#also imma try and update plan b this week. its been too long

[nashvillethotchicken]

IWTV S2E6 "Like the light god made before he made the world" livethoughts. Spoilers and thoughts as always below the cut

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Seven, “Meet Me in the Hallway”

New to the story or want to catch up? Find all chapters HERE! :-)

Ok I didnt forget this time :/

                           *  SNEAKYYYYYYYYY PEEK TIME *

“Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop.”

“I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket.

“I was too! Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.”

P.S - I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors or stuff that should be bolded/italicized that I missed, I already edited this chapter on here a few times and Tumblr kept losing it ugh. 

Enjoy!

“I don’t know,” she replies, yanking at the corners of my heart. A sigh escapes my lips when I feel my heavy head fall into my hands. “M-my dad,” Becky continues, but her words collapse into tears before too long. 

I almost tell her that I already know, but my lips stop just in time. I don’t want her to get mad at Asher. And if I’m honest, our secret elevator meetings to talk about her are the highlight of my week. But my lips search for something to say. The sound of her tears is all I can hear, no matter how badly I ache to take them away. 

“He has c-cancer, Harry,” Becky says, her words tumbling out sloppily. They pull at my heart again, making it fall another notch. 

“Fuuuuuuuuck . . . . ’m so sorry, Becks . . . . Are ya okay?”

“No, w-why would I be? How could I be?” she responds, her words falling out fast. 

“Becks . . have ya been drinkin’, love?” I ask tentatively, wincing when I hear her groan. 

“I don’t wanna ‘ear it. Imma grown woman. I can bloody drink if I want t’ and-,” she argues, her voice steely. I’m caught off guard by the confrontation, and it only makes me feel worse. 

“Tha’s not what I meant, love. I jus’ . . . ,” I try, my train of thought fleeing me. All of my thoughts do, because I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t even know if I’d have any better idea of what to say if I’d had notice she was going to call. That she was going to remember who I was for the first time in 9 months. “Are ya atta pub? Cuz I jus’ wanna know yer safe. I can leave an’ give ya a lift home if ya need,” I finish, unsure of how she’ll take my words. 

She’s quiet and it only makes the scary thoughts buzz louder in my head. 

What if she gets the idea to drive herself home?

What if some drunk bloke bothers her and she can’t fend for herself?

What if she tries to walk home in the rainstorm?

What if she keeps drinking, not knowing when to stop?

What if-

“No, I’m at home. In me bed. I’m not st- dumb, Harry,” she slurs, showing me a side of her I’ve never seen. We’ve had drinks together before - in my office or rarely at a pub. But she never got drunk before. 

“I don’ think ya are, bug,” I counter, the nickname falling effortlessly from my tongue. “’m really sorry ‘bout yer dad. D’ya know how bad it ‘s yet?”

“Noooo, other than that ’s somewhere . . . like in uh Stage 2 . . or somefiing,” Becky answers, her words all over the place. “It’s t-the prostate. Ya know that fing that uh . . . is . . where ‘s it ‘gain?” One of her many words that don’t make much sense.

“Ya I know what it ‘s an’ where. I uh have one of ‘em,” I finish for her. I’m rewarded by hearing her decadent laugh. A sound I’ve craved and missed for so long. I missed it more than I thought I had, I realize as a smile pulls my cheeks upwards. 

“Oh ya. I uh kinda forgot ‘bout dat,” she titters, encouraging a chuckle from my now smiling lips. 

But her laugh fades first and mine follows. Because she didn’t call to laugh at my lame jokes, or to catch up on things we’ve missed in each other's lives. No, not really. 

“He’d been ‘aving pains. So bad he can’t eat, or use the uh loo . . He told me when we was there wit’ Robbie and . . . . he looked baaad,” she tells me, her voice catching on the last word. I feel my heart shudder in pain again, and suddenly I realize the validity of the second-hand pain phenomenon. “And I jus’ dunno ‘ow I’m gonna do dis. I wanna help him and take care o’ him . . . But I’m t’ree hours ‘way and . . . I just dunno how t’ do dis.”

“There’s no real setta rules, love. No guideline or brochure fer how t’ handle it . . Ya jus’ gotta do yer best, an’ love him . . ‘m sorry,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say. 

“You’re sorry?” she laughs, pulling my eyebrows into a knot. “Tha’s a firssssst.”

I listen to her laugh some more, savoring it. But I’m also confused and a little offended. But then it stops abruptly and I hear her sniffle. “I’m the one whoooo should be sorry,” she begins, tears lacing into her words. And taking all of mine with them. “You’re just trynaaaa help, and I’m bein’ mean and rude just like I always am to ya. Ughhhh, I dunno why I even called.”

“No, ‘s okay. Yer goin’ thru a lot an’ . . . I appreciate ya callin’. I jus’ hope ‘m helpin’,” I say quickly, dropping a hand in defeat. It finds its way to my pants and I pick at the loose thread that’s been bothering me all day. 

“But I am, Harry! I’m mean and I make no sense a-and I’m jus’ loadin’ onto ya. But I dunno who else t�� call, cuz ’m tryna t’ be strong forrrrr Robbie. And not worry Skye, an’ I jus’ dunno what t’ do, Harry,” Becky says, the last of her words dissolving into sobs. Biting my lip at the sound of her crying into my ear, I keep biting and biting as she cries. I yank at the thread and feel it dig into my skin, but I don’t let go. “I don’t wanna lose me dad afta I already lost you.” 

It takes a few seconds of telling myself, but I slowly release my bottom lip. I huff, swiping my tongue across my lips. I taste the metally blood coming from the stinging cut. And then the warm taste of salt joins it on my tongue. Pressing my lips together, the pain only intensifies. But I let it stay as tears roll down my cheek. My finger burns, but only for a few short seconds when I finally rip the thread from my pants. It doesn’t compare to the pain I feel inside of my chest, like a vice around my heart. Tightening and throbbing. 

The line grows silent, but I know she’s there. Because I hear her shallow breathing, and the occasional sniffle. And I know that she’s still crying, because I hear the whimpers that she tries to hide. Even if she is drunk. And the pain only keeps coming, because I hate that I can’t do anything to stop hers. Nothing at all. 

“I miss ya so much, Becks,” I whisper, not believing the words coming from my mouth. But they feel good. Freeing. Almost exciting. 

“I . . . I do too, b-but I can’t go down that road ‘gain, Harry. I- I can’t do this,” she rushes. I hear noises on her line, but I can’t get out the words before the it goes dead. Silence.

I feel my phone slide from my hands slick with tears. It falls to the floor with a thud, but I hardly hear it. Because her voice is drowning out the sounds of everything else. 

The thunder. 

The rain falling harder by every second. 

I press the pads of my fingers into my eyes and let my own rain fall. My fingers grow wet with every tear. Every single one I held in as her voice graced my ears. The tears that grew from the pain I heard in her voice. From when I heard about her dad’s diagnosis. And I think the ones I’ve been pushing away for a long time. 

The rain welcomes a friend, and I join the drops drilling against the glass until the storm passes. But I know that although the storm inside of me passed for a little while, that it’s only come back stronger. The velvety sofa cushions and pillow welcome my tired body. I fall into a fitful sleep with her comforting voice dancing through my head. The only place I can see her again, and where I didn’t fuck everything up.  

+

“Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll get this all figured out. You just do your best and take care of yourself and your father. Keep me updated on what you learn, and if you need extensions. Alright?” 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” I reply emphatically. 

He nods before patting my arm and telling me to have a good day. I return it before leaving his office and feeling the slightest weight leave my shoulders. That was the easy part, I think to myself as I find my way through the twisty halls. 

Looping my arm through my other backpack strap, I turn a corner and keep walking. I feel my heartbeat start to slow down after that nervous meeting with Professor Alcott, finishing up my afternoon of meeting with my professors. I couldn’t even believe the words leaving my mouth to grace their ears. 

My dad was diagnosed with Stage 2 prostate cancer recently. We still don’t know a lot, but I wanted to let you know. I plan to still stay enrolled in the program and I’m committed to my courses. At the same time, I’m going to do what I can to take care of him. I will keep you updated as I learn more, but there are still a lot of unknowns at this point and . . . , I think, pausing the track I had on repeat for the last few hours. I had to figure out what to say, then rehearse it, and then say all of those words to the stern-looking expressions of my professors. Two of whom I’ve never even met before, because I’m taking their classes online. But my advisor, Sally, told me it would be best to meet with them in person. It’s more personal and shows your commitment blah blah, she said. 

I’m just glad to have that part over with, I sigh inwardly. 

The first fallen leaves of Fall crunch under my lace up purple Vans. The crisp air welcomes me. For a few seconds, I lose myself in the beginnings of the changing colors of Autumn. But the incessant worrying thoughts that have plagued my mind sit at the back, ready to pounce. I was rather numb for the first several days. I didn’t know how to function normally. Let alone inform my professors professionally and in person about the events that just rocked my life. I’m relieved that they were all very accommodating and kind to me about the news. But I know that the hard work is just about to begin. 

A U2 song pours from my speakers as I back out of my parking space and start my journey home. I try to lose myself in the beloved lyrics, but it’s hard. When they become too relatable and too nostalgic, I skip it and the stereo player whirs as it thinks. My Spotify chooses a song at random - a favorite by Vance Joy. I roll my windows down and try to sing along. 

I close my apartment door with my foot, sifting through the mail. 

A bill. An advert for Skye. Another bill. Another cosmetology advert for Skye. An advert from my uni. Something Skye ordered from Amazon. A random magazine subscription that I most definitely don’t want to subscribe to. A sheet of Domino’s coupons. And a square periwinkle envelope with my name scrawled across the front. No return address.

My feet stop in the middle of toeing off my shoes. The one falls to the floor with an echoing thud. I swallow and pad slowly over to the kitchen island. Pushing Skye’s mess over, I let the pile of mail fall with a slap. With one shoe still on, I soon find myself sitting on the arm of the sofa. Backpack still heavy on my shoulders. Keys still hanging around my finger. But all I can focus on is the periwinkle envelope in my hands. And that familiar handwriting. 

I hug it to my chest and tap my fingers along it as I think. 

I know what it feels like, but I don’t know if I want to open it. 

Because I know what will happen if I do. 

But I can’t deny the first bubbles of excitement rising in my chest. 

The first feelings of happiness I’ve felt in 11 days. 

11 days since my dad announced that he has cancer. The dreaded C word. 

My thumb does the first rip without me barely registering it. My excited heartbeat eggs me on. I try to rip it neatly, and leave the pretty envelope intact. But I’ve never been good at opening mail neatly. It’s just too exciting. I see the cursive word on the back first. The card company’s name. 

The card is a periwinkle purple, like the envelope. He remembered it’s my favorite. My eyes fall closed without warning when I feel the hard square inside of the card. A sigh escapes my lips. It only grows longer when I feel the tiny imprints the pen left from pressing down hard in the author’s hand. 

Exhaling slowly, I flip the card over and find a saying that I glance over. The cursive words made permanent by gold lettering tug at my heart. But I know that’s only the beginning. My finger pries at the opening and runs along the inside, feeling the bumpy impressions of the ink words. I rip the bandaid off and open it. But before I read anything, I grab a hold of the plastic square. I place it behind the card in my grip. 

One step at a time. 

The inside of the card is painted with sloppy black writing. At the sight of it, I watch my sight grow hazy. Starting at the beginning, I blink and feel the first tear fall when I see my name. 

Harry’s name for me. 

Dear Becks, 

I saw this card and thought of you. The little bunny on the front just screamed your name, and well it harassed me during my whole shopping trip to buy it. Isn’t it just adorable?  It made me think of the story you told me once about the baby bunny you found with your dad that was hurt. You both nursed it back to health before it hopped away back into the woods. Or your Dad called the animal services to take it to rehabilitate it. You said you couldn’t remember. Anyways, it made me think of you and the unimaginable pain you’re going through. You and your family. I never had the pleasure to meet your Dad but I wanted to extend my sympathies. He must be a pretty incredible man seeing how well you and Robbie turned out. You always spoke fondly of him. I know you’re very close to him, and because of that I know this is even harder for you. I’m so sorry. I’ve been thinking of you and your family often, and wishing there was something I could do to help. I’m so sorry, Becks. I really am. I don’t think there’s much else I can say to comfort you right now, or if there is I don’t know what it is. I’d just suggest doing what you can to be with your father during this time, and although it may be difficult to see him in pain, I think you’d be happy if you were there. No matter how things turn out, I think it would mean a lot to the both of you. I’ve experienced grandparents and loved ones passing, and it’s the shits but whoever said that it’s better to suffer together than by yourself was right. But please take care of yourself too. I don’t know what your plans are, but please don’t load your plate too full. Okay? I’m sorry, but you won’t be much help to your Dad if you’re giving yourself too much work.  I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Becks. It pains me more than you could know to know that you’re going through this. You and your family will be in my thoughts and prayers during this difficult time. Please let them know that. Take care of yourself, please. For you and your dad. If there is anything at all I can do to help please don’t be afraid to let me know. In the meantime, I hope that this Visa gift card will help. I recall you said you’re from Madley and your dad still lives there, which is quite the trip. I hope this money will help pay for petrol, meals, hospital bills, and anything else that may help make you and your dad comfortable. Myles’ brother who’s a doctor knows of some good docs at The Royal London Hospital where he works - if you’re interested, just give him a ring. I’ll be praying for a hopeful diagnosis and outlook for your dad, and that he recovers from this. I hope you’re hanging in there, Becks. Just take it one day at a time.

Harry xxxxx

My chest shakes with a sob as I breathe in, but it’s so hard. And it hurts. Closing the card, I cover my face with it. And feel the warm tears paint my cheeks. I don’t know where they come from or how I haven’t ran out of them yet, but they keep coming. Without knowing it, I find myself sliding off the sofa and down onto the floor to rest against the sofa. Ugly sounds leave my lips and my body shakes with each sob. For the first time in days, there’s a feeling inside of me stronger than sadness for my dad. 

Longing. 

Missing. 

I miss Harry. And I let myself feel all of it. Like I haven’t been letting myself for months. I forgot how much I missed him. 

The way he could make me laugh. 

How he always knew what to say without worrying it being the right thing. 

His sunshine smile. 

His molasses like voice - deep, rich, and syrupy sweet. 

And most of all, the way his hugs fixed me like a bandaid. I feel my heart wrench with everything I miss, but it especially hurts when I think about how much I miss his hugs. And how badly I crave one right now. No, I need one. 

I cry harder at that, because apparently things can get worse right now, I think inside the chaos that is my mind. 

I miss my dad, even though I saw him yesterday when I went back home. And then I miss Harry, even though I kicked him out of my life. Even though I heard his molasses voice the other day when I mistakenly called him after drinking a bottle of wine. 

I miss him so much and it hurts.

I didn’t know that I could even hurt more than I already was. 

And I wouldn’t have guessed that his card warms my heart, and breaks it at the same time. 

+

My thumb wavers over the keyboard of letters, indecisive and lost. I groan and walk away, padding out of the room and into our main living area. 

“You better be getting a snack since you didn’t eat dinner,” Skye calls out to me from her perch on the sofa. 

“Okay, Mom,” I retort, searching the shelves of the fridge. It sounds bad, but it only took Skye a major life event to do a decent job at grocery shopping, I recount. Grabbing a yogurt from the drawer, an apple, and a spoon from others, I leave with my dinner in hand. 

The food falls to my desk with a clatter as my attention diverts to my phone. Waking it back up, I see the words I had typed out before. Without another thought, I press Send. With wide eyes and a shaky hand, I lay my phone face down away from me. I’ve only gotten settled and read a few lines from my textbook when my phone chimes. With teenage jittery excitement, I stare at it for a few seconds before daring to pick it up. My heart does a somersault in my chest at the sight of the name. 

Harry. 

I read over my text first, and then read his. 

Me

Hi. I can’t thank you enough for the incredibly sweet card. The gift card was more than generous. I don’t know which I cried more at. Just THANK YOU. A lot. I don’t know how many times I can say that. It was so kind of you to think of me and my dad. 

Harry

hi! stop it youre more than welcome. im glad you liked the card. i wasnt sure if it was 2 dorky. u better not have cried at it. im here if u need anything. have a good night xxxx 

My thumbs dance around on the screen. But before long, I set it down and try to immerse myself in my textbook. But it’s hard, because all I can do is think about him and our texts. I was texting him and we were talking, my over excited teenage-like mind thinks. But the adult part of it sweeps it under the rug, or tries to. Those two parts fight each other as I struggle to make sense of the chapter I’m reading. Because the teenage girl side wants to text him back, but the adult side argues there’s nothing to say. And that won’t I just get hurt again? I find myself nodding at that. Or more so, the argument it makes about there being no point in it. But the teenaged side reads into his words and grows excited at some of them. Talk about distracting. 

“Oh my god, just stop!” I mutter aloud, covering my ears but it doesn’t work. Groaning, I flip the page and read on. 

He helped and his card stands on my desk now, but I need to focus on my dad. And school. And this fricken boring chapter that I have an upcoming quiz on.

+

Voices carry down the tiled hallways. The sounds of footsteps sound like ghosts around me. So do the memories I have of these halls. Ones that stab at my insides as I walk further into them. I turn a corner and find the light at the end of the tunnel. He senses me and looks up. He shows a small smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s continued to ignore the the circle of chairs in the waiting area. Instead, he leans against the wall nearby the door we’ve been staring at. 

“Is he done with his labs yet?”

He shakes his head no, narrowing his eyes at me. “You said you weren’t going to go and cry in the bathroom, you liar,” Robbie jokes, but I don’t laugh. He purses his lips and holds his arm out for me. 

I walk into them and rest my head on his chest. “Yeah well, you tell everybody that you’re the older twin when you’re not,” I quip with a sniffle. A laugh rumbles underneath my cheek. 

“That’s ‘cause I am.”

“No, you’re not. Dad only said that when we got in fights to make you feel better,” I reply, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat. For some reason, his hugs never fail to calm me down. After a fight we had whether we were 5 or 15, when I snuck into his bed at night when mom and dad were fighting, after a pet died, even after a bad day at school, and especially lately with dad’s diagnosis. It only strengthens my belief about the whole twin thing. 

He scoffs in reply and my lips find a laugh. “I want to see our birth certificates and settle this once and for all.” 

I giggle into his warm chest and close my eyes. But then the thoughts and not longer after, the tears arrive. Robbie squeezes me and tickles my back with his fingers.

“They sounded hopeful at least,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but they want to do chemo before and after surgery.”

“I know, but they said they have to be sure. If things look good when they’re doing the surgery, like clean margins or whatever it was, then he might not need chemo afterwards,” Robbie points out and I nod, feeling the damp spots on his shirt from my tears. 

“He seems like he’s holding it all together pretty well.”

“Yeah he’s always had super strength. Remember in primary when we wrote that dad was our hero-.”

“And mom got mad,” I finish for him, adding my laughter to his. 

“Yeah. And even though we made that superhero poster about him, I never stopped seeing him as a superhero,” Robbie says, slowly trailing off when the emotions steal his words. 

“Bee, stop, you’re gonna make me cry even more.”

He laughs for a second, but then I hear him start to cry. His chest trembles underneath me. I give up and cry with him. 

“Harry sent me a card in the mail,” I sob, hiccuping in between words. 

“He did? I always knew I liked that guy. What’d it say?”

Something half-scoff and half-laugh is my response before I take a big breath. “I don’t know, it was just so sweet and kind. He said that he’s thinking of all of us, and told me to take care of myself. He said he knows it’s hard to see people you love suffering, but that it’s better to suffer together than on your own,” I choke out, tears drowning my words. “The card had a bunny on it. He said he got it because I told him the story of how Dad and I saved that hurt bunny. I wish he could’ve met dad when I still worked there . . And he sent a $150 Visa gift card to use for bills, petrol, and food.” 

“Wow, that’s crazy generous. Wait, what? You two didn’t save it, the animal control people did,” Robbie argues and I just shake my head. “And don’t say it like that. Dad’s too stubborn to die, you know that. And with how much you talk about Harry, I’m sure you guys are gonna get coffee one day and fall in love and get married,” he continues, his voice quickly turning mocking and girly. I laugh and shove him, stepping away with a laugh. 

“What?” he laughs. His voice is still under water, as is mine. “Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop,” I reply, laughing with emotions fighting in my voice. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling me into his arms once again. “Ya know you can tell me. I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. You blabbed to the whole 1st grade I had a crush on Johnny Turner. Then, when I gave you a second chance, you did the same thing again in 8th grade with Willie. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket. 

“I was too!”

“Being it for one week and quitting because you went home in the middle of the first camp doesn’t count!” 

“I still think it does. I have the outfit, sash, hat, and everything still. I made dad proud, and you know it. Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks, his scratchy chin resting on top of my head. We hear the click of a door open, and I frantically wipe my eyes. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.” 

I roll my eyes at Robbie as I peer up at him. He winks before sloppily kissing my head. 

“Come on, you rascals. Let’s get outta here before they try to poke me with any more needles,” our dad says, walking out of the room with his jacket folded over his arms. 

I know he knows we’ve been crying, but he doesn’t mention it. I think another secret language is already starting to form between us. With Robbie’s arm around my shoulder, I grab hold of my dad’s hand. He turns to flash a tired smile at me, before placing a kiss on my forehead. 

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he hums quietly as we stop in front of an elevator. His smile tugs at my heart. I’m just thankful to be able to still see it. 

Stepping onto the elevator, he squeezes my hand hard, just like he always has done. “Dad, don’t!” I yelp and he chuckles under his breath. 

After pressing the button for the lobby, I see Robbie’s lips bend upwards. This can’t be good. “Hey, dad, when we get home can you pull out our birth certs? I need to know the truth of who’s really the older twin.”

“Oh god. You two are 25 years old, when is this going to be over?!” my dad huffs, rubbing at his eyes, but with a smile. “Maybe I won’t take you with the next time, since it’s giving you existential crises,” he threatens, and we all fall into easy laughter. 

“I’m gonna have an existential crisis if I found out you’ve been lying to me for my whole life,” Robbie exclaims and we all only laugh harder. 

+

My backpack and coat fall to the floor with a heavy thud. With a yawn, I bend over to grab my things. The sound of chattering surrounds me. It slowly grows in volume as I sit there tiredly with my head down. I hear footsteps, laughs, and the scuffling of moved objects. 

“Wake up!” a voice nudges at me. I groan angrily in response and hear laughter in response. I peek through a crack in my arm to find Ruby’s crazy red hair bobbing next to me. My newest friend from Criminology. “Just ‘cause we have a guest speaker today, doesn’t mean you can sleep.”

“Oh, that’s today?” I reply excitedly, returning to the warm cocoon of my arms. 

“Yeah, but we still have to take notes. Ya know like last Wednesday when we had our first guest speaker? We had to write down questions for them, even if we don’t end up asking them. Alcott just wants us to get thinking and to well, pay attention. And not fall asleep like somebody! And then we have to write down 8 things that interested us, so get unpacking,” Ruby replies, her chipper voice drilling into my ears. 

“Noooooo,” I moan, scrunching my face in secret. 

I hear the door to the lecture hall close with a loud bang and Alcott laughs. “Alright, you lot, look alive. Our guest speaker has arrived and is ready to dazzle you this rainy Wednesday morning. Remember to be working on your page of ‘Ahas’ whilst he’s speaking. You’ll be passing it in at the end of class which is in 50 minutes,” Alcott announces. His Southern accent coming out in a few of his words. 

“Shitttttt. I think I might like this guest speaker. Look at him, Becky. He is fineeeeeee,” Ruby whispers, elbowing me hard in the arm. 

With a whimper, I sit up with a secret stretch. Combing my hair back, I rub at one of my eyes as they both struggle to focus. 

“What, who’s fine? What’s fine?” another voice blurts out. I squint and look over to find Simon taking the seat on the other side of me. The little Criminology trio back together again. 

“Not you being tardy, that’s not fine,” Ruby retorts with a smirk in her voice. I can’t help but smile. Simon flashes one at me as he combs a hand through his sandy hair after digging in his backpack. 

“So without further ado, I’d like to introduce our guest speaker today. Harry Styles from Styles and Lawson. Let’s welcome Mr. Styles with open arms and give him our undivided attention, please.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumble under my breath, coaxing a confused ‘what’ from Ruby and Simon’s lips . 

“Hullo, class. My name ‘s Harry Styles, but ya can call me Harry. Ummmmm as Professor Alcott said, ‘m from tha London law firm Styles and Lawson. Me mate, Myles Lawson, makes up tha otha half o’ tha firm. This year it’ll be 5 years since we started tha firm togetha, which ‘s bloody crazy t’ me. Before, it was his dad’s firm, and long story short, Myles an’ I got togetha an’ here we are. Anyways, I make me rounds in London talkin’ t’ law classes. I’ve always enjoyed speakin’ t’ tha incomin’ lawyers an’ tellin’ some o’ me stories. An’ me favorite part - answerin’ questions. I thought ‘d start with how I got into law, tho’.”

Shit. I really should’ve known this would happen.

“Nothing,” I reply. “J-just hand me a piece of paper and a pencil, please,” I say briskly to Ruby. 

The last thing I want is to make a single sound that will bring attention to me. But it seems like the universe doesn’t really care lately what I want. I’m already trying to figure out my odds of him spotting me in the sea of 50-so students. Amongst 35 or so ogling girls. Typical.

But the more my eyes focus and my ears attune themselves, I lose myself. I knew it wasn’t a dream when I heard the first word from his mouth. I’d know that voice anywhere. But when my eyes finally focus on the towering figure standing at the front of the room, my eyes struggle. Gone are his long curly locks, and replacing them is a short and curly quiff. I try to ignore the somersaults my insides are doing, but it’s terribly difficult. 

Taking a deep breath, I savor listening to the words fall from those smiling cherry lips. In that slow, calming voice. Never being able to remain in one place, he paces around the front of the room slowly. Clad in a gray suit with a black button down, I slowly melt next to Ruby. Who from her choice of words, is doing about the same. Just in a less graphically described way than her. I can’t blame her, because somehow he has only gotten more handsome over the last year. 

“Isn’t he just so nice to look at?” she croons. 

“Oh yes,” I reply without thinking, and she sighs happily.

Simon groans in disgust, shaking his head. I see him out of the corner of my eye playing with the lead in his pencil. He tries to take it out in one piece before putting it back in. Rinse and repeat.  

I bite my lip and somehow tear my eyes away and to the paper sitting in front of me. I scribble my name across the top. Numbering my page, I write down the first ‘aha’ I have. 

1. Renowned lawyer with his own firm at 28. Almost unheard of. 

Tapping the pencil absently at my thigh, I return my attention to the front. Playing with the rings donning his hands, Harry continues with the story of how he came to be a lawyer. One I can’t say I’ve heard before. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he starts to walk again. Changing his focus from somebody in the front row, it suddenly floats up. 

And lands on me. 

Not only am I surprised, but so is he. The pencil between my fingers halts and altogether falls from my fingers. He stops mid sentence when his eyes lock with mine. My insides grow bubbly as a sparkle gleams in his eyes. I watch a grin unfold on his lips before he composes himself. 

Clearing his throat, he asks, “I-I’m sorry, can somebody uh remind me what I was sayin’?” 

Nervously, he combs a hand through his hair. Laughing, he thanks an eager girl in the front row when she reminds him. And soon enough, he’s back on track with a new nervousness to his voice, or excitement. I’m not sure which. And his eyes trail back to me after a few words, making a smile tickle at my lips. 

Although hard, I look away and pretend to think of something to write. Feeling another pair of eyes on me, I look over and find Ruby’s hot on my cheek. I shrug at her jealous look and she just shakes her head. I laugh under my breath and she kicks me under the table. 

I lose myself in Harry’s words for the rest of his talk, his maple syrupy voice like music to my ears. 

He talks about starting his law firm with Myles.

Some of his favorite cases.

His first case.

His worst case.

His hardest case.

And then he goes on to answer questions. Ruby and I aren’t the only ones fawning over him, because most of the class is as well. Some girls are really flirting it up with Harry. He just relishes in the flattery, to no surprise. I try not to notice the few times he peeks at me when he looks for somebody to call on with a question. 

“Why does he keep looking at you?” Ruby whispers to me as I write down another ‘aha.’ Some random takeaway from another story of his. 

“How am I supposed to know?” I reply, twiddling with my pencil when I’m done. “Why don’t you ask him a question already? I can see the ants in your pants, Rube.”

“I don’t know, I think her question would be if he was single,” Simon jokes, garnering a few curse words from Ruby. I quietly laugh between their hushed argument. 

“Well, ‘m gettin’ tha eye from Alcott, so I reckon that my time’s up with you lot. Thanks fer havin’ me an’ hopefully I wasn’t too boring t’ listen to,” Harry concludes at the front of the lecture hall. 

I pretend I don’t hear Simon’s griping next to me. I can’t help but smile as I slide my backpack onto my shoulders. 

“Not so fast, everybody. What do we say to Mr. Styles for speaking to our class today?” Professor Alcott pipes up. I join in on the class-wide thank you as I hand Ruby her pencil back. 

“I bet you’ll be awake and ready for Wednesday lectures from now on,” she says, winking at me. 

I roll my eyes with a grin as I start down the steps beside her. “Like you’re any better. I saw you both drooling from the corner of my eye,” Simon remarks. 

“Maybe,” I say quietly, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my pullover quarter zip. The last syllable falls from my lips as my eyes pan over to find his head of dark curls.

Nearly at the uppermost row, my view wasn’t the best. As I near closer to him, his features sharpen and with the realization, my heart squeezes in my chest. Light stubble coats his dimpled cheeks as he smiles talking to a classmate of mine. 

I’m only a few footsteps from the bottom now, following the slow line of people who are leaving. The angel and demon, for lack of better words, argue inside of my head. Should I go and say hi? 

Yeah, why not?

No, why would you?

It would be rude if you didn’t.

It would be weird if you did. 

But there are a handful of girls around him probably already flirting with him. 

With an indecisive sigh, I clench my fists inside of my pockets. The two opposites inside of me clash, and I truly have no idea what to do. His card the other day was so kind and thoughtful. But I was a bitch the last time I saw him. I can’t believe it’ll be a year in two short months since I quit. Wow. 

“I dunno why they’re bothering, it looks like he’s taken,” Simon snickers, earning a flick on the head from Ruby. “Don’t be a bitch just because I pointed out the truth. Can’t shoot the bloody messenger, Rube.” 

I don’t intervene when Ruby chases after Simon to the door. Suddenly my feet stop around the corner from the stairs. Only a few more steps and he’d be out of my sight. 

Again. 

For who knows how long until next time. 

I can’t take my eyes off of him. He really looks like he’s enjoying himself talking to law students. Up close, he really has grown more handsome over the last 11 months. I never thought that could be possible. Smiles crease his cheeks.And light up his eyes. 

But when his left hand habitually goes to fix his quiff of curls, I see the gold ring Simon saw. He wore rings, but never that one. It’s like my heart is brought up from the bottom of the lake where it’s been, and takes another nose dive back down.

“Becky!” somebody calls for me. I blink and almost think it’s him. But when I look around for the culprit, I find Simon walking up to me. 

I find it hard to squash the disappointment weighing inside of me. That it’s not Harry. 

“Sorry, Si. W-what’d you say?” I reply, tearing my eyes away from Harry. 

“Don’t look so sad he’s taken,” Si jokes quietly, putting an arm around me and squeezing my shoulder. I force a smile and walk to the door with him. “Wanna go get a coffee? Maybe that’ll cheer you up,” he suggests happily, his voice echoing in the hall to the door. 

“Yeah sure,” I respond slowly, unsure of my words. I let him guide me out of the lecture hall and into the busy hallways. 

Wow, Harry, you moved on from Amber that quick, huh? I think to myself with knitted brows and self-doubt. Swallowing, I try to push the nagging thought away. But I can’t, and I find myself barely able to carry on a conversation with Simon. 

I thought seeing Harry in my lecture was one of the sweetest surprises. Instead, it feels like a happy dream that turned into a nightmare at the end.