All You Are is What I Need (Larry BoyxBoy) Book 2

Thirty Seven

This is how it goes: It is a burning desire, a flame unquenchable; lips get chapped from pressing to lips too long, throats choke on the dark fumes rising up. It leaves skin charred to the bone- bones brittle, ready to snap- they snap under their weight- their weight, them, Louis and Harry. Breaking synapses, memories, into laughter, they're building temples out of it. It hurts, of course it hurts. It has to hurt, to ache. Hearts, beaten and bruised, pounded into by some undefined amount of careless, unclean hands. Giving goods away when the debt is still present in the wreckage.

Its drum still throbs inside of your ribs, love fluttering to life, and it hurts. It hurts really fucking bad, but it's the kind of hurt no one regrets, the kind you would let batter you till the end, its great. It's the equivalence to intoxication, and being too sober, and the crippling pain the first heartbreak gives. But the difference is, it's worth it. Because despite the feeling that someone is ripping a hole into your chest you have never felt more full. Louis loves Harry anyways, and Harry loves Louis anyways. Because amongst all that really good hurt is this overwhelming emotion. A pride that comes with all of the temples you made out of words you spit, and all the spit that licked its way into your mouth to take away your words.

That feeling is this:

They stand beside each other, the door feet away, but the sign like headlights in eyes. Louis tears his eyes from it to look at Harry, who is already looking at him.

"Ready?" Louis asks quietly.

Harry bites his lip, and nods.

They both reach for each others hands at the same time, fingers clasping in lock, eyes glued to the large sign still.

Wakefield Treatment Centre for Trauma and Abuse

Louis takes in a breath for both of them, and they walk inside.