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“And that’s why we have to help them out! The more we help, the more our name gets out there, and the more people will talk about Hotel Z! And then, we can make AZ happy and pay him back for everything he’s done for us!”
Harmony smiles at him from the meeting table. She’s sitting on it rather than in a chair, but it’s fine. It’s not like this is a formal meeting; it’s just the two of them, Urbain rambling as Harmony listens, her legs tangling. It’s just the two of them, which has been happening a lot more recently. It’s almost as if the two other members of Team MZ were looking for excuses to leave the two others alone.
“That makes sense, right?”
“It makes perfect sense, Sunshine. There’s no one but you who would think of something so convoluted but that might still actually work.”
Sunshine. Sunshine. Sunshine.
Sunshine.
“Urbain?”
Sunshine.
“Urbain, what’s wrong?”
Sunshine.
“Urbain?” Harmony’s hands are warm against his cheeks. They feel wet as well. “Urbain, what happened? Did I say something wrong?”
The sob chokes him as his body crashes into Harmony’s. Her arms are tight around his body as she pushes herself off the table. She holds up his weight as his knees buckle under him, leaving him limp and weak. She holds him tight, holds him close, holds him. She just holds him as they slowly crash to the floor.
“Urbain, darling, what happened? Please,” she’s begging, which makes him feel even worse, “please tell me what happened. Please tell me why you’re crying?”
It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. It’s the absolute stupidest reason, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop the hot tears streaming down his face. He can’t stop the sobs that choke him. He can’t stop thinking about her.
“Did I say something to make you cry?”
One deep breath and Urbain is shaking his head. Technically, she did, but she couldn’t have known. She couldn’t have known that one word could send him in a spiral; truth be told, he didn’t even know that it would happen. He had long forgotten about the name. He had forgotten the impact it has on him. He had forgotten about how every night a kiss would be pressed to his head, a kiss pressed to her little sunshine’s face.
“She used to call me Sunshine.”
Another sob tightens his chest as Harmony threads her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. Another sob threatens to break as she asks him who he’s talking about. Because if he thinks about her too much, he might never stop crying. It hurts too much; he’s a horrible son for starting to forget about her.
“Why did she have to go? Why did she have to—”
“Darling, who are you talking about?”
“My mother.”
Harmony’s fingers freeze against his scalp; her whole body goes rigid. It’s a valid reaction, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. Every time he mentions her, mentions the woman who left, who died, everyone takes a step back. Everyone takes a step back from the boy who taints the world around him. Nobody wants to deal with him, with his grief, with his responsibility in the passing of a great mind.
Urbain pulls away, but arms tighten around him. Harmony’s grip on him tightens even more; her fingers dig into his jacket, balling into fists. She doesn’t let him go. She doesn’t let him slip away quietly. She doesn’t stop him from crying again. She just peppers kisses to his hair, repeating his name over and over again.
“It’s my fault. It’s my fault she’s gone.”
“No, it’s not, Urbain. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”
“If I wasn’t born then—”
“Then you wouldn’t be here.” Warm hands find warmer, tear-stained cheeks. “If you weren’t born, then you wouldn’t be here putting good in this world. You wouldn’t be here, spreading kindness around. You wouldn’t be here with me. You wouldn’t be here, making me happier than I’ve ever been.”
A hiccup intertwines with laughter. Usually, he’s the sap. Usually, he’s the one saying dumb shit because he’s just so down bad. Usually, he’s the one telling Harmony how happy he is that she’s here, how lucky he feels getting to spend time with her. But hearing it come from her, it helps. It feels nice.
A soft kiss is pressed to his lips. It’s salty from his tears, but Urbain can’t help the smile that begins to form from the sweetness. He might still feel a little miserable, but being held, being kissed, being told that he’s important and good, it feels nice. It feels nice knowing that he’s not nothing but a burden to those around him.
“I promise to not call you that anymore.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for being…” A pathetic failure? “A mess.”
“I don’t like seeing you cry. I don’t want you to cry.”
“It’s not your fault, Harmony.”
“And it’s not yours either, Urbain.”
It’s not yours either, Urbain. When was the last time someone had gone out of their way to tell him it’s not his fault? That not everything going wrong is his fault? It’s been a ridiculously long time. So long, that he can’t even remember the last time. No one has told him that in so long, but he’s never really let anyone see him the way he sees his reflection. He smiles through the pain; he grins when all he wants to do it break down crying.
“If you’d like,” Urbain hums as Harmony’s fingers return to his hair, her words whispered against his skin, “and if it doesn’t make you too sad, I’d like to hear more about your mom. I’d like to know more about the woman who raised the most wonderful guy I’ve ever met.”
Hot, wet tears roll down Urbain’s cheeks again, but this time he smiles and nods. He’s still sad, but it doesn’t hurt as much this time. This time, it’s not like when he had to explain everything to Emma, Emma who was just taking notes. It’s not like when he was younger, unable to look AZ in the eyes as he searched for comfort in someone who could be like a parent to him. This time, if he’s going to talk about his mother, about the woman who raised him and loved him like no other person had, then he’s going to smile through it. This time, he’s going to tell the stories he remembers to someone who really wants to hear them, wants to listen to him talk, wants to know him.
“Well, she was really great. I remember one time, when I was a little kid, she…”