It turns out Harry was right—unsurprisingly. In the following five days, an endless stream of people come to visit his office—all arrogant and with much more money than they should, Alouette judges from a distance before being taken away to her rooms.
They arrive screaming and shouting, demanding explanations, threatening everyone they come across—and Harry receives them all in his office, one after the other, with a calm demeanour and winning smile on his face. It's obvious from the way they all suddenly fall silent that they were not expecting him to be there.
After the first day, Jayden and Brooks relegate Alouette and Jesse to their rooms, as to avoid unfortunate encounters. For days, they don't hear a word from Harry, if not the occasional refusal to meet Jayden regularly reports each day at eight in the evening.
Five days have passed since the last time Alouette saw Harry, and she's in Jesse's room.
Jesse is lying on his bed next to her, his gaze to the ceiling. The lights seem unusually dim now that the city on the other side of the window isn't illuminated anymore. It's a dark night, obscurity seems to cling to the floor-to-ceiling window like an inky substance. Alouette is desperately trying not to let her nervousness get to her.
"Would it be weird if I said I wish Ezra would come free us?" Jesse asks. Jayden is sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, but they don't bother with hiding their conversations anymore. He clearly doesn't care, and they aren't sharing sensitive information anyway.
"Call me crazy, but I'm starting to miss the Revolution too," Alouette replies with a sigh. By now she's already counted all the lights on the ceiling and given them names. Céline is her favourite, because at times it flickers. She hopes they'll never replace it. Her day-to-day would become so much more boring without it.
Jesse grunts. "The only good thing about this place is food. Speaking of," He props himself up on his elbows to look at Jayden, "I'm hungry."
"Dinner has already been served," Jayden says evenly.
"Still hungry," Jesse bites back, "and bored, too." He turns to look at Alouette. "I'm thinking fries, what do you say?"
She props herself up as well, suddenly in on the game. "Oh, yes. Fried cheese, too."
Jesse nods quickly. "With dips! And something to drink... Water? Beer? Wine? The possibilities are endless..."
Jayden is glaring at them from the other side of the room.
"Oh come on," Jesse pleads him. "We've been in here for days, it's the least you can do."
Jayden keeps glaring.
"Please?"
Jayden sighs and speaks into his intercom. "Brooks, bring food for two."
"Don't forget the fried cheese!" Jesse says loudly, and Jayden lets out a sigh, relaying their order in full.
Alouette smiles. Jayden still doesn't talk to her, but at least he can't not pay attention to Jesse. He's the kind of person that demands it.
Jayden settles back in his chair, and Jesse sits up on the bed.
"Are you just not talkative, or do you hate us?" Jesse asks suddenly.
Jayden glares in their direction again.
"I saw you with Brooks the other day, you're totally different with him. Do you not trust us?"
"Why would I?" Jayden hisses through his teeth.
"We haven't done anything." Jesse pauses. "Do you know Alouette from before? You must have seen her."
Jayden's gaze darkens, and Jesse hums.
"Oh, so that's why," he says, amusement in his tone. "What did she do to you?"
Jayden stands up. "I'll go check on your food." He leaves the room in an instant.
Jesse glances at Alouette. "Did you piss on his pillow or something?"
She throws one of his pillows in his direction. "Mind your business."
He falls back on the bed, laughing.
There's a single knock on the door.
Alouette looks up curiously. "Expecting someone?"
Jesse laughs and stands up. "I wish." He flattens the creases on his shirt as he walks, trying to gain back an appearance of elegance after having spent the past few hours on the mattress. He opens the door and closes it.
Alouette raises an eyebrow. "Have you just seen a demon?"
Jesse lets out a loud laugh, seeming to find unintentional irony in her words. "That would've been less frightening," he whispers. "Your puppy's here."
Alouette couldn't jump off the bed any faster. "What do you mean, Harry's here?" Her eyes dart to the door. She's suddenly all too aware of the fact that she's spent the last three hours sprawled on top of another man's bed. Now she feels a little sick.
Jesse rolls his eyes, his back still against the door. "Yes, Harry, your puppy, your dictator slash boyfriend slash your possible future murderer if he decides he doesn't like you anymore, that one, you know, the one you were supposed to kill but then decided against it because he was just that good and now we're all in the shit because of—"
"It's not that he was that good—"
Jesse's eyes widen. "Oh my, is he not good?"
"That's not what I meant, he's—" Alouette suddenly realises she's discussing Harry's skills in bed with a near stranger while Harry is standing on the other side of the door. She blinks a couple of times. How did her life get to this point? "We're not talking about this now, nor ever," she states, "besides, you're rambling."
Jesse's eyes couldn't get any wider. "Yeah, because I'm terrified! What the hell is he doing here, he's been ignoring us for the past five days and now he suddenly decides to pay us a visit at ten in the evening?! Where I come from, we call that getting rid of evidence hour."
Alouette chuckles. "Oh come on now, Harry could get rid of evidence at any time of the day."
Jesse sends her a long, silent look.
She clears her throat. "Not that it's a good thing, of course. It's just useful sometimes, I guess?"
He nods slowly. "I knew there had to be a reason why you like him that much," he says quietly.
Alouette's defences go up instantly. "What do you mean?"
"You're just not as innocent as you seem," Jesse replies. "You like having him on your side, don't you? You like that he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants—you may say you don't, but deep down, you admire it for it." He smiles. "Suddenly you aren't so confusing anymore."
"I don't—" She closes her eyes. Not the right moment. "Open the door."
Jesse sends her a puzzled look. "What?"
"Open the door before Harry reconsiders his decision to let us stay here," she murmurs out in an exhausted whisper, "I'm pretty sure it's the first time in the past six years someone keeps the President out of a room in his own Palace for this long." Not the first time someone shuts a door on his face, though, a traitorous voice in her mind whispers.
Jesse looks like he's about to throw up what's left of his lunch. "Oh shit, you're right, he's still here."
Alouette covers her face with a hand. Briefly, she wonders if Jayden would answer if she asked him whether the private bedrooms are soundproofed from the corridor. If they aren't... Maybe she should ask Harry to pay for the show he's just been given.
Jesse forces his back away from the door and opens it. "Your ability to find my bedroom no matter where I'm residing is starting to scare me," he forces himself to let out with a strained laugh.
Alouette still can't see Harry from where she's standing, but she distinctly hears his low voice when he replies, "Yes, your reaction has made it abundantly clear." With a single step, he enters the room. Alouette's heart skips a beat. It's just like him to look this perfect at this time of the night. The two months he spent away from the Palace haven't been enough for him to lose his touch, and by now Alouette is half-certain it could qualify as a form of art. A flawless performance from a man that allows himself no mistakes. "However, you must know I have access to your files in the Palace—it's no trouble finding information concerning you."
"Is that a threat?"
Harry scans the room, ignoring him. His eyes meet Alouette's, and he pauses. "I guessed you were housing my birdie in your rooms. It looks like I was right."
Jesse gives Alouette an amused look that screams, birdie. Her cheeks grow hot. It's been a while since Harry has referred to her like that. It's startling to realise that, if I'd come from anyone else, she would've taken it as an insult. But not from Harry. When he says it, it means something.
"Were you looking for me?" Alouette asks.
"As a matter of fact, I was." A faint smile curves his lips. "I see you've been keeping busy."
"Just trying to have some fun despite you ignoring us," Jesse tells him, gathering his courage and making use of it at the worst possible time, like he's used to doing.
"Terrorising my guards, you mean."
Jesse halts.
Harry looks at him over his shoulder. "Did you think I wouldn't hear of it?" he asks, a laugh in his voice. "Our poor Mr. Bryce has requested to be given a different task three times in the past five days."
Jesse narrows his eyes. "And yet he's still here, I assume your not listening to what the people want policy applies to the inside of the Palace as well?"
Harry chuckles. "Why swap him with someone else when I can simply give him permission to shoot if he gets annoyed?"
Alouette's eyes widen.
Jesse lets out a nervous laugh. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I? I suppose we'll have to see what happens the next time you try bothering him."
Jesse lets out an outraged gasp. "That's so!"
"Why were you looking for me?" Alouette jumps into the conversation, dousing it before the spark can catch.
Harry considers her with a long look. "Why don't we go somewhere else?" he asks back, his eyes hovering over Jesse for a moment. "Somewhere quieter."
Alouette nods, making her way towards him like a leaf caught in a current. This is what it's like between them—no matter what, she always finds herself being drawn to him. Sometimes, she wonders why that is. Is he truly her true north, or is she just being delusional? She can't tell anymore.
"But the food—what am I supposed to do with all that food?" Jesse asks.
Alouette sends him a look as she follows Harry out of the door. "I'm sure you'll think of something."
Jayden shows up right in that moment, greeting Harry with a respectful nod of his head. He opens his mouth to speak, but Harry walks away, forcing him to stay quiet. He'll think of something, indeed.
She rushes to Harry's side. The difference between them is stark—Harry, in his elegant suit, and Alouette, in her t-shirt and sweatpants, a pair of slippers at her feet. She wasn't expecting to see him tonight at all. She isn't bothered by it, though. She's used to being dressed casually around him by now, and the other way around too—though she's half-certain she'll never see him that way again.
"You've been busy lately," she says, "I've hardly seen you. I thought you'd really forgotten about us."
"I've had meetings to take care of." The faint tension pervading his frame isn't lost on her. His tone is conversational, but he's paying a little too much attention to their surroundings despite the corridor being mostly empty, as if he believes their conversation isn't as private as it seems.
"I've noticed." There's a moment of hesitation, and then, "Who were they?"
Harry hums. "Ministers, representatives, directors... A bunch of people that believe they're much more useful than they truly are."
Alouette looks down, crossing her arms over her chest. "Have you had meetings with them all, now?"
He sends her a glance. "Why do you ask?" Typical Harry, demanding a hundred truths before letting just one slip.
"Has Mr. Lawson been here yet?" A shiver runs down her spine at the memory of that revolting, slippery man.
Harry's gaze is still on her, reading much more in her reaction that she's willing to let out. "Mr. Lawson was... let go, some weeks ago. To my understanding."
Alouette halts in the middle of the hallway. The Palace doesn't just let go people. "What happened to him?" she asks slowly.
The phantom of a smile curves Harry's lips. "Perceptive," he murmurs, and then, "Evie had him killed—he was starting to take too many liberties. I approved his replacement a few days ago; I'll meet him tomorrow."
She bites the inside of her cheek, turning over the words in her mind until they make sense, until she unlocks the truth of that puzzling feeling bubbling up inside her. "Would I be a bad person if I said I'm glad he's dead?" she whispers out.
She can't make out the expression on Harry's face as he says, "Are you, now?"
Alouette frowns. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"We're more alike than I originally thought."
Something cold yet tingly travels down her back. "Are we?"
They're walking again, now. The corridor is white, no one is around. It's just them and the occasional guard murmuring a deferential greeting whenever they pass by them.
Harry's reply is definite when it comes, confirming her uneasiness. "Yes, my Lark."
"I don't know if I like the sound that."
They stop in front of the lift. Harry presses a button, and the doors open. "Why so? I find it rather intriguing." He steps inside, and Alouette follows him.
"You surely already know the answer to your question." The doors close, and she's suddenly all too aware of his closeness to her. She looks up at him; his eyes are trained on the ground, but she knows the floor is the only thing he's not paying attention to. She allows herself to take the sight of him in, from the tense angle of his jaw to the two fingers playing with a black card a moment before he swipes it on the side of the lift.
"I wonder," he starts as the lift goes up, "is it inherently evil not to be negatively touched by someone's death if they did terrible things?"
Alouette's mouth opens, then closes. "I won't be swept into another of your philosophical quests, Harry."
A faint chuckle leaves his lips. "It was simply a question." His rings clink as he puts the black card back into the inner pocket of his suit. "Morality is the most intriguing matter. Especially how everyone seems to build their own. So much importance people give to such a fluid concept."
"That's because the gist of it is the same for everyone," Alouette gives in without realising.
"Is that so, or is that what you've been told?"
She bites the inside of her cheek again. Look at him trying again. "Why—"
The lift stops all of a sudden, and the doors open. Beyond it, there's nothing but a roof, extending into the darkness until its confines melt into the night.
"What are we doing here?" Alouette murmurs.
Harry's eyes narrow, and for a moment he says nothing. "I'm not quite sure," he admits in the end. His reply seems vulnerable, and her breath hitches.
"Harry?"
"I thought of something." He steps into the darkness in front of them. It's a dark, foggy night; the dim light of the lift can only illuminate a few feet forward. "I once read the world was surprisingly dark before the advertisements and lighted signs came," he continues. He's distant from her now, his suit as pitch black as the night, but his voice carries all the same. "Can you imagine standing in the middle of a city and seeing nothing but the multitude of dim lights coming from private houses? Enough to be noticed, not enough to enlighten... we often liken our cities to the starry night, but isn't that much more celestial?"
Alouette walks through the fog until the lift is nothing but a white halo behind her, Harry a frame in the distance.
"I was thinking about you last night," Harry's voice says. When she's close enough, she realises he's leaning against the wall that separates them from the chasm below, a myriad of faint, unfocused lights piercing the fog at his back—all white, all too weak to shed light on the darkness between them. "I looked out of my window, and I thought... I thought, isn't this the world she wishes to live in? No advertisements glinting through your windows all the time, no cameras everywhere, no censorship, no..." He looks to the side; his expression is impossible to make out with the few feet still between them. "It's peculiar. You seem to be on my mind as of late. I can't seem to break free."
Coming from Harry, those few sentences are as meaningful as a confession. Alouette's breath hitches.
"Is this what it means to miss someone?" he asks. It's an unexpectedly childish question coming from him. "Truly miss, I mean. I seem to have forgotten the feeling. Missing someone's simple presence... It's quite confusing, to me. I seem to be longing for a feeling, rather than a thing."
Alouette's feet are planted on the ground. She can't close the distance between them—Harry's vulnerability will disappear together with it.
"May I share a secret, Alouette?"
"Will I have to share one back?"
He chuckles. "I was planning on turning the screens on today. But then..." There's a pause. "I didn't do it, because it felt wrong to do so without having brought you here at least once. Because I thought you would like it." Harry lets out a laugh. "I wonder what's wrong with me?"
Alouette blinks quickly. She's about to cry, but she can't quite tell why. The moment feels heavy, important.
"My secret," she whispers out. She doesn't know what makes her do it. Maybe it's Harry's truthfulness, maybe it's the fact that it's nearly been a week since they last saw each other and she needs him—she needs this connection, with whatever it means, whatever it entails. She takes a step forward, then another. Before realising it, she's standing right in front of Harry. "The first time you sat on a balcony like this, I thought about pushing you off." His stormy eyes are looking at her, but it's too dark to properly make out the look on his face. "But now... now I want to do something very different." She steps between his parted legs. Her hand is on his chest, her thumb is grazing the line of her throat. She briefly remembers being cold, but she can't feel it anymore. She's standing so close their breaths mingle, and her head is spinning. "Sink with me," she whispers.
Harry pulls her into a kiss, his hand at the nape of her neck. Alouette gasps when their lips touch, and she loses all sense of direction. Suddenly she can't tell if the stars are above them or below them—if there are any at all. Gravity is pulling her up towards the hidden moon; the fog is so thick she feels like they're in the middle of the primordial chaos—just him, her, and the energy that will spark the universe. Her thoughts are tangled; the inner conflict in her mind has no solution of continuity.
They break apart, and Harry leans his forehead on hers. "Do you still trust me?" he whispers.
Her fingers are tracing the faint stubble on his jawline. "Yes."
"Say it again."
Alouette's lips brush against his in the phantom of a kiss. They're still so soft, if his arm wasn't around her waist, she'd fall to her knees. "Yes."
There's a long silence. She keeps her eyes close, lingering in the feeling of being so close to him at last, her skin tingling in all the spots their bodies come in contact. Then...
"My bed feels cold without you in it."
The confession pierces her chest like steel. He's the only man she knows whose honesty can draw blood, even when it's this gentle.
Affection is a double-edged sword, and she's not the only one holding the blade in her hand anymore.
Thank you so much for the 502k reads on this story! It means the world to me.
I hope you've enjoyed this chapter x
Miki