[richardsikendaily]

[text ID: This is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it’s getting cold. /end ID]

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

@elliealdenkamp​

                    An oddity it was for Harrison Hadlee to be in the drama building— odd enough indeed, to where, as he walked through it now, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever really stepped foot in there at all. The Department of Theatre was, sure enough, filled with scintillating people, and more relevant to his eye: a scintillating building. The building was some of the best the school had to offer. It was a shame it had taken him almost four years to officially venture within— disregarding the time he’d beelined through the main entrance and had managed to sneak in to watch one of Ellie’s practices. The architecture was bold. New. At least for a lone university in northern Vermont, and it made the meek English corridors that he was used to seem deafened in comparison. The curvature of the second floor was one he followed, past artworks and colors, and as he located the very room Ellie would be in, like clockwork, he’d arrived at what seemed to be a timely classroom dismissal for a dead week. He’d begun to be a little more antsy to see her, nowadays, with the impending arrival of winter break. It was a bleak prospect. He knew they’d be apart for some time like they hadn’t been before. He knew there was much to talk about, all good, naturally, but much to talk, and in a way he already missed her and dreaded the time that he’d be without her presence. His cold, dark childhood room felt a little bleaker when the idea of having her in another loomed. He hung back and off to the side for a minute, watching a pair of blondes exit, and then a male, and after a few more people shuffled out, he recognized her with the ease of a sigh. Long legs, long brown hair, the same darling winter outfit and coat she’d been wearing this morning when he’d last seen her. Harry swooped in, nonchalant as someone of his stature could be and approached her from behind, knowing very well that he was an unexpected guest. 

                    He removed a hand from his pocket first, lifting it to wrap it around her shoulder, and then leaned in, placing a kiss against her cheek, “Hi,” He greeted with a lazy grin, moving his mouth to her ear, pulling her a little closer. Her smell, her tresses against his unshaven face, her smile, as he began to watch the recognition find her. He immediately dug for an answer to a question that he knew was surely coming, slowly dropping his arm from her, “My section for Topics in Lit opted to take the final early, so I have this time of day free now— an explanation for this very, very unusual rendezvous,” He glanced around the hall, slowing his steps and turning to her, halting them completely now as he faced her, “I know you have something just after this, but, I wanted to give you something,” Harry admitted, a corner of his mouth curving as he explained, only then reaching out to allow his hand to find her elbow. Excited, he always was to give her something. He pulled gently on her, guiding, palm sliding to the small of her back as he walked them to a nearby bench in front of a large window, a perfect spot for him to set down his leather satchel, and that was exactly what he did. Adroit hands fiddled for a moment, opening the bag, and retrieving what was within, “It came today, in the mail,” He explained to her, standing then, hands holding either side of a 1953 Secker & Warburg hardcover copy of Letters to Milena. It was minimalist in design, and that was why he liked it so much. White with blue and red titling, and in fine condition for something that had forty years on either of them. It was vintage; it was classic in appearance, so much like her.

                    He moved a little closer, looking at her face, scanning, perhaps wanting to merely remember the moment. Within the book there was something. Visible, at the top, was the sliver of an envelope, and as he handed it to her he knew very well that there was a smaller card within, in his own cursive print— a small letter of his own: an ode to Ellie, and to all that she made him feel:

                                        E,

                                        I love you, from the moon, to here,                                          and all the way back, again, and again, and again.                                          The stars are ours, if you want them—                                          just reach out, and say the word. 

                                        Yours, immeasurably, 

                                        Harry

thanksgiving had been a turning page of sorts. a poetic change—or, rather, progression—of events that seemed to coincide with the still altering leaves and dropping temperatures. ellie recalled harry saying something once about how autumn felt like an ending—or was it beginning? perhaps both, especially considering one couldn’t exist without the other, though she couldn’t manage to come up with what she was certain was the succinct and descriptive term he’d used at the time. she simply didn’t posses whatever magic allowed him to so beautifully and effortlessly describe something—it wasn’t within her wheelhouse. regardless, whichever way you chose to describe it, things were changing. while not in a drastic or even negative way, it was incontestable. for the first time in perhaps a year or two, elizabeth aldenkamp felt significant growth. forward momentum. for the first time since she could remember, the darkness and heaviness that’d long resided at the core of her couldn’t put up too much of a fight. while almost no one would be able to make out the difference on the surface—the genuine ease of a smile or the newer, more laid-back nature that coated her actions—she could sense it. sure, an unknown amount of work and progress lied ahead if ellie wanted to make this a long-lasting thing, but it was a start.

this newfound sense of well-being had swiftly aided her back into classes, a scant number of days before another, longer break that felt utterly pointless. perhaps, however, that was merely the stubbornness speaking. this year, more than the two prior, ellie found that she didn’t long to return to a bustling campus with an always bursting social calendar. she wanted to stay home; with her family, yes, but more notably with harry. a life together outside of yates’ ivy-covered buildings and highly regarded student societies had managed to become all the more appealing over thanksgiving. soon enough, she’d remind herself mid-class when her thoughts began to drift. six months, a year— two from now, she’d silently recall, drawing a subtle and knowing smile for herself alone to acknowledge.

a similar grin lingered on her lips as she stood to exit her afternoon class, stone white trench coat long discarded and now draped over one forearm in response to the building’s heat. she’d hung back for perhaps thirty or so seconds to tie up a conversation before heading through the door and down the hall in her usual path. only, she didn’t make it very far before nearly jumping out of her skin. “hey,” she began, her initial reaction far from dramatic, but startle evident in her body as she looked over her shoulder. it quickly dissipated, though, as it often did in harry’s company. she could see the upward inflection of her greeting instantly register for him, only a crease between her brows pursuing the obvious question. she nodded at his explanation, easy enough, footsteps naturally beginning to slow in response to his own. he moved to face her directly and, though the sight of him then and there was pure delight, she wished he’d remained close enough for her to smell his cologne and feel his scruff. “harry—” ellie began, tone an indication that she was both surprised and a touch disheartened. “i said no early gifts, i haven’t even gotten yours yet.” truth be told, she’d had a hard time finding something perfect and anything less than was just unacceptable. he deserved more than she’d be able to give him physically, a fact that had proven to be something of a pain while trying to think up gifts. still, with the anticipation of a child waiting in line to see santa, she allowed him to continue leading her to a cleared area. there she stood while he looked through his things, eyes steady on his hands and what soon came between them. they remained on the book, a twitch of a smile breaking through minor awe, as he handed it to her. she looked up at him once it had been carefully taken into her grasp, as though asking ‘really? this is for me?’ then she looked back down and opened it.

as best she could, ellie balanced the open book in one hand, the opposite hand coming to rest over her mouth. her palm then became flat, falling to her chest as she finished scanning harry’s scrawl. when she’d finished reading her gaze lingered for a few seconds longer. then, without so much as a word, she looked up and leaned forward to press a kiss to her love’s lips. “this is beautiful,” she said of both the book and the letter, wishing once more that she could better express her gratitude. luckily, however, there were more pressing matters than her limited in-the-moment vocabulary. meticulously pulling the envelope out, she closed the book, letter still inside. in a moment of shuffling everything around she decided to sit, placing it atop her lap as she worked to open whatever had been enclosed.

five seconds. ten. confusion came over her face, then understanding, then disbelief. “harry,” she spoke again, holding the envelope’s contents up as her eyes met his. “what’s this?” she knew the answer, of course she did, but astonishment forced the question regardless.

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    ‘You know that’. He nodded knowingly, head tilting, his softened eyes briefly draped by tired lids with a lazy half-blink. And then the words fell from her mouth in a manner much like dominos, one after the other, ultimately ending in him being, figuratively, of course, struck to his knees. Not in weakness, but in disbelief, and, like a puzzled Moses before the Red Sea, an answer had been paved before him with such stupor that he had no choice but to believe it. His lips were parted, agape, his eyes having drifted, as had his shoulders, back from her— away, moved by a tide of submerged, bubbling thought. His hands too had loosened against her, hardly any presence now on her waist and on her thigh, and it was only when his dark brows furrowed was there any indication of tangible emotion on his features. He was, in a nonnegotiable terminology of words, pissed. Livid. Irate. Angry, and the silent fire that occasionally rose within the forest of his eyes nearly ignited. He wished then that he’d clobbered Felix Lesser when he had the chance. Everything Ellie had told him about their very peculiar and, frankly, noxious friendship had just made him despise the very existence of their amity. It was an equation he could not ever seem to make sense of; it was the air that Ellie lived in that he deemed Felix unworthy of even breathing. 

                    He had regrets, but one he did not have was confronting Felix. Another he carried no guilt for was essentially telling him a baked potato was a more intelligent life form than the likes of him. A regret he did carry: not saying more. But he knew, in an instant, looking back up at Ellie with the ultimate heartbreak that amounted of any and all brewing storms that rose behind the horizon of his eyes, that she would never want to hear any of it spoken aloud. Through it all, she had not said one bad thing of her ‘friend’, not that he could recall. She was loyal. She was good. And as he locked onto her gaze— that brilliant green gaze, it was as though he felt his toes touch back down to the Earth. Then his heels. And after a moment more he felt the ease of walking once again. His hand moved against her waist, his other finding her own resting in her lap. He brought her palm to his chest, against his heart, and he broke their eye contact to look down and inspect it. How lithe her wrist; how beautiful her hands, and, as he placed his palm over top the back of her’s, he returned to her, sighing through his nose. To speak. Finally, he seemed to find a few words, and it all boiled with a sense of guilt, “… I’m sorry.” He began, “You deserved more than that. You deserve… Everything. Every ounce of respect, of consideration, of support that a person can give— and, it’s not my place to say whether or not he did that for you, but,” But no. He did not, and Harry knew this even if Ellie refused to acknowledge it, but he would not insert himself into where he had no permission to roam. For a moment, he shook his head, freeing the thought, focusing on her, “… I do feel like it is my place to tell you that you that you deserve that, you do.”

                    His hold on her grew more snug, and he pulled her closer, if at all possible, a small smile growing on his lips, one seemingly begging for a little of her sheer sunshine, “If I, Ellie, ever give you any less, tell me. I’m serious, six months, a year— two from now, I want you to tell me.” His gaze dropped to her lips briefly, and he knew the weight of what he’d said. He knew it, and he knew that she knew it. Could she feel it? He watched. A year from now, two years, he envisioned himself with her. Fingers brushed away from her hand and down to her wrist, “I had no idea, about the hospital, by the way. I’m glad that you’re okay, and that you’re still here.” He told her, and though his words were vague, it was only because he wasn’t quite sure what to say on it just yet. He would come back to it, no doubt. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted her to feel like she could tell him how and why she’d landed in that predicament. It was hard to believe that she would’ve done something like that, but he acknowledged, as bitter and as sad as the thought was, that he had not known Elizabeth Aldenkamp for forever. She’d changed from last spring, obviously. So had he. Together they had changed, and now together that had begun to grow, roots intertwined. The mere thought of her not being here made him sad in a way that he could not explain. Sad, for the possibility of a world where she had not made it in the confinements of that hospital room— sad, for the theoretical universe where the world did not get to accommodate her presence anymore, and selfishly, where his life was not spent knowing and loving her existence. To imagine what he would’ve amounted to in that tangent world was a rabbit hole of immeasurable grief, but to ruminate over that thought only proved the momentousness of his current reality. Not only did he hold her to importance, but he held his own life to utmost importance. In other words, he was not just in love with her, but he was in love with his life. Would he have ever even had the itch to admit this before? No. No, he would not have. Nevertheless, at the whim of his own mind, he would grieve the Elizabeth Aldenkamp that did not survive at a later time. Likely, during a sleepless night, unnecessarily, and compulsively— but for now, with wine and mirth still fresh on his lips, and as he encompassed an unfamiliar room with a very, very present Elizabeth Aldenkamp, the thought floated away from him like a balloon.

                    He smiled at her, just looking at her, and lifting his hand, he brought it to her cheek, “I really enjoyed tonight. I liked them. I liked you with them,” Harry tucked her hair behind her ear with a gentle, adroit motion, “I liked me with you with them,” He let out a small laugh then, amused by his own words but ultimately taken by hers, his gradual, warm touch moving to her lobe with the brush of his thumb, and then down to her slender neck, “You know,” His smile widened greatly then, “I didn’t think I was capable of loving you or your life any more than I already do, but, here I am.” A confession. It left his lips honeyed and aware of how cloying it was, but it was love. It was feverish, young, unprecedented love. His fingers tightened around her neck and he brought her down to his mouth, his own parting to kiss her. It was passionate, but chaste, as he shifted and pulled away from her, hooking his arm around her knees with ease as she had fortunately crossed them upon sitting on his lap. In a moment he stood, holding her— bridal style, and in a moment he shifted his holding on her for a more comfortable position. He laughed, lightly, turning around and carrying her to the adequate side of the bed so he could set her right-side up. He lifted a knee to the duvet and set her down— well, dropped her down onto the center of the bed, in a minor, top-heavy blunder that could be blamed on both the Pinot Grigio and the exhaustion of a busy day. He’d subsequently landed half on her, his chest against her own, his face buried in the clean sheets adjacent to her shoulder, “Oh, fuck,” He groaned, face still against the bed, only then quickly lifting his head, one now made entirely of tousled hair and a large, boyish grin. Harry moved back and leaned in, closer, his eyes half-closed, “… Anyway,” He mused, nearing as much as he could, feeling her lips against his and brushing his nose against her own in a way surely envied by the eskimos themselves, “… Where were we?” He mumbled against her through a smirk and leaned in to kiss her again. 

she adjusted some as he pulled her closer, weight shifting to allow her any more closeness than had already been achieved. harry smiled, slight but unquestionably present, and she did her best to return the expression. however, only one corner of her lips managed to rise, just a touch. ellie had scarcely reflected on the events surrounding that trip—before, during, after—only focusing on it to the point where she could see things for what they were, what she hoped and believed they were, and move forward. it’d managed to come to mind every so often, mostly at night in her room at calloway when she couldn’t sleep, but in the event that it crept in she’d pushed it right back out. moving on, moving forward, forgiving others, forgiving herself. looking back, she should’ve expected that one day she’d not only have tofully explain to harry, but to herself. looking back at him with an apparent inability to entirely return a whole smile, it occurred to her that she wanted to. she wanted to open it back up, all of it, and walk through it so that she could truly get to the other side this time. it was subtle, a readiness quietly made known in the back of her mind, but it was there all the same. she was ready. today, tonight, now had shown her that.

a hint of exhaustion—undoubtedly brought on by the long day and emotional subject—began to tug at her eyelids, ellie nodding in response to what harry had asked of her. she took it seriously, the depth of his implications growing as the seconds passed. in a little over six months he’d be graduating. a year from then, so would she. she couldn’t even picture where they both would be in a matter of two, though she knew without so much as a second of doubt or questioning that she saw them together, as did he. the thought broke through and got her to smile, another small but very real thing. it even remained at the mention of her hospitalization, ellie briefly leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “me, too,” she whispered, pulling back only until she could once again find his eyes. there they held a quiet and mutual gaze, the air dense with words and questions that would at some point become spoken. but there was a peacefulness, too. a steadiness in her composure that she could only hope assured him that, when those things did come, she’d be willing to hear and answer them.

his hand gently met her face, which she leaned into like a brand bending to the wind. it was his turn to speak at length and, if she were being honest, ellie was relieved at the subtle sway in conversation. she’d all but forgotten the things she’d been practically dying to ask not so many minutes ago, all she really needed to know now meeting her ears. a few simple statements and she was more than satisfied, only really having wanted to know that he liked them. that he liked being around them. and he did. if she’d been any less tired or distracted by the smooth motion of his hand at her neck, she would’ve pressed for more details, but such circumstances got in the way—not that she minded. he prefaced his thought with a ‘you know’ that made ellie raise her brows in a silent and slightly playful, ‘what?’ then he went on to tell her, as if he’d heard her aloud and could’ve perfectly described the nature of it, and her expression dropped. her mouth parted slightly, a blend of awe and outright vulnerability, as though she almost couldn’t believe what he’d said. the next few seconds played out almost as though harry very cleverly took advantage of the wonderment, capturing her already parted lips with his. hardly a moment too soon, ellie brought her free hand to his shoulder, light grasp tightening drastically once he’d lifted her off the ground. her laughter mingled with his own, only half-attempting to keep the noise somewhat hushed as he clumsily moved them wholly onto the bed. but she couldn’t help it; she laughed louder at his stumble, hands coming to cover her face as the joy inside of her began to build itself back up. a relaxed, “well,” managed to leave her before their lips met again. then, once they’d parted, “i was in your grasp before you carelessly dropped me.” a hand moved to further ruffle his hair, but rather than dropping immediately thereafter, it remained—slowly and fondly raking through it. her eyes followed the movement and she only spoke up again after at least ten seconds. “i think i’m going to look for a therapist,” she announced quietly, unable to fully part with her prior thoughts. a deep well of sadness and melancholy, despite all of the pretty pennies thrown in. “when we get back to school. i think it’ll be good for me.” she then looked back at him, now reflecting that smile small he’d offered her—or at least some version of it. content, sure. safe.

[elliealdenkamp]

-give me therapyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

@elliealdenkamp​

                    The time of the evening had come when the wine ceased to flow, and the laughter had been sequestered— replaced by comfortable silences around the thinning room. It was, in what appeared to be a silent consensus, time for bed. It had been an immeasurable evening for Harry, and the sole, lingering thought he was left with could only be: was I enough? As dinner has proceeded, the more comfortable he’d felt to speak, not only to observe, and soon speaking turned into modest anecdotes and receptiveness to jape. They were asked about each other— him and Ellie, and through two pairs of eyes turning to meet, filled of mirth and admiration, comfortable answers were given. It was only when she mentioned of the incident in Ibiza, the university trip, the one where they’d only just really met, did something start to churn within him. It had been a period of their history that he had not lingered on. Not intentionally. Well, perhaps a little intentionally, considering it was the time he’d found himself in a jam that would pin him as quite possibly the worst man in recent attendance at that school. Mostly, he just hadn’t given it much thought, and he realized then, at that moment, that most of his thoughts went towards their future. He envisioned a future for them.

                    For the first time, he ventured up the ornate front room stairs, carrying their bags and following Ellie to their equally as grandiloquent room. The Aldenkamps had a style— their decor played quite fantastically on their northeastern local and it was done well. Worthy of a magazine. His eyes immediately scanned the room upon entering, the walls, the armoire, the large, single wooden bed. He hadn’t been entirely sure what their sleeping arrangements were to be, and he wasn’t one to be so bold as to ask. Two nights without being beside each other wouldn’t have been an issue, but he was glad that it appeared he’d be able to spend it as he typically did: with her near, in his arms. His eyes fell to an apt spot to set his own belongings down, “… Wow,” He commented briefly, looking over at her with a smile, already removing his watch. He wanted to ask her something before they took to the covers, Harry laying his suitcase down and unzipping it, before he moved swiftly to the end of the bed and sat. He began to remove his shoes, “Can I ask you about something that was said at the table?” A shoe was slipped off and set on the floor, and he sensed a bit of alarm, naturally, he figured, with his ambiguous question. So, he sat up to look at her while he removed the other dress shoe, addressing it.

                    “I mean, it’s not bad,” He gave her a small smile, leaning forward to take her hand. His lips curved upwards a little more— more playful, more boyish, and he pulled her into his lap just as his top row of teeth sunk into his bottom lip, “It’s just when you started talking about Spain. The cliff. It reminded me that we never really talked about that.” Harry explained, his chin lifted, his curious gaze on her own, “I know, it was long, long ago, and whatever you were obviously going through then isn’t exactly anything that you’re going through now, but,” ‘But’. His brow lifted, and his arm conformed comfortably around her hips, “What… Was going on with you? I never asked, but I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

a comfortable silence had enveloped the two as they ventured up the staircase, ellie turning over her shoulder to send her eldest brother and his wife a final goodnight wave before they’d disappeared from view. it wasn’t until they, she and harry, had entered the guest room they were to stay in—through the door she’d nodded at upon reaching the second floor—that she even let out an audible breath. a sigh, but one of content; of satisfaction. without pause she meandered in a couple feet, eyes following harry. though they watched him in near silence, they were slightly wide in a way that implied numerous questions. burst at the seems with them, practically. had he had a nice time? was everyone how he’d imagined—and if not, what were the discrepancies? could he just picture her, a younger her, running across the living room and into the kitchen, just as she had whenever she’d drifted a moment? the thoughts occupied her mind as she came to lean against the nearest bedpost, one foot coming to rest at the side of her opposite knee. her flamingo stance, her aunt and uncle took pleasure in calling it. and harry took off his watch, and he unzipped his suitcase, and she was just waiting for the right moment. the right amount of seconds before she would shamelessly and enthusiastically bombard him with her questions.

the first had been on the tip of her tongue, gaze past her lashes and down on him at the end of the bed. the tip of her tongue, where it subsequently died. ellie blinked, slow and curious. a touch nervous, admittedly, though that seemed to soften once he’d reached for her hand. she took it with less thought than it took to breathe, coming to sit atop his lap with crossed legs. there all was good, until—well, until it wasn’t. he’d broached the subject of ibiza, of the cliff, in a way that carried much more weight than she had when brushing past it. it wasn’t that she was ashamed or even embarrassed of what’d taken place there—she’d come to terms and an understanding with herself at that point. it was just sad. to think about, to open up and reexamine, though she knew both to be necessary.

“no, it’s okay.” she paused. then another sigh, much like a huff in its quiet shortness, left her mouth. while the hand that’d come to rest on harry’s shoulder remained, the other rose to tuck her hair behind her ear. stalling, just a bit, as she looked down and measured out what to say. “um... i was really upset, but i wasn’t at all about to face it. i’d sort of long gotten into the habit, way before i met you, of distracting myself from pain. i mean,” she shrugged, free hand motioning before resting in her lap. “you know that.” no more than that needed to be said to know the few incidence she could be referencing. a slow nod lifted her chin before it dropped, a bit heavy. “not twenty-four hours in spain and i had bailed felix out of jail. minor drug charge. only... a day or two after i’d been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning. and he’d, i don’t know, passed out with leo in his room... and didn’t reach out to see if i was okay.” ellie bit her cheek, gaze still averted. “you know, complicated relationship with him at that point aside, he’d been my best friend for years. the only person i’d trusted with my deepest secret. and he didn’t call, while i jumped to help him.”

her head began to shake, body straightening up a bit before she looked back at harry. “i’m not—i’m long past being upset about it. i understood, i forgave him forever ago. but... it still hurt.” unable to maintain eye contact for long, her line of sight once again lowered. “i was just looking for... anything else to think about. any rush, the whole trip. and after.” seconds of silence stretched out in front of her, lips curling inward. then, in a swift and small movement, she looked back at him. chin still down, eyes peering through her lashes. “i was a wreck, emotionally. on the inside. it was like the cap had come off and everything... else came with it. and i didn’t want to think about any of it. about anything.”

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                   The way she described it— it sounded whimsical. It sounded out of his reach; certainly, something he’d never had or ever could’ve dreamed of having. Until now. A family, that was. A traditional family to be clearer, nuclear, cookie-cutter, even, and as scorned and cracked as the pretty hallway picture frame commonly exposed itself to be, an illusion was better than the bleakly broken. Underneath what was gilded was still ruins, sure, but at least it sparkled. His family name had never acquired such a shine in his eyes. Not in his lifetime, at least, as he was sure down the line there had to be great men, but he would not consider his father to be one. Not himself, not yet, maybe. He didn’t anticipate the Aldenkamps were like that though. They were one of the good ones— they were one of the true families that intertwined and strengthened with numbers just as they did with loss. It had to be so, for Ellie had been borne by their own hands, and she was good. He met a lot a good people, but so good they feared integrity when it was most needed, which, made them bad, and his girl— the woman he called his own, was safely not one of those people. But he’d known this, and yet he recalled it in these moments, every time: her hair falling over her shoulders, her smile wide, her words soft as they were elegant in describing the findings that her Eden eyes had just consumed.  

                    And he could listen to her, as a child listened to Aesop’s Fables, intently learning. He focused on the way her touch felt against his side, and he watched the corner of her mouth, his own curving before he followed where she was pointing. The rocking chairs, the porch, all clean and kempt, freshly stained no doubt. The thought crossed him that not a single inch of original paint or scuff lingered from the childhood she spoke of, and in the same moment he wondered if it really even mattered. His father’s house was seemingly untouched from his boyhood, it felt, for better or for worse. It was an interesting thought, one that was pulled from him by the sudden lifting of her voice and the parting of her hand from his arm. ‘Bell’? A bell? He looked up, spotting a man— Bellamy, naturally, it struck from a short-term memory deposit, one he knew though would be engraved in something permeative by the end of the weekend. Harry briefly inspected the other, a small smile on his expression, watching the chummy interaction between the two with his own hands returning to his pockets. He was trying to remember the pictures she’d showed him; he remembered his face, but his hair was definitely different now in person, perhaps longer. And then the attention turned to him in what felt like less than a moment and there, a small spotlight laid upon him. A brow lifted. Suddenly, he wished he were just one of the plain, ordinary trees surrounding them. No— no he didn’t, that was just the flustered nerves talking; the intimidation of the unprecedented situation that presented itself before him, but in a second he knew it would be okay. In a second the man’s words had suddenly brought a real smile to him, dimpled, and easing.

                    So, he knew who he was. Ellie had talked about him intently, had she not? The assumption washed over him and it felt grand, though he certainly hadn’t strolled into this thinking his name hadn’t ever come up. Harry extended a hand promptly, shaking Bellamy’s, looking him in the eye, “Pleasure’s all mine. Thank you, for having me,” He greeted, almost gratefully— a modest and careful approach, no doubt, but he felt like approaching the situation that way would be nothing less of smart. Safe. In all Harrison Hadlee’s misfortunes; in all his small risks that did not pay off, this was the one pair of dice that he wanted to know exactly what he was rolling. This was, the most important day he could remember having lived in a long, long time. He looked over at Ellie then, growing calmer, retracting his hand back to his pocket, and letting her take the lead from then. He followed them up the porch, the human coattail of their small talk conversation, listening lightly as his eyes inspected the front of the grand estate. Overwhelmed was only the half of it, and in a boyish, if not guileless, subconscious desire to reach for a shred of familiarity, he looked down then at Ellie’s hand by her side, and followed them through the front door.  

watching him, ellie’s eyes fell to his mouth, corners now upturned in a way that brought her sudden relief. or, perhaps relief wasn’t the word, because there truthfully hadn’t been a moment in which she questioned, outwardly or silently in her own head, whether or not her family would love harry. whether or not they’d eagerly welcome him and not once live to regret that choice. so maybe it wasn’t relief, but reassurance of what she already knew. regardless of specification, the jitters that’d made themselves known on the last leg of the drive refused to settle. the young woman’s excitement only grew, made evident by the still large smile that occupied her lips. it contained, also, an undeniable bit of amusement, what with her cousin’s choice of words. finally. ‘great to finally meet you.’ one word that could so easily give harry a clue into how far back she’d brought him up to the family member she was arguably the closest with, not only in age, but in general. not that she minded. not when she’d made an elaborate confession of her love, in detail, not all that long ago. not when he’d discovered her first name followed by his last in her penmanship, in her notebook, not long after that. there were no secrets and, frankly, no embarrassment regarding her affections towards him. none. how equally freeing and solid at the same time.

“well, we have no choice, when it comes to this one—” bellamy teased, briefly looking over his shoulder to point a thumb in her direction. “no, you don’t,” ellie was quick to joke back, following him up the porch steps. what followed the open door appeared before her as she always remembered it: a wide, open living space, bright from what sun was still in the sky shining through tall windows. the kitchen to the left of the almost entirely open floor plan. the people, her family. the most immediate living members, anyway. her aunt caught sight of them first, hands full with a porcelain dish of something or another, and it was her gaze that notified her uncle of their arrival before she could even say anything. “there they are!” he called, looking back at his wife and motioning towards her in an offer to take the dish off her hands. a kind offer to allow her to welcome them first, only to be entire ruined by the barrage of young men that quickly followed suit. liam and blake came first, nearly knocking into one another as they appeared from the hallway and crossed the space. their voices, a chorus of hello’s, how are you doing’s, and nice to meet you’s filled the air, handshakes, shoulder claps, and large hugs coming once they were close enough. aunt gemma and uncle theo weren’t close behind, making their way through the small crowd next. then, from the back, came a voice. one much like the other cousin’s, if only older and a bit more distinguished. “my daughter’s never going to fall asleep in this house, is she?” he asked no one specifically, gaining a playful shoulder nudge from his wife, a woman appearing of the same age, with shoulder-length flaxen hair. at that they, too, made their introductions—their welcome’s and it’s been too long’s—before, finally, ellie and harry were motioned further into the house. “sorry if we’re a little late,” ellie commented as she came to lean against the kitchen island. there she set the dessert box down, giving it a small nod. “harry thought it’d be nice not to show up empty-handed and, well, i forgot to pick something up until we were on the way.” liam, who’d begun helping bring things to the table, passed by and commented, “so it isn’t home made? guess we’ll have to look past that.” despite the very small fear that harry would take any of their jokes seriously or personally, she shook her head and laughed. she then turned to find him, harry, free hands now able to reach for his own. they held his there for a couple seconds, just long enough to lean up onto the balls of her feet and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “want to grab the potatoes? follow me into the dining room?"

[allaboutgracee]

lovegrace_e: 😌

[allaboutgracee]

lovegrace_e: Morning stroll 🌿

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    Anxiousness and subtle silence: a perfect concoction, brewing a storm in the interior of his car, only to be picked apart by her sudden care. Of course, she’d notice he was off— of course, he wouldn’t have been able to escape her, not then, not last week, not a month ago. He’d crumbled quite quickly to transparency under her touch, one that was gentle against his leg, and in saying it out loud he felt like he’d been able to breathe for the first time since they’d taken off. ‘I’m just nervous— I want them to like me’, or, something like that, the memory already scattered amongst the events that followed: a small, breathy laugh on his end; a smirk on hers. Her leaning over to place her chin on his shoulder. Her begging. The words that followed; the ones that didn’t, and instead he found action, crossing over the right lane, pattering over the rumble strip and stopping just past a crooked ‘deer crossing’ sign. He parked, he kissed her fervently and moved over, notably more graceful than the last time he’d done so. Urgently, she’d lifted her hips for him, he’d pushed up her dress; she undid his belt, he pulled whatever thin garments that separated them either apart or down, and, still clothed, a shamble of buttons and cashmere, they became one. He hadn’t really even considered what they’d done until after, the reality reaching him only as he laid weakly on her chest, his mouth against her jaw. It was then the only noises he could focus on at that point being that of her breath, and the other cars zipping by as they allayed in each other’s arms, just outside of Exeter.  

                    He briefly accounted it as they sat outside the house, finally, and he knew instantly he was in the presence of a family that was destined for greatness. A legacy. A piece of hair had fallen once more onto his forehead. He pushed it back, with his right hand. It was a motion nearly symmetric to how she had done so in the family lavatories of a grocery twenty miles ago. He’d looked at her then with such ease in his eyes, as she had gently groomed him— coddled him, and then as she fixed herself, and in the mirror they both stood, their reflections, a sight he could not recall seeing before. Perhaps chummy, biased, and certainly romantic, he could not deny how they appeared to be two halves of an eminent, matching whole: long, slender frames, brown hair, built for one another, and as he’d inspected her reflection wholly, he’d begun to smirk. He’d leaned down, his arms wrapping around her waist, chin on her shoulder this time, and he had watched them. Riled, still, by her display in the car he gave thought about what it would be like to have her there against the sink, in front of the mirror.

                    ‘Is this the part where I say something about old habits?’. He’d nearly laughed at her words but responded after a few moments, ‘What do you remember about that night?’. A selected question— one asked on a sudden, but smooth whim. Outside the house now, in the driveway, a swarm of thoughts found him. He wondered if she’d used sex in an attempt to make him feel better; he wondered if she’d done it to try and distract him. Or, if she knew it would be the last for as long as they were going to be in her aunt and uncle’s home— or, if there was no sudden reason at all. Had it helped? Sure, his mind wasn’t on his own anxieties, and more so on her. Torturous, he anticipated these next few days to be, as he had both seemed to silently vow to be on good behavior. Harry looked at her then, after brushing his hair back into its desired place, and wondered what she was thinking, as he did quite often. He smiled, just as she did, and kept his eyes on hers, even as she took his hand and placed her lips to his knuckles. The way she loved him. The way he knew. He smiled at her, boyish and considerate, that very love pooling in his dark eyes, “Yeah. I’m ready,” He responded, softly, even, watching the woman he adored; the woman whose family he was about to meet, and at the threshold of it all; at the cusp of what could be his forever future, he, somehow, felt at ease. It would be fine, he knew this now, and his smiled a little wider, “–I mean, I definitely have an appetite now,” He teased, beginning to undo his seatbelt and exit the car, swiftly moving over to her side— pushing that piece of hair back once more as he promptly aided in opening her door so she could stand.

                    “So, this is where you lived in high school?” He asked, delicately digging for more information as shut the door and moved to her side, his hand reaching for hers, the one not holding the pie, “Really, this is incredible, Ellie, the pictures don’t do it justice,” Harry added, glancing around the estate, over the large house, and then back to her. He wanted to know all about it. He wanted to know more about her, about memories and stories she had yet to tell him. The front door wasn’t near, but it was not far, and it dawned upon him then that this would be the last intimate conversation they would likely share until after dinner, “It’s quite the stomping ground.”

what do you remember about that night? the thought—and its ensuing response—lingered in ellie’s mind as she moved to stand and exit the car. she could already hear herself back; the laughter the question had immediately got out of her and the actual response she’d given after taking a few seconds to think. to recall the night that contained so many of their firsts. not only the first time they’d slept together—an event it was safe to say neither of them had seen coming—but their first kiss. their first time expressing their feelings towards each other. real, romantic feelings. thinking back on it still took the effect of a dream, a bit hasty and blurring around the edges. practically unreal. i remember... you paying for my ticket, which made me a little nervous even though it was probably nothing, she’d admitted with a sheepish grin. i remember you putting your arm on the rest next to mine and my heart practically ripping through my chest. i remember... everything feeling different. looking at things a little differently. at my friend, harry, a little differently. at that she’d turned to really look at him, eyes scanning his face from top to bottom, taking in each of his features. somewhere in the back of her mind she could still see the way the neon theater lights had splashed across them, casting shadows and streaks of color onto his skin.

i remember, uh, fucking up a little bit. out of nerves. the admission prompted some laughter, a hand coming to move some hair away from her face. and i remember wanting nothing more in my entire life. a bit of a cliché closer, but a truthful one nonetheless. birthday gifts, certain roles in local plays and musicals, past crushes, they all paled in comparison to how much she’d longed for him in that moment. and longing it truly was, the realization that she’d still wanted him after all they’d been through undeniable, despite successful prior efforts to put the feeling aside. all for him. all for this. yeah, it was all so fast, but i guess you could say i have good taste. when i knew, i knew, ellie had shrugged, contentment finding its way to her every feature.

she wore a similar look now, eyes moving from him to the house’s façade. “yeah, it’s pretty amazing,” she agreed almost wistfully, something in her voice indicating that she was referencing more so to the sentimentality of it all—the memories she’d made in that house, the people that lived there—rather than its literal grandness. “there,” she began, pointing to the front porch steps, “is where we’d all hangout when waiting for friends to come over. like a little welcome party, every single time. so excited. i guess we all really loved the house being full and... alive.” they continued to near, ellie wrapping her free arm around harry’s and leaning into his side just a touch. “and there,” she picked up, pointing at the rocking chairs that sat atop the porch on either side of the door, “are the huge chairs we’d fight for on the evenings we’d sit out here with friends or just each other. they don’t look too big now, but at the time i could easily fall asleep in one.”

not five seconds later her attention was diverted, the front door opening to reveal a young man. at first a sliver, just his arm, then his side, his profile, and finally as he shut the door behind him and turned forward, the whole of him. “bell!” ellie shouted, enthused, as though they were across an expanse far greater than the distance between them. a similarly excited smile captured his own mouth, only a bit more lopsided than her own and entirely boyish. it reached his blue-green eyes as a hand rose to run through his shaggy brown locks, the tall young man—just hardly taller than harry—hurrying towards them. “i have to sneak in my hellos before you’re bombarded by the rest of the family,” he noted playfully, arms rising at his sides. unlooping her arm from harry’s, ellie jogged a couple steps forward to meet him in a big embrace. “stop growing, you jolly green giant!” she teased, pulling back after a couple seconds of childish back-and-forth. in doing so she also took a couple steps to the side, allowing room for harry between them. “bell, this is—” before she could finish, one of bellamy’s hands rose to effectively stop her in her tracks. “i know who this is, how could i not?” that very hand then reached out towards him, the brother offering a wide smile. “great to finally meet you, harry. i’m bellamy.”

[elliealdenkamp]

@harrisonhadlee

preaker, vermont to portsmouth, new hampshire. a three-and-a-half hour drive south-east that ellie had become wholly familiar with, as one is with an old friend, over the past three years away at university. by now she could recall the scenery with great fondness and the joyful anticipation of seeing loved ones for the first time in a while with even more so. this thanksgiving found itself at once to be no different and entirely so, with her sitting on the passenger side and wistfully gazing out of the front and side windows. that’s because, while all of the usual landmarks and scenery hadn’t changed, while all of the same feelings still swelled in her chest in a way she’d grown to expect, this time she wasn’t alone. she had harry—and, as she’d come to find with many unexpected aspects and facets of her life, the long drive had been tremendously improved upon by his presence.

an already long drive made a bit longer, due to some... priorities, that’d made themselves known about two-thirds of the way there. as they neared, harry’s nerves had become apparent—driving twenty over the speed limit, muscles a bit more tense than usual—a reaction to meeting her family that, while entirely endearing, was one she’d badly wanted to quelle. her first thought was to place a reassuring hand on his leg, shifting in her seat so that she could just lean over the center console some. though, as he admittedly spoke of his nerves and excitement at the prospect of having a thanksgiving like this, ellie couldn’t ignore the suddenly apparent fact that it, to her, was so damn attractive. and in that irrefutable feeling, there was a resolution that’d without a doubt work for them both. so what’d started as a soothing hand quite seamlessly lead to her leaning over some more, to the point where her chin could just about rest atop his nearest shoulder. there she’d began to speak again, although the words that left her lips were closer to murmurs. relaxed and praising and, finally, begging. she needed him to pull over—she needed him now. he’d smirked and she knew it was over. he’d pulled over and she knew she’d be getting exactly what she’d asked for.

somewhere around twenty minutes later and they were off once more, harry pulling back onto the freeway with the windows cracked, hair slightly unkempt, and a particular grin that brought her to laughter. is this the part where i say something about old habits? she’d teased, wearing her own jaunty smile. though the laughter soon turned to lighthearted urgency, ellie directing that they’d now be making two more quick stops before finally reaching their destination. the first being just about anywhere that had a restroom they could freshen up in. the second being one particular bakery not thirty minutes from the house, where she’d pick up one dessert or another to blame any potential tardiness on. quite the class act she was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t thought of before needing it as a potential excuse.

which lead them to the present, just having parked in the driveway of her aunt and uncle’s home. her home. its white colonial exterior, the front porch steps that lead up to a grand dark wood front door. the memories and the people and the rowdy dogs that were just past it. unable to contain an anticipatory smile, ellie looked over at harry and once again reached out to take his hand. only, this time, she then brought it to her lips so that she could press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “you ready?” she asked, free hand’s fingertips drumming excitedly against the pie container that sat in her lap.

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    Coy. Was she playing coy with him? Really? As if his gaze alone couldn’t blaze through her flimsy facade; as if he couldn’t dismantle any attempt of escape with just a mere glance. He knew Ellie. He knew her well enough to know she was diverting from the fact that he’d found something she never intended on him seeing. Anguish suddenly and lowly swung at him as his head couldn’t help but tilt to the side, a brow raising, his hand, still holding the parchment now easing; dropping with his sudden inattention. His mind was wandering, his eyes lingering to observe her rosy cheeks and sudden frown. This deterred his own blithe expression, not because he was saddened by her reaction, but because he was starting to find unease with it, his expectations amiss. She wasn’t going to make him say it, was she? ‘You know what. Elizabeth Hadlee. EAH.’— the words nearly manifested, but all that came to him was a brief, stunted utterance that clashed with her own words. He shut up quickly and let her speak. Just as she’d distracted from the paper it seemed, she’d given in to confrontation. She knew exactly what he was holding, and she was now evidently embarrassed by it. That word stuck out to him as she said it, a stinging word, not to him, but obviously to her— a thorn of discomfort, slightly embedded and pronounced with her small groan.

                    And all the while he couldn’t help but think of how completely and devastatingly cute she was acting. Sure, he could acknowledge that it was an inconvenient find— that most guys his age would mull deeply over it, be turned off, brush it to the side, run, and maybe he would’ve. He could’ve. If it hadn’t been her. If the past four months with her hadn’t been the best of his entire life. If he didn’t feel like he could trust her with anything. If he didn’t love her; if he actually felt like he wouldn’t love her for the rest of his, once worthless, now priceless existence and effort and time on this Earth, all because of her. If he hadn’t, at least in an indirect way, had the same, damn intrusive thought. He recalled a memory that took place a few weeks ago, the night before his flight when he had returned to his room early in the morning to see her sitting on the end of his bed, shambled with worry. How marital it had felt when the resolve same; how supportive and strong she had been, and how he’d brushed away that slippery, strange thought that it could still be them in ten years. It felt less strange now, and yes, maybe it was ridiculous to still be in their honeymoon, and to ponder over such a thing, but at least they were on that whimsical, hypothetical page together. He wouldn’t marry her now, of course, he wouldn’t even feel compelled to do such a thing, but he, much to his own surprise, now felt no oddity in at least considering it. She had considered it. Ellie Aldenkamp had thought about what it would be like to let him take her hand in a way that could only ever be done once.

                    That meant something. He listened to her, the brunette now on the end of her own mattress, as she had been those some weeks ago, facing him. Her words, truthfully, had just become words. He didn’t desire much of an explanation, he knew where she was coming from already, and he hadn’t assumed much of anything. Flattered was what he was, mostly, and endeared, and happy that she had been thinking of him in such a way. A way that only indicated that there was a future with her, that she was indeed a home; a person to rest with, as he was just that for her. His face had softened, and in a relaxed movement he lifted the paper to look at it one more time, reading it, and then reading it again. Then he smiled wide once more. He released a curt exhale, curled into a breathy, amused laugh and he looked up at her, shaking his head. With decisiveness he moved to her, stepping in front of her and standing with his legs straddling one of her own. He looked at her. He looked at her, and moved his unoccupied hand to her flushed cheek, soft, his palm and fingers sliding back into her thick hair. Enough to lightly grip the roots of her tresses, lean down, and kiss her. It was a soft but firm kiss, and when he pulled back he lingered with doting eyes and a smirk, “Did you really think I’d be upset?” He questioned teasingly, lightly laughing against her mouth as his hands moved down, finding the duvet before he finally turned his hips to sit down next to her.  

                    Harry looked over at her, then to the paper, “Well, I definitely didn’t think it was a proposal, or anything, I think it’s normal to write things down sometimes just because we want to write them down,” He mused aloud, not sure if that exactly made sense, but it did to him. He was a writer, or something of the sort. In the depths of his many decomposition books were surely thoughts and ideas he didn’t particularly want anyone else to see, or ones even he himself didn’t want to revisit. He understood, was what he was trying to get across, that it was normal to think and to dream, and it did not make you more crooked than anybody else. His smile curved, lopsided in a boyish way and his head turned to her, “I think I’m more upset that you’d think I’d be upset, like I’d be repulsed by the idea of marrying you,” He explained, “–because that’s just not true, I mean, I’d definitely marry you,” Harry continued, realizing now that he was starting to become the one that was babbling and explaining; saying things that might be misread. He wasn’t nervous, was the thing, he just wanted to tell her the right thing; to explain his sentiment accurately. So, in attempt to collect his thoughts he glanced off, brows knotting, eyes briefly closing, “— I mean, honestly, right now at this moment, I can see myself doing that with you one day.” He lightly emphasized the last detail. One day. One of these days, Ellie, maybe. His hazel eyes found her green, gauging for a reaction of some sort, starting to wonder if he was beginning to sound like the crazy one. Crazy for her, it would be though, and if there was ever a person on this planet worth being being smitten with, it would be her. He placed his palms flat behind him, setting the paper aside, supporting his torso as he moved closer to her, “To be fair, I think anyone who really sees you would, Ellie,” His eyes scanned her as he shrugged, as if it were a simple fact, and then a grin began to find his mouth, “… You’re so easy to love. You know that?” And then more playful, his hand moving closer to her back, his mouth to the crook of her neck. He wore a smirk, as he knew his next words were her own personal sweetener, an antidote, “My baby’s easy to love.” 

varying emotions played off of ellie’s face like an old-fashioned projector. click. growing worry and fear as harry lifted the paper to study it some more, this time in front of her. click. confusion in the crease of her brows as he smiled, wide, and then laughed. click. doubt as he then brought his eyes away from the page, looked back at her, and shook his head. a sort of deep dread found a place in her chest while she continued to observe his each and every movement for some sort of reaction. any kind of tell as to what he was thinking. all she could piece together in those fleeting moments, though, was a jumbled image—a mixture of indicators. which, really, she had to admit only made perfect sense, all things considered. it would’ve been comical had she not been so anxious, him walking towards her with what seemed to be utter confidence while she stared back with the wide eyes of a doe staring down the receiving end of a barrel. in truth, she wanted to hide. she wished to possess the ability to instantaneously disappear, right before his eyes, if only to allow herself a minute to privately calm down about the entire thing. however, it hadn’t once crossed her mind to regret having put pen to paper and written down elizabeth annabeth hadlee in the first place. it wasn’t her feelings that she feared, it was his.

but then he made contact. first with his legs straddling one of hers, her thigh brushing up against his once and then once again, then by bringing his palm to her cheek. for the first time in a few minutes ellie took a conscious breath, exhaling as his hand moved back to reach her hair. there was gentle forcefulness to the movement that she welcomed almost as much as she did the following kiss, leaning back just enough to warrant placing a hand behind her for balance. the other felt the same desire to reach forward and touch him—his arm, his shoulder, his side, anywhere—that her hands did every time they were this close. only, with her thoughts so entirely consumed, her reactions had slowed. by the time she thought to act on that need for more, their lips had parted. there was only his eyes, his warm eyes, and then—”yeah. no. uncomfortable, maybe?” the words sputtered from her and she recognized instantly how much of a complete dullard she sounded like. it was only because this, of all things, was the last one she’d expected. it spoke nothing of harry or their relationship and entirely of past experiences in which the person on the receiving end of her growing affection wasn’t exactly receptive. one would’ve thought that by now she would’ve severely squandered her feelings as a form of self-preservation, but despite the hurt and disappointment she’d experienced, it never occurred to her to do so. no, she continued to feel her feelings and feel them deeply, to the point of often acting on them. inhabiting and showcasing them for others and writing them down as if to make them concrete and tangible.

relief seemed to reach out towards her as harry spoke, as an almost childlike smile captured his face. a bit of laughter, short and almost nervous, too escaped her at his own admission—that he would definitely marry her. she knew before he even felt the need to explain that it wasn’t meant to be said with immediacy, that it was more so the thought existing. that, though, was everything. it was mutual, it was understanding, it was acceptance and genuine, honest to god love. everything, and how was someone supposed to express that? she simply didn’t possess the resources. she scarcely knew if they existed at all. but then he moved, setting the note aside, and she briefly hung her head, as it relaxing into the newfound reassurance. however, her chin lifted once he returned, closer than before. he moved again, to her neck, and without much thought her head tilted to the side, elongating it some. “i’m glad you think so,” ellie murmured. the first thing she’d said since he started talking and it was so... lame, but she just couldn’t help it. not when she was so immediately distracted from any sort of suaveness or tact.  she stayed there a moment before shifting towards him enough to bring her lips back to his, leaning forward with an eagerness that brought them both down towards the mattress. in seconds she’d moved so that she was straddling his lap, continuing down and down and down until she was on top of him, not once breaking from him for longer than a moment.

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

@elliealdenkamp

                    To say he wasn’t worried for what was coming over the next few days would’ve been a lie. He was entirely worried, though not a single fiber of the concern was really all that logical. In a predominant way, he was aware of this fact, and he knew, greatly, that there was a large and safe chance that her family would indeed like him. If they even had half the acceptance Ellie held within her heart, they would at least tolerate him over this Thanksgiving holiday. The more he thought about it though the more he realized he wasn’t so much worried that they wouldn’t like him, but more so by the pressing feeling that he cared very, very deeply if they indeed would. He needed them to like him, as the thing, because the unfortunate fact was that it would affect their relationship. And, their relationship was something he intended to hold onto to. He’d never felt that way before, not about anyone, not about a single group of people— the need to be liked; the begging and the wishing of it all. Internally, of course, as he spent his brief moments of deep, contemplative thought on the matter seemingly asking fate to be so kind just this once. He felt ridiculous every time he lingered on the doubt. He felt ridiculous, and so while being with her these past few days now, as the time came for them to pack their suitcases as say goodbye to Vermont, he made himself shake off the incertitude of it all. 

                    In her room now he was standing, passing her dresser, looking at a photo of what he was soon to face. Literally. He already knew he’d be asking her to reiterate her cousins’ names over the course of their drive. He felt it epochal to know what to call all of them before arriving, or at the very least in good taste. A brief, comfortable silence had fallen between them. He’d just come from his room, already packed, decidedly done with his studies for the day. She appeared in the midst of her own preparedness, her clothes strewn. Her excitement for the coming break made him happy. She, as always, made him happy. Happy. Just the mere thought about how much she made him happier made him instantly feel happy, and as his eyes moved from the picture frame he smiled. Her top dresser was cracked— left open he’d imagined by her and from the traffic coming to and fro. His attention briefly scanned the inside, nothing out of the ordinary, just her clothes, and then, suddenly— the edge of a parchment. His brows briefly knotted, and unwittingly he reached down to grab it, the start of a few letters already visible. Harry pulled it out slowly, the paper not old, but creased in a way that could only infer that it had been stuck for a time longer than a few days. ‘Elizabeth Annabeth Hadlee’. ‘Elizabeth Hadlee’. ‘EAH’. All in her penmanship, all pressed by pen, not a sign of attempted erasure, her certain words, simple and neat in the middle of the page.

                    He was surprised for a moment, and then he began smiling, wider and wider, not even sure why he himself was so taken. Before he could even process the repercussions of what he’d done (practically snooping), and what he was about to ask (something that would confess the former immediately), he was speaking, “… What is this?” His growing blithe found his voice as he turned, amused, a dimple indenting his right cheek. He looked up at Ellie then, the brunette standing by her own bed, and his warm, hazel eyes met her own with a fervent mirth, diluted with an unprecedented mischievousness.

at his words, her eyes moved from the suitcase she’d been studiously organizing. it was currently splayed open atop her bed, piles of clothing, toiletries, shoes, and a few books spread out like puzzle pieces she was working to put together. they fell out of focus, however, as her chin lifted and vision found harry. his forest ground eyes, few and faint freckles that seemed to fade some over the change of the seasons, and that ever charming smile. only, as ellie’s eyes came to settle on that very smile, she noticed there was presently something else to it. something mirthful and buoyant. as her sights shifted downward towards his hand, she had to wonder what it was that had so captured his amusement. then—oh, shit. it took no longer than a second for her to recognize what he now had in his possession, the eggshell paper with its thin lines marked by her own cursive scrawl causing her lips to part. she stood there just like that, hands mid-fold, for a few more moments, as if trying to recognize what could be so novel about a single piece of paper. as if she didn’t instantly know the three simple lines she’d written right at the center of it not a week ago.

“—what’s what?” she took a stab, the corners of her lips already beginning to meekly curl upward. she was quite positive that a subtle blush had already began to bloom across her cheeks, heartrate noticeably quickening in her chest. another beat passed and the sweater she’d been holding slipped through her digits, landing atop the other neatly folded clothing. her hands then gently gripped both sides of the suitcase, head hanging comically and momentarily as she tried to gather what to say. coming up short, ellie looked back at him, brunette curls significantly loosened by a day and a half’s wear falling around her face. “it’s, uh, incredibly embarrassing, is what it is,” she tried again, hoping a self-deprecating approach would take any unnoticed awkwardness or pressure off of him. coming around the bed, she sat at its end, eyes once again landing on the page. a playful, but very real groan came from her throat, knowing there was no way around the simple explanation he’d really been asking for.

“i guess i was just thinking the other day... and it came across my mind. your name, i mean, and what that might look and sound like.” her chest deflated, gaze flitting up to meet harry’s. “—and clearly i couldn’t help myself.” at that she suddenly adjusted where she sat, sitting up straighter and turning to face him completely. a hand then rose, motioning out in front of her a bit as she spoke. “i’m sorry if that’s—a lot. i’d never want to put that sort of assumption or pressure out there.” she was scrambling, even if it were on a small scale. putting every reassurance and possible comfort out there before something as small as her putting something to paper could, frankly, scare him away. “sometimes i just get ahead of myself.”

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    Her question lingered, muffled against his neck where it had been spoken. His chin turned finding her forehead, a faint contact, if only to let her know that he had heard her— that he was listening, and that ultimately, he was contemplating. Though it not possible for it to be visible from her position, his eyes revealed his deep introspection, blinds once open, now drawn closed with his clandestine thought. To be actually telling her about the first time he’d ever seen her was something he’d never thought he’d be doing. Not at the very moment he’d watched her pass, not on the lake, just shaky hands and a blue book between them— not in the middle of the desert, covered by a stable; aglow with the moonlight and ‘I love yous’, and not even ten minutes ago, standing in his doorway, knowing he would love her forever. It was a truth that had always seemed insignificant. Well, until now. Until he’d written his letter, and thought about it, the ruminative fact finding him that he’d always remembered first seeing her, he just hadn’t felt the weight of it until recently. Eight months ago, he’d laid his eyes on her for the first time. A moment, eight months ago that he had not forgotten. He wondered briefly, and admittedly irrelevantly, if she remembered the first time she’d seen him; if it hadn’t been Colorado, actually— if Ellie had seen him before without knowing him, somewhere, somehow, before she too felt inclined to remember.

                    The back of his head returned comfortably to the pillow, his eyes nearly closed. She wanted a story— she wanted their story, and this was how it began, after all, as many great stories did: with just a look. He began to smile, his eyes opening a little more, “It was, uh–…” His smile widened, impeding his speech for a moment, “… Either late March, or early April. One of those days that makes you think that Spring might actually come early.” He told her, a pretty picture to be painted at his whim, no doubt, “And it had to have been noon, because I was with my friends, sitting by one of those trees near the admin building, and I remember one of them saying, ‘there she goes’,” His tone shifted slightly with the small quotation, his index finger mindlessly circling against her arm, “and so I looked up, and there you were, and you were smiling. I couldn’t tell what had made you smile, it may have been another person, or something you’d seen, but you definitely didn’t notice any of us.” Harry smiled wider, caper intended with the last part, but then he settled, “I mean, you were just this… Angel that had breezed on by,” He explained, wearing a small smile, remembering, remembering: her legs, her hair, her waist, her lips, her hips as she left, and a very small, breathy laugh left him, “And I watched you come and I watched you go, and then, uh– I asked them for your name, which they gave to me. Just after that someone said something about you being in a play, or something, and then I didn’t see you again until The Stanley.”

                    He shifted then, turning them, his arm underneath her as he moved his chest to be over hers, his hips now adjacent to her own. His elbow planted on her other side, and it became apparent his only reason to move them as he’d done was so he could just look at her. He wanted to look at her, and as soon as he did, his eyes found something even warmer; hearths of honey and pasture and love, was what greeted her. A grin had crept up on him, boyish, tempted to divide just a little further to accommodate a laugh, “I’d never been so embarrassed in my life when I realized you didn’t know mine,” He told her, “–when I saw you again in the cafe, after we’d gotten back from Colorado, and you asked for my name,” The laugh came to his throat but not to his mouth, “I mean, seriously, I just about melted into the floor— I felt like a complete chump, and… I’d decided right then that I didn’t even stand a chance.” He glanced down at her lips, a brow lifting, his voice sinking, becoming gravelly, “That was really when you first started getting me into trouble.”

she saw it all, just behind closed lids. a puzzle she was slowly piecing together, a scene no cinematographer could match. visions of the beginnings of spring earlier that year filled her mind, with their fresh air, softer winds, and new life. ellie had always felt a fondness towards spring—the way it brought with it a sense of a new beginning. a physical manifestation of the word, that came every single year without fail. the time to start shedding your layers and embrace the warmth like a friend long gone unseen. it provided quite the charming backdrop to the memory, though she knew that many of her experiences around that time had been anything but. however, it was a relief, in a way, that something beautiful had unknowingly lived in that period of time. that it had been the beginning of something. a fresh bloom pushing through the remaining frost. at the mention of the time—noon—ellie made quick work of thinking back on her past schedules in an attempt to pin down the class she must’ve been coming from. another piece of the puzzle. she silently and rapidly flipped through the course names until it landed on her. she’d made it a point to only register for one class before noon back then—and only because it was all but impossible to take it at a different time. chekhov acting. it’d steadily become her favorite.

it lined up with the location, too, the image of harry amongst the trees and the admin building and his friends coming to mind. though her eyes remained closed, a bashful smile tugged at her lips at the mention of someone, anyone, pointing her out in a crowd or open setting. despite a passion and major she’d selected that very purposefully put her in front of people, she never took an expectation of being looked at outside of the theater. it, in a quiet and flattering way, caught her off guard. to be looked at without a knowledge of it happening felt intimate, in a way. even if it were very much in public, as it had been in this case. especially when, amidst others, it’d been him. a breath of a laugh left her at the idea of not having noticed him at the time—especially considering that, since she’d first laid eyes on him, it was hard not to. harry had acted as a magnet; once she’d faced him, it was difficult to disengage. his presence was a physically pulling force. a draw.

he continued and, for the first time since the beginning of the story, her eyes opened. popped open, with the alertness of something suddenly remembered. a scene much different than the one he was describing. a rainy day inside the campus cafe; her nearly soaked-through clothing and that glorious storm. after taking a seat across from him at one of the many small tables, she’d asked for his name. he’d already known hers and she’d jokingly asked if he’d been asking around about her. it was amusing in the way that things were when you guessed at something with no intention of being right, then were just that. she had questions—silly ones, pedantic ones—but the story had wrapped up before she thought to truly ask them. then i didn’t see you again until the stanley. “fitzgerald was right about large parties,” she hummed, as if on cue. a line she couldn’t possibly forget. a line that’d stuck.

she meant to shift—to move so that she could look him in the eye and maybe actually ask a question or two—but in the few seconds that she held off he’d begun to move himself. his eyes met hers and the few fleeting thoughts that’d come to mind disappeared, released without struggle. she nodded some at his own recollection of the events inside the thinking cup, quiet laughter bubbling inside her closed mouth. it was one thing to see the meeting from her perspective, but to know that he’d felt like a complete chump—that he thought, in that moment, that he didn’t stand a chance—well, the impossibility of it all earned him a good natured eye-roll. “was it?” ellie asked when everything had been said and settled. then, in a whisper of a voice, she added, “i like that.” she meant it in reference to the story, the last comment, all of it. it was their story—their very beginnings. her hands rose to meet his neck, resting against it, fingertips just touching his hair. in a gentle motion she pulled him forward, her own neck craning forward so that her lips could meet his halfway. she kissed him slowly, lightly—not with the fervor of lust, but with the delicacy and tenderness of utter love. their mouths came to part and she brought her head back against a pillow, eyelids slowly opening so that her green could once again meet his hazel. “i might even like you, too,” she teased, soft. it was all she could say when there simply weren’t words for this feeling, this absolute knowing, that occupied her whole self.

[harrisonhadlee]

          HARRISON HADLEE ↭ ELIZABETH ALDENKAMP

                  ❝—it is true, I have loved you above anything else in the world.❞

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    To say that any part of her reaction scathed him was an overstatement. She could rip into him five different ways, and end it with a smile— that smile, the one that simply could not be ignored, and he would forgive her, for better or for worse. So, her terse laugh in response to his folly deflected from him, as if one had crumpled up a piece of loose leaf and chucked it, square at his back. Exonerating her was child’s play. She had nestled into him comfortably, suited, like a pair of white doves. Both were built slender and similarly, like two halves of a whole, emblematic of repose and of fidelity, far beyond their material parts. She warmed him with her proximity, her heat, his, his heat, hers. Hers, he was. He’d fallen to a state that was half-pensive with his eyes closed, reassessing the situation, and half of him hoped for an explanation. Well, if anything had suddenly become wrong with her. He didn’t want to feel like he had to ask with her, ever. What he hoped for, in an ideal world, was that she’d be aware that he was aware, and that she could just tell him if something was bothering her. Though, he also knew he’d have to meet her halfway in this utopian state of transparency. He was working on his end of the deal, that was certain, and he felt fortunate that everything had started to feel as tranquil as it possibly could. Something neither of them had been exactly fortunate enough to achieve since before they’d even met, as far as he knew.

                    What was wrong though? Why the sudden shift in mood? What had turned her off so quickly? He began to think of that very trite metaphor: if men are microwaves, women are ovens. Maybe he hadn’t ‘preheated’ her correctly this time, and no matter how well you thought you knew the dials and knobs there could always be a short-circuit, couldn’t there be? He’d trailed with his last words, and his smile had now begun to sink. He waited for a response, his hand moving from her arm to under it, palm resting, bending to the curve of her waist. His eyes were still closed, but with her response they opened ever so slightly, accompanied by a full, quick laugh that rippled through his chest, more unfeigned than unfeigned— a laugh, so genuine that it was unshapely and divinely boyish. He moved his other hand, the one that had been from his head, and adjusted his pillow so he could look down at her in a way that didn’t strain, “Did you really just say ‘erection’?” He laughed again bringing his hand, once busied with the pillow, now drawn to her, finding her arm, “That was… A very medical way to put it,” He wore a deeply-rooted smirk, trailing eyes, moving over her forehead, down past her dark brows and to her own green eyes. His retort referred specifically to that word. ‘Erection’. That word reminded him of those lengthy sex-pill commercials that played on cable channels. Although, he couldn’t necessarily imagine any other related terminology being actually utilized by her. Boner. Hard-on. Stiffy. No, no, no, but the more he thought about it the more he found the thought of her saying any of the words above amusing. He would tease her anyway, as she was doing to him, his tone playful, relaxed, as it was true: he was completely happy to just be lying beside her, “–that was sterile, actually, but very, very professional. I mean, I can’t even help but commend it— I commend your professionalism during this extremely hard time.” He continued, briefly taking off with his own caper, not even intending his own pun, which, made him only laugh at himself.

                    His touch moved against her, and he looked down at her face again, this time going straight for her gaze, “—No, please,” Harry quickly responded, finding a little more earnest tone, and though perhaps it was already a common understanding, he wanted to reiterate it. His hand that had settled on her arm, pulling it closer, around his chest, “As one professional to another, don’t ever apologize for that. If you’re not in the mood, El, you’re not in the mood. Me and my erection will be completely fine.” His smile found his voice, sweetened just as it was still amused. His fingers brushed up against her, the hand on her waist moving to gently drag up her back. Always touching her. He felt at times that a faint contact was necessitated, not so much carnal as it was to sate a more ethereal source. An exhale left through his nose and he examined her features again in their close proximity. He could study her lips like a gossamer web, every line, every curve, something to memorize. Harry slowly smiled with her question, again, a similar sentence, and he couldn’t help but feel as though they were playing some sort of game. His brows knotted with consideration. It could’ve been said at any time; it could be referring to any time spent between them, because the fact was that she had meant trouble to him. Every time he’d run into her— every afternoon spent in the company of Elizabeth Aldenkamp from May through September had troubled him, and in a blissful, miraculous, wonderful way.  

                    His fingertips moved back down her back, tracing and diligent, like calculated pairs of blades gliding over smooth ice, “Always,” He told her, his tone carrying a certain weight, different and more serious than hers, and it lingered, but it lingered inward. Only he really knew what he was feeling at that moment, and what he was feeling began to illuminate and flutter in his chest with the warmth of a fire, and the comfort of an old picture, “… I think about the first time I ever saw you a lot.” He admitted casually, “—All the time, actually. It plays in my head like a film reel, or like I’m looking through a lens, or something. I mean, even right now I can still see you, laughing, walking across campus, wearing this shirt with sleeves and a skirt.” Harry gathered himself a little more at that moment, realizing he’d fallen into a paradigm of no rules, no awareness, and he was just speaking aloud. How dangerous. He shook himself from the lack of control, faintly laughing, a wispy mannerism to fall back on, “Maybe that’s completely strange of me say, but, I do–” He spoke, as if correcting himself in some way, a typical habit on his behalf, as he looked at her for a reaction. He couldn’t recall ever telling her that story before, and it occurred to him that she had likely lived assuming Colorado had been the first of them. It had not. Not for him.

something like confusion—of perhaps some sort of ponder—occupied harry’s face and, for a long moment, ellie wondered if he remembered what it was she was referring to. it wouldn’t exactly take her by surprise if he didn’t, though she could remember the night with crystal clarity. if not the entire thing, than at the very least their exchange. a back-and-forth that initially played out like a game of poker, the two of them slyly taking cards and exchanging charged glances in the middle of a decadent shakespearean crowd of college students. a game that, once she’d ultimately shown her hand, faltered with all of the gracefulness of an inexperienced tightrope walker. even now the unmistakable shift in mood played out in slow motion, her having absorbed and stored details that for months she would’ve rather forgotten. a similar feeling had to have occupied his mind at the time, though ending in success, because looking back his encounter with her had been but a blip compared to the rest of his evening. at least from what she’d gathered later. but she’d always remember—the golden laurel crown, the blue tulle spilling all around her, the brooch pin clasped to his jacket pocket. do you like what you see? yes. you shouldn’t coddle me like you just did, you’re going to get me into trouble. tell me why you think i’m going to get you in trouble. you know what i mean.

at the time she hadn’t, frustration morphing into something not quite, but almost like heartbreak by the time she’d left. now the string of words prompted a muffled laugh, because after all this time she believed there was a chance she understood. and, oh, how good it sounded now to always get harrison hadlee in trouble. however, the memory, much like an old cassette tape, was quickly popped out in exchange for another. one that didn’t belong to her—at least, not in a way she was familiar with. but just as she’d latched on, he’d seemed to have shaken himself of it. ellie’s eyes widened some in a way that seemed to speak before she could, imploring, no, wait. he’d made brief mention of this, how he’d noticed her before they’d ever spoken to one another, in his letter—and bringing it up again as naturally as breathing only made her want to know more.

“not strange,” she reassured, shaking her head in a way that seamlessly lead into her once again resting her head against his shoulder. then, allowing her eyes to close as if she could see it all projected on the back of her lids, she asked, “can you tell me about it?”

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    His mouth had found her neck first— teeth, tongue, lips, a sharp inhale through his nose, and finally a soft, conscientious suction. He traversed still with tireless diligence, his kisses labored, deepened, all working with the intent to evoke. He wanted her to want him, deeply, passionately, loudly; a real zealot he was, his hands moving fervently down her sides with the sole objective to be felt, and if she was his book of hymns, his mission required memorizing every verse. She felt good beneath him, her bare skin, soft to the touch, was something of clear kryptonite— completely worthy of worship. She wore her evidence of strenuous activity with a damp, tangible sheen that his rough fingers were able to detect, and as they moved up her frame, virile, they dipped under the front of her bra. He ventured lower to the skin above collar, and then to the exposure of breast above the fabric of her garment— his eyes had half-closed, clouded, entirely captured by his own desire, his focus no less ardent with the furrowing of his brows. His hands held her. They squeezed, mildly, his knees sliding down against the duvet, and as his mouth moved to the bottom of her ribcage, he became gentle.

                    His lips brushed over her stomach, and in an interlude he sat up, his touch slipping from her and swiftly moving to her hips. His hands hooked roughly around her leggings then, decisive, gripping the fabric. He wanted to feel the heat from her inner thighs against his mouth; he wanted his fingers inside her, her eyes on his, and— ‘wait’. He looked up instantly, head lifting. A few strands of light hair had fallen against his forehead, his effort on his face slipping from his sharp features. Becoming cautious, his brows began to soften to a natural curve. Wait. His hold on her leggings loosened, and he suddenly felt like he was doing something erroneous. Again. Maybe that’s why she’d stopped them; maybe she’d changed her mind, but with her easy smile and familiar words he felt eased just as he’d begun to feel concerned. He began to grin, boyish. She’d said that to him their first time, hadn’t she? ‘Come back here’. In corporal eagerness he planted his palms on either side of her chest as he sunk down. As he moved to his elbows he released a low, amused laugh, muffled by his smile, “Come back here?” He teased, a single brow lifting as his eyes moved over her features, quickly becoming hooked on her lips, “I think I can do that,” His chest found her own, skin to skin, his hips firmly back on top of her, and he got close— close enough to be able to kiss her with ease, and it was evident Harry was half-dulled to the connotation her full expression. The pause was lost on him, and in a less torrid setting he would’ve perhaps reminisced on the first time she’d lulled those words to him, or at least would’ve detected and relinquished to the shift in tone.

                    He only began to truly deflate with her next course of words. ‘Lay’. ‘Hold’. ‘Cheesy’? His smile had fallen, and his eyes had begun to clear, the forest of his hues ridden of their vehement fog. His lips parted slightly agape, mazed, as he wasn’t sure if he should give into his chagrined disappointment or his contradicting sense of enamor. She wanted him to hold her. He fixed a small smile to his countenance, letting out a soft, wispy laugh, one that sounded more like static than anything. He glanced down, mostly in gesture, knowing she could very well feel what he was alluding to rather stoutly up against her, “Uh–” His uncertain voice quavered, his brows furrowed, his hands moving against the sheets apprehensively as he pushed his torso up from her, “… Right now?” He asked dumbly, looking down at her with solemn, scanning eyes, and a mitigated look of amusement. A few moments passed. And then another, and he very suddenly realized she had meant her words with the gravest of intents. It was as if a big, red, flashing button had risen in his head. Abort. A-b-o-r-t the mission, and he suddenly skidded into a plan B that he was making entirely up on the spot. In a blink it was washing away, “–Kidding,” He sat up, selling it as caper as he lifted a hand to his brow to briefly wipe, “I’m kidding, that was–” He set his hands down, turning himself so he could lay next to her, voice becoming more solid, “That was completely a joke,” He settled, curtly laughing, entirely at himself, and certainly in part at the rigidness of his sentence. Jesus Christ, Hadlee.

                    Settling on his back he reached behind him, adjusting a pillow, his arms promptly finding her after, pulling her in closer to his side— his Ellie. She wanted to be held; she wanted to hold him, and the thought made him feel a little warmer. He adjusted, he looked down at her, and in their moving, and in what was ultimately unavoidable, she brushed against his groin, visibly tumid and taut. She’d made it clear she did not want to have sex with him right now, and in an instance where he usually wouldn’t even mind, he now felt culpable, and not only that, but aware of it. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tuck, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and come to think of it he’d opted out on the briefs with his 'Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’, so he merely glanced down, and then quickly at her, “Sorry,” His arm moved more firmly around her though, while he set his head down, exhaling in what sounded almost like a groan. He was relaxed though, evident in his voice, and as he moved a hand behind his head and closed his eyes, “I just need a few minutes,” He smiled— no, smirked, feeling her hands against his chest, discerning her breath against his neck, and her legs against his own. ‘Come back here’. He was remembering something; thinking of their first time, which, was not helping, but he smiled a little wider as he specifically remembered something he’d told her. His hand brushed up her arm with a mindful touch. He wasn’t sure if she herself would remember, but he ventured onto a limb, “… You’re very, very, very beautiful,” He smiled, one of mirth, “–and right now that’s kind of a problem.”

right now? a spontaneous chuckle met her throat, though it caught there in an attempt to stop short before it reached her mouth. had he really just asked that? in all fairness, as ellie glanced down and back up into his eyes, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was coming from. the position he was in. god, she loved harry. adored him half the time, while the other half was spent being utterly enthralled in one fashion or another. for a moment she almost felt bad for her immediate reaction, unsure of how to decipher his current expression. but then—kidding. oh, he'd been kidding now, had he? her mouth dropped, all amusement and silly dramatics, deciding to leave it at that and a raise of the brows for now. the expression contained all of the humor and sarcastic shock needed for the moment. she remained put as he sat up, only a hand moving to discreetly cover her mouth as she just laughed under her breath. it dropped some, however, once he’d seemed to settle next to her, the mirth in her bubbling up as though she were a shaken up soda bottle. “completely a joke,” ellie repeated confidently, allowing her arm to fall away entirely from her face so that she could comfortably help him to pull her in. closer and closer to his chest until she could rest her head atop his shoulder, brunette strands falling around her face. her top arm then reached over to hug his torso, body adjusting a final bit.

apparently, that wasn’t quite the right move—or was, depending on how exactly you looked at it. oh, god. was it bad that she was finding all of this a bit funny? the reaction she was having was fully intended to be harmless, but his apology had her hoping he hadn’t and wouldn’t take it the wrong way. the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was making fun of him when, in fact, his response was entirely endearing. “harry, are you apologizing for having an erection?” she decidedly murmured, hoping the combination or lightheartedness and assurance worked in her favor. she then shrugged and added, “should i apologize for causing it?” it was more of a joking, throwaway comment than a serious question, ellie already having moved passed it before he could answer. rather, she watched him lay there, closed lids shielding every amber and green hue of a forest in autumn, waiting in calm anticipation for what he’d say or do next. then he smiled—and if she weren’t lying down it would’ve absolutely knocked her out. that didn’t mean it was without its effects, though, her eyes soaking in the sight as though she’d never seen it before or would never see it again—both possibilities being, frankly, complete nonsense. it drew a similarly wide smile from her lips and something told her that, even though his eyes were closed, he could tell. by now he had to be aware of the effect even his most minor actions had on her, didn’t he? even in the most casual of instances she looked at him as though he was paradisal, divine.

he spoke and for a moment a crease found the space between her brows. his comment, while undeniably sweet, seemed to come from out of nowhere. a change of pace, a compliment plucked from thin air. completed by the rest of the thought, though, it fell more naturally into the context of the admittedly interesting interaction. releasing a small breath of a laugh, a question came to ellie that she just had to ask—“am i going to get you in trouble, hadlee?”

[elliealdenkamp]

harrisonhadlee​:

                    He realized something now, as she said his name, hushed, stunned and full of subtly: he had become a walking cliché— a mess of rambling, colossal words and promises that no human could ever carry on their back. Not without succumbing to the weight of their idealism. But for her he’d try. For her, he’d take a bullet, if it meant a world with Ellie Aldenkamp in it, and she knew— she heard him, loud and clear. He felt her touch find his own shoulders, and as her mouth drew closer he closed his eyes expectant. His smirk softened as he leaned in, close enough to be able to feel her philtrum against the flesh of his upper lip. Unexpectedly, he got words, and through this lack of anticipation he heard her in a way that seemed to fill every space around them, anew. This voice was sultry; this voice had something up her sleeve, and he smiled with the delivery of her words, breaking their physical concentration to lift his chin. He lightly rolled his eyes, his jaw cocked to the side, and he shook his head releasing a gruff, muffled laugh. Frost. Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. She was quoting Robert Frost to him. God, he loved this woman, the one standing before him, the one, who in hindsight, had been standing in his doorway for much longer than she had today. He had been standing in her’s too all this time, hadn’t he? He inspected her smile and her eyes and her nose, all through a lens of mirth, and he lost his ability to find words. Words were all he’d ever felt like he had, but now they were gone, evaporated, and it was okay.

                    Luckily, she was pulling him in, and unwinding, he kissed her back, and again, and again, and again, with parted lips, eager for her taste. She sat on the end of his bed, and he moved, leaning down, his hands finding the duvet as she pulled at his top with an impatience that he had not felt from her in over a week. It had only been the day before, no more than twenty-four hours ago that she’d prompted a small shove to get off of her while in this very same predicament: the reaction to a blunder— to a misunderstanding stemmed from his exhausted aloofness, combined with her intent desire to simply make him feel better. She’d begged him to finish in his inattentive state, plainly, and completely edged by his own misinterpretation that she’d wanted it right then, he did, and he’d done it inside her when that had not been what she was asking for. He’d laid in a state of breathless culpability as she’d briskly made her way to the bathroom, and it was then he knew then he needed to come down from whatever dark clouds he’d been residing in and be present. That, actually, he shouldn’t have had sex with her at all. To his surprise, she’d returned with a warmth, a coziness, and a receptiveness to talk. She was on the pill. She wanted to please him. If he liked it, she would, and he admittedly very much so had. The letter even more so seemed like the anchor.

                    He thought about it as he moved on top of her and in-between her legs; as she attempted to pull the fabric of his shirt over his head, and as hips planted firmly against her pelvis. He thought about how it had felt. He thought about how he wanted it. As he began to move, looking to sit upright enough to remove his shirt he felt her fingers lightly grip his hair, holding him there. He looked down at her with bedroom eyes, his lips agape, breathing, watching her and her studious look that she had found him with as her touch moved over him. Harry settled down onto her, comfortably on his elbows as his hands moved up to either side of her face, and he smiled. He was aware of how so very sapient she was for her age, so sage, and he believed every word she said with his whole heart intact. She paused, he listened to her breathe, as if every small motion and gesture was telling a lovely, hypnotic story. He leaned down after, placing a firm, steady kiss to her lips, distinct from their most recent ones that had been driven by ardency. This one was acceptance; this one was adoration, and as he leaned back his eyes found her own, “Okay.” He mumbled in response, nodding a little and smiling, just watching her watch him for a few moments of comfort. He concentrated on how she felt below him and how she looked, and he knew he wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He wanted to remember it after too, if it was possible, if moments were all you could take with you.

                    He sat up, legs under him, resting on his feet as he removed his shirt, grabbing it at the back and swiftly pulling it over his head. Dropping it, his hands moved to her inner thighs, pushing her apart to his liking as his palms rubbed down with a finely tuned degree of pressure. His eyes were on hers, and he had begun to smirk— he knew that she knew he liked it when he could have her right after her dance rehearsal, and just as he’d removed his top he began to feel the urgency of ridding himself of his sweats as well. His hands brushed over her, moving to the bottom of her shirt. He tugged enough to prompt her to sit up so he could remove it himself, becoming more eager with each move. This wasn’t a game of chess, and it was hardly even checkers— no, this was a glorious game of connect four where he already blissfully knew each and every one of her moves. He smirked, his mouth finding hers again with more vigor after claiming her own shirt, moving back on top of her with attentive lips, much like before, finding her cheek, and then her neck, and now down, down, down, down. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you’.

though her head and back remained on the bed, ellie’s eyes followed harry’s hands as they moved. from his shirt to her thighs, from her thighs to the hem of her own top—only flickering to meet his gaze in a brief and playful moment. a knowing moment. he’d made it abundantly clear in the past just how much he consistently wanted her after a workout or dance class. one of his things, she’d teased. it was a desire that’d been immediately given in to just as many times as it’d been waggishly ‘fought’ off, only to more often than not end up with the two of them going at it in the shower. a nice little coincidence to be having at that very moment, considering the spot she’d been put in throughout the week. make no mistake, ellie wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else. not from the moment harry had said that he didn’t want to be alone, a sadness foreign to her filling his eyes. a darkened depth that brought them to uncharacteristically resemble the ocean, rather than their usual earthy, sun-drenched forest. still, she hadn’t been able to fight off the feeling that she’d been scrambling. wanting nothing more than to be a source of comfort and reassurance, but not quite knowing how to do that. not yet fine tuned with what was too much or too little, helpful or unnecessary—or unwanted—by him.

which had ultimately led to the night before. the two of them, all but entirely tangled in his familiar and crisp sheets. a sort of desperation—a want—that only one who desired nothing more than their partner’s complete and utter satisfaction could put forward. if what’d happened between him and his mother had temporarily put happiness on the backburner, she wanted to at least be able to help him feel good. satisfied, if only for a moment. but as it’d turn out, want and desire and urgency lead to shock and confusion and, for a split second, panic. while no one was to blame and, ultimately, nothing was wrong with what’d happened—they were committed, she was on the pill—ellie couldn’t entirely deny the fact that maybe she’d pushed too far. that it was all too likely she’d gone about comforting him in exactly the wrong way.

however, this didn’t feel like that. this moment, laying atop harry’s bed with him hovering over her, felt every inch as natural, loving, and right as it had the night they’d first revealed that they loved each other. yet, once she’d spoken, the very urgency that’d driven her to pull him near her and tug at his shirt subsided. and although she sat up and removed her own at his prompting, it wasn’t with quite the same vigor. his mouth moved over her, starting to drift lower and lower, and although ellie’s eyes began to flutter closed and mouth just parted in the way it did when she was touched in this way, a shred of conscious pulled her out of it enough to speak. “wait—” she called, effectively changing the mood in that second. a radio station abruptly losing signal. nevertheless, as she propped herself up on her elbows she maintained a small, easy smile. “come back here.” she waited a moment to gather her thoughts—or maybe a semblance of the right thing to say, what with no turning back now. “can we just lay here?” she asked, a crease finding the space between her brows instantly. “i mean, not exactly like this, of course. just—i sort of want to just hold each other.” a quiet laugh escaped her, which she hoped somewhat dissipated any impending awkwardness. “—which sounds... really cheesy, but still.”