Did I ever mention Harry's age in this au? If so, and I'm a bit off, I apologise.
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chapter forty-two. brera, milan.
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A SWEATY AND DRAPED arm lays across my naked waist the first thing next morning. The alarm to my phone sounds out and continues to play throughout my bedroom, awaking myself more along with Harry. His face is prominently alarmed but realisation washes over him because he leans over to peck me on my lips.
His lips are a bit chapped nevertheless soft and that warm feeling arises. Slips through my pores into my bones, warming my insides with a rare sunlight you can only discover in someone. Whom passes it onto another someone and another and another until everyone, soon, become walking sunshines on every part of the universe.
"We have a flight to catch," I say breaking the kiss as Harry nods understandingly. We both ready with a shower together then dress simultaneously before catching a taxi to the local airport.
MUM IS THE FIRST person we see when our plane lands hours later in Italy. Excitement written all over her face when our assigned car drives us to our hotel in Brera — a ten minute distance from the fashion catwalk that takes place tomorrow.
Her hands open for an offered hug that I immediately walk into. Yearning her soft touch and soft voice and all of the soft characteristics that makes up a whole of my mother's personality.
"Congratulations," I say into her ear contently. She genuinely thanks me, a twinkle and a gleam in her eye that narrows me in emotionally.
My mother, then, goes to hug Harry. They whisper inaudible words into each other's ears briefly. It causes Harry's cheeks to brighten. Soon they detach and my mother tells us about the upcoming dinner tomorrow she's planned for Harry's birthday. Content warms my bones because my mother hasn't forgotten Harry's special day in the past years.
Afterwards we settle into the beautiful hotel room my mother booked for us. With one bed by the way -- thanks mum --. A large balcony that overlooks an entire village. A room with a whole white aesthetic and fluffy robes and glass doors and a miniature refrigerator and – and that's exciting. I hope the entire time in Italy is too.
With a few hours to ourselves, Harry and I agree to order a cheese flavoured pizza for dinner. I'm almost sure it'll taste delightful because we're in the origin of its creation, Italy. Where we are. And it does unsurprisingly as Harry sits beside me on focused on his phone and I, I munch on the remainder of the fancy-looking pizza pie.
Then Harry abruptly cheers with excitement. Nearly pouncing on top of me, as he did the night before. The gesture causes me to splutter whilst doing a concerning double-take because, when is Harry ever this excited? Smiles occasionally cross his face. And his cheeks heat different shades of pinks and reds when there's a blue moon out and shining.
"What has you so happy?" The excitement upon Harry transitions into crazed foreseeably; suddenly. He answers, "The uni I told you about, the school in Cambridge. They want to interview me in a few weeks, Niall. This is so exciting –"
Harry begins to ramble consistently about the Dentistry programme once again. I feel nothing but a severe amount of happiness for my boyfriend and my best friend, but that self-consciousness reappears. As it always does when my future is questioned again and again, repeatedly.
I hate it. I hate it, so much.
That feeling of incompleteness. When you have nothing going for you. Not one thought. Not one clue. And the future appears quicker and quicker by the minute, each minute. I gulp to suppress the dark truth and its realisation. Immediately faking a facade to lessen everyone's concerns — everyone being just Harry. I hug him whilst he continues his rambling.
THE NEXT DAY I awake earlier than all. The day I realise I have no reference to cooking, and I completely suck at it. One would say. With one other ultimatum I decide on ordering room service, hoping it'll arrive in time, and Harry awakes a little after I make the call for an order.
Harry's a great cook still. A great cook, a great person with a great personality. One that is sensible and empathetic towards most situations. He's a great listener and observer, and Harry is just fantastic. Hopefully, in about several weeks, the Cambridge university will be able to sense and see that during an interim amount of time with him.
With Harry's two birthday presents in both hands and the silver trays of breakfast I've ordered, making my way back to the path of our temporary bedroom. I place the two trays on the beside table whilst pressing my lips onto Harry's forehead causing his eyelids to flutter responsively. How can one be so sleepy all of the time?
Harry's in a deep slumber — still as beautiful as ever. With the same breathtaking beauty as he has obtained every hour of the day by my intent observation. My lips touch his dishevelled hair. Then the cold feel of his two flushed cheeks. Until those green eyes with swirls of browns and vague cerulean spots lock with my own.
Abruptly, by familiar muscular arms, I'm pulled closer to the birthday boy. Like I'm a gutted fish wrapped by a metal hook, being reeled in closer and closer to the successful capturer. Harry is my successful capturer — witty and content and positive and smiling that crooked smile he habitually smiles with. Nonetheless it's an eye catcher.
"Happy Birthday," I greet Harry who elicits a broad smile. "How does it feel to be eighteen for the first and only time?"
Harry chuckles breathily before I pass him his tray of breakfast and the birthday themed gift bag. He reaches for the objects eagerly, automatically and subconsciously locking eyes when Harry moves to open it.
First he retrieves one of the two black suede jewellery boxes. The one that holds a gold necklace. The one that I spent several weeks saving up for, with some not so punk rock Punk Rock savings too, of course. The necklace that has the letter 'H,' engraved on the pendant. That, and a solid, symbolic heart, with the letters '- N&H,' written, cursively underneath the prominent heart engraving.
A sheepish smile brushes my face watching Harry's crooked thumb grazes over the necklace. My heart pummels at the entranced, burning gaze Harry's eyes set on the golden coloured necklace. He slowly looks up at me before engulfing me into a tight hug. One that says everything he doesn't make an effort to utter. But his lips kiss me behind my ear softly, then pecking my lips with the same demeanour.
Harry opens his second gift next. A shirt that goes well with the odd fashion style he's been, recently, developing -- a crazy patterned satin material collared shirt. Something fashionably ridiculous like the several I've seen in Harry's closet the past month. But if anyone could pull off a shirt like this is Harry. No matter how incredulous it is.
All the same Harry's entirely thankful and he makes note of his gratefulness by thanking me, properly. For the rest of the morning we spend together eating a spinach omelet and toast.
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it's short ik. i apologise.