Harry

Okay.

[ andrew pauses, lips pursed, frozen before his friend on the chair, totally unsure how he wants to do this. this… was definitely easier said than done. there’s not really an elegant way to position or present yourself when you’re about to go rifling around in your friend’s insides, but they’re both going to have to push past the awkwardness if there’s any hope for a cure. finally he decides to just sit across from him to get a clear view of his front, settling on the edge of the couch. though this means they’ll have more eye contact than he’d like to, he reminds himself he’ll be closing his eyes during the procedure anyway. nodding and swallowing, he instructs, ]

Okay, just, um… sit back and relax, I guess. And don’t move. I’m gonna try and find the damaged nerves.

“I’m relaxed.”

      ❝No, no — just making sure that it’s somewhere safe,❞ he starts, shooting the other a hasty glance from the corner of his eye in order to affirm that he doesn’t seem too suspicious before ultimately deciding to simply throw in the towel and go for it. a hand is quick to shoot out and land on the small of harry’s back, before he’s forcefully beginning to shove, quick & rough until his friend is finally tumbling forward and into the pool. 

     there’s a laugh rumbling from the depths of his chest even before the telltale splash, eyes illuminated by the soft lights around the water (as well as a wild sort of excitement). 

A sudden wind blows over his face as a hard hand, Lucien’s hand forces him forward, too quick for him to yelp or even to reach and catch himself. The impact feels like a slap across his entire face as he is engulfed, deep in the goddamned pool. Bubbles shoot around his watery slow motion vision, his loose shirt floats on his chest, the remaining air bubbles delicately rise the surface. He’s only a foot below the water level, slowly drifting back up. He begins urgently kicking his legs as the anger surfaces a low groan in his throat that quickly  fills with chlorinated water--        “LUCI-” he coughs, throwing his arms down and splashing water back into his face. He frantically swims over to grab the ledge spitting the remaining water out and holding his head up to glare at the laughing figure, dry, on the floor of the rooftop.        “Lucien, you suck!”

[ andrew nods along with harry’s explanation, more excitement creeping into his voice as he responds with his plan. ]

Well, I think I can fix the nerves. That should slow down the symptoms while we look for a long-term solution.

[ his tongue passes over his lips in a subconscious display of anticipation before he subdues himself and admits: ]

But first, I… actually need to get in there and check everything out.

[ he looks over at the various couches and chairs in the room, assuming harry will want to sit down for this, and mutters, ]

So, uh… whenever you’re ready…

{ he really wishes that he could reject the  offer, but julius already knows that he can’t.  if this ‘therapy’ thing really works, then he’d  be more than willing to go if it meant getting  better and not wake up sweaty, not twist and  turn restlessly all throughout the night, not  flinch when there’s a loud noise and not  wonder if things are ever going to get  better… and according to these pamphlets  there’s even a chance of getting medication,  and julius longs for sleeping pills more than  he longs for food and water. it’s an offer he  can’t possibly refuse, and as he knows that  harry wouldn’t suffer for paying for it, then  there shouldn’t be any harm in at least trying…

… but julius is a skeptic for things like these, so when he nods he does it timidly, picking at the corners of his booklets until they wrinkle and tear. he nods with hopelessness, although gratitude is present somewhere behind those blue eyes of his.

he pulls at his blanket once more, head bowed and turned away from harry. he might’ve agreed, but he’s ashamed of needing the help in the first place. he’s sick and tired, and is still resentful of the things he’s done… but maybe, just maybe, this can help. he’s willing to try. }

I’ll go, if you do me a favor.

{ he leans closer, speaking quietly… no one                                        can hear but harry. }

Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let anyone                 know I’m in need of help.

Harry watches the slow movements of Julius’ tender fingers undoing the smoothness of the paper. If he was in the same position after Ravencroft, if someone told him to get therapy before an attempt to destroy New York City, how much healthier would life be? The curt nod allows Harry to exhale a breath he wasn’t aware of holding  in, and he smiles at the back of Julius’ frame. A nod won’t suffice, so he watches him process it longer. This will help him, this could save him.  After a short beat of time, Julius compromises. His smile fades to a poker face, and his collection of secrets among the rest of the house piles onto the greed of blackmail. He forbids those thoughts from getting anywhere near the surface of action because Julius is his friend. From confiding this to him, there will be established trust.

[ andrew steps into the room and soon finds his shoulder in the grasp of one of harry’s shaking, trusting hands. encouraged by his faith, he tells him confidently: ]

I, uh, I’ve been doing a lot of research and I think I know how to heal you. At least, temporarily.

[ a long-term cure would be next on the list. for now, he just wants to take care of the damage. he tilts his head, clarifying, ]

Your disease, it’s autoimmune, right?

[ andrew straightens up presentably as the door swings open but soon is slouching again in embarrassment when he sees that harry’s still in his undergarments, not fully dressed and certainly not fully awake. ]

Oh – 

[ averting his gaze down to his camera and his camera up to harry’s face as he steps into the room after him, he mumbles, ]

– Um, sorry if I woke you up, dude, it’s just –

[ he stops and straightens up again, locking his eyes confidently on harry’s twin blues. ]

– I think I’m ready.

Satisfaction curls up Harry’s smile and settles in his tone. “Yeah, it’s alright come in.” He releases the edge of the door and turns back around reaching for his jeans off the edge of the bed, listening while pulling a leg through one pant opening at a time. Dragging them up on his hips and buttoning, he becomes parallel with Andrew’s gaze. 

{ somehow it’s the use of his name that does  it — the hesitation of his hand running over his  shoulder to pull the blanket even further up his  arm, the shift of his legs, the gaze he allows  himself to set upon him. julius has known for  a long time now that harry has a way with words  that no one else in the household has, and yet  he is surprised of how easily he feels himself  change his mind. he knows what harry’s saying  is a lie, but he still feels a strange need to trust  him. maybe it’s the way his features softens  when he looks at him, or maybe it’s the  gentleness of his voice. maybe it’s just  the folder in his lap, visible in the corner  of julius’ eye even though he has his  eyes either on harry’s or elsewhere. he  doesn’t know, but he wishes he did. if he  did it’d be a lot easier to stand his ground. }

I’m not —

{ he begins but finds it pointless. harry’s just as stubborn as he is, it seems, and by being stubborn julius’ gotten into nothing but trouble. besides, harry suggested just going to one appointment. julius’ sure he can manage that — a quick in and a quick out, and then he won’t have to go there again and he’ll return to his own ways. chewing on his thumbnail, he subconsciously shakes his head although it doesn’t go with what he’s saying at all. }

… How am I supposed to tell them about the war? It was over 150 years ago.

{ he looks up at harry again, setting his gaze on his cheek instead of his eyes. he’s had enough of those for today. }

Also, I don’t know what a ‘psychiatrist’ is.

“There’s a war going on everywhere, you could describe exactly what happened without consequence, ‘cause you’re safer than you expect when I’m telling you to go talk to someone.” Harry knows he’s avoiding looking into his eyes, Julius is a boy, frail, and he’s short. Eye contact is a base of respect, and it’s mutual once following reciprocation. Where had the respect run off to, or maybe Julius is tired of looking. 

[Jack smiled and bowed his head gladly to the regard of his thanks. But then gets this confused look over at The taller. What did he just ask? Ah, yes, his main disadvantage. Back at it again with the communication issues. So, he awkwardly shifts in the seat in contemplation over if he asked about Deafness or DEADness. Cause what? Who Asks If Someone’s Dead?? Clearly he’s moving and breathing? Well, the breathing is a complicated thing currently, but still. So he guesses the former instead.. even if he’s positive he hadn’t given that aspect of himself away to him yet…] Uh… how did you..? [Jack half asked, staying there, very confused] What made you figure that?

The tilt of Jack’s head, mainly his veins, contrasting on his features bring out Harry’s memories of blue light; of Max Dillon’s electrified spirit. Cradling his own fist because his fingers sting against his palm, his eyes blur away from the keys. Thinking of it, he doesn’t look alive at all. Reanimated, like a zombie. The fact is the impossible is at Harry’s doorstep every minute of passing days, the reminder of it walking through a house where an open bedroom doorway is more like a mirror. We’re all the same somehow. What stops Jack from being undead? He might as well be. Harry is tight-lipped and withdraws from staring at the back of Jack’s hands to an expression, one he can only describe as processing. As Jack starts and he interrupts, “It’s stupid-” Though it’s not, it has happened before.

[ andrew swallows when harry protests, jaw set and lips pressed into a tight line of defiance that won’t budge. he doesn’t know exactly where the adrenaline is being generated, what it’s made of and what to do to stop it, and he won’t lay a telekinetic finger on harry until he does. he watches harry pull his shirt back down and only visibly relaxes once he’s apologized for his impulsiveness. ]

Yeah, uh… better to be safe than sorry.

[ he presses his lips together again after saying it, then gives a firm nod of resolve. ]

I’ll do some research and get back to you.

[ it’s a promise. this is andrew’ mission and he’s dedicating himself wholly to it. ]

Patience.  Keeping patient and occupied until he can see Andrew again will be so wearisome on the mind. Before Andrew stopped in he feared for his life, beyond what was tearing him up inside. There’s too much to process right now, and not enough to drink in here. 

“Alright.”

He’ll put faith in Andrew’s abilities right down to his word.

“That’s it then, thank you. You can go.” 

[ much to andrew’s open-mouthed surprise and embarrassment, harry immediately bares to him the smooth plane of his stomach as if all his organs were on display. andrew could certainly find them with a quick sweep of his powers throughout harry’s body, but it won’t be any use if he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. and from the ambiguity of his gesture, he’s not even sure harry really knows what he’s looking for, either. baffled and wary, andrew stutters, ]

Wait – don’t you want – shouldn’t I do some research first?

[ keeping his hands and powers decidedly to himself, andrew shakes his head. there’s no way he’s just going to dive in and risk making things worse. not after everything he’s been through and all the time he’s waited to be in this position. ]

I don’t even really know how it’s made. I need to plan so I don’t hurt you.

He can regenerate cells yet a simple blocking of a hormone from secreting is suddenly too difficult? Harry throws his head back and huffs out a small sigh of disappointment. He drops his shirt and it lazily slides down his stomach so the fabric wrinkles right above his navel. His fingers in both hands twitch erratically, far from his control, and he knows better to not tighten up his hands again. It makes it so much worse. 

“You can’t try?” 

What if I run out of time again? 

      --What if I make the same mistake. He pulls down the rest of his shirt down. He’ll have time, he reminds himself, Andrew will give him time. He should be grateful, it’s the great difficulty Harry’s been through that originates this urgency for Andrew’s help. All so Andrew can return him to the life he deserves. 

“Sorry. You just healed me so fast I didn’t know you needed some research. The last guy that tried to help me said the same thing, so.”

{ julius looks at harry with pity, eyes on his  scar which looks like someone’s carved the  handle of a spoon deep into his skull. he’s  noticed it before but never asked. now he’s  too afraid to. he’s close enough for julius to  smell his toothpaste breath, his shampoo and  the subtle whiff of something that’s just harry.  in the pale light of a noon julius feels dark.

once, andrew offered healing his wounds but julius had declined with the excuse of “being proud of what he’d done.” this was a lie. he fought for this country and he was part of what made it what it is today, if what andrew tells him about the union winning is true. by pulling on his uniform and practicing his aim he changed the world. he’s supposed to be proud of his accomplishments. but there’s things he did to do so that needed to be done but that he can’t live with. things he can’t tell anyone. if he does everything will spill over like a sink under a leaking tap and no one will look at him with respect anymore. he’ll come clean about everything and he won’t be able to stop himself and he’ll go into detail, and he’ll remember, remember, remember everything and it’ll burn into his mind even more than it already has. by not talking it’ll fade, will it not? if you leave a puddle of spilled water be it dries. by pouring more water onto it the puddle gets bigger and it just makes everything worse.

but… times have changed, have they not? what does julius know of today’s treatments, today’s medical equipment, today’s medication and psychological theories? harry seems sure of his sake, and he sounds like he might even have gone through the same kind of treatment he now offers julius, and he seems… generally fine. but there’s a difference. between the two of them, there’s a difference. a difference that makes a tear roll down julius’ cheek which he quickly dries and turns his face away from him. }

I don’t deserve peace.

Is he going to take the deal? ‘It’s quick business’ is what he originally made this out to be in his head. It began with a handful of the best psychiatrists in Manhattan, going beyond their paygrade to keep their mouths shut and their minds open for Julius to come in and see them. He knows what it’s like to lose yourself, to thoughts with demons yet he’ll never retain the ability to give Julius the life he needs without his peace. He aged five years the moment they got out of that elevator, Julius’ body so weak he still remembers the feel of his heart beating against Harry’s arm. He’s never had siblings or true friends, but he’s trying to do the good for ones he has now.

“But you do. Julius you really, really do.”

Adrenaline.

[ andrew repeats it aloud as mentally he calls up all he knows about this particular hormone and what it does to the body. as far as he can remember, it controls the fight or flight response, preparing one for danger. if harry has an excess of it that might explain why he always seems to be on edge. brows furrowing, andrew theorizes: ]

I guess… I’ll have to find a way to stop it. Or at least, slow it down.

Hours of reading about the human body at ten years old, if only he could just open up his mind like those text books.  They just sit on his kidneys, those glands. It might not be that complicated. Harry’s shaking hand touches just below his chest over where they could be. If Andrew targets his focus there, it’s a start. If he fails it’s only adrenaline.  What could go wrong?

“Yeah.” Harry’s hand drags down to the bottom of his cotton shirt and he lifts it up, exposing his pale freckled stomach and pointing to a vague area where his kidneys might be. 

[When he was sure he wasn’t going to say anything till he was done, he’d gladly went about focusing on it. But he did look up again when it ended. He observed the reaction he’d had over just playing, and noted it in the back of his head. 

Jack let his hands rest on the edge of the platform that held the keys, visually excited for what he said. Not hard to please, clearly. So he played a short, lighter chord to express it before he turned to him again.]

Yay– er, I mean, thank you~ 

[He beamed, crossing his arms behind his back under that cover he’d stolen. borrowed from Julius.]

Um… you wouldn’t have any kind of suggestion, or just question or something, would you? Cause I know I would. Well, I do, but ..???

[With a tilt of his head, he looked up at the taller, curious of his response.]

Harry turned up a half smile. 

“Welcome.” 

Harry avoids any direct eye contact with him, and staring down at his hands around the blanket doesn’t help any.   Those fingers look blue, like how someone looks when they suffer from frost bite, or possibly it’s what they could look when you’re dead. Huh. He’s only seen his father’s lifeless body, green and mutated. 

With his voice heavy from build up, he immediately asks on the beat.

“Are you dead?”

        ❝Harry.❞ he releases the breath that he hadn’t even realised he was holding as he stands, heart thumping louder and louder in his chest with each moment that follows. the familiar face causes his chest to SWELL so magnificently that he almost fears his lungs may burst, and he steps around the luggage, past the couch, across the rug, until he’s only an inch or so away from his friend.

        slowly, slowly, lucien’s fingertips reach forward, before halting at the collar of harry’s shirt as if he’s struggling to figure out whether or not the encounter is real. it almost feels as if he’ll find himself in paris again if he blinks too hard; looks away for too long. he stays like this for a moment, finds peace in the small infinity of silence, before finally surging forward and hugging his friend with all of his strength. 

        he hadn’t quite gotten the chance to thank harry properly for the gift– the end of christmas had signalled the beginning of his whirlwind efforts to book a plane ticket to paris, and although he’d made this particular trip alone, he’s still holding harry to the promise that they’ll travel there together some day.

        when he pulls away, it’s only so that he can look at his friend properly– his arms remain firmly positioned atop harry’s shoulders, and his ghost of a chuckle dances across the space between them as he prepares to speak again. ❝Am I drunk, or have you ACTUALLY come to make yourself useful with these bags?❞ 

Harry picks up a whiff of Lucien’s cigarette lingering off of his clothes and his lips, his cologne too when his hand reaches behind him. Lucien’s arms squeeze Harry into a hug and his arms remain still, straight down while he determines what he’s actually feeling now that Lucien’s back home. His arms rise and fingers graze the back of the others coat, a few seconds before Lucien rips away from him. Harry can see his hands down on his shoulders but the twist in his gut, while he's this close again, makes Harry plain uncomfortable. He smiles regardless, it’s easier to do when Lucien’s happy. He tilts his head towards his suitcase. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m not gonna leave you helpless man.” He escapes from Lucien’s touch and grabs everything he can carry or drag, like his suitcase. Loading them up his arms making it more complicated than necessary by putting more handles on one arm than the other, as if he’s never done this before. When he looks back up at Lucien he giggles, then immediately drops one of his totes that spill out headphones, books, and charger cables. He sighs and tightens his grip on everything else. 

       ❝I suppose you’re right,❞ lu concedes. despite his best intentions, he almost feels dizzy after having gazed at the ever-changing lights beneath the surface for too long (or, perhaps it’s just the alcohol taking effect). after taking an infinitesimal step away from the edge, lucien glances at harry. the ghost of a particularly innocent smile stretches quite fleetingly across his lips as he gives his friend a once-over. 

        when he finally breaks the second stretch of silence between them, it is to innocuously fold his hands behind his back and ask, ❝Say, is your phone in your pocket?❞

Harry’s hand shoots down to his pocket and for a minute he’s curious if Lucien swiped it. “No, it should be on the bar.”

He reminds himself, looking past his shoulder and seeing a caseless google phone, hanging out next to an empty shot glass.