is it a crime? - sade photograph - ed sheeran no ordinary love - sade
You decide to go home. There's nothing good that will come out of you crashing Harry's bachelor party drunk out of your mind, so you know you have to sober up first before you can even think about leaving your bedroom. So you lay flat on your back on your bed just thinking of the last time he was here and all the things he had said.
He never denied loving you, this is something that you've thought about frequently since he stormed out. The fact that he was unable to lie about his love for you was something that made your heart flutter violently in your chest. A small part of you couldn't help but feel as if you still had a chance, that if you begged and cried and pleaded just once he would crack and finally agree to be with you. You honestly believe that you could give him a happier life than Sarah. You know him better, you guys have a certain type of synergy that only soulmates have. Ever since the first day you met him, there was like an invisible string that tied you guys together. No matter how far you'd run away, a tug from the other end of the string would always pull you back. It's sad when you think of it, Harry is more than a friend and he knows this fact. Harry is your lover, and it hurts like hell to not only lose your best friend but also the love of your life.
Is it too much to ask him just to stay with you? You want to just pack your bags and run far, far away with him. Somewhere no one knows who you are and nothing can hurt you. You could live a life full of laughter, love, and happiness, but even that feels like a distant fantasy to you. With your eyes closed, you vividly remember a time when things weren't like this. A time with secret rendezvous, meeting up in different cities just to run around like crazed tourists, nights spent tangled in each other's sheets holding each other so close you could've melded into one, impromptu photo shoots with photos too pure and vulnerable for anyone to see.
That thought is the thought that makes you sit up a quickly. The fast movement causing you to be momentarily whiplashed. You feel dizzy and squeeze your eyes shut tightly as you wait for it to pass, the state of your intoxicated mind makes it seem even longer. When you feel alright again, you stand, much slower this time. You walk over to your dresser and lean down to pull open your bottom drawer. Inside of it is a safe and you quickly put in the code to unlock it. It's contents include some money, some rare jewelry that's too precious to just leave out, a vintage camera that cost you an honest fortune, and the thing you're looking for: a small black wooden box. You pull it out and lock back the safe, closing the drawer as you go back to sit on your bed.
When you open the box, you hold your breath, your heart stopping for a moment. You're met with a photograph of a young seventeen year old Harry cheesing up at you.
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Your eyes start to water. You remember taking this picture at that party where you two reconnected. You would give anything to go back to this moment, and just relive everything again. Even the pain and the heartbreak, because when you really think it over, you love him that much. In a way, even though it's fucked up, you think that all the suffering and despair makes you love him even more. Like the bond you two have is stronger somehow. You suppose it is. Nothing connects two people better than mutual torment. You pick up the stack of photographs and begin to flick through them. A lot of them are of him smiling hugely at you as you took the picture. Some of them are pictures from behind the scenes of his life on tour, but the pictures at the bottom of the stack are the pictures you really crave. You haven't looked at them in so long, probably in years. You had collected them off your camera and locked them away and only took them out a few times since then. Not even he has seen them. The photographs remind you of the very first time with Harry. When the fine line between friends and something so much more became so blurred and zigzagged that it was practically nonexistent. That day in your room when he set everything in motion by putting his finger in your mouth, and detonating a series of fireworks in the pit of your belly that hasn't calmed for him since. You take your time as you flick through the photos.
