Chapter 34: Oli's Visit

The room was dimly lit as Maggie and Bianca entered for the evening handover. Maggie's familiar presence radiated warmth, her soft smile and calm demeanor filling the space like a comforting blanket. Beside her, Bianca walked in with an air of determination, her hands gripping the chart she'd been reviewing. While her eagerness to do everything perfectly was evident, so was her slight hesitation—she was still new, still learning.

As they approached the bed, Maggie's sharp eyes immediately noticed how drained Louis looked. He lay propped up against the pillows, his face pale, his movements sluggish. His sharp blue eyes, however, still held a flicker of humor despite his clear exhaustion. Maggie knew exactly why—she was aware of the grueling day he'd endured: a panic attack in the middle of the night, sedation to calm him, his first unsteady steps, the removal of his catheter, the emotional challenge of a shower, and the long and grueling interview. It had been an overwhelming day for anyone, let alone someone in Louis's condition.

Bianca, who hadn't seen Louis since this morning, froze for a moment as her gaze landed on him. She was momentarily taken aback by how good he looked. His beard, freshly trimmed, framed his face perfectly, and his hair, carefully styled by Lottie, softened his features. The slightly oversized hoodie he wore only added to his charm, giving him an almost youthful, cozy appearance. Compared to the exhausted, disheveled state she'd witnessed during the night, this version of Louis was almost unrecognizable. She said nothing, though; professionalism kept her observations to herself.

Maggie, who had already seen him earlier, didn't react to his appearance, focusing instead on his demeanor. "How are we feeling, love?" she asked gently, pulling a chair closer to his bedside.

Louis managed a small smile, but his voice was quiet, his fatigue bleeding through. "The interview's done," he said with a nod. "It went well, I think. But honestly? I'm completely knackered. It was too much for one day."

Maggie nodded knowingly, her expression soft with understanding. "It sounds like it. Your first steps, getting rid of the catheter, a shower, a visit, and then the interview… that's an impossible amount for anyone to handle in one day."

Louis chuckled faintly, though it was more of a breath than a laugh. "Yeah, the catheter's not something I miss, but that walk to the loo was hell. Makes me wonder if they've got a smaller room without such a bloody trek."

Maggie smiled at his attempt at humor, her concern only deepening as she watched him struggle to stay upright in bed.

Lottie and Niall, who had been seated nearby, exchanged a look before stepping closer to Louis. Lottie crouched by his side, resting a hand lightly on his forearm. "Lou," she said softly, her voice thick with pride, "you were amazing today. I mean it. You handled everything so well."

Niall, standing just behind her, added with a smile, "She's right. You were brilliant. We're proud of you, mate."

Louis's tired smile grew a fraction, his gaze softening as he looked at both of them. "Thanks," he murmured. "I don't feel very brilliant, but… thanks."

Lottie leaned in, brushing a hand lightly over his hair. "You are. Now, get some proper rest tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah," Niall echoed, his tone firm but kind. He stayed at a slight distance, careful not to overstep. He knew how hard it had been for Louis to let him close earlier. "Rest up, Lou. We'll see you soon."

As the two prepared to leave, Maggie began explaining the day's events to Bianca in detail, ensuring the handover was thorough. Once finished, she turned back to Louis, giving him a gentle pat on the leg. "You really do need to rest tonight," she said warmly. "No pushing yourself, alright?"

Louis nodded faintly, his eyes already starting to droop. "Got it," he murmured.

With that, Maggie said her goodbyes, leaving Bianca alone with Louis and Harry, who had remained a quiet observer in the corner.

After a moment of silence, Bianca cleared her throat. "Louis, is it alright if I help you with your dinner? We've got potato gratin and roast tonight."

Louis opened his eyes halfway, managing a faint smile. "Sounds good. And yeah, sure. A few bites would be nice."

Bianca moved quickly but carefully, setting up the tray and pulling her chair closer to the bed. As she began to feed him small bites, Harry's eyes never left Louis. He watched every movement—the way Louis hesitated before each bite, how he chewed slowly, his expression tightening slightly as if the act of eating was unpleasant.

Harry's chest tightened painfully as he watched Louis struggle through every bite. He knew why—Louis had confided in him about the lingering taste that haunted him. The food, no matter how well-prepared, carried echoes of that nightmare. Harry clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, trying to suppress the rage and helplessness that bubbled inside him. But Louis—Louis was still trying. Still fighting.

Bianca, unaware of the storm brewing in Harry's mind, smiled gently at Louis, her voice soft with encouragement. "How's it tasting?" she asked, her hands steady as she offered another bite.

"Not bad," Louis replied, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real enthusiasm. He forced a faint smile, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "Thanks for helping me."

Harry could see the lie in Louis's tightened jaw, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. The effort it took to swallow each bite was monumental, and yet Louis pressed on, determined to eat at least a little. Harry's heart ached with both pride and sorrow.

Louis paused, his face twitching with a flicker of nausea so brief that most wouldn't notice—but Harry did. He always noticed. Louis drew in a deep, steadying breath, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the blanket as he forced the bite down, his jaw tense.

"Take your time," Bianca said gently, her voice calm and encouraging. "There's no rush."

Louis nodded, though his voice was low and even when he responded, "I'm fine." The words sounded hollow, a thin veneer over the truth. He wasn't fine. Harry could see it as clearly as he could feel his own pulse hammering in his chest.

Bianca smiled kindly, continuing to offer the next bite, but Harry's heart clenched tighter with each passing moment. How much more does he have to endure? Harry thought, his fists tightening in his lap. How can he face what's still ahead when something as basic as eating feels like a battle?

Louis's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the blanket harder, his breathing shallow. He pressed his lips together as Bianca brought the fork closer again, but he hesitated, the nausea creeping back like a wave he couldn't hold off. He closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head.

"I can't," he said hoarsely, leaning back against the pillows. His face was pale, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead from the effort. "I think I'm done for now."

Bianca nodded immediately, her expression warm and understanding. "Of course," she said as she cleared the tray. "If you need anything else, just call, alright? I'll be here all night."

"Thanks, Bianca," Louis murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He offered her a faint smile, gratitude flickering briefly across his face before exhaustion overtook it.

Bianca returned the smile and gave Harry a polite nod before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind her. The silence that followed felt heavy, and Harry moved closer, taking the seat by Louis's bed. His gaze fixed on Louis's face—paler than it had been even an hour ago, his features drawn with weariness.

Harry reached out without thinking, brushing a damp strand of hair from Louis's forehead. His skin was warm, slightly sticky with sweat from the sheer effort of eating. Harry's hand lingered for a moment, his thumb gently grazing the side of Louis's face as he took in every detail—the faint crease between his brows, the tension still lingering in his jaw, the way his breaths came unevenly as he fought for composure.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, the words barely audible, more to himself than to Louis. His heart felt heavy with the weight of all the things he couldn't say—not yet. "I'm so sorry, Lou."

Louis's eyes fluttered open at the touch, his blue gaze meeting Harry's, heavy with exhaustion but tinged with a faint flicker of warmth. He gave Harry a tired but soft smile, his voice rasping when he spoke. "It's not your fault, Haz."

Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost unbearable as he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against Louis's. "I'm proud of you," he murmured, his voice breaking. "For fighting. For eating. For… everything."

The soft glow of the hospital room's nightlight cast long shadows, and the quiet hum of the machines was the only sound breaking the stillness. Harry sat in the chair beside Louis's bed, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. His gaze remained fixed on Louis, who was watching him in return, his expression a mix of thoughtfulness and hesitation.

"Haz," Louis began softly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but the vulnerability beneath it was unmistakable, like a fragile thread threatening to unravel. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Harry froze, his stomach twisting into knots. "What do you mean?" he asked, though his voice lacked conviction, and he knew it wouldn't fool Louis.

Louis's piercing blue eyes held steady, his gaze unwavering. "You've been… off," he said, his tone gentle but resolute. "I noticed it earlier, but I didn't want to say anything with Niall and Lottie here. I didn't want to put you on the spot." His voice wavered slightly before he added, "But now it's just us, and I need to understand. I need you to be honest with me because I think I know what's going on."

He paused, his eyes searching Harry's face. "Is it me? Is all of this too much for you?"

Harry's heart shattered at the question, each word piercing through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but Louis pressed on, his voice trembling with emotion but steady enough to cut through Harry's silence.

"I'd get it if it is," Louis said quietly. "If this—everything I've been through—is too much for you. I wouldn't blame you. I'd understand if you'd rather be with someone else. Someone who's not…" He gestured vaguely to himself, his broken body confined to the hospital bed. "This."

"Louis, no—" Harry tried to interject, but Louis continued, his voice growing softer, almost breaking.

"If you're doubting us," Louis said, his words laced with quiet pain, "if you're doubting me… I'd understand that, too. I can't give you the kind of intimacy you want or need in a relationship right now. I panicked because you touched my chin, Haz." His voice cracked, and he looked away briefly before meeting Harry's gaze again. "And if you feel like you need space—if you need to step away—I'd get that as well. I'd never want you to stay just because you feel like you have to, like it's some kind of obligation. I love you too much for that. I'd always rather you be happy than be unhappy with me."

"Stop," Harry said, his voice shaking as he leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bed. "Louis, stop."

Louis fell silent, but the doubt and hurt were etched across his face, written into every line and shadow.

Harry's throat felt tight, and his chest ached with the weight of everything he couldn't say. He couldn't tell Louis about Oli, couldn't explain the truth behind the heaviness in his heart. Not yet.

Louis's voice broke through the silence again, quiet but firm. "There's nothing more important to me than you being happy, Haz. Even if that means leaving me. That's why I let you go back then—after my mum, after I couldn't go public with us. You would've been miserable if you stayed. I didn't want that for you. And if this," he gestured at himself again, his voice faltering, "makes you miserable, I'll survive. I'll find a way."

The tears that Harry had been holding back stung at the corners of his eyes. "Louis, no," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't say that. Don't even think it."

Louis hesitated, studying Harry's face as if searching for a lie, for any cracks in his words. "Haz," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I know I'm not who I was ten years ago. And I know I'm not who you fell in love with back then. I'm just a shadow of that person now, and I'd understand if… if you couldn't see a future with me anymore."

Harry's heart broke completely at Louis's words. The man he loved so deeply was doubting his worth, doubting the place he held in Harry's life. How could Louis not see it? How could he not know that he was Harry's entire world? Even now, even broken, even hurting—especially hurting.

"It's not you," Harry said firmly, his voice raw but resolute. "God, Louis, it's never been you. You're the only thing keeping me going. You're everything to me."

Louis frowned slightly, the shadow of doubt still lingering. "Then what is it, Haz?" he asked softly. "I can see it in your face. There's something. And if it's not me…"

Harry reached for Louis's hand, holding it gently between his own, careful not to hurt him. "I can't explain it right now," he admitted, his voice cracking. "But please, Lou, please don't think for even a second that it's because of you. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world."

Louis's gaze searched Harry's, his expression conflicted. He wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the words, but the scars of the past and the weight of the present made it hard. After a long pause, he gave a small nod, his voice quiet. "Okay," he murmured. "But promise me, Haz—if it ever does get to be too much, if you feel trapped, if you feel like you can't stay… promise you'll tell me. Don't let it eat away at you. I couldn't bear seeing you like that."

Harry's grip on Louis's hand tightened, his tears finally spilling over. "I promise," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break it. "But it's not going to happen, Lou. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Louis nodded faintly, his expression softening, but the silence that followed was heavy. He stayed quiet, his gaze distant, his thoughts clearly consuming him. Harry watched him carefully, his worry growing with each passing second. He could see Louis fighting against the exhaustion, the weight of his doubts and fears pressing down on him.

Harry knew what that would mean—if Louis fell asleep now, tangled in those dark thoughts, it would be a restless night filled with nightmares. Harry's mind raced as he tried to think of how he could help, how he could ease the burden he couldn't fully carry for Louis.

Then, almost unexpectedly, Louis spoke. His voice was so quiet Harry almost missed it. "Alright," he murmured, his words barely above a whisper. He hesitated, his blue eyes filled with quiet vulnerability as they met Harry's. "Will you lie down with me? I want to believe you, Haz. And I could really use your closeness right now. But… if it keeps you up again, I don't want to ask that of you."

Harry's heart ached at the quiet hope in Louis's voice, at the way he still put Harry's comfort above his own, even now. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Louis's forehead, his smile faint but genuine. "There's nothing I want more than to lie next to you. And I'll do my best to sleep this time. I promise."

Harry carefully climbed onto the bed, mindful of Louis's injuries as he settled beside him. He slipped an arm around Louis, gently guiding him closer. Louis shifted slowly, resting his head against Harry's chest. The warmth of Harry's embrace, the steady, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat beneath Louis's ear—it was enough to chip away at the doubt and fear clouding his mind.

As the sheer exhaustion of the day caught up with him, Louis's body relaxed. His breathing slowed and deepened, signaling that sleep had finally claimed him. Harry glanced down, his heart clenching at the sight of Louis so peaceful, so vulnerable. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to his hair. "I love you," Harry whispered, though Louis couldn't hear him.

The heaviness in Harry's chest didn't leave. The unspoken truths still weighed heavily on his heart, and Louis's earlier words echoed in his mind. The doubts, the deeply ingrained fears Louis carried—Harry could feel the gravity of them, the scars they had left on his soul.

Harry knew that what Louis had said had broken him in ways he hadn't fully processed yet. But in that moment, holding Louis close, with the rise and fall of his steady breathing against him, none of it mattered. He tightened his hold, as though grounding both of them in the here and now, refusing to let go of this fragile, fleeting peace.

The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over the hospital room. Louis stirred, slowly waking to the sound of Harry's quiet snoring. He blinked a few times, his gaze settling on Harry's peaceful face, his head tilted slightly to the side as he slept. A small, sleepy smile spread across Louis's lips. Harry, his best sleeping aid. Whenever he was near, Louis slept better—deeper, calmer. It had been the same the night two days ago and again now. But this time, Harry managed to sleep as well, and that brought a quiet sense of happiness to Louis.

Still, the night hadn't been without its consequences. Louis shifted slightly, wincing as the dull ache in his broken arm, ribs and dislocated shoulder flared up. He could also feel the ache from the internal wounds. He hadn't been in an ideal position for his battered body, but for his heart? It had been perfect. Pressed against Harry, his warmth cocooning him, Louis had felt safe, cherished.

But the moment couldn't last. His bladder was beginning to insist on attention, and the stiffness in his limbs reminded him that lying like this for too long only made everything harder. He sighed softly, torn between the need to move and the urge to stay exactly where he was. Instead of deciding, he allowed himself a few more moments, shifting just enough to snuggle closer to Harry, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of him.

Still, the weight of their conversation from the night before lingered heavily on his heart. He closed his eyes, wishing he could push away the gnawing doubts. Was he enough for Harry? Could he be enough, given everything that had happened? The thought that Harry might be staying out of obligation or pity was unbearable, more painful than the idea of him leaving altogether. But if Harry did leave…

The tears came before Louis could stop them, hot and unrelenting as they slid silently down his cheeks. He didn't make a sound, not wanting to wake Harry, but his chest ached with the quiet sobs he held in. He pressed his face against Harry's chest, seeking comfort even as the fear clawed at him.

The dampness of Louis's tears seeped through Harry's T-shirt, and the slight change in temperature stirred him awake. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, before his gaze fell to Louis curled tightly against him.

"Lou," Harry murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around Louis. "What's wrong?"

Louis froze for a moment, then shook his head, wiping his face quickly on Harry's shirt. "It's nothing," he whispered, his voice unsteady.

Harry frowned, his hand brushing gently over Louis's hair. "It's not nothing," he said softly, his tone coaxing but firm. "You're crying. Please, tell me."

Louis hesitated, his fingers twisting slightly in Harry's shirt as he kept his gaze averted. "It's just… I was thinking about yesterday. About what I said. And I still—" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "I still can't stop doubting. I still can't stop wondering if you're here because you want to be, or because you feel like you have to be."

Harry's heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Louis's voice. He sat up slightly, cupping Louis's face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears still slipping down his cheeks. "Louis," he said firmly, his green eyes locked on Louis's. "Listen to me. I am here because I love you. I'm here because there's no place else I'd rather be. Do you understand that?"

Louis nodded faintly, though the doubt in his eyes remained.

"No, really," Harry pressed, his voice softening but still unwavering. "You've got to stop worrying about this. Stop torturing yourself. You're not a burden. You're not too much. And I'm not going anywhere. Since the attack, I haven't slept properly—not once—until I've been here, this night, next to you. You make me feel at peace, Lou. You."

Louis's lips parted, a faint gasp escaping him at the sheer conviction in Harry's words. His tears started anew, but this time, there was no pain in them, only relief. He buried his face against Harry's chest again, his good hand clutching at the fabric of Harry's shirt as he let the reassurance wash over him.

"Thank you," Louis whispered, his voice muffled against Harry's chest. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"You don't have to be sorry," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis's head. "I get it. But let's stop talking about me leaving, alright? It's not happening."

Louis nodded against him, his body relaxing for the first time since waking. The tension eased out of him as he allowed himself to believe Harry's words, to trust in the love he'd been so afraid to lose.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to Louis's head, his lips lingering for a moment before he murmured, "I love you, Lou. More than anything in the world."

Louis smiled faintly against Harry's chest, his voice quiet but warm as he replied, "I love you too, Haz."

For a few moments, they lay there in silence, basking in the comfort of each other's presence. The air between them felt light, the weight of the previous night's emotions momentarily lifted. Louis nestled closer to Harry, his hand clutching at the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

But then, the growing pressure in his bladder became impossible to ignore. Louis sighed, his face scrunching slightly in reluctant acceptance. "I don't want to ruin the moment," he began, his voice tinged with humor despite his embarrassment, "but unless we want me pissing the bed, I'm going to need your help to get to the loo."

Harry chuckled softly, brushing his fingers lightly through Louis's hair. "Not the romantic morning you had in mind, eh?"

Louis laughed quietly, the sound a little strained. "Not exactly. And if you don't help me, Haz, I'm going to ruin more than just the sheets. Your T-shirt's already covered in my snot and tears. Do you really want to add something worse to the mix?"

Harry grinned, shaking his head as he carefully slid out of bed. "Alright, come on, you drama queen. Let's get you up."

He moved to Louis's side, gently helping him shift to the edge of the bed. Louis winced as the movement pulled at his ribs, but he bit back a groan, focusing on Harry's steady hands supporting him. Together, they managed to get him to his feet, and Harry slipped an arm around Louis's waist to steady him as they made their way to the bathroom.

Once inside, Harry guided Louis to the toilet and released him carefully. "I'll give you a minute," he said, stepping back toward the door. "Just shout if you need anything."

Louis nodded, grateful for the privacy. Once Harry had closed the door, he focused on the task at hand. Each movement felt like a battle against his battered body, the dull, aching pains radiating with every small effort. But he managed. He always managed.

As he relieved himself, his eyes drifted downward, taking in the bruises that painted his skin, the scrapes and raw patches that hadn't yet healed. His gaze lingered on the tender marks on his thighs and lower abdomen, and then his penis. The sight was a harsh reminder of everything he'd endured. The memories clawed at him, vivid and unrelenting, making his breath hitch. For a moment, the room seemed to spin, a wave of dizziness threatening to overtake him. He braced himself against the wall, gripping it tightly, forcing the feelings back down. He wouldn't fall apart now. Not here. Not while Harry waited outside.

When he finished, he shuffled carefully to the sink, leaning heavily against it. The cool water soothed his hands as he washed them, offering a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the exhaustion. Each motion felt monumental, his body trembling slightly with the effort.

"Haz?" he called out softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He stayed steady, waiting for the door to open, a part of him relieved that Harry was just on the other side.

The door opened immediately, and Harry stepped in, his expression attentive. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Louis said, his voice a little breathless. "But I need your help. Can you wash my face? And… help me brush my teeth? My arms are still mostly useless."

Harry's face softened, and he stepped closer without hesitation. "Of course," he said, grabbing a clean cloth and wetting it with warm water. He gently dabbed Louis's face, careful not to press too hard on the bruised areas. Louis closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as the warm cloth moved over his skin.

"Better?" Harry asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Much," Louis replied, opening his eyes with a small smile. "Now the teeth."

Harry reached for Louis's toothbrush and applied a dollop of toothpaste. Standing close, he held the brush steady as Louis opened his mouth. The process was slow, Harry moving carefully to make sure he didn't cause any discomfort. Louis leaned slightly against the sink, the strain of standing evident in the tension of his body.

"I've got you," Harry said quietly, his free hand resting lightly on Louis's back for support.

When they were done, Louis leaned his head back against the bathroom mirror, his breathing heavy. "Haz," he said, his voice barely audible, "thanks."

Harry smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Louis's forehead. "Always," he replied. "Now let's get you back to bed."

Louis nodded, too tired to argue. Harry guided him back to the bed with the same careful movements, easing him down onto the mattress. As soon as Louis was lying comfortably, he let out a long breath, his eyes already starting to drift closed.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Harry said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing Louis's hair back.

"Only because you're here," Louis mumbled, his words slurring slightly as sleep overtook him.

Harry felt a wave of relief as Louis settled back into bed after their trip to the bathroom. It was still a challenge for Louis, physically demanding and painful, but it was progress—no catheter meant a small but significant victory.

Harry sank into the recliner near the bed, watching over Louis as his breathing evened out in sleep. A soft knock at the door drew his attention, and Bianca and Tina entered quietly for the handover. Their movements were efficient and calm, a routine practiced to perfection.

"How are his pain levels?" Tina asked, her tone low to avoid waking Louis.

Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. "He's managing, but he groaned quite a bit earlier when we got him to the bathroom. It's… still hard for him."

Tina nodded thoughtfully, adjusting the settings on the IV. "We'll increase his dose slightly. He should be able to manage without too much discomfort, especially for tasks like that."

Bianca placed a tray with breakfast on the side table, glancing at Louis's peaceful form. "We'll leave this here," she whispered. "If he's hungry when he wakes up, just help him eat a little."

Harry nodded, grateful they didn't wake Louis. "Thanks. I'll make sure he eats when he's ready."

The nurses finished their check quickly, ensuring Louis's IV and vitals were stable, then left with quiet smiles and soft goodbyes. Harry leaned back in the recliner, letting out a small sigh of gratitude. For now, Louis could rest, and Harry would be there when he woke.

The clock struck 10 AM, and the hospital room was quiet, save for Louis's steady breathing as he slept deeply, his body recovering from the previous day's exhaustion. Harry sat in the recliner near the bed, his head tilted back, though his eyes remained open, his thoughts restless and clouded. His mind replayed his confrontation with Oli from the day before, the weight of it lingering in his chest like a stone.

The door creaked open, pulling Harry's attention. Oli stepped inside, his disheveled appearance immediately noticeable—his eyes red and puffy, dark circles underscoring his exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something tentative, almost fragile.

Harry's gaze hardened the moment their eyes met. He straightened in his seat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Well, look who decided to show up. Took you long enough." His words were sharp, full of contempt. "At least you're here now. That's the bare minimum, isn't it?"

Oli flinched slightly but stepped further into the room, his shoulders squared, though his exhaustion was evident. "I'm here, aren't I? Give me a fair chance, Harry," he said, his voice tight. "I was at the police station this morning. I told them everything I knew. I'm trying to make this right."

"A fair chance?" Harry scoffed, standing abruptly from his chair. His voice was low, simmering with barely contained fury. "Did you give Louis a fair chance when you spilled his private life to some random guy in a bar? Did you think about how that might affect him? Do you really think justtryingto make it right is enough?"

Oli's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I told you—I didn't mean for any of this to happen!" he snapped. "I didn't know that guy would use it against him. How could I have known they'd even run into each other?"

Harry took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides, his green eyes blazing. "But you did it, Oli. You handed them the ammunition. You knew what you'd done, and you waited. You waited until today to go to the police, and you didn't come to Louis. You stayed away. And for what? Because you couldn't deal with your guilt?"

Oli's face contorted with anger, his voice rising in defiance. "And what about you, Harry?" he shot back, his tone sharp. "Are you really in a position to judge me? Sure, you're here now. But how many times have you walked away when things got hard? When Louis needed you the most? Or have you conveniently forgotten how you left him to pick up the pieces after you decided to play the good guy in public and a ghost in private?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare try to turn this around on me. I'm here now. I'm staying. But you—where the hell were you when he needed you?"

Their voices grew louder, anger rolling off them in waves, neither backing down.

"You think I don't know how badly I fucked up?" Oli shot back, his face flushed. "I hate myself for it, Harry. Every second. But at least I'm here, trying to make it right. What about you? Are you going to run again when it gets worse? Because we both know it will."

The volume of their argument stirred Louis from his sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, his gaze hazy and unfocused at first. He caught sight of the two figures standing across the room, their voices sharp and intense, and for a moment, he froze, trying to process the tension.

But then his eyes landed on Oli, and a bright, sleepy smile spread across his face. "Oli," he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with warmth. "You're here."

The anger in the room evaporated in an instant, replaced with stunned silence. Harry's fists unclenched, his chest tightening as he watched Louis's face light up. Oli's tense posture softened, his expression shifting to one of quiet guilt.

Louis pushed himself up slightly, wincing at the movement but ignoring the discomfort. "I was worried about you," he said, his tone genuine. "Are you okay? Where've you been?"

Oli hesitated, his throat working as he tried to find the right words. He glanced at Harry, who was watching him with a sharp, unreadable expression, then back at Louis. "I… I'm okay," Oli said quietly. "I'm here now."

Louis's smile widened, oblivious to the storm that had just passed. "Good," he said softly. "I'm glad. I really missed you."

Harry watched the exchange, his chest aching with a mix of relief and frustration. He couldn't shake the weight of everything unsaid, but for now, Louis's happiness was all that mattered.

Louis adjusted himself slightly in bed, his tired but curious gaze fixed on Oli. "Come here," he said, patting the edge of the bed. His voice was soft but insistent. "How are you? How's Sally doing? Is she still feeling sick all the time?" He paused, his expression warming with genuine interest. "Does she feel up to doing things, or is the pregnancy really taking it out of her?"

Oli stepped closer, his movements hesitant. "She's… she's okay," he said, his voice quiet.

Louis smiled faintly. "That's good. Do you know yet if it's a boy or a girl?"

Oli shook his head. "Not yet. We're waiting to find out."

Louis tilted his head, his expression softening further. "Tell me where you've been, mate. I tried to reach you—over and over. I was… desperate. And I got nothing. Not a call, not a text." His eyes scanned Oli's face, noticing the redness around his eyes, the weariness in his posture. "You don't look good. Have you been sleeping? Your eyes are all swollen. Have you been crying? Did you and Sally have a fight?"

Oli looked away, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. Louis watched him intently, his voice growing quieter, more tentative. "If you didn't have time, you could've just told me, you know? I would've understood. I get that Sally and the baby come first now. That's okay, really." His voice cracked slightly as he added, "But I could've really used you. It's been… a lot."

Louis's voice lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. "So, come on, tell me. What's been going on?" He looked at Oli expectantly, his blue eyes wide with hope and hurt.

Oli swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he tried to form words. But nothing came out. His gaze flickered briefly to Harry, who stood stiffly by the door, his body radiating tension.

Louis's brows knitted together as he noticed the unspoken tension between the two. His gaze darted between them, his confusion growing. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice sharper now. "Why aren't you saying anything, Oli?"

Oli's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Louis turned his gaze to Harry, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "Harry," he said, his voice softer but no less insistent. "What's going on? Are you even speaking to me?"

The silence in the room grew heavier, suffocating. Louis's heart sank, his chest tightening with anxiety as he waited for one of them to answer.

The hospital room was unnervingly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the IV pump. Louis, still propped up in bed, looked at Oli with a mixture of hope and confusion. Harry stood by the wall, his body tense, his jaw tight, his green eyes locked on Oli.

"Say it," Harry demanded, his voice low but firm. The quiet intensity of his tone cut through the stillness. "Tell him what you've done."

Louis's gaze snapped to Harry, then back to Oli. His brows furrowed, concern etched across his face. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice softer, tinged with worry. "Oli, do you need to tell me something?"

Oli flinched at Louis's words, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but Harry's sharp gaze pinned him in place. After a long pause, Oli exhaled shakily and met Louis's eyes. "You're never going to forgive me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Louis immediately shook his head. "That's not true. Don't say that," he said firmly, though his voice faltered slightly. He turned his gaze to Harry, who remained silent but bristling with tension. For the first time, doubt crept into Louis's expression, and his voice softened as he repeated, "What's going on, Oli? Tell me."

The warmth in Louis's tone shifted, replaced by something cooler, more cautious. He gestured toward the chair by the bed. "Sit down," he said quietly. "And talk to me."

Oli hesitated but did as he was told, sinking into the chair like a man about to face judgment. He looked down at his hands, unable to meet Louis's eyes. "I was stupid," Oli began, his voice trembling. "I was so, so stupid. I didn't think… I didn't think it would lead to this."

Louis leaned forward slightly, his confusion deepening. "Lead to what?" he pressed. "Oli, just tell me. What happened? Talk to me, now!"

Oli drew a deep, ragged breath, his shoulders shaking as he fought for composure. "I told someone about you," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "About you and Harry. About… how much you care for him. How much he means to you."

Louis blinked, his expression unreadable as he processed the words. "You told someone," he repeated slowly. "About me and Harry? Why? To who?"

"I didn't mean for it to be like this," Oli continued, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. "It was weeks ago, before everything. I was at a bar, and this guy… he was just talking, you know? And I said too much. About you. About Harry. About… your feelings. I felt so pushed aside, Harry was there, and suddenly, I wasn't important anymore. I was jealous. Sally was scared I'd lose my job because I wasn't doing enough, and I complained. I didn't think he'd ever meet you. I didn't think it mattered."

Louis's face remained impassive, his expression unreadable, but his eyes changed—cold and distant, like a door slowly closing. "What exactly did you say?" he asked, his voice unnervingly calm, devoid of the warmth it usually carried.

Oli hesitated, his eyes darting to Harry as though searching for some kind of support, but Harry's face was stony, his fury barely contained. There was no lifeline there.

Oli swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. "I said… that you're in love with Harry. That you always have been. That whenever Harry comes back into your life, everything changes for you. That you're so much happier when he's around… that you don't need me anymore. That when he's there, I'm nothing. Invisible." His voice faltered, and he looked away before adding in a whisper, "And I said… that you're gay. That you'd never stop loving him."

Louis's lips parted slightly, his expression still unreadable, but his breathing grew shallower. "And that man," he said, his voice low and trembling, "he used that to… to hurt me."

Oli nodded, his tears spilling over as he whispered, "Yes. He… he told me afterward. After it happened. He bragged about what they'd done. How they'd used… that against you. How they said those things to break you. How he tried to turn you against Harry— for me."

Louis's chest tightened, his mind spinning as the memories of the psychological torment resurfaced. The taunts, the whispers, the mocking repetition of his supposed enjoyment—all of it crashing back like a tidal wave. His gaze sharpened, locking onto Oli, his voice quiet and unnervingly detached. "How long have you known?"

Oli wiped at his face, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. "Since the day after," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "The day theSunarticle came out. I should've gone to the police then, but I—I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I went today. I swear, Louis, I told them everything. Please… you have to give me a chance. I'm so sorry."

Louis leaned back against the pillows, his body unnaturally still, his breathing slow and measured, as though he were holding himself together with sheer willpower. His face betrayed nothing—not anger, not pain, not even disappointment. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, before he exhaled slowly.

His voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of emotion, like a judge delivering a final sentence. "Leave."

Oli's head snapped up, his eyes wide with desperation. "Louis, please—"

"Go," Louis interrupted, his tone firm but eerily calm. "I don't want you here."

Oli's face crumpled, tears streaming down as he stood. "Please, Lou," he begged. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I was stupid, I know. But please, you have to forgive me."

Louis turned his head away, his voice flat. "Just go."

Harry, who had been standing motionless, took a step forward. "Louis," he began gently, reaching out as if to comfort him.

But Louis flinched, his voice soft but resolute. "You too, Harry. Please. Leave."

Harry froze, his chest tightening at the words. "Louis, I'm not—"

"Please," Louis said again, his tone unchanged. "I need to be alone."

"Louis, you don't need to—"

"Harry," Louis interrupted, finally turning his gaze to meet Harry's. His blue eyes were empty, hollow. "Go."

Harry hesitated, his entire body screaming against the idea of leaving. But the quiet finality in Louis's voice left no room for argument. He nodded reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

Oli wiped at his face again, his sobs quieting as he followed Harry toward the door. Just before stepping out, he turned back, his voice broken. "I'm so sorry, Lou."

Louis didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the wall as the door clicked shut, leaving him in silence.

The hospital hallway was cold and sterile, but the tension between Harry and Oli made it feel suffocating. As soon as the door to Louis's room clicked shut behind them, Harry turned on Oli, his green eyes blazing with fury.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry hissed, his voice low but trembling with anger. "You have a girlfriend who's pregnant, Oli. Pregnant! I didn't even know that. You should be so happy. Why can't you just be happy with her? Why did you have to ruin things for Louis? Why couldn't you just… be glad for him? That he's finally found some happiness again?"

Oli flinched, his face pale and drawn, but he didn't back down. "You don't understand," he said, his voice cracking. "I was jealous, alright? I felt like I didn't matter to him anymore. You came back into his life, and suddenly I was nothing. After everything I've done for him, Harry. Everything Liam and I did to keep him together after you left."

Harry's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "That's not fair," he snapped. "I'm here now, aren't I? I came back. I'm staying."

"Yeah," Oli shot back, his voice rising. "Now. You're here now. But what happens when it gets hard again, Harry? What happens when Louis really needs you, and you can't handle it? That's what you do. You leave. Every time."

"That's not true!" Harry said, his voice shaking with frustration. "I've made mistakes, yes, but I'm not leaving him. Not now. Not ever."

"Good," Oli said bitterly. "Because Liam and I were the ones who picked up the pieces every time you left. We were the ones who had to make sure he didn't fall apart. And now…" He gestured toward the closed door, his face crumpling. "Now, I'm the one who's messed up, and I've ruined everything. And now we're both gone and nobody is left to pick up after you."

The anger between them seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by exhaustion and something deeper—regret.

"I'm sorry," Oli said, his voice trembling. He wiped at his face with a shaky hand. "I'm so, so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I need Louis in my life. He's my best friend. I need his advice. I need his help with… with everything. With being a dad, with my family. And I need this job, Harry. I need the security for my family. If he never forgives me, I don't know what I'll do."

Harry's gaze softened slightly, though his anger hadn't completely dissipated. "You should've thought about all of that before you opened your mouth to that guy," he said coldly. "Louis gave you everything, and you—"

"I know," Oli interrupted, his voice breaking. "I know I messed up. But haven't you ever made a mistake, Harry? Haven't you ever done something you wish you could take back?"

Harry froze, Oli's words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

"You've made mistakes, and Louis forgave you," Oli continued, his desperation palpable. "Liam forgave you. They both gave you chances. Why can't you help me fix this? Why can't you give me a chance too?"

Harry looked away, his jaw working as he tried to rein in his emotions. He hated how much truth there was in Oli's words. "It's not up to me, Oli," he said finally, his voice quieter. "It's up to Louis."

Oli's shoulders sagged, and he rubbed his face with his hands, his composure crumbling. "What if he never forgives me?" he whispered.

Harry didn't have an answer for that. Instead, he let the silence settle between them for a moment before speaking again. "You're lucky if Louis even says hello to you someday," he said harshly. "But if you want any chance at all, you need to back off for now. Give him space."

Oli nodded miserably, his body slumping as if the weight of his guilt was finally too much to bear.

The two stood in silence for a moment, their earlier anger replaced by worry as they both glanced at the door to Louis's room.

"He didn't even react," Oli said quietly, his voice filled with dread. "He wasn't angry, or sad, or anything. He just… told me to leave."

Harry frowned, the memory of Louis's cold, detached demeanor gnawing at him. "I know," he said. "It's not like him. He's shutting down, and that scares me."

"What do we do?" Oli asked, his voice barely audible.

Harry hesitated before answering. "We give him time," he said finally. "But we can't leave him alone for too long. He's not okay."

They exchanged a glance, their earlier animosity forgotten in the shared worry for Louis.

"Should we call someone?" Oli asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. Let's give him a little time. But we'll send Tina in to check on him in half an hour. If he's still like this, we'll figure something out."

Oli nodded, though his worry was still etched into every line of his face. Together, they sat on the chairs in the hallway, their earlier argument replaced by a heavy, shared silence as they waited and hoped that Louis would be okay.