Harvey awoke to the horrible gut feeling that something wasn't right. Something was wrong.

Something was incredibly, undeniably wrong.

It could have been the silent winter night.

Elliott.

Where was Elliot?

Harvey was up and out of bed, shoes on, and pulling his green sweater over his shoulders.

Panic.

He was feeling pure panic.

It subsided almost instantly at the small snore coming from the bed, Elliott was here.

He was safe.

He was home.

There had been something that had happened in Zuzu city that he hadn't yet spoken about, he would talk when he was ready.

It had been the deeper wounds on the writer's hands that had worried him.

The tender and not too concerned way that he had brushed Harvey's concern off.

Harvey realized what had woken him and stepped out onto the back deck, needing the coolness of the night on his face.

He'd had that same dream again.

The one he'd been having for weeks on and off.

It always started with panic, a spiral, running, and then those pale arms reaching up from the white sands covered in crimson.

He never saw Elliott's face, but he knew.

He knew that the arms reaching for him were in the business of letting go.

(((You can't tell me any different, honey. I'm too far gone and far too drunk.)))

Harvey was so tired.

And he was so anxious.

And his bed was so inviting.

Things were okay for tonight, nothing could be done at this moment.

He needed to sleep.

(((I can never get enough of the sadness, Aphrodite said that beauty is magic but given the chance, she'd change her mind)))

Sighing, he resigned himself back into the house.

Nothing could be done right now.

It was a task for the morning.