Chapter 31: Holding On

For a few more minutes, they stayed close, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn't need filling. Louis rested his head on Harry's chest, Harry's hand brushing gently through his hair, grounding them both. Eventually, Louis broke the stillness, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"There's something I didn't tell you," Louis began, glancing up at Harry with a sheepish expression. "It's about the last couple of days. I didn't want to tell you before because of, well… the interview. But now that you know, I think you'll find it funny."

Harry tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? What did you get up to?"

Louis's grin grew wider as he started recounting the story. "So, two days ago, Niall and I decided we'd call the journalist directly to set this up. Easy, right? Just ring her up, get it done. Except when we called, the person who answered didn't believe it was us."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Didn't believe it was you? What did they think, you were some random fans pulling a prank?"

"Exactly!" Louis laughed. "The receptionist kept asking questions. They wouldn't let us through. So, Niall grabs the phone and starts singingPerfectat the top of his lungs. And, well, I couldn't leave him hanging, so I joined in. We must have sounded ridiculous."

Harry burst out laughing, the image of Niall and Louis belting outPerfectover the phone too good to resist. "You sangPerfectover the phone to prove who you were? That's genius. Please tell me it worked."

"It did," Louis said, his laughter infectious. "Eventually, they put us through to the journalist. But then… I completely froze. I couldn't say anything. I just stammered like an idiot. Niall had to swoop in again and save me. He did the whole charming bit, sorted the time and everything. I was useless."

Harry shook his head, his grin widening. "You? Speechless? I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Don't get used to it," Louis shot back playfully, though his cheeks flushed. "Anyway, yesterday wasn't much better. I knew I had to call the lawyer and I did while Zayn was here."

Harry's smile faded slightly, the warmth in his expression replaced with something more serious. "And what did they say?"

When Louis finally spoke, his voice soft and rough, breaking the quiet like a crack in glass. "They said anything involving Simon is basically off-limits."

Harry turned his head slightly to look at him, the drowsiness of the morning fading instantly at the weight of Louis's tone. "And what did they mean by that?"

Louis didn't look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the light creeping through the blinds as if the answer might be written there. "It's been too long—statute of limitations and all that." He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "If I name him or even hint too directly, he could sue me, and I wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Legally, my hands are tied."

Harry's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "That's unbelievable, Lou. He gets to walk away without consequences, and you're the one who has to stay silent?"

Louis's lip trembled slightly before he pressed it firmly together, the quiet sound of a shaky breath filling the space between them. "Pretty much," he murmured. He turned his head then, his tired blue eyes flicking briefly to Harry before dropping again, staring at the blanket pooled at his waist. "It's infuriating. I fucked up—I waited too long. That's on me."

Harry shook his head, his chest twisting painfully. "That's not on you, Lou."

But Louis didn't seem to hear him. His voice dropped lower, barely audible. "I was so afraid of what he'd do… what it would mean for us, for the band."

The tears came then, unbidden and unstoppable, trailing silently down his face. He blinked rapidly, his arms lying uselessly at his sides, still too sore and immobilized to lift and hide his face. That, more than anything, seemed to break him further—his helplessness laid bare in front of Harry.

"I have to live with that now, Haz." His voice cracked, and he turned his head just slightly into the pillow, as if trying to disappear. "Withallof it. And now I have to make sure I don't give him the chance to screw me over again. To squeeze even more out of me." His face contorted with pain as the tears continued to fall, his body trembling faintly with the effort of holding himself together.

Harry didn't know where to look—at the tears rolling down Louis's face, at his trembling shoulders, or at his useless hands lying stiffly on the bed. He wanted to do something, anything, to ease that pain.

"Lou…" Harry's voice cracked with the weight of it. He turned slightly toward him, his arm brushing against Louis's as if to remind him that he wasn't alone.

Louis let out a choked, watery laugh, though it sounded like anything but humor. "I'm pathetic. Crying like this. I can't even wipe my own goddamn face."

"Stop," Harry said sharply, the word spilling out before he could stop it. His tone softened immediately as he scooted closer on the narrow bed, his shoulder just barely pressed against Louis's. "You're not pathetic. Don't ever say that."

Louis blinked up at the ceiling, his eyes red and glassy. "Look at me, Harry. I'm useless. I hate this. I hateme.I hate him for what he did, but I hate myself more for letting it happen. And then I let it happen over again."

Harry clenched his jaw, anger simmering quietly beneath his sadness. He hated hearing Louis talk like this, hated seeing him drowning in guilt that didn't belong to him.

"It's not your fault," Harry said quietly but firmly. "None of it, Lou. You didn't let anything happen. You survived him, you survived them. That's not weakness—that's strength."

Louis let out a shuddering breath, but it didn't seem to bring him any relief. "It doesn't feel like strength," he whispered, tears still streaking his cheeks. "It feels like failure."

Harry didn't know how to fix this, how to make Louis see himself through his eyes instead of the fractured lens he was using. So he did the only thing he could—he stayed close, their arms still brushing, his presence steady even when Louis couldn't be.

They lay there like that for a while, the silence heavy and broken only by Louis's ragged breaths. Eventually, though, Louis sniffed and let out a soft, shaky exhale, like he was trying to pull himself back together.

"You know," he muttered, his voice thick with tears, "you're probably regretting agreeing to sneak into this bed now. I'm a real joy to be around in the mornings."

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, though it was strained. "Not at all. I'm just honored I get to witness your winning morning personality firsthand."

Louis turned his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite everything. "See? Told you I was incredible."

Harry smiled softly, though the ache in his chest remained. "You are, Lou. Even when you don't believe it."

"But hey, yesterday wasn't all doom and gloom," he said, trying to further lighten the mood with a sly grin spreading across his face. "Phoebe was here, and I decided to mess with her."

Harry arched a brow, a laugh already bubbling up. "Oh no. What did you do?"

"I asked her for a hug," Louis said, his grin widening. "She was being so careful, barely touching me. And then I pretended it hurt. Like, really hurt. I groaned and acted like she'd broken my ribs."

Harry's laughter was immediate, shaking his shoulders as he covered his face. "Louis, you didn't!"

"Oh, I did," Louis confirmed, his own laughter spilling out. "She panicked so much, Harry. Her face—she looked like she wanted to cry. And then I couldn't stop laughing, which, by the way, actually hurt because of my ribs. But it was so worth it."

Harry shook his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're the worst."

"I know," Louis said, his grin softening as he leaned into Harry's warmth.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, wrapped in each other, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten. After a few minutes, Louis lifted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to Harry's face. The proximity made his heart race, the safety and affection radiating off Harry leaving him feeling bolder, braver.

"Harry?" Louis murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Hmm?" Harry replied, his hand still gently stroking Louis's hair.

Harry's touch shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against Louis's chin—right there, at that spot—as he tilted Louis's face up to meet his gaze. Harry's intent was clear; he wanted to kiss him again, to reassure him, to share in their fragile closeness.

But something snapped inside Louis. The movement was the the sameas the leader of the four men—one ofthem—when he had grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into cruel, taunting eyes, while hurting him, laughing about him.

Louis froze. Every muscle in his body locked up, rigid with tension.

"Don't—" he whispered, voice barely audible at first. "Don't do that. Harry, please…" He tried to keep it calm, steady, but it wasn't working. His heart pounded, the panic climbing rapidly through his chest like a wildfire. "Can you just… get out of the bed? Please—please stop. Don't touch me."

Harry blinked, confused by the sudden change. "Lou, what—?"

"Please!" Louis' voice cracked, though he was trying to hold himself together. His breath came in shallow bursts. Harry hesitated, not wanting to yank his arm away too quickly and hurt Louis—especially not with his injuries. Louis was still half-leaning against him, vulnerable, fragile. Harry moved carefully, inching his arm back, not wanting to jar him, but it wasn't fast enough.

"Let go of me—let me go, damn it!" Louis's voice rose in volume, shaking, panicked.

Harry scrambled out of the bed, eyes wide with shock, hands up as if to show he meant no harm. "Louis—God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

But Louis wasn't looking at him. Tears spilled down his cheeks for the second time, his face crumpling as he curled in on himself. He'd wanted this closeness, heneededit. It made him feel safe. So why had his body betrayed him? Why couldn't he just let Harry touch him?

Harry stood at the edge of the bed, heart hammering. His chest ached with confusion and guilt. What had he done? Had he pushed too far? He hadn't meant to. He would never—

"I'm so sorry, Lou," Harry choked out, voice breaking. "I swear, I didn't mean to push you. I didn't—"

Louis shook his head weakly, tears dripping off his chin. "No… no, Harry." His voice was barely a whisper now, muffled as he turned his face into the pillow. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I didn't—" He swallowed thickly, sobs wracking his thin frame. "Please, don't .I didn't mean it. I hate this. I hate—" His voice broke completely, and he buried his face in the pillow completely. "I hate being like this."

Harry's heart shattered. Seeing Louis like this—feeling broken, hating himself—was unbearable. He took a cautious step closer, unsure of what to do, of what Louis needed. "I'm here, Lou. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to explain. You don't have to be sorry. I promise."

The room was quiet now, save for Louis's uneven breaths as he slowly calmed down. He lay awkwardly on the bed, half-slumped without Harry there to support him. Every shift made his ribs ache, but he didn't care about the discomfort—it was nothing compared to the emptiness he felt when Harry had moved away.

Louis lifted his gaze, his voice hoarse but steady this time. "Harry?"

Harry, who was standing near the door with uncertainty etched into every line of his face, looked up immediately. "Yeah?"

"Can you…" Louis swallowed hard, his cheeks flushed with shame. "Can you come back? Sit with me again?"

Harry hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you sure? I don't—I don't want to push you, Lou. Not if it's too much for you."

Louis shook his head, tears pooling again as his voice cracked. "Please, Harry. I'm begging you. I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to send you away. I don't want you to go. I need you here. Please, Harry, come back."

The raw desperation in Louis's voice shattered any hesitation Harry still held. In two steps, he was at Louis's side, carefully easing himself back onto the edge of the bed.

"I'm here," Harry murmured, his voice soft as he watched Louis's tear-streaked face.

Louis looked at him, his eyes glassy and vulnerable. "You have to know something," he whispered, voice barely audible. "This… this might happen again. I don't want it to, but it will. I'm probably going to mess up like this—push you away when I don't mean to."

Harry's brow furrowed, his expression pained as he listened.

"You have to trust me," Louis continued, his voice trembling. "Trust that I still need you, even when I'm a mess. Even when I'm—" He broke off, his lips quivering. "When I'm broken like this. It's not fair to ask, I know. It's so much to ask. But I need you to believe that I still want you, Harry. Even when I can't show it right."

Harry didn't hesitate this time. Gently, he slid back into place beside Louis, settling himself so that he could support him again without hurting him. He wrapped an arm softly around Louis, holding him close but not too tight.

"Listen to me, Lou," Harry said quietly, his voice steady, calm, and full of warmth. "I'll always let you go when you need me to. Always. But I'll be right here, ready to hold you again the second you want me to. Every time."

Louis blinked up at him, his tears spilling silently now. He didn't say anything—he couldn't. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, pain forgotten, and pressed his lips to Harry's.

This time, it was Louis who initiated the kiss.

It started slow, tentative, but it quickly deepened as every emotion they'd just fought through poured into it—fear, regret, longing, and something softer underneath it all. Harry kissed him back with equal intensity, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Louis's head, careful to avoid any injury.

The room was quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of sheets as Harry and Louis pulled apart from their kiss. Their breath lingered between them, still warm and shared, when the door suddenly creaked open. Harry looked up, startled, as Tina entered, followed by a woman in her early thirties with cropped auburn hair and a professional but kind demeanor. Her ID badge readRebecca Evans, Physiotherapist.

Rebecca froze mid-step, her brow knitting as she took in the scene: Louis leaning into Harry, both of their faces flushed and tear-streaked, expressions caught somewhere between surprise and lingering intimacy. Her eyes flicked to Tina, uncertainty clear in her gaze.

Tina broke the silence, clearing her throat softly. Her tone, though light, carried a teasing edge. "Just a reminder, gentlemen—this bed is still meant for one occupant. And… that's strike three."

Harry straightened immediately, stepping back from the bed, his face turning a deep shade of red. Louis, though equally flushed, managed a small smirk. "Three strikes, huh? What happens now? Do I get kicked out?"

Tina raised an eyebrow but let out a small laugh. "Only if you keep pushing your luck."

Rebecca, finally catching on, gave an amused but professional smile. She seemed relieved that the patient in front of her, who had been in such a horrific incident, was now showing signs of connection and comfort.

"Well," Rebecca said, stepping forward and extending her hand toward Louis, "it's good to see you up for some company. I'm Rebecca Evans, your physiotherapist. I've been assigned to help you get moving again."

Louis eyed her hand cautiously, glancing at Harry for reassurance before slowly reaching out with his left hand—the less injured one—and shaking hers. "Louis Tomlinson. Though I'm sure you've already read the file."

Rebecca smiled warmly. "I have, but it's always better to hear it from you."

Harry stayed standing, watching intently, his concern evident. Rebecca turned to Louis and crouched slightly to meet his eye level. "Before we start, I want to make sure you're comfortable. I'll need to guide you a bit, but I won't touch you without your permission. Is that okay?"

Louis hesitated, his body tensing slightly. Trusting new people wasn't something he did easily, especially after the attack. And after being triggered by Harry earlier, a fresh wave of doubt crept in. What if it happened again? What if he couldn't handle her touch, couldn't keep himself steady, and ended up falling? The thought alone made him wince—thatwould hurt like hell.

But at the same time, hewantedto get up. He wanted to feel like himself again, to be independent, even if it was just for a moment.

After a pause, he let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah, that's… that's okay."

"Thank you," Rebecca said gently. "We're going to start small. Let's see if we can get you sitting up at the edge of the bed. I'll be here to support you, but I'll avoid your arms as much as I can. Let me know if anything hurts."

Louis glanced at Harry again, who gave him an encouraging nod. With Rebecca and Tina standing on either side, Louis gritted his teeth and slowly shifted his body. The movement immediately pulled at his injuries—his broken right arm throbbed dully, his dislocated left shoulder protested, his ribs took his breath away and his lower body ached sharply from the injuries sustained in the attack.

Still, he pushed through, his jaw tightening as Rebecca guided him with steady, minimal contact. She placed a hand near his bruised hip, helping to support his core as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He let out a small gasp as the pressure shifted, but he didn't stop.

"That's it," Rebecca said, her voice calm and encouraging. "You're doing great, Louis. Take a moment to adjust."

Louis sat at the edge of the bed, his breathing uneven but steadying. He felt every injury protesting, but a flicker of pride stirred in his chest. "What's next?" he asked, his voice tinged with determination.

Rebecca smiled at his resolve. "If you feel ready, we can try standing. I'll support you, and Tina will be close by if you need extra help. There's no rush—if it's too much, we stop. Okay?"

Louis nodded. "Let's do it."

Rebecca positioned herself carefully, her hands staying clear of his upper body and focusing instead on providing stability at his hips. "When you're ready, lean forward slightly and push through your legs. I'll guide you."

Louis exhaled deeply and shifted his weight forward. The first attempt was shaky—his legs wobbled under him, and his lower body protested sharply—but with Rebecca's steady guidance and a muttered curse under his breath, he managed to stand.

"There we go," Rebecca said, her tone light and reassuring. "You're on your feet. How does that feel?"

"Like I ran a marathon in my sleep," Louis muttered, his voice strained but laced with humor.

"Good," Rebecca said with a smile. "Let's take a few small steps. There's no rush."

With Rebecca at his side and Tina close behind, Louis shuffled toward the bathroom. Each step sent jolts of discomfort through his body, but he bit back the pain, focused on the goal. When they reached the bathroom door, Rebecca offered him a supportive smile.

"You're doing amazing, Louis. Ready to head back?"

Louis nodded, his determination outweighing his exhaustion. The trip back to the bed felt a little steadier, and when he finally sank down onto the mattress, he let out a deep breath. His body ached, but there was a flicker of pride in his expression.

Tina stepped forward with a warm smile, but before she could say anything, Louis cut in, his voice sharp with determination and a hint of mischief. "Right, so here's the deal—let's get this catheter out, and I'll take that shower, now that I have seen where it is. Two birds, one stone. What do you say?"

The room fell silent for a beat. Rebecca, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow, while Tina exchanged a wary glance with her.

"Louis," Rebecca started gently, her tone cautious, "that's… a lot for today."

Louis waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand, his face lighting up with a cheeky grin. "Oh, come on. You've seen me walk—graceful as ever, I might add—and now I'm practically begging you to let me wash off the last decade of trauma and hospital funk. Trust me, it's a win-win."

Tina stifled a smile, clearly torn between amusement and professional concern. "You know this isn't a race, right?"

Louis shot her an exaggerated look of mock innocence. "Oh, I know. I'm justhighly smells like hospital shampoo and slippery tiles, and I'd like to experience it."

Harry, who had been standing quietly, tried to suppress his chuckle and opted for something supportive instead. "Lou…" He tilted his head, watching Louis closely. "Are you sure you don't want to pace yourself a bit?"

Louis turned toward Harry, leveling him with a look full of sass. "Pace myself? Harry, I'm stuck in a bed wearing a gown that leavesnothingto the imagination. If there's even a whiff of freedom, I'm taking it. It's not like I'm running a marathon—unless you're volunteering to carry me over the finish line."

That earned him a smirk from Harry, despite his lingering Louis, Harry thought. Bold, sarcastic, stubborn as hell—and there was something deeply comforting about seeing that spark back in him.

Tina sighed, finally caving. "Alright. But only if you let us help you properly, no stunts."

"Scout's honor," Louis said, holding up two fingers. "No stunts. I'll even let you hold my hand if you're scared."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "You really don't do anything halfway, do you?"

Louis leaned back against the pillows, a triumphant grin on his face. "Where's the fun in that?"

Harry shook his head fondly, the pride evident in his voice. "You're something else, Lou." His expression softened. "Let's get you feeling like yourself again."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, glancing toward Tina with a bemused expression. "Anything else I can help with? You know… since our patient here seems to have aslighttendency toward overambition?"

Tina waved her off with a small smile, her tone wry. "No, I've got it from here. The catheter's my department, and I'll manage the shower too. He knows how to walk—at least I hope he does—and if he starts wobbling, well, we've got Harry." She tilted her head toward the corner, where Harry stood looking equal parts supportive and apprehensive.

Rebecca looked back at Louis, who was watching her with a grin that was far too smug for someone in his condition. "Alright, Louis, you heard her. Take it easy. There's no medal for overexerting yourself, you know."

Louis shot back immediately, his grin widening. "Oh, I don't need a medal, Rebecca. Just the satisfaction of proving you all wrong."

Rebecca let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she picked up her things. "You're a menace. Try not to do anything stupid, alright?"

"I make no promises," Louis replied, his tone dripping with faux innocence. "But thanks for the pep talk, coach. Very inspiring."

Rolling her eyes with an amused smile, Rebecca turned toward the door. "He's your problem now, Tina. And Harry—good luck."

Harry chuckled softly, giving her a small nod as she left.

Once the door clicked shut, Tina sighed theatrically, crossing her arms as she turned to Louis. "You're enjoying this far too much, aren't you?"

Louis leaned back slightly against the pillows, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, Idolike to keep people on their toes. Makes life more interesting, don't you think?"

Tina muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously liketroublemakerbut couldn't quite hide the fond smile tugging at her lips. "Alright, Mr. Ambition, let's get this show on the road. But if you push too far and regret it later, don't come crying to me."

Louis smirked, glancing at Harry. "You hear that, Haz? No crying allowed. You'll have to carry me to the loo if I collapse."

Harry gave a resigned smile, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous, Lou." But there was warmth in his voice, and pride—because despite everything, Louis was still Louis.

Tina moved with practiced efficiency, gathering the supplies she needed: gloves, a disposable towel, antiseptic wipes, and a sterile syringe. The atmosphere shifted subtly, the lightness from before fading as the task at hand loomed. Louis could feel it too—the weight of the moment pressing on his chest.

"Alright, Louis," Tina said calmly, pulling on a pair of gloves. Her tone was gentle but firm, meant to reassure. "I'm going to remove the catheter now. It's not complicated, but it can feel… a bit uncomfortable. I'll walk you through everything I do, so there are no surprises."

Louis nodded stiffly, his grin half-formed and faltering. "Can't wait. A highlight of my day, really."

Tina offered him a patient smile, but she didn't miss the tension in his voice. She stepped closer. "First, I'll deflate the small balloon holding the catheter in place. You might feel a little tugging as I pull it out, but it'll be quick. I'll clean the area before and after to make sure everything stays sterile. You ready?"

Ready?Louis wanted to laugh. No, he wasn't ready. How could he be? But this was the path he'd chosen—his so-called "freedom"—and he wasn't about to back out now. "Let's get it over with," he muttered, trying for bravado.

Tina nodded and carefully moved the blanket aside. Louis froze immediately. Even though he'd known this was coming, the reality of being so exposed made his stomach churn.

Harry, seated just within Louis's line of sight, immediately noticed the way Louis's body locked up. His fists clenched the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white. Harry didn't say anything—he didn't want to draw more attention to Louis's discomfort—but his gaze stayed steady, a silent 're okay. I'm here.

Tina worked efficiently, explaining each step as she went. "I'm just cleaning the area now," she said softly, dabbing around the base of the catheter with antiseptic wipes.

The first cool touch of the wipe made Louis flinch violently. It wasn't the sensation itself—it was the act, the intimacy of it. His breathing hitched as his mind rebelled against the contact, threatening to pull him back to places he didn't want to go. He clenched his jaw, forcing his body to stay still.

"Cold hands, Tina," Louis managed, the words strained but edged with forced humor. "Have you considered a career in ice sculpture?"

Tina gave a small, understanding laugh, not missing a beat. "You're doing great, Louis. Almost there."

Harry watched closely, his heart aching at every twitch and shudder. Louis's entire body was rigid beneath Tina's hands. His shoulders were locked tight, and the muscles in his neck stood out sharply. Harry had seen Louis stubborn before, but never like this—never fighting so hard to keep control.

"Alright," Tina continued, her voice still calm, "I'm going to deflate the balloon now. You won't feel anything for this part."

Louis closed his eyes and nodded, gripping the sheet as if his life depended on it. He heard the faintclickof the syringe connecting to the catheter port, followed by the soft sound of water being drawn out.

"You're doing fine," Tina said. "Now comes the tricky part. I'm going to pull the catheter out slowly. You'll feel some pressure and discomfort, but it'll be over quickly. Take a deep breath, okay?"

Louis obeyed, inhaling sharply through his nose. The moment she began to pull, he felt it—an odd tug deep in his abdomen, a sensation that turned his stomach and made his skin crawl. He bit his lip hard to keep from reacting.

This is fine. You're fine. It's not the same. It's not.

But every inch she pulled sent a wave of panic crashing through him. It wasn't rational—he knew that—but his body didn't care. The humiliation of it, the sensation of being touched in a place he didn't want to be touched, all collided inside him. His breathing grew shallow despite his best efforts.

"Relax, Louis," Tina said gently, noticing his obvious tension. "The more you tense up, the harder it'll feel."

"Relax? Oh sure," Louis quipped through gritted teeth, his voice trembling. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one being—" He stopped short, unable to finish the sentence.

Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides. He saw every ripple of tension in Louis's body, every tremor in his shoulders as he fought against the rising panic. Harry wanted to reach out, to hold him, todo something, but he knew he couldn't—not now.

And then, just as Louis thought he couldn't endure it a second longer, it was over.

"There," Tina said, withdrawing the catheter and disposing of it quickly. "All done. I'm just going to clean up, and then you're free of it."

Louis slumped back against the pillows, a harsh breath escaping him as relief flooded his body. His muscles ached from how tightly he'd tensed them, but at least it was over. He opened his eyes and glanced toward Harry, who was watching him with quiet concern.

"See, Haz?" Louis said, his voice weak but laced with his usual sarcasm. "That was a walk in the park. I don't know what all the fuss was about."

Harry let out a shaky breath, managing a small smile. "You're unbelievable, Lou."

Louis closed his eyes again, a faint, exhausted grin tugging at his lips. Despite everything, he'd made it through. And right now, that felt like something.

The removal of the catheter had been bad enough. Louis felt wrung out, every nerve frayed and tingling, but he wasn't about to stop now. If he gave in to the discomfort or the memories clawing at the edges of his mind, he knew they would swallow him whole. He needed the next step. He needed to feel like a person again. Acleanperson.

Tina had just finished tidying up and tossed her gloves into the waste bin when Louis cleared his throat.

"So," he began, forcing lightness into his tone even though his voice came out rough. "About that shower. I think I'm ready for my next field trip to the bathroom."

Tina's brows lifted slightly as she turned to him. "You're sure about that? It's going to take some effort, Louis."

Louis smirked faintly, though his lips were still pale. "Effort's my middle name. And besides, how hard can it be? I've been training for this all day—call me an athlete."

Tina chuckled softly, though her eyes scanned him with the practiced scrutiny of someone who had seen far too many patients overestimate their abilities. "Alright then, superstar. Let's get you cleaned up. But we're taking it slow, and if it's too much, you'll say so. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," Louis shot back, his smirk more genuine this time.

Harry hovered nearby, quiet but present, his gaze fixed on Louis like he was trying to hold him together with sheer willpower.

Tina began preparing for the shower, explaining the process as she moved. "Okay, Louis, hospital showers aren't glamorous as you've already seen, but they get the job done. It's a walk-in setup with a chair inside for you to sit on. The water's adjustable, and I'll be there to help if you need it—though I promise to keep things professional." She gave him a teasing look, trying to ease some of the tension she could still see in his shoulders.

"I feel so spoiled," Louis quipped dryly, though Harry didn't miss how his fingers tugged nervously at the edge of the blanket.

Tina ignored the sarcasm and moved to his side, carefully pulling back the covers. "Alright, we're going to take it step by step. First, we get you to the bathroom. I'll help you stand, and we'll move slowly. Ready?"

Louis nodded, though the apprehension was clear in his eyes.

Tina hooked an arm under his shoulders, mindful of his ribs, while Harry instinctively stepped closer, ready to catch him if he swayed. Together, they helped Louis shift his weight until he was upright. Even that small movement had sweat beading at his temple, but he gritted his teeth and set his jaw.

"Easy, Louis," Tina murmured as they moved toward the bathroom, her tone soothing but firm. "You're doing great."

The bathroom was small and functional, with white tiles, a plastic chair, and a showerhead attached to the wall. Louis eyed the chair skeptically as they guided him inside.

"Not quite a luxury spa experience, is it?" he muttered.

Tina smiled as she steadied him. "Afraid not. But clean is clean."

Once Louis was stable, she reached for the ties of his hospital gown. "Alright, Louis, I'm going to help you out of this, okay?"

The moment her fingers touched the ties at his back, Louis tensed. Every muscle in his body went taut, his breathing growing shallow. Tina noticed immediately and paused, giving him space. "Louis? You okay? We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

Louis clenched his fists, staring at the floor as he tried to steady 're fine. It's not the same. It's forced himself to look up, a flicker of desperation in his gaze. "No, I'm ready. Ineedthis."

A quiet voice broke the moment. "Do you… want me to help instead?"

Harry's words hung in the air, soft but tentative. Both Louis and Tina turned to look at him. Harry's face was open, full of nervous sincerity. "I mean, only if you're okay with it. I just thought—well, maybe it'd be easier if it was me."

Louis didn't hesitate. "Yes. God, yes. Please."

Harry blinked in surprise at the immediacy of Louis's response, but he nodded quickly, stepping forward. Tina stepped back, her voice calm but insistent. "I'll be right outside the door. Take it slow, both of you. Call me if you need anything."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Louis and Harry alone. For a moment, there was silence. Then Louis exhaled shakily, leaning against the chair for support. "You've just signed up for the most glamorous job of your life, Haz."

Harry smiled softly, the nerves still clear in his expression. "I'm honored, really."

Louis turned his head slightly, meeting Harry's gaze. "I don't mind you seeing me like this, you know. It's just…" He faltered, looking away. "It's harder than I thought."

Harry swallowed hard, stepping closer. "We'll take our time, Lou. I promise."

Gently, Harry reached for the ties of Louis's gown. Louis stood still, but Harry didn't miss the way his chest rose and fell a little too quickly. When the fabric slipped off his shoulders, Louis flinched slightly, his body instinctively curling in on itself. Harry hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight, but he stayed calm.

"You're alright," he murmured softly. "It's just me, Lou."

Louis forced himself to straighten, though a blush burned across his 's just Harry,he reminded 's just Harry.

Harry helped him lower onto the chair, steadying him before grabbing the showerhead. He turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand. "Tell me if it's too hot or too cold."

"It's fine," Louis said quickly, eager to get this over with.

Harry started with the safest areas first—the parts Louis wouldn't flinch at. He wet a washcloth, crouching beside Louis as he gently ran it down his arms, careful to avoid the bruises and scrapes. Louis stayed quiet, his face unreadable, though his hands were clenched tightly on his thighs.

Harry moved to his legs next, working slowly, methodically. "See? Nothing to it," he said softly, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"Speak for yourself," Louis muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

When Harry reached his back, Louis let out a shaky breath. The warmth of the water and the familiar, careful touch started to ease the tightness in his shoulders. "You're good at this," Louis said after a moment, his tone lighter. "Thinking of switching careers?"

Harry smiled faintly, his heart lifting just a little. "Not yet. But I'll add it to my CV."

The next part was harder. Harry hesitated as he moved in front of Louis again, the washcloth in hand. Louis looked at him, reading his thoughts immediately.

"Just get on with it, Haz," Louis said quietly, though his voice trembled slightly. "I'll survive."

Harry nodded, his throat tight. He began to wash Louis's chest, carefully moving over the small patch of soft, curly hair and the bruises scattered across his ribs. Louis's body tensed with every movement, but he stayed quiet, his jaw clenched.

When Harry moved to his stomach, Louis let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He looked away, his cheeks burning, as Harry knelt slightly to finish.

Finally, Harry paused. "Tina said you need to be cleaned everywhere," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Louis's shoulders stiffened, but he nodded curtly. "I know."

Harry swallowed hard, steeling himself as he worked quickly but carefully, doing his best to be clinical. It wasn't easy—not because of Louis's nakedness, but because of the way Louis reacted. Harry could feel him trembling slightly under his touch, and every second felt like a painful reminder of how fragile Louis was now. He thought back to the last time he had washed Louis like this, when they were tangled together in a steamy bathroom, laughing and teasing and completely lost in each other.

Back then, it had been playful, intimate,easy.

Harry shoved the memory aside, finishing as quickly as he could. He stood up, offering a soft, "Done, Lou."

Louis exhaled shakily, looking drained but relieved. "That's it? You didn't miss a spot?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head. "All good. Let's wash your hair now, yeah?"

To Harry's relief, Louis's face lit up slightly at the suggestion. "God, yes. Please."

Harry adjusted the water again and reached for the shampoo. He lathered it in his hands before running them gently through Louis's hair, massaging his scalp in slow, careful circles. Louis closed his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"That's the best thing I've felt in days, please go on," Louis mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy.

Harry chuckled quietly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

When Louis was finally clean, Harry turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He dried Louis carefully, helping him back into the underwear he'd brought from home—something familiar and comforting. Then he called Tina back in to dress Louis's wounds.

Once the dressings were secure, Harry helped him into a soft pair of joggers, a loose T-shirt, and a hoodie, all carefully chosen for comfort. Louis looked almost like himself again, though still pale and bruised.

"Hang on," Harry murmured, wrapping a towel around Louis's shoulders as they stayed in the hospital bathroom. "Let's sort that beard of yours out." He hesitated for a moment, then asked softly, "Do you want it trimmed, or should I just take it all off?"

Louis was quiet for a beat too long, staring at the floor as though it might give him the answer he couldn't find within himself. His thoughts raced, circling back to everything Harry had done for him that day. He'd held him when he needed it most, even after Louis had pushed him away in a panic. He'd washed him, cared for him in ways Louis couldn't even manage for himself.

And what had Louis done for Harry? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The realization hit him hard, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated feeling like a burden, hated relying on Harry for everything. He didn't want to be a weight dragging him down any longer.

When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued, stripped of its usual spark. "Whatever's easiest for you. Just… whatever you think looks alright."

The words hit Harry like a blow to the chest. Louis wasn't one to give up control, especially not over how he looked, how he presented himself to the world. The shift was subtle, but Harry noticed the change immediately. Something had shifted inside Louis—earlier, he'd been full of sharp wit and defiance, but now, there was a quiet uncertainty lingering in his voice.

Harry crouched down slightly to meet Louis's eyes, his voice gentle but firm, trying to steady whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

"Lou," he said softly, his tone grounding. "This is about whatyouwant, not what's easiest for me. So tell me. Trimmed or shaved?"

Louis's jaw tightened, and his gaze slid away. The effort of making even a simple decision seemed like too much. After a long moment, he admitted quietly, "Not shaved. I look too young when it's all gone." His voice grew even softer, the words trembling slightly. "And you'll see every bruise. I don't… I don't want to see them." He hesitated, swallowing hard before adding, "I don't want the interviewer to see them either."

Harry's heart broke a little more, the weight of Louis's words settling heavily in his chest. He could see the shame in Louis's hunched shoulders, the way his hands fidgeted uselessly in his lap.

Harry reached up to steady Louis's face with careful fingers, his thumb brushing lightly against his jawline. The touch was soft, grounding, as though Harry could hold him together with just that. "Alright," he said softly, his voice steady. "Trimmed it is."

Louis forced a weak smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was trying, Harry could see that, but the effort looked exhausting. "You've really got a knack for this, Haz. A carer and a barber. You're wasting your talents on me."

Harry gave him a small, warm smile, adjusting the towel around Louis's shoulders with a tenderness that made his chest ache. "You're more than worth it."

Louis snorted faintly, the sound weak but genuine enough to stir a flicker of relief in Harry. "I'll keep that in mind next time you're rinsing me off like a car in a drive-thru."

Harry chuckled softly, grateful for the flicker of humor, however faint. "Stay still. Let me work my magic."

He picked up the trimmer and began carefully tidying Louis's beard, steadying his jaw with one hand as he worked with the other. Each movement was slow and deliberate, mindful of the bruises scattered across Louis's face and neck.

Louis stayed quiet, his eyes closed, letting himself relax as best as he could under Harry's touch. But Harry could feel the tension radiating from him, see the subtle twitch of his fingers where they rested in his lap, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

For Harry, the act of trimming Louis's beard felt more intimate than he'd expected. It wasn't about the physical closeness—it was about the trust Louis was giving him, the way he leaned into Harry's care even when it was clear how much it cost him.

When Harry finally leaned back, examining his work, a small smile tugged at his lips. "There," he murmured, his voice soft and full of quiet pride. "You look like you again."

Louis opened his eyes slowly, blinking at Harry as a faint, tired grin appeared. "Not bad, Haz. Not bad at all."

Harry's smile widened, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of Louis looking just a little more like himself. "Stunning," he teased gently, "if I do say so myself."

Louis rolled his eyes faintly, though there was a flicker of gratitude in his gaze. "Alright, don't get carried away. Let's get me back to bed before you start charging me for services."

Harry chuckled, carefully helping Louis stand. The movement was slow, every step deliberate as Louis leaned heavily on Harry for support. By the time they reached the hospital bed, Louis was trembling with exhaustion, his body sagging against Harry as he helped him sit.

"Easy," Harry murmured, guiding him down gently. "You're okay, Lou. You did great."

Louis let out a shaky breath, sinking into the pillows with a faint groan. "I feel like I've run a marathon," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Tina, who had been tidying up nearby, stepped closer, her sharp gaze softening as she took in Louis's obvious exhaustion. "He's outdone himself this morning," she said gently, glancing at Harry. "A shower, catheter removal, and now the interview this afternoon? He's pushing too hard."

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed with worry. "I know. I'll keep an eye on him."

Tina gave Louis one last look, her professional demeanor giving way to something warmer. "He needs to rest, Harry. And don't let him talk you into anything else today. He's stubborn, but his body needs time."

Louis, eyes half-closed but still alert enough to hear her, muttered faintly, "I'm right here, you know. You could just say it to my face."

Tina smiled softly, shaking her head. "Get some sleep, Louis."

She left quietly, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Harry and Louis alone once more.

Harry settled into the chair beside the bed, watching as Louis's breathing grew deeper, more even. He looked peaceful now, his freshly trimmed face clean and calm, though Harry could still see the faint bruises lurking beneath the surface.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Louis's forehead. "Get some rest, Lou," he murmured softly. "You're going to need it."