the latest nights h.s. -a.u

iv

"for on that day she let him in, and he was absolutely sure he'd never find a way out."

***

"Hmm, let me think," Aviana trailed off across from Harry. A pale blue tshirt hung off of her shoulders loosely and her blonde hair was clad up into a cone shaped bun atop her head. Her small fingers slid up the expanse of her phone as she read the titles of her favorite books aloud to him from a list. He found it adorable how she had a list dedicated to books, and also refreshing; for most people their age thought solely about the next time they'd have a bottle in their hands.

"Pride and Prejudice, for sure. Oh god, please tell me you've read it before," she said excitedly, showing her admiration for the novel. "Of course, Av. Who do you think I am?" a playful smile tugged at his lips.

The book was one of his personal favorites, he had lost count of the amount of times he reread it.

"Hmmm, don't play yourself too mighty, Harry," her laugh rung out and made his heart skip a beat. He had undoubtedly grown a small infatuation with Aviana over the weeks that had passed.

They sat together at the same table every time she stopped in, whether it was to type up an essay or even just to have a quick chat, Harry grew nervous whenever she was around.

But, at the same time, he felt so incredibly comfortable as he watched her fingers fly across her keyboard or her brown eyes skim across a book. While she kept busy, he usually wrote in a journal of his own.

The journal was a simple brown leather material, frayed at the edges and pages yellowed, all held together by a thin leather string that wrapped around the expanse of the book. Blue letters and shapes were scattered along the outside, random games of tic-tac-toe and small quotes covered the surface. Aviana loved the journal and had admired it every time his hands flew across the pages, leaving a trail of unknown thoughts behind, only for him to see.

"Wait, have you read the Count of Monte Cristo? I don't think it's very common, but it's fantastic," Harry piped up and smiled brightly when Aviana's face lit up.

"What the hell? Of course I have, it's my favorite book! I had a copy of it that I highlighted and annotated the shit out of, but I left it back at home."

His mind wandered to the old and tattered copy that had shown up to his flat, the copy he had read over and over again. The thought of her mind being the one behind the stripes of color and thoughtful words made him want to memorize every word she had written.

His mouth opened momentarily, but he decided to leave it alone until he had studied the book more thoroughly. "It is a classic," he simply agreed, not wanting to take it any further. For now, at least, he had thought to himself.

He returned back to scribbling thoughts into his journal, the words somehow always finding their way back to her. Blue ink covered the surface of about half of the pages, all of them beginning from the time he had moved to London until the present. He had purchased the old book from a small bookstore just down the street back in Holmes Chapel, deciding it would be a good idea to have all the memories he created located in the yellow pages.

Sometimes he wrote about Aviana, directly writing the whole entry to her, as if she were with him in the moment. Other times his thoughts and worries came straight out of his head and onto the page, coming together in a disheveled but beautiful mess in the end. The journal was always with him, whether safely in the bottom of his backpack or tucked into his jeans, it was always ready to be filled.

Aviana noticed this, and decided maybe she, too, should start a journal. One day, though, her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she pulled his attention out the beloved journal to ask, "Where did you get your journal?"