Red Volkswagen || h.s.

Mine

IDEK WHAT TO PUT HERE JUST READ

❀◦❀◦❀◦❀◦❀◦❀

we're gonna make it now

❀◦❀◦❀◦❀◦❀◦❀

BROOKLYN'S POV

Picture this: me, speeding down the highway at three thirty in the morning, yelling at the British lady in my phone trying to give me directions as I fearlessly grip the steering wheel. I'm attentive, because getting to Harry in anything less than one piece isn't ideal, but I've never in my life booked it somewhere so determinately and with such purpose.

If anybody has had the displeasure of catching a glance at me inside my car, all they would have seen is me hunched over the wheel smiling to myself, talking to myself– that is, prepping myself– and looking like an all around maniac. I'm surprised I haven't been pulled over.

The exit I'm supposed to take feels five miles away, despite the more realistic half a mile that the British lady GPS just reminded me of. I move two lanes over to be in the right lane, glancing down at my phone to see I'm supposed to arrive in nine minutes.

Yes, my mind is absolutely wild right now, but I'm also so utterly content with what is happening. A hurricane of emotions may be ripping through me, but it feels right.

It's years in the making. I mean, Jesus, there's no other way to explain it. I don't have any shame from the smile on my face.

I happily exit, slowing down and merging with the regular, not too busy road, crossing over more lanes because I have to turn right soon. I glance down at my phone again– five minutes.

Five minutes.

Two and a half years– five minutes.

This takes me back to the last time I was at Harry's house. I was a different person, was on a different path, had a different life. Funnily enough, that path has led me right back here. To the massive gate that stands between me and him.

Whipping out my phone, I text him and ask what the code is. I can't remember it from last time. He responds within milliseconds, and I'm through the gate in no time.

There's nothing else I have to say. There's no other feelings or emotions I feel the need to explain. This is happening, right now, and I'm really fucking happy it is.

I have so much to tell him.

He's a few streets into the neighborhood lined with massive houses, and when I pull up to the recognizable facade...

"I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved. Right now just...isn't that time yet."

It's time.

Half of me expects to see him come barreling out of the house, but I don't waste time waiting for him to do so as I throw myself out of the car– then collect myself for a moment so I can hear myself think– and make my way up to the front door.

The millions of possibilities that are waiting on the other side of the door make the concrete feel like fire under my feet. The genuinely realistic future that could be dependent upon this very moment makes me jump from the sidewalk to the porch, skipping all of the steps.

Do I knock? I feel like it would be half-expected for me to just barge in...

I can't wait.

The door is unlocked, and I go inside a little too quickly, but I don't care. I promptly run into someone before I'm two steps inside. I know who it is. It feels similar to earlier tonight on the stairs.