Hate me to the Moon

Chapter 7

"Harry ! If you don't get out of there I'm going to call 999 !" Niall snorts and grasps Harry's ankles at the end of the bed. He tries pulling him out, but his friend is holding on to the edge of his bed and doesn't intend to let go.

"I don't care." Harry mumbles in Louis' hoodie, that somehow became his equivalent of a pillow.

"But look ! The sun is out, men are wearing shorts, and puppies are everywhere ! You need to get out and witness this day !" Niall insists as he tugs at the comforter Harry's been hiding under. The latter just grunts, saying indescribable words muffled in the hoodie.

Niall isn't the type to give up though.

This nineteen year old Irish genius was always first in school whilst being the class clown, entered one of the most renowned institutes of science at seventeen, won a medal for best gymnast in high school even though he couldn't even lift any of his weight on his hands to do a cart wheel four months prior to the contest – he wanted to impress a girl who only dated athletes - and once waited five hours on the phone for customer service, just to complain about the wait for customer service.

So getting Harry out of bed after days of isolation ? Children's play.

He climbs on the bed and lies entirely on his friend's back. He had been working out all morning in his room, so he was sticky and hot, face still red and brown hair wet. He knows how much Harry hates contact with someone sweating – that is if you're not a five foot and nine inches ball of sass – and could kill someone for daring putting all their weight on him – that is, again, if you're not a five foot and nine inches ball of sass.

"If you don't get off me within five seconds you're gonna have to run for your life Mullingar." Harry warns.

"Perfect then ! Should I let you put on some shorts before we get going ? Or is this onesie your fashion choice for everything now ?"

"Fine." Harry sighs and Niall gets up, quickly followed by his friend. He takes that as a victory and starts cheering blissfully, until Harry steps out of his pyjamas to find himself completely naked before lying back down on his bed. "I dare you to lay down on me now."

"You're sick." Niall says in disgust, throwing the pillow he takes from the floor on Harry's head. "Ssssick !" He continues until he's out of the bedroom.

Harry hadn't been able to motivate himself to do anything. His days consisted of waking up, and waiting for the day to pass to fall back asleep. He only got out of bed to restock his bowl of gummy bears and grab more water. He had given Niall the exact recipe of the Tommo Treat, and his friend brought it to him once a day with a side of greens to not let his blood turn into plain sugar and gelatine.

The weekend at the hotel was starting the day after. He and Niall would take the train to Manchester and join his family at the old house before driving to the countryside together.

Harry still had to finish packing though, and needed to sort out his unshaved face – it was only an extremely light moustache and just a few hair on his chin, but still - and zombie eyes before scaring every guests.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go anymore. He didn't know if he would be able to just sit there, and watch everyone celebrate his pain.

So he spent the day in bed anyway, only getting up in the middle of the night to do what he had planned, not being able to sleep when he knew he'd see him again, and would have to pretend that man didn't have his heart in his hands.

The Holbeck Ghyll Country House turned out to be even bigger than Harry thought.

They were driving through an alley of wild flowers and gigantic firs, and he was tilting his head out the window to let the crisp air caress his cheeks, a soothing smell of the leaves and the lakes relaxing his throbbing heart.