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

eroica

tw// eating disorder , mentions of weight , implied past self harm , past sexual abuse

sorry if the end of this chapter seemed rushed. it is. i'm tired, didn't want to wait too horribly long before uploading. thanks for the patience, i'm trying to make these last chapters better (that's my excuse for not uploading), but i think in reality i'm just being lazy. i'll try harder. let me know what you think. sorry. 

again, thanks everyone for reading. dms are open, comments give me life. twitter: @louflymehome

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when things got busier, they had to adhere less and less to the meal plan louis was given. harry couldn't stay around for every meal. louis knew that, of course, but something about eating alone screamed lonely.

when he ate at times he could very well lie about eating, he'd wonder if he had been making everything up all this time; conjuring problems out of nothing to reap the attention he felt like he never got as a child. selfish.

he confronted harry about what had happened at the bar after his second gig in the middle of the night a week later. he was awoken by another one of his dreams, which came as a merciless reminder that no matter how long each stretch of time was, which the shadows would leave him alone, they would always come back. he spent what could have been hours or mere minutes staring at the ceiling, the corners of his eyes flowering with fear.

he wanted these feelings to disappear, but at the same time, he'd grown so attached to them, they became a part of him. like if he allowed himself to forget them or to feel even a second of happiness, then his past suffering would be rendered invalid.

it didn't make any sense to him, but in that same senseless way, it did.

he woke harry instinctively with nothing to say when the boy asked him what it was that was on his mind. he couldn't properly articulate the conflicting faculties inside of him; he couldn't explain why it was that he didn't, that he couldn't even muster the desire for happiness like any normal living being.

so he asked.

it was at the wrong timing and for all the wrong reasons, but that didn't mean that he didn't have to intention to ask eventually. he told himself to do it much earlier, but his thoughts would never line up with his lips, and before he could even react, a week had passed.

"h?"

harry groaned, still three-fourths asleep.

"hazza." louis tried again, voice shaking. if he doesn't answer this time, it's a sign. i'll stop. i'll stop. "harry?"

green eyes flicked open, meeting his own. "what's up?"

"s-sorry."

"don't apologize, baby," harry's eyebrows knit together with concern and a tinge of fear. "what's wrong?"

"nothing, i- i just couldn't sleep. miss talking to you."

"i'm always here. glad you woke me up," harry's voice, once thick with sleep, was much more alert now, fearful, almost, with only hints of tiredness. louis wondered how he did it. "was there something in particular? do you..."

the sentence didn't have to be finished for them to both catch onto the implication. "no. well, yes. but no, that's not the point."

"if the feelings are there, then that's the point that needs to be addressed," harry frowned.

"just want to get my mind off it. sorry. i know you're tired."

"never too tired for you."

"i wanted to ask about... you know. the time in the bathroom. and about what happened at the bar last week. meant to bring it up earlier. worried." he spoke in fragments; a habit that others found unfitting for someone whose life revolved so heavily around literature and prose. "sorry."