The Firsts

The First Gingerbread House

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

and i'm too lazy for italics bc tumblr ignores formatting that i do in Docs so sorry i give up

WARNINGS: None

SONG: Thank God It's Christmas by Queen

*

"The secret of our success is that we never, never give up."

- Wilma Mankiller

*

The smell wafting under the door was the first thing I registered when I woke up the next morning. Christmas music and its splendid sounds were what followed, until my sadness ran away with that moment of respite.

He was gone. He'd left me. Harry had abandoned me.

Those thoughts filled the sleepy holes in my head once again. Well, until I felt a movement in the bed behind me, and my eyes shot open. The room was devoid of any light, my Christmas tree long ago thrown in my closet after I read that note. It's all but forgotten when I turn around and I remember. The snoring man under my covers whose feet rest against mine makes it all come back to me, tear by tear. Am I dreaming still? Not unless that pretend world of mine remembers the scar above his eye, the one right under the curve of his chin, or the way his eyelids flutter while he's dreaming. Already hiccuping, I close the distance between us and throw my arms around him.

"Mmmm," he groans, slowly reciprocating the action like muscle memory. The crook of his neck is warmer than usual from sleep, and somehow, it smells even better than before. His woodsy vanilla scent remains as I paint his neck with my tears. "Becks . . What's tha matter, baby?" Harry's rasped words coast over my head. The 'baby' gets me right away, and the sob only deepens at how that's his immediate response.

"It wasn't a dream," I weep into his t-shirt, clinging onto him and never wanting to let him go.

"No, 'm here, Becks, 'm here. 'm not goin' anywhere, not ever again, I promise you that. Now, go back t' sleep, bug, 's only seven . . We don't hafta be t' me mum's 'til three, and me sleep 's all messed up."

My head nods along with his words as his arms tighten around me, and my tears ebb. Sniffling, I feel them stubbornly stay and crash onto his skin with each shake of my chest.

"You promise?" the words are choked and fear sits in them.

"I promise, Rebecca Ann, and 'll never ever break this one t' you, I mean it."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Styles," it's a half assed attempt at a laugh with my words, but it's better than nothing.

"Breathe, baby, and try t' sleep. I know you didn't get much tha last couple o' days."

My head moves around until it finds that special spot, and in the midst of it, I think of the other night when I couldn't sleep. He was all I could think about, per usual, and Skye's yelling didn't help. I couldn't tell who she was talking to, and I just assumed that her and her boyfriend were having a row on the phone. Now that I think of it, I came home from work almost every night to her on the phone, and she would angrily hang up. She was there for me, but she was secretive too, and I couldn't understand why. Until now.

"Skye told you?"

"Ya," his answer is just as quiet and slow as mine. I want to be angry and upset at the both of them, but I had spent so much of my life the last few years being mad at him that I couldn't fathom another unnecessary second of it. "I left t' spare you tha hurt, but there wasn't a moment that I stopped thinkin' and worryin' 'bout you, bug. She was pissed at me, so much so I wasn't sure if she'd let me in last night when I came . . but she did. She said you would've killed her if she hadn't, which I believe . . I had t' check on you and make sure you were okay, and she was tha one closest t' you, even if she spent each phone call cursin' at me."