Hiraeth

His name was Rhys Martinez and he was only the cutest boy in her whole entire school, definitely New York City and probably even the whole world. He had those handsome, devilish good looks - smooth, rich skin and molten chocolate eyes with feathery eyelashes, and a strong, handsome jawline.

At the time, Sam was only 13 and an eighth grader, but Rhys was in his sophomore year of high school, which meant that he was suave, mature, and refined. At least, he was much more cultured than the swine she went to school with, anyways, gross, sweaty boys with pimples all over, who smelled like stale chips and had squeaky, high pitched voices when they got nervous or mad.

Of course, there was still... Harry. God, Sam adored him, but Harry, unlike Rhys, was very unstable and never quite there. He always slipped out of her grasp, like the fine sand on the beach where she'd first met him. In her childish innocence it had never truly bothered her. Why would it? Harry was her gangly playmate and confidant who helped her learn her times tables and tied her shoes, bought her breakfast on the go and reminded her to return her overdue library books. They were just... transient friends.

But now, at the ripe wise age of 13, things had changed. Sam was no longer the same small brash and uncultured child Harry initially met. No - she was different, now. She had braces - her orthodontist promised her that she'd have picture perfect teeth by high school - and a series of growth spurts over the past few months had stretched out her arms and legs, spread her thighs gently, and had made her look more like a young lady, like a woman, albeit slightly underdeveloped for now. And as such, Sam wanted a boyfriend, someone to hold her hand and kiss her after school, to text and talk to incessantly and to shower her with gifts.

Harry couldn't be that. They'd never talked about it, to be sure, and he'd never given her even the slightest inclination towards being more than whatever it was exactly that they were. Secretly, Sam wanted Harry, but it was complicated and tangled and there was never quite the right way to explain to him how she felt. And he'd never take her seriously, she knew. Sam wanted... consistency. Harry was only constant at leaving her and making her sad.

So Rhys it would be then. Rhys, who lived two buildings down from Sam, who took the same train she did and usually paid her no mind because he was busy with his large circle of friends. Surely, Rhys was popular, if his following in real life and online were anything to go off of. At the dance, Sam would finally tell him how she felt and ask him to give her a chance. It would be magical, she knew. He'd say yes, he'd have to, and finally, Sam wouldn't be the lone single person in her group of friends. Rhys was the clear answer to all her problems.

During Harry's now weekly visits - he averaged anywhere from five days to a month between visits, but as of late the average had been about eight to ten days in between each visit - Sam had wanted to ask him what he thought about her plan to ask Rhys out at the school dance.

(Sam and Rhys went to school in the same school complex, a private school, but still the same all the same. The high school was on one end of the complex and the middle school was on the other end, but they shared the cafeteria, library, computer labs, gymnasiums and sports fields. The dance in question was being held in the gym with a live DJ of all things! Sam had to go, and she had to go with Rhys.)

Still, she found herself lost in the melody of Harry's voice and stories about his travels and mysterious travel companion, who, by the way Harry spoke in regards to, she could only assume was his girlfriend or wife. (Despite her best attempts, hearing him wax lyrical about her hair, eyes, freckles, or the way she ate falafel made Sam burn with jealous rage and envy which was only fanned and fueled by the fact that she had absolutely no right to Harry Styles at all. She was too young for him, and he was too well traveled and inconsistent for her.) So, Sam just... didn't tell him and avoided the topic all together.

The dress Sam bought for the dance was white and gold and had little red accents. She thought it was really cute, and kept it hung in a bag in the back of her closet with her only pair of high heels. She didn't make a habit of wearing them but Rhys was super tall. Not as tall as Harry, though, but tall enough, Sam supposed. She watched hours of tutorials online on how to curl her hair and fix her makeup, which she'd bought secretly because her mother didn't feel she was old enough to wear lipstick or eyeliner or blush. Sam practiced dancing in her heels in the mirror when she was alone, tried different faces and phrases in the mirror, and prepared herself as best as she could for what she was sure to be the best night of her life.

When Harry popped up in her room, as he was wont to do, Sam was putting the finishing touches on her outfit. She was going with some of her classmates who lived nearby. Her grandparents were home, not her parents, which was probably why she was getting away with dressing the way she was, or for having such a late curfew. (9:30, which was the latest out of all her friends! Sam felt so cool.)

"And where are you off to?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in curious surprise. The way he looked at Sam made her cheeks flush. It wasn't really inappropriate or even creepy, but... it was different. It made her feel special, like she was pretty. Like Harry thought she was pretty, which was wild, because Harry was married or something, right? Right? Still, she looked away and smoothed out the poofy fabric of her skirt, laughing quietly.

"There's a dance at school tonight." Harry didn't seem surprised by that, but he did seem a little taken aback by the mention of Rhys and Sam's plan to confess her feelings to him. Sam had initially been confused. Hadn't Harry traveled in time? Surely, he knew what her future held and would know about Rhys and her. She wanted to ask him, but refrained. Sam needed some sort of mystery in her life.

"I don't think you should go," Harry said carefully, staring at a poster on her wall. His back was to her, and she got to, for a moment, inspect him properly. He was slender, like she remembered, always so slender and lithe, and his hair was longer - he never really cut it, it seemed. His clothes were black, tailored well, and fit his body nicely. And there were those damn boots, again, a staple in his wardrobe despite the time of year or weather. "Might not be the best idea."

"And why is that?" Sam countered, raising an eyebrow. "I have to go. You don't understand, Harry. Rhys is... he's - I have to do this, okay? You're not stopping me."

"Didn't say I was. Just said that it might not be the best idea, Sam. That's all." His tone was odd. On the surface, it seemed very casual and simple, a factual statement, but there was something there. It made Sam scowl as she buckled the straps on her shiny black shoes, teetering a little until she gathered her bearings.

"I wasn't asking for your permission," she said testily, squinting at his back. A deep scowl set into her face, lips turned down harshly. Who was Harry? Honestly. He came and went. Why did he think he could dictate her life? "I'm going."

"Didn't say you were, ether," he said, glancing back at her with a small, confused, almost hurt look on his face. "You look nice. Be careful walking down the stairs in those, though. Have fun. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Warn her about what? Sam rolled her eyes at his vague "warning", grabbed her small clutch, and left him in her room. She didn't care if anyone found him, angry and in a huff because - damn it, why did he have to say things like that? Why couldn't he just let her enjoy her life and be happy with Rhys?



On the way to the dance in the back of Ella's mom's sedan, snuggled between her two friends, Ella and Roosevelt, she tried to think about Harry and what he meant. Was he jealous or something? Why would he care about what she did or didn't do or who she did it with?

Harry had a girlfriend. Or something. He had a something because he usually mentioned her somehow and probably wasn't even aware that he was doing it. And it itched at Sam to think about her, whoever she was. Was she a model? She probably was his... travel companion person. Why hadn't they ever been introduced? It just wasn't fair for Harry to have someone all the time; for Sam to yearn for him in the most pathetic, juvenile, embarrassing way and to have him slip out of her grasp in the way he was always wont to do around her.

Sam decided that she'd ignore him, and that she'd go after Rhys. And they'd be happy together and Harry would just have to suck it up.



Sam's face burned in rage and embarrassment. Not only has Rhys said no, but he said he could never be seen with a mosquito bite chest, brace face, ratty looking girl like her - in front of basically everyone. She ran out of the gym crying, tears and darkness blurring everything and making it so she couldn't breathe and was well and proper sobbing, shaking as she finally broke through the heavy doors and made it outside.

It was freezing, snowing, and her jacket and purse was still inside the gym. Ella would probably get it, Sam thought in passing. She was more focused on the fact that Rhys, who she'd felt would be only the most perfect amazing thing to ever happen in her life ever, had basically crushed whatever self esteem she'd had and laughed while he did it. Harry was right. Why did she even come? She should have stayed home and she could have avoided this whole embarrassing scene if she had just listened to Harry. But stubborn and steadfast as she was, she didn't want to accept or admit the fact that he had been right about the whole ordeal out loud.

"Want my jacket?" Harry asked quietly. Sam scowled and squinted at him, gulping as her fingers snatched the material of the warm, thick black pea coat, slipping her smaller arms into the large sleeves. The jacket smelled a lot like Harry, which she supposed was to be expected. "Want to talk about it?"

"I want to go home," she managed after a moment of silence, ignoring his question as they walked down the steps of her school quietly. She was partially relieved that none of her friends had come to see how she was or if she was okay - how would she explain Harry's presence without any of them thinking she was a complete psycho?

On the way home, Harry bought her a hot chocolate and a warm cinnamon bun from a street vendor. He gave her cab fare and told her to get home safe, and kissed her cheek. And that was that.



The first time Wally asked about Harry was during a trip to the post office. Uncle Rob's birthday was coming up and Wally wanted to send him the whale he'd made out of papier-mâché and pipe cleaners; her mother was sending him a card and her father had bought him a sweater. Sam was sending him a couple books he'd asked for and a small card.

"Who do you talk to at night, Sammy?" Wally asked, holding onto her hand as they juggled their packages. He was a gentle soul, really, and was growing into a nice, albeit shy, little boy. She glanced at him with a frown, stopping at a crosswalk. She waited for the white hand to come up, shifting a little as she tightened her grip on Wally's hand, lest he run into the street.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Walter."

"Yeah-huh! Is it your imaginary friend? How come you get to have one but I don't?" he asked with a deep frown, lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed. "'S not fair."

"I don't have an imaginary friend, Wally, and I don't talk to anyone in the middle of the night." Sam tugged him along as they walked across the busy street quickly, carefully looking out for wayward cars. "What are you on about, bud?"

"But I hear you laughing sometimes. Are you on the phone? You know Mama doesn't like it," he chastised softy, frowning. "You're gonna get in trouble!"

Sam had to laugh, relieved when she saw the post office in the distance. If only he really knew who her "friend" was. She couldn't explain Harry's comings and goings or how they worked, or why he came so sporadically with no rhyme or reason, but there he was. Always. Something always happened when Harry came by.

"Don't worry about it, Wally. I'll be fine. But this is our little secret, yeah? Can't tell Mom, because she'll ground me, and then we won't be able to go to the park or the swimming pool anymore." Wally nodded enthusiastically, and Sam sighed. She'd have to be more careful about her meetings with Harry.



Sam sort of liked high school. She couldn't totally complain - her classes were hard, challenging but exciting, and she felt like she was learning quite a lot. Her friends had been moving away, changing schools and so, she found herself with a new circle of friends. Sophia, a pretty diplomat's daughter, and Ophelia, a girl who had moved across the hall from her just a couple of weeks before school started.

She wasn't popular. Sophia was, so that did afford Sam certain privileges, like sitting at the cool kids' table and getting invited to parties (that her parents wouldn't let her go to, but still.) With time, she did grow to have a small measure of popularity, mostly by simple association with Sophia and Ophelia and their friends. She even had a couple of (secret) boyfriends, though they never got further than a cursory squeeze over her shirt.

Her freshman year passed in a flurry of notes, late night group texts, crushes on half the soccer and water polo teams, respectively, and sneaking out to go to parties at Ophelia's house when neither of their parents were home. It was happy, fun, even, and she felt like the year as a whole was neither good nor bad. Neutral, even.

The summer was hazy - she spent it away in Los Angeles with her father's parents, and had Harry for company - they were hardly ever home and left the young teen to her own devices, which was nice.

And then there was Harry...

Harry was good to her, she supposed. And no matter how she tried not to focus on Harry, on his smile or the way he spoke or how his hands always seemed to touch her so tenderly and reverently. Or how he said her name or always got a faraway, distant look in his green eyes when she asked him what the future was like.

Sam had tried to like other boys, she really had - Addison in her freshman bio class kissed her underneath the bleachers at a pep rally, and took her to Homecoming and God, he was really sweet and kind and kind of handsome, but he wasn't Harry, and Sam told him they would be better off as friends two days before Thanksgiving break.

She wanted to be attracted to anyone but Harry. Harry was bad news, she knew. He was so secretive, and he never really answered her question, not the important ones anyway. (Why are you here? How does the time travel thing work? Do you have a machine or something? Tell me about your wife. Do you have any children? Why do you keep visiting me?) Harry was all about deception and illusions - one moment he was there and Sam could see him, feel him, touch him, cry into his shoulder and beg him to stay please - but the next he was gone and far away, disappeared into, quite literally, thin air, and Sam was once again left alone.

Harry would always leave her alone in the end. Why did she still want him? Why was she pulled to him? He was magnetic, everything about him drew Sam in and she was powerless against it. He even told her himself that it would do her no good to get attached to him, and yet... Harry was the one she wanted more than anything. When boys touched her, kissed her cheek, brushed her hair over her shoulder and slipped their hands over the small of her back, she thought about Harry, and pretended, in the recesses of her subconscious, that it was Harry instead.

She knew she had it bad.

That summer in Los Angeles changed things, though - Sam wouldn't realize how much so until much later.

As mentioned previously, her grandparents had decided to take her for the summer. Sophia and Ophelia were traveling with their families for the summer holiday and Sam was absolutely miserable without her partners in angsty teenage crime. Still, the prospect of a summer in California, glossy and fancy, and hot, was lovely.

They lived in a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills, lush green lawns with full, decadent flower gardens, a pool, balconies, and carefully tended shrubbery. (Sam would soon spend every summer with her grandparents during her high school years.) She had her own bedroom, bathroom, walk in closet, and amenities, though it felt more like a luxurious hotel suite than home, to be honest. Still, she couldn't complain. They gave her money and let her explore, gave her a reasonable curfew, and didn't bug her too much.

Saturday afternoons were spent lounging with Nana in the parlor - manicures, pedicures, facials, and gossip - and Sunday mornings were exclusively for sailing with her grandfather and learning the ropes, literally.

Harry came and went, but more than often than not, stayed. They sat on the balcony and stared at the stars and talked for hours about everything and nothing all at the same time. She fell asleep against his shoulder usually, and always woke up tucked into bed, though she never really figured out how she got there, until it dawned on her that Harry probably plopped her down there before he left.

If Harry's visits came during the day, they would go to downtown LA on the bus and spend the day roaming, or they'd go to Hollywood - one day they even went to Anaheim and spent the day at Disney, screamed on rides, ate overpriced junk food and took token photographs with characters they ran into. Occasionally they took the bus to Santa Monica and didn't come home until late, smelling like wind, sand, and surf.

They spent all this time together and yet... nothing happened. Sam tried her hardest to get Harry's attention, tight, short bathing suits, crop tops, snug jeans, makeup - no dice. Harry treated her the same as always and seemed to not even be interested or swayed at all in Sam or in her body, at least, not that way. Sometimes his hands lingered on hers or his hugs were a little longer than usual, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him.

When she asked about his wife - clearly, he was married, a thin silver band on his ring finger that he never ever took off, always played with - Harry usually found a way to avoid answering her or changed the subject, or countered with a different question. Either Harry's wife didn't know about Sam, or she did and Harry just didn't want to tell Sam anything about her. It made her horribly curious. Why wouldn't he tell her? What was he hiding?

The night in question, they were inside because a sudden thunderstorm had forced them off the balcony and into her bedroom. Harry was damp, sheer shirt doing nothing to hide his well defined body or tattoos. (As a child, Sam had never paid much mind to the contours of Harry's body. Once (age 8) she'd asked to see his tattoos because she'd never seen someone with pictures all over and thought that it was basically the coolest thing ever because they couldn't be rubbed off. Now, however, her eyes always trailed after him, tracing down the smooth lines of his biceps, planes of his chest, ridges of his abs... and she was very, very pleased by what she saw.) Sam had changed into a dry shirt and small shorts, piling her hair onto her head.

He was stretched out over her bed, eyes closed when she climbed onto the queen sized poster bed. Her blankets were simple, fluffy comforters and sheets with high thread counts that always made her feel like she was sleeping on a cloud. His arms were folded under his head, nose pointed up slightly. This was her chance!

She climbed onto his body slowly, knees braced on either side of his hips. Her hands pressed onto his belly to steady herself. Harry startled, eyes opening quickly as he looked up at Sam, surprise playing out over his face. The rain battered her glass doors and windows, sheer curtains doing nothing to conceal the storm outside. Sharp, strong winds blew angrily outside, a discordant symphony accompanied by tremulous thunder and dazzling strikes and bolts of lightning. It set quite the mood, indeed.

"What - "

"Don't, Harry," she whispered softly, leaning into him. Her lips hovered over his, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. When she pressed forward to kiss him, he moved, and her lips landed on his cheek instead. Her face burned as she sat up again, squirming slightly. "Harry?"

"You can't do this, Sam," he warned softly, shaking his head as he looked up at her. "You can't. I've told you. This can't happen." Her heart broke as it sank deep into the recesses of her chest, self confidence rapidly going with it.

"But why? Don't you want me? I - Harry, please," she begged softly, hands gripping the wet material of his shirt. "Please. I won't tell anyone and no one has to know and - "

"Sam, darling," he said softly, hands wrapping around her own. Harry gently moved her hands back down into her lap, sitting up and moving her back slightly so she sat on his thighs and not directly over his hips like she'd been before. "It isn't - we can't do this. I won't. You're young and you don't know what you want - "

"You! You're what I want? Don't you understand?!" Sam countered, looking at him imploringly. Could he have been so daft that he hadn't noticed, hadn't picked up on all the subtle and not so subtle hints Sam had been dropping over the last few months? "I want you. You're the only one I want, you're all I think about and I - "

"You're fifteen years old, Sam. For heaven's sake. Do I look like Humbert Humbert to you?" Harry's tone left no room for argument and it made her feel even worse if possible, tears welling in her eyes. "Sam, listen to me. Don't - oh, pet," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and folding her into a hug. "I don't like seeing you get so upset like this, you know?" She could feel his hands on her, one rubbing slow circles onto her back and the other carding through her hair gently, shushing her wordlessly.

"But you're the one I want," she protested weakly, eyes blurry with tears. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, head nestled into his neck. They even /fit/ well together and Sam hated herself for noticing it. "Please, Harry - I just - don't I deserve to know why? Is - is... is it your wife? Is it me?"

"One day, Sam, you'll understand why I did this and you might even thank me for it. But I can't and won't do this to you. You don't know what you want, and I don't... maybe it isn't the best idea for you to get attached to me, darling. I'm here one day and gone the next."

"I don't care! I don't, Harry, that doesn't matter. Now, right now. That's all that matters, isn't it? We're together now." She looked at him properly again, pulling away slightly and trying to move closer. He didn't let her, kept her body firmly where he'd placed it earlier.

"One day, you will."

"One day! One day, tomorrow, next year - that's all you say! That's all you can say!" Sam's voice broke as she cried, pulling away from him for good. She climbed out of her high bed, stalking to the window to look outside. She couldn't be near him now, half afraid she'd claw him up. "But what about today? What about now?! Doesn't the present matter at all to you? What about me, my feelings, my wants? You - you're - you always - " She stopped short, unable to hear Harry anymore. She turned, glancing over her shoulder, and sighed, eyes closing. "You always leave me alone," she murmured to no one in particular. The only sign that Harry had even been there was a slight wrinkle and dampness in her sheets.



Sam didn't know what she'd do the next time she saw Harry. Her heart had been so broken and she'd cried for weeks. He was gone for the rest of the summer, and so she spent her time alone, sure that their friendship had ended and was intractably ruined forever.

Imagine her surprise when she woke up to Harry peering over her on her first day of sophomore year, reminding her that she was going to be late if she didn't get up soon. She almost fell out bed, startled to see him suddenly. She had her retainer in her mouth still, hair up in a crazy braid/bun mess, and was in her most embarrassing pair of pajamas, pink with small cats printed on them with cat buttons. And cat socks, too.

It was like nothing had happened. They never really talked about that night in Los Angeles and Harry acted the same as always, treated her the same, always teetered on that thin line between flirtation and simple platonic conversation. It drove Sam, to say the very least, crazy.

So when she met Royce in her math class, and when he asked her out for burgers and fries on Friday night two weeks into their friendship, she said yes. Not because she really wanted to but mostly because she wanted to make Harry jealous and upset him, maybe. Royce was really cute, curly black hair, brown eyes, freckles, tall, and kind of a bad boy, a friend of Ophelia's.

Harry's reaction to hearing about Royce was a frown. He didn't say anything to the positive or negative. And when she was getting ready, Harry was sullen and quiet, asked if that skirt was too short. She glared at him and asked him why he would care if someone else touched her, raising an eyebrow. She then told him to think about how his wife would feel about him spending so much time with a teenage girl.

Royce picked her up at home. Her dad was embarrassing and made him promise he'd have her home by 9 because Friday was still a "school night" and made a thinly veiled threat about the consequences of doing anything he wouldn't do in front of his parents with Sam. Wally teased her with kissy faces.

Sam half hoped Harry would stop her or say something the way he had with Rhys so long ago, but took the fact that he hadn't as mere irritation with her decision to focus on someone other than him. Crybaby.

The date was... well. Could it even really be considered a date? Burgers and fries was actually just a party at one of his friend's houses. Royce got drunk as hell and ignored Sam after she refused to let him touch her. Sam was miserable. She couldn't call her parents because she felt embarrassed, and none of her friends drove yet. She thankfully had enough for train fare, which she took to her house sometime around 7.

She went to Central Park to find the bench where she'd first found out about Harry and his time traveling, sitting down on the cool steel. It was nippy out, but not bad. A few leaves stubbornly hung onto their branches. She glanced around at her surroundings. Lovers and homeless people - how lovely.

When Sam arrived home at 8:30, her dad was already asleep and her mother was helping Wally with his bath. She snuck into her room quietly, still kind of embarrassed and mortified by the evening's events. Harry sat on her bed with a small, knowing smile. "How's loverboy?"

Sam threw a pillow at him and told him to get out.



Her next important encounter with Harry was at Sophia's boyfriend's New Year's costume party. She had gone dressed as a cat - black jumper, leggings, little black shoes, and cat whiskers painted on her nose and cheeks. She had a little braid wrapped around her head to support her floppy cat ears. She had gone to the party with Garrett. She met him at the library; he went to a community college in Queens, was a little rough around the edges, but they'd gone out a couple of times and hung out enough so that she trusted him. Her mom liked him and her dad seemed to tolerate him slightly more than he had Royce, so there was that.

Garrett wasn't a 'nice' boy. He was tough and cool, 19, had a motorcycle and called her 'babe'. Their first kiss had been in an alley somewhere in Brooklyn, his hands firmly gripping the swell of her bottom and pressing her close to him. He was very tactile. And while he never explicitly tried to force her to do anything, the pressure was there. They hadn't had sex, but he was like, her first 'real' boyfriend - or at least she kind of felt like he was - and he said that if she really did like him, she'd "put out".

They never got farther than a hand down her underwear, much to Garrett's chagrin, and even that hadn't lasted more than two seconds.

Spending New Years together had been a tradition for Sam and Harry for years. But that year in particular, Sam had no inclination or desire to see Harry. And since he'd been away for months (since July; they'd gone to the beach and Sam could have sworn he would have let her kiss him had it not been for caricature artist who approached them and asked if they'd like their portraits drawn for a small fee of $15; they did, and Sam keeps it folded between the pages of her diary along with other photos she'd taken with Harry), she assumed that he had no desire to keep up their tradition of sitting out on her fire escape to watch the ball drop and cheer about the new year, either. So, she went to the party with Garrett.

Sometimes Garrett grabbed her a little too hard or yelled at her, but - okay. Maybe she did deserve it, and she didn't want to lose him. He paid her attention and made her feel wanted, even if she didn't really want him the way he wanted her. And he always kissed her and told her he was sorry, after, and tried to make it up to her, so... maybe it wasn't so bad.

At least he was there when Harry wasn't.

The party felt blurry. Garrett kept giving her drinks and dancing with her, kissing on her neck and squeezing her close against him so much that she could feel his erection pressing insistently into her bottom. She kept trying to push him away. His answer to that was more liquor, which made her feel so grown and cool, because... well, didn't everyone do it?

She felt so weird after she had those drinks, though, dizzy and... just not herself. Garrett asked her if she wanted to go home, to his place. If she went home, he reasoned, her parents would be upset that she'd been drinking. That seemed to make sense. He kissed her forehead and made her giggle, squirming against his body.

He told her to stay put in the lobby. He was going to bring his bike (motorcycle, it was a motorcycle, why did he call it bike?) around and get some stuff at the corner store.

"I'll be back in ten minutes top, babe. Just stay, yeah?" He kissed her goodbye and she nodded, grinning drunkenly at him. She slumped against the wall, struggling to stay upright. Why did her head hurt so much? She wanted to throw up, felt like jelly. Sam's legs wobbled as she held onto the wall, closing her eyes to balance herself.

She could feel someone solid and firm behind her and smiled. God, Garrett was fast.

"Babe?" she slurred, turning around. To her surprise, it was Harry, who seemed, to put it lightly, very, very upset. "Harry...!" Why was her tongue so heavy?

"Oh, Sam," he sighed, taking off his coat and wrapping it around her tightly. She slumped against him, legs finally giving out. She cried a little, scared. What was happening to her?

"Can't move, Harry," she said softly, hardly able to keep her head upright. "Wh...Why can't I move?"

"Have you been drinking?" She groaned when he picked her up, head rolling and spinning almost. Everything was blurry. She could see and hear and talk but she could barely move. What the hell had been in her drink? It dawned on her that Garrett had been bringing her drinks all night and she wanted to cry, but was unable to. "I'm taking you home, okay?"



Sam could move a little bit more by the time the cab dropped her and Harry off two blocks from her home. It was ten to midnight. Harry had bought her two bottles of water in a corner store which she'd drank weakly, but by the time she finished the second one, she felt much better. She shivered in his jacket, unable to figure out what to say. Harry was quiet, staying close by because she was still unsteady on her feet. Garrett had called. Harry fought with him on the phone and Sam heard him swear at someone for the first time in her life.

"I... I'm sorry you had to see me like that," Sam murmured softly, stopping in front of a closed donut shop. The streets were full of people closer to Times Square, but a few mingled in the streets nearby. "Thanks... um. Just... thanks."

"Why are you with someone like that, Sam? Do you have no sense of self preservation? Can't you see he's bad news?" Harry asked softly, hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, bottom lip quivering. She'd missed him horribly and this wasn't how she wanted to see him, drunk and probably drugged on something.

"I... I... I don't know, Harry," she murmured softly, shrugging a little. "I - I felt lonely. I was sad. You weren't there, and Garrett is, or was, I guess, and at least he's here, and you're never here and I miss you so much and I'm sorry," she hiccups, words melting and crashing together as she struggled to breathe through the onslaught of tears. "And you don't want me, Garrett does, and I just want to feel like someone /wants/ me, Harry! Is that wrong? Is wanting to be loved wrong?"

"He doesn't love you, Sam," he explained patiently, wiping her eyes with a small frown. "Do you think he'd do this to you if he loved you? What do you think he would have done to you tonight if I hadn't come?" Sam closed her eyes, not wanting to think about that. She didn't need a white knight, but she was thankful that Harry had shown up when he had. Who knew what would have happened otherwise?

"You don't love me, either," Sam murmured, flinching when she heard people counting down in the distance.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I told you you're the only one I want, Harry. I wasn't lying," she said softly. He simply kissed her forehead and nodded, drawing her into his chest tightly.

"Don't ever scare me that way ever again, Sam. Do you understand?" The ball shattered as she looked up at Harry and kissed his cheek, wishing him a Happy New Year.



After her breakup with Garrett, Sam had clearly been upset and depressed. How couldn't she have been? It was the end of her first relationship. At the same time, however, she felt... well, happy. A burden had been lifted off her shoulders - she no longer had to worry about keeping him happy or flinching when he raised his voice to her. Life was good. She was more focused on her studies and was able to pull up most of the grades that had sunk when she began to see Garrett.

Harry's visits became more frequent. Sam felt that it was probably because he was worried about her, seeing as she had met Garrett and began dating him in his absence. Perhaps he feared Sam would do something reckless again. In any event, she wasn't complaining. He was very, very good at cuddling, helping her with her homework, and buying her sweets and other things that struck her fancy.

Spring was blossoming in New York City after a harsh winter of blustery blizzards and endless snow days, and Sam for one, welcomed it with open arms. The days were growing long again, the sun warmed her down to her very marrow and made her feel almost alive again, like she'd been in a weird hibernation over the winter where she wasn't really herself and was finally waking up from it, sinking into her being again.

It was lovely.

On the walk home, she found herself in a sun shower, pelted by soft, warm raindrops as the sun played hide and go seek with the clouds above in the blue sky.

"Why don't you ever carry an umbrella?" Harry asked, catching her by surprise. He opened a large black umbrella over them as they walked. She leaned into him, holding her backpack close and some books to her chest. His tone was teasing, and as they walked together, Sam could, for a movement, delude herself into thinking they were... together properly.

"Why do you?" she countered at a crosswalk, pressing the button while she waited for the light to turn. She glanced at him, smiling at him mischievously. He looked at her like he hadn't seen her in years, which was odd because he'd seen her just two nights ago at the local Krispy Kreme and they'd gone through half a dozen donuts together. "Harry?" Sam asked after a beat, frowning. He leaned closer to her, making Sam's cheeks flush as she looked up at him. Her braces had been removed just earlier that week, which was why they went to the bakery to celebrate.

It caught her by surprise when she felt his lips pressing gently against hers, her eyes slipping close as she smiled. She pressed against him, laughing softly underneath his lips. They slotted together perfectly, Sam reaching up on her tippy toes to reach him.

They didn't say anything at first after they pulled away. Harry's hand simply brushed against her cheeks. Why did he seem so sad? She reached up to touch him, smiling brightly. The rain was beginning to fade, now a soft, half hearted drizzle. People walked around them, cars honked, there was a traffic cop whistle but Sam felt like she was in her own little bubble with Harry and never wanted it to end.