A Journey Down Memory Lane | L.S.

Prologue

Larry edits are legit the reason why I breath, okay.

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His eyes were nearly shut closed as he turned over in his bed, pulling the covers high enough so it covered his whole body. But he eventually forced them to crack open when he didn't feel another stiff body lying besides him, causing him to frantically pat the empty space with his hand. When he felt nothing but pillows and blankets, he jolted up in bed, wincing once his bones felt like they nearly cracked in half. He really needed to remind himself to stop doing that. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He kicked the covers off of him and climbed out of the bed, toes nearly melting at the touch of the fur inside of his slippers, once he stepped into them. Hurriedly, he rushed towards the door, eyes widening once noticing that it was already opened, lying against the wall aimlessly. Usually, it was closed shut, something that Harry did himself before shutting the lights off and climbing into his bed. He chewed on the ripped skin on the bottom of his lip, worry instantly filling up his mind. He knew that he could just be overreacting, something that he's been doing a lot of recently and Louis might just be in the bathroom or something. But once he heard a faint voice echoing through the vacant house, he felt his heart thumping even harder against his chest.

"Lou?" His voice trembled as he called out, while his footsteps padded on the wooden floor. No reply, besides the sudden high pitched laugh that seemed almost foreign to him, even if he had heard it all of his life. He followed the sound and ended up stalling in the doorway of the kitchen, as he nervously watched the scene unfold in front of him. Louis stood besides the marbled counter, as his hand flung down to his knee, as giggles erupted from his frail, thin lips. But the thing was, he was laughing to no one, besides the thin air.

And what scared Harry the most, even more than seeing his husband laugh at some creature that was imagined in his mind, was that this wasn't even new. It seemed like a routine nowadays; Louis always running out of their bedroom near dawn, and ending up in some random room, having another round of his hallucinations. Mr. Stevens had said that this all was normal for someone with Dementia, but it still caused Harry's heart to beat like he'd just ran a mile.

Cautiously, he took small steps towards Louis, and hesitantly placed a hand on the bottom of the shorter man's back. Instantly, Louis' body shuddered from the action and all his laughter stopped midway. Instead, he turned and stared at Harry with those big, blue eyes that almost had all the color drowned out of them. He moved back a few steps until his back hit against the counter, a whimper leaving his lips, causing Harry to panic.

"Lou, are you okay?" He asked and began walking closer to the man, before Louis' hand flung up, inches away from pressing against his chest.

"Marty, tell him to stop," Louis mumbled under his breath, but Harry still caught it. And he instantly frowned once hearing the frightened tone of the man's voice. His eyes glazed over a bit, as he moved away from Louis, with his head hung low.

"Louis, please come back to bed." Louis shook his head immediately, and his hand flung into the air as he seemed to grasp something.

"Can't leave Marty," he whispered, causing Harry to swallow deeply.

"There's no one there Lou," Harry admittedly quietly after a moment, but Louis' head instantly quirked up and he glared at Harry, with venomous eyes.

"You don't know what you're talking about. And don't call me Lou," he said almost threateningly, causing Harry to nod his head, while his eyes seemed glue to his pink slippers, the color nearly fading away and the fabric already torn at the edges.