the vacant truths that we held onto

louis wishes that he could return to the comatose state he was in. detached from everything ugly and tragic, encased in nothing but dark water. his normal nights were never like that.

they were dark, sure, but it consisted of the everything that he had so feared. memories he'd rather not be reminded of, foresights that strangled him with uncertainty, telling him that every little action of his would be the result of disaster.

like trusting harry. in the end, they'd only known each other for a little over a month. and here he was, allowing this total stranger to stay by his side while he rotted in a hospital bed. harry already knew too much. he knew that if this continued, then they'd be treading dangerous territory—one which the green-eyed boy would find out about the disgusting things that louis told himself were his fault, and leave.

being in the hospital was validating, in a way; proof to himself that his illness was truly severe enough to be considered thin. but it had also meant he'd failed. they'd tube-fed him god knows how many calories while he was asleep, the nauseating paste still present in his throat.

he never intended for it to get this bad. at first, it was just an alternate form of self-harm, because who was he to deserve food? who was he to be healthy and functional? so he stopped. it was a gradual waning of meals; a diet that started minor that became something so much more than that.

louis used to think that being so obsessive over weight and calories was pointless. he'd just done this to feel the gnaw of his stomach, the rush of knowing that he was hurting himself. it became something different when he decided to count calories as a numerical value of his success, though. it started being like a challenge, to each day eat less than the last.

the control was breathtaking, in more ways than one. something to focus on when the rest of the world seemed so demeaning. he often thought about how, when you try to drown, human survival instincts kick in and your body tries its best to get you to air. same when you are hanging—even up until your last moments, your body tries to go against everything that you allow it to do. in the darkest places, dying seemed like the best proof of self-control. but louis was always too much of a coward to truly kill himself; so he decided to do it slowly.

it's not to say he was never self-conscious of his weight in the past—he's always felt like he had a disproportionately girly body. his bum was too round and stomach too soft and thighs too jiggly. he didn't like it, but he had never thought to do anything about it until recently.

it was a win-win, really.

the older boy's thoughts were interrupted by harry stroking his cheek gently. "wake up, lou. the nurse is here to give you breakfast." he'd actually been awake for a while, just feigning sleep because it was far too early in the morning to deal with harry's harping. he adored the boy, but he was just so tired.

"okay, okay." he sighed, trying to calm while his heart was racing in his throat. there was a tray of food in front of him comprising of a bowl of oatmeal, some grapes, and a thick brown liquid that was far too viscous to be chocolate milk.

"try to eat all of it. if you don't consistently finish your meals enough, you'll have to get the tube. and the sooner you're weight restored, the sooner you will be able to get out of here," the nurse said sympathetically. "it's for your own good."

louis nodded, even though she had already turned her back and wouldn't have been able to seen. he took a deep breath, feeling harry's eyes boring into him expectantly. he's never eaten more than a few bites in front of harry, and this experience was humiliating to say the least.

"i love you no matter what, lou," the younger boy said softly, "don't forget that, okay?"

he swallowed, poking at his grapes with the small plastic fork that came on the tray. normally, since it was just fruit, he wouldn't be so hesitant—raw fruits and vegetables were safe. but when he thought about the tube that had been removed from his nose a couple of hours ago, everything felt so much more hazardous. there was already enough calories in him, he couldn't afford to consume any more.

so he dug at his oatmeal, turning to harry. "how are you? you look like shit, and probably smell like shit, but my nose is clogged. go home and take a shower, for fuck's sake." his throat had started to feel a bit better, and though he still spoke with some difficulty, it was feasible.

"that's not how you talk to someone who's watched over you and held your hand all this time," harry laughed, relieved that the boy had regained some of his bite. "zayn should be coming soon; he was going to wait until the afternoon, but heard you were awake and wanted to come as soon as possible."

being like this in front of harry was hard enough, so the thought having the both of them looking at him with pitiful eyes—as if he were a dying animal—was nearly unbearable. "can he… wait a bit? i don't know. i haven't really seen him in so long and it just feels awkward that the first time we'll have properly talked is when i'm looking like this."

"you look fine, love. beautiful as always. just because you ran into a near-death situation does not take away from the fact that you are truly the prettiest person i've ever met."

"it's like i'm the only person that you've ever met," louis snorted tersely.

"you're the only person i've met that's ever meant this much to me." harry responded immediately, eyes serious, losing his joking note.

louis became a bit flustered at that, and only pushed around his oatmeal more, but it's started to become stiff and cold. "i swear," he laughed, trying to dispel the tension, "you really are something else."

harry smiled before shifting his gaze to the oatmeal. "you haven't eaten anything," he pointed out, as if this were not a fact that louis was already aware of. "you're just moving it back and forth."

"i'm not hungry right now." a reflex that the ocean boy smacked himself internally for allowing to slip out. of course harry wasn't going to take that right now; he should have come up with something more creative.

"we're here, and you're still trying to say that?"

"didn't mean to. but it's true. they already fed me with a tube earlier."

"they took that out over five hours ago. and i doubt it was very filling."

"you'd be surprised."

harry bit his lip and frowned. "louis, please. just try. you deserve to be healthy."

"i am."

"don't bullshit me, tomlinson." harry said sternly, but without raising his voice. "i found you on the floor. i didn't want to guilt trip you and it's still not my intention, but let me tell you: it was probably one of the most frightening things i'd ever witnessed. you try seeing the person you love the most looking lifeless on shitty bathroom tile covered in old piss."

"you keep throwing that word around, but you don't really kn-"

"you're not letting me! how am i to get to know you when-"

"it's been a month, harry. and i know you told the hospital that you were my boyfriend, but you're not. so i have no obligation to tell you anything."

harry felt his heart rupture at this, and emotions start burning his eyes. "don't you think… don't you think we had something special? don't you feel like we just clicked? was it really just me?"

"haz, i'm just worried—no, i know for a fact—that you only think that because you don't know how tainted i really am. do yourself a favor, mate, and leave me be."

"please, let me love you. you said you'd give me a chance."

louis sobered up at the boy's broken expression. harry was crying again, bottom lip quivering so much that louis wondered if it was actually still connected to his face. "sorry. i was too harsh. i know you're just trying to help me. and i��m grateful. i don't deserve you."

"you do, you deserve everything."

"r-right."

"will you please try to eat? if you're still trying to learn how to do it for yourself, in the meantime, please just do it for me. i-i'll even go grab something from the cafeteria. we can eat together," harry said, digging around for his wallet, "sit tight. don't try to hide any food, not that you really can… but i wouldn't be surprised, considering everything," he said dryly as he jogged out of the room. "don't move. i'll be back in seconds, i swear."

and just as he promised, harry was truly back in what felt like a matter of seconds, holding a sandwich wrapped in saran wrap. he sat down, unwrapping it, gesturing to louis' tray with his eyebrows. "it's only going to get worse, the colder it gets, you know."

louis nodded, speechlessly, picking up his spoon, blanching as he put the first bite of oatmeal in his mouth. it was flavorless, soggy mush. it felt like liquid concrete in his mouth and suddenly he felt like throwing up all over again. but somehow, he was much hungrier than he thought we was, because before he realized it, there was already another spoonful of the concrete down his throat. it was like he was in a trance—his body was so desperate for sustenance that it momentarily ignored all the neural pathways in his brain telling him to starve. harry looked at the ocean boy, astounded, not expecting it to have gone this well despite it being what he'd wanted in the first place.

but after his tray was empty and louis had grounded himself again, he realized what he had done. all the calories sloshing inside of him, the oatmeal, the substance that was too thick to be chocolate milk, the grapes, everything just building up and up and up and it was all just too much.

he started sobbing, heart racing again, as harry rushed to his side. "oh, baby. you're doing great. you're doing great. you're doing great," he repeated, as if it were a mantra. "i love you. please don't cry, love. it'll be okay. this is what you need."

despite all the calming words, louis' tears and breathing only sped up, and the concrete in his stomach was too much. it all came back out—warm and sour all over the white sheets, brown from the dark liquid, chunks from the oatmeal. it was disgusting.

he looked at harry, wide-eyed and mortified, already raw esophagus sweltering from the acid. "pl-please harry. just leave. press the call button and go home. go home and get changed, shower, take care of your own needs. leave. please." he was shaking so hard that the younger boy could do nothing but concede. "i'll give my whole heart up, for you to hold. so just leave me be. i'll be fine."

it was ironic, how even in these times, covered in dark vomit, louis was still quoting literature. it was something that harry loved about him, but at the same time, it was frustrating. because this wasn't beautiful or novel-worthy or romantic. it was foul suffering that he'd wished his ocean boy didn't have to go through.

nurses rushed in, hurried to get him changed out of the soiled sheets and gown, ushering harry out quietly, yet firmly. so there was really no other choice but to make his way home, calling a cab, only then realizing how disheveled he must have looked to the driver.

maybe this is what it meant to fly and fall.