Chapter Text
Jo wakes up with a start. He goes straight to the dormitory, groping his way until he finds Harry’s bed. He sighs in relief hearing him breathe peacefully. He watches him sleep, clutching Louis’s small hand against him. Oh, how he wishes he could protect him from everything. He wants to preserve his peace and his sleep for as long as he lives. He brushes back a stray lock of hair. He wants to tell him to go away, far away, where no one will ever find him. But it’s a bit selfish; he wants to keep him close. He saw him sink. He thought he would never get up from that bed where he spent more than ten days. He thought he’d lost him again. He cannot let him go another time. And wherever he goes, Boris will eventually find him. He no longer knows what to do to protect him. To protect them both. He is ready to lose many things, but Harry is not one of them.
It takes him a moment to notice two eyes staring at him. Jo pulls his hand away immediately.
- I was just making sure he was breathing. That’s all.
- By putting your hand on his forehead? And stroking his skin? Don't go near him again.
- It’s really, really not what you think.
- I’ve seen dirty old men before.
- I am not a dirty old man.
- Prove it.
- I can’t, Louis. I can’t. I have too much to lose.
- You’re going to lose everything if you keep caressing him while he sleeps.
- Protect him. That’s all I ask of you. Because he won’t make it alone.
- He’s not a baby anymore.
- It’s not him I’m afraid of. Goodnight, Louis.
- Watch your back, Jo.
But Jo has already vanished.
Louis grumbles and wipes the forehead of his sweet princess. Jo looked terrified. What is going on here? He has no idea. He goes back to bed, his mind clouded. A crowd of questions weighs heavy on his heart. Harry isn’t in danger here, everyone loves him, Louis tries to reassure himself. He gets out of bed, inhales the fresh air from the window, and listens to the silence. Harry’s light breathing reaches him. He turns his head and smiles as he looks at him. He is peaceful. No worry could disturb his sleep. He doesn’t even knit his brows. He looks like a blessed soul. He smiles despite everything, as if there were nothing to fear from life, as if he hadn’t already wiped away too many tears. He is desperately happy. He clings to that happiness even if it bruises his hands. Louis closes the window and crawls back into his arms. He lets himself be rocked by his quiet breathing and serene expression. But Boris is there, very close, lurking in the shadows, biding his time. They have no idea what awaits them.
The world wakes up a few hours later, in a joyful mood. Louis went to get croissants because he knows how much Harry loves them. Harry is in the shower when he returns. He sets the pastries on the table and goes upstairs. He stops breathing when he sees Harry crying under the hot water, scrubbing his skin with rage. Louis approaches softly.
- Princess…
- Oh. Louis. Come here, my prince, he says, sobbing.
- I’m here. Everything is fine now.
- No, everything is not fine.
He steps closer, until he feels Harry’s chest against his skin. His long curls are dripping. He strokes his back with tenderness; he shudders. But it’s something else. It isn’t pleasure. So Louis steps back. He gives him the space to exist. Let his tears fill the room. Fill the hollows all around them.
Outside, the sky shatters into pieces. Lightning bolts streak across the celestial vault. Yet, the day is barely breaking. But it is night in his eyes, on his skin, and all around them. Harry keeps his lips tightly sealed, unable to put into words what he felt as he heard Boris’s footsteps approaching, opening the curtain, unable to resist the urge to run his hands over his skin, his cheek, and his shoulders. He hadn’t gone further, but he had filled his eyes with his naked skin. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights. The precise moment before everything falls apart, before the head-on collision. The moment when you know the end is near, and knowing it prevents you from moving. The car is too fast, and the legs too small. Only the screams remain. But screaming doesn’t prevent the impact. So Harry backed into the small shower stall. But it wasn’t enough. Neither the wall pressed against his back, nor the distance he put between them, nothing was enough to stop the hands from crossing that distance. Boris had a vile smirk. He knew he was the stronger one. He could have done whatever he wanted; no one would have heard. But, and this was perhaps the worst part, he hadn't sought to subdue him. It was just a silent way of telling him that everything about him belonged to him. Every breath, every tear, and his fear : all of it was for him.
"You won't be able to escape me," he seemed to say.
And he was right, sadly right. He had left with a wicked laugh. Without closing the shower curtain. No one had heard Harry. He had smiled hearing him call for help. He knew. And now Louis was there. Harry hadn’t stopped crying. He had to live, dry his tears, laugh, and be strong. He couldn't do it.
His eyes had been terrifying and raw with truth. They had belonged to each other for so long. Harry remembered his skin, a body always remembers. He remembered everything. He felt his breath catch as he heard the door slam. Hearing his footsteps, his heart began to throb wildly in his chest. And when he saw him, when he opened his terrified eyes, there was already nothing left of Harry. Boris had taken everything from him.
- What do you want from me?
And that’s when he knew. He wanted him. He wanted Harry. Or maybe Ari. He didn't know anymore. And Boris had reveled in the sight offered to him. Those terrified eyes. His naked body. His brown curls. His small stomach. He had taken everything. Wrecked everything. Almost without touching him. Touching him barely. Nothing remained. No matter how much Harry backed away, Boris was there, standing before him, his hands burning and his heavy body pressed against his skin. It wasn’t a nightmare. He had caught him a few times lingering in front of the station, searching for him. And when he found Harry, when his boiling eyes plunged into his, he would vanish. He hadn't told anyone. He told himself he would never cross the fire station doors. He was wrong. He was just waiting for the right moment.
But Louis was here now. He would try to understand, and Harry didn't want to explain. He couldn't. He would try to find Boris, and he undoubtedly would, and he would forget to be understanding and human. And Harry, despite the terror he felt, didn't want revenge. He wanted to move forward. To be strong for a lifetime. But he felt he wouldn't be able to do it alone much longer. What was Boris capable of? The worst, perhaps. He didn't know. He had realized that you never truly know people. He had learned it in the most painful way.
And the more Harry looked at Louis, the more his vision blurred. He barely understood that, all by himself, he had just triggered a war he never wanted. And in this war, he would lose his life. He was suffocating in his tears, in this world and in this life that refused his happiness. He was tired of struggling, of being alone to fight against gusts of wind that tore at his head every time. This wind was terrible and swept away everything in its path. It carried away every memory, every laugh, every moment of peace.
He felt soiled. What was left of his skin, of his body? He carried life and death. Death because Boris had just killed his light, shattered his laughter into shards. He had stroked his skin as if it belonged to him forever. He had laughed. He had been terrifying. How could he?
- Ari, princess. What’s wrong?
- Nothing. Nothing is right.
Louis winced. He felt stabbed a little more with every tear his fiancé shed. He felt diminished, on the verge of disappearing. Harry’s crying had something unfathomable about it. It resonated like the end of a world.
- I’m in pieces, Louis.
Louis didn’t answer. He didn’t tell him he was wrong. He knew that he didn’t know everything. He knew he would never know everything. So he waited for Harry to trust him again to be part of his world in pieces. He waited until he was ready. He was perhaps right, deep down. He was perhaps too broken to live, to breathe, and to have a smile stretching across his face. But if Harry collapsed, what would be left of the world? He had to stay strong and keep fighting, even without weapons, without a heart, without courage. He had to keep trying. He might be in pieces, but the pieces were raw gold. Diamonds. He had to try.
- Princess… look at me and on three, we’ll try to breathe together.
- What if he came back
- Who?
Harry remained silent. He had already said too much. Louis was going to worry. Get angry, surely. He would want to know. He would eventually understand, and life would look like nothing anymore. A minefield. He wasn't afraid of Louis. He had never trembled in his presence. But his rage, he feared that more than anything. That fire inside him was capable of overturning the world. To protect Harry, Louis was capable of becoming everyone's enemy. He was afraid of nothing, and that was exactly what was terrifying. His eyes were like dead planets. Nothing shone. Just the quiet strength of one who has already lost too much.
- Do you want me to go get Jo?
- No! Harry cried out. Don't leave me alone. Never. Never again.
- I’ll just be one floor down. Nothing will happen.
- Please. If I scream, no one will hear me.
- I would hear you.
- Please, stay.
- As you wish.
Harry eventually calmed down. When he was ready, he opened his arms wide and Louis sought refuge inside. He found it funny to be soaked. It didn't make Harry laugh. In fact, nothing made him laugh anymore. He finally got out of the shower, after letting the water run for a very long time. Too long, surely. But it was what was needed to wash away Boris’s hands. He wrapped himself in a thick towel and let himself fall to the floor. Louis caught him just in time. The contact burned his skin.
- Promise me you won't get angry if I tell you.
- I can't promise you that.
- At least try.
- I can't.
- Make an effort. I need to hear it from your mouth.
- Oh, now you’re playing the alpha male. Don't use that tone with me.
Harry sighed. He dreamed of driving him away, of slapping his cheek, of hurting him. He wasn't playing the alpha male. He was fighting for survival. Boris knew very well that the memories of the ball would resurface. He knew what he was doing. God, he hated him. That’s why he laughed. He had barely touched him, but he had already won everything. He had succeeded in instilling fear in Harry. A lingering fear that sticks to the skin. He had succeeded in breaking his life. Breaking this beautiful day that was just beginning. The smell of the pastries still floated in the room. But it was over. There was nothing left but Boris.
Harry got up abruptly, got dressed, and left the room. He nearly collapsed with every step. But he wanted to go, to leave this room and the traces of Boris everywhere on the walls. His scent. The first time, he had looked at the ceiling, unable to defend himself. He had been too shocked to react. He truly thought he was dying. He thought about it every second. So he closed his eyes and waited. But now, he had too much rage to wait stupidly for death; he had too much rage to look at the ceiling, too much rage even to speak of it. Louis followed him with quiet, stealthy steps into the stairs, understanding none of his tears, nor his silence.
- I’m going to the bathroom, are you going to hold it for me too?
He didn’t understand that either. He had left a laughing, smiling Harry and found a wreck filled with rage. Yet, he was sure he hadn’t done anything. He gave Harry some privacy and waited behind the bathroom door, biting his nails. Harry finally came out, his eyes still dark. Something had changed.
- Talk to me. Please. I’m begging you.
But Harry said nothing. He naively thought Louis would eventually forget what he had seen. It was foolish; he should have known that some silences are like time bombs. They plow through the heart, explode in one's face. That they sometimes make so much noise. He should have known. A firefighter senses these things. But Harry was no longer a firefighter. He was a mother. And this rage grew in him like his baby, transforming itself.
Harry sat at the table, and too bad if the pastries didn't taste the same and everyone had noticed his red eyes. They ate in silence. The laughter had ceased. The alarm sounded. Harry stared at it for a long time and stood motionless amidst all his colleagues who were rushing. He was unable to move. His body had stayed somewhere between the cold tile and the glass.
- Harry, I need you to be 100% with us here. Come quickly.
- I’m coming. He blinked, and his body began to function normally again, but it was a sham. In reality, he had gone into autopilot mode. Saving lives, he was made for that. Saving his own was different. He would learn. So he hurried to the truck, put gloss on his lips, and fastened his seatbelt. He made a discreet hand gesture toward Louis and sped off. He thought that some lives were more worth saving than others. Some tears could take up all the space, and others had no right to exist. That’s how it was. Deep down, what was left to save in him? He was broken. And what is broken, you throw in the trash. He thought back to Louis. It was abrupt and surprising. "Gold," he had said one day. "We make gold out of what is broken." He shook his head. No. He didn't want to make a work of art out of what Boris had taken from him. He didn't feel capable of it. He drove to the indicated location without asking questions. Without thinking about Louis left alone. He hadn’t even thought of him for a single second. He only saw his pain. It’s strange how sometimes it robs you of everything.
He was greeted by an old lady, very chic, very elegant in her impeccable suit. But her clothes were torn in places and her arms were bruised.
- He didn't want to hurt me, she began in a small voice.
She launched into messy explanations, but no one was fooled. Harry smoothed back her long hair in a tender gesture. No one said anything. Not everyone can be saved. He whispered.
- One day they shower you with gifts, make you laugh, make love to you, and make you see the world differently. And the next day, they touch you in the shower and revel in seeing you terrified. Sometimes, it happens faster than you think, harry says.
Jo listened intently. He had heard.
The old lady lowered her head and whispered that she was sorry for him. Harry replied that he felt sorry for her too. She looked so fragile. Jo watched Harry and went to get a new shirt for the lady. His hands shook a little with a smoldering anger. But he made no comment. The old lady was presentable again. It was nice, but it solved nothing. It didn’t take away the bruises, the torn clothes, or the pulled hair. It didn't stop the tears from flowing inside, didn't stop the blood from flowing, or that feeling of being less than nothing. She promised them she would be careful. They offered a thousand times to take her away, but she wanted to stay there, in this life built on dust. She said he was sometimes very kind, and that seemed to excuse everything.
- The world needs heroines like you, Harry said. We need to know that we can make it. That everything will be okay.
He desperately needed someone to tell him that, especially today. But he knew that not everyone could be a heroine. Sometimes, it’s not enough. And stories don't always end like a fairy tale. Sometimes, they end on a page of a newspaper, soberly titled: 37th femicide. Anne, 68 years old. Nothing else. A life swept away in a few lines. Doubts, hopes. When a woman dies, the whole of society mourns.
It was in a bloodbath that Harry found the old lady. Underwear torn away. And a frail smile on her lips. Sometimes, there are no miracles. Just lives that go out without a sound. Harry understands that it’s up to him to create his miracle. He refuses to be the 38th. He refuses to be one more. Words weren't enough to save Anne, but maybe they will save him. He returns to the station, his heart bloodied in his chest. And among the hoses and equipment, he reveals to Jo what happened. Jo turns pale. And rushes to his son's station.
- Boo, your father is here.
- I’m coming!
Jo grows impatient. And the liters of coffee he swallows without looking won't change anything. As soon as he sees him, he stands up and approaches him with long strides. Arriving in front of him, he slaps him. Boris’s head snaps back and hits the wall behind him. He comes to his senses, a bit dazed. He holds his cheek and looks at his father with a wicked gaze.
- Hit me as much as you want, you won't be able to stop me from getting him back.
- He doesn't want you!
- He will.
- Never!
Boris breaks into a vile laugh.
- It will be me or him.
- You can't ask that of me.
- Then close your eyes. And tell yourself that was just the beginning. You won't be able to protect him much longer. I’ll come back; I always come back. It’s already too late.
- Leave him in peace.
- That, never. I’ve grown fond of it—his eyes wide with fear, his little terrified look.
- You loved him. Respect that. He gave you water when you were thirsty. Food when you were hungry.
- You’ll never understand anything.
- Your mother would be ashamed.
- I don't care. Not one bit.
- Why this obsession with what you can't have ?
- Dad, I can have everything.
Jo strangles his son with his bare hands. Boone intervenes and separates them. He takes a blow to the nose, staggers, and falls to the ground.
- Don't even try to play the pacifist with me when you let your men subdue Harry in the worst possible way. And you, why did you stop that only to do the same thing months later?
- I wanted to finish the job! He breaks into an atrocious laugh.
When Jo returns, Harry still hasn't spoken to Louis. He retreats into a disarming and painful silence. He guards it like something precious belonging only to him. He is barely able to put words to Anne and her lovely smile. Bloodied, the smile, but it said so much. It told of life and hope beyond everything. At the end of the day, as Harry prepares to go home, Jo takes him by the arm and asks him to follow him into his office. Harry sighs. He dreamed of being back against Louis’s skin and his large arms that protect him from almost everything.
- I talked to Louis.
- Did you… did you tell him ?
- No. But you’ll have to.
- I will. Not right away, but I will.
- Good. Harry, you’re almost one month pregnant…
- I don't want to stop.
- It wasn't really a question.
- I told you that…
- I know what you told me. And I’ve changed my mind. Fly away far, and come back stronger.
- I don't want to go away. I want to stay here.
- And let it start again? Let it get worse? What do you expect from me, Harry?
- No, I…
- Then go. By then, he might not have you in his sights anymore.
- I thought you were worried about my pregnancy…
- I am. I think your pregnancy makes things more complicated. That it puts everyone on edge. It’s already not easy to protect you, but the life you’re carrying on top of it…
- Mmh. So you’re asking me to go far away? What if he finds me ?
- I’ll handle it.
- You barely know him.
- I know him very well. Better than you think.
- I thought I knew him too.
- Harry, please.
- I’m the one being touched, and I’m the one who has to leave? It’s so unfair.
- I’m doing my best. Nothing that’s happening to you is fair.
- Working is what makes me happy. I really love it.
- I can't have you guarded 24/7. While you’re on vacation, I’ll manage to make him leave you alone.
- And if he refuses?
- How far are you willing to go?
- What do you mean?
- Are you willing to file a complaint ?
- I… I don't think so. He just…
- It’s only the beginning. He isn't just touching you; he’s asserting his superiority. And I don't know how far he’s willing to go.
- Brrr. Don't scare me!
- I’m not trying to! I’m trying to protect you.
- Crazy exes…it won't be the first or the last time.
- This is something else. More insidious. More serious.
- Mmh. I see.
- Isn't there a place you’d like to visit?
- Asia, he said without much conviction.
- Perfect.
- You don't do this for everyone, do you ?
- You aren't everyone.
- One would swear they were hearing Louis. Always ready to compliment me or boost my ego.
- You are the son I always dreamed of.
Harry smiles. He doesn't hear all that Jo isn't saying. They talk a while longer, late into the night. They talk about important things and those that are less so. Harry signs his leave request, which will of course be accepted. He can't imagine doing anything else with his life but being a firefighter. He hasn't taken a break in an eternity. It feels strange. The alarm rings, but he doesn't move. He looks at Jo, who smiles. Harry doesn't feel sad when the truck speeds off without him. He finds Louis. He has things to tell him. Louis is waiting for him right outside the office.
- You’ve been crying… again.
- This time it was something else.
- Tears of joy then?
- Of relief.
- Mmh. You looked less than relieved in the shower. You looked… broken into a thousand pieces.
- I was.
And, after a silence :
- We’re going on vacation, Lou.
- But… I can't! I… I didn't want to tell you anything, but I found a job.
- Oh.
- I’m sorry, sweetheart.
- Then we’re going to stay here… near him.
- Who?
Harry turns around and goes back into Jo's office. Louis doesn't have time to protest before the door closes silently. He stands there, not knowing what to do with his legs and arms that weigh a ton. Harry has a ghost in his eyes, a ghost that haunts him every day and makes him cry in the shower. Harry isn't usually very emotional, though. He is always very calm and secretive. But since the baby, he does nothing but cry. Or worse, have tears in his eyes every second. It has something quite terrifying about it. What is he not saying? Louis looks up hearing shouts. Harry runs out of the office and up to the dormitory. Louis is left speechless. He knocks. Jo answers positively and invites him in. His brows are furrowed.
- He’s not the same anymore, is he?
- Mmh.
- It was the same with Hope. I thought I’d lose him.
- He thought he’d lose you too that day.
Louis remains silent. Jo is the best father Harry could have. The best. They talk for a while, a lot about Harry but also about life that hurts, about those lights at the end of the tunnel, and those glimmers in the heart. He leaves the office and sighs before entering the dormitory. He doesn't always know how to deal with Harry; the pregnancy brings out all the tears he kept inside. He opens the dormitory door softly. Harry is there, clutching a pillow in his arms. Louis approaches and reaches out his hand, but Harry doesn't move. He looks out the window.
- Haz…
Still no answer. Louis nestles in his arms and kisses him softly, but Harry stiffens. Louis sits up.
- I’m sorry I didn't say anything. I wanted to keep it a surprise. I wanted you to be proud of me.
The silence that followed was devastating.
Louis sighs, looks out the window, sees nothing. He gets up and leaves the room. Harry still doesn't make the slightest movement. Louis closes the door softly, turns off the hallway light, and goes downstairs. He understands that sometimes Harry needs to be alone. So he goes about his business. He checks on him regularly, but Harry remains motionless. He doesn't move all day. Around 6 PM, he finally comes down, guided by his stomach screaming with hunger. They eat in silence, the two of them, without touching, without even daring to look at each other. The silence is heavy. Suffocating. Harry eats his applesauce with his head down.
- I wasn't alone in the shower, he finally said.
A bombshell. Harry gets up, goes to throw the empty applesauce cup in the trash, and stands facing the window.
- Who… who were you with?
- Boris.
A second bombshell.
Louis doesn't know exactly how he should react. So he doesn't react.
- Did you like it ?
- Not really.
- Then why?
- I just wanted you to know.
- Great.
- Why did you do that then? I… we’re expecting a baby and you…
- I didn't do anything. He did everything.
- Spare me the details. Did you sleep together ?
- Not really. But he said he wanted to.
- What does 'not really' mean?
- It means he touched me, but not how you think.
- Great.
- Anyway. I’m going back to bed.
- You’ve slept all day already.
- Well, I’m still tired. I’m expecting a baby, you know.
- You’re the only one who forgets it. You’re the only one who forgets that we’re fucking engaged and that you don't take showers with your fucking ex when you’re in a relationship!
- You don't understand anything.
- Then explain it to me!
- I don't want to.
- But taking showers with him, no problem!
- I didn't… oh, fuck off.
- Harry, a voice growls behind them. Stay right there.
Harry stops and crosses his arms, sighing. Just what he needed.
- Tell him the truth.
- You have no business here, Cap’.
- It’s my station, I go where I want.
- Let’s talk about that! I caught you in the middle of the night…
- Doing what? Harry fumes.
- Touching you. With his disgusting, fat fingers.
Harry is left speechless. He leaves the room. His footsteps hammer the floor. Jo turns to stop him, but Louis prevents him.
- Louis, Harry isn't telling you everything.
- That, I noticed.
He leaves the room in turn, fists clenched. He joins Harry in the dormitory. He is looking out the window again.
- What are you looking for, for God's sake ?
- Boris.
- Great.
Harry sighs. He forces himself to stay calm. He no longer recognizes his world. He feels surrounded by strangers. Even Louis. No one tries to understand him. No one. He curls up into a ball under the duvet, squeezes the pillow very hard, and closes his eyes. He feels betrayed. Jo enters the room. Louis stares at him with hard eyes.
- Alright, one problem at a time. Louis, you have to understand. Harry never wanted any of this. It happened, yes, but that doesn't make it normal. Boris had no business in the bathroom, and he knew it very well. What he did is very serious. He bypassed Harry’s consent. He used him like a toy. You have to understand. He knew Harry was defenseless. He took advantage of it. It’s to get him away from him that I put Harry on leave.
- But what??? What happened? Harry…
- Nothing special.
- Stop with that attitude! Jo growls severely.
- If I don't put some distance, I’ll collapse, and you know it.
- Then collapse! Go ahead! Break some knees! Do something with your rage. Create your light. It always comes from the darkness.
- I’m not capable of it.
- That’s bullshit and you know it. You are capable. We all know it. Stop crying and moping. You have the power! You are Ari.
- Jo, you know nothing. I’m doing what I can.
- It’s not enough! I can't stand your silence anymore! No one can stand it. You’re letting yourself sink, and as long as I’m alive, I will never accept it.
- Leave me alone, both of you.
- Never! Stand up straight, your crown is falling!
Harry sighs.
- He’s here.
Jo and Louis disappear into the courtyard. Jo walks first toward Boris, who is whistling. He gives Boris a monumental slap, sending him to the ground. He gets up with a terrible look. But Jo doesn't move. He looks at this son he never understood. Whom he loved from afar. Through letters, through calls. Jo hadn't been a very present father. Boris arrived one morning at 17 and turned his life upside down. He had always been a better father to his men than to his son. He raised him as best as he could, but it wasn't enough. He found a small place for him in his heart and in his life. But Boris needed more. He needed a loving father, a father who knew how to set boundaries when necessary. He needed to be loved, to be repaired. He needed a father to protect him from the world, to heal his wounds, not someone walled in silence. Jo had never been a father to Boris. He had been a Captain. One of those who lead. And Boris had remained that young man full of tears, full of dreams, who wanted to please his father. That’s why he had become a firefighter. To have just a little piece of his heart. It wasn't much, but it was already something. So many times, Jo had turned his back on him.He had never learned to do it any other way.
And then, Harry had arrived, rebuilding him piece by piece. He had collected every shard of his heart, filling the voids without ever asking for anything in return. He had taught him that sometimes, people stayed. That the past was nothing ; all those times Jo had left to find his real family, leaving him alone with a full fridge but a broken heart. One isn’t serious at seventeen. You just want to matter to someone. But the silences were sometimes too heavy to bear. When he came home, Jo and Boris would exchange pleasantries, carefully avoiding anything that mattered. Avoiding the « I love yous, » and all the things Boris had needed to build himself.
But Harry wasn’t like that. The first time he said « I love you, » Boris began to cry. He was desperate for that kind of love. So, the night of the ball, when what happened happened, he realized he wouldn’t be enough to make him stay. He realized he never would be. So he was going to use rage and strength. He too. He would pursue Harry just as he had pursued that father all those years ago. Harry would not escape him. He didn’t have the right to be far from him. Not after putting glitter on his broken heart, not after mending what Harry had never broken. He needed him too much. Needed the arms where he finally felt he belonged.
He loved Harry with every piece of his shattered heart ; he loved him the way he had wanted to be loved. He threw himself headlong into this struggle. He was exhausted—too exhausted to think, and too broken and selfish to realize that he was, in fact, terrifying. Or perhaps he did realize, and it sparked something within him. Moving from a « casualty of life » to a « terror » suited him just fine. It was surely the only way he’d ever be remembered. Deep down, he just wanted to be loved. And too bad if he was ready to do anything to keep Harry close. He needed it desperately. He needed to feel that Harry belonged to him and that, unlike everyone else, Harry wouldn’t leave. Ever. And if love hadn’t been enough, perhaps hate would be.