shadows_have_offended | [for Harry

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[for Harry | Darkness aftermath]

When all was said and done, when he was settled back in his apartment after everything, he sent a slightly bewildered text to his boss--he'd just missed several weeks of work, but it was worth saying he was alive, at least, right?--and then he slept. He slept like he hadn't in the makeshift dungeons, in the cages, oppressed by cold and loneliness even when he was around people. He slept like he hadn't for the last weeks, since he'd been snatched off a street corner in broad daylight.

When he woke, he wasn't quite sure what time it was, or what day. He lazed in bed, knowing that he needed to do things. Check in with Gabriel and Rosie, who had both also been kidnapped. Nina, who would hopefully have her daughter returned to her now. A myriad collection of others who had been in Kagura or had not. He couldn't bring himself to.

It took a great effort to pull himself out of bed. It took a greater effort to change into clothes that weren't stale and rank, to at least wash his face and brush his teeth and comb his hair, all with the lights off and avoiding looking at himself. But it took less effort to leave the apartment and go seek out Harry's bar, once all that was done.

It was the early evening, he found. He didn't know if Harry would be there but he figured it was worth a shot, and if he wasn't, he'd at least have gone out.

In walking, he caught sight of himself in a shop window. He was still disheveled, and there were huge shadows under his eyes. One of them was a bit blacked, from being hit at some point during his captivity. His lips were awfully chapped, his knuckles bruised and fingernails ragged from chewing. A habit he'd dropped years ago at his father's insistence. But his clothes were neat and his hair reasonably combed, so everything else could wait.

He let himself into the bar, though it was obvious it was early for customers. He milled about at the door, feeling foolish for having come. Too late now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Harry's very sure he's already fallen for this boy, but he's not worried about it. He doesn't mind one-sided affection, he's had infatuations in the past, but he does very much hope that his affection is returned. And when Neil leans in like that, and looks at him like that, he kinda dares to hope it is.

He does kiss him then, because he's been missing his lips as much or more than the rest of him.

"I'll be looking forward to it. Shakespeare, isn't it?"

It's sweet and quiet and exactly what Neil needs in the aftermath, even if he looks and feels like hell. He parks himself on the edge of the desk, forgetting the tea for now as he lingers against that kiss.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, I'm in Othello."

"Yeah, that don't mean much to me, kid," Harry said, unashamed, smiling. "Didn't come up in my education. What did your character do that makes him the bad guy?"

"He, um. He betrays everyone he cares about." It's a huge simplification, but trying to explain Othello to someone that doesn't know it is probably good for his understanding of the play.

"So. So Iago's jealous about a lot of things, like he's been passed over for this promotion and his friend had his love stolen from him, and he agrees to win this girl back for his friend. He sets Othello up that the man he promoted in his place is a drunkard and a fraud, and he's sleeping with Othello's wife. It all gets out of hand, you know, because that's how these plays are. There's a bunch of needless deaths. I won't give away the ending."

"Everyone dies," Harry says. "That's all I learned about those plays. It's in old English, right?" He asked, keeping the conversation to something that Neil seemed to at least be able to talk about.

"You can tell it's a tragedy because it ends in death and not a wedding," Neil says, managing a bit of a smile. He likes that Harry seems interested, likes whenever he seems interested even if sometimes he thinks that Harry's faking it a little bit. Neil knows, after all, that he isn't that interesting.

He fusses with his tea, sipping a little bit. It's more soothing than the whiskey was. "No, old English is Beowulf and things like that. Shakespeare's standard, just. Older, I guess. All that Elizabethan hear-ye stuff."

Harry nods thoughtfully. He is truly interested. Theatre isn't where his heart is, and old - older - stuff definitely isn't his thing, but he likes the idea of any show, no matter the medium.

"Think a thick old sod like me will get it?" He asked, more to the point, and with a small smile.

"Well, we're doing contemporary English for it," Neil says, parking himself on the edge of the desk now. He does feel very sullen that he hadn't got anything in the comedy this year, but there's something relaxing about the thought of Harry coming to see him on stage. "So you'll be able to keep up just fine."

He bumps his foot gently against Harry's and looks at him through his lashes. "And you're not that old."

It feeds to Harry's vanity and he smiles. "I can close up early and you can stay over if you like. I'd like you to. Don't seem right to send you back home alone."

It's an offer that Neil realizes he was waiting for as soon as its made. He nods a little, sniffling vaguely, trying to ignore the overwhelming relief that comes to him, to know he's wanted somewhere.

"I'll...wait in here while you close up?" He feels a little pathetic, but also there's a part of him that just wants to preen in being adored so much.

Harry notices the relief and is glad for it. He had hoped for it, though. He smiles, gently and puts a hand to Neil's cheek. "Yeah... you know what? I'll ask Frank to close up. We'll be out of here in a sec." And with that he leaves the boy on his own for a moment while he asks the most trusted staff member to close.

Neil deflates slightly, but it’s a graceful thing this time. He finishes his tea and tidies up the cups and glasses they’ve used, putting things away so that Harry’s office was just as it had been when he’d arrived.

It's the sort of thing Harry appreciates, even if he wouldn't cite it. He comes back in, takes his coat and motions him over so they can leave. "Everything's set. Let's go."

Neil tucks in against Harry once he’s got his coat on, making himself small against him, which isn’t hard when he felt small.

“Take me home,” he murmurs, because it’s better than going back to his own quiet place.

It's unclear if Neil means it the way Harry takes it, but no hesitation comes to Harry's mind when the boy asks him to take him home. He's more than pleased that Neil would consider Harry's flat his home, and more than willing to let him stay there as such.

They walk together, Neil against him, Harry protective over him. It's strange to walk like this in public, and it's taken Harry some getting used to, but in essence nothing much has changed. People who decide to comment on Harry's preferences get decked. Those who either don't care, or keep it to themselves are treated with the same respect.

He doesn't feel liberated or free or any of that noncy nonsense, being able to walk like this in public, but it's nice.

He hugs the boy close as they make their way to Harry's place and he doesn't quite let go until he has to fish inside his pockets for a key.

Neil's not sure how he means it, except that he does. He likes Harry's apartment because it's his space, and because Neil is welcome there without question. So they walk, and Neil focuses only on the warmth and reassurance of Harry beside him, and when they reach his door, he actually does feel a little better. Still rough and stupid, still terrified in some ways, even though the snow is almost all melted already. But better, at least, for having him there.

Once through the door, once it's closed and their shoes and jackets are off, Neil leans into Harry, pressing his forehead to his shoulder.

Harry's content to just hold him like that for a moment, hugging him with both arms.

"Tell me what you want, lovely boy," he says, quietly. "Cause I want to kiss you and I'm not sure how that'll go over and I don't want to make anything worse." He's not that good at talking about these things.

Knowing that Harry wants to kiss him, that even in his exhausted, worn down, bruised state he's still something desirable, Neil melts. He doesn't say what he wants, because finding the words are impossible. But he does pick his head up and lift his hands to cup Harry's cheeks and lean in to kiss him.

It's a little desperate, a little broken. But it's also full of trust and permission and longing. Just to feel something good.

It's a little more... well, deeper, than what Harry had in mind. There's a bit of desperation in it, that Harry recognizes and thinks would be wrong to take advantage of. But he doesn't end the kiss, and he puts his hands through Neil's hair. He's missed him, plain and simple.

The kiss breaks eventually and Harry pulls back a little, though his hand stays in Neil's hair. "We got plenty of time. No need to rush anything, yeah? Don't feel you owe it, or something. You don't. I'm more than relieved to see you again. But... you know. You look like you could do with a good night's sleep, yeah?" Harry really doesn't know how to have these conversations, but he feels it's important.

Neil nods a little bit, doesn't quite lean in for a second kiss just yet. He knows he looks exhausted, and he feels it. But there's no shame in admitting, "I slept for the last fourteen hours," though maybe there should be.

He'd needed it, though. He might still need it.

After a second, Neil takes a shivering breath and feels a little stupid when he asks, "Can you just...hold me, in bed? For a little while?"

Harry smiles a small smile, because that's exactly what he thought he might do. " I'd love to," he assures and guides him gently to the bedroom.

"Here, let me help you," he says and proceeds to help Neil out of his clothes. It's not that Neil can't. But Harry wants to show he wants to take care of him.

Neil doesn’t protest being stripped. He’s glad that he found clean clothes, that he showered before heading out to see him. And he pulls at Harry’s too, not wanting to be alone in this moment.

Even if nothing happens, the sight of unbruised skin is some sort of heaven sent. He lets the last of his clothes be stripped away and then climbed into the bed, pulling Harry along with him.

It feels good to be needed. Especially after a black mood. It also helps him get his mind away from it, gives him something to focus on, which is good. The only reminder of his depression are the pills on his bedside table and the near empty bottle of whiskey with which he downed them.

But it's about Neil now, and holding him close feels good. He plants a kiss on top of his head and let's his lips linger in his hair.

It's slow and gentle, affection that Neil hasn't felt in ages and isn't entirely sure he deserves, but he's trying to appreciate it. Harry's been kind to him in innumerable ways, and Neil's never sure if that means he owes him or that he's just frankly adored. Either. Both.

He lets the gentle touch linger and then slowly tilts his head up to kiss Harry, something sweet and just on the outside of chaste.

Harry's been called a lot of things, but he's also human, and when a boy kisses him like that, it's damned hard not to react in a physical way. "I've missed you," he says against the boy's lips, but he makes no move to go beyond chaste and sweet. He's not the sort of man who imposes. Not in these situations.

[for Harry | Darkness aftermath]

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