"I figured you'd be out here," rustling sounded from beside me, the low rasp of his voice startling me momentarily.

"Did you?" I asked rhetorically, glancing between him and the stars. I'd returned to the very spot I'd been in with him only months ago - the grass beneath my skin, the cool night air whipping at it.

"Why do you never wear a coat, Ana Grace?" he murmured, eyes flickering to the goosebumps arising on my bare skin - my arms entirely exposed by my thin shirt.

"Finish the story," I didn't answer his question, my eyes flicking from a star which held the typical small spherical form to another group which seemed to imitate a peculiar shape of some kind, "Why did you get so drunk the other night?"

Harry exhaled deeply, "I went to see Louis."

"I know."

"And he was talking - typical Louis manner, and so-"

I frowned, "how do you know what to class as a 'typical Louis manner'?"

"I knew Louis a long time ago, Ana," he breathed, and my frown deepened as I turned to my side, now looking at him. My eyes met his - the sparkle prominent as ever in the darkness - I studied the green irises that bored into mine; a deep olive green, hints of blue, and spirals of gold. He was always so captivating - it often led me to forget my reason to speak.

"What?" was all I could muster, tearing my gaze from his, his lip dragged between his teeth.

"I know - knew, Louis," he said quietly, and I sat up.

"Harry, what do you mean 'you knew' Louis?" I pressed, raising an eyebrow.

He brought his hands over his face, exhaling deeply into his palms before dragging them to the outer perimeter of his face, sitting up too, now.

"Right - listen to me," he groaned, "seriously, this isn't as bad as you're thinking it is."

I scoffed, looking away. Harry and Louis knew each other before? Before Caleb - before everything?

"Back where I grew up, Louis grew up there, too," he began hesitantly, "we were mates - really good mates, actually - our mums were, too. They'd both got divorces, and when his mum talked about wanting to pack up and move over here to the States - my mum decided she wanted to as well."

"You guys came here together?" I asked.

Harry nodded, "We must've been about ten. We were bloody inseparable," he chuckled humorlessly, "he helped me through everything with my dad - all of that shitty aftermath. Louis was my best friend."

I frowned, "But what about Caleb?"

"Caleb and I were best mates, too. Louis, Caleb and I were all best mates; for years, we were," he answered solemnly, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee the way they often did.

"What happened?" I pressed quietly - unable to possess louder volume - I was too astounded.

"Louis got jealous - thought I preferred Caleb, or some shit," he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, "started hanging out with Sadie and Jake, and whoever those other minions were," I bit my lip, "and you know the rest of what they did to him."

"Why would he do all that?" I sighed, hugging my knees to my chest.

Harry pursed his lips together, "Louis isn't himself when he's with them - or, he wasn't." he sighed, "That's Louis Tomlinson, now."

"Then what happened? You guys stopped talking after Caleb died?" I asked softly, the mention of Caleb's death bound to strike a cord as it often would.

"I couldn't even look at him after that," Harry bit his lip, "and then Louis' dad died.." I nodded.

"He had cancer," I continued. Louis had told me that before.

"Yeah, he did. Louis likes to tell the story differently, though." I frowned, as he continued, "Louis likes to say that once his dad died I took off - that's not what happened. Louis is an awful person, but he didn't deserve to lose his father. I just couldn't bring myself to be there."

"Do you regret that?"

Harry exhaled, "..No. No, I don't."

I nodded in understanding, before he spoke again, his hand hesitantly reaching out to rest on my knee, his thumb rubbing circles and immediately heating my freezing skin, "You're freezing, Ana."

"I'm fine," I began to argue, but he'd already tugged his coat off and draped it over my shoulders, turning to face me a little more, both of our knees bent.

"S'parky out here, just keep it on," he told me, his hand still resting hesitantly on my knee, and I knew he was waiting to see if I pushed it off; I didn't, "Louis wasn't the only reason why I got so wasted."

"No?"

"I mean - I hadn't thought about those things in a long time," he said truthfully, "and it brought back a lot, yes. But Louis - uh.." he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and I rested my cold hand over his on my knee, his cheeks heating, providing him with what I'd hoped would be the slightest bit of reassurance.

He didn't speak. I knew this conversation was tough for him; that he was trying so incredibly hard to get through it. Harry was somebody I knew struggled with opening up - or he didn't like it, to say the least. But in recent months, I'd seen nothing but genuine attempts at doing so - he was trying. And he was doing it. He was doing it for me.

He'd yet to pick up a cigarette - I couldn't smell smoke on his breath - he hadn't smoked for a few hours, at least, which was rare of him. When he was nervous, anxious, or whatever else, he turned to nicotine in search of comfort - a prime example being our conversation the previous morning. He was trying to do this without a smoke.

"My dad wants to see me, Ana," his voice came as a whisper, and my eyes widened. I'd not heard much about Harry's dad - though I knew the basics of it, that happened to be the furthest thing from basic. Harry's dad was an alcoholic - he was abusive. He was somebody who Harry lived in fear of becoming. Though Celia was desperate to 'rule it as a split', she knew it had been far more than that. They'd ran; from him. The divorce was far from smooth, and he'd tried to come back years later - and so they came here.

"Oh, Harry," I murmured, my hand reaching up to rest on his cheek as his lip quivered, and he sniffed, looking away for a moment before attempting to harden his gaze, looking back at me, "you know you don't have to see him. You owe that man nothing."

"I know," he murmured in return, my thumb tracing circles on his skin, our eyes interlocked, "and he'll hurt me or my mum again over my dead fucking body, but-" his eyes flickered to the side, attempting to subside his anger that had began to bubble up at the resurfacing memories of the abuse I knew he'd endured. Abuse he'd been unable to bring himself to tell me about, which I'd never blame him for, "but he's been in touch with Louis. And God, I don't fucking know how - but he knows where I am. That was the one thing I'd always have over him - he never knew where to find Mum and I - but now he knows, and-"

"Shh," I said quietly, "you'll be okay. You know you will. He can't hurt you ever again - those times are over."

"I know," he repeated softly, "but I wouldn't run a thing by him."

I nodded, biting my lip. This was why he'd drank so much; numbed himself. He'd drank in attempts to not only forget the pain his dad had caused, but he'd pushed me away from beneath the surface of his intoxication. It broke my heart that Harry had turned to it - something he'd desperately steered from - the fact he'd felt drinking his pain away was his only option.

The idea of him with somebody else made my skin crawl; my heart sink. I knew his reasoning behind it; that his head hadn't been in any rational place - I wouldn't forget it, I knew I wouldn't.

"Forgive me," his voice cracked a little, "please, Ana. I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you - and if I were you, I'd fucking punch me in the face and tell me to piss off, or some shit - punch me if you want," he tilted his chin up, "if it makes you feel better, you can-"

"Shut up, Harry," I chuckled lightly, bringing his chin back down so he could look at me, "I forgive you," I said softly, as his face lit up.

"You do?" he whispered, his fingertips trailing down the opening of his coat around my shoulders, tugging me closer to him.

"I do," I nodded, as his face broke out into an uncontainable smile that seemed to light up everything in our surroundings.

"Fucking hell," he wrapped his arms around me, embracing me as I buried my head into his shoulder, holding him tight, "I thought you were done with me for good, Ana Grace. I thought you were leaving me for real."

"I'll never leave you," I promised, leaning back to look at him as his eyes searched my face, dropping to my lips.

He looked at me hesitantly, his hand in my hair as he searched my gaze, now - desperate for some kind of confirmation.

"Kiss me," I whispered, and that was all it took for him to press his soft lips to my own. My eyes fluttered shut, and suddenly nothing else mattered. I was captivated, a fire igniting in the pit of my stomach, somehow goosebumps arising on my heated skin.

This kiss was differed far from the one we'd shared in the hall - that one with such an unfamiliar burning eagerness; need; desperation. This one pure, but still fervent - it was searing, but indescribably sweet. Neither of us made any attempt to deepen it, the unadulterated satisfaction enough for the both of us. His hands in my hair, holding me close to him; the burning sensation our kiss held - that exceeded adequate for us both.

Harry broke the kiss, his forehead pressing to mine while his hands never left my hair, "I should go - it's late and you need your sleep."

"Stay," I whispered breathlessly, yet to come down from the captivation his kiss held.

"I can't," he mumbled half-heartedly, though I pleaded with him.

"Please," our foreheads remained pressed together, my hand on his cheek, "it's only one night."

Harry nodded, as I stood up and he did the same, "My parents left for a business conference in Spokane," I told him, "we can go through the front door."

"That's a change," he muttered, and I rolled my eyes as he followed me around the house to the front, before stepping through the door behind me. We headed upstairs to my room, as I caught Harry looking around, "your house is mad."

"You've been here before, Harry," I stated, glancing back at him with a puzzled look as I opened the door to my room.

"I know," he shrugged, "but I'm only really allowed in here so your psycho parents don't deck me in the head."

"I never understand your English slang," I frowned, and he chuckled.

"It's pretty self explanatory, innit?" I rolled my eyes as he spoke, sitting down on my bed. He glanced at me, the light now enabling him to see me properly, "is that my shirt?"

I bit my lip sheepishly, shifting from foot to foot. After I'd left Harry's house, I'd been wearing his shirt - and I liked it, to say the least. It smelt like him - provided comfort of some kind. I pulled his jacket off my shoulders and placed it gently onto the chair, "Maybe," I bit back a grin as he watched me closely.

"I like it," he grinned in return, "you look hot."

"Shut up," I laughed, flopping down onto the bed beside him, distance between us as we lay in silence for a moment.

"C'mere," he said quietly, and I leant over to flick the light off - the early hours of the morning rolling in, the hints of dawn beginning to overtake the darkness of the night. I turned back to him, shuffling closer as he wound his arms around my waist, holding me tightly to him. I watched him closely, as my hand rest on the back of his head, and his eyes fluttered shut, humming in response as I lightly scratched my nails against his scalp in a way I presumed he liked, "Mm," he pinched my hip lightly, "quit staring and get your beauty sleep, Ana Levin - you need it," he added teasingly, his face breaking out into a smile as I whacked his chest playfully.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, baby."