Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

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Harry's POV

As I stood in the corridor outside of Apartment 2C, I felt rather fucking terrified about what was about to happen. I knew I shouldn't be here. I knew it was probably an awful mistake. But I would be damned if something went seriously wrong and I didn't at least investigate it and check in on things.

I knocked on the door but there was no answer. Maybe Chris had given me the wrong address. I knocked again and heard something. A clunking noise, sort of far off in the distance. I wished there was a way to look inside.

A waited a few more minutes before knocking again. This time it was met with silence. Shaking my head, I began to walk away, but then I looked down and found a doormat, worn and frayed. It was nearly unnoticeable as it blended in to the grayish color of the tile floor, and the text on the mat was pretty much unreadable. But I would have recognized that mat anywhere. The dulling letters spelled out a snarky but familiar phrase: "Leave your feelings outside."

I smiled as I bent down and studied the doormat, a gift I had given to Louis nearly 4 years ago. I'm surprise he still kept it. Maybe he didn't hate me as much as he was acting like he did, or maybe he did hate me that much and he simply didn't feel like buying a new doormat.

A scuttling sound startled me and send me reeling from my position kneeling on the floor. I jumped up just in time to make eye contact with Louis as he swung the door open, muttering something about hearing a noise outside.

"Fuck. Louis. Sorry to just show up like this. But I was a bit concerned. Chris gave me your address. Are you okay?" I stammered, eyeing him up and down. Lou's tiny body was draped in a baggy black tank top and a pair of way too big sweatpants, his skeletal arms tightly glued to his sides. Sweat traced his brow line and bloodshot eyes stared back at me from underneath his disheveled hair, which was falling every which way. He looked an absolute mess, but even still, I couldn't think of a person more beautiful.

"Get the Fuck off my property, Harry," he said. His spoke slowly and in a low tone. He wasn't slurring but it was clear he was putting in a lot of effort to appear sober. I knew Lou was a great talker even while drunk or high. He could fool almost anybody — even the cops a few times — but he could never fool me.

"How much have you had? Just tell me that much and I'll leave," I begged, stepping closer towards him. I put one hand in the door frame and locked eyes with him. We locked eyes and he stared me down, his face pale face darkening as he chewed on his lip. Louis had never looked so broken.

"None of your fucking business," he growled back, grabbing the door handle and beginning to slowly close the door a few inches. I wedged my foot inside the door, not allowing him to close it further. "Please tell me and I'll leave you be," I said again.

Louis shook his head and lunged towards me, shoving me backwards. He was so weak that his push barely made an impact, but he looked worn out and tired all the same. "Lou, are you, okay?" I asked. His face looked pale and he wore a blank expression, his wide eyes staring outwards into nothingness.

Shaking his head, he ran into the apartment and I followed him in, closing the door behind us. His place was tiny. Just a room with a bed and a tiny kitchen area and a toilet. He was leaning over the kitchen sink now, vomiting profusely. That's when I noticed there was vomit everywhere, all over the apartment. On the chair, on the floor next to me, next the garbage can.

"Okay," I said softly, walking over to him. All I wanted to do was comfort him and rub his back, but I knew I shouldn't. Instead, I took out my phone and dialed an ambulance. Louis was going to hate me even more after this but he was going to god damn die tonight if I didn't get him help. There's no way you can have that many substances and puke that much and still be okay in the morning.

Louis wiped his mouth and walked over to me, nearly tripping over a beer can as he faced me. "Don't call 911," he whispered. I could tell his throat hurt from all the puking, and maybe that's why he had been talking so slow before. To hide the pain.

"Lou, you're in a lot of trouble. You need your stomach pumped," I said quietly. He was standing rather close, his arms crossed and his mouth twisted into a frown. A faint trace of vomit coated his upper lip.

"Fuck you for coming here Harry," he whispered, leaning forward and grabbing his stomach. "I... I fucking hate you." I nodded, trying to pretend it didn't phase me. But we both knew it did.

"It's okay to hate me," I said, nodding. Louis was on the floor now, his knees curled up to his chest. I could tell he was in excrutiating pain and walked behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing softly. It wasn't going to help with the pain, but it was the least I could do to comfort him. For whatever reason, he allowed it and began to fall backwards into my lap as I massaged his shoulders and cooed softly. I just kept telling him he was gonna be okay, that everything would be alright.

When the ambulance arrived, Louis had already lost conciousness and he lay silently in my arms as the paramedics helped him into the stretcher.

Tonight I was going to pray.