𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆! | harry styles

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

IMOGEN Greene should have been to the desert sooner. Watching her flit around the front of the car, her body glowing in the light of the headlamps.

This old, shitty rusted Volvo's been our home for nearly three months.

"Turn the radio up!" she calls and I oblige, the acoustic guitars and soft voices filling the air around us. I'm trying to finish this postcard to my mom and Rick, to tell them I love them, to announce that Imogen and I eloped, that we got married at sunrise at the Grand Canyon a week ago and that I've never been happier in my entire life. There are similar cards in the cupholder next to me-one to Grace and Austin, who are making a life for themselves in Seattle -we're heading there next-and to Lexi, who's in law school out east, putting her intimidation and persuasion to good use.

She called us stupid for doing this trip, but told us to keep in touch. I've actually started to miss her no-bullshit attitude and unending snark-the human parts of her that used to be clouded in those overwhelming parts of herself.

Signing my name to the postcard, I set it with the others, grinning because I just, can't believe I have friends. Who I keep in touch with. Who I miss.

Sixteen-year-old me would be appalled. I wish I could send him a letter, too.

I have no idea when we're going to see a mailbox or a post office.

We're somewhere in New Mexico, I haven't looked at the map in days.

"Harry!" Imogen urges me out of the car, her smile brilliant, her eyes bright.

It's quiet save for the occasional buzz of a bug or a howl in the distance. She takes my hand and leads down the road, shimmying her hips.

"You're a nerd," I laugh and she licks her lips.

"And yet you're still here," she muses, dragging her free hand absentmindedly along my jaw, feeling the stubble quickly turning into a beard.

I can't remember the last time I shaved.

"I never said it was a bad thing," I say, pulling her close. She's in her favorite dress-the one she got at an estate sale in Montana. The emerald green linen is loose on her as she sways in my arms, her cheek pressed to my chest.

"I love you," she sighs, content, and I'm sure she can feel my heart pounding. All these years later and hearing her say that never gets old, it still sends a thrill through my whole being.

We've had years of laughing and fighting and sleeping and leaving and learning and fucking and even though we're burning through the last of our savings on this trip, this jaunt around the country, it's what we wanted to do, because we know how short time can be and how long we can make it.

As the song ends, Imogen pulls away, making her way to the telescope set-up on the trunk of the car. My shitty one from the windowsill at home.

"The stars are better here than anywhere else, Harry," she breathes. For a long time, we didn't talk about them, my telescope stayed packed away and we slept at night.

But she was growing sick for them, we both were.

And so, we've been searching for that balance, between the stars and us and everything else.

As I watch her watching the cosmos above, I can't help but think of Plato's The Symposium and his explanation of soulmates. Apparently, humans originally had four arms, four legs, and one head. The gods felt threatened as humans grew stronger, and Zeus, in his never-ending goal of self-interest, split them in two, subjecting them to the misery of only being half of a whole. It's said though, that if they find one another, they'd feel no greater joy.

Imogen turns to me, grinning.

"Your turn," she says, kissing my cheek as I move my eye to the lens.

We're living this joy; our love is stronger than anything- any kind of god or being could throw at us.

I see the stars shine, I find Orion first and move to the next constellation, Imogen's hand wrapped firmly in mine.

FINI