*Harry's pov*

"What are you drinking?"

"Coffee." I whispered.

I uncomfortably leant back into the kitchen counter with an intent frown as the bitterness filled me me up inside, although I still felt empty. Harley was doing fine lately, these past few days have been alright for her. I persuaded her to fake a cold and stay home for a couple of days.

"What's wrong?" Harley asked in the midst of preparing dinner for when her parents came home at five. I mentally rolled my eyes and gave her a small shrug.

"Nothing you can help me with."

It was true. There was nothing wrong with me, I was just numb. I had no reason to complain about life, everything was fine.

She impatiently sighed. "I thought I'd be able to help you but all you do is shut me out."

"Well, things have been fucking depressing lately. I don't want to be a burden and add my pity to the party." I gulped down the rest of my coffee.

"So, what? We're taking turns now? Like, you want to be depressed next week instead? Do you want to take shifts? For God's sake, Harry- why don't you just quit your shit and let us help each other?" She nagged and nagged me with her huge hazel eyes and arms crossed in frustration.

"Why don't you just worry about yourself?-"

"Because I'm not like you!" She snapped, causing me to stand straight as I gave her my full attention.

"You're not like me?" I asked harshly. "You think I only care about myself? Jesus fucking Christ, I can't take a piss without thinking I'm gonna find you dead in the bath tub."

"Stop bringing it up-"

"Then fucking help yourself get better-"

"Alright!" She screamed. "I'm sick of you telling me to love myself! How about you stop using me as a fucking mirror and love yourself first, call boy."

"What?" I growled in anger. "You know I stopped for you."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's odd since I found your little, fake gun to go with your police costume. You think I didn't know about that?"

I froze. "What gun?"

"Don't play dumb."

"What gun?" I harshly asked.

She then looked away. "I wasn't snooping. I was just looking for-"

"What gun?!" I loudly yelled in fright.

"It was in your drawer! Right next to your police costume! Why have you still got it?" She fiercely demanded an answer as she swiftly took a step forward.

"What? Harley, how does that mean I'm still working? God, I'll throw away the uniform right now." I informed sharply as I shifted eagerly to the door.

"Good. Throw it out right now."

Fucking hell.

I marched swiftly to my room in immense panic, rummaging through my drawer and finding my gun exactly where I left it. And it just happened to rest on top of that dumb, fucking uniform.

I threw a black trench coat over me and immediately shoved the gun into my coat pocket. I then came back downstairs, much more relieved and too spent to argue any more. I had the uniform in my hands as I held it up in front of her, and then threw it into the garbage can.

"Happy?" I snapped. "I haven't fucking touched that thing in months."

She sheepishly rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry."

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