Suicidal Tendencies | l.s. | AU

Chapter 3

Louis' POV:

I shake my head at his immaturity. Turning back to the keys, my fingers hover above as I search my brain for something to play. Nothing comes to mind. I hear a cough behind me. It was a small timid one, one that reminded me of a mouse. If mice coughed, of course. Involuntarily, I turned, my muscles taunt. They told me that the paranoid feeling was just an effect of my attempt, but I knew differently. I knew that I was always paranoid. The attempt just brought out the full effect of paranoia.

"He's different around you. I don't know why but if anyone else would have done what you just did, Harry would have punched their living daylights out. He's fond of snuffing out lights," the man said from the doorway. He was shorter than I was, but muscular. His hair was short, closely cropped to his scalp. The white lab coat was the only sign I had that told me he worked here and wasn't a patient. He looked young, especially by traditional standards. I'd peg him at 28 at the oldest, probably closer to 25.

"Harry?" I question, not knowing to whom the man was referring to.

"Yes, the boy, who just left, his name is Harry, Harry Styles," the man said. He pulled a chair from the corner, dragging it across the room. He spun it around, gripping the back and straddling it.

"And you are?" I say, apprehensive of the strange man. He put me on edge.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Jazz. I'm the main therapist for Mr. Styles. I usually hang out up there," he pauses to point to the upper portion of the wall behind me. I bite my lip, holding back the words that threaten to spill out. He's insane. He can't hang out in a wall. "It's one-way glass Mr. Tomlinson," I cut him off.

"Louis, I'm Louis," I always hated it when people call me Mr. Tomlinson. It reminds me of my father, the office building he worked at, memories I didn't want to revisit.

"Louis then. As I was saying, I've never seen Mr. Styles act like that. When a patient does something not of their ordinary behaviour, it's my job to find out why. And in this case I'd like your help."

"What can I do?"

"Break him Louis," Jazz whispered. I pushed back from the piano, standing simultaneously.

"I can't help you," I say through clenched teeth. I take long steps, trying to put as much distance between me and that man as I could. What an awful thing to request of me. Break someone, I don't think so.

"You could get out of here." I stopped in my tracks, turning around.

"What?"

"You could get out of here. Having interactions with others, it's a term of condition for getting out. By getting close to Mr. Styles you'd fulfill the term. The rest is just paperwork, easily done when you're someone of my status," Jazz's eyes studied my face, his tone even.

I couldn't believe it. He was bribing me; my freedom in exchange for my help. How despicable. Perhaps more so that I was considering his offer. I'm an awful person.

"Fine. I'll help you," I give in. Jazz nodded, and I ran. All the way back to my room, where I flung myself on the bed. It creaked under the sudden weight.

*~*Three weeks later*~*

Harry's POV

He's been here every day. He comes at precisely 10 o'clock, and doesn't leave until 7 for dinner. I don't know why, but he sits in the corner, playing a guitar, or the drums, or just singing. But his presence is always there. It unnerved me. But I didn't have the guts to tell him to leave again, after all, that didn't work last time. He didn't talk directly to me, but I knew he was there because of me.

The next day I didn't go. I stayed in my room, complaining of a headache when Nina asked. Upon my return the day after, Louis was sitting at the piano. He wasn't playing, just merely looking at the doorway.

"Did you end up using the C chord?" he said.

"Nice to see you too," I mumbled, stubbing my toe into the carpet.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Hello, Harry, you weren't here yesterday? I missed your silent, gloomy presence. Oh, and don't forgot the pings, I really missed that."

"What is your problem?" I demanded. I wasn't used to people using sarcasm against me, it was the other way around.

"I want to get out of here. And you aren't helping," the boy answered.

"I'm not standing in your way," I say, gesturing towards the open door.

"Unfortunately, you are."

"Jazz," I say in understanding. The boy nods. "What's your name, since we're going to be spending a lot of time together. I'm not talking."

" 'm Louis. Louis Tomlinson," he said, suddenly shy.

"Well, Mr. Tomlinson, grab that guitar. I'm dying to do a duet with you," I said, making a move toward the piano.

"It's just Louis," he mumbled, begrudgingly grabbing the guitar, and sitting on the ground.

"Whatever, just play," I command.

And that's the pattern we followed for weeks. We'd play, Louis would talk about his life, and I would listen. We grew close, you could say. In a way, he knew me better than anyone else, learned me through my music, in a way no one else could. Sometimes, we'd write our own things, offering help to each other. It was new for me, but I kind of liked it.

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So I got sick and didn't update over break....I'm sorry. Here's the update. Gif af the side tears at my heart strings. Sad Lou....maybe I'll do a harry one next time.