for whom the moon shines

he woke up only three hours after he'd fallen asleep, despite the strength of the fatigue. he was used to this, of course, but a heavy feeling still settled in his chest after having been thrust so ruthlessly into the world he'd worked so hard to forget.

harry remained asleep on the couch. the boy's eyes cheeks were wet with tears, curls a mess. neither of them showered upon returning home, despite the fact that both were in desperate need of one. the slight smell of alcohol still clung to their clothes, a nasty reminder of everything that had happened.

louis tried to convince himself that he wasn't so affected by it; it was something he should have been used to, if anything, but it was undeniable that the large man in the bathroom had begun to unwind years of carefully wrapped-up evidence of his uncleanliness, reminding him of what it had all felt like once again.

harry was beautiful, though, acting as what seemed to be his one and only solace. the only thing that he felt provided closure. it was another one of those starless nights, where he would normally smoke and stare at the moon, wondering if it knew about how he lived, or if it knew how he would die. or if he was so insignificant that the moon wasn't looking back at him at all, but rather gazing coldly, mockingly, into nothingness.

the moon, usually so lonely, so close yet so far from the sun, however, gave harry's skin a dewy glow. he was colored this whitish-blue, accentuating the length of his eyelashes. he'd realized how tired the younger boy was as well, with dark circles forming like purple bruises beneath his eyes. guilt sunk through him like an anvil, crushing all this organs in the process. he was the cause for harry's exhaustion. he was the reason why the boy had looked like he was wilting recently, soft edges unable to hold themselves up, brittle and void of true light.

and he'd never be able to provide that true light. not with how damaged he was, and would always be.

he'd decided to read, unable to gather the heart to disturb harry from the sleep he looked like he was so starved of. the sun also rises is what he started after finishing great expectations. he found it from dan's collection of books back at home, and he'd let him take the copy after seeing his interest.

"i am always in love," he would read, and wonder if there was any truth to the statement. of course, taken out of context, it could mean a variety of things. but love, in the presence of aimlessness, of frivolity, he felt, could never exist. not in tandem.

could one be lost and be in love at all? did the feeling of being lost come from love?

was he lost?

the idea of loving harry was terrifying, so he settled on being lost. the last time he told someone that he'd loved them was in manhattan, five thousand feet above the ground, after being told that no one would ever love him like that again. that he was nothing. that he was made to be hurt. that it was all he was good for.

after jean, he'd vowed that he would never love someone again. he didn't want to make the mistake of getting attached to someone only for them to change, and he didn't want to subject someone to his brokenness. especially not someone as perfect as harry. not someone who could do so much better.

despite being tired, it was as if his legs moved on his own. before he knew it, they were leading him back to the bathroom. he realized—being in the familiar environment where he would always scrutinize his body like it were something offensive—how achingly hungry he was. his gut twisted and bubbled, begging for sustenance. his hunger cues were beginning to come back full swing, at times much more severe than others. as much as it was satisfying, feeling so hungry and denying himself of what his stomach pleaded for, it was frustrating. as if he'd come to believe in his months of straight starving that he was somehow above food. that his body shouldn't need it, that it shouldn't even ask for it. selfish.

in all honesty, he was far too tired to hurt himself. or even want to hurt himself. it was simply an obligation, a given. breathing is to being alive as cutting or starving was to louis.

it wasn't even pleasant, this time. he couldn't feel anything, and it left him tingling in the worst way possible. winter made him more reckless; he'd allowed himself to do it on his wrists more often, as some kind of treat for when things were extra bad. or when he was extra bad.

sometimes, though, he'd nick a nerve, sending relentless unfeeling all through his arm from his elbow to his first three fingers. the sensation would make itself most known in the most inconvenient of times—when he was doing things that required precise movements, like writing or typing.

he was doing a good job of hiding it all from harry until last night, when he was found sprawled nearly naked on the floor bleeding. all the secrets and memories he'd tried so hard to protect were put out onto display so easily.

when he emerged back from the bathroom, freshly bandaged, harry was sitting upright, disoriented.

"haz?" he went about cautiously, "good morning."

"lou, you were awake. how are you feeling?"

patronizing. "i'm fine. better."

"breakfast? anything in particular you'd like?"

"n-not hungry," he looked down, pulling his sleeves further over his hands.

harry's brows furrowed with concern. "babe, you've got to eat. you were doing so well. please? maybe just some oatmeal?"

he sighed. "whatever. i mean, yeah. anything's fine, then."

"that's my sunflower."

it took seven, maybe eight minutes for harry to set everything back down on the table. louis was still staring outside. the moon was still there, leaving an imprint on the daytime sky. like a reminder. of what, louis didn't know, but it was comforting it its own way. of course, he knew that it wasn't sentient, that it would never know what it meant to louis along with so many people, but he wished. he wished he could scream at the moon and tell it to stop, to stop taunting him.

"lou, food is ready," harry appeared, arms snaking around louis' waist, to which he stiffened, but the younger boy hadn't seemed affect by it at all. "how are you feeling?"

"i'm okay. it is what it is. can't do anything about it anymore. it's over."

"don't minimize this. what happened to you was awful. it shouldn't have happened at all."

"but it did. so what's the point in fretting?" his eyes were still empty, still staring at the sky, where the moon had been. it was gone now, the sun outshining it. maybe harry was the sun, he thought.

"i guess so. but your struggles are valid; you are worth so much. please don't forget that, love."

louis didn't respond, which made harry's stomach twist with this gut-wrenching pain for the boy, knowing that he didn't believe a single word. it was like he was so far gone that he was standing at the end of a building, but instead of seeming uneasy about falling, he had this look of longing, as if he could disappear with no qualms. the idea scared harry—the boy he treasured so much, unable to treasure himself.

"let's go eat, yeah?"

he only nodded, biting his bottom lip.

oatmeal reminded him of that first time at the hospital, the brown substance warm against his bare legs and stench permeating through the air. just the memory made him feel sick.

"you haven't been eating properly," harry stated, so sure of himself. "ever since you went to your parents'." louis said nothing, so he kept going. "you've got to keep trying, love."

but oh, god, living had felt so heavy. the idea of heaviness weighing down on his stomach as well was so unbearable. if he felt this way, there was no way the younger boy was any less exhausted. "you need to take care of yourself, too, harry. don't blame yourself for how messed up i am."

"lou—"

"no. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for making you feel so inadequate. for pushing you away all this time. for opening up to you. for making you feel like you have to take care of me. for being such a child." his voice was shaking, and he bit his bottom lip even harder, as if it would stop the quivering. it hadn't. "you're always so adamant about making me happy. but are you? are you happy with me?"

"it's okay. it's okay, really. it's just, it would be much easier if i knew the full story, though. so i can figure out how to help you better."

"it's not your job."

"i know. and i'm not trying to get you to say anything you're not comfortable with. but i just think it would help. to process things, you know?"

"that's… that's not what i'm trying to talk about right now, harry. i'm just saying," the image of harry's tired, broken sleeping face flashed through his mind. "i'm just saying that i might not be the best thing for you right now. and don't say that my happiness is yours. you would berate me if i said that, so don't even try."

"i'd be lying if i said i wasn't a little burnt out. i'm sure you know that. but you're struggling and i can't ignore that."

"can we forget about it all for a while? like, just pretend none of this ever happened. my time at the hospital, what happened last night."

"lou, you know i can't do that." harry drew back, the corners of his eyes being pulled down again. "that would be too… too disrespectful to you and your experiences. or maybe disrespectful isn't the right word. what i meant was- i meant, i didn't want it to seem like i'm invalidating your pain."

"i just don't want to be patronized. like i'm some sort of kicked puppy. i hate when you look at me like that." his words felt unnatural; harsh and bitter in his mouth. he knew that harry just cared, even though it was misplaced.

"do you love me?"

"harry—"

"do you?"

"i'm afraid to admit to something like that to myself and have it bite me in the ass later." he breathed.

"so you're afraid to let me in."

"you're the one talking about not wanting to oversimplify my pain and yet, here you are. oversimplifying my words."

"i'm sorry," harry said slowly. it's like they had transcended the threshold of time, of haste. despite the high emotion of the moment, both of them were steady as they tread on the line of danger. "you are just so blindingly bright, i forget myself at times. it drives me crazy, there being so much i don't know. about your past, about your present feelings, about where you plan to go and whether you plan to have me in it. because i plan on you. i'd like to, at least, if you'd allow me."

"the most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much—"

"and forgetting you are special too." harry interrupted, "i know. men without women. hemmingway."

"of course you would know," louis, for the first time since he'd last seen harry, cracked a genuine smile. "but i'm being serious. don't forget to put yourself first."

"only if you do."

"you like hemmingway?"

"i do."

"it's fitting for you."

���are you planning on telling me anything at all?"

"someday. it just, it sucks more than i thought it would. to even acknowledge some of these feelings are there in the first place."

"i know, and i'm sorry. but does that mean you'll accept me as part of your future?"

he pursed his lips and pursed his heart, wanting to close in on himself completely. his voice shook in a way that the younger boy wished that he could grab it and steady it, like it were a hand or a rubber band that had just been struck. "harry, i- i don't know if i'll ever enjoy- i don't know if i'll ever enjoy sex. and i don't know if i'll ever be truly happy. and i don't know if i even want to be happy. or if i'm even going to be here for much longer."

"be where?"

"here."

"why?" it was a simple question, something so empty of meaning yet so full of emotion and confusion. harry wished he could say something more profound. he wished that he could personally chain the ocean boy to the world. but louis had looked so serious when he spoke, even he was beginning to be convinced that the boy was simply not of this world.

"because," he started, "it would just be so easy. there's nothing tying me down."

"writing? school? your future?"

"not important."

"your family?"

"they will be fine without me." will, harry noticed. like he was so sure of it all.

"and me?"

"you fall in the same category as my family."

"you see me as family?"

"you only hear what you want to, huh." it was a statement, not a question. but harry interpreted it as one, anyway.

"no. my stubborn ass just wants to pretend like you didn't just say what you did." like the world wouldn't crumble if you weren't here to hold it together.

"but it's true."

the sun was beginning to go on its path across the sky, from peeking right over the horizon to now eyeing the two, the world, directly. it was well into the morning at this point. it's not, it's not, it'snotit'snotit'snot, harry wanted to scream. he wanted to scream until his throat was bloody and his eyes were shot.

but again, since he knew he wouldn't be able to say anything, he just drew his lips to the boy's forehead (the height difference was perfect), so ravenously that it was like he had been holding back the entire time—and maybe he had been.

harry hoped, with everything he had, that the kiss would convey his feelings to the boy.

and it must've, he figured, because he could have sworn the boy whispered the words he'd wanted to hear so bad.

"i do love you, i just need some time."

and it might have just been his imagination, but if it had been, he didn't care. he could probably write an entire discography just describing the joy that had bloomed in his chest, he thought.

it reminded him of the verses he'd written after the big fight between the two. he hadn't thought of them or touched them since, but now he had this burning exigence to complete the song, to pour all of these feelings out so that he was completely hollow, and present them like a sacrificial offering to louis and the gods. maybe then, he'd be forgiven for feeling so deeply, so impurely.

"so where do we go from here?" he'd asked.

"we go about life as normal," the ocean boy responded. the striking blue had returned into his eyes, submerging harry into this never-ending pit where nothing lived or breathed. "we wake up, bathe in the domesticity of our everyday mundane tasks, and tell ourselves that the things that matter will always remain out of our control."

"control is overrated."

"that it is."

"so why do you search so fervently for something that's supposed to have such little meaning?"

"every man needs to entertain his delusions, or he'll go insane."

"will you ever consider speaking to a therapist? or is that too much to ask at this point?" the words didn't come across sarcastic at all, though to some, they would seem that way. louis knew better, though. he knew harry's ins and outs more than he'd like to admit.

"no. i'd never given it careful consideration, truth be told, but in all seriousness, i don't think it'd help me. i can hardly even open up to you. don't want to have to worry about the second step when i haven't even overcome the first."

"so you're willing to see this as something to work at overcoming?" he asked. "because that would mean so much to me. i'm so scared of losing you."

"i know, that's why i'm trying. though it may not be enough."

"it's all we can do, really."

another kiss, this time initiated by louis, taking harry aback. but it really had felt like there were magnets behind each set of lips, they had fit together so naturally. in the same way, it was as difficult to pull apart as it was easy to come together.

"it makes sense that you're a hemmingway person. romantic fucker."

he didn't think any tears shed that day would be from relief, but there they were, streaming endlessly. "you love me, though."

"yeah."