when you're lost, i'll find a way (i'll be your light) | harry/louis

chapter one

Eroda is a cold, dark place and Harry means that quite literally. In fact, he can't think of a single instance where the sun has ever shone on their little island. The wide skies seem to hide behind the thick, grey clouds and there always seem to be a hint of mist in the air. Perhaps that is why Erodians are as cold as their weather.

Maybe he's just complaining again. Eroda is not so bad. It may have its own faults but its sights of grandeur are something to behold. They are surrounded by the mighty sea which stretches on for miles and miles, the waters that touch his feet glitters like precious stones. Yuna, Harry's village, is perched on top of a hill, overlooking the island. There are many industries on the island; alcohol brewing, salon and spas, candle-making, and such but the island's main metier is fishing. Erodians don't just love fishing, they live for it. They might as well live in the sea, since their hearts belong to the waters. Harry doesn't really understand it; the vastness of the seas terrify him. He tries to stay as far away as possible. Tries being the keyword. As much as he tries to hate the sea, he can't help coming back. Mostly because he is literally surrounded by it.

The island is gorgeous at every turn, but what really puts their quaint isle on the map is the Lighthouse. The Lighthouse sits solitary on top of a cliff, at the edge of the sea. The grassy hills and the rocky coast surround the short, white tower, and the light shining from it during the night serves as a beacon, a call from home for all fishermen and sailors.

Harry wakes up with a ray of light hitting him on the face. He opens his eyes blearily, confused. He's awake but not quite; he can feel that his left arm is numb, having been resting it beneath his head. He always sleeps on his side, so this is not a surprise. He blinks rapidly at the sunlight, not believing what he's seeing. He sits up on his rickety bed, properly looking at it. Harry's never seen sunlight like this before; just one straight beam from the sky to the ground. He runs his fingers through it, delighted as the light seems to dance on his hand. A smile creeps up on his face, and before he knows it, a flash of light rips from his own mouth. He covers his mouth, but the it seeps through. Harry closes his eyes and tries to control it, when he opens them again; it's gone. He sighs in relief.

It gets worse as he grows older; and he's barely twenty now. He can't help it sometimes, the light just comes out of him like a supernova exploding. His mum and Gemma assure him that he should cherish a gift like this but Harry thinks it's a curse, actually. Half of the villagers despise him, and the other half are terrified. He doesn't know where it came, and how he got it (or how it got him), but as far as Harry is concerned, he's the only one he knows that has this condition.

That is why he mainly just keeps to himself in his room. He's been lucky enough to get a job in a tiny bakery in town from Gemma's mate's mum, who doesn't quite hate him. It's not much, but Harry loves it. The bakery he works in is three blocks away from the market, which means it's busy in the mornings when they release the first batch of fresh pastries. It is also fairly packed in the afternoon when locals come in for biscuits for their teas.

Harry stands up, stretches, and looks at his reflection in the small vanity near his bed. A boy with a crumpled mop of curls and beady, emerald eyes stare back at him. He raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes, watching as his reflection does the same. He stands for a while, and looks back to the beam of sunlight from his window, still radiant and warm. He eyes one of the glass jars on top of his dresser. He reaches for if and very gingerly sits on the edge of his bed. Harry unscrews the lid, and slowly and carefully moves the opening of the jar near the light, watching in fascination as the glow snakes around the jar and claims it as its home. He puts the lid back on and puts it beside his bedside table, beaming.

He takes a hot shower, and gets dressed. Harry loves dressing up; loves the way fabric clings to his skin, loves the way his outfits says a statement. He's wearing a loose, creamy white dress shirt and loose, cuffed trousers. He snatches the over sized, suede coat hanging on his chair and goes downstairs where his mother, Anne is humming to herself and cooking breakfast. His sister, Gemma is sat at the dining table already with a steaming mug of coffee and a book in her hand. 'Morning,' he mumbles while taking a seat across from his sister.