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Louis hated hospitals. He hated the antiseptic, faintly sweet smell. He hated the white walls and white sheets and white uniforms and frigid white tiled floors. The waiting was the worst of it, though. He had only been here for two days, but it felt like an eternity. He was fairly certain he was now a permanent fixture of the second hall. He and the nurses were on a first-name basis.
He heaved a sigh and brushed his hair out of his eyes. His quiff was positively wilted. The things he did for this boy. He knew any one of the boys would have gladly relieved him from bedside duty for a few hours, but every time he so much as even considered going home for a proper nap or a shower at least, he pictured Harry waking up afraid in a hospital room and realizing Louis wasn’t there. He couldn’t let that happen, and if staying at the hospital until Harry finally woke up meant he had to wear a few layers of worry and sweat and exhaustion for a few days, well, so be it.
There was sudden movement from the bed, as if Harry somehow knew he was the subject of Louis’ thoughts. Louis stood from the chair so quickly that it clattered to the floor, making a huge racket, but he didn’t care because Harry’s eyes were open for the first time in nearly 48 hours and he felt like he could weep for joy.
“Where—” Harry tried, but his voice was rough from disuse. He coughed and shook his head, then winced in pain. “Water, please.”
Louis practically sprinted for the door and called for Fran, Harry’s nurse. She returned a moment later with a small plastic cup full of water and a private word for Louis just outside Harry’s room.
“He’s just woken up, so he may still be groggy,” she said once Louis had closed the door behind him. “Don’t be too put out if he isn’t his normal self for a few hours.”
“He’ll be all right now, though?” Louis was quick to ask, his brows furrowed. “He’s— there weren’t any complications with the surgery or anything?”
Fran patted him on the shoulder. “He’ll be quite all right. You’ll have him back home in no time.”
He could have kissed her. “Thank you,” he said, trying to infuse as much gratitude and sincerity into his voice as was possible after two days without sleep.
Fran gave him a warm smile. “The anesthetic we put him on was fairly strong, so he may experience some temporary short- or long-term memory loss as he comes back around. It’s nothing to worry about, but fair warning.”
He nodded distractedly and glanced behind him through the door’s tiny window, where he could just see Harry fidgeting in bed.
Fran laughed and handed over the cup of water. “Well, go on and say hello, then! Make sure he drinks his water, try not to let him move around too much, and give a shout if you need anything. I’ll come by to check on him in a moment.”
“Thank you,” Louis said again, surprising himself by leaning in and giving her a quick hug before turning and heading back into the room.
Harry was sitting up in bed now, rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t even look up when Louis handed over the water, but he downed it with a low hum of appreciation.
“All right?” Louis asked as he pulled his chair closer to the bed.
“‘m all right, yeah,” Harry murmured, his voice sounding weak but decidedly less like death after the water. He closed his eyes. “Feel like I’ve been run over.”
“Well, that makes sense, under the circumstances,” Louis said, forcing himself to smile. “You need more water?”
Harry shook his head, groaning at the sudden movement.
“Right, you’re not supposed to do that!” Louis remembered, reaching over and interlocking his fingers with Harry’s. “Try to stay still, love, all right?”
Harry looked up finally, his eyes locking onto Louis’. He was pouting slightly, as if he were trying to work out a particularly difficult maths problem.
“What?” Louis asked, his hand flying to his hair to smooth it down. He wished now that he had taken a couple minutes before he had rushed to the hospital to pack a comb and a toothbrush. “I haven’t got something in me teeth, have I?”
Harry shook his head slowly, his eyes widening. “It’s just—did the doctor send you?”
Louis blinked. “No...” he said slowly.
“Are you a nurse?” Harry asked, his voice sounding oddly...shy.
Louis bit his lip hard and tried to quell the rising panic in his chest. The most important person in his life had no idea who he was. He knew the nurse had mentioned that Harry could have some memory loss, but he had never imagined that Harry could ever forget him.
“I’m—no, I’m not a nurse. I’m your husband.” The word still felt sacred in his mouth, like he hadn’t quite claimed ownership over it.
“Husband,” Harry repeated, and he huffed a little laugh. “You’re joking.”
Louis pulled his hand back from Harry’s. “Hate to tell you this, but I’m not,” he said, trying his best not to sound as if Harry forgetting they were married didn’t make him feel like vomiting.
Harry didn’t seem to realize that Louis was hurt. His jaw had dropped a bit, and if this weren’t a question of the love of his life forgetting who he was, Louis may have laughed at the expression on his face.
“We’re not actually married, though,” Harry said, running his hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be, like, a model or something, right?”
Louis rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but feel rather pleased. “Okay, you clearly need some sleep, I think.” He reached over to pull the flimsy blanket that the hospital provided over Harry’s chest, but he was stopped by Harry flapping his hands in his face.
“No,” he protested. “No, I don’t want to close my eyes. I want to look at you.” His big green doe eyes were glued to Louis, his head cocked to the side like he was searching for something. “You’re really beautiful, I mean...” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “You could be the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life,” he mumbled, sounding pained.
Louis couldn’t help the startled laugh that burst out of him. “All right, now I know you need sleep.”
“I’m serious,” Harry insisted, glaring at him. “Your lips are just—” He waved his hand around in the air helplessly. “And your eyelashes, god. You’re like...” He paused for a moment before his eyes lit up with pride. “You’re like a painting,” he said, beaming like he had come up with the solution for world peace or something.
“None of that Picasso nonsense, I hope,” Louis said weakly, trying and failing to hide his smile.
“No, actually, you’re not a painting. You’re more like a sculpture. A Michelangelo,” he decided, nodding slowly.
Louis wanted to laugh but it was hard with Harry looking at him like that, all warm wonder and easy sincerity.
“When did you become such an art aficionado?” he muttered, turning aside to rummage in his bag for the crisps he had bought from the vending machine on the third floor. “Here, love.” He handed the bag over. “You should eat something.”
Harry accepted the bag but didn’t open it. He was still looking at Louis like the answer to the universe could be found somewhere in his face if he only searched hard enough.
“Come on,” Louis urged him, scratching at his nose. He was starting to feel a bit self-conscious. “Eat a crisp.”
“Holy shit,” Harry murmured, completely ignoring him. “Your voice is lovely.”
“For god’s sake,” Louis muttered. He could feel heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He grabbed the bag of crisps from Harry’s loose grasp and tore them open. “Here, eat one,” he ordered, shaking the bag in front of Harry’s face.
Harry took a crisp obediently and brought it to his mouth, but then his eyes widened as he stared at Louis’ hand. “Hang on,” he said slowly, his mouth opening and closing in awed stupor for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Louis. Your husband,” Louis repeated patiently.
“My Louis,” Harry said quietly, a tiny smile on his face. He reached a shaking hand out to touch the smooth silver band that encircled Louis’ ring finger. He met Louis’ gaze. “Do I have—?”
Louis reached into his pocket and procured an identical ring. “Didn’t want you losing it while you were in hospital.”
He held it out, but Harry made no move to take it. Louis gently took his hand and slid the ring on his finger for the second time in a week.
“There you are,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as he would if Harry were a stray cat who would run off if he made too much noise. “Perfect fit.”
“Oh my god,” Harry groaned, letting his head drop back onto his pillow.
“What’s wrong?” Louis leaned forward, his eyes searching Harry’s for any sign of pain.
“What’s wrong?” Harry echoed faintly. “Nothing’s wrong! I won the lottery! We’re married.” Harry looked up at the ceiling as if he could see past the peeling plaster to the heavens. He raised his hand up above his head and wiggled his fingers gleefully. “I’m married to an angel,” he crowed triumphantly.
There was no holding back the embarrassed giggle that bubbled out of Louis’ chest, although he tried and failed to contain it by covering his mouth with his hands.
Harry shot Louis a suspicious glare. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”
Louis shook his head, slightly bemused. “‘fraid not. As of Monday, you are officially stuck with me. Until death do us part, and all.” He pointed at Harry, wagging his finger sternly. “Which, I might add, you very nearly achieved riding that motorcycle of yours. You do that again, I’ll kill you meself.”
“How’d I get someone like you to marry me?” Harry murmured.
“It took quite a bit of wooing,” Louis informed him seriously. “You’re very lucky you can cook, Mr. Tomlinson-Styles.”
“Tomlinson-Styles,” Harry repeated, shaking his head in amazement, and then a wicked smile suddenly stole onto his face. “Gems must be furious I got married before her!”
Louis grinned. “She likes to act like she is, but she cried the most at the wedding.”
Harry smiled, and then his eyes lit up. “And the lads, Niall and—and—” His forehead crinkled.
“Niall, Liam, and Zayn,” Louis supplied. “Niall was pissed off his arse. Liam was another weeper. Zayn’ll swear that he didn’t get emotional, but I have it on good authority that he went and had a good cry in the loo after our toasts. And me mum said—” He stopped, realizing that Harry was staring off distractedly somewhere in the vicinity of Louis’ chest. “What is it?”
Harry steepled his hands together, all traces of his earlier smile gone. “Do we sleep together?” he asked, refusing to look anywhere but at his ring finger.
Louis gave a delicate cough. “We, ah—well, yes, we’re married. So.”
“Is it—am I good? I want to be good for you.”
Louis glanced toward the door, grateful that he had thought to close it when he came back in. This was not the type of conversation he needed Fran walking in on. “You’re the best,” he promised Harry, and the sheer relief that lit over his face was possibly the most endearing thing Louis had ever seen in his life.
“What did I do to deserve this,” Harry said, directing his question up at the ceiling again. “I must have saved orphans or endangered species in another life.”
“All right, love,” Louis said, patting Harry’s hands soothingly. “Eat your crisp now, all right?”
Harry lifted the crisp to his mouth, but he stopped just before it reached his mouth. “Wait. Have we kissed yet?”
Louis rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you figure out the answer to that.”
“But I don’t remember what it’s like to kiss you.” He pouted, and his lips were criminally pink.
Louis considered him for a second, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s for a chaste kiss. But before he could pull away, Harry had fisted his hand in Louis’ shirt and pressed his tongue past Louis’ lips.
Louis sighed into it. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed touching Harry, kissing Harry, being kissed by Harry. It was like he had been holding his breath for the past couple days and suddenly someone had reminded him how to breathe. He let himself kiss back for a moment, then pulled back with a laugh.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he said, hoping Harry wouldn’t notice how hard he was breathing.
“You’re amazing, babe,” Harry sighed dreamily, finally eating the damn crisp that was still clenched in his other hand. “Do I call you babe?”
Louis laughed. “You call me babe,” he confirmed. “Also sweetcheeks. Sometimes a tosser.”
“‘m gonna call you alien,” he decided, grabbing another crisp. “Because you’re out of this world,” he added.
Louis groaned. There was the Harry he knew. “Why did I marry you?”
Harry grinned. “Dunno,” he said happily, “but I’m probably the luckiest bastard in the world.”
“That you are.”
“Come here.” Harry sidled over an inch or two and patted a tiny spot next to him. “I want cuddles.”
Louis grumbled a bit before clambering onto the bed. He couldn’t have Harry knowing that he called the shots. He turned and tucked his arm over Harry’s stomach, curling his legs around his body as best he could in the small space.
“Am I the little spoon, then?” Harry asked, delighted. He snuggled back into Louis’ embrace delightedly.
“Course you are,” Louis said briskly. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Love you,” Harry said softly, his voice already weighted down with weariness.
Louis smiled against the warmth of Harry’s neck. “I should hope so. The rings would be a pain to send back.”
Harry didn’t respond.
“Haz?”
He cocked his ears for a second, and sure enough, Harry was snoring very slightly.
“Unbelievable,” Louis muttered, but he nestled his nose in against Harry’s curls and thought that if anyone was the luckiest bastard in the world, it was him.
“I love you.”