Work Text:
When they pull into their hotel Liam rouses everyone from their spots and herds them off the bus. Louis emerges from his bunk, wrapped up in a million duvets and Harry tangles their fingers together, leading him to their room.
He wakes up surrounded by Harry and his ridiculous limbs, and things are quiet. Louis’ ears ring more nights than not, but especially lately. And he’s never woken up with it before.
Liam goes worried on him at lunch when Zayn lets Louis use his fancy headphones. “Jesus, Louis,” he says, pulling at one ear. “I can hear that across the room, isn’t it loud enough?”
Louis scowls at him because the volume was fine, thanks, Liam.
It’s not a thing, he decides. It’s not going to be a thing, because his ears have been ringing for months and so what if some days he feels like he’s straining to hear what even Niall’s jabbering on about. It’s music, artists probably have this happen all the time. They’re only on the first leg of this tour and he’s not going to complain about any earaches now.
He kind of starts cutting people off when he can’t follow what they’re saying. Harry talks for a few ages about God knows what and Louis just doesn’t know, okay, he tells Harry behind the venue he saw a cool tree he should Instagram and let’s him have at it.
After the third time he does it to Niall, he’s starting to annoy people. “Have you quite fini-”
“Shut,” Zayn says from down the hall, “the fuck up.”
Louis grins, manic, and follows Zayn’s voice to see if he’ll rile Paul up with him.
It’s fun. It’s not a thing.
-
A few weeks before Christmas, and they take their last bows in London.
Harry’s headed to Holmes Chapel right after, and he hops in his car while the sweat’s still cooling on his body, kissing Louis’ cheek goodbye. “I’ll see you on your birthday,” he says quietly into Louis’ ear, and he almost can’t take it with all the ringing.
Louis wipes his cheek dramatically and Harry honks his horn, laughing at him as he takes off. Inside, Zayn sees his sisters off and then he slings his arm around Louis’ shoulders. “D’ya want to go out tonight?” he yells over the sound of Niall shouting with his mates.
“No, no,” Louis shrugs him off. “Fancy meself a break, yeah?”
“Not for long,” Zayn wiggles his eyebrows at him as Louis packs his bag, looking around for one missing shoe he just realized he’s not wearing.
“Twenty three’s not a big deal,” Louis huffs.
“Hey, don’t be pissy about Haz, he’s not gone for long,” Zayn says, and Louis has to lean in to hear him.
“I’m not. Pissy about Haz. Just ready for a break,” Louis says and slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Could go with Niall.” Louis nods across the room and Zayn glances over at them, already a few beers in, and he grimaces.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ll miss my dancing partner, though.”
Louis pulls him in for one last hug and claps him on the back. “In a few weeks. See you, mate.” Zayn waves him goodbye and a dozen drunken cheers send Louis out the door to his car, where he drives home in silence before he parks and realizes the radio dial had been turned on the whole time.
-
Their scheduled for rehearsals after New Year’s before they cross the Atlantic, and the first day almost doesn’t happen because Louis is nearly three hours late because he didn’t hear his alarm go off.
Harry stares at him with his brows furrowed when they finally start and Louis shrugs him off, trying to follow along with their choreographer on how to step here, here, and here, and they have to stop six times because Louis swears he said right instead of left.
They call a break and Harry follows him to get a water. Louis can actually feel his eyes in his back; he’s never needed his ears to be able to do that.
“You tired?” Harry peers at him.
Louis nods, “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that.” He waves his hand at the room in general.
Harry shrugs. “Happens,” he says, and fights off a split-second sneak attack of Liam going for his nipples. Louis would be prouder if he could hear Harry’s shocked squawks better.
“I called you from Nick’s a few times last night,” Harry says when he straightens up, face red, and Louis nearly chokes on his water, because he’s pretty sure he had his ringer on all night.
“Phone was dead,” he lies, and Harry nods, opening his mouth to say more when they call them back again for the vocals.
The week after that, Louis wakes up and everything around him is underwater.
Or, it sounds like it.
Harry asks him three times if he wants him to make tea and then in the car he flinches and turns the radio down after Louis messes with it.
“Y’alright?” Harry asks, and Louis can just barely make it out over the noise of the road and the car and the music to nod back at him.
In rehearsal, Zayn has some timing issue (twenty two and it still gets him) and Liam calls Louis over to help count him in when they take a break.
“Right, go; one, two, thr- Lou, if you’re not going to count, just sing in with Zayn,” Liam says.
Louis nods quickly, cheeks flaming, and then he misses the count again, and then Zayn is off and he throws his hands up at them all.
“Sorry, sorry,” Louis mumbles.
“Just - sing under him, yeah?” Liam says and he counts, and for what it’s worth Zayn nails it this time. Louis can’t make out either of them, the counting or the singing.
Liam sighs.
“Is it the song? We can cut this song, only you just did it fine back there five minutes ago,” Zayn says easily.
Liam shakes his head and opens his mouth, and that’s as far as it gets because everything goes swimmy again, and Louis can’t hear anything clearly. He can feel his heart pound in his ears like it’s mocking him.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he cuts Liam off. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying.” His voice is getting tighter, shrill, he can feel it in his chest.
Liam and Zayn freeze. Harry and Niall tottle in from getting food for everyone, and Zayn beckons them over.
“What?” Liam says.
“What exactly, I can’t bloody hear you!”
Liam looks wildly at all of them, ““Lou, are you serious right now because I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
“Yes, I’m serious, Liam,” Louis deadpans.
“Well, you heard that.”
“Niall!”
“Okay, okay, someone - someone go get Paul,” Harry says, and Zayn nods and skips off, sending worried glances back every few seconds.
“Like right now, Lou, you can’t hear what I’m saying?” Liam asks and they watch Louis watch Liam’s face, searching.
“Yes?” he says, “I can, only it’s like, it’s not all there? Everything’s muffled and I can’t - I can’t-” He covers his face against the tears stinging at his eyes, breathing hotly into his palms.
“Okay, this is fine,” Liam’s saying. “You said your ears ring sometimes, this is probably like that, it’ll be fine.”
Someone’s hands close around Louis’ wrists and they don’t tug, they just rub at the bones there; they’re massive and Louis can tell it’s Harry and he breathes a little deeper.
“Ringing and not hearing at all ain’t the same thing, Liam,” Niall says, and Louis hears Liam sigh. Or, he doesn’t really, but he thinks he might feel a gust of wind next to him.
Zayn’s sneakers smack the floor as he sprints back to them, and Louis can hear that because it’s about as fast as Zayn’s ever moved in the time they’ve known him.
“Paul’s getting a car,” he says. He’s huffing, and honestly, he might need a chair. “He’ll get you in with someone, he says.”
“Rehearsal, though,” Louis starts.
Zayn waves a hand at him, and Harry gives him a water. “Said it doesn’t matter, he’ll take care of it.”
Louis nods dumbly at him.
“Well, go!”
Louis starts. “Right. Okay.”
“Come on,” Harry says, and he’s already gathering up their jackets from the practice space. He steadies Louis’ arm as he slips into his shoes and then tugs him out the door, and the others wave them off.
The first doctor says it could be permanent. He says noise induced. So does the second, when Harry demands a second opinion, same with the third. Paul finds an audiologist, and then another, and when it’s all said and done they’ve lost rehearsal time, Louis’ failed most of his hearing tests, and they’re two weeks from the US.
After the last appointment, back at their house, Louis slumps into the sofa and watches Harry pace a bit. “This is fixable, like, he said, you know, he said that you’re young, and it could come back just like it went-”
“Harry,” Louis says, sinking lower. He props his feet up and Harry runs a nervous hand over his ankle, wandering past.
“No, no, it might just take a while, and even then there’s all kinds of hearing aids, you heard him, and those implants.”
Louis flops his arm out and nudges Harry’s legs, so he’ll slide on the sofa next to his knees and Louis watches his face, the wheels turning.
“Harry,” he sighs.
“We could,” Harry swipes his hand back and forth on the sofa, watching the fabric change, “we could stop. For a bit, just take a break or, or I don’t know.”
Louis squints, just a little, to watch Harry’s mouth, just so he knows he doesn’t miss anything. “He says it could stay. Just like the others, Harry, he said it could get worse,” he says softly.
“I could stop,” Harry says. He looks soft and far away.
Louis slaps his thigh gently. “No one’s stopping anything. We’re halfway through a tour and I can still sing, yeah?”
“Yeah, you can still sing,” Harry agrees, and he beams like he’s proud.
“Right,” Louis says. “It’s settled then. Everything’s fine.” He grins at Harry and flops back with his limbs all starfished, eyes closed.
“Now, take me to bed.”
He hears Harry scoff, barely, and feels his weight leave beside him. Louis peeks one eye open, watches Harry lock the door and shut off all the lights before he scrunches his eyes shut again, lets Harry pull him off his back and take him to bed.
-
In the States, they get Louis a pair of the giant noise cancelling earmuffs and he wears them around venues, always through opening sets, and sometimes when they drive past hordes of screaming girls. Planes are another thing entirely, they find out, as Louis spent half the flight over so dizzy the four of them were putting bags in front of his face every so often, and his ears popped and rang so loud they hurt.
It doesn’t get any worse, and it doesn’t get any better.
Some days things are clearer than others and sometimes words and noises are completely unrecognizable. Louis gains a whole new level of respect for people who can legitimately read lips because that shit is hard. Niall’s the worst, because his mouth moves with his accent, and he and Louis work themselves into non-verbal conversations and hand signals when days are particularly bad.
Curled up in their hotel room, Harry pushes Louis’ hair back from his eyes and asks him how he gets through shows. They’re watching the American Antiques Roadshow with the captions on and Louis’ been dozing into Harry’s side. Harry told him that everything is a little quieter these days.
Louis hums and kicks his legs around in the blankets. “‘S’not so bad. It’s better than being off stage sometimes. In-ears do wonders, I like hearing you all wherever I go. And the band. I can feel it all.”
Harry’s muted the TV, eyes wide in the lamp light. Louis reads the caption behind him; he’s missing a woman trying to appraise a comb that looks like she just bought it from the shop.
Harry nudges him.
“The vibrations. Don’t be a pervert, Styles. It’s just like, I can feel where you move, even, when you’re really loud. I can hear you that way.”
He takes the remote from Harry and turns the volume back up for him. Harry nods solemnly, and arranges Louis around his body so he fits just under his shoulder, tucked in by his ribs.
“I like my earmuffs,” Louis adds quietly. “Things are less ring-y now.”
Harry hums, “Good,” in his chest and Louis can feel it in his cheek. He runs his fingers through Louis’ hair slowly while the images from the tv flash on them together. “Well, he’s not going to get anything for that ice box,” Harry comments and Louis smiles into his side, and falls asleep soon after.
Their next morning is dreadfully early and Louis wakes up so dizzy Harry has to tie his shoes for him. He rubs his fists into his eyes and Harry kisses his knees.
Since Louis mentioned in-ears worked well for him, they spend a portion of soundcheck redoing his settings so he can hear everyone better. Zayn’s on his third cigarette outside, avoiding any meltdowns, and while Liam and Niall are bombarding Paul with guitar solos Harry finds his mic, flicking it on.
“Hi, hi, hi,” Harry chants softly, watching Louis from the other side of the stage where the tech guys are swarmed around him. Louis tilts his head into the words, pausing. “You hear me?”
Louis turns, hands coming up to press on his in-ears. He nods, and Harry grins back at him, hoping that Louis can hear the breath of relief he releases into the microphone.
-
Harry can drink in America, now. Legally.
He doesn’t like to leave Louis very often but one night he goes out and comes stumbling back, hanging off Zayn, who tells Louis he only puked once, he should be good now.
“Hiiii, Lou,” Harry slurs. He’s trying to get his socks off and he keeps tipping over, giggling. Louis gets him water from the bathroom and holds the glass while he drinks.
He hovers while Harry stands to strip his clothes off, laughing when he trips over himself. Louis catches him, and Harry reels from the spins, “Shit. Shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.
“‘M sorry about,” Harry waves his hand at Louis’ head as he sags against him. “Your ears, Lou. Got such lovely ears,” he breathes. Louis holds him tighter to his chest.
“Come on,” he whispers, or he thinks he must, sometimes it’s hard to tell. “Come lay with me.”
Harry holds his hand and stretches out long on the mattress. He tries to make himself bigger sometimes, Louis’ noticed.
“I’ll just - I’ll just be your ears then,” Harry tells him just as he falls asleep, like it’s all as easy as that.
On their next night, when the doors open Louis puts his earmuffs back on. Somehow a shot Lou took of him holding Lux with their matching earmuffs gets out and by the time the openers start it’s on at least six news sites and it’s trending.
Lou keeps apologizing and he waves her off a hundred times, grinning, as Lux clings to his back.
“Are you gonna say anything? Maybe tweet or something,” Zayn asks Louis, moving his mouth carefully. “You don’t have to.”
He makes a face, shaking his head no. “Maybe later,” he says. “When I know for sure.”
Harry takes Lux when she wants to run about because it makes Louis too dizzy. He keeps an eye on Louis, as he plops on a sofa, tired, next to Niall and sits close enough so he can just make out his chord changes from the feel of the guitar in their laps.
When Harry was little Gemma sometimes talked about a blind girl in her year, chattering away to their mum while dinner was on the stove. She moved away, apparently, to a school that would be better for her, and Harry would traipse through the living room with his eyes shut tight, counting his steps and bumping in to the sofa.
He lies next to Louis in bed that night and puts his hands over his ears for a moment, and it is not the same.
-
Louis is twenty three and six months old, and he wakes up in a hotel room in Paris in the middle of June, and he can’t hear anything anymore.
-
“Gone completely, yeah. Oh. Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
Harry’s been on and off the phone all morning. Louis hopes he’s saying nice things about him; he’s been watching Harry’s mouth, and it’s not so bad, but it’s tiring.
Their train leaves in the afternoon and Liam said he’d pick them up. At this point he’s not sure if he’s more mad about finally going deaf or the fact that his and Harry’s first holiday in over a year has been cut short.
Harry tosses his phone to the floor and flops back on the sofa. He says something, his jaw’s working, but Louis doesn’t know what.
“Sorry,” he cranes his neck so Louis can see his mouth, and Louis knows that word because he’s been watching Harry say it for months now.
“You have an appointment,” Harry says. “Tomorrow.”
Louis nods, and presses his cheek to his knees.
“Come here, please.” Harry reaches his arms out and Louis goes, burrowing into his chest and swinging their legs together. He can’t hear it exactly, but he can feel how fast Harry’s heart is beating in his chest, and he rests his ear right there and stays while Harry runs his hands through his hair, from his neck to his forehead and back again.
London is harder than before. They have a few UK dates planned for the end of the summer but none of them can think about singing when Louis can’t even listen in on the conference calls from their label.
Every word he can’t read on people’s lips is a text sent to his phone, so he has hundreds of messages a day ranging from 'spoon' to 'Italy', to 'twat' six times from Niall. The first time Harry leaves his side to go to a taping of Nick’s new show he looks so concerned that Louis calls Zayn around, who gets him wonderfully high, and he sings and he sings and he sings, like Zayn always does, and all the weed in the world still wouldn’t help Louis hear him.
Harry gets in late one night and he’s scraping leftovers out of their fridge, talking at Louis, and he’s moving his mouth over and over and Louis cannot make it out.
He makes Harry jump when he bangs on the counter. He waves his hand in the air and tries to look as confused as he feels.
Harry, he can tell, is trying, he slows down, stops what he’s doing entirely and makes vague hand gestures to the door and Louis feels his face crumple because he doesn’t know.
Harry keeps saying, “Lou, Lou, Lou,” and he brings his hand up to his hair, miming a quiff over and over again, and oh. “Grimmy asked about you.”
Louis rolls his eyes so quickly he almost feels bad, but Harry barks out a laugh, Louis watches him and he can almost hear it when he claps his a hand over his mouth.
“Mean,” Harry says, and grabs two forks so Louis can share whatever day old takeaway he’s mustered into an actual meal again.
After that, Harry comes home with stacks of sign language books and makes Louis watch how-to videos all the time.
“We text everything,” Harry says. “Or write it down. This’ll be good, yeah?”
Louis scowls at the man doing the alphabet on Harry’s laptop.
“Just a few words or something, Louis.”
Harry makes a thumbs up and holds his hand out, shoving it in Louis’ face until he makes one back and bumps Harry’s, smiling stupidly at him.
Louis’ favorite sign is OK. Everything is OK, just a circle with his thumb and finger. And shut up. He likes to do that one again and again when they’re out until Harry exasperatedly holds his hand through whatever shop or bakery they’re in.
They practice, facing each other in bed at night, and Harry fingerspells Louis’ name in the air between them, smiling softly. He’s quicker than Louis, and Louis always forgets to do the second ‘R’ in Harry. Together they aren’t very good at giving each other quicker signs, because Liam and Niall just get an ‘L’ and an ‘N’, and Zayn gets the ‘Y’, hang loose. They still do the awful quiff motion Harry made whenever Nick is brought up, and Louis doesn’t roll his eyes much at it anymore.
-
“Can you hear that?”
Niall’s guitar is hooked up into about a thousand mics while he plays. Louis strains, and shakes his head.
“D’ya get anything? Can you feel it?”
Louis shakes his head again and Niall stops, deflated. Every mic and instrument in rehearsal is set to about the highest volume they can safely go, and even Harry’s been taking his in-ears in and out when it all gets too loud. When Josh pounds on his drums, Louis can feel that through the floor up to his ears, but he still can’t hear it.
“You’ve watched him, though, yeah?” Liam says. “You did really well last tour, do you think you could count it all? Niall, try One Thing.”
Niall starts on his verse, going into Louis’, and Louis can sing that song in his sleep. He knows every chord change and the way Niall’s mouth moves around his words and it’s easy, he sings his part like he can hear. The chorus is better, because he can feel them all sing in his chest, and Zayn and Niall cheer when they finish, hugging him, and Liam’s beaming.
“It’s better when we sing together?” Harry asks. He signs a portion of almost everything he says now, even if Louis doesn’t know all the words. The others have picked up on some, and even Paul spells their names when he wants their attention.
Louis nods at him.
“We can rearrange some things,” Liam says and he and Harry run off to talk vocals with their team.
Zayn grabs Louis’ hand and drags him through some of the dressing rooms and out a back door. They sit on cement and there’s no one peeking over pushes or sneaking in bins; things are a bit tamer than they used to be.
Out of his jacket Zayn pulls a baggie with three spliffs and Louis sputters at him for a second, and waits for him to light the first one and pass it over.
“We’re on our four hundredth show,” Zayn says, after his second hit. “Or something like that. I used to keep track.” He shrugs, shakes his head.
Louis passes the spliff back to him and leans his head against the building. “I always thought,” he says, all rough and grainy. It’s not so often his own voice comes out of him, unless he’s singing. “I thought we’d get like Ed or summat. ‘I’ve done around about a thousand shows,’ you know?”
Zayn stares at him before he laughs, slapping Louis’ thigh, and Louis smirks back.
“Guess not,” Louis mutters, and he grabs the spliff for another hit.
-
Before their last show, Louis’ clambering between buses, trying to find a shirt of Harry’s he lost somewhere. He’s by himself because the other boys are playing footie round the front away from the fans lined up at the gates in the back.
He can’t find it and he heads off the band’s bus to go back to the boys when he swears he feels the ground underneath him shake.
A car is less than a foot away from him and Louis’ hand flings out instinctively, slamming on the hood. He sees the driver’s angry face for a split second before he’s falling over, getting the wind knocked out of him.
The car must slam on its brakes because it halts quickly, rolling back from Louis.
He gets himself back on his feet and that’s when he sees the driver, out of his car and face ruddy, yelling. The gate to the venue is open behind him and girls are coming in slowly, gathering around him.
He can’t see what they’re saying, but they’re loud, they’re so loud, pushing at him and grabbing his clothes and Louis can’t even yell for anyone, doesn’t know if he could make his voice big enough.
Paul comes running first. Louis watches him struggle between having a go at the man or getting him out of the throng of girls, and then the other four are sprinting around the building and there’s Harry, reaching for him, and Zayn’s pulling at his arm while Liam and Niall start talking to the girls, pulling out pens for whatever they hand them.
Inside, Harry’s running his hands all over him, holding his face so Louis will watch what he’s saying, “car horn, Louis, he was honking so much, what happened,” is all he can make out, and his hands shake when they grab for Harry’s, holding onto his jacket, anything.
He doesn’t remember the sign for fall but he keeps moving his hands, trying to make Harry understand, and he sees him roar, “Did he hit you?” and then Zayn’s going back outside, the door swinging behind him.
Louis’ panting, he realizes, and the room is really small, there’s not enough space for him. Harry keeps talking and talking but Louis can’t make his eyes focus.
Harry’s in his face again, and he puts his palms on Louis’ chest, and Louis knows that word. “Breathe, breathe slow, Lou, come on,” Harry says, and Louis tries but every breath hurts and he’s starting to stumble a bit, dizzy even as Harry holds him.
Harry’s still moving his mouth as he pulls Louis into a bathroom and sits against a wall, hauling Louis down with him.
“With me, Lou, breathe slow with me, okay?” He sets Louis in the vee of his legs and Louis turns his head instantly, his ear right over Harry’s heart. It’s so much slower than his own, and Louis can feel him breathing, steady and slow so he can hold onto it.
Harry holds their hands over Louis’ chest, making the breathe sign, and Louis feels how quick their hands are moving, heaving up and down while his breaths wheeze.
Whatever Harry’s saying is vibrating in his chest, a constant litany, as he settles his head over Louis’, surrounding him. Louis counts, just like onstage, and starts matching his breaths with Harry’s, gulping air in slower.
When he’s breathing deep again, Louis opens his eyes. Harry’s rocking them on the floor, a little sideways sway, and he hasn’t stopped talking.
Louis pulls back and Harry wipes his cheeks for him. He rests his head against Louis’. “Let’s not do that again, okay?” and Louis nods against him.
-
By fall, Louis still hasn’t made any sort of statement, and no one’s pushed him to. There’s video of that day, with the car, but none of it’s clear enough to make anyone very suspicious.
Zayn signs ridiculously well now, and he carries full conversations with Harry sometimes, when they’re trying to be lame and secretive. Louis usually throws in random words and letters to piss them off.
There’s one small talk of recording again, having Louis write for songs on a new album, but it’s all scrapped when he’s not able to sing along to a demo the label brings in for them. Louis can sing their whole catalog back and forth because his mouth knows how to make those sounds, but. Some words he’s forgotten how to say.
There’s some label switching around, with a bunch of parties for whoever’s being signed on and their attendance is mandatory. Louis watches them all, Harry charms girls and Liam dances with Danielle until they’re breathless, and he is not the only one restless in his suit.
He doesn’t pay attention for one call from management, resting his head on the table even as Harry signs to him, and then later, Louis’ backed into a sofa suddenly, after three meetings and a label event he’d had to cling to everyone for the duration of, and they all look like they’re begging.
Liam keeps sighing that great heave of air and Zayn finally plops in a chair like it’s blowing him over.
“Lou,” Harry’s saying, kneeled up next to him, “It’s one last show, they’re saying they don’t even care about sales, okay?”
“In London,” Niall adds. “Just to end the year out.”
“Lou, Louis, you know these songs, you wrote half of them, you could sing them in your sleep-”
“I can’t hear you,” he feels himself say, finger pointing at Harry’s chest, and Harry’s mouth shuts so quick his teeth click. Liam doesn’t sigh again, when Louis expects him to.
Harry falls back on his heels and grips Louis’ hand tight to his chest, like that’s the last string keeping him up. “Okay,” he says, giving Louis a weak thumbs up. “Yeah, okay.”
When the snow starts falling, Harry makes roast after roast and lets Louis flip back and forth between whatever Christmas special he wants. They fall asleep in front of the TV most nights, reading the captioning, Louis draped over Harry to feel his breaths move up and down, and that’s how they hear each other now.
Louis sits up halfway through It’s a Wonderful Life, ignoring Harry’s sleepy protests. “I’m gonna,” he starts, but he doesn’t know if it sounds right, so he signs the rest. “I’m going to mum’s.”
“Okay,” Harry says. “By yourself?”
Louis nods, quiet as he can, so he doesn’t hurt Harry’s feelings. He leans down from his perch in Harry’s lap and kisses him sweetly. “Not for long,” he whispers. Harry signs OK, and Louis puts his hand over his eye like a monocle to make him laugh.
Doncaster was always quiet in the winter. Louis thinks it’s a bit ridiculous now.
Harry texts him nearly every hour, and he’s probably texting his mum too, asking for updates and sending him pictures of Zayn with gum in his hair and Nick’s new puppies.
They Skype once, and Louis watches Harry fall asleep from his childhood bed, his sisters sleeping in various rooms around him.
Jay takes him shopping a dozen times, and she shows him how good she’s gotten at fingerspelling, and once, after the girls are all in bed, she sits with him in the kitchen and strokes his ears and says, “Oh, love.”
Louis cries when they sign Happy Birthday to him. Harry sends a video of him and Lux doing it and Niall sends over four cakes.
He counts down as loud as he can at New Year’s and goes to bed a little tipsy and very full, and tries not to think of the last time he heard his baby sisters’ voices, or anyone’s, and he can’t remember them much at all.
Harry’s half naked when he gets in, at the stove working on dinner big enough for a family of ten.
“Not long, eh,” he says, waving his spatula at Louis as he sets his bags down. Louis rushes him, kissing his face, anywhere he can reach, pointing at his chin over and over.
Harry twines their hands together. “Missed you, too,” he says and Louis can feel that, the breath on his face, and he kisses him again.
In the middle of dinner, Harry sits up suddenly. “Oh!” He strips his shirt off and Louis drops his fork.
“I almost forgot, you probably saw me out with Liam, yeah?” Harry says and Louis nods, because his mum likes to show him news articles of his bandmates sometimes.
Harry turns his left shoulder so Louis can see and there on his back, between all the other little symbols cascading onto his shoulder blade, is a little hand making a thumbs up.
Harry twists his head to watch Louis. “I would have gotten just an ‘L’,” he says, “but then I would have been walking around with a giant loser sign on my arm.”
Louis’ eyes are welling and they’re probably shiny in the light. “Well, you are one,” he croaks, out loud so Harry can hear, and he runs his hands over the black ink, tracing it.
When he’s done Harry slips back into his shirt and Louis gives him his own thumbs up, resting it on his cheek.
Harry makes him tea, after, because he missed it at his mum's. They bought one of the kettles with a disturbingly loud whistle back when Louis still had some of his hearing. He doesn’t know if Harry still lets it whistle, or if he’s shut if off.
“I want to take a break, Harry,” Louis blurts. Harry’s face falls, and he sets the kettle down.
“From tour - or not tour, because we haven’t even been, but the band, I guess. But I don’t want to quit the band, I’m not,” his hands are flying and they sort of stop mid-air, stuck.
Harry’s face softens. “We can tell the boys. Proper break would be good.”
“I’m not going to Paris again,” Louis says and Harry pouts.
“Fine. I like Spain.”
-
They go where trains will take them and Louis burns red in Barcelona and watches Harry get truly pissed in the streets of Hamburg. They get off in bathrooms together and swim almost everyday, because everything is as quiet underwater as it is above.
Back in London, Harry is in and out with Nick constantly and he brings over one of his dogs for Louis to meet. They wrestle in the garden until Harry says Nick mentioned service dogs and then Louis drives the dog back to Nick’s himself.
Zayn goes out with him and they kick a ball around sometimes, or they stay in and Louis watches him smoke in the sun.
Zayn fiddles with their radio, and he’s still always singing, words Louis can’t make out and one day the little track display says One Direction - What Makes You Beautiful and Louis’ gut sinks to the floor because he can’t remember how Liam sounds starting that song out, and he can’t remember how half his verses go in anything anymore. He always thought his voice would give if anything, and here he is, going on a year of deafness and his boyfriend knows more sign language than he does. Harry does - everything.
“Lou?”
Zayn’s following him into the house, up the stairs, until Louis slams the bedroom door in his face. They’ve got stacks of CD, half Louis’ from before they ever moved, and he can’t think of what any of the bands sound like, not anymore.
He flings them off the desk. He hopes they’re loud.
He slams at their closet doors, the drawers full of all of Harry’s clothes - everything he’s wearing is Harry’s now. Harry’s been researching hearing aids for the past three months, he’s been taking notes, he visits deaf forums and talks to Nick about service dogs, he learned a whole new language - Harry stopped singing for him. And Louis never even had that choice.
He kicks at the clothes on their floor, sending it all flying. Louis rams his foot into one of their suitcases they never even put away, thinks about just packing it full of his things right there and leaving.
And the door flings open and Harry nearly trips getting to him, panting like he just ran to the house. “Lou, hey, hey, Lou,” Harry reaches out instantly and Louis’ so mad even at that, his legs fold under him and he crumples to the floor.
“Louis, Louis, Louis,” Harry’s saying, following him down. “No, no, none of that,” and Louis didn’t even know he was crying until Harry thumbs his tears from his eyes.
“Zayn called and said you were freaking, what’s this now?” Harry arranges them on the floor, Louis in his lap like always. Harry used to fit in his lap, when Louis and his voice were bigger.
Louis shakes his head, wringing his hands in Harry’s clothes.
“No, what? You can tell me whatever. I’m sorry I left today, okay, I can stay-”
Louis scoffs wetly at him, because that’s the opposite of why he just threw a fit. He tries to make his hands sign but he can’t think of the right ones and finally he just says, “You’re better at signing than me,” and it feels like a wail in his ears.
“What, so?” Harry says incredulously. He’s still wiping at Louis’ face, dabbing his wet cheeks. “You don’t like to read the books!” Louis hiccups into his shoulder.
“Lou. Louis.” Harry nudges him. “Would you look at me?”
Louis blinks at him.
“This - sucks. And this sucks ten times more for you. I haven’t heard you sing in a long time. I think about that, and I think that you haven’t heard me for way longer than that. I wanted to start signing, yeah? To make it easier. I figure you’re not very good at making things easier for yourself.”
Harry waits for Louis to blow his nose, making a face when he wipes with his sleeve.
“You should hang out with Nick more,” Louis tells him. “S’not fair you’re cooped up with me.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “I hang out with Nick enough. And we’re not cooped up.” He drops onto his back so Louis’ clutched close on top of him. They’re surrounded by dirty laundry and broken CD cases.
“If you were blind, paralyzed, whatever, I’d rather be cooped up with you than Nick Grimshaw. Maybe Niall, but I’d break his guitar after awhile.”
Louis grins, feels Harry ruffle the hair behind his ears.
“I don’t know how long, Harry,” he whispers.
Harry signs back ‘I know’ and gives him a thumbs up.
-
Between Liam and Niall’s twenty third birthdays Louis and Harry’s turns into a tip that defies their X Factor room. They’re throwing a massive surprise party, even though they all know about it, and Zayn’s been uncharacteristically helpful with the planning, leaving everything that Perrie won’t let him keep at their house. Harry’s walked into, and screamed at, three mannequins in the past week.
Louis trips on light machines on his way out of the bedroom, struggling to walk because it’s arse o’clock in the morning and the kettle’s been whistling for like ten minutes and Harry hasn’t gotten it.
He’s standing in his oldest trackies in their living room watching Harry’s morning shows with the volume up while he nurses his first cup. He turns when there’s a whump behind him.
Harry’s stood there, apparently having dropped about eight baskets of laundry nearly on his foot, his mouth falling open.
Louis freezes. Everything is amazingly loud.
“Of course you’d hear the tea go off, you absolute twat, Lou.”
Louis nearly spills all over himself as he tries to get to Harry, and he pounces, lets Harry hoist him up and wrap his legs around, kissing his shocked face all over. Louis can’t keep his hands from running over his throat, listening to Harry breathe so hard it hurts.
Harry wobbles them into the kitchen and sets him on the counter, and he’s saying, “Lou, Lou, Lou,” over and over like it’s been kept inside until Louis could hear it. He kisses Louis’ jaw, trails his way over his cheek to his ears and he blows hot air, watches Louis’ hair flutter as he shivers and goosebumps rise.
He rests his forehead above Louis’ ear and lets him keep feeling at his throat, his jaw working, and Harry whispers, “Hi, hi, hi,” to him.
-
Sometimes when they’re particularly giddy, when the show high’s just right, Harry will sign the words while Louis sings his verse in One Thing, just so they don’t forget.