Sweet As Honey-Boxer Harry

Chapter 10

Harry's never felt hollow. He's always had something stirring in his gut, something telling him that he's still breathing. Now, as he climbs the steps of his front porch, hands in his pocket and tears in his waterline, he feels empty. He can hear his feet dragging as he crosses the living room, falling onto the couch. He can hear Gemma retreat to her room, digging around in her dresser. He hears his mom disappear into the bathroom, the lock clicking in the otherwise silent house.

His suit jacket and slacks feel itchy on his clammy skin, and he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. His eyes fall on the lounging chair across the room, cushions and fabric worn down and soft. It's as if the chair, which has always been reserved for Desmond, is waiting for him to come and put his feet up.

Harry's vision blurs but he can't feel the sting of his eyes or the tears that follow the dips of his cheeks and nose. He doesn't wipe them away when he climbs to his feet, walking on numb legs to the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. He lets them fall onto his hands as he removes the cap with a bottle opener, lip trembling as he takes the beer back to living room. He sets it on the table next to his dad's chair, returning to his spot on the couch. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can pretend his dad is still here.

~

He can hear them talking around him, hear the way Anne's voice is lined in panic. He wishes it wasn't, her panic fuels his panic. Gemma's not as worried, at least she doesn't sound like she is as she tries to shush Anne. Later he'll be grateful for it, because her voice is distracting him from y/n's, and he needs to hear her, to feel her.

Gemma must get Anne quiet because the only voice Harry can make out in his meddled brain is his wife's. It's as if she can read his mind, responding to the hurtful thought pounding in his brain.

They're abandoning you again.

"We're here, we love you Harry."

You should've known they'd do this.

"You did nothing wrong bub, nothing at all."

You're not loved.

"Love you so much Harry, come back to me please baby. Need you."

You're hurt, and you're scared, and you're broken.

"I've got you, you're ok. I've got you forever."

Y/n is carding her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp despite the fact that he's heavily sweating. She lets him squeeze her arm, fingers white from the strong grip he has on her. Somehow he's managed to bury his nose in her neck, inhaling her scent through rushed inhales and choppy exhales.

She holds him tight, just like he asked her to all those years ago when she'd begged him to let her help. He thinks of them then. Back when she opened him up, when she took his fragile heart and built it to be strong. When she took his heart and put it with hers, making them each other's safe space. He thinks of the nights when she'd drive to stay with him when he was so lonely he was scared of himself. All the days she'd stayed under the covers with him because he was so exhausted from a nightmare that had kept him up the night before. And he thinks of her holding him when he fell apart, letting him know she'll always put him back together. He starts to come back, reminding himself he's still in her arms, she's still putting him back together.

She must feel him relax because she presses a strong kiss to his temple, murmuring softly,"are you back love? You here with me?"

He nods, peeling his teary eyes open to meet hers. Like always, she shows no hint of fear or anxiety. She's strong, lips in a tiny but comforting smile and eyes looking him over fondly. He releases his hold on her arms, wiping at his eyes messily before cupping her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She nods, knowing what he's trying to say. It's their thing after he's had an attack because he often doesn't know how voice his gratefulness. A simple "thank you" doesn't feel enough and she gets mad when he apologizes. So he just uses his eyes and hands.