drunk in love || joe burrow x reader
description: after a whirlwind of a few months, Joe finds himself being more open with the public about your relationship, which takes you by surprise.
a/n: im glad i could get this up in time! i think the tag needs to be filled with more positivity and the usual joey b content. we can push through :)
requested by the amazing and extremely talented @joeys-babe, you gave me great inspo! i have also learned that i loveeee writing little flashbacks into my fics just to add more context to the situation. when I’m writing it’s like i'm painting on a blank canvas, and i'm going wherever the brush takes me :)
warnings: smuttttt, language, angst
word count: 7.7 k
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The sounds of enthusiastic fans echoed as you and Joe arrived at the Fifth Third arena for Joe’s podcast taping. Joe had been asked by the Kelce Brothers to be a guest on their live podcast recording of New Heights since they were in Cincinnati, and who better to have on than the QB1? And Joe being the polite and respectful man he is, agreed to do it. You were a bit surprised he was willing to go out in front of a big crowd of people like this and just talk. He rarely did podcasts or lengthy interviews because of the anxiety they brought him and he didn’t like to share his personal life in front of thousands of people, so you were watching him like a hawk the whole night to make sure he was doing okay.
Right now, you both were sitting in the locker room while the brothers were doing the game portion of their podcast. You were snacking on some pretzels, offering Joe some since he hadn’t eaten anything since this afternoon, but he refused.
“Joe, you have to eat something,” you say while pushing a bag of pretzels towards him.
“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled while looking at the monitor to see what was going on in the arena.
“I refuse to believe that. We’re going to Woodys after and we both know that you drinking on an empty stomach will cause carnage,” you giggle expecting him to laugh as well, but he continues to stare at the monitor, seemingly lost in thought.
You look down and notice that he’s bobbing his left leg up and down and is picking at his fingers, an instant signal that his anxiety was slowly creeping in.
You quickly place your snack down, scooch your chair closer to him, and place your hand on his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. He felt the light touch of your hand and stopped bouncing his leg before looking over at you.
His eyes met yours and you could easily tell that he was getting anxious by the way they turned a shade of deep blue. “Are you alright J?” you ask.
Joe stays silent for a few seconds before letting out a sigh, “Just a little nervous,” he quietly says causing your face to drop. “I haven’t done this in a while and I don’t wanna get weird out there if they ask anything specific, you know?”.
Joe was referring to getting weird if they asked any questions about his personal life. He never talks about his life behind closed doors and rarely talks about you in respect of your privacy. He was worried that they’d ask him about you or your relationship and wouldn’t know what to say or how to answer them. He never really threw the “girlfriend” tag around many people for quite a few reasons. One was that it was mostly implied that you were together, another being that he didn’t want people who may not have known about your relationship to bombard you with questions about him. He kept your relationship carefully locked away because it was the most important thing in the world to him and he was afraid that the world would rip it to shreds if you opened the door a little too much. He wanted to talk about you all the time, even telling you that he might not even be able to stop once he starts. But he just never knew when or how to talk about your relationship without making you sensitive to public discourse.
“You won’t get weird Joe,” you say as you rub his thigh. “It’s okay to be a little nervous, especially because this is out of your comfort zone. You are going to do great and I am so proud of you for doing this,” you say. “I’m gonna be right there, front row on the side. Orlando will be up there with you too. And I know Jason and Travis will respect your boundaries. Maybe they’ll just keep it all about ball,”.
He nods and grabs your hand and gives it a gentle kiss. “Thank you for being here,” he says, finally flashing you a genuine smile.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you say while pressing a kiss on his cheek. Joe puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in for a warm hug. He knew he’d be fine out there but couldn’t help but get a little nervous when he realized all eyes would be on him. Sure, in a football game, all 50,000+ eyes are on him, but that never bothered him because the game was his shield.
“If you feel flustered, give me a look and I’ll cause a distraction for you to run away,” you giggle against his neck.
He laughs and presses a kiss on your forehead, “My knight in shining armor as usual,”.
A few minutes and a handful of pretzels later, you’re sitting on the side of the stage while Jason and Travis introduce Joe. The crowd erupts as they say Joe’s name and the song choice for his introduction makes you laugh like a hyena. “Get the Gat” was playing, a nod to the era that truly started it all for Joe. He was scanning the crowd for you as he walked toward the stage, eventually catching you in the front row, just like you said, in your stunning white dress that highlighted your most precious features.
You gave him two thumbs up and mouthed “You got this,”. He gives you a big smile before walking up onto the stage and greeting the brothers.
Things were going pretty smoothly for him. They were talking to him about his injury and recovery, his questionable tweets about aliens that got the entire crowd laughing their asses off, and some playful football + rivalry talk between Travis and Joe. He seemed incredibly relaxed up there and you felt relieved, until they changed the subject to the one thing that Joe was worried about.
“So enough about ball,” Travis said. “What has Joey B been up to this off season. Where you been, Who you been with?”.
“Uh oh,” you whispered.
Joe laughed softly before saying “Just hanging around. Obviously training and getting better, some UFC events here and there, some boy's trips, spending time with family, but mostly spending time with my girlfriend,”.
Your eyes widen at his words and your mouth slightly falls open. He just mentioned you in front of god knows how many people, and so casually? What the actual fuck.
“Ohhh,” Travis smiles. “Is your lovely lady here tonight?” He asks.
“Yeah, she’s right there,” Joe smiles and points over to you, causing literally everyone in the arena to turn and look at you.
“Ayeee,” the brothers say in unison as the camera points over to you.
Your cheeks turn tomato red as everyone starts cheering and waving at you, and you flash a big smile in return even though you were completely freaking out internally.
“Yep, that's her. She’s the best person in the entire world. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without her support and love,” Joe says as everyone turns back to face him. “She really knows exactly how to deal with me when I’m too in my head and always shows up for me no matter what happens. I owe a lot of how I am and how I handle things, to her” he adds.
“Awww,” said Jason.
“Especially with this injury. I seriously don’t think I would’ve been able to get through it without her. I was in a really tough spot, mentally and physically, and she really stepped up for me,” Joe says. You feel a shift in his demeanor when he says that. From relaxed and positive, to now a little tense and serious.
The wrist injury took a toll on Joe, and unfortunately your relationship. It took everyone by surprise when it happened as Joe was just hitting his stride after recovering from the calf strain. This was supposed to be his year and when that got taken away from him, he shut down. You tried your hardest to be there for him, and he appreciated you so much. But he needed to figure stuff out on his own which caused a bit of tension between you both. And all of it got too much for you to handle; you had to deal with his emotions, your own emotions, and help him recover on top of 100 other things that were being thrown your way.
Little arguments became common as they always would stem at the most unexpected times. Sometimes they would happen when you would check in on how he was feeling, they’d happen during a happy moment where one of you said something that didn’t land correctly, and sometimes when he would come and apologize to you for snapping at you, but you would become a child and remain stubborn even though you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and let everything out.
Flashback to December
It had been a few weeks since Joe got surgery on his wrist. Ever since then, he’d been acting strangely and it was driving you insane. He was watching some film all day in his office so that he could help out at practice, so you’d hardly have seen him all day.
You got off the couch and decided to bring him a snack, some strawberries and bananas, and made your way up the stairs.
You made your way into his office, making sure that you weren’t getting in the way of anything. He was rewinding some footage with his left hand, but was struggling to do so since his dominant hand was in a cast.
“Here, let me help,” you say as you place the bowl of fruit down in front of him.
“It’s okay, I got it,” he says trying to grab the mouse, but he was too late as you already grabbed it and fixed it for him. You looked over at him and smiled, but in return got a loud sigh and an eye roll.
“Gee, I was just trying to help,” you replied.
“And I didn’t ask for any,” he mumbled, slightly irritated. Your face dropped at his tone but you decided not to push it.
“I brought you some fruit. You skipped out on lunch so I thought you’d be hungry,”.
“Thanks,” he says as he pushes the bowl to the side and goes back to the film.
You stand there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should leave him alone or talk to him. You decided to talk to him because this mood he’d been in was not welcomed.
“Is there something wrong? Does your arm hurt?” You ask as you rub his shoulder.
He immediately slams the mouse to pause the film and looks up. “What’s wrong is that you won’t let me watch the film for this week. I told you I'm not hungry and you’re bothering me,” he snaps.
You’re taken aback by his sudden anger, “I was just trying to help, Joe-”.
“And how many times have I said, I don’t need it,” he spit out.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step back. “I’m sorry, I- I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.
“I’m fine” He said, slightly shouting as he looked back over to you.
The tears in your eyes made their way down your cheeks as you felt more angry than sad. His attitude was unfucking called for as you were just trying to check in on him.
“You know what, fine. I’m done asking you if you’re okay and if you need something. I get that you’re hurt. I get that this is hard for you. But do not for one second think that I’m just going to sit here and take this bullshit. You’ve been acting like this for weeks, on and off. And quite frankly, it’s giving me whiplash,” you unload as more tears stream down your face.
“Y/N-,” he interrupts.
“No. Listen to me. If me helping you is bothering you, If I am bothering you, just say the word and I’ll stop. You don’t have to tell me how you’re feeling, and I’ll just stop asking. I love you, you know that. But I’m done acting like this is okay,” you spit out, tears running down your cheeks faster than a trackstar running a mile.
He stays silent for a few seconds so you take that as a response and nod your head. You leave his office, making your way into the bedroom and slamming the door shut. He immediately felt bad for yelling at you and making you cry. He fell back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how shitty he was.
You lay down on your side of the bed, crying into your pillow. A million thoughts flooding your head, and a million emotions flowing through your body. You felt bad for him, you really really felt bad for him. But you started to feel bad for yourself because of how he was acting around you. Did you do something to make him act like this? He wouldn’t talk to you much about how he was feeling, so you were in limbo.
You curled up into your pillow, a few tears still falling down your face as you heard the door open. Joe walked in and saw you laying on the bed, immediately feeling like shit because he did this to you. He walked over to the bed, crawling onto his side and gently rubbing your arm.
“Y/N?” he asked.
You didn’t look over at him and remained facing the windows.
He let out a sigh before saying, “I deserve that.”
“Listen, I am so fucking sorry for that. You didn’t do anything and I took my feelings out on you which was totally uncalled for. It’s just, I have alot going through my mind right now. But that is no excuse for me to do that to you, and you have every right to be mad. I’ve been putting you through alot lately and you’re just trying to help,”.
You turned over to face him and moved up. “So then talk to me, Joe?”. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. I’m here, I’m always here,” you say as you wipe your tears.
“I know. And I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to burden you with all my feelings,” he says.
“You could never. We’re in this together, we have been since we first met. I want you to talk to me whenever you need to. Please, do not keep your feelings bottled up like that,”.
“You’re right,” he says as he pulls you into his arms, his hand rubbing your back for comfort. “I am so so so sorry for treating you like shit. You have been nothing but helpful and patient since the surgery and my dumbass can’t seem to fathome that,” he says.
“You’re not a dumbass,” you say as you look up at him. “You just have alot going on in there,” you say as you move your hand into his hair. “Just let me in and let me help you figure it out,” you whisper.
So that’s exactly what he did. He unloaded all of his heavy feelings, self doubt, and fear onto you. And instead of running out of fear or anxiety, you stayed. You stayed and you helped him just as you said you would.
End of Flashback
You were holding your breaths around each other for a little bit, but luckily you got through it. It was a bumpy few months, but in the end, you got through it together and came out the other side stronger like you always do.
“Seems like you got yourself a great lady,” Jason says, snapping you back to the present.
“I sure do,” Joe laughs while meeting your eyes, setting off butterflies in your belly.
“So what have you guys been up to, if you don’t mind sharing? I think the fans would love to hear it,” Travis says as the fans begin to cheer.
Joe lets out a laugh and runs his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, why not. Well, we’ve gone on a few vacations, watched a bunch of movies we’ve been meaning to for a while, built some legos, and she’s taught me how to bake,”.
The crowd lets out a laugh as he says that last thing. You were surprised at how he was being an open book right now and you didn’t know if you should be concerned at this newfound openness or ecstatic, but you were sure as hell enjoying it in the moment.
“You heard it here first, Joe Burrow knows how to bake!” They announced to the crowd.
“Yup, it’s really not as hard as it looks,” Joe shrugs.
You let out a laugh when as says that. It really wasn’t that hard, but Joe was certainly not a pro baker as he was implying.
Flashback to a few weeks ago
It was a rainy evening in Cincy today, causing you and Joe to postpone your plans to walk around the neighborhood this evening. You were bored out of your mind, contemplating if you should take a nap or do something productive, but nothing sounded fun until an ad popped up on your phone for new cake pans which set off a lightbulb in your head.
“Cinnamon Rolls!” you said out loud as you just got an idea of what you could do for the evening.
You quickly walked over to the kitchen and started pulling out everything you needed to make your famous Cinnamon Rolls, which happened to be one of Joe’s favorites, but Pumpkin Pie remained number 1. Joe was probably playing video games or watching something upstairs so you’d get to surprise him later with the delicious dessert.
A few minutes later, you were in the zone and were starting to make the dough when you heard Joe come down the stairs.
“Hey Babe, whatcha doing?” He says, a slight bounce in his step. He must be feeling good today, and rightfully so. He deserved to feel loose and cheerful after the past few months.
“It’s a secret,” you giggle as you start making the liquid mixture.
He raises his brows at you before examining the surroundings, eventually putting the puzzle together and realizing you are making Cinnamon Rolls.
“Well, Can I help?” He asks as he walks over and hovers behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder.
You stop mixing the Milk and Butter and look back at him, “You want to help me bake?”.
“Why are you saying it like that?” He asks as he begins pressing warm kisses on your neck.
You stay silent for a few moments before taking advantage of his offer, “No reason. Here, let me show you how to make the dry mixture,” you say as he flashes you a big smile.
You spend a few minutes getting Joe situated with all the dry ingredients and then go back to your task. You peek over at him every few moments and although he’s making a huge mess, he seems to be doing just fine. Once you both were done with your mixtures, Joe insisted that he would make the dough in the mixer. So once again, you taught him how to use the mixer and left him to it as you started making the Cinnamon Sugar Filling. He was doing very well for someone who’s dominant hand is still not at 100%.
“Joe, this looks great!” you say as you look over his shoulder, rubbing it as you inspect the dough.
“Yeah?” he asks, feeling proud that he was doing good for his first time baking.
“Mhmmm, just the right consistency. Very impressive for a rookie,” You tease.
The next half hour passes by as you finish prepping the rolls. You roll out the dough and spread the cinnamon mixture across the sheet and Joe helps you roll it back up to cut the buns out. You place them in the fridge to rise and Joe takes responsibility for making the icing, so you pull over a barstool and watch him figure it out.
“You’re doing great babe,” You smile as he begins mixing the ingredients while carefully looking at the recipe.
“This isn’t so bad,” He says looking back up at you. “You wanna taste it? I’m almost done,”.
“Okay,” you say as he dips his finger into the icing and puts his finger out to you. A huge smirk appears on his face once you realize what he is implying.
You pull his finger closer to your mouth and make direct eye contact for a few seconds before wrapping your lips around the sugary tip. You swirl your tongue around his finger, taking in all of the sweet icing. You both still hold eye contact, which makes you feel hot all around as you know how you are making him feel by doing this. A few seconds later, You take his finger out of your mouth and give him the same smirk he gave you.
“Was it good?” he teases.
“Soooo good,” you purred. “Very warm, sweet, and delicious,” you say as Joe walks over to you. He grabs your hand and pulls you off the barstool, causing you to let out a squeal. “What are you doing?” you giggle.
“How long do the rolls take to rise?” he asks as he lifts you onto the messy counter, flour now covering your sweatpants.
“About an hour. Why?” you ask as he starts to kiss your neck.
“Perfect. I think I need an hour to eat my favorite dessert,” He whispers in your ear before rubbing your upper thigh.
You don’t follow what he’s saying, “I didn’t make pumpkin pie silly,”.
“I’m not talking about pumpkin pie,” He says while coming back into your view, his eyes filled with hunger and desire, and his fingers untying the strings of your sweatpants.
End of Flashback
You were incredibly smiley and cheery for the rest of the recording and kept playing back everything Joe said about you. It warmed your heart that he felt a little more comfortable opening the door, even if it was just the slightest bit, to show fans your love for each other. But you were so curious as to what changed his mind. A million thoughts were filling your head, and it also didn’t help that he looked so fucking hot. Although he was wearing a comfy, laid-back fit, he looked mouthwatering and you were trying so hard not to jump at him. The extra few pounds of muscle he gained from his training this year was showing and that messy bedhead look he was sporting was filling your head with unholy thoughts the entire time.
Once Joe had wrapped up his appearance, you headed back to the locker room area to find him.
He was talking to some Bearcats coaches when you found him. No stress was apparent on his face and he looked like he was just fine. You let out a relaxed sigh as you leaned on the door, letting him have his conversation without any interruptions, but he immediately felt your presence and turned around. He mumbled something to the coaches and then they walked away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say while moving off the door.
“Yes I did,” he says as he walks over to you, immediately pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a deep and thorough kiss. One hand cupping your face and the other sliding down your waist. You both were literally making out in the locker room and anyone could walk in at any time, but he didn’t care. He pulls away after a minute, leaving you a little breathless.
“Cherry Lip Gloss,” He says. “My favorite,”.
Joe loved your Cherry Lip Gloss. You remembered the moment when you both had your first kiss, he immediately pulled away from you and you didn’t know why until he told you how amazing you tasted and he had to let you know.
Flashback to a few years ago
You and Joe just got back to your apartment after your bowling date downtown. He parked the car in the parking lot and you both were sitting inside, wishing that the night would never end. He turned over to face you, a million thoughts flooding his head. A few being that you looked absolutely enchanting and he really really liked you. You both had been on a few dates so far, each one better than the last, and tonight felt like a dream.
“Did you have fun?” He asked as he stared deeply into your eyes.
“Best date ever,” you smiled. You were feeling a little nervous after tonight's date, only because you realized that you really liked him and that it wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment feeling, and you didn’t know if he really felt the same way. Was he just looking for a girl to have on his side who would take care of him during the season and be good enough to hook up with? Or did he want a girl that he could have a genuine and meaningful relationship with?
He let out a deep breath and said, “You look really pretty by the way,”.
A blush crept up your face, “Thank You,”.
He kept staring into your eyes as you both remained silent. He moved closer to you but you couldn’t process it because you were caught up in your own thoughts. Was he waiting for you to make a move? You both haven’t kissed yet and every date felt like it would end with a kiss, but it never did. You were all in your head about how he felt about you and you didn’t know what to do, so you thought that it would be better to just go inside and avoid the awkward moment.
“I should probably go,” you say while staring into his deep blue eyes, but before you can grab your stuff, Joe leans in and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. You stay absolutely still for a few seconds before he suddenly pulls away.
The blank look on his face fills your stomach with anxiety. Did your breath stink? Did he not enjoy it? Was it a mistake? You felt like hiding in a corner somewhere and never coming out.
“Your lips,” he says. “Is that Cherry?”.
You pause for a few seconds and say, “Yeah,”.
“I love Cherry,” is all he says before pulling you back over to him, and completely attacking your lip with sloppy and eager kisses. You feel him grin into the kiss which immediately gets rid of your wandering thoughts.
“You taste like love,” he says in between kisses.
End of flashback
He presses another kiss on your lips which snaps you back to the present. “You did great out there,” you told him. “They loved you,”.
“Yeah, it felt natural and easy,” he says as he leans back in for another kiss.
Before you could ask him about his sudden change of heart about wanting to not talk about your relationship, a team member came over to tell you both that you’re allowed to leave and go over to the bar and that everyone would join you there in a little bit. Joe nods, wrappinh his arm around your waist, and leading you both out to the car. This newfound PDA was a little weird for you as you were walking through crowds of strangers and Joe seemed to not care. You decided not to push the subject just yet, it would be better to wait till you were alone so you could figure out what was going through his head.
The after-party had a stereotypical College party vibe to it, and it being in a College Bar was definitely adding to the mix. Loud music and laughter, numerous cans of beer scattered across the room, and groups of people playing darts or beer pong. You felt like you were transported back to College and were drunk on nostalgia, and maybe something more.
Joe was standing next to you, one hand firmly gripping your waist, and a beer can in the other, as you were extremely focused on the game of darts in front of you both.
“Andddd, Bullseye!” you yell as the dart hits the middle of the board.
“Great Job, Y/N. I taught you well,” He says as you feel his hand migrate down to your ass, giving it a soft squeeze.
“That you did,” You say as you look back up at him. Here he goes again with the PDA, not that you were upset at it. You loved it, but you were also just as confused. You watched him take another sip of his beer before breaking off to go greet a few more people. You watched as he was conversing with a group of people before he looked over at you and motioned for you to come over.
“And this is my girlfriend Y/N,” he says as you join his side, his hand once again around your waist. You had no idea who he was introducing you to and were even more surprised that he was just tossing around the “girlfriend” tag so casually in front of people that he seems to have met for the first time. A few minutes later, you wrap up your conversation and decide to talk to Joe about what all this was about.
“Hey Joe?” you say to get his attention.
“Yeah? What’s up?” he responds.
“You wanna over there for a bit? I need to talk to you about something,” you say as you point over to the semi-secluded barstools in the back of the bar. He nods and you lead him over to the stools and sit down with your drinks.
“Is everything alright?” he asks as he rubs your thigh.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” you say as you place your hand on his. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he questions.
“Its just, before the podcast you were getting nervous about them potentially asking you about us, and they did,”.
“Yeaahh,” he drags out as he nods his head.
“And when they did, you seemed to be just fine and were like an open book. Not to mention the out-of-the-blue PDA you’ve been showing all night,” you giggle. “I just wanna know, why the sudden change of heart? You know I don’t mind not being so open and public with our relationship, I hope I didn’t make you feel like you had to say or do something,”.
Joe looked deeply into your eyes for a few seconds before responding. “These past few months have been pretty hard for me, and us. You know that best,”. You nod in return, now feeling a little queasy at the mention of the rough moments you had.
“And it gave me a lot of time to think about life,” he adds as he interlocks his fingers with yours.
“I’m tired of acting like you’re not the reason why I can do most of this, aside from actually playing football. You always know exactly how to handle me when things get too chaotic, you know how to calm me down, you help me with literally everything, but most importantly, you put up with all the bullshit that being with me brings,”.
“Joe,” you whisper.
“Wait, I’m not finished. You’re the most important person in my life, and it’s time I make that known to everyone. I realized that I have no reason to be worried about what others will think, I love you more than anything and people need to know that. These past few months have shown me that I need you more than I need anything and the thought of you not being by my side freaks me the fuck out. Fuck their opinion. Fuck their comments. I love you and I chose you. Opening the door just a little will not hurt and if anyone has a problem with it, screw them,”.
You felt like crying as he said all of this to you. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. You were relieved that his feelings towards you hadn’t changed, as odd as that sounds. There were a few negative thoughts about your relationship that piled up in the back of your mind over the past few months, but you never confronted them out of fear. The injury did a number on you both and you were scared that you’d lose this special thing you had to something that wasn’t in your control.
“I love you so much, Joe. I’m not going anywhere,” you told him.
“I love you more. And good, I think if you did I wouldn’t know how to function,” he says as he pulls you off the barstool and closer to him, slowly pressing his lips against yours. His lips tasted like your cherry lip gloss and beer, a familiar mix that you would often call ‘drunk in love’. He told you during your first kiss that the cherry lipgloss you had on tasted like love, and the beer was already intoxicating itself. A mix of both felt like you were well, drunk in love.
You were caught up in a heated moment in the dimly lit corner of the bar, not caring who saw you or who cared what you were doing. Your tongues tangled in your mouth as his hand navigated to your waist, holding you tightly. He lightly bit your bottom lip, causing you to moan into the kiss. His hands continued to wander around your hips, slowly moving down to your ass. He gives it a few squeezes, pushing you deeper into him. You pulled away from his lips and said, “Do you wanna get out of here? I’m all for being a little more open, but I think we should finish this one away from public view,” you wink.
He playfully shakes his head and lets out a laugh, “Deal,”.
He grabs your hand tightly and leads you through the bar, giving it a few squeezes as you make your way outside.
“We didn’t tell anyone that we were leaving,” you said as he led you down the street to the Car.
“We’ll be fine,” he reassures you as he opens the car door for you.
He gets you situated before going around and getting inside the driver’s seat. You couldn’t wait to get home and finish what started in the bar. Once he got on the highway his hand navigated to your upper thigh, rubbing it up and down, softly caressing your exposed skin. You were already on edge from your heated makeout before and his hand being this close to where you needed him most was driving you insane.
“Did I mention that you looked absolutely sexy tonight? This white dress is really making me feel things,” Joe says.
“You’re such a tease,” you giggle.
“Hm?” He questioned, acting oblivious.
“You know what you’re doing, Burrow. Got me all flustered from earlier and now this,” you say as you pat his hand that’s on your thigh.
“How did I get you flustered?”.
You sit up in your seat and say, “Well for starters, you looked like walking sex tonight, even if it’s a laid-back fit kinda day. Something about you in all black makes me insanely horny. Secondly, your talking about me caught me off guard but my stomach was fluttering the entire time. And then that makeout earlier at the arena and in the bar? Yeah, I’m this close to literally passing out,”. You fall back into your seat for dramatic effect as Joe playfully rolls his eyes.
“Well then, maybe I should do something about it,” he says while looking over at you for a second.
“What are you proposing?”.
“Just lay back and relax,” he says. So you do as he says, knowing exactly where this would lead, especially because it wasn’t the first time.
His hand moves to part your legs, and then slowly moves higher up your thigh until his fingers are teasing the edge of your panties. He moved them to the side as you let out a quiet whimper because of the newly exposed skin meeting the cool air of the car. His fingers parted your folds, finding your wetness and sliding easily inside you. The feeling was intense, the rhythm slow and gentle as he explored the depths of your desire. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his hand, needing more of his touch.
“Joe, Fuck,” you moaned as you felt pleasure overcome you.
His fingers moved in and out of you, a familiar sensation building with each stroke. Heat and pure ecstasy were coursing through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you reached the edge of pleasure. Joe’s thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive bud and sending you fully over the edge.
“Ohhh,” you moaned as you threw your head back into the headrest.
You spent a few minutes catching your breath and he slid his fingers out of your core and up to his mouth, cleaning up the mess on his hand. “Sweet,” was all he said, flashing you a smile.
You laugh and say, “Can’t wait to get home, It’s your turn,”.
He looked over at you, pure lust in his eyes as he gripped the wheel strongly and pushed on the gas pedal a little harder. Once you got home, Joe parked in the garage and quickly pulled you out of the car, eagerly leading you through the halls of your home, not even giving you a moment to take your shoes off.
“Joe, slow down,” you giggle, slightly holding him back so he stops.
He turns around and stares into your eyes for a few seconds, then eyeing you up and down, before tossing you over his shoulders and leading you up the stairs. “Boy, someone is excited,” you laugh. He leads you into your bedroom and gently tosses you down against the silk sheets of your bed before slipping your heels off. He then kneels in between your thighs and captures your lips in a messy kiss.
You slide your hands into his messy curls and pull him closer, if that was even humanly possible, as he starts to fiddle with the straps of your dress. A few minutes later, both your clothes are now on the floor and you are back to making out, ignoring the fact that his boner was poking your thigh. You would never get enough of his lips, so soft and plump, very easy to get lost in. He pulls away and presses a few sloppy kisses around your neck before moving down your body.
You stop him before he goes further, “Wait. I told you that it was your turn next,”.
“You don’t have to, Y/N,” he smiles.
“Mmmm, too bad,” you say as you move out from under him, allowing him to lie back against the headboard. Once he gets settled, you straddle his hips and press a few kisses around his face, then kiss your way down his perfectly sculpted body. You reach his hard-on and wrap your hand around it, giving it a few pumps as pre-cum was beading at the tip.
You looked up at him, making intense eye contact, as you wrapped your soft lips around the tip of his cock, feeling him twitch in pleasure. You start to move your head back and forth, going deeper each time as sounds of pleasure escape Joe’s lips.
“Shit, you feel so good,”.
You continued to bob your head up and down his shaft until you felt him getting closer. Your hands gripped his thighs as you took him deeper and deeper, nearly choking up. His breathing became more erratic as you sucked him harder and faster. He slid his hands into your hair as started to buck his hips into your mouth, a sure sign he was about to cum.
“Fuckk,” he moaned as you felt hot spurts of his cum filling your mouth, making sure to swallow every drop. You slowly release him from your mouth and look up at him with nothing but love and adoration.
“You’re perfect,” you whisper, wiping the spit and salvia off of your mouth.
“And you’re amazing,” he says as he pulls you back on top of him. You let out a soft laugh before kissing the tip of his perfectly sculpted nose. “You still up for a little more?” you ask him.
A huge grin appears on his face, “Always,” he whispers as he moves closer, once again kissing you passionately. You break away to put each of your legs around him and he grabs your waist while moving down to lie back against the bed all the way. You leaned down to press a final kiss on his lips before lining up his cock with your slick entrance. You slide down his length, soft moans leaving both your lips as the feeling of fullness feels like you’re coming home.
You begin to move your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your hands rested on his chest and your fresh manicure left a few marks as you dug your fingers into his tan skin.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “You feel so fucking good,”. His hands moved up and gripped your waist, helping you move back and forth to ease the soreness that you were definitely feeling by this point.
“Yeah,” you moaned.
“Faster Baby,” he whispered. You nodded and picked up the pace, riding him faster and harder. You could feel the tension building in his body, his muscles tensing beneath you as you moved with a steady, relentless pace. Joe started to buck his hips into your slick lower half, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Your breathy moans and sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
“Shit,” you moaned as he continued to pound into you.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. You looked back down at him and smiled, he never missed a chance to praise you. He looked absolutely fucked out; his lips were red and swollen from the many kisses you shared, his hair askew, and a content grin on his face. The next few minutes passed by blissfully as you continued to ride him into oblivion. You leaned down, pressing your breasts against his chest, and started to bounce back onto his cock while moaning sweet nothings into his ear. His hands wrap around your back, pushing you closer and closer to his warm body.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” he moaned.
You whimpered in response as heat was building in your belly. He picked up his pace and continued to pound into your core as he felt your walls start to tighten around him. The pleasure became too much for you, so you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your screams.
“I’m cumming, Fuck,” he moaned. You felt his hands around your waist again, tightly gripping your plush skin, as you felt him shoot his load into your core.
“Y/N,” he groaned.
You lifted your head out of his shoulder and pulled him in for a sloppy and needy kiss to stifle his moans. You were once again lost in his lips so you didn’t even realize it but he somehow managed to flip you over so now you were laying back against the bed. He moved one of your legs around his waist and ruthlessly thrusted into your core to help you find your pleasure. Your whole body shaking as he pushed you deeper and deeper into the bed which each thrust.
“Come on Baby,” he groaned. You were so fucked out and the alcohol from earlier was finally in full effect so you had zero thoughts in your head. You just felt your boyfriend pounding into your core and the pleasure building inside your sore body.
“Mmph, Joe,” you whined as you felt the increasing wetness between you both. Breathy moans escaped your lips as you finally felt the rubber band in your belly snap, causing waves of intense and deep pleasure to wash over you.
“Fuckkk,” you whimpered. Joe gently collapsed on top of you, making sure he didn’t crush you with his weight. He pressed a few kisses on your neck as you remained in your high.
“Joeee, Fuck, you’re so good. It’s so good,” you moaned as your orgasm came over you. You spent a few minutes coming down from your intense high and held Joe close against your body. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, telling you repeatedly how much he loved you like it was a sacred prayer.
You felt him press a kiss on your cheek before slowly sliding out of you, causing you to shrudder at the loss of contact. He went into the bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up before getting in bed; your body was too sore and tired to get up to wash off the sweat and cum.
“Thank you,” you said as he turned off the lights and got into bed next to you.
“No need to thank me, Y/N,” he chuckled.
“God damn, that was a workout,” you laughed as you turned over to face him.
“My favorite workout,” he smiled as he pulled you into his side. You rest your head on his bare chest as he plays with your messy hair for a few moments.
You looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but love and warmth. “I love you, Joe,”.
He moved his hand down to your face, cupping the side and caressing the soft skin of your cheek. “I love you so much, baby. I’m glad I get to show the world how much you mean to me. It’s you and me, forever,” he says before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.
“Always and forever,” you whisper against his lips. You moved back down to his chest and snuggled closer to him. You look back up for a second and see Joe falling asleep, a smile still present on his face. He was happy, you were happy. Everything was perfect.
—The End—
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A Love Beyond Time.
fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3
authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!
word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)
in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.
trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.
trope: vampire!harry
The year was 1864.
You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.
The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.
With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.
Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.
The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.
The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.
Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.
The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.
Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.
In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.
Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.
The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.
Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.
A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.
Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.
He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.
Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.
Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.
Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.
As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.
Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.
Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.
You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.
Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.
The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.
You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.
"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.
"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.
His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.
"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.
Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.
Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.
"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.
Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.
The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.
Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.
You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.
With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.
His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.
The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.
Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.
Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.
You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.
As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.
Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.
But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.
In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.
You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.
As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.
The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.
you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.
The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,
𝐻.
A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.
The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.
𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.
𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,
𝐻.
With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.
𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.
𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,
𝐻.
The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.
His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.
Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.
Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.
He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.
Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.
You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.
The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.
He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.
You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.
Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.
As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.
The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.
Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.
He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.
"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.
You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."
Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"
He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.
Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"
Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.
"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.
In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."
His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.
You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.
Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.
Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.
As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.
The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.
In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.
You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.
As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.
Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.
He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.
The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.
Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.
The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.
In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.
It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.
Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.
The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.
Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.
As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.
When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.
You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.
Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.
The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.
The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.
The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.
You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.
Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.
His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.
He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.
The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.
Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.
He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.
Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.
"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."
Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.
In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.
Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.
Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.
It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.
At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.
The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.
The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.
Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.
The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.
Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.
The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.
The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.
In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.
Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.
A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.
His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.
His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.
The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.
Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.
Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.
They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.
Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.
"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"
The Chapel Grove.
A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.
Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."
Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."
His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.
Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.
It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.
Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.
It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.
The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.
Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.
He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.
He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.
As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.
The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.
As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.
In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.
He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.
With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.
You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.
It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.
The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.
Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.
Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.
Rookie mistake on your part.
And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.
The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.
In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.
The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.
The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.
You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.
And so, you continue your journey.
The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.
Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.
The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.
As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.
The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.
Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.
It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.
For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.
The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.
The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.
The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.
As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.
The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.
You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.
You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.
The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.
The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.
Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.
On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.
The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.
Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.
The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.
The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.
The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.
It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.
The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.
The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.
You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.
It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.
The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.
Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.
You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.
The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.
The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.
The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.
As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.
The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.
The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.
You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.
"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.
She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.
Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"
He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”
You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.
With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.
“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.
There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.
Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.
"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.
You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.
A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."
His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.
"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.
You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.
With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.
You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.
"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.
After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.
It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.
The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.
He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.
Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.
As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.
It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.
He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.
His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.
They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.
Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.
And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.
Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.
As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them
You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.
Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.
It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.
The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.
The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.
The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.
The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.
It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.
As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.
As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.
You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.
You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.
Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.
A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.
He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.
You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.
"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.
Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.
"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."
You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.
As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.
You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.
The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.
You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.
He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.
Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.
His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.
As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.
The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.
His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.
The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.
It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.
February 1, 2023.
The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.
The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.
His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.
For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.
Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.
As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.
They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.
Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.
As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.
Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.
"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.
His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.
Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.
"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.
He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.
Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.
"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.
Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.
Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"
Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.
"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.
After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.
He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.
Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.
With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.
The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.
As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.
Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.
The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.
Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.
The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.
He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.
In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.
Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."
Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.
Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."
The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.
"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."
With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.
"The signing of the Magna Carta?"
"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.
"The American Declaration of Independence?"
"1776."
The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.
Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.
As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.
Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.
Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.
He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.
You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.
The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.
You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.
It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.
Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.
"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."
He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.
Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.
"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.
As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."
You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."
He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."
You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.
You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.
Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.
The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.
Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.
The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.
Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.
The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.
The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.
Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.
As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.
The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.
Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.
The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.
You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.
The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.
Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.
She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."
Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.
You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.
You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.
That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.
A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.
Her ancestor was someone you once knew.
Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.
A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.
As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.
Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.
The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.
You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.
As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.
Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.
"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.
You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."
Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."
A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.
You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.
Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.
For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.
Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.
With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.
You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.
As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.
Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.
The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.
Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.
With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.
As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.
As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.
All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.
The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.
Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"
Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."
Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."
Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."
Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."
Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."
With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."
As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.
The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.
Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."
Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.
He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."
Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."
Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."
Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."
Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."
As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.
Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.
The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.
Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.
His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.
He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.
A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.
Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.
Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.
He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.
A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.
The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.
Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.
With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.
He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.
Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.
The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.
Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.
He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.
You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.
Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.
The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.
The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.
As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.
The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.
As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.
But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.
Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.
"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.
Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."
Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.
"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.
You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.
It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."
You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.
He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.
As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.
The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.
Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.
Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.
You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.
The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.
You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.
You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."
He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."
As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.
The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.
You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.
But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.
The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.
You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.
Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.
Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.
"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."
He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"
The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.
Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.
His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."
But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.
His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.
As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.
You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.
"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.
As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.
Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.
The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.
Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.
The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.
Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.
Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.
Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.
But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.
As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,
"He'll come back, he has to."
It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.
In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.
Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.
Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.
"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.
You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."
His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."
But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.
"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."
His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.
As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.
"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.
He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."
With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.
Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."
As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.
Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.
In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.
You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.
Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.
It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.
You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.
It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.
As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.
The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.
You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.
With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,
"I'm going outside for a smoke."
It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.
Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.
He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.
As you turned to leave, he called after you,
"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.
You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.
"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.
You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.
The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.
As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.
With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.
Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.
Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.
In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."
The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."
In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.
With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."
As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.
It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.
The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."
But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.
You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.
Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.
The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."
As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.
The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.
You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.
With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.
Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.
"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.
You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.
"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.
As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"
You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.
"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."
Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"
You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."
Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."
You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."
Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."
As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.
Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.
"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."
Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."
Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."
You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."
Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.
Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."
He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.
You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."
As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.
As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.
Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.
The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.
They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.
Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.
You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.
As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.
Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"
For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.
A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.
They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.
You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.
You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.
With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.
You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.
Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.
Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.
On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.
Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.
If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.
Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.
He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.
As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.
Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.
Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.
But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.
Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.
Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.
He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.
His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"
A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.
Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.
He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."
The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.
The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.
She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."
Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.
She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."
Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."
Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."
The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.
Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."
The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"
Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "
Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.
Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."
Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.
The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.
He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.
With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.
In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.
"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."
He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."
He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."
The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."
He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."
Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."
Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."
With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.
Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"
Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."
He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.
Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."
Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.
Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."
Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.
As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.
His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.
Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.
Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"
You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.
In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.
These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.
The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.
They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.
And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.
The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.
Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.
The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.
The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.
𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈
𝙾𝙵
𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂
𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.
𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,
𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).
Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.
The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.
The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.
The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.
The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.
His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.
The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.
You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."
Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.
He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.
The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."
The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.
"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."
As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.
It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.
With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.
Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.
The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.
With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.
It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.
The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.
The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.
Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.
His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.
He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.
The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.
His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.
He had fantasised this moment countless times.
As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.
What if you were really there?
His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.
He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.
The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.
With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.
Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.
He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.
Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.
His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.
“(Y/N)?”
Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.
But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.
A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.
Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.
At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.
And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.
The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.
You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.
The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.
He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.
Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.
As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.
The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.
You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.
Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.
You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.
You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.
You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.
Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.
Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.
Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.
The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.
Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.
You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.
Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.
"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."
Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."
Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."
You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."
He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."
Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.
Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.
With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"
You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.
Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.
The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.
You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.
The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.
Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,
"Can I kiss ‘ye?"
You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.
With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.
He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.
The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.
Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.
Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.
The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.
“M’love you, m’sun.”
That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.
You were his sun, and he was your light.
You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.
And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.
“I love you, my light, always and forever.”
Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.
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