I Want to Write You a Song

We Don't Say What We Really Mean

November 4

Tears distort Louis' vision as he drives, but he refuses to let them spill over. It's three in the morning, and he wants nothing more than to go back to the hotel and curl up in bed close to Harry.

Harry.

Louis momentarily removes his eyes from the freeway, casting his gaze on the younger boy. He was curled up with his knees bent and feet up on the seat. His cheek was pressed against the window, curls damp from the condensation. Fast asleep.

Harry had been in hospital for the last 48 hours, because they wanted to run more tests and make sure his condition was stable.

Stable.

Louis laughs coldly under his breath.

What an ironic word to describe Harry's condition. He has brain cancer. His condition will never be stable ever again. Harry's health will only further deteriorate from here. The doctor explained that with stage 4 glioblastoma, he basically has two options. He can undergo a surgery to remove the tumor, which is a high risk operation. It can't save him, but it could buy him time. Only months, though.

Louis takes a deep, shaky breath. It begins to rain, so he flicks on the wipers.

The other option was to let the disease run its course, giving him five months to live. If even that.

The thought sends a shiver up Louis spine. He finally lets his tears spill over, dripping soundlessly onto the steering wheel. He does his best to remain silent, but his body betrays him with a sniffle.

It isn't loud, but it's loud enough. Harry stirs next to him, peering over at the older boy with sleepy eyes. "Lou?" Harry reaches out and gently grips his shoulder, "Are you alright, Love?"

Suddenly Louis is laughing, because Harry shouldn't be the one comforting him. It should be the other way around. Harry's the one who's sick, and shouldn't be worrying about him.

Louis forces a small his lips into a smile tight smile. It looks a bit more like a grimace, but it's the best he can manage given the circumstances. It's in that moment that he decides he can't cry anymore. Not in front of Harry at least. He needs to act like everything's going to be okay, for Harry's sake.

"I'm fine," Louis chokes out, "everything is going to be fine." His voice comes out unnaturally high, sounding more like Lux's than his own. Louis never was good at lying.

Pretending to believe him, Harry doesn't press the subject any further. He just nods grimly, turning his head back towards the window. Louis doesn't buy it for a second, though. After all, Harry never was good at acting.

When they get back to the hotel, the other boys are all fast asleep. It doesn't take long before Louis follows suit. Harry curls up close to Louis, letting Lou burry his face in his chest, but he doesn't sleep.

After what feels like an hour has past, Harry is feeling as restless as ever. His body is exhausted, but his mind is racing. He's been acting braver than he feels for Louis' sake, but the truth is he's so scared. So fucking scared...

Harry slowly untangles his limbs from Louis', careful not to wake him. Even in his sleep, his face is tense, eyebrows knit in concern. Harry lets out a sigh. He hates seeing Louis so worried.

Harry tucks him in and tiptoes down to the lobby, notebook in hand.