tw// mentions of weight , eating disorder , mentions of self harm , suicidal thoughts
hi i can feel myself slipping but idc. hope everyone is well, hope this chapter is adequate. recently i've been growing less and less satisfied with my writing and i'm trying to do something about it (i've been studying a lot! grammar, syntax, diction, etc. i have a lot of writing textbooks from when my father was first studying to become a professor and learn english simultaneously), and i hope this fic shows growth.
i don't know what i want to do with my life, i've always wanted to pursue oboe but now that dream seems so much more faraway. i'm exploring other options at the moment and i am unsure (and i never thought i'd make it this far to the point where i would have to start thinking about the future). hope that clears things up.
twitter: @louflymehome
-
harry knew not to let slip his happiness after he caught a glimpse at the ocean boy's face at the news of his weight.
louis was no longer underweight, now tiptoeing on the border between underweight and normal—a result of several months of treatment and what seemed like endless amounts of blood and tears and sticky strings of saliva dripping into an unyielding toilet bowl. he found louis in that position far more times than he'd like to admit, always proceeded by broken sobs through thin wooden doors and poorly-covered retching. that was the sole detriment of their new place, they both came to realize; how thin the walls were. they learned this after the first or second night, able to hear their neighbor's cat mewling to no end, so much and so clearly that they had thought it was stuck inside the wall rather than on the other side of it.
personally, harry had been over the moon with excitement, learning that his boyfriend's heart was now functioning without the risk of shutting down, his bones without the risk of shattering at the lightest touch, his lungs expanding without the risk of collapsing if strained just past the threshold of normal.
but louis hadn't been. it was when they were sitting in the suffocating office, harry realized that the boy sitting beside him was not sitting beside him at all, rather floating about in a different dimension too far and too abstract for someone like himself to fathom. for anyone, really. anyone that was not louis william tomlinson. seeing his vacant eyes made harry's smile roll smoothly off his face like a coin, reminding him that this was not so much a step forward, but an opportunity for a step forward. whether the ocean boy decides on taking that step or not, he knew, was completely out of his control. and being reminded of that was demoralizing to say the least—knowing that, to louis, physical health meant naught.
it was not that harry hadn't tried to make things better, or to comfort louis, but he didn't know how. everything seemed to backfire so quickly in his mind that ideas were immediately scrapped and never heard of again. all they could do was sit in silence and bask in the dusty sunlight that beat down on them. it was getting hotter and seasons were passing like fleeting thoughts, so quickly, it was incomprehensible.
things were picking up for him, as well. school and work were becoming more and more impossible as his music career began gaining traction. so much so, that he was really forced to begin to at least consider whether continuing school and part-time work was really worth it or not. he hadn't expected to blow up so quickly and so widely, being well-known in london would have been more than he could have asked for. but there were people who listened to him across the country now, and the thought alone made him dizzy.
of course, school wasn't something he would ever drop so carelessly. even if, realistically, it wouldn't change much about his career, having the privilege of learning about the nooks and crannies of something he loved while also being held accountable was something far too valuable for him to simply discard. the only classes that would be of use to him if he continued on his current path were composition, and to an extent, theory. but it was the most seemingly irrelevant classes that he held the closest to his heart, like conducting, or music history, or intro to music education.
ironically, it was stravinsky's petrouchka that played in its mad frenzy on their way home. such performances were the ones that made him remember his roots, and what it really meant to perform. this particular recording was performed by daniil trofinov, a man that he admired to no end when it came to music. obviously, they were of different worlds and different focuses, but harry believed that, to its core, music is made of the same essence.
when they returned home, the sun was hanging high in the sky like it was still noon. time was passing so rapidly, and while so much was happening around them, it felt like it was just yesterday that harry found the ocean boy hyperventilating on the sticky bathroom floor of the bar. it was summer now, at its peak; the cicadas cried like the world was about to end, and maybe it was—harry wouldn't doubt it.
their house, whose quiet was once a breathable tranquil, now was filled with stifling lethargy. harry thought about what louis proposed last night, and how impossible it was. the ocean boy, tired-eyed and statue-like, showed no signs of bringing the notion of sex back up. harry breathed, not knowing whether it was a sigh of relief or of disappointment.
what would he do, anyway, if they did have sex? would he take hold, full-throttle, and delve in like the boy beneath him was vitreous, like his skin was something less fibrous, more brittle, like glass?
or would louis move beneath him so naturally and with such experience, his heart would shatter from the pain of knowing that it was a result of years of abuse?
the evening passed somberly, with the older boy understandably unresponsive to harry's attempts at easing the mood into something less severe, though to no avail. they ate, but louis with this immeasurable look of disgust plastered on his face as he cut his food into such small pieces that the enchiladas were no longer recognizable; colorless, textureless, tasteless. but the boy scooped it all into his mouth anyway, despite the tears that were now steadily flowing down his cheeks, diluting the contents of his plate with salty fluid.
helplessness flooded harry's throat like tears did louis' plate as he just watched the boy force the food into his mouth while it, dripped down his chin along with clear, sticky snot. he was doing all he could, holding louis' hands, repeating "you are so strong" like a mantra, but before him still sat the person he loved, so full of self-loathing and contempt.
maybe, harry thought, it was wanderlust that led so many men chasing the sky in search for what was beyond something as fragile and insignificant as life. maybe that was it, maybe it was wanderlust that haunted louis, and not (the word feels wrong in his mouth, much too large and much too sharp) suicidal.
it was hard to fathom how much time had really passed between the beginning of the meal and when louis finished, but by the time everything was over, the sun was long gone past the mountains, and harry realized that he didn't notice the sky transition to warm, dark pinks and navies, to pitch black. there were stars, peppering the boys' hair with fragments of white light, like it was december all over again and it was snow that was dusting the sky. it was, surprisingly, louis who broke the vitreous silence between them with a voice that could have been easily mistaken for as a cough.
"i don't like how prominent they are here."
"what?"
"the stars," he clarified. "i used to like them, but starless nights now hold a whole new meaning to me. i kind of miss that night."
"why?" harry mused, "we're here now. together."
"nostalgia, i guess."
"you say it's nostalgia but that was not even a year ago."
"it feels like it's been a lifetime."
and he was right, it did feel like lifetimes ago. how far their relationship had progressed, how difficult things were, how much (or, conversely, how little) progress toward unveiling louis' deepest, most locked away secrets had been made.
the stars in the ocean boy's hair looked so divinely tangible, he had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing them. "are you... okay? do you want to talk about it?" harry said, awkwardly.
"no. no, that won't be necessary."
"will you ever?"
"i don't know."
harry swallowed, slightly discouraged. "well, i'm always here. whenever you're ready."
louis was a statue in the light; still and stony and cold. "let's go to the bed, yeah?"
they walked, hand-in-hand, but there was this vacancy that harry couldn't quite place. their movements were fluid, but in an oddly mechanical way. down the hall and up the stairs, eventually their bodies sank into mattress like unstoppable weights. the ocean boy let it all happen; he let his body be held down by harry's arms until the younger boy realized what he was doing. he'd forgotten, momentarily, about the gravity of the situation until he was about to bend down to kiss louis.
"shit, fuck. i'm sorry." he jumped back, startled by his own actions. "sorry. i shouldn't have done that."
"no," louis replied, shaking his head, voice completely devoid of emotion. he wasn't shaking, not this time, not like before. it was eerie, in its own sense, how indifferent he was. "it's okay. do what you want with me."
"what do you want?"
"does that matter?"
"tell me. are you actually comfortable with this?" fuck, harry thought, clenching his teeth, for just one second, could his libido control itself?
"you want it, don't you?" the boy said pointedly, but still deadpan, gesturing to harry's semi-hard manhood, which he'd tried so hard to conceal. "why not just do it? you've been holding it in for almost a year now. take what should have been yours ages ago."
"fuck, lou. your body is not mine," harry whispered, taken aback. "you don't owe me anything. i don't want to do this if we're just going to regret it."
"you won't have to regret or feel guilty about anything. fuck me, harry. fuck me like i'm nothing but an object."
his words made harry remember the night louis told him everything about his past, how he had begged harry to hurt him. the only difference was that this time, harry was actually close to doing so. it was disgusting, he knew, but rather than calming down at louis' cruel words, his lust only grew. being aware of how sick the idea was, to actually follow through with what louis asked of him, only made the urge feel so much worse.
"i can't do that. you... you don't know what you're saying. i couldn't do that to you. not now." he strained, still feeling heat pulsate throughout his crotch. the longing was agonizing, and maybe louis was right, maybe this is what he needed. it's biological, after all.
"i'm asking you to." louis lauhed dryly. "i wonder if semen has calories."
louis' hands snaked their way down to the waist of harry's joggers, sliding them down along with his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock. he stroked it like it was something to be worshipped, like he was an ancient roman and harry's manhood was the sun.
harry could only writhe at this, trying to suppress the voices screaming at him to devour the ocean boy, but he could not bring himself to tell him to stop. he allowed louis to continue rubbing him and sliding his tongue (which was so soft harry wondered if it was truly a tongue, and not the powdery wings of a butterfly) over him.
"matthew."
maybe it was the man's name that snapped him back into reality, or maybe it was something else that screamed at him that this was so, in every way, wrong. harry pulled away, almost forcefully, ripping his still-hard manhood away from louis' hands, causing fingernails to scrape against the delicate skin.
"stop. this time, i'm asking you to stop for me, not you. stop, lou. please. stop."
the ocean boy was still in a trance, it seemed, because he just went on, chucking softly, almost maniacally; terrifyingly so. "don't you want it? don't you want me? you're rock hard. that's proof enough?"
harry took a sharp inhale. "what do you want? do you want to do to me what jean did to you?"
louis flinched at this, wounded, like he had just received a blow to his face. "i—"
"sorry. that was low of me. i didn't mean it."
"no. no, that's... it was my fault," louis breathed, glossiness exiting his eyes, leaving something much more dull. the same look he would have whenever harry would catch him balled up on tile floor, hands sticky with blood. "i'm sorry. i don't know what came over me."
harry searched, deep and far into uncharted waters in search of the usual blue eyes that always took hold of everything, even when there was nothing to take hold of, and shook to the point of disassemblement. "it- it's not okay, but i forgive you. at i understand." he reached out to hold the boy's hand, only for louis to jump back with clearly more force than he'd intended.
"sorry. just, i'll just leave. i'm so sorry, harry. i'm sorry. fuck. i—"
"leave? to go where? it's almost midnight."
"you know i can't sleep even on normal days. much less after everything."
"stay in bed with me, then," harry pleaded. "just stay here."
"i don't understand why you would want me around after—"
"i care about you, what's there not to understand?" the younger boy boomed. his voice was raising and he couldn't stop it, but there was something satisfying about feeling the air around him vibrate as a result of his own power. "you're crazy if you think i'm going to let you leave, knowing full well that you're going to tear yourself apart with a razor blade as soon as you're alone."
"harry, i hurt you," louis strained, trying to maintain the same lifelessness as before, wishing away the tears that he knew were going to spill over in just minutes. god, he had to get out. "just take care of yourself, for once. you deserve it."
there was now something growing, something alive in harry's throat, just expanding and expanding and expanding, like there was a boa wrapped around him, crushing his lungs. "i fucking do. i don't understand where you get the notion that i'm like you in the way i allow myself to suffer. i don't. if i come across a problem, i tell you. if i want your attention, i tell you. if i'm worried about something, i tell you. i trust you, lou. i love you. i could wax poetic about you all fucking day. i'm not hurt, i wasn't hurt, i was just horny as fuck but that doesn't mean that i want to have meaningless sex. especially," harry paused, trying to regather himself. "especially if it means fucking you through a flashback. which is what was pretty much unfolding until we stopped."
"but, harry. you've taken such good care of me. i want to give this to you. i want to give myself to you. and maybe this is what i need! maybe this kind of overwriting is what would erase my trauma."
"never. maybe you're right, i don't know. but that's not something i want. forgive me for being selfish, but i don't want to do it that way."
"never. you're never selfish."
the cicadas were still crying. clouds had drifted over the moon, so the ambient glow that spilled into the room before was now gone. "we're supposed to be selfish to each other every once in a while. your selfishness is my pleasure. that's what a relationship is," harry added, "though you probably know nothing about that, when all you know is abuse."
"it—"
"it was. in more ways than one."
"that's not even what i was going to say," louis pouted.
"then what was it?" silence. "that's what i thought."
"seriously, harry. i'm sorry. i-" his face softened, like the force of gravity acting upon his flesh and bone had increased sevenfold. if he had the features of a child while sucking harry off, he now looked several decades older. "i hate myself. i want to bleed. i want to hurt. i want you to hurt me."
"let it out, love."
"i'm so fucked up, i don't know why you deal with me, everyone would just be so much better off without me, but i can't leave you even though staying is selfish. i love you and i'm so addicted to you and i want to bathe in your scent and in your voice and in your eyes. but at the same time, i want to fucking die. i want this all to be over, harry. i deserve all the pain. i hate my body and i hate my voice and i hate my mind. i want to be thin, i want to be in control, i want to hurt. i want to prove to myself that my pain is real. i-" his voice broke off. "i don't ever want to let go of these feelings. that's why i can't do this... this recovery thing everyone is talking about. i'm fat again, isn't that, alone, enough?"
harry closed his eyes, and prayed to every god out there, every god he didn't believe in, the dead, the alive, the angels, the stars, the sun, the moon, the devil, the sky, the soil, the trees; everything he could think of. he didn't know what exactly it was he was wishing for, but he knew that he wanted nothing more than the look of pure agony to drip off louis' face like his tears did. but there were no tears, not this time. "i hear you, lou. your pain is very real. don't let anything tell you otherwise. what's been done to you are such atrocities, i can't even put into words. you're allowed to suffer, but you're allowed to feel better. you can move on, louis. you have permission to move on. you are allowed to be happy."
"they're gone, matthew's dead, and i'm still here. i'm still here and i'm lost, and—" the ocean boy wrapped his arms around himself, like he could hide in them and shrink even more than he already had. "i don't know if i even want to be found."
harry was speechless. he'd envisioned so many moments, dreamed and dreamed, that louis would one day open up to him and spill everything stored inside, packed so densely, and he would know exactly what to say to make things better. even louis, he knew, expected him to find the best words to soften the edges. but in this moment, the moment that he'd been hoping for from the very beginning, he had no idea how to respond.
so he just hugged the boy and cried, as louis fell into his arms weightlessly, breathlessly.
it felt like ages before he could actually gather the courage to speak again. louis was a ripple amidst a deep sea, and all harry wanted was to harness the shipwrecks beneath it, show him again that there is something, even in the absence of everything else.
"we'll find you, lou." he said, "we'll find you."
he stood and closed the moth-bitten curtain, which allowed fragments of light through, sifting through the room like delicate powder.
"maybe," louis said.
that "maybe" felt like the world to harry, and for a second, he thought he would deflate from relief. maybe.