Harry Ryan has two first names (sybarite) wrote in rooms,
Re: Museum: Harry/Gwen
Harry was frustrated, yes. Panicking, definitely. But he didn't think there was any way that Gwen could not be making this connection on her own. She'd only just got through with dying at a library, getting torn apart, or eaten, or whatever had happened to her. It was the kind of thing that Harry spent a lot of time determinedly not thinking about, except that now he was thinking about it and he couldn't stop. His fucking head wouldn't stop, and his breathing tripped, inhales coming a little bit faster until she grabbed his arm and jarred him out of whatever loop his stoned paranoid had let him slip into.
"I can't." It was a whine, but no sort of tantrum. He couldn't tell her because, as he reminded himself in that moment, Gwen had no idea. It wasn't just her dying, either. She didn't have an idea about any of it. So this is what it felt like to be erased, no wonder everyone had been so completely done with him when he'd lost his memory.
Harry's shoulders dropped, defeated. He looked sad. "I'm just… worried. About you. You said they're waiting for you out there."