*Harley's pov*

He was cleansing himself from sin. He was beginning to change his life, thanks to our heavenly Father. Harry really enjoyed himself at church today, I could tell. Whenever I looked at him, he was always staring at me with a hidden smile. He looked like he was in a different world when he stared at me in church.

We were waiting in the car for Harry to exit the church. As he confidently marched out, he immediately untucked his tight, white shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, loosened his tie and ruffled his messy hair before running it back and biting his bottom lip. He was so attractive.

I should really stop thinking about the colour of his lips but they were right in front of me. He got in the car and huffed tiredly before we finally drove home. I stared beside me, where he raised his shirt to check his stitches. His stomach was so toned and... masculine. His scars made me feel sad for what he was, and how he handled himself. I wouldn't wish self inflicted scars on anyone, but the person I was growing fond of seemed to have ones with a more sinister meaning than mine. It almost made me feel like I had no reason to scratch, even if I was going through something myself. I'd stop scratching when I saw blood, but it always took an awfully long time until I bled. So, sometimes I'd cut myself with a knife so I'd get a reason to stop. Blood was always my boundary.

Whether Harry liked it or not, he self harms. He may do it for reasons which justifies his wrong doings, in which he has no control over his body because he's on acid. He doesn't know what is real and what is not. The thought is scary.

I hated what I was, yet Harry was exactly like me and I didn't hate him at all. No matter how cold he appeared to be, I'd always find something about him which makes me feel happy. And maybe that's a sign of an unhealthy relationship- but with us it was different. We weren't in a relationship, we were just... together to either fight, cry or kiss. But he was kind, I knew he was.

Harry was one of those people who thought that showing emotion was a sign of weakness, so he kept everything in. But at times, he would show himself to me. He'd laugh, he'd spend time trying to make me understand things about our society that I'd never even think about until now. He told me how ruthless people were. He showed me how to dress if I wanted to conform to their ways, but I know deep down that he didn't want me to conform. He would get angry, which was good. He'd let out his emotions to me in yells and screams. He bought me new fish because he knew how much they meant to me.

He's a bad boy who's only good for me. I never really realised how much he actually tried.

I wanted to give him another chance.

But why was I wasting my time trying to change him when he should be strong enough to change himself? The only problem is that he needs time to realise that he needs to change. But how long would that take?

I needed to help myself before I could help anyone else. And all I needed was him. Not my parents, or my counsellor, just him. He was the night, and it's always harder to see. But I know that if I stay awake in long enough then it will turn morning.

A lot of beautiful things happened in the night. The stars came out, the cold wind stimulated something inside of you. Everything is more beautiful at night, especially when the things you hate most are hidden in the darkness.

I was thinking too much.

"What are you doing today?" I whispered beside me gently.

He cluelessly shook his head and intensified his stare. "Nothing. What are you doing?"

Breathe. "Do you want to watch a film with me?"

He grinned slightly. "What about your homework?"

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