it echoes through

sixteen; crescendo

Your walk with Clarissa was long and tedious and silent, but you figured that's what she needed right now–to deal with the fact her soulmate had decided to leave everything, including his family, behind.

Clarissa told you he was coming back for her, and that he took all the boxes they had over to her parents' house, and the pain in her voice was impossible to miss.

She didn't want this.

"Ris, not that it's any of my business," you tried cautiously, not wanting to say too much too soon, "but can't you just talk him out of it?"

She shook her head, sadness flying off the strands of her hair, "I'm the one who asked him to leave Liverpool, I can't now disrespect what he wants. And he wants to leave."

"Because of what happened between you and Tom?"

For the first time since you could remember, Clarissa Dean-Osterfield was blushing, embarrassed at the words you said. You bit your tongue, thinking of a way to retract your words–but they already did their damage. Clarissa was walking faster now.

"I think we should head back soon," she said, catching sight of the rain cloud slowly approaching. You didn't try to argue, and quickly hailed the dogs back to you before you followed her lead–power walking back towards the house.

"How was your walk?" Tom asked as soon as you came inside.

Clarissa smiled vaguely, doing her best to stop her eyes from looking at his, before she walked determinedly back to her room–huffing on her bed when she saw it was almost completely empty, except for things she would need until Friday.

Harrison wasn't kidding.

"Did you talk to her?" He tried softly, and with a small fear tingling against you, you shook your head.

"She changed the subject pretty quickly."

"But you two made up this morning," Tom tried to say, before he noticed how embarrassed you felt. He still wasn't used to knowing what was going on in your heart, it still took him aback when that familiar tingle played on his body. He understood you didn't want to talk about it now, and maybe you wouldn't ever want to talk about it–so instead, he planted a kiss on your cheek and asked, "you want to come help me downstairs or do you want to rest?"

"Shouldn't you be resting?" You offered, the sting in his side still prominent.

"I'm fine," he dismissed, and you let out a small sigh when you felt he spoke true. "I just have a lot to catch up on."

You nodded your head, before lacing your fingers together and following him down to the office.

Sam and Harry were sat on either side of the long table, piles and piles of paperwork in front of them as they read over Dylan and Harrison's reports. Harrison was perfectly organized, and wrote everything in such an order it could not be misunderstood–Dylan however, wasn't used to paperwork and made odd submissions and counted money in a completely ridiculous way.

"What does this mean, minus 200 plus 750?" Sam groaned as he brought his hand down against the paper in frustration.

"He spent 200?" You tried, but Sam chuckled when he showed you there was a column at the bottom of the page reading 'spent'.

"Cait will figure this out," Harry assured them, before he called out for her. "She's always complaining about her partner's reports and how hard it is to crack them."

After a few hopeful moments, Caitlyn dragged herself down the stairs and into the office, walking right towards Harry. "Yeah?"

"What does this mean?" He asked, grabbing the paper eagerly from Sam's hand and showing it to her. Her dark brows frowned lightly as she read over the figures and words etched across the paper, and Harry smiled slowly when he felt understanding dawn on her. Then his smile was gone.