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beautifulletdownfics · 5 years ago

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Twenty Good Reasons :: Part One

Hello! Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here! Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

+++

I wrote a symphony.

I had written a symphony and tonight I was conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in what would be my professional debut as a composer and conductor. London’s Royal Albert Hall was sold out, a fact I sincerely wished the Director of Music kept to himself. I tried not to think about the magnitude of the opportunity I had tonight to disappoint, to not live up to what was expected of me.

The conductor’s suite was cold and quiet around me, and with no instrument to tune to keep my hands busy, I was flipping through a five-year-old edition of Hello Magazine. My eyes stared at the clock on the wall, not taking in any of the dated royal gossip or reality star news, it was an odd juxtaposition really—London’s premier music venue housing a copy of the gossip rag from the pits of hell.

Months of tension and trying to sleep through the noise of dozens of melodies simultaneously rolling through my thoughts at once had finally dissipated into an unsettling silence. The notes weren’t fluid anymore, they were set, and a seventy piece orchestra knew the movements backwards and forwards.

It was anti-climatic in the sense that the worry and stress didn’t end, they just became centred in a different place. Instead of biting my nails over crescendos and harmonies, I was in the middle of an even more terrifying process of considering how it all might sound to the thousands of people above me, being ushered to their seats.

I picked at the sequinned hem of my dress and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow—when I wasn’t writing and rewriting the movements anymore—when what felt like my life’s work was out there, and I couldn’t hide it way anymore. Did I just wake up as usual, walk to the cafe down the street and order a latte? Sit at a window seat, and one by one delete all the notes and voice memos on my phone from the last twelve months of writing? Did I immediately start work on a follow-up? Would anybody want a follow up from me?

I suddenly wished more than anything that I was in the green room with my peers warming up my horn for any typical performance. Knowing I was going to walk out on stage after they did made my stomach hollow out.

My phone started vibrating from its spot on the vanity in the corner, and when I got to it, I stood over it for a little while, looking at Harry’s name flash up on the screen with a call. After three years my instinct was to reach out to Harry whenever I felt like this; like I wasn’t in control of how time was moving, and I wasn’t sure how to reach back into my life and be present. My fingers itched to answer his call, to hear his voice and be comforted by whatever lovely and motivating things he would say.

But I couldn’t. I’d fall apart if I heard Harry's voice tonight because he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and that something I was completely unprepared for.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, not really.

If anything the fact Harry couldn’t be here was because of me. Harry planned his Asian touring dates around when my debut was supposed to take place, a few weeks from now. A month ago I played tonight’s suites in full to the orchestra board and directors, and they decided they wanted to move everything forward, opening the season with my debut instead of having it in the middle of the season.

It was a promotion for my work, and it was a huge show of faith and support from my community. But it meant Harry had shows with tickets already sold and there was no good way of telling fans in four cities they were going to be refunded or offered tickets for alternate dates. Particularly when Harry’s picture was sure to show up in London somewhere, and it would be plainly obvious he cancelled shows to see his girlfriend.

A text flashed up on my phone.

Harry: I love you. You’re going to be fantastic. Remember to breathe. x

It was sweet of him to text, he would know more than anyone how I was feeling. I didn’t have it in me to do the time conversion to where he was at the moment. He was right in the middle of the Asian leg. I tried my best to swallow my sadness down—I knew Harry wasn’t choosing to miss this.

After finding out tonight’s performance was going to be so much earlier than I had expected the time flew by quickly as I went through all the rigours of finalising the score and then rehearsing it with the orchestra. It had been four weeks of early mornings and late nights, fielding questions from players and getting it up to performance standard. Harry was a saint for dealing will all my teary FaceTime calls and the almost daily texts about giving up.

I tried not to overthink how wrong it felt knowing Harry wouldn’t be there afterwards to celebrate with my family and friends. All the late nights I spent with Harry pouring over my compositions trying to find the notes that were out of place and to then not have him sitting in the audience the first time it was played—and my first time conducting a professional orchestra … It felt like I was being robbed of something.

He was the perfect helper over the twelve months the symphony took to write. Some parts happened quickly, and others were hard-won, with dozens of edits and reprises. Harry was the best second set of ears I could have asked for. He learned over the years how music was put together, and when I was pathetic and frustrated in the middle of the night, he spoke my language in calm, loving perfection.

I had my dad to be my critical, technical sounding board, and my boyfriend to be the ever encouraging, soft set of hands I needed when it all felt hopeless. Harry knew when to push me to keep going, and when to pull me from the room and distract my mind with something else.

I missed him.

Harry and I hadn’t spent more than 72 hours together in four months. There were a handful of weekend visits—most notably my twenty-fourth birthday we spent in Copenhagen—and three days quite recently spending Christmas with our families ... But beyond that, Harry and I were doing long distance, the end in sight but too far away to be a real comfort yet.

In some ways, the four months apart seemed to had passed exceptionally quickly, but in others—mainly the ones that seemed to carry the most weight—it was as if time had slowed to twice it’s speed and filling the extra space was all the time I spent missing him.

I spent half my days hating technology—hating talking through a phone with typed or faceless words, and hating early mornings on Skype where a 2D depiction of Harry could only soothe so far—and the rest of the days clutching my phone like a lifeline, praising the 21st century for its ability to connect to people on opposite sides of the planet.

We made it work, which was a line I’d stolen from Harry in interviews over the years. But it was true, nonetheless. Sometimes it felt overly simplistic, but there was a simple truth to it that I liked.

Today though, I had vowed to be happy even in his absence.

“Ten-minute call,” My eyes snapped to the PA system in the corner, and I let out a long stream of breath.

It was time.

+++

I held my baton tightly in front of me, shaking from the adrenalin.

I deliberately avoided looking to where I knew my family and friends were sitting when the house lights were turned on.

The applause was almost deafening and completely overwhelming. I held up my arm to the orchestra, diverting the praise of the audience to the players behind me. They had done spectacularly, and once my heart was done exploding from my chest, and I came down off all my nerves, I would be able to adequately comprehend it all.

The applause started quietening down as the Director of Music, Ian, walked out to join me on stage, a handheld microphone in his hand. He kissed my cheek and gave me a warm hug, calling for another round of applause for me that I awkwardly stood through. I recalled our conversation eighteen months ago, where he encouraged me to do this, to challenge myself.

There was a loud whoop from behind me, and I laughed when the horns section was on their feet cheering me from their positions. They were my closest allies in the orchestra and they’d more than earned their stripes tonight. I gave them a little bow and turned back to the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Maestro Nina Lawrence,” Ian said into the microphone, smiling through the distinguished term that I definitely hadn't earned yet, “I am sure this is only the beginning of what we will see from you,” He smiled at me.

There were a few more moments on stage before he led me off, the orchestra following close behind me. I sat on the first seat I found in the wings, tilting my feet back onto my heels and dragging my hands through my hair.

“Ni-na!” My name was called out as the players spilled into the green room, a body pressed up next to me, and someone grabbed my arm, “You’re fucking brilliant!”

I smiled up at one of the trumpet players, “Thank you. I feel like I’m about to combust.”

Somebody shouted for a toast, and I watched, completely surprised, by the arrival of trays of flutes of champagne. By the time all the officials and board members had given their own motivational, encouraging addresses, congratulating me and everyone for all their hard work, nearly all my family had snuck in. Friends too were now making faces at me from across the room where they all stood near the door.

When everyone broke apart, I made a beeline for them, asking one of the venue wait staff to follow me with a tray of drinks. My shoulders hurt by the time I was finished getting hugs from everyone, some tearier than others, my dad the teariest of all. My cousins and my childhood best friends mingling with friends from the orchestra and my life with Harry in a way that overwhelmed me with a sense of belonging to a powerful group of people. Finally, I tucked myself under Rodger’s arm for a touch of respite from the limelight, my back almost touching the wall behind us as he chatted to Laykn and Max.

“None of those sad eyes today, alright?” Rodger turned his head down to the side of my face and spoke under his breath.

“Shhh,” I squeezed his fingers near my shoulder as I took a deep breath and tried to swallow against the tight feeling pressing against my throat, “I’m not sad.”

“Nina,” He chuckled, “You’re inches off looking like you’re attending a funeral.”

“That’s not true!” I argued feebly, chancing a look at him and giving him wide eyes like that might convince him. As Rodger didn’t know me better than almost anybody else.

“It is,” Rodger bit back, smiling at my mother who turned around when my old flatmate failed to whisper quietly enough, she gave us a concerned look but went back to chatting to a friend of our father’s, “And Harry would be so upset if he knew he was ruining this for you,” Rodger’s voice was softer now, “I know this is worse for him. Everyone you love is celebrating with you today, and he’s literally one of the furthest places on earth from you that he could possibly be.”

“It’s not his fault,” I said quietly, looking at my nails and picking at a loose bit of skin I’d been biting all week.

“No, it’s not,” Rodger agreed, resting his head on the crown of my head slowly in warm affection, “But he’s watched you work so hard for this for years, Nina … I know he’d be distraught if he thought you were going to be sad all day because he can’t be here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You know it, do you?”

Rodger halted for half a second and then I felt him shrug against me, “He might’ve sent me one of his perfectly punctuated text messages last night instructing me to kick you up the arse if you started looking weepy.”

Something pinched at my heart at Harry’s pro-active concern, “I can’t believe he’d describe me as ‘weepy’,” I huffed, knowing that was precisely the word my boyfriend would use.

“This isn’t about him, this is your night.”

The thing was that my friend was so right about what Harry’s reaction would be to my outwardly missing him today. Harry had lectured me numerous times this week.

When my family and friends followed me back to the conductor’s suite for one more champagne before the celebratory dinner my parents had insisted on organising, I was unable to not still feel disconnected somehow. There was relief though, and an astronomical sense of achievement and satisfaction, and for the first time all day, I felt caught up in the happiness of it all.

The room felt far bigger when I was in here alone before the performance, it was much nicer crammed with my loved ones, all lightly teasing and bullying me. It was loving, and I could read the pride on their faces. I got extra hugs from both my parents and from aunt Anne and my uncle Ted. The cousins and my brother were out in full force—Martin refused to stop filming me and asking mock, documentary-style questions, Josh and Ben didn’t stop trying to make me re-enact walking across the stage. And Oliver was doing impressions of me, waving my baton around and tugging on the lapels of the new suit he got for his tenth birthday.

My dad was holding his phone up taking photos the whole time, managing to wrangle us all together into the groups he wanted. I felt like I’d had an individual photo with everyone a hundred times over.

“It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo,” Laykn draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, letting me take a sip of his warm champagne. He knew me well enough to know I had checked my phone a few too many times.

I just wanted to hear from Harry.

“I know,” I sighed, “Sorry.”

“Nah,” My younger brother dismissed, “It’s alright. You miss him, that’s okay. Maybe it means you’ll be nice and let me eat your fries at dinner.”

“Ha, fat chance,” I told him. “And I’m not sure this is a fries kind of place.”

Laykn looked at me playfully down his nose, his fingers darting about pocking his tie back through the gaps in his shirt, “It’s a rich people’s place, Nina. They’ll make you whatever you want as long as the booking name is under Harry Styles.”

I punched Laykn in the arm, and he laughed loudly, “You’re a jerk. Mum and dad organised dinner.”

“I think Harry pulled some strings,” Laykn teased, “And don’t kid yourself, I’m your favourite jerk,” He amended quickly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I agreed, “I’m going to go find the bathroom,” I whispered right into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room.

I waited until I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with the lid down before I unlocked my phone again. I checked any of the places communication from Harry might’ve come from, but then when all my email and messaging apps were coming up blank, I had to fight off the disappointment without tearing up.

I knew that it was still essentially nighttime in Japan where he was, but that didn't stop my heart breaking a little at the fact I’d just lived out one of the biggest days in my life while Harry slept. It had been a big day for me, and although I handled days like this a lot better than I might’ve when we were first dating, knowing that Harry was at least awake at the same time was more comforting than I’d care to admit.

After taking a few moments to actually use the facilities, I gave myself one final pep talk in the vast, softly lit mirror before readjusting my dress and mentally preparing myself for what I knew would be a boisterous dinner.

I walked out of the restrooms, flipping my phone over in my hands and concentrating on taking a few deep, filling breaths. The bare concrete walls of the backstage tunnels were marked up with dozens of scrapes and a patchwork of different staging tape. It was chilly too, and I told myself to put my coat on when I got back to everyone, we needed to leave for dinner soon.

“Hey pretty lady," I heard just behind me, my peripheral catching just the slightest movement of someone off the wall.

He smiled when I turned back to face him.

The light glistening in his eyes was the first thing I noticed. But my heart started racing, and my legs were moving before I could really think what was happening, all I knew was that the string connecting my heart to my tear ducts was tugging wildly.

Harry.

He was standing wearing a beautifully tailored pair of high waisted black suit pants, a soft white tee and double-breasted black blazer. I was sure my mouth was hanging open as wide as it felt my heart was busting open in my chest, “Harry!”

"Surprise," He giggled out, bending his neck down slightly when I opened up my arms and reached towards him on my tippy toes, folding my arms up over his shoulders. His arms crossed at the small of my back, and all the air left my lungs when he pulled me against him tightly. “Kept me waiting out here long enough, I didn’t want to make you cry in front of everyone.”

"I hate you," I whined through the shock, but my throat was clogged up with the tears that had already started escaping my eyes. “You’ve been here the whole time? When did you arrive?”

“A few hours beforehand … Tried calling you when we got here though,” He mumbled into my neck, “I was regretting not telling you I was coming because I knew your nerves would be killing you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I knew I’d cry if I spoke to you, I just wanted you here.” “Well, I was here,” He laughed, “And you were fucking phenomenal. I cried like a baby.”

“You’re here!”

Harry's grip on me tightened, and he stood up a little, pulling me with his body, “I am. You look beautiful."

“You haven't seen me in four months," I sniffed, turning my head to press my nose into his neck.

"God, don't I know it," Harry moved his hands up my back and settled them on my shoulders, "Fuck, why do I do this to myself? You're an angel," He pulled back and leaned down to kiss me.

Our lips were hopeless at staying together, even though we hadn’t kissed in months and months. The emotions were catching up with me, and I struggled to settle anywhere between laughing and sniffing back my tears. Harry’s lips turned up into a smile and he pulled my forehead against his, watching through amused, wetted eyes as I tried to keep myself from bawling.

“You’re useless,” He laughed, sniffing away his own emotions when I traced my fingers under his eyes to catch the tears.

“What are you doing here,” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut and moving up again to press my cheek against Harry’s in a desperate attempt to feel closer. “You’re in Japan.”

“I’m not in Japan,” He said softly, “I’m here for you. No one’s as proud of you as I am, Nina, you’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Stop,” I groaned, embarrassed.

“It’s true,” He defended seriously, “You’ve got more talent than anyone I know, and you work harder than everyone else as well. The performance was astounding, you had the whole room captivated. Your work is beautiful and you should be so proud. I’m so proud.”

“Stop,” I interjected.

“It’s true,” Harry swallowed thickly, “You’re always working towards getting better and being better, and you’re constantly creating something completely brilliant that half the time I don’t understand until you stop and baby it down for me … You’re incredible, and I’m so proud of you, my Maestro.”

I felt myself blush, having heard Harry sprout out that affectionate declaration many times before.

“Did everyone know?” I asked, still holding him tight.

“That I was coming?” His chest moved against mine in a few small chuckles after I nodded against him, “Yeah.”

“All of them?” I thought of my whole family and all my friends sitting waiting for me to return from the bathroom.

“Every last, stinking one,” Harry said in what he thought was an endearing Dennis the Menace impression. I pulled back and smiled as I looked up and watched him continue, “There was no way on earth I wasn’t going to be here for this. No fucking way.”

“Seriously,” I shook my head and swallowed back another lot of tears, “You can’t be here right now, you’re in the middle of tour, and you’ve got shows every—“

“Shhh,” Harry took my lips between his again for a few seconds, “Don’t worry about any of that, you think I wouldn’t move mountains to be here? I’m here.”

I smiled and let the tears escape this time, “I love you.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I love you, too.”

I settled back down into my heels and shook my head, "I can't believe it. This morning I woke up thinking there was still three weeks before I'd see you ... And now ..."

He grinned, "I pulled off the perfect surprise then. C'mon, your brother has been texting me for the last twenty minutes about how hungry he is. Impatient little git, isn't he?"

I rolled my eyes and let Harry arrange our fingers together in a tight hold, ”He's famished apparently.”

Harry’s lips pressed into the hair just above my ear before he stood up straighter and slowly took a step forward. I let him lead me along for a few steps before overwhelming happiness overcame me, and I skipped ahead to tuck myself under his arm snugly.

"I love you, Harry Styles,” I told him quietly, ducking my head when we came to a junction where the greenrooms met the holding room, “Thank you so much for coming.”

There was a small tug on my hand and then Harry stopped walking, looking down at me curiously he tilted his head to one side, “You’re welcome, but I hope you realise coming was less than altruistic of me … I’ve been pretty desperate to see you as well, Neens.”

“‘Cause I’m your favourite person?” I said, grinning when Harry’s thumb dug into my side.

“Damn straight, you are,” He nodded, hooking his hand around my neck and leading my lips up to his.

I shut my eyes and let the kiss be led by Harry. He kept it slow, dragging his lips up to my temple and resting them there for a moment.

“Your family will think I’ve kidnapped you,” Harry said slowly as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed once before letting me go again and starting to walk. “And I’m starving as well, let’s go, yeah?”

I latched both my hands over one of Harry’s and manoeuvred us quickly back to where everyone was. There was a room full of happy faces when we finally got there, together, and I shrunk into Harry’s side shyly at the stupid catcalls from them all. Georgie held her phone up recording the moment with the promise of sending me the ‘adorable’ photos later. Laykn muttered something about it being ‘about bloody time', Harry beamed though, kissing me firmly in front of everyone.

+++

It was sweet relief to finally be in the back of a cab pressed neatly beside Harry on the way to dinner. I dropped my head to his shoulder sleepily even though I knew we were only a few blocks from where the Langham was.

Harry quickly greeted the driver and said the name of the street we needed before he turned covered my thigh with his palm and massaged it slowly, “Do you think we should get a pet?”

“A pet?” I asked, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” “That’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“Been thinking about it for a while,” He misheard my tone. “We should get a pet, don’t you think?

“No, I absolutely do not think,” I challenged him, “Pets are so much work, and you go away all the time and what if I want to come to see you? It’d be annoying for us to have a pet.”

Without looking at him I knew the face he was pulling, all wide-eyed and pouted lip, “But imagine having a little furry bundle of love in our lives, Nina. I think you’ve been very flippant in dismissing what could be the best decision we ever make.”

“Harry.”

“I want a puppy, Nina,” He went on, taking a deep breath and racing through his words like that might convince me, “A little fluffy one that needs help learning to howl and hates walking on the kitchen tiles. A cockapoo, like Rodger and Adriana’s dog. Doesn’t that sound adorable?”

“Harry, we can’t—

“—I said,” He interrupted, “Doesn’t that sound adorable, Nina? With little paws and that look of love, only dogs can give? And when we’re both away Gem can take it, or Josh.”

“Har—

“—Or Laykn! We can send little Pauper to university with your brother for a few days.”

“Pauper?” I gave Harry a look.

“Great name, hey? I’ve been brainstorming.”

“What makes you think I’d let you call our puppy ‘Pauper’. What a stupid name for a dog.”

Harry smiled widely, “Our puppy, eh?”

I paused, realising my mistake, “Shut up.”

He laughed at me and raised his arm up to rest it around me and pull me against his side, “I’m going to win this, I can tell.”

“You’re really not.” “Am too.”

We rode in silence then, the radio playing softly upfront and the streets of London slipping past us in their usual way. Harry was humming along, and when I eventually turned to look back at him, his eyes were already watching me.

“What?” I asked quickly, sitting up and moving out of his arms.

“Love you, you were fucking incredible up there tonight,” He said quietly, leaning his head back against the seat and not changing his relaxed expression in the slightest. His slight smile only created half dimples in his cheeks, and I found myself entranced by the curl of his eyelashes.

I felt my cheeks heat up immediately, “You’ve got that look.”

His eyes widened a little as his fingers snuck across my lap to reach for my hands, “What look is that?”

“The one where you’re secretly imagining me naked,” I said bluntly.

“Ha!” Harry didn’t hide his amusement at all, letting out one loud sound and then falling into an adorable bout of silent laughter, he leant forward and placed a hot kiss to the shell of my ear, “Well, it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

“Harry!” I smacked him in the chest with my free hand which he quickly grabbed at and held in place.

“The best part is that now you’re imaging me naked,” Harry hummed out lightly.

Before any more could be said, the car was stopping, which had Harry kicking open the door and pulling me out with him. I stood for a second and waited for him to take my hand, leading me up the front steps and straight to the reception of the restaurant.

Inside everyone was already seated, and on their first drinks, I walked around the table and greeted everyone individually. We had a round table in a vast, impeccably styled private dining room. Two seats had been left free for Harry and me, he took the spot next to my dad, and I lowered myself into the place next to my mum.

It was the first time all day I actually felt relaxed. I sat back in my chair and let the pain in my feet ease. The boys were all challenging each other to different meals, making up anything that was in a different language and then convincing Oliver anything foreign would just taste like chicken. Isobel, Georgie and Sam were asking Harry about Japan, listing off a particular liquor they wanted him to bring back for the next time we drank together.

Everyone took far too long deciding what to eat and then even longer actually getting through all the food that arrived. Harry told me he slept through the food on the plane over and was much hungrier than even he knew. I let him take from my plate much to Laykn’s dismay.

“Happy?” My mum leaned over and put her arm around my shoulder for a quick hug, whispering and then watching my reaction with a massive smile on her face.

I pulled Harry, and I’s joined hands over onto my lap like he might disappear if he wasn’t as close as I could get him, “Yeah,” I replied, “Perfect.”

“You look happy,” She observed, “And Harry’s got his dopey face on.”

I laughed and looked back over to my boyfriend who was blushing at something Josh and Martin were teasing him about, “Do you know how long he’s got or …”

When I turned back around to face her, there had been a definite fall in her features, “Nina … He just got here, why don’t you—“

“—I know,” I cut her off, “I know. Harry isn’t meant to be here at all, who cares how long he can stay, right?”

She gave me a small smile and a kiss on my cheek just before I was pulled into defending Harry against whatever he was being attacked for now. Everyone looked happy, though, and I was glad to sit and be taken into whatever conversations I could. It was fun, and it felt almost like it was the holidays, and we all had nothing to do but enjoy each other. I found myself thankful for the occasion in an entirely different way to how I had appreciated it earlier in the day.

Eventually, after an embarrassing dessert experience that involved my receiving a ‘debut cake’, everyone started looking at watches and deciding it was time to end the dinner. Anybody who didn’t live in London had been invited by Harry to stay at our house.

“We’re not going with them,” Harry said to me at the last minute, after the bill was paid and we were all standing out farewelling each other in the foyer.

I looked over at my parents who seemed to already know this information, and everyone else was already loading into Ubers and Cabs.

“We aren’t?”

Harry smiled, “Say goodbye,” He nodded towards my family, and I offered them all a small wave without hiding my confusion.

“Where are we—”

Harry leant down and kissed me quickly, “—I got us a room for the night.”

“Here?” I asked astonished.

He nodded.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head, “Harry! That’s mental! This place is fancy.”

“Yeah,” He changed our positions, so his arm was draped across my shoulders and he started leading me over to the hotel reception, “Well … You’re a gorgeous woman in a beautiful dress, and I ironed this shirt so I’d say we’re pretty fancy. And it’s a celebration … Not to mention the fact we’ve hardly seen each other in four months …”

“Harry,” I warned slowly, feeling myself grow jittery when I saw the glint in his eyes.

He moved his hand down my arm and rested it across the back of my ribcage, fanning out his fingers to reach as high as he could, “I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered in my ear lowly, “And you look bloody stunning, Nina. I didn’t feel much like sharing you with your family at home.”

Home.

That was a concept that I was still getting used to, despite it having been almost a year since I moved all my things in with Harry. Probably because I’d spent most of that time highly stressed about composing, and Harry had been away for so much of it. But still, the fact remained, we lived together now and with that simple fact came a new level of pure intimacy that I relished in. I could only imagine how much better it would feel to have a good chunk of time together there come to the end of the tour for Harry.

“What’re you thinking about? Me naked?” Harry’s voice came right into my ear again.

We were standing at the desk, waiting behind another couple, and Harry moved around to stand tightly behind me, his arm affectionately across my neck.

I looked at him from the side of my eyes, “Just how nice it’ll be to actually live together for an extended period.”

“Hmm,” Harry agreed readily before stepping forward and introducing himself, he turned back to me while we waited for the check-in paperwork, “It will be pleasant.”

“Seriously, how much are you spending on—” I asked, reaching up onto my tippy toes when a piece of paper was placed in front of Harry.

“Oh-oh,” He tutted, plucking it up and shifting, so his back was to me, he smiled at the receptionist, signing his name quickly, “This is perfect, thank you.” She disappeared again, and he turned back to me, I tried not to think about how much whatever extravagant room we were about to stay in would be costing him. Not to mention the cost of him flying out here from Japan in the first place.

I caught a familiar movement over his shoulder and quickly diverted my eyes, “Does it matter if you’re seen here with me?”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Someone just took a photo.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder to where I was looking, “Oh,” He turned back to me, “No, it’s okay.”

A keycard was handed over, and Harry profusely thanked the receptionist who pointed us in the direction of the elevators. We walked passed the group where I had seen the photo being taken, Harry gave them a polite little wave with a coolness I know I lacked.

When the doors opened, and we stepped inside, I watched Harry in the mirror as he pressed the for the flood we wanted, “It feels odd not having bags, doesn’t it?”

“Feels sexy,” Harry grinned.

“It feels conspicuous,” I returned.

Harry chuckled, leaning over to kiss my forehead, “I brought some things from home over earlier.”

“Oh.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re worried about silly things, Neens,” He explained.

I was about to rebut when we came to the door for our room. Harry opened it with no hesitation—his years of staying in hotels showing— and he propped open the door for me to walk in ahead of him. I ducked under his arm and hung my evening bag on the back of the door, continuing to where the whole room opened up to an expanse of windows.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the drawing desk by the window. Sitting up in a long, white vase was a dozen white and red roses.

“Harry … What are these?”

“Happy debut,” He said behind me as he pressed his chest to my back and wound his arms around my front, when I looked down he was holding a medium-sized, navy box out in front of me, “This is for you as well.”

I slowly took the box out of his hands and straight away he held them firmly across my stomach. His chin rested on my neck, and he observed as I ran my finger over the engraving on the front.

“Harry Winston,” I read the engraved name, “What on earth—

“Open it,” Harry instructed softly, turning his head to one side to press a kiss to the base of my neck.

The box opened with a satisfying pop sound and it folded out like a flower. Resting in the velvet insert was a beautiful, round pendant necklace.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to get me something.”

“Take out,” He urged, poking the back of my hand with his index finger.

“I don’t want to break it.”

Harry chuckled lightly, “You won’t. Take it out, and we’ll put it on you.”

It turned out that it was quite hard to extract from the box, and in the end, Harry in his own fit of giggles had to pull out the whole lining of the box and work from the underside to get it out. But he managed to get the necklace out and just before he put it on he made me go into the bathroom with him, so I’d be able to see in the mirror.

“Lovely,” He declared once the clasp was secured and the small pendant was resting on my skin. Harry ran his hands down my arms and back up again while I inspected how I looked wearing it.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” I decided very quickly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry returned, looking very pleased with himself behind me.

The movement of his hands halted for a moment as he bent down a little to kiss the back of my neck gently. It was a soft kiss that sent something delicious all the way down my spine and the back of my legs. He hummed against my skin, and his fingers trailed up to the zip at the top of my dress, carefully dragging it down to pull the two sides apart carefully.

“We’re going to have to hang this up if I’m going to be doing the walk of shame in it tomorrow,” I told him, referring to my dress.

“My girlfriend doesn’t do walks of shame,” Harry corrected with a growl, his hands slow and deliberate in their movements, “I’ve got something for you to wear tomorrow and pyjamas.”

“You have?” I turned around in his arms and was honestly surprised by him being that prepared.

“I do,” He said in a funny, high pitched voice, “What did you think I meant when I said I brought some things over earlier? It’s moments like these it comes out that you don’t think very much of my gentlemanly ways.”

I moved my arms up to rest over his shoulders and pulled myself up onto my tippy toes, “I’m happy to be proved wrong.”

Harry’s eyes went to my lips then, and I knew there wasn’t going to be much more talking. He pulled me against him and started out the kisses slow and sweet, getting me ready for when the four months of not seeing each other took over, and our hands started moving of their own accord.

It didn’t take long before Harry had me lying on my back on the bed, my dress over the back of the nearest chair and Harry’s nice clothes draped over the top of them. From there it was all hushed words of missing each other, and incomprehensible noises that only made the moment hotter and more dizzying.

After three years so much about sex with Harry was better than I ever could’ve imagined. Because he knew me on so many different levels, the physical connection between us was only heightened. And it grew in me some enormous sense of pride to know I was the only one who got Harry curling his toes together and panting against my skin.

He was all mine, and I got every inch of him to myself.

It was well past one in the morning by the time we were lying side by side, and I was finally reflecting on the day as a whole. My stomach was filled with a warm, settled feeling just having Harry next to me in bed again. Sleeping alone had been something I hated getting used to still. Having another, albeit longer, body beside me I was sure was the best end result I never would’ve dared to dream might happen today.

“What time are you setting it for?”

Harry stopped moving his fingers across his phone screen and turned his head my way, “What?”

I made a point of looking where the clock app was open in front of him, “What time are you setting your alarm for?”

“Neens,” He said sadly, not giving me an answer but only giving me a look that said whatever his response would be I wouldn’t like it.

“Harry, what time?” I asked again, moving my head over to rest against his shoulder for a better look at the screen, “Three a.m.?” I readout.

“Nina—

“—Three in the morning! Harry, what the hell kind of insane time is that? You can’t—

I was cut off by Harry rolling onto his side and forcing me into silence with a kiss, “Don’t get upset, Nina. It’s okay.”

I frowned and watched him as he hovered over me, “You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

“I can’t stay any longer, I’m sorry. I’ve got an interview I can’t miss before tomorrow night’s show.”

My eyes widened in shock, “You’ve got a show tomorrow … Tonight?” I corrected myself.

“The time difference is a bit funky, but basically, yes.”

It dawned on me then that Harry had only had a day and a half off, that he had jumped on a plane after a matinee and had to be back for a show the following evening. That instead of going out to dinner with the crew and then sleeping until midday like I’m sure he needed, he had flown thirteen hours to London to have not even ten hours on the ground before flying back again.

He wouldn’t even see daylight in the UK.

“Why did you come?” I asked in a small voice, feeling tears welling with the guilt that was settling in. He was going to be exhausted for days from crossing all the time zones.

He let out a horrified laugh, “Why did I come?” He repeated, sounding every bit as defensive as I expected him to be, “I came because today was a huge day for you, and because I could, and because I wanted to.”

“You’re going to get sick from being tired and all the travel.”

“I don’t care,” He shook his head and hooked a leg between mine, “I don’t care.”

I pulled his neck down and held him there until he settled most of his weight on top of me in a tight cuddle, “I don’t want you to go so soon,” I sniffed.

Harry’s hands ran up my sides from my hips, settling under my arms and warming the skin below my breasts, “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you idiot, ” I laughed through new tears, “You’re here. You came. You’re too good to me.”

“I love you, Nina Lawrence.”

“I know,” I sighed, containing my emotions slowly.

“I’ll always come when I can.”

“I know.”

Well, there’s our intro to Harry & Nina, 3 years later. What did you think? Predictions?

#1dff #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles stories #hina #fic: twenty good reasons

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ichibanjeon · 8 years ago

Text

Star-crossed

» Star-crossed: frustrated by the stars

Genre: soulmate!au + reincarnation!au + good (?) ol' angst; that's it.

Word count: 3,681 | AO3

Summary: People always reincarnate with the age they first met their soulmate with, so they can age together. Once every 100 years, a pair of soulmates is cursed. In each reincarnation, with the help of clues left for them, but without any form of communication, one must find the other before they die. Otherwise, they lose the ability to reincarnate forever. Yoongi writes diaries hoping that, when he’s ready to show them, Jeongguk isn’t already gone. Not again.

Warnings: mentions of death

Author's Note + "Thank You" Note:

this is my first yoonkook work that is not a) a chaptered fic or b) a drabble, and it's my favourite so far. my heart hurts, i cried, let's cry together if you decide to give this a try. it's the longest thing i've posted. "my heart will go on", "your song" and "river flows in you" are great to listen to while reading.

first of all, i would like to thank one of my best friends, @dani-the-monster; your "hoe don't do it" keeps me grounded while writing angst; the support you gave my writing from the start has encouraged me to improve and keep writing;

and now a very special note: six months ago, when the blood, sweat & tears mv came out, i decided to message a yoonkook blog i had been following for a couple of months, yelling about jeon jungkook and his smirk; tbh i don't know what happened, we literally just yelled for like a week, then i started to sign off as "yell @ jeon", you gave me a tag, i wrote stuff and came off anon, we yelled again, jungkook made a vlive, yoonkook happened, we yelled again, their comeback happened, we were emo, i dedicated "it can wait" to you and you just messaged me yelling and i saw your tags and yelled too and i still cry, why would you use those tags; now we talk almost every day, like one of us just sees a soft picture of jungkook and sends it and we yell for like hours and i always get emo before i go to bed ??? we also yell a lot about yoonkook and their things. a list of our favourite things to mention, send and yell about: jungkook as a puppy, angel, little star and bunny; domestic!yoonkook; studio boyfriends!yoonkook; space metaphors; that giant carrot plushie; soft jungkook; why is yoonkook the angsty duo; yoonpianokook, the real ot3; plushies; "*yoonkook sending kisses gifs* night night!"; "i'm emo"; "I JUST WOKE UP I DIDN'T NEED THIS"; "wHY"; just general yelling tbh. andrea, (@jeonbase) thank you for six months! "star-crossed" is dedicated to you :)

“It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.”

― Audrey Niffenegger

March 4th, 3 a.m.

We arrived yesterday, March 3rd. Namjoon is already asleep, but I had enough coffee to keep me awake for at least 24 hours. There are still no clues, but I’m trying not to worry a lot about it. Last time it took 2 weeks until we got any information.

He’s not… hopeless, you know? It’s not like he’s given up. She’s always so hard to find, and since he didn’t get to be with her before she left… I get it; it’s hard, Guk. When I lost you, I thought I would never see you again. But you wouldn’t know.

Anyways, when you read this, you’ll say “You’re such an idiot, what made you think I would want to read these?”, but I know you read them while I’m out of the house. Speaking of which, where do you want to live this time? Namjoon says he wants to move back to Ilsan. Do you miss Busan a lot?

I don’t have much to say. We’re coming to get you, alright?

Stay alive, kid.

He doesn’t sign it. He doesn’t have to, because the only person who will ever read Yoongi’s diaries already knows him like the back of his hand. He wants to stick to his own words, but trying not to worry a lot about it is different from not worrying. As much as he tries to reassure himself, he knows time can’t always be on his side.

Three lifetimes ago, Yoongi felt like he was dead before dying. Three lifetimes ago, his life stopped making sense. Because three lifetimes ago, Yoongi was too late. Bright lights, a car, people screaming, a turn, a dying man. And a man dying inside.

Yoongi’s memories of that day remain as the hardest part of his existence. It hurts that it happened. It hurts that Jeongguk doesn’t remember. It hurts because it reminds him that he doesn’t have forever. And that’s why he writes.

Namjoon mumbles something in his sleep, which makes the older boy check the clock. 4 a.m. The sky’s far from starry, but there’s still a promise lighting up his night.

It’s been a week since they arrived. They always arrive together, no matter what. Yoongi says it’s a glitch; Namjoon calls it luck, and jokingly adds that maybe they’re the real soulmates.

When you reincarnate, life becomes easier. Time doesn’t bother you anymore, because you’re sure that you’ll make up for lost time with your soulmate in your next life. Exception: if The Council chooses you as the unlucky pair that struggles with time, it does bother you. Exception of the exception: if you’re Min Yoongi, time is just kind of there.

“We can’t,” a loud, disembodied voice said.

“Well, try!” he yelled, his tear-stained face reflecting the light of his surroundings and the pain he felt inside.

Eleven lifetimes ago, Min Yoongi was born for the first time. Eleven lifetimes ago, Jeongguk’s name wasn’t this familiar. It didn’t feel like a warm embrace after the long chase, it didn’t smell like hot coffee made for you in the morning, it didn’t sound like childhood lullabies, it didn’t mean love. But it still meant something, because fate doesn’t just belong in the future, at least in love matters.

When Yoongi turned eighteen, there was a knock on his parents’ door.

“I’m so sorry.” Cursed, black on white, and even though no one had said it, there was a silence that screamed despair.

“What for?” he asked.

“That you’re cursed,” the man replied. Yoongi offered him the only smile he could manage.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. It was no one’s fault. It still hurt.

Yoongi was twenty-three when he met nineteen-year-old Jeon Jeongguk. Yoongi is still twenty-three, and it’s his favorite number. He gets to meet a special boy every time he’s twenty-three.

March 17th, 9 p.m.

We got the first clue today.

It’s vague, it isn’t clear, but it’s something. It’s a guitar pick and it has your name on it. We found it on our doorstep, this morning. Does it mean you’ve stopped neglecting the guitar I bought you? What are you up to?

Namjoon got our stuff from the Department yesterday. Our house is still the same, but I always feel like moving out, you know? Start over.

Do you ever miss any of our previous lifetimes, Guk? I do. I miss the way things were three or four lifetimes ago. You wouldn’t understand… Sometimes, before I meet you, I dig out our old things. What were you thinking when you decided to buy that huge bike?

You’re weird. That’s okay, I like you as you are.

“Wow, I hate you,” Namjoon says, throwing his controller on the couch.

“Salty over Mario Kart, are we?” Yoongi snickers, putting his own down.

“Just extra tired today,” the younger says, and gets up, heading to the kitchen.

“You’ve been searching, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t get an answer right away. He notices how Namjoon almost stops in his tracks, but decides against it and walks in the kitchen. Yoongi is familiar with the urge to find someone who’s so dear to you.

“Hana’s the reason why I’m here,” Namjoon starts. “I was born ten lifetimes ago, and the reason why I’m still here is her.”

He’s not cursed. Well, at least in the official meaning of the term. If you’ve known Kim Namjoon for long enough, you’d have noticed how he seems to consider the soulmate system a curse itself. To chase the love of your life over and over again, in an endless cycle; is he wrong to think so?

“I don’t know- I probably sound stupid right now, but- is it really worth it?” he says, holding an apple.

“It depends,” the other starts, “I would give all I have for your forever.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Yoongi nods. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, more times than they can count. The kitchen’s quiet for a few seconds, until Namjoon speaks up.

“Wanna go to the movies tonight? We haven’t had any fun in ages.”

Yoongi shakes his head at the other’s pun, but agrees anyway.

“It doesn’t work like that,” the voice said.

“Make it work then! I – sob – I’ll do any – sob – thing!”

March 22nd, 4 p.m.

Do you remember why we agreed I would be the one to find you? Well I do, but you’re a hard man to find, Jeon Jeongguk. First a guitar pick, now a camera. Where are you? We were in Busan a couple of days ago; your parents say hi.

Namjoon finally figured out where Hana might be. He thinks she’s staying with not-so-close relatives in Moscow. Can you believe? We’re flying out as soon as I get the third clue.

Don’t you ever get tired of showing up in a random location every time? I always end up in Seoul, but you visit new countries all the time. I wish we could use cellphones; if you ask me, that law is quite a stupid one.

I miss your dumb smile whenever we go out.

Soon.

Sometimes, Yoongi dreams of a very happy place. It is far above the clouds, surrounded by the stars. From his spot, he sees all the constellations and the sight mesmerizes him. Time doesn’t mean anything but what it’s supposed to be: a word, as empty as it can be.

Words are terrible. Words hurt but heal as well, and it’s hard not to wonder why. In this happy location, they’re easy to live with, they carry meanings we can understand, but not relate to. He believes there’s a single word that will never stop making sense to him; a sweet earthly word, that feels good and tastes heavenly.

Yoongi feels like he’s floating around. He feels so small, yet so great. The most beautiful comet he has ever seen passes by, close enough to touch. And he feels warm. It’s like his heart was replaced by a star, his own personal source of heat and comfort. He names it Guk, like the sweet earthly boy.

“I can’t ask you to pay this price. Go away and live your life,” the voice said.

A man collapsed on the floor, sobbing loudly, pleading.

The third clue doesn’t arrive the day after, or the days after that one, or the two weeks that follow; Namjoon talks Yoongi into finding Hana first, they’ll look for Jeongguk after that.

Hana isn’t waiting for them at the airport when they arrive, but they manage to get to her relatives’ house relatively fast (they only got lost twice!). Namjoon’s face is now everything but a frown, nothing but true happiness and a hint of relief, as he holds his own soulmate in his arms.

“It’s been too long,” he says, breathlessly. And the girl in his arms becomes the only thing that matters, even if the moment is a fraction of eternity, of their eternity, because Namjoon knows for a fact that taking time for granted would be a foolish thing to do.

“Isn’t it selfish? You get to choose who leaves first,” the voice pointed out.

“I just want a chance to say goodbye.”

“It’s a plane ticket,” Namjoon repeats. “Out of all the things it could have been, they’ve sent you a plane ticket.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away; he’s lost in thought. It’s odd, but what could he expect? He’s sitting by a window, a book in his hands, his focus somewhere else. His grip on the book tightens before he lets out a quiet sigh. “Looks like he’s back home, after all. We must have missed him for a couple of hours.”

“We have to leave, Yoongi. It’s not like it can wait,” Namjoon says a bit louder. He’s sitting far from the older boy, hands holding the ripped envelope and the paper rectangle with the words “FLIGHT: 2476; TO: SEOUL” in thick, black letters. It all feels so blunt, so raw, so possible. As if it was as simple as a plane ticket and long flight. Namjoon’s words seem to hit Yoongi, because he puts down the book and stands up, walking towards the other.

“You’re not coming, Joon,” he states.

“Do you actually think I would leave my best friend to his cursed fate? We’re leaving tomorrow and I’m coming with you.”

“I have to do this alone.”

“Or so you think. You didn’t leave me; I’m not leaving you either,” Namjoon says, and his words hit Yoongi again.

“Namjoon,” the other starts, “You know how grateful I am for all you’ve done. But I’m leaving alone, and that’s final.”

“That’s just selfish.”

“Excuse me?”

“You come and go alone; doesn’t it bother you that the people you leave behind are alone too?”

“You know the consequences,” the voice said, matter-of-factly.

A man looks down and plays with his fingers.

“I do.”

April 8th, 2 a.m.

Our lives are made of a series of boards that hold all kinds of switches and buttons. My board has a ton of them, as does yours, as does everyone else’s. The thing is, we like to think that we can press the buttons and mess with the switches, but it’s not our job to do so.

I would say – call me crazy if you want – that our fates are in the hands of higher forces. Not things like The Council, or any gods or goddesses you might have heard about. Things that seem distant and abstract, but they’re actually as real as you and me. Love is one of them.

My biggest regret in all my eleven lives is the fact that I haven’t figured out how to do what those things do. If I could do it, if I could just reach any buttons or switches, maybe things were different. It is both a blessing and a curse, a source of despair and peace of mind, to have your future in the hands of something you don’t really understand.

However, I’m eternally grateful that one of those forces pressed a button called ‘you’ for me. The universe can do whatever it wants, because that button is pressed and nothing can take that away from me. Not even time.

Goodnight, Guk. I’ll be there before you notice it.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

A man looks up and nods. “How long?”

No answer.

Yoongi wakes up, startled by the sound of an old door opening. As his eyes adjust to the darkness that surrounds him, he hears footsteps. Turning around, he’s surprised to find Kim Namjoon, his friend of ten lifetimes, standing in the doorway, hair as messy as it could be.

There’s silence. It goes on for who knows how long. Yoongi doesn’t know how late, how early in the morning it is, but it’s not like he cares that much. It doesn’t matter.

It matters, though, that Namjoon sat by his side, pushing aside the open notebook the other had fallen asleep on. It matters that they don’t speak, that they don’t have to. It matters that, through the silence that has settled, Yoongi hears quiet, muffled sobs. It matters that soon, the sobs belong to two instead of one, and the embrace that follows matters too, as well as two hearts that fear for each other, because of love and loss, of life and death, of the silence that means too much.

It is four a.m. when Namjoon lets out an ironic laugh, one that is meant to be cheerful, and wipes his tears. It’s the way his arms circle Yoongi’s frame that gives it all away, and the other knows, and it hurts that it’s impossible to avoid, because it’s inevitable, because it’s no use trying to fight pressed buttons.

“Take care,” Namjoon says. All he has to say, all he thinks he left unsaid, is in those two words, in the tears that created liquid paths on his cheeks, in the way he wants to hold the older boy, as if maybe – and even if it seems like a foolish thing to do – that would stop time, just so he doesn’t have to go just yet.

“You take care too, kid,” Yoongi replies. He means, “I’ll never forget you, even if time makes me forget myself.”

"Hey! How long?"

April 9th, 9 a.m.

As it always happens when I get to meet you again, I don’t know what to write. I don’t want to get cheesy because well, I’m not really a cheesy person. I’m sitting outside the house we’ve shared for some years. I know you’re still asleep, because who could wake you up on a Sunday morning? (Hopefully our doorbell will.)

Namjoon couldn’t come; he couldn’t come because I didn’t let him. “I have to do this alone,” I told him, and it’s true. As you’ll see as you go on – and become less of a little shit – there are a few things one must do alone. A few feelings we have to go through by ourselves.

Lao Tzu said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

I know I feel brave whenever I think of you, so if you ever needed reassurance, here it is: I love you. I love you as I did eleven lifetimes ago, yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever, even if some say it’s useless, even if the world ends and the sky falls, even if you ever doubt it, even if I’m gone, my love for you will stay the same.

In this world of soulmates, there are a few things we get to call eternal. We were cursed, yes we were, so our ‘forever’ is different from everyone else’s. Our forever is made of fear, of hope and trust. I fear that I might lose you every time we come back. I hope you’re always here to greet me again, just like the first time. I trust you, and that your little heart is strong enough to go on.

Just like you give me courage, I hope I give you strength. To be deeply loved by someone is such a wonderful feeling, and I know that, because I feel strong at the thought of you. If I ever needed reassurance, you’re the best at giving it.

This is not meant to be a love letter, but a letter from a lover to his lover. And if you ever need it, let this be a reminder of who we are, the story of two star-crossed lovers.

Time to ring the doorbell.

“Are you listening to me? How long?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Please.”

Jeon Jeongguk hates it when someone wakes him up on a Sunday morning. And that’s why his mood is not the best when he’s startled by the high-pitched sound of the doorbell. He groans, stretches and rolls around, mentally (and maybe thinking out loud too) cursing the most likely unwanted visitor.

He takes his time to get up, the fluffy carpet tickling his feet. He puts on the first shirt he can find, slowly leaves the room, walks down the stairs, and looks out the window. To say he was surprised to see his favorite person in the world standing outside would be an understatement.

Min Yoongi has his black hair styled casually, hands in his pockets, the red shirt Jeongguk gave him for his fourth twenty-third birthday peeking from under a black hoodie, the kind that makes him look smaller than he is, and the younger boy can’t help but smile at the sight of the other’s small frame in oversized clothes.

Jeongguk literally runs to the front door, takes a deep breath and unlocks it, before opening it and allowing himself to stare once again. Only then does Yoongi look up from the ground, where a brown backpack is, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His hands are shaking, he notices, and so are his legs, but he still runs to the other’s embrace, shaky breaths filling the hair. Then a kiss, as passionate as the first, and they hold each other’s faces, each other’s frames, each other’s hearts.

In a rush to love, to make up for the lost time, to reassure each other with a whispered “I’m here”, they enter the house, Yoongi’s hand dragging the brown backpack along. It’s a moment that goes on for minutes, and it feels like hours.

“So you were in Seoul the whole time?” is the only question the older boy can manage.

“I was. I arrived last week,” the other replies.

“We were in Moscow, to look for Hana, but that’s a story for another time. And Namjoon says hi,” the thought of his best friend is enough to make Yoongi’s heart ache in a way he can’t handle, not now.

Jeongguk notices the dark bags under his eyes. “You’re exhausted, Yoongi.”

He feels exhausted. “Can we take a nap? I’ll tell you all the stories when we wake up.” Jeongguk smiles and nods, leading the other up the stairs.

Their room is exactly as he remembers, the weird lamp he got at a garage sale, the large painting Jeongguk made for their anniversary, the blinds that they should fix, the dark brown doors of the walk-in closet that they use as a storage room, that light grey walls that would be sad and naked without their pictures together.

Yoongi drops the brown backpack and tells Jeongguk, “Some things for you to read when we wake up. All the stories you might not remember.”

He takes off his hoodie and places it on the armchair by his side, and then he crawls on bed and gets under the covers, the pain in his heart unbearably strong now, and he feels so, so tired. He just wants to sleep.

Jeongguk feels odd. There’s something wrong. His heart hurts too. Realization hits him all at once, and he doesn’t understand half of it. All he knows is that there’s something he has to say before time takes over, before it’s too late, before he’s too suffocated by the pain in his little heart.

“You knew it all along?” he lets out, and the other nods.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Jeongguk asks.

“That we’re cursed,” Yoongi replies. It’s getting harder to speak, to breathe, to live.

“It’s not your fault,” Jeongguk says. It’s getting harder to reply, to stay, to live.

“Will you stay with me?” Yoongi asks. He means, “I don’t want to be alone when I leave.”

There’s a hand that holds a hand, and two other hands that wipe tears on different faces. There’s an empty room, filled with more than can be put in words. There are two bodies, two star-crossed lovers, two lives tied forever. There’s a dying man, a man dying inside, and their hardest goodbye, all over again, like a dejà vu. And perhaps regret, love and loss, life and death. And pain. And love. Aren’t they the same, for the few unlucky ones?

“I’m a speck of dust floating in space, and you’re the most beautiful comet I’ve ever seen,” Yoongi lets out. It’s his last goodbye.

And they are a comet, a cursed ‘we’ going in circles through time. They are star-crossed, a pair of soulmates that was meant to be, just not forever. There’s a nineteen-year-old boy, shaky breath and blurry vision, because the stardust becomes too much to handle, and whispered secrets of the universe they share being spilled onto a pillow.

“We’re the comet, Yoongi, going in circles around the sun. And our hearts are a single star. And the dust we left behind is what I’ll be holding on to.”

“3.”

A man nods again. He bows respectfully and waits until he’s back home.

A few hours later, he’s finishing a letter. A diary.

“Jeon Jeongguk, I do not regret a thing."

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