petrichor and its effects

harry started sleeping over at louis' more and more frequently. his presence in the smaller boy's apartment had become so familiar that louis felt a hole whenever harry wasn't there. although he'd started out persistently against the everyday visits that usually morphed into sleepovers, he eventually stopped arguing back, and having the curly boy there became a given.

he also left traces of himself in the place, which louis found to be extremely endearing. it was now much more clean, the dishes and laundry were more consistently done, and the fridge was always full.

something that hadn't changed, however, was louis' bad nights, bad habits, bad feelings. it was even worse when he could practically feel harry's libido drifting through the air. ever since that first night they had met, he'd always felt so inadequate for not being able to provide the other boy with what was expected of him in the first place.

but harry was wonderful about it; as he was about most things. he hadn���t pushed any further or mentioned that night since. it was clearly still a very open wound, a land mine harry feared that he would accidentally tread on if he weren't careful.

he could never bring himself to ask why. it would be a lie if he were to say that he didn't want anything like that of louis—with his beauty and all. he wanted everything. but not if he had to see those empty eyes, frozen in terror again. there were other things he could do to get his sexual frustration out, after all. but there wasn't anything he could do to erase his ocean boy's pain.

funny, harry thought, that he'd begun to think of louis as his. sure, they were close now, but he had to more or less force himself into the older boy's life. after all, if louis had it his way, he'd be alone so as to not be a danger to anyone but himself. to waste away in peace, without having to worry anyone. even harry knew—the less people you felt cared about you, the easier it would be to disappear with no trace. and that��s what louis had always longed for.

he cursed himself for being such a heavy sleeper at times. there were nights where they'd both go to bed, in each other's arms, with harry thinking that nothing could be more perfect. but in the morning, louis would wake up with a different shirt and different joggers than he went to bed in, and harry knew what that implied. no one gets up in the middle of the night to change without reason.

he wishes he were better at confrontation, the both of them. if that were the case, everything would go so much more smoothly. he'd have been able to help louis better, avoiding all that marred flesh.

but it wasn't so easy. the smallest things would set the ocean boy off, things that would confuse harry to no end. whether it were lightning, or daisies, or the way he'd stroke louis' back. there were some things harry had learned not to do; phrases to not say, things to not cook, color combinations to not wear. of course, he couldn't tell louis that he'd noticed his triggers, or it would rewind their relationship all the way back to step one.

louis was adamant on not letting any part of him slip between the cracks. despite having known harry for a little longer now, he had not opened up voluntarily. every time was due to harry finding out by chance or sheer lucky guesses. and every time, louis would curl back into himself, as if ashamed of what he was, when he was so beautiful.

there were nights when harry thought that the boy was too much for even him to handle. never in a way that he'd actually consider leaving, but just times when he was tired from school and he just got home after being yelled at by a customer at work. to say it was just mentally taxing to look after louis would be an understatement. he feared that he would snap one day, and say things he didn't mean that would destroy the comfort they had forever.

harry wasn't a therapist. he knew he couldn't keep this up for long. as much as he loved the boy, the help that he could provide, no matter how hard he tried, wasn't even close to enough. louis was truly so, so broken.

sometimes he'd try to have that conversation, only for the ocean boy shut it down immediately.

"i don't need to see anyone, harry. i'm not sick; i'm fine."

"i love you, but you're sick in so many ways. i can't believe you can't see it."

"why is it always 'i love you, but,' from you? why is it always 'but'? if i'm becoming too much of a burden, then just leave. that beaten path is always there for you to take."

"no, button. that's not what i meant. i do love you. i just want for you to be as happy as possible."

it felt like they had that conversation as often as every couple of nights. something would happen, harry would try to bring it up, louis would grow defensive, and they'd backpedal to avoid a real fight. it was vexing, to say the least, since he felt so helpless when it came to the boy, when the other was always there during nights where harry's worry would get the best of him like it always had. louis would rush to his side with no qualms, gently prying the pain from him to wield as his own.

he'd always give soft whispers of encouragement, warm mugs of homemade mocha lattes, whisking harry away from whatever bad place his mind had dredged him through and they'd end the night with cuddles; harry forgetting about whatever it was he had been worrying about, since in front of him was beautiful eyes that were a color that reminded him of innocent afternoons from his childhood—running up and down a hill that had a tree with a tire swing with his sister, gemma, only to get tired and spend lazy hours writing in his diary and watching the clouds.

louis tomlinson was the biggest hypocrite harry knew. it was maddening to understand that the boy could make harry feel so loved and special and cherished, yet not accept any good comments about himself. all his smiles at compliments were forced, and he'd only say 'thank you' to not raise suspicion, to make harry shut up. but harry knew pressing harder would only embarrass him, so he didn't.

he wished he could have, though, every time. after the topic was long gone and their conversation had drifted so far that the subject was unsalvageable, harry would curse himself internally for not being able to make louis believe that everything positive about him was true; that he was the embodiment of every good thing the in world. from sugary syrup to the papery wings of butterflies that fluttered like the ocean boy's eyelashes on some sunny days, despite the chill that came from the steadily approaching winter months. they were surprisingly diligent in their journey to a warmer place, which both boys would find amazing. such short lifespans and small bodies, yet still trying to carry themselves across borders, or even oceans.

maybe louis was just a butterfly with dismantled wings.

he tried, that much was clear. there were nights he'd be in bed with harry, willing himself to stay put, to not make himself even more disgusting that he already was. and sometimes that went better than others.

it wasn't like harry didn't notice the boy getting worse and worse—he had, and thinking about it brought tears to his eyes, but he never understood how exactly to go about the situation. because there were times that he'd think that everything was okay; they'd watch movies and laugh and do normal couple things (despite not exactly being a couple), they'd talk about literature (harry left the novel he picked up at the library discreetly on louis' coffee table, hoping he'd notice—he hadn't yet), and spend nights nuzzled up against each other like it was meant to be. and maybe it was.

one night, harry got a text from zayn, the boy from the library as louis peeked playfully from behind his shoulder.

+44 398XXXXXXX: heyy, this is zayn, the guy from the library. i was wondering if you wanted to, i dunno, get a coffee or something sometime? (sent at 20:32)

"you gave your number to a cute boy, huh?" louis pouted, attempting to mask his jealousy with teasing, unsuccessfully.

"he works at the library. i forgot my card and i guess when i had to recite my number to check out a book, he kept it. a very nice library, by the way. i'd like to take you one day."

"oh, yeah? what was his name again?"

"zayn."

louis raised his eyebrows. "zayn? as in zayn malik?"

"um, i don't know, he didn't tell me his last name. why? you know him?"

"pretty hazel eyes, dark hair, long eyelashes, cool tattoos?"

"yeah…" harry nodded, carefully.

"him and i have been mates since middle school! he's the friend i told you about. i didn't know he got a job at a library, though…" louis said, excitedly, before his tone became somber. "i feel like i know nothing about him anymore. we don't really talk much, but it happens every once and a while, and when we do hang out again it's like we were never apart."

harry smiled, relieved at how things had turned out. small world, really. to think that the boy hitting on him at the library would be one of louis' close friends. "well, i better respond to him, then," he said, turning away from the other boy.

"hey! what are you being so secretive for? something i shouldn't know about?"

harry only smiled cheekily before showing louis the screen of his phone.

harry: sure, but i'm interested in someone rn. you're familiar with him, one of your close friends, actually. we should grab lunch; the three of us :) x (sent at 20:39)

"you dumbass," louis blushed, "he's going to think you're an asshole for shooting him down before he could even try."

"what can i say? i'm so enamored by you, i don't have time to look at anyone else."

the ocean boy buried his face in harry's chest at that, trying not to be too happy about what he'd just heard. it was as if harry was his and he, harry's. the very thought made him both shrink in fear of becoming more attached than he was, but also overcome by warmth and fuzziness. "you absolute wanker, you."

momentarily forgetting about everything else, all the ugliness in the world, they only laughed with each other and imagined what it would be like if things were to stay this way forever. but time doesn't stand still and its fleeting nature makes it so that every moment is lost in an instant.

harry wished he could bottle this night and put it in a tin to admire whenever he sat at his desk, reminding him of simpler times when things got hard; so he could hold it to his chest and hope that louis would never change.