"Hey" Harry greeted back, hugging her with one arm, his gun in the other. The man didn't mind the contact, he had actually missed it a lot. He was the type to be eternally hopeful and sadly naive, the type to choose being alone if it meant the possibility of ever getting reunited with the one that he had lost. When he couldn't find Heather, When she had gone missing, He had stayed alone, falling deeper and deeper into himself. Not having any close friends to speak of, the only clues perhaps were in his new writings which carried dark and twisted themes far different from his earlier work.