i always keep my promises, even if they're from two years prior. ; ; ) )
-
-
-
-
epilogue one. tootimetootimetootime
-
I am currently in my second semester of university, studying Psychology an hour and change away from my childhood home in Manchester. I took off to a school that not only suited my interest academically, but the town itself suited me with its quiet aura and howling winds I was instantly persuaded to reside here while furthering my knowledge in critical, social science.
My flat not too many streets down from campus —and my mum helps pay some of the rent my local coffee shop job cannot help me pay — and everything is good; everything is dandy. Everyone is about dandy, too.
My mom's fashion career still pays the bills, and mine too thankfully. Cara is still residing in New York, not too far of a commute from my best pal Louis Tomlinson who is interning for my mother's fashion company in the American headquarters. You have to start from somewhere in order to break down successful barriers and doors, and since my mother is familiar with Louis and his fashionable passion, she's assigned him to extra extravagant task a simple intern wouldn't be doing their first year working for a fashion company. He's never been so grateful for the privileges my mum has given him, and he couldn't be anymore grateful for me as I am for him.
He's, mostly, the reason I chose to pursue Psychology as a career after my year off from graduating forms.
-
"Y'know, Niall," Louis's words retrieve me from my thoughts. "You should take up psychology when you decide on university next year."
"I'll make a note of it," I agree with a simplistic nod. Maybe being a psychologist or even a psychiatrist could be my destined fate and role in this perpetual, ongoing, sleepless world.
-
And the idea just kind of stuck with me. The topic, categorized into even small subject that accommodate lectures to me, entrance me. The study of the human mind and developmental thinking and aging of the brain has only heightened my knowledge and interest in my major — I can't even believe I can, proudly, say I have a major to study because once upon a time that wasn't the case at all.
Zayn is well, too. He's at university in Oxford to study biomedical sciences. He's always had a passion for science and photography and art, and he's chosen to double major in both art and photography. We keep in touch from time to time since his schedule is much much busier than myself and Louis combined... and Harry's.
He's in London right now, prepping for his wedding. Yeah, he's engaged and it happened so abruptly, but when you sign contracts as a model you're automatically assigned photoshoots with a storyline and/or plot. So, yeah, he's engaged for this current photoshoot but in reality, Harry is still my boyfriend. And we've been together for almost two years now. Of emotional rollercoasters and long distance and tabloid scandals (that are the furthest from the truth, I know that from being Cara Delevingne's younger brother) and we withstand each obstacle because that's what you do in a relationship.
It certainly makes it stronger. When the both of you — a significant other and yourself — can face a problem together instead of on your own. It increases stability and lessens anxiety because there is someone to talk to, know has your back, and it's such an incredible feeling I just cannot simply put into words. I can barely put Harry into words like he's some mystical creature people would subconsciously mistaken as a unicorn or some UFO they've witnessed flying above rural grounds. Harry is just so unreal.
And, he's trimmed his hair. All of those beautiful, brown locks are gone. Gone and given to children or adults who needed it more than he did. And I'm so grateful my boy has such a massive heart to think about charities and people in need, people less fortunate than him or myself.
-
"Oh my God," Harry looks at myself and his mother astoundingly with a ghastly look in his eyes and upon his face. "It's gone"
The hairstylist placed all of the dead hair in one of Harry's palms. His eyes looked down to the, his, brunet hair, hysterically before the both of us lock eyes simultaneously.
"I like it," I assure him truthfully, and I am telling Harry the wholehearted truth. Harry will still have that contagious grin, captivating gleam in the greens of his eyes, and those prominently handsome features internally and externally, even if most of his hair is gone. Gone for the better, and to a greater cause that can use the locks more than Harry can maintain them from day to day.
It was past his shoulders, and people would usually give him curious stares or looks when he'd walk by them on the streets. Practical strangers could be so opinionated about the looks of someone they're not even familiar with.
Anne smiles, agreeing. "Me too," she says softly, reassuringly. And the softness of her tone mentally and outwardly soothes Harry, I can tell.
The hairstylist quiffs Harry's short hair. It's quite a familiar style like when we were preteens, before his hair reached the tips of his shoulders, we'd style our hair up like that just to endure a day in school. Nearly praying the excessive amount of hair gel would keep it up the whole school day.
When he's done, and we're just about ready to depart from the salon, I faintly kiss Harry's forehead as he's sat on the barber's chair still. Looking in the mirror so thoroughly as he has been for about forty-five minutes now. My hand plays with his nape, I feel Harry naturally unwind. I love that my simple touch can automatically remove or diminish whatever anxieties or negative/pessimistic thoughts he's inwardly establishing.
"Do you like it?" I genuinely ask him. Those eyes look into mine as Harry nods slowly, almost unsurely. "I think so," he whispers while continuing to face and scan and move around in the mirror, testing out the many angles that'll only make him look the same. Look like Harry; my Harry.
"You look dashing – beautiful," I tell him with a tease in my tone. It makes him smile, dimples revealed and a beam that's so contagious I give him one back responsively. "I love it, and I love you."
"I love you more, Sweetheart,"
-
And as on cue, as if Harry can sense when I'm thinking of him. Like he has telepathic powers or some shit, some romantic shit, I receive a phone call from my boyfriend. Explaining to me about the discomfort he felt shooting a photography scene with an actual bride, but as a professional model, professional behavior is always elicited because it books more jobs in the future. And no one on set generally cares about their models personal lives because a job is a job and Harry has a job to do with the career he's chosen to do other than dentistry.
But his modeling has taken off in a positive route. He's well known on social media and from tabloids that sometimes features him for the good or the bad; the truths or the rumors they consistently spread about high profile people. It's always been something that I've never wanted to be apart of. People like Cara and Harry have to constantly deal with downfalls like these due to their everyday jobs.
Like when Kendall and Cara reportedly split and cameras filmed her breakdown for others as entertainment, so to say.
But I listen to Harry, thoroughly. And his rambling about the horrid events for this prior job and in between I subconsciously smile, almost hearing the responsive smile of Harry's through the phone. The palpitations I've actually gotten quite use to are automatically bursting within me, within my ribcage, and they instantaneously increase when Harry says words I'm still not accustomed to:
"I'll be home in a few hours, baby. I love you."
And we have two homes. Mine here in Sheffield, and our home mentally. When we're in each other's vicinities where everything relaxes: anxieties, nerves, stress, all of the negatives. Harry's my home emotionally, psychologically, and physically as I am his.
"I love you too, babe," I tell him, hearing a soft coo through the other end of the line. "See you soon, Love."
-
-
-
-
four more like I promised I would. I had no clue how to end this and I apologize for that. I start college tomorrow omg, like yesterday I was reading my authors notes while doing edits and wow I was in like my sophomore/junior year when I started anobrain and fucking wow I am so sorry for the delay, seriously.