we'll live to tell the tale (l.s.)

petrichor and its effects

tw// implied self harm 

stay safe! i don't know how i feel about this chapter tbh. but follow me on twitter and comment; it'd make me happy. x

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harry started sleeping over at louis' more and more frequently. his presence in the smaller boy's apartment had become so familiar that louis felt a hole whenever harry wasn't there. although he'd started out persistently against the everyday visits that usually morphed into sleepovers, he eventually stopped arguing back, and having the curly boy there became a given.

he also left traces of himself in the place, which louis found to be extremely endearing. it was now much more clean, the dishes and laundry were more consistently done, and the fridge was always full.

something that hadn't changed, however, was louis' bad nights, bad habits, bad feelings. it was even worse when he could practically feel harry's libido drifting through the air. ever since that first night they had met, he'd always felt so inadequate for not being able to provide the other boy with what was expected of him in the first place.

but harry was wonderful about it; as he was about most things. he hadn't pushed any further or mentioned that night since. it was clearly still a very open wound, a land mine harry feared that he would accidentally tread on if he weren't careful.

he could never bring himself to ask why. it would be a lie if he were to say that he didn't want anything like that of louis—with his beauty and all. he wanted everything. but not if he had to see those empty eyes, frozen in terror again. there were other things he could do to get his sexual frustration out, after all. but there wasn't anything he could do to erase his ocean boy's pain.

funny, harry thought, that he'd begun to think of louis as his. sure, they were close now, but he had to more or less force himself into the older boy's life. after all, if louis had it his way, he'd be alone so as to not be a danger to anyone but himself. to waste away in peace, without having to worry anyone. even harry knew—the less people cared, the easier it would be to disappear with no trace-- that's what louis had always longed for.

he cursed himself for being such a heavy sleeper at times. there were nights where they'd both go to bed, in each other's arms, with harry thinking that nothing could be more perfect. but in the morning, louis would wake up with a different shirt and different joggers than he went to bed in, and harry knew what that implied. no one gets up in the middle of the night to change without reason.

he wished he were better at confrontation. if that were the case, everything would go so much more smoothly. he'd have been able to help louis better, avoiding all that marred flesh.

but it wasn't so easy. the smallest things would set the ocean boy off, things that would confuse harry to no end. whether it were lightning, or daisies, or the way he'd stroke louis' back. there were some things harry had learned not to do; phrases to not say, things to not cook, color combinations to not wear. of course, he couldn't tell louis that he'd noticed his triggers, or it would rewind their relationship all the way back to step one.

louis was adamant on not letting any part of him slip between the cracks. despite having known harry for a little longer now, he never opened up voluntarily. every time was due to harry finding out by chance or by sheer luck. and every time, louis would curl back into himself, as if ashamed of what he was, even when he was so beautiful.

there were nights when harry thought that the boy was too much for even him to handle. never in a way that he'd actually consider leaving, but times when he'd be tired from school and finally home after being yelled at by a customer at work. to say it was just mentally taxing to look after louis would be an understatement. he feared that he would snap one day, and say things he didn't mean that would destroy the comfort they had forever.