₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ₊̣̇₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ₊̣̇ෆ˟̑̑˚̑̑˟̑ෆ
Description: Harry Lewis and you have been in a very happy two-year relationship which is tragically cut short by a sudden accident. This story follows the beautiful moments of the relationship along with the difficult aftermath.
Content: Fluff, Angst, Lots of Sad, Crying Moments (Idk what the tag is for that?)
Author's Note: Call me Kendrick the way I've been going through something. I decided to write a super depressing fic not knowing whether y'all will like it cause from what I see there aren't many sad ukyt fics. So, I'm putting it out there anyways. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I hope someone out there enjoys it (or not cause it's kind of really sad loll).
The universe is vast and uncaring. Whether it was a statistical certainty or a haphazard attempt made by the Gods will never be known. There is one indisputable thing: you had an undeniable and elegiac love for one another.
A single ray of warm orange light crept through the diaphanous lace curtains, travelling slowly across the walls of the room like a spotlight. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you slowly surface from your rest. The warmth and weight of the duvet, like a soft embrace, lulled your eyes closed again. Harry’s breath was soft against your neck like a sweet summer breeze. You turn, careful not to wake him, and look over his sleeping features. You could stay here forever and take in the beauty of the morning. However, the light weight of the day reminded you of the tasks you needed to complete. You slowly pull the covers back and put your slippers on. As you make your way to the living room, you push your hair back out of your face. The cold air of the house prickles at your arms and legs, but you ignore it as finding a jumper would be far too much for the early morning. The floorboards sigh at the weight of you while one softly reminds you that you need to call someone to fix it.
You enter the kitchen and grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge. The effects of the hangover from last night’s shenanigans linger in your body. You take a sip and make your way back to the bed. You set your bottle of water on your night stand and carefully sit down on your side of the bed so as to not wake him.
He always had a peaceful look when he was sleeping. Rarely would you look over and see his eyebrows knitted together with worry. It’s those times when your heart would tighten, and you would hold his hand, hoping to bring even a molecule of comfort. It seems those nights have become more frequent in the past couple of months. You have asked before about what has been troubling him, but he would just brush it off with his light laugh and joking attitude. His busy schedule seems to be taking a toll on him.
Harry stirred slightly, turning to face you. His eyelids flitted before his gaze found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips, clearly embarrassed by your winsome visage.
“How long have you been watching me sleep?”, he asks with a slight rasp in his sleepy voice.
“Mmm, just long enough to realize that you’re a chronic mouth breather.”, you say with an impish smile.
“Oh god,” he groaned as he covered his laughing face with his hands.
“Well, thank you for the new information, Miss. I hope you continue to give me updates on my hidden sleeping habits.” He smiled sweetly while fixing a strand of hair that covered your forehead.
“Of course, Sir. However, if you wish to get detailed reports you have to make a monthly payment of 50 quid,” you say while holding your hand out sarcastically.
“Really? Well, how about instead of the money, I make breakfast while you get ready? Deal?,” he propositioned with a coy smile.
“Hmmm, I guess it would depend on what we’re having. But I’m feeling particularly generous so I will eat whatever the chef makes.”
“Thank you for your generosity, my love,” he says with a light laugh and a kiss on your forehead.
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The house is freezing. The radiators in the house remain cold, despite the chill winter outside.
Harry is sitting on the floor of your shared living room that you insisted should be decorated in a certain color scheme. His back is pressed against the light grey velvet sofa you picked out a couple months after moving in.
He hasn’t uploaded a video in a long time. Months, maybe? He couldn’t really tell you what time of the day it is. Ethan and Josh had been around the evening before to drop off some takeout. They could tell he hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly despite his failing efforts of putting on a strong front. He hasn’t been able to stomach anything recently. He really just wanted to be alone.
But it was always like this when this time of the year came around. It had officially been a year since the accident. His concept of time solely revolves around you. He hadn’t realized that until now.
His eyes are bloodshot red and sunken from the lack of sleep. He was staring mindlessly at a polaroid photo that rested on the coffee table in front of him. It was the photo you took together on your second anniversary. You smiled back at him in the photo, innocent and unaware that just a month later he would collapse on the hospital floor in grief.
There was a heavy, suffocating silence that sat in the room, only broken by the aggressive pattering of London rain beating against the windows. The overhead lights in the house were off, save for the late evening blue light that filtered through the blinds like liquid glass.
Harry’s trembling hand slowly traced the outline of your face in the photograph. He took a large swig of wine straight from the glass bottle, the burn of the cheap alcohol made his eyes slightly water. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories that came flooding through his mind. The alcohol wasn’t doing its job of numbing his mind very well. The memory of the last thing he said to you quickly swept across his mind.
You were on your way out the door to get to work and you couldn’t find your keys.
“Harry! My keys, I can’t find them! Did you move them?,” you asked out of breath from running around the house.
“I didn’t move them, love. They should be on the counter next to your phone,” he called out, his voice muffled from the toothbrush he still had in his mouth.
“They’re not next to my phone. I have my phone- damnit,” you cursed. “Where the hell is my phone?,” you muttered under your breath.
Harry walked out from the bathroom into the living room where you were frantically looking for keys along with the now missing phone.
“Dear, look,” he said as he casually handed you your keys and phone that were sitting patiently on the sofa.
You laughed at the ridiculousness of the moment, “I swear they ran away from me. They just like you better than me,” you said with a joking smile.
He pulled the strings on the hoodie you borrowed from him to pull you in for a quick kiss, “Maybe, hear me out, it’s a sign for you to take the day off..” his voice trailed off at the end not losing the mischievous tone.
“I would love to, darling, but this meeting is incredibly important. I need my boss to get this brand deal signed or I will be out of a job. And despite this job absolutely driving me insane sometimes, I actually enjoy it,” you said quickly, giving him a kiss back.
“Well, come back soon, yeah? I’ll be waiting,” he said, unknowing of the events that would soon unfold.
The last time he would see your face would be when you turned around to give him one last smile. Your beautiful face that would be burned into his mind, like a hot branding iron, from that moment on.
He took another gulp of the wine, but this time opened his eyes. His grip tightened on the neck of the bottle. The burn of the alcohol lingered this time barely numbing the ache he felt in his chest. He pulled his hoodie closer to his nose. It was the hoodie you had borrowed from him on that day. The smell of your perfume still lingering around the neck.
His phone vibrated. It was a text from someone. Asking him how he was and if he went outside today. He didn’t even bother texting back or even checking who it was from. He didn’t want to get off the floor. He wanted to sit there and drink until he fell asleep. Then get up in the morning and pretend like everything is fine. Because that’s the only thing he knows how to do right now.
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Harry had just got back in from an evening run. As he grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and sat down on the sofa his phone rang. It was from a private number.
“Hello, is this Harry Lewis?”, the unfamiliar voice of a woman asked.
“Who’s asking,” he asked hesitantly.
“I’m a nurse calling from King’s College Hospital. Your name and number was on file as Ms.Reader’s emergency contact.” She took a breath seemingly preparing herself for the news she has to deliver. It seemed to take an eternity. “She was in an accident. A hit and run. You need to come to the hospital immediately…” her voice trailed off in his mind.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there soon,” he said quickly, not even remembering if he locked the door to the house. His hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel.
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He ran into the hospital, the fluorescent glow of the lights blurring together. He had hoped to see you sitting up on a gurney apologizing for making him worry and making a joke about how bad people’s driving is nowadays. But you didn’t. The doctor had a hand on his shoulder as he told him that you didn’t make it. He didn’t hear anything after that. All he could hear was the buzzing from the bright hospital lights.
Harry sat crumpled on the hospital waiting room floor, with his dirty-blonde hair an unkempt mess. He couldn’t even cry. He couldn’t do anything. Just sit there. The doctor’s words echoed in his mind, “Internal bleeding…severe trauma ... .I'm so sorry…did everything we could.”
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As much as he wished it was only the good memories that visited him, every fight they had, every argument where he said something he regretted, they came flooding in like a broken dam.
“What’s bothering you, love? Come on, I know there's something,” you said knowingly while turning around to look at him. He sat down without looking at you and wiped his hands on his pants before sighing.
“Well, Chip and Cal actually asked me to join Señor Frogs again,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“That's great! Are you guys doing another 24 hour race?”
“Uh yeah, the thing is-,” he hesitated, “the thing is the track we're using is in Spain.”
“Oh,” you said with realization. He would be leaving again. He promised he wouldn’t leave again for a couple months and spend more time with you.
“Did you say yes?,” you asked with a small voice. Part of you wished his answer would be no or that he had to speak with you before he made the decision but life doesn't always give you what you want.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I- I said yes.” He stumbled over his words clearly knowing how this would make you feel.
“You promised,” you said with a shaky tone. You felt childish and immature to want to ask him to stay. He has work and so do you. But the last couple months you barely saw him except for the week he’s home before going off on another adventure.
“I know. I know I did. I just- I- its Chip and Cal. I can't say no to them on this. It's something I've been a part of for years.” He looked at you with a warm gaze that didn't soothe you like it usually did. It didn't work.
“I can't keep doing this,” you said with tears falling down your face. The water in your eyes blurred your vision so you didn't have to see his concerned face.
“Wh-what do you mean? What does that mean? You can't do this? Can't do us?” He asked motioning between the two of you before slowly standing up.
You sigh and wipe your hands over your face. “You promised me you wouldn't go anywhere. Just this year you've been gone 9 out of the 10 months. All I asked for was one month where you aren’t being whisked away on some vacation while I can’t even get dinner with you. I feel like I’m constantly fighting with your work to spend time with you,” your lip trembles, fighting against the tears that threaten to spill.
He looked at you, hurt. “I've only ever tried to put you first but you asking me to set my work aside to just go on dates is selfish.” He said it quickly. So quick you almost didn’t hear what he said.
“Selfish? I'm selfish. For wanting to spend time with my boyfriend? Wow. Well, I'm glad you're finally able to get that off your chest,” the hurt in your voice evident in the way it cracked and faded.
Harry sighed realizing what he had said. He took a couple of steps towards you, his hand out hoping you’ll take it.
“Reader, I just- I'm sorry okay. Don’t be mad at me, please,” he pleaded with a breathlessness you haven’t heard in his voice before.
“I don't want an apology just because you think it's going to make me less mad. I want you to- I don't know- do something. Keep your promises. Not run off to Spain for a race.” You said tasting the saltiness of the tears that fell swiftly from your eyes. You can’t even remember when they fell.
“This is fucking insane.” He said under his breath. “Okay, I'll call Chip and Cal and tell them I'm not going. If that's what you want, I'll do it.” He pulled out his phone.
“Don’t do- that's not fair. I don't want you to give up something you care about just so you can resent me for it later.” You turn around and grab your bag and your house keys.
“That's exactly what you're asking me to do,”clearly frustrated, he wipes his hand over his face.
Equally as frustrated you turn around. “God Harry if you could just, for once, see things from my perspective. Every time you run off on another adventure with the boys I don't say anything. But the minute I ask to spend some time with you it's like I'm asking you to carve your heart out your chest and give it to me. You leave and I sit and I wait for you. That’s how it always is,” you said as you turned and walked down the hallway to the front door.
“Reader, wait,” he pleaded after you, “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, tears welling in his eyes.
You pause with your hand still on the doorknob. Hearing his voice sound so small and thin was unfamiliar to you.
“Can we talk about this when I get home, Harry?” You asked with sad eyes and a soft voice. “Let’s figure this out later. I have to get to work,” you whispered exhausted from the fight.
It was after this fight that you had left him a voicemail.
“Hey Harry, um I know we just had a big blowout”, you said hesitantly, “you’re probably going to think I have a split personality or something,” you joked with a small laugh. “I want you to know that I just want you to be happy. And that I know I don’t say it a lot but I do love you. So, go. I know how much you’ve been waiting for them to ask you. I’ve just been so stressed with work and I guess I just wanted to spend more time with you. I’m sorry I took it out on you, love. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ve got to go, call me back later, yeah? Love you.”
It was one of your last fights. Though resolved, the guilt pinched at his heart. He couldn’t help but think of all the time he wasted fighting with you over these, now seemingly, insignificant things.
He continued on drinking and crying and remembering for a while before sleep finally took him.
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It was in the early afternoon, when he woke to a knock at the door. He didn’t hear it the first few times, but he finally stumbled off the living room floor and barely made it to the door.
He opened the door, sparing no struggle to turn the doorknob from the drunken nights he had before. He was surprised to see Simon standing with a bag of takeout and a bottle of water. “Considering the state of you, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you haven’t eaten or drank a drop of water since the day before yesterday?”, he said lightly joking but concern still laced his voice.
“Please, come on in. Nothin’ goin’ on in here,” Harry said slightly slurring his words from the two day alcohol binge he had gone on. He wasn’t drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the lack of sleep. A good guess would be both.
Simon walked in and set the things he brought along, on the kitchen counter. He joined Harry on the sofa in the living space. There were alcohol bottles scattered on the coffee table. A half finished wine bottle from last night sat behind the sofa, out of view from Simon. Harry tried to hide it as if it would make the dozen or so beer bottles littered around the space disappear as well.
Simon let out a long breath as he sat next to a tired and tattered Harry. “We’ve gotta have a chat about what’s been going on, mate.” He said it with a certainty as though he could tell the future and he knew for sure that Harry was going to tell him everything he’s feeling.
“There’s nothing to talk about really,” Harry said quietly. avoiding eye contact, the rasp in his voice betraying him. Simon could tell he was hiding more than just a half-finished wine bottle.
“C’mon, I know it’s been a rough time for you but it’s-,” he hesitated, “it’s been a year Harry. I think it’s time for you to at least tell me how you’re feeling. Ever since the accident, you faded away. You barely leave the house when winter comes. I know you struggle to pretend like everything is normal when you’re around us.” He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, firm and reassuring.
Harry, a man who had spent the last year quietly crying himself to sleep and had finally thought last night he had none left to shed, let out a soft sob as streams of tears fell down his face once again.
“I- “, he barely got out a word before having to take a deep breath, “The night I found out, I didn’t know what else to do. I went to a couple pubs and got wasted. I just wanted it all to be a bad dream. I didn’t want to go home, but when I did I- ,” he wiped the tears from his face and let out a shaky breath, “I was so drunk I- I forgot.” He broke.
Simon’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “Forgot what?”he asked, confused.
“I forgot she died,” he said, a sob followed. “I got home and found her clothes in the closet, her makeup in the bathroom and her shoes by the door. And I forgot. For a second she was still alive. And when I went to bed I remembered. She wasn’t on her way home from work or making a stop at the store for her favorite ice cream. She was gone.” He buried his face in hands letting out all the emotions he bottled up.
“Harry, that’s normal. That’s completely normal.” Simon said, comforting him.
Harry looked up at Simon, tears still in his blood shot eyes, “It still happens though. In the mornings. Even after all this time, I still wake up expecting to find her next to me. I-I-I…” he huffs frustrated at his inability to put his thoughts into words, “I know I am capable of living without her, I just don’t want to. It’s so hard living with such a big piece missing. I don’t know what to do without her.”
Simon squeezed Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. This was uncharted territory for the both of them. Navigating such a new and vulnerable topic doesn’t necessarily come with a manual. “This is going to be hard to hear right now. But you need to hear it, Harry. You’ll move on. You won’t ever forget her, but you’ll move on. You’ll get a new lease on life and, in time, maybe you’ll meet someone. It’ll feel like hell in the meantime, but you will get there. If there is one thing I am sure about it is that she wouldn’t want your life to end with hers.”
And it was in the light of that emotional afternoon, as the sun rose to its highest point and the apartment was filled with the light of a new day that Harry also had a new light shone on him. The scars and the wounds that he acquired during such a difficult year were on display for his best friend to see. But he did not judge. And it was through that simple and vulnerable conversation, along with a long and arduous year of grief counseling that Harry was able to begin working again. And find a new love for life. Dating again was another battle he was not ready for, but when the time comes he will love again with the fullness he once gave you. And he will not be afraid.
