Coming Home

H. P. O. V

No goodbye. No more grey skies.

"Do you want a drink?"

"No," Presley mumbles, as she shakes her head. "I'm fine. Do you want a drink?"

"Baby--" I can feel the anxiety radiating off of Presley in waves. Can tell she's buzzing from the way her knee bounces, and her hands fumble in her lap. I can't do anything about it yet. The plane has just taken off, and we've been told to stay put. "Hey, Presley, sweetheart, here, take my hand."

"I'm fine," Presley mumbles shakily. She grips the seatbelt in between her fingers, and it has me frowning when I realize she is shaking.

I do my best to hide my smile, I know it's not a good idea to poke fun at my bird when she's shaken up, because the bird will become a lion in a snap. I hide a chuckle with a sigh, and say. "I'm a little scared. Let me hold your hand, please."

"Okay," she breathes. "Only cause you're scared." Presley insists.

"I am," I play along. I say nothing when Presley gasps, and whispers a 'fuck,' don't laugh when she closes her eyes, cringing as the plane goes up in the air. Once the plane settles, and we're told over the speakers, that it's okay to move about, I unbuckled my belt and gently tugged on Presley's hand. "I'm still scared. Come here, and keep me safe."

"Oh fuck, we're gonna fall and die!" Presley looks around, and I know she tends to talk irrationally when she feels afraid. "I should have never left my mom's body!"

"Okay," I say, before things get weirder. "Baby, come here. Take my hand, and let me hold you. I'm afraid you're going to have a panic attack, or something." Presley doesn't agrue. Doesn't complain, as I lean over, unbuckled the seatbelt smoothly, and help her over and onto my lap.

The plane tumbles slightly in the air, and Presley's whimper goes straight through her throat, and stabs me straight in the heart. I help her cross her knee over so that she's straddling me. Thighs open so I can hold her. My hand is behind her head, free arm wrapped around her lower back.

Presley curls into herself, like she's trying to forget she's on a plane. Like, I'm there to protect her from all the monsters around.

And I am.

"I'm never flying again. Fuck, I'm never going to leave the ground."

"Baby, the plane tumbling is normal. I promise."

"Tumbling? The fuck do you mean tumbling?!"

"Okay, that was the wrong word," I back track. "I meant, the plane being bumpy, is normal. The plane is not going to tumble, baby. We'll be fine, and we'll be home soon. Focus on that."

"This is torture," Presley whines. "How on earth did you convince me to come with you?"

"With my charm," I tease.

"Charm my ass."

I play with her hair and laugh. "Babe, how in the hell did you make it flying on your own? Didn't you make it just fine when you flew home?"

"I won't lie," Presley sighs. "I drugged myself to sleep."

"What?" I snap startled, my hand gripping her waist tighter than necessary.

"It was those shit pills from Tesco. Lunesta or something like that. They were strong though, only took two for me to pass out."

"You should not be taking anything like that," I chastise like a stuffy parent.

"Well, you shouldn't have been such an idiot." Presley shrugs easily. It's so true, I'm not offended. Can't really be, without looking like a hypocrite. So instead I nod, trying my best to keep the wounded look from my face. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that. M'sorry Harry, don't get all sad on me."

"I wont sweetheart. We're going home, together. I can't be sad right now. Took a while to get here."

"Took a long, long, long time, and too many apple sours."

"No more apple sours."

"I know," she sighs petulant. "No more of anything. I know."

"It's not like that," it's really not. But things have to change if we want to get better. We can't keep doing the same things and expect improvement. It's not how it's intended to work. "We both have to make changes, brown eyes. I have to stop being stupid, and you can't drink like you used to."

"Old habits die hard, Harry. Kind of the reason I'm here."

"I love you, you know," I say before we start a fight.

"Yes, well, I love you too." She utters and yawns.

"Why don't we take a nap? Let's sleep and I'll give you love. Lots of love, yeah?" Presley hums, tiredly and nuzzles closer. It's easier when I lay us down, bodies pressed close together. The sofa isn't terrible. It's not perfect, but it'll do. Presley's out before I can ask her if she wants a drink. She's asleep, and warm, and soft.

"Yeah, lots of love."

****
We landed two hours ago, and made it through the crowd of people in less time than we thought. Then I'm used too.

"Do you know when Ben lands?"

No, and I particularly don't care to find out. But I can't say that out loud. So I shake my head and mumble a. "No."

"Okay," she sighs, trying to unlock her door. "Do you want to sleep here? Or are you going back to yours?"

"Like you even have to ask," I joke, already hugging her to me. "Not going to leave your side for a while, pretty baby. Need my bird, right now."

"Ooo," Presley sings. The color in her cheeks is back, and her limbs have stopped trembling since we landed. Well, since we drove away from the air port. The crowds of people still made her fussy, and I don't blame her. "British lingo," she giggles.

"Okay, let's stop being mean to me and get inside. It's cold."

"So demanding from someone who claims he's humble."

"I am. I'm so down to earth it's unhealthy."

"Of course you are," she says as the door finally unlocks, and we're granted access. "I've got to call my dad. I don't want him to keep crying like he did when we left."

"Yeah, you're dad's sensitive for someone who scares the shit out of me."

"I kn-- what?" Presley stops when she sees shoes by the hall. She drops her suitcase, and walks to the worn out converse. "These aren't Ben's."

"How do you know?"

"Because they're too big, and Ben only owns white converse. Not black ones." Right now, may not be the best time to ask why she knows such details about someone other than me. But we've just landed and I want to sleep for years in Presley's bed, with Presley.

"Who's are these then?" I ask.

"Mine," a voice speaks from behind us.

We both turn, and Presley gasps surprised. "Jesse?" Of course it's Jesse.

Of-fucking-course.

Okay. Fuck.

"S'good to see you, pretty girl." Jesse says in a low voice, with a small smile. And personally, I don't see anything good about this.

Notes

That moment when you got finals but you refuse to study so you become a tree to avoid responsibility, but then you realize you hate nature, and you have no money, and you've come to the conclusion that you're too poor to pay attention. Me.