hiraeth ; harry lewis

xxi. i don't know why she hasn't

The air in Guernsey was different from the air in London. Harry always took a deep breath as soon as he stepped out of the plane, marveling at the crisp freshness of the air, at the way it eased some tension he hadn't even fully realised he was carrying.

He tried to visit his family at least every few months. Of course, sometimes this plan fell through, either because he was too busy or because it slipped to the side. He hadn't been back to his old home since November, and it was early March now, the winter chill giving way to vibrant spring. Their group had wanted to celebrate the holidays together last year, some of them visiting family but only for a few days. Given his family visits required a bit more effort than a mere car ride, he'd settled for FaceTimes and festive texts.

His father met him at the airport, clapping him on the back and ushering him into his slightly beat-up car. Going from bustling London to peaceful Guernsey was a culture shock and a half, and the stark contrast was emphasised by the roads. Traffic was almost nonexistent, at least in the way he was used to, and the road itself gradually transitioned into more of a dirt path as he neared their house.

A series of memories flickered before his eyes as he brought his bags inside. They were short bursts of far-flung scenes, rather than full-on immersive flashbacks. Twin howls, one of laughter and one of misery. Muddy footprints on linoleum. Brown hair tousled by the roaring wind. The feeling of soft grass pressed down under his toes. Picking his little brother up when he was smaller and spinning him round and round until they were both dizzy and stumbling back through the door.

"Hasn't changed, huh?" he commented, grip tight on the handle of his rolling suitcase.

"It never does," his dad replied. "Good to have you back, son."

"Yeah," he said. "Good to be back." It was only half a lie.

He loved his family, and he loved the childhood he'd had here, all wild energy and caution thrown to the wind. He'd do anything to go back and time and live it all over again, because the experience had been wasted on his younger self, on a boy who didn't know he needed to cherish every second, every wide grin and every shed tear, because he didn't know it would soon be something to miss. But at the same time, he couldn't stand being there. He hated standing in his old bedroom, the ceiling much closer than it used to be, everything he'd owned much smaller than he recalled them being. He hated the visual proof that he was not the same, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Harry supposed every adult had a similar feeling, returning to the place they grew up and hating the reminders of different times. Or maybe everyone else was secure in their age, in their place in the world, and he was suffering in denial. Either way, it didn't make it easier to feel. He'd never been good at feeling.

But in the living room, gathered around the well-worn wooden dining table, they made new memories, swapping stories over rice and steamed vegetables, speaking of livelihoods forged in the gulf of distance between them. His sister was home from university, carefully planning it to coincide with his visit, and his brother was yet to move out. There was a familiarity in the five of them sitting around the table at dinner, but they were new people as well, and there were shades to his family he had to find and relearn every time they came together.

"It's been a while since you and Katie broke up, hasn't it?" Rosie said off-handedly as she reached over to seize the gravy boat.

He choked on his mouthful of potatoes. "Um, yeah," he said, scratching his chest. "It's been, what, four months? A while."

"You never did say why you two split up," his mum said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin and leaning back in her chair to watch him. "I mean, I thought you two would be together for a long time."