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The boys are exhausted, filthy, and hungry, but no one complains on the ride back to the tiny airport in Ghana.
Zayn, who grumbled about the leg room in the tiny prop plane on their way there, is silent on the trip back to the larger airport in Nigeria. No one says much of anything until they’re settled into the private plane that will take them back to London. Louis goes to the back of the plane, sits down alone and curls up against the window, mumbling about sleep. The other boys sit facing each other in the wide leather seats, speaking in hushed voices.
“I still can’t believe it, fellas,” Niall says, biting his thumbnail. “I knew there was poor kids, you know? But to see them--”
“The ill ones, too,” Liam adds, opening a bottle of water. He lifts it to his mouth to take a sip, but stops halfway. “Do you know how many of these I’ve left on planes or in green rooms? Half empty?”
“Yeah but, like, we can’t ship your water bottles to Ghana,” Zayn says. “We just have to donate money and all that. Draw attention to it.”
“I’m just thinking about how much we waste, I guess,” Liam says.
They’re all quiet, minds still reeling from the long day spent with the poorest people they’ve ever met. They tried to be cheerful for the children, to smile and sing and play games with them, but they all saw things they’ll never be able to forget.
“I held a baby, at the hospital--did you see?” Harry asks. “He was the smallest, like, person I’ve ever seen. Even when Lux was a tiny baby she was like, solid, you know? This baby was barely even there.”
Liam nods--he saw Harry’s baby, held another small child on his own while he read lines to the camera about the charity that brought them to Africa. “I think if everyone could hold a baby like that, they would send a lot more money,” he says.
Paul comes up from his seat in the back, rests a hand on the back of Harry’s seat, and leans in. “You wanna go check on Louis?”
“He’s asleep,” Harry says. A quick glance tells him Zayn and Niall aren’t too far from falling asleep themselves.
“I don’t think he is,” Paul adds, sadly. “Go on, I’ll sit up here with these lads.”
Harry makes his way to the back of the cabin, finds Lou curled up against the window of the plane with his knees pulled to his chest. It’s dark back there, all the reading lights switched off, and mostly quiet.
Mostly quiet. Harry can hear the hum of the engine, the quiet, muffled voices of the passengers up front, and the sound of Louis crying.
“Lou,” he says, sliding into the seat next to him. Harry splays his fingers on Louis’ back, rubs at his shoulder blade with his thumb. “Lou? You alright?”
Louis nods, his face pressed into the blankets he’s wrapped around himself.
“But, you’re not? Not really?” Harry says. He nudges at the armrest between the two seats, pushes it up and out of the way, and tries to wrap himself around Louis as best he can. This works better in bed, at home, but Harry is improvising. “Wanna talk about it, Boo Bear?”
It’s only when Louis finally lifts his head and turns to face him that Harry sees just how far gone he is. Louis’ eyes are red, his cheeks wet with tears, and his face is scrunched up like he’s trying to stop himself crying.
“Oh, Lou,” Harry says softly, turning Louis in his arms. They shift awkwardly until Louis is cuddled into Harry’s shoulder, his face pressed into Harry’s neck. He’s still shuddering, whimpering a little bit from what must have been an epic cry, but his breathing is starting to slow.
“The little girl,” he says, and Harry knows immediately who he’s talking about. There had been dozens of kids, but one little girl followed Louis around everywhere, fascinated. She stuck to his side the entire day, smiling and laughing, but when the boys started to say goodbye, she clung to Louis’ leg. “I picked her up to say goodbye, you know? And it was so easy, she fit right in my arms. She held onto me just like the twins used to when they were her age.”
Harry nods, twists his fingers in Louis’ hair, and kisses his temple.
“And it’s just... it’s not fair,” Louis says, his voice breaking on the word. “Just because of where this girl was born, she has to fight every day just to live. And she looked at me like I was doing something good, like I was helping her, but I couldn’t really do anything at all, Hazza.”
“That’s not true, Louis,” Harry whispers. “It’s not true at all. You’re doing everything you can. You know how many people are going to see her picture because of you? Are going to, like, send money to help her, because of us?”
“But she needs help now. She needed me to help her, and I left her. I had to...” he says, more tears springing to his eyes, “I had to put her down and pry her fingers off my shoulders, Harry. I left her.”
Harry holds Louis tight, rocks him gently through a fresh wave of sobs. “Louis,” he murmurs, stroking the smaller boy’s back. “Sweet Louis.”
“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers, when he gets himself under control again.
“Don’t be sorry,” Harry says. “You can’t be so hard on yourself, though, Lou. You can’t. What we did was important, it was the best thing we can do in our position.”
“I wish I could... I just wish there was a way I could have brought her home.”
“I know, Lou, but you know you can’t. Not now, not with our lives like this.”
“Yeah.” Louis’ voice is raspy, wrecked.
Harry fetches a bottle of water and stops in the tiny bathroom to wet a flannel. He used to hate airplane bathrooms, used to whine about them endlessly, but now takes a moment to marvel at the fact that he’s never in his life had to want for running water and modern plumbing.
When he gets back to Louis, he wipes his face gently, then presses a kiss to his forehead. “Drink some water.”
Louis settles down, eventually, and Harry wraps them both up in more blankets. The other boys have quieted down, and someone has switched off the remaining lights in the cabin. Harry’s exhaustion catches up with him, and he’s just drifting off when he feels Louis grip his hand.
“When this is over, Hazza? When our schedules aren’t so insane and we can decide where we go and when we go and what we do?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll go back, yeah? For her. We’ll go back and get her, and bring her home.”
Harry knows it won’t happen. Knows that it will be years before things slow down, longer if they’re lucky. Knows that even if they go back next week, they probably wouldn’t be able to find the same little girl that stole Louis’ heart.
But right now, in the dark, with Louis exhausted and vulnerable and aching, Harry can’t tell him no.
“Yeah, Lou,” he says, kissing the top of Louis’ head. “We’ll go back.”