I’m really not sure about the ending but I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer! Thank you for reading and for being so excited about me writing again after months of nothing- it means the whole world and more (also thank you if you’ve even bothered to read this boring, sappy note).
Enjoy my lovelies and let me know your thoughts, I’m quite proud of the most part of this xx
“Go shoot that fucking film, Darcy and I can survive without you.”
After those words leave your mouth, it’s as if Harry transforms in front of you. Gone is the gentle, kind man you love as his features twist and harden into something cruel and malicious. “Fine.” Is the last word that you expect him to say, but he does anyway. And he continues to do what you least expect, because he’s gathering up his coat and twisting open the front door. He takes one last long look at you, and for a short moment (although it seems to last forever), everything is silent.
A scene plays in your mind–a scene that you can easily recreate. You rush across the room and embrace Harry, begging him not to go, taking back your initial thoughts and words and offering to live in France with him and Darcy. Him smiling down at you and telling you he would love that. You can almost see it….how simple it would be to achieve that.
And you see how easy it would be for another scenario to occur. The one where Harry is the one slamming the door back shut and shrugging off his coat, getting down on his knees in front of you like it’s the very first time and taking all his words back.
But neither of those things happen, because you both are stubborn people. The whole room is still, and when you almost think Harry’s going to leave for certain, a voice cuts through his chest. “Woah, easy there girl. Don’t want your mommy and daddy getting mad at me for destroying their washroom.” It’s Louis, and it’s…Darcy. Laughing. Upstairs. Oblivious to what’s happening down here. Tears start to gather up in your eyes.
Harry’s head drops to the ground, and when you’re just about to open your mouth and tell him to stay, he’s already out the door. Liam looks at you with an apologetic stare, but you can’t move. Not until you hear Harry’s car start, and the gates closing signalling he has already driven away. And when that all happens, you collapse onto the ground, in a sea of tears and hair and bones. Darcy is still laughing.
How much you would give to have Harry upstairs with her…
Three weeks later and no word from Harry. He had one of his friends that you have never met before come over to the house and gather his things. Darcy is confused to why “daddy” isn’t around, but with just a handful of smiles and false promises, happiness surrounds her days once again.
If only you could say the same.
You check your phone every second of every single day, and you are not mistaken. Harry has not called you nor texted you. The only evidence that you have to prove that he has not blocked your number is the occasional status updates he would post…in France.
“So he’s really shooting that movie, then.” Gemma was over for a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits (and to make sure you are alright). She nods, pressing her lips into a thin line before snatching up a wafer cookie on a plate on the coffee table. Darcy was at a playdate, and you had two hours to kill before you had to go pick her up.
“Has he contacted you at all?” Gemma asks politely. You were almost certain Anne, and probably Gemma herself, had already asked Harry about you two. After all, he was spotted everywhere without you, and there is no universe in which Harry would lie to the two people he values the most.
So you don’t know why she was asking you this question, when the answer was obviously known between you both. But still, out of kindness and respect, you confess, “Nope. Not a call or even a text.”
“He’s going to come around,” Gemma reassures you. You smile politely, but doubts are lining every square inch of your mind. He’s going to come around.
That night, long after Gemma had left apologetically, and shortly after you had tucked Darcy in, you couldn’t take it anymore. Throughout the day, little bits of you had broken over small things.
Darcy seeing a random guy on the street and calling him daddy. TMZ blowing up when you weren’t spotted in France with him. The house phone ringing off the hook, and the messages you had to take from his friends: No, Harry isn’t here. He’s off in France, shooting a movie. And worse of all: I don’t know when he’ll be back.
You had thought you were capable of holding it together until you couldn’t anymore. Closing the door to your bedroom shut, tears begin to cascade down your cheeks until your vision is but a pool of water and the blurry whiteness of the bedsheets. Why didn’t he call?
You didn’t understand. And you didn’t know why you were so confused by this. You said some really shitty things to him, even though he had expressed his strong wishes of doing this for his career, and you totally disregarded him! Maybe it wasn’t he who should be the one to call, but you…
Fingers hovering over the CALL button, you hesitate. What if he doesn’t pick up? And then the logical part of your brain (minuscule, at the moment), tells you that of course he wouldn’t. He’s probably sleeping. Then it hits you. He is most likely to be asleep. Quickly, with no time to waste, you google Dunkirk, France time.
And then you see him.
Well, a picture of him.
Your first reaction is one of happiness. You haven’t seen him for weeks, and even though it’s through a screen, you are relived. He’s not dead (why one small part of you thought he was dead, you don’t know. But he has never gone this long without speaking to you.). And then when you get over your initial reaction, your fingers absent-mindedly click on the link displaying the picture of him, and you suck in a gasp.
Because he’s smiling. It’s a picture of him smiling. Out of all the years that you have known him, you have learned to differentiate his smiles: what he gives the paparazzi and what his joy looks like. This smile–this one that the cameras have captured, is the latter. He’s…. “He’s so happy,” you whisper to yourself. “He’s truly happy.”
And with that, you turn off your phone.
“Goddammit, why hasn’t she called yet?”
“Don’t you think you both are behaving quite childishly?”
Harry stands on the set of his new movie, groaning out loud to himself. He looks up suddenly when he hears a voice answer him back. Cillian Murphy stands there, and repeats, “You both are being children.”
Harry furrows his eyebrows, “What are you talking about?”
The other man sighs, “You and Y/N? Just give her a call. This is ridiculous.”
Harry can’t believe the Cillian Murphy is giving him love advice. “How do you know her name?”
“You’ve been muttering it for about an hour, man.” Cillian rolls his eyes. “Just take it from me and call her. Nothing is worse than the silent treatment.”
“Yeah?” Harry’s thumb hovers over your contact. Cillian nods. “Maybe I will.”
Dinner plates had been stacked in the sink and you were sat on top of Harry’s legs on the couch, your bum resting comfortably on his thighs while you faced him. The TV played softly in the background, but neither of you paid attention to what was on that evening.
You’d been staring at Harry for quite some time, a wide grin on his face, as neither of you wanted to be the first one to give in to laughter. But the thing about this was, during these kinds of competitions, neither one of you went down without a fight. The smile never wavered from his face, as he bit down on his lip to keep from giggling.
You poked his side, a loud cackle escaping Harry as he looked upwards and flinched from your touch. But you were less concerned about winning your little competition, and more focused on the peculiar sound he’d just made.
“What was that?” You laughed, watching his cheeks turn pink as he giggled and looked away from you. It suddenly hit you, that you’d found the spot. During all your time together, Harry had been good at concealing the spots where he was ticklish, because he knew you’d only use them to your advantage. Just like you were about to now.
You smiled before your hands shot forwards, latching onto the skin just below his ribcage as he thrashed his legs around and you struggled to stay balanced on top of him. His mouth was open as he laughed loudly, his eyes scrunched shut as you practically tortured him. He wriggled around, trying to escape your grasp, but it was no luck as he ended up laying with his back against the seats of the couch with you still pinning him down. He could definitely throw you off him, if he could just stop laughing so hard.
“Stop! It tickles!”
Tears seeped out the corner of his eyes, as his laughter left him gasping for air and trying desperately to push your hands off him.
“No way!” You giggled, continuing to move your fingers rhythmically against his sides and keep him laughing.
Finally, he mustered the strength to shove your hands aside and sit up, gently pushing you down so he was the one hovering on top of you now. He wasted no time in reaching his hands for the spots he knew would make you laugh, and soon you were in the same position he was just a few seconds ago.
“Harry! No!” You kicked your legs, your feet making contact with his torso, but his strength overpowered yours and you remained trapped in the same spot.
“Two can play at this game.” He chuckled, an evil grin on his face as he denied you relief.
He continued until you were out of breath from laughing so hard, your hands grabbing tightly to his arms and trying to push him off you, to no avail until he decided he’d let you off the hook. He finally stopped, sitting up straight and letting you regain the air in your lungs.
“I hate you.” You joked, sitting back up and lightly hitting his bicep.
He feigned offense, his mouth falling open as he clamped his hand to his heart.
“You started it.” He fought back.
You raised your eyebrows, looking at him with a seemingly serious expression, and he was the first one to break out into laughter again.
“Now before you mess with me, remember I know where you’re ticklish.”
SURPRISE! It’s short, I know, but I was in a mood to write and thought I should give you guys a filler of what’s about to come next. If you enjoyed reading it or if whether or not you guys want me to continue this, I would absolutely LOVE to here your thoughts on this one. Let me know HERE. Checkout my Masterlist HERE.
You cussed to yourself once Harry gave the valet his car keys.
It was a fancy restaurant, one that you didn’t know and also one that you didn’t know Harry was going to take you to, a humored smile on his face once he saw your expression.
And here you are, standing in front of the millions-worth restaurant wearing sneakers and a printed t-shirt.
He held your hand, mentioning his last name to the receptionist before leading the both of you inside, people from left and right’s attention immediately targeting to the both of you since Harry’s there beside you, some meticulously scanning your outfit which made you cuss yourself more.
The receptionist led the both of you to a table, people’s eyes still laid on you and your boyfriend.
Harry sensed the stares and on how uncomfortable you are since he knew that this wasn’t your best forté, but he still continued since he wanted to surprise you.
You looked at Harry with an expression you couldn’t understand either, seeing him taking off his suit jacket, leaving him in a long sleeved polo that he put on the chair, standing up abruptly which caused people to gawk even more.
He cupped his hands on his mouth, being as noticeable as possible as he yelled.
“It’s rude to stare!”
People coughed, going back to their businesses and dying a little bit inside on how Harry behaved, proud of himself that he made the both of you even in terms of not fitting in suppised dress codes and etiquettes.