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vanchlo · 4 years ago

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The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Eight, “Almost There”

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Playlist

- *NEW* Hecky Blurb from The Sex Bucketlist Fic Challenge (currently an extra chapter)

- Becky Character Survey #2

- Harry Character Survey

Word Count: 7.4k words

Warnings: None

SNEAKKKKKKKK PEEEEEK

“At moments throughout the day, I could’ve cared less that I was being paid for all of this, because being in Harry’s presence for almost every second was rewarding enough. I got to remember the dark little freckles smattered across his face, the tan ones peppering his nose you can see if you’re close enough, and how utterly happy I feel being around him. He quickly felt like the sun and I was the orbiting planet, constantly around him and hanging onto his every word.”

Music Inspo: Sweet Tooth by Cavetown (click to listen)

P.S. - Talk about the most perfect gif up top of happy lawyer Harry c:

“I have a million things to talk to you about. A million things we have to talk about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.” - Haruki Murakami

“So, Hare, ya think she’ll like it?”

“I bloody hope so afta all tha cleanin’ and buyin’ new stuff,” I respond with a tired sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, sure there’s still dust clinging to me in places.

“We didn’t do any cleaning, you goon, the cleaning company we employ did,” Myles chuckles, bringing warmth to my cheeks. “I think we did good, though- I reckon you did good, seeing as you did most of the work, mate.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, taking a good look at the office that’s sat unused since the remodel.

“When’s her orientation with you, did you say?”

“This Friday,” I answer him, my hand wandering to my mouth where I bite at my fingernail, inspecting the clean office. Even after all of the work that’s been put into it ever since she was hired, I still doubt myself if Becks will like it. Will she like the desk that I chose, or the Merlot colored sofa against the wall, or the chair that I splurged on? She’s going to be the one spending time in here, not me, and I really want her to like it.

“Have you asked her out on that date yet?” Myles questions, stepping forward to adjust the black modern desk lamp, even though I’m sure she’ll move things around once she steps foot in here. I want her to change it to how she likes, just how she likes. Wait, what did he say?

“My’, what tha fook are ya goin’ on ‘bout?” I chuckle, holding out my hand in question to help me talk.

“What, mate? You’re wasting precious time here, you’ll be thirty in a few weeks. I thought we’d have kids and they’d be best mates by now.”

“Oh, shuddup, thirty isn’t that old, and no, I haven’t asked her out yet.”

“And why’s that? You said you ran into her at the supermarket last weekend, and you met her for dinner and drinks the Friday before. It sounds like you had plenty of opportunities, and once again, you didn’t take them,” he almost groans, opening a box of black pens that he pours into a tall black mug with ‘Styles & Lawson’ written on both the mug and the pens. It was his touch, not mine. I know Becks will hate it, she’ll find it gaudy. “Y’know I don’t care if you lot date, just keep it behind closed doors, is all I ask. Keep it professional.”

“‘s too soon, My. I know ‘s already a lot fer her t’ be startin’ a new job, ‘specially her first official lawyer job. I want her t’ get settled in first befo’ I do anythin’, and overwhelm her mo’. And I know, I wanna do all o’ it right.”

“That’s fair, Hare, but you better hurry up. I was telling Rory about her starting, and when he asked to see a photo, he couldn’t stop talking about how pretty she is,” he comments, breaking the box apart before tossing it in the empty bin, giggling.

“My’, don’t bloody encourage him. Rore’s a prick, tho’, even he knows it. She’d neva go fer him, anyways.”

“Are you gonna tell him how you feel about her then, y’know, so he doesn’t try anything?” Myles continues, walking behind Becks’ ‘Autumn Cherry Mahogany’ desk, pushing in the chair as he does a once over.

“I reckon I should, if tha idiot keeps quiet ‘bout it, which’d be a bloody wonder in itself. Watch him try t’ gimme relationship advice, as if he’s had a girlfriend lately fer longa than two weeks.”

Myles chuckles at that, tapping a pen against the desk barren besides the lamp, pens, a desk calendar, and the phone. I laugh along with him, turning around to glance at the wooden shelves that look rather pathetic with the few law books claiming them, but that’s the last thing on my to do list. I reckon she’ll want to add some of her own, anyways.

“You’re really going to leave the walls empty besides that bloody shelf and clock? It looks sad in here.”

“I told ya ‘m gonna let her pick out some prints, and tha firm will pay fer ‘em. There’s no use in buyin’ sumthin’ that she’ll end up not likin’, My. Oh, and tha rug ‘s s’posed t’ come in t’morrow, as is tha new iMac that one o’ Asher’s blokes will set up,” I repeat with a roll of my eyes, forgetting the books and finding him straightening the violet-colored clock on the wall.

“The firm is paying for it, is that right? Jeepers, Harry, she’s making you all soft again. I can’t complain though, because it means you’re far nicer to me for a change.”

“Shuddup,” I giggle, plucking a new pen from her desk to launch at him. “Ya I dunno, she has tho’ and I don’t really mind it. I guess ‘m used t’ it, but it was hard in tha beginnin’.”

“It’s a good thing, really, I mean it. Oh, by the way, did you let her know she needs to frame her degree to hang up in here? Preferably behind her desk,” he questions, turning to point to the eggshell-colored walls that were painted months ago, the exact shade of all of our offices.

“Thanks fer tha reminda. ‘ll hafta text her ‘bout it, I forgot.”

“Yeah, you can thank me for a good excuse to text her,” he grins, his hands falling from the clock until his attention is captured by something else. “Also, why’d you buy a bloody plant? Does she even like them, or know how to take care of them?”

“I dunno, she mentioned once she likes succulents, and there’s a huge ass window right there t’ give it sun, so ya jus’ need t’ water it,” I snicker, pointing to the floor to ceiling window taking up the wall across from her door, like all of the offices. “‘s some kinda succulent, I can’t rememba. I figured she’d like it, but thanks fer yer bloody vote o’ confidence, Mr. Lawson.”

“You’ll get my ‘bloody vote of confidence’ when you fucking finally ask her out, Hare. ‘s been two years, mate,” he insists, flicking the light off as I step out into the hallway.

“I know, My, ya think I don’t bloody know that?”

“I don’t know, Harry, but y’know how I feel about second chances. They don’t come around again, and you got one, so use it wisely and quickly,” he tells me, wagging a finger at me as he closes the door before walking off.

“I know, but I don’t wanna screw it up,” I whisper in defeat to none other than myself, messing with the silver rose ring on my left hand, just as my eyes pan over to the frosted glass door. At the sight of her full name etched into the door, my heart does a jump, from nerves and excitement. “See ya soon, Becks,” I finish softly, patting her name carved into the glass, a bubbly warmth filling my insides with anticipation.

I dunno how much longer I can wait for her.

“Alrighty, then let’s start with’a tour. Follow me right this way, Ms. Holte,” Harry says, leading me out of his office and can I say, giving me a perfect view of his gorgeous bum. Now, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed a bit, I decide silently as I take a quick glance around his office.

“Please stop with the Ms. Holte thing, it’s weird,” I giggle, watching him close his door behind him, and he winks at me.

“What, how come? Yer a lawyer now, Becks, ya gotta be all formal.”

“See, that name sounds much better, doesn’t it?” I tease him, and he shakes his head with a grin.

“I admit it does, but y’know yer gonna hafta decide what ya want people t’ call you. Rebecca, Becky, Ms. Holte, etcetera. But fer formal proceedings, like during cases you’ll be Ms. Holte, so ya betta get used t’ it.”

“Yeah, Ms. Holte isn’t happening if I can help it, it makes me feel old. I’m not a bloody teacher or something,” I remark and he nods his head, his fingers getting lost in his curls as he stops.

“Very true. Well t’ begin our tour, yer familiar with this hallway as it’s tha main one. My office is behind us at tha very end, Myles is down and on tha right as y’know, then Rose’s ‘s on tha left,” he explains by pointing a long finger in different directions, the pink nail polish from last weekend almost entirely gone. I guess Harper needs to give him a touch up, or I could. God, I wish. “Rory’s office ‘s down that way t’ tha right o’ mine, as ‘s Jennings as y’know. Mick’s ‘s down tha way afta his, then Gwen’s, Tate’s, Holly’s, Connor’s- Y’know what, let’s jus’ go and say hi t’ ‘em, I reckon that’ll be easier fer you t’ make sense o’ it all. I was plannin’ t’ introduce ya t’ e’rybody anyways, so we’ll see who’s here t’day and not stuck inn’a case.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I hum, unsure of how good of a job I’m doing masking my anxiousness, it’s hard to tell.

Evidently, I’m not doing that great of a job, because when Harry looks to his left at me, it’s fair game. “‘s okay, Becks, don’t worry. They’ll all love you too,” he smiles, patting my arm, calming me down and exciting me at the same time with his words and touch.

“God, I’m an open book, aren’t I?”

“Eh, I dunno really. I guess ‘m jus’ good at readin’ ya by now,” he responds with a short wink before stopping in front of another frosted glass door. After a short knock, the door opens and like every other time, I’m amazed by her fiery red hair. “Hey, Rose, ‘m not interruptin’, am I?”

“No, Harry, you’re not,” Rose answers, hanging onto her door, and I watch her eyes pan over to me. “Hi, Becky! I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you, love?”

“I’m good, thanks. How have you been, Rose?”

“Eh, I’ve been better, it’s not easy working for this guy. You should get out while you still can,” she answers teasingly, nodding her head over to Harry.

“Hey, don’t say that! ‘m givin’ her tha tour right now, ya don’t wanna scare her away already, Rose!” he scoffs jokingly, and quickly we’ve left him behind with our laughing that he doesn’t partake in.

“Quiet down, Harry, she’s come back for seconds so she must know how to deal with you by now,” she quips, looking over to me with a blushing smile. Oh, I’m liking it better and better the longer I’m here.

“God, I hope so,” I joke, spending a nervous laugh at the end of my words and so does everybody else, although in a self-deprecating way.

“I’m glad you’re back though, Becky. It’s so great to have you a part of the lawyer team now.”

“Thank you, Rose. I’m really happy to be a part of it too,” I answer shyly, and when I look over to Harry he’s wearing that sunshine smile again that I’d gladly look into, even if it blinded me.

“Thanks fer yer time, Rose, we’ll be movin’ along t’ meet e’rybody else now. There’ll be a formal meetin’ her first day t’ properly introduce e’rybody tho’,” Harry says, patting her on the shoulder before we move on.

We make our way down the hallway, and then soon reunite with Jennings, which wasn’t the best reunion per say after how he treated me at times.

“Don’t worry, I told him he has t’ be on his best behavior ‘round you,” Harry comments with a warm smile, doing a good job at smoothing over any bumps I feel in the road, like he so often does.

A few of the lawyers were gone for the day, including Gwen and Mickey who I’ve yet to hear anything about or meet. I got to meet Holly, Connor, Tate, and Brien who were all very kind. It was nerve wracking, but they were easy to talk to, and it was neat to see their difference in ages, their characters, and their offices. As for those we missed, Harry said I’d meet them the next time when I have my first official day.

“And this ‘s Rory, which requires a bit o’ prep fer meetin’ him, he can be a lot t’ handle sumtimes,” Harry prefaces, stopping in front of the ajar door, but his face falls when he peeks in, saying it’s empty. “‘m not bloody surprised, I can neva find tha idiot when I need him.”

“Looking for me, Harold?” a voice calls, pulling our attention down the hall and towards the lobby. I can almost see where my desk used to be from here, almost.

“Oh, so he can call you Harold, but I can’t?”

“No, neitha can he, he jus’ thinks he’s funny. He’s prolly tryna show off fer you,” he comments, cocking his head to the side as he looks at this Rory fellow questioningly. “Y’know I don’t like bein’ called that, Rore.”

“And what do I care?” Rory replies, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he approaches us, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Ooooo, who is this lovely lass?”

“Rory, this ‘s Ms.- I mean, Becky Holte, ‘ve told you ‘bout our new associate,” Harry explains, pointing his elbow to me as his hands sit in his pockets. Slowly with each new introduction, I’ve noticed Harry resume his professionalism, but it feels stronger whenever he says my name. It’s a little hard to get used to after all of the moments we’ve shared over the last two years, but I know that I’ll have to get used to working with him again, and all that it entails.

“Ah, so this is Becky,” Rory smiles, stepping forward to put out his hand as his eyes flit to Harry. With a confused look on my face, I take it and he shakes my hand with his other covering mine. My eyes race to Harry next with a question, but his are stuck to Rory’s with an annoyed expression. “I’ve heard loads about you, love. Welcome to the firm, we’re all happy to have you here working with us. I know Harry is especially.”

“Um, thank you, Rory. I’m excited to be here.”

He nods before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks and sauntering off, loud music soon coming from his office.

“He’s uh, different,” I comment slowly, looking over my shoulder as we walk away.

“Ya, he’s a prat ‘s what he ‘s,” Harry comments quickly, rubbing a knuckle along his hairy chin.

“So, you told your colleagues that you’re happy I’m back?”

“Perhaps,” he shrugs, saying it like he’s not sure of his answer either, but I take it and I run with it. “Perhaps very much so,” he finishes just as his steps cease in front of another closed door. I don’t get the chance to read the name on it, because quickly he’s opening it, and it’s already hard to tear my eyes away from him after he said that. Who do you think you are just saying that kind of stuff and not expecting me to freak out? It gets even worse when he finally meets my eyes with the cheekiest grin sitting there, waiting for me.

“Wow, this is a really nice office. It even smells good, like palo santo or something,” I comment, taking a step into the immaculate looking space. The room is lit up when Harry flips the light switch, bathing the shining desk in light, as well as the wine-colored sofa against the wall to my right. “Look at that view! Dang, whoever’s office this is sure is lucky. They even have a cute little plant on their desk, awe. Whose office is this, anyways? I don’t want to intrude, or anything,” I say, fawning over the cozy room and even how there’s two little tasseled pillows sitting on the sofa. When I bring my eyes back to Harry, he’s leaning against the door frame, arms and legs crossed amongst his tall body. In his eyes sits a tale that I can see he’s itching to tell, a sparkle in his eye.

“Consider yerself lucky, Becks, this ‘s yer new office,” he grins, his cheeks disappearing when the smile almost reaches his ears.

“Shut up!” I exclaim, my hands flying to my mouth as I look at the room in a new light, per say. “I get my own office? I didn’t even think I’d need one, since I’ll always be in yours. Harry, you shouldn’t have!” I sigh happily, hands falling as my eyes start to water.

“‘Course you’ll have yer own office, Becks. I mean ya, you’ll be with me in mine loads, but sumtimes we’re bound t’ get sick o’ each otha,” he says, lifting his crossed arms in a shrug as if they hold words as well. My head falls to the side as I look at him, telling him silently he’s stupid for saying that, and he giggles because he’s just too good at reading me. It’s going to be a long time before I get sick of him again. A very long time. “It’ll happen, I promise ya that. But sumtimes ‘ll be in partner meetings or sumthin’, and ya can do yer research and prep fer tha cases in here. Also, I wanted ya t’ have yer own space since ‘s no fun bein’ stuck in me office starin’ at tha same four walls all day long. And I know ya didn’t really have yer own space befo’ at yer old desk, and ya should’ve,” he completes eloquently, always knowing what to say and how to say it. I hope he can teach me how to do that, because I’m really going to need it. For more than one occasion, and both inside and outside of this firm.

I want to hug him so badly I can’t stand it, because the gratitude and happiness bubbling to the surface yell at me to, and he just looks so cute standing over there so proud of himself. The whole rule about being professional that stuck to me again the second I got off the lift comes back to me, and holds me back from surprising him with a bear hug. Boy, is it hard, and it gets even harder when I don’t see him trying to give me one, either.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” I almost blurt out, wishing for that eloquent speech trait once again.

“Thanks, bug, I try. ‘m really glad ya like it, really. I have a few sites ya can look at when ya have tha time t’ pick out some prints fer yer walls. Oh, and yer welcome t’ bring in any books ya’d like t’ place on yer shelf and anythin’ else fer that matta, ‘s all yers. All of it,” and with the sunshine smile leaking through in those words, the first tear falls onto my cheek and I couldn’t even care. “Hey, don’t cry, bug. C’mere, come gimme a hug.”

“But I have to be professional, and employees don’t hug their boss.”

“Hush, li’l one. ‘m not yer boss anymo’, ‘m yer colleague,” he contends shrugging, removing an arm from where it’s crossed over his chest to wave me over to him.

“A mentee shouldn’t hug their mentor,” I continue, the next tear falling as indecisiveness buzzes inside of me.

“Rebecca Ann Holte,” Harry insists firmly, and this one triumphs all others. It hurts more than any other, brings back the most memories, and makes the happy tears come even faster. And shit, does it get me going. “Come ova here and hug me, now,” he giggles with a finger pointing to the floor, and I swear it’s the best song I’ve ever heard in this whole entire world, next to the very words he just spoke.

But I can’t get my feet to wake up and in a blink he’s moving over to me with that sunshine smeared all over his face. I feel it cover my body when his long arms come around me, pulling my face against his chest.

“I don’t like my full name,” I confess into his button down, hoping I’m not smearing my blubbering makeup all over it.

“I do, ‘s pretty . . but I like ‘Becks’ betta. Yer my Becks,” he hums from above me, running miles up and down my back with his large hands. His hugs that can fix everything and anything.

“I’m sorry I always cry.”

“‘s okay, bug, ya don’t gotta apologize. I know it means yer really happy,” he muses, eliciting a quick nod from me that sings a happy giggle from above. “‘m so happy ya like it, I worked so hard onnit coz I wanted ya t’ love it.”

“You did all of this?!”

“Well, with a li’l help from me friends, ‘course,” he titters, the sound heard under my ears and overhead. His name leaves my lips in an amazed sigh and he only laughs harder. “Think that means ya like it, hmm, Becks?”

“Yes, I love it, Harry. All of this,” I answer, finding handfuls of his silky blazer in my hands, and his peppery vanilla scent. Too afraid of ruining his shirt, I back up and let go of him, wiping under my eyes embarrassingly.

“Alright?” he hums softly, brushing the hair away from my face and behind my ear. Even just his finger brushing my ear gets me going. Good God, Harry. “Here, lemme look.”

I oblige after doing most of the work and meeting his eyes that I swear I could melt looking into, and I should know because I have so many times. The happiness pours into me at the thought of getting to do it day after day, for as long as I like. Kind of.

“Doesn’t look too bad. Ya still look like me pretty Becks, but don’t wantcha cryin’, haven’t even been here an hour, love.”

“Oh, you knew I was going to cry when I saw the office,” I laugh and his quickly falls behind, tickling my ears.

“Ya, I admit I knew,” he titters and I playfully push at his chest, suddenly kicking myself for ending that hug so soon, unsure of the next time I’ll get one. “Well, shall we keep goin’ with this tour, or ya need anotha minute, bug?”

“I’m okay,” I answer and he nods.

“If ya say so, Boops,” he chirps, brushing the tip of his finger against my nose cheekily. “C’mon, ya have plenty o’ time t’ check this place out. I wanna show ya tha new law library, ‘s a real treat.” I follow his lead, even with tear streaks down my cheeks, because I know that if I’m by his side I’ll always be okay.

Well, so much for that whole ‘being a professional thing’, huh, Mr. Styles? He sure threw that out the door just now, as well as a few more doubts I had about the way he feels about me. Goodness gracious, I’m in real trouble.

I can’t wait.

At moments throughout the day, I could’ve cared less that I was being paid for all of this, because being in Harry’s presence for almost every second was rewarding enough. I got to remember the dark little freckles smattered across his face, the tan ones peppering his nose you can see if you’re close enough, and how utterly happy I feel being around him. He quickly felt like the sun and I was the orbiting planet, constantly around him and hanging onto his every word. Luckily, I was able to do a lot of staring, since I’m familiar with the firm and could tune out at times. He still gave me the grand tour which was a little different at times due to the remodel. I realized there was a post room that I had totally forgotten about, although I’m not sure how.

Harry made it fun, like he always does, but I noticed that he was ‘Boss Harry’ today. At times, he kept the personal talk to a minimum when there was stuff to get done, especially after the scene that unfolded in my office. God, I can’t believe any of what happened in there, and I try not to think about it, because I know I won’t be able to handle it. I called him ‘Mr. Styles’ on a few occasions and I think he liked the sound of it too. Fortunately, for my sake, he only remembered my last name aloud a few more times, because I think we’re both uncomfortable with anything besides ‘Becks.’ But I wouldn’t want it any other way, and I quickly realized that, when that’s how he introduced me to his- well my new colleagues before correcting himself. He really is just the cutest.

“I didn’t dump too much on ya t’day, did I?” Harry asks with a sunny smile, falling down onto the sofa across from me.

“It’s debatable,” I shrug softly with an added laugh, my hand diving into the cloth bag sat between us.

“Hey, I did me best,” he pouts, pulling up his pastel slacks to get comfy, crossing his legs in front of me. Goodness, I really wish he wouldn’t, because it is the best and worst view I’ve ever seen. He looks too damn fine in those pants that hug him in all of the right places, fuck. Fuck me.

I’m sure you want him to, Becky.

Go away, demon, I’ve got this handled.

Pfffft, yeah right.

“I hope ya didn’t cheat while I was in tha loo,” he remarks, pulling his lips inwards to make a popping sound with his mouth, just like that part in Shrek 2 where Donkey does it in the carriage.

“I would not! I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“Oh, I trust ya, Becks, jus’ not when it comes t’ Scrabble,” he quips, dropping several tiles onto the thick cardstock board. I hold back a comeback comment as I watch him build off my word, forming one of his one.

H O T D O G

A devilish laugh leaves his cherry lips as I pluck my pre-chosen tiles from my rack. Meanwhile, he adds up his new points aloud and tallies them up.

“What kinda prints are ya gonna buy fer yer office, y’think?” he mumbles, the pen scratching against the yellow legal pad in his lap, doing one good thing, which is covering it from my prying gaze.

“I’m not sure yet, do you have any good suggestions?” I reply, turning over a D that had gotten flipped over, lining up my tiles from his G.

G O O D B Y E

“Nice long one, bug, and I dunno. ‘ve accumulated mine ova tha years, and they’re mostly prints o’ artists I love.”

“Yeah, I see that,” I respond, lifting my eyes to his spacious office that still surprises me with how different it does and doesn’t look from before.

As he said, more framed prints cover his walls. Before, he only had a Rolling Stones black and white picture above the sofa we sit on. Now, he has one of The Beatles from their Sgt Pepper launch party, a print of Mick Fleetwood and Stevie Nicks on the cover of Rumors, a smiling portrait of Cat Stevens playing guitar, and a moody photo of Simon and Garfunkel. The shelf above us is also brimming with new books, including biographies of previously mentioned musicians, and even Uncle-ing for Dummies.

“I like them. Maybe I’ll frame some favorite sheet music of mine, I have no idea,” I joke with uncertainty, finding his smiling eyes across from me, lifting from the pad of paper.

“There’s no rush, Becks, ya got loads o’ time t’ decorate. I jus’ wantcha t’ be at home in yer new office. I mean, ‘m still decoratin’ and ‘s been ova five years,” he comments, setting the pad to the side. “Don’t forget t’ pull new tiles, love.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder. It’s just weird, but in a good way, because I’ve never had my own office,” I say, reaching my hand into the bag and feeling the cool tiles once again.

“‘Course it’d be weird, ‘s sumthin’ new, but you’ll get used t’ it. ‘m sure you’ll figure out how t’ make it yer own, ya deserve it,” he exhales, his hands folded together against his mouth as he stares at the board intently.

“Thank you, you’re right . . The tiles aren’t going to arrange themselves if you stare that hard. You do know that, right?”

“Yes, Ms. Holte, ‘m well aware, thank you. Bloody hell, already feelin’ like we’re a hotshot coz we’re a lawyer now, are we?” he tuts teasingly, dropping his hands to his rack as he flits his eyes to me with a toothy grin.

“I am not, and watch the name, or no brownies for you!”

“Fine,” he sighs, his bottom lip catching between his teeth as he contemplates his move, but his focus is lost when his phone dings.

I try not to intrude, but the look on his face feeds my curiosity, and when his expression does a three-sixty and then another, I can’t look away. He doesn’t share anything though, just types back a brief reply to whoever and returns his attention to the game board. I try to do the same, planning my next attack on the board, but it’s futile because the worry I feel for him creeps up again like it so often does.

“Got any big plans fer t’night?” he muses aloud, laying down the ceramic tiles he’s chosen to form a short word off of my E.

B A K E

“Nah, just finally finishing New Girl after procrastinating it for the last few years. It’s always sad when a show ends.”

“Ah, guess yer busy then, nevamind,” Harry comments, adding up my points aloud before jotting them down. Wait, sir, you can’t just tease that at me. Well, whatever that is.

“Mr. Styles, what ever do you mean?” I ask calmly, placing heavy emphasis on his formal name, one that started as a joke but now I’m liking it more than I’d care to admit.

He doesn’t say anything right away, because of course. He just busies himself by picking out new letters and organizing his rack of tiles. I forgot about my new word long ago, because if I’m honest at least to myself, as soon as the short-hand had reached the three on the clock, I was already feeling melancholy. Now, no fewer than fifteen minutes of my orientation day remains, and the aching in my chest has only kept reminding me that I have to leave him soon. Talk about distracting.

“I mean t’ say, my sista had t’ cancel dinna coz Harper’s sick. So, how d’ya feel about dinna and drinks round two?” he suggests, finally meeting my eyes with his that have a little bit more sparkle to them.

“I’d love to, Harry. Maybe I could get that motorcycle ride already,” I comment, flitting my eyes over to the metallic gold helmet sitting on the edge of his organized desk.

“Maybe ya could, Becks,” he chirps after seeing where I’m looking. That sticky smile winds its way up his face, and finds the hole in the armor around my heart.

Am I in trouble with this man, or what? Fuck yes I am, and I can’t wait to dive right in.

The January day could be warmer, but it could also be colder, and yet with Harry by my side I don’t even notice. We both ditch our bags in my car for the time being, and suddenly I question a few things, mostly the intelligence of this idea seeing as what I’m wearing.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say, voicing my concerns aloud and I regret it immediately when Harry looks over to me quickly, the disappointment building on his face.

“Oh, that’s alright, we don’t hafta, love.”

“No, I’m talking about the motorcycle ride. I want to, but I’m wearing heels,” I shrug giggling and he nods softly, biting his lip as a thought buds in his eyes. “Oh wait, I think I have trainers in my car somewhere from that one yoga class I went to years ago.”

I hear his delightful laugh in the corners of my mind as I pop open the boot of my car, grateful to my past self for cleaning it once, whenever the last time that was.

“Y’know, ‘m I eva gonna be able t’ get ya t’ go t’ a yoga class with me one o’ these days?”

“Most likely not, if you want my honest answer,” I tell him and he chuckles, but I hear the sadness in it. It goes both ways, being able to read each other like an open book. We may not open ourselves to other people that way, but I think we had let the other person in long before we can remember.

“Here they are!” I exclaim once I locate the old black shoes, soon taking a seat on the edge of my silver car. Harry chirps a ‘good’ as he unbuckles the black leather box on the far back of the motorcycle seat, pulling out a matte black helmet.

I’m reminded of the bitter cold through the thin fabric of my black dress pants that I tuck into my long socks, although it looks dorky.

“Nice socks,” he jokes, lips sputtering with a laugh as I approach him.

“Shush,” I retort playfully, fastening the last few buttons of my long violet peacoat.

“Lookin’ good, Becks.”

“Oh, I know, very motorcycle chic,” I agree jokingly, taking the helmet from him that he holds out to me.

I slide it over my wavy dark curls, and lift my chin to the ceiling of the parking ramp to try and fasten the clasp. After several seconds of trying, I still can’t get it. I grow anxious when I hear the thrum of the engine come to life.

“Okay, I’ve ridden with Robbie on his bike so many times, and I can still never get these stupid helmets buckled. Can you help me, please?” I ask, my hands falling with a sigh to find him zipping up his bulky North Face, a gray hood from his sweatshirt falling over his back.

“‘Course, love,” he snickers, and I know he’s just enjoying watching me struggle. “Didn’t know ya were familiar with bikes, kinda disappointed ‘m not givin’ ya yer first ride.”

“If it’s any consolation it’s my first ride in years, and anything will be better than riding with Robbie. He’s scary on that thing.”

“Don’t worry, ‘m a good driver with anythin’ that’s not a shopping cart. Here, lemme help,” he says softly, his brown leather Chelsea boots echoing on the cement ground as he nears me. The closer he gets, the more my heart starts to race in anticipation for the next moment, and it feels like it stops altogether when I feel the guitar calloused pads of his fingers on my chin. “Lift yer head, please.”

“Yeah, I guess you were a good driver the few times I’ve ridden with you in your Rover.”

“‘Course I was, and ‘m jus’ gonna ignore how yer bein’ a sarcastic li’l ass ‘bout it,” he quips, pulling a laugh from my lips. No longer can I stare at the ceiling or the top of the helmet, and so I finally look to him through the partition although nervously. “Here, I think I almost got it,” he announces, a tune soon flowing from his lips that he hums. Again, it’s that same song that I can never figure out and it’s driving me nuts, but just hearing him hum it makes my heart slow down and relax. I don’t even know why, I guess because I’ve heard it so many times now, and he can relax me without hardly trying. When it comes to touching him, it seems to excite me in a nervous way right from the get go.

Somehow, I had forgotten how dark and long his eyelashes are as they flutter against his skin while he focuses on fastening the strap under my chin. His tongue dots across his lips at times until his bottom lip becomes trapped between his teeth, his thick brows falling in concentration. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen anything cuter, but then the brisk wind catches his curls, again I’m uncertain.

“Don’t focus too hard now,” I tease him as the strap tightens under my chin. His features relax with a grin that doesn’t return a comment.

“There ya go, love,” he says, his warm vanilla touch falling away from me and he smiles as he pats the top of my helmet. “Oh here, almost forgot these.”

“What?” I answer, following him over to the bike as I lock my car, shoving my keys into the pocket of my coat. With his back to me, he plucks something from the leather bag of sorts and turns around, placing a pair of suede black gloves in my hands.

“Sorry, they’re prolly a bit large on ya, but ‘s betta than nuthin’,” he explains, and I only answer with a nod, watching him pull on a similar pair. “Ya still wanna do this?”

“By all means,” I agree aloud enthusiastically, stopping at the side of the gleaming black Harley. For some reason, it impresses me even more how the bike reminds me of how good he takes care of his things.

Now, I know I’m really falling.

“Hop on behind me then,” Harry instructs, swinging a long leg over the Harley to take a seat. My, was that a sight. I do as he says and settle onto the cushiony seat behind him, trying to ignore the bitter cold seeping in through my pants, but I’m sure he’s dealing with the same thing. “Ya warm enough, love?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him over the engine.

“Yeah, besides my bum, but what can you do?”

He chuckles with an agreeing nod, “Can ya find tha little footpegs with yer feet? Yer feet need t’ go on there and stay there, don’t wan’ ‘em touchin’ any otha parts o’ tha bike that’re hot.”

“Yeah, let me see,” I mumble, looking down and soon finding the little silver footrests. “Found them.”

“Good, now how does gnocchi soup ova on ninth sound?”

“Sounds great. I can’t remember the last time I was there,” I answer with a smile, wishing he could see it, and that I could see his. But I find that I can’t complain when I feel him grab my hands in each one of his, pulling them forward and around his middle to rest on his stomach.

“Neither can I, now that I think o’ it.”

“How come?” I wonder aloud.

“Dunno, jus’ wasn’t tha same without ya there, Becks . . . Gotta hold onto me, ‘kay? ‘s notta very long ride, but that way we won’t get too cold goin’ jus’ ova there. Ya can fold her hands togetha too, if ya like,” Harry instructs, and I’m uncertain how many of his words I just heard after the very thing he just did. Shit, can’t I get a warning when you’re going to touch me? I need to prepare myself for something like that.

“O-Okay.”

“Alright?” he asks softly, projecting his voice over the loud rumble of the engine.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” I answer, my eyes dipping to the space in between us on the seat that I can’t get myself to close, no matter how much I’d like to.

“‘Kay, we’re gonna leave inna sec then. But if ya need anythin’ just, I dunno, pat my chest or sumthin’ since it’ll be loud. I won’t go very fast tho’. Hopefully I don’t have t’ do too much t’ be a betta driver than Robbie.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” I comment and we both laugh before I hear the click of the kickstand lifting, and then the weight of the bike resting on its two wheels.

“Ready, bug?” he asks, sitting forward a little to settle his hands on the handlebars.

“Yeah!” I call out to him, grabbing onto the front of his coat and feeling him under my touch, but the shyness keeps me from feeling more of him. It always manages to keep me from getting closer to him, all throughout the last few years.

He nods in front of me and within seconds he backs out of the parking spot slowly, then pulls down the aisle with a rumble of the engine. Luckily, we meet few cars in the parking ramp and soon we’re joining traffic. Harry was right, he is a good driver and already a better one than Robbie on his motorcycle. I can’t keep count of how many times over the years he’s made me feel safe so effortlessly, and once again he’s done it, and it only makes me fall harder.

Harry’s long legs come to sit on the tarmac when we approach a red light, but it quickly switches to green and he turns, the engine purring beneath us. The wind whips past us, but the helmet helps with some of it and so do his borrowed gloves that do indeed swallow my hands. They’re warm and cozy inside, likened to the feeling consuming my chest in this moment.

I’m not sure if I’d admit it to him, but this is the most fun I’ve had on a motorcycle ride before, although again it’s not that hard to beat the past rides I’ve taken part in. Somehow albeit unsurprisingly, this makes me find him all the more sexy as he drives us safely through town and expertly. The only thing that could make it better is getting to rest my head on his back, or in the crook of his neck. Despite knowing he wouldn’t mind, I refrain. Louder in my mind is the desire to scooch forward and have my chest against his back, but that too seems too intimate and it kills me to stay away.

“How ya doin’, bug?” Harry calls over the noisy traffic and engine when we come to another red light.

“Good, thanks!”

“Glad t’ hear. Are ya warm enough?” he continues, the bike stilling when he places his feet on the road.

“Yeah,” I answer, never sure if I’m speaking not loud enough or too loud.

“‘Kay. Ya don’t hafta be so far away y’know. I don’t bite, Becks,” Harry comments lightheartedly. “Scooch closer t’ me, you’ll be warmer that way.”

I nod, again feeling stupid because he wouldn’t know the difference if I nodded or shook my head. I oblige and close the distance between us like I’ve been itching to do, soon feeling the warmth from his body against my front.

“There ya go, ‘s that betta?” he says, patting my knee, once again scaring me in a good way. I respond with a short affirmation and a comment about how warm he is, and his head moves up and down. “Good, you’ll help me stay warm too, y’know. Ya’ve always been like a li’l heater.”

I’m not sure if he hears my laugh, but I’m okay if he doesn’t, because this is all more than enough. It’s just enough to be with him, and now behind him on his bike resting against his back with my arms around his middle, I don’t know how I could ever have anything to complain about. But then I remember all of the things I want with him, and how they’re just an arm’s reach away and not again for nine days. I smile sadly against the inside cushioning of the helmet, assuring myself that I’m getting closer to that with every day that passes, and that not even a month ago I never would’ve believed where I’d be today.

“Almost there, Becks,” Harry tells me over his shoulder as he returns his feet in front of mine while the traffic moves ahead.

“Yeah, we’re almost there, Harry, after all of this time. Almost,” I mumble aloud, the words dancing across his back and taken away by the wind.

Maybe he heard me, and if he did I don’t care, because we’re so close. I can’t help but wonder if he thinks it too.

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heller-obama · 5 years ago

Text

Operation Newsboy

Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, things are heating up in this fic

It’s still smol but plot development *jazz hands*

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 3

Warnings: still nothing except Race smoking a cigar (things heat up next chapter I promise)

Words: 1,187

Editing: a lot plus grammarly (I got 20 newsies slang words marked grammatically incorrect this time)

***#***

When Jack came to, he was sitting against the wall, his bag of newspapers on his lap.

“Hey. Hey. Are you awake?” A kid was standing in front of Jack. The kid was wearing hand-me-down-looking clothes. Jack groaned. “Oh, you’re awake!” He said. He offered a hand to pull Jack up, and Jack took it, standing up and groaning.

“Aw, feels like a herd of horses been tramplin’ my head,” Jack muttered.

The kid smiled. “I know what that feels like.”

“Who-who is ya?” Jack stumbled, and the kid put Jack’s arm around his shoulder.

“I’m Wally,” the kid, Wally, said.

“I’m Jack.” Wally bit back the urge to say ‘I know.’

“Do you have a place to go? A home, or—”

“The only home I’s got is the Lodge.”

“Can you give me directions?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The two boys kept walking down the street, Jack stumbling every so often.

Finally, they made it to a building with a sign that said ‘Newsboy Lodging House’ in large letters.

“This is it,” Jack said. Wally unhooked Jack from around his shoulder, then opened the door. Before Jack went inside the Lodge door completely, he turned to Wally. “Hey, do youse got a place to sleep?”

“Uh, does the park count?”

“No. Come in. We’s got a bed for ya. I think.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Wally said. He didn't think it'd actually be that easy to get an in with the newsies, but here he was. They went inside, trying to find a bed for Wally. It was relatively easy, considering the rest of the boys were still out there selling papers.

“Eh, no problem. Ey, how’s ‘bout you come with me, tomorrow, to sell the papes? Unless you’s got a job.”

“I don’t have a job, but I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Eh, no trouble! Weasel makes more money the more papes he sells to the newsies.” The two boys stopped near a clean bed. “Ah, here’s a bed for youse. It’s next to the door to the roof, but—”

“It’s a bed. Better than where I thought I’d be sleeping tonight.” Secretly, Wally was ecstatic. He knew that Jack slept on the roof, and this was as close as he could get.

“Good. Youse got anything to put down? Somethin’ to mark ya spot?” Jack asked.

“I-I got my hat.” He said. It was just a newsie cap.

“Yeah, no, that’s gonna get stolen.”

“You steal each others’ stuff?” Wally asked in disbelief.

“Mostly for jokes or somethin’. The boys always gives it back. Usually.” He added quietly.

Suddenly, the door banged open. “Is anyone here?” Someone called.

“Crutchie!” Jack called. “We’s up here!”

After a few minutes, and a few muffled thumps, a kid of about fifteen with shaggy blond hair and a crutch staggered up the stairs.

“Hey, Jack!” The blond boy, Crutchie, said. “Who’s the new kid?”

“This is Wally. He needs a spot to sleep. And work.” Jack said. “Oh, yeah, Crutchie!” He said like he was just remembering something. “Today, when I's was sellin’ papes, two random guys came up to me to buy a paper!”

“That’s your job, Jack.” Crutchie teased him, his face deadpan.

“Yeah, but the first guy gave me a quarter! All I’s did was hawk the headline!”

“No way!” Crutchie breathed, his eyes as big as, well, quarters.

“Yeah! And the second man, he gaves me a dollar! A dollar!” Wally could guess at who the two guys were.

“Aw, Jack, it’s just you’s pale, pitiful mug that sells all the papes,” Crutchie said teasingly, and they gave each other a high five.

After a few minutes of joking about the people they conned, Crutchie stood up. “Hey, the boys said they was goin’ to Jacobi’s afta sellin’. You comin’?”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Who’s Jacobi?” Wally asked.

“Oh, Mr. Jacobi runs the deli. He lets us hang out there before he lets his customers in.”

“Cool. What d’you do, perform large dance numbers or something?” Wally meant it as a joke, and then quickly realized he was being too proper. “I mean, like, dance crazy dances?”

Jack and Crutchie shared a look. “Eh, occasionally.”

Wally was gaping at them. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Lead the way, Captain Jack,” Wally said.

***#*** Wally watched, trailing a bit behind Crutchie, Jack as pushed the door open to Jacobi’s Deli, where a few of the newsies were already waiting.

“Afternoon, gents!” A tall kid with blonde hair and a cigar sticking out of his mouth called. “Who’s the new kid?”

Wally raised his hand in a small wave. “I’m, uh, Wally.” Truthfully, he was a bit put out with the fact that a teen-aged kid just had a giant cigar in his mouth.

The kid smirked. “What’s the matter? Ain’t youse sure?”

“I—” Wally began, but Jack saved him from complete embarrassment.

“Ah, Race, lay offa’ ‘im. Your ugly mug is enough to scare anyone.”

The kid, Race, put an exaggerated hand over his heart. “Why, Jack, youse say that to all the fellas, don’tcha?”

“Just for youse, Race,” Jack replied.

Crutchie limped off somewhere, talking to some other boys.

The boys stayed there for hours, joking, teasing, and yes, even a dance or two. More kids showed up and introduced themselves to Wally, who amazed them all with the fact that he actually had an education.

When the little party ended, and the boys walked in a large gaggle back to the lodging house. The newsies were laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, but Wally couldn’t shake the feeling that someone--or something--was watching them, but every time he turned around, nothing was there.

They all arrived at the Lodging House with no incident, and they were settled in their beds when a bright yellow and red flash illuminated the window.

Wally jumped up, whacking his head on the upper bunk above him, which was occupied by Romeo, one of the boys he met at the deli earlier.

“Wally?” The groggy voice of Romeo popped up from above. “What’re youse doin’?”

Wally didn’t answer, just ran out the door as fast as he possibly could without doing his “lightning thing”.

Not a second later, Race spoke up. “Romeo, youse owes me a nickel. I’s told youse that he’d do somethin’ weird before the night’s over.”

***#***

As soon as the door closed, Wally raced after the flash of red light. The Particle Accelerator doesn’t explode for the first time in 115 years, he thought. This is worth checking out, even if it’s not my time assassin. Then that really annoying, small voice in the back of his head whispered, what if it’s a diversion? A diversion to get you away from Jack and your friendly neighborhood time assassin knows who you are, waiting for the right moment to—

“Shut up!” He yelled loudly, in an attempt to quell the voices in his head.

The guy he was chasing stopped whirled around, his feet sliding on the pavement. Wally stopped just in time to avoid barreling over the other speedster.

“Wally?” A familiar voice said, pulling off the cowl over his face.

“Barry?”

***#***

Yeah no regrets here sorry fam

#Jamie writes stuff #operation newsboy #I did decide to make them singing and dancing #idrk why #comedy maybe?#I think I'm hilarious and I'm really not #newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #romeo #newsies fic #legends of tomorrow #fanfic #wally west #canon era #fanfiction #writeblr

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shadowphoenixrider · 6 years ago

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TrollGust 29 - In the Future

(This is some very self-indulgent AU stuff. Extremely self indulgent, and extremely AU. But I had to write it to stop the plot bunny from bothering me any more. Also I believe @galleywinter was especially interested in this?)

“Khadgar! It is good to see you.” Anduin said. The archmage bowed to him, taking the proffered hand to shake.

“You too, your Majesty,” he said. “It has been a long time since the King of Stormwind set foot in Dalaran. If you don’t count your father after he...abdicated, of course.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly come on a royal visit.” Anduin admitted, sharing the sad smile on Khadgar’s face, and noting the hollowness in the archmage’s eyes. How old was he now, fifty? He would soon match his outward appearance. “Although, neither is this. Has the Warchief already arrived?”

“Not yet.” Khadgar replied, gesturing for the King to follow him. “But she will be here soon. I decided upon the gardens as it is a fair distance away from both enclaves, unlike Krasus’s Landing, which shares a wall with the Horde district.”

“As you said in your correspondence.” Anduin said, glancing back at his small retinue of guards. “I confess, Khadgar, I’m not exactly confident in this. Sylvanas was ousted from power and delivered to the Alliance for judgement, but the Horde has committed grievous crimes, and we have no information as to who has taken the throne. My spies have only reported rumours or...not reported in at all.”

“I understand your misgivings, especially with your spies suddenly going silent. But considering she bargained for peace, and handed the Banshee Queen and what remained of her...’Prince’ over, I would presume it’s a good start to peaceful negotiations.” The mage commented. “That and her suggestion to meet on neutral territory.”

“Yes. It is a show of good faith...” He eyed Khadgar suspiciously. “You seem to know an awful lot about this mysterious new Warchief. Too much.”

The archmage just smiled knowingly, blue eyes sparkling.

“We all have our secrets, your Highness. And our sources.” Before the young king could ask more, Khadgar seemed to freeze, his eyes focusing on something Anduin could not see. They seemed to glow slightly, as did what appeared to be runes inscribed on the mage's collar that he hadn't noticed before. Had they always been there? "She's here. A moment, please."

The older man vanished in a flash of arcane magic, leaving Anduin feeling he was missing a big piece of the puzzle. Khadgar was clearly sitting on something, but for all the mage’s habit of being reckless and eccentric, he wouldn’t do anything to put Anduin in true danger. He trusted him.

Anduin closed his eyes and murmured a soft prayer to the Light. It hadn’t steered him wrong yet, and it didn’t feel like it was changing its pattern this time.

The sound of footsteps made him open his eyes to see Khadgar leading the Horde party into the gardens. It consisted only of a retinue of guards, mirroring what had been agreed in the letter, and Anduin noted they seemed to be almost entirely female, representing every race in the Horde (including, surprisingly, a Forsaken caster).

It was only when they came to stop in front of him (Khadgar moving to the side respectfully), did Anduin finally get a look at the Horde’s new Warchief. She was a female troll, shorter than her other compatriots, but she still carried herself with their same pride, dressed in what had to be formal wear for her race, similar to what he’d heard the Zandalari described as wearing. It was a dress that seemed quite bulky, masking the shape of the troll’s body underneath, decorated with gold filigree and abstract images of what had to be her Loa.

Her bright red hair was worn up in a mohawk, with four braids hanging down over her braids, decorated with black raven feathers, whilst her ears were pierced with a pair of gold rings each, and the right nostril of her nose also had a ring in it, a gold chain linking it to one of her earrings. At her side was a large red raptor with intelligent blue eyes, who regarded Anduin calmly, despite its hide been covered in scars.

The troll’s orange eyes met Anduin’s blue, and a memory stirred. She seemed familiar, and he was sworn he’d seen her before. Known her, even. What was her name...

She smiled at him, a small, but earnest one.

“Ya look well, Ya Majesty,” she said in her Zandali accent, and it clicked.

“Draggka?” Anduin said incredulously. “You’re the Warchief of the Horde now?”

“Dat be me.” Draggka replied, bowing her head slightly.

Anduin give Khadgar a look, all the pieces falling into place.

“You knew it was her all along.”

“Yes. I’m sorry Anduin, but I was in no position to let you know.” Khadgar said, looking genuinely abashed. “Regardless of my neutrality, most in the Horde see me as an Alliance hero, and with my mate now as Warchief, there were concerns that I was going be a...’malign’ influence. In order to allay their concerns, I had to pretend to be as clueless about the Horde’s new leadership as you. I am also as far divorced from their affairs as possible, unable to influence anything aside from offering the Warchief advice.” A smile played on his lips. “As far as the Horde views me, I am the Warchief’s consort. No more.”

Anduin looked back to Draggka.

“When I returned Saurfang to the Horde, I did not expect the result to be...this. How did you end up here?”

“I be sufferin’ through Garrosh. I were not gonna let myself be a pawn of Sylvanas. Not when Azeroth be dying.” Draggka replied. “Da Horde I believe in be worth fighting for, so I did. It not be my idea to be takin’ power at first. But afta talkin’ wit Saurfang and de others...” She took a breath. “I be havin’ da best chance of turnin’ da Horde in da right direction, witout Go’el.”

“I see.” Anduin nodded, his face grave. “You do understand the Horde has to suffer consequences for what happened in the War though, don’t you?”

“I be painfully aware.” Draggka sighed. “It be difficult to be makin’ up fer da Burning of Teldrassil. Even if we handed ya da agents of its destruction, we still be on da hook for it.”

“Yes, but the Alliance appreciates the gesture in you handing her over to us.” He glanced to Khadgar again. “I assume her method of imprisonment was your doing?”

“I suggested the use of an arcane prison.” The archmage said, lifting a shoulder. “But it was the sin’dorei who provided the means. I only offer advice, remember.”

“I be more den willing to talk peace wit ya Anduin because I trust ya to be fair.” Draggka spoke. “But ya need to know, we already be badly drained. Da war be taking a lot outta us, even wit da Zandalari allying wit us. We be takin’ out Sylvanas an’ her support base quickly, but da consequences be gutting us. Lotta people be turning on Sylvanas, but dere be a good section of da Forsaken loyal to dere Queen.”

“I can imagine.” Anduin sighed softly. “How many remain now?”

“Few.” Draggka nodded to the woman in her ranks, who bowed her head. “Da last val’kyr be slain before we took Sylvanas, so da Forsaken now be da last of da last. Dose dat have accepted dat have stayed. De others...be dead or banished.”

“I see.” Anduin’s mind lingered on Calia for a few moments, but he dismissed it. He had a rapport with Draggka, and didn’t want to damage it so early. He’d made that mistake once before. “Perhaps we should go somewhere else, if we are to discuss the details of peace agreements.”

“Dat be fair.” Draggka nodded, turning her head to Khadgar.

“Very well. The Council Chambers should be free at this time, so I’ll open a portal there.” Khadgar said, weaving his magic. “Assuming you two will want to sit down to talk?”

“If da King of de Alliance doesn’t mind, I be needing to sit. Da fight wit Sylvanas an’ her Princeling be leaving me wit some wounds.” The troll said, her hand self-consciously moving to her stomach.

“That sounds fine to me.” Anduin nodded. “I will need the full explanation of what’s happened to the Horde, and I have a feeling this will take some time...”

#trollgust2018 #day 29 in the future #draggka #khadgar #anduin wrynn #SPRs writing #bfa au #like WAAAYYYY AU #it's 90 degrees off canon #hurling into a hedge #draggka/khadgar #i have a lot of thought about how draggka would reorganise the horde afterwards #but that's another post

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thesearebobsthoughts · 5 years ago

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March 29, 2020

I don’t know how much longer paramedics can keep this up. Via The New York Times:

One New York City paramedic described responding to a suicide attempt of a woman who had drank a liter of vodka after her cancer treatments had been delayed, in part because hospitals were clearing their beds for coronavirus patients.

Another paramedic said she responded to so many cardiac arrests in one shift that the battery on her defibrillator died.

“It does not matter where you are. It doesn’t matter how much money you have. This virus is treating everyone equally,” the Brooklyn paramedic said

***

Three weeks ago, the paramedics said, most coronavirus calls were for respiratory distress or fever. Now the same types of patients, after having been sent home from the hospital, are experiencing organ failure and cardiac arrest.

“We’re getting them at the point where they’re starting to decompensate,” said the Brooklyn paramedic, who is employed by the Fire Department. “The way that it wreaks havoc in the body is almost flying in the face of everything that we know.”

In the same way that the city’s hospitals are clawing for manpower and resources, the virus has flipped traditional Emergency Medical Services procedures at a dizzying speed. Paramedics who once transported people with even the most mild medical maladies to hospitals are now encouraging anyone who is not critically ill to stay home. When older adults call with a medical issue, paramedics fear taking them to the emergency room, where they could be exposed to the virus.

***

The husband frantically explained that he had tried to stay home and tend to his ill wife, but his employer had asked him to work because their facility was overrun with coronavirus patients.

Grudgingly, the man told the medics, he went to work. When he returned home after his shift that day, he found her unconscious in their bed. For 35 minutes, Mr. Almojera’s team tried to revive the woman, but she could not be saved.

Usually, Mr. Almojera said, he tries to console family members who have lost a loved one by putting his arm around them or giving them a hug.

But because the husband was also thought to be infected with the coronavirus, Mr. Almojera delivered the bad news from six feet away. He watched the man pound on his car with his fist and then crumble to the ground.

“I’m sitting there, beside myself, and I can’t do anything except be at this distance with him,” Mr. Almojera said. “So, we left him.”

Speaking of poor, non-white people getting the toxic end of this lollipop:

The numbers in the above map represent positive tests. The next one, showing the differences in deaths from COVID is going to be truly grim and absolutely divided along race and class lines, because America. Specifically, because poorer, browner New Yorkers have less access to well, everything: heath care, information, jobs that can’t be performed from home. All those people working in supermarkets and making deliveries, the “essential workers” are disproportionately poor. Social distancing? Sure, try that when you’re living on the streets or still trapped in Riker’s or even a huge public housing project with one or two goddamn working elevators.

Even those who do have insurance are about to be royally screwed. “No insurer, no state, planned and put money away for something of this significance,” Peter V. Lee, the executive director of Covered California, an state exchange that’s part of the ACA, said. Well then, maybe the insurance providers shouldn’t have eaten so much avocado toast at brunch. Ha ha. Just kidding. The current admin has decimated the ACA, which was a laughable excuse for a healthcare system to begin with, and has only grown worse since. 2010

Here’s a fun/funny story. I was running low on Juul pods and with the next shipment not scheduled to arrive till Monday I had to do something. So, scribbed my hands raw, I put on clothes that I’d feel comfortable incinerating if need be, strapped on a pair of brown leather gloves, and tied a scarf around the entirety of my face as if I were a Black Bloc anarchist. And then I stepped outside the front door for the first time in... ten days? I’m going to say ten days. It was stressful and enraging with some light terror tossed in for variety’s sake.

I scoped out the block for people like I was on a goddamn recon mission, and let me tell you, wealthy-ass Brooklyn Heights residents were not maintaining social distancing. Dads breezily lazily walking their dogs, unconcerned (somehow) if someone trotted right by them. Gaggles of people, laughing, chatting, shooting the shit as if nothing had changed. On more than one occasion, I had to sprint across the street to maintain proper spacing. At my local bodega—the only bodega anywhere within walking distance of my apartment which sells pods—a hand-drawn sign had been taped to the shelves containing cigs and e-cigs. “Please make your selection and leave as quickly as possible,” the sign read.

I did so, bolting back out, ticking off the seconds till I was back at 108 Pierrepont. My neighbor was idling at the front gate, trying to coax her large labrador retreiver up the steps. I waited till she’d gotten to the front door and asked how she was feeling.

My neighbor said “better.” Which, sure. The dry cough of hers seemed to echo through our shared (thin) wall less frequently now. Oh and her sense of taste and smell was slowly returning.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. I tried to gently explain that she fucking has it without flipping my shit at her for not immediately telling everyone in the building. I sent out a mass email the instant I started feeling under the weather and unlike her, I’ve never had two of the most common fucking symptoms. Standing outside the building, paralyzed, unsure how long I needed to wait to sprint into the building and up the spiral staircase. She wasn’t even wearing a scarf, let alone a mask. Every exhale was flooding the lobby with infection but somehow using a Clorox wipe to open and close the door was enough of a preventative measure in her mind.

So grabbed all the packages that were waiting for me and galloped up the staircase. (Stalling for two days before going downstairs to pick up my deliveries accomplished nothing, what with the co-op’s own personal Typhoid Mary going outside twice a day to walk the dog. I’m still livid, two days after the fact. It’s insanely irresponsible of her. ) l kicked off my shoes outside the door, then stripped naked and deposited every item in a plastic garbage bag, tying it as tightly as possible. After scrubbing down my hands like Hawkeye Pierce, I then scoured the packages themselves with a wipe, followed hard upon by every surface they’d touched. I washed my hands a second time, belting out two consecutive particularly antic versions of the Happy Birthday song. Then I opened the packages, wiped down the contents, and washed my hands for a third time before jumping in the shower.

70 percent of the tests run by Northwell Health are coming back positive, and thousands of people will likely die. "I don't see how you look at those numbers and conclude anything less than thousands of people will pass away," the Governor said on Sunday. Vulnerable parts of the population will be hit particularly hard. "I hope its wrong, but..."

This is the Jacob K. Javits Center now. Soon, the beds will all be full:

In the hopefully not-too-distant future, someone’s going to write a book detailing the ongoing failures at every level of the Federal government. (Who am I kidding? Everyone is going to write that book.) At least one will probably toss in a bit of color about the Javits Center: It’s where Hillary Clinton was on the night of November 8, 2016, getting ready to deliver her victory speech. The one that never came. Once the election was called, she sent John goddamned Podesta out instead. Ha ha.

On Wednesday, I spent a frantic afternoon getting epidemiologists on the blower to talk about ballplayers going under the knife and feeeling generally flu-ish and tired while doing so. [Editor’s note: stop trying to sound like you’re not incredibly fucking privileged and have less shit to deal with than the vast bulk of people in this city alone. You blogged whilst sick. Hero-type stuff, truly.]

It’s not in the article, but yeah. All these high-paid orthopedic specialists should be barreling toward the front lines and turning their top-shelf sports medicine facilities into something fucking useful.

Per Mom, on Facebook:

It doesn't just "look like" special privileges for the rich and powerful, it is just that. Doctors, nurses, technicians, and other healthcare resources are currently being diverted to parts of hospitals and other locations where they are needed. They are being called back from retirement to help fill the need. These resources could be used with urgency elsewhere and are not when such elective procedures are being done instead. Excellent article, Bob.

Thanks, Mom.

Mike Francesa has been radicalized. Back afta this.

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myonceuponamoon-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Sean's story

Staring out the window while it rattled, letting a freezing breeze in through the small cracks. He sighed as he watched another gust of wind take the tips off the snow drifts, swirling them around town square like a magic spell. Candles flickering off the fresh powder along the roadsides. A light clink pulled him away from his thoughts as the barmaid dropped off another round. He gave her a half sincere smile, inhaling deeply the aroma wafting off the spiced mead.

"So, looks like you'll be spendin' te night with us afta all, aye boy?" A firm slap on his shoulder.

"It would appear so." He sighed deeply, wafting the steam off his mug.

"Ahs not sa bad! Helluva lot warmer than out thar!"

He must have looked skeptical.

"I swear on me life!" The rugged man placed his hand over his heart. "Ta folk here'll give ya a good night!"

"Maybe so, but it's a night wasted when I could be working on my book."

He grazed his eyes over the small crowd huddled up trying to stay warm in the pub. The barmaid had walked over to throw some more wood on the fire. As the log landed it sent sparks scattering and the flames licked up toward the mantle, where a lone pair of glasses sat in front of a painting.

"Aye! See ya mirin' our fair founder thar!" The burly man slapped his shoulder again, he would definitely have a bruise tomorrow.

"Your founder, eh?" He sipped at the mead enjoying the warmth of it. He flicked his eyes back to the painting, an admittedly quite handsome man. He had short cropped hair off to one side, littered with an array of colours. Thick black framed glasses covered his eyes. He was in some sort of formal wear; as he dragged his eyes down he noticed the thick black frames sitting on the mantle, surrounded by aged flower petals.

"That he is! Rebuilt dis here town from da ground up!" The man knocked back his cup of ale in one swallow.

"Re-built? What happened to it the first time?" His own curiosity getting the best of him, he finally had to start asking questions. Maybe he could throw it in the book with a few tweaks to keep it interesting.

"Well now, dat be a story for ta ages! Best ye get ya fancy papers out ta write it down!"

He humoured the rugged man, at some point he should probably catch his name. But for now, he just dug his papers and ink out to take notes of anything mildly interesting. Once he was settled he gestured toward the man to go on with his story and sat back.

"Well, den! Gatha round ta hear da story of da founder of Hamtramck!" He watched as people who had huddled themselves around the fire left their warmth to listen to the tale.

"T'was a long time ago, Hamtramck bein run by ol' Lord Walter." People booed at the name, others yelled tiny quips about poorly running it.

"Aye, aye. Was running his people in ta da ground he was! Workin night n day, nary a break between em! Ol' fool thought thar was something after him! Neva strayed from dat keep ova yonda." He vaguely gestured toward the window.

Craning his neck a bit and leaning back in the chair, he could make out what appeared to be a ruined castle in the distance upon a hill.

"Everyone had ta work! Kids, even ol' folks! Mine up da ore! Chop some fresh lumber! Train for da enemies dat was for sure a'comin! 'They'll be here any day!' he'd say! 'They're after my head!'"

He was getting rather bored admittedly, the same old story of an evil king treating people unfairly; until a brave man stepped forward to put a stop to it.

"We had ta build a wall! Keep tha enemies out! Kicked his own family out for plotting against him! Declared war on everyone he set eyes on, da neighborin towns was gettin angry. Tried n tried to reason with him! Plenty o soldiers left they jobs, ran off inta da woods, never came back." He shook his head sadly as the barmaid dropped another round off for him.

"But, one day, he jus stopped showin up. Not a soul sawr em! Ta guards were runnin all da messages ta da townsfolk. An dey jus kept gettin more ridiculous! Fires had ta be out before sundown, even in winter! Smoke'd give away where we was! No women were ta get wit child! Would be anotha mouth ta feed an train! Had 'em made an example of right in da square there.." He had trailed off sadly to knock back the next round.

He felt his stomach clench at that one, imagining freezing women trying to hide their pregnancies and children.

"Aye..any child dat weren't old enough to contribute shared da same fate n same for those who tried ta speak up n stop it. Townfolk dwindled down ta almost nothin n den ta tradin stopped. Musta made some kinda demands n they was tired o dealin wit em. We was neva a farmin village, food ran scarce real quick. We was still fightin off all da people he declared war on! Bodies jus lay in da street, nobody had da strength or energy ta give em da burial dey deserved. Da final straw for lot a folk was da last message da guards ran to us. If da bodies were jus gon pile up like dat, we oughta make use of em!"

"You don't mean?" He realized he had leaned forward to listen more intently at some point.

"Aye lad, afraid I do. He had a village ta feed n defend. Guards piled those bodies up ta fix da breaks in da wall. Said if we was hungry to take our pick, but make sure dat fire was out before sundown!" He scoffed angrily.

His stomach was churning at the images being put into his brain. "So then, how did it get like this?" He thought back to the afternoon walk into the village. A great stone wall laying dilapidated and broken, clean homes and smiling faces; children playing in a creek running through the edge of town. A grand tower just past the centre of town decorated with flags and banners.

"Well! Afta da townfolk started rebelin, there weren't much ol' Walter could do. No one even seen da ol' cook in a year! Those left alive was barely dat. Folks went into hiding, some just plain left. Plans were bein made, ideas to storm da keep n take da mad kings head ourselves! But we was tired n broken." His shoulders were drooping and head hanging down as if reliving it right now.

"But.. your founder..?" He offered in a voice barely above a whisper.

"We was banded togetha, what was left of us. Stood out da keep! We would go out fightin togetha instead o hidin n withering any more! We called n called for da bastard to show emself but all we got was guards levelin bows at us from da wall. We was ready ta finish dis one way or anotha. Just as da arrows was about to loose, a purple cloud came ova da horizon! Thought we finally lost our heads! But it got closer n closer, da guards tried ta fire on it but dey bounced right off! Dey retreated back into da keep yellin all da way."

His mouth felt incredibly dry no matter how many rounds he pounded back. He felt like his eyes would bore holes in this man at any moment.

"Dat cloud followed em right inta da keep! We was watchin n waitin what felt like ages. Den, the cloud started to appear right in front o us! Da cloud gathered itself up n took da form of a man! He were tall, with crazy hair and some odd dress dats for sure." A few chuckles came from the crowd.

"But da most important thing was he had a jar in one hand filled up with some kinda black swirly stuff. And den in a boomin voice, enough to shake da leaves off da trees! He told us da king was dead! Said da black swirlies was what made da king crazy n ta get it out he had ta kill em! Course we thought he was crazy! Stormed da keep ourselves we did! Found da kings body, looked like it been dead a long time. Castle was trashed from da war but the inside looked like some kinda demon let loose!" Some of the older patrons rubbed at their arms, trying to forget the memories.

"We asked dat cloud man what da hell was goin on!? Said he felt a great evil n came ta take care of it. But now we was without a king, even if he was mad he still had da kingdom runnin! We begged dat cloud man to help us, he did! Boy oh, boy did he! We tore dat wall down first thing, he did some kinda magick! Cleaned da whole town and helped us rebuild it, magick lamps instead o fires n sent messages ova to da neighbors again ta let em know what happened. They was here in 2 weeks to help! All da while we was gettin to know dis cloud man. Called himself a wizard. We just called em a hero!" He slapped his knee and laughed heartily.

"Da town was startin to look like a home again n da cloud man left. Off ta do somethin wit dat swirly he said. Didn't get to properly thank him! So we built dat there tower in honour o da man. Was da least we could do! A few months after hed gone da town was happy again, tradin was back up, neighborin towns stationed folk here to help out. No new kings here! Just us folk deciding togetha what ta do n make it fair for everyone. But wouldn't ya know it one day we see dat same purple cloud comin over ta horizon! Everyone came running out to da tower to see em! Boy, he looked haggard dis time tho! Said it was somethin to do with the swirly. Well, he all but collapse then n there! So we dragged em on up to da bed in da tower."

A silence came over the room as everyone seemed to recall the day. He cast his gaze over to the glasses sitting on the mantle, he had to swallow the lump in his throat a few times.

"Aye, he was a good man. We owe em more den we could eva say."

"My god, thank you, sir for telling me all of this... I'm sure it can't be easy to relive it." He straightened up in his chair.

"If ya forget history ya doomed ta repeat it lad! Just make sure ya give us a bit o credit in ya book there!" He pointed to the blank pages littering the table.

"Of course! Please, sir, what is your name?"

"It's Str-"

SLAM

The door nearly flew off its hinges it was thrown open so hard. He snapped his head to the shadowy figure in the doorway. Jaw dropping as the man in the painting stumbled into the room. It was entirely silent as he tripped over himself and the floor, bumping into tables and people. Until he reached the mantle and placed his glasses on. Turning around, it was nearly the exact same image as the painting.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you to stop using my glasses as some sort of tribute." A lovely baritone; not at all booming voice came out of him.

"H...how are...you're...alive?" He managed to sputter out as the man walked toward them.

"Alive...? Strubbe, are you telling people I died again?" He turned toward the burly man, 'Strubbe.'

"Well your da one who says ya dead on every level 'cept physical." He sipped at his drink not making eye contact.

This story is entirely based off an inside joke and yet I'm posting it anyway. Sorry.

#writing #creativewriting #art #portfolio #commisions open #author #joke #commisions #old work #onceuponamoon #oc

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catiyas · 6 years ago

Text

The Heat

"Do you know what the secret of life is? It's people who change people."

I’ll tell you the truth, my favorite days are the ones where your internal body temperature and the air temperature are almost the same, a hundred degrees, a breeze, sweat blowing off you. They are the days when the barrier between you and the everything almost disappears, a feeling of having given over all of you to the air, and in that heat, anything can happen. This feeling will come back later.

The quote at the top came from Zeyba Rahman, program officer for the Doris Duke Foundation, quoting a 6 year-old boy, Jibran in a recent presentation on working with undocumented and at-risk artists at the recent Americans for the Arts convention. It was the capping quote to a week where I had spent the Wednesday morning sitting on the keynote panel for the Minnesota Council of Nonprofits Leadership Conference, flown to Denver for an IdeaLab event with the amazing Youth on Record crew, and then been part of the AFTA convention. It was a week of professional highs and led into week following full with hosting a poetry reading for World Refugee Day, board meetings, and an open house and community celebration of Springboard for the Arts’ new building at 262 University Avenue West. This has been a breathless time, rolling forward.

Before the MCN Leadership Conference, I had shared that I would be on the panel, and someone had commented that they were excited to hear my thoughts, which, to be fair, I was too. In a panel conversation there are an infinite number of thoughts to share and directions to go, and the best part of a conversation with authentic, genuine leaders like the other panelists – Adair Mosley, president and chief executive officer, Pillsbury United Communities; Angie Miller, executive director, Community Action Duluth; Liwanag Q. Ojala, chief executive officer, CaringBridge; and Sook Jin Ong, director, Future Services Institute, Humphrey School of Public Affairs – is to have a chance to listen.

We had been asked to speak about what real community engagement looks like and how to lead with that frame, and there were a great number of practical points around keeping accessible hours, paying people and supporting them through food, childcare, and other needs that stop people from engaging. There were aspirational self-care goals – both Miller and Ojala don’t have work email on their phones – and inspirational stories about stepping up to the challenge of leading. But the thing that has sat with me the longest was a quote from Mosely, himself paraphrasing another leader – “We have two things to offer people living at the margins; our hubris or our humility.” Our hubris is in telling people what they need, our humility is in accepting the stories and knowledge of people, and trusting their ability to tell you what they need. There is a great concept from Augusto Boal’s theater and therapy practice about respecting the reality of the protagonist – that even if you do not believe what someone is telling you is real, you must acknowledge that they are perceiving and feeling it, and therefore it is real to them, therefore you must acknowledge it in their reality.

The two things that I had really wanted to include in the conversation, and made sure that I did, were also around openness and humility. With Anthony Bourdain’s suicide still raw, I wanted to make sure that I mentioned one of the themes around many of the memorials and tributes to the chef, that he was able to do what he did in his storytelling, and especially in his cross-cultural television work, because he was knew that he didn’t know it all, because he’d go to the kitchen and listen to grandmas, honoring their skills and knowledge, and listen deeply, taking the stories and troubles of immigrants, refugees, disempowered people seriously, and amplify those stories. We would do well by showing up in the same way, and by kicking it with grandmas.

The corresponding thought as was a quote from artist Nicole Lavelle's profound article, CODES AND QUESTIONS FOR ANYONE WHO GOES ANYWHERE (get it here: http://www.nicolelavelle.com/codes-questions/), “Community is necessarily emergent. It can’t be made by outside forces. It can’t be manipulated by ingenuity. It must rise up.” I love this notion of community as continually emerging, that it is not a fixed point or place or time, but something that people are continually in the process of developing, sharing, and understanding.

That emergent sense of replenishment was underscored in Denver when the artist Sol Guy was speaking about his practice. He’s a film-maker, artist, producer – you’ve most likely seen his collaboration with the French artist JR featuring a little child peering over the wall at the US-Mexico border. In his talk, he said, “I work in cultural currency and not financial currency, and cultural currency is something you cannot possess, but increases through giving away.”

That giving is what I come back to when I think about how leadership and community should work. It is what I find inspiring in so many of my colleagues and peers, in this rising generation of executive directors, organizers, and politicians, in the politics of joy. That the approach to the work is based in giving and doing together as a way to grow power, not taking and holding on to consolidate it. It’s also no surprise to me that so many of these inspirational leaders are women, and women of color, who have historically been excluded from the closed-fisted hierarchies of power. It’s a recognition that instead of generating just enough heat to keep ourselves warm, we can come together to really set the world alight.

A little while ago I tried an experiment, as a way to test out some professional development and insight. I designed a survey with a couple questions – Based on what you know of him, what is Carl's super (or secret) power? What is something that Carl has been a part of or done that is meaningful to you? Anything else? Stuff you don't like about Carl? – and shared it via my social media networks. I believe in the power of weak ties and loose connections, and this was an attempt, in an anonymous way, to get some feedback from those ties. Obviously, there is a bias from people self-selecting in, which tended to be people who would have something to say about me, and so the overall tone was incredibly supportive and positive, although I did have a category for “Mortal Enemy” just in case.

What I was struck and heartened by were the number of people who mentioned connections they had made through me, or who appreciated the transparency and stories I shared, how it helped them see themselves in new ways, or connect to their own values. As I’ve been on a 10 year journey navigating addiction and sobriety, as I’ve tried to develop as a formal and informal organizational leader, as I’ve worked through parenthood and relationships, I’ve tried to find the best ways to be open, as the quickest way to connect. You can’t take from me anything that I would give to you, and so at high points and at low points, I will try to say to you, this is what it is, this is where I am, and let you have that.

If you haven’t watched Hannah Gadsby’s brilliant and brave special Nanette on Netflix, stop reading this now, and go do that. If you have, maybe this is also resonating with you as it has with me, Gadsby’s observations that we give power to the parts of our stories that we focus on. Which is absolutely true, and yet we also get power from what we give away, and from what we share. Gadsby’s enormously powerful storytelling has created power for her to focus on her own story in a way that won’t resolve the tension for you, but sits with the responsibility to listen to the story.

Giving the story away creates power for others to see themselves reflected back, not in facile ways, but in ways that are profound and mundane and epiphanies all at once. That’s the fire in the storytelling, that’s the light coming in through the cracks. That’s the heat, that makes us feel like we’re one, the secret of life, the changing of ourselves and other people.

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vanchlo · 4 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter 40, “Penultimate”

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Warnings: None

Word Count: 13.9k words (just shy of 14k!!!!! hmm i wonder why... *wink*)

Song: Say You’ll Be There by Spice Girls (click to listen)

SNEAKYYYYY PEEK

“Ya, Becks?” Harry responds, and I look back up to find his patient eyes on me. A smile bends his lips and I feel it fill me with courage, egging me on.

God, I’ve missed him. Those sparkly green eyes. His smile that can pull one from my own lips. His quirky jokes. God, his hugs, even if they’re not often enough. His dimpled cheeks covered with stubble that do something to me. And so does his ruffled curls that I missed seeing. I just- I missed him.

And that’s what makes the words fall from my lips.

"I tell myself I am searching for something. But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to."

- Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

If his suits weren’t going to kill me, surely the way he looked at me, and how he doted on me soon would.

He was somehow so patient with me, and God, when he would lean over me to show me something on the online database when we did research, I almost couldn’t resist him. It surely didn’t help my case when standing behind me, his hand would come over mine on the mouse to show me where to go to find newspaper articles I was looking for. At times, I thought it lingered a little longer than necessary, or that I felt a mysterious squeeze of his hand. What I was positive of, was that he could feel the clamminess of my hands and the thrashing of my heart as his warm hand showed mine the way.

Although with conflict, I was humbled when during my first two days, he acted differently outside of his office. He had a different air to him and carried himself in a separate way, but he was still the same person when we were around other people. I think I understood it though, and I came to adopt it too - treating him as my boss and peer when others were around. It saddened me to drop the friend act, but I knew it was for the best, and that this is what I signed up for to work with him. Like he so easily can, he smoothed over the wounds with how devoted he’s been to teaching me everything and in the right way. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and deep down, I was hoping he could teach me how to do that, too.

Sitting at my desk, that Wednesday morning, it all still seemed surreal. It would probably feel like the last two days weren’t a dream when Harry finished his early meeting this morning with Myles, and we’d start our day. For now, research it is for me, and a big mug of coffee to wake me up. I may or may not have stayed up late gushing to Skye all about my day again, and I don’t regret it one bit. It’s safe to say that after all of these years, Skye has always been the person I always want to tell first about everything, whether it’s good or bad. Well, the other person I want to tell everything to, I can’t really do when it’s about him.

My impatience was starting to show after an hour of being there and still not seeing him, even though he had told me yesterday he had a meeting. I wanted to tell him about this new song I heard on the drive to work that I think he’d like, and the new chocolate banana bread recipe I was hoping to try on him.

It all came rushing to the surface when I was coming back from a bathroom break and saw his door open, and his figure peeking out at me. After how many years of knowing him, and on day three of work, the mere sight of him can still send my stomach into knots.

“Morning, Harry. How was your meeting? Eight am is pretty early for one, you look pooped,” I greet him, strolling into his office and stopping in front of the two chairs sat before his desk.

“It was fine,” he answers quietly, messy curls bent over a stapled document he pages through. I wasn’t kidding with the comment, his hair looks like he’s run a hand through it a hundred times. I wonder why. For one of the first times, his coal suit is wrinkled and so is the mauve button up beneath it.

“I heard a George Ezra song this morning you might like, it’s called-,” I begin, wandering to the sofa where his coat is draped over the left side.

“Don’t get comfy,” he interrupts, followed by a clearing of his throat. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, something he’s always done when he’s nervous. This can’t be good. “You uh, can work in yer office t’day.”

“Oh,” I respond shortly, forgetting to hide the surprise leaking through in my voice. “For the whole day?”

Words are absent from his imprisoned lips, but they’re spoken when he nods his head firmly. It doesn’t make it any better when his eyes never leave the stupid document he’s looking at, fingers again lost in his shiny brunette locks.

“Did I do something wrong, Harry?” I ask tentatively and then with a nervous laugh, willing him to finally look at me, but I can’t get him to. That realization and this nightmare of sorts in front of me sends my stomach into spirals, pulling my heart along for the ride. “I’m sorry I was five minutes late today, it won’t happen again.”

“‘s fine, love, it happens. Ya didn’t do anythin’, I jus’ have some stuff t’ do and anotha meetin’ later,” Harry answers coolly, and I’m unsure of how long I can take this avoidant eye contact game.

“Can’t I help you with it?” the words don’t even finish leaving my lips and his head is shaking adamantly. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you banishing me to my office like it is? God, Harry, could you look at me when I talk to you? You said yesterday eye contact is everything in consults, speaking with colleagues, and in the courtroom, so why can’t you give it to me?”

“Jus’ work on tha witnesses and speakin’ t’ ‘em. See what they hafta say and if tha list we made has anybody useful on it,” he instructs blindly, veering to the left and away from anything I said. “‘ll text ya what ya can do afta that.”

“Fine, but you should know that mentors are supposed to communicate, Harry, and you’re not doing a very good job at it,” I almost retort, stomping out of his office and wishing I could slam the door. The tornado inside of my mind justifies it, and so does the sad realization I have that not once did he call me ‘Becks’ back there. That never happens, and it makes me grow queasy with worry about why not.

After returning to my office, and sat again at my desk, I pour over the last two days in my mind. I try to find something I did wrong, but the last two days had been wonderful. They were something out of a dream, just like this whole entire thing. Well, up until now, that is. We had already played two games of Scrabble, one win going to each of us, and I whooped his butt on the first day in cribbage. He blew me off my feet from the beginning, and seemed to accomplish it two days in a row.

“These are fer you. They’re yer welcome presents, I guess. ‘m sorry I forgot t’ bring ‘em yest’day, ‘m terrible,” Harry says after we bid the other a good morning, turning around with a lilac colored gift bag filled to the brim with white tissue paper.

“Harry, please. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted t’, and I did,” he smiles sweetly, nodding at me to open it. The specific word he said, ‘these’, interests me, as if the whole thing didn't enough.

“You better not make me cry again, you tend to do that with your presents,” I warn with a laugh, stepping forward and touching the feathery tissue paper.

“Bloody hell, such a cryer, ya are,” he giggles, but when I meet his eyes they’re warm and soft. He winks at me, and I swear I melt right then and there. I already had this morning when I stepped into his office and found him in a cream blazer wearing a black floral button up he had bought when I first worked for him, from the time he called me asking what shirt to wear to some charity event. “‘s okay, I like how often ya show yer emotions. I wish I was betta at doin’ that sumtimes, but ‘m glad ya like me presents, bug.”

“Yeah, you’re a great gift giver, and I mean it,” I remark, feeling my words tumble into nothingness when my fingers wrap around something. I know within seconds what it is, and it only gets better when I pull it out, and read my name across the front.

“I rememba ya said once ya like reds, and I couldn’t not buy it. I dunno if ya care fer a Cabernet, tho’,” Harry titters proudly from across me, cheeks lighting with a pink fire when I meet his eyes with sparks shooting between us.

“Thank you so much, I actually love Cabernet red wines. It’s perfect, Harry, and wow it’s named after me.”

“Good, ‘m really glad t’ hear that. Keep goin’, there’s more,” he comments, and when I raise my eyebrows at him, another happy laugh slips past his lips. “Rebecca Ann, open tha bleedin’ presents.”

I melt again at the mention of my full name, and the humor that always tags along when he says it, as well as the intimacy of sorts that joins the ride. I’ve never liked him calling me anything other than ‘Becks’, but somehow I’m really liking him calling me by my full name lately. A little too much sometimes.

I relent with a nod, and after setting down the bottle decorated with dark floral drawings, I dive back in. Confusion paints me in waves when my fingers wrap around a sleek box that ties my eyebrows into a knot. It relaxes when I bring it out to look at, and a giggle soon consumes my features.

“Figured ya needed one o’ yer own fer yer office, ‘s only right,” Harry explains, dimples collapsing into his happy cheeks as he waves a hand at the brand new Scrabble game I hold in my hands. My laugh joins his to sing a duet between us, and I soon doubt all of the other times I thought I loved him, because this one trumps all the others in some funny way. “We’ll hafta sneak inn’a game t’day. Go ‘head and look at tha next one, can’t wait t’ see what ya think.”

“Thank you,” I almost whisper, earning me a thankful nod from him as he eggs me on.

The bag below my hands still contains more objects and has yet to sag at the bottom, tissue paper tossed to the side. Oh, Harry, you sweetheart, you. Another box greets my hand, but this one is matte and the object on top of it is as well. Finally, tears arrive in my eyes when I bring it to meet them, because I know right away what this one is too.

“Harry,” I sigh happily, finding his grinning face across from me.

“Open it,” he tells me, nodding at the small rectangle weighing heavy in my hands.

I obey and with a difficult swallow, pull black the clasp of the metal rectangle that fits in my palm. For years, words I never thought I’d see, grace my eyes that refuse to work with the multitude of tears filling them.

“I hope ya like tha purple case fer yer cards, and tha purple on ‘em. Tha box inside is more o’em, but if ya don’t care fer ‘em there’s only fifty in there. I can help ya order whateva ya want once they run out, bug,” he explains, but I’m already shaking my head as I take one out to admire it. It feels smooth and crisp beneath my fingers, and I love how velvety it is. They’re everything I love about the card I once stole of a certain somebody’s I have hidden somewhere. “I rememba ya said once how ya loved mine, and this ‘s tha same besides y’know, tha color.”

“I love it so much, Harry, thank you. I can’t say it enough,” I barely get out between tears, brushing my thumb across the words.

It fills my heart with such immense happiness to see my name stamped into the card, sitting beside the name of his firm. This all really is a dream come true, and so is the mere fact of him standing in front of me smiling at me like now I’m the sun that shines on him. He’ll always feel like the sun shining on me, and I never want it to end. “Can I have a hug?”

“‘Course ya can, bug,” he coos, opening his arms to welcome me home. I try to avoid his almost white blazer with my mascara streaked face. The tears only come harder when I feel his lips press a greeting to my head. “‘m so glad yer back here with me, Becks . . . There’s one mo’ present tho’, I think you’ll love that one, too.”

My surprised giggle brushes against his chest, and his thumb catches a few tears when I pull away. He goes to hand me the present hidden in his palm, and when his hand opens, a laminated badge dangles from between two fingers.

“I can get ya a lanyard if ya want, but othawise it clips t’ sumthin’. Y’know I usually do me trouser pocket so ‘s outta sight, only really need it at tha courts and t’ get into rooms here, and there. I think yer photo turned out lovely tho’, ya look beautiful,” Harry croons as my fingers surround it, ceasing it’s dancing between his slender fingers. My name comes into view again now in formal black font, and the photo Harry took of me yesterday sits above it against the white background. “Yer lucky ya photograph well, ‘m countin’ down tha days ‘til I get a new one, and can redo my hack job.”

“Harry,” I chuckle, the tears appearing at the surface of my words and spilling over again when my eyes glide over to him.

Once again, his bottom lip is caught between his teeth anxiously. My heart feels very similar, caught between the both of us at the sound of his words, and that particular one he said that started with a ‘B.’ He really does know what he’s doing.

My laugh deepens when memories accompany the present, recalling him showing me his badge yesterday when we were talking about employee badges, and one time all those years ago. He claims to hate his, thinking he took a bad picture, but I think he looks handsome as ever from two years ago, although sad.

“You know me too well with all of this. It’s so sweet of you,” I confess, swiping a finger across my cheeks as his hand rests on my back, drawing shapes into my blazer.

“I hope those are all happy tears, bug.”

“They always are,” I admit quickly, trying to ignore the little lie held within my words, hoping he couldn’t know. I just wonder that if he had said it, if the same lie would be hidden between the words. The lie that doesn’t share that the slightest bit of melancholy and years of longing sit in those tears, wanting oh so much more.

I don’t know what went wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I feel like I’m to blame. More than anything, I don’t know what I did wrong, and I’m so confused. I feel like that emotion consumes me more than the others, but certainly not the sadness. When I think about the last two days, I can’t find anything I did wrong. Everything went well and he was his usual cheery self, and so patient when teaching me the way with so many things here.

Last night with him was one of my favorite times from the last few years with him. I said yes the second he called asking if I wanted to come over to his place to meet his niece and nephew, and to help babysit. I think it was part of the reason why I was so antsy to see him this morning, because I felt myself fall about five steps harder when he opened the door last night holding the baby. I fell about twenty more by the end of the night when we were slumped on the couch smiling at the other as we each held a sleeping kid, sparking too many wishful thoughts within my eager mind. He got it racing when words were exchanged between us about having families of our own one day, dreams piecing together in the air.

Especially after last night, I don’t know what went wrong. Somewhere deep down, I want it to be something I did, so I can fix it. I can’t find it, though, and because of that, I know it’ll be harder to fix since I don’t know what it is. I just want to find it already, because I can’t do this all over again, not when we’re so close. Now, it feels even further away.

The sound of the phone settling into the cradle resounds in my ears as the pen crisply draws a check mark on the paper. With a happy sigh, I stand to my feet and admire the finished checklist decorated with Harry’s handwriting, the most I’ve seen of him in the last several hours. Now that it’s all finished, I can finally go and see him. That only took three hours, I note inwardly with annoyance while opening my office door. The first thing I do is peer down the hall to his door, and once again, I find it closed. That doesn’t stop me, and soon I hear my heels clicking down the hall. The rapid beating of my heart climbs to match it as excitement soars through my body at the chance to see him again. As if spending hours calling potential witnesses wasn’t dreary enough, it was harder without him there across the room making faces at me, carrying fun conversations on the side together, or just looking unnecessarily hot while talking on the phone.

All that almost goes out the window when I stop in front of his door, and bite the bullet. After so many times of Harry telling me to stop knocking and just come right in, I barely tap my knuckle against the door before opening it. Like so many other things that are wrong with today, apparently this is, as well. It feels like an opposite day from a Dr. Seuss book when I see the look of horror on Harry’s face.

“Dontcha know how t’ bloody knock?! ‘m busy here!” he retorts with a curtness to his voice. A rushed ‘sorry’ dives from my lips when my eyes jump to the professional-looking stranger sitting in front of him. “Hmmm, what d’ya want then? Can’t it wait, or no, apparently ya didn’t think it could, did ya?!”

“It’s nothing,” I mumble to myself and only her, spinning around and stomping away from him.

Embarrassment floods my entire body in heavy sheets as the moment glues itself to the inside of my brain. It’s not so much what he said, but how he said it that causes my eyes to fill with tears. A slew of awful things stuck to his voice, and the worst I can’t even think about. Disappointment, disgust, anger, annoyance, and so many others that you don’t have on show for your friend. They come splashing onto my cheeks when the image of his angry face flashes in front of my eyes, and all of the other times I’ve seen it, but that was years ago. He promised this time would be different, and only three days in and he’s already broken that promise by bringing the old Harry back.

That must be a new record.

Appropriately enough, miserable raindrops race down the dark windows reaching above my head. I can’t remember the last time I saw it rain in January, but here it is, and it couldn’t feel more like it’s for me than it already does. It all feels like too much, and it grows to be far too much when I hear his voice.

“I reckon I shoulda looked here first, this has always been yer spot, here at tha balcony.”

Words escape my lips and any neural pathways between them and my mouth as his own tickle at my back. The tears replace them when the nickname he has for me flows from his lips for the first time today. He really does always know what to say, and when to say it. At this moment, I really hate that.

It’s not fair.

It all feels wrong when all I want is for it to feel right, and it rings true when his hand touches my shoulder. I try to ignore his surprised intake of air when I shrink away from his touch.

“Becks, please.”

“No, Harry. I love your nickname for me more than anything, but you don’t get to use it like that. You don’t get to drag it through the mud and forget it, and then use it to suck up to me. You can’t do that to me,” I growl with gritted teeth, keeping my back to him. Like so many times before, I wish this was all different, and with that thought, the tears make another return. “You didn’t even tell me you were meeting with anybody today, so how was I supposed to know you were busy?”

“I know, Becks, ‘m so sorry. ‘m not suckin’-.”

“Yes, you are . . . I want this second chance with you to be so much more, Harry, and you promised it’d be different,” I protest in a croaky voice, wishing he couldn’t hear the tears. I wish he didn’t know about them, but I already know he can hear them. He was right, we’re open books for each other to read, and I never found out how to close myself to him.

“Becks, I want it t’ be different too, please believe me.”

“But you already broke that promise three days in, Harry!” I exclaim, whipping around to find his devastated face. I didn’t think he could look more upset than he already does, but at the appearance of my tears, sadness paints his face in heavy stripes suddenly.

“It’ll be different, bug, I promise you that,” Harry pleads, emotion weighing on his eyebrows.

I really want to believe him and my gut tells me to, even the devil and angel do, but I’m afraid. I’m scared of how much it hurts me to see the tears welling in his eyes and the upsetting emotions knit into his features, all that I want to wipe away. I want to make it better for him, and I know it’ll never change. I’m so afraid of this all being for nothing in the end, and the risk I’m taking by being here.

“Then show me that,” I huff with defeat drowning under my sob, wiping a hand across my cheek as I pick up my feet and leave him standing there.

I do the thing that I hate most in the world, leaving him, and it doesn’t hurt any less this time. Perhaps surprisingly, I think that it hurts more this time to walk away from him, because I really wish I could do what it’s available, and stay.

It hurt again the next morning when I passed him in the halls, wishing something could be said. The ball isn’t in my court though, and even if it was, I don’t know if I’d take a hit. I’m really at a loss right now, and with only one day left until he leaves and that day also being his birthday, I hate this all the more. I didn’t think my hatred for it could grow any worse, but it does when he trickles into my office later that morning, and it wasn’t for the reason I wanted him to be there.

“I heard from a li’l birdy yer havin’ a hard time with tha Silver Net database,” Harry says slowly, bottom lip returning to between his teeth after his dreary words meet the air. Although sad, I can hear the sincerity behind his words that he tries and fails to project, showing the true Harry behind them. I only nod and return to typing on my laptop. “Lemme help.”

My body freezes and the denial swimming through my veins can’t find a way out as indecisiveness weighs heavily within me. It cripples me when he comes to stand behind me and to the side, and I’m unsure of how I feel about him being there. It’s either too far away, or too close. I can’t decide. I open up the database website from my bookmarks, feeling the awkwardness ensue as it loads.

“What’re ya strugglin’ with?” he asks slowly, and I know he feels it too. The tension that sits between us and every word he speaks.

“Searching by date,” I barely make out, suddenly aching for the times he wouldn’t hesitate to lean over me and place his hand over mine on the mouse. That time seems long gone, as do many others.

“Alright, login first,” he instructs, and I follow, annoyed when my shaky hands mess up my typing. “Search fer sumthin’, but don’t hit enter yet . . ‘Kay, now click on that drop down arrow there. It’ll list tha otha options fer search criteria.”

I try that and with his directions, I look for the filter to search for dates, but it’s not there.

“Well, what tha hell, did they change it in tha last week or sumthin’?” he grumbles from behind me, words finished with a sigh. “Wait, maybe ya went too far down tha page . . No, not that way- here, lemme help.”

He still doesn’t find it, and he won’t give up the mouse when I try to take it back, bumping hands ever so awkwardly.

“Becks, ‘m not done, ‘m tryna help.”

“I’m fine, just let me do it. I can use the other database instead if I need to,” I insist firmly, avoiding his eyes over my shoulder.

“No, ya gotta learn t’ use ‘em all ‘cuz they offa different stuff, so lemme help you.”

“Harry, I don’t want your help!” I exclaim loudly, finally whipping around to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s not so fun being snapped at, is it?” I continue with another attack sent his way, and as soon as it meets the air, I regret it.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I sigh adamantly, but it doesn’t work. None of this does, apparently.

“Fo’get it,” he exhales with a wave of his hand, already walking away and out the door. A groan fills my office as he almost slams my door, and that only fuels the fire raging within me, one of anger and sadness and frustration. Because of everything that’s missing, and soon he will be too.

My phone lands somewhere on the sofa, but it’s the last thing I care about right now as my lungs struggle for air. Carding a hand through my hair, a shaky exhale tickles at my curls. My eyes land upon the framed diploma behind my desk as I try and fail to swallow past the lump in my throat. How ironic that it’s the first thing I see after what just happened.

“Hey, looks like we’re both gonna be late fer our meetin’ t’day,” a voice pipes up from my doorway. I make the mistake of automatically looking to who’s speaking, and even with blurry eyes, I know it’s him. “Becks, what’s tha matter? Alright?”

Shaking my head, an onslaught of tears flood my eyes as Harry stands across from me with worry tying his face into knots. With trembling lips, I clear my throat, “No,” I admit, my voice breaking before I even spoke.

Him leaving soon, and now the events of the last two days have left my heart in shambles, one that was just leaving its armor to greet him again. It breaks a little more when he crosses the room in a few large steps, but keeps a few in between us. Too many.

“I hate it when we fight. I don’t want to fight with you,” I confess randomly, but it couldn’t speak more to the truth.

“Hey, we’re not fightin’, bug,” he coos, finally stepping forward and crouching down to look at me at eye level. When I try to argue, he shushes me in a soft tone, thumbing away a tear that falls down my cheek.

“Can I have a hug, Harry?” I sob, and his nod is instantaneous. With few doubts, I know that this is what I’ve needed all along. What we’ve needed, because his hugs always fix everything.

“‘Course, Becks, ya don’t hafta ask, babe. Come on ova, me favourite lawyer,” he smiles, mirroring my movements when I get to my feet and fall into his arms. A giggle sputters from my lips at his comment, but the tears drown the sound of it as I bury my head into his chest clad in all black. “Let it all out, bug.”

A feeling I’ve missed for longer than it’s really been falls over me. Safety, and with that comes comfort and relief. God, I really hate fighting with him, or anything that takes him away from me, I muse amongst my racing thoughts. A smile tries at my lips when he smooths back my hair and presses a kiss to my hairline, holding my head to his chest. My chest hiccups against his as I grab handfuls of his matte blazer. Relief grows buds across my body as his fingers track a course through my hair, and the other five massage circles into my back.

“D’ya wanna talk ‘bout whateva it was that happened?”

Nodding my head into his chest, I try not to feel bad about my makeup smearing all over his black suit, but I could live here forever. I can’t handle the thought right now of pulling away when he’s holding me so close.

“It was just my psycho parent calling for their usual guilt trip.”

“Oh, ‘m sorry you had t’ deal with that recently as well,” he comments much to my surprise, warm words dancing over my head.

“Your dad called you to do the same thing?” I question with raw shock coating my words, pulling away to look into his eyes, the tears starting to abate.

“Ya, yestaday mornin’ befo’ me meetin’. That’s why I was an asshole all day, and t’ you.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry,” I confess, sniffling and his head shakes from side to side quickly with sullen eyes.

“No, ‘m sorry, Becks. It sounds bloody stupid ‘cuz it was, but I didn’t wanna work togetha yest’day ‘cuz I didn’t wanna take my problems out on you. I still fookin’ did when I snapped at ya, and jus’ by pushin’ ya away. ‘m so sorry, bug, I didn’t mean t’ hurt you. ‘ve done that so many goddamn times ova tha years, and I can’t live with meself doin’ it anymo’. Tha shit with Amber, tha seven month phone tag, tha way I snapped at you yestaday-.”

“Harry, stop. It’s okay,” I say, barging into his sentence. Words come to life on his lips again, but I shake my head vehemently, pressing a finger to them. “It’s all in the past, I want to forget it.”

“But ‘s not ‘kay, Becks. I dunno how ‘ll make it up t’ ya, and show ya that I promise things will be different this time,” he sighs sadly, tears drowning the darkness of his green eyes. Mine had started their departure, but now, they return slowly at the sight of his.

“You already have, right now,” I tell him, catching the first tear that falls from his left eye. “I’m sorry about what happened with your dad. Would it help to talk about it?”

“Ya . . . he rang fer his usual guilt trip that started with makin’ me feel bad fer not talkin’ t’ him or visitin’. Worst o’ all, he finally found out that I went with anotha company than his fer tha remodel. ‘m surprised he didn’t blow a gasket, ‘cuz it sounded as if he had,” Harry retells, blowing a breath past his rose colored lips.

“It looks like we both lucked out in the psycho parent department . . I’m really sorry about that, Harry, you didn’t deserve that.”

“I dunno, sumtimes he makes me feel like I do,” he shrugs, licking his lips. “What did yer mum have t’ guilt you ‘bout, bug?” he next asks, eyebrows sewn together with a question.

“You didn’t deserve it, Harry, don’t listen to him . . Oh, my mum yeah, well for never telling her I was going back to uni, which was a low blow since that was years old. Then, she had to hear from my gran - bless her soul, but she talks too much - that I graduated and didn’t invite my mum, or tell her that I got my first lawyer job here, and for not talking to her too,” I share, finding that the breaths are coming to me easier, one by one.

“‘m sorry, Becks, ‘s not right o’ her t’ treat ya that way. Ya don’t owe her bloody anythin’ and from tha sounds o’ what you’ve told me, she has herself t’ blame fer not gettin’ t’ be there.”

“Thank you, and the same goes for you too, Harry. You didn’t have to use his construction company for your remodel, and it’s completely okay that you didn’t,” I comment, waving my hand across his back as a content smile teases on his face. “I don’t know why they think they’re entitled to a relationship with us just because they’re our parent, and shitty ones at that.”

“Tell me ‘bout it, they’re fookin’ mad. Think ‘s okay t’ treat their children like shit and like it’ll help their case, bloody swear there’s sumthin’ wrong in their heads,” he tuts, shaking his own as his eyes roll into the back of his head at his sentence. His eyes return to mine soon and they hold me there as he erases the last few tears lingering on my cheeks. “Enough o’ that, are ya alright, Becks?” I answer his question with a simple nod and the beginnings of happiness tickling my lips.

“Are we alright?” I risk slowly, realizing for the hundredth time that I could stare into his green eyes for the rest of eternity.

“Yes, bug, we’re good now. D’ya agree? ‘m really sorry fer snappin’ at ya yest’day, and fer ignorin’ ya,” Harry says, and I quickly confirm with a soft ‘yes’. I’m rewarded with a dazzling sunshine smile that begins to warm me from the feet up. “So, what d’ya say t’ hidin’ out inn’a conference room and watchin’ FRIENDS with some chicken gnocchi soup afta we block our parents’ numbas? Reckon we need t’ start tha bloody show already t’getha.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you too, revenge never solves the problem. I know you were only trying to help me with the database,” I reply, receiving my answer when he squeezes my bicep affectionately. “Wait, but our team meeting, Harry. It’s to go over next week with you being gone,” I protest and his breathy laugh tickles my face.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. ‘s already started. ‘ll text My’ right now lettin’ him know sumthin’ came up, which ‘s true. We can meet up with him later t’ go ova what we missed,” he explains swiftly. I hold back a sigh when his arms leave me entirely to fish his phone from his pocket, eyes flitting to me. “Alright?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Ya, ‘m good now. I got me Becks back,” he grins at me, winking before returning his wet eyes to his phone. They’re only gone for a few moments and then they’re on me again. “C’mon, Boops, let’s go get tha show set up. I think there’s a firestick in one o’ tha conference rooms on tha tv, can’t bloody rememba why tho’.”

I thought the next day would be easier, getting off the lift onto Seventeen, now that Harry and I had made up. Now, that we had connected even more it seemed over our shared parent trauma, and everything he said in his actions yesterday had changed things.

Regardless, it was only harder to step off the lift and to walk into my office, noticing his ajar door down the hall that all of next week will be closed. He had said yesterday while we set up FRIENDS that he’ll leave me a spare key to his office in case I need anything, like a book or something, but it still hurts. I don’t think I could convince myself to use it and go into his office, even if I did happen to need something.

My heart still aches at the sight of his door, and knowing that although it’s only nine days, I know from the last time that nine days of missing him felt like far more. I don’t even want to imagine what it will feel like this time, because I already know it will be hell.

After dropping off my stuff in my office and clocking in, I roamed around trying to find Harry. First, he wasn’t in his office surprisingly, nor the break room, or any of the conference rooms. I almost gave up entirely until I heard his voice trailing from the copier room where Mick left from, waving a hand to somebody in there. Was it him?

I struck gold when I opened the door and found him standing in front of the copier, an ebony button up cloaking his figure dotted with bright sunflowers. Flowing mustard slacks matching the color of the flowers cascade down his legs, and my oh my, does his hair look incredible, just like the rest of him. It hangs over his forehead in satiny curls, parted in the middle, and somewhere deep down I’m begging to touch it.

So, this is what 30 on Harry looks like, huh? It’s something else entirely, and holy shit, am I fan of 30 on him. He hasn’t heard my arrival yet, and instead, clucks his tongue as he does something on the copier. Feeling brave and sick of this whole game, I tip toe over to him and wind my arms around his waist.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” I announce softly, bending my body to the side to look at his surprised face as he jumps.

“Bloody hell, Becks, ya gave me a fright, bug,” he exhales, a chuckle soon following his words. Releasing him much to my dismay, I step over to stand at his side, folding my hands in front of me.

“It’s not a birthday without a surprise.”

“I reckon so now,” he comments, waving the handful of papers at me with that dazzling smile framed by dark stubble. “Sorry, tha copier ‘s actin’ up ‘gain, ‘spose makin’ a few copies ‘s too much t’ ask fer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How’s the first day of your thirtieth year going otherwise?” I pose to him, discreetly pulling at the stomach of my plum long-sleeved dress that falls to my knees.

“Becks, don’t say it that way, yer makin’ me feel old,” he whines, sarcasm sticking to his words, but I also sense some truth there as well.

“Stop it, you’re not old, Harry!” I laugh, and he points his narrowed eyes at me with pouting lips. I swat at his arm playfully, and finally the pout dissolves into his delicious giggle.

“I know, Becks, ‘s jus’ hard turnin’ thirty.”

“How come?” I ask curiously, flashing back to the break room with Myles and what he said about Harry turning the big three-o.

“Coz I thought ‘d be married with kids by now, ‘s kinda sad t’ think’.”

“You have plenty of time to still do all of that,” I insist, squeezing his arm and he shows a brief smile, punching in options on the copier’s touch screen.

“I know, but ‘m ratha impatient, if ya didn’t notice.”

“So much for you saying that lawyers need to have patience,” I joke and he answers it with a nod, a melancholy smile sitting on his lips.

“I thought I’d have all of that too by twenty-six, but it’ll happen one day, I know. You can’t rush life.”

“Ya, I really hope so. There’s nuthin’ mo’ that I want than t’ be a dad one day,” he muses aloud, the words tugging at my heart strings, and nudging one of the last pieces of the shell away from my heart.

“I bet you’ll be a great dad, your kids will be lucky.”

“Ya think so?” Harry wonders aloud, returning his eyes to me once again. I find myself melting in front of him, it having happened too many times now to count. “I jus’ don’t wanna fook up like my dad did.”

“You won’t, Harry. I know it’s hard to not worry, because I feel the same way. I don’t want to be the kind of mum mine was, and sometimes it makes me not want to become a mother at all, in fear of that.”

“Hey, don’t talk that way. Tha man who gets t’ marry you one day and have a family with you ‘s tha luckiest in tha whole world, and yer kids as well. Yer too kind fer yer own good, and ya always take such good care o’ those ya love, Becks. I have a feelin’ you’ll be a wondaful motha one day,” Harry hums, the words finding their way straight to my heart, and stealing all of mine away.

“Thank you so much,” I reply adamantly, feeling a warmth spread over my body as his sunshine dawns on me. Stepping forward, I stand a little higher to press a kiss to his prickly cheek. “You’ll find the right one and have a lovely family soon too, I’m sure. They’ll all be so lucky, Harry.”

I almost think I see tears filling his eyes, but I’m not sure, and then within seconds I’m proven right. With his actions, he almost brings them to my eyes when his hand pulls mine into his, and his forehead meets mine for an affectionate little bump.

“Thanks, babe. Dunno what ‘d do without ya and yer motivational speeches sumtimes,” he smiles, stealing a kiss from my forehead as he squeezes my fingers between his own gently.

“Welcome,” I answer, missing the feeling of his head against mine, and all of the words it said. As well as how close we were to each other, and in so many ways. “Do you have any fun plans for your big day?”

“Nah, jus’ indoor rock climbin’ with Rory this aftanoon. ‘m already gettin’ ratha borin’ in me old age. I gotta save me energy fer me flight t’night.”

“You should do more to celebrate, Harry. It’s your day. You get to do whatever you want, and be whoever you want today. You call the shots,” I contend, hoping the words stick and that they don’t sound cheesy.

“Wow, I didn’t know it was Halloween, Becks,” he jokes, eliciting a sigh from me.

“Not what I meant,” I exhale, teasing lining my words as my hand slips from his, and my feet leave him.

“‘m kiddin’, bug. Don’t leave,” he begs, footsteps following mine and my hand returning to his. “Yer right, tho.’”

“Wait, I’m what? I don’t think I heard you,” I hum happily, eyes lighting with a playful fire that dance over to his.

“Rebecca Ann,” he protests, trying to hold back a smile, but it makes its way through the clouds to shine on me.

“Harry . . . “

“Edward,” he answers softly, finishing my sentence for me. I keep finding myself being dealt with surprises, and being proven wrong, because here I am falling again.

“Harry Edward,” I speak gently, focusing on the way each word feels coasting off of my tongue. “I like it.”

The smile bending his lips drops the dimples into his cheeks that round out as it climbs his face. It remains there for the rest of the day, gracing my eyes often, and I only wish that mine didn’t have to leave. I just wish that he could stay here with me always, wrapped up in this blissful moment; words, hands, and eye contact all intertwined with the other.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, Harry. Let’s go to your surprise party.’ I’m the worst at lying and he knows it, so why are you making me do it?” I whine, hearing a ‘shhh’ that I shake my head at. “He can read me like a book, Myles, he’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll be fine, Becky. Why don’t you just tell him that myself and Pete are in the west conference room wanting his opinion on something? That’s believable enough, and try to say it with as straight of a face as possible.”

“Fine,” I relent, stomping away and down the wall. A deep breath struggles to settle inside my body when I stop a few steps away from Harry’s door. Instantaneously, my heart calms at the sound flowing from his office, not one but rather two.

Pushing the door open, I find him sitting back in his office chair, scrolling through a page on his iMac. Loud nineties music pours from the black JBL bluetooth speaker on a shelf, a song I somehow missed that we both love. Now, I won’t let the chance fly right past me.

“Stop right now, thank you very much! I need somebody with a human touuuuuuuch. Hey you, alllllllways on the run, gotta slow it down baby, gotta have some funnnnnn!” I loudly sing along with him, watching his eyes lift to me, and the happiness that fills them.

“Gotta keep it down honey, lay yer back on tha line. ‘Cause I don’t care about tha money, don’t be wastin’ my time!” he belts out in return with hands and eyes raised to the ceiling passionately. He uses his own loud and poor singing voice as well that melts into a loud laugh. “Didn’t peg ya fer a Spice Girls fan, Becks,” he comments after turning down the song that now hums in the background.

“Oh yeah, I’ve always loved them. I had all of their CDs, I watched their movie so many times I ruined the tape, and their posters covered my walls. It was worrying at times how much I loved them,” I joke, admiring the crinkling of his eyes as happiness spreads across his face.

“Ya sound like me sista, she was proper obsessed with ‘em. Growin’ up inna house with only girls, I got dragged into tha stuff they liked at times, but ‘m glad I did with tha Spice Girls. They have some o’ tha best songs t’ jam out t’.” With an agreeing nod, my hands settle on the crest of the left chair facing his desk.

“Which one is your favourite?”

“Um, I dunno, I think Baby Spice. She has a wicked voice, was always funny, and so bloody cute. I mean, they all had killer voices, tho’. How ‘bout you, bug?” he answers, twirling a pen around in his fingers as we speak.

“No way?! Mine is Baby Spice too, so it looks like I don’t have to break up with you over that, either!” I tease, watching sunshine paint his face and warm me from the center. He nods wholeheartedly and wags a finger at me with that breathy giggle tickling my ears. “I don’t really know why, I feel like a favorite thing like that always chooses you. I connected with her somehow, like I feel like I connected with my favourite Pokemon,” I laugh and a raspy confirmation falls from his lips. “Anyways, I came to tell you that Myles and Pete were asking for you. I ran into one of them out there, and they wanted your advice on something. They’re in the west conference room, I don’t know what they’re working on.”

“Ah, okay. Shall we go see what they’re up t’?” Harry says, and my nodding head answers his question. I follow him out of his office, feeling relief when I exhale, thinking I may have gotten away with it.

At his side on our way to the conference room where all of the lawyers, Asher and a few others from I.T. wait to yell ‘surprise!’ at Harry, I fall back into a memory. I hadn’t thought about it for awhile, but suddenly, I recall the surprise party I was thrown here. It was for my going away party, and with that remembrance, my heart takes a little dive. I find it ironic that Harry organized my surprise party then, and now, I’m walking him to his surprise party I organized. The circle of life, I guess. I sure am glad this party will be a much happier occasion, or so I hope, considering Harry told Myles he didn’t want anything. A part of me worries he’ll be upset and annoyed, and will hide it in fear of disappointing Myles and I.

Luckily, the conference rooms here aren’t made of glass walls and so none of my secrets come pouring out before they have to. When Harry opens the door casually, a loud ‘SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!’ sounds from the long room. With clenched fists in my pockets, I wait for his reaction, and am pleasantly surprised when the sunshine makes another appearance on his face. It collapses into laughter marked by reddening cheeks as he steps forward to give hugs, and I wander over to Asher.

“Again, why are you over here talking to me?” he asks me about ten minutes later, handing me a beer after uncapping it.

“What?” I reply, my eyes panning over to him with confusion dawning in them.

“You should be talking to Harry, considering it was your idea to throw him a birthday party, which he looks pretty happy about.”

“It wasn’t all my idea, Ash, it was Myles’ too,” I respond, turning the bottle in my hands to look at the label when I find I actually like it. That’s a first for me enjoying beer, but maybe that’s because my dad and Robbie only ever enjoyed the shitty cheap kind that tasted like watered down piss.

“Sure it was, I bet it wouldn’t have even happened if it weren’t for you. Wait, does he even know who he has to thank for all of this?”

“It’s not that deep, Ash, it’s just a simple birthday party,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders as I pick up my slice of pizza to take a bite from it.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’m also his employee and his colleague, Ash, it’s different at work- well, outside of closed doors,” I sigh, glancing over to Harry who laughs loudly at something Mick said, a blonde girl at his side, eyeing him up. Ugh.

“Sorry, I forgot that part, you can’t really get past that.”

“No, you can’t,” I comment softly, my brow falling in concentration as my eyes follow the girl’s tall figure, and Harry’s eyes over to her. “I hate it, it’s so hard sometimes.”

“No duh- wait, what is it exactly? I thought you lawyers were supposed to be good with your words, or something,” he teases, and I meet his eyes that all playfulness leaks out of when he sees mine.

“That, Ash. A girl flirting with him and I can’t do anything about it. It’s so hard having to act like ‘we just work together’ outside of closed doors when he’s become my best friend all over again. A best friend who holds my hand and kisses my cheek behind closed doors,” I exhale, setting the paper plate down on the long oval table in front of us, my appetite suddenly absent. “I know I shouldn’t get so upset, but . . “

“But it’s hard when you’ve felt so strongly about somebody for years, and things are starting to happen. Am I right?”

My head shakes with a nod as I pick at the plastic label peeling on the dark beer bottle. A sorry falls from his lips softly that I don’t acknowledge, because ‘sorrys’ are never not awkward, I feel like.

“Ask him out already, Becky, you know that you want to.”

“I know, Ash, but I couldn’t handle starting all of that when he’s going to be gone for a week. It would drive me insane missing him, even more than I know I’m already going to. I’m waiting until he gets back,” I explain, sure I don’t make any sense, but I don’t make any sense to myself sometimes, either.

“You’re waiting a week either way, wouldn’t you rather wait a week and be a little happier after telling him how you feel?”

“I know. You’re right, and I wish you weren’t . . You know what, I’m going to go and use the bathroom before everybody starts seeing me cry,” I admit self-deprecatingly in a long exhale, the tears already pressing at the back of my eyes.

I hate that I’m getting sad when this is supposed to be a happy time, but it gets all the harder when I remember that Harry leaves tonight for over a week. He nods, patting my arm after taking my beer before I leave the room, emotions racing through my head.

So many desires, too, that I wish I could have fulfilled already.

“What, you didn’t know? How the fuck didn’t you?”

“Didn’t know what?” I question, taking a swig from my beer as I wait for his answer. His face is screwed up in disbelief for only a second and then it relaxes, still making me feel stupid for not knowing.

“It was Becky who did all of this. Granted, I wanted to do something for you, but you never would have let me, you prick. She came to me and insisted on throwing you a party. I just bought the pizza and the beers. I already know she’ll be a wicked lawyer with that fire in her. She made the cake as well, and stayed late last night to help set up,” Myles explains, and now my facial features do a dance of their own as I stare back at him dumfoundedly. “I can’t believe you didn’t know, you bloody idiot. Even more proof she’s mad about you.”

“Fookin’ hell, ‘course it was all her, and I haven’t even said a word t’ her this whole time,” I huff, my arm dropping to my side as conflict rages through my limbs. Tearing my eyes away from Myles, my excited eyes dance across the room looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. “Hold this, would ya?”

“Fuck, Hare, go bloody snog her already. Reckon it’s the only thing you can do to make up for being such a bleeding idiot not knowing it was her who did all of this.”

“Shuddup already, My’,” I retort, shoving the beer into his hands as my feet pick up, electricity coursing through me. I take another cursory look around the room and again. She’s gone, but he isn’t.

“Where’s Becks?” I hurriedly say to Asher who busies himself with his phone in the corner, two beer bottles clutched between the fingers of his other hand. His eyes flit to me and I think I’ve caught him off guard. “I reckon that’s her beer, so where’d she go?”

“To use the loo.”

I don’t manage a reply with the impatience dominating my actions, but he doesn’t let me get very far when I hear his voice again, saying my name.

“I don’t think she can wait anymore,” is all he says and right away, I know what he means.

“Neither can I.”

Now, it’s his turn to nod, but I hardly see it as I’m already walking out of the room. My legs hurry down the hallway, feet pounding on the tiled floor towards the break room and nearby bathrooms. Something makes me pause when I reach her office, and there I find her with her back to me in front of the floor to ceiling window. I’m reminded of how stunning she looks in that knee length, long sleeved, plum dress that threw me for a loop this morning. I realize belatedly the smile pulling my lips towards my eyes, and the butterflies fluttering in my chest as so many thoughts fill my head.

“Ya’ve escaped on me, bug, how come?” I decide to say, taking a step into her office that’s slowly becoming hers. I catch glances of the framed pictures lining her desk, and the fun we had the other day looking at them. Seen in them are her and her dad, her and Robbie as kids and then as adults, and a similar two parter with now and then pictures of herself and Skye. I’m still waiting for the day I see myself in one of them. “Alright?”

“Yeah, of course. I could never be sad on your birthday, the day you were born,” she answers, but I don’t need to see her speak to make out the conflicting evidence in her voice. She also doesn’t hide the surprised inhale when I wind my arms around her middle from behind, and press a soft kiss to her temple. Fuck, I haven’t had something feel this right in such a long time, and yet it never feels like enough. “What are you doing? My door is wide open, and anybody could see, Harry. You’re my boss.”

“I don’t care, ‘m their boss too. I wanted t’ give you a hug. Myles jus’ told me tha party was all yer idea, that ya came t’ him and insisted on doin’ it. I had no idea, Becks, and ‘m sorry. ‘ve neva had a good surprise party ‘til now, y’know. ‘m already lovin’ it, bug, ya had all me fav’ things there - pizza, beers, a chocolate cake with bloody Power Rangers figures on it, and cute li’l party decorations,” I hum against her head where my cheek rests, watching her eyelashes flutter below me as she laughs.

“You actually like it? I was afraid that you’d hate it, you’ve never been one for surprises. Myles said you didn’t want anything like it, so I was doubting myself all up until the last second.”

“No, I love it, babe. It was so thoughtful and sweet o’ you. I didn’t want anythin’, but ya made it all so special with me fav’ things. Y’know, ‘m dyin’ t’ try yer cake,” I tell her, watching that one dimple fill her left cheek that I don’t think she even realizes she has, but damn, the things it does to me when I see it.

It’s been a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and wishes ever since she walked back through the doors of the firm, and it’s like she never even left. Too often, I’m made aware of how many times the both of us left in the past, and they only make me want to never leave again. It’s the very thing I have to do tonight and I don’t know how I’m going to survive being away from her for nine days, when I had just gotten her back.

“We should probably go back and sing you happy birthday, it’s about that time.”

Another wave of feelings hits me when she turns around in my arms, and I see the traces of spent tears in her eyes that I brush away with my thumb. My hand falls from her and finds her trembling fingers I caress with my own. It contradicts the happiness filling me, and propels me forward and towards her lips. I watch them curl into a smile that echoes in her eyes, and mirrors my own. I’m seconds away from mine touching hers when I hear a voice, and not the one I want.

“There ya are, Hare! I know you hate having happy birthday sung to you, but let’s get it over with,” Myles jests from behind me as my eyes stare out the window, debilitating disappointment covering me in sheets.

“Ya, be there inna sec,” I retort, a sigh finishing my words as my eyes fall to her. It’s a wonder to me how she can hide hers so well, because she just stares up at me in awe, stealing all of my frustration away in the moment.

“Fookin’ My’,” I laugh, and her adorable one follows mine while I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger.

“Let’s go and sing to you, birthday boy,” Becks says with a grin, but I can hear it in her voice where she thinks she can hide the sadness. I’m afraid there’s not much she can hide from me after all of this time, and I know that the same goes for me with her. “We have all the time in the world when you get back from your trip,” she comments softly with a squeeze of my hand, and I realize she’s right. Not just that, her words slowly click with me, piecing a puzzle together that’s nearly finished. A puzzle over two years in the making. A silent understanding passes between us, and finally, she reveals that she also wants to wait to start things until I’m back. Although I’m sad, I’m grateful for it too, because I wouldn’t be able to handle leaving her tonight for over a week if I had just kissed her now. I can barely handle the thought of leaving her, as it is.

“We do, don’t we, bug?” I concur aloud and she nods as I squeeze her hand in return, my feet lifting from the ground. So does my heart, as the secret I finally found out resounds with me.

I don’t want to wait the nine days until I come back, but I know that I should. I know that we’re holding the other to it now, and it fills me with a cooling sensation of relief. After fucking over two years of waiting, I guess I can wait another nine days, even if there’s little stopping me from kissing her right now.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get single candles, Becky, or else Harry here would be setting off the smoke alarms blowing those out,” Jennings comments from across me as an orange flame appears at the end of the lighter. My laugh joins those of the others in the room as the two candles, a 3 and a 0, come to life.

Setting down the lighter, I stand back and join the crowd surrounding the table, the song beginning from our lips. ‘Happy Birthday’ fills the room as Harry stands in front of the cake with pink, dimpled cheeks and a nervous excitement coating him. A hand hides in his pockets as the other comes to cover his face until the last line. His green eyes float over to me and remain there as he leans down, large hands pressed to the table as he blows out his candles.

“Oooo, Harry’s got a girlfriend!” several people exclaim at the sight of one lit candle remaining, those green eyes still glued to me with a sparkle inside of them. He’s really fucking testing my patience today.

I swear to God, Harry.

A nervousness sits at the edge of my actions and words as I cut the cake and serve it, Harry soon stealing me away to the side to gush about how much he loves it. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment from my office in my head as I ate my own slice and soon disappeared to there again, worried I forgot to wrap a present or left one at home.

“Ya keep runnin’ away from me, bug, what’s goin’ on?” Harry chirps from my doorway, sauntering into my office when I turn around, shutting the door behind him. “Ooooo, are those me presents I see? Holy shit, Becks, ya didn’t hafta get me so many o’ ‘em.”

“I wanted to. I finally get to spend your birthday with you after all these years,” I smile with a shrug of my shoulders, a nervous laugh falling from his blushing lips.

“I knew I saved tha best fer last.”

“Sit down,” I say, picking up the Power Rangers bag I’m amazed I found at the shops.

“Bloody hell, Ms. Holte is gettin’ bossy.” I chuckle along with him as I set the bag at his feet, finding a seat on the sofa next to him. He winks at me as he pats my knee and I give in, scooting closer to leave only a few inches between us.

The smiles on the both of our faces grow with every present he unwraps, and my anxious heart relaxes. I’m not sure which he enjoyed most, the whiskey and oak candle he smelled at my house once that he loved, the multicolored guitar strap with Keith Haring art, the FRIENDS mug full of quotes in the same font, Paul McCartney’s album RAM on a pristine vinyl, the blush button up decorated with black outlines of roses, or the one I was saving for last.

“Becks, you didn’t,” he giggles, saying that line for perhaps the third time now as I set the lidded metal pan in his hands.

“I know your first pan is already gone, so here’s another one.”

“Love, ‘m gonna get fat from all o’ these brownies,” he titters, patting the lid happily before his eyes return to mine. “Ya spoil me too much.”

“I know,” I agree, the tears soon taking hold of my words. “But I really missed my best friend this last year, and I’m going to miss him even more when he’s gone next week,” I sigh, the tears peeking out in my voice.

“Becks,” he hums sadly, setting the pan down on the floor before pulling me into his arms. “I missed me best friend as well, too bloody much, I reckon. So much so that I don’t want t’ leave her fer tha next week,” he reveals, emotion stealing the balance from his voice.

“Can I come with you the next time?”

“‘Course bug, ‘m sorry it didn’t work out this time. It was jus’ too short notice. I wish ya could, tho’,” he responds, his long fingers donning his many rings leaving warm circles on my back.

My nod answers his sentence as my hands find the satiny fabric of his button up, one daring to play with a curl of his before cupping his shoulder. My tears dry up on my cheek pressed to his shoulder, but they threaten a return when he kisses the top of my head, making me wonder when the next time will be that I get another.

“Y’know, Rore was s’posed t’ go rock climbin’ with me t’day, but he called in sick. I figure he’s prolly jus’ hungova, but ya said I get whateva I want on me birthday, so I want ya t’ come with me instead,” Harry announces, squeezing me in our hug before I look up at him.

“I’ll have to stop home for some different clothes.”

“That’s fine, we can ride togetha in my Rover and we’ll stop by yer flat,” he explains, and I hum a happy ‘okay’ as he brushes the back of his fingers across my cheeks. “Don’t want me birthday t’ end jus’ yet, ‘m havin’ so much fun with me best friend.”

The blinking cursor stares back at me, and yet I can’t find the motivation to write anything. My thoughts are too immersed in the events of today. My arms around his waist, and then his around mine. My hand in his before he almost kissed me in his office, and again during the ride to and from the indoor rock climbing place. We agreed on listening to Spice Girls in the car, and during the too relatable parts in the songs ‘Say You’ll Be There’ and sometimes in ‘2 Become 1’, I felt his hand squeeze mine and I held his a little tighter at those moments, too.

I couldn’t count the number of times we laughed while tucked into those harnesses, my hands and feet slipping on the grips of the rock wall. I knew he was competitive, but holy shit, he proved me wrong this afternoon. He did it again when I thought I knew how good he looked in tight jogging sweats, but I learned about it all again from my often vantage point below him on the wall.

I’ve been trying to avoid the purple clock in my office for what feels like hours, but I know it hasn’t been that long. The time had gone by faster than I thought it had when I finally look, my limbs suddenly feeling heavy when the clock reads 4:08 pm. I try to return to my work, typing up the last few sentences for the final document for his- our case. I can’t, knowing he’ll be leaving any minute now, and not knowing how I’m going to say goodbye to him. All of these times, we’ve said it, but never knew it would be the last one for a while. I almost miss that ignorance, almost.

“Ya might break it, if ya stare at it any harder, bug.” Hastily looking to my doorway, there he is with his Northface on and messenger bag at his side. “C’mere,” he says softly, a sadness clinging to his voice and the hand he waves towards himself.

I oblige and within moments, I let my head fall to his chest, my cheek brushing against his exposed skin and metal necklace.

“Nine days is a long time,” I mumble, my hands falling to rest at the middle of his back.

“Feels that way fer me too.”

“It’ll be okay, though,” I hum hopefully, savoring the feeling of being tucked away safely in his arms.

“Ya, it will, won’t it?” he responds gently, one hand waving goodbyes against my back and the other cupping my head to his chest. I almost start crying again when he plants a kiss on the top of my head, his special spot. “Ya, it’ll be okay, Becks. You’ll learn loads from Myles, and ‘ll still be there blowin’ up yer phone like usual with texts and calls.”

A moment of happiness flows from my mouth at his words, and a few seconds of his giggle joins mine.

“I’m going to really miss you,” I finally voice aloud for him to hear, but it doesn’t feel like enough for what I’m feeling. The dread, the anxiousness, the debilitating sadness, the frustration, and the anger I feel towards the world. He almost succeeds in ridding my body of their nervous trembles, but what will I do when I can’t go to him for a hug when I need to calm down or when I just want one?

“‘m gonna miss ya mo’, bug.”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now? Why of course it is with you,” I scoff, lifting my head to meet his eyes that brew a concoction of bittersweetness.

“I guess so, Boops,” he smirks, tapping the point of my nose. For a while there, it felt like a blind competition of who was going to make the first move between us, but now, I trust we’re both planning to wait until he returns, and is back for good. When we both are. “Y’know, me case could get done early or take longa.”

“Don’t say that,” I sigh with bent eyebrows that he tries to smooth out with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, bug, but ‘s tha brutal truth o’ bein’ a lawyer and that’s yer life now. It doesn’t always go how ya want it t’. I reckon, ‘s tha truth o’ life actually.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t like it,” I exhale, diving back into his arms for one last time, wishing I knew when the next time it would be that I get to do this again. There’s so little stopping me from getting on my tiptoes and kissing the sadness out of him.

“I should go, me flight ‘s soon,” Harry whispers a minute later, his nose brushing against my temple.

“Yeah, we don’t want the birthday boy to be late for his big case starting Monday,” I say with a fake smile, squeezing him one last time and then moving away to zip his coat up the rest of the way.

“Thanks fer the best birthday ‘ve had inna long time, Becks. It meant tha world t’ me, I hope y’know,” he coos from above me, but I avoid his eyes as I tuck his necklace back into his shirt. “‘ll call ya once I land, ‘kay? ‘ll be back soon, Becks,” he murmurs against my temple, lips falling to my cheek where they press a long last kiss there. His thumb hooks under my chin and lifts my avoidant eyes to his. “‘ll miss ya mo’ than y’know.”

“Bye, Harry. I’ll see you in nine days,” I hardly manage to make out, holding onto the semisweet smile hugging his lips. I feel one last squeeze from him where my hand stays in his, and then he walks away. He chances one last look over his shoulder, and I’m positive he couldn’t miss the first tear on my cheek, because I watch the first one fall from his eyes.

A huff falls from lips as I rub at my eyes, a yawn soon leaving me. Walking out of my office, my eyes linger down the hall at his dark door that still isn’t any easier to look at five days later. Even after his surprise FaceTime this morning in his most adorable purple robe to drink morning coffee together, watching FRIENDS last night on FaceTime, or all of the random texting conversations we’ve been having, I miss him even worse.

Swinging my empty water bottle around the handle on my finger, I soon find myself alone in the break room. The fridge closes with a soft clud as I set the Brita water pitcher on the counter, screwing off the top to my water bottle.

“Don’t spill it!” somebody says from behind me, making me jump and spill the water I’m pouring into my steel water bottle.

“Don’t do that, Harry!” I exclaim automatically, peeking back at the person who scared me. I groan and turn back to my water, but then something clicks in my head.

Harry.

He’s back!

“Harry!” I almost shout, turning back to him. I find a smile as bright as the sun staring back at me. “You’re back early!”

“Ya, I finished me case early and wanted t’ come say hi. I won it, Becks, we won it,” he replies happily.

With wide eyes, I feel my lips split into a smile. Throwing my arms around his neck, I wrap him in a hug.

“Harry, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you! I know how nervous you were for this case,” I hum into his warm neck. His musky cologne surrounds me as his arms do the same around my middle.

“Thanks so much, Becks. I sure missed havin’ ya there by me side givin’ me advice and correctin’ me notes,” he rasps with a small laugh, and I feel his warm words dance across my head.

“Well, it looks like you didn’t need it,” I tell him, pulling away to find his dimples caved into his cheeks. His pearly whites smile back at me. I squeeze his arm and smile back at him, filling with pride and happiness.

“Ya, coz you were still there, bug. I appreciated yer calls and texts, love, and ‘course all tha times watchin’ FRIENDS togetha. It did wondas t’ take me mind off tha case.”

I’m not sure what else to do besides smile at him, but then I feel the right words come to me. Or the closest to right. “I can’t say enough how proud I am of you, and how happy I am, too. But I’m not surprised, because you’re a pretty damn great lawyer.”

A blush rises to his cheeks and he looks down all abashed. “Thanks, that means loads comin’ from you.”

“What, why would it mean a lot coming from me? I haven’t even been practicing for a month, and meanwhile you have been for years,” I ask, searching for the answer in his eyes. But when he lets me see them again, I can’t tell what it is.

“Jus’ does, Becks . . I wanna make ya proud.”

“Well, you’ve already done that a few times over,” I laugh heartily. He nods and sticks his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. A multicolored flannel and Beatles shirt dons his upper half. Checkered Vans claim his feet, and sunglasses are caught in his hair. It’s all the epitome of comfy airport clothes.

“What are you going to do with the rest of your days off? You still have tomorrow and Friday before you’re due back on Monday.”

“Um, I dunno. ‘ll prolly stay home and unpack. Do a bit o’cleanin’ and catch up on sleep. That bloody jet lag ‘s no joke,” he confesses, losing a hand in his air as he giggles.

“Yeah, you seem to have a hard time with that, I’m sorry. You should try some of that Sleepy Time tea before bed, it always helps me. Or reading. Or exercising,” I blurt out, feeling like the nonsensical words will never stop.

“Thanks, I’ll stop by tha shops and pick some up. Wasn’t that tha one I had on accident at yer place tha one time?”

“You mean the night you zonked out on my sofa at eight pm?” I chuckle and he nods with red cheeks.

“Ya, that one. I s’pose that stuff really works.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I reply. Again, the words are bubbling up into my throat. And then the silent promise we made to the other falls back into my thoughts, as well as the one I made what feels like so long ago now. Just ask him out when he gets back then, it’d be too annoying starting to date while he’s away, Skye had said.“I uh . . .”

“Ya, Becks?” Harry responds, and I look back up to find his patient eyes on me. A smile bends his lips and I feel it fill me with courage, egging me on.

And that’s what makes the words fall from my lips.

“I was wondering if you’re doing anything Friday night?”

He almost says something, but there’s a creak when the door opens. My face falls when I realize it, and a confused look paints Harry’s face. Rory prances over and pats Harry on the back, before scooping him into a hug.

Looking to the floor with a shy smile, I step away from the reunion. I grab a towel from the drawer and clean up my mess. I screw the top onto my water bottle before tossing the rag into the bin under the sink.

“Wow, man! I can’t believe ya did it. Ya put on a great defense from what I heard from Mick’s friend,” Rory exclaims before pouring into question after question.

I can’t hide the disappointment coating my features inside and out. I finally got the courage to ask him, and I was interrupted. And now, I don’t think I could find that courage again.

Grabbing my water bottle, I walk over to the fridge and steal a yogurt from a shelf. The door closes with a soft click as I go to walk around them.

“Becks, wait,” Harry says, making me stop in my tracks. Turning to find his eyes on me, I watch confusion screw up Rory’s face.

“Rore, there was sumthin’ I needed t’ ask Becky ‘bout. I’ll catch ya aftawards, ya?” Harry turns to him and says.

I feel my heart almost hiccup inside of my chest. And with it, I feel it start to gallop back into nervous territory.

“Yeah sure, man. I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Rory replies, patting him on the shoulder before the door closes behind him.

And then it’s just Harry and I, again.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. I haven’t seen anybody else yet, so he was surprised t’ see me,” Harry tells me. God, Harry, stop making my heart do all of these jumpy things, please. Holy shit, he basically said I’m the first person he came to see. Uh wow, that is uh-. “Becks?” Harry repeats. I blink and watch his features materialize in front of me again.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

“’s okay. What were ya sayin’ ‘bout Friday?” he continues, and I swear my heart just keeps jumping, making it even more harder to speak. But I have to do it. I have to try.

“Um, I was wondering . . . . If you wanted to try out that new restaurant, Rafael’s, on 3rd? L-Like a date?” I say, forcing the words out one after the other, or else I won’t get them out. “Because I remember you said before it opened that you’d like to try it and your friend owns it and-.”

“Yes, I’d love t’, Becks. I’d love t’ go onna date with you t’ Rafael’s,” Harry interrupts, his words coming out like molasses with a syrupy sweet smile. They fill in and soothe all of the worries fighting inside of me. And immediately squash the doubts.

With that, my heart calms down and I feel a happiness soar through my veins. One I haven’t felt in a long time. It climbs higher and higher when I take a leap and jump into his arms, hearing his breathy laugh I missed so fucking much.

“Goddamit, Harry, I missed you so much,” I confess into his chest, my eyes falling closed as I finally feel like I can relax, and four days early at that. A chuckle rumbles through his warm chest while his familiar scent could lull me to sleep. I missed that too, his peppery vanilla cologne, and how safe I feel in his arms that hold me against him.

I can’t believe all of this, what just happened and the fact that he’s here, and back with me. He’s with me.

“Fookin’ hell, I missed ya mo’, Becks,” he reveals, words falling into my hair seconds before he surprises me with a kiss to my cheek.

It only intensifies when I dare to look up and find those green eyes looking at me in a way I’ve never seen. Now, I finally get a feeling of what I’ve looked like this whole time. This whole time I’ve been looking at him with the beginnings of love in my eyes.

Finally, we’re here.

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

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.

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.

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