Rating only as a caution due to use of explicit language

AN: Before I start, let me just warn you that I tend to leave long ANs. So, if you know what an albumfic is already - feel free to just skip to the actual story.

For those of you who are new to AlbumFiction...welcome! The concept of it is to take an album of your choice (The Script by The Script), and to then take each song to base a chapter on. In this case, each chapter is pretty heavily based on either the lyrics, theme or just general message of the song it is titled after - but, know the songs or not, I hope you'll be able to enjoy the story of Owen that has been bugging to be shared for a while. Don't forget to show it love, or constructive criticism, along the way :]

[PS. I have posted this story on fictionpress due to...me always creating extremely confusing situations. It was originally posted on fanfiction, but due to it actually having a original characters, an original plot (sorta) - and hardly ever directly quoting any lyrics (sometimes it actually can't be avoided), it was more of an iffy on the site. After (finally) heading over to the forums for help, I was suggested to try out and post a copy here. So, yeh, that explains that... :D]

ANYWAY! Onto the actual story...

Chapter One - Before The Worst

Her: You. Are unbelievable.

Him: I'M unbelievable! This is just so typical of you-

Her: Everything is always typical of me, everything that goes wrong is always-

Him: Oh so you think this is MY fault now!

Her: You know what? I just don't care anymore!

Him: And what is that supposed to mean?

Her: You heard me! I don't care anymore! I've had enough! I'm done here! I'm finished with you, and this house, and you can take this back!

Him: You're being completely ridiculous…

Her: Am I? How long exactly did you think I could take all this shit? I've had enough. I'm going to London. Jenny'll be back for my stuff in a couple of days. Don't get in her way.

Him: Fine! Leave! Run away from everything again! Sure! Just make me the villain, leave me to deal with all the shit you leave behind! Why don't you just face up to your own responsibilities for once?! Oh, and don't worry, I won't get in precious Jenny's way. I try to avoid the alcoholic cow if I can anyway!

Owen slammed the door with such rage that it seemed to shake the house itself, blocking out any retort sent his way from the girl currently trying to get as far away from the building as possible. Fuming, he made his way to the kitchen, with thoughts of absolute anger filling his head – more things he would very much like to say to her, things he should have said before, but hadn't thought of at the time.

"Damn, where did she put them?" He hissed, slamming drawers and cupboards before finally picking up the small cardboard box and withdrawing a slender cigarette from inside. Snatching the lighter from a nearby table, he made his way to the dark living room before taking a deep, relieving breath and flopping down on the sofa, filling the previously clean air with pale tobacco smoke.

It took him about a minute or so more for his thoughts to come back down to a comprehensible level, and a further moment had passed before he began to realise that his palm was being dug into – rather hard. Opening up his tight fist, he saw, by the dim light of the lamppost shining through the half-open curtains, the gold that shone with the angry sweat from his palm. And, as he moved his head closer to the light, he saw the small diamond twinkle innocently back at him. Lowering the cigarette, he flipped the ring over with his fingers so as to catch the light better.

It seemed so long ago that he was in the jewellery shop, frantically trying to pick the perfect ring. The one that could say exactly how he felt; the words he could never seem to be able to say to her, though he wanted to so badly. He had examined what seemed to be hundreds of rings, big, small, gold, silver, ranging from the reasonably priced, to the outrageously expensive – yet none of them had that perfect feel to them. Until, right when he had thought he had given up hope, he spotted this one. Although it pretty plain, and – unlike some of the others – the diamond that sat upon the top was not the size of his fist, he knew this was the one. Somehow it just seemed to reflect everything he had ever wanted to say to her, how beautiful she was, how much he appreciated her presence – even when they didn't talk, how he loved when she made him laugh, and the sound of hers. And how he could think of nothing more perfect than spending the rest of his life with her, and waiting to grow old with her by his side.

He remembered staying up until the early hours of every day, trying to figure out exactly what to say, the words that will make her agree to turning him into the happiest man on earth. He had planned what he had thought to be the perfect engagement. He would take her out to dinner, followed by a romantic moonlit walk by the river; where he would find the ideal moment; leave her staring into the reflection of the pale moon in the water, before grabbing her attention - to have her turn around and see him on one knee, his heart on his sleeve, and ring in the box.

Well…that was the plan. Dinner had gone…well enough – if you don't mind waiting half an hour to be seated, followed by another half to be served, and then finding out that even a bowl of soup did not cost as little as you initially thought it did. However, they had had a great time – laughing, joking, and Owen constantly going over what he was planning to say in his mind, making sure he knew exactly what he was going to say, when he was going to say it and how exactly he would put his heart out to her. But, in all the hours of planning the perfect proposal, he had forgotten one crucial point that could affect the whole thing – the weather. And he had found out the hard way of how much it could affect a plan.

Owen had noticed the threatening clouds hanging over them during the taxi drive, and had spent the whole journey internally praying that they would somehow clear up before the end of the night. However, this time his prayers were not answered. They had only been 10 short minutes down the walk along the riverside when the heavens opened up with a full downpour. Soaked and laughing uncomfortably, he took off his leather jacket and used it as a small, pretty unreliable, cover until they found shelter under a concrete block protruding from the first floor of a group of apartments. He remembered how he had then suddenly panicked, and realised that his jacket pocket had in fact acquired a hole in it, and he could remember frantically digging his hand thoroughly into every pocket, trying to make sure that the small box was still there – without drawing too much attention to himself. He finally found it, heartbeat relaxing as his fingers made contact with the soft velvet of the box. But, to his dismay, his relief was incredibly short-lived, as he certainly did not manage the latter part of his new plan. For, once found, the box had flung out of the pocket and rolled onto the wet ground…to land right in front of her feet.

Blushing furiously, he saw that he could do nothing more than pick up the box, and propose to her there and then. And, on the twenty-second of November, at quarter to midnight, in the middle of an empty street in the pouring rain – he had become the happiest man on earth.

Owen reached for the ashtray to deposit the grey ash building up at the end of the cigarette. With a slow sigh, he stood up and walked across the room to the small desk lamp, so as to light up the place properly. He flicked the switch, still looking at the ring, thinking deeply. The light flickered, catching Owen's attention, and then stabilised – bathing a small photo frame with a memorable picture in a yellow glow. Owen gazed at the photo, more memories flooding his mind. It was a simple picture, just of him, some friends and her on a night out together.

This snapshot was taken near the beginning of the night – he remembered that. They had all decided to celebrate the end of the working week by getting together as a group and going out. A couple of hours into the night however, Owen remembered making his way outside, beer in his hand and a cigarette on his mind. But all mumbled curses of the smoking ban went out of his head when he saw her thin figure sitting against the wall, on her own. Wondering how he couldn't have noticed her missing beforehand, he made his way over to her side. He had only briefly known her, but had always seen her in the centre of things, laughing, joking and generally having a good time – so to see her so withdrawn from everyone made him curious, and slightly worried, as to why she would chose to separate herself.

She had looked up when he had set his pint on the floor and sat down on the cold January ground beside her. He remembered her telling him she had just wanted some peace and quiet for a while – and had brought herself outside to get away from the loud music and talk, that only a pub could bring, and to get some fresh air. Assuming that she would prefer to be left alone, Owen had made to stand up and make his way inside, but she had quickly held out her arm as a barrier, and quietly requested him to stay.

Although he had only known her but a few months, he found that the time spent with her outside, on the cold, hard ground, was one of the most comfortable he had had in a very long time. She was easy to talk to, and sincere in her words. There must have been something in the air that night – or perhaps she just felt the same way about him – but she seemed to be able to say so much to him, and he found himself doing the same back. In the few short hours that they spent outside together, he had learned more about her than he suspected half the people inside knew, and had told her more about himself than he had to people he had known for years.

Somehow he found it one of the easiest things in the world to sit there and listen to her thoughts, the real reason why she was sat outside, and could remember realising how doing nothing more than just being a shoulder to cry on could do so much. It turned out that she was suffering from some heartache, caused mainly by a man who seemed to be guiltlessly abusing the power he had over her heart. He had listened, offered advice, dried her tears and did his best to make her smile – before finding himself in the place that she had been just an hour before. Somehow he seemed to be telling her of personal thoughts and feelings he hadn't been able to tell anyone but his closest friends, and before he knew it, she was listening, offering advice and making him laugh.

He recalled just finishing off telling her about his messy, hurtful and extremely recent break-up laughing at a joke that she had made about the situation. He could remember looking up at her at that moment, only to meet with her soft blue eyes. And at that moment, the laughter on his face seemed to die down, and she seemed to reflect this back at him. He had no idea how long they sat in silence, but he could remember that in that minute, hour, or perhaps even day that they sat there, he seemed to see her more clearly than he had seen anyone in such a long time. He had sat there, doing nothing but taking in every aspect of her appearance; her pale skin that glowed in the light streaming from the pub windows; the way her hair brushed lightly over her eyes; and her pale lips, which sat extremely still compared to the hours of talking that they had been used for but a very short time before.

He didn't know what made him do it, sheer impulse – or the heat of the moment perhaps, but once she broke the gaze and began to turn her head away from his eyes, she seemed to pull a string connected to his heart, and it tugged – hard. And, without even a thought of doing so, his hand reached up to touch her face. He brought her head up to face his eyes once more, and, in what felt like slow motion, he leaned in and he kissed her.

Ever since then they had been inseparable, Owen couldn't believe how close he could get to the girl he was dating. Sometimes they could stay up for hours into the night, by each other's sides or even just talking for hours on the phone. When he was with her, she made him feel like the whole world was by his feet, just waiting for him. With her every moment of joy seemed accelerated, and the pain seemed so much less that he had first thought of it. Even the pain and any heartache he felt seemed to be fuel for them both, learning to support each other through all times.

But then… One thing lead to another, and here he was, standing in an empty house, looking out of the dark window for the girl who had left the house with nothing but a suitcase in her hand, his heart packed tightly inside.

He looked down at small remainder of the cigarette in his hand, thinking. The ring in his other clenched hand pressed against his palm. The small pain that it gave him was so little compared to what it represented. He felt so stupid, they had had so much to gain, so many plans ahead – and he was just letting them run away in the suitcase of the girl he had always said he cared so much about.

Owen stared at the corner where he had last seen her disappear… What was he still doing here? If they had had so much to gain – then surely the only thing stopping that right now was himself, right?

He turned his back on the window and put the last bit of the cigarette in the ashtray. He no longer cared what he had said before, whose fault it was, or what they were even fighting about. Because he knew now what was really worth fighting for. He was going to get her back. No matter what he had to do.

Quick note to all those who have been directed here and are completely new to fictionpress:

There is actually a whole load of other chapters after this, where the story continues :) Just scroll up or down and click on the drop down box that says "chapter 1" in it. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for the time you've already given it :DD


I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired.