|| ship; wroetofreezy (cal x harry)

|| warnings; attempted suicide, self harm

|| words; 2.4k

- {} -

Cal was out at a bar when he got the call.

From JJ. JJ never calls him, so he knows something is wrong before he even picks up the phone. Quickly he moves to a quiet corner, and swipes to answer.

"What's up JJ?"

"Hey man, are you home?" JJ asks, and Cal can tell from his tone that he's worried.

"No, I'm out at the moment. What's up?" He asks, feeling his heart in his throat.

"It's Harry."

As soon as JJ says this, Cal knows what's happened. He's been expecting a call like this for weeks. Harry hasn't been himself lately, that's been apparent to him. He's been quiet, withdrawn, barely speaking to anyone. He spends most of his time in his room now, sleeping or drawing.

It wasn't something he used to do, but whenever Cal went into Harry's room, there was paper, pencils and oil paint everywhere. Paintings he'd done, hanging from a washing line he'd put up in his room. Messy graphite sketches pinned to his walls. He never used much colour though. Monochrome; blacks, greys and whites. The only colour Cal ever saw on the drawings was red.

Cal had also seen the cuts on Harry's wrists, when the sleeve of his jumper rode up a little. Never for long though, before Harry noticed, and tugged it back down. Cal didn't bring it up, because he didn't know how to. He was losing his flatmate, his best friend, and had no idea how to help.

So he just left Harry to his own devices.

Which of course, had landed them in this situation.

"What's happened," Cal asks, resolve set in his tone.

"He called me up, and he was crying," JJ says. "I couldn't make out much of what he said, but there was something about pills." This makes Cal's stomach drop through the floor.

"Alright, JJ, when did he call you?" Cal asks, keeping his voice calm despite the panic he can feel rising in him. He feels his hands starting to shake, and his knees are weak, but he tries to ignore it.

"Just before I called you," JJ clarifies. There's hope. Maybe Cal can get there in time. He grabs his coat from the bar stool he left it on, leaves some money, and then walks out onto the street.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up now, but I need you to call him again, and ask him how much he's taken, and of what. Keep him on the phone, don't let him go. Text me," Call tells him firmly, walking quickly towards his car. He almost drops his keys in his haste, and because of how badly his hands are shaking.

"I don't understand man, why's he taken pills?" JJ asks. A surge of anger hits Cal at the others blatant idiocy.

"He's trying to overdose, JJ," Cal hisses, more angrily than he probably should have. The phone line goes quiet, and he can tell that JJ is in shock.

"But, he was fine the last time I saw him," JJ stammers, seeming confused. Cal sighs gently, and rests his head against the wheel of the car. He's not really angry with JJ, more scared than anything. Scared for Harry's life.

"He's not been well for weeks JJ," Cal says patiently. But admitting it out loud fills him with guilt. He's known about Harry being ill, but couldn't do anything to prevent this. Well, that's not even the worst part. Maybe he could have. But he didn't. And that tears him up more than anything else about the situation. He could have helped . He could have made an effort.

But he didn't. He had no idea how.

"I'm going to call him now. Get over there as fast as you can, please Cal," JJ says, sounding almost as guilty as Cal feels. And with that, he hangs up, leaving Cal alone with his thoughts. He quickly puts the key in the ignition, and starts the car. He hopes there's no traffic.

During the journey, he gets a couple of texts from JJ, each worrying him more than the last as they pop up on his lockscreen.

Jide: he's picked up the phone again. still crying

Jide: i asked him what he took. says he can't remember

Jide: he's trying to tell me goodbye

Jide: i can't fucking do this cal

Jide: i told him you're coming, and he's started screaming

Jide: get there quick, please man

It takes Cal about five minutes of speeding down the streets of London to reach their flat. Record time. After throwing his car into a parking space, he leaps out, running into the lobby. Then into the lift. His legs are shaking almost as badly as his hands, nearly just refusing to hold his weight. He reaches their floor, and races to the door, which is unlocked.

As soon as he enters the flat, he's met with screams that turn his blood to ice in his veins. JJ wasn't exaggerating. Screams mixed with cries. He doesn't think he could ever forget that sound. It would haunt his dreams in nights to come. The sound of someone who's already about seven steps past their breaking point.

When he gets into Harry's room, he's met with the sight of Harry, sat beside his bed, legs curled in, rocking back and forth, with emptied boxes of painkillers scattered on the carpet in front of him. His phone is on the floor, JJ still on call, but not saying anything. Harry is the picture of loneliness, someone who's been pushed too far by their own mind.

"Harry," Cal says cautiously, going to kneel beside him. Harry doesn't register him until Cal puts a hand on his forearm. Then he looks up sharply, fear in his bloodshot eyes, and flinches away from Cal. Like it hurts to have someone with him. Maybe it does hurt. Maybe Cal brushed one of the cuts under his sleeves, the cuts that he refused to think about until now.

Harry goes quiet for a second, looking blankly at the other boy in his room. But he then lurches forwards, wrapping his arms around Cal's waist, and letting out cries that are bordering on screams into his chest. Cal wraps his arms around the broken boy, and closing his eyes as he lets him cry, trying to block out those ungodly screams.

Harry continues like this for a short time, settling down a little as Cal holds him close, stroking his hair, and whispering things to him. Telling him it'll be okay. He knows it's a lie, but has no idea what else to say. He has no ides what he should do for the best. Definitely take Harry to the hospital. But beyond that, he doesn't know.

Once he's calmed down a little, Harry leans back to look at Cal, before crawling into his lap, and hugging him closer.

"How much have you taken Harry?" Cal asks tentatively. Harry shakes his head.

"I don't know," he croaks.

"Have you thrown up?" Cal asks next, and Harry shakes his head again. "You're going to need to do that, okay? Whether it's here, or at the hospital. It's better sooner rather than later." Cal gently takes Harry's hand, and tries to help him get to his feet. It takes a lot, Harry breathing heavily still, but eventually, they make it to the bathroom.

He gets Harry to kneel in front of the bowl, brushing his hair from his feverish forehead, and trying to ignore the bloody razor he sees in the sink. He can deal with that later. Gently, he pries open Harry's jaw, and pushes two fingers into his throat, in the hopes of making him vomit.

"Come on mate, you need to get them up," Cal coaxes, pushing in further, until finally, Harry gags around his fingers. He removes them quickly, opting for taking Harry's hand, and rubbing his back as he empties his stomach. After a while, there's not much left that's coming up, just bile, which Cal realises must be unpleasant. But it's better than the alternative.

Once finished, Harry collapses against Cal, breathing heavily and looking utterly exhausted. His breath smells foul, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. Cal doesn't mind particularly either, holding the other boy tightly, afraid that if he lets go for an instant, Harry will slip from his grasp.

"Have you done anything else, Harry?" Cal asks after a while, already knowing the answer. Harry doesn't reply, merely rolls up the sleeves of the fleece he's wearing to reveal his forearms, which are laced with deep cuts. There are a considerable number of fresh ones, which in contrast to the older ones, are all bright red and angry looking, but no longer bleeding, so Cal takes that as a positive.

He hates the way Harry looks up at him, afraid. As if he's afraid that Cal is going to judge him, or tell him off for doing this. Cal wishes he could express in a way that Harry would believe that he's not angry at all, just so fucking glad that he got here in time. So glad that Harry is alive, and while he may not be well just yet, alive is a good first step. Definitely.

"Okay," Cal says to him, gently taking a hold of Harry's blood and paint covered cuffs, and rolling them down again. Harry looks grateful that he's done that. "We still need to go to the hospital, just to be safe, okay? Do you think you can manage that?" Harry nods slowly.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmurs timidly, his fingers writhing together in his lap.

"It's alright. Nobody's angry, just worried," Cal reassures him, taking one of his hands again. "We want to help you get better, Harry."

"Okay," is all Harry manages to say in response, refusing to meet Cal's gaze.

-

The night at the hospital is a long one for both of them. For Harry, because of all the overwhelming bright lights, sterile corridors, and people fussing over him, getting way too close, poking him with unwanted fingers and medical instruments, and trying to get him to answer their questions. It's long for Cal, because even once Harry has settled for the night, falling into an uneasy sleep, he can't manage to do the same.

He stays up the whole night, holding Harry's cool, clammy hand, and watching over him for any changes, anything at all. Harry could twitch, and Cal would be alert instantly, checking for anything that could be bothering the sleeping boy. But every time was a false alarm.

Harry slept through until about eight the next morning, very subdued still when he wakes. Some nurses run a couple of tests, making sure the drugs won't have a lasting effect on him, and that he's safe to go home. He's discharged at about half ten, after a meeting with the emergency care team, setting up a plan to help him. Cal has to sit outside, waiting restlessly since Harry didn't want him there too.

The two get in the car together, driving in a somewhat heavy silence. That is, until Harry asks something.

"Cal?" He says timidly, as if he's afraid to even speak to the taller boy.

"What's up Harry?" Cal responds instantly, worried gaze landing on Harry, who shifts uncomfortably.

"Could you drive me to JJ's? I think I want to stay with him for a couple of days." These words make Cal's stomach sink. Was he not enough? He tries not to let the upset show on his face, or in his tone as he replies.

"Yeah, sure. I can bring you some stuff later, if you like?" Cal offers, and Harry gives him a weak smile.

"If it's not too much of a bother," Harry makes sure to say, and Cal can sense the anxiety radiating from the other boy.

"It's not a bother at all."

-

After dropping Harry off with JJ, Cal goes straight back to their flat. He can't shake the feeling from earlier. Jealously almost, but mostly sadness. He had been the one who was there, not JJ. He stayed with Harry at the hospital, kept him calm, and made sure he knew someone was there for him. JJ didn't even realise what had happened until Cal explained it.

He felt betrayed, in a way. But kept reminding himself, that as long as someone is with Harry, and helping him, it shouldn't matter who. It didn't help really.

Lux his home when he gets back.

"Hey, Cal," Lux says, his face worried as the taller walks through the door. "How are you man?"

With that, Cal collapses. He can't hold off his emotions any longer, and since Harry isn't there to witness it, he allows himself to break down. Cry. Lux wraps his arms around him, keeping him close, telling him to just let it out. Cal knows he needs to.

Lux guides Cal into the front room, sitting him on the sofa, and fetching him a glass of water. Cal takes the water, and tries to focus on something else. But all he can think about is Harry. And how he feels that he let him down.

"Talk to me," Lux says gently, cutting through Cal's thoughts.

He explains everything.

-

About a week after the ordeal, Harry flies out to Guernsey, to be with his family. His sister comes to London to help him through the stress of flying, knowing that Harry wouldn't easily manage alone. Cal wishes he could have gone.

He's only seen Harry once since that night, and only briefly, when he went to drop some clothes off for him at JJ's house. He hates the fact that Harry doesn't feel that he can talk to him. It cuts up his insides, making him feel absolutely awful. But only a fraction of what he knows Harry is feeling. It doesn't make sense to him.

Maybe Harry is embarrassed that Cal saw him at his absolute lowest. Maybe he just can't face up to him after it. Maybe he feels like a burden. Cal hopes he doesn't think that.

But whatever he thinks or feels, Cal reminds himself bitterly.

It doesn't matter who he's with, as long as he's safe.

- {} -

a.n: okay, so i know this is depresing af, and i'm sorry, but i needed to vent. and also wanted to try out writing in the third person, so let me know if you prefer this, or first person. i actually quite liked writing it this way for a change.

and i haven't proofed it yet, sorry for any mistakes

stay safe y'all

~ Oscar