✓ lights /styles au/

21 Art

i have nightmares of you walking out.

Harry was on his floor in a matter of minutes. He put Anne in a cab to her hotel before hopping on his own. The ride wasn't long, but he felt like it was longer than it should have been.

When he emerged out of the building's elevator, it'd only taken him a few steps before he heard her. Joey.

It was hard to tell what exactly she was doing. She wasn't talking. More like gasping. Like whimpering, only she sounded out of breath.

"Hey," he found himself in front of her, moving his hands to where hers were. He traced his fingers over the bend of her arms until they settled on where she had hers paused around her own neck. He removed them so he could better touch her, and when he did, all he could feel were lengthy, linear, throbs. Like she'd been pressing her finger —or something close to it— hard enough against the skin to make marks.

Jo was breathing raggedly, still having not said a word to him since the call. He was more than confused, standing with his knees bent slightly so he was at level with her. He didn't take his hands from the irritated stripes around her neck, just leaned closer and pressed his forehead to hers. Was she crying?

"What happened?"

She moved closer to him when he put his hand against her cheek, nuzzling herself into his palm the best she could. It wouldn't have been noticeable if it weren't for the growing silence and heavy atmosphere between and around them.

"Jo. Baby, what happened? What happened to you?"

"She-" she tried to clear her throat. "She attacked me. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have called, but she-"

"Who are you talking about? Who attacked you?" He went back to massaging her neck gently with his fingers, keeping his eyes trained on whatever it was that was in front of him as he worked on relieving the irritation. He hoped, to an extent, that he was looking directly at her. He used to be good at making correct assumptions on where everything was, but things were becoming harder for him.

"They're at the exit staircase. I'm sorry for-"

"Are you okay? I don't care about whoever's there. I want to know about you. Tell me how you're feeling."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Go...help them." Her voice was strained. Reminded him of when they were at the hospital after she had an asthma attack.

With one last nod of approval from her, Harry walked out of the exit door with his head down and hands in his jean pockets. When the door closed, he felt himself stiffen. He didn't have to reach out for anybody to know there was someone there.

There were two people, he knew that much. Two different breathing patterns more than a foot apart.

He took even breaths before choosing his words wisely so as not to completely anger anyone. He wouldn't have minded a fight, but a two-to-one fight was more of tag teaming than a fight and he couldn't win that even if he were dedicated. "Who the hell-"

"Harry," a voice said from the far corner of the hallway. His head jerked up at the familiarity. It was a voice he didn't plan on hearing until William's funeral.

"Spencer," he let out, raising an outstretched finger until it landed on where he was pretty sure the other person was standing. He could hear heavy breathing. Very light, but rough. He knew who it was when the person groaned. "And Alexandra."