#1dff challenge

[calm-and-wine]

see you in a new light

hello loves, i know i’m a little late, but better late than never, right? anyhow, here is my story for @1dffchallenges​ summer challenge. it’s not my best work, i was a little rusty and it could probably use a better edit, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyway! biggest thank you to my queen of banners Eriza @booksncoffee​ for yet another beautiful one. if you don’t think it’s total crap, please come talk to me (or if you do, still come say so!) 💛

Sometimes, I really wonder how I end up in these situations. I either must have been a terrible person in a past life or the universe simply hates me. I was supposed to have a lovely holiday in Mykonos with friends. A chilled out 10 days, lounging in bikinis by the pool or on the beach, a ladies holiday in paradise. Just me, my best friend from uni, Melanie, and Nora and Libby, cousins who we also know from uni. They weren’t my close friends per se, but we got along and they still hung out with Mel quite a bit, since they lived in the same city. 

But, of course, nothing can be as good as I hoped for, that’s just how my life tends to be. So, typically, something had to go wrong. When we were waiting for our flight, my friends decided it’d be fun to chat up a group of guys who sat nearby. They looked to be around our age, and there were four of them, the same number as us, so in Mel’s mind, it worked out perfectly. It also turned out they were waiting for the same flight, going on the exact same vacation as us. 

And that would have been fine, I could deal with those new companions, if it weren’t for the fifth guy who joined them, at what I was pretty sure was the very last minute before the gate closed. It’s been a few years and he definitely matured, his back was broader, his arms were bigger and his hair was no longer dyed blonde, but I had no problem recognising the boy I used to go to school with.

“Shannon Lever?” he asked, turning to us girls right after saying hello to his friends and looking straight at me. 

“What a small world, huh?” I asked, returning his look for only a second, before lowering my gaze slightly. 

“You two know each other?” Mel asked, her voice way more excited than the situation required. 

“Yup. That’s Niall, we went to school together,” I said, lighting up my phone to check the time and seem preoccupied, so I wouldn’t be asked any more questions.

“Niall Horan, lovely to meet you,” he said, shaking the hand of each of the girls with a smile that looked as fake as I knew him to be.

“A reunion of old friends, that’s brilliant!” Libby said, looking between us with interest.

“We weren’t exactly friends,” I corrected straight away, even though it wasn’t completely true. We used to be friends once upon a time, at least I thought so. When we were kids and just started school, we used to walk home together since we lived close by. We talked at school quite a bit, sat next to each other in class for one or two years. I even thought he might have had a crush on me when we were young. 

But then, something happened. To this day, I don't know what it was. But our little friendship just… stopped. At first it was just the chats and laughs being cut, but then rude comments that he threw to his friends started, confusing me even further. I thought I’ve been nothing but kind, always letting him copy my homework or whatever. 

I never was particularly popular, but it became more and more evident the older I got. Maybe I grew weirder, but I just found it harder to click with people. I never really got invited to parties, not that I really cared, I had studying to do and had different things to do in my free time. I’d rather watch a good show or movie or devour a book than watch underage people get drunk and throw up, god forbid be one of them. I liked less popular music than everyone else and had different priorities. I wasn’t boy crazy, rarely wore make-up and didn’t care that much about fashion trends. Sure, I still liked cool clothes and jewelry, but somehow people looked down on me. And the fact that I started putting on weight a year before high school did not help my case.

My words made Niall look at me with his lip between his teeth, his expression almost guilty, before turning his gaze away and asking if anyone wants a coffee.

A part of me hoped that would be it, maybe we’d all talk a bit more on our way from the airport to the hotel, but after we’d just say hi when passing each other in the halls or whatever and that’d be all.

But of course it wasn’t. The first night was fine, we all had drinks by the pool, which was cool, there were seven different people I could talk to and all the boys were actually really nice. The next day we bumped into each other leaving breakfast and chatted a bit, then lounged around each other for most of the day. Again, I had a good book and the company was big enough that I could almost pretend Niall wasn’t there. Sure, I could still hear his irritatingly loud booming laugh and even I had to admit he looked pretty good in swimming trunks, climbing up from the pool dripping wet, no matter how much it pained me. But I didn’t talk to him, taking the route of pretending he wasn’t there, that I didn’t see all the little looks he threw my way. Honestly, I don’t even know what they were for, I really doubt he wanted to chat with me or even be around me. Maybe they were looks of hatred and irritation as well. 

It was all a bit weird because it seemed like no one cared about the tension between us two, which I thought was extremely palpable. I know Melanie didn’t care, she sure was too preoccupied by flirting with Jake. Lib and Nora actually mostly talked between themselves, so they probably didn’t care that much either. So did Toby and Jordan, they were both in relationships and while they were nice, it was pretty obvious they didn’t want to come across as too friendly, which was fine, understandable. Sam also was a bit quiet and tended to stick to those two. I actually overheard some bits here and there and fit the pieces together, deducting that he just got out of a relationship and wasn’t in the best place at the moment.

So, very unfortunately, that actually left Jake, Melanie, Niall and me. On the third day we went out to the pub which was literally two streets from our hotel and when Jake proposed a round of beer pong, since the table had just been vacated by previous players, it was us four that stepped up for the game. 

And that would have been okay, I’d love to sink some balls into Niall’s cup and make him not only drink but also lose (although this was probably a very farfetched dream since I’ve played beer pong twice in my life). But then Melanie decided to speak. “I think we should mix the teams, because we’re both actually pretty bad at it, so you know, to even out the game.”

“I’m good with that,” said Jake with a smile, lining up on the same side of the table as her.

“Yeah, that’s great,” I murmured under my breath, because I’d truly hate to be perceived as rude or problematic. 

“Fine,” sighed Niall, coming to stand next to me (but not too close, thankfully). 

I could do it. It was just a stupid game that actually didn’t really require interactions between us. He handed me the ball first and said nothing when it went completely off the table, not even close to any of the cups. I did however see his smirk, when a minute later Mel sunk a ball into the cup meaning I had to down it. She was definitely better than me at that, I barely went out, well, it changed a bit at uni, but still I usually just hung onto the people I knew and kept on the sidelines. Mel wasn’t exactly a party animal either, but she definitely had more experience in that department.

Niall sank pretty much every ball that he threw. Of course he did, I shouldn’t even be surprised, he was the cool popular boy, probably had years of practise. I wouldn’t doubt if he was one of those guys who just always occupied that table and played until he couldn’t drink anymore or until there was no one else who wanted to play with him, more like. 

“Wow, you really are shit, aren’t you?” he asked with a laugh after yet another miss on my part.

If looks could kill, he would drop dead right there and then. “Yeah, cheers, mate,” I said with as much sarcasm and annoyance as I could muster. “I had better things to do in my life than party all the time and practise my beer pong, thank you very much.”

“You’re always just so much better than anyone else, ain’t?” His voice was practically dripping with venom, same as mine.

“And you’re always just so cool and fun, aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

We stared at each other with hatred for a second. Niall threw a ball and after a little dance on the brim of the cup, the ball fell in. That lucky fucker. When it was my turn, he went to touch my arm, which made me instantly flinch away. It was actually just my body’s automatic response, but if he thought it’s because of him, who am I to correct that. His ego could definitely take a hit. 

“Relax, I just want to help you,” he said, his voice way too close for my liking. 

“What makes you think I need your help?” I asked, taking a step away from him, even though it meant I wasn’t in the best position to play.

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you made one shot out of nine.” He shrugged with a smirk. Yes, he had the audacity to actually smirk at me. “Just… it’s all about the flick on the table, you have to focus on that, think of how it might go.”

I looked at him, before flicking the ball at the table so hard, it went so high up it flew above Mel’s head. “Like this?” I asked sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest. Yes, it was childish and petty, but I was slightly drunk (okay, maybe a little more, all the drinks I’ve had since starting this stupid game were starting to catch up with me) and very irritated. 

He didn’t grace me with a verbal response, just rolled his eyes. Thankfully, to all of our relieves, right after that Mel threw the ball into our last cup. I grabbed it right away. 

“Thanks for the lovely game,” I said before downing the drink and walking away. 

A bit later, when I was at the bar with Melanie and Nora, she asked, “Shan, why are you actually so hard on Niall?”

Melanie looked at me with an arched brow. “Yeah. You said you weren’t exactly friends, but did something happen between you two?”

“Umm... “ I licked my lips, wishing the bartender would hurry up and bring our drinks. It was the first time someone actually acknowledged the tension between us and now I regret wanting them to before. “Not really, just stupid stuff when we were younger. But I don’t know, he just rubs me the wrong way, I guess.” 

Nora seemed to think it over for a second, before shrugging. “I think he’s a cool guy, but to each their own.”

“I think you might be a bit unfair on him,” Mel admitted, looking at me expectantly, like she was waiting for me to disagree.

I shrugged. “He’s just irritating. And it’s almost like he’s trying to get under my skin.”

They both looked at me, like they were trying to make sense of my words. Honestly, I don’t know how they could not notice that, it was so obvious to me. And their reaction just made me even more irritated. I know they didn’t mean anything bad by that conversation, but it seemed a bit unnecessary. It’s not like we were complaining about having to hang out together. Well, at least I wasn’t. So even if we weren’t the nicest to each other, no one should really mind.

Nora looked at me carefully, before smirking a bit, her eyes shining with something resembling mischief. “I think he might think the same about you. Or maybe he does want to get under your skin, but in a good way.”

“In a good way?” I asked, confused. 

“Yeah, you know, like… make you think of him and stuff.”

I laughed, because that was just utterly ridiculous. “Yeah, sure.”

She just grinned. “You’ll see, mark my words.”

~~

The next day, day four of our holidays, gave us rain. It started right as we were finishing breakfast, so after chilling in our room, because it was bigger than Nora and Lib’s, for an hour or two, we decided to go down to the hotel bar, get drinks and play cards. We were just finishing the second game, when the guys walked in. They spotted us right away, especially since Mel decided to wave hello. I love the girl, but I could honestly slap her round the head at that moment. 

We could see the guys talking between themselves for a second before Niall, Jordan and Toby headed to the bar, while Jake and Sam came up to our table. We said hello and, of course, the girls asked them to join us. We were too large of a group to play cards, so we settled on never have I ever. 

“Never have I ever… had someone walk in on me having sex,” I said when it was my turn again, throwing a self-satisfied smirk Mel’s way. 

She grunted unhappily, throwing her head back. “I thought we agreed to never mention it!”

I just laughed, when she, Nora, Jake, Niall, Sam and Toby all drank. Honestly, what is wrong with people? Can’t they just lock the doors when doing it? 

“Okay, I really want to know that story,” said Jake, looking at Melanie intrigued, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

“There’s not much to tell,” she assured.

“We were roommates in uni and let’s just say she sometimes forgot to send a heads up text,” I said, laughing a little. To be completely honest, walking in on Mel and her lab partner going at it on our couch left me with a bit of a trauma for a while, but we can joke about it now.

“Well, what about you?” Melanie asked, looking at the rest of the people who drank, but mostly at Jake.

“Oh, it was my little brother when I came home for the holidays in uni. We had a good system with my roommates, so that never happened,” he explained, shrugging like it was nothing. 

“It was my stepmom when we were renting a house for vacation. I was with my girlfriend and my stepmom and dad were supposed to go to the city, but they forgot their wallets or something. Pretty embarrassing,” shared his story Sam. 

“Yeah, it was my parents, classic,” said Niall, shrugging, not really looking at anyone. Huh, I thought he would definitely be the one to brag.

“Okay, my turn,” said Libby. “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.”

All the boys reached for their drinks and so did Nora. 

“We could change that,” said Niall looking at us three, but mostly at me. As if! I would definitely not be going skinny dipping anywhere near him. 

“Yeah, thanks, I think I’ll pass,” I said, not too loudly though, but he definitely heard me, throwing me what could only be described as an annoyed look, so I threw one right back his way.

As I don’t have a lot of crazy experiences, I didn’t get to drink a lot. I might actually be the most sober person out of all of them. Which was a bit of a shame, because maybe then Niall’s company and offhand comments would be more bearable. 

But the rest of them got drunker with each round, so the longer we played, the crazier the game got. 

“Never have I ever… been someone’s side-piece.” As soon as those words left Melanie’s mouth, I took in a wheezing breath, nearly gasping. She must have been pretty drunk, because I know her well enough to be sure she wouldn’t do that to me if she was sober. 

I swallowed nervously before reaching for my glass and taking a really big gulp. 

Niall whistled. “Really? Not an angel after all, huh?”

Man, I really wanted to punch that perfect face of his at this very moment. He just always had something to say, never one to bite his tongue, especially not when it came to me. 

“We can’t all be perfect, can we?” I said with as much confidence as I could muster, clearing my throat and looking at Sam, as it was his turn now. 

When he said the next statement, about ghosting someone, yet another thing I’ve never done, I felt Mel reach for my knee under the table to grasp my attention. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” she apologised in a hushed voice. 

I shook my head. “It’s okay. Not a big deal,” I said with a weak smile. Sure, I was the only one that drank at that, but I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. It was my life, the people who mattered knew what that was about and what happened, no one else really needed to. If they wanted to judge me, fine, let them. We’re judged our whole lives, at some point we have to let it go and just stop caring. 

We did a few more statements before noticing it finally stopped raining. Because most of us were drunk, they decided to just lounge by the pool and sober a bit before dinner. I, however, went for a walk at the beach, which was closeby. I needed a breather, some time away from the guys. Well, one guy in particular. This vacation was nothing like I thought it would be and I was even sceptical about it in the first place. I wasn’t extroverted, I usually found it hard to interact with people, especially ones I didn’t know too well. I was fine with Nora and Libby, but we weren’t super close. The guys were nice enough, but I didn’t feel completely at ease or comfortable around them.

When I came back, Mel was sharing a lounger with Jake, laying in between his legs, him hugging her to his chest. I guess they’re taking the flirting to the next level. The sight actually made me smile, she’s always wanted a summer romance. I sent her a smirk and a wink, before heading to my room to change for dinner. After a few minutes Melanie joined me in our room, a shy smile on her lips and a rose tint to her cheeks.

“Shan, I kinda have a favour to ask,” she said shyly, biting her lip. 

“Okaaaaay,” I said, looking at her suspiciously.

“Could you maybe switch rooms with Jake for a night?” she asked, the second part of the sentence coming out way faster than the first one, as she was a bit nervous to ask.

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, okay. Just make sure they’ll change the sheets tomorrow.”

She grinned. “Thank you, love.” Mel came up to me and locked me in a hug. “I would’ve gone to him, but they have two single beds, so that’s not exactly ideal.”

“That’s fine,” I shrugged. “Taking things to the next level though, huh?” I threw a suggestive smirk her way.

“Well…” She licked her lips, her cheeks growing red. “We’ll see. If he’s good tonight he might get it.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

She shrugged, but her face was overtaken by a smile. “Maybe. He’s fun to be around. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s fit.”

“Yeah, well. I guess I should’ve seen it coming since you were frolicking in the pool the other day.”

For me, it was less than ideal to sleep in the room with a guy I barely knew, but I couldn’t say no to her and her happiness. There were two separate beds, I’ll survive one night, surely. 

Of course we ended up having dinner with the guys, then drinking a bit more, before deciding to go to bed. 

I took a few essentials (including my pillow and duvet) and went to my destined room for the night. In the hallway I even bumped into Jake and gave him a stern warning to be on his best behaviour. 

I knocked on the door, because I wasn’t given the key and to be respectful to his roommate. But when the door opened, I desperately wish I asked who Jake’s roommate was.

“Oh fucking hell, of course he’s sharing with you,” I said as soon as Niall stepped to the side to let me in.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know Mel’s sharing with you either,” he huffed, closing the door behind us.

“Mel?” I asked with a sour face. “She’s not really your friend, dude.”

“Wow, are you always this bitter?” he asked, straightening up after retreating something from his suitcase, his bare chest on full display. 

“No, I’m saving all my venom on you specifically, Horan,” I said with a big, sarcastic smile, dumping my duvet on the free bed.

He huffed, shaking his head and headed into the bathroom. I followed his retreating form with my eyes until he closed the door. Even after seeing him in swimming shorts for the past few days, I still couldn’t look away, especially when he was this close. He was so fucking good looking. His chest toned, but not too muscular, with hair on it, but not so much it’d be gross. His arms were quite big and I hate to admit that I’d love to touch them, feel how firm the muscles are. His face was beautiful too. Even his mouth, shame such bullshit keeps coming out of it. And his soft, fluffy hair. Ugh, why couldn’t he be ugly and repulsive? If I have to spend time with him, that would have made it so much easier. 

But I just had to remember that even though he might be good looking, his character wasn’t pretty. And it actually wasn’t that hard, he kept reminding me with his stupid little comments. 

While he was gone, I let my hair loose and got comfortable in the bed. I was scrolling through instagram, when he emerged from the bathroom and it took all of my willpower to keep my gaze on the screen of my phone. 

“Are you having a nice holiday?” he asked, getting comfortable in his bed. Oh so now he wanted to be friendly. 

“I would, if some asshole I used to go to school with didn’t hijack it,” I said, without looking at him. I locked my phone and put it on the night table, turning so I was facing the wall. 

“Ouch,” he huffed. I could hear him moving around in his bed, and his voice was a bit louder, like he turned towards me, even though he was facing my back. “Well, it’s not exactly the lads’ holiday I expected either.” 

I just took a deep breath, not in the mood for another snappy exchange. “Let’s not interrupt each other's sleep at least, shall we?” I said, a thought popping into my head. “Please tell me you don’t snore.”

“Of course I don’t snore,” he said right away, his voice offended.

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” I mumbled under my breath.

The room was quiet for a bit and I was starting to slowly drift off to sleep, although I was aware that he was still facing my bed, which made me a little bit tense. But maybe he just fell asleep before turning. Or maybe he simply always sleeps on that side. 

“You really hate me, huh?” Even though his voice was barely above a whisper, his words pierced through the silence. 

I didn’t respond, trying my hardest to not give him any sign that my breath hitched in my throat and instead make it seem like I was already asleep. But the question actually shook me. Did I hate him? I’d like to pretend I don’t have any feelings towards him whatsoever, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Hate was a strong word and it wasn’t like he ruined my life or anything. In school, he was rude and mean, sure, but he was also a young, stupid boy, who probably just didn’t know any better. And maybe that’s not exactly an excuse, but I’m actually sure that the Niall I knew then isn’t the guy lying two meters away from me now. No, that guy isn’t that bad. Sure, he can joke, even at my expense, but he isn’t necessarily mean. Even if I find some of his comments unnecessary and annoying, I think the rudeness in them was found mostly because of my interpretation. Because I expected it based on our past.

And now, when he asked me that question, there was this weird vulnerability in his voice, something that I’d never associate with the Niall I once knew. I wasn’t the same girl I was in school, so why couldn’t I believe that he wasn’t either? Looking back at it, I was the one who started being unpleasant right at the airport. Sure, he hadn’t really made any effort with me, but maybe I also didn’t give him a chance. Was I actually in the wrong here? Did he deserve all my judgement and irritation? He was nothing but nice to my friends. But did he really just soften me up with one simple question? I’m not sure, but he definitely confused me.

~~

The next morning, when I opened my eyes, his bed was empty and the light was on in the bathroom. I checked my phone and drank some water, when Niall came back, towelling his hair. 

“Hey, slept alright?” he said, noticing that I was sitting awake.

“Yeah, not too bad,” I said, my voice a little husky from sleep.

“You can go shower if you want,” he pointed to the bathroom, so I gave him a small appreciative smile, climbing off the bed and heading there. 

I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth and put on the clothes I brought with me. When I came out, hair wet, no make-up on, in shorts and a t-shirt, I felt his eyes on me. He was in a similar outfit, putting on his shoes. I’m pretty sure his gaze followed me across the room, where I folded my bed sheets and put my phone in my pocket.

When I turned to look at him, he lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. So I was right, he was watching me. 

“You wanna head down to breakfast?” he asked, his cheeks growing slightly pink at being caught.

“Sure, let’s go.”

Libby, Nora and Sam were already sitting at the table, so we said hello and went to get our food. When we came back Toby and Jordan were already there as well. 

“Rough night?” Lib asked with a laugh, when Melanie and Jake came in a few minutes later.

She smiled. “A very good night.”

“I’d actually want to know how you two’s night’s been,” said Jake, looking between me and Niall with a wicked smile. 

“We managed not to kill each other, so I’d say it was successful,” I said, drinking my coffee. 

I glanced at Niall, who was sitting beside me and he looked like he wanted to throw in some comment, but stopped himself. Well, that’s some progress I didn’t expect to see. 

~~

The next day we were on a boat. We went on a cruise and I was really regretting that decision. It’s been about an hour and I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes locked in the toilet, throwing up. I never knew I got seasick, but I guess we learn something new every day. 

When I opened the door, I almost stumbled, surprised by Niall leaning on the rail right by the toilet.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at me carefully. 

“Yup, totally-” I was supposed to say ‘fine’, but a new wave of nausea hit me suddenly, prompting me to turn right back. I didn’t even manage to close the door, barely aware of Niall coming in right behind me and taking my hair into his hand in a makeshift ponytail, while I emptied my stomach once again. 

“Fuck, what’s wrong?” he said, rubbing my back in a calm manner. When I flushed and made a move to stand up, he let go of my hair and moved one hand to my waist and another to my elbow to help me and take some of my weight. 

“I don’t know,” I said, washing out my mouth and throwing some cold water on my face. “I think I’m seasick.”

“Are you good for now?” he asked, studying my face.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He nodded and opened the door for me. His hand was still at my waist while he led me to sit in the kind of closed area, where the toilets and bar was, but there was an open deck behind that bench, so I could feel a nice breeze on my back. 

“I’m gonna get you something to drink,” he said and before I could say he didn’t need to, he was already on his way to the bar.

I closed my eyes and just hoped I won’t have to make another trip to the toilet. 

“Here,” I heard Niall’s voice and when my eyes opened, he was giving me a bottle of water, a steaming cup in his other hand. “The tea’s a bit too hot.”

I smiled at him in gratitude and took a sip, not wanting to drink too much before seeing my body’s reaction to it. When he sat right next to me, I was a bit taken aback.

“You don’t need to stay with me here, I’ll be alright, go enjoy.”

He shook his head. “It’s a good spot,” he said, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, then letting out a content sigh. I knew it was fake, because it was not a good spot, which was pretty apparent by the lack of people around us. You could feel the breeze, but you couldn’t really see anything, because we were sitting in the middle part of the boat. 

I don’t know why he was doing that, maybe he felt like he had to, because he was the one who saw I was sick, although I’m not really sure what he was doing standing right outside that toilet, so he didn’t feel like he could leave me alone now. Maybe he was actually trying to be polite. I didn’t say anything more about it, taking another sip of water and closing my eyes once again, which helped a little. 

I was in my own world, just trying to keep my stomach calm, when I heard Mel’s voice. 

“Here you are! Why are you two hiding?” 

She came around where we were sitting, along with Libby, Jake and Sam.

“Not hiding. Shan’s got a bit seasick and I just got her tea,” Niall explained.

“Oh no!” Libby exclaimed worriedly.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna be okay, just probably gonna have to chill here the whole time,” I said, not wanting to make anyone feel bad for me, because I never liked it, people worrying or taking pity on me.

“We can take turns to keep you company,” Mel suggested. 

“No, I’m alright, really,” I assured, even giving them a smile to make a better point. 

“You should all enjoy the cruise, I’ve been pretty much on the same one a few years back, when I was in a city nearby, so I’ve seen it already, I’ll stay with her.” I heard Niall’s voice from beside me, but I had a hard time processing his words. 

He wanted to stay with me? Babysit me on this cruise? (not that I needed it) Instead of drinking beer with his mates and hitting on girls in bikinis? Well, that was new. Or maybe not so new, because now that I think of it, he didn’t really talk to any of the girls at the hotel either, and there were more than a few young, potentially single ones, who I noticed throwing him glances more than once. Did my mind and our past really distorted his behaviour so much for me?

Melanie looked at him a bit suspiciously, then at me, but I gave her the smallest nod, so she didn’t even comment on it. When we were alone yet again in the next minute, I wanted to tell him that I’m okay on my own. But he brushed it off twice before and I was too tired from feeling poorly to convince him. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of me actually wanted his company. 

So I stayed quiet and before I knew it, I apparently fell asleep. On Niall’s shoulder. But he didn’t mind, just gave me a small smile, when I came back to consciousness and said sorry. He asked if I’m feeling better and then went to buy me another tea and something to eat. He was… actually sweet to me. 

He stayed with me the whole time. We didn’t talk much, mostly about our friends or neutral subjects, but I was actually glad for his company. 

When we came back to the hotel, I went practically straight to bed, still not feeling great. But the next day, I was as good as new. And after another day in the sun, I was asked to give up my space in bed for Jake one more time. Mel was lucky I love her to bits.

“Well well well, you must have missed me,” Niall said with a grin, when he let me into his room.

Normally I would roll my eyes and say something snarky, but I was trying to see him from a different perspective and I actually found his comment lighthearted, teasing. 

“Do you think Mel and Jake actually like each other and will continue this when we get back?” I asked, placing my things on the bed and taking a seat. 

“Mmm I think so. Jake’s pretty gone for her, actually. Haven’t seen him like that for a while.”

I hummed in agreement. We were quiet for a bit after that, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, while I made myself comfortable in bed. 

“Goodnight, Non.”

Maybe it was the nickname used pretty much only by my family members, or maybe it was because he was so nice and helpful yesterday, or maybe it was both and a few other things as well, I don’t know, but before I could think too much about it, I spoke. 

“I don’t hate you, you know.” 

The fact that he thought so has been stuck in my head since he asked the question. I’ve been turning it over and over in my head for three days now and it wasn’t fair on him to let him think so, when I knew the truth was different. 

He was silent for a second, before clearing his throat slightly and finally speaking. “It’s fine, it’s not like you don’t have a reason to.”

“Yeah, but I really don’t,” I said right away, turning on my side to look at him. The room was pretty dark, a lamppost outside throwing a small shadow, but I could see his form. He actually turned on his side as well, so we were facing each other. 

“I was an asshole,” he admitted and I searched for a hint of a joking tone in his voice, but it wasn't there. He was actually serious. “And... Yeah, I’m really sorry. For everything.” He exhaled, like a burden was off his shoulders. It was weird, but somehow my heart felt lighter too. Like I was waiting for it for years, for that apology, without even realising. “I guess you could say I was young and stupid, but it’s not really an excuse, is it?” he said and this time let out a small nervous laugh.

I shrugged, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Thanks. For the apology.”

“Well, it’s a few years late,” he sighed.

“Still counts,” I assured, a small smile on my lips.

“Good,” he said. My eyes got more used to the darkness and I could see him smiling now.

“You’re not as bad as I remembered, Horan.”

He laughed. “Yeah, thanks, believe it or not but I changed quite a bit the past six years.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said, because I really had. The past couple of days, when I actually let myself look at him without any leftover biases from our younger years. He was a good guy. “And thank you for taking care of me yesterday.”

“Oh it was nothing.”

I shook my head. “It was nice. You might actually be a good guy and I’m sorry I was pretty rude before.”

“So that was on purpose? I thought we were just bantering,” he said, leaning on his elbow to look at me incredulously. 

I laughed. “Did you really?”

He shrugged. “No. Well… At first I kind of did, but I saw you actually got mad and irritated and took it to heart.”

“And yet you didn’t stop,” I said accusingly, but my tone was lighthearted. I’m gonna show him I’ve got banter.

I think he could spot it right away, because he shrugged, his lips twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I guess I can still be stupid sometimes.”

I hummed. “Okay, that’s enough heart to heart. Goodnight, Horan.”

He groaned. “Why do you always call me that?”

“What?” I asked, actually surprised. “Everyone used to call you that.”

“Yeah, but… It feels different when you do it. You always did it and I just wanted you to call me Niall, I don’t even know why.” His hand went up to mess with his hair, like he always did when he was nervous. There’s that vulnerability in his voice again, just like that first night.

“Well, I’m sorry. You never told me that.” I wanted to tell him that when we were younger I wanted to call him by his first name, but no one really did, so it felt too… intimate. Too special. So to hear that he actually wanted me to… it messed with my head a bit, even if I read a bit too much into it. So, as to not make a fool of myself and dig deeper into that dangerous territory, I said, “goodnight, Niall.”

“Goodnight, Nonnie.”

My heart skipped a bit. It was a nickname I didn’t hear often. My mum sometimes calls me that, even though she knows I don’t like it. My brothers use it to annoy me. But that name coming from Niall’s lips… it sounds different. Way better. And after hearing it, I wish he wouldn’t ever call me by any other name but that one.

~~

After that night, it truly felt like we cleared the air. I no longer avoided speaking to him, no longer looked at him with annoyance and distaste. We didn’t become best friends, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. I could play games and be around him without having my guard up or thinking how I can get out of the situation. And it was a nice change. It also made me realise that he’s a really nice guy. I even saw glimmers of the old Niall I used to be friends with. Only problem was, that was confusing, because, well, I liked that Niall. 

On the penultimate night I’ve decided to do something I’ve always wanted to and spend a whole night on the beach. The girls were not sold on the idea, Melanie was way more enthusiastic about having an empty bed than possibly staying out with me. Libby stayed for a bit, but soon enough she scattered. I didn’t mind being alone, was actually quite used to it. Well, maybe not all night outside on the beach though. 

I was starting to regret my decision, when I heard a familiar voice.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Niall was standing beside me, a beach towel and a blanket tucked under his arm, a backpack on his shoulder.

I shrugged, “it’s a public place,” I said smiling. 

“You’re a bit mad, you know that? Spending the night out here all by yourself, it’s not exactly safe.”

“Well, no one actually wanted to join me, so…”

He gasped exaggeratedly, clearly offended. “So you asked everyone but me?”

I laughed. “No, I just asked the girls.”

He hummed, finally throwing down his towel and settling down. “That makes me feel slightly better, but my ego is still bruised.”

“How did you actually know I was here?” I wondered.

“Well, I was expecting another sleepover, when Jake was very excitedly leaving the room, but you didn’t show up, so I went down and Sam was having drinks with Libby, who told me about your little plan.”

“And you thought it’s such a brilliant idea, you couldn’t not be a part of it,” I said with a grin, taking a piss out of him.

“Nah, I thought it’s so stupid you might just get yourself killed or kidnapped or something and I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”

“Ohhh so you wanted to be my hero.”

He looked a little sheepish, his cheeks burning, before letting out a chuckle. “Yeah, sure.”

I reached to my side and offered him some grapes I brought with me. 

“Do you want a drink or some wine? I can go get us something,” he asked after taking some fruit.

“No thanks, I think I need a detox after that holiday.”

He hummed in agreement. He played with the sand, looking like he was thinking something over, then spoke up, but didn’t look at me. “Tell me about the time I missed. How was uni?”

“Um…” I licked my lips, surprised by his question. “Yeah, well, uni was pretty good. I really liked my courses and it just felt a lot more chilled. Like people didn’t really pay attention to you unless you really wanted them to, which of course I didn’t.”

“Mmmm I think some people definitely paid attention to you anyway,” he said, finally lifting his head to look at me, a small smile on his lips. His eyes were bright, the glow of the moon reflected in them.

I frowned, not entirely sure what he meant by that. “Well, yes, like some colleagues, people I had courses with and talked to or whatever, but everyone was minding their own business mostly. Not like it was home, you know?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, lowering his head again. “So you said you liked your courses, but what exactly did you study?”

“Chemistry.”

“Oh wow. And you were at York, right?” I nodded, wondering how he knew. Maybe he talked to Mel, but I’m not sure why he would be interested in her uni experience. Or maybe he saw it on facebook, but I doubt he’d remember that. “It’s a really good school. Always knew you’re gonna do big things.”

I felt my cheeks heating up at his words, not used to compliments, especially not from him. “Nah, I have a pretty normal job, not changing the world or anything.”

“What do you do?” he asked right away.

“I’m a cosmetic scientist, so basically I work in a cosmetics lab. We make all the formulas for new products and experiment on the ones they’re already producing, seeing if they can be improved.”

“That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

I nodded, a smile on my lips. “Yeah, it’s fun and satisfactory. I couldn’t work with medicine or like… proper chemicals or something like that, I think I would feel a lot of pressure and like… responsibility.”

“And that’s how you know the girls, yeah? From uni?”

“Yes. But enough about me, what about you?” I said, acknowledging that I actually do want to know more about him, know how he spent that time we weren’t in touch, but also where he was now, because to be honest we barely talked about it before.

“Well, I was roommates with Jake in the first year of uni. Then he lived with Sam, so that’s how I know him. Toby is his childhood friend, so I met him through Jake as well. And we met Jordan through a weekend football team and just became friends.”

“That’s more complicated than my friend group,” I chuckled. “Did you have enough of Jake after that first year that you just moved out?” 

“Umm…” he cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I actually quit uni after the first year.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You did? Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wasn't for me. I mean, I didn’t fail, I actually passed all my exams, just… I worked at the restaurant right after high school and all through that first year and… I liked it, much more than studying. And, well, I heard I was good, got potential, so decided to actually do something about it.”

I looked at him and saw a different man. I saw a guy who was determined, who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take a chance on himself. I saw someone brave. “That’s ballsy,” I admitted. “So you’re a chef now?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Well, not like chef chef, I mean I cook, but I’m not a head chef.”

“Still pretty successful, I’d say. Are you happy with that decision now?”

He looked at me a little surprised, like he expected a different reaction out of me, maybe even some judgement. “Yeah. I might take some classes in the future, maybe in management or something. I'd love to open my own place someday, but we’ll see.”

“That’s a really good plan.”

“More like a dream,” he chuckled, “but yeah, thanks.” He went back to playing with the sand, before asking a new question. “What was the best moment in those past six years for you?” 

He surprises me, the questions he’s asking, how open he is with me… It’s a nice change from how we started this vacation. Now it’s like we both actually want to sit here and talk, not minding each other’s company at all, I’d even go as far as saying we’re enjoying it. Well, I know I am.

I hummed for a second, thinking about my answer. “I don’t know, there wasn’t really anything huge or amazing,” I shrugged. “I guess graduating was a great moment, you know, just all the hard work finally finished and kinda paid off, proud parents and whatnot. It felt like an actual accomplishment. Because getting into a good uni is just a first step, but graduating felt like I made it, like I’ve actually done something.”

“Can’t relate, but that makes sense,” he laughed. Even though I knew it was lighthearted, I was a bit embarrassed, because I didn’t consider his uni experience and how my answer might sound. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think,” I said sheepishly.

“No, it’s okay, I was joking. It was my decision to drop out and I’m not ashamed of it. Don’t worry.”

I smiled. “Well, what was your best moment?”

“Oh,” he said, almost like he wasn’t expecting me to turn that question on him. “I don’t know, kinda same as you, there wasn’t anything huge or particularly special. But about a year after I quit uni, the chef I was working for got me a replacement contract at his friend’s place in London, so I spent eight months working there and honestly it was amazing. Hard, but I learned a lot.”

“That sounds really good,” I admitted, seeing that even though he chose a bit of a different path of starting an adult life, he knew what he was doing and made it work. “Didn’t you want to stay there? In the big city?”

“Nah, it was too big for me, actually. And too far from everyone. Also really hard to start something successful there, a lot of competition, you know?”

“Yeah, true. I couldn’t live there either, it’s a beautiful city and I actually really like visiting, but too big and too far for me.”

He hummed in agreement. “Okay, well, what was the worst moment?”

“Um.. Well, do you remember that wonderful game of ‘never have I ever’?” I said a little sarcastically.

“Yeah.”

“Then you might remember that I... was the other woman,” I reminded him, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for this story.

He looked at me, his eyes nothing but gentle. “You don’t have to talk about it, sorry, just forget the question.” His voice was apologetic, I couldn’t even find curiosity in his voice or his look and maybe that was exactly what prompted me to shake my head.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just… I didn’t know,” I admitted and lowered my gaze. This time I was the one that started playing with the sand. “It was this guy I met while doing an internship for uni. He was a few years older, worked in the same lab. He didn’t have any connection to my uni or anything, but we often saw each other. So we started talking and dating and stuff. He met my friends, I met some of his. We’ve been together for like eight months, when I got a message on instagram from another girl. They were together for almost five years, engaged for over a year.”

“I… wow, sorry, I don’t even know what to say,” Niall looked utterly shocked and I couldn’t blame him. I used to think those kinds of things only happen in movies or books. Until it happened to me.

“Yeah. He was that type who didn’t have any social media and maybe I should have figured it out, but I didn’t, because it’s not like it’s obligatory. But sure enough, there were pictures of them together on her page. I had a picture with him on mine too, that’s how she found out, I think she saw it on her discover page or whatever. So yeah, I confronted him right away and.. he didn’t even have much to say.”

“What… I’m sorry, but what a fucking prick,” Niall swore, his voice angry. “Honestly, I could never understand people like that. And it wasn’t like a one night thing, not that it would make it better, but you know, it was a full one relationship.”

“Yeah… That was the lowest point of my entire life. I just.. I felt so awful, like a complete fool, but also like a horrible person.” 

It took me a long time to get over it, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand the situation or his motivation. I’m not sad about it, not even now telling the story, but I could feel my own anger and embarrassment surging through my body.

“No, no, come on, none of that was your fault,” Niall looked at me incredulously, almost like he couldn’t believe me.

“But maybe I could have seen the signs. You know, how sometimes he couldn’t meet up the whole weekend or couldn’t answer the call, but texted me instead…”

“You shouldn’t have to see the signs, because there shouldn’t be any signs. It was a situation that never should have happened.”

He kept his eyes on me, like he was waiting for me to meet them, let him know I heard what he was saying. So I did and gave him a weak smile. I did appreciate his words, I’ve heard them from Mel before, but it was nice to hear that reassurance.

“I know. Well, I try to remember that, but it’s hard when something like that happens and you’re feeling like shit. I… He was my first boyfriend, you know? He was my first… pretty much everything. Well, first and only boyfriend,” I admitted.

“Really? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“Are you judging me?” I asked with a little laugh to lighten the mood.

“No, no, of course not,” Niall said defensively before seeing a smile on my face.

I shrugged. “I’ve been on a few dates, had a few adventures, but… nothing serious. I actually don’t know if I can trust someone after that.”

He hummed, thinking over my words for a second. “I think you can, it’ll just take the right person. I hope you can, you’re too amazing to not let anyone new love you.”

His words made my breath hitch in my throat. He just said it with so much… conviction. Like there wasn’t any doubt about it in his mind. Like I was some kind of treasure to be adored. But in the best way, like I deserved everything good in the world. 

“And now I wish I had a drink before,” I said jokingly, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. The fact that we could talk like that, so open and honest, without alcohol loosening our tongues, it surprised me, but it also gave me this weird warm flutter in my stomach. Talking like that with Niall was not what I was expecting tonight, but at the same time it just felt so… natural. It felt good.

“Do you want me to go get you one?” He offered.

I shook my head. “I’m gonna stick to my detox. Have to have some self control.” He burst out laughing at that. “Thank you,” I said after a second. 

In the smile he gave me I could see that I didn’t need to precise what for, he knew. He understood. And I was grateful, because truth be told, I just wanted to thank him for everything. For listening, for being kind, for still wanting to talk to me and sit with me, even though I misjudged him and held an old grudge, not even letting him show his true colors now.

Niall cleared his throat, ending our little quiet, intimate moment. “Were you planning on sleeping here or waiting for the sunrise?” he asked, laying down.

“I thought I might take a nap, but now it’s not too long until then. Do you want to go to sleep?” 

I also laid down, but propped my head on my arm to still look at him. Our towels were laid down in a way that our heads were next to each other, while our bodies spread the other ways. He was lying on his back, giving me a perfect view of his face. And what a good view it was. He’s utterly beautiful. Maybe that doesn’t sound manly or whatever, he is handsome, but to me… he’s just stunning. It seemed like the light always reflected off his face in a perfect way, whether it  was sunlight in the middle of the day, barely there light in the dark of his hotel room or the moonlight and shining stars on the beach. 

“No,” he said quietly, looking straight into my eyes. The blue of his irises was so compelling, I couldn’t look away. I’ve seen his gaze brush over my face, then focus on my lips. My heart started beating faster. It was like everything just slowed down, like we were trapped in this small short moment that seemed so important. For a second, I thought he might kiss me. And I knew I would have let him. I would have liked that, actually. I wanted him to do it, but in the next second, he looked back into my eyes and I don’t know what he saw, but that moment was broken. He cleared his throat. “Would you rather… have all traffic lights you approach be green or never have to stand in line again?

I burst out laughing, because the question comes out of nowhere, but also sounds exactly like him. He’s just so ridiculous. “What? Where did that come from?”

He grinned. “Well, I think we’ve done enough serious subjects tonight, so let’s do something fun.”

I nodded in agreement. “Definitely never have to stand in line again.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I don’t drive. I don’t have a licence, so the red lights don’t really bother me.”

It was silly, but we actually went back and forth asking each other stupid questions, laughing till we almost cried, until the sun came up. Once it was bright, we decided it was time to go. I had a key to Libby and Nora’s room, as they said it’d be okay if I wanted to come take a shower or even go to sleep. We all had rooms on the same floor and we barely excited the elevator, when we saw someone exiting a room at the end of a hall.

“Is that Libby?” I asked, squinting to see better. She was far away and didn’t notice us. I felt Niall tugging on my arm to pull behind the door leading from the elevators into the hallway, so we were hidden from view, but could still kind of see. 

“Wait, I think that’s,” he started, but then the same door opened again and a guy walked out, grabbing Lib by the arm and pulling her in for a kiss. They giggled, shared another one and then split once more. “Yup, that’s definitely Sam’s room.”

I looked at him. “I think our friends really like each other.”

He let out a booming laugh, it was good both Libby and Sam were back in their rooms, or he would have blown our cover. 

“That’s crazy,” he said, still laughing, leading me to his room. 

We were both actually really tired, not sleeping for hours, so I had a quick shower and without much more interaction, we were both asleep.

I woke up before him and decided to make my escape while he was still asleep. I texted Nora, who was also awake, so I went to their room, got dressed, since I had a change of clothes prepared in my backpack, and we headed down for breakfast, all three of us. We barely sat down when Melanie joined us, so we sat drinking coffee and gossiping. 

“Did Niall stay with you last night, Shan?” Libby asked.

“What?” Mel nearly choked at that.

“Well, he was looking for her, when I was still at the bar,” she explained.

“Yeah, he joined me,” I admitted, avoiding their curious looks.

Melanie’s jaw was nearly at the floor.

Nora laughed. “We need more! Did you try… sex at the beach?” She grinned, super proud of herself.

I shook my head, but couldn't help a chuckle leaving my lips. “Definitely not. We played silly games and talked a bit. He was actually cute, got a blanket and snacks, but it wasn’t anything like that.” 

Well, maybe not anything, as I found myself thinking back to our almost kiss. Okay, it wasn’t an almost kiss, it was a wishful-thinking kiss. And the sooner I forget about it, the better.

“It’s nice seeing you not snarling whenever his name is brought up,” Libby said. 

“How was your night?” I asked her in return, sipping my coffee.

“What do you mean?” she frowned. 

I shrugged. “Anything interesting? You were at the bar with Sam pretty late, right?”

“Oh, yeah, well, he’s fun and we just got drunk.”

“Wait, I heard someone coming in super late, it was already bright, but I thought it was Shan,” Nora said, looking between us two with confusion. 

I shook my head. “No, I napped at Niall’s, he had an empty bed.”

“And the bar is only open until half three, isn’t it?” dug Nora, looking at her cousin.

“Umm… Yeah, we went back to his room and just kept drinking. As friends.” Lib awkwardly added the last part, like an afterthought.

“Oh yeah, I thought I saw you leaving his room, when we were just getting back,” I said. Libby groaned, throwing her head back, like she knew what was coming next. But she had a small smile on her face, so I knew it was okay for me to say, she wouldn’t mind. “That kiss didn’t look very friendly, Lib,” I said with a laugh. 

Both Nora and Mel were even more shocked than when they found out Niall joined me on the beach, which was justified. 

“WHAT? You kissed?” Nora looked at her cousin bewildered. 

Libby chuckled. “Yeah, okay, we actually slept together.” Mel whistled, we just laughed. “We got pretty drunk and it just happened.” She shrugged. “What can I say? He’s super fit.”

“So was it just last night or has it happened before?” Nora asked with a curious rise of brows. 

“No, no, just a one night stand,” she assured.

“What about you and Jake?” I asked Melanie. “Have you talked about meeting up at home?”

She smiled. “Yeah, we might.” Nora cheered at that, which made us all laugh. “At first I thought definitely not, it’ll just be a summer romance, but… I do like him, we live in the same city, so why not see what’ll happen?”

“You actually seem good together, like you properly get each other,” Libby said with a smile. 

“Honestly, I think you and Sam could be something too.” 

Lib shook her head. “Definitely not right now. He’s very much still dealing with his last break up and I do not want to get into that situation. But he’s cool, we might hang out.”

They kept chatting, but my attention was elsewhere, because Niall walked in, accompanied by all the guys. They sent some smiles and waves our way, an unspoken hello, but he seemed a bit different, like not everything was alright. I caught his gaze and he gave me a weak smile, which unsettled my stomach. It wasn’t one of those grins that crinkle his eyes and make him look almost boyish and cute. I had this small thought that maybe it was because I just left this morning, being extra quiet and careful not to wake him up, but it couldn’t be that, could it? Why would he care? And yet it seemed like there was almost disappointment in his eyes, when he looked at me.

It was our last day, so we made the most of it, walking around the small city, playing in the sea and then lounging by the pool when the night started to fall. We chatted to the boys and I had a few small talks with Niall, but nothing else. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Or maybe after last night I just had some unreal expectations that now came crashing down. 

~~

The next day, after we landed in Manchester, I said my goodbye to the boys, then hugged all the girls, promising to see them soon.

“Wait, you don’t live in Manny?” Jake asked. I saw Melanie throwing him a knowing look, which made me wonder what they were planning. 

“No, I live in Leeds, well, just outside of Leeds actually.”

“No way, Niall lives in Leeds!” Jake said, clapping his friend on the back. Oh boy, now I see where this is going. “You have your car here then?”

“Umm, no, I’m just gonna take the train.”

“I can give you a ride,” Niall said, he was stone-faced though, so I wasn’t sure if he really wanted to.

“It’s fine, I’m used to the train,” I assured.

“Come on, I’m going there anyway, I can take you,” he said, this time giving me a small smile.

“Okay, thank you,” I agreed, because I didn’t want to have a stupid fight at the airport over this. And it’s not a long ride anyway, just about an hour and a half. We can do this, we definitely can be civil with each other. Well, after the beach I thought we might even be friends, but now I wasn’t so sure. 

“I didn’t know you’re in Leeds, thought you stayed in Manchester,” I said to break the awkward silence once we were in the car. I mentally cringed, because I just let him know that I not only knew, but remembered where he went to uni.

“No, I moved about a year ago, got a good job offer. How come all your friends ended up in Manny except you?” He briefly glanced at me, but mostly kept his focus on the road. It was criminal how good he looked while driving though.

“Well, Nora and Lib are from the area and Mel found a nice job there. I got a good one in Leeds, so that’s where I am. We didn’t stray far from uni, ‘cause I guess we didn’t want to leave our families too far. Well, except Mel, she’s from Southampton, but she couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

“So you visit home a lot?”

“Pretty often, once a month usually. Sometimes more when there’s a birthday or something, depends. But I’ve never really seen you around.” The last part was more a question than a statement, because I don’t really socialise in my hometown, so even if we both were there at the same time, it was quite possible we wouldn't see each other.

“Yeah, um… I still visit, obviously, but since I quit uni my parents aren’t too happy with me and I don’t like hearing I’m a failure too often.”

I nearly gasped, my eyes looking at him with bewilderment. It was hard to believe someone would see him as a failure, let alone his own parents. “Seriously?” He nods. “I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not exactly yours either. It’s more them and their expectations and depiction of success. And from what I’ve heard you’re doing good. Honestly, I’m in a bit of awe of your bravery, it takes guts to take a less obvious road like that.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, the true one, the one I missed so much. “It doesn’t help that my parents haven’t been doing great, they’re thinking about separation. I think my dad’s looking for apartments.”

“Oh. That’s shit. Are you alright?”

He looked at me with furrowed brows, like he didn’t expect that question. “Yeah, they haven’t been seeing eye to eye for years and now that we’re all grown up and they’re left alone, it just didn’t make sense to keep fighting.”

“Well, they’re separating, not divorcing straight away, so maybe they do have some fight left in them.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “How are your brothers? They’re not near here, are they?”

“No, Jamie’s in London and Chris is in Oxford.”

He nodded. “So you stayed near to look after your folks a bit, didn’t you?”

He can either read me so well or he just knows me and understands me more than I ever thought. “Yeah, kind of. I mean London’s too big and I do quite like this area. But yeah, I didn’t even look to move somewhere further because I didn’t want to leave them completely alone.”

He smiled, clearly proud of himself for being right. “How are your brothers though? All good?”

I grinned just thinking about them. “Chris has a little kid and Jamie’s getting married.”

He whistled. “Wow, that’s big!”

“Yeah,” I sighed, a small wave of sadness that I always feel when talking about them hitting me. “What about your brother? You said your parents were left alone, so he went away to uni?”

“Yeah, he actually went back to Ireland and now he has a girlfriend there, so I don’t think he’s ever coming back here.”

“Oh wow, I can’t even believe he’s in uni already, he was always a baby.” 

“Yeah, I know, but he just finished his second year, it’s crazy.” 

We sat in silence for a moment, until I broke it again, one more question on my mind. “Do you keep in touch with anyone from home?”

“Not really. Once I went away to uni I kinda realised they weren’t the people I wanted to be friends with. You know, even just like what happened with us, I felt like I needed to impress them and be rude and mean to be considered cool. And that’s just… Not who I want to be. I really did change, Non.”

I smiled. “I know. I can see that. You’re more like that boy who was my friend, just grown up.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. I didn’t know what it was, but it must have been something I said, while I meant it as a compliment, maybe it didn’t quite translate to him. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t really know what even prompted this reaction, and before I could, he cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“Do you think Sam and Lib will become something?” 

“I don’t know. She’s adamant it was a one night stand. But I think she likes him a bit, just thinks he’s not ready to date. Did he say anything?”

“Not much, I think he’s confused, because he does like her, but he’s also not really over his ex. I guess only time will tell.” He shrugged.

And that’s how we spent the rest of the drive, talking about our friends and small things, keeping to the safe discussion topics. When we got to my building, he got my bag out of the trunk and offered to help me get it inside, but I declined, there’s an elevator, so I’ll manage. We hugged goodbye and it was the first time I was ever in his arms, but I hope it won’t be the last. He smells like sun and sweat and travel and this woody men-scent that is probably his cologne. I store that smell in my brain, wanting to remember it, remember that moment, this weird situation that brought us back together and in a way, even healed us. 

As I thank him for the drive, I wonder if that’s it. Whether we’ll keep in touch or maybe see each other through our now kind of mutual friends once in a while. And I find myself wishing to keep the momentum of our friendship, or whatever it is, building. Because he is a good guy and I do like talking to him. I don’t want to just lose him again. It happened once and I did nothing about it, just let him slip away. Now, I don't want to let it happen again. 

~~

In a way, it doesn’t. We started following each other on insta, making it a habit of responding to stories and sending memes, always taking that opportunity to chat for a bit. 

Just after two weeks since our vacation, he asked me if I was going to a festival that was happening just outside Leeds. I said no, because I did ask a few of my colleagues but no one was interested. And I could go alone, definitely wouldn’t be the first time, but as much as I knew it’d be fun, I didn’t care that much for it. But then he texted I’m going on Saturday, wanna tag along? Normally I would politely decline, simply because I’d be worried about who else is going with him and whether they really want me there, but he started this topic and the offer seemed genuine, plus I promised myself to give him the benefit of the doubt, which I hadn’t granted him during our vacation. So I wrote back if you’re sure it’s okay, I’d love to.

And that’s how I ended up meeting Niall in line before entrance. He was with his two colleagues from the restaurant and the boyfriend of one of them. He welcomed me with a hug, then introduced me to everyone. 

“So, who are we seeing first?” he asked me, throwing an arm around my shoulders as soon as we got through the gate.

“I don’t know, where do you want to go?”

He looked at me incredulously. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t check out the whole line up and pick out the ones worth seeing, knowing who when and where? Come on, Nonnie, that doesn’t sound like you.”

I blushed, because that was exactly what I did. It was a small festival, mostly lined up with newcomers and alternative musicians, so of course I did my research. 

“Well, I might have done that, but I’m not here alone, so I don’t want to be bossy,” I said, which made him grin. 

“You can be as bossy as you like, God knows I don’t mind. Honestly, they’re just here for the beers and fun,” he pointed to his friends, who, sure enough, were already in line for drinks, “and I don’t care if we leave them behind.”

I sighed, giving up. “There should be a pretty cool band on main in like 15 minutes.”

Niall grinned. “Awesome, let’s get some drinks and then go there!” 

We sneaked into the beer line by asking our companions to order for us and then started our fun. The band was actually good and Niall really didn’t care about leaving his friends behind. To be fair one of them left us first, because she saw her other friends. And then we went off to check out some other artists. I had to admit, Niall was a good festival partner. He didn’t complain if I wanted to move closer to the stage or go see a different band, he waited for me right by the toilets, when I needed to go and kept me safe from people who could trample me. He also danced with me, tried to sing even though none of us really knew the words, and kept giving me those huge smiles, his cheeks red from the alcohol and moving around and being in the crowd. And I couldn’t help but smile back at him, because he just looked beautiful and was so nice and cute.

“Come on, I’ll lift you up, you can’t see anything,” he said when we came back to the main stage at some point. There was a proper crowd now and a lot of girls were up on someone’s shoulders, but there was no way I’m gonna be one of them. 

I laughed, he could not be serious. “What? No way!”

“Come on, I won’t drop you,” he looked at me seriously. Oh God, he wasn’t joking.

For a second we just looked at each other, as if assessing the situation and each other’s stubbornness. “I’m too big, you’ll hurt yourself.”

His eyes went wide. “Okay, now you’re just being silly. In what world are you too big?”

I felt my cheeks heating up, it was not a conversation I wanted to have with him, especially not here and now. I was not a small girl, definitely more on the curvy side. “Niall…”

He didn’t let me finish and maybe for the better, because I wasn’t sure what I even wanted to say. “Look, if you don’t want to, that's fine, but don’t give me that kind of bullshit, I won’t stand for it. And trust me, I can take you.”

I licked my lips, contemplating my options. He looked a little riled up and the last thing I wanted to do was upset him after he was so sweet to me the whole day. Truth be told, he is strong. “Okay, how do we do it?” I said, to which he smiled and helped me get up on his shoulders.

To be fair, he was right. He had no problem keeping me up and even refused to get me down before the set ended. When he set me down, he gave me a self-satisfied look that very much said ‘I told you so’. 

We got something to eat, sat on the grass resting for a bit, before going to catch another band. I was actually having way more fun than anticipated. I didn’t expect to spend most of the time just with Niall, but I definitely wasn’t complaining. Our conversation flew so naturally, we kept laughing and fooling around and just… having a good time. 

We were in a crowd, it was already dark, we were sweaty and buzzing from the few drinks we had, but definitely enjoying ourselves. And when the band we were watching started playing a slow song, Niall circled his arms around me, so I laid my head back on his chest and we just swayed to the music, lost in the moment. But then he looked down on me and the next thing I knew, he was caressing my cheek, then putting his fingers on my chin to gently lift my head. And then we were kissing. I would love to say he was kissing me, but it was actually very mutual. It started slow and gentle, but when he pulled away slightly and looked into my eyes, I think he saw no hesitation there. But just in case he did, I turned in his arms, grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into me for another kiss. This one was much hungrier, like it was a long time coming. And in a sense, maybe it was. But damn, was it worth the wait. 

The roar of the crowd when the song ended pulled us back to reality and with a smile on my face, I turned back around to face the stage. His arms found their way back to my waist, slightly more loose this time, so I took half a step back and snuggled into his body. 

The rest of the festival was kind of a blur of good music, more drinks and more kisses, holding hands and dancing. It was like a barrier between us had been broken by that kiss and there was no coming back from it. Not tonight at least. I was buzzed from the alcohol and the music and the joy of it all, so I didn't even begin to think about what it might actually mean for us. Tonight, I just enjoyed it. When all the good concerts were over, we decided to call it a night, it was after 3am anyway. We shared an uber, as my place is not too out of the way from his place and he didn’t want me to ride alone. I decided it was rather sweet of him. When we arrived in front of my building, he got out with me, gave me a proper kiss goodnight and watched me until I disappeared inside. When I collapsed on my bed, my stomach was fluttering with butterflies and I fell asleep before the doubts and the reality came crashing down. 

~~

The next day it wasn’t as easy to keep the overthinking at bay. I wondered whether I should reach out, text him, whether we’ll talk about it or pretend that nothing happened. But before I started losing my mind, Niall actually put me out of my misery by texting can we meet tomorrow? Dinner after your work? It wasn’t a clear indication of how we were gonna proceed with the situation, but it was something, at least he wasn’t avoiding me. 

Sure, where do you want to meet?, I wrote back and didn't have to wait long for the response. I can pick you up and we’ll go from there, just text me the address of your work? Even though there was a question mark in the end, the text sounded confident. Maybe he thought it through before contacting me. I would appreciate him picking me up, that way I wouldn’t have to get a bus or anything and also we would meet sooner, which was only a plus. So I told him so (not that it was convenient for me, but that I’d be thankful) and gave him the address. He asked me about the hour and then we were all set. All that was left to do was wait and not let my mind wander too much. Wandering mind is dangerous. It can create expectations and give false hope. But it is also very hard to resist. 

~~

I’ve always prided myself at being able to focus on my work, no matter what. Work was work and when I was in a lab, the outside world could very much not exist. But today… I wasn’t at my best. I kept looking at the clock, then checking my phone to see if Niall hadn’t texted to cancel or something. Midway through the day, I locked myself in the bathroom for a few minutes and finally managed to pull myself together and get on with work. I actually focused on it so much, I hadn’t noticed until it was almost fifteen minutes after our agreed meeting time. 

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath, wrapping up what I was working on, grabbing my things and getting out of the lab as soon as I was done. I checked my phone on the way down, but there was no contact from Niall, which made me frown. Maybe he wasn’t here yet? 

But as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I noticed him. He was sitting on one of the sofas in the lobby, scrolling through his phone and looking absolutely gorgeous. He was wearing dark pants, a t-shirt and converse, his hair a bit more dishevelled than usual. He looked casual, but so damn good. It was almost like he could feel my presence, or maybe just my stare, but he looked up, noticing me right away and stood up, pocketing his phone and smiling at me. 

“Hey, so sorry I’m late, I lost track of time, you should’ve just called or texted,” I said when I was near enough so he could hear me. 

He chuckled and enveloped me in a hug. “Nah, didn’t mind waiting.” He kissed my cheek and I felt goosebumps rising all over my body. “It’s nice to see you, you look beautiful.”

I smiled. I wasn’t wearing anything special, just making the most of summer in a flower-patterned midi dress and white converse for comfort. “You look good too,” I said truthfully. I didn’t know how, but somehow all my nerves just disappeared when he smiled and hugged me. Like, no matter what we decide and how we’ll get on with our relationship, we’ll be fine. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked and this time I’m the one that looked at him with disbelief.

“Are you telling me you didn’t pick a place for dinner? You, the one who works at a restaurant?”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay, you got me. There’s a good one two streets down, is that okay?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

He gave me his arm to loop my hand around and I was trying not to think about the gesture too much. While we were walking, he asked about my day and we made small talk. I wondered what we looked like to the people passing us on the street. Did we look like a couple heading off on a date after work? Arms intertwined and smiling at each other. I didn’t know, but I found myself wondering if we could ever be a real couple like that.

The place he picked was a nice Italian restaurant, where we sometimes order take away at work. Right after we ordered and the waiter disappeared, Niall cleared his throat.

“So… I wanted to meet up, because I thought it’d be easier to talk face to face. And I didn’t want things to be… unclear between us,” he said, to which I nodded, truly appreciating that. He was a bit nervous, playing with the napkin on the table and running a hand through his hair. “Well… we kissed -” 

I chuckled. “Yeah, we did, I was there.” He looked at me with narrowed eyes, like he was mad I interrupted his momentum. I held up my hands in surrender and he sighed, but I knew he wasn’t mad, just nervous.

“As I was saying, we kissed and… well, I don’t know about you but I liked it.”

I tried to stop the smile from taking over my face, but it was impossible. He’s just too cute when he’s nervous and trying to be serious. “Yeah, I liked it too.”

He nodded. “Good, that’s a good start.”

I covered his hand lying on the table and he looked me truly in the eyes for the first time today. “Why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”

I swear his breath hitched in his throat. “Yeah, exactly, it’s you. I… Well, I care about you. And I really don’t want to screw this up.”

I squeezed his hand, which prompted him to turn it over and interlock our fingers. My heart started beating faster, both at the gesture and at his words. “You’re off to a good start,” I assured. “And for the record, I like you. In case it wasn’t obvious.” A smile finally broke on his face, like he didn’t expect me to say that.

“You do?” he asked, grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

I laughed. “Yeah.”

He exhaled visibly. “Okay, well, I had a whole speech prepared and you just made me forget it all,” he chuckled, his free hand messing with his hair again.

“I don’t need a speech.”

“Well, I just wanted to say that I know relationships are hard for you and that’s why I wanted to be clear about it. And I might have spent all of yesterday thinking about you and what you were thinking about it all. I had to throw out three dishes, because I messed up.”

I laughed again and this time he joined me. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one who kept overthinking the situation. “I really appreciate that. I was very glad you reached out pretty early on, because I wasn’t sure if it’s okay to text and where we were standing in general.”

He nodded and there was a beat of silence between us. We took each other in, took the situation in, which made my stomach all fluttery, because wow, we really are here, admitting to liking each other and… on our way to becoming something, I guess. It’s a bit scary, but damn it’s also very exciting. 

He cleared his throat and started playing with the rings on my fingers of the hand he was holding. “You know, we can go at whatever pace you want, I’m fine with slow. I just.. I really want us to have a chance.”

My heart burst with what can only be described as happiness and appreciation. He’s so… considerate. And sweet. Damn, I really want to kiss him now. But I’m not brave enough to lean across the table, so it’ll have to wait. “Okay. I’m good with that. So don’t expect to meet my friends anytime soon.”

I grinned saying those last few words and he burst out laughing. A loud belly laugh, my favourite. 

“Yeah, okay, you won’t be meeting mine for a while either.”

Our moment was a bit disturbed by the waiter bringing our food. We ate in silence for a few minutes, just stealing glances and smiles. 

“So, is this our first date?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine.

He leaned back in his chair, now full of confidence, a smug smile on his lips. “Oh no, when we have our first date, you’ll have no doubt about it being a date, trust me.”

I raised my brow and chuckled. “Okay. Well, do you want to hang out after this though? We could watch a movie at mine or something,” I said, hoping not to sound too forward or desperate, but I simply wanted to spend more time with him. It’s funny how back on vacation I kept hoping he wouldn’t be around us too much, while now it looks like I can’t get enough of him. 

His face fell a bit and my stomach dropped. “I’d love to,” he’s quick to say, “but I have to be up at like 4 tomorrow.”

“4 am?” I asked incredulously, because that is a very ungodly hour.

“Yeah, I’m on supply duty this week,” he explained to which I nodded in understanding. “But I’d love to see you again this week. I need to check my schedule and stuff, but hopefully I can get that first date?”

His eyes were so hopeful and I realised I would agree even if it meant changing my whole schedule around. “I’d like that.”

We finished our meal in silence once again. When our bellies were full and the bill was paid (I insisted on splitting it, especially since it wasn’t a date), we were finishing our drinks and I noticed something that somehow escaped me before. 

“You need to do something about that sunburn,” I said. Of course he was tanned, I knew it back in Mykonos, but I just noticed how burnt he actually was, his skin more red than brown.

He groaned, hiding his face in his arm. “I’m Irish, I don’t do well with the sun.”

I laughed, grabbing his arm to uncover his face. “No, you look good,” I assured, “but you need to take care of your skin now. Are you putting something on it?”

“No,” he said, like it’s the most obvious thing. 

“Okay, come on, there’s a drugstore nearby, we’ll get you something.” I stood up, grabbed my bag and was ready to go, while he was still in his chair, looking at me like I wasn’t quite real. “What?” I asked, feeling a bit insecure now. Did I say something wrong? Cross some line?

He shook his head and stood up, grabbing my hand and leading me out. “Just… No one cared about me like that.”

I blushed, but smiled. He stopped, just like that, three steps out the door to the restaurant, in the middle of the pavement, leaned down and kissed me. It was sweet and quick, but it was exactly what I’ve been waiting for. 

At the drugstore, he laughs when I’m reading all the labels, trying to pick the best thing for him, joking about my expertise and professionalism, but I know he’s grateful. And he’s also surprisingly affectionate, straight away. Keeping a hand on my waist or back when I’m inspecting the shelf, peppering kisses on my neck and cheeks while I’m reading the labels. People are looking at us like we’re disgusting lovesick puppies. But I can’t say I mind, not when it feels so good, not when it makes me so happy, giddy with excitement.

Even though he refused to go back to my place, we still hung out. We ended up walking around for a bit, then getting ice cream and sitting in the park. I got a feeling he didn’t want to say goodbye just yet, either. But at the end, obviously we had to. He drove me back home, which was an unfortunately short drive. He got out of the car, opened my door and then we spent five minutes actually saying goodbye, which involved quite a bit of kissing and hugging. We’re like two teenagers in love and I can’t say I mind. We eventually part with promises of meeting soon and calling and texting. 

My mind should be screaming at me to be careful, to not get too involved too quickly, but somehow, it isn’t. I feel calm, but excited. Happy. Looking forward to the next time I talk to him, see him. Of course I still do want to take it kind of slow, but I also have this weird confidence that he’s not gonna hurt me. That it’s the real thing. It’s funny how feelings can change for the better. All we really need to do is let them and let ourselves see the good. Because if we don’t, the world is gonna be a sad place. And who wants to live in a world like that, when you could have butterflies in your stomach and a great guy trying to prove his good heart to you? 

[heckyeahitsnick]

Her Soul is Like Magnolia

Written By: @heckyeahitsnick​

Pairing: Harry Styles/OC

Word Count: 20,979

Warnings: Some explicit/foul language

Summary: 

Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.  

Harry Styles has a ghost problem.

Mags has a Harry Styles problem.

An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.

“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.

She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.

“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”

She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”

He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.

Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.

“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.

No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.

You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.

The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!

She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.

“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”

Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.

“What?”

Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.

Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”

His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.

“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”

“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“

“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”

“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”

Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.

“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”

The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.

“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong.  “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.

“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.

“Wait! I’m sor – “

“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.

But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.

Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”

She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?

Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.

Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J  Can’t wait ‘till ur home.

If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.

The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween

“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”

“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”

She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”

“But I – “

She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.

While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.

Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.

The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.

Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”

He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.

She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.

It was the boy! The boy from last night!

“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)

“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”

Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.

“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”

His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”

Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.

“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”

“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.

“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween

On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –

“What’re you doin’?”

A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.

The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”

It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.

“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”

He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”

“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.

“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”

“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.

“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”

They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before

Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”

“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”

“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though.  G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.

“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.

“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.

Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.

“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”

“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.

“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.

Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!” He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”

“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.

“Pinky promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Same day, later that evening

Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.

She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.

He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.

Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.

Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.

Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.

Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.

harry!! im so glad u txted!!!

I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?

yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.

Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).

As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.

also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:

Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.

But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.

“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”

She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”

They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous.  A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.

“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”

“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”

Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”

Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”

Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”

Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.

“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”

Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”

Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”

“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”

“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.

He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.

“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”

“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.

“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.

“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”

“Things?” Mags encouraged.

“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”

Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.

“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”

Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.” Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween

The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.

Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.

She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.

Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.

But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.

When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.

“Boo!”

“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”

“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “

“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”

“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?

Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?

“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.

Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.

“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”

“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”

The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”

She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.” “I’ll be waiting.”

She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.

In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”

It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.

Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.

On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.

But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.

“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”

Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.” Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?” “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?

“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.

He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.  

Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”

Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It’s the Beatles.”

“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.

“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.

“Top 40’s? What’s that?”

“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”

Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”

Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”

There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.

“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.

Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.

Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.” “You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”

Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.

As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.

And he wants to. And so he does.

And she doesn’t pull away.

They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way. 

Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”

“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.” “Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.” “Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”

Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.

He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.

“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.

Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.

He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“ “No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.” “Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”

“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.

Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.

Harry would describe it as footsteps.

It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared. 

Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.

Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”

“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug. 

“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly. 

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”

They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.

The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?

Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.

Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.

His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.

“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?” “I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”

Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?” “Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.

Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.

Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.

As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”

Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”

“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.

Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.

Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.” Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“ “What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”

Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.  

Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”

“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.” The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?” Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.

Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.

“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?” “Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?” “Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”

Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.

“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.” “Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?” “No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”

“A medium,” Mags corrected.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.

“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.

As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?” “Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.

Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.

Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.

“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”

“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.

“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”

Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”

“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”

“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”

The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.

“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.” “And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “ Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.” “You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”

And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.

As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.” “My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.

Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.

“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.

Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ” “Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.

She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.

Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ” Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.

“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” “At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”

“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”

“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.

“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”

Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?

“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”

Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”

“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”

Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”

Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”

Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.

It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”

Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.

Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”

Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.

She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.

As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.

Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.” “How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.

“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.” “Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”

Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”

They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.

Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.

Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.

“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “ “Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.

Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”

Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her.  She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.

“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.” “They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.

“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “ “Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.

“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.” The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.

The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.

And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.

The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.

This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.

The figure screamed back.

A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”

“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.

As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.

Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?” “Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.

“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?

Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.

Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.

“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”

He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”

He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.

“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.

“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”

From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?” Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.” They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.

“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.” Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”

Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.” A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”

He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.

Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.

“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.” He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”

Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”

“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.

Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”

Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.

“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”

Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”

“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.

Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.

Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”

He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.

Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”

Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.

“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”

Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.

“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”

And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.

“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.” “Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.

“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”

“Awww,” Niall cooed.

The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.

Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.

She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”

“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!

Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.

It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.

“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.

She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.

Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”

Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.

It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.

Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.

“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?” “You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”

Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.” “Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.” She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.

And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.

Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.

Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.

As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.

A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.

Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.

“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.

Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.

“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.” Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”

It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”

Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.

Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buzz! The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” “How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.

“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”

“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”

Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”

“You promise?” She teased.

His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”

Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.

Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!” Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!” Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”

Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.

As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention. “Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.

“For a picture of us, of course!” Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?” In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.

Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”

His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.

“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”

Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”

The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)

(Just kidding, it is.)

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

welcome to the time travelathon fic challenge!

hi lovelies! i’ve reached a new milestone on here, and im so grateful for every single one. thank you for being so sweet and kind, and supportive! <3 to celebrate, i’ve created my very first fic challenge that i think will be very fun for the new year, ironic to this challenge hehe

→ guidelines to enter: 

send me an inbox or message if you’re interested or planning on joining, and/or please reblog this post with a little message in the tags if you’re thinking about participating! anyone can join, you don’t have to be a writer! 

there is no word count. if you have a small idea, blurb, headcannon, moodboard, etc., that is very much welcomed! if you want to make it a full and long fic, that is great as well! 

it must be harry x ofc, reader, or y/n

deadline is january 31st, or you could definitely post it later as well bc i know life happens and writing isn’t the most important thing in the world. im not really big on deadlines, but i would be too excited to read everyone’s stories, so there’s a deadline for this lol. but if you can’t make the deadline, please let me know! 

smut, angst, fluff is always welcomed! but please avoid triggering topics such as domestic violence, r*pe, suicide, etc. tag and put a trigger warning for certain topics that are needed! 

make sure to tag me @havethetimeofyourstyles and your fic with #timetravelathon, so i could see it! sometimes tumblr doesn’t notify me when im tagged, so please message me if i don’t see it within a day! 

→ where to begin:

below the cut, you will choose a time era or decade to write about that must be written in that year. please put the date/year at the beginning of the story so we know when your story takes place! 

you could write about anything you want, but i will provide some events/movies that happened during those years that you’re free to base your story on! feel free to use the tropes as well! 

then, you will choose a piece of dialogue. you could use however many your heart desires. 

have fun and get creative! i can’t wait to read <3

→ time era: 

anything from the 1920s-2000s 

nothing after 2002, please! 

→ events/movies 

the great gatsby (1920)

grease/pink ladies and the t birds (1950)

hairspray (1960) 

breakfast at tiffany’s (1960) 

woodstock (1960) 

pretty in pink (1980) 

dirty dancing (1980) 

the breakfast club (1980) 

sleepless in seattle (1993) 

empire records (1995) 

you’ve got mail (1998) 

the parent trap (1998) 

serendipity (2001) 

music festivals (1960-2000) 

meeting your favorite band/artist

drive in

summer love

digging and opening up the time capsule 

you don’t need to base it on a movie, but these are some suggestions that are based in those time periods, which i think will be fun to write about! and if you have a movie in mind that’s not on the list, go for it!

→ tropes/aus

friends/enemies/strangers etc to lovers 

actor!harry or actor!yn/ofc

babysitter!yn/ofc

baker!harry 

ceo!harry or ceo!yn/ofc

designer!harry or designer!yn/ofc

famous!yn/ofc

jock!harry x cheerleader!yn/ofc or jock!yn/ofc 

millionaire!harry who owns a mansion, boat, and hosts a lot of parties 

model!harry or model!yn/ofc

(single)dad!harry or singlemom!yn/ofc 

sugardaddy!harry 

teacher/prof!harry or teacher/prof!yn/ofc

uni/frat!harry 

dunkirk/war

friends with benefits 

fake dating 

high school/college sweethearts 

next door neighbors 

royal au 

again, these are ideas that you don’t have to use, but feel free to use them!

→ prompts: 

“And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?”

“You’re cute, I like you!” 

“Because I care! Why don’t you get that?” 

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away?” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. I can’t stop staring at you.” 

“You like that? Tell me how it feels.” 

“Join the club, sweetheart!” 

“This moment, right here, it’s all I need.” 

“You’re actually a fuckin’ dickhead.” 

“Better be quiet before I make you.” 

“Is that your way of threatening me with a good time?” 

“I’ve always been in love with you.” 

“Let them know how good I’m making you feel.” 

“Yeah, I’d like to see you do better.” 

“Why am I naked and you’re still fully clothed?” 

“Don’t even think about it. You’re stuck with me.” 

“Remind me why you’re still talking?” 

“You’re the only one that matters to me.” 

“Well, isn’t this just a lovely surprise.” 

“Fuck me like you mean it.” 

if you’re taking part in this, thank you so much! please have fun with this, and i can’t wait to read your beautiful and creative minds <3 any questions, you could ask me here or message me! 

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home

Ryan Walden, serial mover, children’s toy enthusiast, and overall socially awkward twenty-seven year old, is completely content with being alone. Quarantining in her brand new flat will be nothing short of bearable for her, considering the only thing she needs to keep herself busy is her new job and her kitten, Luna.

But things never tend to go her way. And when she makes a new friend in the form of a tiny human who thinks her clumsiness is the funniest thing he’s ever seen (which, to be fair, is probably true), Ryan’s finding out that being alone isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

Oh, and the fact that his father is unbearably attractive only causes Ryan to wonder how long she can handle being cooped up in this godforsaken apartment complex.

The one in which Harry finds himself psychoanalyzing the quirky girl next door, wondering if the void in his heart can be filled with the simpler things in life. Featuring curly-haired toddlers, a friendly kitten, and enough awkward run-ins in carpeted hallways to put any romantic comedy to shame.

Written for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge!

My masterlist // join the taglist

PREVIEW:

Tripping over one of Luna’s cat toys holding a box filled with assorted kitchenware outside of the front door of her new flat was not how Ryan imagined move-in day to transpire. But alas, she’s ended up arse over tit on the horrendously carpeted flooring, scraping her knee along the way.

The pots rattle together in an obnoxious sound, bringing unwanted attention to the dark-haired woman currently observing her knee with a deep frown settled on her face. It’s definitely rug burn, and it definitely stings in the worst sort of way.

Before Ryan can utter a string of expletives under her breath, she hears the distinct sound of shoes scuffling against the carpet. Just as her dark eyes were about to settle on the person heading her way, two tiny hands settle into her opened palms.

“Daddy always holds my hand when I gets a boo boo. Says it helps to make it all better.” It’s a tiny voice, suitable enough to match the tiny hands, and Ryan’s eyes widen when she sees two smaller green ones looking up at hers under a forehead of unruly chocolate curls. Ryan is sniffling because holy shit, did that fall fucking hurt, but she immediately tries to keep the tears at bay, trying her hardest not to cry in front of a toddler.

The small boy reorganizes his fingers so that he's clutching Ryan’s thumb and forefinger, squeezing both with all of the strength he can muster, closing his eyes as if he was trying to will all the pain away.

Ryan smiles, finding this little human to be unbearably adorable.

“Is it better yet?” He asks impatiently, looking at the cut on her knee with the utmost care, as if he could cause the bleeding to stop just by staring at the wound.

She chuckles, still sitting on the floor. “Yeah, I reckon you fixed me all up, champ. What’s your name?” 

His small hands finally leave hers. “Jackson. What’s yours?” he asks, one coiled curl falling over his forehead and in his line of vision when he places his hands back to his side. Ryan thinks he’s due for a trim.

“I’m Ryan.”

“Ryan? But that’s a boy name,” Jackson says, confusion written all over his tiny scrunched up face. Ryan just shrugs.

“I didn’t pick it, mate.” Before the little boy can say anything else, Ryan hears the door a few feet to her left open, a frantic voice calling out, the sound echoing throughout the quiet hallway.

“Jackson!? Jack! How many times have I—”

At the same time as Jackson, Ryan’s head snaps up in the direction of a tall man with flushed cheeks heading their way. He’s tall, wearing comfortable clothes and a light jacket appropriate for the spring weather outside. His hair is amok, messy waves piled together in a plastic claw clip atop his head, a blue medical mask hanging around his wrists. His eyes dart from the small child to Ryan’s, a matching look of puzzlement etched onto his face.

Ryan thinks he’s probably Jackson’s older brother, with the way his facial features add a youthful flair to his disheveled demeanor. His hair is wild, he probably hasn’t shaved in a few weeks (not that Ryan finds it unattractive), and his eyes are wide and worrisome.

“Sorry daddy, the lady fell. I was holding her hand to make her boo boo all better,” Jackson replies, looking completely calm under this man’s gaze.

This man. This attractive man. This man who is now standing directly in front of them, hands resting against his hips, head cocked to the side in an authoritative manner. This man, with matching features, who was just referred to as “daddy.”

Ryan gulps harshly, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.

[wild3flow3r]

Santa Baby // HS

Hey everyone! It’s been a long time since I posted some writing, but this season I was a part of @goldenbluesuit​ Christmas Song Fic Challenge! It was so much fun and I want to give her a huge thanks for allowing me to participate! Make sure to read all of the other fics in this challenge that have been posted + will be posted in the upcoming days. Without further ado, here’s my piece!

word count: 1.4k

cw: none! just tried to make something sweet :)

In my twenty-five years of life, I never, not once, imagined myself falling into bed with a mall Santa. Let alone one I detested with every fiber of my being. But alas, it was Christmas Eve and even stranger things have happened during the holidays. But honestly, this probably isn’t the strangest thing to have ever happened. This cannot be the first time a mall Santa and his most trusted elf have found themselves in this most uncompromising of positions in the Elf’s flat just a quick cab ride away from Santa’s village.

His lips brush over my jawline before moving down to my neck, his teeth catching on some skin. I feel his hands trying to undo all the knots on the front of my shift. At one point he just starts pulling at them in aggravation, a low groan falling past his lips and onto my skin. I can’t help but laugh, which only earns me a hard squeeze on both sides of my hips.

“You’re being rude,” he mutters. Again I laugh.

“I quite vividly remember somebody stealing my lunch out of the fridge today. Now that was rude.”

He lifts his head up so his green eyes can gaze into mine. The shade of them is darker. If it’s from the lack of light, or from annoyance at me and my dress, or just because of what I feel poking against my thigh under his red trousers, I’m not sure.

“Mabel,” he groans. I am very much dancing on his last nerve now.

“Harry,” I sing-song back. “You should be better at those knots by now, honestly. We’ve been going at this for weeks. You’ve had practice.”

“You mess them up like this on purpose. I know it.”

I met Harry Styles one day in the middle of November when Santa’s village opened for business at our city mall. Originally, he was supposed to be an elf just like me. But then the Santa the mall had hired had fallen ill, and Harry was asked to step up in replacement. He very much did not look like Santa, even with the beard and glasses he was forced to wear, but the children, and their parents, loved him so much, for reasons I could never comprehend, even with being with him as I am now. And because he was such a hit, the mall asked him to step in as Santa permanently.

Even from the first moment I met him, I knew no good would come of him. First off, green eyes were my weakness. But then he opened up that big dumb mouth of his and made fun of my (handmade but mall approved) elf costume. Well, now that costume was making fun of him.

“This feels like something that could end you up on the naughty list.”

With a big roll of my eyes, I kick the elf boots off my feet, hearing the bells on them jingle when they hit the ground.

Another check off on why I found him so detestable. He took his job way too seriously. And not as in he actually thought of himself as Santa, but more the power dynamic between Santa and his elf. Often times I was the punchline to a joke he was making to a child and their parent. All harmless, of course, but they wound their ways under my skin until I was ready to burst with annoyance. And the constant references on finding myself on the naughty list, if I hadn’t found myself in bed with him nearly every night since the day we met, I would show him what would actually get me on the naughty list. Also, he likes to steal my lunches, a big fault in his personality.

I hadn’t meant to start sleeping with him. We were five days into our working relationship when it happened. He often liked to turn everything into a game. The staring contest was our most popular, but there was also the quiet game, and sometimes even a race on who could get to the cab first. He loves a competition. I, on the other hand, find them rather aggravating, but that’s probably because I usually lose. But I don’t know. One second we were in the breakroom by ourselves having a tough match at the staring contest, and the next his lips were on mine. It was like all this tension I’d been feeling for him was slowly being released. And that night, with one of his arms wrapped around my shoulder as we both laid on our backs, his breath slow and steady with sleep, it was the calmest I’ve felt in a long time. I wanted to do it again, and I guess so did he. So unless one of us really has plans that they cannot cancel, we find ourselves most nights after work at one of our homes. Usually mine, since Harry has a nosey roommate.

“Oh poor me, I’m so worried.”

“Just help me get it off.” His pout is almost adorable. Focus, Mabel.

“Stop eating my lunches. I don’t make them for you.”

“So you did tangle them on purpose!”

I shrug, a smirk playing across my lips. “Someone needs to teach you a lesson. Only good boys get what they ask for.”

He nuzzles his head back against my shoulder, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. “I promise to stop,” he whispers. The smile on his lips gives away his lie.

I hum in response. I push at his shoulders until finally he releases me and falls against the mattress on his back. His fingers brush against the back of my hand before I stand up and head over to the mirror. A knot like this would confuse Harry, but I know the ins and outs of it. It only takes me a few moments to get it free, but Harry still found himself bored waiting. I hear him fiddling around with the radio on my nightstand, landing on a station playing a Christmas Hits countdown. The first few cords of Santa Baby play through the speakers. Kylie Minogue starts to sing just as I turn to face him again.

His eyes grow wide as a shed the dress off my body, now only wearing pale green leggings. No matter how many times he’s seen me naked, he always makes it feel like the first. New. Exciting. Sexy.

He’s been sans his shirt and red coat for a while now, but his red trousers stand at my attention. One moment he’s on the bed, staring, and the next he’s on my like a lion on their prey. He throws me back on the bed before covering my body once more. Now his head travels down from my neck to my chest to my navel, humming along to the song the entire time.

“Been an awful good girl,” he mutters along with Kylie while peppering kisses against my hips as he peels the leggings off.

My fingers brush through his curls. I tug at them lightly before he moves any further down. He looks up at my with a question on his face.

“What’s going to happen after Christmas?” I whisper.

It’s been on my mind this last week. After tomorrow we would no longer be working together. We would no longer be seeing each other. I loate this man in front of me. But also, my heart has grown quite fond of him. And he’s really good with what he does in bed. Like really good. And sometimes he’s funny. Alright, a lot of the time he’s funny. And he really is kind, when he’s not trying to get a rise out of me. But we’d never put a label on this when we first started sleeping together. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t know what we will be. But I’d like to know now, to protect my heart if he decides to leave my life for good in two days.

He comes up again, pressing soft kisses against my lips until I’m smiling. “You don’t think you can get rid of my that easily, do you?”

“We never talked about-”

“I know. “But I’m not going to disappear after tomorrow. You’re too much fun to annoy to do that.”

“Oh shut it,” I mutter.

“With pleasure,” he grins before moving back south.

I don’t know what December 26th will bring, to see whether or not Harry and I have been living in a Christmas induced bubble. I don’t know if we’ll make it to the New Year. Maybe we could make it to Easter. But all I know for certain is right now, with Harry between my legs going as slow and tortuous as he can, and Kylie Minogue asking Santa to hurry down the chimney tonight. Kylie knew what she was talking about.

[nightingiall]

cold coffee in the evening

Nisha Lall is sort of used to living in the shadow of her older sister. She doesn’t have anything against that. After all, she’d much rather hide out in a corner with a good romance novel than be in the spotlight. This proves to be somewhat tricky when she’s chosen as her sister’s maid of honor for her over-the-top Indian wedding and she can’t seem to evade everyone’s attention. She’d probably be able to handle it if it weren’t for a certain blue-eyed best man who doesn’t seem to notice how impossibly nervous she gets in his presence and has made it his mission to constantly seek her out. 

A story of hopeless romantics, an easter wedding, a maid of honor who has a really big crush on the best man, and a night in a tiny hotel room (with only one bed) that may or may not be the beginning of something. 

written for the 1dff discord server fic challenge; based on the “there was only one bed” trope with an easter twist. 

read on wattpad // read on tumblr // character page

[1dffchallenges]

Growing Pains

Written By: @rosegoldsweetpea​

Characters: (Daniella/Harry)

Summary: When a wish on a sixteenth birthday candle goes wrong, Daniella finds herself ten years into the future. Navigating a new boyfriend, her best friend who is no longer her best friend, and her crumbling relationship with her family, Daniella finds out that adulthood is not everything she ever imagined.

A “13 Going on 30″ AU

Warnings: Language

I had boobs.

I should preface this by saying that I’ve technically always had boobs. They existed before this moment. But they had always been tiny. They were what my mother affectionately called “mosquito bites.” As I held my new boobs in my hands, however, I could tell these were not mosquito bites. These were actual boobs that I saw on models in magazines. I wasn’t wearing a bra— which I hadn’t needed to wear anyway because the size of my boobs had always left something to be desired. Lifting my silk sleep shirt away from my boobs, I examined every inch of them. Sure enough, there was a small scar underneath, like someone had cut my boob open with a knife. 

“I got a boob job?” I whispered to myself.

“What did you say, babe?”

Along with suddenly having boobs, apparently there was someone in my house.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, the one thing my father taught me to do whenever there was a stranger around me. The man standing behind me had floppy brunette hair and tattoos covering his arms. Definitely not someone who would ever be allowed in my house, per my father’s rules. In fact, I think my father would have an aneurysm if I ever brought home a boy that had tattoos. This mystery boy’s eyes widened when I screamed in his face. “Babe, are you okay?” He moved like he was going to rush over to me and I took an immediate leap back.

“Who are you? Why are you in my house?” My voice screeched out, reaching an octave I knew was probably unpleasant to his ears. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He moved again, but I was quick to mirror his movements, scooting backwards. I nearly fell on my ass because there was a couch in the way of my step, but I managed to right myself before I did any real damage. “Daniella, are you okay?”

“How do you know my name?” I asked, grabbing the nearest object to use as a weapon. It happened to be a pillow, so it wasn’t very effective, but it made me feel better. I could throw it at him and block his vision while I found the kitchen in this place and got a knife. “Who are you?” I asked again.

“Liam. Your boyfriend of three and a half years.”

“I don’t know a Liam!” I argued, throwing the pillow in his direction. I didn’t stick around to see if he caught it or not before I was tumbling through the house. I wasn’t familiar with the layout of this house, like I had been with the floorplan of my childhood home, which I was fairly certain I had fallen asleep in last night. This was some kind of apartment, decorated with too many neutrals for my taste. There was a giant mirror I passed by, decorated around its edge with swirling cream wood and gold accents. I managed only a glance in its reflection as I moved, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks. 

In the reflection was me, only it wasn’t me. Last I remembered, I did not have a boob job, my hair was short, and my eyebrows had looked horrendous because I had accidentally plucked them too much. This Daniella had long hair that fell to her lower back and her eyebrows looked like they had been recently waxed. And then there was, obviously, the boob job. “What the hell is going on?” I exclaimed, sure that this mirror was some fancy one that only Bill Gates owned. It showed you what you wanted to look like. Or, if it was a real mirror and not a billionaire one, it was obviously broken or something. 

“Daniella, sit down,” Liam said placatingly, his voice soft and soothing. He didn’t touch me, which I appreciated, but he kept his arms out in the likely case that I would fall to my knees as I dragged myself to the tan couch in the middle of the living room of the random apartment. “Do you need water? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I stuttered out, my breathing coming quickly. I hadn’t had a panic attack since I was thirteen, when I had thought my best friend Harry was going to move away. “Where am I?”

“You’re in your apartment.” Liam gently sat on the couch next to me. “I woke up and you were gone. Then I came out here and you’re just standing in the living room. Do you think you had a sleepwalking episode?”

I didn’t sleepwalk. At least, I didn’t think I did. But this Liam guy was insinuating that I did, in fact, sleepwalk often enough for him to be concerned about it. “You’re really my boyfriend?” I asked hesitantly, my breathing still shallow. “You didn’t try to drug me and kidnap me, right?”

“What?” The word left his mouth in such a surprised and offended tone that I knew it wasn’t true. “No.”

“Tell me facts about myself, so I know you aren’t just lying,” I demanded, trying to keep my tears at bay and my breath from coming in and out shallowly.

He didn’t even take a second to think. “Your name is Daniella Araceli Rodriguez. Your birthday is February first. Your mother’s name is Alejandra. You once threw up on a cast member at Disneyland. When you were younger, you wanted to be a veterinarian, but then found out that they were the ones who euthanized animals and you started crying. You broke your arm in the seventh grade because your old best friend Harry dared you to flip over some monkey bars and you fell.” 

Okay, so obviously this boy knew me. Either that, or he was a fantastic stalker. 

“Liam, I think I’m going crazy,” I whispered, assured at least a little that this Liam guy actually knew me. “The last thing I remember is my sixteenth birthday. My friend Harry was there, and some girls from my school. Gianna’s brother was bringing beer...” I trailed off.

“How about I call Gianna? I’m sure she’d be able to help you. I want you to stay on the couch until she gets here, okay? I don’t think it’s a good thing you can’t remember anything.”

“I’m still friends with Gianna?” I asked breathlessly.

Liam’s brows furrowed again. “Babe, Gianna is your best friend. I’m gonna go call her, okay? Maybe she can call into work for the two of you.”

I could do nothing but nod as Liam stood from the couch and made his way over to the kitchen counter. I could see his phone resting there and a little tiny key rack with two sets of keys in it. Obviously, this Liam guy and I were very close. Close enough, I noticed, for us to live together. Upon my survey of the apartment, I realized there were pictures of us plastered everywhere, as well as a pretty cocoa-skinned girl with wild curls. Her face was familiar to me, albeit a little bit older. So Liam hadn’t been lying. I was really still friends with Gianna.

Harry was nowhere in the pictures.

This was weird to me for two reasons. First of all, Harry loved being in photos. Though we had both been pretty nerdy in high school, he was the life of the party. So I found it hard to believe he would have stayed out of the pictures that were now decorating my living room. The second reason I found it weird was because Harry was my best friend in the entire world. 

The circumstances of my friendship with Harry went as follows: we met in kindergarten when a nasty first grader had stolen my lunch in the cafeteria and Harry had stood up to him. The first grader ended up punching him in the nose. I had felt so bad that I had burst into tears and held up the end of my shirt for Harry to use as a tissue to block the blood as we awkwardly stumbled to the nurse’s office. Our mothers had arrived there at the same time, Anne Styles freaking out because her son’s nose was bleeding and my own mother Alejandra freaking out because the bottom of my shirt was bloody.

The next day, I asked my mother to make another sandwich and pack extra oreos. I sat next to Harry at lunch and thanked him for being so nice. And thus, our friendship had begun. 

It only grew stronger when I realized that he lived down my street, just a short walk and even shorter bike ride away. There wasn’t a day that went by where I wasn’t begging my parents to ride down to Harry’s house. Their answer was usually different renditions of “if Anne is okay with it, then we are too” and since Anne Styles was an angel on Earth, she was usually okay with it. 

“Babe,” I heard Liam say from the kitchen. He seemed to be off the phone, if him holding it in his hand was anything to go by. “Gianna called the both of you out of work and is on her way here.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, “are you gonna be here too?”

A guilty look crossed his face. “I...can be if you need me.”

“What do you do?”

He looked concerned again. As he should be. If he was telling the truth and we had been dating for the past three and a half years, shouldn’t I know what he did for work? “I’m a foster care recruiter.”

My mouth fell open. I was sure I looked like a fish. I was apparently dating someone who was incredibly good-looking, seemed nice, and worked as a foster care recruiter? “That sounds like a pretty important job. You should go.”

“You’re pretty important to me, too,” he argued.

“I’ll be fine. Really. I...remember Gianna and I’ll probably be more comfortable with her around anyway.” He still looked hesitant, so I reached out and grabbed his hand in my own. His fingers dwarfed mine. “Go. I’m fine. Hopefully Gianna can help me sort this out.”

He looked like he wanted to kiss me, but thought better of it. Instead, he pressed a hesitant kiss to my knuckles. “Alright. I’ll be back around six, okay? If you need me at all, call me. I’m serious, babe. My boss will understand.”

“I will.” Releasing his hand, I gave him a wobbly smile. I wondered if he could tell I was about to burst into tears. “I promise.”

Liam seemed as if he’d rather be shot in the foot than leave my side when I was so obviously going through something neither of us knew how to deal with, but he nodded and stood from the couch. He grabbed one set of the keys on the little rack and put his phone in the pocket, grabbing a blazer from a fancy and antique looking coat rack near the front door. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered pathetically.

And then the door closed behind him.

I spent the next twenty minutes trying to think about the last thing I remembered. We were having a sixteenth birthday party for me in the basement of my childhood home, and I had invited Gianna and a couple of her friends over. Obviously, Harry was there. We were setting up beer pong because Gianna insisted her brother would get us actual beer to play with. Harry had given me a beautiful mini-model of the house he was working on for his theatre tech class. It was pretty much his dream to become a set designer for theatre and cinema. He had produced a small strawberry cupcake from the fridge we had in the basement, which was my absolute favorite flavor in the world. 

What the hell had I wished for when I had blown out the candle? I couldn’t remember.

A knock on the door cleared the fog of my memory, and it was like I couldn’t stand up fast enough. It also felt like my legs were like jelly. By the time I made it to the door, I wouldn’t have been surprised if two minutes had passed even though the walk was only about twenty feet. Yanking it open, I was met with the familiar face of my friend from high school, holding two iced coffees and a little bakery bag. The second she saw me, she smiled.

“Hi, sweetie. You remember me, right? Liam said you were fuzzy on some things.”

I didn’t answer. I just threw myself into her arms.

“Oh thank God,” she cried out, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me as tightly as she could manage. “I would have burst into tears if you said you didn’t remember me.” We stood there clinging to each other, forgetting that the iced coffee was melting and dripping condensation down my back. “I brought you an orange cranberry scone, your favorite. Hopefully this helps.”

I didn’t remember orange cranberry being my favorite. But this was Gianna, and I trusted her a hell of a lot more than I trusted myself right now.

“What is the last thing you remember?” she asked me when we settled onto my couch, the coffee and scone putting something in my empty stomach and making me feel a little better. “And don’t even worry about Nick being upset. I told him that you were having a family emergency.” I didn’t know exactly who Nick was, but using context clues, I was able to guess he was my boss.

“The last thing I remember is my sixteenth birthday party.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Funny. I would have thought you wouldn’t remember that. We got absolutely plastered.”

I didn’t even remember that. Harry gave me his mini-model house, I blew out the candle on my cupcake, my mother and I got into an argument about something…

“I wished my mom would start treating me like an adult,” I said to myself, the words finally clicking into my head. Harry’s fingers, wrapped around the bottom of the cupcake wrapper, grinning as I closed my eyes and blew out through my mouth. Harry complained because I spit on him, but had gotten his revenge when he smashed the cupcake into my face.

“What?” Gianna asked.

“Nothing. Sorry.” My head was spinning. “What do we do?”

“We’re designers for Nicholas Jennings. We’re currently working on some pieces for his summer showcase.”

“Nicholas Jennings?” I breathed out. Nicholas Jennings had just been starting out his career when I was sixteen, but he had already been predicted to be one of the top designers by the end of the decade. He was known for his avant-garde looks that were still wearable for the workplace. “We work for Nicholas Jennings?”

“Work for him? Sweetie, you’re basically his muse,” Gianna stated excitedly. “His entire winter collection was based on that movie you recommended to him. The Iron Giant?”

Another thing that was familiar. Harry and I would sit on the couch in my basement and watch Iron Giant at least twice a week. He always made fun of me for crying, but I knew it made him tear up too. I could only imagine what Nicholas Jennings had come up with if he were using the film as a concept for an entire clothing collection. However, I doubted Nicholas Jennings had fattened himself up with oversalted and greasy, buttered popcorn when watching the movie like Harry and I had.

“And…” I leaned forward, as if it were a secret, whispering even though it was only the two of us in the apartment. “And I got a boob job?”

“And they look fantastic. I know you’re insecure about the scarring it left, but Liam doesn’t mind and your tits look great.”

My hands went up to cup them again, sure I was still imagining this whole thing. Gianna just laughed. 

“Listen, we are going to take today and research what’s going on, yeah? I was reading something about Kleine Levin Syndrome last week, which could be it, but Liam said you weren’t sleepwalking…”

Gianna’s voice trailed off as a lightbulb went off in my head. Research. Research like contacting the only person who could talk me through what the hell was going on at this moment in time. I ignored Gianna’s surprise when I abruptly stood from the couch and walked to the kitchen counter, where my phone was resting. I had an iPhone when I was sixteen, but this was some fancy one that didn’t have a home button. It took me at least six tries to get it open, but when it finally did, I didn’t hesitate to click the phone button.

Gianna stared at me as the other line rang, the little intervals between obnoxious dial tones spent biting my thumb nail. 

“Hey, it’s Harry. Sorry I can’t get to the phone, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you later.”

“Harry!” I shouted, surprised that he still had the same phone number and excited that this meant I could talk to one person who knew me better than anyone else. “It’s Daniella. I really need to talk to you, so call me back when you can. I have the same number. Er, if you don’t remember the number, it’s 205-1340.” I awkwardly pressed the end call button and tossed my phone back onto the counter.

“Harry Styles? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Gianna stared at me with sympathetic eyes. “Sweetie, we haven’t talked to Harry since high school.”

I think she was expecting me to gasp or something, but instead I snorted. Yeah, right. Harry and I not talking? There was a higher chance I would spontaneously combust. Maybe we weren’t as close as we used to be when I was sixteen, but even that was highly unlikely. Harry was the one person I told everything to. “Okay,” I said, just to placate her, but I was still chuckling a little bit in disbelief.

She gave me a look. “Okay, but...don’t be surprised if he doesn’t call back, okay?”

“He’ll call,” I promised, more certain about this fact than anything else in my life. The most serious fight Harry and I had ever gotten into was when I had accidentally killed his goldfish. He hadn’t spoken to me for three weeks, and the only reason he finally did was because I went to go apologize and burst into tears. Harry was awful when someone was crying. 

“Which reminds me,” Gianna said after several moments, pulling out her phone, “I need to call Nick and say that we’re not going to make it to the party tonight.”

“Party?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. We were invited to the launch of Christian Siriano’s new collection. But Nick will completely understand if you aren’t feeling well.”

I was invited to a collection launch party? I felt the smile on the face widen. At least in the midst of waking up ten years older, I had a pretty decent life. “We don’t have to cancel. As long as you stick by my side, it should be okay.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I want to go,” I promised. “Maybe it’ll help me remember something.”

Gianna looked uncertain, but also was biting her lip like she was considering my idea. After a few moments of considering me, she groaned. “Fine. But Liam will want to come to make sure that you’re alright. I’ll call Nick and Rachael.”

“Rachael?”

“Your assistant.”

“Right.” I had an assistant. Sixteen-year-old Daniella was snorting at me right now. “I can call Rachael, if you want to call Nick. What time is the party?”

“Not until eight.” She looked at her watch and sighed. “I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting a potential new employee for lunch. You’ll be okay here by yourself, right?” She looked so worried that I sent her a small grin. 

“I’m doing better. Seeing a familiar face helped. And I know Harry will call back and he’ll help.”

Her face fell. “Right. Harry will call.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Well, if you’re sure you’ll be okay, then I’m off. Call me if you need anything, okay? Or Liam.”

“I will, Gianna. I promise.” I couldn’t stop myself from reaching forward and giving her a giant hug. I honestly didn’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been here to calm me down. “Thank you.”

“I’m always here for you, sweetie,” she whispered, squeezing me back before releasing. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll have my driver pick you up at around seven forty-five so you don’t have to worry about getting an Uber or anything.”

Gianna left, shutting the door behind her quietly. I could do nothing but stand in the middle of my apartment, staring at the home I’d somehow managed to create for myself, despite my not remembering it. I tried searching through the pictures on my wall to see if I had any with my mother and father, but before I could I remembered Gianna’s words about calling Rachael and took my phone out.

She answered on the second ring. “Hello Miss Rodriguez. How can I help you?”

It was then I realized I had absolutely nothing to say to her. “What are you doing tonight?” was the only thing that blurted out of my mouth.

“Um...staying here to work on that collection concept you asked me to?”

“Oh. Why aren’t you going to the party?” I questioned. If Rachael worked there as my assistant, then wouldn’t she have gotten an invite? Why would she willingly choose to stay and work when there was a freaking Christian Siriano launch party?

“I wasn’t invited, Miss Rodriguez.”

“Well that’s stupid,” I claimed. “I am officially inviting you.”

“You’re...you’re inviting me to a launch party?” She sounded confused, like I’d never interacted with her before. Which was insane. Had Gianna been wrong when she said Rachael was my assistant? “You’ve never done that before.”

“Sure I have!” I did not, in fact, know if I ever had. Then, I had the best idea ever. “Oh! Can you do me a huge favor please?”

“Yes ma’am. What do you need?”

“Could you find out where Harry Styles lives?” Surely Harry wouldn’t mind if I dropped by. I was getting a little anxious as the minutes ticked by without a reply, as Harry usually had his phone glued to him. Since we were both apparently twenty-six now, it was entirely possible he was at work, but I would still feel comfortable knowing I could see him in person rather than texting over the phone. 

“Of course. I’ll email you his address. Is there anything else you need, Miss Rodriguez?”

“Nope, that’s it, Rachael. Thank you! I’ll see you tonight!”

“Right…see you tonight, Miss Rodriguez.”

When I hung up the phone, I had no clue what to do. Being in a body I didn’t really know, in an apartment I wasn’t familiar with, was terrifying. So I decided to take the time to snoop around my own place, starting in the kitchen. I opened up cupboards and drawers, finding fancy chrome silverware and glass plates that were neatly stacked in the cupboard above my kitchen sink. The entire kitchen was decorated with black paint and dark wood, something I never thought my own kitchen would look like. It was sleek and modern and so far from my colorful blue-cabinet and white tile kitchen at my childhood home that it was almost shocking.

Opening up the fridge, I examined its contents. Inside was nothing but vegetables and almond milk. I was pretty sure I had never once had almond milk and there were purple vegetables in one of the drawers. Did purple vegetables even exist? I closed it, suddenly frightened of what Liam and I seemed to eat on a day-to-day basis. Moving out from my kitchen, I examined the living room with passing interest. The one thing I was really concerned about was my bedroom.

This room was nearly as dark as the kitchen, with canned lights dimmed when I flicked the light switch on. It was attached to a bathroom which had a heavenly looking tub. Deciding to start in the bathroom, I rummaged through some of the drawers, finding an expensive Tom Ford cologne that I assumed belonged to Liam. in my own drawers there was a variety of face creams and serums that I had only ever dreamed about purchasing when I was sixteen. 

Before I could examine my bedroom too closely, my phone chirped. I had honestly forgotten I was holding it, so the sound made me jump before I realized it was probably Rachael with Harry’s information. I tried to hurriedly unlock my phone again, still struggling a little with the technology, but managed to get Rachael’s new email opened.

Harry Styles, 515 W 52nd Street. Avalon Clinton apartment complex.

Grinning, I managed to quickly strip my silk sleepwear off and change into the first outfit I found, not bothering to even zip up my boots all the way as I exited my building.

~

Harry’s apartment complex was an incredible building. My jaw dropped when I saw it, figuring that to live somewhere like this, he must have been doing pretty well at whatever he was doing. 

I found the intercom well enough, pressing the button that had H. Styles written on it in cursive script. It crackled to life underneath my touch, and just like drinking a cool sip of water after being dehydrated for thirty days, hearing the deep baritone of Harry’s voice instantly soothed me. “Hello? Who is it?”

“It’s me!” I screamed, nearly sinking in the relief that this was the Harry that I was looking for. “Daniella!” 

“Shit, the fucking thing’s broken again. I can’t hear you, but ring twice if you’re from Amazon. I’ve been waiting on that package for days.”

I didn’t know what he had bought on Amazon and it was most likely important, but I didn’t care. I hit the button twice and the door immediately opened up. Once I checked to make sure I was headed towards the right floor, I scurried inside and into the lobby.

There was a front desk, and the concierge smiled at me when I walked in, but I was on a mission. I hastily made my way to the elevators, pressing the fifth floor button and willing the doors to close faster than they were. Sure I resembled a drunk cheetah with the rush in which I was moving, I almost crashed into Harry’s door when the elevator finally stopped and let me off on his floor.

“Harry!” I demanded, pounding on the door in a series of succinct knocks that portrayed my urgency.

The door swung open and I immediately took a step back. There, standing on the other side of the door, was my best friend in the entire world. Long gone were the shoulder-length strands of curly brown hair that I had grown up with, instead cut short. He had some glasses perched on his nose and something that looked like paint on his hand. He was wearing comfortable looking jogger pants and a white shirt, no shoes or socks on his feet.

In my pleasure to see him, it took me a couple of moments to realize that he did not look equally as pleased to see me.

“Daniella,” he said stiffly, opening the door a little wider and leaning on the threshold. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting this.”

I launched myself at him.

He let out a “oof” when our bodies collided, but I was holding onto Harry and suddenly everything seemed okay in the world. My arms wrapped around his neck in a vice-like grip, holding him to me like he might disappear if I loosened my hold even a little. He robotically moved his arms around my shoulders to hug me back, but his stiff posture turned soothing when he realized that on top of squeezing him with all my might, I was also sobbing. 

I prided myself on not being a weepy person, but this entire morning had warranted a good cry, in my personal opinion.

“C’mon inside,” he said softly, gently prying my hands off him. Once we were both inside his apartment, he shut the door and moved to his kitchen. I wondered if I should follow him. Just when I had mustered up enough nerve to take a step, however, he had returned with a tissue in his fingers. “Want to sit?”

I nodded and let him lead me to the colorful orange couch he had in the middle of his living room. Well...living room was a little bit of an overstatement. He lived in a studio apartment, so everything was an open floor plan, save for the small door I saw that led to a bathroom. His place had much more color than mine did, and I found myself jealous at the styling choices. This place was much more me.

“Feeling better?” Harry asked, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. This in itself was weird, considering sitting on a couch with Harry almost always ended up with us sitting as close as we physically could. This was because we were both blanket-hoggers and being close meant neither one of us was trying to jip the other out of their respective half of the blanket. 

“I don’t know what’s going on, H,” I told him, my voice cracking as the emotions of this morning hit me all at once. “I...I think I’ve got amnesia or something. I don’t remember anything past my sixteenth birthday. And then I’ve got Gianna telling me that you and I don’t talk anymore?” I looked over at him and let out a crazed laugh. “How crazy is that?”

“We don’t talk anymore, Daniella,” he replied. “We stopped being friends shortly after your sixteenth birthday.”

Tears gathered in my eyes again. “No, I refuse to believe that. We’re Harry and Daniella. You’re my best friend in the entire world.”

He looked genuinely sorry to be telling me this, but shook his head. “No, Daniella. Not anymore.”

This time, I let the tears fall. My fingers curled in on themselves, balling into fists as I tried to stop myself from biting them or ripping my hair out. We sat in silence for several moments, my heart racing in anxiety because here was Harry, the person I knew most in the world and who knew me in return, and he was saying that we weren’t friends anymore. The bike rides, the late nights watching movies, the careful and soothing hugs he gave me...they were all gone. This Harry didn’t know me, not like I knew him. And who was to say I even knew him anymore?

“Why?” It was the only question I could seem to let escape.

Harry sighed, rubbing his hands over the thighs of his jeans. “I don’t know, Daniella. We just grew apart.” 

“People like us don’t just grow apart, H.”

“We did.”

“There’s got to be a reason!” I exclaimed, and I could hear that my breathing was labored. My chest felt like it was constricting, like someone had taken hold of my lungs and was crushing them between their hands.

He sensed the anxious change in my breathing and his eyes widened. “Hey, hey, Daniella. Take deep breaths for me, okay?” His body shifted off the couch and suddenly he was on his knees in front of me, holding my arms in his hands. He was tall enough to nearly be at eye-level with me. “C’mon, Dani. Breathe. Can you tell me five things you see?”

I was sure I looked a mess, with tears streaming down my cheeks and on the verge of a mental breakdown. “What?” 

“Tell me five things you see, Dani. Count them for me.”

I still couldn’t breathe properly, so his words sounded muffled like we were underwater. But I managed to get the point of his demand. My eyes shifted from his impossibly green ones to find something to latch onto. “You’ve got yellow and red throw pillows on your bed.”

“Good. Count four more for me.”

It was impossible to ignore the soft cadence of his voice. “You’ve got granite countertops. You’ve got playbills on your bookshelf.” It made me wonder if his dreams of designing sets had really worked out. “You’ve got clay on the counter. And there are sculpting tools next to it.”

“There she is,” he said softly, a hand hesitantly raising to brush my hair back from my face, where it was sticking because of the tears. “Now count five things you can feel.”

“The couch. My nail polish. Your shirt.” I brushed my finger against the shoulder of it. “My hair. The paint on your hands.”

He looked down at them, as if remembering. “I scrubbed, but it wouldn’t come off.”

“Typical,” I choked out, giving him a tight smile. My breathing was beginning to even out and return to normal, but I still felt like someone had placed the weight of the world on my shoulders. “What happened, H? Tell me.” I had to know. I had to know why we suddenly weren’t friends, like we had been for our entire lives.

I heard a sigh escape him, but luckily his fingers didn’t retreat. I think if he pulled away, I might have started up on the attack again. “I don’t know, Daniella. We just grew apart. I guess it was you hanging out with Gianna in high school. You just stopped bothering with me. Or maybe it was the funeral—”

“What funeral?” I interrupted.

“C’mon Dani,” he whispered brokenly, “you know what funeral. Don’t make me say it.”

“I don’t remember anything, Harry. I swear to you. I woke up this morning and my...my boyfriend of three and a half years that I don’t remember at all was trying to get me to calm down because I didn’t know who I was. I look like me and feel like me, but at the same time...I don’t? For Christ’s sake, Harry, I’ve gone and gotten myself a boob job!”

He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink. “Obviously I hadn’t noticed, Dani. I’m not looking there.”

“It’s hard to miss them!” I was glad this seemed to get a laugh out of him, but he turned serious once again.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“Not a thing past the night of my sixteenth birthday. The last thing I remember is you giving me my cupcake and then blowing out the candle and you trying to smash it in my face and then...nothing.”

His thumbs on my shoulders began to rub across the fabric of my jacket. It was cold in his apartment, but it was a comfortable kind of cool. To be honest, I hadn’t felt as comfortable this morning as I was sitting here now, with my best friend looking at me like I was something fragile that was about to shatter. At this moment, I didn’t care if he thought I was weak. If it meant that he would explain what the hell was going on and tell me that we could be friends again, I would cry a thousand more tears.

“Dani,” he whispered in a tiny voice, “I’m so sorry.”

“What funeral?” I asked again.

He flinched, like he was avoiding the question. Then, his arms moved to caress my face, anticipating my reaction to his next words. He cradled my cheeks like I was going to fall apart. “Your dad’s.”

I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him, processing his words. That couldn’t be right. I had just spoken to my father less than twelve hours ago, when he had helped me set up a board game table in our basement as asked if we had a couple minutes for a quick round of Operation. My father was always a sore winner. He had purposely jostled the table so I would hit the metal and lose my turn. 

“No, you’re lying,” I mumbled, but I knew deep down that Harry would never lie to me. He was honest to a fault.

“You...you weren’t at the funeral. You and he were in an argument of some kind and you didn’t show up.”

I shook my head, his hands moving with me as he cupped my cheeks. He anticipated the tears, catching them with his thumb the second they started to fall. “No, H,” I groaned out, the feeling of panic twelve times worse with the new news. “No, no, no.” I was a blubbering mess. He didn’t move from his spot, slotted between my thighs and holding my face tightly in his hands. “No, there’s got to be some mistake. I would have gone. I would have.”

“Maybe you did,” he said in a soothing voice, brushing my tears away. “I left pretty early. Maybe you just showed up late.” But we both knew his words were empty. He didn’t truly mean them. “Let’s get you a glass of water, yeah?”

“No!” I clutched onto his fingers, gripping them tight enough to leave bruises. He didn’t pull away or wince in pain. 

“Alright,” he said soothingly, “I won’t go anywhere.”

He allowed me to sit on his couch, crying my eyes out until there were no more tears that could possibly come. Last night, I went to bed with everyone I ever loved in the world content and safe. Now, I had lost my friendship with Harry, I didn’t remember this insanely nice boyfriend I apparently had, and my father was dead. I hadn’t gone to his funeral because of some stupid argument. What argument could have been enough to keep me from attending his funeral?

“What have I done to ruin everything?” I questioned in a teary voice, shaking my head at myself. What the fuck had I done in my life to deserve this? There had to be a reason.

“Don’t think like that, Dani. It wasn’t your fault.”

But obviously it was. Obviously there was something I had done to piss off the universe so much that they took the most important people away from my life. I stood up quickly, suddenly feeling like Harry’s apartment was suffocating me. He let me go without question, but his eyes were trained on me like he was afraid I was going to have another panic attack. “I have to go,” I stuttered out, my body moving towards the door before the sentence fully left my mouth. 

“I think you should stay here until you feel better,” Harry said, kind enough to worry about me even though apparently we weren’t friends anymore.

“I’m sorry for showing up unexpectedly.” They were the only sentiments I managed to get out before I was out of his apartment, rushing towards the elevator. I didn’t know why I was running away from Harry. All I knew was that it was imperative that I get out of his apartment and away from the life I’d apparently fucked up.

The elevator doors were closing when I heard him call my name. 

I let the tears fall once again.

~

Since I was a little girl, I had dreamed of getting invited to a party as fancy as a Christian Siriano launch party. Now, here I was, waiting for Gianna to pick me up for said party, and I felt like shit.

I had reluctantly gotten ready for the party, pulling out a fancy dress and one of my many pairs of heels that I already wanted to rip off my feet. I was already missing the Vans my mother had gotten me for my birthday that I had been wearing when whatever this weird dream had happened to me. Due to my low mood, I hadn’t felt like doing much to my hair, so it was just up in a high ponytail that would have to do. This weird twenty-six-year-old skin of mine didn’t need foundation, but I made sure to coat my eyelashes in waterproof mascara in case I started sobbing again, which I had in spurts since leaving Harry’s apartment.

My father was dead. The only reason I was even going to this stupid party and not on the soonest train ride back to my mother was because maybe something at this party would shake my memory loose and I would remember something. In reality, I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry some more. Still, when Gianna’s limo pulled up in front of my building, I plastered a smile on my face and opened the door with mock enthusiasm.

“You look amazing, sweetie!” Gianna said excitedly when I opened the door. She was wearing a bright yellow dress that set off the dark color of her skin perfectly, along with gold accessories. “Love that color on you!”

The first dress I had picked was a bright fire-engine red high-necked dress with tulle puffed sleeves. The shoes were a satin material in the same color as the dress. If I had been in a better headspace, I would have screamed because the label on the dress said Versace, but right now it didn’t matter who the hell had made the dress. I plastered on a smile. “Thanks. You look fantastic.”

“Get your ass in the car! Nick is so happy you decided to come tonight. Christian is looking forward to it, too!” She slid over in the seat as I situated myself inside the car. The second the door shut behind me, her driver was taking off to the destination of the launch party. “Liam is coming tonight, too. He texted me and said he wanted to surprise you, but I figured that with everything going on, a surprise is the last thing you needed.”

This was smart of her. If Liam showed up and started being as incredibly kind and sweet as he had been this morning, I might have thrown up. Did he know about my father? Had I talked to him about the mysterious argument that had estranged us? I felt the tears welling in my eyes again at the thought of it, so I choked them back and tried to focus on Gianna, who was talking a mile a minute about who would be at the launch.

“Rachael is coming too. She said that you invited her this morning,” Gianna said, looking at me to confirm. When I nodded, I was surprised to see a frown grace her features. “Sweetie, that’s fine and all, I’ve got no problem with Rachael. But she hasn’t exactly been to one of these before. And she’s a bit meek. They might eat her alive.”

I frowned. “Rachael is nice. I wanted to invite her.” I had no clue if Rachael was actually nice, but I knew she shouldn’t be excluded from the party even if she was meek and hadn’t been to one before. “Besides, she did a big favor for me this morning. She found Harry’s address.”

Gianna’s eyes widened. “No shit. Did you go and see him?”

“Yeah. You were right. We aren’t friends anymore.” The words hurt even saying them out loud. “When he answered the door and saw me...he looked annoyed, like I was something from his past he couldn’t shake off.” I guess that’s what I was, now. And even though he had been so sweet, trying to comfort me and holding me tightly, it didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t wanted to see me when I knocked at his door.

“Oh, sweetie. Things will work out, I’m sure of it.”

I wondered if Gianna calling me “sweetie” was a normal thing. I hated it.

We pulled up to the party, smiling fakely at photographers that were loitering outside as we walked into the building, clearing the security easily. The inside was decorated in bright avant garde styles, bleeding color into every corner of the venue. It was a beautiful setup that I would have been dying to explore if I hadn’t been so muddled emotionally. I was so wrapped up in the decorating that I jumped when arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me close to a hard body.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, babe,” I heard Liam say in my ear. “You look absolutely beautiful.” I turned in his arms, immediately throwing them around his neck. I didn’t know anything about this man, but he had offered me kindness and hadn’t given up on me this morning, despite how hard I knew it must have been. He looked extremely pleased at my reception towards him, pressing a delicate kiss on the top of my head. “You need a drink?”

“Sure.” 

As soon as he had appeared, he was gone, Gianna headed over to the bar with him. And then I was alone, standing in the middle of the launch party twiddling my thumbs and feeling like I belonged anywhere but there at that moment. I saw someone moving towards me, a timid looking blonde with giant glasses taking up half her face. Still, she looked wonderful in her pale blue dress. 

“Hi, Miss Rodriguez. Thanks for inviting me,” she said softly when she made her way over towards me. Ah, so this was Rachael. She looked every bit as nice as her voice sounded, and I sent her a genuine smile.

“It’s nothing at all, Rachael. You look great.”

Her eyes lit up, and I wondered how terrible I had to usually be to have her look so terrified of me. “Oh, thank you Miss Rodriguez!”

“You can call me Daniella, Rachael. We’re co-workers, aren’t we?”

“Oh.” She looked surprised. “You told me to never call you Daniella.”

As if my night couldn’t get any worse. “Right. I wasn’t feeling myself that day. I apologize. Feel free to call me Daniella.” Suddenly uncomfortable with the revered way she was looking at me, like I was some kind of fashion god giving her access into the world I lived in, I gestured towards the bar. “Want a drink?”

“Sure!” she said quickly, smiling brightly. “Mind if I go with you? I don’t really know anyone here.”

Me neither, I wanted to say, but refrained. “Of course. C’mon.” Following in the direction Liam and Gianna had disappeared to, we made it to the bar with ease. “What do you want?”

“I’ll take a strawberry martini.”

I had no idea what cocktail I wanted. My alcohol experience consisted of sneaking shitty beer into my basement and champagne at my cousin’s wedding. “Make that two,” I told the bartender, smiling softly as he got to work. “Hey, Rachael, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Miss Ro—Daniella,” she corrected herself. The bartender handed our drinks over and she immediately took a sip. I didn’t bother with mine yet, on a mission.

“Do you know why I wasn’t talking to my father when he died?”

She flinched. “Ah...no. I just remember reminding you about the funeral and...um...you weren’t too happy.”

How selfish was I in this new life that the idea of my father’s funeral made me angry? “Right. If you’ll excuse me, I’m just...going to go powder my nose.”

I left Rachael nodding after me as I walked through the venue. I saw my boss (I still couldn’t believe I worked for Nicholas Jennings) and tried my best to stay out of his sight, lest he greet me and ask me questions I didn’t know the answer to. Walking into different hallways and still not able to find the bathroom, I decided to just lean up against a pillar on the second floor of the building, looking down at the launch with a sense of bittersweetness.

I had seemingly gotten everything I wanted. At what cost?

The second I heard whispers, I ducked behind the pillar, not willing to join in conversation with people. However, I recognized the voices almost immediately as Liam and Gianna.

“I still don’t know what happened to her, Gianna. It worries me.”

“I know. It worries me too. But...we’re still going to tell her, right?”

I peeked out from the pillar and saw them standing at the entrance of the hallway, Liam’s hands wrapped around Gianna’s wrists. The lights were reflecting brilliantly off her dress.

“You want to tell her that we’ve been having an affair for eleven months when just this morning she didn’t recognize either of us?” Liam asked incredulously.

“I know the timing is shit. I know it, Liam. But I can’t hold my feelings in any longer. Besides, you know she was seeing Rachael’s boyfriend for that little three-month period a couple years back.”

“And we discussed that. I forgave her. Sleeping with your assistant’s boyfriend twice isn’t really the same as sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend of almost four years.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed off the pillar, walking in the opposite direction on my tiptoes so I didn’t draw attention to myself. The hallway swung back around in a circle to the staircase, so I quickly rushed down them when I was in the clear and made my way out of the building, letting the New York air cool my skin.

I hadn’t thought going to this party would make me feel worse, but I had been proven wrong.

Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and called Harry.

He picked up on the second ring. “Dani? Thank god. I was worried when you left earlier. That wasn’t exactly the best news to hear.”

“Do you want to get dinner with me?” I asked bluntly, ignoring his concerns. “I just...I need to get away from reality for a while.”

The other line was silent, and I was terrified he was going to reject me. He would remind me that we weren’t friends, that he hated me and thought I was selfish, and then tell me that he never wanted to see me again. The longer I heard nothing but his breathing, the more certain I was that these events were about to unfold. So I was surprised when I heard him say, “Sure. Meet me at Blue Elephant. It’s the Thai place a couple of blocks down from my apartment.”

For the first time that night, I felt a genuine smile spread across my features.

~

I tried not to laugh when the noodle from Harry’s pad thai dangled from his mouth, but the snort escaped me before I could stop it.

He had gotten to the restaurant much quicker than I had. He wasn’t lying when he had told me it was just down a couple blocks. He had raised a brow at my fancy attire, since he was just in jeans and a black shirt splattered with tiny little paint flecks. His fingernails had clay under them, which would have been gross if I hadn’t known it was because Harry spent nearly all his free time sculpting. The comfort of this sight nearly had me in tears again, but I shrugged it off in favor of ordering what Harry suggested from the menu. I had ended up with what the restaurant called “glass noodles,” which was their low-carb options that had lots of vegetables mixed in. Harry had gone for the classic pad thai, which if the way he was slurping was any indication, he enjoyed.

“How are you doing?” Harry asked hesitantly, like he was unsure how to ask the question.

I shrugged. “I woke up this morning not knowing anything about my life, not being friends with you, finding out my father is dead, and seeing Liam and Gianna discuss how they were going to tell me that they’re having an affair.”

“Shit. That’s terrible, Dani.”

The wry laugh left my lips before I could stop it. “The thing that kills me is that I deserve it. I let a stupid, petty argument that I can’t even remember keep me from the funeral. Apparently I slept with someone in a relationship. It was my assistant’s boyfriend, by the way. And I don’t know what I did to ruin our friendship, but obviously it was my fault.” I twirled some of my pasta around my fork. “I work for Nicholas Jennings as a designer. I just came from a Christian Siriano launch party. I managed to get everything I’ve ever wanted, but it feels terrible.”

“You didn’t ruin our friendship single handedly,” Harry assured. “It was the both of us.”

“I can’t even argue with you, because I don’t remember.”

He sighed, pushing his plate away from him. “It was your party. Everyone had left to go get beer with Gianna’s brother.” I sat up eagerly in my chair, ready to hear his version of events so I could decipher when it all went wrong. “I had just given you the mini-model for my theatre class and then I let you blow out the cupcake and smashed it in your face.”

“And?” I asked impatiently. “And then what? That’s the last thing I remember.”

His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. “And then I kissed you.”

My mouth had been open, ready to comment on whatever he had said, but no sound came out. I stared at my best friend, who suddenly looked so embarrassed and small, and my heart ached in my chest. “You kissed me?” I whispered, food completely forgotten in front of me.

“I kissed you,” he repeated. “You had strawberry frosting on your face and you just...looked so beautiful. I’ve always thought you were. And there was a moment when you were trying to wipe it off that I thought I might have seen something in your eyes...but I was wrong. I kissed you and you pulled away. You looked so regretful, like you were running through a thousand ways to let me down easy in your head because you were always too kind to me. I tried to tell you to forget it, that it didn’t mean anything, but you were determined to talk about it.”

“Did we?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t let you. I knew the second I pulled away I had made a mistake. But you kept...pushing. And I got angry, said some things I didn’t mean. You got angry back, and said some other things. Then you shoved the mini-model in my hands and told me to leave. The glue was shit, so it crumbled a little. I’m sure it was an accident, but...after the rejection, it felt like it was on purpose.”

“Harry, I would have never—”

“I know,” he interrupted, giving me a hesitant smile. “I know, Dani. It was just me being pathetically in love with you.”

The words made me wish the ground would swallow me whole. “In love with me?” My voice was so quiet, I was surprised he heard it.

“Yeah, Dani. In love with you.”

The Harry from my memories suddenly shifted, as if with his confession I was seeing him in a new life. My quinceañera, when I had asked him to be my escort and he had to help me zip the back of my dress up. The first day of high school, when he had ridden his bike to my house and looked at me like he was seeing someone new. That moment he had just told me about, looking at him with strawberry frosting on his chin because I had managed to swipe some there.

Was there some other emotion hiding in those eyes every time he looked at me?

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to say anything else.

“You don’t have to be sorry for not loving me, Dani. It wasn’t your responsibility.”

“But I should have fought harder for your forgiveness.” The tears did come then. I felt like that was all I had done today, just sob and sob. “I should have fought for us. I don’t want to be the person that doesn’t fight.”

I stood from my chair, slapping down a twenty dollar bill to cover the price of my meal. He watched me with clouded eyes, part-betrayed that I was leaving him once again and part-understanding that being in that restaurant was going to suffocate me with the weight of what had happened today. As I made my way towards the exit, he let me go.

I wondered if he would have before the night of my sixteenth birthday.

My lip wobbled as I hailed a cab, pulling out my phone to see all of the missed text messages from both Gianna and Liam. There was even one from Rachael, who had seen me leave in a hurry and asked if I was alright. My heart clenched in my chest when I saw her name across the screen. I wondered if she had any clue that I had apparently slept with her boyfriend. Assuming that she would have quit if she had known, I was going to guess she didn’t know. The texts from Liam were all variations of him asking me where I was. 

I couldn’t even be angry with him for cheating on me with Gianna. Who knew what kind of person I was now? What if I had pushed him away, like I had with Harry, like I had with my father? If he found comfort and love in Gianna, who was I to tell him he was wrong? 

My feet were carrying me somewhere I didn’t know, walking in the direction of my apartment that wasn’t home. When the first drop of rain splattered on my nose, I didn’t even feel it. 

I just felt numb.

~

The house before me was very non-threatening. It was a small thing, brick on the outside and a bright red door. When I was younger, the kids at school used to tease me and call it the “Three Little Pig” house, the one left standing at the end of the story that the wolf couldn’t blow down. I hated it when I was little, but I found it comforting now. Even with all that had changed in my life, this seemed to still be the same.

Knocking on the door shouldn’t have been terrifying, but it was suddenly the most scary thing I’d ever done. Before my fist could meet it for a third time, the red door swung open to reveal my mother, looking at me with a softness in her eyes that I was sure I didn’t deserve.

“Harry called me earlier. Said you might be coming here.” Her words were matter-of-fact, like there was no arguing. And there wasn’t. I wasn’t entirely sure how Harry had guessed that I was going to visit my mother, but I supposed he still knew me like the back of my hand. “Said you’ve got amnesia?”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that came from my throat. Amnesia was a weird way of putting it, but it was the only explanation I could give. I was sure “I’m really sixteen and just woke up in twenty-six-year-old Dani’s body” wouldn’t work with my mother. And then I was flinging myself into her arms and sobbing, like I constantly did now. “He said I didn’t come to Dad’s funeral,” I cried out.

“You didn’t,” she replied simply, but she held me in her arms and squeezed my shoulders like she had when I was younger. I hadn’t felt more like myself than in that moment, except maybe talking with Harry. 

“But why? That doesn’t make sense.” I clutched her to me, wanting nothing more than to melt into her skin and disappear forever. 

She sighed, rubbing my shoulders. “Come inside. We’ll talk.”

Minutes later I was sitting at the familiar circular dark wooden table from my childhood. My mother had poured us iced tea, a drink I had forgotten I loved until I took a cautious sip of it. We sat in silence for a few moments, just drinking as she stared at the wall across from me. Just as I was about to open my mouth and ask again what had happened, she began to speak.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“No,” I promised. “The last thing I remember is Harry shoving a cupcake into my face at my sixteenth birthday party after I made a wish.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “What’d you wish for?”

I smiled grimly. “For you to treat me like an adult.” Awkwardly picking at a loose thread on my sweater, I looked away from my mother. I didn’t want to see the disappointment or hurt on her face when my words registered. “I...I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did. And you were right. Maybe if I had treated you like an adult, you would have...you would have come to the funeral.” She took a long sip of the tea, steadying herself. “You’ve got to know that we always planned on telling you. But we just never did. And that was on us. And you’d always struggled so much with your identity. Remember when you used to come home from school and cry just because you felt like you didn’t know yourself?”

I remembered those days well. The last one I could remember had been two days before my birthday. Harry seemed to fit in so well with everyone he met, and I just didn’t have that skill. I had come home crying to my mom, asking why Harry could manage to fit in everywhere but I couldn’t. 

“Two Christmases ago you were looking in the attic to help find some tree topper I had bought. You came down from the attic with that piece of paper in your hand and my heart stopped. I knew right then and there that you’d never forgive us.”

“Mom, it can’t be that bad.”

“Believe me, it is.” There were tears in her eyes now as she set her glass down. Her hands shook. “You...found adoption papers and letters from your birth mother. She had written to you every year on your birthday. Your father and I never showed them to you. And obviously...we never told you about the adoption.”

If there was one thing I did not expect for my mother to say, it was that.

“What?” I managed to stutter out, blinking at her in disbelief.

Her tears fell now, streaking the mascara on her bottom lashes and leaving horrible black lines down her face. “We always meant to tell you, you...you have to believe that. And you got so, so angry with us. You said you never wanted to talk to us again. You marched out and went back to New York to stay with Liam. And then your father got sick and I...I just thought we would have so much more time to make things right with you before he died. I called you to tell you about the funeral and you just didn’t care. And the shitty part was that I couldn’t blame you.”

My tears had stopped, simply because I was trying hard to process what she had just told me. My mother, the one who braided my hair when I was younger and kissed my knee when I skinned it, wasn’t my actual mother. And my father, who read me bedtime stories with funny voices and made me pancakes when I was feeling sad, he wasn’t my actual father. I had never felt less like I knew myself.

I laughed.

It was a short, stark sound in the silence between us. My mother had been staring at the ground and she looked up at me in surprise when she heard it. I couldn’t help it. I laughed again. I laughed until there were angry and frustrated tears falling out of my eyes. 

“Do you know what kind of person I am?” I didn’t give her the chance to answer before I started speaking again. “I’ve spoken more to Harry in the past two days than I have in the last ten years. I let him feel like I hated him. I slept with my assistant’s boyfriend and apparently haven’t told her about it. But I did tell my boyfriend, who is currently having sex with my best friend because of something I did, I guess. And now I find out I didn’t go to my father’s funeral because I was being an absolute bitch?”

“You had every right to be upset—”

“No! I didn’t have the right to not go to the funeral!” My lower lip quivered. The reality of the words set in with me then. I had missed my father’s funeral because of something as stupid as me being adopted. That didn’t change the fact that he had gone to all the little father-daughter dances my school held when I was young. That he had taught me how to swim and clapped when I could jump into the pool with no problems. That he had held me when the boy I liked called me ugly. “I didn’t go to the funeral,” I whispered brokenly.

My mother’s arms were around me before I had time to blink. She flung herself across the table and wrapped me in her embrace. I felt her tears on my shoulder, the tears the both of us had apparently needed to cry since two Christmases ago. When the pain got too uncomfortable, I moved out of my chair so I could be closer to her, on my knees on the kitchen floor. She slid out of her own seat, grabbing onto my shoulders and kissing my head.

“I’m sorry,” she kept saying, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

“I missed the funeral,” I repeated, my fingers digging painfully into her shoulder blades. If she was in pain, she didn’t show it. She just held me harder as we both kneeled on the kitchen floor.

~

New York was having a good weather day. 

I was sitting outside a little cafe, munching on an ice cream cone. It had been only hours since I’d left my mother’s house. We had talked, cried, drank wine that she had stashed in a cupboard, and cried some more. Even before the freak accident in which I had aged ten years overnight, it was the most I’d really talked to her in a long while. There was a dull ache in my heart because I wanted my father to be there, but my mother had kissed my forehead in the way he used to when I was headed out the door. 

“I love you, Dani,” she had said, with so much conviction that it had nearly brought me to my knees.

“I love you too, Mom,” I had replied. She smiled that big grin of hers, the one I used to tell her could light up the world. 

Now I was waiting for Liam and Gianna to arrive. I had called them both the second I got into a taxi from my mom’s house and was waiting to meet them. The cafe was the first one I had found (though it wasn’t as if they were lacking in New York), so I didn’t know if it was any good or not. If the ice cream was any indicator, it was fantastic.

“Thank god you’re okay,” Liam said from somewhere behind me, and then I was forced out of my sesat and engulfed in a huge bear hug. Liam’s hugs were nice, I decided. Maybe if I had met him when this weird thing hadn’t happened, I would have loved him. “Why didn’t you return any of my calls?”

“I was visiting my mom. Sorry,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

He pulled away immediately. “Your mom? Is everything okay? You haven’t spoken in—”

“Two years,” I interrupted, nodding my head. “Everything’s fine, just needed to talk some stuff out with her.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” He pulled me back into another hug, rubbing his hand on my back. “Do you want to sit? Have you ordered anything?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for you and Gianna to get here.”

“You don’t have to wait much longer.” Gianna appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave me a small hug. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, sweetie. Did you ever figure out what the hell was going on yesterday? Memory all back?”

“Not at all.” And that was still the frustrating part. I gestured to the little bistro table and watched the two of them as they moved towards their seats. I had never really had to examine how two people moved together before, but they moved like they were magnets. Liam hesitantly reached out his hand for me to hold and I saw the quick glimpse of something akin to heartbreak on Gianna’s face.

At least I knew the two really loved each other.

“So, what did you and your mom talk about?” Liam asked, his thumb making circles on the back of my hand. 

“Life. How things didn’t really work out the way I wanted them to.”

Gianna’s brow raised. “What do you mean, sweetie? You work for Nicholas Jennings. That’s like your dream job.”

“Yeah.” And look where that dream had gotten me. “But I mean in my personal life, not really my professional life.”

It was quiet for a few seconds. Liam awkwardly smiled. “We don’t really know what you mean, babe.”

“I know.” I composed my thoughts for a moment before hesitantly reaching out my other hand to stretch it across the table. Gianna was quick to grab it, but I could tell she still looked a little confused. “I’m not a good person. I see that. I don’t know how you two put up with me. But I like to think I deserve better than my boyfriend and best friend lying to me.” The color drained out of Liam’s face and Gianna was gaping like a fish, opening and closing her mouth as if she’d find something to say. “And you deserve better than the way I’ve obviously treated you.”

“Dani,” Liam said brokenly, but I shook my head.

“It’s okay. We’ve all got things we need to work on, I guess.”

And that was the truth. If there was anything I’d learned from the last two days, it was that I had to work to not be the bitch I had so obviously become in the ten years I’d missed. I pat Liam’s hand comfortingly before standing from the little table, allowing Gianna and Liam to digest what I’d just sprung on them as I walked away. 

I was in a city I genuinely loved. The sky was pretty and blue and I felt a little bit of the ice cream cone in my hand dripping on my fingers. Things were okay with my mom and I. I would never get back the memories I’d lost with my father, but I’d use him as an example on how to be better. I wished for nothing more than to go back in time to my sixteen year-old self to tell her what she was missing when she wished on that stupid candle. 

But maybe it wasn’t all bad, I decided, when I stopped at a hot dog stand to ask for some napkins and saw Harry ordering on the other side.

“Dani,” he said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“Walking,” I replied, gesturing to his hot dog. “Looks good.”

“I’d ask you if you wanted a bite, but I know you don’t like mustard.”

The fact that he’d remembered something so insignificant made me smile. “Right.”

He finished up his hot dog and took one of the napkins I offered. “What’re you doing today?”

“Nothing much. Why?”

“Mind if I join you on your walk?”

I pretended to think about it for a moment, but it truly was just pretending. My mind was made up the second the question had left his mouth. “Only if you tell me what you’re doing for work. Don’t think I missed all the clay and stuff in your apartment.”

He flushed, the apples of his cheeks turning a cute pink color. I wanted to poke them, like I used to when we were kids, but didn’t know if it would be welcome or not. “You don’t want to hear about my job,” he said, like he had already decided it was going to be a boring topic.

“Harry, I always want to hear about what you’re doing.”

It was a statement he must not have heard from me in ten years, because he gave me a soft and hesitant smile, the kind of smile I imagined he had given me as kids through the lens of someone in love with me. It made my stomach warm to see it.

“Really?” At my enthusiastic nod, his smile widened a little bit and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. Well, shortly after high school I was just working for the theater department at the community college. It didn’t pay much, but it was a good experience for the resume. I worked there for about three years and then got into sculpting.”

“Which explains the clay,” I joked, reaching for his hand. I lifted it between us and gestured to the clay caked underneath his nails. He laughed, nodding his head at my observation.

His laughter came up short when he realized that we were skin-to-skin, my fingers dancing across his knuckles to get a view of the clay. It turned his skin a light gray color, somewhat matching the color of the shirt he wore. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded a little breathless. “Yeah, that explains the clay.”

I was hesitant to release his fingers, but I did. He didn’t move his hand away, however, just stared at me with those impossibly green eyes of his. I had always been jealous of them when we were younger. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“If I were to hold your hand, would you hate me?”

His smile was quick and soft, and I realized there was a tiny little speck of mustard on his top lip. “If you had asked me at sixteen, I would have jumped at the opportunity. And maybe faint.”

I laughed. “I’m not asking sixteen year-old Harry, though. I’m asking twenty-six year-old Harry.”

“Right. Semantics. I suppose he’s fine with it too, if it means you’ll go out to dinner with him.”

Our fingers threaded together, still awkwardly hanging in front of us. His hand was warm and callused, and I could feel the texture of the clay. “I would love to go to dinner tonight. You can regale me with stories about how you fell in love with me when we were kids.”

He laughed, and our hands dropped to fit more comfortably between us. “It’s not very hard to fall in love with you, Dani.”

~

I was used to getting ready for a friend hang-out with Harry. For those, I knew what I would wear. It would be some variation of comfy jeans or leggings, a graphic tee of one of my favorite bands, and some Vans. I was familiar with that ensemble.

It was a little different getting ready for a date with Harry.

He had followed me back to my apartment, where I saw some of Liam’s stuff was already gone. It seems he wasted no time in seeking shelter with Gianna. I was honestly happy for him, if he was happier with Gianna. Harry sat on my couch and laughed while I tried on different outfits, seeing which one would fit his surprise restaurant better since he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. In each dress, he twirled his finger to signal he wanted me to turn in the dress before he disagreed and sent me back.

“Could you at least give me a hint on what to wear?”

“Do you have jeans at all?”

I poked my head out of the door to my bedroom, giving him a look. “I would never wear jeans on a date.”

“It’s a date with me. You know I don’t care what you look like.”

That made the butterflies in my stomach set off. Apparently, however, twenty-six year-old Daniella didn’t own a pair of jeans, so I settled on a casual sundress and slipped it on. It was a pretty orange color that looked good with my skin, and had little yellow flowers printed at the bottom. When I walked out into the living room, Harry grinned.

“Perfect,” he said, standing from my couch. “You look beautiful.”

If I were still sixteen and Harry was just a friend, the words wouldn’t have such an effect on me. But the truth of the matter was, my skin was warming, butterflies were flying, and my eyes were looking at Harry in a new light. “Thank you.”

“I have always wanted to say that to you and not have you punch me in the shoulder.”

“I wouldn’t have punched you in the shoulder!”

“Yeah...but you wouldn’t have looked at me like that, either.”

I wondered what expression was on my face to make his eyes go slightly dark and hazy. Letting out a short, breathless laugh, I grabbed his hand and led him out of my apartment. “Lead the way, since I have no idea where we’re going.”

The walk to the restaurant was spent talking about old memories from the past, Harry’s fingers intertwined with mine. There were several points where we had to stop walking so the two of us could laugh, bending over at the waist as we remembered when Gemma had put makeup on Harry or I had fallen into a puddle of mud at one of our family get-togethers. When we got to our destination, I stared at the theatre in front of us with a look of awe on my face.

“C’mon, I told the guys that I needed this place to myself tonight. I’ll give you a grand tour.”

He took the keys out of his pocket and opened the door. The lights were automatic, turning on when they sensed movement. We were in the lobby of the theatre, with programs from all the productions hung on every inch of the walls. Harry laughed when I took in the colors of all of them as he opened the door to the main stage.

“You’re a giant softie,” I breathed out when I saw that there was a picnic set up on the stage. “I’m telling Gemma.”

“She’ll never let me live it down.”

“That’s the point, Harry.” But I squeezed his fingers even tighter in mine. “It’s perfect.”

The theatre itself was beautiful. Unlike the harsh white lights of the lobby, the stage was lit with warm stage lighting that gave the place a pretty yellow glow. I took the stairs up to the main stage and sat down on a pillow Harry had placed there beforehand, unwilling to let our grip break when he moved to sit down on his own pillow. It was only when he started moving towards the picnic basket that I relinquished my hold on his hand. 

“Okay, I’ve got some pasta, a little cucumber salad, and wine. Because we all need wine.” He made a plate for me and then himself before reaching back into the picnic basket. “And for dessert…”

I wanted to laugh at the little cupcake, nearly identical to the one he had given me on my sixteenth birthday. I could tell it was what he was expecting. But I just stared at it, my throat going dry. Eventually, the smile slipped off his face and he set the cupcake on the stage. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I know you didn’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I just...you deserve so much better, Harry.”

“Maybe. But who are we to decide that?”

“You deserve someone who hasn’t treated you like shit. Which is what I treated you like. I shouldn’t have let our friendship go just because I was scared that loving you would ruin things for us.”

“Dani,” he said softly, reaching out to take my hand in his. “It’s all in the past.”

“But it’s not. Not for me. For me, it was two days ago. And I know that it sounds crazy and you don’t believe me, but I...I’ve obviously made some choices that have hurt a lot of people and I don’t remember making any of them. I hurt you.”

“Yeah, you did. Look at where we are now, though. Look at where you are.”

“I just don’t want you to wake up and regret this tomorrow because you’re holding onto a sixteen year-old version of me.”

And that was the point of all of this. I couldn’t just forget that this weird time blip had happened, and I couldn’t forget that apparently I had made shitty choices for the past ten years of my life. I wished more than anything that I could go back to the night of my sixteenth birthday and just tell Harry that while I didn’t love him at that exact moment, I would be willing to give us a shot because really, it was Harry. I knew that I could fall in love with him if I just had the time. Maybe I already had been, secretly, and was just scared.

“We’re just...we’re not sixteen anymore, Harry.”

He nodded, his mouth tight-lipped and his eyes sad. I think it was because he knew what I was saying was true. We couldn’t change the past. “I know,” he whispered. “I just...having you back in my life was like this out of reach dream.”

“I don’t want to go the next ten years not talking to you, Harry. But I think you’ll be so much happier with someone else. Someone who doesn’t run away when you tell them you love them.”

The wry smile on his face made my heart break. He gently slid towards the end of the stage and jumped off, his feet hitting the ground with a thudding sound that echoed in my ears. He made it to the back of the theatre before he turned around, tears in his eyes and a small smile on his face. “Maybe in a parallel universe, then. I’ll see you around, Dani.”

The tears were already on my cheeks when the door shut behind him.

I didn’t feel like eating anything after Harry’s departure, but I picked up the cupcake gently, willing it to bring me back to the night of my sixteenth birthday, before I had royally screwed myself over. Setting it down with a sigh, I started to pick up the food items so Harry wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving food on the stage. It was only then that I saw the candle and lighter in the basket.

I cried as I stuck the candle into the cupcake and lit it with the lighter.

“I wish I could go back and do this all over,” I mumbled to myself. Shutting my eyes, I softly blew out the flame of the candle.

I kept them shut as I leaned back and lay on the stage, letting myself fall asleep.

~

“Dani?” I heard, and I opened my eyes slowly. The theatre was gone, the soft yellow light something harsh and white again. I took in my surroundings, noting the Jonas Brothers poster on the wall and the ugly pink color of them. I sat up quickly, looking around the room before I gasped and looked down at my chest.

No boobs. 

“Dani, you awake?” I heard someone say from the other side of the door. Immediately I was up, shooting like a bottle rocket as I flung my door open. Harry stood there, sixteen year-old Harry with his head of floppy curls and the spot of acne on his chin. He was holding something wrapped in a pretty pink box.

“Harry?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he stepped into my room, setting the pink box on my bed as I shut the door behind him. “You okay?” he asked. “You seem off.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I said, still looking around my room to reassure myself that I was actually here. “I...I think I had a really weird dream.”

“What was it about?”

“It was terrible, H. We weren’t friends anymore.” He sat on my bed and I moved to sit next to him, careful of the pink box that I somehow knew contained a little theatre set he had made me.

“Well, that’ll never happen,” he snorted. “But, let’s focus on something happy. Open up.” He handed me the box. I pulled apart the purple ribbon and opened it up. It was in an Amazon box, but sure enough, it was a beautiful stage designing set. “It’s Wicked, since I know that’s your favorite musical.”

“Harry,” I whispered, “it’s gorgeous.”

“You like it?” When I nodded enthusiastically, he relaxed. “Oh good. I was worried. Also, I got you something else.”

From behind his back he produced a pretty pink strawberry cupcake, complete with a candle. He took a lighter out of his pocket and held it up to me. “Make a wish, Dani.”

When the flame was lit, I closed my eyes. I didn’t bother to make one. There wasn’t anything more that I needed.

I was expecting the smash, and the cool feeling that followed. I was expecting Harry to double over in laughter as pink goop fell from my face. I was even expecting my own laugh as I wiped it from my eyes so it wouldn’t burn them. What I wasn’t expecting was for Harry to suddenly take my face in his hands and kiss me, the minty taste of his breath mingling with the strawberry of the frosting coating my mouth. The kiss was over before it had begun, and Harry stared at me in fear, like I was going to reject him.

Instead, I smiled.

“Harry,” I said softly, reaching out my hand to him. His own hands shook when he placed his fingers in mine. “Do you want to go on a date?”

When his shoulders sagged in relief and he nodded, I knew.

“Oh, and I really need to go talk to my dad.”

[tinyfelthat]

Shed a Little Light - Part 3 is up!!!

Eve Goldberg: Do teachers ever need to go to the doctor? They always say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and the stereotypical gift from a student to a teacher is an apple. I’ll have someone check on that.

Comments:

Niall Horan: I have been to the doctor a few times in recent history, so I do believe your theory is false. Also, I live with a doctor, so...

Eve Goldberg: That’s too bad. (About going to the doctor, not living with one. I know you live with one. It’s me. I’m the doctor you live with.)

Harry Styles: Boo you for not playing along, Niall.

Eve Goldberg: Leave him alone Harry. He’s caused no harm. It was just a joke anyway.

Niall Horan: Yeah, Harry, leave me alone.

Francesca Thomas: You guys are too cute, lol

Niall Horan: For the last time, I’m not cute!

read part 3 \ catch up \ feedback

[in-madhouses]

Nobody:

Me:

[calm-and-wine]

(I’d be) everything you need

hello beautiful people - here is a little fun story written for the @1dffchallenges​ quarantine challenge.

huge thank you to @booksncoffee​​ for another stunning banner and to @yourpolaroid07 (i have no idea why i can’t tag you) for being the greatest gem and reading over it for me and correcting all my stupid mistakes.

so, here it is, hope it will make you smile because i sure did have a lot of fun writing this. if you like it, please come talk to me

(I’d be) everything you need

(Niall’s texts are in bold, Katie’s are in italics)

 “Mum, I swear I’ll be fine. I’ll place an order and just get some takeaway tonight.” Katie assured, having had this discussion pretty much every time they spoke over the last few days.

 “Bug, you have no idea how long an order is processed right now. It can take up to a week, if not longer. You can’t order all your meals,” her mum reasoned.

 “Well, what do you want me to do?” she huffed irritated. Sure, she knew her mum had the best intentions and was probably worried, but she had just gotten off the flight. It was an especially cold and windy night in England and all she wanted was to get into her bed. Even the perspective of having to spend the next two weeks locked up in her flat, didn’t make her crave home any less.

 “Just call Niall. I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

Katie rolled her eyes, glad her mother couldn’t see her. She mentioned asking Niall for help before Katie even left the country. But she did not want to contact Niall. Her and Niall weren’t exactly friends. Sure, they’ve known each other for years, but Niall Horan was Josh’s friend, not hers. Did she have a crush on her older brother’s best friend? Well, that was a whole other story and not the point at all.

 She hadn’t even seen Niall in forever. The last time they were both back home was over a year ago. And now she was just supposed to call him up and ask for help? Katie did not like asking for help, having to rely on others, owe any favours. Especially from people who weren’t her family. Or family-like.

 “Okay, mum, I’m getting into the cab. Have a good night, yeah?” she said, partly because she did indeed hail a taxi, but mostly because she didn’t want to go in circles in this conversation, they’ve been over it already. Sure, Katie didn’t really have anyone close enough to rely on at times like these, she had a few colleagues, but those were mates to go to a pub with once a month or have a small chat in the break room, not burden them with groceries, because of the mandatory quarantine upon her return.

 Her mum sighed, knowing she couldn’t make her daughter do anything. “You too, sweetie. Keep in touch, please. Let me know if anything is wrong,” she said, the worry evident in her voice.

 “Of course, love you,” Katie replied, her irritation dissolving slightly. There wasn’t a doubt in her head that her mum’s heart was in the right place, but she hated when people worried about her like that, some part of her always felt guilty for making them feel that way.

  1st day of quarantine

 “Hello?” Katie answered her ringing phone, curious about who it might be. It was usual for her to get unknown calls on her work phone, but not her private one.

 “Kitty Kat!” She didn’t even have to ask to know who was on the other side of the line, not only the booming happy voice was familiar, but there was only one person who called her that. And even though she spent years telling him that the nickname was awful, after not hearing it for so long, it made her smile.

 “Hello Niall,” she said, setting her laptop down on the coffee table and focusing on the call.

 “Heard you need some help. I did hesitate to accept though, because I was quite hurt it was Josh calling me and not you.” He sounded exactly how she remembered, his voice laced with a joking undertone, his usual easygoing attitude seeping through.

 “I… I’m fine, really.” Katie was gonna kill her brother. Maybe he wanted to help, but he made her look incompetent to take care of herself, which she did not appreciate.

 “Oh, so you’re not stuck at home for the next two weeks with an empty fridge?” She didn’t even have to see Niall to know he just raised a brow in mock surprise. She could just tell from his tone. But she did wonder what he looked like now. Whether his hair was still natural brown instead of the blonde he used to dye it. Whether his shoulders were even wider than the last time she had seen him. Whether he still had a very small belly from all the beer he had been drinking or maybe he had abs now.

 “Umm.. No, I have some leftover takeaway from last night,” she assured, just slightly embarrassed.

 He sighed. “Look, it’s no problem, I promise. Just text me the list, I have a few hours before work anyway.”

 Katie hesitated for a moment, but no matter how much she hated admitting it, she really did need help. “Okay, thank you.”

 “Oh and text me your address, too. How does your brother not know where you live?” He sounded surprised, which she understood, considering she had a pretty good relationship with Josh.

 She chuckled. “Because he’s a little prick who hasn’t visited me yet. And surprisingly enough, he never orders me any gifts.”

 Niall snickered. “He’s twice your height, I think that’s barely ‘little’. And he’s older.”

 “Heeeey, he’s not that much taller than me!” She whined offended, even though he was.

 He let out a laugh, a true belly laugh, one she hadn’t heard in years actually. But she’d know that laugh anytime anywhere, he just had one of those special ones. “Sure, sure. And he’s not even that tall either, you’re just tiny.”

 “No, I’m not!” She disagreed, although she definitely didn’t count to the tall part of the population. But she was not that short.

 “That’s okay, you’re cute.” His words made Katie blush. She was sure he thought nothing of them, the words slipping easily off his tongue, like he didn’t even have to think about them. “Oh and don’t do that thing when you’ll try and buy everything for the next two weeks, I really don’t mind doing a few more grocery runs for you. Wouldn’t want you to get sick from unfresh foods.”

 She licked her lips to keep from smiling, because of how thoughtful he was. “Thank you.”

 “Okay, I’m hanging up then, it’s good to talk to you again, Kitty Kat.” The whole conversation made her heart beat a teeny tiny bit faster, the warmth of hearing a familiar voice and Niall being so nice, flowing through her entire body.

 “You too, Niall. And thank you, I’ll send the list in a minute.”

 So she did, trying to keep it as basic as possible, only the actual necessary products. Her intercom rang a mere hour later. She buzzed Niall in and waited behind closed doors, having to restrain herself from observing him through the peephole. He knocked on her door softly to let her know he was leaving the bags. She waited a few seconds, giving him time to leave safely, after all the whole point of this was avoiding interactions with other people. She brought the bags inside and pretty much sprinted to the window, hoping he hadn’t left yet. She was lucky enough to have a window going out onto the entrance of the building.

 It was a few seconds before Niall appeared outside. Katie didn’t have a clear view of him, especially not his face, but she noticed his hair was darker, long gone was the blonde he used to dye it into. He seemed taller, though that was pretty unlikely. More muscular. He looked grown up. Seeing him like this, after quite some time, she felt a slight flutter in her stomach. It made her excited. And Katie wondered whether he thought about her like that, imagining what she looked like now, whether she changed, what hairstyle was she wearing, whether she gained weight or slimmed down, what kind of makeup did she like now. Was he excited to find out?

 She didn’t like admitting it, but truth be told, she always had a little crush on Niall Horan. And Katie hated it, because it was such a cliche, liking your older brother’s best friend. But she did. Niall was funny and kind. He loved bickering with her, but it wasn’t like her brother’s teasing, it made her feel special. He had a nickname just for her. Kitty Kat came to be because Josh liked calling her Kate, knowing she hated it, it not being her actual name. But Niall’s nickname didn’t make her irritated, no matter how much she pretended it did. It made her warm inside, like she was important enough to be referred to in an individual way.

 But she had to stop thinking those thoughts Niall was helping her because he had a good heart. And because he was a family friend. That was it. He did not have a special place in his heart for her, no matter how much she imagined he maybe did in the past.

 She moved from the window a few minutes after he disappeared and went to unpack the groceries. She was irritated there was no receipt, Niall was supposed to let her know how much she owed him, having refused when she offered to transfer some money beforehand. But there was another piece of paper. A post-it note stuck to the carton of eggs.

 please let me know as soon as you need anything else. i’ll be doing some shopping for myself later in the week, so it’s no problem. happy to help, N xx

 She refused to dwell on the xs. But the note as a whole was very sweet. In fact, Katie may or may not have put it on her fridge.

  5th day of quarantine

 Katie was trying to work through the splitting headache, but it was not going well. The last three days, she felt like the headache and burning eyes were her only constant companions. Other than that, she was feeling okay. No cough, no temperature, nothing. It was just because she was staring at the screen all day (and some nights), working and working, crunching numbers, filling and checking spreadsheets. Her eye actually started twitching yesterday, which wasn’t a good sign. Unfortunately, she ran out of ibuprofen. And magnesium. She was quite desperate, the pain making it near impossible to focus on anything.

 So eventually, she gave in, sending a text to Niall.

 very sorry to be a bother, but could you maybe possibly go to the pharmacy for me?

 She did not expect her phone to start ringing just a second after. Since that first day, Niall hadn’t called her. He checked in on her a few times (almost every day, sometimes just sending her memes or funny things that happened to him, instead of starting the conversation with “are you alright?”), but it was always through texts. But now he was calling her and she was so shocked, it must have been at least a fourth ring when she answered.

 “Hiya, sorry, it’s okay if -” she started.

 He didn’t let her finish though, rushing out his questions, sounding a little bit worried. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?”

 “Yeah, I’m okay, just ran out of ibuprofen,” she explained.

 “Do you have any symptoms?” he asked, not entirely convinced.

 “No, no, it’s not that,” she assured. “Just a splitting headache from too much work and computer time. And also a magnesium deficiency, probably.”

 “Are you sure?” he asked again, but this time his voice was much calmer, almost back to normal.

 “Yes, I’ve been drinking a shit ton of coffee everyday to even attempt to keep up with my work and I’m just a bit wiped out.”

 “Okay, I can’t really go out right now, I’m at work, but -”

 This time Katie was the one who cut him off. “Oh, it’s fine, really.”

 “BUT,” he continued despite the interruption, his voice a bit more stern, “I just texted my roommate, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

 If only he could see her now, he would notice a look of horror that crossed her face. “No, Niall, I don’t want to bother anyone.”

 “Oh stop, he’s a nice guy and he can leave his work for half an hour. He owed me a favour anyway.” Niall made it seem like the most trivial thing and she really did need the medicine, so she gave up fighting.

 “Well, be sure to thank him for me,” she said instead. “Buy him a nice beer.”

 He chuckled. “Okay, I will. But you’re really okay? You’d tell me if you were getting sick, right?”

 “Well, it’s not like you could come take care of me anyway.” She meant it as a joke, expecting Niall to let out another of his signature chuckles, but he did quite the opposite, sounding a bit exasperated.

 “Why not?”

 “I can’t exactly see people at the moment, remember?” She said gently, not really sure about his mood.

 Niall huffed. “Do you really think I’d care about that? Just let you be alone if you were sick?”

 She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. All she wanted to ask was ‘why wouldn’t you’, but she bit her lip, too afraid, not wanting to make things weird just because she probably thought a bit too much about his words.

 Katie took a breath before speaking, trying to sound lighthearted. “Well, it’s good I’m not sick, so you don’t have to risk your own health.”

 “You’d let me know though, right?” He persisted.

 “Yeah, I would.” She wanted to add another joke saying she’d need someone to get her medicine, but the mood was not light and funny, the atmosphere suddenly very thick.

 “Alright, good.” It seemed like he finally exhaled after getting his answer. “Well, I have to go back to work, I’ll text you when Pete brings the meds.”

 “Okay. Thank you,” was all Katie could muster out through her fighting thoughts.

 ~~

 how’s the headache?

 completely gone, thanks to your brilliant roommate

 heeeey i’m the one who sent him on that quest!

 hahahaha

 i know

 thank you, again

 damn, i never thought i’d be saying so many thank yous to niall horan

 can’t say i’m complaining

 but on a more serious note, do you like pop quizzes?

 hmmm yeah? i think i only did pub quiz like once or twice, but it was fun

 why?

 me and a few mates are doing one tomorrow, you should join

 how bad is your memory? i can’t go to the pub

 who’s talking about a pub?

 we’re doing it on zoom

 oh

 it’s still staring at the screen, but it’s not work and it seems like you need some fun

 yeah, i guess i kinda do. thank you, but i don’t want to impose

 you won’t, i just invited you

 still…

 it’s just a few mates, i promise it’s all good. i actually already told them you’re joining

and they hate being blown off

 oh yeah, no pressure

 haha no but seriously, if you don’t want to that’s fine, but i think you’ll enjoy it

 okay. thank you. you’ll send me the details?

 of course

 should i prepare anything?

 nope, just yourself. and your brilliant mind

 we’re switching, someone else preparing questions everytime, so you have to wait your turn

 The mention of her becoming a part of their regular quiz made her stomach flutter slightly. She dared having this little hope of actually becoming friends with Niall, or rather maintaining some form of contact, but this was still unexpected. But also very nice to know he kind of wanted that too.

  6th day of quarantine

 When Katie’s phone started ringing and she noticed her brother’s face lighting up the screen, she smiled. The last time they had spoken was when she called to give him a piece of mind for calling Niall for her, but she actually loved and appreciated her brother very much. Maybe they weren’t the absolute closest, but they had a good relationship. There was this knowledge deep down that they’d jump through fire for the other, if need be.

 “Hiya,” she answered, wrapping up the email she was writing (she might or might not be getting some work done on a Saturday).

 “Why is Niall calling me asking about your favourite alcohol?” Josh asked right away, no hello needed. He sounded very curious, loving to pry into her life a bit.

 Katie laughed, having received a text from Niall informing her of a package waiting outside her door, which turned out to be three bottles of wine and a note saying quizzes are no fun without booze.

 “What can I say, he takes good care of my needs,” she replied, half-jokingly.

 “I told him it’s whiskey,” her brother informed, very much knowing she did not like whiskey. The only drink she was able to swallow was whiskey sour, but it was definitely not her favourite.

 “Wow, thanks for that, Jojo,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

 He whined at the nickname he hated, but had to endure since they were kids.

 “He did call bullshit though and asked about wine. So I told him red, naturally.” Just by his tone, she could say he had a shit-eating grin on his face, very proud of himself.

 Katie furrowed her brows. All three bottles that were sitting in her fridge currently were white. Either Niall knew her brother well enough to catch the lies, which he probably did after years of friendship, or he somehow knew her.

 “You’re a dick,” she laughed.

 “That’s what older brothers are for, Kate. But in a serious matter, I hope you’re not getting too buddy-buddy, I couldn’t stand you two ganging up on me.”

 She bit her lip, deciding it was probably best to not mention her plans for tonight. It wasn’t a big deal anyway, Niall was just a nice guy, who was probably feeling sorry for her, because she had no friends here and was sitting alone for days, spending most of her time working.

 “Oh we’re gonna be best friends in no time, you should be very scared.”

 ~~

 Katie was nervous. In fact, she was nervous about a number of things. First of all, the quiz with Niall’s friends. She didn’t know any of those people and she was scared of making a fool of herself. Secondly, she was about to skype with Niall. He offered to have a little chat before the quiz, so he could introduce the group a little, explain who’s who and all that. But it was going to be the first time she’d truly see him and he, her. Well, through the screen of course, but still.

 And now she was worrying she might have gone a little overboard with her look. It was nice to have a reason to dress up in something fancier than leggings and an oversized sweater, to even put some makeup on. But, because it was the first time Niall will see her in quite a bit (especially up close), she made an actual effort. (But she didn’t care about that, she was not wondering whether he’ll even pay attention to her looks, not at all).

 When the music she was playing suddenly cut off, replaced with the ringtone of an incoming skype call, her throat instantly dried up. She took a sip of her wine before answering, her laptop screen taken over by Niall’s smiling face, literally brightening it up.

 He was wearing a button down, it wasn’t necessarily an elegant one, but still a nice one, his hair looked styled, like he actually took the time to tame it. It seemed like he made sure to look good, like he cared. And it excited her because maybe, just maybe, he wanted to look good for her too. Or maybe he liked someone from his friend group and was dressing up for them.

 “I see you’re putting the wine to good use. Did I pick a good one?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer, a proud grin on his face.

 Katie smiled, her nerves slightly easing. No matter how much he might have changed and grown, he was still familiar.

 “Yes, thank you. Although I am a bit worried what kind of idea you have of me based on the amount of bottles you got me,” she joked, taking another sip.

 He let out a booming laugh, one that made something in her flutter. “Nah, there’s just never enough wine,” he shrugged. “Although personally I'm more of a beer guy. But you have over a week more of quarantine, you may need it.”

 “I heard you sought some guidance from my brother,” she inquired with a raised brow, sly grin taking over her features.

 Niall grunted, covering his face in embarrassment. To her, it was incredibly cute that he went to so much trouble just to get her something she liked. “Did he really sell me out? What an asshole.”

 “Yup,” she replied, actually proud of her brother for telling her. “But, surprisingly enough, you didn’t buy red wine. Nor whiskey, thankfully.”

 “Yeah, I figured he was lying, I remember how much you both loved teasing each other,” he chuckled just at the memory of many fights and banters. “Apparently, still can’t let the opportunity pass.”

 “Oh, never,” she laughed along with him. “Okay, talk to me about your friends. What should I expect?”

 “Wait, before we get to that, why do you actually need to quarantine? Were you on some crazy vacations?” he asked the question that’s been on his mind ever since his roommate asked him about it.

 “Oh. Well, not really, I was visiting Frankie, that’s my best friend from uni. She lives in Brussels now. I was thinking of cancelling, but we spent most of the time just staying in or being really careful, you know, not taking any unnecessary risks, so I guess the worst part was the flight.” She shrugged, constantly wishing her two best friends weren’t scattered around the world.

 “I see,” he nodded in understanding. “Had a good time, then?”

 “Oh yeah, very! Haven’t seen her in forever. Really needed that as well. I, um…,” she tucked her hair behind her ear timidly, looking down for a second. “I don’t have many friends here, really. As you might have noticed,” she chuckled nervously.

 “Finding it hard to meet people?” he asked with furrowed brows, but didn’t even wait for a response, another question coming to his mind. “Actually, how long have you lived here? I think the last I’d heard, you were in Chicago?”

 “Seattle,” she corrected. “Yeah, I left like 7 months ago. I got offered a transfer here and a little promotion, I guess, a chance to prove myself, which was an amazing opportunity. I had to go to San Francisco for 4 weeks of training, before coming here though.” She explained, hoping he wouldn’t dig deeper on the subject, because it was not a conversation she wanted to have with him right now.

 “That sounds amazing, congrats,” he said simply and she exhaled in relief.

 “Thanks,” she chuckled. “But yeah, so I’ve been here a while, but haven’t really made friends yet.”

 “I guess working from home is not really helpful, huh?” he observed.

 “No, it definitely isn’t.”

 “Well, I’m always around if you want to hang out. Or go out once this whole pandemic calms down,” he proposed and she smiled appreciatively. “Okay, let’s give you some dirt on my mates, then.”

 ~~

 The quiz was actually very fun. Katie hadn’t laughed that much in a bit, it would be a very long time if she hadn’t counted her time in Belgium. She met six of Niall’s friends, two of them were friends from work, plus a girlfriend of one of them, one was a friend from his little soccer team and the last two were friends from uni, who were also a couple. Everyone was incredibly nice, making sure she felt welcomed and included, going as far as explaining most of their inside jokes.

 They had this tradition of one question dedicated to each person taking part, so they gave Katie a minute to come up with her own question about herself, since they didn’t know her well enough. She panicked a bit, her mind going blank, so she went with what came to her mind first, which was who she went to prom with, the answers being her ex that she broke up with a week before, her best friend or alone. Surprisingly, no one got it right, not even Niall.

 “Did you really go to prom with your ex?” he asked, when they talked right after the quiz. It just so happened that they ended up being the only two left on the call, everyone else disconnecting as soon as they were finished.

 “Yup,” she laughed, filling up her wine glass. They were both pretty tipsy already, on their path to drunk. “But we were friendly! You know, we were just going to different unis and stuff, it just wasn’t that serious. And everyone else was already taken!”

 “Well, you could have always asked me,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

 “Are you kidding? You used to tease me about it whenever I saw you my senior year!”

 He did, whenever he came home from uni (which was a lot during his first year) and saw her, always asking whether she had a hot date yet.

 “Yeah, ‘cause I wanted to take you!” Niall exclaimed.

 “What? Now that’s just lies,” she chuckled incredulously.

“Absolutely not, I had a little crush on you.”  Niall’s eyes were focused on his fingers picking at the beer bottle label.

 “No, you didn’t,” she shook her head, although her mind went straight back to the question about him in the quiz - who was his first crush. The answer choices were his teacher, his friend’s mum or his friend’s sister. As soon as it was asked, he whined, a blush flushing his cheeks. But when it was announced that the correct answer was his friend’s sister, she was pretty sure his eyes were trained on her, like he wanted to see her reaction. As much as a rational part of her brain didn’t want to misinterpret the whole situation and get false hope, she did wonder if there was a possibility that it might have been her.

 “Excuse me, I think I know my feelings better, thank you very much,” he said, pretending to be offended. “I just hid it well. Maybe too well.” Niall added the last part as an afterthought, quietly, but not enough for her to miss it.

 Maybe it was the wine, or maybe just Niall’s (virtual) presence that had her feeling brave, like he made her giddily nervous, but also brought a sense of safety and calm. Whatever it was, she was feeling brave enough to say, “funny, I had a crush on you, too. What a cliche, huh?”

 He scrunched his brows in confusion. “How so?”

 She shrugged, little half-smile on her face. “Liking your brother’s best friend.”

 “More cliche than liking your best friend’s little sister?” He inquired, before taking a gulp of beer.

 She laughed, her mind a bit too fuzzy to comprehend that they just admitted to liking each other. Once upon a time, at least. “I guess we’re just a pair of walking cliches.” Katie quirked as she hid  her timid smile behind her wine glass.

  10th day of quarantine

 Katie was fucked, there was no other way to put it. She was usually so good with planning and thinking ahead, always trying to be prepared, but at the most unfortunate time, it slipped her mind. She forgot her period was coming, or rather she forgot she was running out of tampons. And now she was stuck in her apartment, pondering if the possible fee for violating the quarantine is worth saving her from the massive embarrassment. Even though she was actually too responsible to go out now.

 If Niall was a good friend, she wouldn’t have that much of a problem asking him for it. She would have no problem asking him if he was a woman. And she would definitely have less of a problem, if she didn’t like him.

 But, no matter what, she had a problem and he was pretty much the only person she could count on to help her right now. So she swallowed her pride, pulled all of her courage and rang Niall, because she felt like, no matter how embarrassing, the situation required a proper call, not a text.

 He answered on the second ring. “Hey, everything good? You’re not dying, are ya?” His words were joking, but his voice had a serious undertone, he even sounded a little worried.

 “A bit,” she chuckled nervously, “but not because of the obvious. You’re not going to the shop today by any chance?”

 “What do you need?” he asked, instead of answering her question.

 “Well, this will be awkward, but…” Katie started, but hesitated for a second, biting her lip.

 “Hit me,” he encouraged.

 “I got my period and I forgot I have like one tampon left.” Even though she obviously couldn’t see him, she closed her eyes, like her shame burned them, spitting out the words as fast as possible.

 “Oh,” he let out a little sound of surprise, clearing his throat right after to mask it. “Alright, just send me which ones you want and I’ll get them.”

 “I hate being a burden.”

 “Stop it, you’re not a burden,” he reassured right away. “I was actually going to the shop anyway, need a few things. Just text me, so I don’t forget and add whatever else you want, yeah?”

 Niall’s words made her smile, she wasn’t sure if he really was going shopping, or just said it to make her feel better, but she just appreciated his reaction, not making a big deal out of it, just accepting her ask and thinking nothing more of it. She knew a lot of guys who would be so lost hearing that kind of request, but Niall was nothing if not alright. And that was just another great quality of his that she needed to add to the list in her mind that was growing scarily quick.

 “Okay, thank you. You’re saving my life, kinda.”

 “Mmm, I’m sure we’ll figure out a way for you to pay me back, no worries,” he laughed, before ending the call.

 An hour later, Katie got the text to pick up the bag from her door. There was no sign of Niall, as usual, but there was a bag with not only the tampons she asked for, but also with two different types of pads, a bag of chips, frozen pizza, some fresh fruits, four different chocolate bars and cookies n cream ice cream. There was also another note inside.

 thought some of those might help make you feel better, N xx

 And there he was with the xs again. It was probably just the way he signed everything. Either way, the care package was incredibly thoughtful, so Katie picked up her phone to text him.

 was not expecting a package like that. that’s a lot of stuff. but thank you, that’s very sweet

 just wasn’t sure what you like. El always ate pretty much sweets only, while Lil loved stuffing herself with salty snacks and fast foods

 Elaine and Liliana were his older sisters, Lil was married and with a child on the way, five years older than Niall, while Elaine was just two years older than him. Maybe that was the reason why he had no problem helping her today, having grown up with sisters always made guys act a bit different, or at least that’s what her mum always said.

 wasn’t sure about the ice cream flavour though, so played it a bit safe

 cookies and creams is a good one

 what’s your favourite?

 pistachio

 okay, noted

 Katie couldn’t explain why, but even little comments like that made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster. It wasn’t just because he was attentive to details, but it was like he wanted to know more about her, to soak every piece of information in. And then there were comments like that, the kind that made her think about the future, not just the immediate one right after her quarantine, but the actual future. Will they just stay friendly? Become best friends? Or will one of them be brave enough to make the first step into more? Katie didn’t know if there was more in the cards. When it came to her, it wasn’t just that stupid crush from her youth that came back. The feelings grew and were constantly growing, as she got to know more and more of Niall. But she didn’t know how he was feeling. Maybe there were signs, but she was never that great at reading them. Time will tell if one of them will pluck the courage to take that leap of faith, or if she just misread the situations. A part of her was very anxious about it, but another part was excited. And all of her was hopeful.

  12th day of quarantine

 “Catch me up on your life. I feel like the last time I really knew what was happening with you was high school,” Niall inquired, folding his hands to rest his chin on top. He looked adorable like this.

 It was a Friday night and they were skyping. Just the two of them, having drinks over video call. As it turns out, they do their pop quiz every other week and so he asked her if she wanted to hang out with him to survive her last days of solitude.

 “Oh, you think you knew what was going on in my life back then?” Katie chuckled, a sly grin on her face.

 “Well, I was in your house like every other day,” he reasoned.

 “Please, even I didn’t know what was happening in my life at that time.” She joked, because, if she was being honest, high school was a mess.

 He laughed. “Yeah, okay, point taken. But still, how was uni for you? How did you end up at the company you’re working for now?”

 “Uni was fun. Stressful, most of the time, but I have some good memories. And the company was just a fluke,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her wine, the last bottle of the three Niall bought her last week.

 “Was it hard leaving Seattle behind?” he asked.

 “Um..” she got embarrassed, nibbling on her bottom lip, clearly thinking over her answer. “Yes and no, I guess. I mean… I had a boyfriend,” she admitted, going into the story she didn’t like retelling, but actually didn’t mind that much right now. Not only because she trusted Niall, but because she was over that whole situation, even if it still brought up some unpleasant memories. “We had been together for about two years. And he didn’t want to move here with me. Like, didn’t even consider it. Just outright told me to reject the offer, basically. And most of our friends took his side. I guess they were mostly his friends to begin with, but it still stung. So yeah, it was hard, but there also really wasn’t much left for me there.” When she finished, she shrugged again, hoping to look quite unbothered, as it really was just a thing of the past. Katie took another sip of wine, while Niall looked at her with a look that she couldn’t decipher. But thankfully, it wasn’t pitiful.

 “Okay, first, I’m sorry,” he said after a second. “But second, that was such a dick move. I mean, it was a huge opportunity for you and he expected you to just give it up? Like an ultimatum? Not even ‘we can work it out’ or something?” He sounded genuinely surprised, even a little disgusted, which made Katie smile slightly, his reaction making her feel better.

 “It was more like ‘if you’re even considering taking it, then fuck you’, so yeah, pretty much,” she said, her words feeling much lighter than before.

 “Wow,” Niall chuckled humorlessly. “He really did not know how lucky he was to have you.”

 “Stoooop,” she said, her face growing hot.

 “No, I’m serious. I’d say good riddance to him.”

 “I kinda see it now too, to be honest,” she admitted, a faint smile on her lips. “It did make me realise how he didn’t really love me. Noticed a bunch of not great behaviours, actually. So hey, it’s all for the better.”

 “Oh for sure.”

 “What about you? Any tragic love story?” Katie asked, reaching for her glass.

 “Umm…” he took a big gulp of his beer, while she raised her brow, indicating it was her time to grill him. “Kinda the opposite of your story, actually,” Niall admitted.

 “You’re joking,” she gasped, her eyes growing wider.

 “Nope,” he shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. “I followed my girlfriend here. She got a great job, so I came with. It wasn’t far anyway, but yeah, she was the reason. I did say no to a proper job opportunity myself for that, actually. And then she dumped me four months later. Taking most of our mutual friends with her as well.”

 Katie was pretty much speechless. She did hear he had a girlfriend, they moved in together here, but she hadn’t heard when it ended and definitely not how. “Wow,” a shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Bad breakup?” she asked after a second.

 Niall licked his lips. “Not the worst, I mean, there wasn’t any cheating or anything, although she did get another boyfriend like two weeks later. But it did suck. We got a flat together and everything. I get that you can fall out of love with someone or whatever, but I did rearrange my life for her, so you know, if she was having doubts back then…” He let his voice linger. It’s been a while since he thought about her, even the last time they accidentally crossed paths a few months ago, he hadn’t really felt anything anymore.

 “She should have said it,” Katie finished his thought and he nodded.

 “Yeah. It felt a little out of the blue. But it’s been over a year now, so I’ve dealt with that. It was the most exciting story about my life, though. Other than that it’s just work, footie, pub quizzes and booze,” he chuckled, taking another gulp of his beer, as to prove his point.

 “A boring life is the best kind, though,” she noticed. “I think it’s so underrated. I’d take stability over drama anyday.”

 “Yes! Thank you!” Niall got excited, scooting a little closer and even pointing a finger at her through the screen. “That’s what I think too.”

 “Great minds think alike,” she laughed, moving her finger between them two.

 It was probably the most personal conversation she had ever had with Niall. And it felt good. Maybe not exactly because their stories were good, but because she felt like there was a certain level of understanding. He was such an easy person to talk to, no matter the subject. And this conversation, hearing his story, made her appreciate him even more, especially his character. Being willing to sacrifice himself for love was a big thing. She just hoped that he still had it in him, that the past didn’t make him close his heart off, but by his honesty and vulnerability, she didn’t think that was the case. And that really did make her happy.

 They were quiet for a moment, at first just kind of looking at each other with soft eyes, feeling somehow connected, even through a computer screen. But then Katie furrowed her brows before crossing her eyes, which made Niall also pull a face, before they both burst out laughing.

 “Well, I didn’t know the friends who took her side, but the ones you have now are pretty great,” she said, closing the subject. “Thanks for inviting me to the quiz last week, it was a lot of fun.”

 “Thank you for joining us. And you know you’re already invited to the next one.”

 Katie smiled, looking down for a second. When she raised her eyes again, Niall was giving her a weird look, like he couldn’t figure her out.

 “What?” she asked.

 He shrugged. “You say thank you too much.”

 She chuckled, “well, I was raised right.”

 “Yeah, but you don’t have to say it for everything. We’re actually just hoping you won’t blow us off when your quarantine is over,” he said.

 “You? Never,” she said, her words making matching grins appear on both their faces.

  1 day after quarantine

 To be honest, Katie didn’t know what she was doing. It was the first day of her freedom and she invited Niall for dinner. She was making a dish that was his favourite when they were younger, her mum used to always tell Josh to invite Niall around, when she was cooking it. She wanted to do something nice for him, to repay him for all the help. Another reason might have been the fact that she really wanted to see him. As nice as texting and skype was, she wanted to be face to face with him, hear his voice clearly, not slightly distorted by her laptop speakers. Maybe even touch him.

 To say she was nervous would be an understatement. She went crazy yesterday, cleaning the entire flat, then ironing half of her clothes, because she couldn’t decide on one outfit she might want to wear. She eventually settled on a casual black skirt, with a slightly sheer, emerald blouse. Her hair was pinned up a bit messily, while she still hadn’t decided if she’s gonna keep it that way or let it loose, or maybe tie it up… She put some makeup on, but didn’t want to overdo it. It was just a casual dinner with a childhood friend, after all.

 Just seconds after she turned off the stove, her doorbell rang. It was like the sound went to her heart instead of her ears, making it beat just a little bit faster, excited about the person waiting outside.

 Katie pulled off her apron quickly and went to welcome her guest, finally.

 “Hiya,” Niall said as soon as she pulled the door open. He squeezed in next to her, handing her a bottle of wine and taking off his jacket. “Oh my god, do I smell chilli?” he asked, turning to face her as soon as he hung it up.

 Katie smiled, just seeing him made her happy, but his words and the excited glint in his eyes made her even happier. “Yeah. I got my mum’s recipe, so hopefully it’ll be at least half as good as hers,” she shrugged innocently, trying to check him out as discreetly as possible.

 He looked good, the screen did him no justice and he looked good even then. In the flesh he looked more buff, definitely spent his lockdown working out. His hair looked softer and more fluffy and there was a slight stubble on his face. The simple t-shirt he was wearing clung beautifully to his bicep.

 “That recipe is like your family’s best kept secret,” he said, eyes wide.

 She laughed. “It’s really not, my mum just didn’t want yours to have it, because she loved you coming over and praising her.”

 “Oh and you’re hoping for that same praise, aren’t you?” Niall asked, with a raised brow.

 She chuckled again, shrugging her shoulder like she didn’t even know what he was talking about. And then he took a step closer and wrapped her in a hug.

 “It’s good to finally see you properly. You look beautiful,” he said so close to her ear, she could feel his breath on her neck, raising goosebumps on its way.

 It only took her a second to settle into the hug, her arms around his waist, her face nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the mixture of freshly washed clothes and his cologne. The thing was, Niall was an amazing hugger. She knew it before, but now that he was slightly bigger, he was even better. And he smelt amazing. Katie had to force herself to pull away before it became an awkwardly long embrace.

 “You look good as well, it’s nice to actually hang out.”

 “Thanks for inviting me.”

 “Thanks for all the help. Come on, I just turned the stove off, so we should eat while it’s hot.”

 She gestured for him to go first into the kitchen, creating herself an opportunity to unashamedly look at his ass, which looked pretty good in his dark grey trousers.

 Katie had been stressing all day if they’d have something to talk about. They had skyped twice and texted throughout most days, they were about to run out of topics to discuss at some point, right?

 Well, apparently not anytime soon. They spent the whole meal talking between bites, Niall pretty much moaning at the first taste of chilli, which made Katie laugh unattractively, covering her mouth in an attempt to keep the food from spilling out. But the conversation just flowed so naturally between them. They actually sat at the table, in front of empty plates for almost an hour, just chatting, before they ran out of wine which eventually prompted them to move. They cleared the plates, opened another bottle of wine, this time the white one Niall had brought, and moved to the sofa.

 “Can I ask you something?” Niall asked, waiting a second after they settled, while she was quickly responding to a text from her mum.

 “Sure,” she said, putting her phone down and twisting her body towards him, one leg bent on the couch.

 He looked down for a second, then licked his lips, before meeting her eyes again carefully. “Is this a date?”

 “Well…” She bit her lip. “It was meant as a thank you, but I guess…” She hesitated for a second, but then saw a small flash of light in his eyes, which gave her that little bit of courage she needed. “It could be. If you want it to be.”

 “See, that’s a tricky question,” he said with a grin, which made Katie raise her brows in question. “Because yes, I would very much like to be dating you, but it’s also weird not being the one organising the date, especially the first one. I just showed up, while you planned the whole thing.”

 She laughed, her heart feeling instantly lighter, looking at him with admiration. “You can always take a lead with the second one.”

 “Deal.”

 He brushed the hair that escaped her updo out of her face, putting it behind her ear. Katie was pretty sure he was about to kiss her, but she didn’t want to wait a second longer, his earlier words giving her enough courage to lean in and be the one to initiate the kiss.

 He tasted like wine and chilli, probably exactly the same way she did, but somehow the kiss was sweet, their mouths finding their rhythm easily, almost like they were meant to work together.

 When they parted, she let out a soft laugh. One of disbelief. And happiness. She just kissed Niall. And now she had a bunch of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

 “What are you laughing about? Was it that terrible?” he asked, his voice a little bit panicked.

 “No, god no, it was great,” Katie rushed to assure him, in case he couldn’t tell her emotions by the huge grin on her face. “It’s just… Unexpected. I really did not think we would end up like this.”

 “How so?” His arm was holding her hip, as if he was making sure she didn’t pull away.

 “I mean… Well, did you ever think we’d be here?” she asked him, not really sure how to explain her thoughts.

 “Um… Not really, no. I used to think we’d date at some point, but when we had both gone to uni that hope kinda died,” he admitted.

 “Really?”

 “Yeah. Why are ya so surprised?” He chuckled at her reaction.

 “I mean…” Katie hesitated for a moment, reaching for his hand to play with the ring on his finger. “Yeah, we apparently had a crush on each other back in the day. And we’ve known each other forever, but we also didn’t know each other that well, not really.”

 “Yeah,” Niall sighed in understanding, “it’s this weird feeling of knowing someone for years while also just truly learning about them now. But it’s not necessarily bad though, is it?”

 “Not at all, I like learning more about you. Getting closer to you.” She gave him a gentle smile, which he returned right away,

 “That feeling is very mutual.”

 “Life just works in a weird way, doesn’t it? We’ve been living pretty close to each other for months without even realising. And we haven’t spoken for over a year, but now it just…”

 “Something clicked,” he shrugged, flicking her palm to trace mindless patterns on the back of it.

 “Yeah, it did.”

 “Maybe it was meant to be.” His words were so light, but at the same time, they held so much conviction, they made Katie’s heart soar.

 “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?” she asked cheekily. “I think it all depends on what you’ll prepare for that second date.”

 He chuckled. “Oh wow, well, that chilli is gonna be hard to beat. But I feel like all the shopping I’ve done for you should count for something, you know, like a little advance.”

 “Oh great, we haven’t even started dating properly and you’re already slacking. Nice one, Horan.”

 Her words made him let out a booming laugh, his head thrown back. And all she could do was look at him and admire the beautiful man beside her, thanking the universe for giving them a chance to find each other.

 ~~

 “Do you have a morning shift tomorrow?” Katie asked, when another episode had ended. They talked some more, then kissed some more, before eventually settling down to watch some tv, enjoying the quiet moments of just holding each other, having more than enough words between them that night.

 Even the small fact of him choosing a tv show to start watching together instead of a movie made her do a little mental note in her head. Because it was one more thing indicating that he wanted to do this again. If she even had any doubts still.

 “Mmmm, no,” he says, rubbing at his eye sleepily. “I’m starting at two in the afternoon.”

 Katie learned he had 3 possible work shifts when he texted her at midnight that he’s at the shop and they’ve run out of the cereal she wanted. He was an IT support specialist, which she found very interesting, although she didn’t understand a lot of his explanation when she asked him about his job.

 “Do you wanna stay the night?” she asked. When he looked at her surprised, a flush appeared on her cheeks. “Just to watch another episode and go to sleep, I didn’t mean… like..”

 “No, yeah, of course, I wouldn’t want to…” he rushed to say.

 “Oh, you wouldn’t?” She looked at him with an arched brow, playful smile on her face. “So you’re not into me?”

 “What? Shit, no, of course I am, come on, you should know that.” He raised his brows and both their minds went back to a moment when they were kissing earlier (well, some people would probably call it making out) and she felt his hardening dick on her tight.

 She bit her lip to sustain a smile, because it was nice to feel that way, to feel wanted, but also for the other person to be open about it, not afraid to admit his feelings towards her. It’s been a while since she felt like that. Sexy, free, confident. A bit vulnerable, but safe.

 “Yeah, I guess I do,” she said with a wicked smile, planting a kiss on his lips.

 It was crazy how comfortable she felt with him. She didn’t hesitate to cuddle up to his body, didn’t think about going in for a kiss, even despite it being just hours since their first one. With Niall, there were just no doubts, not anymore.

 “So sleep or one more episode?” he asked, his arm tucking her closer to him.

 “Are you gonna fall asleep halfway through?”

 “Nope, I’m pretty awake now, your proposal made me come alive again,” he chuckled, tickling her side, which made her yelp in surprise.

 So they watched two more episodes before eventually getting ready to sleep. Katie took pride in being a good host, providing Niall with fresh towels and a toothbrush, before he even got the chance to ask. She also made him take the bathroom first, so she could put the blanket covering her bed and all the extra pillows away. She did a quick scroll through her socials, deliberately avoiding a text from Frankie, asking how the night had gone. She could wait until tomorrow, when Katie would call her for a proper gossip.

 “Do you mind if I sleep in just my boxers?” Niall asked, walking out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped securely around his waist, his glistening chest on full display. He had definitely been working out. “I can wear a shirt too, if you want me to.”

 Katie shook her head. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m good with whatever,” she said, passing him with a smile to take her turn getting ready to sleep.

 She tried to be as quick as possible, removing her makeup and brushing teeth. When she emerged, Niall was tucked in bed, on the left side, which was exactly the one that had always been empty, since she slept on the right.

 Her pajamas were simple, consisting of cotton shorts and a simple t-shirt. After all, they still had time for something sexier, you shouldn’t play all your cards right away.

 “First date and you already got me into bed,” he said watching her climb under the sheets. “Damn, woman, you’re good.”

 There was a huge grin on his face, which made it impossible for her not to mirror his expression.

 “You took my side,” she said, fluffing her pillow before lying down. The bedside lamp was the only source of light in the room, which bathed them both in the golden glow. Niall couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, she looked stunning.

 “Oh shit, sorry, it actually looked less slept on,” he started explaining, making a move to get up. “We can switch.”

 Katie laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I’m just messing with you, you got it right.”

 “Uhhh I hate you,” he whined, burrowing his head in the pillow. For a second he wished he really was on the wrong side, because then the pillow would smell of Katie and not fabric softener.

 “Oh but you don’t. I’m pretty sure you said you liked me, actually,” she chuckled, loving the joking atmosphere that felt so natural between them.

 “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you,” he turned his head to look at her again. She moved closer, resting her head on the edge of his pillow, before moving after a second to plant a kiss on his lips.

 It was impossible to not feel how his lips stretched into a smile during the kiss. It seemed like they spent the whole night just smiling and kissing. But neither of them were complaining.

 With Niall it was all so easy. Sure, at times she might be a bit nervous, especially right before seeing him or talking to him, but once she felt his presence, most of it went away. She felt free. He had seen her do so much stupid shit over the years, she just knew he wouldn’t judge or be put off. It was just that level of comfort and familiarity, that was what he brought her. And she didn’t understand how, but at the same time he made her feel giddy and excited. It was like he calmed her and made her heart beat faster at the same time. It was against her logic, but she decided not to question it. Because there was no question to her that it was a good thing. She liked that feeling. She craved that feeling.

 It was crazy how unexpectedly things could happen. Two weeks ago she didn’t even want to call him, not wanting to bother him, any relationship between them vanished over more than a year ago. And now she wanted to keep in contact with him as much as possible. She wanted to talk to him everyday. Somehow, over such a short time, he became a constant part of her day, whether it was sharing memes, random thoughts or having actual deep conversations. She never even thought she’d be here, falling for someone so fast. Least of all, falling for Josh’s best friend. But that was a funny thing about life and love, it crept up on you when you least expected it. And sometimes, it did so in simply the best way.

 The pandemic was a horrific thing that affected countless people’s lives, but in a surprising twist of events, it gave Katie a light in such a dark time. And that light went by the name of none other than Niall Horan.

[allywrites]

I walked up to the bar where she was sitting, as instructed, appearing every bit as heartbreaking as I remembered.  She looked like she didn’t even have to try.  

Tight black dress, black heels, hair spilling toward the bottom of her spine.  Perched perfectly on a velvet bar stool.  I knew my lines, just like she knew hers.  Both of us had years of rehearsals under our belts.  

Boldly, I didn’t stop until I was right next to her.  Leaning up against the bar, I could smell the gin in her glass.  She turned and pretended to be surprised to see me standing there.  

“Hello,” I began.  Her wide eyes held mine and she discreetly angled her body toward mine.  Smart move.  The photographer my agent had planted walked in behind me.  From where he stood across the room, our positioning would look intimate.  “I’m Harry Styles.”  I stuck my hand out for her to shake, and she grabbed it delicately, eyes shining.  “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Lies.  All of it was a lie, but looking at her made me think that this was a deception well worth it.  

White teeth sparkled behind painted lips.  Despite myself, I let her smile be an excuse for my eyes to linger on her mouth.  

“Francesca Westbrook,” she greeted, shaking my hand in hers.  When her hand left mine, I shifted it to rest on the back of her chair.  Physical, I reminded myself.  They wanted sparks to fly.  I wasn’t comfortable touching her immediately, and I knew she wouldn’t be either.  This would have to be good enough for both our teams.  

“How does it feel to be the most beautiful woman in the room?”  I wanted to vomit.  What a fucking line.  But they fed it to me, and I was forced to eat it.  There is remarkable jurisdiction in autonomy.  

“Shouldn’t you be asking to buy me a drink?”  

I hesitated.  This was off-script.  If her reputation were to be believed, Francesca Westbrook was not one to follow orders.  I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You already have one,” I answered instead, looking down at the gin and tonic in her glass.  She appraised me from head to toe before tipping the glass back and downing it in one pull.  A red outline of her lips remained on the edge of the crystal.  

Cold Reads - a mini OU featuring a fake-dating, director!Harry - coming 2018

story page     /     fic tag     /     francesca westbrook     /     harry styles

[ihearthes]

Title: My Wolf

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Unnamed OFC Rating: Lots of smut and a little fluff Word Count: 5565 Inspired by: @1dffchallenges​ for the 1dff Summer Challenge

Sometimes best friends CAN become something more...

“Some of the best memories are made with a cocktail in your hand.” 

Having just stepped into Mum’s garden for the summer celebration of Gemma and Michal’s 2nd wedding anniversary, I heard Wolf’s joyful boast to my sister Gemma. The girls sipped what looked to be Sangria. Wolf was the only one on the west-facing bench, talking with Gemma and Chloe who were sat on the opposite bench. When Wolf threw back her head and laughed, I drank in the sight of her as her hair swirled playfully with the toss of her head. The light from the setting sun shone on her face, making it shiny. Sadly, I was confident she wouldn’t take that as a compliment. “Shiny” seemed to be a dirty word to women when it came to their faces. The sundresses were clearly back in season, and luckily the weather was warm enough that I got to see her gorgeous shoulders. Not to mention the cleavage she was displaying. Unwilling to take my eyes off her, I nearly tripped over Dusty who was winding her way around my legs. Picking up the cat, I held her in front of my face as I soothed her angry meows. When Dotty scratched at my leg, I understood her worry about her friend. Scooping up the second cat, I made a beeline for my original goal, plopping Dusty in Wolf’s lap while I stroked Dotty. 

“Oh!” Because of her surprise, some of Wolf’s drink slopped over onto her hand. True to her usual good nature, she chose not to chastise me publicly. Licking off the remnants, she placed her glass on the table before settling Dusty more comfortably on her lap. “Hi, sweet one. I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” Let’s face it. There was no way I was going to allow the opportunity for that joke to pass me by. It was a line just waiting to be shared. Wolf merely rolled her eyes and twisted her body slightly away from me and more towards Gemma. 

“Your brother, the Queen of All Things, has arrived,” she announced, causing Gemma and Chloe to laugh. The announcement sounded rather regal, and I smiled too, knowing that she meant it as a joke with me and not about me. It had been her contention for years that things come easily to me. Little did she know...

“He always has to make a grand entrance,” my sister teased before rising and half-hugging me, carefully not to squish my passenger. “Give me Dotty.” Removing the younger cat from my arms, Gemma flumped back into her seat, where she and Chloe fussed over the cat. Michal joined us, settling in the single chair at the grouping, leaving me the lone person standing.

“What’s up, Wolf?” 

Wolf shifted to make room for me on the bench. “When are you going to give up on that awful nickname?” Burying her hand in Dusty’s fur, she scratched the cat gently behind the ears for a few moments before Dusty tired of the attention. Rising and stretching, Mum’s eldest cat took her leave, either stalking a new prey or desiring her soft bed. 

“Wolf?” Michal asked, bewildered, his gaze swiveling from me to the girl sat next to me. “I thought your name was…”

“Not when Harry is around,” Gemma dryly interrupted. “You’ve not heard the story?” 

“Oh, it’s a good one!” I chimed in. “Let me get a drink, and I’ll tell all!”

“I’ve brought you a drink, darling.” Mum to the rescue per usual. 

She handed me a bright red drink which I presumed to be sangria. “Thanks, Mum.” 

“You young people better behave over here,” she warned, both her bite and her bark without any rancor, before sauntering away to join Louise and the Mlykowskis. 

“Now, where were we?” I wiggled my bum until I was sat comfortably against the back of the bench, resting one arm behind Wolf so that I could tug on her hair (mostly because I know how much she hates it). Sure enough, she batted at my hand as I twirled her hair around my fingers. “Oh, yes. The nickname.”

Wolf punched my thigh. “It’s a stupid story, and a silly nickname, especially since there are no wolves in England. Honestly, Michal. Wouldn’t you rather hear about the time Harry had to go to the cosmetics counter when he was 10?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” My voice was raised in laughter as I set my drink on the table next to hers and turned to tickle her until she squealed. 

“I give up!” 

“Great.” Rubbing my hands together, I prepared to share the story while Gemma folded her arms and stared at me amusedly. “What?” 

“If you tell the Wolf story, and she tells the cosmetics story, then I get to tell the football story.” 

Shit. My sister was out for blood. But I couldn’t just leave my brother-in-law hanging. He deserved to know the truth about Wolf. Refusing to acknowledge Gemma’s comment (and confident I could change the subject once my story was done so as to avoid any potential embarrassment to myself), I cleared my throat. 

“We used to live next to this Chinese restaurant. It was my favourite place --” 

“OUR favourite place,” Wolf interrupted. 

Giving her the side-eye, I acquiesced. “Fine. Our favourite place.” I shook my head to indicate that she shouldn’t try to control the narrative on this one, knowing that she would anyway. “When we were about seven or eight, I convinced her that sweet and sour sauce was actually wolf’s blood. I was so insistent, and when our families went there to eat, I would purposely order sweet and sour just so I could slurp up the sauce.”

“It was disgusting!” Wolf wrinkled her nose. “And it was mean to tell me it was wolf’s blood. Of course, I was an idiot to believe it.”

“It got to the point where she would cry whenever I ordered it,” I laughed, “and Mum made me admit that it wasn’t wolf’s blood. She made the owner take us into the kitchen to show how it was made. But the nickname stuck.”

“Only with you,” Wolf retorted. “No one else uses that ridiculous name.”

“Mhm,” I murmured, “Not to your face anyway.” While the rest of the group dissolved into giggles, sipping more of their sangria, Wolf picked up her glass and took a long, deep sip. 

“But Michal, you haven’t yet heard the story of the cosmetics counter. Harry and I had gone to the pharmacy to return an electric toothbrush he’d bought without permission. Anne made him take it back, and when we walked in, the clerk told Harry to go to the Cosmetics Counter. Well, he threw an absolute fit. ‘I don’t want any cosmetics!’ He stomped his feet while he shouted the words, too. ‘I only want to return this toothbrush.’ It was quite the spectacle. Almost as big a splash as when he wore a dress on the cover of Vogue.” 

My smile tilted up the corners of my mouth at her retelling of our ancient history. 

“That’s when the clerk leaned over the counter and quietly said to him, ‘Harry Styles. Stop that caterwauling this instant!’ Naturally, he was so shocked that he stood still and stared at her. ‘Returns are only processed by the manager, and he’s at the cosmetics counter.’ Oh, goodness! The look on his face!” Wolf bent over at the waist, her laughter contagious as the others in the group also joined. 

I couldn’t stop my dimple from showing at her mirth. It was good to see her having fun like this. The last time we’d been in the same space seven months ago at Christmas, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, and she was quite in her feels. This was a treat compared to that night when I’d had to hold her hair while she puked and then drive her home to put her to bed. Alone. 

“My turn now!” Gemma yelled, and both Wolf and I looked at our empty glasses. 

Standing, I reached for her glass. “Do your worst, Gemma, but only after we’ve got refills.” With that, I stalked inside to the kitchen to pour some more drinks. As I stood at the counter rinsing our glasses, arms wrapped around me, and Wolf leaned her face into my back. 

“I’ve missed you, you giant dork,” she whispered, and I freed my hands so that I could clasp her fingers more tightly to my tummy. When the door behind us opened, she sprang away, grasping a plate and filling it with yummy goodies Mum had prepared. Another guest entered the room and approached the drinks, greeting us heartily. Since I was already pouring drinks, I paused with the container in one hand, offering silently to add more liquid to Mrs. Mathieu’s glasses. 

“Make one for me too, Wolf,” I insisted as she added cheeses and biscuits and fruit to her plate. 

“Only if you say the magic word,” she pouted. 

“Abracadabra!” 

“Ha. Ha.” Her dignified answer was accompanied by her picking up a second plate and loading it with more of the same. 

“Okay, okay. Please?” I begged, and she looked at me and smiled. Fuck. It was the same smile I remembered from the first time we met in primary school. Crooked and warm and perfect. Although it had a few more teeth this time. The past seven months, I had missed that smile tremendously. 

We traded drinks for plates so we held one of each, and Wolf looked up at me unabashedly. “How the hell do we get out of the football story?” 

“Well,” I attempted, grinning widely, “We could sneak away from the party and never return.”

She nudged my elbow, shaking her head. “It would never work. Someone would figure it out and hunt us down.”

“The other option is telling embarrassing stories about Gemma before she can start.”

“Oh, right. Because THAT will stop her.” 

The sarcasm was accurate. If anything, adding fuel to the fire would mean even more embarrassing stories about us. And truth to tell, there were plenty. My best friend since I was seven, Wolf and I had a million embarrassing stories that Gems could share. “Okay, so we’re agreed.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “We get her reminiscing about the wedding two summers ago.”

“Wait. What?” My elbow was on the door, prepared to close it behind us when she spoke. “That won’t work.”

“Of course it will work! Every bride loves to talk about her wedding.”

Skeptical, I stared at her. Blinking first, I nodded. “You take the lead. Let’s see if it works.”

“Deal.” Striding back to the group, Wolf went on the offensive, and it reminded me of the many times she’d learned more about my dates and my life than I had intended to share. “Hey, Gemma. Settle a bet for H and me. Were your bridesmaids’ dresses more peach or apricot?”

My sister tilted her head, staring first at Wolf and then me. Her gaze swiveled between us, and I knew the ploy hadn’t worked. “They were apricot. Kind of like that uniform you used to wear for football.” 

Shit. 

Ready to concede, I’d forgotten how tenacious Wolf could be. “I loved the band you had at the reception. Who was it again?”

Gemma blinked once. Twice. Her eyes narrowed, and I knew Wolf was done for. “You wouldn’t be trying to distract me from the football story now, would you?” 

Wolf swallowed before attempting to innocently sip her sangria. “Um, no. Of course not. Tell whatever stories you want.” 

Sitting up straight, Gemma surveyed her audience. “Okay. Here we go. Buckle in, folks. So it was a rainy, muddy day on the pitch, but Wolf here was insistent that she and I go see Harry’s football game. For whatever reason, Wolf decided we should get dressed up for the game. I was wearing a pants suit, but she insisted on wearing a sundress --” She squinted, “--not unlike the one she’s wearing today.” 

Chloe and Michal’s eyes roamed over Wolf, and I felt protective. They ignored the lasers I shot at them. Mum and Louise wandered to the edges of where we were sitting. Great. Just what we didn’t need. A wider audience. Casually, I returned my arm behind Wolf’s back, playing with her hair in a way that I hoped calmed her. 

“We set ourselves up with brollies, standing on the sidelines, watching the game. My trousers stuck to my legs around the ankles because of the rain, but Wolf wouldn’t let me bring up the topic of leaving even though she was shivering in the cold. Harry, being Harry, made his first goal of the entire season. In celebration, he chose to slide on the muddy pitch on both knees.” 

She paused, watching her listeners, and I was reminded how impressive she is as a storyteller. It’s one of my sister’s many gifts. Not that I wanted her to continue telling this particular story. I could feel the flush creeping up my skin, and I resolved to be good-natured about the ribbing that would come as a result. 

“But my idiot brother failed to take into account that the mud tends to be more slick than the grass which meant that when he slid in our direction, the mud flew all over both Wolf and me.”

Michal and Chloe started to giggle, and I knew they were picturing the pristine Gems covered in mud, but they hadn’t been exposed yet to the most embarrassing part. 

“The best, though, was that Harry kept sliding -- right into Wolf. He landed with his face right in her crotch, mud covering both of them.”

The crowd, which now included Mum and her friends, burst into laughter, chuckling loudly while Wolf and I attempted to make light of the past moment. We snickered with the rest of the group, but I felt her body stiffen next to me, and I knew she was reliving the abject embarrassment of the moment. As was I. 

“Goodness! That was hilarious,” Michal remarked. “Did I ever tell you about the time Gemma and I tried to take Olivia to the vet without her carrier?”

As he began the story, I glanced at Wolf to spy her looking my way. We shared a smile and then returned our attention to the tale being spun before us. Somehow we had survived. 

-----------

The night continued for quite a while, sangria freely flowing, and I cut myself off after three glasses of the sugary liquor. I noticed that Wolf took over an hour to drink her third glass until I finally brought her water to trade for her mostly-empty cup. 

“Thanks, H,” she whispered, reaching up to touch the curl at the top of my forehead, twirling it around her finger lightly. 

“You heading home soon?” I asked, and she nodded. 

“I’m getting tired. But I caught a ride with Chloe, and it seems like she’s planning to stay for the duration.”

Instantly I promised, “I can take you home.” 

“Aw, H. You’re sweet.” She wrapped her arm around my waist, which naturally led to me guiding my arm over her shoulder. Pulling her in closer, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Good. I’ve got you fooled.” 

When she yawned less than 10 minutes later, I pressed the point. “Really, Wolf. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

Sleepily and shyly, she nodded. “Thanks.”

Within minutes, we’d said our goodbyes to the stragglers, providing hugs all around. My hand on Wolf’s back felt like it was seared where it touched her bare skin, and I steered her towards my car. 

“You’re up from London then? Staying for some time or heading back?” she asked. 

“Haven’t decided,” I replied, and it was absolutely the truth. “I’ve got my flat above the pub.” There were things to do in London, but… Well, there were things I wanted to do in Holmes Chapel too. “How’s business?” 

“Booming!” she grinned. “The work of a solicitor is never complete.” 

“Ah, yes. True.” We climbed into the car, and I twisted the key before turning towards her. “You always were brilliant.” 

The blush that rose on her cheeks enhanced her beauty. “H --” 

“Shhh,” I interrupted. “No negative self-talk.” Pressing the ignition button, I reversed onto the road and steered towards her house. “I’m proud of you.” My words tumbled out, and as they did so, I examined them for lies. There were none. 

“I am so proud of you,” she responded. “You’ve made your own way, Harry. Celebrity crashed in on you like a flood from a broken dam, and you’ve managed to stem its tide and surf it.” 

I chuckled. “No idea how many metaphors you just butchered, but thank you.” Steering with one hand, I reached for her hand with mine. “Thanks for being such a brave duck about the football story.”

“Oh, goodness,” she gushed, grasping my hand. “That story shouldn’t be embarrassing. I mean, we were like 12 years old when it happened.” 

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But I had the biggest crush on you at the time.”

Her hand clenched around mine, and she went silent for a minute or two as I steered onto her street. “You did? Harry! I had no idea.” 

“Likely cause I tried to keep it from you. No sense in fucking up my relationship with my best friend over something silly.” Pulling into her drive, I killed the engine, listening to it tick in the cooling night air while she sat in silence, her other hand wrapping around our conjoined grip. 

“H--” she started, “I, uh, have a confession.”

Bewildered, I turned to her, only able to see her outline in the fading daylight. The meteorologists had announced a full moon for the night, and I wanted to see her face reflected in the light, but it seemed to be too cloudy for that to happen. Figured. 

“Yes?” 

“I, um, I had a crush on you that year too. And when you slid into the mud at my feet, all I could think was ‘my hero!’.” She withdrew her hands to bury her face in both palms, and I looked at her sharply. 

“Seriously?” 

She nodded, her hair falling around her hands still covering her face. 

“Wolf?” I wondered. “Do you…” Pausing, I didn’t feel safe saying more. We’d been best friends for more than 20 years. 

Her face, freed from her hands, turned in my direction. “Do I what?” 

“Do you still…” 

“Have a crush on you? Shit, H. The entire world has a crush on you these days. You’re everywhere, and any woman or man who gets to spend time in your orbit is lucky as fuck.” 

“That didn’t answer my question, Wolf.” My words were bold, but at this point, I was past caring. I wanted more from her, and she needed to know that so she could put me out of my misery -- one way or the other. 

“H…” she hedged. 

With my hands retrieved from her grasp, I tugged on the door handle and stood up, moving to her side of the car. Opening the door, I held out my hand for her. Gingerly, she placed her hand in mine, not taking her eyes from my face the entire time. Once she was standing in the open doorway, I bent my head and captured her lips. Without remorse or apology. Or permission. 

Warmth flowed between us, and I felt her startle slightly before she wrapped a hand around my neck and opened to me. Fuck. I delved inside. She tasted like summer and the berries we’d had at my mum’s house. Her tongue tangled with mine in ways that let me know she was eager for more. My hand snaked around her waist, drawing her closer to me as I ransacked her mouth more deeply. Fuck. This. This was all I’d ever wanted. 

When she moved her hand from my neck, I wanted to cry, but I gentled the kiss when she patted at my chest. 

“We can’t…” she began, and my heart fell, “...out here. Anyone could see.” Shit. YES! 

“Of course,” I agreed, calming my body which was already raging at the possibility of being inside her. 

She stepped around me, heading for the door of her home. I glanced around to see what eyes might be watching, but ultimately I didn’t care as I stumbled up the stairs behind her. As soon as she turned the key and opened the door, I took the opportunity to attach my lips to her neck. 

“Harry!” she yelped. “Let me close the door at least.” 

She was speaking sense, but all I could think was how much I wanted her. Allowing her to shut the door behind my hip, I immediately reached for her again. 

“Hey!” Wolf squawked. “Give me a second to breathe. We’ve waited a long time for this step, H, so is there really a rush?” 

“On the contrary,” I replied, “There’s an intense rush because we’ve waited too long.”

She smiled while she ran her hand over my chest. “I understand, but let’s do this right.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “By the way, I’m not looking to be a one night stand.” 

My right eyebrow raised. “Have I ever given you the impression that I go for quickies?” 

The devilish smile that roamed across her lips was all the permission I needed. “Music?” she wondered, stepping to the stereo and choosing a vinyl. When she placed the needle to the record, the strains of Steve Lacy’s newest filled the room. Removing her shoes, she beckoned me with one finger while undulating her hips. What the hell. She was right. We had plenty of time if we were truly going to try this on for a relationship. I toed off my Vans, my bare feet gliding in her direction until I was close enough to grasp her around the waist and pull her in. 

The song was sexy by itself, but add in this gorgeous woman and it would have been impossible for me to not press my lips to her neck. With my tongue, I tasted her pulse point before my lips closed over the flesh. Fuck, she tasted amazing. We swayed to the first song, her head resting on my chest. Moving together but not talking.

As the first song ended, Wolf lifted her head, catching my eye. “You’re sober, right?” 

Because I knew the reason she asked, I nodded. “I stopped two hours ago, and you nursed that last drink for at least an hour which means you’re not under the influence either.” 

“True,” she whispered, “I know exactly what I’m doing. You clean?” 

“Yep. Do you want a condom?”

“Not if you’re clean. I am too; also I have an IUD. Now, let’s do this.” With those words, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine with a hunger that matched my own. I pulled her into me, bending my head to allow her to take whatever she wanted from me. And take she did. Her tongue danced a flamenco with mine, and I didn’t want to breathe for fear she would stop.

While our mouths were engaged, her fingers moved to the hem of my vintage tee, lifting it up just enough for her hand to skim across my ferns before rising to brush over my nipples. Not gonna lie. I shivered. My nips were en pointe, and I couldn’t wait to return the favor, but Wolf was having none of it. As soon as she finished pushing my shirt over my head (leaving me to fully remove it from there -- or remain trapped in the arms), she skimmed her hands over my chest, sucking first the left and then the right nipple into her mouth. 

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, and I watched her fingers brush over my two extra nipples, “I know you’re important too.” 

A strangled cry left my throat, and I found myself staring at the ceiling because she wasn’t done yet. Her fingers fumbled with the button on my trousers, sliding the zipper down. Both hands reached under the fabric of my pants to scratch my arse before she peeled the trousers and pants down my legs. But did she allow me to step out of them? Nope. Not even remotely. Next thing I knew, she was on her knees in front of my cock. 

“Hi, there,” she cooed. “I’ve not seen you in decades. You’ve grown up quite a bit.” 

I chuckled at her silliness, but then sucked in air with the force of a hurricane as she used her tongue to lave the tip of my cock. 

“Fuck, Wolf. Have some mercy,” I pleaded. 

“I’ve been waiting way too long to taste this,” she announced just before my entire length was engulfed in her mouth. 

Oh holy fuck. I couldn’t breathe. My fingers tangled in her hair as my head tilted backwards to stare at her ceiling. That is, if my eyes had been open. Instead, they were closed as stars burst on the lids with the feel of her lips on me as she applied the perfect amount of suction to make me fully erect. 

“Wolf?” I attempted the single word, but it came out more like “wooofffffffffff”. She had just grabbed my arse while deepthroating me, and I couldn’t summon enough energy to enunciate her nickname appropriately. 

When my eyes were able to open and gaze down at her, I watched as she settled back on her heels, gently releasing my cock into her palm. Fuck. My best friend had very nearly brought me off with just her mouth. At that moment, I had choices, but I was going to look ridiculous doing any of them, so I chose the least offensive, reaching under her arms and raising her to her feet so that I could kiss her, tasting myself on her. It was heady. 

“You taste like bike rides in the park,” I commented, as I gingerly stepped out of my trousers and pants, kicking them to the side. 

“And you taste like a savory ice lolly.” 

My smile crept over my lips as I examined her sundress. Were there ties? Or did it just slip over her head? Could I…?

Slipping the spaghetti straps from her shoulders, I kissed the flesh revealed by first the left and then the right before sliding the straps further down her arms. As the dress started to fall, I was intrigued to find that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts were like pears, stood up tall and perky. 

“Haven’t seen you -- ever,” I hoarsely whispered. 

“Harry!” she gasped, giggling. 

“It’s true!” I protested. “When we were young, I saw them plenty, but once they started growing, you always kept them hidden from me. But fuck, Wolf -- they’re perfect!” 

Modesty perhaps is what brought the slight tilting of her lips, and she shook her head. “Harry --” 

The straps, trapped at her elbows, brought the dress just far enough for me to enjoy the pears, and I held one in my hand while teasing the other with my tongue. When I pinched one nipple between my teeth and the other between my fingers, she moaned. I knew exactly how she felt. 

“I’m so wet for you,” she choked out. 

“Yeah?” I stammered, coming up for air from my pear-shaped treat. 

She shifted on her feet, rubbing her legs together. “Mhm,” she murmured. 

Shit. I couldn’t wait much longer to feel that for myself. “Drop the dress,” I commanded. Wolf’s heavy-lidded eyes captured mine before she released her hands by her side, the dress falling to her feet. Standing in only her knickers, she widened her stance after kicking the outfit in the direction of my discarded clothing. 

Stepping close to her, I ran my finger along the strip of fabric between her legs. “You aren’t kidding,” I admitted, “Wet.”

“That’s just my panties, H.” 

Why was I surprised that she would know exactly what to say to make me drool? After all, she knew me better than other humans outside of my family. Hooking my thumb around the elastic on one side, I prodded the cloth to the side, gliding one finger just inside her personal folds, my finger quickly becoming slick with moisture. 

“Oh, my,” I forced the words through my increasingly dry lips. “You’re definitely ready for me.”

“But are you ready for me?” she teased, and I captured her lips as I pumped my finger in and out of her, my thumb flicking at her clit until she moaned into my mouth. My goal was to bring her to orgasm before entering her, and when she swayed under my movements, I knew I might be close to achievement. Her arm wrapped around my neck, her fingers playing with the hairs there while her head tilted backwards and she rolled side to side in time with the music. 

“Mmmmmm, H…” The purr she released sounded like a pleased cat who had been enjoying fresh cream. “I’m close…”

“Good,” I whispered, “cause I wanna watch you tip over the edge.”

“Will you catch me?” 

“Always.” With my reassurance, her legs started quivering and she cried out loudly enough for me to be grateful that her house had thick walks. No reason to attract the neighbors. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I continued working at her clit while her legs gave way until the shivers completely passed. 

“Goodness, Harry. That was --” 

“Life changing?” I ventured. 

“Perhaps.” Standing upright, she took my hand and twisted towards the hallway, coaxing me behind her as she led the way to her bedroom. 

“Wolf?”

“H?”

“We’re not being rash, are we?”

In all her naked (but for her knickers) glory, she halted inside her bedroom, propping her hands on her waist as she glared at me. 

“Harry Edward…”

“Did you just two-name me?” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t three-name you! Are you trying to tell me that you’ve not considered the idea of us in bed together before you kissed me tonight?” 

Before I answered, I examined her body language. After all these years, I know her reactions as well as I know my own. Hanging my head, I shook it from side to side before making direct eye contact. “Of course I’ve thought about it. Many, many times.” 

“Me too,” she shrugged. “I suspect we’ve both played through all of the possible scenarios in our heads and drew a similar conclusion in the end.”

“That if we were ever both in the same place at the same time -- emotionally as well as physically -- we would go for it?” 

“Exactly. Now, quit talking and fuck me, H.” Stepping to the bed, she sat down and scooted backwards on the duvet. 

Rubbing my hands together, I moved closer, reaching for the waistband of her panties, casually sliding them down her legs. 

“I shaved for you,” she smiled, and I ran my hands over her hairless legs before she spread them to show me that he hadn’t just meant her legs. 

“You knew?” I asked, “About this?” 

“I hoped.” 

No one could fault her for that response, least of all me. Sheepishly, I caught her attention on my cock. “Me, too.” 

“Thought you may have manscaped,” she laughed, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Totally worth it too.” 

My lips roamed over her body again, trying to ensure that every part of her felt loved. Squirming, she reached for my cock multiple times, but I always moved out of her reach. 

“Harry!” Her frustration was playful, and I giggled. 

“Not yet, Wolf. If you touch me right now, I might explode.”

“Ah. Not an optimal conclusion.” 

When my hands centered on her pussy, fingers working to bring her to a feverish pitch. “Ready?” my voice came in puffs as I perched over her. 

At her nod, I plunged inside, and her legs immediately wrapped around my waist. 

“Oh, fuck, H. Don’t move yet. Just let me…��

“Let you what?” My words were lost in her shoulder. 

“Adjust.” She breathed. “Feel this. Experience this. Celebrate this.” 

Now that she mentioned it, I realized she was absolutely right. It was a moment to be remembered and savored. Linking our hands, I locked gazes with her. When she nodded, I began to move, and stars exploded everywhere. We collided like two perfect atoms, smashing into a million pieces as we tipped into the abyss. I was breathing hard when I eventually rolled off of her onto the bed at her side. Raising my arm, she snuggled into me, her naked leg wrapping around me. 

“You should get some sleep,” she commented. 

“Wait. What about savoring the moment?” 

“Silly, H. That one was nearly perfect. But I’m going to be ready for round two soon enough.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “You’re just planning to use me for sex now.” 

“Duh,” Wolf chuckled, drawing a blanket from the foot of the bed over us. 

We both knew the truth, and I smiled as I drifted off to sleep. In the recesses of my brain, I could have sworn I heard her voice, but it was probably just my imagination.

“After all, wolves mate for life.” 

[luminescencefics]

(there is) no time like the present

On his way towards the rest of their friends in the booth by the back of the pub, Niall finally spots Aisling’s auburn hair and glittery dress standing near the wooden table. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she looked quite pretty. Niall’s always known Aisling to be pretty, in a way that he knows that thunder follows lightning during a storm and that the sun always shines the brightest in the summer. It was just a universal thing.

But tonight, he finds that he’s entirely hyperaware of Aisling’s prettiness.

And he isn’t quite sure what to do about that.

A (short) story about a brown-haired boy and an auburn-haired girl trying to convince the world that they aren’t lonely, and how time really isn’t of the essence.

story tag // banner credit // taglist

COMING SOON!

[bumbershots]

THE END OF JUNE

A/N: Hello! Here’s my part for the 1DFF Summer Challenge that @1dffchallenges put together. Make sure to check out the other amazing pieces published by other authors. The trope I chose was love triangle and I wanted to do something different (?) kind of my take on it. I hope you enjoy it! Big thanks to @stylishmuser ♡

Trope: love triangle.

The universe is trying to kill me, Harry thinks.

Just when he was trying to be a good fiancé—the word still makes him cringe. Harry finds himself not paying attention to his girl’s football game, his interest in it was lost the moment a small noisy group chose to settle themselves below where he was in the seating area. Their loud cheering was all Harry could and wanted to hear for the rest of the match.

He tried to look away, really forced himself a couple of times to focus on anything else, but his gaze was almost immediately trained back to the back of a familiar and yet unknown mane of blonde hair. Harry could try all he wanted to look away then, he knew there was no use, not when little flashbacks of what happened one summer, many moons ago, kept assaulting him.

It’s a small memory, nothing too serious to warrant a constant rethinking, but that night he falls asleep and dreams of it —dreams of it with so much vividness that when he wakes up, startling back into consciousness in the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend Amara, he can still see the hooded dark eyes looking up at him, can see his own shaky hand pushing back those locks before leaning in.

It takes a while for the dream to fade, and it’s Amara, always Amara, that Harry registers first; Amara’s spooning him, arms around Harry, and Harry can feel her even breathing tickling the back of his neck. It’s calming somehow, and if he really focuses for a moment, he will be able to hear Amara’s heartbeat. And he waits for the rest of the dream to leave like that, except it doesn’t, instead it shows him the same scenario as before but this time Amara hugs him from behind, her eyes closed and she’s begging him to stop pining for the guy before them.

◇

“Did you have a bad dream last night?”

This is Amara’s uniqueness, her ability to notice things even when it should be impossible for her, and then start a conversation that will make Harry almost trip over the mat outside their bath. Lucky for them, Harry’s able to stop the fall with a hand against the wall before instantly turning to Amara, already dressed and styling her hair.

“Well, not really—it was just a dream?”

Their morning routine is one of his favourite things. Amara would jostle Harry awake and next there would be a flurry of sheets and mumbles and toilets flushing, but it feels as if today’s conversation doesn’t fit anywhere and there is a sudden stillness when he perches himself on top of a kitchen island stool, taking in every detail of the kitchen —their kitchen—and marvelling at the fact that something so simple and wonderful like his mornings with Amara could be his.

It’s been enough months, but his eyes still catch on her ring.

It’s been more than enough months, where he hasn’t felt any different than to see it there, and know exactly what promises it bears for their future, suddenly what used to be a nice feeling in Harry’s chest—ballooning in his lungs at seven in the morning, the way it feels when he gets to the high notes in Sign of the times where the music swells and he gets to unleash his vocal chords’ full potential like an eagle spreads its wings ready to fly and just feel, just be. Now feels like he has a boa squeezing all the air out of him along with his life, that’s what being with Amara after dreaming about his old lover last night feels like. Pressure, none of his emotions in control, all of them cold.

The sunlight pouring into the kitchen, the breeze ruffling his curls. It doesn’t seem real, but it feels, more than anything, like acting in a movie.

But it is real, and that is the part where Harry stumbles on—on the fact that all of this is true, within reach, whether the ring is there or not—the fact that he has been sharing his life with Amara is real.

Little things like this—like Amara’s hand brushing Harry’s hair back, like Amara’s hand tracing her fingers on his neck until it tickles—those things take Harry’s breath away when they happen. They’re shocking reminders of how real all of this is, and how deeply and intensely he feels about her, and sometimes when he’s reminded of the things he does have, all he can do is stare.

He’s doing it now, but Amara, always is staring back with equal fondness.

“Just a dream as in a bad one or a good one?” she inquires.

“I did dream, but it wasn’t bad…”

Amara blinks. “Oh? Was it a naughty—”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Not that, either. Just a memory, that’s all.”

“A pleasant one?”

“I guess…”

The coffee maker beeps then, and Harry flounders—I guess what?

The longer he sits there, the faster the dream seems to be growing fainter, only the edges of the memory softening how it had felt to dream something from so long ago. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to get married next year at the end of June, but it just seems to fade in comparison to the memory of how years ago, he would get a kiss every morning along with a mug of tea instead of coffee.

There must be a story somewhere, Amara knows, about people her fiancé had not let go entirely. Or maybe he had and it was just a memory. She doesn’t want to feel like he’s keeping the truth from her, so without asking more questions, she leaves for work and leaves a quick peck on his cheek.

Reality completely falls on Harry’s shoulders the moment Amara’s out the door and he’s finally able to accept that last night his heart found his way to his throat, at the sight of whom he used to share his mornings with, all those years ago.

Harry sighs completely defeated, when it comes to Manjiro, love has really always been the most fitting word.

◇

Weddings aren’t supposed to be this easy.

It’s never, ever, by any means, a one-man or two-man affair; they’re both lucky to have a supportive circle of people more than happy to butt heads with everyone else about every single detail. But the exhaustive planning and petty arguments about the wedding’s coordination never come.

At first Amara thought that because Harry was someone that has spent his career finding the balance, good compromise, between what could only be called a perfectly choreographed schedule and heart, it was an easy task. There were people to call, suits and dresses to fit, neckties to ask Harry about. There were invitations and RSVPs and confirmation e-mails to be read and responded to.

Amara was honestly longing for it, the planning, the waiting, the itch that none of them couldn’t seem to scratch away, the urgency for it all to be over. It never came.

Mostly, if she’s honest, it’s just frustrating that Harry was able to take all that work and do it; it’s rare in life for her to feel uncertain in certainty, for her to second-guess every little flawless action Harry did for the wedding. Amara feels that no matter which angle she examines all this from, no matter how many times she changes her mind on the flowers and the cake, he will find a way to do it splendidly. It makes her blood boil, because she knows that something is wrong but she can’t know exactly what it is, not when Harry looks so certain about anything.

But she's completely wrong about his certainty.

“Harry?”

Harry blinks, thinks for a second that he’s imagined that voice. But when he turns to look over his shoulder, blinking a few more times just to be sure that his eyes are not deceiving him, to a very grown up Manjiro standing in the doorway of his favourite bakery.

“What brings you to this side of town?”

“I—” Harry hums, putting his wallet back in his pocket. “Just getting some fresh baked goodies for tomorrow’s breakfast. And thinking.”

“I see,” Manjiro says softly, he opens the door and motions his head to the street, an invitation. One that Harry has yet to refuse. "Is it about your wedding?”

“How do you know about that?” Harry retorts, but all he gets is Manjiro’s playful eye roll that takes him back to that summer when he was nineteen and so madly in love, so he lets it go. “Kind of?” He admits.

“Having second thoughts?” The shorter man fails to disguise the teasing from his tone.

“Yes and no.” Harry says, even as Manjiro smiles, chuckles a little as he pulls Harry to cross the street. “But I think she’s having second thoughts as well. About me.”

“Oh I don’t blame her for that.” Manjiro tilts his head up in a way that allows him to look at Harry from under his lashes, like he’s searching for something. It takes Harry back to the first time they kissed, so he looks away a bit flushed.

Sometimes, too, Manjiro felt flushed upon doing things he reserved for Harry and Harry alone. The first time he cooked dinner for someone that was not Harry was a disaster, that person saw him in tears before taking the first bite. After breaking up with Harry, he swore that the spark from his heart was gone, at times it felt like something unlatched from his chest and he couldn’t breathe properly. And no place in this world could ever be Harry-free, he knew after seeing his gorgeous face on a Shanghai banner announcing him as a part of a famous lingerie fashion show. Once Manjiro came to terms with him being the only one to blame for the situation he was in, he was finally able to move on. Little by little, harder than anything he’s ever done before, but able to do it at last.

Which is why upon hearing Harry’s doubts about his upcoming marriage, did not give him any wrong ideas.

“Is it the song for the first dance?” Manjiro says, as they find themselves in Bushy Park. “Is that what’s worrying you?”

Harry shakes his head in denial, marvelling on how easy it is to discuss this with him. “Not the song choice, no.”

“Then?”

“Mikey,” Harry lets the old nickname slip away. He allows himself the hesitation, even if he doesn’t quite feel like he crossed any boundaries as he would have another time. “It just bothers me, how easy it is.”

Manjiro hums, blinking wide and confused and pretty and affectionate.

“We agree on everything, then she decides to change everything about it and I agree. Then she changes it again and I agree and sort it out.” Harry says, slowly. It isn’t something that bothers him, it’s the fact that it doesn’t bother him, what he thinks is off. “And I didn’t even care.”

“Ah.”

It’s Manjiro’s thoughtful ah, his cute giggle that follows it, one of the few things he still reserved for Harry, always just reserved for the things they seem to understand about each other without voicing, the things they seem to understand through touch and eye contact and smiles.

It’s overwhelming to know someone like that. Harry has had all sort of physical intimacy with other people before, but the way Manjiro seems to get what Harry’s thinking, even if not precisely nor completely, but enough to just latch onto that thought process and know that they fit together smoothly in this, to be so knowable and vulnerable and yet not to be engaged to that person. It’s a thing Harry gets mad about, it bothers him, more than the stupid napkin colour matching the table cloth, this is important because it sets his heart on fire and makes him fall in love again.

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t have a complicated wedding,” Manjiro says, twirling like a ballerina around Harry without warning. It startles another disbelieving laugh out of the latter, and the corners of Manjiro’s mouth tug up as well. “Have a small one, or have many, one every year until you’ve forgotten about the ones you didn’t care enough about, because you will have more of those moments to remember.”

“But this one will matter to her,” Harry says quietly. “The date is set to be on the night that we—that we—”

“Fell in love?” Manjiro finishes for him. “You know how I feel about love and all that nonsense. But I’m sure it certainly wasn’t the only time you fell in love with each other, nor the last.”

I did too, you know, Manjiro wants to say. I fell in love with you every morning. I fell in love when you woke up in the middle of the night and left the hallway lights on. I fell in love when you respected my decision to leave. I fell in love over and over and over again.

“Even now, you can still find things about her to fall all over again,” Manjiro continues, as softly as Harry had spoken earlier, clearly not meant to be spoken out loud. “Like this.”

This could mean anything. Could mean the second thoughts, could mean the rays of the moonlight, could mean the quiet of this park that Manjiro seems to be familiar with. Harry doesn’t know how to fall in love again with Amara, not when someone he thought he’d never see again is walking by his side, completely unfazed by their meeting.

Harry would like to call it fate, a happy coincidence written in the stars. But it seems that his Mikey hasn’t changed enough to believe in all that nonsense. Just before he got sad and gloomy, the thought of Amara flashed, she would be the one to call this type of situation a sign of the universe. Amara would even mock him a bit more and say it's a sign of the times, innit? And just like that Harry smiles.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs after they reach the end of Hampton Court road. “I’ll take a cab from here.”

Manjiro’s quiet for a while.

“Thank you, Harry-kun,” he returns eventually. “Matane.”

It’s a reminder that Manjiro doesn’t like to say goodbye, not to Harry at least. He had thought about this, and it was a decision he made.

Separate lives chosen, love fallen into and out of.

“I love you.” Forever sentimental Harry can’t help but say, because he didn’t have a chance before, because he was waiting for the perfect moment, and because he was old enough now to bare his soul to the one that he loved before anyone else.

Harry blinks. Manjiro blinks.

And then they’re both smiling, and then there’s that sweet smile with his eyes closed that Mikey has saved all these years for this moment, and all Harry can think is that if he had to wish on a star now, if he had to wish for anything, anything at all, it will be this summer night, this pair of dark eyes staring right back at me, this, this.

Manjiro looks at Harry. He thinks; I love you.

◇

It’s a starry night, at the end of June in Holmes Chapel when their dream wedding happens.

A sky that Harry has grown up under, a sky that seems to stretch out above them as Harry repeats vows he’d already said in his head, agreed to fulfill promises he knew he wanted for their future, will want over and over for the rest of his days. A sky that has watched him fall in love with a gentle but cruel beautiful boy in the past, a sky that will watch how he falls in love over and over again with a strong and merciful woman.

A part of him does feel nineteen again, looking up, surrounded by new friends this time, by family, watching him get married.

Watching stars is far more infinite than the time he’ll ever spend thinking about the missing people tonight. Watching stars so ancient that could very well be the same ones he’d wished on when he was a broken hearted twenty-two year old. And stars so ancient that they’re also probably not at all the same. A lot of possibilities, a lot of things lost, but that’s fine with Harry. He has moved on.

Getting married in the hometown he loved this much, to the woman that has made him feel what it’s like to love and be loved so earnestly and so constantly and so real. This is all the certainty he needs.

Being with Manjiro and Amara feels like those evenings of star-gazing, if Harry really thought about it, that stillness, hand outstretched towards the stars. That feeling of being privy to that infinity, to something far larger than him. The only difference is that while Mikey made him feel small, Amara doesn’t, not like that. He feels secure, feels grounded, like he could close his eyes and it wouldn’t matter how far the stars are.

Pure contentment, sitting right at home in his chest every time he looks at her.

Just warmth, like a summer breeze.

[1dffchallenges]

Boundless As the Sea

Written By: @wokeuptired​

Characters: Niall/Bea

Summary: There's nothing Beatrix Madison finds as silly as Romeo and Juliet, but Niall Horan's a sucker for a love story—even though his own has gone off the rails. When he finds a letter from Bea's grandmother dated half a century ago in the wall below Juliet's balcony, he has to write back. He doesn't expect anything to come of it, and he certainly doesn't expect to find himself going head to head with Bea. 

Author's note: The title is from Act 2, scene 2, when Juliet, on her balcony, says to Romeo, "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, / My love as deep. The more I give to thee, / The more I have, for both are infinite." 

Warnings: enough f words to earn an R rating

One - Bea

For as long as she could remember, Beatrix Madison’s grandmother had never taken lunch without a glass of wine. White, red, sparkling, it didn’t matter, so long as it was alcoholic and complimented the dish. So when Bea arrives for lunch today and sits down at a table devoid of wine glasses, she knows instantly that something is up.

There’s water waiting for her, and a cup of tea that Gran always orders for Bea even though Bea never drinks it. That’s their weekly ritual: lunch every Thursday at Gran’s favorite restaurant, the same meals every time, same table, same waitstaff, and same cup of tea that Bea will never, ever, drink.

The only thing out of place today is the missing wineglass that always sits beside Gran’s plate. Nothing seems amiss about Gran herself: her gray hair is piled primly on top of her head, her lips are touched with a pale mauve, and her cardigan is neatly buttoned all the way up. She’s Gran as always. Except for the wine.

“Is everything all right?” Bea asks, sliding her phone underneath her thigh so that she can give her grandmother her full attention. That’s another one of Gran’s things: she hates cell phones at the table as much as she loves wine. She hates them so much that she didn’t even have one, instead relying on a landline that she often fails to answer.

“Of course, dear,” her grandmother answers. Though she’s coming up on her 75th birthday, Gran certainly doesn’t look it. Nothing has slowed her down, not even taking on the responsibility of raising Bea from the time she was 9, after her parents’ death in a car accident. Gran was in her mid-fifties at the time, looking forward to retiring and traveling and a life free of responsibility, and then life saddled her with Bea.

Now, coming up on 80, she seems to be thriving, which is something that Bea does her best not to be too upset about. It wasn’t her fault her parents died, leaving her grandmother to raise her, but Bea feels guilty about it nonetheless, even now that she’s 25 and hasn’t been a burden to Gran for several years.

“Eat your salad,” Gran says just as a waiter appears and sets it down in front of her.

Bea picks up her fork and stabs at a tomato, misses, and spends another ten seconds chasing it around her plate before she catches it. When she puts it in her mouth and looks up, her grandmother is watching her.

“Are you sure everything’s alright, Gran?” Bea asks again. Her heart clenches, thinking of the worst. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Of course not,” her grandmother says, smiling. Bea can’t remember the last time she saw her grandmother smile this much. Something is definitely going on. Maybe Gran has mastered a new banana bread recipe or purchased a new piece of art for the hallway and she’s eager to show it off. Yes, that’s probably it. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong. Tell me about your date on Friday. Did it go as expected?”

Bea grimaces. It was much, much worse than expected. “Not at all. He was twenty minutes late and then spent another twenty minutes talking about his ex. And he was wearing far too much cologne.”

Gran laughs. “You’re far too picky, Bea Bug. Maybe that’s your problem.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Bea says. “He really was awful, Gran. You’re lucky you’ll never have to meet him.”

“Mmm.” Gran’s eyes twitch to the side, where Bea notices an envelope sitting on the table. She also notices that her grandmother has barely touched her own salad, dressing on the side, just how she always orders it. “Speaking of love…”

“Speaking of love?”

Gran touches the envelope and slides it across the table towards Bea. “Fancy a trip to Italy?”

“Italy?” Bea turns the envelope over. It’s addressed to Gran at her estate just outside London, which, if you’re old and snooty, is what’s known as “the family seat.” It’s the house that Bea will begrudgingly inherit someday (hopefully not someday soon), along with all the accrued debt that will come with it. She slips her finger under the flap, which has already been unsealed, and finds a folded letter and another, smaller envelope inside.

“Juliet” is written on the outside of the envelope. Bea opens it and takes out the letter it contains.

Verona, 1965

Juliet, I don’t know what to do. I’m meant to leave tomorrow to return to London, where Robert is waiting for me. We’ve been betrothed since we were teenagers, and he is my destiny, the one I’ve always known about.

But now there is Alessandro, whose dark hair shines under the moonlight when I sneak out after dark to meet him. I feel like a teenager again, not like a university student months away from graduation and marriage. Alessandro makes me feel invincible. He makes me feel like I am worth the world.

Oh, Juliet, what would you do? I know what you’d do. You’d pack up your suitcase and run away with Alessandro tonight. You’d leave behind your destined life in England and choose a new destiny for yourself.

But what if, Juliet, what if I’m not brave enough?

Yours,

Carolyn

Bea reads the letter through a second time, her mind spinning. Finally, she raises her eyes from the wrinkled piece of paper and meets her Gran’s gaze. “Gran, did you write this?”

Her Gran smiles, nods. “Years ago, yes. Now you must read the other letter.”

Oh, God. What could it possibly be? Is it from Alessandro, writing to Gran after all these years, asking her to return to Verona and marry him? Did he find out that Gramps passed away ages ago and is regretting all the years he spent away from Gran?

And then another thought pops up, this one worse than all the rest. Gramps died just before Bea’s parents, which meant Gran was a free agent… until she had to take over caring for Bea.

Oh, God, Bea thinks.

Did I keep Gran away from her true love for 25 years?

Bea shakes off the question, for the moment, at least, and unfolds the remaining letter, keenly aware that it is about to turn her life upside down.

   Two - Niall

It’s a strange thing, how you can go from being engaged one moment to being completely unengaged the next. Engaged, and then you’re not. Your whole life planned out, and then—nothing. Blissful, empty, beautiful nothing. 

Rhiannon had gone from Niall’s favorite person on earth to his least favorite overnight. Or maybe it wasn’t overnight: he didn’t wake up, feel the sun breaking through the blinds, and realize that he needed to break off his engagement. But it only took a second for Rhiannon to react to the suggestion that maybe getting married wasn’t the best idea, and Niall knew he’d made the right choice. 

“Oh, thank God,” she’d said. They were having dinner at their favorite restaurant in Seven Dials, which was to say, Rhiannon’s favorite restaurant and a place that Niall had neither particularly negative or positive feelings about. She’d started telling people it was their favorite restaurant, and then it became too late to correct her, and now they’d been going there at least once a month since the early days of their relationship. 

Niall didn’t intend to initiate the breakup there, at their so-called favorite restaurant, but he was watching Rhiannon peruse the menu just as he had the month before, and he knew she was only moments away from ordering for him, and in his mind he imagined doing this for the rest of his life, and he knew he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

And Rhiannon had reacted better than expected. She’d always been a bit of a dramatic person, so he’d been prepared for her to throw down her fork and storm out, or at least raise her voice a bit. But instead she thanked him. 

“I’ve been meaning to say something for ages!” she’d said. “But you know how my mum is. Which is why we can’t tell anyone.” 

“I—what?” Niall had been reasonably confused. The whole point of ending their engagement was so they didn’t have to still be engaged. He did not want to pretend. 

“Our Italy trip. My mum’s already paid for it, and if we tell her we broke up, she’ll cancel the whole thing, and you know how much I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Right. Niall knew. She talked about it constantly, was constantly texting him pictures of places she wanted to see and restaurants she wanted to try. He was not looking forward to three weeks of following her around a country where he didn’t speak the language, eating too many carbs. 

But as he’d looked in her eyes that night, the night that should’ve been their last together, he figured he could do her this one last favor. He could stick it out for another month, spend three weeks with her in Italy and then be done with it. 

So that’s how he’d ended up here, sitting on a bench in a square in Verona, staring up at a balcony purported to be the one from Shakespeare’s famous Romeo and Juliet, even though Shakespeare never even traveled to Italy. Rhiannon ditched him this morning, boarding a bus for a wine tour in the countryside that he had absolutely no interest in. Instead, he caught a walking tour and ended up here. 

This bench is apparently his new home, as he’s been here for three hours and, try as he might, he just can’t get himself to move. He’s fascinated by what he is seeing: girl after girl, and even the occasional guy, shoving letters into the loose bricks under the balcony, tears running down their faces. The tour guide had said that people came here from all over the world to leave letters to Juliet, begging her to fix their love woes. 

A while ago, someone had left a notepad on Niall’s bench after finishing their own letter, and someone else had discarded a pen on the ground. Niall had spent half an hour staring at it, feeling as if it was beckoning him. No one needs love advice more than him right now. He’s probably the only one in this country on vacation with their ex-fiancée and zero desire to win her back.

Now, finally, he stills the pen after spending twenty minutes spinning it between his fingers, and he begins to write. 

Dear Juliet,

No offense, but I think your story is a load of bull. Love isn’t real, and it certainly wasn’t real for you and Romeo. You were only 14 years old, and neither of you made it out alive. That certainly isn’t the kind of love I want. 

So what do I want? I’m not sure, but I know it isn’t Rhiannon. I thought I loved her once, but I know better now. I know that I just wanted to be in love. I just wanted someone to spend evenings on the couch with, to go to the cinema with, to introduce to my mates. Rhiannon was all of those things, but she was also annoying and difficult and after a while, not very much fun to be around. She made me forget what I once liked about myself. 

Is that what love is, then? Someone who makes the things you like about yourself shine like neon? Someone who brings out the best in you, like they say in all the films? 

Does such a thing exist? I guess I’ll just have to keep looking. 

-- Niall Horan

London, England

When he finishes, he folds it up before he can think better of it and approaches the wall, looking for a good spot to stick it. It’s nearing sunset, and the wall is bursting with letters shoved here and there, crammed into every visible crack. If he can’t find room for his, how will anyone who came tomorrow find a place for theirs? 

He turns, looking at the other visitors to the wall. A few feet away, a teenager presses a kiss to her envelope before jamming it underneath a loose brick. Further down, a woman takes a letter from the wall and drops it in a basket. Wait—she’s taking a letter from the wall? Niall inches closer.

Yep, that’s definitely what she’s doing. She stretches onto her tiptoes to grab a letter just above her head, and when she can’t quite reach it, Niall steps forward to pluck it from the brick for her. 

“Grazie,” she says, smiling at him and holding out her hand for the letter. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Niall says. He holds the letter hostage for a second, though. “Are you stealing the letters?” 

The woman laughs. “Stealing? No, of course not. We write back.” 

“You write back?” Niall turns his own letter over in his hand and considers throwing it away. He didn’t realize someone would read it. 

“Yes.” The woman slips her basket over her arm and holds out her hand. “I’m Sonia.” 

“Niall.” She reminds him a bit of his mum, with soft smile lines around her mouth and light eyes. That must be why he returns her handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Niall,” Sonia says. “Would you like to help?”

Would I like to help? Niall repeats the question in his mind. On the one hand, he’s absolutely shit when it comes to love—the letter he’s hiding behind his back right now is proof enough of that—but on the other hand, he doesn’t have anything else to do. 

“Sure,” he says. “I’d love to help.” 

   Three - Bea

Verona is full to the brim with tourists, something Bea should’ve been expecting. She’d deluded herself into thinking that since it wasn’t Florence or Rome or Venice, it’d be quieter, she’d be able to wander the streets and appreciate the cobblestones and worn door knockers without bumping into American tourists, but she was wrong. 

American tourists are everywhere, and Japanese tourists and French tourists and Indian tourists, huge groups of them wearing matching lanyards and giggling as they clog the narrow roads, and Bea regrets this entire trip. 

She’s regretted the decision to come since the word “yes” came out of her mouth, but once she saw Gran's smile, there was no going back. This was something Gran had been waiting years for. 

Not that they’ve talked about that. Bea’s just turned it over and over in her mind, convincing herself that she’s held her Gran back from living a full life with the hot Italian man she loved when she was twenty years old. She can’t begrudge Gran her chance at happiness now. 

“Mi scusi,” Bea mutters, pushing her way through a crowd of American teenagers. She’s just slipped out of lunch with Gran, telling her she was running into a store they’d passed to get a gift for her boss, and her time is limited. Now she’s going to have to do what she intends and duck into a store for a gift in the time it would take to do only the latter. 

The alleyway ahead is crowded, which is a good indication that Bea is approaching her target: the house where the women who respond to Juliet’s letters meet. After reading the letter in the envelope and agreeing to Gran’s insane Italy plan, Bea had done a quick Google search, just to understand what she was dealing with. 

From what she found online, the letter writers seem harmless, for the most part—just middle-aged and older women who like indulging the whims of lovesick teenagers. Teenagers being the key word. Gran isn’t a teenager, though—she’s a grown woman with disposable income and the ability to pick up her life and bloody move to Italy if she so chooses—and Bea needs to let these letter writers know just how much damage they’ve done. 

Particularly N. Nancy? Natalia? Nicola? Bea will waste no time finding out when she arrives. N is the one who answered Gran’s letter, encouraging her to abandon her life and seek out her lost love, potentially setting herself up for heartbreak. Heartbreak again, because her heart was already broken once, 55 years ago, when she returned to England to marry Bea’s grandfather instead of running away with Alessandro. 

What if’s are dangerous things, N had written, suggesting that it was better to avoid them at all, if one could help it. It was better to go after the things you wanted, even if those things might end up disappointing you.

This is not, suffice it to say, Bea’s life philosophy.

Bea passes the courtyard where all the tourists are gathering beneath Juliet’s balcony and makes a left. There is so much potential chaos ahead, so Bea rolls her shoulders back and focuses on the things she can control. First on the list, giving this N a piece of her mind. 

At the end of the alleyway, Bea stops in front of the door that has a knocker shaped like an envelope. She’d read a description of it online, but there weren’t any photos: the letter writers like the anonymity, she gathered, of having a headquarters with no address. Bea smiles, proud of herself for locating it, and knocks.��

A second later, the door opens, revealing a woman with dark hair and pasta sauce on her apron. “Bonjourno?”

“Hello,” Bea says, playing the odds that this woman speaks English. She grabs the letter out of the back pocket of her shorts and holds it up. “I’m looking for the writer of this letter.” 

“Hmm.” The woman frowns and holds her hand out for the letter. 

Bea hesitates. What if the woman doesn’t give it back? What if she destroys it because Bea’s breaking some unspoken rule by coming here? Maybe Bea shouldn’t hand it over. 

“It’s alright,” the woman says, seeming to sense Bea’s reluctance. “I’ll just look at the signature, and then you can have it back.”

Bea nods, handing it over. 

“Ah,” the woman says a second later, returning the letter to Bea. “He’s here today, actually. You’re in luck. Please, come in.”

He? But Bea doesn’t have time to think it through as she follows the woman into the house. They pass through a narrow corridor and emerge into a dining room, where ten people sit around a table covered in letters. Piles of letters, baskets full of letters, letters everywhere. It reminds Bea of that scene in “Harry Potter” when Harry’s letters from Hogwarts burst through the fireplace. It’s complete chaos.

“Niall, she’s here for you,” the woman says. A man with dark hair seated at the far end of the table looks up. 

“For me?” he says, standing up and walking towards her. He has some kind of ridiculous, cartoon character accent.

“You?” Bea stares at him. This is impossible. This entire thing is impossible. It’s a dream, this all has to be a dream, that’s the only reasonable explanation. She clutches the letter in front of her like she’s warding off a demon. “You wrote this letter?”

Niall nods. He’s taller than her and wearing khaki pants, which, she decides, is the strangest thing about him, the whole writing-letters-with-old-Italian-ladies thing notwithstanding. An Irish, khaki pants-wearing, letter-writing, heart-breaking demon.

“I did,” he says. “But I take it you’re not the recipient?” 

“Of course not,” Bea says roughly. “I’m her granddaughter whose life has just been entirely upended because of this letter, because my Gran has dragged me all the way to bloody Italy to try to find this bloke she loved 55 years ago, who might not even still be alive, and it’s your fault!” 

Said bloke, instead of taking responsibility for his actions, smiles at her. He fucking smiles at her. 

“Carolyn is here?” he says. “That’s excellent. Can I meet her?” 

That is so not what Bea was expecting to hear, so it takes her a moment and a bit of sputtering to muster a sensible response. “No, of course not. Absolutely not. That is not happening.” 

“Okay,” Niall says, nodding slowly, his smile lessening slightly. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, then. It was nice to meet you.”

“It wasn’t nice to meet you!” Bea snaps before turning and rushing from the building before she can say anything else. 

Jesus H. Christ, she thinks as she reenters the alleyway and slides around another group of tourists. Could she have been any more embarrassing? She’d had a whole speech planned out—she was going to tell the letter writer, who, yes, she’d assumed would be a woman, how irresponsible it was to respond to a letter from 55 years ago, knowing it was possible and even likely that she’d be upsetting the balance of someone’s life. She was going to lay it out simply and with such biting and intelligent language that the letter writer would be begging at her feet for forgiveness by the end of it. 

Instead, she’d responded with a comeback worthy of a ten year old on a playground and run away in shame. 

Best not dwell on it. Next mission: buy the first tacky gift she sees and get back to lunch. 

Seven minutes later, snow globe bagged in her hand, Bea slides back into the chair across from her grandmother. 

“Sorry about that,” she says, over-exaggerating her breathing to make it seem like she’d hurried back. “The line was crazy! This was the perfect gift, though, so I couldn’t let it get away.” 

“Of course, dear,” Gran says. “I ordered dessert while you were gone. I got you tiramisu.” 

“Thanks, Gran.” Bea smiles. Good old Gran, always taking care of her. Even now that she’s a full-grown adult, capable of ordering her own food and embarrassing herself in front of strangers all by herself, her Gran is still helping her along. “After lunch, do you want to—”

“Carolyn?” 

Bea whips her head around and, oh, crud, he’s followed her. He strides up to their table like he’s been invited and extends a hand to Gran. 

“I’m Niall,” he says. “I wrote the letter.”

“Oh!” Gran grabs his hand and uses it to pull herself to her feet, though Bea isn’t sure that’s what he intended. “It’s so nice to meet you! Thank you so much for your letter! Please join us.”

“Are you sure?” Niall says, putting a hand on the back of the empty chair. He looks at Bea, an eyebrow raised. “Bea invited me, but I really don’t want to intrude.” 

Bea raises an eyebrow right back. The nerve of him, this Irish bloke with bright blue eyes and the audacity to upend her grandmother’s life and butt in on their lunch. How rude. How inconvenient. How inconvenient and rude. 

“You’re not intruding. Please, sit!”

“Thank you!” He sits down right next to Bea as Gran flags over the waitress and orders three cups of hot tea. Niall will probably drink his, the bastard. 

   Four - Niall

An hour later, Niall has the full story and plans for at least the next two days. Caro, as she likes to be called, invites him to join her and her granddaughter on their Alessandro hunt, and who is Niall to refuse? Especially when it seems to be driving Caro’s granddaughter—Bea is her name—so crazy. 

It’s been a long time since Niall’s had the pleasure of annoying a beautiful woman, and he’s not about to pass up an opportunity to continue doing so. 

“You’re sure you don’t have other plans?” Bea asks for the third time, her voice so high-pitched that Niall wonders if she’s stopped breathing. 

“No, definitely not,” Niall says, taking a sip of the tea that Caro ordered for him. Very polite, she is. “My, um, fiancée is off on a wine tour for the next few days, so I’m free.” 

“You’re in Italy with your fiancée and you want to spend your vacation going on a snipe hunt with us across the whole countryside?” 

Caro laughs. “You’re so dramatic, Bea Bug. It’s hardly the whole countryside, just one region. And a snipe hunt, what nonsense!” 

Niall grins. He likes Caro; she has a pleasant voice and speaks warmly, as if it’s a pleasure to be listened to. “I’d love to join, if you’ll both have me.” 

“I don’t think—”

Caro cuts Bea off. “Of course we will. It will be our pleasure.” 

“It will be my pleasure,” Niall says. Bea scoffs. 

Back at his hotel room that evening, Niall waits for Rhiannon to return from today’s food tour with a ball of anxiety swirling around his stomach. This is something he probably should’ve discussed with her before he agreed to it, right? Or maybe not. Now that they’re no longer engaged, they don’t have to clear things with each other anymore. Niall can do what he wants, when he wants. He can make decisions for himself without considering how they’ll impact anyone else.

So it’s a force of habit, then, that has him sitting in the armchair next to their bed—the bed they’re sharing, though it feels more like sleeping next to a friend than an ex-lover—and picking at his cuticles. He keeps glancing at the door, waiting for the moment Rhiannon is going to burst through. She’ll have acquired at least two bottles of wine on her bus tour, a slight sunburn on the tip of her nose, and, he’d bet 10 quid, plans for dinner with a new American friend.

Twenty minutes later, there she is, red-faced and smiling, exactly as he expected.

“Oh, Niall, you weren’t waiting for me, would you?” she says, setting her bags down on the bed. “I’ve got plans with my new American mate for dinner. We’re absolutely dying to try this place near the Piazza delle Erbe. I hope that’s alright? You can come with us, if you’d like.” 

“That’s okay,” Niall says. “Actually, Rhi, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sure.” Rhiannon flips open her suitcase and begins digging through it, throwing a pair of shoes on the floor, and then another. She’s looking for a particular dress, he expects, one that will show her new American friend just how London cool she is. “What’s up?”

Niall contemplates how to explain. Best to keep things as simple as possible, he reckons. “I met some people today and they invited me to travel with them for a couple of days.”

“Hmm?” Rhiannon finds the dress she was searching for and smiles at it triumphantly before picking up her makeup bag. “A few days? That sounds nice. Travel where?” 

“Around Verona, to some of the vineyards and smaller towns.” That sounds truthful enough, doesn’t it? There’s no need to mention Caro or the letter or Juliet’s balcony, and there especially isn’t any need to mention Bea, the granddaughter whose sass and long legs make Niall’s blood boil. 

“Sounds like fun,” Rhiannon says. She looks up from her makeup bag, a tube of mascara in her hand, and smiles at him. Crazy how that smile used to make him smile in return, and now it does nothing to him. “Teresa, that’s my new American mate, wants to take the train out to Venice for a day or two. Should we touch base in a few days?”

“Oh,” Niall says, feeling strangely hurt by this information. He’d expected Rhiannon to be upset, or at least slightly inconvenienced by the plans he’d made that did not involve her, and instead, here she is, with Niall-less plans of her own. Would she have even told him about her plans if he hadn’t brought up his first? He doubts it. 

As soon as they’d landed in Italy, Rhiannon had taken off her engagement ring, sealing it into the inner pocket of her makeup bag. 

“I’ll give it back to you when we have our staged breakup, when we get back home,” she’d told him. 

Some bit of Niall, some deep, ego-driven bit of his soul, had been hoping that Rhiannon was using this trip as a ruse to win him back. She didn’t want to break up, not really, so she conned him into coming on the trip with her so she could prance around in skimpy summer wear and lure him into loving her again. 

He didn’t want to love her again, of course, but part of him, that ugly, prideful part, wanted her to want him to lover her again.

It didn’t make any sense, he knew that, and it wasn’t until Rhiannon took off her ring that he realized he was being tremendously silly. But part of him still aches, even now, a week later. 

A breakup is a rejection, even a mutual breakup. As Niall was rejecting Rhiannon, she was rejecting him right back, and part of him, though he’s loath to admit it, is hurt by that. This conversation has just reinforced those feelings.

“Sure,” Niall says, attempting to shake off the emotion welling in the back of his throat. “We’ll touch base in a few days. I’m leaving in the morning, so you can check out of the hotel whenever you’d like.” 

Rhiannon smiles. “Thanks for being so understanding about all this, Ni,” she says. “Coming on the trip and everything. You really didn’t have to do all this for me.” 

Niall shrugs. “I’d be crazy to turn down a free trip to Italy.”

   Five - Bea

“He should be here any minute, dear.”

Bea looks up from her phone and resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Great,” she says. “I’m eager to get on the road.” 

Eager is a bit of an exaggeration. Bea knows she would’ve been crazy to pass up a trip to Italy, even a trip with her grandmother, but this is far from ideal. Their travel companion is as far from ideal as one could get. 

But this matters to her grandmother, so Bea will suck it up, put her best face forward, and pretend she likes the Irish bloke. 

Well, she’ll at least pretend to tolerate him. 

As they wait, Bea begins to develop a list of things that she doesn’t like about Niall, just to fill the time. First, he doesn’t care about anyone aside from himself: he didn’t give a thought to how his letter would cause upheaval to Gran’s life (or the lives of those around her) before he wrote it. Second, he hides his evil tendencies under a charming appearance, complete with sweet blue eyes and a homey accent and well-fitted shirts. Gran, bless her heart, will never discover just how disingenuous he really is. 

But Bea knows. And, she decides, it will be her mission on this trip to make sure that Gran realizes it. 

She’ll have to do it subtly, though. Very subtly—no big speeches or yelling, or Gran will realize what Bea’s trying to do, and she will not be pleased. She’ll pull Bea aside and scold her just like she did when Bea was a child on the playground, cutting other little kids in the queue for the swings.

“Oh, there he is!” Gran says now. “Beatrix, look!” Niall is climbing out of a taxi at the end of the hotel’s round driveway. He accepts his bag from the driver in exchange for a couple of folded bills and steps out of the way so the car can leave. 

Bea considers him as he pauses and adjusts the roll of his shirtsleeves—they’re cuffed just above his elbows, which is definitely not attractive in any way—before he grabs his duffle bag off the ground, swings it over his shoulder, and turns towards the building. Even the way he walks is infuriating, all jovial, like he doesn’t have anywhere he’d rather be.

Bea can think of a thousand places she’d rather be.

Gran waves instantly. “Niall! Over here!” 

Bea forces a smile onto her face as he approaches. He’s smiling too, though it dulls significantly when his eyes meet hers. 

Go away, she attempts to communicate through her glare alone.

Over my dead body, she imagines his glare answering.

“Good morning, Caro, Bea,” he says. “Are you two ready to go?” 

“Yes, certainly,” Gran says. “We’re so excited to have you joining us. Bea will drive. Bea, can you help Niall with his bag?” 

“Of course—”

“That’s not—”

Bea and Niall speak at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes in a staring contest of wills that ends when Niall looks away and picks up his bag. 

“Pop the trunk, would you please, Bea?” he asks. 

Bea grits her teeth and complies. This is going to be a long, long few days.

Five minutes later, they’re all in the car, Gran and Niall chatting as Bea tries not to grip the steering wheel too tightly. Driving has never been easy for Bea. She’s always worried about what the other drivers are going to do. Will someone merge into her lane without signaling, leaving her little time to brake or merge out of their way? Will someone run a red and bash into her car? There are so many things that can go wrong, and none of them are in her control. 

Which is why Bea has remained in London, even as so many of her mates moved out to the suburbs. In London, you don’t need to drive. You take the Tube or an Uber or a taxi to get where you want to go, and you never have to worry about having enough petrol or parking illegally by accident and getting a ticket. 

Driving in Verona is nearly as bad, or maybe worse, than driving in London, Bea decides as yet another taxi driver forces his way in front of her car. She grits her teeth again; her dentist is not going to be happy with her. 

“Macbeth is my favorite,” Niall is saying, and, were Bea less focused on the road, she would pipe up to tell him how wrong he is (Hamlet is obviously Shakespeare’s best work), but as it is, there’s nothing she can do. She comes to a stop at a red light and forces herself to take a deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth. 

“Make a left at the next signal,” the Apple Maps robot voice chirps from her phone, which is clipped to a vent on the dashboard. 

Fuck you, Bea thinks, gritting her teeth. She can see the next intersection, and a left turn there isn’t going to be easy. Protected lefts do not, apparently, exist in this country. The light changes and Bea eases into the intersection. The car in front of her appears to be looking for a parking space, but the entire block is packed on both sides of the street.

“Gah,” she huffs, letting out a breath. 

“Don’t forget to turn left up ahead, Bea bug,” Gran says.

“Got it, Gran.”

Bea takes another calming breath, but she feels anything but calm.

   Six - Niall

Bea is the most tense driver Niall has ever witnessed, but that shouldn’t surprise him, considering how tense she is as a human being just existing. They’ve only been in the car half an hour, but from the looks she’s sending him in the rearview mirror, he’s sure she’s thought about ways to kill him at least half a dozen times.

Before they got in the car, when he pulled her aside so he could tell her the address of their first Alessandro, she looked at him like she wanted to murder him. Not just murder him, but chop him into tiny pieces and scatter him about the Italian countryside.

If Caro wasn’t in the car as well, he’d probably already be dead. She’d flip the car off the side of the road and land them in a field full of grazing cattle, where, if he by some miracle didn’t die in the crash, he would be licked to death by cows. 

“What was it you studied in uni, dear?” Caro asks him, drawing his attention away from Bea, who absolutely doesn’t care what he studied in uni. 

“Political science,” he says. “But I’m a journalist now.” 

Bea scoffs. “Of course you are,” she says quietly. 

Caro either doesn’t hear or decides to pretend that she didn’t. “That’s wonderful. What do you write?” 

“Human interest, mostly,” Niall says, which is the simplest way of saying, I spent six months shadowing a homeless encampment on the South Bank last year. “My last piece was published in The Guardian, but I freelance.”

“Oh, how freeing!” Caro exclaims. “Bea, you should consider that. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have no boss? No schedule! You could have as many vacation days as you wanted! And no one would shake his finger at you and tell you to work harder.”

Niall tries not to smile as Bea’s grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“Gran,” she says, her annoyance obvious to Niall, but Caro keeps on smiling. “I don’t think you can teach primary school from your sitting room.”

“Oh, poo,” Caro says, swatting her hand in Bea’s direction. “I’ve always told you that you can do anything you set your mind to, Bea bug.”

Bea bug? There’s a lot to grab onto in what’s just been said, but Niall’s not an idiot; he knows that teasing Bea about her Gran’s nickname for her would not be the smartest move right now. She is in control of the car, after all. So he goes for the second lowest hanging fruit.

“You teach primary school?” he asks, trying and failing to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Her glare in the rearview mirror nearly burns him alive. “Yes,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m goddamn delightful.”

Niall can’t hold back his laughter at that. “I’m sure you are.”

“All of the children love her,” Caro says, turning in her seat slightly to look at Niall head-on. She’s apparently missed the hint of sarcasm in his last statement. “She sings the sweetest songs for them. I knew those piano lessons would pay off someday, but I certainly didn’t imagine Bea would use her talents to entertain five year olds.”

“They’re seven, Gran,” Bea corrects.

Caro waves a hand and continues. “You’ve a beautiful voice nonetheless, dear. You really do spoil those children. Perhaps we can convince you do sing for us tonight after dinner.”

Niall looks from the pride on Caro’s face back to Bea, who looks more annoyed than she has all afternoon. Her grandmother goes on and on about how all the parents positively adore her and how Caro knew she was destined to be a teacher since she was a child herself, and Bea seethes.

She’s seething. That’s the only way he can think to describe the way she keeps her eyes steady on the road and her grip tight on the steering wheel and a perpetual frown on her mouth. His gaze traces the slope of her sharp nose and the indent of her cheek that suggests, were she to smile, a real smile, she might have a dimple.

Dimples. On this girl. This stubborn, tempestuous, argumentative, always frowning girl. Preposterous.

Dimples, he supposes, would make her almost appealing.

But as of now, she’s nothing but a nuisance. She probably thinks the same of him, though, he supposes. As Caro continues to sing Bea’s praises, much to Bea’s chagrin, Niall reaches into his backpack and pulls out the notebook where he’s made some notes about the mysterious Alessandro Bianchi. Based on Caro’s letter and some details she’s filled in for him, he has determined the following:

1. Alessandro would be about 80 years old now, as he’s a few years older than Caro.

2. He is likely still in the Veneto region of Italy, as when Caro knew him, he was set to inherit the family lands and winery.

3. He rides horses.

4. He is, in Caro’s words, “the handsomest man I’d ever set my eyes on.”

It’s not a lot to go on, and there are some major issues. The Veneto region first of all, is massive: nearly 5 million people live there, and it stretches all the way north to the Austrian border. Niall’s hopeful Alessandro is still in the province of Verona, a much smaller area that only has a million people.

That’s still a million people to sort through, though. From some database searches on his laptop last night, Niall turned up a list of Alessandro Bianchi’s from that million and then narrowed down by age. His smaller list contains 50 names, smaller in comparison but still a huge number when one is driving around the country going door to door.

There has to be some way to narrow the names further. Niall pulls out the list, which he printed in the hotel business center, and, when there’s a lull in the conversation, passes it up to Caro.

“This are the Alessandro Bianchi’s I’ve found,” he says. “I know the list is long, so I’m hoping you know something else that can help us narrow it down.”

Bea glances sideways as Caro examines the list. Niall’s distracted by her mouth, which has morphed from a frown into something sadder, more regretful. Intriguing.

What’s she hiding? he thinks.

But that’s not a question for now.

“Does anything stand out to you?” he asks Caro. She slides her reading glasses up her nose and moves the paper closer to her face. “Anyone look familiar?”

After a moment, she shakes her head. “I don’t suppose this list comes with photos?”

“Unfortunately not,” Niall says. “It’s a combination of property ownership and voter registration, but it’s not one hundred percent reliable, since people move and don’t change the address on their licenses and such.” 

“Of course,” Caro says. She lowers the paper to her lap and pulls her glasses down, allowing them to hang around her neck. “It was rather silly of me to expect this to be easy, wasn’t it?”

“No—” Niall begins, but Bea cuts him off.

“You’re not being silly at all, Gran,” Bea says. She reaches across the center console to take Caro’s hand. “Alessandro is important to you, so we will find him. With or without Niall’s help.”

“Thank you, dear,” Caro says, squeezing Bea’s hand. “But since we’ve got him here with us, we should absolutely take advantage of Niall’s help. He is a journalist, dear, don’t forget.”

Niall is certain that his occupation has done nothing to endear him to her, if the look Bea gives him in the rearview mirror is anything to go by.

“Take the next exit,” the GPS chirps, drawing Bea’s attention away. He misses the fire in her gaze immediately, and that unwelcome realization occupies his mind for several minutes—seriously, what the fuck, brain—until the car turns up a winding dirt road and comes to a stop in front of a cute, if modest, country house.

“This is the first address,” Bea says, voice completely devoid of excitement.

   Seven - Bea

“This is the first address,” Bea says, but what she’s thinking is, this cannot be the first address.

The house is, she supposes, cute enough, but it’s run-down. It hasn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in decades, the steps leading up to the porch are crumbling, and the house’s facade is covered in overgrown vines, the kind that slither in cracks in the plaster and make their way into the pipes and destroy everything.

“Let’s get out, then,” Niall says, already opening his door and climbing out of the backseat. He opens Gran’s door for her and helps her out, so Bea has no choice but to follow. She pockets the car keys and follows them up to the front steps.

“Should we knock?” Gran asks, looking from Bea to Niall and back to Bea. Bea can see a bit of nervousness in her gran’s face, and a hint of timidness. It’s strange, seeing it there; it’s not an emotion Gran normally expresses. Gran is always in control, taking the lead, charging headfirst into battle, Bea trailing behind her. That’s how they ended up in Italy, .

But right now, it seems like Gran needs Bea to take the lead. So she steps forward, planting herself between Niall and Gran, and puts a hand on Gran’s shoulder.

“What do you want to do, Gran?” she says in a tone she hopes is gentle and encouraging. She squeezes Gran’s bony shoulder and tries not to think about how much of Gran’s life she’s spent alone, dreaming of her lost love. “Do you want us to knock?” 

Gran’s hand drifts to her neck, her fingers playing with her necklace. It’s a thin gold chain, gifted to her, Bea knows, by her husband, Bea’s grandfather, who died before Bea’s parents did. She wonders what Gran is thinking. Is she concerned about being unfaithful to her deceased husband? Is she regretting her marriage to someone who wasn’t Alessandro entirely? Or is she simply nervous about the possibility of seeing Alessandro again after so much time has passed?

“Gran,” Bea says again. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

Bea can feel Niall’s eyes on her, but she ignores him. He shouldn’t even be here; he’s intruding on a private family moment, no matter what Gran says to the contrary. But at least he’s smart enough to be keeping his mouth shut right now.

“No, that’s alright,” Gran says, dropping her hand from her necklace and shaking her head. “I’m being silly. We came all this way, and it’s probably not him. We’ll have wasted a trip if we don’t find out for sure.”

Bea looks up, toward the front door, but on the way, her gaze runs into Niall’s. He’s frowning slightly, like he’s confused. She wrinkles her nose at him, and he grins. If he weren’t so annoying, it might be cute. He might be cute.

“Okay, Gran,” Bea says, slipping her hand into Gran’s for a squeeze. “Let’s go, then?”

“Let’s go,” Gran repeats. She takes a step, then hesitates. “Niall, will you do the honors?”

“Me?” Niall meets Bea’s eyes, his eyebrows raised, but she’s just as surprised as he is. Niall is a guest here—and barely that. He’s an interloper. But Gran wants what Gran wants. Bea shrugs.

Bea watches with bated breath as Niall climbs the battered steps to the house and knocks on the door—twice, and then a third time, louder. She counts the seconds, waiting.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Finally, the door opens.

The man is backlit by the sun as he steps outside, so it takes a minute before she can see him fully. Dark mustache, suspenders over his shoulders, tan shirt, and a face that’s much, much too young. He can’t be Gran’s Alessandro.

Gran asks anyway, though, drawing on her rusty Italian to ask for Alessandro Bianchi. The man shakes his head.

“It’s not him,” Gran says quietly, tugging on Bea’s sleeve. “He says no one with that name has lived here for years. Decades.”

Bea looks back at the man, who is standing on his front porch looking irritated, like the knock on his door has interrupted his entire day.

“Grazie, signore,” she says, allowing Gran to tug her back to the car, Niall following behind.

As she starts up the car and waits for Gran and Niall to decide where they’re headed next, Bea analyzes her feelings. Annoyance, of course, at Niall for being present, and a smidge at Gran for dragging her all the way out here. Frustration at the poor infrastructure of Italy’s backcountry roads. And—wait, is that disappointment?

Yes, Bea admits to herself. It sucks to strike out this early in the game. It sucks that Gran has spent so many years without Alessandro, and now she’ll have to wait even longer to find him. And what if they never find him? How long will they keep looking? How long will Niall follow them around the country, riding in the backseat and running new Google searches to grow their list of possibles?

Bea looks at Gran, who has pulled her gray hair back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck to get it out of the way while she compares Niall’s list with a paper map. Gran, who has weathered so many storms. Gran, who has carried Bea through the worst of them.

Gran, who has bounced back from this disappointment like it was nothing.

So Bea will do the same. She will put on a brave face and input the next address Niall gives her into the GPS app, and she will force herself to be hopeful that this Alessandro will be the one they’re looking for.

And if that one’s not him, she’ll hope the same for the next Alessandro.

And the one after that.

   Eight - Niall

After they scratch three possible Alessandros off the list, they stop for the night at a boutique winery hotel buried in a valley. It’s dark by the time Bea parks the car, but Niall expects that the surrounding countryside will be beautiful in the morning. Maybe he’ll wake up early and watch the sunrise, notebook and pen in hand, knowing he’ll never have words enough to describe its beauty. Back in college, he took a poetry class and tried his hand at some sonnets, but it was never really his thing.

Maybe now it will be, though. He’s only been in Italy a week and a half, and he’s already done things he never expected to do. Write a letter to a fictional character, for example, and join a girl and her grandmother in the search for a long-lost love.He’s been surprising himself for a while, actually, ever since he made the decision to end his relationship with Rhiannon.

Rhiannon. As Niall unloads the bags from the car, he wonders what she’s doing right now, who she’s spending her time with. Rhiannon has never had trouble making friends, and neither has Niall. That’s one of the reasons they were so good together. At least, that’s what he used to think. He also used to think that any time spent away from Rhiannon was wasted time, but now he knows better.

Today was not wasted, despite three failed attempts to find Caro’s Alessandro. The first man was too young and not named Alessandro anyway, the second man was far too old, and the third was a woman who was completely aghast to find out that she was misnamed and misgendered in the census data. Caro kept in good spirits, always positive in the car, but Niall could tell that her energy was waning. And Bea, meanwhile, was growing more and more annoyed with every grape vine they passed.

Now, as Niall walks the ladies to their rooms, it’s obvious that Bea is ready to be rid of him. Caro hugs both him and Bea goodnight outside her room, whispering, “thank you for being here” in Niall’s ear before she lets him go. Bea takes off down the hall, clearly in disagreement with the sentiment.

“I told you I could carry my own bag,” Bea scoffs when Niall reaches her door. He rolls her suitcase to a stop and chuckles as she grabs the handle, eager to have it back in her possession.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help you with your bags?” Niall asks.

“You’re no kind of gentleman.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “I can carry your bag back out to the car, if you’d like. Then you can wheel it in yourself.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bea huffs. “You’re so infuriating.”

She turns around, sliding her keycard into the door and pushing it open. Niall grabs her suitcase again and passes it to her as she goes into the room. She flips on a lightswitch, illuminating the space behind her, but Niall doesn’t pay any attention. He’s too fixated on Bea’s face.

She has light brown eyes, the color so diluted that he wonders if they might actually be green, or maybe blue. And the sweep of her nose, the pout on her lips as she frowns at him—God, she’s beautiful. She’s the kind of beautiful where it’s not the first thing you notice about her, but once you notice it, you can never stop seeing it. From now on, she’ll be beautiful every time Niall looks at her, every minute he thinks about her, every second he spends looking at her from the backseat of the rental car.

“Thanks for the help, I guess,” she says to him now, one hand on the door handle.

“You’re welcome,” he says. He steps forward without thinking, needing to be closer to her. “I can let you handle your own suitcase next time, though.”

“Thanks for that, too. But I meant, thanks for being here, for helping with Gran. This is really important to her, and I’m grateful to you for taking her seriously and respecting what she wants.”

“Of course,” Niall says. “She’s wonderful. And this is such a great story. Why wouldn’t I want to help her find Alessandro?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m not sure I do, maybe.” Bea looks over his shoulder, not meeting his gaze. This is hard for her to talk about, and it’s probably even harder for her to talk to him about it. “She loved my granddad, I know she did. If she finds Alessandro again, will her love for him cancel out her love for my granddad? And where does that leave me?”

“The same place you’ve always been.”

Bea’s eyes meet his; she’s startled, surprised that he answered her questions. Or maybe surprised that she was speaking out loud in the first place.

“Your gran loves you the same no matter what,” Niall continues. “I can see that every time she looks at you. That’s not going to change, no matter what happens with Alessandro. And her love for Alessandro won’t change how she loved your granddad. Someone can have two great loves in their life, don’t you think?”

It takes Bea a few seconds to respond, like she’s catching up with what he just said. “I don’t know. If that’s true, then what are all the stories and poems about? What’s Romeo and Juliet about?”

Niall asked himself that question days ago, looking up at Juliet’s balcony just like Romeo, except in his reality there was no beautiful young girl standing there, ready to throw away her life of privilege to be with him. Now, looking at Bea, he feels differently.

“That is what it’s about,” he says. “Those questions. How do you know when someone loves you? How do you know you’re worthy of their love, or that their love is going to last? How do you know when to risk your heart?

“Hmm.” Bea’s eyes drop to her shoes. “Sometimes I think it’s better not to try. Too much risk.”

“You know what they say. No risk, no reward.”

Bea goes quiet, and Niall doesn’t know what to say next. So he waits, waits for her to fill the silence. He finds himself reluctant to remove himself from her doorstep, reluctant to go to end this conversation and go to his room and be alone with his thoughts when he could be here, sharing them with her.

“Right,” Bea says abruptly. “As nice as it was talking to you, Niall”—he can tell from her tone that she doesn’t think it was nice at all—“I think it’s time for me to go to bed. We’ve got an early start in the morning.”

“Right.”

“Goodnight, then,” she says.

“Goodnight.”

It’s baffling, really, how quickly his feelings toward her changed, Niall thinks as he looks at her looking at him. Maybe it happened this afternoon, as Bea comforted her disappointed grandmother over and over again. Or maybe it happened even earlier, on their way out of Verona this morning, when she cursed at a taxi driver under her breath.

She’s beautiful, still. Beautiful, again. Beautiful, always.

Damn, this is not what he thought would happen when he agreed to help an old woman track down the man she loved half a century ago.

“Goodnight, Niall,” Bea repeats, staring at him.

“Goodnight,” he says again, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are glued to her face, and he can’t look away. It’s probably starting to get a little bit creepy, but she’s a mystery, and maybe if he looks long enough, he’ll be able to discern some tiny clue.

“You’re blocking my door,” she says, looking, as per usual, less than pleased with him.

Niall practically jumps backwards in an attempt to make space for her. “Right, of course! Sorry about that.”

There’s enough clearance to close the door now, but Bea freezes for a moment, hand on the doorknob, eyes locked on Niall’s.

“Bea?”

“What?” Bea shakes her head, blinking, as if coming out of a daze. “Right. Sorry. Goodnight, Niall.”

Then she shuts the door, leaving Niall standing there, wondering if he’ll ever have words enough to describe her beauty. And how utterly confused she leaves him.

   Nine - Bea

In the morning, Bea wakes up itchy. At first she thinks it’s bedbugs, because that’s what every traveler thinks when they wake up itchy, but this hotel that Gran is paying for is much too nice for bedbugs. They left chocolate on her pillow last night and there are enough towels in the bathroom tokeep her in baths for years to come. Too bad they’re only staying two nights.

Maybe it’s a sunburn, she thinks, trudging to the bathroom and craning her neck to examine her back in the mirror. It’s a bit pink, but certainly not burnt enough to cause the kind of itching she’s feeling. The straps of the tank top she wore yesterday aren’t even outlined.

Something else, then. Maybe she ate something that triggered an allergy. Bea muses on that thought as she brushes her teeth with one hand and scratches her thigh with the other. What’d she eat yesterday? Spaghetti, gelato, a panini, and lots and lots of bread. Nothing too out of the ordinary, no shellfish or undercooked meat or questionable cheese.

Maybe it’s a rogue clothing tag. She slides her pajama shorts off and turns them inside out, hunting for a tiny piece of plastic that might’ve been left behind when she snipped off the price tag. Nothing. There isn’t even a tag with laundry instructions. There’s absolutely nothing there that could be causing that infernal crawling sensation Bea’s feeling all over both legs.

And her back, not to mention her back, where a million tiny spiders are tap-dancing in flip flops, tickling all of her nerve endings and driving her batty.

Bea tosses her toothbrush on the counter and moves to turn on the shower, imagining all of the spiders washing away down the drain. What a way to wake up: in a beautiful hotel room in the beautiful countryside of Italy, itching all over. She hasn’t been itchy like this in years, not since she told her best mate, Theresa, that the boy she liked didn’t like her back, even though he did. Bea liked him too and didn’t want to watch him date her best friend. Rosie saw straight through her lie, as best mates often do, and turned all of their friends against Bea. That was the last time Bea ever got involved in someone else’s romantic life.

Oh, crud. The only thing that makes Bea itchy like this is romance. And, well, lying.

But, lying. She hasn’t told any lies lately, has she? She hasn’t tricked Gran or tried to lure her away from the Alessandro hunt. And she hasn’t lied to Niall about how much she dislikes him or—

Oh, crud. She doesn’t dislike him, does she?

Last night, when Niall walked her to her door and stood there for what felt like hours, staring at her with his piercing blue eyes, there had been a moment, the briefest of seconds, when Bea wondered if he was going to kiss her, and thought that she might like him to. She’d stood there in the open doorway of her hotel room and considered that it might be nice to kiss the cute Irishman who’d given up his vacation to help her gran search for her lost love. In that moment, that brief, endless moment, he’d seemed sweet, genuine, likable, handsome, and exactly the kind of person whom one enjoys kissing.

But then the moment had passed, Bea had shaken herself out of it, and she closed the door on him and his tempting lips and intriguing eyes. Niall is engaged, and, regardless, he’s not the kind of person one has those thoughts about.

Bea’s brain still seems confused about that, though, as it wonders, will his lips look as tempting and his eyes as intriguing at breakfast this morning?

Oh, crud. Bea scratches at her elbow.

The itchiness abates during her shower but then comes back full-force when she meets Gran and Niall at breakfast. She sees them before they see her so she takes a moment to observe before she approaches. They’re seated at a table on the terrace outside the hotel’s restaurant, and Gran’s laughing at something Niall said, her head thrown back and joy clear on her face. Bea longs to hear the joke herself, longs to know this side of Niall, when his humor’s not at her expense, when he’s not teasing her or sending her funny looks via the rearview mirror.

Jesus H. Christ, Bea thinks, shaking herself out of it and approaching the table. Grams barely has time to look up before a waiter appears and pours her a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Beatrix,” Gran says. Bea doesn’t miss Gran’s raised eyebrow over the rim of her own mug. Earl Grey for Gran in the mornings, always.

“Morning, Gran,” Bea says once she’s gulped down a mouthful of coffee. It’s scalding hot and not particularly good, which is a disappointment, but not one worth dwelling on when one is as itchy as Bea is. “Morning, Niall.”

“Bea,” he says, nodding at her. There’s a slight twinkle in his eye and Bea imagines it saying, I know you wanted me to kiss you last night. It makes her right knee itch. The fact that that’s the closest knee to Niall is of no consequence.

She looks away from him and grabs a menu, flipping it open. The entire thing is in Italian, which is fine for a dinner menu but a lot more complicated for breakfast. “I think I’d like an omelette today. Do they have omelettes in Italy? What’s the Italian word for egg?”

Neither Niall nor Gran answer right away, so Bea keeps on. “Pane, that’s bread, right? I know that word. What’s the Italian for bacon?”

“It’s bacon,” Niall says. When Bea meets his gaze, he’s smiling at her, a hint of a laugh lingering on the corner of his mouth. Gran is smiling, too.

“What?” Bea asks, looking from one to the other. “Do I have toothpaste on my face?”

Niall drops his eyes to his plate, but Gran doesn’t look away, so Bea narrows in on her. Gran has never been able to keep anything from her—except Alessandro, of course, but Bea doesn’t want to think about that right now—so Bea knows that if she stares long enough, Gran will buckle.

It doesn’t seem to work this time though, as Gran drops the smile into a concerned frown. “No, dear,” she says. “But I’m glad to hear you brushed your teeth.”

Niall snickers, and suddenly Bea hates him again, but her right wrist won’t stop itching.

Why was it that she liked him? All the reasons have disappeared as she finishes her breakfast and listens as Gran and Niall go over their agenda for the day. There are four Alessandros on today’s list and a short lunch break scheduled for the afternoon.

In the car, Bea takes the wheel again, Gran in the passenger’s seat and Niall in the back. Once they’re out on the main road, Alessandro’s address plugged into Apple Maps, Niall pulls out his notebook and begins scribbling away.

The back of Bea’s neck itches as she wonders what he’s writing. Is it a personal journal entry in which he’s describing how he almost kissed her last night? Or is it a draft of a novel, the story of lovers separated by centuries only to find themselves together again? If it’s the latter, she’s not sure how Gran would feel about becoming the heroine of a novel. Niall definitely should’ve asked first.

She’s still annoyed at him over that possibility when she finally asks, several ,minutes later, “What are you writing?”

It takes a minute for Niall to look up and meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. “It’s not done yet,” he says with a shrug.

“Okay, but what’s it about?” Bea presses. “Is it nonfiction? Fiction? Are you writing poetry?”

There’s a gleam in Niall’s eyes as he mimes zipping his lips and throwing an invisible key over his shoulder.

Bea huffs and turns her focus back to the road. On either side of the road are endless vineyards stretching as far as the eye can see. Every once in a while, there’s a barn or a house or a man on horseback, a copse of trees, a hill, but it’s mostly vine after vine after vine. Finally, finally, they turn onto a side road and head toward the residence of the first Alessandro.

Let this one be him, Bea prays. Let this one be him, and let him be married, so I can go back to my life as it was and forget any of this ever happened.

But then, what about Gran? Bea considers the ideal outcome for Gran. Maybe Alessandro is a widower, living alone on his vineyards, waiting for his lost love to return to him. He and Gran will marry and she’ll stay in Italy forever, leaving Bea to take care of her big house in London. Or maybe Alessandro will be dead. That’s preferable, Bea thinks, to him being married to another woman.

At least that’s what Bea thinks, until the man who answers the door proclaims himself to be Alessandro’s son.

“My father died last year,” he says, and Bea hears Gran gasp behind her. She tightens her grip on Gran’s hand. “I’m sorry, you say you knew him?”

Bea can’t see Gran’s face, but she can imagine the look on it. When her parents died, she felt as though the floor had dropped out from underneath her and she was clinging to the edge by her nails, waiting for someone to pull her back up. It had been Gran who had come to her aid.

That’s not something Bea likes to think about very often, but now, just for a moment, she’s glad she experienced it. Maybe now she can be here for Gran, as Gran was for her. She’s never had the opportunity to step up in that way before now.

Niall looks at Bea for a second before answering the man’s question. “No, I didn’t. This is Caro. Carolyn. She knew him, years ago. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Bea thinks she should echo the expression, but she can’t find her voice. This is too much of a shock: they came all this way for Alessandro, and though Bea had considered the possibility that he might be dead, she really didn’t expect it to be the case. What kind of ending is this?

The man, Alessandro’s son, looks at each of their faces, at their expressions. “And I, for yours. Would you like to come in?”

“Let’s go,” Gran whispers, tugging on Bea’s hand, pulling her back toward the car, but Bea steps forward. Maybe she can help Gran get the closure she needs. She clears her throat.

“Yes, please. We’d love to.”

The man nods, opening the door wider and allowing the three of them to follow him inside and into a small sitting room. Niall introduces Bea and himself, but she’s too distracted to be polite. The man’s house is small but well-kept. The tile floors are swept, books fill the shelves in the sitting room, and there is a piano with a row of picture frames on the top. Bea wanders over, looking at the photos and imagining this other life Gran might have lived.

In the first, their host, aged 9 or 10, stands with his parents in front of, what else, a vineyard. He wears overalls and his mother squints at the camera. The photo is in black and white even though it was taken, Bea guesses, sometime in the late 70s. There are balloons in the background, evidence of a party.

“Are these your parents?” Bea asks, carrying the frame over to the man. The man nods, taking it from her hands. “When was this photo taken?”

“I was 10 years old, if I remember correctly,” the man says. He lifts a pair of eyeglasses from his neck and slides them on. “My father had just returned from the army, his last tour. We were celebrating his retirement.”

“Alessandro was in the army?” Bea turns to Gran, who has settled on the couch, Niall standing awkwardly by her side, looking down on her as if worried she’s going to faint.

The man nods. “Yes, for many years. He enlisted as soon as he was old enough, in 1963, and was only home for a short time in 1968, when he met and married my mother. They had a whirlwind courtship, as you say.”

“1963,” Bea repeats. Something doesn’t fit, but she’s not sure what.

Niall is, though. “Caro met Alessandro in 1965,” he says. “Where was your father in 1965?”

The man scratches his head and takes so long to answer that Bea wants to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake.

“Somewhere abroad,” he says finally. “North Africa, possibly.”

Bea’s face mirrors the look of shock on Niall’s. She takes the frame from the man and walks it to the couch. “Is this him, Gran? Is this your Alessandro?”

Gran leans forward, looking at the picture for an endless minute. “No,” she says quietly, fingers playing with the gold chain around her neck. “No, that’s not him.”

Bea feels a wave of emotion crash over her, pushing her down onto the couch next to Gran. “That’s not him,” she repeats.

“That’s not him,” Niall echoes.

Bea sits quietly as Niall makes their excuses, apologizing for the intrusion and giving their condolences. He ushers them out the door and back towards the car, where he grabs Bea’s arm before she can open the driver’s side door.

“Do you want me to drive?” he says quietly. “You seem shaky.”

Bea rolls her shoulders back. She’s not shaky, she’s fine. So what if Alessandro was dead and then alive again in the span of five minutes? She’s fine.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “Don’t you want to journal about this?”

Niall steps away from her, hands up, and gets in the car before she can apologize for being rude.

It’s just as well, she supposes. It’s not as if she likes him anyway.

   Ten - Niall

The next day is much like the prior one, with visits to multiple Alessandro’s who may or may not be Gran’s lost love. At least none of them are dead. Yesterday’s first stop was so rough that Niall considered proposing to the ladies that they cut their losses and head back to the hotel, but Bea looked determined to press on.

This morning, though, her energy level seems lower, so on the way to the car, he offers to drive.

“Are you sure?” Bea asks, raising an eyebrow. “Have you ever driven in a foreign country?”

Niall raises an eyebrow in return, which makes Bea blush. He ignores the way his stomach flips at the redness in her cheeks. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve even driven in foreign cities. Like Verona.”

She blushes even darker as she no doubt recalls her terrible driving as they left the city a few days ago. “All right, then,” she says, passing over the keys. “But don’t kill us. My Gran is precious cargo.”

Niall nods. He doesn’t need to be told. Caro is one of the most wonderful people he’s ever met, aside from his own grandmother, who is back home in Ireland and whom he never gets to see. Growing up, his parents were always traveling for business, working late, making him feel forgotten, and it was his grandmother who remembered him. She took him on day trips to carnivals and national parks, attended all of his school plays, and helped him with his homework when he struggled. Leaving her behind to move to London was one of the hardest things he’s ever done, so it’s nice to spend time with Caro. She’s an excellent listener, and she gives even better advice.

Yesterday morning over breakfast, before Bea had shown up, Caro had asked him about his life, about what brought him to Italy, and he talked about Rhiannon in a way that he never had before.

“I thought I loved her once,” he’d said, stirring cream into coffee that he knew he wouldn’t drink.“But I know now that I didn’t. I just wanted to be in love so badly that I settled for her.”

Caro had nodded like she understood. “Or maybe you wanted to be loved. It’s okay to want that.” Then she’d paused, taken a sip of her tea, swallowed. “You like my granddaughter.”

She said it bluntly, like it was a fact, and Niall had been surprised, in that moment, to hear something he’d only felt sound so permanent, so real. But it was true, so he nodded.

“I do,” he said, and he had imagined, for the briefest of seconds, being loved by someone who stood her ground and said what she want, someone who cared about her family enough to drive through endless wine country with them, someone like Bea—and then he forced the thought out and away. It wasn’t an appropriate thing to be thinking while conversing with Bea’s grandmother.

But now that it’s a day later and he’s driving the car and Bea’s asleep in the backseat, mouth slack as she rests her head on her hand, elbow propped against the window, he has free reign to think whatever he wants. Which, try as he might to want something else, is Bea. Bea and her reluctant laugh. Bea and the fire in her eyes.

“Stubborn, isn’t she?” Caro says after a while, her voice so quiet that Niall wonders if he imagined it. Wonders if she was reading his mind. “My granddaughter. Stubborn as her gran.”

“Hmm.” Niall smiles softly at her, unsure what to say in response.

“I raised her, you know,” Caro says, glancing sideways at him before looking back at the road. “Her parents died when she was young, and ever since, she’s been this wild thing, but stubborn, practical. Always looking for evidence, for proof. But for some things, there is no proof.”

“What things?” Niall asks.

“Love, the most obvious. Faith. Hope. Dreams, especially dreams. Bea has rarely allowed herself dreams. Only when she’s asleep does she dream.”

Niall pictures her asleep, pictures her in bed beside him, rising from a nightmare and seeking his comfort. The image warms him. Now he has something else to think about: Bea and her forgotten dreams—for she must’ve had them, once.

“I dream enough for the both of us, don’t I?” Caro continues. Her voice turns serious. “We haven’t discussed this, but I know we can’t search for Alessandro forever.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” Niall says, but it isn’t exactly true. He has to go back to London at some point. He wishes he didn’t, though. He wishes he could stay here forever, traveling the countryside with Caro and Bea.

“Your time is better spent on other endeavors,” Caro says, looking over her shoulder at Bea, who’s still asleep. Then she looks pointedly back to Niall. “You should tell her how you feel.”

Niall doesn’t answer. Bea is hot and cold—two nights ago, they’d almost kissed outside her door, but since then she’s barely spoken to him, barely looked at him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally says. Even if she likes him, even if she’d kiss him back—it doesn’t matter. “Like you said, we can’t search for Alessandro forever.”

“We can’t, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.” She pauses. Then: “Another day or two, I think. These old bones grow wary of sitting in cars.”

“Maybe we’ll find him today,” Niall says, offering her a smile.

They don’t, though. They visit two Alessandro’s before lunch, one too old and one two young, and in the afternoon, travel to an address that doesn’t exist. Before dinner, they check into another hotel just outside Sienna, all three of them exhausted. Niall can feel his bones creaking at all the joints, a physical manifestation of his mental exhaustion.

As he waits in the lobby for the ladies to come down for dinner, he scratches off several Alessandro’s from his list. There are a lot left, but, as Caro said this morning, she isn’t willing to search forever. Another day or two, she’d said. So he looks at the list now and tries to derive, as if by magic, which ones are most likely to be the one they’re searching for. It’s no use, but he stares at the page anyway, stares so long that “Alessandro” no longer looks like a word, just a random arrangement of letters.

Energy levels remains low at dinner, and not even gelato can seem to cheer anyone up. Niall bids Caro and Bea goodnight and goes to his room, where he pulls out his notebook and stares at a blank page before finally giving up and going to sleep.

Tomorrow will be a better day, he thinks as he drifts off.

   Eleven - Bea

The next morning, Niall knocks on Bea’s door before she’s had a chance to leave for breakfast. She’s braiding her hair over her shoulder when she pulls open the door and greets him.

“Hi?” she says.

“Good morning,” he says. He looks good this morning, dressed in shorts and a short sleeve button up. His sneakers are bright white. She wonders if he bleaches them.

“Good morning,” she says. “What’s going on? Is Gran alright?”

“She’s fine,” he says. “Bit tired. She said she wants to take the day off from driving today and hang about the pool. You could join her if you want, or…”

“Or?” She notices the backpack swung over his shoulder. “Are you going somewhere?”

He nods. “Sienna. I figured, since we’re here, I’d like to see it. And maybe you’d like to come.”

Her first instinct is to say no, because this is Niall and she absolutely does not like him, but then she changes her mind. What if she’s never in Italy again? What if they find Alessandro tomorrow and she’s on an immediate flight back home? What if this is her only chance to see Sienna?

“Okay,” she says. “I’d like to come.”

Ten minutes later, they’re in the car and she’s looking at his hands on the steering wheel. When he’d offered to drive, she’d accepted without hesitation, eager to spend the drive looking out the windows. As endless as the vines seem, they’re beautiful, and a bit otherworldly, as if England is more than a few hours’ flight away.

“Have you ever been to Italy before?” she asks Niall.

“No,” he says, glancing sideways at her. He’s an excellent driver, so careful, and she’s never felt safer in a car—a feat for her, because her parents died in one. “I’ve never made much time for travel. I regret that, I think. There are so many places to see that I haven’t seen.”

“There’s so much future for that,” Bea says. “So much forever. You can fill all of it with travel.”

“Maybe. Where would you like to go?”

Bea smiles, softly. She never lets her think about these things, about all the things she can’t have or will never do, but she indulges herself for a second. “Prague. Tokyo. Rio de Janeiro. New York City.”

“I’ve been to New York City,” Niall interjects. “It’s loud.”

“London is loud.”

“New York is louder.”

“Fine,” Bea rolls her eyes. “Where would you go?”

Niall shrugs, the fabric of his shirt rustling against the leather of the car seat. “Prague, Tokyo, Rio. I want to go everywhere.”

Bea doesn’t respond, and they fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence, during which they drive into Sienna and she thinks about how big Niall’s hands look on the steering wheel and how small hers feel resting on her thighs. She feels safe with Niall, not just when he’s driving, but maybe that’s not real. Maybe she’s transferring her feelings about his driving skills to the rest of him.

Or maybe, she considers, that she really does like Niall, just as she was thinking a few mornings ago, before the disaster with the undead Alessandro and the following day filled with disappointments. She scratches her knee.

“Bug bite?”

“Huh?” She looks over at Niall, who’s grinning at her. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“That’s rough,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says, but looking at Niall, nothing feels rough. Everything feels easy, smooth sailing, like she could sit beside him in a car forever.

Oh, crud.

In Sienna, Niall parallel parks easily near the city center and they wander through the streets, in and out of a museum, around and around the cathedral. Inside, Bea stands transfixed by the height of the ceilings and the intricacy of the design, horizontal lines spiraling around her, making her dizzy.

“This is the ugliest church I’ve ever seen,” Niall says quietly into her ear, making her laugh. She covers it up with a cough—it’s rude to laugh in a church, she’s pretty sure—before she responds.

“You can’t say that,” she whispers. “God can hear you.”

“God didn’t build it,” Niall whispers back. “And I’m sure he’s well aware.”

At lunch, they talk easily about their lives back in London, their favorite places to visit and their favorite places to avoid. They both hate Covent Garden and both love the South Bank despite the crowds of tourists outside the Globe.

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen you there,” Niall says.

“London’s a huge city,” Bea says. “Over 8 million people live there.”

“Maybe. But only one Beatrix Mason.”

That makes her blush, and the awareness that she’s blushing makes her blush more. He grins at her, and she smiles back, and if she could make a snow globe out of any moment, it would be this one. This perfect day in Sienna with a perfect man whose beautiful eyes look into her own like they can see all her secrets and aren’t judging her for them.

She thinks of Juliet then, of her decision to marry Romeo after only knowing him for a few days, and in that moment, it doesn’t seem crazy. It seems like the most sensible thing in the world.

In the late afternoon, they drive back to the hotel to meet Gran for dinner, but she’s already eaten, so they get a table in the hotel restaurant without her. Niall smiles and Bea smiles and something’s changed, she thinks. Today he cracked open a little bit and made a little bit more sense, and she wants to keep digging, she thinks.

He’s engaged, she knows that—he’s engaged, but tomorrow will be their last day together, and she can have one more day, can’t she? One more day with Niall, and then she’ll let him go.

“Come for a walk with me,” she says when they’re done eating.

They wander into the hills around the hotel, climbing to the top of one to look at the stars.

“Do you know the names?” Niall asks.

“No,” Bea says, which is a lie, but she’s hoping he’ll impress her. She’s hoping he wants to impress her.

“Me either,” he says. She laughs.

They lie on the ground like that for a while, watching stars shoot across the sky. Niall’s hand finds hers in the grass and holds on tight. The air tingles between them. A summer night, alive.

When he leans over and kisses her, it’s surprising at first and then the most natural thing in the world. She kisses him back, enjoying the weight of him over her, the brush of his hair in his eyes, the softness of his lips. And then she remembers.

She pushes him back, and it takes a second before he goes. He smiles at her, but she doesn’t smile back.

“Bea,” he says, reaching a hand down to brush some hair out of her face. It’s too much, and almost enough to get her to kiss him again. But he’s engaged.

She rolls away from him and springs to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she stammers. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Niall follows, going after her as she crosses the lawn. “Why not?”

Bea looks over her shoulder. “You’re engaged. Aren’t you engaged?”

Niall shakes his head, but doesn’t respond. He looks like he’s fed up with her, which is just as well, because she’s fed up with him too. Why is he like this, hot one second, confusing the next? Why is she like this, attracted to such a man?

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Bea, I like you, and—”

“How can you say it doesn’t matter? Your fiancée doesn’t matter?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I—”

“Look, we’re almost through the list,” Bea says, taking another step away from him. He needs to stop looking at her like that, with those glowing blue eyes, or she can’t be held responsible for her actions. The more space she can put between them now, the better. “If we don’t find Alessandro tomorrow, that’s it. Gran and I are going home, and you’re going back to your fiancée, and we can pretend that none of this ever happened.”

Niall steps closer to her, into the space she put between them. “I don’t want to pretend that none of this ever happened.”

“But you’re engaged,” she reminds him again. Why can’t he seem to remember that? “To someone else. To someone who I’m sure is very kind and very much in love with you and would not be pleased to find out that you’ve been kissing another girl on a hillside in the country.”

The corner of Niall’s mouth lifts, almost like—is he laughing? He’s definitely laughing. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“What?” Bea’s jaw drops open. “That’s an awful thing to say. You’re disgusting. I can’t believe I just kissed you.” And I can’t believe I want to do it again.

Now he’s frowning. “Bea—”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to bed, and we’re going to forget this ever happened, and we’re never going to talk about it again.”

Niall looks like he wants to say something, but he holds it back. Good.

“Goodnight,” she says, turning on her heel and marching away from him.

She can’t resist turning back, though, where he’s still standing on the hill, hand raised to his mouth, gazing after her. She spins away before he can catch her looking.

   Twelve - Niall

In the car the next morning, they don’t speak of the kiss. Bea won’t even look at him, and Niall supposes he deserves it. She thought he was engaged, after all. But he isn’t. He isn’t engaged, and the only thing he wants is to kiss Bea again, and again, and again.

That doesn’t seem likely to happen, though, at least not if this morning is an indication.They sit silently in the car, all three of them off in their own worlds. Bea had said last night that today would be their last day—if they don’t find Alessandro today, this is it. They’ll return to their lives, story unfinished.

Niall wouldn’t put money on that, though. He’s a writer, and he knows that a story’s not a story if it doesn’t have an ending. And this one, the story of Alessandro Bianchi and Carolyn Mason—it’s going to have a marvelous ending.

Hopefully the story of Niall Horan and Beatrix Mason will have a marvelous ending, too. He won’t leave Italy without one.

The morning’s Alessandro is a bust, and after a roadside picnic, they hit the road again, driving east to the next one on the list. Niall picked today’s names, perhaps the final ones, at random, and he both hopes and doesn’t hope that one of them is the one.

They’re a few minutes out from the turn indicated on the map when Caro gasps in the passenger’s seat. Niall leans forward to see if she’s okay, meeting Bea’s eyes for a precious second before she looks away, refocusing her attention on her grandmother.

“Pull over,” Caro says, her hand already reaching for the door.

“What?” Bea says. “Are you okay?”

“Pull over,” Caro repeats, so Bea does, flipping on the turn signal and guiding the car off the road. Caro gets out and steps toward the road, staring across at a man standing in the vineyard. Bea follows, and so does Niall.

“Gran? What is it?” Bea asks.

Caro raises her arm and points. “That’s him. That’s Alessandro.”

Niall squints at the man across the road. He’s young, much too young to be Alessandro—he’s not much older than Bea. But Caro seems so sure, her gaze fixed, so Niall crosses the road to ask.

“Niall, wait,” Bea calls after him, and though it’s the first time she’s acknowledged him all day, he doesn’t turn around.

“Scusi,” he says to the man. “We’re looking for Alessandro Bianchi.”

“That’s me,” the man says. “I am Alessandro Bianchi. And my father, he is Alessandro Bianchi as well.”

“Your father,” Niall repeats. “Your father, where is he?”

“Out for a ride,” the man says, his gaze drifting across the road, where Bea and Caro still stand. “He will be back soon. I can take you up to the house, if you’d like.”

Niall nods. “Let me get my friends.”

He crosses the road back to Caro and Bea, who are staring at him with wide eyes. “It’s him,” Niall says. “Well, not him, but Alessandro is his father and he’s just out for a ride and he’ll be back soon.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Bea repeats, processing. Then, more eagerly: “Gran, he’ll be back soon!” 

“Oh,” Caro says, looking off into the distance. “Maybe it’s not really him. We ought to go before he comes.”

“Nonsense, Gran,” Bea says. She tucks a lock of Caro’s hair behind her ear. “You look beautiful, just as you did 55 years ago. He’s going to be so excited to see you.”

Caro sighs. “I don’t know, Bea bug. It’s been so long, so many years. Maybe this box is best left shut.”

“Gran—” Bea starts, but the sound of a galloping horse interrupts her. The three of them turn as a horse emerges from the vineyards across the road, coming to a stop beside Alessandro Jr. They watch with bated breath as he converses with his son, both of them looking across the road, and then, still on his horse, he crosses.

“Carolina,” he says, drawing his horse to a stop a few feet from them. He climbs down and drops the reins, the horse forgotten as he approaches. “My Carolina, is that you?”

Caro steps forward. “Alessandro. It’s me.”

“After so many years,” he says. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible,” she says. 

Niall can’t believe it. He truly can’t believe it, but it’s true. It’s him, after all this time, after all the places they’ve stopped, after all the ways he’s twisted himself into knots over Bea—there he is. Alessandro. Caro’s Alessandro.

Niall drifts backwards as they embrace, coming to stand behind Bea. She looks uncomfortable as well, her gaze drifting off into the endless rows of grapevines beside the road.

Niall puts a hand lightly on her back. “Should we—”

“I think—”

Niall laughs, which makes Bea blush his favorite blush. “You go ahead,” he says.

She bites her lip, and he can tell she’s trying not to smile. After everything, she doesn’t want to smile at him, but this moment, it’s special. “I was going to say, I think we should give them a few minutes.”

“I was going to say the same thing.” Niall grins. He can’t help it. They found Alessandro—they found Alessandro!—and he’s here, with Bea. There’s nothing better than this, nowhere he’d rather be.

“Let’s go,” Bea says, leading him through the vineyard.

They walk in step silently for a while, Bea ignoring him and Niall wondering what he should say.The vineyards wrap around them, pushing them closer together, but Bea avoids bumping shoulders with him. He can tell that she wanted to give her gran privacy, but, unlike him, she’d rather be anywhere than here with him.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Good,” she says. “You should be.”

Niall doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to explain to her what she means to him—how, in such a short time, she’s come to mean everything. He thinks, hopes, prays, that maybe she feels the same way.

“I think you should leave.”

“What?” he says. She doesn’t feel the same way, and it hits him like a brick to his gut. After everything.

“We found Alessandro, so there’s no reason for you to stay. You should leave now, go back to Verona, back to your fiancée and your life. I’ll find someone to drive you to the train station. I’m sure Alessandro’s son Alessandro would be willing.”

“You won’t drive me yourself?” he asks, annoyed now, frustrated, exhausted. What an emotional roller coaster this week has been.

“No, Niall,” she says, looking at him now, meeting his gaze, and in it he can see every emotion he’s feeling too—exhaustion and confusion and excitement and sadness and loneliness. But that clarifies nothing. “I won’t drive you, and I don’t want to see you again. This week was nice, but it was just that—a week. It’s over now, and we are too.”

She turns her back on him, walking away, so she doesn’t hear what he says to her retreating form:

“We barely began.”

   Thirteen - Bea

Gran has never looked so happy as she does at dinner with Alessandro and all of his family—children and grandchildren and even a great-grandchild or two. This is the massive family gathering that Gran never got, everyone who loves each other gathered in one place, smiling, laughing. It’s bliss.

Except it’s not, because seated to Bea’s right is Niall. Niall, who’s engaged and kissed her anyway. Niall, who she can’t stop thinking about, who she won’t stop thinking about even when he’s gone. Niall, who she can barely look at. Niall, who she’s sending away.

It’s the right thing to do, she knows, but it feels so wrong, and she hasn’t even done it yet.

She barely pays attention to Alessandro’s relatives as they riddle her with questions, some of which Niall answers for her—making her feel safe even when she doesn’t want him to. Making her feel cared for, even though she asked him not to.

After dinner, Bea approaches Gran and Alessandro beside the table, where they are surrounded by a cluster of Alessandro’s grandkids and great-grands. Niall follows behind—Bea can feel him there, but she doesn’t turn around to look. Looking at him hurts.

She can’t believe that 24 hours ago she thought she’d be able to spend just these days with him and then let him go, and be okay with it. This isn’t okay. This isn’t okay at all.

Best to rip off the band-aid. Bea puts a hand on Gran’s arm.

“Niall is leaving,” she says when Gran turns to face her.

Gran looks at Niall. “Oh, no, please, Niall, you don’t have to.”

Alessandro echoes the sentiment. “Please, stay. You are welcome here.”

Niall looks at her then, looks for some kind of confirmation that he can stay, that she wants him here, but Bea doesn’t give it to him. She looks at the ground and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes burning a hole in Bea’s cheek. “I have to be getting back to Verona.”

Bea feels more eyes on her—Gran, this time. She meets her eyes and gives a quick nod, as if to say, I want him gone. Gran frowns, but doesn’t object.

“My son will drive you to the station,” Alessandro says, waving his son over.

Five minutes later, Bea stands back as Gran says goodbye to Niall at the car, hugs him and kisses his cheek and makes him promise to call. He won’t, though, Bea knows that. When Niall leaves, she will never see him again. She hurt him when she told him to go as they stood in the vineyards, surrounded by unborn wine. She hurt him, and there’s no taking that back.

He looks at her through the window as the car drives away, his face expressionless, his eyes bright blue even through the glass. He looks at her until he’s too far away to keep looking.

The moment the car turns at the end of the drive, disappearing from view, Bea can feel in her stomach that she made a mistake. It feels like a storm is broiling, rolling and twisting and throwing her dinner around like it’s lawn furniture. But it’s too late.

“Oh, Beatrix,” Gran says from behind her. “Why did you do that? Don’t you have feelings for him?”

“He’s engaged,” Bea says without turning around. Maybe if she keeps her eyes locked on the setting sun, she’ll be able to disappear alongside it. “It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“Pish posh,” Gran says. She slips her hand into Bea’s and squeezes. “That boy is not engaged. He and his fiancée broke up months ago.”

What? He’s not engaged?

“That can’t be right,” Bea says. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Gran says. “And you’ll never find out, if you let him go like that.”

Bea shakes her head. “It’s too late,” she says. “He’s gone, and I made him leave. It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Gran says. “I found Alessandro after all these years, did I not? How many Nialls do you think are on this planet? Don’t wait 55 years like I did.”

Bea looks at her grandmother now, looks at the wrinkles by her bright eyes, brighter than they’ve been in a long time. Alessandro has brought the light back to her gran’s eyes.

“Thank you for helping me find Alessandro,” Gran says. “Now, go find Niall.”

She presses the car keys into Bea’s palm.

“I—” Bea begins.

“Go,” Gran instructs.

So she does.

   Fourteen - Niall

“Niall!”

Niall turns at the sound of his name, but he can’t see who’s yelling at him, so he keeps going, cutting through the crowd with his bag pulled tight against his side.

“Niall, you jerk! Stop right there!”

Is that—it can’t be. He comes to a stop and turns, and there she is.

“Bea? What are you doing here?”

She’s wearing cutoff shorts and running shoes and her purse bounces on her hip. She stops in front of him, a few feet away, and glares.

God, he missed that glare. It’s only been a few hours since he saw it last, but damn, he missed it. He missed the fire in her eyes and the sharpness of her nose and the way she looks at him like he’s the only thing worth looking at.

“I’m here because you’re awful,” she says, breathing hard. “I had to tell you.”

“You ran after me in the train station to tell me I’m awful?” he repeats, confused. “I’m leaving, just like you asked, Bea. You didn’t need to come here and make things worse.”

“No, you idiot,” she says, taking a step closer to him. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?” he asks.

He knows what he wants. He wants to pull her tight against his chest and kiss her for at least the next five minutes and then for the rest of time. He wants to run through vineyards with her and stomp buckets of grapes and get wine drunk under hot the Italian sun. He wants to rub aloe on her sunburn and kiss it as it heals. And he wants to know what she wants.

But she ignores the question.

“My Gran, she said that you’re not really engaged,” Bea says, lunging forward to punch him in the shoulder. It barely hurts, but he rubs at the spot anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I thought I did,” Niall says, running through their previous conversations in his mind. Hadn’t he, the other night just after their kiss? “I swear I did.”

Bea’s fist comes at him again, softer this time. “You didn’t, you idiot. That’s why I made you leave.”

Niall tilts his head. He understands now, why she’s here, what she wants. His heartbeat speeds up. “Because I didn’t tell you I wasn’t engaged?”

“Yes!”

“Why do you care if I’m engaged or not?” Niall asks, even though the answer is obvious. He wants to hear her say it.

Bea huffs. As she grows more frustrated, her cheeks get redder and redder. “Because you can’t go around kissing people when you’re engaged!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude!”

Her fist flies again, but Niall grabs it and opens it in his hand. He weaves his fingers with hers and pulls her forward. “Why?” he asks.

“Because,” she says, cheeks blazing. She’s so close to him now, close enough to kiss, but Niall holds off. He wants to see if she’ll say it. “Because it’s rude!”

“You already said that.” Niall can’t resist the loose strand of hair blowing in front of her eyes; he tucks it safely behind her ear.

Bea’s eyes follow the moment of his hand. “Right. What was the question again?”

“Why is it rude to kiss someone when you’re engaged?”

“Oh, right,” Bea says, her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “It’s rude because… because you might kiss somebody so well that they want to kiss you again, but they can’t, because you’re engaged!”

“I’m not engaged.”

“You’re not…” Bea repeats, her eyes drifting down and landing on his lips. “You’re not engaged.”

“Right.”

“You’re not engaged,” she says again, the edges of her mouth lifting in a smile She lifts her arms from where he’d trapped them on his chest and wraps them around his neck. “So why aren’t you kissing me right now?”

“That’s a good que—” Niall starts, but Bea cuts him off before he can finish, pressing her lips to his. He runs his fingers along her cheekbone and pulls her close her, feeling her chest press against his, her warmth mingling with his. He can smell her sweat, can feel her bare legs against his.

There’s a fire in this kiss that wasn’t there the other night, an urgency. After a minute, he pulls back, resting his hand on her cheek. “What’s with the hurry?”

Bea blinks up at him, eyelashes batting at her cheeks. “I don’t want you to leave,” she says. “I had to stop you from leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers against her mouth. “Staying right here.”

When he kisses her again, he hopes she can feel what he does: that he found what he was searching for—not Alessandro, but Bea. The girl with fire in her eyes and a stubborn spirit and the potential, he thinks, to love him forever.

There’s so much forever, Bea had said to him the other day. In the moment, it had sounded terrifying, but now he knows there’s nothing as good as forever when it has Beatrix Madison in it.

   Afterward

Verona, 2020

Dear Juliet,

We both used to think you were a load of nonsense, but that was before we met each other, right here, just below your balcony. We’re not saying we believe in fate now, but it’s not totally off the table.

Love’s not totally off the table anymore, either. Neither of us believed in it before, but now we know a bit better. We know that you can love somebody for the way they blush and how much they love their grandmother and how terrible their driving is. And we know that you can love somebody for their bright blue eyes and the way they tease you and how safely they drive. We know that love, the way it’s supposed to be, makes you happy in all the best ways.

So, thanks, Juliet. We’re sorry you couldn’t get the ending we’re getting.

Love (the real kind),

Niall and Bea

[tinyfelthat]

Shed a Little Light - Part 1 is up now!

Eve Goldberg: Wanted: Roommate for second (slightly smaller) bedroom of two-bedroom apartment on Philadelphia’s Main Line. Easy access to SEPTA. My stupid roommate Francesca Thomas (just kidding I love her and am going to miss her very much) is moving to Pittsburgh for work and leaving me here with a second bedroom I can’t afford. Message me for details.

Comments:

Harry Styles: I know just the guy.

Eve Goldberg: Guy?!

Harry Styles: Yep. Don’t worry so much. It gives you frown lines. His name’s Niall. I’ll give him your info, and he’ll message you shortly.

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