Who Names The Colors

If The World Was Ending

This didn't happen - but this song and the current state of affairs made me crazy enough to imagine it, and then Harry and Jo kept talking in my head. So, here we are!

She's scared. Fucking terrified, mostly because she has zero idea, not a single one about what is going to happen tomorrow, let alone what happens next, next week, next month, if there will be a next year.

Jo wants Harry.

Jo wants Harry in a way she has worked really hard not to. She has given him his life, the possibility of a future.

And now, in this moment when everyone's future is completely uncertain and maybe not going to resemble the world of yesterday, may not happen at all, she just, it doesn't fucking matter. The fact she can't give him a baby, that their ages made all the things she wanted for him possibly impossible, and all the family drama and tension is totally irrelevant. Feels totally unimportant. It doesn't fucking matter. She could get the virus on a market run and she could be sick for a few weeks, or she could stop breathing. She has no way of knowing which it will be, or how long life will be interrupted. She feels helpless, hopeless, future less.

It's probably not that dramatic. By next year, everyone may remember this like a nightmare. But right now, this moment, with cases climbing and death tolls ringing and a government completely fucking it all up, that seems far away and maybe not true.

Jo wants Harry.

If the world is ending, he's all she wants.

Maybe not all she wants, but the list is short. What she would do if this was it. She imagines the last night time especially. The things she'd do. Call her son in Greece, see him happy, scared but happy with Sean, and tuck her ever growing sassy pants daughter into bed, and come downstairs to tea Harry has made her.

His tea was always better, than all the tea she's made on her own. "Made with love's why." He'd smile and wink and dimple and melt her. In the fantasy, he's folding laundry or finishing dishes too. Because, God she misses the partnership she glimpsed too, and she's too tired to do it all alone most days. Though it's easier now that Zoe's school aged.

He'd help her, though, always did, while feeding, watering, fucking, and holding her through all the angst she is feeling. Through the sky falling.

She nearly calls him. But Jo has no idea, not an inkling of where he is in the world. She doubts he's still in Montreal. That was a year ago. It was meant to be a 6 month intensive program. There were others she submitted him for that she knows he was good enough to get into no matter when he rang them interested.

If he is abroad, that terrifies her, too. God, what if he's abroad, and can't get home? Or is sick, fuck, sick alone? Though he is in a low risk group she says out loud and wraps an arm around herself, squeezes her shoulder to distract from the contraction of her heart.

London, he might be in London. She knows he should move there, be part of the art scene. Jo is just not sure if that's where he is in his journey yet. She's not sure why she thinks she knows anything about where he is, or might go, or how he will chart the course to the future she forced on him, gifted him.

They talked about it, or course. They talked about everything. Except when they just understood.

London. If he's in London, it's cruel, because he won't be moving: lockdown orders have just gone out. He'd be so close but so far. Expats are flying in, going home and quarantining. This option had been offered to Ethan. But it didn't make sense for him and Sean, they were safe, and in the home they'd made. If Harry's abroad, unless he's shacked up, ouch, he'd come home to Anne. But, if Harry's in London, he's stuck away from his family. Unless he's settled and happy there instead. Anne might be ok with that state of affairs.