Harry's POV

It's raining, thick grey clouds hanging low in the sky. The rain has completely soaked my coat and oozes into my black button up, making it stick to my skin. It's freezing in the cold February air, my breath coming out in puffy clouds, and I can feel the cold down to my bones, chilling my entire body. But the cold isn't what makes my heart freeze; no. It's the look of pure loss on Blues face. I'm holding onto her hand for dear life, afraid that if I let her go she'll float away from me, cross over to some dark place that she won't return from. I know too well how it feels to stand here, dressed entirely in black, people's fake sympathetic glances on you, waiting for you to break down while you try your best not to. I quietly watch her profile, transfixed eyes staring ahead at the sleek black wood. There's no colour in her cheeks at all, no life in her eyes. There hasn't been any for over a week now. And it's this dull, lifeless look that haunts me at night, that creeps into my dreams and makes me shiver, even when I have her warm body wrapped around mine. Even when I hold her close I can tell that she's not really with me, her mind is far away from me, from this planet, in the past. Ever since she got that call on this damned Tuesday night she hasn't fully been with me.

"Harry, no! I swear to god, I'm not going to watch that movie! Give me the remote!" I laugh, holding my hand even higher in the air, watching as she desperately tries to reach the device to change the channel. She pushes herself up on my chest, arm stretched high into the air but she's just too small, too delicate to reach it. Huffing she stretches some more, biting her lip in concentration. Hmm, that lip...I want to be the one to bite it. I watch with mesmerised eyes as her shirt - my shirt, to be exact - rides up at her sides, exposing her soft creamy skin to me, and the movie is long forgotten in my head. With a smirk I carelessly toss the remote onto the armchair across the room and wrap her up in my arms, pulling her flush against my chest, my fingers skipping over the exposed skin on her hips, my lips finding hers in a passionate kiss. She curls her fingers into my hair, tugging slightly in the way she always does, the way that drives me absolutely fucking crazy. Throwing her leg over both of mine she shifts so that she's straddling me, her elbows resting on my shoulders, her fingers still in my hair and we're all tongues and lips and sensation, leaving me panting and my heart racing. I trail my fingers up her back, feeling her soft smooth skin beneath my fingers. Fuck, I love her. I love the way she looks in my shirt, and just my shirt, I love the softness of her skin and the smooth layer of hair on her lower back. She probably doesn't even know about it but I do, and it's like my little secret that I treasure dearly. It's funny, really, how I've come to know her body so much better than she does. I know it all, every dip and curve, and I wouldn't change a single bit. She's not perfect, no. She's got small little imperfections, marks and crinkles but I love her even more because of them, they make her more real, less out of this world. They make it more comprehensible for me that she's mine, that she chose my scarred heart to love, something that I still can't fully wrap my head around.
Her body is warm beneath the blanket, so wonderfully warm that I can't help but let my hands wander over it, exploring every inch of skin I can reach. She moans softly into my mouth before breaking our kiss and trailing her lips down my throat to my neck, sucking and biting gently as she goes. Hmm... I groan, lost in sensation, lost in her, lost in anticipation when suddenly - her phone rings.
I groan again, but this time it's in annoyance. Fucking bad timing, whoever it is better has a damn good excuse for interrupting. Who even calls someone at ten past eleven at night?
She sits up, giving me an apologetic shrug and a kick peck on my lips before picking up her phone.
"Dad? Hi...yes, give me a moment." My eyes follow her out of the room, disappointment still heavy in my chest but at the same time, concern sweeps through me. Her dad wouldn't call her that late if it wasn't important would he? I know for a fact that he always goes to bed early for work, so why call her now?
Fuck. It hits me with a sickening jolt, and suddenly it's all clear. Her mum. It has to be about her, why else would he call? I jump up from the couch, feeling sick with worry. I quickly check all the rooms downstairs but she's nowhere to be found, so I sprint upstairs, taking two steps at a time, praying to whoever might be listening that this is not about what I'm thinking, that I'm completely wrong and it's all just a misunderstanding.
She's not in her -our- room, and I frantically cross the hallway to get to the bathroom. The door won't budge when I try to open it. She's in there. Fuck. I press my ear against the wood, trying to figure out if she's still on the phone but I'm met with silence. Hesitantly I lift my hand and tap my knuckles against the door, knocking. "Blue? Blue, open the door, please." No answer. I knock again, louder this time. "Blue, please. Open the damn door." Again, no answer, not a sound is to be heard and I feel pure panic run through me. What is she doing? She wouldn't...no. I pound against the door again and again, frantically trying to get her to open up but she doesn't, there's no reaction. Taking a deep breath I step back and then throw myself against the door with full force. My shoulder protests but luckily so does the door, the old wood giving in easily. I stumble into the room, blinking around in my frantic search to her. My eyes find her, and my heart sinks. She's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up against her chest, her hair all over the place. She looks up at me with those large, incredibly blue eyes and she looks so lost, so hurt that my heart thumps painfully in my chest.
"Oh, baby, no..." I sink down next to her and wrap her up in my arms, pulling her to my chest, and the dam is broken. She starts sobbing, relentlessly, endless tears flooding down her cheeks, soaking us both. I lift her, holding her in my arms like a small child, her head tucked away in my neck, and gently carry her over to the bedroom. Laying down with her in my arms I spread the blankets over us then pull her close to me again, not saying a word. We just lie in silence, her head on my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut with every sob that shakes her body. I feel it, feel her pain as if it was my own. And it hurts so fucking bad because she shouldn't have to feel this, she shouldn't be in this situation. She hasn't said it yet but looking at her now, with her pain evident on her beautiful yet strained features, it tells me all I need to know. Her mother is gone, for good.
I gently stroke her hair and kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger for a bit, hoping to comfort her.
"I know, baby, I know." My words are merely a whisper, but when she looks up at me with teary eyes and that knowing look in her eyes, I feel a connection deeper than anything I've ever felt before, deeper than what we had before. Because now she truly understands, now we truly understand each other. Now we're both lost, but we're lost together, and I can only hope that I'll be able to carry her through her loss just like she did with me.

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