hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again

5.

•••

Harry drags him kicking and screaming to the hospital after that. Not just the regular, ho-hum doctor's office, but the goddamned ER and Louis has never been more embarrassed, because he's just tired and under the weather and Harry is making a big fuss out nothing and oh, god, he hates needles and hospitals and doctors, hates people touching him and pressing cold metal to his skin and making him breathe in out in out so consciously, and by the time it's his turn to be checked he's nearly in tears.

The nurse takes his blood pressure and heart rate and temperature and she doesn't look worried, not in the slightest, which only further confirms for Louis what he already knows; he's fine, just ill.

It's all fine and dandy, as Louis explains with crossed arms the headaches and the vomiting and the doctor (who identified himself as Dr. Ben Allen but Louis doesn't care because all doctors are the same) nods, posture loose and open as he jots down notes on a clipboard. He seems about ready to prescribe Louis some painkillers and a few days of bed rest and lots of fluids when Harry interrupts, rather rudely if Louis has a say.

"The burn," Harry says simply, eyes dark and he's not looking at Louis but at the floor, playing absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers. "You forgot about the burn."

Louis shoots him a glare, suddenly all too aware of the gauze wrapped around his hand and he fights the urge to hide it behind his back.

The doctor raises his eyebrows at Louis. "What burn?"

Louis holds out his wrapped hand miserably, wrist limp and he fucking hates Harry, he really does. He just wants to go home and this is undoubtedly going to keep them here at least another twenty minutes. "Burned my hand on the stove. No big deal."

Harry's head snaps up. "But you didn't feel it. That's a big deal. Isn't it?" He turns towards the doctor, eyes wide and pleading and Louis feels guilty for ever being angry at somebody so lovely and concerned for his well-being, huffing out a sigh.

The doctor looks confused, so Louis quickly jumps in to explain before Harry can. "I was leaning against the stove and I guess it was burning my hand and I didn't notice until Harry said something and I saw it. Like, it didn't hurt," he explains, feeling his gut sink because there's something wrong with him, because who the hell doesn't feel something like that?

No. He's tired. Just tired and overworked and in need of a really long rest.

The doctor nods, eyes looking a little clouded over, like he's deep in thought. "I'm going to have a nurse come in and go through a few quick neurological tests with you. Nothing fancy, just the stuff you used to do in the nurse's office in secondary school." His smile is warm, comforting, and Louis nods, sighing. He's so tired, and it's late and he just wants to cuddle up with Harry under the covers and maybe watch late-night cartoons until he falls asleep.

So the nurse comes in and the doctor was right, it is exactly what they used to do in secondary school every year or so. She's friendly and chipper, like she's had too much caffeine (she must have to, with a job like this, Louis thinks bitterly). He has to do stupid things like follow her finger with his eyes and walk across the room, heel-to-toe in a straight line and he feels so stupid and childish with Harry sitting in a chair in the corner, watching him.

Finally, the nurse thanks him and pats him gingerly on the back and then she's gone and finally Dr. Allen comes back, just as Louis is sure he's going to pass out on the linoleum.

Dr. Allen is still smiling, but this time it's small and tight and Louis feels a rush of panic before forcing himself to think rationally. The doctor is probably tired, too. That's why. Nothing's wrong. He's okay. He gets to go home now and tomorrow he'll wake up, warm in Harry's arms and have Harry make him pancakes, maybe, if his stomach will let him.

It's quiet for almost a full minute, the only sound coming from the soft, constant tick tick tick of the clock mounted on the wall by the door.

"I'd like to run a few tests," he says finally. "Just standard procedure. An MRI and a CT scan, most likely. They won't take long, I assure you, and then you can be on your way."

"Fine. Just wanna get it over with," Louis snaps. He's pouting now, truly a petulant child with eyes glistening with tears because he's so damn tired.

Dr. Allen looks a little taken aback by Louis' sharp response, but nods. "Alright, then. Let's get on with it."

•••