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matildashoney · 1 year

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Delicate Point of View: Chapter Six

MASTERLIST // ASKS // TAGS // PLAYLIST Word Count: 18K CW: sex (it's a wedding and they're drunk and in love, i'm not sure what you want me to say) taglist: @lauloupi less than a month since the last update, who cheered! i am so happy to share this chapter because this is changing everything. things are about to get a little bit messy from here on out, but in a good way for hera and harry. lots of feelings and emotions and of course more drama to come, because let's face it, that's what i do. but, until then, enjoy hera and harry being drunk and in love. it's what they deserve. and as always, please for the love of god share what you think! i thrive on feedback and commentary. i love you lots. enjoy!

Harry’s shock must be evident on his face because Hera swallows audibly and attempts to find her voice. Matty looks at her, and Harry looks at her, the guilt that’s written across her features is heartbreaking. Harry smooths his hand across her back, gently nudging her into his side and rubbing his hand along her waist, trying to bring any comfort in the midst of the tension cutting between the three of them. Harry and Matty are looking at each other, trying to make sense of the situation. How could Matty have known how Hera was doing all that time if they weren’t speaking? Harry looks at Hera, trying to read her body language and see if maybe he needs to find a way to excuse the two of them from the situation and get a handle on whatever is going on. Matty never said a word to him this morning, Hera hasn’t said anything, leaving Harry fully in the dark about whatever the hell is going on between them.

Harry swallows and purses his lips together tightly, squeezing Hera’s side comfortingly to try and ground her. Hera looks at him, eyes soft and silently begging for forgiveness, her hand gently coming up to his jaw and cupping it delicately, kissing his cheek sweetly before retreating away from his hold. Hera nods towards the corner of the designated area – where all the flowers and altar and tent are set for the ceremony and reception – where there is a bit of privacy, and they could have a private conversation without anyone interrupting. Matty follows her line of sight, and then looks to Harry, who is still staring at Hera with confusion. Harry looks to Hera questioningly, mouthing, what’s going on, to which she smiles sadly and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Are you okay, baby?” Harry whispers, cupping the back of her head sweetly, trying not to disrupt the curls falling perfectly along her shoulders. His mouth touches her forehead, kissing her repeatedly, trying to bring comfort in a situation he is completely lost in. “Do you want to take a breather? I can take us somewhere that’s a bit more private if you want.”

Harry looks at her with eyes that she could only describe as those that are full of love and care when she pulls away, wanting to know what he can do to make her feel better. Hera shakes her head. “I love you more than anything, you know that?” she says softly, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly before turning on her heel and looking towards where Matty is already beginning to pace in the corner. Hera turns over her shoulder and grabs Harry’s hand. “You and I made things right a month ago, and I’ve been putting off doing that with other people. I have to make those things right, now. I’ll be back, okay?”

Harry isn’t given a second to properly process what’s happening in that moment, because before he could ask any further questions and understand what she’s doing, she’s walking away, and he’s left standing by the ocean in complete confusion. Harry turns around and looks to find Beau and Isla, who would most likely have the answers he’s looking for. Harry walks straight over to where they’re standing, taking one last glance over at Hera and Matty in the corner, before waiting rather impatiently as they took their time greeting the last few remaining guests, and ushering everyone to where the cocktail hour would be while they take a moment to themselves. Harry feels guilty for pulling them into his own issue, for potentially making them worry, but he knows if anyone is going to be able to tell him what’s going on, it’ll be the one that introduced those two all those years ago, the one that was likely the instigator of whatever happened, Harry knows.

Isla smiles brightly when Harry walks over to her, clearly unaware of the anxiety written across his face, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders and hugging him tightly, swaying back and forth excitedly. “I’m married! Harry, I’m a married woman, can you believe it?” Harry smiles at her excitement and joy, the thought of one day seeing his love reacting this way to getting married to him making his heart tight in his chest. Isla pulls away, quirking her head to the side and reading his expression, a purse of her lips telling him that she’s reading everything he's not saying to her. “Jesus Christ, Harry, don’t tell me you and Hera are arguing. God, please, it’s barely been a month. And it’s my wedding day. You literally had to get through one day. I, everything has been so good with the two of you! What could have possibly happened already?”

“No, no, Isla, it’s not that. Don’t worry about anything like that. Hera and I aren’t fighting,” Harry says hurriedly, shaking his head and laying his hands on her shoulders to try and recenter her attention on the matter at hand. “Hera and I are fine, Isla. That’s not why I’m over here. I, Matty said something to me, something that doesn’t really make any sense considering I’ve talked to him about Hera for years, now, and I’m lost. I’m very confused. I’m hoping you can explain this all to me because I know you have something to do with whatever it is.”

Isla swallows back the information she wants to share because it’s not hers to share, really at all. Matty told Isla everything that happened between them in confidence, and if she were to go and tell Harry without Hera’s consent, she’s sure her best friend will be angry with her beyond compare. “Harry, Hera should be the one to tell you all this. I know I always tell you things about Hera, and yes, I had something to do with all this, but this I really think you should hear from her, what she wants to tell you. I just, it’s her business to tell you. Not mine. Not this time.”

Harry nips at the inside of his cheek anxiously, turning on his heel and staring at where Matty and Hera are having a very intense conversation – Harry can feel energy between them as Hera stands across from him, arms folded in front of her chest and her fingertips fidgeting against her skin. Harry wants to walk over and ask questions, to finally understand what the hell everyone is talking about that he is so lost from. He wants to know what happened in the last two years, how it went from the two of them not speaking, to Harry calling Matty for word on Hera when she wouldn’t answer his calls, to Harry finding out that Hera was dating Grant at the London show. Harry has so many questions, so many questions that it seems that no one but Hera can answer, and the nerves of anticipation leading to when he can finally bring her aside and ask what is going on is getting to him more than he would like to admit.

Harry can feel the jealousy bubbling in his stomach, the anxiety, and the nerves that he used to feel quite often in the beginning of their relationship making their way to the surface. He quickly shakes them off, walking towards the bar and getting himself a whiskey neat, something to mull and hopefully dull the nerves as he waits for her to come back to him, to tell him everything. He swallows thickly, hating the feeling in his stomach, the uneasiness. He’s worked very hard over the last two years to overcome these feelings, the instant jealousy he would feel when he wasn’t aware of something that others were when it came to her. Hera would always tell him, always in her own time, and he thought that he was past these instantaneous feelings of jealousy and upset when it comes to her. He thought his maturity has surpassed these feelings.

Harry was obviously wrong about that.

Harry spent the first year of their relationship always jealous of others – jealous of the way others knew her, the way their friendship was, the inside jokes. Harry was jealous that there were a handful of others that knew Hera in a way he didn’t, but now that he knows Hera that way, intimately and intentionally, he understands that that is just how Hera is with people she loves, that she’s close to. If you are lucky enough to be loved by Hera “June” Collins, you will know her – inside and out, the good parts and the bad parts; you will know her fears, her secrets, her innermost thoughts; you will know what she hates about herself, and what she loves about everyone around her. Hera is a thick, layered, brick wall of protection, but once you make your way inside, you’re there forever. Harry earned his way in, day by day, moment by moment, until he was fully inside, encapsulated by her and the knowledge of her, until he thought that he knew everything about her – only to be fooled by something new in the very next moment. Harry knows Hera, arguably better than anyone he has ever known, and every day he yearns to find out more, to understand more about her. Harry wants to be consumed by her, by the knowledge of her. Harry knows that Hera will tell him, in her own time, at her own very pace. He can’t rush her, or Hera will shut down, and that is the very last thing Harry wants with her.

And this is just another thing Harry is about to find out.

“Out of all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never been nervous to talk to you,” Matty says while they walk to the corner of the lawn, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets and his eyes travelling between Hera and the ocean only a few feet away from them. “This doesn’t feel like us very much, does it?” Hera shakes her head silently, brushing her hair away from her face and behind her ear. “You’ve never gone this long without talking to me, Hera. Not even when I was in rehab, and you broke my wee little heart. That time hurt, too, let me tell you.”

“Matty,” Hera says warningly, walking towards the railing and leaning her hands against the metal, breathing in the wafting scent of the ocean waves, and allowing her mind to clear. Hera needs to make things right with everyone. Matty deserves an apology. Grant deserves an apology, even though his behavior has also been out of line recently. Harry deserves an apology for Hera’s stubbornness and unwillingness to see everything that they had in their future, the future that she ripped away all too soon by her thickheadedness. Hera, since the very first time she saw Harry a month ago, has come to realize how much change is needed in her life. Hera needs to be honest, not only with herself, but with the people around her, and the best way to do that is to start apologizing for the things she’s done wrong. “I’m really sorry, Matty, for everything that I said to you when I left, and for the fact that I haven’t reached out on my own in two years. I, I used you while I was hurting, and I took my hurt out on you, when you were just trying to be a good friend. That wasn’t right, and it shouldn’t have taken me this long to see that, or to apologize to you. I’m embarrassed that I acted that way.”

Matty stares off into the ocean, carefully watching the way her body moves and adjusts anxiously in his peripheral vision as she sucks in the deepest breaths into her lungs, turning her body to face him. Matty remembers the way Hera would fidget and her voice would grow quiet, and it took well over a year for her to really feel comfortable with telling him what was wrong when it happened, it took a very long time for her to get comfortable enough to tell him what was going wrong in her life. Matty can only imagine what it’s taking now to apologize now that things are going right.

“Can you say something? Anything really. I don’t expect you to forgive me, right now. Hell, I probably wouldn’t forgive me, right away. I just, I need to know that I didn’t ruin an eight-year friendship over me being a heartbroken idiot. I miss you.”

Matty turns and leans onto the metal railing, folding his arms in front of his chest, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, “I’m glad you recognize that you were being an idiot.”

“Not nice, Matty,” Hera says, nudging her elbow into his side, a sigh of relief coming through her parted lips as she sucks in a deep breath and feels the oxygen reach the depths of her stomach, filling her lungs all the way and giving her the air to breathe. Matty slings his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, her arms circling around his wait to hug him. His arm around her feels protective, brotherly, a vastly different feeling than when they became friends (and something more) all those years ago. “You look good, you know. I’m happy to see you look this healthy.”

“I wasn’t going to let myself go just because you decided you couldn’t be my friend, anymore, either, Hera,” Matty says, leaning his cheek on her head and squeezing her against him. Matty smiles looking down at her, admiring the way her eyes are bright and shining against the sun. Hera looks happy, genuinely happy, which isn’t something he’s seen from her in a very long time. “You look happy, Hera.”

“I am.”

“I’m proud of you, June Bug,” Matty smiles, laughing at the way her cheeks grow a darker shade under the intensity of his stare. “I’m happy that you chose your own happiness, for once. It’s what you deserve, you know, even when you don’t believe that yourself.” His hand squeezes around her shoulder, a whispered, “I love you,” into her hair sharing exactly what he knows she needs to hear. Hera smiles against him, and Matty knows she’s heard him.

“I love you,” Hera hums, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist and squeezing him against her, pulling away only slightly to meet his stare. Hera leans onto her toes and kisses his cheek sweetly, patting his shoulder playfully before turning around and scanning the cocktail hour for her lover. He’s easy to spot, his finger tracing around the rim of his whiskey and his eyes travelling between them and his ringed fingers. Hera knows that she has to explain to him what’s happening, all the things she was trying to hide. Harry deserves to know what happened in the midst of their break, the way she went slightly out of control of her emotions and rational thoughts. Harry loves her, and he would be there to support her in picking up the pieces, Hera knows this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to tell him. Hera looks at Matty and then to Harry, and says, “I think I’m going to go explain to Harry what’s going on.”

“Good idea,” Matty hums, pursing his lips together and nodding his head slowly, nodding over to where Harry is leaning against a wall and swirling his whiskey, his eyes occasionally travelling between the newly married couple taking their photographs and where his lover is standing as she slowly pulls away from her friend. “I bet Harry’s head is spinning with questions, right now. Questions that only you can answer, my dear friend.”

Hera silently nods her head, swallowing the nerves that have been building in her chest and staring longingly as Harry meets her stare, giving her the softest, most comforting smile as though to tell her, it’s all going to be okay, which is something she desperately would like to hear. Hera narrows her eyes at Matty teasingly, patting his cheek playfully before turning on her heel and walking towards her lover, the swell of the party and the hum of every guest speaking filling her body with joy and excitement. Hera smiles brightly, staring at Harry as he waits for her to walk to him, his body shifting to accommodate where she would inevitably come to stand against him. Hera will walk to him, slide her arms around his waist, and lean her chin against his chest, staring up at him adoringly. Harry has come to know that as Hera’s favorite way to be close to him, as close as she can be without physically feeling him on her skin. Harry knows her like the back of his hand, better than anyone, and she knows that he’s waiting patiently for her to tell him everything. Hera always tells him, sometimes it just takes a bit of time to get there.

Hera certainly fulfils Harry’s expectations, walking to him and smiling softly, circling her arms around his waist, and leaning against his chest, puckering her lips as though to ask for a kiss, which he happily indulges. Harry kisses her twice, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tapping his fingertips against his glass, kissing her forehead sweetly before saying, “Look like you’re feeling better. Is everything okay, now? Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Everything is okay, yeah,” Hera says, breathing out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding in her lungs, the heaviness weighing on her chest lightened but lingering only slightly. Hera will have to tell Harry everything, everything about her. Hera will have to tell Harry about the bad things with her family, about the bad things that she’s done, which has included breaking the hearts of people she loves – his included – and she will have to face the repercussions of those decisions, of those choices. Hera doesn’t have ruin their day with that, now, though. “I want to talk, but not now. I don’t want to ruin a good day.”

Harry sets his whiskey on the table next to him, taking his hands and grabbing Hera’s face delicately, cupping her cheeks and bringing their mouths together in a sweetened kiss, his mouth moving softly against hers. Hera smiles, breaking their kiss ever so slightly, the butterflies swirling in her stomach reminding her of the very first time Harry kissed her, the way she felt all those years ago continuing to be the way she feels every time his mouth meets hers.

July 14, 2018. Live On Tour, Los Angeles, Night Two.

Hera and Harry have been doing this for a while. Harry looks forward to it every day, seeing Hera alone for an hour or two while they talk and get ready for the night, even if other people are in the room with them. Harry has been itching for tonight, the night when the tour is over, and Hera is no longer working for him – Harry knows how that could sound to anyone else, to think that maybe he doesn’t like her work or what she’s done for the tour, but that is quite literally the opposite. Harry has enjoyed Hera working with him so much and has enjoyed spending time with her so much – especially the time they have spent alone in his dressing room every night of tour and the moments where he’s dancing with her to Kacey Musgraves’ set before the show and the laughing at the bar when they’re all sharing a drink (non-alcoholic for Harry) after the shows – that he is excited for the day that they are no longer mixing business with pleasure, which Hera has made abundantly clear she will not do. Harry has been patient, abundantly patient, and has respected her boundaries of what she will and won’t accept. Harry has accepted that with grace, a) because he respects her deeply and b) because he wants this to mean something more than just a spur of the moment, Harry wants Hera to realize that he really likes her, as more than just a coworker or a friend.

Hera is walking towards Harry’s dressing room, head low and her hands fidgeting against her trousers. Hera knows what the tour ending means for her, and especially what it means for her and Harry. Once the stage is down and the tour is over, there are no more boundaries of what Hera can and won’t do with him. Hera could kiss him. Hera wants to kiss him. Hera could go on a date with him. Hera could do other things with him. Hera is nervous, probably more aware of her surroundings simply because of the implications of what tonight means for her and him, and she is suddenly very aware of the way everyone is smiling at her and nodding her on as she nears Harry’s dressing room. Harry Lambert is leaving as Hera walks in, a courteous smile from her thrown his way although he winks at her as she leaves. Harry is nearly dressed, trousers fitting snugly on his hips and a tank top accentuating his toned abdomen. Hera forces herself to look away from his chest and meet his eyes, the smile on his face enough to make her stomach hurt from butterflies and excitement.

‘Did you tell the entire tour something?’ Hera questioned as soon as Harry Lambert was out of the room and the door was shut behind him. Harry walked closer to her, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. Hera’s breath hitched in her throat. Harry always gets so close, close enough to feel his breath on her plush lips, but never too far. Harry never goes too far. ‘Have you told them? Is that why they’re all smiling at me funny?’

Harry smirks, ‘Tell them what, H? That every time we’re alone, I always come this close,’ Hera’s eyes flutter shut because, in this moment, Harry’s only centimeters away from her mouth, so close that all Hera has to do is lean the slightest bit forward, and they would kiss for the very first time, ‘this close to kissing you? Or tell them that I like you? Cause, I hate to tell you this, but I think everyone on the tour knows that by now.’

Hera swallows thickly, ‘Tour is almost over. Only are a few hours left of Live on Tour, Harry. That’s it. That’s all we have to make it through.’ Hera hates that this is her rule. Hera hates that she’s not kissing him. Harry smells so good – like mint and cedarwood. Hera swears that the closer she gets, the more she can smell him, and she’s nearly ready to jump into his skin.

Harry smirks, his thumb pinching her chin and encouraging her to open her eyes and meet his stare, which is piercingly intently into her honey brown eyes, ‘I waited this long for a kiss, Hera, it better be worth my while.’

‘Careful, Harry, you might not even get one.’

Harry smirks, releasing her chin and stepping away from her only slightly, just enough for her chest to sink with a breath that she was holding in her lungs and for her to really get an eyeful of his appearance. Hera, on a night when they were all collected in his dressing room, casually sipping on drinks after a show was over and everyone was looking through his wardrobe, commented that her favorite suit in the collection was this one, that she thought it would fit him well, and since then Harry has been holding off on wearing it until now, until the final night. Hera smiles at him, her eyes dragging across his body in the most respectful way she could muster, although the thoughts behind her eyes were anything but that. Harry respected the self-control because everyone knows that he was fighting every day with his own.

‘Final thoughts?’

‘You look,’ Hera swallows all the words that she wants to say, all the words that would get her in trouble, words that would end with his suit on the floor and her trousers somewhere behind her. ‘You look absolutely great, Harry. I was right. This is the best suit you brought with you. Gucci treats you well.’

Harry blushes under the intense stare Hera is giving him, and she takes note of that for future reference. Hera likes when Harry blushes, especially because it typically is accompanied by a dimple in the cheek and a flush of color to his perfectly tanned skin. ‘Thank you.’ Harry fidgets with the trousers on his waist, avoiding Hera’s intense eye contact. ‘Can I hug you before I go on stage? Is that allowed in the many rules of Hera Collins?’

‘Hugs are allowed. On a fifteen second timer.’

Harry smiles brightly, and Hera knows by the way his eyes widened a bit and the dimples are indenting his cheeks that he’s going to, ever so respectfully, most certainly break the fifteen second rule, multiple times, she’s sure. Harry opens his arms widely, calling her into them. Hera walks forward, immediately feeling a rush of warmth and security around her. Hera sinks into his blanket of comfortability, his arms tightly wound around her shoulders and his chin on her head, her ear tucked against where his heart is beating rhythmically against his ribs. Hera swears that their hearts are beating in the same rhythm, but she also thinks that may be because she’s so anxious that she can hear her heart beating in her ears. Harry doesn’t move, and she’s definitively sure that they hug for nearly five minutes, because suddenly there’s a knocking on the door, a call for five minutes, and the bustle of people moving outside interrupting the moment. Hera is reluctant to pull away, as she is nearly every night, but this feels different.

This is the last night Hera will see Harry routinely, every night, for an hour or so, just the two of them. Harry has her number, yes, but will he use it? Hera isn’t sure. Hera will be back in London soon with Isla, likely getting started on the engineering of the Music For Cars Tour that is set to start at the end of November, and she will have little time to entertain. Making time for Harry would be easy, she thinks to herself, but she shakes her head of her thoughts and reluctantly pulls away from his chest, ‘Unfortunately, that was more than fifteen seconds, and you have to go.’

Harry laughed and nodded respectfully, grabbing his suit jacket, and nodding towards her, allowing her to leave the dressing room first. Harry knows that she gets pulled away by her best friend every night when she leaves the room, likely to be interrogated, but Harry trusts that whatever they talk about stays between them. Hera’s never given him a reason not to trust her.

Hera can feel Harry’s eyes on her the entire night. Hera isn’t even in the audience in a particularly visible spot, but as soon as he sees her, it’s like the entire audience has washed away and it’s only her there. Hera enjoys herself, she always does, dancing and singing along with Isla in the Front of House box and making herself useful here and there. Hera can feel his eyes on her when it comes time for the second stage, and when he mouths, ‘wait for me’, Hera can tell that something is going to happen, tonight, whether it’s what she thinks it is, or what she wants, all that she knows is that something is going to change when the show is over, something big.

Hera has always liked to do this, to watch the local crew and stagehands take the stage that she created in her mind and break it down in a matter of hours, the stage that took hours and hours to think in her imagination and the stage that took hours and hours, even days sometimes, to physically create, torn down in a matter of hours. Hera always felt like it was the biggest full circle moment that there was to witness – to see it built on the first day and taken apart on the last. Hera wouldn’t take this for granted, this very last night of tour, the biggest tour she has ever been lucky to work on, and she stayed. Hera stayed to watch the stage taken down in only three or four hours, waving off the team and the production staff and everyone that would filter into the after party that Harry’s management was hosting. Hera would join eventually – Harry still hasn’t seen her since the show ended, and she wanted to know what she was waiting for, if there was something worth waiting for.

Hera felt the vibration against her backside, pulling her phone out of her pocket and instantly scolding herself for the smile that spread across her lips the moment she saw his name flash across her screen. Come to 117, the text read. Hera looked around the arena, scanning the sections for the number in the message, a wide grin spreading across her face when she saw Harry standing at the edge of the stairwell, waving towards her. Hera walked across the empty arena, climbing the stairs to get to him, their features mimicking the same smile – a smile that read, I’m happy I’m with you. Hera and Harry sat together in silence for a while, watching as the heavy walls of metal were carried away from the floor and the arena was left to be cleaned. Harry knew that this was sort of a ritual for Hera, and he wanted to respect the silence, the thoughts she was going through. Harry couldn’t stop staring at her though, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he wanted to kiss her.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t mean nearly as much coming from someone like me,’ Hera starts, her hands fidgeting nervously on her thighs as she breaks the comfortable silence between them, ‘you know, because we haven’t known each other that long, but I, I really want to tell you that you should be really proud of yourself, for everything. Seeing you on stage, Harry, it is just magnetic. I feel really lucky that you’re my friend. I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you.’

Harry felt like his heart had inched its way into his throat, the tears welling in his eyes enough to make him tuck his chin to his chest and take a moment to breathe before saying anything in return. ‘Hera, I, you know what, that actually means more coming from you than you realize.’

‘Thank you for taking a chance on me, Harry. I, I can’t believe how much this has changed my life, in the very best way,’ she admitted softly, not daring to lift her head from her chest.

‘Thank you for taking a chance on me, too, Hera.’ Hera loved the way Harry says her name, so sweet and gentle, like it is something so delicate and needing to be nurtured with every syllable.

Hera could feel Harry’s eyes on her, the way there was a magnetic something pulling her to look at him, even just for a second, to meet his eyes and see that he’s smiling just as wide as he had when she walked in the room earlier, like he was happiest to see her there with him. Hera lifted her face from her hands, turning her face ever so slightly, and in a nanosecond, Hera’s entire life changed. Harry’s hands cupped her cheeks, his mouth so soft and delicate on hers. Hera could memorize the way he tasted – exactly as she thought, peppermint and sweetness, just like honey – the way his mouth fit so perfectly against hers, his mouth so soft against hers. Hera wanted it to last forever, the feeling that she felt in her stomach, the way the butterflies were swirling everywhere and anywhere, looking for somewhere to go. Hera wanted to feel it more, and more.

Harry’s thumbs rubbed her cheek when he gently pulled away, the smile indented into his features mirrored on Hera. Hera giggled quietly, turning around, and leaning back into her seat, Harry following suit, the two of them sitting quietly in their seats, watching as the stage slowly worked its way into simply metal sheets. Hera and Harry continued sharing stolen glances, not daring to utter the first word. Hera didn’t know what to say! Nothing could possibly follow that.

Harry laughed breathily, ‘I would like to do that again. Very soon.’

Hera could feel her cheeks brightening with a very intense blush, ‘I think that would be a really smart idea. Definitely.’ Hera sits for another moment or two without saying anything, and then breaks the silent, ‘How long are you going to wait around here? Jeff has an after party going for you, you know.’

‘I’m going to stay a while; I just want to soak it all in.’

‘Okay,’ Hera sighs, reluctantly standing on her feet and shifting her weight from side to side nervously, unsure of what she wants to do next. ‘I think I’m going to meet Isla at the party before she comes looking for me.’

‘Better do that,’ Harry laughs, standing on his feet and rocking on his heels. Harry can feel Hera staring at him, and he wants to know what she’s thinking. Harry always wants to know what she’s thinking. He swallows his nerves and turns to face her, Hera’s eyes already on him, staring very intently.

‘I should go.’

‘You should.’

Hera smiles, mentally counting to three like her best friend taught her and then says the very thing on her mind, exactly what she’s thinking. ‘I probably shouldn’t kiss you.’

Harry grins, ‘Oh, you really shouldn’t do that. Like at all.’ Harry can’t hide the way his smile is getting wider just looking at her.

Hera sucks in an encouraging breath and lays her hands on his chest, leaning onto her toes ever so slightly to lay her lips on his. Harry immediately circles his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest, tightening his grip on her. Hera smiles against him, breaking their kiss, her mouth continuing to stay on his as she breathes, ‘I should go.’

‘Stay.’

Hera kisses Harry, again. And again. And again, once more. ‘No, no, I really have to go; you don’t know Isla like I do, and she will come and find me and embarrass me in front of you. Not on purpose, she just has that tendency, as much as I adore her.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

“Will I see you at the party?’

‘I should probably be there.’

Hera smiled widely, nodding her head and she slowly backed away towards the stairs, her eyes not breaking from his. ‘I’ll see you.’ Harry nodded, smiling at her, feeling the way his heart kept beating rapidly in his chest. Hera turned around and started walking away, the butterflies swirling around so far into her chest and her throat that she thought she might be sick with excitement. Hera never felt that way before, the way she felt when she touched him, when she kissed him. Hera swore that it felt like it would never go away.

And it hasn’t.

Harry’s finger drags along the side of her face lightly, “What are you thinking about? You look lost in a memory.” Harry wants to know what she’s thinking about, everything going on inside her mind. He believes he could live there, inside Hera’s mind, if she only would let him inside.

Hera smiles, laying her head on his chest, breathing in his scent, and listening to the sound of his heartbeat against her ear, his hand gently rubbing circles onto her bare back, “I was.”

“Good memory? Looks like you were remembering a good one,” he whispers against her hair, kissing her head sweetly. Harry looks out into the cocktail hour, everyone mingling and talking, Isla and Beau taking their photographs for their wedding album and their families happily sharing drinks and stories with each other. Harry felt content like this, standing in the corner with Hera in his arms, simply talking and holding her with him. “I hope it was a good one, baby.”

“Very good one, in my humble opinion,” she smiles, tilting her head slightly to meet his intense stare, the emerald hue of his eyes seeming brighter under the fading sunlight. “Our first kiss, the final night of your tour. I just, I feel the same way when I kiss you, now – butterflies and all. I know that this sounds silly and a bit naïve but, that’s how I know you’re it for me. I never want the butterflies to go away, Harry, and truthfully, I don’t think they ever will.” Harry smiles widely, his hand cupping her cheek tilting her head ever so slightly to make their mouths meet in the middle, kissing her over and over again in sweet kisses. Hera giggles and Harry pulls away only slightly. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that, though. I will deny it until I’m blue in the face.”

Harry nudges his nose against hers with a breathy laugh, whispering, “My lips are sealed tight, honey. Obviously, I wouldn’t want you turning blue. Need you living and breathing and happy at all times.” Harry stays like that for a moment, simply hovering above her lips. He hasn’t told her outright that he understands the feeling, that his stomach tightens, and his heart squeezes every time she looks at him, even if she’s only giving him a faint smile from far away. He knows, though, that the way they’re looking at each other right now, the way she’s holding onto him, they don’t need to say the words to know exactly how they’re feeling. “You’re happy, aren’t you, Hera?”

Hera stays silent, trying to remember this moment in time, where nearly everything feels right and perfect. Harry is such a gentle person, so good to her, in so many ways, and there is so much she wants to say to him, to thank him for, to tell him to make sure he knows just how much she loves him. Hera is sure that the way she’s looking at him could relay such thoughts, but she wants to say it to him in words, to really be vulnerable – something she is working on. Hera smiles at him, kissing his cheek sweetly before saying, “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Harry wants to say something, something to share how much he adores her. He always has all these emotions and thoughts swirling around in his imagination when it comes to Hera, so many things he wants to tell her about what he’s thinking, but something always seems to get in the way. Hera seems comfortable with the silence that they’re soaking in, her arms tucked beneath his jacket and around his waist, his fingers delicately drawing along the magnolia tree tattooed along the center of her spine. Harry is comfortable staying here with her, waiting for her to be ready to tell him whatever she’s thinking, and maybe that will open the door for him to say what he's thinking, as well – to finally tell her how much it means to him to be here with her, to have her in his arms. Harry’s memories of their most heartbreaking moments have made him hyperaware of how lucky he is today, to be standing here with her in his arms, that she found her way back to him. Harry wants her to know that he feels just as lucky to be holding her.

Hera lifts her head slightly to look around the corner, loosely attempting to see where all of their friends have gathered for the remainder of the photographs during the cocktail hour. “Harry?” Harry hums in response, lost in his thoughts, kissing her forehead to encourage her to continue. “I think we’re missing the photographs we’re meant to be in. I’m pretty sure all of our friends are over there already. I’m a dead woman if I’m not in those pictures.”

“Isla is going to kill us,” Harry murmurs with a breathy laugh, pushing himself off the wall and taking Hera’s hand, lacing their fingertips together and walking hurriedly to the opposite section of the property where all of their friends were collecting together to begin taking their group photographs. Hera clutches the side of her dress, hurrying to keep along with Harry’s pace as they speed over to where the pictures are being taken. Harry attempts to charm their friend, although as soon as they are in eyesight, they are receiving plenty of stern stares, “Hi, Isla.”

“Nice of you to join us, Harry.” Harry laughs at Isla’s remark, apologizing to the photographer and nudging Hera inside the grouping. Hera takes her bouquet and holds it proudly in front of her chest, leaning into Isla and smiling brightly with the flashes of the camera. “Have you talked to Harry?” Isla mumbles to Hera under her breath, nearly inaudible to Hera herself, Isla’s mouth pinned in a wide smile as the photographer takes the pictures of the large gathering of friends.

“Not yet,” Hera hums, swallowing thickly when someone calls her name, a sigh of relief passing through her lips when an assistant signals for her to brush her hair away from her shoulder for the remaining photographs. “I will when the time is right. I don’t want to ruin the way things are going, right now. Harry knows I’ll tell him everything.” Isla looks at Hera solemnly, as though to say, I hope you’re right. Hera tucks away her nerves in the back of her brain, saving it for another day.

“Lovely, everyone!” the photographer interrupts, drawing the girls’ attention away from their private conversation and centered back on the photographer. “Isla and Hera, I’d like to grab your portraits, now. Once we’re done with you two separately, we’ll add in Beau and Harry.”

Isla and Hera maneuver every which way for their photographs, Beau and Harry coming in every so often to adjust the trains of the dresses in the way that they know their significant other would appreciate. Isla stands closely to Hera, hugging her tightly, the genuine smile on her lips as they stare at each other silently saying just how happy she is to be experiencing this day with her best friend by her side, something that always knew would be special, but feeling it now – there’s nothing quite like this. Isla’s eyes well with her own sentiment, a breathy laugh passing through as she says, “I’m so happy you’re my best friend.”

Hera wipes the tears that instantly slip down her cheeks, gently setting the bouquet on the ground near her feet and wrapping her arms tightly around Isla, squeezing her into her chest. Isla hands her bouquet off to Beau, wrapping her arms around her waist, the two holding each other as close as physically possible as silent tears fall down their skin. “You’re my very best friend, La La.”

“And it’ll always be that way, whether I’m married or not, okay? Hera, you can count on me, always, every single time. I’ll always be there for you.” Isla sucks in a breath that travels all the way to her edge of the lungs. All of these words feel so heavy, so meaningful. “You’re my best friend for life, you know.”

Hera pulls away to look at Isla. “And you’re mine.”

Hera’s eyes haze over as she stares adoringly at her very best friend; Isla is the only person, the very first person, Hera had ever considered to be a genuine friend, someone that she could confide in and share the darkest parts of her life with, and Isla, since the very first day, has made Hera feel like she was worth something greater, that she is never a burden, that she is always enough. Having a friend like that, it’s simply once in a lifetime.

Harry and Isla talked about what this would be like before the wedding day officially arrived. Harry knew that Hera would chalk her emotions to the jet lag, flying from Harry’s last stadium show to the wedding destination, going straight into the rehearsal dinner and the wedding without any recovery time, instead of what is actually bothering her, like Harry and Isla really know. Isla knew that the only one besides her that Hera would want to be with her would be Harry, and they coordinated enough time in between the introductions and the first dance to give Hera a minute to enjoy the party before she would begin feeling overwhelmed and need to leave. Isla didn’t mind. Isla knew why Hera felt the way she did, and why she would have to leave for a minute, but Harry knew that he would likely have to tell her that it’s okay, whatever she’s feeling, and it would take a minute before she’s ready to go back inside. Harry was preparing himself to feel all of these emotions with her, to be there for her, in any way he could be.

Hera must’ve known it was coming. Hera must’ve known that the announcement was coming because she immediately grabbed Harry’s hand on her thigh and intertwined their fingers, her gaze falling to where their hands are connected and tracing over his knuckles, trying to calm herself down without making anyone aware of the way she was beginning to worry and panic on the inside. Harry noticed immediately, though, as he always does. Harry slid his chair closer to hers, sliding his hand out from hers and wrapping it around her shoulder, his thumb brushing beneath her hair and slowly rubbing the back of her neck soothingly. His other hand laid gently on her thigh, allowing her to return to her centralized focus on brushing over the nerves of his hand. Harry could tell that it was getting worse by the second, and he needed to get her out of there quickly.

“Come outside with me for a minute, baby? Need to get some fresh air,” Harry whispers in Hera’s ear, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of her hand as she stares at the satin fabric of her dress, the anxiety written into her mannerisms only visible to him. Hera swallows, and Harry is sure that she is swallowing back tears, looking at him with gratitude and indescribable heartache. Harry stands from the table, ignoring the looking eyes of their friends, and holds out his hand, intertwining his fingers with Hera’s as they swiftly walk out of the reception and into the cocktail area where the only sounds that they can hear are the hum of the music vibrating through the tent. Hera waits a moment before looking at him, sucking in a deep breath, a breath that Harry’s sure burned all the way down, his heart immediately breaking when he sees the well of tears waiting for permission to fall down her cheeks. Harry immediately pulls Hera into his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders, kissing her head sweetly. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you, now. You’re okay, H. I promise. You’re safe, Hera.”

Hera squeezes her arms around his waist, her chest falling with the heavy breath released through her lips. Hera’s been holding her breath for minutes, sucking in every emotion and trying to calm herself, but hearing those words come from him, feeling the safety of being wrapped in his arms, Hera knows that it’s true, that what he’s saying means something, especially to her. Hera’s cheeks are wet when she finally tilts her head to look at him. Harry is staring at her, with eyes full of love and compassion, and he isn’t angry, nor is he upset in the slightest. Hera smiles softly, and all that she can think about is the very first time she realized she was in love with him.

Hera and Harry had only been together a short while, maybe two or three weeks shy of six months, when Harry met Dalia and John. Harry knew it was nerve-wracking for Hera, especially since meeting her mother and father had been the cause of such a significant fight – their very first fight. Harry hadn’t really realized what meeting Dalia and John would entail, the emotional toll it would take on Hera to just be in the same room as the two. Harry assumed, like anyone, there were things that they disagreed upon, maybe even argued over, but Harry did not anticipate what he would witness within seconds of walking into the household.

Hera, although she did her very best to warn him, immediately shut down, her voice becoming nearly inaudible and her hands clasping together inside her sweater to avoid her mother from seeing her shake with anxiety. Harry, who noticed the instant shift in demeanor, did his very best to impress her mother and father despite this, who seemingly only had terrible things to say about their only daughter. Harry desperately tried to be a comfort to Hera as they stayed in the house and the minutes passed, holding her hand and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles, the shock and anger rising in his body as he listened to her mother speak such cruel words about her daughter to him, her father ignoring every comment, completely disregarding that she was their only child. Harry thought it must’ve been a test, a test he wasn’t quite sure of what regard, but it must have been, because who would ever speak so lowly of their child? Harry and Hera suffered through harsh remarks and commentary through dinner, questions of why Harry would be with someone like Hera, comments that he would be better off with someone else. Harry argued against them, but it was clear in their eyes that their minds wouldn’t ever change, and Harry suddenly understood why Hera was so against him meeting them, why she wouldn’t speak about her family. How could she? How could she ever share stories about her family when this is how she grew up? Harry understood, now, but it was too late.

Hera, as soon as they finished washing up after dinner, immediately showed him to the bedroom where he would sleep for the night – he would sleep in the guest room across from her bedroom – and when he shut the door quietly behind them, Hera said, ‘Do you see? Do you see why I didn’t want to bring you here?’ Harry wanted to comfort her, to dry the tears on her cheeks. Hera held up her hand and kept him at a distance. ‘I never wanted you to see this part of me, to hear these things. I’m not ashamed of you, Harry. I could never be ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of me.’ Harry swore he’s never felt so ignorant, so ashamed of the way he behaved, Hera could see it all over his face. Hera swallowed down the remaining tears, wiping her face and adjusting the cuffs of her sweater around her hands, ‘I’ll meet you downstairs at eight; we’re leaving first thing in the morning.’ Harry asked if he could come into her room when her parents had gone to sleep, just to lay with her for a while. Hera nodded solemnly, sadly, wiping her eyes one last time and turning on her heel, walking out of the bedroom and into her childhood bedroom, the tears beginning to fall before she could even shut her door.

Hera’s door creaked open quietly, just barely audible to her ears, and she knows who it is. Harry climbs in the bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and encasing her in his warmth, kissing the back of her neck and saying, ‘I don’t want you coming back here. I won’t ever ask you to come back here, Hera.’ Hera can feel the embarrassment heating her cheeks, and she’s suddenly happy that they’re in the dark, that she’s hidden away from where he could see her reaction to his words. Harry’s kind, thoughtful, but a bit naïve if he really thinks that she’ll never have to come back to her mother and father’s home again. It’s never that easy. Life is never that easy. Harry must’ve felt the way she tensed at his words, because quickly he followed with, ‘You have a family, now, Hera. Isla, Beau, Grant, Matty. You have me, H. You have me. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need this in your life, anymore.’ Hera wipes her eyes, the tears falling fast and uncontrollably. Hera says that she doesn’t want to speak anymore, that she just wants to fall asleep. Harry nods sadly, kissing the back of her neck and gently rubbing his thumb over the curve of her shoulder, caressing her skin as soothingly as possible. Harry never wanted to see her this way, so visibly distraught and unhappy, and he’s finally seen what does it, the root behind all of these nerves and insecurities and trauma. Harry never wants her to experience this again. Not if there’s something he can do or say to get in the way of it.

Hera is waiting for him promptly at eight, overnight bag clutched between her hands, keys dangling around her neck. Harry closes the door to the guest room quietly, checking one final time to make sure that everything looked exactly as he found it – the last thing he wanted was for her parents, specifically her mother, to blame her for the room being messy – before walking down the stairs and setting his bag on the floor. ‘Are you ready?’ Harry asked, Hera’s quick nod and a flick of her eyes towards the kitchen telling him that they’ll need to say goodbye. Harry nods, clutching her hand in his tightly and walking into the kitchen side by side, the weight of his hand in hers seemingly calming the nerves the were causing her other hand to shake.

‘Mum, we have to head out early,’ Hera said quietly, bravely releasing Harry’s hand and stepping forward, daring to reach out to her father who is sitting at the head of the table on his computer, likely working. He doesn’t even look twice in Hera’s direction, although she does her best to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in an awkward hug. He nods without looking at her or squeezing her arm in return, or even offering to stand and hug her properly. Hera swallows thickly, tears forming in her eyes, the walk to her mother a walk of shame, without any comfort or sincerity. Dalia doesn’t hug her. ‘I will talk to you soon.’

‘You’ll call me later, June.’

‘I’ll call you later, Mum.’

Harry steps forward and offers his hand to her father, who eyes him first before extending out his hand and shaking his roughly, saying, ‘Nice to meet you,’ in the gruffest tone possible. Harry moves to her mother next, thanking her for allowing him to stay and for the dinner that she made. Dalia looks at Harry with an almost sincerity, a near kindness, and says, ‘I hope to see you, again. Understandable if not.’ Harry knows that this is not a reflection on her own behavior, but rather she feels a reflection of her daughter, and possibly her daughter’s inability to maintain a relationship with someone like Harry, which is absolutely absurd to him.

Harry turns on his heel, holding his hand out for Hera to take, sighing in relief – it’s over now – and sticking his spare hand in his pocket as he takes their overnight bags and opens the front door, staying close behind Hera as she makes her way towards the car, head tucked to her chest and voice quiet. Harry sticks their bags in the backseat before climbing into the driver’s side, turning the engine on, and pulling out the driveway swiftly before turning to look at Hera. Hera’s eyes are wet with tears, bright red and slightly puffy, the tears streaming down her cheeks so quickly that he doesn’t think she would be able to wipe them away if she tried. Harry reaches over to grab her hand, his heart sinking into the depths of his stomach when Hera shakes her head and pushes his hand away, turning her body slightly to face out the window and away from him. Hera doesn’t say anything for a while, not until they’re nearing the exit for their respective homes. ‘Can you take me home?’ she muttered shamefully, turning her head ever so slightly to see where their bags were in the backseat. Hera reaches through the console and grabs her backpack to bring it on her lap. ‘I just want to go home.’

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He knows that all of this is his fault, these emotions and this heavy feeling weighing on his chest and the visible shift in her demeanor is because of something he fought for, something he fought for but didn’t understand. Harry doesn’t know if Hera is going to speak to him after this; if she will cut him out of her life and never utter another word to him. He couldn’t blame her, if that’s what she wanted, truth be told. After seeing what Hera goes through with her mother and father, it’s not surprising whatsoever that she didn’t want to introduce him to her family. Hera doesn’t have grandparents and siblings to support her when times are tough with her mother and father. It’s Dalia and John. That’s all Hera has, and they don’t even like her. Harry was so very wrong for pushing her into seeing them, and he wishes he could take it back, that he could erase the last twenty-four hours from their story, from Hera’s memory. That’s not something Harry can do though.

And now, Harry has to face the consequences.

Harry pulls into Hera’s driveway silently, parking the car and turning off the engine slowly, turning his body to face Hera in the passenger seat as she unlocks the car and gestures to get out. Harry grabs her wrist lightly, encouraging her to look at him. Harry’s voice is gentle when he says, ‘I am so sorry, Hera.’

‘Not your fault. You didn’t know.’

‘It is my fault. You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. I pushed you, and I regret doing that. I am sorry, for all of this.’

Hera looks at Harry, and then looks to her home. Inside that townhome, it’s safe. No one can hurt her there. Hera has control over who comes and who goes, and she knows that she’s far enough away that her mother and father will likely never come to see her. Hera knows that she is safe when she steps inside, and she will be able to calm herself down and feel every emotion that she needs to. Inside that townhome, Hera is home, or whatever that is supposed to feel like. Inside that townhome, the house isn’t burning, there isn’t even smoke. Hera can breathe.

‘I think I need a bit of space, Harry.’ Harry swallows thickly, and through her peripheral vision, Hera can tell that his heart has sunk to the depths of his stomach, all by demeanor. ‘I just, I need to be alone for a few days, okay? I’ll call you.’ Hera leans over and kisses his cheek before climbing out of the car, walking to her front door, and getting herself inside, not stopping for a second to look at Harry or the way his fists have tightened against the steering wheel. Hera can breathe when she gets inside, she can feel every emotion and let the tears fall.

And that’s exactly what she does.

Hera didn’t speak to Harry for three days. Although, that doesn’t mean Harry hasn’t reached out to her. Hera can’t respond, not now. Hera assumes that he’s still speaking to her out of pity, which is the last thing she wants from a partner or relationship. Hera doesn’t need anyone to pity her or sympathize with her situation. Hera needs people in her life that remind her that she’s not any of the things her mother claims her to be, and Hera especially needs people in her life that will love her despite those things.

Isla didn’t wait for the invitation. Isla came over the very next morning with coffee and chocolate chip muffins and a hug that only your best friend could give you. Isla and Hera talked about everything, about the things that were said, about the way Harry responded, about the way Hera misses him, even though it’s only been a few days without speaking to him. Hera knows that she needs to figure out how she’s feeling, what she wants to say and how she wants to go about her relationship with him from here on out, if there is even a relationship to talk about. Isla assures her that Harry is going to be there, that he loves her, even though they haven’t said the words out loud, and Hera wants to believe her, quite desperately, if she’s honest. Harry is the first person in her life that has made her feel like there’s a way out of the burning house of her life. Harry and Isla. And Hera is beginning to feel like if she doesn’t have them in her life, that she’s going to be stuck forever.

Isla left on the morning of the fourth day. Isla left with the encouragement of telling Hera to reach out to him, to speak to him, and to tell him how she’s feeling about everything. Hera thought about it, really thought about it, but the idea of telling him all the bad parts of her life is just too intimidating, too much, and she knows that no one really wants to hear that. Hera would rather bundle it inside, tuck it away in the deepest parts of her brain, and think about it as little as possible. Her feelings are safe that way.

Hera is barely getting out of the shower when there’s knocking on her front door. Her hair is in a towel, her most comfortable clothes clinging loosely to her body. Her mind wanders to who it could be, who could possibly be showing up at her doorstep. Isla just left. Matty is out of town. Harry hasn’t texted her today, likely giving up since she hasn’t responded in nearly a week. That leaves very few people who know where she lives and would want to see her. Hera swallows back her nerves and opens the door, her whole heart swelling into the size of a balloon in her chest when she sees Harry standing there, head tucked against his chin. Harry looks nervous, maybe even shy, and he doesn’t even have to say a word before Hera is rushing to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and hugging him tightly. Hera clutches his sweatshirt in her fists, his arms circling around her shoulders and holding her to him, his head tucking into the side of her face.

‘I’ve got you, baby,’ Harry whispers into her ear, and Hera can feel the tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.’ Hera nods against him, tears staining his sweater. Harry carefully moves them inside, closing the door behind him and holding her even tighter, not daring to have her move. He gently pulls the towel from her hair, her curls falling limply around her face. Harry pushes the stray hairs away from her forehead and kisses her skin. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I wanted to give you space like you asked for.’ Hera nods, her voice caught her in throat. Hera doesn’t know what to say; no one has ever been this way with her, cared for her this much. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. ‘I just, I want you to know, Hera, that I don’t think any differently of you. I don’t think any of those things that were said are true. I care about you, and there are so many people in your life that care and love you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. You have a family, Hera. I would like to be a part of it.’

‘Harry, we haven’t even been together for that much time. I, there are so many things about me that you don’t know yet and I just, I don’t know if you want to do that,’ Hera says, the doubt swimming in her brain. How could Harry say that so soon? How could Harry say that he wants to be in her family, in her chosen family, barely six months after they’ve been together? How could anyone know this early? ‘I don’t want you to say this and then regret it in a month.’

‘I could never regret knowing you, Hera.’

Hera looks at Harry, then, pulling away from his chest and leaning her chin against his sternum, their eyes meeting in a glossy stare. His thumb runs along the side of her face, something she’s noticed he does every so often, many times when he thinks she’s asleep. He smiles at her, ever so slightly, the smallest pull at the corner of his lips. Had Hera not been staring, she doesn’t think she would have noticed, but she’s happy she did. His smile feels like a weight lifted from her chest, a light in the darkest tunnel. Hera swallows, admiring the way his arm is secure around her, holding her to him, his thumb continuing its journey around the perimeter of her face. Hera knows something is different about this. Hera has loved so many people before Harry. Hera has loved Isla, and Matty, and Beau. Hera even loves her mother and father, despite everything. Hera loves her career; the way music makes her feel. Hera’s feelings about Harry, though, are something entirely different. It’s the butterflies when Harry says her name. It’s the way she wants to swallow back tears every time Harry delicately drags his finger over her face. It’s the excitement every time Harry’s name is mentioned. It’s the way time seemingly stops when Harry walks in the room. It’s all of those things and more, every single time Harry is involved.

And in that moment, Hera realizes, Harry isn’t just the man she’s in a relationship with, or a friend. Harry isn’t just someone that she loves like she loves everyone else. Harry is the man Hera is in love with.

“Hi, my love.” Harry doesn’t have to say much for Hera to feel the way his love is pouring through him. It’s always like this, and Hera has a feeling it will always be like this.

“Hi,” Hera whispers, smiling softly when Harry’s thumbs rub beneath her eyes, drying the tears that fell absentmindedly down her cheeks. “I’m in love with you. You know that?”

“I was surely hoping so,” Harry smirks, leaning down ever so slightly to brush his nose against hers, his hands cupping her cheeks sweetly, encouraging her to tilt her head just enough for his mouth to meet hers. “Dance with me, H.”

“Can barely hear the music out here,” she says, turning her face just enough to kiss his palm against her cheek. “I’ll always dance with you, though.”

Harry steps back, holding out his hand, bowing slightly for dramatics. Hera giggles, giving Harry her hand and immediately wrapping her arm around his shoulders, his hand clutching hers and his opposite hand holding her lower back, her body tight against his, chest to chest. Harry lays his forehead on hers, swaying quietly to the hum of the music that’s vibrating from the reception. Hera can imagine what it will be like when they get married, when their favorite songs are playing and they’re dancing in the middle of the floor, Harry’s arms around her, a new ring that she slid on his finger adorning his hand, a ring that says they’ll be together forever. Hera can imagine watching Harry dance with his mother to a special song, admiring her newly named husband with the woman who raised him to be the man she loves.

“I can’t wait to see you dance with your mother at our wedding,” Hera says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper as they stay close together, the sun setting over the horizon.

“Hera, I don’t have to dance with Mum. Our wedding doesn’t have to have all these traditional things, you know. I want you to be comfortable and happy on our wedding day.”

“I want to see you dance with your mother, Harry. I want to see you dance with the woman who raised the man I love. Hell, maybe I’ll dance with your mother, too, since she will be my mother, too, after all.”

Harry looks at Hera with admiration, “I’m absolutely enamored by you, Hera. You continue to amaze me, every single day. You are absolutely beautiful, inside and out.”

“Mean that?” Harry nods, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, kissing her sweetly under the setting sun. He doesn’t need to say anything else; Hera knows. “Harry?”

“Yes, H?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Harry grins – this is one of his favorite things that they do, the secrets that they share, because he knows that what he’s about to be told is something no one else on the planet knows about his love, it’s a secret that is given to him to cherish and guard with his life – and nods excitedly, “Always, my heart. Tell me a secret.”

“I saw something the other day, a video, and the woman was talking about trauma and how everyone is born into a different house. There are people that are lucky. Their house is safe, warm, loving. Their house is where they go to escape the world, to find comfort. Their house is made of their family and the people they love most. I think you were born into that kind of house, Harry.” Hera pauses, gathering all of her thoughts and taking a deep breath in, taking all of her courage, and willing herself to continue. Harry sways, his hand continuing to hold hers tightly against his chest as they dance to the music, his eyes locked on her in concentration. “There are people that are quite unlucky with their house, though. I would say I am one of those people.” Harry kisses Hera’s forehead. “Houses like mine, they’re in flames my whole life. Always on fire. Always something wrong or going wrong and I never had anyone to lean on, to teach me, to comfort me. I was always alone.” Harry’s thumb escapes their intertwined hands to brush a tear away from her cheek. “Isla, Isla brought me to a window. Isla brought me to a window in that house, and I felt like I could catch my breath. Matty, for a long time, also brought me to a window. Even Grant, for a while. My friends, they became the only people in my life that could help me breathe.” Hera feels like the words are spilling without any thought, now, flowing freely and telling Harry everything she’s wanted to tell him for so long. “And then I met you.” Harry stops swaying for a moment, just to look at her. “Harry, you brought me out of the burning house. I, I have never felt like I could breathe so safely, like I could see what my life was like from the outside. And when I’m with you, I can see it clearly. I can see everything. And I can see the people that bring good into my life.” Hera swallows back tears and looks at Harry softly, “And you, Harry, you bring so much good.” Harry smiles, his eyes wet with tears. “I know I was lost for a while, and I wandered back inside without you, and that was pure hell, Harry. I never want to go back into that house. I want to be with you, where it’s safe. I want to be with you, and with Isla, and with the people that care about me and love me.” Harry is crying now, too. “I just, I know that my heart led me to you, and life, or the universe or whatever you want to believe, led me to you, and I am so grateful you saved me from that house.”

Harry’s hand around Hera’s waist squeezes her impossibly tighter to his body, their intertwined hands moving from above his heart to under her chin, tilting her head just enough to have their mouths meet in a kiss. Harry kisses Hera deeply, a love professed between their lips and their tongues, words spoken without ever uttering a sound. Harry knows that in this moment, in the world that surrounds them, it is only Hera and Harry. It’s them. It’s Hera and Harry and their love and their adoration for one another, for everything that they have been through. Harry doesn’t need to know everything, right now, all the things that he’s been waiting to hear about his honey, about the love of his life. Hera’s secret, this little look into her life, into how she sees him, is enough. Knowing this about her is enough, for now.

“Always tell me secrets like that, Hera. Can you tell me another?”

“Maybe later,” Hera hums, her fingertips brushing his hair away from his forehead sweetly. “I think we should probably get back in there. It’s almost time for your speech.”

“Nearly forgot I had to do one of those,” Harry smirks, kissing Hera’s cheek before twirling her under his arm and intertwining their hands at his side, walking into the reception without drawing any attention. Hera moves to sit in her chair, a frown from Harry making her laugh. “You’re much too far from me.” Harry grabs the edge of her seat and pulls her closer to him, a stream of laughter falling into the air.

“I’m sitting right next to you! I’m barely a meter away!” Hera is giggling when Harry tucks his face in her neck, kissing her lightly. “You have a speech to give. Don’t get distracted.”

“Much too far, H. I need you around me, always.”

Hera looks at Harry lovingly, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him, barely more than a second or two, but something, a bit of encouragement for his speech that they are now calling him to say. Harry stands on his feet, leaning down and kissing Hera’s head before walking towards where Isla and Beau are seated and taking the microphone from the lead singer of the band, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks between their friends and his lover staring at him expectantly. Harry brings the microphone to his lips, coughing dramatically to draw everyone’s attention.

“Hi. My name is Harry, and I am the reason we’re all here to celebrate the happy couple, tonight, not that anyone should take credit. It is because of me, though.” Harry laughs and turns to Isla and Beau for a moment before looking back at the entire reception. “Isla and Beau met on Halloween nearly four years ago at a party that I invited Isla and Hera to. Long story short, I spilled beer all over Isla and led her right into the arms, and mouth, of Mr. Beau Del Moore. It was something of a whirlwind, watching the two of them fall in love, because it happened as I was also falling in love.” Hera blushes as Harry looks over at her, their eyes meeting for only a second before he’s scanning over the array of people in the hall. Harry is good at sharing his attention, but Hera knows that if he could, he would only be staring at her and their friends. “Over the last few years, there have been double dates and holidays together and parties and all the things that couples do with their friends, and I have had the privilege of watching them fall in love more and more as the days have passed. I have grown to call each of them a friend, a best friend at that, and they have taught me something invaluable: the gift of time. Isla, from the moment we met, never wasted a minute of time not sharing how she feels or what she thinks, even if I don’t want to hear it, many times when I don’t want to hear it, actually. Beau, ever the proper fellow, has never wasted a moment not doing something he loves, or doing exactly what he thinks is right. And together, the two have never wasted a single second not sharing their love for each other. Time goes by fast, faster than we think. In the blink of an eye things can change, people break up, people move away, people get married and have babies and you name it, it will happen. Before you know it, years have passed, and you can’t remember why you did certain things. But what you do know, is that you’ve wasted that time. I came here today with a different speech, more jokes, and a little less sentiment, but it didn’t seem right, it didn’t feel like something I should say to the people that have taught me so much about time and not wasting it. And so, I don’t want to waste your time, and I certainly don’t want to waste theirs.” Harry turns towards Isla and Beau. “I will leave you with this, Isla and Beau, I am forever grateful for the way you have let me in to see your love story, the way you continue to cherish every minute you have together, and I look forward to seeing all the things you two do with your time together. You are starting a life together, a life of love and happiness and kindness, and I look forward to seeing how you to continue to make the most of the time you have in this lifetime and the next.”

Isla stands from her seat at the table, rushing over to hug Harry, their bodies swaying back and forth as she squeezes him, tears welling in her eyes. “That was a really nice speech, Harry. You nailed it. I mean it. I love you. You’re one of my best friends.”

“You’re one of mine, too, Isla. I wouldn’t be with Hera if it wasn’t for you. I owe you my life, pretty much. You can add that to my tab, too.”

Isla grins, stepping aside for Beau to have his turn. Isla pats Harry’s cheek before moving aside, smirking as she says, “And don’t you forget it.”

“That was better than I expected, H. Good speech, my friend. Thank you. Thank you for everything,” Beau smiles, pulling his friend into a hug and patting his cheeks playfully.

Harry smirks, handing the microphone back and walking back towards the table with Isla and Beau’s parents, and most importantly, his lover. Hera is talking to Genny and Lou, Genny’s hands cupping Hera’s cheeks as she gushes to her about something Harry can’t quite hear from where he is. He steps up behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder to tell her of his return. Genny smiles at him before turning around and walking back to her seat. Hera is grinning when she turns around, standing from her seat and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly to her. Harry tucks his face into her neck, “Did you like my speech?”

“I did, very much,” Hera smiles against his shoulder, pulling back to kiss his cheek. “Did you change your speech to add me into it?”

Harry smirks, his eyebrow quirking suggestively, “Why, oh why, would I ever do that, Hera? I would never do such a thing. I would never talk about falling in love with you in front of all of our friends. Nor would I ever talk about the fact that I never want to waste another minute with or without you. That’s simply absurd.” He kisses the shell of her ear sweetly, “How noticeable were the references to you? Just enough? Way too much?”

“Always just enough.” Hera slowly releases Harry from her hold, her hands holding the lapels of his suit jacket between her fingertips. “All that talk about wasted time makes me think about why we’re wasting our time standing here when we could be dancing.”

Harry chuckles, taking her hand from his chest and clutching it tightly, kissing her knuckles before stepping away from her, holding their hands out between them, “No more wasting time. I’ll always dance with you.”

Harry and Hera turn towards the stage when Isla calls for everyone’s attention. “I wanted to say a special thank you to the two people that have made this day so much easier on Beau and I, without these two, I definitely would’ve lost my mind, and I would’ve driven Beau crazy, so I certainly think a special thank you is in order. Hera and Harry, would you two come out on the dance floor with us, please?”

Hera looks at Harry questioningly, as if to ask if he knows what’s happening in that moment. Harry shakes his head, taking her hand and walking out to the center of the paneled flooring, Beau and Isla looking at the two with wide smiles on their faces. Harry looks to Beau, then to Isla, and suddenly, a song they all know far too well is starting to play.

You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.

Hera’s eyes immediately well with tears, “Isla!”

“You know I couldn’t celebrate my wedding day with you both if I didn’t play this song, Hera. It’s part of your story, of our story. You and I are going to tell our children all about how Harry and Beau embarrassed the hell out of themselves singing this to us in our living room, one day.”

“You are not telling our future children that Harry and I did that,” Beau says sternly, narrowing his eyes at his newly named wife, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as she looks at him expectantly.

“Oh, yes, we will be. What’s that thing that people say? Happy wife, happy life?”

“Are we going to talk the entire song?” Harry laughs, wrapping his arm around Hera’s waist and hugging her tightly, kissing her neck teasingly as he begins swaying side to side with her in his arms. “I would like to dance with my honey. This is our song, after all.”

Hera turns around in his arms, a smile spread so wide on her face that Harry swears it must hurt her cheeks. He wants to see her smile like this for the rest of his life. Hera grabs Harry’s hands and begins twirling, dancing happily and excitedly, the laughter echoing around the room from her and her best friends making Harry’s heart swell a million times in his chest, aching against his ribs.

I love you, baby! And if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby.

Hera and Isla dance around each other, taking each other’s hands and swaying around, their laughter playing loudly over the music. Harry and Beau smile at each other, taking Isla and Hera between them to swing and twirl beneath, the smiles on their faces enough to make the entire night worth these mere four minutes. Harry looks at Beau, unable to hide his thoughts any longer. Beau looks at Harry, then at Hera, and he knows exactly what his best friend is going to say, it’s written all over his face.

Harry leans on Beau’s shoulder, looking at Isla and Hera dancing together, giggling and swaying around the floor, his voice barely loud enough for Beau to properly hear him say, “I’m going to marry Hera, and I can’t wait for the day I do.”

Harry is trying to hold back his smile as Hera swallows down the circulating hiccups every thirty seconds or so the entire elevator ride to their hotel room. His hand is on her lower back, the key to the room clutched in his hand, her fingers quite small in comparison to his suit jacket that is falling over her arms and hands. Hera is wrapped around him entirely – if she could be closer, she would be – and Harry is happy to see her so happy, so relaxed; it’s not something he’s seen many times in the years he’s known her. Here, Hera doesn’t have to worry about Dalia and John, or the emails waiting for her in her inbox. Here, Hera is exactly who she wants to be, with exactly who she wants to be with. Harry, included in that.

Hera’s heels are hitting Harry’s thigh, the straps hanging loosely on Hera’s index finger as she walks slightly sideways in order to stay attached to his side. Harry laughs, kissing the top of her head and saying, “How are the hiccups, my love?”

Hera hiccups again before she can properly reply, earning a chuckle from Harry and a light smack his nearly bare chest, the buttons of his shirt mainly undone, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. “I’m okay, baby. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, Hera.” Harry doesn’t say it in terms of the moment, or merely in the time that they’re dating, Hera knows, even in the haze of insobriety. Hera knows that Harry means always, no matter what happens to the two of them. Harry unlocks the hotel suite, the door swinging open rather quickly as Hera takes a step inside, Harry urging her forward with his hand on her lower back. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you inside.”

“Harry?” Hera drawls sweetly, his name singing like honey from her lips. Harry knows what she’s going to ask for, it’s what she always asks for after they’ve been out for a while and they’re finally by themselves. Harry expects it. Truthfully, it’s Harry’s favorite part of going out.

“Get into the bathroom, Hera,” Harry smirks, toeing off his shoes by the door and turning the privacy bolt, shrugging off his halfway discarded shirt and trousers and laying them nicely over the chair. He knows Hera would scold him for wrinkling it tomorrow when she wakes up to pack their bags and Harry runs to grab their morning coffee. Hera smirks, sauntering into the bathroom after dropping her heels by their luggage, Harry’s suit jacket now discarded near the rest of their things. Hera stands in front of him, back to the mirror, her eyes slightly hazy and a tired smile permanently on her lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Is that even a question?”

“My secret isn’t so much a secret, I think. I just haven’t ever told you this,” Harry smiles, slowly beginning to take the pins out of Hera’s hair and lay each one on the side of the sink, his fingers gentle against her scalp, running his fingers through her curls gently. “I love that you only call me by my name. I love when you call me pet names, I would be silly not to, but I especially love when you call me by my name. It always sounds so different coming from you. I love the way it sounds when you say it.” Hera’s softened smile is enough, the slow blinks and sweet hums coming from her every so often making his heart swell as they speak quietly in the private of the en-suite, the whole world away from them. Only Hera and Harry in this room. “Can you turn around for me, baby? I’ll get you out of your dress.”

Hera turns around slowly, pulling her hair away from her neck and swallowing thickly as Harry gently pulls the zipper from her spine to the curve of her backside, his fingertips splaying out over her bare skin, his thumb moving to draw a line from the height of the magnolia tree to the very bottom, goosebumps rising against her skin. Harry kisses the back of her neck gently, and Hera can feel every ounce of alcohol leave her system, her senses hyper aware of his touch, the gentleness of the way he takes care of her. Hera wants to feel Harry’s skin on hers, desperately.

“I might need you to wear this dress, again, H.” His thumbs push the thin straps from her shoulders, the satin pooling around her ankles. Harry leans down and lifts the dress to hang it neatly on the hanger she had set earlier in the morning. Hera’s eyes can’t leave him. “Hop on the counter, I’ll take your makeup off.” Hera does as she’s told, watching as Harry walks towards her and slots himself between her thighs, his hands reaching around her to grab the makeup remover and pads that he’s watched her use every night for as long as he could remember. “Close your eyes.”

Hera desperately tries to steady her breathing, the swallow the nerves in her stomach. Harry’s seen her naked a million and one times. Harry’s touched her in every place that is visible to him – and the places that aren’t quite so easily seen – and there has never been a moment in time where she did not feel absolutely beautiful in his eyes. Nothing is different, so why is Harry standing this close to her, touching her so gently, naked chest to naked chest, breathing against her skin making her so nervous? Hera swallows audibly before saying, “I am realizing that I am very naked against you, right now. Only thing I have on is nude underwear on this counter.” Hera squints open one eye to scan over his body. “And the only thing you have on is your briefs. My favorite kind.”

“I’m aware,” Harry chuckles, his motions against her skin barely noticeable. His fingertips brush over her forehead, then her cheek, brushing over her eyes when they shut against her skin. “Nothing I haven’t seen, and very much enjoyed, before, Hera.” Harry pauses, then adds, “Nothing you haven’t seen, and very much enjoyed before, either.”

“You enjoy seeing me naked?”

“Every single time,” he says surely, pressing a momentary kiss to her mouth before cupping her cheek and gently rubbing the lipstick from her plush lips. “I would like to see you naked every day for the rest of my life. I would be a very happy man, if that were to be how I spend my days.” Harry runs his thumb over Hera’s naked mouth, her eyelashes laying flat against her cheeks as she sucks in a breath all the way to the deepest point in her lungs, trying to catch her breath. Hera’s eyes stay closed, basking in every sensation of Harry’s touch against her skin. “Hera?” Harry waits a moment for her to say something, only for her to nod silently. He smirks. “Can you look at me, H?” Her eyes open slowly, the glossy haze gone and the attention solely on his voice. “Can I love on you, baby?”

Hera nods hurriedly, her hands leaving the counter and grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer, a whimper leaving her throat as soon as Harry’s mouth meets hers, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His hands grip her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, her calves wrapping around his waist and holding him to her. His tongue slides along her bottom lip, the taste of champagne, whiskey, and peppermint lighting her sense on fire. He’s familiar and safe, something Hera’s always known. Harry is also igniting, exhilarating, a rushing feeling of love and a promise of a future that is bright. Hera accepts him easily, her hands finding comfort in the damp curls at the base of his neck. Her mind is lost in his touch, in the way his fingers are pushing into her waist and his mouth is heavy on hers. Hera loves the way this feels, the way his hands know exactly where to be.

“Need more of you, Hera. Need all of you, my sweet girl,” Harry mutters against her lips, the calling name making Hera moan into his mouth. Harry swallows the moan greedily, taking her whimpered, ‘uh huh’, as permission to carry her into the bedroom, the moonlight and the faint bathroom light leading him to the unmade bed in the center of the room. Harry lays her on the edge, getting onto his knees and tucking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, the dampened spot in the center of her thighs making his mouth tick into the cockiest smile. He tugs the underwear down her legs, the material landing haphazardly behind him. Harry leans upwards onto his knees, grabbing her ankles and laying her legs over his thighs, his mouth leaving open kisses along the inside of her legs. Harry knows exactly what makes her squirm and twist under him, and as much as he wants to see her do each of those things, he needs her to stay still. “Don’t move, Hera. Be good for me.” Hera grips onto the comforter and nods her head. “Tell me, Hera. Tell me that you’ll be a good girl and you won’t squirm away from me.”

“I’ll be a good girl,” Hera breathes out breathlessly, her head leaning back against the plush duvet as Harry kisses over her heat, barely touching her core as his mouth hovers over her. Hera wants to move, wants to push herself closer to his mouth, but she knows that Harry will stop whatever he’s doing if she doesn’t listen, and she really doesn’t want that. “Harry.” Hera can feel him smile against her, his tongue poking between his lips to steal the tiniest taste of her. Hera squeaks at the feeling, earning a teasing laugh from between her legs. Harry, without any warning, drags his finger along the outside of her heat, gently prying her open for his gaze. He loves this, seeing her dripping for him, for his touch. His tongue lays flat against her, collecting all of her arousal on his tongue and suckling on her nerves centered at the tip of his nose, the moans and whimpers leaving her spurring him on, encouraging him with every taste. “Harry, Harry.” Harry hums against her, earning a jump to her hips and a warning squeeze from his hands. Harry barely pulls away from devouring her, savoring in her taste and the way she smells, the feeling of her legs tightening around his shoulders. Harry’s fingers gently begin working their way inside of her, curling just enough to reach exactly where she wants, to earn the reaction he was waiting for – her hands in his hair, pulling at his curls. Hera is the same every time, the same reaction every time she’s near an orgasm, and Harry wants it.

Harry wants all of it.

“Give it to me, baby. I want to taste you.” Hera moans, pulling tightly on Harry’s curls and squeezing her thighs around him, her orgasm spilling over her body and onto his fingers. Harry pulls his fingers into his mouth, suckling at his fingertips until they’re clean, his mouth dipping back between her thighs and savor every sip of her orgasm. Harry kisses her inner thigh, standing on his feet and shucking his briefs across the floor, his body leaning over hers as she slowly blinks and refocuses her attention, a lazy smile on her lips. Harry smiles at her, kissing her sweetly. “Can you go for another, baby? Can you give me another?”

“Can you hold me?” Hera whispers almost inaudibly, a shy blush covering her cheeks. Harry knows exactly what she wants, and he is more than willing to give it to her whenever she asks. Hera knows this.

“I can never say no to you, Hera.”

Hera sits upright, waiting patiently for Harry to settle himself in the center of the mattress, pillows propped comfortably behind him, his hand wrapping around his cock, slick with spit, twisting and squeezing in right way to work himself perfectly, his thumb brushing over the brightened tip with a grunt. Hera moves towards him, swinging her thigh over his waist, sitting just behind where his hand his holding his shaft. Hera looks at him through hooded eyes, the dazed innocence making his entire body ignite with a fire that he’s only ever felt with her. Hera’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth parting slightly to let the digit inside, his tongue swirling around her before popping it out, her hand immediately replacing his and her wet thumb rubbing over his ruddy tip. Harry’s head knocks back against his neck with a grunt, a strangled sigh leaving his lips when Hera lifts herself up on her knees and rubs his cock against her core, the wetness swallowing him.

“Hera, baby, please.”

Hera smiles contently, bringing his cock to her entrance and slowly (painfully slowly, Harry would argue) easing him into her core, inch by inch, the way she always does. Hera wants to feel him, every inch, the ridges and curves and the way her body swallows him perfectly, as though he was always made to fit inside of her. Hera sinks onto his cock so slowly, Harry swears that minutes have passed when she finally settles her hips against his, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and his feet laying flat against the mattress, his arms circling around her body to hold him against his chest. Hera loves being held this way, Harry’s come to find out, and if this is the way that she wants him to love on her, then he is happy to oblige.

Harry slowly begins working with Hera’s rhythm, thrusting, and meeting the swirl of her hips every grind to create the friction against her nerves and brush against the spot inside of her that makes her body still and her thighs shake around him. Harry lets Hera set the pace, the motion, the speed. Harry, as much as this is about him, needs Hera to know that it’s about her, about the way he loves her, and tonight, it is all about love.

Harry thrusts into her and the way Hera’s head falls back against her neck is inspiring, encouraging him to continue. Harry can feel Hera’s thighs beginning to twitch, the rhythm becoming unsteady as she nears her climax, the feeling of her nails beginning to etch into his shoulders bringing a smile to his face. Harry memorizes Hera’s face like this, clean from makeup and slightly sweaty, her skin tacky and sticking to his, her mouth parted and heavy breaths leaving her perfectly rounded lips. Her moans are echoing through the bedroom, whispered in his ear like a melody, a song he wants to write. Hera tightens around him, squeezing him in, her velvet dream earning an orgasm as she pants in his ear. Harry rides her through it, an unexpected pulse around him milking his orgasm into her warmth. Harry loves that they’re always this close, that he can feel her, that he’s the only one that gets to know her like this. He wouldn’t ever take this for granted, not when he went so long missing it.

His hand gently brushes over the back of her neck, pushing all of her hair onto her shoulder, giving him a taste of her skin. He kisses her there, ever so gently, not wanting to disturb the peace between their breathing. Hera swallows, whispering, “Can we stay like this for a while?” into his ear, her cheek on his shoulder.

“Anything you want,” Harry whispers back, his legs relaxing under her body. Hera has cocooned herself around him, making it impossible to be any physically closer than they are in this moment. Harry pulls the duvet closer to him, giving a bit of modesty to their naked skin. “I wouldn’t mind going to the balcony and watching the stars with you.”

“In a minute.” Harry can tell her eyes are closed with the wait behind her words, the exhaustion of the day settling in. He kisses her cheek sweetly. “Do you still want to hear another secret?”

“More than I wanted to earlier.”

“I never thought about what my future might look like, until I met you, and then suddenly, it was the only thing I could think about. I wanted to know what we would be doing in one, two, five, ten years. I wanted to know what we would look like. I wanted to know if we’d be married if we’d decide to have children. I wanted to know everything about what my future with you looked like, just because it was the very first time in my life that the future looked like something I could be happy with.” Hera doesn’t pause between words, doesn’t hesitate to tell Harry this. Maybe it’s because she wants him to know where she stands with her past, with the relationships that he knows very little about. Maybe it’s because she wants him to understand that this is it, the two of them, and that whatever happens, as long as they’re together, she’ll be happy with it. Hera doesn’t care why she feels the need to tell him, whatever the reason might be, she just wants him to know, that this, this is the thing that matters most.

Harry must have a look of confusion on his face because Hera lifts her face from his shoulder and quirks her head questioningly, her eyes encouraging him to ask questions. “I thought that Grant wanted the same future as you, that’s why you were with him for all that time.”

“Grant wanted the same things as me, yes,” she explains, her hands holding his neck, thumbs rubbing the sides of his throat softly. “Grant wanted the things I wanted – marriage, a house, kids, a stable life – but I couldn’t always see that life with him. I would try, very hard, because Grant was safe and he loved me, and I loved him, too. I loved him differently, though. Not in the way I love you. I would try so hard to see the future that I saw with you, but that was reserved for you, and you only, and I thought that if I never got that with you, I wouldn’t want to make it with somebody else.”

“And Matty?”

“Matty and I,” Hera pauses, trying to think of the right words to convey her thoughts on such an intimate and vulnerable experience. Harry is listening intently, his hands rubbing circles on her waist to hold her close. Hera nods and continues, “Matty and I would have never worked long term. Matty and I went back and forth for years, because when things were bad with our personal lives, they were bad. His alcoholism. My parents. His lack of commitment. My need for it. Our relationship, if you could even call it that, would never be more than a two- or three-month thing, and then we were back to being friends. I love Matty. He’s such a close friend and I want him to be happy and healthy, but that happiness was never going to rely on me and what I could do for him. I never saw a future with him. Not once.” Hera stops for a moment, giving the words a minute to sink in. “You may not have been my first for certain things, Harry, but I promise, you have been my first where it counts.”

Harry smiles, his eyes traveling between Hera’s honey eyes and sweet lips. He nudges forward, capturing her in a kiss, slow and easy, savoring the way she tastes and feels and memorizing this moment, where everything in their world is right and perfect. “Can you continue telling me secrets like this? You’ll tell me secrets like this when I’m old and you have to yell into my ear for me to hear you. Promise?”

“I’ll always tell you secrets like this.” Hera smiles and sighs, kissing Harry once more before leaning onto her knees and slowly disconnecting their bodies, her hands reaching for a dirty shirt on the floor and wiping between her thighs before tossing the shirt in his direction. “You made a mess.”

“And I’ll do it, again. Happily.”

“Clean yourself up and put on some pants. I’ll meet you on the balcony,” Hera laughs, shaking her head as she takes his white shirt that Harry wore to the wedding and slips it over her arms, buttoning the shirt halfway before finding a clean pair of underwear and walking into the bathroom. Harry does as he’s told, taking clean briefs, and slipping the cotton up his thighs, taking their dirty clothes and laying them neatly by the suitcase. He walks around the corner, leaning agains the doorway of the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of going to the bathroom by myself, you know.”

“I know, I just like looking at you.”

Hera blushes under Harry’s stare, washing her hands before turning the light off and nodding towards the balcony, the moon shining bright through the glass door. Hera walks forward, opening the door and stepping outside, the fresh air and cool breeze fanning against her skin. Hera leans against the balcony, soaking in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful, here. I never want to leave.” Hera waits, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll make sure we come back.” Harry mimics the wait, his voice softening and audible only to her. “You’re not leaving me, Hera. You’re just going to work. I’m going to work, too.”

“Going to work for months at a time.”

Harry wraps his arms around Hera’s waist, kissing her neck and leaning his chin on her shoulder, “I won’t let us be apart for that long, Hera. Maybe a few weeks, at most. It won’t be longer than that. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How can you always be so sure of everything when it comes to us?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly, turning Hera around in his arms and letting his thumbs memorize her face, tracing over every part of her skin. “I just, I went so long with things being uncertain with us, and the fact that we made it through that, and we’re together now, it tells me that nothing with us is uncertain. It’s always you and me. That’s how I’m sure.” Harry traces over Hera’s mouth slowly. “Not to mention, I think I’ll die if I don’t get to kiss you for the rest of my life, so you’ve left me with the only option: I have to be sure that I can kiss you forever.”

“I have no idea what you’re waiting for then,” Hera teases, brushing her nose against his, her eyes squeezing shut as his mouth moves millimeters away from hers, his breath hot against her skin. “Kiss me, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know what tomorrow brings, and he certainly doesn’t know what it’ll be like when they’re on the road, miles and miles apart, but for now, Hera is here, in his arms, and he can kiss her. He can kiss her until his mouth goes numb and his jaw is tired, and then he can do it all over again. And right now, that’s all that matters to him.

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