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

after ovid

tw// mentions of self harm , tools , eating disorder , mentions of suicide

hi, it's me again. thank you for all the nice comments last time. i'm alright, though. anyway, i feel a bit iffy about this chapter; i hope it's adequate. anyway, i've been thinking about new story ideas in case i want to keep writing after i wrap this one up. obviously, there is still some time before that comes, but i like to think ahead. that is, if i'm able to. 

i hope my writing doesn't sound too sickeningly grandiose for no real reason. i worry that it sounds too much or too unrealistic or too edgy. not sure. i guess that's mostly who i am, though. 

thank you for staying so long. as always, my dms are open. 
twitter: @louflymehome

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the rest of the trip was significantly easier.

before he knew it, harry's birthday had passed and it was time for their flight back to london. they'd celebrated at coney island, with all its light-up tourist attractions and cotton candy that tasted like what harry imagined sunsets to taste like. the younger boy kept trying to prompt louis to eat the cotton candy, the funnel cake, the soft pretzels; everything that amusement parks were known for, but he hadn't succeeded. "live a little," he told him, to which it took all louis had to not respond that he didn't want to live at all.

it was beautiful, though, despite everything. when they rode the ferris wheel, it felt like time had stopped. normally, the world would spin so quickly beneath louis' feet to the point he'd feel like not even his breaths could keep up, but at that moment, when they reached the top, everything stood still. it was like all that remained was the sound of the ocean and harry's eyes.

there was, realistically, no way that the rise and fall of the tide could be heard from the inside the ferris wheel, but louis swore he could hear it anyway. it was either that, or the fast thrumming of his heartbeat as harry had leaned in and closed his eyes.

as if the universe itself was acknowledging it to be a special day, the sun had been shining extra brightly and warmly as they strolled hand in hand on the boardwalk; something louis normally refused to do, but because it was the harry's birthday and because he looked so goddamn hot that day, he complied, even allowing the boy to not-so-subtly slide their entangled hands into his pocket.

harry couldn't help but cry when they'd returned to their hotel room, and found that louis left a card, a rose (where the fuck had he been keeping the rose?), and an expensive-looking necklace on his pillow while he'd been showering. it had a gold chain and a tiny pendant with 'home' written in what he recognized to be louis' handwriting. just the image of him carefully tracing the word when making the order made him think he was going to melt. he looked over incredulously at the boy, whose ears were glowing bright red, who was pretending to read but was obviously too flustered to think straight. harry ran straight to where his boyfriend was, not caring how many things he'd knocked over or how the people in the room beneath them could probably hear his every step.

"you treat me too fucking well, lou," he said, tears accelerating up as he wrapped his arms around louis' waist. "i love you so much, and i haven't even read the letter yet."

"you're welcome, love," the ocean boy smiled softly. "but open the letter when you're not around me. too embarrassing for me to bear. you'll have to wait until we get home, probably."

"what?" harry pouted, "i don't want to wait, though. can i just open it in the bathroom or something?"

"i don't want to face you after. it's far too much, hazza. might cry."