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

salvation, not stagnation

tw// mentions of eating disorder behavior, mentions of self harm, mentions of past abuse

hi guys, i'm back. sorry this took so long. sadness is a catalyst for creativity, it seems, and i've just been drilling out song by song by song. an ep is going to be out in the next month or so, if things go right. 

honestly, only 1 or 2 more chapters of this, and it'll be done. i'm going to start another one maybe a week or two after this is done as well. got an idea. thanks for staying the whole ride. let me know if what was once a slow process of recovery feels suddenly abrupt. 

my biggest supporters through this all have definitely been diaryofashydreamer, riyaaa, and ilovelouhaz on ao3 as well as alana, maddy, and marce. thank you all for everything. 

(tiana, if you're reading this, i love you)

even if you weren't mentioned and you're reading this, i'm immeasurably grateful that you've read this far. your comments mean everything to me. love you all. twitter: @louflymehome

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the palace of versailles was much more grand than louis expected it to be, and much more romantic. it spanned from one end of his vision to another even as he stood something of a kilometer away, a clean stretch of stone covering the entire distance. there was grass cut in beautiful shapes and patterns surrounding large marble fountains filled with water so clear that it was almost completely invisible; like if he wasn't careful, he would have thought the angel statues to be spitting nothing but air. every bush was neatly trimmed like it was soap, molded by an artisan with just his fingers and palms. even the sky there felt different from how it felt just a bus ride away. it was lighter, thinner, more translucent. the more louis stared at it, the more unreal it looked, so breathable yet elegant. the interior was even more beautiful, with wispy threads of gold hanging from the walls.

louis felt he looked like a mindless tourist, breathless at even the smallest of details. around them were happy families, of five, of four. couples holding hands with children on their shoulders, of all different ethnicities. people speaking korean, thai, portuguese. it was beautiful, he thought, family vacations. of course, he had never gotten that luxury as a child, and would likely have had trouble enjoying it, anyway. sadness, for as long as he could remember, was a constant decay of the mind. it was especially bad during his adolescence, even at times he was supposed to enjoying himself.

a humorous thought, but as he tread on the gleaming white marble, he imagined himself unzipping his pants and soiling it all with dark urine. a horrendous image, it was, but luckily came and went at the same fleeting velocity. these intrusive thoughts proved themselves common throughout louis' recovery, manifesting as a demonic child perching upon his shoulder, whispering charmingly with its flowery breath. "throw the food against the wall," it'd say, "slam yourself into the window," "hold the lighter to your haif," "throw your wallet into the sea," "rip your notebook to shreds and delete all the work you've been milling your ass off for."

the two boys spent the afternoon admiring the exquisite architecture of the palace, each pillar, each tile carved with the most attentive detail. so beautiful that it was almost nauseating, because nothing should have the right to look so perfect, to be tampered to such extremity. the way the palace looked and smelled and felt and tasted was how he wanted his writing to be—sophisticated yet endearing and comforting in its own way. he wanted to shape his words into complex meaning, enchanting the reader, like nabakov would always say.

their flight back was scheduled for ten p.m., so they could spend their time leisurely strolling as much as they wanted and eat dinner with no hitches. french food was as amazing as everywhere on the internet and in travel pamphlets made it out to be, but the french did not have the same custom of listing calories counts across menus like london or even new york, which made louis more than a little uncertain about eating foods he wasn't familiar with (how was he to know the calorie content of the escargots au beurre persille that harry would inevitably insist that they try?).