"Who are you?" "I'm a Lost Boy" "Could I make you my boy?"

"Can I have some?" "No shoo, go away!" Or Harry really just wanted to enjoy his meal at a restaurant alone, but then he meats a weird, adorable 18 year old boy who won't stop begging Harry for some his food. Contains ageplay/infantilism [open for translations if anyone's interested just ask :) ]

"H-Harry please!" I cried, my hands placed protectively in front of my face. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed my wrists, pinning them against the wall. His breath rolled over my face, the faint scent of alcohol rolling up my nose. "Shut up." He growled. His short nails dug into my arm and I winced in pain. He released me, and grabbed a handful of my hair instead. I shrieked in pain as he threw me to the ground. Tears pricked my eyes and I squeezed my eyes shut. "Get up." He said. I opened my eyes, and scrambled to my feet quickly. He grabbed the front of my shirt to pull me closer, leaning down to my level. His eyes burned straight through mine. Chills went down my spine and I bit my bottom lip out of fear. "How many times do I have to tell you? You. Are. Mine." -------------------------- In a complex narrative, where Harry wrestles with the voices of schizophrenia, the story unfolds with uncertainty. The question lingers: Will Harry succumb to the relentless voices, potentially breaking down Louis, or will Louis summon the strength to confront the darkness that threatens him and stand resolute in his own defense? The outcome rests upon the delicate interplay of their intertwined fates, a story of mental struggles and strength yet to fully reveal itself.

"Why do you kill?" "Why ask the same questions everyone else does?" "Because you won't answer."