As soon as I entered the university's library, I walk straight to the archives. Looking through previous yearbooks, I stumble upon year 1970 and I grab it. Flipping through the pages, I search for the familiar face and I begin to feel the chills down my spine. It's cold in here and I regret not bringing a jacket.
This proves to be unsuccessful and I try a different one, shivering continuously as I skim through pages.
"You won't find me," I hear Harry say, my body jolting and I carelessly end up jumbling the pages of the yearbook. I turn and he smiles, my hands clutching the yearbook to my chest.
"H-How did you know I was looking for you?" I ask, his fingers moving his sunglasses off his nose and pushing his hair back with them.
"You're looking in the 1970 and 1971 yearbook. What else would you be looking for?" he asks, my eyes locked with his.
"I-I just want to know what you used to look like," I say. "When you weren't pale or your eyes weren't silver. But come to think of it, there probably weren't a lot of color pictures."
He nods and slowly retracts the yearbook from my hand, opening it up.
"That's my sister," he says, pointing to a beautiful girl. Gemma Styles.
"She's gorgeous," I say, his lips curving.
"She might have been three years older than me but I was very protective over her. That's why I'm dead," he says, my eyes flickering up to look into his eyes.
I bite my lip to hold back my questions. Imposing on him this early seems like a risk, but I know he'd assumingly open up considering his promise.
"It was either me or her. So I begged for it to be me," he explains, his eyes closing as I can only gather the memories present themselves in his mind.
My hands grab his and he diverts his attention back to me. "I took the bullet for her," he says, my head nodding. The thought of that ever happening to me would scar my life forever. I take a deep breath and let go of his hands, wrapping my arms around his waist, the cold temperature not a bother for I attempt at comforting him.
Long arms wrap around me and I can hear his breathing become relaxed. It must be soothing for him to have this comfort. A long sigh is released from his lips and I smile, holding him tighter.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to let go," he says, my hands smoothing over his back.
"I know you don't. But we'll have to," I reply, his arms wrapping around me tightly.
I lift my head up and look at him, his silver eyes meeting mine. He surprises me and brushes my hair behind my ear, my lips curving.
"You're like my sun. Warm and bright," he whispers, my hands grabbing hold of his waist.
"And you're my moon. Dark and glowing," I say, causing his smile to grow.
We walk out of the library but he keeps my hand in his, my hand keeping ours close to my body so even if people can't see him, it won't look awkward.
What I've come to notice, however, was most people can walk right through him. He's not a ghost but those people that can see him avoid him, whereas those who can't see him walk right through him.
I'm the only one who can touch him.
I walk to my class and he sits beside me, keeping his eyes on me while I'm taking notes. It doesn't bother me like it should.
"You look beautiful," he whispers, my lips curving as I look over at him.
I mouth a thank you to him and he grins, my heart fluttering at his words. He undeniably has charm but I'm still cautious around him. He's spend two nights at my house and he has a tendency of watching my every move, as if I'll trip on my own two feet and he'll be right there to catch me if I fall.
