// And you're my survival, you're my living proof.
My love is alive and not dead. //
"I'll Be" -Edwin McCain
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True to his word, the moment we got back home from the Sequoias, Harry started looking up apartments and houses in the city that we could move to. He insisted that, once he found a few good options he would show me, but nearly four weeks later and he hasn't spoken a word aside from midnight rambles about how he 'can't wait to come home to me,' followed by scattered kisses across my skin.
Diana and David were, to Harry's surprise and not at all my own, excited once we talked to them about it. Diana offered to help look for places immediately while David cracked jokes about his oldest son 'finally getting out of the house.' They both insisted that having me live with them while I've been recovering has made home feel even homier, which warmed my heart more than I'd admit.
I got cleared to get rid of my stupid crutches earlier this week and Diana excitedly suggested we go out shopping, now that walking was easier. The two of us spent all day with Nate jumping from store to store buying absolutely nothing but enjoying ourselves anyway. I realized, while we were out, that Harry's family was quickly becoming my own - that they became my own the moment they came to watch me dance. Maybe I made home feel homier, but they made a home exist.
Everyone's a little unsure of how Nate's going to react once we do move out, but Harry's done his best in trying to talk to his little brother about it. We'll just have to wait and see what happens - we'll cross that bridge once we get there.
"What are you thinking about, Bee?" Harry's cheek nuzzles closer into my neck. I can't make out his face in the darkness of the bedroom, but I can feel his content smile against my shoulder.
I roll my body a little to lay my own cheek on top of his curls. "Home." You.
"What about home?" He murmurs. I know he thinks I'm talking about Tacoma, or my old apartment, or here, in his parent's house. But...I'm not.
"Not that home."
Harry's face heats up against my skin and he ducks into me to hide, "Oh." Silence lingers between us for a couple seconds before he's sitting himself up against the headboard. "Can we talk about something, Phoebs?"
Eyebrows furrowed, I glance up at him. I can't read the look in his eyes, but it's nothing bad. Just...nervous, maybe? "Of course, what's goin' on?"
"You know when I told you I was going to your old apartment to put stuff in storage for you last weekend?"
The complex fixed the water damage and leakage issues, but staying with the Styles' was so embedded into my daily routine that I didn't put up much of a fight to go back. Harry had taken me back a few weeks ago to pick up a few things, but the bulk of my belongings were just staying locked up in my apartment. That is, until there was a robbery in the building and Harry convinced me that we should put everything in storage until he and I found a place to move into.
I nod, wriggling up to sit against his chest.
He smiles a fleeting little grin before starting to nervously fiddle with my hair in between his fingers. "Well...it didn't go to storage."
A chill washes through my veins. "Harry, what? Why didn't you tell me? I would've gone myself to do it this week."
The movement of my hair stops while a breathy laugh leaves his lips. "Okay...that wasn't the best way to start-"
"Start? Start what? What are you talking about?" I can't help but interrupt him. The fear I spent so many weeks repressing the longer I lived in that neighborhood is all coming to the forefront at even just the thought of having to go back there. I don't even want to walk through that goddamn door ever again. I'd forgotten what it felt like to come home and feel safe.
He rubs his palm against my arm. "Bee, babe, shhh, don't get mad. Your stuff is safe, you're safe-"
"What do you mean don't get mad? We agreed that you would take care of it." I sit up, folding my arms tightly across my chest. "That you'd go and make sure- And now it's- it's a week later? And-"
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7-
"I found a place, Bee." He breathes out in the middle of my exhale, staring straight into my eyes.
8.
My body turns to ice. The words freeze over, chips of ice melting down my throat. He...what? My voice is nothing more than a whisper as I mutter, "What?"
"I was going to talk to you but then I didn't know how, so then I was going to surprise you, but I still didn't know how, so...now I'm telling you." He starts to ramble, but I can't move; can't form a single sentence to stop his frantic confession. "I found a little house for us. It's got...everything...you said you would want. And rent isn't even that bad, all things considered. And it's closer to the office for me, and the neighborhood is really safe. It's actually only like five minutes from here, so we can visit Nate. Or, I can visit Nate, I guess I don't know if you'd want to. But it's also a little closer to Luna and-"
"Harry." I say breathlessly. He shuts up immediately, jaw hanging open.
He...found us a place to live? To move in together? We're actually going to move in together... Wait...
"What does that have to do with my stuff?" I ask quietly, holding back a breathy laugh as he gapes a little like a fish in response.
"Well, I, uh, I took your stuff...to the house." His hand finds his curls and ruffles through a few times.
"Wait, you already signed for the house?" Now my jaw drops open.
"Well...yeah. And I'm sorry, I know I should've talked to you about it." He grimaces. "But it's perfect, Bee, it's so perfect. I was confident you'd love it so I just said 'fuck it' and signed."
The ice lodged in my chest drips through my lungs, melting away into warmth. Sticky, heavy warmth, humidity built up under my skin. Heat lightning shock that a heart like Harry's exists. Summer sunshine burning deep in my belly, providing rejuvenating light to the rest of my body.
"Harry..." I force out, like his name is the only thing I have the ability of speaking.
"It's okay if you're mad, I get it, but I hope when I take you-"
"I'm not mad." I cut him off, watching as relief dances across his eyes. Water in the drought; green, green grass soaking up each droplet. "I think I'm just shocked?"
He jumps in right away, the nerves running through his body evident by the amount of times he's run a hand through his hair. "That's okay, I would be too. I know it was stupid of me to just do it, but I was so excited about the idea of living together and, well, I don't know. I just did it."
"I'm amazed by you. You're so fuckin' sweet." I murmur as I cuddle into his side.
My heart feels on the verge of volcanic explosion - a glorious disaster of bubbling love and liquid admiration. Pouring over the edge of my soul and dripping into flesh. Filling in the cracks of mortality, as if the lava in my chest could span across infinity. As if our love is infinite. As if infinity is composed solely from the stardust and dirt inside of us. An infinity of Harry and Phoebe. Transcending time and dimension to exist forever in gentle morning breezes and violent monsoon rainstorms.
I can tell he's confused by my reaction by the way he awkwardly pats a hand down my back. "What are you thinking?" he asks for reassurance.
I hum into his skin. "That I love you. That you're really warm. That you're probably the best person in the world. That maybe after my meeting with Joseph tomorrow you can take me there?"
He was expecting me to be mad, and maybe I would've been a few months ago. Refusing the help. Denying myself the freedom to make spontaneous decisions based on spontaneous feelings. Instead, I just feel lucky. Lucky to even know Harry, let alone be loved by him.
Of course there's guilt there, too - guilt that he's determined to pay rent for this place despite my insistence on helping; guilt that he's done nothing but accommodate my needs lately. But, just like he told me at the bridge after Nate's seizure, I need to let go of the guilt. The therapist I've started seeing tells me the same - to release the pressure of holding onto things that can't change. Release the pressure of trying to independently complete jobs that were never meant for an individual. I need to let in the help; I need to accept that Harry does what he does because he loves me, and my time, and my presence. I'm not a burden for taking up space in the world.
So, I take a deep breath and wrap my arm around his stomach, yanking him back down to the bed. "And that I really want to cuddle my boyfriend and go to sleep."
Harry lets out a warm laugh that spreads butterflies through my stomach, flapping mosaic wings against the inside of my body. "We'll go tomorrow, I promise. And we can move in whenever you'd like, honeybee. Last Saturday was the first day we could have. I took your apartment stuff all over there, except the ratty couch like we talked about."
I nod against his chest, pulling him close to my body. "You're the best. I love you so much."
"I love you, too, pretty baby."
Curled up into Harry's side, it isn't long until I fall asleep. Drifting into the clouds to imagine walking out to him making breakfast in his underwear while he dances around the kitchen on Sunday mornings; leaving the music on too loud so when we take Stitch for a walk we can hear the speakers from the sidewalk and have to scramble inside to turn it down; entering a house of Harry. Just...Harry.
Like every other morning, I'm woken up first, by gentle kisses across my forehead, and second, by the almost-too-loud alarm. I exist in three seconds of peace before the boulder free falls from my brain into my stomach, lodging itself at the base of my belly. Harry's fingertips dig into my shoulders when he feels me tense up.
"Good morning, honeybee." He mumbles into my hair.
Humming, I press my head further into the pillow. "Mornin'."
As much as I'd like to lay here with Harry and pretend nothing is happening, I know I need to get ready. The Sleeping Beauty shows end this weekend, which means my undeserved paychecks do as well. Joseph called earlier this week to ask if we could 'chat' and, quite frankly, that's the very last thing I want to do. But, I agreed, if anything because I owe him for paying me through the injury.
Harry took off for the morning in order to take me to Golden Gate Ballet Company. Once the crutches were out of the picture Dr. Dennis told me that I could get back to driving, but I'm a little apprehensive, so Harry still carts me around. I don't mind too much - we always make sure to belt our lungs out on the rides.
Once we're both ready and bid a quick goodbye to Nate and Diana, we hop into Mick and head out. I don't know what to expect from this meeting and Joseph's call didn't hint at the topic of conversation whatsoever. So...I'm going in blind. And I hate it.
"Heyyyy." Harry whines, pouting at me while he squeezes at my knee. "You're supposed to be the T-Birds so I can be John Travolta, Bee."
It's not until I shake off the hazy anxiety that I realize Greased Lightning is playing through the speakers. It brings a slight smile to my face, but I can't get the lyrics to escape my throat.
"What's wrong, babes?" He asks gently, turning the music down and rubbing my thigh.
"'Think I'm just nervous." My fingers tangle in between his to ground myself.
"I know you are. Count, yeah?"
I nod, taking a breath.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
"Good girl. It'll be okay, no matter what happens. Trees look like they're growing still, don't they?"
My temple meets the cool glass of the window as the smile widens on my face. My eyes fixate on the branch of an upcoming tree, squinting hard to try to make out the baby buds. I hum out a 'yep' while the car pulls into GGBC.
"Exactly what I thought. So it'll all be okay. I promise." Harry leans over and kisses my cheek twice. "Now, go on and talk to Joseph and I'll be sitting right here when you come back."
I go to reciprocate the kisses, but Harry turns his head so that our lips meet, instead. And, it's exactly what I need. A break in time for a few seconds while plush, pink skin meets plush, pink skin. It's nothing more than a peck, but I could drown in it anyway.
"Thank you, you're the best. I'll be quick." I shoot an I love you through the window as I slam the car door shut, running my thumb over the tips of my fingers while I make my way inside the studio.
Joseph's sitting right inside, a bright smile on his face the moment I walk through the door. "Phoebe! We've missed you!"
I'm not sure whether the nerves build higher or fade away completely. It's like both happen simultaneously. "I've missed everyone, too."
We make small talk about Sleeping Beauty and about my achilles while he leads us towards his office. I try to keep my eyes firmly planted on the hallway carpet as we walk - each glimpse of a practice room digs further into my heart; into my ankle. Like shards of glass from the mirrors lining the walls have sunken their way under my skin. It's just painful - being reminded, yet again, that the future I pictured was destroyed. It's painful, and that's okay. But it doesn't mean that I want to feel it.
Joseph gestures for me to enter his office first, gently closing the door behind us and taking a seat behind his desk. His office is nothing more than a coat closet with a computer and a few pictures of his husband and their son. But, he doesn't spend much time in here anyway - he's always out wandering the studio and watching all of the dancers perfecting their art.
"So, Phoebe." He claps his hands once, folds his palms together, and sets them on the desk. "As you know, shows end this weekend."
I nod in response, trying to hide the way I spin the blueberry ring around and around on my finger. Endless circles like a race car circuit, or a spiral drain, or tornado winds.
"I know that your injury is holding you back from dancing. However...do you remember what I told you that day at the Battu show?"
I smile at the reminder of that performance, at the warmth that it builds inside of me. "To be honest, Joseph, I barely remembered my own name that night."
He laughs lightly, his smile mirroring my own. "I believe the word I used was astounded - I was astounded by your performance that night. Technically, your moves were gorgeous, but even more than that, your choreography was stunning. Absolutely beautiful - you could feel the emotion bleeding off of it."
At the word 'choreography,' my stomach cartwheels and my blood turns to ice.
"I offered you the Aurora role because we needed an Aurora, but, Phoebe, from that day I had every intention of digging into those choreographing skills of yours. And...it seems we have a perfect opportunity to do so."
Oh...my...god.
Joseph leans forward, resting his chin on his fists. The excitement - the energy and warmth and belief - exudes off of him. I can feel it in waves washing across my face. "We're starting a new baby class, some 4's, 5's, 6's, and we have our college kids that I usually work with. Young dancers, old dancers; give you a taste of both."
He talks through more details - expectations, hours, pay - but the words barely register in my mind. I could kiss this man right now.
"You don't have to give me a decision today, but I really don't want to let your talent go, Phoebe. I can really see you going far on this side of the machine. Maybe we'll have some lower stakes opportunities for you to get back on the stage, too, once that injury heals up."
"Joseph...I...I don't know what to say." I stammer out. My palms feel sweaty, but not in a bad way. In an assured way; a confident way. A way that screams I know exactly what I want. A way that has me nodding my head before words form in my throat. "I would love to choreograph for you."
His eyes go wide, like he's stunned by my response.
"I've, uh, dealt with a lot of internal shit with Lacey stealing my routine that night." I chew on the inside of my cheek, shocked at myself for being so transparent. "I put my heart and soul into that dance and to have it taken felt a little like she was taking my words away from me. I would love to choreograph for you, Joseph, but I need the assurance that I will get credit for my dances. That everyone will know I was the one who created what they see on stage."
He nods wildly, an incredulous look on his face, "Phoebe, yes, of course. I wouldn't dream of not giving you proper credit for your art."
I think I knew that, somewhere deep down, but to hear the words out loud in open air brings a relief I didn't expect. Smiling, I pat my palms against my thighs, tapping my toes to get rid of the itchiness. It vanishes the more I repeat his assurance. My dance is mine. My dances are mine. They will always be mine.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
"Then I would really love the opportunity to work with you."
The two of us face off in silence for a few seconds, both of our minds blurred and ricocheting. Joseph speaks first, his smile so wide I half expect his cheeks to split in half. "Oh, this is wonderful! This is so wonderful! Monday? Are you clear to come in on Monday? Y'know, no, take some time, the babies aren't starting until April. This is fantastic, Phoebe, thank you so much. I'm so glad that you're part of our family."
Our family.
"I can come in whenever you need me." I insist, noticing the ache in my jaw from how wide I'm smiling. I feel...so happy. So fucking happy. The pit in my stomach completely filled in; closed up.
Joseph and I talk for a little while longer until he guides me back to the front door and we hug goodbye, both of us profusely thanking the other and laughing when we spit it out at the same time. The moment I spot Harry's eyes sitting in the parking lot I have to resist the urge to run to him. His solar-powered smile catches my own and I know he can see the excitement on my face as he drives to pick me up at the door.
Throwing the car door open and settling into the seat I try to act calm, but the minute it closes, I turn to Harry and squeal. My arms find their way around his neck as I pull him into me, hugging as tightly as I possibly can.
"Hi, pretty Bee, I love seeing you this happy. How'd it go, what'd you guys talk about?" He asks, rubbing his open palms against my back. Harry laughs when I squeeze him tighter, the sound making me want to just sit here and hug him so I can always listen to the beautiful melody leaving his lips.
"He asked me to choreograph!" There's an ache in my biceps, but I can't let go of the perfect man in front of me.
Harry pulls away, jaw dropped open while he searches my eyes. "He what? Bee, oh my god, that's amazing?"
With another squeal and another diving hug, I laugh out, "I know! I'm going to choreograph for Golden Gate!" I push off of the middle console, trying to settle back into my seat even though the frantic excitement feels like static in my bloodstream. "I didn't even know I ever wanted to choreograph! But I'm so excited! I'm more excited than I was to get the Aurora part, I think!"
Harry's thumb tilts my chin towards him and he silences me with a kiss. A lingering kiss; a proud kiss. "Phoebe Mitchell, you are incredible." I feel my cheeks heat up, but his grip on my face is too tight to break away from. "I'm so goddamn proud of you."
"Thank you, I love you, I'm so...happy."
I watch his eyes build up with tears, catalyzing pinpricks of my own. "I love you, too, honeybee. You have no clue how good it feels to hear you say that."
"To say what? That I love you?" I tilt my head, nuzzling into Harry's open palm.
He shakes his head. "That you're happy." His lips find mine gently, softly, to freeze time.
We float in our bubble for a few minutes until I make a comment about the fact that we've been sitting at the front door of Golden Gate for an embarrassing amount of time. Harry pulls out of the parking lot and it isn't until he turns the wrong way that I remember we're going to the new house.
His hand finds my thigh as we drive and our voices find the air. Normal. Comfort. Perfect. Home. I could sing in the car with him for the rest of my life and I'd never once complain. Not with his fleeting sideways smiles, and drumstick fingertips against my thigh, and soft curls against my hand, warmed from the sun through the window and from the sun under his skin.
Harry turns down a quiet side street driving so slow I can tell this is it. My heart feels like it might burst straight out of my chest as we creep down the road.
"Okay, it's just up there a little ways." He squeezes an I love you into my thigh, voice tense in fear that I might not like the house. "Your stuff is kind of piled up inside, Tate and I just sort of dropped everything in the front room, so don't mind the mess."
I nod, excitement choking me out. My mind is reeling, running endless laps around a track. Like a hamster wheel spinning on repeat, squeaking and squealing with each rotation.
And then Harry pulls into the driveway. My head shoots to find him already looking at me. "Harry-" My voice is nothing but a wisping breath of air.
He smiles, small and timid, shutting the car off and collecting the key in his grip. I want to say more, to thank him, or ask how he found this place, or anything, but I'm frozen. In front of me sits a quaint little two story house that looks so much like a dollhouse it should have a white picket fence around the front yard. I'm shocked at how perfect it looks from the front, but the aspect that hits me the hardest are the shutters around the windows. The baby pink - the ballet pink - shutters around the windows.
While I'm staring at the little house, I don't realize that Harry gets out of the car, walking around to open the passenger door to help me to my feet.
"Harry..." He laughs at my shock, intertwining our fingers and leading me towards the front door. No part of me is able to process this moment; walking up to a precious little house hand-in-hand with the love of my fucking life after being offered a job doing what I love. It feels too good to be real. It has to be a dream. I don't know what I ever did to deserve any of this.
"Cute, isn't it?" He asks, a line between smug and gentle.
Cute. One of my...demands? Requests?
On our drive home from the Sequoias, Harry and I talked back and forth the entire time about what our dream home looked like. If we could build a house from scratch, what would it look like. I kept saying 'cute' over and over and over - a cute this, or a cute little that. Harry made fun of me every time the word left my mouth, but...he made it happen. He found a cute house. And he looks damn proud of himself.
I nod, still dazed and unable to say much of anything except his name.
He guides me through the sweet little house that, to my surprise, has a lot more room than I expected. Harry excitedly points out the other aspects I dreamed up, like the bar top connecting the kitchen and dining room, the gorgeous bathtub in the bathroom downstairs, the fenced in backyard for the dog we've yet to find. He was right...it's...perfect.
We sit down in chairs from my old apartment, taking in the empty house. I try to stop the scenarios from flashing through my mind, but they come hard and fast and all I can do is root my feet into the ground to steady myself. Visions of padding onto the deck in the backyard with a cup of a coffee and a blanket draped over my shoulders. Of sitting on the bed to listen to Harry sing in the shower. Curling on the couch with the cat that Harry wants to watch some show while we wait for him to come home. Watching him come running downstairs with a giggly little toddler high above his shoulders like an airplane. The moment a child joins the montage, I cut it off quickly, feeling my cheeks burn in response.
"So...what do you think, Bee? Do you like it?" He reaches for my hand, which I am more than happy to give to him.
"I love it."
We talk for a while, drifting imagination into the air, followed by details, followed by plans to move in, followed by more giddy visions of the future. We kiss for a while, giggling between pecks, followed by long, drawn out moments of bliss, followed by quiet moans and roaming tongues, followed by more silly pecks. We fuck for a while, smooth trails of hands against skin, followed by tight fists clenched desperately around the carpet, followed by dirty whispers and dirty shouts and dirty desires, followed by more slow, soft dancing fingertips.
By the time we get ready to leave, the moon glows bright in the sky. Twinkling silent acceptance from Luna. I find myself sad to lock up the cute little house, with pink shutters, and no leaky ceiling. It already feels like home. Maybe because I've got Harry by my side, or maybe because it's everything I wanted to move into. Such a vast difference from the apartment that it blows my mind.
It finally feels like I've caught a break. Like Aurora was the start of a new existence; a new Phoebe. That wasn't my break - that was my first page. This...this is my break. Moving in with my boyfriend, starting a choreography job, buying a cat, and a dog, working off the rest of this injury, going to therapy. It's like I'm finally healing. More than just flesh and bones. Really, truly healing. From the inside out. Becoming the Phoebe I've trapped below pain and guilt and fear. Growing like the trees.
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One more (and then two epilogues). I don't have any words, which is kind of funny after I've written so so so many.
Thank you, I love you, you amaze me. Stay Gold. ♡
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.