"So your Dad was a journalist?" Harry cleared away some of the cups that had accumulated near the kitchen sink. "It's funny that everyone clustered their cups near the sink, but couldn't toss out the dregs and put them in the trash. "

Laurel chuckled lightly and continued rinsing the serving tray that needed to be returned to her mum's friend Rebecca. She was aware of Harry's proximity, but her sensitivity to him was dulled by the cotton wool she had been wrapped in lately. "Yeah, that's not really an accurate statement, or at least he never intended to be.  I think he was more of a musician and day laborer. He worked to play. He kind of fell into writing when I was a baby. He was super idealistic when he was young. Met my mum when he was touring with Up With People."

"What's that?" Harry had moved to wrapping up the food that was left, "want to keep this one," he nodded toward the casserole

"There's not much, and I hate leeks." Laurel watched him toss the food into the trash and remembered the neighbors wet face when she dropped it off. 

"Laurel?" 

"Sorry, what was I aying?" She blinked rapidly.

"You were talking about your parents, and Up With People?" Harry prompted while he continued tidying up.

"Yeah, um, from what i understand, Up With People is a choir. You have to apply and e selected. They travel the world performing and do service projects to pay their way. Kinda like 1D with out the X Factor and screaming fan girls," She gave a wry smile and thought for a second how Harry echoed the stories her mum told about her dad. Laurel was so young when he left and he never felt it was safe for her to travel to Venezuela.

"So, was it love at first sight for your mum, she have a thing for a man with a microphone, or does the apple fall far from the tree?" His jokes had not improved.

Laurel skirted around to him now that they dishes were now all washed of soaking. Once she was beside him, she looked up at him and suppressed a sigh. In some ways the apple was still connected to the tree.  

"The way my mum tells it, my dad pursued her hotly, but it seems like she loved him right away. She was," Laurel stopped, gulped and turned to the fridge, "Drink?" Harry nodded and she busied herself pouring wine until she felt able to keep talking about her mum. "She was this extremely practical, methodical nursing student. I think her roomate dragged her to the performance, I'm surprised she wasnt in her room studying, honestly. But she said my dad sang on the end of the front row, because he was short you know, but that his eyes were so brown and so expressive they were hard to ignore. Said he kept looking at her, and later when he played the guitar, he oriented his stool so that she was in his sight line and sang to her in Spanish.  Think after the final bow she said he tracked her down and asked her out. She was kinda terrified those were the only English words he knew, and back then she knew not a lick of Spanish. Luckily, Dad had studied English and they went out that very night and got on." She shrugged and she could feel the shine of her eyes.  "He finished the tour and came to visit her in England. They shacked up. Didn't get married for ages, which was a mistake in the end."

"Why was it a mistake? Living in sin offend you?" Harry nudged her with his shoulder and she felt it, even through her preserved numbness. 

"No, it's why my dad wasn't able to come back."

"You said that, at the..... In your speech, that they were separated by politics?" Harry prompted.

"So, like I said, my dad was mostly a musician,"

"Good Bloke," Harry interrupted.

Laurel couldn't help but smile at him. "He played when he could, and it was flexible around my mum's times at the hospital, but not enough, ya know. He did a lot of odd jobs, managed the flats we lived in, helped at the local garage. I guess at some point he started writing freelance. When Hugo Chavez got elected, more people started hiring him for pieces. He was from there and idealistic, wrote about how Bolivarianism was unique and a perfect marriage of socialism and Latin American identity. After a while though, he started writing about how Chavez was just like every other former revolutionary. The human rights abuses and the silencing of the press."

Harry chuckled, "I"m flattered that you think I know what that is, Bolognese? What?"

"You're not funny. that's barely even punny," she couldn't help but laugh at him and he smiled like he won something. "Continuing on, It's like socialist ideologies married to nationalism. That's super dummed down for you, I know you left school early." Oh, and she still loved his offended face. "My parents got married around then, I think this was like 2002. I remember my dress better than anything else, it was so pretty, but I was terrified I'd spill. I was like 7? My dad was super sad about his brother missing it. So he went home a bit after the share the news. His pieces were not big deal here, but," She trailed off. Laurel always wanted to share this with Jarry, but the combination was killing her, "they had been noticed by the Chavez government, and my dad's British citizenship wasn't done, they detained him at the airport. They didn't like imprison him or anything, but he never came back." She swallowed the last word and turned around to hide her face.

She felt his shift before he touched her, turning her gently and engulfing her in one of his squishy overpowering hugs. His arms were like two hula hoops around her and she was not longer able to keep the waterworks at bay.

When his shirt was saturated and she was exhausted, hiccuping to a stop, Harry pulled her back and wiped her tears. "Better?"

Laurel nodded, "My mum would have liked you."

"Because I'm a young musician who think love can chnage the world?"

"Nah, she got burned by one of them, but she really liked ugly shirts."

"Lay off my shirts, Lols!" Harry exclaimed.

Her answering laugh was a bark and she fizzed into his wet shirt and he hugged her up again. 

Even though she was sure it was a bad idea, she nuzzled into him and relished his familiar smell. Harry didn't seem to mind, or notice.

Laurel couldn't fight off the yawn that followed her whirlwind emotional tour. 

"You tired, Babe?"

"Yeah, it's been a long...." she yawned again and looked confused, "Life?"

"You should go to bed, can I sleep on your couch?"

"Course, I'll see you in the morning. And, Harry, thanks for coming."

"Wish I had been here sooner," She could feel his eyes on her as she started towards the hall, "And, Lols, Your dad wishes he was here too."

Laurel bit her lip and offered him a sad smile before turning to her room. She looked at her empty bed.

He was just pulling his shirt over head when she came back into the room. Harry looked up at her quizzically.

"Can you.....would you sleep with me? It's probably the world's worst idea, but what do I know? So, please? Come hold me?"