the legend of the kalendar prince

they went to the dietician's office later that week, at the scheduled date and time.

it was a bad day, whether they had that appointment or not. or, maybe it was a good thing that he couldn't feel. everything was just so, so far away, as if he were a mere outsider looking into someone else's life documentary.

he knew it would be like this even before he opened his eyes. as soon as he came to, eyes still drilled shut and under warm covers with harry's arms draped over him, he wanted shake the boy off violently. it was harry; he knew that, but somehow, he recoiled at every notion of being touched, and being held like this was not it this particular morning.

on these days, his thoughts ran like torrents—cold and merciless, rushing through him with an inexorable strength.

they were usually prefaced by happy days, however. ones where he would allow harry to touch him, sometimes even allowing harry to kiss him, to tell him he's beautiful, and sometimes, he would even come close to believing it. it was hard, though. knowing that these days would only be followed up by grey nothings and relentless storms even when the sun was out and when the skies were cloudless.

on these days, his memories were the most vivid and raw and unbearably real.

even the smallest things would set him off, like the way a sound resonated in the thin walls of his flat, the lighting of a room, the way harry would reach out to embrace him. it was terrifying—one second he would be in the present moment, laughing (the hardest he could muster), when suddenly a detail a regular person wouldn't even notice—would bring him back to a place where he couldn't see or hear anything or anyone else. harry would evaporate like fog; thick, thick fog, so intangible yet choking.

today was one of those days.

to be completely honest, he didn't know why harry was still here. how was he to explain to someone with no way of understanding that one day, he could be laughing and joking and reciprocating physical affection, and the next day he could be seconds away from a breakdown, wanting to tear himself apart so badly that he couldn't breathe?

how was he to explain to harry that life is an essence that he exhales with every breath? that he imagines every inhale to be a radical acceptance of his pain, which he no longer thought of as pain, because it'd become such a primal part of him, he accepted it as a piece of his own being?

he wanted, with every fibre of his being, to push harry away, to hurt him, to let cruel words drip off of his lips like he was a wild animal whom had just taken a large bite out of fresh prey, to reduce harry to a ball of nothing, to tell harry that it will always be like this. that he will never change, that this will never go away.

of course, he didn't really want to hurt the boy. harry deserved nothing of that sort. if he had a choice, he would manipulate the threads of the universe to make it so that harry could stay naïve forever, and though it pains him to think this way, he wishes that the two of them had never crossed paths in the first place. for harry's sake.

the sole bright side of these awful days was that he would undergo this feeling of exigence. to pour out his emotions in the form of poetry, of narratives, of essays. he loved writing, whether it was for school or not. so he'd always try to expel the negative feelings from him as ink reached paper. though, it rarely worked completely. so he had other methods, to which harry already voiced his disapproval.

louis was snapped out of his thoughts as the younger boy stirred and tried to slither even closer to him. it left this sour taste in his mouth which grew progressively stronger as he was made to be more and more aware of harry's hips being pressed into his thigh. maybe it was because he had just fully awoke, but he felt his member harden, instilling yet another wave of nausea inside of him.

whore.

"loubear?" harry mumbled groggily, words still sticky from sleep. "awake yet?"

"yeah," the ocean boy sighed, "awake."

"mmm. appointment today. what time is it?"

he glanced at the cheap clock mounted on the wall. it always ended up slowing down, so every morning, if he wanted to read it accurately, he had to mentally add two hours and fifteen minutes to what the face showed. "only eleven."

harry tried to get him to turn around so that they were facing each other, and louis tried to fight it until he was simply too tired to, despite having just woke up, so he allowed him body fell limp in the other's arms. "we can stay here a little longer, then."

he closed his eyes and willed the moment to pass, to evaporate right before him like virtually everything would, so that maybe, just maybe, these feelings would dissolve as well. if he allowed everything to happen, then it would end sooner. that's what he had learned throughout the years, at least.

but it hadn't.

"i- i have to wee, haz. loosen up." this wasn't a lie; he'd felt like his bladder was about to explode. he was still hard, to which he scolded himself for, but more than anything, he needed to leave. "hazza. h-harry."

sensing the edge in the ocean boy's voice, harry immediately let up. "hurry up before you wet yourself, sugar." louis cringed at the pet name, wholly uncomfortable with all of its implications. normally, they didn't bother him, but on these days, it was just another addition on his list of overwhelming things.

as soon as he reached the bathroom, he let go of a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. he cursed himself for being so weak and shaky, praying that harry hadn't caught onto his anxious demeanor.

washing his face with ice-cold water helped considerably, though there was still a slight tremor about him. subtle enough, though, that it might fly past the younger boy with no trouble, though.

as louis was drying his face and assessing himself in the mirror, the bathroom door clicked open and he was met with the pair of green eyes he remembered being so encapsulated by before, now seemingly glazed with badly-hidden concern. "you okay in there?"

"yeah, why?"

"just… you were taking a bit, you know. wanted to make sure."

he gathered himself slightly, grounded, though not by much, by greengreengreen. "'m fine. thank you for worrying, though." louis smiled.

"of course, boo. now move over, i've got to brush my teeth as well."

they spent the morning preparing themselves in this intimate silence, where they communicated wordlessly and seamlessly. harry, of course, noticed that there was something a bit off, but figured it was just nerves for the upcoming appointment, so he left it alone.

they decided to take harry's car on the way over, and though louis insisted that he would be fine going on his own, but the younger boy wouldn't hear any of it. they were going together, not only for moral support, but to make sure that louis actually goes.

he turned on the classical radio, allowing the sound of low strings to reverberate throughout the small vehicle. a warm tone, almost like a syrupy embrace.

"i didn't know you listened to classical music," louis said, still trying to get his mind off of things.

"eh, i don't really listen so much as coexist with it. i'm a music major, after all."

"but you're studying contemporary music, no?"

"doesn't mean i haven't had to sit through my fair share of theory and history classes. at a certain point, you get so enveloped in the sound of the orchestra it's hard to completely shut out. i don't see why one would want to, anyway."

louis thought back to his record player sitting at home in a closet collecting dust, along with years' worth of vinyl sitting untouched in a brown paper bag. the memory made him want to curl in on himself, but he resisted. "yeah, i get that."

as if on cue, the song ended and the car went silent for a second before a violin solo cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. the ocean boy's breath hitched, so much so that he had to suppress a cough. the familiarity of the piece was like hot water running through his veins.

in front of him suddenly was not the road as harry drove him in the pale pink car; he was suddenly in his bed being serenaded by the sound of a violin solo, vibrato mimicking the shakiness of his breathing. a cold smile, a cold glare. straight, black, slicked-back hair on a man whose entire appearance was like that of a reptile; beady eyes, oddly-shaped tongue and lips, an icy sneer that reminded louis that in the midst of everything, he was nothing.

"lou?" harry attempted, trying his best to not stop everything to focus on his boy—but alas, they were on the road and it would be far too dangerous to do so. "are you okay?"

louis blinked, returning himself back to the present moment. "sorry, what?"

"everything alright?" harry repeated, worry shooting through him again.

"oh- oh, yeah. just nervous." he said, gathering himself. it's fine. the violin solo was over. it's just bassoon and oboe now, soon to be followed by the entrance of the rest of the orchestra. it's fine.

harry smiled understandingly. "yeah, i get it. i'm here for you, though. always. we'll get through this."

louis smiled, despite that not being the real problem. it was sweet that harry was trying, and that's what mattered, really. "thanks, haz."

he had never been a particular fan of classical music; though jean was. it just came across too pretentious and serious and faraway.

harry was, though, despite it having been a more acquired taste for him. it was hard not to fall in love with it—the color, the stories, the beauty, the royalty. so when louis seemed to show his knowledge on the subject, it took the younger boy aback.

"you like this piece?" he asked louis as he felt the boy stirring against the harsh notes.

"it's scheherazade. what's there to not like?" he hummed, trying to feign ignorance.

"you know it?" harry asked, mildly surprised, "though i probably should have expected as much, coming from you, a guy that knows practically everything."

"yeah, i guess so." he was trying his best not to blow up right then and there, to hide his discomfort the best he could. on a normal day, this might have not set him off, but it was not a normal day and even this much was too much.

harry hummed. "do you know the story?"

"sure. it's a story of how the king's wife was unfaithful, so he decided to marry a new virgin every day. he'd killed them all until 1,001 women were dead. scheherazade, an intelligent and beautiful girl, offered to spend a night with him. she told him a story, but stopped as soon as dawn broke, refusing to tell him more until night came again. so he spared her life. she kept telling stories until 1,001 more days passed, and had no more to tell. it was after that the king realized his love for her, and made scheherazade his queen."

"you really do know everything, lou," harry pouted, "here i was hoping that i could tell you a story."

"there's more versions of the story," louis chuckled weakly. "sadder ones."

"i wanted to tell you the story, though."

"you should have told me that, and i would have pretended not to know it."

"whatever," the younger boy laughed, "we're here, love. let's go, yeah?"

"yeah." he hadn't realized how afraid he truly was until this moment; up until now, he thought it was all the result of the memories, of the morning, the music. but being here, a place where the music ceased, he still couldn't calm down.

harry spoke for him to the receptionist, saying his name, and he found himself in the waiting room on one of the pale gray faux-leather seats that squeaked with every little movement he made. the walls were blue and painted with sickening white flowers. it smelled far too strongly of cheap vanilla air freshener—even he could tell harry's lungs were itching at the intensity of the scent. the carpet was a dark gray, and in the corner was a dark stain that made him wonder if it was coffee, food, vomit, or all three. it was suffocating.

if he was worried about whether this would be a mistake before, he was sure of it, now. this was a mistake.

"are you sure about this, harry?" he whispered, strained. "should i really be here?"

"i believe in you, lou. this is possible. it'll be worth it in the end."

the end. what exactly did that constitute? is it even worth getting there? "you are like my scheherazade, harry. slowly pulling me in even when i'm trying my hardest to push everyone away."

"of course, lou. i don't care about whether it takes a day or if it takes a thousand and one days, or even more. i'm not giving up on this."

maybe the music wasn't tainted completely, after all, he thought.