When The Sun Sets

3: Harry

Part One | Chapter Three: Harry

London, England

December 1915

Christmas at the Styles' is quite different from how it is back home in Champagne. Having been brought up there in near isolation, being surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces can be quite frightening, and while I've decided to stay close to my friend for most of the morning, she's a socialite who insists on introducing me to everyone she sees and then disappearing for hours. She has a very big family and more people have gathered in this tight house than I've ever seen in my own home.

My friend, Thea, is the eldest daughter of the family I'm staying with for Christmas break. She's the only name I have remembered so far, but I'm sure when we're all a bit sober, I'll be able to recall and put names to faces.

People are still arriving, even though it's 9 in the evening. As I look around, holding a glass of wine to my lips, I notice that there are no signs of this party stopping anytime soon. While I'm growing tired by the second, it seems like this family is going to stay awake to see 1916 happen, and when they all kiss each other at midnight, they'll fall asleep as well. There are still 6 days until the New Year, but this family is certainly laughing and drinking as if it's their last month.

I drink as much as the average person does, having given into the invitations with some of Thea's older cousins. I find myself a bit tipsy, accidentally bumping into the corners of tables and chairs and laughing strangers as I find a place to sit. Most parties back at home aren't this lively, which comes as a shock to the English people I've stayed with because we seem to give off the impression as being well balanced in our daily and nightlife. That may be a part of French culture that I'm not all that familiar with because it's not how I was raised.

I was raised by my parents to be proper and courteous and docile even when I wanted to throw a tantrum and get my way. The first lesson I received was that things won't always go my way and it's my right to be the bigger person and accept it. Parties meant drinking and loud brash comments one could not take back.

But I am not that person who is proper and courteous, no matter how much it was drilled into me. I get angry easily, despite my better judgement, and I'm not often a good conversationalist.

I feel out of place right now. Thea is nowhere to be seen, so I sit down in the family room and watch the relatives hang by the fire, drinking and having a wonderful time. The small prick of tiredness has begun to grow and soon I find myself nearly fallen over, asleep.

When I'm very tired, I become a bit delirious. I'll hear ringing in my ears and stiffen as I fall asleep, and perhaps that's why I don't notice the person beside me. The room spins until I find the magnetic center, falling towards it. My temple hurts from the hard object poking at my temple, but it's support, regardless of how uncomfortable. The hum of busy people becomes a white noise, my brain shutting off, everything coming to a rest.

Suddenly, there's a voice, just a small murmur in my ear. The cracking of the fire nearly draws me back to the warm sleep I so desperately try to accept, but then the hard person nudges me. Forcing myself into an upright position, I open my mouth to apologize to whoever I've fallen on.

"It's fine," the drowsy voice says. "I was just making sure you're alright. Don't know what to do when people pass out, that's all."

My vision focuses on a man about my age with thick brown curls falling into his eyes, an amused expression on his face. His eyes, however, are just as tired as mine, a light green shade that reflects that orange flames from the fire.

"Sorry," I mutter, dragging my hand under my mouth because I've been one to accidentally drool in my sleep. "I just nodded off."

The man hums, raising his glass to the stairs. "Have you been given a room yet?"