A Shot In The Dark
2:37 A.M.
Why do they still love me...? Louis looked out of the car window as they drove off from the concert, thousands upon thousands of young girls screaming and shouting, waving about signs and wearing shirts that read "I Love 1D". Some in particular said his name on it, said how much they loved him. It made no sense, no sense at all. Why did they love him? Wasn't like they actually knew who he was.
He was entranced by it all, by the shouts and the police trying, to no avail, to hold them all back. They loved him, they kept saying. They loved him, and some were crying at just how much they did. They don't.
He closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath, trying to chase away the scornful little voice in his head. They don't, Louis. How could they? After all you've done...? They only love you because they don't know, don't know how much you've smoked, how much you drink, don't know how much you've hurt him, hurt Harry.
"You alright?" he could hardly hear Liam over the sounds from outside. He opened his eyes, looked over to his friend, trying to ignore the head of curly hair who was smiling and waving out to their fans just behind him.
"Fine," he said, voice much to squeaky. He cleared his throat, tried it for a second time. "Fine. Just ready to go to sleep."
Liam gave a nod, then turned back to look at Niall in the seat behind Louis. Again Louis closed his eyes, drowned out the noise with the sheer will to stop hearing them. It took nearly twenty minutes before it all stops, before they were driving almost silently down the streets towards their hotel for the night. No one was talking, aside from Liam and Harry who chattered on pointlessly about which sign they'd seen that night was their favourite. He made a point not to notice Louis as he spoke with his friend, didn't want to have to interact with him that night.
By a stroke of luck, there were no fans waiting for them at the hotel. They went off to their separate rooms with a few mumbled words, Louis with Zayn and the other three together. Louis watched their backs as they walked off, Liam smiling over at Niall before throwing an arm around his shoulders, then laughing a bit as Harry jumped between them. Then they were gone.
"Comin' in?" Louis was snapped out of it by the sound of Zayn's voice, turning to see him standing expectantly in the doorway. He gave a nod, then slipped into the hotel room, hearing it click shut behind him. He was hardly in a moment when the Bradford boy scooped up a box of cigarettes, searching around the night table for his lighter.
Normally Louis wouldn't say anything. He'd just sit there silently until Zayn ran off to the alley behind the hotel to go stare up at the sky and go through a few of the fags. Tonight he couldn't do that, couldn't just sit there and watch one of his best mates in the world go and inhale smoke. Both of them smoked pot every once in a while, yeah, but that was maybe every few weeks, sometimes months. That was different than having to suck down nicotine just to get on every single day.
"You even trying to quit?" he said just as his band mate grabbed up the plastic green lighter. The boy stopped, looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.
"Of course. Not that easy though." He took a glance at the doubtful look on his friend's face, then sighed. "I'm tryin', Lou."
"You've been saying that for years, Zayn," Louis said pointedly, feeling more upset than he should over this. "It has to stop, alright?"
The black-haired boy gave a huff of laughter, starting to get defensive. Since when did Louis care so much? He smoked too, didn't he? "Calm down, okay? I am trying."
"I don't see how half a box a day is trying," the other boy jabbed, eyes showing something between bitterness and worry. Zayn shook his head, glared back at him, then left the room without another word, making sure to slam the door behind him.
"Damn you!" Louis shouted, even though he knew that he wouldn't be heard. He felt a burning at the back of his throat, as if Zayn had lit up one of his cigs and made him swallow it, and the backs of his eyes stung. He tried to hold it back, he did, but all he could do to keep himself from sobbing out loud as the first few tears fell down his cheeks was bite his lip.
These past few months had been living Hell for him, and no one cared (aside from Liam sometimes). Zayn was too wrapped up in his own mess with Perrie, and Louis felt for him really. He couldn't imagine what he would do if Management told him he had to marry Eleanor (not that they could force any of them to, but with Zayn they threatened to separate him from Liam just like they'd done with Louis and Harry otherwise). As for Niall, well, he wasn't talking to him much. Harry wasn't talking to him at all, not since they'd fought about rebelling against Management. It had never been said that they'd broken up, but from the way Harry acted it sure seemed so.
Louis didn't remember leaving the hotel room, or going outside through the back door. He didn't feel like he was in control of himself as he pushed past Zayn, who tried to stop him and ask what he was doing out here. He found himself out in the alley, farther down, and then his feet just stopped walking. He didn't know why he came out here, didn't remember getting off the bed, but he felt something poking into his hip, so he reached to adjust his jeans. Now that he definitely didn't remember, didn't remember grabbing the handgun he'd convinced Management to let him have.
He let his fingers linger over it a moment, staring blankly at a puddle just in front of him. Why did I bring this with me? He blinked, sliding the weapon from his waistband and looking at it, turning it over in his hands. He didn't remember, couldn't remember. He sat on the ground against the wall, holding the lazily at his side and staring off into the dimly lit path. There was nothing fascinating to look at, other than dumpster graffiti and the light fall of misty rain.
He thought for a long time. He thought about his life before One Direction, of all his friends back in school and in his town. He hadn't talked to them in ages, not even Stan. Hell, he hardly talked to his own parents these days. The idea of it just seemed tiring, difficult.
He thought about all of the girls at the concert. "We love you, Louis!" He laughed to himself at it, lolled his head back and rested it against the bricks behind him. They didn't know him. They liked to pretend they did, but in the end no one really knew him except the lads.
He thought about what it would be like to disappear, to not exist for a while. To just... stop breathing for a moment. He spent some time dwelling on that one, thought about it. Tentatively he sucked in a breath and held it, held it, held it... let it go. Apparently it wouldn't do much except make your chest hurt.
He thought about what it would be like for all of this to end, this feeling like darkness was wrapped around his body, constricting him and breaking him, slowly at times and at others all at once. He thought about who would miss him, what would happen. He didn't remember when he'd brought the muzzle of the gun to his lips, tapping at them gently with the cold, sleek metal. He parted his lips, just slightly, rested the barrel on the inside of his bottom one.
When he could find nothing to think about, the one thought he didn't want creeping into his head came. There he was, pictured in his mind, with his curly brown hair and bright green eyes that could burn holes right through his soul. He imagined him sitting there in front of him, smiling gently at him like he used to. He imagined him reaching out and-
He gasped as he felt the hand on his drawn up knee, and suddenly he realized that he wasn't imagining him at all, that Harry was right in front of him, looking at him with tears in his eyes but a small grin on his face. "Lou...?"
Louis didn't respond, just blinked at him and swallowed a lump in his throat. Like many of the events of the night, he couldn't remember when or why he'd started to cry again. Nor when he'd slipped the gun in between his teeth, the tip of it resting on his tongue. The both of them sat there for a moment, silence between them, and the older boy closed his eyes.
"Please take that out," said Harry shakily, his voice cracking. The sight of his boyfriend, sat against the wall with a gun in his mouth... Well, it was too much to take in. Why hadn't he told him he felt so badly that this seemed like a good option? Why was he doing this?
He of course didn't budge. In his head he was waging a war with himself; he could just pull back the trigger now and have it done with, be gone, be allowed to just not exist. But he couldn't do it. Suddenly Harry's touch was suffocating, and he sprang to his feet, moving away from him and dropping the gun again to his side, pacing.
"Can you give it to me? Please, Louis?" Harry asked as he stood, extending out a hand to him. He flinched back when the other boy whipped around, violence in the motion, and stood facing him. He had the weapon pressed against his own chest, finger rubbing over the trigger threateningly as tears ran tracks down his face, mixing with the misty air. His eyes were red as he all but shot daggers at the younger boy, his teeth clenched tightly together.
"I could try to explain but it wouldn't change anything," he said angrily, and if he was honest he was shocked at himself. What was there to explain? But he wasn't in control of himself still, and the words that tumbled from his lips were as new to him as they were to Harry. "What's it matter, yeah? My best mate's slowly killing himself, and he's gotten Liam into it with the smoking. Niall won't talk to me anymore, 'cause he's on your side or something, and with you, you're..."
He got choked up, couldn't go on, and he looked to the ground. He could hear Harry sniffling, and as he looked up he saw him nervously adjusting the hat on his head. "I'm sorry..."
"You're the worst part," Louis said, hardly speaking above a whisper. "You're the worst because I'm losing you, and I- I can't..."
"You're not losing me!" Harry interjected immediately, gazing at him with round eyes. "I'm right here, I'm..."
He didn't get to complete his thought. He lunged forwards as soon as he saw his boyfriend's finger start to move, start to pull back the little tab that would end his life. Louis didn't even realize he was doing it, all he knew was that he didn't want to- couldn't hear about how he wasn't losing the love of his life when he actually was, couldn't deal with the false hope only to have it ripped from him later.
Harry reached out, pulled the firearm away, but he was expecting more resistance from Louis, was expecting to have to pull hard. Instead the gun swung around, and-
"The fucking gun went off," Louis says, voice taught and eyes drowning with tears.
"And it hit him?" asks the interrogator, sat across from the boy at the table, alone in the too-empty room. Louis goes to wipe at his cheeks, but one hand rattles and he feels a pain in his wrist where the cuffs keep him still.
"Obviously," he replies, swallowing hard. The woman scribbles something down, looks back at him with the most apathetic expression she can manage. In reality, she wants to cry right about now as well.
"What happened then?" she asks softly, to which Louis lets out a sob and shakes his head, wanting to hide himself in his arms but not being able to.
"Can we not talk about that please? Please can we not talk about it?" he says hurriedly, tears falling from his chin onto the metal surface of the table.
"We have to," she says quietly, biting the inside of her cheek as the kid rubs his eyes with his free hand. They'd tried to uncuff him earlier, but he wouldn't let anyone near him. He takes a deep breath, then starts looping his finger around in the air, eyes focused on nothing.
"My... My whole world started spinning..."
Louis gaped, staring at Harry in disbelief, the look mirrored back at him. Then Harry collapsed, the clatter of the gun on the pavement echoing through the alley. Louis caught him in his arms, slowly sat on his knees, lying his boyfriend on the ground. His shirt was soaked, soaked with dark red and the spot was only growing larger.
"Oh my god," Louis whispered, unable to look away.
"Louis," Harry choked out, his voice cloaked in pain and in fear. Louis looked at him, put a hand to his cheek and another over the wound in his chest. He cried out at that, but the other boy knew he had to keep pressure on it, he knew that much.
"Haz, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," Louis cried, not caring if anyone heard him. Heard him? 999, he was supposed to call 999! He reached for his phone with the hand against his boyfriend's face, pulling it out and calling quickly. The actual call was a blur, but by the time he'd thrown the phone aside there were other people around them.
"Holy fuck, what happened!?" came a familiar voice, but Louis wasn't paying any attention. He put both hands against the bloody hole now, looking with desperation into Harry's eyes. He was breathing faster, swallowing every few seconds, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"And?" Louis looks up at the interrogator, her hazel eyes searching over his face. He stopped speaking mid-story and had just started... staring. Not at anything really, just staring at a point in space that no one else can see.
"It's private," he says quietly, his bottom lip wobbling slightly before he presses them both together firmly.
"We have to know, Mr. Tomlinson," she urges. He shakes his head a little, closes his eyes.
"I love you," he said , and Louis felt his heart skip five beats as his love coughed violently, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, When he settled again he looked up at him with panic, his body shaking. "I love you, Louis, I love-"
He was cut off as the coughing strikes again, blood now coating the inner part of his lips. Louis shushed him, risking one hand off his chest to lightly brush the hair from the boy's face. "I know, love, I know. I love you too, I love you so much. I'm so sorry Harry, I'm so sorry..."
He was suddenly aware of the sirens, the sirens of an ambulance, and he scanned for it. He could see the lights reflecting off the wet alley walls, knew they were almost there. He felt Harry's hand on top of his, over the wound his own gun had created, and he looked back to him, saw the absolute fear that'd taken him over.
He did all he could think to do and kissed him. Weakly but surely Harry returned it, and Louis tried not to think about the reason it tastes metallic and why when he pulled back his lips were wet. "I love you so much, I'm so sorry," he managed to say before he was shoved back, paramedics taking control.
"Louis?" He turned as he heard his name, more fear, more desperation. The face looking back at him was Niall, his eyes wide and filled with mist, just like the atmosphere. He wanted to go over to him and grab him, drag him into a hug, tell him that he was sorry to him as well. But he didn't get that chance, because the paramedics asked him if he's coming and he immediately jumped on the ambulance.
The ride to hospital was torture. Harry, hooked up to all kinds of machines with makeshift bandages on the two holes (the bullet went through) in his body. Harry, with a mask on his face, hardly even clinging to consciousness. Harry dying, Harry fucking dying all because of him. Through the oxygen mask on his face he was trying to form words, hanging on to Louis' hand with the little strength he had...
"Did he say anything?" asks the interrogator, swallowing down the emotions threatening to overtake her. The boy has his mouth hidden behind his hand, tears bathing his fingers and running lightly down his wrist. He nods, then removes his hand, resting it on his opposite shoulder.
"Just the words 'I love you'. Over and over and over again..."
He was entranced by it all, by the shouts and the police trying, to no avail, to hold them all back. They loved him, they kept saying. They loved him, and some were crying at just how much they did. They don't.
He closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath, trying to chase away the scornful little voice in his head. They don't, Louis. How could they? After all you've done...? They only love you because they don't know, don't know how much you've smoked, how much you drink, don't know how much you've hurt him, hurt Harry.
"You alright?" he could hardly hear Liam over the sounds from outside. He opened his eyes, looked over to his friend, trying to ignore the head of curly hair who was smiling and waving out to their fans just behind him.
"Fine," he said, voice much to squeaky. He cleared his throat, tried it for a second time. "Fine. Just ready to go to sleep."
Liam gave a nod, then turned back to look at Niall in the seat behind Louis. Again Louis closed his eyes, drowned out the noise with the sheer will to stop hearing them. It took nearly twenty minutes before it all stops, before they were driving almost silently down the streets towards their hotel for the night. No one was talking, aside from Liam and Harry who chattered on pointlessly about which sign they'd seen that night was their favourite. He made a point not to notice Louis as he spoke with his friend, didn't want to have to interact with him that night.
By a stroke of luck, there were no fans waiting for them at the hotel. They went off to their separate rooms with a few mumbled words, Louis with Zayn and the other three together. Louis watched their backs as they walked off, Liam smiling over at Niall before throwing an arm around his shoulders, then laughing a bit as Harry jumped between them. Then they were gone.
"Comin' in?" Louis was snapped out of it by the sound of Zayn's voice, turning to see him standing expectantly in the doorway. He gave a nod, then slipped into the hotel room, hearing it click shut behind him. He was hardly in a moment when the Bradford boy scooped up a box of cigarettes, searching around the night table for his lighter.
Normally Louis wouldn't say anything. He'd just sit there silently until Zayn ran off to the alley behind the hotel to go stare up at the sky and go through a few of the fags. Tonight he couldn't do that, couldn't just sit there and watch one of his best mates in the world go and inhale smoke. Both of them smoked pot every once in a while, yeah, but that was maybe every few weeks, sometimes months. That was different than having to suck down nicotine just to get on every single day.
"You even trying to quit?" he said just as his band mate grabbed up the plastic green lighter. The boy stopped, looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.
"Of course. Not that easy though." He took a glance at the doubtful look on his friend's face, then sighed. "I'm tryin', Lou."
"You've been saying that for years, Zayn," Louis said pointedly, feeling more upset than he should over this. "It has to stop, alright?"
The black-haired boy gave a huff of laughter, starting to get defensive. Since when did Louis care so much? He smoked too, didn't he? "Calm down, okay? I am trying."
"I don't see how half a box a day is trying," the other boy jabbed, eyes showing something between bitterness and worry. Zayn shook his head, glared back at him, then left the room without another word, making sure to slam the door behind him.
"Damn you!" Louis shouted, even though he knew that he wouldn't be heard. He felt a burning at the back of his throat, as if Zayn had lit up one of his cigs and made him swallow it, and the backs of his eyes stung. He tried to hold it back, he did, but all he could do to keep himself from sobbing out loud as the first few tears fell down his cheeks was bite his lip.
These past few months had been living Hell for him, and no one cared (aside from Liam sometimes). Zayn was too wrapped up in his own mess with Perrie, and Louis felt for him really. He couldn't imagine what he would do if Management told him he had to marry Eleanor (not that they could force any of them to, but with Zayn they threatened to separate him from Liam just like they'd done with Louis and Harry otherwise). As for Niall, well, he wasn't talking to him much. Harry wasn't talking to him at all, not since they'd fought about rebelling against Management. It had never been said that they'd broken up, but from the way Harry acted it sure seemed so.
Louis didn't remember leaving the hotel room, or going outside through the back door. He didn't feel like he was in control of himself as he pushed past Zayn, who tried to stop him and ask what he was doing out here. He found himself out in the alley, farther down, and then his feet just stopped walking. He didn't know why he came out here, didn't remember getting off the bed, but he felt something poking into his hip, so he reached to adjust his jeans. Now that he definitely didn't remember, didn't remember grabbing the handgun he'd convinced Management to let him have.
He let his fingers linger over it a moment, staring blankly at a puddle just in front of him. Why did I bring this with me? He blinked, sliding the weapon from his waistband and looking at it, turning it over in his hands. He didn't remember, couldn't remember. He sat on the ground against the wall, holding the lazily at his side and staring off into the dimly lit path. There was nothing fascinating to look at, other than dumpster graffiti and the light fall of misty rain.
He thought for a long time. He thought about his life before One Direction, of all his friends back in school and in his town. He hadn't talked to them in ages, not even Stan. Hell, he hardly talked to his own parents these days. The idea of it just seemed tiring, difficult.
He thought about all of the girls at the concert. "We love you, Louis!" He laughed to himself at it, lolled his head back and rested it against the bricks behind him. They didn't know him. They liked to pretend they did, but in the end no one really knew him except the lads.
He thought about what it would be like to disappear, to not exist for a while. To just... stop breathing for a moment. He spent some time dwelling on that one, thought about it. Tentatively he sucked in a breath and held it, held it, held it... let it go. Apparently it wouldn't do much except make your chest hurt.
He thought about what it would be like for all of this to end, this feeling like darkness was wrapped around his body, constricting him and breaking him, slowly at times and at others all at once. He thought about who would miss him, what would happen. He didn't remember when he'd brought the muzzle of the gun to his lips, tapping at them gently with the cold, sleek metal. He parted his lips, just slightly, rested the barrel on the inside of his bottom one.
When he could find nothing to think about, the one thought he didn't want creeping into his head came. There he was, pictured in his mind, with his curly brown hair and bright green eyes that could burn holes right through his soul. He imagined him sitting there in front of him, smiling gently at him like he used to. He imagined him reaching out and-
He gasped as he felt the hand on his drawn up knee, and suddenly he realized that he wasn't imagining him at all, that Harry was right in front of him, looking at him with tears in his eyes but a small grin on his face. "Lou...?"
Louis didn't respond, just blinked at him and swallowed a lump in his throat. Like many of the events of the night, he couldn't remember when or why he'd started to cry again. Nor when he'd slipped the gun in between his teeth, the tip of it resting on his tongue. The both of them sat there for a moment, silence between them, and the older boy closed his eyes.
"Please take that out," said Harry shakily, his voice cracking. The sight of his boyfriend, sat against the wall with a gun in his mouth... Well, it was too much to take in. Why hadn't he told him he felt so badly that this seemed like a good option? Why was he doing this?
He of course didn't budge. In his head he was waging a war with himself; he could just pull back the trigger now and have it done with, be gone, be allowed to just not exist. But he couldn't do it. Suddenly Harry's touch was suffocating, and he sprang to his feet, moving away from him and dropping the gun again to his side, pacing.
"Can you give it to me? Please, Louis?" Harry asked as he stood, extending out a hand to him. He flinched back when the other boy whipped around, violence in the motion, and stood facing him. He had the weapon pressed against his own chest, finger rubbing over the trigger threateningly as tears ran tracks down his face, mixing with the misty air. His eyes were red as he all but shot daggers at the younger boy, his teeth clenched tightly together.
"I could try to explain but it wouldn't change anything," he said angrily, and if he was honest he was shocked at himself. What was there to explain? But he wasn't in control of himself still, and the words that tumbled from his lips were as new to him as they were to Harry. "What's it matter, yeah? My best mate's slowly killing himself, and he's gotten Liam into it with the smoking. Niall won't talk to me anymore, 'cause he's on your side or something, and with you, you're..."
He got choked up, couldn't go on, and he looked to the ground. He could hear Harry sniffling, and as he looked up he saw him nervously adjusting the hat on his head. "I'm sorry..."
"You're the worst part," Louis said, hardly speaking above a whisper. "You're the worst because I'm losing you, and I- I can't..."
"You're not losing me!" Harry interjected immediately, gazing at him with round eyes. "I'm right here, I'm..."
He didn't get to complete his thought. He lunged forwards as soon as he saw his boyfriend's finger start to move, start to pull back the little tab that would end his life. Louis didn't even realize he was doing it, all he knew was that he didn't want to- couldn't hear about how he wasn't losing the love of his life when he actually was, couldn't deal with the false hope only to have it ripped from him later.
Harry reached out, pulled the firearm away, but he was expecting more resistance from Louis, was expecting to have to pull hard. Instead the gun swung around, and-
"The fucking gun went off," Louis says, voice taught and eyes drowning with tears.
"And it hit him?" asks the interrogator, sat across from the boy at the table, alone in the too-empty room. Louis goes to wipe at his cheeks, but one hand rattles and he feels a pain in his wrist where the cuffs keep him still.
"Obviously," he replies, swallowing hard. The woman scribbles something down, looks back at him with the most apathetic expression she can manage. In reality, she wants to cry right about now as well.
"What happened then?" she asks softly, to which Louis lets out a sob and shakes his head, wanting to hide himself in his arms but not being able to.
"Can we not talk about that please? Please can we not talk about it?" he says hurriedly, tears falling from his chin onto the metal surface of the table.
"We have to," she says quietly, biting the inside of her cheek as the kid rubs his eyes with his free hand. They'd tried to uncuff him earlier, but he wouldn't let anyone near him. He takes a deep breath, then starts looping his finger around in the air, eyes focused on nothing.
"My... My whole world started spinning..."
Louis gaped, staring at Harry in disbelief, the look mirrored back at him. Then Harry collapsed, the clatter of the gun on the pavement echoing through the alley. Louis caught him in his arms, slowly sat on his knees, lying his boyfriend on the ground. His shirt was soaked, soaked with dark red and the spot was only growing larger.
"Oh my god," Louis whispered, unable to look away.
"Louis," Harry choked out, his voice cloaked in pain and in fear. Louis looked at him, put a hand to his cheek and another over the wound in his chest. He cried out at that, but the other boy knew he had to keep pressure on it, he knew that much.
"Haz, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," Louis cried, not caring if anyone heard him. Heard him? 999, he was supposed to call 999! He reached for his phone with the hand against his boyfriend's face, pulling it out and calling quickly. The actual call was a blur, but by the time he'd thrown the phone aside there were other people around them.
"Holy fuck, what happened!?" came a familiar voice, but Louis wasn't paying any attention. He put both hands against the bloody hole now, looking with desperation into Harry's eyes. He was breathing faster, swallowing every few seconds, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"And?" Louis looks up at the interrogator, her hazel eyes searching over his face. He stopped speaking mid-story and had just started... staring. Not at anything really, just staring at a point in space that no one else can see.
"It's private," he says quietly, his bottom lip wobbling slightly before he presses them both together firmly.
"We have to know, Mr. Tomlinson," she urges. He shakes his head a little, closes his eyes.
"I love you," he said , and Louis felt his heart skip five beats as his love coughed violently, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, When he settled again he looked up at him with panic, his body shaking. "I love you, Louis, I love-"
He was cut off as the coughing strikes again, blood now coating the inner part of his lips. Louis shushed him, risking one hand off his chest to lightly brush the hair from the boy's face. "I know, love, I know. I love you too, I love you so much. I'm so sorry Harry, I'm so sorry..."
He was suddenly aware of the sirens, the sirens of an ambulance, and he scanned for it. He could see the lights reflecting off the wet alley walls, knew they were almost there. He felt Harry's hand on top of his, over the wound his own gun had created, and he looked back to him, saw the absolute fear that'd taken him over.
He did all he could think to do and kissed him. Weakly but surely Harry returned it, and Louis tried not to think about the reason it tastes metallic and why when he pulled back his lips were wet. "I love you so much, I'm so sorry," he managed to say before he was shoved back, paramedics taking control.
"Louis?" He turned as he heard his name, more fear, more desperation. The face looking back at him was Niall, his eyes wide and filled with mist, just like the atmosphere. He wanted to go over to him and grab him, drag him into a hug, tell him that he was sorry to him as well. But he didn't get that chance, because the paramedics asked him if he's coming and he immediately jumped on the ambulance.
The ride to hospital was torture. Harry, hooked up to all kinds of machines with makeshift bandages on the two holes (the bullet went through) in his body. Harry, with a mask on his face, hardly even clinging to consciousness. Harry dying, Harry fucking dying all because of him. Through the oxygen mask on his face he was trying to form words, hanging on to Louis' hand with the little strength he had...
"Did he say anything?" asks the interrogator, swallowing down the emotions threatening to overtake her. The boy has his mouth hidden behind his hand, tears bathing his fingers and running lightly down his wrist. He nods, then removes his hand, resting it on his opposite shoulder.
"Just the words 'I love you'. Over and over and over again..."
Notes
Wow. This is actually a really depressing fic, even for me. Welp, okay, no more writing at 2 A.M. for me anymore. I am so sorry for making this exist... And even more sorry for making an edit of it.
At least it's a bad one, yeah? Sorry again for my writing like what do I think I'm doing. There'll be two more chapters, by the way.
UPDATE ALREADY!
3/4/15