I stare at Harry in shock as he casually reaches for a clean shirt of mine. Did he just say what I think he just said? Harry shakes out his chestnut curls, the sunlight glinting off of them and turning them to pure copper. His bare back is littered with scars and scratches, most of them old and half-healed. I am tempted to ask, but the scars on my chest, stomach, and thighs seem to burn. It's almost as if they're telling me that it's better not to ask.

Harry turns around, pulling a white t-shirt over his toned torso. I watch in a fascinated stupor as he slips his pants off, revealing white boxer briefs. He tugs on a clean pair of my jeans and turns to me.

"You mind if I borrow your clothes?" he asks. I shake my head, watching as he flashes me a million-dollar smile and turns to put his clothes away.

I get out of bed and change into a pair of clean sweatpants and a dark gray t-shirt emblazoned with the Irish flag. Harry notices the shirt and asks me if I'm Irish.

I roll my eyes at him in a "duh" gesture and start picking up the dirty laundry littered around my room. I load it all into the hamper and when I turn around Harry has successfully managed to make the bed. He has put the pillows on the windowsill, though, letting them soak up the sunlight.

I grab a whiteboard - Liam has littered then all over the house - and scrawl down a question about the pillows.

"Oh, those," Harry laughs. "If you leave them in the sunlight for half an hour, they'll puff up. Just enough time for us to get breakfast before school, eh?"

I nod eagerly and dart down towards the kitchen. Liam is already there, sleepily unwrapping a PopTart from its silver foil. His brown hair sticks up messily and his clothes are rumpled.

"Mornin', Ni," he slurs tiredly. I reach over and steal a piece of one of his PopTarts and popping it in my mouth before he can retaliate.

Harry appears a few minutes later, his curls combed and his face washed. Liam hides his PopTart and eyes Harry cautiously.

"Don't pull a Niall," he begs as I snatch another, larger piece of his pastry. "Get your own breakfast."

"I can make us scrambled eggs," Harry offers. "When you live on your own, you learn to cook pretty well, all things considered."

"You live on your own? Where are your parents?" Liam questions. Harry's face turns hard and he buries his head in the fridge.

"Dad died. Stepdad divorced. Mum and Gemma died a few years back."

I hug him from behind, and he leans into it. I get a faceful of his curls, which smell slightly of honey and citrus. Every fiber in my body is screaming in excitement because I am hugging Harry and I think I might have a crush.

Liam toes the grout awkwardly and says, "I'd apologize but you probably don't want sympathy, do you?"

"Nah," Harry says. "But it's nice to know you care. Thanks for the sentiment."

"Hey, we family-less people gotta stick together, right?" Liam forces a laugh here, but I can see his sadness etched on his face.

"I thought you and Niall were brothers?" Harry asks.

"No, Niall took me in after my parents kicked me out. I was littler then," he says.

"Your parents kicked you out?" Harry gapes. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"I wasn't perfect," Liam says simply. "My parents were extremely wealthy. They wanted stellar children, perfect children, children they could showcase. My little sister was an amazing musician and a star scholar. She gained an early admission full scholarship to Juilliard."

"But no one is truly perfect!" Harry exclaims.

"My parents didn't see that. I was a good athlete - still am. I play footie really well, and next year I'm trying out for varsity. But my grades .... "

"Were bad?" he guesses.

"No, they were good. But they weren't perfect. They kicked me out because I had all A+s on my report except for one B in Maths. I spent all my spare time on maths and that's the best I could do. They kicked me out and I ran, as far as I could," Liam says quietly.

"That's awful," Harry responds, pulling away from me and engulfing Liam in a tangled hug. A feeling of jealousy flares deep in the pit of my stomach and I shove it away. It's just a brotherly hug. Besides, why should I be jealous of that hug? I mean, it's not like I have a crush on Harry or anything ....

Right?

"What about you, what happened to your parents Niall?" Harry asks. I freeze, the glass in my hand slipping out and shattering on the floor. Liam grabs a towel from where it's hanging on the oven and wraps his hand in it as he begins to pick up the shards of glass.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was a sensitive subject," Harry apologizes. I nod shortly and fetch the rubbish bin for Liam to chuck the pieces in.

"Where's the vacuum cleaner?" he asks him.

"Hallway closet, second door on the right upstairs," Liam says without looking up.

Harry leaves and Liam lays a hand on my arm. "You okay, Ni?"

I nod, moving the bin back to where it belongs underneath the sink.

"I know you don't like talking about them, but it'll all be okay. You'll see."

"Liam, stop," I whisper. "My family hates me, I can never go back."

"That's not true!" he shouts, then drops his voice. "Niall, your parents love you, and your brother does too. And you have other relatives."

"They didn't want me. No one wanted me. No one will ever want me."

We're so engrossed in our conversation that we don't notice Harry in the doorway until he says, "That's not true. Like the way everyone thinks you can't talk."

[A/N 2: Oh. Shit.😈 Hehehehe...]