we all have souls of different ages

the rest of the morning was spent reading—louis began a pale view of hills while harry read the beautiful and the damned. he'd always owned the book with the intention to read it, but never actually got around to it. life moved too fast and other things would always declare themselves of more importance.

actually, despite his love for literature, harry hadn't read seriously before meeting louis in months. he'd wanted to focus on his classes, practicing the guitar, and writing music. he gave up reading in his free time to spend hours staring at a blank page, willing words to write themselves as time passed. but as if the fairies responsible for creativity were against him, he found that verses flowed out of him like the blood that pumped through his veins after he met louis. even though he had been spending less time trying to force it out of himself, it all came naturally as soon as he closed his eyes and drowned in the blueblueblue.

zayn arrived shortly after the next tray was brought in for louis' lunch, which was a cuban sandwich with another plastic bag with potato chips and a cup of dense brown liquid, just like the one that was brought to him that morning.

"how are you feeling?" he asked softly as he walked in. harry had already texted him that louis was awake. "you had us worried sick."

"sorry. i didn't mean for that to happen when we were hanging out."

"of course not. that's not what i meant—it's not your fault. happens, mate. just want you to be safe and healthy, is all."

"thanks, z. but i'm fine."

"all evidence says otherwise, but i'll just leave it at that."

they fell silent after that, harry still reading in the corner, too lost in f. scott fitzgerald's words to care about what was going on around him. louis still had not touched his sandwich, tray still laying drearily on his lap. zayn wanted to say something about it, but hadn't, only able to glance at harry with his eyebrows knit together; a gesture that was wholly ignored.

louis noticed the dark circles that seemed to have settled beneath zayn's golden eyes, ones that had not been there before, and softened. "thanks again, though. for, you know. bringing me here. coming to see me. caring. the usual."

"of course. i'm sorry for not having reached out to you more in the past few months. especially when i knew you were having a tough time. god, i'm so glad harry came along. who knows what would've happened if you were alone in your apartment with nobody to check on you, and you-"

zayn's words were interrupted by harry, who had slammed his book shut; the sound resonated in the room, ringing almost emptily on the bare walls of the hospital. "well it didn't," he stated coldly, "and no one wants to think about that."

"s-sorry. i didn't mean to upset you. that was a rash thing for me to say."

the younger boy stood up from his chair and set himself at the edge of louis' bed. he leaned in close to him, feeling the other stiffen at his touch. "eat your food, love. i'm here."

zayn only watched these moments unfold, not wanting to disturb the two. it was as if they were in their own little universe where nothing outside of them had mattered. a place pure and warm and silken. the moment was cut short, however, by a knock yet again, and dr. demarest had returned to have another dig at trying to get more out of louis.

"oh… um, i think i'll get going. i'll come again sometime, lou. i've missed you. see you soon," zayn said, sensing the tension. after he'd walked out of the room, dr. demarest pulled up a chair at the foot of louis' bed.

"so, as i promised, i've come back. i apologize for disrupting your meal, but i've been on a tight schedule, and i made sure to come wait between forty-five minutes and a hour after food was distributed before coming to you."

"that's, that's okay," louis stammered, having forgotten about the exchange from this morning altogether.

"mr. styles, would you-"

"he can stay," the ocean boy cut in, to both harry and dr. demarest's surprise. the younger boy squeezed his hand reassuringly, grateful that he was slowly letting him in.

"okay. as long as he doesn't cause problems, i don't see why not. let's start from where we left off from this morning, shall we?" the doctor sighed, opening his laptop, jotting down notes before he continued. "how long, roughly, have you been restricting your food intake?"

louis felt harry hold his breath beside him, suddenly regretting his decision of allowing him to stay. "i… i don't know. it wasn't a conscious decision," he sighed, "it was more of a process than a sudden event."

more typing. the tap-tap of the keyboard made louis shift in his bed nervously. he didn't feel like there was so much to record, as he'd only said two sentences, but evidently there was more. he wondered if it was his body language, or the way he spoke, or the meaning of his words. in any case, it confused him but he chose to push the creeping thoughts aside. "i see. have you ever talked to anyone—your family, friends, or significant other—about your worries?"

louis thought for a moment, before deciding which answer would be what the doctor wanted to hear. "yeah, i spoke with my mum about it sometimes. she's in the hospital and has been quite ill for a while, though. harry and i talk about things like that. i'm not keeping it all bottled up."

harry looked over, frowning. he opened his mouth as if he was going to say something only to shut it again. instead, he squeezed louis' cold hand even harder.

"i see. it feels good, no? talking about things like that. helps the mind process things easier when you talk through it. and even if you're not asking for a solution from other people, simply talking can do a lot," dr. demarest smiled, not detecting the falsity of louis' answer. "you said your mother is in the hospital? how has that affected you?"

"well, it's affected her more than anything, so i don't really have the right to complain. i have six siblings, though, so it's been hard on our family. her husband has been great with the kids, though, so i appreciate that."

"you know that it's not a crime for you to be affected, right? she is your mother after all; it's putting a lot of pressure and worry on yourself and the rest of your family," dr. demarest said as he continued to type away. somehow, the sound of the keyboard made louis want to rip something apart. it was another thing that was hollow in this hollow place. amazing, really, how unsettling everything about this hospital was.

"i get that. my own emotions just aren't the first thing i'm worried about."

"it's okay to take care of yourself."

louis huffed wearily. "right. is there anything else?"

the doctor typed some more before he continued to speak. "do you feel okay with your own body?"

"what does it matter?"

"self-perception is a big part of the psyche, and is a huge part of most eating disorders."

louis' eyes flew to harry's before refocusing on the cold tile. "i'm okay with it. not a big deal. are we almost done?"

"were there any body-checking rituals that you had, like pinching, feeling, or certain ways of making sure of your body shape in the mirror?"

his mind went right to the several times an hour he'd feel for the bumps of his spine on the back of his neck, count the ribs that stuck out, felt to make sure his hips were still there, checked to see if his wrist was still small enough to be able to wrap his thumb and forefinger around it. "no. nothing like that."

more typing. the timbre took him back to the time where he and his mother were sat at the fireplace when he was four, and suddenly he-

"i see. did you have any food rules, like chewing a certain number of times, or drinking water with-"

"isn't that enough?" harry's voice seemed to boom, but louis could hardly process that it was harry's and not dr. demarest's or his own. it sounded so foreign, and harry was never foreign; he was so safe and familiar, caring, everything that louis was not.

"i'm sorry?" dr. demarest said calmly.

"this is enough, no? he's shaking. he's tired. he hasn't even finished his meal. this doesn't have to be today, right?"

"no… no, i suppose not." he was typing yet again, before shutting his laptop as louis sat silently, still clutching harry's hands and holding onto the fragments of what was left of his sanity. "well, we can continue another time. i understand that it's difficult right now. and remember, the quicker you become stable and reach that minimum weight, the quicker you can get out of here. but i guess reminding you of that isn't my job."

harry was now rubbing circles in louis' back, feeling every ounce of bone inside of him, every ounce of anxiety and uncertainty. when dr. demarest was long out of the room and out of earshot, he started speaking quietly to the ocean boy.

"hey. breathe, please. you're here with me, you're safe. that guy was being insensitive. i thought psychiatrists or psychologists or whatever the fuck he was, were supposed to understand people. clearly, he didn't know when to stop or know his bounds. baby, please. breathe. with me, yeah?"

thank god louis was no longer hooked onto a heart monitor, both of them thought, or the room walls would have been screaming the thoughts that were attacking louis' being. several minutes later, when he had calmed down, still shaking and sweating, but breathing, he flinched away from the green-eyed boy.

"sorry about that. don't worry about it. 'm being melodramatic," he said thickly, "it's monday. don't you have work later today? shouldn't you go home and rest? you look like you haven't slept properly in days."

"because i haven't, but you're more important. and i took the week off work. it's not like i need the money urgently at the moment, anyway."

"i'm not… nevermind."

"good thing you decided not to finish that sentence, or i'd make sure to never allow that shitty brain of yours to think ever again."

"i wish you could do that."

"no. you've always had such a beautiful mind. it would have been a shame. it's just mean to you sometimes, but maybe we can teach it to stop being such a bitter nihilist soon."

"being bitter is my entire personality. not a nihilist, though. those people are too much for me, believe it or not."

"i'm actually surprised. i thought that you were the owner of 'what's the point?'"

"just because i'm sad and tired doesn't mean i think anyone else deserves to feel that way."

harry bit his bottom lip. "maybe we can work towards helping you believe you deserve better, too?"

"maybe," he replied, without actually believing it. large leaves fell, some pattering against the window before hitting the ground. they were on the second floor, though louis wished that he was given a room a bit higher, somewhere he could watch he sun rise and set. right now, everything good was covered by a neighboring building, the sky peaking slightly from behind.

"eat your sandwich, love."

louis swallowed. he knew that his shaking was mostly the result of anxiety, but also just from the lack of food in his system. something he'd grown used to over the past months. despite everything, however, he did pick it up and rip a small piece off. it was messy and mostly bread, but something. he wanted to be careful so that he would keep it down this time, to avoid a repeat of the morning.

he counted every time he chewed. the clock was right above the door, a place he could see. a movement of his jaw every second, for thirty seconds, until the bite was meaningless, tasteless, mush in his mouth. reflexively, he almost grabbed the napkin that had come with the tray and spit out what he had in his mouth, before remembering where he was. so he swallowed begrudgingly.

"i love you, you know that?" harry said, still rubbing the ocean boy's back.

"i know." he ripped off another small chunk before putting it in his mouth. it was starting to feel sickening, the stale bread and plastic-like cheese. but he chewed anyway.

"i'm reading another f. scott fitzgerald book, the beautiful and the damned. it's about a love that starts out beautiful and perfect but gradually falls apart just because life gets in the way. it feels different from the great gatsby, since the main character is just so much more pessimistic. i mean, he starts out innocent and naïve like most do, but of course, things change."

"'here's to alcohol, the rose-colored lens of life.'"

"of course you've read it. you've read everything."

"you know that's not true. if anything, i think you're more well-versed in literature than i am."

"nah. you're the reason i got back into it."

"really?" louis asked, taking another bite. somehow, speaking with harry made everything easier. the smell and touch and feel of food was nauseating, but at least he had harry.

"yeah."

eventually, he finished about a fourth of his sandwich, still refusing to touch the chips and viscous drink. it was safe to assume that it was some sort of supplement, full of calories, so many it would make louis dizzy with anxiety.

at three, when the nurse had come in to give louis another snack, to which he simply pretended do not exist, she sighed disappointedly at the little progress that he made. but what did they expect? for him to go from eating nothing to everything in a single day?

harry went home at around five p.m., finally conceding to louis' nagging. it's true; he was exhausted. as soon as he reached his own apartment, he plopped face-first on the bed, which seemed much softer than it ever had, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

louis' touch lingered on his fingertips and his voice in his bones. he hoped that he'd see the ocean boy in his dreams—it wasn't enough that blue seemed to be tattooed behind his eyelids.