TEMERITY | H.S.

8 - ADDICTED

"Just... stay safe, man."

Harry nodded, an antsy feeling flooding his movements as he watched Gabe back down his driveway.

"I will," Harry shoved his hands in his pockets as he responded. He was appreciative of his friend's concern, but he knew it was unnecessary. While his house wasn't a place he'd exactly elect to stay at without someone else's presence, he knew he wouldn't be alone for long tonight.

Vega was coming over.

It wasn't like he left a lot of room for her to deny his offer, but he was still shocked by her willingness. Ecstatic, but shocked nonetheless. He was prepared for pushback, and he wasn't above begging.

A plan was still in the works as to what they were going to do. Harry figured a playing-by-ear was most likely, though he, of course, had a few ideas of how he wanted the night to pan out. After that, it was just a matter of getting her to agree.

The underside of Gabe's lowered car screeched against the cement bump of the driveway as he backed down it, and when he veered into the road and stopped, Harry figured his friend was waiting for him to get in the house before he left.

With a roll of his eyes, Harry strolled to his front door, hiding a deep breath from Gabe as his key turned in the lock. The wooden door followed the screen one, and soon enough, the sound he dreaded the most was berating his eardrums at an all-consuming decibel of anguish-- one of the few emotions Harry was far too familiar with.

"HARRY! Get in here!"

A sigh sent Harry on the balls of his feet towards his beckoning, breaking into the smoke-filled living room and blinking through it a few times to catch sight of the exact woman whose voice felt like a red-hot rod right through the ear canal.

It felt like a reaccumulation every time he dared to leave the comfort and safety of Gabe's middle-class suburbia to venture into what he now classified as optional torture. Yet, he was grateful for his friend because of the way he and his family turned such a thing into an option for Harry. It didn't use to be.

"What's wrong?" Of course, there was always something wrong.

Without hesitation or even so much as a greeting, "I need you to clean out the oven and then cut your father's hair."

"I have plans," Harry knew the response he would get from this, but he wasn't about to cave when an evening with Vega was on the line. Agreeance often got him places, but he knew speeding up things with Vega would send him further.

"You didn't ask permission," his mom spat out, and her eyes weren't even bothering to look at him as they studied the infomercial on the television screen. He wondered if he came home looking utterly different, if she would even notice. Or if he sent someone else in his place to act like him. She wouldn't take a second glance, he guaranteed.

"You haven't seen me in two weeks, and I'm an adult. I don't need permission. They'll be here soon," Harry's familiar words fell out like sand from a tipped bucket, and like clockwork, a scowl forged its way onto his mother's face.

She found it in herself to move her eyes onto Harry, letting him bask in the glory that was her disappointment, "well, you can't have anyone over. My back pain is flaring up, and I don't feel like having to be the host too."

Harry directed his response in the form of a thumbs-up, rolling his eyes at his mother's self-diagnoses and inability to see her hysteria.

As if she would ever be the host for his guests.

Harry's escape from the room was halted by her screeching voice once again, "your dad works his ass off for this family, Harry, and you take it all for granted. The least you could fuckin' do is show the man some respect for the roof he put over your head--"