nocturne and silver blue

chapter 4

 He tells his mum he's sick. He's not sure she believes him, but she doesn't question him, and as long as she doesn't Harry doesn't particularly care.

The world narrows down. It's only the house at first, then his room, then his bed; anything beyond it feels distant and faraway, like Harry'd never be able to reach it no matter how hard he tried. Thinking makes his head spin. His body feels numb, like his brain can't connect with it properly; his mind feels like a black hole, gaping, empty, dragging him down. He cries once or twice, but it's tears that feel like they're being forced out.

None of this is real. The house, the room, his body, his mind; what's telling him they actually exist? It certainly doesn't feel like it.

Sleep feels like the realest thing of all.

He dreams of grey corridors with dead ends. He dreams that he's chasing something, but at some point it all blurs together and he can't tell if he's doing the chasing or if he's the one being chased. He dreams of floating in the night in a sea of white pinpricks; of fiery balls of light that expand and swallow him whole; of darkness that takes over and makes his skin melt away. He wakes up with his heart pounding. For a second, it makes him feel alive.

Then the numbness drags him down again, and he gets lost in it gratefully.

*

Harry doesn't know how long it's been, but eventually his mum comes to talk to him.

When there's a knock on his door, Harry's startled out of his half-asleep daze; he mumbles a, "Come in," just loud enough to be heard and buries his face in the sheets, curling into them. He hears his mum come into the room and close the door softly behind her, hears the fall of her footsteps on the carpet, feels the bed dip slightly as she sits down. After a moment, her hand come sup to stroke gently at Harry's hair. Harry moves his head into the touch and doesn't turn around to face her.

"School's over," his mum says. Harry feels a faint flicker of surprise. That means it's been... how long? A week? He has no way to measure time anymore.

There's a silence. He thinks she might be expecting him to say something. When he doesn't, she continues. "Are you going to tell me why you haven't been going?"

Slowly, Harry rolls over until only half his face is buried in the sheets. He looks at his mum sideways. She doesn't look mad, just... concerned. It doesn't change things. He doesn't want to talk. "I'm sick," he mumbles. It doesn't sound convincing at all. He doesn't care.

His mum just keeps looking at him in a way that says he's not fooling anyone. "And why is it you're sick?" she says gently, leaving no doubt as to what she's really asking. Her eyes are warm, comforting. Harry hadn't planned to say anything, hadn't even planned to talk to her properly, but something unfamiliar and powerful is welling up inside him against his will and all of a sudden he's lost, hideously alone, and his mum is familiar and reassuring and there and before he knows it he's throwing himself into her arms without a word.

It doesn't catch her off guard. She wraps his arms around him like she was expecting it all along. A hand moves up and down his back soothingly. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "It's okay if things are hard right now. You know nothing lasts forever, don't you? Not the good things, but not the bad ones either. You're going to be okay."

And that's what makes Harry break.

The tears start spilling over before he registers it. "Mum," he says weakly. "Mum, Louis left and he's not coming back," and then it all comes out at once, everything he's been holding back behind the numbness, all the confusion and fear and helplessness. He holds onto his mum as tight as he can and buries his face in her chest, the sobs wracking his entire body like they're being ripped out. He cries into his mum's chest until he feels empty, limp, like he has nothing else he could possibly let out. She holds her through it, rubbing small circles into his back, his hair; and even though nothing is okay, he's not alone anymore.