camp cherry two | hs

ten

he's such a baby stfu

i want to kiss his forehead

✩︎

HANA

The rest of the evening is been extremely uneventful, a huge contrast to the drama of this morning. We eat dinner quietly, then dessert, Harry plays a song around the camp fire to my requests - I chose track nine, as it's understandably one of my favourites.

We fall to sleep much earlier than we usually would, crashing not even ten minutes after ten, wrapped up in blankets that end up kicked off to the floor as the humidity increases through out the night, though Harry's warmth never wavers.

The next morning is spent swimming and playing many games in the water, Harry smirking at me as he silently reminds me of exactly what happened in this lake a few days ago, which makes my cheeks heat and turn red at the memory.

Luckily the water is murky enough for no one to see as I whack him in the crotch, gentle enough not to hurt him properly but more than enough the irritate him, and if definitely does.

"You're so annoying."

"So are you," I retort, his eyes narrowing in irritation, all of which soon disappears when I make out with him behind the dining hall at lunch, which seems to be an almost daily tradition for us.

It's now long after lights out, most people fast asleep, and Harry and I are chattering sleepily, his arm underneath me and fingertips trailing along my skin innocently. Well, Harry is talking and I've trying to go to sleep for the past half an hour but he won't stop, and every time he does, it was only five minutes before he was piping up again.

"What do you think happens after death?"

"Go to sleep, Harry," I whisper in response, hoping if I ignored enough of his questions he would eventually listen to me.

"Is there an afterlife where we go to live a second life? Can you die in the afterlife if there is one at all?"

"Harry, shush."

"Or do you become a ghost and wonder the Earth forever? Are you a bad ghost if you were a bad person when you were alive or because of the way you died?"

This time I don't respond, and neither does Harry, tiny snores that make me smile lazily before I finally drift to sleep filling my ears.

✩︎

I wake up surprisingly early, a sharp, early morning light creeping through the flimsy fabric of the curtains. I surmise it's around five in the morning from the brightness of the light yet the slight dullness of the sky outside. Rain is pattering against the windows, and if it wasn't for the dream I'd had, it would've probably sent me straight back to sleep.

It wasn't so much of a dream, nor a nightmare; it was a memory. The memory of seeing my brother in the hospital, pretty much already dead, though the doctors kept giving us hope until the last second.

They used to be much more frequent, the same scene playing over in my head every night for a year after his death, though I only get them very rarely now, maybe once or twice every couple months, and it doesn't scare me as much anymore.