#Skiing in Banff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rebelsandtherest · 2 years

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Home for Christmas

Words: 4,049

Summary: Matthew falls ill just before the family Christmas bash, and thinks he's missed the entire thing. However, once he hears that his baby brother is sick, Alfred concocts a bit of a holiday surprise. —— this fic is a little late, but Merry Christmas, everyone, and here's to many more!

Warnings: langauge, talk of family during holidays, nothing else that I can think of.

Author’s note: a belated gift to a dear friend, @draw-a-circle-thats-the-compass

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For however many hundreds of winters Matthew Williams had endured in his home, be it in the warmth of an electric-heated home, or warding off frostbite in the untamed wilderness, he would never truly get used to the speed with which the solar night crept down from the pole. It was the dark especially that always sent spikes of dread into his bones, stealing away his warmth and setting pallor in his hands and feet, spreading chill upwards to his whole body.

This year, when he felt the frigid fingers of depression reaching through his chest with the 4:30 sunset, he mustered his willpower and on a spiteful whim bought tickets to Calgary. He had a seldom-used mountain cabin tucked away within the confines of Banff, and while he wasn’t sure the new park rangers still received the memo about him and his cabin during orientation, he was willing to invoke the Minister’s ire if it meant he could dust off his best skis and escape his mind on the slopes.

The cabin was just as he’d left it, and the radiators crackled their way to warm almost as soon as he turned them on. His wool blankets had a few new holes in them, but the quilts were warm and the fireplace clean, and he didn’t even have to replace any lightbulbs, not even in the groaning old icebox. His great snowy-white dog, Buddy, quickly found his favorite bear-fur rug and curled up by the fire, ready to dive into the snow alongside his human the next day.

It was only Matt’s luck that he woke up with a sore throat. He lived in denial for a whole day, basking in the perfect weather and flying down every slope he could get his skis on. But as the too-early sunset crept below the mountains, he began to realize he was swaying on his feet, and moreover, that he’d stopped sweating.

“Shit,” He huffed into his scarf. By the time he was back at his cabin, he could taste the fever on his breath.

Matt wasn’t sure what he’d managed to pick up on his journey westward, but whatever it was, be it cold or flu or covid or tuberculosis, within a few days it had him in a death grip and refused to let go. As he lie in bed, fever-dreaming his vacation away, the darkness grew and grew, and soon Matt felt himself falling into the well of despondency that refilled every winter.

Buddy kept him company, and he’d mustered the energy to call his Dutch beau, Jan, once or twice, but the fever had stolen his ability to tell time, and both times he’d spent about half of the call apologizing for waking him at two in the morning, and the other half repeating himself when Jan got lost in his feverish amalgamation of English and French. He had some anxiety-inducing number of unread text messages waiting for him in the corner of his phone, but reading was a doomed endeavor with his puffy, aching eyes. He watched whatever public tv stations still reached his ancient bunny-eared set, but ended up falling asleep nearly as soon as he sat down.

After some untold number of days, his fever broke, and while he was rationing the NyQuil he still had in his cupboards, he’d taken a full dose the first few nights after his fever and had been mostly comatose since. He’d been sound asleep on the couch one afternoon when his phone began to ring, buzzing loudly against the window sill just above him, until it vibrated its way fully off the sill and directly onto Matt’s head.

“Fucking putain,” he groaned and was shocked at how gravelly his voice came out. The offending device had fallen into his lap, buried somewhere in the folds of his blanket, still buzzing away. He fished it out and stabbed at the screen with squinted eyes, looking for the ‘ignore call’ button, but ended up hitting the ‘answer’ button instead. Only then did he see the caller’s name.

“...Mattie? You there?” asked Alfred from the other line. Matt sighed and sank back into bed, rubbing at the spot where his phone had hit, knowing it would be a lump by the end of the hour.

“Yeah?” he answered, trying to rein in his annoyance at being woken up.

“Holy shit bro, you sound terrible. Are you okay?”

“Sick,” Matt told him.

“Sick? I thought you were going skiing!” Matt closed his eyes, which made his head feel like he was spinning.

“I did. Skied. Got sick. Et voilà. ”

“Aww jeez Mattie. Do you think you’ll be good for our flight on Thursday?” Matt blinked.

“What flight?”

“...To London? Dad’s annual fussy Christmas bash, you know the drill.”

“That’s not until the 22nd.”

“...Matt, it’s December 20th.”

“What?” Matt’s voice cracked with his incredulity. “No, it’s… I got here on the 10th, it’s only been a couple of days, the 22nd isn’t until… I mean I don’t know when but it’s more than three days away.”

“Wait you think it’s only been—Mattie, how many days did you ski before you got sick?” Matt hesitated, embarrassed of the answer.

“One.”

“Oh my god,” Alfred sounded genuinely surprised, and it took him a moment to say, “ Matt, you’ve been sick for a week? And you still sound like this? You don’t still have a fever, do you?”

“No, it went away… I can’t remember.” Matt rubbed his face, and every inch ached. “Listen, it’s not December 19th, I swear, if you’re fucking with me–”

“Look at your phone.”

“What?”

“Look at the date on your phone.”

Matt did.

“Fuck,” he said, staring at the giant calendar date as though it would change if he stared long enough.

“Yeah,” Alfred’s voice was tinny away from his ear. Matt finally blinked and sank further under his blankets, and eventually brought the phone back to his face.

“You’re going to have to apologize to dad for me,” Matt said, “I thought it was… Jesus, I missed my flight back to Ottawa, shit.”

“Wait, you're still in Calgary?”

“Banff.”

“You didn’t leave the dog at home, did you?”

“No, he’s with me,” Matt could feel his voice getting more hoarse.

“Well that’s something. Man, you picked a helluva time to get sick, huh.”

“Apparently,” Matt wished he were comatose for all of this.

“Listen, slam some water—or gatorade, if you have it—and get some rest, okay? I know you’re feeding Buddy, but feed yourself too, alright?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Matt.”

“...I’ll try.”

“Good. Listen, I gotta go, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Don’t die.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Glad to hear it. Gotta go. Love you, kiddo, feel better.”

Matt began to respond, but before he could finish, Alfred hung up. Matt watched his brother’s smiling icon disappear from the screen, leaving only the giant, damning calendar. Matt stared at it and sighed, heart sinking down through his bed and the cabin itself and into the frozen ground below. There was no way he’d be in shape to fly to Ottawa in the next three days, to say nothing of flying to Ottawa and then across the Atlantic to London.

Buddy, though far too large to be a lapdog, leapt up onto the couch draped himself across Matt’s body, crawling on his belly until he was able to nose the man’s chin, giving it a lick.

“Yeah I know,” Matt sighed, petting the dog’s soft ears and wishing it could make him feel better. “I guess I should tell dad.” The thought made his heart sink even further. “Uncle Alisdair was going to bring his homemade whiskey and everything. Even Aunt Bridgid agreed to go this year. But I guess it’s just,” Matt craned his neck to look over into his small kitchen. There was an old, half-empty bottle of whiskey and a small bag of miniatures he’d picked up while waiting on his flight. “…that, you, me, and whatever the fuck is left in the fridge. Merry fucking Christmas, eh?” Buddy whined, and licked Matt’s face again. He sighed.

“Yeah, me neither.”

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December 22nd came and went, and by the 23rd, Matthew was less sick than he had been, but still far from healthy. “I imagine Uncle Rhys has already played referee to five fights by now, what d’you think?” He asked his dog. Buddy sneezed. “You’re right, maybe only four.” Matt tried to imagine it; Alfred and Dad, probably, Brighid and dad, certainly. If they were drunk enough, Zee and Uncle Alistair would fight about who was the better skier. Jack wouldn’t hurt a fly so long as he had a beer or cider in hand, though Alfred was certain to seek out arguments for sport—Matt really wished he could get his brother to understand that most people didn’t view arguments as fun.

In past years, he’d spent weeks complaining to Jan about the chaos that accompanied his family’s holiday’s reunions. Now, left alone in a cabin with nothing but his dog, whiskey, and his own thoughts, he realized that he missed it dearly, in the strangest way.

“I’m going to sleep,” he told his dog, who was practically asleep himself. “Hopefully until the New Year.”

It was an ironic cruelty that it was more difficult to sleep while sick than while healthy. It was as if his body was in a civil war over whether it needed to be asleep and miserable or awake and miserable. So, when Matt finally fell into a deep sleep, the half of his body that preferred to be asleep and miserable fought tooth and nail to keep him that way. Unfortunately, someone was trying to break into his house.

It was actually Buddy who finally roused him. Though the banging on the door was difficult to ignore, Buddy’s frantic barking was even harder to ignore. Head pounding, Matt rolled himself bodily out of bed, taking half of the quilt with him. He dragged it behind him, half draped over him, as he trudged to the door. Behind the old white curtain hanging over the door’s window, there was an imposing, human-shaped shadow.

“Fucking park rangers,” Matt groused, and glared down at Buddy. “I thought I told you to remind me to turn the lights off last night.” Buddy barked at him, and Matt sighed. “Listen,” he unlocked the door and pulled on the handle, “I’m allowed to be here, call your superintendent, I’m sure they’ll—Alfred?!”

“Finally!” beamed his brother, clad in a designer parka and what looked like a home-made toque, “I was beginning to think you were dead, which you promised you wouldn’t be. Can I come in? Fucking freezing out here.”

Matt stared for a prolonged number of seconds before he blurted, voice cracking: “Shouldn’t you be in London?” Alfred looked affronted.

“While my baby brother is on his deathbed in the bumfuck nowhere, Alberta? No way!”

“Banff isn’t bumfuck nowhere, and I’m not dying.”

“Banff isn’t, but this cabin sure is, and I’m glad you’re not dying, now can I please come inside? I’m freezing my nuts off out here.” Matt stood aside, still processing the sight of his brother in the flesh. Buddy’s tail was wagging wildly as Alfred came inside, jumping at the chance to sniff the newcomer, dancing happily around the American in a way he did for no one else.

“You should be in London,” Matt said again, head aching.

“I wasn’t about to leave you here, you dumb fuck, jeez, it’s freezing in here, too.” Alfred cast a look down at Buddy. “You let him live like this?” a singular, insistent bark. “Ah, that tracks. Never was good at looking after himself.” He looked up back to Matt, shedding his mittens and shoving them into his coat pockets. “Alright, kiddo, let’s get you packed.”

“Packed?” Matt’s voice squeaked, and he realized even the small amount of talking he’d done with Alfred was killing his voice completely, “Alfred, I can’t go to London, we talked about this–”

“Who keeps talking about London? Not me—we’re going to my place. Idaho!”

“Idaho?” Matt’s brain took a while to buffer. “Wait, at your—”

“At my ranch? Yup!”

Ranch was not the word Matt would have used; Alfred was as rugged a rancher as any rancher alive or dead, but he also had what Matt could only refer to as a Kardashian sense of luxury, and enough money to blend the two lifestyles together. Matt realized all at once the expense Alfred must have spent to abandon the family Christmas, travel north, and prepare his Idaho mansion for his company. “Alfred, you don’t have to, really—”

“Dude, cut the apologies, I’ve broken like, at least four international laws to park my cessna out back, so get your shit and let’s go. No arguing!”

“You what?!”

“C’mon, we’re wastin’ daylight!”

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If Alfred weren’t already breaking laws north of the border for skipping customs, the FAA south of the border surely would’ve surely had complaints about the alterations he’d made to the rear seat of his plane. Where once there had been two passenger seats with requisite seatbelts and safety features, there was now a cozy, cot-sized bed with enough pillows and blankets for two king-sized beds. By the time Alfred had convinced Matt to “just get in the goddamn plane”, Buddy had already found the fluffiest pillow of the bunch and fallen asleep.

“Here, take this.” While the engines warmed up, Alfred leaned back to hand Matt a handful of gummies from the pilot’s seat.

“What is it?” Matt squinted at the candy.

“Delta 8 and melatonin,” Alfred said, replacing his specs with aviators and pulling on his headset. “Now make like your dog and sleep , kay? You look like you need it.”

Matt scoffed. “Thanks,” he said, and chewed the candy together. It was the last thing he remembered doing before Alfred shook him awake and gently informed him that they’d arrived in Bumfuck Nowhere—and it was actually bumfuck nowhere—Idaho.

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Matt had visited Alfred’s Idaho Ranch-Mansion plenty of times since it’d been finished sometime in the late 90s, and the mountain drive from the airport to the wide-windowed lodge was an unexpected source of nostalgia of birthdays, holidays, and drunken benders past. Matt hauled himself to the window once the familiar hand-hewn wooden fences appeared, squinting against the blinding snowy paddocks until the first blanketed horses came into view. Matt couldn’t help but smile, maybe the first smile he’d entertained since falling ill. Alfred’s horse herd was made up of innumerable bloodlines, nowadays, but at the center of their pedigree was the blood of some sturdy old Morgans Matt had gifted to him during his civil war. Alfred kept a book that traced their sires all the way back to their Canadian forefathers, and seeing the newest generations never failed to swell Matt’s heart. As if sensing what his brother was looking at, Alfred said,

“Bonfire foaled twins this year—really late, too, October. I can’t remember if I told you that.”

“Really?” “Yeah, both little stubborn shits too, probably why they both lived. I’ve got them up at the barn to keep warm.”

“What’d you name them?” Matt asked. Alfred grinned, uncharacteristically sheepish.

“Pumpkin and Sweet Potato.”

“Alfred, you have to stop naming them after food.”

“What?! It was October! They’re cute.”

As they pulled up the house, Alfred was still defending his food-inspired horse name choices when Matt spotted something strange in the driveway.

“Who’s car is that?” He asked, eyeing the plain white SUV parked to one side of the massive driveway.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” Alfred bent down to peer at the car. “They didn’t all fit in the Bronco, so I had to rent a car for ‘em.”

“For who?”

“I’ll explain later,” Alfred said, shifting the car into park. Matt didn’t miss the small smirk his brother tried to hide. Immediately, a knot of dread formed in his stomach. “Let’s just get you inside and situated, yeah?”

Alfred didn’t have to explain, because the moment he unlocked the front door, the familiar sounds of pointless arguments flooded his ears.

“-bloody fucking ridiculous,” said the very drunk, very Dad voice somewhere deeper into the house. On the doorstep, Matt froze halfway out of his shoes and shot a look at Alfred, who responded by smiling a bit wider, all-american dimples peaking through

“Well how about I conquer you for a century or ten and then I can tell you you’re ridiculous, you bloated fucken Gobshite! Oi, Jackie, back me up on this!”

“Is that aunt Brighid?” Matt asked, eyeing Alfred again. The American busied himself with physically helping Matt out of his boots.

“I have some slippers for you just inside—watch your step.”

“Oh shite, I think I hear someone at the door,” said a much closer, much more Australian voice, “I’ll be just a minute there, one second!”

“ Alfred how the fuck did you—” The door swung open in a rush.

“Save me,” begged a younger, freckled, brunette version of their father. The white puff at the end of his Santa Claus hat jumped when he did a double take at Matthew. His green eyes lit up like Christmas itself.

“Matt!” He greeted, smile spreading wide as the sun. “You look like shite, it’s so good to see you! Oi! You angry cunts!” he shouted over his shoulder, “Matt’s here!”

“What?”

“Oh, thank Christ. Matthew, come tell this woman—”

“You’ll not drag him into this! The bairn’s ill,”

“Are they,” Matt looked over at Alfred, who was still smiling like a smug bastard. “How did you—you’re—” He looked over at Jack, “I thought you were in London?”

“What?” Jack seemed honestly confused, glancing between Matt and Alfred. “Did the Yank seriously not tell you—” he gave Alfred a look, and upon seeing his smug expression, scoffed. “London was a wash this year,” he laughed, “Happy Christmas, mate, come on in.”

“How’d you get here?” Matt reiterated.

“Like I said,” Alfred piped up, pushing Matt towards the doorway. Looking down, Matt realized that, in his shock, Alfred had been the one to actually remove his shoes for him, “they didn’t all fit in the Bronco, so most of them got here by the last Grand Cherokee Avis had to offer. Go on, we’re letting the cold in.” Before Matt could step fully into the threshold, Buddy had bolted in between his legs, tail alert and wagging, eager to see the rest of the family.

“Buddy!” A feminine voice cried, “C’mere you big baby, say hello to auntie Zee,” a series of happy yelps followed, accompanied by drunken laughter.

“Well the dog is here,” Uncle Alisdair said in his loud brogue, “where’s the rest of the circus?”

“We’re here too,” Alfred said, walking behind Matt into the main living area.

“Och, there they are!” “Matthew, so good to see you,” Father looked genuinely happy to see him, soft smile creasing his eyes in the way that reminded Matt of the happiest parts of his childhood. “Come here, let me look at you.”

“Matt! Croeso ! What’s your poison? Mulled wine? Whiskey? Cider?”

“The bairn is sick, Rhys—”

“Alcohol never hurt anyone on Christmas,”

“Mary and all the saints, how have you lived this long—”

“Come over here and give us a hug, you muppets!” cried Zee, spreading her arms wide, a nearly-empty bottle of wine in one fist.

Matt was frozen in place, still coming off his melatonin and wondering if he was feverish again. He was dimly aware that his jaw was hanging open as he took in the gaggle of family packed into Alfred’s living room—dad, both uncles, Jack, Zee, even aunt Brighid. There were twinkling lights hung all around the vaulted ceilings and reflecting on the tall windows, a fresh-cut Christmas tree lit in the corner with a haphazard collection of presents and duty-free bags piled below, punch and whiskey and wine and beer stacked in disorganized bunches along the nearby bar counter.

“—sure he’s alright?” Zee was asking, when his ears decided to work again.

“He’s fine,” he heard Alfred say, and a warm hand rested on his shoulder. “He’s just a bit surprised.”

“You’re,” Matt said, looking around at them all, and everyone went quiet to listen to him. “You’re not. You’re meant to be in London,” Matt insisted.

“Nonsense!” Alisdair spoke up first. “We go to London every year, it was old enough a century ago, time for a change of pace.” He ignored it when Arthur glared at him. “‘Sides, you brother Money Bags over here promised he would take care of everything, else your dad wouldn’t have ever let TSA so much as look at his Christmas pudding—”

“ Alisdair,” Arthur hissed.

“You didn’t think we’d leave you alone, did you? On Christmas?” Jack was completely earnest when he said it. Seeing his baby brother’s face, and the faces of his ridiculous, loud, chaotic family, Matt suddenly found himself with watery eyes threatening to spill over.

“The kid’s on a few drugs right now, give him a little bit to recover,” laughed Alfred, arm around Matt’s shoulders. “He needs some rest. Come on, kiddo, let’s go get you set up in your—” Alfred paused and looked at their little brother.

“Jack, did you get your stuff—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack waved dismissively. “I moved rooms.”

“Awesome. Come on, kiddo, let’s get you in bed before you fall over.”

“We’ll be here when you wake up!” Rhys called.

“Unless we all have hangovers,” Zee amended, and she and Rhys laughed together. Alfred shook his head and led Matt to his usual room, the only bedroom in the house that had a heated bed.

“Upsy-daisy,” Alfred said, helping Matt up onto the cushioned mattress, pulling out the duvet before Matt sat on it and pulling it immediately over the younger man’s body up to his neck, cozy and warm.

“Hey, hey,” Matt hadn’t realized he’d let tears fall until Alfred was sitting on the bed beside him, brushing hair behind his ear and speaking to him softly in the way that had meant safe since he was a baby. “I wanted to surprise you, not incapacitate you, are you alright?”

Matt wiped his eyes, remembering his lonely cabin and the escape he’d been too sick to enjoy. Alfred’s house was warm and safe, and smelt of Christmas spices that harkened back to his earliest years. “Thank you,” Matt managed, gripping Alfred’s sleeve. “I don’t know how you—I didn’t think—” He sighed, feeling exactly how tired he was. “Thanks, Al.”

Al responded by wrapping him in a hug, warm and tight and safe and everything Matt needed to finally let himself rest. Over Alfred’s shoulder, he could see his dog sneak into the room, hopping up onto the foot of the bed.

“Get some good rest, okay? And don’t worry about anything,” Alfred said into his ear, bending down until Matt was lying back in bed. “We’ll all be here in the morning.”

“The fuck I did! It was your goddamned idea in the first place!” Alisdair’s bellow echoed down the hall and their brotherly moment broke so they could both whip their heads to the door to listen.

“My idea?!” countered their father, in the self-righteous tone that said he’d been at the rum punch a little too much that night, “The entire stupid thing was your doing, beginning to end!”

“You know,” came a third voice, “ I’m fairly sure that—” “Shut up, Rhys!” Shouted Alisdair and Father at once.

Alfred sighed. “Well, we’ll all probably be here in the morning. I’ll tell them to keep it down.”

“No,” Matt said, letting out a tired laugh. The bickering of his father and uncles blurred together in a familiar, lulling haze as sleep beckoned. “No, it’s okay. Merry Christmas, Alfred.” Matt was almost asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, mind’s eye filled with twinkling lights and familiar smiles, morphing into pleasant dreams of holidays past. He was still just awake enough to feel it when Alfred bent to kiss his forehead and brush a hand over his hair.

“Merry Christmas, Mattie. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

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hslllot · 2 years

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A Soft Place to Fall - Part I

Story List

Word count: 3.6k // Rated M // harry x reader

Note: Wowowow ok! So, here’s the first part of what will be a multi-part story. It is just a short lil introduction to our duo... The second part isn’t too far away either :) I want to thank my bullies motivating friends that encouraged me to write and share this! I love writing but am always painfully nervous about sharing. So please, if you like it, let me know! If you don’t like it you can also let me know but I will probably cry. OK ENJOY :)

Part I

In a cozy log cabin at the base of Mount Yamnuska, Harry found himself in a position he thought he’d never find himself in again.

He was hiding.

It was something he tended to do after a particularly difficult break up: Flee to a different country, alone, to write and sulk and ponder how he always managed to screw things up.

Jamaica. Japan. Italy.

Canada.

In the heart of the Canadian rockies, he sat by the fire in his lonely wooden home. There was a winter unlike anything he’d ever experienced outside his window and a mug filled with English tea in front of him. Next to his mug was his journal, open to an empty set of pages, words painfully unwritten.

He arrived in Calgary by plane this morning, peering out the window to see the bustling and bright landscapes of California transform into blankets of fresh white snow on barren acres of farmland. They flew over the Rocky Mountains and, despite having seen them from above before, he was transfixed by their beauty and size, and he wondered if anyone ever got tired of seeing something so majestic. He had never seen the mountains in the dead of winter, the trees, the ground, and the mountains themselves covered in white while the surrounding frozen glacier lakes remained a brilliant blue. He appreciated the beauty of it all, and under different circumstances he might have turned to the person sitting next to him and urged them to lean over and take a peek out the window too. But his mood soured when he remembered that the person sitting next to him was a stranger, and he was, again, on this trip alone.

Once the plane had landed he sent a quick text to his family group chat and Jeffrey to let them know he’d arrived in one piece. He scrolled through his emails to find all of the different reservations Jeffrey forwarded to him so he could pick up his rental vehicle and begin the 100 kilometre journey to the sleepy mountain town he would be calling home for the next three months.

The GPS in the rental guided him to the Bow Valley Parkway, the scenic highway that would lead him through Banff National Park and to his destination. As he entered the parkway, he pulled into a designated lookout just past a wooden gate that overhead read “WELCOME BIENVENUE”. Directly in front of him was a cerulean river, frozen over and backed by the most massive snow-capped mountain he had ever seen. He got out of his car, feeling the cold January air like pinpricks across his face, and quickly took a picture of the view. He sent it to his mother and promised to one day come back with her so she could see it for herself.

As he drove further down the Bow Valley, he felt kind of silly for pulling over at the sight of his first mountain when each mountain and lake he passed seemed to be bigger and more beautiful than the last. Eventually, he saw the signs for Mount Yamnuska and turned off the highway onto a long and winding road that would take him to his final destination. With nothing but tall lodgepole pine trees, grey skies, and the crooning voice of Billie Holiday to keep him company, he felt like he was on a different planet. A planet where the trees and the mountain air could filter out all of the negative voices, thoughts, and feelings he’d been privy to in the last few weeks. A planet where he might be able to clear his head long enough to find within it a melody or even a lyric or two.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what was waiting for him at the end of the road, only having skimmed the AirBnB listing Jeffrey had emailed him. He called Jeff two days ago, insisting that he needed to get away, to disappear for a bit. Having been in this exact position before with his client/friend, Jeff knew what that meant. His manager remembered seeing videos of aesthetic mountain vacations with rocky lookouts and great big turquoise lakes on TikTok, so he suggested that Harry sequester himself in the mountains. After discussing and agreeing on the destination, Jeff had the trip planned and booked within hours.

Harry passed plenty of tiny cottages and cabins tucked away in the forest alongside the highway, but as it got darker he focused more on the road ahead and fixed his eyes to watch out for any wildlife (he heard mountain lions were a possibility in the Winter). When he finally made it to his landing place, he was at the end of a long driveway in front of a cabin carved into a landscape of endless conifer trees. The cabin looked small and simple on the outside, the entirety of its exterior made up of orange-tinted pine logs. There was a foot of snow covering everything in sight, save for the walking path from the driveway to a front porch that spanned the width of the cabin. On the porch sat two Muskoka chairs, red, to match the front door.

Sat in the two chairs waiting for him, unphased by the darkening skies and blowing snow, he presumed were his hosts.

He exited his car and zipped his jacket all the way past his chin, a lame attempt to shield his face from the wind. As he made his way toward the porch, the older man and woman stood to greet him. Both were dressed in black puffer jackets and knit beanies, perhaps in their mid-to-late fifties. They appeared friendly, wearing bright smiles as they welcomed him to their vacation home.

“You must be Harry”, the man said, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.

Harry returned the gesture, “Hello, yes, I’m Harry.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Paul and this is my wife, Nancy.”

“We hope you found the place OK!” Nancy chippered.

“Thank you, I did.” He said, shaking Nancy’s hand next. “I appreciate you taking me in on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. We actually just had a cancellation before your manager contacted us. Our daughter was supposed to stay here with her partner for the week but their plans changed. So everything was already set up for guests!”

“Lucky for me then.” He said with a smile as Paul took his bag and Nancy moved to open the door to lead them all inside.

Harry did a quick scan of the inside of the cabin from where he stood in the front entrance. He saw they’d already started a fire in the wood burning stove and spotted a cozy looking armchair where he knew he’d be curling up with his book. “The place looks great.”

“We’re glad you think so. Please, come in, get comfortable. This is your home now for a bit, after all!” Nancy insisted, fussing over him to take off his jacket and shoes. She reminded him a bit of his mother, something about her demeanor making him feel at ease. “You’ve had a long journey so we’ll leave you to get settled in and explore the place. Just a few things though…”

He kicked off his shoes by the door and followed behind the two as they led him past the living room and into the kitchen.

“We’re going to get more snow tonight and you’re probably tired from your travels,” Nancy opened the refrigerator. “We’ve already stocked the fridge with all of our daughter’s favourites so there’s plenty of food that you can have.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind getting my own.”

“Really, we’d rather it didn’t go to waste.” Paul chimed in. “But of course if there’s anything more you need, there’s some info in that binder on the table about going into town and grocery stores and restaurants and whatnot.”

“Alright, thank you. I really appreciate all this.”

“Of course!” He handed Harry a set of keys on what looked like a moose-head keychain. “Here’s the key. Our house is north of here, about 15 minutes away. So if you need anything just give us a call or text. Our address is in there too just in case.”

Harry bid goodnight to Paul and Nancy and once they were gone he took his bag and scoped out the cabin. It was a simple layout with two bedrooms just off the living room, a full bathroom between the two rooms and the open galley kitchen along the adjacent back wall, opposite the front door. There was a small kitchen island at the center in front of the red kitchen cupboards, and a wooden dining table for two in its own little nook off the kitchen. The cabin had a warm feel to it. The decor, you might say was quintessentially Canadian in the way they leaned into maple-scented candles, wood carvings of mountains hung on the walls, and no shortage of throw blankets and pillows adorned with buffalo plaid.

Harry dropped his bag into the bedroom closest to the kitchen and was about to start unpacking when his stomach growled. Grateful they had left food for him to eat, he made himself a sandwich and got acquainted with where everything was in the kitchen before unpacking his things. He decided then that after he unpacked he would settle in for the night by the fire, brew some tea and maybe take a stab at writing.

—————————

You hated driving in the winter.

Were you competent and experienced enough to deal with the blowing snow and the black ice under your tires? Sure. But that didn't mean you enjoyed it. A lifetime of driving down the Parkway didn’t stop you from gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles were white, or straining your eyes in the darkness to avoid missing any moose or elk that might emerge from the trees.

One thing you did like about road trips was that they were a great opportunity for reflection. You’d been driving for about 3 hours at this point, and had barely listened to the playlist you put on at the start of your journey. You were too busy keeping an eye on the road, or thinking about the last 72 hours, and playing out scenarios in your head where things had gone differently.

You were exhausted, physically and mentally. Was it really only 72 hours since everything went down?

You replayed your last conversation with Luke over and over again in your head, hoping that if you went over it enough you could better understand.

“I just can’t do it. Even if I came, I would have to bring work with me and I’d be working the whole time.”

You were incredulous. Confused. Borderline seething.

“This trip was supposed to happen last summer, Luke. We’ve postponed it twice already for your job.”

“I know and I said I’m sorry. I just can’t up and leave right now.”

“Did you not book off the vacation time? Your boss knows you're supposed to go away. It’s literally one week.”

“Yes, I booked off the vacation time but I-”

“Well if you’ve booked it off and they gave you the time off what’s the problem?”

“I just can’t go now, ok?”

“Is it that you can’t go, or that you don’t want to go?”

That question had been lingering in the back of your mind every time the trip had to be postponed, but you never asked because you were afraid of the answer. You hoped that work really was so busy that he couldn’t take a week off, even though he had the vacation time approved by his boss. You wanted to believe that this was just the reality of being in a relationship with a lawyer.

The trouble was that you’d been with Luke for two years and he had yet to meet your family. He seemed excited to visit the small mountain town where you grew up, citing that he’d always wanted to visit Banff and the Rocky Mountains. You met his parents and got on well with them and your relationship was moving forward, with talks of moving in together and maybe even a proposal on the horizon.

However, every time you brought up visiting your family, he put it off and said he was too busy. You would visit home and he would stay back in Vancouver. Eventually he agreed to join you and the trip was booked, but at the last minute he claimed to be in the middle of an important case and couldn’t leave. You rescheduled twice since, and it was looking like you’d be adding a third.

“Of course I want to go. It’s just not a great time right now.”

“Is there ever going to be a great time? At some point I’m going to need you to make time for it, Luke.”

You were beginning to think that he didn’t understand how important your family was to you. He didn’t understand that you needed to see how he fit into your family in order for the relationship to progress. Would he get along with your dad? Would he be kind to your mom? Could he be friends with your brother? You were realizing that maybe his lack of motivation to meet your family and see your home was all you needed to know.

Before he could respond, you added “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Of course over the last 72 hours you doubted yourself constantly. Had you overreacted? Should you have been more understanding about his job? You went back and forth, reminding yourself that you had a job too, sure it wasn’t as demanding as that of a lawyer, but no matter what you always found the time for things that were important to you. You even took a week off to go on a ski trip with his parents a few weeks ago.

After the break up, you called your parents to let them know you weren’t coming anymore. You fully intended to wallow in your apartment for the week and mourn your dead relationship. The wallowing lasted less than 24 hours before you decided the best antidote for a broken heart was a hug from your mom and a beer with your dad.

That’s how you found yourself on the Bow Valley Parkway at 11pm in the middle of a snowstorm. You thought it would be fun to surprise your parents, but now you were regretting that decision. You weren’t sure that the rental vehicle was equipped to deal with a January snow storm in the mountains and if you ended up in a ditch or hit by a moose, no one knew where you were. Knowing your parents, they were probably already asleep, and you didn’t want to wake them. You decided to spend the night at their guest cabin you had initially booked, with plans to surprise them in the morning.

—————————

Harry knew that a few hours on a plane and an evening in a log cabin in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t going to instantly fix his writer’s block. But he did hope his new setting might be able to wiggle some ideas free.

As he sat with his tea and his journal open to an empty page, he begged the words to come to him. But he didn’t know what to say.

How could he write about a break up that he still didn’t even fully understand?

He was just short of banging his head against the table and throwing his journal in the fire when a light shone through the window.

A set of headlights turned onto the driveway, a small car bustling through the snow storm that had started raging outside. He looked to the door to make sure he’d locked it, in case someone was on their way to murder him in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe Paul or Nancy forgot something, he hoped to himself. It was nearly midnight, so he knew that wasn’t logical.

It was when you pulled up and parked next to his rental that he saw you in the driver’s seat. Your face was perplexed as you looked over at his vehicle and then to the log cabin. You awkwardly made eye contact through the window before you quickly looked away.

Maybe she’s lost, he thought to himself next.

He waited for you to come to the door, but you remained in your car. Eventually, thinking you looked harmless enough, Harry bundled up in his coat, slipped on his shoes, and went to meet you outside.

—-

You whipped your head towards the cabin door when you saw it open to reveal a strange man walking toward your vehicle.

Why is he coming out here? Oh god is he going to murder me? You thought.

Embarrassed you’d been caught outside the cabin, you rolled down your window, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would be here! I’m just leaving!“

You were hit with the realization of who was walking toward you, followed by some confusion.

What the fuck…

And then panic when you realized he was walking up to your car.

“I really am sorry this is my parents cabin and I thought no one would be here!” You shouted as he approached your opened window. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

Harry fucking Styles crouched down to look at you through the driver’s side window. In the darkness, you felt his eyes on you taking note of your black and yellow North Face puffer jacket and the knit beanie on your head. There was a look of recognition on his face, perhaps noticing some of your features were strikingly similar to those of a woman he’d met only a few hours ago.

“Ah, you’re Nancy and Paul’s daughter.”

“Yeah, I am…So I’ll just h-”

“They said you’d canceled.”

“Oh? Yea, I did… I, uh, changed my mind, I guess. I didn’t think they’d book someone so quickly.”

“It was good timing on my part, I guess.”

“Right, ok, I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening! I’ll just go to their house!” It was nearly pitch black outside, save for the light of your headlights shining on the cabin in front of you. The wind was violent, whipping snow around him, and you felt bad that he was standing outside in the cold. His arms were crossed and hugging his jacket closed, talking to you while not wearing nearly enough layers to be outside.

Harry pondered for a moment, sucking his lips into his mouth and turning to look at the snow coming down around him. He was sure being from here that you had experience driving in weather like this, but he could not in good conscience let you leave without offering.

“The snow’s coming down pretty hard. I was just having some tea before bed… Would you like to come in? At least until things calm down a bit.”

Harry felt bold asking you to come inside when you were strangers. He could tell you were mulling it over, maybe unsure if you could trust him or if it would be appropriate. He wasn’t sure if it was either, but he kind of hoped you agreed to it anyway. Jeffrey would yell at him for this.

“Are you sure?” You asked. Your first instinct was to outright decline the offer, but you knew the roads were treacherous and you were exhausted.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He insisted. “Selfishly, I would never forgive myself if I let you go and you got into an accident or something on the highway.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “I’ll come in just for a bit.” You got out of the car and followed him back quickly through the blowing snow and up the path to the front door.

Once inside, he turned to you. “I apologize I didn’t even ask your name.”

You told him your name as you toed off your boots and took off your many layers of outdoor winter wear.

“Well it’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you too, Harry. I know who you are, by the way. I’m a fan.” You paused and he noticed the way your face twisted, almost in embarrassment. “Ugh, sorry, is that weird to say?”

“Not weird.” He tried to reassure you. “Would be more awkward if you said you hated me or something.”

You took a seat on the sofa, grabbing the buffalo plaid pillow next to you and hugging it to your chest. You felt awkward. What was Harry Styles doing in your parents’ vacation rental? And what were you doing with him alone in the middle of the night? Were you going to sit here and chat with each other? Or would he carry on with his evening as if you weren’t here?

You spotted his open journal and a mug of tea abandoned on the side table near the fire. He did mention having tea before, which was confirmed by him now filling the kettle with water.

“Again, I’m sorry for interrupting. Really appreciate you letting me hang here for a bit.”

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet to the right of the sink. It was the green mug you painted for your mom for Mother’s Day in middle school.

“You’ve got to stop apologizing. Very Canadian of you though.”

“Right. Sorry. Shit.”

Harry laughed whilst shaking his head at your incessant apologies. You liked his laugh. And his dimples.

OK, he’s cute, you thought.

“Would you like a snack?” Harry called out, interrupting your wandering thoughts. “I’m pretty sure all of the food here was supposed to be for you anyways.”

— END OF PART 1 —

Thank you so much for reading! I am looking forward to diving into this story a bit more and would like to know what you think :)

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#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #my writing #asptf

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