Clarity || Harstin
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It was more than a little surprising when Harris requested a trip out to the shooting range, and it made Justin a little uneasy. Since when did his boyfriend want to voluntarily be around guns, or weapons of any sort? But he just agreed and stayed closer to Harris as they made their way outside. He squeezed Harris’s hand gently, worried the longer his boyfriend stayed silent and kept his eyes on the ground. He sat down on the couch beside Harris at the silent invitation, and arm sliding habitually around his boyfriend’s shoulders. He stayed silent as Harris talked, trying to follow as the conversation went from a fight with Luna to dancing in the studio. he winced when Harris said that the music had been Blythe’s playlist, but kept quiet to let him finish, instead reaching over with his free hand to squeeze one of Harris’s. It was a sharp sting at first, when Harris said that his mom had brought some of Ellie and Cohen’s things, though he probably shouldn’t be surprised. Of course she would want to bring some things with her, to give Harris a few things to keep of theirs. It still felt a bit surreal to Justin, that Ellie and Cohen’s things were just there, for friends and family to keep as mementos. Since they had left New York directly after the funeral, there were still days when Justin could almost convince himself that they were just back in the states, having decided that it was safer to stay, and waiting for everyone else to come back. He hesitated only a second before dropping Harris’s hand in favor of taking the scrapbook and sliding it into his lap, though didn’t open it yet, turning his eyes back to Harris. He gave Harris a sad smile, but didn’t answer Harris’s confusion. He knew why his boyfriend’s mom hadn’t come to find him. She didn’t like him, and Justin still couldn’t figure out why. Anytime he was in the same room as her, he felt like she was sizing him up, and worse was when he was in the same room as her and Harris together, and he felt like she was suspicious of him. But now wasn’t the time for his issues with winning over Harris’s mother, so Justin didn’t say that part out loud.
It took him a minute to realize the significance of the key, but wasn’t entirely surprised with where the story turned. From how upset Harris had been when he came to find Justin, and how emotional he was now telling the story, it wasn’t entirely a shock that it at some point involved alcohol. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed, but at least glad that Harris had told him about it. Justin hugged him tighter against his side and leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Guess the withdrawals get worse when you give your body even a little back before taking it away again,” he commented quietly, unsure what he was supposed to say. Harris wasn’t asking if Justin was upset, and at least seemed comfortable enough to know that he wouldn’t be— that something like this wasn’t likely to spark some huge argument. Though he couldn’t help but tense when Harris looked him straight in the eye and said that he didn’t regret it, and wasn’t sorry about it. Did he— Was he not going to try and get sober again? Was one slip enough to get him to give up on sobriety all together? He wasn’t entirely sure what Harris meant when he said that it finally clicked. It clicked that sobriety wasn’t for him, or that he didn’t want to try anymore? He hesitantly followed the reasoning, but wasn’t sure he liked hearing that any better. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re still you. Even if you’ve changed some, they would still recognize you. I still recognize you,” he offered with a weak smile. It was uncomfortable to listen to the reasoning in the way that Harris explained it, but Justin tried to understand. He got that Harris hadn’t been his friend before this summer, but he hoped that Harris wasn’t saying that all that changed because this summer, losing so many people, had caused that change. For his part, Justin still felt like he’d fallen in love with the adorable bookworm from back home, even if his bookworm hadn’t picked up a book in a while, and socialized, at least within their friend circle, more often lately. Even if he hadn’t known Harris very well before this summer, he had known him at least in passing. He’d spent enough time between Cohen’s house and Ellie’s that he couldn’t avoid having interacted at least superficially with the boy before. He could see where Harris thought that he’d changed a lot, but Justin saw the same boy, just with a few different habits and coping methods. He nodded, looking down at the scrapbook and tapping his fingers lightly against it. “I get that. I mean, not the caring about stupid things part.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really cared about something stupid. Sure, he had cared about grades to an extent, and what his professors thought of him, but TC and the agency had always been the biggest concern since he could remember. “But I miss you not caring about those the way you did before. I miss Jer being excited when I’d suggest going to the music store so he could get new guitar strings. I miss you calling me because the biggest thing you were concerned about was that you and Natasha had a fight. I miss when you didn’t have to be concerned about all of this, when you were carefree and your biggest worries were just little things like that.” He quirked a small smile. “Though for the record, your bum looked amazing in those insanely tight pants.” He sobered slightly, shrugging and looking down at his hand again, fingers brushing over the scrapbook. “I’m not saying that I’m sorry you know. Knowing has kept you, if not safe, at least aware of what’s going on, and that helps. Besides, we—I don’t think I’d have agreed to that first date if you hadn’t known I was a guard then. Not that— it’s just, lying to a friend is one thing, but that’s not the point right now. I’m just sorry you have to worry about more than grades and dance routines.”
He tried not to flinch when Harris said that he was the only one of them that had survived. And that sure everyone else had memories, but Harris held the bulk of who they were. He knew Harris hadn’t meant it in a way that dismissed Justin’s memories of them as irrelevant, but it took him a second of silence to remind himself. Justin didn’t want to start an argument, but he still wanted to make a point, so he started talking about it as gently as he could. “Don’t put that much pressure on yourself. It’s not all on you. I know you knew Ellie better than I did, and you knew the important parts of Blythe and Cohen, but there were parts, at least of them that will die with me, and I haven’t done any better of a job trying to keep that part alive. Like how Cohen could go from rambling about how much he loved Ellie, to cursing the agency for putting him in such a difficult position, in the span of about two seconds.” A smile pulled at his lips at the memory. Or memories, rather. It had happened more times than Justin could count. The smile fell a second later, as Harris’s words really hit him. Those memories would die with them. Casey and Nate had known Cohen and Blythe, but they had been gone for a while. Blythe had to, but the last two years only Justin had been around. Those memories, those guys’ nights and guards’ nights were his memories alone, and they’d be lost. The insane and crazy and kind of beautiful love story that circled Ellie and Cohen would die with them. The two people that Cohen and Ellie had confided in respectively. Justin set the scrapbook aside so he could turn to Harris, wrapping his boyfriend in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “They would be proud of you, babe. You’ve been through hell several times over, and you’re still standing. You’re still moving forward, and dancing, and holding onto the things that are important to you. El and Coh would be insanely proud of you.” Justin leaned his head against the top of Harris’s, one arm wrapped snuggly around him, his other hand rubbing circles over Harris’s back. he stayed quiet for a minute, debating he possible reactions to his next words before saying them out loud. “Har? What would you think, if I said that we shouldn’t let their memories die? You could write a book. A— what do they call it? Memoir? I can chip in the parts that you don’t know, if you want me to. About the guard sides of Cohen and Blythe.”
