He Is Broken. // H.S.

31~'Till Morning

We walk inside together, the house surprisingly quiet.

"Where is everyone?"

"They went out," he answers casually.

I furrow my eyebrow. "Why didn't you go?"

He shakes his head, letting go of me to close the front door. "Mm, didn't really feel like it."

"Haz," I sigh, "Was it because of me?" I expectantly say, instantly feeling guilt rise up and forming a lump in my throat.

"No, no of course not!" He says in a hurry, shaking his head while pulling me towards the living area, both of us sitting down on one of the sofas. "It's just me. I didn't feel like it."

Feeling a little relieved--although, I still feel like this is partly my fault--I drag out a sigh, sniffing loudly once more. Honestly, for a moment there I thought he was going to say he was-

No. He's way passed depressed, he's fine. He's happy. He's happy.

"Alright, babe?" Harry politely asks, voice laced in concern. The back of his hand reaches out to my forehead, then slowly caress down to my rosy, tear-stained, cheeks.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. "So, where did the boys go?"

He smirks happily for some reason, breaking our gaze. "Where we first met." His fluster in a light pink color and so do mine.

Memories flood back in my mind like a downpour from that night, and I tilt my head back slightly with a wide grin painted across my face. "Oh, The Faze." I smile, re-imagining the scene so perfectly. Then I thought, "We should go there again soon. You know, before you have to go."

His smirk deepens, little half-moon shaped crevices that are his dimples carve out in his cheeks and are as prominent and as beautiful as ever. "Maybe one day," he promises.

"How long have they been out?"

"For a while. Well, since Niall's with them they may be out all night," he lightly chuckles. Ohhh, because he's Irish and all, I see. I lightly laugh, mentally agreeing with him. I then notice his smirk slowly fade into a straight line, still looking down. "So, what happened?" He asked slowly, "With you and your Aunt I mean."

I bite my lower lip, criss-crossing my legs on the sofa. "Everything I feared the most," I say in a hushed voice, twiddling with my fingers in my lap. "Everything was spilled. The lies, the secrets... all of it."

He doesn't say anything, only nods understanding, emerald eyes staring intently at me.

"She confessed that she had been speaking to my father," I murmur. "She confessed that she does know Jenna. She confessed it all." I whisper at the end, resting the point of my elbow on the armrest beside me, looking away from Harry's direction.

"Anyways, she wants me to see him soon since his cancer is getting worst. I just don't know what to do, Harry," I cry, running my cold fingers through my knotted hair stressfully. "One part of me is actually beginning to warm up to the man while the other part of me wants nothing to do with him. What should I do?"

A short period of silence consumed us before Harry finally spoke, "I think you already know what I think you should do."

"Harry," I sigh. "I don't want to, I can't-"

"And I'm not making you," he says with care, taking ahold of my hand and folding it with his. "I'm supporting you, I'll always support you and the decisions you make. But, please, for me, think about what's right."

"I know."

"So you'll think about seeing your dad?"

Pause. "Maybe."