with thy sweet fingers,

the worst thing about walking the streets of manhattan was living in the constant fear that he'd stumble across jean again. a terrifying thought, really, but at the same time, he wondered what it would be like to meet him again, to see those reptilic features in a place past just his dreams. had he changed? did he have a partner? had he grown his hair out? would louis feel the same tugging feeling he'd always feel when they were together, begging for pain?

he would see jean's face and physique in strangers, and feel his heart drop instantly, only for the man's features to fade as more of the stranger is revealed, reminding him that he was safe.

it was the day before harry's birthday. they were walking down a street on their way to a nearby café when louis' mind was struck by a sudden, intense wave of anxiety. he shook; from what, he didn't know. everything seemed to shift beneath him, like he'd been standing on aone of earth's faults. everything was too loud, too overwhelming, too bright, too suffocating. the smell of people and exhaust that he once loved had been reborn, this time much harsher and much more ruthless. it was imperative, he felt, for him to leave right now. to run as far away as possible and never come back. to choose somewhere beautiful to rest, to finally disappear.

they were at an intersection and the light had just turned green, but his feet were rooted deeply into the concrete.

"lou? what's wrong?" the younger boy asked worriedly.

jean was beside louis again, hand slinking around the small of his back. "i love you so much," he told louis, "what we have, is really everything."

he once considered that day to be the best he'd ever lived. it was him and jean's fourth or fifth date. the day that he became fully convinced that jean was going to be his forever.

jean had gotten him a promise ring that morning, given it to him right before their date. it was extravagant, almost like a proposal. he'd gotten on one knee and louis felt loved like never before.

"lou? do you need to go to the bathroom? what's wrong?" harry grabbed the ocean boy's shoulder, which proved to be a mistake, because he pulled away so violently that he stumbled backward into an irritated looking young man.

there were beads of sweat forming on louis' forehead despite the bite the end-of-january air. "i…" he struggled to focus his eyes with everything seeming like it was crumbling. "i'm alright." the light was red by now, and they were still in the middle of a dense pack of people of all types trying to get past them impatiently.

harry was careful to make his movements slow and telegraphed, only touching the boy when necessary, and extremely gently and fleetingly, as if the touches were never there in the first place. "c'mon, boo. let's get you somewhere less stimulating," he whispered.

"it's-" he let go of a shallow breath he didn't even notice until then that he'd been holding. "it's fine. just need to take a break. we can keep going."

"are you sure? i really don't mind at all, i promise."

"yes. don't worry, harry. this is supposed to be enjoyable for you. i can handle myself. just tripped a bit, is all."

"okay," the curly-haired boy said skeptically.

so they trekked on, holding onto each other for steadiness. the café wasn't far off; just a few minutes by foot from the intersection at which louis had nearly collapsed.

it was a soft place with a rustic feel amidst effervescent city life. a good change of pace, they agreed. they served foods that had this trendy, urbaneness about them. harry ordered a coffee that seemed to be more sugar than actual coffee, like he always had, as well as a bagel with lox and cream cheese. he didn't really know exactly what lox was, but the way the café advertised it made it seem appealing enough. louis, on the other hand, got only black coffee and a salad with no dressing (the no dressing part was emphasized in his order), to which harry furrowed his eyebrows worriedly at, but couldn't bring himself to retort.

and god, it's a full-on relapse at this point, the younger boy realized, and he hadn't been doing anything about it. things were going so well until new year's, and since then nothing had been the same. it makes sense, of course, but it just made the entire situation worse, and it was unbearable to watch the boy go down the same path—a one-way ticket for a trip back to the hospital.

everything he'd tried felt like a step forward and two steps back. louis would open up, then push down his needs until he keels over, open up again, and collapse again.

"you know," louis began, pushing his salad from one side of the bowl to the other without actually bringing anything to his mouth. it made harry remember how things were when they'd first met, and he wanted to cry all over again. "maybe we should go to the library."

"oh," harry responded carefully, unsure of whether louis was referring to what he was thinking. "you mean…?"

"yeah. the new york public library. where i met him. it's beautiful, you know. i think you'd like it."

"i'm flattered that you're thinking about what i like, but i really- i really don't think we should put you through that, if we don't have to."

"it's fine. i'm over it, it's been so long already." louis cursed his voice for shaking, for betraying him.

"it's been two years, lou. for trauma, unprocessed trauma at that, two years is nothing."

"firstly, it's not trauma, and secondly, maybe this is the chance to process it. whatever it is that you're referring to."

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," harry wanted to scream; at louis, at jean, at the world, at the café for being so damn peaceful when nothing is peaceful, not when louis had gone through so much pain and he hadn't been there all those years ago. hadn't been able to prevent anything. "it sounds like beautiful when you put it like that, but you're just going to feel everything rushing back at you and you'll be back at where you were two years ago again."

"harry, i have to. we're here already. this is a part of myself i want to show you. the library is beautiful, too. so beautiful. you would love it," he exhaled. "unless you- unless you don't want to. which i'm fine with. don't want to force you to do anything."

harry threw his heads into his hands and groaned. "that's not it, louis. i'm just worried about you. you're not eating, you're cutting yourself to shreds on the daily, you have these inexplicable, out-of-nowhere flashbacks, you toss and turn and sweat buckets at night; what am i to do? what am i to say?" he was crying again, they were at a café, in public, on their vacation, a day before harry's birthday, and louis just and the boy he loved cry again. what kind of boyfriend was he?

"i'm, i'm sorry." he wilted considerably. "let's go elsewhere. there are a lot of places to see."

"no- no, that's not what i meant, love. if you're serious about going to that library, then we will. it's not like i have anything against it—it's your trauma, not mine. just wanted to make sure weren't trying to set yourself up for failure."

louis rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, smirking mischievously in attempted to calm things down just slightly. it'd worked. "and why would i ever do that, hm?"

"oh, shut up. you're such a dunce."

"you love me though?"

"unfortunately," the younger boy shook his head. quickly swiping up the stray tears that'd escaped his eyes. "but seriously. you've come so far, and i'm so proud of you."

"stop with the sappy shit."

"it's true, though."

he was about to retort when he stopped himself. "yeah. yeah, i guess."

harry smiled fondly at the boy, wanting to melt. this was one of the many things that would have started a huge argument just a couple of months ago, but here they were, surrounded by yellow light, dark wood, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, laughing. and it was alright, it really was.

by the time they were ready to leave, harry's plate was empty and the ocean boy's remained full. the sight of louis returning to old habits left a pang in harry's chest.

"let's get going," louis said, dumping the contents of his plate into the garbage bin, causing the younger boy to wince. "feels like i'm about to give you a piece of myself. it was my comfort place when i studied here."

it started snowing on their walk to the bus stop; heavy white flakes dusted the city, giving everything this characteristic shine. louis' narrow shoulders shook so violently in the cold that harry worried that the trembling would eat away at all the boy's remaining energy; the energy he couldn't spare if his organs were to continue working, his heart to continue beating. his lips started becoming the same color of his eyes, and for a split second, harry couldn't stop himself from thinking that it was beautiful—his ocean boy was truly an ocean boy—blueblueblue.

to his relief, the blue left louis' lips as they arrived at the library, overcome by warm air and warm lights. louis was right; it really was beautiful. a high ceiling with a mural of the sky, long stretches of windows that allowed natural light in, tall shelves lining the walls so thoroughly.

rather than panic, it was melancholy that had taken hold of louis' features. as if he wasn't deflated enough already after lunch, it seemed that even more light had left his body—harry couldn't tell if he would prefer louis in this state, so lifeless and doll-like, or in his usual state of panic, too fast and too nauseating.

his eyes wouldn't lose the glossy shine even as harry repeated his name so loudly that people looked over and scowled at them.

"lou? lou, please. let's find a good book to read, we can look around, alright? show me what you used to spend your time doing. i'm here with you, okay? i won't let you get hurt."

the ocean boy blinked, "oh. yeah. erm, sorry. yeah. i-" and he was vacant, so vacant. this is living proof, harry thought, that despite everything that it seemed, even the sun might be hollow in its endeavors.

"hey, it's alright. take your time. i'm here for you, though."

"i'll be okay. just give me some space, you can look around. i'll find you in a little bit. need some room to breathe, is all."

harry couldn't refuse, not when louis had asked him so solemnly. he hated that about himself; he was so blinded by love that he couldn't bring himself to do what he logically knew was best for louis. it was appeasement at its finest; he might as well be named neville chamberlain, he thought bitterly.

louis was sat at one of the long tables, fingers rubbing against the glossy wood like he was soothing it. the empty expression hadn't left, and it'd been almost comical, how distant he was. harry didn't realize, until then, how someone could be at arms' reach, yet still just far enough to slip between his fingers every time. it was terrifying.

he'd come across the 's' authors in the library. salinger. he'd been born in this very town a century earlier, writing about war. it was less than a decade earlier that he passed, which harry, for some reason, was blown away by. he lived for nearly a century, wrote vivid accounts about war and post-war life, and was now considered one of the most renown authors in history. it'd be amazing, he thought, for himself to make that kind of impact. louis, without a doubt, would.

his favorite work by salinger, by far, was for esme—with love and squalor, a short story in nine stories, a collection of stories revolving around post-war america. despite his limited experience and understanding of such topics, he enjoyed pondering them. X, a veteran affected deeply by the horrors of war, was so dismissed and misunderstood by his family and everyone he'd trusted. only esme, a thirteen-year-old girl, ended up truly digesting the difficulties that came with having watched such atrocities that were committed.

she gave him her father's wristwatch, which served as a beacon of hope even when he couldn't remember where it was from. but he'd always see it feel this warmth growing inside of him when he'd see it. harry hoped that he could be esme to louis, as well. maybe he should buy louis something he could carry around forever. a watch, maybe. or a chain. or a ring.

louis was exactly where harry had left him, even after he finished rereading the short story. he still looked glazed, but significantly less so—disoriented, if nothing else.

"want to look around with me?" harry attempted. louis looked up, which had startled the younger boy, his eyes were much clearer than they were before. penetrating, almost. this was the blue that he'd fallen in love with, he thought. "i- uh, it'd be a waste to not walk around, no?"

"y-yeah. yeah, let's go."

they proceeded, walking further way from each other than they ever had. the stiffness made harry want to grab the boy and shake all of it out of him. like shaking him would bring him back to life.

they were back next to the 's' section of the library. louis stopped at shakespeare, gaze falling on the book of sonnets. harry wondered whether it was the same book that he held that day two years earlier, when jean had first approached him.

"want to get high." the ocean boy whispered, almost inaudibly, and harry wondered if he'd imagined it.

"what?"

"it's actually a lot easier to get your hands on here, than it is in london, at least," he sighed. "i used to do some soft stuff when i lived around here."

harry thought back to the syringe, spoon, lighter, and white powder he'd found along with the razors back in that cupboard. "you don't do it anymore?"

"nah. i was never addicted, just used every once in a while. it just makes things feel a bit emptier than they usually do, but in a good way, you know?"

"empty in a good way?" harry inquired. "i've never thought about it like that."

"you've done…?"

"hasn't every student? the only variance, really, is how much and how often someone ends up using."

"i guess so." he let out a lofty breath. "just being here reminds me of all the times i tried to escape being around jean by going to the library and getting high out of my mind. miserable, but worked out."

"you won't have to do that anymore."

"yeah," the smaller boy said. "yeah."

it felt like something had lifted from the air; the murky sadness had suddenly evaporated into nothingness. snow still fell heavily outside. it created this homely feeling among the two boys and the rest of the people in the library, whom all seemed to have grown aware of the blanket of warmth about to cover everything harsh.

harry's hand was in his, louis suddenly realized (when did that happen?), and everything had felt safe in a way he'd never known before.

"we," harry interrupted the ocean boy's thoughts. "we should get high together sometime. you know, stay safe and everything, but just like trip a bit, you know? maybe we'll learn something about each other."

"what, and spill the same philosophical bullshit we did the first night?" louis laughed.

"you loved it, and i know this for a fact."

"oh, shut up." louis looked up at him so angelically, pain and fear draining from his face like the stopper had been pulled, replaced by consolation. "are you familiar with sonnet 128?" the younger boy shook his head. "you should read it sometime. it's how i feel about you."

"lou," harry breathed, pressing his lips to the boy's forehead, "you are so, so brave."