Trust is like a flyer. People give it out, only to have it squashed and tossed in the nearest non-recyclable bin.

*NARRATOR'S POV*

Louis has never ventured up into the attic when it wasn't exactly necessary. Actually, he's only ever been up there once before despite this flat being his own.
Now, he stood in a state of tense paralysis in the living room staring at the door that's just opened a crack before dragging itself back against the swollen wood panels of the floor. The sound was unsavoury and moaning, like a person shrieking.

His skin didn't sweat, he was too scared for that. He's stumbled across the pangs of heart-stopping terror enough - in his books - now that he's able to predict it without need for present symptoms. He originally planned to approach the rectangular object, shut it soundly and retreat to the living room but there were other plans in store for him.

When his hand wrapped around the golden, rust-encrusted doorknob the entire doorway shook. Once with a heavy vibration that left his ears ringing and fingers digging into the pockets of his sweat shirt. It hadn't hurt, it just happened to motivate his guts - the literal, physical kind - to rise through his oesophagus.

With a hand clamped over his mouth, Louis dashed down the hall and into the bathroom. He made it to the toilet in time before hurriedly lifting the toilet seat and throwing up all that he'd eaten from last night. His forehead was now damp with excreted salt water, his back drenched in sweat as well and his head felt too light like a tennis ball rolling around in a hall filled with an infinite amount of nothing.

He presses his warm forehead that felt like it was on the edge of combustion, against the cold porcelain tiles on the wall while taking slow breaths. He could hear the slight wheezing sound that crept up everytime he inhaled. He never had asthma or any form of traumatic medical attacks so he couldn't explain why what happened in the hall got him so worked up.
Aspirin. He'd get the Aspirin from the cabinet above the sink and leave the flat because he couldn't - and won't - risk having a confrontation with another detailed phenomena that would just make him sick again. Or worse. There was always worse.

He stands unsteadily, his legs feeling like Jell-O instead of the football platinum apparatus he usually had. He gripped the edge of the basin, taking slow breaths and only focusing on what he needed to do. Small, robotic functions that kept his mind and body occupied. He appreciated the distraction until it came to closing the cabinet's mirror door after taking the correct dose of headache-relief tablets.

Standing behind him was a face he recognised, but only for a beat. It smirked and when he
spun around, he redirected back when the mirror became shards of broken reflective glass. He hid his face with his arms while the pieces scattered across the floor and broke even further. His lower limbs stood frozen, nailed to the floor with cold waves shooting up through his bare feet. His arms were shaking, tiny but visible trembling while his lower lip turned red from the blood that dripped from a slit in the middle.

He swallowed hard, feeling like a thorn bush was lodged in his throat. The bathroom was empty except for him, but that didn't make him feel even the slightest. He had to choose between cleaning the glass or rushing out the door to the safety of open spaces with other people.
The latter was far more appealing and that's how Louis found himself flaffing around in an estranged crowd. There were never crowds in Dynasville.

He squinted, his body had just recently begun adjusting to the sunlight and it caused a deep poking sensation in his eyes. The heat was another factor that he would contend with once his mind was in the right place.
It looked like he was on the street, the building of his flat one door away. He stood on the double white line, feeling every pebble and stone of tar before realising that he has no shoes on.
People don't mind him, strolling right past his stunned figure without a sound of concern. Everyone was walking, not a single vehicle insight and Louis wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing yet.

His palm feels sweaty, but twice as damp now for some reason. He frowns and glances at his hand to examine the new red stream that runs across the fine hairs risen on the surface of his skin. It trinkles down his wrist and onto his index finger, dripping onto the ground in an unceremonious fashion.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

For a whole minute Louis watches time slow down, as he observes the slow motion movement of what could only be his blood. People brush past him unawares, and some shoulders collide with his. The impact would leave his stature slightly altered each time. He could hear the soft trickle, feel the

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"You alright, man?" An unknown voice speaks, also coming out as a slowed down playback.

Drip.

Louis can't locate his voice in the jumble that is his mind right now. So he just frowns and keeps his eyes down, locked on the reason for his bleeding. There's a large shard of silver and jagged glass pressed into his skin, probably missing both radius and ulna because he just can't feel it. Be it the shock, mind-blocking and teeth-chattering fear or just that everything around Louis seems to be fading away, he can't be sure.

Drip.

He tries to reach for the glass, remove it from it's wedge in his skin but this new individual stops him.

"Let's get you to a hospital." He says.

He has a reasonable tan but Louis can't be sure because the man's hands appear to be reaching forward to touch him. He pulls back. He wants Harry now, why can nobody comprehend that? Why can nobody understand? It's driving him to the brink of insanity.

"Come on, man. You'll bleed out."

Drip. Drip.

A car screeches somewhere nearby and Louis' mind goes blank. If it hadn't been for the sympathetic stranger who didn't mind getting his Lacoste shirt soiled with warm blood, Louis would have had more bruises from hitting the ground.

The dripping sound now escalates, becoming the echo of falling water droplets from a leaking faucet in a run-down motel. He doesn't hear the roll of the gurney or orders from the doctor.

*HARRY'S POV*

The bedroom is empty and the shuffle of an opened window's curtain has been halted. I suspect Louis was in the bathroom when I returned but after twenty minutes of silent patience, I decide to knock.

"Lou?" The one tap my knuckles give to the door, provides enough of a shove for the door to
creak open.

It's empty. Frowning, I turn to examine the rest of the flat only to find everything as per the usual conditions. The attic door is shut, like it always is. The stove plate is warm but there are no dishes.

Something isn't right because why would Louis not be here?

I decide to call him and settle my misery. His number is one of the two numbers I have saved in my contact list. It rings for six beats before a shrill, tired female voice answers. "Hello-"

"Who is this?" I cut her off, caring not at all about her. "Where's Louis?"

"Sir, Louis is at Dynasville County General."

I stare at the pillar beside the kitchen counter, hand gripping my hair and a few getting caught in my ring. I hadn't noticed that I put a bandanna on this morning, and now I throw it at the door.
"The hospital?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why is he at a hospital? What is wrong?" I'm already scowering the apartment for Louis' car keys.

"He's fine. Are you Harry?"

"I am." Found it. With the keys in my hand and phone holding the phone in my other, I walk out the door heading for the car park.

"Is Louis abused?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" I jog down the stairs even faster, feeling that the elevator would be a waste of time.

"You should get here and I will explain. I'm Dr. Annabeth. Ask for me."

"Thanks." I hang up and climb into the SUV that seems so cold and too new.

The pendulum of the horrible countdown in my head has struck eleven times before I pull up in front of the County General. The Emergency Room is lit up and the first thing I see so I sprint from the car park to it.

"Dr. Annabeth." I say to a random nurse who is filling in a lengthy discharge form.

"That's me." A woman dressed in formal wear that's covered with a doctor's coat, speaks up.
She smiles at the nurse who leaves us with her head down and I turn to this new female.

"Where is he?" I am glancing from pillar to lamp-post, not wanting to keep looking at something for too long.

"Room 10B but- Wait!" She shouts when I turn to leave, not exactly knowing where the room is but willing to search. She grabs my arm. "Wait, will you? He isn't awake."

"Awake?" I can't keep the bite from my voice, my teeth are clenched so tightly I feel I could chip one.

"He came here unconscious. Harry, he's fine. I just have a question."

"What is it?"

"Is he abused?"

"By me? I'd never touch him like that."

"When someone brought him in, his heart rate was well over eighty-five bpm. Then we found the glass in his arm. Forgive me for assuming incorrectly but it was viable at the time."

"Glass?"

"A mirror piece. Maybe he hurt himself on a broken mirror."

I try to picture the bathroom but there were definitely no broken mirrors. "I'm not too sure."

"It could have just been something that scared him enough to leave his mind in such a state of disorientation. Isn't common but also isn't impossible."

I nod. "Can I see him?"

"That's the other thing, he doesn't want to see you."

"What do you mean?"

"He was awake five minutes ago, and I told him you were coming. He asked me to keep you outside while the others get here."

"Others?" My nostrils flare and my fists clench before relaxing. He doesn't want to see me? What have I done?

"Someone by the name of Marie called shortly after you did. I told them as well."
Oh God. "Please. You have to let me see him."

"Harry-"

"I need to make sure he's okay. I'll listen to leave after that but he needs to be okay."

She hesitates, but she's also tired from what could have been a very long shift. "Alright. Follow
me."

I am obediently silent through the walk, that's taking too long and I eventually walk faster than her when the door comes into view.

"Don't try to wake him up. His pulse is still returning to normal." She warns me before opening the door.

Inside it smells of medication, clinical alcohol and fresh scents. The window is cracked open beside the bed. Louis is lying asleep on the mattress, an IV connected to his arm and nose while he sleeps.

His feathery crown of hair is hiding his forehead and his right hand - free of plastic wires - grasps at nothing.

Fuck.

I approach the bed, taking his tiny hand in both of mine. He stirs but doesn't awaken.

"I'll be right back." Dr. Annabeth whispers before leaving, the door stays open.

I sit in the chair by Louis' head, pulling it closer and kissing his hand. Why is he in hospital? I never should have left him. I'm too selfish for him, he deserves better. He isn't used to this, the constant terrors that just seem to make impromptu appearances. He's innocent in more ways that some, still has a free smile and unabashed laugh.

"I'm sorry." I speak against his palm. The bandage is wrapped tightly around his left forearm.
How many injuries has he suffered because of me? How much trauma did he have to endure? How scared is he really? Does he still believe that I love him? I failed in my promise to protect him more than once. I'm not really powerful in these circumstances, but nor am I helpless.
The beeping of his ECG keeps going, hurried and close together before steadying to a stable, slow beat. I watch his face, every crinkle or line as he shifts.

His eyelids lift slowly to reveal those piercing blue eyes, surrounded by a thin line of navy and enclosing flecks of speckled green. His eyes were extraordinary. "Harry?"

When he sits up, I keep his hand in both of mine. I breathe his name like it's my saviour rather
than speak it. "Louis."

"What are you d-doing here?" By hoisting himself up, unintentional pressure was applied to his right hand and he gasped.

I immediately rose to help him sit properly, repositioning his pillows and noting his tense posture. "You weren't at the apartment, Lou. Now you're at a hospital. Why?"

"I-I don't want-"

"Me here? I know. Why not?" I sit on the edge of his bed and he tries to move away, luckily the restriction of having a small bed is on my side.

"B-Because I don't want you to see me like this-s." He hisses when his arm hits the table.

"Lou." I take his hand and drape it over my shoulder, then the other and finally him. His resistance is weak when I cradle him in my arms and nuzzle his neck. "I thought you were angry that I wasn't there. I'm pissed with myself but I don't want you to bother yourself."

He shivers and I cover his legs with the hospital quilt, the thin gown is of no purpose. I hold the lapel of my jacket and let his back rest against my arm, before folding the flap over his side. I circle his knees with my other arm when he rests his cheek on my shoulder, his cold nose pressed against my throat and his hand on my neck.

"I just didn't want you to see me like I am now, look at me." He squeezes out.

"I am. I always am, angel. I'm so sorry."

"You always go away and something happens. Please stop leaving." Hot tears roll down my skin to my shirt when he sobs at the end.

I hug him tightly, rocking him slowly for comfort and kissing whatever skin of his I could see. "I promise, my love. I promise."

"You always say that." He punches my chest. "But you're lying."

"I'm not lying."

Another punch to my shoulder. "Stop saying that!"

"I swear, Louis-" I stop when he tries to wriggle away, out of my arms and out of bed. I grip his wrist tighter and he twists it continuously.

"Let me go." His voice is broken and so cracked from his crying. The tears catch in the hollows of his clavicle and the hospital gown gets damper.

"Louis. You're going to hurt yourself."

"You're hurting me!" He pulls his hand away and looks away. I hold his waist in a tight embrace when he once again tries to climb off. "Harry, please. Let me go."

I felt him slip away, his mind already being occupied by something that wasn't warm and fuzzy. I was ruining him in my attempts to save him.

"Louis, don't go." By holding his wrists I wrap two sets of arms around him, holding his back to my chest. The ECG picks up again.

"I hate you." He kicks me but it's painless. "How could you do that? You always leave."

"I'm sorry, I am so sorry. I always think things are okay before something happens."

He doesn't look at me, his head rolled back against my shoulder and he faces the wall while I kiss up his neck soothingly.

"You're never there." He swallows, salt water still streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so scared and you're never there. I just want you to be there."

He's breaking my heart with these words. He just wants me there. Needs me to be by his side for protection. "I'll be there. Every moment of every coming day. I give you that word. My word."

"When will it stop? Please, Harry. Make it stop."

"I will, baby. I will." I kiss his cheek awkwardly but mark it as a success when he stops fighting me.

"Really?"

"Yes. Oh God, yes. I'd do anything for you." I close my eyes and hide in his neck. It's warm and smells of him. "You make me strong, my strength and my happiness."

"I love you. It's too hard to hate you." He doesn't move, except for his small hands now tightly holding on to my bicep and his crying has stopped.

"I love you." I kiss his shoulder and say it again, then his arm and repeat it. Each time I feel a thread of stretched tension leave him.

There's a knock on the door and Dr. Annabeth coughs to get our attention. How long was she standing there?

Louis' breathing is slow and audible, his body tired and lazy in my hold. He doesn't look at the door, just turning his head under my chin and closing his eyes.
"The others are here." She says, a small smile playing on her lips.

[A/N: Louis is losing his mind.....woah-ness. I listen to Christmas carols when writing smut and horror scenes. Am I insane yet? It's raining! Perfect for hot chocolate and some Fawlty Towers, I say. What do you guys think about the H&S TV Poster? @SSTomlinson is my Twitter so hit me up :) - S xx]

Notes

[A/N: Louis is losing his mind.....woah-ness. I listen to Christmas carols when writing smut and horror scenes. Am I insane yet? It's raining! Perfect for hot chocolate and some Fawlty Towers, I say. What do you guys think about the H&S TV Poster? @SSTomlinson is my Twitter so hit me up :) - S xx]