Harry's fingers feel like icicles. It's the same thing day after day. He should realize that snow means: wear gloves. But there must be some part of him that enjoys the feeling, because he hardly ever goes out of his way to put gloves on as a precaution. Sometimes the near frozen blood in his fingertips is the only thing that reminds him he's alive.

The pain in his legs is the opposite. Every time it starts, he wants to drink until his lungs collapse and his body falls into the earth. He never thought an ordinary action like walking around would put him through such agony.

But at least he still has his life. That's a lot more than thousands of others.

And, as much as he hates his legs, he's grateful that Craig refused to leave him on that battlefield. He's spent a lot of time resenting that action in the last few years, but now that he's working towards a safer mind and better drinking habits, he appreciates things a lot more than he ever has. Sometime, he has to thank him again. Although he's still alone in many ways, he's much less alone than he was a few months ago.

The hallway is nearly glowing with a near orange screen of light from the fixtures on the wall. Harry wonders if anyone can ever make them feel less garish and more homey. Or perhaps they're that way already and he's the one that's got it backwards.

Fred isn't playing his music today, and somehow that makes the building feel empty, even though light creeps through the bottoms of doorways.

Harry struggles to find the key to his mailbox in his heavy coat. Either his fingers are too big or the bloody key is too small. After three frustrating minutes, he removes his coat entirely and shakes the pockets until the small, brass key falls into his open palm.

A single postcard sits in the metal box. On the front is a city he's never seen before, lit up like torches against the inky sky.

Los Angeles.

Once, while they were lying in bed, Lola told him about the city and all it had to offer. She spoke about it like it was heaven; like it was a long lost lover. Like being in one particular city made life a transcendent experience.

Harry can't imagine falling in love with a city. He didn't even think it was possible to love someone else after his heart had been broken by a woman he believed was his soulmate. Now he's not sure those even exist. But falling in love with a city? He's never experienced something like that before. Not even at home. When he stepped off the train to see his family...he felt lost. He watched hundreds of other men wash with relief and joy, but part of that seemed to be missing in him. For whatever reason, he's never really felt like home was...well home. Home has never felt like the place he was supposed to be in.

The smooth surface feels far too glossy under his fingertips. The world isn't made of smooth surfaces and perfect angles. The world is rough and chaotic. Smooth surfaces exist, but they are riddled with pockets and curves that say a million things all without saying a single a world.

On the back, in thin and precise letters is:

Missing you extra today, save a space in the city for me.

xx, Lola.

He nearly drops the card.

They know the postman is coming long before he makes it to their street. Every week, Gemma and Harry anxiously wait in the front lawn for a postcard or small letter from their father. He was sent off to fight in the war months ago, and he's always made it a point to send them a small snippet of something to let them know that he's alright.

Mum watched from the window, tense with the fear that her husband hadn't sent a letter. It didn't necessarily mean that he was hurt, but she's read the headlines and listened to the radio stations. Death runs rampant and it does not stop for family members. It didn't stop for her and her mother.

Harry busies himself counting how many strings he can tear from one blade of grass. There's always a part of him that dreads not getting a letter of any sort. He watches his mother cry at the kitchen table after they've gone to bed, and he watches the screen of tears form the longer they wait for the post.

Gemma knows too, but he's not sure how she feels about it. He's too afraid to ask.

They wait on the front lawn for what feels like years by the time the postman finally makes it to their house. He smiles and says a quick hello before they practically rip the card from his hands and sprint inside, ready to devour every little detail of the postcard their father sent.

Harry offers their mum a smile as he hands her the card. She tries not to cry as she turns it over. He notices. There's a new tightness in his chest, and it feels like he's been crushed by a truck.

Gemma walks around their mum to read what's making her upset. She walks away in tears before Harry can ask.

The last words he read from his father were:

Missing home unbearably. Don't ever forget that I love you.

Love, Dad

Someone enters the building. Their shoes click rhythmically against the wooden flooring. Too loud. Harry shakes his head to clear his mind. It hardly helps the cavern expanding in his chest.

Missing you extra today, save a space in the city for me.

Save a space in the city for me. What does that mean? She hasn't called in what feels like forever. It sounds too much like a goodbye.

Peggy tries not to invade his privacy, but she can't help her curiosity. Lola's sent him a postcard with a short message. Even though it's small, he should be happy, and he clearly isn't. The poor man looks like someone has just taken a hammer to his heart and smashed it until the only thing left was tiny pieces that could never fit together.

Harry reads the few lines over and over again until his hands start to shake and his vision blurs. The tiny specks of brightness that escape through scattered parts of his eyes have vanished. He looks hollow.

"She's probably just busy. Or she wasn't sure what to say. Sometimes we feel more than we can express."

Green eyes scan over the words one last time before they meet hers. They live in the same building, but his mind wouldn't have picked her first if he had to guess who had come into the building.

She looks lovely. Peggy's not one of those women who likes to wear a lot of makeup and he's noticed that when she does, it's to build her confidence. She's probably just come back from a date with Tommy. Somehow that makes him feel even worse.

"How was your date?"

Peggy blushes and looks away. He doesn't think he asked in a rude manner, but with his mind drifting back into a dark place, he's not entirely sure.

"It was...nice. Not really my kind of date, but it wasn't awful."

Maybe she likes Tommy more than he thinks she does. Maybe he really has changed. Regardless, Harry's still furious with himself for leaping into something instead of feeling it with his entire heart. He's never moved so fast in a relationship in his entire life. And he's never fallen for someone else while in a relationship.

If anything, he's terribly confused. Lola does matter to him even though he dove into that relationship headfirst. Maybe his heart has it backwards. Yeah, that's it. His heart has it backwards. After some time his head will clear and he'll listen and his heart will say it's Lola. It has to.

"Lovely."

He doesn't look at her expression. If he does he knows that he'll just confuse his heart further. Peggy is silent, her eyes focused on her shoes. He's hurt but that isn't her fault. She's the one that got burned first and learned the hard way.

Harry drops the postcard in the waste bin and mumbles, "Have a nice night," as he walks toward his door.

Peggy takes her time gathering her mail. He's not in a good mood and she doesn't want to make it worse than she already has. She knows that it isn't her fault, but he's still unhappy with her decision to date Tommy again. He doesn't know how he's changed and that isn't his fault either, but she can't force them to like each other.

By the time she makes it into her apartment, Harry's sitting with his back against the door. He's got the medical textbook in his hands, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through the pages. When did everything become so difficult?

Across the hall, Peggy's door clicks shut. All he can think about is what happens if he's wrong. Either way, he finds himself mumbling, "I just want you to be happy." Sorry I realized it too late.  

Author's Note: Sorry this update is a little short, inspiration has been making these short lately, but I hope they're impact is just as much as the longer chapters. For anyone in Texas, I'm sending my prayers xx. And a general update for you guys just in case I disappear for a while: Hurricane Irma is projected to hit Florida and it's looking like it's going to hit the part of Florida where I live. So, that being said, if I'm not active for a while it's because the power went out and things got a little hectic. Stay safe, guys!