Legacy // H.S

6.

'Honey, let me tell you what it's all about

Money

Money'

*

Only half an hour later, Claude arrived with our new hacker. He'd kept most of the details quiet about the new recruit, only using complimentary language, as if he'd hit the jackpot with this one. And I've been inclined to believe him.

Since he's been in the UK this week, I've been forced to listen to every rambling about how excellent he is at his job, how we'll all succeed here because of him. Usually, I'd turn my nose up at such a thing. I'd find myself turning away from anyone that speaks of themselves like that, but with Claude, he never says it to belittle anyone around him. It's just that he knows he's good at his job, and there's nothing to prove otherwise. He's never been caught, never had the authorities even come close to finding out his identity. He can sweet talk himself as much as he wants if it means we succeed too.

I leave Belly in the sitting room, allowing her to rest for some time and keep Zayn with Harry in the study so I have some time to discuss with Claude what I've found out today. I watch their car come up the driveway once I've buzzed them in, standing in the doorway as I squint to catch a glimpse of the new team member.

They take their time to exit the vehicle, Claude seeming to give his friend an earful before they open the door. At first, I don't see him, the black four-by-four shielding him, but as his trainers become visible under the car, I finally catch a glimpse. Tall, brown hair, tattoos covering most of his skin, and a bored expression on his face.

The complete opposite of George.

At least Louis won't fall in love with this one.

Claude seems energetic as always, pacing over to me with a grin on his face. He kisses both of my cheeks, offering some compliments before moving past me and walking into the house. His eyes move around the hallway, head poking round the stairs to peek at the kitchen.

'So old and stuffy,' he states, dragging a finger along the mantelpiece and inspecting the few specks of dust that sit on it.

Surprisingly, Harry is a clean man, consistently going through the house every few days with whatever cleaning products he needs. I've enjoyed how domesticated he is, sometimes finding myself joining him. It always ends with both of us dancing around the room, kissing in the kitchen, or fucking on the tabletops. Perhaps that's why I enjoy it so much.

He sighs as he looks up the stairs, the voices of Zayn and Harry travelling down. 'I never imagined him living in such a big house, either. I've visited this place before, but I assumed he'd leave eventually. It's too big for one person,' he adds, his eyes landing on a small picture on the end of the mantelpiece. 'Or maybe it was.'

The photograph is one of Harry and me. Perhaps the only one we have of the two of us. It was from the day of the BBQ at the warehouse, when I'd managed to dislodge the Cullinan IX from the ring we had stolen. Outside in the sun, I sat on his lap, and he kept his arms around me. We're laughing at each other, our foreheads touching and lips close. I wore the red dress he said I looked beautiful in. The red dress he ripped off me the moment we got home. In that moment, I believe we were happy. There was no fear, despite the conversation that preceded it.

'I will do anything I can to make sure you live. Anything that will ensure it; it is done.'

So often we find ourselves talking of death, making promises about our approach to it for the benefit of the other. We use these words not to incite fear, but to promise our devotion. The one thing we have that can make any real difference. Our loyalty and love, ready to be personified through the sacrifice of life. I should be scared of death, and sometimes I am if it means I will no longer get to hold Harry, but then I remember these conversations, remember how badly I need him to live and to experience the kind of life he was never granted, and only then do I realise that death is not the end. It is a beginning.