Tears, Trauma, and Tea Towels

As they stepped back into Louis's hospital room, the gentle hum of the corridor gave way to the fragile stillness inside. Louis lay undisturbed, his chest rising and falling with the uneven rhythm of deep exhaustion. The day's emotional toll had left him utterly drained, and the atmosphere in the room felt delicate, as though even a whisper might shatter the fragile peace he so desperately needed.

Near the window, Lottie sat perched on a chair, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. Her knee bounced nervously, the energy radiating off her at odds with the quiet around her. When she spotted them entering, her eyes widened, her expression shifting to an almost giddy mix of disbelief and delight.

She locked eyes with Harry, her voice bursting out before she could stop herself. "You didn't!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with the effort to maintain an innocent expression. "Didn't what?" he asked, his tone feigning confusion.

Lottie scoffed, shaking her head as she waved her phone at him like it was irrefutable evidence. "The post, Harry!Thatpost. Don't act coy—you actually went and did it!"

Anne and Gemma exchanged knowing looks, their smiles giving away that they were already in on it. Gemma stifled a laugh, while Anne's gaze softened with pride.

Harry's attempt at innocence crumbled, and he shrugged with a small, sheepish smile. "It felt like the right time," he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly toward Louis's bed.

Lottie let out an exaggerated sigh, though her grin only grew wider. "Right time? Harry, you just broke the internet! People arelosing itover that post." She leaned forward, clutching her phone like it contained the most earth-shattering news. "Do you even realize how perfect it is? The pictures, the words—everything! And Louis… Oh my God, he's going to cry when he sees it. Again."

Harry's cheeks flushed faintly at her praise, and his gaze softened as he looked back at Louis. "I just… I wanted him to know how proud I am of him. That he's not alone."

Lottie's excitement bubbled over again as she scrolled through her phone. "And younailedit, Haz. Seriously, you should see the comments. People are sobbing, writing essays about how much it means to them. Even Niall commented—he's basically running a one-man PR campaign in the replies."

She let out a breathy laugh as she stood, crossing her arms. "I thought Louis blindsiding you with his post this morning was wild, but this? You just one-upped him, Styles. And the photos?Chef's seriously—today? You've got some guts."

Harry chuckled, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Well, I didn't think waiting would make it any easier."

Lottie rolled her eyes playfully. "You're unbelievable. But you know what? I'm here for it." Her grin softened as she added, "You really love him, huh?"

"More than anything," Harry said without hesitation, his voice steady and full of conviction.

Anne stepped closer, her gaze softening as she approached Louis's bedside. Without a word, she reached out, brushing the stray strands of damp hair from his pale forehead. Her touch was gentle, maternal, as though trying to smooth away the weight of the day that lingered even in his sleep.

"He looks so young like this," Anne murmured, her voice quiet but laced with sorrow. She glanced back at Harry, her hand still stroking Louis's hair tenderly. "Have you thought about asking him if he'd like to wash his hair? Or maybe just freshen up a little? It might make him feel better."

Harry blinked, caught off guard by Anne's suggestion. The words struck him like a jolt, and his stomach twisted with guilt as realization dawned. He hadn't thought about it—not since the morning before Louis's interview. Two days ago.

The memory of Louis's relief after that shower came rushing back, vivid and cutting. He could still see the way Louis's tense shoulders had relaxed, the faintest hint of peace flickering across his face as he washed his hair. It had been such a small thing, but the comfort it brought had been monumental.

And yet, here they were. The nightmares, the sickness—everything Louis had endured in the past two days—must have left him feeling suffocated again, trapped in his own skin. Harry had promised himself he'd pay more attention, that Louis wouldn't have to ask for something so simple, something so necessary.

And now? He'd failed. Again.

"I… no, I haven't," he admitted, his voice low and tinged with guilt. "I completely forgot."

Anne gave him a small, understanding smile, her hand still gently combing through Louis's hair. "You've had a lot on your mind, love. But I think it might mean a lot to him. He'd never ask, though. You know that."

Harry nodded, his gaze fixed on Louis's sleeping form. "Not a chance," he murmured. His chest ached as he took in how vulnerable Louis looked—the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the pallor of his skin, the sweat clinging to his hair. "You're right. He'd probably love it. It made such a difference for him last time… and I just forgot."

Lottie, having caught the tail end of their conversation, wandered over, her arms crossed as she joined them by the bed. Her usual sass was replaced by a gentler tone. "It's a good idea. He's been so out of it lately. A shower might help him feel a little more… I don't know, like himself again. Or at least help him like himself a bit more."

Harry's jaw tightened, determination settling over him. "Tomorrow morning. First thing," he said, his voice firm. "He's been through enough for today, but I'll make sure he gets the chance to feel human again."

Anne's hand paused for a moment on Louis's hair before she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "That's a good plan, love," she said gently. "It's the little things that make all the difference."

Gemma leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed, her expression thoughtful. "I'll help if you need it," she offered. "Whatever it takes."

Harry let out a small laugh, though his tone held an edge of weariness. "Thanks, Gem, but no offense—you're not exactly what he'd call 'helpful' in this situation."

Gemma raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. "Rude, but fair. I guess I'll leave the heavy lifting to you."

The humor faded from Harry's face as his gaze drifted to Louis. His throat tightened, memories of the last time they'd tried this surfacing unbidden. "It's… not easy for him," Harry admitted quietly. "Last time, it took everything out of him. He couldn't move much on his own because of his injuries, so I had to do everything." His voice faltered briefly before he continued. "I washed his back and arms first—those were okay. The legs and chest were harder. But when it came to…"

He trailed off, his jaw clenching. Anne placed a reassuring hand on his arm, her expression encouraging him to continue.

Harry inhaled deeply, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "When it came to his… more private areas, it was hell for him. He was so uncomfortable—ashamed, even. I could see it all over his face, in the way his body tensed. He wouldn't look at me, wouldn't speak. I tried to be as gentle as I could, to let him set the pace, but…" He shook his head, the memory of Louis's humiliation cutting deep.

Anne's eyes softened, her hand squeezing his arm gently. "But he let you help him, even after this horrible attack," she said quietly. "That says a lot about how much he trusts you, Harry."

Harry nodded, his voice still heavy. "Yeah, he did. But it was awful for him. At least when I got to his hair, he relaxed a little. I think it felt normal again—something he could enjoy without overthinking it. But even that… it drained him. It would be too much for today."

Lottie, who had been quietly listening, stepped closer, her voice unusually soft. "It's not just about getting clean, is it?" she said. "It's about feeling like himself again. Even if it's hard, it's worth it."

Harry's gaze flicked to her, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. It is." He looked back at Louis, his resolve hardening. "Tomorrow morning, I'll make sure he gets that chance."

Anne smoothed Louis's hair once more before stepping back. "You're doing a good job, love," she said gently. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, her words settling heavily in his chest. "Thanks, Mum. I just… I want to get this right. For him."

Lottie smirked, her playful side reemerging. "Well, considering the internet is practically on fire right now because of you two, I'd say you're doing something right."

Harry chuckled softly, though his phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket, a constant reminder of the chaos he'd unleashed. "Let's just hope Louis agrees when he sees it."

The room settled into a comfortable quiet again, the weight of the day easing slightly as they gathered around Louis. Harry's mind was already spinning with plans for the next morning, determined to give Louis the care and comfort he so desperately needed.

The late afternoon light filtered softly through the hospital room, painting everything in a warm glow. Louis stirred, his lashes fluttering as he blinked against the haze of exhaustion. His body ached, every movement slow and deliberate. Harry, seated by his bedside, noticed immediately and leaned forward, his expression shifting to one of quiet concern.

"Hey, love," Harry said gently, his voice soft. "How are you feeling?"

Louis let out a groggy sigh, his voice hoarse. "Still a bit dizzy. Everything hurts."

Anne, Gemma, and Lottie, seated in various spots around the room, turned their attention to the bed. Anne's brow furrowed in maternal concern, while Gemma leaned forward slightly, studying Louis intently. Lottie, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her lips twitching as if preparing a quip.

Harry brushed his fingers through Louis's messy hair, the strands sticking up stubbornly. "I need to tell you something," he began, his tone cautious but steady, though his stomach churned with nerves.

Louis squinted up at him, his brows knitting faintly. "You're not leaving me to marry a Spice Girl or something, are you?" he rasped, his dry humor cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

Lottie snorted from her chair. "Please, Louis. As if he'd be that interesting."

Harry rolled his eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "No, it's nothing like that," he said, shaking his head. "I—"

Before he could continue, Louis shifted slightly, wincing as he did. "Actually, hold that thought," he said, his tone more urgent now. "I need to pee. Like,now."

Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Oh, uh, okay. Let's get you up."

He slid an arm behind Louis's back, helping him shift into a sitting position. But as soon as Louis was upright, he swayed heavily against Harry's chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harry murmured, tightening his hold. "You alright? Talk to me."

Louis pressed his forehead against Harry's shoulder, his breathing uneven. "Dizzy," he muttered. Then, after a beat: "And… I think I'm gonna be sick."

Gemma sprang into action, grabbing the basin from the nearby counter and passing it to Harry with impressive speed. "Here!"

Harry barely had time to position it before Louis retched, his body trembling with the effort. Anne and Gemma exchanged worried glances, while Lottie looked away, muttering, "Poor guy. That's just cruel."

When it was over, Louis sagged against Harry, his forehead damp with sweat. "I hate this," he mumbled, his voice thick with frustration.

"Don't," Harry said firmly, wiping Louis's face with a damp cloth Anne handed him. "Don't waste your energy being mad at yourself. It's not your fault, Lou. Save that energy for something useful."

Louis groaned softly but didn't argue, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Alright then. Let's put that energy into getting me to the toilet, shall we?"

Harry hesitated, his eyes scanning Louis's pale face and trembling frame. "You're not walking like this," he said firmly. "I'll carry you."

Louis's brows shot up, his pride immediately bristling. "Oh, no. No way. I'm not letting you carry me like some damsel in distress."

"Fine," Harry said calmly, his voice steady but firm. "Then we'll stay right here until you're ready to admit you need help. Your choice."

Louis glared at him, though his sass was tempered by exhaustion. "You're impossible."

"And you're stubborn," Harry shot back with a teasing grin.

Lottie snickered from her chair. "Can confirm. He's the worst patient. Just let Harry be your knight in shining armor, Lou."

Anne chimed in, her tone gentle but firm. "Louis, sweetheart, there's no shame in letting someone help you. You've been through so much—don't push yourself."

Louis sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Fine," he said, relenting. "But if anyone gets a picture of this, I'm billing you for emotional damages."

Harry grinned, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Deal. Now, hold on."

He scooped Louis up carefully, mindful of his bruised and fragile frame. Louis rested his head against Harry's shoulder, muttering, "This better not be your idea of romance, Styles."

Gemma stifled a laugh, and even Anne let out a soft chuckle. "Well," Lottie said brightly, "at least you're keeping us entertained."

Harry carried Louis to the small bathroom adjoining the room, setting him gently on the toilet. "There," he said, crouching slightly to meet Louis's gaze. "Happy now?"

Louis gave him a mock glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Ecstatic," he deadpanned.

Harry crouched beside Louis, steadying him on the toilet after their slow, awkward journey from the bed. Louis still swayed slightly, his breaths shallow and uneven.

"You good?" Harry asked softly, his hand resting lightly on Louis's back for balance.

Louis nodded faintly, his voice strained. "Yeah, just… get it over with."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then reached for the waistband of Louis's joggers and boxers. He moved slowly, carefully, mindful of Louis's fragile state. But the instant the fabric slid down his hips, Louis froze, his body stiffening like a coiled spring.

The silence was sudden and suffocating.

"Lou?" Harry asked cautiously, his hand stilling.

And then it happened—Louis's breathing hitched, turning rapid and shallow, his eyes darting wildly as though searching for an escape. The weight of the past came crashing down, suffocating him. His voice cracked as he pushed Harry's hands away with a sudden burst of panic.

"Let go!" he gasped, his voice breaking into a shout. "Get off me—now!"

Harry immediately released him, his hands raised in surrender as his heart pounded in his chest. "It's okay, Lou! It's just me. You're safe."

But Louis wasn't hearing him. His panic spiraled, his body trembling violently as memories clawed their way to the surface. The last time someone had pulled his pants down like this… the shame, the pain, the helplessness—it all slammed into him like a freight train.

"Don't touch me!" Louis shouted, his voice raw with terror.

Harry backed up slightly, terrified Louis might fall from the toilet. He hovered nearby, his hands twitching as he struggled to find the balance between helping and respecting Louis's boundaries.

Louis's body swayed dangerously on the toilet, his balance slipping with the dizziness still gripping him. Harry's instincts kicked in, and he reached out to steady him, his hands firm but careful.

The reaction was immediate and devastating. Louis flinched violently, his cries escalating into panicked, ear-splitting screams. His arms flailed weakly, pushing at Harry as though his touch burned. His legs kicked out in desperation, his entire body consumed by fear.

"Get off me!" Louis shrieked, his voice cracking under the weight of his panic. "Stop! Don't—don't touch me!"

Harry's heart wrenched at the raw terror in Louis's voice. His mind raced as he realized Louis couldn't stay upright on the toilet in this state—it wasn't safe. With no other option, Harry made the snap decision to lower him to the bathroom floor, his movements slow and deliberate despite Louis's frantic protests.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lou," Harry said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I just need to get you somewhere safe. You're safe, I swear. Just trust me."

But Louis didn't hear him. The moment his back hit the cold tiles, his panic surged to unbearable heights. He screamed again, his voice hoarse and raw. "No! Don't touch me! Don't… don't do this!"

His cries echoed through the bathroom, sharp and filled with anguish, cutting through Harry like a blade. Outside the door, Anne, Gemma, and Lottie froze in their tracks, their faces etched with alarm as Louis's screams reached them.

Anne was the first to react, pounding on the door with urgency. "Harry! What are you doing? Let me in—what's going on in there?" Her voice trembled, but there was an edge of anger that couldn't be missed.

Harry flinched at her tone but didn't stop trying to calm Louis. "He's having a panic attack," he called back, his voice breaking. "I—I couldn't keep him upright. I had to get him down to the floor."

Anne didn't relent. "On the floor? Are you serious? You're making it worse!" Her voice rose, frustration and fear spilling over. "What are you doing to him?"

Harry clenched his jaw, refusing to let the guilt paralyze him. "I'm trying to help him!" he snapped, though his tone softened almost immediately. "He was going to fall. Please, just trust me—I've got him."

Anne pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening as she turned to Gemma and Lottie. "He's already so fragile," she whispered, her voice cracking. "He doesn't need this."

Gemma placed a steadying hand on Anne's arm. "Harry's trying, Mum. He knows Louis better than anyone. Let him handle it."

Inside the bathroom, Louis was on the floor, trembling uncontrollably, his hands clawing weakly at his chest as if trying to tear away the panic suffocating him. Tears streamed down his flushed face, mixing with sweat, as his breathing came in short, desperate gasps. He was completely lost in the storm of fear, unable to distinguish the present from the ghosts of his past.

"Louis," Harry said gently, kneeling beside him. He kept his hands visible, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. "It's me. It's Harry. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. You're here with me, in the hospital. Not there. Not with them."

Louis flinched slightly, his eyes squeezing shut as though trying to block out everything around him. His panic consumed him entirely, dragging him deeper into memories he couldn't escape.

"Focus on me, Lou," Harry continued, his tone soothing but firm. "Just my voice. You're safe now. I've got you."

The minutes dragged on painfully as Harry kept speaking, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Louis's trembling began to subside. His sobs softened into broken hiccups, and his breathing, though unsteady, slowed enough to show he was starting to come back to himself.

But as Louis shifted slightly, Harry's stomach dropped. The dampness on Louis's joggers caught his eye, the dark stain spreading across the fabric. His body had betrayed him in the midst of his panic, and Harry's chest tightened with dread. He knew how devastating this realization would be for Louis.

Louis's glassy, bloodshot eyes fluttered open. He blinked slowly, his gaze darting around the room with disoriented confusion. "Where…" His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Where am I?"

Harry leaned in closer, his voice soft but steady. "You're in the hospital, Lou. You're safe."

Louis's brow furrowed as his gaze landed on Harry. For a brief moment, relief flickered across his face. "Harry," he whispered, his voice shaky but filled with recognition. "You're here…"

"I'm here," Harry assured him, his hand resting near but not on Louis, careful not to trigger him further. "You're okay, Lou. I've got you."

Louis blinked slowly, disoriented, his eyes scanning the bathroom with a mix of confusion and dread. His breathing hitched as reality began to seep in. His gaze drifted down to his damp joggers, the realization hitting like a freight train.

"No…" His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before rising into a panicked litany. "No, no, no! Oh God, Harry… I—I didn't mean to—I didn't…" His words dissolved into a guttural sob, his chest heaving as his body started to shake violently again.

"Louis," Harry said gently, leaning in closer but still keeping a careful distance. "It's alright—"

"No, it's not alright!" Louis screamed, his voice breaking with raw anguish. "I'm disgusting! I can't even control my own body!" Tears streamed down his face as his body slumped forward slightly, restrained by the soreness and weakness in his limbs. "They're going to… They'll make me get a catheter again," he choked out, his sobs coming harder. "I can't go back to that, Harry. I can't—I can't—"

Harry's chest ached as he watched Louis unravel completely. He tried to speak, but Louis's cries only grew louder, his voice rising with each desperate word. "I hate this. I hate me. I can't do anything. I'll never be normal again." His hands trembled as they moved helplessly, his limited range of motion preventing him from covering his face, leaving his anguish fully visible.

The muffled sounds of Louis's shouting reached the women waiting just outside the bathroom door. Anne, Gemma, and Lottie froze, their faces pale as they exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Anne pressed a trembling hand to her chest, tears welling in her eyes. "What is Harry doing in there?" she whispered, her voice shaking with fear and anger.

Gemma placed a hand on her mother's shoulder, trying to ground her. "He's trying to help, Mum," she murmured. "He knows how to handle this. Let him—"

"Why is Louis screaming at him like that?" Lottie interjected, her voice breaking. She shifted restlessly in her seat, her hands clenching into fists. "I've never heard him like this before. I… I can't listen to this."

Inside the bathroom, Louis's desperation peaked. "Go!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain. "Please, Harry, just go! I don't want you here—I don't want anyone here! Just leave me alone!"

Harry stayed crouched beside him, his face a mask of quiet determination. "No," he said softly but firmly, his tone unwavering despite the chaos around him.

Louis let out a strangled scream of frustration, his head falling back against the wall as tears poured down his face. "Why won't you just go? I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want anyone to see me like this."

Outside, the women exchanged worried looks, their stomachs twisting as Louis's broken voice echoed through the door. "Why isn't Harry leaving?" Anne muttered, her tears spilling over.

Gemma, her own voice tight, whispered, "Because he knows Louis can't be alone right now. He's not going to let him spiral."

Back inside, Harry spoke softly, his voice steady despite the storm in front of him. "I'm not leaving, Lou," he said gently. "I know you're hurting. I know you think you need to be alone, but I'm not going to let you fall apart by yourself. Not this time."

Louis's sobs slowed slightly, though his chest still heaved with shallow, ragged breaths. He shook his head weakly, tears dripping from his chin. "I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't…"

"You can," Harry said, leaning closer, his voice resolute. "You've made it through so much, Lou. And I'll help you through this, too."

Louis looked at him, his bloodshot eyes filled with disbelief and pain. "They're going to know. The nurses, Dr. Lopes… they'll know, and they'll put me back on the catheter. I'm useless—I'm disgusting—I—"

"They're not going to know," Harry interrupted softly but firmly. "We won't tell them, alright? I'll clean this up. We'll get you cleaned up, and no one else has to know. It's just you and me."

Louis blinked, his tears spilling freely as his lip trembled. "Why are you still here?" he whispered, his voice broken and raw.

Harry moved closer, keeping his voice steady as he cupped Louis's face with the utmost care. "Because I love you," he said simply. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Louis stared at Harry for a long moment, his trembling breaths uneven and shallow. His voice came out in a whisper, barely audible. "I don't deserve you."

Harry's expression softened, his own emotions threatening to spill over. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he knelt closer. "You deserve everything, Lou. Let me help you. Please."

Louis didn't respond. His gaze darted away, filled with shame, but the faintest of nods followed. Harry exhaled softly, placing a reassuring hand on Louis's knee before standing.

"I'll be right back," Harry promised, his voice steady. "Just sit tight, alright?"

He slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he turned, he was met with the anxious faces of Anne, Gemma, and Lottie. They had clearly heard Louis's earlier shouts and were now brimming with concern.

"What's going on?" Anne whispered, her voice trembling as she stepped closer. Her hands fidgeted, and tears glistened in her eyes.

Harry's jaw tightened, and he spoke quietly, his tone calm but urgent. "He had a panic attack. It… it got really bad. He wet himself," he explained, his voice dropping even lower. "I need to clean it up before anyone else comes in. He can't handle the shame of someone else knowing."

Anne gasped softly, pressing a hand to her chest as her tears finally spilled over. "Oh, my poor boy," she murmured, her voice breaking. "Is he alright now? Can I—can I help?"

Harry shook his head firmly, though his gaze softened as he looked at her. "He's embarrassed, Mum. Completely humiliated. He doesn't need anyone else in there right now. I've got this. Just… let me handle it, okay?"

Gemma, her face set with determination, suddenly turned on her heel. "I'll find a mop," she said sharply. "There's got to be a cleaning cart around here somewhere."

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried down the hall, her boots clicking softly against the sterile floor. Lottie shifted uncomfortably beside Anne, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "This is killing him, isn't it?" she muttered. "He's probably thinking this means he's back to square one."

Harry nodded grimly, his throat tightening. "That's exactly what he's thinking. He's convinced Dr. Lopes and the nurses will insist on putting the catheter back in. He thinks he's failed."

Anne wiped her cheeks with trembling fingers. "This isn't failure," she whispered. "He's still healing. He's been through so much…"

Harry reached for the small duffle bag at the foot of Louis's hospital bed, unzipping it to search for clean clothes. His movements were methodical, his face tense with focus as he pulled out a pair of Nike joggers, a pair of boxers and a soft Burberry T-shirt.

At that moment, Gemma reappeared, slightly breathless, carrying a mop she'd clearly borrowed from a nearby cleaner. "I had to beg the cleaning lady," she said, handing it to Harry. "She's probably wondering what kind of disaster happened in here."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, taking the mop from her. He turned to look at all three women, his expression suddenly sharp with resolve. "No one ever mentions this to him. Ever. Not a word. This never happened."

Anne and Lottie both nodded immediately, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Of course," Anne said firmly. "We'll never bring it up. He doesn't need any more to carry."

Gemma placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently. "We've got your back. Just… take care of him."

Harry nodded, clutching the clean clothes and mop tightly. With one last glance at the women, he slipped back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

When Harry returned, Louis was still slumped against the bathroom wall, his face turned away and his shoulders curled inward, as though trying to make himself disappear. He didn't acknowledge Harry's presence, his silence deafening.

"I'm back," Harry said softly, kneeling beside him. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Louis didn't respond. His tear-streaked face remained turned away, but he allowed Harry to gently help him to his feet. His movements were stiff and hesitant, his body trembling as though it might give out at any moment.

Harry guided him to the shower, ensuring the chair was securely positioned inside. The room was filled with the low hum of the water heating up, a sound that usually brought comfort but now felt heavy with tension. Harry crouched to Louis's level, his voice soft but steady.

"Lou, we're going to take this slow, alright? Just you and me. No one else will know. Let me help you."

Louis nodded faintly, but his face was still twisted with shame, his eyes refusing to meet Harry's. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and reached for Louis's T-shirt.

"Let's start with this," Harry murmured, carefully lifting the fabric. Louis flinched slightly but allowed Harry to pull it over his head, his chest rising and falling with shallow, shaky breaths. Harry folded the shirt quickly and set it aside.

"Now your joggers, okay?" Harry asked gently, though he felt Louis's entire body stiffen at the words. The memory of the earlier panic attack flashed in Harry's mind, and he hesitated, his hands hovering.

"It's just me, Lou," Harry reassured him. "I'll be quick."

Louis nodded reluctantly, his arms hanging limply at his sides as Harry carefully slid the joggers and boxers down. As soon as they were off, Louis's hands shot up to cover himself, his knuckles white with tension. His entire body trembled, his breaths coming faster as tears began to spill down his cheeks again.

Harry's voice was calm, though his chest ached. "You're alright. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

Louis didn't respond, his shame radiating off him in waves. Harry quickly set the clothes aside and adjusted the water, ensuring it was warm but not too hot.

Harry stepped into the shower carefully, picking up a soft washcloth. He knelt beside Louis, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

"I'm starting with your arms and back," he explained, his voice low and steady. "If anything feels too much, you let me know."

The first touches were met with flinches, but Louis didn't pull away. His arms and back were the easiest, and Harry worked carefully, his hands gentle as he cleaned Louis's skin.

When Harry moved to Louis's legs, the tension increased. Louis's knees jerked slightly as Harry's hands moved down to his calves and ankles, the memories clearly crashing through him. Tears streamed steadily down his face, silent but endless.

Harry's heart broke further when he moved to Louis's chest and stomach. Louis let out a choked sob, his body trembling violently. "It's okay, Lou," Harry murmured, though his own voice wavered. "You're doing so well. Just breathe."

The worst part came when Harry reached Louis's most vulnerable areas. Louis's entire body locked up, his muscles rigid with tension, his hands gripping the edges of the shower chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing grew shallow and uneven, each inhale hitching as though it might break him. He was completely silent now, save for the occasional whimper that escaped despite his desperate attempts to suppress it.

Harry's movements slowed, his own chest constricting painfully as he knelt beside Louis. The vulnerability in front of him wasn't just physical—it was raw, emotional, and devastating. "I know this is hard," Harry said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "It's just me, Lou. No one else. You're safe."

He didn't expect a response, and Louis gave none. His tears, relentless and silent, mixed with the water cascading over his face, washing away everything except the anguish in his trembling frame.

Harry's mind raced as he carefully continued, his touch as light and respectful as possible. This should be a moment of intimacy, of love, he thought bitterly. His heart twisted as he remembered how things had been just days ago—before the attack. Back then, touching Louis in these places had been a source of connection, of shared desire and joy. He could still hear Louis's laughter, see the way he'd roll his eyes but smirk with a sassy quip: "I like when you get too handsy, Styles." Harry's hands would wander, and Louis would lean into it, humming with pleasure, teasing but completely unguarded.

But now? Now it was different. Each touch felt like a battle, each second an act of survival rather than love. Louis wasn't moaning in pleasure—he was gripping the chair as though his life depended on it. The space where intimacy had once thrived was now filled with fear and shame. It was a cruel, harrowing reminder of what had been taken from them.

Harry swallowed hard, blinking away his own tears as he focused on Louis. You can do this. For him. He kept his movements deliberate, avoiding anything that could startle Louis further. He spoke quietly, offering gentle reassurances. "It's okay, Lou. Just a little more. You're doing so well."

Louis didn't look at him. He couldn't. His head was tilted down, his gaze fixed on the floor as if he could disappear into it. His body shook with silent sobs, his face streaked with tears and water.

It was an agonizingly slow process. Washing Louis's arms and back had been manageable, even if fraught with tension. But his legs, his chest, his stomach—and now this—felt unbearable for both of them. Harry's heart broke a little more with every flinch, every tremor.

Finally, Harry moved to Louis's hair. "I'm going to wash your hair now," he said, his voice gentle. "Just lean back a little for me."

To Harry's relief, Louis complied, tilting his head back slightly. Harry lathered the shampoo into his hands, his fingers working carefully through Louis's hair. It was the only time Louis's body seemed to relax, even if only slightly.

When the shower was done, Harry grabbed a towel and began drying Louis off. He moved gently, his hands firm but soft, making sure Louis felt grounded. Louis's tears hadn't stopped, but they were quieter now, his sobs reduced to broken sniffles.

Harry helped him into the fresh clothes: soft boxers, Nike joggers and a Burberry T-shirt. Once Louis was dressed, Harry crouched in front of him, his hands resting lightly on Louis's knees.

"Let's sit you on the toilet for a bit while I clean up, alright?"

Louis nodded faintly, his gaze fixed on the floor. Harry lifted him gently from the shower chair and placed him on the toilet seat, making sure he was stable before turning his attention to the mess on the floor.

As Harry mopped the tiles, he kept his voice gentle but steady, his words deliberate. "Lou, you don't need to be ashamed," he said, glancing back at Louis, who sat hunched on the toilet, his frame so small it made Harry's chest ache. "None of this changes how I feel about you. Not one bit. You're still… you. You're still the strongest, bravest, and most beautiful person I know."

Louis remained silent, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Tears slipped silently from his eyes, falling onto his joggers. His silence was deafening, and Harry fought the growing panic inside him, the fear that Louis might never believe him.

"I mean it," Harry continued, wringing the mop into the bucket before setting it aside. "You're still… everything to me, Lou. None of this takes that away. Not what happened, not how you feel about yourself now. You're still the man I love. The man I find beautiful, inside and out."

Harry's throat tightened, but he pushed through, desperate to reach him. "And I don't just mean beautiful in that poetic way, either. I mean it in every way, Lou. I still want you. Desire you. All of you."

Louis flinched slightly at the word, his breath hitching, but he didn't speak. Harry crouched in front of him, careful to give him space but close enough that he could feel his presence. "It's okay if you don't want to talk right now," Harry said softly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

By the time Harry finished cleaning and returned to Louis, the silence between them had grown almost unbearable. Louis hadn't moved, his head still bowed, tears still dripping steadily onto his lap. Harry's chest felt tight with worry, but he knelt beside him again, his hand hovering near Louis's knee. "Lou?" he whispered.

Finally, Louis raised his head, his red-rimmed eyes locking with Harry's. His lips trembled as he spoke, his voice raw and barely audible. "I love you."

Harry's heart clenched, a rush of relief washing over him so overwhelming that tears filled his own eyes. He reached for Louis's hand, squeezing it gently. "I love you too, Lou. More than anything."

Louis gave a faint nod, his body sagging slightly as though the admission had drained what little energy he had left. "But, Harry…" He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor again, his voice cracking. "I'm so tired. Not just my body—I mean… everything. I'm tired of this. Of feeling this way. Of waking up every day and knowing it's going to hurt. Knowing I'll have to fight to get through it. I'm so tired of fighting."

Harry's throat tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "I know you are," he said gently. "And I wish I could take that weight from you, Lou. But I swear to you, it won't always be like this. It might not feel like it now, but it will get better."

Louis shook his head weakly, his voice trembling with fear. "What if it doesn't? What if I never feel okay in my own skin again? What if everything stays… like this? Always a fight. Always feeling like I'm drowning."

Harry's chest ached, but he cupped Louis's face, his thumb brushing away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. "It's okay to feel that way," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. "It's okay to be scared. But you're not alone in this fight. I'll be here every step of the way, even if it feels impossible sometimes. And even if you don't believe it now, I believe it for both of us—it will get better."

Louis let out a shaky exhale, his lips pressing together to hold back a sob. "I don't know if I can keep going like this."

"You don't have to do it alone," Harry whispered. "I'll carry you through the hard parts if I have to. Whatever it takes. You're not alone in this, Lou. Ever."

Louis's shoulders shook as a sob finally broke free, and Harry pulled him into a careful embrace, mindful of his injuries. Louis cried against Harry's chest, his tears soaking into the soft fabric of Harry's shirt.

"I love you," Louis whispered again, his voice trembling but resolute. "Thank you."

Harry held him closer, his own tears falling now, his heart breaking and swelling all at once. "I love you too, Lou," he whispered back. "Always."

Harry crouched beside Louis, his hands hovering near him, careful not to make sudden movements. He brushed a damp strand of hair from Louis's forehead, his touch as light as a whisper. "Lou," he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "Is it okay if I carry you back to the bed? You've been through enough for one day."

Louis hesitated, his eyes glassy and unfocused, but he nodded faintly. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "Yeah… okay."

Harry let out a small breath of relief, trying to keep his movements as gentle as possible. "Alright," he murmured. "I'll be careful. Just lean on me."

He slid one arm under Louis's legs and the other behind his back. Louis flinched slightly, his body tense, but he didn't resist. Harry lifted him with practiced ease, cradling him against his chest like he was the most fragile thing in the world. Louis's head rested lightly on Harry's shoulder, his breaths shallow and uneven.

"It's okay," Harry whispered as he carried him out of the bathroom and into the hospital room. "I've got you, Lou. You're safe."

Harry carried Louis back into the room, his arms steady but his chest tightening with every step. Louis leaned heavily against him, his face turned away. The three women, seated just outside the bathroom door, stood immediately as they entered. Concern was etched into their faces, but none of them spoke right away.

Anne was the first to break the silence, her voice a mix of worry and tenderness. "Is everything alright, love?"

Louis didn't lift his head. He nodded once, a brief and almost dismissive motion, refusing to meet their eyes. Harry gave them a small shake of his head, a silent plea to let it go for now.

Harry set Louis gently onto the bed, adjusting the pillows behind him with practiced care. He draped a blanket over his legs, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. Louis's gaze remained distant, his lips pressed tightly together.

"I'll be right here," Harry said softly, crouching beside him. "If you need anything."

Louis didn't respond, his silence heavy and impenetrable. The three women exchanged uneasy glances, but Harry subtly gestured for them to leave it alone. Anne's eyes filled with tears, but she gave him a faint nod.

The room was heavy with silence, thick and almost suffocating. It lingered awkwardly, unspoken words hanging in the air until Louis broke it. His voice was hoarse but steady, a quiet interruption as he turned his head slightly toward Harry. "You wanted to tell me something earlier," he said, his tone measured, almost detached, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Harry hesitated, his stomach twisting. Was this really the right moment? He had responded so well to the love Harry had expressed earlier, but Louis was utterly exhausted. After the sleepless night, the emotional breakdown that morning, and the panic attack that had just ripped him apart, the shower, hadn't he endured enough for one day? Yet, something in Louis's voice—vulnerable, seeking—made Harry pause. Maybe this was what Louis needed, a tether to something steady, something real.

Harry exhaled slowly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Yeah," he said softly, unlocking it with shaking hands. "I… I made a post. About us. I thought… it was time." He held the phone out to Louis, his heart pounding. "Take a look."

Louis's trembling fingers closed around the phone, his touch hesitant, as though it might shatter under his grip. He stared at the screen, his brows furrowing as the first image came into view—the kiss in the hospital. The photo was raw, intimate, and undeniably vulnerable. He blinked, his lips parting slightly as he tried to process what he was seeing.

Louis's thumb swiped to the second image, the grainy snapshot of their first kiss from years ago. His expression softened for a fleeting moment, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before it dissolved, replaced by something heavier, more complicated. His breathing hitched, but he remained silent, his focus locked on the images.

Not a word escaped him.

Harry watched with mounting anxiety, his stomach twisting with each passing second. Louis's face gave nothing away. He swiped back to the first image, lingering briefly before returning to the text. His eyes moved slowly, deliberately, over each word as if he were trying to absorb the meaning hidden between the lines.

The silence stretched unbearably. The tension in the room became almost suffocating, a weight pressing down on everyone. Anne shifted in her chair, her fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. Lottie tapped her foot softly against the floor, glancing nervously at Harry. Gemma folded her arms tightly across her chest, her eyes darting between Louis and her brother, her concern barely concealed.

Harry couldn't take it anymore. "Lou?" he ventured, his voice careful, cautious. "What do you think?"

Louis didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the phone, his thumb hovering as if debating whether to scroll again. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, his eyes returned to the beginning of the post, as if he needed to reread it to convince himself it was real.

Inside, Louis's thoughts churned.

A historic moment… Did I really call it that? God, Harry remembered. He always remembers.

'Compass through every storm.' How does he see that in me? I've been nothing but a burden, dragging him down.

"He regrets hurting me? I didn't think he even noticed… I thought he'd moved on.

Golden. He called me golden. How can he say that when I feel shattered, worthless?"

He loves me. All of me. Even after everything. How is that possible?

The words were too much. Too big, too heavy, too overwhelming. His chest tightened with emotion as each line carved itself into his heart. He forced himself to keep reading, afraid to miss even a single word. With every sentence, it became clearer—Harry wasn't just saying he loved him. He was promising. Promising to stay, to fight, to never let go.

By the time Louis reached the end, his hands were trembling so violently that the phone wobbled precariously in his grasp. Tears prickled at his eyes, but he blinked them back with a defiance born of exhaustion and pride. His face remained stoic, even as his heart cracked wide open, raw and vulnerable.

To everyone else, Louis looked detached—like he was shutting down, retreating into himself. But inside, he felt as if he were unraveling, piece by piece.

Harry, perched on the edge of the bed, felt his own chest constrict with worry. The silence was unbearable, and Louis's lack of reaction gnawed at his if I got it wrong? What if this was too much, too soon?Doubt clawed at him, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, Louis lowered the phone, setting it down on the blanket with deliberate care. He stared at it for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over the edge. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Harry's.

His face was a blank slate.

The room was heavy with silence, every breath tense with anticipation. Harry's heart thudded painfully in his chest, his fingers twitching against his thighs. "Lou?" he asked again, his voice softer, more tentative. "What do you think?"

Louis didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the phone in his lap. Then, with a perfectly deadpan expression, he said, "These photos? Really?"

Harry blinked, his mind scrambling to process the comment. "What?" he asked, his voice pitching slightly in confusion.

"These photos, Harry." Louis gestured toward the phone with a small wave, the corners of his lips twitching. "Out ofeveryphoto we've ever taken, you chose these? Were you drunk? Sleep-deprived? Blinded by nostalgia?"

Harry frowned, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. "I—what? No!"

Louis pressed on, his tone mock-serious, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of mischief. "The first one? I look like death. My hair's a wreck, and I look seconds away from passing out—which, granted, might have been true, but still. And the second?" He leaned back against the pillow, raising an eyebrow. "That . And you let me walk around like that?"

Harry stared, torn between frustration and disbelief. He had poured his soul into the post, stripped himself emotionally bare, and Louis was making jokes about the photos? A flicker of disappointment passed across his face, but he masked it quickly with a small laugh. "Seriously, Lou? That's what you're focusing on?"

Louis's smirk widened as he leaned his head back against the pillow, finally meeting Harry's gaze. "Oh, I'm not done. You realize I've got, what, a few thousand photos of you on my phone? And at least three of them are objectively worse than these. I'm posting them next."

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, are you?"

"Absolutely," Louis said, his voice carrying a flicker of warmth. "If I've got to be immortalized looking like I've been hit by a truck, you're coming down with me. I'll find those photos—you knowthe ones—and post them. Let's see how much you like being everyone's favorite meme."

Harry's lips twitched into a reluctant smile, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly. "You think you've got embarrassing photos of me? Please. I'd like to see you try."

Louis's smirk wavered for a moment, his gaze flickering back to the phone resting on his lap. He seemed ready to retort, but then his lips pressed into a thin line. The teasing spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, heavier.

His lips trembled, and a strangled sound escaped him—a soft, broken sob that cut through the banter like a knife. His hands twitched, unable to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks. The dam had burst, and his entire body shook with quiet, uncontrollable emotion.

Harry's heart dropped, the warmth of their banter evaporating in an instant. He was by Louis's side in a heartbeat, his hands hovering uncertainly before gently settling on his shoulders. "Hey," he whispered, his voice thick with concern. "What is it? Talk to me, Lou."

Louis shook his head, his fingers digging into his hair as his sobs deepened. "It's…" He tried to speak, his voice faltering. "It's beautiful, Haz," he finally choked out, the words barely audible through his tears. "It's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said about me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Relief and love surged through him in equal measure, and his hands tightened on Louis's shoulder. "Oh, Lou," he murmured, his voice shaking as he leaned in, pulling him into a careful embrace. "It's just the truth. That's all it is. The truth."

Louis clung to him, his fingers curling weakly into Harry's shirt like it was the only thing anchoring him. His sobs were quieter now but no less raw, his face pressed against Harry's chest. "I don't deserve this," he whispered, his voice fractured. "I don't deserve you."

Harry pulled back just enough to meet Louis's tear-streaked face. His own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill as he cupped Louis's cheek, his thumb brushing away the wetness there. "Don't you dare say that," he said fiercely, his voice trembling with conviction. "You deserve everything, Lou. You've been through hell and back, and you're still here. You're still you. And I will never stop loving you. Not for a second."

A shaky laugh broke through Louis's tears, though it was tinged with disbelief. He shook his head, his lips twitching into a faint, wobbly smile. "You're impossible," he muttered, his voice raw but filled with warmth.

"And you're stuck with me," Harry replied softly, his forehead pressing against Louis's in a gesture of quiet solidarity. He placed a gentle kiss on Louis's damp temple, lingering for a moment before pulling back.

The room was quiet except for the sound of Louis's ragged breaths and Harry's soft reassurances. The three women, sitting silently on the other side of the room, exchanged glances, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. None of them spoke, understanding that this was a moment too raw and intimate to interrupt.

When Louis finally pulled back fully, his face blotchy and his eyes swollen, he let out a long, shaky exhale. He looked at Harry with a faint smile, his lips quivering but determined. "You're still sappy as hell," he muttered, his voice hoarse but carrying a flicker of warmth.

Harry chuckled softly, brushing a hand over his damp cheek. "And you're still a pain in the ass," he quipped, his tone light but filled with affection.

Louis managed a small laugh, and for the first time that day, the weight in the room seemed to ease. It wasn't much, but it was enough—a fragile thread of normalcy that both of them clung to.

The hospital room was calm now, the tension slowly dissolving like the fading light filtering through the blinds. Louis shifted slightly in bed, his body still aching but his spirit lifting with the buoyancy of shared laughter. His cheeks were still damp, but his expression held a quiet determination. The tears had stopped, and though his vulnerability lingered, he wasn't hiding behind walls this time. Instead, his sass and good humor shone through, an unmistakable part of him reclaiming the space.

"Alright," Louis declared, his voice still raspy but firm. "Enough of the heavy stuff for today. We've ticked every box for emotional trauma, and frankly, I've had my fill. Let's talk about something else. Something fun. Tell me—did the internet explode?"

Harry blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift, but then a grin spread across his face. "Oh, it's in shambles," he said, leaning back in his chair. "People are completely losing it. We've caused chaos in the best way."

"Good," Louis said with a mock-serious nod. "If I've got to be everyone's sob story for the day, the least they can do is burn Twitter and Instagram to the ground."

Lottie, who had been scrolling on her phone, snorted. "Oh, trust me, Lou. The internet willneverbe the same again. Not after this. You and Harry basically broke it."

Louis raised an eyebrow, glancing at Harry. "Is she exaggerating, or are we really that iconic?"

Harry laughed softly, his hand resting lightly on Louis's arm. "You're iconic, Lou. I'm just the guy in the background."

"Please," Lottie cut in, grinning. "You're both a trainwreck of emotions, and the internet can't get enough. Niall's already claiming this is the moment that will save the Irish economy."

The quiet hum of the hospital room was interrupted by Louis's hoarse but unmistakably cheeky laugh. "Still banging on about that fan club, is he?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Oh, not just banging on about it. Niall's convinced theLarry Stylinson Fan Clubis about to become the most important organization in the world. He's got plans, Lou. Membership fees, branded merch, the works."

Louis raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Membership fees? What's next, a corporate office? Niall in a tie, talking stock options?"

Lottie leaned forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Don't forget the quarterly fan updates. 'Dear members, the Larry stock is booming this quarter. Thank you for investing in true love.'"

Gemma laughed, chiming in, "And the merch! What would it even be? Matching Harry and Louis bobbleheads?"

Anne joined in with a soft chuckle. "Tea towels with your faces on them. 'Larry Stylinson—Keeping Kitchens Clean Since 2010.'"

Harry burst out laughing, doubling over slightly. "Tea towels? You realize Louis is thereasonkitchens end up messy in the first place, right?"

Louis gasped in mock offense, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Excuse me! I am adelightin the kitchen."

"A delight at creating chaos," Harry countered, grinning. "Remember the time you 'helped' bake cookies and we ended up with batter on the ceiling?"

"That was artistic expression," Louis retorted, his voice growing steadier, though the hint of laughter lingered. "You just don't appreciate my creative genius."

"Genius?" Lottie snorted. "If Niall's running the fan club and you're in charge of the merch, I'm not sure the world will survive."

"Careful, Lottie," Louis shot back, grinning. "I might makeyouthe poster girl for customer service. 'Welcome to the Larry Fan Club. Emotional breakdowns, 10% off.'"

The room erupted into laughter, even Anne unable to hold back a chuckle.

"Imagine the slogans," Harry said, leaning into the banter. "'Larry Fan Club—Officially Unofficial Since 2010.' Or, 'We Ship What They Won't.'"

Louis groaned, laughing despite himself. "Stop it, you're going to kill me. Honestly, the fan club doesn't need more bad ideas."

"Bad ideas?" Gemma grinned. "Oh no, these are gold. Next up: life-sized cutouts and a 'Proof Binder Starter Kit.'"

Lottie clapped her hands. "And don't forget the 'Larry Love Survival Kit.' Comes with tissues for tears and a playlist of all the saddest songs."

Louis wheezed, clutching his side. "Alright, enough, enough! I can't breathe. You lot are impossible."

As the laughter began to fade, Louis's grin softened. His eyes dropped to the blanket in his lap, his fingers tracing the edge absently. "You know," he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, "maybe it's not such a bad idea."

Harry blinked, momentarily thrown. "The fan club? Lou, no. It's aterribleidea."

Louis rolled his eyes, giving Harry a look that clearly said he was missing the point. "Not the fan club, you muppet. The merch."

The room stilled as everyone turned to look at Louis, his expression growing more thoughtful. Harry tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Louis said firmly, meeting Harry's gaze. "Think about it. We could actually do something good with it. Make T-shirts, mugs, whatever. But instead of pocketing the money, we donate it."

"To who?" Harry asked, his voice gentler now.

Louis hesitated, the weight of the idea settling over him. "Organizations that matter. Queer support groups. Survivors of sexual violence. HIV and AIDS research. Mental health initiatives. There's so much we could do."

The room was quiet as everyone processed his words. Anne's eyes shone with emotion, and Lottie bit her lip, nodding slowly. Gemma broke the silence first. "That's… actually a really good idea."

Harry's hand found Louis's, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to do it, Lou. We don't have to turn… us… into something commercial."

Louis shook his head, his determination unwavering. "If we don't, someone else will. You know how people are, Haz. They'll take our story, slap it on some cheap T-shirts, and make money off it without a second thought. If that's going to happen, I'd rather be the one in control—and make it count for something."

Harry stared at him for a moment, his chest tightening with pride and love. "Alright," he said softly. "If you want to do this, we'll do it. But it's your call, Lou."

Louis nodded, his lips pressing together in a firm line. "It's what I want."

Anne leaned forward, her voice quiet but steady. "There are some incredible organizations you could work with. Stonewall does amazing work for LGBTQ rights. And SurvivorsUK—they support male survivors of sexual abuse."

"The Terrence Higgins Trust," Gemma added. "They've been leading the way in HIV research and education for decades."

"And Mind," Lottie said, her voice brighter. "They're brilliant for mental health support."

Louis took a deep breath, his eyes glistening as he looked at each of them. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm talking about. Imagine if we could actually make a difference. Even just a small one."

Harry's hand tightened around his. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Louis snorted, rolling his eyes. "Stop being so sappy. You're ruining my moment."

Harry laughed, the sound warm and full of affection. "Fine. But you're still incredible."

For a moment, the room was quiet again, the earlier tension replaced by a shared sense of purpose. Louis's vulnerability was still there, but so was his resilience. And as the banter picked up again, the heaviness of the day began to fade, replaced by a spark of hope that felt like the start of something new.