ink. (haylor)

xxii. epilogue

[Taylor's POV]

"Hey, look at this one," Harry slid his laptop across the bed and I abandoned the towel I had been trying to dry my hair with.

"It's big, there's a lot of space for running around, and it's close enough to the city."

"Hmm," I hummed, clicking through the images of the double storey house on a huge plot of land. From what I could see, it had a spectacular view of New York.

"It's great - put it on the list for Sunday," I said, pulling a hair-tie through my hair and securing a pony-tail at the back of my head.

"Mom," a mess of blonde hair hurtled through the door and collapsed on my legs that were dangling over the edge of the bed. I caught Harry looking on fondly as I pulled our daughter onto my lap and I remembered how much he loved her.

It had taken him years and year after we'd gotten married to persuade me to have her. He'd wanted kids so badly and now, seeing the joy she brought to our daily lives, I was glad I had finally agreed.

Now, Sydney was four and practically flew everywhere - hence the house-hunting. However big we'd thought our New York apartment to be, she somehow managed to make it look like a shoebox.

"Dad," she threw herself off of me and into Harry's arms, slamming into his chest and knocking the wind out of him. He huffed and struggled to breathe while she erupted in a fit of giggles.

"What's up, Heffalump?" I smiled at her wriggling in Harry's arms as he tried to tickle her.

"Can you do my hair, Mom?" she said as she leaped across our bed onto me. It surprised me how someone could still be so energetic at this time of the evening.

"Okay, but you need to hit the sack afterwards, dude," I said, turning her around to face Harry who was pulling faces at her.

My fingers set to work.

"Dude," she repeated the word, "Duuuuude. Dudely dude, dude."

"Hold still," I commanded as I held the end of the fishtail braid with my hand, while the other grabbed a hair-tie from my bedside table.

"All done," Harry said, snapping a picture of the two of us.

"It's past your bedtime, little lady," Harry laughed and scooped her up into his arms and ran out of the room with her screaming for him to put her down.

I heard shuffling and giggling in the next room over as I pictured Harry trying to get her into bed. If there was one thing I'd picked up on in the past year, it would be that our daughter was as much of a night-owl as I was.

Always resisting going to bed at night and never wanting to get up in the mornings.

"Taylor!" I heard him call.

"Taylor?" she could almost hear the confusion in Sydney's voice, "Who's Taylor?"

"Your mom. Her name is Taylor," Harry explained with mock-seriousness as I walked into her pink bedroom, yawning. I could see the laugh he was stifling.

"Sydney, I told you my name was Taylor a few days ago," I said, perching on the edge of her bed and brushing back the blonde strands escaping from her plait.

"I forgot," she said, and in the same beat she asked, "Can you sing for me?"

"Demanding," I complained and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"What?" I asked.

He grabbed the guitar on the far side of the room and settled next to me and smiled, "I bet I know where she gets it from."

He plucked some strings and the scowl forming on my face immediately lifted, recognising our wedding song.

"You look so wonderful in your dress,

I love your hair like that," Harry sang and I smoothed Sydney's hair back while she smiled and closed her eyes as I often did when Harry sang to me.

"The way it falls on the side of your neck,

down your shoulders and back," I smiled at the memories the song held.

When I'd walked down the aisle so many years ago, while everyone we loved looked on. When our eyes had locked across the room and had never left each other until I was at the front of the church.

I joined in.

"We are surrounded by all of these lies and people that talk too much.

You got the kind of look in your eyes as if no one knows anything, but us."

The most familiar stirring started up in my chest as our eyes locked and we shared a conspiratory look. By the time we'd reached the chorus, I looked down and saw that our little tornado was fast asleep, stirring gently as her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamt.

"She's so perfect," I mumbled as we made sure she was indeed asleep and closed the door softly.

"She gets it from me," Harry said shrugging and he dodged my hand that was about to slap him on the shoulder.

"I'm joking. You're absolutely perfect," he enunciated and pulled my forearm into our bedroom and into bed. He sat up and pulled his t-shirt over his head, the moonlight streaming in and illuminating the ink all over his chest.

"I might be growing tired of your aversion towards shirts."

I glanced at the crook of his elbow where there was another T. Next to the butterfly spreading its wings on his stomach was another one, only this one read "Tay". Over the years, he'd gotten my initial inked in a bunch of places all over his body, so it only seemed fitting that I'd gotten his initial permanently etched across my skin.

"We both know that's a lie," he hummed and pulled my shirt up.

"Hey," I snapped and slapped his hand away.

"I just want to see it," he furrowed his eyebrows and looked about ten years younger than he was.

I huffed, "Fine."

The grin on his face was bigger than normal. He smirked at me with a quiet confidence as I pulled my shirt over my head, leaving me in a sports bra, and then nudged the bottom of it slightly up to reveal a small, neatly printed 'H' there.

It had been there for a while now, but every-so-often, Harry liked to see it. Masculinity was a weird thing. I'd purposefully had it in one of the most intimate places because that way, only one person knew it was there and sometimes, while in various states of undress, Harry caught a glimpse of it and always smirked at what seemed to be his permanent mark on my body.

And sometimes I wonder how my life would have turned out if I hadn't met him that morning outside my apartment. How things would have happened if my dad hadn't interfered in my life. It occurred to me that I would probably be married to Adam and I wouldn't be lying next to the man I loved so much that it hurt.

I was glad that things had turned out the way they did.

[the end]