ES MUSS SEIN.

thanksgiving had been a turning page of sorts. a poetic change—or, rather, progression—of events that seemed to coincide with the still altering leaves and dropping temperatures. ellie recalled harry saying something once about how autumn felt like an ending—or was it beginning? perhaps both, especially considering one couldn’t exist without the other, though she couldn’t manage to come up with what she was certain was the succinct and descriptive term he’d used at the time. she simply didn’t posses whatever magic allowed him to so beautifully and effortlessly describe something—it wasn’t within her wheelhouse. regardless, whichever way you chose to describe it, things were changing. while not in a drastic or even negative way, it was incontestable. for the first time in perhaps a year or two, elizabeth aldenkamp felt significant growth. forward momentum. for the first time since she could remember, the darkness and heaviness that’d long resided at the core of her couldn’t put up too much of a fight. while almost no one would be able to make out the difference on the surface—the genuine ease of a smile or the newer, more laid-back nature that coated her actions—she could sense it. sure, an unknown amount of work and progress lied ahead if ellie wanted to make this a long-lasting thing, but it was a start.

this newfound sense of well-being had swiftly aided her back into classes, a scant number of days before another, longer break that felt utterly pointless. perhaps, however, that was merely the stubbornness speaking. this year, more than the two prior, ellie found that she didn’t long to return to a bustling campus with an always bursting social calendar. she wanted to stay home; with her family, yes, but more notably with harry. a life together outside of yates’ ivy-covered buildings and highly regarded student societies had managed to become all the more appealing over thanksgiving. soon enough, she’d remind herself mid-class when her thoughts began to drift. six months, a year— two from now, she’d silently recall, drawing a subtle and knowing smile for herself alone to acknowledge.

a similar grin lingered on her lips as she stood to exit her afternoon class, stone white trench coat long discarded and now draped over one forearm in response to the building’s heat. she’d hung back for perhaps thirty or so seconds to tie up a conversation before heading through the door and down the hall in her usual path. only, she didn’t make it very far before nearly jumping out of her skin. “hey,” she began, her initial reaction far from dramatic, but startle evident in her body as she looked over her shoulder. it quickly dissipated, though, as it often did in harry’s company. she could see the upward inflection of her greeting instantly register for him, only a crease between her brows pursuing the obvious question. she nodded at his explanation, easy enough, footsteps naturally beginning to slow in response to his own. he moved to face her directly and, though the sight of him then and there was pure delight, she wished he’d remained close enough for her to smell his cologne and feel his scruff. “harry—” ellie began, tone an indication that she was both surprised and a touch disheartened. “i said no early gifts, i haven’t even gotten yours yet.” truth be told, she’d had a hard time finding something perfect and anything less than was just unacceptable. he deserved more than she’d be able to give him physically, a fact that had proven to be something of a pain while trying to think up gifts. still, with the anticipation of a child waiting in line to see santa, she allowed him to continue leading her to a cleared area. there she stood while he looked through his things, eyes steady on his hands and what soon came between them. they remained on the book, a twitch of a smile breaking through minor awe, as he handed it to her. she looked up at him once it had been carefully taken into her grasp, as though asking ‘really? this is for me?’ then she looked back down and opened it.

as best she could, ellie balanced the open book in one hand, the opposite hand coming to rest over her mouth. her palm then became flat, falling to her chest as she finished scanning harry’s scrawl. when she’d finished reading her gaze lingered for a few seconds longer. then, without so much as a word, she looked up and leaned forward to press a kiss to her love’s lips. “this is beautiful,” she said of both the book and the letter, wishing once more that she could better express her gratitude. luckily, however, there were more pressing matters than her limited in-the-moment vocabulary. meticulously pulling the envelope out, she closed the book, letter still inside. in a moment of shuffling everything around she decided to sit, placing it atop her lap as she worked to open whatever had been enclosed.

five seconds. ten. confusion came over her face, then understanding, then disbelief. “harry,” she spoke again, holding the envelope’s contents up as her eyes met his. “what’s this?” she knew the answer, of course she did, but astonishment forced the question regardless.

                    ‘I know’, he wanted to say, ‘I know what you said’, but, impulse, nevertheless an impulse fed by the fruition of young and fervent love, had scant respect for rules. Meager was law in the face of unyielding tenderness— meager was he, dulled to a sense of obstinate giving, and he would, in all his near-Shakespearean naivety, give, give, give to her. His own sound was useless to his ears, but anyone with eyes that was interested to the point of deducing their interactions could see it on him: the thoughtless capacity to give to Elizabeth Aldenkamp. Whether it be a kiss, a gift, his eyes, his time, or something far less tangible, and oh so rare from a person. A pessimist, no doubt, would surely conclude that a man in his state would chip away his own heart and being, all in giving to her. And, without question, a romantic would also agree that he looked nearly on the verge of chipping away his heart and being, if not only to present her with something. With anything. With, indubitably, his best and perhaps considerably splintered definition of love. The consensus was, in a finite amount of words, and in an attempt to describe the infinity between Harry and Ellie: he looked like a man that would let himself wither for her, a spool unwinding, and if she ever left, there’d be no question that she’d take what was left of him with her. 

                    So, he said nothing to her protest, because diligently, she’d taken the breath from him too in that moment, as he pulled her aside. There they were, the pair, two flowers in bloom in the middle of winter, cozied against the window. He watched her carefully, his laden eyes, honeyed and heavy with anticipation and admiration. Her hand to her mouth, and then to her chest— his gaze fell to the O-shape her lips had settled onto, and he lost the train of thought that was trying to figure out whether she was surprised, happy, or both. In a turn, he watched her near, and in expectancy he closed his eyes, just as she had found his mouth. He could’ve died a very happy man right then. Slow, patient, he held the kiss there for a second longer, letting the warmth of the moment linger. His hand lifted to her forearm, holding onto it, and he found her gaze before she fell back. He then watched her eyes scatter, down to the book, noticing how she was briefly consumed by it, “—You’re beautiful,” He quipped, half-whispered, and frankly thoughtless, and in retaliation to his own brief pitfall into a love struck cliché, he pardoned a light laugh. Harry glanced away momentarily, blithe in his eyes before he found actual words, comprehended, “... So, with that said, I think it’s in the right hands.”

                    He joined her on the bench, sitting next to her and pushing his bag aside as she’d managed to find the real parchment— the real gift. Or, so he would’ve genuinely considered it to be. It was the the one that actually mattered, no doubt, in the long run, and hopefulness danced within the embers of his eyes. The book, a shroud, now unraveling, and welcoming the reaction from her that he reveled. Harry was planning to take her somewhere. Somewhere important to her. Some place, out of all the places, that he would hope to eventually share with her when all was said and done. He was a romantic and a poet, a factual statement, though one he’d never explicitly admit himself. His expectations for the trip he’d planned were nothing short of detailed and fantastical, and for a rare instance in his life he felt the need to impress. Was it so wrong to want to give her the best birthday to date? He couldn’t see the harm in whisking her away and giving her a week of such attentiveness that it put Cinderella’s wholly saccharine night all to shame. Attentive. He watched her scan it for some time, observing her creased brows as his slowly began to replicate. It was the look she got when she was confused, or focused. He’d seen it before, drawn out of her while she was sitting on her bed, doing a reading for class, or on a very curious occasion, while she was looking down at her phone, and, on an even rarer instance: directed at him. He was lucky with her. He was so, so lucky, that more than nine times out of ten, she just understood.

                    “Your plane ticket,” He answered simply, a soft smile to match on his expression, and he wondered if she were observant enough in her stun to see just exactly when it had been printed. It wasn’t yesterday, or a week, or even two— this piece of paper, meeting her hands and finding her touch once and for all had been in a patient, lonely, manila folder queue for a month. Harry had been planning this for some time, and if you were to back peddle to the moment when the seed had been planted, it had been on his own birthday. Just mere minutes before the clock ticked and tocked into the next early morning of a mid-September day. Just as she had traced the freckles across his nose with her finger. Just as she had told him goodnight. His knee brushed against hers as he turned a marginal degree to face her, “I thought we’d, you know... Get out of dodge for your twenty-first...—And, I already let your family know that I’d be attempting to steal you away this year at Thanksgiving. I’m not sure if they’re necessarily thrilled about it, but, I do think they’re happy for you, so, hopefully, I’ve long since been forgiven.” His smiled crept upwards with his sweet, boyish words, dipped in mirth. There was excitement in this moment for him as well, and in concealment his top row of teeth sunk into his bottom lip. He shifted, more of an adjustment, and then shrugged, letting his head cock to the side as his eyes went from the paper to her, “What do you think? About spending that week in New York with me?” 

                    An oddity it was for Harrison Hadlee to be in the drama building— odd enough indeed, to where, as he walked through it now, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever really stepped foot in there at all. The Department of Theatre was, sure enough, filled with scintillating people, and more relevant to his eye: a scintillating building. The building was some of the best the school had to offer. It was a shame it had taken him almost four years to officially venture within— disregarding the time he’d beelined through the main entrance and had managed to sneak in to watch one of Ellie’s practices. The architecture was bold. New. At least for a lone university in northern Vermont, and it made the meek English corridors that he was used to seem deafened in comparison. The curvature of the second floor was one he followed, past artworks and colors, and as he located the very room Ellie would be in, like clockwork, he’d arrived at what seemed to be a timely classroom dismissal for a dead week. He'd begun to be a little more antsy to see her, nowadays, with the impending arrival of winter break. It was a bleak prospect. He knew they'd be apart for some time like they hadn't been before. He knew there was much to talk about, all good, naturally, but much to talk, and in a way he already missed her and dreaded the time that he’d be without her presence. His cold, dark childhood room felt a little bleaker when the idea of having her in another loomed. He hung back and off to the side for a minute, watching a pair of blondes exit, and then a male, and after a few more people shuffled out, he recognized her with the ease of a sigh. Long legs, long brown hair, the same darling winter outfit and coat she’d been wearing this morning when he’d last seen her. Harry swooped in, nonchalant as someone of his stature could be and approached her from behind, knowing very well that he was an unexpected guest. 

                    He removed a hand from his pocket first, lifting it to wrap it around her shoulder, and then leaned in, placing a kiss against her cheek, “Hi,” He greeted with a lazy grin, moving his mouth to her ear, pulling her a little closer. Her smell, her tresses against his unshaven face, her smile, as he began to watch the recognition find her. He immediately dug for an answer to a question that he knew was surely coming, slowly dropping his arm from her, “My section for Topics in Lit opted to take the final early, so I have this time of day free now— an explanation for this very, very unusual rendezvous,” He glanced around the hall, slowing his steps and turning to her, halting them completely now as he faced her, “I know you have something just after this, but, I wanted to give you something,” Harry admitted, a corner of his mouth curving as he explained, only then reaching out to allow his hand to find her elbow. Excited, he always was to give her something. He pulled gently on her, guiding, palm sliding to the small of her back as he walked them to a nearby bench in front of a large window, a perfect spot for him to set down his leather satchel, and that was exactly what he did. Adroit hands fiddled for a moment, opening the bag, and retrieving what was within, “It came today, in the mail,” He explained to her, standing then, hands holding either side of a 1953 Secker & Warburg hardcover copy of Letters to Milena. It was minimalist in design, and that was why he liked it so much. White with blue and red titling, and in fine condition for something that had forty years on either of them. It was vintage; it was classic in appearance, so much like her.

                    He moved a little closer, looking at her face, scanning, perhaps wanting to merely remember the moment. Within the book there was something. Visible, at the top, was the sliver of an envelope, and as he handed it to her he knew very well that there was a smaller card within, in his own cursive print— a small letter of his own: an ode to Ellie, and to all that she made him feel:

                                        E,

                                        I love you, from the moon, to here,                                          and all the way back, again, and again, and again.                                          The stars are ours, if you want them—                                          just reach out, and say the word. 

                                        Yours, immeasurably, 

she adjusted some as he pulled her closer, weight shifting to allow her any more closeness than had already been achieved. harry smiled, slight but unquestionably present, and she did her best to return the expression. however, only one corner of her lips managed to rise, just a touch. ellie had scarcely reflected on the events surrounding that trip—before, during, after—only focusing on it to the point where she could see things for what they were, what she hoped and believed they were, and move forward. it’d managed to come to mind every so often, mostly at night in her room at calloway when she couldn’t sleep, but in the event that it crept in she’d pushed it right back out. moving on, moving forward, forgiving others, forgiving herself. looking back, she should’ve expected that one day she’d not only have tofully explain to harry, but to herself. looking back at him with an apparent inability to entirely return a whole smile, it occurred to her that she wanted to. she wanted to open it back up, all of it, and walk through it so that she could truly get to the other side this time. it was subtle, a readiness quietly made known in the back of her mind, but it was there all the same. she was ready. today, tonight, now had shown her that.

a hint of exhaustion—undoubtedly brought on by the long day and emotional subject—began to tug at her eyelids, ellie nodding in response to what harry had asked of her. she took it seriously, the depth of his implications growing as the seconds passed. in a little over six months he’d be graduating. a year from then, so would she. she couldn’t even picture where they both would be in a matter of two, though she knew without so much as a second of doubt or questioning that she saw them together, as did he. the thought broke through and got her to smile, another small but very real thing. it even remained at the mention of her hospitalization, ellie briefly leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “me, too,” she whispered, pulling back only until she could once again find his eyes. there they held a quiet and mutual gaze, the air dense with words and questions that would at some point become spoken. but there was a peacefulness, too. a steadiness in her composure that she could only hope assured him that, when those things did come, she’d be willing to hear and answer them.

his hand gently met her face, which she leaned into like a brand bending to the wind. it was his turn to speak at length and, if she were being honest, ellie was relieved at the subtle sway in conversation. she’d all but forgotten the things she’d been practically dying to ask not so many minutes ago, all she really needed to know now meeting her ears. a few simple statements and she was more than satisfied, only really having wanted to know that he liked them. that he liked being around them. and he did. if she’d been any less tired or distracted by the smooth motion of his hand at her neck, she would’ve pressed for more details, but such circumstances got in the way—not that she minded. he prefaced his thought with a ‘you know’ that made ellie raise her brows in a silent and slightly playful, ‘what?’ then he went on to tell her, as if he’d heard her aloud and could’ve perfectly described the nature of it, and her expression dropped. her mouth parted slightly, a blend of awe and outright vulnerability, as though she almost couldn’t believe what he’d said. the next few seconds played out almost as though harry very cleverly took advantage of the wonderment, capturing her already parted lips with his. hardly a moment too soon, ellie brought her free hand to his shoulder, light grasp tightening drastically once he’d lifted her off the ground. her laughter mingled with his own, only half-attempting to keep the noise somewhat hushed as he clumsily moved them wholly onto the bed. but she couldn’t help it; she laughed louder at his stumble, hands coming to cover her face as the joy inside of her began to build itself back up. a relaxed, “well,” managed to leave her before their lips met again. then, once they’d parted, “i was in your grasp before you carelessly dropped me.” a hand moved to further ruffle his hair, but rather than dropping immediately thereafter, it remained—slowly and fondly raking through it. her eyes followed the movement and she only spoke up again after at least ten seconds. “i think i’m going to look for a therapist,” she announced quietly, unable to fully part with her prior thoughts. a deep well of sadness and melancholy, despite all of the pretty pennies thrown in. “when we get back to school. i think it’ll be good for me.” she then looked back at him, now reflecting that smile small he’d offered her—or at least some version of it. content, sure. safe.

                    Just as he had ensnared her with his fond words, leaving her speechless, she had done so to him, now atop the sheets, as her hand pushed back through his hair. His dark eyes emphasized the lethargy brewing behind him, lids tempted to close. He could fall asleep like this. Well, preferably, on his side or his stomach and out of his button up, but exactly like this, with her hands gently pushing his hair back. He allowed his eyes to shut merely for a moment, a smirk pulling at his mouth, “— On a bed of near clouds,” He corrected quickly, pushing against the (capered) angle she had driven against him, and he tempted the idea of warning her against starting an argument with a future lawyer, but, instead he wilted, eyes opening to take her in, “You shouldn’t speak of yourself as though you’re an item, or some package, you’re much more than that, you know,” His words oozed, laden with his undeniably smitten state, one that her family no doubt witnessed just hours prior, “... Not that you’re not the whole package,” He added with a widened smile, moving against her, up closer towards the pillows, as he leaned onto an elbow for support, and allowed his head to rest in his own palm. His other arm still draped across her stomach, and his hand remained on her side. His thumb now brushed against her, slowly, back and forth, moving against the curve of her waist and over the fabric of her dress, a motion meant to sooth, a touch given with just as much purity as it did intent— an unspoken truth: ‘I am here. I feel you.’

                    A silence settled between them, comfortable, as he spent the subtle and quiet moments studying her face. ‘Adoration’. What a poor, poor word. It was worthless when it came to the nature of describing how he looked at her; it wasn’t nearly enough to depict the weight that seemed to find him. Nearly, now, he slipped into a light dream as she continued to move her fingers against his scalp. Her lips, her nose, her eyes— the situation pressed on him then, that they were at her family’s house, that he was with her— had been with her, since the day before his birthday, though their roots stretched for much, much further than either of them had perhaps admitted. A silly thought occurred to him that instead of slipping into a dream, this feeling was the one of waking up. Alive, alive, alive. He smiled softly, and then looked at her again, and recognized a microscopic change in the cant of her brow. She was thinking. Thinking, perhaps as deeply as himself, and just as he was about to ask her what it was, she spoke. ‘I think I’m going to look for a therapist’. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t entirely off-putting, although, still, it rattled him in a way that spun him like a top and made him unsure if he’d either stepped into that dream or that reality. His expression knotted, testy eyes narrowing, as they looked her over for any indication that she was joking. She wasn’t. 

                    He himself had never spoken to anyone professionally. He’d never really known anyone who had, or at the very least, they had not told him of it. Frankly, the thought bugged him. What was a therapist other than a person sworn to secrecy only through that of money? He felt their interest and care in people— real interest and care, only ran as deep as dirty, green paper was thick. In a way, he didn’t like this revelation. He wanted Ellie’s thoughts and feelings, perhaps those most of all, to be cared for. He wanted them to mean something to anyone that happened to come across her. Anyway, how could another person know what the other was feeling? They couldn’t. This was something Harry had tried, time and time again, patient as he could be to try to figure out exactly how another was feeling. At the same time, it wasn’t as though he could give Ellie a better option. Only someone daft and arrogant would suggest the other simply talk to them, not to mention, Harry feared the worst: that he’d only make it worse. He realized then that the idea embarrassed him mostly, to go to a shrink, although he scorned himself for even associating the emotion with the woman before him. He wasn’t embarrassed for her, no, if anything, he now felt a small feeling of dread. Impending concern, perhaps, was a better descriptor. He loved her, and he felt helplessly sad that she was admitting that she thought she needed help for what she’d been through. She had been through a lot, though, hadn’t she? Hadn’t they all? Hadn’t anyone who’d ever lived been through something traumatic? It was normal, yes. It was normal to want to feel better, yes. It was normal for him to want to relieve her from it all; to take it, yes. His eyes had solidified by this point, earth and soil, and settled just under was something serious and stern, the sleep drained from their dark hazel hue. 

                    “You think so?” He asked, earnestly, and maybe even curiously, and though he wanted to ask, ‘how so?’, it seemed misplaced and offensive, in a way. All-in-all, he wasn’t even really sure of what to say, so he looked at her, and looked, and found footing in what felt broad, but substantiative, “... If I can help in any way, let me know,” Harry told her, softly and briefly smiling then as he anticipated his next words that he felt now, more than ever, inclined to speak, “— I love you. I do want what will be best for you.” He assured, then lowering his hand from his head, and moved to lay next to her, on his side. Sleep would follow soon, no doubt.

a comfortable silence had enveloped the two as they ventured up the staircase, ellie turning over her shoulder to send her eldest brother and his wife a final goodnight wave before they’d disappeared from view. it wasn’t until they, she and harry, had entered the guest room they were to stay in—through the door she’d nodded at upon reaching the second floor—that she even let out an audible breath. a sigh, but one of content; of satisfaction. without pause she meandered in a couple feet, eyes following harry. though they watched him in near silence, they were slightly wide in a way that implied numerous questions. burst at the seems with them, practically. had he had a nice time? was everyone how he’d imagined—and if not, what were the discrepancies? could he just picture her, a younger her, running across the living room and into the kitchen, just as she had whenever she’d drifted a moment? the thoughts occupied her mind as she came to lean against the nearest bedpost, one foot coming to rest at the side of her opposite knee. her flamingo stance, her aunt and uncle took pleasure in calling it. and harry took off his watch, and he unzipped his suitcase, and she was just waiting for the right moment. the right amount of seconds before she would shamelessly and enthusiastically bombard him with her questions.

the first had been on the tip of her tongue, gaze past her lashes and down on him at the end of the bed. the tip of her tongue, where it subsequently died. ellie blinked, slow and curious. a touch nervous, admittedly, though that seemed to soften once he’d reached for her hand. she took it with less thought than it took to breathe, coming to sit atop his lap with crossed legs. there all was good, until—well, until it wasn’t. he’d broached the subject of ibiza, of the cliff, in a way that carried much more weight than she had when brushing past it. it wasn’t that she was ashamed or even embarrassed of what’d taken place there—she’d come to terms and an understanding with herself at that point. it was just sad. to think about, to open up and reexamine, though she knew both to be necessary.

“no, it’s okay.” she paused. then another sigh, much like a huff in its quiet shortness, left her mouth. while the hand that’d come to rest on harry’s shoulder remained, the other rose to tuck her hair behind her ear. stalling, just a bit, as she looked down and measured out what to say. “um… i was really upset, but i wasn’t at all about to face it. i’d sort of long gotten into the habit, way before i met you, of distracting myself from pain. i mean,” she shrugged, free hand motioning before resting in her lap. “you know that.” no more than that needed to be said to know the few incidence she could be referencing. a slow nod lifted her chin before it dropped, a bit heavy. “not twenty-four hours in spain and i had bailed felix out of jail. minor drug charge. only… a day or two after i’d been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning. and he’d, i don’t know, passed out with leo in his room… and didn’t reach out to see if i was okay.” ellie bit her cheek, gaze still averted. “you know, complicated relationship with him at that point aside, he’d been my best friend for years. the only person i’d trusted with my deepest secret. and he didn’t call, while i jumped to help him.”

her head began to shake, body straightening up a bit before she looked back at harry. “i’m not—i’m long past being upset about it. i understood, i forgave him forever ago. but… it still hurt.” unable to maintain eye contact for long, her line of sight once again lowered. “i was just looking for… anything else to think about. any rush, the whole trip. and after.” seconds of silence stretched out in front of her, lips curling inward. then, in a swift and small movement, she looked back at him. chin still down, eyes peering through her lashes. “i was a wreck, emotionally. on the inside. it was like the cap had come off and everything… else came with it. and i didn’t want to think about any of it. about anything.”

                    ‘You know that’. He nodded knowingly, head tilting, his softened eyes briefly draped by tired lids with a lazy half-blink. And then the words fell from her mouth in a manner much like dominos, one after the other, ultimately ending in him being, figuratively, of course, struck to his knees. Not in weakness, but in disbelief, and, like a puzzled Moses before the Red Sea, an answer had been paved before him with such stupor that he had no choice but to believe it. His lips were parted, agape, his eyes having drifted, as had his shoulders, back from her— away, moved by a tide of submerged, bubbling thought. His hands too had loosened against her, hardly any presence now on her waist and on her thigh, and it was only when his dark brows furrowed was there any indication of tangible emotion on his features. He was, in a nonnegotiable terminology of words, pissed. Livid. Irate. Angry, and the silent fire that occasionally rose within the forest of his eyes nearly ignited. He wished then that he’d clobbered Felix Lesser when he had the chance. Everything Ellie had told him about their very peculiar and, frankly, noxious friendship had just made him despise the very existence of their amity. It was an equation he could not ever seem to make sense of; it was the air that Ellie lived in that he deemed Felix unworthy of even breathing. 

                    He had regrets, but one he did not have was confronting Felix. Another he carried no guilt for was essentially telling him a baked potato was a more intelligent life form than the likes of him. A regret he did carry: not saying more. But he knew, in an instant, looking back up at Ellie with the ultimate heartbreak that amounted of any and all brewing storms that rose behind the horizon of his eyes, that she would never want to hear any of it spoken aloud. Through it all, she had not said one bad thing of her ‘friend’, not that he could recall. She was loyal. She was good. And as he locked onto her gaze— that brilliant green gaze, it was as though he felt his toes touch back down to the Earth. Then his heels. And after a moment more he felt the ease of walking once again. His hand moved against her waist, his other finding her own resting in her lap. He brought her palm to his chest, against his heart, and he broke their eye contact to look down and inspect it. How lithe her wrist; how beautiful her hands, and, as he placed his palm over top the back of her’s, he returned to her, sighing through his nose. To speak. Finally, he seemed to find a few words, and it all boiled with a sense of guilt, “... I’m sorry.” He began, “You deserved more than that. You deserve... Everything. Every ounce of respect, of consideration, of support that a person can give— and, it’s not my place to say whether or not he did that for you, but,” But no. He did not, and Harry knew this even if Ellie refused to acknowledge it, but he would not insert himself into where he had no permission to roam. For a moment, he shook his head, freeing the thought, focusing on her, “... I do feel like it is my place to tell you that you that you deserve that, you do.”

                    His hold on her grew more snug, and he pulled her closer, if at all possible, a small smile growing on his lips, one seemingly begging for a little of her sheer sunshine, “If I, Ellie, ever give you any less, tell me. I’m serious, six months, a year— two from now, I want you to tell me.” His gaze dropped to her lips briefly, and he knew the weight of what he’d said. He knew it, and he knew that she knew it. Could she feel it? He watched. A year from now, two years, he envisioned himself with her. Fingers brushed away from her hand and down to her wrist, “I had no idea, about the hospital, by the way. I’m glad that you’re okay, and that you’re still here.” He told her, and though his words were vague, it was only because he wasn’t quite sure what to say on it just yet. He would come back to it, no doubt. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted her to feel like she could tell him how and why she’d landed in that predicament. It was hard to believe that she would’ve done something like that, but he acknowledged, as bitter and as sad as the thought was, that he had not known Elizabeth Aldenkamp for forever. She’d changed from last spring, obviously. So had he. Together they had changed, and now together that had begun to grow, roots intertwined. The mere thought of her not being here made him sad in a way that he could not explain. Sad, for the possibility of a world where she had not made it in the confinements of that hospital room— sad, for the theoretical universe where the world did not get to accommodate her presence anymore, and selfishly, where his life was not spent knowing and loving her existence. To imagine what he would’ve amounted to in that tangent world was a rabbit hole of immeasurable grief, but to ruminate over that thought only proved the momentousness of his current reality. Not only did he hold her to importance, but he held his own life to utmost importance. In other words, he was not just in love with her, but he was in love with his life. Would he have ever even had the itch to admit this before? No. No, he would not have. Nevertheless, at the whim of his own mind, he would grieve the Elizabeth Aldenkamp that did not survive at a later time. Likely, during a sleepless night, unnecessarily, and compulsively— but for now, with wine and mirth still fresh on his lips, and as he encompassed an unfamiliar room with a very, very present Elizabeth Aldenkamp, the thought floated away from him like a balloon.

                    He smiled at her, just looking at her, and lifting his hand, he brought it to her cheek, “I really enjoyed tonight. I liked them. I liked you with them,” Harry tucked her hair behind her ear with a gentle, adroit motion, “I liked me with you with them,” He let out a small laugh then, amused by his own words but ultimately taken by hers, his gradual, warm touch moving to her lobe with the brush of his thumb, and then down to her slender neck, “You know,” His smile widened greatly then, “I didn’t think I was capable of loving you or your life any more than I already do, but, here I am.” A confession. It left his lips honeyed and aware of how cloying it was, but it was love. It was feverish, young, unprecedented love. His fingers tightened around her neck and he brought her down to his mouth, his own parting to kiss her. It was passionate, but chaste, as he shifted and pulled away from her, hooking his arm around her knees with ease as she had fortunately crossed them upon sitting on his lap. In a moment he stood, holding her— bridal style, and in a moment he shifted his holding on her for a more comfortable position. He laughed, lightly, turning around and carrying her to the adequate side of the bed so he could set her right-side up. He lifted a knee to the duvet and set her down— well, dropped her down onto the center of the bed, in a minor, top-heavy blunder that could be blamed on both the Pinot Grigio and the exhaustion of a busy day. He’d subsequently landed half on her, his chest against her own, his face buried in the clean sheets adjacent to her shoulder, “Oh, fuck,” He groaned, face still against the bed, only then quickly lifting his head, one now made entirely of tousled hair and a large, boyish grin. Harry moved back and leaned in, closer, his eyes half-closed, “... Anyway,” He mused, nearing as much as he could, feeling her lips against his and brushing his nose against her own in a way surely envied by the eskimos themselves, “... Where were we?” He mumbled against her through a smirk and leaned in to kiss her again. 

                    The time of the evening had come when the wine ceased to flow, and the laughter had been sequestered— replaced by comfortable silences around the thinning room. It was, in what appeared to be a silent consensus, time for bed. It had been an immeasurable evening for Harry, and the sole, lingering thought he was left with could only be: was I enough? As dinner has proceeded, the more comfortable he’d felt to speak, not only to observe, and soon speaking turned into modest anecdotes and receptiveness to jape. They were asked about each other— him and Ellie, and through two pairs of eyes turning to meet, filled of mirth and admiration, comfortable answers were given. It was only when she mentioned of the incident in Ibiza, the university trip, the one where they’d only just really met, did something start to churn within him. It had been a period of their history that he had not lingered on. Not intentionally. Well, perhaps a little intentionally, considering it was the time he’d found himself in a jam that would pin him as quite possibly the worst man in recent attendance at that school. Mostly, he just hadn’t given it much thought, and he realized then, at that moment, that most of his thoughts went towards their future. He envisioned a future for them.

                    For the first time, he ventured up the ornate front room stairs, carrying their bags and following Ellie to their equally as grandiloquent room. The Aldenkamps had a style— their decor played quite fantastically on their northeastern local and it was done well. Worthy of a magazine. His eyes immediately scanned the room upon entering, the walls, the armoire, the large, single wooden bed. He hadn’t been entirely sure what their sleeping arrangements were to be, and he wasn’t one to be so bold as to ask. Two nights without being beside each other wouldn’t have been an issue, but he was glad that it appeared he’d be able to spend it as he typically did: with her near, in his arms. His eyes fell to an apt spot to set his own belongings down, “... Wow,” He commented briefly, looking over at her with a smile, already removing his watch. He wanted to ask her something before they took to the covers, Harry laying his suitcase down and unzipping it, before he moved swiftly to the end of the bed and sat. He began to remove his shoes, “Can I ask you about something that was said at the table?” A shoe was slipped off and set on the floor, and he sensed a bit of alarm, naturally, he figured, with his ambiguous question. So, he sat up to look at her while he removed the other dress shoe, addressing it.

                    “I mean, it’s not bad,” He gave her a small smile, leaning forward to take her hand. His lips curved upwards a little more— more playful, more boyish, and he pulled her into his lap just as his top row of teeth sunk into his bottom lip, “It’s just when you started talking about Spain. The cliff. It reminded me that we never really talked about that.” Harry explained, his chin lifted, his curious gaze on her own, “I know, it was long, long ago, and whatever you were obviously going through then isn’t exactly anything that you’re going through now, but,” ‘But’. His brow lifted, and his arm conformed comfortably around her hips, “What... Was going on with you? I never asked, but I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

watching him, ellie’s eyes fell to his mouth, corners now upturned in a way that brought her sudden relief. or, perhaps relief wasn’t the word, because there truthfully hadn’t been a moment in which she questioned, outwardly or silently in her own head, whether or not her family would love harry. whether or not they’d eagerly welcome him and not once live to regret that choice. so maybe it wasn’t relief, but reassurance of what she already knew. regardless of specification, the jitters that’d made themselves known on the last leg of the drive refused to settle. the young woman’s excitement only grew, made evident by the still large smile that occupied her lips. it contained, also, an undeniable bit of amusement, what with her cousin’s choice of words. finally. ‘great to finally meet you.’ one word that could so easily give harry a clue into how far back she’d brought him up to the family member she was arguably the closest with, not only in age, but in general. not that she minded. not when she’d made an elaborate confession of her love, in detail, not all that long ago. not when he’d discovered her first name followed by his last in her penmanship, in her notebook, not long after that. there were no secrets and, frankly, no embarrassment regarding her affections towards him. none. how equally freeing and solid at the same time.

“well, we have no choice, when it comes to this one—” bellamy teased, briefly looking over his shoulder to point a thumb in her direction. “no, you don’t,” ellie was quick to joke back, following him up the porch steps. what followed the open door appeared before her as she always remembered it: a wide, open living space, bright from what sun was still in the sky shining through tall windows. the kitchen to the left of the almost entirely open floor plan. the people, her family. the most immediate living members, anyway. her aunt caught sight of them first, hands full with a porcelain dish of something or another, and it was her gaze that notified her uncle of their arrival before she could even say anything. “there they are!” he called, looking back at his wife and motioning towards her in an offer to take the dish off her hands. a kind offer to allow her to welcome them first, only to be entire ruined by the barrage of young men that quickly followed suit. liam and blake came first, nearly knocking into one another as they appeared from the hallway and crossed the space. their voices, a chorus of hello’s, how are you doing’s, and nice to meet you’s filled the air, handshakes, shoulder claps, and large hugs coming once they were close enough. aunt gemma and uncle theo weren’t close behind, making their way through the small crowd next. then, from the back, came a voice. one much like the other cousin’s, if only older and a bit more distinguished. “my daughter’s never going to fall asleep in this house, is she?” he asked no one specifically, gaining a playful shoulder nudge from his wife, a woman appearing of the same age, with shoulder-length flaxen hair. at that they, too, made their introductions—their welcome’s and it’s been too long’s—before, finally, ellie and harry were motioned further into the house. “sorry if we’re a little late,” ellie commented as she came to lean against the kitchen island. there she set the dessert box down, giving it a small nod. “harry thought it’d be nice not to show up empty-handed and, well, i forgot to pick something up until we were on the way.” liam, who’d begun helping bring things to the table, passed by and commented, “so it isn’t home made? guess we’ll have to look past that.” despite the very small fear that harry would take any of their jokes seriously or personally, she shook her head and laughed. she then turned to find him, harry, free hands now able to reach for his own. they held his there for a couple seconds, just long enough to lean up onto the balls of her feet and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “want to grab the potatoes? follow me into the dining room?“

                    It was as if a spotlight had been cast upon them. Ellie, him— two people standing on a stage with a crowd of decadence around and all eyes accounted for. Only one of the pair was made for such a pressure, and it wasn’t him. So, he did what he would’ve done had his amounted malaise been garnered by a real stage and a real audience: he looked to her. His eyes shifted to the brunette as the family seemingly poured in like molasses, slow, unified, waiting their turn to approach the both of them. Harry wore an unfamiliar smile in the unfamiliar home. Different smells, different faces— Pine-Sol, green eyes, fresh food, big smiles, hearty laughter. They all had very nice faces. That was the thought. ‘Nice’. For some reason that was the only word that would surface, and usually a very detailed man with a roulette of synonyms at his disposal, ‘nice’ was all he could muster. They seemed friendly, warm, congenial, all the pictures she had showed him now in motion as the family he’d been waiting to meet moved before him. They were real people, and he suddenly felt aware as hands found his back and arms wrapped around him that this was something he’d never experienced. Overwhelmed. Harrison was overwhelmed with how they’d been received— and dare he even allow the thought to cross his mind: loved.

                    Not directly, perhaps, he was aware, as welcoming as they were being, that they did not know him, but he felt it amongst them all. He felt it now, especially, looking at Ellie, standing there rather uselessly as they all settled after their greetings and she, an angel he was sure of it, rested in a degage state against her own family’s counter. The dessert box. He’d forgotten at this point of their stopping along the way— their multiple stops, so it ended up being, and he scuffled a little closer to her, his eyes laden with mirth. His lips faintly turned up into a smirk, one that he silenced by dragging his own tongue over his lips, and then ran his hand through his fallen hair once more. He nodded down, and then looked up at her aunt, “She’s giving me way too much credit. It was... Well, it was all Ellie’s idea–” His words were shushed by the caper of a passing young man, one that breezed on past them and elicited what looked like mild sibling-like chagrin from the woman beside him. Merely looked at her smile was enough to appease, lifting one to his own. In a way he felt even more drawn to her in his fish-out-of-water state. She was the grapple he had on what was known. But, he was ready for this. He was ready to meet Ellie Aldenkamp’s family. 

what do you remember about that night? the thought—and its ensuing response—lingered in ellie’s mind as she moved to stand and exit the car. she could already hear herself back; the laughter the question had immediately got out of her and the actual response she’d given after taking a few seconds to think. to recall the night that contained so many of their firsts. not only the first time they’d slept together—an event it was safe to say neither of them had seen coming—but their first kiss. their first time expressing their feelings towards each other. real, romantic feelings. thinking back on it still took the effect of a dream, a bit hasty and blurring around the edges. practically unreal. i remember… you paying for my ticket, which made me a little nervous even though it was probably nothing, she’d admitted with a sheepish grin. i remember you putting your arm on the rest next to mine and my heart practically ripping through my chest. i remember… everything feeling different. looking at things a little differently. at my friend, harry, a little differently. at that she’d turned to really look at him, eyes scanning his face from top to bottom, taking in each of his features. somewhere in the back of her mind she could still see the way the neon theater lights had splashed across them, casting shadows and streaks of color onto his skin.

i remember, uh, fucking up a little bit. out of nerves. the admission prompted some laughter, a hand coming to move some hair away from her face. and i remember wanting nothing more in my entire life. a bit of a cliché closer, but a truthful one nonetheless. birthday gifts, certain roles in local plays and musicals, past crushes, they all paled in comparison to how much she’d longed for him in that moment. and longing it truly was, the realization that she’d still wanted him after all they’d been through undeniable, despite successful prior efforts to put the feeling aside. all for him. all for this. yeah, it was all so fast, but i guess you could say i have good taste. when i knew, i knew, ellie had shrugged, contentment finding its way to her every feature.

she wore a similar look now, eyes moving from him to the house’s façade. “yeah, it’s pretty amazing,” she agreed almost wistfully, something in her voice indicating that she was referencing more so to the sentimentality of it all—the memories she’d made in that house, the people that lived there—rather than its literal grandness. “there,” she began, pointing to the front porch steps, “is where we’d all hangout when waiting for friends to come over. like a little welcome party, every single time. so excited. i guess we all really loved the house being full and… alive.” they continued to near, ellie wrapping her free arm around harry’s and leaning into his side just a touch. “and there,” she picked up, pointing at the rocking chairs that sat atop the porch on either side of the door, “are the huge chairs we’d fight for on the evenings we’d sit out here with friends or just each other. they don’t look too big now, but at the time i could easily fall asleep in one.”

not five seconds later her attention was diverted, the front door opening to reveal a young man. at first a sliver, just his arm, then his side, his profile, and finally as he shut the door behind him and turned forward, the whole of him. “bell!” ellie shouted, enthused, as though they were across an expanse far greater than the distance between them. a similarly excited smile captured his own mouth, only a bit more lopsided than her own and entirely boyish. it reached his blue-green eyes as a hand rose to run through his shaggy brown locks, the tall young man—just hardly taller than harry—hurrying towards them. “i have to sneak in my hellos before you’re bombarded by the rest of the family,” he noted playfully, arms rising at his sides. unlooping her arm from harry’s, ellie jogged a couple steps forward to meet him in a big embrace. “stop growing, you jolly green giant!” she teased, pulling back after a couple seconds of childish back-and-forth. in doing so she also took a couple steps to the side, allowing room for harry between them. “bell, this is—” before she could finish, one of bellamy’s hands rose to effectively stop her in her tracks. “i know who this is, how could i not?” that very hand then reached out towards him, the brother offering a wide smile. “great to finally meet you, harry. i’m bellamy.”

                   The way she described it— it sounded whimsical. It sounded out of his reach; certainly, something he’d never had or ever could’ve dreamed of having. Until now. A family, that was. A traditional family to be clearer, nuclear, cookie-cutter, even, and as scorned and cracked as the pretty hallway picture frame commonly exposed itself to be, an illusion was better than the bleakly broken. Underneath what was gilded was still ruins, sure, but at least it sparkled. His family name had never acquired such a shine in his eyes. Not in his lifetime, at least, as he was sure down the line there had to be great men, but he would not consider his father to be one. Not himself, not yet, maybe. He didn’t anticipate the Aldenkamps were like that though. They were one of the good ones— they were one of the true families that intertwined and strengthened with numbers just as they did with loss. It had to be so, for Ellie had been borne by their own hands, and she was good. He met a lot a good people, but so good they feared integrity when it was most needed, which, made them bad, and his girl— the woman he called his own, was safely not one of those people. But he’d known this, and yet he recalled it in these moments, every time: her hair falling over her shoulders, her smile wide, her words soft as they were elegant in describing the findings that her Eden eyes had just consumed.  

                    And he could listen to her, as a child listened to Aesop's Fables, intently learning. He focused on the way her touch felt against his side, and he watched the corner of her mouth, his own curving before he followed where she was pointing. The rocking chairs, the porch, all clean and kempt, freshly stained no doubt. The thought crossed him that not a single inch of original paint or scuff lingered from the childhood she spoke of, and in the same moment he wondered if it really even mattered. His father’s house was seemingly untouched from his boyhood, it felt, for better or for worse. It was an interesting thought, one that was pulled from him by the sudden lifting of her voice and the parting of her hand from his arm. ‘Bell’? A bell? He looked up, spotting a man— Bellamy, naturally, it struck from a short-term memory deposit, one he knew though would be engraved in something permeative by the end of the weekend. Harry briefly inspected the other, a small smile on his expression, watching the chummy interaction between the two with his own hands returning to his pockets. He was trying to remember the pictures she’d showed him; he remembered his face, but his hair was definitely different now in person, perhaps longer. And then the attention turned to him in what felt like less than a moment and there, a small spotlight laid upon him. A brow lifted. Suddenly, he wished he were just one of the plain, ordinary trees surrounding them. No— no he didn’t, that was just the flustered nerves talking; the intimidation of the unprecedented situation that presented itself before him, but in a second he knew it would be okay. In a second the man’s words had suddenly brought a real smile to him, dimpled, and easing.

@harrisonhadlee

preaker, vermont to portsmouth, new hampshire. a three-and-a-half hour drive south-east that ellie had become wholly familiar with, as one is with an old friend, over the past three years away at university. by now she could recall the scenery with great fondness and the joyful anticipation of seeing loved ones for the first time in a while with even more so. this thanksgiving found itself at once to be no different and entirely so, with her sitting on the passenger side and wistfully gazing out of the front and side windows. that’s because, while all of the usual landmarks and scenery hadn’t changed, while all of the same feelings still swelled in her chest in a way she’d grown to expect, this time she wasn’t alone. she had harry—and, as she’d come to find with many unexpected aspects and facets of her life, the long drive had been tremendously improved upon by his presence.

an already long drive made a bit longer, due to some… priorities, that’d made themselves known about two-thirds of the way there. as they neared, harry’s nerves had become apparent—driving twenty over the speed limit, muscles a bit more tense than usual—a reaction to meeting her family that, while entirely endearing, was one she’d badly wanted to quelle. her first thought was to place a reassuring hand on his leg, shifting in her seat so that she could just lean over the center console some. though, as he admittedly spoke of his nerves and excitement at the prospect of having a thanksgiving like this, ellie couldn’t ignore the suddenly apparent fact that it, to her, was so damn attractive. and in that irrefutable feeling, there was a resolution that’d without a doubt work for them both. so what’d started as a soothing hand quite seamlessly lead to her leaning over some more, to the point where her chin could just about rest atop his nearest shoulder. there she’d began to speak again, although the words that left her lips were closer to murmurs. relaxed and praising and, finally, begging. she needed him to pull over—she needed him now. he’d smirked and she knew it was over. he’d pulled over and she knew she’d be getting exactly what she’d asked for.

somewhere around twenty minutes later and they were off once more, harry pulling back onto the freeway with the windows cracked, hair slightly unkempt, and a particular grin that brought her to laughter. is this the part where i say something about old habits? she’d teased, wearing her own jaunty smile. though the laughter soon turned to lighthearted urgency, ellie directing that they’d now be making two more quick stops before finally reaching their destination. the first being just about anywhere that had a restroom they could freshen up in. the second being one particular bakery not thirty minutes from the house, where she’d pick up one dessert or another to blame any potential tardiness on. quite the class act she was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t thought of before needing it as a potential excuse.

which lead them to the present, just having parked in the driveway of her aunt and uncle’s home. her home. its white colonial exterior, the front porch steps that lead up to a grand dark wood front door. the memories and the people and the rowdy dogs that were just past it. unable to contain an anticipatory smile, ellie looked over at harry and once again reached out to take his hand. only, this time, she then brought it to her lips so that she could press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “you ready?” she asked, free hand’s fingertips drumming excitedly against the pie container that sat in her lap.

                    Anxiousness and subtle silence: a perfect concoction, brewing a storm in the interior of his car, only to be picked apart by her sudden care. Of course, she’d notice he was off— of course, he wouldn’t have been able to escape her, not then, not last week, not a month ago. He’d crumbled quite quickly to transparency under her touch, one that was gentle against his leg, and in saying it out loud he felt like he’d been able to breathe for the first time since they’d taken off. ‘I’m just nervous— I want them to like me’, or, something like that, the memory already scattered amongst the events that followed: a small, breathy laugh on his end; a smirk on hers. Her leaning over to place her chin on his shoulder. Her begging. The words that followed; the ones that didn’t, and instead he found action, crossing over the right lane, pattering over the rumble strip and stopping just past a crooked ‘deer crossing’ sign. He parked, he kissed her fervently and moved over, notably more graceful than the last time he’d done so. Urgently, she’d lifted her hips for him, he’d pushed up her dress; she undid his belt, he pulled whatever thin garments that separated them either apart or down, and, still clothed, a shamble of buttons and cashmere, they became one. He hadn’t really even considered what they’d done until after, the reality reaching him only as he laid weakly on her chest, his mouth against her jaw. It was then the only noises he could focus on at that point being that of her breath, and the other cars zipping by as they allayed in each other’s arms, just outside of Exeter.  

                    He briefly accounted it as they sat outside the house, finally, and he knew instantly he was in the presence of a family that was destined for greatness. A legacy. A piece of hair had fallen once more onto his forehead. He pushed it back, with his right hand. It was a motion nearly symmetric to how she had done so in the family lavatories of a grocery twenty miles ago. He’d looked at her then with such ease in his eyes, as she had gently groomed him— coddled him, and then as she fixed herself, and in the mirror they both stood, their reflections, a sight he could not recall seeing before. Perhaps chummy, biased, and certainly romantic, he could not deny how they appeared to be two halves of an eminent, matching whole: long, slender frames, brown hair, built for one another, and as he’d inspected her reflection wholly, he’d begun to smirk. He’d leaned down, his arms wrapping around her waist, chin on her shoulder this time, and he had watched them. Riled, still, by her display in the car he gave thought about what it would be like to have her there against the sink, in front of the mirror.

                    ‘Is this the part where I say something about old habits?’. He’d nearly laughed at her words but responded after a few moments, ‘What do you remember about that night?’. A selected question— one asked on a sudden, but smooth whim. Outside the house now, in the driveway, a swarm of thoughts found him. He wondered if she’d used sex in an attempt to make him feel better; he wondered if she’d done it to try and distract him. Or, if she knew it would be the last for as long as they were going to be in her aunt and uncle’s home— or, if there was no sudden reason at all. Had it helped? Sure, his mind wasn’t on his own anxieties, and more so on her. Torturous, he anticipated these next few days to be, as he had both seemed to silently vow to be on good behavior. Harry looked at her then, after brushing his hair back into its desired place, and wondered what she was thinking, as he did quite often. He smiled, just as she did, and kept his eyes on hers, even as she took his hand and placed her lips to his knuckles. The way she loved him. The way he knew. He smiled at her, boyish and considerate, that very love pooling in his dark eyes, “Yeah. I’m ready,” He responded, softly, even, watching the woman he adored; the woman whose family he was about to meet, and at the threshold of it all; at the cusp of what could be his forever future, he, somehow, felt at ease. It would be fine, he knew this now, and his smiled a little wider, “–I mean, I definitely have an appetite now,” He teased, beginning to undo his seatbelt and exit the car, swiftly moving over to her side— pushing that piece of hair back once more as he promptly aided in opening her door so she could stand.

varying emotions played off of ellie’s face like an old-fashioned projector. click. growing worry and fear as harry lifted the paper to study it some more, this time in front of her. click. confusion in the crease of her brows as he smiled, wide, and then laughed. click. doubt as he then brought his eyes away from the page, looked back at her, and shook his head. a sort of deep dread found a place in her chest while she continued to observe his each and every movement for some sort of reaction. any kind of tell as to what he was thinking. all she could piece together in those fleeting moments, though, was a jumbled image—a mixture of indicators. which, really, she had to admit only made perfect sense, all things considered. it would’ve been comical had she not been so anxious, him walking towards her with what seemed to be utter confidence while she stared back with the wide eyes of a doe staring down the receiving end of a barrel. in truth, she wanted to hide. she wished to possess the ability to instantaneously disappear, right before his eyes, if only to allow herself a minute to privately calm down about the entire thing. however, it hadn’t once crossed her mind to regret having put pen to paper and written down elizabeth annabeth hadlee in the first place. it wasn’t her feelings that she feared, it was his.

but then he made contact. first with his legs straddling one of hers, her thigh brushing up against his once and then once again, then by bringing his palm to her cheek. for the first time in a few minutes ellie took a conscious breath, exhaling as his hand moved back to reach her hair. there was gentle forcefulness to the movement that she welcomed almost as much as she did the following kiss, leaning back just enough to warrant placing a hand behind her for balance. the other felt the same desire to reach forward and touch him—his arm, his shoulder, his side, anywhere—that her hands did every time they were this close. only, with her thoughts so entirely consumed, her reactions had slowed. by the time she thought to act on that need for more, their lips had parted. there was only his eyes, his warm eyes, and then—”yeah. no. uncomfortable, maybe?” the words sputtered from her and she recognized instantly how much of a complete dullard she sounded like. it was only because this, of all things, was the last one she’d expected. it spoke nothing of harry or their relationship and entirely of past experiences in which the person on the receiving end of her growing affection wasn’t exactly receptive. one would’ve thought that by now she would’ve severely squandered her feelings as a form of self-preservation, but despite the hurt and disappointment she’d experienced, it never occurred to her to do so. no, she continued to feel her feelings and feel them deeply, to the point of often acting on them. inhabiting and showcasing them for others and writing them down as if to make them concrete and tangible.

relief seemed to reach out towards her as harry spoke, as an almost childlike smile captured his face. a bit of laughter, short and almost nervous, too escaped her at his own admission—that he would definitely marry her. she knew before he even felt the need to explain that it wasn’t meant to be said with immediacy, that it was more so the thought existing. that, though, was everything. it was mutual, it was understanding, it was acceptance and genuine, honest to god love. everything, and how was someone supposed to express that? she simply didn’t possess the resources. she scarcely knew if they existed at all. but then he moved, setting the note aside, and she briefly hung her head, as it relaxing into the newfound reassurance. however, her chin lifted once he returned, closer than before. he moved again, to her neck, and without much thought her head tilted to the side, elongating it some. “i’m glad you think so,” ellie murmured. the first thing she’d said since he started talking and it was so… lame, but she just couldn’t help it. not when she was so immediately distracted from any sort of suaveness or tact.  she stayed there a moment before shifting towards him enough to bring her lips back to his, leaning forward with an eagerness that brought them both down towards the mattress. in seconds she’d moved so that she was straddling his lap, continuing down and down and down until she was on top of him, not once breaking from him for longer than a moment.

                    He listened to her words— her drawn-out, sedated words, and he smirked against her neck upon hearing such a response, for he knew it was due to his own. His head moved to gently brush his mouth against her neck; he half-expected her to ease, draw away, get up, and continue packing, and he, to lay back and watch her just as he’d been doing. But, as she turned to him, in the brief moment he was able to perceive her, he found glowing ardency: her green eyes, torrid, her lips parted already in anticipation of his. He received her and her force by utter acceptance, a match he’d already forfeited to the moment he’d been able to register her expression. He fell back, laying against her duvet, mouth reconvening with hers, his tongue grazing her teeth, his hands reaching out, now greedy as they pulled her nearer. Primitive, it was becoming, and then rose a thought that dominated him, just as he was able to feed off of it: she was hot when she was like this— when she knew what she wanted, and it turned him on in a way that was nearly unprecedented. Excitement began to rise with the imminence of her friction as she settled on top of him, his hands moving over her ass, enlivened with his own pleasure as his fingers gently spread, tensing, and then releasing to move up to her waist.