Whatever Chains (Sequel to Where Your Heart is - A Harry Styles fanfiction)

Part Thirty-Four: The flowers that we'd grown together.

December, 2016.

"Happy Christmas, love!"

I'm walking into the kitchen, rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes, and practically moaning at the smell of fresh coffee.

"Happy Christmas, mum." I reply, less enthusiastic but with a sincere smile on my lips.

I feel good. Tired, but good. The last couple of months have been the most bittersweet of all, and I am yet to decide where the balance will lean to.

The album is almost ready; the songs have been written, chosen and recorded. All that's left is to work on the art and the visual concept, which is pretty much decided already, and decide the name I want to give to it.

The whole acting thing turned out to be amazing. Exhausting and really rough, but amazing all the same. Mainly because I got to learn a lot about myself, and the things I can endure.

So yeah... it's been a good one this year. Professionally wise, that is. Because in other aspects, well, lets just say there is one giant rock at the other side of the scale, making it hard for it to get even.

I feel a loud noise from behind me, followed by a really awful curse that can only live in Gemma's mouth, and I turn around to see her skipping her way into the kitchen, grabbing one foot with her hands.

"Stupid door frame!" She yelps.

"You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?" I reprimand her with a mocking tone and she sticks her tongue at me.

"And a whole lot of other things." She retorts.

"Ew! Gemma!" I cover my ears and screw my eyes shut, trying to erase that despicable image from my brain before it ruins things for me entirely. "Mum, say something!"

My mother is laughing at me, saying something about not being a prude, to which I respond with a grunt before defending myself by telling her that not wanting to hear my sister talking about that stuff hardly makes me a prude but a perfectly balanced person.

"Oh, come on, broody boy." Gemma teases me, ruffling my hair and I snap her off.

I don't like being called like that. I have been called like that before and the memory of that conversation, along with everything that happened next, sends bile up my throat.

"Do you have everything for tomorrow?" Gemma asks my mother whilst rubbing her toe, and though I appreciate the change of subject, I frown.

"Yes, everything is going to be just beautiful." She beams, and I still don't know what they're talking about. "Did you take care of what I asked you?"

Gemma nods and pours herself a generous cup of coffee, to then proceed to attack the variety of pastries stacked at the center of the table.

"What are you talking about?" I finally ask, staring at them fairly confused. "What happens tomorrow?"

Both of them exchange a weird look, and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"You really don't listen, do you? Mum is throwing a Christmas party tomorrow. We told you last night, remember?"

I got here at midnight the night before. I had been driving for four hours from London, straight from the airport. I wasn't listening. And if I was, my brain wasn't retaining any new information at the moment.