Voices.

There were voices all around Louis, but he couldn't open his eyes to see who they were. He couldn't move his legs, or his arms, or his mouth, or anything. He'd wondered the first time he'd awoken what had happened to him, and since then he'd overheard someone saying that he was in a coma. That person hadn't been talking to him, but to Harry. No one ever spoke to him, and he kept having to remind himself that he was not dead, just asleep. He even wondered sometimes if this were even real; if the voices he heard weren't just memories escaping his body that-at that very moment-could be decaying in a grave somewhere. He was certainly lying down, but the room seemed to be warmer than he'd imagine a coffin to be, and it wasn't stuffy. No, he was fairly sure that he was alive.

He could still feel his body, for sure, and that was his reminder. It was a vague indicator to how much time had passed, for the cuts of glass in his body seemed to hurt less and less, and he could feel people touching him almost constantly. Nurses changed his clothes and washed him, and visitors would come to hold his hand. Niall came often with Granny, and every single time he'd shout in attempt to wake Louis up, or squeeze his hand so much that it would hurt. Zayn dropped by from time to time, but his visits were less and less frequent. That, or Louis fell asleep every time he was here, which was also a possibility.

He wasn't awake very often anymore, he didn't think; but dreams and reality were the same thing now. The only way he differentiated the two was that when he slept, there was no pain, and when he was awake, he could barely breathe.

Right now, he was struggling. There was a mask over his nose and mouth but the air seemed to thin with every breath. The sheets over his body were lightweight, but to him they felt so heavy that he was being crushed beneath them. He felt as if his whole stomach had been squeezed and emptied like a packet of juice, and no matter how much he tried to move in attempt to breathe; even when it was just to puff out his lungs for air, he couldn't move.

"Louis, my love."

Harry was sitting beside him. Louis heard the chair move and then Harry's hand came to his forehead. He didn't need to hear that voice to know it was him, just this touch was enough. Harry was the only one in the world to handle Louis so delicately, and he was right in doing so, for Louis was not in a good state of health by far. His heart was beating far too slowly, and his lungs were collapsing with every passing day, and he'd been here for three weeks but still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Don't wake up." Harry whispered in Louis' ear.

He'd say that every time he'd visit, and Louis didn't understand why. Surely, he should wake up because otherwise Harry wouldn't have anyone to dance with. He should wake up because otherwise Niall would sit alone in class. He should wake up because otherwise Mother would... Well, he wasn't sure about Mother. He hadn't heard anyone speak about her since he'd seen her last. He was beginning to wonder if she'd ever existed in the first place.

He hoped that she was alright; he hoped with his whole heart that she was.

When he'd wake up, he was going to run back home and surprise her. Maybe Zayn could take him to get a little present for her and a card to say sorry that he'd gone. Louis wanted to be sure she was alright, that she was safe. She surely was. No matter how beaten people could become, they were always alright. That was what everyone told him, anyway, that he was 'alright', and so that was what he believed Mother was.

"Can you hear me?" Harry said, "I know that you can."

Louis wasn't sure if he could, or if it were just his brain speaking in Harry's voice, but he had no choice to listen anyway unless he fell asleep, and he never slept when Harry was here.

"It's November today. Friday the first of November, 1994. It's raining quite a bit, but it always does nowadays. It's rather strange, you know; you seem to be the one controlling the weather, when you're not smiling, or in a coma as you are now, the sky becomes dull. I wish that it would rain forever."

Louis didn't know what to make of what Harry had just said-seeing as it was either suggesting he should be sad forever or in a coma forever; two things which he himself didn't want, and didn't understand why Harry of all people should wish that seeing as they were supposed to be friends.

"I came here in my car, and it isn't very busy. Something about the way you look tonight by Elton John was playing on the radio. I saw a puppy in the park.. What else? Oh yes, I brought you some flowers. I'd let you smell them but I can't remove your mask. They're pink lilies."

Louis heard him inhale.

"They smell as sweet as you. I just really hope you'll never see them.."

Louis heard him stifle what seemed to be a cry hidden behind a cough, and then his lips were on Louis' forehead where they lingered for a long while.

"It's so lonely without you. People still talk and live their own little lives; I see people walk past your house a lot, with is strange because your village is so small. It's still as pretty as ever; I drive down your street so much nowadays in the hope of maybe seeing you there.. I hope it's all a bad dream sometimes and that maybe this never happened. Do you do that? Probably not.. Anyway, people still live just as they did before, but everything is just grey and dull without you; to me, at least. Before you smiled at me that very first time, I felt as if I were just feeding from a black mourning flower like the ones Rosaline holds in her coffin; after you came prancing along into my life, I've been feeding from you, on flowers that are blooming and the brightest yellow you could ever imagine. I stopped living for a dead woman and started to live for myself, for you. And if those yellow flowers whither up, then I'll starve. Louis, I can't live without you. Please don't wake up. Please. Never wake up."

Harry was begging Louis so strongly, so painfully, yet his voice wasn't enough and he knew it. He wanted to make sure Louis would never wake up but begging him to sleep forever was all he could do. It was infuriating. He kissed Louis' head again, harshly, and with such a full heart that he believed it would burst.

Just then, a child who ran down the hall started to shout. Harry looked at her run past. She couldn't have been older than four, and she had a handful of lollipops in her hand which she showed to her mother up ahead in delight. She screeched and Harry smiled at her a little. He'd always liked children; he and Rosaline had planned to have two, when she'd lived. He could vividly remember taking about it with her, and he remembered her smile when she'd shown off baby outfits in the shopping centre. She'd have made a wonderful mother-strict and harsh at times-but still... wonderful.

Harry wasn't sure what should become of Louis if he ever had the chance to be a father. It was something hard to imagine; maybe because he looked so young, or maybe because he had a childish way of viewing things. Harry struggled to imagine Louis with a baby, but could see him perfectly well with a puppy or a kitten, or an axolotl. Louis liked axolotls a lot, and had found a passion for them when Harry had taken him to the pet shop one Monday when his Mother had injured him a little too much for him to dance comfortably. Louis wanted to have a whole tank of axolotls when he was old enough to move in with Harry. He was going to name them 'Emily', 'Oscar', 'Pip', and 'Keats'. He also said that he wanted a frog, but he was scared of them and Harry didn't like them much either. In any case, Harry would have bought him one. He'd have bought him a whole pond of frogs if it would have made Louis happy.

The little girl screamed again out of joy, dragging Harry's eyes back to her. She toddled along, stumbling and running into people who merely smiled and slowed down. She giggled, oblivious, and Harry saw an alikeness to Louis. And then, when her mother scooped her up and gave her a kiss, the little girl shouted,

"Mummy!"

And when she did, the bedsheets Louis was under rustled. Harry looked down at them, his heart sinking so deeply in his chest that he was sure his stomach was swallowing it. The bedsheets rustled again, and Louis' hand that was resting on them shifted.

No. Please, don't wake up.

His fingers twitched and he let out a heavy sigh. His foot moved beneath the sheets, and then so did the other one, and then his whole leg slid a little to the left, and so did the other. His eyes shifted beneath the lids, searching to open, and his neck cracked when his head moved a little.

Please!

And for the first time in weeks, Louis' eyes opened. They weren't baby blue anymore, but the deepest colour of emerald that Harry could imagine, and the pupils were dilated so much that they almost swallowed any colour around them. Harry's heart was hammering in his chest, his head shaking when Louis turned his face to look at him. He wanted to scream at the boy and tell him to go back to sleep; he wanted to force him back into a coma or do anything to turn back time. But he couldn't. No one had ever done anything for Louis, and Harry couldn't either. They had just all watched the little boy in Mickey Mouse plasters stumble along and slowly lose himself, piece by piece. He could have been saved, he'd begged and asked for it so many times; but adults were useless, and he'd been ignored his whole life.

Louis looked in Harry's direction and lifted a hand. Harry saw the boy's vision quickly come back as his eyes grew accustomed to the light again and faded to that baby blue. He had his Mother's eyes, but his were hopeful and full of passion and love; hers had been dull when Harry had seen them for the first and last time.

Louis smiled, blinked like a newborn baby, and held onto a lock of Harry's hair.

"I am alive." He whispered, "I knew that I was."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, swallowing down the horrid feeling lodged in his throat.

"I'm alive and.. you are too... and we're.. going to dance the Ballet together... and.. bow and cry... We're going to make it."

Harry didn't answer.

"We're... going to live together and dance and be.. h-happy. I'm going to be an astronaut and.. fly to space.. and we're going to be happy forever.. and dance... forever... We're going to make it.. together.."

Louis smiled with so much love. He smiled with so much hope and joy for not just himself but for everyone he'd ever met. He had so many hearts within his own, so many memories that he treasured and so many dreams he was willing to chase. He had so much left to do, and had so many more people to make laugh. He had everything and nothing, just like passing butterfly to make every flower bloom. He wanted to go to space and buy axolotls and eat ice cream and just experience life for the first time ever. It was a whole world of exciting times that awaited him, and he couldn't wait to chase them all. That was all he'd ever wanted; just to live, to love, and to be loved in return.

Outside the hospital, the sky had turned from a dull grey to a deep orange sunset. Pink clouds passed silently and slowly through the sky, and the larks in the bare trees were singing. The water on the small boating lake rippled, and the grass far away on the moors swayed as mist engulfed them. People in the street continued to live their lives without realising that the little boy in Mickey Mouse plasters was living his last minute.

In that moment, that peaceful moment where the world had never seemed more beautiful, the light in Louis' eyes drained away as he watched Harry. The smile of hope that he'd had relaxed and ghosted on his face, and the heart that had beaten for so many stopped.

Harry realised that the nurses were right; once Louis would awaken, he'd only have seconds left. And now; he had none.

Harry reached out and closed Louis' lids, drinking in the fading blue one final time as if he could treasure a part of Louis' soul by doing so. He moved a hand to the boy's chest and was sure that it was beating but it turned out to be just his own blood rushing through him. He said nothing, shed no tears, but stood up with a blank expression. He removed every tube and wire wrapped around Louis' body, as well as the mask from his face. Finally, he bent down and kissed Louis' lips.

Their warmth was gone.

And they never kissed back.

"Not again-" Harry said quietly into the crook of Louis' neck. "-please, God, I beg you... not again."

*

The funeral was held not long afterwards.

Only a few people were gathered by the grave, and for all of the happiness Louis gave when he'd lived, there should have been more. The little boy in Mick-the little boy in the Grave could have filled every single seat that had been placed if only people cared.

Harry couldn't bare to turn around and see no one, he couldn't bare to look at the grave either and see that Louis had been buried with his Mother. He'd been trapped with her in life, and now he was trapped with her eternally. Their names on the headstone were so close together, with hearts engraved around them as if Louis hadn't been abused and starved to death.

Harry couldn't look at the few people there, either. Some were good, he'd shaken Niall's hand and Niall's Grandmother's, he'd nodded briefly at Shawn, but the rest were people he didn't want to even see again. They had all watched a child degrade over the years; they'd watched Louis become thinner and thinner; heard him beg for help and call out to them, yet they had chosen not to listen. He could have been saved long ago, but no one cared then, and no one cared still.

It made Harry so angry, so incredibly furious even that he refused to stay at the funeral. He'd lay a bouquet of lilies on the grave, listened to a few words from Zayn who acted as if Louis' death was something 'impossible for a boy as healthy and lively as him', and then he'd left.

It was only later on that evening, when he was sitting on his bed, holding a red and black Mickey Mouse plaster that the acceptance of Louis' death came to him.

And it came as a storm that had built up within himself, and once unleashed, was almost impossible to tame. He realised the boy was really just a boy; that Louis belived he was going to live; that he was a child who's been abused for years yet life excited him in ways Harry had never even imagined to be possible. They little boy in the grave had only had one wish-to be happy.

Harry vowed to himself then, just as he'd vowed to himself the first time, that he'd keep Louis' memory alive. As the walls cabed in and his heart did too, he clutched onto the plaster and prayed his final promise.

He would dance for Love, and he'd love until the curtain call.

*

Written with my love, Lucy.