"Harry" Louis said.

Silence.

"Harry" he said, with more strain in his voice

Still, silence.

"Harry, please" he pleaded.

But he was replied to with silence,

Not a calming silence that gives you time to think or clear your head. But a silence that was deafening. Not by noise or sound, but by the uncertainty of what it held. The dull aching thud in the pit of tightness in Louis chest was the only reminder that it wasn't a dream. You couldn't hurt in a dream. And Louis was certain he had never felt such an intense throbbing pain.

He wanted it to be a dream, though.

He wanted, so badly, for the events of the past 24 hours, to never have occurred. He wanted to wake up and reach a shaky arm across to the other side of the bed, and find the warm pale skin of the boy he looked on so fondly. He wanted to run he fingers through the boy's hair and leave traces through the brown, curly mass. He craved the steady, constant beat of the boy's heart was Harry's chest was pressed against his own. The soft jade that melted into a sea of emerald, that made up Harry's iris was permanently etched into Louis' mind.

He wanted- no- he needed to see them again, right now. He needed to see Harry's eyelashes flutter open, even if only for a moment, and for a hint of the captivating green to shine through. He needed that, to show him that Harry's eyes to show him that there was a glimmer of hope. That he hadn't given up. That he was still fighting.

Harry wanted that too, more than anything. He wanted to jump out of this hospital bed and into Louis' arms. And he wanted to wipe away all of Louis' tears and tell him that he could hear him.

But he could not.

He lay on the hospital bed, eyes shut, completely motionless. He felt like a prisoner in his own skin. And the sounds of Louis' soft cries echoing off the walls of the tiny room, just shattered Harry to pieces.

Louis. His Louis was practically sitting in a puddle of his own tears. And there wasn't a thing Harry could do to console him. So he did what he could do.

He listened.

"Please, Harry. Wake up. For me… for your Lou." Louis' voice caught at the end of his sentence and hot tears began to cascade down his cheeks.

With each soft thud of a tear pounding against the hospital tile, harry felt his heart sink a bit lower. He was the one who caused Louis so much pain. He was the reason for the tears. And while the thought of Louis caring so much about him made Harry's chest flutter, he couldn't escape the hollow feeling as someone as perfect as Louis harboring such dark, tearful feelings.

For a moment, Harry is glad he couldn't see. Because he didn't think that he would be able to bear seeing Louis looking so broken.

The handful of times Harry had witnessed were proof enough, that Louis crying was one of the most Earth shattering sights he had ever seen. When his eyes were glassed over and burning red, and his hands were shaking and grabbing wildly at his matted hair and when he screamed and yelled and his whole body would shakes with loud, heavy sobs. It gutted Harry.

Louis was always so happy and carefree and so strong that it was hard to picture him crying unless you had seen it firsthand. And Harry had. Se he knew. And so his current loss of sight seemed a miniscule less useless than it had before.

But his thankfulness stopped there.

He couldn't move any part of his body, which meant that he couldn't give any indication of his current state. But he could hear. He could hear Louis' pain. And it hurt Harry to hear Louis hurting. In that moment Harry would have gladly endured any kind of physical pain, even torture, to relieve the spinning mess occurring inside of his head,

But Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of chair sliding across the hospital tile.

Louis got up from his chair and walked closer to the hospital bed where Harry lay. Very slowly and very carefully Louis inched his hand towards Harry's. Louis shuttered at how cold Harry's skin was against his own. Harry's skin itself was pale, so very pale. Much more pale than usual, it now looked a sickly white color, like all the warmth had been sucked out of him.

Despite the cold, Louis laced his fingers with Harry's stiff cold one, and he squeezed them. Not too firmly, but enough to cause the corner of Louis' mouth to up turn at the sight. The fraction of s mile was quickly replaced though, with a frown, when he realized that Harry wasn't able to squeeze back.

Though it sounds mental, Louis had, had a tiny hope that maybe his touch could wake Harry from his deep slumber. He hoped that maybe Harry's eyes would shoot open and see Louis standing over him. Then they would both cry together and taste salty tears as their lips touched.

But none of that happened. Harry's eyes didn't open. No kisses were shared.

Suddenly, Louis felt foolish for thinking such a thing and he released Harry's hand and he watched as it fell back against Harry's side.

Of course Harry hadn't woken up, he was in a coma. There's no way that Louis' touch could possibly pull him out of that. It just wasn't possible. Harry probably hadn't felt a thing.

But he did. He felt the simple gesture everywhere, all over his body. Louis' touch sent shockwaves through Harry's veins and the way the way into his bones. He craved it, longed for it, more than he could ever express in words. He wanted Louis to touch him everywhere. He tried to imagine Louis' hands roaming all over his body, weaving through his hair, or simply holding his hand, as he had done moments before. But his imagination failed to create anything that compared to Louis' warmth.

So when Louis unlaced his fingers from Harry's, Harry felt Louis take of his warmth with him.

The absence of heat and the crippling cold that cold that followed, brought on a new wave of loneliness. And Harry was drowning in it.

He tried to scream, he tried to cry, he tried to yell from Louis to come back.

But again, all he could do was listen. So that's what he did. But when Louis' muffled sobs filled the room, he wished that he couldn't even do that.

He heard Louis shuffle back to his seat and mutter something that sounded like

"Why, Harry. Why?"

And that's when the realization and guilt set in. Everything that happened in the past 24 hours had been brewing for months.

And absolutely all of it was Harry's fault.