"I owe more to the dead,
with whom I will spend a much longer time,
than I will ever owe the living."
Sophocles, Antigone (trans. Robert Bagg)
"How is it then?" Gemma asks, voice echoing through the speakerphone into Harry's new room.
Harry stops in his track, hands filled with what he thinks is a box of shoes. He probably should have listened to his mother when she suggested labelling all of his items, but the move happened so fast after his internship ended without a permanent job that he didn't really have the time to consider his options or pack smartly.
He gives the room a quick once over, eyes passing swiftly through the small desk sitting near the tiny window and the bed, the two most important furniture in the still bland room. There's a small bookshelf and a chair, and of course the two towers of boxes Harry just finished carrying from downstairs, but despite the space they take up, the room still feels empty.
"Haz? You still there?" Gemma asks from where he discarded his phone on the bed.
"Yeah, yeah," he agrees, putting the box back on the floor and taking a few steps and letting himself fall on the mountain of sheets and pillows his mother dropped on the bed earlier. "It's alright," he says with a shrug, fumbling for his iphone to take her off speakerphone, bringing the phone close to his ear.
Gemma laughs loudly in response. "Alright?" she asks mockingly. "Mum hasn't stopped talking about it for weeks, she said it was the most beautiful house she'd ever seen in her life and that the village was so charming she thought she'd die at the thought of living there."
"I guess it is charming," Harry agrees. Truth be told, he hasn't really had the time to see much of Hillsbridge beyond the quick drive through on their way to the new house after Robin picked him up from the train station. The place looks nice enough, but nothing to go crazy about. "I didn't have much time to explore, to be honest. I've been helping mum unpack the kitchen stuff all afternoon."
"She's working you hard?"
Harry rolls his eyes. He can't exactly complain given his situation. "Not really, I'm going to be living here too now, it's only fair that I help."
There's a short moment of silence on the other side like Gemma is pondering whether she should ask about it or not. Harry starts picking at the bundle of sheets underneath and around him, rubbing the material nervously between his thumb and index, thankful that at least she can't see him fidgeting. It's always been his tell.
"Hey," Gemma starts a bit too softly and Harry braces himself for the worst, "are you sure you're alright?" she ends up asking and it's not as bad as it could have been, truth be told. It's not overly specific which means Harry can be vague in response and she can't say anything.
It's all good. He's all good.
"I'm good," he replies with an annoyed huff. "Wonderful, even," he adds pointedly. It's not technically a lie. At best, it's a slight exaggeration.
"Even with -"
"Don't," Harry begs, closing his eyes. Things have gone a bit... wrong in the past few weeks. The last thing he wants is to spend hours moaning about it.
"I'm sure you'll have a lovely time with mum and Robin, at least," Gemma says encouragingly and it's true, it will be nice to get to see his family more than during the holidays and a few weekends here and there. Still, he wasn't exactly planning on moving back home after his degree. He went out into the world, convinced he would easily conquer it... Not quite.
