They say when the sun sets, sunflowers face each other. But what if there was no other sunflower to turn to? What if each sunflower had been plucked out, leaving one to its misery, lone and terrified, with no kind of its own, a cruel world in its wa...
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Louis. His name was Louis. The name rolled off Harry's tongue like ice on a warm surface. Louis was kind and like a sweet breeze, his words were light and comforting, eyes like an ocean that calmed Harry, but sometimes they were like sapphires of great fortune, which always reminded Harry that he could never possess Louis himself.
Three days ago, Harry had decided to end his life, the same number of days he has known the alpha who lives across the hall for. Louis visited him everyday, talked to Harry about anything and everything, half of which Harry could not make sense of, but he nodded along, content with the knowledge that someone thought of him enough to visit him. He learnt fast that Louis was not like the alphas he had encountered in his life, but he did not hold onto that thought, for he knew that only time would be the judge of that, that was if Harry had a future.
It still haunted him, the uncertainty of the vast future. The thoughts lingered inside him when the warmth of Louis was gone, leaving him to the silence of his flat, when his thoughts began to scream. Bile rose inside him each moment he thought of how unrevealed the world was to him. Until three days ago, all he knew of the world was the town that he left behind, the flat that was his culprit, the park, the mart and the hospitals. But now the only addition was Louis the kind hearted alpha, the rest was a monster in the dark.
He did not know how to crack a conversation, nor did he ever master anything. He was not even sure where people applied for a job, or if an omega like him would even be allowed in the society. He knew the city was big and loud and bright, having watched it with longing eyes for years, sitting on the balcony while his arm or his leg or his head throbbed because of whatever reason Carl had hit him. He admired the city just as much as he feared it.
He watched the grey of the final traces of the night break into clouds coloured in hues of fire as the sun began to rise, his eyes moist with tears of an unslept night. He lay there for hours and hours and hours, thinking until no thoughts made sense, but he knew he was scared, utterly, helplessly scared. The sheets were soft, the fresh scent of laundry still lingering in them as they brushed against his skin, the air not yet warm, albeit a June morning.
He stared at the ceiling, time flowing like a handful of water from one's clutch, the hues of the morning turned into the brightness of midday, the city chattering in a million voices. He realised how the world never stopped for anyone, she kept on moving, bringing new days and new nights, going on and on like a clock, except, sometimes even clocks stopped, but the world did not.
Louis visited him around five in the evening, so Harry had no hurry to get out of bed. What would he do if he stepped out anyway? The flat did not grow people in it magically, nor did it provide any sort of affection. The emptiness only reminded Harry of his painful truth; he was all alone in a world that was home to a population of seven billion.
Harry missed his mum. He knew it was a pitiful thing to be missing someone even after a decade of their passing, but he could not help it. He was ten when she passed in his arms, warning him of how cruel the world was. Harry had not understood her back then because to him the world was as colourful as the balloons his dad bought for him everyday. But soon he was no stranger to the cruelty of it — father too drunk to even be present in his mum's funeral, later too blind to realise who he was hitting was actually his son. At first, Harry thought it was a mistake, his father hitting him, that somehow he was too blinded by grief and liquor. It felt oddly comforting to lie to himself, live in a fantasy. But then his father would call out his name like it was a curse, his hands that once stroked Harry with love, began to leave marks in its wake.
