Sometimes, it's just not worth it.

Part Eight

On Tuesday, December 10th, one day after Louis was supposed to marry, and four days after being admitted to hospital, Harry is released only to be taken to a rehabilitation centre. He spends two weeks inside, going to therapy; both individual and group, looking at bare, white walls, and not being able to relieve some stress. His wrists were bandaged and he had to suffice by scratching over his clothing and grip into his skin, leaving half-moon indents on his pale arms and legs. The only time he isn’t scratching at his clothes for release is when he’s on the phone to Louis. He’s allowed one call every three days and that’s the best part of his day.

Harry gets to talk to Louis like he used to, he can talk, talk, talk and not have to worry about Louis hanging up on him to meet Eleanor somewhere. They talk for as long as they can, constantly making each other giggle and blush when witty flirting is thrown back and forth between them. But when it comes to saying goodbye, Harry grips the phone that little bit tighter as he whispers into the phone, wishing that he didn’t have to hang up; but there’s someone next to him, giving him a stern look before telling Harry to say goodbye or else he won’t get phone privileges anymore. He almost doesn’t get the words out when he tells Louis he loves him. He doesn’t expect it to be repeated, and he’s okay with that. Harry knows that Louis isn’t 100% sure about his feelings for him.

They never really talked about the kisses they shared, the following morning after the proclamation of Harry’s feelings and sleeping with their legs entangled, Louis just said that there may be some hidden feelings inside him somewhere and that he would have to think really hard over the two weeks. This was followed by a witty response that went along the lines of not thinking too hard and hurting yourself which resulted in a slap to the arm courtesy of Louis.

It snows almost every day that Harry’s in there. Ranging from heavy blankets falling continuously and a light sheets in 20 minute intervals. Harry spends most of his free time rugged up, reading a book Louis bought him or creating a scrapbook for Louis’ birthday, or even staring out of his window, watching the snow fall and thinking how he would love to be free like a snowflake, able to fall and not be judged.

On the 23rd of December, the day before Louis’ birthday, Harry is released. He walks out, only to find Louis leaning in the doorway of the rehab centre, his arms wrapped around his body; track pants on, an oversized jumper with too-long sleeves and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s never looked better in Harry’s eyes.

“Louis.” Harry breaths out, walking closer to him. Louis snaps his head up, releasing his intense stare from his phone and resting his eyes on Harry. “Why are you here?”

“To pick you up silly. What? Did you think you were going to walk home?” Louis gives him a cheeky smile, his eyes shining bright. He pulls Harry into a tight embrace, his arms immediately finding their way around his waist and Harry’s arms wind around Louis’ middle. “I missed you.” Louis mumbles into Harry’s shoulder. Harry holds him impossibly tighter and stuffs his head into the crook of Louis’ neck.

“I missed you too Lou. So much.” Louis pulls back, tentatively shifting his gaze back and forth between Harry’s emerald green eyes to his tantalizing, pink mouth. He swipes his tongue over his own lips before looking back up to Harry for confirmation. “God Lou, just kiss me already.” And Louis gives into temptation, finally kissing those lips he’s been thinking about for two weeks.