1937 [Put Your Head On My Shoulder]
“For who would lose, though full of pain, this intellectual being, those thoughts that wander through eternity to perish rather, swallowed up and lost in the wide womb of uncreated Night?”
-John Milton, Paradise Lost
August 17, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage London, England
[Put Your Head On My Shoulder]
Tom woke up with a start, cold sweat dripping down his face like someone poured buckets upon buckets of water down his head. His pyjamas were practically soaked and his bed was damp yet again, sweat seeping through the old shirts Tom piled up in the middle of the bed to keep it dry.
Tom lurched forward and slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself from vomiting. Is this how Harry feels every time he has a nightmare?
Harry.
Tom immediately looked to his right, where Harry’s bed was. There was a lump under the covers, shifting slightly every few seconds. If it weren’t for the moonlight that enveloped the room, he wouldn’t have seen Harry that properly.
Tom sighed and ran a hand through his curls, trying to calm himself down.
What are five things you see?
Tom’s eyes frantically darted around the room, avoiding the static trying to overcome his senses and bring him under again. The moonlight. The closet. His sheets. The clean spot near his bed among the dusty floor. Harry.
What four things can you touch?
Tom curled his fingers into his palms, feeling the smooth skin under his fingertips. He splayed his hand flat against his bed and felt the cotton of the thin sheets he called a blanket. He tugged at his clothes, practically desperate to pull the things clinging to him off. Tom’s, almost frantic, hand leaned over to touch the cold of his bed frame, feeling the indents and hard surface of it.
Skin, cotton, flannel, metal.
Tom breathed in the cold hair of their room. Harry is okay, there is nothing to worry about. He’s alright, finish the exercise.
What are three things you can hear?
Tom cleared his mind, taking in deep breaths as he tried to listen to the environment around him. He heard the unsurprisingly heavy rain outside their room, he heard Harry rustling across the room, and he heard his own heavy, uneven breathing. The storm didn’t let out yet.
Tom ran hand through his hair again.
Rain. Harry. His own breathing.
The world started to come back slowly, and started to ground Tom again. The cotton of his own bed was a comforting feeling now, instead of being a suffocating sheet of discomfort. Tom unbuttoned his flannel a few buttons and sat there on his bed, unmoving, and tried to focus on Harry’s breathing again. He was safe .
What are two things you can smell?
The sweat on his bed wafted through the area of his room, it was practically odourless but Tom still smelled it. That didn’t count. Tom tried again and smelled a little bit of rain from outside the window, only absently realizing that they left the window slightly open instead of sealing it shut.
Thank the high heavens it was open. Tom feels like he’s suffocating.
Tom inhaled again and smelled the old wood of the room. It was a grounding feeling like no other. He smelled the cedar from their closet, and the old pine of the floorboards. Why was it so grounding?
What is one thing you can taste?
He can taste the rabbit stew on his tongue, vaguely remembering how close to tears Billy Stubbs was then he realized what they were eating earlier that night. It was an amazing sight to see.
Tom stretched his arms and groaned at the popping sounds it made. He felt so stiff . He’d have to ask Harry to give him a massage when he woke up.
Tom took a few more deep breaths and repeated, ‘I am not alone,’ over and over again like a mantra that’ll keep him from his monophobia. He takes in the rain again, inhaling the scent before he swung his legs over the bed and sealed the window shut. They couldn’t afford to deal with a wet windowsill later, it was too much of a hassle to deal with, especially with the room inspection the matron does every two weeks.
Tom unbuttoned the flannel all the way and folded it before chucking it into the basket the matron put in their rooms. At least the old hag cared for hygiene or Tom wouldn’t see the end of it.
There were a few rustles from Harry but Tom just ignored them. After all, Harry did that a lot and Tom wasn’t in the best mood to worry over everything Harry did at the moment, especially when asleep. Tom took off his sweaty pyjama bottoms and changed to cleaner ones.
And that was when everything practically went to hell.
“Tom!” A shout from the other side of the room made Tom instantly swerve and practically run towards Harry. His clothes were strewn across his chest, clear that there were haphazard attempts to pull it off. Tom’s alarms rang loudly in his head. Why was Harry not okay? “Please help me…” Before it trailed off into a whimper.
Tom turned Harry around to lay him on his back and pushed his hair away from his forehead. He sat beside Harry and tried to comfort him in the best way he could possible while Harry was asleep. He couldn’t shake Harry to wake up, Harry explicitly told him not to, saying that it felt like he was being pulled in every single direction.
All Tom could do was make Harry’s resurface the most comfortable he can make it be.
Harry scrambled back into the wall, far from Paul Stevens and the manic grin he was sporting. The concrete that enveloped his senses overcame him like a wave of ice again, leaving Harry both shivering and cold because of it and because of the man in front of him.
Where was Tom? Where was Tom to save him? Where was Tom to reassure him everything was alright? Surely, he would be there to comfort Harry, right? Right?
Harry whimpered again when the man in front of him took out a pocket knife and stalked towards Harry, each step making an echo that filled Harry with dread, regret, and a twisting feeling in his stomach.
Tom wasn’t there nor will he ever be there again.
“You’ll see how much Christ loves you, devil child,” The man spat and Harry tried to scramble back further behind him but all he felt was the cold sensation of the wall. “I’ll show you how much our saviour sacrificed so that I can save you too.”
“No!” Harry screamed, kicking and trying to escape the man that had already practically pinned him down into the floor of the basement. “Don’t touch me!”
As the man was about to slice Harry’s arms, Harry kicked him in the chest, making him stumble backwards, away from Harry and away from the subsequent danger he can cause.
The room suddenly grew larger and longer, making Harry feel crowded and small. Harry immediately ran to the left and the wall stretched to form a long hallway. Harry’s eyes widened at the opportunity and tried to run as fast as his little legs could take him but it was no use, Paul Stevens was gaining on him.
Harry turned a corner and saw the hallway turn into white flower-patterned wallpaper and the floor beneath him turned into blue carpet, slowing Harry down significantly. Why was this so familiar?
Harry tried to think where did this all come from when the shouting began.
Harry tried to keep his mouth shut as insults like, “I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!”, “I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!”, and, “FREAK!” echoed through the hallway.
Harry winced but continued running.
The walls were covered ceiling to floor with faces upon faces in frames that Harry can’t fathom to remember nor recognize. Pink hair, green hair, dozens of ginger ones, black hair even, Harry can’t recognize them at all. He doesn’t even know if he knew them in the first place.
Harry could hear Paul Stevens behind him, gaining on him and Harry tried his best to run away from him, to run away from the mocking steps each step the man took.
Where was Tom? Didn’t Tom promise to protect him? To take care of him?
Harry shook his head and rounded the corner before running towards another one, one that was closer compared to all the others he already passed.
Tom couldn’t protect him now. It was all on Harry to save himself.
No one can save him now.
Harry yelped as a hand grabbed his collar and lifted him up. He kicked and screamed behind him, trying to make the man let go of him but it was no use. Like before, Harry will never win.
Paul Steven’s arm was tight around Harry’s neck, squeezing and tightening before Harry’s world grew dark and hazy. His actions grew sluggish and weak while the man behind him grew stronger.
It was no use, he’d die here knowing that Tom was nowhere to be found, probably as dead as Harry was going to be in a few moments. Harry’s breathing grew ragged as he saw the glint of the knife held up at his throat.
Harry embraced the darkness.
Tom took a step back as Harry lurched forward from his bed. Harry was sweating, incredibly so, even without a shirt on. Tom took a step back and took the glass of water from the desk beside Harry’s bed.
He kneeled on the bed and took hold of Harry’s shoulders, trying to steady his best friend.
Harry was swaying as Tom continued to steady him, attempting, trying even, to help Harry regain his senses. It wasn’t enough as Harry swayed again and almost knocked the glass out of Tom’s hand and onto the bed. Tom clicked his tongue and set the glass on the windowsill of the other window, the one to Harry’s right side of the bed and not the one between their beds. Tom hoped it wouldn’t spill.
He cupped the underside of Harry’s jaw and lifted it for Tom to see.
Harry’s eyes were lidded and glazed, as if he had been possessed by something. But he was awake, that was enough comfort to Tom. He pressed his fingers on Harry’s neck to check his pulse. It was abnormally increased, beating so fast that Tom panicked for a moment. The sweat was piling up and seeping into Tom’s hands as he checked Harry again.
“Hey, Harry,” Tom whispered, desperate to help Harry and to help resurface his thoughts. “Harry. It’s me, Tom? Don’t you remember?”
Harry made a noise and his weak hands lifted up to wrap them around Tom’s wrists. His head dropped forward, right into Tom’s right hand. It was practically no use; Harry still wasn’t that awake to be helped.
“Hey, darling, can you stay awake for me?” Tom was desperate for something, anything, just to know that Harry was alright. “Please? I need you to stay awake for me.”
Harry made that sound again but finally, moved his head. That was practically a miracle in Tom’s eyes. He never would have thought of Harry to start to recover this quickly. Still, Tom took what he could get, even if it still scared him half to death of how little he got from Harry as a response.
“Please, Harry, mon cher, please, stay awake for me,” Tom said. Something, anything, Harry. “Stay awake for me, okay?”
Finally, Harry said something. “Tom,” he groaned, eyes slowly blinking into consciousness. His breathing was still uneven but it was better than before. “Tom…”
As if on instinct, Tom’s hands moved up to cup Harry’s cheeks and felt how hot they were. Why didn’t he feel that before? “Yeah? Breathe with me.” Tom watched as Harry followed his orders and breathed in deeply. “What’s wrong? What happened in your dream?”
Harry only shook his head.
Tom changed his position and sat cross-legged across from Harry, still cradling Harry’s face in his hands. Harry didn’t say much else, he only leaned into Tom’s touch and practically sat in his lap.
Tom sighed. He knew Harry won’t be able to talk about his dream in the next few hours, he didn’t want to. Tom didn’t mind nor care about it in the slightest, as long as Harry was okay.
When it grew almost uncomfortable to bear, Tom had to let go of Harry’s face and instead held Harry’s hands before he led Harry towards his bed. He walked over to Harry’s side of the room and took the glass waiting on the windowsill before coaxing Harry to drink it.
Harry drank the whole glass in a few gulps.
Tom grabbed an extra shirt from their cabinet and pulled it over Harry’s head. Harry whined but followed Tom’s motions and adjusted the shirt to fit more comfortably.
Tom then laid Harry down and joined him after a few moments. Harry immediately turned around and snuggled into Tom’s arms, falling asleep within minutes. Tom just sighed and tightened his hold on Harry before falling asleep too.
Harry woke up feeling arms around his middle, tight and unmovable.
It hit Harry what happened last night. How Tom took care of him, the burden that Harry is, and didn’t demand anything or forced Harry to say what happened.
When did he ever deserve Tom? When did he ever deserve to have a best friend like Tom?
Harry snuggled into Tom’s chest and tightened his hold on him. He heard Tom let out a groan and shifted because of it but just continued sleeping.
It was a quiet morning, there were no shouts from the street below nor from the courtyard in the back of the building. The rain was still pouring, significantly weaker than last night’s but it was still strong nonetheless. It was soothing, Harry decided, the pitter patter of the rain on the window, the cold that seeped in through walls that made Harry shiver and snuggle into Tom more.
Harry didn’t want to remember what had happened last night in his dream. Well, more like a nightmare really. It was both a haze that fogged his senses and a bucket of ice-cold water that drenched him at the same time. Harry shook his head. No, he shouldn’t be thinking about it, let alone think about thinking about it.
He snuggled into Tom more and winced when Tom moved to his side. Harry felt Tom’s arms tighten around his waist again and saw that Tom’s nose was scrunched up.
That wouldn't happen. Harry couldn’t bear to see Tom uncomfortable like this.
He let go of his hold on Tom and reached up so he could brush away the stray curls that fell over Tom’s face. Tom’s nose scrunched up even harder at the action. Harry lightly traced the area between Tom’s eyebrows to the tip of his nose in a downward motion before he started over again with the action.
Tom’s face slowly relaxed under Harry’s ministrations before his head grew limp again and fully rested against the pillow. His arms around Harry laxed a bit too.
Harry smiled.
After a few minutes of trying to fall asleep again, Harry eventually gave up and sat up. He did it in a way so as not to wake Tom up in the slightest. His best friend deserved some sleep.
Harry reached under his own bed and found the satchel full of sketching supplies before he pulled out the ones he was finding, the sketchbook and the pen. He leaned back into the bed and adjusted his position so that Tom could hug his middle before he started to sketch.
All Tom saw when he woke up was a bit of darkness and light from the window seep into his senses. He blinked, trying to adjust to the uneven brightness across his eyes before smiling at what he heard.
Tom heard Harry sketching away and humming an old tune as he did.
“Mister Sandman, I’m so alone, nobody to call my own,” Harry sang and Tom’s nose scrunched up in confusion. He hadn’t heard of a song with those lyrics at all, even in passing through Mrs. Cole’s radio of showtunes. “Please turn on your magic beam. Mister Sandman, won't you bring me a dream…”
Harry’s whisper of a voice tapered off into a softer hum, singing a different tune instead of the one Tom woke up to. Tom liked that song. He’ll just ask Harry and find it later.
“Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.” Harry's voice was a melody Tom could forever listen to without complaints. He’d pay to hear Harry’s voice every single day of his life but he was listening to them for free. “In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me.”
Tom tightened his hold on Harry.
Harry glanced back at him and smiled when he saw Tom awake. He put down the pencil he was holding and ran a hand through Tom’s hair, inadvertently making Tom suppress a shudder and instead sighed in contentment.
He loved quiet mornings like this. It was just the two of them in their own little bubble, away from the world and away from the annoyances the orphanage called kids.
“How long have you been awake?” Tom’s voice was groggy and in need of water. Sensing this, Harry helped Tom sit up and passed him the glass of water on the desk.
The exact same glass that was empty when Tom fell asleep. Maybe Harry refilled it.
Maybe that was it. Harry just used magic to refill it and didn’t sneak into the orphanage’s kitchens to refill it. Tom would harass Harry just to know that Harry didn’t endanger his own safety just for a glass of water.
Tom took a few gulps before he passed it again to Harry, who put it back on the table.
Tom leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder and Harry leaned back on it, still sketching as he did. Tom looked down to see what Harry was sketching.
It was still unfinished but it was mostly done by the way Harry was sketching it. It was a sketch of two pairs of legs covered by a blanket and the rest while the rest of the page was a sketch of the rest of the room in front of them. It was almost an exact sketch of the position they were in right now.
Tom smiled. He could always count on Harry to make masterpieces in the most mundane things.
It was an art and Harry was the master of it.
Tom stirred as Harry shook him awake. How long had he been asleep? Did he bother Harry at all? Tom shook his head. No, Harry would say that and would have woken Tom up when he did bother Harry. Calm down, Tom.
“You alright?” Harry turned around to look at him, a small grin stretching his features. “You passed out on me.”
Tom groaned and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand before he blinked again at the brightness of the room, exactly the same as before but rainier. “How long was I out?”
Harry’s grin widened before he closed his sketchbook and faced Tom. Tom, startled at the sudden movement, heavily leaned against the hand Harry cupped his right cheek with. Soft, Tom thought. Harry stroked Tom’s cheek and Tom leaned to it even more, making Harry let out a laugh at the sight.
“You’re really a cat, Tom,” Harry said but Tom only gave a disgruntled noise as a response. “A very grumpy cat that looks so serious and disappointed.” Harry adjusted his position again and cupped Tom’s other cheek with his other hand. Tom’s head practically limped as soon as Harry did that.
Cute, Harry thought.
“M’sleepy,” Tom slurred and Harry’s eyes widened. Tom never slurred his words like that. He told Harry it was improper before he continued to lecture Harry about Greek Mythology.
“Go to bed then.”
Tom’s head shook in Harry’s hands, still limp. Harry knew Tom was used to telling Harry that and not the other way around but Harry found it endearing. Harry was going to take care of Tom this time, his best friend already did enough for him last night.
“You’re not going to miss anything,” Harry laughed. It was true, it was too early in the morning for the matrons to even think about making breakfast. “I’ll wake you up. Promise,” Harry added and Tom let out something akin to a grumble before he assumed his previous position before he woke up.
Harry laughed and patted the arms that snaked around his waist before continuing to sketch.
Harry lightly shook Tom awake.
Harry stowed the sketchbook away as Tom groaned and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. The rain outside had weakened a bit but there was no mistake that it won’t stop until later today, or even tomorrow.
When Harry saw the sluggish actions Tom had made to get up, Harry immediately pushed Tom back into the mattress by his shoulders. Tom scrunched his nose and held Harry by the wrists to stop him from lowering Tom even lower on the bed. Harry laughed at Tom’s attempts but stopped his actions to try and make Tom get a few more hours of sleep.
After gulping down the glass of water Harry handed to him, Tom asked, “How do you…” Tom’s face narrowed in concentration. “Deal with nightmares so easily?”
Harry leaned back on his arms and turned to face Tom, who sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at Harry expectantly. Harry just shrugged and looked up at the ceiling.
“I just,” Harry started, trying to get the exact words from his mind to make it all make sense. Tom asked his question multiple times before; it was just a matter of what happened and when he asked it. “I just deal with it, you know? I- I can’t explain the process how I do it, Tom, you know this. I just cope with it when it’s fresh and- and it starts to heal itself like it was just hurt by nothing.” Harry leaned forward and ran a hand down his face. “I can’t explain it but it’s working miracles.”
Tom took a sip of his water again. “That’s going to damage you more than the nightmares do.”
Harry bitterly laughed. “I know,” he said, words seemingly more faded and echoey than before, as if he hears himself talking from the outside. “I keep wondering what’s going to kill me first.”
Harry let out a shaky laugh. He hated talking about this. This is why he distracted himself, to block out all the insecurities and false hope he felt clinging to his skin and into his soul.
Harry absently wondered if Tom knew that too.
He felt himself be lightly carried and brought into Tom’s lap, knees on either side of his best friend. Harry felt his face heat up too, like he was some soup Mrs. Cole reheated on a cold day.
Why did Harry even think up that analogy?
Harry’s face felt too close to Tom but the other boy didn’t seem to question it as much as Harry did. Both of his hands cupped Harry’s jaw and cheeks, making Harry heat up even more. Why was Tom not affected by this? Sure, they cuddled a lot but that was normal! Harry on Tom’s lap wasn’t a common occurrence.
“You won’t die on my watch,” Tom let out, voice barely above a murmur. “You can’t.”
“And what if I did?” Harry breathed. This was too embarrassing for Harry, even if it was just the two of them in the room, but Harry trusted what Tom wanted to do. Harry would trust Tom even if it was a ballsy move to do.
“You won’t,” Tom rebutted. “You can’t. Now answer the question, please, mamour.”
Harry’s nose scrunched up and Tom squished his cheeks because of it, making Harry swat Tom’s shoulder in retaliation. It was Tom’s fault to keep tossing nicknames like that so carelessly.
“I joke about them to help me cope, okay?” Harry huffed. Seriously, why was Tom so adamant about not joking about it? It didn’t mean anything to Harry. It meant nothing. “Or would you rather have me talk to myself like I’m that ‘Sir’ guy my vision keeps showing?”
It was Tom’s turn to scrunch his nose up. Cute. “That old geezer has nothing on you. Come talk to me about it then.”
Harry grinned at the statement and wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck before burying his face in his best friend’s neck. Tom's arms tightened around Harry’s waist.
Why did it feel so comforting?
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Tom played around with a small orb, twisting it around his fingers and throwing it up in the air.
They just had lunch with the other kids in the orphanage, all pretty excited about what they were going to do in the rain. Tom thought it was inconvenient. What was the point to run around in the rain with no sense of purpose than to just get wet?
Harry just thought Tom’s opinion sounded amusing.
“We’re gonna go to park,” Tom heard Billy declare, soup dripping down his chin as if he hadn’t just eaten a memory of his pet rabbit. It was disgusting. “And we’re gonna play in the mud!”
The rest of his cronies cheered Billy on with that idea, as if Billy just announced he won the lottery and had figured out the cure to cancer.
As if Billy had enough brains to figure out how to use a pencil, let alone fold paper.
“Think of it this way, Tom,” Harry whispered, sticking a piece of meat into his mouth. “You can finally see pigs rolling around in mud in real life! Those idiots finally get a good cleaning while you get more information on Billy Stubbs. Win-win for both parties. Well-” Harry waved his fork around like it was a magic wand Tom could wish all his problems away. “It isn’t really informative; we already know Billy Stubbs is a disgrace of a pig. A win for our amusement then.”
Tom snorted. “If he was a pig, then why haven’t we eaten him yet? Mrs. Cole’s a good enough cook, she could probably get good enough food for the orphanage.” Tom stabbed a piece of meat from his plate, imagining it as Billy Stubbs. “We could save money for the orphanage too. Less kids to take care of.”
Billy Stubbs still continued to laugh and make a mess at the other end of the table.
“True,” Harry said. “It’s a shame that she’d probably waste resources trying to cook Billy.”
Tom had to concede to that point.
Tom tossed the orb again, his eyes following the movement.
Harry was on the other side of the room, on his own bed, sketching away. Tom didn’t know what inspired Harry this time. Was it Mr. Scamander’s book? Or was it the rain that still steadily tapped against the glass of their windows?
Maybe it was Tom. He won’t be surprised if it was him.
Tom already finished all the books in his small collection. Maybe he’d go down to the corner shop and nick some books or even borrow some from the local library tomorrow.
It was all circumstance according to the weather tomorrow.
Tom stared right ahead of him, watching Harry work. His best friend’s hair was messier than usual and his position on the bed didn’t look all that comfortable. Still, Harry probably might give Tom some excuse on how comfortable it was.
As he always did.
Tom wondered why it was always so different with Harry, he’d been wondering that fact since the day they met. Why was Harry so different? What made him so special to warrant Tom’s interest and worry?
Tom bounced the orb from his bed and watched as it flew.
Something just pulled Tom to Harry, a push-and-pull game Tom sorely lost to. When Tom’s interest- or even his concern- piqued, there was this tug that just pulled Tom to Harry or even just a slight jerk to Harry’s direction. As if Tom himself couldn’t bear to stand away from Harry.
Why was it always Harry?
If it were Billy Stubbs or even Dennis Bishop, Tom could handle it. He hated, no, loathed , those idiots. He’d rather get exorcised more than once every single week if it meant not seeing those inarticulate, demented, devolved monkeys every day.
Tom sighed.
He’d already had this conversation with himself countless times before, so why start it again now? Maybe it was just in his best friend’s nature, Tom mused but that was an argument he kept on using every single time Harry came to his mind. Or maybe it’s because there’s something at play here.
Maybe that was it, Tom didn’t like being all that patient, after all. It was a hassle.
“Tom,” Harry called and Tom’s head snapped up to meet his best friend’s eyes. Harry grinned at him. “Come see what I made.” He hugged his sketchbook to his chest as if Tom hadn’t already guessed that it was another masterpiece to grace Tom’s gaze.
Tom stood up from his bed and walked over to Harry, a bit more eager than he thought he was.
Maybe the reason why Tom kept on wondering why Harry was different was because he was supposed to be different, like he’s slightly different from the others but still made Tom wander to only him. Only him, and nobody else, not even himself.
Maybe that was it.
“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”
-Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles