only god knows

for louis, he thought a lot about how he was living proof of not only how tainted someone can be, but also of what parmenides, during his time, believed. what is, is, and what is not, is not. in other words, he thought, what he was trying to say was that things are constant—how something is made stays as how it is made. louis, for one, has been, and will always be, the same scared little boy shoved in the closet. no matter how much time passed (another construct parmenides refused to blindly believe in), he was who he was predisposed to be, as much as he hated it. parmenides was the first of all presocratic philosophers who had even thought to question the existence of change. past the atomists, the pythagoreans. his ideas didn't make any sense to anyone back then, and they still didn't now.

many of these ideas were so indescribably outside of what everyone else believed, such as that the world around us is nothing more than an illusion—after all, if the universe once did not exist, then there was no way to prove that it existed now.

obviously, louis didn't believe all this. one would be crazy to. and it's not that he liked to study philosophy or even particularly understood it. this concept had just stuck out to him, one that he'd read somewhere in a book or article, and it'd taken him by the shoulders and throttled him. this is who you are, it told him, no matter how far you run from doncaster, from your illness, from new york, you will never escape from who you really are.

stagnancy is terrifying—that's an undeniable fact. but the thought of change, of the idea that he could have become a much better person than he'd actually turned out to be, was much more nauseating.

he limited the amount of times he'd allow himself to wake harry after a nightmare to just twice a week. even that, he thought, would be too much to ask of the younger boy. it'd get old, somehow, eventually, and harry would leave him if it happened too often. he felt this reality seep into his bones every time he caught harry glance at him with this worried puppy dog expression when the younger boy thought he wasn't looking. luckily enough for him, he'd learned over the years how to anticipate others' emotions and read them like words on a page. to steel himself for sex, for being hit, for being scolded. perhaps that was the reason he liked to lose himself in books so much, he'd realized later on in his life.

harry had finally released his first single out to the public, and producers were already eager to eat him up. labels, record deals, contracts. harry himself hadn't anticipated this sort of success, but louis had—after all, what was there to not like? he was talented, hardworking, beautiful, kind. it'd been clear to him from the beginning that harry was a miracle. that he'd grow to become someone whose talent would be recognized by the world.

when he first listened to the song, he cried. he was one of the first to realize harry's talent, the silky timbre of his voice. but when he heard the words to the song, ones that he knew were directed toward him, it was like discovering harry all over again. it felt too good to be true, that someone like harry had loved someone like him so much that he'd even write a song dedicated to him.

louis was happy for the younger boy, of course. harry, of all people, deserved the glory. he was the type of person who'd use his platform for spreading love and promoting equality, no doubt. but for louis, this meant he was falling further and further behind, that harry was getting further and further away from him, that he was growing closer and closer to realizing how much better than louis he could do. how much louis simply just wasn't worth it.

it didn't help how on edge harry had been during the weeks leading up to the release. they fought over little, mundane things, and there were times where louis closed his eyes and anticipated, anticipated, anticipated. times where he thought, this is really it, this is the end.

but nothing ever came. only wet or soft apologies and harry's hand slowly being wrapped around his shoulders in telegrammed movements, so that someone could tell from a mile away that his intentions were not to hurt louis, but to hold him.

"i love you," the taller boy would always say, "you're my everything."

despite the petty arguments, the busy nature of everything, the stress, harry would still always make louis meals, sit with him as he ate, and hold his hand until the food would move past what was retrievable.

he'd been eating more, as well. it was a conscious decision of his, to make things a little easier for harry. there was no way, he knew, that the younger boy would be able to juggle not only his career, but also his mess of a boyfriend as well.

what is, is, and what is not, is not. obvious, right? something can't be what it's not. louis can't be anyone but the same shivering whore he'd always been. no matter how much he wrote, how much success he stumbled upon, how much time would pass.

he'd been eating more and cutting less. it all seemed better, but it didn't feel better. he still looked in the mirror on the nights where he knew he couldn't bother harry, not with the younger boy's tired eyes and heavy breaths, and realize how disgusting he had become. he was never able to speak to harry about how much he hated his body, though maybe harry had already known. it all just felt so vain, so first-world; he was ashamed of these feelings and the fact that he'd been acting on them all this time. his life was good. he had friends and parents and a boyfriend. so why did he feel this way?

"lou?" harry mentioned, after the initial storm of his debut single had passed. "it's alright if you're not comfortable with this yet, but what do you think about… about moving in together sometime?"

he'd completely forgotten that harry had been staying in his apartment while still paying rent for his own. "you could move in, if you're okay with that. i know you have a bunch of stuff at your place that might not fit right now, and i need to get rid of some of my stuff anyway?"

"no- i mean- yes, but. what would you think about moving into a bigger place? like, somewhere we can fit all my books," harry gave the ocean boy a knowing look, "and your stuff. and a larger bed, maybe. though i don't mind having a small one. it gives me an excuse to be all pressed up against you."

he rolled his eyes in spite of the blush creeping up on his cheeks. "well, i wouldn't mind it. but like, are you sure? your career is just now picking up and everything. it's kind of binding, don't you think? what if you change your mind?"

"if you're talking financially, i think it would definitely be cheaper for us to split costs for one larger place than have both of us pay for two places when we don't even use one of them."

"haz, that's not what i'm talking about it, and you know it."

"i know what you're talking about, lou. i'm not that dense. but i'm telling you right now that i plan to spend the rest of my life with you, if you allow it."

"you don't know that, love. i just don't want you to rush into anything you'll regret. there are plenty of people you're going to meet once your horizons expand from your career."

harry frowned. "it's like you don't want this to work. like you don't want us to work. you can honestly just tell me if you're not comfortable moving in with me yet. but don't you think what we have right now is already practically living together?" he paused. "it's not like i mind paying for my own place. just wanted to try something new with you. if you're not okay with it, then fine, i'll give you time."

he winced at the almost passive-aggressive sounding tone hanging off of harry's lips. that's not it, he wanted to scream, that's not it. he remembered the penthouse, the glass, the bible, the airport. what did it mean to move in with someone? what did that entail? "i… harry, this, i- it's not that i can't see-" he closed his mouth in attempted to collect himself and his words. he felt like he'd dropped them, and they were now rolling in all directions on the ground. he'd look around, though, and see nothing. "i trust you, harry, i'm just lost. you know how hard this is for me. i just wanted to make sure you were certain about this before i…" he trailed off, mouth tasting metallic and dry.

"before you…?"

he sighed, removing himself from all the inhibitions swimming in this head. "it's not that i don't trust you. and it's not even that i mind getting hurt again. just don't want to make you become a person you regret being.? and besides, you might realize that this has all been a mistake. it's a lot of work to move into a place and then move out again, you know? and even if i tell myself that i don't mind getting hurt, there's still something deep inside of me—maybe it's just primal human instinct or whatever—that makes me run from that. i've moved in with people within just months of knowing them. it didn't exactly go well. i've told you this, harry."

"i- i didn't mean to make you feel that way. i'm sorry, love. my tone just now was completely uncalled for." harry closed his eyes and tried to dig around for the best way to approach the boy about this. "if you want to wait longer before making the decision, i understand. i shouldn't have pressured you like that. just know that i'll never hurt you. i mean, i guess that's something someone who would hurt you would say."

turn your emotions off, turn your emotions off, turn your emotions off. offoffoffoffoff. "it's alright harry. let's do it. i just wanted to make sure you knew what you were going into first." he smiled, eyes looking more blue than ever, glossy, as the tears hadn't seemed to collect at the bottom like they usually did, but instead acted like an impenetrable coating of pure defense against raw feeling. "i really don't want to have you regret ever meeting me in the first place."

"never, love. never, never, never. the fact that you would think that just means that i've failed as a boyfriend."

"no, haz. i shouldn't be guilt-tripping you like this. not when you've been nothing but good to me."

"you're not guilt-tripping me, lou. you're telling me how you feel. i don't care what that bastard has told you before, but expressing your feelings and acknowledging that i may have been an underlying cause of those feelings. not the cause but one of the causes. there's nothing wrong with that."

"right…" louis whispered, "right. anyway, if- if you're still, if you're still wanting to move in with me, let's do it."

"only if you're really okay with it." when the ocean boy nodded in earnest, still harnessing tears in his eyes like they'd solidified, he went on. "we could go flat hunting this weekend? grab some lunch on at that one café like we said we would and then look around after?"

"sounds good," louis smiled, come over by calm. it was going to be okay. harry was not, and will never be jean. he had to remind himself of that on the daily. harry isn't jean. harry isn't jean.

so they went.

to be fair, it'd been an early morning and louis wanted nothing more than to sleep. he'd been jolted awake from sleep with his heart lodged in his throat and this overwhelming nausea urging him to empty his stomach, like it'd empty his mind. he'd been unable to fall back asleep and had to wait for hours before harry woke up, spent reading love in the time of cholera. this illness he had wasn't cholera; and he refused to disrespect disease by comparing it to his own (could one even consider what he has a disease?) but it felt the same. he's never had cholera before, of course, but he could imagine the insufferable pain, draining of the insides until feeling like you had nothing left, emptiness, the need for emptiness.

he wondered if he could throw it all away if he tried hard enough.

when harry woke, louis remembered abruptly what that day had meant for them and what they had in store. he felt the terror take a wholesome grip on his neck for reasons he couldn't quite understand; it was just flat-hunting, after all.

they had lunch back at the same homely café they first got to know each other at. like its name, it truly did feel like a corner for dreamers. could he consider himself a dreamer at all? his dreams tended to be nightmares that shook made his guts slosh around—did that even count as dreaming?

the atmosphere of the place hadn't changed since the last time they came despite the fact that everything else had. despite the snow on the ground, despite their relationship, despite how little time, in retrospect, had passed, in comparison to the series of events that they'd suffered.

it proved parmenides' claim, he thought, that everything was a constant, unchanging mass of nothingness, of listlessness. even human souls, he thought, could mimic the seasons. ever-moving but always bound to that cycle of certainty despite feeling uncertain.

he'd even ordered the same salad as he did the first day, to which harry frowned at. "that's not enough," he said, "this is proof that you're going back. you've been doing so well, so please try, love."

but he hadn't. he couldn't bring himself to, at least not on that day in particular. harry probably understood after looking in his eyes, because his mouth slowly shut and he just sighed, allowing him to slide after ordering a smoothie to share among the two of them ("two straws, please. paper, if possible"). though he had only a few small sips and had harry finish the rest.

surprisingly, it was the younger boy who'd been more picky when they were searching for suitable places to live. even the realtor had grown frustrated with his indecisiveness. for louis, maybe it was because of the suffocating clouds in the sky that reminded him how things will always drift apart, but he felt quite ambivalent about what kind of place they chose.

"too high up," harry would say, "too many windows, bathtub too deep, no bars to grab onto in case of a fall, floor too slippery and unyielding."

he'd fight back, knowing that harry was making decisions on his behalf, in worry for him. but he wasn't a cripple, he tried to argue, he was just suffering from the consequences of past mistakes. "just choose what's best for you, love. it really doesn't bother me as much as you think."

"it bothers me."

so he just let out a tired breath and nodded.

they'd went through several places that louis didn't feel one way or the other about before one had really struck him—a condo in the heart of london, exterior almost completely covered by overgrowth. an old lady had lived on one side of the apartment, and the other was vacant. he wondered why the price had been so cheap for such a spacey place, in the middle of the city, no less. when he asked, he was told that it was because someone had died in the apartment just two years prior—a suicide, the realtor claimed.

harry frowned at this, about to shoot the offer down until he took one look at how the protective coating of tears had left louis' eyes, how they shone more vulnerably than ever before. so he accepted immediately; what else was there to do when louis looked like he really felt at home? how could a place, they'd never been before, they both thought, bring someone this much solace in the first place?

maybe it was the high ceilings or the mossy, almost glazed over windows, or the way light leaked into the place through the skylights, scattered about the entire building? maybe it was the way the walls carried themselves, allowing their voices to resonate clearly, yet always catching on the bits of carpet that could be found in some rooms but not others? or the way it reminded him of how it felt to look right in harry's eyes; all green and warm and earnest and present.

either way, it was the place harry decided on, leaving both the realtor and louis astounded at the hasty decision. "are you sure?" louis asked, biting his bottom lip.

harry just smiled fondly and pulled the ocean boy in for a tight hug. "it's perfect, don't you think?"

and maybe it was, or it wasn't, but both options seemed okay to him. it certainly wasn't home (what truly is home?), but he felt like it had the potential to be. he really did.