Kismet

Ten [The Posters]

Suspension cables the color of slate whip by like mile markers, punctuated with the tall spiked towers of the passing bridge. The train automatically slows down a tick when it crosses water for obvious reasons and Harry can't help but close his eyes and breathe in the different sound that the wheels make when they bump over the fasteners of the railroad track. A smooth whirr followed by the comforting click of metal on metal, a sound that he doesn't have the pleasure of hearing on the suspended Caterpillar trains that run through the busier district where he lives.

Being in this sleepier area of the city does make him nervous about potential discovery but somehow with your head resting on his shoulder, the distraction is too strong for him to feel overwhelmed with fear as he normally does. He begins to recognize his whereabouts, the storefronts and graffiti that familiarize him to his location near the coffee shop where you met and the vet where he brought Pru. He smacks his palm against his forehead when he remembers his kitten and how hungry she probably is, his guts stricken with guilt as he curses himself internally for being a thoughtless and selfish pet owner.

He pulls your hands apart and his heart feels deflated at how much empty air surrounds his lonely palm now. He flips his hand over and inspects the front and back, pouting his bottom lip and trying to commit to memory the experience of attachment and accommodation and how deeply he wishes he could reach over and hold your hand whenever he needs. What his life would be like if he woke up panting, sweating and screaming at four in the morning but then you sat up beside him too, hugging him and reassuring him that the macabre images would pass. He rolls his eyes at how greedy that thought is too, as if you don't have any needs to be taken care of and you were put on this earth just to soothe him.

His mind starts to travel the dangerous road of how selfish his existence is in the first place; how many lives were destroyed just for the sake of lying about and concealing his affliction, how many hours of the day he spends pitying himself and living in distress about exposure, how he pushes every single human away from him that tries to show him kindness because he can't trust their motives, how much better off everyone around him would be if he had just turned himself in as a child or teenager, how it's gotten to the point that no one would notice if he were to disappear.

Tears present themselves as a question mark in his chest and throat but he shakes his head as if to ask them to leave, his chin angling downwards at the sting of sadness behind his eyes. He can't remember the last time he cried - it's probably been years - but he likes to tell himself that after that night so many days ago, he used up every tear that existed within the realm of his body. He breathes in deeply and exhales slowly to the count of ten, feeling his depression go back into hiding when he gets another whiff of your honeyed shampoo.

His heart begins to patch itself together at his reminder to be grateful, his memory of the spotless evening and morning that he spent with you, the effort that he made to open himself up for the reception of love, how you've somehow fallen into his lap after decades and how that could mean that things are starting to change. He doesn't really know how it's possible but, his life could begin taking a turn for the better.

He prepares himself for the impending hollowness he is bound to feel at the loss of weight from your head on his shoulder and then your absence for the rest of the day followed by an unknown amount of time. His cheek presses against the crown of your head when he peers down at you and retains this moment before whispering, "nova." It feels incredible to say it out loud to you; his eyelids flutter closed before he clears his throat and whispers it again, a bit louder this time as he lifts his shoulder to jostle your head softly, "nova?"

"I'm up!" You draw your head up slowly and attempt to speak through a yawn, "sorry honey, mmm... what were we sayin'?" He watches with a doting smile as you stretch and yawn again, your fist raising to rub your eye as you glance outside, "oh... I've only got two stops left." You divert your attention to Harry and don't fail to notice the glassiness in his eyes as you run your fingers through your hair, "you let me sleep so long, I feel so bad..." You pull your phone out of your pocket and check the time, "wanna come over for a bit? I can make you some coffee?"