#nah bc why does this sound like angst at the start i swear its not im just an angsty bean i mean nothing bad ;-;; | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Firsts / #5, “The First Time Without”

*not my gifs*

---> NEXT BLURB: Um, not sure with finals coming up . . Check the series masterlist for updates!

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST

READ ON WATTPAD

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

and i’m too lazy for italics bc tumblr ignores formatting like that i do in Docs so sorry

WARNINGS: Swearing, distressing topics, hella lotta angst and sadness

WORD COUNT: 16.5k words (WOWZAS!!!)

SONG: Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie (click to listen)

* Sneak PeeEEEK! *

“‘ve rehearsed it so many bloody times in me head, but now, I actually get t’ talk t’ you and I can’t rememba,” he admits softly with shame painting his voice, and an out of place smile.

“All I know . . ‘s that I miss you and it scares me how much I can miss you sittin’ at a meetin’ with you across tha table. I miss you like you’ve gone . . but inna way, you have. I miss you in so many ways, walkin’ in tha door at home t’ you, findin’ you’d claimed me sofa again fer anotha day workin’ t’getha, or even that you’d be usin’ one o’ me favourite coffee mugs or jumpers. I miss those small things, and then, I even miss wakin’ up next t’ you, talkin’ t’ you ‘bout songs, ‘bout art, or gettin’ yer advice on a recipe or an argument inna case. ‘d missed you like mad befo’, but nuthin’ compares t’ this. Didn’t know I could miss somebody so much that ‘m always sore from it, that I ache when I see you and can’t touch you or talk t’ you.”

“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end. If not always in the ways we expect.”

- Luna Lovegood

“You can only actually help someone who wants to be helped.”

- Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

It smelled of metal and disinfectant around me, but I tried to drown it out with the images I scroll through. The electronic beeping wormed its way into my thoughts, but I welcomed the respite from the chaos toiling around in there. Images of friends and casual strangers litter my Instagram feed and instead of looking away when the dinging stops, I continue, distracting myself. That in itself seems to be my job for the last few weeks, owned by the number one job of not thinking about it. It’s followed by another important task of not crying in public, and saving it for at home despite the place owning that name changing recently. I’ve failed at all of those jobs the second I think about the person who I called my home for so long now, and can’t any longer.

The new smell is what gets me at first, and immediately, the pictures are forgotten. I know before I look up that the facade is broken. Then, everything is shattered within a few moments, no matter how good I’ve gotten at ignoring him, or pushing down the feelings when I see him across the table at a team meeting. I’ve gotten good at the pretending part, but the only person I’ve never been able to do that around is the very one who accompanies me on the elevator now. My bad luck echoes when I finally chance a glance and I leave it for too long, because then he looks up and meets my eyes.

Harry. My home . . but he’s not that any longer.

“Hi,” he risks with a gentle curve of his lips, and a softness in his eyes that he holds in his hands for me too. A softness that never left him once I worked my way into his heart all of those years ago, it’s one that I still can’t allow myself to get rid of.

“Hi,” I return curtly, tearing my eyes away from him, and his new suit. A mauve ensemble with a raven black button up underneath. Spiffy, indeed. It feels like a mini marathon to look away from him in that suit, and how it hugs him in all of the right places. The biceps, the chest, how it opens at his wildly attractive throat, reminds me of the base that we never hit when my eyes venture too low, and his bum. No, I can’t see it from my view right now, but I’d made sure to have seen it earlier today.

“‘s good timin’, I was wonderin’ if we could talk,” he ventures out on a limb to say, and my eyes are rolling before he gets to finish.

“I don’t want to talk, Harry.”

“Becks, please, jus’ lemme finish, bug,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so gutsy to use those two coveted names within one sentence. Despite his bravery, the gesture does its job, and I gulp against the longing that climbs up my throat.

“No, you don’t get to.”

Several Weeks Earlier . . .

“And just what are you mmming about?” I giggle under the spray of kisses he scatters across my face.

“‘ve been waitin’ all day t’ smother you in kisses, that’s why,” he hums against my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface with his warm breath so near. A laugh sings from me when his fingers linger to a ticklish spot on my side.

“Harry, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry, swear I didn’t mean t’,” he giggles in between kisses that he sponges down my chest. “Mmmm, I love these so much.”

“And why is that?”

“Why all tha questions, lovey?” he says, asking one of his own. He lifts an eyebrow at me from under the hood of his dark, thick eyelashes. A dimple collapses into his cheek while one corner of his mouth raises. “Can’t I love yer tits without havin’ t’ say why? Rather sure y’know why, anyways.”

“Yeah, you’re obsessed with them,” I say, a laugh sputtering from my lips. A groan interrupts them when he teases me with those lips. “It’d be nice if you could not make jokes about them while our coworkers are around.”

“Hey, I didn’t know My was in tha copier room, ‘s not me fault. Y’know he doesn’t give a shit about our PDA at work, and c’mon, Becks, they really did look incredible in that blouse t’day,” Harry winks from below me, lips venturing to the space above my belly button. “I love ‘em, they’re pink and perfect.”

A redness sits in my cheeks as I titter, pressing the back of my hand against my shy lips, embarrassment coating them thickly. “We should be taking down the Halloween decorations instead of this.”

“Hush you,” he murmurs.

His hair is tangled and yet handsome when I catch my fingers in it, scratching my fingernails against his scalp. My eyes stay glued to it and his figure hunched over me, lips stopping at the hem of my underwear. I already know about the smirk lining his lips when he lifts his head to pose a question to me with his eyes.

“Hmmm?” he murmurs, but I shake my head, again. “C’mon, Becks, it’d feel good, love. I wanna taste you.”

Shaking my head once more, a refusal hums from me as my cheeks turn to the color of apples that I hope he can’t see. He sighs with a shake of his head, clucking his tongue at me while pressing kisses to the inside of my leg, soon reaching the pillowy flesh of my inner thigh. Closing my eyes, I press my lips together and sigh, my arm falling over my chest. I try to remember when I had lost my shirt and when he had lost his, but these days, it’s hard to remember if it was after the first kiss or the fiftieth.

His lips reach further down my thigh and close to my blush colored underwear, a lacy part I’d bought recently. Once his lips had ventured down there, a knot inside of my stomach appeared, and it only grows tighter as his lips drop lower. It threatens to unravel when his nose brushes against the hemline, pushing it back to kiss the recently hidden flesh of my hip.

“Harry!” I exclaim, tugging softly at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“What? I was jus’ gettin’ t’ tha good part.”

“You know I’m not-.”

“I know,” he groans, situating himself high over top of me again like we had started, and with a kiss to the lips too. Despite the gesture, I can see the tension in his jaw and the annoyance in his eyes. “I can’t eat you out and I can’t fook you, so what ‘s there left fer me t’ do, huh?”

“Kiss me,” I say, and for some reason, it comes out sounding like a question. He huffs and bends down to place his lips on mine, but from the start, it doesn’t feel right. Now, I can feel the tension in his shoulders and the rigidness of his lips on mine. “What, are you not into this anymore?” I inquire after ending the kiss, twirling a curl of his around my finger on his neck.

“No, ‘s not that,” Harry answers, eyes straying from me. A hand lifts from the bed and he draws invisible shapes on my skin with the lightest of touch until it runs loose on me.

“Stop playing with my boobs and look at me,” I laugh, laying an arm across my bare chest and lifting his chin. The playful glint he so often holds in his eyes is there, but once my laugh falls away, it does too. “You’re being impatient again, aren’t you?”

“I jus’ dunno why we can’t do mo’, Becks, we’ve been t’getha ten months. Loads o’ couples have sex befo’ then and tha girlfriend lets their boyfriend eat ‘em out too.”

“We’re not other couples, Harry, and I’m just not ready,” I say, combing the stray curls off of his forehead. My hand wanders to his smooth cheeks that already feel sandpapery despite him shaving this morning, right next to me as I washed my face.

“I know, ‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Does Mr. Impatient want some head?”

“Nah, ‘m good. Let’s jus’ go eat dinna, ‘m hungry,” he says sadly, climbing off of me and the bed.

“That’s not what your dick is saying,” I respond, sitting up and pulling my shirt over my head, watching as he pulls a pair of joggers over his briefs to hide the bulge in his underwear.

“‘m fine. Now, what d’ya want fer dinna?” he continues, stepping in the hallway, forgetting his shirt on the bedroom floor.

“Dick.”

“Fine, you can make yer own dinna, sassy pants!” he calls to me, joined by the sound of his bare feet slapping on the wooden stairs.

With a sigh, I close my eyes and fall back onto the bed with a little bounce, thinking about him. I think about the look on his face when it was between my thighs, then between my breasts, and nosing at my underwear. What is wrong with me to deny that man? I don’t know, I want to do the deed with him- I want to make love to him and for him to make love to me, but for some reason, I’m just not ready. I have a weird feeling about the whole thing, like I should wait. I just wish that I knew the why.

I hear it before I see it, like I so often do. It runs a trail down the hallway and to my ears, pulling my lips into a smile long before I see the one sitting on his.

“What on your phone is so funny?” I inquire, stopping in front of his desk and dropping his mail next to his keyboard. Another giggle tickles his lips as he pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, staring at something on his phone.

“Yer dad ‘s what.”

“I should’ve known,” I sigh, falling onto one of the chairs in front of his desk, watching as his thumbs flit across the screen. “I swear, you talk to my dad more than I talk to him, and he’s my dad!”

“Uh oh, ‘s somebody gettin’ jealous now?” he teases, lifting his eyes to look at me as he sets his phone down.

“No, why would I be jealous of you texting my dad? It makes me happy.”

“Hmm, not sure I believe you, bug,” he remarks, popping a mint into his mouth, immediately chewing it. Sometimes, I really don’t get him. “Then why d’ya get so bent outta shape sometimes, hmm?”

Clucking my tongue, I huff with a smile that hugs the corner of my lips, “Maybe because he doesn’t answer when I call because he’s talking to somebody else.”

“Hey now,” Harry titters, gesturing a hand at me to come to him once I’ve stood up. “Don’t be that way.”

“I’m not being any way,” I say, turning around after considering the books he’s added to a new shelf of his. These ones are music biographies, big surprise.

“Sure ya aren’t. C’mere, me stubborn girl,” he beckons, and I obey, taking slow steps over to him until I walk between his legs. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I return, just as softly as he had uttered it. His rose lips spread into a sweet smile, reminding me why it’s always so damn hard to stay mad at him.

“Are you grumpy?” Harry asks with the most adorable of pouts poised on his lips, winking at me.

“No, I’m not grumpy. Are you ready to get started on this case? We really can’t be dawdling, you know.”

“I know,” he answers, sadness stuck to his words. It guides his actions that lead him to look away from me, pulling me closer until he rests his forehead below my collarbone.

“Then why are you these last few days? I thought you were so excited that we got this case, everybody else fought us for it.”

“I am, but ‘s intimidatin’. I dunno if ‘m cut out fer it,” he says, slowly extending his fingers along the small of my back, and then pulling them back into a fist. In and out. In and out. “What if we can’t win it, Becks?” he asks, lifting his head to meet my eyes, and I wish I couldn’t see the blatant fear held in them.

“Then we can’t. We can only do our best, Harry, that’s what you’ve always told me.”

“And what if my best isn’t good enough? Ev’rybody ‘cross tha whole bloody world ‘s watchin’ this case, waitin’ t’ see what happens,” he continues, avoiding my eyes entirely, now tracing the pattern on the front of my blouse.

“It will be, and it is, Harry. I promise you.”

His head slowly moves up and down, but no words leave him. His questions bounce off the walls in my mind, replaying themselves, and I only wish that I could express my worry too. I’d certainly grown more confident in my abilities since I started working with him, and I owed it not just to his teachings, but also the confidence that he’s instilled in me. I hadn’t given him the go ahead for us to split a case equal between us, and I never knew when I’d be ready for that, so I’d always leaned on him and his skills, but now I was worried to do that. I’m afraid to, and I’d never been before.

“Everything will be okay, Harry.”

“I hope so, Becks,” he croaks, laying his forehead on my chest and his closing eyes flutter against my skin softly. I hold in the sigh that I want to let fall, but instead, I run my fingers through his hair and down his back, unsure of what more I can do. If there was anything I couldn’t be sure of, it was the future and what it held, and how little I knew what was coming.

It started that night, daunting and unwilling to let go, and if only I’d known what it was the beginning of.

I kept checking my phone, staring at the clock that moved like molasses, and waiting for the text that wouldn’t come. Exhaling loudly, I swipe across the screen until his name is waiting for me, and I do it before I can stop myself.

Are you on your way home yet? It’s supposed to snow tonight, maybe it is already. I don’t want you to get caught in it with bad roads

The word ‘delivered’ appears and then stares back at me, almost taunting me. Before my eyes, it changes to ‘read’ and I wait for the gray bubble to pop up on his side, but it doesn’t. I watch and I wait, and nothing happens. No thumbs up, no text reaction, no ‘b home soon,’ like he so often sends. Not a thing. I forget how long I sit there watching my phone screen, tapping at it when it grows dark, and wishing he’d send something. It got even later when I finally press the lock button and set my phone down on the nightstand, glancing at the alarm clock beside it.

11:38.

I tried not to worry and I tried not to overthink it, but I was already past that when I turned off the light. My heart continued to ram against my ribs as I slid under the cold blankets in an empty bed, watching the steady glow of the streetlamp outside the window. I lied there and I tried and I wanted to, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I had a hard time remembering the last time I had slept in a bed without him, even before I moved in we had sleepovers at his. I wasn’t sure how I’d get any sleep for another day of work tomorrow, knowing that I’d be up in seven hours, and so would he. That’s if I could shut off all of this worrying and fall asleep, if only.

I listen to the whir of cars passing along on the street, and I find myself wishing one of them is his, but it’s too long until it actually is. The space around me had grown warm, but if I move a leg too far, I’m greeted by icy sheets. It had never been that way, I could always move a little and find him and his warmth. Sometimes, I’d wake in the morning and he was all around me, clinging to me and my heat.

It was in the middle of a long, sleepy blink that I heard a door open downstairs, and shut. It was loud, a clumsy kind of one, and so are the footsteps that soon come up the stairs. A sigh tickles my ears before the door opens slowly with a squeak, and his feet pad through our bedroom. I only see a flash of him before he ducks into the ensuite bathroom with what looks like a handful of clothes. I watch the shadows that interrupt the bar of light under the door, and listen to his whistling and humming amidst the sloshing of running water.

His eyes are tired when he opens the door again, and they only look all the more exhausted when they find mine in the lit darkness.

“Why aren’t you sleepin’, bug?” he rasps, stepping forward in his outfit of nothing but joggers donning his legs. He claims that he can’t wear a shirt without getting too warm, because I heat the entire bed, or so he says. Right now, I don’t believe it.

“I couldn’t . . without you.”

“Oh, Becks,” he frowns, padding across the hardwood floor and pulling back the sheets to slip under them. “Brr, ‘m cold, warm me up, would ya?”

“Ugh, you’re freezing!” I exclaim, my nervousness melting away into giggles that tickle his neck as he wraps me in his arms.

“Mmmm, now that’s better.”

I hum a reply into his chest, dragging my fingers along his spine, touching the wispy baby hairs that cover his body like down. The questions from before still rummage around in my mind, looking for purchase.

“Why were you out so late?” I decide to ask, smelling the toothpaste we use on my own breath, and then his.

“Didn’t mean t’, jus’ lost track o’ time with Rore. We had some drinks and I didn’t wanna drive home buzzed, so I waited it out and had some waters.”

“Good boy,” I reply, nuzzling into his cozy chest, feeling the feathery hair there tickle my face. Yawning, I let my body relax now that mine is finally back with his, one specific question hiding in the back of my mind. “But why didn’t you answer?” I mumble without caution, feeling myself begin to melt into a puddle of sleep against him.

“Answer what?”

“Your phone,” I drawl, losing the feeling of my fingers and then my feet.

“Jus’ go t’ sleep, bug. It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” I hum in reply, not even sure of what he’d just said. “Goodnight, Harry. Love you.”

“Night, my Becks,” he responds with a peck to my head, sounding far away.

The tapping of my shoes against the tiling fills my ears as I flip through his mail, noting which ones should go on top for him to see first, and what can remain at the bottom to be forgotten about until later. Something I’d accidentally fall back into the habit of when I returned to the firm, despite being a lawyer now, and not his assistant. Humming a tune I had heard earlier today, I look up and stop in his doorway, finding myself in an odd moment. With his eyes bent down, I can tell that he doesn’t know I’m there yet, and that he does it because he doesn’t see me.

“What are you doing? It’s nine o’clock,” I titter, covering my mouth when my voice scares him, causing the brown liquid to spill over the side of his mug.

“God, can ya maybe not scare tha shit outta me next time?” Harry almost retorts, mopping it up with a napkin before screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

“Harry, I said, what are you doing?” I repeat, click clacking my way into his office and dropping his mail on his desk, yet again.

“What? ‘s jus’ whiskey. Can I not make my coffee a li’l irish ev’ry now and then?” he questions, lifting the tall mug to his lips to sip from, steaming wafting against his face.

“I guess so,” I trail off, waltzing back to the sofa and picking up my laptop. Sitting down, I place it on my lap and open it back up, watching the long pull he takes from the mug. Bringing up the internet browser I was using before, I scroll through the document as I try to forget watching him fill the mug nearly half of the way with whiskey.

“Harry?” I call out, toeing off my chestnut colored winter boots, hoping he won’t notice the puddle of water next to the shoe mat. He’s such a dad with the things he gets cross about, I swear. “Hello, are you home yet? I brought you some leftovers from Skye’s, you know, for dinner.”

Padding into the house, I’m met with darkness and a soft silence. I don’t find my boyfriend sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, a show on the telly. I walk past the large flat screen and knock on the door of his study before pushing it open, finding that that room is also dark.

“Harry, hello?” I almost shout again, taking the steps two at a time until I reach our bedroom, wondering if he was taking a nap after his early morning, or if he happened to not be feeling well. Once again, I come up empty handed, and my head begins to spin as the cogs turn inside of it.

“Hullo?” the voice on the other side says whilst I pad down the stairs quickly.

“Hi, where are you?”

“‘m at tha pub with My, why?” he says, and I can tell by the sound of clinking glasses and loud voices coming from his side.

“Oh, just wondering. I thought you said you were coming straight home to work more on the case,” I begin, intending to continue but I don’t get the chance to.

“No, I spent all bloody day workin’ on it, why should I spend me night off pourin’ over it too?” he nearly retorts, and I stop in my tracks before the island, taken aback by his tone.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t say you had to or anything, Harry. Is something wrong?”

“No, ‘d jus’ appreciate not havin’ you nag me like yer me mother or sumthin’. ‘m an adult, can’t I go out fer a drink at tha pub afta work? Reckon ‘ve deserved it, dontch’u think?” he continues with a carry to his voice that I don’t like, and it only begins to make sense once I’ve picked out the slur in his words.

“Yeah, of course, just don’t drink too much, okay? And drive safe. Maybe don’t stay out as late as last night, you have an early meeting.”

“I jus’ said don’t bloody nag me, and look what ya start doin’,” he bites back and I shudder, taking a seat at the island to steady my feet.

“I didn’t mean to, Harry, I just care-.”

“If ya fookin’ care so much, Becky, then stop treatin’ me like a damn baby,” he spits at me, and I hear the dial tone.

“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath, pulling my phone away from my ear. I grimace at the image on my lockscreen that only makes the wound sting worse.

Dinner went down harshly and so did the glass of wine that I had with it although regrettably. Watching FRIENDS without him was a bore and it didn’t last long, afraid I’ll only piss him off further if he came home to see me skipping ahead in our show without him there. I whittled away at the next things to be done in the case - research this, research that, take notes on this, get these statements, bladdy blah. All just to busy my mind and to make the clock speed along until he came home, and hopefully, when things would go back to normal.

Before I knew it, it was getting late and I was still home all alone. A warm bath didn’t calm my nerves and it only made me wish that he was sitting across from me under the suds, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t lying in the bed waiting for me when I got out, skin all shriveled like prunes, no matter how badly I wished he’d be home after my long bath. He hadn’t walked in the door after I read a chapter from my book, spoke on the phone with my dad, or wrote in my journal. I at last flicked off the bedside lamp and tried to fall asleep in a cold bed, once again.

I woke with a start to a loud slam! downstairs on the main level of the house, presumably a door. Failing to ignore it, I turn over and tug the covers higher, unable to tune out the sound of his loud footsteps climbing the stairs. Sinking lower into the messy covers, I keep my eyes shut and listen to his sloppy movements before they arrive him in the bed next to me with a huff. Words sit in my throat, itching to be said, but I only let one of them out.

“Harry?”

It had become old, very swiftly and very quickly. For the next few nights, I sat alone at home, wondering and waiting for texts that never came, only to fall into a fitful sleep in a cold bed, all alone. I’d awake the next morning to the sound of him emptying his stomach into the toilet, and either leaving for work without me, or being a monumental crab-ass on the drive there. As the days carried on, I couldn’t remember for the life of me the last time his coffees weren’t Irish. I ignored it, and after a few days of doing that, I knew that that’s where my mistakes had begun.

The door slowly creaked open and dragged in was him, glossy eyed and surprise etched on his features.

“What d’ya want, mum? Gonna chew me out fer stayin’ out past me bedtime?” he jokes at me, closing the bedroom door behind him as he waltzes in wearing a disheveled version of today’s suit.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, twisting the rings around on my fingers, lingering on a new one that had appeared on my hand last week. Sometimes, it hurt to remember that it was there, but I could never get myself to take it off.

“Oh, here we go,” he sighs, slamming closed a drawer to his wardrobe. Avoiding my eyes, he unclasps his belt and lets his trousers fall to the floor. “Nuthin’s goin’ on with me, I dunno why ya think sumthin’ ‘s.”

“Yes, there is, Harry. You’ve been out late drinking every night this week, and I’m sick of it!” I confess quietly, unsure of where to find the fervor in my voice, or well, the volume. An ironic laugh curves at his lips as he undoes the buttons of his crimson red shirt.

“I don’t rememba askin’ how ya felt ‘bout it, or needin’ yer permission eitha,” he retorts, achieving malice and cruel intent in a matter of seconds. It’s all too much when he meets my eyes with his unforgiving stare, and I have to look away.

“Why are you acting like this?” I say, the incoming tears already decorating my words. His heavy sigh only makes my throat burn worse with its impending dryness.

“What, are ya gonna fookin’ cry now? Bloody hell, ya can be a brat when ya wanna be,” he slurs, slinking off his button down that hits the floor silently. Sniffling, I look up and watch him slide on pajama bottoms to cover his dark black briefs.

His tattoos grab at my attention from across the room, but I don’t want to fall asleep tracing them like I would any other night, because that’s not him standing across from me. It may have taken me a few days too long to realize this, but it’s not. That’s not my Harry. No, it’s the Harry that I first met that September day when he barked his Starbucks order at me.

“It’s the case, isn’t it? It’s taking too much of a toll on you, Harry. You should give it up, or hand it off to somebody else. I don’t like this you, you’re drinking too much and-.”

“Did I ask fer yer opinion? Y’know what? No, I don’t rememba that. Now, my bloody god, would ya leave it be so I can get some sleep?” he interrupts in a retort, heavy feet padding around to the other side of the bed with a wobbliness to them. He rips back the covers and sits down, grabbing his charger to plug his phone in. Swiping at my cheeks, I grab my pillow and anxiously begin my trek to the door. “Goin’ t’ sleep on tha sofa, are ya now? Good, maybe you’ll stop naggin’ on me then.”

His voice that usually would lull me to sleep and drive the demons away instead keeps me away, guiding me down the steps until I stop on the last one. My butt burns when it falls onto the wooden step and I bury my face in my knees, my chest shaking with a new sob.

I eventually scrounge up the might and energy to pull myself off of the staircase and across the room until I collapse onto the sofa, and cry myself into an uneasy sleep.

The smell of eggs and toast wakes me the next morning, but the illusion is broken when I hear the slam of the door to the garage, and the hum of his car pulling away.

The sounds of Mozart and Beethoven meander around my office, but they fail to drive away the incessant thoughts that have buried their way into my mind. They mask the signalling sound of his footsteps that I could pick out from a crowd.

“Hey, ‘m done with me meetin’ now. Ya wanna come t’ mine and we can finish up the openin’ statement?” he says, but as much as my heart reaches out for him, I can’t do it after the other night. Sure, casual conversation had happened since then, but he had also been missing in action for almost the entire weekend recently. A nice dinner together last night wasn’t enough to wash away the hurt from that night, and all of the others. “Becks?” Harry repeats, taking a step into my office. The door closes with a squeak that I’ve been meaning to ask him to get fixed, but something as simple as that hadn’t seemed possible in the last week, and neither had a kiss or a hug. Not even on our official ten month anniversary that came and went uncelebrated yesterday, despite his urging last week that we should do something to celebrate it.

“No thanks, I’m fine in here,” I say softly, feeling the eggshells underneath my feet as the words make their way out.

“Uh, okay,” he answers. “‘ll grab you fer lunch with me mum in an hour then. She picked Henry’s down tha street fer pizza. We haven’t been there in a while,” he finishes, and I wonder how he can manage such small talk after the things he had said to me. I ask and come up empty when I question how I could even let him.

“And again, why are you hiding out in my office?”

“I’m not hiding out in your office,” I insist, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear before resuming my typing.

“Uh, yeah you are. You have your own office, don’t you remember?”

“What, I can’t hang out with my friend and work together?” I say, lifting my eyes to meet Asher’s sky blue pair that squint at me in question. He shakes his head with his lips parted, ready to say something, but he just sighs without an answer.

“What tha hell?” somebody shouts, the blinds on Asher’s door swinging and swaying after the initial shock of its opening. I see Ash’s look before the intruder’s, but I’m afraid that I already know what it will be.

“Harry-,” I begin, standing to my feet and pushing my laptop to the side, unsure of how I didn’t see this coming.

“I was waitin’ fer you fer half an hour at tha restaurant, and so was me mum. You stood us up and wouldn’t answer yer fookin’ phone!” he explodes, taking another step inside Asher’s office. Asher begins to say something to him, but I get lucky and push Harry out of the room before he can get a chance to respond. “And you’d been sittin’ in there tha whole fookin’ time?” he continues, his words soon sounding different when I push him into the lift.

“Now, you know how it feels.”

“Know how what feels?” he bites back, prying my hand from his arm and taking a step back. I press a button at random and try to push down the hurt I felt when he picked my hand off of him.

“To be waiting around for you, and to be stood up by you. You’ve been doing it to me for the last week, so it’s only right that you feel a little bit of my pain,” I say curtly, swinging around to face him, watching the smug grin plaster itself to his face as he wipes at his mouth.

“So, this ‘s ‘bout you, ‘s it? God, what’s fookin’ new?” he sighs with an ironic laugh that feels gross in my ears.

“No, it’s not about me, Harry, I-.”

“D’ya know how that looked t’ me mum? I couldn’t get you on tha phone and ya never showed up. Ya made it look like we’re havin’ problems, Becks,” he says, stepping into my sentence, and this only gets me going further.

“Who’s to say we aren’t, Harry?!”

“‘Scuse me? We aren’t havin’ problems,” he begins, denying my claim as he uses his hands to talk. “We’re fine!”

“Yes, we are, Harry! You get drunk every night after work- wait, let me start over. You pregame with Irish coffees all day at work, and then disappear every night to the pub only to come home around midnight out of your mind drunk!” I exclaim, feeling my blood boil as he shakes his head in disagreement, but I wish I could say that I’m surprised.

“Yer not turnin’ this ‘round on me,” he tuts, pointing a finger at me as ice coats his words. “I have a drink or two at tha pub, there’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

“It’s not a few drinks, Harry, it’s more than that and it’s becoming a problem! You have a drinking problem!” I insist, wishing I knew the magic key for how to get my words across to him, but they falter and run off on me.

“I don’t have a drinkin’ problem, Becks, and ‘m gettin’ real fookin’ sick o’ you always monitorin’ me like ‘m a bloody baby! ‘m not, ‘m a grown ass adult, and if ya forgot, ‘m yer bleedin’ boss ‘round here. ‘m not likin’ tha attitude yer havin’ with me and if ya continue it, ‘ll take ya off the Gellar case.”

“Fine, take me off it. I don’t give one fuck, Harry, because it’s hell working with you on that case. You’re almost drunk all day at work, you give me the shitty jobs to do, and now, here’s a perfect example of you taking your shit out on me!” I argue back, but the fire soon disappears in my words, and with my next ones, I watch it extinguish on his face. “Why are you treating me like this? I-I’m concerned for you and I’m trying to help, and you’re being so mean to me. It’s inexcusable . . I want my Harry back . . I wish you’d never taken this high profile case, because it’s destroying you, and I’m scared that it’ll do the same to us.”

A flash of my Harry appears on his face, but I don’t wait to watch it disappear, walking off the lift and back onto Seventeen and away from him.

My feet seem to have a mind of their own the next day, inching one way and then itching to go in another. I ignore them and remain in my office for another day of sulking, trying to apply myself to this new case with Rose, but it’s a swing and a miss. The buzzing of my phone is something I’ve learned to ignore, but when I see that it’s my dad or Skye, both of whom I’ve neglected to tell about Harry and I, it becomes all the harder.

That thought is dislodged by the knock at my door, a simple gesture that as of late can send my stomach into somersaults, wondering who it is. I’m reminded too quickly of the times when I sat at that shitty desk in the corner, and how I feel far too much like that person right now. The girl who was unappreciated and who was treated like shit by her boss.

“Hey. I thought today’s meeting was cancelled, something about Myles being out and the drunk that I regrettably call my boyfriend is well, drunk again,” I say, hoping the man of the hour isn’t passing behind Rose right this second to hear my speech.

“No, um, it’s still off. I uh . . “

“Spit it out already. What’s wrong?” I ask, screwing open my water bottle and slowly pouring a small stream of water into the succulent on the corner of my desk. Harry’s plant, the very one he’d named Frankie all that time ago. For what reason, I don’t remember. “I don’t know what that look is for, it’s not like my life could get any worse right now . . or can it?”

“It can,” she says, breaking the ice, but I’m not sure if she’s doing it slowly or ripping off the bandaid in one pull. “Harry’s telling people that you quit the case because you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“God, I really am going to kick the shit out of him one of these times,” I groan, setting down the steel water bottle loudly and haphazardly screwing the cap on.

“Becky, don’t,” she warns me, stepping forward and trying to block my path to the door, but she hasn’t even made a dent. “Starting another row with him isn’t going to help anything. I just saw him and he’s practically asleep at his desk, he’s drunk so much.”

“I don’t bloody care, I’m not going to let him spread rumors about me, his own fucking girlfriend,” I retort, taking the last step until she’s practically shoving at my shoulders. Huffing, I meet her eyes and for an instant, I feel bad for her and what she’s had to watch. “Rose, don’t. Please. I need to speak to him. I’m sick of his immature teenager act, he’s being a right asshole, and he deserves to be told it.”

“Fine,” she sighs softly, hands dropping before she steps to the side.

My feet pound around the corner and down the hall, taking only a few moments until I arrive at his door. I savor the way he jumps in his chair when I slam his door shut, only to sink back into the expanse of pricey leather.

“What d’ya want? ‘m tryin’ t’ sleep here, haven’t ya noticed?” Harry drawls, sleepily. His eyes flutter closed again and he swallows before trying to get comfortable in his chair again.

“Well, maybe if you came home at a half decent time each night you wouldn’t be falling asleep at work, but I guess you just can’t put down the bottle, Harry. By the looks of it, you can’t at work, either,” I say, curling my lip when I see the empty bottle of vanilla whiskey sat open on his desk. God, he really is going to get his ass fired or demoted one of these times, not to mention start a smear campaign for the firm.

“This shit again? I don’t wanna fookin’ hear it, Becks. Give it a rest, ‘m a grown adult, I can do what I please.”

“So talking shit about me to your coworkers is doing as you please, is it now?” I say, coming out and dealing it, right then and there. Something in him stills and his eyes slowly open and try to focus on me. I think I see apology and regret in them, but I whip off any rose colored glasses I still had on and chuck them to the side. “I’m your girlfriend, Harry . . What the fuck is wrong with you?” I exhale, feeling the first tear when I blink and turn away from him. I try to ignore the pang I feel in my chest when I don’t hear my favorite voice calling my nickname from behind me, but I guess it’s time that he stopped chasing after me. It seems to be coming to an end . . I just wish I’d known when the beginning was.

After a quiet cry and a few YouTube videos, I meander my way to the break room for my lunch, bumping shoulders with somebody when I walk in the door. Automatic ‘sorrys’ leave our lips as I continue my mission to the fridge where my leftovers sit. Leftovers from another lonely dinner without Harry last night.

“You alright, Becky?”

“What?” I ask in surprise, at last looking up to find the culprit of the question. “Oh, Myles, hi. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Harry doesn’t either lately, there isn’t a theme, is there?” he almost jokes, but I don’t laugh as I press random numbers on the microwave. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m alright, thanks. No offense, but you’re kind of the biased best friend. Trust me, I know. I have one of them too.”

“Well, trust me, ‘cause I’m not,” he insists, and when I look around, pretending to take a gander, my eyes drift to the door habitually. “Here, maybe this’ll help.”

I watch him cross the room to stick a key into the door and the lock flicks with a metallic sound.

“What will people do without their tea and lunch? You may as well be starting a mutiny,” I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere around us, but I find it’s no use when he stops at my side with a grim expression.

“I haven’t seen him drink this much, since well . . you left.”

“Huh,” I hum, less of a question and more of a realization, one I hadn’t wanted to make. “He’s sure doing a good job of working towards that again . . I hear he’s been saying things about me.”

“Swear I haven’t heard a thing, and if I did, I wouldn’t believe a word that comes from his drunk ass lately.”

“It seems you’re the only one,” I laugh almost ironically, but it comes out sounding sad as can be. Hoping and praying, I try to hide the sniffle as the microwave door opens with a pop!

“Sure I’m not.”

“Rose told me he’s telling people I left the Gellar case because I was scared, when in truth, he kicked me off it because I’ve been on his ass about staying out late every night drinking,” I risk, staring down at the steaming container of food, forgetting the spoon set to the side to stir it at the halfway mark. “He’s my boyfriend, and my best friend. He’s supposed to protect me from the people who want to hurt me, not become one of them,” I reveal, each word becoming heavier with tears that try to swallow my voice. “Why is he doing this, Myles? This isn’t the Harry I know . . it’s that one I first met.”

“Oh, Becky,” he sighs, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you why, I’ve wondered meself . . He’s got issues, even he knows it, but . . he has a hard time of dealing with ‘em. He ignores ‘em instead, with whiskey. You shouldn’t take it like this, it’s not fair to you.”

“I try. I’ve tried talking to him and being nice about it, but he doesn’t listen to me. He won’t stop drinking and it scares me, how he acts and the things he says,” I confess in a blubbery voice against his suit jacket. “I never thought I’d have to do this and I hate that I have to . . but I don’t want him to be my mentor anymore, Myles, please. Maybe Rose, instead. Can you do it without him finding out and getting even more mad at me?”

“Yeah, I can sneak it past him, don’t worry.”

“I wish I could,” I nearly whisper, pulling away and grabbing the hot container whilst I swipe at my wet cheeks, ignoring the burning heat against my skin, knowing that that’s the mildest pain I’ve felt in days.

A few days later, I’m greeted by darkness and silence after the key clicks in the lock, and my footstep is the first sound in the house.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” the words echo inside of my skull, but I can’t find the confidence I had when I had first heard them, when I need it so badly right now. “I’ll support whatever decision you make, Ree, and you know you always have a place to stay here.”

“Thanks, Skye,” I had said then, and I mutter now too as I stop in front of our bedroom door. The quiet embeds itself into every nook and cranny, but I welcome it and only wish that it could replicate itself in my mind.

The pounding of my heart grows louder when I push the door open, and the beginning tears don’t mask it when I drop the suitcase onto the bed. The sounds only worsen as I open drawers and take items out to fill the zippers, leaving an emptiness behind that couldn’t compare to that I hold inside of me.

My head moves every which way, trying to memorize the sights around me, but all I see and all I hear are the rows we’d had the last few nights here. In the kitchen after he tried to sneak inside reeking of whiskey, or the night before in the living room when he came home shouting at me about why I didn’t finish the opening statement, despite being dropped from his case. Then another over him growing mad with me for not answering my phone, deciding if he wasn’t going to answer my texts and calls, then why should I bother to answer his.

I feel the grooves and the raised edges, sure I’d at least memorized those as I pull it from my pocket, watching the color blur before my eyes. My thumb slides across the medal wet from my uncontrollable tears, and at last, I place it on the island counter with a small clack!, finally letting go.

“What’re ya doin’?” a voice says softly out of nowhere. Spinning around, I blink back the tears until Harry focuses in front of me. His thick eyebrows furrow above his murky greens, and only then do I see his boots kicked off by the doorway that had gone unnoticed by me, and his coat draped over the staircase newel.

“H-Harry,” I stutter, swallowing against a dry throat that deprives me of any explanations I could muster.

“Becks, what’re ya doin’? It looks like . . . ,” he trails off to look at the item, his words escaping him until they shine brightly in his eyes, and wrench at my heart. “Looks like yer movin’ out, and without even tellin’ me. What, was I supposed t’ come home t’night t’ find yer key on tha counter, and piece it all t’getha meself? And tha night befo’ I leave fer me case? How in tha hell ‘s that any fair, Becks?”

“Harry, I- please-.”

“No, why should I let ya explain? It doesn’t seem ya were gonna bother t’ leave me a note or even break it t’ me,” he continues quietly with astonishment wild on his face, and in his voice that smells rough and hard with alcohol.

“Harry, I was just going to stay at Skye’s tonight and while you were away. I-.”

“Then why leave tha key, huh?” he asks, voice growing firm and so does the green in his eyes. “God, ‘m so sick o’ arguin’ with you, seems that’s all we do lately. ‘m jus’, ‘m done, Becks. I really am.”

“Harry, no. Please, don’t say that. You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying,” I say hurriedly, stepping forward and dropping the bag. It hits the floor with a bang! just as he turns away while dragging a hand down his face.

“I know what ‘m sayin’, Becks, and I know ‘m done dealin’ with all o’ this shit. Fer havin’ such an ungrateful girlfriend who nit picks ev’ry li’l thing I do, ‘cuz ‘s jus’ never good enough fer her.”

“Harry, that’s not true,” I sob, following him with my steps that feel more heavier as I continue, but he seems to be moving further and further away from me.

“It ‘s tho’, y’know it ‘s. ‘m . . . ‘m doin’ it fer you, ‘kay? ‘m doin’ what ya can’t do, ‘m callin’ it. We’re done, we’re breakin’ up. We both knew it was comin’,” he mutters, and I no longer can make out the sounds in his voice or what it holds, because I can barely see him through the waterfall of tears.

“Please, Harry, I don’t want to break up. I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes sorry doesn’t cut it, isn’t that whatch’u say t’ me?” he retorts, at last stopping to face me fully. The splashes of black and brown covering his body turn ashier and darker the longer I look, but it doesn’t compare to the look on his face.

“But I love you . . and I know that you love me too.” His eyes run away from me and finally, so do his words. “Harry, say it back, please. We can just pretend this didn’t happen, and go to bed together. We can sleep it off and talk about it in the morning before your flight,” I cry, watching his face devoid of emotion show me nothing when I can’t stop showing him. When I could never learn how to close myself off to him, he finally learned how to close his book to me so I could stop reading him.

He stares at the floor, his only movements are his eyes blinking and his hand scratching at the back of his head. The seemingly permanent glossiness to his eyes wavers and tears appear in them, but something pulls me backwards and away from him. I take the steps and wish that they could rewind time too, but they only bring me to the case that I place in my hand without deciding to. I look up and walk over to him, unsure of when my legs had begun to move, or if my body was doing all of this for me, because it figured out that I can’t. I just, I can’t.

“Go, Becks, ‘kay? ‘ve made me mind up, we’re over. Leave befo’ tha snowstorm gets too bad,” Harry announces in an absent, choked voice, his hand falling from his head as my chest shakes with sob after sob. His eyes budge up a little but they avoid mine entirely, and so does he as he walks around me and up the stairs.

I don’t remember deciding to walk out the front door, or getting into my car, but I’m there when I curl inward on myself as tears cascade down my face. I’m fully there as the stitches that he put in my heart are ripped open and all of the memories that he filled my heart with spill out, stinging one by one. I’m there as I watch the lights in the house turn off and the one for our bedroom turns on, and I immediately correct myself, knowing that it’s not ours anymore. I sit there until I can muster the energy to drive, telling myself that he’s not mine anymore, and I was a right idiot for ever telling myself that he was.

The sheets are cold when the blaring of the alarm awakens me, and I turn over, inching a foot across the mattress in search. It’s met with only coldness and I slowly peel my eyes open, searching with them now, for her. Sitting up, I rub a knuckle into my bleary eyes, trying to focus my sight on the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

Questions fill me and answers fleet me as I pad down the stairs and past the front door, arriving in the kitchen. Turning a light on, I squint at the sudden brightness that sends throbs through my head. It’s accompanied by another throb when I spot the lone purple key sitting on the marbled countertop, away from the half burned candle and the cribbage board with a deck of cards atop it.

I’m not sure how I got there, but I feel the cold of the wood floor all around me next, accompanied by the hot tears flowing down my cheeks. The answers come fast and painful in my insides, and opening my eyes, I watch last night replay before me, and what I did. What I did to her, and to us. Myles’ words over the last few weeks resound in my head, and they won’t stop.

“The fuck are you doing? You’re going to screw everything up if you don’t stop before it’s too late!”

“It is too late,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath my forehead as I curl inside myself, wishing she could come and save me. But that’s the last thing that’s going to walk in that door, because I made it so she has to save herself, and so do I.

Violins and harps dance around my empty office, and I try not to look up and lose myself in the images of memories that seem to stick to every corner of the room. Him opening birthday presents on the sofa, the makeout sessions on the same piece of furniture, the almost first kiss by my window, the first time I saw my office with him in tow, and all of the times he’d work over my shoulder planting kisses along my neck. So many more of them float around the space vying for my attention, but it’s stolen away when there’s a rap on my door.

“Come in,” I say automatically, looking back at my computer screen, putting back on the mask that I’ve donned for however long it’s been now since it all started, and the three days since he left. The ‘I’m okay’ mask, something I can’t even believe.

“Look at my pretty girl,” they say, and despite the way I could never mistake that very voice, for a split second I want to and wish that I could be right in my mistaking. It takes more than I have to look away and up at him, and the tears are already close and on their way when he smiles the saddest kind of one at me.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” I ask in near alarm, standing to my feet, afraid of what his answer might be. His lips fall flat and my confirmation is right there, although I’m unsure if I ever needed it, because he speaks for it himself.

“Skye told me what happened with Harry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he almost coos, and holds out his arms before I could ask. They’re open for mere seconds before they close around me and my shaking figure. “It’s okay, Boops, I’m here. It’s all going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know if there will ever be a time again that I feel okay,” I sob into his shoulder, gradually finding my words and feeling the sting of having to repeat it for the second or third time. The sting grows worse remembering the morning after crying on Skye’s lap and not knowing if I’d ever be able to stop. No matter what time it is, it never gets easier. I don’t think if I’d had any warning, it would’ve been any less harder.

The raucous of laughter, shouts, and praises sound outside the door and I wish I knew why. Shaking my head at the obscene volume, I flip to the next page of the magazine, finding DIY Christmas decorations that according to this magazine, everybody and anybody can make.

“No, thank you,” I mutter to myself, completely vetoing Christmas this year, despite knowing that I’ll have to make it to Madley for the traditional weekend spent at my dad’s in only a few weeks. I just don’t know how I’m going to manage it knowing the person I can’t take with me anymore whose name will be on presents sitting under the tree. The same name claims gifts that I’d hidden in the attic at ho- at his home, long forgotten by now, or I wish.

“Hell, you really do get prettier ev’ry day,” somebody mumbles from behind me, and I pause mid page flip. I’m glad that I wasn’t holding my tea, or else I know it’d be painted all over the front of my heather gray dress. Now, that would be a disaster, but I know it doesn’t compare to the one that intends to unfold within the next few moments. Swallowing hard, I silently turn to the next page and ignore the greeting.

“Ya weren’t at me welcome home party that the firm threw fer me.”

“There wasn’t enough room,” is all I say, neglecting to mention that I had no idea until now, despite should’ve knowing how the pieces went together. His appearance. The loud voices and cheering just outside the door that’s only a few steps from the lift. It’s my saving grace for how I was rarely ever late back in the day. “You won it,” I remark, sure it’s less of a question and more of a statement.

“I did.”

“Congrats, you put on a good defense from what I hear,” I announce in a voice devoid of the emotion that usually accompanies that word.

“Thanks . . but I don’t deserve it,” he begins shyly, and I hold back my response that only eggs his self-deprecation on. “I dunno how I did it tho,’ ‘cuz all I could think ‘bout tha whole I was there was you. Ev’ry second fer that entire week it was, ‘what ‘s Becks doin’?,’ ‘what’ll I say t’ her when I get home,’ ‘what can I say t’ her,’ ‘I dunno what t’ do at this part, what would she do?’” he pours out, and I gulp past the impending desert that’s signalled its return. No, I’d made it a few days now without them, I can’t break that streak now. No, not now. Please.

“It seems you didn’t need it, you did just fine without me,” I answer bleakly, aware of the knives that my voice holds and how they stab with the voice devoid of anything happy and bright.

“That’s not true,” he argues, and I hear the first step, and feel it in the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I feel it in the squeeze of my heart and the goosebumps on my arms that long for his touch and also fear it. I hear the crack in his voice and the wet sniffle that plays in the empty room. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you and how I fooked ev’rythin’ up, even befo’ I left. I woke up that mornin’ and knew ‘d done it . . ‘d jus’ been home befo’ here and all o’ yer things were gone, and I never thought comin’ home could be so fookin’ hard . . I-I tried so many times t’ get ahold o’ you but ya wouldn’t answer, and I can’t blame ya. I can’t believe how I treated you, Becks, and ‘m so fookin’ sorry . . . I haven’t touched a bleedin’ drop since that last night, and I never want t’ ‘gain. I never want t’ go that long without talkin’ t’ you ‘gain, it felt like I was losin’ me mind ev’ry fookin’ day missin’ you so badly. Meant it when I said ‘m not sure how I won tha case when I couldn’t get you off me mind.”

“Get used to it,” I retort, closing the magazine swiftly and spinning around. Flashes of color greet me, but I turn away from his figure and make for the door.

“Becks, please, don’t,” he begs in a voice spilling with emotion. “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he whimpers, the warmth of his fingers pressed to mine feeling like the first rays of sun in the spring. Ripping my hand from his, I don’t let him try to melt the ice that he planted inside of me.

“No, Harry, you don’t get to just waltz in here and sorry your way out of this. It’s not that easy this time,” I say, hoping he feels the bite of my words, but I see it when I take the leap and look into those endless greens. “You really fucking hurt me, Harry . . You were my best friend and you hurt me more than anybody I know . . You were supposed to protect me from others doing that to me, but you did it too. How can I ever trust you again?” I begin to cry, knowing that it’s about to be Niagra in here if I don’t skedaddle. Whimpering, I dash out of the door with the image of his flooded sage eyes stinging in my own, and how my heart lurches at the regret of not wiping them away.

His eyes drift repeatedly from the floor to ceiling window and back to his wrist, tapping at it only to walk away with disappointment. He may have closed his book to me, but I still remember so many of the pages, and I can’t figure out how I could ever stop knowing what they say. After Myles finishes speaking about the upcoming elder’s meetings, his bottom lip becomes caught between his teeth like a vice, and then I know it’s bad. I look away when a few too many seconds have followed, risking that he’ll catch my stare. If he’s found it in the recent few days since we last spoke in between tears and in between pages of a magazine, he hasn’t made it known.

I feared this team meeting, the first one with him back and sitting at the helm with Myles. He looks fresher and no longer sporting the alcohol sweats and beard, but something is still missing. He’d gotten his hair cut and it’s hardly any different, but it’s not that. His suits are perhaps a little more wrinkled, but that’s not the last puzzle piece, either. I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to say it. No, not after I saw the way he smiled at his new intern, Frankie, she called herself. Francine something or other, it is. Beats me. I’m sure she probably had a name for each of her boobs as well, seeing as how they could probably be seen from space. I watched her admire him too, but I doubted she saw the circles under his eyes, or the way his lips looked like they’d never smile again. I was almost positive she couldn’t see the way his suits hung a little looser on him, or how he rubbed the naked skin of his left hand’s middle finger, missing something.

I wondered whether or not to linger once everybody was dismissed, but even if I had wanted to, how could I? She followed him like a puppy. I hope I had never done that, or that somebody would have put me out of my impending doom- I mean misery, if I had been. He walked out of sight, and somehow, all I could think about is how the back of his head is still just as cute, and so is his bum.

Several coffee refills and trips to the loo commenced until I found myself pulled to his doorway, pretending to be walking to Gwen or Rory’s office. God forbid, I ever give that asshole the time of day, I’d never hear the end of it. For the first time, Ms. Boobs is missing in action, and I never thought I could be more grateful for somebody’s absence. Last week only seemed to argue with that, now that I think of it, and how something inside of me warmed every time I saw him in the hallways. It sparks until a fire ignites when I catch sight of his backside facing me until it turns around, and at last, I’m caught.

Defeat covers his features and the surprise inches away, leading him to look down at his messy desk. “Hi,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my slacks, still wishing they made fleece lined ones.

“Hey,” he returns in a squeak that shrinks in comparison to his beautiful voice.

“It’s today, isn’t it? Your gran’s surgery . . the hip?” I ask, taking one step forward, and then it’s two.

“Ya,” he hums in reply, sorting through what appears to be an overflowing stack of mail that’s been forgotten since his trip.

“How’d it go?”

“She’s still in. I keep waitin’ t’ hear sumthin’ but there’s nuthin’,” he answers plainly, tearing certain envelopes in half and others automatically go into the bin for shredding.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure everything will be okay, she’s really healthy and strong, Harry.”

“I dunno, Becks, ‘m so worried. It shouldn’t take this long,” he sighs, bringing a hand to his face while his head goes back and forth. It’s only a moment until I hear the hiccuping of his breath and the sound of tears shed against skin.

Against better judgement, or any for that matter, he’s in my arms in seconds. My hands are running courses up and down his back, even daring a go at his hair now and then, whilst he sheds sadness into my neck.

“Everything will be okay, Harry,” I insist, and which he only shakes his head at. “It will be, you just have to believe it. I have a feeling.”

“How can ya say that? How ‘m I s’posed t’ believe that, Becks?” he whimpers, pulling away and staring at me bleary eyed with tears coating his cheeks. “I dunno that there’ll ever be a time ‘gain where things are okay,” he finishes, spinning on his heel and escaping down the hallway, leaving me high and dry. I only wish that my eyes could claim that truth, as well, but that’d be a lie.

It smelled of metal and disinfectant around me, but I tried to drown it out with the images I scroll through. The electronic beeping wormed its way into my thoughts, but I welcomed the respite from the chaos toiling around in there. Images of friends and casual strangers litter my Instagram feed and instead of looking away when the dinging stops, I continue to look, distracting myself. That in itself seems to be my job for the last few weeks, owned by the number one job of not thinking about it. It’s followed by another important task of not crying in public, and saving it for at home despite the place owning that name changing recently. I’ve failed at all of those jobs the second I think about the person who I called my home for so long now, and can’t any longer.

The smell is what gets me at first, and immediately, the pictures are forgotten. I know before I look up that the facade is broken. Then, everything is shattered within a few moments, no matter how good I’ve gotten at ignoring him, or pushing down the feelings when I see him across the table at a team meeting. I’ve gotten good at the pretending part, but the only person I’ve never been able to do that around is the very one who accompanies me on the elevator now. My bad luck echoes when I finally chance a glance and I leave it for too long, because then he looks up and meets my eyes.

Harry. My home . . but he’s not that any longer.

“Hi,” he risks with a gentle curve of his lips, and a gentleness in his eyes that he once held in his hands for me too. A softness that never left him once I worked my way into his heart all of those years ago, it’s one that I still can’t allow myself to get rid of.

“Hi,” I return curtly, tearing my eyes away from him, and his new suit. An ensemble a shade of mauve with a raven black button up underneath. Spiffy, indeed. It feels like a mini marathon to look away from that suit, and how it hugs him in all of the right places. The biceps, the chest, opens at his widely attractive throat, reminds me of the base that we never hit when my eyes venture too low, and his bum. No, I can’t see it from my view right now, but I’d made sure to have seen it earlier today.

“‘s good timin’, I was wonderin’ if we could talk,” he ventures out on a limb to say, and my eyes are rolling before he gets to finish.

“I don’t want to talk, Harry.”

“Becks, please, jus’ lemme finish, bug,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so gutsy to use those two coveted names in one sentence. Despite his bravery, the gesture does its job, and I gulp against the longing that climbs up my throat.

“No, you don’t get to. You haven’t earned that just yet.”

“What d’I have t’ do, Becks?” Harry questions in a sigh, a hand dragging through his hair. It falls with an impatient slap to his thigh.

“I dunno, Harry, maybe you shouldn’t have become a neglectful drunk in the first place,” I retort, stepping forward to stab the button of the closest floor, so I don’t have to do this.

“How many times d’I hafta say ‘m sorry? I could say it a hundred times and ‘s not gonna be enough, ‘s it?”

“No, it won’t,” I answer, continually hitting the button.

“Stop pushin’ it, yer gonna break it or sumthin,’” he warns, and just like he said, the contraption lurches to a stop. “Now, look what ya did.”

“I didn’t break the bloody elevator, Harry.”

“Sure, ya didn’t,” he sighs and even in the near dark, I know that he’s biting at his lip beside me.

Huffing, I step back until my back hits the wall, watching him in the soft glow of the emergency lights. Slowly, that night from Halloween comes back to me. I watch how he pulls his phone out and dials a number and talks to some invisible person, just like the time before. His fingers card through his hair similarly, and his lips utter sighs and curses like then too.

“‘s tha snowstorm, ‘s shut off tha power in tha entire firm,” he announces after saying goodbye and pulling his phone away from his ear. “They’ll get t’ us but it might be a while.”

“Doesn’t the firm or at least the elevator have a backup or something?”

“I dunno, ‘m tha lawyer, Becks, not a bloody mechanic. I don’t deal with that shit,” he mutters with a shake of his head, typing away on his phone.

Groaning loudly, I slide down the sleek metal wall of the elevator until my bum meets the cold and dirty floor, just like before.

“I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while then, it’s your dream come true,” I mumble while folding my arms across my chest. He flits his eyes over to me only to roll them before looking away. “Oh, so you don’t want to talk to me now?”

“No, ‘d rather not, if yer not gonna try and listen t’ me,” he admits sadly, stepping back and leaning against the wall. A similar sound leaves my lips and I look down at my lap until my eyes habitually return to him. I finally let myself look at him for the first time in, what, a month? It seems like a lifetime ago that I could at last look at him for however long I wanted without it being weird or him saying something. Without my hidden feelings being betrayed. “There’s mo’ t’ do than jus’ stare at me, y’know.”

“Sorry,” I whisper, looking to my lap and turning a ring around my finger absentmindedly.

“Ya still wear it?”

My eyes dance to him without a decision to do so, like they so often did, and my nod is immediate as well. His smile seems rather instantaneous too, appearing before my eyes as I watch him. His ring on my hand had caught my eye, one of his I’d stolen at the before everything went to shit and slid it on my thumb. It’s the only finger it’d fit on, and I’d almost forgotten it was there, but it’d become a nervous habit of mine as of recent, although hypocritical in the slightest.

“I thought you’d taken it off, hadn’t seen ya wear it.”

“It felt too weird not wearing it,” I reveal softly, embarrassment fighting for a spot in my voice, but I’m not sure if that’s how it could be described.

“I guess that says sumtin’, or ‘least I hope it does,” Harry says, looking to his feet with a sad laugh that’s short, like a staccato. This all feels like one, a standalone chapter. Perhaps an episode from The Twilight Zone, almost.

“You were my best friend, Harry, that’s not something you just forget,” I say quietly, unsure of if he hears me, but his nod tells me so. If that hadn’t, the emotion that swells in his face does it for me.

“Then why did you?” he asks, meeting my eyes and I find the pain in my heart matched in the greens. A shade I’ve missed so immensely, and that grows hazy in moments. “Why’d you forget about me?”

“You really hurt me, Harry. I never thought you could hurt me so much.”

His sniffling encourages the tears that flow from my eyes to join his just as the sound of his footsteps initiates him sitting down beside me. At first, it feels too close and too dangerous, but then I look at the gap that separates us. It’s been larger and unbreakable before, but somehow, this feels exponential too. It somehow had returned after its departure when I had pressed my lips to his, because after that, neither of us let it live again, and we always took the step that wasn’t there.

“So, what do I say if I can’t say sorry?” he says in a voice choked with pain, propping his arms on his bent knees out of the corner of my eye, holding his wrist with a circle of fingers.

“I dunno,” I answer tearfully, wiping below my waterline, wishing I had the answers so that all of this could stop. “I wish I knew, but I don’t. If I knew I’d tell you, because then this all could be over, and I could stop missing you so fucking much every literal second. Then I could stop getting jealous of that booby intern who won’t stop throwing herself at you. I tried not to be jealous by not caring, but I couldn’t lie to myself, because I do care and I always will, Harry. I’ll always miss you . . in bed next to me with your arms always waiting for me, your face at our table at Pedro’s on Tuesdays waiting there for me, every day after work waiting on my sofa until I’m ready to go home with you . . ,” I trail off in a sob, thoughts bubbling inside of my lips but they become too hard to speak.

“‘m still waitin’, Becks, ‘ve never stopped since that day I first met you,” he says in a voice softer than marshmallows and sweeter than honey. “‘ll always be waitin’ fer you.” Since that first day I had met him, you never could’ve made me believe that looking into his face I’d see a mirror, but I believe it more today than I ever thought I could. Because I am, in the way the tears silently fall down his cheeks, the openness of his eyes that beg for me, and the way that mine beg for him too.

“‘s it true ya put in yer two weeks?” Quickly, I shrink and I avoid, ignoring everything altogether, but if I’ve learned one thing through this all is that I can’t do that as badly as I wish I could. “‘m still yer boss, Becks, sumthin’ like that can’t get away from me. I saw tha letter on My’s desk one day and when he saw me readin’ it, he told me . . Becks, please don’t leave. Yer learnin’ so much and we all love you here. Yer doin’ so well, and there’s so much I want t’ teach you. Turner and Jones ‘s . . . ‘s not yer home, love, this ‘s yer home.”

“I thought you were my home once and I was wrong,” I don’t know why I say it, but I do, and immediately I regret it. Without seeing him, I know that he wishes I hadn’t said it too, by the intake of air and the way he turns away from me.

“Y’know, I think ‘ll get sick o’ fightin’ fer you, but I don’t. I get tired, but I don’t get sick o’ it. I never wanna stop. I wanna tell our kids one day that I never stopped fightin’ fer you, and sometimes I think it’ll happen. But, I dunno- When I saw you kiss that bloke, I stopped believin’ in it.”

Gulping, my eyes find him immediately and the tears ricochet throughout my body from his words. The sounds of his crying prick at my ears, but I don’t see them fall down his face, just the way he plays with his lips.

“Harry-.”

“I love you and ‘m sorry. ‘ll never stop showin’ you that fer tha rest o’ me life, what more do I hafta do?” he begs, turning to face me. My heart squeezes inside of my chest at the mere sight, and my lips press themselves together. “But if ya- if ya tell me that . . yer happy with him, then ‘ll stop. I want yer happiness mo’ than mine,” he croaks, words stolen from him at times as mine are drowned in salt water.

Whimpering, the sight of my hands wringing each other appears in front of me, and then his pained sigh meets my ears. Hiccups rack my chest and I stop hiding the crying, listening to it echo off of the walls that remain still around us.

“His name’s Ben-.”

“I know who he ‘s,” he says gingerly, but with disdain that tries to push me back, and make me stop. “‘ve argued cases against him . . both lost and won.”

“I met him during my clinicals there, he-.”

“I don’t wanna hear ‘bout him, Becks, I-I can’t,” Harry announces firmly, standing to his feet and beginning to walk in circles.

“I ended things with him last week, not that there was much to end . . that same day you must have seen us kiss outside the courts . . after he shoved me to the floor that night. And he wasn’t you, nobody else could ever be you.”

“What?!” he nearly explodes, the words ringing loudly in my ears again and again as they resound off of the walls. “Oh, that bloke’s not gonna know what hit him when I get my fookin’ hands on him.”

“Harry-.”

“Tell me that you don’t want me t’ beat tha shit outta him, Becks,” Harry insists, but with my eyes not looking at him, I remain silent. “That’s what I thought . . Bloody minute this lift starts workin’ ‘gain, ‘m gonna make him regret ever touchin’ you.”

Nodding, I brush the back of my hand against my nose and feel a sob overcome me. My shoulders fall and I pull my knees into my chest, soon feeling the tears soak through my slacks.

“Aw, honeybug,” he sighs pitifully, and at last, one of my dreams comes true when I feel him surround me with his warmth. Him. “I had no idea you’ve been dealin’ with that, ‘m so fookin’ sorry, Becks. ‘m so sorry you’ve had so much shit t’ deal with, ya don’t deserve any o’ this. He’s a fookin’ sorry excuse fer a man fer doin’ that t’ you and trust me ‘m gonna make him sorry. He’s a right wanker, and he only ever won one case against me, anyways. Damn idiot, he ‘s.”

Swallowing dryly, I meet his eyes and receive anything but that. The green is drowned in tears nearly, and I know that my blue is, too.

“Reckon ‘m not much betta than him, afta all,” Harry confesses with a fight played in his eyes.

“No, you’re nothing like him, Harry,” I coo, reaching out a hand to cradle his cheek, thumb swiping at tears.

“Yer right, ‘m much worse than him fer how I treated you.”

“What? Harry, no, you’re not. I know you’d never lay a hand on me,” I confess in a voice that cracks, breaths laden with unsaid words, and so many that I don’t know how to say. Nodding, his eyes leave mine and his arms prematurely do too, and I only feel worse. “Talk.”

“What?” he whispers, quirking a brow at the floor.

“Talk, Harry . . like you had wanted to . . to me,” I explain, my hand lingering on my knee, so close to his. Bravely, it finds the courage and reaches out towards him, finding the warmth soon after between his fingers.

“‘ve rehearsed it so many bloody times in me head, but now, I actually get t’ talk t’ you and I can’t rememba,” he admits softly with shame painting his voice, and an out of place smile. “All I know . . ‘s that I miss you and it scares me how much I can miss you sittin’ at a meetin’ with you across tha table. I miss you like you’ve gone . . but inna way, you have. I miss you in so many ways, walkin’ in tha door at home t’ you, findin’ you’d claimed me sofa again fer anotha day workin’ t’getha, or even that you’d be usin’ one o’ me favourite coffee mugs or jumpers. I miss those small things, and then, I even miss wakin’ up next t’ you, talkin’ t’ you ‘bout songs, ‘bout art, or gettin’ yer advice on a recipe or an argument inna case. ‘d missed you like mad befo’, but nuthin’ compares t’ this. Didn’t know I could miss somebody so much that ‘m always sore from it, that I ache when I see you and can’t touch you or talk t’ you. I lost it when I saw him kiss you, I went and vomited in tha car park befo’ goin’ home t’ cry in bed. Our bed. I wanted a drink and thought ‘bout it . . I even had one and I felt worse, knowin’ that it only made it mo’ likely ‘d never get ya back then. Thought seein’ that I.T. intern flirt with you in tha copier room hurt, but god, that was nuthin.’”

“You try seeing that intern who dresses like a hooker be all over you,” I tut, refamiliarizing myself with the grooves and peaks on his rings.

“Are ya quite finished?” he almost giggles and I nod with a fleeting smile.

“It hurt not seein’ you reject him and then ‘course My’ had t’ guilt me ‘bout it, and -.”

“Okay, that’s enough talking,” I announce inside of my head with a shake of it, my lips parting to utter the same declaration. But I’m interrupted almost immediately, and so is Harry by the whirring and movement of the lift starting up again.

“Looks like tha power came back on or sumthin’,” he mumbles, standing to his feet as the lights flick back on.

“Yeah, looks like,” I say under my breath, so many more ready to be spoken but they’re whisked away when the doors part on Seventeen and soon, we’re ambushed with concerned colleagues who mistake our tears for fear. Quickly, so much was forgotten, but what hurt was how easily we both did it too.

The notes of cinnamon and nutmeg cling to my tongue, accompanied by the sweetness of the last traces of whipped cream. With a sigh, I set down the mug and hear its emptiness fill my ears. I continue to dance my eyes across the page, soaking up the words that I try to drown myself in. The dinging of the bell atop the door interrupts the words echoing in my mind, as do the clap of footsteps entering the cafe amongst the soft Christmas music. Without fail, they attempt to weed their way into my heart, making me think that they’re his, but everything sounds like him and feels like him as of late.

Pushing it away, I shake my head free of the nagging thoughts and start the sentence over. At the sound of a voice that steps into my mind, the words are forgotten, and no rereading them could ever bring them back to me.

“Since when d’ya read ol’ granny romance books?”

Tearing my eyes away from the imaginative words, I find the pair of green eyes that I’ve been avoiding and longing within all of the same breaths.

“I see yer mug ‘s empty. Can I buy you anotha?” he murmurs with his charming smile that finds its old way back to me, and into my heart. Just like all of those times before.

“I uh, was actually just leaving,” I mutter, the book already having closed when my hands left it in shock. Picking it up, I drape my purse over my shoulder and walk away from him. No matter if it doesn’t take the cake for how much it hurts to do so, the pain still stings in my mind and every inch of my limbs.

“Becks, wait!” he calls after me, the clanging of the bell loud and obnoxious in my ears. The winter cold shocks my warmed skin when I step back into it. “I wanna talk t’ you ‘bout sumthin’, yer two week-.”

“I don’t want to,” I retort, rounding a corner and searching for the familiar sight of my car parked on the street. I’m feeling cold rather than hot in finding it before his always gentle hands settle on my shoulders. He turns me around to face him, once again finding those piercing greens that root me to the spot.

“I thought we could still be friends, Becks. Y-Yer me best friend, I can’t lose you as a friend too, bug. Please,” he pleas, but I’m spinning around before the last of his syllables grace my ears.

My head shakes from side to side, willing my eyes to dry up and forget their recent best friend that drowns my sights in a haze. My lips sing with pain from my teeth sinking into them as my face collapses from the debilitating weight of misery.

“I-I can’t. We can’t, you know that, Harry.”

“Why not, Becks?” he begs, the cool feeling of his rings welcomed by my flushed skin.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you when you know why,” I spit back, sure that three seconds ago he had already heard the tears in my voice. The multitudes of words shared between our lips over the last ten months has only led me to open myself to him further, and I still can’t figure out how to close my book from him reading.

“I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout, Becks.”

“It only took you a month, Harry?!” I exclaim, unsure of whether I’m making a statement or posing a question.

“Care t’ clue me in what yer talkin’ ‘bout, ‘cuz I still dunno?” he replies with an exasperated sigh. I rip my wrist from his gentle grasp, the sooner the better because I knew another second longer and I’d let it live there. If I stand here another second longer, I may let myself float back to him.

“You’re already over me and with somebody new after only a month, huh?” I respond curtly, turning around slowly to face him as the first hot tear cascades down my cheek.

“Becks,” he sighs, the emotion carried in his voice spreading across his unshaven face. A whimper escapes my lips as the sob trembles throughout my chest, my lips returning to their permanent frown. My heart shudders at his expression and the confirmation I hear in it, making my head shake quickly from side to side. “I still dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout, love. ‘m not datin’ anyone, y’know tha only person I wanna be with ‘s you. N’body else in tha entire world I wanna date and love fer tha rest o’ me life . . Where ‘s this comin’ from, bug?”

“Wait, what?” I exhale, blinking away the tears that I’m afraid to believe hold lies and forgotten fears.

“‘m not with anybody new, Becks. I dunno what people are sayin’, but ‘m not. You know tha only person I wanna be with ‘s you,” he repeats with emphasis, stepping forward and pulling my hands into his. “What’s goin’ on, bug?”

“I don’t know,” I exhale shakily, leaning into his hand that cups my cheek, wiping away the wetness coating my skin. “People at the firm were saying they overheard you talking about some girl you were gonna ask out and were trying to win over.”

“Oh that,” he snickers, the dimples hinting at his cheeks when I dare a look. No matter how hard I’d ever try, the high pitched song that flows from his lips could never stop being my favorite, and my ears welcome it with a familiar warmth. “That was ‘bout you, bug. I was bouncin’ ideas off o’ sumbody ‘bout takin’ you onn’a date. Well, it was actually havin’ you ova t’ mine fer dinna and watchin’ FRIENDS, jus’ like tha old times. Reckon Rore misheard and his big mouth spewed it t’ ev’rybody. That fookin’ git, I swear t’ God, he’s a bloody bastard sumtimes.”

“Yeah, it was him, now that I think of it,” I admit quietly, peering down at our joined hands and our mingling rings, just like all of the times before.

“‘m gonna fookin’ knock him out one o’ these times, I swear t’ it. He’s been such an arse lately, and he thinks I didn’t see it, but I did see him flirtin’ with you tha otha day.”

“It’s fine, Harry.”

“No, ‘s not, Becks. You put yer bloody two weeks in, and yer last day ‘s t’morro’,” Harry sighs heavily, bringing my eyes back to his at last, and ever so briefly. The purple gemstone ring that I bought him as a late Valentine’s present grows blurry before my eyes, and only worsens when I see that he never took it off. My wrist feels all the more bare without the multicolored purple gemstone bracelet he gifted me after my accident, and that’s sat on my nightstand at Skye’s for weeks now.

I’m issing that coffee right about now with the state of my throat. Perhaps it would push down all of the words that I have been aching to say for days and weeks now.

“Please stay, bug. Not even jus’ fo’ me, but I don’t wantcha t’ lose a good job. Yer doin’ so well and e’rybody at tha firm loves you, babe . . ‘specially me. I know I fooked up real bad, but I promise it won’t happen again if ya gimme another chance-,” Harry begins in a plea, the same emotions that bubble inside of me echo within his voice. When I steal a glance at his olive green eyes, I find them swimming in tears, and that’s what pushes me to surround his lips with mine.

His buttery soft curls feel like home between my fingers, and my rickety heart begins to slow at the smell of his sweet-peppery scent. Neither of those compare to the feeling of his lips upon mine for the first time in weeks, and the passion carried behind both of ours. Unspoken words, profuse apologies, and hundreds of ‘I miss you’s are left on the other’s lips. His nose leaves slippery marks against my cheek slick with tears, and I can taste them on his skin as well.

Air trickles back into my burning lungs when I gasp for air below him, stealing whispery kisses from his sweet lips now and then.

“Was that a random kiss or a ‘get back togetha’ kiss?” he rasps against my lips, finalizing his words with one last peck to my mouth.

“A ‘get back together’ k-kiss,” I stutter with a soft titter, feeling it fill me with warmth at the sight of his dimples returning to his cheeks from their few week absence. “I missed you . . even r-right now,” I sob, the breath leaving my lungs when my chest collides with his after I dive into his arms. A surprised noise sputters from his mouth but his arms coming around me is instantaneous, and so is the comfort I feel in them.

“Missed you mo’, bug,” he whispers into my hair, laying kisses on every inch of my head that he can find while I laugh at our inside joke. “Fook, ‘m so sorry fer how I treated ya and fer gettin’ drunk all o’ tha time ‘cuz o’ that stupid case. I meant what I said when I came back from me trip - I haven’t had a drop since that night we broke up, and I won’t fer as long as you want me t’. ‘ll do anythin’ ya want, we’ll do therapy or counselin’- jus’ want us t’ be okay, and fer you t’ let me love you ‘gain. There’s n’body else in this entire world that I wanna be spend me life with, or have babies with one day.”

“Harry,” I chuckle against his neck, my forever favourite hiding place, whether happy or sad. “We’ve been back together for two seconds, chill on the baby talk.”

“No, I mean it. I want ya t’ have me babies one day, nuthin’ eva changed ‘bout that, and nuthin’ eva will. Think I love ya mo’ now, Becks, so much mo’,” Harry sighs, and with his confession I can feel his body relax against mine. It’s quite contagious, really.

“I reckon I still want you to be the father of mine . . teach them how to play footie, how to play guitar, and how to play a shit game of Scrabble.”

“Hey now!” Harry exclaims, the words rumbling through his chest with his deep chuckle. When I pull away from him to peer into his glassy, green eyes, his lips quiet. The laugh disappears from them, but shouts of happiness and relief fill my eyes, and I think mine feel rather similar to his. “Bloody hell, if they’re as stubborn as you, we’re in fer some trouble.”

“Like you’re any better,” I giggle, but it’s stolen away by his lips, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

“This mean you’ll be me mentee ‘gain, and forget ‘bout that crazy talk o’ quittin’ tha firm?” he poses to me, dragging a few fingers through my hair, sending jolts of comfort through my limbs. “Please, Becks?”

“Of course, Harry. There’s no other lawyer I’d want to learn from- don’t tell Rose that, because she’s been amazing, but she’s just not you. She’s not my favourite teacher or my best friend . . and I’ve really missed them,” I reveal softly, and sadly, the tears adorning my words. The both of them fall onto the pad of his thumb that nudges at my bottom lip affectionately.

“‘ve missed me favourite lawyer as well, Becks. God, so fookin’ much. I can’t lose me best friend, not again,” he whimpers, the last word breaking under the weight of his tears that match mine.

“And please, for the love of God, get rid of that intern before I do,” I groan, and a snicker springs from his angelic lips. “Because if I see her flirt with you one more fucking time, I will puke . . on her.”

“Don’t worry, ‘ve been lookin’ fer a good reason t’ get rid o’ her, so this ‘s perfect, bug,” he coos happily, pulling me back into his arms where I’ve been craving to return for oh, so very long. “Hope y’know I still want ‘bout five kids.”

“Shut up, Harry,” I titter, my arms tightening around his middle as I find the sweet spot in the crook of his neck.

“Five babies, Becks, and all with you, honeybug. Li’l girls that look like you and li’l boys that look like me, all with yer gorgeous blue eyes. They’ll have tha best mum eva, they will,” my happy hum accompanies his, almost accentuates it as I toy with the cross sat at the junction of his throat and his shoulders. “Can’t say sorry enough, ‘m afraid, so ‘ll spend tha rest o’ me life sayin’ it t’ you. Promise you that.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I almost joke, and when I hear his songlike laugh, I at last let out the breath that I had been holding for far too long.

13 notes · View notes