#even before the Year From Hell and that shift to red as Robin to honour Kon

[tallochar]

Also related to Our Worlds at War, something something there is some sort of commemorative [x] Years After The War ceremony or something.

It's a big public thing, all sort of heroes who participated are getting recognized, but someone decided they shouldn't ignore YJ's contributions because while they were not actively fighting, they were still drafted to be on the front as medical auxiliaries.

Tim is not going to publicly go, because secret identities and way too many cameras and live feeds aimed at the thing, and Bart is not going to go either, because trauma and bad memories, he's just going to glue himself to Tim and they are gonna play games and pointedly Not Watch The Ceremony.

The other members of YJ (the ones who decided to go / could afford to go) accept the [insert something they are being presented with to honor their contribution] on behalf of Robin and Impulse as well, with testimonial being played from heroes about being extracted from the battlefield by YJ, interspersed with clips from the behind the lines that managed to get glimpses of the kids at work.

[locria-writes]

i like to imagine utanzhu mc gets into character by sliding yuju a single grasshopper ;) aNYWAYS does the utanzhu clan believe in a heaven & hell or reincarnation? do they have any special mourning or funeral traditions?

pls don’t traumatize poor yuju >.

but yay, lore!!! religion and culture is pretty homogeneous throughout yetakh, so this applies everywhere (of course, there are little regional/provincial quirks)

so let’s start with beliefs about death!

when people die, it’s believed they cross over to the underworld. there is no heaven for the dead -- when people refer to the heavens, they simply mean the gods. hell does exist though. usually, when people die, it is believed they cross over to the underworld, where they will remain for four years before being reincarnated. reincarnation is dependent upon a kind of karma, with those who have accrued good karma being able to reincarnate as a mortal, or a dignified animal/insect (e.g. horse, dragonfly, etc.). the only exception are children who die before their fourth year, which in that case, it is believed they will reincarnate in a year.

the underworld is thought of to be a vast city, not unlike those of the living.

hell is reserved for those who have committed one (or more) of the four great sins --

regicide/patricide/matricide (these are all seen as killing one’s parent, and the provincial princes are thought to be of a similar standing as the high king, therefore they qualify for the regicide as well)

fratricide/infanticide (these are seen as harming one’s family’s prosperity)

desecration of tombs

lying to the heavens (commonly interpreted as any kind of lying, but it refers to one not fulfilling an oath they made to the gods)

in hell, it’s believed that the sinner’s soul will suffer for seven lifetimes before being reincarnated to a ‘dirty’ animal/insect (e.g. rat, worm, etc.).

now, for funeral traditions!

the funeral really depends on the status of the person and their age. the higher status they had, whether they achieved a great feat, or if they were a noble, the larger and more elaborate the funeral.

the body is first cleaned and dressed for familial and religious blessings, and is left untouched in a cool room for at least 3 days (the actual number depends on other factors). offerings and prayers are made at auspicious hours (dawn, noon, dusk, and midnight) in the days that lead up to the actual funeral. for the entire duration, the house is decorated with white silk or cotton, and no gaudy colours are allowed. the bereaved dress in white cotton with simple black or dark grey trimmings during prayers/offerings/funeral procession, and are only allowed muted blues, browns, and greens with no elaborate stitching. women and girls are allowed to only white flowers and simple silver pins to decorate their hair. the flowers that can be placed in the house at this time are white lilies.

the actual funeral consists of final religious blessings from the priest, then cremation. the urn and memorial tablet are then paraded in a procession to the temple. during the procession, there are priests accompanying the bereaved, playing music and chanting prayers.

offerings are burnt to give the deceased a comfortable life in the underworld (offerings are all paper, and made in likeness of money, clothes, toys, etc.). after that, the ashes of the offerings are scattered at an auspicious time, quickly followed by the ashes of the deceased. it is at this time that people are told to openly grieve, the belief being the louder the cries are, the more likely the gods are to take pity of the dead and grant them a comfortable life in the underworld. once that’s done, either green tea or rice wine (depends on the age of the deceased), is poured onto the ground as a last toast.

a paper house and horse are also made, but aren’t burnt and scattered until after the 44th day after the funeral (not applicable to young children).

auspicious times are derived from three factors -- the characters that make up the deceased’s given names, their birth chart, and their age. typically, the younger they are, the closer to midnight their ashes are scattered as a symbol of a long next life.

high kings/heroes have incredibly elaborate funerals. unless the hero in question is a folk hero (like robin hood, or some kind of rebel), there is kingdom-wide mourning implemented. funerals typically last about a week.

nobles usually just have the city they grew up in in mourning, or alternatively, the province in mourning. things are fancy, but still fairly simple. funerals last between. funerals last between 3 to 6 days, sometimes 7.

commoners usually have their families and friends mourn, occasionally neighbours too. very simple overall. funerals last up to 3 days.

but the age of the deceased is the most important factor of all

// no true funeral; the body is cremated as soon as possible, some simple offerings, and no official memorial tablet (it’s become fashionable to make a funerary tapestry though).

4 to 13 // a relatively simple funeral, a procession of the memorial tablet, more expensive offerings, ashes are normally scattered in the last 3 hours of the day, memorial tablet is usually kept at the local temple.

14 to 30 // very similar to the previous age group, just more elaborate. the ashes are scattered between 3pm and 9pm, and the memorial tablet is usually kept at the local temple if the person has no children. if there are children, the tablet is kept at their kin’s home.

31 to 50 // relatively elaborate, expensive offerings are now used (red ink, sometimes even other family members’ blood can be used on them). ashes are scattered between 8am and 3pm, and the memorial tablet is kept at the family’s home.

51+ // very elaborate, only the finest offerings are allowed, and it’s expected for people to write prayers with their own blood and burn them as offerings. ashes are scattered between 4am and 7am, and the memorial tablet is kept at the eldest child’s house, if not applicable, then the next oldest kin.

mourning is dependent on the relation to the deceased, and is considered to have begun once the ashes are scattered. there are 3 phases of mourning

full-mourning

may only wear white, grey, and black clothes. silver and pearl jewellery is allowed, and women are allowed to wear simple decorations in their hair

disallowed from attending auspicious events, such as weddings, birthday celebrations, naming parties, etc.

may not attend or listen to operas

must pray 3 times a day (dawn, noon, dusk), and make offerings at each time, as well as burning joss sticks

men are disallowed from taking concubines at this time, as well as visit brothels

no weddings are allowed

only simple meals are allowed (no red meat, no delicacies aside from bird’s nest and other medical foods)

half-mourning

may wear muted colours with simple embroidery (no gold threat is allowed for nobles). jade, glass, enamel, and beaded jewellery is now allowed, and women are allowed more elaborate haistyles

disallowed from attending weddings

must pray once a day (either dawn or dusk), and make offerings and joss stick burnings twice a day (dawn and dusk)

men are disallowed from taking concubines at this time

no weddings are allowed

joss sticks should be b

quarter-mourning

must pray once a day (either dawn or dusk), and make an offering and joss stick burning during prayer

no weddings are allowed

there are considered to be 4 levels of relatedness to the deceased

'direct’ kin (children, parents, grandparents, siblings, spouse, concubines and their children toward the legal wife/husband, sworn siblings, commoners the high king and spouse)

4 weeks of full-mourning

4 months of half-mourning

4 years of quarter-mourning

‘close’ kin (cousins, aunts/uncles, nephew/niece, commoners to princes and spouse)

4 weeks of full-mourning

4 weeks of half-mourning

4 months of quarter-mourning

close but unrelated (close friends, employees to a boss, husband/legal wife/legal children to concubines)

4 days of full-mourning

4 weeks of half-mourning

4 weeks of quarter-mourning

acquainted (students/teachers, neighbours, etc.)

4 days of full-mourning

4 days of half-mourning

4 days of quarter-mourning

deceased young children are the exception to these, however. there is no official mourning time for them, but most families do half-mourning for 4 weeks, before shifting to another 4 weeks of quarter-mourning.

another exception is the high king. the high king is disallowed from ever entering full-mourning, so they will simply take the time allotted for full-mourning, and add it on to the time of half-mourning (e.g. instead of 4 weeks of full-mourning, the add on the 4 weeks to half-mourning).

throughout mourning, food is regularly offered to the deceased through household altars, or at the temple. prayers are often burnt in hopes of giving the deceased peace, and it is not uncommon to copy out whole books of scriptures to burn.

once the direct kin complete their mourning, it is customary to invite a priest to cleanse the house, and then to throw a banquet in honour of the deceased. the older they were, the more lavish and boisterous the banquet should be. firecrackers should also be set off once every week for 4 weeks to chase away the bad luck and unclean energy.

afterward, there are no real rituals or traditions to complete, aside from the yearly festival of ghosts. during that, if one was close to the deceased, it’s expected to pray, burn some offerings and joss sticks, and release a lantern for them as a sign of remembrance.

[capnjay21]

doubt truth to be a liar (never doubt I love) 1/1

I have missed writing for CS, so this is me throwing something back out into the ether and seeing who yells back.  In the weeks that follow their return from the Underworld, Killian begins to question the new revelations that have changed everything. CS, with effusively referenced Milah/Killian. 

Rating: T Words: 2,992 AO3

Even now, weeks on, Hell still clutches at his back.

It murmurs in his ear, brushes white hot caresses down his spine until he spasms, and conjures the scent of smoke and rotting flesh no matter how long he spends scrubbing his clothes to get it out. His neck occasionally smarts with phantom pain, and in hostile, fleeting flashes, the streets of his home burn in a mirage of orange and he panics, clutching at whomever is near to him to pull him back to the world above. In his quieter moments, he can hear the ground whispering, beckoning him back into the darkness underneath.

Zeus had put him back where he belonged, he daren’t doubt that; the souls of the departed do not always agree.

No matter how many times his friends suggest it might help, he does not return to the park. Not when a drop of his blood into the lake, the blood of a man restored, might lure the unworldly mist and summon the only beings with the power to drag him back to the Underworld. When he considers it, he cannot stop his breath from catching.

These are some of the new truths for Killian Jones. Not all, but some.

Others are far more pleasant.

Like the way he can wake up beside Emma in a house they call their own, and have her only tuck herself deeper into his side. The way he can join the Charmings for dinner at Granny’s without remark, how he can take Henry sailing when the weather is fair, how willing Regina is to trade barbs over a game of darts instead of a clash of wills; after their ordeals over the past year, he is finally a proud, welcome member of their family. It wasn’t just Emma’s quest to rescue him, it was all of theirs. He is happy. And when his soul burns red Killian can make love to Emma and she will be right there with him, loving him, begging for the sun to rise.

He loves Emma more than anything in any realm. This is not a new truth for Killian Jones.

What is, however, is the strength of that love. True Love, capital T, capital L. Emma lying atop him as an ancient door creaks open, you chose me. The most powerful magic of all, and he and Emma share it. That knowledge bolsters their interactions, pulls smiles from a light inside of him whenever it is mentioned, becomes the foundation for many a teasing jest mumbled into the juncture of her neck while she giggles into his shoulder.

Other than that, nothing feels different.

And it’s been gnawing away at him.

Emma Swan is his True Love. True Love like the kind that meant Snow White and Prince Charming could share a heart, the kind that could revive Henry from a sleeping curse, that could rescue entire worlds from darkness. With as much as he loves Emma, this does not feel entirely beyond the realm of reason. When they are together he feels like he can make entire kingdoms collide. That said, there wasn’t some shining moment he decided what he felt for her was pure — it built, it pounded against him gently first until it cascaded to a roar that nearly overwhelmed his senses. He didn’t know he felt it until he realised the ringing in his ears had already been there for what felt like centuries.

The only trouble is, this isn’t the only time he’s felt this way.

“What is it that makes love True?” he queries one afternoon, when he can suppress the question no longer. Beside him Snow starts, and he realises that although his thoughts have been full of their usual tumult, they had been working quite pleasantly in silence.

After lunch, David and Emma had been called away on some minor emergency on the other side of Storybrooke, and after they had insisted they would not need any assistance he had volunteered to stay with Snow and finish clearing up. They settled easily into a routine, her washing and him drying, and as he watched her he couldn’t help but imagine she was some sort of authority on the subject of True Love; she and David were the staple pair, surely. The story of Snow White and Prince Charming was practically synonymous with the concept. So, without thinking, he blurts the question forward.

When Snow turns to look at him curiously he feels a warm flush creep up from his collar, so he busies himself with putting a plate away, balancing the cloth on his hook.

“What do you mean?” she asks, not unkindly.

Killian offers an abashed shrug. “Just — this whole True Love palaver. I’m not entirely certain I understand it.”

Snow laughs. “I don’t know if there’s anything to understand,” she smiles as if he’s a child making a funny remark about something straightforward, and it irks him slightly. “You just feel it. You must know what I mean, you and Emma have it.”

“No, I do, I do feel it,” he says, drawing out the word, “I would do anything for Emma and she for me. What I mean is… who decides? Who decides when the love a heart feels is True or — or just regular love?”

(Is it wonderful, she had breathed, to travel so much?

He had told her of the air filled with spices, of distant queens in fleeting kingdoms —

— Sometimes he thinks he may have loved her even then.)

“Is there such a thing as regular love?”

“Well,” Killian scratches behind his ear, “not every impassioned couple has the ability to break a curse.”

“It’s not about that,” she turns fully to face him, drying her hands on a dishcloth. “It’s about building something together over time, it’s about sacrifice.” She lets out a long sigh. “I’ve never loved anybody like I love David. It’s just more. And those are all the answers I have, I’m afraid.”

She nudges his shoulder playfully with hers, and he knows she means to lighten the mood, but all she has said only vexes him further.

“I’m not a young man. I’ve loved before Emma,” it’s not quite a confession when the entirety of Storybrooke knew about his feud with the Crocodile, “fiercely. I would’ve easily given my life for her — I tried to, she didn’t let me.” He leans heavily against the counter, and although he can see Snow’s expression shifting into one of sympathy, he presses on. “But with all this talk of True Love, of its rarity, that you should consider yourself lucky to have felt it once…” Killian shrugs helplessly. “What does that mean for Milah?”

He feels a squeeze on his upper arm, sees Snow’s hand resting there. “Oh, Killian.”

“Did I not love her, then?” Three hundred years of all-encompassing grief and a vehement desire for revenge would, to him, suggest the contrary. Which left another possibility clutching suddenly at his insides with anguish. “Or did she not love me?”

The mere idea of it makes him seize up. She had risked Hades’ wrath to help Emma and the others get to him in the Underworld, and had lost her soul to eternal torment in the process. Even the satisfaction of knowing that Hades had been destroyed isn’t quite enough to soothe that particular ache. What if she had never truly loved him?

“Have you spoken to Emma about this?” Snow asks gently. Killian frowns, shakes his head. He doesn’t exactly think bringing up his past love is the most romantic of conversations. “I think you should.”

She’s probably right.

“But I will say this,” she continues, “what you and Emma have… it’s special. But it doesn’t make what came before any less so. We are all who we are because of our experiences.” She rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve fought hard for your happiness — please remember to enjoy it.”

She leaves him in the kitchen then, her words having done little to soothe his troubled mind.

-/-

Killian takes a moment to observe the house they have built together as Emma rises from her position nestled into his side on the sofa. She reaches for their discarded plates, and heads out into the kitchen.

The room had felt enormous when she had first welcomed him inside it, all bare walls and scarcely populated floor space — it had been a reflection, really, on the darkened state of her mind that found itself projected onto the even colder space around them. Even when she had led him to the telescope and the stunning view of the sea he found it hard to imagine making a home out of it. Yet, on their return from the Underworld, they had done exactly that.

A fire burns in the hearth, bright and warm, golden light flickering from memory to memory across the room. The once exposed walls are now lined with Henry’s schoolwork, with photos of the Charmings, of Regina, of Robin. Robin. The man whose soul had been lost because of Emma’s quest to save him. They both owe him so much, it had felt important to honour him some way as they moved forward; he would never be forgotten.

Killian had never even considered finding a home apart from the sea — he had been abandoned first on the ocean, lost his brother to its lure, it was hard to even fathom another person becoming a reason to maroon himself away from its natural pull. Yet when he sees pieces of the life he and Emma are just beginning to stitch together from their rags of broken things, it is impossible to ignore the reality. Anchored, but exquisitely happy.

Lost in thought, Killian only just realises Emma has been speaking, her voice floating above the running of the tap in the next room.

“I told him if he wanted that kind of ‘favour’ he’d need to ask Regina — and whaddya know, he asks to stay at hers an extra night. He’s as transparent as they come. Still,” she continues, and he can hear the padding of her socks on the floor bringing her nearer, “we don’t mind the extra night on our own, do we?”

Mary Margaret’s advice rings quietly in his ear, like a murmur. When Killian lifts his head to see her standing in the doorway, he is as always stunned by her beauty. Even dressed down for an evening spent in their house, she could not appear lovelier.

“Emma,” he says softly, and maybe it’s his tone or his mood all evening, but the utterance gives her pause, “may I talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” she responds automatically, and as she crosses the room and drops down next to him he can see the light furrow in her brow. He wants nothing more than to smooth it over with his thumb, kiss the uncertainty from the line of her mouth. Trepidation stays his hand.

When he doesn’t immediately respond, Emma turns to face him on the sofa and reaches a hand across to squeeze his arm. “You were thrashing about in your sleep again last night.”

Hades had him dangled above the river of lost souls, only that time Emma had not made it before he found oblivion.

“Is it —?”

“Aye,” he says, partly to stop her dwelling on the subject. They had spoken enough of his ordeal to last a lifetime. “But I find my mind is frayed with thoughts of a different kind.” She waits, her expression open and kind. It is so far from the walls she threw up the moment they met that his heart squeezes with gratitude — it becomes stifling to even consider revealing that which he had quietly admitted to her mother that morning. “I don’t want to hurt you, Swan.”

(And perhaps maybe a year ago, that comment may have spooked her.)

Emma lifts his hand and squeezes it. Quietly determined. “Go ahead.”

“Recently,” he starts, and it is difficult to find the words, “recently I can’t help feeling… I love you,” he hastens to assure her, “and I know you love me. That this love is true. We have proof of that.”

“No broken curses in sight but we did open a creepy old door.”

Killian breathes out a laugh to match the glimmer of amusement in her expression, the way her mouth is tugged gently into a smirk. He feels some of the tension in his shoulders ease away even as he is drawn back into solemnity.

“I just — recently, I can’t help but feel this… veneration of what lies between us makes me a traitor to an old love.”

Emma’s eyes dawn with understanding. She nods slowly once.

“Milah.”

“It sounds ridiculous.”

“Hey, I met her, remember?” Emma sidesteps his attempt at a dismissal with ease. “She was kind, and brave, and nothing about you wanting to honour her memory is ridiculous.”

Killian slips his hand out of Emma’s, runs it through his hair.

“I find myself doubting even that which I’ve always taken for truth. Did she and I not love each other as much as you and I do? Why is one hailed as True where the other just… was?” He sighs. “I even pestered your mother today, such is the extent of my anxiety.”

Was he merely a fool?

Emma had turned her face slightly away from him, staring into the hearth with a soft frown, thoughtful in its most open corners. It makes Killian squirm to see it, and he instantly wishes he hadn’t been so thoughtless as to follow Snow White’s advice.

(Of course she would advocate for total honesty, spilling secrets was practically her modus operandi).

“I’m sorry.” He means it with a depth and severity he cannot measure, and reaches for her hand again. “I want to just enjoy what we have. I wish I weren’t thinking this way.”

“I love that you are.”

A damn lucky fool.

Killian’s bemusement must have shown on his face, because Emma smiles kindly as if he were Henry asking for help with a particularly challenging mathematical problem.

“You think I haven’t had similar thoughts?” she muses. “I loved before you too, you know.”

A vision of Baelfire stuns him then, the familiar rush of guilt and anguish and sorrow coming to the fore before he attempts to soothe them with thoughts of the peace of their last encounter. With Emma’s love, quietly earned and steadfastly valued. He knows the young man would approve — he can feel it in the deepest chambers of his heart.

“Neal might not have always been brave, but he was when it counted. He died for me and Henry. You and me, we’re…” Emma hesitates, and he can see her searching for the right words to pluck from the space between them. “We’re different to Mom and Dad. They fought hard for their love, sure, but they’ve never lost. Not really. Not the way you and I have.”

(I love you, she had whispered, before crumpling into his arms —

— the beast had laughed, cackled, taunted the extent of his despair —

Is it wonderful, she had breathed, to travel so much?)

“I never thought I would love again after Neal. I imagine things were the same for you.”

He had spent 300 years convinced he never would, he never could. Had foregone all else in his pursuit of revenge.

Until he met her.

“Aye,” he agrees, needlessly. She knows the answer already.

“Then maybe —” Emma begins with a renewed sense of purpose, adjusts her position next to him, demands his full focus as she tosses some of her hair over her shoulder impatiently. “Maybe it’s not some secret power or magical authority that decides what’s different this time. Maybe it’s just us.”

He frowns, waits for her to continue.

“We chose each other, Killian. After everything that’s happened to us.”

He thinks back to the test that had engulfed him in flame, how Emma had launched herself at him instead of her own heart.

“You chose me,” he echoes that moment with wonder, his mouth beginning to lift into a smile.

She mirrors it. “And you chose me.” As she leans forward he meets her halfway, allows the gentlest press of her lips to his before she pulls back. “I wanted to believe in us, so I did. And here we are.”

And it’s a damn near perfect place to be.

“Here we are.”

“It doesn’t mean we loved them less. It just means we loved again.”

He has no idea if they have reached a real conclusion – whether the breadth of True Love can really be measured in such a way — but he figures if mystical scales buried under miles of rock beneath the mortal realm are authorised to make that judgement, then so are they. It mutes the stir of his mind, in any case. The Milah of his soul can continue to smile, unimpeded by the cloud of his own uncertainty. They had loved. Bloody hell, they had loved. And they had lost.

Zeus had made it clear enough; he was where he belonged now.

“I like that,” he decides, kissing her again because he can’t not do it.

“Me too.”

“I like you.”

Emma laughs, and it’s an open and honest sound. “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”

As the embers die he finds comfort with her long into the night. When they make love he watches stars burst around them, feels her warmth carry him into a dreamless sleep. With her, he need not worry where his home might be anymore. The earth does not beckon him beneath its shell, and as the dark stretches until morning he does not again doubt that the sun will rise.

He knows it with a certainty, a surety, one only born of the privilege to deeply love, and be loved deeply in return.

[wroteasongabouther]

Leave Right Now - Harry Styles Imagine

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: PG WORD COUNT: 3k

“We could leave, right now,” Harry says. His words throw you off even more, your lips gap open and you blink a few times. “Ditch your friends, that daft guy you came with and just go spend the rest of the night together, maybe even tomorrow,”

You look into Harry’s eyes for a moment, then you tilt your head and see the red exit sign above the back door. You could do it, no questions asked, and just enjoy a night with Harry. It was years delayed. Even two years ago when you last kissed, you didn’t spend the remainder of the night with him before he was running out in order to sleep some before an early flight to Japan.

or 

The one in which Y/N and Harry reunite upon his return to Holmes Chapel.

⏤

Being back in Holmes Chapel was nice, lovely really. Even after all these years, touring the world and living in LA, Harry felt at home here. He’s smiling while driving through the back streets. He sees his old school and the bakery, then he makes it to his parents house where his family is awaiting his arrival.

“I can’t believe you’re home,” Anne grins while welcoming her son. Harry’s face squishes up against the side of her head as she hugs him tightly.

“Missed ya too mum,” he mumbles before the hug ends. “It’s nice to be here, no where to run off to tomorrow,” Harry states as he looks at his step dad and sister Gemma waiting for an embrace too.

“You deserve the break,” Robin says.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles, hugging him before moving on to his sister. “Where’s your knob of a boyfriend?” He asks, teasing her still for the first time he had met Gemma’s boyfriend. He managed to mess up a few things, but it was a funny encounter.

“He’s not a knob,” Gemma scowls and whacks Harry’s arm.

“Harry be nice to your sister,” Anne grumbles, but then flashes a grin, “damn I missed you two being at home,” Harry notices his mom tearing up. But so does Robin, so he mentions tea quickly and Anne is off in the kitchen without any tears shed.

“Anyways,” Gemma pauses, “he’s meeting us at the pub later,”

“The pub?” Harry questions, his eyebrows furrow together as they walk into the living room. Harry had only been to the local pub a handful of times, always fun but as usual public affairs called for people recognizing Harry and photos being scattered across the internet.

“Yes, we’re going out tonight,” Gemma nods.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gem,”

“I don’t see why not,” she shrugs, “everyone here is cool,” she adds with a smile.

“I guess we’ll just wait and see,” Harry responds as his mom walks in with a tray full with tea for the four of them. Harry sure did miss the simple afternoons at home, and he was ready to settle in and get used to it too.

⏤

The pub wasn’t too crowded for a Thursday night. Most people worked in the morning, but there were the few that were daring and made it out for some drinks. You were one of those people. It was mostly since Joshua, a co-worker who’s ‘obsessed with you’, had asked you to come out. So of course you made sure it included your two closest friends, also from work, and made it less awkward of a night.

“I swear Jerry has planned your guys wedding already!” Trisha, work friend and hair colour extraordinaire, says while you just shook your head and sip your beer.

“Jerry is just a lovely old man,” you shrug.

“Who’s in love with you,” Kev, work partner in crime and gayest male in Holmes Chapel - his words not yours - rolls his eyes at you. He sips on his mixed drink and you sort of zone out from the conversation to check your phone then. You’re not paying any attention till Kev gasps and grabs onto your arm.

“What in the hell?” You question, looking up from the death grip to Kev’s shocked face. Following his gaze, you only see a crowd of people near the front doors of the pub.

“Harry Styles is back in town,” Kev says.

“You don’t have to say his full name, Kev, we know who he is,” Trisha exclaims, “plus Gem texted me saying they were going to come out tonight,” she adds.

“And you didn’t warn us?” Kev glares, he’s then focusing on fixing his hair and straightening out his outfit. He mumbles to himself of how he should’ve picked the baby pink shirt instead of the baby blue now.

“What’s the fuss?” Joshua asks. You turn and look to see he’s staring straight at you, which you should’ve expected.

“Harry’s like a celebrity,” you say.

“Well, I know that much,” Joshua states, “why is he in town?” He questions. You simply shrug, because you didn’t have a clue as to why.

Harry and yourself were friends. Had been for years actually. You recalled the days of running around his backyard, then growing up and spending time at the bakery before he was let off shift. There was also that time you kissed, it being both of yours first, so it was pretty sloppy. But the few kisses after that were much better. Upon his rise to fame, you stuck back here in Holmes Chapel and would settle for a rare text back or visit here and there. Last you had heard from Harry, you had sent him a video via text of your niece singing along to the bands song 'History’ as it played on the radio. He responded with 'Made my day, thanks. Tell Lydia hi. And hi to you too’ and it’s been nearly two months since.

“The boyband is on a break,” Trisha says, answering Joshua’s question, “guess he missed home,”

“Why miss this crappy town?” He questions, his face crinkled up as he genuinely seems disgusted with the thought of missing your hometown. Joshua wasn’t from Holmes Chapel, and clearly he didn’t appreciate it’s homey feel like most did.

“Are they going to come over here?” Kev asks Trisha.

“I’m not sure, I just mentioned to her yesterday that we were coming, she replied that she might come as well,” Trisha explains.

“I need to use to loo,” you say before getting up from the table you had been sitting at for hours now and walking to the back where the toilets were.

Two beers down and you found yourself a little bit buzzed it seems. Cause as you sat on the toilet you were remembering your early teen years. Consisting mostly of you and your friend, Becca, sitting on your bed while she pegged question after question to you about Harry. Everyone in your year knew that you and Harry were going to date as you got older. Some even made rumours up that you two had promised to marry at the legal age. It was funny now, and it still pulled at your heart strings to think about how Harry was your first love.

After you had washed your hands, you walk to the bar and order yourself another beer. At least now with Harry’s appearance it made your boring night with Joshua a bit more interesting. You were sure Joshua was a nice lad, but that’s all you saw him as - a lad. It was just too bad he hadn’t quite got the memo yet.

“Hey you,” Gemma says as you approach your seat at the table. She and her boyfriend are talking with Trisha and Kev, while Joshua sat there quietly.

“Hey,” you smile and give her a side hug.

“How are things? Sister good? Little Lydia?” She asks, the Styles kids loved the content you were always giving of your niece via any and all social medias. Three years old next month and you wished she’d stop growing already.

“We’re all doing good,” you nod.

“Sorry, just had to run to the washroom,” you look over your shoulder at the new voice. Harry steps up beside your chair and smiles at the group.

“You’ve been in America too much, it’s called a loo here,” you tease him. Harry looks your way and his smile grows wider, those dimples making your heart swell. “Hey,” you say after he doesn’t respond.

“Hey,” Harry replied before pulling you in for a hug.

There’s a feeling in your stomach as you two hug. How his arms feel around you, his smell, how his long hair brushes your cheek. It could be the beers, or maybe you’re feelings for Harry weren’t quite as washed away as you thought. In fact, you were hit smack in the face with the fact that you were probably going to love Harry forever. Didn’t matter how big of a celebrity he got, or how busy he was for you, he was your first love and that meant there was a hole in your heart saved just in his honour.

“Like the hair,” you comment after he pulls up a chair like Gemma and her boyfriend did.

“Thanks,” Harry nods, “yours is lighter,” he adds while pointing to your head of hair.

“Yeah,” you brush your fingers through it, “Trisha actually dyed it silver last summer, just went back to the blonde look last month,”

“I saw the silver too, I liked it actually,” Harry says.

“I still think you should’ve kept it like that,” Joshua speaks up from your left. You turn to him and see he’s staring at Harry. “I’m Joshua by the way,”

“Harry,” he smiles and shakes Joshua’s hand.

“Like I was saying, silver looked good on you,” Joshua states.

“It was nice,” you shrug.

“Are you talking 'bout your 'air?” Gemma asks. “Cause I absolutely loved it, thought you should’ve gone that pinky tone too,”

“Too wild for me,”

“Too wild?” Harry questions, “if I recall you’re as wild as it gets around here,” you know exactly what he’s referring to. It’s an inside joke that you would’ve assume he’d forgotten by now.

Back in the day, when Harry worked at the bakery, you were dared to 'steal’. Harry had dared you. He claimed you weren’t wild enough to do it - it being take the left over bread bites that were usually just thrown outside for the birds. You stuck up your nose and threw them into your book bag. The two of you ran, laughing, and Harry said to you “you’re so crazy, wild!”

“I��ve gotten lame with age,” you joke.

“You literally danced on this table last weekend,” Kev injects. You look across the table and glare at him. Everyone around laughs, Trisha preparing to show everyone video but you threaten to pull up videos of her too.

“I’d like to see this table dancing,” Harry says beside you.

You inhale deeply and look down at your lap, your eyes drift to his lap where his hand is on his thigh. The older you got the more filthy your mind got. Add how good Harry looked and you were a goner. You glance back up and meet his green eyes, even in the darkness of the pub they managed to hold that same dreamy feel to them. You’re about to tell Harry there’s no way he’s seeing those videos, when Joshua grasps onto your forearm. 

“We should play that round of pool like we planned,” he says. You truly didn’t want to, in fact you’re close to inviting some others to play two-versus-two but Joshua is quick to pull you out of your chair. 

“I’m going to be rusty,” you say while grabbing a pool stick. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you some tips,” Joshua smirks. You return his flirtatious attitude with a small smile and then lean down to break. 

Throughout the game you find yourself looking back at where everyone stayed sitting. You were wishing that Trisha or Kev gave the others the heads up that you and Joshua weren’t dating. Not that you needed to relay this information in hopes that Harry wasn’t jealous. There was no way Harry was jealous right now, he and yourself were barely friends nowadays and didn’t know much about each other. You doubted he still liked you, it had been years since that last kiss you shared. 

Harry still remembered the last kiss he had with you. It was two years ago, on a visit back home after the South American dates and before the Europe dates. The night involved some drinks at an old friends, and when you walked in, well Harry was a goner. He had seen plenty of photos on social media of you growing up over the years he was gone building up One Direction. There had been texts and a few little visits here and there but it was the first time since he had left for X-Factor that he’s seen you in a more intimate party scene. 

He remembers how your hair looked, long and shining under the crappy kitchen lights. He recalls how you took shots like it didn’t burn your throat, and how the Jagermister tasted on your tongue later that night on the back porch. He wished he hadn’t left, leaving you behind and all the dreams he had that involved you in his younger days. He wanted to marry you - you were his first love and that was always going to be with him.

Now, two years later with less texts and face-to-face encounters, Harry wasn’t pleased seeing this Joshua fellow check out your bottom each time you went to shot in the game of pool. Yes, you looked great tonight but there was no needed to gawk over you like a fool. Harry quickly went from wanting to thank his sister for bringing him out to getting up and leaving. All because of you. 

“They’re not dating,” Trisha chuckles, “don’t be fooled by Joshua’s look in his eyes,” she adds and takes a sip of her drink. 

“I thought you mentioned a date,” Gemma questions. She was the one who initially asked Trisha and Kev about the two at the pool table. 

“Joshua has been practically begging for a chance since he got into town,” Kev rolls his eyes, “it’s pathetic but she’s way too kind to tell him to piss off,” 

“I’ll do it for her,” Gemma says, “he doesn’t seem like the guy for her,” 

“No one is good enough,” Kev nods but Harry doesn’t miss the quick eye contact he makes with him. There’s unspoken words that makes Harry think that you have talked about him with your friends. To be fair, he’s spoken to his friends about you too. But it’s always the same conclusion. Harry was too busy and you were too good for him, always had been. 

⏤

It seemed the moment your game of pool was finished with Joshua that the bar suddenly was more swamped with people. Looks like Thursdays nights were a good time for Holmes Chapel locals to come out and drown their problems in Bacardi. You didn’t miss how Harry slips on a hat as folks pile in, you feel bad that he feels as though he has to hide in his hometown. 

The hat doesn’t stop people from talking, it only takes a few to notice for word of Harry being in the pub to spread like wildfire. He thinks about leaving, again, but then his eyes land on where you stand at the very end of the bar. You’re looking down at your phone, enjoying a video sent from your sister of your niece, when suddenly Harry’s standing beside you with his back to the crowd. 

“What’re you up to over here?” Harry asks, smiling at you. 

You return the smile and then hold up your phone to replay the video of Lydia. She’s falling asleep while sitting up in her chair, hand in a cup of cereal and head bobbing up and down as she fought off going to bed. Harry watched the video on your phone, while you watched him. The way his lips turned up into a bigger smile and his eyes crinkle up, it causes those familiar butterflies to flutter in your stomach. 

“I really do love when you send me videos and pictures of Lydia, she’s the cutest,” Harry says.

“She’s been a fan since birth,” you state. You and your sister had played One Direction around your niece the moment she was born. 

“I’m sorry I can’t always reply, but I want you to know I love it, I’m just-”

“Busy, yeah, I know Harry,” you cut him off and force a smile. You wished he hadn’t been so busy. You missed him. 

Harry nods a bit but then he’s shaking his head and looking anywhere but your face. His sudden change in behaviour causes your eyebrows to furrow and eyes to narrow in utter confusion. Then he’s letting out a sigh and looking back at you. 

“We could leave, right now,” Harry says. His words throw you off even more, your lips gap open and you blink a few times. “Ditch your friends, that daft guy you came with and just go spend the rest of the night together, maybe even tomorrow,” 

You look into Harry’s eyes for a moment, then you tilt your head and see the red exit sign above the back door. You could do it, no questions asked, and just enjoy a night with Harry. It was years delayed. Even two years ago when you last kissed, you didn’t spend the remainder of the night with him before he was running out in order to sleep some before an early flight to Japan. 

“If you don’t want to, I get it,” Harry says while scratching the back of his neck. He senses the hesitation in his proposal in your wandering eyes. It’s too late to take it back, but he gives you an out instead. You smile in response. And that smile, well it said it all. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you say. 

That’s all it takes before Harry’s taking your hand in his and you’re peeping over your shoulder to check in anyone catches your great escape. You feel like a teen breaking the rules again, add the butterflies from Harry’s touch and you were a goner. You didn’t want this night to even end if it meant you got to spend it over and over again with Harry, your first love who you sort of wished would be your last. But if he wasn’t, you’d settle for nights like this.