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alwayslovingharry · 1 month

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I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 7)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Y/N deals with going off her medications and being apart from Harry. They finally reconnect to spend the holidays together.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6

Word Count: 6k

CW: smut

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The first week without suppressants and soothers isn’t awful. There's just enough of the medication still in your system to keep you feeling somewhat normal. Plus, your nest, really your entire apartment, is still holding on to Harry’s scent.

You continue to sacrifice sleep so you can watch live streams of Harry’s shows. You’re pleasantly surprised to see “Canyon Moon” back on the set list. You can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with you telling him that it’s your favorite song.

Those first days lull you into a false sense of security. Maybe letting your omega out, living as nature intended, won’t be the worst thing.

But after that first week, things start to take a turn. Your system is definitely cleared of the meds now. And Harry’s scent has faded from your nest and apartment. You sleep restlessly Tuesday night, and Wednesday morning is rough. Not only are the touch deprivation symptoms coming back, but now you’re exhausted on top of it. Part of you wants to open another bag of scented items that Harry gave you so you can fix your nest. But that would be silly since you’re traveling home this afternoon to be with your family for Thanksgiving.

Instead, you decide to pack one of those bags with you, so you have his scent if needed. You realize that you likely won’t, since being around your family tends to soothe your omega. While packs don’t really exist anymore there’s still an inherent connection to family members that simulates the connection of packmates.

Your cousins know you're an omega, and though no one ever explicitly talks about it, they take care of you in little ways. They subtly check on you, or they’ll create a makeshift nest of blankets so that you all can cuddle together during movie nights. Even though they’re betas, their presence, and their obvious love for you has always helped keep you balanced.

Plus, your oldest cousin now has two pups, one a toddler and one only a few months old. No one complains when you baby hog them, knowing that holding a pup is also very soothing for an omega.

Reenergized at the thought of seeing your family, you’re able to get out of bed and finish packing, making sure to include one unopened bag of Harry’s scented items just in case.

After finishing the last two projects you’re doing for work, you start the hour-long drive home. When you arrive, you’re greeted by your parents, aunt, uncle, and one of your cousins. They’ll all be staying at the house, while your other two out of town cousins, along with their spouses and the kids, rented an Airbnb nearby.

You and your cousin Kelly will be sharing your room. It’s not the first time, since you’re an only child and she’s the youngest of three so you were often put together during family trips. She’s a couple years younger, in her final year of college, but the two of you have always been close. She’s also a huge Harry Styles fan and you kind of can’t wait to spill the beans about your relationship with him.

It’s a chaotic afternoon as you all work on preparing the house to host everyone for the next few days. Everyone comes over for pizza dinner and it’s wonderful to be surrounded by so many people. There’s music playing, conversations flowing, and constant laughter. You sit and color with your cousin’s son and get some baby cuddles with her daughter. It’s a perfect night and takes your mind off your problems for the moment.

That night, you and Kelly are getting ready for bed when your phone buzzes. You quickly turn to grab it but she’s faster. You see the screen for a second and there’s definitely a text from Harry.

He’s saved in your phone as just “Harry”, so she doesn’t know exactly who you’re talking to, as evidenced by her immediately asking “Ooooh who’s Harry?”

“I’m going to tell you, but you cannot freak out, or tell anyone else yet, okay?” you reply.

She nods yes with a comically serious look on her face.

“Harry is Harry Styles.”

For a moment there is silence as she stares at you blankly. You’re startled when she suddenly shouts “WHAT?”

You jump before quickly shushing her, as you don’t want either of your parents to find out what you’re talking about.

“If you promise to stay quiet, I’ll tell you the whole story,” you state.

Kelly quickly sits down and mimes locking her lips shut, showing that she intends to listen. You sit on the bed across from her and dive in, starting from the first concert of his you went to, all the way until his visit last week. She listens intently, eyes wide in disbelief.

“So. Harry Styles is your boyfriend? And your alpha?” She says, and you nod to confirm. It sends butterflies through your belly, hearing someone else refer to Harry in that way. It’s been such a well-kept secret since the first interaction and it’s so nice to have someone close to you know all the details. It almost makes it more real somehow.

After answering all of Kelly’s questions she gets up to finish getting ready for bed. You pull up your phone to answer Harry’s text from earlier. He was reaching out to check on you and wish you a good night, and it warms your heart to know you’re on his mind even countries apart.

You sleep well that night and wake up feeling refreshed on Thanksgiving morning. After a quick breakfast and cup of tea you get down to business to help your mom prepare for dinner. The rest of your family arrives in the early afternoon and the party is soon in full swing.

The next morning is slow and lazy, everyone just hanging out and watching movies together. You all enjoy the Thanksgiving leftovers throughout the day, and by mid-afternoon you’ve brought out a few different games to play together. You’re feeling great, though you do with you could have your alpha by your side. That would make it truly perfect.

That night you and Kelly lay in bed watching a livestream of Harry’s show. The next morning everyone packs up to travel back home, including you.

Your apartment now feels extra lonely, so you quickly shower before building a new nest using the items Harry gave you. Since he doesn’t have a show, you Facetime for hours that afternoon. You tell him all about your visit home and fills you in on how his time in Mexico was.

You discuss when you can see each other again, a conversation which should make you happy, but instead becomes a bit stressful. While you want nothing more than to join Harry on tour, there’s still up to three weeks until your passport is definitely going to arrive. You’d never left the country before, never had plans to, and so you never really thought about getting one. If you could go back in time, you’d slap past you or being so unprepared.

“Christmas is more than three weeks away,” Harry says. “Would you consider coming to England for the holidays?”

“Like, with your family?” you inquire.

“I’d like for you to meet them,” he replies. “It’s going to be low-key this year. Just mum, Gemma, and Michal.”

“Okay. Yea, that sounds fun!” It does. Totally fun. Only fun. Not stressful at all to meet the family so soon.

“Do you think it’ll be a problem with your parents?”

“They’ve always wanted to spend the holidays on a vacation to South Carolina. Maybe I’ll make that my gift to them and then everyone will be happy,” you answer. It’s something you’ve wanted to do for them for years anyway and you finally have more than enough money in savings to make it happen.

“That sounds really nice,” he says. “How long do you think you can come for? I’d love to have you here for Christmas and New Years if possible.”

“I could do that. The next couple weeks will be busy at work, but it calms way down by Christmas. I’ll obviously have to work a bit while I’m there, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Fantastic! I’ll get a potential itinerary over to you and you can let me know if it needs any changes.”

You talk a little longer before hanging up to go to sleep. You’re feeling better now knowing that you have plans to see him, even if you are disappointed that it’s still a month away.

And what an awful month it turns out to be. Harry does everything he can to be helpful, but there’s just not much he can do for touch deprivation from a distance. You talk on the phone as much as possible and the scented clothes he sent you are a true lifesaver. But every day becomes a struggle. The constant itch causes you to scratch your skin raw, no number of blankets can get you warm, and you’ve had to cut way down on exercise since it always leaves you dizzy.

You’re so exhausted that packing is a nearly full day chore, but the knowledge that you’ll see Harry in less than 48 hours is enough to motivate you to finish the task. You’re taking the red eye and landing in the morning the day before Christmas. Harry informed you a few days prior that he’ll be in London for a meeting when you land, and that Gemma will be picking you up. You’re disappointed that you won’t see him right away, but he promised he’ll be there in time for dinner.

Your normal travel anxiety is ten times worse than usual, partially due to it being your first international flight and partially due to the lack of suppressants and soothers that you’d relied on for years. Harry had insisted on purchasing you a first-class ticket, which you fought him on, saying it was unnecessary. But now that you’ve finished boarding, you’re grateful. You’re already overstimulated from being around so many people in the airport and it’s nice to have so much space during the flight.

You try to get some rest but for some reason you just cannot fall asleep. Instead, you listen to the podcasts you downloaded while curled up, face tucked into Harry’s sweater that you saved just for this trip.

The moment you land you get a text from Gemma that she’s on her way and will be there in half an hour, giving you time to collect your luggage and get to the pickup area. You’re too tired to be nervous about meeting your boyfriend’s sister for the first time, which is a true blessing at this moment.

You’re only waiting outside for a minute before you see her pull up. She hops out of the car to greet you with a hug and help you get your suitcase into the trunk.

She makes conversation throughout the drive, but can tell you’re exhausted and says, “Mums got some breakfast waiting at home and Harry’s room is ready for you, so you can get a nap before he gets back.”

She pulls up to the house a moment later and quickly grabs your bag before leading you inside.

“Mum!” she calls out as she opens the door. Moments later, Anne steps into the entryway and pulls you in for a hug, saying, “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Harry cannot stop talking about you.” You smile and blush at that and reply, “It’s nice to meet you as well. Thank you for having me.”

“Of course! We couldn’t be more excited that you’re joining us for the holidays! Now come, you must be starving.”

She leads you into the kitchen and the three of you sit together and have a late breakfast. They do most of the talking, which you appreciate.

After you’re done eating you try to clean up, but Anne stops you saying, “Leave everything, please, you’re our guest. You must be tired; Gemma can bring you up to Harry’s room so you can rest a bit.”

“That would be great, thank you so much,” you reply.

Gemma leads you upstairs, pointing out the bathroom before leading you to Harry’s bedroom. You’re immediately hit with his scent, so potent that for a second you think he must be there with you.

You quickly scan the room, taking in the decorations and all his books and belongings. It’s like a shrine of Harry, and you want to examine everything, but you’re truly exhausted. As soon as Gemma steps out you start getting ready for a nap. There’s a pile of clothes on the bed, a t-shirt and some pajama pants. They’re doused in Harry’s scent and without even thinking, you change into them.

The room starts to spin around you, and you immediately get into bed. The world goes black the second your head hits the pillow.

Nearly two hours later Harry arrives home. He’s earlier than expected thanks to his afternoon meeting getting cancelled. You’re unaware of his return, still knocked out in his bed.

“Hi Mum, hey Gemma,” he says, walking into the living room where the two of them are watching a movie together.

“Harry! We didn’t expect you for quite a while, dear,” Anne replies.

“Last meeting was cancelled, apparently there’s a storm up north so half the team couldn’t make it. They’ll reschedule after the holidays. Is Y/N here?” As much as he enjoys talking with his family, he hasn’t seen you in over a month and doesn’t want to spend another minute away from you.

“Yea, she’s taking a nap in your room,” Gemma replies.

Harry sniffs the air before saying, “Hm, that’s odd,” and sniffing the air again.

“What is?”

“I can’t catch her scent.”

“She probably wore some strong scent blockers for the flight,” Anne reassures him, picking up on his shift from excited to worried.

“Probably,” he replies, but he’s not sold on that explanation. “I’m just gonna go up and check on her.”

He turns and heads upstairs, stopping in the bathroom quickly to wash his hands and splash some water on his face, before changing into a clean outfit he’d left in there earlier. He knows you’ve likely been bombarded with other scents during your travels and wants to make sure no strangers scents cling to him.

Once he’s sure he smells only of himself, he crosses the hall. He knocks on the door gently but enters slowly when he gets no reply. At first he thinks you’re sleeping. You look asleep, curled up in his blankets. But you don’t seem at rest.

Your breathing is rapid, not deep and even like it would be if you’re asleep. And he can hear the faint whimpers that indicate you’re distressed. He stands there for a moment, shocked at the state he found you in, but another whine from you kicks him into action.

He turns out of the room, shouting for Gemma to come upstairs. She runs up, hearing the edge of panic in her little brother’s voice.

“How long has Y/N been up here?” he asks, needing as much information as he can get.

“Maybe two hours. Why? What’s going on?”

“Did she seem like, upset at all? Or spacey or dizzy? Did she seem off in any way?”

“Not that I noticed. She was just really tired. Harry, what is it?”

“I think she dropped,” he replies.

It’s quiet for a moment before Gemma says, “You said she had to go off her medications right? And she’s been without her alpha for a month, so she has some intense touch deprivation. Plus, she’s exhausted from traveling to another country. Being in your space, which probably reeks of your scent, might have put her omega over the edge.”

Harry nods along, knowing his sister is probably right.

“I should’ve been with her. Gemma, I have no idea what type of drop this is! Maybe it’s a good one because she’s in my space, but she seems distressed.”

“Harry, take a breath. You know what you need to do right now. So calm down and be there for your omega. Would you feel better if mum and I left? Gave you guys some privacy?”

“I don’t want to kick you guys out.”

“Of course not. We have some last-minute shopping to do. We were just waiting until you came home. Go, take care of your girl. We’ll see you later. And call if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you Gems,” he replies. Gemma walks downstairs and Harry takes a minute to calm himself. He knows that he needs his emotions in check to be able to help you. Just as he’s confident that his feelings won’t negatively affect you he hears the front door close, indicating that the two of you are now alone in the house.

He walks into the room and finds that you haven’t moved. He first crouches by the bed, leaning close in hopes that you’ll notice he’s there and he won’t startle you. There’s no change so he starts to emit calming pheromones. This seems to catch your attention, and Harry watches as you subconsciously seek him out.

Now that you seem to know that your alpha is there, he climbs into the bed with you. He does so slowly, watching your reaction the whole time. He gently shifts you to hold you against his chest and angles your face so that your nose is against his scent gland. He continues to let out the calming pheromones which seem to be working, as you’ve stopped whimpering.

Harry gives you some time to stay under, but he’s fairly sure this is a bad drop, so he starts to bring you out sooner than later.

“It’s time to come up, omega,” he says. “Can you come back to me? I’d really like to see you. Been waiting so long.”

It doesn’t work right away, but after a few minutes of Harry talking to you, the haze of the drop starts to fade. Finally, your eyes blink open and meet his.

“There you are,” he says, his voice relieved.

“Alpha?” you say, still dazed and confused. Your body feels heavy, and you don’t recognize your surroundings. Everything feels strange, but you know that you’re okay, now that your alpha is there.

“I’m here, omega. I’ve got you.” You’re immediately soothed by his presence, and by his words. Your brain finally clicks on, and you fully realize that you’re in Harry’s room, in his arms. You begin to shift, Harry reaching out to make sure you’re steady. He realizes what you’re trying to do and moves as well until you’re situated in a way that you can both scent each other at the same time.

You sigh as his nose brushes against your scent glad before doing the same to him. It isn’t long before your scents mix together to fill the room.

“Are you alright, love?” Harry asks.

“I’m good, now that you’re here,” you truthfully reply, blushing at your vulnerable statement.

“I’ve missed you, so much,” he says before moving to kiss you. His lips move lazily against yours, and you have to swallow back a whine at the feeling of him against you.

After a couple minutes he pulls back and says, “Mum and Gemma are out. What would you like to do next? Do you want to sleep a little more, or eat, or take a shower?”

You think about it for a moment and reply, “Can we take a bath?”

“We? Together?” he questions.

You blush and say, “I definitely want to wash all the travel grime off me, but I kind of don’t want to leave your side. It’s that’s okay with you.”

“It’s more than okay with me, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“I am,” you say with a shy smile.

You both get out of bed, and Harry collects towels and clean clothes for both of you. He then fills the tub, pulling his shirt off so he can test the water without his sleeve getting wet. Your heart starts to race as you realize that you’re both about to see each other naked for the first time. For some reason you’re grateful that it’s in this setting, rather than a sexual one. It lessens the nerves, knowing that there’s no expectations here.

He slides off his pants, leaving him in boxer briefs. You do the same, then throw your shirt off as well before you can overthink too much. You weren’t wearing a bra, meaning your chest is now exposed to Harry. He takes a deep breath before saying, “You’re beautiful.”

Harry quickly shuts the water off and turns back to you. “We can stay like this if you’d like? Keep our underpants on?”

You shake your head no and your hands go to the waistband of your panties.

“Together?” you ask.

“Together,” he replies, and follows your lead, slowly lowering his underwear until you’re both standing there, completely bare. You fight off the urge to cover your body and hear Harry quietly say, “Absolutely perfect.” This compliment gives you the courage to look up, and your eyes quickly scan over him, briefly stopping at his groin. Your breath stutters as you take in his impressive size, and his smirks when he notices.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get in before the water cools.”

He has you get in first, keeping you steady so you don’t slip. He slides in behind you and gently pulls you, so your back is resting against his chest. You feel his groin brush your skin, and tense for a moment before relaxing. You’re surprisingly comfortable with the whole situation.

You both stay like that, silently relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, Harry says, “Scooch forward, let me wash your hair.”

He does so, first shampooing, then putting in conditioner, being extremely gentle as he does so. He then grabs a shower puff and spreads some body wash on it, before giving you a look asking if it’s okay for him to clean your body. You nod yes, and he focuses on rubbing the soap over your limbs and torso. He makes a mental note of the scratch marks on your skin, and frowns at how bad your touch deprivation must have been to cause this. He hesitates with his hand resting on your thigh. You open your legs slightly, silently giving him permission to clean between them as well. A gasp escapes your mouth at the feeling, but it only lasts a moment before he’s done and moving away.

Harry quickly washes himself as well, and by the time you’re both soap free, the water has become uncomfortably cool. He gets out and dries off first before helping you again and wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

Once you’re dry you both get dressed and head downstairs to watch a movie together. That’s how Anne and Gemma find you when they arrive home an hour later.

After talking for a few minutes Harry checks the time and gets up, saying, “I should really get started on dinner.”

“Want any help?” Anne asks but he quickly shakes his head and says, “I’ve got it, you girls relax.”

You last five, maybe ten minutes before you’re making an excuse to join Harry in the kitchen.

“Hey, you,” he says when you walk into the room. “Miss me?” he asks jokingly.

You chuckle awkwardly, not wanting to admit that he’s right. It feels clingy, but you’re still shaking off the drop, and the touch deprivation, and being away from Harry is physically painful. He picks up on this and immediately stops what he’s doing to focus on you. He pulls you in for a hug and whispers, “I missed you too.”

You stay in the kitchen with him, helping chop veggies for the stir fry. As soon as it’s ready the four of you sit together at the table. The food is delicious, because of course Harry’s a good cook on top of his other talents. After dinner is done and cleaned up you’re all back at the table with mugs of tea.

Though it’s not exactly late, you find it hard to keep your eyes open. Harry immediately senses how sleepy you are, and the two of you say a quick goodnight to Anne and Gemma before heading upstairs. You brush your teeth side-by-side in the bathroom, feeling very domestic. He hands you some of his clothes to wear to bed.

“I did pack my own clothes you know,” you say while changing into the ones he gave you.

“I know, but you just look so cute in mine,” he replies, his eyes soft as he looks at you in a pair of his pajama pants and an oversized sweater.

The two of you get into bed and Harry opens his arms for you. After getting comfortable together you quickly fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Christmas eve, Christmas, and Boxing Day pass with lots of gifts exchanged, movies watched, games played, and meals shared. The rest of the week is both exciting and relaxing. You do a little work each morning before going on an adventure with Harry and then ending the day with a movie.

It’s wonderful getting to know Harry’s family and see where he grew up. People recognize him when you’re out in public, but it’s not like it would be in any big city. He’s not being swarmed by fans, but rather greeted by his neighbors who are excited to see him home for the holidays.

The two of you get invited to a New Years Eve party in London, and after debating for a bit you both decide to go, planning to leave early so you can ring in the New Year just the two of you.

You drive to the city early that day to settle into his home there and go out for a late lunch. His house is beautiful, and you’re stunned by how well decorated it is. You tell him this and can see the way he lights up with pride at your compliments. Somehow he doesn’t get spotted while you’re walking around London, so you guys get to enjoy an uninterrupted meal and a walk where he points out some of his favorite spots.

He senses you getting cold and immediately routes back to his house. You both shower and get ready for the party, dressing up more than you ever have together. You put on a sparkly green, long sleeve dress that falls to mid-thigh. This gets paired with your black heeled boots, opting for some comfort and protection in the footwear department.

He’s wearing a pair of black slacks, and a silver top, buttoned halfway. The two of you spend a moment just staring at each other, completely at a loss for words. Harry’s first to regain his senses, saying, “You look absolutely stunning, omega.”

“Thank you alpha. You look very handsome,” you reply.

He walks closer, until his hands wrap around your waist, and he pulls you flush against him. You gasp at the sudden move, and he leans down to kiss you, his tongue slipping through your parted lips. For a few minutes you get lost in the feeling of him moving against you. Slick starts to leak into your panties, and the groan Harry let’s out tells you he can smell it. His hips roll harder against you for another moment before he pulls back. Both of you take deeps breaths, and you note how blown his pupils are.

You turn to walk back into the bedroom and Harry asks, “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta change my underwear,” you reply.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes, Harry,” you say through a laugh. “I can’t go to a party smelling like slick!”

“Sarah’s going to be the only other alpha there, I’m sure she won’t be bothered.”

“Harry, behave!”

“No promises on that.”

You roll your eyes playfully before walking away to clean yourself up. By the time you get back Harry has his coat on and is holding yours.

There’s still a hint of arousal in his scent and he says, “Are you sure we have to go? We could just stay here, get out of these clothes…” he trails off suggestively.

“Yes, we have to go. You already committed. We don’t, however, have to stay. So let’s go so we can make an appearance and then get back here and see what we can do about getting out of these clothes.”

Harry smiles at the confirmation that you’re on the same page as him. He helps you slip on your coat and the two of you leave the house.

Luckily the party is in his neighborhood so the two of you walk there. You’re greeted by Harry’s friends when you arrive, and immediately start to catch up with Mitch and Sarah. Harry never leaves your side, his arm always wrapped protectively around your waist. Some people may see this as a possessive alpha move, but to you it means safety and comfort.

You stay at the party for a couple hours before ducking out around 11PM. Harry continues to hold you close the whole walk back, and the air is definitely charged with a new tension. His scent has shifted slightly, a hint of spice added to his normal warm smells.

Once in the house you both calmly remove your coats and shoes, neither of you making the first move just yet. It’s like you want the tension to grow until you can’t stand it anymore. You take some initiative and walk upstairs to the bedroom with Harry following behind.

He finally breaks when you arrive in the bedroom, and he turns you to face him before crashing his lips to yours. You can’t hold back the whine of pleasure, and if the way he groans and tightens his grip on you is any indication, he’s a fan of the noise you make.

His hands start to move down your sides until they reach the bare skin of your legs. He starts to slide them back up, now going under your skirt as he moves to press kisses to your neck. You loop your arms over his shoulders and tilt your head to give him more room. Your skirt bunches as his hands make their way to the sides of your torso. In a show of strength, he lifts you up and lays you on the bed.

He crawls over you, and you reach up to unbutton the rest of his shirt and push it off. It’s your turn to slide your hands over his sides, loving the feeling of the smooth skin beneath your fingers. Harry places more kisses to your neck before moving down until he’s placing a kiss between your covered breasts.

You feel the slick coating your center, knowing your panties are absolutely ruined. Both of your scents are growing stronger, his becoming spicier while yours turns sweeter. It mixes together deliciously, and you could grow addicted to the smell.

“Can I take this off?” Harry asks, gripping the bottom of your dress in his hands.

“Yes,” you reply as you sit up slightly so he can pull it off of you. His breathing stops as most of your body is bared in front of him. His hand drifts towards your chest and he looks at you with a silent question. You nod, giving him permission to touch you. He doesn’t hesitate, and you moan as his large hands cup your breasts before his thumbs move across your nipples. You never knew just a simple touch could feel so good, but his hands are like magic.

He spends minutes focusing on your chest, first with his hands, then his mouth. You’re already a panting mess beneath him. When he pulls away your hands go to his waistband, fingertips sliding under just a tiny, teasing amount. Harry gets the message and quickly removes his pants, socks, and underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight in front of you.

He gets back on the bed and slides his hands to the last article of clothing covering your body. “Off, please” you say before he can even ask, getting tired of waiting and wanting nothing more than him inside of you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath as he pulls the material down and off your legs. The smell of your slick becomes more potent, and you swear you hear Harry literally grown as he breaths it in. He moves back up your body and his lips find yours in a needy kiss. His fingers find your entrance and you keen as one slowly pushes inside. You continue to make out and opens you up to ensure you’re ready for him. At the same time, you reach out to grab his hard cock, gently pumping a few times.

Harry pulls away and reaches into the bedside table drawer to pull out a condom. As he’s pulling it on you have a moment of nerves. You’re not a virgin, but it’s been a while. And you’ve never been with an alpha before, and you can see by looking at him that there’s definitely truth about alphas being gifted in the size department.

Sending your new hesitance, Harry says, “Hey, you ok?” You nod, but he doesn’t fully believe you, so he adds, “We don’t have to do this right now. We can stop, or keep doing what we were doing, we don’t need to go all the way.”

“I want to,” you answer. “I want this. I want you. I’ve just never been knotted, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

He nods, expression serious, and says, “We can have sex without me knotting you. Is that what you’d like?”

“I’d like that. But will you feel, you know, satisfied?” The last thing you want is to get pleasure if he’s not getting to feel it with you.

“Trust me, I will be more than satisfied.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Want to continue?”

“I do,” you confirm with a smile.

He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s soft, and sweet, a noticeable difference to the intense kisses from earlier. And it works to get rid of the last of your nerves. His hand moves back to your entrance, collecting some of the slick gathered there and coating his cock with it.

Harry continues to kiss you as he lines up and slowly presses inside of you. Once he’s fully inside he pulls back to look at you. Your eyes meet and there’s a moment of connection unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Not only does your body feel full, but your heart does as well.

“Alpha,” you say breathlessly.

“My perfect omega,” he replies.

After giving you a moment to adjust to his size he starts to move. The thrusts are slow at first, but he picks up pace. He grabs your leg to wrap around his hip, and the change in angle has you seeing starts.

It only takes a few minutes before you feel the familiar tingle in your core, and a press of his fingers to your clit send you over the edge. He works you through your orgasm and then pulls out. He removes the condom and wraps his hand around his cock. It only takes a few strokes before his knot expands and he comes, his release coating your chest and belly.

Harry gets up and grabs a towel to clean both of you off. You both get under the covers, and he pulls you to lay on his chest. He checks the clock and sees that it is two minutes past midnight.

“Happy new year, omega,” he says.

“Happy new year, alpha,” you reply as you drift off to sleep, comforted by his arms and the smell of your combined scents.

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! Probably wrapping up this story in a couple of chapters, so let me know if there's anything you might want to see!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging @jerseygirlinca @stylesfever @alwayslovingharry

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alwayslovingharry · 1 month

Note

can we see what flower and gravity h would be like at a party like halloween night, but now they're together? how would it be different? I loved that scene in the story I would love to read more!

wordcount: 3.6k+

—————

"Did you want to get dinner afterwards, or just come home?"

(Y/N) shifted in her spot, leaning closer to her mirror with her powder compact in hand. In the reflection, she caught Harry's eye as she patted the product into her skin. Just as he had been since she settled in to start getting ready before they went out, he watched each movement of her hands as they swept across her features.

"Hm?" he hummed, a flutter of his lashes coming from behind his glasses when he finally met her gaze in the glass. A pink flush touched at his cheeks from being caught. "Sorry."

A small smile worked its way onto (Y/N)'s lips at his reaction. Straightening her posture, she pulled away from her mirror to take in the full of her progress. "I asked if you wanted to go out for dinner after we leave, or if you wanted to come home instead."

"Oh," Harry sounded, looking a bit sheepish now, "What time did y'want to leave?"

Shrugging, (Y/N) sifted through her makeup bag, searching for the specific palette she wanted to wear on her eyes for the night. "I don't want to stay long, so probably early. We could get sushi, maybe—or we can make pizza here instead."

Plucking out the small brushes she planned on using to pack and blend the shadows across her lids, she focused on her eyeshadow only realizing Harry hadn't answered until she was facing the mirror once more and he was fixated on her reflection.

"Harry?"

He blinked, his eyes on her hands. "What is that?"

A pinch settled between (Y/N)'s brows. "What do you mean? Pizza?"

His lips stretched into a small smile, finally flicking his gaze up to match her own. "No," he laughed, "What you're holding. Is that eyeshadow?"

"Oh, yeah," she bubbled, twisting to actually look at him instead of through the mirror, "Did you want to see it?"

Taking her invitation, Harry sidled up beside her on the floor before her mirror, folding his legs underneath himself. Carefully taking the offered palette from her hand, (Y/N) allowed him a moment to look while she focused on the rest of her face powders instead.

Through the mirror, she saw him tracing over the shades embedded in the case, taking in every name and hue of the shadows. "How do you know which ones to use?"

Fluffing a large brush over her cheeks to add a flush to her cheeks, (Y/N) wondered if this was what Harry felt like whenever she asked him a question about physics. It was cute seeing her genius boyfriend being unsure about makeup, confused over something simple.

"You just use whatever ones you want," she said, pausing in her fluffing and sweeping, "There's a few 'rules', like, using mattes in the crease and starting lighter before going darker and all of that, but really I just use whatever one I like."

Harry looked at the eyeshadows before looking up to her once more, his gaze repeating that circuit before finally settling on her. "What are you going to use tonight?"

Assessing the shades in front of her, she tilted her head. "I'm not sure, but probably something simple. We should probably leave soon, so I don't want to do a lot."

(Y/N) watched as Harry took in the hues before him once more, the furrow of his brow taking her back to Professor Stanfill's room as Harry pored over whatever equation or lab writeup they were tasked with. A creeping smile settled on her lips.

Going back to finishing up her base, she let him have his fun and satiate his curiosity by going through her cosmetics and taking it all in. Putting down her blush brush, she tilted her head, tipping her chin and taking in the angles of her face. Satisfied with the flush now covering her skin, she focused on what was still missing at the moment. She would finish her eyes later, once Harry had his fill with her palette, but there were other components to take care of first.

"H, could you pass me my highlight, please? It's just a single heart compact," she mumbled, flicking through her cup of brushes for the one she needed.

Silently handing it over, (Y/N) stopped before she took the compact from Harry's hand. Instead of the highlight she asked for, there was another set of blushes in his hand, none being a heart shape. Eventually, when he heard her quiet huff of laughter, Harry looked up with wide eyes behind his glasses.

"What?" he sounded, her open palette still in his other hand, "These are the ones, right?"

"These are my blushes, honey," she smiled, folding his fingers over the compacts once more before searching through her bag herself.

"Oh," he sheepishly breathed, "Sorry."

"It's okay, you didn't know," she told him, pulling out the correct compact before getting back to her mirror, "I'm gonna need the palette soon, but you can keep looking before."

When he didn't answer, (Y/N) peeked at him through the corner of her eye. He was focused on the shades once more, still attempting to apparently decode the hues and find patterns that weren't there.

"Would—Or, can I help you pick the colors?" he asked, his voice decidedly quiet in the privacy of his bedroom.

(Y/N) paused in the sweeping of the shimmer over her cheeks, she looked to Harry with a bright smile. "You want to do that?"

A bashful smile settled on his features, tipping his head to the side under the pressure of her gaze. "I mean, if that's alright. I don't want to tell y'what to do or anything, I jus'... I've never really looked at makeup like this before, I want to figure it out."

A breathy laugh fell from her lips then, a gentle hand reaching out to settle on his arm. "It's not physics, H. You don't have to figure it out, or anything. It's supposed to be fun. "

"I know," he sighed, "I jus'—You know."

He didn't have to explain himself any further to her. She knew what he meant—she knew him. Harry wanted to figure out those patterns and find the formula for what worked, what made her enjoy putting on her makeup the way she did. He wanted to find the science behind the fun, and she wasn't going to stop him if that was what he wanted.

"I know," she assured him, leaning forward just enough to press a single kiss to his cheek, "I have to finish a couple of things, so pick what colors you want and we'll see what we can make."

The quiet curl of Harry's lips was enough for (Y/N), ready to accept any and every combination he might come up with.

—————

"Harry!"

If not for his grip on (Y/N)'s hand, Harry would have stumbled back at the eruption of his name when they stepped inside the party. With it still being rather early in the night, the party wasn't quite yet a party, still sitting in kickback territory. (Y/N) had assured him they would be heading out once more people started showing up within the next few hours, leaving the rest of the night to be theirs.

With the small crowd present around the shared bottles of liquor, it was easy to spot new additions to the group—including when (Y/N) led him into the living room. It had been her who was greeted first, Naomi already present with her own partner for the night lagging behind. Whilst Ny and (Y/N) were still bubbling off about something that happened earlier in the day, someone had caught sight of Harry and cheered his name across the room.

Peeling his eyes away from (Y/N), feeling himself blink owlishly from behind his lenses, he tried to find who had wanted his attention. Only one familiar face stuck out amongst the frat brothers plopped on the couch and leaning against the walls. Harry didn't know his name, but he recognized his face as the one that had been shrouded in a Scooby-Doo get up, letting him into the Halloween frat party that night to meet up with (Y/N).

His hold pulsed around (Y/N)'s hand. "H-Hey," Harry smiled, hoping no one heard his stumbling tongue, "How are you?"

Scooby, none perturbed by Harry's standstill, crossed the room to meet him. A friendly arm was extended, meaning to catch Harry in one of those frat-brother hugs he was only familiar with through watching it be performed on campus hundreds of times. Reluctantly, he let go of (Y/N)'s hand and reciprocated the half-handshake half-hug with Scooby.

"I'm good, man," Scooby (was it more rude to ask for his name this late in the game, or to continue to call him by the name of a fictional dog? Harry wasn't sure) answered, "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

"Yeah," Harry breathed, blindly reaching for the comfort of (Y/N)'s hand once more, "We're just stopping by for a little."

Harry watched as Scooby's eyes skittered towards (Y/N), his brows dancing over his eyes once they returned to Harry. "Oh, got other plans?"

A warm flush crept up the creamy skin of Harry's neck, reaching above the knitted neckline of his sweater. He knew where Scooby's head was at, and he wasn't sure if he enjoyed knowing that he thought of (Y/N) in that kind of position—even if it was with Harry.

"Something like that," he offered, reaching his free hand up to adjust his glasses, "I was going to take her out for dinner, and all of that."

"Nice," Scooby said, though his smile revealed he didn't think Harry was sharing the whole of the night's plans. "Hopefully, you'll stay long enough to at least play a couple of games with us. I feel like you'd be really good at beer pong, since there's all the angles and science and stuff."

While he wasn't exactly wrong about the science and physics that went into the game, Harry had a hard time picturing himself being any good. Nonetheless, he offered a smile and nodded his head to Scooby. "I'll let you know."

With that, Scooby was called off by the group he was previously sitting with, leading him away and leaving Harry to decompress.

There was a reason he didn't come to these things. Parties made him nervous—there was so much to keep track of, he didn't like drinking around strangers, and there was always too many people in his space. (Y/N) was the only reason he would ever venture into these things and find joy in them. That was why he was going to cling to her hand like a lifeline.

"That was nice," (Y/N) chirped, taking his attention. Behind her, he could see Ny carting her partner off towards the kitchen, her grip lax on her red cup. "I didn't know you knew Andy."

(Silently, Harry pocketed that victory. Now he wouldn't have to keep that made up name for Andy and he didn't have to embarrass himself and ask)

"Um, yeah," he mumbled, "I met him at the Halloween party, but that's really it. I didn't think he remembered me, or anything."

"How could anyone forget your costume?" (Y/N) teased, well aware that more than half of the student body had no idea what he was meant to be that night (including herself, but she conveniently forgot that part when she made her jokes).

Harry squeezed her hand in his, a quiet smile touching at his lips as he kept his gaze low. "What do we do now?" he asked her, his voice a secret for just her to hear.

Offering a half-shrug with a single shoulder bouncing, (Y/N) smiled through her glossy painted lips (a rosy shade he had picked). "Just hang out. Talk and maybe play a couple of games of beer pong if they pull out the table and stuff, but it shouldn't be too crazy. Why?"

"You know I don't really come to these," he shared with her, hoping no one could overhear him and his mumblings, "I don't know what to do or who to talk to. I don't know anyone but you."

Though he knew (Y/N) didn't completely understand his shyness, seeing as she was the complete opposite when it came to social interactions, she still tried. Firming her fingers between his own, she gave him that soft smile with her lashes fluttering under the melted, warm browns painted on her lids (another one of his choices). "Then, stick with me and we'll go when you're ready."

Harry did feel reassured by her game plan, even if there was that stray thought of how pathetic it would look for him to be clinging to her all night while she swept through the party like a butterfly. If worse came to worst, he decided he'd at least go get her a drink by himself and talk to Naomi's partner so he didn't come off as both obsessed and pathetic.

"Did you want a drink or anything?" (Y/N) questioned, pulling himself from his head.

"'M okay," he murmured, "But I'll come with you to get one."

When she started leading him towards the kitchen, Harry had a moment of deja vu, remembering the last time they were in this position on Halloween night.

Eyes falling to her hips and the hug of her jeans over them, he figured it wouldn't be so bad to be following her all night after all.

—————

When (Y/N)'s hand slipped out of his once more to greet a friend, Harry took a single step back towards the kitchen. Once she had broken away from the hug she was sharing with the newcomer, he ducked down to tell her he'd be right back.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her skin warm and eyes wide.

"To get you some water, if that's alright," he murmured, offering her a small smile. Truthfully, he was worried he was taking up too much of her space and time hanging from her hand like a cute accessory. He wanted to give her a breather from him.

"Oh," she sounded, her lips in a pouty gape, "Thank you. I'll be in here."

A huff of laughter fell from his lips at her response. The single drink she'd had definitely was hitting her head. "I'll be back, sweetheart."

He could feel her eyes sitting on his back as he stepped away just before her friend asked who he was. "That's my boyfriend," (Y/N) answered, the title making Harry's shoulders broaden and chest puff, "He's getting me some water."

Too far away then, he couldn't quite catch what her friend said in response, only knowing that the word cute was thrown around. Harry allowed that to carry him as he trekked back into the kitchen, the house decidedly fuller now that the night was beginning. It was still nowhere near the chaos that had been the Halloween party, but it wouldn't take long before the Friday night fun began. He hoped (Y/N) would be ready to leave before then.

Taking his time, Harry stole around the kitchen and filled a red plastic cup with icy water for her. From the corner of his eye, he could see a semi-familiar group of boys carrying a folding table down the hallway, with a definitely-familiar voice whooping in excitement. Scooby—Andy, he corrected himself—was setting up the beer pong table it sounded like. He wondered if Andy remembered the invitation he gave to Harry for him to play alongside them.

Hesitating with the cup in his hand, Harry thought about following the group out there. He'd give (Y/N) her water, then ask Andy if he could help set up—maybe that would remind him that Harry would be a winner at the game, with all the "science and stuff". A moment later, he tried to picture himself playing the game, heavy sweater on his form and the only fraternity lingo he knew being what he picked up around campus. It would probably be best if he stayed by (Y/N)'s side.

Turning in the opposite direction of the game, he started towards where he knew (Y/N) was waiting, the cup beginning to chill the palm of his hand with the amount of ice he'd poured in.

Just where she said she would be, (Y/N) was in conversation with another two friends, the one he'd seen before he left, now flitting away with another group. A lopsided smile tugged on his mouth; that was his flower, attracting anyone and everyone to get a look at her.

Sidling up beside her, he carefully stepped into the conversation with a small nudge against his arm. (Y/N)'s features brightened when she saw him, whatever story she was telling was still spilling from her lips as she took his offered gift. He took her hand once more, settling at her side until he would quietly introduce himself.

"Thank you," she chirped once she finished her story and fielded the reactions from her friends, "Guys, this is—"

"Harry!"

She was abruptly cut off, Harry's name being shouted by another on the other end of the room. Swiveling his gaze through the quiet groups now occupying the space, Harry saw Andy's familiar face with his eyes on him.

The couch in the center of the living room was now pushed to the side, making way for the table that took center stage. Red cups like the one in (Y/N)'s hand were now decorating the graffitied table, arranged in half finished pyramids with the missing pieces still under construction.

Once Andy realized he'd gained Harry's attention, he beckoned him over. "You're still playing right?" he asked, his voice decidedly louder than needed for the quiet space, "We've got first dibs."

Instinctively, Harry stayed rooted in his spot, his hand in (Y/N)'s becoming an anchor. Was he playing?

"I didn't know you were going to play with them," (Y/N) excitedly bubbled from his side, a now familiar shimmery taupe sparkling on her eyelids, "Go before they fill your spot!"

He hesitated, unwilling to completely unlatch his hand from hers. "Are you sure? We—I don't want to make you stay if you're ready—"

"I'm sure, H," she cut him off, doing the hard work of letting go of his hand in favor of pushing him towards the assembling game, "We'll leave whenever you're ready. I want to watch you play."

It was the encouraging smile on her lips that had him taking those steps away. He offered a friendly smile towards her friends he still didn't know the names of, before melting into the pods of people scattered around. Andy greeted him with a cheer once he was close enough, pulling Harry into another half-hug, half-handshake.

"This is Harry," he introduced him, to the opposing team of two stationed across the table, "He's the science guy I was telling you about."

"Oh, yeah," one of the others sounded, "You're the one that dressed as a pussy doctor on Halloween, right?"

Though Harry wanted badly to correct that assumption—especially when he heard the melody of (Y/N)'s laugh filtering through the room—he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he gave a tight smile and a nod of his head. "That's me."

Apparently, that was a killer joke he'd made seeing as the others, Andy included, laughed around him.

"You're right, he is funny," the final man said, running a hand through his shaggy hair, "I'm Blake."

"Nice to meet you," Harry smiled, unsure of if this was the time to actually shake his hand or if this was the kind of meeting that warranted another half-hug.

Before much else could be said, Andy interrupted, insisting it was time to start the game. (Apparently the other team was made up of Blake and Adam—two names Harry was going to have to fight hard to remember after tonight). A quick rundown of the rules was shared, including house rules Harry figured were unique to how this set of friends played, before he was forced to speak up.

"I—uh—Actually, 'm driving tonight, so I don't think I can drink. Sorry," Harry piped up, dropping his eyes from Andy's. Maybe he shouldn't have accepted the invitation.

"Oh, yeah," Andy sounded, adjusted the skewed cups in front of him, "You're taking your girlfriend out tonight. No worries, man, I'll just drink for both of us, I don't care."

"Yeah?" Harry brightened, not expecting to be allowed to continue playing a drinking game when he wasn't even going to be drinking.

"Yeah, no problem. I'm crashing here tonight, anyway, so I'll be fine."

Harry opened his mouth to thank his new friend, when he was cut off by another on the other side of the table. Adam, with a pong ball in his hand, looked to Harry with a pinch in his brows. "Who's your girlfriend?"

Reflexively, Harry scanned his gaze over the room until he found (Y/N). He shared her name with the table, a soft smile tucking into his lips.

"That's right!" Blake said, taking a beat to throw the first ball and miss the cup on Harry's side, "We saw you guys in the kitchen on Halloween. Good for you."

He couldn't help the flush that drew its way up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears at Blake's declaration. He very vividly remembered being in that kitchen with (Y/N), too.

"That was us," Harry murmured, bringing his hand up to knuckle at his nose in hopes of concealing the growing smile on his lips.

"Don't let them distract you, Harry," Andy commanded from his side, "You've got to teach me how to do the velocity or whatever on the ball so we win."

Another one of (Y/N)'s laughs made it wards through the room and directly to him.

Parties weren't so bad.

—————

eeeeeek I hope everyone likes! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if there's any ideas or requests or anything that you have please send them in!

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alwayslovingharry · 1 month

Text

always

summary - you and harry finally say those three words

pairing - actress!reader x harry

word count - ~1.5k

💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗

It was the Oscar’s after party at Vanity Fair and you were a little tipsy.

A happy drunk, some may say.

Just tipsy enough to be able to giggle at everything, but to also still have your entire wits about you. Your boyfriend on your arm was exactly the same. It was lucky neither of you were the designated driver.

“It was nice seeing you!” You politely waved off two people you would not mind never seeing again.

After they were gone, Harry clearly had the same opinion as you.

“Knobheads.” He muttered close to your ear, so no one with a camera could even pick up what he was saying.

“That’s Hollywood, my love.”

“Yeah, but they could have been slightly more discreet about only liking your recent film because you were topless for a small scene.” He huffed.

You looked up at him, filtering out every other star-studded celebrity in the room.

“They were two white old men, what did you expect?”

“Some respect.”

“At least I’ll always have you for that.” You cupped his cheek and his frown melted away. The soft touch of your skin against his was enough to coax back the smile that had been missing on his face.

Harry continued to look at you as you looked at him.

You couldn’t help but give off a blush and a nervous smile as you watched his gaze upon yours. “What?”

“Nothing,” He tried to bite back a ridiculous grin, “Just like that word.”

“What word?” You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Always.”

You thought back to what you’d just said and you ducked your head to hide the nervous smile widen, docking your forehead onto his chest.

You felt Harry’s chest rise and fall with a chuckle and you wrapped your arms around him to conceal all that happiness between just you two.

It was moments like this when you wanted to lean up and whisper those three words. The three words that apparently change everything. You’d never spoken them to anyone, like this, before so it was difficult to know how to even say them.

You were certain of one thing though. Even though you’d only been together for less than half a year, you’d never felt like this for anyone before. And sometimes you felt like Harry was the same.

You were certain that you loved Harry.

It was only a matter of how to tell him.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

An hour later and you found yourself at the front of the photo booth queue.

Harry had been doing his rounds, saying hello to friendly faces such as Billie and Florence.

You had done your rounds, as well as take non-negotiable photos with your cast mates for one final hurrah.

Even though your movie hadn’t swept at the Oscar’s this year, you were just happy to have been a part of it. Creating movies and bringing stories to life is more than you could ever have dreamed of. Plus, you always had Harry’s hand to hold through it all now - which made it easier.

Harry was in fact holding your hand now.

As Barry and Sabrina walked out of the booth, lipstick smudged all over Barry’s smirking lips, Harry squeezed your hand to signal you were next.

Harry held back the curtain for you, but you waited for him to sit down first.

There was a bench that could fit at least four people on it, but you and Harry had pre-discussed what your photos would be (whilst waiting in the queue) and you’d both agreed that you sitting on his lap was the only way.

The “only way” being Harry’s words…

Not that you minded.

“Only photobooth where you don’t have to pay.” You commented, as you situated yourself sideaways on Harry’s lap.

Your arms slunk across his shoulders for support and his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

You moved slightly to get more comfortable on Harry’s thighs.

“Stop wriggling.” He grunted, making you instantly stop.

“Wh… Oh… Oh, Babe! You’re so….” You laughed at him.

“Hey, you’re not the one who has to go back out there with an obvious issue.”

“Doesn’t have to be an issue…” You attempted your best seductive whisper, but ended up bursting out giggling at the end.

“I hate you.”

You shut up, but his words had you thinking about the hidden meaning. He clearly didn’t hate you, that much was quite visibly obvious, so did he technically mean the opposite? Did he actually mean he lo–

“Y/N/N?” Your nickname being spoken brought you away from your thoughts, “You ready?”

You cleared your throat and approved.

The camera counted down…

The first photo would be of you and Harry simply smiling at the camera, faces leaning against each other.

3. 2. 1.

*snap*

You quickly moved yourselves for the next photo.

The second photo was of Harry kissing your cheek, whilst you made whatever face you wanted to. You decided to scrunch your eyes and smile like an idiot - because that’s how it felt to be in love.

3. 2. 1.

*snap*

In love.

That’s what you were.

You were insanely in love with Harry and he deserved to know. You deserved to share this love.

“Love?” Harry quickly reminded you off the next photo quickly approaching.

It was meant to be of you now kissing Harry’s cheek and him doing whatever he wanted, but now you wanted to do something else.

You cupped the far side of his cheek gently and leant your lips against his ear.

“Y/N?”

“I love you.”

*snap*

Harry quickly turned his head towards you, nearly knocking your nose off in the process.

“What?” He had tiny pools of water collecting in his eyes.

“I love you.” You smiled warmly, softly rubbing over his cheek.

“Fuck.” He smiled, letting a tear fall.

“I love you, too.” He said.

“So much.” He cupped your cheek.

And he kissed you with so much force.

*snap*

You almost fell back with how much he pushed into you, but that’s what kissing him felt like anyway - free falling.

Saying three words had never felt so explosive.

It was like a confetti cannon had been set off and the confetti was all your love for each other being scattered around the photo booth. You felt full and happy, and you could tell by Harry’s kiss that he felt exactly the same.

You pulled back, licking your lips and trying your best not to cry in case it ruined your makeup.

Harry didn’t care, he let some tears fall.

You brushed them away carefully with your thumbs.

“Those better be happy tears and not tears of instant regret.” You joked.

“Happy falls a bit flat of describing how I feel right now, love.”

You giggled and pushed yourself back onto his lips, kissing him to let those three words sink in more.

He moved back, needing to take you in, in this moment, before giving you a few smaller kisses.

“We should go.” You whispered.

“No.” Harry pouted.

“H, this is a photo booth not a kissing booth.”

He laughed, “Okay.”

You both got up to leave, pushing the curtain away and taking the little strip of photos from the deposit on the side of the booth.

Two had printed.

You both laughed at the one where you’d spoken those little words, because Harry’s facial expressions were so funny. He looked a mixture of shocked and happy all at once.

Harry tucked the photo strip into the inside pocket on his suit jacket, whilst you kept a tight grip on yours.

You held onto Harry’s hand and hugged onto his arm.

“That was a better moment than any Oscar award.” You honestly spoke.

Harry leant down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you.” He looked genuinely excited to be able to say that to you. “And I’m proud of you.”

“I know.”

“Oi, don’t you Star wars me!” He mocked. “Say it, or else.”

“I looooovvee you.” You teased out the word. Harry shook his head at you for being so annoying, but also he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Those three words belonged to him now as they belonged to you. And always will.

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alwayslovingharry · 2 months

Text

MAD MAN

A/N: he looked like a snack, his ce vibes were too strong to hold them back

base of the idea was by @harrysblackcoat

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SUMMARY: You came to the game to forget about the massive fight you had with Harry a few days ago, but your alone time is soon interrupted by the man you've been trying to avoid.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You weren’t planning to come today. Well, you were, until about four days ago, but then the whole ordeal happened with Harry and suddenly you didn’t want to do anything else than stay at home, cry or either sleep until you forget about the shit you both said.

It was nasty. You don’t even remember how it started, maybe it was because he got home too late, or was it because you couldn’t choose a restaurant again and it always drives him crazy.

You have no idea what started it, you only remember how bad it got. Screaming, shouting, saying the worst things you ever did and probably neither of you meant. But you said them and you can’t take them back.

Maybe packing your stuff and leaving wasn’t your best idea, but you needed time and space. Harry has been blowing your phone up ever since, but you feel like you need just a little bit more time away from him to think about… well, the two of you.

You’ve had the ticket for months and you didn’t have the heart to miss out on the game just because of what happened. So you pulled yourself out of your depression cave, aka your old apartment you still haven’t sold since moving in with Harry and came to the game. Now you’re sitting in your usual seat, waiting for it to start while trying your best to keep him out of your thoughts at least until the end.

Looking across the stadium you see the VIP section and immediately, you fail at not thinking about him, because you think of how he is the kind of man that would be standing there, sipping on something fancy and expensive.

Groaning you turn your attention to your drink, playing with the straw, but then you remember the time you explained to Harry why this is your favorite seat in the stadium.

“Okay, enlighten me, baby,” he smirked at you, pulling you to his lap after pushing himself away from his desk.

“It’s close to the exit, I can leave before the crowd gets moving, the toilet is 20 seconds away and the line is always short, because the one by the F stairs is more popular. And…” You peaked at him, checking if he was still listening and there he was, giving you his undivided attention with a cheesy smirk on his handsome face. “And the drinks are better in the buffet that’s behind.”

“Better?” he chuckled. “Baby, they are the same.”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “It’s less… watery.”

“Mm, if you say so,” he smirked and then kissed you, making you forget about what you were talking about just a moment ago.

You need to blink your tears away. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be crying during this game, that you wouldn’t think about how much you miss him and how even despite the fight you love him more than anyone.

You dig into your bag for a tissue, right when someone tries to squeeze past you to their seat. The tall man inches into the row, his long coat brushing your knees while you’re still elbow deep in your bag and you faintly register that he sits beside you.

“Here,” he deep voice speaks up beside you and you know who it is even before his hand moves into your view, holding out a tissue.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, taking the tissue without looking at him.

“Why do people come to football matches?” he asks back and you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “I’m here because you wouldn’t answer the phone.”

“That might mean that I don’t want to talk to you,” you casually reply, staring ahead of you.

Harry exhales sharply beside you and his knee presses against yours, making you gasp.

“Y/N, I hope you didn’t think I would just let you slip out of my hands like that, right? We need to talk.”

“And you thought a football game would be the best place for that?”

“This seems to be the only way to get you to talk to me, so yeah.”

“How did you even know I would be sitting here?”

“Because you told me this is your favorite seat.”

“I did not. I just told you I have one, I never told you it’s this one.”

You sit in silence for a bit, trying to figure out if maybe you did tell him the exact seat, but you get to the same point: you didn’t.

“I never told you, so how did you know?” you ask and finally look at him. His beauty strikes you, as always, the chiseled jawline, the slope of his nose, the curly lashes, he still takes your breath away.

He runs his tongue across his lips and then looks at you.

“The drink,” he then finally says.

“What?”

“The drink. It really is better here.” You watch him and he continues. “I tried… I tried them all in the stadium and it really is less watery.”

He tried them all. He went around the stadium and tried them all to figure out where you’re sitting.

“Now that you’re listening to me, can we talk?” he then asks with a soft smile. “Or it could be just me speaking, but I really want to tell you what I’ve been thinking about the past few days.”

“Okay,” you breathe out. “Talk then.”

His gaze lingers on your face, as if he is taking in every tiny detail before speaking up again.

“I fucked up, Y/N. I said all those terrible things in the heat of the moment and I regretted them right away. I didn’t mean any of them.”

“Not even when you said that all I do is get on your nerves?” you find yourself asking.

“You do get on my nerves, Y/N,” he says and you’re just about to open your mouth, but he is quick to continue. “You make me go crazy in the best way possible. With your silly dancing in the kitchen, the way you sing every song with the wrong lyrics and swear your version is the right. When you get mad at me for using words you don’t know the meaning of, or when you put me in my place when I’m being a total ass… you make me go crazy… for you.”

Your eyes are tearing up again and when his hand moves to your knee you lean closer to him, wanting more of his touch instantly.

“I love you, Y/N. I never thought I could love someone this much, but you just always prove me wrong,” he chuckles softly and your hand finds his on your leg, your fingers locking together. “Please come back. I’m nothing without you. Come back and get on my nerves every day because I want to be a mad man, but only if it’s you who makes me crazy.”

Now you’re fighting the urge to cry like a baby. You love this man and you can’t imagine a day when you won’t.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper, tears rolling down your cheeks. He reaches up and wipes them with his thumb. “I didn’t mean it when I said you must be fucking all your assistants at work.”

“That hurt,” he smiles bitterly.

“I just… I still wonder why you chose me,” you admit with a shrug.

“Because you’re the one for me,” he simply answers, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. You take a deep breath and exhale it shakily before leaning in and kissing him. The game starts right when your lips meet, but all the screaming and clapping tunes out as you’re back in the arms of the man you love.

“Do you want to move to the VIP section?” you ask.

“Nope,” he smirks down at you. “This really is the best seat.”

“See? I told you!” chuckling, you just pull him in for another kiss before making yourself comfortable with his arm around your shoulders.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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alwayslovingharry · 3 months

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new year's wish - blurb

a/n: happy happy new year loves ! wrote this little blurb about one of my favorite tropes and i hope you like it, let me know your thoughts <3

gif by @harryisart

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2011

It was a tradition between your friend group at this point.

For the last two years, you've been celebrating New Year's Eve at Jonny's place, all of you getting together to celebrate and reminisce about your memories together.

You loved your friends to pieces, your group wasn't exactly huge, but you've made a bond so special over the years that no one could easily break.

However, you surely had a different and deeper connection with your best friend, Harry.

You met Harry the first day of middle school, and ever since your first interaction you've been inseparable. As time passed and you got closer to Harry, you began noticing some changes in how you felt. His laughter made you feel happier, his support meant a lot more, and being around him felt different—like something special. Sometimes, you found yourself admiring him in a way that went beyond just being friends. You started to realize that your feelings for Harry were growing into something deeper than friendship, something you hadn't felt before. It was like a secret you kept in your heart, waiting for the right time to figure out what it meant and terrified that making a move would ruin your friendship.

"Hey! I was looking for you." Harry's voice interrupted your train of thought, making you move from the fireplace you've been standing for the last few minutes.

"I got cold outside, wanted to catch some warmth." you said, looking at your curly haired best friend.

"The countdown is about to begin," he let you know, "Let's go with the rest."

You followed him to where your friends were hanging out, sitting next to him.

"What's on your mind? You're really quiet."

You took a moment before replying, "Just thinking about how everything's going to be different next year, we're barely going to see you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, a frown appearing on his face.

"You know, the band is taking off and you're going to be so busy," a confused look took over his face, "Don't get me wrong, I'm so proud of you, we all are. I'm just going to miss all of us here together, at Jonny's place."

"Come on, none of that," he said as he noticed a pout making its way to your face, throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you to his side, "I'm always going to be around, you won't get rid of me that easily," you laughed at this, "Next year we're all going to be right here together and nothing's going to change."

And as the clock counted down the seconds till midnight you wished for one thing: I wish he doesn't forget about me

2013

"Hey, stranger."

"Hello to you too, miss"

Harry's voice echoed through the speakers of your car, making you laugh as you drove the streets of Holmes Chapel, heading to your favorite wine shop.

"Are you coming to Jonny's place for New Years or are you going to spend it with your famous friends." You joked, and even though you couldn't see him you knew he was rolling his eyes.

"Of course I am, that's every year," you smiled at his words, "Besides, I need to see you so I can tell you all about this girl I'm seeing," and just like that your smile quickly faded, and you were glad he couldn't see you because you could swear your face dropped along with your heart, "I'm super thrilled, we hit it off right away and I honestly can't wait for you to meet her."

You weren't sure how many seconds passed in silence from you,but soon enough you heard Harry's voice asking if you were still on the line.

"Yeah, just got distracted by the traffic," you lied, "I can't wait to hear all about it, I'm glad you're happy."

New Year's was days away but you already had your wish in mind: I wish to be the girl for him someday

2015

There was just one thing in your mind as you sat on the bar stool with a drink in your hand: this year sucked.

That year, Harry had a super busy time with lots of success. He kept in touch, but it wasn't like before, your talks became shorter, and you didn't hang out much. You understood he was busy, but it felt different, you missed him and the fact he didn't show up for New Year's hit hard

On top of that, the headline "Spotted: Kendall Jenner and Harry Styles Getting Handsy on a Yacht" was the first thing you read in the morning, and it hurt.

You weren't even celebrating at Jonny's place, which made the night even more depressing for you, your friends insisted on trying something different and celebrate at a rooftop bar instead.

Maybe you held on to nostalgia too much, but you missed the old days when everything was simpler and you had Harry next to you.

"Hey! Countdown is about to begin, what are you doing on your own?" Ellis, one of your closest friends, called for you making you hop off the stool and join them.

"Everyone has their wishes for the new year?" Jonny asked the group, and you knew exactly what was the only thing you were going to wish for: I wish things would to go back to how they were

2019

"Look who finally showed up!"

Jonny's voice made everyone turn their heads towards the door, where a cuddly looking Harry stood with a bottle of wine.

"Hello to you too, mate." Harry said, making his way toward his best friend and giving him a hug.

After letting go of Jonny, he locked eyes with you and wasted no time to pull you close and wrap you around his arms.

"I missed you," he mumbled against the crown of you head, where he placed a small kiss, "I'm sorry I haven't texted, you know how chaotic album releases are."

You smiled with a tingle of sadness, Harry had just released his second album 'Fine Line', one that he described as having sex and feeling sad and that mainly talked about his most recent breakup.

A breakup that you helped him get through even though your own heart was being obliquely broken by him once again. But at the end at the day, he was still your best friend and there was nothing in this world you wouldn't do for him.

"It's okay, you're here now." You let go of him and squeezed his arm one final time before joining the rest of your friends in cheerful conversation.

Like every year, the night flew by and before you knew it you were a few minutes away from midnight, so you took that as a cue to look for Harry who had been absent from the room due to his phone ringing.

"H? Are you done with your phone call?" you asked, getting close to him, "Is everything okay?"

"It was Camille," he said, turning to look at you and showing you a small smile, one that gave away his contentment about it, "She said she wants to talk in person, to work things out."

"Oh that's, that's good I guess." You tried your best to give him a fake smile.

"It's more than good, this is great!" his smile widened as he moved from his place and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to give you to where your friends were calling for both of you, "Never thought this year would end like this."

His words echoed in your head as you stood with your friends who counted down the seconds until midnight, and a single wish came to your mind: I wish loving him didn't hurt so much

2023

The familiar setting at Jonny's place made you feel comfortable and at ease, no matter how busy your lives had been that year, your friends would always show up to celebrate the new year together and that was something you deeply cherished

This year had been extra special, with every aspect of your life blossoming, but there was a certain thing that made 2023 a great year: your relationship with Harry.

You two had become even closer that you were before, you had always been best friends who shared everything but things felt different now.

Maybe it was the way you exchanged looks that lasted a bit too long, the accidental touches that sent shivers down your spine, or the things you both didn't say but felt.

You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Harry finally felt something more too. But your intrusive thoughts, the fear of ruining your friendship and the amount of times you've been heartbroken over the years kept pushing these thoughts away every time they popped up.

"Praying to the God's above that Harry finally kisses you at midnight?" Ellis' voice almost made you jump on your spot on the couch, she plopped next to you with a beer on her hand and a cocky smile.

"Ellis! What are you on about!" you complained, making her roll her eyes.

"Come on! We all know that's what you wish for every birthday, and we've noticed that he can’t keep his hands off you tonight, walking in hand in hand and all."

It was your turn to roll your eyes, but you could feel your stomach twist at her words.

After a few more drinks and not so subtle teasing from your friends about you and Harry, you slipped away for a bit, needing a break from the noise. Soon enough Harry spotted you by the window, looking up at the stars.

"Hey," Harry said standing next to you, you smiled as you felt his arm wrap around your waist, "The countdown is about to begin."

"Let's go join them then." You moved from the window and tried to head towards the living room, but Harry's hand grabbing yours made you stop on your tracks.

"Actually," he avoided your eyes, focusing on the scenery outside for a moment, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, I don't even know if this is the ideal time but-"

"Hey," you cut him off, finding his eyes and giving him a tender smile, "It's okay, you know you can tell me anything."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about this year and everything that changed, especially between us," he began, his voice soft yet determined, and your face full of confusion and anticipation.

"These past years have been a whirlwind," Harry continued, "But in all the chaos and changes, there's been one constant, You. And I've been blind to not recognize what that means."

Your breath caught in your throat and you could swear you felt your palms drench in sweat.

"I've wasted too much time not acknowledging it, not admitting it to myself and hurting you in the process," Harry spoke again, his voice laced with a tingle of sadness. "I cherish our friendship deeply, but I've come to understand that what I feel for you goes beyond just friendship. It's something deeper, something I've been too oblivious to see clearly for my own selfish reasons."

His words hung in the air, you could hardly believe what you were hearing, the words you'd secretly longed for so many years, spoken by the person who meant the world to you.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you, I've loved you for longer than I realized, and I don't want another year passing without telling you."

Tears welled up in your eyes and without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. It felt like the weight of the years of unspoken emotions was finally lifted, and in that moment, everything felt right.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice filled with a all kinds of emotions. "I've always loved you, Harry."

From afar, you could hear the cheers and celebrations of a New Year, the clock had reached midnight and your friends already made their wishes.

And as you finally kissed the man you loved after he confessed that he loved you too, there was nothing else you'd rather wish for.

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alwayslovingharry · 4 months

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Champagne Problems, Part Two

IT"S FINISHED! whew, that only took forever. part of the reason this took so long to write is that i was obsessing over if it would be as good as part 1, so hopefully y'all like it (but please be nice if you don't). final word count is about 22-23k words...so buckle in, grab a snack, and enjoy!

Part One

*.*

Japan

Harry walked alone through the busy streets of Tokyo, his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. There was a cadence to his steps as he kept time with the song that played on a loop in his head. It wasn't one that anyone here but him would know. Well, him and one other person, but she was a world away.

Rounding the corner, Harry turned into the cafe he'd been frequenting since he'd arrived. He nodded to the shopkeeper before heading over to the counter, pulling an old, weathered vinyl from his bag.

"This is the one I was talking to you about," he said by way of greeting. "It truly is a phenomenal record."

Harry handed over the record, hesitating a little before letting go of it. He'd been listening to it nonstop since he'd left Los Angeles, and parting with it was more difficult than he originally thought it would be. When he first came to the cafe, he'd looked for it within the crammed shelves huddled in the corner. The shopkeeper had never even heard of it, and Harry could only imagine what Y/n would say if she knew. She'd been the one to introduce him to it, the memory of that conversation in her apartment seared into his brain.

"Wings?" Harry had asked, not quite suspiciously, but the glare Y/n sent over his shoulder made it seem like he'd already written it off. Her glare is so cute, he remembered thinking, admiring the adorable furrow of her brow as she rooted through a collection of vinyls that was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen.

"It'll change your life," she'd promised, before sliding the record out of its sleeve and putting it on the turntable. Her record player was littered with stickers, some too faded or covered by others to see them properly.

She'd grinned as the opening chords to the first track played, settling next to Harry as she picked up her wine glass, her lips puckering around it to take a sip. She hadn't noticed him staring until about a minute later, when her eyes met his. Her brows had furrowed once more, but this time it was more confused. She'd nudged Harry's leg with her foot, which was covered in a purple patterned fuzzy sock.

"It's your turn, isn't it?" she'd asked, eyes darting to the Scrabble board on the coffee table.

Harry remembered taking the wine glass from Y/n's hands and setting it on the table next to the board. He remembered taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He remembered her squeak of surprise but that she didn't pull away.

Their very first kiss.

The memory of her delicate hands sliding into his hair, of her crawling into his lap, the little noise she made as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip—it was all-consuming as Harry sat down at his usual table at the cafe a million miles from Y/n and Los Angeles.

"It'll changed your life," she'd promised him. Little did he know, she already had.

*.*

A week after Harry left, you received a text from your ex, a total surprise seeing as you hadn't spoken to him since you'd broken up.

Gavin: I heard about what happened with you and my sister. Can we meet somewhere and talk?

That message sat in your inbox without a response for hours as you tried to work up the courage to say yes. You knew you needed to, you knew you would feel better after the fact, that both of you deserved closure after the colossal end to your relationship, but every time your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you chickened out.

Until finally, you wrote, Okay.

Seeing Gavin again was a trip. He looked the same, yet so different at the same time. He had facial hair for one thing, and his hair was a couple inches longer than it had been when you were together. Deep down, you assumed a public shaming on his part, you feared he would just berate you for all the ways you'd hurt him and that he hated you for breaking his heart and humiliating him.

But that had never been who Gavin was. Your ex was kind and honorable, he tipped generously on dinner dates and warmed up socks for you in the dryer because he knew how cold you got after a long day at work. He was the definition of a sweetheart, and assuming the worst about him was just the fear and insecurity talking.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Gavin," you said, trying to hold all the excess of emotion brimming to the surface as you walked beside him. You'd agreed on a walk through the park as opposed to sitting down somewhere, both of you perhaps too nervous to sit still.

Gavin merely nodded, which was more than you could've asked for given the circumstances. "Thank you. So much time has passed, but...it feels nice to hear."

It was a while before either of you said anything. Los Angeles wasn't a frozen tundra by any means, but it was quite brisk by the ocean, and you crossed your arms across your chest to retain a bit of heat.

Then, Gavin said, "I...I just need to know why. Did I do something? I thought things were good between us. I mean I wanted to—"

Maybe it was the cold, but his cheeks were rosy as his voice tapered off. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gav," you said, wanting to take his hand but refraining. It didn't feel like something you could do anymore. Even if two years had come and gone, you couldn't make yourself cross that line. It didn't feel right.

You didn't know how to sugarcoat your words, but you hoped time would soften the blow. "I just...I realized that you were in love with me and I—I just wasn't. I wanted to be, I wanted to be in love with you, but—And then I panicked. I overheard your mom and sister talking about you wanting to propose, and I just couldn't lead you on. I couldn't let you do that knowing you deserved better than what I could give you.

"But it killed me, Gavin," you said, tearing up just thinking about it. "Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done, and I've—I've hated myself for putting you through that, and I couldn't face you after, which was unfair of me."

"I just wanted an explanation," Gavin said quietly, his head bent so you couldn't see his face. "All I ever wanted was to understand. I think that hurt more than you breaking up with me, that you couldn't offer me that decency."

You nodded with a sniffle, keeping your eye on the slate blue of the ocean and the clouds covering your favorite shade of sky blue. "It was selfish of me to ignore you, I know that. I just...couldn't. I was scared that you would convince me to come back when that wasn't really what I wanted, and with your family and friends constantly messaging me, I just thought staying away was for the best."

"Y/n, what—what messages? What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Gavin's family would never do or say anything to him that would make them look bad in his eyes. But so much time had passed that you thought it would've slipped. He'd heard about the coffee house incident, after all.

With shaking hands, you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. After scrolling through your messages, you passed it to Gavin, letting him look for himself. He was quiet as he looked over the messages from his sister. There were others, but Larissa's were the most vicious. A more mentally sound person would've deleted them ages ago, but you liked to punish yourself when you were feeling particularly low.

"I don't hold any of this against you," you said. "I know you're not your family, but I just...I don't know."

"I wish I'd known about all this before," Gavin mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry for them."

"Thank you."

You didn't know what to say after that, you weren't even sure you wanted to dwell on the past anymore. It had gone by so quickly in your eyes, but two years suddenly felt like ten. You felt older, more jaded as you walked next to the man you were almost engaged to.

"Are you happy?" you asked suddenly, stopping at a bench and sitting down.

Gavin sat down next to you. He handed your phone back before sighing. "I am. I wasn't for a while, but I am. You?"

You nodded. "Learning to be. I think I was...in a rough place before I started seeing you, and now I think I'm finally on the other side of it."

Gavin's grin was familiar. It felt good to see it, but it didn't give you the butterflies that it used to. Maybe just a little relief. You smiled back, nudging him with your shoulder. "You seeing anyone?"

The blush on Gavin's cheeks told you everything you needed to know, and knowing he moved on settled something in you. "Yeah. We've been together about a year now."

Sometimes you daydreamed about who Gavin would be with when he eventually moved on. Someone perky, but not in an obnoxious way. Maybe she liked to paint and drew pictures of his profile while they had picnics together, because picnics were the kind of dates they would go on. They would hold hands in the popcorn bowl at the movies and wear matching sweaters on Christmas. The girl who would truly steal Gavin's heart would be just as sweet and generous as he was and would make his lunches for work and wipe his mouth at dinner with a smile and love him with her entire being because he deserved it.

"That's wonderful, Gav," you said earnestly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed, hoping he knew you were telling the truth. The only thing you hoped was that he kept her far, far away from his family.

"Are you? Seeing anyone?"

A simple question, and yet you didn't know how to offer a simple answer. Eventually, you shook your head. "Uh...no."

"Brothers scaring the line of willing suitors?" he joked, knowing full well how your brothers could be.

Laughing, you shook your head. "No, nothing like that, I just—It's complicated, I guess."

You couldn't quite believe that you were having this conversation today, especially with Gavin. But talking to him had always come easy, it was one of the things you liked best about being with him.

"If you can believe it," you added, a little humor in your voice. "I was the one who was ready to take things further."

For a moment, you worried you'd taken things too far, but his brows just raised amusingly. "No shit. Really?"

"He wasn't ready. Just my luck. I finally get my shit together and he takes off to another continent."

You didn't resent Harry for leaving. He'd done what was best for him, but that didn't mean the timing didn't suck. You finally felt comfortable and confident enough to be open with someone, and they fled the country.

Okay, so Harry didn't flee the country, but you felt the blow to your ego no matter how rational you were about the situation.

"He'll come around," Gavin promised, which took you by surprise. "You're probably not aware, but you're very easy to fall in love with, Y/n."

Your cheeks flushed, feeling Gavin's words right down to your toes. It didn't feel romantic in any sort of way, but there was some reassurance. Gavin knew you well, and he had been a good friend.

And yet, the only thing you could think as you continued to catch up with your ex was, Then why is it so hard for me to fall in love?

*.*

Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd started to keep a list in his head, a mental tally of all the little things he learned about Y/n and that made her who she was.

The list had started with small trivial things like her coffee order and that she seemed to be particularly fond of wearing bandanas in her hair or that she always carried the same canvas tote on her shoulder, one that read, "You're Doing Great," in squiggly blue writing. From there, the list grew, and he suddenly began to collect bits of information from Y/n like valuable trading cards—what it was like growing up with three older brothers, how long she stayed in Nashville before moving out to Los Angeles, and what the perfect record was for when she was feeling sad. Harry wanted to know everything, every little piece she was willing to give him until he understood even the smallest gesture.

"Why don't you perform your songs?"

It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind for weeks now. Harry had heard Y/n sing on multiple occasions as they wrote together, and he couldn't help but think that she was the whole package. She could sing, had the kind of voice that was soft and low, a little raspy but easy to harmonize with. She wrote incredible songs that held so much depth and emotion and she could play multiple instruments. Harry could see her selling out stadiums and connecting to people through music that she wrote and performed. Yet she didn't.

"I never really had the desire to," Y/n said with a shrug. They were in his backyard, sitting around a bonfire with a bottle of wine between them. It was her turn to pick, and Chris Stapelton was crooning through her phone's speaker.

"Is it like a stage fright thing?"

"No, not at all," Y/n said. "I just don't think that life was made for me, you know? I don't know if I could handle being famous."

Harry supposed he understood what she meant. He loved his life, but it wasn't always a walk in the park. But it did make him wonder if she would ever be with someone like him, someone who did lead a life that she thought she couldn't handle. For the first time since he'd met her, Harry decided he didn't want to know.

"What about...singing backup or joining your favorite musician on tour once he releases the greatest album since...So?"

"I didn't peg you for a Peter Gabriel fan," she murmured, immediately recognizing the title, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the fact that she knew exactly what album he was referring to. "But, I guess so. If it was for a friend."

Harry tucked that little nugget of information away. Tour was worlds away at the moment, but it was always good to think ahead, especially when he knew he needed a keyboardist replacement.

Looking up, he admired Y/n in the glow of the bonfire, his heart beating rapidly even though she wasn't even doing anything. Ever since their first kiss a week ago, he just wanted more. His brain could hardly keep up with his heart and how badly it longed for her. And she didn't even realize the effect she had on him. She drove him crazy.

And that scared him. Harry had only recently broken up with his ex, and he didn't think it was possible to feel so strongly for someone after coming out of a pretty serious relationship with someone else. He knew he should untangle the strings, that if he let things get too far, they'd get messy, and he and Y/n would both end up hurt.

But that voice in his head that told him to be careful became a low buzz as Y/n stood up and shuffled over to him before placing herself in his lap. Her fingers came up to play with the hair that curled at the nape of Harry's neck, and he couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling, at her closeness, at the smell of her perfume that lingered on her clothes.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself and not to Harry. "And I don't have any expectations, but I'm okay with it if you are."

Yet. Y/n didn't have any expectations yet. He knew the familiar thudding of his heart, the excited flutter in his stomach as he leaned into her touch. Of course there would be expectations, but Harry found himself nodding anyway, unable to deny either of them the pleasure of her lips sliding lightly against his. Y/n had never initiated anything between them before, and her tentative kiss told Harry she was unsure of herself. At first glance, she came off as unsure when it came to most things, but Harry learned that she held within herself a quiet confidence that he admired.

Harry stood up with her in his arms as he led them back inside. He didn't know where this would lead, tonight or any night to follow. He didn't know if Y/n was ready to sleep with him, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was either. But he wanted her close and to feel those gentle hands a little firmer in his hair. That was all he knew, and he let himself not think about anything else.

The tangles of his feelings were positively knotted, and despite his long list of things he knew about Y/n, he still didn't know where her heart truly lay. But if she was willing to walk through the fire blind, then so was he.

*.*

Two weeks into Harry being gone, and you were starting to wonder when you'd become so pathetic.

In the time since Harry left for Japan, you hadn't written a single song, not even a lyric. It was ludicrous. You'd written by yourself your entire career, but after a couple months spent with a writing partner, you were rendered insipirationless.

Not to mention semi-friendless.

It wasn't that Harry's friends didn't want to hang out, you just weren't sure you could. Outside of Sylvia, you didn't hang out with Harry's team without him, and it just felt weird to start doing so now. You didn't shy away from them when you saw them in the hallways of the building you all worked in, but you never knew what to say past a casual greeting.

Funnily enough, though, you'd said everything you needed to say to Gavin. Meeting up with him eased a heaviness in your chest you'd been carrying around with you for the last two years. You both were able to get the closure that you'd been denying yourselves, and it felt good to get everything out in the open, to receive Gavin's forgiveness after punishing yourself for such a long time.

Seeing Gavin and talking to him left you feeling lighter, but it also left you a little hollow to. With no rain cloud hanging over your head anymore, you didn't know what to do with yourself. The concept of happiness was something you'd never thought you would get, and now that it was within reach you were hesitant.

"Maybe we need a sabbatical, pookie," you said to your dog, kissing his nose. "What do you think?"

Buddy Holly didn't have a response for you, he just tilted his head at the sound of your voice. Sighing, you scratched his head and pressed play on the movie you'd previously been watching before your dog unceremoniously climbed into your lap.

Now that Harry was gone on his journey of self-discovery, you'd gone back to spending your nights alone. In theory, it should've been easy. Before Harry, being alone was second nature, but your first night alone you were at a loss. You kept wanting to reach for your phone and call him, send him a text about the record you were listening to or the ridiculous thing Buddy had done that day. You didn't realize of much Harry had engrained himself into your life, and now he was half a world away.

Reaching out wasn't an option, either, no matter how much you wanted to. He didn't tell you much for his reasons for leaving, a "writing retreat," he claimed, but you knew it was more than that. There was shit he needed to figure out, shit regarding his past relationship, so you felt the ball was in his court.

The next day, you were on the elevator going up to work, arguing with your brother on the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Hayden," you insisted, rubbing a tired hand over your face.

"No, there definitely is. Evan, Andrew, and I all agree," Hayden said. "Something's definitely wrong with you. And when something's wrong with you, it's usually one of three things. Menstruation, a guy, or one of us, and seeing as we haven't done anything, and your period doesn't—"

"Oh my God, Hayden!" you groaned as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not...menstruating. Jesus! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Hayden kept jabbering in your ear, but you weren't listening anymore because the elevator doors had opened to reveal someone on the other side. Mitch, Harry's friend was standing there, eyes wide as he looked at you, clearly having heard your side of the conversation with your brother.

God, could this day get any worse? you thought. Shutting your eyes, you wondered if you stood there long enough with your eyes closed, the elevator doors would close and take you straight to hell or you would maybe just disappear on the spot. Either would be appreciated.

"Hayden, I have to call you back."

"You're still coming to my game this weekend right?" he asked.

"Wearing the other team's jersey," you muttered, hanging up as your brother began to protest.

Since the elevator doors stayed open and you didn't spontaneously combust, you opened your eyes. "Hey."

Mitch nodded. "Hey, Y/n."

The air was so incredibly awkward, and you wondered why you weren't sprinting toward your studio and locking yourself in permanently. But neither of you moved, and now you felt the need to explain yourself. "I...I wish I had an explanation other than my brothers still seem to ruin my life from hundreds of miles away, but I don't."

You finally stepped out of the elevator and moved around Mitch, who stepped inside. He still had that tense smile on his face, and you wondered if the two of you would ever be able to make eye contact again. Not that you ever did all that much before this God-awful incident. Just another reason to avoid Harry's friends.

"Right. H mentioned you had brothers," he said. "See you around, Y/n."

For my own sanity, I hope not, you prayed to whoever was listening.

*.*

"Do you ever think about what you would be doing if you weren't doing...this?" Y/n asked, gesturing vaguely around her.

Harry looked down to where she was spread out on the floor, her head rested in his lap while he leaned against his sofa. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up on the floor, but he didn't dare move, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. It was shiny, and smelled faintly of apples. He wondered if it was as soft as he imagined.

Blinking, he stumbled around in his brain for an answer, clearing his head of thoughts of silky hair passing through his fingers. "Honestly? No, not really."

"You don't?"

Harry shrugged even though Y/n's eyes were closed. She did that often if there was music playing, as if she was trying to absorb every note into her body while maintaining a conversation. Right now they were listening to one of Harry's current favorites: a Joni Mitchell album he'd grown up listening to with his mum. He remembered when he used to scramble for answers in interviews when he was asked about his favorite artist or album, trying to come up with an answer that the media would want to hear without appearing fake. He'd list classic rock bands like Fleetwood Mac and wear old band t-shirts from the seventies. He didn't not like those artists, he loved them. But when Y/n asked about his favorite record in his collection, he didn't hesitate to reach for Joni Mitchell, knowing she wouldn't judge him for his answer.

"No. I was so young when I auditioned for the X-Factor," Harry explained. "I don't even think I knew what I wanted to study in school then, so it's hard to know what I would be doing now if it weren't for all...this."

And I wouldn't have met you, he thought but kept that to himself. Neither of them was ready for those kinds of words if he was being honest. Y/n was skittish about feelings at the best of times, and he didn't know where his feelings for her started, and getting over his ex ended. It gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he didn't.

Y/n sat up, and Harry resisted the urge to pull her back to him. As they hung out more and more, he had this overwhelming desire to be near her as much as possible. A hollowness would form in his chest if he didn't seek her out at the studio, leaving him blushing like an idiot every time he left his friends behind as he walked down the familiar hallway to her door. None of them ever said anything outright, but he could practically hear their teasing thoughts, but he couldn't help it. Y/n had drawn him in from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Maybe you'd be a florist," she said with a small grin.

"A florist?"

"Yeah." Y/n's grin grew, and Harry swore his heart grew with it. When he initially started spending time with her, or bugging her, more like, she hardly smiled. He thought it was such a shame. Not only because Y/n had a beautiful smile, but because she felt like she couldn't. Harry never wanted her to feel like she couldn't be happy, least of all around him. "You could have this big truck and deliver flowers to baby showers and weddings and other big occasions."

"Oh yeah? And where are you in this scenario?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear the answer.

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as she looked at him. "In the passenger seat."

*.*

The third week Harry was gone, a stranger popped into your studio. A sense of deja vu had run through you as you looked up to find someone occupying the space in your doorframe, only Harry never knocked to make his presence known. You'd always just been aware of him when he entered the room.

"Can I help you?" you asked. You were working on a song that you actually quite liked. A new angle, a different approach to songs that you wanted to see through, and interruptions weren't going to help.

"Mitch said to come find you," he said. He looked a little nervous at having disrupted your work, so you eased up on your stare. "He said you could help us?"

Us? you thought. You supposed that it wasn't too far fetched that Harry's team would make themselves busy while he was off on sabbatical, or whatever it was he'd been doing in Japan. You hadn't heard from him much, and you tried not to let that hurt your feelings too much.

Brows furrowed, you said, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I would help—"

"He said you've written for country artists before?" the guy said. "We're sort of stuck and he said to come find you, so..."

Sighing, you stood up, but not before jotting a couple notes down in your journal. Perhaps it was kismet that the song you'd been playing around with today had been country in your mind. The prospect of writing with anyone other than Harry felt odd, uncomfortable. But Harry wasn't here, and you didn't know when he would be back and you couldn't just hide in your studio because he'd left.

You didn't know what to expect as you followed the man, Daniel, he'd finally introduced, led you to a studio a couple rooms away from yours. You'd met Harry's writing and production team a number of times, but Harry wasn't a country artist, so Mitch was clearly helping out with a different project, which meant introducing yourself to a whole new group.

Mitch was waiting with one other person, a young woman who was about your age or younger. She had blond curly hair and light blue eyes, a smile on her face at something Mitch said. When you entered the room, you couldn't help but think back to last week when you'd completely embarrassed yourself in front of Mitch. You hadn't seen him since, and even though it was probably unlikely, you'd hoped you'd never have to again.

Introductions were made quickly before a chair was pulled out for you. The young woman's name was Cam, and she was working on putting out her first ever single. "And album eventually, but we're starting out small," she said with a bashful grin. "I'm such a huge fan of your work, and when Mitch said you were just down the hall, I told him he had to introduce me. I swear I love every song you've ever written."

Nodding, you gripped the soft leather binding of your journal, wondering what Mitch was angling at here. From the short amount of time you'd spent with him, he seemed rather quiet. A chill person who mostly kept to himself. You weren't sure why you were being dragged into one of his projects.

"Yeah. That's where I started my career," you said. "I'm sorry—Did you want my help with a song?"

"The whole album too, hopefully," Cam said, and you could see it in her eyes how bad she wanted this. She was ambitious, but not in a way that made you want to run back to your room and have nothing to do with this project. You eyed her scuffed boots and the worn friendship bracelets on her wrists and the hope that lined her body as she waited for you to say something.

"I usually work alone," you said. "But, I—I did happen to be writing something a little country today if you wanted to take a look."

You handed your journal over to the young woman, trying to decide if you wanted to be part of this little team. On the one hand, you thought Harry would be the only person you'd feel comfortable writing with, but...if he had a team, why couldn't you? Perhaps Harry had opened you up to the possibility of branching out and trying things you'd closed yourself off to in the past.

At the very least, you decided, you would hear her out, see how you gelled with this small group. If not for any other reason than as a small favor to an acquaintance. You didn't know Mitch all that well, but you considered him someone you knew.

And to be honest, maybe you were getting tired of staying holed up in a studio by yourself all the time.

So now you were meeting with Cam, Mitch, and Daniel regularly. That first day, you stayed at the studio late at night workshopping ideas and getting a feel for the sound and vision Cam was going for. And it was easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, picking up the guitar and playing a potential riff and letting Mitch carry it somewhere else, working out harmonies and melodies with Cam. You'd left the studio later than you ever had that night, but energy coursed through your veins as you left the building.

You'd never been a part of something at the start with the means to see it through. You usually wrote songs and sold them to whoever wanted them, and with Harry, you'd joined in songwriting when he and his team were well underway, but this...this was new, and you didn't hate it. In fact, you were looking forward to meeting the next day, and the next, and the next...

Weeks flew by as you worked on this album, and you suddenly lived off takeout boxes and snacks as you spent many a late night as you worked on song after song, eager to see this project come to life. There wasn't necessarily a deadline, but you were all just eager to keep working on what you all knew was something special. And today Mitch was going to teach you how to play the drums while Cam met with her record label for an hour. It felt like there was finally light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, one that you'd been winding through the last two years. It felt good to feel this light again, even your brothers got off your back a little, though you knew that wouldn't last very long.

"I'm on my way right now, and I'm bringing Buddy because he's being extra clingy today," you said into the phone. "He's also my reason for going home at a reasonable hour—"

Time stopped as you opened the door to your apartment. Your heart was in your throat, partly because you were startled to find someone on the other side, and then because your eyes finally registered who was on the other side.

"Y/n?"

Blinking, you quickly told Cam you had to go before hanging up the phone, slipping it in your coat pocket before letting it drop to the floor. You ran a hand over your face, wondering if you'd magically conjured him to your door, or if you were so tired you were suddenly delirious, but when you uncovered your eyes, he was still there, hands tucked in his pockets and a suitcase resting by his feet, a cat carrier on top of it.

"Harry? What—What are you doing here? When did you—"

There was no time to think or speak or breathe as Harry surged forward, his hands suddenly out of his pockets and settling deep in your hair, and kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, making it hard to think straight, making it hard to think about anything but him. His cologne flooded your senses as if you'd never smelled it before, making you sigh against his mouth and giving him ample opportunity to slide his tongue against yours as he backed you against the doorframe with a soft thud.

Your hands flew of their own accord, reaching beneath Harry's coat and gripping the shirt he wore beneath it. You needed to feel him, to know he was really here in front of you, that he wasn't going to evaporate in your hands leaving you with only the memory of his kiss. You'd had that particular dream one too many times.

Harry's hands smoothed down your sides, rucking up your shirt and setting your skin on fire when his thumbs brushed your ribcage. Your breaths stuttered until you finally had to pull back to catch it Instinctively, Harry followed, his mouth searching for yours, then your neck, but you held him in place for a moment.

"Wait," you said, breaths shallow. Harry stopped immediately, eyes roving your face in a similar way to how you were doing so. When he finally met your gaze, a small, shy smile, spread across your lips. "H—Hi."

Harry's responding grin was radiant. "Hi."

*.*

"I don't understand, when—when did you get back?"

It was safe to say you weren't going into the studio. There were about ten seconds of protesting before you finally caved, and it had nothing to do with Harry's lips on your neck or his hands sneaking beneath your shirt. "Stay," Harry had mumbled. "Please? There's so much I want to say."

So you stayed, though you hadn't really spoken much. You and Harry had ended up on your couch huddled up together under a blanket, Buddy Holly dozing at your feet. You kept waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. It was nice for a while, but you began to itch with the need for answers. You didn't want to immediately fall back into old habits the second he came back, even if laying flush against his chest was the most peaceful you felt in weeks. You were nervous to talk to him, to hear him say that after staying away for two months, he still didn't want a relationship. But even so, it would be better to know the truth and start getting over it now than to hold out hope.

"Today," Harry said. "I came straight here from the airport."

"Why? Wouldn't you want to go home? Get settled. Sweet Pea probably misses home."

Harry raised his head from where he'd been resting it in the crook of your neck. His brows raised suspiciously to where his cat was dozing on top of Buddy, as if she'd never left. "I think she's rather comfortable."

"You're awfully comfortable too," you said under your breath. Then, even though you felt so warm in his embrace, you sat up, putting some distance between yourself and Harry.

You could tell he wanted to protest, his sleepy eyes and mussed brown curls covering his forehead in a messy tangle told you that all he wanted was to fall asleep next to you. You wanted that too, but your mind kept drifting back to that last conversation, to that last exchange of words, and you let them keep that small bubble of distance between you and him.

"I need to know why you're here, H," you said, raising your knees up to your chest.

Harry could hear the seriousness in your voice, his expression sobering a little. He sat up too, facing you as he took up his place at the corner of the couch. There were only a couple inches between you, but it felt like Harry was still in Japan with how distant you felt from him now. He was home, but was he really? You didn't know how your friendship was going to evolve from here. You supposed you could be okay with just being his friend. It would sting, but you would get over it.

Eventually.

You hoped.

"I...just knew that this was where I needed to be," he said, not meeting your eye. "I came home and the only person I wanted to see was you."

His words meant more than you cared to admit. They filled you with warmth, bringing a flush to your cheeks that you prayed Harry didn't see.

"I missed you too," was all you could think of to say.

"And I—I want more," Harry said. "I was halfway across the world, and I was writing and walking around the city, and all I wanted was to share those moments with you and write with you and wake up next to you. I just...I want you in my life, Y/n."

"As your friend?" you asked, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

"However you'll have me."

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stopped yourself from launching across the couch into his arms. It was all too good to be true. Harry wasn't ready for a relationship before he left, and you'd been gracious and understood where he was coming from. And now that a few weeks had passed, he suddenly wanted to be whatever you wanted him to be. In the back of your mind, the fact that he hadn't said "boyfriend" pricked a sensitive part of your brain. It was silly and minuscule, and it shouldn't have mattered, so you tried not to let it.

Still, you were unsure. You knew Harry would never be so cruel as to feed you words for the sake of placating you, but something left you hesitating. Maybe it was that the last time you saw Harry, he told you he couldn't give you what you wanted and now he was saying he could, or maybe your heart was still protecting you from potential pain, you weren't sure. But you couldn't give in.

Almost as if he could read the jumbled thoughts running around in your head, Harry inched toward you, his expression soft and open. "I can tell you're unsure, and I don't blame you," he said, taking a chance and reaching a hand across the couch to hold yours. "Let me prove it to you."

Brows furrowed, you tilted your head to the side. "Prove it?"

"We'll go slow," Harry said as he nodded and moved closer. Close enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. "We can do that, can't we? We don't have to rush things. We can just...go on a date and see what happens, right?"

Despite the hesitation, a smile twitched at the corner of your lips. "Harry Styles...are you asking me on a date?"

Harry's responding grin was wide and sweet as honey. "Only if you're saying yes."

Eight weeks ago, you'd stepped out of your comfort zone by asking Harry for more, and watching him walk away hurt more than you ever thought it would. Your instinct was to hide, to crawl back into your shell before you could get hurt again. But you knew Harry had been hurt before too, and now he was trying. Even though they'd both had their hearts broken for different reasons and had every reason not to give into their feelings and hide, preferring to be alone.

It took you two years to..."forgive yourself" didn't seem like the right words. To be ready to put yourself into the world again, to allow yourself the possibility of hurting and being hurt in that way again. Your scars had healed over into faint white lines after two whole years. Nearly imperceptible, but still there, a subtle but constant reminder of what you stood to lose if you ruined things again. But also a reminder that you could love and lose and still heal, and maybe even love again. Harry hadn't been there when he left, and at the time you hoped he would be. And maybe part of you knew he would be, because you'd gotten there too in your own way.

The hope that kindled in your chest made you nervous, but it made you excited too.

"I—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because—"

Harry's index finger was on your lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes nearly crossed as you looked down your nose at it, and you heard his chuckle at what was most likely a silly look on your face. "I know I don't have to do anything, Y/n. I needed some time to clear my thoughts and untangle all of my feelings. I want this. I want you."

Over your time spent with Harry, you'd come to realize he had expressive eyes. While he kept a lot to himself and didn't share much unless it was through songwriting, his eyes said everything. This close to his face, you could see the honesty, the earnestness. You decided to believe him, to believe in whatever had been forming between you since the first time you'd met.

Not holding back, you did lunge for him this time, but gently, seeing as he was so close. Harry seemed surprised by your sudden movements but didn't stop you as you took his face in your hands and kissed him for all he was worth. You felt his face slowly split into a grin as his hands roved up and down your back, as if he was finally reacquainting himself with your body. Or maybe it was that this kiss was different from all the others, with different expectations and intentions and promises for more.

"What happened to slow?" he asked, teasing as you nipped at his ear.

"Tell me to stop," you said, feeling out of breath.

He didn't, you knew he wouldn't, but that only made him grin even more. "I still want to do things properly," he told you, leaning back against the couch and taking you with so that you were on top of him, your body flush against his. "I want to take you out, I want to hold your hand and pull your chair out for you at dinner."

Resting on your elbows, you lightly traced the delicate planes of his face with your finger. Harry's eyes tracked your movements while he waited for you to answer, kissing the pad of your index finger when it passed over his lips. You smiled a little, unsure of where all this giddiness was coming from but hoping it wouldn't go away.

"I want that too," you murmured before kissing the tip of his nose. "But maybe that can start tomorrow."

Harry's hand came up to cradle the side of your face, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. Everything already felt different. New and fragile and breakable. So, so breakable.

"Your heart was glass, I dropped it," you'd written way back. You had the potential to break Harry's heart. But the notion that you wouldn't was so intrinsic in that moment, you felt like the only way you would crack the glass this time was by squeezing too hard, by liking him too much.

You didn't know what you would do if Harry would drop yours.

It was a terrifying thought, one that was too dreadful for the peaceful bliss taking over your apartment. Harry was looking at you like your hair was made of stars or pure sunlight, and it warmed every inch of you down to your bones as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

"I can get behind that," he said quietly.

After that, you finally relaxed. Your head found purchase on his chest, comfortable against the soft material of his sweatshirt despite the firmness of his body beneath you. You breathed in deep, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it all out in one soft exhale. With that breath, you felt the last of your doubts flutter away—for now, at least—allowing you to believe in the promise Harry offered you.

*.*

"Come on. If you're not going to let me go to work, you're gonna help me here."

You managed to untangle yourself from Harry, who pouted at you as he remained sprawled out on your bed. Leaving him there, you went to the front door to where you'd left your guitar case when you found him on your doorstep yesterday. Slipping your well-loved guitar from the case, you walked back over to Harry, who was now sitting up on the couch. His eyes tracked your every move as you made your way back over to him. His stare felt heated, causing a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it as you settled on one end of the couch, resting the guitar in your lap.

"Looks like you already have something in mind," Harry said. He still sounded playful, but you knew he wasn't going to try and dissuade you from this. He was just as eager to write as a team as you were.

Writing without Harry while he was gone was strange. At first you thought you'd be fine, seeing as you'd preferred working in solitude most of your professional career. Yet when he left, you were unable to write. You found yourself looking for him, raising your head to ask what he thought of a melody when he wasn't there, thinking out loud as if he was still in the room to bounce ideas off of.

You'd missed him in more ways than one, that was certain. This new dynamic with Mitch had been good, fun even. You attributed your openness to teamwork to Harry, and now you were nearly finished with an album, a project you'd been part of from start to finish, something you'd never really been able to say before. You'd enjoyed going into the studio to work with Mitch, to share song ideas with Cam and see where she took them. If given the option, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

But something in you settled as you began to idly pluck at the strings of your guitar, Harry sifting through his duffle bag until he produced his leatherbound journal from it. You felt comfortable, complete, not an atom out of place as you began to sing the lyrics of a partial song you were going to work on with your team today.

"There is a town, somewhere down a country road," you sang softly. "I see it now, take it everywhere I go. The river sways, I can almost here it now. As if to say, 'You're not the only one who wants a way out.'"

"That's nice," Harry said, his thumb tapping against his knee in time with the music coming from your guitar. "Something new?"

"I've had the idea for a song about a small town for a while," you said, fingers still plucking at the guitar strings, though not with much intent while you spoke to Harry. "My hometown."

Nodding, Harry said, "You don't talk about your home much."

"Not much to say," you shrugged. "At least I thought so. Now I just keep thinking how so much has changed since I moved away. How much I've changed,"

"Good changes, I hope," he said.

You shrugged again, trying not to let the topic make you squirm. You normally didn't around Harry, but perhaps being away from him for so long had you shying away just a little. "Good and...neutral, I guess. Sometimes I feel like I've changed so much I can't even reconcile who I was then and the person I am now. Not really sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. To be determined, I suppose."

Harry processed the information quietly, letting the conversation end there. You fell into a comfortable silence as both of you played around with lyrics and melodies in your own heads. You eventually grabbed your own journal to jot notes down in, and at one point Harry took your guitar into his own lap to play around, humming quietly to himself.

His plucking of the strings slowly became something less abstract and more concrete, and it eventually became the backdrop to your thinking process. You liked the tune he played better than what you'd originally come up with, and you let it guide your pen as you jotted down words and phrases until you eventually had something that might've been a pre-chorus or a bridge. Shifting closer to Harry on the couch, you showed him what you had so far, hoping he'd be able to fill in the gaps like he normally could.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he took your journal and pen from your offering hands. For a minute, the only sound was the tapping of the pen in his hand in time with the melody he'd been playing moments ago. You watched with slow blinking eyes as he eventually began to scribble his own little notes beside yours, sometimes writing lyrics of his own and occasionally circling a word you'd written and putting a suggestion above it.

The scratching of pen on paper was an unusual lullaby, but sure enough, the warmth emanating from Harry's body and the familiarity of this moment, yet something precious and new blooming between you, was enough for your breaths to deepen, your blinks to become fewer and far between. Even after being on a plane all the way from Japan, the scent of Harry's cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used lingered on his clothes. It was so familiar, as much of a welcome home as him actually being here beside you.

Breathing in deep, you huddled closer to Harry. Feeling your movements at his side, Harry shifted so that you were leaning against him more comfortably, his body solid yet soft beneath your cheek. "I missed this," you murmured, the words clinging together as you inched closer and closer toward sleep. "I missed you."

There was no stiffening of his posture at the words, no hesitation or uncertainty as he said, "I missed you too."

*.*

"Don't leave again," Y/n said.

Harry was pretty sure she was already half asleep, was sure she wouldn't even remember this conversation when she woke up in a couple of hours. But even so, the words made him pause, the pen in his hand jerking almost imperceptibly.

Y/n hadn't brought up his departure since he'd come back yesterday. Even now, she didn't sound resentful, though that could've been the fact that she was seconds away from falling asleep, but Harry didn't think so. Yet in her current limbo between states of consciousness, she revealed something that she probably wouldn't have if she'd been fully awake.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by going," he said, and he knew he was a bastard for saying it when she was seconds from falling asleep.

A deep breath, then another, then another.

"Don't leave me again," was all she said in reply, perhaps all she could muster just before unconsciousness finally settled over her like a blanket.

Harry's heart clenched. Don't leave me again, she told him. He'd learned rather quickly that despite all that she'd been through, Y/n hid a gentle heart behind all those walls she put up. A heart that had been battered and bruised and hidden away after so much unhappiness. Harry realized early on in their semi-friendship that he never wanted to be the reason for another wall between Y/n and the rest of the world; he wanted to be someone she could entrust to protect her gentle soul, to be someone who helped her realize she was much more fierce than she knew.

Knowing he'd caused her pain by leaving dug at him, even if leaving was in some ways very necessary. Harry needed that distance, that time away to clean up the mess his ex had left in him. Nothing about his previous relationship's demise was simple, and the things he'd begun to feel for Y/n while still trying to untangle himself from his ex only complicated things. Harry knew it would be a disservice to both himself and Y/n if he jumped into something he wasn't ready for. He felt horrible that night she'd laid all her cards on the table before him. He knew that it had taken a lot to state what she wanted from him so plainly, to realize that she was still deserving of more after what she'd been through. And Harry had to offer the same honesty, even if it was something even he didn't want to hear.

But it had been the right thing. For both of them. Of that he was sure. Harry had done a lot of introspecting, had allowed himself to simply be alone in a way he hadn't been for a long time. His last relationship was perhaps the most significant, but it was one in a rather long list of failed attempts to find love. His friends often teased him for not knowing how to not be in a relationship, and after this last breakup, he realized how right they were.

Harry liked Y/n. He was fascinated by her talent as a songwriter and enamoured by the person she was outside the studio. He liked her chunky patterned sweaters and the array of rings on her fingers that changed from day to day. He liked that she wasn't perfect, that she was shy to an almost stubborn degree, that he had to work hard to piece together who she was bit by bit until a beautiful mosaic was laid out in front of him.

But he needed to know that he knew how to be alone before giving himself over to her entirely. Who was he outside of a romantic relationship? Harry honestly had no idea, and while that had never even so much as itched his brain before, it terrified him after things ended with his ex. He owed it to himself to try to stand on his own two feet, to live on his own and know that he could be content to do so. He didn't need a relationship to be happy, that was what he set out to discover.

And once he did. Once he lived and wrote songs and got coffee and ate by himself, and didn't feel like an utter disaster, he knew he'd be okay.

Harry enjoyed himself in Japan. He'd committed himself to this soul-searching endeavor and actually came out on the other side of it pleased with himself. And at the end of it all, when he knew a relationship with Y/n wasn't something he needed but something he wanted, he knew he was ready to go home. He wanted her a lot, to be fair, so much so that he often wrote about her, and talked about her to the few friends he made in Japan. But being alone didn't kill him, and he was able to see that for himself the two months he was gone.

He left his feelings for his ex in Japan, letting every last bit of baggage he'd been quietly carrying around with him slide off his shoulders, holding onto those precious little blossoms of feeling for Y/n and bringing them home, right to her doorstep.

The plan hadn't been to go straight to her apartment, but that was where he told his driver to go when he slid into the backseat of the sleek black car his manager had sent to pick him up. Harry was actually supposed to go home and rest so he could meet with his label and discuss the progress of his album, but he stayed at Y/n's place anyway. He knew these next few months as the album went into recording and production mode wouldn't leave much time to spend alone with Y/n, and he needed these fleeting moments. He needed to hear all about the new album she was helping to write and what she and Buddy Holly had gotten up to while he was gone. He needed to kiss her, to touch her, to let her fall asleep against him while they wrote a song about a small town.

"I won't, I promise," Harry murmured, even though he knew Y/n was already asleep.

It was perhaps a promise to himself. He knew Y/n would never be that vulnerable, wouldn't reveal just how much she cared for him if she'd been entirely conscious. She'd been forgiving, if not a little hesitant when he showed up on her doorstep, but she'd never resented him for leaving. At least he thought she didn't. She'd been understanding when he left, but in her sleepy state, he saw a little bit of the hurt he'd inflicted by leaving, by rejecting her desire for something more with him.

Harry knew he'd done it for the right reasons, but guilt curled in his chest at the thought of hurting Y/n. He would commit himself to not doing it again, to be someone worthy of her vulnerability. Harry was aware of how precious it was for Y/n to open herself up to him like this. He wouldn't take that gift for granted.

Shifting around a bit, Harry took Y/n into his arms and stood up. He padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where a large, four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and one stuffed animal lay on. He set her down on white sheets with little red polka dots, pulling up the covers over both of them. Y/n curled into Harry immediately, and he didn't even bother trying to shove away the warmth that spread through him.

With Y/n's cheek squished adorably against his chest, Harry rested his arm behind his head as his eyes flitted about her bedroom.

He'd been inside it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him, because for someone so convinced they were undeserving of love, they sure loved heart decorations. Retro Valentine hearts were mounted on one wall, twinkly lights dangling between them; pink and red heart-shaped candles remained unlit on her vanity, a heart-shaped guitar on a stand next to it. Everything centered around something pink or red—the sheets, the pillows, the jewelry dishes and mirrors, even the stuffed bunny under her pillow that Harry knew Y/n slept with, even if she wouldn't admit it.

It was a mystery he'd yet to solve, but he imagined that would come in time.

Soon enough, Harry's own eyes began to droop. He nestled deeper into the bed, trying not to completely drape himself over Y/n. They'd never actually spent the night in the same bed before last night. Sometimes they'd fall asleep together on the couch, but this was different. Last night, they'd collapsed into bed after staying up late talking, nearly well into the morning. There had been no tangled limbs or breaths keeping time because they slept so close together, just two people in dire need of sleep.

In some ways, Harry wondered if it was too much as they were only just beginning to explore this thing between them, but he couldn't make himself leave. He turned over so his back was to her, trying to provide a modicum of space should Y/n want it, but not even a minute later, an arm snaked around his waist, a cheek pressed against his back as one of her legs slotted between his.

It was safe to say Harry fell asleep with a small grin and a full heart.

*.*

The following weeks flew by, and you saw Harry every single moment that you could.

Now that his album was in the later stages of production, he was constantly in meetings for promotion—release dates, interviews, live performances, and concept art for the album. You stayed out of those conversations, as you had your own projects to complete and deadlines to meet. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious. You'd never been part of those conversations before, as you merely wrote your songs and sold the demos to artists or bands. Seeing an album from start to finish was intriguing, though perhaps part of the reason was the hand you played in it and how important Harry was to you.

But even with all of that going on, Harry stayed true to his word.

He made every moment count. Suddenly there were flowers on top of the grand piano when you entered your studio, and he stopped by whenever he could. Each petal, each little note attached to the bouquets, filled your stomach with butterflies. And after you were both done for the day, Harry invited you over to cook dinner and listen to records. The atmosphere was different than before Harry left, a more romantic feel in the air as you sat across from each other, the warm glow of candles the only lighting in the room.

With the public attention Harry tended to get, you both agreed to keep things quiet for now. You'd always preferred anonymity, and although you knew your relationship would eventually become public, you wanted it to stay between you and Harry and your friends and family. Hopefully in the future, when this precious thing between the two of you wasn't so new, you would feel more comfortable. Until then, it would be secret dates and romantic dinners from home, but that didn't make it feel any less special or real.

It didn't take long for your friends to notice, though.

You and Harry didn't have much to hide in front of Sylvia and the rest of the people who made up your little group, but neither you nor Harry really went out of your way to tell anyone about the slight change since he had come back from Japan.

One night, Sylvia decided to switch up the usual gatherings from game night to a night at a karaoke bar. You didn't mind. In fact, you loved watching everyone drink and take up a mic in the private room that had been rented out. Harry stayed by your side most of the night, an arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb subtly sneaking beneath the hem of your patchwork top to graze your skin and leave goosebumps in its wake, and a neat tequila in his other hand, your leather jacket draped over his arm after he insisted on carrying it for you. You opted for a margarita, sipping on it idly while you went between talking to Harry and watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

"What do you say, are we up next?"

"We?" you asked incredulously. "You go. I've actually been wanting to see you perform."

Harry chuckled, his nose brushing against your temple. "Come on, love. For me?"

You both knew you had a soft spot when Harry pleaded with you. Just one more hour at his place, just one more kiss, getting his favorite takeout, all of it just required a slight widening of his eyes and him saying, "Pleeeease," or, "For me?" as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, and he had you. It was mostly harmless, but just like all the other times, it was working now.

"I don't know..." you said anyway, a small grin creeping its way onto your face. Harry only doubled down, which was exactly your goal.

"Please? I'll make it worth your while."

So that was how you ended up in front of the rest of your group of friends, a mic in your hand as you waited for Harry to pick the song. When the opening chords sounded through the speakers, you beamed, looking over at him with raised brows. Harry just sauntered over to you with a small grin, dancing over to you in that silly way of his that you learned was a unique trait he possessed.

"Islands in the Stream" was one of the songs the two of you had bonded over the last few months. You'd played it for him on the drive to Buddy Holly's favorite dog park, and the two of you sang it most car rides ever since.

Harry started the song, and you joined in, keeping your eyes on him for most of it. He definitely had more stage presence than you did, which you were fine with, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy yourself. Harry's eyes were on you the whole time too, his hip bumping against yours and spinning you around occasionally.

By the time it was over, there were cheers all around, and not just because Harry kissed you at the end. You'd made it all of two steps off the makeshift stage in the private room before you were tugged into a corner away from everyone else.

"What the hell was that?"

Sylvia was looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, though a grin stretched her cheeks. You couldn't hide your blush, opting to take the drink that Harry handed you once he found you again. "What?"

"You—You two are unbelievable," she laughed. "So this is real now? You two aren't acting like children anymore and pretending you aren't in love with each other?"

Trust Sylvia to make things between you and Harry awkward. Both of you laughed, though yours was more nervous because she'd revealed a truth you weren't quite ready to accept. Harry merely draped a hand over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

*.*

"You look nervous," you said, taking Harry's hand that rested on the gear shift.

"Me? Never," Harry insisted, though he gripped your hand a little too tightly for you to believe it.

"It's just one brother," you said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

You wouldn't lie to him and say meeting all three of your brothers at once would've been a walk in the park. But this was just Andrew, who was only in town for a night. You were pretty sure Hayden and Evan sent Andrew to investigate your relationship with Harry. For that exact reason, you hadn't divulged much to any of your brothers. After the whole, "Are you sure you're not menstruating" incident, you'd been giving Hayden the cold shoulder, so you knew for a fact that he'd enlisted Andrew's help to, at the very least, get back in your good graces, and hopefully get a little intel on your budding relationship.

"Andrew's harmless, I promise," you said. "He's about as threatening as a puppy."

Harry chuckled as he pulled into the trendy bar you had agreed to meet your brother at. "See, I want to believe you, but I've seen your brother play hockey, so...I don't."

Leaning across the center console, you kissed his cheek, quickly wiping away the lip gloss you'd left behind. Even in the dim lighting of the car, you saw Harry blush, which made you nudge him with your nose playfully. "I'll keep him in line, I promise."

You led Harry inside the bar, entering through a side door to remain relatively unnoticed, neck craning for your brother. Andrew wasn't hard to spot, his long arms waving back and forth from a tall table tucked in the corner of the bar. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you walked over to where your brother stood by waiting with open arms.

"How's my little sister?" Andrew asked as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to remind him you were older. Instead, you stepped back and introduced him to Harry. For all his nerves, Harry didn't show it as he shook Andrew's hand and asked how he was doing. Even when you knew your brother squeezed his hand too hard, Harry just smiled and sat down on the barstool.

Things went surprisingly well. Despite your earlier reassurances, you'd been a little nervous about the questions Andrew might ask, ones not necessarily thought up by him, but by the brothers who were absent tonight.

"So, Harry, where do you see this relationship with my sister going? I noticed she didn't introduce you as her boyfriend."

Perhaps you'd spoken too soon.

"Andrew, seriously?" you said, kicking him under the table. "Tell Evan to butt out."

"Evan's not—"

"Oh please," you said. That question had your oldest brother written all over it. "Andrew, you leave our brothers out of this or I'll tell Harry what they used to call you in high school."

Blushing, Andrew backed down immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. You didn't like stooping to your brothers' level, usually the silent treatment got your brothers to grovel after pissing you off, but they really couldn't be surprised when you did from time to time. You learned from the best after all.

Clearing his throat, Harry broke up the stare down you and Andrew had been locked in. "Um, to answer your question, I think we both—not to speak for you, Y/n—but I think we both see this evolving into something more, we just haven't had that conversation yet."

His words filled you with warmth. You'd been thinking the same—you wanted more from Harry when he came back, and things had progressed from there. You didn't think boyfriend and girlfriend titles were far off, but now that you knew where you and Harry both stood, you were okay with taking things slow.

Not that Andrew, or your other brothers, for that matter, needed to know that.

The rest of the night went much better. Andrew eased up and was finally able to ask questions that had nothing to do with the intimate details of your relationship with Harry, and when Harry began asking Andrew about playoffs, it was all your brother could do to not talk about hockey.

Your brother left you and Harry in the parking lot with a final farewell of, "You're alright, Harry Styles, and you," he said facing you with a pointed stare. "Stop ignoring Hayden, please. You know how he gets when you don't give him attention."

Huffing, you said, "I'll think about it."

Andrew grinned. Your brothers were a lot of things, but from the moment you became a part of the family, you were a little princess to all of them. Evan, Hayden, and Andrew had their moments, but they never liked to make you too mad. Most of the time. Still, you knew Andrew, and you knew he liked to be the unspoken, "favorite brother."

Harry took you home, his hand in yours the whole way back. Neither of you said anything, unwinding from the interesting night. It honestly could've gone a lot worse, in your opinion. Andrew really was the least of your worries.

Like a gentleman, Harry walked you to the door when you got home. You held back from unlocking your apartment and stepping inside despite the cold, taking his hand in yours. "I'm sorry if things were a little tense tonight."

Harry shook his head. "You really have them wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

"They have good intentions. They just...they were all I had for a long time. They're protective. Especially Evan."

Growing up, your brothers were pretty much your whole family. You were all bonded by the same shitty father, growing up raising and protecting each other. You knew the questions and the protective attitudes came from a good place, especially after the way things broke down with Gavin and his family. Evan saw how much it affected you, and probably just didn't want to see you get hurt again.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if they do slightly terrify me."

"They're big pushovers," you said with a laugh. "And like you said, they're wrapped around my finger. You'll be fine, I promise."

Harry smiled, tipping your chin up. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Mhmm," was all you could manage as he began to kiss your neck, a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk weather licking down your spine. The excitement that surged through you almost had you leaping into his arms. You settled for wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know we've been taking things slow, but I—I wouldn't mind it."

"You wouldn't mind what?" Harry teased, pulling away slightly when you tried to kiss him. "Might need to do a little better than that if you want me to be your boyfriend."

Everything was so easy with Harry. The playful teasing, the serious conversations, getting drinks with your overprotective brother, all of it. You hadn't wanted someone this much since—well, since forever. Harry just made you so happy, and you wanted to chase that feeling, not hide from it. You spent way too much time hiding from life, from love.

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your fingers curling around the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Harry backed you against the door to your apartment, the hum coming from his chest once your tongues brushed together reverberating through you. His cheeks were cold as you held them in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to haul him inside and never let him leave. But he had to be up early tomorrow and had to go back to his cat. You would make sure he'd regret leaving, though.

Eventually, you let go of him, your hands smoothing down the knit sweater he wore. You'd spent ages on the phone with him as he freaked out over what to wear. One coat was too flashy, but that t-shirt said he wasn't putting in any effort and didn't care about meeting a member of your family. On and on until you eventually made him turn the camera around to face his closet and pick something out for him. Black jeans and a black sweater with colorful depictions of the solar system eventually convinced him to finally leave the house. It was a little silly, but you appreciated how much effort he wanted to put into meeting Andrew, who absolutely would have reported back to Hayden and Evan what Harry wore, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"I don't want to be scared of feeling good anymore," you whispered. "I don't want to feel guilty for chasing something that feels right. Please tell me you feel the same."

"I do," Harry murmured. His forehead rested against yours as his hands found the perfect place on your waist, finding the sliver of skin revealed between your halter top and your jeans, and the look in his eyes was something so comforting, a safe assurance you hadn't felt in a long time.

Harry made you feel safe. He made you smile and knew things about you no one else did, not even your brothers, and he didn't seem put off by it. He understood your creative process, gave you space when you needed it, and was there for you when needed someone but didn't know how to ask.

You were still perhaps too scared to even think about the word love, but looking up at Harry then, you thought there might be a day where you felt brave enough to tell him how you really felt.

*.*

The club was packed tonight, bodies surrounding you on all sides. As someone bumped into you from behind, you gripped Mitch's arm on instinct, determined not to fall over or get swept up in the sea of people waiting for the band to start their set.

"Remind me why we're here again?" you asked, shouting over the crowd and thumping bass.

For a moment, you worried Mitch hadn't heard you, but then he shouted back, leaning in close so you could hear him. "Because they asked us to be here. We heard their demos, and you said they had potential. And—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I just didn't think there'd be this many people."

"Kind of a good thing though, isn't it?" a voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you couldn't help the wide grin that took over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mitch give you a pointed look, but you ignored it, throwing your arms around Harry. "You found us!"

"Course. I could spot my two best friends from a mile away."

Being regarded as Harry's friend made your stomach tighten despite knowing he didn't mean it that way, especially since you were around so many people. And yet, it had you overthinking.

Don't be stupid, you thought, blinking those thoughts away. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you let go. "Did you get into the venue okay?"

You, Harry, and Mitch talked to—talked at, more like—each other before the show, huddled together and trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Because of the packed venue, you and Harry were able to stand relatively close to one another, your hands brushing occasionally. With Harry so close to you like this and unable to kiss his cheek at the very least, and you could tell he was having the same struggle. He was pressed up against your back, at one point, then his arm was draped over your shoulders, and when the lights finally dimmed as the set began, he was as close as he could be, his arm wrapped around your waist as you watched the band perform.

The band played music that was loud, full of heavy base lines and guitar riffs and drum solos that had the crowd jumping and jostling around. Harry was a steady force at your back until you eventually joined in with the audience, dancing along to the music beside Mitch.

In the few weeks you and Mitch worked on writing Cam's album together, you'd ended up spending more time outside of the studio as well. It was almost always music related, the two of you going out to see live performances in some form or another—local bands, shows at the Troubador and the Whiskey, performers just starting out in dive bars. It was something you typically did on your own, a good way to discover new artists and experience different sounds, and Mitch was more than happy to join you, showing you a couple of his favorite haunts, ones that he played in from time to time.

It was nice to get out of your apartment, to hang out with someone who appreciated discovering new music as much as you did. Mitch had helped you expand your horizons and had even taught you a thing or two about playing drums after you were particularly enthralled by a grunge band. It had become part of your routine as much as writing in the studio had—going out once or twice a week to find new talent and sometimes meeting up with the artist or band afterward to see if they were interested in collaborating. That wasn't always the goal, but there were moments when you couldn't help yourself.

"You were right. They do have potential," Mitch said. Both of you were buzzing after the performance, talking animatedly about the band and their set.

"I know! And I really liked their sound. There was something so nostalgic about it, but not in a gimmicky way, you know?"

Harry walked a couple paces behind you and Mitch as you ambled down the sidewalk toward where you'd parked. He'd been quiet coming out of the show, but you didn't think anything of it.

You kept talking to Mitch, promising to stop by the studio for another drum lesson when you had the chance, or when he had the chance, more like. Now that Harry's album was less an idea and more a fully realized project with a release date, Harry and Co. had been pretty busy lately. And once the album finally came out...well, you'd cross that bridge eventually.

When Mitch was gone, headed home in his car, you walked a little further to your side-by-side with Harry. You leaned in close, not really caring if anyone saw. Even through the layers of his heavy coat, you could feel the warmth that he emanated naturally. You loved being tucked into his side or curled around him, or just being as close to him as possible, an alarming amount. The word "love" fluttered through your mind every now and again, but you swatted it away every time. It was much too soon, and while you'd made many strides, there were still parts of you that remained afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if you got too attached and things ended, afraid of the distance rapidly approaching once Harry's album came out, afraid of your inner saboteur. It was all there, lingering, waiting to strike at any moment.

"Good show, right?" you said to Harry, eager to shake off the dark turn your thoughts had taken. "Mitch and I have been wanting to see them for ages."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes remaining on the street ahead. Then, "I...I didn't realize you spent so much time with him while I was gone."

"I honestly didn't expect to, but he was still working in the studio. We made quite the team."

Because you were so close, you felt Harry's whole body stiffen. A split second too late, you realized your poor choice of words.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Y/n," Harry said, and he didn't sound mad at all. Maybe just a little hurt, but you had a feeling he was trying his best not to make you feel bad. "I can't be upset that you kept working when I left. That's silly of me."

"It's not," you assured. "I—You're kind of the reason I pushed myself to work with him, and others," you admitted.

"Really?"

Nodding, you said, "I've always worked on my own. Always. But then we started writing together and things just clicked, and when you left, I—I didn't want to deny myself the opportunity to make great music. I mean, you and your team were doing incredible stuff even before I came along. I guess I just wanted to be a part of something great in that way too. Mitch helped introduce me to a new artist and we collaborated on a project of our own. I didn't...I didn't want to go back to being alone again.

"But it isn't the same," you said, stopping Harry in his tracks. Looking up at him, you smiled, for no other reason than he was there and he was yours. "We...We work differently together. You have to know that."

Harry's responding grin was small. "It is quite magical, isn't it?"

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. The kiss was slow, gentle, a reassurance for the both of you. When you leaned back, yours and Harry's cheeks were flushed as you grinned brightly at each other.

As you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car, you said, "I can't believe you'd be jealous of Mitch."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "Oh hush. I was not."

"He's your best friend, H," you giggled. "Not to mention very, very taken."

"I believe I mentioned it was silly, didn't I?"

Taking his hand, you kissed the top of it. "You did."

Harry peeled out of his parking space, promising to make it up to you as he handed his phone over to choose the playlist for the ride home.

When you unlocked his phone, the home screen wasn't what popped up. Instead, the messages app was open, a string of messages that hadn't been replied to yet, going back a few weeks.

Can we talk?

I miss you. I miss us.

The silent treatment is childish, H.

Please call me.

Your hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, and Harry's phone nearly slipped out of them and onto the floor.

"Everything okay?"

Harry's voice dragged you out of whatever headspace you'd been launched into. Looking up, you mustered a smile, hoping the car's darkness would mask how flimsy it truly was.

"Yeah. Fine," you said, your voice not sounding like your own.

Quickly exiting out of the app, you pulled up his music, choosing a playlist at random before setting his phone down in the cup holder.

You felt like you were on one of those theme park rides, the ones that reach the heights of tall buildings just to fall straight down. You felt weightless, but not in a good way. It was as if you were falling and there was nowhere safe to land. That feeling in your stomach only grew until you were sure you were going to be sick.

Harry continued on none the wiser, chatting about this and that. You weren't exactly sure what he said, his voice was suddenly white noise. But you must've given him coherent responses because he didn't question your behavior. The only time he did was when you didn't invite him up to your apartment.

"I'm just really tired," you managed to say. "One too many margaritas, I guess."

Not putting up too much of a fight, Harry grinned and gave you a kiss. Despite the dread you felt, it still filled you with butterflies. You cared for him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself sometimes. And now there was...this.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, a sweet smile on his face.

He acted as if nothing was wrong, and it was convincing too. Almost to the point that you wanted to believe it too. Those messages were days old, save the most recent one, and Harry hadn't replied to any of them. That had to mean something.

Right?

*.*

After mentioning what you found to Sylvia, she demanded that what you needed was retail therapy. Shopping wasn't your favorite pastime, but you desperately needed a friend.

You met with her at an outdoor shopping mall, bundled up in your softest sweatshirt and puffy coat for comfort more than because of the weather. You hadn't wanted to go out at all today, or the last couple days since you saw Harry's messages. There had been an attempt to have Sylvia just come over so you could day drink together, but she wasn't having it.

So now you were wading through store after store, internally freaking out about where your relationship was headed. It was just getting off the ground, and now it was crumbling before your eyes. Harry was none the wiser, of course, but that was only because he was busy this week and you pretended to be busy because you weren't sure if you could keep it together in front of him. You needed a third-party perspective, a voice of reason before you sat down and talked to him about all this.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Sylvia asked gently.

One thing you liked about Sylvia was that she was bold and brash and didn't try to mince her words, but you appreciated her tone now. Friend of Harry's first or not, she was here for you, and seeing as there weren't many people you could turn to, you needed her now more than ever. You could talk to your brothers, but you didn't want them to come out and hurt him. You would go to them if there was something serious going on.

"I...I thought we were finally on the same page," you said, and then it all came spilling out of you. You replayed that night in Harry's car as you combed through a rack of dresses. Sylvia was quiet through all of it, not saying anything until you were finished. "I don't know what to do. Is he—I never asked because it wasn't really my business, but he was clearly torn up over their break up. Do you think it's possible that he's not over her?"

Because that was what kept you up at night. Before he left, Harry hadn't been ready for a relationship. You knew there wasn't an exact timeline for healing a broken heart, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and now all you could think about was him leaving you for his ex. The thought terrified you. It made you want to run before you learned the truth, spare yourself the trouble of looking like an idiot.

But you called Sylvia instead, knowing running was not the best option, even if it was the most familiar.

"Oh, babe," she sighed. "I'm not going to lie, Harry was in love with her. They were...there's no other way to put it. They loved each other."

The whimper that escaped your lips was an accident, and when Sylvia heard it, she pulled you in for a hug. "He was in love with her," she repeated as she ran a soothing hand up and down your back. "I truly believe he's moved on Y/n. Harry wouldn't do that to you."

"But what about her?" you said. "She wants him back, and he—he didn't tell me that she's been reaching out, and I just can't help but feel like their history will win out."

"I don't think you realize how happy you make him," Sylvia said. "Yes, Harry loved her, but they broke up for a reason. I don't see him giving things a second go, especially now that he's with you. He's happy, Y/n. He's happy because you make him happy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this. You just have to sit down and hear him out."

"You really think so?"

"He lights up at the mere mention of your name. You—You're like the sun to him," Sylvia promised. "So don't run from this, okay? Talk to him. Hear him out. Make him sweat a little for keeping this from you, but you owe it to yourself to hear his side of things."

You nodded, feeling a little reassured by what she'd said. You wouldn't feel a hundred percent until you talked things out with Harry, but this is a good start. At the very least, it kept you from wanting to run and hide from all this.

Laughing a little, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. "You know, when you said you were Harry's life coach, I didn't imagine you'd end up being mine too."

"It's what I'm good for," she said. "Now, let's see about doing a little shopping, hm? Ooh! And maybe we get our nails done."

Looping her arm through yours, she dragged you into the next aisle, feeling lighter with every step you took.

*.*

"Where is he? I'll kill him!"

This was the third time you'd heard that in the last couple of hours.

"Stand down, Hayden," you said from beneath your mountain of blankets. "He's not here."

Your brother's eyes widened as he looked in your direction, as if he didn't expect the pile of blankets to speak. He stalked over to where Andrew and Evan were standing in front of you, taking on a perplexed disposition. None of your brothers had ever really seen you this way. All the pranks, all the times they royally pissed you off when you were younger, you never really let it get to you. You could tell that although they wanted to be here for you, they weren't entirely sure how.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just let me know where he is, Y/n."

They were doing their best to help, and you knew you owed them answers. You did call them after all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. You called Evan, who proceeded to call Andrew because your younger brother was closest in proximity to you. And Andrew called Hayden because of course he did. It was sweet that they all dropped everything to come see you, but now you felt put on the spot.

And you knew Hayden would make good on his word, and your other two brothers would have no trouble helping him, and that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"I ended things with Harry," you said quietly.

"You said as much in your text, Y/n," Evan said. "But what happened? It seemed like you guys were really happy."

The thought of last night's events replayed in your mind, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. Taking a shuddering breath, you said, "I thought we were too."

It all started last night at this party Harry invited you too. Something about fundraising and live music and dancing, and he said it was the perfect opportunity to get dressed up and go out and not worry about being photographed. You agreed, wanting to put the text messages from his ex that had yet to be discussed far from your mind. You knew you should've said something, but you wanted to give Harry the opportunity to come clean himself. The fact that he hadn't kept you up at night, but you promised yourself—and Sylvia—that you would bring it up after the party.

"Just one more night of normalcy before we have this conversation," you assured her. It was all you wanted. Just one night where this cloud wasn't hanging over your head.

So you went. Harry picked you up in a sports car that usually sat in his garage, practically mauling you when he saw you in your dress. It was simple, but you felt great in it—a short black number with white ruffles at the top and bottom. With your hair blown out and curled to perfection, little pearl droplets hanging from your ears, you felt like a dream, and every time Harry's gaze fell on you to track your figure up and down, your entire body was filled with butterflies.

And the night carried on perfectly. You and Harry sipped on champagne and kept to yourselves most of the night. You didn't really know anyone, and he was perfectly happy to keep you all to himself, kissing your cheeks and neck whenever he could, his hand never leaving your waist for a moment. It was exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything that had been swirling around in your head the last few days. When Harry was dancing and spinning you around in and out of his arms in a corner of the event space, it felt like you were the only two people to exist. There was no way he had any lingering feelings for his ex when he was smiling so brightly and laughing as you spun him out and back into your arms.

And then...it all just fell apart.

"Harry?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Harry dropped your hand, coming to an abrupt halt beside you. You looked up, confused by the tension that suddenly lined his shoulders, but when you looked at the women who'd come up to your little corner, you just knew.

"H—Hi." Harry sounded breathless, his eyes never leaving hers once. All you could do was watch it all unfold in slow motion, all you could feel was the loss of his touch now that his hand was no longer in yours.

You cleared your throat when Harry didn't say anything. It was as if you had to pull him from whatever trance he'd fallen into at the mere sight of her. Dread filled your belly as he seemed to remember where he was, as he remembered you were there, blinking as he embraced his ex and introduced her to you.

"This is my friend Y/n."

His words felt like a sucker punch, all the air stolen from your lungs. You knew you and Harry hadn't put a label on your relationship, but to hear him refer to you as his friend right in front of his ex was devastating.

Your heart was glass, I dropped it.

Was this what it felt like? You never imagined you would be in this position, you never thought you would love someone enough to feel like you were coming undone at the seams at this kind of rejection. But perhaps that was just the universe coming to collect after thoroughly breaking someone else's heart yourself.

"I—I need some air," you heard yourself saying, not even looking to see if Harry noticed you leave or if he was too caught up in seeing his ex.

You didn't just get air, you Ubered home, unable to handle everything rushing through you. That was when you texted Evan, who merely responded with, I'm on my way, and twenty-four hours later, he was there, along with Hayden and Andrew.

You explained to your brothers what happened briefly, doing your best to not go into detail so you wouldn't start crying uncontrollably, though you'd be surprised if you had any tears left. You mostly just felt defeated, almost as if deep down you knew the happiness wasn't meant to last.

"He's an idiot, Y/n," Andrew said, resting a hand on Buddy's head to scratch him behind the ears. Your dog had been resting by your side since you came back last night, somehow sensing your despair. "Don't let him steal your happiness."

You nodded, but only because you had nothing else to say. You knew your brother meant well, but you just didn't believe him. This was par for the course in your eyes. Of course, when you fell for someone, they chose someone else. Maybe you were destined to be on your own, maybe love was overrated.

"Do you need anything?" Evan asked you, Hayden standing next to you. You could tell that they didn't really know what to do in this situation but that they wanted to be there for you. It was sweet, but there really wasn't anything to do.

"I'm okay," you said, convincing no one. "I think I might just take a nap."

"We can take Buddy for a walk. Maybe grab some food while we're out," Evan said. "Andrew, why don't you stay here and make sure she doesn't text him."

You rolled your eyes. "I literally just said I was going to sleep—"

"On it," Andrew said, hopping up to take your phone from where it was resting on your kitchen counter and slipping it into his pocket.

It was utterly ridiculous, but you were sure that was what your brothers were going for. The four of you weren't the touchy-feely type, you never had been. But one thing your brothers could count on was their ability to make you smile, make you laugh. And that was maybe exactly what you needed.

Making good on your word, you retired to your room, but you didn't sleep a wink despite how exhausted you were. Instead, you stayed up listening to records, shared favorites of yours and Harry's, the ones you bonded over together. It was hard to imagine that after such deep connections, the number of stories shared and late nights talking over bottles of red wine. Harry meant so much to you, and it killed you to think you didn't mean as much to him.

At some point, you must've dozed off—your eyes fluttering shut to the sound of Joni Mitchell—because suddenly you were jolting awake with a start. Muffled shouts could be heard through your closed door, which could only mean one thing.

Taking a couple minutes to wake up a little more and bolster yourself for unwanted confrontation, you finally stepped out of your room. The voices grew louder as you walked down the hall—Andrew kept telling Harry to leave while Harry claimed he just wanted to talk to you. You weren't sure if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was here whether you liked it or not, and it would probably be for the best before Evan and Hayden came back or the argument happening at your front door drew unwanted attention.

"You can let him in."

Your voice was quiet, but not unsteady, which came as a surprise to you. It surprised your brother and the person who would've been your boyfriend too, their argument ceasing immediately as they looked over at you.

"Y/n," Harry breathed.

For better or for worse, he looked about as awful as you felt. There were bags under his eyes, and he was in the clothes he wore to the party last night. His tan trousers were rumpled, belt missing; his satin shirt was heavily wrinkled, the buttons mismatched in the wrong holes. His hair was a mess too, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

You didn't like seeing him like this, hated it, in fact. This wasn't supposed to be yours and Harry's story. You thought both of you had experienced the heartbreak and had found each other on the other side of it. Now you felt like you were right back where you started, and you hated it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrew said, glancing warily between you and Harry. "Hayden and Evan will be back soon—"

"It's fine, Andrew. I promise," you told him, stepping closer to the front door cautiously, worrying that getting too close would ensnare you in Harry's magnetic pull. One whiff of his cologne might send you right into his arms, where your heart still thought it was safe. "Keep them occupied for me?"

It was clear that Andrew didn't agree with you on this decision. He stood there by the door for a long while, trying to assess your mental state. But he finally relented, taking a few steps toward you to hug you tightly. "Don't be afraid to give him hell," he murmured in your ear. Then, after passing back your phone, he left, but not before glaring murderously in Harry's direction.

When you and Harry were finally alone, your apartment was silent for the first time in hours. Almost too silent. Harry just stared at you with this broken look in his eyes, and you...you couldn't dredge up the energy to start this conversation. It was clear Harry didn't either. You watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but you had no desire to help him out.

"Can we sit?" he finally asked, his voice sounding tired and raw.

Unable to handle the look in his those devastated green eyes, you looked down at where your sweatshirt engulfed your hands. "I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Sitting meant forced proximity, and you were already pushing yourself to have this conversation. This distance between you and Harry would be where you drew the line.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Okay. I—I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n."

"For what exactly?" you asked, not expecting the bitterness in your tone.

"For making it seem like we were just friends in front of her, for freezing last night. I—She'd been texting me the last few days and I've ignored her, but I didn't expect to see her."

"I know about the texts," you found yourself saying.

It was clear Harry hadn't expected that. A look of confusion passed over his face as he asked, "Wh—Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" you said, unable to hide the hurt, the betrayal.

"It was nothing, and I didn't want to bring any attention to it. I thought if I just ignored her enough, she would stop, and she did eventually stop, but then I saw her last night, and I didn't want to make her feel worse by showing her I'd moved on—"

"But you haven't," you said. "You're...protecting her. Sparing her feelings while fucking me over. I—I could've gotten over the texts. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because you hadn't responded to her. But watching you call me your friend was such a slap in the face."

"I'm sorry, I fucked up. I know I did," Harry said, tears pooling in his eyes.

You could tell he meant it. You knew he realized what he'd done was shitty, but could you move on from it?

"I believe that you're sorry," you said. At that, something like hope flickered in his face, but you snuffed it out just as quickly as it came. "But I also think you still have unresolved feelings for her. And I—I don't want to be second to you. Not in that way."

"So that's it?"

You knew Harry like the back of your hand. You knew what the little quiver of his lip meant, understood the tight clench of his fists around the hem of his shirt. You could read every line of emotion on his face, and you wondered if he could pick you apart the same way.

"You know, all this time we've bonded over our respective heartbreak as if our pain was the same," you said, more to yourself than to him. "But what I'm realizing now, what I started to realize last night, was that mine stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, of never being enough for someone. I broke up with someone because I wasn't in love with them, and that devastated me. But you...no matter how the relationship fell apart or who ended it, you loved her, and she loved you. That feeling doesn't just wash away with the evening tide."

"Y/n—"

"And that's...that's okay, you know?" you continued. "You loved her. Love her. That's not a bad thing. But—But I'm in love with you too, and I can't—I'm not going to compete with someone who already has your heart. I won't."

Tears kissed your cheeks as you blinked. Your hands shook, but your voice was clear. Harry could deny it all he wanted, but you saw the truth laid bare before you. You weren't the only person occupying space in his heart, and after everything you'd been through, you didn't want to settle for anything less than what you deserved.

"That's not true, Y/n," Harry implored. He looked a little frantic now that he knew your mind was practically made up. "I fucked up, I know that. I saw her, and I froze. It was just—"

An instinct, a gut reaction, that was what he didn't want to say. "I don't want someone's initial reaction to be to let go of my hand," you said softly, wiping away a tear with a sleeve-covered hand. "I want—"

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet. That song you'd written all those months ago, the one that held your deepest regrets and insecurities, all the little things you'd run from. You didn't want to run from it anymore. You thought you found someone to run toward, but you were wrong.

"I don't want what we have to be over, Y/n," Harry pleaded.

I don't believe you, you thought, and you couldn't be with him if you didn't trust his sincerity. "I think you need more time," you said instead of voicing what you felt.

"There's no convincing how much I feel for you, is there?" he said, sounding resigned to the fate that had come to pass.

You shook your head, your heart begging you to hold onto him and not let go, to drag him to bed and sleep until you both forgot. But you didn't do any of those things. "No. Not right now."

Harry finally bridged the gap between you and him. He kept a sliver of distance, the only contact he made being gentle fingers tilting your chin so you'd meet his eye. There was so much emotion swirling there, and you longed to kiss away all the anguish and pain until only love was left, but that wasn't in the cards. Not today, or in the days that would follow.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave again," Harry said, his gaze unrelenting. Your brow furrowed, not recalling when he made that promise, but he continued before you could ask. "Not in the ways that count anyway, but I intend to keep that promise, Y/n. If you want space, I'll give it to you, but don't think for one second that I won't spend every single moment we're apart wishing we were together. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."

It was a surprise your body didn't turn to jello on the spot, that Harry couldn't hear the steady thump of your heart as it beat wildly in your chest. He said all the right things, every perfect word, but right now, that was all they were. And you didn't have it in you to believe him.

"I'm sorry that I did this to us, to you," he said. "I'll never not be sorry. "

Harry stood there, his fingers gingerly holding your chin, for a few moments longer. It was as if he was imploring you to read the message in his eyes, to understand everything he wasn't saying, but you just didn't have the energy.

When he finally left, one last promise that wasn't giving up on you and him yet on his lips before the door clicked shut, all the warmth in your body went with him. You briefly thought of all the times you clung to him to warm up, slipping his hands beneath his shirts and sweaters and nuzzling your face in his neck.

That last touch of Harry's fingers to your chin wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and now he was gone. The person you fell in love with, who knew you better than anyone else in the world, walked out the door, head held high as if this wouldn't be the last time you'd be standing so close.

You weren't convinced. Not when all your mind wanted to replay was his hand dropping yours, his dismissal of your relationship, and his disregard for your feelings to protect those of his ex.

*.*

You didn't see Harry in the weeks that followed, but you weren't sure if that had more to do with him working on his album. Sylvia kept you semi-updated, even though you insisted you were fine with not knowing what he was up to. It was a lie, of course, and she saw right through it, letting you know when Harry was gone for music video shoots, recording and producing music, album cover shoots, and meetings with his label.

Part of you was grateful he wasn't around because it made keeping your distance easier. After everything that happened, you convinced yourself Harry didn't know what he wanted, even if he claimed he was. The proof had been right in front of you, though, clear as day. There were unresolved feelings lingering in the corners of Harry's heart and mind, and he needed to deal with them or get back together with his ex, but you wanted no part of it.

That wasn't to say Harry wasn't on your mind. He was there constantly, taking up space and making you lose focus while writing or walking your dog. You'd never been in love before, and now that everything had imploded, you didn't know how to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

Blinking, you looked up to where Mitch stared at you, an acoustic guitar in his lap. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet with him for a writing session. You hadn't written much since everything fell apart, save the occasional depressing poem, but when Mitch reached out, you figured it was as good a time as any to get back to work and start writing again.

In theory, it was a good idea, but your heart just wasn't in it. It was thousands of miles away shooting a music video.

"Sorry, I thought this would be a good idea, but my head is just all over the place," you said, closing your notebook that only had a few disconnected lines written down.

"I'm sorry about everything," Mitch said. "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but he really does care about you. Like a lot."

"I know," you said dejectedly. "But he...he still loves her, I think. Or cares for her more than he lets on. Maybe even more than he realizes."

That night, you realized you had a losing hand. You didn't want to run like you'd done with Gavin, but you didn't want to fight either. You just felt...defeated, as if the fickle promise of love had bested you again.

"I can promise you he doesn't, but I know that's between you and him," Mitch said. Nodding to the journal in your lap, he asked, "Can I see?"

Shrugging, you handed it over. At this point, Mitch had learned a lot about you by being your writing partner, so you didn't mind him flipping through it. And honestly, there wasn't much to show anyway. A couple of measly lines did not a song make.

Mitch was quiet as he looked over the few things you'd written down, his expression gloriously passive as always. Since you started writing together, you'd struggled to read his expressions, not knowing what he thought until he voiced his opinion.

"Well, shit, kid," Mitch murmured on an exhale.

"What?"

Mitch looked up, one brow raised. Then, he began to read lines from your journal. "You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes...My hand's a risk I fold...Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never—"

"Hey wait a minute, that's not from today," you said, reaching for your journal. Mitch managed to land on one of your poems from a few days ago. That definitely wasn't meant to be part of today's writing session. "Give that back."

"This is good, Y/n. There's a song in here," Mitch insisted.

"Oh please. That's a terribly depressing poem fueled by a bottle of wine."

He pinned you with a stare, but you ignored it, and he eventually let it go. You didn't stay in the studio much longer after that, realizing that not much was going to come out of this session. And Mitch had to leave too, having to catch a redeye to London. "We're finishing up the album there," he explained.

It dawned on you then that you would be alone again. After becoming so used to having a partner of some kind while writing, too. It shouldn't have affected you so much, but it did. Somehow you'd grown to appreciate company while you were writing, and now your two favorite writing partners were leaving. They were the only two you'd ever had, but as history had shown, you weren't a huge fan of change.

You'd grown comfortable, but now the ground was shaking and crumbling beneath you. Though perhaps that should've been the familiar feeling.

"Can I keep the song?" Mitch asked on your way out of the studio. "I have an idea."

This time, you could read what was on your friend's face. And you could sense it, somehow. He wanted to show it to Harry. For the album, or because Mitch felt Harry needed to read the words. At this point, you were emotionally drained, and you weren't going to be there when Harry read your little poem, anyway. What did it matter?

"That's fine," you said, tearing the page out of your journal. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We can still collaborate over the phone or voice notes or whatever."

You thought that was where you and Mitch would leave things, but then he asked, "Do you think you'll ever write with him again?"

Harry was so much more than the person you were in love with. He was your friend, your first ever writing partner, someone you'd confided in. But he was also the person who made you feel betrayal and heartache. You didn't know how to reconcile those two people.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I hope so."

*.*

There wasn't a single moment where Harry didn't think of Y/n while they were apart. He'd done what she'd asked of him, gave them the space to heal and settle. Harry understood where she was coming from, and he knew that he'd hurt her more than he ever imagined he would.

Everything fell apart so completely, too quickly for him to even pick up the pieces.

He knew he should've told her about the texts the minute he received them, and he couldn't really pinpoint why he didn't. It was in no way to hurt Y/n, or to protect his ex; honestly, he should've just deleted them as they came, but he didn't, and things only went downhill from there.

Harry didn't want space, he knew what he wanted, who he wanted. But he also knew that what he'd done, how he behaved, gave Y/n every right to push him away and not trust him. All he knew was that he'd never regretted anything more than seeing the devastated look on her face when they ran into his ex.

He couldn't take back what he'd done, all he could do was try to make things right the second Y/n gave him the opportunity. Thankfully, recording and producing his second album kept him busy enough to give her the space she'd asked for. Had he liked being so far away from her, both physically and emotionally? No. Hell no, but he just put everything he was feeling into his music, let it fuel him as he and his team found the sound he was going for with this project.

It wasn't until weeks after they'd ended things that he heard from Y/n. Really, Mitch had passed a folded up piece of paper with song lyrics on it and said it was Y/n's, but Harry was so desperate to get something from her that he'd counted it. "I have an idea for it. I just need you to finish it," Mitch had said.

"Finish it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the paper.

To him it looked like a poem, but Mitch seemed to be convinced it was a song. He read over it briefly, then again, and again and again until he was standing in front of his friend for an awkward amount of time.

"She's speaking to you in this," Mitch explained. "It could be a kind of conversation."

The idea had perplexed him, and at first, Harry had said no. It wasn't until the next evening when he was alone in his flat that he considered the folded piece of paper. He thought about all the songs he'd written with Y/n, the thoughts and feelings they'd shared with each and every lyric and melody. This wasn't the same, not even close. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted to relive the moments where Y/n would sit with her guitar, her journal and his in his lap as they compared notes and ideas.

But this would have to do for now.

He didn't try to get in Y/n's head, to try to understand what she might've been feeling at the time she wrote the poem, though he had a pretty good idea. Harry merely did what Mitch suggested and responded to the lines already written down, adding them in where he saw fit.

"Put a price on...emotion, I'm looking for...something to buy," he murmured, quickly scribbling the words down before he forgot them. "I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

Writing this song gave Harry the opportunity to finally let go. Through it he was able to admit that he had been clinging to a crisp trepidation, a fear of giving all of himself over to Y/n with abandon. For a number of reasons—that things with Y/n would end up in flames like all his other relationships (check), that he didn't even know what love looked like anymore after so many failed attempts at finding it, that he wasn't good enough to be someone Y/n deserved, , that he was going to lose her forever if he didn't pull himself together enough for her.

By the time Harry was done, he felt dejected. The finished song was sad, too sad. It was about heartache and fear, it sounded finite. And that wasn't what he wanted his story with Y/n to be.

We'll be fine, he wrote before quickly crossing it our. Fine. Fine. Finefinefinefinefine—

"We'll be a fine line," Harry finally murmured.

He spent the rest of the night figuring out arrangements and melodies, all of it coming together in his head almost faster than he could write it all down. The album was pretty much in the final stretch. At this point, he and his team were finishing up recordings and working on the promotional aspects of the release, but he knew it down to every atom of his being that this song had to be on the album. It was the culmination of everything he'd experienced and felt, every emotion he'd embraced and shied away from. All of it crashed into each other in a blaze of horns and strings.

And maybe when he finally finished working through the main melody on his guitar, something soft and melancholic, yet soothing and hopeful, he should've gone right to sleep. He honestly should've been exhausted after the emotional whirlwind he'd been wrapped up in. Yet he somehow had his phone in his hands, his thumb hovering over a contact before he eventually hit the call button.

"Harry? What—Isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

Harry couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he heard Y/n's voice. He'd missed her so much it physically hurt sometimes. Part of him thought she wouldn't answer his call, but when she did, his entire body sagged with relief.

"I miss you," he said, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you, and you probably were just being nice by suggesting the whole space thing when you really want nothing to do with me ever again—"

"Harry," Y/n said, her voice gently but firm. "Slow down, love."

Harry could've cried at the softness in her tone let alone the term of endearment. All he'd wanted for the last few weeks was to just hear her voice, her his name on her lips in a way that didn't sound hurt or disappointed.

"You were right," he told her. "I—I was holding back from you, and that wasn't fair to either of us, but especially to you. Y/n, I—I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered. "I think...I think I just wanted you to want me as much as I did."

"I do," Harry promised. "I know I haven't given you much to believe me, but Y/n the way I feel about you is so different than I've ever felt about anyone, and I think part of me was scared of that too after such a tremendous breakup."

For a moment, Y/n was silent over the phone, her breaths filling up his ear and making him long for the moments they spent huddled up in bed together.

"I know...I know we've been here before, but do you think we could try things again?" he asked. He almost didn't want to know, believing that perhaps ignorance really was bliss. But Y/n had put herself out there so many times, had taken so many risks despite everything she'd experienced. He could be brave too.

"What if—What if we started over?" she said.

"Start over?"

"I think we need a clean slate. If you're really and truly over your ex—"

"I am. I swear, Y/n," Harry said, not wanting hope to spark to life in him just yet.

"Then we need to put all of this mess behind us and start fresh."

"I—I'd like that." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. When he called Y/n, he worried he'd come off a little crazy due to lack of sleep, but now he worried he might've fallen asleep in a songwriting craze and was now dreaming.

"I, um, I know you offered a few months ago, but if you were still looking for someone to join your band...maybe I could fill that spot?"

"You want to work for me?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but I guess technically yes," Y/n said. "I feel like you would pay a fair wage."

Harry chuckled, a satisfied sort of exhaustion taking over him now that he felt like his life was getting back on track. "I'll give you whatever you want if it means you'll join."

He just wanted her close, and if this was what a clean slate looked like to her, then he would oblige. Having her close, playing music together, being surrounded by their friends, it would be exactly what they needed to find their way back to each other.

"You should probably go to bed," Y/n said, breaking the content silence that had settled over them.

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, running a tired hand over his face. "So what have you been listening to recently?"

For a moment, he thought she would insist he get some rest. He supposed he'd be okay with it, finding peace in the fact things were finally looking up for them. But then she answered, and Harry was sure he'd never be able to wipe the smile from his face as he listened to his girl.

*.*

Months later

"Are you in love with Harry?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but you felt your cheeks redden immediately.

Sarah, who was much more quick on the draw than you would've been, smiled and said, "We all are, yeah."

You forced a soft laugh, unsure of where to direct your gaze. This whole interview had been one huge vat of chaos—and blatant misogyny—from the start, but Harry had conducted himself well so far, not balking or raising his voice once at the invasive and downright rude questions that were thrown at him. Perhaps you should've expected a question like this today, but you still struggled to keep your face neutral.

"So there's nothing going on romantically with Harry and the ladies?"

You suddenly found the keyboard in front of you incredibly interesting. What you really needed in this moment was a reassuring glance from Harry, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping your budding relationship a secret.

Attention from the public was still something you were getting used to. You'd gotten into songwriting because it was out of the public eye, but being with Harry would eventually lead you right into it. Not that you minded, you'd do whatever it took to be with him. But interviews like this one still left you feeling flustered.

"And who's back there on keys?"

Even though they were all your friends, you still felt your face flush as red as the leather skirt you wore for the interview.

"Y/n."

"That's Y/n."

"How are you doing back there, Y/n?"

"Fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a squeak.

Risking a glance at Harry, you met his gaze. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it bolstered your confidence the slightest bit. Just enough to get you through this brief conversation.

"Just fine? Does Harry make you nervous?"

"Maybe Y/n's the one who's in love with him."

"Or maybe she just wants to fuck him!"

An awkward silence fell over the room after the interviewers' comments and questions. You didn't even know what to say, or how you were expected to respond. Feeling the sympathetic stares from the rest of the band, you took a deep breath and tried not to cry, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Harry's jaw ticked, and you were pretty sure you were the only one who noticed. It was the first time he'd reacted to any of the questions asked today. And you could see it in his face that he was beyond pissed off.

This wasn't what you expected, and clearly Harry hadn't expected it either. But you also didn't want him to storm off and make a big scene. You just wanted to get through today and go home and rest with Buddy and Sweet Pea while you and Harry watched a movie together in bed. That thought kept you grounded, and you tried your hardest to convey to Harry that you were okay without saying anything.

"I, um, I met Harry in the studio in LA," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Y/n's a songwriter, but she's generously lent her fabulous keyboarding skills to us this year," Harry said.

"A songwriter?" You felt the interviewer's gaze sweep over you, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Another tick of Harry's jaw.

"Yeah. But I've enjoyed doing this too. Traveling and performing with Sarah's band," you said, a meek attempt at a joke.

"You must be getting laid a lot on the road as a proper rockstar now. You could probably get whoever you wanted. Well, maybe not Harry, but close to anyone. Are you taking advantage of being on the road with Harry? A new man every night?"

You swallowed thickly, the will not to cry hanging on by a thread. "I—I don't think my brothers be cool with—"

"Shut the fuck up, mate."

Shocked silence filled the room. Clearly, the interviewers didn't expect someone as laid back as Harry to speak up that way. A mix of relief and unease washed over you, unsure of how the rest of the interview was going to pan out now. But you couldn't say you didn't feel relieved that he'd spoken up.

"Harry, we're only—"

"You're being fucking disrespectful to the members of my band, and I'm not fucking putting up with it. Either ask me your fucking questions or let me go. My band and I aren't putting up with your bullshit."

Harry hadn't wanted to come here. He knew the reputation of the interviewer, but it had still somehow made it onto the list of interviews and appearances to promote the album. You'd watched as he grew more and more irritated with each question, but he seemed to take them in stride. But the minute they were directed at you, he'd snapped.

A brief break in the interview ensued, producers suggesting that a couple minutes to regroup would do everyone some good. When everyone was ready to record again, a stilted topic change led Harry to introduce and talk about the Peter Gabriel song they were about to play. The rest of the interview teetered between overly professional and awkward. You could tell by the tense line of Harry's shoulders that he wanted to be anywhere else.

At some point while Harry was talking, Sarah looked over at you. "You okay?" she mouthed, and you nodded subtly, giving her a tiny thumbs up from behind your keyboard setup. Everyone in the band knew about you and Harry. It was hard to hide your relationship when he was by your side whenever you weren't rehearsing a song, and like Mitch and Sarah, he was almost always facing you during rehearsals. It was sweet how he was always pulling you aside during lunch breaks and sitting beside you on the piano bench. One time, when Harry had a film crew film a performance of each song on the album, he asked if the recording of "Fine Line" could just be you and him. Both of you sat on stools with your respective guitars as you performed a stripped-back version of the song, your voice supporting Harry's with a soft harmony occasionally. It was a special moment for the two of you, especially because the song meant so much.

After that, there were no questions about what you meant to each other.

At the end of the interview, Harry was quick to leave, hardly sparing anyone a glance as he stalked out. You stayed back to break down your equipment like you normally did, your hands shaking a little as the desire to comfort Harry took over.

"Go, I got this," Mitch said, coming over to help.

"Really?"

Mitch nodded before bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You nodded. "Might have to be at my apartment, though. I don't think he'll be up for going out."

You left soon after that, walking out of the recording room where the interview had taken place. The green room was down the hall, and you entered despite the closed door. "It's me," you said quietly before entering, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry was already out of his blue sweater and green trousers, a pair of brown corduroys on as he shrugged into a yellow t-shirt. He looked up briefly, then looked back down again as he slipped a pair of Vans on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mad, upset, guilty," he said with a shrug.

"Why on earth do you feel guilty, love?"

"That never should've fucking happened," he seethed, but in Harry fashion, it just meant his voice was clipped and low as he tried to get a handle on his anger. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stood up for you."

"I...You did, H." You didn't want to say that it was okay, because obviously the whole situation wasn't, but you knew he wasn't to blame. The topic of him sticking up for you was a touchy one. "You were put in a tough position, yet you still put those assholes in their place. Let's just go home and forget about all this shit, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he still wouldn't meet your eye, which wasn't going to work for you one bit.

"Hey," you said, tilting his chin up with your fingertips. "Don't beat yourself up. Please? For me?"

For the first time since the midpoint of the interview, Harry grinned. He threaded his fingers through yours before giving you a kiss, his lips soft and familiar against yours. You felt some of the tension leave his body until he eventually pulled away and draped an arm over your shoulders, your hands still connected.

"Never fucking coming to this place again," Harry murmured on the way out, keeping you tucked closely to his side.

"Amen to that."

Harry looked down at you, the anger and frustration finally clearing from his eyes. When it came to you, to your feelings, he was very protective. And you were too, in your own way. You leaned on each other, supported each other, and spent time together without ever being sick of one another. There was no doubt in your mind that he loved you, and even though it might put him in hot water with his management or the interviewer, it meant a lot to you that he stood up for you the way he did. You didn't need him to throw punches or push people up against walls—honestly, that was what your brothers were for—but when it all boiled down, he put you and your feelings first, always and without question.

"I love you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of your hand.

"Even with my crazy brothers?"

"Even with your crazy brothers."

"Hm. Even when Buddy steals your spot on the bed?"

"Even then."

"Even in the mornings when my feet are cold and they brush up against your legs?"

When Harry didn't answer right away, you playfully pinched his side until he laughed and kissed the top of your head. "Babe, I'm gonna love you on your worst day, you know that."

And even though you did, your cheeks became rosy, your whole body tingling with warmth. "Good. Because I love you too. So much."

So much pain had been felt, so much devastation had been endured before you and Harry fell into a perfect rhythm. It wasn't easy, and if you were to look back at the girl who believed she was fucked in the head and incapable and undeserving of love and being loved, you would still think it was all worth it. You would endure it all again if it led you to this moment, if it ended up with Harry cradling your heart of glass in his hands and protecting it as if it was his own.

Hand in hand, you went home and didn't look back at the shattered glass you'd long since left behind.

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alwayslovingharry · 4 months

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ONE YEAR

A/N: heeey look at that! im posting something new again!

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY: On the day before Christmas you realize just how much has changed in one year.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Time has always been such a weird concept in your life. When you were a kid one year felt like a decade, week-long summer vacations felt endless and you could have sworn that you’d never grow up.

But then, of course, you did, like everyone else and time sneakily started to speed up. One day after the other, weeks turned into months and years and before you could realize, another birthday has passed, you got older even though the last one felt like it was yesterday.

One year can feel like a second, but it can also make such a difference and today, the day before Christmas you’re reminded of it.

Waking up you’re not surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. The mornings when you could peacefully cuddle with Harry are now long gone, but knowing that he is somewhere out with your daughter makes up for all the missed moments together in bed.

Stretching long you give yourself a couple more minutes to just rest and get your head ready for the day. The night wasn’t too rough, only had to wake up twice to feed Alma and she went back to sleep without a fuss this time. Maybe she can finally feel the Christmas spirit as well and her gift is to let you rest finally.

Sitting up in bed you turn towards the window and see that it’s still snowing, the street outside is clothed in the prettiest white blankets that’s almost entirely untouched since it’s so early in the morning. Your wish for Alma to have a first Christmas with snow is actually coming true.

Snatching one of Harry’s hoodies from the closet, you make your way out of the bedroom as you’re putting it on, noticing his voice coming from the living room the moment you reach the stairs. Trying to be as quiet as possible you head down, hearing his cooing voice that’s for sure for Alma.

“See them? You like them? They are pretty, right?”

He has the most soothing voice as it is, but whenever he is talking to Alma it feels like it softens even more, as if that little girl melts the man in every possible way.

Well, that’s kind of the truth, Harry is smitten with his girl.

Harry is standing by the window that watches over the snowy street, the lights of the christmas tree reflecting in the glass because it’s still a bit dark outside. He is holding Alma in one arm, holding the curtains to the side with his free hand, gently swaying from side to side, a motion that always calms your baby, but only when her daddy does it.

As you watch them in awe you think back to this exact day a year ago. It’s one to remember, because this was the day you found out you were pregnant and you shared the news with Harry. As much as you love your daughter, it’s no secret you weren’t planning her arrival so soon. Harry proposed just weeks before the pregnancy came into the picture and you both agreed to take some time just for the two of you, enjoy married life alone before expanding your family. Travel, explore, find yourself before becoming parents.

All those plans changed when the second line appeared on your test.

Harry was surprised, maybe even shocked a bit. Not because he didn’t want kids, but because he was planning with another timeline that only included babies in 2-3 years. You talked for long hours that day and he told you he doesn’t feel ready, that he’s afraid he might not be the best father our baby deserves and he’s scared he might mess it up. You both cried and shared all your feelings and thoughts.

It took time for him to settle with the idea of becoming a father earlier than he planned, but by the time the nursery was done, he was a changed man. Throughout your pregnancy he did everything he could to better himself and be ready for Alma’s arrival. He read every possible parenting book out there, always took care of you and looked for ways to be more present in this new chapter of your life together.

Now it’s been four months since Alma was born and Harry is easily the best father you could ever wish for your baby and you’re so proud of him for everything he does for you and Alma as well. There’s no trace of that scared, doubtful man you sat on the couch with a year ago, the positive pregnancy test lying on the coffee table in front of you.

Alma’s head turns, as if she had a sixth sense to notice when you’re around and she gives you a toothless grin as you make your way across the room. Harry turns and you see the same sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you that you saw the first time you met. He says he knew he would marry you one day the moment he laid his eyes on you. You believe him, because you felt the same way.

“Good morning you two,” you smile, pressing a kiss to Alma’s forehead and one to Harry’s lips.

“Morning Mommy, we didn’t wake you up, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. Alma visibly starts to wiggle towards you, Harry hands her over and she lays her head to your chest right away, her tiny hands grabbing onto the sweatshirt that smells like Harry.

“Princess is kinda hungry, but I thought I could prolong breakfast a bit and distract her with the snow.” Harry smiles gently, running his knuckles down the side of Alma’s round face.

“You like the snow, huh? We’ll see how much you like it when we’re outside in the cold,” you chuckle.

You move over to the couch and Harry follows you, you sit beside each other, Harry’s arm instantly comes around you, pulling you against his chest as you settle Alma in your arms to feed her. This has been your usual for the morning feeding, but almost all feeding, because Harry loves being present in these moments. All those sleepless nights when she woke up every two hours and you had to sit in the nursery for most of the night to feed her, Harry was there every time. If you weren’t sleeping, he wasn’t either, even if all he could do was just be there, run his fingers through your hair and tell you how great of a mother you are, he never missed a chance to be present.

As usual, Alma passes out in your arms once her tummy is full and you can’t help but just stare at her and think of how you can’t imagine your life without her now.

Turning your head you find Harry gazing down at her as well with sparkling eyes and you wish to see him like this, so happy and content every day for the rest of your life.

“What?” he asks with a tiny, shy smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Just… I was thinking about how much has happened in one year.”

Harry hums and you know he is thinking about the same thing from last year.

“Yeah. It’s crazy. Can’t wait to see what the next one holds.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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alwayslovingharry · 5 months

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Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

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alwayslovingharry · 5 months

Text

Illicit- II

Check out our Patreon- part 3 and 4 are up there now!

Warnings- Cheating (H with Y/N), asshole H lol

WC- 3.1k

------

“How was the event yesterday?” Niall asked, leaning back in his camping chair.

The lake view was stunning. Nestled in the foothills of the mountain range, the lake town had always had charm. It was a true small town, despite the string of multi million dollar lake homes, and Harry had found it to be one of his favorite estates their family owned. That’s why he hosted an end of summer weekend there with his true friends. His small handful of trusted people and their significant others- and a few staff with iron clad NDA’s- were invited out to the lake house for the last hoorah of summer activities. Tubing, swimming in the lake or the pool, volleyball, bonfires, even fireworks that he hired out, all of it was being utilized before it couldn’t be anymore. It was similar each year, but this year had a new, important addition.

Y/N, his sweet little thing.

“Horrible.” Harry grunted, watching as Y/N and Zayn’s girlfriend Hannah combed the bush around the lake looking for wildflowers. “It’s never good. I despise those things, and the fact I have to go to save face makes it even more insufferable.” The events were so drab and dull. Sometimes, in his youth, he’d enjoy the food or the drinks. Winning something at auction. But now it was watered down with people who, quite frankly, didn’t deserve to be there. He could give to charities on his own- and he did- but un-fucking-fortunately, if he showed up then there would be more eyes on it. His presence was just as valuable as his money.

“Don’t blame ya for hating ‘em. As soon as I got out of them I felt better. But how was Katherine? She splattered you all over her instagram, said she got flowers from ya. Did you?” He knew the answers, obviously, but wanted the confirmation he all too easily got with the scoff and Harry’s head tipping back to finish his beer.

“Fuck no. I haven’t gotten her flowers since the first date. I left Y/N in my bed, arrived to the event late to get my ear chewed off about how rude it was and dragged around to be photographed even though I’d rather chop off a thumb.” He grunted. “Then I went home, Y/N was asleep so I packed and then… woke her up.” His face grew a slight smirk, remembering how he woke her up with his mouth between her thighs and flowers actually bought for her on the nightstand. He felt awful whenever he had to see Katherine and knew it wasn't something that Y/N liked either, so he wanted to make it up to her whenever he could. The fact that Katherine showed him off like a showpony and lied about flowers she had certainly got for herself was laughable but not at all surprising.

“It’s so odd to see you like… properly into a girl.” Niall admitted. “I have to admit, though, y’look actually happy. Weird as fuck to see you walk around with a smile after the scowls you’ve become famous for.” It really was. Y/N had exposed a softer, gentler side of Harry that hadn’t been seen before. Before Y/N he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a woman on his lap, and yet he pulled her into his lap whenever he got the chance. Even here. He didn’t give a fuck if his inner circle saw- no, he wanted them to. The need to show off the one girl he actually wanted was overwhelming at times.

“She’s different.” There was no use in denying how much he really loved Y/N. It was obvious, written all over his face when she was around or even mentioned. She’d taken the stiff iron walls of his heart and turned them into soft molten fluff for her to mold. There wasn’t much shame he had, except for having to hide her for a bit. “I just want this contract to be over so I can move it along. She’s halfway moved in but I want her there all the time. Just can’t have her fully there because… y’know.” Because Katherine liked to show up unannounced sometimes and demand attention. He never really did, sending her off with the excuse of work, but once he got serious with Y/N he had his locks changed and a lack of care that increased as the days went on.

Harry was an awful boyfriend to Katherine and he simply did not care. He hoped that she would come to her senses and break up with him but apparently, the perks of being attached to his name were too good to give up just because he was mean, didn’t give her attention or affection. He’d refused to kiss her besides the cheek and told her that he didn’t care if she got it somewhere else, but he was on a ‘sex ban.’. Ironic, considering he was the most thoroughly sexed he’d been in his life. Sometimes he felt a tad bit of guilt, just knowing how his mother would feel if she found out how awful he was to her- but she didn’t like the girl either!

He was desperate for this to end so he could introduce her to Y/N. The woman he was certain he was keeping for as long as she let him. Harry was a possessive man and intended on that being forever, but he cared about her too much to lock her into a secret engagement. She deserved to be able to show off and tell the world- and so did he.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s good there wasn’t an infidelity clause, he was dumb as fuck for that. It’s a shame cause she’s a pretty girl, could probably find some other new blood to stick to and make her money that way. But I get why she’s sticking to you. All those people wanting a slice of your empire must be fucking exhausting.” Niall was wealthy, his family going back a few generations short of Harry’s own, but it didn’t have the public notoriety that his did. He often wished that was the case for his legacy.

“Wish she would just have a real moment of clarity and realize no money is worth this, that she could be getting dick and designer bags and someone else to dote on her. Not me. Never will be me. But, in just a few months it’s not my problem and her arse will be on the curb whilst Y/N will go public with me.” He didn’t plan on waiting very long for that. Perhaps it would be in bad taste to only wait until a day after a public breakup but he would do it if Y/N didn’t have some weird guilt surrounding Katherine.

Their conversation was cut short by a call of his name, his beaming girl approaching with a basket of wildflowers in her hand. His heart stuttered, his scowl falling to build up a soft, fond smile. His arm opened and he patted his lap, motioning her to sit pretty on his thigh and drape her legs over him- which she easily did. Her breezy, cornflower blue dress hit just above her knees and the off the shoulder cut showed off a nice amount of skin. A necklace she had gotten from him, a sunflower pendant with an H etched into the back hung perfectly on her neck, glistening in the setting sun. The floppy sunhat looked fucking adorable on her, pushed back enough to ensure it didn’t hit Harry in the face.

“What have you got, my love?” He asked tenderly, hand folding on her thigh and tucking under the hem of her dress. An intimate hold, but they were in their own safe place. As soon as he went public with her, he was going to show the world just how much. HE wasn’t necessarily the public type, but he had no qualms with letting people see Y/N on his arm, draped in jewelry his money bought, on his yachts, in his businesses, with his ring, and hopefully, full of his child. He couldn’t think about the last one for too long without getting hard, though, so he reserved that for later.

“We got a little bouquet for the table for dinner. Love the flowers you got too, but it feels nice.” Her hand stroked through his ungelled hair, loving the curls they formed whenever he was unstyled. He left it like that specifically for her, and she took advantage of it. “My mum and I would do it every summer, we had that flower garden. Remember the photos?” Harry nodded, he did indeed. He would be building her her own whenever he could propose and they moved further out of the city. “Yeah, good! So, we got some and m’gonna go ask Ms.Greta if she’s got any vases. We’re eating outside tonight, yeah?”

“We are. Proper grill out. I think she does have some, I don’t remember offhand what we’ve got here but-” He squeezed her leg, letting his fingers press into the warm flesh. “Before y’go and do that, think you forgot something.” His expectant look was clear on his face. Y/N gasped, quickly remedying the situation as she curled her hand around his strong jaw and tilted it so she could connect their mouths for what she intended to be a chaste kiss. Harry had different intentions. Instead, he snuck his tongue into her mouth and used his hand to cradle the back of her neck, slightly damp with sweaty hair, keeping her to his mouth. He was never one to half ass, even when Niall began to fake gag.

“Alright, fucking christ. Swallow her whole, why don’t you!” Niall continued to make childish noises but Harry continued, ignoring his friend as he hummed against his girl’s mouth. He had few places he could actually do these sorts of things and he’d be damned if he let anyone tease him out of it. This was the woman he wanted more than anything, and he liked the tiny glimpses he got into their possible future.

—------

“I like this.” Y/N mumbled into his chest. The day had dwindled down and she was sitting on his lap in front of the fireplace in the master bedroom. Harry’s chest was bare as her cheek rested against the smooth expanse, the middle of it covered in a thin layer of hair. He’d started to let it grow since they’d begun to see one another when Y/N expressed how much she found it sexy, and Harry was one to please her when she said things like that. “Not having to hide. I can’t wait until you can be mine for everyone to see.” Her lips brushed his pec, pressing a chaste kiss there.

Guilt swarmed inside his stomach like a disturbed beehive, making him swallow down the lump in his throat. While he felt no guilt at all for the supposed infidelity towards Katherine, the guilt lied in having to suppress the most incredible relationship with Y/N. He knew she didn’t love feeling like a secret all the time, and while Harry had said he didn’t care if people found out, Y/N had to think of her own reputation. That was what had him ensuring he kept it under wraps. While people would just see him as yet another dumb, horny man? They’d see Y/N as a homewrecker, a slut, every bad name under the sun. Not to mention the online bullying she’d be subjected to by Katherine, her little group and all her naive fans.

He’d never cared about someone like this before. Yes, of course he loved his family and his friends, but this was a whole other level of care. It went bone deep. Y/N was the type of person you met once in a lifetime. The type you couldn’t let slip through your fingers because you really couldn’t. Y/N was everything and more and Harry was dedicated to keeping her as happy as possible, but the reality was that they had to hide just a bit longer.

“I know, my love.” He said quietly, trailing his fingers over the crown of her head. “It’s hard right now. I never anticipated meeting you or I never would have… Wouldn’t have taken the deal.” The words were murmured just for her, eyes searching her own to try and gauge her emotions. She didn’t seem particularly devastated, but there was still that undercurrent of sadness that made his chest twinge. “I know I’ve told you time and time again about how much I am obsessed with you, how you’re the woman I want… But I can’t wait either. You’ve not even a clue about how much I look forward to showing you off.”

While he had complained of Katherine doing so, it was a whole other ballgame when you truly adored the person and felt proud to be theirs.

“You do?” She peeped, eyes rounding as she peered up at him. Sometimes she was so fucking beautiful that it felt like a hit in the stomach. She was clear of makeup now, showing off her natural features. He loved seeing her in any capacity but this had to be his favorite. Private, intimate, bare. Her hair in two messy braids but still managed to have some strands in her face. Her lips were soft and plump, the overnight mask on them that she had tried to explain to him and he still had no clue what it did other than make his girl happy- his Y/N was his gift. He knew he didn’t deserve her but he never claimed to be a good person- He would keep her forever. Some could call him intransigent, but he wouldn’t argue.

“Of course I do. Look forward to everyone seeing you on my arm. I think it will be apparent that I’m pretty far gone. People will wonder what magic powers you possess.” He laughed through his nose, leaning in to kiss the side of her head. “You just bewitched me, sweet little thing. Had me in knots when you blocked me, y’know that?” His smile grew. “Never wanted to talk to someone so badly in my life.”

“From what I knew, you had an actual real girlfriend!” She defended adamantly. “And then you basically locked me into a room with you to explain yourself. Scared the shit out of me. Y’know, there were rumors that people thought you were some sort of mafia boss.” She snorted. “Kind of believed it for a bit. You’ve got the whole, tall, dark and handsome thing going on. Mysterious. Kind of a dick.” She yelped when he lightly pinched her side, erupting into a fit of giggles. “Hey! No. You’re a handsome asshole. And to your credit, that was the last time you were all weird with me. Once I believed you, you became a sweet little thing.” Her voice cooed as she reached up to pinch his cheek like a grandmother would, making him roll his eyes.

It was true, though. He’d met her and it hadn’t gone so well in the beginning. His reputation for being cold and callous to new people, to most, actually, didn’t help when his interest in her spiked. He remembered very clearly, watching with a drink in his hand as she laughed with some of the girls. Grinning wide and showing teeth, making his chest do the weird pitter patter it usually did now when he saw her, but the first time had shocked the hell out of him. He’d never had that sort of reaction to someone before. Sure, he found people hot and experienced lust, but it was the first time in his life he craved conversation. To be nosy. So he hunted her, cornered her like prey and had him picking her brain for a while. He’d been gaining momentum, touching her and getting her a drink , and she had been into it until someone whispered into her ear on the way back from the bathroom what he assumed was the information that he was ‘taken.’

So what? He had gone through drastic measures to convince her to see him again, even showing her the contract that was notarized.

“A mafia boss?” He snickered, raising a brow. “Not a chance. Though I appreciate you thinking I’ve got what it takes. No, unfortunately it’s just the multitude of legitimate businesses in my empire, my darling.” His smile grew warm, watching her return it. “Though, if that’s something you want to roleplay in bed, I’d not be opposed.”

“Of course you wouldn’t be, perv.” With a roll of the eyes she patted his chest. “Never met someone so dirty in my life. Energizer bunny must be a sponsor of your cock because I swear, even being older than me you’ve got more stamina.” It was the truth, but she didn’t grasp how it was just for her. He used to be satisfied with a fuck or two a week, he could go without it if he went to the gym. Being with Y/N changed him to an insatiable beast, but she was his willing accomplice.

“I don’t see you complaining when my cock is in your pretty cunt and you’re crying for me t’let you cum. Begging Daddy to let you cream all over my cock, because you tend to be a messy little girl. At least m’nice enough to let you.” He said with a straight face. There was no comment about how he could feel her clench on his thigh, but she already knew he could. His filthy mouth couldn’t be competed with and thankfully, Y/N had a thing for dirty talk.

“Alright- jesus.” Y/N whined, burying her face against his chest. “Don’t get me worked up now. I’m a little sore, someone took it out of me in the shower.” The grumbled words made him smirk, smugness and pride evident on his face. If she was really hurt she would let him know and he would grovel on his knees to make it better. “If you take it easy, I think you could have me in the morning. Wake me up with it.” A treat for the man, considering he adored watching her eyes peel open and a whimper sounding from her sleep swollen lips as he slipped in and out of her warm insides.

“Hm. I suppose that’s a fair deal.” He signed, acting resigned as he tugged her closer to him. “I’m lucky to have you, my minx. Always so good to me.” Even more than he deserved.

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alwayslovingharry · 5 months

Text

Illicit

Hello my loves! Welcome to the first part of our next mini series we've been working on behind the scenes. The next 2 parts are available immediately on Patreon now, but will be updated here in the next few weeks!

Patreon

Warnings- cheating ( WITH y/n), Asshole Harry, I hate everyone but her, old money/wealth, toxic relationship dynamic, harry is mean and will be mean but not to Y/N lmao, smut

WC- 2.4k

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Harry had just finished cleaning himself of cum as his phone rang.

It was his girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend’, really, because this wasn’t a real relationship. Not in his mind, anyways.

“What?” His voice was a sharp whip, already annoyed that the post orgasm bliss had been interrupted by Katherine. Y/N was sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his thigh as fingers traced over his chest, absentminded circles pausing when she heard his attitude already. Her brow raised as he lifted the phone to show the name on the screen, making her nod, lips turning down. That irritated him further.

“When are you coming to get me?” A voice that pierced his ears made him close his eyes, a dull throb beginning to coast down his head. “Daddy said you’re coming to the event and you were going to pick me up!”

She was huffing like a child, not wanting to wait. Realistically, he would leave in 30 minutes. Y/N would stay curled up in his bed and wait for him to come home before he took her away to one of his family cabin’s with the rest of their friend group- the ones who knew of him and Y/N. He would spend the entire night trying to think of an excuse to get back to her early, and hoping Katherine wouldn’t throw a fit about not being able to come on this ‘business trip’.

“You live with your father. Could you have not shared a ride?” His tone was icy, something Y/N had never been the recipient of. Thank god, really. As sexy as it was to hear him talk like that to other people, it would definitely make her cry. The man was intense, even he knew that, but not everyone seemed to catch on.

“Hazza! Come on.” She whined. “He already left and stopped by the office. I’m getting ready now but we have to be early for the photos!” As if that was going to help her cause. It was like the girl had a handbook on how to say the wrong things.

Harry didn’t do those stupid step and repeats. While Katherine loved being the center of attention, it wasn’t something Harry desired. In actuality, he detested it. He hated paparazzi and had broken 2 cameras from having them in his face without a second glance. No aggression, the picture of calm with pure ice on his face as he did so. If they valued their possessions, they shouldn’t be shoving them in people’s way. That’s what he thought, at least.

“I’ll be there in an hour. I’m not doing those photos. I don’t care what you do. Now stop calling me when I'm in the middle of things. You know if I don’t answer once, wait for further instruction.” He paused. “And stop calling me that childish nickname. I don’t find it cute or endearing, it’s embarrassing. Goodbye.”

There was a sharp squeak as he hung up the phone and threw it to the ground, rolling Y/N around onto her back and sliding his still sticky cock back inside of her yet again. His annoyance was clear on his face, but it quickly melted away as her arms wrapped around him and her lips covered his face with soft coos, legs pulling him in deeper. Maybe she was a bit sore, maybe his last load was still dripping out of her messy hole, but she knew exactly how the man needed to express himself.

“I know.” Her silky voice wrapped around his tension and broke it down, slow thrusts inside of her quelling the bubbling irritation in his stomach and turning it into arousal. Y/N could read his stone cold features, knew what his eye twitch meant, the simple movement of a brow or the tiniest down or upturn of lip. This magnificent woman seemed to have him all figured out, and he felt like shit for having to leave and be seen with another woman. “I know, baby. Only a few more months.” Fingers stroked his hair back, guiding his lips to her own.

He kissed her back, eyes squeezing shut as he allowed himself to lose the anger that had developed by focusing on her. The heat of her cunt wrapped up tight around him, snug. Fitting him perfectly, just as it always had. Y/N was the one he had wanted to take to these things, but he had to wait. For once, his patience wasn’t being practiced.

The best thing in his life had to be hidden from most people, all because he had taken a stupid deal. He had to go out with the girl who thought she was going to be the next Mrs.Styles, while all he wanted to do was stay nestled in his luxury sheets with Y/N’s soft, supple body to worship.

It was all his fault, though.

He had always been ambitious. Ruthless, some may say, but he knew that to a degree he could be cruel to get what he wanted. That was how had been raised. His father had put that right into his head, doing anything for success, power, money… that’s how he ended up in this situation.

In order to secure the deal of a lifetime, he had agreed to date the man’s daughter. Maybe that sounded cruel, but he knew the intentions from the get go. The man was using his conventionally pretty, high society daughter to try and sweeten the deal- but he knew the true motivation. An attempt to get him into the family and continue having control of the company through his daughter’s supposed relationship with him. If only he had been smarter, if he had done more research. He would know he was sending a sacrificial lamb right into Harry’s awaiting lion jaws.

See, she had been no stranger to him. Katherine had been after him for quite a while. They were acquainted to a certain degree, running in similar circles and society dinners. The crush, more so the obsession she had with Harry had been no secret to anyone. She claimed to have been in love with him, but Harry knew what it truly was. A lust for money. An infatuation with the power he could secure her. She loved what Harry could represent for her, not only to secure place in the society she had been thrown into as she grew up- but to elevate it. She knew the score, knew what Harry’s ring could mean.

Katherine knew nothing of his true personality, his likes, his dislikes, his jokes. All of those things were reserved for the tiniest selection of people that she only knew of in passing. His real friends barely touched that superficial, vapid, bitter world. Katherine’s family was new money, looking to secure their place in society. Harry’s wealth went in decades, and it would most likely stay that way. Her vying for his attention didn’t shock him in the slightest.

The condition of dating Katherine for at least a year had been one he had wanted to scoff at, one he had wanted to tell Mr. Eugene Brant that it would be obvious what it was, but he was smart enough to bite his tongue and agree. Playing stupid was a superpower, letting him think he got one over on Harry and vastly overestimating his daughter’s appeal. One year of being toted around with her overly big smile and his signature scowl on his face hadn’t been an issue. It was something he would merely go through the motions of until the exact year was up and she would be out of his life.

At least, it hadn’t been until he met Y/N.

The first woman who had ever captured his heart and soul. Softened the edges of his razor sharp glare.

She hadn’t wanted to give him the time of day once she realized he had been flirting whilst not single. She hadn’t known the deceptive relationship and it hadn’t been her fault, but that didn’t mean Harry was going to leave well enough alone. Even after she had dumped her Shirley temple on his brand new pure cotton button up.

If anything, it made him want her more.

One thing about Harry? He was going to get what he wanted. He would bet anything on it. He was patient, stubborn, and fixated. Checking guest lists to see if she’d be in attendance to parties, see if she was going to hang out with his friend group, he was on the prowl to get her to talk again.

She had blocked his number already- he didn’t really have a chance to explain. He understood why, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up.

When he finally did have the shot to tell her the relationship was a hoax, she was still doubtful. Dubious looks sent his way as he had pulled them into a private room of the club they were at- one his father owned, funnily enough- his hand holding hers as he sat beside her to plead his case. He was strong and defiant, insisting that it was a means to an end and there was no clause saying he couldn’t date other people- but he would like to get to know her on a real level.

Against her better judgment, Y/N had fallen for the soft green eyes, the soft looking lips with the sharp cupid's bow and his even sharper tongue. Giving him one date was all he needed to get her on board.

Fidelity wasn’t a term in the contract he had signed. Stupid, stupid mistake on Brant’s part. A new money, no lawyer to look over, a hasty mistake that would most definitely come to bite him in the ass. Harry hadn’t honored fidelity in the slightest even before he met Y/N. Sex was an outlet for him, as was the gym, things that were pleasurable and stress relieving. He’d only slept with Katherine a handful of times, tapering that off when he saw it made her get more and more attached. She had obviously known Harry had a reputation and while the sex had been alright, there hadn’t been much to his benefit besides the fact that she swallowed his load.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to find willing participants.

Sex with Y/N had completely rocked his world. He thinks, in part, it was because they had a real connection. She made him wait, she made him work his way up to that if he wanted- and made him stop sex with anyone else. As if he had any interest in anyone else. Y/N had taken up the majority of his brain that wasn’t filled with revenue and contracts and contacts and emails. She was his escape.

The first time they had sex, Harry had fallen for her. There was no question in his mind. Despite being positive that he wouldn’t ever marry for love, Y/N had him questioning that. She had flipped his entire world view upside down, made him weak in the knees.

Y/N wasn’t in the public eye. Her family had some elite ties, but she was friends with a lot of the quietly wealthy people who didn’t feel the need to showcase it to everyone who looked with tacky labels and monograms. She’d gotten into one of the best schools, gotten her degree and continued her friendship with her roommates and best friends- who just happened to be the girlfriends of some of his best mates. The real ones. There were only a few single members of the groups, and Y/N had been the new blood that had people wondering. Harry had been interested immediately.

It was about 4 months into their relationship and everything still felt fantastic. Y/N knew more about Harry than anyone else ever could. She was the one with the key to the future, even if she didn’t know the exact depths his feelings went to.

“I don’t want to go.” His lips parted from hers. “I want to stay here… want to stay buried inside of you, want to feed you your chocolate and lick it from your tongue.” Inhaling his words, she moaned as his hips rolled and he found his home back at her most sensitive spot. He had spent hours finding it, claiming it, and he knew it was his. “Spent all week working… I just want my sweet Angel.”

Noses brushed against one another, Y/N’s bleary eyes opening up to look at his own. Hazy, dark green, hooded. She gently dragged her nails over his shoulder blades, arching up into him and pressed a bit harder on the skin to make him moan in surprise. “You have me, Harry.” She whispered. “You have me now. Leave with my traces on your cock… then come back and take more. We leave tomorrow… and you can hold me how you like. Kiss me. Our friends don’t care. They’ll keep our secret.” Even if it was forbidden, their tight knit group knew exactly what the relationship between Harry and Katherine really was- and none really liked her. They knew Y/N made him happy, softened him up, they’d all been rooting for this. Their safe space. The only ones who knew.

“She won’t ever have me.” He reassured. “I’m yours. I want your marks on me.” Breathing harder, his thrusts getting a bit more deep. “Make me bleed. C’mon, my sweet girl. Paid for those nails… give me what I want.” Her cunt quivered around his prick, making him smile. She pretended not to like that sort of thing, but she got them done specifically for this. To quench his thirst for pain, for marks. They loved it. “She’ll never have me like this. I’m yours.” He whimpered, the freak of the bed and their noises filling the room. “M’yours, baby. My sweet Angel… stay in my bed and wait for me. I’ll give you everything. Just wait for me.”

She would. She would wait for him, to be his fully, as long as it took.

1K notes · View notes

alwayslovingharry · 5 months

Note

For a possible smutty gravity blurb: maybe something they haven’t tried before?? Like maybe flower watches one of his streams or something and he’s talking abt some type of kink/situation they’ve never done before and she gets all nervous bc she wants to do that but she’s kinda insecure bc why is he talking about it on stream but not to me??? And so maybe there’s a wholesome communication moment butttttt they end up doing that thing:) idk just a thought hehehehe

cw: anal play involved!! if that makes you uncomfortable please skip :)

wordcount: 10.2k+

—————

The end of autumn chill swirled around (Y/N) in a fluttering gust, the ends of her hair being lifted along the sweeping breeze. Her nose felt chilled, among the elements, any bare swatch of skin prickled with goosebumps. Despite her hand being exposed to the elements, she didn't notice much of that cold with the way Harry had it wrapped in his own. Walking her out to her car, he swung their hands between them in a juvenile show of affection. Since he started, she hadn't been able to wipe the smile from her face.

Looking up at him, seeing the tip of his own nose flushed with a chill to match that of his cheeks, her grin widened. He still had his glasses on from class, a heavy cardigan on his torso with his curls still a bit loose from his morning shower.

"What?" he asked, glancing down at her with a wide smile, his dimples and bunny-like front teeth on display.

"Nothing, just looking," she muttered through the curl of her lips, "You're working tonight, right?"

"I am, yeah," he sighed, "Sorry."

Creases pulled her brows into a furrow. "Why are you sorry? It's your job, don't be sorry."

"I know," he drawled, the same way he always did when she had to remind him that there was no reason for guilt tied to his line of work. "But, I was wanting to spend time with you tonight instead."

Bumping his shoulder, her gentle scolding tone melted, "You know, I could still come over."

A shy flush bubbled to the surface of his cheeks, painting him a deeper shade of red than the wind could accomplish. "You'd distract me too much."

"I think we could still get through," she teased, her voice lilting as she bumped her hip against his once more.

"Maybe, another time, flower," he murmured, looking down at her with an expression she figured was better suited to the man on camera and not the physics tutor he was during the day.

"Another time, then," she agreed, pushing back the sudden need to squirm as his eyes traced down her form.

Approaching the parking lot, her car in the lucky space close to the building, (Y/N) pretended as if she didn't cut her pace to make slower strides. She wanted an extra couple of seconds with him, even if it meant walking like the people she complained about on campus between classes.

"Did y'still want me to call you before bed?"

"Yes, please," (Y/N) answered, "If you're not too tired, anyway."

"Never too tired for you, love."

Thinking back to the first days of knowing Harry, remembering the way he struggled to meet her eyes or would flush immediately when she said something as simple as his name, it was hard to compare him to the version that stood before her now. Openly flirting with her and agreeing to another time where she could sit in on one of his cam sessions and distract him for fun. It was no wonder she had never seen the obvious signs tying the camboy on her computer to her physics tutor.

"Get home safe, yeah?" he murmured to her, stopping at the bonnet of her car. Using his hold on her hand he turned her to face him.

"I'll text you," she smiled up at him, rising to her tiptoes for a moment to press her lips to his in a small kiss.

Harry chased after her, unwilling to let the kiss end just yet. He won his reward of an extra peck before she started pulling away. He'd been late to his afternoon classes one too many times after walking her back to her car, claiming he just wanted to make sure she made it there alright when they really ended up spending time kissing until his cheeks were flushed.

"Go to class," she reprimanded him, drifting away from him towards her car.

Keeping his hand clasped in hers, Harry elongated that contact until he couldn't anymore, his fingertips grazing hers before they dropped to his side. "Love you."

"Love you, too, H. I'll see you tomorrow."

A toothy grin spread across his cheeks as he looked at her, his eyes impossibly behind the lens of his glasses. "See you tomorrow.

She gave him a tinkling wave as she stepped into her car. He would stay there until he saw her pull out of the lot, keeping to his promise of ensuring she started her journey home safely (he knew too many statistics about driving accidents to freely let her go without being there in case of emergency, he'd said). But, even as she pulled out of the lot into the main road, she could see him in her rearview mirror, standing with his hands on the straps of his backpack, wide grin on his mouth.

There was the tutor version of him again; the one that was soft and smiley, shy and wrapped in sweaters. She was going to have to tune into his stream tonight to get the other side of him.

—————

While tuning into Harry's shows were something that she always found fulfilling, there was something especially satisfying now that she knew who he was and knew him as more than just a faceless crooner. Though, she could admit, she still felt a bit shy when she logged in.

However, it didn't take her long to sink into the night session when she tuned in after putting away her study materials for the night. Checking the time, she knew Harry would be in the middle of his stream then, the temptation too much to ignore before she was logged in and watching him as he cooed and moaned for the camera.

By the time his screen was pulled up for her, his tip meter was already full and over the edge, his shirt off and his hand wrapped around his cock though his boxers were still on. She knew this routine—it was one of her favorites, anyway; he was in the mood to tease the audience tonight. He was going to coax them into begging for him, asking for more of daddy before he would be so inclined to give it. His chest was flushed a warm red, complimenting the black tattoos inked on his skin. Blocks of muscle were bunching and straining, his abs shining with a layer of sweat. The camera had almost everything in view, going as high up as to capture the line of his throat before cutting off at his jaw.

Plugging her headphones into her ears, she heard the labored sound of his breathing, the rich gravel of his town heavy on his tongue, and the slick sound of his fist passing over his length.

She had her hands on her keyboard, reading to type something out for him to test if he had his eyes on the chat, but she stopped short when he resumed talking. He was detailing out a fantasy for them, one she had never heard fall from his lips before.

"Would you like that, baby?" he asked, words drawling and dripping out of his mouth, "You'd let me try with you? You'd let me play with your cute little ass?"

Just out of view of the camera, he threw his head back, his breathing labored. She could see the stretch of his neck, flushed with his Adam's apple bobbing. His hand on his cock quickened, his fist slapping against his skin.

"You'd let me do that?" he continued, his voice completely breathless with his chest heaving, "Let me fuck you from the back and see where else you could take me? Play with you a little?"

With a fluttering blink, (Y/N) couldn't take her eyes off of what her Harry was doing on screen. Though he'd never brought it up to her before, it didn't take much for her to picture what he was offering for the audience.

She could be on her hands and knees for him, Harry kneeling behind her with his thighs smacking against the back of her own as his cock sank in and out of her pussy. Her heart was in her throat when she pictured him spreading her cheeks apart and thumbing at the second entrance he was speaking up, the second place she could "take" him like he said.

Is that something he wanted? He wanted to play with her, see what else he could mold her body into doing for him, see what reactions he could garner from her?

"You'd love it, sweetheart, I promise. I'd be so gentle, so gentle," he rambled, his voice sounding airy and lost the longer he sat with his fantasies. "I can put in a couple of fingers, show you how good it feels. I think I could make you cum like that. You want that?"

Her designated nickname pricked her ears. He didn't even know she was tuning into the show yet, having been frozen since he started speaking with no comments in her name being sent through the chat yet. He was thinking of her?

The idea made her thighs tense, her stomach squeezing into a tight knot.

There had never been a time in her life that she had considered allowing anyone to feel around anywhere other than her pussy, but the thought of Harry wanting to feel and touch her everywhere plucked at something in her. Leave it to him to make even the most unappealing of things into something she could see herself wanting.

"Fuck you everywhere, sweetheart, that's what I want" he groaned, the pace of his hand on his cock causing the band of his underwear to slip low enough to show off his length. "Gonna cum jus' thinking about it."

Sucking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened to his breathing hitch and shudder, changing to match the heavy pace of his hand on his cock. He really was going to cum, that much she could tell. His abs were tight, skin flushed, and the base of his cock tight from the sliver of skin she could catch on screen.

"C'mon, sweetheart, tell me you'd let me try with you. Let me have more of you."

His chat was flooded with responses, going way too fast for (Y/N) to even attempt to concentrate on. She could imagine it was filled with the confirmations that he wanted, dirty promises that any of these audience members would spread open for him at any given moment. His tip meter had well exceeded the goal amount, the donations and tiny messages attached seemingly only urging him on.

All (Y/N) could give her attention to was the amount of times he uttered her nickname, asking her if she'd let him try his fantasy with her. That he promised that he would make it good for his sweetheart, that he'd be as gentle as he could be when sinking his fingers in and fucking her everywhere he could reach.

She felt as if she were out of her body, watching as he plucked down the band of his boxers. His heavy cock bounced up against his stomach before he caught it in his slick fist. His length was wet and flushed, precum pooling on the tip and dripping down his shaft. She was sure her mouth had dropped into a gape. This fantasy had elicited that kind of reaction from him. Her tummy tightened at the thought.

Though she was aware he was talking, spinning a story for his viewers to be entranced with, (Y/N)'s own head was spiraling around her own story.

Would he help hold her hips up when she couldn't anymore? She already felt full enough with his cock inside her, how much more would she feel with him like that? With his stamina, how long would he have her buried against the mattress, opened up just for him?

Before she could even be aware of the moment, she heard a familiar gasp in her headphones. Her eyes refocused on the screen, Harry's cock spurting with ropes of cum. Strings decorated his chest, slicking over his tattoos in milky pearls. He groaned, chest heaving with blushing skin. His throat was bobbing, the skin stretched with the very ends of his hair visible on the edge of the screen. She could picture his eyes closed, lavender eyelids fluttering with dark lashes. His mouth would be set into a gape, a pinch between his brows.

One of these days, she was going to end up going to his apartment after one of his streams. It wasn't fair that he was able to perform like that and she wasn't in his bed at the end of the night.

Harry recovered soon enough, cleaning off his chest and giving his signature send off for the night.

(Y/N) was still far from joining him in that headspace even when the screen blacked out, his page settling for the night. Her brain was still where he was describing his fantasy, where she could picture herself on all fours for him.

Replacing her laptop lid and sliding the device away, she rolled onto her back in the folds of her comforter. Staring up at the ceiling, she attempted to gather her bearings.

Now that more of the lust and the initial intrigue began to wane, she was left with a question.

Why wouldn't he tell her about this? Obviously, he had quite the feelings towards this fantasy, given the fact he was so worked up, cumming before she even really had a chance to catch up. Why was his first choice to share this with strangers on his stream as opposed to telling her?

To be fair, it was a rather intimate dream, even more than what they usually did with one another. But, considering the details of their relationship—her being an avid viewer of his before knowing his identity, Harry being an active cam-personality, as well as the time they sexted with one another before even knowing who they were—there were very blurry lines when it came to what could be "too much".

She hoped she had shown that she would be open to trying anything for him, just the same way he is with her.

Their phone call tonight would be interesting.

—————

"Hi, flower."

Snuggled in her duvet, (Y/N) relaxed into the mattress at the sound of his voice. "Hi, H. What are you doing?"

"About to fall asleep," he shared, his voice decidedly deeper than usual, "What about you, love? Y'get all your studying done?"

"Mhm," she hummed, casting her mind back to the hours before she tuned into his stream. They didn't seem so important compared to everything that happened after she slid her textbooks out of the way. Harry didn't even know yet that she had been present during the show, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him. A part of her wanted to wait and see if he would broach the subject of everything without her having to bring it up. "How was your show?"

"Short," he laughed, the sound a warm vibrato, "I got too worked up and barely made it through a half an hour."

"Yeah?" she prodded, hoping to open up the conversation for him, "What happened?"

"Jus' m'imagination running a little too wild," he sighed, paraphrasing everything she had already heard through her headphones, "Thought about you a little too much, of course."

The timber of his voice fell as he spoke his last statement, enticing her through the phone as if that was a hard task for him to pull off. His voice was what paid half of his bills anyway—his body handled the other fifty percent.

(Y/N) felt a tad on the breathless side when she spoke next, settling back into the way she had integrated herself into his story; she could still see herself on her hands and knees, spread open for him with whines falling from her lips. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, sweetheart," he drawled, the smug smile on his lips audible through the phone, "You've seen the shows; you know what I think about when it comes to you."

It was hard not to get wrapped up in his words. Even with the small plan she had in her back pocket, this being her attempt to gather more information about the fantasy she shared with strangers on the internet, it was all too easy to fall into that soft, velvet coated space with him where his words were like silk and honey dripping over her skin. He knew exactly how to talk to her.

"Yeah," she swallowed, closing her eyes with her cheek mushed against her pillow, "But, was something different about today?"

Harry hummed as if he were considering her question. This would be the moment, she figured. This would be when he'd bring up the fact that he wanted to try something new with her, lay her out on his bed and take her in every way he could.

"I jus' think I miss you, that's all," he told her, deflating that anticipation ballooning in her chest. "I feel like 's been a while since I've had you all to myself, don't you think?"

Truthfully, they spent the entire weekend at his apartment, studying and working on papers in-between cuddles on the couch and romps in his bedroom.

"I think, we had all weekend together," (Y/N) laughed, teasing him some as if she still wasn't itching for alone time with him.

"I guess we did, huh," Harry joined in, "Jus' not enough for me then, I guess. You've spoiled me, now I'm always going to want more."

That declaration pinged in the back of her mind. He wanted more, that's what he's said in the stream. He wanted more of what she had to give him.

"I can do that," she answered instinctively, her voice a bit breathy over the line.

"Yeah? Gonna keep spoiling me?" he teased, his demeanor decidedly much more light-hearted compared to the creeping in of lust into her tone.

"I'll try." She'd try to be everything he wanted, she decided. She was going to be the place he indulged and shared those intimate stories with, not the internet.

A soft sigh sounded on the other line. "Y'always do, flower," he crooned before a yawn cut him off, "'M about to fall asleep, love, 'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she rushed out, feeling guilty now that she's trying to extract information from him when he started the call telling her just how sleepy he was, "Go to sleep and I'll see you tomorrow, right."

"See you tomorrow," he confirmed, his voice heavy and dripping, "Love you."

"Love you, too, H. Goodnight."

Harry shared a final goodnight with her before the call ended with (Y/N) left in her lonely bedsheets and the new facet of him she learned today.

Her eyes shuttered to a close as she sunk into the silence of her bedroom. She hadn't been lying when she said that she would try to do that—be that—for him. Why he didn't tell her in the first place, wasn't something she could dwell on at the moment. She needed to focus on plucking up the courage to do what she promised.

—————

"I'm still coming over tonight, right?"

Harry's smile bloomed over his lips, dimples deep in his cheeks. "Of course," he murmured, dipping his head down through the open window of her car to press a kiss to the apple of her cheek, "Should jus' live there, if you ask me."

(Y/N)'s own lips were curled into a soft smile as she looked up at him. This wasn't the first time nor would it be the last time she heard of this want of his. "We'll see," she settled, "Let me know when you're back then I'll head over."

"I will," he smiled, pressing another delicate kiss to her mouth before pulling away. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she cooed, "I'll let you know when I make it home."

He murmured a small thank you against her skin before pulling away. He waved a goodbye at her as he stepped back from her car, giving space for her to pull out of the parking lot.

Flicking her gaze to the rearview mirror, Harry nothing more than a cardigan covered figure that grew blurrier and blurrier until she took the turn to leave him out of her sight, (Y/N) could feel her heart rate spike.

She had a plan. The idea of setting it in motion elicited that nervous excitement in her. All she wanted was for it to go along without a hitch, and spend a special night with Harry.

When she laced this whole thing together the night before, she decided that when she went over that night, she wouldn't even really address what she had heard him say in the stream. She would initiate everything, pushing a little bit for the taboo idea he had shared, telling him that she wanted to try something new with him. She would tell him that she wanted to give more of herself to him.

It wouldn't take too much convincing, she figured. She already knew he had quite the affinity towards the idea of trying out both of her entrances. All she had to do was frame it with all the confidence she could muster.

And, maybe a cute set of lingerie she had bought with him in mind.

—————

The soft sound of lips parting and coming together once more filled Harry's apartment, the television screen a plain black as (Y/N) didn't want to waste time playing pretend with a movie night or watching an episode of their show. Instead, she didn't take much time before she was climbing atop his lap on the couch, her thighs astride his hips and Harry's hands on her waist.

"Sweetheart," he sighed into her mouth, his grip on her waist tightening as if she would slip away without him, "I've missed you."

(Y/N)’s own hands cradling his jaw, thumbing at the planes of his cheeks. Tipping her head in an effort to deepen the kiss, her tongue sweeping across his own, her nose the side of his own. "I missed you too, daddy."

She could feel the way his title affected him, his cock hard and heavy against her own core. He used his hold on her as leverage to help grind her down against him, (Y/N) practically able to feel the ridge of his head and the pulse of his heart through the thin fabric of her shorts. His grey sweats left little to the imagination.

"Say it again."

Moaning into his mouth, a crease knitted her brows the further she sunk into the moment. This was her chance, she was vaguely aware of. She was so ready for him, she lacked those nerves that came with vulnerability and she doubted Harry would be self-conscious enough to deny any indulgence into his fantasies.

"Daddy," she moaned, leaning into him that much more.

Snaking a hand down his form, (Y/N) followed the line of his shoulder down to his forearm. She reached to grab at his wrist before guiding his hand down lower on her body. Harry pliantly let her move him until they reached the full of her ass, the plush skin denting under Harry's fingertips. She pressed back against him, encouraging him to grab and play with her just like he said he wanted.

Harry was all but melting between her thighs. His kissing was growing lax and heavy, his tongue playing with her own in languid strokes. His heartbeat was racing but there was no urgency in the way he handled her. He luxuriated in every touch, every stroke, every grab.

It didn't take long for him to bring his other hand down to match the first, gripping her bottom in the span of his palms. Her skin felt flush everywhere he touched her, making it easy for her to push back against his hands and urge him to take the more he had been searching for.

"What's gotten into you?" he murmured, his voice heavy and watered down through the interrupting kisses. "Not that I don't like it, but you're being different, sweetheart."

To his credit, she was definitely going out of her way and initiating more, asking for more, doing more than she ever had before. She was always perfectly content with Harry calling the shots and sinking into that persona he felt comfortable in when it came to the bedroom. While she wasn't planning on taking that power from him tonight, she still had an end goal in mind that she was willing to guide him into meeting her at.

"Sorry," she answered, taking her lips to the corner of his mouth as they caught their breath, "I can stop. I just didn't realize how much I missed you, that's all."

"No, no, don't slow down," he urged her, pulling her flush against him with his hands on her ass, "Jus' want you to talk to me. What do you want? What do you want daddy to give you?"

Traveling down his neck, her lips never left his skin as she dragged a string of kisses over the slope of his throat. "I want to try something new," she whispered, hiding in his neck as she spoke.

"New?" he clarified, his voice vibrating through his throat, "What do you mean, hm?"

Was there a pretty way to phrase what she was going to ask for? (Y/N) wasn't sure, but she was going to try her best. As lusty as she was, she still was a little too shy for the more vulgar of phrases.

Instead, she pressed her bottom back against his palms, the ridges of his palms and the digits of his fingers could be felt through her sleepover shorts. "I want more of this," she told him, nose skimming his hairline with her eyes shuttered closed. "Inside."

All at once, clarity seemed to move into Harry.

Shifting his hold on her, one palm returned to the curve of her waist and the other landed on the back of her neck. He drew her away from her hiding place, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The lush green of his eyes had been depleted into something dark and foresty, a thin ring around a dilated pupil.

Fluttering her eyes in a blink, she dropped her gaze down to the swollen pillows of his lips. "Why'd you stop?"

A lopsided curve tugged at the corner of his lips. His hand on the back of her neck shifted until he was cradling her jaw in his palm, thumbing at dip under her chin. "Wanted to talk to you for a second, that's all."

Her heartbeat sped up in her chest, though no longer because of the lust she had feathering through her veins. "About what?"

Amusement flickered through his gaze. "About what y'jus' said to me."

Underneath her, Harry looked every bit the boy she had met in her physics course, the one that was too shy to meet her eyes and overly apologetic any time he had to scoot past her. He was the one that had tutored her through the toughest lectures and exams, willing to take his time and teach her things she wouldn’t have understood without him. She remembered him with flushed cheeks and chunky glasses, always warm under a heavy cardigan and a shy smile.

But, he wasn't acting like that boy. He was acting like the performer he was on screen. He was coaxing and teasing her, easing her into spilling her guts and cumming for him the second he requested as much. It wasn't fair; he was too cute, making her feel so safe to let go and be whatever she wanted to be, but entirely too hot to let her hand a clear head.

When she didn't answer, the cam performer continued, "Y'said y'wanted more of this, right?" He emphasized his question with the hand on her waist sliding down until he was warming the curve once more, fingers denting the soft flesh.

With a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) gave a quiet nod of her head.

Harry hummed at her nonverbal answer. He tipped his chin and pressed a small kiss to her lips. It was a distraction as he led both his hands to sit on her bottom. This time, he made a point of sliding them under the hem of her shorts, skin to skin.

"What did y'mean by inside, flower?"

(Y/N) bought herself time by pressing another lingering kiss to his lips. There was that bashfulness rearing its head once more. She would have to tap into his confidence if he wanted her to be blunt.

"You know," she murmured as if that were a real answer.

"Do I?" he prodded, smiling into their kiss, "Because I think it sounds like y'want me to play with your cute little ass. Is that right?"

Her chest expanded with a shuddering breath. "Uh-huh."

Buttoning his mouth against hers one more time, he shared a quick kiss with her before pulling away. His pupils were still dilated and warm, but something was decidedly softer when his gaze met hers.

"Is that why y'seem so nervous, right now?"

(Y/N) clammed up at his words. He wasn't supposed to be so observant.

"I'm not nervous," she argued, her hands falling to the planes of his chest.

"Yes, you are," he countered, just as sweet as he smiled up at her, "And that's okay. I jus' want to know where your heads at. I didn't know y'ever wanted something like this."

She shrugged, dropping her eyes to where her hands rested on his chest. She could feel the hard muscle underneath the soft fabric of his top. "I only want to try it with you."

"Yeah?" he said, sounding a little too cocky to be safe, "And why y'didn't y'tell me before?"

Before she could think much better of it, the adrenaline and endorphins in her system doing their job, (Y/N) fired back, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She watched as Harry's brows creased at her words. "What do you mean, love?"

Floundering over her words, (Y/N) knew she couldn't stop here. She had already started, there was no way of stopping in the middle of it all. "I saw your stream the other night," she blurted out, getting it out of the way and off of her chest, "The one where you talked about this stuff."

Realization dawned on him then. "I didn't know y'were listening to that one."

"I was going to comment or say something so you knew I was there," she explained, "But I had come in halfway through and you were already talking, and I've just never heard you talk about wanting that before. I was... surprised."

"Bad surprised or good surprised?"

"Good surprised," she admitted, peeking at him through her lashes, "But, a little bit bad surprised because I had to hear about it through a stream and not from you."

Adjusting his hold on her, Harry held her with an arm looped around her middle with his other hand still warming her jaw. Hugging her to his chest, she had no choice but to look up at him and meet his eyes. "I wasn't trying to keep anything from you, you know."

"I know," she reasoned, understanding that part of his job was that it was an outlet for some of the more vulnerable things he hadn't admitted aloud yet, "But it sounded like you were talking about me, and when we talked later you said you were thinking about me while you were streaming. If I hadn't been watching, though, I still wouldn't have known."

He took in her every word, listening to what she had to say before speaking. "I don't want to push you too far, that's all. I like what we have—I like making love to you,"—the phrase always brought a smile to his face when he said it, especially when (Y/N) grew shy—"and I didn't want it to be any different."

Pursing her lips, (Y/N) attempted to understand what he was getting at. "So, you don't actually want to? It was just a stream thing?"

"Oh, no," Harry stopped her, a huff of his laughter fanning across her skin, "I definitely want to, trust me. I want you to want it too, and not jus' because y'feel like it would make me happy."

"I feel like we do a lot of things because we know it makes each other happy, though," she started, maneuvering her arms until they were looped around his neck with her fingers edging into his hairline on the nape of his neck, "I don't think that's a bad thing as long as we're both comfortable, right?"

"You do watch scary movies with me," he smiled, drawing a small breath of laughter out of her lungs, "But this is a little different, don't you think? I don't want to do anything with your body that you're not one hundred percent excited for. 'M only happy if you are too."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she leaned into his hand on her jaw. "I am excited, though—I want to do this. I just wish you had told me first."

"Me too," he smiled, "Promise I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, I was only trying not to scare you."

"I know," she murmured, turning her face until she pressed her lips into a small kiss against his palm, "I'm not scared—you already promised you'd be gentle."

His grin widened at her reference to his stream, surely remembering his own fantasy in detail now that she was offering it up. "I did, didn't I?"

"Mhm," she hummed, using that hold she had around his neck to draw him nearer, "You said a lot of things."

"And, you liked it."

"I did," she confirmed, the tip of her nose grazing his, "You don't make it sound scary or gross, or anything?"

"Yeah?" he laughed, tipping his chin until he could press a tiny peck to her lips, "How do I make it sound?"

"Really hot," she admitted, "I forgot everything I studied about as soon as I started listening to you."

Harry gave a disapproving hum, teasing her. Resting the pad of his thumb against the full of her lips, he kept her from kissing him again, leaving her to listen as he spoke. "We'll have to work on that again later then, won't we? Go to the library again for some motivation?"

The reminder of the time they had gone to the library and Harry helped her through that mental block with his hand between her legs was enough to get her squirming in his lap once more. He had to know exactly where her mind had gone when she saw his grin stretch his dimpled cheeks.

"But, I should probably take care of you now," he mused, finally slipping his thumb from her lips as he smeared a kiss across her pout. "Y'deserve it for being so patient and talking to me about what you want."

"I do," she absently agreed, melting into him. She was willing to take whatever he would give.

(Y/N) indulged in the pillow of his lips, parting her mouth and taking the taste of him across her tongue. It was easy to slip back into that place with him, where her thoughts were wisps and her desires were candles lit aflame. His cock was still heavy in his lap, right where her core was resting with spread thighs, his lips still swollen, and skin still warm.

"I love you," he murmured on a breath, breaking away though he didn't stray too far from her with his forehead resting on hers, "Let's go to bed, sweetheart."

She let out a dreamy okay, following after him once he had her settled on her feet, back towards his bedroom. They didn't bother to close the door behind them, in too much of a rush before Harry was roughly handling her to be tossed amongst the folds in his bedding.

A bright peal of laughter fell from (Y/N)'s lips at the act, her eyes creasing and cheeks split wide. Harry climbed his bed with a matching smile, hovering over her.

"So pretty, you know that," he crooned, dropping a kiss on the apple of her cheek before he began his own pathway across her skin. He followed the soft planes of her face, grazing her eyelids and the bridge of her nose. (Y/N) couldn't help the soft breaths of laughter that followed the more affection he piled on her.

"You're pretty," she answered through her smile, placing her hands on his cheeks to keep him from straying too far once he finally rested on her lips.

A sly smile on his mouth kept her from getting a real kiss from him. He was bubbling up with something, she was sure.

"I know," he teased, "You think 'm pretty enough to play with your cute butt, so."

"Don't say it like that," she whined though her complaint held no grit through her toothy smile. She made a halfhearted attempt at pushing him away, though Harry stayed right where he was above her.

"Am I wrong? I seem to remember a certain conversation we had just a minute ago."

She didn't bother to answer him, instead smushing her lips against his in a silencing kiss. It was a bit off center, not quite matching up with her nose smushed against his cheek, but that didn't matter much to either of them. Harry happily fell into the contact without a single complaint.

Soon enough the silly kiss had melted into something serious, warm and languid. He laid heavily between her legs, his cock straining against his sweats with her loose shorts doing little to cover herself. His chest was pressed against hers, heartbeats side by side with every breath marked by the extra push of his blocky muscles against her breasts.

By the time her breath was taken from her lungs, Harry pulled away first. He skimmed his kiss-swollen lips over her skin until he was hovering by her ear. "Y'really want to try it out tonight?"

It didn't take a second thought before she was nodding her head.

"We'll go slow, (Y/N)," he cemented, pulling away to match her eyes intensely, "Jus' tell me to stop if you change your mind."

"I will," she answered, knowing he wouldn't move on until he had that verbal confirmation from her,

He gave her a pleased smile before he dipped down and pressed another small kiss to her lips. "Flip over for me, sweetheart."

The flames in her stomach pitched into a bonfire at his command. That had been exactly what she was picturing. Harry gave her space to roll onto her tummy, helping her move until she was on her knees with legs spread and cheek pressed against his pillow.

"This alright?" he checked in, dragging his warm hands down the backs of her thighs.

She nodded with a pleasant smile on her mouth. "This is how I pictured it," she murmured.

Harry's touch solidified at her words, less glancing fingertips and more weight on his palms as he caressed her skin and felt every inch of the plush fullness. "You pictured it?

Her ribcage practically rattled against her heartbeat as he started pulling down her shorts and panties. He helped her navigate pulling them off of her bent legs and ankles with the way her mind was too preoccupied. Why didn't she just show up naked? It would have made this so much easier.

"Uh-huh," she breathed, answering his question, "I-I wasn't sure what you had in mind, but I hoped it was like this."

Harry hummed, bending down to press a kiss to the small of her back. He pushed the hem of her loose shirt up, revealing more and more of her skin though they were both too in a rush to take the time to completely undress her. Soon enough, Harry's shirt joined her shorts and underwear on the floor, his sweats and boxing being all that clothed him for the moment.

"I have lots of ideas, sweetheart," he murmured, starting a path of planted kisses on the hills of her spine. "We'll only get through a couple today, but if y'like it, we can try so much more."

The promise that there was more he wanted to show her, more times that she would be wrapped in his sheets, more of him that she would accept without a doubt, was enough to get her pussy fluttering.

Going down the line, Harry started kissing over the globes of her bottom, delicate sweeps of his lips over the sensitive skin. She couldn't help the goosebumps that touched her skin, unfamiliar with the feeling of anything other than his strong hands skimming this part of her.

"Gonna eat you out first, okay, flower?" he crooned, his words fanning out across her skin, "We'll start there, and we'll see how you feel."

"Okay, Harry," she sighed, trusting him from where she lay with her cheek squished into the pillow and eyes fluttering to a close. The only thing she didn't love about this position: she couldn't see him.

A beat later, she could feel the warmth of his breath fan across her core. She tensed some at the surprise, feeling her insides squeeze knowing that he was that close. She only had enough time to register that exhale before the flat of his tongue was licking through her wetness. Her own breath was sucked out of her lungs at the first touch against her clit, her folds being spread wide open around the width of his tongue.

Sagging towards the bed, she arched her back that much more for him, presenting any and everything for him. Harry wrapped his hands around her thighs, palms warming the tops while his fingers wrapped around to the side insides and dented the delicate skin. His grip was steadying as he pointed the tip of his tongue and explored her opening, her walls pulsing.

An all too smug breath of laughter fell from his lips when he pulled away. "Feeling good, sweetheart? Tell me."

"So good, H," she bubbled immediately, no other thoughts attempting to take over at the moment.

"Who?" he pressed, his hands on her thighs tightening though he didn't dip back down to her pussy like she wanted.

"So good, daddy," she corrected, all but keening into him, hoping she gave the right answer and would feel more of him sliding through her folds and tasting her wetness.

"That's better, sweetheart," he praised her.

With that, Harry's tongue was once more slipping through her wetness. He smeared his tongue across her core, taking in everything she had to offer while leaving a mess behind, comprised of both her slick and his saliva. Wet sounds filtered through his bedroom, along with the heady breathing coming from her and the contented noises coming from Harry.

By the time (Y/N) had her slick covering her thighs, enough wetness to make her worry she was going to start dripping over his bed (though, seeing as how he enjoyed making her squirt, she doubted he would have minded), Harry began focusing his tongue over her pulsing entrance. More and more slick wept from her hole as he pointed the tip and slipped inside amongst her tight walls. She shuddered at the feeling, her breathing hitching as she attempted to bring in a deep breath.

Before she could even register that she was missing contact on her clit, his fingertips were pressing against the bud. Tight circles were drawn around the top of her slit, her legs beginning to shake now that there was so much moire to focus on but less room in her brain to spare. He kept his other hand steady on her thigh, keeping her from falling while simultaneously being her grounding anchor.

Her wetness dipped down his fingers, tainting his palm with a thin glimmer. Harry pulled away for a heartbeat, his breathing heavy. She could imagine the shine on his chin and nose, the flush to his cheeks, and the way he would be staring at her with intensity in his eyes. She could feel that heated gaze as his fingers trailed through her messy slit.

When he reached her hole, he lingered for only a second before he was skipping upwards. Though (Y/N) knew this was coming, she still felt her heart skip a beat, her breathing shatter as she waited with bated breath.

He brought his slick fingers to her second entrance. In an instant, (Y/N) felt herself tense up, the foreign feeling shocking her.

"'S alright, flower," Harry crooned to her, his words fanning across the rounded globes of her ass, "Jus' relax. 'S only me, and 'm going to be gentle, remember?"

"I remember, I remember," she muttered in a rambling blurt. Honestly, if she had been asked what exactly she was remembering at that moment, she wouldn't have been able to give a straight answer.

Working her through that initial shock, Harry circled his slick fingers around the puckered skin, delving his tongue back into her pussy to give her something familiarly fantastic to cling to. Her legs took as she took in the duo of feelings, her clit being laved over by his tongue with a part of her she never thought could be stimulated now pulling the breath from her lungs.

"Still feeling good, love?" he asked, drawing away for just long enough to ask before he was licking through her folds once more.

It didn't take a second thought before she was breathing out, "Uh-huh, uh-huh."

There was nothing else for her to say—especially if she wanted to sound coherent. Though it was still odd, the feeling of his wandering fingers, every pass of his fingertips over the tight opening had a pulse ringing through her insides. The flames in her stomach were tight and warm, coiling into a burn.

"I knew you'd like it, sweetheart," he mumbled against her pussy, "Told you I'd be gentle. Jus' wanna open you up a little for me to fit a finger in, is that okay?"

(Y/N) felt her eyes squeeze to a shut, creases knitting her brows together. "It's okay," she breathlessly answered, half-parroting his words back to him as that was all she could process in the moment.

A groan rumbled through Harry's chest, the sound vibrating over her core. "You want that? Want me to finger your tight little ass, love?"

Until Harry, those words would have turned her off, had her curling in on herself and ending whatever encounter had gone south, but hearing the vulgar request in his dulcet tone, rounded with lust, had both her entrances pulsing around nothing.

"Tell me you want it, sweetheart."

"I want it, daddy," she breathed out, a short whine cutting her off when he thumbed at her slick rim, trying to spread her open just like he said, "Please."

"You're doing so good, my love," he murmured, dropping a kiss to the sensitive crease just between her thigh and the slick spread of her core. "'M going to give you everything y'want. I jus' need you to relax."

Bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) sagged towards the mattress. She thought she had been relaxed, easing into everything and welcoming his touch. "I-I'm trying," she whined, "I thought I was doing good."

"You are, flower, I promise," he soothed her, another kiss to the slick skin, "Y'might be thinking about it too much, that's all. Y'need a distraction, don't you?"

(Y/N) didn't want to be distracted from a single touch he gave her, if she was being honest. She wanted to feel everything, know where his hands were, and find what she liked most. But, she supposed she might be too aware of every graze of his fingers, her body instinctively tensing and moving.

"I think you do, sweetheart," Harry continued when he didn't get a response.

The bed shifted behind her then, his hand stilling on her backside before she could feel his hips pressing against her ass. His thighs were lined up against her own with his hard cock sliding through the wetness of her folds.

A gasp fell from her lips, the tip of his heavy prick nudging her clit. She felt her insides pulse, including the already tight hole he was trying to work open. She keened back against him, slicking his shaft and the trimmed patch of hair at the base.

Smug laughter sounded behind her, Harry sounding much too pleased with himself and the reaction he could garner from her.

"Stay still for me, love," he instructed her, "'M gonna help you."

The steadying hand he had placed on her hip disappeared then, instead fisting at his cock before he was nudging the head into her entrance. Slick with both his saliva and every weep of her wetness, he slid in with no problems, a wet slap sounding once he bottomed out. (Y/N) reveled in the familiar feeling of fullness, completely spread wide open for his cock to push through her tight walls. She could feel the ridge of his head, the length of his veins, the slight curve that aimed him perfectly at the soft spot on her walls.

She would never be used to the depth he reached in her, remembering the way he had teased such a thing on a stream before they even knew one another. She had figured it was nothing more than fantasy talk back then, something to get his viewers going as well as feed into something Harry could cum to. Now, she knew that was all very much the truth, feeling the stretch in her own body as if he were nudging as deep as her stomach.

"Better, sweetheart?" he muttered, rearing his hips back before thrusting forward. He kept her on balance with his hand returning to her hip. Slick noises erupted around his cock as he sunk in, his hips slapping against her thighs.

The pads of his fingers circled her back entrance through his distraction, though her attention had trouble splitting between his heavy cock and the foreign touch. She could feel the way he did his best to gently spread her open, easing her into being able to take one of his thick fingers.

"B-Better, daddy," she cried, reaching blindly for this hand on her hip. She needed something gentle and familiar, she decided.

Harry welcomed her innocent touch, lacing their fingers together over the full of her hip together though her hold was decidedly looser given the monumental distractions she was going through.

"Good," he huffed, matching that of a particularly hard thrust he gave.

In that same moment, (Y/N) could feel the tip of one of his fingers slide inside her untouched opening. She gasped, mouth dropping open into a gape.

It was more startling than anything, the small intrusion causing her body to tense up.

"No, don't do that, sweetheart," Harry gently scolded her, keeping the pacing of his hips as he fucked her pussy, "Stay relaxed for me. You're doing so good, no need to be scared."

She wanted to listen to him, she really did, but she didn't know how to relax. All she could manage was closing her eyes, flexing her fingers around his own, and focusing on the familiar parts of his touch. She tried to right her breathing, fix the uneven shuddering and replace it with something steady and consistent.

"That's so much better, sweetheart," he cooed, dropping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, "Keep going, love. 'S jus' me."

While she didn't feel as if she were relaxing any considering how tightly wound her tummy was and the pulsing of her walls, she was happy to hear that she was easing up for him. Her efforts increased tenfold when that same slick finger pushed deeper inside of her, the knuckle of his digit catching before he could go further.

(Y/N) couldn't have prepared for how full she felt with his cock running through her walls and the small intrusion of his finger in her backside. The pace of her breathing she had tried to curate, the even intakes and exhales, was thrown out the window the second she allowed herself to take in the full breadth of that feeling.

She could feel him everywhere: the slap of his thighs against the back of her own, his hand in hers, his cock spreading her open, and his finger venturing into her ass for the first time.

There was no room in her head for anything but him; no wispy thoughts or anything that could form coherent words. She was drifting through his bedsheets as he did as he pleased with her.

With her attention only on him and he he felt, she could feel the twitch of his cock through her walls, everything stretched so tight around him. He barely stroked his finger through her back entrance, pulling it out the smallest amount before pushing back through. He was curating two opposing rhythms, leaving a part of him inside her at all times.

The thought had a broken moan leaving her lips.

"Fuck, you're so hot, baby," Harry muttered, the burn of his gaze trapped on her ass, "Gonna make me cum just from seeing my finger in your ass."

"I-I—" she floundered, unsure of where her mind was as well as the moisture in her throat, "I-I want—daddy."

A particularly harsh thrust was delivered, the bones of his hips pressing hard into her thighs. Another tiny bit of his finger sunk into her backside, enough to have (Y/N)'s back arching.

"What do you want from daddy, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice strained and thin. His composure was waning.

What did she want from him? What else could he give her that she wasn't already reveling in?

"C'mon, love," he coaxed, though his voice was decidedly harsher than she'd heard it before, "Don't go dumb on me yet. I still wanna hear my smart girl talk to me."

If he thought that would help clear her mind, he was sorely mistaken when she felt another gush of her wetness seep around his cock, her clit throbbing, and walls pulsing around everything inside. He could barely move his finger though the fact that she was aware it was inside was just as effective as feeling him slide through her virgin opening.

"Oh," he sighed, bottoming out with hard and fast thrusts against her, "You liked that, my love? I'll have to remember that, won't I?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." (Y/N) nodded her head with only half of her attention on what he was saying.

He pulsed his hand around her own, keeping her steady and with him. "We'll have to save that for next time though, sweetheart. I think you're about to cum with daddy, right?"

That was what she had wanted. The last thing he could give her was his release landing across the backs of her thighs. She could only blindly nod against the pillow, her hair sure to be a mess by the time she would actually start to care about anything other than her lust-filled body.

"I can't last much longer, love," Harry started, his words emphasized with the way he had to grit them out, "But, I need you to cum first. Wanna see you cum with your pussy and ass filled with me. Make me proud, sweetheart."

For (Y/N), time stopped right there. All that she was aware of was the man at her back and the perfect ribbon in her tummy that had unraveled in the most spectacular of fashion. Her mouth dropped open to a silent gape, nothing coming out given the fact she couldn't take any air in. Her head was cloudy and warm, matching the rest of her body. Points of clarity came in the form of Harry's hand on her hip, the tap of his balls against her clit, and the sharp unfamiliarity of the stretch of her second entrance.

That was the only reason she was aware of the fact he had pulled out. She mourned the loss of him inside her—in both places—until she felt him cum against her pussy, warm ropes sticking to her skin. The mess between her legs was now a perfect miss of the both of them, dripping down the inside of her thighs.

Aftershocks came in the form of lingering spurts from Harry, and (Y/N)'s walls pulsing around nothing. She couldn't be sure when she returned to the land of the living, but when the details of Harry's room came back into focus, she swore her vision was sharper. There was a joke about good sex there, something about Harry being her cure-all, but there was no way she could even attempt a tease at the moment.

She knew Harry was with her once more when he dropped down to press a set of kisses on the small of her back. His hands were on her hips, one still holding tightly to her own, while the other kept her steady as she began to lose her balance and sink towards his bed.

"You with me, (Y/N)?" he murmured against her skin, his voice gruff.

Flexing her fingers in his as a response, (Y/N) gave a small nod. "I'm here."

"Oh, love," he sighed, draping himself over her back, his lips pressing to the line of his jaw and soft of her cheek, "You did so good, I love you so much. Did that feel alright? I didn't hurt you right?"

"No, no, I felt really good," she breathed, a soft chord of laughter swaying out amongst her words, "I think I almost blacked out."

"Oh?" he sounded, his own peals of laughter following right after, "In a good way, right?"

Letting go of his hand, (Y/N) brought it up to pat at his cheek. "In a good way."

"Good," he crooned, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand before he started extracting himself from her. "I'm gonna get some things to clean us up, 'kay? Stay right here."

He must think he's so funny, she thought, but she didn't have it in her to play his back and forth at the moment. He could win this round.

By the time Harry returned with wet cloths and a pair of his shorts for her to borrow, all of the slick release coating her core and the inside of her thighs had cooled. It was an uncomfortable feeling that he took his time wiping away. He eased up around her sensitive spots, apologizing with kisses to the backs of her thighs and promises to be gentle.

"Did y'really like it, (Y/N)? Everything we did?" Harry asked after a moment, wiping down the insides of her thighs.

She bit at the full of her bottom lip, unsure of how to articulate what she had experienced. "It felt weird," she started, unable to find any other word to describe how she felt, "But, I liked it—a lot. I think it helped since it was you, and I love you, but it was... good."

"Jus' good? I thought y'said you almost blacked out?"

Blindly swatting behind her, she landed her hand in the soft swirls of his hair. She playfully pulled at the strands. "I'm too tired to play right now, stop," she laughed.

Her reprimanding hold of his hair turned into gentle carding through the curls as he took care of her. A beat passed, Harry finishing cleaning her up before he helped her into her borrowed shorts. Collapsing onto his bed, her back bouncing over the springs, she figured laundry, including the clothes on the floor, would have to wait for now.

Hovering above her, Harry looked to her with his clear green eyes—the same ones she had seen that first time in her physics class after he had taken a leap and took the seat beside her. She would be eternally grateful he had the confidence to do as much, otherwise she would have never learned just how many greens were in his irises.

"Really," he started out, voice gentle and quiet like a secret, "'M really happy y'felt good. It obviously worked very well on me too."

(Y/N)'s lips turned into an amused smile as she reached up and pushed back the flop of curls covering his forehead. "See, this is why you tell me things like this first—not the stream."

It was a lighthearted tease that had his mouth splitting into a smile, bunny teeth and dimples on display. He dropped his head to press an innocent kiss to the tip of her nose, though it wasn't quite as effective through his smile.

"I've definitely learned my lesson, flower," he murmured.

(Y/N) could only tip her chin and press her lips to his.

—————

this is.....very different SHFUSHFSUH thank u sm for reading, thank you to whoever requested, sorry for any mistakes and if theres any other ideas anyone else wants to see please send them in!

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alwayslovingharry · 6 months

Text

iFall for Harry | Pt. 10*

Summary: The tenth and final part to iFall for Harry

You and Harry are more than strangers on the phone. And this connection is stronger than ever.

(aka: the one where they fuck and I cry)

Word Count: 5.9k

Harry kicks open your apartment door, and it bangs against the wall as you both smirk into the heated kiss.

His hands never leave your hips. They haven’t left them all afternoon, from the moment the two of you walked out of the theater, all through the entire ride back to your apartment, and up the long flight of stairs to your door.

They guide you to the couch. The first thing he seems to see, and he breaks away from your mouth just long enough to mumble, “Careful.”

Then, he shoves.

Your legs hit the side of the sofa before you go tumbling down onto the soft cushions with a chuckle.

Your fingers instantly outstretch for his shirt to drag him down with you, and he climbs over the armrest in obedience.

You'd decided that this was no time for pleasantries and tours. You’ve wasted enough time already, but…what’s a couple more hours?

Everything is messy and rushed. There’s no place for overthinking or questions. That’ll come later.

Right now, it’s your bodies that need to speak to each other. Not your words.

He moves to your neck, pressing his lips into the skin before nipping at it gingerly. He’s gauging your reaction, and your stomach flips at this consideration.

Your hands disappear into his hair, tugging on the curls you’ve seen plastered on posters and bedroom walls for years.

You smile when you realize how soft they are.

A needy whimper follows when he sucks on the point below your ear, your hips bucking up into his as he settles between your thighs.

And just like that…it hits you.

“It was here,” you whisper suddenly, and he leans back to look at you.

“What?”

You sit up and ghost your lips across his cheek before licking at his bottom lip. “It was here. Right here on this couch. When I touched myself to the sound of your voice.”

Something flashes behind his eyes. Something primal and he squeezes your thigh in his hand before hoisting your leg around his hip.

“Yeah?” A kiss. Hard and full of devious intent. “Right here?”

“Right here,” you whisper. “Still think about it. How good it felt…listening to you. How you sound when you come. How you sound when you make me come.”

He groans as his face buries in your collarbone, his palms now slipping beneath your shirt to travel the expanse of your stomach. Smiling when it quivers. Reveling in the warmth of you.

He kisses along the only exposed part of your chest he can reach, and your head rolls back until you see nothing but stars on your ceiling.

“I think about it, too,” he admits, softly rocking his body against yours until you gasp. “But nothing I pictured came close to this. Nothing…was as good as this.”

You grin as you watch him travel down your body, lifting your shirt just enough that he can press a kiss to the space below your bra.

Then, he looks up. His lips are bright pink, and his cheeks are flushed. His hair is slightly askew but his smile…God, that smile.

“Harry?” you murmur, tracing your thumb along the curve of his chin. “I don’t wanna do it here.”

His eyebrow raises and he begins to sit up, instantly pulling his hands from you. “What’s wrong—”

“Nothing,” you say, taking hold of his jaw to yank him back down and squeeze. “Nothing, I promise. I just wanna go to my room. Wanna be able to see you and feel you. Lay you down, take care of you.”

His expression shifts. There’s so much adoration and arousal written between the lines on his face and without a second thought, he stands.

You’re scooped into his arms as you laugh. He makes sure you’re steady, legs wrapped around his waist, and arms around his neck.

And he kisses you between your instructions on where to turn. Nipping at your lip just to make you whimper.

You’re dropped onto the plush mattress, and he follows suit. Chasing after your kiss and your body as though you’re going to leave him again.

But you aren’t. You can’t. Not even if you wanted to.

“So pretty, ladybug,” he whispers, hand fiddling with the button on your jeans as you whine into his mouth. “So goddamn beautiful. Always knew you would be. Could always tell.”

You’re breathless, barely able to pant out, “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Yeah,” he echoes, tugging on the zipper until he can trace his touch along the band of your panties. “Just from the way you spoke. Just from your heart. Who you were. I knew you had to be beautiful.

Too many things happen to your heart at once.

“And you are,” he breathes, finally pushing inside as his fingers drag down your clit.

Instantly, you’re arching off the bed, chest knocking into his as you writhe and beg for more.

He smirks. “Waited a lifetime to feel this,” he says before stroking through your folds.

Then, he pulls away.

You feel as though your stomach caves in, but he remedies this by grabbing hold of the material on your legs to rip it down.

Your eyes widen, and for only a moment, you’re struck with nerves. This is Harry Styles. And he’s looking at you, looking at your body in a way nobody else ever has.

And you think about your past, and you think about your present. Think about everything that was holding you back before, and—

He hovers above you once again and smashes his lips to yours. Eager to rid you of these thoughts he can already see swimming inside your mind.

It works. Almost too perfectly as he slips his hand around the fabric of your panties before snapping it around his fist.

They flutter to the ground, and he moves next for your shirt.

You work in tandem to rid each other of the remaining clothes. Now, all that’s left is one, singular pair of briefs that keep him from you.

You swallow thickly as he pushes you back into the pillows near your headboard, wanting you to get comfy.

But he’s slow. So goddamn slow and it makes you whine as he purposefully leaves most of your body untouched in favor of kissing you.

At first, you’re tempted to think it’s out of repulsion but the gleam in his eye tells you it’s intentional. He wants to make you wait.

“Harry,” you gasp, the feeling of his mouth on your sternum almost enough to kill you. “Please…please—”

“What?” He shoots you a grin as he cages you between his arms. “Something wrong?”

You whine and squirm beneath his large, strong, and incredibly toned frame. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hums, dipping down to nuzzle his nose against yours. “This is only the start.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips as you reach up to card your fingers through his hair, tugging him down to your mouth. “You’re mean.”

“No,” he argues with a grin. “I think this is only fair. I think it’s only right that I make you beg for me the way I had to beg for you.”

And even though the memory makes you sad, and even though the prospect of his teasing is painful…you can’t help but whimper.

“Would you like that, ladybug?” he asks, taking hold of your jaw to guide you to the side. Giving him access to your neck as he licks a stripe from the base of your throat to your ear. “Hm?”

You can say nothing. Can offer no reply or quippy remark as you melt into his touch.

"Would you?" he hums again. "Would you like me to torture you the way you tortured me?"

He won't touch you until he has your answer, although it’s nearly impossible for you to find one with him so goddamn close.

"Yes," you sigh, eyes squeezing as you attempt to steady your heart rate. Having a stroke right now would be incredibly unsexy. "Please.”

His smile widens, making your chest burst with pride. And just when you think he’s gonna kiss you…he pulls back.

He moves onto his knees now, settling into a straddle over your hips, releasing your jaw so he can trail his palms down your naked torso.

Every tiny little action, and tiny little brush has you reeling, arching off the bed in an effort to push yourself into his touch.

And he watches with a focused gleam as his fingers dance along your collarbone.

Then down your chest.

And to your belly button.

You huff when he leaves two very prominent places untouched, but he merely smirks, and continues on with his game.

His hands smooth along your sides, up and down, squeezing gently. Appreciating every inch of your body as best he can. Almost as if memorizing it. Putting an image to the voice he’s known for months.

Finally, he travels back up, and palms your breasts with a fervent reverence.

A soft moan slips from between your parted lips, head rolling back into the pillows as he cups you. Rubs you. Massages you. Things that likely shouldn’t be this hot but are helping worsen the mess between your thighs.

He has endless amounts of power right now. And you both know it.

He begins to move down your body, now straddling your legs, exposing more of your body to him.

And he takes this opportunity to gently scratch his fingers down your stomach, smiling when it quivers, before moving for your cunt.

But again, he touches you everywhere but where you need him most. Grazing his digit along your hip bone and thighs.

Then…he crouches down. He makes eye contact with your cunt, pupils dilating like he's a kid in a candy store, and your heart does cartwheels inside your chest as he dips down to press a kiss to your left hip…then to your right.

He rests his mouth against the inside of your thigh. The pink fibers of his lips painting pictures along the sensitive skin before nipping at it gently. Purposefully. Until you’re whining desperately in the back of your throat.

And you have to swallow another noise because looking at him as he does this is like torture. Making everything ten times more prominent as he moves to your other thigh, kissing it just as gingerly, and creating a trail all the way up…

He takes one, singular moment to shoot you a coy smile, almost as if anticipating your wonder before dipping back down.

And everything changes.

Fireworks scatter behind your eyelids the second he makes contact with your pussy. You aren’t sure what you expected (especially from a man who has a song about eating pussy) but it’s better than anything you could have hoped for.

Because he wants to do this. You can tell. He buries his face, his mouth, his nose into your cunt as though he can’t breathe any other way.

Purposeful licks are repeated to your clit, to your folds, over your incredibly empty hole. At first, there’s no rhyme or reason to his technique. He’s simply…tasting you. Getting familiar with your body, finding what makes it tick.

But once he figures it out, it’s game over.

You arch from the bed, knees bending beside his head as you reach down and grasp onto his hair.

He groans, loudly, and with so much appreciation. Either from the taste or from the pain, you don’t really know.

But it hardly matters because he’s pulling your clit between his teeth and tugging. Keeping it trapped in his mouth for a good few seconds before releasing it.

“Harry,” you gasp, throat going dry, and he grins.

“Shh, let me take care of this, hm?” He presses his palms to the insides of your legs to force your thighs to the bed, keeping you spread. “Taste so fucking good, lovie.”

And he’s lapping at you like you’re an ice cream cone on a hot day. Over and over and over, swallowing everything you have to offer him before nudging the tip of his tongue inside your hole.

“Fuck—” You squirm again, practically lifting off the mattress, but his large hands splay across your stomach and push you back down. “Harry, please—”

“So fucking good,” he says again, almost as if to himself. He sucks on you until you see stars, pressing his tongue flat to your folds. “God…can’t believe you get this all to yourself. Anytime you want it.”

“It’s yours,” you sigh. “S’all yours, Harry.”

He looks up, half of his face shimmering with your arousal as he grins. “Yeah?”

You squeeze his scalp harder, nodding fervently. “Yes. Yeah. Whatever you want. Yours. Take it. Take me. Please—”

He seems to bask in this idea, scooting back some to make room for his hand. His thumb is next to explore you, slipping along your silky cunt. Pressing, and rubbing, and circling.

Then, he slips his middle finger inside.

It becomes a combination of licking at your clit and fucking into you with his digit. Repeatedly. Unforgivingly. Until you can’t breathe. Until you can hardly fucking stand it.

And right before you’re given your second orgasm by this man…he stops.

Because of course he fucking stops, and you curse him to hell the moment you realize he’s pulling away from you.

He was right. This is torture.

He sits up, bending over the side of the bed so he can retrieve something from the floor. And when you see it, your stomach flips.

His belt.

He says nothing as he runs it through his hands, eyes flicking along your headboard as if in search of something.

Then, he smiles. And looks at you.

“May I?” he asks gently, refusing to move any closer until he has your consent.

But you’re already thrusting your wrists up, lip between your teeth as he smiles.

“Are you su—”

“Yes. Go. Please,” you nearly whine, nodding quickly as if to assure him.

Thankfully, it works, and he concedes to your request for speed by kneeling over your body and wrapping the leather around your arms.

It’s tight. Tight enough that your pussy throbs and your eyes glaze over. You enjoy putting your control in his hands. Maybe more than you should.

Once secure, he looks over his work, and smiles. “Good.”

You scoot up some, hoping to inspire another kiss, but instead…he leans back.

And crawls off the bed altogether.

“Well…this was fun,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way for the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

You can’t even process the lame attempt at a joke as he slips into the hallway and disappears from sight.

In fact, you can do nothing but blink mutely and in complete shock as you’re left to stare at the empty door frame.

“Harry…” you begin hesitantly. “Where…where are you going?”

Silence. No response. No sound. No clue as to where he might be.

The blood drains from your face. “Harry, this isn’t funny.”

Nothing.

“Harry!”

You tug on the belt in hopes of setting yourself free, but can’t budge. He made sure of it.

And you’re tempted to wonder if this is payback for what you did to him. If he genuinely only lured you back so he could have a bit of revenge, and the idea is gut-wrenching—

Until he returns.

You see his face, peeking in from the hall, smug and incredibly amused.

“You…fucking…ass,” you hiss, shooting him a vicious glare. “That was not funny.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be funny,” he counters, arms crossing as he leans his shoulder against the frame and watches you.

He’s got something in his mouth. You aren’t sure what, but you can see him roll it around in his cheek and can hear the distortion in his voice.

Your eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you.” It’s simple enough, but that smirk tells a different story. “How you doing, sweetheart? Feelin’ tortured yet?”

“Incredibly so,” you bite back, huffing as he finally begins to walk back into the room. “And I hate you.”

“Ouch.” He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart as he offers a wounded frown. “That really hurts, Cheesy.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Now untie me or get on with it.”

His brow cocks up, and he places a knee on the bed beside your legs to steady himself. “Awful bossy for someone under my control.”

“Are you done with the quippy remarks or can I finish please?” you retort, noticing the way he rakes his eyes over your naked body. Admiring every inch, from your face down to your cunt. “And what the fuck is in your mouth?”

His answer comes in the form of his action. He straddles your hips once more, getting settled atop your body and leaning down until his face is near your chest.

He doesn’t even look at you as he lowers his lips and lets out a slow breath, right over your left nipple.

The air is cold—frigid—and you gasp as the nipple instantly hardens, pebbling from his freezing breath.

He’s pleased with your reaction, and pushes the object in his mouth toward his teeth, allowing you to finally see what you had begun to suspect.

A fucking ice cube.

Your expression falls into one of need as you plead with him, anxious for more as he pulls it back in and moves to your other breast.

Again, he allows the cooler air to travel over your skin until you keen, chest heaving anxiously from the idea more than the sensation.

Your arms pull on the restraints. Needing to touch him in any way you can. Or maybe touch yourself. You aren’t sure, but you love it. Need it. Need more of it.

Next, he moves to your neck, trailing the frozen liquid along the base of your throat. Ignoring your gasps and groans of ecstasy while dragging it up your jaw.

Finally…he reaches your lips. And without a moment’s hesitation, your mouths crash together, and the cube is deposited into your mouth.

Words don’t exist for you now. Nothing exists but him. And this shared connection that you’ve been fighting since that first cheese pun.

The water melts in your mouth, making the kiss that much sloppier. But neither of you seem to care as he suddenly grinds his hips down into yours, covered cock like heroin to your pussy as he teases you with a taste.

“Shit.” Your skin burns from the leather keeping it bound, but it makes you whimper with pure bliss. “Harry, please—”

He’s silent as he maneuvers back down your body, lips puckering as he hovers near your cunt.

And spits.

He let’s cold saliva dribble from his mouth to your clit, smirking proudly when you make a noise that resembles a helpless cry.

It’s one of the most erotic things you’ve ever seen, followed instantly by his beautiful fingers that begin to work the wetness in beside your own.

The sounds are stunning. Perfect, and lewd, and delicious. Almost as delicious as he is, and you quiver at the sight of him so concentrated on your pussy.

“Harry,” you exhale, desperate for his attention. “Please…please, I can’t…I need—”

“Need what?” There’s an almost cruel undertone to the question. Sadistic, in every sense of the word. “Need…my cock?”

Just the word has a shiver rolling down your spine. “Yes.”

You sound shy. Timid, almost, and you hate it. Because there is nothing in the world you want more than this glorious man’s cock and that is nothing to be ashamed of.

He hums, watching as you wiggle your hips against his hand, hoping to encourage more stimulation. “I bet you do. But I don’t know if you deserve it.”

Again, your lips push into a remorseful pout. “I do, I promise.”

“Do you?” He tsks, sliding in a thick digit and watching as your hole stretches for him. He smiles. “I don’t know. Think you’re lucky to get my fingers.”

“Please,” you try again. “I’m tortured, I promise. Just need you—”

“You think this is torture, my love?” His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he finds your eyes. “No, we’re just getting started.”

It’s thrilling and devastating all at once, and you practically wilt into the mattress as you whine.

“If you really want me to stop, I will,” he finally concedes, and you perk up at the thought before he adds, “But if we stop…then it all stops. I'll keep you tied up right here while I go for a walk. Or maybe I’ll watch some TV. Learn to bake scones."

You mewl again as he grins.

“And you?” He dips down, allowing his lips to ghost over yours. “You’ll be right here. Right where I left you. Stuck. Unable to come until I feel nice enough to let you.”

“Harry,” you gasp, trying to lift to kiss him, but he backs away just as quickly as he appeared.

“I wanna play with you a bit more,” he says next, ignoring your pleas. “And then maybe I’ll be nice.”

A second finger is added. Stroking your inner walls until you lift from the bed. Grinding against his hand like you won’t be able to breathe if he doesn’t give it to you.

He works you back up the peak. A steady incline meant to ruin you further. He doesn’t fuck into you as quickly as before. Now he takes his time. As if memorizing the feel of your pussy in his hand. Of the way you clench and quiver.

Which you don’t mind. You’d stay here with him forever as long as he kept touching you. As long as he kept looking at you the way he is now.

He ignores every noise you make to concentrate on the way your body looks. On the way you’re forced open for his fingers. On the way your tight, little hole looks when it’s void of digits, fluttering around nothing until he finally gives you what you need.

Sinking into you seems to be his favorite part from the way his brows furrow and his teeth grit. The hardening in his briefs making the case that he’s losing this battle just as quickly as you are.

But he doesn’t focus on his pleasure. He focuses on you. At least right now. Lets his thumb press into your clit before dragging it around in fast circles. Just to watch you squeeze your eyes shut and pull on the restraint.

He kisses along your neck, down your stomach, and anywhere he can reach. His other free hand switches between fondling and palming at your chest to squeezing your love handles, your legs, and eventually, your neck.

He tilts your face up, his pressure light but firm, and soon, you’re gasping again, that light at the end of the tunnel much brighter than it was before.

And that blinding pleasure finds you once more as you’re brought to the brink for a second time. He’ll give it to you this time, you know he will. He’ll be so good to you. Let you come on his fingers, then suck you clean—

It stops. All of it. Again. Just as you’re about to come, and he’s pulling his hand away before you can even wrap your head around it.

“Harry,” you gasp, dumbstruck by the notion of him doing this to you again. “Please—”

“See, this what it felt like,” he whispers, bracing himself with an arm beside your head while his other fingers begin pulling down his briefs. “This is exactly how it fucking felt to get so close to you…only to have you walk away.”

Tears slip up the back of your throat as you peer up at him, muscles aching from the strain of your wrestling against the belt. “I’m sorry—”

“I know,” he hums, dipping down to press his lips to your cheek. “And I know why you did it. Not mad at you, sweetheart. Just want you to share this pain with me.”

He pulls his cock out. And it’s glorious. So fucking glorious. Hard and long and like a fucking ice cream cone.

And it looks exceptional in his hand. With the golden rings on his fingers still dripping in you. You practically stick your tongue out in wait as he begins to stroke himself, eager for his offering.

But he doesn’t offer it to you. Instead, his lashes flutter as he begins to work your arousal over his swollen tip. Gasping at the feel while you’re left to stare.

He’s not going to give you his cock.

He’s gonna fuck his fist right over your aching body as you’re left to do nothing but watch him.

This…is the real torture.

“Harry,” you try again, arching up in an attempt to reach him. “Fuck, wait. Wait, let me.”

He doesn’t even look at you. Squeezes his eyes shut as his chin drops to his chest, little curls dancing down onto his forehead.

The arm beside you is flexing as he keeps himself up, and his cock is only inches—inches—from your cunt yet so far away.

You want to be a part of his pleasure more than anything in the world. Want to be the reason he feels good and it kills you not to be able to help. Kills you that you can’t touch him the way you’ve been desperate to since that phone call.

And then…he fucking whimpers.

A sound so soft, so desperate, it makes your lungs ache.

“Baby,” he breathes, working his hand a little faster as he grips the base. “Fuck…feels so good.”

Again, you yank on the headboard, and feel the tears gather in your eyes when you’re kept from him.

You try to touch him in any other way. You bring your knees to his hips and squeeze. Let your legs brush against his. Bury your face in his arm.

“Harry, please,” you whisper, and you sound so dejected, it makes his breath hitch.

His forehead drops to your chest, seemingly overcome by the sensation as the muscles in his back constrict from the pleasure.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin. “Fuck…I needed this. Needed you.”

You choke on a whine, livid with him for making you sit and watch. For making you need him just as much.

“Touch me, baby,” he gasps before it melts into another needy whine. “Shit…touch me, please.”

“I’m trying,” you pant, once again bucking up in an effort to reach him. But you can’t quite make it. “Fuck, Harry. Please…please let me touch you. Let me go. Let me help—”

He doesn't answer, instead releasing a deep breath against your skin, his sweaty forehead pressed firmly to your collarbone.

"Please," he finally says, but it’s lost beneath a strained inhale as he increases the speed of his strokes, nearing his release.

And you groan, tears beginning to slip down your face. He’s going to kill you. This is going to kill you.

“Need you, lovie,” he moans, face burying into your neck. “Fucking need you, ladybug, please—”

“Harry,” you cry, and it’s the most pitiful sound you’ve ever made.

You’ve never wanted anything more in your life. Never wanted to be with anybody as badly as you need to be with him. Never needed release as badly as you need his. Because you realize you’d do anything for him. Give up your own orgasms to make him happy. You’d give up everything to make him happy.

And that’s when it hits you.

“Okay,” you nearly shout, hiccuping through your anguish. “Okay, I get it. It hurts, Harry, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. You’re right, it fucking hurts, and I hate it. I hate this—please. Let me touch you, I have to touch you.”

His head lifts at your confession, and when those lust clouded eyes find yours…he finally smiles.

He wanted you to know exactly how it fucking felt to be kept from what you want. The pain and the torture of needing someone who won’t have you. He wanted you to beg for him the way he had to beg for you.

Even if he understands why…he wanted you to know.

And you do. You really fucking do.

His strokes begin to slow, and although you can tell he’s still overcome with his own ecstasy, he nods at you to continue.

“I understand,” you repeat, sniffling as the raw honesty finally reaches him. “I do. And I’m so sorry. Never hurt you again. Just please…please untie me. Let me help. Need to touch you, need…want to touch you.”

At first, nothing changes. His hand continues its lazy pace along his cock before finally, something snaps behind his eyes.

In an instant, he’s reaching up, and flicking the tie undone, allowing your arms to fall beside your head.

You nearly cry with relief before grabbing onto his face to kiss him. Hands clutching his cheeks so tight, you won’t be surprised if you hurt him.

But he doesn’t mind. Of course he doesn’t mind, instead groaning against your tongue as he drags his tip along your pussy to collect you.

And you’re reminded of what you both want, simultaneously rushing to guide him inside of you.

He leaves your lips only to line himself up, pushing your thigh to the bed to allow him a perfect visual.

The appreciative groans that fall from his tongue nearly ruin you, and you can see how enamored he is with your body as he teases you a time or two more, sliding up and down your pussy before finally pushing in.

And this…

Everything has led you to this moment. From the very first text to the meeting in the diner to kissing him in the theater.

This is where you were always meant to find yourselves.

The two of you only have enough patience for about thirty seconds of adjustment before you become rabid. It's urgent, hard, and fast. Just like everything else about this encounter, and you revel in every moment.

His hands grip onto your hips to angle you before they’re placed near your head. His fingers curl into the blanket, fisting it tight in his palms as he thrusts forward, head dropping into your shoulder.

Your own nails are clawing down his back, pulling him as far into you as you can get him, and moaning whenever he hits the perfect spot.

Your legs have wrapped around his waist, practically attaching him to you as you feel his body roll.

Your skin is sweaty, and sticky, and your breathing is ragged. The noises you’re making are wildly incoherent, but the movements feel strangely coordinated. As if it was always meant to be you.

"Fuck, this is so much better," he grunts into your ear, and perhaps if you weren’t so lost on him, you’d laugh. "Nothing else feels like you do, baby. Nothing."

And you want to respond, but his deep thrusts seem to knock the words right out of you.

"Never again," he whispers. "Never gonna wait this long again. Almost killed me."

“You?” you snort, and he smiles into your neck.

He moves one hand back to your hip before he’s wrapping his entire arm around your lower back. Lifting it from the bed to create a newer angle before continuing his fervent rhythm.

You can feel how deep his fingers have disappeared into your skin, but you don't care. You don’t think you’ll care about anything else ever again. All you want is to hear him make those wonderful noises again as his face screws up with pleasure.

And it’s strange because you spent so much of the afternoon begging for your own release…only to desperately need his instead.

The sound of your bodies connecting echoes around the room. Skin slapping, thrusts wet, moans lewd and loud.

He kisses your shoulder as a reminder that he’s still there but you can tell he’s distracted. So, you take the opportunity to do it yourself.

You move your lips along his neck, then down to where it meets his chest before licking at the salty skin.

You take every chance that you’re offered to touch him, hands scraping down the muscles beside his spine, tangling in his hair, squeezing his arms. You can't seem to get enough, and with every graze of your fingertips, he sighs, thrusting harder just so you’ll scratch him again.

Eventually, the pleasure is too much, and he drops your hip as his body grinds into yours.

The pressure of his weight against you feels so perfect. Like a magic trick, luring you into another plane of existence as you’re lost in the bliss.

He’s nearing his release, stuttering some as he meets your eye. You’d already talked about birth control and condoms back in the taxi, but he looks for confirmation now.

You nod.

With that, he fills you. And it’s warm and long and it makes your mind go fuzzy even before he reaches down to pinch your clit.

He needs you to come with him. Needs to feel you, too, and after already being edged twice, it doesn’t take long.

The mind-numbing wave of euphoria crashes over the shore of your subconscious and you’re almost sure you black out. Clenching around him as he whispers your name and kisses you to the other side.

Three orgasms are rolled into one, dragging you beneath the wave of coherency until all you feel is him and his touch.

And just when you think it’s over, he pulls out, and settles back down beside your knees.

His mouth is on you again. Licking, and sucking, and swallowing both of you with his tongue. Everything that drips from your pussy is taken between his lips as he groans, and pushes you into a second orgasm.

The overstimulation to your already abused cunt just about kills you, but there will never be anything hotter than watching his come and your own drip down his chin.

And after you’ve been ruined a second time, he seems satisfied, returning to your embrace so he can grab onto your jaw and demand your tongue.

He offers you a taste. Lets it dribble into your mouth as you whimper and eagerly accept the salty taste of you both.

And he kisses you. Shares so many things with you through his lips alone, more than words will ever be able to describe. And you lose yourself in him.

Not for the last time.

The next thing you become aware of is his body collapsing onto yours. His chest melded to your own, his face nuzzled into your throat.

And maybe it’s a little hard to breathe, but you don’t even mind. Because this is the best you’ve felt in years.

He stays for the rest of the night. Takes you to the shower with him and cleans you both up. Smiles when he sees the hickeys and marks he’s left.

You talk for hours. Sitting on your bed in your fluffy robes as you get to know each other. Really know each other.

He tells you stories until the sun comes up. And you listen and laugh and fall hopelessly in love with the stranger in your phone.

Who isn’t a stranger anymore.

And as the sunlight dances through your curtains come morning, you realize one very important thing:

This is only the beginning.

A huge, wonderful, and warm thank you to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Thank you all so much for your kindness with this story and for allowing me to spam your timelines with Harry and Cheese Girl 😭💞 I cannot tell you enough how appreciative I am for how you’ve helped me tell this story!! You have my entire heart!! ♥️

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Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @lydiarry @yoruse @lomlolivia @kkr102 @gills-lounge @sicklscream @white-wolf-buckaroo @brooklynbelle @stylesmoonlight12

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