No Matter What // Harry Styles AU -- Dunkirk inspired

Chapter One

A single blue thread lay curled on the weathered bureau. I traced the spine of the spiral, noting how the twists and turns mirrored the growing knot in my stomach.

"You regretting it, yet?"

I look up. Tom, with his crossed arms and furrowed brow, leans against the wooden door frame of my bedroom.

"You wish," I shoot back. He doesn't need to know he's somewhat right. "Hand me that sweater, would you?"

I stick my hand out, but my bum of a brother throws the damn thing right into my face.

"What was that for?" I whine.

"Ol' times sake." He shrugs. "Who's gonna bug you now that you've run off to another country?"

"Hey, I've done my time. I hardly think I'm in need of anyone's taunting, let alone yours."

"Oh come on." He sulks. "Is it really such a prison here?"

"I didn't say that."

He shoots me a pointed look.

"What?" I say, exasperated. "I'm just doing as Mother's asked. It's for the family."

"Don't act like I don't know you," he says, strutting over and collapsing on the bed. He lays back, crossing his legs over one another. "You've been mentally planning to get out of this place since before I can remember."

It was true. I stare down at the powder blue suitcase now tipped somewhat on its side thanks to Tom. Looking down at its few contents, I'm overcome with a sense of yearning for something that I just can't quite name. All I know is that I want a life so much bigger than any single suitcase could hold. A life that was more exciting than the corner market store and more meaningful than settling down with one of the local boys in a little Long Island home. I wanted my actions and choices to be of some consequence, where if I ever had to pack my bags, they'd be full of things that could prove I had actually lived a life worth living.

"Is it such a bad thing?" I nearly whisper. "To want more than this?"

I don't want to hurt him, but if there's anyone I can be honest with, its Tom.

Tom doesn't reply. Instead, he silently gazes down at his shoes. Mother would have a field day if she were to catch him on the sheets with those muddied things.

"I guess not," he relents. "But why couldn't you just move to Brooklyn or somethin' though?"

I let out a snort. "Oh because life is so different mere 45 minutes away, huh?"

"Well, I mean, it's no Oz, but things get wild over there don't kid yourself," he says with that smirk of his. It's the same smile that's gotten him out of trouble with Mother and Father dozens of times.

I roll my eyes, but with a small laugh, latch the gold hook of the suitcase, snapping it shut. I toss the thing on to the floor and plop down on the bed.

"Scoot," I say.

He moves without question and for a few moments, we lay there, two peas in a pod, staring up at the ceiling wondering what the future holds for both of us.

"Just promise me one thing," he says, his voice serious again.

"What's that"

"Just promise me this isn't a forever thing- That you'll come back and we can be a team again."

"We're still a team, Tom."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how this goes, though." He sighs, sitting up against the headboard. "You run off to help these strange grandparents we barely know, you get yourself some high tea culture or somethin' and find yourself a real dapper dan, and BOOM!" His hands shake wildly, mirroring a tiny explosion. "You're an english mum married to some British bloke and you and I don't ever get to see each other again."