anobrain // narry au

epilogue one.

And, he's trimmed his hair. All of those beautiful, brown locks are gone. Gone and given to children or adults who needed it more than he did. And I'm so grateful my boy has such a massive heart to think about charities and people in need, people less fortunate than him or myself.

-

"Oh my God," Harry looks at myself and his mother astoundingly with a ghastly look in his eyes and upon his face. "It's gone"

The hairstylist placed all of the dead hair in one of Harry's palms. His eyes looked down to the, his, brunet hair, hysterically before the both of us lock eyes simultaneously.

"I like it," I assure him truthfully, and I am telling Harry the wholehearted truth. Harry will still have that contagious grin, captivating gleam in the greens of his eyes, and those prominently handsome features internally and externally, even if most of his hair is gone. Gone for the better, and to a greater cause that can use the locks more than Harry can maintain them from day to day.

It was past his shoulders, and people would usually give him curious stares or looks when he'd walk by them on the streets. Practical strangers could be so opinionated about the looks of someone they're not even familiar with.

Anne smiles, agreeing. "Me too," she says softly, reassuringly. And the softness of her tone mentally and outwardly soothes Harry, I can tell.

The hairstylist quiffs Harry's short hair. It's quite a familiar style like when we were preteens, before his hair reached the tips of his shoulders, we'd style our hair up like that just to endure a day in school. Nearly praying the excessive amount of hair gel would keep it up the whole school day.

When he's done, and we're just about ready to depart from the salon, I faintly kiss Harry's forehead as he's sat on the barber's chair still. Looking in the mirror so thoroughly as he has been for about forty-five minutes now. My hand plays with his nape, I feel Harry naturally unwind. I love that my simple touch can automatically remove or diminish whatever anxieties or negative/pessimistic thoughts he's inwardly establishing.

"Do you like it?" I genuinely ask him. Those eyes look into mine as Harry nods slowly, almost unsurely. "I think so," he whispers while continuing to face and scan and move around in the mirror, testing out the many angles that'll only make him look the same. Look like Harry; my Harry.

"You look dashing – beautiful," I tell him with a tease in my tone. It makes him smile, dimples revealed and a beam that's so contagious I give him one back responsively. "I love it, and I love you."

"I love you more, Sweetheart,"

-

And as on cue, as if Harry can sense when I'm thinking of him. Like he has telepathic powers or some shit, some romantic shit, I receive a phone call from my boyfriend. Explaining to me about the discomfort he felt shooting a photography scene with an actual bride, but as a professional model, professional behavior is always elicited because it books more jobs in the future. And no one on set generally cares about their models personal lives because a job is a job and Harry has a job to do with the career he's chosen to do other than dentistry.

But his modeling has taken off in a positive route. He's well known on social media and from tabloids that sometimes features him for the good or the bad; the truths or the rumors they consistently spread about high profile people. It's always been something that I've never wanted to be apart of. People like Cara and Harry have to constantly deal with downfalls like these due to their everyday jobs.

Like when Kendall and Cara reportedly split and cameras filmed her breakdown for others as entertainment, so to say.

But I listen to Harry, thoroughly. And his rambling about the horrid events for this prior job and in between I subconsciously smile, almost hearing the responsive smile of Harry's through the phone. The palpitations I've actually gotten quite use to are automatically bursting within me, within my ribcage, and they instantaneously increase when Harry says words I'm still not accustomed to:

"I'll be home in a few hours, baby. I love you."

And we have two homes. Mine here in Sheffield, and our home mentally. When we're in each other's vicinities where everything relaxes: anxieties, nerves, stress, all of the negatives. Harry's my home emotionally, psychologically, and physically as I am his.

"I love you too, babe," I tell him, hearing a soft coo through the other end of the line. "See you soon, Love."

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four more like I promised I would. I had no clue how to end this and I apologize for that. I start college tomorrow omg, like yesterday I was reading my authors notes while doing edits and wow I was in like my sophomore/junior year when I started anobrain and fucking wow I am so sorry for the delay, seriously.