#so they getta kiss god bless

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Seven, “You Save Me”

*Not my gif*

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Word Count: 9.1k words

Warnings: Mentions of hospital care and sensitive topics

Music Inspo: To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra (click to listen)

                                          SNEAKYYYYY PEEK

That’s not even the worst of it, no, it’s not. The honey on his lips soaks mine with its sweetness, but it’s a feat in itself as I feel for the hundredth time the fear of never getting to kiss him again, or to hug him, or feel him against me, or to hear his voice. Like it so easily can, it shakes me to my core, and sends me jumping into his arms. 

"There are far, far better things ahead than anything we leave behind."

- C. S. Lewis

+

“Yer sure this’ll work?”

“Yep.” 

“Positive? Ya can’t be havin’ any doubts now,” I continue, raising my eyebrows at her. 

“Yes, Harry. God, it’s just checkers, not a bloody court case,” she giggles, picking up a red piece and scooting it forward. 

“I dunno, I don’t take competition lightly, bug.” 

“We know,” she returns in a scoff, but then it falls into a frown when I jump over her piece, stealing one of her players. 

“No fair,” she sighs, brow collapsing in annoyance as she sits back into the bed. 

“Don’t be a sore loser now.” 

“I’m not. Please, can we be done? I’m tired.” 

“Jus’ sayin’ that ‘cuz yer losin’, are you?” I tease and she shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes. If that wasn’t her tell-tale sign for being sleepy, the way her eyes flutter closed when I stroke a hand through her hair definitely is. 

“‘Kay, li’l one, we’ll carry on with our checkers game later. You get some rest, ya need it. Ya need yer strength fer P.T. ya have in an hour,” I tell her, turning around with the wooden board in my hands that I set on the sofa. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“Okay,” she yawns, her voice followed by the electronic whirring of the hospital bed moving, or rather, the head of it relaxing. “You aren’t leaving me, are you?”

“What?” I question, turning around to find her eyes waiting for me. It confuses my heart how wildly she searches for me in a room, eyes almost always on me, no matter where I am - far or near. “Jus’ gonna go getta bite t’ eat and talk t’ Skye, hadda question fer her.” 

“Oh,” Becks exhales, her cracked rose lips pushing out. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“‘m only goin’ downstairs fer a few, bug. Won’t be long . . promise. Here, ya want some lip balm? Yer lips look sumthin’ painful.” 

“You’re looking at my lips instead of answering my question, Harry,” she pouts, putting on the entire show now with the pouting lips and squashed up face. 

“Put that pout away, li’l miss,” I insist with a wag of my finger. “Jus’ noticed yer lips are chapped, ‘s all.” 

“Sure, you did.” 

“Go t’ sleep already. I thought you said yer tired?” I jest with a cock of my head, removing the cap to the lip balm before spreading it across her puckered lips. “There we go. Now, get some sleep.” 

“But what if I have a nightmare and you’re not here . . again?” 

A sigh runs away from me without my permission, “‘ll only be a mo’, Becks.” 

“But, Harry-.” 

“But, what? Stop worryin’, you’ll be fine, love. Kristi will be here if ya need anythin’ and I happen not t’ be,” I tell her quickly, but she doesn’t budge, and neither do those stubborn lips. 

“I don’t want Kristi, I want you. Why can’t you stay?” 

“‘Cuz I have sumthin’ important t’ do! How many times do I gotta say you’ll be fine, Becks?!” I exclaim, the firmness ringing in my voice. I watch painfully as the words hit her like a slap in the face, and the pout is nonexistent in a blink. A trail of huffed regrets paint my lips, and my hand habitually flies to my hair in frustration. “‘m sorry, didn’t mean t’ explode on ya there.” 

“It’s fine, like you keep saying. Everything’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine. My nightmares are fine,” she mutters, suddenly avoiding my gaze because apparently, her lap is all too interesting to look away from. “Just go . . do whatever you want. I’ll be fine, like you say.” 

“Becks,” I sigh, regretfully. 

“Go,” she responds softly, shaking her head. That’s the very thing I do when I watch the tear bead in the corner of her eye, and then slide down her cheek. Pleas of ‘no’s stab at my ears and her squirming only last seconds, before she melts like putty in my arms. 

“‘m sorry. ‘ll jus’ text Skye and ask her, or see if she can come t’ me. Yer mo’ important, Becks.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she breathes against my neck, sniffles accentuating her pained words. 

“‘m not, babe, I neva would. Yer always mo’ important, promise you that,” I coo, gently breaking up the snarls in her dark locks. “‘ll stay, I wanna.” 

There isn’t a lie hiding in my words, or in my intentions, but it surprises me at moments how easily I’m used to being needed so much by her. It’s bittersweet, I reckon, realizing how much she needs me, all of the time. It’s flattering and makes my former self jealous in moments, but on the other hand, it saddens me immensely. I know it shouldn’t be that way, and I wish it wasn’t, but it is. If this is where she wants me, that’s all she has to say, and I’m there. 

“Get some sleep, baby,” I murmur against her temple, pressing a kiss there while my hands leave imaginary stripes up and down the expanse of her back. 

“I’m sorry that I need you all of the time,” she sobs, the tears warm and wet against the corner of my neck. Sighing, my bum finds the edge of the bed as I pull away from her, ever so painfully. 

“Hey, ya don’t ever hafta apologize fer that, ya hear me?” I tell her, brushing my thumb along her chin, holding her face in my hands. “Me job right now, me life right now ‘s t’ take care o’ you. I wouldn’t want t’ be doin’ nuthin’ else, I wantcha t’ know that. ‘m not goin’ back t’ work ‘til yer all betta and can take care o’ yerself, doesn’t matta how long. ‘m not goin’ anywhere, eitha, Becks . . I need ya bloody bad too, I reckon, and that’s okay.” 

“You’re kind of the best, you know that?” she just barely smiles, leaning into my hand and peering up at me with those eyes that are to die for.

I don’t even care how premature it is, I hope every single one of my bloody kids has her eyes, but oh, the ways that they melt me. They sure would get away with loads, seeing how much she gets away with just by using those eyes on me.

“Only kinda?” I tease and the truest giggle I’ve heard grace her lips in days sings to my ears. 

“Maybe more than a little,” she winks. Her cheeks are wet and salty beneath my lips, bunching up with a smile as her song fills the air. Pulling away, she knuckles at her eyes while a yawn leaves her next. 

“Get some rest now, Becks, ya need it.” 

“I know.” 

“I won’t go anywhere,” I promise her aloud, and her smile says all of the ‘thank you’s that I could ever need, I reckon. That thought fills with doubts when she presses the sweetest of pecks to my lips, her gratitude painting my insides. 

“Yer welcome,” I whisper against her mouth, leaving my own kiss on the top of her head, smiling contently at the image of her sinking into her covers while sleep calls for her.

+

“I need a ‘yes,’ not a bloody ‘maybe.” 

“Okay, I meant yes.” 

“No, ya didn’t. Bloody hell, are ya confusin' or what? I needa straight answer here, and quick!” 

“Yes, yes, yes. Is that enough for you?”

“Yes,” I return, grinning at the eye roll I receive from her. 

“Dammit, Harry, like you’re any better,” she tuts with a disapproving shake of her head. Playing with the ends of her green crimped hair, a thought bounces around behind her eyes, and then they lift to me. “Yeah, it’ll work, if you’re quick about it. I dunno how long she’ll want to do it, you know. I hope you get lucky today.” 

“Fook, me too, I hope. Already a day late.”

“Yeah, so get a move on it, bud,” Skye quips with a wink, both of our gazes pulled over to the curtains that part and the sight that we find. “All ready, Ree?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know how much I trust your driving, though,” Becks responds, toying with her plum colored knit blanket folded on her lap. Her tired eyes flit to me and widen in a question, one I’ve heard repeated five times already. “You’re sure you can’t come, Harry?”

“We’ll be fine, Ree, we’re just going to go for a little stroll around the hospital. Get you some fresh air and maybe buy something in the gift shop, it’ll be fun.”

That doesn’t calm the quakes that have rattled her ever since we brought up the idea of getting Becks out of bed to take a wheelchair ride around. Well, that was until I said that it wouldn’t be me pushing her around.

“Ya, sorry, bug. I gotta make some work calls at last, but it’ll be good fer you t’ get outta this room,” I pipe up, stepping forward and sinking to a squat in front of her. “You go pick sumthin’ nice out fer yerself.”

“Harry,” she sighs when I slide a bill into her hands. She tries to fight me and place it back in my hands. My head shakes at her and I fold her fingers over it and give it a squeeze. 

“I mean it, buy ya sumthin’ that’ll make ya happy. I don’t wantcha t’ bring it back, and don’t you spend it on me now,” I insist with raised eyebrows, winking at her with a warm smile. Her fight response shrinks away before my eyes and I nod happily. “Atta girl, Becks. Listen t’ yer boss now,” I hum, booping her nose and watching her roll those magnificent eyes at me. A blessing, it is, indeed. My hand falls to cradle her cheek and pull her towards me so I can encapture her lips with my own. 

“How in the hell are you used to this already? It makes me wanna be sick,” somebody grunts from behind me. Laughs tickle both of our lips and I pull away from hers prematurely. 

“Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt you snogging me sister?”

“Robbie, would you shut up for once?” Becks groans, recognizing the voice for me, so I don’t have to embarrass myself any further by turning around. 

“Whatever,” he exhales with a slap of his hand to his thigh. 

“You drive safe now,” I tell her firmly, scooping her hair behind her ear. “Lookin’ gorgeous, y’know, and mo’ like yerself e’ry day.” the whisper nudges the corners of her lips higher on her cheeks. I swear I catch a whiff of summertime stuck to her skin when I leave one last kiss with her. 

“Okay, okay. Get a room, you two. We gotta get this show on the road. C’mon, Robbie, you’re in charge of her IV pole,” Skye huffs, tapping her fingers on the steering handles of the wheelchair behind Becks. 

“Alrighty then,” I giggle with a squeeze to Becks’ arm as they pull away. “See ya lot soon, have fun.” 

“Oh, we will, won’t we, Ree?”

“I don’t feel too good about this,” Becks whines sarcastically from a few yards down the hallway. My heart doesn’t quake, though, and neither does her honey-likened voice that soon dissolves into a happy giggle. The only thing that could possibly be better than this, I think to myself, is getting to be the one to push her down the hall and to bring her home, here soon. 

“Not soon enough,” I muse to myself, walking back into the room and picking up the packet of photos. The tears fall, unabated, as I flip through them and wish for those simpler times before shaking my head, knowing I’d never want to go back to before. No matter how shitty this after is, I’d never want to have to wade through that heap of shit again to get to her, although I know that I would. I’d do it all a hundred times over, and then a thousand, if it meant getting to be with Becks. 

I hope more than anything I get to say that again one day, and hopefully with grandkids on my lap and gray in my hair, because sometimes I’m convinced I’m far too young to be hurting like this. I couldn’t care less if I’m too young to love this hard, though, and never would I wish that away. If two and some odd years gave me all of this, I can only dream of what tens and tens of years could bring me, and us. 

Bloody hell, don’t get too ahead of yourself there, Harry, I chastise myself as I arrive at another picture, knowing fully well that this is one I’d show our kids, and our grandkids. 

Too late, that train has already left that station. You’re about two years too late, but then again, so was I.

++

“Did you bring it?”

“Yep, I hid it in your room. I wrapped it too, don’t worry. It’s all ready, Ree.” 

“Thanks,” I respond softly, wringing my hands underneath the blanket. His face lingers in my mind and so does his voice, and the feeling of his lips. My heart feels heavy with longing, and with a swallow I chastise myself for missing somebody I saw ten minutes ago. 

“I think he’ll love it, it was really thoughtful of you,” Skye murmurs from behind me while Robbie hums a tune beside me, pushing my IV pole. “How are you feeling?”

“Can we go back yet?” I ask gently, twirling the braided silver around my finger until it stills. My fingers drift to the soft beads surrounding my wrist that I twiddle instead now. 

“But you haven’t bought anything yet.” 

“I don’t want to, I just want to go back. Please,” I sigh, my eyes falling away from the shelves of overpriced items that only grandmas would buy, it seems. “I just wanna see Harry,” I say to myself and only her, the knot in my throat stopping my swallow. Without me allowing it, my lips quiver and tears fill my eyes. A louder ‘please’ trickles into the air and I hastily wipe the tears away. 

“Yeah, sure. Let me uh, just see if Harry is done . . You know, with his phone calls.” 

Why do I feel like this?

Sure, I missed him all of the time before, and sometimes from across the room. Now, things are different, so different. I’m different, and so is our relationship, so you’d think that because of it I’d miss him less. As a matter of fact, I don’t miss him any less, I only miss him more. I blame that partially on the dull headache I always seem to have, and its underlying truth that everybody keeps blaming my overactive emotions on. Now, floors away from him and he’s all I can think about, and all that I want.

That isn’t very different from before, though. 

“Okay, let’s go back,” Skye mumbles with finality to her voice. She thinks that I don’t hear it, like so many of them keep thinking I don’t hear or see things they forget to hide, but I hear the annoyance in her voice. It stings, and so do the tears, because they’re always too near nowadays. 

My heart does a somersault in my chest and I feel like I can finally breathe again when we turn the corner, and there he is, standing outside of my room. This is all still so much that I’m not used to. 

“Hey, back early, are we?” Harry rasps, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. “E’rythin’ alright?” he asks, sinking down into a squat in front of me. My shoulders offer their slightest of shrugs in answer, but I know that he receives one when he catches the last bead of a tear on my cheek. “That’s okay yer back early. Alright, bug?” he hums against my forehead, pressing a long, warm kiss to my skin that melts from his returning touch. 

“Yeah, just missed you.” 

“Missed you too, li’l one. Yer okay, ‘m here,” Harry coos, his thumb rubbing stripes into my hair. “Thanks, you two. ‘ll uh, take it from here then. We’ll see ya later fer dinna, I reckon.” 

We share our goodbyes and Skye whispers ‘it’s in the closet’ to me when we hug. 

“How ya feelin’, bug? Anythin’ hurt?” Harry murmurs, sneaking a hand underneath my blanket to lace his fingers with mine. 

“Head a little, but that’s nothing new.” 

“Mmmm, reckon tha bright hospital lights didn’t help that. Ya should drink some mo’ water, and ya haven’t had lunch quite yet.” 

“Yeah,” I exhale, almost automatically, pulling our joined hands out to lay on top of the covers. 

“Ya look tired. Maybe ya should lie down fer a snooze.” 

“No, I’m okay,” I respond, tracing the curves and lines of his silver, rose ring. My actions wander to his two other rings on this hand, my favorite past time as of late. 

“‘Kay, let’s go back t’ yer room, tho’. There was sumthin’ I wanted t’ show ya.” 

“Okay,” I say, lifting my head and that’s where I find his glowing eyes. They imbue me with everything I could ever want and need to feel. 

“Promise ya won’t cry?” Harry requests while getting to his feet, and then disappearing behind to me. 

“What? I don’t understand, Harry . . .” 

“Ya will inna sec, bug. Jus’ you wait,” he quips, and the wheels start to roll. I wish the cogs in my head had begun their journey too, trying to guess at what he’s getting at, but only do they turn once he flips on the light when we’re back in the room. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Becks. Well, give or take a day or two. ‘m sorry ‘bout that, but ya had gotten sick and so I had t’ postpone a li’l. I hope ya like it, I know there’s not many, but . . ,” Harry introduces, his words escaping him. I’ve taken them all, I think, the sight in front of me blurring instantly until I blink and the tears are wetting my cheeks. “Now, we have loads o’ time t’ make mo’ . . mo’ memories.” 

“Harry, I-I . . “

Memories I can’t even place hang from the ceiling of my hospital room, strung on purple twine are pictures of Harry and I from the last few years. With his help, he pushes me around the room so I can grab hold of them and admire them.

They’re all candids. One or two from meetings at the firm from my time as his assistant. One from the Halloween party of our costumes as Beetlejuice and Morticia Addams. A bittersweet one from my going away party from before. A happier one from Harry’s recent birthday party. One of the long nights at the hospital spent with him last winter even makes an appearance. Then there’s a giggly surprised selfie he took from a night at my house playing Scrabble from before. My lips quiver at the adorable selfie from our first date, and how naive we seemed, if only days ago. I laugh at our first kissing selfie from that Sunday on his sofa, right before everything changed. A mentor-mentee picture of the two of us Rose took from my first day back may be my favourite. That is soon trumped with an excited selfie in his office from that first day at work as a couple, but I find it heartbreaking to look at.

There are some that I can’t place right away in my mind and others flood my senses with the laughs and conversations we shared in those photos.

I didn’t think it was possible, but some way and somehow, I love him even more than I did just a second ago. 

“Harry, how did you . . “

“Thought ya promised ya wouldn’t cry,” he mumbles, and only then do I notice that he’s crouched beside me with his eyes waiting on me. It takes me a second to place the tears welling in his eyes, and the bittersweet dimpled smile accompanying them. “I talked t’ e’rybody, and had them send any pictures they had o’ us. Rose, Asher, Myles . . Skye was tha biggest help o’ all, gettin’ into yer Cloud t’ get some o’ these. Yer phone was lost in tha accident, sadly, but luckily you were a smart cookie, and had e’rythin’ backed up. ‘s why I couldn’t go with you on yer ride ‘round jus’ now, I wanted t’ hang these up fer you, bug . . Now, I neva said I wouldn’t cry,” he laughs sadly, and the previous smile falls into his shaking lips. “‘m so glad we have all o’ these . . ‘m so fookin’ grateful I have you, Becks, all o’ these years, and so many mo’ t’ come, babe.” 

“Oh, Harry,” I sigh blearily, falling into his arms that surround me. I’ve always known that it was natural, but I’ve never had something feel so right, not until him. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

“Nah, babe, you are. My sweetest Becks,” he hums, pressing a line of kisses along my cheek until he reaches my lips. At last, I get to taste the molasses that his words were always coated in, without fail. My happy giggles buzz against his mouth until he pulls away with his eyebrows askew. “‘m tryna kiss you, yer makin’ it all difficult.” 

“That’s what I’m good at,” I murmur softly, my lips collapsing from the ironic weight of my words. 

“That’s okay, wouldn’t wantcha any otha way, baby,” Harry says, tapping my nose with his finger. If that doesn’t spur the next onslaught of tears, the honey that swims in his eyes does, and it’s all for me. Every last drop. “Good things are difficult sometimes.” 

“Who are you quoting, yourself?” I titter and his cheeks redden before me. 

“Hush, you,” he tuts, and that he does with his lips against mine. There’s a new fervor to his kisses as of late, but at the same time, a further gentleness to them ever since . . it happened. It’s contradictory, it is, but I’m just glad he’s not afraid to touch me anymore. Deep down, I know that he has enough fear bottled up inside of him for the two of us though, and as if I didn’t as well. 

His lips are sweet and slow against mine, and so are his fingers that trek through my hair, careful of the stitches and staples that he’s memorized the locations of. They mold against mine beautifully, locking together ever so effortlessly, and that is until thoughts ravage my brain and make them tremble. Flashes of bright lights, screeching tires, and clangs of metal against metal ricochet inside of my head. That’s not even the worst of it, no, it’s not. The honey on his lips soaks mine with its sweetness, but it’s a feat in itself as I feel for the hundredth time the fear of never getting to kiss him again, or to hug him, or feel him against me, or to hear his voice. Like it so easily can, it shakes me to my core, and sends me jumping into his arms. 

“Ya, reckon we need a breather,” he jokes against my hair where his lips lie, peppering more kisses onto me. Tears spill down my cheeks silently as I stare at the windows frosted from the February cold, and obscured by the beginning blizzard. 

We talked about our dreams of having babies together earlier today, and I cherished it immensely, but it only makes me hurt more. Harder. It frightens me to think I almost had that possibility ripped out of my hands, and what if it could happen again? He could get into an accident himself, especially in weather like this, or if something were to happen to him. Anything. A heart attack, an aneurysm, an allergic-

“What’s that li’l head thinkin’ so hard ‘bout?” Harry whispers, holding me against him. They keep coming, and it’s only a matter of time until he feels them still coming, hitting the bare skin of his neck. 

I want it.

It’s early, but I know that I do, and perhaps even more now. I knew that I did before, or I thought that I did. I wondered, but never this much. I hadn’t wanted it this much, or dreamt about it so often. I almost feel mad for how densely it occupies my thoughts, but it made me sigh with relief when he told me that he dreamt of it too. 

Babies. 

His babies. 

Our babies, one day. 

“Becks?” he says, barging into my run alone thoughts. He really does it when he leaves my arms and I find those glassy green eyes once more. “You okay, bug?” he inquires, his large thumb swiping away the wetness painting my cheeks. 

“I love you . . . Harry,” I sigh, feeling yet another tear fall. He catches this one too, and I brush my knuckle against his cheek just in time to rescue one that leaks from his eye. 

“Love ya too, Becks, so much,” he wheezes with a contagious cheeriness to his raspy voice that tickles my cheek. I couldn’t count the number of kisses he presses to both of my cheeks, with a throbbing headache or not. He pulls a laugh from my lips so easily, like all of the other times, and then there he is, stunning me with that look on his face like I painted the stars in the sky. 

“I really do, though - love you,” I continue, the passion sewn into every tear that wavers in my voice. 

The dimples cave deeper into his cheeks covered with chestnut brown stubble, only making this sight before me all the better. A happy sound escapes his lips and if I look hard enough, it sings there in his eyes that have all of my attention. 

“I know, Becks. And I, you, my baby.” 

“God, you know how to make a girl melt, Styles,” I exhale, the fire burning hot in my cheeks, but it’s put out soon enough when the thoughts interrupt again.

The brash feeling of his beginning beard against my palm grounds me while I go through the motions, yet again. I was that close to never seeing him again, and leaving him forever. I don’t think that I could ever tell him, but it weighs me down with guilt that I almost left him, because each tear and confession of his breaks my heart all a little more. 

I really have no idea what I’d do without him here, taking care of me, every second of every day. Tears spew, hot and heavy down my skin, as I think just a second too long about the burning hell that it would be if this had happened just a month earlier, or even this last summer.

I’ve lost count of how many times my family has said that it should’ve been worse, and that I should’ve had more broken bones, or something that Harry refuses to say - that I should have died with the extent of the wreck.

If I had still been lucky and this had happened at another time, what then? Would I have come back? Why would I have, though? Every time I open my eyes in that bed, I know that he’ll be there, right at my side, and the thought of that not being a given if this had happened at another time . . It sickens me.

If it had happened when he was with her . . would he have come? Would he have come and seen me during the worst year of my life, last summer or last winter? Would she have let him, that ex-girlfriend of his? What would have been my reason to live, if not for him? Would I-

“Becks?” Harry says, clearing his throat. “What’re ya thinkin’ ‘bout, babe?”

“Nothing,” I confess with hot cheeks, wiping a hand across them and looking to my lap. 

“‘Kay, I won’t press,” he relents, stroking a hand through my hair. My eyes almost go into the back of my head at that, and I nearly giggle. “Looks like somebody ‘s tired aftall.” 

Tired of all of these thoughts ravaging my brain, and keeping me awake at night, and from enjoying the moment with you, yes. 

“No, I’m okay,” I lie, putting on a smile that even I know he’ll recognize as fake. 

“Yer tired, I can tell. Ya need t’ rest up befo’ P.T. again later, we can do our gifts anotha time.” 

“Harry, no,” I insist with a shake of my head, but I underestimate my strength. Squinting, my hand flies to my forehead that I clutch where it hurts with repetitive pangs. “I don’t wanna sleep.” 

“How come, bug? Ya need it, it’ll help yer headache. Ya haven’t taken a nap this mornin’ yet, that’s not good.” 

What would you say if I told you . . the truth?

How would you react if I said that I’m afraid to sleep, even with you there at my side, or in the same sheets that cover me? Even with the drugs they give me for sleep, I’m scared to enter my dreams, because all they’ve been lately are nightmares. They’re not even obvious at times, or anything like what they used to be . . before. Sometimes they’re about the accident, revolving around the bits of memories I’m getting back every day. No, they’re more than that, and worse. They’re watching you get married from afar, and not from across you, but from the clouds in the sky. Last night’s was looking down from the sky at you stare a hole into the wall of the chapel with my coffin a few rows away. I couldn’t get myself to wake you up when I shot up in the bed, gasping for air.

During the nap I took yesterday before dinner, it began all sunshine and daisies with me holding a dark haired, green-eyed baby with a dimply smile that cooed at you and giggled. Like they always do, it turned sour at the end, and it was me, inside of the dream, waking up from that being a dream too.

What would you say when I tell you that my dreams consist of nightmares about you, and what I fear I’ll lose with you, again? A chance at happiness, a future of wedding bells and babies, and so much more. I couldn’t live with myself watching the sadness devastate you when I tell you that one of the worst nightmares of all is dreaming about that day at work before it all happened, kissing behind closed doors, and muttering sweet nothings between each other. It wouldn’t seem like a nightmare, no, but it is when I wake up stuck in that hospital bed with a slew of things wrong with me, and you, deprived of sleep, snoozing on a bloody sofa. No matter how badly I’d like to, I know that I wouldn’t tell you, I couldn’t.

Worst of all, I don’t think I could ever tell you about the dream where the accident happened and you didn’t come, never at all.

What would you say then? 

I’m not sure how many times he’s said my name by the time I hear it and respond, leaving my thoughts, only barely. I’m certain of the wave of worry that glazes over his eyes at my absence, and how it only adds up to me acting odd, and me being different. 

“I’m okay, Harry,” I tell him, filling my lungs with air, but even that hurts too. I can’t decide if I want him to believe the lie or not, because one way would mean having to tell him about the bad dreams. 

“Ya don’t seem like it, Becks.” 

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, unable to look into his eyes any longer and not feel overwhelming bittersweetness. 

“Ya have nuthin’ t’ be sorry fer, love,” he huffs with a shake of his head, and I’m convinced I could never say anything that’s right. “Here, wantcha t’ open one o’ me presents fer you.”

+

His chest rises and falls in a pattern, and I count the seconds until it lifts again, under my hand. His own lays limp cradling my head amidst his wheezing that fills the air. If I squint just hard enough, I can make out the pile of last minute gifts toppled on the bedside table. My insides warm at the thought of them, and the excitement that claimed his face when he opened the brown leather messenger bag I got for him weeks ago. It lived up to the surprise that etched onto my insides at the sight of the gifts he got me. I almost beat him in the first round of FRIENDS trivia from the game deck he got me, and he let me win our first game ever of Bananagrams. My happiness also awaits in the red and brown checkered Vans box holding my brand spanking new pair of purple Old Skool shoes. I could just cry at the memory of opening them all, and how my heart swelled into another size in that moment. 

Lifting my eyes, his thick eyelashes flutter against his peachy skin. I habitually twirl the frayed string of his baby pink hoodie around my pointer finger, hearing his voice from just a few minutes ago repeat in my head. 

“‘ll only lie down with you if you nap as well, Becks.” 

I’m sorry, Harry . . , I think quietly with regret, my finger dragging along the outline of the peonies trapped in the vinyl square on his jumper. Van Gogh’s brushstrokes litter the image, and occupy my fingers as I trace the petals, the air around me growing silent.

But he succumbed to his exhaustion within moments, too soon to make sure that I followed through with my word. It stabs at my heart every time I see the bags under his eyes, think about how Skye said how much of a wreck he was when she told him, and fills me with so much guilt every time I ask him not to leave me, it overflows. 

“I love you . . more than I’ve ever loved somebody, or something,” I confess into the unlistening air, surprised at the volume of my voice. “Sometimes I’m sorry for how much, and for how you love me, knowing how it hurts you to be here. I can’t even think about how scared you were, and how that is probably worse than how I feel, all of the time. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say softly, into the cotton of his hoodie, rubbing at my eyes that betray me with their misgivings. “I wish I could wake up and this nightmare could all be over, but I’m not even brave enough to fall asleep, because of the nightmares I have about you.” 

“Wish I could too,” came a voice. Stilling, my eyes widen and then drift above me and find the sweetest sight of all. “Hi, bug . . I wasn’t s’posed t’ hear that, was I?”

My head shakes vehemently from side to side, disobeying the instruction I give it to stop before my head begins to hurt, only adding to the pain I feel at tearing my eyes away from him. 

“‘m sorry, Becks, I neva fell asleep. Almost, tho’ . . . Yer not okay, are you, bug?” he murmurs softly, the sleepy raspiness clinging to his voice in places, regardless of how much I want to ignore it. All of it. “Rebecca Ann Holte,” he coos, cuddling closer to me and peppering kisses along my neck. 

“I talk to you often when you’re asleep, but this time you heard.” 

“‘m sorry again, babe, didn’t mean t’. Tellin’ me deep, dark secrets, are you now?”

“I dunno. Is that bad if I do?”

“No, ‘ve spoken t’ you befo’ when yer sleepin’. ‘s freein’ and less nervewrackin’, I reckon . . Ya want t’ talk ‘bout it?” he inquires gently, magic leaving the tips of his fingers that coast along my spine through my oversized t shirt. “‘Bout these nightmares? I have a feelin’ yer not tellin’ me e’rythin’ ‘bout them, and why yer not sleepin’ like ya should be.” the edge to his voice is blurred and smooth, unlike the firmness its held today when he tells me that I need to sleep.

No, this time, it’s like a gentle hand held out towards me, or a shoulder waiting there for me to tip my heavy head onto. 

“They’re always there . . waiting for me. They’re not even about the accident anymore- well, not really, anyways,” I divulge slowly, words shaking with every breath I take. Guilt eats at my insides because of the fact that I can’t meet his eyes, but it’s lulled away with his hand rubbing circles into my back. “They’re about like, what if I . . didn’t make it.” 

“I have those too, sumtimes, I know how awful they are, or jus’ even thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Harry croaks, and his revelation leads me to nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, my favorite place forever and ever. “Dunno what ‘d do without ya, bug, I mean it. Me life’s nuthin’ without you.” 

“Don’t make me cry, again,” I blubber against his warm skin, noseing against his collarbone. 

“‘m sorry,” he titters sadly with a sniffle peeking out from his apology. “‘m sorry I can’t take ‘em away eitha, Becks, wish so badly I could. I wish mo’ than anythin’ that I could make all o’ this go away, and have it be like befo.’” 

“Me too, Harry, I really do.” 

“But I know that I can’t, and it doesn’t hurt less t’ realize, ‘s jus’ how it ‘s. But I know that it‘ll be in tha past soon enough, and listen t’ this, sounds like ya getta go home t’moro’ or Sunday. Best news ‘ve heard, well, since they told me you were okay,” he reveals, the happiness climbing his sentence swiftly. “I get t’ take you home, li’l one.” 

“And will you stay then too? You don’t have to, it’s just that-,” I begin to ask, but he doesn’t let me get very far in telling him why. 

“‘Course I have to, and I will, mo’ importantly. No place else ‘d ratha be, Becks. I can’t wait t’ bring ya home with me.” 

“I think you’re my home, though, Harry,” I say, each syllable tickling his lips further up his cheeks after he turned my head to face his. 

“Think yer mine too, Rebecca Holte . . my home.”

+

It seemed insurmountable, impossible even. I didn’t even want to try, and the pain pulsating in my ankle reminded of that ever so plainly. That all changed, ever so simply, when my eyes found him waiting there for me with the largest smile shown on his face. It’s kept amazing me, day after day, how somebody could have such happiness sewn into their features, and that it was all for me, and because of me. 

“C’mon, Becks, show ‘em what ya can do,” Harry murmured eagerly, raising his eyebrows in my direction. “I know ya can do it, bug.” 

If he believes in me, then maybe I could believe in myself too, I thought strangely as the throbbing continues. With a lift and then a plant, my ankle sings with stabs of icy pain, but I keep going. I breathe through each stab, each sting, and every debilitating wave of acrid pain until at last, I fall into his arms. 

“That’s my baby! Bloody hell, am I proud o’ you. Ya walked all tha way ova t’ me, and without any help! That’s me girl,” he chuckles happily, moving the hair out of my eyes. “Amazin’ me e’ry day, you are, Becks.” 

“I did it for you, all of it,” I smile through the tears, looking up at him and basking in the sunshine that is his smile. Finally, that sunshiney smile found its way back to me through those lips. I can almost taste the tang of it when I press my lips to his briefly. 

“‘m so proud o’ you, every second,” he keeps mumbling repeatedly from above where I stand wrapped up in his arms, my tippy toes touching the cold hospital floor. 

“I’m here because of you . . I mean it.”

+

“Reckon e’rybody was amazed at tha show ya put on in there, Becks,” Harry giggles beside me. “Dunno why I still need t’ feed you if ya can walk across a bloody room on yer own.” 

“Because you like to feed me,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders, laughing when the forkful of saucy spaghetti touches my lips. 

“Yer a baby,” he wheezes, feeding the last few noodles to me. 

“Hey!” I protest, taking the fork from him and stabbing at the last meatball. 

“Hey, you! Dontcha take tha last meatball, I was savin’ that.” 

“That’s what you get for calling me a baby,” I whimper, not moving to bring it to my lips, and dragging it through the marinara sauce. 

“Didn’t mean it that way, bug, y’know that,” he rasps, nosing at my cheek affectionately. “C’mon, it was me spaghetti anyways. This ‘s tellin’ fer tha future, innit? Yer gonna be eatin’ off me plate always, aren’t you, ya brat?”

“Sure, you didn’t. You really know how to suck up to me, that’s for sure,” I joke.

“And it works, doesn’t it?” 

“Harry!” I exclaim, moving away and finding his laughing eyes. His head tips against mine sweetly, and I lean into him, brushing my toes against his under the covers. “Ugh, your feet always feel like icicles!” 

“Good thing I got me li’l heater t’ keep me warm then,” he coos, his lips feathery against my temple. 

“Since you’re sweet, sometimes, or just a good suck up, here,” I sigh, holding out the fork in front of his mouth. His grin grows and he leans forward as I feed him the last meatball. 

“Thanks, bug,” he mumbles through a mouth full of food. 

“Welcome. Ugh, I’m full.” 

“Good, ‘s ‘bout time. Yer eatin’ mo’ e’ry day . . yer doin’ so well, Becks,” Harry hums, the clattering of silverware and plates filling the air around us. “Ya must be tired from t’day, a full belly will help ya sleep too.” 

“Mmmhmm,” I nod into his shoulder, sliding down the bed until my head finds the safety of his chest again, nuzzling into that very spot where it always feels right. 

“So proud o’ you and how far ya’ve come, Becks.” 

“Thanks, Harry. I couldn’t have done it all without you,” I yawn, eyelids fluttering when his fingers find my hair. 

“Ya keep sayin’ that, y’know. Ya said it earlier durin’ P.T. D’ya rememba?”

“No, what’d I say?” I ask, wrapping the blush hoodie string around my finger, seeing how many times it curls around until its end. 

“Ya said sumthin’ ‘bout bein’ here cuzza me, and doin’ it all fer me . . Babe, what’d ya mean by that?”

“Oh,” I exhale, eyes snapping open quickly in surprise. “You heard that.” 

“Ya, was I not s’posed t’ or sumthin’?” he giggles, but I don’t echo it, and it disappears like it was never there in the first place. “Becks, did I say sumthin’ wrong, love?”

“No, you’re okay.” 

“Then what’s tha matta, hmm?” 

“It is all because of you, and for you,” I begin to say, unsure of where I’m going with this, or more so, how to get where I need to go. 

“What ‘s, Becks? I don’t undastand.” 

“I’m trying so hard to get better for you, and because I have you there . . here. I couldn’t do any of this without you, Harry . . I don’t think I’d even be here if it weren’t for you,” I confess, my words soon growing wet from where they leave my lips. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” Harry sighs, emotion caught up in his voice, but I know it’s only the beginning.

Hold on, Harry, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. 

“But it’s true. I keep thinking that if my accident had happened even a month ago, or this last summer, I don’t think I would’ve made it.” 

“Becks, don’t. Please, I don’t wanna-.” 

“I’m telling you the truth, Harry,” I interrupt, lifting my head at last and finding his eyes murky with unspilled feelings. “I had nothing to live for only a month ago, maybe becoming a lawyer, but that was it. I know that I’m alive because of you, and because I had something to live for. You.”

“Becks,” he says, shaking his head in denial while his cheeks glisten with tears. “I don’t wantcha talkin’ like that.” 

“I’m right, I wish you could understand, but I am. I’m not lying, I wish I was,” I whimper, pausing to sniffle and catch my breath. “That day w-was one of the best and worst of my life, even if I can only remember half of it. But that’s okay, because it’s the good half, with you. I had probably the worst year of my life just before all of that, before I found you again.” 

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice catching on his thick sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” I confess with difficulty, tearing my eyes away. My hand wanders to his that I pick up and relish in the grounding feeling of its weight in mine, and his other that cradles my cheek. “It was, what with my dad’s cancer. It brought you back to me, and then just when I thought things were turning around, I had you stolen away from me, again. I don’t know what happened, we just stopped talking, and then . . “ 

The splashes of ink scattering his skin blur before my eyes, but I continue to trace the black cross and the bottom of the anchor I find underneath his jumper. 

“‘m so sorry, Becks. Yer phone would ring and ring when I called, and ya didn’t get back t’ me texts . . but ‘s no excuse, I shoulda jus’ stopped by yer flat and-.” 

“It’s okay, Harry, I had no excuses either. I should’ve taken Skye’s advice and dropped by the firm and said hi, had a spontaneous lunch date like we kept putting off then,” I explain, matching his words and yet, I know that in the coming moments he can’t match the pain the past brings back to me. “And you dated somebody else, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t tear me apart, even though I get to have you now.” 

“Becks,” Harry croaks, sliding his hand out from under mine and pulling me against his front. “‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean t’ hurt you then. I really didn’t.”

“I know . . but it felt like it then,” I say, muffled by his shoulder that absorbs my tears. 

“‘m so sorry, Becks, I am. I always wondered if you knew.” 

“I followed you on Instagram where you posted pictures of her, Harry, of course, I knew,” I laugh ironically into his jumper, finding fistfuls of it behind him. A profuse string of ‘sorrys’ and pleas fill my ears, and it only weighs my heart down heavier, filling it with guilt. Filling me with guilt. 

“This isn’t what I meant to do, or say. I didn’t want to make you feel bad because it’s all in the past and done with. I only wanted you to know how much I love you and that you mean the world to me- more than that, the universe, even. God, you still have to teach me how to be good at this talking thing.” 

There, I make him laugh, and it burns away the emptiness that had begun to burrow itself into my heart. Without deciding to, I begin to as well, even through the terrible aching in my sides and the pulsating behind my forehead. 

“I didn’t love her, y’know. She was neva you, she could neva be you fer me, n’body could, Becks. I dunno why I dated her, now that I think o’ it. I missed you so badly and wanted t’ be with you, but we kept playin’ phonetag, and sumthin’ jus’ happened with her. But it didn’t even last three months, and it was like we were jus’ friends, good friends through it all. She felt tha same way too, she said. ‘s not funny, but it ‘s . . When we broke up, she had asked if there was sumbody else, and without me answerin’, she said that she knew there was. ‘d neva really mentioned you t’ her, it didn’t seem right t’, but she knew ‘bout you somehow. She knew that I loved you, and not her,” he trails off, and I wonder if his sentences are eating away holes in his chest, like they are in mine.

“I still feel like a right git fer all o’ that, and how I jus’ tried t’ distract meself from what I really wanted - you. I couldn’t have you so I wasted time with her, ya could say. ‘m an asshole fer it, I know I am, not jus’ fer what I did t’ her, but what I did t’ you, as well. ‘m so sorry, Becks, it wasn’t s’posed t’ be that way. It was always s’posed t’ be you, jus’ you. ‘s been you, jus’ you, fer so long, babe. Even durin’ Amber, and ‘m sorry t’ bring her up as well, but it was you then too. Don’t think there’ll be a time when it isn’t you,” his forgotten past opens up to me through a string of words, no matter how much they sting, they’re there and they sing for me through his struggled sobs. The words leave holes inside of me, but the sound of his voice cracking with every other word fills them heavy with misery.

“I don’t- I couldn’t- You saved me too, y’know, so many bloody times, Becks, and jus’ this week. I couldn’t- wouldn’t have made it if ya died. I don’t wanna think ‘bout it again, but I know it. I thought ‘bout it in that waitin’ room, what ‘d do if ya had died, I-.” 

It’s sour and then it’s sweet, the taste of his lips coated with tears. Melancholy sticks to them, along with nostalgia, and longing. I wonder what he tastes on mine, and if he hears all of the words on mine that I shush his own with. 

“Don’t, Harry. Please, don’t,” I whine, my nose bumping against his in the half darkened room, but the lights of the monitors and tv screen catch the glint of  tears that drown his sage green eyes. “I can’t think about you dying, even though I know that you had to think about it happening to me, and I’m so sorry for that. I will be for the rest of my life,” I sob, the words uncontrollable and swallowed by my tears, and then by his arms that guide me back to him, and the swell of his chest that I long for. 

“‘s all in tha past, bug, let’s leave it all there. Shall we?” he cries, eliciting automatic nods into him. “We have so much t’ look forward t’ in tha future, and memories t’ make.” 

“Yeah, maybe even babies together one day,” I say, the risky words hot on my tongue that sends them to him with a small laugh. 

“Ya, we’ll hafta see ‘bout makin’ those one day too . . ,” he wheezes, and I almost roll my eyes at his cliche joke. “Ya should know, I want like five kids one day.”

“Oh, God, maybe I take that back now.” 

“No, ya can’t take back sayin’ ya want babies with me!” he scoffs, and we both collapse into laughter. It feels good, although edged with bittersweetness that clings to every moment and word. 

“How about four?”

“Nah, five.” 

“Five Styles babies?” I murmur softly, thinking of him waving hellos and goodbyes into my back, like now, years down the road with a baby in my belly, or in my arms. 

“Five, maybe a set o’ twins, knowin’ you. Who knows.” 

“You’re going to jinx it now.” 

“Good, I hope so. I reckon twins would be fun, I know a good one,” he titters from above, and I wish he could see the way that I roll my eyes at him in the least furious of ways. Silence blankets the room, besides the hum of the telly playing a FRIENDS episode. 

“How would we tell ‘em ‘bout all o’ this? Don’t think I could bring meself t’ do it,” he asks gingerly, interrupting the rise and fall of the melodic air. I swallow, greeting the lump once again, and it only grows bigger at the sound of the struggle in his voice. 

“I dunno, it’s just another one of the times you saved me.” 

“And that you saved me as well, bug, don’t ferget that,” Harry coos, and I nod, letting my wet eyes flutter closed. “I can’t even count how many times you’ve saved me ova tha years, Becks. I can only imagine how many mo’ will come, and how good o’ a mum you’d make.” 

I let sleep start to take me away, knowing fully well that I’ll soon greet the nightmares, and that he’ll be there to wake me up from them and to sing to me until I stop crying. 

“Hey, don’t you fall asleep jus’ yet, li’l one.”

“Mmmm,” I moan into his chest, rubbing at my exhausted eyes. “What? I was falling asleep.”

“‘m sorry, my love, but I have one last Valentine’s gift fer you,” Harry wheezes happily. Silently, something tells me that this is important, something worthy of eye contact.

“What now, Styles? You already hit it out of the park with the games and shoes,” I say, but my laugh falls silent against his dimpled smile. I think that his thumb strokes the faint divot in one of my cheeks, my dimple nothing compared to his famous set. His voice is absent from his lips but the honey and sunshine that pool in his eyes tell me more than words could ever say.

“Was wonderin’ if ya’d be me girlfriend, Becks. Y’know, officially,” Harry titters. Now, his tears taste sweet and reminiscent of honey once my lips find his again, speaking confirmations against his mouth. “I reckon ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ need t’ come befo’ babies and all o’ that one day,” he whispers, the sweetest of words wafting across my face.

“Of course, but only if you’ll be my boyfriend. What d’ya say?”

“‘ve only been dreamin’ o’ tha day I get t’ call meself yer boyfriend fer years and years, Rebecca Holte,” he confesses, memories and unspoken words held in his kisses that he covers my face with. My favorite sound in the entire universe tickles my ears as it flows from his lips and across my face.

I smile in my sleep, knowing that Harry will always be there to save me, and that maybe one day, I’ll be able to show him just how much I do love him. For now, I hope for dreams filled with green-eyed babies held in his arms, and the tangible dream of getting to go home with him soon to start our next chapter.