Butterflies & Hurricanes || l.s

Chapter 8

They park Louis' car in the London Urgent Care parking lot of the hospital while buckets of rain actively pour down around them. The droplets pound against the roof of the car, echoing like bullet fire. It only adds to the tense mood, with Harry silently staring out of the foggy window for the duration of the ride.

Louis tried multiple times to ask what was wrong and to ensure Harry was okay, only to receive shrug after shrug, his teary eyes never meeting Louis' worried ones. Harry's eyelashes look longer than ever as they get out of the car and promptly run to the front doors, a mix of rain and tears clinging to them like morning dew.

Their shoes squeak on the polished tile floors when they step inside, their hair dripping onto the floor. As expected, the main lobby and waiting area smell horribly of sterilization chemicals and the distinctive 'hospital smell' that makes Louis' stomach uneasy. He's never been a fan of hospitals, but if Harry needs someone to go with him, Louis will suck it up and do what needs to be done.

A woman in a cream-colored blouse sits at the front desk, peering through her thick-framed glasses at them as they squeak their way over to her. Both of the boys discarded their suit coats in the back of Louis' car, with Harry now wearing a simple white button-up that's practically see-through from the rain. Louis' black button-up is equally drenched, but still a solid black.

He plans to flag down a nearby nurse or an assistant to get Harry a blanket so he can stay warm. The poor boy is shivering like mad, and Louis doesn't want him to freeze to death.

"When we check-in, if the lady asks for someone over 18, that's you, okay? Whatever I say, just go with it," Harry whispers, finally breaking the silence. Confused, Louis nods his head and lets Harry lead the way to the check-in area.

"Hi, boys. How can we help you today?"

"Hi, yeah, um, I need to see a doctor," Harry fumbles with the things in his pocket, eventually pulling out an ID and insurance card. "You do that, right?" He sounds flustered and panicked, and Louis takes a step closer to him, gently placing his own steady hand onto the small of Harry's back so he'll stay calm. Deep breaths, Harry.

Louis gulps down his own anxiety, hoping Harry doesn't notice. After all, he doesn't even know why they're here, but clearly, something is wrong. Louis doesn't like it one bit.

"Yes, we have doctors. That's what we're here for, aren't we?" She laughs lightly, but it isn't returned. Frowning, she looks back at her computer screen, reading the room. "Your insurance all looks good, but I just have a few questions before we can admit you," she tells him. Her fingers are poised above the keyboard, ready to start typing as she asks Harry basic questions.

"Your name?"

"Harry Styles."

"Age and birthday?"

"17. February 1."

"And what brings you here today?" she asks, and based on the tensing of Harry's body that Louis can feel beneath his hand, it's a brick of a question. Louis sucks in a breath, eyes snagged on Harry's face, waiting to see what he's going to say. Unconsciously, he rubs small circles in Harry's back, willing him to relax.

"A neck injury," is all he says, casting his gaze downwards just like the curve of his lips. She nods, typing away.

"And do you have a legal parent or guardian here with you today?"

Harry turns slowly to Louis, nudging his Vans with his boot. That's his cue.

"Yeah, he does," Louis clears his throat, fishing around in his own pants pockets until he finds his ID. "Louis Tomlinson."