#Look at Niall's blue eyes peering into your very soul

[angryinternetduck]

Key

hello!!! this is my submission for the @1dffchallenges​​ quarantine challenge. here’s 4.3k words of fluff on you and Harry in an established relationship, quarantining together in his cafe. featuring Valentine’s Day lattes in March, neon green crocs, and a proposal or two.  

A smile curved your lips involuntarily as you walked into the cafe, breathing in the rich scent of coffee and sighing in the warm air. You shrugged off your coat, folding it over your arm and hovering around the edge of the cafe for a moment. 

It was just after lunch and the rush was fading. You tried to look nonchalant, letting your gaze drift over the various paintings on the wall, but your eyes kept darting to the cute barista behind the counter. 

His name tag said Harry, and his dark curls were hidden under a black cap. Your stomach fluttered every time he met your gaze. You’d been in there countless times, but you swore your heart rushed more each time he looked at you. 

Once he finally finished his last order and the line had disappeared, you walked over. He grinned, leaning over the counter. “Well, hello, there,” he greeted you. “Hello,” you said back, smiling up at him coyly. 

“What can I getcha?” he asked, and you hummed, looking at the menu behind him. “How about… hm. How about, surprise me?” He raised a brow, shifting forward, and said, “How about… a kiss?” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, making kissy noises. 

You giggled, shaking your head but kissing him anyway. “This friendly to all of your customers, are you?” you asked, walking around the counter. “Only the ones I date,” Harry replied, starting on your latte.

“Yeah?” you said. “And how many is that?” 

Harry winked. “Don’t worry, love, you’re my favorite.” 

“You flatter me,” you laughed, hopping up on the counter and swinging your legs. Kissing you again as he walked past to grab something next to you, Harry said, “My soul purpose in life,” and you snickered. “What a sad fate.” 

Harry shrugged, nudging your leg. “I’ve learned to enjoy it.”

“Impressive,” you said, taking the cup as he handed it to you. “A Valentine’s Day Latte,” he said, and you frowned. “It’s March, H.” He smirked. “And?” You laughed, and took a sip, and he raised a brow. “Yay or nay?” You tilted your head from side to side, taking another sip before nodding your head. “Yay,” you decided, and he pumped his fist. “Success!” 

“Very Valentiney,” you laughed, and he shrugged, leaning back on the counter behind him. “That was the intention,” he told you. You peered into the glass, watching the rose petals float around in the pink colored coffee. “And pink,” you added. 

“Got something against pink, hm?” 

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Only makes it better!” 

Harry grinned. “Wicked.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you sighed, your smile fading a bit as you swung your legs. “So I just came from Niall’s…” Harry nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right. How’s the pub doing, then?” he asked, and you shrugged. “Eh. He was telling me about closing for COVID.” 

Harry bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Right… I’ve been thinking about that…” 

“The website’s up, right?” you asked. 

“Yeah, but… I don’t think…” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“We could do deliveries,” you said, cracking a smile. “Get a few bikes.” 

“Get a tandem,” Harry replied. “Go together.” 

You shrugged. “Or I could ride on your shoulders.” 

“Do it on a unicycle. Charge extra for entertainment.” 

“And get a monkey. Make it worth their money.” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head again and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” You sighed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be alright.” 

He shrugged, putting his hand on top of yours and squeezing back. “Yeah.” 

***

To be completely honest, you were nervous. 

It was a few days later, and the cafe was (temporarily) closed, and Harry had sent you a text. Cafe in ten, it had said, and that was it. You saw Harry on the counter through the glass walls as you walked towards the cafe, hunched over his phone. The sign was flipped to Closed on the door, but it was unlocked, so you walked in.

“Hey,” you said, and he looked up with a grin. 

“Hey!” he said. 

You raised a brow, watching him hop up excitedly and shove his hands in his pockets. 

“Right,” he went on, looking a little more nervous than you felt as he walked over to you and grabbed your hands. “Right,” he said again, “well, I have a question.” You laughed, nervously, and said, “You’re worrying me, H.” 

He bit his lip, holding back a smile. He stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, and then pulled something out. It was a little black box, and your heart stopped when you realized what it was. 

A ring box. 

And then, he got down on one knee, and your hand flew to your mouth as you stepped backwards. You loved him - of course you did - but you’d barely been dating a few months. You hadn’t even moved in together. It was way too soon for this. 

You began, “Harry -” but he cut you off, saying your name quietly as a smile tugged at his lips. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth…” He opened the box, so slowly, and despite yourself, you were curious about the ring he picked, and then - 

Your heart dropped back down to your chest from your throat. 

It was a key. 

You caught your breath, laughing in surprise as you buried your face in your hands. 

“... and quarantine with me?” 

“You fucking bastard,” you laughed, catching your breath and shaking your head. “I was getting ready to reject you, you fucking moron!” Harry smiled, so smug, and raised a brow. “And? Is it still a rejection?” 

“Of course not,” you breathed, still giggling as he stood up and you wrapped him in a hug. “Of course I’ll quarantine with you, idiot.” Harry laughed, kissing you gently but murmuring, “Somehow the insults don’t seem like a good beginning.” 

“Jesus Christ, we’ll kill each other,” you said with a grin. 

“And live happily ever after as ghosts.” 

“Whoever takes over the cafe will be haunted out of their minds.” 

Harry smirked. “Damn right.” 

***

Harry pouted, leaning into you. “One more.” 

“You said that ten minutes ago.” 

“But it’s so… hard,” Harry whined, kissing you again. 

You smirked. “Hard, huh?” 

“You’re not making this any easier,” Harry mumbled, glaring at your outstretched hand but then groaning and pulling himself up when you just walked away. “You’re a bloody tease,” he complained, following you down the steps. 

“And you’re bloody lazy.” 

“Maybe we should camp out in the cafe,” Harry said. “‘s empty anyway.” 

“Yeah, right,” you replied as you reached your car. “Neither of us could handle that - you look like you helped Frankenstein reanimate his monster with that posture, and sleeping on the ground would not help.” 

Harry scoffed, swatting at your shoulder as you grabbed a box. “If my back’s that bad, maybe I shouldn’t be carrying your entire apartment in a box, hm? Ever think about that?” He grabbed a box anyway, and you laughed, kicking the door open for him with your foot. 

“It’s a sign of how much you love, me, H, and it is not my entire apartment.” 

“Might as well be,” Harry grumbled, huffing exaggeratedly as you reached the top of the stairs. Living directly above the cafe was incredibly convenient, you were learning, in all times except moving. Then the two flights of stairs were just torturous. 

Despite that, you’d made your way through almost all of your belongings - which really wasn’t that much, Harry was just being dramatic - and only had a few more boxes to go. If you’d keep moving, it’d probably take less than an hour, but… 

“We deserve a break,” Harry declared, plopping down on the sofa again. 

“H, we just -” 

“Pretty please?” Harry said, giving you puppy dog eyes. 

“It’s gonna take -” 

“Pleeasse?” 

Finally you sighed, curling up next to him. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmured after a second, and he shrugged, kissing your forehead. “I can.” You smiled, looking up at him, and said, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he kissed you. You sighed, leaning into him. “Maybe we can get the rest of them tomorrow,” you mumbled, kissing him back. You shifted around to settle on his lap, and you felt him grin against your lips. 

“Your first good idea of the day,” he said happily. 

***

It only took a few days to fall into a routine. 

It wasn’t a very productive routine, but it was a routine nonetheless. 

Mornings were leisurely, spent in bed whispering nonsense under the covers or sharing lazy kisses. Lunches were ordered or made in the kitchen, fumbling over recipes and making a mess. Nights were the most action of the day, which was mostly just popcorn fights and giggly somersault competitions around the floor in front of the TV. 

You probably made it through every single show of interest on Netflix, plus every single romantic comedy on the face of the earth. TV show reactions varied. Sometimes they’d keep you quiet, entranced in the worlds they created, and other times they were too ridiculous and far fetched to be believed and the dialogue would get lost in your laughter. Rom-coms tended to be a mix of gushing tears and snickered comments under your breaths. 

You made competitions out of memorization, attempting to recreate the sword fights in the Princess Bride with chopsticks as you danced around his apartment and singing over each other as you rapped lines from Hamilton. 

So really, you thought, listening to Harry snore with a smile, overall, not too bad. 

***

“Pink walls,” you said, “with green trim and orange polka dots.” 

Harry shook his head. “All green. Plus mustard yellow.” 

“And orange polka dots.” 

“Pink polka dots.” 

“Fine. And blue stripes.” 

Harry snickered, leaning forward off the back wall of the cafe and propping his chin on his fist. “We’ll give them a headache so they’ll get coffee just to stop the pain.” You nodded. “That’s the plan,” you agreed, and Harry raised a brow, turning his head to look at you. “The plan, hm? I thought that was just your atrocious eye for color.” 

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk, mister neon green crocs.” 

“That was one time.” 

“One time too many.” 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “I’d paint the whole place that same shade of neon green just for something to do.” You bit your lip, then stood up, dusting your hands on your pants. “Let’s… let’s dance.” 

Harry just stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand. 

More staring. 

“Harry,” you whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please?” 

“We don’t have music,” he said. 

“We have our phones!” 

“Mine’s dead.” 

You grinned, pulling yours out of your pocket. “Mine’s not. We can slow dance to… uhhh… to Etta James.” Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. “I have no energy. We should sleep.” 

“It’s eleven.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s eleven.” 

“C’mon, old man,” you replied, plugging your phone in and starting a song. 

I Wanna Dance with Somebody started playing, and you held out your hands as you sang to him, “Clock strikes… upon the hour… and the sun begins to fade!” Harry laughed again, sliding down to the floor and watching as you pranced around the empty cafe. 

“This is hardly Etta James, love.”

“Well, I’m hardly slow dancing by myself…” You raised a brow, holding out your hand again. “Unless…?” Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m quite enjoying the show. I’d hate for you to stop on my account…”

He finally got up when the chorus hit, and you squealed in excitement. You pulled him around with you, laughing when he attempted a few moves and then encouraging him when he pouted at your mockery. 

You saw him biting back a smile, and you couldn’t help but kiss him when he spun you around and dipped you low as the song ended. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Harry said, grinning against your lips. 

You grinned right back, pressing closer. “And what a wonderful way to go.” 

“You know,” Harry began after a beat, “after all that dancing -” 

“- it was one song -” 

“- I don’t know if I can walk back up all those steps.” 

You smirked, leaning into him and sliding kisses against his jawline. “You know… the one place we haven’t quite broken in yet…” Harry laughed. “Hardly sanitary, what you’re implying, you know…” 

“We’re good cleaners,” you murmured. 

His fingers slid your sleeve off your shoulder. “And we do need something to do…” 

“Really doesn’t make any sense to go back upstairs,” you whispered. 

“No sense,” Harry agreed with a grin. “None at all.” 

***

“What if,” Harry mumbled the next morning, waking you up with soft kisses against your cheeks, “I left you… to go be a part… of the next Frankenstein remake...” You giggled, nosing into his shoulder. “Is it really that bad?” He pouted at you miserably. “Worse.”

You grinned, rolling over. “What’s the assistant guy’s name?” you asked. “Igor?” 

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “We gotta watch that movie again.”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you audition for the part.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry groaned as he sat up and cracked his back. 

“You sound like an eighty year old,” you laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.” 

“At least there’s coffee right there,” you said, sitting up and grabbing Harry’s discarded shirt as he pulled on his boxers. “And food…” Harry yawned, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “We should learn French,” he said as he opened the mini fridge under the counter. 

“French, huh?” 

“Or Italian.” 

You shrugged. “Or Spanish.” 

“Or Spanish,” Harry agreed, cracking an egg into a bowl. “Or Arabic.” 

“Mandarin.” 

“Gaelic.” 

“Czech.” 

“Russian.” 

“Urdu.” 

Harry smiled, whisking the eggs. “All of ‘em.” 

“We’ve got time.” 

“Wanna help out, lazy bum?” Harry asked, spraying a pan with oil with a teasing smile on his lips. “Or should I do all of this myself?” You grinned, replying, “It’s good practice for your role as an assistant,” but standing up and popping bread in the toaster anyway. 

“Think Frankenstein ate eggs?” 

“Wonder if he had chickens,” you said. 

Harry grimaced. “Probably had a few zombie ones.” 

“Think their eggs taste better or worse?” 

“Oh, better, definitely - they’re just green,” Harry said seriously, and you laughed as you slid the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate “Want some zombie eggs and ham, Sir Sam?” you asked, grabbing utensils. 

“But I don’t like zombie eggs and ham,” Harry said with a pout, coming around to sit next to you at the counter. You raised a brow, crunching on some toast. “What happened to ‘better,’ huh?” 

“Right, well, that’s my opinion,” Harry replied as he scooped some eggs. “I’m sure Sir Sam -” He frowned, pausing. “Wait, ‘sir’? He’s not a… he’s a knight?” You snorted, shaking your head. “I have no idea, babe.”

Harry tsked, giving you a disappointed look. “You should really be more knowledgeable about the classics,” he chastised. You raised a brow. “Classics, huh?” Harry grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.” 

You smiled despite yourself, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, Dr. Seuss, whatever you say.” 

***

You woke up in front of the TV, yawning as you sat up. 

The end credits of some movie were rolling on screen. It was a film, all in French, that you had, apparently, fallen asleep in front of. Harry was asleep too, curled behind you on the couch. 

The two of you had been going through movies in foreign languages for the past few weeks, and they hadn’t actually been that bad. A few of them were mildly interesting, a few downright boring, and a few, like this one, so tiresome that you’d both fallen asleep about halfway through. 

You started cleaning up, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl from the coffee table and walking into the kitchen to slide it onto the counter. When you walked back in, remote in hand to shut off the TV, Harry was awake and yawning. 

“Riveting film, hm?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Oui, oui,” you agreed, sitting down next to him again. “What time is it?” Harry asked, fumbling for his phone. You glanced at the clock, beating him to it, and said, “Ten. We should do something.” 

“Let’s go to France,” Harry suggested, stretching out on the couch. “Buy some wine.” 

“Or a vineyard.” 

“Or both.” 

You sighed, laying back against him and watching the ceiling fan. “Imagine quarantining in France. Or Italy, or something. On a vineyard.” Harry nodded. “Would certainly be easier to learn another language, yeah?” 

“We’d be drunk half the time,” you mused. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

You smiled, and you turned to look at him in the dim lighting. “Can you imagine? Frolicking around all day in our two hundred acres, half drunk?” Harry smiled back, shifting you slightly so he could sit up next to you. “Sounds like heaven.” 

“I don’t know about the two hundred acres part,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him, “but we could certainly do the half drunk part…” Harry shook his head, grinning against your lips. “Sorry, love, I don’t do anything half arsed.” 

“Oh, my mistake,” you giggled, kissing him once more before standing up. 

“Don’t bother with the glasses,” Harry called once you were in the kitchen. 

“What are we, barbarians?” you laughed, and Harry shook his head. “No, darling, just incredibly lazy. Don’t feel like washing dishes…” You came back in, handing him the bottle of wine, and then looked around, biting your lip. 

Harry took a sip, watching you, and then grumbled, “Oh, no.” You smiled, glancing at him inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” Harry sighed, looking at the wine mournfully. “You have your thinking face on,” he sighed, “which means we’re going to do something, and this bottle will be woefully full by the end of the night.”

“You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you laughed.

Harry looked up, smiling again. “And you’re not nearly dramatic enough.”

“We make a good pair.” 

“That we do,” Harry agreed, standing up as he stretched his arms towards the ceiling. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry raised a brow, nudging your leg. “C’mon, then, out with it, what’s the idea?” 

You grinned at him. “Cookies,” you declared. 

“Cookies?” Harry echoed skeptically. 

“Cookies.” 

“Too far away,” Harry said conclusively, plopping back onto the couch.

“On the contrary!” you exclaimed, pulling him back up. “We’ll make them ourselves,” you said, and then laughed at the expression of horror on Harry’s face. “My dear rose petal,” he said, holding your hand gently in his, “my gorgeous honey pot. We are not making cookies.” 

You scoffed. “Why not?” 

Harry pouted, holding up the wine. “Because relaxation.” 

“How about… relaxation… and cookies?” you asked, taking the wine bottle from him. He gasped indignantly and reached for it, and you giggled, backing up into the kitchen as he followed you. 

“You clever minx,” Harry mumbled once you finally stopped, leaning into you and pressing kisses against your lips with a grin. After a second, you pulled away, smiling when he chased after you. “Cookies?” you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

Harry sighed dramatically. “Cookies,” he relented. 

You shouted in victory and started rooting through the cabinets. Your favorite song came on after a moment, and Harry winked at you, coming around to help grab supplies. The two of you shouted along to the lyrics, spilling things as you measured and poured and scooped. 

It was a game of theft once the dough was mixed, stealing pinches while his back was turned and playfully slapping his hand when you caught him doing the same. Thankfully, you still had a decent sized batch when you slid the tray into the oven. 

Then you both stumbled back into the other room, and collapsed onto the couch. “We should have put wine in the cookies,” you murmured into Harry’s shoulder. Harry snickered, and then said, “That’s a grape idea…” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Harry giggled, nudging you. “Grape? Like, great? Because - wine?” 

“Jesus fucking -” 

Harry cut you off with a kiss, and you laughed despite yourself, leaning into him and letting yourself get carried away. His hands drifted, shifting you onto his lap, and your hands slid into his hair, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

It could have been seconds, or maybe hours, before you came up for air, breathless and red cheeked and way too hot and bothered for just a simple make out session. “You’re being a bit mean,” Harry whispered, and you raised a brow. “Am I, now?” 

Harry nodded, feathering kisses down your jawline and behind your ear. “Too many clothes. ‘s quite rude, actually.” You giggled, leaning into him, slipping your hands out of your sweater, and then frowned. 

Was something… burning?

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping off of him, and Harry gasped, reaching after you. You pulled yourself together, sprinting to the kitchen, shouting, “The fucking - the cookies!” Harry groaned, walking in after you. 

They were burnt. 

Well and truly burnt. 

Harry came and stood next to you, gazing at the charred lumps of dough with a deep frown. “Fucking cock block,” he muttered, and you looked up at him, and then burst out laughing. 

After a second, he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “This went well, didn’t it?” he said. “Oh, wonderfully,” you agreed, and you shut the oven door. “Say, Styles,” you said, turning to face him, “ever heard of Postmates?” 

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Harry replied with a grin. “You’ll have to show me!” 

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “I guess I will!” 

***

Between a few more cookie-baking-attempts, even more cookie deliveries, a couple more foreign-language films, twice that amount of romantic comedies, and even one or two morning jogs, quarantine dragged on as quickly as it probably could. Neither of you were sure how long it was going to last, nobody was, but you were constantly reminded of how happy you were Harry had asked you to quarantine with you all those months ago. 

In fact, you were being reminded of it at this very instant, because you’d woken up to an empty bed and a sticky note signed by Harry with only the words, In the cafe, scrawled in green ink. A bit nervous, you got up, and got ready, and then headed down the steps. 

The deja vu was unreal - he was sitting on the counter, hunched over his phone, swinging his legs. “H?” you said softly, and the deja vu continued. He jumped up, hands shoving into his pockets, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” you said back. “What’s up?” 

“I, er - I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and you grinned, coming around to stand in front of him. “You’re making me nervous,” you replied, and he bit his lip, fiddling with his pocket again. 

“Right,” he said, holding back a smile. “Right, well, quarantine has been fun, yeah?” 

You raised a brow. Slowly, you agreed, “Yeah…” 

“Well, I, erm - I was just thinking…” He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I was just thinking that I wouldn’t mind quarantining with you my entire life.” You laughed a bit. “I dunno about that,” you joked, and he flushed, shaking his head. 

“I mean - I mean, of course not - obviously, the pandemic, I just - I meant -” 

“Harry,” you interrupted softly. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling again. “Well, I have a question.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

He laughed, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. But somehow, you almost weren’t surprised when it was a ring box. You grinned, glancing at it and then back at Harry but keeping quiet as he knelt down on one knee. 

“You know,” he said, and all you could think was how much he was dragging this out, “they say you’re supposed to get down on one knee because of some old Norse tradition. Apparently, getting married is like taking an arrow to the knee and, erm - and, well, you know, falling onto one knee...” He dropped down to both knees, and you raised an eyebrow. “... but I’m getting down on both, because I’ve fallen… completely… for you.” 

Before you could roll your eyes, he opened the box. 

And this time, there was a ring inside. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed. 

“Well?” 

“I thought - I don’t - this is like - but I thought -” 

Harry laughed, leaning forward. “Christ, the suspense is killing me, woman!” 

“Yes!” you gasped, letting him slide the ring onto your finger. “Shit, Harry, yes! Yes, of course!” He stood up, kissing you deeply, and you laughed against his lips. “Jesus, I thought… I don’t know what I thought - I just -” 

Harry cut you off with a grin. “Shush,” he murmured. 

You giggled, kissing him again, and then pulled back, letting your forehead rest against his. “Harry?” you said softly. He smiled, stealing one more kiss, and then said, “Yeah?” You grinned. “That Norse mythology thing isn’t true,” you whispered. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned, laughing as he stepped away and shook his head. 

“Hey,” you said, pulling his back. “Hey, hey…” 

He shook his head again, still grinning. “Yeah?” 

“I love you,” you said. 

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mocking nonchalance. He nudged your shoulder, kissed you, smiled. “I mean… I guess I love you, too… Even if the legend isn’t true… I don’t know if I’ve fallen completely for you, though…” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

Harry smiled, and kissed you. “If you insist.”

***

and there you have it!!! really hope you enjoyed! and if you did, a reblog or some feedback would be very much appreciated. thanks for reading! 

masterlist | ask 

[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.”

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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.)

[1dffexchange]

to fight (when you feel like flying)

To: Anna @twomoonstyles

From: Inm @in-madhouses​

Summary: harry has never had a place to call home, not since one direction became a thing. zaemira has intentionally avoided home, fearing the monotony and a life not lived. their paths cross and like two lines that are meant to meet and fall apart every so often, they find a home in one another. 

a story about binge drinking, tattoos, and how sometimes, building homes out of people can be the only thing that keeps you going. also known as a tribute to brasil!harry and the (not so) secret thigh tattoos.

Warnings: some offensive language, alcohol use heavily implied, hints of substance abuse (if you squint) and sexual references. there are also mentions of hendall, hadine and hamille although not explicitly named. the timing is also nowhere near accurate but let's call it artistic freedom.

rio de janeiro

may 2014

They break up on the eve of his departure. It’s the band’s first all-stadium tour and somehow, as quickly as they were a thing, they just weren’t by the time February rolled around.

They’d clung onto one another for dear life through the winter months and the physical hole she leaves behind is filled by the pictures of her everywhere. There are fall fashion shows, and there are music festivals, and there billboards, and there are gossip rags. As far as the eyes can reach, there she is, in one form or another.

Harry leaves for the tour with the boys and it’s exactly like he expected. He is grinning from ear to ear standing atop of the world night after night, the stars in his eyes left by the glow of the headlights is eclipsed only by ear-ringing screams they are accompanied by.

Each night is a swirling tide, even when he is not on stage.

But the mask cracks eventually.

The air stills.

They do seven cities in twelve days and he’s tired already. He’d inadvertently frowns at the wrong moment, or sigh, or have a faraway look in his eyes, barely anchored to the present. And they catch it. They always catch it. But the walls come back up as swiftly as they tumble down.

He’d smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile until it hurts.

Smile until it’s believable.

(It never is.)

He spends too much time bouncing between staring holes into his phone and wanting to go at it with a hammer. There’s just something confusingly enthralling about the pictures and the videos of her that keep popping up. The precise red carpet movements, the long lithe legs, the perfect posture, the jawline for days.

Niall sends him memes round the clock to try to distract him from looking at new pap shots, and Liam tells him to just not to think about it.

“It’s called a quarter life crisis,” Zayn announces, elbowing Louis as they chuckle at his melodrama.

As though it’s the simplest problem ever to grace the earth, Louis offers a solution, “What you need is a good bender and a good cleanser.”

He’s got good mates, he thinks.

But then he’s in Rio and there are pictures of her at the Met Gala and next thing he knows, he’s downing caipirinhas by the glassful and there’s sun and sea and sightseeing and then more caipirinhas. He remembers exactly how everything unfolded, like watching a lifetime worth of dominoes collapse into a rather large portrait of a car crash.

&&

It’s a slow night.

There’d been exactly one walk-in so far; a giggly nineteen year-old girl who wanted a Taylor Swift lyric tattooed on the middle of her lower back.

“It’s our song,” Swiftie says in regards to the tattoo, and whether the blonde haired, blue-eyed, cherry lipped teen was referring to her boyfriend or the title of the song, Zaemira will never know.

Since then, she’d been all by her lonesome for four whole hours and the tan skinned brunette is bored. She’d left her latest acquisition, a tattered first edition copy of Factotum back on the couch she was crashing on and with nothing to read or distract herself with, she is decidedly… bored. She’s antsy and she’s restless, and she’s super tempted to just flip the ‘open’ sign around to read ‘close’ and get drunk on cheap booze at the dodgy little bar down the road. That’s what soul-searching girls do when they end up working part-time at a seedy tattoo parlour in the tv shows anyway, why should she be the exception?

She’s so bored that her mind wanders and she's thinking that maybe it’s finally time to go home, not like call it a day home, but home home.

Zaemira had packed a bag and left the comforts of London right after graduating from her graphic design degree, hoping to find some kind of excitement out in the world before living out the predestined rest of her life in a cubicle churning out ad after ad for the nihilistic consumerist society she lived in before kicking it too early. But after a year on the road, honing the needle and ink in her hands and collecting first edition Bukowski’s, she is left wondering if there’s even a home for her to return to. The concept of it now so foreign to her even though her childhood had not been lacking in much.

The tinted shop door swings open right then with a squeak and a clatter of really impressively expensive sounding heels echoes through the tight little tattoo parlour space.

It’s all limbs and hair, flailing and tumbling forward face first into the floor.

She instinctively backs up away from the swirling mess.

“I’m fine! I’m—fine, just—I’m fine,” the bloke says, waving his arms about before rolling onto his back, splayed on the floor, taking up most of the floorspace, “You should—there should be a sign. Two. Yeah, two. One in English, and one in—what country are we in?”

Zaemira blinks at this hurricane on the tattoo parlor floor and studies him for a quick second.

“You’re in Brasil,” she starts saying once appropriately convinced that he’s not about to sick all over the shop floor, “And a sign for what exactly?”

He huffs, blowing several strands of thick brown hair out of his eyes in the process, “The stairs, love.”

She squats close by to examine this specimen interrupting her plans to close early and get hammered.

“There aren’t any stairs,” she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at his direction.

He sits up, coming dangerously close headbutting her and blinks at her.

“Then what’d I trip over?”

And he sounds so fucking plaintive, adorably dismayed and hilariously distressed, that Zaemira can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Well, if I had to guess,” she starts saying, biting down on the laugh teetering on her lips because he sounds so honest to god confused and hilariously distressed sitting there on the tattoo parlour floor, “You tripped over the fucking distillery you inhaled at wherever you went to dinner.”

He squints up at her like he’s doubting the validity of this observation.

And then, “Are you English?”

She rolls her eyes at that, “What gave it away?”

He shuts one eye to peer at the girl before him, as though considering her seriously, “You’re far from home.”

“I could say the same about you,” Zaemira contests as she recognises his too young and too pretty and too distractingly familiar face, “You’re Harry Styles.”

He blinks and there are alarms blaring in her head as he smirks.

“You’re doing the introduction thing backwards there, sweetheart.”

“You don’t like people telling you who you are then?”

“Not very much, no,” he scrunches his nose, deep in thought for a second, before turning his attention back to her, “What’s your name?”

“Zaemira,” she replies, realising they’ve been on the floor way too long and her leg is close to falling asleep.

She holds her hand out to pull him up, and he accepts it all too enthusiastically.

“What kind of name is… Samira?”

She shrugs as she helps the six footer to his feet wobblily, eyes scanning the door he stumbled in through, wondering where his entourage is, “It’s Zaemira, actually. But you know what, you get to call me Mira, drunky-pants.”

“Well, I want a you tattoo,” he announces, voice a little bleary but determined. But there’s something dangerous there, too, something that reminds him of the sting of needle piercing skin.

She eyes him up and down as he wobbles and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think so.”

“No, no. You don’t—” Harry hiccoughs and takes several steps on the spot to balance himself, “—understand. I want your name— Zaemira— tattooed on me.”

He takes extra care to pronounce her name right the second time around that she is just inexplicably fucking endeared by the entire spectacle.

Zaemira blinks.

“What?”

He frowns, as though worried he’s not articulating well enough for her to understand him, “Your name— I want it tattooed on me.”

She stares.

And then she stares some more.

“It’s a beautiful name— I never—” Harry hiccoughs, frowning and stopping himself mid sentence, “I never want to forget you.”

She’s definitely not bored anymore, she thinks.

So she cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless game of truth or dare and he’s reckless and he’s dramatic and he’s beaming at her so brightly that she’s blinded by it, and her brain goes hazy and her thoughts switch frequency with an abrupt high-pitched whine of static.

&&

cape town

april 2015

Harry thought he was doing better, he really did. It’s been almost a year since Rio and he’s Harry fucking Styles. He’s in one of the most popular bands in the world, he has a PR perfect sense of humour, sharp fucking cheekbones, and the word Brasil tattooed on his thigh to remind him that even when life feels like it’s spinning off its axis you can always find a centre again.

But then she breaks up with him, craving a more definitive commitment that he can’t offer, and they’re on tour again when Zayn, out of nowhere, announces that he’s needs to leave for a little bit which everyone knows is code for he’s tired and done with it all.

And the world just... started to spin a little off its axis again.

So he makes plans to arrive in Cape Town earlier than he needs to and heads straight to where his life last made sense when things moved too fast for him to catch up.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he drawls from the doorway, smug and half a bottle of duty free booze dangling precariously in his hands.

Her whole body stalls, eyes the only thing that whips up from the book she’s engrossed in. The smile that carves itself onto her lips hits him square in the chest.

She sets the book aside, breathless, “How d’you know I was here?”

“I keep tabs on you,” Harry shrugs, tone casual, with a small smile playing on his lips playfully.

He had long made a mental note to keep up on her current location whenever he could since she’s far from forthcoming about her travels. Seems only fair since his movements in contrast is so easily trackable. One quick internet search and she’d be able to know if he was in Holmes Chapel or recording in Los Angeles or out grabbing a bite in New York.

“Why, because no one else will tattoo country names on you when you’re drunk?” Zaemira teases, taking a step forward, as though challenging him to crack first.

“Precisely,” he nods in all seriousness.

They both start grinning for no reason whatsoever and the laughter that sits in their chest bubbles over soon enough.

After Rio, he had gone back to his life and she went back to hers. She moved from city to city, continually avoiding home, and he went from stage to stage, seeking solace in the certainty of instability. But still, the heartfelt conversations and indelible experience they shared in various states of sobriety in Brasil bonded them together. Somewhere along the night almost a year ago, they had reached a point at which they both understood implicitly that no matter what, one could call and the other would answer no matter where they were.

And so they did.

They shared the big news; Zaemira whenever she found a new old Bukowski book and Harry whenever he was thinking about a new tattoo. To the layman, it may sound like a shallow kind of friendship, completely lacking any kind of commitment, but it wasn't.

On the contrary, it was the healthiest and longest lasting form of a relationship that either one of them ever had. Despite geographical and emotional distance, they were allowed to grow in their own way and not have to live through minute everyday highs and lows and petty dramas.

It was as liberating as it was peaceful.

And he could tell that his sudden physical presence is throwing her off.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” She asks, tone light but the slant of her jaw more rigid than he’s used to and her posture brittle.

“We’re on tour,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly as he walks in around the tattoo parlour.

The space is small and intimate and starkly lit. The walls are embellished with clean lines and immaculate designs and it’s just like the spot in Rio where they met a year ago. Her caramel brown eyes are tailing him around the room and he wonders how someone who works with men looking to cover up prison ink all day can look so soft.

“I know that,” she says, her tone more curious than it is wary, “But what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy just drop by to see his friend when he’s in her neck of the woods?”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“A guy can, but a guy never has,” her voice dripping with the implication that he’s never lacking in the means to find her.

Which isn’t untrue.

He sighs.

“I was in New Orleans for all of a day, Zaemira.”

Harry likes saying her name in entirety. She prefers Mira, but he likes the unshortened version. It’s beautiful, it’s the kind of name that commands the full use of the orifice that most people use to stuff full of food or as a tool to lick and suck.

She stares at him, surprise evident.

“How could you possibly—”

“I have you on Instagram,” he replies, crisply, before taking another swig of the bottle in his hands.

“No, you don’t.”

“Only because I can’t publicly follow you.”

“So you just check my account obsessively like some kind of creepy stalker?”

Harry shrugs.

“Think we crossed that line when I fell into a certain tattoo shop a year ago, don’t you?”

Zaemira huffs out a breathless sounding laugh that hits him right in the center of his chest.

He had thought their paths would cross when after their last tour ended. He thought he might go out to New Orleans and get into that gumbo life for a couple of days. Stroll along the French Quarter and check in for a drink at Bourbon Street. Bask in the jazz and have a look around in a voodoo shop.

But when he’s back in LA after the tour, he finds out that she’s in Japan when he calls.

“Oh yeah, I’m in Tokyo,” she said over the phone distractedly, like it’s no big deal.

He frowned at that, confused. She had a tendency of not staying in one place for too long, but it was abrupt, even by her standards.

“What are you doing in Tokyo?” Harry questioned, brows furrowing so hard he felt frown lines forming.

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Zaemira said noncommittally, “I thought Japan might be good after finding the boy I shacked up with completely naked and asleep with his ex.”

He gaped at that casual over-the-phone confession non-confession, befuddled and aghast.

“Did you let him have it?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Did you rip his dick off? Sock her in the nose? I could get some people together and hit him in the balls for you if you want,” Harry offered, only half-joking.

“No, I just packed my stuff and left.”

“You didn’t wake them up to confront him about it?”

“Why would I?”

Her confusion confused him. Harry paused, opening and closing his mouth several times, thinking back to break ups and make ups he’s been through, talked through, and fought through.

“You didn’t want any closure?”

“Why would I want to give him a chance to hurt me more?” Zaemira retorted, quick and sharp as ever, “He’s either going to lie about it, apologise and do something like it again, or completely be like whatever about the whole thing.”

“You... didn’t... think he deserved to know that what he did was wrong?” He prods along, cautiously.

Even after months of phone calls and texts, her candor and point of view never fails to catch him off guard.

“It’s not about him though,” she said all matter-of-factly, “I mean, he wouldn’t give me any kind of honesty, respect, or consideration, so fuck that closure.”

Zaemira isn’t shy. That’s for sure.

And she isn’t coy.

She’s loud and she’s outspoken and she had no qualms telling him that she didn’t want to die where she was born having realised that she’d done nothing out of her comfort zone which is why she left and took to sleeping on couches. Harry remembers how much he enjoyed that about her. How it had been refreshing to meet someone who enjoyed the newness. Someone who actually took pleasure in what life had to offer instead of just going through the motions.

“Well, now that you’re here…” she says as she moves towards the door, flipping the sign over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, “What d’you feel up for tonight then, pop star?”

Her voice anchors him to the present. And she’s grinning up at him like he’s a firefly and she’s a mason jar, and he feels the countdown to self-destruction rumble in the hollow space beneath his ribs like the roar of a sports car engine.

His heart skips a whole beat at that.

&&

The sun is creeping up slowly and steadily on the horizon. She’s sitting fully clothed in a fancy bathtub in a fancy hotel, clothes soaked and doing a piss poor job of trying not to smile.

She gives him a look and he just laughs, sat on the edge of the bathtub, also soaked through.

“We need to come down,” she said earlier, shaking her head as though the movement would clear her head of all that they’d indulged in through the night.

The first rays of sunlight had started to dot the skyline and he grinned devilishly, taking her by the hand, promising he knows just the thing that would do the trick. Harry promising he knows ‘just the thing’ was how they ended up high as a kite to begin with but she had trusted him thus far so she decided to trust him a little bit more. Which in hindsight was where it all went wrong because that’s how they end up in his hotel room filling up the bathtub with water and foam shampoos and bath salts.

The windows are open, carrying their laughter and giggles to the streets below. But that’s not her main concern. Somehow, in an effort to make the bath as enjoyable as possible, Harry had turned on the shower head and initiated a spray war. The physical exertion and the laughter had sobered her a bit, but the tradeoff was that she now wanted a cigarette which was not possible since he all but dunked her into the tub to claim his victory.

She pulls the soggy packet from her denim jacket breast pocket, the gross brown liquid oozing from it indelicately.

“You’ve wet my cigarettes,” she says as she tries to look upset.

One glance at him though and she’s reduced to a puddle within the puddle she’s sitting in.

“You should really quit anyway.”

“Piss off,” she tosses the wet box at him.

It lands two feet off its target with an unceremonious splat and they laugh at her aim. They laugh and they laugh some more and talk about nothing and everything.

She talks about her mum. She never talks about her mum. But suddenly she’s talking about her mum and how she left and how it broke her father and it had hurt her to see him hurt the way he did. How he had let himself be hurt like that and still cling on to the hope of her mother coming back one day.

Harry is nodding and then they’re both just complaining about how unfair and shitty life is when he says it. Blurts it out, almost, like a secret that he can no longer contain.

“I want a tiger on my thigh.”

She’s so dazed that all she can do is look at him.

“D’you reckon you can do a tiger for me?” He repeats himself, almost as though in fear that she wouldn’t understand the urgency of his request.

She doesn’t question it, but she understands the symbolism instinctively.

“Sure,” she smiles, leaning her head back.

“Tomorrow morning?” He quirks his head, eyes glazing over as he tries to, in his solidly drunk state, try to remember if he has any other planned activity.

“That’s right now,” she laughs, lifting her heavy head to look at him, “And neither one of us are sober enough to walk a straight line, let alone hold a tattoo gun.”

“I trust you,” Harry says, voice dropping impossibly lower and she hears alarm bells start to ring in her head.

She’s makes a joke about him always being so eager to drop his pants around her and regrets it instantly because he’s smirking at her and looking at her the way he does and she almost forgets how to breathe.

“Maybe you just have that effect on me.”

“Careful,” she says dryly, “Or I might think you're trying to flirt with me, Styles.”

“Oh, you'd know if I was trying to flirt with you.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, before deciding that the best course of action is to slide further into the tub, “But would you?”

His smile that follows is breathtaking and the unabashed laughter that spills over is something else entirely. It’s warm and new, with some kind of never seen before sparkle in his eye. As though it’s an exclusive layer of whoever he is when he’s around her and her only. A smile that’s peeled back and raw and intimate.

Her chest blooms of something she can’t quite explain.

&&

los angeles

jan 2016

“Look, I don’t mean to sound outrageously savage here but… you have a thing for collecting winter clings,” she says.

“What on earth is a winter cling?”

Zaemira pauses.

“It’s the Harry Styles version of a summer fling,” she states simply, “But you have them around in the winter because that’s when you get loneliest.”

They’re in a bar, it’s small and it’s cosy and it’s not the kind of place that he would be recognised which is why it’s perfect. She pours him a shot of whiskey from behind the counter because it’s harder in LA to get a legal tattoo artist job (or any other job for that matter) than one would think.

“That’s not true,” he frowns before downing the amber liquid in a go.

She stares at him pointedly from behind the bar.

“You always get a girl at the end of the year so that you have a cosy Christmas and a nice New Year and then a blowout birthday party and then you break up with them before Valentine’s Day because commitment scares you. There are multiple blogs dedicated to the this specific phenomenon.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, a ball of something hard and sour and guilty forming in the pit of his stomach.

“No. Definitely,” she says as she tops him up for another shot.

“Is that what you think of me?” Harry frowns.

There's a beat of noticeably tense silence.

“Is it untrue?” She quirks her eyebrow just a touch.

Harry drops his gaze to the liquid he’s been swirling around his glass, “Is it really so bad to just want someone?”

“Not usually, but it takes twenty-one days to make a habit and you’re in too deep.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m flat out saying that you don’t know how to be alone,” Zaemira gleefully volunteers, completely without provocation, before topping up his drink again, “Which isn’t a shocker because you’ve never really been alone. Even when you snuck out to have your solo adventure in Rio, you dragged me along for the night. And now that the band’s on hiatus, you’re falling back into old habits with an ex.”

He promptly forgets how to fucking breathe.

She does that to him a lot, he realises.

Even though the band is officially on hiatus, he’s never felt more trapped. He feels caged in and claustrophobic in his own skin. That’s why he even took up that yacht holiday up at St. Barts. He had a physical urge to flee his life. To escape. But he didn’t think that it would become another source for frenzied paparazzi shots which fueled speculation and rumours.

He throws back the liquid in his glass in another swift go and feels the burn trickle down his throat.

“You keeping tabs on me, Zaemira?” He asks, playfully, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

She merely rolls her eyes at that.

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s time to work on solo you.”

“You’re taking this bartender psychologist thing way too seriously.”

She opens her mouth to contest that but another patron is waving over at her from across the bar and she excuses herself to see to the obviously lost Wall Street gentlemen in the suit and tie.

The moment of silence allows Harry to think back over her words.

But her tinkering laughter cuts through his reverie.

Harry glances over and sees that Wall Street has a shit eating grin on his face, and something unpleasant churns in his stomach.

His friends were all coupling up, or getting engaged, or getting ready to pop out kids, and he realises that the only constant in his life over the two years has been their over-the-phone friendship. While media was content having him as a charming albeit a little secretive little fucker, a true lothario, kicking up rumours with grainy pictures, reaching out for a comment anytime he so much as speaks to a person of the opposite sex, she’d been his odd inner balance through it all.

And increasingly, he’s finding it difficult to share her with anyone else.

&&

Zaemira has a lot of bad habits.

She knows that.

She smokes and she drinks and she gets some kind of perverse sort of thrill out of spending her inheritance from her dead father. First she spent his insurance payout on a graphic design degree that was basically just a piece of paper. And now it’s been four years and the inheritance her father willed her hasn’t run out (mostly because she takes odd jobs to earn her keep in the various cities she bums around in) and she’s certain that this is what a quarter life crisis must feel like.

Her mother left her when she was barely eight and it broke her father’s heart. She is resolved not to make the mistakes her father made though. She’s determined to live, truly live. Even if it means not having a place to call home, crashing on couches of new friends and old. Even if it means spending one way plane tickets around the world and living out of one packed bag. Even if it means sleeping with strangers and leaving the moment they showed any sign of weakness.

What it means, is that she isn’t ashamed of her life choices.

Mostly.

There’s the small matter of a newly acquired bad habit — answering a certain call from a certain pop star whenever he rang.

She knew who he was before he accidentally wandered into her temporary place of employment of course. He was the golden boy from the band. The Harry Styles from One Direction. She hadn't been aware of much else to be honest, just that he had his start in fame from that reality show everyone watched and was involved in a band that was hailed a new coming of The Beatles.

Apart from that, he had never been relevant to her life in any way.   

So when he tumbled into the dodgy, seedy little tattoo joint in Rio and practically falls head first onto her feet, she catches sight of the oddly familiar looking guy who is too long limbs and all overgrown hair, it takes a full minute before she makes the connection.

She’d seen photographs of him before, photos and headlines on Facebook shared by news organisations (or what passes for news organisations on social media anyway), and she recalled the basic impression of this Hollywood favourite in the making; the t’ shirts and the tight jeans and the expensive shoes and the barely thought out tattoos. He was basically like any young rock star in the making, cheeky and reasonably good looking, and perfectly groomed for the media and the fandom to dislocate their jaw to swallow whole.

But the boy who stumbled into the small tattoo studio is not the boy she’d seen on the interwebs.

They become friends.

He tracks her down to her exact location whenever he’s in a city she’s in and she allows it.

When she finds herself in Los Angeles, he finds himself on hiatus.

The band had been splintering since Zayn left, that much was evident. And then the band went on their ‘break’. And he’s lonely, an ailment he had long suffered from far even before he became the Harry Styles of One Direction.

So it doesn’t surprise her when he saunters into the pub she’s working at for the past month and a half.

As a rule, she doesn’t drink on the job. She’s not allowed to. But it’s hard to say ‘no’ to Harry. He’s lonely and he’s heartbroken in more ways than one and they comes dangerously close to depleting the bar’s whiskey stock because it’s a shitty little hole-in-the-wall kind of place that doesn’t really stock up often and so they go back to his place after her shift.

The too big Los Angeles house came with a pool and a view and a fully stocked bar and one moment they’re drinking some more and the next he’s on his piano, absentmindedly playing a tune he has stuck in his head and talking about life.

She’d been good at not feeling. For a long time, she didn’t even have to try. Zaemira just didn't let herself feel for people like that and it was easy. But around him, it’s suddenly not.

He’s talking about being afraid, and how he’s afraid a lot, and how he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and how the house feels too big and he’s too alone.

She kisses him.

She kisses him because she doesn't like what he's saying, doesn't like what it means, doesn't like that this boy, this rock star, this heart of gold and boots to match who had the world on his feet could be as lost and lonely and confused as her.

She kisses him so he can stop talking, and she kisses him so she can stop listening.

It works out fine.

Except—

She isn't entirely sure why he kisses her back.

His name rolls with disturbing ease off the tip of her tongue and she thinks she can get used to the way he says her name when he comes. It sounds like a prayer and a punch, a gasping exhale that hits her in the chest, or maybe in her heart, and he collapses backwards onto his bed, pulling her close to him like she belongs there.

Zaemira doesn’t sleep a wink and when morning comes she leaves her latest find from a seedy bookstore downtown, Love Is a Dog from Hell, on his bedside before she walks out the front door.

The sun hits her straight in the eye, like the glare of a cafe employee when you ask if the have soy milk instead of regular full cream. The city was a place for the hopeful, she realises. The hope that one day you’ll find love. The hope that you’ll luck out. The hope that working hard will get you where you need to go, as long as you hope and never let go of that hope.

It was decidedly not a city built for her.

She was a shitty bartender and an even shittier dreamer and the only thing that’s been a constant in her life is her slowly expanding collection of tattered Bukowski books that she will gladly throw actual wearable clothes out of her overhead carriage bag to keep said books with her. Through the years, the only thing she could rely on was the gritty, filthy words that a dirty old man could provide.

And she had no problem sharing that part of her life with him at all.

&&

paris

march 2018

It’s just a flash, but he swears he sees her in the crowd and he thinks he’s going mad.

He’s barely two weeks into his world tour. His solo world tour.

He should be thrilled. He should be basking in the victory of it all. The world is loud and roaring in his ears but in the dreams he barely remembers dreaming, he sees her there, quiet and serene and bright, as though he is finally seeing her in the light of day instead of in the cover of night. (As though his mind is trying to make up for memories that didn’t happen.)

Not too long ago, it was another face he sought out amidst the crowd in Paris. But he catches a flash of what he thinks is her and suddenly he can’t think of anything else.

Harry hasn’t seen Zaemira in two years. Two years and then some. Not since that night.

They call and they text and they avoid discussing what happened in his LA house or why she left before he woke with not even a note but just a book by his bedside table.

There was no designated moment, no exact timing, but their dynamic changed. Because life is not a Shakespearean tragedy where it’s all fade to black and bittersweet endings. There’s mundanity and somehow, they sought each other out more in that monotonous day-to-day.

Their friendship was stronger despite having flirted with the very line that kept them together. She’d gone home to London and was spending her time putting together fragments of a former life and her current life like a jigsaw, jamming the pieces together hoping they’ll fit while he, well, he had a movie to film, and then an album to write, and that same album to tour after. He’d also landed himself in another relationship. She’s a model, because as Zaemira would say, he’s a glutton for punishment and ‘no seriously, same lips red, same eyes blue, you so have a type.’

His ‘type’ gets along great with his friends and his mum likes how laidback she is when she was over for Christmas and it’s a relationship that he’s only sure has lasted for as long as it did because of the change in their friendship.

But then he realises that he hasn’t seen his friend in over two years and it suddenly doesn’t sound like a real friendship anymore.

He can’t shake the thought and the screaming fans do nothing to help set his mind straight.

His heart aches like a broken bone over something he can’t explain.

Barely off the the stage, he whips out his phone and calls.

&&

“Sorry, wrong number,” he says.

“You know it isn’t,” she says, eyes flicking toward the living room as a burst of laughter carries itself to her ears.

Zaemira grabs her pack of cigarettes and shuts the front door gently as she exits, “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

But she’s known him long enough to read into the subtext, the world that exist in between the words he’s actually saying.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again, determinedly, taking angry long strides down the road.

He sighs, voice sounding like it’s jumped through various hoops and crossed many a timeline in many universes to reach down the phone line to her.

“It’s nothing, Z.”

But she knows something is. Knows it from the way he says ‘Z’ instead of ‘Zaemira’. Or maybe she hopes it’s something more than knows it because she wants an excuse to see him. To wander the streets of London with him. To get drunk with him. Anything with him.

Where he’s calling her from, she wouldn’t know; could be a pub, a hotel, backstage of his concert, anywhere. And she’s not sure she wants to know. They haven’t physically seen each other since that night over two years ago.

Has it really been?

He’s travelling again, on tour, alone this time around, and his schedule always seems at odds with hers. Of course, it didn’t help that he’s seeing someone. She knows because he’d rung her up to ask if he should invite said someone home for Christmas and again to ask how many times you can ask someone to come to your concerts before it starts seeming narcissistic.

She pulls out a cigarette from the pack and puts it between her lips before lighting it, taking a long drag, trying to remember if there’d been any sign that his relationship had been on the rocks the last time he called.

Zaemira inhales the fumes while he quietly stays on the line.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“How was the concert tonight?” She prods.

“It was good,” he says, but there’s no enthusiasm in his voice, just exhaustion, “Paris is always good.”

He doesn’t sound right.

It’s the stupidest, most clichéd thing ever, but he doesn’t sound like himself.

“Harry,” she says, voice softening because he’s quiet and he’s the one who called her and she has a horrible feeling that he’s about to cry and the last time he sounded like that on the phone, she found out that Robin had passed, “Has something... happened?”  

He’s not saying anything, like he’s waiting for her to say something, and she doesn’t.

“I’m just… I’m having a minute”

Zaemira sighs.

Sometime in the past two years, she’s thought on more than one occasion that she might love him. Like proper love. More than just platonic love.

But other times he just feels so fucking far away that she’s not so sure anymore.

She heaves a not-quite calming breath and takes another drag of the cigarette before filling the line with chatter. Because she gets it. She gets that empty kick in the gut sometimes. She prattles on about how home doesn’t feel like home and even though life at home is, more or less, alright it feels like something is missing. She complains about her aunt who disapproves of her decision to spend the rest of her inheritance on getting her masters and she begins to outline in exhaustive detail just how dissatisfied she feels, how everything makes her feel like a shitty daughter and a shitty niece and a shitty friend and a shitty student and a shitty—whatever the fuck else she's failing at—when he cuts her off.  

“When can I see you?” he asks, like they can pretend for a second that they haven’t spent the past two years apart, like they live on the same street and he could see her in an hour if he wanted to.

She flicks her eyes back towards the house, thinking of her aunt and her cousins and how they’ve been going on and on about this big Easter party they’ve been planning.

“Tomorrow?” She suggests, knowing full well that he can’t. Not really. He’s got schedules and plans and commitments.

And a girlfriend, a voice in the back of her head pipes in.

She doesn’t need to silence the voice though because reality has its way of doing that and she hears him exhale on the other end of the line, as though letting go of a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Tomorrow’s no good. How about day after?” Harry suggests, “I’ll be in Amsterdam. I’ll get you a ticket.”

And Zaemira thinks about that for a bit, seriously considers taking him up on the offer.

And then she thinks about him, about how maybe they’re like those horrible math love stories; like sine and cosine, meant to meet and fall apart every so often, forever out of step with one another.

She drops the cigarette to the ground and watches it burn.

“I don’t think I can do Amsterdam right now,” she says after a second, “I mean I have it on pretty good authority that if I don’t go to my classes I won’t be able to complete my masters.”

She chuckles to herself at the terrible not even remotely funny joke.

“I’ll be in London in April,” he says and she can hear his breathing all but stop on the line, like he was holding his breath for her answer and she almost wishes she’s not about to say what she’s about to say.  

“I’ve got work on weekends.”

He sighs again and the line is heavy with words unsaid.

“See you after tour then?”

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a grin, forcing the lie, “Yeah, guess so.”

It’s quiet between for a bit. The silence is deafening and it steals her breath a little and she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the cigarette she just smoked.

And then the line goes dead.

&&

london

december 2018

He doesn’t call her again after Paris.

His tour ends and his relationship ends and he half-heartedly makes excuses to himself and for himself for not calling; he's busy, of course he’s busy, he’s busy catching up with his mum and his sister and his ex co-workers and his industry friends and he tells himself that he doesn’t need anyone to help him get through the cold lonely winter nights.

But then it’s December and he calls and she picks up and they pick up exactly where they last left off. It felt good. It felt like breathing again. And he thought it was enough, but two days later, despite the promises he’s made to himself, he texts her a meme.

And then he calls again. And again. And again.

It would be almost like she’s his phone therapist except he’s also sort of keeping her functioning like a normal human that doesn’t lash out at people by texting him her darkest thoughts, so it evens out.

He’s realising with every call, and every passing day of his newly found (and truly enjoyed) singledom, that he was kind of a fuck-up. Not in any obvious, tangible, measurable way. He didn’t have a dozen different child of divorce issues, or problems with abandonment that run so deep he is constantly choosing to leave before he is left, or a mile long list of insecurities and fears that leave him utterly crippled, but he was fucked up in ways that were difficult to fully articulate.

And their relationship was a home that allows for it to be okay because they were both honest about just how fucked up they were.

Harry doesn’t know when exactly he figures it out, but he decides he’ll go see her in March. He’ll ring her and say ‘wrong number’ and she’ll call him a twat and then he’ll throw rocks at her window and hold up a copy of Bukowski she doesn’t yet have that he’ll have to find by then and yell, “Did someone order a creepy stalker?”

It’s a good plan. Except it’s two days to Christmas and she’s complaining about her cousins and her nieces and her nephews and how she just walked out when they were making pies together ahead of Christmas and now she’s just going to sequester herself in her shitty flat and spend the yuletide alone and he can’t help but smile at the whole thing because that’s so painfully Zaemira and he can’t help himself.

“I’ve got it planned out,” she says, “I’ll just Netflix and eggnog myself to sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come over to mine for Christmas,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth completely of their own accord without passing through his head at all.

“Yeah, I’ll just come to Holmes Chapel at the drop of a hat,” she says sardonically.

“I’m serious. My mum won’t mind.”

“There aren’t any flights out, Haz.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it, I just called to rant anyway,” she says dismissively.

And Harry can see it play out at the back of his mind, the way her lips quirk, all wry and self-deprecating. Except there’s more of a bite to it than it usually would.

“What d’you mean you’re used to it?”

“I mean I only exist when it’s convenient for you,” she says it so matter-of-factly that he’s not sure if she’s making a piss poor attempt at a joke.  

Her words are just so thoroughly her, and no one could say it without sounding like an attention seeking arse, but they hit him square in the gut and Harry feels all semblance of breathable air leave his body.

“Hold up—” He starts but she’s having none of it.

“You’ll see me when you see me. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

She changes the subject and tells him to bring over ‘like ten crates of Vodka’ when he ever decides to drop by because she’s acquired a taste for it and he chuckles half-heartedly at that.

He makes a joke about her trip to Russia and she’s saying how she should have tried harder to seduce an oligarch. But he’s roughly only a quarter present. His mind is a riot. It’s like the time in school some kid hit him with a baseball bat and he feels all the blood rush to his head.

His gut twists with a vague, rumbling kind of horror.

The words left unspoken stings more than it should.

I don’t want to be your next winter cling anyway.

&&

Her door buzzes.

It’s Christmas eve and she isn’t expecting anyone, but when she rushes down the hallway to open the building door, there he is.

It’s pure electricity in his eyes and a fire so hot in her bones that it feels like ice.

It’s been a full thirty-five months since she’d seen him in person and not through her phone. That’s almost three whole years. They’re just shy a week of the anniversary of that night and he’s still just so pretty. Painfully pretty.

He cracks the weakest smile she’s ever seen, “Hey.”

“What are you—”

“You’re not a winter cling,” he blurts out, eyes ringed red and slightly swollen like he’d been crying or up all night.

Or both.

She ignores the statement, crossing her arms across her chest as they stand out in the cold.

“Did you drive here all night from Holmes Chapel?”

“I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait until after Valentine’s Day. Because you’re not something to hold onto while I wait out the loneliness.”

“Harry—”

“Do you remember the night we met? In Rio? I was tired. I was so tired of being who they expected me to be,” he interrupts her, plaintive and gentle, “It’s why I got so drunk and slipped security. I wanted something that was just mine.”

He takes a step forward and she holds her ground, still not inviting him in. She’s not sure she wants to. Like the hours she spend not sleeping in his arms, she’s not sure she wants to be another warm body to him. But Harry is staring at her, expression terrifyingly open, honest, and contemplative, like he's looking right through her to her heart.

“Like a me tattoo on your body?”

Zaemira hates that she’s doing exactly what her aunt says she does when she’s uncomfortable; makes terrible jokes and thinly-veiled badly-timed humour in an attempt to hide her discomfort which never helps.

She hates that her aunt is right and she hates that this is how she’s realising it.

“Every other relationship I had never felt right,” Harry continues, holding her gaze as though he is equally fascinated and terrified, “Something was always missing.”

The tick-tock pounding thump of her heartbeat is so loud and gushing she can practically feel it in her veins. But he just keeps going, heart on his sleeve at the door of the girl he spent three drunken nights with and fell into bed once. As though he didn’t know he had the power to so completely destroy her.

There’s a taunting, almost brittle quality to what he’s saying that it makes her nervous. He’s making her nervous and it pricks like annoyance at the back of her head. It’s jarring what he’s saying. Striking.

“People aren’t answers to whatever mess that’s going on in your life, Harry.”

It's ridiculous and it's rude and it’s out of control and out of character for her except—

Except that it isn’t.

She wonders when exactly he’d figured it out.

And how it took her so long to realise that she’s the same as what she’s accusing him of.

She wants and wants and wants and then she takes, and takes, and takes, until she inevitably loses interest, and leaves.

And most people just let her.

But Harry isn’t most people.

And he’s there now to show her exactly that.

“I don’t want people,” he says so softly it’s practically a whisper, like he’s confiding a secret, like he knows that the harder she pushes the more she wants you to fight for her, “I just…want you. I just didn’t realize there was a difference between wanting you to want something and wanting you for you.”

The words slot into her heart perfectly like a deck of cards. The words that she never even knew she wanted to hear.

They taste like a perfectly brewed shot of espresso and too expensive whiskey all mixed into one heartstopping drink and she wants to savour the shockwave-sweet intensity of the moment.

She hesitates. And then, “Careful, Styles. Or I might think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He grins at that. A real smile curving on his lips.

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to flirt with you.”

He tucks a stray curl behind her ears, simultaneously keeping his distance and drawing her close.

Her breath hitches on a tremulous little laugh.

She's paralysed with an emotion that feels a lot like fear and it's scraping at her skull, rhythmically ebbing into all corners of her brain like a growing virus and he's just there, staring at her.

She wants to say something. Something smart or witty or funny. But instead she just lets herself fall forward into his arms and onto his lips.

It tastes like a promise.

It tastes right.

It tastes like two beating hearts and a slow summer burn.

[dreamersscape]

The Raven Cycle: A Liveblog (Part 4)

(Let’s just pretend the gap since my last installment was a much shorter and more reasonable period of time than it has actually been, shall we? I tried to make up for it with the length of this edition. Suuuuuper long post under the cut.)

Me, reading TDT’s opening quotations: Okay, yes, good. Taking things out of your dreams into the waking world. Got it.

Me, reading the last quote: ‘I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven’t got the guts to bite people themselves.’?

YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING OF MY PEOPLE, AUSTIN STRINDBERG. GET THEE HENCE.

‘He always returned with gifts, treasure, and unimaginable amounts of money, but to Ronan, the most wondrous thing was Niall himself. Every parting felt like it would be the last, and so every return was like a miracle.’ RONANNNNNNN. (Is it weird that it feels like Ronan is supposed to be my favorite bc he seems closest to my type and goodness knows I can relate to the grieving-a-father feels, but that’s not really the case so far? I love him dearly, but it feels like I should love him more. Weird? Not weird? I dunno.)

*carefully takes notes about the alleged details of Ronan’s birth because I know now every minor detail is actually Very Important*

‘Theoretically, Blue Sargent was probably going to kill one of these boys.’ Oh, good, it’s only a theoretical death. Glad we got that sorted out. Guess I can stop worrying about it now, right? :P

'Adam’s hand glided over her bare elbow. The touch was a whisper in a language she didn’t speak very well.’ I really like this line! Also, somewhat sadly, relateable.

'It had five tiny white buttons: four arranged in a cross shape, and one off by itself. To Blue, that fifth button was like Adam. Still working toward the same purpose as the other four. But no longer quite as close as the others.’ Oh, so we’re going to make my heart hurt over Adam Parrish in the first ten pages of the book. Fine.

'In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.’ Aw, those lines sound familiar. ;) And we’re all right there with ya, Blue.

'The dorms were emptier than they would’ve been during school term, but they were not empty.’ Whoops unrelated-to-TRC-but-nevertheless-on-brand feels ahoy.

So it’s been long enough since I read TRB that I can’t recall if I had any particular feelings about Declan then, but definitely feeling pretty sympathetic towards him now, what with his father’s seeming dismissive attitude toward him and the assault from this Gray Man. Also, have I read the word Greywaren before? Not sure.

Oh. So Ronan is the Greywaren, then. Guess that answers that.

’Mom is nothing without him’? Woooow, Declan. Wow. A bit less sympathy, now. (Maybe there’s something about their mother I don’t know yet, but still…)

’Creature was a good word for him, Ronan thought.’ Oof. He’s gonna make me eat my words, isn’t he? I already said I love you dearly, Ronan!

And now he’s gonna divert himself from his unpleasant thoughts with an external distraction. Oh good. That doesn’t mirror any of my other favorite characters at all.

'Back then, it had surprised Ronan; he hadn’t realized yet that Gansey could persuade even the sun to pause and give him the time.’ [drags a hand slowly down my face] Don’t do this to me, Maggie. Haven’t you already put me through enough with Adam and Gansey?

'His thoughtless expression was one of wonder or of pain; with Gansey they were so often the same thing.’ Well that–that’s a sentence.

’“Ronan, there’s no reason for that,” Gansey said sternly, as if Ronan had hurled a toy on the floor.’ Gonna start listing all the mom-friend!Gansey moments, 'cause I gotta.

'He laughed enough that Chainsaw abandoned her paper shredding to verify he wasn’t dying.’ This is cute, other than the implication that Ronan genuinely laughing is a all-too-rare occurrence.

’“So what you’re saying is you can’t explain it.” “I did explain it.” “No, you used nouns and verbs together in a pleasing but illogical format.”’ Hee!

I half expect tired-of-potential-and-only-being-useful-needing-something-more!Blue to break out singing ’I want much more than this provincial life/I want adventure in the great wide somewhere/I want it more than I can tell’ and I don’t say that at all in a disparaging way, that’s just what it made me think of. It’s a very understandable desire on Blue’s part.

’“Jane!” Gansey said joyfully.’ I will never tire of this. :)

'When she returned, she leaned on the table beside Adam, who touched her wrist. She didn’t know what to do in response. Touch it back? The moment had passed. She resented her body for not giving her the correct answer.’ So! Freaking! Relateable!

'Kavinsky headed directly to the large table in the back, and the postures of the other boys all changed drastically….Gansey stood, leaning against the table, and there was something threatening rather than respectful about it.’ I live a protective!Gansey appreciation life.

The Gray Man is quite a character.

Ummmm so chapter eight just hurt my soul a whole lot? Here’s a list of the culprits:

'He’d spent just two hours at the easiest of the jobs — Boyd’s Body & Paint, LLC, replacing brake pads and changing oil and finding what was making that squeaking noise there, no, there — and now, even though he was off, he was ruined for anything else. Sticky and sore and, above all else, tired, always tired.’

'The only rub was, Blue was another troubling thing. She was like Gansey in that she wanted him to explain himself. What do you want, Adam? What do you need, Adam? Want and need were words that got eaten smaller and smaller: freedom, autonomy, a perennial bank balance, a stainless-steel condo in a dustless city, a silky black car, to make out with Blue, eight hours of sleep, a cell phone, a bed, to kiss Blue just once, a blister-less heel, bacon for breakfast, to hold Blue’s hand, one hour of sleep, toilet paper, deodorant, a soda, a minute to close his eyes. What do you want, Adam? To feel awake when my eyes are open.’ (This hurt less than the 'to go home, to go home, to go home’ passage, but ONLY JUST.)

'He’d already seen the ignored, unopened envelope emblazoned with Aglionby Academy’s raven crest. For two days he’d been stepping over it, as if it might disappear if he failed to acknowledge it.’ (Ah, hello avoidant coping skills, my old friend.)

’[Adam] ached inside.’/'He still ached.’/'his spine aching, shoulders aching, soul aching’

'They stared at each other, both hurt.’/'He tried not to let it sound like he was still hurt, but he was, and it did.’/'She tried not to let it sound like she was hurt, but she was, and it did.’

’What do you want, Adam? He didn’t even know.’ (T.T)

'His wide eyes and gaunt face peered back at him, troubled but not unusual.’

I’m so done, he thought. No more. Please, I can’t take any more.’ (SAME.)

'The difference in tuition between this year’s and next was twenty-four hundred dollars. That number again. It couldn’t be a coincidence.’ (SERIOUSLY THOUGH, I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE GANSEY/ADAM TENSION/CONFLICT/FIGHTING. WHEN DO WE GET TO THE GETTING BETTER PART?)

'They couldn’t hurt Gansey. Nothing could hurt him; people who said money couldn’t buy everything hadn’t seen anyone as rich as the Aglionby boys. They were untouchable, immune to life’s troubles. Only death couldn’t be swiped away by a credit card.’ (Oh Adam honey, you don’t even knooooow. :()

Adam! Some people show and feel love through acts of service! It’s not an inherently bad thing! Concern and the desire to help are not the same thing as pity!

Also, Blue’s “Then don’t be pitiful!” response was kinda strange, even for an impulsively perturbed remark? Just felt weird.

'She was looking at the box that served as his nightstand. Somehow it had moved several feet away from the bed. The side was badly dented, its former contents scattered violently across the floor. Only now did he remember the act of kicking the box, but not the decision to kick it.’ (Crap.)

'He calmed enough to remember that if he waited long enough, carefully analyzing how it felt, the emotion would lose its inertia. It was the same as physical pain. The more he tried to mentally decide what made pain hurt, the less his brain seemed able to remember the pain at all.’

'He’d never escape, not really. Too much monster blood in him. He’d left the den, but his breeding betrayed him. And he knew why he was pitiful. It wasn’t because he had to pay for his school or because he had to work for a living. It was because he was trying to be something he could never be. The sham was pitiful.’

'Some nights he lured himself to sleep by imagining how he would word the favor for Glendower. He needed to get the words exactly right. Now he rolled phrases around his mouth, desperately reaching for one that would comfort him. Ordinarily, words would tumble and lull through his mind, but this time, all he could think was Fix me.’ (On a related note, I’m dead.)

'He had a strange, disconcerting feeling that he couldn’t trust his senses. Like he was tasting an image or smelling a feeling or touching a sound. It was the same as just a few minutes before, the idea that he’d glimpsed a slightly wrong reflection of himself. Adam’s previous worries vanished, replaced with a more immediate concern for this ragged body he was carting around in. He’d been hit so many times. He’d already lost his hearing in his left ear. Maybe something else had been destroyed on one of those tense, wretched nights.’ (*Spontaneously revives to continue worrying myself to death over Adam Parrish* WHY CAN’T I TAKE CARE OF HIM?)

'Ronan, Noah, and Gansey were at the Dollar City in Henrietta, loitering. Theoretically, they were there for batteries. Practically, they were there because both Blue and Adam had work, Ronan’s shapeless anger always got worse at night, and Dollar City was one of the few stores in Henrietta that allowed pets.’ These stupid codependent teens.

“Hello? Oh, hey,” Gansey said to the phone, touching a notebook with a handgun printed on the cover. The oh, hey was accompanied by a definite change in the timbre of his voice. That meant it was Adam’ [tries to feel the joy I deserve at this past my intense anxiety about the probable clashing over the tuition thing]

'Ronan rested his forehead on the topmost shelf. The metal edge snarled against his skull, but he didn’t move. At night, the longing for home was ceaseless and omniscient, an airborne contaminant. He saw it in Dollar City’s cheap oven mitts — that was his mother at dinnertime. He heard it in the slam of the cash register drawer — that was his father coming home at midnight. He smelled it in the sudden whiff of air freshener — that was the family trips to New York. Home was so close at night. He could be there in twenty minutes. He wanted to smash everything off these shelves.’ He and Adam both want to go hoooome and I wish I could provide that for them and turns out I am actually Gansey.

'“Glitter,” whispered Noah reverentially, giving it a shake.’ Truly Noah is their light in the darkness. I LOVE HIM SO MUCHHHH.

'Farther down the aisle, Gansey suggested to the phone, “You could come stay at Monmouth. For the night.”’ Like I said. Also, I really, really wish I could hear both sides of this phone conversation.

'Sometimes Ronan thought Adam was so used to the right way being painful that he doubted any path that didn’t come with agony.’ I mean, fair. And heartbreaking.

'Gansey’s back was turned to them. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ramirez? I didn’t talk to anyone at the church. Yes, twenty-four hundred dollars. I know that part. I —”’ Oh no. It’s happening.

'But one of the marvelous things about being Ronan Lynch was that no one ever expected him to do anything nice for anyone.’ I would hug you Ronan, except there is now more Adam 'n’ Gansey friction and I’m really bad at handling it!

'Abruptly, Ronan’s entire body went cold. Not a little chilly, but utterly cold. The sort of cold that dries the mouth and slows the blood. His toes went numb, and then his fingers….Then Noah reappeared in a violent sputter, like the power crackling back on. His fingers clutched Ronan’s arm. Cold seeped from the point of contact as Noah dragged heat to become visible.’ Oh, so Noah can do that with Ronan too? Because of his greywaren-ness?

'“I lost …” Noah struggled for words. “There wasn’t air. It went away. The — the line!” “The ley line?” Gansey asked. Noah nodded once, a sloppy thing that was sort of a shrug at the same time. “There was nothing … left for me.”’ Not allowed. Just saying.

'He didn’t say, Or maybe something terrible happened to Adam that day he sacrificed himself in Cabeswater. Maybe he’s messed up all of Henrietta by waking up the ley line. Because they couldn’t talk about that. Just like they couldn’t talk about Adam stealing the Camaro that night. Or about him basically doing everything Gansey had asked him not to. If Adam was stupid about his pride, Gansey was stupid about Adam.’ Yes, we know. :)

'From Ronan’s room, he heard Noah’s laugh. He and Ronan were throwing various objects from the second-story window to the parking lot below. There was a terrific crash.’ Having witnessed my younger brother doing basically the same thing once, I can vouch for the authenticity of this teenage-boy activity.

'Once, he had dreamt that he found Glendower. It wasn’t the actual finding, but the day after. He wouldn’t forget the sensation of the dream. It hadn’t been joy, but instead, the absence of pain. He couldn’t forget that lightness. The freedom.’ Yeah, don’t we all dream about the absence of pain. *buries face in hands* OH GANSEY BOY.

’“Do you want me to talk to her?” This was something he definitely, 100 percent felt certain in his guts that he had no interest in doing. “I’m really bad at talking, Gansey,” Adam said earnestly. “And you’re really good at it. Maybe — maybe if it just comes up natural?” Gansey’s shoulders collapsed; his breath fogged the glass and vanished. “Of course.” “Thanks.” Adam paused. “I just want something to be simple.” So do I, Adam. So do I.’ This right here? This A Whoooole Lot. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Adam if he asked, Gansey?

'Noah slouched in. In a wounded tone, he said, “He threw me out the window!” Ronan’s voice sang out from behind his closed door: “You’re already dead!”’ OH. MY. GOODNESS.

’"You should come over.” “Not tonight,” replied Adam. I’m losing him, Gansey thought. I’m losing him to Cabeswater. He had thought that by staying away from the forest, he’d keep the old Adam — put off the consequences of whatever had happened that night when everything started to go awry. But maybe it just didn’t matter. Cabeswater would take him regardless.’ I dream of the absence of pain!!!

'His skin shivered and crawled, and he realized it was crawling with hornets, the ones that had killed Gansey all those years ago. There weren’t many this time, only a few hundred. Sometimes he dreamt cars full of them, houses full of them, worlds full of them. Sometimes these hornets killed Ronan, too, in his dreams.’ Oh, Ronan.

’Arbores loqui latine. The trees speak Latin. “You’ve done this before,” she said. Time was a circle, a rut, a worn tape Ronan never tired of playing.’ Huh. Has Ronan been dreaming of Cabeswater for years and years?

'Curled on the mattress, [Adam] covered his face with his summer-hot arm. Sometimes, if he blocked his mouth and nose, just this side of suffocation, sleep would overthrow him.’ THAT DOESN’T SOUND HEALTHY, MY BOY. :(

'He was awake enough to think of the invitation from Gansey. There might be an internship in there. Adam knew it was a favor. Did that make it wrong? He’d said no for so long that he didn’t know when to say yes….He hated the careful way Gansey had asked him about it. Tiptoeing, just like Adam had learned to tiptoe around his father. He needed a reset button. Just push the reset button on Adam Parrish and start him again.’ I am sad. (But maaaaybe he’s starting to reconsider the idea that he can never accept hep of any kind?)

'After he had exhausted this line of thought, Ronan gave in to the brief privilege of hating himself, as he always did in church. There was something satisfying about acknowledging this hatred, something relieving about this little present he allowed himself each Sunday.’ Oh, Ronan.

'“Hey, pal,” Matthew whispered. He was the only person who could get away with calling Ronan pal.’ Awww. :)

'Matthew Lynch was a bear of a boy, square and solid and earnest. His head was covered with soft, golden curls completely unlike any of his other family members. And in his case, the perfect Lynch teeth were framed by an easy, dimpled smile. He had two brands of smile: the one that was preceded by a shy dip of his chin, a dimple, and then BAM, smile. And the one that teased for a moment before BAM, an infectious laugh. Females of all ages called him adorable. Males of all ages called him buddy. Matthew failed at many more things than either of his older brothers, but unlike Declan or Ronan, he always tried his hardest.’ Whoops, I’m attached.

'Ronan had dreamt one thousand nightmares about something happening to him.’ *rubs heart*

'A lady reached over the top of Noah to pat Matthew’s head fondly before continuing down the aisle. She didn’t seem to care that he was fifteen, which was all right, because he didn’t, either. Both Ronan and Declan observed this interaction with the pleased expressions of parents watching their prodigy at work.’ Once again: Awww. :)

'Blue very much liked having the boys over to her house. Their presence at the house was agreeable for several different reasons….And the third reason was that it suggested permanence. Blue had acquaintances at school, people she liked. But they weren’t forever. While she was friendly with a lot of them, there was no one that she wanted to commit to for a lifetime. And she knew this was her fault. She’d never been any good at having casual friends. For Blue, there was family — which had never been about blood relation at 300 Fox Way — and then there was everyone else. When the boys came to her house, they stopped being everyone else.’ THEY’RE FAMILY NOW. <3

'Crossly, Blue realized that Gansey had now called her Jane so often that it felt strange to hear him say her real name.’ Embrace it, Blue. Embraaace it. :D

'He hid the insatiable wanting well, but now that she’d seen it once, she couldn’t stop seeing it. But he wouldn’t be able to explain it to Maura. And he would never really have to explain it to Blue. It was his something more.’ Awww. :)

(Sorry this liveblog is devolving mostly into either EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE or But this is cute! and if that is starting to become boring…)

’"What did they die of?” “Mom always said ‘meddling.’ Gansey completely forgot they were being secretive and let out a tremendous laugh. It was a powerful thing, that laugh. He only did it once, but his eyes remained shaped like it. Something inside her did a complicated tug. Oh no! she thought. But then she calmed herself. Richard C. Gansey III has a nice mouth. Now I know he has nice eyes when he laughs, too. This still isn’t love. She also thought: Adam. Remember Adam.’ 1.) I hope this line of rationalization works out for you, Blue. ;) 2.) I am still feeling torn, though. Blue and Adam are cute together. 3.) I’d be okay with a Blue-Gansey-Adam OT3 though.

'Maura frowned. In a low voice, she said, “I think I need to have a conversation with that boy.” “Someone does,” Calla replied, heading up the stairs. Each stair groaned a protest for which she punished the next with a stomp. “Not me. I’ve outgrown train wrecks.” Blue, alarmed, said, “Is he a train wreck?”| Her mother clucked her tongue. “Calla likes drama. Train wreck! When a train takes a long time to go off the tracks, I don’t like to call it a wreck. I like to call it a derailment.”  From upstairs, Blue heard Calla’s delighted cackle. “I hate both of you,” Blue said as her mother laughed and galloped up the stairs to join Calla. “You’re supposed to use your powers for good, you know!” After a moment, Adam said to her, without lifting his eyes, “I could hear y’all, you know.” Blue hoped fervently that he was only talking about Maura and Calla and not about her kitchen conversation with Gansey. “Do you think you’re a train wreck?” “That would mean I was on the tracks to start with,” he replied.’ I would just like to say that I am miffed by this passage on Adam’s behalf. Thank you.

The chapter where Mr. Gray comes to 300 Fox Way was… interesting.

'Gansey, a furious sun, glowed from the other side of the universe, his gravitational pull too distant to affect Adam.’ WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME MAGGIE I CAN NEVER RECOVER.

So yeah, I just read the part where Adam is thinking back to how he and Gansey became friends and I think my heart just burst from emotional overload.

'Sometimes Adam wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped that day. What would be happening to him right now?’ Sometimes, Allan wondered what would’ve happened if Robin hadn’t stepped out of the trees that day. What would be happening to him right now? SORRY, I HAVE A PROBLEM.

Also, it only just occurred to me that Allan and Adam are A-names and Robin and Richard (even if that’s not what Gansey goes by) are R-names. This makes me so unreasonably happy!

'Gansey was giddy now that they’d decided to go back to Cabeswater. He hated nothing more than standing still. He ordered Ronan to put on some terrible music — Ronan was always too happy to oblige in this department — and then he abused the Camaro at every stoplight on the way out of town. “Put your back into it!” Gansey shouted breathlessly. He was talking to himself, of course, or to the gearbox. “Don’t let it smell fear on you!” Blue wailed each time the engine revved up, but not unhappily. Noah played the drums on the back of Ronan’s headrest. Adam, for his part, was not wild, but he did his best not to appear unwild, so as not to ruin it for the others.’ REEELATABLLLLE!!!

'Adam felt like he was watching it all from outside. He felt like he was about to catch another image, like a flick of the tarot cards he’d looked at earlier. Was that someone standing by the side of the road? I can’t trust my eyes.’ Leave him aloooone. :(

'Gansey leaned back, head thrown to the side, drunken and silly with happiness. “I love this car,” he said, loud to be heard over the engine. “I should buy four more of them. I’ll just open the door of one to fall into the other. One can be a living room, one can be my kitchen, I’ll sleep in one …” “And the fourth? Butler’s pantry?” Blue shouted. “Don’t be so selfish. Guest room.”’ He’s adorable.

Huh. Cabeswater’s gone!

'Adam felt that the Pig’s status perfectly encapsulated how he felt. It was not really dead, just broken. He was held inside the question of what it meant for him if Cabeswater was gone. Why can’t things just be simple?’  While this is a legitimate concern, Adam, to be fair, just a few moments ago you were worrying about was going to happen when you returned to Cabeswater for the first time after your sacrifice. Poor guy’s anxious over everything. :/

'Ronan leapt out of the car and slammed the door. The thing about Ronan Lynch, Adam had discovered, was that he wouldn’t — or couldn’t — express himself with words. So every emotion had to be spelled out in some other way. A fist, a fire, a bottle. Now Cabeswater was missing and the Pig was hobbled, and he needed to go have a silent shouting fit with his body. In the back window, Adam saw Ronan pick up a rock from the side of the road and hurl it into the creeper.  “Well, that’s helpful,” Blue said tersely.’ 1.) [Fond but exasperated] Oh Ronan. 2.) I appreciate your reaction, Blue. You’re not wrong.

'“I’m calling Declan,” Gansey said. “And telling him to bring a battery.” Ronan told Gansey what he thought of this plan, very precisely, with a lot of compound words that even Adam hadn’t heard before. Gansey nodded, but he also dialed Declan’s number. Afterward, he turned to Ronan, who leaned his cheek hard enough against the top of the window to make a dent in his skin.’ Please stop dealing with difficult emotions/situations by causing yourself pain, Ronan, honey.

'Gansey rounded on Adam, clutching his own headrest and looking behind him. “Why is it gone?”’ Why is my mental picture of this so endearing?

'Declan’s Volvo glided up, as quiet as the Pig was loud. Ronan said, “Move up, move up” to Blue until she scooted the passenger seat far enough for him to clamber behind it into the backseat. He hurriedly sprawled back in the seat, throwing one jean-covered leg over the top of Adam’s and laying his head in a posture of thoughtless abandon. By the time Declan arrived at the driver’s side window, Ronan looked as if he had been asleep for days.’ Oh, Ronan. What am I going to do with you?

'And as he sat there, observing the set of Declan’s shoulders and the way his eyes looked, he realized something startling. Declan was afraid. Probably it wasn’t apparent to Gansey, who was fairly oblivious, nor to Blue, who didn’t know what Declan looked like ordinarily. And Ronan’s feelings about his older brother were like blood in the water; he wouldn’t be able to see through the bilious clouds. But to Adam, who’d spent a fair amount of his life afraid — not only afraid, but trying to hide it — it was obvious.’ [Gansey voice] I am right to have Allan feels here and I will not be made to feel bad about it! (Also, in blast-from-the-past news, I’m really close to finally done with putting my anxiety-and-Allan thoughts into words and I’m excited for that.)

I love when Noah senses one of the other boys is in distress and goes to them and does his ghostly best to comfort or assist them. <3

'He thought about the day he’d been stung to death by hornets and lived anyway. Gansey ran over the memory until he no longer felt the thrill of hearing Glendower’s name whispered in his ear, and then instead gave himself over to feeling sorry for himself, that he should have so many friends and yet feel so very alone. He felt it fell to him to comfort them, but never the other way around. As it should be, he thought, abruptly angry with himself. You’ve had it the easiest. What good is all your privilege, you soft, spoiled thing, if you can’t stand on your own legs? ’ OH HONEY :( (But Noah does try!)

'“It’s not just the blood,” Ronan said. His chest moved up and down with his breath. “Something else got out, too.”’ Uh-oh.

Phew. They dispatched the nightmare creature while remaining mostly unscathed. Although they needn’t go around asking each other, "Are you murdered?” with the reply, “I think so.” anymore, please.

'“There was another one,” he said. “It got away.”’ Well, that’s not good!

'“It’s for the distasteful thing,” Gansey said. He plucked at the T-shirt with deprecating fingers. “I’m rather slovenly at the moment, I know.”’ [Fond, amused sputtering]

Oh, they’re going to the Barns!

'Gansey, a bit of the gallows in his voice, advised, “Poke its eye.”’ [Confused, taken-aback sputtering]

'“It feels the same as when you guys lived here,” Gansey said finally. “It seems like it should be different.” “Did you come here a lot?” Blue asked.  He exchanged a glance with Ronan. “Often enough.” He didn’t say what Ronan was thinking, which was that Gansey was far more of a brother to Ronan than Declan had ever been.’ Brothers <3<3<3

'Ronan loved it so much. He nearly couldn’t bear it. He wanted to destroy something.’ That’s…one reaction to profound love. (Yes, I know. Profound love for something that’s been stripped away from you.)

'“Ronan Lynch,” he said. It was the voice Ronan couldn’t not listen to. It was sure in every way that Ronan was not. “Stop this right now. Go see your mother. And then we’re leaving.”’ More Mom-Friend!Gansey.

'Ronan walked directly up to her, close enough to see that she had not changed a bit since the last time he had seen her, months and months ago. Though his breath moved the fine hairs around her temples, she didn’t react to her son’s presence. Her chest rose and fell. Her eyes stayed closed. Non mortem, somni fratrem. Not death, but his brother, sleep. Blue whispered, “Just like the other animals.”  The truth — he’d known it all along, really, if he thought about it — burrowed into him. Blue was right. His home was populated by things and creatures from Niall Lynch’s dreams, and his mother was just another one of them.’ Huh.

'My soul’s in enough peril as it is.” At this, Gansey’s face turned to a genuine frown and he looked as if he was about to say something. Then he just shook his head a little….“She didn’t try to see the future. It’s not something she became; it’s something she is. I could just as easily say that you’re evil because you can take things from your dreams!” Ronan said, “Yeah, you could.” Gansey’s frown deepened. Again he opened his mouth and closed it.’ Same, Gansey. Same.

'Ronan looked at him. That look, Blue thought. Ronan Lynch would do anything for Gansey. I probably would, too, she thought.’ If only he knew it. *rubs heart*

'Blue and Gansey exchanged a look. Blue’s look said, I’m so, so sorry. Gansey’s said, Am I the pretty one?’ Bless his cotton socks.

'Ronan thought of what Declan had said all those months before: Mom is nothing without Dad. He’d been right.’ Okay, but does Declan know about this stuff and how it works?

'Ronan interrupted the silence. “Cabeswater. Cabeswater is a dream.” Calla stopped rotating. “You don’t have to tell me I’m right,” Ronan said. He thought of all the times he had dreamt of Cabeswater’s old trees; how familiar it had felt to walk there; how the trees had known his name. He was tangled in their roots, somehow, and they, in his veins. “If Mom is in Cabeswater, she’ll wake up.” Calla stared at him. Silence was never a wrong answer.’ Okay then.

'But those words of Declan’s needled Ronan: She’s nothing without Dad. It was like he knew. Ronan wanted badly to know how much Declan knew, but it wasn’t like he could ask him.’ No, that would be too easy.

'“Says you and Dad were both dreamers,” Matthew said, “and you’re going to make us lose everything.” Ronan sat very still. He was so still so quickly that Chainsaw froze as well, her head tilted toward the youngest Lynch brother, purloined tuna sandwich forgotten. Declan knew about their father. Declan knew about their mother. Declan knew about him.’ Curious. Very curious.

The Gray Man is going to Monmouth Manufacturing!

'He had spent forty-eight hours more or less awake and restless and then, on the third day, he had bought a side-scan sonar device, two window airconditioners, a leather sofa, and a pool table. “Now do you feel better?” Adam had asked drily. Gansey had replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Hey, man,” Ronan said, “I like the pool table.” The entire situation made Blue apoplectic.’ Tag yourself; I’m Adam with a dash of Ronan. Pool tables are cool.

’"You are still wearing those incredibly stupid boat shoes, and of all the things that you have bought, you still haven’t replaced them!” Gansey, bewildered, observed his feet. The movement of his toes was barely visible through the tops of his Top-Siders. Really, in light of recent events, these shoes were the only things that were right in the world. “I like these shoes.”’ Update: he’s still adorable.

’[Gansey] exchanged a glance with Adam, because it had to be done’ 1) What does this mean? 2) I love them SO MUCH!

'In some parallel universe, there was a Gansey who could tell Blue that he found the ten inches of her bare calves far more tantalizing than the thirteen cubic feet of bare skin Orla sported. But in this universe, that was Adam’s job. } He was in a terrible mood.’ Oooooh. 👀

'So these were the people Greenmantle had warned him about. Fellow seekers of the Greywaren, whatever it might be.’ Curious and curiouser.

'Blue cheerfully spit a mouthful of brown water on his boat shoes. It pooled in the canvas over his toes. “Good God,” he said. “Now they’re really boat shoes,” she replied.’ Blue’s crusade continues.

'He knew what it was. He just didn’t know why it was. He said, “Well, that’s a wheel off the Camaro.” And it was. It looked identical to the wheels currently residing on the Pig — except this wheel was clearly several hundred years old. The discolored surface was pocked and lumpy. With all of the deterioration, the elegantly symmetrical wheel didn’t appear that out of place beside the shield boss. If you overlooked the tattered Chevrolet logo in the middle. “Do you remember losing one a little while ago?” Ronan asked. “Like, five hundred years or so?”’ Aggressively the Most Curious.

'Blue held his gaze, unflinching. Crisp, she replied, “None at all.” And it was a lie. It should not have been, but it was, and Gansey, who prized honesty above nearly every other thing, knew it when he heard it. Blue Sargent cared whether or not he was interested in Orla. She cared a lot. As she whirled toward the truck with a dismissive shake of her head, he felt a dirty sort of thrill.’ Oh, you kids.

'“Hey, Noah.” He was too busy being ghostly to attend to her, however. Currently, he was engaged in one of his creepiest activities: reenacting his own death. He glanced around the tiny yard as if appraising the forest glen containing only himself and his friend Barrington Whelk. Then he let out a terrible, mangled cry as he was struck from behind by an invisible skateboard. He made no sound when he was hit again, but his body jerked convincingly. Blue tried not to look as he bucked a few more times before falling to the ground. His head jerked; his legs bicycled. Blue took a deep, uneven breath. Though she had seen him do it four or five times now, it was always unsettling. Eleven minutes. That was how long the entire homicidal portrait lasted: one boy’s life destroyed in less time than it took to cook a hamburger. The last six minutes, the ones that took place after Noah had first fallen but before he actually died, were excruciating. Blue considered herself a fairly steadfast, sensible girl, but no matter how many times she heard his torn-up breath seizing in his throat, she felt a little teary. Between the twisted roots of the front yard, Noah’s body jerked and stilled, finally dead. Again.’ I feel w o u n d e d.

'They wandered to the door like that, a pretzel of dead boy and not-psychic girl.’ Don’t even look at me!

'Gleefully, Noah said, “There’s a pool table now! I’m the worst at pool ever! It’s wonderful.”’ THIS SWEET CHILD IS GIVING ME EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH.

'Gansey, pacing next to his ruined miniature Henrietta, set his eyes on Ronan. There was something intense and heedless in them. There were many versions of Gansey, but this one had been rare since the introduction of Adam’s taming presence. It was also Ronan’s favorite. It was the opposite of Gansey’s most public face, which was pure control enclosed in a paper-thin wrapper of academia. But this version of Gansey was Gansey the boy. This was the Gansey who bought the Camaro, the Gansey who asked Ronan to teach him to fight, the Gansey who contained every wild spark so that it wouldn’t show up in other versions. Was it the shield beneath the lake that had unleashed it? Orla’s orange bikini? The bashed-up remains of his rebuilt Henrietta and the fake IDs they’d returned to? Ronan didn’t really care. All that mattered was that something had struck the match, and Gansey was burning.’ #JusticeforMiniatureHenrietta

'“Don’t say anything stupid to him,” he told Gansey.’ Did I read that right? Did Ronan really just advise Gansey to be careful?

'The Gray Man recalled the buzz of his phone and patted his pockets. His phone was missing, however. Maura Sargent had stolen it while they were making out. In its place was the ten of swords: the Gray Man slain on the ground and Maura the sword driven through his heart.’ Interesting. Sorry that always seems to be my reaction to the Gray Man, but there it is.

[alexenglish]

annual writing self evaluation

thank you to the glorious and lovely @1000-directions for tagging me.

i. Optional if applicable: link to last year’s self evaluation:

HERE

1. List of works published this year (in the order that they were posted):

annual fic round up HERE!

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

I’m tempted to say Soul Mechanism here due to the complexity of the world building and the fact that it became the driving force behind what’s (hopefully) going to be the first original novel I shop out, BUT as I write Color Me Blue, I find that this is the one that I’m most excited about in terms of writing and what I’m trying to do with it. it’s been a really fun experiment when it comes to what I can do with characterization and pacing and the structure of a story, and I genuinely feel like I’m making it work. I guess I won’t really know until it’s all posted, but I’m really proud of the character complexity similar to the way I was proud of Niall in Jet Pack Blues last year. I feel like the scale is larger and there’s more at stake since it IS a WIP, but I’m loving it so far and I really look forward to being able to meta about it more in depth after it’s all done.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

this is the first year since like 2015 that I was iffy on some of the fics I posted. Pull Me In Deep and (I’m glad we are friends.) were ones that I feel don’t QUITE accomplish what I really wanted them to, which sucks because they were both gift fics :( but I don’t hate them! and I think they’re enjoyable! they feel like 85% of what they could be, y’know?

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

SO much of Soul Mechanism was a favorite. I struggled with getting it out in a timely fashion because I was VERY particular about the exact tone and aesthetic I wanted, and I feel like I mastered it. I am so so pleased with how it turned out.

one of my favorite parts: 

Legend told of a realm of lightning and energy and the existence of beings greater than gods. Legend told of a lowly demon who found a crack in the framework and tore it open until xe could step through it. Legend told of a demon who entered a realm not xir own and met a race not of made of spark or rage, but of flesh and bone, of clumsy tongue and wary intellect.

A species that seemed gentler than demons, made less of chaos and more of balance. A species that always looked towards the heavens and searched for answers to questions they did not know how to ask. The opportunity to give them that was too great and, moved by their hope and curiosity, the demon pressed magic into the heart of a select few, and told them to use it wisely.

But objectively, humans were not wise. And like demons, they were greedy and bloodthirsty, and they found ways to pull demons out of their realm and harness their energy for destruction. The first demon was wrong, and the human chaos called itself ‘mage.’

Zayn did not remember the other realm, his home realm. He knew he flickered to life somewhere East of the Great Sea, remembered light and fire, and a mage who peered at him with a young, dirty face and a sharp smile.

The mage was a human who went by the name of Ishraq, neither boy nor girl but something separate altogether, something warm and bright.

Something like the sun.

“I will name you ‘Zayn,’” they told him when he took a human form, dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin, raised in the darkness. “In my tongue, it means ‘beautiful.’”

Zayn was darkness, and Ishraq was sunshine.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

I honestly received SO MANY lovely comments this year, I really appreciate every single one. I always look forward to what @robynzain, @sleepy-skittles, @1000-directions, @sarcathlon, and @nevergooutofstiles have to say about my fic. they always give me a little bit of their interpretations of scenes and characters that give me insight into my own stories, or acknowledge what I’m trying to accomplish in text and it really fuels my need for constant validation and appreciation. and also anyone who regularly reads my stuff. 

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

literally this entire year felt SO difficult. I couldn’t believe I finished NaNo, I couldn’t believe I managed to publish what I ended up publishing, I can’t believe CMB is a legible WIP. here’s to a better writing year 2k19. 

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

overall CMB was very surprising. it started off as a Harry/Niall fic, and then Niall decided he was in love with Zayn, and then Harry was a poor fit for what I wanted to do with the character opposite Niall and became Louis, and Zayn’s ENTIRE backstory was a sincere surprise. it went from very simple to VERY complex, and I’m... still working some of those complexities out LOL

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

last year I said I wanted to be a more deliberate writer, and I really think I accomplished that. usually writing is a lot easier and if it’s not I adjust where the fic is going in order to accommodate because I value inspiration over outline, BUT I felt like with both Soul Mechanism and CMB they NEEDED to be executed a certain way and I really stuck it out and took the time, even when it KILLED me to do so. which I think is really great for me as a writer in terms of growth!

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

better? quicker? more ability to concentrate? actually I sincerely hope I can sit down and draft my Soul Mechanism original. I have tons more planning than I thought I did, but I’m really hoping to get it done and ready for revising.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

@robynzain is basically what got me through this year. usually we talk too much about everything and I get a million ideas I have to write and it’s aLl HeR fAuLt and that’s what I have to thank her for, but this year it was so difficult for me to find inspiration. there were multiple times I had to turn to her and be like PLEASE validate me, PLEASE help me get over this writer's block, PLEASE listen to what I have to say because I’m at such a low point with my writing I want to give up all together. and she did, every single time. she shoved me to my feet and helped me work through shit, and gave me the blessing of her time and attention in order to be with me through it. I couldn’t have gotten as far in SM or CMB without her feedback and encouragement, and I can’t thank her enough. 

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

I’ve always wanted to write a story that dealt with a recovering addict in some way. I think there’s so much people don’t really understand unless you’ve lived through it -- and in a character, there’s so much to explore when it comes to the befores and afters and the way an addict’s past might interact with their present, and I’m enjoying that aspect of CMB because I’ve dealt with those kinds of people my entire life. despite not being an addict, addiction and alcoholism have had a profound impact on me and the people I’m close to. when you lose so much in your life to addiction or alcoholism, there’s something healing about taking a character and steering them away from that. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

NO. I feel like all my past wisdom failed me this year, so I’m abstaining. I hope y’all are doing better than I am.

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

SO excited to finish CMB for y’all. I don’t have any fic plans after it, so I’m excited to see what I’ll even end up doing next year.

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

I dunno who’s done this, sorry! if you see it and haven’t gotten tagged, do it :)

[nialledfromfics]

chapter eleven part two

There was a brief moment when Niall opened the door to the north stairwell that he paused. Not because he was hesitating in any way or scared of what she was going to say or even confused about how he was feeling, but because upon seeing her sat hunched over with her back to him on that very first step, it was absolutely breaking his heart. Chloe was so beautiful to him, even in that moment of slight uncertainty about all that had just happened, her shoulders barely shaking with her faint cries and her face tucked down into her palms…she was still so unconditionally beautiful to him.

Chloe had heard the tiny squeak of the metal door as Niall walked in and without looking up, she assumed it was Liz coming back for her. “Liz, I told you I don’t wanna talk about it right now–” Her head swung around to peer behind her and it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking out into another heap of sobs at the sight of Niall. He just stood there by the open door with his hands stuffed into his front pockets and an empathetic look on his face. Her watery eyes met his heavy lidded blue ones, and he slowly tipped his head to the side as he stared down at her, watching the wobble of her chin as Chloe reached up a hand and wiped her fingers across her wetted cheek.

Rolling her eyes, Chloe huffed out an annoyed breath and turned back around, dropping her face down into the cradle of her bent up knees as she hugged her arms around them. A shallow sigh pushed past Niall’s lips and he shuffled towards her, easing himself down next to her on the step. He stayed quiet, not saying a single word, but just laid a hand on Chloe’s rounded back and gently rubbed up and down her spine.

It remained quiet for a good few minutes until Chloe became vastly aware of the silence–almost too aware–and slowly lifted her head, peeking over at Niall. “What...you’re not gonna try and get me to talk to you? Tell you what’s wrong with me?”

Her voice was shaky and simmering with snarkiness, Niall took notice of it right away, and the slight wrinkle in her brow as she darted her dark bloodshot eyes over his was very telling of how anxious and apprehensive she was feeling in that moment. Niall lightly shook his head, his hand inching up to rest between her shoulder blades. “Not until you’re ready,” he softly mumbled, never once taking his gaze off of hers, “and only if ya want to. I don’t mind just sittin’ here with ya, if that’s what ya need.”

“Why do you have to be like that all the time?” Chloe shot back with a frustrated groan, shifting her eyes off of his and peering down into the dimly lit stairwell. She was upset, rightly so, and she wasn’t meaning to take it out on Niall. He knew her far too well to let her attitude get to him though.

Niall chuckled. “Like what?”

“Like...just so–” Chloe paused, rubbing her palms over her face, “understanding and perfect. It’s so irritating,” she finished in a low mutter.

“I’m not perfect, love, ya know that,” Niall scoffed, slipping his hand from her back and clasping them together between his spread knees as he shrugged. “I just want ya to know that I’m here if ya wanna talk, but I’m not gonna force ya to tell me somethin’ you don’t want to.”

Chloe slid her eyes back over to Niall, catching his stare as he gave her a sweet lopsided smile. Licking across her lips, she swallowed hard as her mood started to mellow. “I wanna tell you,” she whispered, her voice stuck in her throat and she struggled to clear it, “I do, I–...I should’ve told you…”

Niall’s brows lightly folded in as he listened, Chloe letting her eyes flutter as she gathered her choppy breaths and sniffed back her drying tears. Her stare settled down at her feet and Niall stayed quiet as he waited for her to speak again, certain she would begin as soon as she was ready. Chloe ran her fingers through her wavy hair, pulling it away from the back of her neck as she kept her gaze locked down at her toes. “Back when I was in college, I don’t know, around the time that you and Rachel were about to get married, I was kinda seeing this guy.” She stopped, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip before she took in a deep breath and forced herself to continue. “It wasn’t anything serious, we had only been dating a month or two, maybe, but...I got pregnant. Obviously, I wasn’t ready to have a kid, I mean, I barely knew this guy as it was, it wasn’t like–...like you and Rachel where you’d been together for a couple years before she got pregnant, ya know?” Chloe pulled in a sigh. “Anyway, I...I had an abortion.”

Niall remained silent, to the point that Chloe wasn’t even sure if he had heard her clearly enough, or maybe he did but was in too much shock to react properly, and she forced herself to push on with her story. “No one knew about it. No one. I didn’t tell a soul that I was even pregnant...except Rachel. She was one of my best friends back then and I needed someone, I guess, that could understand and, well, she was already pregnant with Fionn and...I don’t know, I guess, I thought she could help me or support me or whatever.”

All of her words came out at once, jumbled and rushed and littered with a reservation that almost made Niall wince, but he was able to take in everything just as clearly as if she had printed them in a book for him to read. He could hear the tremendous pain that was cluttering her normally tenacious voice, the fear of saying it out loud and what others might think and Niall licked across his lips as he looked over at her. “Rachel...she was there for you? She went with you?”

Chloe nodded. “She did. And I’m glad because I could’ve never gone to that clinic on my own. I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it without her. I don’t think I have ever cried as hard as I did that day.” Pinching her eyes closed, Chloe dropped her chin to her chest and cupped her forehead in her hand, sniffing back the tears she could feel building up again.

“Jesus, Chlo,” Niall said softly, reaching over to brush some fallen wisps of black hair away from Chloe’s cheek before circling his palm over her back, “I am so sorry, love.”

She shook her head, wiping the wetness from under her eyes. “I just can’t believe she did that to me in there, in front of everyone like that. She’s such a fucking bitch.”

“I know, love.”

“She was my fucking friend!”

“I know.”

Turning her head, she carefully caught Niall’s stare again, his face having fallen soft with compassion for her. “And I know I shouldn’t worry about what people think of me, ya know, and I don’t for the most part, I don’t care, but...I do worry about what you think of me. What I did–”

“I don’t think any less of you for that, Chlo,” Niall said, cutting her off. “Straight up, I need ya to know that.” She felt his hand come up and tenderly pet down the side of her hair, his fingertips dragging across the slope of her neck. “I really...really like you, babe...a lot. And that means that I like everythin’ about ya, your past, your secrets, whatever. It doesn’t change who ya are, or how I feel about ya. It doesn’t change anythin’.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she said lowly, shifting her stare away from Niall’s as her voice broke with the tears she was holding back. “I just...I find myself thinking about it sometimes, ya know, like, what if and what could’ve been and...I just, I feel so ashamed. And then when I look at Finny–...and I see how beautiful and smart and funny he is...it really was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.”

Letting out a sigh, Niall curled his arm around her shoulders and gently tugged Chloe towards him, her lax body firmly nestling against the side of his. “Darlin’, I don’t doubt that one bit,” he whispered, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head, “I can’t even imagine bein’ in that place, havin’ to make that choice. But you’re strong, I know you’re strong, you did what ya needed to do and you should never feel ashamed for that. I mean, I think about what we went through havin’ Finny, and Jesus, I couldn’t imagine havin’ to do that all by meself at that age.”

Nuzzling the side of her face into the front of his shoulder, Chloe closed her eyes and let his warm scent ease into her lungs as her shaky breaths settled. “I really should’ve been honest with you, Ni,” she breathed out, the front of her knees leaning against his thigh as he pulled her in even closer, “I’m angry at myself for not telling you before.”

“What?” he huffed out, his brows knitting, “Babe, you are not obligated to tell me things like that, no matter if we are datin’ or not.”

Rubbing across her face with the heel of her hand, Chloe sighed as she sat herself back up. “God, I feel so stupid.”

Niall faintly rolled his eyes at her naivety. “Chlo, listen to me, will ya?” he said, Chloe easing her stare back over to him. “You’re not stupid, not for anythin’ and you know I’m here for ya whenever ya need me, whenever ya wanna talk about shit. But none of this is somethin’ to feel stupid over. Love, it’s your body, your choice and I’m not gonna condemn you for it. No one should. It took a lot of courage to do what ya did, to make that really difficult choice that ya knew ya had to make for yourself.”

He paused as he darted his narrowed blue eyes over Chloe’s tear-stained face. “I see the way you look at Finny,” he went on, his voice edging on a softness that caused a warmth to fill Chloe’s belly, “how you are with him. And I know that one day when you’re ready, if that’s what ya choose, you’re gonna be a great mum.”

Feeling the tears start to prick up to brims of her puffy eyes again, Chloe breathed out a shaky smile and hid her face in her hands. “Aww, baby, c’mere…” Niall muttered, reaching around her middle and pulling her back into him. Hooking her arms around his neck, she held him tight, burying her face down in the material of his dress shirt that was bunching at his shoulder.

“I told you, you’re too damn understanding and perfect,” she mumbled against the side of his neck, her words causing a rumbling laugh to belt out of Niall’s mouth. Picking her head up, Chloe sniffled back her tears as she peered at Niall, locking her stare with his for a moment before she leaned in and softly pressed her mouth to his. Her fingers combed through the sides of his dark brown hair as she slipped her hands down to cradle his stubbled jaw, just barely easing back from the kiss and resting her forehead to his. “But I’m glad you are,” she quietly finished, “thank you.”

Niall’s big palm ran up and down the slope of her back and Chloe sat up beside him, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Is, um, is Finny okay?” she asked Niall, realizing that he had probably heard, and witnessed, a lot of things that evening that he really shouldn’t have. It made a deep ache instantly fill her heart.

Niall bit at his bottom lip and shrugged a shoulder. “I think he’s okay, but we should probably go check on him.” Chloe nodded and wiped the smeared makeup off from under her eyes one last time as Niall hoisted himself up from the step. Standing up next to her, he held out his hand and she smiled up at him, grabbing onto his fingers as he helped her to her feet. Just as Chloe was about to walk away and head for the door, Niall tangled his fingers around hers and gently yanked her back towards him. She stumbled into him in a breathy giggle, one that he was so happy to hear again that he clasped his hands around the sides of her face and pressed the softest, most tender kiss to her forehead before wrapping his arms around her. A smile eased across her lips as she hugged him back and tucked her face into the side of his neck. They stood motionless, wordless, breathless in that dank stairwell and just took the moment to savor in holding onto one another. Chloe had never felt so safe before in her life.

Her breathing slowly mollified as she rested in his arms, the hiccups from her cries melting away as the steady beat of his heart thumped along with her own. There was never a single second where she didn’t want to be in his arms, be one with him in every way that she could and Chloe slid her face up from the crook of his neck to look at him, Niall meeting his eyes to hers as he smiled. She would never forget that perfect smile.

They made their way back to Niall’s condo, hand in hand, after a few more minutes of basking in the peacefulness, and were welcomed by a lonesome Jack and Liz, who were sat waiting on the couch. The rest of the partygoers had filtered out and gone home by that point and Liz jumped up with a gasp as she heard the front door open.

Upon seeing them walk in, she rushed straight over to Chloe, Liz’s face plastered with concern. “Oh my God, are you okay? That was...insane.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Chloe assured Liz, her fingers squeezing tight to Niall’s. “We got everything sorted...it’s all good.”

It was not another second before Liz had her arms wrapped around Chloe in a squeezing hug. “Good,” she whispered to her dark haired friend before pulling away and giving Niall a soft smile. “Finny’s still back in his room. We, um, kinda made everyone go home–figured y’all probably wouldn’t be up for partying anymore tonight.”

Niall rolled his lips into his mouth and dipped his head down in a grateful nod towards his friends. “Thanks, that’s probably for the best.”

There was a slight sigh from Liz and she peeked over her shoulder to Jack before looking back at Chloe and Niall. “Okay, well, we’re gonna go then,” she stated, leaning in and pulling Chloe into another tight hug, “I’m glad you’re okay. Call me later if you wanna talk.”

It was just a small whisper into her ear, but it made a tiny tinge of regret start to bumble up in Chloe’s stomach. Liz had no idea what she had just confessed to Niall, and she feared it would hurt her more now if she knew that Chloe had been keeping this secret from her all these years. How could she say that Liz was her best friend, say that she knew everything about her, if she couldn’t even tell her this huge part of her past?

“Thanks, Liz,” Chloe mumbled as her friend pulled away and gave her a sweet smile. Jack gave Chloe and Niall a hug before quietly following Liz out of Niall’s condo.

Biting at her bottom lip, Niall grabbed Chloe’s hand and when her dark eyes met his, the corner of his mouth inched up into a gentle smirk. “C’mon,” he whispered, tugging on her hand as he laced his fingers with hers once more. He began to walk down the hallway towards Fionn’s bedroom, Chloe diligently trailing after him as she felt the soft glide of his thumb over her skin. Chloe was already feeling the nerves creeping up on her as they approached the little boy’s room and the second she laid eyes on him after Niall had carefully opened his door, made her heart sink in her chest as her feet halted to a stop.

He was sitting on the floor with his back to them, his head hung low as he played with a few Legos that were spread out before him. He didn’t even budge as his door creaked open, and Niall cleared his throat as he let go of Chloe’s hand and took a step inside the room. “Hey, bud, can we chat?”

Niall was calm with his words, his voice as soft as Chloe had ever heard it be, but Fionn didn’t utter a sound, Chloe watching with bated breath as his little head just gingerly nodded up and down. Niall shot his stare back to Chloe, noticing the faint apprehension in her face and he gave her a grin and a small nose scrunch, indicating to her that it was okay to come in the room. She followed Niall over to his son on the floor, Niall crouching down on one side of the boy as Chloe settled on her knees next to Finny on the other side.

Chloe took in a deep breath, peeking up at Niall for just a split second before both of their stares fell to the quiet little boy who was concentrating so very hard on fitting two of his lego pieces together. He had yet to even glance up at either of them, and Chloe rested her hands on the tops of her bent knees as Niall reached out and ran his fingers over the soft dark hair that covered Fionn’s head. “I’m really so sorry you had to hear all those things, Finny,” Niall softly spoke up, Chloe flicking her eyes up to his face as she watched him swallow hard through his words. She could tell this wasn’t as easy for him as he was trying to let on. Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip as he took in a shaky breath and forced himself to continue. “That ya had to hear mummy and daddy arguin’...”

His little fingers came to an abrupt stop on his Legos and Chloe watched as his lips pursed up. “I told mummy,” his tiny voice muttered out.

“What?” Niall calmly replied. “What did ya tell mummy?”

“I...I told mummy ‘bout Chloe,” he continued, keeping his stare focused down at his fingers, “she asked me of things and then I told her that Chloe has sleepovers.”

“Oh, Fionn–”

“It’s my fault.”

Niall glanced at Chloe, his heavy lidded blue eyes turning glassy as they darted over hers, his brow gently wrinkling with concern. “No...no, buddy, it’s not your fault.”

“It is!” he said, his little back rounding over as he mumbled towards the carpeted floor, “I told mummy and then she got mad and then she yelled, ‘s my fault.”

Peeking up Chloe with a slackened jaw, Niall lightly shook his head at her, not sure what else he should say or how he could make this better for Fionn, to get him to understand, and Chloe could see the bout of worry filling his watery eyes. Pulling in a steadying breath, Chloe tipped her head to the side and reached over to put a gentle hand to Finny’s back. “Finny, I know how you’re feeling. And it’s okay to be a little sad or scared, or even a little bit mad over what happened. No one likes to hear their mom and dad fighting, but none of this is your fault, okay? I promise you.”

Finally lifting his face, Fionn peered up at Chloe. “Do your mum and da fight?”

Chloe gnawed at the inside corner of her mouth before giving the little boy a timid smile. “They used to a lot when I was little, when I was around your age,” she began to tell him, his big glassy blue eyes locked in on hers, “I used to get really scared ‘cause my dad had a super loud voice when he got mad. And he would yell and it felt like it was shaking the whole house.”

“Did ya cry?”

“Sometimes,” she told him, “most of the time I just hid under the covers of my bed. I thought it was some kind of invisible shield to protect me. I could still very much hear them though.” Chloe paused and glanced up at Niall, his stare trickling over her face as he quietly listened to her talk to his son. “But my dad is nothing like your dad,” Chloe went on, shifting her eyes back to Fionn’s face as she smiled down at him, rubbing her palm across his upper back. “Your dad loves you, he cares about you and he would never do anything to hurt you. And even if he gets mad sometimes at your mom, or at me, that’s...that’s never your fault.”

“I love you, Finny,” Niall chimed in, the little boy’s attention snapping over to his father, “and no matter what happens between your mum and me, no matter what we say to each other, we both love you very much, okay?”

Fionn dropped his chin to his chest as Chloe’s hand slipped off his back, his eyes scrambling over the tiny Lego pieces strewn about the floor. “Is there anythin’ ya wanna ask me? Anythin’ ya wanna know?” Niall added. They both watched as Finny took in a deep breath before lifting his little face back up and narrowing his eyes at Niall.

“Are we still havin’ cake?”

Both Chloe and Niall burst into chuckles at his honesty, Finny giggling as Niall leaned over and wrapped his arms around his son, bringing him into a warm hug. “I love you, son,” he whispered, pulling the little boy into his lap.

Chloe brought her clasped hands up to her mouth as she watched Finny hold onto his dad even tighter, tucking his face into Niall’s neck. “I love ya too, da,” he said back to him in a small voice, “I’m not mad that ya yelled.”

“Good,” Niall choked out, cupping the back of the boy’s head in his big hand, “I am sorry for yellin’ though…”

Catching his stare, Chloe gave Niall a sheepish smile and dropped her hands to her lap as she tried with all her might to not break into a sob of happy tears at the sight of them. Mouthing a soft ‘thank you’ to her, Chloe nodded back at Niall as Fionn slipped his arms from around Niall’s neck. “How ‘bout we go down to the wharf and get some fish and chips,” Niall suggested, looking down at his son who was settled in his lap, “then we can come back here and gorge ourselves on all the cake our stomachs can handle.”

“Yeah!” Finny exclaimed, punching his two tiny fists in the air.

Peeking over at Chloe, Niall shrugged up a shoulder. “Chlo?”

She glanced her eyes between the two boys and huffed out a big smile. “Sounds like a date.”

The rest of their night turned out to be perfect; a tasty meal, happy smiles and giggles and some good cake which Finny promptly ate two whole servings of. He had wanted Chloe to read him his bedtime story that evening after Niall tucked him into bed, and when she was through, they said their goodnights and she flicked off his light before shuffling herself into Niall’s bedroom.

He was laying on his bed in his boxers, feet crossed at his ankles as he watched something on the TV. Letting out a small huff, Chloe shed her bra from under her shirt and the leggings she had put on earlier and crawled up from the end of his bed. Niall chuckled under his breath as he held out his one arm, her body plopping down beside his and snuggling up against him. Her stare settled on the TV screen, some documentary about the formation of the planets, and Niall leaned his face down and pressed a kiss to the edge of her hairline. “You were good with him today,” he mentioned, rubbing his hand down the span of her upper arm, “the things ya said...thank you.”

Chloe’s lungs expanded briefly in a small yawn before she nestled further down against his bare torso, her fingers lightly twirling through his soft chest hair. “I just wish I would have had someone tell me that when I was a little kid,” she admitted, “probably would have made things easier.”

Grabbing the remote that was resting by his thigh, Niall clicked off the TV and tossed it to the nightstand, his arms pulling Chloe tighter against him as he rolled onto his side and snuggled into her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his warmth started to seep through her skin and penetrate her entire body, their legs tangled and their bodies mushed to the point that she wouldn’t have been able to move even if she wanted to. “You’re a great dad, Ni,” Chloe finally muttered against his skin, snaking her arm around his soft middle and dragging her fingers up and down his back, “shit happens sometimes and it sucks, I know it does, but Finny knows you love him and knows that people get mad sometimes, it’s a normal human emotion.”

Niall let out a sigh, his breath fanning across her dark hair. “Yeah.”

“I just don’t want you to go beating yourself up over it, ya know?” she went on, faintly dancing her fingertips along the bumps of his spine, “Finny has a role model in you, and even if he turns out to be only half as wonderful as you, he’s still gonna be fucking amazing.”

“Ya better stop it,” Niall chucked out, the playful tone in his voice indicative of the bashful smile he was trying to fight off.

Tipping her head back to peer up at him, Chloe caught his gaze and grinned through her short laugh. “What?”

Niall shook his head and cocked a brow. “What the hell did I do to deserve ya?”

“Honestly, it’s just ‘cause you’re cute,” she shrugged.

“Oh really?”

“Yup,” Chloe said, pinching an eye closed, “and maybe your accent a little.”

“Oh, I see,” Niall said, using his fingertips to gently brush some hair from the side of Chloe’s face, “that’s all my redeemin’ qualities, eh?

“I mean, that’s all you really need,” Chloe shot back, Niall’s eyes squishing shut in a raucous laugh. Sliding her arm from around his waist, Chloe cupped her hand around his bearded jaw and quickly brought his lips to hers in a kiss, cutting off the sounds of his cackle. He had looked beyond too cute for his own good in that single moment, and she just couldn’t resist. “I’m sorry your party got ruined,” she whispered as her lips pulled back from his.

Niall pushed out a sigh and squeezed his arms around her small frame. “I’m not,” he confidently told her, “spendin’ me day with the two most important people in me life? Eaten some fish and chips and havin’ a good ass beer? And some cake to top it off? And then a nice cuddle with you? Nothin’ better, my love.”

Chloe’s lips tugged into a smile as she nuzzled her face against Niall’s chest and closed her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Best birthday weekend ever,” he quietly replied, pressing a soft kiss to Chloe’s forehead.

[nialledfromfics]

chapter eleven part one

“I really wanna thank you for coming with me, Rachel,” Chloe mentioned as she eased herself down on her sofa, a soft hand on her elbow from her friend providing a little help, “It really means a lot to me.”

Rachel knitted her brows and flippantly waved her hand as she sat down next to Chloe. “No worries, Chlo, what are friends for?”

“It’s just with you and Niall’s wedding coming up, which I’m so excited for by the way, I know you’ve been busy with all the planning and stuff,” she told her friend, peering over at Rachel as she shakily ran her fingers through the side of her hair, “I didn’t want to add anymore stress for you, but I just didn’t know who else to ask and I thought–…I don’t know...”

Chloe’s voice waned as she pulled in a shuddering breath, her dark eyes shifting down to her lap as the thoughts of what she had just gone through started to rip through her mind all over again. Feeling the gentle touch of her friends hand rub across the top of her shoulders, Chloe sniffled as she heard Rachel speak up. “Thought what?”

“You know, that...you’d understand,” Chloe answered glancing back over at her friend.

Rachel tucked her lips into her mouth and faintly nodded her head. “I do,” she concurred, “and I’m glad you asked me.”

“We can, um, just keep this between us, right?” Chloe then asked, her brows raising slightly as she darted her stare over her friend’s face, “I just...I really don’t want anyone to know. Like...ever.”

“Yeah, of course,” Rachel said, sweetly tucking a curly strand of Chloe’s hair away from her face, “I won’t tell a soul. To the grave.”

Chloe let a tiny smile tug at corner of her mouth, the first one she had let show that day. “Thanks. To the grave.”

The morning after Chloe’s naughty birthday surprise for Niall, they woke up snuggled naked in Chloe’s bed, soft smiles on their faces and a dull blissful ache drenching their wrecked bodies. Niall’s eyes opened first; crinkling through the bright mid-morning sun as his warm body cradled around Chloe’s. He could feel the press of her bum nestled into his front and the slow rise of her back swelling against his chest with each of her languid breaths. His heavy arm was draped over the dip in her waist, his big palm spread across her lower tummy and snuggling further into her, Niall tucked his face down into the crook of her neck.

She stirred against him, just a tiny movement, her sleep-filled body shivering as Niall brushed his fingertips along the soft bared skin of her stomach. The tip of his nose dragged along her jawline, his lips just hovering along its trail. “Mornin’, my love,” he whispered, Chloe finally concluding with a soft rumble in response.

Her eyes were the ones to ease open that time, her naked body immersed in Niall; tangled in his warmth and his strong arms and she raised her shoulder slightly from the tickle of his breath as she barely turned her face back towards his. “Morning.”

“Last night was…” Niall paused as his mind flashed back to the night before and sent a smile sweeping across his lips, one that Chloe could feel against the smooth flesh of her jaw, “it was fuckin’ amazin’. Thank you.”

Chloe’s eyelids fluttered as Niall pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, his body fitting even more around hers. “I’m glad you had fun, babe.”

“I did,” he said, nuzzling his face down into her neck as Chloe dropped her head back onto her pillow, “gonna have even more fun when it’s my turn to do the same to you.”

“You’re gonna tie me up?”

Niall lightly shrugged his shoulder at her question, his hot breath pushing out over Chloe’s ear. “Maybe. Though I’m sure I can think of somethin’ different. Somethin’ that’s gonna leave ya beggin’...”

Chloe’s body trembled as she let out a giggle, her fingers absentmindedly running up and down the length of his forearm that was cradled around her middle. “Oh baby, I was already begging last night.”

Tipping his head back, Niall rumbled out a laugh. “We were both beggin’,” he said, pulling her tighter into him, “It was good.”

She smiled as she turned her face and peered back at him. “You ready for your birthday bash today?” she asked, “It’s the big 27!”

Niall shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth. “Eh...rather stay here in bed with you all damn day, to be honest.”

“Now that would be amazing,” Chloe chuckled. “What time is Finny supposed to come back?”

Pulling his arm out from under the covers, Niall lightly ran his palm across the side of his face and picked at the tiny dark hairs of his beard. “Uh...Rachel’s s'posed to drop him off at three at my place,” he mumbled, sliding his hand back under the warmed covers and back around Chloe’s midsection, “everyone else is gettin’ there around four.”

Stretching out of her sleep with a hushed yawn, Chloe carefully flipped over within Niall’s embrace–catching his bright blue stare as he popped up on his elbow to peer down at her. A sweet tempered grin tugged at her lips as their gaze danced with one another’s and Niall rested his cheek on his hunched shoulder, very softly easing his hand up from under the covers again to brush away at a lone strand of hair that laid over Chloe’s temple. She sucked in a deep breath, one that completely filled her lungs with the heated cozy scent of him and her eyes fell closed as Niall leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

A low hum slipped from Chloe’s mouth as Niall barely inched back, her dark eyes once again settling on his. “I need coffee,” she grumbled, still half asleep and basking in the warmth of his body.

“Me too.”

Bringing her hand up, she grasped around the back of Niall’s neck and smashed another kiss to his lips before sliding out from underneath him with one easy movement. Niall twisted his body around to watch with wrinkled brows as Chloe scrambled herself up off the bed. “I’m gonna make you some breakfast,” she suggested, stumbling over to her dresser to pull on an old college t-shirt that she had yanked out from a drawer.

Niall dropped his head to the pillow. “Oh, Jesus.”

Whipping around to face him as she had finished tugging on a pair of striped cotton shorts, Chloe shot him a playfully disgruntled look and hooked her hands on her hips. “Hey!”

“What?” Niall chuckled as he picked his head up and saw the sight of her, holding his hand out in recantation, “I’m not complainin’, I love me a good bowl of cereal.”

She rolled his eyes at his comment. “I’m making you a real breakfast, I can do that you know,” she quipped, grabbing a pair of wool socks from her top drawer and slipping them on her feet, “I’m not incapable of making eggs and toast and–” she paused, her eyes scrunching up in dramatized thought as she tapped her finger on the jut of her chin, “..and what are those little sticks of meat called again? My feeble mind can’t remember…”  

Niall let out a snort at her joke and quirked a brow as he threw his hands up behind his shaggy head of hair. “You’re just bein’ a little shit now,” he chided, “but it’s sausage.”

“Ahh yes, sausage,” Chloe continued with a tilt of her head, not missing a beat, “a breakfast delicacy. I will very much attempt making you some precious sausage too.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Niall mumbled with a half smirk and a shake of his head.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Chloe leaned a knee up in the end of her bed and narrowed her eyes. “And you’re terrible, you know that?” she teased.

Niall shrugged. “I do love rilin’ ya up.”

“Oh, I know.”

“But ya like it.”

Giving him a soft giggle, Chloe swept her dark hair off of her shoulder and leaned down on her hands as she climbed back up the bed and right over top of Niall. His eyes were glued up at her; not wanting to miss a single flutter of her eyelashes or the soft crinkle of a smile on her lips and she waited, hovering over him before reaching over and gently running her hand through the top of his hair. It was incredibly soft, like freshly woven silk threading through her fingers, and she stared down at him as her touch slipped from the ends of his hair and dragged along the side of his face. Niall gulped back a steadying breath, watching the trace of her dark eyes as they followed the delicate motions of her fingertips and it was less than a second before she was gripping harshly around his stubbled chin and pressing her mouth to his. “I like you,” she whispered as she faintly pulled back, biting his taste off her lips. She smiled at him, a sweet smile that made her dimples pierce into her cheeks and just as Niall was about to wrap his hands around her waist and yank her down on top of him, she quickly back away and clambered off the bed.

“One birthday breakfast with extra sausage coming up,” she announced as she fixed the hem of her t-shirt and began to shuffle towards the door of the bedroom.

Niall’s hands plopped down to his sides in a grunt. “I’m gonna give you some extra sausage,” he mumbled under his breath.

Whipping her head around to peer at him over her shoulder, Chloe smiled though her giggles and playfully rolled her eyes at his crude little joke. “Oh, I’m sure you will, big boy, but you definitely gotta shower first.”

He laughed, rubbing his hand across his bared chest and tipping his head to the side. “Shower with me?”

Pinching her eyes shut for a moment in thought, Chloe let out a huff. “Okay, fine. Shower first, then breakfast. But we gotta be fast, ‘cause I’m fucking starving.”

“Deal.”

“Niall, babe...it’s, like, almost five…”

Chloe wasn’t trying to bring much attention to the fact that it was nearly two hours past the time that Rachel was supposed to have Finny back at Niall’s house, but even she had begun to get worried by that point. The party had already started and was in full force; the food was out, drinks flowing and the room filled with the happy chattering of their friends and guests who had all arrived. All except for one. Fionn. Chloe could tell by the intensely nervous wiggle of Niall’s knee as he sat on the arm of the couch and the shakiness of his thumb as it hovered over the screen of his phone, that he was feeling that same deep and unsettling worriedness too. He had already tried to call Rachel six times, and Niall was contemplating making one more.  

“I know, love,” he quietly mumbled, peeking up at Chloe who was standing beside him with a mixed drink clutched in her hand, “she hasn’t answered any of me calls. I–...I don’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t think…” Chloe paused briefly at her own ignorant thought, Niall’s eyes narrowing slightly as he darted his stare over hers. “No...no, she’s gonna bring him back.”

Huffing out a sigh, he ran a jittery hand up through his dark hair as he dropped his eyes back down to his phone. “Yeah...she will, I know she will.”

“Maybe something just came up?”

Niall let his chin hang to his chest with a short sigh, reaching up to mindlessly rub his fingertips across the side of his forehead. Chloe rolled her lips into her mouth as she watched him; she could feel the anxiousness he was exuding and it hurt her to even fathom the thoughts were going through his mind. Gently placing a palm to his upper back, she rubbed down the span of his broad shoulder to splay her hand at the front of his chest and bent over, pushing a sweet kiss to the top of his head. “It’s gonna be fine, baby,” she softly whispered as she gave him another calming peck to his temple, “he’ll be here any min–”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence before they heard Niall’s front door swing open and the shrill voice of Rachel belting out across the expansiveness of the condo. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The entire room fell silent, an eerie silent, just the faint sound of the music playing in the background as all eyes went wide and shot over to where Rachel was standing by the front door. Chloe’s mouth fell agape at the sight of her, quickly peeking down at Rachel’s side to see Finny stumble into the doorway after her, his little overnight bag strapped to his back.

“Da!”

Chloe heard a faint gasp slip from Niall’s lips as he caught glimpse of his son and he stood up beside her, a huge smile forming on Fionn’s face as he ran towards his father, colliding his tiny body right into Niall’s awaiting arms. Chloe peeked over to watch them, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips as Niall crouched down and hugged Finny with all his might. Fionn’s little arms were wrapped so tight around his dad’s neck, he was surely cutting off his circulation. “Missed you so much, buddy,” Niall mumbled against the side of little boy’s face before he planted a kiss to his cheek, “Glad you’re home.”

“Me too, Da.” It was the sweetest interaction Chloe had ever seen between them and she pulled in a deep breath and brought her hand up to her mouth to cover her growing smile. But her smile, nor the boys’ sweet moment, would last much longer.

“Her, Niall? You’re fucking her?”

It was Rachel’s raucous voice, and insulting words, that once again broke everyone out of their focus on Niall and Fionn and Chloe flung her stare back to the girl standing by the doorway, her brows furrowing wildly at her statement. She could already feel the anger bubbling up in the pit of her stomach, and it was the just the way Rachel was looking at her, that made her want to storm right over and knock her the fuck out.

Niall slowly stood up, Finny keeping his body as close to Niall as he could, hugging him around his waist with his face tucked down against his hip. “Rach–”

“No,” Chloe finally spoke up, flicking her stare over her shoulder to Niall as she held out a palm to stop him. Niall’s mouth sat in a jilted part as he looked at her, his blue eyes wide and the tip of his tongue barely tracing over his bottom lip. Chloe swallowed hard as she kept her stare locked with his, the unspoken words that were wafting between them more than enough to explain what the other meant before she quietly set her drink down on the table and walked over towards Rachel. The girl had her arms crossed tight over her chest, an almost defensive posture with her hip cocked out and her jaw matching and Chloe’s eyes narrowed profusely as she stepped closer to her. She could feel the heavy pounding of her heart in the back of her ears, feel it rattling in her chest and it was merely egging her on. “Do you have a problem?”

“Do I have a problem?” Rachel snickered, rolling her shoulders back, “You’re fucking my husband!”

The air was nearly knocked out of Chloe’s lungs, so much so that it got stuck at the back of her throat as her mouth hung open in what she could only describe as complete and utter shock. Were Chloe’s ears hearing right? Did Rachel really just say that? “You’re, um...you’re what?” Chloe blurted out with a disillusioned chuckle. Was this really happening right now? Oh my God. Whipping her head around, she immediately caught Niall’s stare and pointed down at Fionn who was still firmly attached to his waist. “Cover his ears, now.”

Not even hesitating, Niall put his big palms flat on either side of the little boys face, keeping his stare on Chloe. She threw him a smile before peeking over at Liz, who was standing on the other side of the room from Niall, absolutely dumbfounded at the altercation that was about to take place, before she quickly turned her attention back to Rachel. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on in that deluded head of yours, but he hasn’t been your husband since the moment you fucking spread your legs for some other guy,” Chloe snided, with a quirk of her brow.

Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard what I said,” Chloe continued, glaring at the girl, her voice starting to raise a bit louder than she was anticipating as her unwieldy anger started to build, “you treated him like shit, okay. It was your choice to throw him away for someone else like he didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t give you a good life or a great little boy. But really, ya know, I guess, I should thank you,” Chloe added before stepping closer to Rachel and lowering her voice to just above a whisper, “because he is the best sex I have ever had.”

If Chloe could have taken a snapshot of the look on Rachel’s face in that single moment, she would have treasured it forever. But the glory of what she had clapped back with didn’t last for long and Rachel’s eyes grew big, her mouth pursing into a small line. ��I’m gonna fucking rip your throat out!”

It was a split second of Rachel practically lunging towards Chloe before Niall had rushed over to step between them, Liz hurrying over to grab onto Fionn and holding him tight to her. “Rachel, what the fuck!” Niall yelled out, his body slotting in front of Chloe as he held a hand at Rachel’s torso, “Stop it right now!”

Her head shook back and forth at Niall as she tried to push away at his restraining palm, her deadly glare locked in on Chloe. “You will never fucking have him!”

“Bitch, I already do,” Chloe snipped back, Niall twisting his head to look back at her with furrowed brows as she tried her best to peer around him at Rachel.

Pointing out a finger at the dark haired girl, Rachel’s face was contorted red with anger, an anger that Niall himself had rarely seen in all the years he had known her and he continued to flick his attention between the two girls as he tried his best to control the both of them. “You will never have him like I did, do you hear me?” Rachel continued to shout, “You don’t deserve him and you will never be a mother to my son.”

Chloe’s tensing body slowed to a stop, her raised arms hanging down at her sides as she felt the air lose itself from her strangled lungs. Niall eased back a bit as Rachel took the opportunity to finish what she had started. “I know your secrets, Chloe, all your dark little secrets that you don’t want anyone to know and believe me when I say that Niall would never love a used up slut like you…”

Gasping lightly from her outburst, Chloe’s stare shot wide and her mouth hung open. “Rachel, don’t–”

“He wouldn’t dare waste his time with someone like you if he really knew the truth,” she growled out, her chest heaving under the press of Niall’s hand, “If he really knew the kinda person you are and the things you’ve done.”

With her dark eyes already filling with the wetness of her hot tears, Chloe struggled with keeping her chin from wobbling as she darted her watery stare with Rachel, shaking her head in a plead. “Rachel, please!”

The room fell to a deadly silence, so quiet Chloe could feel it scratching at her eardrums, and no one made a sound, not a single sound, except for the shaky uncertain breath that pushed past Chloe’s lips. Niall peered over at her, his brows wrinkling in confusion and concern and she slowly met his gaze for a moment before looking back at Rachel. “You...you are a horrible fucking person, Rachel,” she squeaked out in a whisper, shaking her head through her weakened cries, “truly a horrible person.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, Chloe slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in her sobs as the tears began to slip down her cheeks and she pushed past Niall and Rachel, running straight out of the opened front door. “Chloe!” Niall yelled out for her, his mind starting to go into a frenzy, unsure as to what exactly was happening and what he should do, “Chloe!”

He felt a rush of air as Liz whizzed past him to follow after Chloe and Niall lowered his hand from Rachel before spinning around and looking straight at Finny. “Little man, I need ya to go in your room for a bit, yeah? Shut your door behind ya.”

Finny quietly nodded his head and took off down the hallway to his room, Niall flicking his stare around to his various friends that were still standing in shock in the open space of his condo. He silently listened for the click of Fionn’s bedroom door before he swung himself back around to face Rachel. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt the amount of anger towards her as he was feeling in that exact moment, not even when he had caught her cheating in his bed. “Have ya fuckin’ lost your goddamn mind?”

“Have you, Niall? She was my friend!”

Niall’s head cocked back, his mouth parted at her comment. “I don’t give a shit if she was your friend, she’s my fuckin’ friend. She’s my best friend and my fuckin’ girlfriend! She was there for me and Finny every fuckin’ day, Rachel, every single day after you left and through all the shit you put us through!”

Rachel let out a displeased huff as her eyes darted fast over Niall’s face. “Oh really, were you fucking her back then to?”

“No, Rachel, ‘cause I’m not a lyin’ manipulative cunt like you.”

A few gasps came from behind Niall and he watched as Rachel dotted her stare around him, his brows cocking up as she slowly eased her eyes back to his. “How could you do this to me?”

“To you?” Niall let out a irritated chuckle and shook his head, running his hand over his face in avid frustration. “I’m not doin’ nothin’ to you! You’re the one fuckin’ comin’ up in here, attackin’ and insultin’ me girlfriend, the girl that I love–….” He stopped as the words left his lips. His head was fuzzy, disoriented with everything that was going on but in that split second, Niall knew that what he had just blurted out was the most coherent, most honest, thing he had said all damn day, or his whole life for that matter. “I fuckin’–, Jesus, I fuckin’ love that girl–and you’re not gonna walk into me house and treat her like that. You don’t get to do that, Rachel. You don’t get to embarrass her in front of all our friends and treat her like a piece of shit just ‘cause you’re pissed off and jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Niall said with a raise of his brows, “Is that why you came in here shoutin’ that I’m still your husband when you’re gettin’ ready to marry someone else? Fuckin’ save it, Rachel.”

“You shouldn’t be with her,” Rachel shot back, darting her eyes over Niall’s.

“That’s not up to you to decide. You’re not allowed to get angry over that and come in here tryin’ to make a fool out of Chloe in front of everyone just ‘cause you’re upset,” Niall continued, waving his hands about as his voice grew louder with conviction, “I know what that feels like; ya did the same exact shit to me and I’m not gonna let ya do it to her.”

His eyes flicked with hers, watching as the heat of her madness bubbled to the apples of her cheeks. “You fucking brought this all on yourself, Niall.”

Swallowing hard, Niall stepped closer to her and leaned in. “You know what? Maybe I did, maybe I was the reason ya cheated on me but I’m glad I brought it on meself. I’m glad ya fuckin’ cheated, shit, I’m fuckin’ ecstatic ya did. And ya know why? Because of that fuckin’ girl,” he went on, pointing a finger over Rachel’s shoulder towards the hallway. “If you’d not done what ya did...if you’d not slept with someone else and broke up our family, I wouldn’t be with her right now, I wouldn’t be the happiest that I have ever been in me life. So, yeah, I’m glad I brought it on meself and I guess I should thank ya for it.”

Rachel gulped back a breath and tightened her arms over her chest. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re fuckin’ insane,” he barked back, “now get the fuck outta me house.”

“Fuck you, Niall!” Rachel screamed out in response as she took a step closer to him. “You’re gonna regret this, all of this! You know that? You’re gonna regret talking to me like this, treating me like this!”

Niall rolled his eyes and shook his head once more as he leaned down into her and pointed towards the door. “Rachel, I’m not gonna say it again, get the fuck out of me house!” The words bellowed out so deep, with so much rage and assuredness, everyone could practically feel it shaking the floor beneath their feet.

The tears began to seep down Rachel’s cheeks as she spun around to walk out of his condo, stopping right as she stepped past the door frame. “You’ll be sorry, just wait. You’ll be fucking sorry for this.”

And with that last bit of a threat, she was gone. Dropping his head into the cradle of his palm as his eyes fell closed, Niall pushed out a deep sigh, his fingertips digging into the skin of his forehead as Jack and Damien both stepped up on either side of him. “Dude…are you alright?”

“Man, what the fuck was that?”

It was really all his friends could say to him, to comfort him as they were having just as hard a time as Niall wrapping their heads around what had just transpired. Carefully lifting his face from the cups of his palms, Niall roughly carded his fingers up through his messy hair and without a word to either guy, went to take a step towards the open door in attempt to go after Chloe just as Liz came flying back into the apartment.

She came to a dead stop right in front of Niall, her big blue eyes darting wild over his. “I...I tried to talk to her,” Liz stuttered out, restlessly gnawing at her bottom lip, “she won’t say anything to me at all, she’s just...crying. You have to go try and talk to her, Niall, you’re the only one that can. She sitting in the north stairwell.”

Niall’s glassy eyes fluttered in slight relief to know that Chloe was at least okay and safe and he let out a shuddered breath before nodding his head at her. “Go check on Fionn,” he ordered Liz, “I’ll go get her.”

[nialledfromfics]

- twenty -

“I’ll let you drag me to hell if it means you’ll hold my hand.”

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes

But it’s the only thing that I know

When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time’s forever frozen still

So you can keep me

Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Holding me closer ‘til our eyes meet

You won’t ever be alone, wait for me to come home

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul

And it’s the only thing that I know, know

I swear it will get easier,

Remember that with every piece of you 

and it’s the only thing we take with us when we die

You can fit me

Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen

Next to your heartbeat where I should be

Keep it deep within your soul

And if you hurt me

Well, that’s okay baby, only words bleed

Inside these pages you just hold me

And I won’t ever let you go

song

previous chapters

I could have never known what my life was going to turn out to be. I could have never known that within a year’s time, I would fall madly in love and marry that man and become a mother. Not in a million years could I have ever known that. But I’m so grateful it happened.

Our beautiful daughter, Emerald “Emmie” Horan, was born three weeks later. Gorgeous bright blue eyes with a ring of gold to match her daddy’s and a full head of stark blonde hair to match her mama’s. She was healthy, vigorous and full of life. I couldn’t have asked for a better baby girl. Proud was an understatement; the moment I saw her sweet pale little face, with her chubby pink cheeks and big wide eyes, she reminded me so much of him. She was all him. And I was finally happy again. She brought the life back to me when I was certain I had no more. She made me realize what I was here for. What he had left me. Her and her brother, Cash.

I moved to Mullingar a couple weeks before she made her grand appearance, the timing of it all pretty damn impeccable. Cash and I had just fully settled into our new place when I awoke in the middle of the night with labor pains. It all seemed like a blur really, flashes of him in my head as I screamed and pushed for hours, finally bringing our precious and most perfect baby into the world. I cried when I laid eyes on her, smiling blissfully through my tears as the doctor gently rested her on my chest, knowing that Niall had been right the entire time. It was a girl. And he knew.

He always knew.

And I knew exactly what to name her.

I tucked my wind blown hair behind my ear as I drove, all alone with the windows down and the radio blasting, the bright Irish summer sun tingling my skin. Adjusting my sunglasses, I peered down at the gauges, seeing I would need petrol soon in the Range but knew I had just enough to make it back to Dublin. I slid my hand down the steering wheel as I turned onto a different road, my head tipping back against the headrest as I picked up my speed just a little bit.

Every time I sat in this seat, in his car, it made me think about him. Remember him. My mind settling back and replaying everything that happened that day.

I stayed in that closet, wrapped up in the warmth of my little boy for what seemed like hours. No noises echoing out in the condo, no rustling, yelling or gunshots; just silence. Niall had left, and he had yet to come back. I finally got the courage to emerge from our safe spot about four hours later, Cash absolutely starving as he had begun to get restless and both of us dying of thirst. I eased us out, still wiping away at the tears that endlessly seemed to fall from my eyes and slowly walked us out into the main living area towards the kitchen. The entire house was a disaster, broken furniture and household objects everywhere, broken glass and torn up papers. Pressing my eyes closed, I gulped in a breath and swallowed hard, shifting Cash on my hip as my eyes fluttered back open and I stepped through the mess to make my way into the kitchen.

I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew this little boy had to eat. Picking up his knocked over high chair, I placed him in it and settled him in with some cereal and a cup of milk. Taking a drink of water, I turned and glanced around the room. With my eyes almost swollen shut from crying and a headache that could have probably sliced my head in two, I rubbed my palm down my tummy before letting out a defeated sigh. This place obviously wasn’t safe for Cash and wasn’t going to clean itself and with not much else I could do as I waited for Niall to come back, I decided to try and tidy up a bit. Turning back to Cash, I shot him a smile as he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and bent over to kiss the top of his head before I got to work straightening up.

I spent the next few hours cleaning up as much as I could, overturned furniture having to be left as I could not possibly lift most of it. I was able to get a shower in as Cash took a little nap, my ears on high alert as I still had that nagging feeling that something bad was going to happen at any second. It had been hours and I still hadn’t heard anything from Niall and it was seriously starting to worry me. Checking my phone relentlessly, I called his number over and over, but still nothing.

I tried to fight it off, tuck it away and pretend it wasn’t there, but that feeling, that sick and twisted feeling that I knew so fucking well that kept bubbling back up in the pit of my stomach. Cash was the only thing that could settle it. Looking at him, knowing he needed me, was the only thing that helped me stay calm.

A little bit after his nap, I had set him down in his room so he could play, the only space safe enough for him and not disturbed by the intruders. Walking back out towards the living room, I was stopped mid step as I heard my cell phone ringing from the bedroom. Rushing in, my heart was beating like crazy as my fingers mindlessly fumbled to grab the phone and answer it, not even wasting a moment to check who it was.

“Niall?” I choked out, weirdly out of breath. My fingers curled into the bottom hem of my top as I waited, listening intently for the sound of his voice.

“Um…hello. I’m looking for a….Jules?”

The voice was unfamiliar, my heart stalling and sinking in my chest. I ran a hand through my hair, my jittery fingers pressing to my mouth as I stumbled with my words. “I, uh…t-this is h-her…”

“Hello dear, this is Katie ringing from St. James Hospital–”

“Hospital?” I cut her off, my voice cracking as I eased myself down on the bed, sitting on the edge, my face dropping into my palm. No. Oh God, this isn’t happening. No!

The woman paused on the other end. “Yes, ma’am. I’m ringing you because we have a patient here that has come in to us in very critical condition and it would be best for you to come round to the hospital as soon as possible–”

I swallowed hard, the tears already burning their way up my throat. “W-who is it?” I practically shrieked at her through the line, praying his name would not be the one she answered with.

“Niall Horan, ma’am.”

The blood stopped cold in my veins, my heart ceasing to beat. My eyes went wide, mouth falling agape as my face lifted from the cradle of my palm. I felt the heat rise straight from my toes to my cheeks and the room quickly becoming a blurry haze as I fought back my tears. “Is…um, is he o-okay?” I stammered out, my voice weak.

I heard her clear her throat. “Ma’am he’s been very critically injured, he…I think it’s best you just come round.”  

I didn’t even give her time to finish before hanging up the phone and jumping up to rush into Cash’s room, grabbing him and taking off out of our condo towards the tram. We arrived at the hospital within eighteen minutes, my breaths quick and my heart racing out of my chest as I held Cash in my arms and made my way to the main front desk.

“Hi…um,” I spoke hurriedly as I wiped the tears from my cheeks, “I’m looking for Niall Horan? I- I got a call-”

“Are you Jules?” A doctor that was standing nearby asked as she had overheard my worried voice. I peered up, a group of six or so nurses and doctors all staring at me.

My mouth dropped slightly and I just nodded my head before knitting my brows. “Where is he?” I asked, stepping up to them, “Is he okay?”

“Why don’t we find a quiet place to talk–”

“No!” I screamed out to her, yanking my arm away from her grasp as she had tried to lead me elsewhere. “Where is he? I need to see him, where is he?”

“Jules–”

“Mrs. Horan,” I corrected, darting eyes with her and flicking my stare to the other nurses. “I’m his wife. Now tell me where the fuck he is!”

“Listen, Mrs. Horan, I think we should just take a moment–”

“No!” I shouted, shaking my head, the tears filling the brims of my eyes as I struggled to hold Cash on my hip. “I want to see him! Let me see him! Now! I want to see him right now!”

“I understand that Mrs. Horan, but things have changed drastically since–”

My eyes went big, my dry lips parting as I locked my watery stare on hers. “What-…what do you mean-…he’s okay, right? You said he was okay!” My eyes whipped over to each of the other hospital staff, the looks on their faces making the sickening feeling swell from my stomach all the way to my fingertips. “You said he was okay!” I burst out in a cry, my legs buckling underneath me. “He’s okay…y-you said…he’s…he’s okay–”

A nurse jumped out to grab at me, another reaching out to grab at Cash. They tried pulling him from my grasp as my feet stumbled to regain my balance. “Give me my son!” I snapped at them, tightening my grip around Cash and tugging him closer to my body. “Give me my son…you can’t…you can’t take him away!”

“Mrs. Horan, please, we aren’t taking your son away, we just need you to calm down–”

My head shook as I stood back on my feet, my face drenched in tears as I frantically shot my eyes around the building. “Where is he?” I yelled over and over, my voice getting more shrill, “I need to see Niall, please. Where is he? Please!”

I dropped my head, my arms curling tight around Cash as I shut my eyes and buried my nose in the soft dark hair at the top of his head. “Please…please I just need to see him.”

“Ma’am…”

I shot my eyes up, completely bloodshot and entirely hopeless. “Please,” I whispered.

Nodding her head, she pressed her lips in a line and gently reached out to take my hand. “Okay, you can see him.”

A nurse followed us as the doctor slowly led us down the hall, past the emergency and ICU units and straight back to the very end of the hallway. Stopping in front of a windowless door, the doctor turned to me, her soft brown eyes floating over my grief stricken face. Throwing a nod to her accompanying nurse, he reached out to open the door, my body freezing on the spot as my blurry eyes began to focus on the sight in front of me. My mouth dropped open as I slowly stepped into the chilly room, my chin trembling as I struggled to pull in a breath. My chest was on fire as it begged for air, my lungs constricting as my dry throat began to close up.

There he was.

Covered in a sheet.

“Mrs. Horan,” the doctor spoke up softly, “I want you to know that we did everything we could to save your husband. The damages…they were just too significant in the end–”

I gasped in a jagged breath, my eyes rolling back in my head as my body fell limp and I began to fall to my knees. The nurse reacted fast and caught me under my arms to ease me to the floor as the doctor reached out and slipped Cash from my limp arms, holding onto him. My head drooped low, my body heaving and shaking as I strained to take in strangled breaths, sharp and painful through my sobs.

I pressed my eyes closed, tipping my head back as the hot tears streamed down the sides of my face and over my jaw, beading up at the collar of my shirt. “Niall…” I whispered, letting my head roll forward again. I let out a loud cry. “No! No no no!” I screamed, slapping my hands down to the cold tiled floor in front of me until my palms began to turn beet red, “No! No! No…no!”

The nurse bent down beside me, a caring hand rubbing over my back as I continued to cry and mumble incoherently under my breath. Shaking my head, I wiped at my tears with the back of my hand before forcing my swollen eyes open. I stared forward at the hospital bed in front of me, my head clouded with emotions and too many vivid thoughts of him. “What happened to him?” I finally spoke up, my voice soft.

The doctor let out a shallow sigh. “Mrs. Horan, I think we should–”

“What happened to him?” I demanded a bit louder, looking up at her.

“He was brought in with a gunshot wound to the head.” I squeezed my eyes shut again, rolling my lips into my mouth as I let my head hang down, my hunched over back heaving through my continued cries. “We tried our best. The injuries were just…we thought we had him stabilized, but it was just too much damage in his brain for him to fight anymore. He unfortunately passed a few minutes after we contacted you.”

I slipped my fingers through the sides of my hair, tucking my face down into the sides of my forearms as I let my mind try and wrap around everything she was telling me. My love, my beautiful love, my husband, my life. He was gone. He was really fucking gone.

Sucking in a breath, I shot my eyes up, lifting my chin to look back up at the bed. “I want to see him.”

“Mrs. Horan, we don’t really advise anyone to see the deceased–”

“He’s my husband!” I shouted, furrowing my brows as I looked up at her. “I need to see him. I have to…” I flicked my eyes back over to Niall, swallowing hard as I felt the tears filling the brims of my eyes. “I need to say…say goodbye.”

Without another word spoken, the doctor and the nurse left me alone in the cold dimly lit room with Niall, taking Cash with them. Letting my eyes flutter closed, my fingers curled around my knees as I stayed knelt on the floor, not sure if I even had the strength to get up. I blew a heavy breath past my dry split lips, swallowing back my need to just want to sit here on the floor and cry for a few more hours.

Easing myself up to my feet, I tucked my bottom lip in between my teeth as I slowly walked over to the hospital bed. My broken heart knocked against my ribcage as I got closer and I reached out with my shaky hand, slowly dragging my fingertips along the edge of the bed over the sheet and tracing the length of his body. Pausing my fingers by his shoulder, I let my fingertip graze over the stretch of the sheet, my frail body coming to a stop right beside him. He was completely covered, the soft yellow colored fabric gently draped over him from head to toe. I could see the gentle outline of his profile pressing against the material and I pushed a hand to my mouth, pinching my eyes shut as I tipped my head to the side, the thought of him not breathing, not alive underneath that sheet, far too much for me to take.

I sniffed back my tears, wiping them away from under my eyes as I blinked away the haziness, and peered back down at him. I had to do this. I had to see his face. Taking in a deep breath, I reached out with one hand, my fingers curling into my fist as I hovered it over the front of his face. My chin shook as I forced myself to keep going, reaching near the top of his head to pinch the material of the sheet between my fingers and gently tugging on it.

I could feel the air around me become stagnant, sticking to the inside of my dry throat as I struggled to swallow down the sick feeling that was swirling so vehemently in my stomach. Pulling the sheet all the way down to uncover his face, I gasped, dropping it to drape at his shoulders as I slapped a hand to my mouth, stumbling back and grabbing at the side of the bed to steady myself so I wouldn’t collapse to the floor again.

Covered in bruises and scrapes, they had bandaged his head where his gunshot wound was, but he was still covered in splattered blood, dried and flaking off his pale skin. His eyes were closed, the area around them swollen and tinged a light purplish blue. His nose still soft looking, bruised but dotted with his dark freckles mixed with spots of blood. His lips pale, chapped and split down the middle, mouth slightly parted with crusted blood seeping out of the corner and down into the stubble that covered his chin. His cheeks were not their usual bright pink, they were not puffy from happiness and flushed from pleasure. They were sunken in and cut up and his skin was almost snow white.

But past everything, he was still my Niall.

The hot tears filled my eyes once again and I dropped my hand from my mouth and reached out to touch along the side of his face. His skin was tepid, not its normal fire warmth but not quite cold. My fingers shook as I slowly dragged them along his skin, combing them through the hair that stuck out above his ear. “Oh, Niall…” I whispered, my voice so soft that I could barely hear myself over my sniffles, but I knew he could hear me.

“Why?” I asked him softly, pausing as if I was waiting for him to answer me. My focus shifted from watching my fingers to rest back at the soft skin of his face, tracing over all his ruggedly delicate features. He was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life. “Why would you do this? To me? To Cash…oh God, baby, why?”

I began to cry again, pushing my other hand to my forehead as I dropped my chin down to my chest. My shoulders trembled as I cried quietly, the tears falling heavy as if this was the first time I had cried all day. “Why did you leave me?” I said, my voice raising as I looked back down at him. “Why did you leave us? You didn’t even get to meet your baby…”

The words drifted off as I flicked my eyes away from him, scraping my teeth along my bottom lip. “Our baby…” I mumbled.

I peered back down at him, my head shaking as I drew in a breath. “I love you. I love you and you left me. You swore you’d never leave me!” I threw my hands to my face, cupping them around as I gently sobbed, the reality of what I was now going to have to face on my own hitting me hard. My eyes popped open as I heard the door to the room swing open, the doctor slipping half inside.

“Mrs. Horan, are you alright?”

Dropping my hands to the edge of the bed, I softly nodded my head to her, watching as she gave me a small smile and stepped back out. Glancing back down at him, I let my eyes drift across his features, soaking up every bit of him that I could. Anger was not what I wanted to leave here with, I wasn’t angry with him, I was angry with the cards that we had been dealt. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. But that didn’t change how I felt about him. I loved him.

I would always love him.

Leaning down, I softly cupped my small hand around his stubbled jaw as I rested the side of my face to his, my lips settling right at his ear. My eyes fluttered closed as I took in a deep breath, the faint smell of him still evident as I breathed him in and held him in my lungs. “I will always love you. You will always be my everything, my heart and soul. I will never forget what you’ve given me, what you showed me, everything you taught me. I will be the mother to our children that you never had, just like you were the love of my life that I never thought I deserved. You are my hero, my protector,” I let out a small cry, a tear slipping down my skin as I pressed my temple against his, “You are the love of my life….and I will never forget you.”

Raising my face from his, I placed a tender kiss to the top of his cheek. “Thank you, Niall.”

I come back to Dublin a few times a week. I have to, for many reasons. It has been a year since Niall left us. An entire year that I have been alone, raising our children by myself. An entire year that I have had to process and try and work through everything that happened that day. The worst day of my life. I don’t discuss it much with the children; it isn’t necessary to talk about the bad times, but I do make sure I tell Cash and Emmie about all the good times with their father. All the things he did and said, how much he loved and cared for them. It’s important to me that they know how much they meant to him.

Every time I look at our daughter, I see him. Everytime Cash asks me where his daddy is, I have to stop myself from choking up. They are my life now, they are what makes it worth getting out of bed everyday and what keeps me going when some days I just really don’t want to. Everything I do, it’s for them. No matter what, I will always be grateful to Niall for giving me one of my greatest gifts; our children.

Pulling to a stop, I turned off the car and opened the door before hopping out. I made sure to lock the black Range behind me as I carefully began to walk across the bright green grass. The sun was shining down on me, so warm and comforting and I took it as a sign, letting a smile drape across my face. It was like he was watching me, looking down on me, with me…always.

Just like he promised he would be. Like he promised he’d always take care of me, me and both our babies. We were his entire life, his top priority and every time I looked into the sweet faces of our children, I could hear his voice in the back of my head, ‘I take care of me own.’

And that he did.

He really did.

I couldn’t do anything but cry, my heart completely shattered to pieces. The hospital called me a taxi to take me back to our house, the house that was ours, that I shared with him and he no longer would come home to. My head was clouded with sadness, loneliness and the feeling of uncertainty as I climbed into our bed, my little boy snuggled up against me and wanting to do nothing more than to just cry myself into a deep sleep and never wake up.

We did fall asleep, for a few hours at least, Cash tucked under my arms and both of us cuddled under the blankets, when I heard a soft knock at the door. It was late. Really late.

I sat up in the bed, a little befuddled from everything that had happened and rubbed at my eyes before glancing down to see a heavy sleeping little boy beside me. His puffy red cheeks were pressed into the pillow as his little lips parted slightly from his steady breaths. He had no idea his daddy was gone. No idea what any of this meant for us.  

Neither did I really.

Hearing another small knock at the front door, I knitted my brows and eased myself out of the bed and out of our mess of a bedroom. The house was still pretty much in shambles, not having the strength to do anything but sob my pain away. I shuffled through the mess to my front door, pressing my hands against it as I leaned in. “W-ho is it?” I asked, my throat excruciatingly dry and making my already weakened voice crack.

“It’s, um…it’s me…Cian.”

Pulling my face in a little, I slowly opened the door and was met with the heavy brown eyes of Niall’s brown haired friend. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, face drooping low as he peered at me. We just stared at each other for a moment, the silence between us more than enough conversation. His eyes shifted as he cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “I, uh…I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Jules,” he began, not able to make eye contact with me. I swallowed hard, crossing my arms over my chest as I listened. “I know how much he loved ya.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, my bloodshot eyes rolling back a bit as I felt the tears begin to fill them again.

He shuffled nervously on his feet, his shoulders hanging forward as he lagged on the words that he seemed to feel he needed to say. “I…shite…” he mumbled, running a hand over his face. “I’m not good with words…” I rolled my lips in my mouth, pulling in a shaken breath as I stood in front of him. Reaching out to me, I was startled as he pulled me into a hug, my eyes pinching shut as it was the most familiar thing I had felt all day.

He stepped back and cleared his throat again and I peered down at my socked toes, reaching up with my fingers to tuck some hair behind my ear. “I was with him, Jules.”

Slowly raising my blue eyes to meet his, my mouth parted slightly as I tipped my head to the side. “What?”

“I…I was with Niall,” he repeated. “You know, when…when it happened.”

I gasped under my breath at his statement, my watery eyes flicking away from him as I blinked back my tears. “It…it happened so fast…” I heard his voice break a bit, clear emotion coming from him as he spoke. “I was the one who…took him to the hospital.”

My chin fell to my chest, my hand covering the front of my face as I tried to hold back my cries. “I wasn’t, um…I wasn’t sure when…fuck, even if I should come see ya, but he…”

I heard him sniffle back some tears, my stare rising to look up at him. I could see his jaw clenching, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “He wanted me to tell you somethin’. He was barely hangin’ on but he made me promise I’d tell ya.”

My chin trembled as I darted eyes with him, my heart almost skipping a beat as my breaths began to quicken in my chest. “He said…he said somethin’ about forgettin’ to tell ya somethin’? I don’t know it was all so fast and…anyway,” he paused, sucking in a breath, “he said to tell ya ‘It’s Cash’s birthday’.”

I shook my head at him lightly, my brows knitting in confusion. “I really don’t know, Jules, I don’t know what that means…I’m sorry.”

“Did he s-say anything else?” I asked him softly.

I watched as Cian’s eyes filtered down my wrecked face, his lips pressing into a line. “He said to tell ya he loved ya. And that, um…he was sorry. Sorry for leavin’ ya.”

My eyes squeezed shut, my shaky lips pressing tight together as I nodded my head, the hot tears slipping down over my cheeks. “I’m, um, I’m gonna go now. I just…he wanted me to tell ya so…”

“Okay,” I muttered out between small cries, “Thank y-you.” I slipped my hand from the cross of my arms and grabbed at the door handle, flicking my eyes up to watch as he walked away, his head hanging down. Closing the door, I burst out a few more cries, my mind trying to wrap around what Cian had told me and what the hell Niall was talking about. It made no sense.

Quietly walking back to the bedroom, I wiped my tears with the back of my hand as I carefully pulled up the covers so I could slide back in the bed with Cash. Drawing in a stable breath as I eased my pregnant body down into the bed, my eyes shot over to Niall’s closet, something struggling to click in my head as I caught sight of the safe.

Cash’s birthday.

The safe.

Cash’s birthday is the code to the safe.

Glancing down at Cash, still sound asleep, I eased myself back out of the bed with a huff and walked over to the safe. As long as we had been together, I still didn’t know everything that was in there. It was a secret. A secret that I was about to find out.

Kneeling down in front of it, I put the code into the number lock, my fingers shaking as the door clicked open and I took in a deep breath, letting my eyes fall closed. I had no idea what I was going to find in there. A gun, some money for sure, but everything else was a complete mystery to me. And I was more than frightened.

‘It’s all in the safe, Jules.’ His voice rang out in my head.

Licking at my lips, I slowly peeked open my eyes, my one hand gripped so tight to the little handle on the safe, I thought the metal would cut through my skin. I let my eyes filter a bit over the contents, my head filling with even more confusion as I realized it was mostly just stacks of papers.

A gun, a couple bundles of money and….papers. I whipped my head around to look at Cash over my shoulder as he shifted in the bed, checking to make sure that sweet little boy was still asleep before focusing my attention back to the safe. Carefully reaching inside, I pulled out the gun, setting it down by my bent knees on the floor in front of me. I swallowed hard, grabbing the three huge stacks of bundled money that I saw. Quickly flipping through it, I shook my head at myself as I figured it had to be at least €10,000 right there in my hands.

Setting down the money, I reached back in and gently grabbed a folder and pulled it out. I knit my brows as I held it in my hands, slowly opening it and resting it on the round of my belly as I began to read through the small stack of papers that filled it. My heart began to race, my stomach fluttering and filling with shock as my breath caught in my throat. Eyes wide, I clamped a hand over my mouth, holding in the tiny sounds that were escaping from my mouth.

It was all here. Everything.

All in my name.

He had bought us a house in Mullingar, an estate in the countryside and registered it under my name. Shakily flipping the paper over, I let out a gasp as I quickly read over the next statement, my eyes undoubtedly glazing over. A bank account registered in my name with the balance reading well over €22 million. He had opened me an account and transferred his entire savings into it. I pinched my eyes shut, the tears once again beginning to fill them. Oh my fucking God, Niall. I had no idea.

Peeling them back open, my fingers shook as they turned over the papers that laid in this folder, one by one as the tears just fell down my face, this time the feelings different than anything else I had been feeling all day. They were tears of happiness, of amazement, of pure relief.

Coming to the last few papers in the folder, I felt a warmness overtake my body, the color seeping back to my dreary skin as my stare scanned over the document. He was mine. All mine.

I flicked my blurry stare back over to Cash on the bed. Niall had signed all rights over to me. I was now Cash’s sole and legal guardian.

Cash was my son.

Tossing the folder to the floor, the papers spilled out as I dropped my face in my hands, my back heaving as I cried, the tears wetting the front of my t-shirt. I was able to settle myself a few moments later and wiped at my cheeks with my fingers before looking back into the safe, yanking out the last few papers that remained.

Glancing over them, I became confused again when I read that Niall had signed a huge storage facility that was somewhere right outside of Dublin over to me. I had no idea what this was, or what was even in it, but at this point almost nothing could surprise me.

Collecting everything from the floor, I put it all back in the safe, exactly how he had it and closed it up. I sat there on the floor for awhile, my eyes glued to the safe as I contemplated everything that had happened to me in the last 24 hours, how drastically my life had changed.

I had gone from happily married to the love of my life to a widowed single mother of two. Just like that. In an instant he was gone. Ripped from me forever.

But he kept his promise.

He said he’d always take care of me. And he did. Even now that he was gone, he was still taking care of me.

“Oh my God, Niall,” I breathed out.

A life with Niall could be intensely heart wrenching, tumultuous and frightening. But a life without him was nothing. I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone before. More than I had been willing to admit for the longest time. He changed me, he showed me things I never knew existed.

I spent my whole life wondering if what I had been dealt was it for me, if that was all I ever deserved. But he let me know that I was worth so much more. I was worth love and affection and happiness. And I like to think I showed him the same. From the moment I met Niall, I knew he was special, I knew he was going to change my life. I just didn’t realize how until that day.

I always think about the circumstances around how everything ended. The way he spoke to me and touched me as I was huddled in that closet with his son. The way he looked at me before he walked out that door, my voice calling after him. Did he know something bad was going to happen to him? Was he expecting it? Or was it all just precautionary for him to make sure that me and the children were taken care of? I didn’t know, and frankly, worrying about trivial things like that just seems to make me more upset.

Because after it’s all said and done, he was right. He was always right. He swore he would always protect me, and he did. He risked his life to save me and our children. He swore he would always look after me, and he did. He swore he would always be there for me.

And in his own way, he is.

I swear, I can still feel him sometimes. When I’m awake lying in bed at night all alone. I can feel the heat of him curl up next to me, hear his laugh rumble in my ear, his rough but tender touch on my skin. It’s like it’s forever engrained in my being and I just miss it so much. I miss him so much. The way he loved me, so honest and pure, I know I will never find that again. But, to be fair, I don’t want to.

Niall was my husband, my only love, my soulmate. He was my everything, the same way I was to him.  

Bending down in front of the tombstone that was marked with his name, I let a half smile spread across my lips as my eyes dragged over the etched words that were carved deep into the marble. Wiping away at a lone tear that slipped its way down my cheek, I pulled a small picture from my pocket and glanced down at it, smiling lightly before reaching over and placing it at the bottom of the gravestone with all the others. I stood back up, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment and my lungs expanding as I breathed in the fresh air that surrounded me and just let myself give into that safe and familiar feeling of his presence right next to me.

I loved that feeling.

Slowly opening my eyes to the bright of the day, I gently brought my fingers up to my mouth, placing a kiss to the tips of them before reaching out and touching the top of the tombstone. “I will always love you,” I said aloud, sucking in a breath and slipping my sunglasses back on my face. Slowly turning around, I shuffled my way back to the car. I drove in silence with the warm breeze blowing through my hair, making my way to my next stop for the day. I have gotten used to this routine, something I do a few times a week and have for the past ten months. I knew what needed to get done and I knew what I had to do.

Pulling up to the next location, I parked the car and leaned my body over, reaching up to the mirror. I flipped it down and caught the small brass keys in my hand as they fell, popping the mirror back up and reaching down to open the glove compartment. Grabbing the engraved handgun, I leaned forward a bit and tucked it down inside the waistband of my pants before slipping on a small blazer to help keep it concealed. I smoothed down my windblown hair with my palms just a bit and stepped out of my car, slamming the door shut and walking straight towards a large seemingly vacant storage facility.

I was met by two men standing outside a tall locked metal gate, both of them acknowledging me with a head nod as I took out my brass keys and proceeded to open the heavy gate. Tucking them down into my pocket, I walked through and made my way to another door that led into the large warehouse looking building. I followed the span of a long corridor and came to a stop right in front of another metal door before easily turning the knob to let myself in.

Stopping right inside the doorframe, all eyes fell to me as I glanced around the huge open space, a few dozen men bustling around to get their work done. Turning to smile at Cian, who was now standing to my right, he gave me a polite smile in return. “Mornin’ Boss,” he declared, giving me a nod.

“Good Morning.”

They say when someone you love dies, a piece of you goes with them. But in my case, all of me went with Niall. My heart, my soul, every shred of my being. It was buried in that cold ground with him.

But I’ve learned to cope with that loss and heartache. I’ve learned to live. I’m here. I’m alive and I have our children to raise. I have a life to live because of Niall. He loved me unconditionally, fully and without regret. He showed me that I was meant for love, I was meant for greatness beyond anything I could have imagined. He made me who I am. He taught me things, taught me how to survive. He made me stronger, more willing. He made me smarter and powerful, more independent. He made me see things inside myself that for so long people were forcing me to hide. He made me feel safe more than I ever had in my life. He was my Alabama field.

Every single day I miss him, every single day I think about him. Every single day my love for him grows even more. I sometimes think back and wonder if Niall had underestimated me a bit in our time together, in the way that maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing for me, but then I think maybe…just maybe this was his plan all along.

That deep down, he knew from that day we met in that pub what I was capable of, he knew underneath my naive and vulnerable exterior, that I was so much more. That I was ready for so much more. That I could handle so much more.

I mean, someone had to take over the family business…right?