a/n heyy guys. back to our regularly scheduled programming. did you like the flashbacks? hopefully they gave you a little insight into who harry and quinn were before they met each other.
anyway, this chapter's kind of a rollercoaster haha
59.
Present Day.
"Harry," I take a few steps down the stairs. I don't see him in the living room.
"What?" There's a gentle shout from the kitchen.
"Come look and tell me what you think."
"Give me... one second," his brain multitasking. I run my hands over the dress again. "Okay, okay." He's impatient with himself, trying to finish the task faster. I chuckle and sway back and forth, watching the fabric dance beneath me. "Okay, I'm ready."
He appears from behind the wall. His soft pink, gingham apron is hung from his neck. He glances over the outfit and smirks.
"Hellooo."
"Well?"
"Very sexy. Jaws will be on the floor."
"Okay," I blow a strand of hair out of my face.
"You don't think so?" He watches my expression. I shrug and roll my eyes.
"Well I'm just a little conflicted--"
"Fashion show." He cuts me off, raising a hand to stop my voice. "Fashion show, please."
"Okay, okay." I chew my lip. "Well, this is the first one," I strut down the rest of the stairs and he politely applauds. I do a little spin at the bottom.
"Beautiful, darling, simply marvelous," he puts on a fake Italian accent and whistles. I run back up the stairs and duck into his bedroom to pull out the other option. A black dress, embroidered in emerald gems. I pull the straps over my shoulders, shivering from the sudden exposure on my back.
I run back to the staircase.
"Okay here's the other one." I announce.
"I've never been more ready." I step into his line of vision at the top of the stairs. His face falls. "Wow, Quinn."
"Yeah?" I lift up the front of the dress and begin descending the staircase. He nods and swallows.
"Yeah. Fuck me."
"Only because you asked nicely."
"Wow," he grins and leans against the wall. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Look at you, fucking hell."
"Okay. What I'm hearing is that this is definitely the one."
"Well, they're both very nice." He weighs the options in his head. "I secretly like this one more."
"Alright. That's it then."
"Really?" His eyebrow perks up. I nod. "You're going to pick the one I like?"
"Of course," I smile. "That's why I asked you, dork"
For some reason those words hit him pretty hard. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I tilt my head and rest my hands on my hips.
"Now you're quiet."
"Well I just," his mouth twitches back and forth to hide his smile. "You're going to wear it... because I like it?"
"Yes."
"Okay," the small smile worms its way onto his face. He stands up off the wall. "I'm going to keep cooking."
"Do you want help?" I call after him. He waves away the request and wanders into the kitchen.
"I'm almost done."
I go back to the bathroom. The curling iron has finally heated up. While the hair twists around the rod, I stare at my reflection. I do look good. I look amazing. I love how the dress fits, it makes me feel like a sexy Disney villain. I grin childishly and do a little dance for myself in the mirror. And then my face suddenly falls and I stop.
This is the first time I've felt pretty, really pretty, in a long time. This is the first time I've felt pretty without having to think about it since that stupid tabloid cover.
I grin even wider.
I curl my entire head and lean over the sink to put on lipstick. I watch the makeup trace across my mouth, and I immediately think about Emma. I always think about her now when I do this. She was right, watching yourself apply lipstick makes you feel hot.
My next thought is of Harry in Mexico, watching me rub a strawberry over my lips like I used to when I was a kid. Strawberry lipstick. Come're, I wanna taste it.
I lean back and smack my lips together, my fingers fluffing through my hair. I hear him pad into the bedroom. The door creaks. "Time to get ready?"
"Yep," he calls back. I wander out of the bathroom and watch him dig through his closet. He pulls out a black suit jacket and I scoff, flopping back to sit on his bed. "What?" He glances back at me.
"Boring."
"I'll have you know I wore this to the premiere of a film I was in" he defends himself.
"So you're an outfit repeater."
"Well I don't want to outshine your dress, how about that," he throws the jacket at me. I catch it and smooth it out on the mattress next to me.
"Sure," I concede. "But you need to do something for me."
"What would that be," he hums to himself, lovingly running his hand down a pair of pants. I reach for my suitcase and pull out my travel jewelry case. He watches my hand fumble through the pieces. I know they're in here somewhere, Emma will be pissed if she finds out I lost them somewhere between London and LA. My hand touches a familiar smooth surface, and I pull out two dangling pearls.
"Wear these."
He smirks and slides them into his ears with ease. They sway with his head when he moves it. I fall back onto the bed and watch him change into his suit, propping myself up on my elbows. He shrugs on the jacket and walks to the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror.
"You can keep them too. Emma made them for you."
"Really?" He calls from the bathroom. "That was nice of her."
"Consider them a Christmas present."
She worked herself thin on those two little pearl earrings. For two weeks she sat at the dining table, carefully piecing them together, polishing them, letting them dry. They needed to be perfect. And they are. She did such a good job, I'm almost jealous.
He reappears in the doorframe and strikes a pose. "What do you think?"
"Understated. Regal. Gorgeous. Pretty. Handsome. Stunning. Sexy. Beautiful--"
"Way to keep me modest." I sit up when he comes over. He stands before me, letting me brush off the front of his jacket and fix his lapels. Grinning, his eyes wander over the dress again. "Look at us."
I hum and tug at his jacket. My eyes peek up at his face. His hair is falling into his eyes. His legs press against mine as he leans forward, towering over me.
"I love you."
"Alright," I laugh and lean back. He presses his hands into the mattress on either side of me, growing closer, cheekier. He shoves his tongue between his teeth. His smile is contagious. "You know if you kiss me right now, you're going to mess up my lipstick."
"Uh oh."
"You'll get it all over both of us."
"Oh no."
"You don't care, do you."
"Not really," he grins and presses his lips against mine.
I close my eyes and reach for the back of his head. I run my fingers through his hair and hold them in place, keeping him close. One of his hands moves from the mattress to rest on my hip. He kneels against the bed. I pull away and look up at him, my eyes darting back and forth between his. His lips are stained red. The color is smeared across his cheek.
"We both just got all ready and now we're ruining it." I warn.
The doorbell rings.
"Fuck," he whispers and drops his head to his chest. "Why'd we invite people here."
"Because it's a party," I run my thumbs over his cheekbones. He closes his eyes and melts into a soft smile. "We should probably go get that."
He huffs and pulls away, standing up straight. "Probably," he runs through his hair and wipes the back of his hand over his lips. It doesn't do anything.
"You're going to have to wash your mouth."
"You too," he teases.
The doorbell rings again.
"We should go get that," I say again. He turns on his heel and storms childishly into the bathroom. I run after him, setting my chin on his shoulder while he flicks on the sink and wipes off his mouth. I look at my face in the mirror and lick my thumb. In two quick strokes I wipe away the misplaced makeup and reach for the stick to reapply it. He turns off the sink and sneaks out from under my chin. I hear him dance down the staircase to the front door. The bell rings a third time.
"For fucks sake, Mitch, I heard you!" He shouts.
"Then why didn't you open the door?" Mitch shouts back.
"Hello, Sarah," Harry adopts a kinder tone. I hear a muffled response. I slip on my heels, and after a moment of thought, I reach for Cherry. I close the bedroom door behind me, wandering down the hallway to meet them in the living room.
"Hey guys," I call from the top of the stairs. They turn their attention to me. Wow, they both look nice. Black cocktail dresses and suits. Tonight is going to be so fancy and fun. My heart flutters.
"Quinn! Thank God!" Mitch feigns relief. Sarah laughs and sits down on the couch. The doorbell rings again. Harry rushes to let the new guests in. "See, why didn't he open the door that fast for us?"
I roll my eyes and clamber down the stairs to join them, sinking into the couch next to Sarah. "How are you? How's Emma?" She reaches for my hand.
What a complicated string of questions.
A week ago it would have been an easy thing to answer. I'm so good. I'm in love. I'm head over heels. I feel like I'm in a romantic novel. A week ago we were meeting his mom and sister. Now?
Now it feels like an earthquake ripped the earth open between the two of us.
It started in that hotel room in Duluth after the debacle with my parents. The farther my panic attack sent me spiralling, the deeper the rift grew. Not because I was embarrassed about it (well, maybe I was a little). The chasm between us is because every time I tried to catch my breath that night, a little voice in my head would scream, "this is his fault. He did this to you, and he did it on purpose. He wanted this."
I never went back to sleep in Duluth. I never used to sleep after the nightmares. Harry didn't go back to sleep either. He stroked my hair and watched the shadow of my silhouette in the growing light from the window. When my alarm finally went off, I sat up and turned it off.
"Quinn," he lunged and grabbed my wrist before I could stand up. I looked back at him, and suddenly he seemed at a loss for words. He didn't know how to reach me, my eyes glazed over, my mind numb.
"What."
"Um, are you okay?"
I stared at him for a long time after that. His eyes were puffy and red. It wasn't until that moment, I realized he had been silently crying next to me all night. He looked feral, terrified. But what really scared me was how unfamiliar he felt. I didn't recognize the hand holding my wrist.
"Anna," he was so desperate to hear my voice, those two words that would absolve his guilt. I was torn painfully in half. The look on his face was slowly killing me. I wanted to make it better for him. But I also felt the rage in my chest, the embarrassment, the anger. He saw my hesitation in Chicago. He knew my history with my parents. And yet there we were. He pushed us to come and it broke me. It broke me in a way I didn't know I could still break.
I ended up faking a smile and reaching forward to cup his face in my free hand. He closed his eyes and swallowed, his eyebrows knitting together. "Baby," I whispered. "Can we just pretend it's okay for a while?"
"What do you mean," his voice cracked. His eyes were still closed.
"Can we just pretend nothing happened? I don't want to think about it."
His eyes fluttered open. He considered my proposal, and then he nodded. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."
He's very good at pretending that everything is okay. I'm discovering that I am too.
And now Sarah's asking me how I'm doing.
"Good," I lie and grin. "What about you? Monkey?"
"Monkey's good. Still chubby and grumpy," she reassures. I glance over at the front door.
There's Jack. He's standing in front of Harry. They're laughing, talking. From here, it feels genuine. My mouth goes oddly dry. My leg begins to bounce.
But then a woman comes up behind Jack. She drapes her arm around his shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Jack nods and smiles. I relax and turn back to Sarah. "Tell me about London," she demands. I appreciate that Sarah has decided that we're going to be friends. Even after all this time, I still feel awkward around Harry's band. I don't know them like he does. But Sarah makes it easy to talk to her. So does Mitch.
"It went really well actually," I think back to how good it was. It was so good, until it wasn't. I play with the cherry keychain in my hand. "Harry's mom got me socks."
People arrive steadily after Jack and his partner. Soon the living room has been transformed. People laugh and eat and drink and play charades in the corner. Everyone looks like they're about to walk the red carpet at the Oscars. I feel like I've snuck into the MET Gala again. I wander around with a wine glass and Cherry, stepping outside into the backyard to mingle with everyone.
This is the most comfortable I've ever felt at a party with Harry. I've spent enough time in the industry now to actually know some of these people. Not everyone, but enough. I recognize directors and crew members from sets. On the other side of the glowing pool, I see Sydney, the production manager that I've worked on a few projects with. I invited her. I'm happy she came. She lights up and waves at me from across the backyard. I wave back.
I find Harry by the firepit. He's lost his jacket and the back of his shirt is translucent from sweat. Him and Mitch are halfway through a bottle of vodka, dancing to the music faintly playing from the house. It feels incredibly intimate back here, hidden from the rest of the party.
"Quinn!" Harry sings and reaches a hand out for me. I love drunk Harry. I love how carefree and happy he becomes. I laugh and set down my things, letting him pull me into a sloppy dance.
"We're having a lot of fun out here," Mitch declares.
"I can see that," I pull away from Harry and reach for the bottle, pouring myself a shot. Mitch twirls around and pauses when the ocean comes into his line of vision.
"Would you look at that," he sighs blissfully. I take the shot and my face scrunches up in disgust. Harry takes the bottle from my hand and tries to dance with me again. I let him sway with me back and forth. He intertwines our fingers, his other hand wrapping around my back. He presses his cheek into mine and hums along to the music we can barely hear.
Mitch looks back at us and grins, wobbling from the drinks. "It's almost midnight."
"Who are you going to kiss, Mitch?" I ask, rocking back and forth. "Where's Sarah?"
Mitch blinks dumbly. "Obviously I'm kissing Harry."
Harry throws his head back and cackles. Mitch crosses his arms.
"What's so funny?" He challenges. Harry laughs harder. "I'm kissing you. Happy New Year."
"You think if I had the choice between Quinn and you, I'd kiss you?" Harry wonders. Mitch nods confidently. "You're a fucking dumbass."
"Aw, Harry," I pat his cheek and he melts. "Look how sad you're making him. Maybe you should give him what he wants."
"What?" Harry shrieks. His voice slides up at the ridiculous request. He looks at me, eyes wide.
"See? Quinn knows what's up," Mitch bounces up and down.
"What would Sarah say?" Harry gasps. He seems so genuinely concerned, I can't help but laugh at him.
"It's not like we haven't kissed before," Mitch stomps his foot.
"Really?" I bend down and pick up Cherry, flicking her open and drunkenly pressing record.
"Of course we have, Mitch is a beautiful man," Harry mimics the same Italian accent from earlier, emphasizing his words with his hand.
"So why won't you now," Mitch leans in, whining. Harry's eyebrows are so high, I think if he raised them more they would hang above his head like a cartoon.
"Because!" He whispers, but it comes out as more of a scream. "Because now my girlfriend is recording us!"
"Ooooh, girlfriend," Mitch waves his hands around. I giggle and zoom out a bit to capture both of them in the frame. They sway like zombies from the vodka, slurring their words like children. "Just fucking do it, man. Come on, c'moooon." He draws out. "Don't be weird about it now you're making it weird."
"You! You're making it weird," Harry sings back.
A countdown erupts faintly from the house. Harry's eyes widen even more, if that's possible. He looks at me for help. "Well, you gotta kiss him now," I admit. He trills out a breath on his lips. "Six, five, four..."
"Right here, Harry," Mitch points to his lips and closes his eyes. Harry scoffs.
"Two, one. Happy New Year!" I shout along with the faint crowd back at the house.
"Fine!" Harry shouts at no one in particular. He leaps to Mitch, grabbing his head in his hands, and kisses him with passionate aggression. A very tasteful kiss. I ooh and ahh, holding Cherry loosely in my hand.
He pulls back, lets go of Mitch's face, and wipes his lips across the sleeve of his button up. Mitch sways back and forth in a daze. He grins cheekily at me and the camera. Harry reaches down for the bottle of vodka and takes a pull.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen," Mitch slurs and mumbles to himself, pointing at Cherry in my hand. "That is how to catch yourself a man."
"Very smart, Mitch." I end the recording and set Cherry back down on the edge of the empty fire pit. I replace her with my half empty wine glass, standing back up and taking a sip. Harry brings the bottle down from his mouth and gasps at the disgusting taste.
"I hope you're happy," he points at Mitch, narrowing his eyes.
"Of course I'm happy," Mitch sings in a shrill voice, mimicking a young girl. "Harry Styles was my New Year's kiss!"
"Fuck you, Mitchell," he reaches for the bottle again, but I grab it and hide it behind my back.
"Fuck you, Montgomery!"
"Mitch!" Sarah calls from the pathway to the house. She skips down to meet us.
"Sarah, guess what!" Mitch calls back. She dances over to him, running her hand down his arm. "Harry Styles was my New Year's kiss."
"Lucky you," she laughs and pulls him closer until their lips meet. Harry's staring out at the ocean, preoccupied suddenly with a deep, drunk thought. I set down the vodka and wine glass to shelf my chin into his shoulder and wrap my hands around his torso.
"Going on an adventure in your head, I see," I lean against him. He glances in my direction and back out at the beach. His chest moves with a heavy sigh.
"I'm thinking about Hibbing."
I freeze, and then tighten my grip on him. "Not a fun thing to think about."
"I've tried pretending it didn't happen. I tried because I thought that's what you wanted," he mumbles.
"It is what I want," I assure. He shakes his head.
"We can't though. We can't because it did happen. And it sucked. And I need you to forgive me."
I stare at the ocean and the night sky. I'm trying to figure out where one stops and the other begins. It's hard from this angle. They look the same. It doesn't matter how hard I squint, I can only imagine where it is. I can't be sure.
"Quinn."
"Hmm."
"I need you to. I know it was unforgivable. But I need you to, otherwise we can't do this," he starts speaking very fast. "If you can't forgive me for this I'm going to feel guilty and you're going to resent me. And I can't let this break us. I need to fix this. I can fix this. I just need you to forgive me. I can be better. I'll be good. I'll be so good if you just let me fix this."
I chew on my lip. I think I found it, the horizon. If you look at the dark void long enough, it shows up on its own. The ocean is just a little bit darker than the sky. The water is black. The sky is dark blue. A nuance.
"Please say something."
"I don't want you to be sad," I whisper. "I want you to be happy all the time. I want to make you happy all the time."
He lets the words sink in.
"I love you," now all I see is the little line between the water and sky. I can't unsee it. I snuggle deeper into his neck and close my eyes.
"I love you too," he whispers back to me. I hear the waves. They mingle with the soft music from the house. I smell the vodka mixing with his cologne, and I smell the sand. I smell the salt water. There's a moon in the sky as bright and big as the one hidden on my thigh. There's a quiet between us, a pause in conversation.
"Give me that guitar," Sarah laughs from behind. She hits it against a chair trying to pick it up, the strings release a warped echo. "Shit, sorry."
"You got it," Mitch coos. I look back at them. He's helping her pull it over her hair. She finds a chord and strums it, before striking a pose and holding her hand out in a 'rock on' symbol.
"Hell yeah," she finds another chord, laughing. Mitch sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles her on. I look away, back out at the ocean, at the moon. Harry hasn't left our conversation. He's chewing on his lip, waiting for me to say something, anything.
I need to think of something to say.
"I loved you a long time ago," I murmur. "I loved you long before I had the courage to tell you. I don't think I even knew it was love." My heart starts to race at the secret. He lets the words roll through his head.
"I knew," he decides. He brings his hand up to rest on my arms wrapped around him. "I knew on the fire escape. I knew when you called me after therapy and I didn't pick up the phone. I knew when you made me breakfast. I knew when you slept with Jack. I've known since your hair was blue. I've known since you called me drunk one night last winter."
I let his confession linger in the air before us. I don't remember what night he's talking about. But I remember how I felt last winter. I remember how scared I was.
"I've loved you since the first week I met you," he takes a shaky breath. "I've loved you since you filmed me on that street in the sunset and asked me to tell you something you didn't know. I loved you before I understood you. And when I finally understood you, I only loved you more."
I feel my eyes growing warm. They sting from the sudden urge to cry. I sniff and press my cheek deeper into his shoulder.
"Forgive me."
The tears trickle down my face, collecting at my jaw and dripping on his shoulder.
"Please."
"Okay."
I raise my head and lean in, pressing my lips to his cheekbone. I hold them there, hoping to tell him a million measly things through a kiss on his cheek. When I pull away, I've left a faint pink mark on his skin.
"Happy New Year, Harry."
"Happy New Year, Quinn." He whispers.
We wander back inside, hand in hand, through the noisy crowd, up the stairs, to the closed door at the end of the hall. It creaks open.
I take off my heels and leave them by his closet. He piles his with mine. I lift my hair off the back of my neck. He pulls the straps of my dress off my shoulders, letting the fabric fall and pool around my ankles.
I unbutton his shirt. His fingers trace my chin, tilting my head up slightly. I can hear the party beneath us. I can hear his breath between our lips. I can hear my own breathing. I can hear the floor creak lightly when he steps closer.
He holds my face and kisses me. He's soft and gentle. He tastes like alcohol and smells like the ocean. His hands move from my face to my hair, untangling it with his fingers. I run my palms over his collarbones, tracing each bird tattooed into his skin.
He melts from the touch. He pushes my waist toward the bed behind us. My hands slide down to undo the button on his pants. He beats me to it, pushing them off his hips and leaving them in a pile on the floor behind us. The backs of my legs brush the bedsheets. I sit down and lean back. He presses his hands into the mattress on either side of me.
"You are everything to me," he whispers. The edges of his face light up from the lights in his window, like the flickering flame of a candle. His hair falls down into his eyes, it's getting long now. He nods, hearing the words back. "Everything." He decides firmly.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down, our lips crashing together. He pushes me further onto the bed, climbing on top and intertwining our fingers. He presses my hands into the mattress. I wrap my legs around his hips.
He's hungry, desperate to get drunker, to get deeper. He pushes my head aside and kisses my collarbone, my neck. He bites my ear. "Come back here," I wiggle my hand out of his grip and hold his chin, centering his lips back on mine. "Kiss me."
I pull him back into me, reaching deeper with my tongue, wrapping my arms around his back. My head falls away to take a breath. "Whatever you want," his eyes dart between mine and my lips. His mouth parted, I can see a sliver of his front teeth peeking out.
"You," I sigh before I even realize it. I feel my face grow hot. His towering silhouette is so close to me, it's creating a pressure in my chest I need to release. I need to feel his lips against me again. It's been so long, so many nights of laying quietly in this bed and pretending. I don't want to pretend. I want what we had before. I want him how he was before.
"Well, I'm here. That's easy," he teases. I shake my head, reaching to run my hands through his hair.
"I know." I chew on my lip. "That's not what I mean."
On the nightstand, my phone starts to ring. He glances at the buzzing sound.
"I should get that," I sigh.
He chuckles. "I know."
It's Emma. I bet she's calling to wish me a happy New Year. I press accept and bring the device to my ear. Harry twirls a strand of my hair and watches me move beneath him.
"Hey, Emma."
A quiet sob answers me. My face falls.
"Emma?"
"Kate--" she cuts herself off with another sob.
"Are you okay?"
She sniffles and clears her throat. "No. No, I'm not okay. I'm-I'm scared."
"You're scared? Why are you scared?"
"And sad. She left."
"Kate left?" I try to understand. Harry sits up. He chews his lip.
"I need you to come home. I'm sorry. I wouldn't, it's just. I need you."
"Okay. It's okay, Emma."
"I don't know what to do--"
"I'm coming home." I push Harry off of me. He sits on the bed and watches as I try to repack my suitcase with one hand. Emma sobs again on the other end of the phone.
"No, no, I'm being stupid."
"You're not being stupid. Something's wrong. It's okay. I'll be home in the morning, okay?"
She thinks about this. "Okay."
"I love you. Be safe."
"I love you too."
She hangs up the phone. I throw it on the bed and start frantically packing. "I'm sorry," I mumble, glancing up at Harry on the bed. He shrugs.
"You should go. She needs you." He reaches for his own phone and stares at the glowing screen. "Let me see if I can find a flight."
"I'm not leaving because I don't want to be here," I continue the apology unfurling in my head. "I want to be here. But she said she was scared, I don't know."
"It's okay, Quinn," he taps the screen, not looking up. "I understand."
I stop packing and stare at him on the bed. He sits with his knees curled to his chest. His chin is tucked into his neck. His eyebrows are knit together in concentration. When he doesn't hear me moving around anymore, he glances up from the screen. "What?"
"I'm sorry." I try again. He shrugs.
"It's okay."
But I don't think it is. We came up here to fix something. We came up here to forgive each other. We came up here because he's loved me since the beginning, and I've loved him since some drunk call I don't remember. I needed to stop pretending. I needed it to be real. And now I'm leaving him alone. I don't want him to think it's because I'm scared. I'm not scared. I want this. I want this so badly. I want it to be like it was before Minnesota.
He shifts to the end of the bed and holds my hips, looking up at me. "It's okay, baby. I promise it's okay."
The word 'baby' leaves my whole body tingling. "Okay." I bite my lip.
He says goodbye to me at the front door. I feel like I'm going to cry again. I hug him real tight, and he gently rubs my back.
I pull away and catch my breath. The car stops at the end of the driveway. I know he would have driven me if he could, but we're both very drunk right now.
We've spent the week together, sleeping in the same bed, travelling. We've been attached at the hip since Christmas. And I know it's not a real goodbye, just a see you later, but after everything that happened, I'm worried about leaving him alone. And I don't want to be alone.
"Goodbye, Anna," he smiles.
"I love you."
I pick up my suitcase and walk to the car.
a/n
Song: "Till Forever Falls Apart" - Ashe and FINNEAS
(have you guys listened to Ashe's new album? What are your thoughts?)
The YEARNING in this chapter. The DESPERATION. THE LOVE. the FEAR. dear lord these two are going to kill me I think.
Also... hope Emma is okay yikes lol