*Harley's pov*

Six years of having anxiety, I thought I'd be more scared than this. Sure, it was terrifying at first; but I was so exhausted. Any form of energy to get up and be a hero had left my body and I was now hopelessly staring at the ceiling with my back pressed up against a bookcase.

My meditation was disturbed by the rough sound of thin paper tearing out of a book. I winced slightly as it interrupted the silence and slowly closed my eyes.

Harry's head was comfortably laying on my lap with my fingers stressfully running through his curly hair. A small, deep sigh escaped his lips as he tore yet another page from the book he was holding.

"Can you stop that, please?" I quietly asked.

He soon abided my needs and softly placed it beside him. He bit his bottom lip and nestled the back of his head into me with a bored whine. "We've been sitting in here for two hours."

"The police are probably searching the whole place. I don't know what the hell happened to the shooter, but he only shot once. Maybe... Maybe he killed himself." I whispered in thought.

"How do you know it was a he?"

"Oh, come on. He probably got rejected by a girl and decided to shoot up a school or something." I scoffed.

"He could have been on drugs or going through some bad shit." Harry quietly added.

"So, what if he's going through bad shit? Don't bring a gun to school. Don't make your problem our problem. I could be home by now, eating ramen noodles." I groaned at the mere thought of the male species projecting their issues onto us.

"Alright, chill out." He jokingly warned, raising his hand to intertwine with mine before pulling it down to rest against his stomach. He intently inspected my palm.

"There's nothing scarier than the crazy kid in class punching a wall and muttering something under his breath." I quietly laughed, to which he deeply chuckled also.

"I used to be that kid in my teen years. I was always so angry, ungrateful little shit," he cussed under his breath and shook his head. "You had nothing to be angry about."


"Talking to myself." He vaguely responded.

I could tell he was thinking about his family, or something along those lines. I needed to snap him out of it, and think towards the future.

"Hey," I tugged at his hair which was followed by him pouring out an overly dramatic gasp in pain. "What's the first thing you're gonna do when someone comes and saves us?"

He shuddered, which wasn't a good sign. It was almost as if he was scared, or worse, anxious. I didn't want him to feel anxious. I wouldn't want anyone to ever feel anxiety.

"Go back to the house, maybe watch some Orange is the new black and call it a night."

"Orange is the new black?"

"It makes prison look exciting." He ushered.

"Can I watch it with you?" I hopefully asked.

"If we make it out of here alive." He snickered, but it wasn't funny.

I slumped back with an exasperated huff, my lips pouting as Harry traced my palm lines with his fingertips. "Harry... Do you think we're gonna be okay?"

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