A/N:This was a request from the lovely @pzb2006 who asked for an imagine about a girl names Paris who was in Italy while Harry was shooting for his Golden music video and he wanted her number.
Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!!
Warnings:None
Word Count: 3,874
Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a messageHERE!!!
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Paris was never a particularly adventurous girl, she always wished to be and fantasized about a life of excitement and travel, but she was sure she would be doomed to boredom for the rest of her life. Nothing exciting ever happened to her. It was like she lived her life like the movie Groundhog Day, the same day repeating over and over and over. She was sick of it. And it was on her eleventh straight day of eating the same, boring old cereal for breakfast when she decided she needed a change.
Immediately, she began to do research. At first, she was thinking of something more local; maybe a trip to the city, or the beach. Then she started to broaden her search. Maybe something on the opposite coast. That could be exciting. But, then she paused. If she was going to go on an adventure, she wanted to make it big. She decided to explore the idea of another country. There were so many to choose from. Africa always sounded interesting Then there was Greece; she’s wanted to go there since she was little and watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. And, of course, there was Paris, the city of which she was named after. The City of Light.
But only one country stood out to her. Italy. She found herself constantly circling back to Italy, imagining herself strolling along the Amalfi coast and having lunch, alone, in the park. Meeting some mysterious and handsome Italian boy in the shops along the cobblestone. Relaxing alone along the shoreline, watching the sunset. It sounded like a dream. And finally, she booked a flight for her week-long vacation.
Paris spent the first day exploring the ruins of Pompeii and getting warped into the history of the city. She spent the second day at the beaches of Sorrento, letting the sun kiss her skin and the calming water rinse her of her worries. On the third day, she woke up energized, excited for her full day ahead. Paris enjoyed waking up knowing there was no set-schedule, nowhere she had to be at a certain time. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
In the morning, she took a stroll from her Airbnb to a little coffee shop down the street, deciding to have her little pastry and coffee outside on the patio, again, letting the warmth of the sunshine on her face. She stayed there for an hour, watching the locals walk by, smiling and laughing at each other. Everyone here seemed to be full of life and love; they all seemed genuinely happy. And, at this moment, so was she.
After breakfast, she decided to walk around some more. She visited shop after shop, never buying anything, but making mental notes on shops she wanted to return to before leaving to grab a few souvenirs. Finally, she ended up in a quaint, local grocery shop. Paris had every intention of just grabbing a few things to make back at her Airbnb, but when she saw the picnic basket, her plans changed. She wanted to have a picnic at the park across the street from where she was staying. It was the whole reason she booked it in the first place. It was large and spacious with beautiful cyprus and fruit trees scattered about, overlooking the ocean. And from what she could tell, hardly anyone ever went there. It sounded heavenly.
She went about the grocery store picking up way too much food for one person. How could she not? Everything looked so much better in Italy. Strawberries, a sandwich, pastries, soft pretzels, cookies, and two bottles of water. There was no way she’d be able to eat everything, but she’d sure give it her best shot. But first, she needed to stop by her place. Although it was warm, she thought it would be a good idea to grab a light sweater, just in case. Besides, there was a book in her luggage that she fancied a read, and this would be the perfect opportunity.
Her stomach grumbled when she finally got through the door of her lodgings. ****** Better make this quick, she thought, ******* I’m starving. She set everything down on the dining room table as she hurriedly rummaged through her belongings for a sweater and her book. She upturned everything, unsure of where they were when she remembered leaving them both out on the balcony the night before. As soon as she grabbed it, she flung her sweater over her shoulder, palmed the book, and shoved a pair of sunglasses on top of her head before rushing in, grabbing the picnic basket full of food, and heading out the door.
Paris fast-walked down the cobblestone hill, hiking the sweater that was slipping down her one shoulder while trying to carry the heavy basket and book with both hands as her sunglasses wobbled further down her head, practically sitting on her forehead, now. There was a crowd of mostly girls lining the road at the end of the street, all looking in one direction. ***** Maybe there’s a parade, she thought to herself as she neared, closer.
There was no time to stop and watch, the basket was getting heavier and she was certain she would burst if she didn’t get food in her soon. As she reached the crowd of girls, she noticed a red convertible mustang drive past with people hanging out the back and sides of it. The girls began to scream and jump up and down. Paris tried to look over the heads of the girls, but couldn’t see anyone else coming and figured it was a good opportunity to cross the road.
She squeezed through the crowd but was grabbed at and bumped by the girls, making her sunglasses fall lopsided over her face, tripping off of the curb and sending her book and picnic basket crashing to the ground, her food, which was thankfully wrapped, spread across the road. Hurriedly, she bent down, pushing her sunglasses back and attempting to collect all of her things as gasps, screams, and incoherent Italian babbling sounded behind her, not wanting to be in the way of the parade when it eventually made its way to her when a shadow blocked the sun from her eyes and a large, veiny hand held out her book.
“Are you alright?” she heard a deep, soft voice speak in clear English.
Paris tilted her head up and squinted, freezing for a moment as the condensation from her cold bottle of water trickled down her hand and onto the pavement. Suddenly the line of giddy girls made sense. It wasn’t a parade, it was Harry Styles. Quickly, Paris got to her feet, grabbing the red bound book from his grasp as she tucked hair behind her ear.
“I’m so sorry, I thought it was a parade. My sunglasses fell off my head and I couldn’t see and I tripped off the sidewalk, I’ll probably have to throw out my cookie,” Paris trailed until she heard Harry chuckled and put a warm hand on her shoulder which made her stop. She hadn’t realized until then that he was panting and a little sweaty, but his curls were still perfectly intact.
“No worries,” he reassured her, “Let me help.”
He bent down with her to collect her things as girls just stood back, giggling, and taking pictures. Harry did his best to entertain them, saying hello and responding quickly to things they shouted out like ‘how are you?’ and ‘I love you’ all while carefully placing her sweets and food back in her picnic basket.
When they had gotten the last soft pretzel in, Harry took hold of the basket and stood up, “I’ve got it,” he offered, giving her a nod that made her know that it was okay for her to follow him.
He waved goodbye to the girls that stood off to the side of the road and slowly walked down the middle of the street where, just yards away, that red mustang was idling with several men and a camera strapped to the back of it waited. He held a hand up with his finger waving to signal that he just needed a minute as he helped her cross the street.
“There’s a lot of food on this. Is it just you?” he asked.
Paris blushed, shoving her glasses back on top of her head, “Yeah. My eyes are bigger than my stomach.”
He chuckled again, stepping up on the curb, “You’re not from around here?”
She shook her head, “No, I’m from the states. Just needed to get away for a bit, so I took a solo trip. It’s my first time here.”
His eyebrows raised, pursing his lips in intrigue, “I took a solo trip once. Probably one of the best vacations I’ve ever been on.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to feel that way,” she bit her lip to hide her smile, looking down at her feet. Her butterflies were going berserk, trying to figure out if this was real, or not.
Harry smiled, looking down at her as they slowly walked down the sidewalk, side by side. She was quite beautiful, with soft skin and a bright smile, and her eyes reflected the light in a way that reminded him of stained glass. He nudged her a little, joking, “Don’t look down. That’s how you tripped in the first place.”
She let out a breathy laugh, looking up at him, “I think I’m just inherently clumsy.”
He grinned, keeping his eyes on her as they walked before he realized that he probably shouldn’t stare and looked straight ahead, asking, “So where are you headed with all this food?”
She nodded her head and pointed a little further ahead at the path that led into the park, “Just in there. Was going to find a tree to sit under for some shade and have some lunch.”
“Ah. Lunch and a view,” he noticed the sea waves crashing into the coast just below the cliffs, “Sounds wonderful,” he stopped as they reached the path, looking down at the basket with food, “Well, save me a pastry. In case I see you again,” he handed the basket over to her.
She giggled, taking it from him and heaving it into the crook of her arm, “Thanks. Sorry again. Have fun doing…..whatever it is you’re doing,” she motioned to the mustang.
He laughed, walking backward and waving, “I’ll try. Bye, it was nice meeting you!”
With a tight-lipped grin, she nodded, watched for a second longer, and turned to make her way down the path. But with the loud, echoing sound of his voice, she heard him yell, “Wait! What’s your name?”
She turned, laughing, and shouting, “Paris!”
“Paris,” she barely heard him repeat as his smile widened toothily and he shouted back, “See you later, Paris! Don’t forget! I want that pastry!” And with one last wave, he took off down the street, running as his puffy white top flowed and rippled behind him.”
A few girls ran up to her right after he left and asked her what he said, but there wasn’t much to tell. When they realized she didn’t have much information, they all stuck around for about an hour longer, waiting, in hopes that he’d come back. And as she ate her lunch, even she found herself looking around for any signs of him. After a while, she realized he probably wasn’t going to be back and attempted to read her book, but it was next to impossible to focus on any of the words after that.
The girls eventually left and Paris was one of the few people left in the area, leaning against the tree, picking at the strawberries beside her, book unread and open on her lap as she stared out at the ocean. She could hear a little dog barking in the distance, birds tweeting as they swirled in the air, the rustling of leaves as the ocean air blew through them, and the soft sounds of waves crashing against the shore. She had never been so relaxed before in her life.
She must have zoned out and been there for hours because by the time she came-to and something was trying to get her attention, it looked as though the sun would be starting to set shortly. Her name was being called, echoing somewhere behind her. She straightened up, hearing the ruffling of feet against the grass and twigs, turning, only to see Harry Styles making his way over in a hoodie, shades, and carrying a lump of fabric.
He smiled when they made eye contact, and as they approached, he held up the lump of blue and white fabric in his hands. “Blanket. Noticed you didn’t have one earlier and didn’t trust it to not be muddy.”
Paris smiled, standing up and moving out of the way so that he could lay the blanket out. And with a shake, he spread it out evenly on the first try.
“Was hoping you’d still be here,” Harry admitted, sitting down on one side of the blanket with a grunt, “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time.”
Paris blushed, reaching into the picnic basket and pulling out the now-cold pastry, “Couldn’t leave you hangin’.”
Harry’s eyes lit up, taking hold of the pastry and ripping a piece off, handing it to her before taking a bite. Moaning, he muttered, “These are my favorite pastries here. Still good, even if it’s been sitting out for hours.”
She smiled, staring at him in wonder. How was this happening? Why was this happening? She relaxed her shoulders, leaning back against the tree with her legs stretched in front of her, shoes off as they had been for hours now, looking down at both of their feet with the sea landscape before them.
“So, why are ***** you here?” Paris asked, turning to him, “I mean, clearly you’re not here on a solo vacation.”
He smiled, taking the last bite of his pastry and swallowing it down, “I’m shooting a music video.”
Paris nodded, trying to hold back a smile, and reaching for the spare bottle of water to offer him, “Makes sense. All the cameras, and the unnecessary running down the street in puffy white shirts.”
Harry chuckled, taking hold of the water, “Well, why are ***** you here? You said you needed to get away? What from?”
Paris shrugged, letting her head fall back on the tree and picking at the strawberries again, “It was just getting boring. I was living the same day on repeat for months, it seems. The same boring desk job, the same boring town, with the same boring people. I just needed to get out of there for a little before I went stir-crazy.”
Harry nodded, understandingly, “I’ve been on the go for so long that it’s almost impossible to stay still for too long. Sometimes it’s nice to sit and do nothing somewhere **** else. Somewhere that’s not home.”
Paris twisted her head in his direction to see he was sitting just like her, their shoulders touching. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes seemed to share the same understanding. It was so easy to be caught up in day-to-day life; doing what you’re told and switching to autopilot just to get through it. But it was times like these that made you sit back and just enjoy life for what it is and what it could be; beautiful.
Harry watched as a soft, closed smile stretched across Paris’ face and he felt his stomach start to do flips. This was new to him. He had never been so forward before. Sure, he’s gone back to places in hopes to get a girl’s number. But he’s never felt this inclined to stay and talk. Heck, they could sit there in silence, for all he cared. But something about her seemed to make his stress vanish.
He suddenly didn’t have to worry about waking up at the ass crack of dawn to continue shooting, he didn’t have to worry about the twelve-or-so people back at the rental who was probably waiting for him to get back or the dozens of emails he needed to respond to. He didn’t need to worry about the multiple contracts that still needed his revision and approval, and the legal battles he was in the middle of, and he didn’t have to worry about being seen by fans. Who cared? They weren’t important. This was. Sitting on a blanket, underneath a bug-infested tree, watching the sunset over the sea with a stranger.
They chatted for an hour about life and goals. Harry was a dreamer, and so was she. There were many things they wanted to do or accomplish, some much bigger than others. But, it seemed as though there was always something getting in the way. Paris wanted to get out of her small town and travel more. She couldn’t do it often; finances and lack of time off from work made it difficult, but if this trip taught her anything, it was that she needed to take time for herself.
Harry, on the other hand, wanted to do so much more with his time in the way of helping out any way he can. Wanting to volunteer to help out on trips to third-world countries and set up his own charities to help those less fortunate. Paris wasn’t exactly surprised by all of this, but still found it refreshing to hear his passion for it. It truly was something so heartwarming.
“How much longer are you here for, Paris?” he asked, digging into the container of strawberries that Paris had set between them.
Paris set the leafy bit of her strawberry on the container’s lid while she swallowed her food and muttered, “Three more days,” clearing her throat and turning her head to his she frowned, “Not nearly long enough.”
He nodded, solemnly, “It’s never long enough here. Funny, though. I leave in three days.”
“Yeah? What are you doing for the rest of your trip?”
“Well, I’ve got to finish shooting this music video, but I’ve got nothing planned tomorrow night. If you’re not busy, maybe I can treat you to dinner? As a, uh, thank you for saving me your pastry?”
Paris looked down at her feet, smiling shyly, before looking up, trying not to seem too enthusiastic as she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Yeah, sure. That’d be nice.”
He nodded, smiling himself, “Great. Do you, uh,” he cleared his throat, “have your phone on you?”
Paris perked up, feeling around her pockets and rummaging through the picnic basket before closing her eyes and sighing, “I left it in my room.”
He smirked, furrowing his eyebrows, “You’ve gone hours not realizing you didn’t have your phone?”
She shrugged, laughing, “I’ve been distracted by the sea.”
He chuckled, shaking his head and pulling his phone out of his pocket, glancing to see the dozens of missed texts and calls he had received since getting here. He groaned, mumbling under his breath as he scrolled through his apps until he reached his contacts, “I should probably get going soon. Do you know your number?” he asked, handing it over to her.
Paris took hold of his phone, the latest and greatest, not a scratch on it. And as she began to input her information into it, her mind raced. She was holding Harry Styles’ phone. She was holding his phone because he wanted her number. He wanted her number so that he could call or text her. He wanted to call or text her so that he could take her out to dinner tomorrow. Harry Styles was taking her on a date tomorrow. Was it a date? Or was it just a casual dinner? What was running through his mind right now? Did he like her? He must, why else would he take her out to dinner? Did he think she was cute? Would he try to kiss her tomorrow? Would she see him again after that?
She handed his phone back and he grinned, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Should we take a picture? Capture this moment? It’s golden hour in Italy. Seems fitting for the occasion.”
Paris grinned, nodding, “Yeah, sure.”
The two shuffled about on his blanket so that their back was towards the ocean, huddling in close. Harry pressed his shoulder to her back and bent his head down so close to hers that their cheeks were touching. She could smell his shampoo and musky cologne, she could feel the warmth from his body on hers. They smiled as he positioned the phone in front of them and double-tapped the camera button, taking two pictures.
“One more. A silly one,” he said.
She giggled, sticking her tongue out and scrunching her nose while Harry puffed up his cheeks and pursed his lips, clicking the button once more. He brought the phone down and turned to her, grinning.
“Thanks for letting me join you on this picnic,” he grinned.
She nodded, getting to her knees before standing up, Harry following suit, “Yeah, of course. Thanks for bringing the blanket.”
Harry chuckled, helping her pack her things back into the picnic basket while she folded the blanket nicely for him. He carried the basket while she hugged the blanket as they slowly strolled back towards the front of the park. The little dog was gone, now, and the only people in sight were an older couple on a park bench too far away to see clearly.
“I’m parked just over here,” Harry motioned to the left, “Can I give you a ride back?”
They stopped walking as they reached the entrance and Paris turned to him, shaking her head, “Oh, no, that’s alright. I can walk. I’m only two blocks that way,” she pointed to the right, grinning.
He nodded, not saying a word as they stood there for a moment. Finally, he held her basket up for her. She smiled, taking hold and swapping him with his blanket, “See you tomorrow?” he verified.
Paris let out a breathy laugh as she confirmed, “See you tomorrow.”
Harry smiled wider, outstretching an arm and giving her a tight, warm, side-hug before pulling away and walking backward, waving, “Bye, Paris.”
She grinned, waving back before she began her trek back to her Airbnb. She turned back to look only once to see Harry, who had been just sitting in his car for a couple of minutes, start up his car and drive off in the opposite direction. Paris twirled and giggled on her walk back, the smile never leaving her face.
When she finally got back to her lodgings, she dropped everything on the dining room table, racing to her room to find her phone, wanting to see if Harry had texted her at all. And, to her astonishment, she had one missed text from an unknown number, opening it to see one picture of her and Harry Styles smiling, and a second picture of them making goofy faces, with a text underneath that read ‘Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Love, H.’.
Requested by anonymous: “I wrote a song about you.” With Niall Horan & “you wrote me a song?” with Niall Horan
A/N: based on Just Friends by Virginia to Vegas.
Pairing: Y/N & Niall Horan
Words: 656
Warning(s): mentions of drinking
It was one of those crazy days, you and Niall went to a lunch with a couple of friends and ended up in a bar. It’s safe to say that at this point you are wasted, you drank so much, because you could (you don’t always need a reason). The clock on Niall’s phone showed you that it was only 3pm but you both decided to go home. Neither of you could drive so a taxi was the safer option. All day you’ve been getting this weird vibe from Niall. You weren’t friends like friends are supposed to be, you always flirted with each other, so much so that if the other tried to score, they could never because everyone thought they were dating.
“You know, Niall”, you slur as you lean on his side and point at him.
“Hmm. What?” He said tried to focus on your face, with it so close to his.
“I would really like to kiss you.” And you drag your fingers across his lips.
“So why don’t you?”
“We shouldn’t, we’re just friend, right?” Niall just nodded not saying another word. You both ended up at your place, but Niall left soon after putting you to bed. You were too drunk to realize that his mood was down after you suggested kissing each other.
Niall didn’t text you for two days, which was the longest you two had ever gone without texting. You were worried about him, you have tried to call him but no answer. You talked to your mutual friends but no one had heard from him. On day three you finally heard something from him. A text with the words: come to the studio- N. That was all he gave away. You got there as fast as you could.
“Hi, I’m here”, you say as you enter his studio room.
“Hi, I wrote a song about you”, he says rushing his words.
“You wrote a song about me?”
“Well… yeah about us. Just, uhm- just sit here and listen. Don’t speak unless the song is over.” He hands you a headset as you just nod staring at him. He looked so different from the last time you saw him and it had only been three days. Has he eaten? Showered? He hasn’t shaved that’s for sure, he didn’t look good.
“Maybe we could go get lost tonight. At least we know that we gave it a try. So why don’t we go out and get a drink in the West end? One more dance, are you feeling the tension? Take a couple shots and see where the night ends. Stop pretending like we’re just friends.” This is about the lunch you two had with friends, he felt it too. He had actually wanted to kiss you in the back of the taxi.
“Tomorrow when its over, and we’re sober. I just wanna believe that you’ll miss me, but I shouldn’t cause we’re just friends. Maybe we could go get lost tonight, at least we know that we gave it a try. Stop pretending like we’re just friends.” As the song comes to an end, you slowly turn your body to face Niall who was facing around the room, nervously biting his fingernails.
“Do you mean it?” you ask him as you take off the headphones.
“Well… yeah, I wrote a song about it, didn’t I?” he laughs still nervous.
“Are you- do you-…” you swallow, “Do you really want to give us a try?” He nods so fast, you think his head might fall off. “So can I kiss you like I wanted to in the taxi?” Again, he nods. You grab his face in both your hands and kiss him.
“Do you want to go on a date now? Get lost tonight?” He asks, this time it’s your turn to nod.
Requested: by anonymous “I was thinking… since you’re pregnant and all, would you marry me?”
A/N: I hope I did it justice!
Pairing: Y/N & Niall Horan
Words: 1k
Warning(s): mentions of drinking, pregnancy
You were out with your friends, one of them mentioned an open mic night and you all wanted to go. You enjoyed watching smaller artists make music, it felt less Hollywood made and more authentic. It must have been the fifteenth time that you went to these kinds of nights, but you had never seen him before. He had a guitar with him, and he looked so interesting. It looked like he belonged there, but something about him was off. When he got on stage and he introduced himself, you figured it out. He was the artist your cousin listens to all the time, and the one they wouldn’t shut up about. You watched him perform and you understood why, he was amazing. From the way he owned the stage to the little hint of his accent during the songs, you fell hard. This had never happened to you, usually you wouldn’t fall head over heels with a guy you don’t even know.
When he got off stage, you made your way towards him. You honestly couldn’t care less about losing your friends and making a complete fool of yourself.
“Hi, I’m Y/N. I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed your performance”, you start as you approach him.
“Hi, I’m Niall… but you already knew that because I just introduced myself. Uhm, thank you. I really enjoy performing”, he stopped for a second, a blush forming on his cheeks. It was either the beer he had been tanking or your appearance. “Will you be performing later as well?”
“Oh no, I’m just here to watch, drink and enjoy.” You smile, your eyes slowly scanning his body before meeting his eyes. He bit his lip before asking you if he could buy you a drink. That night ended with the both of you at your front door while you were looking for your keys, he couldn’t keep his hands off. Kissing your neck, his hands on your arms and your waist.
“Do you, uhm, do you want to come inside?” It was stupid of you to ask, because you could already feel his answer on your back. From that night on you made a deal. Whenever you would see each other and you couldn’t score other people, you would go home with each other. It was a great deal, that was until you realized that your feelings had grown. You wanted to be official, but you didn’t want to slow him down. Career wise he was doing amazing, you couldn’t tie him down when he would be touring the world, doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who. No, it would be better to break it off and that is exactly what you did the night before he went on tour.
“No, you don’t understand. I’m saying that we should quit this while we’re ahead.” He had left with his head down, you knew he was crying because you were doing the same. Even though it was for the best it felt like the worst thing in the world.
A few weeks had passed and you fell ill. Not the stay in bed all day kind of ill, more like only throwing up in the mornings. That’s when you realized that you could be pregnant. You bought almost every test there was, you called your friends and you peed and waited. Three came out positive, but you weren’t sure so you made an appointment with your doctor. Not long after you had entered the room, she congratulated you with your pregnancy. You had cried yourself to sleep that night, not because you were sad that you were pregnant, but because you were heartbroken. The baby was Niall’s there was no doubt about that, but how could you tell him? Over text? Leave him a voicemail? Nothing seemed like the best idea so you left it.
After four months you heard through friends that Niall was back in town. You hadn’t seen him anywhere, you weren’t avoiding him but since you didn’t visit bars anymore (the smell made you sick), you hadn’t ran into him. That was until you discovered that you were out of rice cakes. This was not the weirdest craving you had, but it sure was one of them. You ran into him at the store, you didn’t expect him to be there, but he was. He hadn’t recognized you and you turned around quickly until..
“Y/N? Is that you?” His voice sounded so sweet. You turned around and you saw his eyes widen. “Oh my God, are you- since when?”
“I’m almost five months now. I didn’t know you were back in town”, you lied, trying to change the topic of your conversation.
“Yeah, I was looking for you actually. I went to your house a few times but you never answered the door. Is it mine?” Mission failed. You slowly nodded your head.
“Why, uhm, why were you looking for me?”
“About five months ago I made a mistake.” You felt like your heart had dropped out of your ass. “No, no, not that!” he said as soon as he saw the mortified look on your face. “The fact that I walked away without actually fighting for us. I really like you, hell I love you.”
“I really love you too, Niall.”
“I was thinking… since you’re pregnant and all, would you marry me?”
A/N: Based on the song “Maybe don’t ” by JP Saxe and Maisie Peters. It’s the second part to this one (read this first if you haven’t otherwise it won’t make sense).
Pairing: reader & Niall Horan
Words: 809
Warning(s):
After the night where your friends had dragged you out of the club, you spend most days in your bed. You ignored all the calls and texts you got from anyone. You followed your school courses online and devoted all your time to your homework. Since Niall knows where you work, you called in and took all your sick and holiday days. You hadn’t taken them since you started working, so you had a lot of time off. It’s kind of stupid you admit, but in all seriousness you really liked him, and he broke your heart. Well you still like him, heck maybe you even lo- anyway it comes down to a broken heart even if you weren’t officially together. At first when you met him, he seemed so perfect, and you remember how you wished he was a little less perfect, so you could end things more easily and not end up hurt… boy, how wrong that went.
One day you get a call, you are so caught up in your school project that you forget to check the caller-id. “Please, don’t hang up”, is the first thing you hear. Your heart drops to your stomach, you forget how to breath and almost throw your phone across the room. “I know that you don’t want to hear from me, but please let me explain.” You don’t want him to talk, you don’t want him to explain, you don’t- It’s safe to say that you really like Niall and lately the feeling has only been getting worse. You’ve run through every outcome in your head and in every one of them you end up hurt. So you don’t want to speak to or with him ever again. “I just want to say that I am so very sorry for what happened that night. I want to say that she came on to me and that it wasn’t my fault… but it was. I created the environment in which she thought that she could come onto me and kiss me, and I am sorry for that. I am also sorry for acting the way that I did…. I-” “I’m sorry Niall. I should hang up”, you interrupt him. “Maybe don’t?! Listen to me, please.” He sounds so desperate, and you almost feel sorry for the way you are acting towards him. “I think I should go. You were the thing that I want the most, and now I just want to get away from you”, you confess quietly. Your throat starts to swell, meaning that you are going to cry soon, and you don’t want to sob while Niall is doing whatever on the other side of the phone. “I get that’s what you want to do but please, don’t. Look, y/n, I haven’t been able to fall asleep unless you say goodnight. I know that I’ve been making group decisions about us with us. And for that I am sorry.” “I just don’t want to hurt you or have you hurt me. This is just a heads-up, I mess people’s heads up. But only because I am scared of losing mine. I am hopelessly falling in love with you, Niall. And I am so scared of this feeling. You were so perfect, and I wanted you to be less honest and tick a couple less boxes, just so I could sabotage this and feel good about myself. And not get hurt…” you sniff. “No, what. I made you cry?! That’s the last thing I wanted to do. Y/n, please I am so sorry for what happened, and I wanted to contact you sooner, but you never picked up your phone. I stopped by your workplace to ask how you were doing, but your boss told me that you took up all your sick days… I have been standing outside your flat in the hope that you would come downstairs, because I love you, y/n. I don’t want to lose you, you are so perfect for me and I have been the biggest asshole in the world”, he confesses. He… he loves you? “You love me?” “Yeah, I do. I am hopelessly devoted”, he quotes you favourite film. You can feel him grin through the phone. You don’t hang up the phone but slowly make your way downstairs, in the hope that he didn’t lie and is actually standing outside your flat building. “Hello, y/n. Are you there?” he nervously giggles. “Yeah, I’m here. Hold on.” You rush down the stairs and open the door to the outside world that you haven’t visited in two weeks. You see him standing on the pavement with his back towards you. You run towards him and wrap your arms around his waist. He jumps a bit at the foreign contact but quickly turns around to face you. “I love you too.”
Y/N enlists her five best friends, Zayn, Harry, Niall, Louis and Liam, to help her contact her ghost gf through her ouija board, but they keep getting scared and breaking the circle they formed! How will she ask her gf to meet her in the old graveyard at midnight for a secret rendezvous now??
It’s 1973 and Y/N is a closeted lesbian working a blue collar job and wishing she knew where to meet ladies. Her co-worker Louis Tomlinson senses her discontent and longing for community and on the DL invites her to a disco. “Y/N,” he says, gesturing to the light up dance floor. “Welcome to the future. Welcome home.”
They dance the night away, he teaches her all his moves, and in months Y/N is a regular and every girl wants to roller-skate with her.
Y/N never knew her father but through a series of choreographed Abba numbers she is able to meet the five men who each slept with her mother in 1979 before realizing they were all gay. She invites the men - Harry, Louis, Zayn, Liam and Niall - to her Greece wedding where, upon not knowing who her biological father is, the five of them decide to take up the role of her father together. They walk Y/N down the aisle and hand her off to her wife together, each shedding a tear while softly singing Abba. Everyone is in matching skin-tight lamé jumpsuits. Cher is there.
There’s a sexy aristocratic vampire lady living in a huge mansion just outside of town and you read Twilight 36 times when you were in middle school so you want to fuck her so so bad! Luckily your five best friends, the members of One Direction, see your desire to be a vampire’s sugar baby and they love that for you! They help you find the most opportune times to get stranded in the rain outside her house in just a thin see-through nightgown and help you find ways to casually mention how you just have so much blood inside of you (maybe even too much!) and how it’s such a shame all that sweet sweet blood is just going to waste. When she finally does bite you and makes you her eternal bride they all come to your vampire wedding and later help you fake your death so that you can live in peace with your hot vampire wife. Gay rights!
You’re worried about signaling and are afraid that you don’t look enough like a lesbian to meet other wlw. “Y/N,” your bff Harry tells you, “it’s not how you dress that makes you a lesbian, it’s your love for women. If it would make you happy though, I can help you pick out some new clothes.” The next day he takes you to the local Goodwill and you spend hours together picking out and trying on all of the gayest clothes in the store. He helps you dig through piles of grandma sweaters and flared pants and flannel shirts until you’ve found a lesbian style that feels comfortable and very You. You even find some pride pins in a bucket of badges in the back! Just on the walk home you get lesbian nods from seven different girls!
Y/N is on a college tour led by five charming lads. She’s with her parents and too nervous to ask about LGBT resources on campus, but after catching her eye, the student representative with the braces and wining smile, Louis, decides to make a bee-line to the LGBT center on campus and point it out. He nods subtly to her after the fact, and the other boys flash her reassuring thumbs up. They see her, and they have her back.
Y/N has just moves to a new town and checks out the local crystals shop/yoga studio. There she meets pilates instructor/healer-in-training/cashier, Zayn. He senses her raw gay energy and upon checking her out, gives her a discount on her order. Through the power of gay connection, Y/N levels up as a witch right there on the spot. She agrees to attend his pilates class and he tells her theres lots of gorgeous single new age ladies.
Y/N and her beautiful girlfriend are both, tragically, very bad at home improvement, after having made the incorrect assumption the other would be the expert. After nearly burning the house down, Y/N and her girlfriend decide they should get a second opinion, even if they’re worried some annoying man is going to treat them like idiots. Luckily, Liam Payne is the first employee at Home Depot to help them. He is friendly and not at all condescending and has the most charming customer service smile. He sets them up with tools and lumber and gives them tips on how to install their new floor. He even carries their bags to the car with them, and compliments their rainbow flag bumper sticker with a wink before hinting that he and his boyfriend also went through a similar period of remodeling struggles before consulting Ye Old Wise Home Depot. Y/N and her girlfriend drive home, stress free.
Y/N is the new girl in town, and on her first trip to the local dive bar, she beats Niall Horan at arm wrestling. He’s impressed, so he buys her some beers, and they talk about feelings and how tough it is to be gay in small towns. He promises to introduce Y/N to his cute lesbian golfer friend, since he thinks she has a chonce with her. A chonce turns into a date which turns into true love!
Sitting at home was a bore, you decided why not go out to dinner with your best friend Sarah. Deciding where to go was the hard part, there were so many restaurants in the middle of London. You two decided on a fancy place called Frinos where you have steaks and a lot of good food. You put on your fanciest outfit that made you feel really good, you loved having light makeup but enough to make you seem awake. Arriving about fifteen minutes later, you realize there are only one other group of people there which you end up being seated next to them. You casually look over and spot a very handsome guy sitting on the end, his hair quaffed back and dressed in a suit. His eyes met mine and gave me a smirk. I gladly returned it. Soon after exchanging quick glances, he walked over and took the empty chair by me and said “Hi, im zayn” “I’m Y/N” I replied shyly. “No your beautiful” he flirted back to me, I blushed In response. “You want to catch up sometime and have diner?” he asked me. “Sure” I replied. He wrote his number on my hand.
It was a hot summer day in Miami. You had planned a party with your friends on the beach in your backyard and you had access to your own area of the beach. Yeah, you were rich because you were a model, a Victoria secret model. Cara, Cassandra, and Kate showed up at your beach house in their swimsuits and you guys headed out to the beach. It was about ten minutes later that you were interrupted when tanning by the screaming of teenage girls. Soon a guy showed up around the same area with his 6 other friends. You had to admit he was cute and he has sexy abs when in the ocean. You continued to tan glancing over at him once in a while. Soon the boy was throwing a football back and forth with his friend, it ended up right next to you throwing sand on your back. Standing up, you through the ball back to the boy. “Nice, cute and athletic, you already stole my heart.” the boy said with his thick English accent. “Yea, I have brothers so I learned to throw a ball.” You winked at the guy. “Louis, that’s me.” He said. “My names y/n” You replied to the now named boy. “Well want to hang in the ocean with me.” Louis asked. You gladly accepted.
You knew better than to do this because you needed to get the report done to graduate. It was your final year in college to become a doctor but you had to write a 10 page report about your college experiences and how it helped you become a better person in order to graduate. It was about 7:00 and you have about 7 pages done. Allyson, your best friend, had texted you asking for you to go to a party her friend through as a graduation party. Although it was a bad decision you decided to go. For the party you put on a cute outfit that you adored because it showed your body that you were okay with but not a model body. *1 hour later*
As you danced next to Allyson with a tequila in your hand and yes you were 19. Soon your eyes landed on a group of guys none of them you had ever seen before. One in particular caught your eye. He was dressed in black skinny jeans with a white t-shirt and a plaid jacket tied around his waist. He was pretty buff. The guy noticed you staring and walked over “Hey Babe, I’m Liam” He said with his thick English accent
“Hi, I’m Y/N” “Your cute here’s my number and I hope to see you sometime else” Liam said while writing with a pen his number on your arm due to no paper around.
This night was totally worth not working on your paper for.
Thanks guys I’m back!!! Posting once or twice a day. I love and miss you guys so much. HOPE EVERYONE IS HAVING A HAPPY SUMMER AND REQUEST THIS SUMMER :)
Harry- You were walking, your normal morning walk. Gigi, your big lab was running in front of you making you pick up your pace. A lot was on your mind between just trying to find a flat or finding your way around. Recently you had made the drastic decision to move to England in a small town known as Cheshire. You previously worked as a model with a company that worked in London. So you transferred here. To break you outta your thoughts, Gigi barked. A guy was walking in the opposite direction and you had to admit he was pretty fit. His hair pulled back in a ponytail with Nike shorts and no shirt which showed off his perfect tattoos which you adored. “Hey, cute dog!” he yelled in his thick English accent. “Thanks!” “Your American aye?” the guy asked when we stood face to face taking a breather. “Yep, I moved here for a job about a week ago.” you replied. “Well your pretty cute and if you need anything call me” he handed me a piece of paper with his number on it. He ran away and turned for a moment and winked at me “Welcome to Cheshire!”
Hey guys- I love how much support I get ❤❤ as you noticed I haven’t posted in a while, my mom is having very bad heart issues that cause her to go into the hospital every week. I also have some bullying going on at my school towards me. Its depressing, but I love you guys because you treat me amazing which is the support I need at this time. Please keep requesting ONLY PREFERENCES until I get more time. Thank you so much- Katelyn, the photo is from my dance recital ❤❤ my favorite costume and picture
Here’s the chappie where you get a look beyond the Mediterranean fortress Harry calls home… ;)
Timing is sometimes too perfect to be the pure product of coincidence.
Everything is connected: the earth and the seas, the moon, and all the sky’s stars.
Our bodies are made of these, fragments of their nature, tying us to this world.
Aunt Lara used to tell me that we are a part of the cosmos, the cosmos pushing and pulling people into paths they’re supposed to be on. She’d smoke her cigarette on our porch with the full moon hanging high in the sky that she’d soon be flying through, and I’d nod, thinking I was so cool just for being around her. It was our time then, just the two of us, sometime after my parents had gone asleep and I’d sneak past their room to meet her outside. She never told my parents I was staying up late on a school night. She’d take another drag, extending one to me, knowing I wouldn’t take it.
“I’ve seen seven year olds with these things,” she’d mutter, laughing to herself, and when she’d look out, I imagined she was envisioning the Roman Cafe she’d frequent beside the famed Colosseum. A hot sun, and balmy breeze, warm like the foreign friends she’d meet, or the lukewarm seas lapping around her ankles. “So much warmer and clearer than anything you’ve ever felt here. The most miraculous shades of blue…” She’d smoke, she’d smile. I’d admire.
It was a full moon that night.
Just like it was tonight.
There are some things that happen so precisely, I think there must not be any other way these things could have happened, no other explanation, other than Aunt Lisa’s: the universe and its timing are inextricably linked to create our destiny.
Our choices change our future, sure. But there’s something beyond that, in the fickle way our choices play out ironically, that makes me think some things are fated. God, the cosmos, whatever you believed in - they had bigger plans for everyone.
They certainly had bigger plans for me other than a depressing Netflix binge in my dorm room after the game.
Yellow fluorescents flickered in the dismal parking garage. Lionel Styles was waiting by the elevators with Sven, looking oddly casual in normal streetwear. They grabbed Harry from me as soon as I’d parked, carrying him in. I followed, for a brief second questioning whether or not my services were needed. Maybe this was only family now.
But Lionel hastily beckoned me towards him. “You wanted a hands on experience right?”
His words seemed crass in a moment like this, but I brushed it off as stress as I went with them in the elevator. Lionel punched in a code and it creaked to life, slower than normal. A table had already been cleared in one of the surgery rooms, a white plastic sheet like that of a serial killer lain across. Gauze, ice water, rags, forceps, and needles were atop a metal tray. It was everything I expected of a surgical room - stark, sterile, and cold without any frivolous decor. No paintings. I assumed there was never anyone awake enough in this room to enjoy them anyway. Sven lay a white medical pillow down, too thin to be comfortable, as Lionel lowered Harry. I cringed, feeling another wave of nausea wrack through me. His gauze, once pink, was now completely red and looked wet to the touch.
“He’s been bleeding this whole time,” I breathed. Albeit obvious, it was less to inform Lionel than it was to come to terms with it myself.
Lionel flicked one of the syringes, nodding solemnly. “He might need a blood transfusion.”
Blood transfusion. IV poles were behind the table, blood blags and clear IV fluid already ready. He was expecting this.
“Shouldn’t he be at a hospital?”
“Nothing we can’t do. He’s just a boy. Gets into scrapes every now and then.”
“This is more than a scrape.”
He ignored me, plunging the needle in, and less than a second later, Harry’s eyes fluttered.
“Adrenaline,” I whispered under my breath. I recognized the protocol.
Lionel looked at me, curiously. “You’ve done a good job. Did you stuff the wound?”
I shook my head. Harry was still lightly breathing thanks to the adrenaline. But he wasn’t anywhere near stabilized to warrant my work being commended.
“It’ll be enough until my friend gets here,” he said.
I looked at him, skeptically.
“The anesthesiologist,” he clarified.
And I blamed it on the shock for being so daft. Dr. Styles had been established in the medical field since he received his degree, it was no surprise if he had a “friend” for everything.
“Is Mary here?” I don’t know why I asked this question. I don’t know why I thought it was relevant. Perhaps because if my mom knew I was bleeding out on a table, she’d be right there. Right beside me. She would’ve been the one driving, bossing around all the doctors. 911 would have been called and she would’ve moved hell fire and water screaming like a banshee to get to me. “Does she know?” I questioned.
Lionel didn’t even look at me, carefully unwrapping the gauze. “She’s sleeping. I didn’t wake her.”
The separate lives of Mr. and Mrs. Styles spread further in my eyes, only their roof and rings joining them.
I unpacked new gauze, handing it to him. The butterfly bandaids hadn’t held, big shock, and blood trickled down in a steady current. How much blood could he have left? Lionel didn’t have time to be surprised, but the stoic doctor looked a shade whiter when he grabbed the gauze. The wound was exposed and he hesitated, simply applying pressure. His hands bloodied by the second.
For as renowned as he was, in facing his own son, he suddenly seemed paralyzed. I wanted to shake him.
Sven re-entered, slightly out of breath. I’d never noticed him leaving. “They’re here, sir. But they can’t get in-”
A spark was lit. Something familiar for him to grasp onto. “Elevator’s been jamming,” he cursed.
I helped apply pressure, and Dr. Styles looked at me, unsettled.
“I’ll stay here. You can let them in,” I nodded, even though there hadn’t been a question.
“It’s deep. So you have to physically stuff the wound with gauze. Have you ever dealt with a stab wound?”
My eyes narrowed. He already knew what kind of injury it was.
Then, mustering all the poise and retort of the First Lady, “With all due respect sir, I can do this.”
“I’ve seen grown men faint at the sight of needles let alone handling an open wound.”
“Thank God I’m a woman then.” I don’t know what possessed me, but my steely gaze must’ve been convincing. Lionel ran through the door, not even bothering to shut it.
Perhaps it was all the hours of being kept to dull paperwork and the maddening helplessness I’d felt for too long now.
But I couldn’t sit around anymore.
I needed to do something.
Sven watched me as I put on gloves and bunched up the gauze, holding my breath as I pushed it past the skin’s opening, ignoring his little gasps telling me this was hurting him, and ignoring the hot sensation around my hands. Tissue. That hot sensation was his tissue. I was inside Harry. I was touching… suddenly the anatomy I’d memorized in textbooks was a little too detailed. These gloves were too thin. I kept going and Sven jumped in to help elevate Harry so I could wrap the gauze around his entire abdomen, stuffing his wound until it was full.
We didn’t speak.
I sat on the only steel stool in silence. I may not want to sit around, but right now the floor could move beneath me at any moment. Sven was in the corner of the room, gaze locked to the clock. The minutes seemed to tick by slower than anything I’d ever felt. I could feel time, just like in the elevator. And maybe it was because his time was running out. He could die. Harry could very well die. If I’d chosen to go with Renny, if I’d stayed a moment longer, if I’d left a moment sooner, I would’ve passed the locker room without hearing him, without seeing him at all. What would the alternative have been? An image of Harry bleeding out, cold on the floor made me nauseous.
And still the clock ticked.
I could have screamed by the time they burst through the doors in a flury. Two men I’d never seen before entered in slacks and untucked button-downs. This hadn’t been an expected call. This wasn’t official. They ignored Sven and I, instantly getting to work, which was fine by me as long as I could stay. They inserted needles and attached wires and masks until I wasn’t sure I could untangle him if I tried. The smallest mewling noises came from him, but he didn’t stir. I don’t think he had it in him to move anymore. Only able to give one desperate lolled roll of his head.
One of the men, the anesthesiologist, fiddled with a machine. The whooshof releasing gas sounded when Harry took his first breaths. A slow, but steady, heart rate appeared on the monitor.
Lionel looked at it briefly.
The Doctor and his helpers worked for what seemed like hours. Maybe it was. For how long time felt and despite how intently I’d been staring at the clock, I couldn’t recall when we’d arrived. I cringed as they undid my handiwork, only to excavate deeper into the wound. I know this might be my future when I pursued medical school, but on more than one occasion I had to look away.
Sven had left the room entirely, standing guard just beyond the door. At least Sven escaped the smell of metal and flesh.
They stapled Harry together like meat, a butchered boy on the operating table, like Hasbro Operation except no one was laughing when the forceps dug in, and nobody won.
Every time I cringed, I reminded myself: Harry was asleep. He couldn’t feel any of this.
He looked like a corpse under the unforgiving white light, but the heartbeat reminded me he was alive.
When Lionel Styles finally turned away, tossing his gloves in the bin, he looked whiter than the sheet beneath Harry.
It was the longest night I’d ever had.
But for him, to excavate into his son the way he just had, I imagined it was longer.
——
“I didn’t have to come,” Matt said, for the first time irritance lacing his voice. Golden Boy stood at my doorway, recoiled, after I’d practically growled upon seeing him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a long night.”
And annoying after the e-mail notification I’d received about the DG Pretty Please. Time was running out, and it was the last thing I’d had on my mind recently.
“Why was it so long?”
I twirled my hair around itself in a messy bun, letting it hold itself up. I just shrugged while Matt’s concern mounted.
Lionel had asked me not to speak of it. “We’ll let you know when you can see him,” he’d said. As far as anyone else was concerned, I hadn’t been there that night. There was a reason he didn’t want Harry going to a hospital. Less questioning, less spotlight, less of an impact on their image… it still unnerved me. Such a horrific injury, and yet… it was almost expected, brushed under the rug. Had Harry really been this much of a troublemaker growing up that a stab wound was equivalent to a scrape for Dr. Styles?
Matt set the steaming Del Taco bag on the floor. “Y/N, seriously, what’s up? You couldn’t even stay the weekend on campus? She told me you’ve been gone for weeks.” He sat down at the foot of my bed when he was sure I wasn’t going to turn into a snarling monster. Which, to be fair, must have been a hard conclusion to come to. “And it’s true, I haven’t seen you around at all. You just… disappeared.”
“Okay, it was ONE week,” I clarified. “And we don’t see much of each other anymore anyways so don’t act like you’re so butt hurt that I decided to come home again.”
I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them. They were the ones we hadn’t said. The ones we knew were true. But a mood had crept through me last night turning me sour against the world. And now each word I spoke was infected with its poison.
His brows scrunched, eyes flashing with indignation, not sure how to handle me, of all people, lashing out abuse.
“Yeah, because youquit your PT job.”
“I got a new one!”
“And that’s fine! Why are you so… defensive right now??” he laughed briefly at the absurdity. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to blame this on me. Where is this coming from?”
I remained silent. I didn’t know why I was blaming him so harshly for our friendship reaching a downward slope. I knew we had different circles of friends, and as gross of a cliche as it was, he was with the athletes and I was with… Renny. Though now I was starting to hang out with Lynn more, too. A part of me envied him for having such an instant community with his team. Isn’t that why people joined sororities? For community? I’d seriously flunked that one, though a little voice told me I just wasn’t trying hard enough.
He looked to my collaged wall, expecting to see our photo strip. But it wasn’t there. He stood up, finding it atop my mom’s arts and crafts bin.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” he said, softly.
I watched him, stood in my room like all those high school nights of old, seeming taller than before. Like in the months we’d lost touch he’d somehow gotten too big for this room, like he’d somehow outgrown me.
“It fell down,” I lied, because Harry had taken it off.
They say your high school friends won’t stay with you forever, that as you grow older, the number of friends you stay in touch with start dwindling until it’s down to one or two. I stopped speaking to most of mine after the first year of community college. People move on. People change. I changed too, even though I stayed behind. But there was always Matt. Of all people, I didn’t think it would be him and I standing apart and feeling farther, still. When these relationships change, the transition feels gradual. It’s like, in some unspoken unseen moment, your lives sync up, and you’re both busy at the same intervals. And then you make plans to see each other, but both of you don’t reach out the day you’re supposed to meet up. Neither of you follow through. Because it’s easier. It’s natural. An unspoken agreement.
“We’ve both been busy,” I said.
“The last time I saw you, you had a massive mark on your neck.”
“You can say hickey, Matt.”
His eyes fluttered, and he looked away. If I wasn’t devoid of emotion then, I’d think it funny how he got flustered just thinking or talking about anything sexual with me.
“You’re pretty close with Harry then?” he asked, ears slightly reddened.
“What makes you say that?”
“An educated guess.” A charming smile lit his face, almost shy, the hostility in the air dulling for a moment. “I’ve seen you with him before, and you were wearing his jersey at the game… I didn’t really believe it though.”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon. Harry Styles.”
“And?”
He raised his hands as if the answer was so obvious it was floating in the air. They dropped. “He’s not really your scene, is he? I don’t mean that in a bad way, he’s not really my scene either.”
“So?”
“So, nothing. I was just trying to find something to talk about.” He was getting more irritated now, his thumb digging in between his fingers. “Really, I don’t even care to talk about him, let’s talk about you. Please. Have you drawn anything recently? Why’ve you been feeling off?”
I snorted. “Please, I haven’t drawn anything since high school. There’s nothing new.”
He crossed his arms, testing me. “I don’t buy it.”
He was smart not to.
“You know… It took a lot for my dad to ask me to stay behind instead of going off to Princeton,” he said. Every molecule seemed to still around him. “He can barely speak now. The guy who wouldn’t ask you to fetch the boogie board even if you were the one who’d let the waves take it in the first place…” his voice trailed off, a silent sadness swirling in blue eyes.
I remembered Patrick Price taking us to the beach and pushing us beneath the big waves, teaching us how to balance on those harmless foam boards we’d pick up at Rite-Aid. Just three years ago at high school graduation, Patrick was running across the grass playing football with Matt and Dad at the BBQ while Mom and Summer dished out the pasta salad and watermelon. He was diagnosed two years ago, and now instead of serving pasta salad, Summer serves him, watching him closely on his wheelchair. ALS was a nasty disease and it acted fast.
“I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped,” he finished.
I wanted to say that I was sorry. I wanted to say that it wasn’t him, that it was me. But something else had already consumed me, not letting in the light, finding the darkest parts of me and unfurling them until some spilled past my lips. “You didn’t have to drive all the way down here just to see me.”
“I didn’t,” he said, and even though he hid his hurt well, I could still see it. He stood from the bed, making up his mind that there wasn’t any use being with someone who pushed away anything that ventured near. “I’m helping my dad move offices. The rent is too high now for landscapers.”
“They’re leaving? But you guys have been in the same spot for years.”
Matt gave a shrug, taking his turn at the silent treatment.
“I didn’t know,” I said, lamely.
The chasm between us grew bigger, and I shrunk even smaller, letting the silence and guilt consume me.
“But you wouldn’t want to talk to me about that either, right?”
I swallowed, hard. I deserved that.
And I was too ashamed to stop him from leaving.
Less than an hour later, I was cursing him again. The smell of Del Taco drove my mother away from the living room. Messy wrappers lay scattered around me when the door opened. I may have been too ashamed and prideful to apologize to Matt, but my growling stomach was stronger than both.
She saw me in the same position Matt had left me, and I avoided her gaze, checked my phone. No updates.
The room seemed cold.
“You look like you’re having the same day I’m having.” She came in with a basket of clean clothes, setting it on the floor.
“Mom, I told you I’d do that.”
“No, you needed rest.” There was a flash of pity, but it was lying beneath a thick shell of annoyance. She huffed, sitting on my bed, just like Matt hours before.
She snuggled closer. I faced her on my side, hands pressed against my cheek. She mirrored me.
I waited for her to say something, but in the silence her eyes grew wide, shaking her head. The mysterious reason for her mood like a gorged balloon floating towards a fan.
“What?” I asked.
“I think your Dad has feelings for somebody else.”
My brows scrunched. “What?”
“I don’t have any proof. But we were on a date night last night and…” -she let out a cruel laugh that made me want to hold her- “He was texting her.”
“Who?”
“A waitress.”
“A waitress?”
“Nicole the waitress.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“He denied it. But I looked at his phone when he went to the bathroom. She’s been a little… friendly with Dad.”
“Nicole?? Mom, she’s like nearly forty.” A brief memory of a friendly blonde working in the restaurant trickled up and left a sour taste on my tongue.
“Still fifteen years younger than me.”
My nose shriveled up, the thought of Father being romantic with my own mommade me cringe, but the thought of Father being romantic with somebody else? It didn’t seem… conceivable. My parents weren’t like the Styless. They kept us together. They loved each other.
“Have I met her? I’ll punch her next time I see her,” I said, the words still not connecting with my brain. With the facts laid out before me.
Mom snorted. “Not before I do.” She plucked at a hangnail, a habit I’d gotten from her, and I could practically see the insecurities already rolling around in her mind.
“You’re gorgeous, Mom.”
She gave me a look. “I’ve been stress-eating chocolates. I need to watch myself.”
“Mom.” I frowned, seeing worry behind her humor. “He needs to watch himself.”
She sighed, turning to the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just have this… feeling.”
“Women’s intuition?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, and I knew if Mother was telling me this from her vault of secrets, it must have been significant. She wasn’t one to listen to Lara’s spirituality, but intuition was something she would never refute. Momma turned back, rattling her thoughts together. “Anyway. I’ll just be… shocked. If it’s true. I mean…a waitress? Really?” Silence suspended. The afternoon sun warmed the room a little more than usual, exposing the paled filmy stars on my ceiling to be illuminescent frauds. “Or maybe I’m not,” she said, quieter. Before I could bat my eyes, she changed the subject. “Why’d you come back last night?”
But I could still see the steam rolling off her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it more?” I offered. The Del Taco turned queasy in my stomach, and as much as I loved her, I really hoped she said no.
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” She squeezed my hand, letting me know she meant her apology. She did a once-over at my stale big t-shirt. “Did something happen to make you want to come home?” Her fingers ran along the tops of my knuckles. “Or do you just love me.” Her smile was less than half-hearted.
“I was going to be alone at the dorm again. Renny was going to a party and I didn’t want to go with her…”
“I hate how she leaves you alone. Maybe we should get you a puppy for company?”
I gave her a look and she caved. “No, you’re right. Probably wouldn’t fit in there. You couldn’t take care of a puppy now anyways. Too needy. So, did he like the house?”
Her mind seemed scattered in a million directions. Mine struggled to keep up.
“Mom, seriously whatare you talking about?”
“Oh, I didn’t know if he said anything about it afterwards or-”
“Mom,who?”
“Harry, honey.”
She was clueless of what her words did to me. My heart lurched just hearing his name, and the worry from last night washed over my exhausted frame like a crab on the shore, strong tides like a persistent weight, threatening to carry me away again.
“I’m sure he liked it,” I said.
“It’s an older home…he’s probably used to columns of marble.” Her embarrassed smile for even asking the question made my heart split further.
“Actually, he did say something! I remember now, he told me it was cute. Homey. He thinks the marble stuff is too cold anyways, he’s excited to come back,” I reassured her. The last bit was probably a stretch but it worked. Embarrassment fell away and her smile glowed.
Satisfied that she was happy, I turned to face my ceiling, closing my eyes. The problems with her and Father swum in the back of my mind, but I was too tired to take on anything else. She was an adult. She could make her own decisions. The information settled in a box in my brain, waiting for a moment when I could fully process it and I’d unlock it all again. I could feel the inklings of damage it would do to me if I truly unpacked it - anxiety, anger, confusion, fear, pity.
Family was a constant.
I couldn’t think about that changing, too. Not when I could barely keep my eyes open.
“You’re so sad, angel. What’s going on in your mind, hm?”
I shook my head, shifting to look at the ceiling. I didn’t need to feel guilty for not confiding in her. I needed to not feel anything.
Her presence was like a lighthouse, radiating heat, beckoning me to come back. All without her saying a word.
She looked as if she were going to say something else, but her hand fell back into her lap. “Okay,” she said.
She didn’t even try.
Maybe she knew the fog was too thick for me to see her light.
Then, through the fog, a vibration shook me to the core.
—–
“Y/N, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Sven stepped aside, the grand foyer to the Styles estate stretching out before me. Any other time, it would be enchanting, captivating. Now, it looked as treacherous as a hospital hall. I wasn’t sure what rendition of Harry was waiting for me on the other side of the staircase.
My feet carried me up a familiar path, my heart pounding at the unknown.
Irrationally, I had to remind myself that Harry was alive. I wasn’t going to find him, not like I’d found my Grandpa in his room.
Regardless…
“Are there people watching him? Is he alone?”
“He’s stabilized. There’s no need for nurses to keep watch.” Sven held dirty linens as he stayed in my shadow up the stairs.
I nodded, the assurances not really meaning anything, not until I could put an image in my mind as to what he looked like. Right now, all I could conjecture was a gray blur for a head sticking out above the sheets. How bruised would he be? How much stained blood would there be? I didn’t know what to fill in the gray with, so my mind envisioned the grim Harry I’d last seen, the Harry that, if it weren’t for the monitor, I wouldn’t have known still had a beating heart.
Each step carried me closer with a horrifying thought. My brain playing connect the dots as I walked.
Pale.
A clay boy.
A stitched up doll.
And everyone knew dolls didn’t breathe.
I didn’t realize I was alone until I turned around. Of course Sven wouldn’t have followed me, but for some reason I wanted him to be here.
Maybe it’s because he was with me when I’d seen Harry last.
“Y/N.” The familiar voice was weaker, but the grim tone was still so painfully bare. Of course he’d sensed me.
When I stepped out from behind the door, I didn’t find a dilapidated monster. Harry lay resting.
“Hey.” I snuck in, light as a swallow’s feather in the morning breeze, floating down beside him and resting my head atop crossed arms. The sight of him shook me. “Raggedy Harry,” I barely whispered, a horrible punch-to-the-gut feeling ballooning in my chest.
Half of his face swelled more than the other, his bottom lip completely bruised and jutted out, with a fairly deep gash that had started to scab. I fought the urge to trace over it.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said, watching my eyes carefully. Besides the pink-red swelling, his face appeared flushed. And despite his injuries, he was still miraculously beautiful.
I didn’t even blush from staring. Loose earthy curls had not been affected by time spent smooshed against the pillows. If anything, it’d pushed them forward, the floppier fringe defying gravity just there above his forehead. People could go to a stylist and ask for effortless mussy curls and not have it turn out as good as his - and this just with his genetics and days spent sleeping.
If I were him, I’d look like a grease monkey.
“Well, I can’t see the worst bits I’m sure.”
His chest was wrapped in gauze, this time not bloody to the touch. It was thick, white, and secure, and suddenly the tears that had yet to spill started pricking my eyes. I didn’t know just how badly I needed to hear the words before he said them.
“Y/N, I’m fine. I promise.”
The heaviest weight lifted from my shoulders, but my body slumped deeper into his mattress from an instantaneous realization. I’d needed Harry to be okay. I needed him here, even if I couldn’t explain why.
My hand reached out, brushing the tops of his hand.
“It would’ve been a dick move if you died,” I managed to breathe. I let out a sorry excuse for laughter, nervously sniffling.
His eyes seemed heavy, tired. The circles beneath them a cry for help from his beaten body.
“You can sleep if you want. I just wanted to check in on you.”
“I’m not sleeping when you’re here. S’all I’ve been doing,” he croaked. A flood of relief washed over me. Being apart from him was the last thing I wanted right now. The anxieties that’d been plaguing me the past 24 hours were muted to a dull simmer, drowned out by the highs of my body being close to his. Noticing his body…
A steady drip came from the IV hooked to his arm. Five pill bottles were on his nightstand, within arms reach. He noticed my staring.
“To stay hydrated.” Then, under his breath, “And numb.”
“I know,” I barked a laugh that instantly felt out of place. “I want to go into medicine, remember?”
His voice seemed lower when he rumbled, “S’right. You’re a smart girl.”
The tenderness in his voice sent an unexpected warmth straight to my chest. “You know that’s also a curse,” I noted. “I think too much.”
“I know,” he said, but he didn’t laugh like I had. It sounded like an apology. I almost jolted when his hand reached out to touch mine, not expecting him to be warm.
“You almost died,” I said, taking a breath. “I was there when you almost died.”
“I never wanted you to be there-” Before I could take offense, he weakly squeezed my hand. “I want to protect you, Y/N. I never wanted you this involved with me.”
“Well we’ve done a shit job at staying uninvolved. You can barely protect yourself. You can’tprotect yourself.”
“That isn’t going to happen again.”
“The fact that it happened! Harry, I don’t think you understand how scared I was. How scared I am. I could be next, I don’t know what they want…”
A horrifying puzzle piece clicked into place. My nightmare of being stabbed could become a very real reality. It wasn’t until I saw Harry wincing that I realized his breath had quickened.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out. We don’t need to talk right now.”
The sting of I never wanted you this involved with me pulled me to the door, but his hand pulled me back.
“No. Fuck no.” But his grip softened again, his abdomen screaming at the effort to pull me back to him. When he spoke again his voice was a murmur, quiet-quiet, so gentle I could’ve imagined it. “Stay. Please. Seeing you here is the happiest I’ve been all week.”
My heart could’ve flown out of my chest, but for the buzzing electrical phenomena his words ignited in me, I was frozen by his sober admittance of want. It seemed all we ever did was dance around each other, literally. As if we were in an old 1700s ballroom, and everyone was dispersing into pairs. We spy each other from across the room and tiptoe around, refusing to seek other partners, yet refusing to commit to a dance.
“Is that sad?” His sincerity broke my reverie.
I leant closer, and his eyes fluttered shut in expectation… But my lips pressed soft kisses to closed lids. “I’ll stay,” I promised, nose to nose. Because my answer to his question would be yes. Something told me the mess of his body finally matched the inside of his heart.
Rather than tilt his head up to kiss me, he tried scooting over in the bed. It was painful to watch. I stopped him. There was plenty of room for me to lay beside him. So I did, scared to touch him.
“I’m not going to break,” he huffed. Tough and untouchable, I imagine being tip-toed around was the exact opposite of what he was used to.
“You didn’t see yourself that night.” Bloodied gauze and feeling his hot insides against my hands was enough to make my own blood curdle. It was enough to make me question if the Harry in front of me was simply a mirage. He was okay now, I reminded myself. But after I’d seen him bleeding out in the seat next to me, I wasn’t sure I believed him to be unbreakable anymore.
“You’re right, I’m… sorry,” he looked away, as if not being able to meet his reflection in my eyes. As much as I could hear regret, I knew he felt it even more.
My hand reached out, fingertips gently touching his raised cheek. “You were the one who felt it.”
He barely leant against my touch, gaze boldly probing my tired eyes, puffy from crying. The longer he stared the guiltier he became.
“Maybe we both did,” he said. The statement seemed to confuse him, brows stitching together. “No one’s ever been there for me like you. And-” he smiled as wide as he could with the swelling- “honestly it scares the living shit out of me. I know you didn’t have much of a choice to help-”
I surprised myself again, the definitive statement flying out of my mouth faster than I could comprehend. “I’d do it again.”
But the words seemed to hurt him more. His head lulled to the side, his prominent adam’s apple moving as he swallowed, deep in thought. “You’re too good for me,” he surmised. Before I could argue, he took my hand, pressing the back of it to bruised lips. He was acting so soft, so vulnerable. Was it the drugs? Was it an act? But if it was, how could eyes lie like that?
He hummed as if we were laying on the beach on the first hot day of summer, despite all the pain he must be in. The pros and cons list I’d written and stashed in my purse was sending out a throbbing heartbeat in my body, burning a hole where my purse lay at the end of the bed. No matter if the list were true, it couldn’t encapsulate the complicated person that he was. It wasn’t a fair portrait to paint. And putting me on a pedestal wasn’t either. “That’s not true,” I mumbled, far too late.
“It is,” he said. No room for argument.
“Did they give you some love drugs in this medicine bag of yours?”
His brows quirked at love, but he didn’t seem mocking when he said, “Maybe.” Emerald eyes were a mix of admiration, torment, and want as they drank me in, and I was sure if I let him stare into my soul a moment longer, he’d discover I wasn’t perfect at all.
I looked out towards his panoramic balcony window. Little flickers of light told of a city at the bottom of the hill, the dark ocean like a blanket for the rest of the world just out of reach. I wondered how long it’d been since the sun had set. Like any night with Harry, the rest of the world slipped away.
I stole a glance back at him, the beautifully broken boy resting his eyes. As if sensing me, he stirred, mumbling something incoherent.
“Too far,” he repeated, opening up his arms.
“I’m not laying on you Harry. Your stitches could burst.”
He growled. “I don’t care.”
And I didn’t doubt it. I came as close as I dared, thankful his shoulder wasn’t bruised as I lay my head in the crook of his neck, hands blindly combing through curls.
I could feel him relax into me, hear the boyish smirk across his face. “My mum used to do that,” he whispered. “Not this mum, my other…” his voice stuttered out. “My biological.”
It grew quiet in the room. An opening to the door of his past just barely letting in light.
“Do you miss her?”
“Can’t miss what you don’t remember,” he dismissed. And just like that, the door to his past was slammed shut. It was exactly what he said about the Styles’s first child Jane. But this time it sounded rehearsed, mechanical, a river of emotion carefully masked. But not to me.
My hands stilled, not sure if I should continue. But he leant into me again, and I continued my gentle work, as if undoing his tresses could untangle messy thoughts. “Thank you,” he sighed.
In some unspoken moment, he turned his head down, his tanned beaten face leant closer to mine. And with the intimate intensity only he possessed, he saw me. Like I was the only woman in the world. The oxygen seemed pulled from the room as time suspended. He leant lower until our foreheads brushed, his brows stitching together when I instinctually drew my leg across him, careful not to hitch it up too close to his wound. Our breathing deepened, the anticipation building as my hand drew across his face, my fingers settling behind his ear. He huffed, irritated at the tangling of the IV chord when he wrapped his arm around my side.
We stayed like this for a while, cradling the other. And just like I had done before, his pillow-soft lips ghosted over my cheek, then my nose, then my chin, until they hovered just over my lips. My eyes fluttered closed, the trail he left leading to one place…
“Y/N,” he breathed. I opened my eyes. There wasn’t any reluctance in his eyes, but something similarly cautious yet fervent, an unspoken sentence pushing against closed lips.
But the sound of glass shattering woke us both up. His body turned hunter, still as stone as he listened for what came next. A hysterical cry drove Harry to stand, miraculously faster than I thought possible, and it wasn’t until he limped halfway towards the door that I realized he ripped out his IV. The banshee scream turned into a chilling wail, freezing me to my core.
My mind went to the worst case scenario. I’d have to jump from the window somehow. The gang must have found us. They must be in the house-
“It’s Mary,” he cursed, stopping my spiralling mind so quickly I was left dizzy. I don’t remember following him, but he stopped me at the door, hands locked around my shoulders.
“She has… fits, sometimes,” he explained.
“I don’t care.”
“Y/N, you don’t have to see this, too,” he said, and the amount of shame that shadowed his face was like a gouge through my heart.
I barely had time to say the words before another scream ripped through the empty house. “I’d do it again.”
With a somber nod, he rushed us out, practically sprinting to the living room where Mary Styles lay cradling her shell-shocked frame on the floor.
“You were gone. You left me,” she sobbed. Her hair was ripped from its usual loose curls and mascara ran down her face like the clear snot running from her nose.
“Oh my God,” a voice mumbled.
But I realized the voice was me.
The glass mirror at the bar had shattered. Shards of glass lay scattered all over the floor. Harry trudged through it, barefoot, bits of red mixing on the marble floors.
“No one was here, no one saw.” Her eyes were crazed as Harry bent over to pick her up and she pushed him away. “No! NO!!”
Fear spiked in my body. I’d never seen someone look so disconnected from the present reality. This was raw. Unpredictable.
But Harry seemed unphased.
“No one saw her, no one saved her,” she wailed. The weight of the words caused crippling sorrow. She stopped resisting, retreating into a shell of herself with choked cries, “Jane, Jane…” as Harry let out his own shout at the effort to lift her.
“Be careful, you’re hurt,” I called out, weakly. He didn’t bat an eye.
“Go through those doors, through the living wing, there’s a closet on your right. Grab the Valium and meet me in the guest room.” He avoided my gaze, looking instead to the direction I should be running to.
“Where in the closet?”
“Black box,” he ordered. Then, whispering to Mary, “It wasn’t your fault.”
But if she heard the words, they didn’t register, her face twisting, her own little trickle of blood running from the tips of her hands.
Her sobs barely quieted as they rounded the corner down the hall, abandoning me in the wreckage.
I was careful to step around the glass, heading to the massive hidden door in the wall I remembered Harry pointing out as the “living wing.” No one was around to confirm if memory served correct, but when I finally found the latch handle and tugged it open, tropical foliage surrounded me. It smelled humid, like stale water and… musky. Like when I had a hamster in fourth grade and forgot to change out its bedding. The light from the moon shone through their giant skylight, illuminating caged birds gently calling behind bars, enclosed in a sizey aviary. A small raised indoor pool made of rock looked like a concave fossil, with a shadow swimming amongst the mossy water. A miniature crocodile skirted to the furthest edge away from me and raised for air, two eyes looking skeptically in my direction. “Toto” was etched into the rock.
There were more enclosed habitats, and at the head of the room overlooking it all, a giant wooden desk. But no closet. No closet.
Frick.
I didn’t have time to ponder the eccentricity of the Styles’s owning a freaking zoo in their mansion. Nor did I have time to try and find a friggin light switch. Not at all.
I walked the length of the wing which seemed just as expansive as their living room. Ironic, I thought. Because this was literally a livingroom.
Then, beneath an arching tree canopy held in a planter box, two wicker handles protruded from the wall with a crack running between them.
Bingo.
They opened easily, revealing a deep closet full of filing cabinets and old paintings. My phone light illuminated the top, where two black boxes seemed to have gone untouched for years.
My foot tapped impatiently, not sure which one to grab. I hadn’t heard any cries of bloody murder, but someone (not me, someone more athetlic) could’ve run a mile in the time I’d been gone.
I reached for the one closest to me. It was velvet, I realized, surprised even this family’s storage containers would have some element of luxury. I prayed to find pills. But instead, a wax sealed envelope holding a thick stack of documents glared back at me. I was just about to secure the lid again when the inklings of a photograph peaked through between the papers. The deep-red seal, already opened, was their insignia, a cursive “S” that looked like it’d come from the 18th century.
Since the seal was already broken…
My hands carefully leafed through the pages, and as if they knew, the animals grew louder, alarming themselves of an intruder. These documents seemed court-ordered. Various signatures adorned the pages using language I couldn’t understand. My heart dropped when I realized what I was holding. Adoption papers. Among them, a newspaper clipping about a boy separated from a violent family, and adopted by rich Americans.
Slowly, with each word I read, the oxygen felt snuffed from the room, another puzzle piece falling into place. One that changed the picture completely.
Wednesday morning at 5 am, neighbors of Sheffield awoke to gunshots at the King flat. After an attempted murder of his wife resulting in two gun shot wounds to Maisie King’s abdomen, Roger King committed suicide. Maisie is currently in recovery, and her two children have been placed in foster care while the court assesses their home situation.
More newspaper headings were clipped out, detailing the TV star rescuers of the boy, how lucky he was and how a wonderful, ritzy life in California awaited him. His entire fate had been changed - but there was no mention of Gemma. And in each photo, the child-like innocence in his eyes seemed vacant, replaced with a stoic sadness I’d only seen glimpses of when he was medicated. When he was too numb to remember to keep up the mask.
For how little the Styles’s divulged about Harry’s past to the American press, in England the story seemed to be the tragedy turned happy ending. At least, to some extent, the Styles’s were owed credit for something. They’d probably paid off the international papers.
Little Harry… My stomach suddenly flipped, the room’s darkness transferring to something physically heavy in my chest. There was a photograph, too, and I carefully wedged a finger where the worn corner of it peaked out from the paperwork, keeping its place as I tugged it out. But when I saw it, I almost dropped everything.
The familiar curly-haired child I’d known from old Housewives episodes stared back at me in a worn blue polo from discolored film. Reddened tear-stained eyes looked at whoever was behind the camera.
There were fresh bruises on baby-plump cheeks, cuts across rosy cherub lips.
I looked away as soon as I saw it, but the image had already burned in my memory. A taste for the shadows of scars I could only imagine he carried ten-fold. His cuts had buried much deeper than flesh; the most dangerous wounds afflicted his soul and stole the air straight from my lungs.
Oh, God.
Oh, Harry.
How could anyone do such a thing? He was just an innocent boy, how could anyone- how often…?
Bitter bile rose in the back of my throat. Dealing with bloody injuries was one thing, but seeing a beaten child had me sick for another reason entirely. This was something evil.
I put the photo back just as quickly. I’d gone too far this time. I’d really gone too far.
So it was almost an accident that the next photo fell out when I was putting back the first.
A man, strewn across a red puddle seeping from his head. A gun tossed at his side. The bile rose again and I refused to stare, but my mind caught the ends of wavy brown hair and a face that wasn’t really quite there.
I should’ve noticed when the animals quieted, I should’ve heard footsteps quicken in the other room, but it seemed far away, muted by the roaring secret I’d just uncovered, my mind fully fixated on the life no one could have known about Newport’s playboy hier.
If Harry hadn’t noticed the velvet top of the box not quite closed shut, he saw the guilt in my eyes when he stood square before the closet doors.
He looked irritated, almost grabbing the closed box from my fingers.
“It’s the wrong box!” I cried, horrified that even my voice reeked of pity. And something else. Fear.
He froze. A flame flashed beneath the dulled emerald, a spark of knowledge I was sure he’d like to forget. That he’d probably triedto forget, countless times. He shoved it away and grabbed the other box, stopping briefly as he walked past me again. He threw a cold glare.
“Don’t be scared of the snake,” he said. “But he doesn’t like strangers.”
As if on command, a giant boa constrictor slithered out from the overhanging tree, tightly coiled around a branch.
I felt my heart lurch in my throat.
“Harry!” I called, but he wasn’t here anymore. And if he was, he didn’t answer. He left, rushing to deal with one mess, when I feared I’d just created an even bigger one. Frozen to the spot as I figured out how to basically army-crawl out of the closet, I ran out past screaming birds and rustling waters, snake eyes burning two holes in the back of my neck as I chased Harry’s shadow.
Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well… here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;)
The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space.
I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures.
Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito.
HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx
—————————————————————–
Things I want:
Live a life that helps others
Financial freedom
Experience a great love
Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy
To have more dreams and fewer nightmares
Doodle more
Acquire a first edition book, either because an old friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch
To be happy
Please note: not necessarily in that order
It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.
My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I usedto draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough.
