Boxer (Larry)

24

When Harry and I see each other again on Saturday, it's such a relief. I've had a stressful, awful week. I'm assuming his hasn't been any better, because he told me it wasn't great. He never said it was terrible, but he's acting different. Still laughing, joking around, and smiling, but he seems exhausted.

We go to his house, where we've decided to stay for the day. Neither of us want to go out and do anything, and I really don't feel like putting on makeup.

Harry

We're on the couch, with some random show playing on TV. Neither of us are paying attention to it, so it just provides some background noise for us. Instead of watching it, we're talking and telling stories. Most of them are from our childhoods, but some are fairly recent.

I learn about his childhood, which wasn't exactly normal but not awful either. He's never known his father, but he's very close to his mom and all four of his sisters. There was stress on him and his mother, of course, as he stepped up and did what he could to help out with his siblings, which are all younger than him, but he tells me that it was overall a good upbringing for all of them. He's helped his sisters through everything they've had trouble with, and their bond continues to this day despite not seeing each other nearly as often as they used to.

He says he doesn't regret any part of his life, because every experience has helped make him the person that he is today. He tells me that his years helping raise his siblings made him realize his love for children, and that he was absolutely ecstatic when he learned that he's able to be pregnant. Some boys can, but it isn't too common. He learned to cook and all that stuff from his mother and learned new interests from his sisters.

"What about your childhood?" He asks me. "Unless you don't want to talk about it. I understand that."

I sigh. My childhood wasn't bad, either. It had problems, of course. Nobody's life is perfect.

"Well, I didn't know my real dad, either. But, I grew up knowing my step father. He's who taught me to cook and stuff. My mom's the one that got me into sports, and taught me about boxing and stuff. My sister and I have always been close, but not as close as you and your sisters are. I'm really close to my mom, and I was close to my step dad." I pause.

He nods.

"When we were growing up, my mother always made sure we knew we were loved. My sister is older than I am, so she knew my dad a little. I think the divorce had an impact on her, though she still won't admit it. I think that's why my mom always made sure she felt loved and secure, you know?" I rant. He nods.

"And your step dad?" He wonders.

"He was great. I couldn't have asked for a better father figure, if I'm being honest. He treated us very well, and we formed an almost instant bond with him. He isn't alive anymore, though." I sigh. This isn't my favorite subject to talk about, because I always get teary eyed. Like right now, I'm on the verge of crying.

"I'm sorry." He tells me, his voice soft.

"No, it's alright. Such is life." I shrug. Unfortunately, that's the moment a tear rolls down my cheek.

"Harry, don't cry." He frowns. I half smile at him.

"I'm sorry. It just sucks, you know?" I say.

He nods and pulls me into a hug. He smells so nice and it's a bit comforting. He lets me cry for a while, until I've stopped.

"I'm always here for you." He states.

"Thank you." I reply. He nods. It's quiet for a few minutes as we both pretend to watch the show that's on TV.

"Can we talk about something happy? Tell me about your favorite memory or something." I prompt.

He thinks for a minute before a grin spreads across his face.

"My favorite memory is probably the time my whole family went camping in fall." He shrugs.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I question. He nods.

He goes into an explanation of how everyone was bonding and they were all so happy. His youngest sister, who has a twin but was born second so is technically the youngest, cuddled up to him when she was scared. His sisters were pointing out things and asking for explanations. They played games and had so much fun. At the end of the trip, one of his sisters gave him a colorful area of flowers, which made him so happy.

Thinking about all of this lifts my mood, so I get him to keep talking about happy memories. He coaxes a few out of me, though it honestly doesn't take much effort. But I like it better when he tells me about his happy memories.

I love the way he lights up when he talks about them.