Interlude [h.s]

sixty-three

Alouette scrunches up her nose when Harry gets back into the car. "Harry...?" she murmurs, her voice laced with sleep.

He tilts his head, his gaze on her sleeping figure, pondering for a long time. Thinking about how close he was to putting an end to it all makes him feel some type of way, but he was no intention of getting in touch with his feelings long enough to figure it out. She opens her eyes too, after a while, seeming to sense his eyes on her, and the corners of her lips almost imperceptibly turn up. Almost.

"Come here," he says after a moment, and she crawls on his seat and settles on top of him. She tries to act nonchalantly, but Harry doesn't miss the happy sigh that leaves her chest. He wonders whether she's happy to see him, or she's simply glad he didn't run away.

She observes him for a long moment, her face so close to his that he finds himself wondering if she'll lean in and kiss him. She doesn't. It's better this way—an odd sensation that feels too much like guilt is swimming in the chambers of his heart. He welcomes it. It's been an awfully long time since he's last felt this way.

"Have you cried?" she asks him all of a sudden. Her voice isn't too sharp, which tells him the question isn't too serious and she probably won't remember much of it tomorrow, but he jolts anyway.

"I haven't."

She hums. "You should," she replies, "you'd feel better after."

Harry studies her for a long time. He wonders what she knows, what she's seeing right now, while looking at him. He's always had an easy time manipulating others' perception of him, but she always seems to escape from his control. She always sees things others don't.

Kiara saw him as a friend. Someone she could rely on to forget about life for a little while—maybe she also saw him as something more, at some point.

Carina saw him as a brother, someone she had to protect, but also someone who would've done everything to protect her.

His father saw him as a failure first, and then a murderer. He can't tell which one of the two he's less fond of, though the second label has started to grow on him.

His mother saw him as the unwanted child, the one she had never planned to have, the one that ruined her life. And maybe he did. He isn't sure. He would've had to talk to her at least once to find out.

Evie saw him as her president, the only person in the world she had to tend to. His every whim was her law; he wonders if her loyalty has dimmed since his disappearance.

Brother. Friend. Unwanted child. Failure. Murderer. President. So many labels for a single person. He's only twenty-six, and yet he's collected so many.

What does Alouette see?

"I have no reason to cry," he whispers.

She gives him a tiny smile, her ice-cold fingers brush his neck and send a shiver down his spine. "You know, I really like you," she mumbles, and then she leans her head on his shoulder and falls asleep.

Harry briefly considers making the car explode again, but this time with him inside.

I really like you.

Those four words are enough to give him chills. He still hasn't decided whether he hates them, or quite the opposite.

His fingers intertwine into her hair. Alouette doesn't notice.

I really like you.

He taps his fingers on the car door mindlessly as he ponders over the words.