Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

EPILOGUE

                                         EPILOGUE 

        "Every ending is a beginning. We just don't know it at the time"  

 

Harry stands at the altar like he can’t quite get a grip. His fingers are twitching and his foot keeps tapping repeatedly on the floor, his hands fidgeting with his own wrists as he bites down on his lips and lets out tiny gasps of air.

Elisha wants to laugh, honestly, from where she watches him on the fifth row, behind Zayn’s huge family and Harry’s own. At some point Harry’s sister has come to talk to her, make sure her little brother hasn’t thrown any fits of instability, at which Leesh merely laughs softly and denies.

The field is packed with people she doesn’t know one bit, only a few familiar faces here and there, but as she sits next to a lady and her five-year-old daughter – who keeps combing through her doll’s hair –, she doesn’t feel one bit misplaced. It’d been her own suggestion to stay behind, even when Harry had told her it was fine to sit with his family. She doesn’t think it’s fine, thinks is maybe too early, now, and sees behind Harry’s eyes how much he’s still scared of closeness; scared of letting someone in and having to watch not only himself, but his family say goodbye to such.

Leesha knows that if things keep going the way things are, right now, they’ll have enough time to sort that out. For now, she settles on watching the little girl next to her, smiling down at the doll and fixing her dress carefully.

Zayn’s biting back on a smile that crawls up his lips every time he glances at his friend behind him, making small talk and teasing each other – Harry shoves Zayn on the shoulder at some point, looking murderous – until the sound of the wedding march silences all bantering circling around. Even the birds somewhere up the canopy of the trees shut up, leaving room for the gentle breeze to sweep through and shuffle some leaves.

As Perrie surges up at the end of the white extended carpet, all heads turn to look at her on her wedding glory, nearly glowing from the happiness on her blinding smile. Harry goes back to fidgeting and Zayn looks calmer than ever, staring ahead of him with the subtlest of the smiles; one of pure contentment.

Somewhere behind them all sets a lingering sun, dying the sky warm tones and taking with it the remaining heat of the afternoon. The breeze only turns colder by the second, but no one seems to particularly care.

Harry’s still shaking from where he stands – and that’s got nothing to do with the weather, she knows –, keeps staring ahead with eyes so big that make him look even smaller, terrified.

It’s not until the ‘speak now; or else for ever hold your peace’ lines come, offering no protest from the crowd, that Harry releases the breath he’d been holding, letting the stiffness of his shoulders drift away, a relaxed smile softening all of his features.

--

Harry’s pleasantly drunk, just slightly tipsy, and he hasn’t got to the point where he knows – well, as well as someone highly drunk can know anything for sure – he won’t remember one single thing the morning after. Actually, he hasn’t drunk all that much at all, just enough to lighten the knots all over his body, leave him buzzing with excitement for his friend under the scrutiny of a chilly night air that, persistent, doesn’t stop hitting against his skin.

He’s got alcohol on his veins, though, so he’s not that bothered by it as Elisha seems to be. Or start being, because, really, it hasn’t been this long since the hair in her arms has stood up on end.