Caught [l.s] (boyxboy)

IM Unsure

hiyas 

how's everyone doing? (everytime i ask this, you all tell me your lives are horrible, but you never tell me why. i want to know. i care about you. each and every single one of you.)

double update tonight if i can manage just because it's been a gorgeous evening so far and i'm feeling especially generous. i make no promises, please don't hold me to that.

thanks for everyone who came to the tinychat last night, it was a proper good time (until "jonas" and "halloweenspirits" orwhateverthefuckhisnamewas decided to make an appearance) and we'll definitely have to do it again. how many of you guys were there?

dedicated to @fayfayyay (: hope you're doing well, fay, thank you for reading. ilysm x

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"Hi," Louis says softly. He looks over his shoulder–both of them, just to be sure–and clears his throat. He feels ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Blood warms his cheeks despite the frigid temperature in the air. Louis rubs his fingers against the rough material of his blue jeans. His breath escapes his chapped, parted lips in a gust of white fog. It’s terribly cold in London for a November afternoon. He isn’t at all surprised when a single flurry lands on the material of his puffy (Harry had insisted) jacket.

A lovely day for visiting the cemetery, he supposes.

The thing about being Louis is that people are everywhere. Literally. They’re on his front doorstep, outside his windows, down the street, up the hill, around the corner; he can never get a break. He appreciates the amount of support he receives, honestly. He does. But, like every ungrateful popstar and whiny celebrity, he sometimes wishes he could get away from it all. Not for his own gain, but for hers.

He knows she wouldn’t want the soles of heavy shoes beating down on her resting place.

Louis used to think that the only people who actually talked to tombstones were crazy people. He was right. Louis sure as hell is as far from stable as he can possibly get. The longer he thinks these things to himself, the more he begins to accept it. Facts are facts.

“Um, ‘s really cold out today.” Pause. “I know you liked the cold. It made you feel especially warm and stuff. You know, I used to think that didn’t make any sense. But I guess now it does, ‘cause it’s pretty amazing that I can stand here and still breathe,” Louis exhales for emphasis, “even though my bits feel like they’ve frozen solid. The world’s funny like that.”

He holds his breath and if he really cranes his neck toward the ground he can just kind of sort of maybe hear her laugh. Almost almost almost. “My oh my, Eve, your laugh could brighten anyone’s entire day.”

“It’s just not fair that you’re gone,” Louis continues, “and it’s not fair because I need you. Does that sound selfish?” He slumps to the ground, leaning against the thickness of her stone. The back of his head hit the cold solidness. “I’m a selfish man living in a selfish world. I don’t want you back because I miss you. I do miss you, of course. But that’s not a reason to drag you from, erm, an eternity with your creator. If you even believed in one.”

He breathes for a moment, just breathes. He needs something to bring him back to earth. “Sometimes I wonder what’s in store for me after this life. Y’know, it’d just be nice if someone could tell me now while I’m still alive. I don’t want my last few minutes to be panicky because I’m worried about going to hell.” He chuckles to himself, and god, he sounds like a madman. Maybe he is a madman. “Scratch that. This is hell. We’ve all been fooled.”

Louis’ voice rises several notches in volume. “Do you hear that? This. Is. Hell. Stop trying to change the world for the better, it’s not going to work. It’s never going to work. We’re all here to suffer and cry and wish that things were different. But they’re never going to be different. You can pray all you want and you can hope and dream and, fuck, it’s not going to do anything. No one is happy. The people with money aren’t happy. The people without money aren’t happy. The people with the smiles and the people with the frowns are the same fucking people.” Louis forces himself to stop, to breathe, to calm down. “And I just want you to come back and help me realize that I can do this.”

Louis bangs his head against the stone lightly. It hurts, but the pain is tolerable. Like everything else, it fades away after a few moments. And then he has to open his eyes and move on to better things. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Harry’s in the car. He’s probably got the seats heated up for Louis with Christmas music playing through the speakers, curls tucked under a cute hat that’s just as red as the tip of his nose. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he had found hot chocolate somewhere down the street to warm Louis up, just because that was how thoughtful and sweet Harry was. /He’s going to be devastated./ And Louis doesn’t know if he can do that to Harry. Part of his brain tells him that the solution to this would be to continue keeping it from Harry and hope that he never finds out. But, wouldn’t that just make it so, so much worse?

That’s the thing. Louis doesn’t know.

“I’m the type of person who needs other people to tell them what to do sometimes, Eve. I need someone else to blame if it all goes wrong. And that sounds so fucked up, but that boy over there?” He points in the general direction he had come from, but Eve is dead and he knows she can’t hear him anyway. “I love him. And if he walks out, Jesus, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s only the start of our relationship, Evs. I can’t let him go before we even – motherfuck, I just can’t do it. But I need to. Right?”

He quiets for a few minutes. Two elderly women shuffle past, gripping their shaky hands together as their canes hit the slick ground melodically. Louis almost forgets where he is for a moment until he feels the cool dirt against his fingertips. “Sorry. I didn’t come here to yell at the sky and try to get answers from a corpse. I came here to let you know that, um, I’ve been thinking of ya’ and I want you to like, remember that. Wherever you are. If you’re anywhere.”

“I miss you.” Kissing her stone seems like a step too far, so he just toes at the ground. “You’re a doll. Even if you’re a dead one.”