rain upon the blinding dust of earth

louis did end up trying a little harder, to harry's relief. days passed and they were rapidly approaching the next check-up with dr. reid.

harry made sure to hold the ocean boy's hands after meals, as if they were handcuffed, even following him to the bathroom for hours after they'd eaten. louis always protested before eventually giving up. the thought of being treated like a ticking time-bomb made him flush red in shame, but harry was so stubborn after the last incident that there was no point in even trying to slither away.

it was tiring. not purging, pretending to be upbeat and happy for harry's sake (although the curly-haired boy had told him to be more honest about his emotions, he could never bring himself to—they weren't really worth paying any mind to anyway).

the only time he really had to himself were nights, when the food in his stomach would be long digested, and any attempt to pry it out would be futile. he'd tried, at first, only to be met with nausea and sticky saliva. harry had also limited his liquid intake at meals; he was only allowed one cup of water per meal and had to clear a certain amount off his plate before drinking it. drinking it all at the end was also not an option, as he would be reminded drink his water periodically.

it was irritating, to say the least. he hated feeling like a child. they'd gotten into more fights which always ended in harry repeating the same thing he'd always said:

"if you don't want to be treated like this, then take care of yourself so that you don't have to be told to."

at first, the older boy would scoff and tell harry that it was none of his business, but he would never hear any of it. he'd run his fingers through that soft, curly hair (which was getting long; reaching his chin) and act as if louis' voice was nothing but the buzzing of a housefly or the whir of the space heater.

some days were more difficult than others, as everything worldly is destined to be. some days, he couldn't finish even a quarter of his food knowing that harry wouldn't allow him to purge. some days, he would rush to the bathroom anyway as harry restrained him and held him in such a bone-crushing embrace, he wouldn't be surprised if he were to disintegrate with every single hold.

as the temperature decreased and his weight increased, it got easier and easier for the cuts to travel from just his thighs to his arms; especially since he could wear sweaters all the time without seeming suspicious. and ever since the failed hookup that occurred on the first day they'd met, harry would always err on the side of caution when it came to louis' privacy. he wouldn't question when the boy would ask him to leave the room so he could change, or when he refused to take off his shirt, or be touched.

eating was still an act that filled louis with shame, but knowing that he could retreat to the bathroom when harry slept alleviated that, even if it was just by a little bit. he could still administer himself the punishment he deserved.

the next appointment had been scheduled for a morning, as both harry and louis had classes in the afternoon. harry went as often as possible to his own, but with no doubts, would skip if it conflicted too much with the ocean boy's eating schedule. he'd taken off work completely for a couple of months, and as harry always was, because he was so widely loved by the managers at the shop, they understood completely and ordered that he'd take as much time off as he needed. of course, he hadn't disclosed to them any information regarding what kind of illness louis was struggling with, but they hadn't asked, which both of them were grateful for.

louis had stayed up the night before, having brought a book into the bathroom to read with him as he watched himself bleed. it was fucked up, he knew, but cathartic, in its own way. like he could freely enter the world of literature wholeheartedly, as if he weren't in the bathroom knowing that harry would cry if he found out what was happening behind closed doors. he took the extra measure he usually never had to before as a result of living alone, to shove a towel at the bottom of the door, preventing any light from escaping into the hallway. he was revisiting great expectations, a book that he read in high school with great disdain toward the ending. it had this adventurous storyline about a boy who fell in love early on only to be disappointed despite being struck by fortune, finding that the girl he loved had already married to someone else. however, in the end, they meet again at the same place they had first met, implying that the two have a happy ending after the girl's first husband had passed.

the book was about pip's misguided hope in everything; the way he misreads situations and makes false assumptions. the way that the story ended, louis thought, made that ideology seem okay, when it, in truth, was not at all. hoping for things only leads to disaster, to disappointment. not beautiful love or a happily-ever-after. that's just how life operated. when he found out that dickens had originally written it to be a different ending, one which pip and estella did not have their happy ending, he grew curious as to why he hadn't made it that way—the ending, after all, was the novel's weakest link.

harry was, in more ways that one, similar to pip, he thought. kind, hardworking, and generous, yet immature, a romanticist, and tended to oversimplify things. of course, it wasn't as dramatic or detrimental to harry's character as it was pip's, but the two still undeniably shared a large number of characteristics.

despite being the more sleep deprived of the two, he was the first to wake up, jolted by another imaginary dark hand that threatened to close into his face. harry was still sleeping soundly beside him, chest rising and falling tandem to the sound of the clock's hands working. even in his sleep, louis thought, he was beautiful. unlike himself, who always woke up sweaty and sporting bloodshot eyes.

it was still only quarter past six, leaving them almost three hours before the start of the appointment. they'd set their alarm clock for seven thirty, leaving louis an hour before he actually had to get up. so he decided to scroll through his phone for a few minutes; something he did quite rarely, as social media was something that kind of went right over his head.

he realized he'd gotten a text from zayn from about two days ago that he never saw, checking in on him. the gesture made him melt into a smile, knowing that the boy still cared about him despite everything. he shot back a quick response, a thanks, and assuring him that he was buzzing, aside from playful complaints that harry was driving him absolutely mad. which wasn't a total lie.

there was nothing else worth taking note of, really, so he set his phone down and rolled out of bed. it was still early, and harry hadn't even stirred beside him. the younger boy has always been a deep sleeper; which made shitty nights that much easier. the time that harry found him was a rare occasion that'd (hopefully) only happen once.

louis sat down at his desk to start writing again. the fog from sleepiness had not completely left him alone yet, but half-coherent thoughts always turned out to be the most meaningful, he found. the once-empty notebook that harry had written in on the night he was out was still laying there, as neither himself or harry had touched it since then. louis felt like it would be an invasion of the boy's privacy, despite his initial curiosity on the day-of, while it just had not occurred to harry to take it—the notebook itself was louis', after all.

he'd pondered those words ever since that morning he stumbled upon them: it chains me to my seat and you've chained yourself to me.

were they about him? was he a leech to the curly-haired boy, attaching onto him while slowly sucking life away? is that how harry saw things?

it made him feel sick, as if he'd came across something dirty, something he shouldn't have seen. but what could he have done? it was on his desk when he was going to write the goodbye letter. not something he could very well ignore.

he wondered if harry knew that he'd seen. and what harry would think. if he brought it up, would he grow angry again, this time lashing out for real, to punish him for looking through his belongings? would he admit that, yes, louis was nothing but a hindrance, a burden to him? that he only stayed because he felt like he no longer had the option to leave? that he was chained?

again, he pushed it to the back of his mind, storing the memory at the bottom of a dusty filing cabinet that he'd resolve never to flip through again. he left the notebook where it was found, however, in case harry would ever search for it again. then, at least, he would be able to truthfully state that he never moved or noticed it.

an hour passed, and he could hear harry groaning from the bedroom. it was always like this in the mornings. the boy was never a morning person, acting extra needy and clingy and whiny than he normally was. despite this, though, he would never fail to prepare a nutritious breakfast that followed his meal plan to a t. he hated that part of him.

"haz?" he called, walking back to the bedroom. "you awake?"

"yeah," the boy responded as louis poked his head through the open doorframe. "tired. need to leave in an hour or so. long drive."

"want me to drive, then?"

"no way."

they'd spent their morning quietly, as they always did, helping each other in getting ready like a chef and his assistant; one of them occasionally popping up to hand the other his deodorant, or a shirt, or socks. louis tried to help the best he could in the kitchen, as he always did, but as usual, was ushered away by harry's motherly shushes.

"it's okay, lou, just go and enjoy your tea. breakfast will be ready in a sec, we're just having bagels and stuff today."

and he was right, the food was indeed on the table only minutes after harry said that, bagels freshly toasted with eggs, bacon, butter, and cheese sandwiched in the middle. a side of sliced peaches, endearingly sliced into the shape of rabbits. harry always paid uncanny attention to the details.

louis especially struggled eating food he had to pick up with his hands. they always left a greasy substance behind, a reminder of the melted fats that seemed to exist in everything. he'd imagine it all congealing inside of him, oily, with the consistency of plumber's glue. sticky, heavy, and so unbearably dense.

sometimes he'd cut deep enough to hit the layer of fat beneath the dermis—yellowy white, almost having the appearance of baked beans. he'd imagine clawing it out with his fingers, sticking them into the open wound and prying it out as if he were doing an at-home liposuction.

the blood always overran it, though. not to mention it was terrifying and excruciatingly painful. the wound would be gaping open like a baby bird asking for food, clearly in need of stitches, but he'd have to make do with medical tape and lots of pressure. once, it was so deep that he feared he was at risk for an accidental suicide, but luckily, he woke up the next day dizzy from blood loss but otherwise fine. he had no friends at the time, anyway, so if he really had died, his body would remain undiscovered for days. the thought of dying alone was terrifying yet romantic at the same time.

so he only ended up finishing about a fourth of his bagel before he began to feel tugging at the bottom of his stomach, gravitating him to the bathroom instantly. fruits were safe, and beginning to become something he actually quite looked forward to. before, they'd be all he ate because of their low-calorie content, so much so that he grew sick of them. but now, it was genuine pleasure from the taste, especially from berries like cherries or strawberries.

he felt harry's reassuring hand on his thigh from under the table. though he wasn't about to eat any more of his bagel, he appreciated the gesture.

"let's get going, yeah?" he asked, when he saw that harry took the last bite of his own food. "i still need to grab a jacket. it's getting quite cold outside."

"agreed," the younger boy replied, standing up and collecting the plates off the table, including louis' not-even-half-eaten bagel. "i got this, you can go on and grab a jacket. no trips to the bathroom, though."

"alright, alright," he droned, knowing the drill. a sherpa jacket later, the two were out the door.

harry babbled on about something on the way there, some group project he needed to complete for yet another music appreciation course, and how his group members were, in the nicest way possible, lazy arses. louis always loved hearing about the boy's school life, it being the one largest thing that was separate from his own. this particular day, however, he was quite anxious and had trouble listening. whether or not he gained "sufficient" weight in the eyes of dr. reid determined whether or not his meal plan would be decreased.

harry ended up taking his scale, threatening to throw it out the window if he did not calmly hand it over. so he didn't know how much he weighed, and it frankly drove him crazy.

he went from weighing himself compulsively—at least twelve times a day, before and after each meal or snack, until harry started following him to the restroom and realized the problem. so now, he had no way of knowing if he had suddenly become morbidly obese overnight. not that he hadn't already seen himself that way, but being scientifically so would give him more reason to hate his body.

they'd arrived, and the too-strong scent of vanilla had not waned at all since last visit. he wondered if it was something that he'd ever get accustomed to. but that would require more and more visits to build a tolerance, so maybe it wouldn't be such a good thing after all. it would mean he belonged.

and right now, he anything but belonged. the place was either barren or sprinkled with a pregnant woman, a weightlifter, or an unhealthily skinny teenage girl every once in a while. and he was not pregnant, nor fit, nor particularly thin. so what was he here for, anyway?

"louis tomlinson?" platinum blonde hair emerged from a door which led to the same hallway with the same, suffocating smell as before.

"so, have have things been going?" she asked, after they'd taken his weight and settled down in the chairs. "i see you have not gained as much weight as i would have hoped… are you adhering to the plan?" she asked, frowning. what did she expect, though? for louis, to go from eating close to nothing at all to three thousand calories a day after just three weeks? he could have laughed.

"sorry. it's just been hard. can't finish sometimes."

"have you been drinking the ensure after not finishing your meals?"

"well, no… but it's just all so much. can't you consider giving me a lighter, more realistic plan?"

"i'm giving you the bare minimum you need to recover. i was looking to lowering it a bit if i saw improvement at today's visit, but i can't do that after seeing the lack thereof. i need you to try harder, louis. it's for your own good."

try harder? why was it that all these people could think of saying was try harder? harry, dr. demarest, dr. matthers, dr. reid. it was always, always, always "try harder" and nothing that actually meant anything to him. nothing of use. "do i really need to be here? do i really need these meal plans? i think i'm perfectly fine."

"have you ever considered seeing a psychiatrist or a therapist, maybe, just to see what they can do medication or counseling-wise for your mood and motivation?"

"fuck, no. excuse my language, but no way in hell. talking to people who are paid to listen to my problems isn't going to help me, i don't want to be drowning in some mind-numbing drug, thanks. i'll figure it out on my own. if that's all, then i'm going to leave."

he was about to stand up from his chair when he felt harry grab his hand firmly. he'd forgotten that the younger boy had tagged along in the first place, in the midst of his anger. "babe, please. she's trying to help you. we're trying to help you. we want to see you better, lou. so just think about it. please."

"no one asked either of you to do shit!" he strained, tears starting to sting. he had to close his eyes if he didn't want to seem like some delirious patient. "i'm fine. this was a mistake. i don't need to be here, this isn't going to do anything for me."

"lou, please. please, love. just give it a chance?"

"i've been giving them chances. the system. and look where that's landed me."

dr. reid interrupted in that thick accent. "we can do our best to help you, but in the end, if the patient doesn't wish to get better, then there's nothing we can do. sincerely, louis, from a personal standpoint, not from a nutritionist standpoint, i mean it when i say this. you're worthy of getting better, and it's possible. aren't you tired of living like this?"

"i'm fine!"

"are you really?" she pressed. what fucking right did she have to interfere with what he thought was right or wrong? what right did she have to criticize his decisions?

"loubear, i love you so much. please, just try."

"it's always fucking try, try, try. can't you see that trying is exactly what i'm doing? you have no idea what i'm going through."

"actually," said dr. reid, "i may not know exactly but i just want to say that i understand. i struggled with an eating disorder for most of my life, and now i'm recovered; my career is even centered around controlling food and it doesn't bother me at all. ten years ago, i wouldn't even want to smell food in fear that the calories would absorb through my nose or something. it was awful. but i'm here. so louis, it is possible."

"i don't have—"

"louis." harry's voice rang pierced the tension, all soft and concerned and so, so, so painful.

he was crying now, and it was the most pathetic he'd ever felt. he was crying in the office in front of some russian lady he didn't know while harry watched him.

maybe he did have a problem, after all.