✓ Wrong Moves and Knife Wounds /h.s./

[13] paper skin and unwanted responsibility

beach

They have their feet buried in the hot sand. They've been sitting this way for hours now. It was quiet at first, but now that Rory has her finger clasped around the neck of a beer bottle, she feels all bubbly in her chest and Harry only knows this because she's said it enough times.

It's different for him, though, because alcohol has always confused him. He remembers first trying it in the attic of a high school friend's and not being able to recognize faces or voices. For now, he takes small sips and small glances at the girl beside him who keeps her eyes on the sky and then occasionally sneaks looks at him and then pretends she's looking at the ocean instead.

She tells him, "I lost the line between the sky and the sea," and he only vaguely comprehends it. His mind trails off a little.

"Isn't that a song?"

She turns over on her stomach and he catches a glint in her eyes. Lies to himself. Wants to think it's not as pretty as he really thinks it is. "I dunno."

Her lips are wet with beer and her eyes are so wide. He's never seen them that wide before and he wants to know under what conditions they get that way. He wonders how many people have noticed them. "It is," he whispers. He barely remembers what they had been talking about. Something about being lost in the sea or the sky but Harry is lost in her eyes and her glistening lips. He's lost in the dip between her neck and her shoulder; lost in her protruding collarbone. There must be saltwater in the sky because her hair is a little less straight.

She hiccups. Pulls everything back into focus. "My name is Aurora."

"That's nice." He shrugs. Doesn't really care.

"This is the part where you tell me that your name is Harold."

"Except it isn't."

She frowns and holds out the bottle to him before standing to her feet clumsily. His hands go immediately to her calves just incase she loses her balance. When he knows she's stable, he stands with her, eyebrows knit in confusion that he doesn't shake away.

It got dark some time ago and the man in the little truck behind them must have left some time before they sat down so all they've got is this last, half-filled bottle of alcohol that he's definitely not going to drink. "What is it?"

Her eyes are watery but it has to be the wind she keeps trying to blink away. "I was so upset this morning because, like-" hiccup, "I didn't like the way my friend was treating me and-"

"How was he treating you?" Does he care?

"Well," she tosses her head back a little. She looks normal this way. Standing in front of the ocean with the wind throwing her hair every which way and her arms encased in the sleeves of his sweater. (It's too big for her and Harry's kind of cold but he won't ask for it back. Spoiler: Not ever, but it doesn't get forgotten.) "It was more of the way he was looking at me." She looks down at her feet and her shoulders roll forward like she's recalling information. A memory.

He doesn't say anything because of how ridiculous she sounds.

Rory takes a step forward until she's right in front of him. She's in his personal space and giving him this look that he can't recognize. It's the alcohol, he thinks. The sky is so dark that it blends in with her hair and her (his) sweater. It blends in so much that he doesn't know she has her hands in the air until her ringed fingers are tapping at the side of his face.

Her breath fans out against his skin and he doesn't move. He's too shocked to move so he just waits for it. Waits for her to share a secret or something.