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𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙮 — 𝙤𝙨𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨
☕
HARRY HAD SEEN better days. Some days, like yesterday, he was on top of the world; flying high in the wind with no end in sight. He thought there was no landing, no stopping this feeling, as he kissed Bren sweetly and as he held the other boy's hand. As they looked at the stars from the window of his dorm, there together on his bed just lying there. It was innocent and so incredibly sweet and he loved every minute of it.
But it ended, as it always did. An amazing day for him turned into a terrible day the next. Because of course the universe had to balance itself and letting Harry feel too great – too above the world – for one day was enough and then, of course, he had to have so much pain. He couldn't just be happy, painless, and young; he had to be forever youthful with so much pain.
Because he was always in pain, wasn't he? He was always crying out for the pain to end but it never would. He knew that, he knew that his limited days would be spent in so much pain until he couldn't walk anymore or something like that. There was no happy ending for him, it just wasn't written that way. No happy beginning, no happy end, only a joyful middle right near the end. That was the cards he was dealt.
And no many people glorified the thought of being forever young. Looking for the fountain of youth, putting pressure to live the best life during youth because everything goes downhill with age, dying young and looking so incredibly beautiful. It was what everyone dreamed for; it was the hopes of everyone. An eternal Sleeping Beauty – only this time they were dead, no prince was coming, and they would never wake.
Forever young.
God, he hated it. Harry would give anything to be old and ugly, living a full life. Times would change and he wouldn't be this youthful person anymore – might not even talk with any of his friends that he had now – but at least he would have lied a long life. At least he would have more time and maybe not all of it in pain, knowing that any day could be his last. He didn't want to die young and beautiful.
That was his dream. But like all other dreams of his, it would be inevitably crushed. Osborns didn't get happy endings; Harry especially.
Everything inside him hurt, everything inside him ached and burned and make him want to pound his head in and just die already. He didn't want to be in pain anymore; he just wanted it to stop, but it never would. Even weed wasn't working anymore for him – none of the regular drugs were. He was in pain and the ecstasy, weed, and everything weren't working for him. He was still in pain, he still felt it, he was connected and it wasn't ending.
And now he was staring at a bottle of painkillers – high ones, definitely stolen – and was contemplating whether or not he should take them. On one hand, it would help with the pain. Maybe he could feel numb for a while, dead to everything but yet still so alive, or maybe he would take too much or too little. He could still be in pain or he could die.
