If I can stop one heart from breaking
If I can ease one life the aching
If I can ease one life the aching
Harper truly tries to put words to his agreement, but all that comes out is a burble of contentment masquerading as English. Sugar plums dancing in dreams? No, Harper is seeing potatoes and chunks of beef, and he’s (somewhat) certain he’s still awake.
It’s a treat whenever he can have Phoebe’s cooking. Harper is no slouch in the kitchen, and maybe he’s just a romantic to think it, but food tastes better when made with love for someone else. He is about to force himself to stand and join Phoebe at the sink to help with washing the dishes in tandem when he notices her shoulders tensing. It draws his eye instinctively, a trained reaction that precedes the slow slog of thoughts in his head. Something in him always forced to notice, catalogue.
As she runs Harper jolts up, lethargy forgotten as he rushes after her, calling her name in bewildered alarm. He’s moments behind her as she hits her knees, and with gentle hands he holds her hair back as she heaves into the toilet. Once it’s carefully held in one hand, the other rubs at her back, kneeling at her side with expressive brows pinched in deep concern. Muttering soft platitudes to feel less useless. When it’s clear she’s finished, Harper reaches to flush the toilet so the smell hopefully won’t make her sick anew and rises briefly to grab the small cup next to the toothbrushes and fill it with water. He cups her hand gently as he hands it to her in case her strength is shaky. “Are you sure? Maybe you’ve caught a bug. You didn’t seem like you ate too much or too fast.” Already prone to mother henning, Harper brushes the baby hairs at her temple behind her ear. “Maybe you should go see Doctor Hart just in case.”
It’s a treat whenever he can have Phoebe’s cooking. Harper is no slouch in the kitchen, and maybe he’s just a romantic to think it, but food tastes better when made with love for someone else. He is about to force himself to stand and join Phoebe at the sink to help with washing the dishes in tandem when he notices her shoulders tensing. It draws his eye instinctively, a trained reaction that precedes the slow slog of thoughts in his head. Something in him always forced to notice, catalogue.
As she runs Harper jolts up, lethargy forgotten as he rushes after her, calling her name in bewildered alarm. He’s moments behind her as she hits her knees, and with gentle hands he holds her hair back as she heaves into the toilet. Once it’s carefully held in one hand, the other rubs at her back, kneeling at her side with expressive brows pinched in deep concern. Muttering soft platitudes to feel less useless. When it’s clear she’s finished, Harper reaches to flush the toilet so the smell hopefully won’t make her sick anew and rises briefly to grab the small cup next to the toothbrushes and fill it with water. He cups her hand gently as he hands it to her in case her strength is shaky. “Are you sure? Maybe you’ve caught a bug. You didn’t seem like you ate too much or too fast.” Already prone to mother henning, Harper brushes the baby hairs at her temple behind her ear. “Maybe you should go see Doctor Hart just in case.”
I shall not live in vain
HARPER
