At Least You Know You've Lived
Part four of the Birthdays series... I know it's been a long time since the others, and I don't know if you will have read them, and none of it's completely necessary, you just need to know that Nikki and Harry are in an established relationship. Though it would be helpful to read In Perfect Silence, On Your Birthday, the first one, if you've got any spare time.
You're sitting with your godson, Jack, on your lap, when Harry springs it upon you.
"We should get away for a while." He gives you a smile, "Just you and me."
He explains on your way home, he's already spoken to Leo, you can both have the last week in February off work, and there's a cottage right down in Cornwall that his mother loves, and he thinks would be perfect. It all sounds perfect, a week with just Harry and no corpses sounds heavenly, but you feel your stomach clench, you feel a fluttering in your abdomen, you're sure your returned smile is slightly watery, slightly less than genuine. Harry, grinning from ear to ear and apparently highly overexcited, doesn't appear to notice.
You've been together five months now, it's not entirely unprecedented, but there's a nervous schoolgirl in you still, one who thinks Harry won't like the woman he's with when he's spending all those hours with you, in seclusion, without work to catalyse everything. There's still the part of you that's scared of the commitment you're making, the woman who has been unable to choose a boyfriend well since her late teens, terrified of this perfect thing the two of you have going on falling through, and you losing a best friend. You say nothing to Harry, however, calmly swallowing your fear, telling yourself it's time to take this leap of faith.
You've fallen into a rhythm together that's not quite conventional, not quite rehearsed. You spend days in a row at his place, and then you wake up with him beside you in your bed for maybe a week. The two of you ferry your fresh relationship between the two posts, with work as the medium in between. You both have territory, you both have comfort zones. You've come so far in this, already, but you've both found yourself a stalemate. Both of you have been hurt before, been let down too many times, both of you are too stubborn to offer up your independence entirely.
That's what this holiday is about though, you think as you pretend to be sleeping in the passenger seat of Harry's car, really drifting in between dreams and reality, listening to the rain beat against the car roof, a knot tightening in your stomach.
The cottage is beautiful, on a hill, set among fields and forests, a short walk to the cliff face and the path down to a tiny, crescent moon beach. Harry lights the fire in the big hearth and you make a cup of tea and the two of you smile at your own domesticity. Briefly, you wonder at how you can't seem to remember how it felt to not be with him, and it brings a smile to your lips, because you do remember the years of waiting, the years of wondering, the years of what-ifs.
You talk about everything in that week, your childhoods – that conversation is sombre, and you both take a strong drink afterwards, work – of course, work, the initial glue between you, and, shakily, your futures. It's as Harry tucks you into his side as you walk along the cliff path, twilight beginning to descend, that you start allowing yourself to think that maybe this relationship isn't going to end… maybe you should be the one to take it further. Because you know Harry so well, you know where his fear lies… you suspect that maybe he'll never have the courage to give it a shove in the right direction.
"Isn't this lovely?" is all you come out with in the end, and thinking back to it, you think about how little it seems in comparison with what you'd wanted to say, but you lean your head against his shoulder and smile up at him, and for a moment there's the perfect silence and the perfect look between the two of you.
He loves you, that's what that look reassures you of. Neither of you say another word for minutes, and when he does, eventually, his voice is thick.
"We should move in together… I like… I like living with you… I could make room at my place or we could buy a place together… I want this to go somewhere… I want this to have a future…" There's something stunningly accurate about your judgement of him, in reality, he nearly didn't have the courage to say any of this to you, and when he does, when he bites the bullet and has things to say, he's so nervous that to be honest he makes a pig's ear of it, and gabbles it out all so fast you can barely hear it. You don't have any words to answer him, his adorable rush of all those words that he will be embarrassed by when you bring it up for years to come, has actually made you love him that tiny bit more. You simply lean up and press your lips against his, firmly, passionately, and you wonder briefly in those seconds if kissing him will ever become routine, if you ever won't get that rush of joy, that rush of excitement, as you kiss him.
When you pull away, and lean your forehead against his, smiling, there are tears in his eyes, but he's grinning at you, and there's so much happiness shining out of his eyes.
"We'll buy a place that's ours, shall we?" you half-whisper, giving him a smile, "We'll get somewhere just for us…"
And he kisses you again, as if he's eternally grateful for your agreement, as if it was the last thing he expected – and, for Harry, who always thinks the worst, it probably was.
"It's going to be beautiful." He whispers against your mouth before pulling you through the front door of the cottage, drowning in you entirely. In the moment before all coherent thought leaves your mind, you give yourself a slight smile and think maybe there's more truth to his words than even he knows.
Maybe it is possible for this to get more beautiful.
I'd love any feedback you've got :)