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hswriting · 11 days ago

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Arranged to be Yours - Part 6

[Image Alt ID: a four picture collage with a black background. The first picture is of sun shining though the tops of trees onto a forest floor. The second picture is of a girl with black hair in a white dress. She is standing in front of a lake or pond. She is looking off into the distance. The third picture is of two hands touching some vines on a tree. The final picture is a close up of a girl. Her curly, dark hair is over her face. You can see her lips, chin, and neck. There is a white text block across the middle that reads “arranged to be yours” End Alt ID]

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Masterlist Series Part 5 (Series Complete)

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8.9k words

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Sybil gets transformed into a faery. Harry helps her with recovery. Sybil begins her duties as princess and takes care of something that has been weighing on her mind.

(Warnings: being held under water, mentions of the kidnapping of chapter 1)

Sybil lies in bed, tossing and turning, unable to close her eyes and get some rest. Harry keeps trying to wrap his arms around her, but she is moving too much.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Harry grumbles.

"I can't sleep. I'm sorry." She apologizes.

“Nothing to be sorry for love. What’s wrong?”he asks, becoming more alert.

“Aren’t you nervous?” She asks him. He sits up and motions for her to come here. She climbs into his lap and he holds her tightly.

“I’m not nervous, but it’s your transformation. I can understand your anxiety. It’s not something you’ve ever done before. It’s new, and I know that causes you to worry.” Sybil rests her head in the crook of his neck as his hands draw patterns in her skin.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“I’ve never done it. I was born with my magic, but from what I’ve heard, no it doesn’t. The ones I’ve witnessed, the people say the scariest part is the water.”

“What’s so scary about the water?”

“It’s where the transformation happens, but just remember I’m going to be there the whole time. I’ll be right in front of you.”

“Do you promise?”

“I- what is it you humans use? Pinkie promise?” He asks, a smile growing on Sybil’s face. She holds up her hand, her pinkie finger sticking up.

“You have to lock pinkies to do a pinkie promise. You can’t break it.” She explains. Harry brings his hand up and completes the pinkie promise. She giggles as their hands fall.

“You must study humans pretty closely to know about pinkie promises.”

“I’ve studied humans for a long as I can remember. It was a subject in my lessons, and I’ve been expanded on it since then. If we want them to come here, there should be at least one person who knows about them. What better person than someone who has power and can do things for them?”

“That’s pretty smart.” She says.

“Plus, my mom helped teach me. She could only teach me about where she grew up and how things worked there, but she was a good teacher.” He smiles. He sits in the memories for a moment before coming back to the moment. Sybil rests in his arms, trying to calm down. Harry has an idea to distract her. “Can you tell me about where you’re from? Or a favorite memory from your world?”

Harry can feel Sybil smile on him as she lays, her face nuzzling his neck.

“Hmm.” She hums. She takes a moment to think about the happiest times of her life. “One of my happiest days from that world is probably the day I moved out of my foster home. I was 18. I hated my parents. I hated my sister. They were awful people. But I got to pack up my trash bag of clothes and suitcase of belongings and get out of there. I moved cities. Many miles away so they could never find me again. It wasn’t as close to wilderness as I had liked, but an apartment was better than nothing. I got to my new apartment and I found that it wasn’t furnished. The ad said it would be but they changed their mind I guess. I didn’t even care at that point. I would sleep on the floor with my blanket and pillow until I could afford a bed. I would eventually get all of the things I needed to make that place mine. But I was free that day. They didn’t have a hold on me anymore.” Sybil spills without hesitation.

Harry listens intently, absorbing every detail. All this times he’s been raving about how great of a mom he had, when she didn’t know hers. She had foster parents, but they were terrible. “I’m sorry I’ve bragged about my mom so much-“

“No need to apologize. I’d like to believe that my parents gave me up for a reason. And you having a great mom is nothing to ever apologize for. I’m so glad you had her. I wish I could meet her.” Sybil tells him and Harry gives her a sad smile.

“I wish you could too.” He says. They sit there for a moment, Sybil not even realizing that she has calmed down some just from talking with Harry.

Harry continues to hold her and hum her songs until she falls asleep in his arms. Harry falls asleep sitting up, holding the most beautiful girl in his arms.

Sybil wakes up before Harry does, but when she sees how they fell asleep, she chooses not to move until Harry begins to stir. When Harry sees how they held each other while they slept, a smile blooms across his face. His hands squeeze her tighter.

“Good morning, princess.” He says sleepily.

“Good morning, sleepy.” She replies. A knock pounds on their door a moment after they wake up fully and get dressed. Harry allows whoever it is outside to come in. Ace appears in the door and greets them.

“They are ready for us.” Ace says gently to them.

“We haven’t even gotten to eat yet.” Harry defends quickly while Sybil stands anxiously.

“It’s okay Har. You grab something. I don’t think I can eat right now.” Sybil says quietly. Harry gives her a concerned look.

“You need to eat.” He tells her. She shakes her head.

“Too nauseous to eat.” Is all she says. Harry disagrees, but he knows she isn’t going to budge on this.

“I’ll eat after then.” They take each other’s hand and walk out of the door to go to the castles crown room.

Ace puts their crowns on their heads, ready to walk down to one of the most important places in the city. Sybil looks at herself in the mirror. Her dress wraps around her snuggly, hanging all the way to her feet. The gray cloth folding and ruffling in every area.

As soon as the castle doors open, people flood Sybil’s vision. This is her first time leaving the castle and going into the rest of the kingdom. It’s also her first time appearing publicly since the wedding. Guards line the edges of the pathway out, keeping the people behind them. Ace leads the way down the sidewalk and into town. Sybil clutches Harry’s arm nervously.

“It’s going to be okay Sybil. It’s a short walk, and this won’t take too long.” He assures her. They continue to walk, Harry unfazed by the amount of people just wanting a glimpse of them. A glimpse of their royalty. Their leaders. The town buzzes with excitement to see such a tradition.

As they approach the building, Sybil is reminded of the churches back in her town. This building is huge. It looks old and worn, paint fading. Colorful windows line the walls and a huge tower with a bell in it stands at the top.

Harry and Sybil stop at the bottom of the steps as she looks up at the place.

“This is one of the oldest buildings in our land.” Harry tells her this fact, a small distraction from everything. “This ritual is as old as time. The building has tried to be updated and kept by adding the paint outside and putting in new floors, but it still looks as old as it is.”

“It looks like a church.” Sybil point out.

“I suppose it does. I’ve only seen pictures in books.” Harry admits. Ace turns around and faces them.

“Are you ready?” He asks. Sybil swallows the lump in her throat.

“Yes.” Is all she can manage to say. Ace opens the doors. The inside is beautiful. Natural wooden floors, the sun casting the colors on the benches inside. The aisle lines with a green carpet. Decorations fill the wall space that the windows don’t. Sybil takes it all in.

She looks down the aisle to find a large pool of water, a platform above it, and many people wearing white robes. Ace leads them up to the platform. The benches of people and the other royalty that attended the wedding watching closely.

The room is silent except for a few whispers of the robed people.

“Today, we are here to transform Princess Sybil Styles.” Ace announces to the room. “We ask that everyone remain seated and quiet for the transformation. As many of you know, this process is delicate. We ask for calm and quiet during this time to help us be able to watch for any signs of issues that may occur.” The crowd nods at him after he finishes speaking. “Let us begin.”

The people in robes gather on the platform with them, preparing for the steps.

“Prince Harry. We ask that you come down in the aisle for the transformation.” A man tells him. Harry knew he was not going to be able to stay up on the platform. He isn’t a prince witnessing a normal transformation today. He is the transformed’s support. He is going to watch from below, and be ready to help Sybil when she is done.

Sybil watches anxiously as two men lead Harry down to the front of the aisle, beside the two benches closest to the pool of water. He gets down on his knees and looks up to her. The two men return to the platform and gather on each side of Sybil. The man who told Harry that he had to go down to the aisle is the same man who begins to speak again.

“Sybil. Is your intention true?” He asks her quietly. “This could be fatal if it isn’t. Better to tell us now than to die in the waters today.” Her hands shake. Of course her intention is true, but what if she messes up somehow?

“It is true.” She says, unable to hide the shake in her voice. The man nods and gives the men beside of her the signal to proceed. They remove her crown. They take her by the elbows and lead her down the steps into the water.

The cold water quickly causes goosebumps to cover her skin. They lead her down until the water is waist deep, making her shiver.

“Are you ready?” The man on her right asks her. She nods her head. The men lean her back into the water. They hold her there, despite her instincts of fighting them to get to air. She holds her breath, afraid to breathe in the water.

Harry looks with anxious eyes. Everyone he has ever talked to says this is the worst part. He can see the water splashing as she fights being put under. Even the people with the truest of intentions said they were scared. It felt like they were going to drown. That’s why they fight.

The men begin to use their magic, it glowing through their hands and into the water surrounding her and onto her.

When Sybil can’t hold her breath any longer, she ends up taking in the glowing water around her. She didn’t realize by taking it in, she would find the relief she wanted from the air.

The magic fills her lungs, relieving the burning from not being able to breathe. Her body relaxes and feels like she’s floating.

Harry is still on his knees, watching as the fighting and splashing dissipates. Anxiety fills his chest as they just stand and watch her in the water. He wants to run to her. To pull her out and to hold her until she’s feeling better. He’s never felt this way before when he stood and watched others do this, but he’s also never been the one who was going to receive the person coming out of the water. He’s never had someone come out of the water and need him.

When the men eventually lift Sybil from the water, her body is limp. Her eyes are closed. She is held there for a moment, Harry watching impatiently for signs of her waking up. Signs of her magic.

Almost as if Harry conjured it, her eyes shot open, glowing purple light coming from them. The men put her on her feet in the water.

Sybil feels the magic rushing through her, a feeling like she’s has never felt before. She sucks in a deep breath of air. She can’t see, the magic overwhelming every sense.

Wings begin to manifest behind her, fluttering at a rapid pace, sending her into the air. She stays there for a moment, magic causes her eyes and her wings to glow brightly of purple. Water drips off of her flowing dress and back into the pool.

When her body begins to come down, she lands herself right in front of Harry, sitting on her knees like he is. The glowing subsides from her eyes. Sybil regains her vision and sees Harry in front of her.

Harry immediately wraps his arms around her, not caring how wet his clothes get.

“Sybil! Are you okay?” He asks as soon as her eyes open and focus on him. She gives him a tired smile.

“I’m okay. I love you.” She says, the rushing that she felt beginning to fade, making her exhausted.

“I love you too.” Harry says. “We’re almost done, and then you can rest.” Sybil nods her head, and copies Harry’s motions from the wedding. She focuses every bit of energy she has to her hand. She focuses her love. Her adoration. Every feeling she has for him into her hand, and her chest begins to glow purple, just like her eyes moments ago.

Sybil pulls her hand away and a glowing purple ball holds in her hand. Her very first act of magic right in front of her. She looks at it in awe. She did that. She made that. That’s her magic. Sybil closes her hand around it, shrinking it until her hand is fully clasped shut. When she opens it a small purple crystal on a silver chain sits in her hand, and a tear escapes her eyes.

Harry gently grabs the meaningful piece and clasps it around his neck. The room erupts in clapping and shouting. Everyone yelling their congratulations.

Sybil rests her forehead against Harry’s as her eyes begin to fall shut. Harry looks at her with worry.

“Sybil?” He asks, trying to get her attention. Her eyes flutter open again.

“I’m… so tired.” She says. Ace comes off of the platform and walks to them, putting his hand on Harry’s back and giving Sybil his congratulations.

“Dad, she can barely keep her eyes open.”

“We are going to fly her back. Transformations are tiring enough as it is, but her giving the magic right after? I have no doubt that she is exhausted.” He says, which helps ease the anxiety is Harry’s chest. “We have a carriage outside. Adeline is in there waiting for her. Sybil doesn’t even stir when Harry takes her by one arm, Ace taking the other and carrying her out to the carriage.

Once inside the carriage, they lay her down on her side, her wings facing them as she faces the wall. Adeline check over her as Harry and Ace take a seat. The carriage doesn’t take long to lift into the air and take them back home.

“Her magic is strong. Can you feel it?” Adeline says excitedly.

“I can.” Harry says with a smile, letting the rest of his anxiety go.

“It’s so bright.” Adeline tells him. When entering the castle, Ace teleports them to their room.

“We could have walked dad.” Harry says.

“I’m sorry son, but I didn’t want to carry her up all of those stairs. I figured this would be easier.” Ace tells him. Ace leaves temporarily as Harry changes her into dry clothes. Ace comes back in and they lay her on the bed, making sure not to hurt her wings. She curls up on the mattress as Ace and Harry step aside from her.

Ace wraps his arms around Harry, hugging him with a pat on the back.

“I’m proud of you son, for all that you’ve done.”

“Thank you dad.” Harry answers, emotions coming to the surface.

“Adeline will be checking in every once in a while. Take care of her until then.”

“I will.” Harry says. Ace walks out of the room. Harry walks back over to Sybil and takes a moment to see her like this. She’s sleeping, but her magic is so bright. Her wings a sparkling purple. He gently takes his fingers across the lines on hers, and he wonders if it feels the same as the day she touched his.

She looks so peaceful curled up on the bed, her light snoring making her even more cute.

Sybil dreams vividly, all focusing on her new found abilities. She flies around, casting magic onto things around her. She zips through the woods, Harry following close behind her.

When her dream begins to fade away, her eyes begin to flutter open. She sees Harry writing at the desk. She goes to turn over to face him when she feels something on her back. She looks over and she’s that she has her wings out, sparkling in the sunlight that comes in the room. She sits up so she doesn’t pinch them or crush them underneath of her. She lacks the energy to try and put them away like Harry does.

She stays quiet, watching him work diligently. His hand taking its time to draw each symbol on the page. A rumble fills the room as Sybil’s stomach reminds her that she hasn’t eaten yet today.

Harry turns around and sees her sitting up. He puts his pen down and walks over to her.

“How do you feel?” He asks her gently.

“I’m still pretty tired, but I think I’m more hungry than anything.” She says.

“Do you want me to get you something?” He offers. She nods her head.

“Can I come?”

“I think Adeline has you on bed rest. I can be super quick though.” He informs her. She is disappointed but understands. Harry walks out of the room and into the hallway. He takes a deep breath.

Since that day that she enjoyed the flying and the carriage ride, Harry has been trying to get more comfortable with flying again. He knows she is going to want to the first moment she can. He takes his wings out of hiding and takes another deep breath. Today he’s going to try the short distance from here to the kitchen.

He slowly lifts himself into the air, anxiety making his hands shake. He knows that he’s going to be able to fly just fine. He’s flown before. He just had one bad accident. Just one accident. He’s older now.

Harry sits there repeating to himself that everything is going to be okay. He slowly begins to move through the hallways, his wings flapping slowly. Harry continues to take deep breaths, picking up his speed the farther he goes.

When he finally gets to the kitchen and lands, he has someone get her a plate of leftovers and heat them up. He gently flies the plate back to the room. He puts his wings away and walks in to see her standing up in front of the mirror, admiring her wings. Harry sets the plate down and walks over to her.

“I’m pretty sure bed rest means stay in bed.” Harry reminds her.

“How did you get my shirt on over my wings?” She asks, ignoring his reminder. He gives her a gentle smile.

“I used a little big of magic to phase the shirt through them. I hope you don’t mind that I helped you change. You were dripping wet.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She says. “I like wearing your clothes.”

“I know you do. I wanted you to be comfortable while you recover.” Harry places his hand on her back and guides her to the bed. She sits forward on the bed, not letter her wings touch the pillows.

“Do you know how to put them away?” Harry asks her. She shakes her head.

“I thought that just thinking about it would do it.”

“You have to focus your magic like you did to make the crystal. It doesn’t have to be that intense, but it requires some focus.” He tells her. When he mentions his crystal, her eyes flick down to see the chain on his neck, a purple crystal hangs from it, making her smile. He is hers.

She focuses her attention to her wings. She focuses on the feeling of them behind her. The magic. How she wants to lay down on her back without crushing them. The feeling of letting the magic subside. And just like that, her wings fade and are put away.

Harry pats her on the back for being able to put them away. Sybil sits back onto the pillow and Harry gives her the plate of food. She eats until she’s full and gives the plate back to Harry. Harry takes the plate away and comes back to see her under the covers and lying down.

Harry lays beside her on the bed and rests his hand on her hip. His other hand is placed under is cheek. “How do you feel, love?” He asks her gently.

“All I’ve done is sleep today but I’m exhausted.”

“I can only imagine not having magic and then suddenly having it. I bet it is wildly exhausting.”

“I don’t like to sleep all day. I want to go outside while it’s still bright out.” She says.

“I wish there was a way we could. As soon as Adeline clears you, that will be the first thing we do, okay?” He assures her. She gives him a tired smile.

“Okay.” She says. Harry readjusts on the bed, lying so that she can climb over and lay her head on his chest. When she does, her hand rests above the crystal on his neck. She fidgets with it as they lay together. “This feels like a dream.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything has been such a whirlwind. My life is something you see from a movie. I literally have magic. I’m a princess. It just doesn’t feel real.”

“It is very real baby.” He rubs his hand up and down her back.

“I love you Harry.” She says, drifting off to sleep.

“I love you too Sybil.” He tells her, but her eyes are already closed.

Harry lays there and holds her for about an hour before his door has a slight knock and pops open. Adeline comes in the door and walks up to Harry.

“How is she doing? Is she feeling okay?”

“She’s alright. Very tired.”

“Has she eaten anything yet?”

“Yeah. Almost a full plate.”

“That’s great.” Adeline says, writing it down on her clipboard. “Has she been walking around?”

“A little. She was up at the mirror earlier. She really wants to go outside.” Harry tells Adeline and she nods.

“Do you think she’s strong enough to walk all that way?”

“I don’t know. She’s just been so tired we’ve just been lying here. Is there anything I can do to take her outside?”

“Not unless you use magic.” She tells him and he sighs.

“I’m trying to get more comfortable with that for her. She’s going to want to fly. And I want that for her. So I’ve been using magic for small things. Helping her get dressed, flying around the castle.”

“That’s great to hear Harry. You know, I remember not that long ago getting to talk to Sybil while you were busy with your dad. I told her about how you can feel another persons magic. How bright yours was.” She starts. “It’s amazing to be able to feel hers. It’s as bright as yours.” Harry’s smiles spreads across his face, threatening to take over all of his features.

Sybil begins to stir at the sound of their voices. She looks around confused before realizing that she fell asleep on Harry’s chest.

“Hello Sybil.” Adeline greets her softly.

“Hi.” She says, sleep evident in her voice.

“Do you mind getting up? I’m here to evaluate you.”

“That’s fine. Just give me a minute please.” Sybil told her and Harry chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re just not a morning person.”

“Technically, it’s not morning. I’m just not a perky person when it comes waking up.”

“I know. It’s adorable.”

“Hush.” Sybil laughs. She finally sits up in bed and climbs out. Adeline smiles at her wearing Harry’s clothes.

“Okay. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good. I’m tired, but it’s getting better.”

“Good. Have you tried your wings yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” Sybil replied. Adeline nods for her to go ahead. She focuses her magic like Harry said to do to put them away, and she brings them out again.

Harrys eyes watch her, swooning over every little detail about her. She was beautiful as a human, of course, but Harry sees how she lights up when using her magic. How she gets excited to do something so normal to him and his way of life. She’s beautiful.

It doesn’t take a lot of focus to begin moving her wings. They flutter lightly behind her, lifting her feet off of the ground. She rose higher into the air, swirling herself about before her feet touch the ground again.

“Those seem to be doing alright. I think you’re good to go for anything you feel strong enough to do.” Adeline confirms what Sybil wanted to hear. Sybil sits down on the bed as Adeline speaks. “Just see me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Sybil tells her and Adeline leaves the room. She directs her attention to Harry who stands in front of her. “Do you think I could make it outside?”

“That’s all depending on how you feel.” He says. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“I mean, I have a little energy. Not a whole lot.”

“Maybe we should wait then. We will go soon, okay? I promise.” He says, sticking out his pinkie just like the night before. Sybil beams at Harry’s remembrance of the requirements of the pinkie promise. She locks fingers with him and puts her wings away. She lays down on the bed again and drifts off to sleep under Harry’s touch.

Days passed as Sybil’s energy levels returned to normal. Her practicing her flying inside the bedroom when she felt that she could. She loved being in the air and wondered if Harry would ever join her. She wanted him to so bad, but she didn’t want to push him. She knew he hated it.

Harry was supportive, not pushing her to do anything she wasn’t ready for. She dabbled in a little magic, but not a lot. Harry helped her and demonstrated things as she asked. She liked to push the covers back with her magic so she could climb in bed. Some of the best moments of her recovery were when Harry asked about her old life. She would tell a story, and then Harry would mention that he read something about a detail in his studies before. Then Sybil would explain.

Sybil also continued her studies as she stayed inside and recovered. She wrote, she read history books. Harry was taken by surprise when she decided to ask,

“What ever happened to the people that used to be in the dungeon? When I was down there, I know the cells were full.” She asks as she practices more of her writing. She’s getting more fluent with it, but practice is still necessary.

“My dad released the ones who hadn’t already been transformed.” Harry says, also putting down his pen.

“Did he let them go home?”

“No. They are still here somewhere.” Harry answers. He puts his pen down and Sybil does the same. “Why?”

“They should have the option to go home. They shouldn’t be forced to stay.”

“I don’t know how-“

“I think it’s time we both learn. And we give them the option to go.” Sybil says. Harry nods in silence. “I’d like to make a proposal.”

“For?”

“What happened to those people, what happened to me. It can’t happen again. I don’t regret a single thing, but I chose my role. I chose my path. I accepted it. They should have a choice too. They shouldn get to go home, with the promise that every human who comes here is here by choice, not because we kidnapped them.” She says and Harry looks upset.

Harry has wanted to fight for them but didn’t know how to go about finding them. He doesn’t want to announce to the kingdom that they kidnapped humans, but how else is he supposed to find them? How will those humans trust him to send them home?

Harry grabs another piece of paper and begins to label the top. Sybil looks over and reads it. ROYAL PROPOSAL FOR THE LAW.

“Is there a specific way it has to be done?”

“Yes. It has to be written to be submitted. Then it is reviewed at the next meeting.” Harry informs her.

“And then it’s announced if it’s passed.”

“Correct.” Harry says and continues writing. “How do you want to word it?”

“How fancy do I have to be?” Sybil asks, not knowing if she can just speak her mind or if she has to articulate it differently.

“Formal, but don’t worry about a few mistakes because it will be rewritten a time or two if changes are made.”

“Okay, does it have to start any certain way?”

“No. Go ahead and say it and I’ll write.”

“Humans must come to our land voluntarily. For no reason shall any person, human or faery, take another human and force them into our world. If discovered, the human will be given the option to stay or return back to the human world, and their captor will be sentenced to the dungeon.”

“How long do you think punishment should be for?”

“I think if they want to take away someone’s life, they shouldn’t get to have theirs. I’d say for life. Unless you plan on releasing James any time soon?” Sybil asks and Harry shudders at the thought.

Harry urgently writes that detail onto the paper.

“I’d also like to add that portals should be openable by almost anyone. The exception being people who seem unfit and children. People should be able to go to that world if they don’t want to be here, or if they want to visit.” Sybil add and Harry writes it as well.

“Okay. We can submit this. I’ll go and give it to my dad to share with the others.” Harry says. He steps out of the bedroom and opens his wings. He flies to his dad and explains the paper. Ace agrees to review it and will present it at the meeting tomorrow.

Harry comes back and informs Sybil. She continues her writing, making more notes to show her progress.

Tomorrow comes around faster than anyone could think, and Sybil is nervous. She gets dressed in a hurry when she wakes up.

“You alright, love? You’re shaking.” Harry asks her and she nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“It’s my first meeting. My first proposal.” She tells him, looking in the mirror at herself. She fixes her hair as Harry comes up behind her.

“You’re going to do great. You’ve got this.” He tells her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her. Sybil spins around, taking a deep breath. She meets Harry’s smile when she faces him. She places a gentle kiss on his smiling lips.

“I love you.” She says, her voice almost a whisper.

“I love you too.” He says. They make their way down the hall at a slow pace.

When they get to the meeting room, Ace is there looking over the proposals. A few advisors come up and introduce themselves as Sybil takes her seat in the new chair beside Harry. Once all 11 people are seated, the meeting begins.

“Good morning everyone. Let it be stated in the record that this is Sybil’s first meeting with us in her new role as Princess. Now to begin, we have two proposals to review and either pass, deny, or ask for revisions. Let us begin.” Ace delivers the opening statement. Harry takes the papers from Ace’s hand and begins to read the first one.

“Proposal for law titled ‘New Kingdom Holidays’, requesting the addition to the royal calendar of three holidays. As is tradition, royalty’s birthdays, coronations, and anniversaries are added to the calendar. To show respect to newly crowned Princess Sybil, her birthday of July 15 be added to the calendar, as well as her coronation and our marriage date.” Harry reads. Sybil feels her heart pounding. Who proposed this? Why do they need to celebrate me, she thought. “Any comments?” Harry asks the table.

“It is customary. I say we all should agree.” One member says, her standing to draw attention.

“I can understand my birthday and my coronation, but why our anniversary. Shouldn’t that just be for us?” Sybil asks Harry, her heart pounding and echoing in her ears.

“We don’t need to celebrate with the kingdom. We have the freedom to plan something of your own, but the kingdom celebrates these holidays in the town square. It’s important to them.” He informs her. “But it is important that we make an appearance for your birthday and coronation. The people have only ever seen you. They have never gotten to talk to you. Your birthday is soon. It will be good.”

“And this is customary?” She asks. Everyone at the table nods. “They do it for you?”

“They still celebrate my mother’s birthday and coronation. They grieve her loss every year. We mean something to these people.” Harry tells her and Sybil takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Alright. All in favor?” Ace says. All hands at the table raise. “All opposed?” All of the hands go down. “Alright then. Proposal titled ‘New Kingdom Holidays’ is passed.” He writes on the paper passed 11-0 with no revisions. Harry switches over to the next paper.

“Okay. Proposal for law titled ‘Voluntary Human Travel and Common Portals’. Request is for assurance that what has happened most recently must not happen again. Humans must come to our land voluntarily. For no reason shall any person, human or faery, take another human and force them into our world. If discovered, the human will be given the option to stay or return back to the human world, and their captor will be sentenced to the dungeon for life. Also, portals should be openable by almost anyone. The exception being people who seem unfit and children. People should be able to go to that world if they don’t want to be here, or if they want to visit.” Harry reads their proposal. “Any comments?”

“I don’t believe anyone should have access to portals to the human world.” One advisor says, who earlier introduced himself as Alex.

“Which is why the statement was put in there to say ‘the exception being people who seem unfit and children’. That part is vague and may need revision to include what makes someone unfit.” Ace says.

“We did what we had to do to help our population. Sybil is only here because of that mission.” Alex says.

Sybil becomes more nervous, knowing she has to speak up. She has to defend her proposal.

“I may only be here because of that mission, but I would have come here voluntarily. Let’s also not forget the abuse I endured to be here. James is to blame for that, and I know that wasn’t part of what you all were trying to do. But I’m fascinated by this place and would have come over voluntarily. All of those people who were taken before me need to be given the option to go home. They got ripped away from their families. Their lives. This isn’t right. They deserve the choice to stay or leave.” Sybil defends, much to Harry’s surprise.

“The curse ripped so many families of ours apart. We can’t continue to rip other families apart just to save ours.” Harry says and Ace nods. The room is silent for a moment.

“If we revise our statement of portal use, I would accept. But I don’t believe anyone should have access. I think there needs to be assessments for fitness. Those can be discussed in the next meeting.” Another advisor says.

“Alright. Let’s settle this then. All in favor?” Ace asks. No hands. “All opposed?” No hands. “Needs revision?” All hands go up. Ace writes this on the paper. Harry can’t help but to feel bad for not thinking of the fitness part of the proposal. It’s his fault that it got pushed back another week.

“I have a question.” Alex states as Ace writes notes for revision. “This mission was kept secret from the public. No one knows how Sybil got here, or the others. How will we announce this?” Ace sighs.

“We have to be honest. We messed up.” Ace admits

“The other leaders won’t receive this well. They think she came over.” Alex warns. Ace nods.

“I know. We will just have to deal with the consequences. What we did wasn’t right. We have to fix this.” Ace says and the room is silent. Everyone begins to disperse. Ace hands the proposal back to Harry to fix. Not another word is said as everyone leaves, leaving Sybil and Harry in the room alone. Harry’s arms snake around Sybil and he holds her.

They spend a quiet moment together like this. This is her life now. It’s her job to fight for what’s right, humans and faeries alike. This is important to her.

Harry and Sybil spend the next few days brainstorming and thinking of how to revise the proposal. They come up with a set of standards and write them down.

The next meeting rolls around and everyone is at the table again. Sybil’s leg bounces nervously under the table as she repeats in her head the revisions.

“Alright everyone. Today’s agenda. There are no new proposals, but one that has been revised and is ready to be reviewed. Let us begin.” Ace starts. Harry holds up the revised version of Sybil’s proposal and begins to read.

“Revision was requested for proposal titled ‘Voluntary Human Travel and Common Portals’. Revisions are as follows. The fitness of an individual will be determined by multiple factors. First being mental fitness. To be considered mentally fit, you must have no mental health issues that would affect your ability to determine if a portal is necessary. You must also know about the human world. A small test of knowledge must be passed to open the portal. Also, anyone with a criminal record will not be granted access to portals.” Harry reads, the last line making Sybil think of James. She shakes her head to rid herself of the thought.

“Are there specific mental health issues listed?” Someone asks. She gives Harry a questioning look.

“Yes. They are listed below the initial paragraphs.” Harry says. The paper is passed around for thorough review of the fitness qualifications. Each one is discussed and reviewed.

“Are we ready to vote?” Ace asks and everyone nods. Everyone around the table passes the proposal and Ace signs it.

“Since that is passed, I think before we leave the meeting, we should figure out what we are going to say to the people.” Ace says before everyone gets up from their seats.

“I think it would be smart for Sybil to speak. It’s her proposal. She was a victim. Wouldn’t it be best coming from her?” Alex mentions and everyone around him agrees. Harry looks over at me.

“This would be your first public address. Do you feel comfortable with speaking?” Harry asks. Sybil feels nervous again, her heart beating out of her chest.

“I can speak, if that’s what everyone agrees to.” She says, then taking a deep breath. Everyone looks to Ace.

“I think it would be best. More honest than if any of us did it. Harry and I would be by your side. Let’s come up with something and address it this evening.” Ace says and everyone pulls out some paper.

The rest of the meeting is spent drafting talking points for Sybil to speak on at her address. When everything is all said and done, an advisor rings the bell for the kingdom and it echos loudly through the streets. People begin to come out of their homes and flocking to the front of the castle, where Sybil will stand and give her speech.

Sybil, Harry, and Ace all stand at the door, waiting to go out and make an appearance.

“This is going to be shocking news for all of them. Their negative reactions aren’t going to be at you. It’s going to be with us. My father specifically. Don’t worry okay?” Harry whispers to her. She nods as she straightens out her dress that she just put on.

Sybil puts her hand on the doorknob and twists it, letting the setting sun light cast over her and the floor. She steps out, followed by Harry and Ace. They stand on both sides of her and let her address her people. They gave her tips and advice, but this is hers.

She looks out over the hundreds of people that have flocked in such a short time and just takes it in. These are her people. These are the people she’s trying to help.

“Good evening. Thank you all for gathering in such a short time.” Sybil begins, her hands clasped in front of her to stop the shaking. “Tonight is a very important night. Not only is it my first time getting to speak to you, but we have something important to tell you.”

She breaks and allows for their chatter and clapping. When it dies down, she resumes.

“Tonight we had our weekly meeting to discuss proposals and laws. I submitted a proposal and we thought it was important to inform you all of why this proposal was submitted and passed. Not very long ago, King Ace and his advisors decided to set out on a mission to help the population crisis that threatens us. Knowing that humans are the only way to get around this curse, he set soldiers out on a mission to take humans from their world and bring them here.” She says and the crowd gasps and chatters. Ace bows his head in shame.

“These humans were either transformed or were released into the public still as humans. If you are one of them, I need you to listen carefully. I see you, I am one of you, and I apologize on behalf of the king. We have made this proposal for you. This proposal prohibits any capturing of humans like this again. Humans should be able to come and go voluntarily. Faeries should be able to come and go as well. People who are caught smuggling humans through portals will be sentenced to life in the dungeon and stripped of their magic. Also, opening portals is now going to be taught to those who the kingdom seems fit enough to learn. There is questions that need answered and a test that needs passed, but it will be available for anyone to take. The most important take away from this is, if you were one of those humans who were taken, we’d like to send you home. We’d like to invite you to the castle and we will transport you home.”

Murmurs and chatter fill the streets after Sybil’s speech. Sybil steps to the side and Ace comes to the center of the crowd.

“I’d like to come up here and apologize myself for my actions. We were desperate to solve the issue, but this isn’t the way. Getting to hear Sybil and talk to her as she went through this journey of living in this world since that day, I deeply regret everything I have done to cause you harm.” Ace says. “We are willing to take questions, if you have them.” Ace says to the crowd. Hands shoot up into the air. Ace picks a hand.

“The kingdom had never heard of Sybil until the royal engagement. Was she one of the ones brought over from this mission?” A man asks. Ace takes a deep breath.

“Yes. She was. Harry and Sybil’s marriage was arranged, but let me clarify that this mission was a secret mission between me and some of my advisors. Not even Harry knew until after it happened.”

“So you forced them to get married?” The man asks, taking another turn. Sybil steps forward to speak.

“The marriage was arranged, but I chose this path because I love this world and I love Harry.”

“How did you choose when you were held prisoner?” Another voice asks, no malice, just genuine curiosity.

“I could have fought. I could have not cooperated. We don’t have the time to discuss every small detail that has happened since then, but believe me, I want to be here, and I’m glad I was able to put this proposal into action to protect others who were like me. This will never happen again.” Sybil says with a finality to her voice.

A silence fell upon the crowd at her final statements. Footsteps came from different parts of the street and several people stood in front of the crowd. No wings.

“I want to go home.” One woman says. “My kids are there. I’d like to go back.” Sybil welcomes her up with open arms. The woman comes forward and wraps her arms around Sybil before standing behind her.

One of the others steps up to Sybil and does the same. A total of eight people step forward in front of the crowd asking to go home and being received by Sybil with open arms.

As Sybil calls for any more humans who’d like to go home, a shout from the crowd erupts from the silence.

“How are we supposed to trust our king when he even went behind his own son’s back to complete a mission like this?” The crowd talks amongst themselves.

“I know it may be hard to trust me after this, but I’m asking you to. I know I give you no reason to, but believe me when I say I feel horrible about what I’ve done, and this is just one of the things we are doing to try and help fix what I’ve done. I understand the feelings of mistrust and betrayal.” Ace tells them with a sorrow voice.

No more comments are made as Sybil leads the group of humans inside. The kingdom disperses and all goes back to whatever they were doing before. Talking, working, relaxing. Whatever activity it was before Ace and Sybil flipped their world.

Ace leads them all to a room, Harry recognizing that it is one of the few rooms in the castle that he wasn’t allowed to enter.

All eyes wander around to the various objects and magic sitting about the room. Some bottles glow while others are collecting dust. Books remain open on tables, papers scattered about.

Ace walks over to a small box on the table and opens it, a small stone sits on the cushion. Sybil recognizes the small pebble sized object that Ace picks up and places in the palm of his hand.

Her mind flashes back to that day, watching the portal begin to open before her eyes were covered again. The feelings of her wrists and ankles being tied together again.

Harry watches her closely as her mind drifts off to another place. He can’t even imagine how hard this is for her, to send these people back when she wasn’t given the opportunity. She says she wants to live here, but that first moment that they had met she would have jumped through a portal instantly. When she absentmindedly begins to rub her wrists, he places his hand on her shoulder to bring her back to the present.

Sybil is thankful for Harry’s gentle reminder to come back. Ace uses his magic and a light green portal begins to open. The humans chatter excitedly to get to go home. When the portal is ready, Ace begins to speak,

“I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I wish you all the best of luck.” He say and helps them into the portal. Not one of them says goodbye, glad to be out of this land.

When the last human steps through the portal, Ace whooshes it closed. Silence covers the room like a thick blanket. Harry holds Sybil close, his hand on her waist. Ace looks silently at the stone in his hand.

Sybil feels relief for the humans, but grief for her old self. She never got this choice. She loves Harry, and loves her life now, but just a short time ago this is what she wanted. She chose to accept her duties and participate, but she didn’t get to choose her cell. Her situation. She didn’t get to choose what happened with James. She never got to choose to go home. She’d love to see it just one more time, but she can’t. Not anymore. She wishes she could go back to her apartment and grab a few things, but she can’t. She doubts there is even an apartment left for her. She has a job to do for her people. That’s what’s more important.

Harry can feel her sadness. He’s not sure anyone else would notice, but her attitude has shifted. The confidence she carried when speaking to those people and sending them home is gone. He knows what she is feeling. He understands somehow.

“Dad.” Harry says quietly. Ace looks up at him. “Can Sybil and I… can we step through just to visit? I’ve never been.”

“Harry.”

“Dad, I just want to see it. No funny business. Please?” Harry pleads. A hope bubbles in Sybil’s chest. She might get to see her world one more time. She might not get to go home, but one more time would be enough.

Ace reluctantly gives in, afraid of Sybil wanting to turn on her position but he knows she deserves this. Ace opens the portal again, and he steps through. Sybil gives Harry a hopeful look before they step through together.

Harry is taken when he sees the way her smile looks like the sun upon stepping through the other side of the portal. Ace takes them to a different location than the people he sent home. It is a big grassy field with trees lining the edges, and at the horizon line you could see the city, beginning to glow from the lights as the sun sets. Ace closes the portal but stands in place.

“Stay close. Let me know when you’re ready to return.” Ace tells them. Sybil takes Harry’s hand and walks with him closer to the skyline, but still far away. She sits down, not caring if the dress she has on gets stained or ruined. Harry sits down beside her and looks at the sun disappears over the tallest buildings he has ever seen.

“My mom always told me about how beautiful it was here. She was right.”

“This is beautiful.” Is all Sybil can manage to say. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” He says, his fingers dancing over her hand as it rests on his knee. “I could feel it. I could feel how you felt.”

Sybil doesn’t respond to what Harry said, but instead she lays her head on his shoulder and just watches everything. Harry asks her questions about stuff in the city and Sybil tells him not only answers, but stories of her life. She’s told Harry stories before, but not like this. This was everything. She spilled and rambled on about her world. How it’s different from his. How the people are. How cars work. Phones. Technology. How advanced everything is compared to aspects of the fae life.

It begins to get dark and Sybil has Harry lay down. The stars begin to appear up above them. She teaches Harry some of the constellations.

Harry tries to commit everything to memory. He doesn’t want to forget anything here. This is her in her element. He’s been teaching her so much about them, and now it’s his turn to learn about her and where she’s from. More importantly, he’s trying to remember exactly how she looks in this light. How she’s the one getting to teach. How happy she is that she gets to show Harry something he has never seen before. How her enthusiasm reminds him of how his mom used to smile when telling him about this place.

They sit and stare at the stars for a while, not worried about if Ace is ready to go home. This is for Sybil, and nothing can take her from this moment.

“I love you, Harry. Thank you for this.” Sybil almost whispers.

“I love you too.” Harry tells her, looking over at her instead of at the sky, taking in everything he can and loving her even more.

- - -

Masterlist Series Part 5 (Series Complete)

Taglist: @jerseygirlinca @maudie-duan

#harry styles #hswriting #harry styles fanfiction #arranged marriage #arranged to be yours

14 notes · View notes

hswriting · 16 days ago

Text

Awe thank you for the shout out! I will also add some if anyone wants?

@1d1195 under construction and @narrycherries ivy series have been my most recent reads

Summary: "It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back."

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: Plus-sized!reader x Trainerry based on this request <- To the Anon that requested this. I hope it's everything you wanted and more. I really had to pull at some feels for this one. Thanks you so much for this!!

Warning: Angsty self-hate with a happy ending, and a mild sweet smut scene at the end that you can skip if that's not your cup of tea. (Heavy themes centered around hatred of body-image/body shaming. All self-induced)

It wasn’t that you wanted to change yourself entirely. You just wanted to be able to look into the mirror and, for once, like what you saw. It wasn’t a size or a number you were after, you wanted the peace of mind, the relief, the weight of the stigma lifted for more than just the occasional, oh yeah, I look good kind of moments.

Because let’s face it, we all know those moments were fleeting, but what if you could feel it for longer? What if your eyes could roam over your body, and maybe, just maybe, you could spend less time picking yourself apart. What if you could try on those jeans and this time they fit just perfectly—none of the excruciating cut of the waist digging into your belly while you sat, or the fear of not even being able to button them in the first place.

You wanted freedom, you wanted joy, you wanted less days of the mental prison that your brain held you in every time you looked into the mirror, or binged on that food you knew you should avoid. That was what this would be, the journey you were ready to embark on—a journey to confidence, a journey to loving yourself, a journey back to you. These were the words you were filling your head with, the prep talk you had given yourself that morning as you got ready, and now that shit was laughable, you thought as you walked through the gym doors, eyes already darting around as a gust of cool air spread over your bare arms.

This was the part you hated, the part you were dreading. It hadn’t even been two seconds and you were already tugging at the hem of your oversized tee, your gaze scanning over bodies in motion, most fit as fuck, some laughing and moving about, some focused forward in the zone, their eye on a prize that felt out of your reach, bending and flexing with an effortless ease you couldn’t even wrap your mind around, let alone even conceive the amount of energy you knew went into making each rep look like a walk in the park.

And now you felt crazy, because you were signing yourself up willingly, putting yourself out there for what? To fail? To be judged?

Was this really what you wanted? Did you really hate yourself this much? Was this even considered hate, or was this self-love? Because suddenly, the line was becoming blurred, and here you stood, waiting by the front desk on full display, following the instructions given via email, because you were too weirded out to set up everything in person. Hell, you didn’t even know where the bathroom was. It wasn’t like you could disappear until you were ready.

So maybe you couldn’t run and hide, but you could hide behind your phone, and wait for your trainer, god, what was his name again? Henry? Harris? Fuck, how could you be blanking, and as you took to searching for your welcome email, a deep voice sounded through your frantic thoughts:

“Hey there! ” a cheerful voice called out.

That’s when you turned to see a tall figure approaching you, his bright smile lighting up the room as he ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, green eyes reflecting the light, and holy shit, that physique, that body screamed fitness. And as you peered over your shoulder to see if he was signaling for someone else, your heart skipped a beat, cheeks flushing, because there was no way in hell this dude was going to be your trainer.

“Oh… were you talking to me?” you stammered, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably, hands already fidgeting with the him of your shirt.

“Yes, you have a training session at 9, correct?” he asked, extending his hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you felt a jolt of electricity the second your hands collided. “I’m Harry, it’s really nice to meet you. I can’t wait to help you on this journey.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying not to drool over his British accent as your voice came out small. Your palms were sweaty, and you quickly wiped them on your pants, hoping he didn’t notice.

“So, what are your fitness goals?” Harry asked, his tone encouraging and friendly, and just by the way he was making eye contact, you could tell that he was genuinely curious, like it wasn’t just his job to know.

For a second, you hesitated, your mind racing. You had so many thoughts swirling around this very question. What was it that you wanted again? To lose weight? Feel healthier? Gain some kind of confidence? But the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind going blank as you said, “Um, I just want to… you know, get in shape and feel better about myself,” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

Harry nodded, his expression holding a warmth you weren’t expecting, maybe an understanding, like he knew exactly what you meant to say, a sort of grace given that sent a flutter to the pit of your stomach.“That’s a great start! Remember, it’s all about progress, not perfection. I’d love to work together to set some goals that suit you and your lifestyle. I’m all about sustainability for the long-term, not the instantaneous results that rarely last long.”

And even though his words sent a flicker of hope through you. You could feel the self-doubt trying to creep back in. “I’m not really sure about all this,” you admitted, eyes moving around the room. “I’ve never been good at working out, and honestly, this place isn’t really my vibe. Like a place I feel like I belong... I guess.”

Yet as you said the words, Harry’s smile never wavered. “I get it. Change is always a little uncomfy at first, but you know everyone starts somewhere. The important thing is that you’re here, ready to take that first step, and as cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, you looked at him, holding his gaze, and that’s when the nervousness seemed to fade. There was something about his confidence and the kindness he exuded that was infectious, and you felt a small spark of determination ignite within you. “Okay…” You breathed.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” you told him with a small smile, feeling a bit more resolute, like yeah, maybe you could actually do this, like there was hope for the self-loathing bitch within you, because fuck her, she couldn’t have it all, you deserved a little light, some time away from the shadows of your self that kept stealing tiny moments of joy you could never get back.

At some point, you had to live, right?

“That’s the spirit!” Harry answered, his enthusiasm making your smile grow despite the lingering insecurities. “Shall we get started?”

And as he led you deeper into the gym, you couldn’t shake that feeling of awe, that mix of anxiety threatening the surface. You were about to do it, finally take that leap, about to be trained by this gorgeous guy, and while the thought made your heart race for maybe all the wrong reasons, you also felt a sense of possibility, like maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something great, something to make you feel alive again.

But it’s crazy how quickly excitement can fade.

The first week was pure torture, and the second week was no better. You wanted to quit, but you didn’t know what you wanted.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You had walked through those gym doors with all these grand ideas about transformation, about becoming someone new, but now, three weeks in, you were just as sweaty, still a breathless mess who couldn’t even do a proper squat without Harry having to adjust your form for the millionth time.

And god, those hands, always professional without a doubt, but there was something about the way they would ghost over your shoulders, the way they corrected your posture, or lightly pressed against your lower back to guide you, that had your skin burning from everything but the workout.

“Let’s try something different,” Harry said, and you could hear that patient tone, the one that never made you feel like the failure you knew you were.

He grabbed a bench, positioning it behind you. “…Seated squats. They’re gentler on the knees, and the bonus is they’ll help you build the strength for the full movement.”

Your first instinct was to prove yourself, to convince him you were able to do a full fucking squat like every other person in this gym, but somehow the words died in your throat when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—red-faced, sweat pooling in places you didn’t want to think about, your oversized shirt clinging to rolls you had been spending years trying to hide, and lets not even get started on your arms, fucking hell, your arms felt like they were made of jello, wobbling with each movement. Not to mention your thighs had already been chafing with every step, that familiar burn a reminder of exactly why you had been avoiding this place for years.

It was torture, pure fucking torture, but you sat anyway.

“Hey,” Harry called out, pulling you from your thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of you, those green eyes level with yours as he crouched down. “Where’d you go just then?”

“Nowhere… I’m fine,” you lied, because what were you supposed to say? That you were having a mental breakdown over a squat? That you could feel every pair of eyes in the gym judging the “chubby girl” who couldn’t even do basic exercises?

But Harry just nodded, like he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “Right then, seated squats it is. And after that, we’ll work on some upper body stuff. Sound good?”—The thing about Harry was that he never seemed to push when you shut down. His superpower was to redirect, adapt, and move on to something else, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Never an ounce of judgment.

You had noticed other things too, in these first three weeks—like how sometimes he shifted his weight to his left side during demonstrations, or how he would choose specific exercises over others without explanation. Once, when he was showing you how to do lunges, he distinctly favored his right leg, the change so evident that you almost asked about it, but something in his expression had stopped you.

One day, near the end of week three, the gym’s usual crowd of fitness models decided to make their appearance. You had recognized them by now, you know the type, the group of women who looked like they just stepped out of a Lululemon catalog, all tight abs and perfect ponytails, not a jiggle in sight. They were hard to miss, and even more apparent the way they gravitated toward Harry like moths to a flame, and why wouldn’t they? He was gorgeous, British, and had the kind of body that made you wonder what he looked like without a single scrap of clothing.

And these were the kind of thoughts that you had to shake from your head, because you didn’t want to go there.

Not when he was that close.

“Harry!” one of them shouted, her outfit like a latex glove, leaving little to the imagination as she bounded over. “Could you check my form on these hip thrusts?”

And fuck, you would have laughed if you weren’t trying to make yourself invisible, focusing on your water bottle like it held the secrets of the universe, but you couldn’t help watch them from the corner of your eye. Harry glanced at his watch and then back at the woman.

“Sorry, Melissa, I’m with a client right now,” he said, and was it your imagination or did he step slightly closer to you? “Maybe check with Tom at the front desk about booking a session.”

That was when the woman’s eyes flicked to you, and you could practically feel the onset of her assessment, knew the exact look she was giving, that up-and-down glance that was cataloguing every flaw, every roll, every reason you didn’t belong here. But Harry had already turned back to you, already demonstrating the next exercise like the interaction hadn’t even happened.

“Right, so for this one, you’ll want to keep your core engaged to protect your low back,” he was saying, but all you could think about was how he had just dismissed her, how he had chosen to stay focused on you when he could have just as easily given her five minutes of attention, and you chalked it up to professionalism without a second thought. He was getting paid to train you, after all.

This was his job.

But then why did your stupid heart skip when he smiled at you after you completed your set?

Week four started like any other, except it felt harder as you dragged yourself through the gym doors, already anticipating the torture ahead. You felt like shit... not good at all, more like death had warmed over you. Even though your body was starting to recognize the routine, your brain was still screaming at you to run every time you saw the weight rack.

“Morning!” Harry called out, and damn him for always being so cheerful at 9 in the morning. “How’re you feeling? Any soreness from last session?”

“Just my entire body,” you groaned, but there was less bite to it than before. “Who knew your ass muscles could be this sore.”

He laughed, that genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, that means you’re doing it right, and that’s a win, ay? Today we’re going to work on some balance exercises, really activate those stabilizer muscles.”

You were halfway through a set of single-leg stands, wobbling like a baby giraffe and cursing Harry’s name in your mind when it happened. It was quick, you losing your balance—again—and you stumbled backward, your elbow connecting with Harry’s leg as he moved to steady you, and out of nowhere, he made a sharp, pained, involuntary sound that made your blood run cold.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” and when you whirled around, he was gripping his knee, face tight with a pain that looked too familiar to be from your clumsy elbow. “Harry, I—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, and he was still holding his knee like it might shatter if he let go. “Just an old injury acting up. Nothing to do with you. I promise…”

But you had seen that kind of pain before, in your own mirror when your body would decide to remind you of all the ways it had been pushed too far. “Sit down,” you tell him, taking charge of the situation, surprising even yourself in the process. “Seriously, sit.”

For a second, he looked like he might protest, but something in your expression must have convinced him because he lowered himself onto the nearest bench, still favoring that right knee. The gym suddenly felt too quiet, too exposed, and without thinking, you positioned yourself between him and the rest of the room, like you could shield him from all the curious glances.

“It’s an old football injury,” he said finally, the words coming out reluctant, like he was still trying to hold them back. “Soccer… I mean—sorry, I know you Americans call it soccer. Tore my ACL completely about six years ago. Had surgery, did all the physio, but...” He shrugged, a gesture that looked too casual for the weight of what he was sharing. “Sometimes bodies don’t heal the way they’re supposed to.”

Startled by his words, you stared at him, this perfect-looking trainer with his perfect-looking body, and it was like something shifted inside your chest. “But you’re... you’re a trainer. I always pictured you all so—”

“Perfect?” He finished, looking up at you with a wry smile. “Yeah… that’s what everyone thinks. But the truth is, I can’t even run anymore. Can barely kick a ball without my knee giving out. Gosh, some days I wake up and have to spend like twenty minutes just trying to convince my knee to work properly.”

The words seemed to linger, weighted with an openness you hadn’t expected. Here was Harry, this beautiful, confident man, admitting to being broken, and somehow it finally made him real in a way that his encouraging words, or the professional distance he kept, never had, and that seemed to scare you.

“Is that why you became a trainer?” you asked, settling onto the bench beside him, your workout forgotten. “Because of the injury?”

He nodded, absently rubbing his knee. “Yeah… I guess in a way…I couldn’t play anymore, but I couldn’t stay away from fitness entirely… it was kind of my life, so I started learning about adaptive training, about working with bodies that don’t fit the typical mold. Turns out I’m better at helping people find their own path than I ever was at following mine.”

In that moment you wanted to say something, wanted to match the encouragement of his words, but all that came out was, “Well, that feels really fucking unfair.”

He laughed, surprised, but sincere. “Yeah, it really fucking is.”

And just like that, something changed. That professional distance he had been maintaining cracked just a little, and you saw him, not Harry the trainer, but Harry the person, a man who had his dreams ripped from under his feet, but still learned how to build new ones from the scraps.

“I should probably tell you,” he said, his voice lighter now, “this is why I modify so many exercises. It’s not just for you—half of them I can’t do the ‘proper’ way anymore. Those seated squats? I do them on my bad days, oh, and those knee-friendly lunges? Learned those during my physio.”

And fuck, there it was beating at your insides, that crush, that you had been desperately trying to ignore, suddenly felt less like a schoolgirl fantasy and more like... god dare you say it… Something else. Something deeper. Because now, when you looked at him, you didn’t just see the attractive trainer who was nice to the “fat girl”. You saw someone who maybe understood you more than you knew, who probably knew your body better, knew all the ways it betrayed you, the frustration of every limitation, and the slow, painful process of finding acceptance.

“Thank you,” you breathed, really wanting him to know you meant it. “For telling me.”

He stood to his feet then, eyes sweeping over your face, before offering you a hand up. “Come on, let’s finish your session. But maybe we’ll skip the jumping jacks today, yeah? My knee’s not the only one that needs babying.”

After that day, everything shifted, not just in your mind. Harry, of course, still maintained his professionalism, but there was a warmth now, an understanding that hadn’t existed before. Your workouts became less about pushing through pain and more about finding what worked for your body—and his.

“See, the thing about traditional training,” he explained during week five, while demonstrating a modified plank that didn’t make your wrists scream, “is that it assumes everyone’s working with the same equipment. But we’re not, are we? You’ve got your challenges, I’ve got mine… but the trick is finding what works for us.”

Us…

And, damn it was such a small word, but boy did it seem to carry weight.

That’s when you started noticing more things, like how he would ice his knee between clients, or how he would shift positions during longer demonstrations, or how his jaw would tighten on particularly bad days. But you also noticed how he never let it stop him, how he moved through it, and adapted his entire life around this limitation without a trace of self-pity.

So why couldn’t you?

“After my surgery,” he told you one day while you struggled through a stupid resistance band exercise, “I spent months being angry. Angry at my body, at the universe… I guess at everyone… everyone who could still do what I couldn’t. It took me a long time to realize that anger was just fear wearing a different face.”

“Fear of what?” you asked, breathless from exertion but curious nonetheless.

“Fear that I’d never be enough again. That, without soccer, without that, I guess that identity, I was just... nothing.” He told you, adjusting your form gently, his hands warm through your shirt. “Sound familiar?”

He had you there; it was all too familiar. Because wasn’t that exactly what you felt every time you looked in the mirror? That without the body you thought you should have, you were somehow less than? And the parallel hit you like a ton of bricks, because was this not him basically telling you that he understood, that he had been where you were, just in a different way—that maybe not all trauma was the same, but it still hurt, even when the two weren’t comparable.

“So what changed?” you asked during a water break, after you finally digested the realization, watching him absently massage his knee.

“Perspective,” he said simply. “Started focusing on what my body could do instead of what it couldn’t. Yeah, I can’t play soccer anymore, but I can help people like you find their strength. That’s not nothing, is it?”

People like you… And maybe the phrase should have stung, but the way he said it, with such an honest warmth, made it feel more like a compliment.

“You know what I love about training you?” he asked suddenly, and your heart did a stupid flutter in your chest. “You’re honest. You don’t pretend like it’s easy or fun. You show up even when you hate it. Do you know how rare that is?”

This makes you laugh, wiping sweat from your face with a towel. “Yeah, I’m a real inspiration... The girl who nearly cried doing wall sits yesterday.”

“Maybe… but you still finished them, though,” he pointed out. “That’s what matters. Not how pretty it looks or how easy it is. Just that you don’t give up.”

With perfect timing, the gym hotties made another appearance, a new group this time, but technically the same, all giggling and hair-tossing as they tried to catch Harry’s attention. One of them even “accidentally” dropped her water bottle right by where he was spotting your chest press, and for a second you held your breath, waiting for him to look, to give them the attention they were so desperate for, but he just kicked the bottle gently out of the way and kept his focus on you.

“That’s it, three more,” he encouraged, and maybe it was your imagination, but his voice seemed a little louder than necessary, like he was making a point. “You’ve got this.”

Later, as you were packing up your things, you overheard one of them complaining to her friend:

“He’s always with that girl. Like, what’s the deal? Is she paying him extra or something?”

It was one of those times you wished you could roll it off, but the words pricked at your skin, and before you could spiral into self-loathing, Harry appeared at your elbow. “Ready for the cool-down stretches?” he asked, and his hand touched your lower back, guiding you away from the women who were still whispering their gossip.

“I’ve got a new routine I want to try—it’s specifically designed for people with knee issues, but I think it’ll help with your hip flexibility too.”

People with knee issues.

Like him, like you, like your fucking body that creaked and fought you at every turn, but now what was once a negative connotation had shifted, had become a positive acknowledgment, a thing you both shared. All the modified movements, the limitations, yes, they were real, but gone was the judgment, and the monster you could make of them.

By week six, you had developed a routine. You still hated mornings, still wanted to die during cardio, but there was something else now, a sense of anticipation. Not for the workout itself, god no, but for the hour you got to spend with Harry.

A growing anticipation for the way he would light up when you managed something you couldn’t do the week before. All the terrible jokes he would tell to distract you during the dreadful planks. The way he would casually touch your arm or back—always appropriate, always professional, but still, there was something that made your skin tingle, a curious wonder that had your mind reeling.

“You’re getting stronger,” he told you one morning, watching as you completed a set of squats—real ones this time, not the shitty seated ones. “Can you feel it?”

And honestly, you could. Not just in your muscles, but in the way you carried yourself. You still had times when you tugged at your shirt, still felt your thighs rub together, but it was different now. Maybe less shameful, more just... fact. Your body was what it was, but it was capable of more than you thought.

“My knee’s been acting up this week,” Harry had admitted during a demonstration of a new exercise. Mentally, you had already noticed that it was less fluid than usual, but you didn’t say anything.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the wince of pain, “Probably the weather change. But look—” Then, he showed you how to modify the movement, turning what should have been a jumping exercise into a step-touch pattern. “Same muscle activation, less impact. All of this to say we work with what we’ve got, yeah?”

We…

And there was something in the way he said it, like he was trying to bind you both together through all the tiny imperfections. That’s when you found yourself, starting to stay a few minutes after your sessions, helping him reset equipment or just chatting while he iced his knee. It was during one of these moments that he opened up a little more about his injury.

“The thing is… the pain wasn’t even the worst part…” he said, pressing a bag of ice into his finicky knee. “It was watching my mates continue on without me. I mean, of course, they would visit the hospital, tell me about matches, and I was grateful… really I was… and I would smile and nod, hit all my marks… but the truth was I was dying inside… Took me years to be able to watch soccer again without feeling bitter.”

“Do you still feel bitter?” you asked, organizing dumbbells to avoid looking at him directly.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “On bad days, when my knee won’t cooperate and I see people running without thinking twice about it... Yeah, it stings. But then I remember that without this—” he gestured to his knee, “—I’d never have become a trainer. Never have met the people I’ve helped. Never have...” He paused, and when you looked up, he was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “…Never have met you...”

You couldn’t help the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with it, and like an idiot, you fumbled the dumbbell you were holding, completely giving yourself away. “I’m sure you say that to all your clients,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice from wobbling, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

And as his words settled, the world around you seemed to pivot, the air now filling your lungs, charged with something that felt dangerously close to desire, but then someone dropped a weight plate across the gym with a thunderous clang, and the spell was broken, but you held onto that moment for as long as you could, because you felt it, felt the need beginning to ache in your bones.

But the one question that would always remain was:

Could he ever want a girl like me?

Week seven was when you nearly quit. It had been a bad week all around—work stress, family drama, and your fucking period decided to show up with a vengeance. You had barely slept, your body hurt in ways that had nothing to do with exercise, and the last thing you wanted was to squeeze into workout clothes and pretend like everything was fine, when it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry… But I don’t think I can do this today,” you told Harry the moment you walked in, not even bothering with a greeting. “I just... I can’t.” And there was shame in the way the words came out, like maybe this was your true self after all, and the rest was just an act.

He took one look at you, like, really looked at you. Not the quick bullshit assessment most people did, and nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you need?”

And his words nearly blindsided you. It wasn’t the “you have to push through” or “you’ll feel better after.” It was just a simple acceptance of where you were at, and you stood there trying to gather your words, feeling the burn at the back of your throat.

“I don’t know,” you forced, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I’m honestly so exhausted and everything hurts, and I looked in the mirror this morning… I don’t know… it’s just been a shitty week, and I’m just not sure what the point is anymore, and—”

“Hey,” he gently interrupts, steering you toward a quieter corner of the gym. “Breathe for me, yeah? Just breathe.”

And you did, gulping in air like you were drowning, and maybe it was his hand on your low back, but gradually the panic receded just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re just being human,” he corrected. “We all have these days. Hell, I had one last week—woke up and my knee was so stiff I could barely make it down the stairs. Wanted to throw things, and cry, and give up. You know what I did instead?”

“What?”

“Called in sick and spent the day on the couch watching terrible reality TV and eating biscuits.” Your brows shot up, and he grinned. “What? You thought I was going to say I powered through with positive thinking? Fuck that. Sometimes you need to just feel what you’re feeling.”

You felt overwhelmed. His answer was so unexpected, so honest, that you found yourself laughing despite the tears. “So what should I do?” You asked, wiping at your eyes.

“Today? If you want to stay, we can modify everything. Gentle movement only, nothing that makes you want to die. We can do some stretching, maybe some light resistance work if you’re up for it. And if at any point you need to stop, we stop. No judgment, no pushing. Just listening to what your body needs.”

And thank the heavens up above, because it was by far the easiest session you had ever had, physically speaking. But emotionally? God, emotionally, it was everything. Harry had adapted every single movement to match your energy level, never once making you feel weak or pathetic for needing the modifications. Everything was intuitive, even when the gym hotties walked by and gave you pitying looks, he shifted positions to block their view, talking louder about muscle groups to draw your attention away.

“You showed up,” he said at the end, as you were doing your final stretches. “On a day when everything in you said to stay home, you showed up. That’s a huge win.”

“It feels like nothing,” you muttered, but he shook his head.

“Six weeks ago, would you have come in feeling like this?”

And as you gazed into his green eyes, you thought about it. Six weeks ago, you would have used any excuse to avoid the gym. “No… I would have stayed home.”

“Then that’s progress. Not all progress looks like smaller jeans or bigger muscles. Sometimes it looks like showing up when you don’t want to.” His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and steady. “I’m proud of you.”

His words seemed to hit you harder than any physical exercise could ever touch the surface. When was the last time someone had said that to you? When was the last time you had given someone a reason to?

By week eight, something fundamental inside you had changed. Not just in your body, though you had to admit, you were feeling stronger, more capable, but in how you existed in your skin. You still had all the same insecurities, all the same soft places and jiggly bits, but they felt less like failures now and more like... just parts of you.

Which is why, when you got dressed that morning, you reached for the new workout outfit you had bought on impulse—fitted leggings and a tank top—there would be no hiding behind excess fabric, not today. Of course, your reflection still showed everything you usually hated—the belly that refused to lie flat, the arms that continued their gentle wobble, the thighs that would always touch. But for once, you didn’t want to reach for the oversized shirt.

“Fuck it,” you told your reflection. “Let’s see what happens.”

And what happened was Harry nearly dropped his water bottle when you walked in.

“You look—” He caught himself, his professionalism snapping back into place like a rubber band. “That’s a great color on you… It really brightens up your complexion.”

And try all he wanted, but you had seen that first reaction, the way his eyes had widened, tracked over your curves before he could even remember himself. It sent a thrill through you, gave you a sense of power that had you on cloud nine.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart hammered. “Figured I would switch things up a bit…”

“Yeah… It’s a nice change for sure,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made you look at him. I mean, really take in his expression, because it said it all. “Just... for what it’s worth, you should wear whatever makes you comfortable. But this—” He gestured vaguely, carefully not looking directly at your body. “This confidence suits you.”

He had you soaring, and the workout that followed ignited a new kind of tension growing between you. Harry had always been hands-on with corrections, but now each touch felt loaded with a new possibility. When he adjusted your hip position during bridges, his fingers seemed to linger a beat too long, and fuck, when he spotted your chest press, he stood closer than strictly necessary. And when he demonstrated proper form for a new exercise, you caught him glancing at you in the mirror, checking if you were watching.

You were. You always were.

“You know,” he said during a water break, his own face flushed from a particularly intense movement, “I’ve been training people for five years, and I’ve never seen someone transform the way you have.”

“I haven’t really transformed, though,” you told him, gesturing at yourself. “I mean, I’m maybe a size smaller? If that?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Then he sat on the bench beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When you first walked in, you looked like you wanted to disappear. Moved like you were apologizing for taking up space. Now look at you—wearing what you want, taking up all the space you need, moving like you have a right to be here. Because you do.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tight. “It’s because of you,” you said quietly. “The way you teach, the way you... see me. Not as a project to fix, but as a person. Like I don’t have to fit into the mold I thought I did.”

“Fuck the mold. It’s boring,” he said, and his hand covered yours on the bench, just for a second. “Lifes too short to try and keep up with all the bullshit.”

That was when the gym hotties chose that moment to make their appearance, a trio of them this time, chest high, all sports bras a size too small, stretched across their fucking boobs with an obvious intention. You watched as the tallest one made a beeline for Harry, her trajectory as clear as a heat-seeking missile.

“Harry! I was hoping you could show me that lunge from the other day during our session… it seems to have totally slipped my mind.”

“I’m with a client, Bridgette,” Harry said, not even looking at her. His hand had left yours, but he shifted closer, his knee touching yours. “Like I tell the others, you can book a session at the front desk if you need personal instruction.”

Bridgette’s eyes flicked between you and Harry, taking in the minimal space between you, the way Harry’s body was angled toward yours like a plant seeking sun. “Right. Sure. I’ll do that.”

And just as she was about to turn to leave, she says, “Oh… and it’s Courtney, by the way…” then she stalks off, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

“You know, I think they’re all convinced I’m either paying you extra or sleeping with you.”

Harry’s amused expression fell. “Have they been saying things to you?”

“No… no more than I expected,” you confessed. “You know how it is.. heaven forbid the chubby girl get any personal attention from the hot trainer? It’s probably not realistic in their world… and I guess in mine either… but of course, they’re going to talk.”

“You’re not—” He stopped, jaw clenched, and when he continued, his voice held a careful control. “First of all, I don’t think your chubby… if that’s what you want to call it… so fuck them. Second, you’re not just nothing. You’re a client who works harder than anyone else in this gym, who shows up even when it’s hard, who—” He cut himself off again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I’m not just giving you attention because... Christ, I’m making this worse.”

“Because what?” you urged, heart racing.

He looked at you then, and for a moment, you saw past the professional mask he was trying to hold, to something real and wanting underneath. “Because it’s my job,” he said finally, but the words sounded hollow. “Come on, let’s finish your session.”

The rest of the workout passed in tense silence, both of you overly aware of every accidental touch, every shared glance in the mirror. When he helped you stretch at the end, his hands on your calf as you lay on the mat, the tension was almost unbearable, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“Same time Thursday?” he asked when you were gathering your things, and there was something helpless in his expression, like maybe he was afraid you might say no.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Same time Thursday.”

As you left, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror by the exit, flushed and sweaty, curves on full display in your fitted outfit, looking like someone who belonged here. Not because your body had dramatically changed, but because maybe you were actually starting to believe you had a right to exist in places like this, exist in your own skin, like maybe it could be okay.

And just as your eyes were about to move forward, you caught sight of Harry watching you go, and the look on his face...

Yeah. You were definitely in trouble.

But for once, you didn’t want to run from it. You wanted to see where this path could take you, just as you were.

When week nine rolled around, you were back on track, your mind totally on board, and everything was going great. Even you were amazed by yourself, the way you were hitting every mark. Harry still kept a professional distance, but it wasn’t taking from the attraction you felt, now a low hum over your skin, signalling an obvious draw to him, that sent a pulse between your thighs every time his hands touched your body.

It was becoming a problem, actually. The way your body responded to him now—not just the flutter in the pit of your stomach, but it had turned into a full-body awareness every time he was near. When he corrected your form, his fingers grazing your hip or pressing against your back, you had to bite back sounds that had nothing to do with exertion. And you were pretty sure he knew it, too, from the way his jaw would tighten, the way he would step back a little quicker than necessary, like he needed the distance just as much as you.

One day, you were in the middle of box step-ups, feeling strong, feeling capable, feeling like maybe you were actually becoming the person you had wanted to be when you first walked through those doors. The fitted workout clothes were your new normal, and while your body hadn’t dramatically changed, the way you moved in it had. Confident. Taking up space. Belonging.

Because like Harry said “Fuck them all.”

“That’s it, drive through your heel,” Harry encouraged, and god, his voice when he got all instructor-mode did things to you. “Really activate those glutes.”

You were focused, you were in the zone, you were—

And then your fucking ankle rolled.

One second you were stepping down, controlled and strong, and the next you were falling, your right ankle giving way beneath you with a sickening pop that you felt more than heard. The sound that tore from your throat was raw, primal, and suddenly, you were on the ground, hands clutching at your ankle as pain shot through it like lightning.

“Fuck!” The word came out high and sharp as a sob ripped from your throat, and then Harry was there, dropping to his knees beside you, his professional calm never wavering even as his hands hovered over you, not quite touching.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, his accent thicker with urgency. “Let me see—can you wiggle your toes?”

You tried, gasping at the pain that radiated up your leg. Around you, the gym had gone quiet, and you could feel every pair of eyes turning your way. The fat girl has fallen, was all you could think, because, of course, she had. Everyone was probably thinking you couldn’t handle the exercise, probably pushed too hard, probably—

“Hey, look at me,” Harry whispered, cutting through your thoughts. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Just me, yeah? No one else matters right now.”

But they did matter. You could hear the whispers, feel the stares, and like another betrayal, the tears of frustration burned at your eyes, already threatening to spill over. Not just from the pain—though fuck, it hurt—but from the humiliation of it all. Nine weeks of progress, nine weeks of building yourself up, and here you were, crumpled on the gym floor like every stereotype you had been fighting against.

The stares felt like the harsh truth of ‘I told you so,’ feeding that inner monologue you had been trying to suppress.

“I need to check if it’s broken,” Harry said, his hands gentle as they ghosted over your ankle. You hissed at even the lightest touch, and he pulled back immediately. “Right, we’re going to the hospital. Can you stand at all?”

“I don’t—I can’t—” The tears came then, hot and angry. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Fuck them,” Harry said fiercely, and the sharpness startled you enough to look at him. His green eyes were blazing with something protective, something furious, something lighting a fire within him. “Marcus!” he called to another trainer. “I need you to clear this area. Now.”

Then, to you, his voice softer now: “I’m going to help you up, okay? We’ll go out the back exit. Can you put your arm around my neck?”

The next few minutes were a blur of pain and movement. At that point, Harry was essentially carrying you, your weight supported against his solid frame, and for a moment, you forgot about everyone else because all you could focus on was how strong he was, how easily he held you up despite his own bad knee. When he got you to his car, he helped you into the passenger seat with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“I need to cancel my appointments,” he muttered, pulling out his phone as he started the car. “Sarah? Yeah, it’s Harry. Let’s go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the day...”

And you listened, dazed, as he gave her instructions. “You know you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“Yes, I do. You’re hurt, and you need to get to the hospital. End of story.”

The hospital was a whirlwind of X-rays and ice packs, and doctors with cold hands. Your ankle wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but a bad sprain that would have you off your feet for at least a week, and even though the news was disheartening. There was joy in the way Harry stayed the whole time. He even held your hand during the x-ray, kept you distracted with silly stories while you waited for results, and graciously helped you fill out paperwork when your hands were shaking too much from residual adrenaline.

“You know,” you said at one point, watching him charm the nurse into bringing you an extra ice pack, “most trainers would have just called an ambulance and been done with it.”

He looked offended at the proposal. “What kind of person would I be if I did that? Besides,” his expression softened, “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

The drive to your apartment was quiet, your ankle propped up in the backseat, wrapped in an ace bandage, throbbing with every heartbeat, or sudden bump in the road. Harry had insisted on driving you home, waving off your suggestion for an Uber, and now here you were, trying not to think about how normal this all felt, him driving you home, eyes flicking to yours in the rearview mirror, every time you stared too long.

“Third floor,” you said when he pulled up to your building, and then realized what that meant. “Shit. I’m on the third floor. With no elevator.”

“We’ll manage,” Harry said, already getting out to help you.

‘Managing’ turned out to be a slow, painstaking process. Harry’s arm was around your waist, taking most of your weight, and you had never been more aware of your body—not in the usual self-conscious way, but in how it pressed against his, how his fingers splayed across your hip to hold you steady. He smelled good, inviting even. You liked this proximity, enjoyed the feel of the muscles in his shoulders working as he nearly carried you up each step.

Halfway up the second flight, his knee buckled slightly, and you both had to stop, pressed against the wall, breathing hard.

“Your knee,” you gasped, guilt flooding through you. “Harry, I’m too heavy—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his arm tightening around you. “Don’t do that. You’re not too anything. My knee’s just being a bastard today. We’re both a bit broken, remember? We’ll make it work.”

And you did, step by careful step, stopping when his knee was cranky, adjusting when your ankle screamed, a quiet give and take, you both seemed to be savoring, and by the time you reached your door, you were both sweating and trembling, but something about doing it together, about both of you pushing through your limitations, made it feel like a victory rather than the anguish of a struggle.

Harry helped you inside, getting you settled on the couch with your ankle elevated, and for a moment, you just looked at each other, both breathless from more than just exertion. The silence felt weighted, thick in the air, heavy with the words unspoken, and you found yourself saying, “Do you want to stay? Like hang out, I mean? I could order food or—”

“I should get back,” he said too quickly, but he looked reluctant. “I probably need to get back. Sort out the schedule for tomorrow, since I canceled on everyone today. Figure out how to rearrange things…”

That’s when reality crashed back in. Right. Of course. This was his job; you were just a client, and he had definitely already gone above and beyond. The disappointment must have shown on your face because then he quickly added, “But we’ll need to talk soon, yeah? Go over modifying your workouts for your current situation. Once you’re healed enough to come back, I mean.”

Situation…

The word like a fucking knife to your gut… “Your situation,” he said, like you were some kind of problem to be solved, a complication to work around. Just like always, too much, too difficult, too... everything, and all at once, you felt the warmth of the last few hours evaporate, leaving you exposed, foolish in the way you thought there could be more, but silly you.

“Right,” you said, your voice coming out flat. “My situation.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, clearly sensing the shift but not understanding it. “I just mean with your ankle—”

“No, I get it.” And you forced a smile that felt like plastic. “Thanks for everything today. Really. It was... above and beyond.”

He stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me... I don’t normally do this, but...” He seemed to be fighting with himself. “Can I give you my number? Just in case you need anything or have questions about the ankle?”

Your heart sank. He was giving you his number out of pity. Poor chubby girl who hurt herself, better make sure she doesn’t feel completely abandoned, god, it was so obvious—it was charity, wrapped up in the typical nice guy package.

“Sure,” you said, typing it into your phone with numb fingers. “Got it.”

“Text me so I have yours,” he said, and you did, sending a simple “Hi, it’s me” that felt like swallowing coals.

The awkwardness stretched between you like taffy, both of you unsure how to move the moment forward. Harry shifted his weight, favoring his good knee, clearly wanting to leave but not knowing how. “So... rest, ice, elevation. Doctor said a week minimum before trying any weight-bearing exercises. We can work with that when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You told him, trying to keep that plastic smile in place. “I’ll let you know.”

After he left, you sat in the growing darkness of your apartment, ankle throbbing, and did what you always did when things got too real—you retreated. But you did send him a text that night:

Y/N: I appreciate you shifting your day around. It was really kind. I’ll reach back out when I’m ready to come back. Thanks for everything.

Professional. Distant. Safe.

And his response came quickly:

H: Of course. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. We’ll get you back on track in no time.

But you didn’t reach back out. Days turned into a week, then two. Your ankle had healed, but your mind had spiraled back to old patterns. Every time you thought about the gym, you remembered falling, remembered everyone staring, remembered Harry having to literally carry you because you were too much for your own body to handle.

To your surprise, his texts came sporadically:

H: Hey, how’s the ankle?

H: Just checking in. Doctor cleared you yet?

H: We got some new equipment that I really think you’ll like. Excited to try it when you’re back.

H: Hope you’re okay. Miss having you in sessions.

That last one even made you cry, but you still didn’t respond. It was easier to ghost him than to face the humiliation of going back. Easier to order takeout and binge Netflix than to deal with the messy feelings he seemed to stir up. You had been down that road with guys like him; it never works. Always the friend but never the lover. You were stupid to think there was something there, stupid to believe you were anything more than a client he felt sorry for.

Two and a half weeks after the ankle incident, you were deep in the trenches of doubt, sucked in by yet another self-loathing pity party, when the doorbell rang, but you ignored it at first. Then it rang again, followed by a knock.

“If that’s Mrs. Gladys about the rent, it’s in the mail!” you called, not moving from your cocoon of isolation.

“It’s not Mrs. Gladys.” You froze. That accent, that voice, fuck, it was Harry at your door.

“I know you’re in there,” he continued. “I can see the TV light under the door. And... I brought Chinese.” He spoke up again.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You hauled yourself up, catching sight of yourself in the hall mirror, and immediately regretted it. But it was too late, he already heard you moving, and it would be worse to leave him standing there, so you opened the door just a crack, trying to hide your body behind it.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

He looked good. Of course, he looked good, in jeans and a worn tee that clung to his chest in ways that should be illegal, especially on a Tuesday night. He was holding a massive bag of takeout in one hand, and wait… were those flowers?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the genuine worry in his eyes made your chest tight. “I know this is weird, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. You hadn’t answered any of my texts, and I was worried about you…”

“I thought it was just protocol,” you answered, your voice tight.

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I mean I was asking from a trainer’s point of view, yes, but I was hoping that it would come across as... I don’t know... more?”

“More? What do you mean?” You asked, cracking the door open a bit more.

“I thought when I gave you my number, you were catching the vibe that I was trying to put out...” He laughed, looking down at his feet, and the bashfulness was so startling on him that you almost forgot to breathe as a strand of hair fell loose. “What I’m saying is I thought there was a vibe between us?”

“Mmm,” was all you could manage, stunned. “A vibe?”

“Honestly, I thought you gave everyone your number?”

This made him laugh, looking back up at you with those heartwrenching green eyes, and fucking hell, those dimples. “No, trust me, I’ve learned my lesson with that one... Have you seen some of those ladies at the gym? A little persistent, yeah? Trust me, they’re not my type. I’m not interested.”

“I see...” You were mesmerized. This guy, this gorgeous, sweet, amazing guy, was standing at your door with flowers and food, talking about vibes.

“I can go, though... if this is too weird... but I’d hate to eat all this Chinese takeaway by myself,” he said, holding up the bag, and it did indeed look like enough to feed a small country, and it took everything in you not to make a fat joke, but something in his expression stopped you.

He was nervous. Harry was nervous.

“No. Please... come in... I never pass up... what did you call it? Chinese takeaway...”

When he came in, you shut the door and immediately examined the bag. The smell was incredible, and your stomach reminded you that depression meals of cereal and toast weren’t actually sustaining.

“I do think you bought enough to feed a small army, though...”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything...”

This got a laugh out of you, the first real laugh in weeks. “Well, lucky you, I like everything... You don’t get curves like these being a picky eater...”

“I see...” He said with a sexy smirk, that had you giddy as his eyes roamed your body with the same heated look you had seen that day in the gym mirror. He wasn’t hiding it now, wasn’t trying to be professional. He was just a man, looking at you like you were something to devour, pajamas and all.

“Yeah... there was definitely a vibe...” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him while taking the flowers from his hands and bringing them to your nose. They were simple, but the gesture made your heart flip.

“I’ll put these in water...” And as you moved toward the kitchen, you felt his eyes following you, suddenly aware of how small your apartment felt with him in it.

The energy you guys had been dulling in the past was present, making itself known as it filled the space. Now you had a new hunger growing in your belly that had nothing to do with Chinese food and everything to do with the way Harry was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Fuck it you thought, and you set the flowers down in the sink for later, “I’m not usually this forward… but I’ve been dying to kiss you?” you asked pressing your back against the sink, and you said the words with an air of confidence that seemed to flee the second your eyes found his. Sending you right back to that place of self-doubt.

Harry didn’t answer, and you watched as he silently pushed himself away from the counter and closed the small space between you.

It felt like every movement slowed, every breath hollow, as if the sight of him before you was a figment of your imagination, and you couldn’t quite bring your eyes to meet his, not yet. You just stared at his broad chest, his strong stature like stone before your gaze, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his breath, like maybe he was waiting for you to make the move.

But it was something about the way he stood there, that same gentle patience he had exuded all along. It was devastating, the kindness now an ache that deepened inside you, the second you pressed your palm flat to the center of his chest.

Yet his stillness remained as you felt the warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, but you still couldn’t look, because here was the fear telling you that you couldn’t have it, that you weren’t worthy, that this wasn’t real, but god he was real, and the breath that left his body was real.

And it hurt, and you were scared, and when his hand moved to yours, pressing your palm into his chest, you felt yourself breaking. Then you braved a look, your eyes finding his, and it was like something cracked within you, a well of every insecurity you had ever had, came spilling from your chest with a gasp, as a sob rose, and it wasn’t even him that you were crying about.

It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back.

Then his hand was cupping your face, his eyes on your mouth, and the second his lips pressed to yours, delicate and soft, he drew in a deep breath, like you were the air he needed to fill his lungs with, like suddenly here you were, and as your mouths begin to move, the chatter in your head began to fade away.

As the kiss deepened, hands roaming, you felt yourself letting go, slipping to a place of peace, to a place you had only ever felt with him, to those times when he had you in a room full of people, yet the world always seemed to narrow to just the two of you. This was that moment, a universe that belonged to you and Harry.

And for the first time, maybe ever in your life, you allowed yourself to just exist.

When you pulled away, your eyes met, making a silent exchange, and you grabbed his hand with a slow nod, ready to make sacred what you felt in your heart, give him the pieces that he had made whole with the kindness of his spirit. You wanted to give yourself in the only way you knew how to convey what words couldn’t say.

And when he laid you down on the bed, he was gentle, hands moving over your curves like they were the most sacred gift you could give, and maybe they were in that moment, and when he kissed your lips, you felt the passion and the need in the delicate balance of his control. It felt safe. Harry was taking his time to explore the plains of your body, no rush, just a tender embrace that had tears streaming down your face.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your skin, and the care in his voice made your chest tight. Always checking, always making sure, like you were the most beloved artifact, instead of too much.

You nodded, but your hands were already moving to guide his away from your stomach, that soft place you had spent years hating, years hiding. He noticed, you knew he would, and he paused, his green eyes searching yours in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his hand stilling on your hips. “What’s going through that beautiful mind?”

“I just...” You said, turning away, and the look in his eyes was too much for the shame pricking at your skin. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, but there had never been this level of positive vulnerability on both parts. The feeling reminded you of your first time, and maybe almost every time, actually.

The good times, few and far between.

Yes, the fear was there, and so was the desperation, but that was the part you didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want that desperate feeling of doing, just to feel wanted. You knew this wasn’t the case now, but it was hard to shake that pattern of thinking when this was the only relationship you had to sex. “You’ve probably been with so many girls who are... who look...” And the words stuck in your throat.

Skinny. Fit. Perfect. Everything you weren’t.

“Hey.” His finger gently turned your chin back to him. “I’m here with you. Only you. And I’ve wanted to be here, exactly here, for weeks.”

But when his hand moved again, you caught it, redirecting it away from your middle, and this time he didn’t let you. Instead, he slowly lowered down your body, holding your eyes as he did, and before you could stop him, his lips were pressing against the soft flesh of your stomach, right where you were trying to hide.

“Harry—”

But he was already kissing every inch, every delicate place, every roll and curve you had spent years despising, and as he continued, your body trembled with sobs beneath his lips, overwhelmed by the adoration in his touch.

“God,” he breathed against your skin, “Every inch of you is beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

And just when you thought you couldn’t break anymore, here was another wall crumbling, and when he moved back up to kiss you, you could taste the mingling of your tears on his lips now, salt and beauty, a messy mix of his devotion and time.

“Can we just...” you start, then stop, embarrassed by what you wanted to ask. This was the part you wanted to skip, the lead up, you didn’t think you were strong enough for it, not right now, not in this moment, not when you were barely hanging by a thread, your emotions everywhere.

“What do you need?” He pulled back slightly, studying your face. “Tell me.”

“Can we just... be together? I want to feel you, to kiss you. Is that okay? I don’t need...” You gestured vaguely over your body, unable to say the words.

Then you watched as understanding dawned in his eyes. “If that’s what you want,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But… hopefully you’ll let me take care of you another time—”

“Another time?” You repeated, a little too excited, because god, the hope in your voice was already embarrassing.

He smiled, that dimpled smile that had you out of your mind from the beginning. “Yeah, love, there’s no way this is a one-time act. I’m already hooked. You have me completely. Trust me.”

That was all you needed, because then you were reaching with a shaky hand to your nightstand, pulling out the condom you had optimistically kept there. He took it from your trembling fingers, and the care he took with everything—with you—made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

And it was like a light switch flipping on in your brain when he pushed inside you, like something waking. At first, you weren’t sure what to do, whether you should just lie there, and let him lead like you had usually done in the past with others, or if you should use your words. But everything in you wanted to take some kind of control, to show him that you weren’t just passive, that you could give as good as you got.

The feeling built slowly, his hands mapping your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every response. And just as you felt yourself getting close, that familiar tightening, a surge of confidence unlike anything you had ever felt before, flooded through you like a line of fire.

That’s when you pushed your hands into his shoulders, trying to be smooth about the move, hoping he would get the hint, but then he stopped without hesitation, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to—”

But you were already moving, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top, not giving a fuck that your stomach was visible, or that your boobs would bounce, that hell, maybe everything would jiggle, but for once, you didn’t care, because the way he was looking at you, like the fucking goddess you were and felt, was everything. It made you feel powerful, turning what was already pleasure into a feast that fed the famished hunger within.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, as he bucked up to meet you, and the awe in his voice was already pushing you to the edge. It didn’t take long until you came hard, crumbling forward, and his arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you tight against his chest as he followed you over.

Even though you were aware of everything, all the flaws, all the thoughts, the way your body felt pressed against his, you stayed like that for a long moment, giving your body time to meld with his, no matter how uncomfortable it was or if you felt like your body would crush him. You wanted to be with this man in every way, maybe even savor the way his hands still moved up and down your body, caressing over every curve as both of you caught your breath. When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with such tenderness, such wonderment that it made your chest ache.

“You’re incredible,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Absolutely incredible.”

Later, after he had cleaned you both up with a warm washcloth, yes, you let him, because he insisted on taking care of you despite any objections, and damn he was a sweet talker, you knew you couldn’t resist the power of his words. Because you knew he meant them. Afterward, when you lay curled against his chest, his bad knee elevated on a pillow, and you with all your insecurities knocking at your mind’s door. You knew in that moment that you were two broken people, but even two broken halves can make something whole together, and that was the devastating truth you held onto.

And as you drifted off to sleep, his arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you thought maybe the universe was finally giving you something good, giving you someone who saw you, saw the real you, not just as a project to fix or some kind of problem to solve, but as someone worth loving, exactly as you were.

You knew the journey to confidence wasn’t over. You knew that you would still have your bad days, still struggle with mirrors and fitted clothes, and that fucking voice in your head that said you were never enough. But for now, you had someone who wanted to be there for those days, too, someone you knew would remind you of your worth when you forgot it yourself.

Someone who would love every inch of you, especially the parts you’ve allowed yourself to hate. Someone who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to take up space in this world—and in his heart.

And that was worth more than any number on a scale could ever be.

Taglist: @mads3502 @matildasatellite @likea-silhouette @lizsogolden @manna86 @chelseatpwk @aileen1237 @aglimpseofharry @olvsbee @bibltch @xnthld @cherrycolas-things @avas-daniel @mellamolayla @caroll-94 @montse1608 @hellohowareyouearthlings @bentley-119 @harrymatcha @girlslovejahseh

@peach-x-petals @boredhsblog

Other One-Shots<-

#hswriting #Maudie-duan #1d1195 #narrycherries

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hswriting · 18 days ago

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I promise I’m writing lol. Atby is in progress and I think the next part will be the final chapter. It is almost finished

current manuscript looking at me imagining a scene eight chapters later in the book

#hswriting meme #hswriting

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hswriting · 22 days ago

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If you read a fic and you like a fic, reblog it 🫶

If you read a fic and you like a fic, send an ask 🫶 even something as simple as “I loved *insert fic name*!”

If you read a fic and like something very specific about it, let the author know 🫶

If you read a fic and liked the general plot, let the author know 🫶

While likes are appreciated, they provide no feedback, they don’t boost the post, and they really only serve as bookmarks with the way the algorithm on tumblr works. The reblog button is a very intentional function on tumblr— aside from tagging a link in a separate post (which also needs reblogs to spread), it is the only way to share something! The intended function of tumblr was always to reblog. Reblogging is the only way a post can get boosted in tags, it is the only way it can get better exposure, and it is one of the best ways to show support towards someone’s hard work. If you read fic and you’d like authors to continue sharing their work on tumblr, use the reblog button! Engage, comment, send an anon. Tell a writer you like something and share it with others, and writers are more likely to produce more of that thing you like 🫶

💌 If you’d like to support your favorite fic authors, reblog 💌

#hswriting #reblogs

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hswriting · 24 days ago

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It’s no problem. I’m still working through your masterlist and I’m sure I’ll be updating this soon. I’m reorganizing my page.

Fic Rec List: 1d1195

- Two Negatives

- Protection

- Ding

- Honey

- Pleasing

- Neighbors

- Independent

- The Lottery

- The Balcony

- Pucking Rookie (An all time personal favorite)

- HOV

- Toothpaste

- Normal People

- Jack’s Theme

- Buttercup

- Under Construction (another all time favorite)

#1d1195 #hswriting #hswriting fic rec

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hswriting · 24 days ago

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I think I’m going to be reworking this list since it’s SO long and only going to continue to grow. It’s going to be similar to how I worked my masterlist except it will be by author and this list will be shortened to just one link per author.

Also authors if you see this, you’ll see a notification when I post your list just to link to your account. If you don’t want linked just message me and let me know.

Harry Styles Fic Recommendations

I made a blog (@hswritingficrec) for this list and all future recommendations. I’ll still update this list but I reblog all of these fics to the page.

@1d1195

- Two Negatives

- Protection

- Ding

- Honey

- Pleasing

- Neighbors

- Independent

- The Lottery

- The Balcony

- Pucking Rookie

- HOV

- Toothpaste

- Normal People

- Thunderstorms

- Jack’s Theme

- Buttercup

- Under Construction

@avatar-anna

- Champagne Problems

- It’s Hard When We Argue

- Bruises

- “I never knew how to put myself first until today.”

@freedomfireflies

- Teach Me

- Infinite You

- Counterpunch

@lukesaprince

- The Other Man

- “Aw, it hurts? Too bad…”

- “Would you s-spank me? Please.”

@harrysbabycherry

- Not Like a Friend

@hsunrry

- Pretty Boy

- Safe Word

@burningred1989

- The Interview

- She

@yellowbrokenblue

- Harry decides to join you in the hot tub

@harryssyndrome

- The Rain Girl

@finelinefae

- Bambi

@lemoncrushh

- Tattooed Heart

@lazysoulwriter

- Through Tipsy Eyes

@stylesonfilms

- The days are long, the days are hard

@jarofstyles

-Benefits

-Pierced

- “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen”

@sabsberries

- I love you, I’m sorry

@28harryssunflower

- Not just one night

@narrycherries

- Ivy

@fkinavocado

- A Wish Come True

@maudie-duan

- The Space Between Pages

- Changes

- Almost Lover

- Influenced

- Blue Innocence

- Sweet Nothing

- Hey Mercedes

- Strange

- Beautiful Oblivion

- Incoming Text

- About You

- Take It Off

@ellewritesx

- Sugar, baby

@cloudyluun

- Bet You Think About Me

- Soft Spot

- The Space Between Pages 2

@gurugirl

- Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover

@sushirrrry

- Patient

@harrywavycurly

- Delicate

#hswriting #hswriting fic rec

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hswriting · 25 days ago

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Thank you 😊😊

Peace

Masterlist

- - -

6.1k words

- - -

Is the life of a future popstar too much for Harry to handle? Memories flood back as this song comes into creation.

Our coming-of-age has come and gone. Suddenly the summer, it's clear, I never had the courage of my convictions. As long as danger is near, and it's just around the corner, darling, 'cause it lives in me. No, I could never give you peace

We have both grown up now since we saw each other last. We were only teenagers. I’ve liked him for all of these years, but we had our own lives. We ran in different circles. Different cities. Completely different lives. We spent that summer together, having the time of our lives. I almost told him then.

The day before my 18th birthday, we spent the day in his pool that sat in his backyard. His parents were almost never home. Always had somewhere to be, things to do, people to impress. Harry wasn’t like that.

He was a homebody. He didn’t do parties, or people, or drama. He kept to himself. He focused on school work and his music. So many nights I’d stay up and listen from my window, the soft guitar or piano that would come from the house next door. I would sometimes write lyrics to songs he played often. Other times I would duet songs when he had a hole in his lyrics. He doesn’t know that I could hear. That’s my secret to keep. Or so I thought.

We were sitting on the roof of his house, overlooking the neighborhood, the moon casting a soft glow on his skin. My parents went with his parents to a party, and we decided to stay behind. He stared up, watching the stars twinkle and fall across the sky.

“I don’t want my life to ever be like theirs. They spend so much time worrying about what people think of them, but it could be so easy.” He was talking, letting his feelings pour out of him to me, his best friend. “They dress up, they leave, they never get to relax. They never get to live. I can’t do it. I can’t be like them.”

“You don’t have to be you know. You can deviate from their life. We are almost adults now. We can do whatever we want. I want to show my music to the world, but that’s just because I’ve got a story to tell. You can do anything Harry.”

“I want to do my music, I just don’t think I can do it like you can. I’m not that lyrically talented. I don’t think I can perform.”

“That’s not true Harry.” I said before realizing what I’ve admitted.

“How would you know? I don’t share my music?” He plays dumb for a moment, already knowing the answer.

“I um…” I stutter. He chuckled at me, finally looking over at me, his green eyes sparkling in the light of the moon.

“I know you can hear me when I play. You’re the reason I play so loudly. I love to hear you sing to my music.” He said. Thank god it was dark so he couldn’t see how red my cheeks got. He chuckled again. “I can’t believe you thought this whole time I didn’t know.”

“I really didn’t think you did.” I admitted to him, my face blazing hot.

“You were born to perform. You have such a beautiful voice. I’m just not sure I’m meant for that life. That many people watching me. I can’t do it.”

“So what do you want to do then?”

“I don’t know. I want to do something with music. I could help you write. If you’d ever hire me when you make it big.”

“Of course I’ll hire you Harry. Why would I ever think of hiring someone else?” I tell him. He looks back up at the sky. He started to speak, but chose not to. The silence lingered over us like the darkness of the night. When he finally spoke up again, he said,

“I’m glad you’re my friend. I couldn’t imagine growing up with anyone else.” I loved the sentiment, but I wanted to be more than his friend. I wanted to be his girlfriend. I wanted to be more.

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come. All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

I never thought I’d see the day we separated. We were inseparable. We were a team and then Harry had decided that he wanted to expand his music skills by going to a music college.

Don’t get me wrong. I will always be super proud of him. I just couldn’t imagine my life without him. I didn’t want him to forget about me. To forget everything we had and everything we had done.

Harry puts the last bag of his belongings in his car and shuts the trunk. He walks over to me standing on the sidewalk in front of our houses.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to be gone forever.” He told me as he wrapped his arms around me. He felt warm despite the autumn breeze blowing on our skin. Leaves danced on the sidewalk as they got blown around.

“I know, but we’ve never been apart for this long. I don’t want you to go.” I told him, my voice wavering.

“I’m going to school. I’ll be back for holidays and spring break. Just think of how good my music is going to be after this. I’ll have a degree to submit as my qualifications to help with your music.”

“The odds of me making it are slim to none Harry. I hope you have a backup plan.” I told him, not knowing how wrong I was. How I should have just asked him to stay.

“I don’t need a backup plan. You’ve got this. You’re fantastic. You’re going to make it there one day. I can feel it. Keep uploading your videos. Keep sending in demos. You’ve got this.” He assures me. He holds me tighter. It’s another one of those moments where I wanted to tell him then and there. Maybe if I told him that I loved him, he would have stayed, but that’s selfish. I couldn’t take this away from him. So I stayed silent.

“Do you promise you’re going to try and keep in contact with me?” I asked him pathetically.

“I’m going to do my best. The different time zones is going to make it so I’m up way earlier than you and going to bed earlier, but I’ll keep in contact the best that I can.” He promised. He held his pinkie out to me, something we had done forever.

He kissed me on the forehead before he climbed in his car and said goodbye to me, unknowingly for the final time.

That first week was hell. Harry wasn’t able to talk at all. He didn’t text. He didn’t call. Not even a letter. All I could think about was that forehead kiss and what it meant. He had never shown me that level of affection before. Of course we hugged and sometimes cuddled, but nothing more. Why would he give me that send off and then leave me stranded with nothing. Not a single crumb of anything to hold on to except for the memory of that kiss.

It sent me into a spiral. I wrote more songs in the following weeks than I had ever before. Our contact was very limited. He was always in class. When he got out of class I was in bed. I tried staying up late to catch even just a single text, but it was so few and far between that I really struggled. My chest ached with how much I missed him.

One song in particular stands out to me now that I’ve made singing a full time job. It was the song that went viral. The song that got me noticed. I wrote it during that period of silence from Harry. When the only messages I did receive after the silence was him saying how sorry he was and what he had been doing lately.

So I wrote a song because it was the only way I knew how to cope. It was all of my heartbreak. All of my loneliness. All of the feelings of losing somebody you love even though they’re alive. I felt our friendship slipping like water through my fingers and I tried desperately to cup my hands, but it leaked anyways.

When I finally got around to recording the song that I wrote, I posted it to my usual channels and that’s when my life changed. I woke up to thousands of notifications. My video, my song had went viral in a matter of hours. I had never imagined that my music would actually take off.

It was after that day that a record label had seen the video and wanted to sign me. I obviously took it, and that caused what was left of Harry and I’s communication to cease completely. We both were busy. We weren’t able to talk anymore. In the hardest time of my life I was blessed with my dream job. It was difficult for me to process. I was so upset that I lost Harry but I was getting everything I ever wanted. The one thing I wanted the most was to see Harry again and tell him I made it.

Your integrity makes me seem small. You paint dreamscapes on the wall. I talk shit with my friends. It's like I'm wasting your honor.

“Did you ever think you’d make it?” The interviewer asked me once. I was doing a lot of press before I went on my first tour. My first album had just been released and it was huge. I got number one on billboards. This was everything I dreamed of.

“I always wanted to make it, but I did have my doubts.”

“I’m sure. Did you expect ‘Mourning’ to go viral overnight?” She asked, mentioning my first song about Harry’s departure from my life.

“Absolutely not. I thought it was going to be like all of the others. Some views. A few likes. Not waking up to internet fame.”

“Well it seemed to have worked out for you! Now you’re about to start your world tour, you’ve already done a fair amount of traveling around. Is there anything you miss about home?” She asked me, making a stabbing pain form in my chest that radiated and transformed to nausea in my stomach.

“Of course. There’s a lot I miss about home. When I lived there, I just dreamed of getting out of that town. I hated living in such a small area where everyone knows everybody. But now I kind of feel bad for talking so much crap about it. Of course I love traveling and this is something I’ve always wanted to do, I miss being home. I miss how calm it was. I miss my friend.” I said, the last sentence slipping out unintentionally.

“Now is this the person ‘Mourning’ is about?” She immediately clocked me not wanting to mention him.

“It is.” I admitted to her. She already knew.

“Did you have to leave them behind to chase your career?”

“In a way, yes. But I’d rather not tell the tale. He would want his privacy. And he deserves that.” I told her.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, her not bringing Harry up again. After that interview, I needed some relief from the feelings that began to flood me again after thinking of Harry. I cancelled my next interview. I isolated for a week, just drinking and writing songs. Now the whole world knows about him, and I still feel immensely guilty for even slightly bringing him into the spotlight.

I know they don’t know who he is, or where he’s at now, but he always hated the attention. He hated the spotlight and everything associated with this job. That’s why he always talked of being one of my songwriters. He wanted to be in the shadows. And all I did was send people chasing after his scent, trying to figure out who he is like a pack of feral dogs.

I still feel guilty today for that interview.

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches, give you my wild, give you a child, give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other. Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother. Is it enough?

I was halfway through the tour at this point, and I still think back to that interview. I think about Harry everyday, and how as much as I want him. I can’t give him what he wants. Not anymore. My life is too chaotic. More than it used to be.

Once upon a time he was able to calm the chaos in my head, before I let our friendship slip away. I sometimes think about trying to send him a text and tell him everything, but he probably doesn’t want to speak to me after everything. After I abandoned what was left of our friendship. Everything that I feel about Harry is my fault. He was trying and I ended up not being able to text back at all due to everything going on in my life.

Back a few years ago, I was having a terrible time. My mother had recently hurt me. She not only insulted me but crushed my dreams like a bug under the heel of her shoe.

She yelled at me when she found my YouTube channel. She went on and on about how dangerous it was for me to post videos of myself on the internet. She yelled that I was just looking for attention and that I’d never make it. I was wasting my time.

I went to my room to get away from it all. I sat on the bench by my window and just cried. I didn’t play music. I didn’t write. She made me feel so ashamed for what I love to do. I still have a hard time forgiving her for that.

Harry must have seen me or heard everything that happened because it wasn’t long before he was at him window, playing piano. It was my favorite song. He played it a few times. When the music stopped, my phone began to ring.

I picked it up, swallowing down the shakiness in my voice, but I can’t hide how hoarse it is.

“Hello?”

“Do you want to talk?”

“I can’t come over right now.” I told him sadly. He didn’t bring up that I’m an adult and I can leave when I want. He didn’t remind me that I wasn’t a child under them anymore. He knew I would protest. He knows how I get.

“I know. If you want, you can open your window and I’ll come in?” He asked, waiting patiently for my answer.

“Okay.” Is all I said. I opened the window all of the way and went back to my bed. The phone had hung up, but not long after that was Harry climbing through my window. He saw my tear stained face and climbed onto the bed with me. He put his arm around me as I began to cry again. He just held me as I laid against his chest and stained his shirt with my tears. My chest ached with so many emotions. It felt like a fire spreading through me. I was so angry. So disappointed. So ashamed.

I felt like after that, I would never write again. She made me feel horrible for making my music public and I had no idea why. I still don’t. I couldn’t even look at my guitar or piano. I couldn’t stand the sight of them.

He didn’t ask me any questions. He didn’t pressure me to tell him what was wrong. He sat there in silence, holding me, and helping keep the pieces of me together. It wasn’t a bad or awkward silence. He just understood that words wouldn’t help in the moment. He could talk to me when the tears were done. He just held me.

When I did finally calm down enough to be talked to, he was gentle with his words. He was soft. He was kind. He was perfect.

“She’s wrong, you know.” He tells me. “You’re a beautiful singer. You’re amazingly talented. You were born to do this. Don’t let her steal this from you.”

“She’s right. I’ll never make it.” I doubted myself. “I don’t even know why I try.”

“That’s her in your head talking. Don’t let this make you stop music. I’d be devastated if I never heard you sing again.” He looked upset at the thought. “If you can’t keep making music for yourself, at least keep singing by your window for me until you’re inspired to do it again.”

I fell more in love with him that night. I didn’t think I could love him more than I did. More than I do. I’d do anything for him. And if that meant singing silly little covers until I got out of this funk that my mom put me in, I’d do it just for him. Only for him.

The next day I didn’t speak to my mom. I stayed in my room at the window with my keyboard. I played some of Harry’s favorite songs. None of my own, but anything that I could remember that he loved, I played. I sang. I let my fingers hit the keys, the sounds louder the harder I struck them.

When he wasn’t busy, I saw him sitting in his window, just listening to me play. And that’s all I did that day. And the next day. It took me about a week before I began to play any original work, and another week before I began to write again.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west. I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best. But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me.

The tour was almost over. I just finished a performance in New York City. A few more stops before I landed back in my hometown for the last one. I received some of the scariest news of my life.

I walk backstage to the room reserved for me. I flop down onto the couch and just take a moment to relax. The crowd was energetic, like they had all been struck with lightning before I got there. I had to give them a show to remember.

I’m exhausted physically, but my mind never stops racing. Every show makes me think of him. Every song about him makes me go back to those memories of us. How things used to be. I close my eyes and let the feelings float past me. I can’t drown in them. Not tonight.

My manager came in and told me to look at instagram. I sat up on the couch in surprise. She doesn’t normally burst in the room. I opened it and it was the first thing I saw. It was a picture of my house, the caption reading my name, street address, and details about where I live.

In that moment I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had to drown. I was suffocating. Being buried alive. Someone found my home. The only place that was mine. The only place I had privacy. The only place I could escape all of the eyes watching me. It’s not longer mine. It is for the world to view.

“H-how did this happen?” I asked, shock ran through me. “I haven’t been home for months!”

“We’re not sure. We are working to get it removed.” She told me and my chest ached.

I wanted this career but I deserved to have a space of my own. I deserved my home to be one of those things that is private. I deserved to be able to have a life, but I’ll never have it. This life doesn’t allow for privacy. I knew then that Harry wouldn’t be able to have this life with me. He would hate the intrusion. He would hate me for putting him out there and at risk. Harry couldn’t do this. He doesn’t want this.

Instagram finally did remove it, but not before people would screenshot it. Not before the entire world had access to my life.

Most of my fanbase knew I wasn’t home. I’m in a whole different country. I’m worried about my belongings. Will they vandalize my home?

“Can you make arrangements to have someone protect my home? I don’t want-“

“It’s already done. And there will be an extra security presence after you’re done tour and can go home.” She told me and I took a deep breath.

“I’m going to have to move. I can’t have people waiting for me outside my house every time I need to go get groceries. Do they forget I’m a person too?”

“Sadly I think they do. We can look for something I bit more remote if you’d like.” She put her hand on my shoulder to show her support for me, but I wasn’t comforted. I’m still not. I’m afraid to go home after the final night of this tour.

How has everything gotten so crazy for me? It’s been a whirlwind since my video went viral and now I’m on a world tour. I don’t regret a single thing, except of course, losing Harry.

I sit on the couch of the backstage room with a pen in my hand, staring at my blank notebook. The cover open, the first page like a canvas waiting to be painted on.

One more stop, one more performance, and then I can go home. After that, it’s putting the next album together, recording, and touring again. I have to keep my momentum going.

I’m excited to be in my hometown. It’s small, and definitely not like where I live now in the city, but it’s bigger than some of the farm towns we have had to drive through to get from place to place. I can’t believe I ever called it a tiny town with nothing in it compared to the places I’ve seen now. My town is fairly large. The fact it has a venue for me to perform in says enough.

My pen begins to scratch ideas onto the page that will later be turned into lines of a future song.

I long to be home. I long for the peace. I long for the days where I didn’t have to face seeing fans at my house when I leave.

I’ll have to find a way to make that sound more elegant. Maybe make it rhyme.

I long to be held by you. No place will ever be home like your arms are. That’s where I want to be.

Am I really here again? Thinking about Harry. It’s been years. Two or so years since he left for school. Two or so years since I was discovered. Two or so years of the best and worst days of my life.

But you’ll never have me. It’s been too long. I’m too far gone.

I flip the page. I need to find a different vibe. I can’t get myself down before this performance. I only have a few minutes, maybe a half hour before I have to go get on stage.

I take a moment to think about my life. Every part has revolved around Harry. Being his best friend, wanting more, losing him, longing for him. Everything is about him if I want it to be or not.

So I start. I start writing whatever is on my mind, starting with that summer of my 18th birthday.

Our coming of age has come and gone. Suddenly the summer it’s clear.

Words flow out of me, just remembering back to everything. All of these parts of my life coming together to make these verses. I can see myself making a song out of this.

“Are you ready?” My manager asks and I nod at her. I stand up and walk to her. She hands me a microphone. I take a deep breath before switching it on. The lights shut off and the fans scream. I step out onto the stage and the bright lights come back on, all pointed at me. The fans scream wildly as I come into view.

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

The beginning notes of the song come on and I begin to sing. My life’s dream. All of my hard work. All right here in this moment. Gratitude and adoration for all of this fills my chest. The words flow out of my mouth without a second thought. The words I’ve sung for years. The words that I wrote in my bedroom of my parent’s house. The words inspired by nights on the roof and days at the parks. The words when I was truly living and words when I thought I would die. It’s all here.

I move across the stage in the way that I have many times before. The same practiced dance moves. The same words and the same lights. Night after night.

I dance and sing my way to the front of the stage and that’s when my whole world stops. The words keep coming out of my mouth and my body keeps dancing but my eyes are trained on one thing.

He’s here, standing in the front row. It’s Harry.

When I make eye contact with him, he gives me the widest smile I’ve ever seen cross his face. He sings along to all of the words that I’m singing. He dances in place on his spot of the floor.

The song ends and the next begins, but I have a hard time shifting my focus. I have to pretend like he isn’t there. Like he isn’t changing my whole world. I have to perform. I have a job to do.

I sing all the words again, hitting every mark, completing every goal. I occasionally look at him, afraid that I hallucinated him standing there. Every time he’s still there. Still singing along. Still having that huge grin on his face. He’s here.

I can’t get off of this stage fast enough. I want to just jump into the crowd and wrap my arms around him. How am I going to find him after this is over? How will I let him know to come back stage. I can’t let him leave here without seeing me. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him how sorry I am for everything that has happened.

The song ends, and this is a part where I talk to the audience. I try to act normal. I try to control how fast my heart is pounding.

“How is everyone tonight?” I ask and it’s followed by screams, whistles, and clapping. “I love the energy here tonight! You guys are amazing!”

The next song begins soon after, not giving me enough time to find a way to address Harry without making it obvious.

The rest of the performance goes smoothly, I don’t mess up a single word. I do every move.

As the last song closes out and the stage gets dark, I make my way to the front where Harry is, my last chance to get to him.

I get there and I don’t see anyone. Harry is walking away. No. No. He can’t leave. I need to see him.

I run backstage and my manager slows me down by stopping me.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s here. Oh my god. He’s here.”

“Who?” She asks.

“Harry. He’s here. I need to find him.”

“You can’t go out there. Those people will trample you to death or kidnap you or something!”

“You don’t understand. I need to see him.”

“I’m sorry but the crowd is already gone.” She says. Tears begin to stream out of my eyes as I look back out at the stage and see that the room is empty.

I run past my manager back to my room and slam the door. I let him slip past me again and I’ll never be able to get this chance again. Sobs wrack my body, my chest on fire. There’s a knock on my door.

“Go away!”

“I don’t really think you want me to go away.” My manager says. “I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yes you do. Now open the door or I’m just coming in.”

“No.” I tell her, fed up with her even though this isn’t her fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine.

The door opens and she comes through. I expected something in her hands, but they are empty.

“What was so important?” I ask her, wiping the tears from my face, makeup coming off with it.

“Someone is here to see you.” She says. Before I am able to protest having visitors, my breath is taken away from me again. Harry walks through the door with a big bouquet of flowers in his hands, and a backstage pass around his neck.

“Oh my god!” I yell. I run up to him as he puts the flowers down. I jump into his arms and hold him. “You’re here. You’re actually here!” I say, my face buried into his neck.

“You did amazing! I’m so proud of you!” He tells me. I don’t even try to move from this hug. This is all that I’ve dreamed of since he left. I hear my manager walk out of the room and close the door. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get a degree before getting famous huh?”

“It’s been a bit out of my control. Harry I’m so sorry-“

“Nothing to be sorry for, love.” He says. He pulls me back and holds my shoulders, looking over my face.

“I do. I got this job and we lost contact and I’m so sorry. I’ve feel terrible for everything.” I admit to him, tears threatening to spill again.

“I would never have asked you to choose texting me over getting your dream. This is what you’ve worked so hard for. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“I don’t ever want to lose you again.” I tell him softly as his eyes scan mine.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere. I’m finished my two year program. I’m ready to submit my qualifications to you.”

“It’s yours. I don’t want anyone else. I’ll tell my manager.” I say. I start to step away but he holds me in place.

“We can tell her later. I’d like to catch up.” He tells me and I nod, my thoughts racing. We walk to the couch and sit down.

“How was music school? How did you do?”

“I did well. I had fun, but I missed you. I hated not being able to talk to you and hang out with you.” He wraps his arm around me in the same way he did when he was comforting me that night my mom yelled at me. “I was really worried about you when I saw that someone leaked your address. I saw people commenting that you were safe because you were on tour. I bought tickets because I knew I needed to see you. It had been too long. And then one of my professors from school got me in contact with your manager and that’s how I got a backstage pass.”

“You were worried about me?” I ask, not expecting it.

“Of course. That’s scary having your home leaked onto the internet. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt. I didn’t know if your number still worked or if you had changed it, so I didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wanted to see you because I missed you.”

“I missed you too Harry. So much.” I squeeze his hand for emphasis. All of this is because of you.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been working so hard-“ he starts but I interrupt. I can’t hold in my feelings any longer. I have to say it.

“A lot of my songs are about you, Harry. I- I don’t ever want to go that long without you again. The songs about you are what got me here. I owe it all to you. I love you Harry.”

“I love you too. But you got yourself here. I didn’t write those songs.”

“No Harry, you don’t understand. I love you. I want to date you. I want to be with you. But I know you don’t like this life. You told me this chaotic life wasn’t for you. I know that you can’t be with me and it was selfish of me to say anything. I can’t give you the peace you want.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry.” He tells me, his thumb wiping the tears that I didn’t even know were there off of my cheeks. “I want to be with you. I wanted to ask you tonight, but we just got so wrapped up in everything.” He tells me and I feel my body freeze from shock at his words.

“You- told me that night on the roof, you couldn’t be like your parents. You couldn’t do the dressing up, the parties, caring what people think. All of those things are part of my job. How-“

“You’re right. I did say those things, but I’d be willing to do them for you. Do I enjoy parties? Not really. But for you, I’d go to one every night if I could be by your side. I’d dress up in the most ridiculous clothes for it too. You’d laugh at me for sure. But this is your dream, and I want to spend the rest of my life looking into your eyes and seeing how they light up when you’re on stage and singing your music. I want to see how happy you get when your album launches. I want to celebrate your accomplishments with you. I want you.”

My arms fly around him again, more tears coming down my face. “You’d really do this for me? The photos and paparazzi and-“

“I love you. Let them say what they want. We can figure it all out. Just go on a date with me?”

“Of course. Oh my god.” His arms warp around me, and the lines I wrote earlier come to mind. His arms are home. He wants me as I am. He would sacrifice his peace for me. A line pops into my head.

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

“Shall we get you home?” Harry asks after we sit on the couch just holding each other for a moment.

“Will you stay? I don’t blame you if you don’t want to. There probably people outside of my house and-“

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Or you can stay at mine tonight and go to your home in the morning?”

“Where do you live now?”

“Just right in town.”

“Okay.” I tell him. We get up and go tell my manager everything. About me wanting to hire him on, about me staying at his place, and land to travel home in the morning. She said she would take care of the equipment and everything for me. Harry took my hand and we left in his car. His hand reaching across the center and resting on my thigh as I fall asleep in the passenger seat, glad to finally have him. To finally get to have him in my life again.

Maybe I can’t give him peace, but I can give him love. And maybe that’s enough.

- - -

Masterlist

Taglist: @maudie-duan

#harry styles #hswriting #harry styles fanfiction #peace #taylor swift #song based story #song series

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hswriting · 25 days ago

Text

Peace

Masterlist Song Series