The Transfiguratus Diem

5. Eulogies From Thieves

Carly hung up the phone and blinked a few times before did the only thing she could think of. She pulled Harrison into her arms and held him as tightly as she could, one hand on his head as her other one gripped at the back of his shirt. Her lips grazed the skin of his neck as she repeatedly whispered the same words her mother had said to her.

"You are okay. It's okay. You aren't alone."

After her third repetition, Harrison's arms rose. She half expected him to pull away and run, but he gripped at her tightly, his head burrowing into her neck as his hot tears soaked into her pajama top collar. He choked a few sobs before his legs gave way, pulling the two of them to their knees on the kitchen floor. Carly repeated her mantra, half to him and half to herself as Harrison pulled her tighter to his chest.

After a few minutes, Harrison calmed and pulled his head away. Carly rushed to the paper towels and ripped of a square for each of them before rejoining him on the floor. They both wiped their tears and blew their noses for a few seconds before the room fell silent once more. Carly looked up and without hesitation wiped a single tear from Harrison's cheek with her thumb, triggering the man to raise his eyes and look at her once again. Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

It was brief and soft, so soft that Carly thought she had imagined the interaction. He pulled away and left before she could react or even process what had just occurred. Her hand, which had been on his cheek only moments before, came to rest upon her lips, and after a few seconds she released the breath she had been holding as a shuddering gasp, her eyelids fluttering rapidly.

After a full minute since the door had closed behind Harrison, Carly stood and brushed her pajama top feeling the cold wet spot where Harrison's tears had soaked through to her skin. Her hand lingered there for a moment, the residual tears and the empty cup being the only signs he had even been there at all.

As Carly locked up and prepared for bed, Harrison drove back to his penthouse through the VIP entrance. He was home before anyone could speak to him, the man having taken the private elevator so not even security could stop him. He arrived in his penthouse not ten minutes after leaving Carly alone on the floor where he had kissed her.

His sadness vanished then, turning instantly to anger as he threw his keys across the room. Anger at himself, at his mother for leaving, at his father for dying. He even felt anger for Carly, the woman making him feel things he never allowed for himself. "She has a soulmate, and it isn't you!" He told himself, hating everything about his situation and his life.

With nothing else to throw, he kicked the corner of his corner couch, the cream fabric now sporting a sneaker shaped stain. Resisting the urge to scream, Harrison could only cry and shake as he wound his fingers through his mess of hair once again. The man dropping to the floor to lean back against the wall of his large, open and cold penthouse, silently wishing he had never left the warm, cozy kitchen.

That next morning, the news made it to the front pages, images of Jonathon at his best underneath the bold lettering announcing his death. Waylon returned home ten minutes before the newspaper, refusing to speak on the man's final moments, or even his final words. Carly's eyes locked onto those of Harrison in one of the images alongside his father, she found them to be empty as usual, as if something was missing.

Noone saw Harrison until the televised funeral a few weeks later, and no one saw him after. He took the podium after many had said their words, but only Harrison spoke true. He reminisced about his childhood with his father, how he was always able to spend time with his dad. He spoke of camping trips and holidays that would have made any king jealous. He talked of happiness and fun, and then he said this: