Symbolism & Innocence

Saftey

WHATS THIS??? AN UPDATE??? YES IT IS.

A/N: I hope you'll all notice that my writing style has changed- I've been working an awful lot on it and over time I will start to re-write and edit this story. I'm sorry it took so damn long to write this (more like get the motivation to write this) but I promise you I'm back on track and ready to finish this story.

The soft murmurs of the telly remained nearly silent compared to the beating heart that laid beneath the small boy. Once, twice, thrice it beat. Thick smoke coated the air as a cigarette hung from his dainty fingers, suffocating the small apartment that were being illuminated by small fairy lights.

He presses his nose to the faint bit of hair on the older man's chest, eyes still shut, hoping to fall asleep once again. Despite the rumbling in his stomach and the fag that is soon turning to a small piece of ash, he remains grounded to the safety this man provides him with.

Safety- such an odd word. The way it rolls off of his tongue in soundless syllables- almost as if it was a second name. And in a way it might as well have been, because this man- this gorgeous man- had him rapped in a protective layer created by graceful touches and whispering prayers. As if he was the God to be worshiped. He hadn't been like this in so long- it had been years since this security washed over him. His own mother hadn't even given him such... such a warm home. Even if this home were in the arms of someone he barely knew.

Slender fingers carved through his feathery hair, blue eyes slamming shut as if the stench of smoke wasn't cause enough for the older man to know of his waking. He tried to still his shoulders from their uneven lifting, but he knew Harry could feel his heart beating rapidly from where it sat above his stomach- his strong, defined- no, it's still too early.

"Lou, darling?"

There's movement under him- and he refuses to acknowledge it because if he does he feels like they'll be ripped from this little bubble they've created. Their little safety.

What was only a few moment's ago where Louis' head laid still on his broad chest, is now tucked into the crevice of his neck. Even though his eyes were squeezed shut he can still feel the intensity boring from Harry's eyes, scanning his face which more than likely has patterns etched into his face from the single neckless slung around his neck.

Funny, a cross carved into my cheek, he chuckled to himself. The irony.

Stop looking at me, he wants to say. I probably look like shite.

But instead he just burrows his head deeper into Harry's neck, nose rubbing along the prominent veins, the blue barely visible. I can feel his heart here too...

The small carton that laid next to the small pudge that was Louis' stomach, was picked up by sleepy, slow fingers. Flipping the top of the menthol cigarettes Harry grabbed a single one and placed it between his lips, Louis flickered the wick and offered it to harry, embers burning an angry red in the dimmed room.

The once clearing room now filled up with the burning smoke, wisps of white slipping from his plump lips. Jesus Christ, he thinks, closing his eyes tightly willing the unholy thoughts away.

Somewhere, only a few miles away a trains whistle screeches; now normally this would be Louis' favorite time of day. He'd go out and wait by the track, the wind rustling his whole being as the train zips by him, not even more than three meters away from him. It was the only time he deemed himself alive, even though he was so close to death.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry whispers. The air too heavy for normal volume talking, but his whispers seemed as if they were echoing off of louis' apartment walls and slamming straight into his hearing, darkness caught between the two's vision. The only source of light being the lit cigarettes and the glow of blue and green eyes.

Louis lifts his head from its place and looks into Harry's eyes, breath shallow and eyes hooded.

"You." He whispered.

1qL