ONE DIRECTION ONE-SHOTS

Homecoming by crstlbtrfly

Giving into the reality that tonight is not destined to be the night that Harry and I cross paths, I finish my drink in one long swig. I place more than enough money to cover my tab under the empty glass and then gather my belongings.

"I'll see you next Tuesday, Sam," I announce as I secure the belt of my coat around my waist.

Drying the glass mugs lined along the counter he says, "Have a good night, Elsie, and be careful walking home."

As I take my first step to leave I'm abruptly halted by the appearance of a tall figure entering the pub. Like the other returning soldiers he wears the customary brown suit that makes up the military dress uniform and carries a large duffle bag. Before clearing the doorway he removes his hat revealing a head of unruly brown curls and places it under his arm. In his left hand is a black wooden cane that he uses for support as he limps to the nearest barstool and sits down.

Mindlessly I sink back onto my seat and observe the soldier as he places his order with Sam. His journey home was not an easy one, he is covered in a light coating of dust and his posture is slouched with exhaustion. Impatiently he flexes the muscles of his sharp jawline as he watches his drink being prepared. His pulls his lower lip between his index finger and thumb in what appears to be a senseless habit. He has the most mesmerizing crystal clear green eyes and my breath hitches in my throat as they fall upon me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught staring and in reply he flashes me a lopsided grin that creates the most perfect dimple on his left cheek.

I'm intrigued by the handsome stranger. Unlike many of the other soldiers he has bypassed the fanfare that accrued earlier in the evening as they arrived home. He could have easily found companionship with one of the girls that troll the area for potential husbands, but instead he has opted for a quiet drink in an empty pub. It almost does not seem right that he should sit alone on such an evening.

I rise from my stool and approach him, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he says in a deep voice as he lifts the glass in his hand at the barstool beside to him.

Without needing to be prompted Sam sets a club soda with a slice of lime down before me. I flash him a quick nod of gratitude before turning my attention back to the soldier.

"Shouldn't you be out celebrating," I ask lightheartedly.

At first he does not reply but gazes down with furrowed brows at his drink. The strained expression on his face speaks of the internal battle raging on inside of him. His tone is riddled with self-doubt, "I had it all planned out. I even daydreamed about it on the train but as soon as I stepped onto the station platform I couldn't bring myself to do it."

A dull ache fills my chest. This is a man that has undoubtedly outsmarted death within war, yet seems to be crippled by a lack of confidence.    

He forges on with his explanation, "My only reprieve in this bloody war has been a stack of letters from an amazing girl. I felt as if I was stumbling in the dark and then she casted the smallest sliver of light and I have been hanging on to it with everything I have. A girl like her deserves better than a broken man with nothing to offer. Everything I own fits in that duffle bag," he points to the canvas sack on the floor. "I used to have two functioning legs and be able to sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat from night terrors."

I swallow the lump in my throat and say, "You were supposed to meet her here weren't you?"

He drops his head into the palm of his hand and his long fingers tangle in his hair, "I was, but just look at me."

"I see you, Harry," I gently declare as I rest my hand on his arm

His eyes widen in surprise and his hand covers mine, "Elsie?"