𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐎𝐘 [𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖]

two

Harry knew he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. Harry knew especially that he shouldn't follow them down the backstreets of London in the middle of the night. But if you knew their name and a little bit about them, does that make them a stranger?

Harry and Simon had been walking for about 10 minutes, and even though that may not seem that long, Harry was shaking like a terrified child due to the cold. Simon had started to pick up on this, and as they were about to turn the corner towards another ally, Simon halted the boy.

"Are you cold?" He said bluntly.

"Yeah," Harry sniffled, "it is the middle of winter if you haven't noticed."

They stared at each other for a long time. There was something hidden behind Harry's lifeless, grey eyes, and Simon couldn't figure out what it was. It scared him.

"I'm not giving you my jacket." Simon said after a long pause.

"I didn't ask for it?" Harry said with a roll of his eyes. The Shadow Boy shook his head at Harry and they kept walking in silence for another 15 minutes until they came to a door. Harry had never been in this part of London, frankly because he didn't know it existed. He also didn't have any time to think about running away, because with a swift kick, the door was off its hinges and Simon was inside the building.

"What are we doing?" Harry whispered.

"Shhhhh," Simon hissed, "just shut up and follow me."

Harry silently followed Simon around the house, and didn't say a word even when he watched the skinny blonde take a large sum of money out of a purse left on the table. Simon turned to Harry and couldn't help but laugh when he saw the scowl on the boys face, making Harry shake his head and put a finger over his lips as if he was telling him to shush. There were footsteps.

"Harry," Simon whispered, "if anyone comes down these stairs, man, woman or child, you have to kill them. It may not seem ideal, but its the only way we're getting out of this without being arrested."

Harry began to tremble. He liked to think of himself as a good samaritan, as someone who would help a person if they were stabbed, shot or what not. He never imagined himself as the boy behind the trigger. Simon shook his head and tossed him a gun before walking over and standing beside him.

"Whatever you do, do not miss," Simon whispered in his ear, "and take these."

Simon took Harry's hands in his own and fitted his trademark leather gloves onto Harry's boney fingers. He held the boys hands until he stopped shaking, but realised how little time he had when he heard a woman sobbing at the top of the stairs.

"Why can't you do this?" Harry said, trying not to lift his head up so Simon would see the tears filling his cloudy grey eyes.

"Because I want to see if you've got it," Simon whispered, which made Harry frown, "you'll know what I mean soon."

Simon slipped into the shadows effortlessly, as he always does, and watched as Harry let his shoulders broaden and cracked his neck. The Guernsey boy hid behind the wall next to the stairs and listened as the woman spoke to someone quietly on the phone.

"It's been a week since he left me," she sniffled, "I just don't know how I'm supposed to cope with living on my own when that....that thing still lurks around waiting for its next victim."

Harry's body reacted before he did.

As soon as the woman's head reached the bottom of the stairs and poked around the corner he pulled the trigger. He went stiff as he watched the woman's eyes roll back into her head and she dropped the the floor.

A bullet right between the eyes. She was dead.

Realising he didn't have time to sit and watch Harry all day, he left the money on the sofa and swiftly ran over to him, checking his face for blood from the woman. Alas, Harry's emotionless, pale face was splattered in crimson red.

"C'mon," Simon said, "let's get you cleaned up."

Harry let himself be guided by Simon's hands around his waist to the kitchen, where he washed the boy's face with a flannel. Simon was waiting for Harry to do something, to start crying or screaming because he had just taken someone's life, but nothing came.

"I can't believe I just killed someone."

Ah, there it is, Simon thought.

"When can I do it again?"

That one took Simon by surprise.

"Remember the it I was talking about, pretty boy?" Harry mumbled a yes as an answer, "well that was it."

"But what about my actual life? I still want to go to college and finish my A levels."

"That's okay, we can be strangers by day and little shits by night."

"Okay," Harry said, "I want to go to sleep."

Without another word, Simon wrapped an arm around Harry's waist again and guided him outside. The cold breeze made Harry shiver, and this time Simon did give the boy his jacket. They walked along the stone paths for what felt like an eternity to Harry, and his eyes were getting sleepier by the minute. However, he was shot - pun intended - right awake when he felt himself being lifted.

"Harry, grab that edge and pull yourself up."

Being too tired to argue, Harry complied to Simon's order and pulled himself onto what seemed to be the roof of a house, it sloped until it got to the edge where it flattened to a soft material. Whatever it was seemed like bed material to Harry.

He lied down on the roof, too tired to walk any further despite anything else Simon had to do, which he didn't, and curled up in a ball, shivering in the cold but too tired to care. Simon saw how cold the boy was getting in the bitter London weather and wrapped him up in his arms, making Harry hum in content.

It may not be right, it may have been the thing Harry least expected to be doing tonight, but to the both of them it felt like everything had finally fallen into place for them.

Neither of them wanted to admit it though.