Harry Styles.

Sweet Creature

Harry meandered down a dirt road surrounded by fields of swaying daisies, knapsack draped over his right shoulder the way your arms used to be. Blue horizons embraced the ground the way Harry wished he could embrace you, but he knew it wouldn't be that way for now. You'd had another talk about what was going wrong. What he needed to work on. What you needed to work on. You were similar in multiple ways, one of which included your obstinance. It provoked challenges when you were together. Always bickering about something. Both feeling correct. Neither apologizing for being wrong.

     Still, Harry could never fully part with you. There was too much history. Too many long nights of love and laughter between two hearts in one home. A home that always brought him back after long travels like this.

     You were his compass. Without it (without you), Harry felt lost.

     When Harry reached the end of the road, he dropped the rucksack and sprawled across the flowered earth. A drawn out sigh escaped his parted lips and was swept away by crisp wind. He pulled your photograph from his pocket and traced your face with his thumb. He'd already committed every facet to memory, and he could recite your writing on the back word-for-word:

     My Sweet Creature,
          I hope this lives as a constant
          reminder of where you truly
          belong. May your travels be far
          and invigorating, but may you
          always return home.
                                        Forever,
                                        Y/N

     Harry laid the photo in the grass beside him, clasped his hands beneath his head, and gazed at the clouds, unaware that you were sitting at the dining table, sipping tea and scanning the sky for shapes.

     "That looks like a dragon trying to eat its tail," Harry said. He laughed. "And that small cloud below him makes it look like he's got bad gas."

     "I see a jester flying the Millennium Falcon," you said into your mug. "He's drinking eggnog and playing a banjo."

     Harry turned to the photograph. "If you were here right now, you'd probably say I'm wrong. You'd tell me it looks like an elephant eating a lolly while riding on a cotton ball parade float, or something even more bizarre."

     You glanced at the chair opposite yours and set down your drink. You stirred it slowly, listening to the spoon's clanking, wishing it was Harry's voice instead, arguing how the clouds were something different. A crooked smile tugged at your lips.

     Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. "Can't we both be right?" Wind blew loose strands of Harry's hair into his face, masking his jade eyes, and for the first time he could see clearly.

     You lowered your head into your arms as you crossed them on the tabletop. You weren't sure how long you lay like that before a buzzing began in your pocket. "Harry?"

     "I'm sorry, love. For everything," Harry said into the receiver.

     "No-no, I'm sorry. I—Where are you?"

     "On my way home."

     "Harry—"

     "I miss you, and I don't wanna run from our problems anymore. I'll see you soon, okay?"

     You couldn't manage a response before three beeps played in your ear.

     Harry walked into the setting sun, his journey led by your unfaltering compass.

     You peeled yourself from the kitchen chair and brewed a new kettle of tea: Harry's favorite, Earl Grey. You snuggled close to Harry's oversized hoodie as it enveloped your torso. Reaching for your pack of Marlboros, you stopped midair, unable to even graze the package. Harry's words of rectification cycled through your mind:

     You shouldn't smoke.

     It's terrible for you.

     Many in my family have died from smoking.

     I can't lose you the same way.

     I love you.

     Please stop.

     The amount of times you refuted him was uncountable. Shame slithered through your veins, nicking their pulsating walls with its poisoned fangs. You grabbed the box, hovered over the trash bin, and snapped each cigarette in half, every death of theirs enlivening you. If Harry didn't want to run from the issues anymore, you'd be damned if you continued the race.

     You searched the house for remaining carcinogens as Harry rested in a musty railway carriage. He twirled the bouquet between decelerated palms. When a pedal spiraled off the daisies, he salvaged it and protected it within his shirt pocket. An automated voice spoke through the train speakers, alerting passengers to the impending stop. Harry jumped from his seat and stood by the doors, rocking on his heels.

     "Where ya off to in such a hurry?" an elderly woman said, arm interlocked with a darker-skinned man of similar age.

     Through a sideways smile, Harry said, "Home."

     When the doors swooshed open, Harry hustled through passersby and out the station. He didn't halt to feed birds in Hyde Park; he didn't enter Brewed & Battered for his favorite soy latte and puff pastry; he even refused to rent a book from Chamblin's Bookmine, which was most absurd, as he found himself lured to its dilapidated pages like gamblers enticed by flashy casinos. In that moment, there was a far more intoxicating allure that bewitched him, one that washed her hair in a cold shower to detoxify herself, eradicating the carcinogenic odor that encompassed every inch of her body and soul. She scrubbed her skin with lilac soap, praying to rejuvenate each pore. She faced the shower head and let water massage her eyelids and cheekbones and lips. Beads rolled down every curve and dip of her shell in ways she wished Harry would—in ways she missed when he had. She reveled in the moment, goosebumps rising as her mind wandered.

Unsure how long she'd been cleansing, she hopped out, toweled off, and moisturized with coconut oil, paying no mind to the breathless man in the doorway, ring-clad fingers twirling a vibrant daisy. Admiration sparkled in his eyes. Words danced round the tip of his tongue, but he wanted to savor this moment before releasing them.

     You gasped, towel almost unraveling. You squeezed it against your nudity—whether in anticipation or timidity, you didn't know—as Harry sauntered over, crooked smile tugging the corners of his plump mouth.

     "Har—"

     He enveloped you in tender arms and planted a blossoming kiss on your lips. Your limbs loosened as you leaned into him. "Do I taste coconut?" he said.

     You bit your bottom lip. "I was just moisturizing."

     An exhalation of laughter escaped Harry's nose. He tucked your bangs and the daisy behind your ear, marveling at your radiant, authentic beauty. He pulled you close and squeezed; electricity flowed from your skin to his. He felt alive, and so did you, both knowing and feeling like this was a new chapter. A better chapter.

"God," Harry said. "It's good to be home."