I Don't Want To Live Forever

7.

Taylor enters the dimly lit room and surveys the space; shattered glass covers an area of the floor, from a broken table, she can tell by the remains of the furniture piece next to the feet of the bed.

There is a punch hole on the wall, next to the broken wall mounted TV, and a couple of chairs turned over. This isn't good, she thinks, worry sinking in.

She finds him curled up on the bed, fully dressed on top of the covers, seemingly asleep, even though Zayn has told her when she arrived that he had been making a ruckus until a couple of minutes ago.

She approaches the bed and sits on it.

Her gaze softens when she looks at him, so tranquil, so different from his usual contentious self nowadays. He resembles her Harry once more - the slightly-anxious, quick to smile, enchanting boy that stole her heart.

"Harry", she calls him softly, brushing his hair away from his face.

His eyes open slowly to look at her, and she can tell he has been crying, dark circles already showing.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. And she feels her own tears welling up in response.

"It's okay, babe," she reassures him, her voice gentle as she continues to run her fingers through his hair.

"No, it's not", he insists, sniffling.

She moves to lay down beside him, facing him, their faces mere inches apart.

"You look dreadful", she says softly, smiling tenderly, as she traces his eyebrows with a finger.

"You look beautiful" he murmurs back, his eyes fixed on her.

"What happened?", she asks him, touching the band-aid on his forehead.

"Hit my head with the nightstand".

She winces.

"Another Taylor Swift scar", he says quietly, lightly touching his chin, "the most painful one can't be seen though", his eyes well up again.

"Scars don't hurt, babe", she corrects him sweetly.

"They do if the wounds don't heal completely underneath".

"But they will", she reassures him.

"And what if I don't want them to heal", he cries silently, and she dries his tears with her fingers then.

"We can't be an open wound".

He pauses, his bloodshot green eyes staring at her in thought then, slowly understanding.

"I love you, Taylor, so much," his voice breaks, and she feels tears in her own eyes "I am sorry I haven't shown you enough".

She cups his cheek with her hand. "I love you too".

"I am scared of losing you", he whispers, his voice trembling, afraid to admit it, more tears welling up. She sees the vulnerability in his eyes.

"You won't lose me by healing, I promise. But if we stand a chance, someday, we need to let go of the pain", she tells him softly, her thumb caressing his cheek.

"And if you forget about me?", he lets out, his voice shaky.

"I could never forget you, Harry", and her voice breaks, "for as long as I live".

She buries her teary face in his neck, and he holds her close, drowning in the way she feels  perfectly nestled in his arms, in her scent and warmth; memorising the cadence of her pounding heart beside his.

'Will you stay with me?' he asks.

'Only if you shower first; you really stink,' she teases.

And he laughs then, and it sounds like her favourite music to her ears.

She lifts her head to gaze at his beautiful face, grinning widely, wanting to remember him forever, like this.

***

She leaves the room early in the morning, and is surprised to find Zayn sitting on the corridor carpeted floor.

"Zayn", she cannot help gasping as she sees him.

He rises to his feet. "Is he ok?"

"Yes, I think he will be heavily hungover though", she states, and Zayn nods then.

"And you?", he stares at her then.

"I will be fine, healing's started already", she smiles sadly, "thank you for calling... well, texting", she smirks. "And for yesterday, and for taking care of him. I don't even know how to thank you".

"You don't have to", he frowns, "I do it cause I care for him,... and for you"

"Still, I will find the way, it's karma" she tells him then, getting close to hug him slightly.

"Gotta run before anyone sees me, and we are back to square one with the drama", she teases, rolling her eyes.

He smiles at her. "Yeah, run Swift."

"We'll text soon!", she shouts back at him, turning as she walks the long corridor in the direction of the lift, where her security team is still posted, showing her phone in the air. Smiling.

And he chuckles back, shyly. The image of her imprinted in his mind.