Sweet syrup smiles and simple sugary snickers.

We twist around on the red leather stools, our feet rested on the metal bar as we make stupid faces at one another. Forkfuls of fluff handed to one another and mouthfuls of mush that chipmunk our cheeks.

Delectable dimples and delicious desires.

His hand wraps around mine as He waves our interlocked fingers to the music that hums from the diner's speakers. Sticky lips pressed together and bellies full of butterflies that flutter in our guts.

Irresistible irises and incredible inclinations.

"This shit is ace," His voice bright and bubbling over with glee, "I never thought I'd eat so many pancakes in my life."

He brings the back of His hand to push curls off his forehead, His syrup soaked digits balled into a fist as He struggles to keep the unruly hair out of His vision. His hair is nearly to His shoulders, a look I never before thought suited anyone but He makes it look dream worthy.

I always knew He was attractive, it's undeniable. He's the person that even if you're not attracted to them you still can acknowledge that they're attractive. I've never been down so bad before in my life, He is a piece of art, I could admire Him for the rest of my life and never get bored. Each time I look at Him I find another gem I hadn't seen before. Today the mole that rests just below the corner of His mouth was the subject of my affection, unconsciously I've looked at it each time I've looked at Him today, each time I've found myself more enamoured with the smallest details of Him.

Each time I look at Him, hear Him, I find myself more enamoured with the smallest details about Him.

I am enamoured by Him.

"Ground control to Major Tom," Harry says as he brings His head down to look at me. His cheeky smile crinkles the corner of His eyes and carves deep dimples into His cheeks. "Your circuit dead or something?"

My vision focuses back on Him, His expression full of pride and mocking. "I'm back."

"Where'd you go? You're always thinkin'." He says with a twinge of concern poorly hidden by the humoured tone of His voice.

"I was just thinking about you." I confess, my lips rolled into my mouth to hide the smile that shows anyway.

His face forms into a look that says, 'Is that so?' It's all raised brows and tight-lipped grins and dramaticized coyness. "Thinking about me? Isn't that sweet. Planning my demise?"

"Excuse me?" I ask as my voice kicks up a pitch in surprise.

He pulls me to lean towards Him, His mouth coming to my ear and fanning warm breath down my neck, "You're killing me in that."

I glance down to the simple sundress I'm wearing, the red floral pattern blooming against the white fabric, before looking back up to Him with a shaky, apprehensive response, "I well-"

His lips brush against my earlobe as He mutters, "I still don't know what Sunshine tastes like."

My eyes widen and I feel all of the blood rush to my cheeks, roguing them to an embarrassing shade of pink, the swarm of butterflies in my belly traveling through my organs and leaving stings behind from the swatting of their wings.

He presses a kiss to my ear before sitting back up straight and taking another mouthful of pancake past His lips. I sit and stare--watching the tension in His jaw and the color of His lips, studying the dark eyelashes that flutter apart to display serene pools of viridescence, admiring the moles and freckles that are scattered across His features, giving special regards to the faint scar under His eyebrow.

I want to know every detail of Him, memorize every syllable that leave His lips, make Him a subject of expertise. I want to hold His hand as we tug each other from the prison cells of our minds. Allow Him to step over the glass unharmed. Silence the spirits that haunt Him. Hush the demons of His own guilt. Carry His burden so that he may stand straight and proud, lighten my world with His rays. I want Him to be the Sunshine that I see in Him, I want Him to see Himself the way I see Him.

I want Him to know every detail of myself, memorize every syllable I scribble down, make me a subject of His expertise. I want Him to hold my hand as we tug each other from the prison cells of our minds. Allow me to turn away from the mirrors. Silence the spirits that haunt me. Hush the demons of my own fragility. Carry my burden so that I may stand straight and proud, lighten His world with my rays. I want to be the Sunshine that He sees in me, I want to see myself the way He sees me.

I want to see myself the way He sees me, I want to be the Sunshine that He sees in me. I have to show Him every detail of myself, show Him every syllable I scribble down. I have to show Him so that He may be an expert. I have to show Him. Everything, even the darkness I can't even allow myself to see in the light of day.

I have to let Him in.

"Houston we have a problem." Harry jests as He nudges my shoulder with His elbow. "Space Cadette Sunshine, what's got your head in the clouds?"

I blink off the concentration, focusing my vision onto Him. " I want to be bright."

"Bright? You are bright, Sunshine." He reassures with underlying confusion.

I shake my head, "I've got to be brave to be bright. I haven't been very brave."

His brows lower and His lip pouts, "You've lost me. I'm floating away in my tin can over here, I've got no clue what you're talkin' about."

A quick snicker blows out my nose as I press a kiss to His cheek, "You'll see. I'm gonna be brave."

"Whatever you say, darling." He says through a shrug and a weak smirk.

The melodies mangle our minds, the sugar sickens our stomachs, the adoration accelerates my heartbeat. I have to be brave, crawl past the mirrors and show Him to see the Sunshine.

His hand grips at the seat of my stool, spinning me in a circle, giggles flying from my lips. "I like it when you laugh, you're beautiful when you're happy."

My hands find His knees to stop myself from spinning, "You're beautiful when you're happy too."

A tift over paying the bill, apologetic pecks, interlaced fingers, sidewalk skipping. Showers that sprinkle around us, splashing against our hair as we pop out from underneath awnings. I have to be brave, walk past the mirrors and show Him to see the Sunshine.

I tug at the open collar of His shirt, "You're not so bad having around."

"Yeah, you either." He says through a grin that tugs at my heartstrings.

Both our gazes falter, looking down at our feet. A collective concession of words, both acknowledging the holistic pleasure of the other's company that cannot be explained, at least not yet.

Records spin, feet pad the floor, hips sway, bodies twirl, passionate lips plush. Hands that wander, grasping at skin and tugging on fabric. I have to be brave, dash past the mirrors and show Him to see the Sunshine.

"Why do you call me Sunshine?" I ask, tightening my grip on His waist.

His eyes meet mine, His arm tightening around my shoulders as He presses a kiss to the top of my head, "Why do you call me Sunshine?"

His tongue explores my own as He grasps at the blooming flowers on my hips, the butterflies in my belly melting into liquid desire that pools in my centre. His lips attack my neck with hot open-mouthed kisses as He slides His hands up my thighs, the lightning bugs in my chest fly around my lungs and leave behind unknown lightness. My fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of His neck, steadying myself.

"You don't know what you do to me," He groans out between kisses and sucks that trail down my neck, "I want to kiss you all over." His sentence is punctuated with a nip at the tender skin under my ear.

A whimper squeaks out from my lips as His palms take greedy handfuls of my breasts over my dress. The familiar wasp stings force my heart to ache as their buzzing rings in my ears. My hands unwind from their place in his hair and grip his wrists, pulling my lips away with heaving breaths.

Be brave.

Be brave.

Be brave.

Remember, Sunshine.

Be brave.

Be brave for Him.

Let him go.

Be brave.

And I'm back in the dark.

"I-I'm not, I can't" I start.

He nods, sliding His hands from my grip to place them on my shoulders, "I went too far. You're not ready." His features are distressed and agitated.

"I'm sorry." I breathe out shakily.

His hands fly up to my jaw, hesitating before placing them and brushing His thumbs over my cheeks, "Ya gotta stop apologizing, never apologize for standing up for yourself. You know your boundaries, I need to know them too."

"But aren't y-" I look down between us but He pulls me to look at Him again.

His tone is stern and commanding, "Do not worry about me, what I want is for you to want me." His face drops slightly, "You do want me don't you? When you're ready of course?"

I nod eagerly, my hands placing on His chest, "I do, I want you, I really-" I stop myself, clearing my throat, "My brain just won't let me."

"Won't let you?" He questions.

"I um, I well," I pause, pulling my hand to tug at the ends of my hair as I attempt to be brave. His thumbs continue to feather across my heated cheekbones, the gentle touch spurring a courage in me. "I've never done anything like this," I hesitate as I fidget with my hair, "Well anything like this because I wanted to."

"What?" His voice is suddenly angry and it's only made more evident by this stiffness in His hands and face.

I look down between us, "I wasn't exactly Susy High School and some shit went down with someone back then that only made it worse, so my brain just won't let me, even though I want it. It's the same reason I don't like having my hair touched. Are you angry?"

He tugs at my jaw, forcing me to look at His angered features, "No, I'm not angry at all. Well I am but not at you."

"Oh," Is all I can manage out.

His jaw ticks, "If I ever find out who did that to you, I will beat their ass. Does anyone else know?"

"No, um, can we talk about something else, please?" I ask as I place my hands on the sides of His neck.

He nods, "Of course, Sunshine." His hands fall to prod at my hips, "I'm going to tell you something no one else knows, okay? Because you were brave enough to tell me something that casts darkness onto you."

I pull my lips to the side, "You really don't-"

"Yes, yes I do." He gravels out as He pulls me to sit on his bed. He brings my legs to rest on across His thighs as His expression turns to one of contemplation, "I just, I've got to."

I don't say anything, only bring my hand to His and intertwine our fingers, giving His hand reassuring squeezes. He looks to me with a look of anxiousness before huffing out a long breath, "My parents are dead, which I know you already know, but um," His voice wavers, "It was my fault."

I can't help as my face jolts in shock. His fault? How could it be His fault? Is this the guilt He forces himself to be held captive by? Surely, He only views it that way because He survived whilst they perished, that has to be it.

"Your fault?" I question, my voice shaking with confusion.

He nods as His eyes become glossed over, "It was my fault, we were running late to a concert my school had sponsored, I was meant to perform there and I made us late. They'd sped and hit the patch of ice because of me, because I made us late and-"

I pull my hand away from His, sliding to sit in His lap with my legs spread to each side. My hands wrap around His neck, tugging Him close to me, "That is not your fault. It is not your fault that you hit an ice patch, that is not something you could've controlled."

"But if I didn't-" He starts but I cut in by pressing my lips to His.

I peck His lips several times before leaning away to look at the tears that have pulled down His cheeks, "That is not your fault, what happened to you, to your parents, is not your fault."

"But it was, we were late and my grand-" He stops himself, looking at me with widened eyes that show the shock of the words that nearly tumbled from His mouth before composing Himself to continue, "We were going to be late because of me, how could it not have been my fault?"

I shake my head, tugging His head down to rest on my shoulder and He wraps His arms around my waist, nestling His head into the crook of my neck. "I will continue to tell you it wasn't your fault until you believe me. What happened was not your fault. Please, if anyone ever told you differently, believe me when I say it was not."

I press kisses to His hair as my fingers tangle in His curls and trace patterns on His neck. His fault? How could He believe it was His fault? This guilt that holds Him captive was not placed onto Him solely on His own. Surely, He views it that way because He survived whilst they perished, someone told Him he should be guilty, that has to be it.

His blackened cell of shattered glass and the rank stench of spirits and sweat was not one He locked Himself in. He had the cage closed on Him, slammed in His face by the words uttered off another's lips, words that solidified His guilt-ridden thoughts, solidified the shape of His cell, solidified His entrapted mind. The nightmares of booze based beasts and guilt guided grief, they are not His doing alone, they are the persistent reminder of the syllables He memorizes, the insistence that the guilt He already had was not enough, that His burden was all but heavy. He carries His burden across His back by chains, it drags behind Him and pulls the chains so taught against His skin they rub it raw.

I'll lift the weight of His burden, the weight that tugs the chains, I'll carry it close to my chest, I'll remove the chains from His shoulders to place on my own. I can relieve the weight of His burden for mine is all but heavy, mine but a few pounds compared to the ton that tugs Him down to the ground.

My cell, while shadowed still, has light, enough to show the disfigured images of myself reflected from the glass. I can navigate the cellmates of mine, find the key that's bound to be somewhere. I can carry my burden alone, I once had imagined Harry to be my accomplice but I see any addition to His life sentence would be the straw that broke the camel's back. I have the strength to spare, I can hold His burden close to my chest and carry on. He has so much strength, His strength is to be devoted to His own burden, so that one day it may be light, so that one day He is to see more sun than rain, so that He is to be joy filled rather than guilt ridden. I want to see a smile be the first expression He has each morning, I want a day without sorrow to be so frequent that sadness is forgotten, I want each day to be punctuated with a grin so wide His cheeks hurt, I want a night without terror to be so frequent that fear is lost.

But guilt is a heavy burden to carry.

I am one to feel guilt, guilt for things I haven't caused, for things I did not mean. I am the first to blame myself, to see the wrong in my actions. I am forgetful and naive. I am fragile and self-involved. I see myself before others, I am my mother's child. I am guilty for each wrong I committed, each wrong I suffered for. Each ailment I suffer from now, physical and psychological scars that are etched into me.

I shouldn't have taken her cigarettes. I shouldn't have believed her. I shouldn't have been so naive. I shouldn't have been so fragile. It was my fault.

I shouldn't have forgotten the date. I shouldn't have taken so long to get to her. I shouldn't have been so forgetful. I shouldn't have been so self-involved. It was my fault.

I shouldn't have taken his heart. I shouldn't have led him on. I shouldn't have been so forgetful. I shouldn't have been so self-involved. It was my fault.

I shouldn't have taken his hand. I shouldn't have believed him. I shouldn't have been so naive. I shouldn't have been so fragile. It was my fault.

His head lifts from my shoulder, wiping the moisture wicking His cheeks with the back of His fist, "It wasn't your fault, you know? What happened to you, it wasn't your fault."

My brows drop, are my thoughts that loud?

"You weren't there, it was." I say with a sour expression.

His arms flex around my back, "It was not."

A sorrow filled laugh flies out of my mouth, "I shouldn't have taken his hand, I knew the reputation he had, I knew better. I shouldn't have fallen for his words. I was so stupidly naive and I just couldn't believe that he'd be interested in me, I mean he was the captain of the football team." My voice croaks as the lump in my throat grows, "It was my fault because I didn't do anything, I didn't scream loud enough for help or run away. I just let him do it."

He hugs me tighter, "What happened to you was not your fault. I will continue to tell you it wasn't your fault until you believe me. If anyone ever told you differently, believe me when I say it was not, please Phoebe."

"Harry," I start but He interjects with a kiss pressed to the corner of my mouth before placing three plush kisses to my lips.

He pulls away and brushes His thumb over my cheek and collects the saline that spilled from my tear ducts, "I know, I stole your line." A smile spreading across His face that doesn't reach His eyes.

A light laugh blows through my nose, "Plagiarism is a serious crime you know."

"Mhm," He hums as His reddened eyes scan my face. I see the tick in His jaw falter, the tension that causes His eyebrows to tug together and force a crease between them soften, His features suddenly soft and thoughtful. He stares through me, His mind seemingly running a hundred miles an hour, the peaceful pools of prehnite glassed over and full of perceptions.

I sit patiently, waiting for a response but it's clear He's reached the outer ring, He's floating away. "Burning your fuse up here alone?" I ask in an attempt to get His attention.

His brows lower as He blinks away the concentration on his face, "Can I do something?"

I match His expression, lowered brows and pursed lips, "What?"

"I want to do something for you," He says as He plucks at the strap on my shoulder, "Can I take this off? Can you be brave for me?"

I pull my lip between my front teeth. Can He take this off? Can I bear the parts of myself I hate most? Will He see the same reflections I do? I look to him apprehensively, "I can be brave."

His lips crash into mine, it's not rushed or hungry, it's savoring and strong. It knocked the wind out of my lungs to make room for cocooning butterflies that spread their wings in my body. They flutter around in my chest, swat at my belly, float in my skull.

A singular moth, one that eerily resembles the inked impression on Harry's skin, flutters within the captivation of my head and flitters into my eardrum, "Only one thing gets rid of butterflies."

Trust me little moth, I know.

He pulls away from me, taking His fingers to the back of my dress and pulling the zipper down. I shudder at the touch and He takes my jaw in His palm, "Being brave means knowing boundaries. If I step over a line, I need you to tell me."I nod and the grip on my jaw tightens, "I need you to tell me."

"I will," I breathe out shallowly.