Shattered Foundations, Unbroken Love : a Larry Stylinson Tale

A Flicker of hope

Harry was still sitting by the shattered window, staring blankly at the wasteland beyond the city, when he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. At first, he thought he was imagining it-a trick of his weary mind, exhausted from days of isolation. But as the footsteps grew louder, his body tensed. It wasn't an animal or debris shifting in the wind. It was someone.

He slowly stood, his muscles stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. His heart raced, the instinct to run screaming at him, but he was too tired to move. Too tired to care, really. If it was someone hostile-looters or soldiers-what did it matter? He had nothing left to lose.

As the figure emerged from the shadows, Harry squinted, trying to make out their features. The person was dressed in worn, but clean, clothing, carrying a heavy backpack. A long scarf was wrapped around their neck and face, hiding most of their features. They looked like a volunteer-a rescuer.

"Hi," the person called out, their voice muffled by the scarf but unmistakably human. They stopped a few feet away from Harry, holding up their hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm with a relief group. Are you alone? Do you need help?"

For a moment, Harry couldn't respond. His throat felt tight, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. Help? Did he need help? Could anyone even help him now?

The volunteer took a cautious step closer, pulling the scarf down to reveal a young man, his face lined with exhaustion but kind. His eyes scanned Harry's tattered clothes and the dried blood on his hands. "You've been out here a long time, haven't you?" he said softly. "We've been combing through this part of the city, looking for survivors. There aren't many left."

Survivors. The word hit Harry like a punch to the gut. It felt like an accusation, a reminder of the cruel randomness of survival. He didn't want to be a survivor. Not like this.

"I... I don't know," Harry finally croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. He took a shaky step back, unsure of what to say, unsure if he even wanted to be saved. What would it mean to accept help? To let someone try to fix what was broken inside him?

The volunteer nodded, as if he understood the storm of emotions swirling behind Harry's eyes. "It's okay. You don't have to decide anything right now. But you should at least let us help you get somewhere safe. We've got a camp set up outside the city. It's not much, but there's food, water, medical supplies... other survivors."

Other survivors. The thought sent a chill down Harry's spine. The idea of being around other people, people who had lost everything too, felt both unbearable and somehow comforting. But how could he face them? How could he look them in the eyes when he felt like a hollow shell of who he used to be?

The volunteer pulled out a crumpled form from his pack and held it out to Harry. "We're registering people as we find them. It's just a standard rescue application. Name, age, any medical issues. It helps us keep track of who's out here and what kind of care they might need."

Harry stared at the paper in the man's hand, feeling a strange sense of detachment. It was just a piece of paper, a formality. But somehow, it felt like more than that. It felt like a decision-a step toward something. Something that both terrified and intrigued him.

With trembling hands, he took the paper and the pen the volunteer offered. He crouched down on the debris-strewn floor and started filling in the blanks. His name came first. "Harry." It felt foreign to write it, as if the person who owned that name no longer existed. He paused for a moment, staring at the name, before forcing himself to continue. Age? 17. No medical issues that he knew of, but he wrote "trauma" in the space for additional information. It seemed fitting.

When he handed the form back, the volunteer smiled gently. "Thanks. This will help us make sure we get you the right kind of support. I'm Louis, by the way. We've got some volunteers that can come and take you to the camp. You don't have to go right now if you're not ready, but we'll be around if you change your mind."

Louis's kindness unnerved Harry. He wasn't used to kindness anymore. The world had been so harsh, so unforgiving, that this small act of human decency felt jarring.

"Why are you helping me?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Louis looked at him, his expression softening with understanding. "Because you're still here. Because you matter. We've all lost something, but that doesn't mean we stop caring for each other. We're all trying to survive in our own way."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He wanted to believe that he mattered, but the weight of his guilt and grief was too heavy, too all-consuming. Still, he didn't have the strength to push Louis away.

Over the next few days, Harry stayed in the shadows of the ruined city, waiting for the volunteers to return with the rescue team. His mind raced with indecision. He had no idea how to face this new reality or whether he even deserved to be rescued. The days bled into one another, with Harry wavering between wanting to run and wanting to surrender to whatever help came his way.

Then, one afternoon, a group of volunteers, including Louis, returned with a van. They called out to Harry from the edge of the collapsed warehouse, their voices friendly but insistent.

"You ready, Harry?" Louis asked as he approached him, his eyes kind but steady. "We've got everything set up at the camp. There's a family there who's been taking in survivors. They're good people. They want to help."

Harry felt his heart lurch. A family? The word struck him with an intensity he wasn't prepared for. Could he really accept the care of another family after losing his own? Could he let himself be vulnerable like that again?

He stood frozen, his body rigid with fear. "I don't know if I can," he muttered, staring at the ground. "I'm... broken. I'm not the person I used to be."

Louis placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, not forcing him but offering quiet reassurance. "You don't have to be the person you used to be, Harry. It's okay to be broken. Everyone here is, in one way or another. But you don't have to carry it all alone."

Harry's eyes stung with unshed tears as he looked up at Louis, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel something other than numbness. It wasn't hope exactly, but it was close.

He nodded, the movement small but enough to signal his decision.

"I'll go," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll go."

                                        ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

THEY FINALLY MET :)