Bag of Bones (Larry Stylinson)

6

Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?
I'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go?

After finally falling asleep under the glow of the sunrise in the early morning, Louis rested for a while until he was shamefully found and woken up by Stan. It wasn't his best moment for sure, being found in the cold morning collapsed on a balcony floor with his boyfriend-that-he's-taking-a-break-from's shirt clutched to his chest with a black eye. Louis tried to ignore his burning cheeks and throbbing eye by appreciating that he got a few hours of sleep for once. Luckily, Stan didn't comment or ask about Louis' black eye.
Now he's sat desolately on the guest bed wanting to eat but also being too scared of throwing it all up again to do so. He had shoved Harry's shirt along with the journal deep into the box again, trying to act as if last night wasn't the worst night of his life. He wants to smoke again, but he decides to do something somewhat productive and take a shower instead.
As pathetic as it sounds, Louis asked for a few days off from work in wake of his and Harry's break. He knew that simply being away from Harry shouldn't render him fucking useless, he knows that, but he doesn't know if he even wants to keep on acting like nothing has changed because everything has changed. Harry isn't next to him in bed anymore, he can't even entertain the idea of kissing him in the morning, and he's not even sure if he'll have another chance to do it again. He can't go back to work just yet and act like this never even happened and that's he's fine, act like there isn't a fucking huge hole in his chest.
Louis shoves his thoughts and the aching feeling in his stomach aside by pushing the bathroom door open a bit too hard, starting the shower to warm it up. After he locks the door and undresses for the shower, he turns and stares at himself in the mirror for the first time since the night Louis made the dumbest decision in his life. Or maybe it wasn't the dumbest decision he's ever made, but it sure feels like it as he traces his purpling left eye.
Although it's only been technically almost two days since he and Harry decided on the break, the effects are already apparent over Louis' frame. Blemished bags circle under his eyes due to the lack of sleep, though one of his eyes has various shades of purple and blue all around it. He also seems to be thinner than he usually is, probably since the distance between him and Harry had caused him to lose his appetite for a few weeks prior already. His hair is greasy, his eyes are sunken, and his cheekbones are too angular due to his hollowed cheeks; his appearance seems unnatural and unhealthy.
The tattoos littering his body seem so dumb now that he's pathetically staring at them all alone in a bathroom that isn't his. Every matching tattoo makes him feel sicker and sicker, just now thinking of them and what they mean. He traces his bony fingers over Harry's handwriting that's permanently etched into his arm; "Given a chance..."
Louis blanches for a moment, clutching his arm and trying to cover up the tattoo. No matter how big his hands are, though, he can't possibly cover up every matching tattoo him and Harry have, every permanently etched symbol of their love now feeling futile. He just feels so, so dumb and the pain in his stomach has become so sharp and he has another headache already coming on and it's not even noon yet.
Why can someone he used to love so much have this horrible of an effect on him?
By the time Louis looks back to the mirror to criticize himself again, it's fogged up since the shower has finally warmed. Louis decides to head into the shower and let the water help him forget what tears are actually his or not, but on his way, his foot brushes over a piece of paper.
Upon further inspection, he realizes it's the receipt with Marcus' number on it paired with the invitation for a "good night out." His face heats up immediately at even the thought of taking up the offer considering Harry, and he crumples the paper in his fist. Nothing stops him from shoving the paper into a random drawer rather than the trash can, though.
Louis then steps into the warm spray of the shower, expecting the stress to roll off his shoulders with the warm water washing over him. His expectations are hardly met, though, as the water makes him tense up and curl into himself rather than relax.
Harry always loved hot showers, hot enough to turn his skin red and stay that way for at least thirty minutes after the shower. Weirdly enough, Louis grew up favoring colder showers, not completely freezing, but more chilly than the average warm shower. Since Harry loved taking showers with him, though, Louis had to train himself to tolerate the hot water, even appreciate it.
But it's been about two months since him and Harry last showered together, yet Louis has taken every shower hot in hopes of having another one with Harry at any point. Now that he realizes that it may never happen again, the warm water all of the sudden feels scorching, like flames licking at his sides and torturing him for ever trying to pursue Harry. He kind of wishes that the water would melt him and wash him down the drain.
He needs this to stop, he needs to find his own identity in more than Harry, in more than a man he used to know, so he reaches for the shower handle and wrenches it to the coldest setting.
The sudden change shocks his body somewhat, leaving him frozen as the cold water helps wipe away the tears from his face. It hurts and he's shivering, but Louis just tells himself that he deserves this. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Harry's pained face when he suggested taking a break, so he just stands under the cold stream and takes it because he, of all people, hurt Harry.
The cold water does help him speed up with the rest of his washing, finishing the shower a few minutes later. When he steps out of the shower, he notices how the mirror has become a mess of fog and water streaks to where his reflection is cut up. He supposes that he did make the bathroom into an environment suitable for a tornado, mixing the hot and cold so quickly. He wishes that a tornado would swallow him up right now and take him to somewhere better than where he is right now. He supposes once again that he doesn't really deserve wishes anymore.
After drying off, Louis wraps a towel around his waist and starts to make his way back towards his room. He hears a hushed voice running through the hallways, though, and decides to walk in that direction to hear better.
"...not doing good," he hears Stan say with a quiet and worried tone. The sick feeling is back in his stomach, though it's a bit different this time. There's a small gap of silence before Stan speaks again.
"I'm really worried about him. I think he's worse than Harry, if I'm being honest." Louis knows that he shouldn't listen, knows that it'd be best for him if he just went and slept some more in an actual bed or even if he went out for a smoke. His feet stay helplessly stuck to the floor, though, as he feels himself shiver from only being in a towel as he listens on.
"He's hardly eating, I think he got into some kind of fight last night at the bar because he has a nasty black eye, and I found him this morning asleep on the cold balcony floor with a journal and a shirt I suspect is Harry's. Plus, I've lost count of how many times he's gone out to have a smoke. It's bad, Niall," Stan rambles to the phone in a rushed tone, worry heavily apparent in his voice.
Although it's sweet that Stan is worried about him, Louis feels tears falling from his eyes, betrayal somehow resounding in his heart. He didn't come here to be judged by Stan, much less for him to spill the worst parts of him to their friends. He also hadn't really realized just how bad he was until he heard someone else talk about him. He hopes that Harry is doing much better than he is anyway.
      Not being able to hear anymore, he decides to end whatever conversation that was going on. "Stan?" he asks at the entrance of the hallway, sounding and looking heartbroken as he coldly drips in a towel with tears streaking his face.
      Stan's head snaps up immediately to meet Louis' eyes, his full of panic and Louis' full of hurt. Maybe he's being overdramatic, but the feeling of his friend spilling his personal information to other people at one of the lowest points in his life guts him.
      "Louis!" Stan says frantically as he knows he's been caught, standing up to match his gaze. Louis wishes he had some clothes on right now.
      "Why were you talking about me to Niall?" he asks almost defeatedly, feeling all of the effects of his terrible conditions crashing down on him at once.
      "Louis, it's not what you think," Stan says while hanging up on the phone, giving him his full attention. "Niall was just checking in with me to see how you're doing since you won't answer your phone. He was worried."
      Louis loves Niall, so much that he could squeeze him in a hug entirely too hard right now, but he's also Harry's best friend. If Niall knows how he's doing, then Harry will eventually know, and that's just not fair to him right now. He wants both of them to be in the dark if he has to be.
      "You can't just- you can't just go and spill someone else's personal information to other people!" Louis counters, trying to ignore the tears falling from his eyes. He wishes Harry was here to hold him right now. That kind of thinking just causes him to wrap his arms around his bare torso instead.
      "I-I know, I'm sorry Louis. It was wrong of me to just tell him everything, but he's worried," Stan apologizes, drawing a bit closer to Louis.
      "Do you know who Niall is best friends with? Harry! He's probably worried too, and now Niall can tell him all about how I'm fucking falling apart without him while I just stay suffering and not knowing anything; it's not fair!" Louis' voice rises the more he speaks, his speech eventually choking up because of the tears falling from his eyes.
      "I know, Louis, I should have thought about that. But- but the thing is, I'm worried too!" Stan admits as he runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I'm trying my best to be nice and accepting and to just be here for you, but it's so fucking hard when I see you falling apart and you can't even stand to tell me why you're crashing at my place!"
It's all too much, from overhearing Stan's phone call to staring him in the eye now as he exasperatedly tells Louis about how he sees that he's suffering. Louis doesn't want any of this; he just wants Harry right now. It makes sense to him how Harry's the one thing he can't have, though.
"Okay, you want me to spill my guts out to you? No problem!" Louis says with a sudden heat behind his voice, the aching of Harry's absence burning him to talk harsher and blurring his vision with tears. "Hmm, let's see, how about we start off with the fact that I don't think my supposed boyfriend has actually loved me in months? Or how about the fact that we only see each other when we fuck at night and then fall asleep on separate sides of the bed? Or maybe even the part where I can't remember the last time I laughed, like actually laughed, and same thing for Harry?"
Louis doesn't know what's happening, his words are flowing out of his mind and into the air faster than he can grasp them, and Stan just has to stand there and be at the receiving end of all of his shit. He's been keeping it in for so long and now he can't stop his mouth from running, no matter how mangled his words are turning out to be.
"B-being around Harry has become absolute torture to me which doesn't make any sense because I love him, I really do, but I just get so much anxiety when he's around because we're just not the same anymore, and I don't know what to do! I told him that we needed to take a break and that I'd come here for however long it took for me to figure out if we should still date but it's almost been two days and I haven't even been able to think a comprehensible thought yet because I always just feel so much pain and emptiness where Harry should be and I- I just don't know what to do anymore," Louis breaks off into sobs at the end, his chest feeling so heavy that he feels like he's about to collapse on the floor.
Suddenly, Stan is there at his side even though he didn't remember how he got so close through the sobs, and he holds Louis in a tight hug as he just continues crying, both not caring about the towel around his waist or how wet and cold he is. They stay there like that for a while, Louis finally letting himself really cry over Harry while Stan strokes his hair and tells him that it will be okay. It's definitely the most tender moment between them despite all of their years of friendship, but Louis indulges in the moment instead of overthinking it by holding Stan closer.
      After what feels like hours of crying but is probably only around ten minutes, Louis pulls away from Stan, wiping his eyes.
      "I-I'm sorry about that; I'm a mess," Louis mutters to himself as he wipes his eyes and readjusts his towel. "I know that I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, and you shouldn't have to hold me while I cry after yelling at you-"
      "Louis, literally shut up," Stan cuts him off. "I spilled all of your personal information and then demanded to know why you were staying here like a prick instead of just asking you like a normal person. You had every right to yell at me."
      "No, I should have given you more of an explanation since I barged in here looking like absolute shit and assuming free rent with no reason to you as to why. It shouldn't have taken a fight for me to yell at you the simple reason why I need to crash here for a while. Thank you Stan, and I'm sorry for being a prick," Louis apologizes, feeling the most clear-headed he has in the past couple of days, maybe even weeks.
      "I guess we were both kind of pricks about it," Stan says light-heartedly with a smile. Louis chuckles and adds a simple "yeah" to agree.
"Here, let's have some lunch even though it's kind of late for that," Stan suggests, seeming relieved that the fight was over and that him and Louis were still on good terms.
"Yeah," Louis responds, only hesitating a bit after recounting how he threw up last night. His stomach is churning from the lack of food, though, and cigarettes can't hold him out forever. "Let me just get some clothes on."
"Haha, yeah; that's probably a good idea," Stan laughs in return, seeming to have forgotten about Louis' state of undress. "Do you want to go out or-?"
Stan left a question in the air, making the meal on Louis' terms, which he is very grateful for. Maybe baby steps like this is how he'll come to terms with whatever's happening between him and Harry.
He doesn't want to think about that right now, though, moving on, not when he finally feels somewhat good. So, he distracts himself with a new topic like he always does.
"Can we maybe order in?" Louis asks with a wince on his face, knowing that Stan would probably prefer to go outside of his house for once. He just can't handle daylight right now, though, so he hopes ordering in will be enough.
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Sounds good to me!" Stan replies a bit too enthusiastically, and Louis can tell it's just his way of trying to make amends and be more accommodating. He's glad that he's his friend; he's not sure if he deserves him, though. "Chinese?"
"Yes, Chinese takeout sounds perfect right now," Louis laments with a tint of happiness in his voice, more than he's had in a while. He tries not to think about it as he gives Stan a small smile before shuffling away to put on some clothes finally.
After changing into his clothes, eating and talking with Stan over lunch, and going to take a considerably long nap, Louis finds himself on the balcony once again. The sun is going down now, the day drawing closer towards 7 p.m. The chilly air was picking up to be more of a biting cold as the sun left the sky, but Louis stayed out by the rail regardless of the fact that he was only wearing a short-sleeve shirt and sweatpants.
Today had been miles better than yesterday, considering that yesterday was easily one of the worst days of his life, but Louis still feels so painfully empty. He had finally gotten the weight of whatever was happening between him and Harry off of his chest when he admitted the situation to Stan, he had even been able to eat and keep it down, and he was able to laugh over lunch with Stan. He was doing better somehow, yet there is still a small, specific part of his heart that is burning physically. It's not like he's metaphorically mourning over the absence of Harry in his heart, he's literally feeling actual pain somehow because Harry isn't beside him right now.
He supposes that the feeling has always been there since he walked out of their apartment door with his box of miscellaneous things, but it's more prominent now than ever. And of course his stomach is still aching as if there were shards dug into it as well, but he thinks he's grown accustomed to that by now. When he decided to take a break from his and Harry's toxic relationship, he never even imagined being in this much physical pain simply from officially separating himself from Harry for a while. He didn't account for any of the things he's feeling right now, though.
      He lights another cigarette, telling himself for the third time this afternoon that this would be his last one. He isn't really sure which one will be his last; maybe he just needs a constant in his life since everything with him and Harry is up in the air. There have been too many lasts and firsts in these past two days, so he sticks with smoking like he always has.
      He had his first cigarette before he even knew Harry, back when he was fourteen and rebellious with his older friends to feel cool. He remembers how it stung that night in his friend's shed behind his house, how his friend laughed at him when he coughed and told him that he'd get used to the burn eventually. He remembers thinking that he could never see himself getting addicted to something as gross as cigarettes, no matter how cool they seemed to him back then for no reason other than action stars did it. The memory makes him smile spitefully at the dimming sky as he takes another drag.
      He remembers when he first smoked in front of Harry. They had met in college, Harry being a film major and Louis being a theater major. Both of their plans didn't really map out correctly, but they didn't care as long as they had each other.
      Louis pushes the now bitter thought away and tries to continue remembering when he first smoked in front of Harry, refusing to be sidetracked by sappy thoughts. It was their second date and they had gone to go see some dumb action movie that Louis now understands Harry was pretending to be interested in just to keep Louis' attention. Harry hates action movies, prefers romcoms, chick flicks, and even the abstract artsy kind of movies, but Louis loved movies with explosions and dumb one-liners before the hero inevitably saved the day.
      They had first met because the theater department was collaborating with the film department for a unique project they hadn't done before. The theater listed their actors and technicians to work with students in the advanced film class to have groups create individual short films as a semester project, and it just so happened that Louis and Harry ended up on the same team. The short film wasn't half bad, being a deep and symbolic portrayal of being in the closet. It was very artsy and very Harry, and Louis found himself falling for the dorky boy with long hair wearing Chelsea boots ordering him around timidly to get just the right shot. After Louis worked up the courage to ask him out once they were told their film got an A-, it was history from there.
      Louis remembers on that second date, though, the horrified look on Harry's face when he pulled out a cigarette and lighter after exiting the movie theater. Harry then went on to say everything Louis had already heard, from how it was killing him to how it was bad for the people around them and even the environment. He brushed him off at the time, but Harry made him stop once and for all when they moved in together after college a few years later. It was one of his top requirements, and Louis wasn't about to let a lame addiction stop him from living in the same apartment as Harry Styles, the boy he had grown to love more than he thought was possible.
      Louis thinks this all over as he puffs out the smoke time after time, feeling his soul grading away a little bit more each time he brings the cigarette to his lips. He had quit for about up to the five years him and Harry had lived together, but he recently picked it up again around the same time he would wake up in the middle of the night to find Harry smoking alone on their balcony.
      He didn't know Harry did that; he didn't even think he ever would smoke considering how his stance seemed to be on the matter. Louis threw all of that out the window that night, though. So now he's back to burning through a pack or two a week.
      His stomach digs at him once again, the burning realizations of more firsts and lasts burrowing themselves into his insides. Louis feels sick, but he just ignores it by lighting another cigarette.
      At least he wasn't drinking. Drinking made him loud, brash, illogical, and it often led to him making some dumb decisions. He couldn't take that right now; he had made enough dumb decisions sober already. Smoking seemed to sharpen his mind, though, while still distracting him from the things stressing him out. The burning he did learn to love helped him forget all of the shit pulling at him every which way. That's all he wanted right now.
It didn't seem to be working tonight, though, as it couldn't take his attention away from his burning pocket that undoubtedly had his phone in it. Every breath he took, the small pained point in his chest dug in even more, causing him to be breathless. That plus the churning of his gut and the prominence of his turned-off phone served to drive him crazy.
      Though he had resolved his fight with Stan, he couldn't stop the lingering panic of Niall knowing the worst about him this very moment. He can't stop the background panic of Harry possibly knowing how shit he's doing without him while he's stuck worrying and wondering how Harry's doing, if he even cares about Louis anymore at this point.
      It just doesn't feel fair to him, and the more he thinks about it, the more the phone burns through his jeans. Him and Harry should be on an equal playing field in such an uncharted time like this, Louis convinces himself.
      While taking another drag, Louis takes his phone out and somehow brings himself to power it on. As the phone loads on, he tries to convince himself that this is for fairness and not the fact that he wants to hear Harry's voice. Because he doesn't, definitely does not want to hear Harry's voice. It's the last thing he wants right now, he tells himself, but he has to in order to make this aching fair.
      The phone screen lightens up, a harsh contrast against the now-dark outdoors. Louis had hardly registered the darkening of the sky until now. It's fine, he's fine.
      He has many new text messages and many missed phone calls as well, some from his friends, others from his family, a few from his coworkers, and then finally a shit ton from Harry. There weren't many texts from Harry, really, just a few messages sent in denial and repeating the fact that Louis was the one for him. They cut off by last night, though Louis isn't sure why.
      The phone calls were a whole other story. They were probably around three times more than the text messages, if not four times. It causes Louis' gut to twist, but he ignores that before taking the last drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out in a makeshift ashtray Harry had jokingly made him when he went through his pottery phase. Louis feels sick.
      Before he can even think about it, he hits the "call back" button on his phone while grasping the railing of the balcony. He can do this. It is strictly business, after all, only to make things fair between them. His eyes focus on the bar's distant glowing sign as the phone rings for what seems like minutes. Harry picks up after the fourth ring, much to Louis' surprise even though he called him. He supposes that he didn't actually intend on Harry answering.
      "Hello?" Louis hears Harry's voice scratch out, causing him to wince at the sound. He sounds tired and possibly a bit drunk, like he just woke up from a nap or something. Louis tries not to think about how it's only half past six in the afternoon.
      He doesn't know what to say, suddenly at a loss for words as his lips stay clamped shut as he stares out at the town before him. He wants to say something so badly, he just doesn't know what or how to say it.
      "Lou?" Harry's voice scratches again, sounding more hurt than tired this time. Louis figures that he had just checked to see who was calling him since he just woke up most likely. Tears spring to his eyes at the nickname, but he refuses to let them fall.
      "Harry." It's all Louis can think to say, his voice sounding clipped and albeit panicked. Talking with Harry used to be so natural, they've done it for years now, just talked, so why was it so hard now? Another shard digs into his gut after the two exchanged only three words between one another. Louis wonders how he won't be dead by the end of the conversation at this rate.
      "Are you alright? I heard that-"
      "So Niall told you?" Louis interrupts, finally getting ahold of his train of thought and what he wants to say. The line is silent for a few moments before Harry speaks up.
      "He didn't tell me a lot, just-"
      "Everything that Stan told him?" Louis interrupts once again, finding himself irritated by Harry's concerned and empathetic tone.
      "Yeah," he replies simply, most likely understanding now that Louis called with an objective in mind.
      "That wasn't- I'm not- you aren't supposed to know about how I'm doing," Louis stumbles to say, his mind racing over the thousands of thoughts raging in his mind. He hopes he doesn't sound too pathetic. His chest still aches.
      "Why not? Louis, I'm practically pulling my hair out wondering what you're doing and you can't even manage to answer a text and because what? You're too busy getting into bar fights the day after you leave me?" Harry starts to fume over the phone, his apprehensive tone turning more and more enraged as he goes on.
      "First of all," Louis fumes right back, ready to counter the fire Harry is giving him. This is what he's wanted since he presented taking a break: a fight. "I didn't leave you. You left me a long time ago mentally and emotionally way before I decided to leave physically. Second of all, I did not get into a bar fight, not that it's any of your business anyway."
      "None of my business?" Harry bites back, anger now fully saturating his voice. It's rare for Harry's voice to morph that way since he's such a genuinely kind person all of the time, and it admittedly makes Louis shudder a bit. "You're my fucking boyfriend, Louis, of course it's my business if you're getting black eyes on your nights out and about."
      "I'm not your boyfriend!" Louis yells suddenly, cutting off all sort of noise from Harry's side of the line. He feels gutted just from saying that, but he goes on to forget his crashing emotions. "We are taking a break, Harry, and we're supposed to be thinking of what we want next in life and what's gonna be the best for us. We are not supposed to be spying and obsessing over each other."
      Louis feels a fire simmering in his lungs after spitting the last few words out, though he's not sure if it's from the heat of the conversation or the countless cigarettes he's had. Harry's line stays silent for a while, causing the tears in Louis' eyes to build back up as he holds his breath.
      "Lou, why did you call me?" Harry finally asks in a defeated voice, shaking Louis to his core. The burning in his chest doubles as he keeps replaying Harry's broken and defeated few words in his head, not being to process why he called in the first place. Did he just call to fight and make Harry feel like shit? Did he call just to make himself feel like shit?
      "I-I called because I want this to be fa-ir," Louis' voice broke off, suddenly betraying him as it cracks a bit. He tries to ignore it as he goes on. "And this isn't fair as long as you know what's going on with me but I don't know what's going on with you."
      Another beat of silence causes Louis to tense in anticipation. His reason sounds so dumb now that it's out in the air and between him and Harry. He supposes that love is irrational, but isn't addiction the same way? He's not sure if he can tell the difference between his and Harry's relationship being one of love or one of routine anymore. The dilemma added with the silence over the phone only spurs on his sick feeling.
"You called to hear about how I'm doing?" Harry asks with no emotion behind his voice, scaring Louis far more than when he was genuinely angry.
      "Well if you know how I'm doing, it's only fair-"
      "That's a dumbass reason to call me, and you know it too," Harry cuts him off for once, scaring Louis to be quiet for the first time in their whole conversation. "But you want to know how I've been doing? Sure, I'll tell you since it's only fair. I'm falling apart without you, Lou. I can't seem to stay away from the alcohol or the ice cream when I think about you for some reason, and I can't tell when I'm crying or not anymore. I don't know what to tell my friends or my family because the other half of me is just fucking missing because he walked away and I don't know when he's gonna come back or if he's even ever gonna come back a-nd," Harry's voice finally dies off, his voice breaking at the end and causing Louis' gut to twist in the most painful way it ever has.
      Louis can't seem to breathe even though he's surrounded by cold fresh air in the night on the balcony, and he just wishes he somehow had more space even though it seems like he has the whole sky right now. He wishes Harry was here and that he wasn't here at the same time. He wants to scream at him and hug him at the same time, kiss and push, hold and leave. All he can seem to do is just stand there, though, as Harry spills his guts to him over the phone.
      "Louis, you're the one for me. I've known it ever since one of the first days I met you and you ran off from the set where we were shooting that short film to go help a child you heard crying in the distance. Ever since that day and even now seven years later, one of the only things I know is that you're the only one for me, that you're the one I love, the one I need to even fucking function. I love you, Louis, and I don't need some break to figure that out," Harry rambles, admitting things Louis already knew but now feel so new in the different situation. He's still not sure how to breathe properly.
      "Harry, the thing is..." he pauses as he closes his eyes, finally letting his tears fall as he closes out the image of the night sky from his vision. "I'm not sure if I can believe you anymore. I just- I don't know anymore. Not after all of the time we spent convincing one another absentmindedly that we didn't love each other anymore. I- I just need some time to think, and I still think you do, too."
      He can't take anymore, he simply can't or else he's sure he'll throw what he ate for lunch up, so he hangs up before Harry can utter a response. He tries to ignore the tears welling from his eyes by looking up to the sky, searching for any stars at all. He can only see the occasional flashing lights of an airplane in the sky, and he sighs deeply to himself.
      He prays for mercy from his own feelings tonight, somehow sensing that it will be even worse than last night, minus the punch to the face. He just wishes that Harry would let him let go. He wishes his heart, his gut, his aching eye would let him let go. He never seems to get his wishes granted, though, and he supposes that it's what he deserves once again.
And it's no surprise to him later that night when he can't manage to hold his dinner down, throwing it all up in the toilet after he replayed Harry's broken voice in his head for the thousandth time that night. It's also no surprise to him either when he can't manage to fall asleep no matter how tired he is, so he stays up until sunrise once again writing all of his thoughts out into his journal while clutching onto Harry's shirt. He supposes that Stan is already becoming less surprised too when he wakes him up once again in the morning on the cold balcony.