Broken (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 15

Louis had another panic attack before their concert in Belfast the next night. Harry was watching out for him, and noticed a glazed look come over Louis' face soon after the stage manager gave them twenty minutes. He was pulling at his collar again--this time he was wearing a collared shirt, the buttons done all the way up to his neck, as usual. That wouldn't be helping, thought Harry. He was just about to go over when Louis bolted from the room. Shit. Where was Paul? He wasn't anywhere to be seen. No one had apparently noticed Louis' mad dash further backstage.

Harry got up and went to look for him. "Louis?" he called, going from room to room. He heard the back door slam. Oh no. He'd gone outside. Harry raced up to the back door to notice that, in fact, Louis was coming back in. His eyes darted around, like a cornered animal.

"Louis! What are you doing?"

"They're smoking outside! I can't go outside! I need air!"

"Shh. Calm down. You're having another panic attack."

"Harry, I can't breathe."

"You're hyperventilating." Harry reached him and dragged him down to the floor. "Sit down. Breathe. Deep, slow breaths, in and out." His hands went to Louis' neck, to loosen his collar. "There." He put an arm around him. "Come on, babe. You can do it. Nice and slow, deep and even."

Louis tried to obey. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, trembling into Harry's hold.

"Harry, I feel like I'm dying."

"You're not. You're just panicking. Keep breathing for me. One breath in, hold, let it out. Keep going, you're doing great." With his other hand, Harry stroked Louis' sweaty arm, shoulder to hand, shoulder to hand. With Harry's words of encouragement, Louis eventually controlled his breathing, although it took a long time. Harry wondered if their cue to go onstage had come up yet, and when they'd be looked for. Sure enough, he heard Paul call in the distance, "Harry? Louis?"

"Back here!" yelled Harry. He continued to stroke Louis' arm, soothing him.

Paul came up to them. "Not another panic attack?" he said.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Paul crouched down in front of Louis and felt his forehead. "He's hot and sweaty," he said.

"I know." He was still trembling, too.

"Louis? Can you look at me? Louis? It's Paul."

"Paul," said Louis, as though the word was meaningless.

Paul sat down on the other side of him. "We're here for you, me and Harry, sweetheart. You keep right on concentrating on your breathing. You'll be okay."

"Is it our cue?" asked Harry.

"Yes. Don't worry, I had an inkling what might have happened. They're delaying things."

"Good."

"He's sweating right through his shirt."

"He can always swap it for the one he wore to get here," said Harry.

"He might have to."

"I'm here," said Louis, a trifle indignantly.

"Are you?" said Paul. "Are you back with us?"

"Yes."

"We'll stay here for another couple of minutes, okay? Then we'll see if we can get you back on your feet."

"Okay," murmured Louis, and leaned into Harry's arm around his shoulder.

"You're feeling better?" said Harry.