It's like watching a bird that's been caged its whole existence and is suddenly released, overwhelmed with freedom and life, filling its lungs with what it never dared breathe and filling its eyes with what it never dared see.

I can’t grow attached to shadows. They’re gone as quickly as they come

He looks like a poem. One of those mournfully beautiful ones with short, unfamiliar words that sound ethereal when spoken and completely nonsensical when thought.

but he can’t seem to look away as he stands among chrysanthemums and daisies on a cobblestone path, the tragic musk of roses settled in the air, staring up at dimly lit windows, searching for a boy who barely exists.

Harry’s somewhere beyond the realm of existence, in the dark corners that get forgotten or shunned, and he’s far away from everybody, so far away, but Louis imagines himself reaching out, imagines stretching his hand into the bleak darkness, and imagines his fingers brushing against the bits of Harry that are still there. And that’s all he needs.