rosemary

thyme

thyme represents courage; facing the past

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The next time Harry saw morning light, he knew it was real with the way he could actually breathe under the rays. His eyes ached from the amount he had cried the night before, the memory of his nightmare having drained out along with every tear.

Only a slice of light made it through the tightly drawn shades over the window, the sun bright enough Harry could only begin to assume how long they'd slept in. But, he wasn't going to argue with the hours; after his nightmare had cleared, that was the best sleep he'd had in years. With every blink of his heavy eyes, he gained more and more clarity.

There was a part of him that wanted to be embarrassed about the way he had acted. The other night when she had tried to comfort him before was nothing compared to the way he had reacted last night. With her tucked carefully under his arm, her breathing even and eyes shuttered, he figured he could quell that awaiting shame for a little while longer. He didn't need to don his facade when she wasn't even awake to witness it.

Moving cautiously, their shared pillow under his head shifted as he looked to her. That crack in the curtains allowed a splash of light to spill over his chest, leading the ray to fall over her eyes. The divine ribbon of light highlighted the curl of her lashes, the slope of her nose, and the delicate skin of her eyelids. The shadows he had seen under her eyes were now replaced with the reaching lengths of her lashes over her cheekbones. Baby hairs were wild around her face, messed from the way he had reached and grabbed for her the night before. Her hands were still tightly clutching his shirt in her palms, the fabric wrinkled and stretched in her direction.

Looking at her like this, Harry realized he hadn't ever stood a chance, had he?

This whole thing—his facade, his over-nurtured walls, his control—all turned to dust the second she tapped his shoulder and asked about cookies. He should have known then that things were going to shift, even if he never thought it would turn out like this.

All because of a gorgeous girl with a ribbon in her hair.

Seeing her at peace for the first time in days, Harry knew that girl didn't deserve this—this dusty motel, this impromptu road trip, this much deception.

He couldn't keep doing this to her. She had a life that he'd torn her from, all so he could drag her to different diners and gas stations, dank motels, and a cramped car for hours on end. She had friends who loved her, a job she woke up every morning happy to do, and a sweet little home that deserved to have someone like her live in it.

It was Harry's mistakes that had caught up with them, and (Y/N) was the one being truly punished by them. She had to sleep in strange places, shower in less than five minutes if she wanted warm water, with questionable food waiting for her at every stop. Her nails even had chips in the paint, something he'd never seen before he tugged her into his mess.

She didn't deserve this motel or his hands all over her when she didn't even know who she was sharing a bed with.

He couldn't keep doing this to her. He was running out of money, and (Y/N) deserved to sleep in her own bed and be safe while she did.

This all had to stop. Today.

Yesterday's close call told him he wouldn't have to wait around very long for them to find him again. He didn't want (Y/N) to be in the middle of it when that happened.

There was a plan to be made. Today was the day his past would have to catch his present if he wanted any kind of future.

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