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“You’re going to destroy yourself.”
I already have, Tom thought bitterly.
The small caress of December air was a subtle reminder of the chill which was yet to come.
Tom waited for the cloying regret to seep into his marrow, for the inevitable press of cold nails against his ribcage, a solemn recognition of this truth, this destruction. Tom resented it, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to resent Harry.
Tom’s gaze remained an unwavering presence on Harry, unable to quell the truth which slipped from his tongue.
”I know.”
A perplexed expression crossed Harry’s features in that moment, it was as if he couldn't quite place something about Tom’s admittance. Perhaps it was the truth which had baffled Harry, or perhaps it was the ease with which Tom had confessed to a weakness, that Tom had so readily agreed with him. The thought gave Tom the odd urge to smile.
Do you know that you are not a weakness Harry?
Tom awaited the regret again, awaited it with a near fervent kind of expectancy. The coldness would soon take form, unfurling within the hollow of Tom’s chest.
The coldness didn’t come.
Harry shifted, the scuff of shoes against stone a stark noise in the otherwise silent tower.
”Do you think this makes you tragic?” Harry questioned, tone laced with a disbelieving incredulity.
Tom idly noticed how the steady glow of dusk had taken over the sky, painting the sky a picture of mottled oranges and blues. It heralded the inevitable fall of the sun.
Was this what Icarus saw before he fell?
Tom’s fingers flexed around the cool railing, once, then twice; a slow rhythmic display of his patience. Waiting, Tom was waiting for the chill to turn inwards.
”Doesn’t it?” Tom replied consideringly.
The response was near immediate.
”No.”
The twitch of his fingers was involuntary this time. His lips parted, a response already primed when Harry continued.
”It makes you destructive.”
Hypocrite.
Can Harry not see how he has changed me, has ruined me more thoroughly than treachery ever could?
What Tom found unbearable was the way it happened so naturally, so easily. He doubted Harry even intended for it to happen. It was a maddening thought.
Like clockwork, the scuff of shoes sounded again and Tom wondered just when he had grown familiar with Harry's restlessness. Harry had shifted, angling himself towards Tom more. It was only when his nerves ignited with warmth did Tom realise that Harry’s arm was against his own.
If this was regret, then why did it taste like warmth?
“You don’t have to destroy everything around you, you know?” Harry said, his words coming out softer against the still evening air.
Laughter slipped from Tom in that instance, unguarded and genuine, and Tom watched as astonishment coloured Harry’s expression. Tom inwardly thought that it suited Harry quite well.
”And what if I promised you would not be caught in the crossfire?” Tom mused, a lilting, near teasing edge to his voice.
In a quick motion Harry’s hand wrapped firmly around his wrist, a sharp gleam evident in those green-lit eyes. The contact burned, yet Tom couldn’t help but want to lean in closer, compelled by some ruinous urge to be scolded.
How could such inviting fingers be so destructive?
”Don’t.” Harry warned.
Tom then turned to face him fully, his gaze taking in Harry with vigour only to come to a pause, that hollow part of chest feeling oddly constricted.
Lit against the dying embers of light, Harry looked astonishing. Golden, as though marked by something celestial.
He looked like something untouchable.
And yet Tom couldn’t stop himself from reaching anyway.
It occurred to Tom that perhaps the sun had never destroyed Icarus after all.
Perhaps Icarus had simply loved the fall too much.