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For so many years, and so many nights, I would imagine what it felt like when Harrison came home. I'd have various images of pancakes for breakfast and him making himself at home, or us going out and gorging on English breakfasts and coffee. There'd be so many possibilities, but all of them would involve a form of euphoria because he'd be home. My best friend, finally home after so long.

It's weird because we both agreed years ago that the moment he'd come home, we would give the whole romance thing another go, but after everything that's happened and all the time that's passed, I don't think we'd even work now. He's different, and I'm different.

But now is not the time with how this has happened.

He's sitting at my dining table with a plate of pancakes he made himself with bacon and maple syrup, while I harbour a cup of tea that's quickly going cold.

"So, we're – or you – are meeting mister ex-boyfriend at eleven, right?" Harry says.

"Yeah, he wants to give me a copy of his book. I said I'd read it. Does this sound completely nuts as well? I think even after everything that's happened, I want to talk to him about it?" I ask.

He nods while finishing his mouthful. "Doesn't sound nuts, Ade. You both went through something not many people could even imagine. Plus, with the shared history and whatever... it doesn't sound nuts at all."

I sigh and sit back in the seat. "Do you judge me for it all?"

Harrison chuckles and shakes his head, and he eats the last part of his breakfast. "Judge you for what? Making some mistakes and paying the price? Who hasn't, Sunshine? I don't care who you shagged when, and what happened. All that matters right now is making sure you're okay. If that involves meeting up with the cheating ex who wrote a book about you, then let's do that. What I do judge you for, though, is not reading the thing already. Things could've turned out much better if you had."

My eyes roll. "I will always want to punch you in the face for judging me for that."

He grins and points to the glass of fresh orange juice. "Even I've read it, and to be fair to the guy, he's a decent writer. You know this. But I'll always judge you for not looking after yourself. If you're not eating or drinking tea, at least drink that. Vitamin C, sugars, fruit. Come on."

I sigh and sip it. It's sweet and actually really nice, but for a few moments, it gets caught in my mouth, refusing to go down my throat. I don't understand why, either, but it's like there's a lump there, a bit like the image of the dead guy staring up at me as I tried to pump oxygen through his body.

Like how that guy died just so Sam could have answers from me, or how everyone got held up and hurt in every way, all because he wanted something from me, and didn't talk to me first.

Part of me wonders if there is more to the story than just looking for answers. Then I realise he's on heroin and gambling and whatever else is going on with him. The man is an addict and was looking for money to get both clean and visitation to this child that never existed. An addict will do anything to get what they believe, and I remember Fletch saying years ago that Sam's always had some sort of issue being dramatic. I wonder if the drugs have made those delusions worse, and he thought the only way to get everything he wanted was to get money. With money, he could go to rehab, work on himself and sue me for whatever he thinks would work. The best way to get revenge on me when I dropped him from my life is to make himself better and get custody of the child he thought I had, right?

It makes no sense to a logical person, but I think I get Sam in a way.

"I'm giving you three days' grace, Sunshine," Harry says, and I cock my head at him. "Three days to react, not eat or do anything. Then, after three days, you're going to go to the doctor, get referred for counselling – or I will find you one – and we're gonna go out for a big three-course dinner so I know you've eaten enough."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You just hate that I'm looking after you. Right now you don't want to be looked after, or look after yourself because you're in shock. That's okay and valid, but three days. Today is day one."

I narrow my eyes at him, but underneath the bravado, I know, is some sort of appreciation. Maybe once I've dealt with Fletcher, I can scratch this act off so I can cry and hug Harrison and fully appreciate that he's in front of me again.

He takes his plate to the sink. "I'm theorising once you've seen Pretty Boy again, and dealt with it – or start to deal with it – together, you'll bypass the whole reaction thing, but who knows? For now, I'm just spitballing in my mind."

I shake my head. "Did you become a counsellor over in Australia or something?"

"No, but maybe I should. Could pay better than my shitty little teaching assistant job, huh?"

"Shitty? You're paid more over there than here! What the fuck? You have the greatest life over there, Harry!"

He scoffs. "I mean, the pay isn't bad, housing is good. But it's lonely. I miss England, for all its shit-ness. You're here, my family is here. I don't know; when I heard about this, I just upped and left without thinking about work or the house. Part of me is wondering if it's a sign I need to stay here permanently."

My eyes divert to my half-drunk orange juice. Just for him, I take another sip and manage to down it properly.

"That is not something I want to influence, so I'll say nothing."

"I'm aware you'd love to have me home. You don't need to keep quiet for me, Sunshine. It's something I need to work out." He sits down. "And no, before you say anything, I'm not feeling pressured or anything like that. I'm staying for as long as you need me and while I figure this out, all right? Don't feel guilty, or sad, or anything like that. Just... get better. Deal with what you went through. I also know it probably sounds awful of me saying these things because you can't just magically get better and deal with it, and I get that. But I hope you're aware of what I mean."

I sigh. "Right now? I'm feeling... nothing. I don't wanna eat, or drink, or look at the news. Part of me blames myself even though I know it was Sam who did this, but if I hadn't fucked him or started a fling or whatever, he wouldn't have done this. I feel guilty for every bad decision I've made even though... you know, I'm human. But those bad feelings... they just don't feel bad, they feel... numb. Someone died. Someone else got shot. Fletcher might have gone through worse at London Bridge, but that makes it worse for him right now. I feel like I'm overreacting."

Harrison's hand appears over mine. "You're not overreacting. You went through it a little closer than anyone else because of who did it and why. I'd say, if anything, this is slightly overreacting. If it were me, I'd be yelling and screaming... but no one can say what they would really do if something happens, you know?"

He sips his drink, and I follow suit. One more sip of the juice helps my clogged throat.

Harry carries on. "Reactions are weird because no one truly knows what they'll do when something happens to them. We can all say we'd jump in front of a bullet to save someone, but adrenaline is a funny thing. A lot of the time, a small hormone takes over everything and will force us to react in one way, when our morals tell us something else. Science and morality don't always marry up despite being opposites, because opposites don't always attract. That in itself is a science, and science isn't always right, either. Everything in life is a mystery and you just gotta ride the coaster."

I laugh. "You sure you're not a counsellor? You speak in riddles."

Harry grins. "Working with children will make you speak in riddles so they don't understand you. You will learn, young Padawan."

I smile. "Thank you. You have no idea what you being here—I don't know how I would cope."

He smiles. "Never thank me. Now, come on, you're meeting lover boy."

I scowl. "No."

Harrison just winks before clearing up the table.

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The moment Harrison and I walk into the coffee shop, Fletcher stands up from a table by the window. There are three drinks on the table, so we both walk over immediately. Two lattes are sitting there, along with a hot chocolate for Fletcher.

"Thanks," I whisper, and sit down next to the window.

"Hey, man. Good to finally meet you," Fletcher says to Harrison. He turns to me. "Hey."

I give him a small smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

Harrison and Fletch shake hands and give themselves a small introduction, despite them knowing each other over video calls and stuff years ago.

"I, uh, how're you doing, Ades?" Fletch asks.

I sip my latte. It feels like a ball of caffeine, and while I need the pick me up, the taste isn't how it usually is. It just tastes like blackened ash as it forces its way down my throat.

"Doesn't look like very good," Fletch whispers.

I open my mouth to speak, but I can't find the right words to describe it, so look at Harrison.

He nods and takes the lead. "She's... not coping well. Blaming herself, not eating, barely drinking, and not sleeping well. I told her I'd give her three days' grace before we get some help."

I take another sip of my drink and clear my throat, trying to gather the right thing to say. What the hell do I say to the guy who's gone through worse? Who you betrayed in the worst way possible and then rubbed it in his face?

"I'll take this coffee outside, all right? I think you two need to discuss this between the two of you," Harrison says.

"Thanks, man," Fletch says.

I watch Harrison walk out of the coffee shop and sit on the bench facing away from us.

"Ades, whatever it is, you can tell me, all right? I'm here for you."

My eyes meet his. They're full of coffee-coloured concern, while mine glaze up with salt water of hatred of myself.

"This is..." I trail off, swallowing the lump of hurt in my throat. "Is this how you felt after London Bridge? I can't find it in myself to eat or drink. The basics... I can't find it in me to do. I'm aware of how much I'm failing myself right now, but even if I tell myself to grow up, I just... can't, Fletch. The guy's face... his fucking face. The blood won't come out of my mind even though the police have the jeans. I'm... this is my fault, all of it. He died because of me. If I'd not been so fucking stupid all those years ago..."

Breath gets caught in my throat, unable to move down into my lungs. A war drum is going off in my chest, and my forehead moistens with a lick of sweat.

"Ades, Ades, stop." Fletch encourages. His eyes meet mine. "Follow my lead. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out." He takes deep breaths. "You're fine. I promise you; you're here, with me, in a coffee shop. Take deep breaths. With me."

"Fletch." I gasp, the air getting caught again.

He shakes his head and takes my hands across the table. "Breathe with me. Think of nothing else. Smell the coffee around you, listen to them making it, and breathe in time with me. Imagine you're having this thing by the sea. Remember the coffee by the sea?"

I listen to him; knowing that if anyone will get this, it'll be him. We were in that room together. He was the one to save me initially and stood up to his brother for me. Fletch gets this, and he's been through it – I've been through it with him – and I know he can get me through anything right now.

I inhale the oxygen. The rich smell of coffee mixed with cooking panini invades my senses, grounding me in the shop again. Everything is normal. Though I would prefer it on the beach.

"Hold the breath." Fletch nods at me as he says it.

A woman is calling the orders from the front. A beeping goes off as something is finished cooking. Tapping sounds as another woman is making coffee, and chatter around us all fill my ears.

"And let it out," Fletch finishes.

I exhale.

Everything evens out.

"One more deep breath for luck," he adds.

I do as I'm told before he lets my hands go, and I'm back in the here and now.

"See? You're absolutely fine, Ades, all right?" Fletch says. He smiles. "It was a panic attack, which is perfectly normal after everything you've gone through. But you're here, in a coffee shop, and you're absolutely fine."

"Thank you," I whisper and sip my coffee. It goes down normally.

"Don't have to thank me. If it helps you, then yes, this is exactly how I felt after London Bridge. It was... I mean, you were there."

"Yeah, I was, but I don't think I ever fully realised how it affected you. I could see it, sure, and we argued and everything. But... I don't know, Harrison got the first flight out here, and I just... can't seem to appreciate that right now. I'm interacting and I can laugh with him, but... it doesn't feel genuine. It's like I'm out of my body," I explain. "It hit me... this must've been how you were feeling. But the thing is, I brought this all on myself. What you went through was... fucking traumatic, and awful."

"Adelaide... you do not get to compare trauma, do you hear me?" He's almost snapping at me in anger. "You're right, what I went through that night was traumatic and awful, but so was that heist. Do you understand me? What Sam did to us... all of those people... it's heinous. It may have been a different type of crime, but it was still trauma, and you do not get to compare one to another. Nor do you get to blame yourself for his shit."

I stay silent, fully understanding why he's saying it.

"Do not do what I did and push everyone away, Ades. Look where it got me. Take the rest of the three days, because that's how long it took me to comprehend what happened, or I'd say up to a week. Then you go and get some professional help—counselling, antidepressants, whatever it takes, and you lean on those around you. Your parents, Harrison, and hell, me. I'm here for you, no matter how much you hate me and wanna kick me."

We both laugh at that.

"This sounds stupid, but I've been lying on the bed, but it feels too big. The first night, I couldn't find anywhere else to be safe. I needed to be back in the room with you. At first, I thought it was that to be safe I needed a small room, but that wasn't it. You're the only thing that feels safe for me right now," I admit.

He takes a minute, sips his drink, and slips his hand into mine again. "Then I will be here for as long as you want me. Then when I'm no longer the only safe thing, I will go if you don't want me anymore. But right now, you need to feel safe again, and if that means you have to put up with me, then here I am."

"We'll discuss kicking you when you're no longer the only person in this world that makes me feel safe. I always thought that person was Harry, but after the bank, it seems to be you, and I hate it."

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