N I N E T E E N
It had been exactly four months from the day Harry had met Mia, and still he had not been able to write another word in his novel. While he still wrote little scribbles and notes everyday, he had taken to glaring at the manuscript upon his nightstand with utter disdain. He became convinced that if he were to finish it, if he were to even come close to ending their story, that would be it.
He knew that four months ago, when Mia told him to write his own story, she had been right. That was what he had needed to do. He had needed to get his head out of arse, stop reading someone else's words, and start crafting his own. He had built this magnificent world in which he now resided with his strawberry girl. But he felt as if he only lingered there because he had stopped writing the book precisely in that middle area where everything was going so well, it felt as if it would always stay that way. There was no climax, no epic battle, no huge fight that led to teary goodbyes. Everything was it should be.
He shook his head, knowing that that was bloody rubbish. There was no story in the world that could possibly lack a climax! There was no great love story that lacked conflict. But there was none between Mia and him. The biggest conflict they've faced so far was deciding at who's place they were staying which night.
Harry began to think that perhaps it was not healthy, believing that the end of this book would mean the end of them. And he knew it was especially twattish of him to look for a climax in this relationship. As complicated as love may be, he knew he shouldn't be looking for ways to complicate it even more. He especially should not be looking for conflict when everything was going so well.
Still, though, he looked at the manuscript and sighed loudly. It was the very fact that everything was going so perfectly. Nothing in his life had ever gone this well. And he was scared, fucking terrified, that from here it could all go downhill.
Harry looks up at the door, the sunlight hitting the blueish wall before him roughly. He squints at Niall, who has barged into his room as he tends to do.
Niall looks around and sighs, "Mia isn't here?"
"She left earlier this morning."
"Oh." Niall turns back to leave, Harry looking at him with a furrowed brow.
"Wait." Harry says.
Niall turns back to look at him. "No, nothing. I just..."
Niall rolls his eyes, "I made a roasted chicken. I wanted Mia to check and see if it was any good."
"You made a roasted chicken?"
"All by yourself?"
Harry looks at Niall in disbelief. Niall simply shrugs him off and starts to walk away.
"Niall!" Harry rushes to get up from his already made bed and races down the hallway to reach Niall.
"What!?" Niall says, slamming the oven door closed.
"Why are you..." He signals towards the oven, "You know?"
"A man can't learn how to cook?"
"It's just...you know?"
"What, Harry. What do I know?"
"I don't know. I mean....I..." Harry was worried about how to put it into words. He didn't want to offend his flatmate at all. But he had changed so much these past few months. His visits to the pub had been shorter, and when he returned home he was no longer plastered. He was usually on time to work now. And, the most surprising thing now was that he was learning to make a meal all on his own. Harry just wanted to know what it was that had made his friend change this much in such a short time. It felt as if he hadn't even been present for the change.
"You're stuttering again."
Harry grimaces. It had been ages, bloody ages, since he had stuttered, "Look. I just wanted to know. Is something up?"
"What do you mean?" Niall says, obviously getting frustrated.
"Niall you're cooking! You're cooking and you're coming home early, and I'm pretty sure you've gotten to work on time everyday for the past week."
Niall looks at him blankly, "And?"
"And? Niall, what's going on, mate?"
Niall sighs loudly and mutters inaudibly under his breath.
"What was that?"
Niall look at Harry angrily and says, "You've got it all together! I want that too!"
"What? What have I got together?"
"You've got Mia, and a job that you love, and a family that adores you and you can cook and you'r just bloody talented. I had nothing going for me!"
"What? But you look so...happy."
"Because I was fucking plastered off my ass all the time!"
"Niall! Why didn't you say anything!?"
"Why would I say anything?"
"We're friends!" Harry nearly yells.
"I didn't want to say anything okay? You're getting your life together. And I just want to do the same. I'm okay. Nothing's wrong with me. I just want to be a grown up too." Niall says with a huge smirk upon his face.
Harry shakes his head, "Do you want me to taste the chicken?"
"You know, I do make a great roast."
"I know. I'm going to need you to show me how to make that." Niall says, taking the chicken out of the oven and slicing a small piece from the top. He places it upon a plate and slides it towards Harry.
"No problem," Harry says, grabbing a fork from the bottom drawer and tasting the food. He frowns, "Just...maybe one suggestion."
"Salt your food, Niall."
"Oh, you add salt to it too?"
Harry shakes his head and can't help but smile, "Yes. You add salt."
It had been eating away at her, watching as Harry struggled to write that book. She knew that he so badly wanted to write it, but something was keeping him away from it. Of course, he still carried that leather bound journal wherever he went, but the actual manuscript he had been penning had not been touched in ages. But then, Mia felt as if it were not her place to say anything about the matter. Even though she supposed the story was bout her, she had not yet read it nor heard anything about it. For all she knew, it could be about anything.
She didn't already want to be putting pressure on Harry. But at the same time, she knew that was what he needed. He needed to snap out of whatever it was that was holding him back from writing that book.
"Harry?" She asks sweetly, watching as he scribbles away in his leather bound book.
They were spending the night at the cabin, seeing as it was going to rain and they didn't want to have to travel in the midst of a thunderstorm. The manuscript couldn't taunt him there and he felt a bit more at peace now that he was away from it.
"Yes?" He looks up at her, she was reading another novel. The novel itself was also dogeared and disheveled. Mia's books always looked as if they had gone through war.
"How is your book coming along?"
He clears his throat, "Oh. It's coming I guess."
"Have you not written anymore?"
"Do you mind me asking why?"
He sighs, "A little." He didn't want to admit that he actually believed that ending that book would mark the end of them. He knew it was stupid, that he would sound completely mad.
She raises her brow, "And why is that?"
"I just...I don't really feel it."
"What is the book about?"
"Is it about us? Is it what you had outlined in your journal?"
"Well, yes, kind of."
"Am I not a good enough muse anymore? Do you need me to do more spontaneous things? Should I really give you something to write about?" She asks with a chuckle.
Harry laughs loudly, "It's nothing like that, love. It's quite the opposite."
"Is it now?"
"Yeah. There's so much, so much I could write. But I just...I don't feel like I should write it."
"Why is that?"
".I just want to live it I guess."
Mia smiles widely, "Let's live it then."
Harry smiles, but still Mia is curious, "I just don't see why you can't continue writing, love. You're just so good at it."
"You've never even read my writing, Mia."
"I've read enough. And I can see how much you love it."
"I just don't want to write about us."
"It's not what you think."
"Then why don't you want to write about us?"
Harry sighs loudly before admitting, "Books end, Mia."
Mia smiles sweetly, understanding what Harry meant, but seeing the brighter side as always, "There are many books whose endings are beginnings."
Harry shook his head. He got up from his seat and wrapped his arms around Mia, wondering what he had done to deserve her, "You think I should keep writing then?"
"What comes next?"
"Oh, the conflict? Sounds messy."
"The climax always tends to be."
"So will we be in a fight for a few days?"
Harry laughs, "Not quite sure yet. Depends how mad you'll be at me."
"For doing what?"
Harry lifts Mia up, cradling her body in his and carrying her through the living room out the cabin door. Mia screaming all the while, "Harry! Put me down!"
But he doesn't. He tightly grips her to him as he walks into the pouring rain, the dark night, the muddy field. Both of them were barefoot and Mia started laughing crazily as Harry finally put her down and her feet hit the muddy ground.
"I'm going to kill you!" She yells, her shirt already soaked through and her a complete mess. Harry runs, into the fields, screaming and waving his hand wildly. "Harry! I better not catch you!" But of course she does, and when she does she pounces upon him, slamming him into the soft Earth. His back is completely immersed into a soft bed of mud and he immediately remembers their first kiss.
"I love you Mia." He mutters, kissing her wildly.
She smiles into his kisses, muttering, "I'm still mad at you. I might not talk to you for two days."
"Well, I might catch a cold. Or the flu. I might get deathly sick from this little prank of yours and it would be all your fault. How would you resolve that?"
He laughs, "You should be a writer."
"No. I'm better at living my story than writing it."
He stares at Mia, her hair falling around her face as she straddles him. He shakes his head, "We better get back inside."
She nods, "You've got a story to write."