dreamcatchers for teeth

the return back to london felt uncannily anticlimactic. it wasn't a grandiose arrival, it wasn't a slap in the face with the smell of home.

it's not that the two weren't glad to be home—travel, regardless of whether it is recreational or work related, is tiring. but new york had this magic about it, one that sang brightly despite the political shambles the american government seemed to be in. if harry didn't know better, he'd have thought the entire trip was merely a figment of his imagination.

ironically enough (and much to harry's dismay), he was struck with this incessant inspiration. he'd been at a wall, striking it over and over to no avail during the weeks leading up to his birthday, but as soon as they'd returned, it was like he'd hit a gold mine of ideas. for lyrics, for melodies, for countermelodies. it took everything he had in him to not make every song he wrote about a certain ocean boy in his life. that'd be far too cheesy, wouldn't it?

it all reminded him of dvorak's from the new world symphony. america, he thought, has always been quite the catalyst for imagination, it seemed. it was one of his favorite symphonies, too. a tune that most everyone who has studied music would know, but despite everything, it held a very special place in his heart. the infamous english horn solo, especially. like he'd told louis before, it wasn't that he was a classical music person. he just came to be one, enthralled by its hold after having to study it.

dvorak wrote from the new world during his time in new york, as well, allowing himself to bask in the highly romanticized version of america. he had a very open mind, taking influences from both african-american and native american folk music. had those groups truly been as free as the music made them sound, it would have been much easier to praise.

it wasn't exactly america that'd struck harry so hard, though. it was the feelings that louis instilled within him. this bone-deep sense of longing that he'd always felt, whether he was with the boy or not. it had always been there, though at varying strengths. right now, however, it was more painful than ever before. like he didn't feel at home unless he was engulfed by louis' arms, or even better, his lips.

and as a result, he had an album in the making. it had a sound that he was quite happy with, and it all just seemed so unreal. just a few months ago, he'd been a lost student studying music with no aim whatsoever, but now, here he was, his future all lined up perfectly for him.

of course, he had his doubts, like any other adolescent that'd planned to go down this path. what if he doesn't sell? what if it's no good, after all? what if he dedicates all of his time to this, and finds out that it's not what he'd imagined it to be, after all? what if he loses everything else important to him, loses louis, in the process of searching for what's best for his career?

and it was louis, being the angel he was, who kept a steady hold on harry���s waist the entire time, reminding him that things were going to be okay, that he was harry styles, that no matter what happened, he'd find a way to work it all out, and he'd never be alone. it made him feel so safe, so warm, and he'd think of the letter he'd received just days before. it made him want to curl up and die. how could the ocean boy treat others with all that care and tenderness, yet be so hard on himself? how could anyone commit such atrocities upon him? and how could he have forgiven them all, even when they hadn't deserved that kind of charitability?

he'd been trying harder to contain the boy's destructive behaviors, but louis would always find a new way to wriggle around it all. he had to come to terms, he realized, with the fact that there was nothing he could do to change or control louis. it all came down to the boy's own willingness to change. the very least he could do, though, was keep him physically as safe as possible, and make things just a little bit easier by supporting him along the entire way.

the first time he'd noticed things shift was the first week after they'd arrived home. louis was writing and going out than ever. it hadn't bothered harry so much as worried him—he wasn't quite sure where the boy would be disappearing off to, after all. he hated to admit it, but he worried that one day he'd never return after one of his departures. he would leave so tired-looking, so void of hope or feeling; concern was surely reasonable under these circumstances. there was no doubt that louis was loyal, but that wasn't the problem. what if he were to be taken advantage of once again? or if the urges one day grew too strong and by the time harry saw him again, the boy would no longer be of this world?

he was determined, now more than ever, to reinstate that habit of holding the boy's hand during and for hours after meals. it had lapsed after christmastime and especially after new year's, but even a blind man would be able to tell that louis was returning back past the threshold that was far beyond 'well'. he was undeniably returning to wasting away.

harry decided to follow louis on one of the ocean boy's bad days, excuse for himself being that he was concerned, which was true, but much of it was also out of morbid curiosity. it took the worst kind of self-control to not wrap him up in layers and layers of jackets after he'd noticed that louis had left wearing only a thin long-sleeved tee. he wondered, if this too, was self-harm in a diluted form; if louis had intentionally tried to feel the unrelenting cold bite at his skin, or if this was a sick way to burn calories. he hoped it was neither, that it was simply negligence and forgetfulness—he told himself that it must have been just that, but he knew that there was nothing that louis ever did that wasn't for some reason. he was diligent, so diligent that it was worrying.

louis stopped at a café that harry hadn't even known was nearby, entering and ordering a black coffee. the younger boy tried his best to slide past the boy without being detected, but at this point, it was more of a miracle than anything that he hadn't been discovered already.

louis took a stool behind the ceiling-length windows with his coffee and leather notebook, still shaking from the cruel temperature. it was saddening; with how violently he'd been trembling, if harry didn't know better, he'd have thought that louis was about to seize like the day that he'd found him on the disgusting park bathroom floor.

his expression had been overtaken by melancholy, though, despite his shaking, which had gone on for so long there was no way that it was out of cold anymore, harry realized. he simply wrote and wrote and wrote, watching as pedestrians walked by on the street, with their thick, downy jackets, the yellow taxi cabs cruising along calmly, the beating of the city's heart. it was grounding, in a way, but also made harry realize how small and insignificant they really were, in the grand scheme of things. terrifying.

louis smiled shyly to himself, and harry it hit harry again, just how whipped he was. how criminally beautiful the boy was.

he thought he'd been hiding pretty well, when louis suddenly turned around, looking harry right in the face despite his hood, surgical mask, and sunglasses. a viable disguise, if he thought so himself, but apparently louis had not agreed.

"i know you're here, haz. decided to humor you for a while, but i can't help but tell you how stupid you look," he chuckled softly, "not to mention shady as fuck."

"wh- you knew the whole time?" harry sputtered incredulously. "so i just looked like an idiot following you?"

"anyone with ears or eyes, or even without ears or eyes, would be able to tell. if i didn't know better, i'd have thought that you were trying to jump me. if you wanted to come along, you could have just asked."

"i do, almost every time. but you just tell me that you'll be fine," he sighed. "besides, i wanted to observe you in your natural habitat. i just want to know what you do when you go out without telling me anything. mission failed, i guess, since you figured out that i've been following you."

"not really. this is where i'm usually off to, or the library, when i go out. i just like to take some time to breathe after bad nights. remind myself of all the beautiful things in the world, you know?"

"you've been having bad nights?"

"just the usual. don't worry about it."

"you never rely on me."

"you're a busy man," he said, gazing downward, in the way he always did when he felt ashamed, harry could tell. and fuck, he looked so damn small in that moment.

"you always let me lean on you, though?"

"i want to help you feel better." he said, "not to mention, i've relied on you enough."

"just, just try, okay? i know me continuously urging you might not do anything. but i'll repeat it until it happens. even if it never does. when you- when you awake from a dream that makes you want to hurt yourself, just wake me up, too, and i'll hold you so tightly, you won't be able to escape."

"that," the ocean boy laughed bitterly. "that might have an opposite effect, considering everything."

"okay, then i'll be gentle. or i'll just hold your hand and tell you stories that give you reasons to keep going." harry closed his eyes and willed his voice to stay steady. this was for louis, after all. he had to keep it together if he wanted any of this to mean anything. otherwise, the older boy would just go all mother bear on him and drop everything to change the subject in attempt to make harry feel better. "i worry. i worry that one day i'll wake up alone in your bed—our bed—and find you in the bathroom, too long gone for me to salvage."

"i'll be okay. and coming here is helping, anyway. it gets my mind off things. i like watching people through the window here, going about their lives at their own pace. imagining what their destinations are like." he paused, pointing at a woman in a tight, professional-looking suit speed walk down the street, each stride long and full of purpose, as if completely unaffected by the cold. "where do you think she's going? what do you think her story is?"

"i don't know," harry said thoughtfully. "maybe she's on her way to a courthouse. maybe she's a crucial part of some case, deciding whether her client lives or dies. or she's the ceo of some company, about to tell a bunch of men what to do like the badass she is."

"i was thinking that she was a lawyer, too. see the briefcase she's carrying?"

"yeah, that's why i said that." he took a deep breath. "if it helps you, then i'm glad you're coming here. maybe we could go together sometime, when you're comfortable, to that first café we went to. the one we had our first date at."

"dreamer's corner?"

"yeah. we made plenty of good memories there. i miss that."

"me too." louis' voice had a lonely air about it, one that puzzled harry so, since he was right there beside him. why would louis be lonely?

"seriously. wake me up anytime when you're feeling that way. i don't care if it's every night; i mean it."

"you know, i'm thinking about writing a novel."

"wh- really?" he responded, having to cut himself off. normally, he'd scold the boy for changing the subject so abruptly, but the news came as such a surprise that he couldn't help but continue listening intently.

"yeah. i've had some inspiration lately. obviously i'm going to continue with school. just want to write some manuscripts and send them in. see where that takes me, you know? i don't want to end up relying on your success."

"since when have you relied on my success?"

"i just know i'm going to. because you're going to end up mad successful while i live in your shadow. which i don't mind. just don't want to leech off of you."

"you won't be. you're going to school for a degree, love." he sighed. "but i support your decision. i think you'll do great. i mean it."

"thanks," the ocean boy whispered, smiling at his cup before frowning after spotting his reflection in the dark liquid.

when they walked back, harry insisted that louis wear his jacket, leaving himself in just a crewneck amidst the somber, gray cold. there was no way, he thought, that he'd ever let louis leave without layers again. this wasn't just a diluted form of self-harm, it was self-harm; albeit self-harm that'd undergone metamorphosis to seem more harmless when it was, in fact, still self-harm.

so that night, when he felt a small, unsteady voice whispering his name and pawing at his chest like a child, shaking and vulnerable, he reached out for the boy and held him like he was made of porcelain. louis' shaking softened in his arms immediately, which harry took as a sign that the boy was okay with his touch.

"i love you," harry breathed, "i love you so much.��

"i love you too," he was cryingcryingcrying, but as long as he was safe, it was alright. this was alright, they told themselves.

"thank you for waking me up."

the ocean boy shook his head before burying his face deeper into harry's chest, unspeaking. he sometimes wishes that he could put into words, this primal urge deeply rooted inside of him to tear himself apart, to ruin himself, but he couldn't. not after he'd just found himself in his mother's closet again, rocking back and forth, blood spilling from his rear. it'd all just felt so real all over again.

but harry's hugs were not matthew's hugs, harry's arms were not matthew's arms, harry's hands were not matthew's hands. they were much broader, warmer, safer. they weren't cold travelling up and down his shirt and boxers, they weren't demanding or forceful. it was just harry with him, and harry would never hurt him. harry would never force him to have sex with him or hit him or tell him that he was worthless. harry would never beat him with the weight of the bible or crucify him against glass in the eyes of everyone in manhattan. no; he was safe, at least, for now, he told himself. he was safe.

"i'm sorry," louis strained, but his voice had failed him, too scratchy from the tears and from the mucus that had slid down his throat as he tried to suppress his sobs. it hadn't mattered, though, he realized, as harry's breathing was already slow and befallen by deep sleep. his arms were still firmly wrapped around the smaller boy's body, though, miraculously. "thank you, haz."

maybe, just maybe, it'll stay like this, he hoped.