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

127, 127, 127

tw//  past trauma , mentions of self harm , physical and sexual abuse

hi, just a reminder that even though i'm kinda dumb, none of my rhetorical choices or allusions are random. i choose each word and each reference for a very specific reason. this includes all chapter titles and summaries (summaries only found on ao3). there are a few easter eggs. lmk if you find them. and if you want me to clarify something, dm me or comment :) 

shit is rough, but it's okay. sorry if this chapter sucks. maybe i didn't make it as long or as profound as i should've. or maybe i should take more time on these. sorry.

twitter: @louflymehome 
discord: chae#5529

also, if you want to get ahold of me, the quickest way is through discord dms! i'm online 24/7. only posting it on this chapter, though.

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they first met at a library. he still remembered the warm glow of the dim orange-yellow light bleeding from the walls, above the shelves. louis was eighteen and fresh out of high school, and doing uni halfway across the world from his hometown. he'd stumbled across the beautiful building while on a walk, shaped almost like a courthouse or royal monument. the murals splayed across the ceiling reminded him of life before things had gotten complicated. it was probably one of the few places he'd actually missed from new york.

he was sat at one of the aspen wood tables when a man leaned over him, breath smelling of a strong, numbing mint. "i haven't seen you around here before." louis looked up, his eyes met with ones that were such a dark, murky blue that, if he didn't know better, he'd think were jet black. it reminded him of the deepest, most rich depths of the ocean. he was beautiful, louis thought. he held this confidence in each breath, each stride; this confidence that louis admired especially since he knew it was something he would never personally fathom. "sonnet 94, i see. interesting taste."

"i guess so. i'm just revisiting them all."

"my personal favorite is sonnet 60."

"oh, yeah? quite the dark one, aren't you?"

"it's true, though. time is a cruel hand will eventually devour all that exists." the man smiled amicably while holding out his hand, in complete contrast to what he'd just said. "jean vautour. pronounced john, spelled j-e-a-n. nice to meet you."

"louis tomlinson." he cautiously took the man, jean's, outstretched hand. he'd almost pulled away immediately from how deathly cold it was.

"you seem quite young. and i can tell from your accent that you're not from here. are you at new york for school?"

"yeah, i'm here for uni on a scholarship,"

"a bright one, i see. if you'd like, i can show you around sometime. i know how daunting it can be to navigate a foreign country."

"yeah," louis scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "i appreciate that. it is actually quite scary. makes it easier that i know the language, at least. i'm from doncaster, which is, uh, a little town in northern england."

"i'm actually quite familiar with england," he chuckled dryly. louis could have sworn that jean seemed offended or even amused that he even felt the need at all to clarify the location of doncaster, as if he should've known that the other would be aware of the town already. or maybe he imagined it, as the chilling tone only seemed to be present for a split second. "do you have any plans tonight? may i start off the tour of manhattan by showing you the best restaurant around?"

"that sounds lovely, but i'm afraid that i'm just a student and don't have the funds for such a nice meal. thank you for the offer, though." louis responded, a little taken aback by how forward this man he just met had been.