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

a single word sets you free

tw// mentions of self harm , tools , weight (no numbers) , eating disorder behavior

hi, maybe i'll start doing chapters every two days or only two days in a row if i'm feeling really good. i feel like it makes the quality better and gives me more time to breathe. 

thanks! stay safe, and again, comments mean sm to me. i read them all, and appreciate every single one of them. 

twitter: @louflymehome

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harry wasn't completely oblivious; he knew that something had to be off. he hoped that he was wrong, though. it shouldn't have been weird that the older boy needed a shower. he did get washed—though the times he was bathed were few and far between. had harry been in that position, showering in the comfort of his own home would have been the first thing on his agenda upon getting discharged.

no one drinks that much water while eating, though. it felt strange—he was just so happy and giddy and smiley—harry couldn't ignore that. all he could really do was push all the irrational worries to the back of his mind. what was more important was that louis was eating. not even a month ago, when harry had made lasagna, louis refused to let a single bite near his mouth. this was progress.

it was progress.

at least, that's what it felt like. when louis returned from the shower to watch grease, his favorite movie, somehow his voice sounded much more gravelly, as if his esophagus suddenly became sandpaper. the bright smile he had on before no longer reached his eyes, and it made harry's stomach churn. it would be much easier to turn away.

he decided to test the waters a bit more. because maybe, this would prove his hunch wrong. maybe he was just being too paranoid and overprotective. maybe everything was actually fine. "lou, do you want me to make popcorn to eat while watching the movie?"

"nah, i'm good. full from dinner."

"you only had half of your dinner, though."

"leave it, love," louis sighed. "nothing is going to change overnight. for real, i'm fine. make some popcorn for yourself if you can find any in the pantry."

"alright, but if you end up changing your mind, i'm not sharing with you," harry pouted.

"we both know that's not true."

"oh, shut up. you know me too well."

"can't help it, after you forced yourself so rudely into my life a month ago."

"almost two months, mind you," harry whined. "and you love me, you know it."

"whatever helps you sleep at night, styles." they were both smiling adoringly at each other, and harry thought maybe he could forget about everything. about louis' eating disorder (it was still difficult to call it that—louis himself has yet to admit that his problem was truly a disorder), about the past two weeks, about whatever had hurt louis in the past, about everything dirty and wrong in this world. if it could be just the two of them, in their own little attic of the universe. at least, that's what harry liked to imagine it would be-- the dusty attic of some old house, one that was filled with boxes and smelled of old books, maybe with a skylight that allowed golden sunshine to leak in, accentuating the softness of louis' hair and his lips and his cheekbones. cozy and beautiful, but uniquely so, perfectly reflecting everything that the ocean boy was.

this, harry thought, was truly all that they needed.

fleetingly, nothing else mattered. they watched the movie, stroking each other's hair as louis buried his face in the younger's chest. he smiled softly at the cuddly boy, wanting to melt from fondness.