“I think I’m… pretty much done,” the blonde remarked distantly, his comment snapping you out of your thoughts.

“D’you remember sunglasses?”

“Yep.”

“Toothbrush?”

“Mhm.”

“Underwear?”

A brief moment of shuffling was audible before he continued, “Got it!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, listening to Luke struggle to zip his suitcase shut before a loud thump of the piece of luggage hit the ground. After rolling it to the door and setting his duffel bag on top, the blonde clambered over to you with heavy eyes and a sleepy smile, slotting himself between your legs so that his torso lay flush against yours.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Giggling, you raised a hand to run your fingers through his hair while returning the greeting. For a few moments, it was silent, his breathing slowly syncing to yours as he lightly pressed kisses to the portion of the skin on your chest exposed by your (his) top. There was nothing significantly sexual about the act, rather a gentle reminder of his presence to you and a way for him to remember the way you felt beneath his lips before he would be denied of it for quite some time.

Following a significantly sloppy peck against your clavicle, Luke raised his head. Rolling his eyes at the whine of disapproval that involuntarily fled your lips, he quickly pecked your chin before declaring, “I got you something.”

“Luke,” you whined. “We said we weren’t–”

“I know what we said, dummy,” he interrupted you, mocking your exasperated exhale as he untangled himself from your body and fumbled around in the pocket of his sweats. Before you could protest, his fingers were curling yours around a large velvet box and drawing out an identical one from his other pocket.

Your forehead crinkled. “What is it?”

“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?” Luke remarked, his eyes crinkling at you before he opened the package and turned it to face you, your throat immediately tightening at the sight. Strung through a thin golden chain, a gold dog tag, engraved with ‘If whatever happens remember, I did, I do and I will love you,’ lay glimmering in the night light from the window against the black velvet inlay. Your boyfriend softly cleared his throat, “It’s um… yeah, it’s a promise, if–you know, if you want it to be.”

He nibbled on his lip as he watched you stare at the piece of jewelry in his hands, his thoughts running rampant. “I mean, we don’t have to, obviously, I was just like–you know, it seemed nice because we both would have one? And it could be our thing or something? But it’s probably dumb and–”

“No,” you interjected, feverently shaking your head and encircling your hands around his wrists, locking them in place as you waited for him to meet your gaze. “Seriously, Luke,” you began, a smile tugging at the ends of your lips despite your attempt to keep your expression serious as you realized the blonde’s nerves were high. “I love it,” you assured him, absentmindedly rubbing circles into his alabaster skin and watching in delight as his face slowly smoothed into a smile.

“You do?” He asked, all of the hope in his voice causing your heart to feel like it would burst.

You nodded, mirroring his radiant expression before shyly asking, “Wanna put it on me?”

Dopily, Luke bobbed his head and scrambled to pull it out of it’s container, his large hands fumbling with the piece of jewelry. Swiping the hair off of your neck and holding it out of his way, you waited on baited breath as the blonde gently laid the pendant on your chest and struggled to link the thin gold chain together. When he finally succeeded, he let out a triumphant whoop of excitement before you traded places and did the same for him.

It was when you stood alone in the airport check-in, after sharing kisses and a bittersweet goodbye, that you really felt the weight of the pendant against your chest; the weight of his promise to you in your heart. It was love and it was passion (and it was red).

II. Memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words to your old favorite song.

It was the third night after beginning the move into an apartment together that you felt like everything was falling into place. The morning had been spent transporting the last of yours and Luke’s things from your previous living quarters into your new one and you were more than happy to, at the very least, have everything in one place; his stuff intermingling with yours. Despite your boyfriend’s teasing, you’d yet to “christen” every room of the house (as if there were that many… it was a modest condo at that) so far considering you two had only been left alone for a total of nine hours (that were spent unpacking the necessities) since everyone who’d helped you move had been in and out of the house continuously. You were grateful for the few friends (some of which included the boys), family members of yours that were available to help, Luke’s parents, and his brother’s as well as Jack’s fiance, Celeste, had generously offered you their time and labor, but you ecstatic to be left alone with Luke. Happily, you’d bobbed to the music Luke had playing through his portable speakers in the living room area while unpacking all the kitchen supplies during which the blonde was in charge of unloading the bedroom and bathroom boxes.

Although Luke had promised a night full of “sweet, sweet loving” (his words, not yours) through a mouthful of microwavable mac and cheese as you two sat on the couch for “dinner,” you both were achy and so, so tired so limiting your first night to missionary sounded like the most appealing idea. It was after your thighs were pleasantly aching and your lust was sated (for the moment, at least) with Luke’s arm curled over your chest that you realized the only thing both of you were wearing was your golden necklaces. Smiling, you remembered all the times you’d seen him wearing it while on tour. Whether it was fully on display or just barely peeked out of whatever shirt he was wearing, you saw his physical embodiment of commitment to you in fan pictures you came across on the internet, paparazzi shots you were continuously tweeted, while skyping, facetiming, snapchatting, or the occasional pictures from one of the boys (your personal favorite being one from Calum; a photo of Luke backstage with his acoustic guitar slung lazily across his lap, his hands gently cradling the necklace with a melancholy expression painted across his face with Calum’s caption, “I think someone misses you :(“); he was always wearing it, just like he’d promised.

“Y’know,” Luke mused, the thin fingers of the guitarist faintly tracing over the swell of your breasts lacking all sexual context, “I think Jack is gonna shit his pants.”

“No way,” you disagreed, turning your head to face the boy, your nose brushing against his cheek, “I bet $10 Celeste is gonna be the one freaking out.”

“Um, excuse you,” he disagreed, gently poking you in the center of your chest. “I’ve known Jack for literally my whole life and Celeste since I was like, a gross thirteen year old, I think I would know.”

“Mm,” you hummed, grinning. “You were a cute thirteen year old.”

Luke groaned, closing his eyes and burying his head into the pillow you two were sharing. “My mom showed you the pictures, didn’t she?”

You giggled, your laugh causing the blood in the blonde’s heart to pump a little bit faster than before. “Maybe, maybe not,” you disclosed, the flush blooming over Luke’s chest causing your amusement to grow even more.

“You’re mean,” he whined, covered his face with both hands and pouting.

“No,” you complained, drawing out the ‘o’ as you straddled his waist and pried them away. “Seriously, babe, you were adorable.”

“Hmph,” was his only reply before he settled his palms onto your hips and slid them leisurely down to the tops of your thighs, gazing up at you in awe for a brief moment before he rose an eyebrow in a playful smirk. “But seriously hun, Jack is gonna be the one to go crazy.”

You shook your head childishly, disagreeing. “Just because you’ve known them for longer doesn’t mean you know them better, you jerk,” you pouted, “I mean, for god sakes, I’m one of Celeste’s bridesmaids.”

And at that reminder, Luke couldn’t help but grin. Even though you’d been together for almost three years and had known his family almost just as long, the fact that you were in his brother’s wedding party still made him giddy to think about. Saying his family adored you was probably the understatement of the decade since his mom and you chatted every Sunday at seven o’clock sharp without fail and his little cousins eagerly awaited your arrival at every family gathering. His father joked that Luke could simply drop you off at those events and no one would even bat an eye since you were just that at home with his kin. He could only hope that someday you’d share their last name, too.

“Hey,” you muttered, pinching his sides, “You getting all starry-eyed and whatever doesn’t make me not wanna bet on this any less.”

Luke gasped, “Is that all I am to you? Just someone to make bets with?”

“No, of course not,” you replied, pursing your lips before adding, “I like your dick, too.”

“Alright, that’s it,” the blonde declared a second before you back suddenly hit the mattress, the whoosh of the action stunning you just long enough to render you defenceless against your boyfriend’s dirty tactics.

“Please,” you wheezed, followed by a shriek of laughter and a giggle of amusement from Luke. “Please,” you panted, your body squirming as he continued to tickle (torture) you for a few more seconds.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he ceased his movements and bracketed your body with his; his nose aligned with yours as he stared down at your rasping face. “You good?” He questioned quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” you uttered, “I need one thing though.”

“What is it?” He asked, already moving to stand up and fetch something for you when you fingers caught the chain of his necklace and prompted him to cover your torso with his again.  

“I need you,” you drew him closer, “to kiss me.”

“You’re so fucking cliche,” He murmured, his lips just barely nudging yours.

“You’re one to talk, Hemmings,“ you countered, before cutting his retort off with a kiss; Luke’s mumble of “I love you” licked into your mouth sparking the beginning of Round 2.

III. Fighting with him is like trying to solve a crossword and realizing there’s no right answer.

It started to fall apart after the novelty of having a boyfriend who traveled the world wore off and real life settled in, but the end comes to slowly that you don’t even it feel it creeping up behind you and slinking up your spine until it’s screaming in your ear; until it felt like it was too late to change anything.

It hits you two months into the 4th world tour you and Luke had been together for; when you were cleaning the sink in your bathroom before a group of friends came over for a movie night and stumbled across a sticky note pasted to the bottle of glass cleaner with the a scrawl of “I love you” accompanied by a smiley face in the blonde’s distinct scribble. You stood there for a moment, paralyzed, before slowly slumping against the wall to the floor, the small token of what once was pinched between your fingers. Leaving notes had been Luke’s thing after moving in with you, whether it was a simple “Good morning” on the bathroom mirror on the rare occasion that he woke before you or a “Went to get some Chinese for dinner, be back by 5:30” stuck to the kitchen counter for you to see when you came home from work. You realized with a sinking feeling settling into your gut that that message had been the first you’d received in months, and that you’d probably missed it from his last tour when he left almost the entire house covered in cute notes.

Suddenly exhausted, you trudged to your room but found yourself stunned with another chillin epiphany; sometime, over the course of Luke being gone, you’d move the majority of your closet into the guest bedroom. You told yourself on the first night alone again that sleeping without Luke in your shared bed simply felt wrong, but as you stared at the muddled sheets sprawled across (what was intended to be for friends - now had the shape of your body indented into) the mattress, you realized you’d slept fine without so much as a text goodnight from your boyfriend…  if that. Casual texts and frequent calls were something of the past, you realized, and the times that you actually spent talking to each other was short and uncomfortable because truly, it felt like there was nothing to say.

Every day after that night you’d flaked on your friends and clung to the necklace laid against your chest because it felt more like a lifeline rather than the anchor it used to be, it was getting harder and harder to keep acting like nothing had changed.

Arguing quickly became a regular occurrence whenever you talked to the guitarist, whether it was about trivial things like the amount of texts he’d sent trying to schedule a time for a skype call before you answered and snide comments about the girls he’d been rumored to be seen with to topics that cut a bit deeper like which family you two were going to spend the holidays when he returned home and your reluctance to commit to coming out to visit him in Europe like you’d originally planned to. Soon enough, the walls of your hallways were bare just as the dresser tops and living room tables eventually came to be, too; the pictures of you and Luke and the life you’d created together that once occupied the empty space resided in the bottom of Luke’s (empty) closet because you couldn’t stand to see how happy you looked at the beginning and face the reality of what was becoming of you at the end.

It was the morning after you spent the night sat slumped against your stained-wet-with-tears pillows - finding it harder than ever to reciprocate the “I love you” Luke whispered through the phone - that you decided enough was enough. Though sniffling and snotting, you started packing your things in folded up boxes that’d remained in the back of the utility closet since you’d emptied them almost two years prior while moving in.

Following the day spent crying into what you realized was Luke’s shirt only after eating whatever you managed to find in your fridge for dinner, you crawled into bed and shakily pressed your phone to your ear after dialing his number. His greeting, a gentle, “Hello?” already had a lump forming in your throat.

Flash forward five minutes and your voice was hoarse from yelling, your proclamation of, “It’s not alright and you know it!” stunning Luke into a cold silence.

Ten minutes after the phone call began and you were crying and screaming, telling the one you thought you’d love for the rest of your days you wish you’d never met him.

Thirteen minutes before the end reached its grand finale and you were alone, once again.

IV. Regretting him was like wishing you never found out that love could be that strong.

Seeing your ex in person for the first time stung more than you anticipated. It was almost seven weeks after you two had gone your separate ways and he was home on break. His face was clean shaven and his hair was a bit longer than he kept it when he was with you; the strands of his sandy blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck. In a way, he looked out of place amidst all of the partygoers even though his attire was fit for the occasion and the drink in his hand said “celebration” because his face lacked the enthusiasm. You were in the middle of trying to decipher whether the girl he was standing next to arrived with him or not - whether his arm casually swung over her shoulder was more than anything but a friendly, drunken gesture - when the person you were attending the damned house part for appeared in front of you, shrieking your name.

“Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed after pulling back from the tight hug her she gave you, her skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat, “You came! I thought you wouldn’t show up!

“Well, I’m here,” you remarked dryly, shrugging but smiling nonetheless, her enthusiasm contagious.

“Well obviously, silly,” she countered with a roll of her eyes, “It’s just that you haven’t been to a party since since you and Lu–”

“Yeah,” you abruptly interrupted, forcing a tight smile that probably ended up looking more like a grimace. “It’s–uh… yeah,” you ended lamely, shoulders slumping.

“Hey,” your friend soothed, her lips forming a pout as she grabbed your hands and pulled you behind her. Without even time to glance over your shoulder at Luke, you were being whisked into a coat closet. After you heard the door click shut and blink rapidly at the sudden source of light over your head when she tugged on the string connected to it, she was crossing her arms and cocked her eyebrows at you. “You’re here because of Luke,” she stated plainly.

Sighing, you leaned against the wall behind you and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess,” you acknowledged, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Look,” she offered, her voice softer and - as much as it made you cringe - pitiful. “I’m saying this because I love you and because I don’t want you to see something that would upset you even more.” Your forehead crinkled in confusion but the question that was forming in your mind died on your tongue when she quietly revealed, “He’s with someone else.”

And even though you had no reason to, because technically you were the one to breakup with him and he was his own goddamned person and could make his own decisions, the facade you’d made sure to keep up at the party was cracking and crumbling; quickly at that. “You mean,” you asked, your voice trembling, “That after only two months of breaking up with the person he’d been together for almost four years, he’s already moved on?”

“Well,” she started, approaching your slowly collapsing figure, “I wouldn’t say he’s moved on, necessarily, it seems like more of a rebound to m–”

Before she could finish her sentence, the door was swooping open, a giggle of some girl being cut short as she clung to the person she was with interrupting your friend.

“Oops, my bad,” the person with their back to you apologized, their voice causing your shoulders to seize up and breathing to come to a halt for the scarcest second before you were responding.

“No, it’s fine,” you spat, recognizing the immediate tension in Luke’s arms clutched around the girl as he realized it was you. Immediately, he was shoving the girl away from him, her complaints falling on deaf ears as his wide eyes regarded you.

A sputter of your name was quickly followed by an inconclusive stammer of, “I– She– It’s–” and an eventual sigh.

“Whatever,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and ignoring the tears that spilled out at the action. As you moved to pass him, his hand reached out to clutch at your arm.

“Please,” he begged, his expression one of regret and guilt; for what you weren’t quite sure of. All you knew was that the glint of a necklace chain you knew all too well was tucked beneath the shirt Luke was wearing. The realization that he had it on while with somebody else was enough to make you flee; the feeling of the burning of your own identical piece of jewelry against your skin prompting you to tear it off your neck as quickly as possible once you slammed your car door shut behind you and drove off into the night, alone again.

V. Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes, I tell myself, “It’s time now, gotta let go.”

Despite your best attempts at trying to cleanse your life of the the guitarist who claimed your heart all those moons ago, little things like stumbling across his face among other family members in a frame at your parents house while joining them for brunch one Saturday morning or an acceleration in your heartbeat because of a flash of blonde hair in the cereal aisle at the grocery store were inevitable. His roots and yours had spread wide and far together, and avoiding coming across little pieces of him in your daily life was simply impossible: he was in the lyrics of a love song you heard on the radio and on the billboards you drove past every morning, the reason you needed to sleep with four pillows instead of two and why you always, out of habit, set out two cups for coffee before realizing you only needed to make one.

His presence lingered in the showers you took alone and bed that was much too big for one and the couch that you’d spent countless nights in sweatpants and crazy colored socks on with his head in your lap, watching reruns of random shows on animal planet, his face burrowing into your thighs and grumbling against the soft skin whenever you stopped threading your fingers through his hair; it was most apparent in the silence of room as you stared blankly at the television and your bathroom mirror that used to see your smile so much whenever he’d join you in brushing his teeth or taking a piss and now rarely witnessed anything but a grim expression.

It was wanting to pick up the phone and call him but that aching in your chest telling you “It’s hopeless” keeping you from dialing, especially since he was done with you now.

And with that in mind, you slowly coaxed yourself into living bearably until, surprisingly, you were starting to feel okay. Good, even, considering you were finally trying to move on.

But now?

VI. But moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head in burning red.

Now, nothing felt right.

It wasn’t the photos hung in a scattered line down the painted white walls of the hallway to the bedroom, no; they were all perfectly aligned. It wasn’t the dirty laundry that still laid in three separate baskets, one for whites, blacks, and colors, no; they were all sorted. It certainly wasn’t the spotless kitchen nor the bed made up completely in the master bedroom.

It was just… each smiling picture of you and your ex still hung in place like you’d woken up in the master bed with him this morning, his smile against the soft skin of your neck the first thing you became conscious of after waking from sleep. All the clothes in the laundry closet were untouched, exactly the way you left them two months ago, acquainted with the thinnest layer of dust. It was the fact that the kitchen almost always had remnants of one catastrophe you and Luke created or another, the stench of burnt eggs and bacon always paired with giggles and kisses shared in between bickerings of whose turn it was to clean up, only to more often than not end up in the bedroom, mumblings of “If I eat you out, then will you do the dishes?” always leading to rucked up bedsheets and astrew pillows, scattered across the bed.

It was also your lips pressed against Luke’s, your mind numb with the constant battle between the angel and devil bouncing opposite of each other on your shoulders, the one with the halo telling you to stop whatever the hell it was you were doing while the one with horns cheered you on. You couldn’t deny that you missed kissing your ex, the silent communication between the two of you with your eyes closed, labored breaths coming out in short gasps before the supple skin of your mouths locked again, and wandering hands that left trails of burning skin in their wake. Navigating your way to the bedroom you once shared with the man whose hair you were gripping just tight enough to make him moan proved to be quite an easy task, considering you’d made the same trip countless times before and the fact that you weren’t as drunk as you wished you could’ve been; so you could blame your actions on something else instead of your own desires.

It was also the flash of gold you spotted in your peripherals when you tilted your head back to allow Luke access to your neck, his lips sponging across your skin; the pendant and chain just barely lit up in a flash of a second by passing headlights through the window blinds. Immediately, you were disconnecting yourself from him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips suddenly too overwhelming as a flood of what was, what could’ve, and what may never be flooded your mind.

“Why is this here?” You asked, clambering across the bed after crawling out of Luke’s arms and coming to a halt right next to his bedside table.

For a moment, it was quiet. You could hear the distant sounds of the city’s nightlife from two stories below and the heating unit that never quite stayed fixed rattling the slightest bit as it kicked on, but everything else was deadly still in the surrounding air. You readied yourself to ask again when the blonde’s quiet statement of, “Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it,” broke the silence.

Sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, you moved to sit criss crossed next to Luke’s pillow and proceeded to delicately trail your fingers over the necklace you, up until only months ago, had never once taken off. It looked beautiful; hanging on the blonde’s bedside lamp, but the reason it resided there was anything but.

“You know,” Luke started before exhaling a wry chuckle, “I thought we were forever. I thought–” he sighed, picking at a loose thread on the end of his tshirt. “I thought that maybe we’d spend a few months alone and, I don’t know, like, find ourselves again or some shit like that, and then,” he sucked in a large sigh, the inhalation trembling no matter how much he willed himself to keep his cool. “And then I fucking got that in the mail, and god, it was like a punch to the gut and a bullet to the heart, you know?”

You only sniffled in response, keeping everything in as you pressed your lips into a firm line and covered your mouth with one of your hands, the sweaty surface almost melding to your face. Frustratedly, the blonde dug his elbows into his knees and hung his head in defeat on the other side of the bed, his fingers harshly pulling at his hair.

“You lied to me,” Luke accused, facing you but not being able to force his eyes to meet yours.

“I did-”

“You left me!” He screeched, disgruntlement clear in the clench of his jaw and the way he was now stalking back and forth in front of the bed.

“Yes, I did-”

“You said you loved me.”

“I do!” You gasped, staring open mouthed at him because yes, you guys had definitely not ended on the best terms, but how dare he accuse you of not loving him. “I would think the fact that I stayed with you when you were gone for literally half of our relationship would prove what–”

“Oh yeah,” he scoffed, “Because coming home to a place that was completely void of any trace of you ever being there was ‘staying’ with me.”

“I loved you,” you avowed, “And just because we broke up doesn’t mean I can turn it off.”

Luke was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Wait, you mean you still love me?”

You sighed, straightening your clothes and smoothing your hair before standing up. “Just leave it, Luke.” With one last glance at the necklace, you brushed past the blonde.

“Uh, uh,” he reprimanded you, his arm curling around your torso to twist you back to him, you chests now pressed against each other. “Do you or do you not still love me?”

Trembling, you pushed him away. “It doesn’t fucking matter Luke, okay?” Your voice was loud and clear but your resolve was breaking; he could tell by the quiver in your lips and the streaks of tears down your cheeks. “Just move on, okay? Go back to that girl at the party and just–”

“You were the one, I can’t just move on!”

And even though his words were exactly what you wanted to hear, you’d already made up your mind. “I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered before walking away to fetch your purse.

“So that’s it?” He inquired, his voice full of venom as he followed you closely behind. “You’re just giving up on me?”

“No, Lu, I’m not giving up on you. I’m letting you go.”

The blonde shook his head, trying to wipe away the tears that leaked from his eyes. “Well, I think that’s fucking bullshit, but,” he shrugged, sniffling before reciting the promise that almost made you stay. “If whatever happens, remember that I did, I do, and I will love you.”

(And if you realized after making it home and sifting through your purse for your phone that somehow, someway, Luke had slipped your necklace into it, well. No one needed to know you slid it on without a hint of hesitation.)