All That You Are Is All I'll Ever Need

17 ○○○

HERE'S SOME S M U T.

--

Louis thinks that there are glimpses of resumption nestled somewhere between the thinness of Harry’s skin and the brittleness of his bones. Somewhere in the space between each cell, every synapse junction, and the gap between his les lèvres when he whispers how safe he feels with Louis, is where all the renascence is forming, peaking out in the corners of his smile.

Louis feels the constant sting of an ache in his neck, and the thing is, it is not even real. It is there because he has been craning his neck- squinting- trying to find Harry deep inside the shell of his body.

(They don't teach you how to love broken people in school. They don't teach you how much it rips out of you, not just you, but your soul. Emptying you one by fucking one.

Louis remembers his grandpa telling him when he was beginning to drive: “You have to learn things for yourself, you can't always have people there yelling at you what to do. If you crash into a pond, you don't need people there telling you that you did just that, you’ll figure it out on your own eventually.”

He thinks it is the best advice he has ever gotten.)

Louis is tenacious, is the thing. He is determined to help Harry. And by the laws of common sense, written by Louis Tomlinson (ft. Niall Horan), you have to pull out all of the pieces of lead from a bullet wound before it can heal. You have to pick out all the little rocks and dirt after scraping your knee, otherwise it gets infected. You can't heal a wound when the poison is still seeping into the blood.

If Harry is going to get better, he has to get out everything that has happened to him, he needs community, and centres. He can't keep living with remnants still lodged between his teeth and in the disparities of his ribs.

It takes a lot of courage to talk about what hurts, but god knows you'd be shocked over how good it feels. The feeling of tossing away any sliver of an ego, of a wall built up, brick-by-fucking-brick and letting yourself be vulnerable; raw - wounds stinging as if freshly open, but jesus, does it feel good - because sometimes you need a second chance at healing, (third, fourth, fifth, lifetime.) Sometimes, you have to keep ripping open your wounds until the skin cells finally form together the right way. It is called the future, it is called hope.

“Harry?”

Louis is sitting on the floor, sheets of job applications surrounding him as Harry sips on strawberry milk seldomly, eyes flickering from the TV to Louis. He is on season 11 of Top Gear, and it seems Louis hasn't heard anyone on the TV in forever that doesn't go by the name Jeremy, Richard, or James. He’s not complaining, though.

“Mhhm,” Harry hums, glancing down to Louis.

“How are you doing?”

Harry looks at him like he is crazy. Louis feels it. “What has crawled into your brain, my pillock.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “M’serious, Harry.”

Somewhere in the midst of 0.2 seconds, Harry realises where this is going and he is consummately deliberate when he tells Louis, “No.”

“Harry, you know you have the utmost trust in me.”

“Don't make this into a joke, Louis,” he spits bitterly.

Louis sits up a bit, “I’m not making this into a joke, Harry. I'm trying-”

“-to help me, I know.”

Louis shakes his head, “You have to get it out before it will get better.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”