I ignored my mother's shrieks and my father's shouts as I bolted down the stairs and towards the front door. I didn't need their sickening reminders that I 'knew nothing of love', and that I'd 'thank them for it someday'. I wouldn't; I knew I wouldn't. For once in my life it didn't even occur to me that my parents could be right - and that's because I knew they weren't.

They didn't know me anymore; nor did I know them. They were strangers. I'd always known my parents were strict on tradition; fixated on reputation - but I'd never known them to be so adamant with restricting my very happiness. I never thought that when the day came I finally loved somebody - they would react in such a way.

I'd been accused of 'whoring around', 'acting like a slut' - a 'disgrace'. I'd be lying if I said it hadn't stung - but I'd be lying if I said that had been my issue. My issue lay in the fact my parents cared far more for a damn 'reputation' than they did for my own happiness - and what would be spoiled, exactly? Dating Harry - somebody who didn't have a well-known name, somebody who didn't gloat about what he had - somebody who was content without mansions, sports cars and whatever the fuck else my parents had chosen to define him by his lack of.

And so they'd destroyed him. They'd fired his mother and left her without an income to support the two of them - to hurt me, and to hurt him. I wondered what they'd expected, in all honesty; for me to drop to my knees in gratitude? To smile and nod, since it was 'for my own good'? It made me feel sick.

It hurt to think that only yesterday I'd been on cloud nine. Everything had been so incredibly perfect; we'd both been so incredibly happy. I was living in an untouchable bliss, and in a matter of moments, it had come crashing down, and it had burned.

I needed to see him. I needed his presence, his touch, his capability to heal any hurt and take away any sorrow I held - I needed to know he was okay. That he wasn't hurting; that everything would work out in the end, and that nothing would change. Him and I would stay the same, that nothing could come between us - that he loved me, and that was what mattered.

Any other day, I would've taken the time to silently curse the rain for drenching me in a time of such significance - but I didn't care. My actions were nothing but hasty as my legs carried me down the street, my breath short as I was practically soaked.

"I go there to think sometimes."

I looked up, following the line of Harry's ring clad finger - a park; discarded, empty. Depressing, almost - a single bench, directly opposite a rusty swing set that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"Why there, oh Mysterious One?" I mused, earning a soft grin from Harry.

"S'quiet there, innit?" he shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Aren't you cryptic?" I teased, and he scoffed, grabbing my hand in his and swinging it back and forth.

"Aren't I just?"

The park. My feet acted before my mind, and before I knew it, I was heading straight for the old park. I prayed he would be there, god - I just needed to see him. I didn't know what would happen if I didn't, my mind was beyond clouded. I just needed Harry.

Sure enough, as I trailed through the puddles already forming on the concrete surface leading to the grass, I could spot a familiar figure lazily draped over one of the swings. He wore an anorak; far wiser than I was in this weather as the downpour only grew heavier while I walked towards him. I noticed a cigarette in his hand, as he tapped it against his index finger, taking long, even drags.

Harry didn't notice my arrival, not even when I stood directly in front of him. I cleared my throat - nothing.

"Harry," I said weakly, jerking him from his thoughts as he looked up at me; his eyes glossy.

"You need to start wearing a coat," he responded, his eyes drifting back to the ground and his tone sounding as weak as mine. I walked over to the swing beside him, sitting on the soaking surface.

We remained in silence, Harry's eyes fixated on a rock that lay beside a puddle on the ground; he tapped his foot against it before kicking it half-heartedly.

"I love you so much, you know that?" he said suddenly, eyes not meeting mine though I watched him carefully.

I nodded slowly, "I know."

"And I don't think I can bring myself to leave you," he said a little quieter this time, and I bit my lip.

"Then don't," I frowned, "We'll figure this out - I'll find a way to get your mom's job back, and we'll see each other at school, and-"

"It can't be like that, Ana," he interjected, pressing his lips into a fine-line and finally interlocking his eyes with mine.

I sighed, "Harry, I know it's bad right now, trust me, but I'm sure we-"

"Ana, I'm moving back to Manchester."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, and the whole world seemed to stop. The rain was all that could be heard between us, as Harry's eyes now desperately searched my face, and it was now my turn to face the ground.

Harry was moving.

Harry wouldn't be here anymore.

I didn't hold the surprise anyone would've anticipated; the shock, or the horror. I was silent - the idea settling into the pit of my stomach. I felt dizzy, light-headed. Yet the shock didn't come.

"When?" I gripped tightly onto the chain of the swing, as if I might collapse otherwise.

"Listen, Ana.."

"When?" I repeated.

"Tomorrow," he said hoarsely, and I nodded slowly, looking at him once more.

"So that's it then?" I laughed bitterly, "My parents fuck everything up and I never see you again."

"Don't say that," he swung in his seat to rest his hand on my knee, immediately coated in droplets of rain, before dropping his cig and stamping it out, "come here, baby."

He pulled me towards him by my waist, tugging me onto his lap as the swing supported the two of us.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured against my ear, his soaking hair brushing over my own, as I shook my head.

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you that?" I scoffed, "my parents have ruined your life, and now you have to go."

"I'm okay," he reassured me, his thumb rubbing smoothly over my soaking thigh, "I'll be okay. Don't stress, hm?"

"When am I going to see you again?" I asked, and he exhaled deeply.

"Don't ask questions I can't give an answer to."

"I'm sorry, Harry," I bit my lip, my fingers gripping onto any ounce of composure I still possessed, but to no avail, as it slipped through my fingers, and I broke down, "I'm so, so sorry, Harry, for everything, and-"

"No, no," he shushed me, wrapping his arms around me so I could lean into his shoulder, "we were stupid to think your parents wouldn't find out about us and that it would blow up in our faces. I'm sorry I let that happen.."

I opened my mouth to protest, but was silenced as he continued, "I'm sorry about a lot of things, Ana Grace, but I'm not at all sorry for the way I feel about you. I'm not sorry for loving you, I'm not sorry for the nights I've spent with you, for being with you, or for falling for you. I don't regret that," he ran his fingers through my hair soothingly, "I did some bad things to you, but you stayed. You did everything you could to fix me, and you did. At least I think you did, I'm- I don't know. I've been so, so lucky with you."

"No," I shook my head, reading his face so easily, "you're not breaking up with me."

"Ana," he said slowly, caressing my cheek with viligance.

"No," I repeated, "I don't care how far away you are. You can't just-"

"Ana," he said a little more sharply, silencing me in an instant, "it has to be a certain way."

"Stop," I whispered, tightening my arms around him, "please."

"I don't want you to wait for me," he said calmly, and I felt the tears pricking at my eyes as he did, "I don't know how long I'll be gone," he continued, as I desperately whimpered useless pleas at him, "I don't know when I can see you again. I want you to have what you deserve.. and that isn't me."

"Harry," I whimpered, "please don't do this."

"You deserve somebody who can give you things," he swallowed, "someone who can love you properly, who actually has more than a dollar in his pocket, and who can treat you right," I bit my lip as his voice remained low, "someone who won't get drunk and call you names; cheat on you, and whatever else."

"I love you," I said shakily, unable to muster the strength to say any different as my hands rested at the nape of his neck.

"I love you too, my beautiful Ana Grace," he mumbled, his lip quivering in the slightest, "Never change."

"This isn't goodbye," I tried to convince the both of us, but it was no use.

"I don't want it to be," Harry said quietly, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear, almost hiding his face from my view.

His hand drifted to my wrist, fumbling with the charm that lay on the chain he'd given me a week ago, bringing my wrist to his lips to press his lips to it gently.

"You're everything, Ana," his eyes met mine, his soaking hair sticking to his forehead; we were both shivering with cold, but we didn't care.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, resting my head against his chest as he held me close to him.

"I love you," he said simply, "don't ever forget that."

I nodded slowly, his chin resting on my head as I inhaled the scent of him, another set of tears pricking at my eyes - the smoke and mint with the mixture of his cologne was enough to cause the arise of a sob in my throat. I would miss him - the simplicity of laying in his arms and breathing in the smell of him, my lips pressing gently to his throat - the simplicity I never knew I could crave so desperately.

I wanted to go back to two weeks ago. Where I could run my fingers through Harry's reckless curls and pepper his face with kisses to bring the adorable grin and the giggle he'd try to stifle to the surface. I wanted the obliviousness to the reality we'd inevitably face - the unnecessary punishment, the unwarranted price to pay for falling in love.

"I love you," I returned, my fingers weaving into his hair as his lips met mine. And I was crying again, struggling to keep our kiss as my arms tightened over his shoulders, my forehead pressing to his as I cried - the idea of Harry's absence too overwhelming.

"Baby," he whispered against my lips, his voice shaky, his eyes glassy, "don't cry now, hm? You're so, so strong."

"I don't want to be without you," I cried in a way that would usually build nothing but an inner sense of vulnerability, but now I had no regard for.

"I know," his voice cracked, and I wiped droplets from his face that I suddenly couldn't distinguish as either raindrops or tears.

"Don't forget me."

"That's too cliché," Harry chuckled weakly, sniffing a little as he pressed his hand to my cheek, and I smiled a small smile, recalling how he'd always vowed to be the complete opposite of cliché.

"I'll see you before I go, okay?" he assured me, kissing my forehead softly, "you need to go and warm up."

"No," I murmured, leaning back into his chest and wrapping our arms around each other, "I just want to stay like this for a bit."

"It's raining, baby," he murmured in response, and I nodded. "Why do you like the rain so much?"

I smiled weakly, his chin finding its place on the top of my head once more, attempting an incapacitated retort, "It washes the pain away."