anobrain // narry au

to

i'm not interested in writing this story anymore, but i'm almost done and i will wait it out until the end. still i hope everyone is enjoying anobrain, it's almost finished.

then i will actually write my final (maybe) fanfic before going inactive on this account. hopefully i can get around to that goal before college, in one year, one month lol.

Unedited and not proofed in the slightest.

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chapter fifty-three. the rituals + habituals.

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THE SUPPORT MY BOYFRIEND gives me is amazing. So amazing I survived the rest of the dinner by his side. Too wrapped up in Harry to care about the rest of my surroundings. It's a usual custom with him, not that he or I minded in the slightest. I rarely get to see Harry now that he's travelling as making a name for himself throughout several continents. It's great to see him often as possible with his hectic schedule.

To see Harry means to feel those settling sparks ignite like fireworks and butterflies blossoming like the springtime inside my ribcage. To re-experience the pummelling and sporadic thumps of my heart nearly crumbling my bones into dust and powders.

The feeling is felt in my chest currently—irregular, shallow breaths. But it isn't because of my boyfriend. More because I'm sat on a bench listening and watching my dad express his love for someone other than my mother in a room full of excited people --except I--.

It fucking hurts. It hurts so much.

To not get over the abandonment. To grow into a man from an adolescent boy without a father figure to constantly guide me as I aged further and further annually. To live in a house of three instead of an original party of four. The privileges most little boys were given I never earned, and it sucks.

Though there is this physical comfort, from Harry, of course. His thumb caresses the skin covering the bones of my hand soothingly. The gesture revives me from my immediate thoughts. Only for the moment until my dad and David willingly seal the deal with those meaningful two words further known as "I Do." There's cheers and throaty howls from the crowd when the sealed and official kiss is presented.

Then I'm begging Harry to depart— he frowns at my request all the same complies. He takes ahold of my hand before leaving abruptly with the intentions of being unnoticed. Still I feel heavy eyes on me and confused faces with the possible question of why is one of the groom's sons leaving so early?

It isn't one of my many concerns, however. When the warm air hits my face I begin instantaneously freaking out. Dishevelling my oiled quiff, tearing off my tie, before burying my face into Harry's scented suit, whimpering pathetically. Since I feel the lowest of the low for not getting through the entire ceremony without apprehension rising from within to affect me.

"I couldn't do it," I say into Harry's shoulder repeatedly until the words die down into soft whispers. My words fumble between apologies and those four unaccomplished words. I've never felt so far from comfortable before.

There was nausea felt everywhere within and inside of my stomach specifically during my time watching the wedding ceremony. It made me nauseous and psychologically distant — making me more sick in the stomach with the apprehensive thoughts arising to my conscience. Like an automatic command with the brain when it tells you what to do within you.

But with Harry all of those feelings, somehow, diminish. They disappear with no hopes of a return especially when his large hand relaxingly moves around on my back. A gentle and familiar pattern that, emotionally, feels like home. A tranquil, serenading—felt through movement/physicality wise instead of an oral—home.

There's a prominent gleam in his eye that I automatically catch, like a baseball glove and its ball. Like the number twenty-one in that popular card game. The twinkling gleam is nothing but comforting. Harry practically whispers, "–And that's okay. You going to this wedding ceremony is enough of an effort than you think it is—I'm proud of you."

My heart pummels, sporadically. In a good way. It's great to have this much of a support system. Even if it isn't numerous friends and family members, I'm grateful for my one and only Harry. The encouraging best friend before loving boyfriend any day. Those simplistic yet reassuring words are enough to calm down my irregularly heavy breathing.

WE STAY IN HARRY'S hotel with me tucked into Harry's side. His muscular yet lanky figure.

In the matter of hours the both of us will be leaving this country to our destination, but on separate flights. I, to Manchester Airport and Harry to Heathrow as he's stationed to stay in London for a photo shoot booking. Our goodbyes are endearing still temporary to my optimistic mind.

My arms fly around Harry's neck, nearly choking him in the process. He doesn't complain since those muscular arms nearly suffocate the circumference of my waist. I lean forward and up to press my lips against Harry's. Eyes memorise and continue to mesmerise, inwardly, the grown in features of Harry's maturing face.

Incoming stubble growing more and more prominent, desiring either a beard or at the least, a moustache. My thumb rubs the hairs of Harry's eyebrows softly as Harry's hands stay at my hips.

"Stay safe. Stay golden." His smile brightens while he speaks. He kisses the top of my messy fringe. "I love you."

As on cue, the call for Harry's plane is announced over the airport's speakers. There's the habitual lock of the eyes with silent and subconscious words before Harry's sliding the large duffle bag over his shoulder. He kisses my forehead once more as I call over his departing figure.

"I love you." Harry turns back to smile wholeheartedly at me. Then he's boarding his flight, the both of us separated once more but it's nothing unusual.

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i'm uploading a story titled dream + its something i really want to upload before the new year begins. but with the amount of work assigned to me, i probably will not reach my goal, and i don't want to rush it. dream has to be perfect. literally.