Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

EPILOGUE

“Y’want my jacket?” he asks, his words slow but not much more than the usual.

Leesh smiles up at him where she’s pressed against his right arm, leaning over his shoulder and reaching for the hand that’s holding his glass of beer, stealing it for a sip.

“Hey,” Harry protests weakly, making no move to stop her. “You said you’d drive, no alcohol.”

She snorts against the rim of the glass and hands it back after downing the liquid, looking at Harry like he’s stupid, but like she’s fond of him nonetheless. He smiles wider just because- because he can, actually, and turns to the side to press a kiss to her temple as if to say “I’m fond of you, too”.

Their table is empty if not for the two of them, Harry’s family having wandered off to the sea of heads swimming under and around a big, bent tree, all lit up with paper bags of light, or whatever that is. There’s soft music playing in the background, one all bodies as swinging to, but Harry’s never been one to dance.

It’s like he’s got two left feet, and balancing on such long legs it’s a challenge even for walking, let alone dancing. He absolutely hates fumbling with his steps, hates not knowing what to do with his hands whilst he focuses on his feet, hates thinking too hard. Dance shouldn’t involve thinking. So, he hates dancing in general.

He turns to Leesha with a bashful smile, sets down his glass and uses his now free hand to ghost his fingers over the side of her face, soothing his thumb over her cheekbones. During the past few months her hair has grown so much it’s now on her chest, the wind blowing on the loose strands of her plat. His smile softens but doesn’t go away; it’s even in his voice when he leans in to quietly ask: “Do you wanna dance?”

She blinks up at him lazily, taking her time to take in his words. When they finally sink, she bites on her lip to supress a smile, doing a rather poor job of hiding it. She knows, also, how Harry can’t dance for shit. At some point these past few weeks, during sneaky phone calls and speakers, Gemma managed to talk to Elisha about every embarrassing fact about her young brother, and Harry couldn’t do much but sit on the side and watch as his update phone call to his sister became a way of reaching out for Leesh and taking her in until it got to the point she found out too much to be able to leave. It’s both terrifying and heart-warming at the same time.

When he comes back to reality, she’s nodding at him, sliding her hand between his as self-invitation to stand up. He takes it, standing from the chair and bringing the small woman with him. Harry guides them to the emptiest place in the crowd he manages to find, which isn’t that much empty, but will do for now.

When the beat slows down, she presses flush against his chest, wrapping her hand around his neck and resting her head on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, stays there.

“You okay?” she asks in a murmur, like it’s meant for him and only him.

Suddenly, Harry knows where to place his hands, knows how to do ‘two steps to the right, two steps to the left’ without tripping over his own feet. He sways gently with her, pulling her bare feet over his own to see if she can reach higher on him. With his fingers splayed over her hips, he nuzzles on her hair.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

--

This is how the following months unfold: Christmas finds Leesh and Harry with their respective luggage struggling in the tube on their way home. At midnight of the twenty-fourth to the twenty-fifth, they’re snuggled up on Elisha’s living room couch with a quilt thrown over both their bodies; the TV on with some Christmas specials flicking through the screen as the few people crumpled into the house chat silently. This year is much like the year before, her two (still single) aunts and grandmother helping Leesha’s mom on the kitchen, her father and the same friend of his from last year’s Christmas dinner (he’s a divorced guy, she’s learnt. He gets to spend New Year’s with his children, but Christmas is apparently with his ex-wife, and he’s got no one else but Leesh’s father to rely on on this cheerful night) on the couch opposite them talking about footie, meanwhile (much to Elisha’s surprise) her grandfather from Scotland sits speechless at the rocking chair besides the fireplace.