ＨｅａｒｔＯｆ１Ｄ

╰☆☆ 1🇩‌ 🇫‌🇦‌🇳‌ 🇫‌🇮‌🇨‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇧‌🇱‌🇴‌🇬‌ ☆☆╮ ~ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 ~ 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 · 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩· 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 · 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 · 𝙪𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙨 | 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 |

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*♡ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ♡* - ᴘᴛ. 𝟸 (ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ)

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ɴᴏɪsᴇ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴜɴғᴏʟᴅs ɪɴ sᴍᴀʟʟᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ—sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇs, ᴍɪssᴇᴅ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴇᴀsɪᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴀʏs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɪsɴ’ᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ.

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ᴏғᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ, ғʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴄᴇssɪᴠᴇ ᴅɪsʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ. 

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~𝟸.𝟷ᴋ 

PART II — THE MOVIE YOU DON’T WATCH

I don’t remember what movie we watched.

Which sounds terrible.

But I remember everything around it.

I remember Harry offering me popcorn exactly three times even after I said no.

I remember him whispering commentary during the trailers and then pretending he hadn’t.

I remember him getting emotionally invested in an ad for a vacuum cleaner.

At one point he leaned over and whispered:

“Do you think movie characters know they’re attractive?”

I turned to look at him.

“That sounds like a question someone attractive would ask.”

His eyes widened.

“That was brutal.”

I laughed quietly.

He looked offended for exactly six seconds.

Then smiled.

Halfway through the movie there was a scene that was apparently very emotional because everyone around us was silent.

Harry looked at me.

I looked at him.

Then we both realized neither of us had been paying attention.

He whispered:

“Do you know what’s happening?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

Then we spent the next twenty minutes trying to reconstruct the plot from context clues.

We were catastrophically wrong.

When the credits rolled we sat there a little longer than necessary.

Not because either of us wanted to say goodbye.

Just because getting up meant admitting the evening had become real.

People started leaving.

The lights turned on.

Harry stretched and looked at me.

“Well.”

“Well.”

He smiled.

Then:

“Would it ruin the mystery if I admitted I was nervous?”

I looked at him.

Honestly.

Trying to imagine him nervous.

“No.”

He looked at the floor for a second.

Then laughed.

“Okay good because I rehearsed at least four opening conversations.”

I stared.

“You rehearsed?”

“Unfortunately.”

That made me smile more than it should have.

Outside, the air was colder.

We walked slower than necessary.

At my door, neither of us moved immediately.

He looked at me.

Not dramatic.

Not movie-like.

Just soft.

Then—

“Do you want to do this again?”

Like he didn’t already know.

Like he was asking instead of assuming.

I smiled.

“Yeah.”

He smiled too.

Small.

Satisfied.

Then pointed at me.

“Next time you’re trying the popcorn.”

I laughed.

“We’ll see.”

I went inside.

Closed the door.

Stood there for a second.

Then looked at my phone.

A text.

“By the way, I still think the movie was about the vacuum cleaner.”

And that was the first thing that made me think—

maybe some people don’t arrive in your life loudly.

Maybe they just sit beside you in a dark theater and make forgetting the movie feel worth it.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴏғᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ғʟᴜғғ ᴀɴᴅ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅɴᴇss. ɪ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ʜᴀʀʀʏ ᴀs ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴜᴛɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ's ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴ, ᴏғᴄ ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ʜᴇ ɪs ʜᴀɴᴅsᴏᴍᴇ ᴀғ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴇ ɪs.  ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ (ʙᴄ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴄᴏғғᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴜʀᴇ) ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀs? ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ! 

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

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*♡ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ♡* - ᴘᴛ.𝟷 

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ғᴇᴇʟs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛsᴇʟғ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇ, ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜs ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs sʟᴏᴡʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀsʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ. ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ sɴᴀᴄᴋs, ʜᴀʀᴍʟᴇss ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇᴇʟ ǫᴜɪᴇᴛʟʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟᴇss ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ғɪʀsᴛ ɪᴍᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴜɴғᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ.

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜs ᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ, ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅ ғɪʀsᴛ-ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛʀᴏsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.

╰☆☆ ᴡᴄ: ~𝟷.𝟷𝟻𝟶 ᴋ

PART I — THE PREVIEWS

People always say first dates are awkward.

Nobody tells you they’re mostly waiting.

Waiting before leaving the house. Waiting for the message that says “I’m here.” Waiting to realize whether your excitement is excitement or regret.

I changed outfits three times.

Not because I cared too much. Just enough to become unreasonable about it.

The final choice was a sweater I immediately regretted because halfway through doing my makeup I realized movie theaters are either tropical or arctic and there is no in-between.

My phone lit up.

“Outside :)”

That smiley face made everything worse.

I stared at it for ten seconds like I had never received a text before.

Then I grabbed my bag and left.

Harry was leaning against his car like people don’t realize they’re attractive.

Hands in his pockets.

Hair messy in a very intentional way.

When he saw me, he smiled immediately.

Not surprised.

Not nervous.

Just smiled like he had expected me.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Excellent start.

Very articulate.

He opened the passenger door for me and I got in pretending I did not almost hit my head.

I absolutely almost hit my head.

He definitely noticed.

Neither of us acknowledged it.

The drive there was easy.

Not because there weren’t awkward moments.

There were.

But they felt harmless.

Like stopping at a red light and both reaching to lower the music at the exact same time.

Like laughing because we both apologized.

Like him asking what movie snacks I liked and looking personally offended when I said I don’t love popcorn.

“That’s insane.”

“I’m sorry my taste evolved.”

“Movie theaters were built on popcorn.”

“And overpriced soda.”

He laughed.

The real kind.

The one that interrupts itself.

At the theater we stood in front of the giant glowing menu trying to act normal.

“Okay, serious question.” he said. “If somebody buys nachos in a movie theater, are they evil?”

“No.”

“…interesting.”

“Why?”

He pointed.

A man walked past carrying the loudest tray of nachos I have ever witnessed.

We looked at each other.

I started laughing first.

He did too.

And suddenly we weren’t on a first date anymore.

We were just two people making fun of theater food.

He bought popcorn.

I bought candy.

He looked disappointed in me.

I looked disappointed in him.

Balance.

Inside the theater we sat down and immediately realized we had arrived embarrassingly early.

The lights were still fully on.

No trailers.

No people.

Just us.

He looked around and said:

“We could leave right now and nobody would know.”

“And waste twelve dollars?”

He nodded.

“You’re right. We’re financially committed.”

I smiled.

Then looked at the screen.

Then looked back at him.

And realized—

I wasn’t nervous anymore.

Not because I knew him.

Just because he was trying really hard to make sure I wasn’t.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴏ ᴍ ɢ, ɪ ʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴠᴇᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ! ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇ-ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ɪ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴏɴ ᴀ ғᴜɴɴʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ / ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴀʀʀʏ.  ɪʀʟ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴄᴏʀɴs ᴛʜᴏ, ɪ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜʏɪɴɢ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʙғ ʜᴀᴛᴇs ᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀʜᴀ  ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟸 ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ғʀɪᴅᴀʏ, ᴀᴀᴀᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜʏs' sᴜʀᴘʀɪsᴇ ᴘᴏsᴛ!! ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀᴡᴇsᴏᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴏɪʟ ɴᴏʀ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ʜɪɢʜ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ? ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs, ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴘᴏsᴛs.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

•´¯`•. ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴛ .•´¯`• (ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ)

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ, ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ. ᴀs ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟᴇss ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ. sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs sᴇᴇᴍ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡs, ᴏɴᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴄɪsɪᴏɴ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ᴜɴᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇᴅ.

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴏғ ɴᴏsᴛᴀʟɢɪᴀ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛʀᴏsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴘᴀsᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘs, ɢʀɪᴇғ-ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜᴏᴜs ʟᴏss. 

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟻ᴋ 

PART III — THE LAST FRAME

The camera stayed on the table.

I told myself I would deal with it later, but later never arrived in any real way. It just remained there, unchanged, like a sentence waiting for its ending.

The rest of the box had already been put away.

Folded clothes. Empty space. Objects returned to where they belonged.

Except nothing really felt returned.

Not fully.

I picked up the camera again.

Turned it over in my hands.

“1.”

Still there.

Still waiting.

I tried to make it ordinary again in my mind. Just plastic. Just film. Just something left unfinished.

But it didn’t settle into that category anymore.

I kept thinking about Niall.

About how clearly I could still hear his words in my head, as if they hadn’t softened with time the way everything else had.

“Love you always.”

That one line kept returning in fragments, not as a memory I chose, but as something that surfaced on its own.

I placed the camera down and went back to the box.

There shouldn’t have been anything left.

I had already gone through everything carefully.

Still, I checked again.

Slowly.

Like repetition might change what I saw.

That’s when I noticed something I couldn’t explain.

A photograph I didn’t remember.

Or maybe I had, and it had simply not meant anything at the time.

It was us.

Niall and me.

But something about it felt slightly misaligned.

Not wrong.

Just… distant in a way I couldn’t place.

As if the moment had happened exactly as I remembered it, but from a position slightly outside of myself.

I held it longer than I meant to.

Trying to anchor it properly in memory.

But it didn’t move closer.

It stayed where it was.

Niall’s face was clear.

Familiar in a way that made my chest tighten without warning.

That part was real.

That part I was sure of.

I set the photograph down beside the camera.

Two versions of the same past, sitting next to each other without agreeing on anything.

The room felt quieter now.

Not empty.

Just paused.

I looked at the camera again.

“1.”

One exposure left.

Maybe it had always been like that.

Maybe I only noticed it now because I was finally paying attention.

Or maybe some things don’t change until you look at them long enough to realize they already did.

I thought about taking the last photo.

Just to close it.

Just to stop holding it in this suspended place between knowing and not knowing.

But my hand didn’t move.

Outside, the light had shifted without me noticing.

The day had moved on without asking for permission.

I stayed where I was.

The camera still in my hands.

And Niall still in the room, in the only way he ever really left anything behind. Not gone. Just no longer fully reachable from where I was standing.

“And I didn’t take the last photo, because I wasn’t ready to find out what would remain of him once I did.”

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ʜᴇʏ ɢᴜʏs!! ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ ʀɪɢʜᴛ? sᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴɪɴɢs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ/ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ/ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ ғɪᴄ? ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴛᴏʀɪᴇs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs? ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ! ╰☆☆ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴏᴜʀ sᴄʜᴇᴅᴜʟᴇ. ʜᴀʀʀʏ's sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ, ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ʜᴀʀʀʏ's sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴇsᴅᴀʏ.  ╰☆☆ ʙᴛᴡ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ғᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ. ɴᴏ sᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀs ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. 

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

•´¯`•. ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴛ .•´¯`• -ᴘᴛ 𝟸

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ғᴇᴇʟs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ғʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ ɢʀᴀᴅᴜᴀʟʟʏ sʜɪғᴛs ɪɴᴛᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇss ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴄʟᴀʀɪᴛʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ғᴏʀᴍ. sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇs ᴏғ ᴀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ, ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜɪᴛʏ, ᴜɴsᴜʀᴇ ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴏᴏᴅ ʜᴀs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ. 

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴏғ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇғʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴘᴀsᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜᴏᴜs ʟᴏss.

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟺𝟽ᴋ 

PART II — THE WEIGHT OF WHAT REMAINS

The camera stayed on the table longer than anything else.

Everything else in the box had already become memory again—something I could look at, recognize, and place somewhere inside myself.

But this was different.

It didn’t belong to memory.

It belonged to uncertainty.

I set it down beside me and continued sorting, but slower now. Less certain. The room still looked the same, but something in it felt paused, as if the air had stopped agreeing with time.

Every so often, I would pick it up again.

Turn it over.

Read the small number in the corner.

“1.”

One frame left.

I tried to imagine what was on the roll.

Summer afternoons I could almost remember but not quite. Rooms that might have been ours. Faces softened by time, or maybe never fully seen.

Or nothing at all.

Just ordinary things that never got their chance to become important.

The rest of the box no longer felt like a story.

It felt like evidence of something that had already stopped continuing.

And still—there was no ending inside it.

No note that explained the absence.

No final photograph that made sense of the silence.

Just objects that ended too early.

I looked inside the box again.

Slower this time.

Like maybe I had missed something.

I unfolded letters I had already read.

Checked envelopes.

Turned pictures around.

Nothing.

No last message.

No date that stood out.

No clue that seemed important enough to explain everything.

Maybe there had never been one.

Maybe endings don’t arrive all at once.

Maybe they happen quietly.

One normal day and then another.

Until suddenly enough time has passed that remembering feels stranger than forgetting.

I placed the camera beside my mug and stood up to make fresh coffee.

The kitchen looked cleaner than before.

Countertops empty.

Boxes gone.

Only the camera looked out of place.

I opened the cabinet.

Grabbed another mug.

Stopped.

I used to have two of those.

I stared at them for a second too long before putting one back.

The coffee machine started dripping.

I leaned against the counter and laughed quietly to myself.

Not because anything was funny.

Just because it felt ridiculous.

To spend an entire day cleaning.

Only to end up unpacking things I had already put away years ago.

Back on the couch, I picked up the camera again.

I pressed my thumb against the winding wheel.

It didn’t move.

I looked at the number again.

“1.”

I thought about taking the last picture.

Just to finish it.

Get it developed.

See whatever was there.

Move on.

Simple.

But my hand stopped before I could raise it.

Because suddenly I wasn’t sure.

What if the pictures changed everything?

What if they changed nothing?

The camera stayed between my hands.

I didn’t decide anything.

Not yet.

But I also didn’t put it away.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ! ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟʟs ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴀsᴛ ʟɪɴᴇ, ɪᴍ sᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ 𝟹ʀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ. ɪ ʙᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴᴛʀɪɢᴜᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛs ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ's ɴɪᴀʟʟ?, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs sᴜɴᴅᴀʏ...  ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʟɪᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴜɴᴅᴀʏ! 

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

•´¯`•. ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴛ .•´¯`• -ᴘᴛ 𝟷

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴᴇ sᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ғᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙᴏx ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴋᴇᴇᴘsᴀᴋᴇs ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀsᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɪᴛs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs, ʟᴏɴɢ-ʙᴜʀɪᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ʀᴇsᴜʀғᴀᴄᴇ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ᴀs ᴅᴇᴄʟᴜᴛᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴜʀɴs ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴛɪʟʟ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀs ɪɴ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ.

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ:ɴᴏsᴛᴀʟɢɪᴄ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs, ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴀsᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛʀᴏsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜᴏᴜs ʟᴏss. 

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟿𝟼 ᴋ

PART I: The Find

The sound of coffee pouring carried into every corner of the kitchen. I had so much to do today, but I was ready for it. I added a spoonful of sugar to my coffee and stirred until the spoon clinked softly against the mug. I went upstairs to get the first and most overwhelming task done; I wanted to take advantage of the peak of energy I get in the mornings.

Okay, let’s do this, I thought as I stared down my closet, trying to decide where to start. I set a timer for forty-five minutes, then I would take a break from this. I started moving boxes around, looking through the clothes I had—picking out what to keep, what to sell, and what to donate. I am extremely grateful for what I have, but right now I hated my younger self for buying so much stuff I wasn’t going to use for the rest of my life.

I opened a drawer full of random things I didn’t remember I had: cable cords, corded headphones, old cassettes. At the bottom of the drawer, I saw it.

The color was still as bright as I remembered—crimson red, the yellow Post-it note still attached.

“To never forget where you come from.”

Mom. When I moved out and to another country, she wrote this note and hid it inside my luggage. I miss her.

I took the box out of the drawer and, as the nostalgic woman I am, opened it and sat on the floor to see what was inside.

The box was bigger than I remembered. It was full of pictures of me and my high school friends, postcards, and random mementos from the places I’ve traveled to. I picked up one of the pictures and turned it around to see a message written on the back:

“We’re going to miss you. Never forget about your trusty ten.”

A picture of my friends from book club. I loved that place—having friends to discuss a book you just read is great.

Another photo caught my eye: me, my mom, and Pastry, my dog. Mom and I used to do everything together. Being far away from her makes my heart ache, even though we call each other every day and I get to see her every other month. It still feels strange being away for so long when I was used to seeing her every day.

The sound of the timer ending jolted me out of my thoughts. I took a sip of my coffee, which was already getting cold, set the box aside, and continued my mission to finish decluttering this closet by the end of the day.

I checked my phone—4:00 p.m.—and I was already done with half of the closet. I decided to leave the rest for tomorrow; my back was hurting a lot and I already felt tired. I took the red box downstairs and sat on the couch to continue going through what was inside.

I found a keychain from my trip to Rome. Rome holds such a special place in my heart; that was the first time I got to study abroad. I went there just for a semester and met the most amazing people. Juliana and I became best friends from day one. She was my roommate, and we had the craziest things happen to us. I smiled. That was the best time of my life.

As I kept moving things around inside the box, something else caught my eye.

“What is this doing here?” I said out loud.

A bracelet embroidered with the name “Niall.”

My heart sank.

I hadn’t heard that name in years.

At the bottom of the box, there were more things—his things, or maybe ours.

A postcard from London. Spain. Tokyo. Korea.

I picked up the one from London first.

“I can’t wait to see you next week. You owe me dinner. Niall xx”

Spain:

“I need to learn Spanish now. I heard it’s the most romantic language… or was it French? Anyways, love you always. Niall xx”

Tokyo:

“IF YOU HAD TOLD ME ABOUT THE BIGGEST SUSHI BUFFET IN THE WORLD I WOULDN’T HAVE BELIEVED YOU. Well, maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me. Haha. Japan, the place for OG sushi. Love you always. Niall xx”

Korea:

“If you had to choose one dish for the rest of your life, what would it be? For me, anything fried and Korean-made. I don’t know why I keep ruining these postcards for you… they’re meant for us to keep. Love you always. Niall xx”

I held the last one longer than the others.

“Love you always.”

It didn’t feel like words anymore. It felt like something that had stopped existing but never properly ended.

We met by accident. The kind of accident that feels staged by something larger than you. Coffee spilled. Apologies. A laugh that lingered too long to be random.

He offered to replace it. He never did. Instead, he stayed.

A picture of us slipped from the stack.

On the back, his handwriting:

“If I had to choose between this and any other life, I will choose this one because I met you.”

I stopped breathing for a moment, I didn’t notice until it passed.

Then I saw it. Not part of the postcards. Not part of the memories.

A disposable camera. Yellowed plastic. Still intact. Still waiting.

I turned it over in my hands.

The shutter clicked, but nothing happened. No flash. No sound.

Only the small number on the corner:

“1”

One exposure left. Meaning someone never finished the roll.

I stared at it for a long time.

And for the first time, the past stopped feeling like something finished. It felt unfinished in a different way.

╰☆☆ ᴀɴ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ɢᴜʏs ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴀʟs! ʜᴏᴡ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ? ɪ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ sᴛᴜғғ. ᴏғᴄ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ, sᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ғʀɪᴅᴀʏ, ɪᴛs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ sᴄʜᴇᴅᴜʟᴇᴅ!!!  ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴇʟᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏsᴛs ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ʙᴄ, ɢᴜᴇss ᴡʜᴀᴛ? ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ғᴏᴏᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴡ ɪᴍ ғɪɴᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏsᴛ. ᴛʜɪs ʜᴀs ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ.  ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ, ʙᴇ sᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴀᴘʀᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏɴᴇs. ʙᴄ ɪ ᴀssᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴛs ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ!

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

*•.¸♡ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs ♡¸.•*

╰☆☆ ᴀ ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ, ᴀɴ ᴀɴᴛɪǫᴜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋsᴛᴏʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴋ. ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ, sʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʟɪᴀᴍ—ᴀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴍs, ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ sᴍɪʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴀʀᴛs ᴀs ᴀ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴏᴅᴇɴ sʜᴇʟᴠᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʟᴅ ᴘᴀɢᴇs sʟᴏᴡʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴs ɪɴᴛᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇᴇʟs ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ. 

╰☆☆ ᴡᴄ: ~𝟻𝟻𝟶 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ғʟᴜғғ, ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ, sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs, ʙᴏᴏᴋsᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ, sᴏғᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴsᴇʀᴛ (ʏ/ɴ)

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴀʏ ɢᴜʏs, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ. sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ғʟᴜғғʏ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏғᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ! 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · · ✶· ─ · ·

Today was a nice day, so I decided to go on a walk. The sky was clear, and the air was crisp but not uncomfortable against my skin; the clouds looked round and puffy, as if they were made of cotton candy.

I stumbled across a small antique bookstore I’d never seen before. A sign on the window caught my attention: “Books up to 30% off,” so I decided to go inside. As I walked through the door, the cozy and warm ambiance surrounded me; it felt as if a warm hug had wrapped around me.

Everything was made of wood: the bookshelves, the flooring, the stairs, and even the counter. I immersed myself in the store, walking through the aisles. A kind lady welcomed me and showed me around a little; I decided to start in the romance/poetry section. I was looking for something new to read—a palate cleanser. I’m mostly interested in suspense and mystery books, so it was time for a change.

As I browsed the shelves and stacks upon stacks of books, I found one that caught my attention. I reached for it, but at the same time, someone else did.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” a warm and sweet voice said. “Go ahead.”

I turned my gaze toward him. A brown-haired guy with a gentle smile was standing beside me.

“Thank you,” I said in a shaky voice. I hate being a nuisance to anybody.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said. “I’m Liam, nice to meet you. That’s a nice book you got there; I’ve been looking for it all around the city.”

He chuckled. His tone was comforting, and I could see his eyes soften as he smiled again.

“(Y/N). Nice to meet you too.” I looked down at the book in my hands. “So… have you read it before?”

Oh my god, what a stupid question, I thought.

“Well…” He gently took the book from my hands. “Not this one, but I’ve read some other works by the same author.”

He handed the book back to me.

“Guess I’ll see you around.”

And as quickly as he arrived, he left.

He had such a peaceful, velvety voice that I knew I wouldn’t be able to forget it. I kept looking around for a couple more minutes and grabbed a few more books until I realized it was enough—or my bank account was going to suffer.

I was walking toward the counter when I saw him again. This time, I got a better glimpse of him. His arms were covered in tattoos; he was wearing a white T-shirt that hinted at the artwork beneath the sleeves.

He must have felt me staring because he turned around and started walking toward me.

“Hey, (Y/N), I was hoping to catch you before you left.” He scratched the back of his head. “Would you like to… um…”

“Yes,” I said. “I would love to.”

The cashier called me to pay for the books I was carrying.

Liam and I left the store together and walked across the street to grab a coffee. We talked for hours about books and our favorite authors. He was an insightful, caring man with such a warm personality.

This was definitely the change I needed.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ʜᴇʏ ɢᴜʏs, ʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋᴇɴᴅ? ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ -ᴢᴀʏɴ (ɪɴsᴀɴᴇ) ɪ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴢᴀʏɴ ᴍᴀʟɪᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏɴɴᴀᴋᴏʟ ᴛᴏᴜʀ!! ɪ ᴡᴀs sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ, sᴏ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ʜᴏᴡ ʜᴇ sᴛʀɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴀs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇxᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀᴛ ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ɪs ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏsɪᴛᴇ. ʙᴛᴡ, ʜᴇ ɪs ᴀs ʜᴀɴᴅsᴏᴍᴇ ᴀs ᴡᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏs ʟɪᴠᴇ, sᴏ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀs sᴏʟᴏ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛs ɴᴏᴡ. ɪ'ᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ʜᴀʀʀʏ, ɴɪᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴢᴀʏɴ, ɪᴍ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛʏ sᴛᴏɴᴇs ʜᴀʜᴀʜᴀ

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ. ɪ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ᴏғ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ sɪɢʜᴛ-ɪsʜ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʟᴇɴᴅᴀʀ ɪ ᴘᴏsᴛᴇᴅ, ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ!!

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

I'm back.

Hello guys, how are you? I´ve been REALLY MIA, and I'm so sorry about that. We're back to our regular schedule this friday with something that tbh I've been subconsciously procrastinating to write.

It´s been a while since I've written stories about this guys, specially Liam so, to be really honest, feels weird to me. Since Liam's passing life hasn't been feeling real, and I bet this has happened to you to. And when I was feeling strong enough, Niall realeased "End of an Era".

Its so crazy how the same man who started One Direction was closing the chapter with a song, for him, for us, for them.

Grief is such a weird emotion to feel, its like a ghost, its there all the time but you can almost never see it (or feel it) until it decides to sorround you completely.

Well, on another more happy note, I made this small planner for the rest of the month of june so you know what to expect from me. I'll try my best(est) to publish as follows:

Starting this friday you'll be recieving a One Shot, as we used to call short one page stories in the old days, about Liam and a bookstore may be involved.

Next friday 19, a short story, maybe a couple of parts about you and Niall taking pictures and making memories together.

And last but not least, friday 26, you and Harry go on a movie date and it turns out to be something different than you expected. Maybe the theater runs out of power or rain starts pouring as soon as you come out of the movie.

Oh and I almost forgot, Monday 15th you'll have and extra surprise, be ready!!

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ʜᴀʜᴀʜᴀ. ᴛʟᴅ: ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢʀᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ 𝟷ᴅ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜɪs ʟᴀs ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴀʏs. ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɴᴏᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴄᴀʟᴇɴᴅᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀɴ. 

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ, ʙᴄ ɪ'ᴍ sᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

•.¸♡ ғɪᴄғᴇᴠᴇʀ𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•

[ficfever1d]

➶➶➶➶➶ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ➷➷➷➷➷

╰☆☆ ᴢᴀʏɴ ɪs ᴏɴ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇs ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴅᴏᴡɴᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪs ʟɪғᴇ. ʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇɪɴɢ sᴜᴘᴇʀғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛᴜʀɴs ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ/ғᴇᴇʟ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟽ᴋ

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ғʟᴜғғ – sʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʟɪғᴇ – ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ – ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴠᴇ ʙᴏʏғʀɪᴇɴᴅ

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: sᴏʀʀʏ ɢᴜʏs ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴀʏ, ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴢᴀʏɴ's ᴏs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ɪғ ɪ sᴀʏ sᴏ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ʜᴀʜᴀ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇxᴛ sᴀᴛᴜʀᴅᴀʏ ғᴏʀ ʟɪᴀᴍ's!!

You’re sitting on the couch, the remote in your right hand while surfing the channels looking for something to watch. Zayn comes out of the room, trying to sort his messy hair while taking a big yawn before plopping on the couch next to you, resting his head on your lap.

“What are we watching?” he says, mid-yawn again. He scratches his arm while his eyes are pinned on the TV.

“I don’t know” – you feel your eyes squint, showing your focused sight. “I was thinking about finishing the series we were watching before you went on tour. Or… we could go out and grab something for dinner”.

You feel him sigh, not angry, just tired. You know he doesn’t like to go out while he is on a break from touring because he says he doesn't like the attention, but very deep inside him, you know he does.

“Come on, baby, it’s not that bad.” He sits up and looks you in the eyes while moving his hands close to your face and kisses you.

“I’d rather not let’s stay inside today. I’ll make it up for you”. He smiles, making his eyes squint in that beautiful expression that made you fall in love with him years before. He stands up and walks to the kitchen to make popcorn as you search for the series you were both watching.

Zayn comes back and sits beside you while the popcorn bag is in the microwave. He puts his arm around your shoulders and kisses your head. You both stare at the screen, no one talks, just the sound of the TV floods the living room.

A few minutes later, the microwave sound brings you out of your head, where you realize you are lost in your thoughts. Zayn stands up and goes to get the popcorn out. You pause the TV and hear him sing softly on his way to the kitchen.

“We can make it till the end… Nothing can come between us.” Those lyrics take your memory back to when he asked you to be his girlfriend a couple of years back. He wrote that song for you, to remind you you’re his everything.

He is really invested in and dedicated to his career, but has never put you aside for it. He always has time for you, and if he doesn’t, he makes it. You always thought he was the type of guy who would love the attention, paparazzi, interviews, or being seen around town a lot, but he has always been true to his beliefs and prefers to stay home and be around family, friends, and you. And that’s what makes you love him even more every day, his humbleness.

Zayn comes back to sit beside you and hands you the bowl with popcorn. – Z? – You ask with your eyes fixed in the bowl. – Do you ever feel like you need more space?

¿Space? – He says, confused as he takes a popcorn to his mouth. – From what? You? – You sigh and open your mouth, but words don’t come out. – No, no, no. Why are you thinking that? – he says worried.

I don’t know, I feel like I don’t give you the space to you know, go out and be the superstar that you are. – he laughs softly while moving the bowl to the side so that he can hold your hands.

-Baby girl…- he sighs. - You are and always will be my priority. Interviews, colabs, and photoshoots can happen whenever, and my manager takes care of that, AND he knows my priorities. – he places his index knuckle under your chin to make your eyes meet. – Remember, what I love about us is that I can be just a normal person without having to worry about cameras being on my face all the time. I love that we can chill watching a movie or sometimes just doing nothing. I love this, this is where I want to be.

You feel your cheeks blushing, and a smile starts to form on your face. You also love this, and this is where you want to be. Zayn places his hands on your face and leans in for a kiss, a deep kiss, a kiss that says more than words can, a kiss that makes you feel loved.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ sᴛʀᴜᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ sᴄʜᴇᴅᴜʟᴇ. ɴᴇxᴛ ᴜᴘ ɪs ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴀ ғᴜʟʟ ғɪᴄ sᴏ ɪ'ᴍ sᴛɪʟʟ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀs. ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ᴏɴᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏ ᴍ ɢ ʀᴇᴍᴇʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs?? sᴏ, ɪᴍ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs, ɪᴅᴇᴀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇs. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs!

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

[ficfever1d]

,.-~*¨¯¨*·~-.¸-(_ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀ _)-,.-~*¨¯¨*·~-.¸

Hello guys!! Happy New Year everyone!! I hope you had an amazing time with your folks or friends, whatever suited you best this year :)))

Hey, I KNOW Im a LIIIIITTLE late. But its been a challenge to get back into the routine after 2 weeks of vacations, can you belive that?? I got TWO weeks!! Hahah

So, I'm writing this post just to let you know that this weekend we're going back to our usual programming.

I will continue with 1D's One Shots, next on the list:

╰☆☆ ᴢᴀʏɴ 

╰☆☆ ʟɪᴀᴍ 

After that I might start writting a full on fan fic, would you be willing to read it?? Im open to requests for the fic or for other stuff too!!!

That's the plan for right now, in terms of days I'll be posting... There's no specific date at the moment, just expect the posts to be up on the weekend!!

We'll read each other soon!

*•.¸♡ -ғ.ғ.𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

*•.¸♡ sᴛᴀʏ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ? ♡¸.•*

ONE DIRECTION - NIALL HORAN

╰☆☆ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀ sʜᴏᴡ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɴɪᴀʟʟ sɪᴛ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇxʜᴀᴜsᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴsᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs. ʏᴏᴜ ᴄɪʀᴄʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʟᴏsᴇɴᴇss, ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴғᴇssɪᴏɴ. ʙᴏᴛʜ sᴛᴀʏ, ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙᴏɴᴅ ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ.

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟺ᴋ

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs · sʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ · ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ · ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ sᴀғᴇᴛʏ · ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ (ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ)

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴘᴏsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪs ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ sɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏsᴇ ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ ɪs ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ɪs ɴɪᴀʟʟ ʜᴏʀᴀɴ. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ! 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

Niall sat cross-legged on the bed, guitar against his thigh, fingers idly plucking silent strings. I lay on the carpet beside him, back to the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Faint echoes of screaming fans lingered in my ears. My chest felt tight—not from the noise, but from the way the world kept pulling him away, one tour at a time. Niall didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t know how to say it. He hummed, low and warm, and I wondered when loving him had begun to hurt so quietly that I learned to live with it.

The strings went quiet.

“You okay?” Niall asked softly, not looking at me. His voice was tired in a way that went deeper than long flights and late shows, like he’d been carrying something heavy for too long and didn’t know where to set it down.

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. He glanced at me then, blue eyes searching, as if he knew but didn’t want to push.

“Long day,” he murmured, thumb tracing the guitar’s edge. “Feels like every day drags lately.” He exhaled and reclined on his hands. “Sometimes I don’t even know where we are until I hear the crowd.”

I shifted closer to the bed. “You don’t have to be ‘on’ in here, you know. It’s just me.”

Niall let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said, then stopped. His jaw tightened, words almost surfacing. He shook his head. “Never mind.”

I sat up, close enough for our hands to brush. The contact felt safe, yet a dull ache twisted inside me, longing. “You can talk to me,” I said gently, watching his face for any sign he might open up. “You always do.”

He looked at our hands touching, then at his feet. “I know,” he whispered. “I just… don’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

Us, he almost said. I saw it in the way his mouth parted, in the way his shoulders sagged like he was too tired to keep pretending everything was fine. Instead, he shrugged, offering me a small, apologetic smile. “You being here. You always know how to make it better.”

I swallowed, heart thudding with anxiety. I wanted to tell him I was already ruined, that loving him was muscle memory, that it hurt most when he was close and my chest tightened. But I stayed quiet, my hands clenched in my lap. This was how we survived: orbiting truth without touching it.

Niall reached out then, squeezing my hand once—quick, grounding, almost instinctive. “Stay a bit?” he asked.

“Always,” I said, and we both pretended that word didn’t mean more than friendship already did.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!! ɢᴜʏs ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, ɪᴛ ғᴇᴇʟs sᴏ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀɴᴅ sʜᴀʀᴇs. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴘ.s. ɪᴍ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs, ɴᴇxᴛ ᴜᴘ ɪs ᴢᴀʏɴ's ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴀᴍ's, ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀ ᴅᴍ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏғ sᴛᴏʀɪᴇs, sᴛɪʟʟ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴊᴜsᴛ ɴᴏɴ ғᴀɴ ᴏɴᴇs ʜᴀʜᴀ.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀs!! ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴏɴ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

*•.¸♡ -ғ.ғ.𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*

[ficfever1d]

.•♫•♬• ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ 𝟶𝟻 •♬•♫•.

ᴏɴᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ - ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴛᴏᴍʟɪsᴏɴ 

╰☆☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛᴡᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴄɪʀᴄʟᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ, ʜɪᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇs, sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ғᴇᴇʟs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ. ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴀ sᴏɴɢ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ—ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴀs ᴏᴠᴇʀ.

(ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ) 

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟶.𝟽ᴋ

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs · ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ sᴜᴘᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ · ᴍɪsᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ · ᴜɴsᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴏɴғᴇssɪᴏɴ · ʜᴜʀᴛ / ɴᴏ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ'ᴍ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ, ʜᴀʜᴀ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀɪᴇs ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ... ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴘᴏsᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴜᴘʙᴇᴀᴛ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ!

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

Louis was louder tonight, but not with his usual effortless charm that made everyone laugh without thinking. Tonight, his jokes were sharp, each one carefully placed as if he was patching up a crack he was terrified might split open. The room was a blur of voices and music, but I still caught the way his laughter faltered, how it never quite reached his eyes when he looked at me. We’d been friends long enough for me to know he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. So I stayed still, pretending not to notice, because with Louis, seeing too much was dangerous. If I acknowledged it, something between us would break free, and neither of us would survive the fallout.

“SUPERMAAAAAAN!” Louis screams at the top of his lungs, his voice ringing inside my head. He sprints toward Niall and throws his arms around him, tackling him to the floor. As they both crash down, Louis lets out an "ow," but they're already laughing.

I watch him, baffled by how easily he throws himself into chaos. His jokes aren’t the issue—I’ve learned to expect them—but if all he ever does is play around, how could he ever see me for real? “Angry much?” he teases, still tangled up with Niall. I want to break in and ask for something honest, but I just stand there, silent.

I shook my head. “I'm tired, that’s all.” I know better than to say more. Still, it feels like everyone can see through me. As Niall escapes Louis’s grip and leaves with Liam, I wonder if they sense what I’m holding back, too.

Louis stood up and poured himself a glass of whiskey; he rasped as the liquor glided down his throat. He sat on the bed. I could see his eyes were tired. “Are you okay?” I asked, trying to connect with his gaze, looking for a reaction.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he scoffs. “Someone’s gotta bring the fun.” He smirks, but I see right through it. He hides behind that clown mask for everyone else, but with me, the act slips.

“Do you ever get tired?” I ask. Louis takes the last sip of his glass and says, “Nah.” That’s as close as I will get him to talk about his feelings. I lay down on the bed as he goes for another glass.

He sighs. "If only things were different..." He drinks. "What?" I say, pretending not to hear. Louis laughs. "Forget it," he says, walking out. I don't stop him.

…

It happens years later, without warning.

The song sneaks on while I’m driving, slipping between tracks as if it has no idea what it’s about to do to me. I almost skip it. Almost. Then Louis’s voice fills the car, older now, steadier, missing the sharpness he once used as armor. I only notice how tightly I’m gripping the wheel when my hands begin to ache.

You’re the one that I want at the end of the day.

The lyric sounds wrong. Too intimate. Too precise.

I pull over, heart pounding, as memories shift into new shapes. The bus rides. The jokes that came too quickly. The way he always waited for the world to quiet—after the shows, after the noise, after everyone else—before he finally fell silent. Back then, he looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but never trusted himself to begin.

I thought he needed cheering up. I thought he needed a distraction. I thought staying silent was kindness.

But now that I'm listening, I finally hear what he was trying to tell me.

He wasn’t asking to be saved. He wasn’t asking for comfort. He was asking to be chosen when there was nothing left to laugh about. To be wanted when the day was done and the performance had nowhere left to hide.

And I had been there. Night after night. Close enough to notice everything.

Just far enough to never say it back.

The song fades out. I don’t move. I don’t cry. I just sit there, knowing exactly what we were—and exactly when I lost him.

Because I was always his at the end of the day— I just never stayed long enough for him to be mine.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏғ ʟᴏᴜɪs ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ 𝟷ᴅs ʟᴀsᴛ ʏᴇᴀʀs, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ ʜɪs ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴛʀᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀs... ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ?? 

[ficfever1d]

*•.¸♡ ＣＯＬＤ ＣＯＦＥＥ ♡¸.•*

ᴏɴᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ - ʜᴀʀʀʏ sᴛʏʟᴇs

╰☆☆ 🇸‌🇺‌🇲‌🇲‌🇦‌🇷‌🇾‌: 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇩‌🇮‌🇩‌🇳‌’🇹‌ 🇧‌🇷‌🇪‌🇦‌🇰‌ 🇺‌🇵‌ 🇧‌🇪‌🇨‌🇦‌🇺‌🇸‌🇪‌ 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇸‌🇹‌🇴‌🇵‌🇵‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇱‌🇴‌🇻‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌ 🇪‌🇦‌🇨‌🇭‌ 🇴‌🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌—🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇧‌🇷‌🇴‌🇰‌🇪‌ 🇺‌🇵‌ 🇧‌🇪‌🇨‌🇦‌🇺‌🇸‌🇪‌ 🇹‌🇮‌🇲‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌ 🇷‌🇺‌🇮‌🇳‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇪‌🇻‌🇪‌🇷‌🇾‌🇹‌🇭‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌.

╰☆☆ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷ᴋ

╰☆☆ ᴄᴡ: ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ, ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ. ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ. ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀsᴡᴇᴇᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ғᴇʟᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴇɴᴀɢᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs, ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴀsɪᴄ ᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛ ɪᴍ ᴀ sᴜᴄᴋᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ "ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ's". ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪs sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

I could feel the cold rain. It felt like needles against my skin. The worst thing that can happen in this city during winter is an unexpected downpour. I walked quickly, looking for shelter. The rain was coming down so hard that I could barely see. I knew I was near Nonna's Café, but with this rain, I couldn't see where I was going.

I took a few more steps. Finally, through the heavy rain, the café's bright sign appeared. Relief. I jogged toward it and rushed inside. As soon as I opened the door, warmth enveloped me like a blanket. I took off my soaked coat and hung it on the rack near the entrance. I wrung out my hair. It dripped. I headed toward the counter.

"The weather's unpredictable, isn't it?" the guy behind the register said, shaking his head. "This morning didn't look like it would rain." He snorted at my drenched appearance. I laughed, feeling self-conscious, and nodded.

"This city's like that—always ready for rain or thunder," I sighed, hugging myself for warmth.

"What can I get you?" he asked, focused on the register keys. "A cappuccino," I replied. I just needed something warm and a place to sit. He smiled and processed my order. I handed him my last bill—exactly enough.

I sat down on a cushioned chair, knowing I'd be there for a while. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through social media. After a few minutes, the bell rang for my order. I stood up, walked slowly but purposefully, and picked up my cup, warming my hands around it.

Just as I sipped my coffee, the door opened. A tall, curly-haired guy, soaked from the rain, entered and approached the counter. I glanced back at my cup, but something about him felt familiar. He ordered, “Vanilla latte with a caramel pump.” My eyes widened—no one else said “pump” with an accent like that. "Cold, please," he added.

It can’t be. My chest tightens. Impossible. Only he would order a cold drink in winter. My heart pounds as I glance his way. Could it be? No, impossible. Wild hope and dread mingle. He doesn’t belong in this city. His life is elsewhere now. But it’s been years. Since One Direction. Since Harry. Since me.

I stood up, trying to get out as fast as I could. I couldn't see him. He couldn't see me—like this. My momentum was so strong that I didn't have time to move the table. I ended up knocking over my cup. The crash was loud. It sounded like the most significant noise in the world, or at least that's what this quiet place made it seem.

The curly-haired boy looked at me, recognition flashing in his eyes. I couldn't deny it—it was Harry. "Only you would make such a fuss getting my attention," he muttered, his soft, familiar laugh making me ache with nostalgia. He grabbed his drink while I bent down, hands shaking, to clean the mess. "Come on, let me help you." Harry returned with napkins and wiped up the brown puddle. I kept my eyes averted, cheeks burning.

We sat at another table, both subdued, the air thick with unresolved questions. The coffee guy kindly brought me another cup, his small kindness magnified by my raw nerves. I swallowed hard. "I didn't think I'd see you again," I said, staring down at my trembling hands holding the warm cup.

"I know. I hadn't planned to return," he said, voice flat and pained. "We expected a few more years touring, but things changed—the band broke up, as you probably know."

I remembered reading about the alleged conflict that ended the band, though I doubted that—they were like brothers. "Are you still in touch with the guys?" I asked. Harry nodded. "For now, everyone’s doing different things, but they’re fine." He shifted, looking uncomfortable. "And you?" He met my eyes.

I froze for a moment. I miss that forest-green color, that deep, penetrating gaze that could hypnotize you just by looking at him. “I’m fine,” I said, voice barely above a whisper, unable to hide my hesitation, and his frown revealed he knew I wasn’t. A desperate urge to reach out warred with my instinct to retreat as I watched his fingers anxiously tap his glass.

“I still write songs about people who aren’t in my life anymore.” A vulnerable admission. Our knees touched under the table, and I shifted away, overwhelmed by the old lightning bolt of attraction and uncertainty. Harry smiled at me, eyes gentle and understanding, stirring a bittersweet ache.

We talked until sunlight hit the table, the hours blurring with old memories, sadness, and hope mingling as we caught up on years apart. When the sun finally broke through, I hesitated, sadness and gratitude warring in my chest. "It was nice, catching up."

“Yeah. It was.” We stood simultaneously. Harry helped me with my coat. “Thanks,” I said, tucking my hair and putting my hands in my sleeves. Harry opened the door, letting me go out before him.

For a moment, we stood together outside. Neither of us moved. Both of us wished this moment would never end. I hesitated. "I have to go…" My voice faltered. I paused for a long time. Harry shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Me too..."

We stepped closer. We said goodbye one last time. I hugged him. The scent of his cologne filled my nose. A sea of memories flooded my mind—so many years. I could feel Harry's embrace tighten. He held me a little longer. We were both thinking the same thing. It was time for me to go.

I slowly pulled away. Every instinct told me to stay in his arms. Harry took my chin gently. Our eyes met—his gaze soft but searching. He smiled. He pressed a kiss on my forehead. His hands traveled down my arms. Then they found my palms. Our fingers interlaced tightly. As if he, too, wished he could hold onto this moment.

We let go, traded bittersweet smiles, and said goodbye, our parting heavy with unspoken emotion—just like that night.

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: ғᴜʟʟ ᴏғ ɴᴏsᴛᴀʟɢɪᴀ ᴀs ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴋɪʟʟs ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴀs sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴀs ɪ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜᴀʜᴀ. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʟs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ!!

╰☆☆ ᴀ/ɴ: sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀ ғᴜʟʟ ғɪᴄ?

[ficfever1d]

(¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.-> 🇭‌🇮‌ 🇬‌🇺‌🇾‌🇸‌! <-.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯)

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

Hello everyone!! I´m starting this 1D fan fiction blog for two main reasons. I've been having the urge to come back to my roots, haha, what I used to do and love when I was a teen.

AAAAAND to have some sort of reconection with the fanfic/writing scene.

I'm really excited to come back to this writing world!! When I was younger I used to have a Wattpad account and post religiously every day if I could. Remember those times when Wattpad was free and had no ads?? I miss those days haha.

If you like 1D and fanfictions, I hope you stay around.

𝒮𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃

*•.¸♡ -ғ.ғ.𝟷ᴅ ♡¸.•*