With love, H. xx (Harry Styles fanfiction)

Letters upon letters from the boy we thought was dead.

But that didn't seem to be the case when he walked up to me, pulled the last cigarette from my front pocket, lit it, and plucked it into his mouth while I stood dumbstruck on the side of the road.

Before he looked at me, his eyes took upon my hand as he lifted it with his own. His fingers gently traced the three little letters written on the outside of my wrist:

With love, Harry.

♥

The story of a childhood tragedy, eleven crumpled and worn letters, and the over-use of derogatory remarks. Love isn't always obvious.

"You and I believe that love is a party; a festivity for the young and the reckless, when in our oblivion love is that of a war."