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onastarstring · 9 days ago

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Satellite; Part 3

Part Two Masterlist

Harry takes the girls out for a little shopping trip to help them get settled. Mostly just fluff here.

Harry paced the kitchen, sipping his coffee while Gwen’s frustrated cries drifted down the stairs.

It was strange, having them here. Not in a bad way, of course—but they brought a liveliness to the house that reminded him of his own childhood. He loved touring, but the chaos of it could easily get to be too much. Home had always been a sort of break from that, and he'd certainly been glad to have a few quiet weeks alone at home before getting back into the studio.

He'd known from the moment he decided to open his home to Violet and her little girl that those weeks would be neither alone nor quiet, and yet… their presence seemed even more refreshing than solitude.

Leaning back against the counter, he stared up at the ceiling, his lips twitching up into a soft smile as Gwen’s wailing finally stopped.

Maybe this will be good for both of us.

He could already see a difference in Violet. A few square meals and some rest had brought back a few traces of the girl he remembered, though it was clear that she still had a long way to go.

One day at a time.

Quiet footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. “I think we're ready.”

Harry smiled, taking the canvas tote that served as a makeshift nappy bag and holding the door for her. “Looks like it's going to be a nice day out.”

“Mm, maybe we'll have to spend some time in the garden this afternoon.” Violet paused, basking in the morning sun for a moment before following Harry to the Range Rover.

He opened the door for her, and she secured Gwen in her car seat before climbing into the passenger seat.

“You know, I still haven’t gotten used to not having to get all dressed up for church on Sundays,” she said, letting out a weak laugh.

He glanced at her as he navigated through the busy streets. “Do you miss it?”

“Oh, god, no. Especially not those horrible dresses that Mum always made me wear.”

Harry couldn't help laughing at that, memories of many Sunday afternoons spent watching for the Warrens’ old Lancer suddenly coming back to him. “You'd come flying out of the car before your dad even put it in park. The first time I saw you do that, I thought they'd tossed a wedding cake out the window.”

She let out a snort of laughter. “I must've been about six, then. If I ever try to put Gwen in one of those horrible things, you have full permission to put me out of my misery.”

It was good, he thought, to see her laugh so loudly, smile so brightly. It was the reaction he'd hoped to draw out of her many times when they were children, but under her mother’s gaze, she'd hardly dared to smile.

This early on a Sunday, it was easy to find parking by a small cafe that Harry had grown quite fond of over the years. It was the sort of quiet, cozy place where the scent of coffee and baked goods wafted like a warm embrace around its patrons, and Mister and Misses Marsh, the elderly couple who owned and operated the place, had only ever identified him as “that nice young man with the very good manners.”

He watched as Violet nibbled at her croissant, a soft smile on her face. Gwen was napping contentedly in her harness, occasionally letting out a soft snore.

“I was thinking, we could look for some things for your room, if you’d like. Make it feel more like home.”

“That’s very kind of you, but… I really don't plan on staying long. Once I find a job and a place to live, we'll be out of your hair.”

He let out a small laugh. “You say that like you're an inconvenience.”

She stared blankly into her teacup. “Aren't I?”

“What? No, no, of course not. I like having you here, both of you. You're welcome to stay as long as you like.” He reached across the table, covering her delicate hand with his own. “I know it's none of my business, but… I can see you've been struggling. I want to help you in any way I can—the only thing I want in return is to see you both happy and healthy,” he said, his voice soft.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled as she whispered, “I've never been allowed to ask for help before.”

What could he say? How could he reassure her, when clearly the two people who were supposed to love and care for her more than anyone had broken her trust?

What the hell did your parents do to you?

“I'm here. Whenever you need me, I'm right here.”

She squeezed his hand back, offering a small nod. “You’re a good friend, Harry. The best anyone could ask for.”

“You didn’t tell me we were going to Westfield,” Violet whispered tersely as she helped Harry wind the long fabric band that made up Gwen's harness around himself.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

They were standing in the car park, Harry with a cap and sunglasses on and Violet trying to quell her anxiety as she carefully secured her daughter to his chest.

“It’s the biggest shopping centre in the country, and I’ve never been here before—I've hardly left the flat for months!”

Harry raised a soothing hand to Gwen’s back as she wriggled a bit, unused to being tucked against anything other than the softness of her mother. “You can hold my hand, if you’re afraid of getting lost.”

She hoped that her acceptance of his offered palm came across as at least slightly begrudging, but, truthfully, the way his large hand wrapped around hers sent a thrill up her spine.

File that away in the Things I Don’t Care To Unpack Right Now section, she thought, her shoulders sagging as he led her into the sprawling building.

“There are some nice places for kids’ things,” Harry said. “I’ve gotten my goddaughter Christmas gifts here a few times. They have some nice furniture, too. Cots, that sort of thing.”

“I think we have what we need in that department,” Violet murmured, taking in the cheerful displays in the window of the store he'd indicated. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

He grinned, leading her into the shop. “We can get some ideas for when she's older, at least.”

Violet glanced at him questioningly.

“I don’t mean to sound like I'm trying to hold you hostage, I just–”

Insert foot into mouth.

He'd never been particularly good with words, when put on the spot—his awkward, meandering tangents often left everyone involved wondering what the initial question he was responding to was—but this seemed a special kind of flub.

“What I mean is,” he said, clearing his throat. “This doesn't have to be a short-term thing. Like I said, I like having you here. My home is your home for as long as you want or need. I'm not going to force you to stay… but I'm also not going to throw you out.”

She looked down for a long moment, apparently studying the colorful floor tiles. “Do you remember when you told off those boys who were teasing me, the ones who took my glasses and wouldn't give them back?”

He did. He'd been in year eight, running some papers to the office for his teacher, when he’d rounded the corner to see two older boys—their faces long forgotten—standing over Violet. One had clutched her glasses in his meaty hand, the other was shoving at her, mocking her stutter and laughing at her feeble attempts to move away.

He'd crept up behind them, snatched the glasses from the first boy's hand, and hissed a warning that he was on his way to the front office, and wouldn't it be a shame if the headmaster were to hear about two year nines ganging up on the school's star student (who was only ten)?

They'd turned tail rather quickly after realizing she was “just a little kid.”

“You kept saying how your mum would be angry if they were broken.”

“Some things never change.” She squeezed his hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Okay. Let's see what they have.”

They wandered to a display of infant clothing, where Violet began meticulously brushing her fingers over each item, checking content labels while her teeth pulled at the dead skin of her chapped lips.

“It’ll be getting colder soon…” She picked up a multipack of long-sleeved baby grows, all in pastel floral patterns. “What do you think?”

“Adorable, especially the purple one.”

She smiled, carding through the assortment to find the right size. “I suppose it’s a bit early to be thinking about those little snowsuits, but maybe we ought to look for a jacket?”

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he nodded towards a rack of tiny, fuzzy zip-ups with little teddy bear ears on the hoods.

“Oh, god.” Her nose wrinkled. “I see why you have a stylist.”

“C’mon, they even have little paws on the sleeves! You can’t tell me she wouldn’t be the cutest little bear in the world.”

Violet shook her head, smiling fondly. “Fine.”

“Not everything has to be practical. Er, what size is she?”

“She's only just starting to outgrow one month, so probably the three month.”

He sorted through the rack before finding a beige jacket in the appropriate size.

They continued on for a while, picking out sleepsuits and rompers and other clothing items. Every time Violet picked something up, she looked to Harry for approval. Even a set of plain white vests had her picking at her lip and asking, “Would these be okay for layering?”

He wanted to assume it was just a side effect of having to stretch her pounds for so long, but he got the sense that she wasn't used to making her own decisions—whether that was a result of her upbringing or, perhaps, a contributing factor to the absence of Gwen’s father (or, perhaps, both), he did not know.

“I think,” he said softly. “That we ought to get a new car seat.”

“I suppose so… You're really not supposed to get them second hand—or use one if it's more than a few years old.”

“The one Mum gave us is at least as old as I am. I don't mean to rush you, of course, and there are other shops we can look at.”

“No, no. You're right. Her safety is most important.”

He smiled, carefully laying a hand on her lower back as he guided her to the back wall, where floor models of various travel implements were on display.

They stopped at a few more shops that specialized in children's things, collecting toys, books (the only thing that Violet seemed slightly less hesitant about), and a (rather expensive, though Harry was careful to hide that from her) convertible pram.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her clutching a stack of board books like they were the most precious things in the world. “Is there anything else you wanted to look for?”

“O-oh, well… I mean, it’s not really—like I said, she has trouble, you know, eating, and-” Her face turned a remarkable shade of pink as she floundered.

“Bottles, then? And maybe a… a pump?” He mimed an awkward squeezing motion—not unlike milking a cow.

Violet nodded, mortified.

“I think I saw the feeding supplies in the back,” he said, taking her hand gently as they made their way to the aisle.

Harry stood back while Violet deliberated. Gwen was awake now, smiling up at him, and he was happy to entertain her with silly voices.

“Hello, sleepy girl. Did you have a nice nap? Your mummy and I have been finding all sorts of fun things for you while you were sleeping. Maybe I'll read some of your new books to you when we get home. Would you like that, love?”

“Ba!” Gwen’s eyes lit up as something caught her eye.

Harry followed her gaze to the end of the aisle, where two women were laughing as the baby in their pushchair reached for a display of plush toys.

“I think she wants to look at the teddy bears,” he said. “I'll just be down the way a bit.”

Violet nodded, relieved to have a moment of privacy for this decision.

Harry made his way down to the end of the aisle, where the women were cooing over their baby—who looked to be a few months older than Gwen—and the plush tabby kitten he was clutching.

“It looks just like Scully,” the taller woman said. “Maybe he’ll leave her alone if he has his own.”

He smiled, watching Gwen watch the boy cuddling his plushie.

The boy looked up, clumsily waving at them.

Gwen giggled, flapping her hand in an approximate imitation of the boy.

“Look at that, Evan, you made a friend,” the shorter woman said.

The boy—Evan—smiled, pointing to the shelf of plush kittens and puppies. “Ba!”

Gwen looked at the shelf, eyeing a black and white cat.

Violet approached, a box tucked under her arm and a pack of bottles in her hand, as Harry picked up the plushie.

“Oh, that’s the pump I use,” The taller of the two women said cheerfully.

“Oh? Do you, er, do you like it,” Violet asked.

She nodded. “It’s great. The first one we tried was such a nightmare to clean—too many little pieces.”

That seemed to instill a bit of confidence in Violet, and she held her head a bit higher as they checked out.

“Now then, I think it’s your turn.”

Violet shifted nervously, taking his hand again. “Are you sure? You’ve already spent so much on us today, and—”

“Violet.” He sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re allowed to have things, nice things, things that you like, clothes that fit. Anything you need or want, yeah?”

She acquiesced, letting him lead her through the shopping centre.

They started at a small cosmetics shop, where a particularly enthusiastic employee practically dragged them into the store. Harry vaguely remembered being accosted by the same woman (though, as he recalled, her hair had been green instead of pink at the time, and the spider web tattoo on her arm looked new) a few years prior, when he’d come in looking for a new cleanser and left with an entire skincare routine.

Laura, as her nametag read, was incredibly eager to tell them about the summer makeover event.

Violet glanced questioningly at Harry, and he nodded encouragingly as Laura led her to her makeup station.

“Everyone needs a bit of pampering now and then, especially new mums,” she said, dabbing moisturizer on Violet’s face. “I remember when my nephew was born, my sister said she didn't start feeling like herself again for months. Do you normally wear makeup, dear?”

“I was only ever allowed to wear a little bit for dance recitals. Other than that, my mum didn't even let me have lip balm. I'd like to learn, though.”

Laura nodded thoughtfully. “We'll start with the basics, a nice hydrating primer and a good buildable foundation—let's see… you're like me, pale with a cool undertone… here, let's try this one.”

As Violet studied Laura's techniques, Harry began to wander, careful to keep his head down now that the shopping centre was becoming more populated. He could just imagine the gossip blog headlines; Former One Direction Star Spotted With Mystery Woman and Baby, or Heartthrob Harry's Secret Family?

And that was assuming they were at least tactful enough to not make any disparaging remarks about the “mystery woman” in question.

He continued his lap around the shop, eventually finding himself in front of the nail polish displays.

Maybe, he thought, that would help her nail biting habit.

“Let's see,” he murmured, picking out a manicure kit in a sleek black case, and a few colours he thought she might like.

Gwen pulled him from his thoughts with a gentle pat on his cheek.

“Hello, sweet girl.” He kissed her hand. “Shall we see if Mummy’s done?”

She gurgled affirmatively.

Laura was just finishing up when they returned, twisting Violet’s hair into a loose French braid and exclaiming over the length of it.

Violet looked up shyly. “What do you think?”

He had to admit, he was a bit surprised. Laura—she of the pink hair and gothic fashion—had done a very soft, natural look. Some shimmery eyeshadow and mascara that somehow made her dark eyes look even bigger, a peachy blush, a bit of lip gloss, nothing ostentatious, just subtle. Sweet. She still looked like herself, just… refreshed. Lively.

Afraid he'd say something incredibly stupid or off-putting, he shifted so Gwen could see her. “Isn't Mummy pretty?”

The baby smiled, babbling excitedly.

Laura produced a basket full of products. “I've got everything I used on you here, and I did go to the liberty of tossing in a few other things I thought you'd like.”

Harry quickly took the basket, grateful to have something to do besides stare at Violet—though, as they wandered between shops, his eyes were drawn constantly to her sparkling eyes and glossed lips.

After pausing to feed Gwen and coaxing Violet into replacing her broken glasses, he was happy to stand back and let the saleswomen at various shops help her pick out clothes. They may have been trying to make sales, but he was afraid that if she came to him asking for his thoughts on a dress or jumper, he’d make a fool of himself and send her running for the hills.

Besides, it gave him the opportunity to pick out a few surprises for her—a delicate necklace with a small diamond pendant (since she and Gwen were both born in April), a pair of slippers (and if they matched his own, well, that was just because he knew they were high-quality), and a few things for her room.

If she was staying for any significant length of time, he thought she ought to be comfortable, and, though the bedroom was undisputedly much better than the dingy flat, it just didn't feel like her—not yet, at least—so, after instructing a sales associate to hold onto anything Violet seemed to like, even if she insisted it was too much, he slipped off to the home department.

A new duvet cover in a deep rose colour, a throw blanket that would be perfect to throw over the back of the rocking chair he planned to order, and a few picture frames—little things that would make the space cozier. He just hoped she wouldn't protest his spending money on her too much.

It was nearing noon when Harry noticed that Violet had taken her glasses off.

Leaning against the checkout counter with her eyes squeezed shut, she rubbed at her temples with shaky hands.

“Migraine?”

She raised her head, staring somewhat blankly at the blurry shape that she presumed to be Harry. “Yeah.”

“I think we’ve done enough for today, then.” He took their bag in one hand and her hand in the other. “Let’s get you home.”

She nodded and slipped her glasses back on, wincing at the florescent lights.

“Here.” He put his sunglasses on her, over her normal lenses.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He guided her back out to the car park, helping her into the passenger seat before loading the last of their bags and securing Gwen in her car seat.

The drive home was quiet, save for an occasional whimper from Violet. Harry wasn’t sure that she even realized she was doing it.

“Why don't you lie down in my room for a bit? It'll be quieter in there while I take care of all this,” Harry murmured as he helped Violet out of the car.

She nodded, leaning against the door of the Range Rover while he took Gwen from the back seat.

With the baby secured in her harness, he wrapped an arm around Violet’s waist and led her into the house and up the stairs.

In his room, Violet sat heavily on the bed, toeing off her shoes while Harry ducked into his washroom.

“I've got some paracetamol, I’m not sure how much it’ll help, but…”

“Thank you.” She gulped the tablets down and set her glasses on the side table.

“I’ll leave the door open a crack,” Harry murmured as he closed the curtains.

As he crept out of the room—Gwen still strapped to his chest—Violet curled up on her side, eyes squeezed shut.

“’S just you ‘n’ me for now, Winnie. Let’s see if we can get everything put away while Mummy has a nap.”

He tried to be as quiet as possible as he brought everything upstairs and into Violet’s room.

While Gwen alternated between supervising his work and dozing in her cot, he set to work on the bags that Violet didn't know about—the duvet cover, a fuzzy rug, a nice candle—the sort of things that he hoped would make the room more homey.

Once he’d put the new bedding in the wash and found places for the candle and picture frames, he peered into the cot, where Gwen smiled up at him. “Right, let’s get your clothes sorted.”

The baby watched him curiously as he unpacked her new things, sorting clothes and blankets into the laundry basket, books onto the shelf, toys into a little storage bin, and bottles and other feeding supplies into a bag so he could take them to the kitchen,

“You’ve had a very busy day, haven’t you? So many new places and things to see. I think it was a bit much for your mummy…” He glanced up at Gwen, who was watching him between the bars of her cot, gumming dutifully at her hand.

“When we were in school, she'd spend the whole day in the nurse's office sometimes, if she had a migraine. She'd be sick sometimes, but her parents would never pick her up…”

It hadn't occurred to him until now how strange that was.

“Well, we'll see to it that both of you always have someone to look after you when you're not well.”

He really couldn't explain this compulsion to care for and protect them. He always tried to be kind, to help others when he could, but this was different.

Maybe it was just the lingering traces of teenage infatuation. Maybe it was the sweet little baby who'd already found a place in his heart. Or maybe it was that he'd never stopped loving her, never stopped wondering what had become of that sweet, shy girl down the street.

He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her, just shy of sixteen years old and still wearing her hair in two copper plaits, waving goodbye from the front window of her parents’ house. A few days later, he was in Columbia.

He'd been dating Kendall then, he thought, still learning to navigate the glittery storm of fame, lost in his own little world.

Dropping the last pair of tiny socks into the basket, he stood and scooped Gwen up.

“No point in worrying about the past, huh?”

She gurgled pleasantly, grasping his shirt.

“Let’s check on Mummy, yeah?”

He gathered the laundry basket and crept across the hall.

Violet was asleep, cuddling his pillow to her chest. She looked so small in his bed, curled in on herself in a way he couldn't imagine was particularly comfortable—though, he supposed that the little loveseat in her flat must have necessitated some awkward sleeping positions.

“Looks like she's having a nap. Let's get these washed, yeah? Then we can start on Mummy’s things.”

Harry was happy to see that Violet had strayed from the shapeless, dull coloured garments she'd worn as a girl. Somehow, her mother had always managed to buy her school uniforms two sizes too big, and most everything else was white or tan or a light grey—colours chosen, he supposed, to discourage any mess-making activities.

Now though, her wardrobe was becoming as colourful as her paintings had been.

She had something of a distaste for trousers, it seemed. She'd picked a few pairs of leggings, but most of her choices were dresses and skirts with blouses. There was a little romper—teal with a pink floral pattern—that was so undeniably her that he couldn't bring himself to be surprised that she’d chosen something that would show her knees.

He glanced back at her closet, where the clothes she’d brought hung—all modest pieces: a blouse, two long skirts, a jumper, and another dress. Her old shoes sat on the floor, now joined by new trainers, flats, and ankle boots. On one of the shelves, he’d arranged a few fabric bins for winter accessories, alongside the small jewelry box he’d picked up.

It’s starting to look like someone lives here, he thought, turning a pink bag stuffed with tissue paper out onto the bed. As the contents tumbled out, he felt a warm blush creep over his face.

It would be fair to say that he’d seen his fair share of lingerie over the past few years, and this pile of soft, pastel cotton and lace was hardly meant to be outwardly sexy—pretty, yes, and certainly cute—but the thought that Violet would, ostensibly, wear these items…

He shook his head, scooping the panties and bras into the laundry basket.

Get your head out of the gutter.

Gwen cooed from her bouncer, as if to ask why he was so flustered.

“I think I might be in love with your mother,” Harry murmured as he sat in front of her. “But don't tell her I said that.”

He sighed, watching as she grabbed her foot, seemingly much more interested in the existence of her own toes than his romantic inclinations.

It wasn't until after he'd put Gwen’s clothes in the dryer, the first load of Violet’s new things in the wash, and the new duvet cover on her bed that Violet padded across the hall, disheveled but feeling much better.

She smiled softly, taking in the sight of Harry lying on her bed with Gwen curled up on his chest.

“You've been busy.”

He looked up, pausing his gentle stroking of the baby's back. “I had a good supervisor.”

“She's a real task master.” Violet ran her hand over the duvet, a soft smile on her face. “You remembered my favorite colour.”

“I always thought it was funny that it wasn't purple.”

“Dad called me his little contrarian.” She sighed, taking the pump box from where he'd set it on the side table. “Suppose I ought to wash this and give it a test run.”

Harry stood, still clutching Gwen to his chest, and followed her down the stairs. “I was thinking of ordering a takeaway. How do you feel about Chinese?”

“You can take the boy out of Holmes Chapel…” She laughed. “That sounds wonderful. I'll just have whatever you're having.”

No sooner had Harry hit Confirm Order than his phone buzzed with a video call.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Hello, dear. I hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just wanted to see how the girls were settling in.”

He propped his phone up on the table. “Alright, so far. We did a bit of shopping this morning. Vi's a bit occupied at the moment, so I'm having some quality snuggle time with this little lady.”

Gwen was nestled against his chest, a new dummy in her mouth, holding her plush kitten by its tail.

“She looks at you the way you used to look at Gemma—like she’d hung the moon and stars.”

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head in a feeble attempt to hide his smile.

“You're absolutely smitten, love.”

“Can you blame me?”

"Blame you for what?" Violet asked, entering the living room with a bottle in hand. She settled on the sofa next to Harry. "Hi, Anne."

“Hello, love. How're you doing?”

“I'm alright. Had a bit of a migraine earlier, but your son is an excellent nursemaid.”

“Did you ever see a doctor about those? I know Helen always insisted you'd grow out of them, but…”

Violet shook her head, shifting closer to Harry to see the screen better. “No, I haven't. I will though.”

“Good, good. Remember, you can call me any time you need, love.”

“I know. Thank you,” she murmured.

Harry carefully passed Gwen to Violet, subconsciously slipping his arm around her shoulders.

Anne watched with a knowing smile. “Well, I'll let you two get back to your evening. Do take care, and if you ever need a hand with the little one, just give me a call.”

“We will. Love you, Mum.”

“Goodnight, Anne.”

“Goodnight, loves.”

As he ended the call, Violet rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, smiling down at Gwen, who was contentedly taking her bottle.

“It's so nice not to see her get all frustrated. I think most of the time she’d wear herself out from crying and fussing.” She paused as her voice wavered. “She's barely grown at all since she was born—because I couldn't feed her properly.

“She deserves so much better than me. She deserves a real family.”

His arm tightened reflexively around her.

“She has a real family. She has you, and now you’ve both got me and Mum.”

Violet’s response was cut off by the doorbell.

Harry sighed, standing slowly. “Hope you're hungry.”

“Starved.”

When Harry returned with the bag of food, Violet was curled up on the sofa, a blanket in her lap, scrolling on her phone.

He paused to coo at Gwen—now settled in her travel cot—before setting the bag on the table.

“What're you lookin’ at?”

“My old art blog. I haven't really been able to post anything since…” She paused, looking down as she passed her phone to him. “Well, for a year or so.”

He scrolled through the page, a conglomeration of watercolours, oil paintings, rough pencil sketches, and photos.

The most recent post—from August of the previous year—showed a picture of Violet and another girl, both grinning at the camera.

“That was the start of my third year at uni. Third and last…”

“You graduated early?”

“No… Not exactly.”

He paused, holding a pair of chopsticks out to her.

What could he say to that? He could do the math, of course—Gwen would have been conceived right around the time of the photo.

“Do you want to go back?”

She smiled wistfully. “Of course I want to, but—oh, don't you start.”

“I was only going to say that I don't think you necessarily need to go back. I'm not an expert, but you're really talented.” He nibbled at his spring roll. “Of course, if you want to go back…”

“Harry, I can’t let you–”

“We could figure something out. You're very intelligent, obviously, and I mean…” He clicked on one of the blog posts, a painting of a field of flowers. “You're skilled. You could've told me this was a Monet and I'd probably believe it. You could get scholarships, and I'm sure there are online options for classes. Even if there aren't, between Mum and I, I'm sure we could take care of Winnie.”

She poked at a bit of broccoli.

“You don't have to decide now. But, if you do want to go back, I'll support you in any way I can.”

Violet stared at him for a moment, chewing thoughtfully as they lapsed into a silence broken only by the scrape of wooden chopsticks on paper takeaway boxes and Gwen’s sleepy snuffles.

It was nice, this strange rhythm they were finding. But that was what made it frightening.

Comfort was a nearly foreign sensation. Even the company of others was strange now, after nearly a year shut up in that flat, and yet…

And yet, here they were, she and Gwen. Comfortable. Safe. Cared for.

It was like a fairy tale, though she knew far too well that every fairy tale has a twist or a catch—the fairy godmother’s midnight deadline, the witch hidden inside the gingerbread house, the poison-dipped apple.

Could she really trust him? Was he really the same boy who'd hugged her and given her a piggyback ride back home after falling on the pavement and skinning her knees when she was seven? Or had time made him more like her father, who’d turned a blind eye when her mother locked her in the broom closet for the rest of that afternoon as punishment for tearing her dress and scuffing her shoes

She shook her head. No, didn't their being here prove that he wasn't ambivalent? Even if there was some sort of catch, she couldn't afford to look this gift horse in the mouth. For now, they were warm and fed and clothed and safe, and she couldn’t risk losing that—not when Gwen was still so little.

“Vi?”

“Hmm?”

“Y’ alright?”

“Yeah…”

She could tell by the way he looked at her that he didn’t fully believe it, but, thankfully, he didn’t push the matter.

“I think getting back into your art would be good for you.”

“I do still have some of my paints and brushes. Maybe if I had some inspiration…” She chewed thoughtfully at her thumbnail, studying his face.

“Maybe we'll plan a trip to the park, then. We'll have a picnic, you can give the pram a test drive and take some pictures of the flowers or the duck pond. We'll make a day of it.”

“That sounds lovely.” Violet smiled, her cheeks flushed pink at the thought. “Some fresh air would probably do us both some good.”

“Wednesday, then? I'll have to check the weather, of course.”

“That'll give us a few days to get settled.” She reached for a fortune cookie. “It sounds perfect.”

He smiled, gathering their empty takeaway containers. “Let me throw these out, and I'll help you get the last of your things sorted.”

She watched him patter towards the kitchen before cracking the cookie open.

The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.

She scoffed, tucking the paper into her phone case, though a lingering thought lurked in the back of her mind.

What if he already has?

Tags: @sassamanda77 @indierockgirrl

Can you tell I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at baby clothes at work?

Thank you all again for all of the support I've received! It means so much to me to see people enjoying my writing, and I'm so happy to actually be able to write again!

XOXO~ Gigi

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x oc #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine

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