Summary: During the British Raj, troops from Great Britain were sent to India. Harry happens to be one among the soldiers. He finds himself falling for one of the local Indian girls Padma, who also happened to be the daughter of a freedom fighter. What happens when YN have to choose between her love and her country.
Hello! This is going to be a multiple part story. It’s about Harry and his life before, during, and after World War I. I hope whoever comes across this enjoys it! I encourage feedback of any kind! Also, I am not sure of some writing/punctuation rules so please point those out especially! Happy reading :)
Word count: 3k
TW/Warning: None
Prologue
They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind tends to wonder. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have in the world, is time. What we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where shall we let our minds wander off to? Distant lands or perhaps a reality that we dream of that is better than our present? Do you dream of being in your lover's arms? Or do you wish you could have taken back those harsh words you said to your mother recently? Others have to think quickly, in a fraction of a second, or else they will not live to see the light of day. In that darkness there is chaos and when everything turns quiet, is that moment of primal instinct to save your life or to accept that death will grab you and bring you to a hell that you have not seen yet. Anything to keep the mind busy in times of hardship is crucial. That is how we survive. The silence, especially in the time of war, is deadly, so deadly that it could turn anyone crazy.
Every soul is trying to keep themselves safe and there is not an option otherwise, unless they have lost their way, lost hope. Those are the people you have to take care of, to watch out for because without community and camaraderie there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without out the care for oneself is to rot. Those who only think of the betterment of themself are soulless. To be self-sufficient is another story. To have support behind you, next to you, in front of you, gives you strength. To know that others are experiencing life similar to yours is comforting because ultimately you’ll feel less alone.
—
Manchester, England
5 June, 1914
Friday
In the summer of 1914, Harry Styles was a young and innocent soul. He was only worried about getting to work on time and pleasing the cute girl next door. Even though his life was simple he enjoyed it very much.
It was a particularly hot morning, especially for the beginning of June. No clouds in the sky to provide any shade on the way to work, making Harry sweat. Having to take off his work shirt so he doesn’t stain through it, even though it’ll be twice as bad inside. Sun hitting his pale skin, he hasn’t had the time to be outside to give himself a healthy glow so this is a perfect opportunity. He might get a horrible tan line from his undershirt but Harry’s okay with that. What he isn’t okay with is his inability to stop daydreaming about his neighbor, and that is exactly what he does walking two kilometers to work.
They are acquainted, Harry has helped her move furniture, tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably, leaving him no other option but to pay for maintenance and to allow her access to his washroom. She had occasionally made him food whenever he came home late, or she would purposely bump into him in the morning before work to put a smile on his face. They enjoy each other's company so much that they go to the market together to buy groceries. Sometimes Harry stargazes in the park right below their building and she’d see him through her kitchen window, and she would join him anytime she caught him. They’d always lay in silence, enjoying the presence not only from one another but the vast universe above them.
In this particular moment all Harry can focus on is her being in his home, using his shower. Being the gentleman that he is, he respected her privacy when she was over to wash up, which was every night for a week. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but to imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes. He would hear her hum to herself in the shower, she slipped once and she screeched but then laughed hysterically, it was heavenly. Seeing water drip from her hair was adorable. Her coming over made Harry feel whole, made his flat less lonely. There was one instance where she had forgotten a change of clothes, and that was the night Harry knew he was truly in love with her.
—
Harry was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbors mouth. He assumed that she was rushing too fast while getting changed, she had a date who was waiting on her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that there was a man taking her out to dinner. It was someone she knew in grade school, she told Harry that she bumped into him while she was at one of her friends' weddings. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.
“Harry…”
She sounded worried. Why was she worried? Was she nervous?
“Fran, I know your nerves are getting the best of you, but I’m sure you look lovely…” He turned around to find her in just a towel. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and heart racing at a million miles an hour. Too stunned to speak, Harry quickly spun on his heels so he wasn’t starring. “Shit, I- I’m, I-”
She’s now laughing at his embarrassment. All worry washed away from her voice, “I forgot my dress. I guess I was so excited to get ready that I forgot it. Can I borrow a blanket or shirt to cover up in?” After a few moments of silence she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder and spoke, “Harry, it’s okay, turn around.”
He did as he was told, making sure that when he did, he only looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful, so confident in her body and in herself to let a man she wasn’t with, to look at her when she was indecent. A strand of hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself Harry gently pushed the lock behind her ear. Both of their breaths caught in their throats but Harry managed to whisper, “I’ll um, go grab you a shirt.” He never walked so fast in his life. Making sure he picked out a nice shirt that smelled good was top priority. He ended up dabbing some cologne on the collar just in case.
She was too busy admiring the books on his bookshelf to notice that he had come back so he cleared his throat before speaking, “Fran, you better change quickly before your date thinks you’ve fallen in the toilet.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny Styles. Gimme that.” Snatching the shirt like it was hers to begin with. She disappears behind the washroom door and reappears seconds later it seems like, but maybe that’s from the state of shock Harry’s still in. Fran has to ask him this twice to get his full attention, “Will you watch for any unwanted eyes as I walk to my flat?”
“Of course I will. Let me see your key so I can unlock your door so you don't have to struggle.” Walking past her is painful, he can feel his excitement pushing against his trousers, it’s only just started but he needs to be free of Fran soon or else she’ll see. Walking the hall fast but lightly, not to make a ruckus and concern the nosey neighbors. He unlocks her door and sets her key on the small table that sits just to the right of the door. Making sure that no one is in sight he quietly calls out her name. She holds her dirty garments to her chest as she speed walks to him. As soon as she’s in her doorway Harry stands in front of her, both arms outstretched, with hands grabbing the baseboards to make for a better cover for Fran.
They are extremely close again, both of their hearts are pounding so hard it’s a surprise they can’t hear each other's heartbeats. “You better have fun on your date. Hurry along then, you don’t want to miss him.”
“Oh, I will. And don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Harry smiled and walked back to his flat. He ended up burning his pasta on the stove. If this was any normal night, he would have lost his wits if he burned his pasta, but he made an exception for the gorgeous woman that stole his attention.
—
Ever since that incident, a very particular image of Fran has been taking over Harry’s mind. The shirt that Harry gave her was a pale pink shirt and he never realized, that without an undershirt underneath, that it was sheer. When Fran came out of the bathroom, her hair had gotten the fabric around her breasts wet. It was only for a brief moment that he looked, and Harry swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he looked at her the way he did, she seemed almost satisfied. An angelic devil she is.
Too distracted by his thoughts, he barely realized that he was arriving at work: Taylor the Tailor: “Let Taylor, Tailor You!” was displayed above the building in bright red lettering. It was a quaint little shop that sparked Harry’s interest when he first moved to the city. Before he even asked for a position, he had to come in for a repair on a set of trousers. Long story short, while moving into his flat, he had slipped on some ice and ripped right down the bumline. Quite embarrassing, even more so considering one of his neighbors came out of the building right as it was happening and laughed. It turned out to be Fran. She still teases him about it.
His mum taught him how to sew, crochet, and knit, so already having experience was attractive to the owner, Mr. Taylor. He was hired on the spot actually. He loves everyone he works with and that’s the reason why he’s stayed with the shop for almost two years. He welcomes Mimi and Rena as he walks through the main room and towards the back to put his shirt back on before customers arrive. Harry can hear the two older ladies gossiping about who knows what but it makes him chuckle, they think they’re whispering but they’re both basically half deaf so they naturally talk loud.
“Ladies, ladies,” Harry interrupted them, “No need to whisper about how gorgeous I am, when I’m right here!”
Rena rolled her eyes, while Mimi stood up and made her way to him. Mimi takes his blue bowtie from his hand and begins to put it on for him. A little tradition that they’ve made. Harry is fully capable of doing it himself but he lets her. They both gain from it. “Thank you, my darling,” He kisses her on the cheek when she’s finished, “And how are both of my girls today, ready for the weekend I assume?”
“Always ready for the weekend, Styles. Two days out of the week where I am free of you.”
“I’m truly hurt by your words Rena. You know what that does to my ego. Everyone loves me, right Mimi?”
Mimi laughs, “You are very lovable Harry. Rena is just an old fart. You’d think after so many years she’d warm up to ya.” That is exactly how each day goes. Rena is the sturn and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Harry is, well, Harry.
The day is long and hot, everyone is being careful not to sweat on any of the clothes that they’re working on. And their day has only gotten longer, because right before five o’clock a woman comes in. She is in desperate need of fixing her husband's work attire that her children had shredded with scissors. Three shirts and four trousers. She was a fairly sweet woman and she would pay them extra to get it done for her by Monday morning. They all obliged. Harry was surprised Rena hadn’t complained in front of the customer, but as soon as the woman left Rena said that she would have left if it weren’t for the extra money. Typical.
To make things fun, Harry took on three garments that were badly damaged, and told the ladies he would finish all of them before they finished their two pieces. This didn’t amuse Rena, but she ended up finishing before him and she was greatly satisfied, giggled even. Getting out of the shop around half past nine was quite impressive and everyone patted themselves on the back for the hard work.
“Get home safe my loves, I will see you later. Rena, you better think of me!” He yells at them when they’re about to round the corner of the street. It makes Rena furious.
The weather changed within the last two hours, clouds moved in just as the sun was setting and rain came midway through Harry’s walk home. He usually doesn’t mind walking through the rain, but when the lightning starts Harry would much rather not turn into a crisp so he runs. He slips once and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him, almost ripping his pants, again. It was a close call, the amount of stretch he felt was worrisome. As he approaches his building, he notices an all too familiar Rolls-Royce that belongs to someone who is the epitome of rubbish. Someone who is used to getting his way, maybe it’s the money he has or possibly the fact that he has not struggled a day in his life. Harry is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.
“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Harry coldly welcomes him, “Where will you be taking Fran tonight?”
“For the last time, it’s Richard. And it should be none of your business, but I know she’ll tell you anyhow. We are going to my brother’s engagement party, and before you say anything-”
“Speaking of engagement, when will you ever ask Fran to go steady with you? Oh wait, that’s right, you were too busy getting your dic-” By the look on the other man's face, Harry knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!” He then turns around, smiles at his beautiful neighbor as he walks up to her, whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell Harry could hear Dick tell her how much he annoys him, and that is always his goal.
“Such a nosey neighbor…”
“I think he’s perfectly fine, Richard. Leave him be…” Her voice is so soft. She wouldn’t be talking so tenderly to him if she knew that he was seeing other women besides her. It infuriates Harry to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one and he does not need anything else being torn apart. Second, Fran would be so devastated and Harry doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Harry prays that he gets front row seats to Dick getting his balls kicked in.
—
The storm only got worse throughout the night. The power went out shortly after Harry got home. Currently at the kitchen table reading a book but failing horribly from sore eyes, waiting for Fran to be dropped off. At this point it could be likely that she had to stay with Dick and his family, which is revolting. It’s none of Harry’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. Looking back on it now, it seemed too late for an engagement party. Maybe it was a surprise and maybe the couple went out to dinner while everyone set up? He needs to go to bed and stop worrying, Fran is a grown woman and she’s more than ready to stick up for herself. She’s fine.
Looking out of his window one last time, to make sure he doesn’t miss her, is when he sees headlights crawling towards the building. Assuming it’s Fran, Harry sighs in relief and heads to his washroom to get ready for bed. As he gets done brushing his teeth is when he hears her walking up the stairs and decides to meet her in the hallway. Knowing she can barely see up the stairs from the power outage, he brings out a candle to give her when she gets home.
“How was your night out Miss Fran?” He says to her as she reaches the last step but she’s too quiet. He walks closer to her once she reaches her door and leans against the wall. She looks sad. Her eyes and nose are red, Harry can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly. What happened to her? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.
Her voice is hoarse, “You know Styles, you don’t need to wait up for me, it’s sweet but a little strange.” She half heartedly jokes. “My night was fine, thank you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Of course. Here, take this…” He straightens up, taking a few steps to get closer to her, and he smells the alcohol coming from her breath. It must’ve been a rough night because she hardly drinks. Handing her the candle and keeping eye contact he whispers, “So you can see where you’re going. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” Harry wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.
Summary: In order to keep her family afloat during The Great Depression, Daisy is set to marry the rich, but unlikeable, Harry Styles. When war strikes and Harry’s sent to fight, Daisy battles with her conflicting love and hate for Harry, unaware that the soldier is in a similar fight of his own.
Warnings: Smut, mentions of violence, mentions of war, cursing
hello. it is 11:30pm and i felt the dire need to write an Alex blurb. so here it is. also, goodnight.
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When Alex reached for the door, he had an inkling it’d be open, knowing Y/N’s habit of leaving it unlocked for circumstances he never understood. She had her key with her whenever she ventured out, yet the door remained unlocked and open to unwanted visitors like him lurking inside. That was nearly 6 months ago and he wondered just how much she had changed. His palm wrapped around the handle and gently pushed it down, a sigh of relief exerted into the cold air as he gingerly opened the door and let himself inside. Thank goodness she hadn't changed that much.
The warmth hit him, nearly causing him to whimper as he slowly removed him boots, not knowing if she still had the issue with having shoes in the house.
He almost expected his girlfriend to be in the kitchen cooking something delicious for him, running up to him with their daughter in her arms when hearing the sound of him entering after so many months. When nobody ran up to him excitedly, his chest tightened, bottom lip quivering.
The train had brought him back to a station close to her home, and Alex didn't know just how far the train would go next and didn't want to miss the chance to see her face between the intervals and question whether they were still okay, so he had given Tommy one glance and nodded in his direction. Tommy offered him a small smile of farewell, and Alex knew he was in anguish due to his French friend, however his head was spinning with the need to just go home, too tired to feel remorse of his actions.
He'd received stares, but not scathing ones as he'd expected, nor did he get rotten food and stones hurled at him as he walked down the blocks, hands stuck in his pockets and head down. He'd abandoned his upper top that displayed the British flag, too ashamed to be representing his country any further. He carried on without meeting eyes with the people, miserable and eager to get home.
He allowed himself inside her home and when it dawned on him that she wasn't home, his automatic response was to head over to the kitchen to see what mouthwatering food she had created for dinner. It was routine, months ago when he'd return from work, tired and too deprived of her, making his way towards the kitchen where she'd be cooking dinner. He'd wrap his arms around her waist and bury his head in her neck, pressing little kisses. To his dismay, and his growling pinched stomach, there was nothing waiting for him, an empty pit mockingly staring up at him with a smirk.
Alex sighed, eyes trailing to the staircase where the bedrooms were. He remembered walking up those stairs everyday, sometimes with her across his shoulder or trailing behind her with a hand on her bum cheekily. The thought made his heart stutter. His feet dragged themselves to the first stair, raising his head to stare up ahead at the door to her bedroom that was left ajar. Even from his limited view, he could see that it was spotless. With one heavy hand on the railing, he hauled himself up the stairs and climbed closer to his destination.
The room smelled like her, a wave of nostalgia attacking him mercilessly when he first entered, eyes wide with recognition. He breathed in the scent, eyes watering st the memories that poured into his brain of the two of them living happily before the war. He eyed the picture frames and the old timey clock her grandfather had gifted her, blinking his wet lashes as he breathlessly laughed at one of the pictures the parents had taken together weeks before he was drafted.
She had her arm around his neck, looking up at him with the largest smile on her face as if he'd aligned the stars in the sky and he was looking at the camera, dimples deep with love. They were in the backyard of his parents’ home, sheets of snow covering the garden with the exception of their disrupting footsteps.
He ran a finger over her face with a smile on his face, eyes soft. The other pictures were of her and her cat, then a couple of her and her family and friends. The only picture of Alex and her was that sole one, and something tugged at his heart because the room used to be explicitly decorated with snapshots of her life with him to remind her that nobody made her as happy as he did.
Her bed was neatly made, tucked in carefully at the edges. He bent down and gingerly ran his trembling fingers over the blanket, gasping when he felt the softness on his calloused hand. His body lurched with emotion, grabbing the blanket in his fist, rubbing his palm against the material. How long had it been since he'd felt something so soft and heavenly? In war, there was no softness, there was no heaven, and there was no Y/N.
Without a thought in mind, Alex peeled back the covers and shoved himself between the blanket and the mattress, whimpering when his back sunk into the bed, eyes closing. He cracked his neck, breathing heavily before placing the blanket over his face, letting the thought and smell of her lull him to sleep for the first time in months.
**
When Y/N walked in, she immediately knew something was wrong. The atmosphere felt intrusive like the thought of a break in inside of her haven. In the process of building her defensive walls, she had overlooked the fact that a pair of army boots were lined neatly against her own sneakers as she forced her shoes off her feet, eager to investigate in the matter further. She took a cautious step inside her home, glancing around the livingroom to inspect it, checking for any signs of a trespasser. Her house looked the same, orderly and boring, yet the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she inched closer, shifting the grocery bags in her arms uncomfortably.
“Hello?” she called out, voice shaking. “Kate? Is that you?”
Kate was her neighbor whom she'd given a key to for the extensive purpose of feeding her cat while she was away. Kate wasn't at her house too often, which made this entire situation more alarming, but she kept the possibility in the back of her mind to calm herself. It wasn't very helpful as she called out her name again and was met with no response.
She placed the bags down on the counter and carefully peered around the kitchen but everything was still in the same spot as she'd left it hours ago. She breathed a sigh as she rolled and cracked her neck, shaking her head at herself. She was most definitely going insane, she thought darkly, pushing the hair off her forehead, hand on her hips. Lately, it had been like this, like she'd been awaiting for a moment to come. She weren't sure what exactly she was anticipating, however it was creeping up on she at the worst times, causing her stress and anxiety levels to rise—something she clearly did not need.
She trudged up the stairs, roughly knuckling at her eye. She had been awake since eight in the morning which was when her shift had started at the local diner, and after work, she had taken it upon herself to avoid coming to an empty home and went grocery shopping. She hated being alone and up until recently, she'd tolerated sleeping alone, however now, she dreaded nightfall.
Across the street, Mrs. DuBois had received a letter last week to inform her that her son had died in action somewhere along the outskirts of England. Ever since she'd seen the collective woman fall to her knees and weep, she'd gotten a stirring feeling in her stomach that maybe nobody was going to return. Not even the one she wanted. It had been six months since she'd seen him and she was considering taking Kate’s advice and erasing him from her memory. It felt wrong. She felt as if she had cheated him.
A shriek fell from her lips when she saw the lump of a person’s body under her covers, a hand placed over her chest, breathing erratic. The person was audibly snoring, tuft of greasy straight hair on her pillow, the only sight she could see. The person’s face was hidden under the covers, arms and legs spread like an eagle over the span of the queen sized bed that was clearly too small for them.
Her first instinct was to yell out for help, however then she thought she oughta throw something at the person to awake them and demand them to leave her home. The second option was better, as she'd lately become too dependent on others and decided to deal with the situation herself. Y/N quietly slinked over to her desk and grasped a pencil in her hand. She chucked it at the sleeping body, hiding behind her door immediately when it hit their lower back.
The person didn't respond, but they did shift under the covers and flip over to their stomach. The person was too tall, so their legs peeked out through to reveal army pants, grey and saddening. She faltered, twirling the second pencil in hand. The man was a soldier. He was seeking refuge at her home and suddenly guilt overtook her as she listened to the pencil she’d hurled at him roll off his body and onto the ground.
Y/N sighed, dropping the second pencil onto the floor. She took a couple steps towards the person, walking around the edge of her bed to look at him closely, mainly for injuries but also to check if she recognized him. She'd taken pride in her work as a Red Cross member, patching up soldiers and feeding them, looking after them as if she was their mother. His face was still buried under the covers, so she silently tugged the material down with her index fingers, preparing herself.
Alex, her lover and father to her daughter, was fast asleep on her pillow, face pinched with exhaustion and utter fatigue. Her vision swam, heart threatening to fail on her right there. Her heart raced even more than when she'd found out a stranger was in her bed, breath hitched in her throat as tears automatically welled in her eyes, grasping onto the side table to steady herself on the spinning ground. His mouth was in a hard line, edges of his face littered with blackness, resembling close with oil. His neck and jaw had scratches on them, angry welts that just dipped into the collar of his uniform, red and painful.
Her knees hit the floor besides the bed, sniffling as she touched his face shakily, afraid to feel his skin. She placed her palm on his cheek, rubbing her thumb across the bridge of his nose, wiping away the oil. His scruff had grown across his face, uncomfortable scratching at her palm and forgein because normally, she'd order him shave it off in preparation of their daughter’s birth—Alex vowed he wouldn't stop kissing their baby’s cheeks and tummy once she was here—but she couldn't care less now.
Where had he been? What had he seen?
A cry broke out from her throat as she launched herself at him, joining him on the bed as tears leaked out of her eyes, arms tight around his torso, face buried deep in his neck.
“What the fuck—” Alex gasped, sleep rudely interrupted, head whipping down to the crying girl on his chest defensively. "Oh.”
Her hands unraveled from around him and began roaming his torso, sobbing when his hands gently touched her back, rubbing circles. “You...you’re...in one piece!”
“Y/N. I am,” Alex replied quietly, nestling his head back into the soft pillow, arms around her waist. “In one piece, I am.”
She lifted her head up and smacked him across the chest, shoulder, and collarbone repeatedly, crying continuously. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? You s-stopped writing to me, and they told me what was happening at D-Dunkirk. You son of a bitch, why didn't you write to me?”
Alex grabbed her hands before she could continue the assault, pinning them down easily. Her eyes widened with his profound strength, tears leaking onto his uniform where they were absorbed by the material. She looked crazy, she was sure of it, but she was hurt.
“Everything I wanted to tell you was what you didn't want to hear,” he said calmly, shifting her wrists to one hand, laying them back near his heart, using his other free hand to caress her cheek. She was as soft as he remembered, maybe even more, fragile and ready to break in his arms. She tore her arms out of his binding hold, sitting up, shoving him in the chest once.
“All I wanted to know,” she cried, furiously wiping her tears, “...was if you were alive or not. They had soldiers come to our houses to tell us that you weren't going to make it home and that we'd be receiving pity checks soon. I didn't want the money, Alex. Fucks sake, I just wanted you home.”
He pushed himself up by the palms, reaching for her when the blanket around his body fell away, a deep apologetic expression on his face. She had no right to be so angry at him, not after what he had dealt with over the past few weeks, but he could understand her pain of not knowing where or how he was.
His hands gently touched her shoulders, shaking them slightly, opening his arms further when she reached back for him, placing her head between his shoulder and neck. She sniffled some more, letting her fingers run across his chest as if making sure he were really there and not just another one of her hallucinations.
“I'm here now and I'm not hurt.”
“You're not leaving again,” she demanded, jabbing her finger against his shoulder. “Say it right now.”
He shook his head, blinking away the treacherous tears that had sprung up in his own eyes. He didn't know whether or not he was going back or where his next mission was, but he did know that right now, he needed both of them to heal, so he gently kissed her forehead and responded, “I'm not going anywhere.”
When she drew back, he pushed the tendrils of her hair away from her face, weakly wiping away her tears. He smiled at her, leaning down to capture her mouth with his. It was tear jerking when his lips touched hers, remembering the last kiss they shared just before he embarked the train towards his death. He'd cherished the kiss, lips tingling when he thought about it, wondering how many days it would be until he found her lips against his again, and if he could count down.
He pulled away, forehead against hers, shaking his head with sadness when he realized she'd begun to cry again.
“Hey stop it, will you? I'm okay. You're okay and so am I, alright?” He waited until she breathed and nodded.
"You should have told me you were coming home," she said miserably, rubbing her eye harshly until Alex touched her wrist gently and tugged it away. "Would have made you your favorite food. And cake. I would have made cake."
"Don't think I need any of that if I have you, pretty girl." He tenderly kissed her forehead. “Now...” He gently cupped her cheeks, tilted her head up so she could evenly gaze at him. “Where's my angel?”
Y/N leaned into him, unable to keep her hands off of him. "With my mumma today. I couldn't take it, being around her and all when I was missing you so much and she looks just like you with her curly li’l hair and big green eyes and—”
“I wanted to see her,” Alex interrupted, a hint of sadness in his voice, and her eyes widened with guilt when she realized she'd been talking about herself and him and she'd forgotten about their daughter.
She ran the back of her hand across the bottom of her nose and sniffled. “I'll go get her first thing tomorrow, Alex. Wait until you see her, she's an exact copy of you!”
“Yeah?” Alex asked with a breathless laugh, palming over his eyes. “Just like me? Can't believe I wasn't there for her birth. Fuckin’ terrible father I am.”
“What? No! You had no choice over that and you know it. Quit it!”
He remembered writing furiously back to her when she'd told him that their daughter had arrived and had all ten fingers and ten toes and tiny little eyes and soft curly hair on her head. He'd ran up and down his bunks exclaiming that he had become a father, received congratulatory slaps on his back, and then cried all night in his tent.
“Y’said she looks like me?”
“Yeah! She still doesn't do much, though, she's only five months remember? She can't crawl yet. Can drag herself across the floor though. It's amusing. Cries a lot too.”
“Takes after her mumma on tha’,” Alex teased half heartedly, imagining his little girl, wondering just how much she looked like him. His breathing had increased simply thinking about her, wanting to kiss all over her face and tummy, listening to her delightfully giggle.
“Probably,” the girl laughed, leaning into his touch, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “She'll be so happy to see her daddy.”
He choked on a cry, pulling his girlfriend back into an embrace, completely dependent on the woman he loved, letting out everything he'd felt over the past six months. He blubbered about Dunkirk and how he was a murderer and how he'd killed a French soldier even though he was only trying to come back home to her. “Didn't wanna die. Was so scared...didn't wanna fuckin' die.”
Her shoulder was soaked with his tears and every ounce of emotion—sadness, remorse, anger, hatred, everything. Y/N had begun to weep also, rubbing his back, milking him dry of every single thing he felt.
“I'm just glad you're home alive,” she murmured in his ear, thick with a mix of happiness and sorrow. “So so glad.”
art by: the extraordinarily multi-talented Rachel (@alivingfire)
... as part of the amazing @1dreversebang exchange. (read them all here.)
“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”
“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.
Louis shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”
Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”
“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”
“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.”
Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.
We have news at home that the Germans have broken the Maginot line. You know this of course, I simply want to reassure you. We know some of the situation you face and we are praying fiercely for you and your company. I hope the parsnips got to you before the closing of the front. I’d hate for my veg to fall into enemy hands. I’m not sure when this will get to you but please write to me so I may sleep more soundly knowing you still live. I simply refuse to contemplate an end to this war where you do not come home to me.
Yours,
Rose
Shortly after this, May 24, 1940, Harry’s unit, along with other BEF units, a few French and Belgian units are cornered into the city and port of Dunkerque. The Germans fail to realize the ocean is an exit. They think they have the soldiers backed against a wall. Nearly all the 400,000 combined French, Belgian and British forces are able to evacuate between the 2 and 4 of June 1940. This is largely due to help from the “Dunkirk Little Ships” that ferried soldiers from the beach to further outlying military vessels or back to Britain entirely.
After several failed attempts to get home on Navy vessels, Harry and his squad were pulled aboard a “little ship” and ferried back home. He couldn’t shake this profound sense of failure and wasn’t sure what reception awaited him at home.
Once the unit was back on British soil it was re-assigned to Manchester where they began training for assignment as a parachute brigade. Word of Harry’s arrival traveled quickly. Rosemary rented a room in Manchester so she could spend what little time they had, together. He was sent briefly to Italy, the front collapsed and Italy fell. He returned home only to find out he was headed back to the continent, this time to the Netherlands for Operation Market Garden.
Darling Rose,
I’ve been on British soil barely 4 months and we’re off again. This time we’re headed to the continent. The 1st BEF is being combined into the 1st Airborne. I always laughed at you wanting to fly. Now I’m laughing as they want me to jump out of a perfectly functioning aircraft and into a warzone. They say the German forces are not nearly as organized- that they’re scrambling. I can only hope this means my engagement at the front will be short-lived. Please send more parsnips when you’re able. The lads really appreciated the last batch. Along with this letter I’ve sent some pressed dog roses. The scent will be much diminished but I know how you enjoy their arrival back home. I saw them in the field here and plucked them before I knew what I was doing.
Love Always,
H xx
Operation Market Garden was not successful. Harry was not home for Christmas 1944.
