Chapter Text
“Fuck! Mm, shit — fuck. Oh, god. Fuck.”
“Louis, mate, you alright?”
He was most certainly not alright. Louis was on the ground clutching his right arm, curling in on himself and swearing, face gone ghostly white as he panted.
“I’m— I, fuck, ow.” He couldn’t get out a full sentence when the blinding pain was limiting his vocabulary. “Arm.”
Someone came over and tried to lift him by the shoulders, but he cried out and slapped them away as hard as he could with his good hand. The flash of pain that accompanied their touch dizzied him, and before he knew it he was unconscious, falling from his seated position to slump on the ground, his back hitting the pavement with a solid smack. His cheeks were tapped enough that he roused within seconds, but he wished he’d stayed under forever. The return of the stabbing in his arm made him nauseous, and he tried so hard to push whichever friend it was out of the way so he could roll to his good side. He wasn’t strong enough, so he got sick all down his shirt instead. So many voices surrounded him, but he wasn’t sure how to respond to any of them.
“Get him up, he’ll choke. Hey, Louis, are you with us?”
“I — ah, fuckin’, ow — I need ‘elp,” he coughed out, his head whirling and throat burning, but the agonising pain in his arm overtook any other possible discomfort. “Need H.”
“Mate, he’s not here. What the fuck’re we s’posed to do? Who’s got his number? How can we help y— oh, shit.”
The increased pain brought back the whirling nausea, and Louis continued being sick… or at least trying to, once his muscles grew too weak to follow through with more than wrenching coughs. The motion of his torso as he bent over rocked his arm which made it hurt worse which made him feel nauseous which made him get sick which rocked his arm which made it hurt worse which made him feel nauseous which made him get sick which rocked his arm…
“Jesus, we need to get you to a hospital, Louis. Anyone call for an ambulance yet? We’ll get y’looked at, mate, don’t worry.”
Normally, Louis would deny any hospital care. Not only did he hate the sterile smell of the patient rooms, but he didn’t want to be spotted when he was in such a vulnerable state. Bad enough that there was a crowd around him now, why not kick up even more of a fuss with even more people and even more questions and fuck where was his husband?
“Don’care wh’ y’do. Jus’call ‘arry.”
Just as distant sirens grew closer, someone’s drunken hands dug around his pocket to fish out his phone. It was shoved sloppily into his functional hand, but before Louis could even get it unlocked, he was bombarded by the too-bright lights atop a massive ambulance that pulled over by the group.
He couldn’t answer questions. He was in so much pain that he hardly knew his own name, but what he did know was how to navigate to the little green square on his screen that held his one chance at contacting comfort.
“Hi, darling.” Harry’s voice had some vibrance behind it when he picked up the call—far healthier than he’d sounded when Louis left his still-ill love behind for New York City. That flu wouldn’t quit, but it seemed that Harry was finally bouncing back. “How was the show?”
“Hi, H.” Louis was out of breath, and he couldn't match the audible grin in Harry’s voice, still buzzing from post-show energy until his inevitable post-flu crash.
“You just run another race or something?” Harry noticed that Louis was outside, and after raising the brightness on his screen, he could see a sheen of sweat visible on his skin due to the flashing lights in the vicinity. “Where’re you at?”
“Eh, I-I, erm,” he trailed off, gasping when one of the EMTs adjusted his body.
“Lou?”
“Ibrokemearm,” spilt out of him before he clenched his teeth against the manipulation of his torso. “Fuck, shit.”
“You what?” Harry wasn’t sure if it was all a big joke, what with his own off-handed comment about Louis’ past clumsiness.
“Arm. S’broke bad.”
When Louis broke his elbow, Harry was the one who panicked. This time, the tables had turned. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn’t a running-into-the-wall type situation, and he felt his mouth go dry at the helpless look on Louis’ clammy face.
“How’d you—”
“Hurts, baby.” For Louis to be so fully unguarded, to whimper and tear up in front of anyone but him, especially his friends—that really communicated the gravity of the situation. Harry heard some voices in the background that seemed to be clearing away the group for Louis’ privacy, since the chatter decreased significantly. The lack of what Harry could only assume was Louis’ drunken friends meant that he could hear his husband’s little pants as he tried to hold himself together.
“Shit, babe. I can— I’ll get on a plane. I can be there soon, Lou, but you gotta tell me where you are.”
“Hurts. It’urts, H.” Tears began to fall, no longer able to be embarrassed by how desperate he was, how few words he could remember when his vision was riddled with black spots. “Baby.”
“Okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart. You can do this. Take a big breath, just like you tell me, no? Good job, good job. How about anoth— oh, shit, Louis.” Harry grimaced when his husband cried out in pain again upon being lifted to a stretcher. He immediately leaned over to the side to throw up, and Harry just barely caught the splatter on the concrete below.
Louis could still hear Harry, yes, but he couldn’t hear him. He wasn’t responding coherently to any of Harry’s questions, the stabbing pain causing him to lose focus on anything around him and provide nothing more than desperate pleas for his baby to do something, anything. He could cling to whatever familiar sounds came from his phone for support, but processing them correctly was far more difficult.
“Hey, angel, who’s with you?” Thankfully, Louis did answer that question. He stuttered out Oli, and Harry nodded. “Okay, thank you, love. Good job, Lou. He around?”
Harry heard a vague greeting from the man off-screen, and the knot in his stomach loosened a bit with the knowledge that Louis’ most trusted friend seemed to be standing guard at his side.
“You wanna give me to him quick? Promise I’ll be right back for you, I promise.”
The phone was shakily passed over, and Harry cut the video.
“This is bad, mate,” Oli mumbled, phone to his ear as he turned away from Louis. “I seen him do a lot of dumb shit, but he never ends up like this.”
“What even happened?”
“I-I didn’t see it, but he’s not exactly sober. Biffed it on the stairs is my guess. It wasn’t even that steep, but if he lost footin’…” Oli seemed to have a reasonable level of concern and lucidity for someone who was clearly a few drinks deep. “Ended up on the pavement, somethin’ snapped. Only had a drink or two, though, so I dunno what went wrong.”
Harry sighed and pursed his lips to keep from saying something he’d regret. That wasn’t helpful, why was nobody being helpful? Why was Louis on the other end of a pointlessly large country, and why was Harry not there at his husband’s fucking side? Neither of the men had seen Louis reaching out, trying to tap his friend’s back. He was too far away to reach, and they didn’t hear the man’s pathetic begging with the medics for his phone—he needed his phone and his husband, please give him back to Harry—before the wheels on the stretcher unlocked and began to roll him away.
“Hand me to him, please. Camera on, if you can.”
“Yeah, of c— oi! Wait, fuck, Louis. Hold it—” There was a rustling and indistinct talking, but the next voice in his ear wasn’t Louis.
“Harry, I-I’m sorry. They got him in, literally jus’ drove off. I’m— fuck, m’so sorry.”
Oli never thought he could be scared by silence, but his palms began to sweat as he waited for a response.
“Just get to my husband,” Harry snarled. “Now, Oliver.”
“O-okay. Yeah, right. I’ll update you on everythin’.”
“You fucking better.”
“And why won’t they let you in?”
“I dunno. I truly don’t know.”
“Well, how long’s it been since he got there?”
“…An hour, maybe more? I mean, I got here at one-somethin’, but he came in the ambulance, so. They can’t tell me where he is ‘cos m’not family and we didn’t come in together. Won’t give me updates, m’honestly not sure.” Oli sounded sober enough now that Harry believed he’d tried his best, but being tipsy was no excuse for a lack of determination in Harry’s eyes. If it were him, he’d be pushing and pushing until someone gave in and led him back to Louis, no matter how long it took.
“Well I’m family, so how ‘bout you find someone who is sure and pass me along to them, hm? Critical thinking skills.”
After some indistinct conversation, Harry heard Oli from a distance, mutterings from which he could only make out Tomlinson…bulance, and I’ve no idea where…ou don’t understand, his par…lifornia for work…real upset and…nda scary, mate, please jus…inute of your time or…will flay me alive.
Damn right he would.
It seemed like he wouldn’t have to, though, since he was greeted with (reasonably) good news.
“Right, eh, I got a nurse on for you.” Harry had no response to that; he just waited until a new voice was on the line.
“So, what’s the problem exactly?” She sounded confused, and Harry didn’t blame her; it wasn’t likely that she was approached by nervous visitors claiming their lives were at risk over a phone call every shift.
“That’s what I want to know. What’s going on? What are they doing to him? I-I just need to know if he’s alright, please.”
“I’m really not at liberty to provide details of Mr Tomlinson’s situation to anyone but his immediate family without his express permission.” His desperation didn’t seem to sway her and, as admirable as it was for her to follow the ethics of her profession, Harry wouldn’t have any of it.
“For fuck’s sake, I’m his husband, alright?”
Contract broken.
What a shame.
“He’s, um, he doesn’t…” she trailed off, not finishing her thought, and Harry fumed. If only she could see the look on his face. Fully setting off his temper was difficult to do, but from what he’d been told about himself, she wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the glare he was giving the wall in front of him.
“I’m sorry, are you questioning me right now?”
“N-no. No, it’s just that—”
“‘Cos it seems like you’re makin’ some assumptions here that I find incredibly unprofessional.”
“No, I didn’t mean to be—”
Treat People With Kindness was thrown out the window. It wasn’t that he was grossly unkind, but he was stressed and exhausted and aching to comfort his boy, so he wasn’t holding much space for a respectful explanation.
“You think you know him just ‘cos you know his name? You know nothing. I’m the immediate family, I’m the next-of-kin, I’m the bloody emergency contact. Any of those words ring a bell to you?”
“Yeah, I’m familiar, but—”
“No. There’s no but. How can I trust you to treat him now that I know you’re all in his business? Y’know what — if you won’t tell me what I need to know, put me on the phone with my husband. Now, please.”
“There are rules that—”
“Give me six hours, and I’ll walk right through those doors and break rules you haven’t even written yet. I’m holding on by a thread here and unless you’d like things to get nasty, I’m begging you to please give my husband his goddamn phone before I hit the roof.”
“Right. I… can I, um—” she was clearly in a bind, not sure which consequences would be worse: a HIPAA violation or a furious husband on the verge of a mental break, “—could I get your name? To confirm with him?”
“Seems you already know,” Harry scoffed, still incredibly agitated by the knowledge that Louis might be in the hands of people who treated him like Louis Tomlinson, not a patient with an agonising injury and a loving husband who he so desperately needed by his side.
“Yes, yeah. Alright. I’ll get you to him.”
“Quickly, please.”
“Of course, Mr Styles. I’m sorry.”
11:16 Don’t let her set foot near my Louis
I don’t care how you do it but I swear to god Oliver I’ll kill you if you don’t
Oli Wright:
11:17 got it handled mate, they took his phone
you’re terrifying
11:17 Good
~ Incoming Call: L~
“Louis, baby, are you alright? What’s going on?” Though he promised himself he’d keep calm, he found himself teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack. He would rather die than force Louis into a caretaking position while he was the one in need of steadiness, so he fiddled with his ring and used his breathing techniques to keep himself centred.
“H, they got questions an’ I dunno what… I-I need you.”
“What do you need, my love?” Harry’s brow furrowed and his chest shattered upon realising that Louis wasn’t the calm, level-headed man he always tried to be in a hospital room when the tables were turned. His response was nothing more than a grunt and mumbled m’usband, and he must have tilted the phone toward someone who seemed to be in charge.
“We’re having trouble with some of the intake information, if you’d be able to help?”
“Yeah…yeah, of course,” Harry stuttered, now forced to believe all of this was really happening with the proof that Louis was in a room surrounded by complete strangers. His stomach sank, and he had to do his best not to lose his cool, for Louis’ sake.
“Any past surgeries or procedures?”
“Fractured the right elbow back in, erm… in April. Not really surgery, so I dunno if it counts. Got bad luck with that arm, think he broke the wrist… twice? That right, Lou? Yeah, twice as a kid. God, erm, anything el— wisdom teeth! Had those out last year in spring, I think? Don’t think there’s more.”
“Significant medical history?”
Harry was blanking. He should know everything about Louis, but in his shock, he was absolutely blank. How does Louis do it, he wondered, but he must have memorised the arsenal of questions by now what with the number of times he’d taken Harry to a doctor or hospital for over a decade. When Harry was near-delirious, distraught, or asleep, someone needed to be responsible for him, and Louis could so easily spout off Harry’s information while he lay dazed and feverish on the same stiff bed that supported Louis in all the places he wished he could touch.
“N-no. I don’t think so. Pretty healthy lately, ‘sides the elbow.”
“Any medications?”
“No, none.” Harry knew that one for sure, so he felt like less of a floundering arse.
“Think he got the rest down. Anything else we should know?”
“Erm, he’s a big smoker, dunno if that matters.”
He heard Louis’ little babe, irritated that Harry brought up his habit in a way that seemed accusatory.
“Sorry, love, but you know it’s not good for you.” When a new set of hands helped to manipulate his shoulder, Louis cried out. Harry felt like he could be sick on the spot. Though he couldn’t see what it was that brought his boy so much pain, it didn’t matter. Pain is pain, and Harry wasn’t there to kiss it all away. “God, Lou, do you want me to leave right now? I can ask, see if there’s any way—”
“Want. Need you, Harry, please.” Louis was begging, and it was undoubtedly caused by the fact that he could hear his love again, so close but so damn far away.
To give him a little something to latch onto, Harry started his video. When Louis reciprocated, Harry was confronted with a heartbreaking sight. Sweaty, pallid, and wide-eyed with fear, Louis’ expression made Harry want nothing more than to sprint state-over-state to get to him.
“I-I’ll see what I can do, my love. Christ, Louis, how’d you get like this?”
His chalky face paled even further, so Harry didn’t press the subject, not wanting to upset his stomach again. Whatever was going on with his examination was causing him excruciating pain, and Harry needed to find a way to make up for his inability to stroke a hand down his husband’s cheek and comb through his hair and make it all better because fuck, I need to make it better.
“Okay, alright. Let’s not talk about that. How ‘bout we… sit with Cliff, hm? See your baby?” Harry stood from his place in the kitchen and whistled for the dog. He came bounding up in seconds, and Harry led him to settle on the sofa. Louis relaxed the slightest bit when he saw his fluffy boy on screen.
“Cliffy,” Louis whispered. His tears fell at a much slower pace, and his eyes were no longer flickering between the screen and his arm. They focused solely on Harry and Clifford, the only two things in that room that could possibly make him feel better, pain medicine included.
“Aw, he’s so excited to see you, love. Look at that tail go! Hey, stinky, how ‘bout we tell your daddy what we did this morning. That sound good, Lou? A little distraction?”
Louis nodded, desperate to hear anything Harry had to say, whether or not he would be able to take it in properly through his addled brain. The animated story about how Clifford dragged himself through a muddy patch of grass, dirtying the fur all up his legs and requiring a long bath was a decent distraction, but another shifting of his shoulder caused him to whimper. Looking down, Louia saw scissors cutting off the sleeve of his cardigan to grant them access to his injury. The t-shirt could stay, he was told, but the rest had to go, and it was safer to remove the fabric than move him that drastically. He was fully sobbing again by then, and he wished he could hide his face without setting Harry down, but considering his husband would need to be pried out of his cold, dead hands, that wasn’t an option. He settled for tucking into his good shoulder and letting himself go.
“No, Lou — oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, love. Everything’ll be alright, I promise you. I promise.”
“Cuttin’ me cardigan,” he informed Harry, absolutely losing it when the gift from his husband was destroyed without a second thought.
“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you a thousand more, lovely, so please don’t cry over it. It’s an easy fix, right? I can order one tonight, no problem.”
“B-but I like this one.” Louis had no previous emotional attachment to that specific garment, but it was from Harry. It was from his Harry and he needed his Harry. They took away the one thing that held him together, the one fucking thing on him that tied him to Harry, and where was his husband where was Harry he needed Harry I need Harry I need Harry I need my Harry.
“I know you do, but I’ll fix everything, my love. That’s a problem I can solve, so you just put it right out your mind.” There was no need for all of the tears, but Harry knew there was no chance of stopping them. “I’m so sorry I’m not there. I’d do anything to be at your side, but for now, I’m right here. You got me in the palm of your hand.”
“Want your hand,” Louis mumbled, still sniffling over his cardigan that Harry gave me where is Harry I need Harry. “M’scared, H.”
For Louis to openly admit that? Harry was scared too.
“It’s alright to be scared. And I know it’s not the same, but you got Oli out there, don’t you? Bet he’d hold your hand if you asked.”
“M’not alone?”
“Certainly not alone. All you gotta do is say you want him in. They can bring him back for you right now, darling.”
11:48 Should be letting you in soon
Please be gentle with him he’s so upset
I’m begging you just hold his hand please
Oli Wright:
11:49 yeah anything he needs
It was a nail-biting hour before Louis’ contact came up on Harry’s screen again. He didn’t want to hover, but he so wanted to hover. As anxious as he was, he needed to trust Oli. If there was an issue, Oli would call. He knew that. He’ll call if he needs me… but didn’t Louis already need him? Why wasn’t he resting atop Louis’ pillow, camera angled to face him and watch over him for endless hours?
The moment Harry saw his home screen change, he took the call without a moment to waste.
“Hi, love. You hanging in there?”
“Princ’ss,” Louis slurred, his tears long-stopped to show their resulting red eyes and pink nose. “Th’gave m’the good stuff. Don’ feel nothin’ n’more.”
Tears pricked Harry’s eyes at the thought of how serious that break must be. It must be looking truly grim if he needed high-level pain medication like that, and he knew how anxious Louis got about having an IV stuck in him, regardless of whether or not he let it show. Did he have a hand to squeeze while the needle wiggled around under his skin? Did anyone remind him to look away while it was inserted, turning his head into their chest and shielding his eyes comfortingly? Who would be the one to stroke a thumb on his forehead when catching a glimpse of it made him nauseous and ask the nurses to cover it up and quell that small part of his discomfort?
“That’s-that’s good, Lou. M’glad you’re not hurting anymore.” Harry wished he was the one to take away the pain, not drugs pushed through his husband’s veins.
Someone in the background said something about x-rays. It was so frustrating to be able to hear just enough of those conversations to feel involved, but not enough to get the full picture of anything. Whatever it was seemed to agitate Louis, and he visibly tensed up.
“No. Won’do it. Don’touch me.” He was weak and didn’t have a free hand to defend himself what with Harry in his left and shattered bones above the right, so he was forced to thrash around on the bed so that nobody could keep hold of him, not quite kicking due to his drug-induced sloppy coordination, but he certainly wasn't keeping his legs still.
“Hey, Lou, don’t fight. You’ll hurt yourself.” If Louis truly couldn’t feel anything, he would most certainly cause more damage while he resisted treatment.
“Fuck off,” he snarled to one of the people off-camera. “G’way.”
“Louis,” Harry said sternly, and the man turned his foggy attention back to his phone. “Get your x-rays done, please.”
“Nuh uh. Th’tryna take y’way fr’m me. Need m’sunshine.”
“I can be here once you’ve finished up, I promise, but you need to cooperate with them.”
“Don’wanna,” he whined, sounding like a child on the verge of a tantrum.
“Lou, please? For me? Just be good for me, please, my love.” Damn, is this what it’s like to handle me? Harry made a note to be more cooperative with his care, though he wasn’t likely to remember by the time he was in that deep anyway.
“F’you,” Louis finally relented, and he was instructed to leave the phone in the room. “L’you b’by.”
“Love you forever, angel.”
And Harry hung up the call, the fingers of one hand buried in the fur of his husband’s dozing dog while the others lost their grip on his phone, dropping it to his lap when they began to tremble.
Harry hardly slept that night, rousing every hour to check his phone for notifications that never came. By the time five rolled around, he gave up on trying to get any more rest.
5:15 Updates??
5:17 ?
5:26 ???
Oli Wright:
5:27 doctor’s checking in real soon. around 8
you’ll be the first to know mate
xray if you want to see?
5:28 You really have to ask?
Send it I need to know
When Harry’s phone pinged again, he almost fainted. Seeing his boy’s bone cracked into three pieces made him want to sob. He wanted to scream, to lose his shit and give his husband’s friends a piece of his mind, but he knew what Louis would say. He knew Louis would insist that it was an accident, his own mistake that couldn’t have been prevented by his mates who weren’t expected to be watching out for him every moment of the night—or at any moment, to be fair. They were all grown adults, they didn’t need to be looked after. Harry would have looked after him, though, and then maybe he wouldn’t have to be lightheaded in his bed staring at a photo of his poor Louis’ skeleton.
5:31 Fuck
Lou awake or no
Oli Wright:
5:31 medicine’s strong. he’s been out of it since after the scans
might be up, hard to tell
Hard to tell? How could Oli not know? Why wasn’t his husband being dutifully monitored at every moment? In what world did it seem like a good idea for Oli to take his eyes off Louis for a single second? What if he needed a sip of water, or what if the IV-delivered medicine gave him strange dreams the way it often did for Harry, or what if he just wanted to feel the warmth of another body at his side? Nobody would give Louis the attentive care he so deserved, and Harry was on the verge of angry tears.
Angry with Oli.
Angry with the hospital.
Angry with New York.
Angry with the fucking stairs.
Angry with himself.
He should be there.
~Incoming Facetime: L~
“Good morning, my love. How’s that arm?”
“Shit,” Louis mumbled with a long sigh. “Y’look nice, though.”
“Mm. Just woke up, m’still in bed.” His voice was proof of that, its deep rasp scratching his words and washing a wave of familiar comfort over Louis.
“Yeah. S’me favourite.” He managed a little smile, and Harry’s dimples grew to match. “Sleep well?”
“You know I couldn’t,” Harry responded fondly when Louis asked the question he certainly already knew the answer to.
“Worry too much,” he mumbled, turning pink on his cheekbones with the attention, finally getting a sliver of the attention he craved.
“I think m’justified in worrying over a bone that broken. What even happened?”
“I fell, H.”
“No, I know that, but—”
“I really don’t wanna talk ‘bout it right now. That alright?” He looked pale again, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was make his husband black out in his hospital bed.
“Yeah, but… later?” Louis nodded with another tired smile that made Harry swoon. “Hey, when’ll you be out? It’s been what, six hours? Seven hours? Want to book a ticket to see you, but I doubt I can be with you in there without triggering a PR nightmare.”
When Harry saw Louis look off to the side, presumably at his friend, and swallow hard, his stomach twisted the slightest bit.
“Why’ve they not released you yet?” Louis licked his lips and stared blankly at his screen as if Harry had put himself on mute. “Louis, what’s going on?”
“Can’t, eh, y’can’t come.”
“Why’s that? I’ll cancel the show tonight, fly to you.”
“H, you can’t do that,” Louis said, an ache in his voice that had nothing to do with the never-ending throbbing of his right side.
“I’m still not feeling fully well, I can make an excuse f—”
“M’gettin’ surgery,” he blurted out, cutting Harry off and sounding on the verge of tears. “Needs surgery. Makin’ me stay through tomorrow, maybe the next morning.”
Harry knew Louis wasn’t particularly fond of hospitals, and it was so rare for him to be the patient rather than the caretaker. He was usually the pillar of support for Harry, not the one being poked and prodded and admitted overnight. Everything must have been so incredibly overwhelming for the man, and the air was knocked out of Harry.
“…What?”
“Surgery. Y’know, when they cut you open and shit.” Louis tried to sound like his normal, casual self, but Harry could hear more than clearly the wavering of his voice.
“When’d you, erm, when’d you hear about this?”
“Early mornin’.”
“And I wasn’t informed because…?” His tone was flat and his nostrils flared, something which didn’t go unnoticed by Louis even on the small screen.
“I told him not t’tell you. Please, H, don’t be like this. I—” his voice caught in his throat, “—I wanted to tell you.”
He was starting to tear up, and Harry felt awful for responding the way he did. He shouldn’t have taken it personally because this is about Louis, damn it, this is all about Louis and now I’ve gone and upset him and I’m not even there to give him an apology kiss.
“Okay, baby. Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”
“M’so scared.” The whisper was hardly audible, clearly only meant for his husband’s ears, and Harry managed to pick it up.
“I know you are, angel. This, fuck, this is terrible, I’m so sorry. Everything will be alright, though. They know what they’re doing, they’ll fix you right up, and we’ll move along from there.”
Sniffling and biting his lip, it looked like Louis was doing everything to hold back tears and on the verge of failing in the endeavour. Quickly swiping his thumb up his screen to move Louis’ face, Harry typed as fast as he could.
5:40 Could you give us some space please
He heard the opening and closing of a door in the distance as Oli left them alone, and when Louis looked back to see that there was nobody but himself and Harry in the room, he let himself cry.