After The End: Book 2

49. Light

Lux's POV

From the moment I laid eyes on him, Harry had been everything I knew I would ever need. It was foolish to put all of that on another person, but I hadn't had a choice in the matter. My heart had chosen him before I could even process it happening.

I believed hopelessly in the idea of fate. It had to be fate that Naomi had found Louis and then him again after so many years apart. It had to be fate that I was lucky enough to know Naomi. It had to be fate that my ex-boyfriend Steven had slapped me in the face the same evening that Louis and Naomi had stayed the night at our old flat together, when Harry was still in limbo between life and death. It hadn't been the first time he'd hit me when nobody else was looking, but it was the first time that I'd decided it was grounds for throwing him out. It had to be fate that I'd met Harry for the first time just a few days later. I often wondered if I would have taken Steven back if not for Louis gift of a safe and stable place to stay.

I had walked into Louis flat with Naomi and we'd heard the talking from the kitchen and headed that direction. I'd seen him for the first time with a tired and ragged look in his eyes. He wore a hospital bracelet and an old ratty looking eagles sweatshirt that probably should have been retired already. He was unshowered and unshaven and had baby stubble dotting his chin. His hair curled in every messy direction.

With an unfocused look in his eyes he had faced me and said the words, "Hello, I'm Harry and I've got fucking issues. Nice to meet you."

Then he'd bowed and as he walked away, all I could think was he was the most messily beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. I wanted to draw him.

Later, he'd told me he wasn't going to sleep with me almost without prompting and I had convinced him to play a board game because he looked so sad and lonely. He had played with shaky hands in the dark and I'd looked at every broken piece of him that was so clearly displayed, and every fiber of my being became infatuated with bringing out the fire that danced behind the pain in his eyes.

Every time he insulted me I could see that fire, and I loved him a little more. With the insults came the humor and the energy and everything he had tried so hard to hide came spilling out. Underneath his shell was someone who was undeniably funny. He was passionate and goofy and sexy. He was abrasive and gentle and charming all at the same time. He was wild and impulsive and adventurous. When I put everything that he was together, didn't even feel real to me.

I'd found I was able to comfort him. I pushed harder than I should have, but he showed me his hurt in a way he couldn't show others. He told me things, like about Emma and how it had nearly destroyed him, and I watched his shoulders loosen and his eyes soften and I wanted to badly to continue holding his hand through life. He became my muse. He dominated my thoughts and my dreams and my art and I couldn't stop him. It felt like I hadn't even truly breathed for the first time until the day he came into my life.

When Harry had decided to let himself love me too, everything fell into place. His life was chaotic and messy and uncoordinated and I couldn't imagine any greater joy than to love and to be able to be loved by his chaos. I was formulated by the universe to be his. I knew I would follow him anywhere and do anything to be loved by him.

To be loved by him meant that he was reciprocal. Where I empowered him, he did the same for me. To be loved by him meant he took joy in giving me the world. He wanted to see me thrive and chase my dreams and he wanted me to do it alongside him. He saw me and everything that I could be. He was my everything. He would always be my everything.

Happiness reminds me quite a bit of trees. They are always beautiful, but the most magical part about them is that they grow. Branch by branch and leaf by leaf they just keep getting bigger and better. That's what being with Harry was like. I got to watch him grow and find himself and his passions. I had spent the last year watching him decide who he wanted to be, change his mind, falter and then try again. His dark days juxtaposed to his drive for life were evidence of how he truly lived in his feelings and emotions. When he decided to return to music, I had watched more fire ignite for him. He failed and succeeded and cared so deeply. I loved being along for his ride.