In The Fields We Lie: I
In the Fields We Lie: i
Summary: World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him? Word Count: 3k
Warnings: british!dean?? let's spice it up a little bit! I just know his deep voice with this accent would eat me alive if I could actually hear it! Also, world-building. No legit tw's.
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. Without community and camaraderie, there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without 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.
—
England
17 December, 1915
Friday
Dean Winchester was young and eager to work. He had always put some money to the side but now, with no end in sight to this war, he's been saving every penny. Maybe he could afford to send his brother to university–to save Sam from being a pawn in someone else's game.
It was a particularly cold morning, grey clouds coated the sky as far as you could see. The freezing air hitting Dean in the face feels like a pound of bricks. He’s already slipped and landed on his ass twice this morning while walking to work. Dean got a respectable job as a high-end tailor three years ago–a trait he has been naturally good at, all thanks to his mom.
He’s okay with having a wet bum because he knows the ladies he works with are going to have a good time making fun of him. 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. Dean has helped her move furniture and tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably. The war is only getting worse, and there's no one to fix the problem–so that means unlimited access to his washroom. She has 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, Dean stargazes in the park right below their building. On the occasion, she sees him through her kitchen window–every time she joins him to make sense of the clouds and their shapes. 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 Dean 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 almost every night for six months. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes.
The sound of her humming to herself in the shower echoes through his mind as snow crunches under his feet. Her voice sounds like a goddess blessing all of creation, a thought that had crossed his mind yesterday. She slipped the very first time she had been over and fell pretty hard; she screeched but then laughed hysterically. It was something Dean could get used to. Her coming over made Dean feel whole–made his flat less lonely.
In the first month of this situation, she had forgotten a change of clothes, and it was then that Dean knew he was truly in love with her.
—
Dean was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbor's mouth. He assumed that she had rushed too fast while getting her toiletries together that she had forgotten her hairbrush or lipstick or something...
She had a date waiting for her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that a particular man was taking her out to dinner. Apparently, they’ve known each other since grade school, even dated in their early teen years, and then reconnected at a mutual friend's wedding. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.
“Dean…”
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, Dean 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, “Dean, 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 curly hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself. Dean gently pushed the lock behind her ear, and both of their breaths caught in their throats.
Dean 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 Winchester. 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 Dean’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.”
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 his indecency. Moving quickly and lightly, making sure not to cause 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 sleepwalks to him. Hopping almost. Bloody cute, this one, Dean thinks to himself. As soon as she’s in her doorway Dean stands in front of her with both arms outstretched, and 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. Aaand… don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Dean 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 food, 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 Dean’s mind. The shirt that Dean 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 Dean swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he gazed his eyes up and down her body, seeming almost satisfied with his actions. An angelic devil.
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 Dean’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 like he had been doing presently, and ripped them 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 set down his jacket. Dean 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 shouting at each other.
“Ladies, ladies,” Dean 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. Dean 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?”
“Always ready for the weekend, Winchester. 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 Dean. 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 stern and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Dean is, well, Dean…
The day is long and cold, everyone is being careful not to let their fingers get too stiff. 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.
To make things fun, Dean 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, snow is falling fast. He usually doesn’t mind walking through it, but he’s afraid that he’ll fall like he did earlier. His tailbone was still throbbing. As if summoning the inevitable, he slips and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him. Almost ripping his pants, again! Thank goodness for having hands to catch you. 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–is why Dean hates him so much. There’s definitely another reason that has nothing to do with those things though. Dean is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.
“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Dean 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, Dean knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!”
He then turns around and smiles at his neighbor. As he walks up to her, he whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell, Dean 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. It infuriates Dean to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one for knowing. Quite frankly, he feels like Fran wouldn't believe him.
Dick has her wrapped around his diseased little finger.
Second, Fran would be so devastated and Dean doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Dean 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 Dean 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 Dean’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. It's way too late for them to still be out for dinner. Maybe the group was drinking or something? Fran is a grown woman. She’s fine. Dean needs to stop worrying.
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, Dean 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 questions as genuinely as he can, as she reaches the last step. 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. Dean can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly.
What happened? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.
Her voice is hoarse, “You know, 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.”
Dean wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.
So softly she murmurs, “Goodnight Dean.”
“Goodnight Fran.” He says with equal gentleness. With even more longing.
—
A/N: Please let me know what you think!! I edited this on four hours of sleep lol.
tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (idk if yall wanted to be tagged but hopefully it's okay!)
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I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.
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A restaurant named You're Not Supposed To Be Here, where the whole point is that the vibes are unnerving. The lighting is weird, the whole place has a faint scent that's not a bad smell, but it's certainly not food smell and you can't quite identify what the hell it is. The music is weirdly janky and you can't quite tell what's wrong with it, the vocals aren't exactly garbled but sung in a language you swear you've never heard anywhere and couldn't name if you tried. Only hiring staff who have anxiety and they're 100% permitted to show how much your presence here stresses them out.
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If your friend is struggling, the signs might not be obvious. A cry for help can take many different forms. Try checking in on them if you hear them express any of the following sentiments:
I miss Supernatural
I should rewatch Supernatural
Supernatural was such a good show
I hope they make more Supernatural
I pray everyday that I don’t die whilst tumblr is logged into my phone.
I’d be so embarrassed from the grave if someone went through my tumblr and found everything I’ve written, liked, reblogged, etc. 😭
I’d like to keep my freak a secret
Sunflower Vol. 6🌻
This is my first short story about H, which I posted on my main blog. I’m not really used to writing anything longer than three paragraphs lol, so writing 3k+ is new to me. I hope anyone who comes across likes this little thing I made up :)
Where Harry is caught up in his lingering emotions about Camille...
It’s been a longer day and more difficult than usual and it’s only almost noon. Since Camille, he’s had days that are damn near perfect, others have been like this; sluggish and dreary. His friend has been tending to him, making sure he’s there to support his moods.
Haven’t been out all day, why would they be? It’s raining. A perfect day, perfect excuse to stay in and simply do nothing. At least that’s what Harry thinks, not so much of his friend. “Harry, mate, we’ve got to cheer you up, yeah? We can’t keep you watching romances, just not healthy, not now at least. What do you say?” It takes a moment for the words to reach him, and he takes his time to think about it, but nothing sounds appealing and he hasn’t even heard what Oliver has in mind.
Very slowly Harry pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at Oliver who’s on the opposite side of the couch. “Little seems to intrigue me today Ollie, but if you think you’ve got something that tickles my fancy then have at it.” The tone in his voice is irritable, and he doesn’t want to deal with anything that Oliver has to offer him. As maddening as it makes him, Harry understands that he’s just trying to help, so if it’s a good enough distraction he’ll consider it.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind with finishing the last few tracks on the album and... Camille, even though that subject seems to have been at ease until today. You shouldn’t let the idea of the situation tear you down mate-”
“I don’t need a lecture here, okay? I thought you wanted me to get off my ass and do something?”
“Calm down H, really. This is what I’m trying to get on about. Now listen, I was getting at that we need to get you out of the house and go for a jog, yeah? Clear your thoughts and talk about it afterwards. You don’t have a choice, actually, because I hate seeing you like this and quite frankly, I’m sick of the attitude.” Oliver then chucks an oversized pillow at Harry’s face which caused him to giggle and is an indicator that he’s in acceptance of the small gesture.
The jog was miserable yet effective. There were moments where it didn’t seem worth it to finish, but knowing Olly, he wouldn’t allow quitting. Quitting means not growing and not growing means you stay in the same place and rhythm you were in when you started. Hard work pays off after all. It’s moments like these that he appreciates Oliver for knowing exactly what Harry needs, clever bastard.
Now that Harry was thinking more about his state of mind, in the fucking rain which is drenching him, he realizes that he needs to accept his feelings, and at the same time he needs to learn how to manage them and work through the hardship. There’s a point where he needs to move forward instead of stopping in one place when thinking of Camille, similar to going for a jog. Damn Oliver always getting in his head. He gives him a glance after this thought and raises his hand to give Oliver the finger to which he finds amusing.
“You know how much I hate you for that God awful jog?” Harry says breathlessly while trying to dry himself off with a towel. He’s only being sarcastic which is being caught on by Oliver, who knows it was much appreciated.
“Oh but how you love me for it brother, I saw some gears turning in that massive head of yours!! How are you feeling? Tell me about it.”
“I’ve just come to notice that I can’t let myself stop in my tracks whenever I’m upset about Camille, you know? I need to be able to accept how I feel, learn from that, and move on because I’m getting nowhere being like this.” He points to himself and shyly looks down at his feet. “I’ve got to be happy where I’m at, sometimes I am but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite there yet and it’s frustrating…”
Harry takes a deep breath because he feels himself getting a bit emotional, throat closing up and all. Playing with the areas where his rings usually are, a nervous tick he has. How is it that it’s been half a year and he’s still somewhat sad over her? Why is it taking him so damn long to let go? Harry then continues in a sad, quiet voice, “I have all the intentions of trying to move on, I’ve been chatting with people, but there’s just something keeping me.”
Oliver understands that there’s not much he can do or say in this moment, just to let him say what’s on his mind, and Harry loves that about him, that he just knows when to be silent for his friend. The pair just sit peacefully for a while until Harry speaks up, “You know what, this whole morning has been eventful and I’ve started to get inspired by that pesky little run of yours. I’m in need of that extra inspiration if you know what I mean mate.” His whole demeanor changes, eyes gleaming and a smirk emerges, then there’s this mischievous look on his face and that’s when Oliver knows exactly what to do.
--
During the creation of this new album he’s been experimenting with substances most find questionable, shrooms are one of them. It’s something he’s been afraid of admitting since he’s supposed to be a role model, but if he’s not being himself can that be deemed upon him? It’s a different perspective for sure, and maybe he does it to look at life in a way that he just can’t accomplish sober. To give himself access to more ideas which could aid in his writing process. It’s worked for a few tracks and he wouldn’t change how the songs came about, not in the slightest. Other times on his trips, it’s just been a mess of crazy animations and colors to which nothing arises and it discourages him a little but there’s no fault in it. Just wasn’t the right time or right trip.
Before Harry takes the shrooms, he meditates and allows his previous, heavier emotions go to ensure that his trip will be a good one. He sits in a dark room with a salt lamp that illuminates the space with its orange tint, just enough to make figures out. He sits with his legs crossed and his hands laying on his knees, keeps his eyes closed and breathes evenly. This goes on for about half-hour. Thinking to himself, everything that has been, is out of his control and everything now is what he can control. The jog helped him ease into positivity and meditation is helping this process. A positive mind leads to a positive trip. He then moves onto what he wants to try to focus on during his time away from reality…
Harry looks back at the conversation he had with Oliver before his time to himself.
--
“So what song do you want to focus on H?”
“I’ve been having a hard time figuring out what I want Sunflower to be like. It’s been all over the place, I’ve written it about Camille, written it about men and women that I talked with briefly. That song has been rewritten five bloody times. I need to focus it on one thing but I don’t know what...”
--
When everything is sorted out in his mind, Harry meets Oliver in the living room where they were hours before. All the lights are off except another salt lamp barely lighting the room, blinds are drawn so no light can interrupt his journey into the unknown. Oliver has the shrooms mixed in some green tea, it’s cooled off enough to sip on generously. Harry doesn’t want to admit it but he’s eager to get high. Not in a sense to escape his problems of course, just to have perspective and an open mind more so than what he’s experiencing at the moment, and he wants it now. Usually it takes him, minimum, thirty minutes to feel the full effects, so the tea is gone sooner rather than later.
He’s lost all concept of time and more so reality, he can still feel his weight heavily sunken into his couch. A sign to him that he’s still on the incline to the climax of his trip. It feels like he’s about to pass out, but that’s how he usually gets when he takes shrooms.
It feels like it’s been hours since he’s drank his tea and notices disappointment in his mind because nothing has presented itself to him, but he isn’t feeling any emotional connection due to the overpowering euphoria the shrooms have on him. Harry is looking into the darkness that seems infinite, he can barely make out some colors in the distance which are slowly getting bigger? Closer even? Are they swimming towards him? Tries to reach out for them but can’t move his arms quite yet.
All that’s on his mind really, are the colors and shapes moving toward him. Getting bigger the closer they get. They’re moving around in a spiral, then moving over and under one another, then before he realizes they’re engulfing him. Very vivid shades of yellows, pinks, blues, purples. They’re flying around him like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother’s magic stars wrapping around her, turning everything into beauty. With Harry, though, it’s not stars, the colors are outlined with black and the strands of colors are bubbly in shape, like some hippy styled font.
The flamboyant yellow animation is what attracts him the most, and it begins to pull at his shirt. He notices when he looks down, hands being molded from the shape and when he looks back up he’s met with a Sunflower.
In this particular moment Harry can’t feel the weight of his body anymore, he’s not paying attention but he’s reaching the peak of his high. He’s not worrying about Camille or figuring out how to construct his song, in fact those thoughts are completely absent. And suddenly the Sunflower has a face? Its mouth is moving and Harry can hear something coming from it, he just can’t make out what it is. He’s gotten impatient trying to guess it’s vernacular so he gives up. He can’t take his eyes off it, the way its petals are slightly red on the bottom and progress into a rich orange to a bright yellow on the very ends. The way its hands feel brushing over his arms, so silky. A pretty, beautiful, gorgeous flower it is, isn’t it?
All the while the other strands of color have disappeared from around him which he cesses to notice because he’s too fixated on this heavenly creature. The way it’s looking at him, the way it has to look up to meet his eyes. It smiles and Harry is just mesmerized. How can something be so breathtaking?
Then something comes over Harry and before he really has time to think he says aloud, “Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody.” Once this phrase is said the Sunflower disappears and Harry is engulfed in darkness again. Confusion takes over him because he was wanting to get to know it and understand why it came to him. There’s a period where he tries walking around but it’s not doing any good, there’s nothing to see. Maybe she’ll come out if he tells her something else. But how does he know its a woman? Can’t place a finger on how, he just knows. He coos, “I don’t wanna make you feel bad, Sunflower… Sunflower?”
Harry spots her in the distance, seems as if she’s peeking from around a corner in this sunless void, so he walks to her. She’s the only thing that lights up in the darkness. Turning around the invisible wall where she once was, he admits, “I couldn’t want you anymore-” he’s suddenly in a house and he has the slightest idea of how he got here, but this feeling of familiarity consumes him. Feels like he’s been here before, knows where everything is, could point out her favorite book on the bookshelf in the living room, which he’s standing right in front of. There’s also a sensation that comes over Harry, he knows that she’s in the kitchen, making him breakfast. And he also has some knowledge of who this is, like someone he used to know.
He makes his way towards the kitchen which is through a doorway that connects to the living room, he’s remembering the emotions he’s had for this not-so-stranger. The all consuming love he has, the adoration, the curiosity of knowing every aspect of who she is.
When met with her back facing him, Harry takes a few strides forward then wraps his arms around the slim waist of the Sunflower. Taking in her wonderful sweet scent from her petals, he lays his head on hers, humming by the contact that he’s making with her. “Sunflower, sunflower, sunflower” he keeps repeating near where her ear would be if she was human. She’s paying no mind to him while she’s fixing up pancakes and eggs.
The pair stay comfortably where they’re at for a few minutes before Harry can’t help himself. He turns her around to get a proper look at her beautiful face, shining eyes, pointy nose, nice full lips that he can’t take his eyes off of. Just amazed that he’s in the presence of her, again, remembering the countless times they’ve done this before.
She smiles at him like she had done before and Harry can’t take the butterflies that rumble in his stomach, they’re too overwhelming. He leans down to connect his lips with hers, and he’s remembering a scene almost identical to this. Where’s he’s kissing her and dancing in the kitchen early in the morning. The sun hasn’t quite warmed their house yet and he knows she’s cold even with her thick pajamas on. Harry’s warmed by the mere sight of her, the sight of her being happy. Mainly because of him.
“I couldn’t want you anymore, tonight” He whispers against her lips, leaving noticeable goosebumps all over her vined skin, he has just enough time to witness how she looks before he’s falling into the abyss of darkness. It’s swallowing him. Then hears his voice echoing all around him, “Tonight, tonight, tonight…”
He shakes his head, wondering where he is, again. His eyes are the death of him, so tired and throbbing. Realizing he’s in his bed, weakly pulls himself up and to the bathroom to brush his teeth because he has this weird taste in his mouth. A bitter taste.
Taking it to mind this is how he spent some of his mornings getting ready, hardly any motivation to get the day started. Before he got to know her. He wanted to come home to someone who would love him, to share dreams and ideas with. Someone who just got him. To find comfort and trust in.
Then he remembers how they met…
—
It was during some random trip to whatever country it was, can’t seem to remember clearly enough. But, he met up with his friends at this nice restaurant. Wasn’t particularly interested in what everyone was talking about, so he occasionally looks around the restaurant to see other people enjoying their conversations. This particular time though a woman catches his attention. He immediately knew that she was something he needed to have in his life. The way she carried herself so confidently and so elegantly has him weak in the knees.
Fortunately enough she was there because Oliver wanted to introduce them so Harry had every excuse to talk to her. And he was beyond ecstatic about it when he realized she was walking towards him, with a smile she was so desperately trying to contain.
(Oliver met her at some fashion convention he went with with Harry. She mentioned his name to Oliver and told him that she’d like to get in contact with Harry. She had to leave abruptly for a reason and the opportunity hadn’t arrised until later. Eventually the Sunflower told Oliver she’d have a few rest days during one of her business trips, and they planned the trip for Harry to meet her. He’s never told Harry that’s why they had a “boys trip”.)
From then on though, he was always wanting to spend time with her. She was reserved for the first few months and that’s why Harry pines over her. The mystery of it all excited him. Something was keeping her though, she didn’t know exactly what but she knew that Harry could make her happy. And the whole point was for her to get close with him. She planned a trip for fucks sake. When the time came it all just scared her, having someone knowing, or wanting to know everything about you.
So all Harry could do was wait patiently for her to know what she wanted, but it wore on him sometimes. He wanted nothing more than to get to know what she was about but she was out of reach, barely. Wanted so badly to make her his. To give his love to the girl he’s been admiring from a distance. A distance that she’s been keeping. The girl that made his heart jump out of his chest whenever she spoke or looked him in the eye.
—
She was what motivated him, when they were finally together. She gave him an energy that consumed him. Always wanting to learn from her, about how she thought or the experiences she’s had that deeply impacted her. Endlessly wondering what makes her, her.
He couldn’t want her anymore than he already did.
And when he thinks that thought he’s dropped back in their home, staring at the bookcase like he had been doing before. Walking towards the kitchen like last time, “Kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor…” he blurts out with a smile that consumes his face. Recognizing that he’s looking from an outside perspective this go around, watching him and the Sunflower do the exact thing he experienced not too long ago.
But then his heart drops, that isn’t him dancing with her. It’s another man dancing with his girl. He pictured a whole life with her, their kids dancing with them in their kitchen. A tradition he’s always wanted to start with the love of his life. But now she’s sharing something with this man that they’ve done, something that was supposed to be theirs. Harry wishes at this point that he could start over, to do things different. Where had things gone wrong between them? How long has it been since went separate ways?
“Sunflower, let me inside, wish I could get to know you…”
There’s this feeling within him that he knows it’s been too long for him to convince her that he’s everything that she needs. (More selfishly though she’s everything he needs). When clouds cover the sky he wants to be the light that she requires to stand tall.
The euphoria from the shrooms is strong still so he hasn’t had time to dwell over this sadness too much. Merely just a feeling, no attachments. It’s an upsetting sight to see but there’s this airiness to it. Room for understanding is the best way Harry can make sense of it in his current state. What once was, is. Nothing he can do but understand. Be grateful that he got to live a portion of his life with her. To be happy for her.
So he lets her die, metaphorically. “Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory…” The memories are for him to keep but no longer dwell on. And that’s when he knows. He’s happy. Happy by himself, about his situation with the Sunflower, happy that he’s taken the time to realize that things come and go. And new seeds can be planted in a different melody with someone else.
When Harry’s no longer thinking about the Sunflower, the colors come back to pick him up, almost desperate to whisk him away. The pinks, yellows, blues and purples bring him to a destination unknown and he doesn’t give a damn. Just floating endlessly. He’s basking in his euphoria, not chasing after anything anymore. Giggling to himself because he’s carefree and joyous. Cheering himself on, “Woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo, yeah!” That sound is all that surrounds him as he drifts off into a sea of color.
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