Pirouette [h.s.]

epilogue 1*

// Living fast forward, but not tonight.

Love in slow motion. //

"Love In Slow Motion" -Ed Sheeran

September 12, 2020

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"Fif, sit still or I'm going to fuck it up." Luna scolds as I shift in my seat again. One of her hands rests firmly on the top of my head, trying to hold it steady. The eyeshadow brush tickles my eyelid as I let out huff.

"I'm trying, Luna." I whine, glaring, before she nudges me to close my eyes.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, you know."

My eyes shoot open, "I'm not-"

Luna cocks her head, a flat look taking over her face.

"Okay, fine, I'm nervous." My eyes roll on their own accord.

She brushes her fingers through my hair, twisting the slight curls and bouncing them against her palm. "Talk to me. About what?"

I shake my head, laughing under my breath at how ridiculous I sound; how ridiculous I probably look - dressed in a little pink robe, with my hair curled and half of a face of makeup, trying to hold back tears. "I don't know." I groan, blinking towards the ceiling. "I don't want him to regret this. To change his mind."

Luna scoffs, looking up from the pile of makeup on the table, "Why the fuck would he regret marrying you?"

"It's just so...fast? Maybe he'll resent me in a few months, once all of this," I flourish my arms around, "wears off."

"First of all, breathe." She gives me a pointed look. "You don't think it's fast, do you?"

I shake my head immediately, "No, absolutely not, oh my god no. We agreed that there was no point in waiting. I just want to be his...wife." My voice squeaks out the last word.

"Breathe." Luna reminds with a pat to my knee before she continues my makeup.

Breathe, Phoebe.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

"Good. Now, what did he say when you two decided on today?" She asks, tongue sticking out of the corner of her lips as she concentrates.

I take a shaky breath, running my thumbs across my fingertips and mumbling, "That he didn't care what day we picked, as long as I was Phoebe Styles at the end of the day."

Luna hums, finishing my makeup and pulling back with a smile. Silence falls around us as we sit in the middle of the bedroom, her gravity trying desperately to reel me back down onto earth. My words replay in my head, the need for reassurance deep in my bones asking - begging - for Harry's voice. His warm arms and gentle kisses. Him. Anything about him. Everything about him. I need Harry.

My throat closes in on itself and I jump to my feet. "I need to get some water."

I hurry to the kitchen, counting over and over and over to myself. Stitch sits up as I pass his spot underneath the cat tree in the living room, wandering with me to make sure I'm okay.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.