Harry can't help but watch my dress' shimmer fade in the light as I get further and further away from him. He wants to go with me desperately, but the MC is calling him to the stage, and he knows it's show time — time to pretend he was still the Harry Styles who really wanted to be here with all of these strangers, when, in fact, he really didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to be Harry from England, preferably one that wasn't turning 35 this year.
Either way, he can't avoid the inevitable — so to save as much embarrassment for himself as possible, he quickly maneuvers his way through the crowd, jumping on stage as soon as he's close enough to do so without hurting himself. He fixes his pussybow tie from the jump and shimmies playfully to the microphone.
"Still got it," he chuckles playfully with the crowd, reverting immediately back to the old days when he could command a room instantly like the expert showman he is and always has been. Everyone laughs in return.
"Alright, let's hear it for the man of the hour!" The MC yells, waving his hands as a chorus of "Happy Birthday" starts up, the crowd singing to him.
Harry smiles at the gesture, slightly embarrassed — but his smile quickly wavers when he sees what looks to be a giant fireball being rolled towards him. It doesn't take him long to see that the fireball is, in fact, the cake — the biggest he's ever seen in real life. The cake that Eleanor had promised wouldn't have fucking candles.
Indignation swells in him, anger and hurt boiling inside, threatening to ruin the steely resolve he still has. Calls of "make a wish" and "blow them out!" only add fuel to his internally raging fire.
He said no fucking candles.
He can't even force a smile, his happy mask wavering a little as he begrudgingly leans in, attempting to blow out the hundreds of little candles all over the three huge tiers of black and white frosted cake. It's futile the first time, even more futile the second time, and by the third failure, he feels like life is playing a cruel, miserable joke on him. He wishes he was anywhere but here.
He finally gives up, having only blown out a third of the candles, offering a fake, good natured laugh that he prayed didn't give away just how pissed he was. He looks up at Mitch, begging him to start playing. His old friend gives him a searching look before obliging, watching in confusion as Harry hops off the stage.
He has to find Eleanor.
This stops.
Today.
Enough!
Fucking candles!
Once he finds her, he's going to tell her. Tell her that she can't keep doing this. That he had rolled over for the party when he shouldn't have budged an inch, just because the invitations had already been sent out — only for her to still disrespect the remaining wishes he had. That he had given her too many inches when she only took miles. That she was childish. If she really cared about him, she would have listened to him — not just pretended to — over and over and over and over —
FUCKING CANDLES!
How could he be so blind?
He's made his way to the back of the room, circling around table after table looking for his blonde-headed fiancé. He spots her, finally, just to the right of the back bar, standing next to her mother — their heads bowed together in a quiet conference with their backs to him.
CANDLES!
He takes a breath, trying to calm his nerves and quell his anger as he approaches, their voices coming in clearer the closer he gets.
YOU ARE READING
Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}
Fanfiction"She's compromising her own personal beliefs and morals, putting her heart on the line just because he asked her to. She feels slightly sick at her stomach when she thinks about it, so she takes a page from his book and tries not to. But trying not...
