Harry's sitting in the passenger seat with his seatbelt strapped too tightly against his chest. Every time he tries to pull it for some freedom, it tightens just a little more.

His mother's hands are firm on the wheel, a little calloused and dry but that's not what he's concerned about. Even at such a young age he knows something is wrong. It's Wednesday and he knows he should be in the music room or else his father will get mad and start throwing things again when he gets home.

He looks outside the window and sees a black, sleek car following them through the side mirror. He doesn't have his glasses on but he can still read the license plate.

"Mum." He tries to move the seatbelt a little when the speed increases. She drives over a speed bump and then turns to look at him with this eerie look in her eyes. "Dad's behind us."

"Shh." Her attention shifts back to the road. "We're playing a game."

"What kind of game?"

"Racing."

The car behind them taps the rear and sends Harry jolting up a little. He doesn't mind much except that it seems to scare his mother. "Why don't you tell him you don't want to play?"

"Your father-"

The car hits them harder this time and her arm instinctively extends out to his chest to keep him against the seat. "I don't like this game either."

Another hit. They swerve a little on the road and Harry closes his eyes and holds onto his mother's arm.

"Tell him to stop."

"Harry-"

"Please tell him to stop. He's scaring me. I'm scared." He loosens his grip on her but only because the confession that's hanging in the air is one that would provoke his father into doing something so much worse. Little snippets of everything he's ever been through for punishment for being weak start to play in his head. "Please don't tell him that."

His mum makes a turn and then looks at him again, moving her hand to caress the side of his face gently. "I'm scared of a lot of things, too, baby."

He still feels too embarrassed, and looks down at his hands.

"Harry. Look at me."

He shakes his head slowly. The self-loathe crawling up his chest tastes like bile in his mouth. Maybe it's the car jerking forward again. He refuses to look up at his mother.

"You're allowed to have weaknesses, okay? I don't want you to forget that. Not ever. Take that with you. Promise me?"

His dad's car has somehow managed to reach them at their side, and Harry tries to wave his hands to keep him from scaring her any further. It's already too late, though, and the force of the car makes theirs flip off against a tree.

He doesn't know how long he's out for; minutes, maybe, but there's pressure in his head when he comes to. The physical pain he feels disappears when he cranes his injured neck to check on his mum. Everything falls in slow motion when he attempts to reach for her.

Hands come up from nowhere specific and pry him out of the car but all he really cares about is his mother who has her eyes wide open. They're so wide but seemingly unseeing so he tries to shout for her, flailing his arms because he's right there. He's so close yet so far and, "let me go! She-she's not looking at me! Dad, let go!"

He's pushed up against the barely scathed car by his father who lowers himself to his height. Harry isn't even paying attention. He doesn't care when he gets slapped twice or threatened. He doesn't care about the men sitting in the back of the car staring at him.

"Please wake up." He knows he's not loud enough for her to hear him but he doesn't have it in him to scream it out. "Dad, wake her up. I think she's hurt. Mum's not moving. H-help her."

He's looking at his unmoving mother and wondering why she won't look back at him. Is it because he didn't look at her in the car when she asked him to?

He doesn't need his glasses to see her from how far away he is. A thin trail of blood falls from her hairline to her left eye and he feels his legs weaken from underneath his weight when she doesn't blink it away.

A stinging slap to his face brings him to look up at his uninjured father. "Stop crying, son. You know better than that."

Harry nods but still isn't comprehending what's happening. He brings a hand up to his head and feels the warmth of his own blood. His legs give out under him and he knows for a fact that his father doesn't catch him.

"She's dead." The older man's voice echoes in his head and reverberates off every corner in his mind.

And it's true but he's too busy falling into his own thoughts to really know it yet. All he hears are her last words and all he sees is her looking at him with that worried look in her face. And that's not how he wants to remember her. That's not fair-

He sits up in bed quickly, grabbing the pillow behind his head and holding it against his chest. He feels his heart beating wildly inside of him. There's sweat practically soaking his forehead and he goes to rub at his face with his hands before realizing that most of what he thought was sweat is really tears.

It's so new to him: crying in his sleep. It's disgusting. He knows the reason for it but he doesn't want to get up and do anything about it. He knows Astraya ends up tossing his pillow to the floor anyway but now it's simply a principle. He won't take the pillow back because it's selfish.

Whatever nightmares that resurface aren't because of some lousy pillow. It's in your head, he chastises himself silently.

He closes his eyes and opens them when he turns toward the bedroom door, nearly reaching for the bedside lamp as a weapon when he sees the shadow of a person standing in front of the faint hallway light.

The small figure lets him know it's Astraya. She's standing at the doorway like a Phoenix above ashes. The golden light behind her accentuates her hips and brings light to the top of her head like a crown or halo.

She shakes out her hands and walks past the room, leaving Harry alone to ponder through his thoughts before returning. It dawns on him that she's hesitant about walking in.

"Come in." His voice is strained and reminds him of his dream. The only vivid image of his mother floods his head for a while.

"I can't sleep." She walks in without turning on the lights and sits down on the foot of his bed. It's odd that she's chosen to come to him when she can't sleep, but a sense of gratefulness compromises him.

"I'm not taking you to the music room." He wouldn't step foot inside that room tonight even if he wanted to. Not after being woken up from such a dream that makes him remember almost everything that stemmed from being forced to stay inside of one. He's not traumatized but he knows he's damn near it.

"I just wanted to check if you were up."

"I'm always up."

"Your sheets are wet."

There's no lie to give her that would make any sense. "I sweat when I have nightmares."

"Is that what keeps you up?"

"Isn't that what keeps anyone up?"

She drops her head a little toward the light coming in from the window. Harry's fingers tighten on the pillow resting on his lap as he admires the way she looks in the faint glow. She's beautiful but he won't admit that out loud because it doesn't matter what he thinks. He remembers her face twisted in agony last time he saw her sleeping, and the sudden curiosity drives him to talk. "What are your nightmares like?"

This catches her off guard. He can see her hesitance. Her fingers move forward to play with the seams of the pillow in front of him awkwardly, and he begins to hate himself for asking such a stupid question that he knows he wouldn't even answer. "Forget it."

She doesn't move.

"Please look at me." Eye contact is something he always needs to have. It's all that reassures him and part of himself knows that it's because of Anne's death.

He didn't look her in the eyes that one time and it wrecked him as much as it could. It beat him from the inside out and the world noticed this and beat him further. His dad ruined him and the promise he made to his mother is only fulfilled in rare moments like when he's alone or...or when it's late and Astraya actually trusts him.

Harry nods when her eyes are on his. "What do you do when you have nightmares?"

"I used to go outside or sleep with Liam when he'd come over my house."

He bites his tongue.

"Other times I'd go out for late night rides."

He feels her hand brush against his and the words she's just shared begin to bring too much of his memory forward. He doesn't know if he should kick her out and suffer the guilt for the rest of the night or just let her stay. "What are you doing in here again?"

Astraya's deep frown is more than evident. She scoots a little back and rests her head on her shoulder before wincing a little.

Harry's reaction is to move his right hand to her left arm, peering down at her with concern . "Can I take a look?" His fingers don't move the piece of clothing away from the healing wound on her shoulder until she nods slowly, tilting her head to the side to give him more space.

His hand is nimble when he finally does push her shirt down a bit, eyes tracing the puffy skin. A pang of guilt hits him hard.

He leans closer and sees that the stitches are so close to falling off which is why she isn't wearing the cast anymore. Still, he notices her discomfort in the way she flinches every time the muscle there contracts. "I'm sorry," he whispers and then drops his voice even more before continuing, "for hurting you."

"It doesn't hurt that much." She's lying. Harry doesn't know why she's trying to make him feel better about something he's clearly in the wrong for.

In another life, that would be him. In another life where he's as gentle as his mother always wanted him to be. It's too late to completely be that guy now, but it comes out of his subconscious every now and again. Like now as he pulls the shirt down even more, meeting Astraya's eyes before ducking down to kiss the healing skin.

He expects her to pull back or flinch at the feel of his lips against her but she never does. "I'm sorry," he says lastly, going back into his original seating position, lifting up the shoulder of her shirt so it falls evenly over the wound he caused.

"I'm not mad."

Harry doesn't even try to understand why she wouldn't be angry with him. "You can sleep here with me if you think it'll help you." And he's so stupid. He hates making decisions when half of him is too tired to function. He hopes he didn't talk loud enough but the way she's looking at him already reveals the truth.

"Is that what you do when you have nightmares?"

"No."

He closes his eyes and she takes the pillow from his hands only to move to the empty space next to him. He knows for a fact that sleeping with someone won't make his nightmares go away. That's what his favorite pillow is for; sleeping with someone doesn't have that affect on him. It never has, never will, but if it'll help her sleep, he thinks it's the least he can do after everything he's put her through.

It's a miracle that she even trusts him remotely.

Just when he thinks they'll sit in silence and pretend to sleep, she turns her body over so she's facing him, eyes barely open though he can tell they still are. "You dream about your mom."

Harry feels like walking away. He wants to tell her that she doesn't know anything about him, and bringing that up must have to be the lowest blow ever. "Go to bed."

"Do you want to talk about her?"

"I want you to go to bed."

"I can just-"

"Talking about it won't help with shit. Now sleep."

◦

(author's note: i hope what's going to happen isn't too fast.)

Astraya wakes up to Harry looking down at her. She doesn't know how long he'd been shaking her but when her eyes are finally open, he steps back and points at the door.

"Let's go."

Her heart sinks in her chest. If there's one thing she doesn't want to do, it's face her brother again. She doesn't want to be dragged around places. "I'm not leaving."

"You are." He licks his lips. "Take a shower and then meet me downstairs. I want to take you somewhere."

The color in his skin is so unfamiliar. Just the night before he looked pale and almost scared. Now his shoulders aren't slumped and his eyes are harder than before. He doesn't look vulnerable anymore. "Where?"

"Just hurry up."

It isn't long before she's stumbling out of bed and into the shower. She feels more secure when she returns to the temporary bedroom to find her own clothes on the bed. Everything almost feels normal.

When she's done and has her hair out over her shoulders, she walks downstairs and meets Harry at the doorway. His head is up and his back is against the wall, eyes cast downward to the floor. They lift when she clears her throat in front of him.

Without a word, he opens the front door and they're both walking to the car in a matter of seconds.

The ride is quiet but she has so many questions about last night. She didn't like that he shut down when she mentioned his mother but it dawned on her that there's something with deeper meaning than just privacy.

She finally parts her lips to say something but the car makes a complete stop and she's too distracted in the abandoned-looking building to find any words. There are vines linking around window sills and framing the only large opening that's wide enough for a person to pass through.

Astraya can see miniature sculptures of people standing on the side, all drowning in leaves. There are two statues that are life size with sad frowns etched onto their faces. The stones are worn and chipped at certain spots.

Harry is the first one to leave the car and she just watches him disappear inside the somewhat hidden place, ducking his head so none of the vines touch him. After a moment of gazing at the small details like the disintegrating sign above the building that reads Garden, and the broken pieces of stone lying under one sculpture where there should be an arm attached to the body, she opens the car door and slips out without shutting it.

Wherever they are, there seems to be no one around. It's deathly quiet and she feels bad for feeling uneasy about being alone with Harry in the middle of nowhere.

Inside, she finds him standing in the center of a wide open space. His head is up and his eyes are narrowed on a statue that's equally as tall as him. Their build is so similar yet not quite the same. She doesn't think he even notices her standing next to him so she watches a little longer.

It looks to her like he's in deep thought. His nose is so close to touching the stone's, chest mere inches away from grazing the other one, and when the sunlight breaking through a large hole in the ceiling begins to fall over his face, she holds her breath.

Because he's so beautiful. His jaw is chiseled and sharp. The blue-green color in his eyes looks more vibrant in the orange light, but what really has her mesmerized are his lips. They're a little glossed from him licking them, and some parts of his bottom one are discolored.

He looks straight out of a book. "Stop staring at me."

She can't look away fast enough. This time she chooses to look at the statue. "Why are we here?"

"I thought you could use some fresh air instead of staying inside all day."

She nods and her attention drifts to a sculpture of a man holding a sword that's already lodged in his chest. His knees are bent slightly to make it look like they're about to buckle. "Can I ask you something?"

She feels his eyes on the back of her head as she walks closer to her object of interest, ghosting her index finger over the handle of what's supposed to be the sword. "What?" His voice is tight.

She frowns and drags her finger up against the chest of the stone body. "About last night..." she brushes some dust off of it and looks at him from over her shoulder.

Harry's eyes turn to slits as a warning, and she can't care less. He looks too innocent in this light. The intimidating image she once had of him is slowly dissipating.

She takes a step away from the large statue and walks closer to him instead, holding his gaze hostage. The conversation they had about his mom is suddenly all she can think about. "Do you really think talking about-"

"Yes." He doesn't even let her finish.

She bites her lip and looks down at his neck to see him swallowing nervously.

It takes her a moment to notice that his hand is moving toward her to play with the ends of her hair. "Why do you look at me like that?"

She makes a face. This Harry isn't one she's on edge about. He's casual and his words flow easily. Nothing about him is intimidating right now, and everything around her feels right. "I don't know what you're talking about." And she does. Astraya knows well off what look she's giving him, and she can see him thinking hard about it.

"Yes you do." He moves closer. "You gave me the same look last night."

"I was curious about you last night."

He nods and leans closer with a whisper to his voice. "So what are you curious about now?"

She doesn't answer but it seems like she doesn't have to. Harry's hand gravitates more toward her hair, this time playing with more strands. He lowers himself a little and she stands frozen with her eyes on his.

"You know where I've seen that look before?" His lips are hovering just over hers.

There's no way he'd kiss her. Not like this. At least, hopefully not. Her thoughts are a jumble. It isn't until his hand is resting on the side of her neck that she really wonders if she wants this or not. It's never really crossed her mind.

"That night in that club." His forefinger starts to run over the skin of her neck in circular motions. "When we were this close and you told me to fuck myself." He lowers his lips unexpectedly, pressing them to hers and catching her off guard with a kiss. He forces his tongue into her mouth and bites into her top lip slightly.

She wants so badly to tell him that he's remembering that conversation all wrong, but the feel of his lips on hers is all that she's concerned about.

When the air feels like it's thinning, she shoves him back with wide eyes, preparing to reprimand him, but his voice is the first thing to break the silence.

"Your lips taste like cherry."

It's the only thing he says before he turns his back on her and walks away to leave her standing in the center of the room.

[unedited: i know i overdid it with the pronouns]

(author's note: please let me know if this is too fast so I know if i should slow everything down before it's too late. i hope you have an amazing day/night.)