I Want to Write You a Song

Got a Whole Lot of History

"Lad?"

Zayn taps on Louis' shoulder and he wakes with a start, jumping in his plastic chair.

He shoots Louis a sympathetic look. "Me and Nialler are running down the street to Nandos. You should come."

Louis tightens his grip on Harry's large hand. There have been many times before where they've laughed about how tiny Louis' hands look compared to Harry's.

Louis isn't laughing now though. All that he can think about is how out of place these large, strong hands look compared to how small and weak Harry looks curled up on the hospital cot.

"Lou?"

His attention snaps back to Zayn, and he shakes his head to clear it. "Sorry, spaced out for a sec."

"S'okay. You've got a lot on your mind."

Zayn stares at Louis, taking in his current state. He was sitting slouched over in a hard plastic chair, one hand wrapped around Harry's, the other tracing nonsensical patterns across the skin on Harry's arm. He had clearly been wearing the same clothes since Harry first got brought here three days ago, and judging by his under eye bags and red tint to the whites of his eyes, it was obvious Louis hadn't really slept in days either.

Harry though, looks much worse for wear. His long curls fall in tangled tendrils across his pillow. His brows knitted intensely, even in his sleep. Hollow under eyes. Hooked up to a-hundred-one machines that nobody knew what were, but they were all too afraid to ask.

They're both quite for moment, a heaviness in the air threatening to crush them. The room would be silent if it weren't for Harry's soft breathing, and the steady beat of his heart monitor.

Seeing his friends like this is so heartbreaking, Zayn fears he might start crying. He fights against his instincts though, instead shooting Louis a smile. Zayn thinks Louis' could probably use one of those right now.

He was right too, because Louis' expression softens slightly. Zayn's smiles have that effect on people, his warm brown eyes cutting through the chilliest of atmospheres.

"You should come with us," Zayn tried again, "Stretch your legs, get some air."

Louis shakes his head frantically, "I can't leave him, Zayn. If something happened... and I wasn't here..."

"I get it." He places a hand on Louis' shoulder. "Believe I, nobody blames you for that. But you've got to take care of yourself to. Can I bring you back something to eat."

"Some coffee?"

Zayn sighs. He meant food, but doesn't argue. Instead he nods, heading towards the door. "Be back soon, okay?"

--------------------

By day four, Louis starts giving up hope that Harry will ever wake up. The thought terrifies him. There's still so much he has left to say to Harry. So he starts talking.

"Hey Haz," his voice is thick and cracking from lack of use. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm gonna talk to you anyways, okay?"

Of course he doesn't answer, but this doesn't stop Louis.

"I hope you aren't in pain right now. I wish I could take away all your hurt for you."

Then he quickly changes the subject in case Harry can hear him. Harry needs positive words right now. And to be honest, so does he.

"I'm excited for this summer. We'll go to the beach everyday. We'll eat ice cream and make-out in the sand. You'll probably ignore me when I tell you to wear sunscreen and end up with a burn."

He reaches out and runs his fingers through Harry's tangled hair. Louis so gentle though, so painfully gentle, incase his head is hurting.

"You've always been stubborn like that. I'll tell you I told you so, but I'll still rub aloe vera on your shoulders just like always."

Louis is in serious danger of crying now, but the words still fall out of his mouth in a steady stream. "Maybe we can spend a whole night on the beach. Under the stars. We could have a campfire, and feed each other s'mores like we always do. And I'll complain that you overcook the marshmallows just like I always do, but I'm gonna let you in on a secret. I love it when you burn the marshmallows. Always have. I just like giving you a hard time."

Harry squeezes Louis' hand back. "You dickhead. I knew you liked my s'mores."