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quirkydeaky · 5 years

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Life is Real {Chapter One}

ROGER TAYLOR

how will Roger cope when he finds that his new best friend, whom he's falling in love with, is slowly dying?

HI! So I’m back and hoping this series will not flop, lol. A few people have been interested in seeing this, so here I am with what people want! If you want, drop a comment or send me an ask and I’ll add you to my tag list. Mwah!

Also... This story is a multi-part fan-fiction with heavy, mature themes. The Original (and Main) Female Character has a type of Cancer. The type will not be mentioned, but there may be some scenes with heavy implements of medication, treatment or heavily implied scenes at a hospital.

I DO understand that this topic hits close to home for a lot of people, and if this angst-based series is not something for you, please ignore. Thank you.

[also, send me asks because I need mutuals and also need entertainment!]

W/C: 2k+

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of personal struggle.

Main Characters: 80s!Roger Taylor, MammaMia2!Lily James (Lillian)

[the start will be a bit slow, but please hang in there! this will begin to swing into place in chapter two, fully being immersed in the plot once we hit chapter three! amazing! love you guys. show love, and enjoy.]

Don't you know... I'm still standing; better than I ever did." Lillian quietly sang, her mind foggy, hazy... cloudy with confusion at the thoughts cramming her brain. "Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid." Why were these thoughts circling in her mind? She was fine, that's what everyone thought. It's what it looked like... looking like she had the normal life, maybe some even classified her as privileged after coming out of Oxford University with a post-graduate degree in English and Creative Writing. One with creatives wonders and endless ideas, she was. Her apartment was a bare representation of her mind that was constantly running at the speed of light, a new idea popping up maybe every five minutes, but, the only real action taken in her apartment was the jingle of her keys as she placed them down on the bench of her kitchen, her shoes she chose to wear that day - their clunk hitting the wall as she slipped them off and walked the rest of her way towards her room where she would immediately strip herself of the day's clothes and swap for an oversized hooded jumper. The twenty-seven-year-old always had the audacity to write about her dream life, always adding to the one project she would constantly come back to, like she always has. It had been her side piece throughout university, her majors and lectures always taking priority, a negative fact of her life, as she always wanted to work on this specific piece. The one about her life, not her life in this reality, but the next. Almost a replication of her life if it could be done over again. Her life would be a buzz in this reality. She'd have a better childhood, not one where her father left at the age of eight after providing a solid year and a half of social and financial abuse, leaving herself and her mother with nothing. They grew from that, though. Her mother found better, and even though Lillian hated the guy at first, they grew to become mutual towards each other. Nothing more. She'd have a sibling or two in this life. She'd always wanted one, always wondered why all of her friends had one and she didn't, an only child. But with life moving quickly and a fast independence building for herself, those friends soon faded from her life when she finally found her dream career she was going to work hard to get anywhere near the end goal. A form of desperation, giving her one of the few things she wanted in this life, which would be the only reward she'd receive in this life, too. But the next, she'd be twenty seven, hopefully engaged. Maybe even be a little risky, perhaps, and have her own child be a part of her bridal party. Her son, a page boy? Her daughter, a flower girl? But this life, her real life, held something different. She was twenty seven, at home in her bare, white coloured walls of an apartment writing this supposed dream she wanted to live; this supposed... fantasy, she wanted to fill. But instead of filling this void with her next dream and fantasy, she was filling it by achieving her goal of becoming educated enough to write a book. So that's what she did. Working one, singular shift a week at the local grocer, this is what she lived off. The basics. That's all she needed. She'd had her own form of independence for a while, ever since she finished school, her mother now an obnoxious brat who had her new man, completely forgetting about her daughter that was still under her care at age seventeen, as that's when she completed that form of education before shipping herself straight off to university. Don't get her wrong, she was glad she got this early offer for Oxford, her grades and teacher's recommendations actually getting her somewhere. Yes, don't take her as an ungrateful woman, glad that she was given somewhere to go after being shipped off to Oxford, her mother providing substantial money to find and buy an apartment. Yes, that's right, buy. Her mother even covered costs of attending university, and she was eternally grateful, but also disappointed she couldn't fulfil her duties of being independent as she wanted to, but she wasn't selfish, either. Ten years later and she could count on one hand how many times she's had a call from her, yet, after promising on those calls that both herself (her mother) and her 'father', would come visit. She couldn't even begin to count on one hand how many times they've come to see her. Zero. And, besides the point, she never had the heart to tell her mum that she was going through some tough things in life, fearing she would be met with words similar to 'stop being silly, you're just uneducated', or even better, 'you just don't know how to go about life', - all before she got to the actual reason she called. But that wasn't it at all, because she was perfectly fine in the aspect of having resources. She had an excellent education, a roof over her head and skills to get her somewhere in life, whether she had much of it left, that is. That's why she didn't have the heart, nor the confidence to tell her mother that she was dying, over the phone. She also feared that her mother wouldn't care. Wouldn't believe her. So here she was, strolling the streets in, the dizziness the succumbs her in the morning, the feeling of nausea that doesn't drift until around lunchtime a lot of the time. She tries to prevent wearing black in pure daylight, it attracts sun and heat, which could make her pale and fragile skin burn, making it turn red and peel at a much faster rate than what the rest of the human race would know. Refraining from wearing black also means the people who walk behind her oddly skinny figure don't have to see the constant fall of her blonde hairs that shed from her head, sticking to the material of her clothes. She doesn't want to freak anyone out. But today, Lillian wore black. She typically wears a long sleeve on the top half and long pants on the bottom half, prevents from scaring people, and more importantly herself away, from her constantly bruising skin, the weakness of her own skin bruising at the slightest touch with a little extra force, for example, hitting her elbow on the kitchen bench. Bruise, almost a few hours later, black and blue skin in a circular shape. With a negative mindset almost half the time, her mental health isn't always they greatest, as she sees how her body is affected from treatment, how strong it's getting as her body somehow, after some rounds, grows weaker. Independence was important to Lillian, as mentioned before. She had one, a real friend who stuck close by for a while, but dropped out of the degree they were in together half way through to move to Scotland. Sophie was her name, but after tears and shouted goodbyes at the airport, a promised call every week soon turned into calls once a month, and then once every birthday, maybe on Christmas day if she were lucky. Lillian doesn't even know if Sophie remembers her. So she didn't tell her. No one knows. It's hard that no one knows about that battles Lillian has with herself every day, fighting through the pain, the surprises and the side effects. She doesn't have an outlet, anyone to go to. Her confidence is drained to the point of no return, so she wouldn't even consider going to visit someone like a counsellor. It's been three years and seven months as of the beginning of July 1980. Today. January 1977, not the nicest way to start off the year when you're diagnosed with cancer and given, at that point in time, a message, one saying to 'live the next five years of your life to the fullest', because the doctor's didn't even know if Lillian would be here for her thirtieth birthday. This really isn't how she imagined her life to go. She knew since she was fifteen that she wanted to be an author. Yes, she was eternally grateful that she had an excellent education, the beginning of her life set up for her. But she also wanted to become an author, whether that meant she published a book and it made two people's bookshelves at home or if it meant she became the most known author in the world for the next ten years. She didn't know, she didn't care, she just wanted to get a book published. Lillian is twenty-seven years old. Her birthday is in April. In all honesty, she has a maximum of two years to get this book out, and if she does, she will die a happy woman, as long as she gets one of her works published. She didn't care if she didn't have a boyfriend, a husband for that matter. Yes, she may have been a little upset at the fact that the chance of her having children was becoming closer to impossible than highly unlikely, but what could she do? She was a woman walking around, her 'cancer tag' of sorts, invisible to the rest of the world, to the naked eye of the people that walk past her on a day-to-day basis. She'll sometimes get bruises on her shoulders when people unnecessarily barge into her. But what she felt right now was a sense of loss of direction. Her recent chemotherapy session was a little stronger than the last, and one of the side effects was a lack of remembering things. Forgetting things all of a sudden. Surroundings, thoughts, all those types of things. This thought overwhelmed her, as she tried to escape her routine of staying home in isolation for most of the week and escape to the different parts of England, wanting to explore. If she didn't have long left, she needed to do it. Lillian really didn't know where she was; picking up the pace as she sees street signs not far ahead through her blurry vision, both from tears and as a side effect. Speed walking was a common thing Lillian did, sometimes to escape the world when it all got too much. Running was something she refrained from doing, the speed her legs were to travel at making her muscles stiff after a while. Another side effect. She knew the city she was in. Norfolk. She was still in England, but she doesn't remember what specific part she's in. This is the difficult part, trying to remember. Slowing down as she enters a street with townhouses, mostly single or double storey, nothing extravagant. A quieter part of the town. Friendly looking. Lillian calms down a little, walking slow with an effort to make her heart rate drop back to average resting rate, so she wouldn't visibly stress once more. But her heart rate only sped up as she realises she's reached the end of the street. A no through road, no way to get to any other part of own unless she turns around, but that was the opposite of what she wanted to do. Her breathing increases, the effort to summon her energy to turn around and walk back to where she originally came from disappears, so she turns back and walks forward towards the door in which she was standing not too far away from. Knocking. A thing that makes her nervous. The chance of having to communicate with someone. She wasn't introverted, god no. She was as extroverted as could be... or, more or so used to be. She believed she still was, but, that was for both her and whoever answered the door to find out. Her breathing may be rapid, and her mouth may be dry, desperate for water. She was dehydrated- but her breathing only increases once more, her mouth becoming impossibly dryer than she's met with a confused face of a man, blonde. He's beautiful, and she knows who he is. She seems to forget everything she's supposed to know as she makes eye contact with this man's piercing blue eyes. She knows who he is. It's Roger Taylor. Drummer. Famous. Queen. "Uhm... Hello?" He asks, clicking his finger in front of the startstruck girls face. "Can I help you?"

TAG LIST: @rogerinathehystericalqueen @toger-raylor @jennyggggrrr @xox-talia-xox @hottestofspaces @stormtrprinstilettos @devil-in-those-eyes @redspecialty @brian-roger-deaky-and-fred @ogrogerbattle @im-addicted-to-queen @killerqueenbucky @xgoingdownx

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#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #brian may #brian may x reader #john deacon #john deacon x reader #freddie mercury #Queen #queen band #lilyjames #fanfiction #angst #quirkydeaky

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hokkaidodo-blog · 6 years

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there’s snow business like hoe business

In my life so far, there have been many things that I have started to do. Many things that have interested me greatly and captured my intrigue and thus, I have made it my mission to accomplish said things. This process usually includes equal parts of both impulse buying tat from the Internet that I am convinced will be beneficial to me in some way for my new hobby and also developing slightly obsessive behaviours with regards to the aforementioned new hobby and putting every second of my spare time into it. This undoubtedly all occurs before the dawning realisations that I was, in fact, unfortunately born with the attention span of a goldfish and that either 1) I’m bored shitless of my new hobby and can’t believe I was ever interested in it in the first place, or 2) I have a huge tantrum because I’ve started something new and difficult for 10 minutes a week but somehow I’m not automatically a pro at it immediately. The third step is the abandonment of my new hobby never to be seen, mentioned or eluded to in any way, shape or form for the rest of my fickle existence. My current list of personal pathetic pursuits includes – but is by no means limited to – the following things:

Learning German. Ask me what I ate for breakfast and as long as it’s cereal or an apple, I can tell you in German.

Dance aerobics classes. Lol.

Intricate adult colouring books. My eyes go fuzzy after colouring one leaf and my friends think I’m mad when I turn around and “hey guys, look at this cool art-nouveau squirrel I just spent three hours colouring in 47 shades of brown.”

Going to the gym. Cried for two weeks solid when I pulled a toe muscle and then was appalled and disgusted when I didn’t wake up the next day after one mild workout with a toned tummy and arms like Popeye.

Eating healthier. People who say they prefer a green smoothie over a share-bag of pretzels and a pot of cheese and chive dip are fake. Steer clear and do not trust.

THIS BLOG. Somehow, it’s been two months since I last posted my last post which ALSO started out similarly by saying something along the lines of “omg lol how has is been so long since I’ve written?!” lol.

Anyway, this time I present to you another smattering of pictures and verbal diarrhoea (is this still verbal?) digital diarrhoea and stories and stuff and a bunch of I-don’t-even-know-what from the past two months.

To start with, the season here turned faster than my stomach when sometimes I would get home from a terribly draining and emotionally tiring day at school of playing with poster paint and lentils in GSCE Art BTEC and ask Mum what we’re having for dinner, to which she’d reply with the dreaded: “mackerel salad”. One day I was still in my T-shirt and jumper, walking to campus wading through piles of golden foliage and then suddenly two days later and I’m skating to school on sheet ice covered in bruises from spectacular tumbles and a good three feet of snow on either side of me. A lot of my friends in sunny Spain or France or even Tokyo say to me (whilst surprising smug giggles) “how’s Sapporo, Ross? Enjoying the snow?” to which I adamantly reply, “It’s not that cold!” and then rummage for a third pair of socks and my thermal undies. It’s beautiful though and I don’t regret a thing!

Snow business like hoe business, amirite

As for Christmas, – and no I am not a Scrooge – I am not feeling at all Christmassy this year. People still work and have classes on the 25th - which is gross for me - but there are still decorations and huge light displays up until midnight on Christmas Day, when as soon as it is over every trace of the festive season is torn down and everybody gets ready to welcome in the New Year.

“can you take a picture of us, we’re a couple”

This being said, I will definitely miss getting plastered with my Grandma on Christmas eve by glugging a bottle Amaretto and then waiting for her to request that the entire family sings “O Come Let Us Adore Him” in five part harmony whilst accompanied by Grandpa on the stylophone; sitting around in my pajamas on Christmas morning, laughing for thirty minutes because the puppy gets present opening priority and then Mum gets the black bin-sack out because he’s covered the living room in wrapping paper confetti and glitter; and then also eating Iceland out of their entire supply of frozen duck spring rolls, mini pizzas and garlic mushroom bites on Boxing Day, before complaining about how full you are yet still continuing to inhale a quarter pound of the leftover turkey, half a block of cranberry Wensleydale (with pickles), some coleslaw, a pile of bubble and squeak and some Mingles whilst the same annual festive episode of Top of the Pops lulls you gently to sleep with Fairytale of New York and Slade.

OTARU

I didn’t realise how much I missed the ocean until I hadn’t seen it for a couple of months and the sea was longer than a 15 minute drive from my house. Luckily, the seaside town of Otaru is just a train ride away from Sapporo and it felt so good for my soul to be back by the water. (Hippie child alert.)

Otaru is a picturesque little town famous for glassblowing and its beautiful canal which is lit up with candles every year for it’s winter festival. Ironically (yet gruesomely hilarious to me), after visiting the aquarium which is apparently super famous, and admiring all of the fab fishies and strange creatures, we went to a seafood restaurant and had some of the best sushi and sashimi that I have eaten so far. In other news: the demolition of a seven-tier soft-serve ice cream that left me questioning my lactose tolerance; the discovery of yet more face-cut out standees that left us all with a questioning outlook on Japan; and a two-storey shop stocked full of music box pieces. Who knew the demand for that was so high?

“Hey guys, can one of you Google whether or not you can die from eating too much ice cream because I don’t feel all that hunky dory right now”

A bear in his pants holding tissues! Japan!

Yes! It’s meant to be a penis! Awesome!

Why is it that when it comes to telling people about what you’ve been up to that your brain just turns to porridge and you can’t help but reply with the bog-standard “Oh the usual; you know, not much”.

RANDOM THOUGHTS

So, three months in (eek) and what are my thoughts on Japan? Well…

1) Japanese people (in general) seem to be very organised and structured. Take for example, the rush hour on the underground. In London it wouldn’t be unusual to have an unwashed armpit of a local hipster thrust under your nose on your morning commute whilst a lady next to you gossips loudly on the phone to her girls about the chlamydia disaster that happened with Tony last night. This may or may not be accompanied by the gentle pitter-patter sound of some 90s trance music seeping out from underneath some headphones somewhere; twelve people standing on your foot; a distinctive scent wafting from the gentleman opposite you who forgot to eat breakfast so decided to delight everyone with his loud munching of a Lamb & Mint from The Traditional Cornish Pasty Company; and occasionally the fleeting anxiety that comes with frantically patting yourself down and hoping that you haven’t dropped your wallet.

The Japanese subways are deathly quiet, however. Sometimes it’s peaceful in the morning, and sometimes it’s unnerving. You’re awkwardly scared to breathe in case it tickles someone’s neck and you’re all in a line facing the same way and you daren’t get in the way of the station attendant with the big wooden shield who squeezes you in so the doors can close. There’s no crazy rush or crowd on platforms, just two neat lines and an unsettling calmness for someone who is used to (and who quite enjoys) mild chaos and hecticness.

2) Went to the Asahi Beer factory; the most lit class field trip ever. With free beer. 10/10 would recommend.

3) Japanese staff in restaurants, ticket offices, libraries etc absolutely will NOT speak Japanese with a non-Japanese person. It’s incredibly frustrating. As someone who’s main focus here is to improve my language skills, it is tough to do so when you struggle to get natives to treat you like anybody else. Whether some Japanese people just assume that there is categorically no way that a non-Asian person could become conversational in Japanese, I have no idea. For example, you will order in a restaurant in near-perfect Japanese to which you are just started at blankly. The waitress turns to my Japanese friend who repeats word-for-word and accent-for-accent exactly what I just said, and everything is fine. This usually continues for a few minutes and each time leaves me questioning my intelligence, my language competency and my foreigner-ness, and also just what do I need to do to try and win over the Japanese? (Video link)

I think that’s it for now. I’m sure I had more thoughts so I’ll try and write them here more often when I remember them (part 2 of me saying that). Nothing much is happening in the next few weeks, it’s that kind of winter jaded-ness that happens every year. BUT – everything is beautiful, I’m still smiling and I’m still in Japan and very lucky to be alive. I’m looking forward to January where things will kick-start again, and I can start travelling and exploring some more. Just got to finish 2017 with as much love as possible and give it a good end.

BONUS PICS: Some pretty skies at the Hokkaido Historical Village and me riding a humpback whale at the museum. You’re welcome.

Every single typewriter stamp from an old Japanese printer press.

I'm putting on my shades to cover up my eyes, I'm jumping in my ride, I'm heading out tonight ;)

#Japan #Hokkaido #Sapporo #travel #blog #year abroad #study abroad #experiences #personal #winter #snow #beer #museum #Otaru #Japanese

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1dffsummerexchange · 7 years

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Play For Keeps

Written For: @what-comes-from-within

Written By: @harrysmeadow

Pairing: Harry/OFC

Word Count: 8,086

Warnings: Language

Summary:

When Harry and Tilly meet each other after Tilly's weekly music rehearsal, Harry knows he has to get to know her better. But when Harry takes the leap, has he gone too far or was it just the push Tilly needed?

3 till 4pm on Tuesday afternoons were Tilly Renford’s favourite time of the week, and the old Red Brick Music Room on campus was her favourite place to be.

After her last class of the day, which she was more than happy to get out of, she scurried across campus eagerly, almost tripping once or twice on the loose laces that were tucked into the sides of her shoes.

Struggling to sign her name on the door because of the mountain of folders she was carrying from previous classes, she was more than happy to drop them in the corner of the room when she finally entered. Taking her place on the piano bench, a familiar sense of relief flowed through her when her hands took place on the keys, she felt at home.

Although her allocated practice time was a mandatory part of her course, spending an hour in the music room each week never felt like a chore to Tilly. Music was her first and only love in life.

She tried with all her might to learn the sequence before her, concentrating hard, her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth, yet her fingers danced effortlessly across the instrument, creating a sweet and gentle melody that sounded nothing like the hard expression on her face.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed her time was nearly up, but Tilly felt good about the progress she’d made. Feeling confident she’d do well in the exam, she made a mark on the sheet as to where she had remembered the notes off by heart, and allowed herself the last ten minutes to play what she liked.

Since her parents had first bought her Piano lessons at the age of 8, she never felt pressured by them to reach a certain standard, and Tilly was thankful for that. They were never pushy or disappointed if she didn’t meet a grade; only encouraging to do her best. She loved to play, and her Mum had always told her the minute she didn’t love it anymore, she could stop. That was the reason she like to set aside time to just play for herself, rather than practice a set piece, she knew the moment she didn’t want to play for herself, was the moment she wouldn’t progress any further.

Leaning across the piano bench, Tilly shuffled through her bag reaching for her favourite sheet music. It was crumpled and torn, and had various ring shaped stains from the mugs of tea she’d placed on top of it over the years. To be honest, Tilly really didn’t need the music in front of her anymore, the songs she loved to play were so clearly etched in her mind she was sure she’d have to sustain a brain injury to forget the notes. But she found it comforting to have them in front of her. She smiled to herself as she looked at the scribbles she’d made as a 16 year old learning it for the first time, little prompts and tips and even small little drawings were scattered across the pages.

She propped the pages up on the stand and began to play, letting the music fill the room, she relaxed as the familiar notes soothed her and she began to sing along, washing away the tension she’d hadn’t realised had built up as she’d practiced for her exam.

*I’ve made up my mind, don’t need to think it over. If I’m wrong, I am right. Don’t need to look no further, this ain’t lust. I know this is love.*

****

Harry Styles had prepared himself to be bored while he waited for his allocated practice slot in the Red Brick Music Room on a Tuesday afternoon. Bringing along an array of coloured pens and highlighters with his notes, he’d planned to do ten or fifteen minutes or so of revision while he waited; but he found himself struggling to concentrate on his composition notes as he hummed along to the pretty sounds coming from the room.

*But if I tell the world, I’ll never say enough, cause it was not said to you. And that’s exactly what I need to do. If I end up with you.*

He tapped his pen against his leg in time with the melody that was flowing out from under the door, as he scanned the pages in front him, willing himself to learn the things he needed to know. The melody must have must have stopped at some point though, and Harry had slipped back into his studying until a voice caught him off guard, and the yellow highlighter slipped off the end of the page and onto his jeans.

“Oh I’m so sorry, did I overrun into your time?” a slightly panicked voice questioned.

He looked up to the doorway where the beautiful sounds had come from earlier, and a found a wide eyed girl holding the door open for him with her entire body weight, clutching tightly to an array of books and folders.

She was petite, and had short brown hair that fell in uneven waves just past her ears to her chin. The knitted green jumper that was haphazardly tucked into only one side of her denim skirt was falling off her shoulder, and she raced to pull it back into place without dropping the mountain of work in her arms. A pair of tortoise shell reading glasses were slightly askew on top of her head, and Harry noticed that rather than tying the laces of her tattered white converse she had simply tucked them down the side. She seemed uneven, kinda wonky (and that wasn’t just the way she was leant against the door), imperfect even, she had a presence, a kind of aura that Harry found himself drawn to.

Harry sprang up from where he was perched on the bench opposite the door. “No! Not at all, I just got here early!” He said with a smile, hoping to ease her worry. He didn't like feeling as though he'd been part of the reason she felt that way.

“Oh ok. If I ever do run over though, don’t hesitate to kick me out. I find it quite easy to lose track of time when I’m playing.” She chuckled, more to herself Harry thought, as he gathered his things up.

He smiled to himself as he imagined this girl getting so lost in the music she was creating and playing, she ended up in a world of her own. He didn’t think he ever would kick her out though, Harry thought he could have sat for hours listening to the melodies he’d heard her play.

“I presume that was you playing just then?” He asked, finally reaching for the door, allowing her to take her weight off and she stepped past him, her shoulder brushing against his arm when she turned round to face him again.

She was close enough now that Harry could really see her. He liked the way the little bump on her nose was covered in freckles, that then went their separate ways to create little dotted patterns on her cheeks. Her brown eyes were swimming, sparkling like she was thinking of a thousand things at once, but Harry had no doubt she was giving him her full attention.

“Mmhm.” The girl nodded, shuffling the folders in her arms so she could use a free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Harry couldn’t help but smile again as he watched her dainty fingers run through the strands. He was in awe of how such delicate things could create such bellowing, yet amazing sounds.

“Well it was amazing, I’ve always loved the piano and you’re very talented.” He praised, and Harry considered himself lucky when he saw a small blush rise to her cheeks at his compliment, it was then he decided next week he’d arrive early again.

****

Over the next few weeks Tilly saw the curly haired boy who liked to chat, outside the Red Brick Music Room every time she finished her session. She was pretty sure the allocation times hadn’t been changed, and she wondered why he was making so many appearances when she was sure she hadn’t seem him at all during first term.

She didn’t mind though, not one bit. In fact, Tilly had developed what her flatmate Martha had described as ‘a school girl crush’ on the boy with emerald green eyes, when she didn’t stop talking about him for a solid twenty minutes the other day while they were meant to be catching up on the new episode of Criminal Minds.

It was harmless though, Tilly thought, she liked having something (someone) to daydream about, and she’d found quite quickly that the curly haired boy, with green eyes also had dimples. And well, could you really blame her?

Tilly checked the clock more often in her piano sessions now, and she often had internal battles with herself to make sure she stayed in the room for the full hour, even though she so desperately wanted to leave five minutes early to spend more time with Green Eyes. But, she also knew that practice made perfect, and she really wanted to get a good mark on her exam. So, every week she played her piece over and over, committing the sequence to memory until her fingers looked as if they moved of their own accord and they were made to create that music.

But true to her word, Tilly always saved time for herself to play what she wanted, and once again her fingertips played the song she loved to hear, and the happiness she felt flowed through her veins. The smile that graced her lips could be heard in the lyrics she sang, giving the normally sombre song a twist that Tilly loved.

*Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste? Even if I knew my place, should I leave it there?*

Tilly was always smiling when she entered or left the Red Brick Music Room, but usually the high she felt from the music, faded pretty quickly when she walked back to her flat. But recently she found her good mood would stick around a bit longer.

Stepping out of the room at her normal time, her grin only widened when she saw Green Eyes leant against the wall, closer to the door than he usually was.

“Hi!” Tilly greeted the boy whose eyes had been locked on the door from the moment she opened it.

“Hey!” He returned with a smile just as wide, pushing himself off the wall to stand in front of her. “You played great today, again.” he said.

“Thanks!” Tilly replied cheerily, but she couldn’t help but feel like there was something important missing off of the end of her sentence. Like a name.

Tilly was British in every sense of the word. Meaning, she drank at least 4 cups of tea a day, was prone to saying sorry for things she didn’t do, and got severely angry when someone jumped the queue. It also meant that if you missed the opportunity to get someone’s name at the first meeting, you’d be stuck making small talk with said other person that never progressed any further, because you can’t get to know more about someone when you don’t know their name.

Tilly had realised after their second run in that she hadn’t asked Green Eyes what his name was, and they’d definitely passed the point where it would be extremely awkward to ask for it now, so Tilly was trying to come to terms with the fact that the most she’d ever get out of him was a comment on the weather.

“Are you playing the Open Mic Night on Saturday?” He asked, raising his eyebrows slightly, but his eyes never left her face, eagerly awaiting her response.

Tilly liked the attention he paid her when they talked. She’d always felt like a bit of a ‘plain Jane’ and never really got noticed by boys, but the way that Green Eyes looked as though he cherished every word she said, like he was going to carve them in stone and worship them every day, was a feeling Tilly liked.

“I didn’t know there was one, so no.” She giggled, trying not to get too excited over the thought that Green Eyes might be trying to initiate something between them.

“Oh, well it’s at The Red Dragon, I don’t know if you have him, but Professor Anderson goes to them, and he counts the performances as extra credit for his modules.” he stated.

Tilly felt let down, like a birthday balloon she’d been filled up with excitement before the party, but started to deflate before the main event. It wasn’t an invite, just more small talk. She was annoyed that she’d even allowed herself to entertain the thought that he would ask her to do something, they weren’t friends she thought. She didn’t even know his name.

“That’s good to know, thanks.” she said, visibly less enthusiastic than before. “Well, have a good session.” She added, offering him a small smile before stepping out of the door and away, not waiting for his reply.

Walking out of the Red Brick Music Room the crisp spring breeze whipped around Tilly’s ankles, causing goosebumps to arise on her exposed skin. Much like the wind, the thoughts running through Tilly's brain were twisting and turning. She could feel a headache coming on.

Tilly did have Professor Anderson for two modules, so it would make sense to go, right? Plus, she didn't want to appear rude to Green Eyes, he was trying to help her. But Tilly had never performed in front of an audience before, and she could feel the nerves bubbling in her tummy at even just the thought of it. She began to wonder if she made an appearance whether it would be odd if she just went to watch, rather than perform like Green Eyes had suggested. She had three days to decide.

****

Harry swore the room was buzzing in the moments after he stepped into the practice room that afternoon. Like the energy that came from the sounds the small girl with the short hair had created was still swirling around the room.

He’d been coming over to the Red Brick Music Room early for four weeks now, just to make sure he got to hear her play, and to have a little chat when she emerged.

Harry wasn't afraid to admit that he was smitten with the dainty girl that always seemed to wear her clothes one size too big, and who always smiled bashfully to floor with red cheeks every time he paid her a compliment.

She was cute Harry thought, and he kicked himself every time he let her pass without getting her name. He always went with the intention to learn it, but every time she stepped out of that room it was as though all rational thoughts disappeared from his mind. To Harry she was like some kind of mystical creature, who only appeared on Tuesdays between 4 and 4.05pm. She was a rare sight, one of a kind, with her wide eyes and freckled cheeks. Harry felt lucky whenever he saw her.

But he had gone with a mission this week to invite her to the open mic, and he was happy he'd achieved what he had set out to do.

The past week, Harry's flat mate Niall had had enough of Harry's constant whining about the girl from the music room with no name.

“Just bloody ask her!” He cried one night while they were meant to be watching the England game, but Harry had spent the last half an hour listing the pros and cons of what could happen between him and the Piano Girl if he never learnt her name at all.

“I’ve tried!” Harry exclaimed.

“No you haven't! Because if you had, you'd know it!” Niall retaliated, on the way to becoming completely exasperated with the whole topic.

“Look Harry.” Niall continued, turning to face him where he had slumped down on the sofa grumbling to himself. “If you want to actually get to know her, you're gonna have to see her outside of that fucking corridor.”

So in the following days Harry had spent his time going back and forth with ideas of what he could ask Piano Girl to do in an attempt to get to know her better. So far they’d only ever spoken about music and what course they were each doing, and Harry had found himself wondering at times thing like; why she never actually tied her laces, or if she had a pet, and why she always played that same song every week.

He knew his options were limited, he didn’t want to come across as too forward, because he didn’t really know the girl. A one on one date at a fancy restaurant was out of the question, it would be like a backwards blind date he thought, where he knew what she looked like, but didn’t know her name. A little meet up at the little independent coffee shop just off campus was also a no, there would be too many opportunities for awkward silences he thought, plus he didn’t even know if she liked coffee. It had to be somewhere casual, with other people, but also somewhere chilled enough where he could ask her all these questions without her feeling uncomfortable.

It was Friday afternoon when the open mic idea had been sprung upon him. Harry was in his last lecture of the week, Professor Anderson’s ‘18th Century European Music’ module, and it was safe to say he had zoned out about 10 minutes into the topic of how the Lute had revolutionised music between the Medieval and Renaissance periods, and he’d been watching the clock ever since.

It was the scraping of chair legs against the floor, and sudden bustle of movement around him that drew Harry out of his daze. The booming voice of Professor Anderson above the racket of students rushing to get home for the weekend was what caught his attention next.

“Don’t forget ladies and gentlemen that the extra credit open mic night is next Saturday, meaning you have a week to get yourselves sorted! I hope to see a lot of you there!”

Although his announcement mainly fell on deaf ears as the stampede of students rushing to the door didn’t slow, Harry felt as though a light bulb had gone off. It was perfect he thought. It wouldn’t be just them, there would be other students, probably people she knew, and it was based around music, something he knew they had in common.

Even though she hadn’t actually said yes (or no for that matter) Harry was quietly confident that she would show up on Saturday, maybe even perform. He often found himself wondering what she looked like when she played when he was sat outside the room, listening to the pretty sounds escaping out from under the door.

Still smiling to himself as he got his own instruments and music sorted for his practice hour, Harry spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There on the floor, just by the piano stool, were two pieces of ratty paper, slightly ripped and torn at the edges. As he moved closer he saw that it was sheet music, probably left by another student he thought. Picking it up he placed it on top of the piano, hoping whoever it belonged to would find it there when they came looking. Just as he was about to set the papers down he noticed the piece title at the top.

Chasing Pavements by Adele

Harry had known the tune to Chasing Pavements, just as well as any other person might have a few weeks ago. But now he knew it off by heart. The lyrics and melodies were ones he found himself humming along to quite a lot recently, as he strolled from one class to another or when he was in the shower. Every week that he’d spent waiting outside the practice room, those notes had flown out from under the door. The song played and sang with such emotion he was always fully captured by the beautiful sounds. He had no doubt who those papers belonged to.

Turning the papers over in his hands, he inspected the marks and wears. With delicate fingers he traced over the darker lines, and Harry could see just how much this music had been played just from looking at it. He smiled as he took in the little doodles and scribbles scattered across the pages, but it broke into a full grin when he spotted a slightly faded mark in top right corner that revealed to him everything he wanted to know.

Harry knew this was his chance. He had waited and been patient, not wanting to push his luck with the pretty girl who was so musically gifted, and the universe had repaid him. His golden ticket had been presented to him at exactly the right moment.

Forgetting his own work that he should have been attempting to complete and practice, Harry grabbed a stand from the cupboard and placed the worn pieces of paper upon them. He picked up his guitar and began to strum according to the music in front of him. After changing the notes to fit with his own instrument, Harry spent his remaining time practicing the adjusted notes and committing them to memory.

He knew exactly what song he would play on Saturday, and he would play it for Tilly.

****

“I can’t believe he’s finally asked you out!” Martha gushed, when Tilly arrived home from practice that afternoon and told her friend what Green Eyes had said.

Tilly would liked to have been able to say that she’d um-ed and ah-ed over Green Eye’s suggestion for her to attend the open mic night, but it had taken her all of ten minutes after leaving the practice room to decide it might not be such a bad idea after all.

She had managed to convince herself on the walk home that she wasn’t attending because it was Green Eyes who asked her, but because it would be good for her grades. If someone else had told her about it, she would still go.

So she rolled her eyes at Martha’s exclamation, and wandered over to the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. “He didn’t ask me out. He just mentioned that it was happening.” Tilly replied with a shrug. She couldn’t afford to be influenced by her flatmates enthusiasm, it would only make her think things were different. Tilly knew she had to be careful about this and remind herself that he hadn’t actually invited her, she couldn’t let her grades be affected because she had a crush.

“Oh please.” Martha scoffed, a smug smile playing on her lips as she placed her own mug down beside the kettle, silently asking for a drink as well. “You’re being too hard on yourself! He wants to see you away from that god forsaken corridor!”

“Martha!” Tilly cried in frustration, the boiling kettle clicked off and the steam that swirled around the air helped to disguise the reddening of her cheeks. “It’s not a big deal. He didn’t ask me. I’m only going for my grade, and even then I don’t know if I’m even gonna get up there, I’ve never performed in front of an audience before.” She sighed, fishing the tea bags from the mugs and placing them on the breakfast bar in front of where Martha had taken a seat.

Tilly’s ‘play for yourself’ mantra had always been an important part of why she continued to play. The degree she was studying for didn’t have a compulsory performance module, it focused on the history of different types of music and the creation and production side of things. She never liked the idea of focusing the thing she loved doing, on the reaction of other people to it.

She wouldn’t say she was shy either, only that the thought of hundreds of pairs of eyes on her set a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she would just go to observe this time around, then if her grade needed pulling up later in the year she could perform at another.

“Well.” Martha began, taking a small sip of tea before continuing. “You’ve got a few days to decide, but there’s no harm done either way, right?”

****

The sun was shining bright on Saturday afternoon, and Tilly felt glad she’d decided not to put on tights underneath her denim skirt when she got dressed that morning. She was sat in The Red Dragon beer garden, her legs stretched out in front of her, hoping to catch some kind of colour after the dreary English winter had left her as pale as vanilla soap.

The open-mic wasn’t due to start for another hour yet, but Tilly thought it best she down some liquid courage in case she ran into Green Eyes beforehand. Martha, who was sat beside Tilly nursing her own beverage, had tagged along mainly in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the boy Tilly couldn’t keep quiet about, but also for moral support.

The crowd began to grow as it got nearer the time and when Tilly had stepped back inside for a refill she spotted Professor Anderson perched at the end of the bar, a prime viewing spot for the stage that was being set up.

She tried to shuffle away further down the bar, hoping to not catch his attention. She always found it odd seeing teachers outside of the classroom, it was always awkward and she never knew what to say without it getting personal. She’d once bumped into her secondary school biology teacher in M&S and had foolishly asked; “Are you here with your wife?”, when he coolly replied, “Tilly, I’m gay.” She vowed never to speak to teachers outside of a learning environment again.

Unfortunately she wasn’t given much choice in this situation.

“Miss Renford!” Professor Anderson called, just as she attempted to slyly sneak away. She took a tighter hold of her drink, and plastered a fake grin across her face as she turned back round to greet him. “I didn’t expect to see you here, are you performing?” He asked with genuine intrigue.

“Oh no!” She replied frantically, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to perform anyway. “Just supporting a friend.”

“Who?”

Your guess is as good as mine she thought.

“Oh, errrm, it’s….he -” Tilly stuttered. “I don’t think you know him.” She tried. His brows furrowed in confusion at her ramblings. “Will you excuse me?” She squeaked, scurrying off to find Martha before he had the chance to reply.

She spotted Martha’s long blonde hair cascading down her back from the door that led to the beer garden, she hadn’t moved from her shady spot at the table underneath the parasol. When Tilly reached her she immediately grabbed for the hand that wasn’t scrolling through her phone, pulling her up out of her seat.

“What’s the matter!?” She exclaimed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Her eyes suddenly widened with excitement. “Was it Green Eyes!? Where is he!? I wanna-”

“Will you be quiet?” Tilly interjected, both pleading and joking tones hinting at her voice. Still dragging Martha behind her, she made her way back inside, (expertly avoiding Professor Anderson) and towards a free table she’d spotted while she was at the bar.

Attempting to whisper in the packed out pub was a fool's errand, so Tilly explained her teacher/student run-in to her friend with the hopes he didn’t overhear.

Suddenly, while Martha was still sniggering away at Tilly’s expense the lights dimmed in the pub and the chatter that had been soaring around them, fell to a low hum. A short boy, with dark brown hair, dressed in a simple jeans and a checked shirt made his presence known on the stage by tapping the microphone. The booming sound bounced around the room, but all eyes were still on the boy who had now picked up a guitar from the stand at the side of the stage.

“Hi, I’m Toby Sherman. I’m in Professor Anderson’s second year Music History module, I’m gonna play you a song.” He looked down to where his trembling fingers were perched, ready to play, but before he began he looked back up to the audience with a smile. “Also, please clap at the end ‘cos I’ll get a better grade. Cheers.”

Everyone laughed at the performers joke, and as he strummed the first notes, the energy soon filtered down though to match the emotions of the song.

“That’s not him is it?” Martha asked, nudging Tilly with her elbow slightly and nodding towards the boy on stage.

“No.” Tilly replied. “You’ll know when you see him.” She said confidently, letting a small smile play on her lips when Martha rolled her eyes.

For the next half an hour or so, students from nearly all of Professor Anderson’s modules appeared on stage hoping to boost their grade, showing off a fantastic array of musical talent.

The effects of the alcohol Tilly had been sipping that afternoon were slowly but surely fading, and she hadn’t even seen Green Eyes yet. She began to doubt herself, a feeling of disappointment starting to build within her. She’d spent nearly all week convincing herself she wasn’t attending just for him, but the uneasy anticipation was building with every moment he didn’t show.

She let her eyes wander around the room, Professor Anderson was sat taking notes, still at the bar, Tilly recognised other faces from some of her classes, she caught their eye and they smiled in return. Finally giving up with her pathetic search for the boy who’d been clouding her mind for weeks, she returned her attention to what remained of her drink in her glass on the table.

Tilly poked around the ice with her straw, a small pout forming on her lips as she let her mind run away with ideas that Green Eyes might have set her up.

“Oh. My. God.” Martha gawped beside her, pulling Tilly away from her negative thoughts. She was looking up at the stage where the next performer was about to begin, Tilly followed her gaze curiously, wondering what could have captured Martha’s attention.

She saw the curls first, laying gracefully over his shoulders just about hiding the shadow cast from his strong jaw, and that alone confirmed to her it was him. He was wearing a striped shirt, the sleeves rolled to near his elbows showing off the tattoos scattered across his skin, and it was unbuttoned a fair way down his chest revealing to Tilly and the rest of the audience a hint of more black ink. The skinny jeans he always wore were pulled over pointed black boots that looked as though they’d had a fresh polish.

Her eyes trailed up to his face, and they snapped to his like magnets. His stare was intense but not overwhelming, like a lit fire in the winter time she found his presence comforting, all the sour feelings exiting her body when a small smile appeared on his lips. Suddenly, Tilly was sure the rambling in the room was becoming duller, as if everyone was becoming mesmerised by the eyes she was captured in too.

His head finally ducked, and Tilly swore she could see a twinge of pink settling on his cheeks underneath the glaring stage lights. It was Martha nudging her side which made her own eyes fall away.

“Think I found him.” She teased. And Tilly had to bite her bottom lip in an attempt to stop her smile growing wider.

****

The steps up to the stage were steep and dimly lit by the glow that was radiating from the big lights behind him. She was the first person his eyes picked out in the crowd when he reached the mic, and suddenly the nerves he was feeling became weaker, a boost of confidence shooting through him like he’d taken a shot of it at the bar.

He couldn’t hide the happiness he felt because she was there, and he could feel his cheeks heating under her gaze. The crumpled piece of paper he’d found earlier that week was folded safely in his pocket, but it felt like it was burning through the fabric. The past week had been spent with Harry trying not to get his hopes up about her attendance. Doubtful thoughts raced through his mind every time he picked up his guitar to practice. She’d seemed so cold when he’d last seen her in the corridor. He wondered what changed her mind.

He took one last moment to really see her. A smile broke across his features when he noticed the tiny little bun she’d pulled half of her short wavy hair back into, her legs were crossed and swinging back and forth; she had on a faded pair of Birkenstocks, and Harry wondered how many times they’d fallen of her feet as they moved back and forth.

He looked down quickly and with deep, calming breaths he prepared himself for his performance. Harry knew if he was going to get a good grade for this he’d have to perform like he usually did, with all the stage presence and talent he knew he had, completely drawing the audience into the song, but Harry also knew he had an introduction to make.

“Hi, I’m Harry.” He spoke into the mic, while finding her eyes again. “Every week I’m lucky enough to hear the most beautiful rendition of this song, so I’m gonna give it a try myself. This is for you, Tilly.” Her wide eyes looked back at him, full of wonder and surprise, Harry knew if he didn’t look away now he’d get lost in them forever.

With careful, practised fingers he began to play. The music flowing effortlessly like a gentle woodland stream in spring, and his voice the perfect partner, as gentle as a soft breeze that sways the new leaves on the trees.

It’s over before he knows it, and the sudden eruption of applause jolts him out of the trance he’d been lost in. Every time he blinked during the performance he saw her words and notes scribbled behind his eyes, like the moment he lost sight of her in the room she was still there spurring him on.

Harry mumbled his thanks into the mic, before quickly shuffling off the stage. He needed to find her.

Pushing his way through the crowd he only smiled in response to those who gave him praise. He didn’t have time to stop. Not when he knew she was here. His heart was beating faster and faster in his chest the closer he got, with darting feet and quick movements he zoomed through the sea of students.

Harry came to a sudden stop when he reached the booths at the back just past the bar. His eyes ran up and down the back wall looking for her. He searched for the cute little half bun and the pastel pink shirt with cartoon ice creams on it, even looked out for a pair of crossed legs swinging out from underneath a chair. But there was nothing. She was gone.

****

A knock on the practise room door on Tuesday afternoon, for some reason didn’t come as a surprise to Tilly. She’d been expecting to see Harry at some point, and she knew it wouldn’t be the usual five minute convo in the corridor. She muttered a small “come in” to him on the other side, before taking a deep breath in the hopes it would help calm her steadily increasing nerves.

He entered with his head down and shoulders slumped, and he looked to Tilly somewhat like a kicked puppy. His thick curls fell in soft ringlets down the side of his face, as if like a shield that would protect him from any harsh words she had to say. His lips seemed more pink, slightly chapped and dry like he’d been picking and biting at them with nerves. The soft click of door behind him made her breath hitch, as it suddenly dawned on her this was the first moment they’d truly been alone.

“I’m really sorry if I crossed a line. I didn’t mean to upset you at all, I realise now it was probably too personal. I just came to give you these back.” He reached round to his back pocket, and swiftly removed whatever it was. In an outstretched hand, not quite fully extending all the way, Tilly recognised her favourite notes at once, even more folded and crumpled than they were before. She hadn’t even noticed they were missing.

She reached out for them, tugging lightly as his fingers loosened as soon as they felt a pull. Opening the papers for confirmation that they were indeed her Adele notes, she smiled when she spotted a few extra notes and scribbles on the sheets.

“I didn’t steal them by the way!” He said suddenly, causing Tilly to pull her eyes away from the new markings. “You left them here last week, so I just kind of borrowed them without asking. I actually went off of them when I performed.”

Although the paper was old and worn, with the addition of Harry’s scribbles it looked like it had been given a new lease of life. The original printed notes were faded and grey, and the marks Tilly had written as a teenager were smudged and pretty much unreadable, but the fresh black ink on the page in adorably curly cursive looked like it belonged there.

“It was really lovely, Harry.” Tilly admitted, she had been in complete and utter awe of him when he was on the stage. His voice was smooth as silk, like a soft sheet it wrapped around everyone in the room, encasing them in comfort. He was a natural performer, no-one could take their eyes off of him. He wasn’t dancing or moving around, but the emotion he was obviously feeling was like a buzz of electricity round the room.

“Thanks. I’ll go back outside now, I just wanted to give you these incase you needed them. Not that I think you need the practise, you always sound amazing. You have a great voice.” He rambled.

“You can hear me sing!?” She cried, eyes widening in horror.

“Yeah, I tell you every week how great you sound.” Harry said, confused how she’d not picked up on his glaringly obvious compliments.

“I thought you just meant the piano. Oh my god. No one has ever heard me sing. I don’t sing!” She cried, growing more flustered.

“You sound beautiful when you sing.” Harry countered simply.

Her heart lurched in her chest, like it was pulling her towards him. For weeks she’d felt like they were on opposite ends of a string, never knowing anything new, never getting closer. But since the performance she felt it pulling and coiling, wrapping tighter around her. She wondered if Harry felt it too and they were about to meet in the middle.

“You can stay in here if you like. You don’t have to go back in the corridor.” She offered with a small smile after she’d calmed down.

Tilly watched as he took tentative steps towards the corner of the room, away from the door without saying a word. He seemed shy and timid, nothing like the performance he’d put on on Saturday. Tilly wondered if they were more similar than she originally thought. She’s been so caught up in his eyes and his kind words, that she wondered when she looked to floor flustered at his compliments if she missed the pink on his cheeks too.

She took her own seat at the piano, her fingers automatically moving to the keys, playing a simple melody to warm up. She spied Harry out of the corner of her eye, looking for any sign that he might regret staying, but he seemed content with the background noise she was providing as she spotted his feet gently tapping the floor in time with the rhythm.

Tilly continued playing her usual melodies, warming herself up and getting used to the instrument again after a week of not playing. Between pieces she’d chance a glance over at Harry, who was still sat contentedly completing some of his own work, but just as she was about to turn round and start her final one, he looked up too, catching her eyes.

It was things like the unbroken eye contact that had fooled Tilly into think he was more confident than he was, but she liked the way she could look into his eyes, fully knowing he was doing the same to her.

“Why did you leave?” He asked quietly.

Tilly immediately knew what he meant, and the guilt that had been edging at her from the moment her shoes touched the pavement outside The Red Dragon on Saturday, suddenly crashed like a wave during high tide. Now she knew why he was looking into her eyes so intensely, he was searching for signs of a lie.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, looking down to her lap.

Her eyes fluttered up to him, she didn’t say a word, only hoped he could see her regret, because she was sorry. In the seconds after Harry played the final notes of his set she was sure she had tears in her eyes, and Martha wasn’t far off crying either. But the surprise she’d been hit with when he first appeared, which had turned to pure joy when he opened his mouth to sing, suddenly fizzled out, and a spark of fear ignited within her when she watched him begin the path towards her when he left the stage.

Without really thinking she tugged on Martha’s hand and escaped through the back exit by the beer garden. The image of Harry’s beautiful green eyes searching for her as he pushed through the crowd had been etched on her brain ever since.

Even from across the room Harry could see the sadness in her eyes, and it was shattering his heart piece by piece to think he might have had something to do with it. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and didn’t notice when he got up and moved towards her. Taking a place on the end of the piano bench, he spotted the notes he’d become so familiar with on the stand. Reaching past her, he gently pulled the papers to the front and then settled his hands against the keys.

The shifting and shuffling beside her was what finally pulled Tilly from her thoughts. She looked up just as Harry pressed down on the keys, attempting to play the song he’d already performed, just on a different instrument. However, it only took a matter of seconds for Tilly to realise Harry had evidently never played the piano before. She didn’t stop him though. Only smiled as she watched his tongue poke out from between his rosy lips concentrating on a particularly hard combination. His eyes would squint as he looked between the paper and the keys, trying desperately to follow the notes correctly, but when a wrong key was hit and the off tune sound bounced off the walls, his brows would raise so high in surprise Tilly thought they were going to disappear.

Tilly had thought the seed of hope that Harry had planted when he said her name on the stage days before, had wilted and rotted when she left without seeing him; never giving it a chance to grow. But now, with every wrong note played and small cheer of elation when something went right, Tilly could feel the roots of hope and happiness beginning to spread, getting ready to fully bloom.

Although she admired his concentration and perseverance, the out of time and off tune notes meant her own fingers were itching to push him away and play it herself. As much as he tried he didn’t seem to be getting much better, and after what must have been the tenth attempt at one particular set of notes, Tilly could no longer hold in the giggle that had been resting in her throat.

“What happened!? You did so well on Saturday too!” She teased, sliding along the bench closer to him, stopping when their arms touched.

She giggled again when she took in the expression on his face. His jaw dropped open as if he was offended, but she could see the dimple on his cheek starting to form, so she didn’t feel bad laughing at his feeble attempt.

With a sudden burst of confidence Tilly reached out for his hands that were resting against the keys, and took them in her own. Pressing against his fingers in the way they should have moved if he was following the notes correctly. It didn’t sound great, a few wonky notes being hit every so often as their intertwined fingers slipped away, but the accompanying laugh from Harry still sounded like music to Tilly.

Her short hair had fallen from behind her ears, but even through the curtain of waves she could feel his eyes on her when they came to the end. His hands pulled away first, reaching out to push back the hair that hid her from him. A full smile stretched across her features, the freckles on her cheeks seeming to come to life, like stars in the night sky. Harry knew if he could make a wish what he would ask for.

And while Harry saw the stars on her cheeks, Tilly saw the world in his eyes. So bright, and green, and true, she knew they held the answers to questions she hadn’t asked yet, that in times of darkness they’d be the only light she needed. That the green colour that had been etched on her mind, was the same colour green as the leaves that grew from the seed of hope he’d planted within her.

When he leaned towards her, his hand still delicately holding the side of her face, Tilly thought that perhaps the flowers that were sure to bloom from that seed, would be the same shade of pink as his lips.

The kiss was soft and gentle, like the way they had always been with each other, neither one brave enough to push too far, but still a sense of wanting more. Her captured lips were sweet like the pastry she’d snacked on earlier, and their mouths melted together like the icing that had been drizzled on top. Her hands found resting place on his chest, the warmth seeping through her fingertips and into her veins, encasing her in a feeling she’d never known before.

As they pulled apart his thumb grazed lightly over her freckled cheek, as if mapping out the stars, creating constellations he’d look for again and again. She watched as his eyes searched over her skin, and she took advantage of his slightly dazed state to drop a last peck to his lips.

“I think I should stick to the piano, and you should stick with singing.” She mused, nudging him further up the bench with her hip. Her hands automatically found their place on the keys, and the tune that was now so familiar to them both, began to flow between them.

He smiled down to her, completely overwhelmed and in awe, as the dainty fingers that had rested on his chest moments ago danced across the instrument so gracefully.

“What d’ya think?” She asked with a smile, just before the chorus hit.

Harry sang, and Tilly played. In perfect harmony the song was performed like never before, but in such a way that they both knew it was something special.

When the final notes faded out and Harry placed his lips to her hers once more, he knew next week, and the weeks after that, that he’d be arriving at the Red Brick Music Room even earlier again.

#1dff #harry styles #1dff summer fic exchange 2017

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