✓ Wrong Moves and Knife Wounds /h.s./

[18 epilogue] wet lashes and somber translations

Falling in love is something Harry's never done before. He knows that now. And he knows now that love is not selfish and doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. It's a beautiful thing, to be in love, and it's even better when the person you love loves you back, and equally as much.

He and Rory work together. They work in silent rhythms and sleep in pretty patterns wrapped together. He likes listening to her heart after she's asleep because he sleeps better alone, but even better when he knows she's always near. It's confusing but it makes sense to his body somehow; helps to soothe the subtle ache in his chest when the sun goes down.

He moves closer to her body and pulls out an index finger to trace the outline of her lips slowly so as not to wake her. Her heart beats faster so he pauses and smiles to himself. This is love. He wasn't sure before when he was caged and beaten in Penelope's mind, but he knows now that love is supposed to be safe.

Depression doesn't just evaporate when you're in love and Rory understands that. Harry's still getting there, but he's close to figuring that out.

His lips hover over her forehead and it's only when the moonlight climbs over her face that he finds himself frowning. His lips part and the comfortable silence of the night shakes like water. Like something plunging into still water. It doesn't shatter or crack, it just kind of shifts. "How can I be so happy and so depressed at the same time?"

She doesn't answer. He doesn't expect her to, and part of him feels guilty for keeping some of his thoughts to himself. It's selfish and dangerous and not the love he admires. Love is not selfish but here he is whispering dark thoughts to the person he loves. Her face softens and her lips part but no words come out.

Harry brushes his thumb under her left eye while still maintaining a frown. That damned frown that screams wonders of guilt and selfishness and depression and happiness. But- "How am I so happy right now?"

There's a biting frustration in his chest. He can be so much happier for her. He can start smiling more than he does but that would be lying and lying isn't something anyone would fall in love with. Rory is more than enough, he knows this. That's like ABCs in his head; it's common sense, but how could he prove that she's enough for him if he's still depressed? He's not happy enough.

Ashamedly, he removes himself from the bed and glances at the clock before heading to the door. 2:57 AM. He got an hour of sleep tonight, which is a little below average than how much sleep he's been getting this month.

He finds himself tip-toeing his way through the living room. Finds himself hauling the large window of the balcony open but keeping himself indoors. The air is refreshing but he's afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to the bannisters. He's afraid he'll fall into a cloud of memories that haven't haunted him for a whole 30 days now.

He's living a whole other life with someone he loves now. He really wishes he could get Rory to understand how much he loves her. Right now, in his head, it's like nothing he's ever done since they first met has gotten that message across. And he can't even get over his depression for her. He wonders why she hasn't accused him of not loving her yet.

"Harry."

He turns to his side where Rory is, her hand now clasped lightly around his left bicep. Her eyes are wide and concerned, lined with sleep and confusion as she stares at him.

"What are you standing here thinking about?"

"You love me," he whispers. Something is breaking in his voice, she can hear it. He needs reassurance and that fact alone makes her heart hurt. Tell me you love me. The translation is somber and heart wrenching.

Rory pushes his hair back and pulls him down to her height by the back of his neck. Their eyes meet but he's quick to move them away. The wind is gentle and refreshing. The moon is nosy and comforting at the same time. "Hello," she whispers back more quietly. Her voice isn't condescending, it's just soft. It's Rory, which is just what he needs to hear. "Hi, Harry."

His eyes move to her gaze and stay there. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, cheeks burning despite the cold surrounding them. His used-to-be wet lashes are now dry. "Aurora," he returns. "Hey."

"Do you believe in love?"

"Only if you do."

"It's not about me." She wipes the dry, crusty tears from under his left eye and waits for his response that comes a heartbeat later.

"It's always about you."

"Do you believe in love?" Her question holds more substance now than it did before. He doesn't think she's talking about love in general, anymore. What pops in his head is more than just a word. It's a burst of feeling.

It's tangled legs in the middle of the night and index cards scattered in the bed. Stephen King novels stacked up neatly on the table and windows thrown open wide. It's sleepy smiles past midnight and restocking the first aid kit because someone is always getting hurt, and it's waking up at three in the morning because the bed is cold and that can only mean one thing: something important is missing. It's waking up at the three in the morning and leaving the bed because you're afraid your ugly thoughts will give someone else bad dreams.

Rory can see him thinking, and she just watches as he sorts through his mind. She's patient, and Harry realizes last minute that that's also what love is. What do people say? Love is patient, Love is kind? "I do. I believe in love. Did I take too long to answer?"

"No." She drops her hands.

He frowns at the loss of contact. "What about you? Where do you stand on love?"

"With you, it's all I know."

"I'm not always happy, Rory." She cringes at his words and what they mean. She has to remind herself that he doesn't mean he isn't happy in their relationship. This goes deeper, it's a deep scar in his mind that only he can reach.

"You don't always have to be happy to be in love. Especially if you're depressed."

"Yeah, but do I love you enough?"

He asks the question so casually. Like he's asking her whether or not she ate well today or if she wants to go out for lunch. "I feel very loved. I promise."

"You do?" His tone is timid.

"Harry." Her breath is warm. He can see the pool of hurt in her eyes as she looks at him unblinkingly. "You are the love I've always wanted for myself. The love I would want my children to have. You're everything I want, okay?" Her eyes are swelling up slightly, cheeks burning with passion while they stand in the center of the room. The wind pushes her hair back.

"You're tired," he says. He wants to kiss her. Wants to express how much she means to him, because it's more than he's ever felt in his entire life, but the words don't translate well for him. He settles with pointing out how tired she is, and hopes she doesn't frown. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

A gentle smile makes its way to her lips. A small, warm little thing. "I wake you up more often, I guess we could say we're even."

And with that, they seal the conversation off with a kiss. They go back to bed where Harry listens intently to the beat of her heart and traces both their names onto the skin of her exposed stomach.

This is love, he decides. It's all he's ever wanted.

A.N. Thank you so much to those who have still been reading this story. I just want you to know that I really appreciate you reading. I don't mind if most of you have been ghost reading, I'm genuinely grateful.

Have an amazing day/night, it's been an incredible journey. Stay soft, thank you for everything :)