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"Whatever you'd like us to be" - part 4

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!sunshine!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you fall and get your confessions of love.

w.c: 7,5k

warnings: age gap (harry is 45 and reader 29-30), angst, fluff. no proofreading because you know me.

A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter will meet your expectations, but it's pretty much what I wanted to do with it. I'm convinced this series is a lot about how you can transform into something complicated when someone who makes you feel at ease comes into your life. But whatever. This was the winner update of the day, but I'm updating all the series this week. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think about it.

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

When next day came, the vibrant excitement you had been feeling lately was gone. The sky seemed gray, soft raining was falling over New York and you stayed in bed the whole day, barely sleeping, tossing and turning, replaying every word, every look from the night before like a film reel you couldn’t switch off.

You waited for a call, a message, a knock at your door. Everything that could have remined that you were valuable to Harry.

And when Monday rolled around, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a sweater that still faintly smelled like coffee, and opened the café with a weight in your chest you couldn’t erase.

The place was alive as always, the soft clink of mugs, the gentle murmur of conversations, Mia’s laughter carrying from behind the counter. But you felt like a ghost in your own space because Harry had made a home inside your house and now it felt hollow without the certainty of that presence.

Every time the bell over the door chimed, your head would lift, your pulse skipping in your throat. A couple of old regulars. A mother with a stroller. A pair of college students ordering iced lattes. But not him.

“Boss,” Evan murmured, sidling up to you while you wiped down a spotless table for the third time in an hour. “Are you good?”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

But even Evan didn’t buy it. He gave you a knowing look and said nothing, wisely leaving you to your mood.

By lunchtime, you were officially annoyed at yourself. The knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen, and you hated that you kept checking the clock like some lovesick idiot. That you half-expected to look up and see him leaning against the doorway with that infuriating grin, like nothing had happened.

But still, that would have shown he cared. That you were more than just a simple piece on his game.

By mid-afternoon, the steady hum of the café had lulled into a calm, that late-in-the-day quiet when regulars trickled in for their second wind and students claimed tables with textbooks and cold drinks. You were behind the counter, pretending to busy yourself with organizing the pastry case, though in truth, you were miles away inside your head.

And then the bell over the door chimed.

You looked up out of habit, and your stomach dropped at the sight of Lucy at the door.

She stepped in with her perfect hair waving, soft smile playing on her lips. Her eyes swept the café before landing on you. And for a split second, both of you just stared each other. Recognition flashed in her expression, a glimmer of surprise widening her gaze, but then something else took its place. Not malice, not smugness like your overworked brain had feared, just kindness inside those blue orbits.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your face into something resembling neutral. “Hi! Welcome in.”

She glanced at the chalkboard menu, though it felt more like a polite formality. “Could I get two vanilla lattes to go, please?”

Your heart did this traitorous little lurch in your chest at the sound of two.

Two vanilla lattes.

And immediately, the spiral started.

Was one for Harry?

Had he gone back to her?

You hated how easily the thought slid into place, how sharp it cut. How it affected your heart in a way jealousy was everything you could feel now.

You punched the order into the register, managing a tight smile. “Coming right up.”

She fished some bills from her wallet, glancing at you again, a small curve to her lips. “I’m sorry if this is weird, are you…? Harry’s…” she hesitated like searching for the right word, “friend?”

You gripped the edge of the counter. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“What do you want me to say?” you sounded almost exasperated, “Yes, I’m his girlfriend.”

“You are also Claire’s best friend.” She said, still smiling “I also remember you because of that.”

You nodded “You did a pretty good job introducing her to Chris.”

Lucy’s expression faltered for a moment just a flicker, so quick most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did. That brief tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers tapped twice against the counter before she tucked them into the sleeves of her coat.

“I did, didn’t I?” she murmured, her smile turning bittersweet. “I think that had been my best job.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You thought her job was a kind of scam, as in the digital form of love. Offering you a hollow and shallow momentum instead of the real experience. Forcing to people to meet each other with the list of qualities set on the table.

Lucy inhaled softly, then straightened, smoothing her expression. “Well,” she said with a little shrug, “I do really think you and Harry make a good couple.”

You raised a brow at that but bit your tongue, glancing down as the machine beeped, signaling the order was ready.

You slid the two vanilla lattes onto the counter. “Here you go.”

Lucy took them, wrapping her hands around the cups. “I’m sorry if I made this weird,” she added quietly. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You forced a small, polite smile. “Well, I own this place.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, that’s—that’s amazing, really. Best coffee in this city.”

Best coffee in this city

That last line made your throat tighten. Best coffee in this city. The exact words Harry had murmured more than once, usually with that lazy grin after he had found of you owned this place, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. Hearing them from Lucy’s lips was kind of disarming.

You gave a small, almost bashful laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Thanks. I… appreciate it.”

Lucy hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, then offered a sincere smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Really.”

You nodded. “You too.”

She gave a little wave with the two cups in hand and slipped out the door, the bell chiming softly in her wake.

You stood there for a moment longer, the scent of coffee and vanilla hanging in the air, heart pounding in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The whole interaction had been surprisingly kind. She wasn’t the woman you had pictured it to be. There was no tension, no accusations, no smugness. Just two women on different ends of a story neither of them fully understood.

She gave you one last look, something almost like apology, and then she was out the door.

And you stood there for a moment, the ghost of old conversations and half-formed assumptions rattling in your head, before Evan sidled up next to you with a smirk.

“Damn, boss,” he muttered under his breath, bumping your shoulder. “You, okay? Cause if I didn’t know better, I’d say you look pretty grumpy today.”

You groaned, leaning forward against the counter. “I need a drink.”

“Or to see your boyfriend, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but your traitorous heart still fluttered at the sound of his name. You hated how much you missed him.

An hour later, you were at your office working on some inventory stuff when knock at your door took off your guard, you lifted your gaze.

"Come in" you said.

You blinked, your stomach twisting, heart leaping in your chest before your brain could even catch up. The door eased open and a massive bouquet of deep red roses filled the frame first, then the hand holding them, and finally Harry.

His face was unreadable, those stormy brown eyes you knew too well a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d seen since you had met him. He stepped in without a word, closing the door behind him with his foot.

You swallowed thickly, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you needed the armor to protect your heart from it. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

He set the flowers carefully on your desk, as if they might break under his touch. “I owed you a hundred apologies. And maybe a small bribe,” he added with a weak grin, motioning to the roses.

You didn’t return it.

“I told you to stay out,” you said quietly. A lied, a big lie, because everything you wanted was him to come to you.

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “And I meant to. I tried to. But you have no idea how fucking loud my life feels when you’re not in it.”

The room went still. You stared at him, no uttering a word.

Harry sighted, “I missed you, even if it was just a day.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart lurching at the rawness in his voice. You wanted to stay mad, and you should stay mad, but his words found every soft, unguarded part of you.

You dropped your gaze, studying the edge of your desk like it held the answers you needed. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry,” you murmured, the fight in your voice wavering. “Showing up with flowers and pretend I’m going to say yes to every demand you have,” You lifted you gaze to meet his, “You always came here when you need something from me. You confused me. You say you want to be my friend, then you kiss me and say your ex-girlfriend’s name, who is fact is really kind.”

You finally met his gaze again, your arms still crossed, but your posture softer. “Why did you mention her that night, Harry?”

His expression cracked a little, like you’d pressed your thumb against an old bruise. He stepped closer, leaning his palms against your desk. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low, thick with regret. “And because… part of me was scared it wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just breaking the rules. It was real. And I panicked.”

You felt your throat tighten, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk. “So, you said her name to… what? Ruin it? Push me away before I could hurt you?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he confessed, shaking his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t even know why it came out. I haven’t thought about Lucy that way since we went into our separate ways, you know that. But you—" he let out a broken breath, “you terrify me.”

“All of this started because you wanted to get back at her” you replied, “You also lied to me about that at the beginning.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, guilt flickering over his face like a shadow. “Yeah, also my parents want me to marry someone” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I am pissed off. I was hurt. I used you at first. Told myself it was harmless, told myself you’d never mean anything because it wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

You flinched, the words hitting like a blow even though you’d known them deep down. He saw it, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“But then it was you,” he went on, eyes glinting with something raw and unguarded. “It became you, so fast—“

“You’re a child” you interrupted, annoyed and hurt.

Harry blinked, the words striking sharper than anything you’d said before. His mouth opened like he might protest, but nothing came out. You saw the fight drain from his posture, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he’d confessed.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face, defeated. “Maybe I am.”

You shook your head, leaning back against your chair like you needed the distance to breathe. “You don’t get to drag people into your tantrums because you’re pissed off at your parents or your past, Harry. I’m not a placeholder for your…kind of rebellion. I’m a person. And I deserved better than being some convenient way for you to feel in control for five minutes.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. And maybe, in a way, you had.

“I know,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know you did. I keep… I keep breaking the things I care about before I realize how much they mattered.”

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “And what? Now that you realize it, you think you can just… what? Patch it up with expensive flowers?”

“No,” he admitted, his gaze steady for the first time since he walked in. “I just—” he swallowed hard; jaw tight. “I needed you to hear it. That you matter to me.”

You sat there for a long moment, the silence between you loaded, heavy with everything that had built up between reckless choices and unsaid things.

“I hope you figure yourself out, Harry,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your chest ached.

His eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t beg.

He just gave a small nod, turned, and left the flowers on your desk as he walked out the door.

You sat there long after the door had closed, the soft chime above it echoing like a final note you hadn’t asked for. The roses sat on your desk, too many and too red, a vibrancy you felt it left with harry through that door. The kind of gesture Harry always leaned on when words failed him.

Your throat burned.

You hated how beautiful they were. How part of you, some pathetic, stubborn part, still wanted to believe it meant something. That maybe under all the mess and mistakes, there was a version of him that meant it.

You reached out, fingertips brushing over one of the petals. It was soft. Perfect. And it felt like a lie.

The sting behind your eyes sharpened, and before you could stop yourself, you swiped the flowers off the desk. The vase hit the floor with a dull thud, water sloshing over the tile, roses scattering like discarded confessions.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to swallow the ache in your throat, the tears prickling your lashes.

God, you were so tired. So tired of the way he made you feel like you were standing in a room with no walls, nowhere to lean, nowhere to run. Always hoping this time would be different. That someone would have choose you for the right reasons.

But he didn’t. Not really.

And you couldn’t keep letting your heart be collateral damage.

You wiped at your eyes, took a steadying breath, and grabbed a rag from the counter. You’d clean up the mess. Because that’s what you did. Because life moved on, and so would you.

A few days passed in a heavy, muted blur. You fell into a quiet rhythm, opening the café, managing orders, pretending you didn’t glance at the door every time it chimed. But it wasn’t Harry stepping through anymore.

It was his assistant.

You recognized her more now, always polite, always rushed, always ordering Harry’s usual without meeting your eyes for too long as if she knew, like he’d been sent in as a quiet, calculated replacement for the man who couldn’t face you.

Your heart felt heavier every time. The absence of Harry’s careless grin, his infuriating comments, the way he’d come into your life like the world only existed where you stood, it all left an ache you couldn’t name.

You told yourself this was how peace was supposed to feel, but the thing about this type of quiet was that it left too much room for your thoughts.

It was late afternoon when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out with a sigh, expecting a supplier, but Claire’s name flashed across the screen.

You hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and you hesitated before answering.

“Hey, you” you said, trying to sound lighter than you felt.

“Hey, you.” Claire’s voice was soft as always, unaware of the conflict you were walking through right now “I was wondering… are you free tonight?”

You glanced around the café, where Evan was wiping down tables and the soft hum of the espresso machine filled the air. “Yeah. Why?”

“I want you to come over for dinner,” Claire said, then hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d known her too long not to catch the note in her voice. There was some kind of excitement and nervous on her voice.

“Claire,” you said slowly, your pulse picking up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, it is. Can you come by eight?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, then forced a steady breath. “Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll be there.”

“I love you, bye” she said.

“I love you too.”

Harry’s assistant, pushed open the office door with one hand while balancing a takeaway tray in the other.

“Here’s your coffee, boss,” she said, setting the cup down on his desk.

Harry glanced up from the pile of papers he hadn’t actually been reading, his fingers running through his hair. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the cup. He hesitated before asking, the question burning behind his teeth, though he knew he shouldn’t. “How is she?”

Kate blinked, then sighed softly, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair like she’d been expecting it.

“She looks okay.” She replied carefully.

That made something in Harry’s chest tighten, a dull, familiar ache. He looked away, his gaze falling to the corner of his desk, where a small photo frame sat half-hidden behind a stack of folders.

A picture of you.

From Claire’s and Chris wedding.

You were sitting on the grass, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing at something someone off-camera had said. Light caught in your hair; your face flushed.

Chris had given it to him as a joke after the wedding.

“For your desk, you sap,” he had teased.

Harry had played it off, acted like it was just one of those silly things people kept around.

But it stayed. Day after day. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at that photo like it might speak to him.

You’d probably think I was a creep for keeping this, he thought bitterly.

But the truth was, he’d never been capable of loving someone, never let anyone carve their way inside his heart the way you had.

And he wasn’t sure what terrified him more: that he’d already lost you, or that part of him still believed you were it for him.

Some people only get one person. And he had the sinking, gut-deep feeling you were his.

You pulled up in front of Claire and Chris’s townhouse, the familiar white shutters and climbing ivy on the brick walls making something in your chest ache. This place had always felt like a second home. You’d laughed in this kitchen, cried on that couch, drank too much wine on the back patio under string lights.

And now, your stomach was twisted up like you were walking into something you couldn’t name.

You raised a hand and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and there was Claire, in a pair of mismatched socks, hair in loose waves, wearing a simple loosen linen dress and that bright, unmistakable grin she always saved just for you.

“There you are,” she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. You sank into it, letting your cheek press against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of citrus and vanilla she always wore.

“You look stunning as always,” she said, pulling back to give you a once-over with a teasing little smile. “Seriously, what is it like to be everyone’s favorite person in the room?”

You huffed a small laugh, grateful for the easy warmth between you. “I almost didn’t come,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” she said, brushing a hand down your arm. Then, she glanced past you, out toward the street, as if expecting someone to be lingering behind. “I thought you were coming with Harry.”

Your stomach dipped and your brows furrowed. “Harry’s coming too?” you asked, voice careful, guarded.

Claire’s expression faltered for half a second, like she was realizing too late that she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah… um… Chris invited him,” she said, quickly smoothing it over. “Did something happen between you two?

You forced a tight, brittle smile and shook your head, though your throat burned with the effort. “No,” you lied, voice too light. “Nothing happened.”

Claire gave you a look, the kind only someone who’s known you since you were eight can give. The kind that says bullshit without having to saying the exact word.

“Come on,” she murmured, pulling you gently inside and closing the door behind you. The familiar scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted in from the kitchen, and it made something twist painfully in your chest because everything about this felt so normal, and you were anything but fine.

Claire set a hand on your shoulder, stopping you just before the living room. Her expression was softer now, her voice careful. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. “But Chris said Harry has been kind of grumpy for the past few days. And you, you look like someone who is holding her shit together.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away.

Claire sighed and gave you a half-smile. “Whatever it is, you can count of me, you know that, right?”

You let out a weak laugh at that and nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I know that.”

Chris appeared from the hallway, grinning when he spotted you. “Hey, there she is!” he said warmly, wrapping his arms around you. You sank into it, grateful for the steady, familiar presence. Chris had become a safe place, the brother you’d never had but somehow ended up with.

“You doing, okay?” he murmured against your hair, keeping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You gave a small shrug. “Getting there.”

Chris squeezed your shoulder gently, then pulled back with a crooked smile. “Good. You know we’ve got your back.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

The sound made your chest seize up, your pulse stuttering like a skipped beat. You saw Claire glance at you, her face unreadable, and for a second it was just the two of you, a silent conversation passing between your eyes.

The door creaked open. And then, his voice.

“Hey, man.”

Low, rough, a little hesitant in a way you weren’t used to hearing from Harry.

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but the sound of him hit you like a slow, searing burn you’d been trying to forget for days. That voice, steady and sharp with its usual confidence now dulled by something heavier, was one you could pick out in a crowded room, even if you tried not to.

Claire squeezed your hand once. “You want me to kick him out?” she whispered, only half-joking.

You gave a brittle little laugh, your throat tight. “No,” you murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

The truth was a more complicated, tangled thing, but you were done running your feelings.

Chris stepped aside to let Harry in, and you caught the edge of his tall frame, the dark sweep of his hair, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like a man walking into a storm of his own making. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, like he couldn’t help it, and you felt the weight of them, heavy and unrelenting.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t from sleepless nights but a soul-deep weariness. And he held it together in front of the others, a practiced smirk flickering to life when Chris clapped him on the back.

But then his gaze found yours again, and the mask cracked, just for a second.

Claire glanced between you two, then cleared her throat. “Well,” she said brightly, like she was trying to cut through the unbearable tension, “who’s hungry?”

No one answered.

Because now Harry was standing there like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take another step. And you were standing there like your heart might break clean open if he did.

And the truth was, neither of you were really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want.

Each other.

Dinner was a strange, fragile thing.

The four of you sat around the table, a beautiful spread laid out like Claire always did, roasted vegetables, a bottle of wine already open, soft music playing low in the background. It should’ve felt normal. Familiar. But the air was thick with things unsaid, heavy with the weight of you and Harry sitting side by side.

You’d tried to angle for a seat across the table, but Claire, ever the meddler in the name of love, had pulled out the chair next to her, leaving only the one beside you open when Harry entered the room.

He slid into it without a word. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, his elbow brushing yours every time he reached for something. And each accidental graze felt deliberate, like a silent apology you refused to accept.

Chris was doing his best to fill the silence, launching into a story about some disaster at work Harry didn’t know that had happened, and Claire kept nudging you to eat, to drink, to smile. You managed a few polite laughs, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At one point, when Chris went to refill the wine glasses and Claire disappeared to the kitchen for dessert, it was just you and him, the low hum of the music and the faint clink of silverware the only sounds.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his voice rough and uneven.

You didn’t look at him. “Same.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer “You look beautiful.”

The words landed like a punch and a balm all at once.

You finally turned your head to meet his gaze. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in days. No smug grin, no cocky spark. Just the man you’d somehow let yourself fall for.

But before you could answer, Claire swept back in carrying a tray of chocolate cake, her voice loud and cheerful as she set it down.

“Okay,” she grinned, slicing into it, “I have an announcement.”

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from Harry, grateful for the distraction.

Chris’s face lit up. “Are you telling them now?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “We’re having a baby.”

The room burst into congratulatory shouts and laughter from you and Harry. Chris leaning over to kiss her, you getting up to hug her tight, pretending the burn behind your eyes was just happiness for them.

Claire clung to you for a moment longer than usual, like she sensed the ache beneath your smile but chose not to name it. When you finally pulled back, you wiped at your cheek with a laugh, blaming it on the wine and the news.

“That’s amazing, Claire,” you said, your voice thick but steady. “You’re going to be the best mom.”

Claire’s grin softened into something gentler. “And you’ll be around, right? I mean… I’ll need you.”

“Always,” you promised, meaning it.

You settled back into your seat; your heart still heavy but warmed at the edges by her happiness. Harry’s eyes met yours across the table, something unreadable in them, and for a brief second, it felt like the room disappeared, like it was just the two of you again, in that frustrating, electric limbo you couldn’t quite seem to leave behind.

He smiled, small and almost sad, and you hated how your heart skipped for it.

“Congratulations, Claire,” Harry said, raising his glass, and his voice was softer than you expected. “You and Chris. You’re going to be incredible parents.”

Chris grinned, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Thanks, man. Means a lot. I hope a raise now, Boss.”

The table broke into light laughter, Claire playfully swatting Chris’s arm.

“Oh my God, Chris,” she groaned, though she was smiling.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “You’ll have to fight the board for that one, but… maybe I’ll put in a good word.”

Chris grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something, and Claire leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The conversation moved on after that, baby names, nursery colors, Claire’s bizarre cravings already setting in, and you let yourself drift through it, contributing where you could, laughing when it was expected, but mostly trying to ignore the constant hum of Harry’s presence beside you.

You became silent after that. You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, but you kept your expression easy, giving them a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice gentle, threading through the cozy warmth of the room. “I’m kind of wiped… it’s been a long week. I think I’m gonna head out.”

Claire’s face immediately pinched in concern. “You sure? You can stay, crash in the guest room if you want—”

You shook your head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s okay. I just… need a quiet night.”

Chris stood up to hug you. “Thanks for coming, really. Means a lot to us.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” you murmured, squeezing him back.

Claire wrapped you in a tight, lingering hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she whispered against your hair.

You nodded, your throat burning again. “I will.”

And then, you knew it would happen, and you tried not to look, but your gaze snagged on Harry as you stepped toward the door. He was already on his feet, watching you with that same quiet, wrecked expression he’d had all night.

You hesitated, then gave a polite, distant nod. “Good night, Harry.”

His jaw flexed. “Good night.”

You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the room felt heavier for a moment, like the air itself shifted. Claire stared after you, her smile gone, replaced with sharp, narrowed eyes. She turned toward Harry, her voice low but fierce.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Chris glanced between them, frowning. “Claire—”

“No,” she cut him off, not taking her eyes off Harry. “She came in here holding herself together with string, Harry. She barely spoke, barely smiled, and she left like she was running from something. And now I know it’s you.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like someone already carrying the punishment she was trying to give. He set his glass down with a soft clink, the echo filling the space between them.

“I hurt her,” he said quietly.

“Then what are you doing here still?” she demanded, her voice gentler now, but no less cutting.

Harry looked at her, eyes rimmed with something raw and unguarded.

Claire softened just a fraction, giving a small, tired smile. “If I’m not wrong, she hasn’t left. She’s sitting on the stairs. I bet on that.”

Harry’s head jerked slightly at that, something sparking behind his eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Claire said, quieter this time. “Fix it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, fingers flexing at his sides, battling whatever storm was churning in his gut. And then he moved, wordlessly, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Claire exhaled, leaning into Chris’s side as he watched Harry go.

“I swear to God,” she murmured, “I will make him go broke if he doesn’t fix this.”

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, his pulse hammering in his ears. He moved toward the front steps, and sure enough, there you were.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around your knees, your head tilted back against the railing like you’d been holding back tears and now you were too tired to bother.

His chest cracked open at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking slightly around the word.

You didn’t look at him right away, just kept your eyes on the dark sky above, the cool air kissing your skin. The ache in your throat was sharp and stubborn, but you spoke anyway.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but steady enough.

Harry let out a rough breath, shoving his hands into his pockets like a man who had no idea what the hell to do with them. He took a cautious step closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze. And God, the way he was looking at you.

Harry gave a small, rueful smile, stepping closer. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He eased down onto the steps beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not so close that it made your heart race out of control.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and heavy all at once.

The air was cold, and your bare arms tingled from the chill. Without a word, Harry slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, and the unexpected gesture sent a small shiver down your spine. You glanced at him, surprised, but all he did was offer a quiet, understanding smile before turning his gaze back ahead.

“I feel so happy for Claire. I really do,” you murmured, your voice thin and uneven, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, as if the darkness could offer answers, you hadn’t found yet. “She’s getting everything she ever wanted. The baby, the family, the life… someone who loves her like that.”

Harry stayed quiet, not interrupting, just listening. It made it easier, somehow, like the words had been caged in your chest for too long and now, in the cold, under the dark sky, with his jacket around your shoulders, they could finally come out.

“And I’ll be there,” you went on, a humorless, soft laugh catching in your throat. “I’ll watch it happen. Watch them build a life, a family. And I’ll be happy for them because I am. God, I am. But it’ll still feel like losing her. Like… like I’m standing still, and everyone else keeps moving forward.”

You swallowed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” you admitted, voice cracking around the words. “The baby. The house. The person who loves you like it’s a damn fact of the universe. Someone who chooses you every single day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t get there. That I let people in, and they leave. And maybe it’s just… maybe it’s me.”

The ache in your throat burned and you pressed your hands together tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. You could feel his gaze on you now, steady, heavy, like it was stitching you together and unraveling you at the same time.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment the world shrank to just the two of you “And the moment I thought I met the perfect man…it turned out he wanted me to make his ex jealous.”

Harry flinched it, you saw it. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes, like your words had struck somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

He didn’t look away though. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, the weight of it a little heavier now.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Every word of it.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. You hadn’t meant to spill it out like that, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I kept telling myself I was fine with it,” you admitted, the words trembling out of you. “That it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t real. That I wasn’t… falling. But I was, Harry because you…you’re …because you’re the one I wanted,” you whispered, the words breaking at the edges like glass under pressure. “And I hate myself for it. For letting it happen. For hoping for something that was never mine to have.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second, like the weight of your confession physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were shining with something raw, unguarded, and it stole the air right out of your lungs.

His shoulders sagged a little, like hearing that eased something in him. “I never came here just to get something from you. Yeah, I made a mess of it. I crossed lines. I confused you. But… I kept coming because this place, you. You’re the only part of my life that feels like mine. Not my family’s, not some move, not something someone else expects from me. Just mine.”

The words settled between you like a secret too sacred for the world to hear. Your chest ached, your heart thrumming so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked at him, really looked, the stubble on his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the way his mouth trembled around the truth he was finally speaking.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he went on, his voice rough, cracking in places. “At… loving someone the right way. I don’t know how to love someone.”

You closed your eyes at that, standing up before he could break your heart.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you in place. The warmth of his touch seared through your skin like a brand, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Please don’t go,” Harry murmured, his voice so soft it was barely a sound. You didn’t dare turn around; afraid your resolve would crack the moment you saw his face.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I can’t be the almost. The temporary. The girl you run to when it’s easy and walk away from when it’s not.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a little, not to keep you there, but like he needed to hold onto something real. His breath hitched, and for a moment he didn’t speak, like the words were too heavy in his chest, too tangled up in everything he’d never had the courage to say.

Then, finally, in a voice raw and aching, he said, “You’ve never been temporary to me. Not for a second. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt permanent, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt your defenses crack, a splinter running right through you.

He stood up “The moment I laid my eyes on you at the wedding I could feel my heart stopping for a second because I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Harry went on, standing there in front of you like a man unraveling at the seams. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and his eyes never left yours. “And then you smiled and it was over for me” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, laughing softly, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it.

Harry took a breath like it hurt to hold it in any longer, his eyes shining in the dim light. “You came into my life so damn easily,” he said, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been waiting, buried in his chest for far too long. “Like you belonged there. Like you’d always been meant to find me, even when I didn’t know I was lost.”

He shook his head, a fragile, almost disbelieving smile touching his lips. “You tugged on this string inside me, one I didn’t even know existed. Nobody’s ever found it before, no one’s ever known how. And it terrified me because I’ve spent so long building walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was nothing but a contract you could buy with money.”

His hand came up, hovering near your cheek, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you yet, but God, he wanted to. “I don’t know how to love,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never been shown the kind that stays. The kind that’s safe. But with you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to run from. It feels like something I get to learn. Something worth learning.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, searching your face. “You make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, not for show. Just for you. Because every time you laugh, every time you look at me like I matter, it makes me think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry’s thumb brushed it away with the softest touch, his fingers trembling against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of every unspoken feeling he’d buried for too long. “I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending it’s anything less.”

A soft rain began to fall, delicate, almost hesitant drops that speckled the stone steps around you and clung to the edges of his hair. The air smelled clean, like earth and something new beginning, and for a moment neither of you moved, standing there in the quiet hush of it.

You felt your lips curve into a small, fragile smile. Not because the pain was gone, it wasn’t, not completely, but because despite it, despite everything, he was here. And so were you.

Your gaze met his, and the storm behind his eyes softened the moment you smiled. He let out a breath, one he’d clearly been holding for far too long.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice, though your heart ached with how much you meant it.

Harry laughed, a soft, broken sound, his shoulders shaking. “It honestly feels like the right moment.”

The rain came a little steadier now, but neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the final inches between you. His jacket slipped from your shoulders, but before the chill could find you, his hands were there, one at your waist, the other brushing damp hair from your cheek.

“I want us to try something real. To get to know each other in ways that aren’t rushed, or messy, or hidden behind excuses.” His thumb brushed your cheek, a tender, reverent touch, and you felt yourself lean into it before you even realized.

“I wanna kiss you every single time I feel like it,” he went on, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “Not just when it’s convenient, not when no one’s looking, but whenever it hits me how goddamn lucky, I am you even exist.”

You felt your breath catch, your heart stammer against your ribs.

“I want to spoil you rotten,” he added softly. “Take you out, bring you flowers for no reason, hold your hand at the movies, listen to you rant about work, kiss you stupid when you’re in a bad mood. I wanna be the one you call when you’re excited, when you’re scared, when you just need someone. I wanna be yours, if you’ll have me.”

The rain drummed gently around you, the world shrinking to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands and the aching swell of your heart.

You smiled, a real one this time, wide and aching and a little disbelieving, and let your hand slide to the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to close the last space between you.

“Then kiss me, Harry,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “And don’t stop, please don’t.”

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