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Harry couldn’t help but think that Tom looked so at home on his throne carved from glory days. It glowed with starlight and cast memories on his face. The moon must want for nothing more than his serene smile. His head was held high to the dawn. He was beautiful.
Harry was burdened so young with the stale cold stench of morning. Abandoned by those who couldn’t give him memories, leaving him alone and haunted. Would he ever be beautiful? Would daylight come and make this night a memory too?
Tom held out his hand of happiness. A streetlight far away died, and Harry took the hand, ready for his days in the sun.