#vanchlo writes

[vanchlo]

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff?  / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

*

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

*

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

*

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

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[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Eight, "The In Between"

Word Count: 6.1k words /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses (click to listen)

P.S. - Next chapter will be coming on March 23rd, but I only know this because I've written it already :P Otherwise, I know that they are pretty random which I'm sorry for. Thanks for reading!

"People live with things they don't talk about hidden in their heart."

- Un-Go アンゴ

There, I stop, because I realize what I’ve done. I hear it in my words and in her weeping, the step that I shouldn’t have taken. Without knowing, I spoke in present tense, and knew that I’d only made it worse. It reminded us of what we couldn’t have- what we wouldn’t have. What should’ve been. Should be.

Her head shook from side to side, although belatedly. Her cries had quieted at moments too, that is until her head dove back against my chest, and they returned. I held her there, pressing my lips to her head and closing my eyes, being sucked back into my thoughts. The should’ve-beens made a regretful comeback, and as each one paid a reminder to me, so did a tear down each cheek.

Two Weeks Earlier

Despite the sunshine pouring in through the window, the sight of the glittering snow outside my window chilled me to the bone. Wrapping my arms around myself didn’t help as the cold seeped in through my cardigan.

“Cold, again?” somebody chuckles from over my shoulder.

“Yeah. God, can you turn up the heat in this place, or what?”

“I dunno, you’ve already had me turn it up three degrees t’day. Not sure my Dad brain will allow me anymo.’ Yer gonna make me heatin’ bill skyrocket here soon.”

“Harry,” I giggle, looking behind me to catch his face just in time for him to surprise me with a hug from behind. “Come on, the baby and I are cold. You better soon, or else I’m buying a space heater for my office.”

“Yer gonna be usin’ that kid as an excuse fer ev’rythin.’ Arentcha, Becks?” a shiver runs down my spine at the feeling of his beard against my temple, but it doesn’t compare to his freezing hands on my stomach.

“Yes, because are you trying to make me turn into an icicle with those hands of yours?”

“What, I jus’ got back from lunch. ‘s winter outside, don’t y’know?”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I reply snarkily with a nod to my window before us.

“Watch it, sassy pants, or ‘ll keep those churros fer myself.”

The scoff is already curling my lips when I turn around, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” Harry contests, raising a brow at me until it all dissolves into his wheezy laughter. “Hey, put that pout away, sweetheart.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, mister,” I mutter, turning away from his waiting arms. His tongue clicks in response but I ignore it, starting for my phone that rings.

“Becks, I was only kiddin.’ Y’know I wouldn’t take away yer churros, love, they’re yer favourite,” he begins, but for some reason that really annoyed me. It doesn’t help when he takes hold of my hand, rooting me to the spot. “Hey, Crabby Pants, yer phone can wait. They can leave a message, but I wanna talk t’ my fiance.”

“What?” I mumble, facing him at last. The corners of his lips lift, and his contagious happiness is hard to resist.

“‘m sorry fer teasin’ you. ‘ll see ‘bout turnin’ tha heat up on this side, and yer churros are waitin’ in me office. ‘d never deprive my baby’s mum o’ her favourite food. No, not my wifey.”

“You better not,” I sigh, giggling against his lips when they press to mine. The gold flecks in his sage-colored irises catch the light when he looks down at me. Sometimes, I still wonder how the sunshine on his face could all be for me.

“I won’t,” Harry hums, reminding me of his own little ray of sunshine when his hand comes to my belly. “Ya should be careful with those churros, I think yer startin’ t’ show.”

“Am not.”

“Are to. Ya had a li’l bump this mornin’ when we were gettin’ ready. I saw it in tha mirror in tha bathroom when you were changin.’ Cutest thing I ever did see,” he coos, painting my face in thick strokes with that radiant smile of his. “Boobs are gettin’ bigger and bum too. ‘m likin’ this whole pregnant thing on you mo’ and mo’ ev’ry day.”

“Of course, you are,” I whisper, feeling the smile drain from my lips when the light catches it. The doctor said they’d fade with time, but three months on and the pink lines still won’t let me forget that nightmare I can’t escape. I saw them every day, in the shower with him or when I watched him get dressed beside me in the bathroom. The mornings when I woke up before him and dragged a finger across his tattoos. He was lucky that none of them were ruined by the numerous stitches, but they got by unscathed. I just wish I could say the same for everything else, for me.

“Hey, where’d that pretty smile go?” Blinking, I focus my gaze back on the dimples that fall into his cheeks.

“Your scars, they’re still . . ,” my train of thought disappears, because it’s nothing that I haven’t said before.

“Still there. I know, they jus’ don’t go away, buggie.” Frowning, his words sink in, but for maybe the fifth time. With a huff, I distract myself with the cream tie dotted with blush flowers that he picked out today. “Hey you, dontchu roll those pretty eyes at me.”

“I’m not.”

“But you are. ‘s it ‘cos somebody hasn’t had her churros yet this week?” his whiny voice grazes my ears from above. It’s difficult, but I control my lips and busy myself with picking a loose thread from his tie. “Becks, I see that smile,” he continues in a mocking tone, and soon I’m giggling against his neck as his nose drags along mine.

“‘Kay, baby, ‘m gonna go and grab yer lunch befo’ my meetin’.”

I whisper a ‘thanks’ against his lips before watching him disappear into the hallway. It’s not often, but my office is quiet, absent of the constant sounds of keys clicking, phones ringing, and a certain somebody being quite good at distracting me. Crossing the room, I plop down in front of my computer. The new messages showing on the side jump at my attention, but what grabs it is the picture frame beside it. With a smile that makes my cheeks ache, I pick it up to admire for the tenth time today. I’m sure that I’ll hit one hundred here, sooner or later.

“Think I like yer frame better, y’know.”

“Really?” I respond, lifting my eyes to Harry who sets down a greasy taco bag on my desk, a protein shake on the side. Don’t even get me started on how he’s already the nagging Dad.

“Ya, like the color and phrase better,” he notes, making me squirm from his hand on my side. It’s forgotten when it travels over to my belly, the exact place I hadn’t realized I’d laid a hand on too. “Can hardly believe it’ll be four months in two and a half weeks. We’re almost halfway there.”

“I know, it’s crazy to me.”

His mumbled agreement comes as I trace the lines of our baby’s profile over the frame’s glass partition. The same frame had sat on my desk for a while now, often updated with the newest sonogram picture after our latest ultrasound. One similar to it sat on Harry’s desk too, both a present from him. Several more occupied our fridge, phone lockscreens at times, and I’m sure in similar forms at both of our parents’ houses.

“Me too. I can’t wait tho,’ t’ be a dad.”

I didn’t think that my smile could get any bigger, but when I tip my head up to look at Harry hovering there, somehow it does.

“You’re going to be the best daddy.”

Sunshine fills every inch of his face, especially in the dimples caved into his cheeks. I hope our baby has those. Please.

“Why thank you. I feel rather lucky my kids get t’ have such a wonderful mummy too,” he notes with a quick wink, sponging a kiss to my forehead warmly. A few moments pass of admiring the picture until his voice interrupts my thoughts again. “Yer sure ‘s okay ‘m helpin’ My’ with that case in Bedford comin’ up?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Won’t miss me too much, will you?”

Now, I don’t even bother to hide the way that I roll my eyes at him, accompanied by a sound of disgust. His nose wrinkles before his face creases in annoyance.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I almost retort with a joking tone, until I melt at the way he rubs his nose against mine in what some call a kiss. “We’ve been over this, Harry, it’s fine. Skye can stay the night with me if I get lonely, or something. I know an opportunity to have another win against your arch enemy can’t be passed up.”

This time, I really stumped him. It brings a song to my lips, because it’s not often that I get to surprise him anymore. Sometimes, I miss those days, but I’d never go back to them. No, we didn’t have the sweet honeymoon period of first meeting, it was the total opposite. I’d never give up where we’d finally gotten to now, engaged and expecting a baby in a little over five months.

“He ‘s not.”

Still, the crease between his eyebrows remains and I only want to laugh more, “Is too. Malakai Watters is your arch enemy, Harry. You’ve been griping about him since I first met you, no excuse about it is going to work on me.”

Shaking his head, I already hear the argument coming my way, “Watters ‘sn’t my enemy, you silly one, he never has been. ‘ve never had any enemies.”

“Lies and more lies. I’m pretty sure we were enemies once, but you’ll excuse that one too.”

“Eh, I think I can agree with that one,” his face has relaxed and so has his shoulders that rise and fall softly. The green in his eyes lights up when he cracks a laugh from above, despite still being upside down for me. At last, he spins me around and pins me with his hands planted on my armrests. He always has to hog those, at movies and in the car. “Enemies? I dunno ‘bout that word, but you drove me bloody mad in the beginnin,’ so much so ‘s a wonder ‘m marryin’ you now. Wouldn’t have believed anybody if they’d told me back then you’d become my bride. Snotty li’l Holte, me personal assistant.”

“Harry!” comes my exclamation, and like always, followed by his innocent giggle. Innocent, my ass.

“Hey, you were jus’ as guilty, Becks, don’t go denyin’ it. You did everythin’ in the fuckin’ book t’ push me buttons.”

I’m laughing before him and unsure of how to stop until grabbing hold of his neck to press my lips to his. His laugh buzzes against my mouth, cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. That little churro thief. The gold in his eyes is sparkling when we separate, my cheeks aching once more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” my question comes in a mumbled sigh, eyes darting between his reddening cheeks and glistening eyes. Wait, what? “Harry, why are you crying?”

“Have I ever told you how lucky I am t’ have you tho’?” Giggling for a reason I don’t know why, I lose myself in those neverending greens for the hundredth time.

“Perhaps, but another time wouldn’t hurt my ego.”

A wry titter escapes his lips for just a second when the first tear glides down his cheek. One that I immediately catch with the pad of my thumb.

“No, I mean it. We fought like cats and dogs when we first met, and we hated each other,” he goes on in a voice leaking of that molasses once more. Mine begin to part until his terse shaking head tells me ‘no.’ “Hush you, don’t you lie either. I know we hated each other’s guts nearly, but outta nowhere, you became my best friend. A few hundred hiccups between then and now, and look at us, gettin’ hitched and havin’ a baby.”

“Yeah,” is all that I can come up with. More like the only words I can shove past my lips. Ones that already tremble from the emotion spilled from his sunshine eyes. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Reckon I have you t’ thank that fer, and loads mo,’” he corrects with wrinkled brows and a rub to my belly. Memories swim behind my eyelids as I kiss him back, hoping that if this is a dream after all, that I never have to wake up.

/

I wasn’t sure where I was anymore. No, this place I had never seen before with my two eyes, visited in my dreams, or travelled to in a book. Looking around me for some clue as to where I was, all I could see was golden trees, robin blue cloudless skies, and sunlight pouring in from every corner. It shined on my face and filled me with a warmth, one that I felt underneath my bare feet. When I peered down, my hands habitually went to my stomach but I found that it was completely flat once more.

A question filled my head instantly at the discovery, one that joined the many others of where I was, and everything that was around me. It all fell away instantly when something else took place inside of my head. I could never describe it to anybody or put my finger on it, but that feeling of mine told me that I wasn’t alone. Still with my hands on my stomach, I looked back up and found a young girl walking towards me. Sunlight shone down on her, following her as she walked through the kneehigh grass dotted with flowers. For a reason I couldn’t name, I didn’t want to look away from her in case she disappeared, but my attention was drawn to the beautiful field we were suddenly in. Wild flowers tickled my legs, reaching up to the lilac dress that fell to my knees and hugged the curve of my shoulders.

At the sound of rustling nearby, I glanced upwards once more to find her stopping a few feet away from me. There it was still, that feeling of mine, and as I stood there looking at her beaming up at me, I felt the way it filled my insides. There was something about her that I couldn’t figure out, but I feel like I should know who she is. I tried as I looked into her olive green eyes that sparkled with the secret she knew and I didn’t. A divot fell into one of her freckled cheeks as they rounded from her spreading lips. It sat there on the tip of my tongue as my feet led me forward, as if she was calling me to her. I didn’t know why or how I could, but I felt as if I knew her. This is what brought my hand forth to cradle her cheek, and thumb at the dark ringlets tickling her heart-shaped face.

She couldn’t be more than seven, a few years older than Harper. The second the thought appeared inside of my head, I wanted to shake it, knowing it couldn’t be. But as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around me, I felt the wetness descend onto my cheeks as she surrounded me with her sunshine like warmth. It felt as if I was hugging my younger self, because she was a spitting image of what I looked like, save for those green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my dress where she nuzzled her head into my chest.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked in return, rubbing circles into her shoulder where the sleeves of her green dress ended, the same shade as her eyes. She didn’t offer an answer, only squeezed me tight before pulling away to look at me with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” the words spilled out when a tear raced down her cheek, her smile disappearing.

Again, she didn’t answer me, only hastily encircling me once again with her arms. Once more, questions danced around in my head, chasing answers that wouldn’t come, subconsciously or from this little girl. Somehow, I knew her and felt close to her, but I didn’t know how or why. She was beautiful and so sweet, I already knew but I wasn’t sure how.

An ache filled my chest when the next words left her lips, ones that I couldn’t begin to understand. “I’ll miss you.”

Instead of uttering another question that would go unanswered, I held onto her tighter, trying to make out what she had called me at the end there. It was a name, but not one I could remember now. The songs of birds flying overhead surrounded us, as did the trickling of a nearby stream, and a hummed song that I knew from somewhere. One he would always sing to me, but for some reason, I couldn’t recall who he was now.

“Who are-,” my long awaited question came, but it was torn away when I looked down to find my arms empty. In a confused blink, the grassy field decorated with flowers and sunshine was gone.

At my feet, sat cold tiling and the birds were no more. So was the sunshine and warmth. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around me, feeling very cold all of a sudden. Belatedly, I looked up and at my surroundings, wondering where I was now. A dimmed, empty room stared back at me, quiet from the sounds of the world until one broke through the silence.

A cry pierced my ears, and made me spin around. A door stood across the room to my right, where the sound came from. Without knowing what I was doing, my bare feet padded across the chilly floor, and I twisted the handle. Another room awaited me, but this one wasn’t empty. Nor was I alone.

Rows upon rows of hospital cribs stared back at me, little bundles of blankets sat in each one. Babies. They all were quiet except for one. My feet led me in that direction without me knowing it, because there it was again. My feeling. It guided me towards the sound, one that grabbed hold onto something deep inside of me. I knew what it was and what I heard, it was clear as day.

A smile shot up into my cheeks when I stopped at the cradle that held a squirming, crying baby. Its pink face was pinched from wailing, a blush colored hat covering its head as a striped blanket hid its body. But as I reached out to pick them up, I blinked and they were gone. Stepping back, I stumbled and righted myself. Where did they go?

Where’s my baby?

Tears clung to my eyelashes, blurring my vision as I stared at the empty crib. A divot in the miniature mattress stared back at me, and so did something else. My bottom lip wobbled as a briny tear ran over it, but it came to shake harder when I read the name card stuck to the inside of the rolling crib.

Annie S.

Before me, my hand trembled as I reached into the crib, feeling the corner of the card before-

“Becks, lovebug,” a voice murmurs, and the image is ripped away from me. With a jolt, I feel the warmth of a hand on my shoulder, rubbing a line down my back. I’m glad to have been woken up by him and torn away from that nightmare, but at the same time, I’m not. I wanted answers. “It’s time to get up and have a shower, my love. It’s six-thirty, you have to wake up soon so we can go to work.”

Gulping, nothing will go down as a ball sits in my throat. Peeling my eyes open, Harry and I’s familiar bedroom materializes before me. With a ragged breath that races to fill my lungs, a wetness paints my cheeks.

“You can sleep for a little longer, bug, but I’m going to hop in the shower, if you want to join me,” his whisper comes against my temple. Hastily, I turn to bury my face into the pillow, hiding my wet eyes. “Okay then, but you have to be up in half an hour,” Harry finishes, pressing his warm lips to the top of my head.

As I listen to the sound of his parting footsteps, I grasp onto the covers tightly. Only when I hear the spray of the shower and him close the door behind him, do I let loose my sobs into the pillow. I lie there, wondering, why the tears and what is that dream supposed to mean? I’d had weird pregnancy dreams before, vivid ones even, but nothing like that. No, never.

Who was that little girl, and how did I know her? And where had my baby gone, I think to myself as I rub at my belly, worrying away.

/

“Ree, what do you mean you’re not getting married?”

Rolling my eyes could not begin to convey the thoughts racing through my head, born out of her exclamation.

“Of course, I’m getting married, Skye. What, are you daft? That’s not

what I’ve said at all, if you’d been listening,” I tut with an unruly shake of my head, snapping the cap back onto the honey bottle. “You asked when the wedding was, and all I’ve said is that Harry and I don’t know with everything that’s changed. We had a date for August but cancelled it after we found out about the baby.”

The sofa sighs when I plop onto it, leaving my steaming mug on the table. My best friend of over twenty years tsks beside me, biting off the side of a cookie. Her faux disappointment is all but lost on her when her eyes brighten, cookie crumbs soon falling from her hands.

“Speaking of, let’s see that bump. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” she nearly squeals, reaching forward to lift my shirt.

“Goodness, Skye, assault me much? All you’ve got to do is ask, don’t need to be undressing me now,” my response comes in a giggle, one that soon falls away when her hands fly to her mouth. My lips soon slide into a smirk that I find hard to control at the sight of her, after lifting my shirt the rest of the way.

“Bloody hell, you do have a bump, and it’s getting big! Fuck, I wish my boobs were as big as yours. Totally unfair, that is.”

“I dunno what you and Harry are on about, I hardly see anything,” I remark with a shrug, the smile staying when her hand comes to rub my pale stomach. “I just look bloated.”

“Ree, come on,” she scoffs with a tilt to her lips that to my surprise, remains quiet as she stares at my stomach. “It’s more than just bloated, you idiot. You’re pregnant, you’re having a baby. Sure, it takes a while to show, but you’re starting to!”

“Hardly,” I chuckle, dropping my blouse once she leaned back against the pillow with her cup of joe. “It’s weird being at this awkward stage where I’m pregnant but I don’t look pregnant.”

“I can imagine, but hold on. Take a few steps back to the ‘not knowing when you’re getting married’ part. Do you and Harry really not know?”

“How are we supposed to?” it comes out in a laugh, not as I’d expected at all. “I’m due to pop this baby out around the same time we had it planned for in the first place.”

“So,” she begins whilst blowing on her coffee. Something clicks inside of me when that happens, along with the raise of her brow. “You’re just happy with waiting, and not knowing when it’ll be? That doesn’t sound like you, Ree.”

“Thanks for being depressing, Skye,” I try to say with a laugh, but it doesn’t go over well, because I can’t find one. No, if there was anybody else in the world who could read me like a book, it’s my first grade best friend. “No, I’m not really happy about waiting, but I’m excited about this baby, and what is being married besides vowing to date each other forever? No, it actually is okay. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll randomly go to the courthouse one day- don’t worry, you’ll be invited, if we do. Or just wait and make it grand- you know, once I lose the baby weight or something.” I sip from my peppermint tea with a hand on my bump, knowing that I couldn’t be happier, but still wondering how we’re going to do all of this.

“Don’t be so sad, Ree, my god!” she exclaims with a playful swat to my shoulder. I laugh along with her, but as I stare into my tea, it doesn’t remain for long. She’d hit a nerve and with a cautious glance her way, I can tell that she knows it. “How’s about the house? The six bedroom and three bath with a grand yard, covered porch, marble kitchen island, fireplace, walk in closet, and dare I say, a pool?” she blabbers on in a posh sounding voice, making me laugh this time.

“Good, it’s um, good. I dunno what else to say, Harry’s the one who talks to the contractors and all,” I offer with an outstretched hand, unsure of my words.

“Come on, Ree, you’re building a bloody house!” her boisterous laugh comes. Her eagerness shows, as well as the three glasses of wine she had with dinner. I’m not sure the one cup of black coffee is going to help her much.

“I know, but I dunno- I more so just go over the plans with Harry and approve them, I guess?” I say with a large shrug of my shoulders. “There’s not much to update you on since you last asked about it. It’s a house, they take forever to build. I won’t get to have much fun with it until it comes to like, picking wallpaper and tiling.”

“Well, will it be ready by the time the baby comes?”

“I doubt it, but Harry keeps insisting it will,” I muse aloud, watching the ripples in the brown liquid when I blow on it, feeling the steam grace my cheeks. “It’s fine if it isn’t.”

“Your response to everything is ‘it’s fine,’ since when are you like that?”

Pressing my lips together, I lift my head to meet her curious stare, a tired one after that wine, “I’m just going with the flow, Skye. I’ve found it’s better than being upset about plans being changed. I wanted to get married, then build a house, and then have a baby. But it’s okay, we get to do the baby part first. It’s like dessert before dinner, and I can do that. It’ll be fun,” I tell her, feeling the truth in them as well as the grimy half-lie.

Should I tell her or will she brush it off, as if it’s nothing? It wasn’t nothing to me though, that dream this morning, it’s bothered me all day. I’m not sure how much longer I can go without telling somebody about it, but it scares me to have to recount it, and being afraid they’ll tell me it means nothing. Because that’s the last thing it meant to me, and something inside of me keeps telling me that I shouldn’t just forget about it.

“If you insist,” she sighs, clucking her tongue. “Are you two still meeting Asher and I tomorrow night?”

“Y-Yeah,” I answer shakily, too deep in my thoughts to notice the way the tea burns my lips. What if I can’t figure out what that dream meant, will it be okay?

/

A cacophony of sounds pelted my ears the second we walked in the door. Apparently we weren’t the only ones with the good idea of trying the new pizza and arcade place on a Friday night.

“Well, this place ‘s neat, innit?” Harry comments as we approach a table tucked into the corner, between skeeball and some flappy bird looking game.

“Yeah, it looks great. Loads of games,” Asher comments when we pull out chairs to sit across from them. “No, don’t sit down. We just ordered the pizzas, but they may take a little while. Let’s go and get started on the games. I saw Pacman and a Supermario game when we came in,” he continues emphatically, already getting up from his seat. Skye laughs beside him, joiningAsher as I let go of the chair.

We pass parents and children, teenage couples, and a few others like us on our way to the front. There, we find the machine that’s replaced the coin contraption back from our day. No, you no longer had to feed coins into each game and have paper tickets spit out at you.

“’s kind o’ sad, dontchu think? ’s all digital now. Ya don’t have tha fun anymo’ o’ counting tha tickets and yer coins,” Harry muses while sliding a card from his wallet.

“It’s easier to keep track of.”

“I suppose, but that’s no fun. It made me day findin’ a lost coin or line o’ tickets on the ground,” he hums with a shake of his head, pressing buttons on the touch screen. “How much should we do, you think?”

“I dunno,” I answer, forgetting the screen showing different dollar amounts and a description of how some games cost more than others. Instead, my attention is pulled to behind me. I’d seen her on our way in, but now, I look again at the mum sitting in the corner feeding her young baby, watching on as the dad holds up their son to shoot basketballs.

“Hey, ’m talking t’ you,” somebody says, nudging my shoulder with theirs. Turning back around, I find Harry’s green eyes waiting for me with furrowed brows. “Right now, we’re kids again with their friends, playin’ arcade games on a Friday night and stuffin’ themselves with pizza. We still have a ways t’ go on that, five and a half months actually,” he notes softly, nodding his head towards the mum.

“Yeah,” I murmur sheepishly, crossing my arms and looking back at the screen.

“I didn’t mean it rudely, Becks.”

“I know. A tenner should be fine, let’s just do that. We can always load more money onto it,” I insist, lifting my feet and clicking them together, like I’m Dorothy and wanting to go back home. Because, well, I do. It’s loud and my stomach hurts, I’m not sure from hunger or nausea, or both.

I’d been excited when we’d agreed to come here with Skye and Asher earlier this week, but no matter how much I tried to push it away, that stupid dream couldn’t be forgotten. Especially since I had it again last night, and I dreaded going to sleep tonight, in fear I’d see that mysterious little girl and that empty crib where our baby should be. It-

“Becks?”

“Wh-What?” I stammer, looking up quickly to find Harry waving a plastic card at me.

“We’re all set,” he announces, stepping to the side so Asher and Skye can buy theirs next. I follow him, moving out of the way for a little boy and his big brother to come through, rushing to the bathroom behind us. “You okay? Not feelin’ sick or anythin’, are you?”

I think about shaking my head, but when I look back into his eyes, I get The Look. The Harry Styles Look. The Look of all Looks. No, it wasn’t the killer stare I’d first familiarized him with when I sat at that desk at the end of his hall. This one came not soon after though, and it’d stuck. Ever since then he could read all of my tells, including how uncomfortable I am right now, or maybe just how I’m overthinking. He knew that look too.

“I’m probably just hungry.”

The curl hanging over his forehead is knocked loose when his head bobs up and down, but I reach a hand up to set it back in place.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get some pizza in that belly soon. I know how you’ve been craving it,” his dimples once again hide under his beard, one that had been growing thicker as the winter carried on. I feel its length when his lips sponge a kiss to my temple, his hand caressing my bump only a few seconds later.

“Thanks.”

After a few games, I found myself getting into it more and laughing at Harry’s competitiveness. I’d learned a long time ago that laughing about it was better than getting mad about it, and also that going to play games with Skye turned out better, watching the boys play from the sidelines.

“You doing okay, Boops? Tummy not good or are you tired?” the question came as I watched the little screen rack up my tickets from a Scooby Doo version of Whack a Mole. Instead of a red button marked with ‘25 cents’ a touchscreen with a card swipe sat there.

“Both, but what’s new?” I murmur, following her past Ring Toss, some car racing game that doesn’t give you tickets, and Space Invaders. At last, we found Air Hockey open and decided to have a go.

“So, what is it really?”

“What’s what?” I replied with an air of faux stupidity, pretending to focus hard on hitting the puck back her way.

“Why have you been acting weird lately? Just because I had some wine last night doesn’t mean I didn’t notice it.”

“Oh, that. You noticed,” I comment, avoiding her eyes even when she gets the puck past me. Bending over, I pluck it from the holder and hit it over to her, following it.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Whatever it is, which by the way, what is it again that’s bothering you?”

“You don’t sound very smart when you’re drinking. You do know that, don’t you?” a laugh is close to my lips, but it disappears almost as soon as it’s thought. As if to spite me, she picks up the glass of the pink hard cider she’d ordered. Sometimes, I missed drinking and how it made nights like these all the more fun.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” she sighs, tsking when I make the puck into her goal. Groaning, she slams the rest of the cider before dropping the puck onto the glow in the dark table. “But really, what is it?”

“God, are you and Harry stubborn,” I remark with a near groan, taking her cue when she hits it hard my way, deciding to do the same. “Fine . . so I had this dream the other night, like a nightmare almost and . . . ,” I carry on, detailing the entire thing to her, almost hoping that maybe if she says it’s nothing, her inebriated mind won’t remember it.

“Good game, glad you could get some rage out on that one, seeing as how you nearly gave me a bruise that one time.”

“Sorry,” the word drops carelessly as we walk away from the table and through a loud pack of kids. She makes a comment about never wanting kids, only to turn to me regretfully with the same word on her face. “It’s okay. I’m probably worrying for nothing.”

“I know you and don’t want to say that myself, but it was just a dream, Ree. Aren’t they like, manifestations of your thoughts and all that jazz? Maybe you saw the little girl once or see yourself in her, and want to protect her. It’s the mother in you coming out, I’m sure. I wouldn’t worry too much about it and what it means, it’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, it’s just a dream,” I agree aloud, more grateful than ever for Harry and Asher stepping in our path, telling us the pizzas had arrived. Sitting down beside Harry and arguing with him about Hawaiian pizza whilst our hands sat on the other’s thigh, this had once been a dream to me too.

But the one about the empty crib and the mysterious girl, no that was almost a nightmare, and I’d had enough of those.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #boss!harry #lawyer!harry #attorney!harry #ceo!harry #lawyer romance #office romance #hecky #becks holte #harry x becky #one direction fanfiction #alternate universe #fanfiction #writing #fic #wattpad #vanchlo writes

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Twelve, "The Resolute"

Word Count: 8.4k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: Hold Me While You Wait by Lewis Capaldi (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"I never know when I will miss you. I can't ever predict just what will grip my heart with the reminder that you are gone. It could be anything. Anytime. Anywhere. You are everywhere and nowhere all at once. When the days are bright, I am blinded by your presence and even when the world is dark I still manage to find you. In laughter, I hear the echo of losing you. Your presence is overflowing in the tears that fall. Now that your body is gone, everything holds your being. I miss you in the cold depths of winter and I long for you in the thick summer breeze. You are my first rising thought in the morning and my last notion as I sink into the heaviness of the night. I thought we ran out of moments together, but every moment seems to belong to you. How can you be everywhere when you are nowhere to be seen? I used to worry about facing the world because I didn't know what would trigger my heartache. I used to be afraid of every feeling, every memory, every moment because I didn't know which ones held you. Now I know you are everywhere and I think that I know why. You're everywhere because you're somewhere inside of who I am. I am the bearer of your life and your memory. I am the keeper of your existence. Even though you're gone, I never really have to search for you. I never know where I'll find you but you are always there. I never know when I will miss you and it happens all the time"

- Rachel Whalen

I had lost count of how many times I had fallen back asleep since he had left for another day of work, the second time in the last few days. I’d be telling a lie if I said that I didn’t miss him, because like he’d confessed when he thought I was sleeping, I missed him all of the time too. The difference was that I felt it now when he was gone. I wasn’t sure why I’d bitten his head off that night about going back to work. I did but couldn’t think about it after the way he broke down in front of me and I just stood there. I didn’t do a thing. Instead, I shook my head and pushed him away. God, how could I do that to him? I thought he’d moved on . . . That’s how it went. I’d wake up to an empty, cold bed and the guilt would come in crashing waves. The hot tears would follow and eventually, I’d fall back into another fitful sleep. Nightmares were almost always guaranteed, but for the first time in our relationship, I comforted myself back to sleep. Somehow, they didn’t wake him like before, but last night when he woke with a gasp that melted into tears, I think I knew because he was busy with his own.

At first, I thought I’d been imagining it, or maybe that was just my coping mechanism by now. Denial and pretending. No, it really was and it went around like a circle. Denying the denial. But when the knocking on the door turned into the dinging of the doorbell, I knew that it was real. It didn’t stop after a few times, like the mailman would. No, this person was persistent, and I definitely was not. I couldn’t even find the strength to move to look at the alarm clock to see the time. By then, it had stopped. He’d only been gone an hour now and I missed him deeply, finding it hard to not pick up the phone to ask him to come home. I did but in my own way, and not one he’d understand, despite how he knew every page of my book.

I hope work is going well

Only a few minutes passed before a reply came in with a silent vibration.

thanks it is, just meetings again and an interview

Sounds boring. I know how you hate both. New hire?

possibly. i forgot to tell u gwen left. i hope ur getting some rest

No, you hadn’t but that’s ok. I think I only talked to her like 5 times. I’m trying.

ya she was good, just kept 2 herself. want me 2 pick up anything for lunch? anything soundin good? Starbucks? pizza? u can have whatever u want

You can pick

At that, I heard my phone lock before placing it face down onto the bedside table, not able to continue a conversation about food any longer. Another wave of irrational tears came at missing him and wanting normalcy back, but the fitful sleep didn’t follow. I wasn’t sure if I was regretful or not when I peeled back the covers, shocked by the sudden cold.

The chilling silence filling the house hit me in the face when I stepped out into the hallway. It had been choking at times, mostly at night when things were at their worst. During the day, like now, it was never this quiet. Something on the tv was always playing, and I soon found myself in front of it, watching the end of a Marvel movie Harry and I once watched.

Its sequel was nearing the halfway point by the time the doorbell rang again. It was on its fourth time now and the person still hadn’t stopped. The surprise on their face was just as strong as that of mine when I found myself at the door, in front of Harry’s grandmother.

“Hi, Becky,” she said softly, a warm cadence to her words like always. I may have been biased towards grandmas, but Harry’s checked all of the points and more. I couldn’t help the squeeze of my heart at the mere sight of her, a melancholy smile spreading on her lips.

“Claire. Um, hi. Harry isn’t here right now, he had to go into work this morning,” I rush, unsure of why I’m telling her this, except for I know why. I hadn’t spoken to another human being that wasn’t Harry or my doctor since . . since it had happened. Sure, texts to Skye, my dad, and Robbie. It was the only way to placate them from telling them I didn’t want to see them. Can I blame them, though?

“Oh, that’s okay. I was uh, hoping I could come in,” she suggests. I stand there, taken aback by her request. I had come to love this woman like she was my own grandmother, and yet here I am, not opening the door for her. “Maybe we could wait for him together with some brookies.”

Dropping my eyes, I watch as she lifts a saran wrapped plate of chocolatey looking cookies. I didn’t need to look any longer to know what they were. Her famous brownie cookies that Harry had compared any cookie or brownie of mine to over the years, and I eventually had found out why.

“You know I can’t turn those down,” I mumble, feeling the first hints of a smile. She grins for me instead, following me into the house that somehow feels even emptier when we step inside. Awkwardly, I closed the door behind her, pulling my hands back into the oversized King’s College crewneck of Harry’s I’d stolen long ago. “Can I . . Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Tea?” I stumble, watching as she takes a seat at the island, setting down one of those cloth bags beside her.

“Coffee would be fine, honey,” she says, and always with a smile. I welcome the distraction, feeling as if I’d forgotten how to talk to another person. No, I know that I have. I hadn’t even been able to carry on a conversation with Harry, nonetheless his grandmother.

At times, I still felt uncomfortable around his parents, especially his dad. If there was one of them that I felt the easiest around, it was Claire. I’m reminded of the bouquet of black eyed susans probably now wilting on the table when she notes the array of flowers taking up space over there. I nod at her words while closing the lid of the instant coffee machine, placing a tall mug underneath the spout. The compassionate words scribbled in her cursive with its accompanying card come back to me, and suddenly, the steaming coffee grows blurry before my eyes. Sometimes, I wondered if she had a feeling about things like me, because as the first tear fell, she speaks an apology.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced. I had let Harry know I was in town and would stop by today, but he must have forgotten to mention it to you,” she begins in a low volume, a Harry-like molasses shining in her voice. I mumble an ‘it’s okay’ while watching the coffee continue to fill the mug. It’s almost done, but then what will I do to distract myself? “Harry had said your fridge was quite full, but I couldn’t help but make a few of your favorites to bring you both. Times like these, cooking feels like the last thing you want to do.”

“A lot of things do,” I find myself saying, surprising her I’m sure and especially myself. I hadn’t even been able to find it in myself to put that feeling into words and say them to Harry. It was a blessing and a curse how we could read each other so well, but I know I’d closed myself off from him a long time ago. On accident and then, on purpose.

Ripples form across the surface of the liquid as the last few drops plummet into the dark abyss. I wait, staring at the steam rising from the mug, unsure as to why. A silence had embedded itself into these walls so long ago I couldn’t remember, and it sat between us now too. I still didn’t know how to broach it, and there was no nudging the switch that would let me talk about her. I truly didn’t know how to, not even to her father. Sometimes, I wanted to forget her so I’d stop hurting, but that felt like an impossibility and then a crime. Gulping, I wipe at my cheeks and thread my fingers through the ceramic handle.

“Those are a beautiful assortment of flowers,” she comments again when I set the drink down in front of her. A forced ‘thank you’ leaves my lips when I turn around and walk towards the fridge. “You and Harry are so loved, and so was your baby.”

I’d opened this fridge how many times over the years, and now as the handle sits in my palm, I can’t find it in myself to do it. The forgotten coupons, lists, photographs, drawings from Harper and Ollie, and magnets grew hazy before my eyes. The hum of the coffee machine cooling down wasn’t enough to mask the whimper that escaped my lips, no matter how desperately I tried to shove it down. After breathing in and out a few times, it still didn’t help, but I was able to open the door and grab what I’d needed.

Keeping my head down, I set the coffee creamer in front of her, not spending a second more facing her with the damage on my cheeks. As the spoon clinks against the sides of her mug, I distract myself by finding room in the fridge for the filled tupperware containers she’d taken from the bag. Scribbled labels adorn the top of each one, but I look past them as I stack them on a shelf. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stand from her seat to look at the flowers, thumbing at the typed messages. It’s not until the last one is snug against a container of yogurt and strawberries that somebody says something.

“They always say the same things, don’t they?” she murmurs with an out of place scoff, sounding like a hum from her lips. The tears had dried up as I thought about how to fit a container of beef stroganoff amongst tater tot casserole, but when I turned around, her face still falls. “It was the same with Steven too. They all say that they understand, but there’s no way that they can. They hadn’t lost their spouse, or . . their baby.” This roots me to the spot and we spend the next few moments looking at each other as her Soft Rose lipsticked lips fall.

“I didn’t want to come, Becky, because I know that when I lost my loves, I wanted to be alone. But that was where my demons lied in wait, and I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did when I lost my baby,” she continues. I couldn’t tell if it was the light or the way my eyes deceive me with a returning wetness, but a similar glint appears in hers. It holds my attention for a mere moment until my heart starts to pound against my ribs. “Steven and I were a little younger than you and Harry when we lost our baby at four months.”

There could be no saving my throat nor my eyes as I gulp against the dryness, feeling all of the wetness detour down my face. Her words ricochet inside of me, bouncing off walls. For the first time in too long, they sink in and make me feel something. I resist at first, not wanting to let my chest shake or my heart race, but there’s no stopping it. Staring back at her, she quietly sits back down and takes a sip from her coffee. Looking back to me, a corner of her mouth twitches as a gleaming droplet beads at her chin.

“What has it been now? Fifty five years and I still miss them . . my little baby,” the blood pounds in my ears as I stare at her in what, amazement? Horror? Complete and utter surprise? Probably, all of them.

“Gran, I-I never knew,” a voice says from behind me. Turning, another wave of shock courses through me at the sight of Harry with his hand on the door to the garage.

“I never told anybody, except for my immediate family when it had happened . . The thing was, the taboo around miscarriages and infertility hasn’t changed a whole lot since then. It disappoints me really . . Back then, you didn’t talk about it. Now, sometimes you talk about it, but it’s just the same. It’s near to impossible to speak about. Friends and family want to say something, but they don’t know how to without hurting you. So, instead of mentioning the loved one you lost, people don’t when they think of them, and they’re forgotten. That’s always been my worst fear, and I don’t want either of you to go through that- I cried when your mother told me what had happened, Harry. My heart breaks for the both of you, knowing that you’re going through the same nightmare that my Steven and I did.”

A puff leaves his lips and I can almost hear him gulp as sound evades us. Words haven’t been a friend to my lips in what feels like months, and right now isn’t an exception.

“I’m so sorry, Gran.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Harry. I’m so sorry that you lost your baby . . I heard it was a girl, your daughter,” her words are ginger and slow. Somehow, another piece joins the puzzle, but it still leaves me staring at the floor as tidal waves crash inside of me. “It was a long time ago, but I still miss them and wonder who they’d be. I’m sorry to say that never goes away, and that the whole b-s of ‘time heals all wounds’ isn’t entirely true. You just build up scar tissue to it, but some days are worse than others. I miss Steven terribly some days, like the day you announced your engagement, and your pregnancy. When your mother told me over the phone three weeks ago, I wished he could’ve been there too, for you to talk to about fathers losing a child. Men are still pressured to not show emotions but it was just as hard on him to lose our baby, and sometimes fathers are forgotten.”

A mess of emotions roils inside of me, flipping my stomach upside down. My heart too, arguably. The last sound that I make out is a sniffle of his before I’m bringing my hands to my eyes, and sobbing against them. It felt like I stood there for minutes before escaping down the hall, when it was only a few seconds in reality.

I wasn’t certain if they knew what I did. That I could hear them from the bedroom down the hall, the place I’d come to retreat to instead of Harry’s arms. I felt him coming towards me just moments ago, but I couldn’t do it. I think I’d almost forgotten what his touch felt like. If they thought I could hear them, they probably had mistaken me for being asleep or for not listening. I think they tried to keep their voices down, but despite Harry being a closet musician, there wasn’t much for treatment to these walls. He’d joked before about having sex one night his mom stayed here but I pushed him away, chalking it up to thin walls.

Now, the memory wasn’t that funny to me as I heard their conversation. I almost felt guilty, as if I was cheating by hearing them, but this was the only way I could take part in a conversation I know I should be part of. I didn’t think that I could even speak if I had wanted to, because of the hiccuped sobs that filled my chest, making it hard to speak. I know that I made the right decision when my head rests against the door upon hearing about what they say next, about me.

“I can hardly get her to have a conversation with me, Gran. Let alone about . . about the baby.”

“Oh, Harry. You just have to give her time.”

“I know and I have, but it’s becoming all the harder to feel as time passes. She’s getting worse and I’m barely staying put together. It scares me so much, because I don’t want to lose her too. If I did, I’d lose everything I have to live for.”

At last, the sound of my choked sobs drowned out that of their voices. By the time my lungs calmed down and my heart hardened once more, it was quiet. I missed his voice despite how it had almost betrayed me to another, and made me hurt. My rumbling stomach ultimately won the race and it was what led me down the hall, and without knowing, back to her. I blamed it on the appetizing smell wafting from the kitchen.

I’d already seen her and had decided to keep going, but upon passing the island where she sat again, I heard her intake of breath. Harry wasn’t anywhere to be seen, despite the wiped clean plate in the sink with the large fork and an empty can. He was the only one who used them and who drank the sparkling waters that I thought tasted like bug spray.

“I’m so sorry, Becky. The last thing I wanted was to upset you, honey.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Frankly, I’m rather tired of people saying those two words, but thank you,” I return, a steadiness arriving in my voice that I didn’t know I’d missed. “Can I-?”

“Of course, it’s all yours,” she insists with a smile. Nodding, I pick up the serving spoon and a plate, feeling my stomach grow happy at the sight and smell of her famous homemade lasagna. “There’s garlic bread in the oven and salad in the fridge. I’m just going to use the little girl’s room.”

I almost smile, realizing that I’ve missed her and just maybe, I feel okay enough to talk about it. I’d found a seat at the island beside her empty cup of coffee, already digging into the lasagna. An almost embarrassing moan left my lips at the taste of the layers of cheese, pasta, and bolognese sauce.

“Leave it to Claire to find the way to your heart,” somebody comments. Turning, I find Harry walking towards me with a tilt to his lips. He unrolls the hem of a Queen Bohemian Rhapsody shirt, looking more like himself now that he’s out of a suit. Sometimes, I still catch myself thinking that it was always the opposite, seeing how I’d know him to always be in suits for so long.

To my surprise, I don’t flinch or pull back when his hand arrives on my shoulder as I wipe my mouth with a napkin.

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you eating, and enjoying it . . I’m surprised you haven’t broken into that plate of brookies yet,” he comments. Something happy buds on my lips when his lips sponge a kiss to my temple.

“So am I,” I reply, cutting myself another bite of the food. To my happiness, his arm comes around my shoulder and stays there. I welcome it and feel a warmth grow in my gut upon finding the courage to meet his eyes. They hold something that I learn to be mischief when he plucks one of the cookies off the plate. “Hey, save some for me.”

“Don’t worry, they’re all yours. Well, except a few for me. Maybe we could split them down the middle. Half for me and half for you,” he suggests with a cocky shrug to his broad shoulders. It surprises us both when my lips spill a few second giggle. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed that sound.”

“I’ve missed you,” it’s but a squeak and still, I know he hears it by the sad curl of his lips. “I’m going to try.”

“Thank you, my lovebug. That’s all I can ask for,” he smiles, stealing a quick peck from my lips. It catches me off guard and I find myself staring at him while he manages to take a bite that’s half of the cookie. He winks at me and I turn away, shoveling a large bite of cheesy pasta past my lips.

Another bite had donned my fork by the time Claire found her seat beside us. I’d made a dent in my garlic bread by now as Harry worked on his second cookie.

Swallowing, I loaded my fork with a scrap of melted cheese and bolognese sauce. “Claire. How . . How did you do it? Be okay again after losing your baby? It . . It feels impossible,” the words seem to come from nowhere at first.

After a few moments, I know where they stem from, and just how much importance they hold. It looks back at me in Harry’s eyes when I peer up at him, smiling back when he thumbs away a tear below my eye. As her response hits our ears, I reach my arm out and across his back, holding tightly onto his side. I didn’t let go once as we cried together with his grandma about our lost babies, and neither did he.

I went to bed with a hope in my heart, thinking that tomorrow would be different. Alas, I woke up to an empty bed and it wasn’t. I wasn’t surprised but sure, I was let down. I knew that somebody else would be much more disappointed than I was, if that were possible.

It wasn’t long after my waking realization that there was a knock on the door anda creak, “Hey, buggie. I’m making french toast. How many pieces do you want?” The rest of the night had been uneventful, for once. His grandma stayed for another hour or two as we ate cookies and I finally talked about it. Her. Now, lying with my back to Harry, I didn’t know how to do that again. To talk. “Wakey wakey, it’s nearly noon.”

His voice was closer now as his hands settled on my shoulders from behind. The feeling of his thumbs kneading the tissue made me want to let him drive away the intrusive thoughts. To let him win, but I didn’t know how. Yesterday had seemed like a fluke, as I looked back on it. Even if he was her father, how could I explain to him the hollowness that had filled me when I remembered that my child had died inside of me? No, that wasn’t something he could understand, nor could he hear how much I wished he had been there that morning. That the fact he wasn’t there had changed everything. I couldn’t tell him that and I never wanted to, but I’d gotten close. At the times his nagging and hovering drove me up the wall, my tongue itched to deal the worst blows just to get him off my back. I knew it was wrong, so much of it was but I didn’t know how to stop. All I knew how to do was to drown myself in my regret afterwards. Sometimes, I was mad that we couldn’t keep alcohol around, but at others, I was glad for it.

His molasses voice murmurs my name once more, another time that I ignore, until I can’t. “No thanks.”

“I can bring it in here for you. There’s bacon and strawberries too. Orange juice, as well.”

Shaking my head, I bury my face deeper into the pillow, finding that it has his smell. At one time, he had been my safety blanket, but now it was his smell that could calm me down. I wanted to feel guilty about it but I didn’t have the energy to feel guilt because of anything else as it was all focused on one thing.

“I’ll have a little bit,” I surrender, listening to his hopeful response before leaving. For once, he let me eat alone in the bedroom. But he still inspected my plate, and I could tell that he was biting back a remark as he read the paper at the island.

“Can we talk?”

“What about?” I replied, bending over to place my dishes in the dishwasher. Standing back up, I fail at readying myself for his next onslaught of questions. The ones that I can’t answer.

“You know . . About Phoebe,” he answers. I hear it, the way he has to shove the words past his lips in order to get them out. I only know because I’ve done it a thousand times, and often with him. You do it when it’s too hard to say, but you know that it has to be done regardless.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Becks,” he sighs, annoyance clear in his voice. “I thought you said that you were going to try. Last night went so well and you did great, I-.”

“I just can’t do it today. Okay, Harry?” I retort tearfully, catching the sagging of his features when I lock eyes with him. Sighing, I forget the cookie I’d picked up, placing the saran wrap back over it.

“So what, we need to schedule a fricken time to talk about it?”

I’d begun my retreat, but I wasn’t far enough yet. No, if I was in earshot of Harry, it wasn’t over yet. It had always been that way, ever since the beginning.

“Harry, please,” my words start, decorated with tears that drag my words underwater.

“We got pregnant and we . . we had a miscarriage, Becks. It’s nearly been a month now, but what comes next? When do we get back to normal?”

I hadn’t even been facing him and the words felt like a slap in the face. The look on mine must have felt similar to him, because when I turn around to look at him through blurry eyes, he melts into a puddle of regret.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Becks. Not-.”

“Not what way, Harry? That we should just forget about it and move on with our lives? God, you’re sounding like the doctor the other day who said that we can start trying again whenever we want. But I don’t want to try again yet, Harry, because I’m too scared that we’d lose another one- I mean, what if I can’t have kids? And- I don’t want to forget her or replace her,” but he didn’t hear the last part and I hadn’t decided if I’d wanted him to.

“You don’t know that, Becks, and that’s not what I meant at all. I promise,” he interrupts. The legs of his oversized sweatpants sag down to his ankles when he stands. “I didn’t say we had to get pregnant again right away. I’m fucking scared too. I just mean that I want us to get better. Collectively and on our own. I hate seeing you so upset all of the time, and just want you to be happy. We’re supposed to get married sometime this year and I still don’t know when that’s going to happen. The house is going to be ready in a few months, and I wanted to bring you there one day to look at the progress.”

I had begun to shake my head long before he’d stopped talking. It brought an edge to his words and an annoyance that I didn’t like, despite inciting it. A loud puff passes his lips and he returns to the chair, raking a hand through his hair. That either meant annoyance or boredom, or both. Like I tend to do, I take it personally and figure he’s both annoyed and bored of me, not that it was anything new lately.

“I can’t do that, Harry. I-I can’t,” fumbling with my words, my hand gets caught in my hair as I avoid his eyes. It doesn’t stop him from retorting an inquisitive ‘why not?’ “How am I supposed to go and see the house we’re building that has five extra bedrooms, Harry? How do you expect me to look at the rooms we planned out for o-our kids, and one for . . for Phoebe’s nursery when she’s not coming anymore?”

“Becks,” the nickname leaves his lips like that one breath that’s knocked out of you when you fall. The wrinkles that are rarely there above his eyes return as his eyebrows fall deeply. “I didn’t . . I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry.”

“And so am I, but . . I just can’t do that right now, o-or talk about her. I’m sorry,” I say with haste to my words and in my actions. The sad sound from his lips follows me to the couch where I perch, pretending to watch the tv. He doesn’t join me and after a while of pretending, my eyes start to droop.

The image of Shrek and Fiona making animal balloons falls away until a sound wakes me. Time had passed because now Fiona stands in front of Lord Farquad and Shrek is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to run an errand. Is there um, anything you need, bug?” he murmurs, the jangling of keys adorning his words.

“No thanks.”

“Okay, I won’t be long- Becks?” he speaks up, clearing his throat at last. I call back a question and wait as he idles. “I really am sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean anything insensitively or to upset you. I’d never want to do that.”

“I know, Harry. It’s okay,” are the last words that pass between us before he bids me a goodbye. I welcome the lack of silence but curl into the couch more, pulling the blanket around me as the movie continues.

My head throbbed when I stood up, but it had been happening a lot lately. I knew it was because I hadn’t been eating much, and as I think about that, my feet lead me to the fridge.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt full after eating, and still wanting a cookie afterwards. Like I do now. Licking the crumbs from my fingers after the last bite, the wooden floor is cold against my bare feet. For a reason I don’t know, I soon am staring up the staircase, and in that direction. It pulls at me to climb the stairs, but something deep down throbs in denial.

Instead, my attention is stolen when my ringtone blares from the couch. I lose my phone half of the time these days and so calls went unanswered. Assuming it was Harry with a grocery question, I picked it up without looking at who it was.

“Hi, Boops.”

“Dad,” I almost sigh, but I was unsure as to why. Was it the bombardment of talking to my dad on the phone for the first time in almost a month? Most likely. Or was it the homesickness that grew in my gut at the sound of his voice. “Daddy.”

“Hi, honey. I was hoping you’d answer. I’ve missed your voice.”

Sinking onto the couch, my bottom lip quivers as I try to breathe in slowly, but my heart won’t listen. It hasn’t for a while now.

“I’ve missed yours, Daddy.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he says in an exhale. Already, I know that he hears what my voice is dipped in, but I don’t hide it. It was too late for that. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I’m getting really sick of that word, but thanks, Dad.”

His classical chuckle begins its opening but it falters there, and so did any chance at mine. Silence had rarely been uncomfortable with my Dad. That was only when I’d gotten into trouble or when I was trying to tell him about something that had happened with my Mom, which usually went hand in hand. Over the years, I could hardly count the times silence had grown awkward between us, until it did now.

“What are you doing?” he decides to say, lifting my eyes to the tv screen where it appears Fiona and Farquaad will get their Happily Ever After. I knew without needing to think what would happen next. They wouldn’t, because it never really happens that way. No, it’s not that easy or immediate.

“Watching Shrek on the couch.”

“Is Harry there?” he murmurs a question.

“No, he went to do something not long ago. I don’t know what,” I answer, wrapping the tassels of the blanket around my finger until it hurts. “I think he’s mad at me. I can’t tell anymore, it seems like he always is.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, honey.”

Shaking my head for nobody to see, I taste blood when pressing my lips together to hold back the whimpering. Sniffling, I breathe in raggedly before speaking, “I think it is . . I can’t blame him, because I’ve been so horrible to him, Dad. H-He was supposed to be a Daddy and I’ve forgotten that he’s g-going through all of this too. I’ve been in my own little world being sad a-about the baby, and I forgot about him, Dad. I’m supposed to marry him soon, and I don’t even wear my ring anymore, and I can’t go upstairs, and-,” he doesn’t cut me off. I leave that honor for myself as I watch the color drain from my finger when I unwrap the tassel. I’d slowly come to hate the color red, even refusing to eat strawberries at first. It’d become the color I’d hated most after . . after that morning.

“I’m sure that he understands, Ree, or he’s at least trying to. I’ve spoken to him a few times now, and he’s not mad at you. He’s just frustrated and overwhelmed. Harry hates to see you unhappy, it’s always been that way with you too, and vice versa. He wants to fix everything, but I told him that’s not always possible. You can’t fix another person . . . and neither can you, Boops. You’re doing your best and so is he, and after a while-.”

“But I’m not, Dad. I’m hardly trying, only when I feel like it. I . . I don’t know how to do any of this and I don’t want to. I don’t want her to be gone. I was supposed to be a Mom. Her Mom,” I weep, pressing the handful of blanket against my eyes, catching my tears.

“I wish I could make it all better for you too, honey. Ever since you were little, I wanted to kiss the owies better and tell off the kids who were mean to you, but . . . you have to do it yourself and when you can, Becky. You can’t rush this. Grief, it doesn’t have a timetable or a road map- and, honey, you are a Mom. You’re Phoebe’s Mom. Nothing will ever change that,” somehow, I cry harder at his last words, melting into the couch.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I cry into the phone, wishing it was his shoulder, instead. It’s a few moments filled with the sound of my tears and his own sniffles, before I speak again. “But how do I . . how do I let Harry back in? I pushed him away without meaning to and now we’re so far apart, Dad.”

“I think that you need to remember that he’s grieving the loss of a child too. Your child together, Ree, and that he’s feeling the exact same feelings that you are. He’s devastated at not getting to be a father to Phoebe, to meet her, watch her grow up into a person, and do all of the things that you’re grieving the loss of too. You’re a team, honey, and you need to give each other some grace too. There aren’t any rules to this and maybe I shouldn’t talk because I’m divorced, but the first reason you’re there with each other is because you love each other. You have to remember that too, honey. Hey, I’m sorry, I think I’m burning my dinner in the oven. Can I call you back later, sweetie?”

“Yeah, Dad. Of course. Um, thank you. That really helped me,” I reply, swiping at my tears with the dry side of the blanket.

“I’m glad to hear it. I love you, Boops.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” and he’s gone. All I hear is the silence of the dead call and Shrek’s voice on the tv as he yells at Lord Farquaad. It’s what fills my ears and distracts my mind when I lay my head on the pillow, resting my hand on my belly without thinking. But unlike every other time I’d found myself doing it since . . since I was actually holding my baby, I let it stay there, wildly wishing she could be here watching Shrek with me.

I heard him come in when the credits of the movie are switching to the opening of its sequel. It was arguably the best, in my opinion, but it was something Harry and I had always disagreed upon. The memory sparks an invitation for him on my tongue, but upon raising my head, I watch him disappear down the hallway.

My ears aren’t sure what to focus on, the sound of his parting footsteps, the racing of my heart, or guitar strings soon being plucked from down the hall. It wasn’t much of a choice, because my feet were already leading me towards his study. A place where he had been spending a lot of time recently. I find myself gravitating towards the sound and wanting to hear more, but I stop outside the door nervously. My heart pulls me forward, despite the way it gallops, making me feel sick to my stomach. Standing there, I wonder why this is something I’m nervous about, but nothing is the same anymore. I hadn’t felt this way for what had it been now, years? There hadn’t been a time since the beginning that I was nervous to talk to Harry, and yet, here I stood doing just that.

His playing stopped and I perked up, making out the scribbling of pen on paper. Was he writing a song, I wondered quietly and wished I could ask. I didn’t know how to, and that was something I’d thought too many times lately. How to get out of bed. To eat a whole plate of food. Talk to my family and friends. I hardly even knew how to talk to Harry anymore. That’s what was holding me back, wasn’t it? Sure, if you wanted to sum it up.

“I know you’re standing outside the door . . Did you need something?” Harry murmurs, an edge to his voice. It was one that had appeared out of the blue and refused to leave. I only knew because I’d felt my voice change like that too.

There’s the creaking of the floor before I press the ajar door open enough for me to fit through. I find him sitting back down on his office chair, but he faces away from me, a guitar propped on his lap.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, still awkwardly standing in the doorway. His eyes flit to mine and I’m unsure of why I look away, except that I can’t face him. No, not when mine are still wet and I’m sure they aren't going to dry up anytime soon. Not after what I’m about to say.

“You forget how long I’ve known you,” he mumbles, peering down at the moleskin journal he scribbles in. “Four years, give or take. You learn their cues and the sounds they make when you come to know somebody for that long. That’s how I heard you at the door, it was your footsteps.”

“Oh,” I respond flatly, feeling dumb. His tone doesn’t imply it and nor do his words, but the embarrassment has run rampant already.

Watching him write and escape to his own little world had always been one of my favorite things to observe. Even his handwriting was something that brought me . . comfort. I blamed it on the familiarity, but as it pours from his pen, it makes my heart slow down a few ticks.

“My Dad called and we talked for a little bit.”

Harry hums a reply, crossing something out on the piece of paper. Scratching his head, he sighs whilst staring at the writing. I can’t make it out from here, but once again, the silence finds its old spot. Remembering his initial question when he heard me at the door, I worry that I’m bothering him. Gulping past the nervousness and doubt, I pedal forward.

“Was that yours?” I ask warily, noting his head rising so he can meet my eyes for a split second. They hold a question in them, perhaps dozens. “The song. It . . It was really pretty.”

“Yeah . . It’s just something I’ve been playing around with,” his answer comes out in a pillowy tone. It has changed ever since . . since I’d run away from him, and I hear it now as he speaks his reply.

“I really . . really like it,” I comment, looking towards the ceiling when his grandfather’s Gibson acoustic grows hazy in my eyes.

“Thank . . you. Hey, what is it? Did your dad say something that upset you?” it had been so long since I’d heard that steely edge absent from his voice. I don’t know why I mourned it, because it was my fault it had ever arrived in the first place. Wasn’t it? “Becks.”

“Yeah, he said a lot of things th-that made sense, actually,” I confess, dropping my head to stare at my fingers that I wring. I’m unable to ignore the feeling of my lips trembling against each other, despite busying myself with adjusting my rings. They stop when I arrive at the one that speaks volumes, and how deeply I’d ignored it.

Braving the storm, I finally look at him. His greens are patient and soft, something neither of our eyes have been for the other for awhile now. Without breaking eye contact, he settles his guitar onto its stand and discards the pad of paper.

“Harry, c-can I have a hug?” slowly, the overdue question comes.

“Of course,” he responds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. Already, he’s holding his arms out towards me. “You’ve never needed to ask, buggie.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling the air whoosh out of me when my body touches his. Somehow, my chest shakes harder with a new sob. It only worsens when his hands come under my thighs, lifting me up to sit on his lap.

“It’s been so long since we’ve hugged,” I know he doesn’t mean to, but it feels like a chasm through my chest when he says that. The guilt that had arrived at my dad’s words increases by tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” it’s but a whisper against his neck, my favorite place for hide and seek. But it was always him seeking me, it had been for months now, and I hadn’t let him win. Not once.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry for everything, Harry,” I repeat, pulling back to find his greens swarmed by tears. Swiping my thumb under them, I catch the way that they leak with sadness. “For how horribly I’ve treated you this last month, and how . . how I forgot that you- you lost our baby too.”

“Oh, honey. You don’t have to-,” he begins, adamant in his apology. One that I won’t accept.

“No, but I do have to apologize,” I sob, surprised at the way I’m shocked by the rough feeling of his cheeks. It had been so long since I’d touched him like this, despite watching him grow his beard out. “My dad, he . . he put it into perspective for me. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, I hate myself for that, for-.”

“Hey, don’t hate yourself for anything. This last month has been a Hell we never thought we’d have to endure. Something we shouldn’t have to deal with, and one that isn’t our fault,” he insists, thumbing at the place where a dimple would usually fall in my left cheek. I’d forgotten it was there, just like I’d done the same to him.

“But all you’ve been doing is trying to take care of me, and I made that so hard for you,” comes my cry against his palm, feeling the way he holds me together from breaking for the thousandth time. No, that would imply I’d have been put back together, but that wasn’t something I’d done. “You tried to make me eat and I fought you on it until you stopped talking about it. I argued with you and ignored you when you were just trying to keep the world going, but you never stopped, even though I did. You didn’t stop living and loving me when I stopped.”

“Becks, it’s okay,” he repeats, the words sliding into my ears as my hand wanders to his neck. A hoodie with cartoons from our childhoods dons his upper half, tattoos peeking out from the color. I found the charm of his necklace instantaneously, something I could do in the dark.

“But it’s not, Harry. It’s not okay how I treated you. I forgot you and that you’ve been mourning the loss of your child too. Our b-baby,” I whimper, sniffling when I inhale uneasily. My fingers shake before me until he takes hold of my hand, surrounding it with his own before pressing it to his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you, Becks. I always will,” Harry says, tucking his chin over my head when I melt against him. “I meant it that first night after we came home and you disappeared on me . . We lost our baby, our child, and I can’t . . I can’t lose you too, Rebecca. I have, time and time again, and I can’t do it again. I’ve hardly stayed pieced together lately being so far away from each other like we have . . God, the only thing that kept me going was just thinking, ‘one more day’ for so many days.”

Hiccuping, my hands brace themselves against his taut back, feeling his own drift along my spine. Shaking my head against the crook of his neck, I struggle to breathe, let alone speak, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I can’t believe how awful I was to you. We’re supposed to get married soon, and I can’t even live up to that in sickness and health part of the vows.”

He continued to murmur assurances that everything was okay, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself believing him. Crying against his neck, I heard his own shed tears onto mine as my hands rubbed circles into his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you that day for going to work, even though you asked me and I said it was okay . . And-.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that, Becks,” he assures me, pressing a kiss to my head. Again, I believe him, and it feels easier to breathe. Just in the slightest.

“I was such a bitch to you.”

Something sparks inside of my chest at the sound I hear next, one that had been lost along the way. His laugh. His song.

“I’ve been known to be quite the dick on one or two occasions, as well,” I savor the glint that appears in his eyes upon pulling away. It had been one of the first times I was able to lift my head since before all of this had happened, because it had been better just to hide. No, not now.

The quirk to his lips is a full on tilt now, and through them, I’m reminded of what drew me to this man in the first place. It was those eyes and that smile that made me melt upon impact. Well, then there’s the sunshine they share, and how I taste it when his lips meet mine for really the first time in what, a month. Emotion pulls at me from somewhere underneath at the thought, but he makes me forget rather quickly. He’s always been good at that.

His peppermint chapstick sticks to my lips after he’s pulled away several seconds later, trying to catch his breath. The cobwebs have been dusted away in more ways than one, and it feels weird at first, wrong almost, but I laugh. It catches him by surprise too and his eyes focus on me, and only grow brighter.

“I’ve missed kissing you, and laughing with you,” Harry grins, pressing one more to my lips before brushing his nose against mine.

“So have I. I’m s-.”

“I swear, if you say that word one more time,” he tuts, shaking his head with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to figure out something,” he says, sighing for the dramatic effect. I giggle along with him a moment later, remembering the flecks of gold hidden in his eyes. I remember a lot, too much almost, and the gold is gone as my eyes flood once more. “I know it’s hard, Becks. Something has never been this difficult for me . . for you either. But we have to talk, and I’ve been aching for ages now to talk to you . . I don’t want to ignore it, because they shouldn’t be forgotten. Our daughter. We need to talk about them, about her,” I’m nodding before he can finish, feeling his warm lips against my forehead as I focus on my breaths. “In and out, bug. In and out. We can do this. We’ll start slow.”

I haven’t stopped nodding, but once my lungs start to work again, I pull away and find his eyes once more. It comes to me and I can’t hold it back in anymore, knowing I need to say it first. To tell him.

“Okay, let’s talk about o-our daughter,” I begin, cringing at the sound of my voice breaking already. He nods, cupping my face in his palm, the sweetest of looks on his face.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles alternate universe #one direction fanfiction #one direction #fanfic #wattpad #harry styles wattpad #writing #vanchlo writes #heck yes #becky x harry #tempestad #elmundodebecks

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Eleven, "The Abyss"

Word Count: 5.4k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: / It's Not The Same Anymore by Rex Orange County (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"The day after my baby died what shocked me the most was the sun still rose, and the post still slipped through my mailbox, and I still got thirsty, and the birds still sang, and the traffic lights still changed colour . . but my world had stopped, my planet had stopped spinning."

- Zoe Clark-Coates

I tried to stay there, beside him and with him, but I couldn't. The stillness had returned and I was sucked into its world once again, watching time pass in front of me. Waking up was the hardest, knowing what I had come back to and not wanting to move, let alone leave the bed. It wasn't ours and I was glad for it, if it was the only thing that made me feel a hint of that. I couldn't imagine lying in ours and my recommended bed rest was welcomed.

I didn't try to fight it, the emptiness that swam around inside of me, silencing my ears to Harry's words. His questions and pleas for me to eat. Somehow, I sat there and I did, sometimes. I ate and laid on the couch, watching Friends with him. He didn't think I noticed, but I did. I saw how he skipped the episodes where Phoebe was pregnant as we watched the show through for what must be the third time. I wasn't asleep like he thought when he tearfully told my dad over the phone what had happened. His sister. My brother. I pretended again when Skye stopped over with food that Harry took quietly, and when Myles did too. I listened in the bedroom or on the couch, my eyes closed, as he cried to his mom and then his best friend. I was there listening, but I wasn't there feeling. I couldn't.

I'd lost count of how many times I'd blinked and Harry had been talking to me, going on to repeat himself for what- the fourth time? How was I supposed to know?, I think this time as he stares back at me, a not so secret sigh following his words.

"I'm sorry. What'd you say?"

"I said you need to eat," he repeats, nodding his head towards the plate of food I hadn't touched. I should've known. Despite it being our favorite tacos from Pedro's, I couldn't even stomach the idea of actually eating it. Sighing, he's shaking his head as he dumps another helping of their chips onto his plate. "I don't want to argue about this again. You need to eat, love."

"Neither do I, but I'm not hungry, Harry."

Snapping the lid back onto the nacho cheese sauce, his head is shaking back and forth. Watching his movements, he habitually bites at his bottom lip, seemingly coaxing the words back in.

"I didn't push when you weren't hungry at breakfast, but it's two in the afternoon, Becks. You-."

"I had a protein drink. I'm fine."

"How can you say that?!" his volume shocks me, hearing his words echo around the empty house. Gulping, I look away from his fiery eyes and to the food that makes my stomach turn. "You're not fine. All you've had to eat the last few days are a few bites at meals, and those stupid protein drinks. That can't be healthy. You need to eat because . . "

"Because why, Harry?" I speak up, bringing my eyes back to his. They avoid mine though as he stands across the island from me, rubbing his thumb along the tip of another finger. "You don't know, do you? You can't use the 'eating for two' excuse anymore, because I'm not . . eating for two, am I? I'm not . . not pregnant, so why should I need to eat? You don't have an answer, do you?"

"Because of you, Becks. You need to heal, your body needs the food and-," he begins to insist, but my sharp tongue can't be controlled.

"Trying to shove food down my throat and practically counting the number of bites I take is not going to heal my body, Harry," I retort, sliding off the barstool and stomping my way up the stairs.

Stopping at the landing, I'm not sure what led me up here, seeing as how we're sleeping downstairs now. Something about 'less exertion on my part and I haven't even stepped foot in our bedroom since then' being the reason for the move. The day we came home Harry had moved everything downstairs that we'd needed, and to the bathroom that we use now. It wasn't the same, but was anything anymore?

"Why can't you just talk to me?" he calls from the kitchen. Already, I'm shaking my head before he's finished. I take one step and then two, but I don't get any further when I see the door to the other guest bedroom. The room where they would have slept, and one that I most of all can't step foot in. My foot lifts but I place it back down, wishing I could but knowing that I can't. No, everything about the wound still felt too fresh and I know that I'm not ready to walk back into the nursery. But when could I ever be?

"I'm going to lie down," I mutter, passing the island where he stands, shoving the last of a taco past his lips.

Padding past the living room where the last of Beetlejuice plays with neither of us watching, I hope that he doesn't notice the gleam to my cheeks. I try to wipe it away quickly, and only when my face is buried into the pillow do I let my scream out. The one I'd been holding in all day as he watched me eat a few strawberries at breakfast, during the checkup at the doctor's, and zoning out watching the movie. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't stop the avalanche happening around my heart. It felt like the death of a loved one, because well, it was. There's the death and not even the funeral, and then what? Nobody ever talks about what comes after and how to deal with grief. Everything looked good at the doctor's visit and Harry asked a bajillion questions while I wasn't even sure what to say. I could tell he wanted to say something about how I'd been acting, but I silently thanked him for not doing so. Just like how I do the same now, knowing that he won't walk in as I cry myself to sleep for what, the fifth time in the last four days? No, it had been more than that.

I couldn't blame him, because even if he was here with his arms wrapped around me, I wouldn't know what to do. That feeling jumped off my tongue when I told him to go away yesterday when I lied about taking a nap. He'd only wanted to take one too perhaps, but I'd jumped down his throat. I didn't know what was happening to me, but there was hardly a small part of me that cared. I didn't even wish that I did.

Throat aching and eyes burning, I breathe in past the sniffles and stare out the window where light leaks in from. My baby. Our baby. I still couldn't believe that they were gone, our daughter. I'd never get to feel her kick or know what her smile looked like. I was sure it looked like his, lopsided with two dimples. That made my cheeks grow wetter, but it worsened when I thought of her name and the hollowness that came with it. I didn't stir when the door slowly creaked open, only staring at the new strip of light that interrupted the darkness.

"I'm going for a walk. Would you like to come?" Harry says, caution at the forefront of his voice. I couldn't find it in me to answer, not even when the next words came, making the line of yellow disappear entirely from my vision. "Alright, well I have my phone if you need anything . . I hope you sleep well, bug. I love you . . so much."

"Love you," I whispered, but it was too late. The yellow line had disappeared and so had he. It had only been four days since our baby had died and it felt like months, far too many. "Harry?" I call, sitting up to turn towards the door. Hastily wiping my hand under my eyes, I listen intently.

It's only moments before the wash of light returns, casting shadows along his face. His eyebrows fall into a questioning V and I try to ignore the extra tablespoon of sadness in his eyes.

"I love you too," I say tearfully, catching the tear before it falls from my eye.

A corner of his mouth itches upwards, but not quite, "I love you more, Becks." It sits on my tongue, impatient for its chance that I'm afraid doesn't come. "Were you gonna say something more?"

"No, just . . bundle up for your walk. It's cold."

"I will," he smiles, sending me a wink before closing the door quietly behind him. I remain in that pose, sitting up and watching the door, wishing he'd come back. I almost said it, but for some reason, I couldn't.

Why couldn't I just ask him to stay and to come and lie down with me? Because, he'd ask questions or want to talk about it, the thing that consumed us both, even if we tried to pretend otherwise. No, I was far past that. I never had the poker face that he did.

He didn't think that I heard him, but by now, we had gotten good at pretending in one way or another. Harry pretended like things were okay, and I pretended that I didn't hear him sobbing his eyes out in the bathroom as I laid in bed, faking being asleep yet another night. It tore at my heart but I didn't know how to tell my legs to move and cross the hallway to him. I acted as if I ate half of my plate at dinner, per our new deal, but I really only ate a quarter and threw the rest away. I pretended to not see the second glance he gave me when he walked in on me changing. I knew it but acted as if I didn't see the thinner reflection of myself, despite knowing how nutrition worked.

I ignored it a lot, but the next day when the doorbell rang yet again with a delivery man on the other side, it was enough. As I walked away from the door with another strong-smelling vase in hand, I couldn't fake it anymore. Seeing as how nothing was normal anymore, the kitchen table now overflowed with vases of flowers, us having not eaten there for weeks. My feet refused to move any closer to the hoard of a smell that now made my stomach turn.

I don't remember telling my body to do it, but suddenly, I'm watching in slow motion as the glass shatters at my feet. I couldn't tell you why I stood there, staring at the tendrils of water spreading on the floor. Neither could I explain away tossing the flowers into the garbage can with the note I never read. They all said the same thing. 'I'm sorry for your loss,' 'Thinking of you,' blah blah. Harry had been gone for a while, getting groceries at the market, and it was only a matter of time before he came back. I wasn't sure how I would explain this, and as I picked up the shards of glass, the guilt grew in my gut. The rumble of an engine outside made me jump, worrying it was Harry. Wincing, my palm suddenly burns and upon looking, scarlet soon seeps from a new cut.

I ignored his casual greeting ten minutes later, probably kicking the door closed behind him. He didn't say anything about the flowers, because for the first time in two weeks, I took out the trash after sweeping up the mess. I stuffed the blood-spotted rag in there too. When he pushed the bedroom door open with a long creak, I played pretend again, acting like I didn't hear his voice.

"You sleeping, bug?" his molasses voice mumbled, marked by the soft fall of his feet. I hadn't even heard them cross the room until they stopped behind me, and I felt his touch. "I hope you're having sweet dreams. I missed you, I do all of the time lately," he murmurs against my head.

I find it hard to not stir when his fingers drag against my temple with a lock of my hair. It had been something I'd gotten used to ignoring, but this time, as he pressed his lips to my temple, I wanted to reach out to him and grab hold, and never let go. The sensation only grew stronger as the sound of his footsteps disappeared, it all coming to a head. One that's only answered by a fitful of sobs racing past my lips, the first thing I'd felt in a while, next to the guilt at the flowers. Why couldn't I be okay? It stung, the words calling for him that I held back as I heard the sounds of cupboards opening and closing. I knew he would come. Did I really, after all I'd put him through? No, I didn't really know that. I wasn't sure of anything anymore, I realized, and it only made me sob harder.

Dinner was a doozy yet again. I'd come to dread meals. The stare-downs Harry would give me along with the protein drink he always shoved my way a good fifteen minutes after my last bite, if any. It was like clockwork yet again. This time, it was Strawberries and Cream, and as I grabbed for the bottle sitting in front of me, he stopped. No, this wasn't how it went. He usually took my plate and dumped it in the garbage, no longer sticking it in the fridge for later, because he knew that there wouldn't be one. Most of the time he only filled the plate half full, but today, I guess he'd gotten his hopes up and filled it high. Now, he didn't walk away and instead, stood there looking. At what I didn't notice until I followed his eyesight, immediately pulling the sleeve of my sweater over my hand.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?" Harry asks, nodding to the appendage that disappears like a frightened turtle into its shell. I didn't need him asking any more questions than before, or finding another reason to nag at me. "Love?"

"I-It's nothing, I just got a scratch."

"A scratch doesn't require gauze. Let me see," he insists, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. His touch is gentle but nonetheless, it feels foreign somehow, and I retract my hand from his. I catch his eye and look away, but it's too late, I've already seen how they look. How he looks at me, offended and scared all in one. "Buggie, did you . . did you do this to yourself?"

"What?" the word passes my lips in one breath, like a whoosh. Now, I'm looking at him and already, the regret has glazed over his eyes. His lips are parting with a save face, but it's too late now. "I didn't hurt myself, Harry. It's not like that. I-."

"Then what happened, Becks? Why can't you tell me, huh?" he huffs loudly, dropping his clean plate into a sink with a clash! It makes me jump and the sound of defeat from him makes him realize aloud. "I want you to talk to me, and . . I miss talking to you."

The cogs turn in my brain but the puzzle pieces with a few dozen missing ones refuse to lock together at the sound of his voice. What could I even say that would sound right? Nothing would, I know it. A quietness settles over the kitchen save for another trashy show on the tv behind us, my barstool squeaking underneath me. I could count the seconds that a word doesn't pass between us until my rebuttal is impossible to push down.

"Why won't you go to that session Dr. Baker set up for you?"

"I'm not hurting myself, Harry," I repeat, peeling my eyes from my naked fingers to look at the back of his head.

"Why won't you ever just give me an answer?" turning around, his lost green eyes fall on me. It felt like a long time ago, the way that very pair could pull words from my lips. Feelings. Kisses. Love. It digs past my own and deep into my chest, but it comes up empty-handed.

"I'm not going to a fucking shrink," I answer, remembering the bottle. Giving it a shake, I feel his eyes hot on the top of my head, waiting for me to give him something. That wasn't something I'd done for a long time, and not even the bare minimum.

"How come? You don't know that it won't help unless you try, Becks," I'm already shaking my head, sure to cause his eyes a roll or two at that. The sloshing of the liquid in my hand suffices my words, because they would have been a mess too. "I wish you'd at least give it a shot, you never know what will happen. It's sure to help to talk about . . her."

"I don't want to go, Harry. Please, just drop it."

Without looking at him, I can tell that he's not finished, even as I try to will the silence away with the glug of a drink.

"No, I'm not dropping it. This is important, Becks. You need to learn to talk about the baby. We need to."

Slamming the drink down onto the counter, the loud thud resonates with me, sounding louder than I'd intended. It reflects in his eyes when I meet them, wondering how they could still hold sunshine in them. I can't even remember what that feels like.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about her, Harry. Did you ever think about that? Maybe I don't want to go and talk to some stranger about how my baby died inside of me. A fucking stranger that probably has kids of her own or some man who's never even wanted children. They don't know and they can't know what I'm going through."

The artificial taste of the berries and cream had grown acrid on my tongue. Turning away from him with my feet leading, I could feel the one mouthful turning in my stomach.

"I can't do this any longer, buggie. I-I've lost our baby and now . . God, now I'm losing you and it's scaring the shit out of me," if my feet had continued, I wouldn't have kept walking. I'd known. I could feel the truth of his words ring in my bones, but hearing them spoken into the air was something else. "I don't know what to do anymore, Rebecca," the river had already begun to run in his voice. I was sure that if I stepped foot into it, I just might drown again too, and so I didn't. It tried to grab hold of me, but with every step taken away from him, its strength dwindled. The worsening ache in my chest at the sound I heard didn't lessen, not even when I threw myself under the covers and pillows. It filled my insides as a similar one poured from me.

It was as if last night had never happened. The entire thing almost, but not in the way I'd wished. No, I'd yearned for a lot of things in the last few weeks and not gotten them. When I awoke the next morning to the sounds of breakfast and the tv playing, it felt like some kind of joke when Harry walked into the bedroom soundlessly with a suit wrapped around him.

On his way back from what must have been finding his rings on the nightstand, he caught my eye as he slid them on. "Hey," he murmurs, a hollowness to his voice that felt deeper than last night. "I was hoping you'd wake up soon."

"Are you going to work?" the question came, piercing the taut air between us. We both already knew by the clothes he wore and the attempt he made to comb back his hair.

"Is that alright? It's just a partner meeting and some managing stuff. If you don't want me to-."

"No, it's fine. Drive safe," I mumble, turning to place my back to him. I could almost hear his nod, knowing it was there as the floor creaked underfoot.

"I will. Maybe I can grab some gnocchi soup on the way home for lunch. I shouldn't be more than a few hours."

My response didn't come and a further one from him didn't either. The sound of the bedroom door behind him did, as well as the front door and that of the garage. It had been next to never the first two weeks that the house was empty, save for me. Just in the last week, he had been leaving more for errands and grocery runs, no longer sufficing with deliveries to our front door. I'd only left the front door once, maybe twice, and that was for the checkup a few days after. A part of me wanted to just walk around the block, but the thought itself tired me out.

I couldn't remember how long he'd been gone by the time my stomach had rumbled. The last piece of cheesecake in the fridge and leftover pizza passed for lunch, if it was even that time. I couldn't do it anymore. Time. The light or lack of outside helped at times, but in our surrogate bedroom, the blackout shades didn't allude to night or day. I wasn't even sure of the time on the clock when he'd left, or even the calendar.

I hadn't turned the pages of one for a while now and upon seeing the date on my phone, it seemed foreign. Everything had at one point over the course of this all now, but the mysterious passing of it hadn't. I'd get the day of the week down and a few days later it would be a Monday again, unbeknownst to me how it could be. I grabbed another snack and was soon confused to find myself loading the dishwasher. Running it. Wiping down the counters. Washing blankets and fluffing pillows.

When I reached the top of the staircase, the blankets I needed just a few steps away, I didn't know how I had gotten here. As if in slow motion, I watched as the door swung open, the image slapping me in the face. I didn't have a clue how I had done it or how it had gotten past me to come up here to this room. The Room. Already, I saw the gift bags I knew to be filled with clothes and other gifts, the stuffed animals, small knitted blankets, and the picture frames with sonograms that once adorned the house. The image had already burned itself to the back of my eyes, only to be replaced by another moments later when the bed of my nightmares sat in front of me.

I didn't know why I'd gone to either place. The nursery and then our bedroom. It wasn't my refuge anymore because I wasn't sure if I still had one. Neither place was safe and my heart didn't feel it either when I pulled the covers over my head, an avalanche of tears making its way through my body. I didn't want to see any of that again. Being reminded of it all was something I couldn't handle, because I hadn't wanted it to be true.

The clock ticked and darkness remained in the room until it didn't. A new sound came, that of footsteps and with it was brought a light that I couldn't face. It built and grew, surmounting when I heard his voice and the crinkle of a bag.

"Hi, buggie. Are you awake? I brought home some lunch," I pushed it down again and again, but it was feeling next to impossible now.

"I'm not hungry."

"But I got your favorite muffin," he teases, crinkling of the bag following his words. The smell of the lemon cream hits my nose, but it doesn't phase me. No, the boiling underneath my skin is too different.

"I said I'm not hungry, Harry. What do you not get about that?!" I snap, pushing the bag away. "I can't believe you're already back to work. How can you just move on so quickly?" His loud sigh is unmistakable, as is the way he slams the bedroom door behind him.

The racing of my heart pounded in my ears as different sounds found their way to me. I laid there waiting and listening as he slammed doors and cursed, not immune to jumping when something shattered before a loud 'fuck!' of his came.

There hadn't been a sound for a while now when I pull back a blanket, at last not able to hear the pounding of my heart. I wasn't sure what I thought I was doing, knowing that there was no way around it. More like, him. Cautiously, I made my way past the tv playing a rerun of Saved By The Bell, and towards him. There weren't many things I'd memorized about Harry after knowing him for a few weeks, maybe shorter. I learned his cues early because I had to in order to work with him and to get somewhere, especially those alluding to his anger.

The broad back that faced me from where he sat at the island didn't tell me what I needed to know but the tension held in his shoulders did. So did the clicking of his tongue, the bouncing of his leg, and most of all, his shaking head and perturbed exhales.

"I saved you a muffin. It's in the fridge. I know that's how you like it . . Soup's in there too," the offer comes out slowly and off his forked tongue, one I know all too well. Perhaps it hadn't made an appearance yet, but it was right there, waiting. "No 'thank you, Harry' or 'how was work, my fiance?'"

"How was work, Harry? Who all asked about me? What lie did you tell them this time, my fiance?" I nearly retort, not afraid to show my horns. The lid to the jar of nuts gets stuck, but with a good twist, I get it. Pouring a handful into a plastic container, I let the next one fly before turning around. "What'd they say when you told them about our dead baby?"

The trained facade on his face washes away upon turning and quickly I realize what I've done. It's not enough though, because time has been against me for its entirety.

"You don't get to act like this. It's not okay to say that kind of shit, Becks," he tuts, wiping a napkin across his lips before standing with bowl in hand.

"But it's okay for you to go back to work already, Harry?!" the question explodes on my lips, but the volcano isn't quite done. "Our baby hasn't even been gone a month."

"You think I don't know that?!" his voice echoes off the walls around us, hitting my ears with an intensity that surprises me. If that hadn't, the expression on his face does. The anger that melts into something else. "Do you think I don't know how long our daughter's been gone, Rebecca? I wake up every morning with a new number in my head, no matter how hard I try not to. I know, okay? Twenty-three days our baby's been gone, Becks. You think I'm not having the same thoughts- feelings just because I don't show them . . And I'm not pulling a 'who has it worse' like our parents always have with us, but- but I lost a baby too, Becks! I also lost a child and you seem to forget that. I was supposed to become a dad in August to a little girl, but I never will now. I'll never meet our Phoebe Anne either."

His cheeks had long ago come to glisten as did his eyes that overflowed with them. I didn't remember mine becoming the same. Was it when something fell apart in my chest, or when the anger melted away into utter guilt? Maybe it was in between the missing puzzles piece falling into the picture and being unaware to dropping the bowl back onto the counter.

"We named her and we've never even called her that and- . . for lack of better words, it kills me. All of this fucking kills me, Becks, and I know how it's doing the same to you. It's taking you away from me and it's almost worse than the night I thought you were going to die, because I'm supposed to be able to control this. I'm the dad, almost the husband- I'm supposed to be able to fix all of this, but I can't. For once, I can't fucking make it all better and it terrifies me . . ," he trails off, crying quietly into his hands that he presses to his face. A weakness overwhelms me and I back up into the counter, afraid I can't hold myself up, but I already hadn't been able to. "Phoebe's gone and- I can hardly bear it. I know you didn't mean what you said just now, because I told Myles before I came that . . that I couldn't talk about it to anybody, Becks. If somebody had I know I would've started crying, because I did the fucking second I saw the sonogram on my desk. I went in to grab something and forgot it was there," he stops, holding onto the countertop as his adam's apple bobs after his words. Red like wild cherries, his lips press together tightly while tears run races over them and down his chin, as he stares at the floor, whimpering.

"I don't want this to break us, Becks- I already know it has and I can't . . I can't lose you. I have so many times and I couldn't handle it if it happened again, for real," his voice frays at the edges from the weight it sits under. The pounds of it feel dropped onto my shoulders when his eyes carry over to me, dripping with unspent words. "We lost our baby and I can't lose my best friend and love too, Becks. Please come back to me."

"I wish I knew how," the reply is a mere whisper but I know he hears. Even without words, he always does.

"You have to try, bug. We have to talk about her, I don't want her to be forgotten."

Bottom lip wobbling, my response is immediate, "Neither do I, Harry, but I don't- I don't know how to talk about her. It hurts so much. I still don't want any of this to be real."

Wiping the back of his hand against his nose, I hear his agreement in his eyes as he takes a step forward, "I wish every day that I could wake up and she's there and not . . not gone, but she's not coming back, Becks. And I'm so sorry," weeping, his voice is taken under by the current of the river flowing down his face. "We have to face it . . to talk about her and what happened. Or else, I don't see us getting through this."

When I realize what I'm doing, the look on his face tells all. Something sparks inside of me and I wish that I could stop shaking my head. That I could stop pulling away from him. "I can't, Harry. I'm not . . I'm not ready," I murmur, wishing I could say that I don't know when I will be. I don't because that would be a lie and although I'd broken so many rules already, I didn't want to lie to him.

Placing my back to him, I make my escape and drown out his sobs with the running water of the tub. I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about her, and I know he's right. If we can't get past this, we may never make it back from it.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfiction #one direction fanfiction #harry au #lawyer romance #office romance #harry styles #harry styles wattpad #wattpad #fanfiction #young adult fiction #new book #hecky #pa harry #vanchlo writes

[vanchlo]

Tag Challenge

Thanks to @heart-attack-harry​ for the tag, I saw this and wanted so badly to do it! It was fun :) 

Rules are, show us what your lead characters have as each other’s names in their phone and the photo assigned to go along with it! (If your fic doesn’t have a face claim or is a reader insert than feel free to just do Harry (or whoever your leading guy is) OR if you want you can always do a nickname & aesthetic photo for your MC!)

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Becky’s name in Harry’s phone: 💜 Rebecca Ann 💜

Harry’s name in Becky’s phone: Styles 💋👉🏻👌🏻

I chose my story The Assistant and my two main characters, Harry and Becks. Harry’s always called her Rebecca Ann so there’s that and Styles is kinda her nickname for him and she just never changed it in her phone .... and let’s just say, Harry got a hold of her phone once again 😂

I really don’t know how to tag so anybody can do it and say I tagged them ❤️

#Hecky #the assistant #pa Harry #the partner #vanchlo writes

[vanchlo]

narrymccartney -> vanchlo

i’ve changed URLs to vanchlo now :) i love this one so much now omg 

- chloe 

#narrymccartney #vanchlo #the assistant #narrymccartney writes

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Thirteen, "The Healing"

Word Count: 7.7k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for Cutie / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

*

"Since I've met you everything I've done has been in part because of you. I've cant untie myself from you, not my heart or my mind or any other part of me and I don't want to. I always thought love made you stupid make you weak, to love is to destroy. Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anybody I'd met and I realized I was the one who was weak."

- City of Glass

Everything inside of me shouts to flee, to run away from him, but I know that I can't do that anymore. A new old awkwardness steals the space between us as I look into his eyes, feeling mine pour over with the feelings that his stir in me.

"Come on, let's get comfy for this," Harry murmurs. Next, I'm squealing when he stands up, carrying me in his arms. It's easier than I thought it would be when my arms circle his neck, and my head finds his shoulder. "You're lighter, Becks."

I hum an acknowledgement of sorts, not knowing what I could say to that, but part of me thinks that he knows that. I know that he does. That's not what I say next, but something else instead, "Claire's food might help with that. If you stop eating my brookies."

"Your brookies, you say? I don't remember her putting your name on them," he responds. Something sparks inside of me at the sound coming from his chest, the beginning of a laugh. It continues with its song as his feet find the whines and creaks of the hardwood floor. It had been a good while since I'd felt lucky to get to hear his sound, and even more so, to see it at work when he gently lays me down on the bed.

"I guess I can share."

"You're going to have to," Harry says, a duality in his words. I hear it bounce around in my head as I watch him join me underneath the covers. A sliver of lingering afternoon sun peeks in from the window, highlighting the freckles decorating his face.

At that thought, a sour guilt knits together in my gut, because how had I ever stopped feeling lucky to have him? I had wanted him for so long and couldn't believe it when I finally got to call him mine. Even more so when I got to call him my fiance, and the father of my child. He still was, nothing had changed that, and I was so grateful for it.

"There's no pressure, bug. No judgement and no wrong answers . . Alright?"

"Alright," I whisper, still shocked at how weird his touch feels. That was something I never thought I'd think two years into loving him now. My fiance and best friend. His lips hold sunshine when I finally meet his eyes, a color that makes my heart squeeze, because of what I wonder. "I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if she'd have your eyes. Your dimples. Your . . curls."

His nod is silent and yet it's not. It speaks volumes as my favorite shade of green hides behind the sadness filling his eyes. "I've wondered that too, but I've always wished our kids had your eyes. I know she would've been beautiful, just like her Mom."

"Harry," it's a sigh, one damaged by pain that doesn't even skim the surface of how that makes me feel.

"I know, bug. I know," his voice is light like a feather, but as his hand comes to cradle my cheek, I know it's the least bit that. Leaning into his hand, my lips quiver under the weight of his words and those I know I need to say. "I miss her too . . all of the time, Becks."

"What did I do wrong? I still don't understand w-why, Harry," looking up at him through watery eyes, I watch his reaction and how this one stings.

"You didn't do anything wrong, honey. You did it all by the book. Neither of us did and we can't continue to blame ourselves for something that we had no control over . . I wish I could tell you why, but I can't. I don't know. I don't think we ever will know why, Becks."

"I wish I knew why she had to die," I crumple in his hands until I'm hiccuping sobs against his neck, my favorite hiding place that I'd been hiding from. It had been so hard sometimes to just breathe, and now as I fought for it, it felt a little bit easier. I had been slowly drowning this entire time in my own tears and grief, but finally I found hold of him, and he was saving me. I'd at last let him.

"I do too."

"I don't want to forget her, but it's so fucking hard to think about. I know I need to do s-something so that I can . . can think about other things, but then I feel guilty just thinking about not missing her all of the time," I confess against the chain of his necklace, feeling the way his chest heaves against mine.

"I've been thinking the same exact thing . . I never want her to be forgotten, she's our daughter, but her death doesn't need to consume us anymore, Becks. I know it's silly to say, but I don't think she'd want us to do that . . Even if she was only a baby, she'd want us to be happy. I know that grief doesn't let you pick and choose, but I want to be happy again. Happy that we got to be her parents for those almost four months- you know what, we're still her parents and we always will be. Nobody can take that away from us. I want to remember the good. The first time hearing her heartbeat and seeing her on the ultrasound, telling our families about her, and picking her name . . I never want to forget her, Becks, she's our daughter, but we're going to be okay. Maybe not today or in a week, but soon. I want to feel okay again, even though she's gone."

"So do I, Harry," I tearfully agree, busying myself by playing with the curls on the back of his neck. "I don't want . . want her to think that means I've forgotten her or that I love her less. I can't . . can't even imagine having another baby anytime soon."

"I'm not ready either, Becks, and that's okay. I don't know when I'll be. It's alright that we're not okay and may not be for a while, but she knows. I like to think she knows how loved she is, and she's being taken care of by so many loved ones who are telling her that. Our grandpas and grandmas."

"Yeah, she's pretty lucky."

"So are they," he murmurs. It's a while before my lungs calm down and my eyes find him again. A corner of his mouth twitches but a dimple doesn't appear. Instead, a tear and its trail does, glistening on his cheek. "Hi, pretty girl."

A smile is all that I can suffice. I find it too hard to look in his wet eyes for long, and resort to playing with his rings. It had felt awkward to me when I'd put mine back on, not being able to remember why I'd ever taken them off in the first place. But then I remember, and my chest heaves painfully at the memory. It was because of the blood. They had become caked with it and he'd noticed at the hospital and taken them off of me to wash. It hadn't been until earlier today that I'd had the courage to look at them again.

"I never got to feel her kick, and I'm not sure if I wish that I had because then it would've been harder . . Your turn," it's a whisper from my lips as his wait for me.

"I can't find it in myself to get rid of those flowers on the table . . I almost wish that they'd stop coming. Every note says the same thing in some variation, and they're just a blatant reminder every time I see them . . that our baby died."

"It's not just you," I confess and when his thumb settles on the strip of gauze still taped around the edge of my palm, I know that my secret is on its way out.

"Can I see it, please?"

"Sure . . it's really not that bad. It just bled a lot at first, and . . and I didn't know how to tell you," I answer, letting him peel the medical tape back to expose the scabbed over cut. It came as a bit of a shock to me too, somehow making the wound hurt again when I saw the look in his eyes.

"That looks like it hurt, buggie. What happened? I wish you had told me . . had let me help."

"I didn't do it to myself, Harry," I murmur, grabbing onto the courage to look into his eyes. He vocalizes an understanding and I nod, relieved. "Another fucking vase of flowers came a few days ago, I don't remember when. It fell out of my hands when I got it from the delivery guy at the door. A sound scared me when I was picking up the glass . . I don't even know who they were from, because I'm so sick of the flowers too, and so I threw them away . . I can't believe I did that, I still feel guilty about it."

"You shouldn't, love. It's okay. Accidents happen," he assures me. I hear a duality in his words again and find it hard to ignore. "My Mom wanted to come over one of these days to help out. Maybe I can give her the task of doing something with them. They're sore on the eyes for both of us, and I'm rather sure they're bothering my allergies."

"Good excuse," I wink and a dimple almost appears in his cheek. If one did, I don't get the chance to see, because he's pulling me against his chest. "You should tell your Mom that one. It's the safer one out of the two," I continue, feeling my body relax against his. My eyes fall closed at the feeling of his lips against the crown of my head. His favorite spot.

"I think I will . . It's your turn, buggie."

With a labored sigh, I comb my thoughts for one that's tame enough to admit. How could I ever sum up the sour emptiness that's consumed me ever since I woke up that morning without him and . . without her? the thought comes but within moments it's pushed away by another. I don't need to because he knows. Because the emptiness lives inside of him too.

"I feel like I need to find a pretty way to explain all of this- what I'm feeling, but I finally realized that I don't have to. You're feeling it all too," I hardly hear the words myself, and even so, I know that he hears what they really say. "The emptiness, or lack of feeling."

"Yeah, I am . . I'm sorry for exploding on you the other day about it . . About us going through the same thing. It wasn't the right way to do it."

"It's okay. I'm kind of glad for it. It woke me up and made me realize it's not just me m-mourning our daughter."

Harry hums a reply, one I'm not sure how to handle, but he does that for me, "I didn't want to tell you and upset you more, and frankly, I've tried to ignore it myself too." his lips pause. Only when I prompt him with a concerned question does he continue. "She's been trying to hide it, but Gemma told me my Mom is taking it hard. She hasn't told me herself but since she's staying with my sister, Gemma's noticed it and told me."

"Oh God. I had no idea. I've hardly spoken to her . . s-since," I huff, my thoughts spiraling when my scope opens beyond the two of us. "It's not just us hurting."

"Yeah, neither did I. She's done a good job of hiding it, that's for sure. I think what's worst for her is that she wants to do something to help, but doesn't know what. I haven't really let her come around, only to stop by a few times. I know your dad struggles with how to help and Skye too, they've told me so- and I don't intend to upset you by telling you this, so please don't be. I just don't want it to be a surprise to you."

"I know. Thank you," I mumble, hearing his classic hum in return. It had been so long since I'd felt his facial hair rub against my face, and somehow, it sends a tranquility across my body. "I can only imagine how upset my dad is. He was supposed to be a grandfather for the first time. I've spoken to him but, of course, he didn't mention it. That's Chuck for you."

"He told me that he didn't want to upset you, Becks, and he's a quiet one from what I know. To no surprise, he said that he'll be okay, but it's you that he's worried won't be," Harry shares aloud. The volume of his revelation grows inside of my head, but my well of responses shrink away. "Your turn."

Diving into the web of thoughts that have scattered my brain lately, I'm not sure where to go next, and so that's what I say, "I don't know what to say. So much of it is scary . . to think . . . to share."

"You don't have to be scared to tell me, Becks. Nothing bad is going to happen if you say it out loud. I promise. No judgement, bug." Shaking my head doesn't rid my head of them, despite knowing from experience that it wouldn't. Seconds pass and they only grow more stubborn, wanting to be there, and I realize the only way to get them to leave is to say them.

"Harry, wh-what if we try to have another baby and th-they die too?" a shiver runs down my spine before I even say it. When I do, my mouth trembles against his collarbone. Despite squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the hot tears escape them, painting his skin.

If I hadn't known him for as long as I had, his silence would have scared me. Still, I'd be lying if it didn't phase me, because I wait impatiently until he speaks again.

"It scares the shit out of me too, Becks. I can't even . . think about trying for another, because I'm afraid too . . that we'd lose them. The doctor said how many times that it's usually a one time thing, but that doesn't make me stop worrying or being scared. I wish I could tell you that we'd be okay, but . . I don't even know that. I hope so badly we will be, but I don't know."

"We can't know, and that's what hurts the most."

The rumbling of an agreement tickles at my ears and against my cheek where it hugs his chest. Thoughts bloom left and right inside of my brain and aren't even slowed by his fingers combing through my hair. It was something that had never failed to bring me comfort and to lull me into a sleep. That is until now.

"What do we do then . . Harry?" I whisper, fear laced throughout my words. Again, he hesitates. I can almost make out the sound of the wheels turning in his head as he thinks. Lying next to him and wrapped inside of his arms, the tension in his muscles reflects his thoughts.

"I wish I knew, Becks. We just . . have to give it time, I suppose. They say time heals wounds, but a month later and I still miss our baby that we never met. I don't get it . . . I guess we'll give it some time and wait until we're ready, that's all that we can do. And to take care of ourselves."

"And each other," I break in, feeling the movement of his head nodding at my words.

"Yes, that too. It's more important now than ever," Harry says, announcing his words by pulling away to look me in the eyes through his wet pair.

"I can't say how sorry I am that I forgot to take care of you too."

There's just a tert shake of his head I see before my eyes are falling closed, and he's kissing me. I'd done this how many times by now, but it still feels weird. It had been a long time since I'd thought that, probably since my accident, and yet as I kissed him back it felt strange before it felt familiar. Like seeing an old friend. He couldn't know that's why the next tear fell down my cheek when we were looking at each other again, because of the way I'd forgotten him and us through all of this.

"You don't need to keep apologizing. Promise," he tells me with a warm tilt to his lips, just as he taps my nose with his finger. "Boops."

"I love you, Harry," it had been born in my mind shortly after meeting him, this very sentence. At first, they weren't the same words, but they always had held the same meaning. It stirs up emotion inside of me, as if I needed any more, as the Guilt Train speeds on, reminding me of how that thought had been absent from my head lately. It hadn't been the first missing phrase, but it had been the most important one, hadn't it?

Nonetheless, a few dapples of sunshine spread out on his lips as they return it, "I love you more, Becks." His smile waits, hesitating as my own lips do the same. Smiling and thinking.

"I love you the most."

The softest of chuckles pours from his lips as something glints in his eyes staring down at me. "Hey, there's my girl. She's back."

Nodding at him, I realize it's been too long since my lips have reached this high, but he always seems to bring them back. He never fails, afterall.

"I'm getting there. I'm trying."

Inching his face towards mine, my eyes follow his as he brushes his nose against mine, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," his words tickle at my cheeks like a feather, but they don't make me sneeze. They don't make me laugh, and most important of all, they don't make me cry. They make me smile and finally soak in the sunshine he pours onto me. "That's all we can do, Becks - is to try and get better. Eventually we will . . We'll be okay, I know it, maybe not right away but we will."

With the taste of his chapstick on my lips once again, I nuzzle my head into his neck and fall asleep there, for the first time in a very long time. One that had felt longer than all of the other times that I had been without him, even if it wasn't, but it surely was the worst of them all. Because he was there by my side but I couldn't find it in me to reach out and grab onto him. As he sings our song and lulls me into a cryless sleep, I promise silently to never let go again.

*

I woke with a start. It was a surprise, but after it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings, it wasn't. I had been waking up this way for weeks now, but it didn't make it any easier to breathe this time. Especially not when I found the bed empty beside me. That was something I wouldn't have minded if it were even just two days ago, but no, not now.

Throwing back the covers, my eyes searched the dark room, unbeknownst to what time it was. That didn't let me fall back into the covers and search for sleep again. I hadn't been rational for a while now, and I wasn't when I raced to the door. Somebody beat me to it and upon looking up, a half asleep Harry looked down at me. Confusion twisted his eyebrows into a question but I knocked that off when I circled him in a hug. The sound of a breath leaving him came and then did his arms around me, and my crying.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he murmurs, sleep adding layers to his voice.

"I woke up and you weren't there, I was so scared."

A sound that couldn't be described, other than a huff of acknowledgement comes now from him, "Oh, I'm so sorry, bug. I was just getting a glass of water from the kitchen . . It's still the middle of the night, let's go back to bed."

I let him guide me back to our mess of covers that we call a bed. He pulls them over us and at the feeling of his head hooked over my chin, I try to calm down. It's never been something that I was good at doing on my own.

"Was it a bad one this time?"

A nod.

"What was yours about?"

"You didn't just get up for water, did you?" I ask into the empty air, surely the rest of the city asleep without us. We weren't up early for work or up late from other things. No, I was certain that very few others across the world were awake for the same reason that we were.

"No," he answers, his chest heaving with a sound of sadness escaping him. If only it were that easy. "I'll tell you what mine was about, if you'll tell me about yours."

"You should've been a therapist instead of a lawyer, always getting me to talk," I joke, trying to ease the tension. That wasn't what I was doing, but instead, I was deflecting. Like always. "I was watching everybody around us having kids and . . and we didn't have any . . Your turn."

"We . . We were in the new house and we had a baby. Phoebe," Harry confesses, a hollowness to his voice that hadn't been there since that day. I could tell by the sound of his voice that the waterworks weren't very far. Soon, it was my turn to hold him as his body shook with cries as I tried to keep my own in check.

"That sounds like a good dream," I almost said, knowing there was no point to it. It's the very reason his body shook with each loud sob, because it only made the nightmare scarier.

It was only after a few horribly sung songs to him that his soft snores began, mine soon following.

*

Upon waking up the next morning, it still didn't feel real that I was allowed to be hopeful. To try and be happy and to not feel guilty about it. A small smile hugged the corners of my lips when I remembered the way she sang me to sleep last night despite the upsetting reason for the occasion. I tried to push the memory of that nightmare away and how hauntingly real it had felt. I let my smile linger at recalling the way she took care of me. I had craved it for too long now, the way that I had needed her and at last she had let me.

Those are the thoughts that stayed with me when I pulled on my layers and did my morning walk, leaving her sound asleep with a kiss to her head. Despite the unwavering winter, it was something that had meant more to me than I'd initially planned. Even on the mornings where it took me half an hour or more to talk myself into getting out of bed, I still went on for a walk. It had started small, seeing as how I'd lost any workout regimen when everything had come crashing down. I started small and just walked around the block, but now, I had worked my way up to half an hour walks around the neighborhood.

By the time I'd made my way back to the house, I could hardly feel my nose and could think of nothing better than to slip back into bed with her. The letdown was more severe than I'd expected when I didn't find her in between the sheets. I couldn't be sure if I was surprised, but that was forgotten entirely when I also couldn't find her in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or in the living room. I didn't even waver at the bottom of the staircase before climbing it, ripping open doors frantically in search of her. No longer did I fret about the coldness of my limbs as an anxious warmth had spread over me. The thrashing of my heart and the irrational thoughts filling my head all came to a halt when I opened the door to the nursery, and there she was, sitting on the bed where everything was too.

Something swelled and shattered deep inside of me, leaving me breathless as I stood there, watching her. I looked on as she half faced me, clutching a gray onesie to her chest as guttural sobs consumed her. Recognizing it wasn't what made my hand fly to my mouth, and I wasn't sure what did that. It must have been a combination of the first thing we bought for our child that had passed away, and the fact that she was holding it. What had done it for me was opening this door to see her in here. The room of all rooms. It was where our baby was supposed to sleep, and slowly we had filled it with things meant for them. Now, it had become a mausoleum of sorts, and not once had I stepped foot in here since that fateful day at the hospital.

Pressing my hand against my quivering lips didn't silence the sounds they made as the rivers coursed down my face. Something resonated inside of me, telling me that she knew I was there. My vocal chords had taken a vacation the second I entered the room and laid eyes on her. Unlike them, my legs still worked and they carried me over to her. Sitting down beside her felt regretful when her cries became louder to my ears, and so did their trails on her cheeks. Her body shook harder when my arms came around her, holding her against me from behind. Mumbling her name had never felt so laborious or excruciating, but when she said our daughter's name, I knew it didn't compare.

"Can we . . . ," she started to say, a rockiness to her voice that was becoming far too normal as of late. "Can we look at it all together and then . . can we pack it away?"

Nodding against her cheek, I hummed an agreement. Looking down at her hands rolled into taut fists around the fabric, a memory swam into view, one I'd been trying to forget. She'd finally come around to the idea of being pregnant and during our first shopping trip after my accident, we'd perused the baby aisles happily. The FRIENDS 'Could I Be Any Cuter?' baby onesie had caught our attention right away, and we couldn't wait to put our little baby in it.

Pressing my lips to her shoulder now, I look on as she folds it nicely, smoothing her hand over the letters and the dark spots from her tears. With my mouth against the slope of her neck, my eyes followed when she took out the stuffed giraffe, a sob catching in her throat. There I remained, slowly finding my voice and smoothing my thumb over the plushie, knowing our baby would never play with the gift from her grandmother.

I took the next thing out of the bags we had been gifted from friends and family over the last few months. More stuffed animals and clothes passed through our hands, as did knitted blankets, hats, and more. With each one, the shoulder of her shirt grew wetter with my sad realization that our daughter would never get to love these things, because she was well and truly gone. She was never going to be born and be brought home to live in this house with us, or any other.

It shook my body for long after we placed each folded and caressed item into the plastic bin. She took longer to calm down inside of my arms, and even singing our song couldn't make it all better. For a good while now I had come to accept that nothing would except for time. Maybe not even that either.

*

In some way and somehow, it had been one of the worst days, despite the feeling I had that things were getting better. Slow it may be, but they were. It had almost been a month now since we'd lost our baby and it still hurt as much as the first day. I know he could hear the words bouncing around inside of my head, even if I didn't say them.

"Today was hard, huh?" Harry's murmured words smell of minty toothpaste when they hit my face. The words in my head can't find a way to my lips, and nor can my eyes find his. "How about this, bug. Can you rate how your day was? 10 being the worst ever pain and 0 being none?"

I find it in me to nod my head at his words, encouraged by his hand lacing with mine. The amethyst rings he'd surprised me with not long ago roots me to the moment as I brush my thumb along its stones.

"Eight . . and a half," I whisper, seeing from the corner of my eye how his head moves in acknowledgement. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, it's hard to not see how he bites at his lip. His one tell that could reveal everything. "Your turn."

"It was rather close to a nine for me, as well, but . . . ," his words run away from him, and for some reason, it pulls my eyes over to him. Before seeing them, I know that the wet trails down his cheeks are what made my heart find him with my eyes. "I feel guilty even thinking about it, let alone saying it, but . . it felt good somehow to go through her things together and pack them away. I don't know how I'll ever not miss her, but it feels like some kind of closure."

His confession comes to me as a surprise, but not one that pulls my hand from his or otherwise. No, it keeps my eyes on his and turns my lips up in a comforting smile.

"Me too," I concur, looking on as a sad smile flashes on his face. It's gone as fast as his hand gets caught in his hair.

"God, I never knew something could be th-this fucking hard," he stammers, pressing his thumbs against his eyes. His overgrown curls move when his head shakes.

"Neither did I," it's a whispered reply, coming just before I'm mentally brought back to the day Myles told me that Harry had been shot. Laying my eyes on his naked torso now, I curse myself for getting used to the pink scars littering his body from that day.

Suddenly, I'm doing it all over again, wondering which day had been the worst of my life. Then or the day I'd been told our baby didn't have a heartbeat anymore. I'd done it how many times now and was never able to decide. I hadn't lost him but I'd lost her, and that's what made the two fateful days so different. Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhale and open them again, deciding that I don't need to rank them. They both were excruciatingly awful in their own ways, and will always be some of the worst days of my life.

"It kind of makes you want to drink, huh?" I say before I know what I'm doing. The guilt is instantaneous despite the honesty filling my words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-."

"No, you're alright, Becks. You're just speaking the truth and that's what I've wanted for us - to be honest with one another," letting his hand fall from his hair, so do his words from my favorite pair of lips. Turning to lay on his side from being on his back, the bedside lamp sheds light on the black ink covering his skin. "It's made me want to drink so badly, almost as much as when we broke up and all of those other times, so that I could forget. Has it made you want to?"

"Yeah. I was a little mad at you sometimes for it," the admission comes and on its tail end is the guilt, strong and present as ever. His eyes still shine but with that sentence they dull. I blink and it's gone, but the regret pooling from my words doesn't.

"You don't need to feel bad for saying that. I can tell by the look on your face that you are. You can be honest with me, I promise."

"Thanks, and you can with me too. Always, Harry," I respond and the momentous curling of his lips tells me that he heard. "Can I ask . . did you at all . . drink?"

"No," he sighs loudly, dipping his eyes, they fall on my left hand. He'd done it time and time again, and yet, the sensation felt stronger than ever, the way he played with my rings. This time is different though and so is the flash of a smile on his face. "I don't think the urge had ever been stronger, but I resisted. I admit I was close at times, but each time I was, I called my sponsor or Myles. We'd talk for hours in my study, either about you and the baby with My' or about the urge to drink. If I'd had a bottle around here . . God, I knew I'd probably have emptied it and even that thought scares me. I don't want to be like this, Becks." Sniffling, a shiny tear falls from the tip of his nose and onto my knot ring.

"How bad is it today, Harry? Rate it."

"A good seven," he confesses, tearing a hole in my heart when his wet eyes briefly meet mine. "But I had a meeting this morning on Zoom before you were awake, and those have helped a lot. I didn't want to do them at first . . after we'd lost her, but I kept with it, and it made a world of difference . . Myles has really been there for me too- No, don't even say it. Don't apologize again, you have nothing to be sorry for," his words grow murky with tears, ones that I feel against my forehead when his lips sponge a kiss there.

"I would if you'd let me," a weak joke passes my lips and a hint of his chuckle sounds. Holding his eye contact had felt so difficult for so long, but now, I want nothing more than to keep it. "I can't believe I'd forgotten about your meetings, but I'm really glad to hear you've been keeping up with it. Thank you . . But still, I'm so sorry for forgetting about you, and your . . "

"My alcoholism. You can say it, Becks, it's okay. It's not going to upset me . . It's true, I'm an alcoholic. I probably always will be, but hopefully it stays that way, in the past."

Nodding doesn't feel like enough but words escape me, like they so often have recently. I'm saved by the bell, quite literally, when a ding! interrupts our conversation. Rolling onto his stomach, Harry almost looks like a different person with the majority of his tattoos now hidden.

"Oh, yeah," he murmurs, making the bed move when he turns around. "I have yoga tomorrow in the morning."

When his eyes meet mine something in them prods at me, and my feeling sparks, almost knowing what he'll say.

"Would you like to come with? My favorite instructor is back again. I haven't been in ages but think it'd be good to go back, and to get out of the house," Harry proposes, his phone locking with the electronic click! Dropping it onto the covers, he moves around until he's comfortable again, waiting for an answer. "You don't have to if you don't want to, it's just an idea, bug. I don't-."

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually. It's um, still done with the lights off mostly, right?" I craft my question carefully, waiting for his response that soon confirms my wonderings.

"Yep, as far as I know. So, if it hits us we can do our crying and nobody will know any different."

"Good," is all I say when I thread my arms around his middle, searching for the beating of his heart with my ear.

With the stroking of his fingers through my hair came a relaxation like no other. It was one that I hadn't been able to find in so long.

"Thank you," his words coast over the top of my head, stirring me from my almost sleep. "For coming back to me, Becks."

"Thanks for picking me back up."

"Always," was the last word he spoke before I drifted off to sleep with his lips pressed to my head, humming a song.

*

Before I opened my eyes, I knew it. I could tell by the sun shining on my face. I hadn't felt that in months, the London winter having descended on us months prior. Gray skies kissed with snow flurries had replaced the robin blue skies I knew that I'd see, the warblers and chickadees singing around me already. Flicking my toes skywards, soft stalks of wheat grass and flower petals tickled my legs. It smelled of sunshine and dirt when I breathed in my surroundings, just like the smells of summer back in Madley.

Already, I knew where I was and that upon opening my eyes what I'd see. Tears already sat underneath my eyelids when I opened them, spilling over my waterline when I knew she'd be there, waiting for me.

I was in heaven, wasn't I?

The trees around me kissed the sky with their golden branches and ripe fruits dangling from their limbs. Not one ivory cloud dotted the sky, the blue of robin's eggs filling it instead. No, that wasn't what my thoughts focused on or fought for. With my eyes, I forgot about them and the warbling brook off in the distance. I searched for her, left and right, and up and down.

But I couldn't find her anywhere. Not behind the towering maples over my shoulder, tucked into the cluster of black eyed susans to my left, or even next to the fawn asleep a few paces away, its mother beside it. They came faster down my cheeks as breaths halted in my lungs, searching for my own baby.

Only could my chest fill again with air when I turned back to face ahead, and by a miracle, there she was. The same olive dress hung down to her knees, and a smile bigger than the last time clung to her rose colored lips. His mouth. His nose too, and most beautiful of all, Harry's sage eyes sat in hers below shoulder length curls the same chestnut shade of his.

"Mummy!" she shouted in a voice dripping with honey, one that covered me all over when her arms came around me.

"Phoebe," I cried into her hair, the smell of Harry's vanilla and notes of citrus surrounding me. My hands shook as they raked through her hair soft as ribbons, and I held on. I never wanted to let go, because I knew that she was my baby. My Phoebe Anne.

Neither did she, even when she pulled away to look into my eyes with her glistening pair. His giggle escaped her lips as I made quick work of the tears painting her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Mummy."

My head couldn't shake faster and my heart couldn't keep up with how it grew at the sight of her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweet Pea, it's nobody's fault."

"I didn't want to leave you and Daddy, Mummy," she confesses in a choked sob, bringing her dainty hand to hold my cheek. I smile back at her, unsure of how my lips could reach so high as I stare at the baby that I'd lost. "But I didn't have a choice."

"It's okay, Pea. I promise. Daddy and I know," my words are shaky, and so are my hands that card through her hair. Tan freckles dot her cheeks and nose, tickled by thick dark lashes donning her eyes. She's real. My Phoebs. "We love you so much, you'll always be our baby girl."

A nod replaces her words before she dives back into my arms again. Her cries sound like muffled squeaks against my front, and if I thought it were fake, her hands caught in the back of my dress confirm it. Her tepid tears soaking through the fabric. Her sunshine warmth against mine, just like his. Harry.

No sooner had I lifted my head and parted my lips, does a tree creaking in the distance catch my attention. Her head lifts too, the same color of her curls appearing from behind its trunk.

"Daddy!" she exclaims. I couldn't mistake it anywhere, the loud laugh that I hear from across the field. It's the one that has filled my dreams and made all of them come true. Peering down at her, her lips are pointed skywards again as she beams at me. "It's Daddy, Mummy! We're together again. A family."

I've blinked and he's only a step away, dimples set deep into his cheeks. Once more, his sunshine is dancing across my face as he looks at me.

"I always knew she'd be beautiful, just like her Mum," Harry remarks

fondly, eyes falling and I follow them. Instead of a young girl wrapped in my arms, a pink baby is cradled in them. The very one I'd found crying in that hospital crib, waiting for me. "Our Phoebe, baby Pea."

Something like a happy hum fills my lips as he takes the last step and wraps an arm around me, the both of us.

"My girls," Harry coos, sponging a kiss to my temple before bending down to press a whispery kiss to our daughter's forehead. It wrinkles at the touch, but she relaxes and continues to stare up at us. Again, his sage greens sit in her eyes as the dimple in her left cheek twinkles when her lips give a smile.

I lean into him, feeling his nose pressed against my temple as she coos, her beautiful face growing hazy in front of my teary eyes.

"It's okay, Becks, we don't have to be broken anymore. She's okay, she'll always be our baby, our daughter. We won't forget her, she knows that, and she won't forget us either. They'll take care of her for us until we come back," he murmurs, lifting my head with his words to find familiar figures walking out of a cluster of oak trees from our left.

"Grandpa Holte," I whisper in amazement, catching the smile on his wrinkled face.

"And mine too," Harry adds when we see his grandfather appear from behind a birch tree. The wind whipping through the trees and the singing of the birds quiets and so does my heart when I see who appears at my grandfather's side.

"Grandma Ann," I hardly hear it myself, the words that I speak caught between tears. The smile framing them grows at the sight of a black goldendoodle bounding towards us, Harry's dog Lola who passed away not long after we'd met.

"They'll take care of her for us," Harry repeats. I see it in his eyes when I reluctantly look away from our family walking towards us. He nods and a corner of his mouth lifts again. "She'll watch over us, Becks, just like they've all been doing. She's our guardian angel, our little Phoebs."

I nod to his words, closing my eyes when his forehead touches mine, resting there. Only do I open them again to look down at the curious baby who remains quiet, reaching a hand over to smooth back her ebony colored hair. His lips graze my forehead once more and I bury my head into his neck, cradling her tiny head.

"It's okay, Mummy," I hear, her honey sweet voice saying in my head. "I'm okay, and you and Daddy will be too. I want you both to be happy, because it's okay to be . . It's okay."

The twinkling of the alarm clock steals me away, and I'm suddenly staring at the ceiling. Soft light peeks in through the curtains, dancing across the walls and duvet cover. Turning my head, I feel the coolness of the pillow graze my cheek as I search for him. As if he knew what I was thinking, his messy head of curls turned towards me. A sleepy smile pulls at his lips, a tired twinkle in his eye.

"You wouldn't believe the dream I just had, Becks. I-It was about . . about the baby. Phoebs."

"Try me," I smile, already feeling the onset of tears as he smiles back at me, them not far off in his eyes either.

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