unbeing

it took hours to tell harry. about matthew, about jean, about how much he wished to disappear. they ad arrived home at seven, but by the time everything was said, it was already nearing midnight.

louis said he wanted to sit on the cold tile while retelling everything—closer to the earth, to the soil where his body would one day reside in, to the core of the planet into which he would imagine himself plummeting into certain death.

harry cried during almost all of the story, though louis couldn't quite understand why. he wasn't someone to cry for, or to cry over. it was already established clearly in his mind that he was not worth the green-eyed boy's tears.

it was all a bit easier to articulate than he thought it'd be, but his voice still shook almost as hard has his hands, and there were parts where he had to stop to remember to breathe. harry would have to clutch the boy's arms tightly, serving as a reminder that he was there, in that moment, and not back in the new york penthouse. he'd count to ten, then a hundred, sometimes five hundred. however long it took to calm the smaller boy down.

harry listened intently, heart twisting and turning in his chest; so much that he worried that it would sink and become one with his stomach, which had also been crying out for food—but he didn't want to interrupt the flow of louis' storytelling, so he didn't say anything about it.

it was borderline unbearable just to hear about, he realized, he couldn't imagine actually experiencing these things. there were moments where he wished he could clasp a hand over the ocean boy's mouth, stopping all the words that had flowed mercilessly from it. as if, by doing so, he'd be erasing everything that had happened in the first place.

but it wouldn't, so all he could do was sit on the floor with louis until he could no longer feel the bones in his bottom as they dug into the ground, and listen like he was never going to use his ears again.

when it was all over, louis looked so empty, like each word he'd uttered sucked a sliver of life out of him. he wasn't crying; he never allowed himself cry unrestrainedly, only trembled like there was nothing else in the world. harry, though, imagining every situation more vividly than he'd like to, couldn't combat that sobs that washed over him when he realized that these stories, which were just stories to him, were facts that louis had to live with every second of his life, regardless of whether he was awake or not.

"lou," the younger boy choked out between tears, "lou, i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry for ever having scared you. i'm sorry that these things ever happened at all. i- i wish, i wish i could hunt them down and hurt them." his eyes seemed to glower red with pure hatred in its most palpable form. "i want to rip them apart for hurting someone like you; someone who deserves so much better than what the world has to offer."

"jean's somewhere still, probably. france or Italy or new york, one of those romantic places where the lights never go out at night. maybe he's even in london," louis joked weakly. "matthew's gone, though. he passed last year. i read it in an obituary. 'priest dies from pancreatic cancer.' romantic, huh?"

"oh," he replied dumbly. what was he to say in this situation? apologize? congratulate the boy?

"it's alright. i was torn up at the time; wanted to be hurt and scared all over again because i deserve it, but it's fine now. i'm over it."

"fuck, lou! you didn't fucking deserve any of that. don't say that."

"it's fine."

"but it's fucking not. nobody deserve to be treated like that. especially not you." he swallowed. now, he, too, was trembling. in anger, in fear, in sadness, in relief. "love, you don't- you don't understand how fucking important you are to me."

"thanks." the ocean boy smiled a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. they were still dark and murky and harry wondered if that's how jean's eyes had looked—so empty and unyielding.

"i'm sorry for scaring you, really. you know i would never hurt you, right?"

hurt me, louis wanted to scream. hurt me, hurt me, hurt me. "yeah."

when their words started failing them before they reached past their throats, louis excused himself to bed without having eaten, and harry couldn't really bring himself to stop him. he looked as if the smallest nudge would tip him over; so exhausted and overwhelmed past just bone-deep—it felt like the tiredness stuck onto his soul like a leech.

the green-eyed boy couldn't sleep that night.

when he'd tried, his mind would just be attacked by images of memories that weren't even his. of cold eyes and cold hands and cold hearts, ones that told louis that this world was simply not for him. he'd imagine louis before they'd met, crying, bleeding, alone. he'd wondered, if things turned out a bit differently, if there would be a louis lying beside him at all.

when harry felt the boy getting up and warmth leaving his side, he knew exactly where louis was going. and there was something, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, telling him that this was something that happened almost every night, with how methodical louis' movements were.

but this time, instead of grabbing the boy's hand before he could leave like he had some time ago, he allowed louis to wander into the bathroom. it was only after he'd heard the click of the lock that he'd hauled himself out of bed as well, quietly tracing louis' steps.

he positioned himself so that his back was against the door, sliding onto the ground soundlessly. despite louis having shoved a towel under the crack of the door, there were still fragments of light that dripped through. harry made a mental note to switch the bright, white lights out for ones that were much gentler sometime in the future.

a few minutes of uneasy silence had passed when harry heard soft, broken cries from the other side of the door. ones that had seemed so helpless, so lonely, it made the younger boy's chest constrict just knowing that these painful sounds had escaped from something as tender as that beautiful boy's lungs.

god was so fucking unfair.

"lou?" he finally mustered shakily. "you in there?"

the crying stopped, and harry wanted to curse himself all over again. he realized then, that louis had never voluntarily cried in front of him. of course, there were times where it came out as a result of having pushed it all down for so long, but it was never voluntary. when harry was around, those walls would shoot right back up and remind them of how fragile life was.

"yeah?" the ocean boy responded, much steadier than what harry had prepared himself for. so all this time, how often had he been feigning his okayness?

"will you open the door for me?"

it was much easier to convince louis than he thought it would be; as the lock clicked from behind him. he stood up slowly, trying to pacify the anxieties blossoming in his chest and the memories from the night he'd found the boy bleeding.

and there he was, sat so similarly on the gruesome tile floor like he had that night, with just his boxers and a soft t-shirt on, bleeding. but this time, he stood, allowing the blood to trickle down his thighs.

"what are you doing?" harry whispered. "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like?"

"why?"

"why wouldn't i be? i haven't been more than twenty-four hours clean for months, haz."

"you're telling me this now?"

"you never asked."

"you wouldn't have told me."

"i am, now."

harry bit his tongue, suppressing a sob that threatened to spill over again. fuck, he was always crying in front of louis, wasn't he? "you have to escape this cycle somehow." he'd almost forgot about the blood that was still flowing from the open wounds, until red droplets fell deafeningly onto the floor. "lou, you- you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i just, i don't see why it's a problem. i know how to control it."

but why? "that's not the issue! i don't think you understand, but what hurts is seeing you hurt so bad that you think you deserve this. that you think that you deserve to hurt."

"hurting is proof that we're alive, no?"

"unbeing dead isn't being alive."

"e.e. cummings. quite the poet you are, styles."

"don't try to joke with me now," harry said slowly, sternly, trying not to let the anger blind the rest of his senses. he couldn't hurt the boy before him again. not here, not in the bathroom, where reality was so undisguised, so naked. "i'm being serious."

"i know you are. but trust me, i'm fine. i've always been. i promise i won't let my problems inhibit our everyday lives together. hell, we can even start dating, having sex. i can bury everything like it's all never happened," the ocean boy pleaded, words being overtaken by this hysteria that had consumed his every remaining piece of reason. "i don't fucking care, harry. i don't care what happens to me anymore. fuck me into oblivion, will you? just tell me that i'm nothing. what's the fucking point? hurt me, please. hurt me."

"lo-louis, lou, sunshine, what?"

"i know you want it. don't act like you haven't thought about it. this is your chance, harry! your chance to fuck my brains out until i can no longer speak or move!" his bleeding, his breathing, his tears, had all sped up; the boy's existence growing more and more vacant by the second.

"i'm not doing that," the younger boy breathed, crushing the feelings that worked so hard to claw their way back up, "not like this. if you think that you can scare me away like that, you're wrong. you're trying to get me so heated that i hurt you like matthew and jean hurt you in the past. you're trying to prove to yourself that it's you, that it's your fault that things turned out like that. that you corrupt others. but you're fucking wrong, lou, because none of it is your fault. nothing you can say is going to make me, or anyone in their right mind, commit such atrocities on anyone. you're not the one at fault. they are. you were just unfortunate enough to get in their path."

"but i didn't stop th-" god, he looked so small, so hurt, so vulnerable. it made harry want to close his arms around the boy like he had when he was listening to it all replay, so that he'd stop shaking, so that he wouldn't have to see his broken features anymore, as if that would solve anything.

"you shouldn't have to be put in that situation in the first place."

"don't try to tell me who was right or wrong, styles," his voice shook with tears now, and if not for the content of what he was saying, you'd think he was pleading for validation. and harry, with all that he had, intended to give the boy every shred of validation he was so sure that he desired. "you weren't there, you don't know me, you don't know who i am, you don't know what i deserve."

"it doesn't fucking matter! you haven't done anything wrong! all you've done is breathe and exist. no one deserves that kind of pain, no matter what they've done." he paused to gather himself. "what would you say if it were me and not you?"

"but it's me, and not you. so you can't use that example because this is different. me breathing and existing is different from you breathing and existing. or anyone else, for that matter. if you know everything, what the fuck am i to do? because it's all already happened and i can't sleep through a single night without wanting to die all over again. without feeling my body pressed against that same glass on the twentieth floor of that same building, hoping with everything i have that god will somehow take mercy upon me and allow my body to fall.

"and now i'm taking all my pent up anger and frustration out on you, the best thing that has ever happened to me. here i am, shouting at a person whom i want to love, a person whose love i don't deserve, a person who is my greatest and only chance of ever learning to trust anyone ever again. and now you're going to leave."

the ocean boy's lips were coated with saliva; he was nearly screaming so hard he knew he would probably throw up if he had eaten anything earlier that day. his throat had gone raw, cheeks red despite the eerie paleness of the rest of his body. he was still shaking—from blood loss, hunger, or anxiety, he didn't know—and harry worried, that at any moment, he would lapse into the ground, and become one with the tile floor once again.

"lou," he said, much more delicately than he had originally planned to, "i'm… i'm not going to leave. you're right, things have been hard. and you've hurt me before. but that's nothing, nothing at all compared to the gravity of what i feel for you. and how much i believe in you." deep breaths. don't let your voice fail you, not now. "sit, love. let me clean you up. please. lou, you're shaking too hard. you have to eat."

"you're not going to be happy if all you do in a relationship is take care of the other person."

"that's why you have to try."

"what if i can't do it? or if i don't want to?"

"you can. and you will."

louis sat himself down onto the floor with a sickeningly crack, one that suggested that the boy had less mass than he claimed he did. "i might never enjoy sex, you know? i'm never going to give you what you need."

"i'm not some sort of sex fiend, love. besides, i've got my hand," he attempted at a joke, but his voice was far too exhausted to convey any humor at all.

"it won't be enough after a while."

"then i'll figure it out. you just have to worry about your own happiness, and i worry about mine."

"only," the older boy's resolve to push harry out splintered even further. please don't accept this, he tried to tell himself. please don't be so selfish. "only if you promise to leave, for both your sake and mine, if i begin to taint you with my dirtiness."

"if it makes you feel better to hear me say that, i will. but i won't be leaving anytime soon. not even if you wanted me to."

louis remained silent, so harry only bent down after grabbing the rag off the counter, to mop up the blood that had made a sticky trail down louis' thighs. it'd began clotting already, leaving gelatinous clumps behind.

"you need to start eating more, lou," he muttered, feeling the boniness of the boy's thighs as they shook beneath the rag. "fuck, you've lost so much blood."

"it looks worse than it is."

"will you consider…" he closed his eyes. "will you consider going to a therapist? just once or twice? if you don't like it, or if it's uncomfortable, we can reconsider. but please, lou. please. or a psychiatrist. someone who can actually provide you the help you need, whether it's counseling, or medication, or whatever."

the idea made him remember his time at the hospital with dr. demarest. how suffocating that had been. "no. it's a waste of money. and i rather feel pain than nothing at all, like i said. those pills stifle every aspect of life, i know."

"please, lou. for me. just try."

"i'll think about it."

"we can still go on the vacation. just not new york, if you're not comfortable."

"thanks."

"sorry, i…" harry trailed off, wondering whether if this was really the time. now or never, he decided. "so what does this mean? are we… are we dating now?"

"whatever you'd like to call it, i'm fine with. i've lost all inhibitions, harry, from the moment i told you that you could fuck my brains out and i wouldn't care. do whatever you want." louis said, even more lifelessly than before. harry wondered if the the ocean boy had bled light, rather than blood; if it had slowly trickled out of him, dripping bits of his soul onto the floor.

"what do you want, though?"

"doesn't matter."

"it does. what makes you say that?" he asked, frowning.

"since when has what i've wanted ever mattered?"

"not too late to start, is it?"

"little bit," the smaller boy responded, pouting, with the slight glint he'd always had returning to his eyes. the very sight made harry want to break down all over again.

"so? what do you say?"

"what good does putting a name on what we have do?"

"we don't have to. i don't want it to feel like we're rushing into things. i was just curious, since we were talking about relationships earlier."

louis sighed, completely and utterly defeated. engulfed by the warm blanket of the same starless london sky that was surely watching over them now, like it had the first night they'd met. "i'll give it a try."

if in that very moment, harry thought, his heart were to explode, he wouldn't mind. so he just prayed that this wasn't a dream.