genesis, exodus, leviticus

"you know," harry began carefully, one morning, while the two were getting ready to go on campus for their respective lectures. they'd made a point to accompany each other there, scheduling meetings with professors at the same times, or waiting in the library while the other was attending a lecture. "i'm thinking about really pursuing music."

"yeah? aren't you already? majoring in it and everything?" louis responded, despite already having an idea of what harry really meant. he'd been observing the boy for a while; having noticed the anxieties that ate at the saturation of green eyes as time passed, the confusion as to where this degree would really take him, whether he was really benefitting from waiting after uni to decide, what he would even decide on. he would hold harry on the nights where things seemed to overflow, and louis would always insist that it was no problem, that it was never too much. that he would never be too much.

"yeah, but…" harry took a deep breath and set down the comb he'd been running through his hair. "i think i want to start doing something more for my future. i'm not getting any younger. that's not to say i'm dropping out, or i'm quitting my job. i just want, this is going to sound stupid, but i've been speaking to some of my professors about starting up a solo career soon. you know, doing gigs and stuff. nothing big, obviously. just somewhat of a kickstart."

"i'll support you every step of the way, haz. no matter what you choose to do," he said softly, looking up at uncertain green eyes that'd reminded him of spring. the type that healed, not the type that held bad memories in its palms.

"thanks," the younger boy smiled. "i've got some songs written already. there's one i'd like to show you when it's done."

"i'd be delighted." louis thought back to the verses still laying at the corner of his desk. "can't wait."

the library on campus, despite never being a place louis fared, had a pretty good selection of books. some days, it would get quite crowded, especially around exam season. usually, though, it would just be him and a couple others in the corner. it had a high ceiling, two floors, and more windows than he thought should be legal in a single building, vaguely resembling a shopping mall. the windows allowed an ungodly amount of overly dazzling sunlight in, forcing anyone who stepped into squint. it was one of those sunny january afternoons that would fool one to believe it was much warmer than it really was.

like harry, he'd been thinking about what he really was planning to do after uni. in truth, he never imagined himself to be alive for so long. ever since what happened with jean, and moving back to london after two years of thinking he'd be in new york forever, he thought that it was something he'd never come back from. so the future wasn't something he bothered to preoccupy himself with, ever.

even now, he questioned whether it was really worth it to pursue something more. if he'd be better off rotting in a gas station bathroom convulsing from a morphine overdose. or maybe he'd put himself to rest in a field of flowers, ones that reminded him of everything beautiful in the world, and everything beautiful beyond it. maybe, he thought, it'd even convince him that someone as wretched as he belonged among the flowers.

but he'd found himself the most at home writing, nowadays. he liked to imagine himself as one of the writers he'd so admired—fitzgerald, hemmingway, salinger, dostoevsky. he'd imagine himself weaving dreamcatchers for words in the most literal sense, conveying everything he'd felt in ways that only he knew how to. of course, though, he'd never shown anyone. the pieces graded by professors were all stale assignments for class. dull research papers, argumentative essays, meaningless rhetorical analyses. but what he sought, he presumed, was something of more substance.

he'd decided to pick up a flyer for every pile regarding creative writing seminars he saw, scattered around the english department and pinned on the bulletin boards in the. he didn't think much of it the first time he collected one, but it'd steadily become a habit, or even something he looked for. progressively, it seemed, publishing freelance work seemed less and less out of reach.

harry's arms wormed from behind him gently as he was spacing out, flyer in hand. it didn't startle him as much as it once did; he'd grown better at sensing the boy's presence. the big, clumsy steps, and the sweet (but not sickeningly so) vanilla scent.

"i've seen you keep those things around the house a lot," harry whispered, fighting an urge to nibble louis' ear. they weren't on those terms yet, he reminded himself. "when are you actually going to attend one?"

he sighed. "dunno. not sure if it'll be a waste of time, you know. not even sure if this is what i want to do."

"it doesn't have to be," harry chuckled warmly. "it's a seminar, not a wedding."

the ocean boy hummed. "i guess so. writing is to me as music is to you."

"if that's the case, then all the more reason to pursue it."

"not everyone is harry styles," he snorted. it came across much more bitter than he'd meant for it to. but harry remained unfazed.

"of course not. in fact, i don't think anyone is harry styles except for harry styles." his hair looked almost translucent in the sunlight. "but seriously. you might not be harry styles but you're louis tomlinson. and that's even better."

"oh, shut up. you're just trying to kiss my ass."

"can't resist. i'm being completely honest, though. i think you could make it."

"thanks, darling," louis said nonchalantly. "i'll give it some thought." harry shifted nervously, expectantly, and the older boy practically felt the questions hanging in the air before him, drilling holes into his skin. "before you ask. i don't know if writing about personal things is something i'm comfortable with doing as of right now. or for a while, really."

"i hadn't said anything yet."

"you were wanting to."

"you know me too well, loubear."

it was nearing february, just two weeks before harry's birthday. they weren't able to celebrate louis', as it was so close to christmas, which they had spent with their families, but the ocean boy just pushed the subject matter aside when it came up. "it was never really celebrated, or remembered," he would always repeat, "so it's not a big deal. i got christmas, and that's always enough."

it pained harry to think about how little louis mattered to himself. how he spoke like his birth wasn't something to be celebrated.

"what if," he proposed, "for my birthday, we celebrate both of ours. we can even go on a trip somewhere. anywhere. japan, Italy, new york."

"no, it's quite alright. unless you really want to go. but we're both really busy at the moment, and it'd be hard to find a good time. besides, winter break is over." the smaller boy shrunk for a reason harry couldn't place, but he already didn't like how louis' shoulders seemed to cave in on themselves like there was something there about to hurt him. he wasn't sure whether it was just the uncertainties of travel, but he could sense that something was off. it made him want to drop the idea completely, but also pry even further, testing if he could find what was so frightening, hidden deep beneath the ocean boy's bones.

"yeah, but i can take time off. so could you. you hardly got any rest during winter break anyway, considering everything." he slapped himself internally as louis flinched at the reminder of what had happened. and god, he looked so small, so scared, like he was afraid of being punished for taking up too much space, so much so that he'd drawn his very soul inside of itself, compressing it painfully into something incoherent and disjointed. even then, he was beautiful—messy, feathery hair, alarmed blue eyes despite the discomfort swimming in them, soft lips, and delicate curvature of his face. "you, of all people, deserve to let loose a bit."

"not really. but if you're asking me to accompany you on a trip to celebrate your birthday, i'll gladly accept. mine has already passed, after all."

harry frowned. "but we never got to really celebrate it. you're always turnings things i want to do for you to make you happy into favors for my gratification."

"you don't have to go out of your way to try and make me happy. besides," he added dryly, "what are you going to do? bake me a cake? treat me to a fucking meal?"

it won't work, harry heard louis think. it didn't have to be said to be conveyed. "i want to make you happy. not to mention slow introduction of food as something celebratory could be beneficial." he took a deep breath. "and your birthday is something to be celebrated. life is something to be celebrated."

"not one like mine. i hate that kind of thing anyway."

"i- whatever. let's just do it. i'll find a way to connive something in there for you. we can go somewhere. i've always wanted to go to new york city. manhattan. coney island. the land of the free. or maybe not so free, but that's aside from the point."

all the remaining light left louis' eyes, and the younger boy was met by fluttering eyelashes as louis shifted his gaze downwards, self-consciously. "alright," he whispered, suddenly cagey. unsteady. "i'll find a time."

the drive back was excruciating. the cotton candy pink looked upon the two mockingly. it always ended up this way, louis thought. don't fight back, don't fight back, don't fight back. just endure. endure and things will go more smoothly.

"so," he choked out, reaching for any resemblance of normalcy, hoping that harry hadn't caught up to the nausea already rising in his throat. "what did you usually do back at home for your birthday and the sort?"

"mum, gemma, and i would usually just spend it at home. bake a cake or something, have a family night. gemma loves giving gifts, so she'd always surprise me with the weirdest shit. she's the type of person who would give one 'joke' gift and one that'd be really, really thoughtful. as much as i can't stand her, i love her to death and she's always been the first person i go to when something's wrong."

"that sounds really nice," louis relaxed a little, soothed by harry's gentle voice. it reminded him of freshly-washed sheets and soft blankets and warmth amidst a world of ice. "your family seems lovely. no wonder you are the way you are."

"how about you? what was it like when you were younger?"

harry swore he could physically hear the sound of the boys' walls shooting upwards. "oh, you know. normal family stuff. similar to you."

"what does 'normal family stuff' constitute?"

"normal family stuff."

for some reason, though he figured he should have been used to this, the statement made the younger boy irrationally angry. "hmm. so you're just going to ask me a question and not give me an honest answer when i ask you the same one?"

"oh, i- it's- it is honest, though, i-"

"whatever. it's fine. i understand that you need space. just frustrating for me, you know. when i care about you so much but you don't tell me anything, he spat. "feels unfair, is all." you're a dirty liar, you know that, tomlinson? a nasally yet cold voice seemed to say. one that mimicked the same artificial emotion that the violin would weep.

"haz-"

"don't call me that." don't touch me, jean's voice had now completely devoured his regular train of thought, only growing stronger when he tried to push everything down. don't taint me with the likes of you. whore.

louis fell silent, curling in on himself even more than he already had. it didn't seem possible, but the boy succeeded in making himself smaller. like he could disappear if he tried hard enough, like he was an object to be removed from harry's sight. "sorry," he squeaked.

it was dark by the time they'd arrived back at louis' apartment after what felt like a lifetime of agonizing silence. louis' skin crawled, aching for punishment. the absence of natural light somehow made everything worse. heavier. so much more difficult to bear. white streetlights reminded him only of those surrounding central park that he used to see as beacons of hope.

"harry," he spluttered, before he could stop himself. his body recoiled out of habit, a reflex he hadn't been able to get rid of, even after all this time. "i… i'm sorry." his eyes squeezed shut, bracing himself. bracing himself for what was once inevitable, and would become inevitable once more. it's what his presence did to people, after all.

"lou," harry's voice was so, so far away; so drowned out by one that was more cynical. cold. cruel. "lou, open your eyes. lou, please. it's just me."

know your place. i'm giving up so much just to be with your sorry ass.

"lou, i'm sorry, oh god, i'm sorry. please. come back to me." god, you're guilt tripping him now?

you deserve this.

"you're safe. we're here, we're safe, and it's just me. just harry."

so fucking unworthy, tomlinson. so fucking unworthy.

"babe. please, i'm-"

"just get away from me. please. hit me or leave me the fuck alone." his eyes were open again, this time filled with hot tears, sclera shot with blood.

"i'm- lou, what? i'm not going to hit you." harry's voice was shaking now, too, and it was his fault. again, he was dragging everyone else into his problems and hurting the people that cared.

"i'll be fine. i just, i just need a shower. let me alone, please."

"don't let him do this to you."

"what do you know?"

"i hear you cry out his name. j-"

"don't fucking say it." he started shaking even more violently, as if merely uttering the man's name would summon him.

"louis, i'm- i'm so sorry for scaring you. please, just. just let me in."

the world reeled, shaking almost as hard as louis' narrow shoulders. the ground, the sky, the boy before him. the penthouse, the violin, the closet. matthew, jean, harry. everything he was, everything he is, everything he will never be.

it didn't matter anymore, he thought. maybe if he ran, harry would run the other direction. maybe if he got far enough, harry would eventually get tired of chasing and give up. he'd leave him alone, like he so wished for. either way, it didn't matter. it never mattered, he supposed.

he was in the bathroom, ripping the zip-lock bag of blades desperately from the place he'd stashed it behind a stack of toilet paper rolls. hurt yourself before anyone else can. prove that you are truly in control. pain isn't pain, not when you accept it as a part of you, he reminded himself.

he was starting to question, though, if anything belonged to him at all. if the pain he experienced could even be classified as his; that's how faraway it felt.

how could something be so far away yet so personally tormenting at the same time?

harry was behind him now, holding him, burying his face into the ocean boy's back. "please," he sobbed, "please."

but no, it wasn't enough, it will never be enough, you will never be enough. stop. stop. stopstopstopstopstop.

"loubear, sunflower." harry's voice pierced through what felt like thick smoke weighing them both down. "look at me. just focus on me. we're here, we're at your apartment. you're with me, harry styles, the person who loves you the most."

his breathing slowed slightly, but tears did not stop pouring from his eyes, and he was still clutching the bag of blades like they were his lifeline. "i'm- i'm sorry. i'm sorry, harry, i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry." there was nothing in his eyes, the younger boy noticed, they were so hollow, so frightening, harry questioned whether they were really there, in that moment, or if it was all just a dream. it shouldn't be possible for someone to be so terribly unfathomable.

"lou, you have nothing to be sorry for," harry said, lowering his voice. "i shouldn't have acted the way i did. i know that you're trying, love. i know that it takes time."

"i don't- i don't want to guilt you into apologizing after i get irrationally upset. it's manipulative. so don't apologize. it was my fault."

"it wasn't, though. you did nothing wrong."

"harry, you're always apologizing. you deserve a better relationship. a more stable and fulfilling one."

"what about you? you apologize more than i do. you deserve a stable and fulfilling relationship, too."

"i don't know if i'm suited for that kind of thing."

"you're as worthy of happiness as everyone else."

"you, too."

"you always try to deflect the subject back onto me. but i know that. i know what's in my best interest. i know my limits and can set my boundaries." louis stayed silent as minutes passed, unable to speak or to speak up, neither of the boys knew. so harry took a chance, clenching his teeth and readying himself for the worst. "who's john?"

"jean. spelled j-e-a-n." the ocean boy closed his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows, bottom lip quivering. the blades were still in his hands, ripping through the plastic so effusively that harry feared that they'd rip through louis' hands as well. "i dated him for a while. he, he sometimes would- he would hurt me when i screwed up. we lived in new york together for a couple years."

"a couple years? all while he hurt you?"

"it wasn't that bad."

"fuck, lou! it doesn't matter how bad you, of all people, say it was. the man could have chained you to a wall and tore your guts out and you'd still say it wasn't all that bad."

"it's a long story." he replied, looking down, like he was ashamed of what had happened. like it was somehow his fault. the idea made harry's guts wrench.

"we have all night."

the ocean boy sighed resignedly, allowing some of the tide to flow back into his eyes. harry readied himself for rejection, to be completely shut out again, so when the louis pursed his lips and met his eyes more firmly than he ever had, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, bleeding profusely from his heart.

"alright."