Omnipresence ♾ Zarry

iii.

"Honey, it was just the book," Harry says sleepily. "You don't need to fight books, they won't bite you."

But Jolene only swipes at something and hisses again. When she doesn't stop even after a while and her hissing turns to yowling, Harry gets up with a sigh and picks her up. He drops her down in the hallway and shuts the door to the bedroom. Jolene gives a solitary meow and saunters downstairs. Harry shakes his head at her and goes to take a shower.

Halloween used to be one of Harry's favourite days of the year. He loved preparing costumes for parties, even throwing the parties himself. In the early evening, he tended to take his godchildren trick or treating most years. During the day, he let some spooky music soundtrack the house as he prepared for the night, or he wanted Halloween films and ate bat-shaped snacks. It was always a great day, one that Harry looked forward to each year.

Now, he's miserable. In the afternoon, he tries to take his mind off things by cooking. Music and good food often lift his mood up and even if it's quite impossible now, he can try tricking his mind into believing everything's better than it is. Jolene keeps him company, as usual, supervising everything from the top of the fridge. In the middle of making a very primitive ramen bowl, Harry pulls out a bottle of white wine. For a second, he thinks about the child, how he shouldn't, but it doesn't matter since on Tuesday, the baby will be a thing of the past. He pours a glass and leaves it on the kitchen island before going to take the soft-boiled egg off the stove. When he's at the sink, the sound of glass breaking nearly makes Harry scald himself.

"What the fuck Jolene," Harry says as he turns around but to his surprise, Jolene isn't on the kitchen island. She's still curled up on the top of the fridge, her eyes small with sleep. "Fucking hell," Harry curses to himself, his heart racing as he rounds the corner of the island to see the broken wine glass on the floor. He crouches down to pick up the large pieces, his hands shaking more than he'd like to admit. Picking up a large wad of paper towels, Harry cleans up the rest of the glass and wine before closing the bottle and putting it in the fridge.

"Sorry I offended your taste in wine, ghosts," Harry scoffs into the space. "Feel free to give me recommendations next time instead of breaking my glassware."

Even with his hands still shaking, Harry resolutely forgets about what just happened in his kitchen.

It's worse in the evening. Not because of any spooky stuff but because of the doorbell constantly ringing. Harry tried to ignore it, tried to put his headphones in and listen to music at max volume. But the vibrating ring of the doorbell couldn't be ignored. So Harry left the house.

He pulled out an oversized coat from the closet, fed Jolene again and left. He didn't have a set destination, he just needed to get to a place where no kids would appear. The clumps of children and parents all dressed up reminded Harry of the past he had and the future he will never have. He can't sit in the house he bought with his husband, who is gone now, thinking about how last year they and Jolene dressed up and happily opened the door to all neighbourhood kids, complimented them on their costumes and gave them candy, before leaving for a Halloween party. He can't sit there, surrounded by reminders of his dead husband, with his child in his belly, so painfully aware of the future they could've had lost forever in an abyss of grief.

Next Halloween, they could've spent it as a family for the first time. Harry knows he would've scoured the internet for the best idea for a group family costume that works with a baby. He's sure they would've dressed up and gone trick or treating. Or perhaps they would've had a kid-friendly party, even if their baby was just a few months old. Harry pushes those thoughts back. Daydreaming won't bring Zayn back. It won't make him change his mind about the baby. It will only drive him mad.

Eventually, Harry ends up at a bar not far from where they live. He's never been there and it's nothing special, just a basic bar that tries to look more vintage than it really is. It's half-deserted, with only a few people sitting around and watching the football match that's playing on the TV. Harry sits down at the bar and orders a neat whiskey.

The drink is in front of him within a few moments. He doesn't touch it, not yet. In that moment, Harry wishes he smoked, just so he could have something to do with his hands. Harry always used to complain about Zayn's smoking, especially when they were younger and Zayn smoked way more. It didn't smell nice, there was no point to it. Harry didn't often understand Zayn's explanation, of it helping with anxiety when he's fidgety.

For some reason, Harry flags down the bartender again and asks for a packet of Marlboros and a lighter. He does bring them to Harry but warns him that he has to smoke outside. Harry only nods, knowing he won't actually smoke. He unwraps the plastic and pulls out one cigarette. He rolls it around between his fingers, feeling the weight of it, the novel shape for his hands. He fidgets with the cigarette, balancing it between his fingers, tapping it against the bar, rolling it on the surface from one hand to the other. The whiskey remains untouched.

Harry's mind starts to stray to restricted territory as he fidgets with the cigarette. He doesn't want to start bawling his eyes out at a random bar in the early evening. He might've lost his husband a month ago but he's not completely pathetic. Instead of brewing in misery, Harry pulls out his phone and texts his mum and sister. He needs to get in touch with them every day because they both feel like they've got Harry on a lowkey suicide watch. Harry doesn't quite understand how they could think that. Sure, he's depressed and he misses Zayn every single second of every day. He cries in his bed and the only being he really talks to is his cat but that's normal. That's expected after losing a loved one. But Harry wouldn't take his own life over this. No matter how miserable he is. He knows Zayn wouldn't want him to do it either. One incredible soul leaving this Earth doesn't need to be accompanied by one more person leaving the world.

When the clock hits nine in the evening, Harry decides to leave the bar. He eyes the still undrunk whiskey on the bartop. He still doesn't drink it. Even if he's choosing to get rid of his child, there is no necessity for this. Chills appear on his back when he remembers the broken wine glass.

Harry abruptly stands up, leaves some notes under the glass to pay for everything and leaves. That was one shitty fucking Halloween.

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yall have no idea how sad i was while writing this omggg... i dont know why i do this to myself, last halloween i wrote some really really sad shit as well rip