oh, anna [-hs]

tpwk

69. (haha)

HARRY'S POV

Mitch picks me up from the airport. He's standing outside of the car, hands on his hips like a dad. 

When he sees me, he pushes his sunglasses back into his hair and squints across the parking lot at my head bobbing towards him. His hand raises in a wild waving motion. And when I'm finally standing before him and his car, he pulls me into a massive bear hug and refuses to let go.

"Hey buddy," he hums in my ear.

"Hey," I chuckle and drop the guitar and suitcase by my side. It's nice though. I haven't been hugged in weeks. I forgot how good it feels. He lets go and grabs my shoulders, holding me at arms length and squinting at my face.

"You look good."

"Oh stop," I feign embarrassment and hit his arm. He smacks mine right back and grins.

"You're doing better?"

"I feel like shit."

"Fair," he reaches down and grabs the suitcase. I take the guitar. We throw them in his trunk and hop into the front seats. As the car starts and the air conditioning kicks on, he drums his fingers along the wheel and debates something in his head.

"What is it," I watch his face. He purses his lips and shrugs.

"Nothing," he shakes his head and reverses out of his spot. And we silently start down the highway in the direction of the house.

"Mitch," heat creeps up the back of my neck. He turns his chin to me, keeping his eyes on the road. "Can I come over and see Monkey sometime soon?"

"We're going to spend every waking moment together," he decides firmly, turning onto an exit and taking the slow winding road along the beach. The monstrous houses shade the car from the sun every acre or two. "You've been alone for too long. You need human connection."

My mind wanders back to Kazuki, and playing my song in the back room of his store. I picture him singing my words along with me, telling me that I'm not alone. I glance out the window at the palm trees and bushes lining this side of the road.

My head starts spinning. The air conditioning is suffocating me, blasting at my face and drying my skin. In my head, I'm trapped in my hotel room again. 

I'm alone, the winter air taunting me through the glass. The bed's a mess. There's a pile of dirty dishes on the table from room service. Two empty wine bottles next to the bed. Various cups and things lay strewn around the space. There's a staleness clinging to the walls. Quinn's voice speaking in french echoes against the walls. I lay in bed, consumed by the tiny screen, the recordings of our past.

"Harry."

"Mm," I blink and turn away from the window.

"Stop wallowing."

I sit up straighter. "Easier said than done."

We pull up to the house and drop off the luggage. Sunflower's tank and supplies are all laid out on his table, cleaned and empty. I stare at the glass tank while Mitch drags my suitcase up the stairs.

"I'm sorry!" He shouts, and disappears behind the wall.

I run my finger along the edge of the tank, and my mind wanders back to his first night here. "Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory. I'm still tongue-tied," I sing to myself. Mitch storms back down the stairs, feet pounding against the floor.

"I'm sorry," he breathes heavily.

"Did you bury him?" He squirms under my gaze and his face grows pink.