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Chapter Text

He keeps his eyes closed, despite the ringing phones and hum of voices, doing as Ms. Harris asked him to. It’s too noisy, and he’s too cold, but he keeps his eyes closed.

He wonders where Gemma is, where his mommy is, or where Ms. Harris went. He doesn’t want to be alone in the big dark office, but his eyes are heavy from lack of sleep and he’s using his eyebrows to keep them open. Harry can’t sleep until mommy reads him a story, or maybe even Gemma, he needs to stay awake. But he’s so sleepy, and Ms. Harris gave him a new warm sweater, and her chair is so fluffy and the little boy’s body is sinking into it. The day has been so long, mommy and Gemma would forgive him for a nap, but he shouldn’t. They’d be back for him soon.

The air is dancing around him, it’d been so still at home, but the airconditioning is rolling over him. He feels calmer now that he’s clean. The lady that bathed him told him he has such nice hair, and he hopes he sees her again.

Maybe he’ll see Dr. Wu too, more her room full of toys, but the doctor was really nice too. She gave Harry a new sweater from the police station. She let Harry play with her legos, and Harry loves Legos. They built a big sea ship, complete with little Lego sailors, and a flag Harry made. And when he cried because he didn’t want to talk about The Man, she didn’t make him talk anymore, just play. He remembers how loud Gemma was screaming when she came home. She was asking too many questions but Harry kept saying the wrong thing. Maybe Gemma met Dr. Wu, maybe Dr. Wu told Gemma what she wanted to hear.

Ms. Harris took them away from her, but she said that mommy was going somewhere, that they’d see her again one day. She held Harry close when she got to his house with the police. She drove Harry and his sister to the station. She made sure Harry had a bath, and even let him use her Shea Butter soap, and it smells so nice in this cool room. Maybe Ms. Harris can help Gemma.

The black woman is standing just outside the glass doors, keeping Harry safe just like she promised. Her heels contribute to the noise as she paces back and forth on the phone.

“What about the birth father’s parents?” She seems upset, her voice strained and irritated, but Harry can’t quite see her face. “No next of kin?” She paused. “Okay, and what he’d say? Jesus-“ She leans up against the window, presses her face against the glass, peeking in. Harry shuts his eyes immediately. “Well, I can call the González’s for the girl. Yeah, the Payne’s are coming in the morning for the boy.

“Yeah, it’s just- they’ve been through so much Nadia, can’t we wait a few days? They aren’t gonna understand why they can’t stay together.”

“No, yeah, I understand. Thank you, Nadia. Bye.”

He tells himself that his big sister is in an office like this too, sinking deep into the big office chair, wearing a new sweater too. And his mommy is wearing new clothes too, her hair washed, and teeth brushed. He hopes they get her to wake up, torn between sleeping so that she could wake him up and waiting for her and Gemma to burst through the door. His eyelids are so heavy, his big new sweater wrapped around him just right, and he’s sinking into Ms. Harris’ chair.

“No please!” Gemma roars and Harry jolts awake. He sees his sister talking to the officers outside of the office. She’s wearing a new sweater too, but her hair is messy, still in the braid she came home with, but Harry can tell she’s been pulling on it. Mommy doesn’t like when Gemma does that. “Please, don’t do this to us! Where’s my stepdad? Did you talk to him?”

The officer attempts to calm Harry’s sister down, laying her hands on her shoulder, the other rubbing a hand down her arm. Gemma keeps yelling though, and his voice is tight, worn. She’s going to cry again. The girl pushes herself away from the officer, hiding her face in her hands.

“Gemma,” Ms. Harris calls. She steps into Harry’s view as he watches through the large glass windows of her office. She’s got a hand on the doorknob, the other on her hip. “Don’t scare your brother. He doesn’t need this, not right now.”

Immediately, Gemma falls silent. She looks so weak, pale face red, eyes and lips swollen. Her fingernails are lined with blood from where she’s been biting them. She’s not supposed to do that either, mommy doesn’t like it.

And she doesn’t look Ms. Harris in the eyes when they speak. Instead, his sister knots her fingers, her chest still heaving and a frown carved into her round face. She keeps talking, saying something to the social worker, who keeps saying something back. Harry can’t hear it, it’s far and they’re using their inside voices, and he’s frozen in his seat.

Harry is terrified.

Gemma only yells at Robert, never at mommy, or Harry, or anyone else. She yells when Robert hurts someone, but he’s not here. He’s gone, mommy promised they’d never see him again, and mommy isn’t a liar. Mommy doesn’t lie. She’s not a liar. She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t. She keeps Harry safe. She said Harry was a good boy. She’s not a liar. She isn’t. Gemma shouldn’t be so loud. Ms. Harris said they’re safe.

Harry slaps his hands over his ears as his mommy taught him to when everyone was too loud. He thinks he should keep pretending to sleep, but it’s too loud. He wants to scream, wants to drown out the bit of muffled sound still teasing him. The lights are too bright. Gemma may not be yelling, but her breath is heavy, he sobs echoing. The chair has become itchy, no longer bringing forth comfort. Ms. Harris is soothing her, but she’s still sobbing. The tag on his new sweater is tickling his neck, and he wants to rip it off. He wants Gemma to stop crying.

Everything was silent for so long, nothing more than mommy’s soft and fading breaths, the cars out on the street. But now everything is loud again. Too loud.

“Can’t we stay with our grandmother?” She looks at the woman, her eyes watering in the light. She looks scared and Gemma’s never scared. “I just- I just lost my entire life, I can’t lose him too, please.” Ms. Harris sighs, her stern face falling as she holds Gemma’s shoulders beneath her hands. “I can take care of Harry myself. I get that you’re nervous ’cos she’s sick, but-“

“Gemma-“

“She won’t have to do anything, I can walk him to school, I can cook!” Her behavior is erratic as she waves her hands about. Spit bursts from her lips, her nose running into her mouth, tears pouring down her cheeks. When she wipes her face, a thread of snot follows her palm. “She has money, and we’ll live off that until I can get a job-“

“Gemma,” she says again, this time defeated.

The girl falls into Ms. Harris, finally crying for the first time since she got home this morning. The station falls silent again as Gemma sobs into Ms. Harris’ shirt. Her cries bleed into the office, and Harry cannot help but to whimper.

There’s a buzzing feeling crawling up from his toes, lingering on his lips. Something is wrong, he knows there is, but there can’t be. Harry stayed in the closet until The Man was gone, like she said, he did what he was supposed to, he was good. Nothing can be bad when Harry’s been good. Mommy’s not a liar. He gave mommy food, shared his water, but she was so tired, just like Harry is now. He squeezes his eyes closed and he pretends he’s at the beach, with mommy and Gemma, just like mommy said. He’s doing what mommy said- Harry’s being good, nothing bad can happen when he’s being good.

The office door opens with a groan, “Harry-“

“That’s not my name,” he says to Gemma. He presses his palms harder against his head. “You don’t call me that!”

She pulls his hands away, holding both within one of her own as she kneels before him. Her fingers brush away the hair- the nice hair around his face.

The boy keeps his eyes shut tight, imagining he and Gemma playing in the sand, but when he looks over, mommy isn’t with them. She’s supposed to be drinking her ‘Big Girl Juice’ with her big hat and tan lines, just like she always does. Mommy’s supposed to be there.

Gemma makes a small weak plea for her brother to open his eyes, and so he does. The silence is far more harmful than what previously filled the air. Her chin wobbles violently as she aims to maintain her composure. As his big sister speaks, she sobs so heavily Harry can feel it curdle in his bones.

“Bug,” she says, “I have to go away for a little while, okay? But I’ll be back.”

His chubby fingers dig into his sister’s arm where he holds her, “No, you can’t leave me. Take me with you, please, Gemma!”

“I’m not leaving, I’ll come back. I promise! It might be-”

Harry throws himself against her and he knows he’s too big, but Gemma wraps her thin arms around him. “No! The last time you left The Man came, please Gemma! I’m scared.”

“I’ll come back, I promise! But you have to go with some of mom’s friends, you’ve never met them, but they’ll keep you safe.” She holds him so tightly he struggles to breathe a bit. He’s so tired, and he’s been crying so much, he feels like he’s going to throw up, but he can’t calm down.

Mr. Harris has a hand in each of their hair. Her dark eyebrows are drawn together, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. She smells so warm.

“Come with me,” Harry says to Gemma. “If you love me, you’ll come with me. You aren’t supposed to leave me when I’m scared! That’s not what big sisters do!”

Gemma cries even harder than he does, “Please, Harry, I don’t have a choice.” She looks at him, eyes shiny, voice barely there. “I love you so, so, so, so much. Bigger than the moon, Bug. Bigger than the whole universe, but I don’t have a choice.”

The siblings wail within the grasp of Ms. Harris.

Gemma’s breath becomes labored, but when the social worker tries to part them, the children panic. Instead Ms. Harris brings the fourteen year old some water to calm her down. She joins their embrace once again, warm hands rubbing across both of their backs.

“Can we stay with you?” He asks the adult, but she seems to collapse within herself even more.

Her almond eyes fall closed as her lips curl into her mouth. She bites on her cheek before responding. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she says, brushing curls from his wet eyes. “But you’re gonna be staring with some really special people that can help you more than I can. I promise you’ll see me again, though. Okay?”

He wants to argue with her. She was the first person to hold Harry since his mommy went to sleep. She lifted him into her arms, used a wipe to clean his face, and he fell asleep in the space between her shoulder and her neck. She promised to stay with him through all of this. She said she’s always here for him.

Mommy wasn’t a lair, she didn’t like liars. Ms. Harris couldn’t be one, because mommy would like her, Harry did. There’s rage crawling up into his throat as he begins to cry. Harry was a good boy, so good things are supposed to be happening.

He pulls himself away from her, “You’re a liar!”

“Harry!” Gemma groans. “We’ll all see each other again, and we’re together right now, right? You have to be a big boy for me, okay?”

She pulls her brother back into her chest, squeezing him tight against her rib cage. Harry can feel her tears falling into his hair as his own soaks Gemma’s t-shirt. Her bony wrists dig into his sides, his cheeks crushing his face as she holds onto his tighter. She’s shaking. It’s been so long since either one of them have eaten, and when her tummy growls against his chest, Harry attempts to calm himself down.

He at least knew Gemma would never lie, she wouldn’t do that to Harry. He knew Gemma would always keep him safe.

“And for mommy?” He whimpers.

Gemma sobs, pulling Harry into herself, “yeah, for mommy, too.”

He looks into his sister’s watery eyes, collecting stray tears with his fingers, using his tongue to collect his own. They both have snot running down their chins, purple circles pressed into their eyes, but Gemma looks so much like mommy, Harry can’t help but fall into her once again and bunch her shirt between his fists.

So, Harry and his sister calm within each other’s arms. Later, Ms. Harris brings them to a hotel, and Harry can jump on the bed all he wants, and for the first night in a long time, Harry sleeps in a bed, is all cleaned and washed, comforted by the beating heart within his sister’s chest.

•••

“So, Ms. Harris’s friends are coming and you’re gonna go home with them,” Gemma explains as she brushes through Harry’s damp hair. She sounds exhausted. “They’ll make sure you’re clean, and that you sleep well, and that no one ever hurts you again, okay? They’re very very special, and they are going to help you. They have The Man will never come back.” Harry nods. “We’ll still see each other, I promise, they told me we would, but you have to be a good boy, okay?”

He’s trying his best not to cry again, he knows he’s given Gemma a hard morning. Harry’s been crying all day, just barely understanding what has been explained to him a multitude of times, but he knows Gemma is leaving again. He wants to beg her to stay but says nothing to spare her from sobbing again. Instead, he uses his tiny fists to wipe the tears from his eyes as his sister finishes tying his shoes.

“I’ll be the best boy ever.”

“I know you will be,” Gemma whispers. She presses a kiss into his hair and lingers.

They stay together, Harry’s arms around her neck, Gemma’s around his waist, until there’s a knock at the door. His sister excuses herself, locking the bathroom door once she’s inside.

Ms. Harris leads a man into the hotel room. He’s got peppery hair styled neatly upon his head, glasses perched upon his nose, and deep lines trailing across his forehead. His eyes tell Harry he’s tired, sorry even. He settles on his knee, crouching slightly, and holds his hand out to the little boy.

Harry tucks his hands into his armpits, shoulders pulled up close to his ears. The man offers a small smile and reaches a hand out to him, but retracts the offer when Harry flinches.

“Hello, Harry,” the man says around a soft frown. “I’m George, and that’s my wife, Maria,” the man gestures to the woman talking to Ms. Harris. She disappears into the bathroom with his sister. “We’re friends with Ms. Harris. We’ve heard you’ve had a scary few days, huh?” Harry nods. He makes a sympathetic sound as he continues, “Well, we’re gonna help your heart feel better, okay? Maria and I have special training to work with kids like you who have had a lot of scary things happen. We’re gonna take care of you, and you’ll be safe with us for as long as you need to be.”

Harry’s vision shifts between the two women as George talks, landing at the door dividing he and his sister. He wants to ask why Gemma can’t come, why she has to leave him again, but he finds himself voiceless when he tries to speak. The man notices Harry staring at the bathroom and redirects his attention.

“You’ll have brothers there who are getting better just like you,” George says. Harry isn’t sure that he wants brothers, not when that requires he trades Gemma for them. The man continues, “and you’ll have so much fun with them, I promise. And Dr. Wu, remember her?” Harry nods. He blinks hard, letting tears fall from his eyes as he catches them with his tongue. “Well, Maria works with her, so you’ll see her and she’ll be helping you get better too.”

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. What does he need help with? All he wants is to be with Gemma and mommy, like he was. He wants things to be like before The Man came, when mommy brushed his hair on the bath and sang him to sleep. Gemma’s voice isn’t nearly as pretty, but she does her best, singing all the notes just like mommy. Only Gemma knows.

He wonders if they know he’s been bad. Wonders if they know Harry wasn’t a good boy while his mommy was asleep. They must, he’s being punished for it, isn’t he?

“Harry, I promise you’ll see your sister again, okay? She’ll always love you, just like your mom does, but right now you have to be split up just in case The Man comes.”

Harry’s eyes widen.

“We aren’t going to let anything happen to you or your sister.”

As the man stands with a groan, his wife joins him. She lays a hand upon her husband’s shoulder, the other to hold his arm.

She’s very pretty, though Harry thinks that about nearly everyone. The lines by her eyes make it seem as though she is smiling softly though her lips are tugged into a frown. She’s got tears settled in the corners of her eyes. A soft slope angles her nose downwards, round at the tip. Her brown curls are light, not quite like Harry’s, they’re much longer, but the color is almost the same.

“Hello, Harry, it’s so nice to meet you. Do you have your things already or would you like some help?”

He stares at them blankly.

“What about mommy?” The child asks, but he doesn’t receive an answer. He’s been afraid to ask his sister, to make her cry again, to feel like he’s been a bad boy who’s done a bad thing. He has been,

Instead, the adults look at each other, communicating in the way adults do. “She’ll be sad when she wakes up and I’m not home, Gemma too.”

“Oh, baby,” the woman says, her voice thin. “She’s away right now, but you’ll see her again one day.”

“But I wanna see her now,” Harry whispers. Though he promised to be a big boy, he can’t fight back the fear that spikes through his body. He looks to the bathroom, calling for his sister, “Gemma? I’m scared! Gemma?” Below him, Harry’s legs fault him as he falls to the floor. He’s not slept well in so long, even his hands are weak with exhaustion as he attempts to make a fist. Still, he uses all the power he can muster to call out to his sister. “Gemma? Where are you? M’scared!”

Ms. Harris comes closer to the whimpering child, her hand on his back to rub small circles into his warm skin.

With round shining green eyes and a fat wobbly bottom lip, he asks Ms. Harris, “Where’s Gemma? She doesn’t love me?”

“Oh, Harry, no, no. She had to go to school, remember? She told you she had to go on a trip, but she’ll come back.”

“I’m scared.”

“Harry,” she says, “Mr. and Mrs. Payne will take very good care of you. I promise.” She leans in even closer, mouth to his ear as she speaks softly, “I wrote my number on the inside of your sweater, if anything happens, you call me, okay? I’ll come save you, all right.”

He tucks himself behind Ms. Harris’ knees, holding on to the stiff fabric of her work uniform. The material contrasts the welcoming quality of the woman. Harry’s fat palms grip onto her desperately, and the woman whimpers.

“I wanna stay with you,” he whispers looking up to her.

Mr. Harris “I’ll come by, I promise. I’ll see you every time you come to see Dr. Wu.”

Once Ms. Harris buckled Harry into his new car seat in the Paynes’ car, the boy fell mute. He thinks about hearing Gemma crying in the bathroom as he was carried past the door, but he couldn’t say anything then, he most definitely cannot say anything now.

George had let Maria finish up a conversation with Ms. Harris while he talked to Harry. The man promised Harry to keep him safe, to keep Gemma safe. He left Harry cry silently, humming softly as he brushed through his hair, complimenting his curls. He doesn’t try to get Harry to speak, and Harry trusts him for it.

However, this must be a punishment. Harry doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, but he’s being sent away from his mommy, his sister, his bed. He’s in an unfamiliar car, with unfamiliar people, in unfamiliar clothing, so this must be a punishment.

“You have a lot of big brothers, you know?” George says to Harry once Maria has started driving. The man is leaning over the center console to face the boy, his seat belt straining. “There’s Liam, Niall, and Zayn. They can’t wait to meet you.

“We’ve got daughters too, but they live far far away in a country called England. They just moved out there, so they won’t be visiting this summer, but they want to talk to you on the phone.”

Harry struggles to focus upon the things Maria and George are saying, feeling like he is both within his body, but also outside of it, watching. He goes lax into his carseat, eyes drying slightly as he stares off into the distance.

He jumps when George taps against his shoe to get his attention.

“What do you want for dinner tonight, baby? We’re gonna eat whatever you want, even if it’s mud!” Maria declares, and her husband is quick to turn back to Harry with a cartoonish disgusted face, which makes Harry smile ever so slightly. “It’s your night, anything you need, just ask someone and we’ll do our best.”

“And it’ll be like that forever, Curls,” George promises. “If you ever get scared, you come find us or one of your brothers, we’ll keep you safe, okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Niall’s going to talent camp this summer, he makes the best music I’ve ever heard! Let’s see, then there’s Liam. He’s gonna be a junior in college this year, so he’s really really big, you’ll see. Looks just like me! But he’ll be watching you and Zayn for the next few weeks, okay?”

Maria takes it upon herself to introduce their youngest, “Zayn’s a bit older than you, but he’s really shy, so don’t be scared. You’ll be sharing a room with him. He’s very quiet, but he’s really funny once ya get to know ‘im.”

Harry knows that they’re still talking to him when he leans back in his seat, eyes focusing on the road as it flies by, but they sound far away. He lets himself drift to sleep as the world grows blurry.

It takes about an hour to get to the Payne house, primarily because Maria had to pull over so George could sit with Harry in the back after a panic attack.

There’s a taller boy outside waiting for the couple and their new addition when they arrive. He looks sad in the same way everyone else has since the police and Ms. Harris came.

George pulls Harry from the car seat and the boy shoves his face into his neck.

“Harry,” Maria says with a hand on his back, “this is our son, Liam. He’ll be spending some time with you this summer.”

Liam doesn’t look anything like George. His light brown waves and round chin are identical to Maria’s, as is his soft nose and apple-like cheeks. There’s an impression of sharpness there too.

Maybe it’s the eyes that lead George to believe there are similarities between him and his son, Liam’s brown irises identical to the depths of his father’s.

Harry doesn’t move to meet his eyes, but he hears him say, “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

And though he knows it’s rude, the child burrows further into his caretaker.

“We’ll be best friends before you know it,” Liam says as he steps into the house.

George hums in agreement as he follows behind his son.

They enter through the kitchen and Harry can’t help but notice how massive the house is. Everything is new and clean. The light switches and door hinges haven’t been painted over. There’s a big black refrigerator against the wall that has a screen on it, the remainder of it covered in drawings and photos. The mixer mommy always wanted but could never afford is on the counter, beside a big bowl of fruit. The island in the center has stools that Harry could sit on while mommy bakes and a sink where he could wash his hands to help her. It’s black and marble and sleek. They must make all sorts of pastries here, but the air smells of flowers and the ocean.

He hopes mommy can stay here too when she wakes up, maybe they have a room for her and Gemma.

George says he’s going to check on the boys as he lets himself out through the sliding glass doors, leaving Harry and Maria alone.

“We have a few house rules up on the wall here,” María stands at the pantry door with Harry in her arms. “Let’s read them together:
If someone hurts you, you have to tell Maria AND George.
If you’re hungry, eat! Take as much food as you want, no need to ask.
When you’re scared or feel unsafe, just say the word “potato” to let everyone know.
Never cry alone. We’re all here to get better together.
No secrets that might lead to someone getting or being hurt.”
“And for you, we have a special rule: Ask for help if you open the fridge. We don’t want you climbing up to reach something, okay? We want you to be well and well fed! If you get hungry at night you can ask one of the boys, and if they’re asleep, you can always ask me or George, even if you have to wake us up.”

“Is that okay with you, Curls? All these rules?” George asks as he slips back into the kitchen.

The boy looks at them with wide eyes. He’s already breaking tule number five, but he’s torn. If he tells them his secret about mommy, they might send him back to Ms. Harris, but Gemma won’t be there.

He nods, shoving his face back into Maria’s neck, blinking away tears. There’s a hint of vanilla in her perfume, warm and soft. Like cookies. Harry wonders if she likes to bake like mommy, if he’ll ever have mommy’s special brownies again.

He feels George’s hand rubbing his back before he speaks, “We’re gonna show you your room and everyone else’s, okay? You can open doors and look through closets if you feel like you need to.”

“Okay,” he croaks in response.

“First, my office,” George says, “nothing interesting in here, but you can look around if you want.”

Maria sets Harry on the floor, and the boy feels at a loss no longer being in someone’s arms or confined by a car seat. His body feels too big and too small all at once. He immediately tugs on María’s clothing and is picked back up.

They enter a room with a green door first, “this is Niall’s room.”

It’s a bit messy, more frantic than dirty, clothes tossed about, the bed unmade. The closet door catches Harry’s attention, slats across the front of it, like his door used to. He feels the need to hide in it, but Maria is already walking away.

“This is our room,” she explains, “you are welcome to come in at any time, just knock first okay? If you knock three times and you don’t hear anything, you can just come in. Can you count to three Harry?” He can count to 100, practice every day with Gemma, but he chooses to nod without further explanation. “Great! Did you wanna look around?”

The room is neat, opposite of the last one, and very clearly owed by adults. There’s a few doors here, the closet but also a bathroom door. He wants to check to see if The Man is hiding somewhere, but he doesn’t want to lose the comfort offered by Maria.

Next is the hall bathroom, then Harry and Zayn’s room. His large, despite the two beds taking up space, and very clean. The toys that aren’t sorted along the shelves are put away in the toy chest on the wall, and Zayn’s bed on the wall is made. Harry’s bed is covered in shopping bags, his mattress bare.

“We’ll go through the bags before bed,” George explains. “This’ll be where you and Zayn sleep, he’s very clean, and if you make a mess he’ll clean it up, but we have to be respectful, right? So we’ll clean up after ourselves in shared spaces.”

It’s very dark in here, the curtains drawn, the glow from the hall lighting the room. And it’s cold, but it feels really nice. Harry hasn’t had a big boy bed yet, and the twin mattress with his sweater from Mr. Harris tells him he’s gonna sleep in one tonight. He’s torn between excitement, and the sadness still weighing down his bones.

And finally, they step into Liam’s room, where it is slightly less messy than Niall’s, but nowhere near as neat as Zayn's. It smells like wood and cologne. The curtains are drawn, dark against the light of pouring in, and the blinds have been lifted. A black mat is draped across the floor, weights leaving impressions in the foam, and a gym bag has been tossed on the floor.

“Did you wanna explore anything sweetheart?” The boy rejects the offer, his fingers tightening in Maria’s blouse. “Okay then, we’re gonna go outside and you can meet the other boys, all right? Liam’s back there with them.”

He doesn’t know if it’s okay to use the safeword yet, doesn’t know if they still apply to him, as he’s breaking one already.

As they come upon the glass door, Harry swallows his fears and lifts his head from his safe space, letting himself take in the view of the yard.

There’s a dark haired boy laying across the deck with a pencil against a sketch book. He’s bigger than Harry, but still small, baby fat still hanging around his cheeks. When he looks at Harry, with bronze eyes and dark lashes, he offers a small smile before looking back to his work. His feet stop kicking and instead his toes begin to wiggle in his sandals, and he pulls his lip between his teeth. Liam is sitting beside him at the table, engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his phone. The smaller boy keeps looking up at him, then at Harry, until he pulls himself to sit up on his bum, back against the length of Liam’s leg.

Liam doesn’t seem to pay attention to the shift in the shade, but he reaches down to look at what the boy is drawing. Harry can’t hear what’s being said, but the shy smile on the small boy’s face is warm and happy, while Liam’s seems proud and impressed.

“Looks so good Z, Rubes loves it,” Harry hears him say as Maria slides the door open.

The warm air from the afternoon has begun to moisten as the sun falls into the night. The crickets are singing just beneath the song pouring from the speaker. This is mommy’s favorite time of day, and Harry wonders if she sees this in her dreams.

In the yard, an older boy is kicking a ball across the grass. He’s red under the sun, but his tank top and shorts reveal pale skin with his sudden movements. The scar down his left knee is old, discolored, but still causes him to favor his right leg. And beneath the burned blond hair, are dark brown roots that highlight the roundness of his face.

Harry notices the boy's teeth are lined with wires as he speaks, “Hey!” He runs up on the deck, switching the music off. He’s out of breath, but he still speaks, “it’s nice to meet ya Harry, I’m Niall.”

Harry can’t find it in himself to respond, tucking the crown of his head into Maria’s neck, but he watches them. Niall’s smile doesn’t waiver.

“This is Zayn,” Liam explains. He pulls the other boy from his place on the deck and positions him in front.

“Hello,” he says with a small voice. His reed grow red and Harry almost feels sorry for interrupting him.

“Harry, do you want to introduce yourself?”

He whimpers into her skin, embarrassed and afraid. Harry’s always been brilliant with new people, mommy would always talk about how excited she was for Harry to start school. Mrs. Bolton, his babysitter, would always tell her how sweet he’s been, how helpful he is in her garden. But now, he feels he’s hanging onto Maria for his life.

Only Robert has ever been able to make Harry so scared. What if these boys are mean? What if they don’t like him? Where is Gemma? He just wants his sister.

There are far too many new things he’s exploring on his own. This isn’t fun like moving to a new city with his family, making new friends and meeting new people while mommy invites them to coo and pinch his cheeks. No, mommy isn’t here. He doesn’t know who is safe and who isn’t. Ms. Harris said Maria and George are good people, but what about their children?

He hopes Gemma is with good people too. He knows she’s not at school, because then he would be too, so where did she go? Her name is on his lips but he doesn’t call for her.

“It’s okay, Harry. You’re alright, we’ll go back inside, okay?”

When they slip in through the glass door, George stays behind to talk to the boys. Maria sets him on the floor, but Harry is quick to hide his face in her clothing.

For dinner, they let Harry eat while sitting on the island, Maria standing beside him while she still participated in her family’s conversations. They didn’t push Harry as he nibbled on the pizza George ordered. The family lets him observe them.

Zayn doesn’t talk much. He watches everyone with wide eyes, laughing when they laugh, fills their cups when they’re low, and is quick to stand to get what’s been asked for. Liam has to stop him a few times, getting more juice from the fridge himself, putting another slice on Zayn’s plate once he’s finished. The younger boy stares at Liam with so much love in his eyes, he looks at Liam as Gemma looks at Harry.

He likes Zayn. He likes the way Zayn’s eyebrows move up to his forehead as he listens to someone tell a story. He likes that Zayn is quiet, but always part of the conversation. He likes that Zayn is so small, but he isn’t scared. Harry thinks he wants to be brave like Zayn.

Niall tries desperately to make everyone laugh. He silences everyone when Zayn speaks, ensuring that he’s heard. He stares at the speaker so intensely, eyebrows furrowed, head nodding, reacting to each syllable, so much like his foster father. George does his best to give each of his sons a chance to speak. He’s quick to ask follow up questions and respond to every word said.

He follows Maria’s shadow around the house, not that the woman seems to mind. His fist around her long skirt leaves behind a nervous sweaty hand print. She lifts him to sit on the counter as she and George clean off the table, eyes wide as he watches Zayn stock the dishwasher.

Zayn gives Harry enough space to watch him without getting too close. The boys watch each other shyly. While Zayn slides a plate into the dishwasher, Harry peeks down at him, and when Zayn looks back up, Harry’s quick to look away. It feels like a game.

“Hi,” Zayn whispers to him with a small smile, and Harry lifts his hand to wave.

“Curls!” George calls, but the child looks up to his foster mother. He’s not yet used to hearing yelling in such a happy tone. He thinks George is strange for that.

She smiles at him like mommy did when she had a surprise, setting him on the floor as she says “go on.”

He wants to ask Zayn to help him, but he decides against it.

George’s echo leads Harry back to his new room. Inside the man is surrounded by new clothes and toys and blankets, and so much more. He hangs around the door frame, unsure if he should enter, he stands on criss crossed legs.

“So,” he says, pulling things out of the shopping bags. ”Gemma told us you like animals. How about ducks, huh? Or maybe you’re more of a monkey type of man?” He holds up a yellow towel with a duck hood in the corner and a monkey one in the same style.

“The boys picked all’a this out while we were on our way home.” George shows Harry a whale themed bed set, “I’ll change your sheets before bed, but there are plenty extra, so don’t worry if you have a bit of an accident, okay?”

Harry doesn’t have accidents but he nods anyway.

He steps into the room, inching closer to George slowly, until Harry spots a stuffed lion and can’t help himself. Mommy always said he looked like Simba, maybe this means she’s still with him.

“Ah, the lion,” George says as he begins to make the bed. “Good choice. Always thought Liam kind of looks like one, doesn’t he?” And yeah, Harry can see it. “What’s its name?”

“Simba,” Harry says.

“Good name. And guess what?” Harry looks at the man expectantly. “Your lion’s gonna protect you just like your mommy did.”

“It’s almost time for bed,” María says from the doorway. “

“Go wash up, Curls. Your room’ll be all fixed up but the time you’re done.”

As night settles upon the household Harry finds himself tucked into bed struggling to pace his breathing as he chokes on sobs and licks his tears. Between his fists, his head is tucked into his chest, his knees to his chin, his cold toes curling as he cries.

He wonders if he’ll ever see Pablo, the stuffed cow his real daddy bought him before he went to heaven. Pablo and Simba would be great friends. They’d watch Harry through the night to make sure he’s safe. Or maybe he’d have them each protect mommy and Gemma. He wants to believe they’re keeping him safe here in the dark, but he can’t help but choke on his breath.

A dim light is switched on just to his left. When he peeks out from under the comforter, Zayn is watching him with big brown eyes made gold beneath the glow. His own lashes are wet.

“It’s scary,” he says, “but in our room, nothing is. Promise.” He settles back into bed, eyes still on Harry. He presses his face into his Captain America pillow, doing his best to still his breathing.

Maybe Harry could tell Zayn about rule number five, since he’s breaking rule number four himself. He doesn’t know him that well though. So instead, Harry whispers another confession.

“I want my mommy.”

Then Zayn can’t hold his breath anymore, “Me too.”

When Harry wakes in the morning, Zayn is still in bed, despite the noise just outside their door. Someone’s playing music, singing along loudly, getting ready for the day. There are plenty of footsteps banging on the floor boards. He hears talking, shouting really, but it’s kind.

A soft knock is rapped upon the door and George lets himself in.

“Good morning, boys.” He grabs hold of Zayn’s ankle, shaking him awake.

“Got a few plans for today, Curly,” George says. “You and I’ll be talking to some folks I work with. On the computer, so we don’t have to go anywhere. That all right?”

The child stares at Zayn, a question in his gaze.

George must hear it, as he answers, “Ah, Zayn ‘nd Liam’ll be going out while we’re here, but they’ll be back later.”

When everyone is logged into the call, Ms. Harris is there, and a few moments later, so is Gemma.

“Harry,” Ms. Harris says, “how are you?”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he speaks, “I miss you Gemma, lots.”

“I miss you too, Bug. Are you okay there?”

“I miss you,” he says again, there’s nothing else on his mind.

She’s grainy on the screen, but Harry can see that she’s wearing new clothes too, and her hair is in a braid that comes over her shoulder. Her face is still red, eyes swollen from crying. Harry can’t help but whine at the sight of her. He wants to dance, she always laughs at his dancing, or maybe tell a joke, but he’s sad too. He’s crying just like she is.

“Harry,” George says, but the child can’t pull his eyes from the screen. He presses his thumbs just beneath his eyes to wipe away his tears. “It’s okay to cry, this is scary, right?” Harry nods and George wraps him in a hug, “yeah, but we’re gonna find out did this. All of us here, we’re gonna help you, and Gemma, and your mom. It’s gonna be hard to talk about, but can you tell us everything you remember about when your mommy went to sleep?”

“It’s okay Harry!”

But it isn’t.

Gemma can’t know what Harry did.

“He said he’s gonna come back for us,” he hiccups, “after mommy fell. I was really scared.”

“Mommy was reading me a story in her room because I was too sad to sleep in my bed because I missed you, Gemma. But then there was a really loud bang, and another one, and mommy told me to sit in the closet until she told me to come out.

“Then there was a man that came in, and he had a knife. I was so scared, but I stayed quiet, just like mommy said. I was a good boy.” He looks to George for confirmation, and the man provides it. He brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair. “They were yelling lots, but I put my hands like this,” he squeezes his ears against his palms, “so I couldn’t hear them. And then mommy fell, but the man kept talking. He said he was gonna come back for us, but he won’t, right?”

“We won’t let him.”

“I thought he saw me in the closet. He stared at me, but he was far away, and then he left. I came out of the closet when I heared the front door lock.”

“It locked Harry?”

The boy nods and his sister supports, “I had to use my key to get back in when I got home.”

“Harry, can you tell me about the man? What did he look like? Did you know him?”

“Was it Rob-“

“Gemma, please,” the officer says, “If you set ideas in your brother’s head it can throw off the investigation. Let him tell us.”

What if the man gets mad that Harry told on him? What if he goes after Gemma? He already said he would, but he didn’t want to make him angrier.

“I didn’t see,” he half lies, “mommy put me in the closet and told me to be quiet. I closed my eyes because I was scared.” His breathing is quickening, his body shaking in George’s hands. He feels the man’s grip tighten around him. . “I waited for you, Gemma, but you didn’t come home for so long. Mommy wouldn’t get up and I was tired too, but when I waked up and she didn’t. I was calling for you. I thought you didn’t love me.”

He takes a heaving breath, “I thought The Man got you! I was so scared, Gemma, and you were gone for so long! Where were you Gemma? I missed you lots! I'm sorry for being bad, please don’t send me away.”

“I’m so sorry, Bug. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

She sounds like she’s under water, like Harry feels, her voice- his body, sinking.

Ms. Harris interrupts her, “Detective, it doesn’t seem Harry has any new information to provide. This was what he told us at the station yesterday.”

“I second that,” George says. He pulls Harry’s head into his chest, fitting his hand over the boy’s skull. The warmth of his fingers is soothing, but does little to quiet Harry’s sobs. “While I understand this is crucial to the investigation, this is unnecessary torture to these children.”

The detective sighs heavily.

“Mr. Payne?” Gemma calls before anyone can speak. The urgency in her voice causes George’s fingers to tighten in Harry’s hair. “When will I see my brother again?”

“Gemma, the suspect has threatened to come back for you. Meeting in person-“

“How about another video call at the same time on Wednesday? Would that be okay, Jenn?” George offers.

Ms. Harris nods. “It’s up to Detective Walters.”

“That’d be fine, Mr. Payne. I’ll set up an officer to monitor the call in case anything comes up.”

“Is that okay Gemma?”

“Yes.”

“Harry, son, can you take a breath with me?” When George tries to pull Harry from his chest, there’s a moment of panic. The boy’s crying only worsens, his fingernails digging into his shirt. He lets Harry collapse against him. “Okay, okay, but just breathe with me, okay?” He nods with his face on George's shoulder.

The man slides his hand up Harry’s back, instructing him to breathe in, exhaling as his hand slides down. The boys coughs on his own breath.

“Do you wanna talk to Gemma on Wednesday? Is that okay with you?”

He peeks out to see his sister on the screen. She’s muted, sobbing into her hands. He feels suddenly that they’re home, and Gemma’s just seen mommy sleeping on the floor. He can hear her screams.

“I love you lots, Gemma. Forever and ever.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

“How long until Wednesday?”

“Three days.”

Harry looks at the screen again, “I’ll see you, Gems?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right here.”

“Okay. And mommy?”

Mr. Harris cuts in, her voice soft and kind. “Harry, what did I say about your mommy?”

“You’ll tell me when she wakes up.”

“That’s right. So let’s stop asking your sister, okay?”

They listen to the detective talk and ask questions while George pets over Harry’s hair. He wants to stay awake for Gemma, but he didn’t sleep well last night. He fights his yawning and the fading sobs itching at his throat as George’s blunt nails lull him to sleep. His eyelids are growing heavy, but not even lifting his eyebrows as high as he can, helps to keep him awake.

The last thing he hears is Gemma telling him to have a good nap.

The Man is here. He’s come back for Harry, just as he promised.

“I’ll come back for the fucking kids,” he’d said, he says, Harry doesn’t know anymore.

The floorboards are creaking, groaning in warning. Mommy isn’t where she’s supposed to be by the door, she’s not here at all. Harry’s alone in her room, in her closet, sitting between her snowpants and her raincoat.

The Man opens the door.

Harry still can’t see his face, not here, nor in his sleep. Is he sleeping? He thinks so. But this feels real, it is real, except that his mommy isn’t here. Mommy is here- was here.

His big black boots thud against the carpet as he crosses the room, inching closer and closer to Harry.

The child’s fingernails bite into his skin as he tries to keep himself quiet. His pull up soaks with urine, his pajama shirt with tears, his hair with sweat. The Man can smell him, he knows it.

Then the boots are just on the other side of the door, pointing at him. His heart is pulsing in his toes, his fingertips. The hands clapped over his mouth fail to muffle his whimper.

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” The Man roars. He pulls on the door handle, swinging the door open. Harry can feel his fingers in his hair.

He wakes up in his own bed with Zayn setting a sippy cup of water on his side table. The older boy blinks at a sleepy Harry, and stretches out to pull the blankets up higher, in the same way Harry positioned them last night.

He wants a cuddle. Maybe Zayn will crawl into his bed, hold onto him, just like mommy did, but the thought makes his belly hurt. The blankets are too much around his body, his shirt too close to his skin. He’s crying, pulling his socks off, failing against the bed. He’s irritated by the light pouring in from the window, his hair tickling his neck, Zayn’s shouting.

George is quick to return, quick to hold Harry together, quick to put a hand in his hair. He lets the child sob into his chest.

Harry wonders how a touch from a man this big, this tall, this much like The Man’s can be so calming.

•••

On Tuesday night, Niall plays music outside before dinner, Liam is on the phone with his sisters, and George and Zayn are painting at the dinner table. They each have a place set for Harry, but he can’t bring himself out from behind the chair in the living room.

He wishes Maria was here, maybe she could get them to quiet down a bit, but maybe Harry shouldn’t want that. Maybe Harry just shouldn’t be here. Everyone is having fun and he’s being a baby.

He should be with mommy, sleeping in her arms, just like he was before Gemma came home.

•••

“Hello Harry, I’m Dr. Wu. Do you remember meeting me at the police station?”

Harry shakes his head, tucking himself into Ms. Harris’ neck as she brushes her hand over his back.

She’d picked him up after his call with Gemma. They’re both exhausted, but Harry does his best to keep his dry eyes open.

“Yeah, she was there. She got you the sweater and you got to play with the blocks in her office. Remember?” Harry barely does, when he tries to think about the past few days, all he sees is his mommy all bloody, Gemma’s screams, how they echoed his own.

He nods anyway to be nice to Dr. Wu.

“Perfect! Well, Harry,” her voice is so soft, her smile full of teeth, and she looks at Harry in a way only his mommy ever looked at him. “I was hoping you and I could play together while we talk about something.”

He can’t help himself but let his eyes flicker off to the legos in the corner.

They’re building something, neither of them seems to be sure what, but it’s something. Harry attaches blocks on top of one another, while the doctor continues adding to the structure horizontally, which Harry supports.

He likes this room and it’s unlimited Legos. There’s lots of colors and drawings on the walls, toys tossed about, bean bags settled in the corner. This is what school looks like on the television. Even Dr. Wu looks like a teacher,with her thin frame and thinner glasses. She’s young, tan skin glowing under the lights, no lines sunken into her face. Harry imagines mommy asking what her secret is, but he isn’t sure what that means.

He’s clicking in another block when the doctor asks a question. “Harry, were you with your mommy when she got hurt?” Dr. Wu asks as she and Harry build their tower.

A flash of fear heats his skin. Harry nods.

“Did you see who did it?”

He remembers her.

She came to see him the night Ms. Harris came. This isn’t the same place, but he remembers the frown on her glossy lips, deferral of her brows. This close she looks familiar. That’s close she looks like she knows. Ms. Harris promised Harry can he tell her anything, but Ms. Harris is a liar. He knows she’s sorry, but she said she wouldn’t leave Harry, and she did.

She lies to make Harry happy, mommy said that’s something people do sometimes, but Harry doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Lies can be good. But even good lies hurt.

Ms. Harris asked him the same question when she came to get him and Gemma, and he gave her the same answer, “The Man.”

“That must’ve been so scary. You’re very brave for staying with your mommy. I bet she was very glad you were safe.”

Harry doesn’t respond, Dr. Wu’s words sound bunched together and wrong, but he doesn’t know why. His heart is beating hard. When he looks out the window he sees Ms. Harris watching him back. The woman nods to Harry.

“Can you tell me what The Man looked like?” He pretends not to hear her, stacking the blocks upon one another. He gets to his feet to reach the top, blocking his view of the doctor as he blinks away tears. She shifts to sit on her legs, the new position allowing her to watch the tremble in Harry’s lip. He wonders if she can see the funny feelings in his fingers.

“It’s okay, Harry. You can tell me. In my office, we don’t keep secrets, especially if they are hurting us.”

Rule number five.

It hurts so much, though he doesn’t understand how. He can’t let her know what he did, but can tell her something else, there’s just something he needs to know first.

“Gemma said he can’t hurt me or mommy anymore.”

The blocks feel heavy in his hands.

“He can’t,” Dr. Wu says, “but he can hurt your heart or your brain. Do you see him in your dreams sometimes?” The boy looks to the doctor with wet eyes. He nods. “Yeah,” she whispers, eyebrows furrowed and lips frowning. “I know it’s scary, but if you tell me about him and what he did, we can make sure he never hurts anyone again. We can make sure he goes away for a long long time for what he did to your mommy.”

He looks at her through the curls falling in her face, and the woman doesn’t even blink as her eyebrows turn upward. There’s so much sorrow there.

Harry remembers watching his mommy fall to the ground. He remembers how it felt as though his heart froze to his chest, that it shattered as it crashed onto the floor. He remembers Gemma’s screams, how it felt like his tongue was swelling in his mouth, his stomach rising into his chest. He doesn’t have much left to say, even less he wants to hear, but he let this happen to his mommy, the least he could do is make sure it never happens to her again.

Heat crawls across his cheeks, settling into the corners of his eyes, weighing the corners of his lips down. The red block shakes in his grasp. He tries to steady himself by leaning on the wall he and the doctor have built, but his palms are too sweaty, shoulders to weak. The child falls to his knees.

Emptiness curls with his chest, spoiling his energy, solidifying in his feet to anchor him into this feeling. He just wants to see his mommy one last time, that will make things better, just once. He wants to make her laugh, to replace her terror with smiles, but he can’t, he knows it. Mommy is gone, and Harry didn’t do anything to help her. He’s a bad son, a bad brother.

Mommy has the prettiest laugh, it made her eyes wrinkly and so bright, and Harry sat in the closet for so long. She must have been so scared all alone.

Not to mention the unspeakable thing he’d done. He was a bad son.

His voice is thick, “He had black all over.”

“Oh, did he have black skin, Harry?”

“No, he weared it over his face, but it’s not Halloween.”

“It isn’t! How strange!” She stacks another block and Harry can feel her watching, so he offers her a few more blocks. “How did you know it was a mask? Wasn’t it dark?”

“Mommy had her nightlight on, I saw his hands.”

“And what color were his hands, Harry?”

“White.”

The doctor still watches him as he continues to play with the blocks. He’s biting down on his bottom lip, trying to replace his sadness with something more in his control as he bites harder and harder.

A block slips from his hand when Dr.Wu asks him, “Harry, where were you when the man came and hurt your mommy?”

“I wanna go home,” he says, but he remembers quickly that Ms. Harris is on the other side of the door. That when he does go home, mommy and Gemma won’t be there. He chokes on a sob as he bellows, “I want my mommy to wake up.”

He needs her to wake up, because if she can, Harry can still fix things. He can still make her happy. He can hear her sing again, and he can make her laugh. He promises to always go to bed the first time he’s asked. He promises to always brush his teeth, to draw her more pretty pictures, to give her more cuddles. He can be good. He just wants to see her one more time.

Just once.

•••

On the third day that Harry is with the Payne’s, he’s still hiding behind the sofa when it’s just him, Zayn, and Liam home. The same spot he spent the second day isolating himself in.

He’s a bit embarrassed, having woken up to wet sheets after a nightmare. Maria had been nice about it, but Harry hasn’t wet the bed since he was a baby, and he’s not supposed to be a baby anymore. Zayn probably told Liam, and now they both must think Harry should wear diapers and drink from a bottle.

And he can’t help the fear that ignites throughout his body at the sight of his new brothers. They’ve only been nice, but they are so much bigger than Harry, and Liam and Niall are even bigger than Gemma. He can’t imagine them ever being as small as him. Even Zayn, who isn’t as big as the other boys, and is skinnier and smaller than Gemma, he could still hit Harry if he wanted to. They all could, if they wanted to. So, to protect himself from his new brothers and this sense of shame, Harry keeps himself tucked behind the love seat.

Harry learns that Niall is gone for the same amount of time as Maria when they leave together after breakfast. Frankly, Harry feels that Niall may like him the most. He checked on Harry and Zayn twice while Harry pretended to be asleep, and set water at their bedside before going to bed himself. He could hear the older boy strumming his guitar well into the night, lulling him to sleep, the low hum of his voice soft, like mommy’s. Before The Man arrived to spoil the child’s sleep, Harry dreamed of how his mommy would sign as she combed her fingers through his hair.

He hopes Niall comes home soon. He hopes he’ll play his guitar and Harry will climb into his own bed and listen through the wall. He wants to sleep again, wants to see mommy, and Niall can make that happen.

Liam’s been on the phone all morning, a bashful smile playing on his lips, and a giggle much too high for someone with a voice as deep as his, pressed into the call. He’s been walking around the house, footsteps heavy and loud, as though he’s never needed to be quiet as he moved from one room to another before.

Typically, Zayn keeps to himself, his nose in a book, pencil to paper, or he’s waiting for Niall to get home to play whatever video game they play until dinner time, but today he’s in the living room. He’s brought out some crayons, a few coloring books, and a new sketch pad. Between Zayn and Harry, neither boy says anything when Harry pushes the loveseat forward and the legs sliding across the floor. He peeks out to get a better look at what Zayn has laid out, but the other boy doesn’t acknowledge him. The children let silence sink into the room, the sound of Liam’s walking and chatter ringing throughout the home.

After a moment, Zayn shuffles his weight and Harry catches the boy sneaking glances at him. Harry may not feel confident enough to speak, but he does stare at Zayn with wide eyes, the boy growing red under his sight.

“I drew this for you,” Zayn says, reaching for the sketch pad, holding it up. He doesn’t lift his head to watch Harry back. It’s the first time Zayn has spoken to Harry directly since the first night, but Harry wants to hear him speak again.

The book is shaking in Zayn’s frail hands. On the cover there’s a picture there, of Harry, with an explorer’s hat upon unruly brown curls and a smile, depicted as a safari explorer. Zayn’s cartoon has him in a sand-colored jeep in the jungle. “Your name s’posed to go here, but I don’t know it. Could you tell me?”

Harry crawls out slowly, watching as Zayn mirrors his own hesitation. He stays close to the floor as he travels to the coffee table. For a moment Harry pretends he's a little monkey, walking in his hands and feet, scared of the other monkey at the table. Zayn smiles to himself when he sees the little boy’s movements.

“It says, ‘The Story of Harry, the Great Explorer,’ but I need your name to make it yours, not any other Harry.”

Zayn lets him sit, waiting for his answer, but he doesn’t look at Harry again, though like this, Harry can see his eyes in the sunlight pouring through the window. He has very pretty eyes, mommy loved to look at people’s eyes, she said it was the window to the deepest parts of you. And when Zayn’s finally meets Harry’s, he thinks Zayn has good deep parts.

“H-Harry Edward Styles.”

Zayn writes it on a separate piece of paper and presents it to Harry, “like this?”

Harry nods. His mommy taught him how to spell his name, and he’s so good at spelling and he knows the whole alphabet. He’d sing it for Zayn if he asked, but only if he asked, maybe Niall would even play his guitar.

Zayn finished writing out the little boy’s name, presenting it to him with nothing more than a curious look. He pushes some of his crayons towards Harry, saving his colored pencils from being pressed hard against Harry’s pages.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers. Zayn nods, and only then does Harry clasps a crayon between his fingers confidently, but he doesn’t know what to draw.

Dr. Wu told him he should draw happy pictures of his mommy and Gemma. So he grips the brown crayon harder, adding hair to the page to draw his big sister. He draws her school uniform, her braid, her school shoes, and her backpack, and her green eyes. Harry’s always wanted a dog, happiest when he’s running fingers through fur, so he draws a big fluffy brown one right by Gemma’s knees. He adds himself, right next to his sister, in blue swim shorts. Gemma didn’t get dressed for the beach because she goes to school, and it’s daytime, so she’d be at school. When moves to draw his mommy, he hits Zayn’s juice, splashing red across the page, and he gasps.

He feels like he’s looking through the slats on the closet door suddenly. He can hear The Man’s heavy boots stomping across the floorboards, causing them to moan in his path. His heart is pounding, beating against his chest. Mommy is leaned up against the door, holding a finger to her mouth. She’s scared. She’s scared, and Harry is too, but mommy told him to stay in the closet. She said not to come out until The Man is gone, and he didn’t. Harry did a good job, so nothing bad can happen.

Then he’s looking at his hands, and the juice is purple, the crayon is red. He thought Zayn was drinking fruit punch and fruit punch is red, but the fruit on the carton is purple. It’s all purple. It’s grape. But Harry saw red, he saw it spill all over his page.

He wonders if this is a dream. If he’s really in his bed, after mommy has told him a story, and it’s not real. His dreams as of late have only been of violence, so he waits. His hand tight around the red crayon in his fist. He waits for The Man to appear, as he does in all of them like he and Harry are main characters.

“Why are you crying?” Zayn asks as he peeks at Harry’s picture. “S’only a little spot, barely got on your drawing.”

Harry’s still staring at the red crayon. He can hear his breathing becoming heavier, gasping for air. His tears are falling at Gemma’s feet.

Zayn’s voice sounds distant as he calls for Harry. The boy knows he’s yelling, he knows because he wants to cover his ears, so he does. He slaps his palms over his ears so hard they sting.

“I don’t ‘member what my mommy looks like when she’s awake.”

Zayn watches Harry cry, his tears welling in his eyes before he abruptly gets up and heads into the hall with a wail of his own. While Harry cries alone in the living room, frozen in place as he tries to recall a happy memory, he can hear Zayn slam the bedroom door. Liam appears moments after, and Harry still can’t move to hide, but Liam lifts him into his arms.

“Hey,” he wipes Harry’s tears, “you’re okay. You’re here with me, Liam. It’s just me, Harry. Just you and me. It’s okay.” Liam’s hand rubbing over Harry’s back, warm and heavy. He hums low, his chest rattling as he continues.

Harry shoves his face into Liam’s neck, his cries echo into the space there.

He told Gemma he’d be a big boy and he’s acting like a baby right now, but Gemma’s not here to see. Gemma’s not here. She’s at school, far, far away, and she can’t see him, and he can’t see her. He whimpers at the thought of his sister, his heart feels like it’s shrinking, squeezing into a little tiny baby heart in his chest.

Liam’s hand in his hair feels nice. His hands aren’t cold like Gemma’s, and he doesn’t smell like her either, but this is nice too. Liam is bigger, older, he can hold Harry and bounce him, scratching his blunt nails lightly across Harry’s scalp. It makes his eye lashes flutter shut and his breath calms.

Harry reminds himself that he should be scared, but Liam’s hum is soft, wordless, and Harry can’t feel scared. He’s tired. So he lets himself sink into Liam’s grasp, turn to hold tight to his t-shirt.

Harry’s still heaving out heavy breaths when Liam asks, “How about we calm down a bit and then take a nap, huh?”

He nods. The Man will be there, waiting, but at least Harry can sleep, he can change the story in his dreams. He can see his mommy there. He can sleep, just like she is sleeping.

When Harry lifts his head from the safe space he’s settled upon, Liam brings a sippy cup of water to his mouth, presses a teething ring into his hand, keeping an ice pack in the other.

“Just hold onto this, okay? Drink your water and think about how cold it is.”

Harry does as he’s told, holding the bottle to his mouth as he hooks the hand holding the teething ring around Liam’s neck. He drinks between the shuddering breaths.

The ring is cold against his palm, the shell soft mailable in his hold. He lays again the older boy's chest. The cold dances up Harry’s arm, inching from his fingers to his wrist and onwards. It’s soft, squishy, but also hard, but not from the ice. The plastic is green, Harry’s favorite color, it reminds him of flowers and the rose bush outside their apartment.

When Liam opens the door the room is dim, save for the night light, cool air washing over them. Zayn is already laying on his bed, face shoved into his pillow, his hands being used to cup it around his ears. Liam says something, tossing him the ice pack, and Zayn nods, but Harry doesn’t hear it.

He wants to hide in Niall’s closet, but his body is so tired. So tired.

The oldest boy lays Harry down on his bed, pulling his nap time blanket that Liam’s grandma made for him up and over his tiny shaking body. He’s still humming to him, hand rubbing circles into his back.

He’s quick to hold onto Liam’s sleeve, “stay.” No one could deny someone so small and so scared. A thought flashes into his head, telling him to hide, to let go of Liam and hide, but Harry’s nearly asleep. The bed sinks under Liam’s weight like it did when his mommy sat with him.

Just before Harry falls into slumber, he catches a glimpse of Zayn in the glow from his lamp. He’s been crying.

At dinner, Maria calls Liam into the kitchen as George and Zayn put out the plates. It’s louder than it needs to be. The plates clang against one another, Maria calls her son multiple times, and George sets the cups down a bit too heavy. Harry’s already seated, watching everyone move about with ease.

Liam comes into the kitchen and hugs his mother, her hand quickly comes up to brush hair out of his eyes, “Zayn told me about today’s little incident.” She clucks her tongue when he shrugs. “You did a really great job, Li. I’m sorry neither of us were here to help you out.”

“S’okay, I got it.”

“I know you do, baby,” Maria says, “just call me next time, okay? I don’t want you feeling like you’re raising these boys. Last thing any of us need is for you to feel stressed out, you’re still nineteen, sweetheart, I don’t wanna takeaway your summer.”

“Speaking of which,” George starts, organizing the table settings, “did you talk to Lou?”

“Yeah, he understands.”

“Good,” María responds. She pats his cheek softly, letting her hand settle upon his shoulder. “You really are so amazing, Liam. I love you.”

There’s a sweet smile on his face as he steps out of her reach. Liam joins Zayn and his father at the table, rearranging Zayn’s silverware settings just to tease him. “I’ll call if putting them to bed doesn’t work,” he laughs. “Promise.”

“And?” Maria says loudly.

“I love you, too,” he groans.

“That’s right!”

“‘Sides,” he reaches out to ruffle his younger brother’s hair, “you know Zaynie’s always ready for a nap.” He seats himself next to Harry, and George is quick to pat him on the back with a grateful smile.

Zayn mumbles under his breath, “told you not to call me that,” but he doesn’t seem upset at all.

Harry has never seen this many people put dinner together before. Normally, his mommy cooks and Gemma sets the table, while Harry places cups at each seat. He wonders why George is here, if George is always helping or if he's pretending to be nice because Harry is new. Gemma says Robert pretended to be nice when he was new. But the others don’t seem to be scared. Liam and Zayn bicker about whether or not Niall will eat a whole pizza tonight, though Zayn seems to speak with his eyes more often than his voice.

And when Maria holds Zayn’s face between her hands and presses kisses into his face wildly, George doesn’t yell at them for making so much noise. Maria pulls the boy into a hug, swaying back and forth as professes her appreciation for the child.

George looks to his oldest son with an affectionate smile, “Li, Could you actually grab Niall?”

“Niall!” Liam yells from his seat, “Dinner’s ready!”

“I coulda done that,” Zayn says as Maria finally lets him go. George laughs.

Liam shrugs, a smile on his lips as he teases Zayn, “but you didn’t.”

“I’m coming!” Niall calls back.

There is so much noise, and Harry hesitated to clap his hands over his ears, because this yelling is different. This yelling is full of love, and laughter, and safety, and yet Harry still cannot find it in himself to laugh when Niall enters the kitchen groaning about how hungry he is, and everyone laughs as Zayn mumbles “told ya” to Liam.

He still watches George with large eyes as he cuts his pizza into smaller portions, and steals glances at Liam as he fills Harry’s shark sippy cup with juice.

It’s strange to see he has a place amongst these strangers.

But Zayn stops talking to him for the rest of the day, but he cries himself to sleep that night. Harry pretends to not hear his sobs. Instead, he watches Harry with a shaky lip and creased brows, always quick to fill his cup, but never meeting his eyes.

Maybe Zayn can see that Harry’s bad too. Maybe he’s so bad, he doesn’t even need to say it anymore, maybe other people can just see it.

Later that night he wears his blanket like a cape, lets it trail behind him as he creeps into the hall. The hardwood is cool beneath his feet, resistant to his weight, it gives Niall no warning are Harry watches him strum his guitar from the hall.

“Hey,” Niall says to his door. He must have seen Harry shifting in the soft glow pouring from his room. Harry gasps softly and Niall chuckles at him. “You wanna come in?”

The wide eyed boy steps into the room. He settles into his blankets at Niall’s feet and watches him strum his guitar and hums softly. Harry lets himself curl onto the floor, eyes blinking heavy as he listens. He feels light for the first time in days. Niall smiles at him as if he doesn’t yet see what Zayn must have realized.

There’s something warm dancing up from his belly as Niall plays. It’s a song Harry doesn’t know, but he wants to know it anyway.

Niall asks him distractedly, “Why’re you still up?”

The boy shrugs.

“That’s fine. You don’t hafta know everything.”

His voice sounds like what the air feels like as the leaves turn orange, cradled by the kind quiet from the air conditioning. It feels like wood, it smells like Liam. Harry wonders if anyone will get to love him long enough their voice will smell like him.

He hopes so.

Perhaps if he stays here long enough, something about him will settle into Niall’s song to remind him that he’s real. He’ll last forever, like magic.

“Can I sleep in here?” Harry asks in a small voice.

“Of course,” Niall says. He continues to strum softly, a familiar lullaby. After a beat, the boy asks him, “Everything okay with Zayn?”

“He cries a lot,” he says, but he doesn’t tell Niall why, despite knowing that it breaks rule number five.

“Yeah,” Niall says, his hand halting on the strings. “He does that sometimes, but it’s not your fault, you know?” Harry nods, he knows Zayn misses his mommy, but he doesn’t tell Niall. He seems worried about his little brother, blue eyes round and distant. “But, if you ever wanna give him some space, the rest of the house is open to you. My room, Li’s, María and George’s, just- don’t hide at night, okay.”

Harry doesn’t ask him why. Instead, he lets his eyes fall closed, settles into his blankets, body sinking into the floor.

“Besides, Zayn’ll come by and check on us in a few, you’ll see.”

Harry nods.

Mommy would love Niall so much, his goofy jokes and his gentle voice, they’re so much alike. Harry thinks that maybe this is his chance to make a wish, he thinks maybe Niall’s voice could make him see his mommy again, make him wake up. If he sleeps in the closet, the.my he’ll wake up from his dream-nightmare tomorrow, Niall sings like mommy afterall. Maybe Harry is just dreaming, maybe mommy is just waiting for Harry to wake up, not the other way around.

He gathers himself before settling into the closet, peering at Niall through the slats.

“What’re you doing?”

Harry’s heart drops, “Sleeping?”

“In the closet it?”

Something about the tone in Niall’s voice makes a frown twitch. “M’sorry.”

“No, Harry, I jus’ mean, you don’t hafta do that, but you can if you want to.”

“Please?” Niall seems shocked by the desperation laced into the question, nodding silently.

Though he sleeps through the night, Harry still wakes in Niall’s closet, mommy and Gemma still gone; Harry still gone.

•••

Harry is tucked behind the loveseat angled to close off the corner when Niall appears, looking into his hiding spot. He slides a plate of apple slices, blueberries, and then a juice box under the couch.

“S’just me,” he says but Harry keeps his face against his knees. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else find you. Eat your snack though, okay?”

Niall seats himself on the sofa, blond and brown tufts of hair peek over the top.

Harry bites into an apple wedge, a nice crunch echoing within his little space.

He hears George’s heavy footsteps before he hears him ask, “you see Harry?”

“Uh, yeah, but he’s not really in the mood to see anyone.”

“Okay, s’long as you know where he is. Does he want a snack?”

“Got it covered,” Niall says distractedly.

The floor shakes a bit as George walks over, Harry sees his hand in Niall’s hair.

“You’re a good brother,” he tells Niall. “Love ya, kid.”

Niall is quiet for a moment, and Harry can hear George retreating. The older boy sniffles and clears his throat, turning to look over the back of the love seat. “See Haz?” This time he spares Niall a glance. His cheeks are pink, his nose too, eyes red to match. “Just you ‘n me. That all right?”

Harry nods, and when he bites down on the apple slice, the crunch makes Niall smile, and he can’t help but giggle softly. In this corner, no one can see him before he knows they’re coming, but now Niall weighs down the seat, keeping Harry safe as the boy peaks between his feet occasionally.

He’s home for the day, even though it isn’t the weekend. Liam wakes up late because of it, “Ni, you’re supposed to be taking a day off, bro. Why’d you shut my alarm off?”

“You’ve been watching them everyday, bro, you should sleep in.”

Harry hears the fridge open, “so should you.”

“Your plate’s in the microwave.”

“Fuck, thanks,” Liam sighs as he heads into the kitchen. His pants hang low on his hips, showing off a few tattoos draw there and across his chest, one pant leg up around his knee, the other hanging. Harry yawns when Liam does, but only the older scratches his stomach.

“Where’s Harry?” Niall says and he laughs as Liam apologizes for the curse words. The older boy tripping over his feet to set the dish on the island before shoveling eggs and hash browns into his mouth.

The day is normal, but Niall isn’t. Nap time is longer, at least that’s what Zayn says, and Liam spends a lot of time in Niall’s room, which Harry has been told to stay out of for the day.

Niall isn’t as smiley. He doesn’t hum around the house and he doesn’t play outside with them. And when Harry and Zayn settle down to sleep, Liam doesn’t let Harry sleep with Niall. He says Niall isn’t feeling well today and he needs some alone time, but Harry argues with him because Liam’s been with him all day. No, he must be mad at Harry, or getting tired of him.

That’s why he’s upset, he doesn’t want Harry here anymore. The child wants to apologize, but he doesn’t think he can look at Niall without crying, and Niall doesn’t want to see him.

He spends the day trailing behind Liam, a frown on his face and tears in his eyes, but he doesn’t tell him why.

But by dinner, Niall is more himself. He talks really fast, making Maria laugh, but he is chewing on his lips, eyes shifting as he watches his family. He seems desperate, scared.

He hopes Niall isn’t leaving, he realizes it at dinner. Where this fear comes from is unclear, but it settles in the back of his throat.

Maybe he’s starting to realize it. Starting to see what Zayn sees, what Robert saw. Maybe Niall can see how bad Harry is. Maybe Niall wants him gone.

At bedtime, Harry asks George as he’s brushing his fingers in his hair, “Why was Niall sad today?”

“It happens sometimes,” he explains, “but he still loves you, no matter what. Sometimes he just needs some time to himself, we all do, but Niall needs it a little more often.”

“So he’s not mad at me?”

“No, no, he might get mad sometimes, but it’s not your fault. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be feeling better. How about you wake him up in the morning?”

He hesitates, but nods anyway.

He can only hear his breath and mommy’s. The Man isn’t here with them, he’s spared Harry this one dream, this last chance to see his mommy.

He can smell her. There’s flour at the ends of her hair, sprinkled in her eyelashes, coupled by the lines by her eyes. Vanilla floats between them. She’s still wearing her apron from work, the ‘B’ in ‘bakery’ missing just as it should be. Her nose is pink, like it’s cold outside, but Harry knows it isn’t. He knows the flowers have just started to grow, the leaves appearing on trees again.

No, her nose is red because she’s been crying. And when he looks at her closely, there are tears in her lashes, washing the flour away. He doesn’t let himself think about why.

Gemma screams from somewhere down the hall, Harry’s own throat igniting in response to her horror.

He panics when his mommy gets to her feet. If she goes, she’ll get hurt too, but Gemma- she’s still screaming, and Harry needs to save her too.

He knows it’s Robert, Robert who is so big and strong. Robert who holds mommy’s neck to make her stop talking. Who makes Gemma’s lip bleed. Who colored them with bruises.

Mommy is so much smaller than him, Harry even moreso, but she’s so brave. When she exits the closet, Harry questions if he should follow. If he doesn’t, he’ll never see her again.

The next morning Harry wakes Niall up with a hand on his arm, and Niall smiles at him, taking a few minutes to cuddle with him when Harry climbs into his bed.

The day is normal, good even, but Harry can’t help but feel sad throughout it. Liam’s asked him six separate times about what is wrong, and Zayn watches Harry from the corner of his eye, but Harry doesn’t want to bother them. He needs to be a big boy. A good boy. So he eats breakfast in the morning, sits outside when Liam works out in the yard, goes down for nap time without a fight, and eats all of his food at lunch and snack time. He wants to be the best boy, make them happy he’s here, but he doesn’t know what. He isn’t big like Liam, he can’t draw like Zayn, he can’t sing like Niall. They don’t need him.

And once Niall comes home from camp, he plays soccer outside with Liam, and even gets Zayn to play, while Harry watches from the deck. He’s so happy playing with his real brothers. Harry’s just an extra.

At dinner, Niall demands that he sits next to Harry. Liam told him Harry’s been having a bad day, and since then he’s been trying to get him to laugh. He makes silly faces and makes jokes and even apologizes for yesterday, but Harry only manages a smile.

While everyone is making their food, the kitchen bursts with noise and conversation. Maria looks at him from the kitchen island, “So, Harry, how would you like your sandwich?”

The child says nothing at all, and when he is subjected to everyone’s eyes and attention, he can feel tears burning. Guilt is rattling around his head, telling him to apologize for taking a seat at the table, for needing a bed, for eating food. So he stares at the table instead of answering.

Niall lifts him suddenly. He settles Harry so that he’s lying on his chest, seared in his lap, and Harry presses his face into his shirt to hide. His knuckles go white as he tightens his grasp in the silence. That is until Liam asks a question to the others and conversation continues around him.

“You wanna tell me what you want?”

Harry nods with big eyes.

As the evening falls into night, it doesn’t seem as though Niall grows tired of Harry. He builds Harry’s sandwich, let’s Harry sit on the toilet when he showers, and even wears similar pajamas so that they match. And when Maria has Harry all settled for bed, Niall slips into his room to sneak him into his own.

He asks Zayn to join, but he tells them he’s almost done with his book, maybe after.

Aside from the sound of the bag’s zipper, the room is quiet as Niall begins to put his guitar away. Harry’s stuffed into a pile of blankets in the closet, sleeping upon a makeshift bed Niall’s made for him.

The air is so cold, soothing, the air conditioner hums from the ceiling. It carries the scent of Harry’s watermelon bubble bath soap and Niall’s ocean scent. It helps him sleep, he’s noticed, the smells combined.

He’s seconds from falling asleep when the feeling swallows Harry whole. He’s safe. Niall’s always there for him, just like Maria and George said they are, just like mommy is. He loves him, this new boy with the crooked teeth, Harry can’t imagine going to sleep without Niall there.

“Hey Harry,” Niall calls out, and Harry lets the closet door open slightly. Niall’s on his bed, phone in his hand as the light illuminates his face. “You don’t have to be scared here. I promise. If anyone tries to hurt you, you come to me, I’ll fix it.”

“You gonna hurt them?”

“You want me to?”

He pauses, “I dunno.”

Zayn’s so small and Liam’s so big, he doesn’t want anyone to be hurt, but what if they hurt him? He can’t imagine that they would, but Gemma also said she didn’t think Robert would be mean either, and that changed with time.

“Then I’ll just scare them, huh? Show them not to mess with my little brother.”

Harry lets Niall’s words sink in for a moment. They’re unfamiliar, lies even, at least to Harry’s knowledge. How could Niall be his brother? They don’t have the same mommy or daddy, so he can’t be.

“We’re brothers?”

“Yeah, ‘course we are. You, me, Zayn, and Liam.”

He doesn’t think Zayn wants to be his brother, but Harry doesn’t say anything about it.

“And Gemma?”

“That your sister?” Harry nods, though he’s not sure that Niall can see him. “We’ll keep her safe too.”

Harry settles back into the blankets as silence drapes over the boys once again, happy to be in Niall’s room. He smiles, thinking about how much Gemma how love Niall too, with his clumsy footing and crooked smile. They’d make everyone laugh, especially Harry.

“I’m really sorry that I made you sad today, Harry. Really, really sorry,” Niall says into the darkness.

“It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t,” he says shakily. “Come here.”

Harry lets himself out of the closet, climbing into Niall’s bed and sitting on his knees. Niall shifts so that they’re both upwards.

“Before I came here, my real mom and dad were very mean to me. They did a lot of bad things and it made my brain all funny, and so sometimes I can be kind of weird. Yesterday wasn’t your fault, none of it, I’m just really sad sometimes, and having people around feels like too much. Even Liam, but he’s my big brother so he has to check on me.”

Harry frowns at the thought of Niall’s mommy being mean. He can’t imagine his own ever hurting him, making his brain go funny. She loves him, and Gemma. She did her best to get them all away from Robert, and did her best to keep them safe. Niall deserved that. He thinks his mommy would have give Niall forehead kisses every night and put ice packs on the places Robert hit him. She would sing songs with him before bed. And she would have taken him away from Robert too.

“Did they yell at you lots?” Harry asks and Niall nods. “Did they hit you?” Harry asks and Niall nods. “Did they want you?” Harry asks and Niall shakes his head. “Robert didn’t want me.”

His eyes gloss over, but he doesn’t cry, “Well I do, and so does everyone else here.”

Harry smiles, “I want you too.”

•••

Dr. Wu has a deck of cards in her hands that Harry pays no mind to. He’s still playing with the legos from last week, this time building a tower, skinny and tall. He imagines that a monkey will climb it, like in that movie Gemma told him about, and he makes sounds to match.

“Harry,” the doctor calls, “can you come sit with me for a little while? We can play with the blocks after.”

“They’re not blocks, they’re Legos,” the child corrects politely. He sets the toys down anyway, walking to the kids’ chairs across from Dr. Wu. He picks the green one, Niall said it was his favorite color, so it’s Harry’s too, now.

With her eyes on him, Harry suddenly feels very small. Her eyes are soft and dark brown, her nose tiny and sharp. She’s much smaller than Liam, but bigger than Gemma, but as she looks above the rim of her glasses, she somehow fills the room.

The doctor holds the cards out in front of her, “We’re gonna play a little game, okay? I’ll show you a picture, and then I want you to tell me a story about it.”

Harry nods. He waits for Dr. Wu to tell him how to win, but she flips the cards around instead. Maybe she’ll tell him after.

The first photo is of a man sleeping alone in her bed, and Dr. Wu prompts, “What’s his name, Harry?”

“Tommy.”

“And what is happening to Tommy?”

“He’s sleeping.”

Dr. Wu nods, “That’s right!” Harry smiles at the confirmation, “Can you tell me what will happen when he wakes up?”

“No, I don’t know if he wakes up.”

“Why wouldn’t he wake up?”

“Because some people sleep forever.”

“Like your mommy?” Harry nods. “Harry, how do you feel about your mommy sleeping forever?”

He contorts into a frown and he swallows around a sob, “Is forever a really long time?”

The doctor stares at him with a crease between her brows. From her face, Harry thinks he knows the answer. Gemma tells him she’ll love him forever, and he can’t imagine that’s any shorter that his whole life, but Dr. Wu’s face tells him forever can be a bad thing too.

“Harry, let’s move to the next story, okay?”

The second photo is a little girl and her father seated beside each other on a park bench, there’s ice cream at her feet and a cone in her hand. “What about here? What’s happening?”

“That’s Annie and her daddy Mr. Tommy.”

The doctor picks up the previous card, “the same Tommy as this one?”

“No, he’s mean,” he directs to the father.

“He is?” Harry nods, “why’s that?”

“He threw her ice cream on the ground ‘cos she was talking too much. She’s not supposed to talk.”

“Harry, what happens when she talks?”

“Bad things,” Harry says.

He thinks back to when his mommy would tuck his hair behind his ear and tell him that she loves his voice after Robert would yell at him. The older man’s loud and angry voice would hurt Harry’s ears, causing the little boy to slap his palms over them. He does so now as he recalls times when his mommy or Gemma would sneak him some food after Robert threw his meal in the trash or across the room for talking too much.

“Nice hands Harry, remember?” She pulls the child’s hands from his ears where is fingers are pulling at them.

While the boy lets his hands drop, he continues his story. “She can’t have dinner later. If she’s talking too much, she’s not allowed to eat.”

“Harry, what happens when Annie doesn’t eat?”

“Her belly starts to hurt so much that she cries, but she has to be quiet, so she cries in the closet.” Just like he did while mommy was sleeping. Just as he did when The Man came. “If her daddy hears her, he’ll hurt her mommy.”

“Who hurt your mommy Harry?”

He doesn’t let himself think about the question. The Man has been chasing him in his sleep, every dream of he and Gemma or he his new brothers, he’s there, waiting for him. He won’t let him be there in the real world too.

Instead, Harry stares at his new orange rain boots, distracting himself from the question. Niall loved them when he opened the shoe box, shouting something about his Irish pride, he’s not sure what they mean, but he likes them even more because Niall does. Zayn said he likes green best, but orange is the next best, and drew a kitty with rain boots that Harry asked Liam to tape above his bed.

Harry thinks they make him look like a baby duck, but Dr. Wu doesn’t say anything when he quacks at her. She simply smiles and changes the picture.

The third photo is a mother holding a baby with a phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. The doctor prompts Harry to tell another story, and though he doesn’t want to play, he doesn’t want to disappoint her.

“The baby’s daddy was really mad at the mommy, so she had to hide in her room so that she could be safe and keep the baby safe.” He stares for a moment, “she’s calling the police.”

“And what does she tell them?”

“She’s scared, ‘cos the daddy is banging on the door, trying to get in.”

He hears it, the rattle of the door as Robert beats his fists against the wood, mommy’s gasp, Gemma crying.

“Does he get in Harry?” The boy nods, “and what happens?”

The child can no longer hold back the tears. He doesn’t want to say it, but it falls from his mouth anyway, “I don’t like this game! I don’t wanna play anymore, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Harry,” the doctor leans to place the cards on her desk. “I’m sorry I upset you, Harry. But you did a very good job, okay?”

The child closes himself off. He brings his legs up to his chest, head against his knees, arms blocking the buzzing lights out. He can’t even bring himself to smile as his boots squeak against the chair.

As he cries he forces himself not to think of what happens when Robert- no, the daddy, gets into the room. He tries not to think about how the mommy’s eye will turn purple, and her lip will bleed, or how the baby will scream because he’s scared. He cries into his knees as he tries to push the memory of Gemma with black and blue handprints on her arms, how it hurt her to move her wrist. He tries to bury it beneath good memories, there are plenty, but they don’t come to him.

“Do you wanna keep playing with the Legos?”

He shakes his head, keeping his face tucked away, I’m sleepy.” It isn’t a lie, but it feels like one.

“Okay, well, we have a little bit of time left together, so how about we take some time just to be quiet and settle down.”

She flicks the sound machine on, which echoes the rainfall outside, then turns on a diffuser. There’s play dough on the table that Harry’s allowed to play with, but he keeps his body locked in this position for the rest of his appointment.

Ms. Harris is outside the door when Harry’s session is over. She picks him up quickly, responding to the whine the child made to be held. He’s missed her so much. He wants to ask about his mommy, but she promised to tell him if things changed, and he trusts that she will.

Her hair is different, Harry notices, she has short braids now, and she’s wearing glasses, but the greatest change is that she’s smiling. He squeals as he burrows into her, overcome with affection.

She looks so pretty, especially when he smiles at Harry like that. Though his face is still wet with tears, he smiles back at her.

With a sigh he lays his head upon her shoulder, “I missed you lots.”

“And I missed you,” she says, shoving her wiggling fingers into his belly. He giggles, using up the last of his energy before letting his eye shut.

When Dr. Wu steps out behind him, Harry hides his face. She’s very nice, so he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings by showing her she’s made him cry.

The woman sighs heavily, “He’s been affected by severe trauma and it’s altering his day-to-day interactions with the world. Not just with the case, there’s some influence from physical abuse. From what the foster parents have said, I’m comfortable giving him a PTSD diagnosis, like the other two kids, and generalized anxiety, less severe than Zayn’s obviously, but still an issue. Maria’s definitely the right fit. I have a few other theories, but I think we should wait to see if that behavior persists before I make any conclusions.

“But I’m hopeful he can overcome this. The Payne’s have done some great work with Niall, and Zayn’s finally started speaking, so Harry is in very good hands. He’s still comfortable with being held and doesn’t seem to have trouble asking for help. I’m more worried about the fact that he only seems to trust Niall enough to sleep though, with his BPD he might struggle with his relationship with Harry, but we’ll see.”

Sleep settles over the child, but he fights it to stay awake. But between dozing off and waking up, he misses saying goodbye to the doctor.

Liam is sitting alone in the waiting room when Ms. Harris Carrie’s him in. He seems so tired, his head back against the wall, his hat titled over his eyes. He’s got a sweater draped over him and Harry’s new raincoat tight between his fingers. Simba sits upon his shoulder, watching over him, just as Harry left him.

“Sorry, it’s his nap time,” he says as he collects Harry from her arms. Harry misses when Liam gets up in his sleepy haze. But he’s happy to be back in his new brother’s arms.

“How are you doing Liam?” Liam dismisses the question, replying with a hum. He pauses when he realizes Ms. Harris is still waiting for a response. Liam’s cheeks redden as he offers her a shy smile.

“No really,” the woman insists. “I know your parents have been great, but you’re surrounded by kids who need a lot of emotional support, I’d be worried if everything’s been fine.”

Liam laughs this time, playfully, but uncomfortable, “School’s fine, got two years left-”

“I didn’t ask about school.”

Liam sighs deeply. His breath calms Harry even further, lulling the child to sleep.

“It’s hard, you know? Like Niall’s been great, even better now, but he still has mood swings and stuff, and he’s always trying to brush us off. But, you know- he’s my best friend and my brother, but sometimes it’s like- he won’t let me be either. And I know he can’t help it, and that’s what the therapy’s for, I just,” he shrugs softly, “wish I could do more.

“And Zayn, he talks a little, which is better than not at all. Sometimes I’ll walk past his room and hear him crying and I never know if I should go in or not. He either freezes up or he’ll hold on to you and cry until he passes. And it’s hard to like, leave the house with him? He gets so scared. You know, like- he tenses up and he has to be close to you, but far from strangers. It's hard for me to make him go through that. Taking him to his own appointments is hard enough, so he’s home with my boyfriend right now.”

Harry feels Ms. Harris’ hand comb into his hair.

“I’ve watched you grow into a good man, Liam. After how you were with Niall, I knew I could send kids there and they’d have people waiting for them. Excited to see them. Makes my job a lot easier. Settles my soul a bit too, so thanks for that.”

“I love them so much, hard not to.”

“But it’s not easy.”

Liam releases a shaky breath, “I- I feel like I could be doing more. I’ve been struggling a bit with, like- you know, like not feeling it’s my job to save them. There’s nothing more that I want than for them to be happy and feel safe and stuff. It’s so fucking- oh, sorry, uh, it’s hard Niall like cut himself off and argue with us then convince himself we’re gonna throw him out. And like, Zayn- he just apologizes a lot and he’s always watching, like he doesn’t think you’ll be there when he takes his eyes off you. He’s sorry to just be in the same room as you.”

“Zayn’s case was a hard one. You know he found his father-”

“No, I know. I know, it's just-”

“You wish you could undo it.”

The way Liam looks to her with such defeat in his eyes causes the woman to shift her weight between her feet. She returns his sorrow silently, in a way so familiar to Harry. Mommy used to look at him like that, her eyebrows drawn up, her lips pressed together. Gemma did too, the last time Harry saw her, and every time Robert made him cry. He misses them, even more so after Ms. Harris makes that face, but his belly turns over when he fails to remember their smiles.

She clears her throat, “and how is Harry?”

“He’s just been hiding a lot, so I’m worried about that. Only lets me hold him when he’s tired or having a panic attack. He sleeps in Niall’s closet every night- which I feel like I should tell the doctor, but Zayn says he doesn't really sleep in his bed. Oh, Zayn’s been having trouble sleeping too, you know? Keeps waking up to check on him, which my mom thought he’d worked passed that, but-”

The two remain silent for a moment.

“My parents are just really busy, which isn’t normal, but they’re doing their best. You know, my dad is following the case and all that, and my mom keeps getting called into the hospital, and she’s prepping for the school year to start. My sisters moved to London last month. So, this just happened at an intense time. I mean, it’d be better if it didn’t happen at all. Plus, I’m not doing it on my own-“

“You’re doing a lot.”

Liam’s hand brushes down Harry’s back once more before stopping. He doesn’t wait even a second before he responds, “They need a lot more.”

“Liam, have you talked to your parents about seeing a therapist? Just to talk about all of this? Or at least yourself? I’m really happy that they have you, but you need you too, right? And I bet you’re an incredible boyfriend, but I’d imagine he wants to see you do things without getting anxiety about your brothers.”

“I’ve talked about it with him.”

“I’m glad you have that, but I’m talking about a professional. Someone that can address and deal with your anxieties.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

Silence falls between them as they both tend to Harry. A small hand rubbing over his back as a larger one plays with his hair. He loves feeling their hands on him, loves how soft they are with their touches.

“Goodbye, Liam. I’ll see you in a few days with Niall, right?” Liam must nod because Ms. Harris continues, “Great! I’ll see you next week Harry.”

He waves goodbye to her sadly and whispers, “I love you forever and ever.”

“I love you, Harry! Be a good boy for Liam, okay?”

He nods, but he’s asleep before anyone can say their final goodbyes.

When they get home Liam puts Harry on the couch before he steps outside to say bye to his boyfriend. Zayn’s still asleep and when Harry gets up to go to his room, he hears something in George’s office. George is here and he is very mad.

Harry peeks between the open slot in the door, watching as the man paces in the room, a hand in his hair and a phone presses up against his ear.

He keeps his voice hushed, but he’s yelling, “He’s a child! You can’t ask him to do that.”

“Look, he’s too errified to even be looked at, won’t talk to anyone, and he’s sleeping in my son’s fucking closet ‘cos it’s the only place he feels safe. And that’s with therapy! You can’t do this to him! I won’t let you.”

“He’s told you everything he can. If he starts to talk about that night, I’ll let you know, but until then, there’s no point in bringing him in to testify. You know child witnesses are even less reliable with time. You wanna watch a four-year-old cry on the stand? You wanna hear him beg for his family, ‘cos that’s all you’ll get.”

“I know! Okay, I went to law school, I know how important time is for child witnesses, but Eric! It’s only been two weeks. I’m telling you, I’m not gonna let you hurt this kid. I am responsible for him, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”

“Yeah, well- Hey, stop calling my wife! She has nothing to say to you. Yeah,” pause, “bye.”

“Oh, Curls,” he steps towards Harry, who takes a step back himself. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry.”

“Is it ‘cos of me?”

“No, no, no,” George insists. “I’m upset because I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“Can you come here? Is that okay? You don’t have to.”

Harry takes a step closer, but he maintains the distance between them.

“Okay. There’s fine,” George says. “Harry, I promise I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy, and sometimes that might mean I have to be mean to people who wanna do things that might hurt you. You aren’t the problem Curls, other people are. You’re too little to be a problem.”

That’s not what Robert told him, and these two things cannot be true at once.

But George is not Robert. They have the same hair, and the same skin, and the same deep gravelly voices, but George’s touch is light, careful, and kind. Robert’s is mean and scary. Mommy said he never told the truth, to never believe anything he said, and though Harry tried not to, sometimes it was hard. Robert lied so often Harry doesn’t know what is true. What he does know is that Robert didn’t want him there, that Harry is bad, greedy, and selfish, and he deserved to be hurt. Harry knows that he isn’t too little to be a problem, that being little is the problem.

But George doesn’t seem like a liar.

“Harry?” Liam calls out.

“In here!” George responds.

“Dad? What’re you doing home?”

“I had time to stop by to see Louis today, but I got a couple calls from the firm to answer. Sorry I missed saying goodbye.”

Liam lifts Harry into his arms, doing what he can to lull the boy back to sleep. He replies, “s’all right, said that you answered some questions he had about his father?”

“Yeah, yeah,” George says, “his mother should be fine, no reason she wouldn’t have full custody. Father doesn’t have a case.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, he's been so stressed out, especially about this, it’s the least I could do.” He smiles at his son, warm, stepping close to pat his back before setting a hand on Harry’s, “Harry, are we okay?”

The child nods, and with a yawn he says, “I’m tired.”

George presses a kiss into Harry’s palm, and the boy clenches his fist to hold it. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and Harry knows he means it.

“I’m gonna go put him down.”

Harry falls asleep with his hand tight in a fist beneath his chest, ready to see The Man with the knowledge that George is here to keep him safe.

•••

A few days later, after breakfast, Harry lets himself into Niall’s room, falling into his bed, and groans dramatically.

“What’s wrong with you?” Niall asks. He’s at his desk, playing games on his computer, sound blaring from his headphones. He doesn’t even spare Harry a glance, but he tells someone, “bro, shut up. I’m talking to my brother,” before asking Harry again.

“How come Zayn doesn’t want to be my friend?”

He uses his whole body to flick his fingers over the controller. “Did something happen?”

“I wanna color with him, but he just stares at me until I go away.”

“Nah, he’s just nervous, don’t worry about it. He’ll be different once you’re here long enough.”

“What’s ’nervous’ mean?”

“Oh, uh, it’s when someone is scared around people. Like, you know when you first got here and you would hide so no one could find you? That’s nervous.”

“But why is Zayn scared of me?”

“Uh, fuck-“ he groans, “Micheals, dumb move, bro. I don’t care man, you shoulda thought about that.” He tosses the remote on the bed.

Harry’s head rolls over to make eye contact with Niall as he shifts on the mattress.

“He’s not really scared of you, it’s because of you.”

“I don’t know what that means, I’m little!” Harry says with a groan.

Niall laughs, “I’m sorry, my bad. I’ just saying that Zayn is scared around new people. If someone else were here instead of you, he’d still be nervous.”

Harry rolls onto his belly, setting his head into his hands as he kicks his feet behind him. Niall smiles, shoving his hand into his hair and messing the curls about.

The child ducks his lips in thought.

“So it’s not my fault?”

“Nah.”

“So how do I get him to feel not scared, like you or Liam?”

“Just give him time, you know? And be nice, I guess,” Niall says. “Look, Zayn’s just scared because a lot of things happened that made the world scary, you know? I mean it happened to all three of us, but we all have different brains. So, Zayn didn’t talk for a really long time, and he’s just starting to again, so there’s just a lot happening, I promise it’s not you.”

Niall looks at him intently, as if searching for turning gears.

“And, if it is, then y’all probably just change the rooms around. I’ll go back to sharing with Liam or you now too, I guess, and Zayn’ll have his own room. But he asked Maria to share a room with you, so he wants you here, he’s just tryna work through some stuff. All right?”

“All right,” Harry says.

He isn’t exactly sure as to what Niall is saying, and he wants to ask questions, but he figures it’s best not to. Niall told him: be nice and give him time, Harry can do that.

Of course, how much time? Because Harry wants to color after dinner and he hopes Zayn is ready by then.

“Dinner!” Liam shouts from the kitchen.

Niall jolts upright, tossing a giggling Harry over his shoulder as he runs toward his meal.

•••

Sunday is Niall Day.

He, Liam, and George go out to watch a big kid movie, while the rest of the family stays home. Maria makes Chicken Parm, per Niall’s request, when Zayn and Harry sit in the living room at the coffee table, tending to their own activities.

Harry’s drawing his sixth picture of Niall and his guitar when he notices Zayn looking at his works.

“Yours are better,” he says, and Harry smiles to himself.

He pulls out the sketch book Zayn made him, flipping through the pages, “I only draw special people in here, ‘cos I can’t keep you forever, but I can keep this.”

Zayn nods, but Harry doesn’t miss how his fingers clench around his pencil.

He holds his drawing to his chest, unsure if he should show Zayn the contents.

“Do you think Niall’ll like this one? It doesn’t have his guitar so I don’t know, but I really like it.”

“I think he will. I like that his hair is green,” Zayn notes.

“S’his favorite color.”

“Yeah,” is all he says before he’s silent again.

Harry doesn’t like the silence that settles over them, he can feel how shy, no nervous, Zayn is as he shifts in his seat. There’s an air of awkwardness that is worsened by Harry’s staring, but he can’t help himself. He has so many questions for him, so many protests to things Zayn hasn’t even said, but Niall told him to be nice, to give Zayn space, so he will.

He wishes Gemma was here to talk, she’s so good at it. She makes strangers in line at the grocery store double over with their hands on their bellies in laughter and has old ladies in the neighborhood giving her hugs and kisses after only living somewhere for a week. She says it’s magic. Harry’s magic is different, he can ask for anything and when he makes a pouty face, he’s always told yes. He uses it for the swings, to get extra chocolate, to play with Gemma and her friends, and so much more. It was his secret weapon, at least that’s what mommy called it.

Their powers didn’t work on Robert. In fact, they only ever seemed to make him more angry. He’d turn all red and start swinging his fists as he yelled, he made Harry think he wasn’t magic at all.

But he must’ve gotten it back when they moved to their old-new apartment after mommy made enough money to leave Robert, because he used it to play with the kitty down the hall at his old- new apartment, the nice man there could never say no to him.

And something within him wants Zayn to see that Harry can be good. He wants to show his brother that even though he was a bad son, he could be a good brother, if not to Gemma then at least to his brothers.

“I really like your lion,” he says with a pout and batting lashes.

Zayn looks thrown off, confused even, but it still works. “It’s your Simba.”

“Really?”

He nods, “he has your hair though, since you kinda look like a lion.”

Harry feels warmth explode throughout his body, all centered from his heart. He wonders if Zayn feels it too.

Niall loves his pictures more than Harry thought, and when he presents him the image in his sketchbook, he blushes, and hugs Harry so tight he thinks his guts might pop out, but he loves the rise of NiallHarry.

They eat dinner, and Harry can’t stop moving his eyebrows because of how good the chicken is, but he asks for the rest of his cutlet, so he knows his point comes across. George takes picture of the shade across his face and sends it to his daughters to fawn over.

Before bed, Niall presents Zayn and Harry each with a gift he got while out with his foster father and brother. “They’re only for us brothers right now,” he prefaces, “not even Lou has one.”

He lets gold guitar picks dangle from chains pinched between his fingers, one much longer than the other. Their names aren’t etched on the picks, but rather Payne’s family name. He places them behind his back, then presents his fists before them. “Choose.”

“Zayn first!” Harry says when the boy backs away.

He points to Niall’s right hand, a question on his face. They dangle once again, the bracelet with the Payne name scrawled across hanging.

“Saved up all school year to buy these,” Niall explains as he clasps the bracelet around Zayn’s wrist. “Liam pitched in extra when Harry joined. He’s got Harry’s name on his,” he beckons Harry over to place the necklace around his neck. “I’ve got yours, Z. This way, no matter where we are, we’ve always got each other, right?”

He wipes a tear from Zayn’s eye and presses a kiss into his forehead. The brothers hold each other for a moment, Zayn shaking in the older’s arms. Niall uses his thumbs to smooth Zayn’s hair at the top of his head before The twelve year old steps back.

“No matter what, Z. You’ll never lose us, you won’t lose anyone ever again.”

Harry pushes his way into his arms too, wanting his own kiss. His airy laugh touches his skin before his lips do, “you’ll keep me, right Harry?”

The child nods violently.

“What if we get another brother?” Zayn asks as he rubs his eyes.

“Then we’ll keep switching them around, as long as we’ve all got each other, it doesn’t matter who has who.”

“Love you both,” he says with his own tears spilling over his cheeks. “The three of us have lost our families already, we aren’t gonna lose another one. Not again.”

He lets himself lean against Niall’s tights as he plays with the pendent, feeling an engraving on the back. It’s small, and Harry can make out some of the words, but he still can’t quite make sense of them.

“What does it say?” He asks with a slight whine.

Niall looks at Zayn, who looks confused, but smiles anyway. So, Zayn answers in a whisper, “I want you too.”

•••

The pounding in his chest feels like it’ll break him open. He thinks of the night The Man came into his home. How he could hear him once he smashed the glass of the door window, or when he called out to his mother, his voice booming loudly, laughing even.

With small hands, Harry peaks around the corner, spotting Zayn between the island and the fridge, and a sudden relief comes over the child.

He sniffles, unintentionally so, and attracts Zayn’s immediate attention.

The child looks at Zayn with wide, watery eyes, before walks out closer, then seating himself on the floor in a panic. He doesn’t want to go to bed alone, but he wants to show Niall he can be a big boy. So, for now, sitting on the cold kitchen floor seems like his only choice.

“What are you doing?”

Harry hides a smile behind his little hands, pressing a giggle into them. Zayn’s talking to him! “I dunno,” he says.

Zayn turns to the fridge, pulling it open all by himself, which makes Harry’s heart jump just a little.

“You want something to eat?”

“You didn’t ask to open the fridge,” Harry whispers loudly, making Zayn smile.

“You only need to ask because you’re a baby, but you can eat whenever you want.” He pulls something from the bottom shelf, beckoning Harry over. The child stands abruptly, excited to have held Zayn’s attention this long. “These are just for you and me,” the boy tells him as he gestures to the packs of juice boxes and applesauce and fruit slices. “I mean, George still eats them, but Maria buys them for us.”

Zayn punctures a juice box and passes it to Harry. He can’t help but giggle again following a sip, fruit punch, his favorite, and Zayn knows that!

“Are we best friends?” He asks.

“Sit up here,” Zayn instructs, tapping the island countertop. He lifts Harry to seat him, then turns back to silently making his sandwich. He lays down layers of mayonnaise, lettuce, cheese, turkey, chips, then ketchup, and cuts it into squares.

Zayn’s big enough to use the butter knives, and Harry looks on one awe. He loved cooking with his mommy before The Man came. They’d make muffins, and pancakes, and bread, and so much more; and Harry would watch as his mother spread butter and jams onto the warm baked goods with a butter knife. She told Harry he was too small, and that he gets to have the first bite while she’s still buttering the rest for their family. Still, Harry always waited to take the first bite with her.

He wonders if he’ll see his mommy before he’s big enough to use the butter knives.

Zayn sides a plate to him, offering Harry the sandwich with the chips in the middle, but he doesn’t look at him.

“We’re better than that, you know?” Zayn says with his mouth full, “we’re brothers, I’m your big brother and you’re my baby brother. That’s better than being best friends, but if you want, I can be both.”

There’s a warmth that crawls across Harry’s skin as he watches Zayn eat quietly. And when the older boy, the older brother/best friend sneaks a peek at Harry, the child is smiling around chewed up food, half hanging from his mouth. Zayn laughs, he laughs and it makes Harry feel so happy he can’t contain it.

Gemma used to laugh at him like that when she was tired from school, giggling with only her breath. He doesn’t think Zayn would like Gemma very much, but Gemma would love him. She’d laugh so loud and so ugly, Zayn couldn’t help but mirror her. She’d talk so much, ask so many questions, waving her hands all around the air. She’d cry loudly if Zayn hurt her feelings and make Zayn explain what he did to make her upset. She’d hold Zayn and Harry’s hands, one in each of her own, as she’d walk them to school. She’d get red and angry, puffing out her chest, if Zayn ever felt shy, to protect him from other people. And she’d tell him jokes, to make him laugh like that again.

His big brother is nothing at all like his big sister, but Harry feels like she is seated just beside him as he looks at Zayn. He misses her, so much so that his body feels empty sometimes, but Zayn is here to keep her close.

Zayn lays a hand on top of Harry’s mess of slept-on curls, combing his fingers through it softly before turning his attention back to his snack. Harry’s fingers hang onto his Niall necklace, reminding himself Zayn seems to want him here too.

Harry looks up at his best friend/ big brother and says, “I love you,” and for the first time and what seems like forever, Harry’s felt safe enough to say it.

Zayn may not say it back, but his cheeks get red, and he pushes a straw through another juice box and passes it to his little brother. Harry thinks it means the same thing.

•••

“Who is Night Night?” Harry asks.

He’s stomping around on the deck, his shoes Ms. Harris bought him Lightning up like the fireflies in the yard.

While the Paynes are out for a date night, Liam has the fire lit and he’s promised his brothers s’mores. So, since he’s got the fire burning, Liam has instructed Harry to stay on the deck, and not allowed near the fire unless he’s holding Liam’s hand. Excitement bursts from his fumbling feet as he knows Niall’s just gone in to collect the ingredients. Gemma loves s’mores.

The music hums softly beneath their conversation, crickets chiming along. The arm is warm. Harry’s skin is still hit from his slight tan, but the juice around his mouth cools his lips just slightly.

“Not night night, Ni Ni. It’s Niall’s nickname.”

“Who is nick?”

“No, a nickname. It’s a short version of your name or something people call you that’s not your real name. So Niall’s is Ni Ni.”

“Night Night!”

Liam laughs, “close buddy, but it’s Ni Ni, no T sound.” But Harry doesn’t hear the difference.

“What’s yours?” He asks his brothers.

“Just Z.”

He waits with expectation for Liam to answer.

“Mine is just Li, or sometimes Payno.”

“Payno’s too cool for you. Lou only calls you that ’cos he’s your boyfriend,” Zayn’s smile drops and he looks to Harry and back to Liam quickly, guilt flexing across his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“He’s four Zayn. It’s fine.”

“That’s okay with you, right Harry? That I have a boyfriend?”

Harry doesn’t pay either of them much mind, simply shrugging as he continues stomping, lighting his shoes up, checking to see their reactions. He smiles at Zayn who smiles back. He dances to Liam’s music, giggling as the sneakers strobe along. Gemma would think these are the best shoes ever, at least Harry thinks so, they love dancing together.

He continues his activity when he says, “look at my shoes!”

“Harry,” Liam calls, pulling the breathless boy from his rhythmless shuffle, “would it be okay if my boyfriend came to visit?”

There’s a flash of fear that sparks in Harry’s chest.

The night is deeper than Harry realized just a moment ago, he isn’t sure where the light has gone.

“Niall‘ll be there,” Zayn says distantly, but it’s enough to bring Harry back.

“And you?”

“Yeah.”

“Watch this,” he swallows his fear. Using his sweaty hands, Harry wipes his hair out of his face. He should ask Maria for ponytails again tomorrow. He goes back to flailing about, making his shoes light up as he swings his arms and legs about.

He wants the conversation to change, to get their staring eyes away from him, “What’s my nickname?”

Zayn falls back into his sketchbook while Liam settles back into the deck chair.

Liam laughs, “Uh, well, dad calls you Curls, so I think that’s your nickname.”

“I don’t like that one,” Harry says with a huff. He goes back to dancing, jumping around and stomping, just barely on beat.

Bug settles to the front of his thoughts, echoing in Gemma’s voice, her teasing tone. It’s a secret though, just between them, so he keeps it in his mouth. George knows is, he’s heard Gemma call him that on the video calls they have, but he’s never used it himself.

Gemma always took pride in giving Harry a nickname. He took mommy away from her, he can’t take this too.

“What’s wrong with Curls? I think it’s cool,” Zayn defends.

“But I’m not curly!” He grabs onto Zayn’s hand, pulling with all his might. “Come on! Dance, please,” Harry uses the pout mommy said no one could ever resist.

He squeals when Zayn gives in, getting to his feet, setting his pencil on the table.

“Your hair is curly,” he explains, but Harry ignores him. “How about Haz, huh? It’s got a Z in it, like my name.” Though Harry’s started dancing again, Zayn hasn’t, but he laughs at the boy.

His feet move quickly beneath him. “Yes!”

“Hey, Haz! You didn’t answer my question,” Liam says.

But sometimes boyfriends can be bad, Robert was mommy’s. Liam shouldn’t have one, he was too nice to be hurt, just like mommy. If Liam’s boyfriend comes here, then Liam can’t get away from him, he can’t be safe. Whoever this boy is will know where he lives, he’ll come and he’ll hit Liam for being away, just like the man hit mommy. He’ll make Liam cry, and he’ll scare Zayn, and he’ll hit Niall. Harry doesn’t want Niall to get hit ever again. This time her won’t fail to keep him safe.

His big brother sighs, “s’okay, we can wait. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Harry is confused, because Liam looks so sad. Mommy was happy when Robert was gone.

Zayn gives a suggestion, “He can bring his sisters, they’re about your age.”

Maybe this boyfriend is a good boyfriend if Zayn wants him too come over, but Harry’s not so sure.

But this boyfriend has sisters.

“Is Gemma with him?”

Zayn offers his hand to his little brother, swinging it as if they are dancing, but not yet moving his feet. “How about we just dance, Harry?” He strays to step to the music.

Just then Niall slides the door open, a bag in hand.

“Got the goods boys!”

That night Harry goes to bed with a tummy ache and chocolate hidden under his pillow. He thinks of Liam and the friend he wants to bring over, Simba locked between his fingers and pressed under his chin as he falls asleep.

He’s scared to meet this boyfriend, but he promises himself he won’t let him hurt Liam, he won’t hit Niall. Even though Harry’s little, brothers protect each other.

•••

His foster parents explained at breakfast that it would be a good idea to go out for the day. Said it was important Harry and Zayn get some fresh air, and be around other people.

Zayn’s grown a lot since he’s been here, and while Harry isn’t sure what that means, he’s more than happy to spend this day with his brothers outside of the house. Maybe they’ll see a puppy to play with like the lady at the park always did. Or they could try to catch birds.

Regardless, the guardians think it’ll be good for boy to pop the isolation bubble they’ve been in with Liam.

They were wrong.

Harry’s in the wagon the Payne’s purchased for him a few days earlier and he’s mere seconds away from falling asleep in the summer heat. His hair is sprawled out all around him, sunscreen smears still present across his arms and legs from when he was dozing off in George’s arms.

While leaving the house is very exciting, Harry forgot it also meant other people would be there, on the other side of the front door. A young man on a run had zoomed past them and it left Harry quaking in the rain boots he insisted on wearing. He immediately shoved his face into the back of George’s jeans, fingernails biting into the thick material.

Meanwhile, Zayn is also overwhelmed by the jogger. He’d held onto Niall’s hand long before the runner came near, but as he passed Zayn flinches at his appearance. His hazel eyes wildly chase every sound and voice. He’s had his hand in Niall’s for the better part of the walk, Liam walking close behind him.

“Zayn, we can go back home, it really isn’t a problem. You’ve already done so well,” Maria says for the third time.

The boy doesn’t speak, he hasn’t spoken, not since this excursion was suggested at breakfast, but he shakes his head.

“We’ve got him, he knows that. Don’t cha?” Niall says, and Zayn, still looking terrified, nods in agreement.

Harry’s eyes are heavy with sleep, body lax in the warmth, still he asks “Potato?”

“What was that?” George asks.

“Zayn’s ‘posed to say potato.”

“That’s right, but do you think Zayn wants to say it?”

“Why not?”

“He’s being a big boy?” George nods to him. “Does being a big boy mean making yourself do scary things?”

“Sometimes.”

“But you don’t have to be scared, right? Because we’re here, Z. Nothin’ bad’ll happen to ya.” Niall presses his thumb into Zayn’s bracelet, as if to remind him of the sentiment there, and it seems to do the trick. Zayn smiles softly at him and completes the journey.

Maybe this is Niall’s magic instead. Not his singing, though special on its own, Niall can put all his love into this golden pick and press it like a button. Harry swears when he pushes the pendant into his skin there’s a shock of energy. He feels warmer, heavier, sleepier, safer.

They manage to make it home safely, though Harry doesn’t remember much about the walk.

•••

Dr. Wu has a different game that she wants to play with Harry this morning. This time the doctor will say something and Harry has to say ‘true’ or ’false’ and strike a matching pose. When she says something that Harry thinks is true, Harry has to make his body big, arms out, fingers spread, legs apart. And when something is false, Harry must make himself small, shoulders hunched over, arms squeezed in tight.

Harry’s already out of breath from simply following the instructions and acting out the descriptions, his clenched fists- now lose, still sweaty, his hair falling in his face. He takes a deep breath with Dr. Wu, but he can’t stop bouncing in anticipation, giggling at the ruffle of his shorts.

“Ready Harry?”

The child nods, grin widening into a smile.

He woke up from a dreamless sleep, ate waffles for breakfast, and learned he was going to Niall’s camp summer concert at the end of next month. He feels he can do anything today.

“Okay, how about we start with… ‘my mommy loves me.’”

“True!” He shouts, making his body big with his arms out and chest puffed.

She may be sleeping, and he may not be a good son, but mommy loved him, more than she loved herself.

“The sky is purple,” the doctor reads with a thoughtful hum and a finger in her chin.

Harry drops to his bum, clapping his hands together as he rests his elbows on his knees, “false!”

“What color is the sky, Harry?”

“Blue!”

Her red lips spread across her face, her glasses sliding down her nose slightly. “That’s right! You're so smart!”

She pulls out the next card, “Dogs as three eyes.”

He stays in his position, “false!”

“Great job,” she shifts in her chair. “All right. Oh, this one’s easy. ‘I’m a smart boy.’”

“True!” He springs up. It feels like the ceiling is so close to his fingers.

“Yes you are!” She smiles at him. “How about this next one? ‘I am a good boy.’”

He hesitates.

She must know what Harry did, he almost told her last time, but her smile doesn’t falter.

He tries to appear confident, spreading his legs wide to shout, “True!” It’s weak, Harry can hear it in his own ears. He wonders if Liam or Ms. Harris can hear him. He wonders what they think.

But he doesn’t miss how Dr. Wu’s smile vanishes and soon reappears when he looks away.

“A very good boy, Harry.” She flips through the cards, clearing her throat before presenting them again. “How about ‘I have ten fingers.’”

This question is better. “True!”

“And ‘giraffes are very small?’”

“False!”

“I feel safe and loved.”

He hesitates again, shrinking down to his bum, arms around himself, but he doesn’t say the word.

He wonders if that’s the wrong answer, quickly getting to his feet before a hand stops him.

“It’s okay, Harry, I want you to be honest.” Dr. Wu lets Harry breathe for a moment. “‘I am scared that people will leave me alone.’”

He grows big, heart fluttering in confusion as he questions if growing can be a bad thing too.

Harry decides there are too many sad things that are also good.

The Payne’s feel more like home than Harry cares to admit to himself. They’re warn, they keep him well fed, they don’t yell at him, and he gets to talk to Gemma, but they can leave Harry. Mommy did, Robert did, even Gemma.

“‘I like eating my toenails.’”

When he shrinks this time, his with a fading smile, a breath through his nose.

It’s less fun now when she prompts, “I have nightmares about the night my mommy got hurt.’”

He stands stretched out, spreading his fingers wide. His chest is tilted towards the ceiling as he huffs out deep breaths. He was ice, or maybe to draw something like Zayn, anything to make this stop. But Dr. Wu flips to the next card.

“‘I think my mommy deserved to get hurt.’”

He collapses. His knees tucked beneath his chin, eyes pressed into each one.

Mommy was good- is good. How could Dr. Wu ask that?

“’Sometimes my step dad hurt more or someone in my family.’”

When he rises this time, there are tears in his eyes.

“Do you need a break Harry?” She rises to get water as the boy nods.

He wonders how she knows all these things. He doesn’t think Robert told on himself, so maybe it was Gemma? He picks are the dotted scar on the back of his hand.

Maybe this is Dr. Wu’s magic. Or maybe he’s living in a dream. Maybe he fell asleep when mommy put him in the closet, and he's still there, waiting. 

“You’re playing really well, Harry.”

Harry still struggles to drink out of big boy cups, he shakes too much, but he brings the water to his lips and likes his tears once he pulls the cup away.

There’s something about the way she sits across from his with sadness in her eyes that makes Harry want to keep playing, but he offers a suggestion. “Can we play this not right now?”

“Next week?”

“No,” he says, fiddling with his Niall Necklace, “today, just not right now?”

“Yeah Harry, take a break. How about we play with the blocks until you catch your breath and we’ll finish the game later?”

He falls into his chair with a nod. “Can you play the piano music?”

She smiles and switches the radio on while he moves towards the legos. She joins him.

•••

When the doorbell rings, Harry feels nervous-ness shoot through his little body, tingling in his fingers. Liam’s big hands press on his shoulders.

“I’ll make him leave the second you tell me our code word. Which is?”

“Potato.”

“Good.” Liam smiles. He puts a hand in Harry’s hair, “you don’t have to be a big boy right now Harry. I’m your biggest brother, right?” Harry nods, putting his hands to his mouth as he hears footsteps approaching. “That’s right. So it’s my job to make sure of what?”

“That I’m not scared.”

“Exactly.”

When Harry turns, he is greeted with the sight of Niall and a bigger boy than Niall.

Liam steps up to the stranger with a huge smile on his face. His little heart feels like it’s falling into his belly, and he puts his hands there to feel it.

Liam hugs him, and Harry knows Liam wouldn’t hug someone bad. Big brothers don’t do that, but it doesn’t help calm him.

Niall falls back into the loveseat, Zayn on the floor beside him as they return to their game.

“Missed you,” Liam presses a kiss into the boy’s cheek, and a warm smile spreads beneath his blue eyes.

“Missed you more.”

They hug for a moment and Harry resists the urge to climb onto Niall’s lap and hide from the world, but his brother continue their game as if nothing is different.

He wants to yell, beg them to help him save Liam from his boyfriend, but even Maria kisses his cheek before she slips out of the house. He wants to cry for Liam. Everyone is letting his boyfriend come into their home, to kiss Liam, to put his hands on him. If not one will keep his big brother safe, then Harry will.

The strange boy crouches into Harry’s space, but when Harry takes a step back, Liam’s there. He drops a hand into his little brother’s hair, the other across his chest protectively. Harry calms just slightly.

“I’m Louis,” the boy says. “What’s your name?”

He’s not scary. He’s smaller than Robert, his eyes are blue and not brown like Robert, his hair is the same color though, and he wares his hat the same way, rolled up and pulled right over his ears.

He’s not scary, but he’s a stranger, and Harry is scared of strangers.

He looks to Liam to answer for him, eyes brimming with tears. He wants nothing more than to pull Louis away, to pull Liam and the rest of his brothers into Niall’s room and into the closet where he can keep them safe, but Liam is still wearing a dopey smile when he crouches down to him. His cheeks are red like he’s happy, and Harry feels like he’s already lost.

“Lou, this is Harry,” Harry’s big brother explains, “and Harry, this is my boyfriend Louis.”

Louis offers his hand to the little boy, and there’s a look of hurt that flashes across his face when Harry flinches violently. He watches as Louis lowers his hand with a tight smile.

Louis laughs to ease the tension, “Jesus, Payno, kid looks just like you.”

“S’just the hair,” Liam says as he lifts Harry into his arms.

He smiles at Harry again before pushing himself up, feet dragging in a new direction.

“My Smiley Nially!” He sings, stepping into the living room. “I haven’t seen you in so long and you’re just gonna play games, bro? Z, dude, I thought you were better than this.”

Zayn smiles, his cheeks scarlet as he lifts his shoulders to his ears. “We’re winning, if that makes it better.”

“I guess.”

Liam lifts Harry into his arms as he and Louis fall into the couch. When he hides his face into Liam’s chest, his nails pressing into his thin t-shirt, they don’t fight Harry to talk to them. They simply converse around him.

Louis seems nice, but not at all. He says sweet things to Liam, makes him laugh under Harry’s grasp, and gets Zayn Joyce when he gets up to get himself some, but sometimes he’s mean.

He laughs when Niall loses the game, teasing him as the younger boy whines. He calls Liam a ‘dummy’ a few times, which makes Harry sad, even though his big brother brushes it off. He talks about his sisters, too many for Harry to keep track of, and he switches back and forth between calling them monsters and his own kids. Robert was nice at first too.

He also talks a lot. Liam doesn’t get to say very much, Louis keeps cutting him off, not letting him finish his sentence, and Harry doesn’t like that. Liam is smart and nice and good and he should be able to say whatever he wants to. He presses kisses into the hand that Liam rests on his knee, and Harry wants to slap him away, tell him Liam is his big brother.

Liam is his just like Zayn and Niall and Maria and George are. Just like mommy and Gemma are. But he’s too scared to say anything. Instead he mumbles softly into Liam’s chest, trying his best to work up the courage.

After they’ve moved into the kitchen to play some board game, Louis puts his black beanie over his face to hide an excited smile, and for a moment Harry feels like he’s looking at The Man. He remembers suddenly, The Man wore something black over his face, his eyes and mouth cut out. Louis may not have the same features for his hat, but there isn’t a difference.

Harry should’ve known better than to let this stranger into their home. Even if everyone else likes Louis, Harry knows the truth about boyfriends. Now Louis is sitting at their table, where they had pizza for lunch, and he’s wearing the same mask as The Man.

He was too scared.

He was too scared and now his mom is asleep. He can’t let this happen to Liam or any of his brothers. He can’t lose George or Maria like he lost Gemma. So he has to do something this time. Liam said Harry can be the little brother, but being the baby is why he doesn’t get to see his mommy anymore.

There’s a wild feeling swirling in Harry’s chest. As though something, lots of things, are trying to get out of him.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Louis says to a pouting Liam. He plants a kiss against his temple while Liam feigns a crying face.

He feels like Louis pushed all of his blocks over.

“He’s not a baby!” Harry yells. He hopes Liam feels better now. It’s the first time he’s spoken tonight, and his voice sounds thick and strange to his ears, but Harry stands his ground.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Louis says with a smile. For some reason, the fact that Harry didn’t hurt Louis’s feelings bothers him.

In the moment, it is only he and Louis in the room as he slides out of his chair and stomps towards the laughing stranger. Niall is quick to catch Harry’s swinging hands as the toddler swats at Louis’ thigh, causing Liam to yell his name in shock.

Under the eyes of everyone at the table, Harry begins to cry. Liam’s never yelled at him, he’s not supposed to get yelled at here. He’s safe here. He’s trying to keep his brothers safe here, but now Liam’s yelled at him. He’s mad.

He’s mad, and Niall is mad, and Zayn is mad, and they’re gonna tell their mommy, and Harry is gonna lose his family, and he’s gonna lose it to Louis. Harry’s scared. He sings supposed to be scared here.

Robert won, The Man won, and now Louis will too. Harry will always lose, it’s all his fault, he failed Gemma, and mommy, and now his brothers.

He doesn’t want to see their faces when they realize Harry is a bad brother, so he runs off, right into Niall’s room and into the closet.

He hears feet banging against the floor, no heavy boots, but socked feet. Then the door closes just before Harry slaps his hands over his ears.

“Haz,” Liam calls towards Niall’s closet. “I’m really sorry I yelled at you.” The relief that washes over Harry when Liam pulls him into his arms only makes the boy sob harder. Liam still loves him. “You just scared me, but I’m not mad. What’s wrong?”

“He’s mean!” He screams into Liam’s neck.

“He’s just playing around.”

He pulls Liam’s sweatshirt between his fists, “I don’t like it.”

“He’s not as funny as he thinks he is,” Liam says into his hair. “Harry, do you want him to leave? It’s okay if you do, I won’t be mad, promise.”

He falls into his big brother’s chest, trying to keep his breathing steady, but he fails. He’s still wailing into his shirt when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’m scared!” Harry cries. “I’m sorry.”

Liam’s hand finds its place on his back as he lifts Harry up. “S’okay Haz. What’s our word?”

“Potato.”

“All right.” Liam lifts Harry into his arms and walks to the hall, Zayn is standing at the door when it opens. “Potato, boys!”

“I’m gonna say goodbye to Lou, okay? And I’ll be right back, you can stay with Zayn. Or do you wanna come with me?”

He’s torn. He simply holds tight to his brother, hoping he’ll make the decision on his own.

Liam doesn’t get to say a word before Louis is already talking. “We’ll try again next time, right?”

“I’m sorry, babe. He just needs a little more time.”

“S’not your fault,” he says. Harry can hear him shoving things into his pockets. “Not his either.”

Liam swings Harry away from him to kiss Louis goodbye quickly,

“Sorry I couldn’t impress you the first time, Haz Pazazz. I'll get ya next time. I’m relentless, kid. We’re gonna be best friends.” He says his goodbyes with hugs and slips out of the door.

The rest of the night is strange, but it is nearly Harry’s bedtime when Louis leaves.

The child keeps close to Liam, choosing to apologize with proximity instead of words, and it seems to work. Liam is very careful as he gives Harry his bath. He washes his face with promises that everything is okay. Liam brushes his teeth and holds Harry's hand while he help Harry's with his. 

But Gemma did the same before he came here, so maybe Liam is just preparing Harry for a new family to pick him up in the morning. He chooses to keep this to himself.

He thinks about how much he’ll miss them, wonders if it’ll hurt the way he misses Gemma. Maybe he’ll get to call them on the computer once a week like he does with his sister. If they still want him of course.

He feels bad that Gemma won’t get to meet them, he’s ruined it for her.

He’s already tucked into bed when Zayn starts reading out loud on the floor. Harry can see the pictures across the pages, listening carefully, and suddenly it’s over.

Zayn closes the book, turning to look up at Harry in bed from where he’s sitting on the floor. He’s worried for a minute when Zayn pulls his lip between his teeth, he looks nervous and Harry’s scared that Zayn is scared of him again.

“You know,” Zayn starts. “The first time I met Louis, I threw up on his pants and all over his favorite shoes.”

“Really?”

Zayn hums, “Liam hadda give him new clothes and Niall hadda give him some sneakers to barrow.” He shifts, sitting in Harry’s bed, holding the book between his hands. “He talks a lot, right?”

Harry nods.

“S’just ‘cos he’s excited. George says some people wanna tell you everything because they love you and they want you to know everything so that you can be part of it. That's how Louis talks."

Harry kind of understands. He would talk endlessly about his day at the bakery with Gemma and ask her questions about school. He would make mommy tell in stories about his real daddy, how much he loved Harry, how much he couldn't wait to meet his son. She never talked about how he went to heaven, and Gemma especially didn't, but Harry loves his real daddy very much. Maybe mommy is with him now, or until she wakes up at least. 

He steals a glimpse of Zayn, imagining him holding his mouth, face green like a cartoon. “Was he mad that you throwed up on his shoes?”

“Nah,” he places the storybook on the shelf with the others and settles back into his own bed. “He said he was honored, which was weird. Said he could always buy new shoes, but I couldn’t wear my lunch again. I thought he was crazy after that.”

“Liam didn’t hate you?”

Zayn lays himself down, facing Harry. “Nope. He can’t hate us, we’re his brothers.”

There's something about the way Zayn says it with ease that makes Harry want to cry again. He swallows the spit pooling in his mouth. “He yelled at me,” he whispers. 

“He was just surprised. Have you ever stood at a corner and jumped out at someone and they screamed? S’kinda like that.”

“So,” Harry pulls Simba under his chin, “he doesn’t want me to leave?”

“I don’t think so, and if he does, I don’t want you to, so you’re stuck here with me.”

Harry relaxes. Zayn still wants him, and that’s more than enough. He’ll have to draw Liam some pictures tomorrow, Niall too. He thinks maybe he’ll put Louis there too, but he’s not going in his sketchbook, and any page he does end up on he’ll be in the corner far from Harry.

He hears Zayn huff into the cool quiet air, yawning softly, which makes Harry yawn too.

“Louis’ really nice though, I swear. He’s just loud and some of the stuff he says sounds mean, but he’s just pretending he’s not nice.”

“Why would he pretend that?”

Zayn shrugs, “I think he’s scared too.”

He lets Harry think about the idea as he shifts in his own bed, rolling onto his side.

Harry sleeps in his own bed the whole night for the first time.

•••

It’s boring being here without his brothers or his sister. Zayn had a therapy appointment that George took him to, Niall is off at camp, and Liam went to visit his new school with Louis, so Harry’s say in the living room, playing with his blocks in silence.

“Harry!” Maria calls from the kitchen, “I need your help!”

He turns quickly, getting to his feet, “I’m coming!” The curls framing his small face bounce with each rushed step.

“I want to make some cookies for when everyone comes home. Do you like chocolate chip or sugar?”

Harry nods, a smile crossing his face, “Chocolate Chip!”

“Chocolate chip it is then!”

Maria collects the ingredients around the kitchen, explaining her actions to Harry as she dances from one cupboard to another.

As they brown the butter, Maria lets Harry stir the hot pot, pride swelling in his chest as she compliments his technique.

“My mommy likes extra chocolate in her brownies. They taste bestest like that.”

“Shall we add some chocolate chips in the cookies then?”

Harry giggles behind his hands, shoulders put up around his ears, and nods.

She lets Harry switch on the special mixer, and laughs when he coats his hands in cocoa powder. He even gets to lick the bowl once they’ve poured the mix into the baking pan.

The smell of baking cookies once made Harry’s heart sing, but right now he misses his mommy. The chocolate reminds him of her hair, long and wavy, like Gemma’s. She used to tell stories of how Harry tightly held on to it when he was a baby. He wishes he was a baby now. The vanilla smells too strongly from the bottle, and Maria washes Harry’s mouth when he tries to drink it, but ask it wafts in the dough, it smells like mommy. When she’d come home from the bakery with pastries for he and Gemma. Or when Harry would spend the day at the bakery with her, those were his favorite.

He can’t wait for mommy to go back to work, she always says she can’t be sad at the bakery. After they left Robert, mommy would come home with flour on her jeans, her apron hanging from her hips, and a smile on her face.

Mommy looks prettiest when she smiles. Harry loves the lines around her eyes and the way her teeth are slightly crooked like Niall’s. She always sings when she talks, presses kisses into his hair, squeezes him tight enough to make MommyHarry.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” Maria coos, wiping tears from Harry’s eyes with her thumbs. She sets his bum back on the island.

Harry doesn’t realize how blurry his eyes are until he tries to look up at her. Her fingers come to his cheeks again, wiping at them, chuckling her tongue as her own tears form.

“I miss my mommy.”

Her hand falls into his hair, pulling on the ringlets, “Oh, sweetheart, she misses you too.”

“When is she gonna wake up?”

He knows that she’ll be asleep forever, but he loves her forever, forever can’t be bad.

“I don’t know.”

He’s crying as he asks, knowing it won’t happen, “Can we make her brownies when she wakes up? She didn’t get to eat them last time.”

His mouth snaps shut, eyes wide as he waits for her to question him. He’s said too much. Anymore and Maria will think he’s bad, she’ll send him away, but Harry likes it here. He wants mommy and Gemma to come meet his new brothers, George, and Maria, to see their home and see the kitchen, and have cookies. But if he says too much, he’ll lose this too. He’ll be taking this away.

Robert is right, Harry’s self and greedy and stupid. He needs to stop talking.

“Of course,” María says instead, “we’ll make her whatever you want. Can I give you a kiss on your forehead?”

He nods, “Please.”

Maria’s kisses are the same. She doesn’t smell the same, the kiss is slightly sticky from her lipstick, and it’s not the right spot, but they make Harry feel safe nonetheless.

“Harry,” she says softly, “why don’t you and I have a brownie together whenever you miss your mom? You two liked to make brownies together right.”

The teary eyed child nods.

“My brownies won’t ever taste as good, but we can go to the bakery she worked at one day, just you and me, and we’ll eat brownies and you can tell me all your favorite things about your mommy.”

“She loves you so so so so much,” Maria says as she presses Harry into herself. Harry finds that MariaHarry and MommyHarry are best friends, they feel the same, but aren’t.

“She’s not here right now, but I want you to keep her with you always, okay? Whatever you need to keep her in here,” she taps against his heart, “you tell me and I’ll help you.”

“I read a lot of things about her. She kept some journals and I heard about her from Gemma and your mommy’s friends. She saw someone like Dr. Wu too just before you were born, and she was very sad, but when you came she worked really really hard to be happy, for you and for Gemma. I want to make sure all that hard work lives on.

“Your mommy was very special, Harry. So strong and determined, and you know what that means?” Harry reaches up to wipe a tear from her eye. The weeping woman holds on to the child, he voice wavering as she speaks, “you are too.”

“So strong, baby. I won’t let anyone take that away from the three of you. I won’t let anyone take your mommy away, Harry. She’s gonna love you for the rest of her life, even longer than that. I’ll let you read some of her journals when you’re older. God, she loved you and Gemma so much.

“I just want you to know your mom did everything she could to keep you and Gemma safe, okay? It may not have seemed that way to other people, but she really did. She worked herself to the bone and regrew her body for the two of you, not just anyone can do that.”

Harry does his best to follow Maria, her words are weird, grown up, so it’s hard, but Harry cries because she does, and that seems like enough for her.

She presses her thumbs into his cheeks, kissing his forehead again, and sniffles. As Harry lay on his shoulders he feels Maria’s heart against his belly, thumbing against her chest. He knows she’s crying for his mommy, not for him, and he loves her a little for it. He loves her, because she loves his mommy, and Harry cannot fathom this brilliance of someone like MariaMommy.

She laughs at herself with the oven timer beeps, wiping her tears and clearing her throat.

When the first batch of cookies comes out, they’re a little burnt, but Harry likes the crunch. It means Maria just couldn’t let go of him.

•••

It’s Liam Day and it’s very different from Niall day. Liam leaves for most of the morning, without Niall, but George goes with him, Louis too, but he doesn’t come over.

Harry’s been a bit disappointed in Liam’s decision to leave the house, despite the fact that he spends every day with his big brother. He likes having Liam near him, to told hold him or to hug him, just when Harry needs a little reminder that he’s real.

He also doesn’t like that Louis is with him. Liam is his brother before Louis is his boyfriend, but he doesn’t fight it, he doesn’t want to be sent away.

The front door clicks shut and there’s a moment of silence before things begin to erupt.

“You really did it!” Harry hears Zayn roar.

Maria looks at Harry with wide eyes and a wild laugh, “Zayn, he told you he was this morning.” She catches herself before she falls into the tub from where she’s sitting on the ledge.

There’s feet slapping against the floor quickly and Zayn runs into the bathroom where Harry’s seated on the toilet, confused, his feet dangling from the seat.

“I thought he was just kidding!”

Maria laughs again, and this time Harry does too, though he isn’t sure why. Zayn just looks funny with his pale face and wide eyes. 

“Li, come m’ere! I wanna see it.”

Niall joins Zayn in the doorway, his face red with laughter, tears making their way down his cheeks, he can barely speak, but he forces out a sentence. “I’ve never seen you look so surprised, bro. You fucking yelled!”

“Niall!”

“M’sorry, sorry,” he coughs, wiping at his eyes.

Then Liam appears with George behind him. The entire family is here, laughing as Zayn gawks at Liam’s surprise, and while Harry would typically be curious at to what would draw such a crowd, he’s a bit busy.

“I can’t poop with everybody watching me!” Harry cries and the laughter only rises.

Niall falls to his knees, holding on to the doorknob to catch himself.

“Okay, okay,”Maria says, “I’ll wait until Harry’s done here.”

After he’s wiped, flushed, and helped down from the toilet bowl, Maria ventures out into the living room, stepping over a gasping Niall, with Harry in her arms. Zayn and George are standing over Liam on the couch, poking and prodding, mumbling his appreciation as Liam laughs. They part to make way for Maria.

“God, Zayn, this is perfect.”

Harry, though curious, is still watching Niall roll on the floor. He’s nearly purple and Harry’s slightly panicked as he watches over Maria’s shoulder.

“I thought you were lying!” Zayn says again in disbelief. His catches Harry’s attention.

“More like lion,” Niall jokes.

Harry thought Zayn knew better, “Liam’s not a liar!”

“I know, I’m sorry, Li. I just- there are smaller things in there.”

Harry looks down to see where Maria is holding her son’s hand. Beneath clear tape, Liam has Simba tattooed into the back of his hand, his curly mane pouring over his fingers.

“That’s me!”

“What?” Liam laughs.

“I told you you shoulda asked me first,” Zayn huffs. Harry asks Maria if they should get him an ice pack because of how red he’s getting, but Maria tells him he’s fine. “I drew the face and it looked like Harry’s lion so I gave it Harry’s hair. You got Harry on your hand, bro.”

“Whatever, it looks cool, right? Took the book into the artist and even he said it’s good, Z. Do you like it Harry?”

He’s made it into Liam’s skin. He’s only thought about how much we wanted to be in one of Niall’s songs, he didn’t even think of something like this. Harry feels guilty at the realization that he hadn’t thought of how to stay with Liam forever, maybe he wouldn’t let himself, but Liam’s keeping him anyway.

The child nods, wet eyes trained on the ink.

“It’s so sick, bro,” Niall says, clapping Zayn on the back. “You should do something for me.”

“I would if you weren't such a scaredy cat,” Zayn mumbles, which only makes Niall laugh again.

“My little artist,” Maria coos, pinching Zayn’s cheeks.

Niall laughs again as Zayn turns even more red.

•••

As he and his brothers finish munching on the last of the cookies, Harry’s brought back to thinking about the few days he spent alone with mommy.

Liam’s making lunch with Zayn as Harry stares at the rules written on the pantry door. He knows some of the words, he and Gemma would practice reading, but he knows the rules by heart.

      5. No secrets that might lead to someone getting or being hurt.

He watches as Liam laughs at how Zayn’s cut the carrots, his heart swelling with warmth as he looks between his new brothers. Even Zayn laughs, and it’s a pretty sound, airy and cracking. He isn’t sure what is funny, but he laughs with them too, just because he’s happy, he feels it all over.

The kitchen counter is cool against the parts of his legs that his dinosaur shorts don’t cover, but it feels nice after coming in from playing outside. His skin is warm, his tongue still tastes like George’s lemonade, and curls are falling from the ponytail Maria put in his hair this morning. The song Niall plucked on his guitar last night is still playing in his head. He hums it to them now, kicking his feet against the cabinets.

He remembers the notes, even when he chased after Zayn and Liam for hours. Maybe he’ll sing it to Niall tonight. Harry had threatened to tickle them with syrup-sticky fingers the second his brother and foster parents left the house, and he did. Though Liam has made Harry wash his hands since then, Zayn still has dirt stuck to his shirt where Harry managed to grab it.

He doesn't think he’d get in trouble if he told the truth, not if he told these two boys, who hold his hand when he’s scared, and check on him sleeping, and keep him safe from strangers, and cut his carrots into funny shapes. Gemma did all those things too, and she never got mad at Harry, no matter what. Maybe Liam and Zayn are the same.

His feet stop kicking.

Maybe if Robert or The Man came, they’d yell at them for scaring Harry. Or they would sneak dinner and desert into Harry’s room after Robert threw his food in the garbage. They might even let Harry sing for them, on the top of his lungs, cheering and tell him to sing louder! Or Zayn would draw Harry a picture of his mommy so Harry can see her smile again, and Liam would talk about how pretty Zayn drew her. Maybe they’d hide him in the closet too.

Mommy would love them, maybe one day they’ll meet her.

He wishes she and Niall were here.

“I love you lots, Li. I’ll be really sad if I didn’t see you anymore. Do you love me?” He needs to know.

Liam laughs in surprise. “Of course Haz. You’re my favorite youngest brother in the world.”

“You’re my favorite biggest brother!”

“Good, glad that’s clear.”

Harry swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. His fingers are going numb, but he needs his brothers to know. He’s safe here, he knows, safest when Liam is near, but giant sure he deserves it. There’s only one way to be sure.

“My mommy was sleeping for a long time,” he tells Liam, which causes the boys to hault. They share a look, but Harry presses on. “The Man came, and she put me in the closet, and when he left she was sleeping. I tried to waked her up. I gave her my water and the brownies we made, but she wouldn’t eat it. She only likes it with peanut butter, but I’m not allowed to touch the butter knives.”

He fears sounding like a baby, but he says it anyway, “I got really really hungry, and it hurted so bad, but mommy didn’t waked up,” he looks at Liam, who is watching Harry back. His hands are almost violent in the way they shake. His big brother reacts with his entire body when Harry whispers, “I ate her brownies.” The boys each choke on a sob.

He is waiting for Zayn or Liam to say something, to tell him that he shouldn’t keep secrets, or to tell him he shouldn’t have done that. He knows. He knows he should have left food for mommy, and he’s so sorry he ate it. He’s sorry. He couldn’t wake her up, he couldn’t get her to eat, he couldn’t clean up the mess she made. Harry knows that he’s been a bad son, but maybe hearing one of his brothers say it- something Gemma couldn’t even say, it might make Harry feel real, like he didn’t make up a story.

But Liam has his bottom lip between his teeth, his soft brown eyes rimmed with tears, and Harry can’t bring himself to look at Zayn. He doesn’t want to see his face when he hears how bad Harry was. How greedy and mean he was to eat his mommy’s food. Zayn wouldn’t do that, he’s a good boy, a good brother, but maybe he might.

Robert was like that. He was so nice until he was mean. Gemma said all the time that it wasn’t Harry’s fault, but the man would blame him for everything, it had to be Harry’s fault. He always wanted to send Harry away, or leave him at the fire station, and Harry still holds his breath when a fire truck drives by. He didn’t want Harry, never did.

But Harry shouldn’t compare Zayn and Robert, they aren’t the same. Zayn is little, and his skin is a different color, his eyes too. It’s just that Harry tried to be so good for Robert, as if maybe if Harry was good Robert wouldn’t hit mommy or Gemma. So he didn’t cry when he was hurt, and he didn’t sing in the car, and he stayed in his room. He was such a good boy, but Robert was still mean. He wasn’t trying to be good for Zayn, he was shy, no, nervous, and Zayn still likes him.

Maybe he doesn’t anymore.

The guilt squeezing around his neck forces him to give in to a sob. He tucks his face into his knees, yelling into the darkness he’s made there, “I really tried to make her eat, but she wouldn’t! I tried, but I was so hungry. I’m sorry!” He cries.

Liam is quick to pick him up, hushing and bouncing him like a baby, and for a moment, Harry wants to be one. Everyone is nice to babies. They coo over them and they never yell when they cry too much. No one yells at them for wetting the bed, or making a mess.

Maybe it’d be better if Harry was asleep like mommy.

Liam pulls his face into his neck, letting Harry’s heaving sobs fall again his skin. The guitar pick necklace is cold against his cheek. His hands are big and warm as they rub circles in Harry’s back, “She was too tired to eat it, she wanted you to have it,” Liam tells him. He knows that’s what mommy would’ve done, she did do, but Harry didn’t even let her pick. He did it because he’s selfish, like Robert would accuse.

“There was lots of blood and Gemma was away for so long! I went to sleep with my mommy and when I waked up, she wasn’t home!” He cries harder. He didn’t take care of his mommy and was sent away for it, what if he’s sent away from his new home too? He shouldn’t have told Liam, shouldn’t have let Zayn hear him. Because now they know what Harry did, what he can’t forgive himself for. They know Harry’s just a baby. They know he’s greedy and bad and he’ll never protect them like they do him, but he likes being here. He feels safe again. Ultimately, this safety doesn’t belong to him, maybe Harry’s not allowed to be safe, he’s bad after all. “I’m scared!”

“That’s okay. That’s all right.”

From the coffee table Harry hears a heart wrenching sob. It’s Zayn. Harry knows it is him, but she still can’t bring himself to look at his brother. He’s made Zayn cry, Zayn who was only ever nice, Zayn, his bestest friend. Harry’s sorry for this too.

“Zayn, I don’t think-“

“I’m a bad boy!” Harry wiggles his body, letting it loose and flailing around in hopes of freeing himself, but Liam’s far stronger than he is. So, Harry hides against his big brother and licks at the fat tears trailing down his cheeks. “I’m scared,” he whimpers again. “I’m sorry! I tried! I’m so sorry.”

He wants Niall, wants Gemma, wants his mommy and Liam’s mommy, and Zayn even though Zayn is here with him.

Zayn sets a palm on the exposed skin of Harry’s back, his touch cold as Harry struggles to calm himself. He presses the teething ring into his hand, which encourages Harry to pull himself from Liam’s neck.

Zayn’s dark lashes are clumped together with tears, fat ones rolling down his cheeks. He looks so calm even as he’s crying.

“My mom’s asleep too,” Zayn says, “my big sister too.”

There’s a sadness for his brother that makes Harry choke on his next exhale. A life without his big sister? Harry can’t imagine losing Gemma so wholly, but maybe he has. Maybe Gemma lives with a different family because she knows Harry didn’t take care of mommy.

Zayn would. Zayn is the best big brother ever, and the best little brother, at least Harry thinks so. Liam talks so highly of Zayn, telling his mommy and daddy about all the great things he drew and did throughout the day. Niall plays video games and gets Zayn’s help with writing. He checks in on everyone sleeping, and he always wishes everyone a good night. He gets Harry juice without him even having to ask for it, and always, always, makes extra at lunch so Niall can eat when he gets home.

He’s a good son too, Maria lets them know, and Harry’s not jealous, he just wishes he could be more like Zayn. But if something so awful could happen to him, someone so good, then the world really isn’t fair.

Zayn continues, “they went to visit my cousins somewhere far, far, far away, with my dad, and right when they were about to come home a man hit their car.” He keeps his fingers locked around the teething ring next to Harry’s. “My mom and my sister went to sleep, I miss them a lot. So, I had to take care of my dad and my little sisters.. And a few years later, my dad got very very sad, and he put himself to sleep too.”

When Harry looks at Liam, the older boy is in shock. He drops a hand from Harry’s back and places it on the back of his neck, holding his breath as he does so. It’s strange to see someone so big cry, but Harry reaches up and wipes Liam’s tears, wiping them on his shorts.

With a fat wobbling lip, Harry asks, “They never woke up?”

“No,” Zayn says, his head hanging, “no, but they aren’t hurting anymore, they can’t get hurt ever again. They’ll never be sad, or hungry, or scared, or anything.”

“Then I want to sleep forever!” Harry declares, and he looks up to Liam again when he feels his fingers press into his skin. In turn, Harry shoves his face back into Liam’s neck. He doesn’t smell like the deck anymore, more like salt and the grass, but it’s safe here.

“Me too,” Zayn whispers.

“Come here,” Liam sobs heavily, Harry can feel it against his cheek. Zayn settles himself onto Liam’s free lap. Harry notices how thick his voice is. Liam has only ever been nice and warm, but big and scary, but Harry feels safe in this spot. With Zayn so close, Gemma is too, and nothing bad could happen. “If you two sleep forever, I’ll never see you again. You’ll never see me, or Niall, or mom and dad, or Louis, or any of your friends. You won’t get to see your sisters either. We don’t want that, do we?”

He feels Zayn crying before he hears it, his body shaking as he wraps his arms around his brothers.

“You’ll see them again-“

“I’m bad too, Harry. I’m so bad. I’m a bad brother and a bad son and a bad friend, this is what I get.” He looks at Liam with wet brown eyes, his lip between his teeth. “I should’ve done more help, my dad,” Zayn says, “he was so sad, all the time, but I couldn’t. I tried so hard, Li. Please believe me! I tried so hard, but I’m not enough, I couldn’t take care of everyone, it was so much.” Zayn hides his face in his hands. His sobs are the worst sounds Harry’s ever heard, they are near the sounds of Gemma’s cries when she came home and mommy was sleeping. They make the infant bite his tongue, doing his best to not mirror his brother’s wailing.

Harry quiets as Zayn continues, choking on sobs as they all shake so violently.

It feels as if Zayn has never cried, Harry imagines even the walls must feel sorry in how they shake with Zayn’s pleas. His small hands squeezes his brother’s knee, trying to bring him back to he and Liam. Zayn cries as if only he’s ever existed in time. The loneliness curling from his throat brings Harry back to laying in his mommy’s arms, to looking into her pretty eyes and seeing nothing behind them, to pulling her hands around himself to hold him.

“I should’ve taken better care of my sisters,” Zayn bellows, “and now I don’t even know where they are, Liam. I don’t know where they are. This is all my fault. I don’t deserve to be happy either, not without them.” He gags on his own breath, using frail hands to wipe at the snot trailing into his mouth. “Why do I get to be happy when my dad wasn’t?”

He chokes as his breath begins to quicken, heavy exhales and painful inhales. Harry can’t help but to cry for him, feeling lost and incapable himself. He reaches out to hold Zayn’s hand, but the older boy curls into Liam’s chest, sobbing into his shirt, “I’m their big brother, I should’ve stopped this from happening. It’s all my fault! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault.”

“I’m so sorry,” Liam hiccups. His grip grows tighter around his brothers as he whispers promises into their hair.