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oghoneytryst · 6 years ago

Text

winter flakes.

UPDATED

request: harry is upset when he takes his love to meet his family, but they end up not liking her

where the holiday season brings upon a terrible first impression

a/n: yo pls read this is I M P O R T A N T lol ok so I'm trash. I wanted to write so many xmas one shots since I had time but now I just ... don’t. I wanted to finish this one before Christmas Eve bUT that didn’t happen so here’s an essential *part one*. I won’t make another post for part two, I'll just update it on here since I wanted it to be a one-shot and nothing more.

I just wanted to post this in case I actually don’t finish the rest tmrrw (today) but hopefully I get myself in check.

The second part has been added to this post, thus making this one-shot finished. Happy reading!

--------

She hides in plain sight, where fragments of white winter flakes sink from the clouds.

The sky is in full gloom, a gray nature that flawlessly exhibits her most inner emotions. A frown etches her face as powdery snow decorates the roofless patio, the couch cushions as stiff as ice. Behind her numb face is the infinite chatter of her teeth; her fists in the pockets of her creamy coat begin to lose feeling.

Somehow, it is warmer out here than it is inside.

She yawns silently, blinks away the icicles of fallen tears from her sad and wandering eyes. She knows she will fall ill soon, but perhaps it is in everyone’s best interest. She – sick in bed as the holidays go on without her. An absence in the family pictures is favorable over having to eventually cut her out with precision and an open-mind.

A reasonable part of her wishes she had declined Harry’s invitation to visit his family this holiday season. She would have had to spend Christmas and New Year’s alone, but she imagines it is better to be in her lonesome than in the company of people who dislike her.

It no longer matters. By some chance, it is better this way. At least now she can prepare for the meek outcome of her relationship’s future – or rather, a lack thereof.

Through the harsh yet whispering winds, she fails to hear the patio door slide open. With her back to her visitor, she stares out at the hibernating greenery, entirely entranced by the Earth’s chaotic intricacy.

“Baby,” Harry’s voice calls out. “What’re ya doing out here?”

She manages to shrug despite the startle that Harry gives her. “Needed some air.” Tiny inhalations temporarily sniffle the coldness away. She tugs her arms together in an empty self-embrace, hoping that it will still the shivers of her body.

Harry appears behind her, peeling the blanket he had stolen from inside so that it may envelope her entire frame with its great quilted pattern. She senses this added warmth and looks up to her right, gracious of Harry and his proud smile that peers down at her.

“Better?” he asks, long legs moving him around from behind the patio couch.

It is better, very much so. Yet, when he flumps down on the cushion next to her, she responds with a frown. “Now you’re going to be cold,” she reprimands. He wears nothing more than a puffy sweater, trousers, gingerbread socks, and slippers.

Harry leans forward, slim fingers switching the controls of the sleek fire pit table in front of them. “Why didn’t you turn this on then?” he asks, chuckling when she tries to pull him into the warmth of the blanket for two.

He allows her to wrap him up, two lovers cocooned with legs in a knot and hearts beating as one. His left arm slides around her, lazily squeezing her into his chest. She encloses his waist in a hug, slips a hand underneath his sweater and over his hip. She rubs tenderly with frozen fingers that make his skin tingle, not a single complaint hanging off of his tongue.

“Didn’t want to mess with it,” she answers, snuggling the tip of her nose deeper into his sweater. “Knowing me, I’d figure out a way to break it.”

“So, you’d rather freeze to death?”

“Better than having your mother angry at me.”

“She’d never.” His chin meets with his chest, lump limps against her head. It isn’t so much a kiss, rather a little something that lets her know he’s there. “You should be inside, having a little girls’ talk or wha’ever. Mum’s made some hot chocolate, said she’ll start on the cookies soon.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine out here.”

It is important to note that only a handful of months into their relationship and already does Harry adore her so much. A handful of months in and he has already studied and learned the shifting features of her strongest emotions.

Ecstatic is when her eyes crinkle. They practically disappear behind her happy cheeks, front teeth blossoming with power.

Angry is when she appears neutral. If not for the haunting flare of her nostrils, he would end up playing a dangerous game between his oblivion and her temper.

Hungry – yes, to her it is an emotion. Apart from her rumbling tummy, she has this certain pout that his lips find irresistible.

Whether her demeanors are bold and obvious or faint and unnoticeable, he is aware of them all. Whether he can see her face or not, he knows. It is in the way she speaks, the way she holds onto him as though he is only possible thing that can calm her mind.

He asks then, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” because she is sad, in the simplest of terms. He doesn’t quite know why – figuring it out on his own requires a little more patience and expertise. For the moment being, he only focuses on her sullen blue mood.

“What do you mean?”

Harry expects her dumbfounded response, along with the slight stiffening of her body. “You trust me, yeah?” he tries instead, eyes to the crackling wisp of the fire.

She raises her head to him, an instant, “Yeah,” as her answer. She doesn’t doubt the confidence she has in him.

Harry pouts with a now delicate grip on her chin. “Then be truthful with me, please?” He loves this position they’re in, where two bodies connect in such an innocent way, an invisible link between their loving eyes. “I don’t want you alone in whatever’s bothering you. You and me, that’s us, alright? No exceptions.”

Her lover seals this promise with a spongy kiss. She admires the way he breathes her in and out, specifically because she likes that certain smell of his. Their mouths melt as one; his tastes of that delicious chocolate liquid that lingers on his lips.

When he pulls away – and god, she doesn’t ever want him to – his green eyes glaze with the upmost sincerity that has her sighing in his arms. From this he knows that he has won, but her prefers to consider it as earning her vulnerability.

He is patient with her, but even then, she is wary. No exceptions, he had said. None, unless it concerns the people most important in his life.

“I kind of ... I didn’t want to start anything,” she begins, evidently avoiding those piercing eyes of his. “Still don’t. Even mentioning it might ... I don’t know, ruin something? And that’s not what I want, because you’re so content right now and I want you to stay that way. I don’t want to be a trouble.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re some kind of burden?” Harry quizzes, suspicious of her spiel’s direction. “Cos’, honest, whatever concerns you is my problem too. If you’re not happy with something, neither am I.”

“That’s the reason, baby!” She sits up straighter, and he tries his hardest not to melt around his girlfriend. For her to call him such an endearment is something he truly loves. It is thick like honey, dripping down the chambers of his heart. “I don’t want you to be upset. If I don’t tell you, at least for the time being, then it won’t affect you. At a time like this, I think that’s pretty important.”

“No!” he argues, eyebrows knitted like the sweater he wears. “No, that’s ... what’s important is that you’re honest with me. ‘Bout anything, at any time. Still don’t even know why you’re upset. You just gotta tell me, I’ll help you. If I didn’t care about you all the time, then I’d hope you’d break up with me for being a dickhead.”

“It won’t be on my part,” she says under her breath, never intending for him to hear. To her dismay, the winter winds are not nearly loud enough to mask her voice.

“S’cuse me?” Harry raises, no longer slouch against the couch. “What do you mean by that? Are you saying that I’m just going to date and dump ya?”

“No.” She shakes her head, repetitively, as if to further deny his assumption. “You know I don’t think of you that way.”

“Alright, then what is it?”

“It’s ... it’s complicated. More than you think, or maybe not ... can we just talk about it later?”

Harry states her name in such a way that is frightening, serious, even emotionless. This is a first in their relationship – the first time he’s ever been so strict with her.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to call my mum and sister out here to drag it out of you.”

His darling’s face expresses shock up to her eyebrows and down to her chin. She shakes her head again, this time more frantic and desperate. “No,” she pleas, gripping onto his cold hands. “Please don’t. Harry, I swear I will never forgive you.”

A spontaneous spill of words conceives her threat. Her bottom lip quivers, her rapid tongue suddenly dry as she waits for Harry to settle back against the couch.

Harry, however, is frozen. He doesn’t know if he is hurt; if he is, he doesn’t know what for. It is just something about this warning of hers that makes him feel weird.

“Forgive me?” he questions, his voice now smaller than hers. “Forgive me for what? Have I done something? Am I the reason you’re upset?”

The look on his face is heartbreaking. She frowns at him again, gently smoothening her fingers over his hands to explain to him, silently, that no, he is not the reason. While in their future – if there even is one – they will have many arguments where he is the one at fault, or she is the one to blame, he currently does nothing to make her feel this way.

For this reason alone, she knows she has to tell him. He is here for her in this blistering cold. He had promised he would be. In such an unfamiliar place as his mother’s home, he is her common, her serenity. This is something that she has to trust in.

“It’s not you,” she confesses, nervous as her eyes begin to dart from side to side. “It’s because ... your family. They hate me.”

Silence. Her heart beat ironically aches in her chest. She tries to find a reaction in his body language; a head tilt in her peripheral, a twitch in his fingers. Instead, there is nothing, which only makes her want to scream.

“Hate you?” Harry blinks, cautious about whether or not she kids with him.

“Hate, dislike ... does it really matter?”

“...No. You’re right, no, it doesn’t matter.” Harry is unyielding, which makes his girlfriend raise her head with surprise. He leans forward, green eyes burning into hers. “Cos’ they don’t feel either way about you. Why would you even say something so ridiculous?”

She cranes her neck up a little, eyebrows soaring in defense. “Have you even been paying attention the entire time since we’ve gotten here?”

“Of course, I have. Haven’t seen anything less than a smile directed toward you.”

“It’s not that hard to fake a smile out of kindness.”

“This is my family we’re talking about. The people who raised me.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Alright, so trust me then. They’d never hate the person I’m dating, ‘specially not after just a few hours of knowing them.”

“Seems like there’s a first for everything.”

“Or you’re just being extremely paranoid.”

At this, it is her turn to feel hurt. The word stings a little, especially since she knows she’s right. It is an intuitive gut-feeling; a negative energy surrounds her all afternoon. Harry somehow foreshadows his fate. She is upset, but now it is all because of him.

In an impulsive tantrum, she throws his hands down to his lap. Her body turns away, arms crossing over her chest like a grumpy child. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she grumbles, ignoring the burn she begins to feel in her nose.

Harry knows his family. He knows these accusations of hers are nearly impossible. Though, he also knows that his love had been nervous to come here – and this gesture of hers! It is so harsh and abrupt; it is very unlike her. Harry hates that he only notices her distress over his unintentional name-calling after the damage had already been done. He had promised to be tender, but now his guilt overpowers every fiber in his foolish being.

“Hey ... none o’ that,” he mumbles, reaching out to sling an arm around her shoulder, a gentle hand on her knee. He is afraid that she will push him away, a dent in their relationship that is entirely his fault. To his relief, she actually allows him to pull her in, even turns toward him a little. “M’sorry,” he coos. “So sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that.”

Harry presses his freezing dry lips to her temple, further murmuring his apologies. She is stubborn with where she is now, but rightfully so. Still, it is nice to have him so close.

“You can tell me anything,” he assures her. “You’re not being paranoid, I’m just ... being a dickhead.” Harry laughs, cursing the universe for this clever turn of events. “I’ll listen, alright? Please, talk to me.”

“You don’t believe me.” She rolls her eyes, hating how instantly she complies to his touch.

“Okay...” His face scrunches as he tries to work his way around this one. “But you’ve got to understand why I’m a little hesitant about it. Look, doesn’t matter. How ‘bout you explain to me why you think that way, hmm?”

His love begins to ease up a little in his arms. She reluctantly turns her head to him; an angry frown still taints her pretty face. In contrast, he smiles warmly, never once loosening his grip.

“...Gemma answered the door,” she explains, making Harry contently sigh.

“Uh huh,” he presses on. He prepares his ears to catch onto any faint detail that he can use to dissect her version of their visit.

“And she was really happy at first because, you know, you.”

“Right.”

“But she kind of like ... interrupted us? Because she opened the door without us even knocking. So, you were whispering in my ear about ... things and because of that, her sudden presence took me by surprise.”

Harry smirks. He had been whispering to her, alright. Whispering about things that his sister definitely doesn’t want to hear.

“So, when she came to hug me, I was still in that sort of shock, y’know? So, I was really stiff and I didn’t even hug her back. It was terrible! When she pulled away, she had this awkward look on her face.”

“I don’t think that means anything. She was probably just taken aback, same as you. Doesn’t mean that it was bad or that she hates you.”

His girlfriend scoffs. This is how he knows she has much more to say.

“That was nothing compared to your mother. I didn’t even hug her, Harry! She came in for one, or maybe just a kiss on the cheek, and I was so nervous that I just ... turned away! Do you realize how bad that is? Everyone in the kitchen just looked at me like ... like I was some kind of spoiled brat.”

“But you said it yourself,” Harry rebuttals. “You were nervous. I’m sure my mother understood that. She knows I wouldn’t date someone so self-absorbed.”

“Oh really? Is that why I keep seeing them whispering to each other? Even worse, when they instantly stop once they see that I’m in the room?”

“Alright!” Harry stands up from the patio couch. “I’m going to settle this, and when I’m right, I want a cuddle.”

Her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees her boyfriend rise. She leaps to his side, holding onto his hand as though she is clinging onto the last bit of life.

“What are you doing?” she cries. “Please, don’t say anything. Don’t you dare say anything, are you crazy?”

“How do you expect this to be resolved if I don’t bring it up to them?”

“I am begging you not to. Please ... don’t.”

Harry pauses, staring into her anxious eyes and then to the skin-tight grip she has on him.

He sighs. “Okay. I won’t mention anything, but I am going to figure this out. Whether that means bringing you into the conversation or not.”

“That’s ... fine,” she settles, though she is a little wary of how he will manage to fix any of this. “Can I just ... hold your hand for a little longer?”

Her beloved smirks, taking his rightful place next to her on the couch. He lets her wrap his larger hands in hers, a tick that he now learns is what she does when she’s nervous. She’d done it when they had first arrived, and she does it now.

“You’re gonna have to let go some time,” he points out, though smitten with the peace she finds in him.

“I know, just ... a little longer, okay?”

He nods, raising their clump for hands to press a kiss on her knuckles. “Tha’s fine with me.”

~~~

In the face of her reluctant separation of hand-holding, Harry is content when he persuades his girlfriend back into the warm confinements of his mother’s house.

The two of them walk past the sliding patio door, shuffling away the snow in a living room exuding lively chatter. There are family friends in the mix, extrovertly stunning individuals who sit on cozy cushions with fishbowls of wine in their grips. They’re kind people, a hilarious lot, although she fears their previous talk in these walls.

For a short moment, the queasy uproar in her chest subdues. Anne and Gemma are missing from the bunch. The most vital of Harry’s blood and bones whom she cannot blame for any of this. In actuality, it is she who is the root of the problem. Her mannerisms, her presentation – she has failed herself. She has failed Harry.

“Alright.” Harry folds the quilted blanket upon locking the sliding glass door. “I think they’re in the kitchen. Would you like to come with?”

She takes a studious gander at the living room. The other guests had only spared the couple a glance upon hearing them walk in. Besides that, they had returned to their chirpy conversations with ease. Their laughs bounce off the walls; the couples discreet chat goes unnoticed.

“N-No.” She shakes her head. Here, in a room full of persons, she is practically invisible. She is safe.

Harry nods, hanging the blanket over the back of the couch. “Okay.” He slips his hand right underneath the side of her jaw, puckering his lips on her forehead. “I’ll be right back then.”

She is frantic again when he says this, pulls him back by the arm as he begins to walk away. “Don’t say anything,” she warns him once more, this time with much more intensity. It is clearly moot to him how ashamed she will feel if he so much as even mentions her sad emotions.

“I won’t!” he whisper-yells, mimicking her look of absurdity with nothing but loving intentions. “Why don’t you sit down, eh?” He flicks his head to the opposite end of the couch where an entire cushion is available to her. “Next to Michal. Y’think you’ll be okay with that?”

She grimaces, side-eyeing the man’s harmless appearance. “Gemma’s boyfriend ... he probably hates me by default.”

Harry snickers, unable to resist another kiss on her sweet face. “Adorable.”

He backs away from her reach in dance: bends his arms and sways his hips. The glare she sends contrasts his cheeky wink, and he is off to the kitchen.

It is true that he doesn’t want to lie to his darling. It is obvious how in distress she is over this, but he believes that it is nothing more than a mild illusion, a product of her nerves. Surely his mother and sister will find it endearing that she worries so much over their approval. He can fix all of this in a matter of minutes.

“...not know what he’s thinking.”

Harry’s stroll comes to a halt in the hallway, the light of the kitchen cutting diagonally across the floor. He hides in the shadows, up against a wall where his mother and sister cannot see him. Eavesdropping is a dirty thing, but something about his mother’s voice is strange.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“He’s blind to it,” Gemma adds in, a hint of secrecy in her tone. “But that’s him. He grows obsessed, then he gets ... I don’t know, bored?”

Harry narrows his eyes. Are they speaking of him?

“A simple and kind person,” Anne tuts. He can hear her place batter on the cookie sheet. “That’s all I want for him. Why is it so hard?”

“Why don’t you tell him then?” Gemma asks, then pauses. He can imagine her sipping on her wine, licking the elegant flavor off her lips. “Maybe he’ll be open to the idea of you setting him up. He trusts your word more than anyone else.”

“I do have a couple of people in mind that I’d like him to meet, but it’s as you said. He’s obsessed. He won’t listen now. We’ll just have to ... wait it out, see how long it goes for.”

Wait it out? He’s utterly lost, but at the same time, he fears what he already knows.

“Do you think...” Gemma begins, “Okay, this might be a tad harsh, but do you imagine she’s here because her own family didn’t want to spend the holidays with her?”

The question is a bullet to his heart. He blinks rapidly with a face that twists; disbelief washes over all of his senses. Had he heard it wrong? His lovely sister would never be so cruel. Is this all a misunderstanding solely on his part?

His mother. Oh, his dear mother. Her response is the icing on the cake.

“Poor girl. I can’t even begin to think what family must have raised her.”

He won’t lie – it hurts. Their gossip hadn’t meant to belittle him or his decision making. In a strange type of way, he understands where they’re coming from. They love him. They want what’s best for him.

Nonetheless, understanding doesn’t make him any less upset. It doesn’t make him any less confused, overwhelmed, absolutely livid. This side of his family is a disappointing shock and it makes him a little sick.

Of anything else, he feels for his lovey. While this mess concerns him, it is not about him. In the end, she had been right, and he had been selfish. He had dismissed her, had disregarded her intuition and her discomfort, all because he had much more faith in his family than in her.

His mother and sister’s conversation becomes a jumble, not as if it matters much anyway. He had heard what he had heard, and they had moved onto a new, safer topic as unbothered as one would be flipping through the channels on the telly.

He takes a minute to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling before pushing himself off the wall. A few nervous clicks of his knuckles and he stumbles into the light with more to prove than before. His heavy footsteps garner their attention mid-conversation.

They greet him with twin smiles, but he responds in a boiling, amusing stare. Leaning against the counter opposite to the island, he crosses his arms and nibbles inside his cheek.

“Everything alright?” Gemma asks, noticing his stare-down with the tile floors. He is in thought, a distracting amount of it, and it is concerning to his sister – his sister that knows him so well.

Harry opens his mouth, lips silently stuttering over infinite responses. How could he go about this in a way that is civil amid his lingering vexation?

“Mother o’ mine,” he comically says, full out ignoring his sister’s question.

The pair of ladies look at him with curiosity, but it is not in an eager or silly way. It is tense. Stiff. Suspicious.

“Darling?” She smiles, setting the batter aside. Her chin tilts up, her soft features almost overpowering his will. How could he possibly be mad at the woman who’d given him everything?

He wants to give her a chance. He wants to believe that he’d been right. Very casually does he mention the chat he’d had with his girlfriend, her name that twitches the gleam in their faces. Though it is only a slight falter, a millisecond of a reaction, he had seen it.

“It’s funny.” He laughs, raising his head in the gravity of his words. “She’d said something to me that I found quite ... mmm, ridiculous, I’d say. Unbelievable, even. I couldn’t quite believe it myself, but for her sake, I listened. That’s what a person in a relationship does, after all. So, she’d said to me that she was, ehm, she was feeling a bit down.”

Anne frowns. “Oh no, darling. What about?”

“What about? Well, she’d said ... hmm, how did it go? In her words, as best as I can remember it anyway, she’d said, your family hates me. Yeah, tha’s what I heard.”

At this sated accusation, the faces of the two women grow paler. Gemma freezes, while Anne swallows in discomfort. Her eyes search for a way out of this maze, but her beautiful son does not allow it.

“Doesn’t that sound ridiculous, mum?”

“It does,” Gemma answers. She easily catches onto how they have to team up against Harry’s spontaneous quips.

He smiles again. “Right. After all, she’d been devastated to find out that she couldn’t travel to spend the holidays with her family. The snow just wouldn’t allow it. Cancelled her flight and everything.” He steps up, leans forwards now with his palm gripping the edge of the island. “And you had been so kind as to welcome her into your home. So, really, how could you possibly hate her?”

His gaze is unbearable. His mother feels as if she had committed a crime.

“Of course,” Anne chuckles, “that’s – it is ridiculous. I don’t ... hate her.”

“And you, Gem,” he switches his interrogation. “Of all the ... questionable people I’ve been obsessed with, it doesn’t seem sensible that the one simple and kind person I’ve finally ended up with, turns out to be someone you hate, right?”

Gemma raises a brow as the intensity of his stare increases. Their eyes – her dark ones, his light ones – from the same genes collide in a battle. Together, in a team setting, they are competitive, supportive, and practically unstoppable. Apart, in a duel against each other, it is an all-out war.

She never gives in, no matter how grueling. She is as stubborn as he is, but this time, she knows. She knows that the longer she plays this game of his, the winner he will become.

“Oh, stop it!” She folds the towel and turns away from his mocking smirk. “I’m not doing this!”

“Gemma!”

“What? I’m not going to sit here and lie to him.”

“Oh really?” Harry asks, hands on his hips. “Just like you two have done all evening?”

“We haven’t lied!” she defends in a high-pitch.

“You said you didn’t hate her!”

“We don’t!” Gemma sips her wine, commenting very quietly that: “We just don’t like her.”

“Gemma!” Anne repeats. It astounds her that her daughter would be so blunt, but she can’t bring herself to disagree.

Harry shakes his head in shame. Not of his own, nor for bringing his love to this place, but for the distaste of his own blood. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “It is actually unbelievable. And after all of the boyfriends of yours I defended.”

“Oh, don’t be such a knob.” His sister glares. Her wine glass is lonely on the island counter. “Anyone in my past hadn’t nearly been as impolite as her.”

“Impolite? Wh—” Harry turns his head from side-to-side. He wonders if anyone else can hear the absurdities. “When has she ever been impolite?”

“Darling,” Anne speaks up. She’d been quiet, nervous about where this sensitive topic would end up going. It had not finished well. “Why don’t we just leave this as it is?”

“No! No, I will not—”

“Harry, please, it’s just not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” He questions, a pattern of the sorts ensuing. Every ridiculous thing they say, he has to repeat. They have to hear it again, from his opposing tongue, and maybe then they will come to terms with how unreasonable they’re being.

“Can you honestly tell us that she’ll be here in a year’s time?” Gemma says, a bit sincerer than she’s been.

“I ... how am I supposed to know that?”

The two women give each other a look. It only boils his blood more.

“Don’t do that!”

“It’s a simple question, Harry.”

“It’s not so simple to answer given that you two don’t even like her! I mean, what – what could you possibly not like about her? What has she done?”

“She’s just ... rude,” his sister answers, his mother nodding in agreement. “Reserved, but in a bad way.”

“She’s nervous!” he retorts, hands twitched out in frustration. “And rightfully so, given how you two are behaving. You’d think, that with all I have to go through in the media, you’d know better than to judge someone off of one unjust impression.”

“It’s has more to do than that,” Anne says, her tone so sweet that it makes his tummy ache. “It’s just a feeling.”

“A feeling? A hunch then?” He waits for her to nod, and then he nods, and suddenly no one is quite certain where this will go next. “Right. I’ve got one of those myself. I have a feeling, a very strong one at that, that I do want her to be here in a year’s time. But do I see her here, in another 365 days? No.”

The women are silent, this unexpected sincerity captivates them. Still, there is something circulating the air. It is thick and unsettling, the loud chatter from the living room beginning to echo into their private area.

“She won’t be, because who in their right mind would willing endure this kind of treatment? Oh, the family doesn’t like her. Big shame. There’ll always be another one ready to take her in with open arms. She’ll realize that eventually, and she’ll go. None of this is worth it, as you’ve said, ‘specially not for me.”

The ticking of the wall clock has never sounded so ardent and bold. The more it ticks, the more of Harry’s vulnerability unravels from his monologue – his deepest fear. Tick, tick, tick. Seconds pass, but they are as torturous as lightyears. The trio grows weaker, the team of two at a loss for words. This steady beat in time makes no progress at all.

Harry sighs, a long one that devours them all. He steps around the island, throws an arm around his mother’s shoulders, the opposite hand on the crown of his sister’s head.

“I love you,” he says to Anne, then looks to Gemma. “Both of you. And I respect that this is your house. It’s your decision, I can’t change that. But I can’t stay here and pretend that it’s not a problem. It’s not fair to her.”

He finishes his sentence by giving them both a respective kiss on the head. They don’t respond, emotionless even, and he walks back into the hallway where the light does not blanket his creamy skin.

The guests are even chattier when he walks into the living room. He can easily spot his love on the couch, just as he had suggested. She scoots up against the end, the nearest person not even an arm’s length into her personal bubble of space. A majestic black dog is in front of her legs, head resting on her lap as she gives gentle rubs to his ears.

Harry smiles sadly. He had wanted to fix this for her. He had wanted to enjoy these days with her, to begin a tradition that everyone would be more than in favor of. He feels now as if he has done her wrong. Maybe there was more that he could have done, but she deserves better either way.

He walks over, opting to crouch down to her eye level next to the arm of the couch. She senses Harry, relieved to see his face of tranquility. She offers him a smile, but it shapes oddly at his less than neutral expression.

“M’sorry I didn’t believe you,” he says, with the softest eyes that had ever existed. He hopes that she can trust in his sincerity, that he truly is sorry for all that has happened. He doesn’t want her to hurt; he doesn’t want her to go through this mess when it clearly isn’t her fault. He adores her; hopefully that is enough for her.

She quizzes over his out-of-context statement, but when it does eventually hit her, it drowns her in deepest ocean. Her mouth gapes, wrinkles on her forehead, and the smallest, most innocent shake of her head.

“I told you not to say anything,” she remarks in the most precious voice. That is when his heart finally breaks.

“I know, baby.” His own voice is a little croaky. He pouts, and it isn’t exaggerated or playful. It is a genuine representation of his dismay. “M’ so sorry. You can have all the cuddles you want.”

A makeshift laugh exhales through her nostrils, but she sucks a meager amount back in when her vision glasses up. She won’t cry – although it is a very strong possibility despite her rapid blinks – but her entire mind, body, and soul reacts to this quite negatively.

Over all, this sucks. This holiday sucks and while Harry’s cuddles are therapeutic, she wants to revert to the darkness of the universe where the stars had first gathered her.

“C’mon.” Harry pulls her head down, sponging his lips right over the crease on her brow. It softens and smoothens, but she is still uncertain on the edge. “Let’s go.”

“What?” she questions, allowing him to clasp their hands tight. He pulls her up from the couch, murmuring his condolences to the large dog who sighs and trots away. “Wait, what are you – go where?”

She splits herself in two opposing halves: one follows Harry, but the other resists with heels dug in the floor. He directs her to the Christmas tree, where his path ceases in determination.

“Home,” he answers, freeing his hand to sift through the boxes of gifts. “We’re taking the presents with us.”

“What?” she whisper-yells, same as he had done to her, only hers is much more severe. “Are you out of your mind? W-we can’t just leave! Our bags!”

“Still in the car ... didn’t take them out.”

He can sense her glare burning on the back of his head. “I told you to take them out.”

“It was snowing hard, I was cold ... but now look ... didn’t even need to go through all the hassle.”

She grimaces at the pile that begins to appear at his side. Decorative paper seals all of the presents, wrapped by the two of them weeks prior. She feels useless in this situation, but he resembles something of a champion, a hard-headed competitor sprinting to his goal.

“Harry...” she whines, sneaking glances back at the oblivious guests. She hopes that they remain blind to the commotion he causes. “Please think this through.”

“I did,” he insists. “We’re not staying.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“You’re not comfortable here. We can spend the holidays by ourselves. Tha’s all we need anyway, right?”

Her mouth opens to protest his name again, but another voice calls out to him instead.

It causes him to tense up, a first in his life. He rises from his bent position and turns to find his mother and sister now present, with a certain concern scribbling their faces. He notices the obvious distance between them and his girlfriend, and it only increases as she takes discreet steps back in oblivious fear.

“Harry,” Anne tries again, smiling to his love the way a mother would smile to a stranger when her child misbehaves in public. “Please, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to leave.”

“We’re not staying,” he announces, a repeat in only a mere minute.

“Harry...” his girlfriend mumbles, to which sets an alarm off inside of him. In a second, he has her by the arm, pulling her behind him in protection.

“Harry, let’s talk about this,” Gemma offers, her once confident tone now lacking clarity. “For everyone’s sake, please.”

“M’sorry, but there’s been enough talking for now. I’ve heard everything I needed to. We’d like to spend the rest of the holidays in peace.”

She tugs on his arm now. “Harry...”

“By the way, mother...” Harry points up, reaching for the smallest box on his pile. He hands it to his bewildered mother, who takes it hesitantly. “You can keep that. It’s from her. She spent weeks worrying about what to get you, said she had to get you a gift on her own rather than just writing her name on mine. Said it was really important to her.”

Anne frowns, fingers still as ice on the square box. “Sweetheart...”

“It’s a lovely pair of earrings,” he reveals with a shrug. “Wouldn’t let me pay for it either. Cost her a few paychecks.”

“Listen to us, we’re really sorry—”

“No, m’sorry, but I really don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s our tradition to spend the holidays together!”

“Harry...”

“I thought it was our tradition to be kind to people.”

“Harry...”

“Stop it, we haven’t done anything!”

“That is just laughable, Gem—”

“Baby...” she states, her voice still soft but more stern than previous.

The instant clench of his heart causes his lips to seal; his ears open up to the sound that he had been accidentally ignoring in the midst of his defense. He looks to his love, who has found enough courage to step beside him than hide in the privacy of his tall frame.

“Give me the keys to the car.”

Harry twists his face. “What?”

“Give me the keys,” she repeats, eyebrow shooting up for emphasis.

“What for?”

She looks to the floor, her hand still firm in his. She feels their eyes on her, but she can’t seem to figure out if it is in envy or curiosity.

“You obviously don’t want me to stay here,” she confesses, “So I’ll just go back home and you can spend this time with your family.”

The silence that follows her quiet explanation is almost like a near-death experience. She doesn’t know what will happen, but in a millisecond, it feels as if the end awaits her.

Harry chuckles. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You are not spending the holidays by yourself!”

“You are not leaving,” she persists, and there he sees it: the flare of her nostrils. “This is your family, Harry.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” he retaliates, the word ever-so loving on his tongue.

She smiles, but it is sorrow in every way. “Doesn’t nearly compare.”

“That’s not—”

“Look, we can talk about it ... we’ll talk about it next year,” she tries as a joke, but it sounds disgustingly distant. “Just give me the keys—”

“No, no,” interrupts her command, not from Harry, but from the woman who loves him more than she’s ever loved anything, alongside his sister.

The couple turn to Anne, who shakes her head at the both of them.

“No one is leaving.” Anne looks at her, whose blood freezes in circulation. “Darling ... I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean for us to so clearly start on the wrong foot. It’s just...” she pauses, then reaches up to touch the side of her son’s tense face. “He’s my baby. I ... admittedly, might strive too hard over what’s best for him.”

“He’s very special to us,” Gemma adds, with a warm smile to her brother’s companion. “No matter how annoying he may be.”

“Hey...” Harry glares, but it’s with pure intentions alongside his growing grin.

“We’re not ones to assume so quickly,” Anne continues, “but I just couldn’t help myself this time. That was wrong of me, and I hope you can understand how sorry I am. If you’re still willing, I still need to go finish up the cookies. I’d love to get to know you better, putting all of this behind us, of course.”

She is speechless, to say the least. She hadn’t known how much she had wanted this approval until her offer opens up a gate of relief in her chest. “Y-Yes,” she agrees, a bit of a falter in her voice. She embarrassingly clears her throat. “Yes. That would ... be great. I um ... accept ... uh, your apology?”

She looks up to Harry, begging with her eyes to help her.

He smiles at her, kissing the top of her head with the upmost glee he’s ever had. “She’s shy.”

#honeytryst

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