A/N - The following story comes from a personal place: where through Harry and Theodore, I paint a story of what it feels like to be yourself and to be unabashedly human. Especially when you feel stuck and are like a ghost, swept in emotions.

Paralysis (noun): it's the loss of mobility and at times, what'll accompany it will be the numbness of an injury — of an illness, of a wound, of something scarring inside the body; you become a prisoner to the flesh and become the cellmate to your own head, forever pacing between the present and what's shackling you to the past. This can be permanent or temporary or temporarily permanent, and when it's the third it takes him a lifetime for him to feel like — like himself again.

.

.

.

One touch was all it took to reel him back from his nightmares, one glance was all he needed to know he was anywhere but inside his head, and with one hand on his shoulder while the other steered him through his back — leading him far from where he was although it was a few metres at best — made it easier for him to breathe, to let out the tremors he had been holding. Theo was with him the entire time and was with him still, firm and steady.

Like a tumbler full of whisky, poured only and just for him; like the straps to a swing set, who he can trust to fling him back; and like the handle of his wand and the holly of its touch, a gentle constant in his life when he needed something to hold on. And so he shuddered with every breath and Theo followed along with him.

And if Harry said anything — anything at all, Theo squeezed him with all he had so he'd be solid beneath his touch. Until lifting from his eyes was the wool he had drawn and now, all he could see was just Theo and himself. Tucked away and on a couch, breathing and letting out. Swallowed within the arms of a blanket and mug of chocolate, but neither were as warm as the man right beside him — playing with his hands and loosening them with his knuckles.

Then there was another sip of chocolate and after which, Harry looked at him. And it didn't surprise him for a moment that Theo had been waiting for it, that he had been sitting rather patiently to catch something of his notice. Doing so without staring, mostly occupied with Harry's hands, until acknowledged while they were grazing like two horses within a field.

One stallion to another, neither pawing at the dirt: Theo sniffing where Harry was while Harry chewed on a few flowers. Or, if you were to paint this more accurately, you could ask Harry what he saw and he would list to you the five things that centered him to this moment.

'It's late,' he would say, 'But not late enough to go to sleep. The wireless is in the kitchen.' And then he'd pause to hear it sing. 'I think Theo turned it on, or maybe I did at some point.' That didn't count towards the list, but it made him more aware of what was around him. Like with what he did before right now, before Theo came to find him, before he found Harry in the kitchen and saw him staring at something — or maybe, it was nothing.

But it couldn't be, he had his wand. And if Theo hadn't touched him —

' — there's a lizard on the wall.' Inching closer towards the clock, it didn't scurry when he spotted it. On the contrary, it paused.

And when it reared its beady head, a slice of moonlight scattered above it — dotting all the photographs hanging from their nails. And there were about a few that he loved and treasured, and they were squinting from behind the glass. Caught in a suspended, lovely loop filled with adoration and laughs; nothing shattering them for a moment — much like the circles along his skin, suspending him in their own loops while steadying him from within.

'I think he's massaging, or well — squeezing both of my hands.' Harry glanced towards his partner, but the other didn't notice. Because his care and attention were bottled to a short radius, about half an arm's length from himself as he rubbed at Harry's hands. Every callus met his own and they chipped him with tenderness. 'He's doing this the Muggle way. I really like that.'

He smiled.

"Do you want it harder?" Theo rolled as he worked around his wrists, digging into all the places he couldn't loosen for himself. "Or do you want it soft?"

'I'll take either.'

But Harry murmured, "As hard as you can make it."

"I'll see what I can do." And he was playful as he said it and was about as sweet as the hot chocolate, floating beside his head. Theo nudged it towards Harry, seeing that his partner had finished his. And this was the last time he really looked at him before diving to where he had been, working steadily at all the knots finding purchase along his hands — taking moments where he'd pause to hear the cracks from within.

As if somehow, they could tell him what exactly Harry was feeling. But if Theo wanted to know that, he could just ask him and Harry would say it. Because wandering around in circles was neither fun or entertaining, so he was listening for something else while bending him to his knuckles. And if Harry wanted to know, he could just ask him and Theo would say it. But for right now, he didn't want to. Because his mouth was full of chocolate and he was watching Theo's hands. He couldn't help but trace them and at the nails tilling down and wandering along his skin, turning over all his aches and leaving fires within their wake.

Or if he were honest in his assessment, they were sparks and he was phosphorus — simply the head of a dozen matches and ready to burn if Theo let him. But to burn or to burnout wasn't Theo's choice to make, much like it wasn't his choice but rather Harry's if they were going to talk about what had happened. Or if they were going to sit here and just enjoy the solace surrounding them. And how it rippled from the hands now squeezing Harry's arms, squishing into his being and pulling him out from who he was. Until there was Harry and just Harry — no 'freak' or 'chosen one.'

"Is this hard enough?" Theo pressed him.

'It'd be better if you just tore me.'

But instead, Harry sniffed and brought his hands around Theo's. "You can go harder. I can take it."

He gave him a sample of what he meant, knuckles meeting knuckles and it was anything but finesse. He could've dug a lot harder, but he didn't want to bruise him. He didn't want to hurt him as he wanted to be hurted. Because —

"Harry?" Theo stroked him with his pinky and his thumb.

— he wouldn't wish that on anybody or would want others —

"I want you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that for me?"

— to be like him.

Theo squeezed him before he drifted towards his wrists. Clasping them around his palms, he held them tight enough — but he didn't mark him. So that his fingers and their scores could disappear within an instant, none lingering for a second more and that was how gentle Theo was with him. Because he cared for him and was worried for him and wanted nothing but the best for him. Even if the best of what Harry wanted wasn't the best of what he could provide for there were some things he would never do — having known how addicting they could be if you choose.

And maybe, yes — he was selfish. He wouldn't deny or ignore it. But what he couldn't turn away from were the shadows in Harry's eyes. And how it looked like he wanted something to just haunt him for a while, something cruel and unforgivable and desperate if he could have it. As if he was meant for it, as if without it — he was nothing. As if a part of him hadn't realized that he was neither prey nor a hunter, and that he was safe and rather loved and that there was nothing needed of him.

He could just be whoever he wanted to be, and that was okay — but it was foreign.

Because when you've lived your life a certain way, those instincts become a part of you. And it would take a lifetime to settle down and to realize you didn't need them. So patience was what he had when Theo reached out to him, doing the best of what he could while softening Harry's urges; speaking while he did so and with a whisper, there was more chocolate. It wasn't as hot as the initial mugs, but it filled Harry with a fondness — turning the quivers of his mouth into something softer and more open.

It wasn't happiness by a longshot, but it was something Theo could work with. And if baby steps were what Harry needed, then he would be there to walk beside him. Until the end, until the after, until the beginning of something new: one step at a time as they matched the other's strides. Much like the breathing in-between them when he bundled Harry beneath the blankets, much like the strolling and the touching and the wanderings of his hands — fetching fingers in his ventures and unwinding them between his own.

"I know a little of what it's like to be…" A muscle twitched below his jaw, and it would've traveled down his neck if he was alone and not with Harry. "I — "

He felt a squeeze. It was desperate, but not concerning. It was more worried than anything as it centered him to reality. And so he breathed and breathed and smiled softly at Harry, running a finger over his hand as both a 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry,' because he was as lost as he was and didn't know a thing about saving people.

But for right now, he didn't need to. His only audience was that of one. And that one was neither chosen nor handpicked by God, but he was as human as he was and Theo clung to him in good faith. He shifted slightly along the couch and caught the corner of Harry's gaze, watching it widen a little more when he nudged the other's glasses, pushing them farther up his nose so Harry could see him for who he was.

"I know a little of what it's like — of what it's like to be you." He didn't mean to rush that out; but if he didn't, he'd never say it. And now that it was out there and Theo had him where he wanted him, he hoped the tremors in his hands could speak loudly for the both of them; he hoped the sliver of his bangs and his eyes could convey it, convey the cupboards and the graveyards and the mazes in Harry's head, convey the arches and the beaches and the waters of a pensieve. Because he couldn't say these without drifting and he didn't want Harry to have to fetch him.

'Not yet, not now' — Theo twined both of their hands.

"I can't promise it's not going to hurt, or that it won't affect you," he said in earnest. "But when you feel…" He trailed off and started to play with their hands again. "...when you feel…" Theo curled and it looked like he was counting to three. Three upon three upon three upon three — something to keep him busy until he settled into reality. "...something," he managed and there was a tightness to his throat, "I want you to find me. Can you do that? If you're elsewhere, find a friend. Find anyone that can be with you." He had to stop himself so he could breathe. "I know I…"

' — and everyone else — '

"...might not, cannot, will not know what you've been through. But we're here." Theo squeezed him or maybe, it was Harry who squeezed him back. "We're here. That doesn't change."

'Or Merlin, so help me.' He traced the lines of Harry's hands and found the scars from where Umbridge had tried to lie to him in fifth year. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them — every divot from her quill. They were like trenches on his body, but shallow enough to overfill. And when Theo brushed them with his own, Harry curled his little finger and wrapped it around that touch. Perhaps, to keep it from spilling over.

"I know," Harry whispered. There was something playful to how he said it, and it settled within the air like spreading butter over toast. "I've got you, Hermione, Ron and Ginny…" The list went on and on until Harry looked at him with clarity. And there was something aged within his eyes, but it was turning younger right before him.

'I wonder if you see that when you look at me.' Theo helped himself to tea, waving a glance to one of their mugs so that the chocolate turned to green. "Are you feeling better?"

"A little bit." Harry sighed and it rattled his entire being. "I'm not happy, but I'm — "

" — yeah?"

Harry hummed and then, he nodded. "I think that's one way to describe it."

"It's a versatile little word."

"Do you think it has cousins?"

Theo pondered into his mug. "Hmm." That lingered. "Okay." It was crisp. And then he said it a little shorter and paired it with a gesture.

Harry stared at him like he figured all the secrets to the universe. "So that's the sign for what I'm feeling?"

"We could change it to something better."

A crooked smile settled in and Theo knew better than to entertain him, but it didn't stop him from fondling the fingers around his own. Which were at ease within his hands, and there were no urges to speak of. But as soon as they both wandered and crept away from the couch, those hands began to tighten and were bone-white around his own. There was an unspoken sort of question, and Theo murmured that he could listen.

"But not tonight." He led Harry as they shuffled within the darkness. "Tomorrow morning. Over coffee?"

"Two sugars," Harry whispered. "And — "

" — a lot of toast." Theo grinned, swaying with every step as laughter bloomed right behind him. It wasn't loud by any means, but he heard it ringing in his ears — chiming like a church bell after a quiet, nightly service.