✓ lights /styles au/

7 Blind

hold still, i'm on my way.

By the time Harry woke up the next morning, he smelled a combination of foods and nearly choked on the smoke that filled his lungs. It was eleven in the morning and he didn't want to walk out of the room in fear of making things awkward. He sighed softly and slipped slowly from the bed, slipping his shoes on, hanging his head, and wincing at the cold against his fingers.

His foot hit the side table and he groaned aloud softly, his eyes down and away from the open window that bled too many colors. Beautiful colors, but too bright for how early it was. From the living room, he heard a soft, "Harry?" and he bit down on his lip, thinking maybe he had time to hide in Josephine's blankets before her mother walked into the bedroom. "Come here, darling."

He licked his chapped lips and nodded slowly before walking over to the wall and using his hands to guide himself through the corridor and into the living room. That was one thing he took pride in. His hands were gentle and steady and helpful and as he neared the kitchen, they paused on the counter. Lowering his head into his hands, Harry kept his eyes up. "Good morning."

"Morning," Rachel chirped loudly. He cringed. "Josephine is a little upset and went for a walk, but I'll call her to get on her way before she misses breakfast."

He frowned. "Upset?" A plate was pushed into his arm and he leaned back to avoid touching it, still not as hungry as he thought he might've been waking up.

"She'll get over it," the woman mumbled. "That girl has always been sensitive. She's developed trust issues that her father and I don't know-"

Harry's head turned toward the door, the sound of its hinges creaking loudly, the lock being picked by a key before opening completely, and shutting moments later too loud to ignore. His head tilted, dry lips feeling the rush of wind before he heard her voice; slow and quiet and raw and he frowned as she said, "sorry."

"It's okay darling. I think you lost yourself for a moment. Just needed to-"

"Harry," Jo breathed out. He awkwardly hung his head as to not anger anyone in the room, not understanding where all the tension was coming from and why it was so thick and stubborn. "I'm apologizing to Harry."

"Josephine," Rachel's shrill voice made him cower a bit.

It had a sense of authority to it; a subtle warning that either went unnoticed from her daughter, or was just not as authoritative as it sounded to him, because he heard Joey's sock clad feet move her behind the counter at where the older woman was before pausing. "Can we talk later tonight when I don't have company over? When I don't have plans?"

"Harry?" Rachel.

Harry lifted his head slowly, biting down on his tongue. "Hmm?"

"You wouldn't mind if my daughter and I had this day to ourselves, would you? You know, to sort out some things and-"

"Don't do that to him," Jo interrupted quickly and patiently. He heard the gentle anxiety shake in her voice that made him put up a hand and run his fingers over the expanse of the hard wood, moving toward her voice and feeling for her hand before finally settling on it, his index finger carefully outlining one of her knuckles as she continued. "You can come by tonight when I'm alone."

Her hand slipped from under his. "Now?" Her mother asked.

He felt like a child. Jo answered with, "yes. I'll see you tonight," and he heard shuffling, looked up and then back down, heard the front door open, and then heard it close.

He sighed. "Are you okay?"

"I don't want to talk to her tonight," she admitted quietly.

Harry ignored the brightness in the room, sacrificed his comfort as he lifted his head and squinted his eyes with a soft hum. "Mm, then don't open your door to her."