night and day [h.s]

thirteen

He had an actual job. Something he would enjoy doing day to day with people that weren't half bad. Like Lola, the blue-haired gum-smacking cashier who gave him the interview. She was better than he originally though. The whole short staff was, the manager was chill the entire interview and it helped him relax a great deal to the point where his leg could stop bouncing up and down. Progress. And he wanted to go home and tell Nyala about it but the girl wasn't in. For six whole days.

When he socialized with people it kept the lonely thoughts from creeping in and Lola was a much better person to talk to than Angie at his last job. But he didn't like Lola like he liked Nyala, and he wished she were here.

Is this what she does? Just disappear when you needed her?

To think about it, he didn't know anything about her except her name. He didn't have her number, she never brought people around, and she never said where she works or where she was off to in the morning. Only at night did she come around and when she did it was in all black with nothing but her cell phone on her.

She knew more about him than he did her and that never happened with anyone he met in New York nowadays.

When the bells to the door chimed, he looked up from the cash register and everything came crashing down.

It seemed he could try to run from his past but it'd always manage to keep up. Especially if it's ghosts got a head start in the race.

It had been a couple of years since he last interacted with England and all that was in it but the way she looked, it's as if it'd been a decade.

The ghost from Christmas's past walked in and Harry wished she hadn't. He didn't want to be Scrooge but she was looking to remind him of their similarities.

Looking at her figure was hard, because the guilt was being crushed and thrown down his throat while he struggled to swallow it. His back was hunching over, as if he could crawl behind the counter and hide out from her. But too late. Like a bad car accident, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

She floated over, like she was walking on air. This was probably a fucking nightmare and he was sleeping on the job right now. But it all felt too real, if it was a dream, it had to be lucid. Her tawny brown skin aged ten years and looked so washed over and dull. Her dark eyes, sunken in, were fixed to his now. It was like this dark gloomy cloud sat atop her limp curls and followed her as she came in. But she wasn't stiff and slouching, she was fluid, moving her arms gracefully as she walked.

"Hello." Scratchy, deep, like a smoker's voice. Yet warm, tingly and sadly familiar.

Not trusting his voice, he lifted a hand and offered half of his mouth to greet in a smile.

"Is Lola here?" Her expression wasn't hard or mean, which was confusing as fuck. He expected running away or maybe an attack. She held nothing but black in those eyes.

"Y-yea in the back."

"Okay thanks..." she turned a little, her denim skirt flaring up and she took one step. Half her face turned, "Harry."

She remembered his name. He might've shit himself at that moment if it wasn't for the other person to enter the store after her.

He couldn't bring himself to drink enough tonight. Tipsy, yeah but not enough to black the fuck out and forget about things. The walk up to the apartment was easier than last he was drunk and he fumbled with his keys in his pocket when he finally got to the top.

"Shit," he cursed when they fell out onto the grimy carpets. He bent over to retrieve them when a door opened.

"Harry?"