon ice cream?" Zayn interjects.

Louis doesn't understand.

"It was where I first met you. It had to have been three in the morning, and I'd had a fight with my dad, so I went out. Wandered into the diner and there you were, hunched over the counter with this angry look while you shoveled ice cream into your mouth," Zayn presses on; doesn't let Louis interrupt. "I had hardly closed the door and you turned around to glare at me with these dark bags under your eyes like you had been awake for days. You put down your spoon and pointed at me. I thought you were going to yell at me, but instead you smiled. Do you remember what you said to me?"

The memory is there, a little frayed and distorted, but it's there all the same. Louis had been seventeen, coming down from a four day binge. He hadn't been able to sleep and his nerves were constantly jumping when he sat still. He hadn't fared well on the sober end then, going back for a fix the next morning. "I..." he begins and pauses to suck in a breath. "I said that things were going to get better. That they always do."

"Yeah," Zayn affirms quietly. There's a soft sniff that Louis barely catches before his friend continues, "If you believed those things at that point, you can believe them now, too."

"I can," Louis acknowledges brokenly, but it comes out as more of a question than anything else.

There's another beat of silence and Zayn clears his throat. His voice comes in stronger when he instructs, "So you're going to get back on the bus, and you're going to come home. You're going to face all of this head on because that's who you are."

I'm a failure, Louis' thoughts bite back, but he doesn't let the words form. I'm a coward.

"Come home, please, okay?" Zayn finishes.

Nodding at nothing, Louis inhales sharply, "I'm walking to the bus now." He casts a wavering glance toward the rest of the town, and thinks of his family. When did he last talk to them? "Promise you will come back with me, so I can see my sisters when this is all over?" he requests.

"Promise," Zayn responds and he sounds exhausted.

What time is it anyway? "I'll be home soon," Louis assures him. "And Zayn?"

"Yeah, Lou?" Zayn yawns.

"Thank you," Louis tells him earnestly. His heart aches and he doesn't quite understand; can't fathom how he came to deserve having someone so constant in his life.

With a small noise of assent, Zayn bids him goodbye and hangs up the phone.

Taking the last bus out of Doncaster, Louis tries to steady the trembling of his hands and the thinness of his breathing. He thinks of Niall, of Harry's family, and mostly of Harry. He doesn't know how to begin to even help them or if he even should try. He fidgets with his hair and with the seam of the bus seat he occupies the whole way home.

At the bus stop, Zayn is waiting for him with his hands tucked resolutely into the pockets of his hoodie as he tucks his chin down into his scarf. His hazel eyes are heavy-lidded and he blinks hard when Louis steps off the bus.

"Zayn, I..." Louis starts, but his throat is hoarse and his voice raspy.

Merely shaking his head, Zayn wraps his arms tightly around Louis' neck. He presses his face into Louis' shoulder and doesn't let go. "I don't want to hear it," he tells him quietly.

Falling into silence, Louis returns the embrace. He grasps at the back of Zayn's jacket and takes him in: the smell of cigarette smoke and lavender soap. "What did my mum say when you called?" he asks when they start the walk back to their flat.

"Not right now, Louis," Zayn replies tiredly. He presses his hand against the small of Louis' back and urges him up the steps. "We're going to bed."

With a weak nod, Louis lets Zayn lead him inside. He peels his sweat dampened t-shirt off and drops it in the laundry hamper before he climbs into bed beside Zayn. He counts the seconds that pass as Zayn closes his eyes. Restlessness pings through his skin and rubs his hands over his face. The need for sleep is there, riding on the edges of his vision and his limbs, but it doesn't come. He stares at the ceiling, watches the dark of the night fade into light through the openings of the curtains.

When he pushes up from the bed and heads for the shower, Zayn doesn't stir. He takes his time, scrubs at his skin to try and wash away the itch that lingers there. He washes his hair until all he smells is citrus and steam. It's so much harder to keep his thoughts blank now, the voices bombarding and echoing through him no matter what he tries. He shuts off the water and hangs his head to let the water drip over his face.

There's clanging sounds coming from the kitchen; maybe the kettle being placed on the stovetop. "Hard time forgiving, even harder forgetting. Before you do something you might regret, friend..." Zayn is humming over the flow of the sink faucet. "Took me for granted, but call it love, if you will. I'm aware of this. I did let you in. Sink for you to swim; dancing on the ledge. Tried to let you stay, I did let you win..."

Drying himself off, Louis dresses in the clothes that were set below the medicine cabinet. Zayn must have put them there while Louis was lost in the shower.

"Broke to what became, became you and me. Try to mend it, but I can't mend the truth," Zayn sings softly as Louis emerges from the bathroom. He's standing in front of the stove in a pair of black boxers and his head is bent. "Bricks are caving in. Oh, how sweet this sin. I left you the keys, but you won't let me in."

"New cover from Niall?" Louis asks. He's a little unsure of how to proceed; unsure of if Zayn was just holding back last night out of pity.

Stilling mid reach for a mug from the cabinet, Zayn turns. "Song my sister sent me," is all he says. There's a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a resignation to the look he holds.

Nodding stiffly, Louis hesitates to question, "You knew, didn't you? Where I was really going last night?"

"If we dwell on yesterday, we never start today," Zayn replies evenly. He shifts back to the stove and pulls out two mugs.

"Sure," Louis agrees as he shuffles a little closer. He tugs his hoodie tighter around him. It smells of Zayn's detergent.

Briefly, each movement Zayn makes is stilted. He places the mugs on the counter and inhales through his nose. He massages his temples and braces his palms on the sides of the stove. "I'm letting yesterday go," he finally tells Louis.

Letting it go? Louis bites his lip and nods again. "What's the, uh, plan for seizing the day then?" he tries with a poor attempt at keeping his tone light when everything around him feels like it's buzzing with electricity.

"The plan is that you're going to sit on that couch, and I'm going to work on a few things," Zayn answers flatly as he pours hot water into the mugs. The muscles in his back shift as he moves.

"Okay." Louis glances at the couch and a sigh escapes him. Zayn may not be angry or even willing to touch on the previous day's events, but Louis can see a bit of what he's doing; can recognize Zayn's minute acknowledgement as passive punishment.

Turning, Zayn passes a mug of tea to Louis before he wanders off to where his blank canvases are propped against the wall. "You can watch the telly or something," he calls over his shoulder. It's like Zayn speak for: sit and shut up.

"Will do," Louis relents as he curls up on the couch with his tea. He pulls his laptop onto his lap from where it got kicked under the piece of furniture.

"Good little delinquent," Zayn mumbles after a moment and a little bit of the tension eases from the room.

A faint smile tugs at Louis' lips as he signs into his account. The hiking trail maps are still on the screen from when they last used the device, and it takes a second for him to close all of the related windows. The only one left up is Niall's twitter page. Zayn must have used Louis' laptop before they started planning their weekend.

The top message posted last night from the NiallOfficial account reads: To everyone sending me messages - my best mate is in the hospital. I'll be back soon.

There's a photograph attached to the tweet and Louis clicks on the expansion link hesitantly. When the photo enlarges, it's a picture of Niall with his arm around Harry at the airport, and Harry's got an array of transportation splayed out like playing cards in his hand. Both of the boys have wide smiles on their faces and their eyes are bright.

Biting his bottom lip hard, Louis closes the window. He takes a sip of tea and flips on the television.

"Yesterday afternoon, the young man that was struck by a vehicle earlier this year was finally identified. He has been identified as twenty-one year old Manchester resident Harry Styles. The connection was made after Styles failed to reach his travel destination in Ireland and a friend reported him missing –"

Reaching over the back of the couch, Zayn grabs the remote and changes the channel. Cartoons fill the screen before he drops the remote on Louis' lap and returns to swiping paint across his canvas.

So, Louis watches animated television and cleans all of his former work projects off his laptop. He smokes through the cigarette that Zayn throws at the back of his head, and reviews some documents about potential tenants for his flat. He lets his thoughts wander; the image of Niall and Harry plagues the front of his mind.

When he finds himself searching through articles and medical journals about waking up coma patients, he merely lets out a pitiful breath. There's no conclusive data, but there are some instances where medicine circumstantially worked. Stilnox. Zolpidem. He briefly wonders if the doctors have tried those things for Harry, but pushes the notion away immediately because of course, they did. Still though, the words in all the articles have an air of hope.

Zayn may be passively punishing Louis, but he's outright continuing to give himself reasons to beat himself up.

Early in the afternoon, Zayn makes sandwiches for the both of them, and when Louis offers to help, he's quickly told to stay put. So, Louis does as he's told and remains confined to the corner of the couch.

The next two weeks follow a similar pattern. Louis occupies the couch and Zayn paints. The passive punishments only ease up as the days pass. Zayn ushers Louis about and urges him to look for a new job after he picks someone to lease out his former flat. Louis fills out applications for anything ranging from a barista to a bartender and even a bookkeeper (although he's not really sure that's what he thinks it is).

On one Sunday, Zayn emerges from the bedroom in a pair of black jeans and a tank top with sound waves spreading from one side of his chest to the other. "I'll be back in a couple hours, Lou," he announces over his shoulder as he walks toward the door and slings his backpack onto his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Louis questions as he lifts his head. The bruise on his face has almost completely faded away with only a patch of yellow skin remaining.

Hesitating, Zayn stops halfway to the door, "St. Luke's."

"Oh," Louis voices. He runs his fingers through his fringe. It's been recently dyed a violet hue even though there's really no reason to continue dying it anymore.

"Ms. Jane phoned me. She wanted to see if you and I were still volunteering. I told her I would stop by today," Zayn starts again. He takes a breath and falters before adding, "You can come if you want."

Glancing down at himself, Louis sets his laptop aside. "Just give me a minute, yeah?" he hurries. As quickly as he can, he changes into a more outside-the-flat appropriate look.

"Think you can handle other patients?" Zayn asks as they walk outside. His voice is careful and Louis wonders if Zayn really wants to tell him to stay home.

"If you can do it, then I'll be volunteer of the year," Louis tries to joke; wishes things weren't so strained between them.

With a noise from Zayn that could only be a pitying laugh, they make their way to the hospital. They take the elevator straight to the ninth floor, and Louis thinks of the last time he was here; of what happened only hours later.

Maybe I should have stayed home.

Forcing the thoughts away, Louis swallows hard as they step out onto the tile. The nurses greet them with weary smiles and small waves. Turning away from the hallway that he walked down so many times before, Louis begins to follow Zayn.

"Hey," someone calls from behind them.

Breath shuddering in his lungs, Louis is pulled to a stop by a hand that wraps firmly around his wrist. Zayn has already disappeared into one of the rooms that's only a step away. He should call out to him, but instead, he turns.

"I want to talk to you," Niall states. His face holds the same sleeplessness that it had so many days ago and his grip is tight.

"I – I'm really not here to bother you," Louis stammers. "I'm just – "

Shaking his head, the intensity of Niall's expression falls away. He releases Louis' wrist and flexes his fingers. "I..." he begins haltingly. After inhaling a frustrated breath, he amends, "Look, I'm sorry."

What?

"I shouldn't have hit you," Niall continues in a rush. His stare is determined and focused on Louis' face. "Harry's my best friend. Like my brother, you know?"

Nodding hesitantly, Louis tries to end the conversation, "I deserved it. Don't worry about it."

"That's the thing though, isn't it? You didn't," Niall denies. He flexes his fingers again like it's a nervous habit. "You made a mistake and you... You tried to own up to it. That's not something I would have been able to do," he laughs a little stiltedly, "I would have run; hopped on a plane to Belize or something. You've been here though. You didn't have to do any of that."

What is happening? Louis doesn't know what to say, so he merely looks dumbly back at Niall.

"Harry's mum and sister are here, but if you wanted, you could stop in," Niall offers with a gesture back down the hall. He takes a step back before inquiring, "And was that Zayn that you came in with?"

"Yeah?" Louis responds feeling a bit bewildered. Something akin to relief blooms in his lungs.

Nodding, Niall offers up a small smile, "Mind if I say hello?"

"Oh, um, sure," Louis agrees. He forces his feet to move toward the room Zayn vanished into.

Beside him, Niall falls into step easily. His blonde hair is tucked up into a backwards snapback with tufts flowing out the gap in the front. If Louis hadn't been punched by him previously, he might consider him to be charming.

"S – Sorry sweetheart," Louis apologizes when he peers into the room. "Mind if I borrow Zayn for a moment?"

The little girl on the bed merely smiles brightly, and Zayn tucks his book under his arm (it's a dusty copy of Rainbow Fish, one of Zayn's favorites). He walks back to the door with a look of 'I regret ever letting you leave the flat'. "What is it, Lou?" he asks after he closes the door behind himself.

Stepping out of the way, Louis motions blankly toward Niall. "Someone wanted to say hello," he coughs.

"Oh? Oh." Zayn almost drops his book.

"Hey," Niall greets with a dimmed grin.

Seemingly unsure of what to do with himself, Zayn offers his hand and bumbles, "So nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Niall laughs this time. He takes Zayn's hand and pulls him into a short hug before releasing him. "I'll have to get those drinks you mentioned sometime."

"Definitely," Zayn nods one too many times. "Whenever you want. Just, um, send me a message or something." There's a blush reddening his cheeks and if it weren't for the circumstances or all the things that Zayn has done for him, Louis would tease him outright.

Gesturing back to the room, Niall smiles again, "I'll let you get back to it, but I will definitely reach out to you about those drinks when I get the chance."

"Great, good – mmhmm, yeah," Zayn flounders. He casts a confused and mildly winded look at Louis before stumbling back into the room.

"And I should let you actually get started," Niall suggests as he lets out another much more uncomfortable laugh. As he turns on his heel and steps back down the hall, he tacks on, "But we could use some tea, too. If you get around to it."

Watching Niall walk away, Louis hauls in a long overdue breath. He eases himself into the thought of returning to Harry's room and coming face to face with Harry's family, but his fingers are beginning to twitch and there's the faintest itch beneath his skin. I shouldn't, he tells himself. So he ducks into a different patient room.

As he reads You are Special to a six year old boy with wavy brown hair, his rushing thoughts begin to slow to a steady, manageable lull. Then, he proceeds to play a round of blackjack with an elderly man in the next room.

When Louis finds himself meticulously making three cups of tea an hour later, he decides he should probably talk to Zayn about his entirely lacking ability to control his impulses. He doesn't stop himself though, doesn't let his thoughts warn him off of what he's about to do. Instead, he borrows a clipboard from the nurses' station and carries the cups of tea toward the one patient he hasn't visited in weeks.

Inside the dimly lit room sits a woman with long, dark hair and a younger woman with pale pink hair that flows over dainty shoulders. Their collective attention is on Niall who's on the opposite side of the bed seemingly trying to lift the grim atmosphere.

"Will you just go back to where you crawled out of already?" the young woman says around a playful huff. She rolls her eyes and Louis tries to think of her name. She looks so much like Harry. "You're annoying."

Gemma, Louis reminds himself. That means the other is his mum.

"Oh!" Niall exclaims when he notices Louis lingering in the doorway.

Nearly dropping the clipboard of tea, Louis manages a succinct, "Um."

The two women glance over at him, their expressions are curious.

Pushing up from his chair, Niall approaches Louis. He takes two of the cups and passess them out before returning to claim his own. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," he admits. "Anne, Gems, this is Louis," he introduces with a blow over his tea.

A brief look of understanding passes over Harry's mum's face. Gemma's green eyes narrow and whatever smile had graced her lips before has disappeared entirely.

Constricting, Louis' lungs struggle around a breath. "I just came to bring you some tea," he offers. He grips the clipboard tight like it might protect him – from what? He isn't sure.

"I hear you've been reading my baby brother books," Gemma cuts in. "Hopefully good ones."

"Harry never really was much of a reader, was he Gemma?" Anne muses as she reaches out to pat at Gemma's hand.

Taking a sip of her tea, Gemma tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not even sure he knows how," she chuckles. "Didn't he break up with that one guy because he always got mad if Harry didn't read the book before they watched the film adaptation?"

The women and Niall share a laugh. "God, Harry. You won't understand the symbolism if you don't read it first," the women recount together.

What the fuck is happening? Louis doesn't move; maybe it's the fear that he'll startle the trio into attacking him like they should.

"Are you going to sit down, love?" Anne questions after a moment. She lifts a dainty eyebrow as she looks up at him from her tea.

"He's not wearing pink, mum. Should we really let him?" Gemma queries with a coy tilt of her head as Niall returns to his chair.

Seeming to consider this, Niall taps at his cheek and asserts, "I think we should make an exception."

"That's coming from the boy that we don't even want here," Gemma snorts. She gestures to the last chair in the room before ordering, "Come on then, flower-top, we're waiting."

Fumbling a little and very out of his depth, Louis pulls up the spare chair beside Niall and sits obediently. He feels a bit like he's running on auto-pilot. He should take back the controls immediately, eject himself from this fever dream of a situation.

"You look very uncomfortable," Niall acknowledges.

"Sorry if we're making you feel that way," Anne apologizes.

Why are you apologizing to me? Louis doesn't know what to do with himself. A part of him feels like he should address the reason that he's here: their son, brother, friend on the bed. They couldn't have possibly forgotten or not realized. Where's Zayn when he needs him?

"I'm – I'm the one who should be apologizing," Louis voices. "How can you... How can you joke like this when he's right there?"

Silence settles around the room as Gemma crosses her legs at the knee. Her tone is much softer when she speaks, "We're just trying to make the best of an awful, unchangeable situation. Can't you understand that?"

Choking down any words he might have thought to be minutely sufficient before, Louis stills. "O – Of course," he stammers. He tangles his fingers together in his lap.

"It's okay," Niall assures. "They can be a bit weird, you know," he tacks on after a beat.

"Piss off," Gemma huffs with a roll of her eyes.

Settling back into his chair, Louis tries to be still as the conversation of strangers whirls around him.

"Why don't you tell us about you, Louis?" Anne suggests a beat later. Her stare is kind, so open when Louis expected something far more deserved: hatred.

Pushing his fingers through his hair, Louis nods quickly, "I, um, I'm twenty-three. I work for – used to work for a publishing company. I'm from Doncaster –"

"Relax, we don't want to date you," Niall interjects dryly.

"You used to work for a publishing company? That's interesting," Anne says as she finishes the last of her tea. "What happened to that?"

This. All of this happened and I forgot how to function. Louis runs his hands over the tops of his jeans before explaining, "I resigned a few weeks ago. There were a lot of things going on."

Nodding carefully, Anne's expression holds a look of understanding that's so much like Louis' own mum. "I'm sure that you will find something else soon," she assures kindly.

Please, don't give me that. I don't deserve that.

"May I ask you something?" Louis hesitates. When Anne nods noncommittally, he forces the words out, "What have they told you about..." He makes a small gesture toward Harry's unmoving presence.

Clasping her hands together over the hem of her dress, Anne's stare falls on her son. "He suffered severe head trauma and a hemorrhage. A few broken ribs," she explains around a soft inhale and her eyes are sad. "The ribs have healed by now, of course. The neurologist told us that his brain is still functioning and aside from one cardiac episode, he's fairly healthy. We're just playing a game of waiting now."

"Harry has always loved making people wait on him." Niall laughs, but the sound isn't nearly as bright as it was moments ago.

Gemma hums her agreement.

After a brief pause, Anne speaks again, her voice quiet and sincere as she looks over at Louis. "We forgive you, do you know that?"

Freezing up, Louis' heart hiccups against his ribs. He blinks hard against the tears that threaten to well up in his eyes. "I really am so sorry," he wetly tells her.

Smiling gently, Anne affirms, "I know."

"Harry will be okay," Gemma adds although it sounds like she might not believe the words herself. "My baby brother's a tough kid."

Hand coming to rest on Louis' shoulder, Niall squeezes him lightly before he drops it back into his own lap. "So what name do you like better anyway? Louis or Matty?"

With a cough, Louis sniffles through a laugh.

For the next hour or so, Louis sits with Harry's family and Niall. He learns that Gemma's a law student, that Anne is quite in love with her cat, and Niall is in the process of signing with some big name label. It feels very surreal and Louis doesn't know what to do with any of it. When he excuses himself, it's only to meet Zayn for lunch and an odd renewed sense of hope has warmed him to his core.

There's a new post on Niall's twitter when they get back to the flat, and Zayn shows it to Louis while they share a box of steamed rice and mandarin chicken. It reads:

'Someone once told me "forgiveness is a gift you give yourself." He was right.'

"So, how was that anyway?" Zayn asks as he drops his phone beside him.

"Weird," Louis admits around a mouthful of rice. A warmth has settled low in his chest. "I don't know. Nice?"

Leaning down to his box, Zayn spears a piece of chicken before popping it in his mouth. "Well, good."

"Niall's the one who asked me to introduce him to you, you know. I didn't suggest it," Louis segues quickly away from the topic that he's not sure he wants to discuss.

Nearly choking on his chicken, Zayn manages a, "Oh."

"Mm," Louis hums. "I approve."

"Oh, do you now," Zayn grumbles with a raised eyebrow.

Lifting a shoulder and dropping it, Louis smiles a little. Maybe he's feeling up to teasing for the first time in a while. "I think he's going to be rich soon. He could handle feeding you."

"Fuck off," Zayn huffs as he stuffs a forkful of vegetables into Louis' mouth.

Before Louis falls asleep that evening, he phones his mum. He tells her how much he misses her, and that he loves her repeatedly until she laughs. His mum walks the phone around to each of the girls and he assures him that he'll be back to see them soon. None of them ask about his visit two weeks ago, and for that he's eternally grateful. As sleep weighs down on him, he relays the story of The Giving Tree to the twins. His mum lets him know when they've fallen asleep and he reminds her once more that he loves her; that he's okay before he says goodbye.

The days pass easily after that. Zayn and Louis stop by the hospital only on a few occasions for visits (Zayn has been insisting that Louis work on boundaries). Louis gets a job at a dusty bookshop and Zayn goes out for drinks with Niall. Louis even gets his license back after appearing before a judge. He doesn't think he'll be driving again anytime soon, but still, it happens. Three weeks into April, the boys finally move their things into a new flat and things are oddly pleasant.

The second week in May, on a Wednesday, it's storming heavily, and Louis leaves the bookshop with a stack of books he's been hoarding tucked carefully beneath his raincoat. Zayn is selling a few of his pieces, if his most recent, vague text is any indication – 'denim mustache creep is inquiring about another one'. So he takes his time walking back to the hospital, today is a day Zayn has allotted for him to visit, and even picks up some banana bread and freshly brewed tea. Despite the torrential downpour, he makes it there just fine.

A heavy sigh of relief escapes him when he finally manages to get inside. "Afternoon, Lisa," Louis greets the receptionist as he passes and climbs into the elevator. He pushes the hood of his coat away from his hair and runs his fingers through his dampened bangs as he juggles his books and the loaf of banana bread. The lift dings until the door opens on the ninth.

Smiling over the counter of the nurse's desk, Ms. Jane waves him on toward Harry's room.

As he approaches the room, Louis can see that Gemma and Anne aren't there. The lights are off and the blinds are pulled closed, but there is something definitely different today. When Louis steps into the doorway, he's met with a pair of green eyes that stare straight back at him. They're bright even without the light on them. He startles and nearly drops his things. "Y – You," he stammers.

A quiet, curious smile spreads over Harry's face as he lifts a finger to his mouth to hush Louis. His curls are mussed up from from months of lying flat against the pillows, but he's definitely – fuck, he's awake. Harry gestures to Niall as reasoning for being silent.

When Louis manages to shift his gaze, he notices that Niall is asleep with his hand propping up his chin. There's a note taped to his t-shirt: we went out for lunch. Be back soon. Kisses - Gemma. He quickly looks back at Harry, still not moving from the doorway. He's imagined this many times, but never like this.

Motioning for Louis to come closer, Harry points vaguely at the drinks in his grasp. When Louis doesn't budge, he touches his slender fingers to his throat and coughs quietly before gesturing for the drinks again.

It takes a moment, but Louis slowly maneuvers his way into the room. He pulls one of the cups of tea from the tray and holds it out to Harry. His hands are shaking.

Harry is awake.

With a grateful look, Harry plucks the cup from his hand and pops off the top. He takes a long drink before whispering in a syrupy, low voice, "Thank you."

Louis doesn't know what to do with himself, but surely there is something he should do. Like maybe he should wake Niall or find a way to phone Anne. Should he get Ms. Jane? There are things that need to be done, right?

"Are you okay?" Harry questions through a gravelly voice. His eyebrows dip together in confusion.

Excuse me? What? "Are you?" Louis asks back a little bewildered.

Tilting his head, Harry looks down at himself in appraisal before shrugging. "I think so?"

What the fuck is happening? Louis thinks not for the first time this year.

Shifting his focus away from Louis, Harry picks up the lid of the cup where he discarded it on the sheets. For a moment, Louis thinks he's going to ask him to throw it away, but no, he throws it at Niall's face instead.

Stirring slowly, Niall's nose scrunches up before he squints his eyes open. He looks down at the offending lid first then at Harry. He startles so hard that he nearly falls out of his chair. "Harry!" he exclaims as he shoves up from the seat.

"Why aren't you wearing a coat? Isn't it cold? Speaking of, where's my coat? Did I lose it?" Harry queries curiously.

An exasperated and partly astonished look overcomes Niall's face as he throws himself onto Harry. He wraps him up tightly and the tea spills over onto the sheets. "Harry –"

"You're making it look like I've pissed myself," Harry says around a mouthful of blonde hair. "Still wondering about the coat."

"God, fuck, it's May, Harry," Niall explains as he pulls back. He doesn't let go of Harry's shoulders for a long while. "I've got to call your mum and Gemma and Laine and fuck, dude. You're awake!"

A furrow settles between Harry's brows again. "May?" he repeats incredulously to himself as he glances around the room before settling on looking at Louis.

Pulling away, Niall goes into a fervent search for his phone.

"I..." Louis starts, but he's unsure of how to finish. He bumbles a little and grips the beverages and banana bread tighter in his hands. "I hit you with my car," is what he settles on, and God, he's an idiot.

Dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, Harry moves the mostly empty cup away from his lap. He looks over Louis' face searchingly. "You did?" he eventually asks.

"I hit you with my car and you were in a coma," Louis tells him, and why can't he stop talking? His muscles are stiff and everything is moving so slowly.

"Coma," Harry repeats the word and glances down at the tea stained sheets on his lap. He ruffles his curls and pushes them away from his face before looking back at Niall.

A tear drops off Louis' cheek and soaks into his already damp shirt. When did he start crying? "I'm – I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Harry," he breathes.

Fear and uneasiness cross Harry's face as he glances at the rest of the room. An understanding of Louis' words appears to settle in and he nods briefly. He touches his curls again, but doesn't speak.

"Your mum and Gemma are on their way back. They'll be here soon," Niall announces as he turns back toward them.

"I'll just – I'll leave these here," Louis says quickly as he sets the items he brought down on the seat of a chair. He exits the room before Niall can reply, and stumbles into the elevator. He sends a quick text to Zayn that vaguely tells him that Harry's awake, and he doesn't know if he's feeling relief or nausea crawling its way out of his stomach.

Harry's awake.