The First // A Harry Styles au

She.

In the heart of the northern English countryside, nestled in a deep valley without a name, lies a small lake that barely a soul knows to exist. The nearest town is five miles west towards the coast, and the nearest city is almost a hundred mile drive northeast. It's unlikely that if you're not looking for the lake that you'll ever find it, and it's probably best kept that way.

On the north end of the water is a small picnic area with a few benches that are touched maybe once a year by the same family who know of the area by relatives, but no other ever visits. It's an idealistic haven for those who don't want to be known, or seen, or spoken to.

At the very southern tip of the lake sit two houses side by side, both facing the lake with their gardens facing south. In the centre of two properties at the shore of the water is a small wooden pier with a single moor and a row boat secured to it.

The house on the right has been occupied by the same man for five years, and he rarely ever leaves. His property is well kept - his two-storey, three up and two down clad in white painted wood with a sturdy brick foundation to ensure the brisk and sharp winds don't blow it away during the harsh winters. His front porch stretches the width of the house but extends no further than two meters, fenced in varnished oak.

Inside, the interior portrays a quaint cottage worthy of any retired couple. The kitchen comes with a token aga as well as a conventional stove, the work surfaces a deep matte black with cherry wood finishes and round brass handles. A beechwood breakfast table sits in the window with two mismatched chairs - one a sturdy, tall-backed rosewood with a complex design carved into the back, and the other painted white with only a simple single cross on the backrest, and a kitsch-pattern cushion tied to the seat.

The living room homes an untouched magnolia Lawson-style loveseat, and a well-used navy blue club-style armchair, all facing a large TV situated on a black stand. The mantlepiece is original and traditional grey slate, but the inside fireplace has been replaced for a slightly more modern log burner. The entire ground floor is fitted with stone flooring, which has been covered by a vast array of rugs of all different shapes, sizes and colours.

Upstairs, the bedroom is small but adequate - with a king bed against the east wall made of iron and painted black, and the bedsheets are always only white. His bedside table, drawers and wardrobe are all made of the same varnished fir. He has one picture on his bedside table, along with an alarm clock and his current read, opened and turned face down.

He uses the second bedroom as an office. A desk sits in the front window facing the lake, piled with things that he uses on a daily basis but also that he hasn't touched for years. There's a laptop buried somewhere amongst his writings, but he usually prefers to write on paper since he favours tradition over convenience.

The garden is kept neat and simple - a perfectly square patch of land ruled by a niche white picket fence, and lined on the inside all the way around by a bed of flowers which vary in type, colour and size. The lawn is always trimmed in the spring and the summer, but can get neglected in the autumn and winter since he can't stand the cold.

His occupation is... vague. He writes music, he writes poetry, he writes fiction, and when he's feeling really creative, he'll paint. He only really paints when he dreams of her, though. Music and poetry are his favourite, and they're usually what make him his living.

The house on the left hasn't been lived in since he moved in all those five years ago. It's been on the market since his has, both being owned by two friendly neighbours who decided to up sticks and move somewhere else. He often wonders why anyone would want to leave here. It's been to auction multiple times and never sold - considered too much of an inconvenience in location with the lack of... well, anything in the vicinity.