"Huh?" the dark haired man barely looked up from the TV when Perry tried to get his attention.


"I SAID what."

"Harry, LOOK at me." Eventually, with protest, Harry turned around to see Perry holding shards of a broken vase. "Did you break my vase?"

"Jesus Perry, it's just a bit of glass." He turned back to his programme.

Perry had had enough then. He marched in front of Harry, turning the TV off and facing him. "That vase. Was the only thing I got when my mother died. I wasn't old enough for money and my dad fucking took the lot. It might be JUST a bit of glass to you, but I am fucking sick of you having no respect for property, at all. My mother gave me it, which is why it was in my office where you couldn't get it! No respect for property and no respect for MY house either! MY house that I let you stay in!"

"All right, I'm sorry!"

"Well sure, you say that NOW, but what about next time? And the time after? You aren't even sorry anyway! You don't mean it!"

"It's just a bit of glass."

That was it. Perry was yelling now.

"I am so fucking SICK of everything about you, Harry Lockhart! You moan, you break things, you have no respect for my property, you mess up on all the work I give you - and if it was anyone else you'd be fired by now - you say that you're a failure, and yeah. I'd have to agree. You fail at being a decent boyfriend, you just...you're a homophobic gay man! You barely let me touch you because you're scared! All of that Harry, all of that I could deal with. But the worst thing, the absolute bottom, is the fact that you don't LISTEN to me. I try to help you, god knows I do, and you don't even give me the courtesy of LISTENING!"

Harry had sat in shocked silence, hearing Perry's rant. True, maybe he'd bust some stuff he shouldn't and gone against what Perry had told him-

"I can't deal with your shit Harry. I won't. Get the fuck out of my house." Perry stated it quietly, dangerously.

What Harry felt at that moment was a lot like what he'd felt when he'd been punched in the stomach. His defence against the hurt was anger, and he was the most mellow person in LA. "Yeah? You think you're so smart, you self righteous bastard! I wouldn't stay here another minute! All the presents you got me? The clothes? I threw that shit out!"


Harry stormed upstairs after that, Perry following him, unrelenting. "You're a failure Harry. A complete fucking joke." The dark haired man felt tears burn behind his eyes as he shoved anything and everything he found in his drawers in suitcases and bags. "You're a failure and a pathetic fucking joke of a man. Look at you! You're fucking crying!"

Harry bit his lip as Perry taunted him. "You know what Perry? You're a nasty piece of work. You're not nice to clients who need you, you're not nice to anyone you're in a fucking RELATIONSHIP with. You're a bully, Perry Van Shrike. Nothing but a no-good, piece of shit COWARD!" He snapped, shoving the last of his jeans in a suitcase and wrenching the zip closed.

"Fuck you, Lockhart!" Harry was halfway to the door. He turned back, kicked on his sneakers and yelled.

"Fuck you RIGHT back!" He slammed the door behind him, not trying to clear the haze of anger pounding his brain until he was alone in the only shitty hotel room he could afford.

That shirt looked too big for him. That wasn't his shirt. Harry sat on the bed, staring at the item in his hands, tears still burning, overflowing this time. "Fuck you Perry Van Shrike," he said, the words catching in his throat. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I am a failure and I shouldn't have pissed you off so much. I should've done what you said...Oh Perry." Harry eventually got some sleep, waking up in the early hours of the morning, tearstained and heartbroken. How could Perry do this to him? He should have given him a decent chance! He should have talked it out first.

Harry blindly pressed numbers on his phone, calling the only person who might understand. Harmony sounded surprised when she answered. "Harry?"

"He's left me."


"Perry. He broke up with me." The words had an awful finality to them.

"Oh, Harry...I'm so sorry babe." Babe. Perry called him that when he was in a good mood. Used to call him that. He cried again, on the phone, calling Perry all sorts of names to Harmony, blaming that 'fat asshole' for making him hurt so bad, (Bad is an adjective, fuckhead, it's badly), making him hurt so badly. Harmony told him he had to go talk to Perry, because Perry had called her earlier and said the same things. Apparently, he'd cried, too.

The same things that meant nothing. Were empty threats that were trying to make everything somehow easier to deal with. It was easier to deal with a break up if you hated whoever sent you away. If you didn't still love them.

It was a fortnight though, before Harry plucked up the nerve to call Perry. The older man didn't answer, no matter how many times Harry called him. And Harry made a point not to do it too often. He'd failed so many times before, but he became determined to prove that he could make this work. Now he stood on their doorstep in the rain, knocking gently on the door, half hoping Perry didn't hear.

The door opened though, and there stood the tall, handsome blonde Harold Lockhart had fallen for. The one he'd been aching to see for a month.

"I'm sorry Perry. I'm sorry, I tried so hard not to fuck up, I really did. I tried hard to hate you, but I can't. I love you damn it, I love you, I fucking love you, you asshole." The tears were there again, but Harry didn't even try to stop them. Perry looked shocked for a moment before he pulled Harry into an embrace, so secure and familiar, fingers running through dark hair.

"It's all right Harry. It's all right. I love you too babe."