after ovid

the rest of the trip was significantly easier.

before he knew it, harry's birthday had passed and it was time for their flight back to london. they'd celebrated at coney island, with all its light-up tourist attractions and cotton candy that tasted like what harry imagined sunsets to taste like. the younger boy kept trying to prompt louis to eat the cotton candy, the funnel cake, the soft pretzels; everything that amusement parks were known for, but he hadn't succeeded. "live a little," he told him, to which it took all louis had to not respond that he didn't want to live at all.

it was beautiful, though, despite everything. when they rode the ferris wheel, it felt like time had stopped. normally, the world would spin so quickly beneath louis' feet to the point he'd feel like not even his breaths could keep up, but at that moment, when they reached the top, everything stood still. it was like all that remained was the sound of the ocean and harry's eyes.

there was, realistically, no way that the rise and fall of the tide could be heard from the inside the ferris wheel, but louis swore he could hear it anyway. it was either that, or the fast thrumming of his heartbeat as harry had leaned in and closed his eyes.

as if the universe itself was acknowledging it to be a special day, the sun had been shining extra brightly and warmly as they strolled hand in hand on the boardwalk; something louis normally refused to do, but because it was the harry's birthday and because he looked so goddamn hot that day, he complied, even allowing the boy to not-so-subtly slide their entangled hands into his pocket.

harry couldn't help but cry when they'd returned to their hotel room, and found that louis left a card, a rose (where the fuck had he been keeping the rose?), and an expensive-looking necklace on his pillow while he'd been showering. it had a gold chain and a tiny pendant with 'home' written in what he recognized to be louis' handwriting. just the image of him carefully tracing the word when making the order made him think he was going to melt. he looked over incredulously at the boy, whose ears were glowing bright red, who was pretending to read but was obviously too flustered to think straight. harry ran straight to where his boyfriend was, not caring how many things he'd knocked over or how the people in the room beneath them could probably hear his every step.

"you treat me too fucking well, lou," he said, tears accelerating up as he wrapped his arms around louis' waist. "i love you so much, and i haven't even read the letter yet."

"you're welcome, love," the ocean boy smiled softly. "but open the letter when you're not around me. too embarrassing for me to bear. you'll have to wait until we get home, probably."

"what?" harry pouted, "i don't want to wait, though. can i just open it in the bathroom or something?"

"i don't want to face you after. it's far too much, hazza. might cry."

"can i wait until after you're asleep?"

louis let out a nervous laugh, and its sound made the ugly truth seep into younger boy's bones. "i, um. i probably won't be asleep for a while. and i wake up in the middle of the night, anyway."

"lou…" he knew what he wanted to say; he wanted to tell him to stop, to wake him up whenever he felt that way in the dead of night, that he would never be a burden. but those words were somehow choked by his lips before they could reach the air between them.

"i know what you're thinking. it's not that, it's really not. i've just always had trouble sleeping. i know how to cope with it."

"your way of coping is-"

"we're not talking about this right now. we're not going to make this about me, haz. it's your birthday, for fuck's sake," louis pleaded, voice already breaking.

"don't speak like my happiness is more important than your pain." harry said.

"it-"

"it's not."

"sorry."

"where the fuck do you even get those razors from? and why can't i find them anymore? i also can't believe you brought them here with you on our trip, when we're supposed to be having fun."

louis clenched his teeth and swallowed, but he couldn't swallow the pain or the panic or the lump in his throat. "i'm sorry for ruining things by bringing this back up. for bringing something so dirty. don't worry. i won't make you deal with this again."

"that's- that's not the problem, lou. i thought we've been over this."

"just drop it. i'm fine, harry. you, you can read it. if you want. i don't really mind anymore, it's not a big deal, actually."

he wanted to talk back, he really did, but he couldn't risk the boy changing his mind. so he just let out a shaky breath and willed for things to someday improve. it was so tiring, to the point where sometimes he wondered if any of this was actually worth it.

one look in louis' eyes, though, and those thoughts would dissipate like they were never there in the first place.

and how dare they? how dare they manifest when the boy before him had done nothing wrong?

"i'm going to go read it, then, love. if you need anything, let me know. i'm here. and i don't think i need to make this clear, but just in case i do, i'm not mad at you, love. i just want the best for you." he threw a worried glance at the boy before retreating to the bathroom.

when the door closed behind him, he felt his entire façade crumble. he slid down against the wall and curled up against himself. he knew, that if he was so tired, louis must have been feeling it several times as heavily. every single time they had a conversation of that sort, he'd feel the energy drain out of him and the worry suck him dry. it was moments like these, when he needed time for himself, that he'd worry about louis the most. whether the boy was hurting himself, if he was purging, if he was telling himself over and over like he always would, that he deserved to feel the hurt so acutely within him.

he was reminded of the envelope in his hands after he'd clenched his fists and felt the shimmery gold paper weaken in his hold. to: haz, it read, in louis' messy, yet endearing handwriting.

it took a second to open, leaving harry wondering how the boy had sealed it so tightly. he was extra careful and willed his movements to be as delicate as possible, in fear of injuring any of the envelope or letter. this was something that he knew he'd keep for the rest of his life, so he wanted to preserve it as much as possible.

harry,

first of all, i'd like to say happy birthday. i wish i could give you much more than i do. you deserve much more than i am. you've done so much for me, and i'm unable to do the same for you. the fact that you're still here with me is insane to me. the very fact that you were born and whatever higher power made the decision for you to stumble across someone like myself in that bathroom is beyond me. truly, i don't think i could put into words how much you've helped me and how much you mean to me. so thank you, harry. thank you anne, as well, for bringing such a wonderful person in a world like this. you will do great things. i know for sure that whatever path you take with your music, or whatever else you decide to do, you will change many lives.

secondly, i'd like to thank you for being with me all this time. i've been so much work. don't even try to tell me i haven't been. since the very fucking beginning, i have. since that day i woke up in the hospital. since new year's. you're going to tell me it's not my fault, and i know logically that it isn't, but it feels like it is. anyway. this isn't a therapy session, this is a birthday letter. so i'm saving this for a different day.

i just want to tell you that even though i might have trouble showing it, you really do mean so much to me. i really do wish that i could function better, so that i could be a better boyfriend to you. if… if seeing other people for sex is something you think you'd be interested in, i won't stop you. or if you think- if you think that sex is such a game changer for a relationship, i'm willing to grit my teeth and bear it. i'll even act like i enjoy it. anything, harry. it's frustrating especially because i know i could do much better for you, i just, i just don't. so i'm sorry. maybe one day, some disgusting godsend will take my life, and i'd finally be able to repay you through the abscess of my soul.

it's almost a devastating liberation, to write this all to you; everything i've tried to tell you but have failed to. so, i guess this is where all my inner sappiness embodies itself into something more than just the butterflies in my lungs and in my throat. harry edward styles, i'm not exaggerating when i say you are literally the best thing to have ever happened to me. someone like me, at that! but seriously. i don't say it enough—i love you. i really do. not just because you were the one that happened to find me hyperventilating in that bathroom (i'm glad you did�� although i wouldn't have minded if our first meeting was more romantic). not just because you happen to love me. no—i love you because of your eyes, laden with the most beautiful shade of green i've ever seen. i love you because of your voice, warm and thick as it washes over me like high tide. i love you because of the words you say, for some reason so effortlessly laced into works of art.

i told you that you reminded me of sonnet 128. and i stand by my case. it sounds really fucking pretentious, but i still think it's beautiful. i know you'll go looking for it, so i might as well make it easier for you by reciting a few lines here:

how oft, when thou, my music, music play'st

upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds

with thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st

the wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

do i envy those jacks that nimble leap

it's actually mainly about sex, if you couldn't tell. something that i've failed to provide for you. but if you think about it literally, and take the words at face value, it's pure. about someone whose music plays right into the heart. and that's you, isn't it? completely and wholly.

anyway, i don't want to go on for too long. there are plenty more reasons; i could list them for a length longer than all the written texts in the world, but i don't want to make you read that. just know that i'm being completely and utterly sincere. i love you.

and again, thank you for everything that you do. i don't deserve it. please never lose yourself in the process of finding me. happy birthday. if i'm not around for the remainder of them, i'll say it again and again. happy birthday. happy birthday. happy birthday. happy birthday.

big love,

louis

his writing, harry could tell, deteriorated as the letter progressed, as the ocean boy's hand grew tired. there were even drops of what he could only assume to be tear stains, making some of the black words bleed into each other. every single time louis spoke like he wasn't someone worthy of love, someone deserving of divine punishment—his heart wrenched inside of him. as much as he wished he was crying due to the beautiful confessions of love presented to him, that wasn't it. it was the fact that his boy he'd loved so much talked about himself like he was nothing.

he couldn't help himself, not after reading all that. louis told him that he didn't want it to be addressed, that the letter was something too embarrassing for him to ever think about again, but there was no way harry was ignoring it. there was no way he'd let go of the boy a second time.

"louis?" he called, after rushing out of the bathroom.

"yes?" the ocean boy flinched, pursing his lips and frowning. this wasn't supposed to be happening. "i told you, haz, we're not—"

"there's no way you expect me to read all that and never think about it again."

"i didn't say that, love. i just- i'm a shy person, alright? i'd never poured that much of my heart out to anyone, not even jean. i can't just open up and talk about it."

"lou, you have to understand the loving me part isn't what i want to talk about. yes, i'm absolutely over the moon, but that's not the important part. you could love me or not love me, and i'd feel the same. listen to me, just for a second." harry paused, collecting himself. "never. never think that you are undeserving of my love. or any love, for that matter. you're worthy, louis. you're a good person; the most beautiful i've known. you might not believe that now, but please, love, please try. and don't speak like your death would be a favor to me. if anything, i'd never be the same again. i'm already operating under the assumption that i'll be spending the rest of my life with you. that is, only if you agree to it."

"i- i'm sorry. i don't want you to try to make this about me, though. not on your birthday. i just want to make you feel loved and special and spoiled. like i should be. the fact that i'm the topic of conversation right now is a crime and a failure on my part, as your boyfriend."

"i don't fucking care about my birthday, lou." harry snarled, so venomously that the smaller boy thought he could feel a particle of his saliva land on his cheek and burn into his flesh. "not when you're talking like you're not worth everything in the world. like you won't be here next year. because, fuck, lou. you're- you're so fucking special, and i don't know how to convince you of that."

"i'm sorry."

"don't apologize to me. apologize to yourself. you're always, always, always treating me like i'll break under the pressure of loving you. you're always taking such good care of me and putting my happiness above yours. so please, i know you've heard this millions of times, but please love yourself."

for a second, harry could have sworn that the ocean boy's eyes deepened, and he could feel himself sink deeper and deeper—unsalvageably so—into their abyss. "it's hard," louis whispered, hair beginning to fall over his face.

"i know. i know, love." he wrapped his arms around the boy's shaking shoulders.

"the necklace looks good on you," louis brought his fingers up to harry's chest, tracing his fingers over the gold chain.

"you really marked your territory, huh?"

"oh, shut up." he looked down with a soft smile. "i guess so, yeah."

and fuck, harry felt himself fall harder than ever once again (if that was even possible). their bodies were pressed firmly against each other, and he wondered if this feeling would be as fleeting as everything else was doomed to be; he wondered if he'd ever be successful in having to replicate this moment in time again.

and he hoped he wouldn't have to.