Honest || h.s.

Resonance

I've risen from the dead to deliver more Harry perspectives. I know the Skylar section was short, but it was intentional. she's not really as important as H in this story anyway. Amiright. Lol

If you still here, I love  you

If you're an asshole, comment your social security & credit card numbers :)

Stay safe through the spread of the deadly disease, kiddos x

Let'S GeT ON wiTH It TheN

Hx

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Harry.

The roads aren't loaded with traffic like I expected, and mostly the sound of old CDs fills the car as we drive along. Skylar is one of those people you can sit in silence with, where there's no pressure to say things, no pressure to small talk, that kind of stuff. I love it.

We left early, right after eating with Mara. She was of course invited, but didn't feel up to coming, understandably. So it's just me and Skylar. I'm sort of pleased.

However, she seems kinda sad compared to earlier. I think it's because we visited Mara. About an hour into the drive, I seemed to cheer her up when I pulled out my copy of this album called Regional at Best that I found under my seat, but the whole thing has some heavy songs on it, so the excitement has died a bit.

"Where did you get this?" her eyes got all wide when I handed it to her, and she began gingerly brushing the dust off it with her palm.

I laughed. "Got it from some teahead at a car boot sale. He told me it w-was coll--collectors, but I fig-igured that was rubbish."

She took a breath and closed her eyes before gently peeling the cover open and inserting the disc into the player. She sat back, closing her eyes, and took a breath ass the first tune began.

Now the  track list is almost finished, and she's watching the fields go by out the window, feet pulled up next to her in the seat.

"Hungry?"

She shakes her head.

"Me neither. There's... what, an hour? L-left of dri--iving?"

"Hmm," she looks at her phone, shifting in her seat to lean into the consul. "An hour and three minutes, to be exact."

I nod and return my attention to the road.

"Do you even know what this album is?"

I smirk, shaking my head. "Is it actually a collectors version?"

"It's very rare," she picks the cover off the dash, examining it carefully. "Harry, holy shit. You have no idea."

"Ooookay, so what's the band name about? They-ey're aeroplane drivers, y-yeah? How many are there?"

"Twenty One Pilots," she snickers, tilting her head at me. "You've honestly never heard of them?"

"Nope. T-tell me."

"So, the band name references this play called 'All My Sons,' and I've never seen it but it's apparently about a guy in the world war who sold these faulty plane parts and ended up killing twenty-one pilots because of it, so he killed himself because of the guilt."

I raise my eyebrows. "Cheery."

"But, Harry. This album. Oh my god. You don't understand. I think this is an original copy."

"Yeah?"

I grin as she continues to fan-out, telling me about the songs, how some of them aren't available except on YouTube, how this falling-apart CD cover is legendary because she closely examined it and it's the real deal, how not very many exist anymore because the copyright owners revoked the music from everywhere so you can't get any original copies or hear it on platforms anymore, and how she can't believe she's holding it in her own two hands.