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

the legend of the kalendar prince

tw// mentions of eating disorder , self worth issues , allusion to past trauma 

nothing too intense, doesn't really go into detail. sometimes i wonder if my chapters are far too slow burn and if i should just get to the point. 

more and more, i find that my writing reflects closer and closer to who i am as a person, in essence (though obviously with certain tweaks) and it's become a really important story to me that almost explains who i am and why i am this way. so, as much as it does to me, i hope it resonates with you. 

also, i felt the need to share that i was offered a contract with those webnovel people, as i assume many people have. i declined, however, both the non-exclusive contract and the exclusive. i don't feel the need to profit from this work, nor do i wish to edit it so that it becomes an original piece as of right now. maybe i would consider it in the future, but i'm keeping it in terms of larry stylinson for now. i hope that makes sense.

again, comments make my day. thank you for all the sweet feedback i've gotten and the incredible amount of support i'd never thought i would receive. stay safe! 

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they went to the dietician's office later that week, at the scheduled date and time.

it was a bad day, whether they had that appointment or not. or, maybe it was a good thing that he couldn't feel. everything was just so, so far away, as if he were a mere outsider looking into someone else's life documentary.

he knew it would be like this even before he opened his eyes. as soon as he came to, still enveloped by warm covers and harry's arms, he wanted shake the boy off violently. it was harry; he knew that, but somehow, he recoiled at just the notion of human touch, and being held was enough to make him want to claw his senses out on this particular morning.

on these days, his thoughts ran like torrents—cold and merciless, rushing through him with an inexorable strength.

they were usually prefaced by happy days, however. ones where he would allow harry to touch him, sometimes even allowing harry to kiss him, to tell him he's beautiful, and sometimes, he would even come close to believing it. it was hard, though. knowing that these days would only be followed up by grey nothings and relentless storms even when the sun was out and when the skies were cloudless.

on these days, his memories were the most vivid and raw and unbearably real.

even the smallest things would set him off, like the way a sound resonated against the thin walls of his flat, the lighting of a room, the way harry would reach out to embrace him. it was terrifying. one second, he would be in the present moment, laughing harder than he ever imagined he could, and suddenly a detail a regular person wouldn't even process would bring him back to a place where he couldn't see or hear anything. harry would evaporate like fog; thick, thick fog, so intangible yet choking.

today was one of those days.

to be completely honest, he didn't know why harry stayed. how was he to explain to someone who had no way of understanding, that one day, he could be laughing and joking and reciprocating physical affection, and the next day he could be seconds away from a breakdown, wanting to tear himself apart so badly that he couldn't breathe?

how was he to explain to harry that life is an essence that he exhales with every breath? that he imagines every inhale to be a radical acceptance of his pain, which he no longer thought of as pain, because it'd become such a primal part of him, he accepted it as a piece of his own being?

he wanted, with every fibre of his being, to push harry away, to hurt him, to let cruel words drip off of his lips like he was a wild animal whom had just taken a large bite out of fresh prey, to reduce harry to a ball of nothing, to tell harry that it will always be like this. that he will never change, that this will never go away.