#...Second thought nevamind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes / Green Eyes 4

Read all 3 previous parts here!

Blurb Synopsis: With final exams approaching, you find yourself coming to rely on Harry more, whether for help with teaching, emotional support, help packing your apartment, or to complain about your students wanting to set the two of you up together. The saying goes that ‘stress makes you stronger,’ and that will be the true test during this season in your lives, and relationship.

Genre: Teacher Harry, soooooo much fluff, some angst, a little sad, and lots of romance.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 10k words, whoops

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Changes by David Bowie & Butterfly Boucher (click to listen; yes the Shrek version, YES FROM THIS VERY PART)

I also wanted to thank my pals @sunflwrnarry and @bfharry who’ve helped me with this story with their support, ideas, and love for it. I love freaking out with you two over this story ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

As you bring your fist to the blue door, you suddenly pause. Thoughts dance inside of your head and tie themselves to your heart. Happiness comes over you in another wave as Harry’s voice interrupts the thoughts, his voice telling you that he loves you from earlier. A content sigh meets the air in front of you in a white cloud. You had forgotten how cold you were, but the playful barking coming from the other side of the door brings you back to reality.

“C’min!” Harry replies once you knock.

Slowly opening the door, the warmth of Harry’s house greets you, along with the musky cinnamon smell that accompanies it. What surprises you is the little bundle of golden fur barking at you, but with the cutest bark, you’ve ever heard.

“Ya, you get ‘er, Gatsby! Go get mummy, go say hullo t’ her!” Harry giggles, and soon you are too as you fall to a crouch as he approaches you. With that tail dancing in the air, you only laugh harder as he slips and falls in front of you. “My goodness, yer a clutz li’l boy. ‘Bout third time ya’ve fallen down and we’ve only been home fer a few minutes, jus’ beat mummy by a tick.”

“Hi, bud. How was your ride home with daddy? What do you think of your new home?” you coo to the puppy, rubbing the top of his furry head. He continues to yip at you for a few seconds until his sniffer takes over.

“I see how good o’ guard dog, you are, pup. Ya smell any food on ‘em and they’re yer friend,” Harry sighs with a titter, carding a hand through his hair when you glance over to him.

“No, you’re a good guard dog, Gatsby. You just have to get used to mummy and daddy, don’t you?” you croon, rubbing both hands along his chubby face as he sniffs the air. “Come on, let’s go sit by daddy,” you suggest, unable to hide your laugh as you observe him struggling to walk on the hardwood floor.

“Looks like I might need t’ get su’more rugs or else he’s gonna be fallin’ e’rywhere.”

“Yeah, it’ll be easier to clean up his accidents on the wood flooring, though,” you note aloud, sliding off your slushy winter boots onto the mat by the door. After hanging up your coat on one of the hooks, you turn right into Harry’s living room to take a seat by him on the long red rug. “Did you take him potty yet?”

“Ya, I did befo’ we went in tha school and afta, and a few minutes ‘go. He went befo’ we went in but not since. ‘m not too worried tho’, I knew when I got him that he’d be peein’ on e’rythin’,” Harry notes, his eyes stuck to the waddling furball. Quickly, they dart to you and his strong arms come around your middle, pulling you into him. “C’mere, love, and have a cuddle wit’ me.”

Gatsby turns and begins to bark at the both of you as Harry pulls you over to sit in his lap, the both of you laughing loudly. He tottles over and proceeds to sniff the both of you.

“How does she smell, Gats’? Does mummy pass yer sniffer check?” he mumbles, against your cheek where his words tickle your skin. You contribute to the conversation with a laugh at the both of them, sinking into Harry’s arms. Contentment washes over you when your back meets his chest and you feel him press a kiss to your temple.

“Come here, Gatsby!” you say, patting your lap excitedly.

“Nah, he’s too busy sniffin’. I swear ‘s all he did when he was in me car, even tho’ I was holdin’ him tha whole time.”

“It sounds like you should’ve named him Scooby-Doo instead,” you remark, earning a soft laugh from Harry. You squirm when you feel his breath tickle your neck. Sighing, you relax against him, his arms resting on your soft tummy and sometimes rubbing his knuckles against it.

“Perhaps,” he comments, the feeling of his smooth cheek against yours an absence now, his stubble already prickling your skin. “Fit right into me arms, tha both o’ you,” he continues, swaying the both of you back and forth in his arms now clad in a long-sleeved Rolling Stones crewneck.

You hope he can see the smile adorning your face and being all the reply he needs. You’re uncertain the last time you felt this content and happy all rolled into one, but it’s hard to pinpoint because Harry always seems to have that effect on you.

“Hope ‘s okay I named him, jus’ thought it was perfect when I saw him tha otha day,” he whispers against your temple, the cinnamon from his gum tiptoeing over your face.

“Yeah of course, it is. I couldn’t imagine him being named anything else. I don’t know how you kept him a secret for a whole week, I would’ve squealed,” you say with a grin, backing up when the puppy gets brave and stands up, his front paws on Harry’s knee. You titter at the feeling of his feathery whiskers on your skin, the sound of his adamant sniffing, and the cold wetness of his nose on your chin.

“Yeah, I dunno how I didn’t. There were so many times I almost told ya, but I jus’ wanted t’ surprise ya, bird.”

“I’m glad you did. Okay, Gatsby, you go and smell daddy now,” you relent, your hands coming around the chunky puppy. His tummy is warm against your palms and his whine fills your ears as you lift him up to set in your lap.

“I dunno, I think he likes how ya smell betta. What, did ya eat sumthin’ on tha way here, a Twix or Bit-O-Honey, or sumthin’?” Harry murmurs, his smile felt on your temple. “We’re gonna hafta watch it, he’ll wanna get into e’rythin’.”

“Yeah, he must smell that Twix I found in my car,” you reply, squealing when you feel the puppy’s warm wet tongue on your cheek.

“Sumbody already loves their mummy, I see,” Harry comments. “Ya, Gats’, le’ss give mummy all tha kisses!” he exclaims before pressing loud smooches all over your face too.

“Oh no, attacked by kisses, whatever will I do?!” you shout, feeling the energetic puppy in your lap as you close your eyes, chuckling. You wouldn’t change this for the world, no siree.

“Thanks for dinner, it was delicious,” you tell Harry as you set your dishes in the dishwasher.

“Welcome, love. Would ya like some wine? I should finish off dis bottle already, ‘s gettin’ all flat,” Harry asks, the soft click of the fridge door opening following his words.

“I don’t know, it’s getting kind of late and I have to drive home . . ,” you answer, conflict showing through in your words.

Your eyes follow Harry’s tall figure as he reaches an arm to a shelf in the cabinet, grabbing two long-stemmed wine glasses. A smile tickles at your lips when his shirt rides up a tad, and his fern tattoos adorning his hips say hi to you, as well as his happy trail you love so much. It amazes you the amount of restraint it takes to not reach over and touch his tummy. Ugh.

“You could have as much wine as ya’d like and ya wouldn’t hafta drive home if ya stay tha night. Gatsby had wanted me t’ ask ya, anyways. I told him we could make it work - we’ll all pile togetha in me bed, and ya can borrow sum jammies o’ mine,” he hums, turning to face you as he sets down the two empty glasses. The bubbles rising within your chest only worsen when you see the smug look pulling his lips into a smile. “I mean, that’s if ya want t’ sleep ova.”

The gurgling of the white wine filling a glass occupies the silence between the two of you. Words fleet you as you watch him fill one glass three-quarters of the way full, and when his eyes lift to you they brim with uncertainty and anxiety.

“Bird?” he inquires softly, raising an eyebrow. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he bites on his lip. “Sorry, nevamind, maybe ‘s a bit early fer that still. Yer not movin’ in fer anotha’ month, so ‘s okay,” he finishes, trying to diffuse the situation with a soft laugh.

You deliver your answer by grabbing the full wine glass and bringing it to your lips that part with a smile, “I’d love to stay over and steal your ‘jammies’,” you reply softly, the wine surprising your lips with its sweetness and chill. His face collapses into a blushing laugh as he shakes his head.

“Birdy, you li’l shit,” he remarks, clucking his tongue as he pours the rest of the bottle into the second glass for himself. “Ya can’t scare me like that, thought I jus’ made a proper fool o’ meself.”

“No, you could never make a fool of yourself in my eyes, Harry,” you mumble, setting down the wine glass on your short walk over to him. Your fingers soon find him, first on his backside where you cup his ass, earning another head shake from him.

“Ya really fancy me bum, dontcha, love?” he snickers, setting down the bottle with a clud, twirling the metal cap back on quickly. He turns around to face you, but you leave your hand on his bum.

“Mmmhmm, it’s quite nice,” you try to say seriously, but it comes out accompanied with a laugh.

“So ‘s yers, y’know,” he winks, slapping your butt as he dips to plant a kiss on your lips. “We betta go find out what that li’l boy ‘s doin’ in there, prolly gettin’ into trouble.”

“In a second,” you whisper, placing your hand on the back of his neck slowly.

“Jus’ a second?”

“Maybe more,” you shrug, feeling the wispy hairs on the back of his neck as the golden glints in his eyes come into focus.

His rose lips spread into a smile, showing his straight teeth, and disappearing when your lips meet his in a kiss. The remnants of the chocolatey brownies you had for dessert linger on his lips. Wafts of dark smoke from when he started the fire in the fireplace titillate your senses, coming to be a favorite smell you associate with him.

“You taste and smell so fucking good, like brownies at a bonfire,” you breathe against his lips, your eyes wandering to his that stare at you so adoringly you feel like you’ve already had five glasses of wine.

“Look at tha potty mouth on you, can’t believe it sumtimes,” he smirks from above you, the smell of cocoa hitting your face.

“Yeah well, you sure like to kiss it a lot.”

“I do, don’t I?” Harry coos, brushing the pad of his thumb along your lip, adding another theoretical glass of wine to the overflow of your senses. “I’d kiss it bloody all day long, if I could.”

Your head fills with wishes similar to those as his lips caress yours, but you’re broken apart when you hear a whine from nearby. Parting, you both peer into the other room, finding Gatsby waiting in the doorway. You swear that he stares at the both of you while he lifts a leg and pees onto the dark wooden floor.

“Well, so much fer that,” Harry giggles, stealing a kiss from your cheek before he lets go of you. “Where’d ya leave those baby wipes we were usin’, love?”

Although Harry’s pajama bottoms swallow your entire bottom, legs, feet, and all, you can’t help but smile at them. The gentle smell of his laundry detergent reminds you of marshmallows for some reason, and you couldn’t be happier as it envelopes you. His Beatles shirt falls over your head and comes down to your thighs, but you’re not complaining. I think these are tha smallest ‘ve got, they should fit, he had murmured a mere minute before as he handed you the folded pile of clothes. Okay, Harry, if you insist, you think silently as you inspect your appearance with a dumbfounded smile.

With a nervous grin, you set your outfit from today on a shelf in the cabinet and turn off the light. You can hear Harry talking to Gatsby as your socked feet pad down the hallway, easing your nerves quickly. Low and behold, once you push the door open, you find him sitting on Harry’s chest, looking like he’s getting a talking to. Sure enough he is, you find.

“‘s time t’ go t’ bed now, so we’re all gonna sleep in dis bed. Please try not t’ pee on daddy’s sheets. Ya have a pillow t’ lay on down at tha end o’ tha bed, and yer bed’s on tha floor in tha corner. There’s one o’ those blue plastic sheets down fer ya t’ go pee too, alright? Understood?” he tells the puppy with a toothy smile, wagging a finger at him and twirling one of his floppy ears around another

“Uh oh, somebody’s in trouble,” you joke, leaning against the doorframe. When Harry’s eyes carry over to you, you self consciously cross your arms over your chest not contained by a bra. “What?” you mumble, narrowing your eyes at him as he stares at you, that toothy grin only growing wider.

“Nothing,” he confesses, looking back to Gatsby with reddening cheeks, stealing glances at you every now and then.

“Harry,” you continue with emphasis, dashing around the bed to slide under the cream covers on the right side. “Hi, Gatsby,” you coo excitedly when his tail begins to wag frantically, pulling a giggle from your lips when he turns towards you, hitting Harry in the face.

“Gosh, kid,” he manages, lifting the puppy up to pass him to you. You’re almost drowned in puppy kisses to the face, sending giggles from your lips. The puppy’s name flies into the air as you try to fight him off. “Guess he likes that taste o’ tha toothpaste.”

“I guess so,” you agree aloud, finally his attack of kisses ending. Soon, he forgets you and wanders around the bed sniffing. He finally lies down and curls up against Harry’s leg towards the end of the bed.

“I sacrifice one o’ my pillows fer ya t’ lie on, and that’s where ya lay?” Harry huffs, but soon an adoring whine sounds behind his lips as he admires the puppy. “I guess we tired him out runnin’ laps downstairs.”

“Yeah, it’s about time. He has so much energy, I can’t believe it,” you murmur in agreement. When you look over to see the look on his face for the puppy, instead you find his eyes waiting on you. “What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?”

“No, but if ya did Gats’ woulda gott’it,” Harry hums, nevertheless brushing a thumb across your cheek with the sappiest smile you’ve seen him wear in a long time. “Ya jus’ look . . cuter than I thought ya’d look in me clothes, bird.”

“I’m swimming in them, how is that cute?” you ask, pulling on the front of the shirt as proof, eliciting a loud laugh from Harry.

“‘m sorry, I thought they’d fit betta. But they look great on you, they really do. E’rythin’ does, and sumhow I love me jammies on ya best,” he remarks, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “Yer so beautiful, birdy. ‘m gonna go get ready fer bed too, befo’ I keep blabberin’.”

The smirk painted on his face looks much like the one you’re sure is consuming yours at his words. He folds back the covers and Gatsby moves over as Harry leaves the bed, but you grab hold of his hand at the last second. He turns to you with a questioning look, saying he has to go and brush his teeth.

“I like it when you blabber, especially to me,” you share, pulling on his arm until he returns to lean over the bed, steadying himself with a hand on the mattress.

“There’s n’body else ‘d ratha blab t’ than you, love, and ‘m guessin’ we’re in fer a long night with this li’l one,” he smiles, pecking you fast before his hand slips from yours and he leaves the room.

Yawning, you slide back under the covers and pull them over your shoulders, savoring Harry’s smell they hold. Your head falls onto the satiny pillowcase as the top plush blanket a shade of sage caresses your cheek. A huff tickles at your ears and you find Gatsby’s made his way over to you and settles his head to fall on your calf, his large ears splaying out on the splash of green. Emails and texts on your phone occupy your time as you wait for Harry, listening to Gatsby’s adorable little sounds where he’s curled up beside you. Your sleepy hand finds his furry body, keeping you warm, and you tickle his fur as you turn your phone off to set on the table at your bedside.

“Look at you two, snug as a bug in a rug, ‘d say,” Harry murmurs out of nowhere, appearing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. For a second, you think you need to do the same because you’re sure the image in front of you is a mirage of some sort. Harry scratches at his bare chest, a yawn leaving his lips while stretching his bare arms into the air. “Oh sorry, I neva sleep with a shirt on, I hope that’s okay. It doesn’t make ya feel weird, does it?” he questions, closing the bedroom door so Gatsby won’t wander around the house, as he said earlier.

“N-No, it’s okay,” you mumble, trying not to stare as he pads across the room. The closer he gets, the more your heart freaks out in your chest, you’re sure of it. “I like it,” you confess, suddenly wishing you weren’t so good at this blurting out secrets thing.

“Oh, d’ya now?” he smirks, shutting off the overhead light, leaving his lamp on to carry soft light on his side of the bed. You suffice a response with a shrug of your shoulders, cozying into the bed as he slips under the top sheet, pillowy comforter and blanket.

“Yer sumthin’, aren’t ya, birdy?” he quips, flicking off his lamp, leaving the soft glow of a few night lights he installed about ten minutes ago for you and Gatsby, his guests.

“Something special,” you tease with a snicker, hearing his breathy one in return, and soon finding his face lit by the glow.

“That, ya are, love. My sumthin’ special,” he acknowledges, the squeak of the mattress following his words as he arrives at your side. “If ya need anythin’ tonight, ya can wake me, alright? Figure we might be up a few times with him, anyways.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Welcome, bird, I hope ya have sweet dreams. ‘m glad ya stayed fer a sleepova, thank you,” he hums, a dimple falling into his cheek with his words, leading you to think if you had any they’d already be there in your cheeks. Sometimes you can’t believe your luck.

“Of course,” you answer, leaning forward to place your lips atop his. He giggles into the kiss as your lips move together, the spearmint in his toothpaste forgotten as it tickles your own tongue too after he gave you a spare toothbrush. His hand comes to rest on your side and it feels peculiar with the absence of his rings, but you savor it and it’s warmth.

His bottom lip remains between yours, pillowy soft and warm until you begin to hear Gatsby’s snores and your fingers have found the bravery to roam his chest. The cheekiness comes out in you when one wanders to his bum, giving it a good squeeze through the checkered fabric of his ‘jammies’ as he so adorably calls them. A muffled snicker slides into his mouth when the hand on your side drifts to your bottom with a soft slap. You’re grateful for his absence of a shirt, letting your fingers admire the slope of his back warm against your fingers that are cold from washing up. The little hairs all over his body are satiny smooth beneath your fingertips, just like his top lip that you take between yours, your hurried breaths filling the air.

“‘Kay, bird, time t’ get sum sleep. We can snog in tha mornin’, ‘m beat afta t’day with school and runnin’ after this li’l boy,” Harry sighs after ending the kiss, mirroring your frown but much more dramatically. “Get sum sleep, ‘ll see ya in tha mornin’. We’ll all three go t’ tha shops t’ buy tha rest o’ his stuff and ingredients fer pizza t’morrow,” he yawns, leaving a kiss on your nose afterward. You nod in response and hastily lay a kiss on his cheek. Nervously, you pull away, afraid you’re pushing his buttons, but he just smiles and kisses you on the lips one last time.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper, arms diving back under the warm covers as you try to get comfortable without moving Gatsby.

“Night, bird . . and Gatsby.”

“Goodnight, Gatsby,” you murmur, patting his small head softly, his snores continuing against your leg.

“Oh, I see how it ‘s, yer already becomin’ a mumma’s boy,” Harry tuts, clucking his tongue as he squirms in the bed, finding his sweet spot. You drift off soon next to your two boys, counting down the days until you get to fall asleep with them by your side every night.

Browsing YouTube, you scroll through the videos that appeared from your search request for haikus. Yawning, you rub at your eye as you pause your scrolling and inspect a video before playing it. It doesn’t get a chance to play very far when you’re interrupted by a voice.

“Thanks fer tha lunch again, bird. Ya really do spoil me, I always forget t’ make one,” Harry hums, waltzing into your classroom holding the Rolling Stones lunchbox you had bought for him for Christmas last month. He sets it down on a clean corner of your desk, leaning across it to peck you on the cheek.

“You’re welcome. Did you eat everything?” you ask, dragging it over and undoing the zippers.

“Ya. I loved tha bagel sandwich you packed tha fixings fer, and tha soup was lovely,” he hums, leaning against your desk, crossing his arms over the soft yellow button-up covered in black flower designs.

“No, you didn’t,” you disagree smiling, opening one of the small pockets to take out a box.

“What, how’d I miss those? You musta hid ‘em from me!” Harry exclaims, taking the box of Chocolate Banana Pocky from your grasp. A cocky giggle of his fills the air as he opens the box and rips open the white bag.

“Harry, you better not eat those all in one sitting!” you warn. He looks you in the eyes as he sticks four of them into his mouth and takes a bite, a smirk playing along his lips. “Harry Styles!” you proclaim, sitting forward and threatening to rip the box from his hand. He only giggles harder and takes another bite, the four pocky gone in a flash as he crunches on the rest of them loudly.

Shaking your head, you watch him walk away, sticking three more between his rose lips. You sigh with a smile, unsure of just how many times you’ve seen him devour a box of them within an hour, or less.

“What’s your full name?” you wonder aloud, looking away from the computer screen and to him where he stops in your doorway, turning around.

“Well ‘m not gonna delight ya with that info afta ya jus’ yelled at me, now am I? ‘m sure ya jus’ wanna use it t’ yell at me su’more,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders as he shoves the rest of the half-eaten pocky into his mouth, winking. You can hear his chewing all the way from here. “And no, yer not gettin’ any o’ me pocky.”

The deep breaths just don’t stick, and soon you find yourself out of your chair and pacing your classroom. You busy yourself picking up forgotten pencils and papers on the floor, tidying the messy containers of books, and the disaster that is your desk.

“Ya ready t’ go?” somebody sings from your doorway where a shuffling sound comes from as well. “Birdy?”

You don’t respond, unfreezing your hands from the sound of his voice. Instead, you flip over a copy of The Tempest and replace it in the bin right side up, because Harry would not allow that to be done to a Shakespeare. His shuffling of feet comes next, tapping along the floor and getting closer. A swallow is met with the lump in your throat, and you brush the back of your hand over your cheek, hoping they’re gone.

“Hey, anybody home?” Harry laughs, arriving at your side and slinging an arm around your waist. “‘m ready t’ go, if you are, love. ‘m sure Gatsby ‘s waitin’ fer us at my place, all excited. He’s missed you, y’know,” he coos, pecking your cheek.

“Yeah, sorry I-.”

“Hey, yer phone’s ringin’. Here, ‘ll grab it fer ya,” he volunteers, soon feeling his absence as his footsteps are drowned out by the loud ringtone. “It says ‘s yer mum.” Closing your eyes, you groan quietly or at least try to. Soon, he’s at your side again and places it in your hands where you hit decline.

“What, why didn’t ya answer?” he questions, probably eyebrows knitted together in the cutest way possible, like he does. You don’t look though, so you’re not sure as you shove it into your pocket, busying your hands with the mess of books before you. Removing a copy of The Christmas Carol that was shoved into the front of another bin backward, you replace it to face forward now. “Birdy, what’s goin’ on?” he continues, a hand settling on your arm, but when you reach to grab another book his hand grabs it. It leaves your fingers to grace your chin, turning your head to look at him.

“I just don’t want to talk to her right now,” you reply softly, hoping he won’t detect the spent tears that aren’t so invisible on your cheeks.

“Oh,” he breathes, a dimple falling into his cheek when his mouth quirks into a confused expression under his layer of five-day-old stubble. “Y’know, ya’ve neva talked much ‘bout yer parents, ‘d like t’ meet ‘em. I mean we’re movin’ in togetha soon and ‘m sure they’d like t’ meet Gatsby. Ya met me sista fer tha first time tha otha day.”

This time you’re positive he doesn’t see the tear streaks or how they still cling to your eyelashes coated in mascara. Boys can sometimes be so ugh, you mutter to yourself amongst your thoughts. You knew this was coming the second she called, and well, months ago, but you had hoped you could’ve gotten by longer without it.

“You don’t want to meet them,” is all you say as you turn away, his hand dropping from your chin now cold from the drought of his touch. You soon arrive back at your desk where you pick up a stack of worksheets from this week’s vocabulary words, looking for a paperclip to fasten them.

“You can’t decide what I want and don’t want, bird. I don’t like that,” Harry responds, and you can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye. “I mean, ya met my parents already, why can’t I meet yours? I don’t undastand.”

“I don’t want you to meet them,” you reply, setting the now fastened stack on one of the wire shelves of the little stackable organizer on your desk. You continue to avoid his gaze by gathering together another stack of today’s green root words quizzes.

“I thought we weren’t keepin’ secrets, bird, but ya can come ova when yer ready t’ tell me. ‘m goin’ home, so take howeva much time ya need,” he grumbles with a loud exhale, almost slamming the door to your classroom on his way out.

Sinking into your chair, your hands rake through your hair as a defeated sigh joins the air. Another one falls after the next when you spot the neon blue Post-It note stuck to the underside of your desk, just at the edge where you would’ve spotted it, just like you have. The crack along your heart only grows deeper when you begin to read his messy chicken scratch, and all of the love that leaks from its words.

Birdy,

Gatsby wanted me to tell you that you are such a greatttttttt mummy already, and that he loves you soooooo much! His daddy loves you too ;) I’m looking forward to making homemade pasta together tonight, you always have the greatest ideas. My students asked me today when I’m going to ask you out on a date, soooo would you like to go out on a date with me this weekend, toooooo pack up your apartment to come and live with me? ;) I’m so excited to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night, bird. Only two more weeks! Fourteen more sleeps, it’s not like I’m counting or anything.

I love you, so much

Harry xoxo

“C’min!” a voice drawls when you rap your fist against the door. The warm inviting scent of cinnamon greets you when you walk into Harry’s house an hour later, along with the growing puppy who scurries over to you.

“Hi, bud,” you murmur with a smile, giving him a good petting as his tail sweeps along the floor. “Is daddy still crabby?” you ask him, closing the door behind you with your foot.

After toeing off your boots and hanging up your coat, you peek into the kitchen where the smell of onion, garlic, and broccoli waft from. Harry stands at the stove in a shirt and sweatpants, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. You don’t get much of a chance to figure out what mood he’s in, because Gatsby jumps up onto your lap, licking all over your face.

You play with the puppy in the living room as Harry cooks in the kitchen until he announces the food is ready, homemade pasta night forgotten apparently. You eat together silently while watching TV, Gatsby begging at your feet. You thought that things were better now when compared to earlier, but for the rest of the night something was off between the two of you. You focused your attention on Gatsby who you swear has grown since the last time you saw him, if only a few days ago. Now, he fills your lap comfortably, and you’re sad to say goodbye to him when you leave early. You just couldn’t take the awkwardness floating in the air anymore, and left after a short peck from Harry.

The next day, a Saturday, Harry showed up with Gatsby and a bunch of cardboard boxes to pack close to the last of your stuff. You tried to make it up to him by cooking him breakfast, which he loved, but you still felt it sticking to every moment that passed. You weren’t sure if you should bring it up or not, and at the same time you were waiting for him to bring it up, readying your defenses. Something was clearly bothering him or on his mind, and as you bubble wrapped things and packed them away, you were curious about why he kept looking at his phone. Then around one in the afternoon, after a few hours of packing, he stepped out to take a call.

“What’s going on with daddy, Gats’?” you posed to the puppy who ignored you, albeit stealing a look at you, returning to the rawhide he’s been intent on destroying. You swallow nervously, glancing over to the hallway outside your bedroom where you can just make out his voice. Tearing your gaze from it, you try to busy yourself by gently placing the wrapped picture frame in the box, and picking up the next one.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly when Harry returns, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his blue jeans.

“Ya, e’rythin’s fine,” he replies casually, pulling at the collar of his charcoal-colored henley shirt.

“Okay,” you mumble quietly, wishing you could forget about packing and admire the way that shirt hugs him in all of the right places. That will have to wait for another day when he wears it, you agree silently, seeing that he’s not in the mood today for his buttons to be pushed. You don’t want to find out what happens when you push them when he’s in a bad mood. You try to forget about it as he helps you pack up some of the less necessary items in your bedroom, like summer clothes, novels, photo albums, CDs, DVDs, and more.

As you stare at the barren shelves of your fridge, you make a mental note to go grocery shopping soon, something you’ve forgotten recently with finals approaching at school and packing.

“Do you want to get takeaway or go out for lunch?” you call out to Harry, leaving the kitchen to find him sitting on the sofa in your living room. He’s staring at something intently on his phone, but when he hears your footsteps behind him, he quickly hides his phone in his pocket.

“Takeaway’s fine,” he answers, clearing his throat, his nervous tic.

“Harry, is something going on? You’ve been acting weird, like you’re hiding something,” you assert, walking around to face him. You’re unsure of what he’ll say as you’re unable to read his face, and you know that’s when it’s bad.

“What, so yer tha only one who can keep secrets?” he retorts, his face screwed up in crude disbelief. You’re sure the same emotion painting yours is even worse as you feel the sting of his words. He sighs as you shake your head, beginning to walk away. “Bird, stop, ‘m sorry.”

“What, Harry?” you ask, stopping your feet, but not turning around to face him. You hear him breathe in deeply among the squeaking of Gatsby’s toy he plays with on the couch beside Harry.

“I was offa’d a teachin’ job t’day, a few hours north at that Wright Arts Academy, that’s who called me,” he announces solemnly. The only thing you’re grateful for in the moment is the fact that he can’t see the look on your face as you’re positive every breath just left your body. “They’re so focused on enrichin’ tha students in arts, ‘s great. ‘d be teachin’ classes like Mythology, a whole class on Shakespeare, Improv, Rhetoric, Intro to Sci-fi and Fantasy, and jus’ so many great English courses. Tha classes are smaller and so ya get t’ know yer students betta. ‘d get t’ teach ‘bout my favourite, Shakespeare, fer an entire semesta, bird! They’re offerin’ me more money, too . . ,” he continues, and you’re unsure of when you want him to stop, or if you wish he had never begun. Suddenly, you do a three-sixty when your thoughts are consumed by the happiness and excitement in his voice.

“You should take it,” you say, spinning around to look at him. His eyes are stuck on a random part of the wall, but then he looks to you.

“But ‘s three hours away, bird? ‘d hafta move away and we’re s’posed t’ move in togetha,” he counters, eyebrows falling and quickly you’re more confused than you were a moment ago.

“You’ve always wanted to teach those kinds of classes, Harry, you’ve told me so yourself.”

“But, birdy-.”

“Take the job, Harry, if it’s what you want,” you insist, trying to smile at him, but it doesn’t stay long when you see the look on his face.

“I dunno if ‘s what I want, yet. I don’ wanna move away from you, I don’ wanna do long distance. Wait, do you? ‘s tha movin’ in with me too soon, are ya gettin’ cold feet?”

“What are you talking about? Harry, no of course not. Where are you getting this from?” you reply, dumbfounded at the words coming out of his mouth. Apparently, you can only grow more confused.

“Maybe it has sumthin’ t’ do with not wantin’ me t’ meet yer parents, I dunno, you tell me, bird. D’ya not wanna commit? Why would ya want me t’ take a job that would make us do long distance?”

“I don’t know, Harry, maybe because I want you to be happy!” you exclaim, feeling telltale signs of incoming tears, and they fly faster than you thought they could have. “You’ve told me that you’ve always wanted to teach classes like those, because you enjoy those topics so much - myths in literature, science fiction and fantasy novels, and even though I don’t understand it, you love Shakespeare! You almost named Gatsby after Romeo or Duncan instead, you love his work so much. Of course, I don’t want you to move away, because things are so perfect right now having a job that means I get to work across the hall from my boyfriend. I can’t believe you think I’d want you to move away and do long distance. I would never- but I want you to be happy, and I’m not going to stop you from taking this job if it brought you that. I’m not going to be selfish and make you stay for my own happiness. A-and my parents are another story, I haven’t spoken to them in years. They’re just not good people. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I didn’t know how,” you finish, feeling grateful for that blurting talent of yours because sometimes you need it. Harry’s jaw almost hangs off its hinges as you stare back at him through blurry eyes, wishing the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Well, the last day. Quickly, the tears triple and you can’t stand him seeing you cry anymore because of the thoughts bashing against the walls of your head.

“I’m going to go pick up lunch,” you say softly, defeat evident in your tone as you turn around. After grabbing your keys and coat, you stomp out to your car and start it. You wait for it to warm up as the cold air from the vents slowly turns warm, but really you only waste the time so you can spill your tears in silence.

It takes all of your strength and willpower to not go back into your apartment and tell him not to leave, because you’re pretty sure it would break you. You can’t imagine a stranger teaching in Harry’s classroom, no shared kisses in the copier room and staff lounge, crossing the hall to ask him a question as soon as it pops into your head, and the fun you both have with your students trying to set the two of you up together albeit it being futile. The doubt of getting a job for yourself at this stupid Academy of Arts to join Harry only makes you feel worse, especially because of the memories your school holds for the both of you.

Wiping your tears away, you try to take a deep breath that won’t come, and you pull the car away to leave him and hope that he won’t do the same to you. The tears left as you drove to go and pick up fast food, but they returned when Harry texted you while in the drive-thru to not get him anything because he was going home to think. Once you returned to the empty apartment, that’s all you could do was think, and it tore you apart.

You had left Harry be for the rest of the weekend, although it was one of the hardest things you had done. You’d liken the effort to running a triathlon, although you’ve never done one of those, but you feel like you have the strength of a triathlete after giving him space. You relented and texted him once though, but just once. It was to ask for a picture of Gatsby who you missed, and he followed through, sending you a couple of pictures. They made you the happiest you’d been all weekend, even despite the tears that crept up when you saw Harry’s reflection in the mirror in one. Then his ringed hand holding Gatsby in another, a selfie of sorts with your favorite shirt of his on his torso. It all made you doubt your words the more, not wanting to have to suffice for only seeing him and Gatsby through pictures if he took the job. You were reminded of your reasoning for it all - wanting him to be happy, but it still gnawed away at you what that would mean if he moved. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away and at times you almost called him, but you weren’t sure who was the bad guy after your argument. You were the one who exploded on him, and you both kept secrets from the other, something you had recently agreed not to do. A promise that the both of you broke so soon.

You had yet to see Harry the following Monday at school, even though you could hear the Cat Stevens album trickling from his classroom at seven-twenty in the morning. Somehow you avoided a run in on your way to the early morning staff meeting, and you didn’t mean to, but you were roped in to sit by a colleague. You found your first seconds of joy of the day when she showed you pictures of her growing baby, one Harry doted on and hogged during most of the staff Christmas party last month. You tried not to think of that while looking at the baby’s chunky thighs and rolls on her arms, and how much you wanted to tell him about it. The joy didn’t stay long when you spotted him taking a seat next to Julie, the visual arts teacher who has had a thing for him as long as you can remember. The pit in your stomach hardens at the sight of him, messy-haired and unshaven, and yet handsome as ever. Confliction carries your features when you spot him wearing the multi-colored Peter Max inspired pop-art button up you had bought him for Christmas. It all only gets worse when he senses your stare and meets your eyes, showing you the sadness hidden in them before you look back to the pictures of the baby.

“Hey, teach! I have a question!” a tall brunette girl in your classroom whispers to you, glancing over to the librarian nervously.

“Yes, Sabrina?” you reply, trying to ignore how some of the students call you that, but then again it’s some that you’re the closest to.

“Um, Mr. Styles is just right over there, aren’t you going to go and talk to him?” she grins, playing with her ponytail, ignoring the computer in front of her.

“Yeah, he’s looking extra cute today,” the girl beside her comments and you have to hold back your laughter. “But he was all glum when I had Creative Writing with him earlier, I don’t know what his deal is today.”

“Maybe he’d be happier if he had a girlfriend,” Sabrina comments wryly, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Maybe I’d be happier if you two were doing your review for the final exam, and not trying to set me up with your teacher, when I can manage just fine on my own,” you comment firmly, trying to avert their attention back to their computer screens and review packet.

“Hey, Mr. Styles, um Ms. Y/N needs some help with something about Shakespeare!” Sabrina calls to Harry two rows of computers to your right.

“I don’t need help!” is all you say with a sigh, loud enough for him to hear, turning around the second you see his head of tousled curls lift where he’s leaning next to a student he helps.

“He ignored you!” Sabrina’s friend exclaims in a whisper, inhaling dramatically along with Sabrina. “You’re not just going to let him ignore you, are you, Ms. Y/N?”

“God, what you’d do to him, he’s usually all over you?” Sabrina sighs.

“Girls, please return to your work. I’m sure Mr. Styles is busy helping a student with their final review, which you’re supposed to be doing right now too. Finals are at the end of the week, we all need as much studying as we can get,” you calmly say although rather curtly, walking away when you see a student with their hand in the air.

“I wish they’d just confess their love for each other already, they’re perfect for each other,” Sabrina grumbles, clicking her pen annoyingly.

“Me too, then maybe they’d both stop being so crabby during finals week,” her friend notes aloud with an exasperated sigh.

Usually you can take the teasing of your students wanting to set you up with Harry, but today you’re not in the mood for entertaining them or carrying a conversation about it. Today, it just hits a little too close to home, you realize silently as you lean against a wall to observe your class, the student no longer needing help. You steal a glance at Harry who stands up straight after helping a student, patting their shoulder with a smile. His attentiveness shines through when he moves on to another student, falling to his knees to get to eye level with him, giving them all of his attention. The way the shirt hugs his torso in every way only makes it all the worse, clinging to his biceps, the slope of his back, and his love handles you love so much before it disappears into the waist of his black slacks.

“Ms. Y/N, are you okay?” Sabrina asks, her eyes on you when you look over to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got something in my eye,” you answer with a hard swallow, picking up your clipboard and checking your watch. You do anything to try and not think about Harry leaving, and how not only you would suffer, but his students. Also, just how much you’re dying to tell your students, hopefully one day soon, that you’ve been dating all along. Hopefully.

Finals had been wreaking havoc on you and only causing more hell for the day you were having. Luckily, Harry had helped you with the majority of it in the recent weeks and even had given you some of his old tests. The anxiety still overwhelmed you at times wondering if you’re preparing your students enough, if the final review packet was too much or not enough, and if your students would be ready. Finals were going to be the death of you, you were sure, if Harry’s revelation about the job offer wouldn’t kill you before then. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, if he had sought it out and applied, or how it even came about. It drove you even more crazy as the tests neared, knowing that you’d be spending the rest of the week in your classroom from seven-thirty most likely until five pm every day, with him just across the hall.

You craved his voice and his touch, his hugs, and that laugh that could fix anything in seconds. That Monday and Tuesday you didn’t mean to ignore him, but when he walked into the staff room while you were in there, your feet found their way to the door quickly. You’re sure you could have left the bone you bought for Gatsby on his desk or bring it over to his house, but instead you left it in his mailbox with a note.

Give this to Gatsby, please. Tell him it’s from Mummy xx

It stung when you found it in your mailbox later that day with a note from him.

You can give it to him yourself the next time you come over :) xo

It was even automatic when you agreed to get lunch with Lola on Tuesday, even though that was the day you and Harry always went and got pizza together. During your prep hour that morning, you lingered in the staff room after he made his appearance. But when Julie the art teacher started to compliment how good he looked wearing the tie you bought for him with Fleetwood Mac song titles covering the fabric, it drove you up the wall. She didn’t stop there, and continued on about how nice he looked and how much she liked his returning beard, making you want to throw up onto your doughnut you had just warmed up. You dropped it into a trash bin in the hallway after deserting the scene, unable to endure her flirting with him and not being able to do anything about it. It pained you to not be able to tell her to stop because he’s your boyfriend, but you and Harry had agreed early on to not share your relationship with colleagues unless necessary.

It was all becoming too much for you to handle, finals week and kind of fighting with Harry and thinking about him moving away. Too much too quickly.

The hard copy of Creative Writing’s final exam sat in front of you that Tuesday afternoon. The sun already hides beyond the horizon outside the windows hugging the wall to the left of you. This has to be the second or third time you’ve printed a copy to look over, always finding something wrong with it, but this time you think maybe you’ve found a winner. The clicking of your pen meets your ears when you think you find a problem, but it’s whisked away when there’s another click. Your classroom door opens and in walks Harry, playing with the black-tie dotted with song titles of all different colors.

“Hi,” he rasps, gently closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” you return, eyes straying to the test in front of you. Your attempt to continue checking it is futile as goosebumps cover your skin and your heart hammers away.

“Gatsby misses you.”

“I miss him too,” you reply, feeling the tears press at the back of your eyes with warmth, trying not to think about not seeing him for months at a time if Harry moved.

“I declined tha job yestaday,” he announces gently, but the whiplash you feel from looking to him quickly almost hurts. His bubblegum lips sit in a taut and nervous line, hands bunched into fists in the pockets of his red slacks. They leave your view when the printed words on the test return in your eyes, growing hazy quickly. “Can ya say sumthin’, please, bird?”

“I hope you didn’t do it for me,” is all you say, hoping the true meaning comes out in your honest tone muddled by your waterworks.

“‘Course I did it fer you. I did it fer us, and Gatsby. I did it coz ‘m ashamed it took me longa than ten minutes t’ figure out that no matta tha luxuries, that’s not my dream job. I already have my dream job, ‘s here teaching across tha hall from you, gettin’ t’ have ya botha me durin’ my prep hour, combine our classrooms t’ play Jeopardy, have our students harass us t’ go onn’a date already, and gettin’ t’ have a snog with you wheneva I want. I don’ care if I don’ get t’ teach all those bloody fancy classes and get paid mo’, coz I lose all o’ that here that already makes me so happy. ‘m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier,” Harry confesses, emotions wavering in his voice that he clears a few times, taking slow steps over to where you sit.

“You know . . . ,” you begin, listening to the silence that takes your words and probably how much they’re killing him right now, especially when you leave you chair. “I think we’re going to have to tell our students sooner or later, because they’re driving me nuts. So are these tight outfits you keep wearing, they make it really hard not to attack you with kisses whenever I see you.”

A smile explodes on Harry’s lips, the first you’ve seen him wear in days, as you approach him. Your hands sing when they touch his chest, feeling the necklace under the fabric before they wrap around the buttery smooth fabric of his tie.

“Y’know,” he begins sarcastically, a hand coming to his chin where he strokes his new beard, although not quite as majestic as it’s been before. What a little shit. “I think ya might be right on that one, but I like t’ watch ‘em squirm. ‘s been fun t’ hear ‘em get all frustrated ‘bout us not datin’ yet,” he giggles, his rings finding their home on your back once again.

“Little do they know, huh?”

“Oh yes, very li’l,” he chuckles, the dimples falling into his cheeks under his patchy facial hair that you love so much. Quickly, they disappear and his cheeks flatten from their prior roundness. “‘m sorry y’know, so sorry, birdy. I was a proper asshole t’ ya, I feel terrible ‘bout it.”

The tears signal their return when his head falls and you spot one escape and fall down his cheek. You catch it with your thumb before it can get very far and lift his chin up to have him look at you. You thought your heart couldn’t hurt after everything he had said moments ago, but it wrenches inside of your chest at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes, tears falling from them.

“Harry, please don’t cry. It’s okay, we all make mistakes. I just want you to know that I am committed to you, so much so that I can’t wait to move in with you . . and Gatsby.”

“I know, ‘m sorry I ever doubted it, I dunno why I did. ‘m committed too, coz I love ya so much, birdy. I love you,” he weeps, shaky words hitting the air that you pass when you pull him into your arms. “I didn’t know I could miss ya so much ova jus’ four days,” he continues, his hot tears meeting your neck as his beard leaves tickles after brushing it. Your heart breaks even further at the feeling of his chest trembling with a sob against yours.

“I know, Harry, me too,” you coo, raking your fingers through his hair as he holds onto you, his face hiding in your neck.

“Plus, I couldn’t take tha job coz ‘m not gonna be one o’ those shit parents who makes Gatsby spend a different weekend at each parent’s house. Also I miss you makin’ me lunches, I neva rememba,” he cries against your skin, his subsequent giggle gracing your ears. He’s the first to pull away and your heart aches a little harder at the tears painting his face, ones you try to make quick work of.

“Good, I don’t think I’d have the heart to tell him, so it’d have to be you.”

“‘Fair is foul and foul is fair’,” he pouts dramatically, quoting a certain William, the pad of your thumb swiping below his left eye, feeling his feathery eyelashes against your skin. “Guess we’ll hafta stay togetha then,” he sighs sarcastically, pursing his lips that soon sing out a bubbly laugh still adorned with the remnants of tears.

“Oh, I’m sure our students would harass us to get back together if that were ever to happen,” you giggle, adoring his wispy dark eyelashes that clump together with wet tears, his murky green eyes peeking up at you beneath them.

“Ya, they’re gettin’ ratha rowdy ‘bout that, aren’t they?” he notes aloud, clucking his tongue as if disappointed then sniffling. Your thumb wanders to his forehead to smooth out the crease that’s formed between his eyebrows, pulling his eyes to yours. “‘d love t’ tell ‘em but ‘s fun t’ watch ‘em go crazy right now, but sumday, ya.”

“Yeah, we have to make it fun first,” you agree, catching the last tear with your finger, hands wandering to his tie the same dark color of his button-up.

“Right, you are,” he hums, eyes darting to your lips as you slowly yank on the tie, bringing him closer. “I knew I hadd’a smart birdy.”

His smile dissolves against your lips that surround his in the sweetest kiss containing the unsaid words and forgotten kisses from the last few days. Sorry’s pass between your lips as his warm rings press into the small of your back, the tie caught between your hands until you let go, certain he’s not going anywhere anymore. His lips sputter a laugh against yours when both of your hands come to caress his lovely bum that you squeeze greedily.

“Watch those naughty finga’s o’ yers now,” he warns through hooded eyes, the bitter smell of black coffee dancing across your face.

“Or what?” you reply with a shrug, the both of you feeling your fingers slowly dive underneath the tight fabric of his pants.

“Or yer gonna catch me without any briefs on one o’ these times,” he replies, trying to keep a straight face until the words leave his mouth that soon pecks yours.

“Oooo, I’d like to see that happen,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him until he collapses into laughter above you.

“I dunno what ‘ll do with ya, bird, with a potty mouth like that.”

“Well, you can’t dump me now, we have a son together,” you shrug dramatically, mouth pressed into a fake line as you watch his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Very true, altho’ a crappy joke there. I guess I might hafta kiss that potty mouth outta ya.”

“I’d like to see you try, Mr. Styles,” you counter, happy to see the tears have abated from the both of you, hoping you don’t find them again for months and months.

“Oh, would you, Ms. Y/N? ‘ll take that bet, and if I win it, ya hafta come ova and make Gatsby and I dinna t’night. And have wine with me and stay tha night, gotta get su’more practice befo’ ya move in with me soon,” Harry continues, a smug expression donning his features.

“Deal,” you say, squealing when his hands come under your bottom and lift you up to sit you on a nearby desk. The words on your lips disappear when he plants his lips on yours hastily, hands drifting along your waist. “You better get it all out before our field trip next week.”

“‘The lady doth protest too much, me thinks,’” Harry replies, quoting Shakespeare with a funny look on his face, replacing his lips on top of yours. Your tongue scoops up and into his mouth that he parts for you, tasting the Bit-O-Honey he just had that you’re sure his pockets are full of if you checked. You giggle into his mouth when your hands brush against his thighs, sure enough feeling the hard candies in his pockets on your way to explore his bum again.

“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep,’” you recite as your nose draws a line across his cheek moments later, leaving him silent. A smile curls upon his cheeks at the sound, astonishment playing with his features.

“Our students are right, we really should be t’getha, birdy. I love me a Shakespeare girl. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ but I think ours ‘s doin’ pretty well, if I do say so meself.”

79 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Eight, “I’m Home”

*Not my gifs*

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Word Count: 7.6k words

Warnings: None

Music Inspo: Forever Like That by Ben Rector (click to listen)

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEK

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

Lifting them, my eyes find him like they always so easily do, and so do the divots that fall into his cheeks. The three words that I feel like repeating over and over to him fall again from his lips in a hushed whisper.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

"When I’m with her, I feel happy to be alive. Like I can do anything, even talk to you like this. So, that’s what I think love is. When I’m better because she’s here.” - Boy Meets World

“Reckon ‘ve neva seen a sight mo’ beautiful in me entire life.”

“Sounds like you haven’t lived long enough then.”

“‘m serious, Becks, yer absolutely gorgeous,” I exhale all in one breath, and with so many others wanting to spill out and join. “Yer everythin’, bug.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Or else, what, Becks? You’ll make me be quiet? Hmm, ‘d like t’ see you try that one, babe,” I tease, letting my nose drag along her cheek and my laugh float over to her ears. “Reckon yer takin’ too long. ‘m an impatient bloke, y’know.”

It’s a tragedy to silence her lips budding with a bubbly laugh, but my, do they taste magnificent. Her smile does as well, and so does the song that ignites from my fingers as they run down her arms free of wires and tubes, albeit an annoying cast.

“Meant it, y’know, that yer so beautiful,” I whisper against her mouth, lifting my head to punctuate my words with a kiss on top of her head. “You look good and seems like you feel that way, too.”

“Mmmhmm,” she murmurs from below me, the corners of her rose colored lips curling into her cheeks.

The pink has begun to return to them and so has her dimple indefinitely. It doesn’t compare to the fluttering inside of my chest at the sight of her ocean eyes peering up at me, the flecks of gold glimmering in the light. Admiring her seems to grow better as if climbing a mountain, because next, I get to enjoy the familiarity replaced with her wavy hair pooled over her shoulders.

“I’m ready,” she exhales nervously, and the baby freckles dotting her cheeks blur in front of me. “Harry, don’t cry, or else you know that I will too.”

“‘m sorry, ‘m jus’ so bloody happy,” I laugh, finding it hard to stop my lips from quivering as I look at her - the familiarity of the jeans and hoodie hugging her body, the new purple Vans bright on her feet, and the flicks of mascara she insisted on wearing even though she doesn’t need it. “‘m so unbelievably happy that I get t’ bring ya home, bug. Finally.”

“Me too,” she croaks, a glistening tear falling into the divot of her dimple before collecting at her chin. They disappear from my view, both luckily and not, when she pulls me into her arms. I can’t complain about it, though. “Thank you. I could never say it enough for everything, Harry, you-.”

“Yer welcome, Becks, forever and ever. No need t’ thank me, I know ya woulda done tha same fer me.”

“I would have,” she whispers against my neck. I nod into her hair that my nose is smothered by in the best possible way, and it makes me wonder if you can overdose on the smell of orange blossoms and vanilla. It seems a happy drunkenness may come from smelling it, afterall.

It’s a feat in and of itself to leave her arms, but it shrinks in comparison to the relief I feel at wiping her tears away, unsure of the last time I felt happy to do this, or this happy at all.

“Shall we get goin’ then, love?” I ask her, thumbing at the imperfection in her cheek that could never be anything short of perfection to me.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Becks nods. “But, one thing first.”

“What’s that? I didn’t think ya wanted t’ spend anotha second in this place.”

“I don’t, but one last kiss is okay,” she smirks and quickly, I’m tasting the absence of melancholy and pain in her kisses. I know that they still sit there, somewhere near, but I choose to ignore them at this moment and to pretend that I can kiss her sadness away. “Okay, now, we can leave.”

“I know ‘ve been waitin’ too long t’ do so . . look at you being a superhero and e’rythin’, bustin’ outta here within a week . . Let’s bring you home already, bug.”

It’s rather hard to get used to - not one, but two things. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to how beautiful she is and I thought she was a sight when we left the hospital, but damn, was I wrong. She keeps doing that, proving me wrong, always has. I like it more now than I did in the beginning. Now, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets in her bed, it really is by far the best sight.

My glowing smile sputters and almost goes out completely when I sigh with a hand in my hair. I just had gotten used to the idea of her being in a hospital and trusting the nurses, and now here I am, her nurse. I liked the thought at first, but now that it’s happened and I’m here, it scares the daylights out of me.

What if I do something wrong?

What if I, of all people, hurt her - elbow her in the stomach in the middle of the night, mess up her bandaging when I rewrap it, or worst of all, mess up her meds?

It all frightens me when I know fully well that I should be the happiest person on earth right now to have her home. But after she got over her bout of sickness, I kept waiting for something else to happen, and I’m still sitting on the edge of that seat, waiting. I never saw the accident coming, but I want to expect the next one, as if I could ever stop something like that from happening. Pffft, I’m no superhero. I don’t know who I think I am, but I know that I want to be everything she needs, and yet, deep down I never could be.

“Harry?”

“Ya, bug? You alright?” I murmur, my hand falling to my side. “Ya need anythin’?”

“Eh, just for you to watch some FRIENDS with me,” she mumbles, cocking her body to look at me over her shoulder. The eagerness taut in her features melts away, and I straighten up, hoping that I didn’t blow my own cover.

“Alright, Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine, Becks. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘m gonna hafta readjus’ me rules fer fallin’ asleep in the middle o’ watchin’ sumthin’ as we might both break that rule,” I quip, leaving my watch in the doorway to join her under the covers.

Worrying away at my bottom lip, I fail to ignore how that lie went over about as well as if she would’ve told it to me. I could be a good liar, but never to her, and the thought itself cements my insides with guilt.

Her laugh fills the dark with some light inside of me, and her famous toasty body nuzzles against mine.

“You’re sure?” Becks wonders aloud, and meeting her questioning gaze is overdue as I stare off into space.

“‘Bout what?” I reply, a V belatedly forming between my brows in wonder.

“If you’re alright. I’m sorry, but I don’t think that I believe you.”

“Oh, that,” I exhale with an ironic laugh that couldn’t be anything but sad. “Ya, I dunno if I believe meself eitha,” I answer at last, feeling much too sour to keep secrets from her that sprout into lies.

No, if I’ve learnt anything recently, it’s that life can flip you on your ass in a moment. I could lose her in a blink, and I very well almost did. The very last night that I want to be thinking is, ‘why did I tell her that silly little lie when I could’ve just grown a pair and told her the truth?’

“Harry, what’s the matter?” she speaks up, lulling the monsters away with her fingers scratching my beard. “I think you need a nap, you’ll feel better after some sleep, and in a bed.”

“No- I mean, ya. Yer right, but that’s not it.”

“What is it then? You can talk to me, love,” she says, and the sentiment weeds into my thoughts and greets my heart.

“I jus’ . . I wanna be enough fer you, Becks, and I dunno if I can,” I confess gently, avoiding her intimidating gaze and instead, entranced by her twirling that braided ring.

“Harry, where’s this coming from? Why do you feel that way?” Becks sighs sadly, and within moments, I wish that I’d never said a thing.

“Nevamind, ‘s jus’ tha sleep deprivation talkin.’ Ignore, silly ol’ me.”

“No, I won’t ignore what you said, because it’s not true,” she replies firmly. The prickly wrapping of her arm cast rubs at my jaw when she turns my head to look at her. “I can’t force you to talk, and I don’t want to make you do anything, but . . I’m here, Harry. You’ve said that loads when I’m afraid or losing my shit . . and I dunno, it grounds me.”

“Thanks,” I smile slowly, feeling the words warm up on my tongue. “I want mo’ than anythin’ t’ take care o’ you and ‘m over tha moon happy yer home, but . . ‘m afraid I won’t do a well enough job, or that ‘ll mess it up.”

“You won’t, Harry,” she assures me, leaving circles drawn onto my cheek that may be invisible to everybody else, but me.

“How d’ya know?”

“Because you’ve shown me how good you can take care of me, especially this week, and the whole two and a half years I’ve known you, Harry Styles,” she insists, leading my eyes back to hers. “I know you’ve told me it a hundred times, but I think it’s time you heard it too - everything is going to be okay. I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay.��

I nod quickly, swallowing against a dry throat and feeling the slick swiping of her finger catch the tears. They don’t just stop there and proceed to drown her fingers, and then the fabric of her shirt when she drags me over to her and against her front.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she hums softly, zings of electricity left at the sight of her fingertips beside my spine. “This is the real scary part, huh? To come home and to act like everything is okay, and to return to real life . . I feel it too, it’s kind of suffocating . . but I know that we’ll get through this, taking care of each other. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“Thank you . . fer stayin . . fer bein’ here.’”

“Always, Harry.”

“Always,” I murmur, gently breaking through the tangles found in his hair, falling like ribbons between my fingers. Licks of the vanilla and something musky waft from his hair when I press a kiss to the crown of his head.

I let my heavy sigh fall into his curls as my cheek molds to his skull, a hummed song escaping my lips. It sings itself while I drag my fingers through his hair until there are no more snarls or tangles to be found, and my fingers ache from drawing circles into his back. The sniffling and sobs have ended finally, replaced by gentle snoring. His chest rising and falling against mine brings a quiet peace to me, and only now can I let my eyes fall shut, unsure if I feel heavier or lighter now. All that time where I was trying to heal, and even now, I was numb to the fact that he was breaking at my side, further and further.

I hope that you’ll let me fix you, too, Harry.

Sunlight creeps in through the hastily drawn shades, leaving my eyes scoured with white patches in front of them. Blinking them away slowly, my gaze wanders to the covers I lay beneath and that take me a few moments to place. It all comes together, like puzzle pieces, as I watch my bedroom sharpen around me. I feel the smile tug at my lips when I find the tousled head of dark curls lying opposite of me. He’s more real than he was a second ago when his thickening beard rubs at the back of my finger, and his locks fall through my fingers. Creases form on his forehead and a light moan sounds from behind his lips.

“Shh, go back to sleep, it’s okay,” I coo against his hair with a kiss, feeling my smile widen when his arms come around my middle.

“So, this is real,” I whisper, tracing shapes through his Queen shirt, relishing the sleepy warmth he spreads across me. With a huff, my hands find new homes on his body and I let myself fall back to sleep, thinking of all of the other dreams I’d like to come true next.

Shoots and zings of pain awaken me the next time, followed by the creaking of the door and a different voice.

“Ree, you awake?” somebody whispers from behind the door, but when I see the shock of green hair, I wonder how I could forget that face for a second. “Hey, morning- well, for one of you. It’s time for your meds, and I made some brekky. You should have your pills with it, I can bring some in for you.”

“Morning . . No, it’s okay, I want to let him sleep. I think he needs it more than me, do you think you could help me up and out?”

“Sure thing,” she whispers, her pink bunny slippers making soft pat-pat noises on the hardwood floor.

“Sweet dreams,” I wish ever so softly into his hair smelling of Sundays baking with my gran. Regrettably, my arms jelly like from sleep slide away from him, and I inch towards the other side of the bed.

“That had to have been the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, it’s like living in a dream,” I remark with a happy laugh, exhaling when my bum finds the cushions of the sofa. “If you would’ve told twenty-four year old that I’d be waking up to Harry in my bed at twenty six, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me, I wouldn’t have believed you, either,” Skye giggles, setting down a plate in front of me with a soft clatter, accompanied by the tap of a glass of orange juice.

“Okay, Chef Robbins, how much do you think I can eat? I’m not bloody pregnant, now am I? I’m just injured, not eating for two here,” I quip, nevertheless picking up the fork and stabbing at a curd of scrambled eggs.

“Don’t you even, you need to be getting your appetite back. I don’t expect anything less out of you - eating all of this. You have every damn food group on this plate, thank you very much - Harry would be proud.”

“He would. What, did you blooming write up a food menu with him, or something?” I ask through a few bites of fluffy eggs.

“No, but we did come up with a list of groceries together, so I reckon that’s fairly the same.”

“You, go grocery shopping, since when?” I say, crumbs littering my fingers when I pick up the half slice of buttered toast, shoveling cheesy eggs onto them.

“Since your bloody boyfriend bullied me into doing it.”

“Hmm, I should’ve had him do that a long time ago,” I laugh, and it’s welcomed by the sound of her obnoxious one. “My bloody God, you’re going to wake him up with that honker of yours, you know that!”

“Whoops, I better shut up. I need you all to myself for a change.”

“Oh, hush up, you had me all to yourself for twenty years or so, reckon you can give me up for a little bit,” I jest, watching her wild bed head shake back and forth with her disagreement. “Also, when’d you become a cook? This is good.”

“It’s eggs and cheese, no duh it’s good and it’s easy. Is he going to have any? There’s plenty more.”

“I dunno, I want him to get some more sleep. The poor guy’s been sleeping on a sofa for the last week, for Christ’s sake.”

“Fuck,” she sighs, biting into her toast with a crunch, leaving grape jam on her lips quite adorably. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

“What?” I say, staring at the blobs of jam on her lips until I hear my name rasped from the other side of the room. “Harry. H-hi, good morning. There’s uh, breakfast if you want some.”

“Oh, thanks. ‘ll use tha loo first.”

“And maybe put a shirt on, or, maybe not after all,” Skye jokes under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear as I watch Harry disappear down the hallway enclosed by the kitchen’s back wall. Every inch of his sleepy body regrettably leaves my eyes, including the mess of bedhead on him, the lack of a shirt, and amongst other things, those green eyes that only relaxed when they found me.

“Shut up, you creep!” I retort, failing to keep my chuckle to a low hush when her contagious laugh does its magic.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not complaining about the new house guest,” she explains with a shrug of her measly shoulders, standing to her feet. “I guess I’ll give the happy couple some privacy and eat my brekky with Buffy in my room.”

“Yeah, you go and pout, and leave my boyfriend alone in the hallway.”

“I can’t promise anything!” Skye squeals, her slippered feet slowly becoming harder to hear.

“Mmm, when’d ya wake up, bug?” somebody else asks, but I was ready and noticed him the moment his tall body walked back into frame.

“Only a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, how’re you feelin’? Did you take yer meds yet?” Harry questions, rubbing at his eyes on his way into the kitchen, too far away for my liking.

“I’m fine, but sore. Skye woke me up in the middle of the night to take my meds then, and I’m just about to take some more. How fun.”

“Oh, ‘m sorry I missed ‘em last night, Becks. I thought I set an alarm on my phone,” he yawns, his drowned out voice accompanied by the scraping of the pan.

“Yeah, I turned it off after she had done it, because I wanted you to sleep. That’s why I didn’t wake you just now, you need to sleep more.”

“I know, but ‘m okay. I woke up and saw you weren’t there, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“You’re cute when you’re all worried,” I joke, chewing the last bite of scrambled eggs as the sofa cushions dip underneath me. “And shirtless.”

“Oh ya . . sorry ‘bout that. I mean it when I say yer a li’l heater, Becks, and with all o’ those blankets, I must’ve gotten too hot and taken me shirt off sumtime,” he explains with a shake of his head, the bright flesh of the strawberry contrasting to his bubblegum pink lips that surround it. Okay, Becky, it is too early and my brain is too foggy to be having these kinds of thoughts already today. “Alright, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. The strawberries just look so good,” I lie, picking up one and biting into the juicy fruit. I’m unsure of how to feel about the fib going over his head, but it’s whisked away when his cold toes playing footsie with mine instead nudge mine repeatedly.

“Pills,” he insists from across me, nodding to the foreign looking organizer sat on the coffee table before me.

“Yes, yes, Nurse Styles,” I exhale, leaning forward to grab them, but I stop when a tight pain radiates through my abdomen.

“What’d I tell ya ‘bout bein’ careful, love? Ya can’t push yerself too hard now. Are you okay?” Harry coos, dropping his fork onto the plate sat on his lap, making quick work of grabbing the case for me.

“I know, Dad.”

“Now, what’d ‘d say ‘bout all that bein’ stubborn shit . . huh?” he rasps, voice framed by the clicking and clacking of the case opening and pills shaking about.

“I know, I know, you’re just fun to tease.”

“We know that too,” he answers, setting the case aside and clearing his throat a few times until I look at him.

“What, do you not know how to use your words?” he only dips his head a little lower and sighs.

“Watch tha mouth,” he huffs jokingly, dropping the slew of pills into my palm with a nod to my orange juice.

“You never said anything about toning down the sass.”

“Didn’t gather that I needed t’, Rebecca Ann, ‘ssa given,” he replies with his seesaw like shoulders helping him talk, finishing off the last few bites of his toast.

With a groan, I pick up the heavy bottomed glass and between a few glugs of juice, swallow down the multitude of pills. I chase them down with a few more bites of strawberries and hash browns.

“That betta not be all yer eatin’, Becks,” Harry tuts from my side, scraping his fork along the plate to gather the last scraps of eggs.

“I’m done.”

“No, yer not. Ya can be afta ya have two mo’ bites o’ p’tatoes, a strawb’rry, and finish yer juice,” he instructs, pointing his fork at the various food items.

“Fine, Dad,” I grunt, returning the fork to my hands and doing as he says. “You know, I’d make some joke about how you’d be a good lawyer, or better yet, a good father being all bossy, if you weren’t getting on my nerves.”

“That means ‘m doin’ me job then,” he chuckles softly from his perch on the sofa. “Hey, where d’ya think yer goin’?”

“What, I can’t go pee without you having to know that too?”

“Sorry,” he barely squeaks, looking away sheepishly from behind me.

“It’s okay, just chill on the ‘hovering dad thing’ when you’re well, not a dad.”

“I wouldn’t hafta act like yers if ya did what yer told with a li’l less attitude,” he bites back sarcastically, and I wish that he could see my eyes rolling from this far away.

“I learned from only the best!”

“Hey!” his protest meets my ears just as I close the bathroom door with a giggle, sighing when I get off my dodgy ankle to relieve myself.

“How upset are ya with me?” Harry coos, a creak heard behind him as he shuts my bedroom door.

“I’m not upset. I’d just like a little more ‘friendly nurse’ and a little less ‘drill sergeant’ from you, is all.”

“‘m sorry, bug, but we know both yer ‘bout tha most stubborn person we both know,” he explains, daring a few fingers to stroke my cheek. “C’mon, open ‘em up, Ocean Eyes.”

“No.”

“Becks,” he drawls with a feisty giggle, dragging his nose down the expanse of my cheek. “Y’know ya can’t stay mad at me fo’ too long, ya’ve never been able t’.”

“Oh, wanna bet?”

“Rebecca Ann,” he whines, bringing forth a giggle from my lips at his beard tickling my neck.

“What, Harry Edward? I swear, we’ve known how to push each other’s buttons since the beginning.”

“I don’t disagree,” he says in that breathy laugh. “C’mon, let’s have a cuddle, babe. You can’t deny me.”

“Oh, wanna bet?” I chuckle, moving away from him, finding that this stupid arm cast of mine gets stuck everywhere and on everything.

“Becks!” he scoffs with the most offended look on his face when he leaves my neck. “Be nice t’ me, ‘m jus’ tryna love on you, bug.”

“I don’t disagree,” I quip, relishing in the eye roll I receive and fully deserve, and enjoying the happiness that trickles from my lips next.

“C’mere, li’l one, yer bein’ a li’l shit again, I think I may have even missed it,” Harry says, the bed dipping under his weight as he returns me to his arms, draping the covers over us. “My bug,” he coos, following the nickname with a slew of kisses to my cheeks.

I think I’ve almost made it, almost.

“Harry, would you stop it already?!” I groan, exasperated by the sound of shuffling items and the pew-pew of the spray bottle.

“‘m almost done, Becks.”

“That’s what you said half an hour ago, Harry! Ugh, stop cleaning already and come and watch FRIENDS with me. We both know you’re not really watching it when you’re cleaning, no matter what you say,” I sigh, flipping open the covers in invitation. He stands back up and his eyes cast over to me with a raised eyebrow. Both of mine inch towards my forehead in response, challenging him. “Harry Edward, I swear to-,” I wheeze, losing my control.

“You swear what, huh, Rebecca Ann?” he responds, at last setting down the rag and cleaning spray on my desk that has never sparkled or looked so tidy as it does now, along with the rest of my bedroom. “Huh? Talkin’ a lotta shit, aren’t we? I swear t’ God, yer all bark and no bite,” he continues with a smile, the overhead light glinting on his gold cross necklace laid over his Beatles shirt that, much to my dismay, he slipped on after a shower this morning.

“You wanna bet?”

“Ya, I do,” he says, his hands falling splayed onto the mattress in front of me. My God, is he a tease with those long muscular arms, and licking those rose colored lips.

Fuck.

I can’t hold back anymore and press on the back of his neck, losing my fingers in the tight ringlets of hair sitting there, smiling into the kiss.

“Hey, watch it!” he exclaims, pulling away quickly and sucking on his bottom lip that my teeth had just sunk into. “Bloody hell, remind me not t’ doubt you anymo’, you li’l shit.”

“Your little shit,” I correct him with a smirk, pulling him closer by the neck and trying not to laugh at the shocked look on his face.

“My, you are sumthin’, aren’t you, Becks? I betta watch out. I gotta strong one here . . atta girl,” his smile is the last thing I see before his lips return to mine. “Wait a second.”

“What? I wanted to kiss you some more.”

“Oh, stop whinin’, my li’l baby,” he titters, walking away much to my dismay and opening the door to my closet. “What have I found here, hmm? ‘s this a photo album o’ baby Becks?”

“Oh, you found that?” I giggle, yanking up the covers to my shoulders and enjoying my view of him crossing the room. There is just something else about a man in joggers, sigh.

“Ya, when I was cleanin’. Looks like me hard work paid off afta’ all,” Harry says, sliding under the blankets with me. “What’re you starin’ at me like that fer?”

“Nothing,” I sigh shyly, scooting over until my head finds his tummy and his arm finds the curve of my shoulders.

“What’re you blushin’ ‘bout, li’l one?” he giggles from above me, laying his arm over the closed photo album. I only find that he’s forgotten it when I dare to peer up at him, and his eyes are waiting on me.

“I just- I dunno,” I huff with my cheeks aching from shy smiles. “This is kind of all I ever wanted, give or take a few parts. Including the waking up to you shirtless in my bed, and looking all cute in comfy clothes.”

That breathy laugh sparks his lips into a smile again, followed by his bottom lip escaping to between his teeth nervously.

“I don’t disagree,” he quips, and this time, I actually groan at how cheesy he can be. “Really tho’, Becks, I wanted all o’ this too. I dunno what t’ do with meself now that I have it all - get t’ wake up t’ you in tha mornin’, take care o’ you, spend me day watchin’ FRIENDS with you, and now, lookin’ at yer baby pictures with you. I can’t wait t’ see what our kids are gonna look like.”

“Stop it, or I’ll cry again,” I croak, swatting at his chest, but it’s nothing more than a tap.

“I hope those are happy ones,” he whispers into my hair, and a small laugh joins the tears running over my lips. “Bloody hell, think I might spill a few as well. Look at these, were you tha cutest baby or what?” Harry sighs happily after opening the book to a random page, lifting it to get a better look at a photo of four-month old Robbie and me in matching Winnie the Pooh Halloween costumes. Looking up at him, something twinkles in his eye and in his cheeks where the dimples sit lower than ever.

I hope oh so badly that our babies have those dimples of his. Someday.

Until then, I’ll soak up these days of waking up to him, hopefully shirtless, and falling asleep together watching our favorite show, and wondering how it could get any better.

Every day seemed to run into the next, and in the best way possible, don’t get me wrong. I got to wake up to Harry beside me, toasty in my bed, and due to that, absent of a shirt and I was not complaining. No, siree. Some body parts still hurt quite a bit, but slowly they hurt less and less, and through that time we got our routine down. Pills three times a day and then twice, Skye helped me with showers, physical therapy three times a week, my ankle became more steady, I could stay awake for longer periods at a time without needing a nap like a growing puppy, and quickly, I was fighting Harry for the last sausage or cookie.

He was enjoying it too, I could just tell. I would bet a lot of money that he couldn’t be enjoying it as much as me, though.

To say that I didn’t get sick of him would be a lie, because oh, were there moments. First, there was his incessant cleaning to keep him busy, which luckily was remedied by his Zoom meetings for work that he’d take in the living room once a day while I napped. Secondly, I swear he watched me and closely as I ate, and it got annoying very fast. The naps and Zooms helped loads though, as did the few times he went home to grab different clothes, do laundry and the like, and go grocery shopping, but even then I missed him a little bit. As soon as he left because I got sick of him, I wished he would come back, and that’s how it went again and again.

The cold bites at my cheeks, sure to have left them rosy and wind chapped. Not quickly enough, the car begins to warm up and so do I.

“Alright?” he says with a warmth to his voice that curls around my icy bones. Turning in my seat, I find his lips pinker than ever as he rubs the feeling back into my arm, my free one. Nodding at him, he returns it before pulling the seat belt over him and checking his mirrors.

“Are you?” I ask, a few moments after he had begun to drive.

“Mmmhmm,” he responds, kneading at his lips once we arrive at a red light, briefly meeting my eyes but not holding them.

“You’re . . acting weird, Harry,” I say slowly, unsure of my words and how he’ll receive them. “I’m the one still getting nervous about being in a car, so what’s your excuse?”

“Nuthin’ . . ,” he insists, grabbing hold of my hand when the light turns green, twirling the bracelet around my wrist absentmindedly. “‘Kay . . I was wonderin’ if we could stop somewhere befo’ we go home. Y’know, if yer not too tired afta P.T. jus’ now.”

“No, I’m good- I mean, yeah, we can. Preferably, if I can sit down at this place you’re going after that workout I just had.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Harry grins, avoiding my prying eyes that search for a hidden meaning in his words. Narrowing my eyes, I squint at him, hoping that will help me to decode his answer, but I come up empty. Sighing, I look away, unsure of why he isn’t letting me read him this one time, but forgetting it after I remember how unbelievably handsome he’s looking with the beard and ochre colored beanie pulled over his curls. “Stop starin’ at me, woman,” he titters, and I only reply with a confused shake of my head.

Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket and find the absence of new texts, still. A smile tries at my lips when I revisit my screensaver that I gloss over at times, a giggly selfie from bed with Harry. I trace the dimples in his cheeks and the smile pinching them before letting it fall back into my pocket.

The shelves of items and hangers of clothes don’t do anything for me, nothing jumping out at me to buy it, and so I wander on to the next little shop, a bakery. Soon, a gooey cinnamon roll occupies my time as I wait, wait, and wait.

“What’s taking you so long, Harry?” I grumble under my breath, finding a seat in the corner of my favorite little coffeeshop down the street. It feels good to get off my ankle that still bothers me at times. Setting down my hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll stills in my hand when I look up and find my familiar view.

If I look hard enough, the sun is streaming in through the windows and that Bon Iver song is trickling from the speakers again. The mystery novel is sitting in front of me, beside a half empty mug of coffee, and there he is. He’s making jokes with the barista at the front, arms folded over the tall flat surface where outgoing drinks are placed for pick up. My heart could do it again, race incessantly like a horse out of its gate, and I’d likely remain glued to this seat, unwavering but not unwanting.

Dinggggg!

Blinking, I’m jolted from the memory by a sound, and suddenly, the sun isn’t leaking into the coffee shop and he isn’t standing there, belonging to somebody else anymore like I had dreamt about last night. My nightmares sure are getting creative these days, drudging up old memories from last summer, the summer from Hell. They must be drying up if they have to resort to the time I saw him in this coffee shop after he’d starting dating somebody else, the day I felt shocked in my seat dying to say hi to him, but more afraid than ever. It feels like another person then, to be afraid to go up to Harry and to say hi, but that’s how it all was. It’s how it all felt, and how I was feeling. He felt like another person entirely and so did I, as if strangers.

Shaking my head and then grimacing at the slight ache that it still holds, I glance down at my phone to find the text that I’ve been waiting for.

sorry it took me so long bug. i hope ya found something u liked at one of the shops, or coffee, knowing u ;) i’m guessing ur at the coffee shop still from ur snapchat, so if u turn the left corner, and go down to the end of that block, you’ll find me there ;) see u soon baby

I can’t hide the smile that sticks to my lips as I leave with the cinnamon roll tucked safely into my hands, but it wavers when I come across the shop he speaks of. I double check and I triple check before finding his Range Rover parked a few yards away, telling me that this is the place. How odd, I think, as the bell tinkles overhead and the classic rock music greets me.

It only takes me a few moments to find him, waiting on a brown leather sofa in a waiting room of sorts, wringing his hands in his lap. Uh yeah, I can only think of one reason why, and no more than that. I can’t tell if the anxiousness painting his body worsens or remains the same when he spots me in the doorway, standing to his feet and taking my hand.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I exclaim, grabbing for the last bite of the cinnamon roll that he steals from me. “Harry!” I sigh, watching him feed it between his lips, but he leaves one last bite pinched between his fingers.

“Oh, ya want this?” he smirks, holding it out for me. I inch forward and am surprised with a messy kiss that tastes of cinnamon and sugar, sparking a song behind my lips. “Here, baby Becks,” he coos, feeding it to me at last before he tugs on my hand to follow him.

“Harry, what’s going on? Why are we here? Why are you here, or do I even need to ask?”

“I thought ya graduated top o’ yer class, so ya should know why we’re here, Ms. Lawyer. Use yer deductive reasonin’ skills, Becks - why do ya deduce we’re at a tattoo shop?”

“Harry,” is all I say, voice absent of anything and everything as I follow him down a short hallway, and into a room that resembles a doctor’s office. It’s not much bigger, but is a spitting image with the massage parlor looking black bed-table-thingy.

“Matt, this ‘s Becks, and Becks, this ‘s Matt,” Harry says, and a tall man turns around and shines his pearly whites at me. “He’s been doin’ me tattoos fer awhile now, best artist I know.”

“H-Hi, nice to meet you.”

“You as well, I’ve heard a lot about you over the years,” Matt responds warmly, waving over to a comfy looking black office chair against the wall. Harry has already helped himself to the massage parlor looking thing, and his North Face and jumper have found their way off of him, too. “I hear you’re the reason we’re here today.”

“Wait, I am? What?” I answer, eyes flitting over to Harry’s. I’m sure of the alarm that blazes in them, and the flames only grow higher when he lets go of my hand. I can’t say that they die down when he slides off his long sleeved shirt dotted with nineties Nickelodeon tv shows, showing the entire room his sculpted torso and inked arms. The sage in his eyes warms and he scoops my hand up again, squeezing it and rubbing hearts into the back of my hand.

“Ya ready t’ see what ‘m gettin’, Becks?” Harry grins ever so proudly, I don’t think that his grin could be any more shit eating than it is right now.

The moments follow and they pass as Matt takes out a piece of what looks like tissue paper on it with purple ink, the design obscured from my eyes. The last thing he does before leaving is to press it to the blank slate above Harry’s heart, and slowly peels it away, revealing the image to me at last.

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and there are those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry, is that-,” I begin at last after pulling away from him, my hand falling from his cheek slick with tears.

“Mmmhhm, ‘s yers,” he answers with a definitive nod, several meanings encapsulated in his words, but I take with me only a few. My fingers trace above his skin the four numbers, ever so familiar to me. “Yer handwritin’, Becks.”

“Why 2024?” I wheeze, wiping away the lingering tears, knowing that they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. As I speak them, the answer rings behind my eyes, but I wait for his answer.

“‘Cuz,” he answers, like it’s ever so obvious, willing my eyes back to his waiting pair. “I know this year’s only started, and ‘s been a bit o’ a shit show t’ say tha least, but ‘s tha year that brought you back t’ me, and let me keep you. ‘ll be grateful t’ it forever, and t’ you, Becks.”

“I love you,” I whisper, not having decided to say the words and yet, there they are, spilling themselves to his ears.

“I love you, baby, mo’ than anythin’,” he giggles happily, a tear breaking free from his eye to course down his cheek. His beard is ticklish against my temple where his lips litter kisses and love, the reason those very numbers are about to become permanent right where his heart lives under his chest. “I found a grocery list you had written tha other day, and I dunno- I jus’ loved tha way you wrote tha year and how those numbas meant so much . . and mo’ importantly, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how I wanted t’ forget all o’ this . . yer accident. So, instead o’ forgettin’, I wanna remember this bumpy start we’ve had, by this, havin’ yer writin’ on me fer me life.”

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head in disbelief as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

“Are we ready to get this show on the road?”

Harry nods at me with a questioning look, and I nod at him, squeezing his hand.

“Alrighty then, let’s do it,” Matt announces with enthusiasm in his voice, something that wanes inside of me at the prospect of seeing Harry in pain.

If he can do it, going through about as much hell as I did after that car hit me, then I can at least do this. The insane amount of flattery and the overwhelming love that radiates off of him as the tattoo gun begins to buzz, helps to soften the blow.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

It smells the same, and sounds like before. I welcome the familiarity, but a shy nervousness sits in the corner of my mind, and deep down, inside of my gut. An excitement tries to overtake it up there, and I wait on the sidelines to see what will happen.

The thought is whisked away when there’s a whisper of a touch against my temple, and my body bumps habitually into his, seeking safety. Blinking hard and looking upwards to my left, I find a smile waiting in those molten sage eyes.

“Alright, bug?” Harry coos, leaning down to press his lips to mine briefly. I nod in reply, waving my thumb over his jawline hidden in thick facial hair, a sight I never thought I’d see inside of these four walls. “Are ya ready t’ get back into tha thick o’ it, Becks?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s about time that you let me come back, I’ve been going mad sitting at home having nothing to do for the last few weeks, and especially since you’ve been back part time since last week,” I answer, the song he sings joining that of my own when his fingers brush against my ribs that don’t ache from his touch anymore, and his nose nudges at my temple that doesn’t hurt when I laugh too hard.

“Hey, I know that, but I wanted t’ make sure ya wouldn’t over exert yerself and yer arm ‘s still gettin’ all caught up bein’ in that cast fer awhile. Also, I rememba a certain sumbody practically forcin’ me t’ come back, I didn’t have much say over tha matter. Hmmm, I can only wonder who that’d be,” he jests, and all hints of my poker face run away from me as he raises his eyebrows at me. The very pair he let me have my way with the other day, which lasted about five seconds before he started whining, even though the woosey has fresh ink on him.

“I know, you’re still being Daddy Harry,” I sigh dramatically, its ending found in a deep chuckle that he elicits from my lips with a surprise bear hug. His laugh drips with molasses too, and I feel like this couldn’t taste any sweeter, my arms hidden under his blazer and nudging at his belt.

“I’ll manage.”

“I know ya will, ya always do . . my Becks. ‘ll be there t’ help too,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as the electronic number reaches to twelve above our heads. My head falls to the crook of his neck where it’s longed to be . . for such a long time. Years. His solid arms filled with safety lift from me and return once they wrap his violet blazer around me, and only do I close my eyes when his lips find a temporary home on the top of my head. “Y’know, I dunno what t’ call you now - mentee, colleague, girlfriend.”

“You can just call me either or, boss boyfriend,” I suggest, meeting his glowing green eyes while an electronic ding sounds overhead, signaling another floor passed.

“Sounds good t’ me, Rebecca Holte,” he hums, a corner of his mouth curled into his cheek and sharing that happy dimple with me. The chipped black nail polish teases at my sight when his thumb runs over the brand new scars dotting my cheeks that he’s healed with his kisses. “Ya betta make this one last fer a while now, we have a meetin’ right off tha bat,” he says firmly with raised eyebrows, but a smile teases at its corners.

Standing on my tiptoes, I lean forward and close my eyes, seeing the glinting flecks of gold in his eyes as I taste the honey on his lips. It’s hidden in the words that pass unspoken between our lips, cut short by the declarative beeps and the number sixteen waiting atop, seventeen just around the corner. With a giggle, I steal one last peck from his lips, and watch as he shakes his head after my wandering hand squeezed his bum.

“C’mon, you li’l shit,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes, adjusting the strap of his shiny, new messenger bag strewn across his chest. “Or would ya ratha I say, ‘shall we, Becks?” Harry asks, holding out a hand in front of us, and I nod.

“Let’s go, boyfriend,” I say with a large smile, catching the wink he gives me as our shoes click and clack on the marbled black tiling of the firm’s floors.

Now, I have.

I’ve really made it now.

I thought I had once or twice before, but this is it. I have it all, and more is on the way, and no longer are the dreams out of arm’s reach. No, they’re right there where I can touch them, and so is a very special one that won’t stop smiling at me, and I wouldn’t ever want to stop smiling at him.

Another thing I’m sure of is that I’d never want to stop listening to the song that flows from his lips, I could listen to it for the rest of my life.

THE END . . FOR NOW

Don’t miss Harry and Becks’ future adventures in the sequel to The Assistant, The Partner, coming soon! Until then, you can catch up with Hecky when The Firsts, an Assistant Blurb Series, begins September 14th at 12pm CST! Keep an eye out for the masterlist post for The Firsts, to be published soon! I could never thank all of you enough for reading and for sticking around this long with me. I am so excited to continue this series and for you to see what’s coming ;) See you in two weeks!

22 notes · View notes