apartment
[warning: talk of suicide and religion. sorry in advance to anyone who reads on and is offended. i'll try to make sure that this does not repeat itself in future chapters.]

Rory cleans the bathroom with a frown that Harry can't help but notice. He doesn't notice these things very often but here —lying down on his bed pretending to sleep but really just watching her— he feels like he can remember her face entirely even after she's gone. It scares him a little because he can't do the same for Penelope.

Every time Rory turns her back or turns her head he traces the new angle of her face. She tries to steal glances at him and he pretends to be asleep so she won't worry much about him not getting enough of it. It was a mistake to admit that to anyone, let alone someone who would actually care.

Harry frowns when he sees her standing in the bathroom facing the mirror. He wonders if it's playing a trick on her like it had done to him because that's how she's looking at it. He's utterly silent as she tilts her head and tightens her lips before bringing her hand forward to graze the glass.

"Don't touch it." He stops her before she has the time to cut herself. He doesn't care if she gets hurt or not, he just doesn't want it to happen here.

Rory turns to look at him with wide eyes, the bloody rag in her left hand loosening in her grip as she looks at him curiously. It's no secret that his secret is out but he knows she'll ask anyway to see if he'll be honest with her. For once he's a step ahead of her. "You didn't sleep?"

Harry shakes his head and leans up in the bed, pushing his wounded hand further into the covers to feel the pain. It's soothing but repulsing at the same time. Like sleeping. Sleeping. "It's like swallowing a bullet," he tells her so early in the morning, removing the blanket from around his torso. "Like being forced to lock it between my teeth and tilt my head back." Swallow it whole and wash it down with his dead girlfriend's blood.

"Harry-"

"Can I call you Aurora now?" He doesn't feel so bad about being honest with her anymore. Maybe it's because now he knows she has vulnerabilities. It's like finding out she's human and capable of bleeding. Is it too late to tell her to touch the broken mirror so he can see if she really bleeds? Do they bleed the same way?

"What?"

He knows she heard the question. Maybe the format wasn't right. Maybe it just came out wrong. "I want to call you by your real name."

"Okay."

He's looking at her like she can reach into his body and remove the bullet, but she can't. It's metaphorical but that's not how it feels and her fingers are always trembling but he trusts her. In this instant, right now like this, he trusts her so much and it's not that scary anymore. He closes his eyes and smiles a little because his thoughts are so scary but he's coming to terms with what he wants. In a way, he's already made up his mind. Death. It sounds pretty when he says it over and over again in his head. Why was he so scared of it before? Dying is like sleeping without dreaming; and dreaming means shit to him if all he really ever dreams about are nightmares. It all makes sense now. The question is when and how. Whether or not he'll do it or the world will. He knows he doesn't have the heart to do it himself but he'll do anything at this point.

"What are you thinking of?"

"I have to go," he stands up and rubs his eyes, momentarily feeling lightheaded from standing so suddenly.

Aurora sets down the washcloth and looks up at him. He can see her fingers twitch at her sides and he smiles because he knows why. His fingers do the same exact thing when he wants to reach out and touch something. He wants to know what part of him it is that she wants to touch. Calloused hands? Hot neck? Thinning face? "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere last minute," he answers. He's not hiding from her anymore. He's waiting for the question that he secretly hopes she'll ask but knows she won't. She's not that straightforward and he knows it.

"Let me come with you." She walks to his bed and takes his sweater from where it's laying. He watches her sling the large item onto her body, wriggling her fingers through the arms like a child would. And she's so beautiful; he's almost tempted to blurt it out but he won't because she doesn't care what he thinks of her. And rightfully so because if she did, she'd have disappeared by their first encounter when he told her to get lost.

She pulls her hair out from the hood and shakes out her arms before slipping her shoes on. Harry awkwardly shifts in his spot. "You're not invited."

Her smile falls a little and she disappears into the hallway. "Should we be there by a certain time or are we leaving now?"

"Aurora," he whispers under his breath. It feels like the first time he's said her name out loud but he knows it's the third. "You don't want to come," he says loud enough for her to hear.

The front door opens and Harry sulks toward his shoes before putting them on. He grabs one of his other sweaters but feels a little bitter since he wants to wear his favorite one which is now keeping her warm instead.

He finds her in the hallway outside of the apartment. She's leaning against the wall with the hood up and covering her face. He frowns and lifts his hand to pull the fabric down, meeting her eyes that begin to grow in size. "Let's hurry up so I can get this done with."

His mind is so made up. He's never been so sure in his life before and maybe he's not thinking straight because he still hasn't slept, but right now he's thankful for this feeling even though it's probably a hoax from his sleep-deprived mind.

• • •

Harry shifts in the seat and stares curiously at the wooden divider of the small confessional. The priest on the other side still hasn't said anything. It's obvious he's supposed to say something first and the question he wants to ask is making his head turn because there's no gentle way of forming it. The priest is not Rory and he can't be so honest with him.

He takes a breath and pulls the ends of his hair, knowing he should speed this along so he doesn't have to keep Rory waiting.

"Will He forgive me?" The answer he'll get will choose what he does next. He makes this promise to himself as he hears the priest hum to himself.

"He forgives everyone if they are truly sorry."

"Yeah," Harry nods and stares at the divider expectantly. He opens his mouth to force out the right question. "But would He forgive a suicide?"

At this, the priest sucks in a breath. One breath. Two...three, and four. "Young man-"

"Does He forgive suicides?" Harry asks again, shutting his eyes and hoping -praying- for a specific answer.

"Why would you ask such a thing?"

His jaw slackens and his shoulders slump. There goes his skin burning all over again. "Yes or no?"

Hesitation.

Harry nods, not having to hear the answer out loud to know what it is.

"No," comes out as a mumbles.

He drops his neck and rests his head in his hands. Now his mind has been made up. He wants to cry at what this means because he's religious but not in the traditional sense and any kind of hell scares the living shit out of him and he won't choose that. Not for this, anyway. "Thank you."

He opens the door and walks away from the confessional, feeling the eyes of little children who are waiting their turn. He walks to the large wooden doors and hauls them open, letting the daylight poor into the church before he's outside and walking to where Rory is leaning against her car. The sunlight burns the thoughts from his head and the misery from his lips.

She's still wearing his sweater and she has this look in her eyes that makes him pause for a moment. There's a decision he has to make considering what to tell her. There's the truth and then there's a stupid lie that she won't fall for.

She folds her arms over her chest and looks up at him expectantly.

"Suicide's out of the question," he tells her bluntly, eying a man that chooses to walk right between them.

Aurora opens her mouth but closes it after a few seconds.

"If you need to say something-"

"You came here to ask if you should kill yourself?"

"Not really..." Harry trails off and opens the passenger side door. It feels like a weight's been lifted from his shoulders and replaced with a new force holding him by the feet. "But the point is that I won't be doing it." He turns to look at Rory before slipping into the seat.

A moment later she's climbing in behind the wheel. She turns to look at him with doe eyes that he can't help but be entranced by. They're gone a moment later but he smiles a bit because for a moment he thought she was concerned. "You were thinking of doing that?"

Harry scratches his chin and pushes his hair back. "My mind is reeling right now," he admits. "I considered it for a few hours but I don't think I want to die like that. It doesn't matter, it's not going to happen."

His bandaged hand comes up to play with the ends of her hair, fingers arching and aching. "What are you doing?"

"I think you're pretty," he shares quietly. It's like a secret and he's delusional enough right now to be this honest with someone who's probably dissecting him at this very moment. Wait a minute. Wait, pause. Harry's fingers stop moving and he tilts his head and forces his mind to stay quiet, focused only on the girl in front of him. Is this what he wants? He wants to be right for once; saved. His eyes flicker to her lips. "Fuck."

"What?"

He shrugs. "I'm sorry." He's leaning in before his common sense kicks in, and even after it does he doesn't pull away from her lips.

He feels bad until he notices that her fingers tug at the ends of his hair to deepen their kiss.

"I promise," he mumbles against her lips and then closes his eyes as he murmurs, "I'll do better. I promise."

(This was very very boring and unedited but it's finally the beginning of their relationship and things will lift off finally.)