Legendary // H.S

55.

'Gold are your fingers

Leaving traces wherever you go

Diamonds in your skin, my blood flows'

*

As expected, it didn't take long to close the wound and get myself cleaned up. After leaving the shop we immediately went to Graham's practice, taking a back entrance so now one could see us and suspect foul play. He saw us as soon as he could, blocking out an hour to tend to my wounds before heading back to work.

It was a lot nicer than the clinic I'd been too a few weeks prior. Smaller, quainter, situated in a renovated terraced house in Northern London. There were only a few rooms inside, but the light shone through the big windows that lined the exterior walls throughout the building. Some fake flowers had been placed around the practice, all ranging in each pot. Roses, tulips, lilies, carnations. Everything and anything. It seemed too comforting to be a doctor's office, but when I asked Harry what sort of medicine he practiced, I realised why it was set out like this.

End of life care. One of the final doctors a patient will see before they die after long illnesses or severe injuries. Most will be visited at home by Graham or his partners, some manage to get inside the building. Many of those that walk through these doors do so on behalf of the person they're about to lose. In many ways it felt like a threat to walk in there after what I'd just endured.

Or a reminder that life is fragile and can be taken at any moment.

As soon as the wound was dealt with, Harry and I headed back to his house. He'd made calls during our time at Graham's to get some people at the shop, and others to make sure the guys that were supposed to protect me outside the shop were alright. We still hadn't heard anything yet, but the thought of more bloodshed because of Hugo's obsession with us only turned my stomach into more knots.

Neither of us have said much since the incident, but we've made sure to let each other know that everything will be alright. Delicate touches here and there between moments of silence. He's always so attentive like this. Keeping his presence close at times of trouble. I like that he uses his touch to console me. It helps in ways he'll never know.

When we entered the house he led us straight to the kitchen, boiling a kettle before sitting at the island with me on the other side. His hands reached out for mine, eyes flicking over to the bandaged shoulder until they landed on mine again. Every time our gazes met his face softened. Like I was the only thing that could bring him ease. If only he knew how much that sentiment rains true for me.

After making us some tea, he settles again, hands resting around the hot mug as he prepares to speak. 'I want them back' he quotes, recalling the details I had told him of Hugo's visit. 'Implies he had them before. Which means he may have helped my Dad develop them. Or, he originated them, and Dad stole them?'

Either one would make sense, but it still doesn't explain my role in it. This goes beyond Harry and Hugo; the man clearly believes I have something to do with this too. He said it himself, it's too much of a coincidence that Harry and I are working together. But he was specific about Steven Styles and his involvement when he mentioned comments about Harry. 'His father was right about him, I suppose.' It's no coincidence.

'So your dad organised this whole thing first?' I ask, slightly taken aback by the admission. He simply nods at my words, no expression on his face. 'Did your dad ever mention working with other people?' I question, taking a small sip of the hot liquid. I wince slightly as my shoulder moves, his eyes jumping to the area at the sound. I give him a small nod to show that I'm alright, and he continues to think.