Crs81
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Summary
"It's always the secretly gay, closeted men who have the deepest resentment towards the openly gay ones."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm not fucking gay."
Louis swears he isn’t gay, but then Harry moves in with his stupid painted nails and this annoying confidence that makes everything Louis thinks he knows about himself feel like a lie.
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It’s the first time the word has left his mouth in a decade. Before that, the context was in reference to fictional characters in shows or films he used to watch. To Edward Cullen and Lestat. It was his mum who used to love that genre most and Harry who would dutifully watch with her. Now, he probably couldn’t bear any of it. Just like he can’t bear to see his mother.
Once such a simple, fantastical word.
Now it encapsulates the tragedy and the ruin that is his life.
“I’m a vampire,” he says again. Because if he has to say it, he might as well do so loud and clear.†
harry is still coming to terms with his affliction, which means it isn't the best time to go falling in love. and when louis joins the New York-based company where harry works, love isn't what harry's after. a harmless flirt in the lunchroom, maybe. a few conversations on the train ride home. but not love...or so harry tells himself.
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“Louis, I know it’s hard, but I need you to focus and tell me exactly what happened, ok?”
Louis is shaking uncontrollably, his hands, his heart, his mind, nothing is stable, nothing is ok. He feels untethered, boundless in time, yet paradoxically his entire life is torturously bound to this very moment. Absolutely nothing he tells his mind serves to calm his racing thoughts, he commands his body to move and his body betrays him, commands lips to speak, but no words form. All Louis can do is blindly stare at the sickeningly heavy blood coating his arms, dripping to his trembling fingers. Tears ceaselessly pour down his cheeks despite how hard he squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to calm himself enough to utter a sound. And he can’t breathe, despite all of his failed efforts to catch his wandering breath and gasp a much-needed lungful of oxygen, his diaphragm constricts furtherstill, suffocating him from the inside out.
breathe, breathe, breathe
Louis forces a sharp inhale that hurts as the breath expands his stilted lungs, god it hurts. Like stabbing his chest with a serrated knife, dragging the jagged blade through his heart over and over and over again until there is nothing left.
Series
- Part 2 of all we can do is keep breathing