wherever it is we're supposed to be

louis had harry leave shortly before he had to get ready for class, harry's protests of wanting to drive him to campus. but eventually, he conceded and went his own way, much to his dismay.

he'd hoped that louis would eat something, anything, before having to walk to the nearby stop to catch the 2:40 bus. sometimes, he'd dream that he'd get a call from the hospital telling him that louis had passed out along the sidewalk, and was in critical condition. if the current situation pressed on, he realized, that dream would not be a stretch from reality at all.

he hadn't had the time to process what he saw the night before until now, being so focused on the tasks in front of him—comforting louis, getting food he thought louis would like, watching to make sure louis didn't do anything dangerous—that he hardly had time to really think at all. when he went to the grocery store earlier, the only thing that concerned him was choosing whatever things seemed even remotely appropriate for louis, and rushing back home. he didn't want to leave the ocean boy alone for too long, not after what had happened.

now, thinking back, it would be quite irrational to not trust louis to fend for himself while he went about the things he needed to do; as louis had survived on his own for this long, astoundingly. he had a childhood friend, but from what he'd heard, the friend had their own things to worry about, which he couldn't blame them for, but certainly didn't have at least the capacity to make sure that their best friend wasn't ruining himself. because he was, and nothing had been done about it.

harry imagined nights like the last, where louis suffered, probably emptying out the contents of his stomach while crying and choking and hurting himself. but there would be no harry to call, and he'd be alone. maybe he'd pass out on the bathroom floor, only to wake up sticky with blood and vomit the next morning, being ripped back to reality by the harsh sunlight. the very thought made harry want to be sick, himself.

he decided to go to the library, where he'd spend his days studying the more conceptual parts of music, or look for new novels to bury himself in. like louis, harry had always loved books, as he'd read everything in his personal library at least twice. but he, on no level, could analyze writing like louis could, nor could he write such intricately strung sentences. he could write lyrics, he could write music. but he could never really articulate his thoughts properly, so they'd all remain jumbled in his head as he'd try to explain why exactly he functions as he does.

the green-eyed boy found himself missing louis already, and in his mind he already thought of louis and him as more than friends, despite getting rejected the night before. it didn't really make sense to him- if louis wanted him, and he wanted louis, then things were perfect, right? this would be their happily ever after?

but the cold, bitter actuality of things were that it was not so simple. for harry, it was always a straight line. he'd meet someone, they'd get to know each other, become close friends, then eventually date and break up. but he knew he was fortunate in that regard, that he lived a good childhood with a mother that brought him up well.

that isn't to say that louis' mother didn't. from the way louis spoke of her, he loved her very much, just as she did he. but she was always such a busy person, even before he fell ill, one with seven children to take care of, louis never wanted to make things harder for her by burdening her with his feelings.

harry understood, in a sense. the desire to be strong for the sake of others, to seem reliable no matter what. he, himself had definitely had experience with that in his life. when his father left, he was the only man left in his family, and despite being the youngest, he wanted to be the one to protect his sister and his mother.

but even he understood when he was overexerting himself, and it was time to ask for help. he knew that gemma or anne would be quick to show up at his side, comforting him whenever things got too much and it became difficult to breathe. after all, living with both asthma and anxiety was a difficult thing.

though he already had a vague idea, it'd hit him harder now more than ever before how little louis cared about himself. or, if one were to put it in a much nicer way, how much he cared about others. it was beautiful in its own fucked up sense.

harry was pulled back to reality after a book caught his eye. a pale view of hills, by kazoo ishiguro. he'd a little bit of ishiguro's work; the man was a contemporary novelist whose writing reflected his ornate ideas. something louis would enjoy. so he grabbed the book awkwardly, having to bend down, as it was on the bottom shelf, and shuffled to check it out.

a lot of his life, harry found, had begun to revolve completely around the blue-eyed boy. eating a meal. is louis eating? reading. would louis like this book? doing schoolwork. what's louis learning about at the moment? working. what if louis were to show up through the doors of this sandwich shop, right at this moment?

he got to the counter to check out the book, only to be met by a young man who couldn't have been older than louis (fuck, thinking of him again) with hazel eyes and long eyelashes. even longer than the ocean boy's.

"just this for you today?" he asked, and harry was, again, speechless. of course, he was in love with louis and his brain only had space for louis, but he appreciated a pretty person when he saw one. that's just how it works.

"yeah," he smiled, marveling at the stranger's beauty. he was beautiful in a way that was different from louis, all dark and bold, yet warm.

"i need your library card, please."

harry dug around in his wallet. normally, he'd bring his card with him when he went to the library, but this trip wasn't exactly planned. "sorry, i don't have it today. is there another way i can-"

"i can search by phone number?"

the curly-headed boy huffed a sigh of relief, glad that he would still be able to show this book to louis.

"is that your cell phone number?"

"y-yeah. i did give you the right one, right? the one connected to my card?"

"oh, yeah, yeah. no worries. i just wanted to know for myself. lucky i got to get your number without having to be too forward. perfect situation. i'm zayn, by the way," the man smirked coyly.

"oh, you could have just asked outright, really. but i'm harry," he laughed, slightly surprised that the guy he'd thought was cute would hit on him first. it wasn't something that hadn't happened before, though. naturally, with his good lucks paired with a clumsy aura, people found it easy to approach him.

"probably would've, if you'd have brought your card." zayn replied, "but yeah. you're all set. have a good one! i'll probably text you at some point."

"no problem," harry said coolly, strolling away with the book in hand. he made a mental note to let zayn know later if he got a text, that he was already completely whipped for a certain ocean boy and that he wasn't really looking for anything else. he'd love to be friends, though.

harry went back to his own place, grabbing some clothes and a bag full of his schoolwork and the rest of what was deemed necessary to get from place to place. right after, though, he made a beeline straight back to louis' place with the book he got today and his spare keys.

he'd decided that as much as possible, he'd make it a point to go to the older boy's apartment. until they both needed space and he got kicked out, of course. but for now, it was killing two birds with one stone—easing harry's worries and selfish desires, as well as making sure that the boy was safe.

by the time he got there, louis hadn't returned from campus yet, as he liked to go on long walks (which made harry fear for him even more; chilly weather and low body temperature considered). so in the meantime, he'd decided that he would prepare another meal. it would be much easier, considering the new ingredients that harry chose with the ocean boy's preferences in mind.

or rather, what he thought to be his preferences. because in reality, he had no clue. harry realized, aside from louis' taste in literature, they knew virtually nothing about each other. not favorite colors or songs or foods. though, would a boy who refused to eat have a favorite food, anyway?

he opted for an autumn-themed soup with noodles, fitting for the occasion as well as the biting weather outside, hoping that louis would at least try some.

harry wasn't completely ignorant when it came to things like eating disorders and depression; he'd taken psychology classes in high school where they went over it briefly. and it's not an uncommon thing to talk about on social media. but he'd never actually spoke with anyone who had to struggle so much with these things. it was hard, that much was clear. but aside from that, it was really hard for harry to fathom.

which was good, he figured, as he knew that ruining himself while trying to fix another was not the play.

louis came home at around 5:30, surprised to see that the lights were on, and that once again, the place smelled of food. although he wasn't pleased that harry had helped himself to the kitchen and started cooking for what must have been that two of them, as the pot on the stove was far too large for a single serving, he found it wholly beseeching. as if the domesticity of this morning hadn't been enough, he now had someone to come home to, making him something nice and warm after a tiring lecture.

of course, the joy was short-lived as the good feelings dissipated, replaced by ones that were much more primal, much more innate, as his brain had wired itself to respond to food like it were poison.

"harry, why are you cooking again? and you do realize this is my place, right? not yours?"

"of course, i'm not completely senile yet, despite being the ripe age of nineteen." he said sarcastically, "besides, i missed you, and i like it here. i just thought i'd make us something for tonight. because i bet you haven't eaten."

louis rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation when in reality there were tears prickling at his eyes once again. he hated how much he's been crying lately, ever since a certain boy with bouncy curls appeared in his life. "i ate on campus. i'm full, so just make enough for yourself. if i get hungry, i'll just fix myself something later."

"you're lying, lou," harry pushed gently, not quite angry, but stern. "i can tell with these things. did you eat before class, though?"

"i… i did," the smaller boy said, embarrassedly. of what, harry didn't know. it's normal for people to eat. but louis spoke of it as if he were admitting to murdering someone.

"really?"

"yeah. promise." and he had. he went to pick up a coffee—black with no cream or sugar—and got a cup of fruit to snack on to avoid passing out. fruit always made him feel heavy, its sweetness paired with high water content, it tricks the body into thinking it's given much more than it really is.

"good," harry gave the ocean boy a concerned look. "just be honest with me from now on, lou. i won't get mad or anything, i just want to make sure you're okay."

"but i am," louis replied plainly, "i'm perfectly fine."

those words always made harry irrationally emotional. he had a suspicion that they did last night, but hearing those words again only confirmed it. "then why do you starve yourself like you do? why did i catch you with blood running down your leg as you were crying?" he snapped back, with much more severity than he had intended. "how would you feel if i was doing that to myself?"

"i would hate that," louis answered quickly, but regretted it instantly. he knew what point harry was trying to make; he'd heard it too many times before.

"if not me, then why yourself?"

"because it's you, hazza! you're all fresh air and vanilla and honeysuckle. living proof that there is still good in this world. you don't deserve it."

"but you do?"

a deafening pause.

when louis couldn't answer, the green-eyed boy felt his heart splinter once more, and stormed right from the kitchen out of the apartment, not even bothering to turn off the stove.

and the ocean boy was alone again.