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Harry picks at the skin at the side of his thumb, near to the nail, bouncing his leg. He wants to leave, has to leave, right now. Everything is so cold and unfamiliar, and Harry feels nauseous.
They're doing some photoshoot-slash-interview and they're team has given them a few minutes to warm up since they'll be wearing little to nothing for the shoot and it's sub-zero outside.
Louis brushes his cold hand against Harry's shoulder briefly as he walks by. "Stop that," he says, and Harry drops his hands into his lap.
He wishes all things were as easy as that: tell someone to stop, and they stop.
Harry tenses when Louis sits beside him, wanting to pull away but knowing he won't. Harry's sitting in the middle of a three-seater settee and Louis' at one end of it, and the amount of space between their thighs has Harry's stomach lurching again.
Louis notices his discomfort, of course. "What's wrong?" he asks, turning in his seat so he's facing Harry properly and pulling his leg up into the seat with him. His knee is digging into Harry's thigh.
Harry's mind starts reeling, right then and there, no warning, because all of this seems so familiar but he can't see how.
The cold skin, the blue lips, the bags under the eyes. All of it is coming back to him in pieces of memories and he can't seem to get them all to form one picture.
Louis' calling his name, touching his leg, and his hand feels like steel in the winter even through his jeans so Harry jerks and pushes him away, sliding over into the other seat, away from him.
Except, Louis knows this, knows what it is when he gets like this, so he doesn't let Harry get away, crawling over until he's seated on Harry's legs.
Harry's hyperventilating now, a bit. The weight of Louis' body in his lap is so unfamiliar, so light, and Harry tries to push him off again. Louis stays where he is, grabbing Harry's hands and holding them tight.
Harry stares into his eyes and they look so tired, so lifeless.
That's when he sees It. That's when everything comes together and makes sense.
Harry stills, breaths still coming out in short puffs, and he swallows. He opens his mouth twice trying to word his question properly.
All he ends up with is, "Are you eating?"
This time, Louis tenses, and his gaze falls from Harry's face to his trembling hands. He realises that he can't tell if it's his or Harry's hands that are shaking now.
"Louis," Harry says, and his voice is quiet, slow, cautious. "Are you eating?"
"I," Louis moves to get off Harry, scrambling off out his lap. Harry grabs his waist, and the jut of Louis' hipbone is sharp against his thumb through the thick jumper he's wearing.
"Please don't-" Harry rushes out, and he maintains his grip until Louis sits back on down, thin thighs bracketing Harry's own longer ones.
"I didn't think-" Louis starts, words trailing off at the distraught look Harry gives him. He swallows and blinks three times. "I didn't think any one would notice."
Harry takes a shuddering breath in, closes his eyes for a second as he lets it out. Louis realises then that he has one hand on Harry's shoulder and the other on his chest, and it's almost like he can feel his heart shattering. "How did you not think I would notice, Lou? You're my world, you're my everything. I notice every little detail about you," Harry says, gaze distant but still somehow piercing through Louis' soul.
"Every one's just been s'busy and you've your stuff to deal with and I just-"
"Y'just thought that I wouldn't see how you're withering away?" Harry's breath starts stuttering. "Louis, I've been noticing for weeks now, I just couldn't place it, couldn't recongnise it. Until now."
Louis remembers Gemma telling him that she had anorexia, and that Harry was her only confidant because Anne didn't know what to do. He remembers that as soon as Gemma had gotten better, Harry had stopped eating, and was diagnosed with an EDNOS.
He remembers her warning him about how easy it is to relapse.
And he doesn't know what's fucking him up most: the fact that he could be- he is triggering Harry right now, forcing him to think about things he'd desperately tried to forget, or the fact that he'll be relieving all of them for weeks, months, years to come, because of him. He won't be able to forgive himself if Harry relapses because he's been doing so well.
Louis leans forward and drops his head against Harry's shoulder, slotting his face in the crook of his neck, and inhales. He will not cry.
"When's the last time you've had a proper meal?" Harry asks, and Louis tenses at how teary his voice sounds.
"Friday,"
"It's Wednesday."
"I know."
Harry sighs, hugs Louis and pulls him closer to him.
"I'm not gonna ask why. Hopefully, you'll come around soon. And I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to. But you're not gonna die on my watch."
And. That's it. Louis' crying. Loud, violent sobs that rack both of their bodies and Harry doesn't move, just lets him snot all over his shirt.
Niall and Liam come in to tell them that hair and make-up wants them but when they see the position they're in, Niall joins them, crawling on top of Louis, while Liam goes to politely tell every one to fuck off. No questions asked.
Louis stops crying in about an hour, when no one knows whose limbs are whose and all four of them are half-way off the settee. Louis' breathing is slow and steady like he's fallen asleep, and no one moves. Harry presses a kiss to the blue veins on Louis' eyelid and sighs.
When Liam meets Harry's gaze from below Niall's arm, Harry sees a question in his furrowed brows and searching eyes that he doesn't quite know how to answer, a look of are you okay? that he won't really be able to answer without worrying all of them.
He just shrugs, and Liam bites his lip and looks away.
They'll worry about him another time. Right now, it's all Louis.