[please refer to bottom note for explanation of this chapter]
tear-stained pages tremble beneath louis' aching hands. his fingers worn red and numb, lined with paper cuts that he, sometime long ago, simply stopped being able to feel. with legs crossed, ankles bearing into the rigid ground; the boy is seated in a silence broken only by his own muffled cries.
his shoulders weigh down so incredibly heavy that louis simply doesn't understand how he hasn't broken yet; physically that is.
perhaps it's the roaring in his brain, the ceaseless echoes and whispers of doubt leaving his eyes forced shut and knuckles a pasty white, putting the quiet into perspective. the haunted realisation that the world around him is left untouched, unaffected, while he can barely breathe past the choking pain lodged permanently within his throat.
thoughts wash over him, like a current dragging its murky waters over sunken shorelines and windswept rocks, eroding all logic and perspective of what is real.
it has been days since he last spoke to anybody. excluding liam of course, though to louis, his friend may as well be a part of the furniture. a constant, and, like pillow or a throw; comfortable to simply lie on.
spread in piles of open pages, chapters strung together in faded ink, louis' collection of books and other worlds extend across the dust-ridden floor.
really, louis knew this was coming. it always does so it was of no great surprise having yet another breakdown added to his name. hidden behind the boy's darkest insecurities, lurking in the shadows, it always seems to wait with patience for times like this one.
times when louis truly does have something he needs to protect. a relationship that, amongst all of the rubble of ones ruined past, he so desperately needs.
and, like a parent holding a young child to their every word through threats and bribery, the boy's mind betrays him with the believable prospect that once more, he has already ruined every last chance he ever had of having harry actually like him.
not in anyway other than a friend of course. but then again, that probably wasn't much of a hope either.
folding down another corner, marking the thousandth place it seems; louis crafts the pages edge into a folded point, creasing along the paper until the point of it touches the very first line of printed words. second word from the right hand column, he folds again, creating yet another dog-ear in yet another book.
it's a never-ending process with no real purpose, but all that louis knows is that if he doesn't do it - if he doesn't finish marking this book just like how he did with the others - then this overwhelming feeling of pure dread, lurking in the pit of his stomach, and creeping up through his veins, will undoubtedly never go away.
his hands still shake as the ever-repeating thought taunts him. the idea that this is most likely it. he's never going to escape. because unlike actual prison bars that over time will rust and whither, he'll be holding out until the day when his mind finally does give up, bringing his body down with him.
so here louis is, his body sunken into the wooden ground, suffocating on his own unvoiced sobs and cries. torn out pages, with edges tattered and worn, line his lap, fluttering down to join his feet with every shift of his body.
they sit in taunt, as though tempting the boy that his screams may actually give him substance, or that they could ease the chills racking through the core of his body, rather than encouraging the ache consuming his heart.
he cringes into himself when he hears the unoiled door hinges push open, the mess of paper around him jumping into the air for a few seconds with the movement.
and when heavy footsteps sound against the timber, louis is just ashamed more than anything.
his tongue weighs down in his mouth, an endless supply of excuses as to why he is sitting here, holding back his tears, run through his clouded head, though none of them could possibly ever make sense to someone other than him.
they fall short into broken stutters.
"christ lou ... " the jacket held within liam's firm grasp falls limp. dropping to the floor into a piled mess.
nobody speaks, and then louis is being held. arms wrapped tightly around his body, holding him still as he shakes. as he thrashes.
"get off me! leave me alone!" he screams into the boy's grasp, suffocating as he struggles to breathe through the next wave of tears.
liam doesn't let go, and in that moment louis decides that never before has he felt so miserable. never has he felt smaller, more pathetic, than he does now. he just needs to not be touched, not even be seen, and more than ever, he needs it all to end. he can't do it anymore.
"calm down! oh god, think happy thoughts? what the hell am i meant to say to -"
nothing else is heard because louis hands are held tighter to his ears, since no. nobody could see him like this. liam couldn't be here. he really couldn't. his friend was talking when all he needed was silence. his friend was touching him, trying to move him, when all that he really could do was to sit there, on the floor, bing still.
" - 'm sorry louis. god, i'm sorry. please understand." liam's voice is still frantic when louis uncovers his arms.
there's a phone in liam's hand, his fingertips already punching in buttons as he looks on with wide eyes towards his best mate. he can't think of anything to say besides small apologies once louis begins to catch on. the older boy's head shakes slowly.
"no. no liam don't you dare."
it doesn't matter who is on the other end of the line. louis doesn't know many people but, fuck, no option would be any less humiliating. his eyes flick hysterically from liam's warm brown eyes, which provide no comfort, to the phone raised in his hand.
"i'll never forgive you if you do this. hang up damn it!" his fist clenches until he can feel his bitten-down nails digging deep into the palm of his hand. with just a squeeze more, he welcomes the sweet stinging of blood transforming the tips of fingers' colour.
he knows more than anything that he shouldn't be angry at liam, but, god, he needs to scream and finally, the folds of liam's shirt are providing the perfect muffle for his voice.
and so, he yells.
louis' cries drag on, they last until his throat is numb, and the flame within his chest has transformed into rocks within his stomach. they go on until there is no sound left to be heard and louis' tears are being wiped off of his face by a hand other than his own.
heavy lashes, painted black with tears, rise upwards to a sight that leaves louis heart pounding once again, but simultaneously, twisting it into a million more knots.
his arms are wrapped around himself in self-comfort, roommate nowhere in sight, and there is a boy, the same boy causing himself to lose all control, kneeling in front of him and running the side of his hand along the swell of louis' cheek.
with a touch as soft as rain, harry continues to wipe away the small droplets of tears, pooling in the corner of his eyes and sliding down the side of his face; even though there are new ones forming only seconds later.
louis begins to cry harder when harry begins to gently push his fingers through his feathery mess of hair, his eyes pleading with him even though, really, he has no idea what louis is so torn up about.
harry gives the boy a small sad smile anyway.
he'd answered his phone to a jumbled chaos of words and confusion, liam speaking to him at such a pace he'd had to ask him to repeat himself at least three times; and still, even then, was at a loss. the only thing he knew for sure was that the boy, the funny boy with seaside eyes, was mentioned. the name 'louis' seemed to stand out from all of the rest, like the only burst of colour in between blurred stammers.
and in truth, harry was almost thankful that liam had called him. otherwise he was simply relying on fate for him to be able to meet with louis again. maybe this was exactly what this was?
then again, harry almost knew that louis would be the type of person to steal liam's phone and his number alongside; and it's sort of hard for him not to beam with the thought that he was already able to read this boy.
and so here he was. playing with louis' hair in a room where unspoken whispers and secrets dance through the air. and still, not a word is spoken.
because, really, what possibly was there for louis to say?
he could see it now, as he looks hesitantly into the galaxies hidden behind the brightness of harry's eyes, wondering how on earth anybody would ever manage to find a single star in his own.
when he notices the quiet boy's stare, the etching of a smile pulls the plump corners of the younger's bottom lip; hesitant and closed mouthed, yet wide enough that the pale indent of his dimples stand out as though they are two crescent moons.
and, shit, louis wonders, how could somebody even be so beautiful?
perhaps it was the fact harry was sitting here, holding him gently without needing to talk that made louis' face break out into a matching grin, his body tingling with a feeling he couldn't even describe, something that made him feel slightly more whole again.
...
" - he always had one of those contagious laughs ... like, he would laugh and, and you would just smile too?" harry's story trails on, the boy having to pause to catch his breathe every so often, the memory playing out in his head like an overwatched movie scene.
louis lifts his head up, straining his stiff neck so that he can look towards the other boy, "yeah," he mumbles. never breaking his gaze, "yeah, i think i know the feeling." it's the first thing he has said to harry in hours.
time had slipped away from them both, the weight within louis' beating chest loosening into a mere dull ache a few stories back. until now, he hadn't murmured a single word, but harry made up for this.
harry managed to speak about both everything within the universe yet nothing at all at the same time; his words weaving together into sentences that didn't really mean anything. louis' tears had long since disappeared, yet still harry's hand sat hovering on the side of his neck. ready to sweep any late drops away at an instant.
"'m not so good with talking to people," harry admitted, blushing. "i ... " he swallowed, "i didn't really know what to say to you ... so i just tried to tell you everything i could think of, and hoped at least one of the things was right."
louis reached for harry's hand, and before he knew what he was doing, he was twirling harry's fingers around each other; playing with them like they were his own. harry giggled.
"hey harold?"
the boy's cheeks reddened further, he liked that louis was talking to him. even if that wasn't his name.
"i'm not too good with people either."
he almost couldn't breathe when he felt harry rest his head against his chest. scared that he would feel how loudly it was pounding, and overwhelmed with the repeating thought that he didn't deserve this. he let harry lay there though. their breaths falling into each other's harmony.
his eyes are fluttering shut when he feels something being pressed under his chin, harry's body still lying there, his smile never faltering.
it's a book page. the yellow tinge to the pages showing that it was once one of louis' classics, part of a collection that before today he prided himself on. only now the torn out page is something more. it's something beautiful.
even though the points aren't exactly sharp, the paper has been crafted into the delicate figure of a flightless bird. and he has to really squint to see its true shape, but when he does see it, past the kinked edges and the slightly crooked neck, he holds it between his fingertips.
"i love it." he breathes.
and louis is so distracted admiring the page's folds and bends, and the way that harry's smile is radiating through like the moon on a cloudless night, that he barely notices the fact that the boy within his grasps has pressed their hands together.
fingers intertwined as they watch the bird's stiff wings try to fly.
and within that one touch, it's already a thousand words and promises that, really, don't need to be spoken.
explanation; essentially, at the beginning of the chapter louis was undergoing what could be considered a breakdown as a result of his anxiety. without going into too much detail, the way his condition works is by playing upon any insecurities you have, resulting in you feeling as they you have, in louis' case, ruined a relationship or caused a problem, even if this is the furthest from the truth. in order to overcome the feeling of dread, ocd works by repeating to you that you must repeat certain things, doing them over and over, even if they are illogical. hence why louis felt obligated to mark pages of his book collection for no apparent reason, suffering a minor panic attack.
i'm not sure how many of you there are actually reading this, but please, if you have any questions whatsoever, whatever they maybe, just comment them and i'll answer you straight away. lots of love.
s o n g : w a n t e d , h u n t e r h a y e s