Capable

🅲🅷🅰🅿🆃🅴🆁🅵🅸🅵🆃🅴🅴🅽

So, I'm really struggling with the next chapter, but I wanted to give y'all something, and I kind of wanted to bring Louis and Zayn's characters more into the story, since their roles I felt like got a bit misconstrued along the way.

Let me know what you think in the comments and, if I can get the next five chapters to 25 votes and 40 comments each, I will do a merchandise giveaway and it will be international.

Let me know if you think it's a dumb idea, but I think it'd be fun.

Anywho, I love you all and hope your day's going great!

Lotsa love XXXXX. ❤

LIAM

"Come on, Lou, it's alright,"I encouraged, trying to get the Doncaster boy to come through the front doors, yanking on his sleeve as he adamantly pulled away, shaking his head and glowing pale,"I'm here, nothing's gonna happen, love."

He planted his feet about a foot apart, moving away so hard that he nearly fell on his ass, his lips swollen already, but jutting out far from his chin.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling him off to the side and out of the way of a couple trying to pass us to go inside.

His eyes fell and he fiddled with the silver button of his navy coat,"D'wanna, kinda'fraid, Liam."

I cuffed his shoulder lightly,"You're gonna have to face him, sometime, Lou, might as well do it now."

He shook his head, and I could see the tears threatening to reappear, his irises trembling.

"D'wan anehbodeh tuh'ate meh," his voice squeaked dangerously, and he sniffled.

Really, he was in no condition to be anywhere near a hospital, having spent the night at my place and looking a little worse for wear. I'd thought that, perhaps, taking him away from the change of scenery might help some with the grieving process and all.

He'd only eaten anything substantial (more than half a cheese toastie) once we'd reached my little house on the edge of Manchester.

From then on, I'd seen a very weak, vulnerable side of Louis, that, to be honest, I wished I'd never had to witness. Mostly because, if I hadn't have, his mother and sister would be alive and he would be strutting around proudly with his family, the same way he had when I'd first met him.

His pride was gone, though, consumed by his emotion and forgotten forever. He'd spent the evening cuddled next to me on my sofa, sniffling and trying desperately to muffle his crying with the red tartan throw I spread across the two of us.

When he'd fallen asleep, finally, it'd taken only roughly about a half hour for him to sob out of his terror filled slumber,"C'mback, please, m'sorry."

I'd slipped my arms beneath him and lifted him into my lap, the same way Niall often did with Harry and sat back down with him atop my knees. I knew if he was awake, he'd never allow this, but he so desperately needed something to hold onto, right now, that I felt it my place as well as rightful responsibility to be there for him.

He'd wailed into my chest a deep rattling cry that unconsciously conveyed so much torture that I couldn't help but squeeze him more securely to my chest. His dainty features (he'd have been well suited as a woman, truly) stayed scrunched up tightly for most of the night, tears oozing down his cheeks in a way that suggested that were made from acid as opposed to salty water.

He didn't say anything else, and when I snuck away from him, leaving him nestled in the crook of my sofa, curled into a fetal like position, he laid, taking hitching, aching breaths for a long time after.