Wednesday analysed her reflection in the small bathroom mirror with a heavy gaze, wincing at the throbbing headache that she'd woken up with hours earlier. Breathing out shakily, she smoothed down her all black outfit. She'd opted for a simple pair of high waisted trousers, paired with a white shirt and an oversized blazer over the top. Her feet already ached in the tall, pointed stilettos – she rarely wore heels and avoided them where she could.

She'd applied makeup for the first time in over a month and despite the exhaustion she'd felt for the past two weeks whilst helping to plan the funeral, you'd have never guessed it from her appearance. She'd kept her face and eye makeup to a natural finish, sealing the look with a classic red lip. Her hair, naturally poker straight, had been curled and lay in loose waves down her back. Sometimes, when she spent weeks laying around in her joggers with a bare face, she forgot how much of a girl she could look like.

Washing her hands quickly and drying them on the towel, she opened up the door and walked back out to the hallway. Though she hadn't been in this house for a long while before today, her grandparents' house felt so nostalgic to her. Before moving away to Holmes Chapel, she'd spent so much of her free time there as a kid, that it had basically become her second home. The floors were still lined with those baroque style carpets you only ever saw in older people's houses and trinkets were placed onto every available counter. A faint smell of lavender lingered in the air.

Looping her way through the various people scattered throughout the house, she found her way through to the small kitchen, instantly spotting Harry's tall body stood next to Anne.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Anne asked tenderly, shooting her a look of sympathy as she approached.

"I'm alright," she lied, forcing a smile as she tried to calm the chattering of her teeth, a symptom of her anxiety when it was really bad.

"We're all here for you. I'm sure it'll be a lovely send off for your nanna." Anne looked between the two of them. "I'm going to go and find your mum, I'll leave you two alone for a bit."

With that, Anne walked off, rubbing Wednesday's arm before she exited the room and left just the two of them stood facing each other.

"So, how are you really feeling?" Harry asked, looking at her knowingly.

How did he do that? How did he know when she was lying?

"Really fucking nervous, and like I need a drink."

Wednesday's eyes scanned the room, seeing various elderly people she didn't recognise. Relaxing in Harry's presence meant that she momentarily forgot to hold in the chattering, and when that loosened, her whole body became one shaking mess.

"Hey, hey," Harry stepped forward, closing the space between them to place a hand on either side of her hands and slow down the shaking. "It's going to be hard, but I'm here for you, okay? I'll be by your side all day if you need me to be."

She looked into his wildly green eyes, taking in his appearance for the first time that day. He'd worn a classic black suit, nothing too extravagant, with a white carnation attached to the left lapel. His hair was fluffy, and Wednesday guessed it had been washed the same day; a loose curl fell over his forehead and contrasted against the scruff of his stubble. He looked so manly these days, but his eyes and smile were still so boyish that it was hard sometimes to remember they weren't teenagers anymore.

"Okay. Thank you," she whispered, licking her lips nervously.

The sound of commotion in the hall and the faint pulling up of cars outside, told Wednesday that it was time for the procession to begin. Just as everyone in the house seemed to realise the same, her body stiffened, wishing she could be doing anything else but this.

The faint touch of someone's hand weaving through hers made her look down to see the glimmer of various rings. She looked to see Harry smiling down at her sadly and just before she could smile back, his fingers squeezed hers comfortingly, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

"You can do this."

After gaining a bit more strength from his words, she nodded and looked to the door, taking a step forward to follow where the noise came from. She didn't let Harry's touch go and he didn't ease up either. Instead, he followed, their fingers delicately laced together, so much so that she had to look down to check they were still touching.

Walking from the kitchen through to the hallway and finally out of the front door, where the rest of the house had emptied out onto the driveway, Wednesday caught her first glimpse of the hearse. White flowers adorned the mahogany coffin and cascaded down the sides. A large arrangement at the side of the coffin, also in white, spelled out 'Mum' and Wednesday felt the tears in her eyes swell. Quickly, she dabbed them away before Harry could notice.

Her mum, who'd been stood with her auntie Helen, already shedding tears, waved her over to start to join them in the first car. She turned to Harry, shooting him an unconvincing smile.

"Go join them. I'll see you there," he affirmed, squeezing her hand once more before letting it drop and Wednesday wasn't ashamed to say the loss of his touch made her want to cry.

Straightening up, she turned with as much dignity and composure she could gather, walking to the car and sliding in next to Isla.

The rest of the family followed, her grandad situated in the front as her mum and auntie got in behind them. Then, as everyone else got into the trail of cars behind them, the funeral procession began. Wednesday was unable to hold on to her tears any longer at that point and they spilled over onto her cheeks in silence at the solemness of it all.

She hated the memories this was bringing back; the pain of the almost identical procession they'd had for her dad. It felt so similar, like a horrid case of déjà vu. Not able to bring herself to look over to her mum, who she could hear faintly crying, she looked to her side to see Isla staring out of the window. For a moment, she assumed she was just being quiet and processing what was happening. But then a ray of light shone through the window, highlighting the lone tear that ran down her adolescent cheek.

Wednesday reached out her hand and tenderly covered her cousins. Isla looked down to the touch and then back up at her elder cousin, sniffing sadly. Despite their near 10-year age gap meaning they'd never been overly close, she was still her cousin. And Wednesday loved her. Sending her a little smile, the fleeting moment provided them both with some comfort.

By the time they reached the crematorium, Wednesday's head felt like it was going to explode. The knowledge that she now had an entire service to sit through only added to the pain. People were ushered in as soon as they were out of the cars and Wednesday turned her head for a split second to find Harry, his tall physique sticking out. Her eyes caught his for a brief moment, until the wall of the entrance cut them off.

She found her seat on the first-row pew, towards the end. Noise behind them increasingly grew as people found their own places and after a few minutes, Wednesday turned in awe to the amount of people who had fitted themselves in to the service – there were even people lined up at the back, unable to find a spare seat and amidst the shittiness of everything, it brought her comfort to know how loved her nanna had been by so many.

She couldn't spot Harry over all the heads and by that logic, she assumed he couldn't see her either. With her mum tucked between her Auntie and Grandad at the end of the row, unable to see her, she allowed her head to bob down and the first of a never-ending stream of tears throughout the service rolled out.

By the time it had finished, when the curtains had closed, and they'd paid their final respects before the cremation would begin, Wednesday was in desperate need of alcohol. Hell, at this point, she would even go for some hard drugs. Anything to make her not feel the way she currently did. Empty and tired.

She'd been unable to stand outside and talk to people once it had finished, instead walking straight off to the carpark and finding the car that was taking them back to the reception. Sometimes, she just needed a moment alone. A moment to decompress. Her lip wobbled as she took in the entirety of the service, rubbing her runny nose and swearing under her breath as she realised she'd have rubbed off her makeup too. The service had been as painful and exhausting as she'd imagined. If she ever had to attend another funeral again in her life, it would be too early.

Eventually, people started returning to their cars, ready for the reception service. She noticed Harry walking over the grass, his brows knitted together as his eyes scanned the crowds of people walking. She guessed he was looking for her and though she felt bad that he was wondering where she was, she didn't have the energy to yell his name and assure him she was okay. Through the darkened windows, he didn't spot her, and eventually he admitted defeat, getting back into his own car.

Once everyone had returned to their cars, they arrived at the reception 15 minutes later. Wednesday, who'd spent the majority of the drive watching silent repeats of the funeral in her head, got out first. Her heels clinked against the floor as she walked straight in, the first to make it to the bar that was awaiting their arrival.

"Double vodka and coke, please."

She closed her eyes as she leant against the bar, hearing the steady influx of funeral goers entering the large function room behind her. The noise increased; the sound of chatter reaching her ears as people found spaces at the bar too, as chairs were dragged across the floor, people taking their seat at the tables situated throughout the room.

The presence of a body next to hers and the familiar smell of a cologne she knew extremely well made the hairs on her arms raise slightly.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, and she opened her eyes to see his face only a few inches from hers, his face painted full of concern.

"Double vodka and coke for you," the bartender said before she could answer, placing the concoction down on the bar in front of Wednesday.

Harry eyed the drink and then Wednesday with knitted brows and she guessed that had answered that question for him.

"I'm fantastic," she said dryly, picking up the glass and taking large gulps, until half of it had disappeared within the space of a few seconds.

The bitterness of the alcohol made her wince slightly; she wasn't much of a vodka drinker. In fact, she would rarely ever have it if it weren't in something like a cocktail. But something about the heaviness of the day called for something strong to help her through it and the moment she swallowed the liquid back, she could feel something inside of her loosen.

She downed the rest of the drink, placing it down on the bar and squeezing her eyes shut as the ice gave her a slight brain freeze.

"Feel a bit better?" Harry asked and she nodded, her lips still tight as the alcohol worked its way down into her stomach.

She was grateful that, despite his clear concern over her having just necked an entire drink right in front of him in one go, he realised she needed something to take the edge off. Sometimes, you just needed something to help.

"Sorry by the way, that I won't be able to stick around longer. I would if I could."

Harry needed to go back to LA for work later that night, as the schedule was starting up again. The only difference this time, was that Wednesday wouldn't be joining him. And in fact, had no clue when she'd be joining him again.

"Harry don't be silly. You've got work to do, you've already spent all your time off making sure I'm okay. I promise I'll be alright."

Before they could carry on talking, a flock of various people whom she vaguely recognised as distant relatives crowded around her to offer their sympathies and discuss her nanna. Truthfully, the fact that her nanna was no longer here with them anymore was something that hadn't fully set in for Wednesday yet, making it extra hard for her to refer to her nanna in the past tense as she conversed with them all.

After a few more rounds of depressing chats with other funeral goers, where she'd been told to 'stay strong' more times than she could count, she needed a minute away somewhere. Anywhere.

She spotted Harry talking to Isla as she walked towards the doorway, internally battling over whether to ask him to come with her. Her tendency to isolate herself was something she knew she had a problem with, but she found it so hard to ask for help sometimes. As Harry noticed her gazing at him, battling over asking him to join her, she swallowed down her pride and gestured to the outside. He nodded, understanding what she was implying and excused himself to walk over to where she stood.

The air outside was biting, and if the day hadn't been so utterly depressing, Wednesday would have probably made a joke about Harry not being able to hack the Yorkshire way of life as he stood and shivered slightly, his hands crossed over his chest and under his armpits.

"I just needed a breather," she explained, looking up to the greyish sky and watching as her exhale turned to instant vapor in the cold air.

"I get it. These things are always overwhelming."

Wednesday nodded, looking to the birds that flew overhead. They weaved around each other as they ducked and darted, their song filing the otherwise quiet air. Sometimes she surmised that if reincarnation was real, she'd want to come back as a bird. To have the freedom to fly wherever you wanted, where only the sky was your limit. It seemed so much simpler than the existence she was currently living.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked quietly beside her.

She looked to see him staring at her, his lip caught between his teeth as shuffled around on his feet, trying to keep warm whilst he waited for her reply.

"I'm thinking..." she started, looking down to the floor.

It seemed like all she ever did recently was think. When she tried to sleep, when she ate, when she wanted to do nothing more other than watch TV. Her mind wouldn't allow her to zone out. But there was one thought that had been coming to the forefront of her brain recently, one that rose out through them all. It hadn't been something she'd discussed with anyone yet and though she'd had no plans to let people know, she felt compelled to tell Harry in that moment.

"I'm thinking of starting therapy," she finished.

Harry's eyebrows rose up as slight shock painted his face. She guessed that of all the responses he'd expected, that wasn't one of them. But before she could let him reply, she felt compelled to talk further and explain her reasoning.

"I don't think I've been coping very well these past few years, since Dad's diagnosis. And I didn't even realise how much I've been struggling with it all, until Christmas. I just...sometimes, I feel so full of pain, that I feel numb. And I know that probably makes no sense, but I go through these never-ending cycles of feeling okay, then the sadness hits and I feel like I'm drowning in it and I don't want to do anything other than sleep. Then after, I pretend I'm fine and act like nothing happened. And the cycle just never ends and it's...it's really exhausting now."

Harry listened intently, his eyes watching her sadly as if it pained him to hear about her own pain. But he didn't interject, knowing the strength it was taking for her to open up to him. He knew that wasn't a privilege to take lightly.

"I just want to feel like me again. I want to feel happy."

Harry listened to every word, nodding in understanding when she was done with a sad expression. Then, after a moment of hesitation as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, he took a step towards Wednesday. And another one. Until he was positioned right in front of her.

As she looked up to his imploring gaze, incredibly aware of how close in proximity their bodies were in that moment, her heart began to beat against her chest harder. And when he started to lean down, her breathing hitched in her throat, unsure of what he was doing.

Her body stiffened when she felt a pair of hands touch each side of her waist gently, over the top of her trousers. As she looked up to see what Harry was doing, his head moved to the side of hers, his hands now snaking their way around her back and grasping firmly.

He was hugging her.

She stood stiffened, her hands dangling limply at her side at the unexpectedness of the gesture, as a loose curl from the side of his ear rubbed against her cheek.

"What are you doing?" she asked out of instinct, berating herself internally for the stupidity of the question.

"Giving you a hug."

The lump in her throat appeared with a vengeance as she stood still in the position. It felt so alien to her, to allow someone other than her mum to hug her like this and she pushed the thought out of her mind that the last person to do it had been Patrick.

"Why?" she asked in a timid voice that didn't sound like her. She wasn't sure what she'd done to warrant it – she still hadn't fully forgiven herself for the way she'd acted towards him, even if he had.

"Because sometimes," Harry said, his breathe reaching her ear and making every nerve in her body feel like it was on fire. "People just need a hug."

As those words dropped from his mouth, Wednesday felt her eyes well up at the sincerity and she finally allowed herself to lean into him, urgently wrapping her hands around his neck as she placed her head onto his shoulder. A single tear dropped from her nose into the fabric of his jacket, but she didn't mind. Harry had been right; she did need this. More than she'd ever realised.

He didn't let her go, nor did she with him. Instead, they stood there, entangled in each other to the point that Wednesday wasn't sure where he began, and she ended anymore. But all she knew in that moment was that she never wanted him to let her go and she clutched his neck like her life depended on it.

His fingers crew circles into her back comfortingly and she had to reign in her emotions; if she didn't, she was sure she'd have whined out of pure emotion at the kindness of the small action. He was so kind, it made her want to melt.

Wednesday closed her eyes, her senses overpowered with him. Letting her head fall to the side, facing the crook of his neck, the smell of his cologne and natural scent made her feel lightheaded. It was sweet and smoky, like vanilla and tobacco. Wednesday noted that the skin on his neck looked so soft, soft enough that she wanted to reach out and touch it.

But instead, she closed her eyes, letting another unseeable tear and a shaky breath slip out.

"Thank you."

/