maybe we are mayflies

they cried. a lot.

harry never thought it was possible to cry this much in just a span of twenty-four hours. but at the same time, he'd never been so gone for someone.

"i don't care what has happened to you or how you deal with things. either way, you're still the same louis i love. nothing's changed, even now that you've shown me this side of you. if anything, i want to protect you even more fiercely."

the fluorescent white light was still beating on the two unrelentingly; a painful sight for tired eyes. it was still odd for louis, having someone else in his bathroom with him. the place he'd spent his weary mornings and lonely nights was suddenly inhabited by another. "stop saying that, harry. you're signing yourself up for something gruesome can't even begin to describe."

harry smiled, tension dissipating in his chest and shoulders. louis was warning him and quietly resisting, but not fighting back so forcefully anymore. it was progress. "good thing i'm into gruesome," he teased, "i'm a pretty weird guy myself, you know?"

louis' light was returning to him and his eyes were beginning, just slightly, to go back to being that shade of powder blue harry had loved so much. they still seemed muted, but it was a step from where they were just ten minutes ago. "kinky little shit."

"welcome back," harry said, without really thinking. although to anyone else it would seem oddly placed and awkward. it made perfect sense to them, though.

"glad to be."

harry crawled a bit closer to the older boy, still sat down against the wall. "let's get to bed, shall we? i'm going to have to clean you up first, though."

as if only just becoming aware that he was only in his boxers and a thin sweater, louis jumped and scrambled to cover his legs in shame. what was calm earlier was no longer. "um, i- i'll, i'll do it myself. just go lie down, okay, haz? don't worry, i'll be there in a little bit."

harry frowned. "i want to help you, though. and i could carry you to bed after, too."

"no. i promise i can deal with this on my own."

"you always say that. and you're still bleeding, so stop that."

louis' hands were now a sticky red as well, from having pressed his palms to his open cuts. his face, he realized, also had a thin layer of blood and dried tears from having rubbed at his eyes so much earlier. "i'll wash up. i'm used to this, harry. how do you think i've functioned for all these years?"

"years?"

"yes, love. years. now hurry along, let your elders deal with their own stuff now, yeah?" the blue-eyed boy joked, albeit humorlessly. "you can turn the space heater on in the bedroom. it's getting quite chilly outside, now. i hope you didn't catch a cold today when you were out."

harry could only concede to louis' requests, as he seemed so adamant to lure harry out of the bathroom. he was too tired to argue any more, anyway. so he just went to bed, lying face down, drowning himself in the ocean boy's scent. it was all lavender and softness and fresh sheets. he loved it. he wishes he could get a candle of louis' smell. it would burn brightly in every room he'd be in, and it'd make everything much easier.

candles were usually a hit-or-miss for harry, but he was sure if a candle smelled of the boy he was in love with, it would be a surefire hit. his lungs would reject some, and be totally fine with others. he hated how his body was so rebellious against its owner, but he'd grown accustomed to it over the years it's just become a part of him.

better, he thought, than one having their mind rebel. because when that's the case, it tricks you into thinking that it's right, and there's no point in fighting back. that's a problem that louis had to deal with every single day, he realized, sadly.

as if on cue, the boy in question reappeared from the bathroom, reminding harry of how unwell he really was. emotions were too high in the moment to process, but louis was dying.

he was so thin that he shook with every movement, his eyes were encircled by dark rings harry didn't even know could be so apparent on a human's face, his bare, bony legs were now wrapped in white bandage. it was disgusting, to be very honest.

there was absolutely nothing beautiful about having to watch the boy he loved, who was thin to begin with, become more and more of a walking corpse. there was nothing beautiful about wondering when it'd all become too much and louis would be reduced to a pile of bones six feet beneath the earth.

the dusty soil and dead grass of the cold months wouldn't do him justice.

harry didn't like to think about it, though.

"lou, come join me in bed," harry whined, pitching his voice upward like that of a child. "hurryyy."

"you didn't turn on the space heater like i asked you to, harold," the blue-eyed boy chuckled, "now it's cold."

"you didn't ask me to, you just said i could. besides, this means you need to cuddle up closer to me, now."

much to harry's surprise, louis only hummed at this, no cheeky comebacks or anything. "i suppose that's true," he said as he climbed onto the mattress and nuzzled himself against the taller one's chest. it was funny, how well he had fit into harry's arms. as if the two of them were made with the other in mind.

harry flinched at how cold louis' body was. it was an unnatural chill that made him want to throw up. he didn't know something alive cold have such little body heat. a cruel reminder that if something weren't done, his ocean boy could evaporate at any second. terrifying, really.

"did you end up finishing that one book? faulkner?"

"as i lay dying."

harry shifted in discomfort once more. although he was familiar with the novel, those words escaping louis' mouth, especially at this point in time, made him all the more scared. so he'd just squeezed the boy tighter. if he weren't so afraid that the louis would crumble in his arms, he'd hold onto him much closer. "right. what did you think?"

"it was interesting. the end made me think for days, and i began questioning who to really trust. none of them were sane at all really. the dad pissed me off. he was so unbearably selfish. shame that there really are people like that out there." louis said, looking solemnly at the ceiling, as if he were analyzing its pattern like it wasn't the same ceiling he saw every night he laid on this bed. "i really like how faulkner writes. i've probably said this before. even though the vernacular can be hard to get used to and digest, i do think the way he writes is so carefully forged; it's fascinating. i'd like to be able to write like that someday."

"you should show me the things you write someday."

"only if you let me listen to your songs, as well," louis smiled mushily. "i've heard you play a little bit, but not nearly enough. and i want to hear your beautiful voice."

"i-it's not that good," harry stuttered, embarrassedly. "still a work in progress."

"that's fine. we are all works in progress for as long as we walk this earth, after all."

louis' had a beautiful mind, as harry had come to recognize. he was all old-book-smell and afternoons spent wrapped in blankets and hot mugs in cold hands. and harry loved that. "okay. maybe sometime. for now, though, let's sleep, yeah?" the clock read 02:23; both boys' eyes were beginning to feel heavy and their words were slurring together into a single shape.

"yeah. good night, harry."

unfortunately, the hope for a long, dreamless sleep was a little too high of a hurdle for louis most nights. he was so tired that he could barely breathe, feeling the weight of harry's arms around him. every time he moved, even if it were just a finger, he could feel his heart palpitate only to slow to what he knew where dangerous lows when he stilled. it's as if his body wasn't allowing him to sleep in fear that it would fail him during his slumber.

when he did finally drift into darkness, however, it didn't last for long. minutes would pass and his brain would create these awful images of sweaty hands coming for his face, his chest, between his legs. he'd be jolted awake from fear and overtaken by tremors. this sequence of events was something he grew acquainted with, though, showing up at both the best and the worst of times. but somehow, he could never quite outrun the fear and worthlessness that would surface with each nightmare.

harry continued sleeping soundly, and the ocean boy tried to pry himself from the younger's arms. it was now nearly four in the morning, and although he didn't want to disturb harry's sleep, he couldn't exactly stay fixed in bed, the place where all the horrors of his mind would manifest.

so he slid out of the curly-headed boy's hold with some difficulty, and headed to the living room for a smoke and some peace. he hated how hungry weed would make him. it wasn't exactly a hunger so much as just salivating, as if his body were begging for sustenance. it never made him hungry before, until he'd spent a night high and binging and purging and realized how good the drug made food taste. ever since then, his body would plead for that feeling again whenever he smoked, making louis avoid marijuana the best he could. nicotine was a good substitute, much more calming; something that he was more used to. but it wasn't the same, especially the nights where his brain scream and tear at his insides, getting the better of him.

he'd imagine sticking his hands into his mind and ripping out the almond-shaped amygdala. he learned in a class a few years back that it was what's primarily responsible for his emotional functions—dysfunctions, in louis' case—and that it was what triggers that intense, undying fear when even the smallest things would incite the worst memories.

he hated it. it would be much easier to simply erase what was there, to start anew. he'd considered ending it all before, but could never bring himself to do so. during his younger days, there were times he'd tried and failed. it was much harder, then, to find enough privacy and space to die successfully when his mother would watch him through what felt like every single little task. he loved his mother. she was a wonderful person, but he could never bring himself to open up to her, or anyone. too much trouble for both parties.

louis' thoughts were interrupted by a shuffle coming from the bedroom and was met with tired green eyes once again. "what are you doing?"

"nothing. couldn't sleep. needed a smoke. why are you up?"

"i opened my eyes, and you weren't there." harry whispered, voice still heavy with sleep. "got worried."

"i'm fine, hazza. you know. just have trouble sleeping sometimes. a smoke or two usually does it."

harry walked up closer to the ocean boy and wrapped his arms around him from behind. louis tensed, then relaxed. it's just harry, after all. "i didn't know where you'd gone. missed you. hate waking up alone."

the older boy chuckled lightly, warmth flowing into him from harry's chest. "let's go back, then, shall we?"

"yeah," the taller pouted, "let's."

oddly, louis had braced himself for more anxiety and dark memories as he reentered the bedroom, but nothing came. he was just filled with harryharryharry. he felt safe, for once, it felt. he could get used to this.

but he scolded himself as soon as that thought passed. of course he couldn't get used to it. he shouldn't get used to this. not when harry could leave at any moment. he bit his lip, and as if the other boy could sense these malicious thoughts, he pressed a kiss to louis' neck.

"i love you."