- bulletprxxf lxve -- styl(arry)inson + ziall horlik

- lxvi - harry

I MISS THE WORLD CUP AAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHH aha enjoy you guuuuise ily

~~~

— robert frost: promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep —

Previously on — bulletprxxf lxve —:

He was not overdose cocaine, liver cancer, liver transplant, alcohol poisoning, coma, an “off” reticular activating system, acute personality disorder, Hepatorenal Syndrome, lightheadedness, suicidal, knee injury, heart attacks, cirrhosis, severe Hepatic Encephalopathy, mouth cancer, pale, chemo or high dose of painkillers.

Yet he was. He was all of these and more. More that the doctor was telling them but they refused to listen. The wanted to keep the little piece of sanity they had left of Niall and tuck it in their pockets where it would remain forever.

Zayn interrupts Dr Jenkins, “Will he be okay?”

“In my opinion, he was the walking dead,” Dr Jenkins concludes. “He was going to die at any moment. But he’s here and therefore he will be treated.”

“What about the coma?” he asks.

“I need to spend more time with him to see his progress in order to give all of you full details of his condition,” responds the Australian doctor. “I urge you to all go back to your hotel and get some rest,” – he turns to look outside where the sun is rising – “it is almost morning.”

The lads’ eyes follow Dr Jenkins retreating body down the ceramic-tiled floor, their thoughts a tangled web. However they had one common thought: they would not leave Niall.

Liam turns to the other lads and asks, “We’re not leaving are we?”

“Not until Niall wakes up,” Zayn determinedly says.

“We’re never leaving,” Harry vows.

“Screw that doctor,” Louis ends.

 

And now:

+ 8:20PM Tuesday +

Harry gingerly walks into the fluorescent lit room where Niall is lying peacefully in a coma on the bed. There are several monitors on both sides of his bed, a lot of needles pinned into his skin, liquid flowing in and out of the tubes. Harry gently taps on Zayn’s shoulder who is curled up on the grey couch facing Niall’s sleeping body. His lashes flutter open and gazes at Harry.

“C’mon Zayn, go get some food,” Harry gently says to him. The dark-haired Mexican glances at Niall. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here, I’m not leaving at all.”

“Fine but I’ll be back,” Zayn agrees albeit groggily. He walks out as Harry takes his warm spot on the couch.

He swipes a quick glance around the hospital room and sees its quite different than the last time he was in here – this morning. There are definitely more flowers by the table opposite his bed, more cards on the table as well as the bedside table, there is a huge teddy bear probably from Nick, Harry muses and he notices the African paintings on the wall too. All this color is a sharp contrast to the comatose body on the bed.

Niall’s face is pale that he looks like a ghost, Harry notices. His collarbone is very visible under his stretched, overworked skin. His neck is thinner than usual, his Adam apple is not dancing beneath it like it always did. He swallows deeply when his green eyes move down his body and settle on Niall’s arm and at the end is a white bandage wrapped around his wrist. His fingers are distinctively pale, almost as white as the cold walls. He stares hard at the white bandage, sharp memories of five nights ago when he almost died; when his best friend almost left them.