Animal

4

There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.

While Middleston indulged in talk of the new haunted house opening up in their wildlife-free forest, Harry lay awake in bed.

It wasn't his bed with one pillow - this one had two - and his wooden ceiling. He stared at the sky's stars visible through Louis' perfectly positioned window and slowed his heartbeat to match Louis' just because. Exhaustion is not something Harry's felt before, but now his eyes were half-lidded and stubborn.

You're going crazy. That voice was back to being his compadre, his pal.

Maybe he is going crazy. So soon though? He expected indications of a senile retirement before he was overrun by the crazies. Maybe he'll start seeing little green men like Charlie Sheen, or the spirits of strangers he bumped and never apologised to.

Harry rubbed Louis' back to soothe himself, failing when the rabbiting in his chest takes on a whole new level of unhealthy. His ears are ringing and he squeezes his eyes shut, locking out the unpleasantness of outside. A driver's Honda wheels screech as they rub against old tar roadwork, and Harry wants to scream.

You're going crazy. You can't help it.

He tries to shut out that unhelpful echo, shove it back down to the vault in his mind where it hid like a serpent who only surfaced when Harry was vulnerable. Like Harry preyed on flesh, this serpent thrived on his weaknesses.

It's his fault. It's your fault too for letting him do this to us.

Harry looks up because this voice sounded solid, real enough to be coming from.......the doorway. Leaning against the door frame was a reflection of himself, naked and living in a transparent layer of a snake's scales.
He clenches his teeth and rolls over, imminently crushing Louis' body but the boy's a heavy sleep and doesn't even stir.

Gonna kill him then?

"No." Harry doesn't know why he's growling at, basically, himself. He glares at the version of himself who makes a tsk sound and crosses his ankles.

He did this to us-

-so you must do this to him. Another voice enters his plagued mind from the dresser.

Harry knows what he'll see if he looks at Louis' sleeping form, knows it will make him kneel over a toilet. He also knows it's an illusion.

When the third challenger speaks, it's from the window. But for long, Harry?

"No!" He covers his ears and screams so his lungs hurt, his trachea stretches beyond its limit. "Stop it!"

After that, Louis wakes up and the hallucinatory silhouettes vanish. He awakens with a start and puts his hand on Harry's sweaty shoulder, but gets shrugged off.

"Harry?" Louis' sweet voice is the light at the end of Harry's haunted tunnel.

Harry let's his ears free and the ringing is still there, making his room spin like he's on a slanted axis. He grabs Louis around the middle and hugs him against his chest like how a toddler afraid of the bogeyman relies on their teddy bear to fend off the monsters.

With Louis' scent and softness Harry calms down, taming the snarling reptile within and forcing it away from the forefront of his mind. Louis combs through his hair reassuringly, ignoring the painful stretch in his thigh to comfort Harry's rocking frame.

"What happened?" Louis pulls Harry's head up from below his chin to look in his pained green eyes, so raw in its history of neglect and abuse.

Harry just shakes his head and grabbed the comforter off the floor, wrapping it around Louis' shoulders and pulling him back in. It was his silent way of saying he just wanted to hold onto something and not speak.
He wasn't ready to share this part of himself with Louis, he sincerely doubted he ever will be. His brain felt stiff like a time bomb on those last few seconds before an entire bank building turned to ash.