#l.a. story headers

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42 Hours (II)

Content: part 2 to an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time!! includes a karaoke bar in Cleveland, Ohio, sharing of motel rooms (oh my god there was only one bed 👁️👁️), and a lesbian wedding in the Catskills

Warnings: language, alcohol, NSFW content, making fun of Nebraska and The Notebook

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

A/N: okay can I just say that I am so glad this is finally done. I have been working on this fic for over a month!!! the entire thing is over 51k in length!!!!!! my word doc is almost 100 pages!!!! this was meant to be a fun story about enemies to lovers stuck on a road trip!!!!! what happened!!!! but thank you guys so much for all the love and support and interest in this story <3 I was really nervous about splitting it up (which looking back was a good choice because again. it’s so long.) but you all showed so much love for the story and the characters!!!! I’d like to give a special shout out to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for proof reading, and miss andrea again for this pretty header image!! if you’re looking for any good reads after this, I highly recommend checking out their masterlists!! and as always, if you like this fic, please like it AND reblog it!! and shoot me a message about it!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by ALL content creators, and is the main motivation for us to create more for you all to enjoy!!

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here is everyone’s wedding looks!! and HERE is a lil moodboard of Jo and Laure’s wedding so you can sense the vibes!!

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

It’s almost instantaneous, Y/N notices, how quickly and easily she and Harry fall into a rhythm of friendship. From the moment she wakes up the next morning to a blue sky, the storm long passed, and Harry holding out a cup of black coffee for her, the stress and anxiety of the previous day is gone. There’s no watching herself around Harry, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping over every small motion he makes as he fidgets in the driver’s seat.  There’s no irritation caused by the way he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, or how he asks any question that crosses his mind, speaking out his random chain of thoughts just as often.  

The thing that Y/N’s come to realize is that Harry is so much more interesting than she’d ever thought. He’s certainly more interesting than the endless fields of corn that whip by her window as he drives down the interstate.  His jokes are dumb, but he says them with such a big grin on his face that she can’t help but laugh.  His comments are strange, but Y/N finds herself enjoying the weird words that slip from his mouth without being caught by a filter.

“If we were in a Children of The Corn situation,” Harry begins, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. “Do you think you’d be able to outsmart the cult?  Or would you get sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows?”

Y/N half chokes on the bottle of water she’d just raised to her lips, and coughs the liquid from her lungs as she turns to give Harry an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. That’s where it takes place, right?” Harry asks, glancing at Y/N from behind his sunglasses. “There’s, like, a weird child cult, and they kill all the adults in town for the corn harvest, or something, and then this couple on a road trip discovers them, and tries to stop them.  Do you think you’d be able to?”

“Do I think I’d be able to stop a child cult?  Or would I get sacrificed to their weird corn god?  That’s what you’re asking me?” Although she can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question, her mind is already appraising the situation Harry’s proposed. “I think I’d be able to stop them.  They’re just kids, right?  You just can’t be afraid to—you know—” Y/N drags her thumb across her throat, and Harry quirks up an eyebrow at her casual response.

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

“If the kids were evil and wanted to kill me?  Absolutely.” Y/N leans her head back on the head rest, still keeping her eyes locked on Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in response. “I don’t know.  I’d try to reason with them, I think.”

Y/N extends a finger gun at him, clicking her tongue in sync with the motion. “And that’s why they’d sacrifice you and not me.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slowly as he turns his attention back to the road. “Lovely. Wouldn’t you try to save me?”

Y/N hums, pretending to think the question over. “That depends on how annoying you’ve been that day.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Y/N, you really are.” Harry laughs more, but stops abruptly as he spots a sign to the right of the road. “Oh!  There’s a souvenir shop at the next exit!”

A groan falls from Y/N’s mouth as her head flops back, already sensing defeat. “No, Harry, you don’t need another keychain—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I could get a corn stalk keychain!”

…

“You know, I could drive for a bit.  If you’d like.”

Harry looks up at Y/N with an apprehensive gaze, his nimble fingers halfway through attaching a new silver key chain in the shape of Nebraska to his key ring. “What?”

“You’ve been driving for three days straight.” Y/N leans over the passenger side of the car, resting her arms on the sun-warmed roof. “I could drive.  I know how to; I just don’t do it in L.A. because the traffic is annoying. But the interstate is practically empty, so…”

“Uh, no offense, Y/N, but…” Harry opens the drivers door, a small smile curving the corner of his lip. “No one drives Stevie but me.  And besides, she’s a stick.  Have you ever driven one?”

“Well, no.” Y/N admits, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “But you could show me.”

Harry inhales deeply, glancing around the souvenir shop parking lot.  Y/N can tell he’s surveying the area, searching for a reason to say no, but as far as she can tell, there isn’t one.  There are no other cars around, and the area is mostly flat, giving her a good space to practice driving in.  With a defeated look on his face, Harry exhales sharply and gives a quick nod as he takes a step back from the driver’s side. “Fine.  Get in.”

Y/N and Harry swap sides in the car, although Y/N is much more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. From the moment she climbs in and begins adjusting his seat, a pained look comes over Harry’s face, making her roll her eyes.

“Oh, come on.  You’re a giant, Harry, I have to adjust things so I can reach the pedals.” Y/N scoffs, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. “You can put them all back later.”

“Yeah.” Harry sucks in another breath before pushing his sunglasses up into his chestnut curls. “Okay, so…there’s three pedals on the floor.  The right one is gas, the middle is the brake, and the left is the clutch. And then here—” Harry takes Y/N’s right hand and places it over the gear shift. “This is how you shift.  There’s six gears, right?  And their use depends on the speed you’re going, so you’re going to start with one—” His hand squeezes hers as he shifts the gear shift over and up to the left with ease. “Which is here.  Here’s two—” He shifts the gear shift down to the left, and continues to move it as he speaks. “Three.  Four.  Five. And reverse.  Got it?”

“I think so.” Y/N nods, her hand flexing beneath Harry’s large palm.  His rings feel cool against her warm skin, and she has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. “Up left, down left, up middle, down middle, up right, down right.  Right?”

“Right.” Harry lifts his hand off hers to point towards her feet, which are sitting on the carpet cover in front of the pedals. “You want to start with your foot pressed firmly on the clutch, the one—yeah.  There, to the left.  Keep it pressed there.  Is it pressed there?”

“Since you first told me to press it, yeah.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, which is caused both from learning how to drive manually, and the effort it takes to stop herself from laughing at the nervousness in Harry’s voice. “Now what?”

“Take off the parking brake.” Harry pulls the lever down himself, making sure Y/N is focused on her other movements. “And the car is in neutral, so you can turn the key in the ignition.” He holds out his keys towards her.

Y/N takes the cool metal from his hands, quickly finding the right key for the Impala and slipping it in. The car roars to life, a sound which is now familiar to her ears. “Okay.  There.”

“Good.” Harry pauses for a moment before reaching across Y/N’s body and buckling her seatbelt, which she had forgotten in the excitement to drive. “Safety first.” He sits back in the passenger seat, fixing his seatbelt across his own body. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing these.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, her eyebrows and nose wrinkling as she makes a face. “What do I do now?”

“Now…” Harry fidgets with his seatbelt again as he moves forward in the passenger seat, one hand bracing against the dash as he directs her. “Press the clutch and the brake at the same time, like that.  Now move the gear shift into first gear.”

Y/N does as he says, pushing the gear shift over and up to the left.  It takes much more pressure for her to move it without Harry’s help, she notes, but doesn’t let the effort show on her face. “Then?”

“Take your foot off the brake.” Harry instructs, caution laced through his voice. “And slowly—slowly! —release the clutch as you press down gently on the gas.”

“Okay…” Lifting her left foot first, Y/N does her best to match the motion with her right foot, pressing down at the same pace as she lifts the other.  Her movement, however, isn’t as smooth as she wants it to be, and the car lunges forward in a choppy motion.

“Careful!” Harry says loudly, twisting his body to face Y/N as he continues bracing himself.  His entire body is tense, his shoulders practically up by his ears as he appraises Y/N. “You have to do it at the same time!”

“Alright, alright—” Y/N tries again, focusing on matching her feet to each other.  This time, the movement is smoother, and the car begins to drive forward slowly, moving faster as Y/N presses down more. “Is that—am I doing it?” Y/N asks nervously, navigating herself slowly through the parking lot. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.  You’re doing good, yeah.” Harry nods slowly, but Y/N can see the strain in his jaw from the corner of her eye. “Now let’s try…let’s try shifting gears, so you can speed up.”

“Try not to sound so terrified.” Y/N mutters, turning the wheel to guide the car around a lamp post.

Harry ignores her comment. “You’re going to do the same motion, but this time release the gas while pressing down on the clutch.  Then move the gear shifter to two, like before, and—”

Before Harry can finish speaking, Y/N attempts to change into second gear.  The car lurches again as she releases the gas and presses on the clutch, and the jagged motion only gets worse after she shifts into second.

“Slowly, Y/N—” Agitation is clear in Harry’s voice, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the dash. “Slower!”

Another lunge of the car shifts Y/N to the side, and her foot slips off the clutch completely. With a sickening sound, the car lurches to a stop, despite Y/N’s foot still pressed on the gas.  “What—?”

Harry, who’s been wincing throughout the entire ordeal, sucks in a sharp breath. “You stalled her.” He says, shaking his head with a quiet horror.

Y/N tugs on her bottom lip as she glances at him from the corner of her eye, her voice hesitant. “Is…that bad?”

“Is that—?” Harry’s green irises snap to meet hers, wide open and shocked. “Yeah, it’s bad. That’s enough practice for today, I think.  I’m driving again.”

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

“Nope!  Out!” Harry shakes his head firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car in one swift motion. “Come on!”

With a defeated sigh, Y/N unbuckles herself, climbing out of the driver’s door that Harry’s just opened for her.  “Sorry.” She mumbles, walking around to the passenger’s side and climbing back in.

Harry gives her a small smile, albeit a pained one, as he begins to move his feet over the brake and clutch, shifting the car into neutral. “It’s fine.  That was pretty good for a first practice, really. Just…maybe it’s too soon for highway driving.”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt as Harry restarts the engine, and within a few minutes, he has his signal flipped back on to head back to the highway. “You know, mostly I wanted to drive so that I could pick the music.” She says casually, resting her chin in her hand after propping it up against the arm rest. “I’m getting a little tired of The Beatles on repeat.”

Harry laughs, raking his hand through his curls before shifting gears with ease. “Oh really?  What would you put on, if you had a choice?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, taking a moment to think. “We could listen to a nice sonata, maybe. Oh!  Or Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.  I haven’t listened to it in full in a while.”

A sound of surprise and indignation leaves Harry’s mouth. “Tchaikovsky—?  No!  No, you can’t listen to classical music on a road trip!  You need music that you can scream the lyrics to!”

“Is there a rulebook about what you can and can’t listen to on a road trip?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she poses the sarcastic question. “I wasn’t aware.”

“There’s an unofficial rulebook, yes.” Harry risks a glance over at Y/N, his green eyes alight. “And one of the most important—if not the most important—rules is that any song you listen to has to be able to be sung loudly while driving down a highway. Everyone knows that.”

“My bad.” Y/N says sarcastically, toeing off her shoes to better cross her legs beneath herself. “So, in short, we’re stuck listening to your playlist, huh?”

“Now you get it.” Harry shoots her a cheeky grin, pointing with his free hand. “You can change the song, though.  If you’d like.”

“Really?” Y/N reaches down to the small catch all tray between them, where Harry’s phone sits connected to a car charger.  She picks it up carefully, raising an eyebrow in question. “May I?”

When Harry nods, Y/N clicks on the screen, which displays the controls to the Spotify playlist currently being projected through the car’s speakers.  Unsurprisingly, a Beatles song is moving across the scene, causing Y/N to press the skip button immediately.  The next song is by The Killers, called “Spaceman,” and while she likes it, it’s not really something she feels like listening to in the moment. She hits skip again, passing over “Night Moves,” “Piano Man,” and “Seven Wonders,” (the last skip earning a sound of protest from Harry) before a familiar album cover pops up on the screen.

“Hold on.” Y/N says, mouth agape as the 1990s Vocoder sound fills the car. “You listen to Cher?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s surprised expression matches hers. “Of course!  She’s a treasure.” He taps his fingers to the beat of “Believe” while his head bops to the same pattern. “I love this song.  It’s a good one.”

Making a sound of agreement, Y/N lets her gaze drift to the window, watching the agriculture fields that whiz by. “Yeah.” She murmurs, losing herself in the beat. “‘No matter how hard I try…you keep pushing me aside’…”

“‘And I can’t break through’…” Harry’s voice joins with hers, louder and surer of himself than hers had been. “‘There’s no talking to you’…”

Y/N’s head turns from the window, locking eyes with Harry for the split second he looks away from the road ahead of them. “‘It’s so sad that you’re leaving…it takes time to believe it’…”

“‘But after all is said and done’…” The grin playing on Harry’s pink lips grows, popping out his dimples as he continues to sing. “‘You’re gonna be the lonely one’…”

With a grin pasted across her own face, so big that her cheeks ache, Y/N joins Harry for the chorus, yelling the lyrics more than singing them. “‘Do you believe in life after love?  I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!” Harry’s hand drifts down to the volume dial, turning the music up until the bass thumps through the entire car.  Y/N can feel it in her chest like a second heart beat.

“‘Do you believe in life after love?’” Encouraged by each other, Harry and Y/N scream the lyrics even louder on the repeat, straining their necks as much as their vocal cords. “‘I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!”

When Harry’s hand moves again, Y/N thinks that he’s reaching for the dial again, perhaps to turn it down, but then his hand makes a questioning motion, and Y/N realizes that Harry, ever the one for dramatics, is acting out the lines.

“‘What was I supposed to do?  Sit around and wait for you?’” Harry points at Y/N then, an exaggerated look on his face as his whole body moves to the beat. “‘Well I can’t do that!  And there’s no turning back’…”

Not wanting to be one upped, Y/N pushes up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her wrist enough that she can tap on it. “‘I need time to move on’…” A fit of giggles interrupt the next line as she and Harry both raise their arms to flex their muscles. “‘I need a love to feel strong’…” Y/N taps on her temple as she sways her body to the beat the best she can in the car. “‘Because I’ve got time to think it through’…” When she turns to point at Harry, she finds him already pointing at her, once again in sync with her thoughts. “‘And maybe I’m too good for you, oh’!”

They repeat the chorus in the same way as before, screaming the lyrics as loud as they can, pulling dramatic facial expressions and dance moves to match.  Halfway through the repeat, Harry attempts to mimic the classic Cher move of pushing hair over the shoulder, and the ridiculous sight is enough to send Y/N into another fit of laughter.  She almost misses the entrance for the bridge, but recovers just in time to yell the lyrics in sync with Harry.

Forming fists and dragging her arms towards her dramatically, and Harry doing the same with his free hand, the two of them screw their faces up as they sing passionately. “‘Well I know that I’ll get through this…because I know that I am strong’…” The flexing of arms returns for a moment before being replaced by impassioned pleading hand gestures. “‘I don’t need you anymore…I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore’…”

Although they’d been energetic in the previous choruses, Harry and Y/N give their all for the final chorus, bouncing and yelling and gesturing as much as they can as they drive down the interstate at sixty-five miles per hour.  They quiet for a moment as the beat falls out, singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume, but when the beat returns, they scream the lyrics one final time in unison before the music fades out.

The song changes to “Baby Driver,” and Harry reaches to lower the volume as he and Y/N both struggle to catch their breath.  They laugh between pants, hands on chests as they rapidly rise and fall.  Y/N lets her head fall back against the back of the seat, shifting her legs so only one rests on the seat beneath her thigh.

“That was a good one.” She admits, pushing her now-sweaty hair out of her face. “I’ll give you that. Cher was a good choice.”

“Do you see what I meant, now?” Harry asks breathlessly, his grin still plastered to his face. “Do you still want to listen to Tchaikovsky?”

In lieu of a reply, Y/N reaches for Harry’s phone again, skipping songs until “Jessie’s Girl” begins to drift through the speakers. “Turn it up again, Harry.”

There’s a twinkle in Harry’s eyes when he does as she says.

…

“I can sleep on the floor.” Harry volunteers, tugging his hand through his stretched out curls as his eyes scan the interior of the motel room. “Make a little bed out of pillows.  Then you can have the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, setting her bag on the small table in front of the room’s mirror. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

Harry purses his lips. “I’ll take the chair, then.  I can stretch out on it—”

“Please, you have limbs like Gumby.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N unzips her bag and pulls out her toiletries. “You can’t sleep comfortably in a chair.  We can deal with one bed for one night.  It’s not the end of the world.”

Four days ago, Y/N might have considered having to share a bed with Harry the end of the world.  If someone had told her about the lack of available motel rooms on the road, Y/N might have never left L.A.  And that first night in Utah, she remembers, she would have rather smother Harry in his sleep than share a bed with him.  Now, however, they’re in Iowa City, and for all her talk of how much she despised Harry before, she’s found herself quite fond of him in a short period of time.

There’s a list of reasons why that’s happened, she thinks, as she pulls out her charger to plug into the wall.  Their forced close proximity in the car and motel rooms probably has something to do with it, as well as Harry being her only company for the last four days.  And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it is due to the way Harry looks in the dim motel room light as he flops back on the bed, his red and black striped t-shirt riding up just the slightest bit to expose the fern tattoos lining the bottom of his stomach.  The way his jade irises manage to sparkle in the light of the lamp, or how his chipped nail polish still manages to look elegant as his fingers dance along his chest and twist his rings over his knuckles.  The way his lips, despite his constant habit of biting them, look so soft and so pink, and how Y/N thinks she could just—

Y/N clears her throat, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.  It’s really been too long since she’s been around another human being, she thinks, keeping her back to Harry as she roots through her suitcase for her pajamas. Four days is too long for her to be with the same person, with hardly any alone time, and she’s wondering if she’ll be able to have alone time any time soon when her fingers brush over the familiar smooth silicone surface of her vibrator.

Y/N pauses, pulling her fingers back as if she’s been burned.  Right.  She’d tossed that in there just before leaving L.A., just in case she needed some stress relief.  Glancing back over her shoulder subtly, Y/N sees that Harry has his phone out now, his nimble fingers tapping along the screen as he lays on the bed.  Maybe some stress relief is exactly what she needs.

Grabbing the first articles of clothing she can get her hands on, Y/N carefully wraps her vibrator within the fabric, trying to fold it so that it doesn’t look like its hiding a small purple sex toy.  Once that’s done to the best of her ability, she grabs her toiletry bag, tucking it under her arm as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower.” She mutters, closing the door behind her without waiting for Harry’s response.

Although the ritual of stripping from her clothes, starting the shower and adjusting the temperature settings, and relaxing her muscles underneath the (albeit low pressure) stream of water is familiar, it takes Y/N a few minutes to work up the courage to run her hands down the length of her body.  She takes her time as her fingers dance over the planes of her breasts, down her stomach, fluttering over her hips before making their way to the crevice where her thighs flow into her core.  Taking a deep breath, Y/N begins with just her fingers, running them through her wet folds slowly and carefully.

She allows herself the time to warm herself up, waiting until she can dip her index finger inside her slick entrance and circle its way around her clit before grabbing her vibrator from the shower ledge.  She flicks it on to its lowest setting, making sure the electronic buzz is hidden beneath the sound of the shower before gently circling the tip around her clit.

The relief, Y/N finds, is instantaneous.  A breathless sigh slips past her lips as she rubs the toy over her folds, delighting in the fluttering sensation it leaves behind.  Without breaking contact, Y/N turns the toy up a level, biting her lip to keep from moaning as she presses it back to her clit.

Despite the tension building up in her body as Y/N works herself to an orgasm, this is the most relaxed she’s felt in days.  The tension, she finds, is so much sweeter than the anxiety and stress she’s been experiencing throughout the road trip.  Although her shoulders tense, it’s different than the knots worked into her muscles from hours in the car.  Although her leg feels as though it may cramp from its position perched on the bath tub ledge, the burn is more welcome than the ache of being stuck in one seated position.

If someone were to ask her what crossed her mind when Y/N brought herself over the edge, what thoughts drifted into her head as she gripped the wall of the shower with one hand as her core convulsed in the most delightfully sinful way, Y/N would tell them that it was nothing specific.  Strong hands, she’d say, smoothly and knowledgeably caressing her body.  A low voice whispering dirty nothings in her ear. A deep breath flowing down her neck as cherry lips and white teeth nipped and kissed down her skin and across her collar bones.  Nothing specific.  And Y/N would believe it when she’d say it.

But if anyone were to be listening at the exact moment that she thrust the vibrator inside her, panting and whimpering as her index and middle finger worked over her clit and brought her to climax, they’d hear the breathless whisper of a name that Y/N herself didn’t even know she was saying.

The nice thing about getting off in the shower, Y/N thinks, once she’s regained enough function in her head to do so, is that cleanup is a breeze.  Within fifteen more minutes, Y/N’s washed her body, shampooed and conditioned her hair, and is climbing out of the shower with the motel towel wrapped tightly around her body.  Within another few minutes, she’s towel dried to the best of her ability, and finally realizing that the pajamas she’d grabbed in her quick bid for the washroom happened to be the pink silk set that she’d tucked at the bottom of her suitcase four days ago.

Cheeks burning, Y/N weighs her options.  She could wrap the towel around herself, she thinks, and instruct Harry to look away as she snuck back to her suitcase and grabbed the sports bra and boxers she’d been sleeping in for the past few nights.  Or…she runs her fingers over the lace trim of the set.  These pajamas were quite comfortable, and the silk would feel so nice on her body after multiple nights of scratching motel sheets.  And, if she’s being honest with herself, her other pajamas are quite dirty from a new nights of use.  Now that her body feels completely relaxed and clean, she’d like to put on something to match.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Y/N does her best to seem casual and calm, still running her towel through her set hair, her clothes and toiletry bag (where she’s hidden her vibrator) tucked under one arm. “The shower’s free.” She says to Harry, barely glancing at him as she returns her items to her bag. “Although the water pressure is pretty shit.”

A low chuckle echoes from Harry’s mouth. “I expect nothing less.” He says, and Y/N thinks she may be in the clear when the laughter stops abruptly.

Biting back a sigh, Y/N straightens her back, knowing that she can’t avoid the conversation forever. “What?” She asks, tossing her towel on the motel room chair.

Harry is sitting up on the bed, his phone still held loosely in his right hand as his left props his body into an upright position.  As his eyes scan over Y/N’s body, his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips without Harry being aware he’s doing it. “What—” His voice cracks, and a flush creeps up Harry’s pale neck as he clears his throat. “What are you wearing?”

Y/N begins to comb her fingers through her hair, sectioning it off before she begins to braid. “Pajamas.”

A scoff leaves Harry’s mouth. “No, no, those aren’t pajamas.  That’s…lingerie.”

“Yeah, well…I brought them as pajamas.” Y/N mumbles, twisting her hair into the desired pattern before tying it off with the ponytail on her wrist. “Look, I—my other ones are dirty, and I didn’t want to put a sweaty sports bra back on right after showering.  But…if it makes you uncomfortable, then I can—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Harry cuts over her, giving a quick shake of his head. “I just—we’re sharing the bed tonight, so I wasn’t sure—as long as you’re comfortable—”

“I am.” Y/N says quickly, cheeks beginning to burn as the conversation continues. “I’m comfortable.”

“Alright then.” If Harry’s cheeks are any indication, then he’s feeling the same thing Y/N is. “I’m…going to shower, then.”

And that’s how, two hours later, after watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, Y/N ends up in bed next to Harry Styles in lingerie that she’d bought to impress her ex-boyfriend.

Harry, to his credit, is doing his best to draw a line between them.  His lanky body is practically hanging off the edge of the bed with how far he’s pulled himself from her, his defined back turned towards Y/N. Her own posture mimics his, back turned from Harry, clinging to the edge of the bed in an attempt to respect his personal space.  The problem, Y/N thinks, exhaling hard as she shifts under the covers, is that she doesn’t like sleeping on her side like this, and she especially doesn’t like tensing up to make sure her limbs stay in their designated zone.  It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and after laying in bed for over an hour, she finally huffs before turning onto her back, her hands settling down over the sheets.

“Harry.” She whispers, twisting her head to the side as she struggles to make out the shape of his body in the dark. “Are you awake?”

The bed creaks as Harry’s body shifts towards her, twisting on his hip to be able to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Yeah.  Can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Y/N rolls over again, propping herself up on her side to face him as he matches the motion. They’re closer now, their faces about six inches away as they rest their heads on their pillows.  Y/N can smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste on his breath. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder as best he can while horizontal. “Dunno.” He mumbles, voice low in the quiet darkness. “Don’t think I’m used to sharing a bed with someone and not…being close to them.”

“Yeah.” Y/N matches the tone of her voice to his, as if speaking quietly and gently will preserve whatever it is hanging between them. “Feels weird.”

Moving his hands from his chest to tuck them under his pillow, Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous look apparent in his eyes even in the darkness. “Would it be okay if I moved closer?” He asks, caution written into every word. “It’s just—staying on the edge isn’t very comfortable.”

Four days ago, Y/N would have shoved him off the bed.  Now, however, she finds herself nodding, pulling her top leg into a bent position, her bare knee brushing over Harry’s beneath the sheets. “That’s fine.”

Y/N watches the way Harry’s body visibly relaxes, the tension she didn’t even know he had leaving his body.  Trying his best to move without disturbing her, Harry turns over to lay on his toned stomach, and the sheets pull down around his body enough that Y/N can see how his Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up his back.  Without thinking, Y/N pulls one hand from beneath her pillow and reaches for the sheets, pulling them back around Harry to his mid back.

“Thanks.” His voice is raspy, half muffled by the pillow as he tucks his hands beneath his head, eyes still locked with hers with an intensity that, during daylight hours, would have made her cheeks burn.

But in the safety of the darkness, Y/N simply returns her hand to its previous position, allowing the lack of light to masquerade the concern written onto her face. “You’re welcome.”

…

“I’m not saying The Notebook is a bad movie, I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense!”

Harry gives Y/N an incredulous look as he flips on his turn signal, shifting gears in the car so he can exit the highway and head towards a gas station. “What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?” He demands, turning the car over the curve of the road. “They’re in love!  Noah reads to Ally to help her remember that!  What about that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, the dialogue for one.” Y/N shrugs, tapping her fingers to the beat of “Heroes” that’s drifting through the speakers.

Harry scoffs as he pulls into an empty gas station, slowing the car to a gentle stop in front of a pump. “Give me one example of the dialogue not making sense!”

“‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she quotes the movie. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Harry demands, shifting the car into neutral and pulling the emergency brake before turning off the ignition. “It’s romantic!  It’s talking about—about reincarnation, and past lives—”

“And what about how Noah and Ally first met, huh?  She was on a date with someone else!  She wasn’t interested in him!” As she rants, Y/N’s volume grows, almost drowning out David Bowie completely. “And then he climbed up a Ferris wheel, demanded that she go out with him, and said that if she didn’t, he was going to kill himself!”

Harry points an accusatory finger at her, his expression fierce. “Don’t!  It was romantic—”

Y/N pushes his finger away, holding her stance adamantly. “It was creepy!  And don’t even get me started on the arguments, and the lying, and—and she was engaged to someone else!  Noah was a homewrecker!”

Harry takes a deep breath, squeezing his keys in his hand as his eyes close for a moment. “I’m going to fill Stevie with petrol.” He says, his tone careful and controlled. “And when I get back, I am going to give you a very long lecture on why you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she grabs Harry’s sunglasses from the cupholder next to her, slipping them onto her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever.  Go pump the gas, Styles.”

With one last withering look, Harry climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, turning his attention to the rusted gas pump in the middle of nowhere along the Illinois interstate.  Y/N can’t help but laugh at the irritated look on his face, and how he flips her the bird when he catches her laughing.  Small giggles still roll through her as she turns her attention to Harry’s phone, choosing a new song as David Bowie slowly begins to fade out. She’s just begun scrolling through her options when her own phone begins to vibrate from where she has it tucked underneath her leg.

Y/N sets Harry’s phone back down on his seat as she grabs her own, her eyes widening when she sees Brant’s name lighting up her screen.  She should answer, she thinks, as she hasn’t spoken to him in person since their conversation in Colorado.  That conversation seems like a lifetime ago, and Y/N’s thumb hovers over the “accept” icon, her teeth tugging her bottom lip over and over.  She should answer.  She should.  Brant will probably want to discuss work, and find out when she’s coming back so they can plan another dinner, because he always likes to schedule things at least a week in advance.  He’ll tell her about his coworkers, what the weather in L.A. has been like (as if it ever changes), and maybe, just maybe, if he has time, he’ll tell her about a new Netflix series he’s just starting to watch.  Y/N should answer.

The driver’s side door opens with a creak, and Harry bends down to poke his head inside. “Alright, I’m going to go inside the petrol station and get us some snacks, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly how wrong you are.” He says firmly, mouth pressed into a flat line of determination.  His expression falters for just a moment as he sees the conflicted look on Y/N’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Y/N says quickly, pressing “ignore” and tucking her phone back under her leg. “Just go get the snacks while I create my counterargument, alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching into the car and pulling his sunglasses off Y/N’s face.  He slips them over his own eyes, his expression back to its determined look. “Fine.  Do you want Cheezies?”

“Uh huh.  The crunchy ones!” Y/N reminds him, grabbing his phone from the seat again to continue selecting a new song.

“Right.  The crunchy ones.” Harry shoots her a finger gun as he shuts the car door. “You can eat them as I prove you wrong!”

“You wish!” Y/N yells back, the phone call all but forgotten as she watches Harry walk into the gas station.

…

“We should go out tonight.”

Y/N sets her duffel bag on the queen-sized bed situated in the center of the motel room, giving Harry a confused look as she registers his words. “Go out?” She asks, tugging on the zipper of the bag. “Go out where?”

“To a bar.” Harry flops down on the bed next to her bag, leaning back on his elbows as he speaks. “All we’ve done this entire trip is drive, and we’re getting to the Catskills tomorrow.  We can have a bit of fun tonight, can’t we?”

Y/N snorts as she rifles through her bag, pulling out her phone charger and favourite book. “It’s a road trip; driving is the point, isn’t it?  Besides, what kind of bars are in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “We passed a sign for one on our way into town.  And we haven’t had dinner yet, so we should go get something to eat anyways.  And I haven’t had a pint in forever.”

“I doubt you’ll like the pints from a dive bar in Cleveland, Harry.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plugs her charger into the wall. “I don’t think they’ll be up to your standards.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Harry matches her eye roll with ease before turning his expression into something more endearing. “Please?  We don’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to!”

Y/N sighs as she sits down on the bed next to him. “Harry—”

“Just one drink!” Harry pleads, pouting out his bottom lip. “Please?  To celebrate not killing each other on this trip?”

In spite of herself, a small laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “The trip’s not over yet, Harry.  Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.”

“Y/N…” Harry whines, turning onto his side as he looks up at her. “Come on!”

Y/N tugs her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Harry.  It’s true, she thinks, that all they’ve done for the last five days is drive and sleep in motels.  Maybe they could use a break before tomorrow’s final day.  And they’ve been getting along so well today that Y/N would hate to put a damper on their moods now…

“Fine.” She relents, ignoring how there’s a turning feeling in her stomach when she sees Harry’s green eyes light up. “But just one drink!”

…

“I’ll take another Old Fashioned, please!” Y/N says to the waitress, raising her voice to be heard over the man singing a bad cover of “Take on Me” on the small bar stage. “And—Harry, do you want another?”

Harry bites back a laugh, barely managing to cover it with a cough as the waitress turns to him. “Uh, yes, please.” He smiles charmingly, flashing his eyes to Y/N between his words. “I’ll have another pint.”

With a quick nod, the waitress begins to work her way from their table to the bar, pushing through the crowds of people scattered around the bar.  

Y/N leans over to Harry as she twirls her straw through the remnants of ice in her empty glass. “You picked a good bar!” She says loudly, gesturing to the people around them. “Who knew this would be the center of Cleveland’s drinking scene?”

“I did!  I have good taste!” Harry replies with a laugh, lifting his pint glass to his lips to drain the remnants. “And here I was, thinking that you’d be whining to go home after the first drink!”

There’s something about the way Harry says “home” that turns Y/N’s stomach.  Or maybe it’s the Old Fashioneds, she thinks, as she eyes the three empty glasses sitting in front of her. “Oh.  Yeah.  Maybe we should go…?”

Harry groans, waving off her suggestion without a second thought. “No!  We’re having fun!  When was the last time you went out?”

“Uh…” The alcohol makes it hard for Y/N to think back in her memory, but she does her best to focus for a few moments to search for the answer. “I think…a few months ago?  Jo came to visit, and we went out for drinks…”

“That’s just sad.” Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment.  Or maybe not feigning it, Y/N thinks, because a deep sigh leaves his lips right after. “You live in L.A., a place with so much culture and so many opportunities, and you don’t take them!”

“I take opportunities just fine!” Y/N defends herself, a pout working its way onto her lips of its own volition. “I’m just busy—”

“You’re always going to be busy!” Harry argues as the waitress approaches them with their drinks. “You—thank you—” He says to her as she hands him his pint and Y/N her Old Fashioned. “You have to take time for yourself, to enjoy things!  Or else life is just going to pass you by, and soon you’ll be old and grey in your apartment, with no cool stories to tell!”

Y/N takes the straw from her previous drink and slips it in her new one. “I have stories!” She argues hotly, a flush coming over her face from both the alcohol and the argument. “I have plenty of stories!”

Harry takes a gulp from his pint, wiping away the drop of beer that drips from the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?  Tell me one.”

“Like—” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “Like now!  The story of how I had to go on a road trip with a guy I hated to make it to my best friend’s wedding on time!”

“I’m not really a fan of that title, honestly.” Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he sets his pint back down on the table. “How about we call it the story of how you had to go on a road trip with a guy you hated to make it to your best friend’s wedding on time, and along the way, you and the guy actually realized that you got along pretty well, and became friends?”

A small smile plays on Y/N’s lips, and she raises her glass towards Harry. “Sounds like a plan.” She says softly, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.  Harry lifts his pint glass and clicks it against her drink.

They both take a sip of their drinks, and when Harry lowers his glass, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Y/N uneasy. “I have another idea for a story.” He says, setting his glass down and pointing towards the stage. “How about the story of us singing karaoke at a bar in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Y/N snorts, half folding herself over their table as the snort turns into a full laugh. “Not a chance in hell, Styles!” She says through her laughter, tapping her fingers against the wood table top.

Harry pushes her shoulder, making her sit up again as he tries to convince her. “Come on!  We’ve been singing in the car for two days straight! There’s tons of songs we could do—”

“The car is completely different than a stage!” Y/N argues, shaking her head firmly. “No way!”

“What, are you worried about making a fool of yourself?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he gestures around the bar. “Is there anyone you know in the audience?  The audience that’s full of people who are pissed out of their minds?”

Biting her lip hard for a moment, Y/N gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No.” She mumbles, looking down. “But I just—I don’t sing karaoke.”

“And you didn’t spend five days in the car with me, either.  Until you did, and we had fun.” Harry points a ringed pointer finger at her, and the annoying glint in his eye means he knows he has her trapped. “There is literally no better place to try it than right now, in this bar, where you know no one.”

Y/N glances around the bar, appraising her surroundings.  She knows Harry has a point; besides himself, she knows not a single soul in the building.  They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and she won’t ever find herself in this bar—or, honestly, Cleveland, Ohio—again.  If there was ever a time to try karaoke, it would be now.  

And hasn’t this trip been full of trying new things?  New foods, new conversations, new ways of thinking…Y/N finds herself locking eyes with Harry, losing herself in his intense gaze.  Y/N’s not sure what’s swirling around in his irises, whether it’s alcohol or something else entirely, but it’s intoxicating.

Y/N lets out a harsh exhale, pulling the straw out of her drink and downing it entirely in one swift motion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she slams the glass back on the table before looking back at Harry to find a new grin pasted across his pink lips.

“Alright.” Y/N slips off her stool, stumbling for just a moment until Harry catches her elbow. “You go pick the song.” She says, pointing towards the DJ near the stage. “I-I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Harry nods, catching his lip between his teeth as his hand squeezes her arm. “Are you alright?  You stumbled there—”

“I’m fine!  Perfect, actually.” Y/N assures him, pulling away and walking towards the washroom.  She calls over her shoulder to him as she does. “Go pick the song!  I’ll be back in a moment!”

When Y/N reaches the washroom, she’s surprised to find it empty, and she’s even more surprised when she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Is that really her? She wonders, propping herself up on the counter as she leans closer to examine herself.  Her skin is flushed from the alcohol, all across her cheeks and neck, and it only gets warmer as the heat of the bar finally hits her. Y/N undoes the top few buttons of her plaid shirt, exposing her chest to the air.  Cocking her head to the side, Y/N studies herself for a moment before undoing the rest of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves to wear the shirt like a cardigan, leaving her bralette exposed.  It’s a different look than anything she’s ever done, but…she likes it, she realizes, as her eyes scan over her reflection.  She likes this.  Being somewhere that no one knows her, somewhere filled with people that won’t judge her for drinking too much, somewhere that she doesn’t have to worry about stories getting back to her work.  Y/N likes the wild look in her eyes, the breathlessness stirring inside her, the plumpness of her lips from the ice of her drinks.   When she looks at herself, she sees a different person. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone who seems to know what they want.

Her phone vibrating in her back pocket pulls her from her thoughts, and it takes Y/N a moment for her intoxicated self to manage to pull it out.  When she sees Brant’s name flashing on the screen, she only hesitates for one second before hitting decline.  That one second of hesitation, however, is all it takes to make her contemplate herself in the mirror again, second guessing what she sees.  She tucks her phone away before washing her hands, and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks to help cool herself down. Giving herself one last look over, Y/N buttons the few bottom buttons of her shirt back together, tying it into a neat knot to cover her stomach.  Even if no one here knows her…she can’t get too wild.  She still has to be who she is.

After exiting the bathroom, Y/N returns to the table, expecting Harry to be waiting there for her. All she finds, however, is his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, and his now empty pint glass sitting on the table. Y/N turns in a small circle, wondering where he is in the crowd when she hears his slightly slurred voice magnified over the speakers.

“Y/N.  Up here, love, c’mon.”

Y/N turns towards the stage, her eyes wide as she realizes Harry has a microphone in one hand and has the other hand wrapped around the microphone stand.  His smile is practically glowing underneath the stage lights, and his eyes seem to be doing the same.  He releases the mic stand to run a hand through his hair before beckoning her forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Cleveland, this—” Harry points towards Y/N, and she almost swears that every person in the bar turns towards her. “This is my very good friend Y/N. And five days ago, she hated my guts!” The crowd boos, and Y/N stares at Harry with incredulous eyes.  What is he doing?

“No, no, don’t boo, it’s alright.  I hated her guts too.” Harry says with a shrug, leaning against the mic stand again. “But everything’s alright now!  We’re getting along, she’s stopped being such a control freak, and she even said she would let me pick a song for us to sing tonight, isn’t that nice?”

The crowd cheers as Y/N walks towards the stage, stopping just before it to stare up at Harry as he continues his drunken monologue.  If she was sober, she’d probably pull him down from the stage, grab the front of his patterned button down shirt, and drag him back to their table.  But the alcohol running through her system is making her bold, and with her head swimming in the amber liquid she’d been consuming, all she can do is laugh and stumble her way to the stairs to the stage.

Someone wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it helps her up the stairs, handing her a microphone once she makes it onto the stage.  Harry, realizing she’s where she needs to be now, motions to the DJ behind her, and a familiar beat that Y/N can’t place begins to play.

“Harry—” Y/N speaks without raising the microphone to her lips. “What song—?”

“Don’t worry, you know it.” Harry assures her, his eyes flickering over her appearance quickly. “You look great.  Just go with it!”

There’s really no choice but to go with it, she thinks, because within a moment, Harry has a simpering smile on his face as he lifts the microphone to his lips, his body turned towards the audience but his eyes flickering to you.

“‘I wasn’t jealous before we met…now every man I see is a potential threat’.” He sings in a confident voice, and Y/N watches the split second it takes for the crowd to realize he’s actually good.  And it’s not just his voice, she thinks.  It’s his demeanor.  The part of Harry’s personality that had first irritated her, the part that lives for a spotlight, the part that can draw someone in with a snap of a finger…that part shines on a stage.

In contrast, all Y/N can do is stare with a shocked expression painted across her face as Harry continues to serenade the crowd.  He makes eye contact with specific people as he croons the next lines, his hand confidently wrapped around the microphone “‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice…you’ve heard me say that smoking is my only voice’.”

It’s then that Harry’s attention turns back to Y/N, his eyelids hooded, half hiding his emerald eyes as he saunters back towards her.  It’s like a switch has flipped in his head, because Y/N is certain that he’s never looked at her in this way before. “‘But now it isn’t true…now everything is new’…” The closer Harry gets to her, the less Y/N can breathe. By the time he’s a foot away from her, she feels like her breaths are stuttering in her chest, giving barely enough oxygen to her body to keep her going.  

Harry, it seems, is unaware of the affect he’s having on her.  His long limbs are loose and free as he continues to move closer, the smirk on his face intertwined with something deeper that Y/N’s drunken mind can’t quite put her finger on. “‘And all I’ve learned, has overturned…I beg of you’…”

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and sweat that emanates from Harry as he gets close enough to press his forehead to hers reminds Y/N exactly where she is, and what she’s supposed to be doing.  Just managing to bring the microphone to her lips in time, Y/N shoves Harry on his shoulder, pushing him away enough that she can walk past him and distance herself. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion’…” She sings, glancing at him over her shoulder as she moves away.  Harry watches her with darkened eyes, a hungry look on his face as Y/N begins to sway her hips to the music.  It’s fun, she realizes, being on stage like this, and playing the part with Harry as she sets down a challenge. “‘Lay all your love on me’.”

The crowd cheers as Harry begins to take measured steps towards Y/N again, looking like the cat who wants to catch the canary.  Y/N, ever the competitive player, refuses to give in so easily, and quickly extends a hand to two people sitting in front of the stage.  They give her support as she slides down from the platform, working her way through the tables without so much as a glance behind herself at Harry, who she knows is following her.

“‘It was like shooting a sitting duck…a little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck’.” Y/N finally turns around, pausing her walk to see Harry hopping down from the stage. She points at him slowly, giving a small shake of her head as she sings the next line. “‘I still don’t know what you’ve done to me…a grownup woman should never fall so easily’…”

Harry’s smirk only grows, and he runs a hand haphazardly through his sweaty curls.  He’s enjoying playing the part too, and Y/N can tell by the way he allows her to cross the seating area, so that they’re walking parallel to each other towards the bar.  He’s not chasing her down.  He’s taking his time, knowing that he’ll get her in the end.

“‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near’…” Y/N pauses at a table of two men and a woman, leaning down between the latter two.  She only takes her eyes off Harry for a moment to give a questioning look to the man, who gives her a smile of permission.  Y/N runs her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm, but keeps her eyes glued to Harry the entire time. “‘Unsatisfied, I skip my pride…I beg you dear’…”

When he sees Y/N’s fingers trace down the collar of someone else, Harry’s brow furrows in jealousy, his jade eyes shifting even darker than they were before.  He keeps pace with Y/N as she begins to move again, but there’s an air of tension in his saunter that wasn’t there a moment ago.  When he sings, it sounds like half plea, half demand. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry rounds a table of people before beginning to close the distance between him and Y/N, each of them now standing in front of the bar.  With the tension between them now palpable, the crowd is moving out of their way discreetly, watching as the two approach each other. Harry licks his red lips before singing the next line. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion…lay all your love on me’.”

Y/N releases her bottom lip from between her teeth, running her fingers over the finished wood of the bar before pulling herself to sit atop it.  She crosses her legs carefully before leaning her weight on one hand, giving a small shrug, knowing that Harry’s eyes are glued to her every motion as the bartender pours him a shot. “‘I’ve had a few little love affairs…they didn’t last very long and they’ve been pretty scarce’…”

Harry’s lips wrap around the shot glass, throwing it back just in time to sing the next line as tequila drips from the corner of his mouth.  The drop of alcohol runs down his chin to trace the muscles of his neck, and as Harry pulls himself to sit next to Y/N on the bar, the only thing she wants to do is lean forward and lick the liquor from his skin.

“‘I used to think I was sensible’…” Harry passes a newly poured shot to Y/N, meaning for her to take it from him, and he nearly stutters over his next line as Y/N wraps her hand around his own, guiding him to guide the shot to her mouth.  There’s a sharp intake of air into the microphone before Harry can sing again, and Y/N smirks at the small victory as she wipes her mouth doing her best to hide how the bitter taste of the tequila affects her. “‘It makes the truth even more incomprehensible’.”

Y/N brings her microphone to her mouth again to sing the next verse with Harry, their eyes locked together as they lean forward into each other.  Despite the cheering of the crowd, Y/N can’t help but feel as though she and Harry are the only two in the bar, as if this—very public—performance were small and intimate and just between them.

“‘Because everything is new’…” Harry grips the knot in Y/N’s plaid shirt, easily pulling it undone with one hand.  His eyes break away from hers for only a moment to canvas over her newly exposed midriff and lace bralette before snapping back to her gaze with a renewed vigor. He keeps the tails of the shirt clutched within his strong hand as he begins to lean back on the bar, pulling Y/N down with him.

“‘And everything is you’…” Y/N almost falls over before she catches herself, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head on the bar to support her weight as he lays down fully. She can feel how tightly he’s gripping her shirt by how the hem of it is pressing into her skin, and the pressure of the fabric cues another kind of pressure to begin to curl inside her stomach. When she sucks in a breath, she can taste tequila and Harry’s cologne on her tongue, and she struggles to bite back a whine while Harry wraps her shirt tighter around his hand.

“‘And all I’ve learned has overturned’…” Harry releases the wrinkled fabric of her shirt, his now freed hand trading the cloth for the skin of her exposed waist.  The coolness of his rings against her flushed skin makes Y/N’s breath stutter, and she curls her body over him more in response.  The taste of Harry’s touch has sparked a need to be closer, as well as a new fluttering in her core, and judging by the way Harry keeps licking his lips, he knows it.

Refusing to be the only one affected by their close proximity, Y/N moves her supporting hand from the bar to Harry’s hair, tugging on it harshly as Harry opens his mouth to sing the next line.  As Y/N sings “‘I beg of you’…” with a pleading glance, Harry grunts deep in his throat, just managing to pull the microphone away from his lips so that Y/N is the only one to hear it.

Although getting a reaction out of Harry was her goal, actually hearing that reaction is another story entirely.  Heat rushes to Y/N’s face as Harry grips her waist tighter, pressing her thighs and hips to his own as he guides the two of them to the beat of the music.  The cheering and wolf whistles from the crowd are the only thing that keep Y/N grounded and in the moment, reminding her that—despite how it feels—there are people watching the two of them.

“‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry grinds his hip against Y/N’s once more, moving them in a steady and consistent pace.  Y/N repositions her body in return, spreading her legs so she can straddle Harry’s hips more easily.  She knows, though, that she needs to start pulling back.  She has to do something to get away from him, to break the trance that his touch has her in, before she does something she’ll regret.

“‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Y/N slowly sits back up, letting go of Harry’s hair in order to trail her free hand down his chest. Although she knows that she’s supposed to be distancing herself from him, she can’t resist digging her nails in just the slightest bit, delighting in the hiss that leaves his mouth. “‘Lay all your love on me’…”

Harry sits up slowly as the key changes, his eyes glued to Y/N’s lips as she sings a line by herself, her voice growing ever so slightly fainter every time Harry tugs on his red lips with his teeth, soothing the mark with his tongue a moment after. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’…”

Now that they’re both sitting upright, Harry grips their bodies and turns them so that their legs once again dangle off the bar.  Y/N can feel the blood rushing from her head as she drapes her arm over Harry’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as Harry digs his fingertips into her waist. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Harry’s pupils are so blown that his irises practically look black.  His chest is heaving with every breath, his exposed skin flushed and sweaty.  His curls are a mess from Y/N tangling her fingers in them.  If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d say Harry looks freshly fucked, and then she wonders if she looks the same.  By the way Harry’s looking at her, she thinks it’s safe to say that she does.

“‘Lay all your love on me’.” They finish together, hungry eyes locked with each other while the wolf whistles and clapping gets louder as the final notes of the song trail off.  This is where they should break apart, Y/N thinks, her chest moving rapidly with every ragged breath she takes.  This is where she should climb off Harry’s lap, climb down from the bar, return the microphones to the DJ, and gather her things and go.  This is the end of whatever the hell just happened during that song.  This is where she says “Harry, we have to be up early tomorrow to drive, so we should go back to the motel.”

To her credit, Y/N tries. She swallows hard, her mouth as dry as it’s ever been, and sucks in another breath, almost whimpering at the taste of his cologne in the back of her throat.  Don’t, she tells herself.  She needs to say what she needs to say.  Their game is done.  It’s over.

“Harry—” She begins, and that’s all she manages to say before Harry is kissing her.

Her body reacts before her mind does, but between the overwhelming sensations all around her and the copious amounts of liquor that her brain is swimming in, Y/N can only register every third movement.  The microphone falling from her hand onto the bar as she tangles her fingers back in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling and receiving the most delightful gasps from him in return.  Harry’s teeth catching her bottom lip, just barely tugging on the tender flesh. Ringed hands keeping a firm grip on Y/N’s sides as Harry helps her down from the bar, his lips still pressed firmly against her own.  The lingering taste of tequila on Harry’s skin as Y/N kisses down his jaw, unable to completely pull away as Harry struggles to settle their tab with the bartender.

She’s never felt like this before; Y/N didn’t even know it could feel like this.  She didn’t know that she could feel an ache so deep inside her, both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and be so completely aware that the only cure for it is the touch of another person.  Y/N had been convinced that this rush was something that was fiction, made up by steamy romance novels to entice lonely housewives to dive beneath their pages. And yet here she is, stumbling out of a bar in Cleveland, Ohio, with Harry Styles, someone that she swore up and down that she hated five days ago.  Here she is with Harry’s jacket draped over her heated shoulders, his hands slipped underneath, rubbing at her exposed skin as he guides her back to the motel.  Here she is with his lips connected to her neck the moment their motel room door is closed, his fingers fumbling with the locks on the door as he refuses to pull away from her.

Yes, Y/N thinks, as she grinds her hips against Harry’s, relishing in the strangled moan that he breathes into her mouth: it’s never felt like this.

“Y/N—” Each pant of her name from his lips sounds like a song. “Fuck, Y/N—” Harry pulls back from her just enough to suck in a full breath, the first in what feels like hours. “I—we—”

“Shut up.” Y/N uses her grip on his hair to pull his head back, trailing open mouthed kisses over his jugular. “Just shut up, Harry, I need—I just need—”

“Need what?” Harry demands, eyes dark as he pushes himself away from her.  An involuntary whine at the loss of contact escapes from Y/N’s throat, and Harry has to steel himself again before he can continue. “What do you need?” He asks, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “You—you have to tell me, so that—I need you to be clear.”

Y/N licks over her swollen lips, eyes blown wide with lust as she stares up at Harry, struggling to find the words.  “I need…” She swallows once more, inhaling sharply as he grips her shoulders to steady her. “I need you, Harry.  Just fuck me. I-I need you to—”

Before she can finish her request, Harry has scooped her up into his arms, tossing her on the creaking motel bed as if she were a rag doll.  A gasp of shock leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she’s barely managed to sit up before Harry is caging his body over hers, forcing her back down as he kisses her hard.

Y/N’s hands go straight to the hem of his shirt, tugging roughly on the fabric, shoving it up Harry’s body before he gets the clue to half sit up and pull it off himself. After that, it’s a rush to remove clothes, each of them blindly pulling off shirts and bras and pants.  Everything is rushed, and that’s what Y/N wants. She doesn’t want time to lay down and explore, and allow herself space to second guess her decision.  All she wants is Harry to do something about the ache in her core, to fill her up so completely that she’ll be feeling him for days. It’s that need that makes Y/N tug on his hair to get his attention as he begins to kiss her thighs.

“No.” She shakes her head haphazardly, and the room spins slightly when she finishes the motion. “No, I just—I just need you to fuck me.  I’m ready, Harry—”

“But—” His teeth tug roughly on his bottom lip, mimicking Y/N’s actions from moments ago. “I want to taste—”

“Please, Harry.” Y/N whines, throwing her head back on the motel pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve been full…please…”

The lewd admission catches Harry off guard. “Fucking hell—” He spits out, his hands tugging on his hair as he sits up. “Yeah, I—okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself, the struggle to have a coherent thought clear on his face. “Okay, I need…”

Harry’s eyes begin to search the room, and the moment they settle on his bag in the corner, he rushes towards it.  Y/N watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his smooth skin as he unzips the bag, rummaging through it before pulling out a tiny foil square.  He tucks the package between his teeth as his hands fumble with his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it off to toss to the floor.  He undoes his button and fly as he climbs back onto the bed, doing his best to waste no time as he situates himself between Y/N’s still spread legs.  

“Y’look so hot like this, y’know that?” He can’t stop himself from muttering the words as he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock.  Y/N stares hungrily at how swollen he is, only half listening to Harry’s words as she watches his hand stroke himself, the other lifting the condom package to his teeth.  He tears the foil open, spitting the little tag from his mouth as he removes the condom from the foil.  That foil is soon tossed to the ground before Harry gives himself one last stroke, quickly but carefully rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Placing his hands on either knee, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs even wider, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her bare core. “You’re dripping.” Harry says in a low voice, and before Y/N can reply with anything, he runs a ringed finger over her folds and slips it into his mouth.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasps at the unexpected sensation, the minimal contact enough to send her reeling. Harry grins at the response, loving how the pleasure from the small action is clearly written across her face.

“Sorry.” He says with a small shrug, lining himself up with her entrance. “Just wanted a little taste, tha’s all.  Couldn’t resist.” Harry drags the tip of his cock along Y/N’s slick core, a look of concentration overtaking his features. “I’ll go slow—”

A sound of protest leaves Y/N’s mouth. “No.  Go fast. I need it, Harry, please—” Her plea is cut off by Harry thrusting inside her with one sharp movement, and then Y/N stops talking completely.

There’s a slight feeling of pain, as she wasn’t lying when she said it’s been a while since she’s been with someone, but underneath that pain, pleasure is quickly building as Harry begins to snap his hips towards hers, finding a rhythm within a few thrusts. Y/N knows immediately that Harry is probably one of the largest men—if not the largest man—she’s ever been with, but that’s exactly what she needs right now.  The moment he filled her for the first time, there was a feeling of completeness that she’s been missing in her life for a long time.  She needed this, she thinks.  She needed to be stretched, to be filled, to be fucked, and Harry is the only one that could have fulfilled those needs this well. She’s convinced of it.

It’s far from the most romantic sex Y/N’s ever had; it’s all teeth clacking, biting, scratching, tugging, and growling.  And she knows that she should be concerned about how Harry’s teeth biting down on her shoulder is going to leave marks, especially when she has to wear a bridesmaid dress in less than 48 hours.  But all of that is exactly what she needs.  She doesn’t want Harry to whisper how much he loves her, how close he feels to her, how happy he is to be with her.  She doesn’t want to hear him say anything, except—

“Feel so fucking good around my cock.” He growls, his fingertips digging deeper into the flesh of her hips. “So bloody tight, Y/N…”

A sharp gasp tumbles out of Y/N’s throat as Harry swivels his hips, finding the exact spot she needs him the most. “Oh God, Harry, I—” Y/N scratches her nails down his back, surely leaving a trail of angry red marks in her place, as her other hand twists the sheets within her grip. “Fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

“Feels good, yeah? You like it?” Harry manages to bring a hand to her hair, tangling it within her locks and pulling hard. “Tell me.” His voice is so much lower than she’s ever heard it, his accent so much thicker, and the combination sends Y/N’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Tell me how much you love my cock, and—fuck—how much you love me fucking you.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, a strangled whine echoing from the back of her throat as the head of Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot again. “I-I love it, Harry, I—your cock fills me so well—don’t stop, please don’t stop—!”

Using her moans as fuel, Harry begins to thrust faster, tugging on Y/N’s hair one last time before grasping her hips between his hands to gain more control.  If his flushed skin and the sweat covering his entire body is any indication, Y/N can tell that Harry is just as close as she is.  Her breathing quickens just as the sound of the bed creaking does, and she brings one hand down to her clit to rub fast circles, desperate to reach her release.

“Harry—” She gasps for what seems the millionth time that night, her body shuddering as she pushes closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so fucking close, Harry, please—”

The growl that falls from Harry’s mouth almost doesn’t sound like him.  It’s deeper, more animalistic, and so unlike the careful and slow voice that she’s gotten used to over the last five days.  Releasing one hand from her hip, he pushes her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own to rub circles over her clit. “Cum for me, Y/N. I know you need it, baby, so just—” Harry groans as her walls squeeze his length. “Just cum.”

The command combined with his motions is all it takes to push Y/N over the edge.  A breathless gasp falls from her open mouth, and she screws her eyes shut as pleasure courses through her body.  It’s so much more intense than anything she’s felt before, so much more pleasurable, so much more dizzying, and just so much more. Small whimpers and Harry’s name are the only things she can think to say as her orgasm makes her movements stutter before falling limply back onto the bed.

“Fuck—” Harry moans roughly as he kisses her one more time, his mouth falling open against hers as her orgasm triggers his own.  Although the rhythm of his thrusts stutters, they don’t completely stop, and he continues to slam his hips against her own as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it, baby—squeeze me tight—” Harry pants into Y/N’s mouth, barely registering anything he’s saying, let alone the pet name that’s begun to fall from his lips. “Christ…”

Things become a blur after that.  After Harry pulls out, all Y/N can focus on is how empty she feels without his thick cock filling her to the brim, and she doesn’t even realize that he’s gotten off the bed until he returns, his weight causing the whole bed frame to creak once more. With both of them so sweaty, Harry only pulls the top sheet over their panting bodies, pressing his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck as his eyes close.

Neither of them says anything, and for multiple reasons.  What exactly is there to say?  And, more pressing, what exactly is Y/N capable of saying right now?  There are no words running through her mind. All she can do is think in terms of physical contact and needs, and those two things tell her everything she knows in this moment.  She knows that Harry is in just his boxers now because she can’t feel the rough fabric of his pants against her bare skin.  She knows that she needs his hands on her, cupping her breasts the way he is. She knows that if he were to move away from her, she’d go chasing after him.  She knows that she’s completely worn out—completely fucked out, really—and above all else, she knows that whatever needs to be discussed between them can be discussed the next morning.

Harry, however, seems to have a different approach.  His face still pressed into her neck, he mumbles something against her sweat soaked skin, low and deep and completely inaudible.  Y/N feels an open mouthed kiss pressed to her neck, and then hears another mumble, this one even quieter than the last.

“Hm?” Y/N barely manages to hum the syllable in her exhaustion.

There’s no response, no repeat of the quiet phrases, and it takes Y/N a few minutes of feeling Harry’s breathing even out to realize that he’s fallen asleep.  If she were sober and had the mental capacity to examine things, Y/N would wonder what it was that Harry whispered into her skin.  But her brain is swimming in exhaustion and endorphins and tequila, and the only thing she can do is close her eyes and allow her breathing to sync up with the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.

…

The first thing Y/N registers the next morning is the shrill ringing of her cell phone, which somehow made its way to the bedside table in her drunken fervour the night before. The second thing she registers is the pounding of her head, like she can feel each pump of blood to her brain, and the uncomfortably dry feeling in her mouth, as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. The third thing Y/N registers is—

“Christ.” Harry groans into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep and laced with irritation. “God, who is calling right now?”

Right.  The third thing she registers, probably the most complicated of all, Y/N thinks, is just how much of Harry’s taut and tattooed bare skin is pressed against her own.  His strong arms are thrown over her waist, clutching her tight to his chest. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of the chain of Harry’s cross pressing into her breast, probably leaving a small red indentation along with the other marks he left on her last night.

Last night.

Y/N lets out a small whine as the previous evening comes rushing back to her.  It’s a blur of alcohol, ABBA, and Harry.  Harry is everywhere, in every blurred picture her hungover brain can conjure.  Laughing at her from across the table.  Smirking at her on stage.  Staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes as he pulled her down on top of him on the bar, grinding his hips into hers.  Kissing her.  Kissing her multiple times.  Coming back to their room with his hands leaving scorching imprints over every inch of her.  And now, him laying next to her, clutching the two of them together like they’ve always done this.  Like it’s natural.

The phone rings again, louder than the last time, and Harry curses under his breath, the short exhale of air leaving goosebumps along Y/N’s neck.  He lifts his head just barely as he reaches across Y/N’s body, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and not bothering to check the caller ID as he answers.

“Hello?” He says, the rasp of sleep still clear his voice.  Within three seconds, Harry’s entire body tenses against Y/N, his arm constricting around her waist enough to shift her on the bed.

Y/N lifts her head up when she feels the change, finally opening her eyes just enough to read the change in Harry’s body language.  What she finds are dark and stormy green eyes, a swollen red mouth pressed into a thin line, and a deep crease between his furrowed brow, all of it such a contrast from the hazy memories of him the night before.

“I—yeah, she’s right here.” Harry mutters, his eyes snapping to Y/N’s face for just a moment. “I’ll—oh. Yeah, no, the trip’s been…good. Yeah.  Not too much traffic.” His arm moves off her waist as he pulls away from her, rolling onto his back as the bed creaks beneath them.  With his newly freed hand, Harry covers his eyes, rubbing them for a moment as the irritation on his face grows. “Yeah, it was nice of me to give her a ride.  Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “Well, she’s—she’s awake now.  Here.  I’ll let you two talk.”

Y/N props herself up on one elbow, careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest so that she’s not exposed. She knows that Harry’s already seen everything, touched everything, and kissed everything, but the sudden change in his demeanor is telling her that she needs to be guarded, even if she has no idea what caused it.

Harry holds out her phone for her, his face stony as Y/N slowly accepts it. “Harry—?” She begins, but he just gives a rough jerk of his head, and offers no other explanation.

Eyes still glued to Harry’s face, Y/N brings the phone to her ear, clearing the sleep from her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The familiar cadence of Brant’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, an indication of how far away he is from her. “It’s good to finally hear your voice; I haven’t been able to catch you the last few days.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Harry as her body goes cold, pressing the sheet tighter to her chest. “Brant.” She whispers his name unintentionally; her body won’t allow her to say it any louder. “Hi.”

At the sound of Brant’s voice leaving her lips, Harry throws the covers off of himself, jerkily pulling himself off of the low motel room bed.  He snatches his jeans off the floor, and doesn’t give Y/N another glance as he walks to the small bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

“Hi.” Brant says again, completely unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the telephone line. “I’ve missed you.  Where are you now?”

“Uh, Cleveland.” Y/N says weakly, stumbling her way out of the bed to her duffel bag.  She grabs a new bra and t-shirt, along with her comfiest pair of pants.  Without Harry beside her, she’s freezing. “Today’s our last day of driving.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Brant replies easily. “The wedding is tomorrow, then?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N’s eyes flicker to the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting travels through the wood of the door. “And tonight is the rehearsal dinner.”

Brant makes a sound of acknowledgement on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be nice!  Do you know if you’re flying back?”

“Uh—” Y/N pauses her movements, her pants half pulled up her legs.  That, honestly, is a good question, and one which seems as though the answer is changing with every passing moment. “I guess I’ll call the airline and…see if I can fly back.  Maybe the storms will have passed.”

“You must have driven through them, right?  In Utah, or wherever they were?” Brant asks curiously. “Did they seem that bad? Honestly, I’ve always found thunder to be relaxing.  I think most people do.”

Y/N tugs her t-shirt over her head with one hand, accidentally bumping her chin as she does so.  The motion causes her to bite down on her tongue, and she lets out a curse under her breath, not even bothering to correct Brant.  It doesn’t matter, she thinks.  He probably wouldn’t remember. “Yeah.  Relaxing.”

The sound of the shower turning off catches her attention, distracting her from what Brant says next. “I—sorry—” She mutters in a distracted tone, raking her fingers through her sleep and sex mussed hair. “What was that?”

“I said let me know when you’re on your way back from New York, so I’ll make us a dinner reservation.” Brant repeats himself without suspicion of Y/N’s distracted tone. “We just got some new files at work that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

The bathroom door creaks open, and Harry emerges from the cloud of shower steam.  He’s dressed in just his pants, his marked chest still damp from the shower.  Although he catches Y/N’s eye for a moment, he quickly looks away, rubbing his towel through his wet curls as he turns to search for a shirt.  The red marks of Y/N’s nails are prominent on his otherwise unmarked back.

“Dinner?” Y/N repeats slowly, chewing on her cuticle as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you—you still want to get dinner?”

“Of course.  I enjoy our weekly dinners, don’t you?” Brant asks, confusion finally slipping into his voice. “I’ve missed them.”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her bottom lip. “Okay.  Yeah.  Dinner. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know when I book a flight home.”

“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ll let you get on the road. Let me know when you’re available.” Brant’s voice already sounds more and more distant. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Y/N replies lamely, letting her phone drop to the crumpled bed sheets.

There’s a rustling behind her, the sound of a belt clicking, of the zipper on a duffel bag being pulled shut.  Y/N waits for a moment, to give Harry the chance to say something to her, but nothing comes.  Finally, she twists around on the bed, her nerves running on high.

Harry is completely dressed now, a black t-shirt covering his previously bare chest, and he’s tied his familiar green bandana into his damp chestnut locks.  His sunglasses are hanging on the neck of his shirt, but even without them covering his emerald eyes, Y/N can’t decipher anything that’s swirling within them.

“That—that was Brant.” She says finally, scratching a nail over the palm of her hand.

Harry jerks his head in a nod as he shoulders his duffel bag. “Yeah.  I heard.” Tapping his fingers against the leather strap, he finally spares a glance at Y/N. “He wants to take you to dinner, huh?”

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, Y/N takes a moment before she replies. “Harry, I—”

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters, taking long strides to the door and unlocking it with a harsh turn of his hand. “Just hurry up, yeah?  I want to get on the road soon, so we’re not late to the rehearsal dinner.”

When he slams the door behind him, Y/N breaks.

…

And just like that, it’s like they’re back at square one.

It really feels like the first day all over again, Y/N thinks, in every sense of the sentiment. From the way she and Harry sit in silence, each avoiding the other’s gaze, to how every single one of Harry’s movements is filled with a tight and tense irritation.  Even the sound of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is familiar, echoing through the speakers of the car like a soundtrack to an old memory.  

After four hours, the silence is finally getting to her.  She can’t stop shifting in her seat, her muscles seizing from hours on end in the same position—although, frankly, her soreness may partially be a result of her and Harry’s activities from the night before—and with every short and hard breath Harry sighs, Y/N gets more and more antsy.

“Harry.” She says finally, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eye.  He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift, both grips tight enough to stretch his skin over the bones of his knuckles until it goes white.  At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his jaw flexes, but he shows no other evidence that he heard her.

A frustrated sigh falls past Y/N’s lips. “Harry.” She says again, firmer this time. “Are you going to ignore me all the way to the Catskills?”

Realizing that he can’t feign deafness, Harry lets his shoulders lift once and drop down again in a quick motion. “’M not ignoring you.” He mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“We’re not talking. At all.” Y/N taps her fingers against her knee, just slightly off the beat of the music. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice flatter than she’s ever heard it. “What’s there to talk about?”

Y/N twists her body in her seat, her seat belt nearly cutting into her throat with how quickly she moves. “What the hell do you mean, what’s there to talk about?  There’s plenty!  Last night—”

Harry cuts over her with a sharp tone, still refusing to look away from the road. “Last night we got drunk, and we made a mistake.” His grip tightens even more on the gear shift as he moves it to accelerate the car. “And it shouldn’t have happened.”

It takes a few moment for the words to register in her brain, and Y/N blinks slowly as the process unfolds. “You think it was a mistake?” She tries to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“I do.” Harry nods tightly, and while Y/N thinks that she can detect something else underneath his tone, his dark sunglasses hide the truth of his thoughts from her. “We got caught up with trying to—to pretend we’re not who we are.  But we know who we are.”

If Y/N’s brain couldn’t process Harry’s words a moment ago, it’s working in overdrive now as she draws a million different conclusions from the conversation.  What the fuck does “we know who we are” mean?  Wasn’t the whole point of this trip—the long lesson they’d learned together—that both of them were different than the other had thought? Hadn’t Harry proved to her, over and over, how he was so much more considerate and empathetic than she’d previously imagined?  Hadn’t she shown him that she wasn’t the Ice Queen he thought she was, wasn’t as controlling, wasn’t as perfect?  Hadn’t that been a good thing?  Hadn’t they bonded at roadside fruit stands, small souvenir shacks, ghost town gas stations, and dingy motel rooms?

But maybe…maybe she had imagined all of that, because the way that Harry is actively avoiding her gaze is telling her that he isn’t thinking the same thing.  Everything from his body language, to his tone of voice, to his attitude, is telling her that he’s just as stubborn and closed off as he was when they first met.  He hasn’t changed.  If he had, he wouldn’t be refusing to do something as simple as look at her.

Still, something about the interaction doesn’t sit right with Y/N.  Although she turns to face the windshield again, she keeps Harry in the corner of her gaze. “Is this…” She swallows hard. “Does this have something to do with Brant calling?”

A harsh snort is all the response she gets. “Christ, no.  Trust me, nothing that prick can do has that much of an affect on me.” Even from behind his sunglasses, Y/N can tell that Harry is rolling his eyes. “Although I suppose it is a reminder of where you belong.”

A flash of irritation rips up Y/N’s spine. “A reminder of what?” She repeats, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me, Y/N, don’t make me say it again.” Harry taps a finger to the song, perfectly on the beat. They’re out of sync, Y/N realizes. Had they ever been in sync?

No, she decides.  They hadn’t.  She’d just been fooling herself.  Being in the car for five days with only Harry for company had deluded her, but soon she’d be with Jo, and a million other people, and when she’s not in stuck in Harry’s car, smelling Harry’s cologne, listening to Harry’s music, she’ll have a clear head.  She’ll be able to think straight.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses her arms firmly over her chest, leaning her head against the cool glass of the passenger window.  A sign welcoming them to the state of New York whizzes past. “I won’t make you say it again.  You don’t have to say anything.”

…

“So?  What do you think?”

Y/N steps over the threshold of the cozy cabin, analyzing every little detail of the room as quickly as she can.  The interior seems to be one open concept room, cleverly split up with small architectural dividers.  The living room and kitchen flowed into each other smoothly, with a kitchen island dividing the space.  To the left of the living room is a small reading nook, holding a comfortable looking wicker swing chair and a half-size bookshelf that seems to be well stocked. Separating the reading nook from the rest of the cabin is the staircase, which Y/N presumes leads up to the master bedroom and bathroom that’s lofted above on the halved second floor. Between the wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the forest, the fire quietly cracking in the living room, and the potted plants scattered around the cabin, Y/N has to admit that she thinks she could live in this space for the rest of her life.

“It’s beautiful, Jo.” She finally replies, setting down her suitcase and duffel bag as she continues to look around.  She walks to the living room first, brushing her fingers over the cable knit blanket that’s draped over the back of the comfortable looking couch. “Is this for you and Laure?”

“Nope.  It’s for me and you.” Jo replies, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge.  She pulls out a bottle of rosé, motioning over her shoulder to the cupboard. “Grab a couple wine glasses, would you?”

Y/N crosses to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until she finds the glasses.  Setting them down on the island, she gives Jo a confused look. “Me and you?”

Jo gives her a familiar grin as she uncorks the wine, and the sight of it lights a warm fire in Y/N’s chest.  It feels like home. “It’s tradition for the bride not to see the bride before the wedding, isn’t it?  So after the rehearsal dinner, Laure and I will say goodbye until the ceremony tomorrow, and you and I—” She fills Y/N’s glass liberally. “Will have one last night of single girl fun.  And then you can have the cabin to yourself tomorrow night, because I will be on my honeymoon, and, hopefully, getting laid.”

Y/N smiles back at her as she lifts her glass, clinking it against Jo’s. “Sounds like a plan.” After taking a long sip, Y/N leans her elbows on the counter, propping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow.  Married!”

“Yeah, well, that’s old news.” Jo waves her hand as she lowers her wine glass from her lips, her inquisitive eyes alight with mischief. “I’d rather know how the trip with Harry was. Are you two finally getting along? The last time I called, you actually sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

Y/N pauses with her wine glass half lifted to her lips.  Part of her wants to tell Jo everything, because she always tells Jo everything. It feels wrong to have a secret from her.  But then again, she’s never had a reason to have a secret before.  Right now, however…the last thing Jo and Laure need the night before their wedding—three hours before the rehearsal dinner—is to be stressed because the maid of honour and the best man had a drunken one night stand in Cleveland, Ohio.  

“I wouldn’t say we’re getting along.” Y/N says diplomatically, taking a sip of wine between her words. “We’re…a bit better, I suppose.  But we’re not that close.”

“Really?” When Jo raises an eyebrow, Y/N almost swears that she can detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But Harry said—”

“He said what?” Y/N asks quickly, the diplomatic tone disappearing immediately.

Jo tugs on her bottom lip as she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing, I guess.  I don’t know.  I overheard him and Laure talking last night, but I couldn’t really make much of it out.  It sounded like you two were at a bar.”

The new information makes Y/N pause.  Harry had called Laure while they were at the bar last night.  Harry had felt the need to call Laure while they were at the bar last night.  What had been so urgent, so pressing, that he needed to speak to her right then and there?

“A bar, yeah.” Y/N finally replies after a moment. “It was alright.  We just had a couple drinks to relax from being in the car.”

“Just drinks?  That’s all?  Nothing else?”

Y/N clears her throat, gulping down the rest of her wine before answering. “That’s it.  Nothing else.”

…

“Here you go, Miss Bride.” Y/N grins at Jo as she tops off her mimosa, fixing the tie of her pink silk robe as she settles back down in her chair. “Something to relax you, yeah?”

Jo glances up at Y/N, her pen pausing over the page of her notebook.  She’s careful when she moves her head, so as not to disturb the hairstylist that’s carefully curling her hair, but still manages to meet Y/N’s eye. “I’m relaxed.” She argues, but takes a sip of the drink nonetheless. “I just love mimosas.  You can’t blame me for that.”

Y/N gives a slight shrug as she brushes a strand of her own carefully styled hair over her shoulder. Jo, being Jo, had insisted on sleeping in as much as she could that morning, so when the hair and makeup lady had arrived two hours ago, Y/N had been the first one to get made over. Which, honestly, she quite enjoyed, but the real feat would be remaining picture perfect until the ceremony, which is still two hours away.

“Will you do something for me?” Jo asks suddenly, her pen still scratching over her notebook.  She finishes signing her name with a messy signature, waiting until the hairdresser has paused her movements to rip the page from the notebook and fold it up.  She quickly writes Laure’s name on the front and extends the note to Y/N. “Will you bring this to Laure?”

Although Y/N accepts the note from her automatically, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “This isn’t an explanation of why you’re leaving her at the altar, is it?”

Jo flips Y/N off with an elegantly painted fingernail. “No, you jerk.  We agreed to write letters to each other right before the wedding.  As a little keepsake.”

A sudden lump develops in Y/N’s throat as she turns the note over in her hands, her mind flickering back to the last time she’d read something Jo wrote for Laure.  How Harry’s voice had sounded reciting Laure’s words for Jo. “You two are sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Y/N finishes her mimosa before standing up, tightening her robe once again. “I’ll take it to her now. Where’s her cabin?”

“Just down the path towards the resort.  Take a left when you reach the arrow sign.” Jo instructs her, setting her notebook down beside her before relaxing back into her chair.  Her eyes close as the hairdresser continues styling her hair. “You’ll find it.”

Y/N nods, slipping on her scuffed up Vans before dashing outside.  When the slight chill in the morning air hits her, she pulls her silk dressing gown around her tighter, and debates whether or not she should grab a proper jacket.  She decides against it, however, and ignores the goosebumps popping up on her bare legs as she begins to walk down the path Jo mentioned.

It’s a quiet and calm morning, and Y/N can hear birds chirping and flittering through the pine trees around them.  The trees themselves add a wonderful scent to the air, in addition to the faint smell that indicates it may rain later.  Glancing up, Y/N can see that the sky is overcast, giving another indication of future weather patterns.  A small sigh escapes her.  A storm would be just the thing that’s needed today, she thinks wryly.  

When Y/N reaches the arrow sign, which points towards the lake, the main resort building, and the cabins, she takes a sharp left.  And practically slams into Harry’s chest.

On instinct, Harry’s strong hands grip her arms, steadying her as she stumbles back from him.  Y/N’s eyes widen as she registers who she almost walked into, and she can tell Harry is just realizing it’s her.  His grip on her tightens for just a moment before it releases, and he takes a step back from her, creating space between their bodies.

“Sorry.” Y/N says after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was just—”

“Yeah.” Harry holds up his hand, and for the first time Y/N realizes that he’s holding a note identical to hers. “You’re on messenger duty too, huh?”

Biting her lip, Y/N nods slowly, holding up her own note. “Mhmm.”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Y/N doesn’t miss how Harry’s green irises pause during his scan of her bare legs.  Crossing her ankles together, Y/N lets her eyes wander too, admiring for a moment how Harry’s grey sweatpants cling to his hips.  But only for a moment.

“Well, here.” Y/N pushes the note towards him, taking the note that he trades her in return. “How’s Laure doing?”

Harry gives a half shrug, turning Jo’s note over and over in his fingers. “Pretty decent, except she won’t eat anything.  Says she’s too nervous.”

Y/N cracks a small smile at the image of Laure, someone who is usually so self assured and confident, being too nervous about anything. “Tell her she can’t have a drink until she eats.  That’s how I got some toast into Jo.”

“I’ll do that.” Harry says with a terse nod.  

A beat of silence falls between the two of them, the only sounds audible being the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees.  The latter sends a shiver through Y/N, and she wraps her arms around herself to rub her bare skin, trying to find a bit of warmth in the shade of the forest.

A crease appears between Harry’s brow as he registers the motion, and he quickly shrugs off his own jacket.  Before Y/N can refuse, he’s draping the fabric around her shoulders, careful not to touch any bare skin.

Although Y/N fixes the drape of the jacket, her mouth opens to protest. “Harry—”

“I should go.  I have to give this to Laure, and get her to eat something.” Harry’s voice is gruff as he takes a step back. “I suppose I’ll…see you at the wedding?”

Y/N nods slowly, her fingers still grazing over the hem of the jacket. “Yeah.” She should say more, she thinks.  She should voice her anger, or her hurt, or whatever the hell it is that’s curdling like a hot ball of lead inside her stomach, but she can’t think of the words. “Yeah, I—” I’m sorry.  I miss you. I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could do things over. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

…

“Uh, hello.  Can everyone hear me?”

Y/N watches with expectant eyes as Harry leans forward over the podium, his pink lips brushing against the microphone for just a moment before he takes a step back.  He looks so different than the last time she’d seen him with a microphone, she thinks.  He’s dressed so much more formally, in a striking emerald suit that matches the colour palette of the wedding, along with Y/N’s dress.  His cheeks are flushed from champagne, his eyes bright, but there’s a hint of nerves under his thick accent.  

Harry raises his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly as he unfolds a piece of paper and smooths it on the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Harry Styles.  I have had the honour of being Laure’s best man today, as well as her best friend since we were teenagers.” Harry pauses his speech to smile at Laure, the fondness for the bride apparent in his eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together—I’ve watched her go through a lot, too—and she’s always come out on the other side better than ever.  An example of this is when she made the decision—after living in England her whole life, never leaving, living in the same small brownstone for eighteen years—to move to America for university.”

Y/N lifts her champagne to her lips, taking a small sip while keeping her eyes glued to Harry.  The more he talks, the more relaxed he appears, as he naturally falls into the role of a performer again.  Out of the corner of her eye, she can practically see him charming every woman in the room, and it takes all her concentration not to roll her eyes.

“She’d made the decision a bit impulsively, and—in true Laure fashion—stuck to it like the stubborn person she is.” Harry laughs lightly, shaking his head at the memory as Jo nods in agreement beside Y/N. “She was so certain that moving was what she wanted, so determined to do it—and then the night before her flight, she showed up at my house in tears, talking about how she couldn’t possibly go through with the move.  She couldn’t leave behind everything she’d known.” Glancing down at his notes for a moment, Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “It freaked me out a bit, I won’t lie.  To see someone who’s usually so sure of themselves question such a big decision. But I assured her that everything would be fine, that moving forward was always scary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.  Life always pushes us forward, whether we’re ready for it or not.  So Laure left, and a month later, I decided to go visit her in America, expecting to find her incredibly homesick, in tears, a mess.” A small smile begins to play at the corner of Harry’s lip. “Instead, I arrived to find her adjusted, happy, and about to go on a date with a girl she had met named Jo.”

A laugh ripples through the wedding guests, and Y/N can’t help but smile in spite of herself.  

“And I, uh…I was at a loss for words that day.” Harry’s eyes flicker to the head table, settling on the two brides with a happy smile, and yet…something in his eyes looks flatter, like he’s trapped in a deep thought. “I thought I was going to visit my friend, and comfort her, and instead I found her on a date, completely fine.  She didn’t need me to comfort her.  She was—and still is—so incredibly resilient. She always has been.”

Harry’s eyes travel again, but this time, they settle on Y/N.  She shifts in her seat as he looks her over, his eyes phasing emotions again while his tongue swipes over his lips quickly. “So anyways—” Harry quickly looks away when he catches Y/N’s eye, turning his attention back to the audience of wedding guests. “I suppose I’m the one to thank for this marriage, because if I hadn’t pushed Laure to come to America, she would never have met Jo.” An easygoing smile pulls at his pink lips as the crowd laughs lightly. “And now, Laure…you’re at that same place again.  A new beginning.  Except this time, you’re not alone.  You managed to find something that most of us…” Harry hesitates again. “Most of us spend our entire lives searching for, and when we find it, we manage to f—screw it up.” His eyes flicker to Laure’s grandmother when he catches the curse word, and Y/N hides a small laugh behind her champagne glass. “But you didn’t. You and Jo…you’re lucky.  You figured out what you wanted, and you didn’t let anything—fear, anxiety, or your…your own pride—” Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering to Y/N once more, and the glance makes her skin burn beneath her dress. “—stop you.  You’re both an inspiration to all of us.  I love you two.  To Jo and Laure!”

Y/N murmurs the toast with the rest of the crowd, raising her glass of champagne and draining it as her head spins with Harry’s words.  A waiter walks by and quickly refills the glass, grazing by Harry as he makes his way back to his seat on Laure’s right side.  Y/N barely gives herself a moment to catch his unreadable emerald eyes before she stands, carefully picking up the hem of her dress as she walks to the podium. It’s her turn now.

Stepping up to the microphone, Y/N clears her throat, resting her free hand against the wood to steady herself. “Thank you, Harry, that was…lovely.” Y/N begins, allowing herself one more stolen look at him.  His brow is furrowed, hands folded together over the cream tablecloth as his eyes focus on her.

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the maid of honour.  Jo and I have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, when she punched a boy in the nose for me, which, funnily enough, wasn’t the last time she’d have to do that.” A laugh rolls through the room, and Y/N gives an endeared look to Jo’s sheepish grin before turning to face the wedding guests again. “I’ve had the good fortune of having her on my side from day one, and…I know just how lucky that makes me.  There’s so many times where I’d…I wouldn’t have been able to handle what life threw at me if I didn’t have Jo with me.  She’s kind, and compassionate, and fiery, and just…the very best person I know. And if you know her, then I’m sure you’d agree.”

Y/N takes a moment to breathe, her parched tongue swiping quickly over her lips. “I’ve, um, I’ve never been a perfect person.  I’ve never been very good at…articulating what I feel, or—or making a hard choice. I’ve always followed a safer path, out of…fear, I suppose.” Not for the first time since she began talking, Y/N’s eyes travel to Harry.  He still has the same stoic expression over his features, but his eyes…she can tell he’s hanging on every word she’s saying, and is analyzing every syllable.

“But Jo has never done that.” Y/N continues, shaking her gaze from Harry to settle on her best friend. “Even when she’s been afraid, she’s pushed forward, usually dragging me along with her.  And it’s a good thing she has, because I wouldn’t have half the stories I have now if not for her.” Y/N cracks a smile. “But she just—when Jo loves you, you know it. She never hesitates to tell anyone. She never worries about it being too much.  She has the biggest heart, and if you’re lucky—really lucky—she’ll keep you inside it. And I used to worry about her, because in my mind, that was dangerous.  Being so open was so terrifying to me, I was certain that it would backfire for Jo.  And then she met Laure.”

Although it’s a struggle, Y/N manages to train her eyes on Laure without letting them travel to Harry. “Laure and Jo may seem different on the surface, but they both share giant hearts. And their differences balance each other out so perfectly.  You two—I never really believed in soul mates until I saw the two of you together.” Y/N admits, biting down hard on her lip when she catches Harry shifting in his chair from the corner of her eye. “But the way you two know each other, and speak to each other, and love each other…anyone who sees it can’t help but know that you’re meant for each other.  That you’ve been meant for each other since the beginning of time. Every choice you made, every path you took—all of it led you two to each other, because that’s what was destined to happen.  You—” Y/N’s voice catches in her throat, and she takes a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “You’re going to be happy together, because you were meant to be.  It’s as simple as that.”

Y/N knows that she can’t say anything else without beginning to unravel, so she simply raises her champagne glass in the air, deciding it’s best to leave it at that. “To Jo and Laure.”

Above the echoes of the wedding guests, Y/N can hear Harry’s unmistakable voice.

…

“‘She’s like the wind…through my tree’…”

With her champagne glass raised to her lips, Y/N pensively watches as Jo and Laure turn to the music in each other’s arms, holding one another close as the voice of Patrick Swayze drifts through the speakers.  When the pair had originally told Y/N that they wanted to dance to a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for their first dance, Y/N had laughed at the choice.  Now, however, as she watches Laure brush back a strand of hair from Jo’s face, her lips drifting down to whisper something in her new wife’s ear, Y/N has to admit that the song is the perfect choice for them.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Y/N recognizes Harry’s voice, not needing to turn her head away from the couple on the dance floor to know that he’s moved from his chair three seats down.  Although the feeling of his warm breath on her neck is enough to make her shudder, as well as bring back memories of the nights they spent together, Y/N does her best to keep herself composed.

“They do.” She agrees after a moment, setting her fluted glass down on the table.  She keeps her fingers around the base, gently gliding them over the smooth crystal absentmindedly as she finally turns her head just enough to catch a sight of Harry.

He’s moved himself to Jo’s chair, with one hand braced against the table and one hand lightly settled on the back of Y/N’s seat.  He removed his suit jacket after his speech, but his waist coat is still buttoned properly, despite the sleeves of his dress shirt now being rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattoos.  His face is just as pensive as it’s been all day, but there’s some sort of change that Y/N can’t quite put a finger on.  There’s less of a guard in his emerald eyes, she thinks, before turning her attention back to the dance floor.

“Do you…” Harry licks his lips once, swiping a hand through his carefully styled curls before brushing over the back of his neck. “Would you like to dance?  With me?”

Y/N’s movements against the crystal flute pause.  That question was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I…” Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes focused on the swaying of Jo and Laure. “I don’t know.”

A vibration on the back of Y/N’s chair lets her know that Harry’s tapping his fingers against it, the pattern familiar after watching him play the same rhythm on the steering wheel for five days. “You don’t have to, so—don’t feel like you have to say yes.  But I just…I don’t know.  I thought it would be nice.”

Yes, Y/N thinks wistfully, pursing her lips slightly at the nervous tone in Harry’s voice.  It would be nice.  To be wrapped in his arms again, his body close enough that she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his formal clothing.  To feel his calloused hands within her own again, and resting on her waist, pulling her closer to himself with every passing moment…

“It…” Y/N glances down for a moment, fixing a crease in her dress with careful attentiveness. “It would be nice, yeah.  Until we try ripping each other’s throats out in the middle of the wedding.”

The joke is only half a joke, and Harry’s laugh is only half in amusement. “I didn’t really plan on that.”

“Well, it seems that things we don’t plan on keep happening, so…” As the music begins to fade out, Y/N finally turns her head to look at Harry straight on. “That’s not really a reassuring statement.”

A flicker of irritation flits through Harry’s eyes, a sight that’s become familiar in all her years of knowing him. “It was a simple question, Y/N.  Do you want to dance or not?”

As Y/N’s own irritation escalates, she knows that she should say no.  The best thing for her to do right now would be to distance herself from Harry, to get some space to clear her head, and to keep herself from making a scene.  Whatever there is to talk about—if there even is something they need to talk about—can be done at a later date, preferably not in the middle of a wedding.  And yet—

“Fine.” Y/N finished off her champagne glass, setting it back down on the table gingerly as a new song begins to drift through the speakers.  “Let’s go.”

Harry stands from his seat first, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up.  Although she’s wary, she takes it, the sensation of his cool rings against her own fingers growing more and more familiar with each moment she spends touching them.  

A few more couples have joined Jo and Laure on the dance floor now, and Y/N and Harry fit right in as he leads her to the center, keeping her hand held firmly in his own as his free hand finds her waist.  Y/N rests her own hand on his shoulder, gripping his sturdy frame carefully.

“‘Is love so fragile…and the heart so hollow’…”

The song, Y/N realizes, doing her best to focus on anything but the way Harry’s gaze is locked onto her with a frightening intensity, is one that she’s heard a few times over their road trip together.  The beat of the song is as familiar as a memory as the two of them sway to it, their motions careful and controlled.

“‘You’re saying I’m fragile; I try not to be…I search only for something I can’t see’…”

Harry’s hand on her waist, Y/N can’t help but notice, is so much more unsure than it was a few nights ago, when he pulled her close on top of the bar.  When he guided her movements in a way that was so much more frenzied than he’s doing now, and in a way that she misses.  She’s missed it, that breathless feeling.  The feeling of not knowing what’s coming next, and being enthralled by the unknown of it all.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today…give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirking up ever so slightly lets Y/N know that he’s listening just as intently to the lyrics as she is, and has the same events and memories floating through his head.  His hand begins to get braver, tightening his grasp on her as his hand begins to rub gently over her hip.

“Harry…” His name slips from Y/N’s lips involuntarily as she meets his jade eyes in question.  From the corner of her eye, she can see Laure and Jo watching the two of them as they dance, whispering into each other’s ears like girls gossiping in a school hallway. “What—?”

“Sh.” The sound is soft as it falls past Harry’s red lips, the crease between his brow slackening slightly as he sighs. “Just…don’t speak.  Not right now.”

“‘You in the moonlight…with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me’…”

The request is easy enough, but Y/N can’t make herself listen to it as she cocks her head to the side, the furrow of her own brow matching Harry’s. “Why?”

“‘And you were right…when I walked into your house…I knew I’d never want to leave’…”

The breath that Harry sucks in is mostly taken through his teeth, his lips pursing immediately after as he contemplates his answer. “I just want to…remember this moment. Properly remember it, before tonight ends, and we…”

“‘Sometimes I’m a strong man…sometimes cold and scared’…”

“…We go our separate ways.” Harry finally finishes, his eyes shifting to the floor as he pulls Y/N even closer to his chest.  Her elbow is completely bent to her body as her fingers drift further from his shoulder, moving closer to where the slope of his neck begins.

Although the explanation makes sense, the thought of going a separate way from Harry catches Y/N’s breath in her throat, so much so that she can barely choke out a reply. “Okay.” She manages, the lump in her throat growing with every passing second.

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Eyes drifting closed of their own accord, Y/N leans her head forward, settling her cheek into the curve of Harry’s shoulder.  The smell of his cologne lingers in the fabric of his emerald waistcoat, intoxicating her further with every breath she takes.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Something warm and soft presses against the top of Y/N’s head, and she knows that it’s Harry’s own cheek resting against her.  A gentle sigh falls from his mouth, and Y/N feels every moment of it, from the rise and fall of his chest against hers to the breath of air that blows slowly from his lips.  She memorizes the motions, something for her to play in her head again later when she’s alone on a plane back to L.A., where her regular life is waiting for her. Where Brant is waiting for her.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

Y/N quickly lifts a finger to her eye, wiping away the moisture that’s pooling on her lash line before returning her grip to Harry’s shoulder. “If I said…” She hesitates, taking the time to choose her words carefully.  She needs to choose them carefully. “If I said that I loved every moment of the road trip…would you believe me?”

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Harry squeezes her hand in his own, his entire body tightening in response to her words, and for a moment, Y/N fears that she’s overstepped.  An apology is already forming in her mouth, about to spill from her tongue, when Harry’s response cuts her off, his voice hesitant and anxious and so quiet that she almost can’t make out the words.

“If I said that I loved every moment I’ve ever spent with you, and not just these last five days, would you believe me?”

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, her head quickly lifting from Harry’s shoulder to look at him with wide and astonished eyes.  Although the struggle is written clearly upon his face, he doesn’t shy his eyes away from hers, and instead holds her gaze as the voice of Stevie Nicks continues to croon over the speakers.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

As the music fades out, another song begins to fade in, increasing the tempo and causing the other couples around them to break apart and mill around the dance floor.  Only Y/N and Harry stay pressed together, stuck in a bubble of all their own, frozen in a moment of change, and unable to move forward or back in the same way they once had.

Over the fabric of her dress, Y/N can feel Harry’s thumb brushing against her hip, sending electrifying pulses throughout her body.  A loose curl has fallen from his styled hair into the path of his eyes, dusting over his eyelashes lightly as he blinks.  Did she believe him, she wonders?  Could she believe him?

“Can we…” Her mouth is dry when she tries to respond, and she licks her lips quickly, noticing how Harry’s eyes flicker to follow the motion. “Can we discuss this after the wedding? I just—I don’t want to take attention away from Jo and Laure—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods roughly, his hand squeezing hers one last time before he slowly drops it, stepping back from her with great care.  Y/N has to bite her tongue to stop herself from whining in protest.

“Yeah.” Harry repeats the word as he fixes his hair, his eyes drifting from hers. “We can discuss it later.”

…

Later, after Jo and Laure cut the cake, after each of them danced with their parents; later, after the staff members began to clear the plates from every table, after everyone waved goodbye to Jo and Laure as their car drove off to the honeymoon cottage snuggled further up the mountain side; later, after guests began to depart in their own cars; later, after Harry snagged a bottle of merlot from the kitchen, after Y/N slipped off her heels during the walk back to her cabin, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet oddly comforting; later, after Y/N opened the door, allowing Harry to step in first before following…

Later is each of them standing in the kitchen, still in their formal clothes, more disheveled than they were at the start of the day, as Y/N opens the cupboard and reaches for the two largest wine glasses she can find.

“Here.” She sets them down on the counter, allowing Harry to fill them to the brim with the crimson liquid. He pushes a nearly full glass towards her before taking the other in his hand, each of them bringing the glasses to their lips for a long drink.

Harry is nervous, and Y/N can tell.  She’s gotten a bit better at reading him over their journey together, and she can see the anxiety that’s running through him in his body language.  However, although the tapping of his fingers, the rubbing of his lips, and the crease between his brow is a major indication, she knows the real reason she’s aware of Harry’s nerves is because she’s hyper aware of her own.

“You, uh—” Harry clears his throat quietly, the action half reflex, half habit. “You looked really pretty today.  Beautiful, actually.”

A light flush heats Y/N’s cheeks, both from the wine and his compliment. “Thank you.” She murmurs, glancing down at her forest coloured dress. “I’m just glad the dress survived the car.”

A chuckle falls from Harry’s lips as he lifts his wine glass again. “Yeah.  A real miracle, huh?”

Y/N taps her fingers anxiously against the kitchen island, the coolness of the countertop a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Well, considering all the things that didn’t survive…” She trails off, watching as Harry’s face falls when the meaning of her words washes over him.

Still, Harry steels his shoulders, resolve painting itself over his pained features. “You mean us, yeah?” His tone is blunt and to the point. “After we…?”

“I just—what the fuck was that, Harry?” Y/N asks, her voice every bit as exasperated and exhausted as she feels. “I thought we—and then you—and now, saying you—you’ve always…?”

“I know I’ve been—I know I fucked up.” Harry drops his head, shame clear in his voice as he twists a ring around one of his fingers. “I know that, Y/N.  I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just so confused, Harry.  Really, I—” The words spill out of her now, faster than they ever have. “I know we were drunk when we fucked, but I…I liked it.  And the next morning felt so good, and so right, and then Brant called, and it was like…a switch flipped inside you.  And you called us a mistake.  So I just—I don’t understand how you could say that less than forty-eight hours ago, and then tell me you’ve always loved being around me tonight.”

Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips once before he inhales slowly, collecting and preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He says lowly, his accent thicker with remorse. “I didn’t want to—I felt like it was a mistake, but not because of anything you did.  It was because I knew that I had feelings for you, and I knew that you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The admission of his feelings was clear in his speech before he actually spoke the words, but the verbal acknowledgement of them still leaves an ache in Y/N’s chest as she refutes the statement. “You didn’t know that!” She says hotly, her hand tightening around her glass with every breath. “You wouldn’t let us talk about it, so how could you know?”

“Because Brant called!” While Harry’s voice doesn’t raise in volume, it does in intensity. “Brant called, and asked you to dinner, and you said yes!”

“What, did you want me to break things off with him right then and there?  Over the phone?” Y/N demands, an incredulous look on her face as she appraises Harry. “I’m not a bitch, Harry.  That would be heartless, and I’m not—I don’t want to hurt anyone. And maybe, maybe, it would be different if I felt anything for Brant, anything that was even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you, the good and the bad, but I don’t!”

Y/N’s words hang heavy in the air between them, flickering through the room like the dim light of the light fixture above them.  There’s just enough light, however, that she can watch as her words roll over Harry, sinking into every pore of his body until all the defiance rolls out of him.

“What—” His voice cracks with emotion, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he tries again. “What do you feel for me?”

Turning her eyes down to her wine, she raises the glass to her lips, draining more than half of it in one swift motion.  When she speaks again, her voice is slick with the liquor. “What does it matter?” She asks softly. “If you couldn’t believe it enough to not try to push me away the moment I let myself be vulnerable?”

“It wasn’t—your vulnerability wasn’t apparent to me.” Harry lifts the wine bottle automatically, refilling Y/N’s glass with merlot. “It was mine that scared me.  Brant called, and you spoke to him, and I felt like—it was like that first date all over again, when you gave your attention to that guy from your class.  I felt…” Staring into his own wine, Harry mulls over his words as if the liquor can reveal the perfect thing to say. “I felt like a jealous teenager again, like a proper idiot.  And I—you’ve always been so much more put together than me, and refined, and steady, and Brant clearly fits into your world neatly, so I—”

“Stop fucking doing that.” Y/N’s voice is as sharp as ice, as harsh as frostbite. “How many times can we prove to each other that we’re more than our projections of the last seven years?  How many times until it sticks?”

Harry studies Y/N’s face, his emerald eyes scanning over every slope and curve of her expression before he replies. “I didn’t think you felt anything for me.  I’m still not…sure…”

“Harry, I feel—I feel everything with you.” Y/N’s voice drops to a hushed whisper, as if what she’s admitting is top secret. “I feel like I can be myself.  I can be as stupid or serious as I need to be, and you’ll just…accept it.  The only person I’ve ever felt that with before is Jo.  No one else.  And it—it’s terrifying, but good, and then you pushed me away again, and that fucking hurt.  You have the ability to hurt me now, and the moment you got it, you did.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry mumbles the words, rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.  If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t even ask. You can’t do that, okay?” When Y/N looks up at him, she can see the vulnerability on her face reflected in Harry’s eyes. “Please.  I don’t care if you get jealous, or angry, or—or anything else that’s as irritating as I know you can be—” A soft snort echoes from Harry. “Just be honest with me. Tell me.  Ask me.”

“What about…” Harry reaches across the kitchen island, taking Y/N’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What I said to you earlier?  I told you how I felt.   And I asked what you feel for me.  Can you be honest with me about that?”

“I can.” Y/N says carefully, pursing her lips for a moment. “I…I’m not sure if I’m ready to say something as…decisive as you do.  I’ve never really—I know that I feel…more intensely for you than I ever have for anyone else.  I just don’t know…how intense, or…I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry tugs gently on Y/N’s arm, bringing her around the kitchen island to his side of the room.  With his hand still holding hers, he leads her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her with him.  He’s mindful of the skirt of her dress, fixing it carefully so that it doesn’t get caught beneath her. “To me, love is…wanting to be near the other person. Do you want to be near me?”

Y/N nods softly. “I do.” She whispers into the darkness, the cabin quiet save for their breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

“And what about…” Harry lifts a hand to caress her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her warm skin as he brushes over her cheekbone. “This?  Do you like being touched by me?”

Y/N’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I do.  A lot, actually.”

“And even when we were arguing…when we weren’t speaking to each other, and wouldn’t look at each other…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, the motion staining his lips an even darker pink than they were before. “Did you want me as badly as I wanted you?”

Harry’s other hand begins to rub Y/N’s thigh over her dress, still heating her skin even with the layers of fabric preventing actual contact.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. “Yes.” She breathes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “I did.  I still do.”

“Obviously, I…I’d like it if you could know exactly how you feel, but…” Harry shrugs slightly, his hand drifting down to rest on the side of Y/N’s neck. “I know that it’s different for you.  You’re not used to it.  You don’t have to put a label on it, yeah?  I just want you to be comfortable with me.  As long as you’re mine, you can take as long as you need to express how you feel.”

Relief spreads through Y/N’s body at Harry’s words.  The freedom to take her time, to feel like she doesn’t need to have all the answers right away, is something that none of her past partners have ever offered her, and a familiar sensation begins to curl itself around Y/N’s core as Harry caresses her neck. “Yours?” She repeats slowly, her senses feeling like they’re processing through molasses. “Am I yours?”

“I’d like you to be.” The corner of Harry’s pink lip pulls up, but there’s an air of anxiety in his words. “Are you?”

The fabric of her dress swishes beneath Y/N as she pulls herself into Harry’s, managing to settle one knee of either side of him beneath the layers of tulle. “I am.” She murmurs, her hands wrapping themselves around his sturdy shoulders.  Their noses bump together as she moves closer, breath mingling in the small space between their lips. “I’ll be yours.”

Harry’s breath washes over her as he sighs gently, the fragrance of merlot and champagne settling on the back of her tongue. “Laure and Jo will be happy.”

A small laugh, mostly an exhale of breath more than anything else, sounds from Y/N as she twists the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck between her fingers. “Mmm.  Probably because they won’t have to break up any more fights.”

“No, no, we’ll still fight. It keeps things interesting.” Harry’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his nose brushing over Y/N’s once more as he tilts his head to the side. “We’ll just have a lot more fun when we make up with each other.”

Harry’s fingers find the bare expanse of Y/N’s back between the straps of her dress, gliding his fingertips over her warm skin.  The sensation of his cool touch against her sends a shiver up her spine, and she twists herself closer to him in return, but keeps the inch gap between their lips. There’s an anticipation between them, but also a stubbornness.  A refusal to be the first one to break.

“A lot more fun?” Y/N questions, massaging the tips of her fingers into Harry’s scalp.  She lets her painted nails scratch along him gently, just enough to make his eyelids flutter at the sensation. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I could tell you…” Harry purrs his words, pressing his head back into the palm of her hand. “Or I could show you.  It’s up to you.”

His words offer Y/N a choice.  Will she continue to push him?  Or will she give in?

When her hands retreat from his hair, Harry whines quietly, his half lidded eyes staring up at her in confusion.  Y/N braces herself against his shoulders as she carefully removes herself from his lap, picking up the fabric of her dress with one hand while grabbing the half empty bottle of wine with the other.

Harry watches as she takes a step backwards, her eyes glued to his as she appraises him.  As comfortable—and as attractive—as he looks on the couch with his emerald slack covered legs spread, sleeves half rolled up, chest heaving from their close contact, Y/N needs him somewhere else.

Harry’s tongue glides slowly over his parted lips as Y/N raises the bottle of wine to her mouth, taking a small sip before turning on her heel and walking to the staircase that leads up to the master bedroom of the cabin.  She only gets two steps up the stairs before she feels Harry’s hot breath on the back of her neck, his back and arms bracing against her as she climbs slowly.  With one hand still holding her dress out of her way, Y/N steps over the summit of the stairs, not waiting for Harry before she makes her way to the bedroom.

The bedroom itself has been tidied by the hotel staff since Y/N last saw it, and she’s never been more thankful for it; she and Jo had left it in a mess in their efforts to get ready that morning.  Instead, the staff have perfectly made the bed, complete with all the decorative pillows that Y/N had tossed onto the floor the night before, set fresh candles on the night tables and dresser, and left carefully rolled white towels on the edge of the bed.

A pair of tattooed arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, and a smile lights up her face as she falls back into Harry’s strong chest. “Your room is lovely.  Much nicer than those motels.” He rasps in her ear, teeth just barely grazing her lobe as he speaks. “Do you have a lighter for the candles?”

“You want to light candles?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she drops her dress from her hand in order to trail her fingers over Harry’s wrist. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Pressing a light kiss to her neck, Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He murmurs. “We were so rushed last time.  I want to enjoy tonight.”

A smile creeps over Y/N’s face as she carefully unlaces Harry’s hands from her waist. “The lighter is in the bedside table, on the left.”

As Harry turns his attention to searching through the drawer, Y/N sets the wine down on the dresser, appraising her reflection in the mirror propped on top of it.  She begins to unpin the hair that had been carefully styled that morning, her hair only a fraction as put together as it had been. Setting the pins down on the wood surface in front of her, she takes her time taking off her earrings and bracelets, her eyes following Harry’s movements in the mirror.

The broad expanse of his back is still covered by his green waistcoat, rumpled as it stretches over the slope of his body.  With each movement, a new flicker of candlelight begins to glow in front of him, illuminating the silhouette of his body with soft flickers of orange and yellow.

“You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” The question slips from Y/N’s lips before she’s turned around completely to watch Harry’s actions without the aid of the mirror. “You like this sort of thing—the candles, the cabin in the forest, coming from a wedding…”

Harry’s body shakes as a laugh rolls through him, his side profile barely visible as he turns to light another candle next to the bed. “I suppose I am, yeah.  Are you not?”

Y/N gives half a shrug, tucking her now loose hair behind her ears as best she can. “I don’t know. I’ve never really considered myself one…never saw the point in grand gestures.  They’re not very realistic.”

“They don’t have to be realistic.  That’s why it’s a grand gesture.” Harry says easily, sauntering towards her with a dimpled grin on his face.  He reaches carefully behind Y/N, his thumb flicking the lighter to spark as he tilts the candle towards the flame. “And I’d hardly call candles a grand gesture. Haven’t you ever been properly romanced?”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplates the question. “Not…really? I mean, there’s been a few things, but nothing…I don’t know.  We were always busy—”

“You can always make time for someone if you want to.” Harry sets the lit candle back down on the dresser, repeating the motion with two more before setting the lighter down as well. “Hasn’t Brant ever—well, I know he hasn’t, actually—” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth as he begins to run his hands over Y/N’s bare shoulders, massaging the skin gently. “Haven’t any of your exes asked you what you wanted, or…done something spontaneous for you, like a surprise gift, or trip, or…?”

Harry trails off as he registers the expression on Y/N’s face, and feels the tensing of her shoulders beneath his hands. “Um, not really.” She says, doing her best to keep her tone light. “We were always very…scheduled.  A surprise trip wasn’t really feasible.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth tugs down into a frown, his hands continuing to work over the knots in Y/N’s shoulders as he turns her around.  He presses himself behind her, moving her hair to one side of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her spine. “The more we speak, the more I see why you’re so guarded, love.” He murmurs, his tone carefully controlled. “You don’t need to be like that with me.  If you’re…afraid of what I’ll think, or…you know I tease you, but you’re always fine with me.  We can be serious—”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, glancing at Harry over the curve of her own shoulder as she rests one hand over his own. “I don’t want to be serious.  I’m so sick of being serious.” She maneuvers Harry’s hand to her back as she speaks, guiding his fingers until they find the zipper of her dress. “I like that you tease me, and aren’t afraid to irritate me, and how you care enough to listen to what I say…”

The sound of her zipper slowly being tugged down pricks Y/N’s ears, and she watches Harry’s movement in the mirror.  There’s a clear look of concentration painted onto his expression as he helps remove her dress, but the moment he catches her eye, he locks into her gaze.  As he finishes pulling down the zipper, he keeps his emerald eyes glued to hers in the reflective surface, his stare becoming more and more hypnotic with every passing second.

“So what you’re saying is…” Harry’s lips brush against her ear as he leans closer to her, pressing a sensual kiss right over her pulse point. “You want me to romance you, but still annoy the shit out of you?”

Although it’s breathless, the sound that leaves Y/N’s mouth is unmistakably a laugh as Harry begins to trail kisses down her neck, slipping the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “Yes. It’s oddly endearing.”

“Oddly endearing is my middle name.” Harry’s laugh matches hers as his hands continue their task of removing her clothing.  Once Y/N’s straps are free of her shoulders, Harry helps her step out of the hunter green dress, carefully maneuvering the full skirt to the corner chair without creasing it.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress, now would—” Harry freezes mid sentence as he turns back around, his mouth falling slack as if seeing Y/N for the first time.

Despite having been naked and underneath his body less than forty eight hours ago, Y/N crosses her arms over her body.  The black teddy bodysuit she’d purchased to wear under her bridesmaid dress had, at the time of purchase, been more for practicality than anything.  The underwire of the strapless bra supported by the corseted middle was comfortable enough to keep her properly situated in her dress without a wardrobe malfunction, as well as serving as a barrier between Y/N’s sensitive skin and the stitched seams of the gown.  It’s not until this moment, with Harry staring at her with a hungry stupor in his eyes, does Y/N realize how racy the undergarment is.

“What?” She says after a moment, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I—it’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

The nerves woven into her tone are enough to snap Harry from his thoughts. “This is…different.” He approaches her again, his steps slow and measured as he lays a hand on her lace covered side. “I was pissed last time I had you…didn’t get to properly take in the sight of you…” Harry scratches his nails over one of the mesh panels, his jade eyes darkening another shade once more.

“I didn’t get to enjoy you, either.  And yet you’re still fully clothed.” Y/N begins to fiddle with the buttons of Harry’s emerald waistcoat, working them open one by one as she forces herself to steady her breathing. “That’s not very fair, is it?”

“I suppose it’s not. Not fair at all.” Harry allows her to pull his waistcoat from his body, and it’s not until Y/N reaches the third button of his button down shirt that she realizes how much he’s enjoying her undressing him.

Every breath that Harry takes is ragged and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself controlled as Y/N’s fingers trail down the exposed skin of his chest.  The sight of Harry’s throat tightening as her nails scrape his skin is too much for her to resist, and she quickly attaches her lips to the base of his neck as she pulls the now unbuttoned shirt from his body.

Swiping her tongue over the new mark at the base of his throat, Y/N manages to pull a moan from Harry, and her lips pull back into a small smile against his hot skin at the sound. “You sound really nice when you do that.” She murmurs, her hand trailing down to his belt as she speaks.

She can feel Harry swallow again, and when he replies, his voice is as low as she’s ever heard it. “Then you’ll have to make me do it more, won’t you, pet?” His eyes are blown darker with lust as he grips Y/N’s hips tight, pressing the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Are you going to give me moans that are just as pretty?  Or am I going to have to pull them from your stubborn little mouth?”  

Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest at his dominant tone, her mouth falling open in a gasp against Harry’s collar bones.  She can feel the vibrations of his laugh in her lips, the tingle not unlike the burning she feels in her core, and Harry’s hand travels from her hips to her chin as the burning increases.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Harry grips Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger as she fumbles with his belt, the action clumsier without her looking at her movements. “Don’t get all shy now, m’love.  It’s just me. We’ve been here before.”

Pulling his belt from his dress pants, Y/N tosses it to the side, her fingers resting on the warm skin of Harry’s abdomen. “I know.  It just feels different now, that’s all.  After everything we said, and…” Her eyes are unable to hold his as she drifts off, and she drops her gaze to his swallow tattoos as her cheeks redden.

A gentle tap on her chin brings her eyes back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “I know it feels different, but that’s not bad.” Harry’s voice softens as his thumb begins to stroke over her skin, the motion slow and gentle. “It can be really good, actually. I told you, I can properly enjoy you now.  If you’ll let me, that is.  It’s up to you.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back.  Her fingers quickly find the laces at the back of the garment, and she pulls the tie undone slowly, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Harry’s the entire time. “I want that.  I want you, Harry.  I want…all of you.”

She barely has her laces undone before Harry is grasping at her hips, pulling her body tight against his again for another desperate kiss.  His lips glide between hers smoothly, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle before he lets his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging at the flesh in a hungry way.  With her lingerie hanging loosely off her body, Harry easily yanks the material down her body, fully exposing Y/N’s breasts and stomach.  

The sight of her exposed skin is enough to grab Harry’s attention from the removal of clothing, and he leaves the lace bodysuit hanging at her hips as his kisses begin to travel down her jaw, her neck, her collar bones, to her breasts.  A breathless gasp falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s open mouthed kisses become wetter and longer, until his hot mouth is wrapped around her stiff nipple.

“Harry—” Y/N tangles a hand in his already ruined curls, yanking hard at his hair as his teeth scrape against her sensitive skin. “God, be careful—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry murmurs the phrase against her breast, barely pulling his mouth off enough to speak.  His eyes, although half lidded with lust, flicker up to her with a playful look. “Y’really want me to be careful, pet?  Or do you want me to devour you?”

His words send another flood of heat to her core, and it takes all of Y/N’s focus to keep herself standing upright. “Shut up.” She mutters, voice pitched higher than normal as she tugs on Harry’s hair again, half in need and half to solicit a groan from him.

The groan he emits, however, just adds more sensation to his teasing as the sound causes a vibration against her nipple, and Y/N barely manages to pull Harry away from her before her knees buckle.

Harry, however, wastes no time, and it’s only the moment after Y/N pulls him off of her that he’s kissing her again, teeth clacking against teeth as he backs her up towards the bed.  When the back of her legs hits the mattress, Y/N stumbles back, but Harry catches her in time to lower her gently to the bed.

There’s an unmistakable tenderness in the movement, and the action catches Y/N right in the throat. “Thought you weren’t being careful?” Despite her ribbing tone, Y/N’s voice is breathless as she settles back into the soft sheets. “Isn’t that what you just said, pet?”

A growl rips from the back of Harry’s throat as he cages himself over her shaking body, his mouth already reattached to her chest to leave a fresh trail of bruises from her sternum to her abdomen. “You’re such a bloody minx, y’know that?”

Although she opens her mouth to reply, the only sound that leaves Y/N’s lips is a gasp as Harry quickly lifts her hips to pull her teddy completely off, tossing it to the side without so much as a glance.  He leaves one last bite on her lower abdomen, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his mouth, before soothing the mark with a wet swipe of his tongue over the red skin.

“Knees up, minx.” Harry’s accent is thick, dripping from his voice like honey as his hands rub her lower calves, helping to push them up on the bed until Y/N’s legs are bent and spread open in a position he likes.  The way that Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips tells Y/N of his intentions right away, and she braces herself on her elbows on the bed before pulling back.

Harry, who had been leaving open mouthed kisses along Y/N’s knees, makes a disgruntled sound at the loss of contact. “Where do y’think you’re going?” He asks in frustration, pulling himself onto the bed and crawling after her.  Gripping one of her ankles, he spreads her open again, resuming the path his mouth had been making to her core a moment ago. “Trying to get away from me?”

A breathless laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “More like trying to get comfortable.  It’s been so long since I’ve had someone…” Despite Harry’s position between her legs, Y/N can’t bring herself to say the words.

“Had someone what? Eat your cunt?” Harry asks crudely, raising an eyebrow as he kisses her inner thigh.  His hot breath rolls over her core, causing Y/N to sigh as she relaxes back into the sheets. “That’s a tragedy, love.  Especially when you taste so sweet.  I remember from a few nights ago…I just barely got a taste when we…”

She should know better, Y/N thinks.  She should know, now that she knows Harry well enough, that something like this is coming, especially since it’s exactly what he did last time he was between her legs. Still, when his ringed index finger runs quickly between her folds, becoming coated in her wetness just for Harry to pop it into his mouth like a satisfied and smug ass, Y/N half jumps off the bed.

“Sensitive, are you?” Harry laughs around his finger, taking great care to lick off every bit of her wetness. “Just as sensitive as you are sweet.”

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, doing her best to give him a scathing look. “You could’ve warned me, you—”

Her complaint is cut off abruptly by Harry licking over her slit with the flat of his tongue, collecting every drop of arousal before suctioning his lips over her clit. “What was that?” He mutters between his actions, flicking his tongue over Y/N’s clit as she grasps the sheets between her fingers. “I didn’t quite catch it, love.”

Falling back onto the pillows, Y/N allows her eyes to close for just a moment as she twists the cotton sheets between her hands. “Shut—shut up.” She moans, one hand releasing the sheets to latch onto Harry’s curls.  She tugs harshly, and the moan he releases sends shivers from her core into her spine.

Although Harry laughs against her, his smirk detectable against her folds as his tongue continues to work over her, a silence falls between them as he continues to eat her out. It shouldn’t be surprising, she manages to think as she tugs on his curly locks, that Harry is giving her the best oral she’s ever received.  Everything he does to her, from irritating her, making her laugh, to pleasuring her, is so intense that it only makes sense.

Harry’s tongue dips inside Y/N’s entrance, proving that thought to be true for what seems to be the millionth time that night.  Y/N can’t help but writhe on the sheets now, her body unable to contain the pleasure that’s building inside her core like never before.

When a gasping whine echoes from Y/N, a sound she’s never even heard herself make before, one of Harry’s hands moves from its position on her thigh, where he’s been holding her open so he can continue to work.  It travels up her leg to her pelvis, pressing flat on her lower abdomen and keeping her hips secure to the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pet?” Harry’s mouth is red, coated with her wetness when he glances at her.  He begins to rub circles on her abdomen, both soothing her and creating an ache deep inside her that she knows can only be satisfied by his cock. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my mouth, yeah?”

Y/N whimpers in response, barely managing to keep her eyes open as she nods desperately. “I-I need—your fingers, or—”

“No, no, pet, you don’t need that.” Harry assures her between long licks over her clit. “I’ll fill you later, but you’re going to cum from my mouth.  I know you can do it, love.  I know you can.”

“I—” Harry’s hand pressed to her abdomen is the only thing keeping Y/N from rutting her hips into the air in desperation. “Please, Harry, I—”

“You can do it.” Breath hot against her entrance, Harry dips his tongue within her again, moving it in and out slowly as his nose brushes against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “You—fuck—you’re so ready, Y/N, I know you can do it…just relax, pet…let go…”

Let go.  The command is so simple, and yet, isn’t that all Y/N’s ever wanted?  Isn’t that exactly what Harry has managed to allow her to do this entire trip?  No sooner does the thought cross her mind that Harry’s teeth graze over her clit, tweaking it ever so gently before pressing the flat of his tongue against it once more.  He gives a harsh suck, mouthing something she can’t understand, and then Y/N is tugging on his chestnut curls with a renewed desperation as she falls over the brink of pleasure.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” His name is the only thing Y/N can repeat as she orgasms, her head falling back against the pillows while the waves of her pleasure wash over her.

Harry untangles her hand from the sheets, weaving his fingers through her own to give her something solid to hold onto as she loses herself in the sensations.  Although he keeps his mouth pressed to her, his actions are gentler, just licking the wetness that drips from her entrance as she rides out her orgasm.

It takes a few moment for the pleasure to recede enough that Y/N can become aware of her surroundings again. Chest heaving, she lolls her head to the side, her hand falling from Harry’s curls and onto the crumpled sheets.

Harry finally pulls away from her then, pulling himself from between her legs to the side of Y/N’s shaking body.  He licks his wet lips, savouring the last drops of her arousal before pressing softer kisses to her stomach, her sternum, her collar bones, until he reaches her lips.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks, voice quiet in the hum of the night as he settles beside her.  He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, and the motion is so gentle that Y/N almost tears up. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I—” Y/N sucks in another breath as Harry wraps an arm around her stomach. “I’m alright.  Just…trying to catch my breath.” She laughs nervously as her cheeks redden in a post-orgasm haze. “You’re, uh, you’re really good at that.”

Harry’s laugh is much more amused than hers. “Thank you.  I quite enjoy it, so it would be rather sad if I wasn’t good at it.”

“That’s true.” Y/N hums, rolling her head onto Harry’s shoulder.  He rubs small circles on her waist, and the action gives her something to focus on as she evens her breathing.

Harry sighs in satisfaction. “You know, if you had shagged Brant, I doubt his cunnilingus skills would have been as good as mine.” He says thoughtfully, as if he’s been pondering the idea for a while.

Y/N groans, bracing her hand against is muscled chest to shove him away. “Do not mention Brant while I’m lying next to you naked!  Christ, I shouldn’t have to say that!”

Harry laughs as he readjusts himself, pulling his body over hers while his lips work against her neck. “I’m sorry.  I won’t bring him up again, I swear.”

Huffing slightly, Y/N settles herself back into the sheets. “Good.”

“But for the record—”

“If you keep speaking, I’m not giving you a blowjob.” Y/N warns, shooting Harry a warning glance. “Are you prepared to give that up?”

The speed at which Harry’s face falls is almost comical.  His brow creases as his ruby lips pull down into a pout, his arms keeping himself suspended above Y/N as he relents. “Alright, I’m sorry.  Truly, I am.  I’ll stop.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes focus on Harry’s shining green irises. “Good, because I really want to blow you.”

The crude admission catches Harry by surprise, his eyebrows jumping up in shock as he rolls to the side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rakes a hand through his messy curls as he answers with a measured tone. “You do?”

Y/N nods slowly, pushing herself up to sit on her knees as one of her hands begins to trace over the muscles of Harry’s chest. “I do.  Like you said…I didn’t get to last time.  And I bet you taste good.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth as he gives a sharp nod. “Yeah.  Okay.  If you want to—”

“I do.” Y/N presses on Harry’s chest to push him back again, but this time she does it carefully, settling him back into the sheets like he did for her.  Moving so that she’s on her knees beside him, she gives him a quick kiss, only letting herself enjoy his slightly chapped lips against hers for a moment before she directs her attention to the bulge in his Calvin Klein boxers.

Y/N trails a finger over the line of hair leading to the waistband, feeling the muscles of Harry’s abdomen contract under her finger. “Sensitive, huh?” She asks quietly, mimicking what he had said to her before earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Yeah.  So don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.  I’m just…warming you up.” Y/N continues the motion for a moment before her fingers drift to the elastic of his boxers.  She dips a finger beneath it, continuing to tease his abdomen before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his clothed bulge.

Harry’s hips jerk in reaction, his mouth falling open as he spits out a curse. “Bloody hell…”

“Feel good?” Y/N only lifts her mouth enough so that the soft murmur can be heard.  She can feel Harry’s cock twitching as her lips move over it, and the thought that she’s turning him on enough for him to twitch in his boxers sends a flood of heat between her thighs.

“Feels really good, yeah.” Harry’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the effort it takes to keep his voice controlled is apparent on his face. “Keep going.”

Y/N hums in response, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling them down his legs as Harry lifts his hips.  She waits until his boxers are completely removed to turn her attention back to his cock, and the sight of it makes her mouth water.

It’s just as big as she remembers, with a slight curve along the length leading to the red and leaking head. Y/N can practically see the heat radiating off of it, she thinks, and when she wraps her hand around the base, her suspicions are confirmed.

The weak groan that falls from Harry’s cherry red lips is the only thing that keeps Y/N from getting completely distracted by admiring him.  She pumps him slowly a few times, and his length throbs in her hand as more blood floods to his pelvis.  Licking her lips once, Y/N leans down and gives a small kitten lick to the leaking tip, collecting the precum on her tongue.

A garbled moan sounds from Harry’s chest, and Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as one hand tucks into his own curls before the other gathers her hair within his fist. Although he’s holding her, he doesn’t force her down, or try to guide her motions.  He wants to see what she’s going to do of her own accord.

Y/N takes her time, licking slowly from the head of Harry’s cock to one of the pulsing veins that runs down his shaft.  She traces the line with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the sounds that the action pulls from Harry before taking the head of his cock between her lips. Mindful of her teeth, she sucks slowly, pushing herself further and further down his length until her nose is just touching his pelvis.

“That’s it, minx.” Harry moans his words, his voice breathless and strained as he cards his fingers through her hair.  His flushed chest is rising and falling prominently as Harry takes deep breath after deep breath. “Doing so well, aren’t you?”

The praise sends a wave of delight through Y/N, and she begins to bob her head faster, working what she can’t fit into her mouth with her hand.  Harry, she learns, is extremely vocal during sex, which isn’t exactly surprising now that she knows him better.  Still, his moans and whimpers are all the encouragement Y/N needs to keep her pace, slowing down only to tease him.  And she loves to tease him.

“Fuck—” A groan rips from Harry’s chest as Y/N slows her motions again, trailing her tongue up his length before focusing on his tip with great interest. “C’mon, darling, don’t be mean to me.  I wasn’t mean to you.”

“I’m just enjoying myself, Harry.” Y/N says innocently, batting her eyes at him as she kisses the head of his cock. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?”

The question is simple enough, but the sinful context makes Harry buck his hips into her hand. “Y’know I do, pet, but you’re torturing me…”

Y/N lifts her mouth from his length with a quiet pop as her strokes slow down. “Am I?”

“Fucking hell—” Another moan forces its way through Harry’s clenched teeth. “You won’t be laughing when I’m fucking you at the same pace you’re teasing me right now.”

Y/N’s movements stutter for the first time since she began. “What?”

“Didn’t think of that, did you, minx?  Thought you could tease me, and I wouldn’t get you back?” Although Harry’s words are domineering, he pants through them, throwing his head back against the pillow. “That—Christ—That’s not how it works.”

Speeding up her stroking of his length, Y/N leans over Harry’s body, sponging a kiss just at the corner of his lips. “You don’t mean that, Harry.  You need to fuck me just as badly as I need it.”

“You need it, do you?” Harry’s eyes snap open, lust completely clouding the jade green of his irises. “How badly?  Tell me.”

Y/N kisses him once more, pulling back the moment his tongue tries to pull her in for more.  She returns her mouth to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue flick over his slit before sucking on him again. “So badly, Harry. I’ve never felt as full as I did with you in me…”

“Oh fuck…” Harry’s words slip into drawn out moans as he tugs on his own hair, his hips stuttering up into her hand again. “Stop.”

The sudden command makes Y/N pause, and she pulls her mouth off of Harry’s length to stare up at him with wide eyes. “What?” Her hand pauses its motions, but stays wrapped loosely around his base. “Is—is everything okay?  Did I hurt you?”

The concern and fear in Y/N’s voice is enough to snap Harry out whatever headspace he had been slipping into. “No, pet, you didn’t hurt me.  I just need to be inside your tight cunt.  Can’t stand another moment without it, if I’m honest.”

The twitch of his cock in her hands confirms his words, and Y/N gives one last lick to its biggest vein before releasing him.  She keeps her mouth in use, however, by sponging kisses up Harry’s already marked chest, stopping only once she reaches his lips.

The kiss they share is passionate, with a rhythm finally established between the two of them as Harry slots his plump lips neatly between hers.  There’s no awkward turning of their heads, trying to find a way to slip a tongue into a mouth, and no teeth clicking together.  Already, each of them knows the best way to fit together, as if they were meant to all along.

“How do you—” Harry mutters the words against Y/N’s lips, his breath flowing into her own panting mouth with every gasp. “How do you want me, love?”

Y/N takes a moment to think, but only a moment. “On top.  I like…” Her cheeks flush with even more heat. “I like feeling you over me. And holding your hands…”

Harry raises a surprised brow at the confession she spills into his mouth. “My hands?”

Forehead still pressed against his, Y/N nods, picking up one of his hands and lacing his ringed fingers through her own. “Mhmm.  They’re strong, and…and they fit in mine so nicely.” Y/N glances at Harry through her lashes, shy despite having his cock in her mouth less than a minute ago.  It’s the intimacy, she realizes.  A sexual act is nothing new to her, but putting emotion behind it…

“They do fit together well, don’t they?” Harry agrees, squeezing her hand as he leans forward, pressing puckered lips to her forehead. “Alright, then.  Lie down for me.”

After Harry grabs a condom from Y/N’s bag and rolls it on, it takes a moment for the two of them to get positioned comfortably.  Y/N leans back on the rumpled sheets, fixing one of the pillows behind her head with Harry’s help.  Once he knows that she’s comfortable, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs again, situating himself between them with his arms propped up on either side of her body.

Although it’s the same position as the last time they had sex, Y/N can’t help but feel like it’s entirely different in every single aspect.  While the drunken need that she felt for Harry had been exciting, and while he had satisfied her incredibly, there’s something different about knowing that she has feelings for the man who’s so interested in pleasuring her, and that he has feelings for her in return.

Harry moves one hand to his length, rubbing the tip of it between Y/N’s soaked folds as his other hand grasps her own. “Are you ready?” He murmurs, his lips hovering just over her own.

Y/N nods quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. “Please, H.  I need it.”

The first thrust into her is slow.  Painstakingly slow.  Y/N knows that she should be appreciative of the restrain Harry has, and that she needs a moment to adjust to his size, but the way he stretches her makes her feel so complete that she can’t help but whine for more.

“Faster, Harry.” She pants, squeezing her eyes shut as he continues to enter her slick entrance. “I…”

“Sh, love.  Just spreading you open first, yeah?” The effort to control himself shows through the strain in his voice, but Harry still manages to sponge a quick kiss over her lips. “Besides…I warned you, didn’t I?  Said I’d tease you if you teased me…”

Y/N whines loudly as Harry finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush to hers and bringing a kind of euphoric fullness that she’s never felt before. “Oh God…” She drags out her speech, her eyes barely managing to flutter open in time to catch the look on Harry’s face as he feels her walls squeeze him.

His brows are drawn together, an all too familiar crease appearing between them.  It’s a look of concentration, but the pull of his mouth and the quiet pants leaving it tell Y/N that it’s so much more than that. His pupils are blown out, dilated so much that she can barely see the green that she loves so much, and every few moments, Harry’s eyelids flutter, times perfectly with the contraction of Y/N’s pussy around his length.  

“Move, Harry.” Y/N begs, grasping his free hand and squeezing it along with his other hand. “Please.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, and he begins to thrust in and out of her slowly, letting her adjust to each pace before gradually increasing his movements. “Like that, pet?” He asks, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Is that what you wanted?”

A whine is all the answer he gets, as Y/N is so far gone past the point of being able to reply with a coherent sentence.  The only thing she can think of is how good it feels to have Harry fill her.  How the feeling of his cock inside her is simultaneously too much for her, the most content she’s ever felt, and not enough to satisfy the ache deep within her.  Every one of her senses is consumed with Harry—the touch of his skin to hers, at her pelvis, over her abdomen, his hands squeezing hers with desperation as he thrusts inside of her repeatedly.  The scent of his cologne mingled with his sweat, so hot and all consuming that the air feels thick with it.  The taste of that scent on the back of her tongue, along with his Merlot flavoured kisses that linger in her mouth.  The sight of him caged over her, his sweaty curls and flushed skin being all that she can see.  The sound of his moans, hot and low in her ear.

Everything is Harry. Had there every been a time where it wasn’t?

When Harry pulls his hands from Y/N’s, a small whimper stumbles out of her mouth, growing louder when his thrusts begin to slow and the ball of tension in her core begins to uncoil. “What—?” She begins, the question still half formed on her tongue when Harry moves his grip to her knees.

In one swift motion, Harry has her left knee over his shoulder, quickly repeating the movement with her right leg as he sponges stuttered kisses over the newly available skin.  “Need to be deeper.” He mutters, pressing a wet and breathless kiss to Y/N’s lips before sitting up for more leverage.  Weaving his fingers back through hers, Harry begins to thrust again, the head of his cock rubbing against new areas with every motion.

And oh.  It’s like an entirely new feeling.  The moans and whimpers are leaving Y/N’s mouth in a steady stream now, with any ability she had to filter her volume gone the moment Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot.

“Fuck, Harry, right there, baby—” Y/N releases one of his hands to throw her arm around his shoulder, digging her nails into the muscled skin as the words of pleasure slip past her lips. “That’s it, that’s so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, bracing himself against the bed so that he can increase the speed of his movements. “You like how my cock fills you?”

Y/N nods desperately, the movement stuttered as she shakes from both her pleasure and the force of Harry driving his hips into her own. “Yeah, I—fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

Harry’s face twists in concentration as he removes his braced hand from the bed and trails it down Y/N’s body, pausing just enough so that he can tweak her nipple as he passes by. He continues on until he reaches his destination, and settles his large thumb over her clit to rub fast and concise circles on the bundle of nerves.

“Oh—” Y/N’s back arches off the bed as her nails dig into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, as well as the back of his hand.  She barely manages to pant through her whimpered words. “Fuck, I’m going to cum—”

“Please, baby.” Harry pleads with her, his expression desperate as he stipples more kisses to Y/N’s knees, the only inches of skin that he can get his mouth on as he drives himself harder into her. “Need you to cum for me, I—fuck, minx, I need it more than you know.”

A sharp gasp falls from Y/N’s slick mouth as Harry hits her G-spot again, and the sharp repeated motion combined with his stimulation of her clit is enough to send her barrelling headfirst over the edge.  A desperate sound leaves her mouth, half moan, half whine, as the coil in Y/N’s core snaps, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of her body.  

The reaction is almost instantaneous.  As her body shakes with pleasure, abdomen contracting and releasing over and over, Y/N feels Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his movement growing sloppier as the constriction of her core works Harry to an orgasm.

“Y/N—that’s it, pet, just—yes—” Harry’s words are more coherent than hers, but still just form a string of half put together phrases as he presses himself deep inside her, his eyes snapping shut as he spills inside the condom.  A choked sound works its way out of his throat, pulling from deep within his chest, and the pads of his rough fingers dig into her thighs as he grounds himself throughout his orgasm.  

Y/N’s shuddering climax finishes before Harry’s does, and all she can do is collapse back in the sheets, enjoying the feeling of his cock throbbing inside her one last time before he pulls out slowly to clean himself and throw away the condom.  An involuntary whine, quiet but audible, falls from her lips at the empty feeling that’s left behind, but it’s soon satiated after Harry returns to the bed, wrapping his shaking arms around her and pulling her tight into his chest.

His chest, like her own, is soaked in sweat, covered in dark bruises, and heaving from the aftermath of the orgasm he’s just finished, but it’s the only place Y/N wants to be.  She presses her ear into his skin, his racing heartbeat thumping beneath her head, and she focuses on the pounding pattern as she attempts to catch her breath.

Harry speaks first, clearing his throat before his wrecked voice fills her senses. “That was…that was so fucking good.  I was worried that it wouldn’t be as good as the last time, because we were more sober, but…”

“It was better, yeah. I know.” Y/N agrees, her voice filled with exhaustion and contentment as she kisses over a purple bruise forming on Harry’s collar bone. “I think…I think knowing how we feel made it better.”

“I agree.” Harry’s hands move over her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns onto her sweaty skin. “Passionate sex with someone you care for with candles lit…all after the wedding of your best friend…was that romantic enough for you?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, just barely audible beneath the rasp.

A tired smile lifts the corners of Y/N’s swollen lips. “I suppose so.  But it’s not hard to be, in comparison to others…”

“Well, from now on, you’re going to be comparing to me, yeah?” Harry shifts his arms around her, tightening his grip before reaching for the crumpled sheet to pull it over their bodies. “This’ll be the marker, I suppose.  And I’ll have to work on raising the bar with everything I do for you.”

“What about what I’ll do for you?” Y/N just barely manages to raise her head off Harry’s chest enough to look at him. “This is a two way street, you know.  I have to romance you, too.”

“Mm.  True.” Harry hums as he resumes tracing patterns on Y/N’s skin. “How about you stop making fun of my taste in romantic movies?  I’d like to watch The Notebook without you poking fun at it.  If you’re laughing at all the emotional scenes, it makes me feel pathetic when I cry at them.”

Y/N laughs quietly as she rakes her fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “That’s asking too much from me. How about…I can still make fun of your taste in romantic movies, but I’ll hold you and comfort you when you cry at the really dumb scenes?”

An exhausted snort rolls through Harry’s chest, but there’s a degree of tenderness hidden in the sound. “I suppose that’s the best offer I’ll get, isn’t it?”

“You suppose right.” Y/N sighs contently, her eyes drifting shut as she settles herself into Harry’s chest.  The feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his muscles is enough to soothe her to sleep, and she’s just settling in for what she thinks may be the best sleep of her life when her head suddenly drops as Harry abruptly pulls away from her.

“Harry—” Y/N’s eyes snap open as she pulls herself into an upright position, any feeling of calm that she had a moment ago gone out the window. “What the fuck?”

A sheepish Harry smiles at her from the dresser. “We left the candles lit, love.” He says, blowing out the three lit candles on the wooden surface before walking to one of the bedside tables, where four more candles are lit. “It’s not safe.”

“No, you know what’s no safe?  Jerking your girlfriend from her sleep when she’s exhausted, and has to be up early tomorrow.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she flops back into the pillows.

Harry blows out the last candle before sliding back into the bed. “Would you rather I let the cabin burn down?  That wouldn’t be very romantic of me, now would it?”

Turning over on her side, Y/N faces the wall away from Harry. “You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t be mean.” Harry’s pout is tangible in the press of his lips to her bare shoulder. “We were having a moment!”

“Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry laughs as he wraps his arms around Y/N, pulling her to spoon into his chest. “Just go to sleep.  You’ll be less grumpy in the morning.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N mutters, but she allows herself to be held against Harry as his breathing once again soothes her to sleep.

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

Harry laughs as he shuts the loaded trunk of the Impala, the sound echoing off the trees around them and scaring a few birds that had settled in the branches. “After that disaster in Nebraska?  No way.”

“Did you let her drive Stevie?” Laure asks, shock woven through her voice as her eyes flicker between Y/N and Harry. “Really?”

“No, I let her try to drive Stevie.  And then she stalled her, and lost all driving privileges forever.” Harry replies with a snort, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders as his keys jangle in his hands. “So I’ll be driving the forty-two hours back to L.A.”

Y/N crosses her arms with an irritated sigh. “Whatever.  Don’t complain to me when you get stiff from being in one position for eight hours a day.”

As Harry rounds the back of the car, he shoots Y/N a smug grin, walking up behind her to wrap his warm arms around her waist. “But you’ll give me massages, won’t you, baby?  I’d really appreciate them…”

“Okay, this is still weird for me.” Jo says slowly, shaking her head as her eyes flicker between their intertwined pose and Laure, who looks equally as bemused. “A week ago, we had to practically beg Harry to drive you, Y/N, and now you’re…?”

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” Harry asks, resting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk. “No woman could last five days with me while resisting the Styles charm…”

Y/N shrugs his chin off her shoulder with a snort. “Right.” She scoffs as she unravels his hands from her waist. “The Styles charm.  We’ll pretend that’s a thing.”

Harry pouts as Y/N pulls away from him, his arms still outreached and trailing after her. “It is a thing!”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N walks over to Jo, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly as the crisp morning air sends a shiver down her spine. “Congratulations, Jo.  Have fun on your honeymoon.”

Although Jo hugs her back with a smile, there’s something lingering under the sweet expression. “Thank you.” She speaks in her normal tone, but waits until her lips are right by Y/N’s ear to lower her voice. “The moment you arrive back in L.A., I expect a three hour phone call explaining how all of this happened.  Is that understood?”

“You’re so demanding. I would have thought you’d be more mature now that you’re married.” Y/N laughs as she pulls out of the hug, turning to Laure and giving her a tight squeeze before walking to the car.  She leans against the cool metal of the passenger side as Harry rounds around to the driver’s side, having said his goodbyes right after she did.

“I’m serious!  The last time we talked about Harry, you threatened to cut off his—”

Laure takes Jo’s hand, squeezing it hard as she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, darling, that’s enough.  Just be thankful they’re not arguing anymore, yeah?  Maybe we’ll finally be able to have a wine night that doesn’t end with someone flipping a charcuterie board.”

The memory of Laure and Jo’s four year anniversary party brings a sheepish smile to Y/N’s face, and she watches as the realization hits Jo, who gives a satisfied nod to Laure before the latter presses her lips to her cheek.

Harry, however, is less amused, and shoots a questioning glance at Y/N over the hood of the car. “Wait, when did you threaten to cut something of mine off?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Harry.” Y/N waves off his concern as she opens the passenger door with a click. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, as long as you don’t piss me off too much.”

“Right.” Harry says slowly, climbing inside the car as Y/N does the same.  “I’ll do my best.”

Harry starts the car with an easy and practiced motion, shifting it into reverse and pulling away from the mountainside resort as the two of them give one last wave to Jo and Laure through the passenger window.  Once they’re back on the winding mountain road, Y/N grabs Harry’s phone from its usual spot in his cup holder, scrolling through his music library with interest.

“What do you feel like listening to?” She asks curiously, her eyes scanning over the now familiar titles indecisively. “Something fast?  Something mellow?”

Harry shifts the car into second gear before grabbing Y/N’s free hand, brushing his pink lips over the back of her knuckles in a gentle motion. “I don’t really care.” He says with a shrug, winding his fingers through her own before lowering their hands between their seats. “Anything you want.”

The comment of free reign causes Y/N’s eyes to widen in disbelief. “Really?” She asks incredulously, and when Harry gives a confirming nod, she quickly settles on “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” leaning back in her seat as the familiar guitar riff fills the car.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Harry’s nose wrinkle as his eyebrows crease beneath his sunglasses. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He says lowly, swiping his thumb over her knuckles in a motion of apology. “Not this song.”

Y/N lets out a groan as she presses her head back into the head rest. “For fuck’s sake, H—”

“I’m not feeling it! It just doesn’t suit this time of day, or this scenery—”

“We have forty-two hours left in this trip, and you’re already pissing me off.  Do you want something to get cut off?” Yanking her hand from his own, she grabs his phone again and opens it with a harsh sigh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”

“I told you.” Harry taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he risks a glance at her, gauging if the irritation in her voice matches the irritation on her face. “Whatever you want to listen to.”

Y/N allows herself a quiet snort, but makes no other comment on the contradictory statement. “Fine.” She says shortly, scrolling through his songs for another moment before clicking on “Strangers”. “How’s that?”

Harry raises his now empty hand defensively before finding her own again, squeezing it gently. “Good, love.  It’s good.”

“Good.” Y/N gives a short sigh of relief, settling back into her seat again as a new guitar riff begins to sound through the car speakers.

The first verse of the song has barely finished when Harry clears his throat thickly, the corner of his lip just barely twitching up. “You know, actually—”

“Stop the car.”

[frankiefellinlove]

I was reading a post in a different Bruce FB page and it reminded me of the Cleveland Boys story. From a book called "Rock and Roll and the Cleveland Connection", written by Deanna Adams. This is a personal reminiscence of Jim Kluter, one of the "Cleveland Boys".

"Joey Juhasz and I were lookin' for something to do Fourth of July weekend 1976. Springsteen's Born to Run had just come out. But we'd been fans since his first album, Greetings from Asbury Park. So we got in our head to go to Asbury Park and see if could find him. And we did. At the Stone Pony. And somehow, we found out he was playing softball that Sunday afternoon against a rock magazine, Crawdaddy. Their team was called the E-Street Kings, and of course it included Miami Steve and other friends. So we got up to where they're playing and talked briefly to Bruce and told him we were from Cleveland. Then, while we sat up in the bleachers, the E-Street Kings realized they didn't have enough players. Bruce points up to us and says, "How 'bout those Cleveland boys?" (And we've been called that ever since.) We played--and we won--a double-header, and Bruce later asked if we wanted to stay at his place that night.

He was renting this old house with hardly any furniture in it. He put us in the band room, and I remember lying there that night, right next to the guitar and seeing some papers with half-written songs on them. I think now, what a place that was to be! So over the years, we'd fly all over to where he was playing, and he'd give us backstage passes and seats in the first five rows. It got to be a joke. He'd see us and go, "Oh, there's those Cleveland Boys again!" Sometime in the late '70's we took a month off and toured in his bus, up and down the California coast, from San Francisco to L.A. We'd stay at the hotels with him, 'course they were the Motel 6s and the Days Inn. Not the Ritz-Carlton!

But of course, when Born in the USA came out, there were more and more layers as far as security, But we'd still get to see him occasionally. During his last tour in 1999, we saw him in Cleveland, and stayed in Chicago for a week to see all three shows and saw him backstage, And we realize that's really something because, at this point, he doesn't even have to give us the time of day. But that's the kind of guy he is. When you talk to him, even after all this time as a rock star, he's just a regular guy. He still has that knack for making you feel like you're one of his best friends. But it's funny to look back and think, wow, we really kinda grew up with him. How'd we do that"?

John Oltarzewski

https://alt.music.bruce-springsteen.narkive.com/BzKVz4dB/ever-wonder-about-the-cleveland-boys

[asianartsblog]

LEK BORJA RENEWS FILIPINO HISTORY THROUGH ART

BY PRECIOUS RINGOR

Asian Pasifika Arts Collective New Outlooks Blog

April 2, 2021

http://ow.ly/fEby50FlQWZ

Editor’s Note: Precious Ringor brings us a second artist profile, this time of Filipino American interdisciplinary artist and poet Lek Borja, whose work is an attempt to track the continuous colonization across time, first within the Philippines from Spain and the United States, through present day America and trying to give voice to Filipino life against a white hegemony. Precious displays how Lek crosses borders of cultural stereotypes, seeking to expand the visions placed on Filipinos by other oppressive powers, and inserting her culture in art spaces where they are new and unfamiliar, but for the community, reminders of home.

Header Image: “Heritage at the Threshold” by Timothy Singratsomboune | Digital photography collage, 5400 x 4050 px, 2021.

Getting to know someone virtually is one of the sad realities we’ve had to face because of COVID-19 regulations. It’s both a blessing and a curse—we’ve become a global village, but at the same time we’ve all had more eye and back problems from sitting around and zooming this past year. 

A zoom call and an hour was all I had to get to know Lek Vercauteren Borja, a Filipino American interdisciplinary artist and poet widely known for her thought-provoking work into the Asian diaspora. Chatting with Lek didn’t feel like a job though; time flies fast when you’re having fun.

One of the things I noted was Lek’s warm and friendly nature. Most of the time, it’s uncommon for an interviewee to ask questions about the interviewer. Lek unabashedly admitted that she did a bit of ‘stalking’ before we hopped on Zoom, “I like to know about the person I’m talking with, even before the interview starts.” 

Lek started in poetry. Armed with a love for Shakespeare, she pursued a dual concentration in Art and Creative Writing at Antioch University. It was there that she first fell in love with art history and sculpture. During that time, her first chapbook, Android, was published by Plan B Press. She took this as a sign to continue pursuing a career in arts. 

As an artist, she admits that’s where she gets inspiration from, “I want to talk about the history of Filipinos, the invisible stories. Growing up in the Philippines and studying there, I realized there was a lot missing in our history books. It seemed as if it were written from a western perspective.” She reminded me so much of the Philippines, of home. Because of our similar upbringing, I immediately understood her search for truth.

The themes of home and longing, of memory and the present, and of giving Filipino lives new voices, carry across her work, and no more palpably than her piece Evolution of the Aswang Myth, what she calls “seed and the origin” to all her current works. Lek says “Without it, I wouldn’t be thinking about art, the way I’m making now.” This 8 x 8 feet painting explores the origins of the aswang or manananggal, a Filipino mythical creature typically depicted as a woman feared for its penchant for eating infants and unborn fetuses during the night. Interestingly, the aswang was also a word ascribed to the Filipina women who went against the forced religious conversion by Spanish friars during their colonization of the Philippines. 

March 2021 marked 500 years since Spanish ships first arrived on the shores of the Philippines. 

Since then, our country fought hard for liberation, first from Spain and then from the United States of America. In retrospect, it hasn’t been long since the Philippines became an independent nation. Today, we are striving to find our voice amidst the imperialistic erasure we’ve endured.

As Lek puts it, “What propelled me to tell these stories is the feeling that I had no voice. For one, I didn’t speak English well so I couldn’t really talk about what I was going through or how I felt. That’s why a lot of my work now focuses on bringing my experiences of living in the Philippines at the forefront and seeing how that’s connected to bigger conversations and narratives around us.” 

Currently, Lek’s work called Anak (My Child) is being featured in the gallery at Towson University’s Asian Arts & Culture Center. 

View Anak (My Child) Exhibit: https://towson.edu/anak

Besides online exhibitions and virtual galleries, Lek is also conducting several workshops in Baltimore’s upcoming Asia North Festival. These workshops are a good model for Lek’s philosophy in making art out of personal histories. Whether it’s experiences of displacement or change, she points out that everyone’s story matters and there will always be a community of people who can empathize with that.   

“I think it’s really important for our stories to be brought to light in the larger narrative. They think by calling us model minority, our problems can easily be brushed aside” I lamented the steady rise of xenophobic crimes these past few months.  

“I agree, it’s a really complex issue” Lek adds, “Why are we so silent? Why do we stand in the shadows? I’ll probably look for an answer my entire life. It’s hard to talk about our struggles and it’s not easy to have conversations about the past. There’s a culture of silence that’s been normalized and it’s perpetuated even in our own homes. But that’s part of the work I do, bringing everything from the past into the forefront so we can have deeper conversations about it.” 

Speaking of the past, Lek’s introduction to the arts started in Tarlac, a city located north of the Philippines. Besides being known as the most multicultural province, the city is home to numerous sugar and rice plantations. “The population of our barrio was probably less than 1,000. Our family had a farm as well as a sugar-cane and rice field plantation. My inang [grandmother] also worked in the market as a butcher. It was a pretty simple country lifestyle but my childhood was amazing.” 

Life in the country has been instrumental to Lek’s artistry. “The memory of the landscape and of the community is an extension of my art,” Lek explains. As a young girl, her biggest inspiration comes from her grandfather who, like herself, was also an artist. Lek would copy his drawings and eventually create drawings of her own. Recently, Lek has started to incorporate banana leaves into her work. Banana leaves are incredibly important to Filipino culture as it is used for cooking and traditional homebuilding. 

“Sounds like you had to find your own path, coming here at such a young age and experiencing culture shock. America is very different from the Philippines!” I quipped.

“It was snowing where I first came here!” she exclaimed, thinking back to her initial introduction of America. “It was November when we landed in New York, it was freezing. I remember our families bundling us in huge warm winter coats before wecould even say hello. It was definitely a huge shock.”

I laugh, thinking back to when I first arrived in California ten years ago. Silly to think I was already freezing in sunny temperatures when she had to endure piles of snow. “Do you think you’ve had to change yourself in order to adjust to that culture shock?” 

“For a long time I really didn’t know who I was,” Lek admits. “When I was younger, the school I went to was predominantly white. What I thought about how I should present myself came from that image. I dyed my hair blond and put on blue colored contacts to fit in. It was a lot of assimilation and cultural erasure. I started talking less Tagalog and less Ilocano. But art has really helped me find myself. It made me think more deeply about who I really was and what was important to me on an authentic level.” 

Halfway through our conversation, we slowly realized just how similar we were. From migrating at the age of ten to living twenty miles apart in the same city. It was also in chatting that Lek found out I spoke Tagalog fluently, one thing she regrets losing unexpectedly. As it is my first language, Lek asked me to speak it instead. Once again, her warm nature bled through the Zoom interview; I found it refreshing since hardly anyone thinks about the interviewer’s comfort. 

Unsurprisingly, community building is important to Lek. Before working, she likes to ask herself the following questions, ‘How is what I’m doing connected to my family and everyone in the Filipino community? How can I better serve my community?’ One of the main reasons she moved to L.A. is to network with other Filipino artists. 

“A few years ago, I showed my art alongside a group of all Filipino artists at Avenue 50 Studio gallery for an exhibition that Nica Aquino and Anna Calubayan organized (also both Filipinas). It’s crazy because I’ve lived in and out [of L.A.] for over 10 years now and it was only in 2019 that I started to be part of that community. It’s probably the most fun I've had at an art show, I really felt at home.” 

“I’d love to visit the studio’s galleries once it’s safer to go outside” 

“Definitely! I’ll keep you updated on any gatherings” Lek pitched excitedly.

“And I'll bring you guys homemade ube cakes and puto pao!” I teasingly replied back.

As our call came to a close I couldn’t help but ask Lek if she had any advice to give to budding AAPI artists. 

“I’ll echo what people who have supported me have said in the past: trust yourself and trust that you can make a difference. It’s hard to figure out who you want to be when [the world] has expectations and demands from you. We’re lucky to live in a time where there’s so many possibilities. Figure out what you want to do authentically and genuinely, and go for it.” 

Lek continues on, “Personally, it took me a long time to find my voice. When I was in grad school, I had a lot of doubt in myself because most visiting artists and curators couldn’t understand my work. What made it all worth it were the moments that people got [my voice] right away.”  

Getting to know Lek and learning about her commitment to showcasing invisible stories has been awe-inspiring; it made me proud to be a Filipino American artist. And in the wake of our hurting AAPI community, I believe it’s incredibly important, now more than ever, to highlight and support works of people like Lek. People who have had to fight for their voice in this world, who our youth could look up to and be inspired to become. 

About the Author:

Precious Ringor is a Filipino-American singer/actress/writer residing in Los Angeles, CA. Ringor graduated from Cal State University, Fullerton with a degree in Human Communication Studies where her research is geared towards Asian American socio-cultural communication norms. Besides performing in various theatre shows and indie film sets, Ringor also works as a content contributor to Film Fest Magazine and Outspoken

[1-1snailxd-art]

Sides of a Hero

Fandom: Sanders Sides (web series) 

Summary: 

A different take on the sides being various impulses/ways of thinking, and fusing together form the different parts of Thomas’ personality. (Story takes place after ‘Learning new things about ourselves’.)

Warnings: Anxiety, depression, self-hate, injuries (major and minor), nightmares, panic, manipulation, stress, worry, negative thinking, suicide, character death

Characters: Thomas Sanders (Sides Universe), Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Original Characters - Rage, Depression, Envy, Ego, etc, Dragons, Thomas’ friends - Joan, Talyn, Camden, Terrence, AJ. 

Relationships: You are welcome to see whatever ships you want to see. This fic honestly has nothing explicit and ships aren’t the focus. I support shipping, I read other fics with ships, but this one doesn’t explicitly have any. 

Note: I am open to respond to asks or messages, especially if you have any concerns about triggers or even any feedback. 

Chapter Index  (Fic is complete with 20 chapters) 

Chapter 1 - Hindrance or help      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Virgil keeps his past to himself out of fear and guilt. He may be a main side now, but was that what he was meant to be? Virgil never told the others about his existence prior to becoming a side. Would they still trust him if they knew what he did and who his friends use to be? Roman called them Dark Sides, but what are they really and how is Virgil connected to them?

Chapter 2 - Past friends       {plain text}   {art header}    {Ao3 page}

Patton takes a trip down memory lane after the argument in the common room and realises there is trouble in the mindscape. Meanwhile, Virgil is dealing with the after effects of his trip down memory lane. Not all memories are good ones. 

Chapter 3 - Lying in wait      {plain text}   {art header}    {Ao3 page}

"You can't hide Deceit. I know you're in here."

Deceit and Rage are in Virgil's room. Are they friends or foes? Patton makes breakfast because he thinks the sides needed to mend broken relationships from yesterday’s arguments.

Chapter 4 - A nightmare on Impulse Street       {plain text}   {art header}    {Ao3 page}

All appeared calm in the mindscape. That was a good thing, right?

Can the mindscape really be calm? Enjoy the tranquillity while it lasts. Deceit and Depression have other plans.

Chapter 5 - A new storm       {plain text}   {art header}    {Ao3 page}

What happens when a host has a nightmare? Bigger question, what happens when a core side has a nightmare? Roman, Patton and Logan take action when Thomas experiences a nightmare.

Chapter 6 - Lost nightmare      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Virgil explores another memory with Depression. Will it end with another storm?

Thomas and his sides need to work out what happened, and to do that they need Virgil to talk. Can Virgil find a way to communicate with the others, or will he avoid the topic as per usual?

Chapter 7 - Looking over the horizon       {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Roman visits the edge of the mindscape for the first time. Him and Virgil hang out on the cliff - Like true cliff-hangers :-P

Virgil knows it is neutral territory and core sides aren’t meant to be there, but it felt like the right place to talk. Hopefully it was the right decision.

Chapter 8 - Jumping to conclusions       {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Roman can ignore Logan’s comment; in hindsight, it did look like he injured Virgil. He had his sword out and everything; it was an easy conclusion to jump to. The three sides help Virgil before discussing what happened at the cliff edge. There is much to discuss and a few conclusions to jump to…. but that is not a good habit to get into.

Chapter 9 - Past mistakes      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

After waking up on the lounge, Virgil is forced reflect on his past experiences with Logan. Meanwhile, Roman takes a good hard look at himself and receives some helpful information in the process.

Chapter 10 - Pizza for four      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

It started as a simple pizza party; how did it end with Virgil on the floor in pain?

Chapter 11 - The sealing of friendship      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Virgil finally confesses how Depression ended up sealed away; something he has never had to talk about before.

Chapter 12 - Let it go      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Virgil and Patton arrive back in the common area to find Roman and Logan arguing; typical.

Chapter 13 - Under the influence       {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

How will Virgil cope in a high anxiety situation without Thomas’ usual supports? The sides have a plan; hopefully everything goes according to it.

Chapter 14 - Cracks      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

The sides deal with the aftermath of the L.A. trip.

Chapter 15 - Trapped in the darkness       {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Logan, Patton and Roman take Rage to visit Thomas and wake him up from Nightmare. Virgil doesn't appear like last time and the group must find a way to get into his room to save him from himself.

Chapter 16 - Losing and loss      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Virgil has created an unstable fusion with Hood and left Logan, Patton and Thomas in the hallway. How do you move forward after watching your friends fall?

Chapter 17 - My own worst enemy      {plain text}     {Ao3 page}

Buying time. They were meant to just be buying time for Roman and Rage to get the mirror so they could help Virgil. It seemed so simple. Fool proof almost… Instead, Patton ended up putting himself in harm’s way. The battle for Virgil continues.

Chapter 18 - Aching in my Head       {plain text}      {Ao3 page}

Although Terrence had been away, he still sensed that something was wrong and thankfully he acted on his instinct and alerted others to Thomas’ radio silence. 24hours of silence may seem like nothing to some, but for someone like Thomas, it was definitely a red flag. Terrence and Joan gain access to Thomas’ house, not entirely sure what they are expecting/hoping to find.

Chapter 19 - Bricks and Friendship      {plain text}      {Ao3 page}

It’s a new day and now Thomas must deal with the guilt of making his friends fret over his health and safety. Patton steps into his caretaker role to help Logan recover from the migraine, and they all have to adjust to the changes in the mindscape.

Chapter 20 - The final - Who I am now       {plain text}      {Ao3 page} 

[tacticalgrandma]

25. photo for Ana and Fareeha?

Also on AO3! Comments/kudos make the world go round, you know the drill

Fareeha had found the picture in one of her history books. It was awkward, learning about the strike team in class, when all her classmates and the teacher were making very obvious efforts not to stare at her. But when they got to the page where her mother was standing there, holding a flag, wind blowing her hair back, the teacher could not resist asking her, “do you know the story behind this one, Fareeha?”

Fareeha did not. So she asked her mother about it when she went home that night. But her mother responded with only a dismissive, “it was not anything.”

Fareeha could not go back to class with that answer and moreover, now she actually cared. So she headed to Commander Morrison’s office, to see if he could help her.

He looked surprised when he opened the door and saw her there. “Fareeha! Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I just need help with a school project.” She hefted the book up, and Commander Morrison nodded and ushered her in.

“What’s the project?” he asked, settling in behind his desk as Fareeha placed the book on it, forced to stand in his cramped office. He looked at the cover. “It’s for history? Is it about the Crisis?”

“Yeah,” Fareeha said. She flipped to the bookmarked page and pointed to the photo. “It’s not like, a project really, just my teacher wanted to know, where was this photo taken?”

Commander Morrison’s jaw tightened and Fareeha’s stomach sank. She was probably not going to be able to pull this off.

“Why don’t you ask your mother?” he asked. She suppressed an exasperated sigh and drew on her prepared excuse.

“I asked her, and she couldn’t say.”

“Couldn’t say,” Commander Morrison repeated. Fareeha thought that since it was not technically a lie, it would be easier to stick with, but she still was unable to meet his eyes. He did sigh now. “Fareeha, I know you’re getting to an age where…”

Fareeha waited patiently for him to finish that sentence, and only spoke up when it became apparent he was unable to. “It’s just one photo,” she said. “And it’s for school. My teacher will get mad if I don’t have an answer. My mom also doesn’t want me to get in trouble at school.”

“I’m sure your mother could write you a note explaining everything to them.”

Fareeha bit her lip in frustration. “Commander Morrison, it’s just one picture-”

“I know, Fareeha.” He sounded very tired as he shut the book. “But it’s a picture from a… very difficult, very complicated time. For your mother, and for everyone.” He stared at the cover of the textbook, which showed an Omnic and a human standing side by side in front of the globe. “Your mother hasn’t wanted to tell you about this stuff both because she wants you to be prepared, and because she wants to be able to prepare.” He slid the book towards her. “If you learn anything from this, it should be that you can’t go through the world untouched by its troubles, no matter who you are or where you’re from. But your mother wants to protect you for a little bit longer. And it’s not my place to contradict her.”

Fareeha sighed heavily as she left his office. She would have to find someone less beholden to her mother than her mother’s boss. That ruled out Reinhardt. She might be able to get something out of Torbjörn, but he was still on paternity leave. That left her with only one member of the strike team, and he was very skilled at never telling Fareeha things he did not want her to know.

Still, at least talking to him was fun, she thought as she slipped into Uncle Gabe’s office.

At the sound of someone entering, he looked up, eyes angry and fierce, and immediately softening when he saw who it was. “Fareeha! What’s going on?”

“I need your help with something from school,” she said, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk and sliding the book over to him. He leaned over to look at it, and laughed when he saw the subject matter.

“You need me to proofread this thing? Because that is not how the Battle for Midtown went down.”

Fareeha rolled her eyes. “I just need help with the picture, Uncle Gabe.” She tapped at her mother’s face and he focused on that. “Do you know where this was taken?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I mean. We both know the obvious question here.” She sighed.

“My mom didn’t want to tell me, and Commander Morrison was a complete dweeb about it, and so…”

“Didn’t want to tell you?” He leaned back, frowning. “What exactly did she say?”

“She said, ‘It’s not anything.’”

“Ah. Well, you’re wrong, Fareeha. She told you exactly what it is.”

She glared at him. “If you turn this into a dumb riddle, so help me-”

He laughed. “It wasn’t taken at any battle or raid or anything. It’s a publicity photo, something to use in recruitment material or whatever. It was taken at a soundstage in L.A. We did a bunch of them. Stopped by In-N-Out afterwards.” He looked off into the distance. “Man, I haven’t had them in forever. I should see if they deliver internationally.”

She stared at the picture. “I don’t get it. Why did you take them? Why not use a picture from an actual battle?”

“Because those pictures wouldn’t be pretty, Fareeha,” he said. “They’d be us surrounded by scrapped Omnics after we carpet bombed an Omnium. It’d be us leaving civillians behind, because we couldn’t save everyone. If they wanted a picture of your mom, it’d be a picture of her on a rooftop somewhere in a ghillie suit, on her third hour of sitting perfectly still.” He shrugged and tapped the book. “They want to talk about the triumph in here. They want to tell a clean and inspiring story about the Crisis. They use actual pictures from the war, they couldn’t make as compelling an argument.”

Fareeha sat thinking about that, while Uncle Gabe watched her. “But why wouldn’t mom just tell me that?” she asked. “Commander Morrison just said she doesn’t want to talk to me about the war. If this wasn’t really the war, why didn’t she just tell me?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know, Fareeha. Jack’s right. She doesn’t really want to talk to you about any of this stuff until you’re older. But if I had to guess? She knows you’re going to see the Crisis being portrayed like this a lot. And she wants you to start thinking a bit harder about it.”

Fareeha turned the book back to face her, and looked at paragraph headers, the “Heroes of our World” and the “Humanity’s Light.” “I don’t know why Commander Morrison couldn’t have just told me that,” she said.

Uncle Gabe was trying to hide his smile, and completely failing. “Well, you know Fareeha, Jack cares about you very much and wants what’s best for you, he’s just a bit…”

“Super awkward?”

That broke him. “Around kids, yeah,” Uncle Gabe said between laughs.

Fareeha left Uncle Gabe’s office satisfied. The next day in class, she repeated what he had told her. The teacher nodded with a tight-lipped smile and gave Fareeha a note to give to her mother after class. Her mother read it, and then took her out for ice cream.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to get in trouble,” Fareeha said as she licked her cone.

Her mother snorted. “Some things are worth getting in trouble for,” she said. “And if that book isn’t teaching how to figure out what those things are, you don’t need to listen to a word it says.”

[robrob1127]

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The Dream Syndicate Hits the Road in Support of Their Latest Album

  By Rob Nagy

  A fixture in the L.A. underground music scene in the 1980’s, alternative psychedelic rock band The Dream Syndicate returns to the concert stage in support of their latest album release, These Times.

  “It was a very liberating record to make because it was our second record since we reunited in 2012,” says lead singer and co-founder Steve Wynn, from his home in New York. “When we made the first one, we kind of felt that push and pull of wanting to represent who we were; remind people what the band used to be, but also move forward and show what were are into now.  That was a hard balance and we pulled it off pretty well. I think that record sounded like a Dream Syndicate album but not like any we had made before.”

  “I think the new songs sound fresh and not dated,” adds Wynn “We’re always listening to new things all the time. We’re all so excited about music. We’re trying to find something new. Way back to the beginning of the band we never made the same record twice because you made that record and showed where you were at that moment and there’s no point in duplicating what you did before. I think with this new record, we have the same name of the band we used to be, but we’re a band that exists, thrives on and is excited about where we are right now.”

  Featuring ten new songs, fans will be hooked from the opening track of one of their finest releases. Standout tracks include: “The Way In’”, “Black Light”, “Bullet Holes”,   “Still Here Now”,  “Speedway”, “Recovery Mode”, and “Space Age”.

  Formed in 1981 by Steve Wynn (guitar and lead vocals), Karl Precoda (guitar), Kendra Smith (bass) and Dennis Duck (drums), The Dream Syndicate rapidly established a following in and around L.A.

  Signed to a recording contract with Slash Records the band released their classic debut album The Days of Wine and Roses (1982). Subsuquent album releases, Medicine Show (A&M) (1984), Out of the Grey (Chrysalis) (1986) and Ghost Stories (Enigma) (1988), as well as concert tours supporting U2 and R.E.M., failed to secure commercial success for the band. After nearly a decade, the Dream Syndicate called it quits in 1989.

  “We came up at the same time as R.E.M, The Bangles, Jane’s Addiction,” recalls Wynn. “They went where they went and we went where we went. I think the fact that we get to make the music we like and get to travel around the world and play for people who know it, care about it, understand it, that’s kind of all we really could have ever hoped for.”

  Decades later, in 2012, Wynn reassembled his old band mates Walton and Duck, adding guitarist and longtime friend Jason Victor to the bands reformed line-up, for a concert appearance at Festival BAM in Barcelona, Spain.

  “There wasn’t a lot of thought behind reuniting,” says Wynn. “Even though we hadn’t played in years it was very spontaneous and very haphazard. At the time we thought about what it would be like to be The Dream Syndicate Now? Would it be stale, exciting, fun? We had no idea?”

  “The magic returned instantly,” adds Wynn. “We set aside three days in Madrid, in a rehearsal studio, to just kind of see what we knew, what we had to do to be a band again. Dedicating eight to ten hours a day to rehearse and go over all the arrangements. In the first hour we found that time just stood still. We just picked up where we left off.”

  “Each time, we said ‘Yes’ after that show, whether it was a show in Philly or a Spanish tour, we said ,‘That was fun let’s do more.’ After three years of one thing at a time sort of thing we said ‘Hey, this is actually going well; I think it’s time to put out a new record. We made the record and we loved it.  Once that was all done, I think we felt exhilarated to do what ever we want; there was no right or wrong answer. There was no responsibility to represent something thirty years ago. Just make the music we want and get excited and have a good time doing that.”

  Wynn remains humbled and honored by the loyal fan support The Dream Syndicate continues to enjoy.

  We’re so grateful to the people who have stuck with us,” says Wynn. “The people who love our music and go with the unpredictable changes. I think people to hear us take chances, and that’s great! I love that our fans encourage us to do that. There’s always more ahead and I’m excited to see where things go.”

  The Dream Syndicate performs at the Sellersville Theater; located at 24 West Temple Ave., Sellersville, PA, May 11, 2019 at 8:00 P.M. Tickets can be purchased by calling 215-257-5808 or on-line at www.st94.com.

  To stay up to date with The Dream Syndicate visit www.thedreamsyndicate.com

[btssavedmylifeblr]

and so I rushed to AO3 with usain bolt speed LOL, your fics just made my morning ilu

Hi Erica! Nice to meet you! So glad you loved the story! Are you also the anon planning on going to the BBMAs?

I was at the Newark wings tour! It was AMAZING! The picture from my header is one I took there.

Hobi and Tae are the ones who totally ruined my bias list. 

I love talking to armys. They are all the nicest people!

Thanks for reading and commenting!

[grqnticons]

please like if you use.

[gadgetsrevv]

Daniele De Rossi’s Great South American Adventure with Boca Juniors | Bleacher Report

Marcelo Endelli/Getty Images

They couldn’t believe it. When word first began to filter through that Daniele De Rossi—a FIFA World Cup winner with Italy in 2006 and a bona fide AS Roma legend having played his whole professional career with his hometown team—was going to join Boca Juniors, the reaction of football fans in Argentina was incredulity.  

“When Nicolas Burdisso—who was one of De Rossi’s teammates at Roma and is now director of football at Boca Juniors—came out and said a couple of months ago, ‘We’re going to get Daniele De Rossi,’ people laughed,” says Sam Kelly, founder of the Hand of Pod podcast.

“Boca have done this in previous years, saying they were going to bring in this-and-that signing. They did it with Ronaldinho a few years ago, and it tends to get laughed at.

“Then we heard De Rossi was mulling over whether to come to Buenos Aires or to move to L.A. At that point, everyone here in Argentina thought he’s obviously going to L.A. Galaxy because they will pay him on time. They’ll probably pay him more. If you had De Rossi’s money, wouldn’t you rather be in Los Angeles than Buenos Aires?

“Then he said: ‘I’m retiring from football.’ Fans from [Boca’s rivals] River Plate were saying, ‘OK, De Rossi was so desperate not to come to Boca Juniors that he’s decided to retire instead.’ Suddenly, one day, he said he’d changed his mind and was going to come to Boca.

“It’s a weird situation. I still can’t get that it has happened. From 16 years of following the Argentinian league, I’ve always wanted to see a European with no connections to Argentina be sentimental enough or curious enough to come down here and take part in this wonderful footballing culture that Argentina has, with all of its problems, but also with a lot of good things.

“He’s clearly not done it for money but for personal reasons. You often hear the cliche from footballers, ‘I’d love to play in La Bombonera [Boca’s iconic stadium].’ He appears to really mean it.”

B/R Football @brfootball

A standing ovation from every Roma player as Daniele De Rossi says goodbye

( via @ASRomaEN) https://t.co/B7ZDIX4yhB

De Rossi, who turned 36 in July, has had a glittering career. He made his Serie A debut with AS Roma under Fabio Capello in January 2003, and he won the league’s prestigious Player of the Year award in 2009, which is a notable achievement for a defensive midfielder.

He also scored in Italy’s penalty shootout victory against France in the 2006 FIFA World Cup final in Germany, and he amassed more than a century of caps for his national team before retiring in 2017.

“It’s a surprise that De Rossi has come here,” says Carlos Navarro Montoya, a legendary goalkeeper with Boca Juniors who is known as “El Mono” (The Monkey) by fans. “You could see the reaction when he arrived in Buenos Aires at the airport. It was packed with a lot of fans. The people of Boca received him very well, with fondness. You can see it has affected him.

“The fans have a lot of empathy for him because he has chosen to come here instead of more lucrative offers in other countries. I admire him for this. He could play with another team in another league with fewer obligations, less pressure, but instead, he decided to take this challenge. Boca is a team that is under permanent pressure to win all the competitions it enters.

“It’s about something more than football. He’s taken it for personal reasons. It’s about ‘ilusion’ (a dream). He didn’t come here for any other reason. He’s prioritising sporting goals, obviously, rather than the pursuit of money. It’s a distinctive story, something different.”

Sky Sports News @SkySportsNews

Daniele De Rossi being mobbed by Boca Juniors fans at 06:30 in the morning! ⁣ ⁣⁣ ⁣After announcing that Roma’s player of 18 years was set for a Buenos Aires switch, De Rossi was welcomed to the club by hundreds of fans waiting for his arrival at the airport!

De Rossi is travelling in unchartered territory. Several of his former teammates at AS Roma played in Argentina’s premier division, including Fernando Gago, who featured for Boca Juniors in last year’s Copa Libertadores final; Gabriel Heinze, who left AS Roma to play with Newell’s Old Boys in 2012; and Burdisso, who learnt his trade as a youth team player at Boca and in its first team for several seasons before leaving for Italy. He returned to the club as sporting director earlier in 2019. 

There have been several Argentinian greats who have come home after triumphing in the great leagues of Europe, such as Diego Maradona; Juan Roman Riquelme, who returned to Boca from Villarreal in 2007; and Carlos Tevez, now a teammate of De Rossi’s at Boca having first returned to the club from Juventus in 2015 after playing in that year’s UEFA Champions League final.

What makes De Rossi’s case stand out is that he is a top European-born player. Even players like the former Juventus pair Mauro Camoranesi—a FIFA World Cup winner with De Rossi in 2006 who finished his playing career with spells at two clubs in Buenos Aires, Lanus and Racing—and David Trezeguet, the scorer of France’s golden goal in the UEFA Euro 2000 final and whose goals helped River Plate gain promotion in 2012, both grew up in Argentina.

“The only precedent for this high-profile a European coming to Argentina would be Trezeguet joining River during River’s season in the second division, but obviously Trezeguet has connections to Buenos Aires because he grew up here, and he grew up as a River fan. On the one hand, European, check. World Cup winner, check. Slightly over the hill but clearly better than everyone else in the league, check.

“On the other hand, his arrival wasn’t quite as surprising—except to Europeans—because people in Argentina were aware that Trezeguet had spent his adolescence in Buenos Aires before he went to Monaco. De Rossi is completely from left field. He doesn’t have any connection with Buenos Aires. He just fancied coming here to play football.”

Pablo Lisotto, a journalist with La Nacion, notes that Boca fans have already started calling De Rossi “Foro Satano,” a reference to the abbreviation “tano.”

In Argentina, locals refer affectionately to an Italian as “tano.” Boca’s roots, of course, go back to an Italian neighbourhood in Buenos Aires in which the club sprung from in 1905.��

“In the neighbourhood where Boca originated, the inhabitants call it the ‘Republic of Boca,’ as if that was a country in itself,” says Lisotto. “There, most of the people are of Italian origin living in ‘conventillos’ (tenements). Immigrants having arrived from cities like Naples and Genoa. Boca’s nickname ‘The Xeneizes’ comes from ‘Los Genoveses’—from Genoa, the Italian port city.”

Lisotto believes that De Rossi’s robust, all-action style will help him to adapt to the rigours of Argentinian football. Famously, De Rossi has a hazard-symbol tattoo on one of his calf muscles of a footballer snapping into another player’s ankle with a sliding tackle, and he wears a No. 16 jersey in homage to the notorious Manchester United enforcer Roy Keane. 

Marcelo Endelli/Getty Images

“This type of play is very familiar for Boca,” says Lisotto. “The kind of player who fights for every ball. Historically, those players are well recognised at Boca. The club’s fans appreciate the player who physically gives everything on the pitch—those players who sweat the jersey.”

Diego Simeone, who returned from his European adventures to play with Racing in 2005, sounded a note of caution, however, when speaking to No Toda Pasa (h/t Ole).

He reckons De Rossi could struggle to adapt to the more freewheeling nature of Argentinian league football:

“It’s not going to be easy for De Rossi. He comes from an Italian culture that is very tactical. The spaces are reduced, with the lines of the team close together. In Argentinian football, the teams are much more open, and this is complicated for those who are not used to it. It happened to me when I came back from Spain. The spaces on the field in Argentina were much more open, and I found this very hard.”

So far, the signs are good, though. De Rossi scored on his debut last week with a header in a Copa Argentina game against Almagro, although Boca lost the tie on penalties.

The real test begins on Wednesday when Boca play the first leg of their quarter-final Copa Libertadores clash against LDU Quito in Ecuador. If, as expected, Boca progress, they could face eternal rivals River Plate in the semi-final.

It would give Boca a chance to avenge last year’s historic defeat in the final and bring De Rossi within a step of achieving what he claimed on Boca’s website would be “the crowning moment” of his career. It would be the realisation of an amazing dream.

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[itsworn]

Petersen Magazines Overflowed With L.A. Rodders, Racers & Customizers in 1961

Heaven. Granted, the City of Angels ain’t what it was at the turn of the 1960s. Bashing all things Cali is as fashionable today as moving west was six decades ago. Indeed, gearheads elsewhere can now make excellent arguments for automotive scenes wherever they happen to live. Truth be known, high-ranking Eastern and Midwestern executives employed by one of the investment groups that acquired the former Petersen Publishing Company argued that the whole shebang—including the millions of irreplaceable negatives and transparencies in the precious photography archive—rightly belonged on the Right Coast. Their first choice was Florida, insisting that Florida is the California of the 21st-century for all things automotive. They might’ve been right. They’re all gone now (whew, close call!).

While it’s a fact that bare-bones travel budgets usually kept Petersen’s skeleton crews close to home, staffers needn’t have ventured beyond L.A.’s vast city limits to fill every page of every 1961 HOT ROD, Car Craft, Rod & Custom, Motor Trend, Kart, and Motor Life with worthy editorial material. New trends ignited out west were hungrily awaited by millions of monthly readers across North America. Armchair sociologists will be forever debating causation for the hobby’s post-WWII convergence and explosion here. Two of the movement’s main influencers and beneficiaries offered very different reasons on the day that chief photographer Bob D’Olivo captured the mug shots accompanying this article. George Barris and Ed Roth didn’t agree on much else, either, beyond fiberglass sculpting being less expensive than full-custom metalwork; Petersen’s magazines and major car shows enabling eastern builders to close the styling gap with the west; and Los Angeles being the center of hot rodding’s universe.

Another believer was Tom Wolfe, a virtually unknown and entirely nonautomotive New York newspaper reporter whose assignment to cover a local rod-and-custom show inspired a story pitch to Esquire. The editors bit and flew him off to (where else?) SoCal, where HRM’s Tex Smith introduced local heroes and showed Tom around Burbank’s eye-opening Teen Fair. The resultant article, which Esquire titled, “There Goes (Varoom! Varoom!) That Kandy Kolored (Thphhhhhh!) Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby (Rahghhhh!) Around the Bend (Brummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…),” led to a best-selling first book that brought widespread fame to the author and two interview subjects previously known only to magazine readers: Barris and Roth.

Nobody working here is old enough to have formed firsthand opinions about alleged regional bias by “those California magazine guys,” but the extent of the state’s influence is unmistakable throughout the thousands of images composed by staff photojournalists in 1961 and considered for HRD’s ongoing series. Skeptics from Someplace Else, USA, who never made the scene, are forgiven for continuing to profess that Southern California subjects, in particular, received vastly disproportionate barrels of ink simply because most magazines happened to be produced there.

“Those people have it exactly backwards,” suggests historian Greg Sharp, a native Angeleno old enough to know. “The magazines were here because the action was here, period. End of story!”

While other carmakers more or less observed the industrywide Automobile Manufacturers Association agreement to avoid sponsoring motorsports or promoting performance, Pontiac Motor Division gained a winning reputation and unprecedented market share by discreetly funneling parts, engineers, and street vehicles to a network of independent skunkworks. Leading the straight-line assault was Mickey Thompson, whose factory involvement is evident in the engines and Pontiac-powered Dragmaster rails crowding his Long Beach facility when HRM photographer Eric Rickman made one of his regular visits. “America’s Speed King” continued repaying his factory favors this season by using eight-, four-, and two-cylinder Pontiac powerplants exclusively to add 14 international and national records for the standing-start mile and kilometer to his unrivaled resume. (See Sept. 1961 HRM; Oct. 1961 HRM, MT, CC & ML; Mar. 2012 & Nov. 2016 HRD.)

Just as Ed Roth’s all-fiberglass Excaliber/Outlaw created controversy in 1959-1960 by redefining the T roadster, this year’s follow-up broke further from traditional hot rods. The Beatnik Bandit began as sketches drawn by regular Rod & Custom contributor Joe Henning in response to Roth’s desire for “something like the Outlaw, only in coupe form.” Less than a year later, Roth’s vision of a futuristic hot rod rolled into the San Mateo (CA) Custom, Rod and Sports Car Show. The one-piece shell wrapped around a shortened ‘55 Oldsmobile chassis and drivetrain. A conventional, functional, lavishly chromed Olds engine by Fritz Voigt (Mickey Thompson’s builder) was revved by a floor-mounted joystick that additionally controlled steering, shifting, and braking. On setup night, R&C staffer Neal East snapped this outtake to the small photo from the same spot that ran in the June 1961 issue.

Ray Callejo stretched tradition, literally, to double his ‘31 Tudor’s displacement to a whopping 584 ci. Yes, this is one Backstage Past image that has already been published, but it’s the only one we found of a homebuilt hot rod too neat to ignore. Although the drag car later earned an entire Car Craft feature, the negatives for those photos presumably remained with freelance contributor Dave Cunningham. Callejo was evidently still working the bugs out of the combination, as the 124-mph top speed reported by CC came previously, with a single 292ci Chevy. (See June 1961 HRM; Oct. 1961 CC.)

Ah, life must have been good for one of Hollywood’s most-eligible bachelors! None of our sources could identify Robert E. Petersen’s apparent date for Motor Trend’s Car of the Year (Pontiac Tempest) reception, though historian Greg Sharp contributed the best wisecrack. Referencing a Jan. 2019 HRD photo of the publisher’s personal sports car nose-down in a neighbor’s yard, Sharp suggested, “Maybe she made up with Pete after rolling the Mercedes down the hill.”

In one historic frame at Motor Trend’s January cocktail party, Petersen staff photographer Pat Brollier captured the most-powerful trio in hot rodding, drag racing, and land-speed racing. Wally Parks (center) was both the president of NHRA and the editorial director for Bob Petersen (back turned). Mickey Thompson, who recently became world’s fastest (406 mph) with Pontiac power and was leading development of the Tempest four-banger for racing, joined the L.A. celebration for the new compact’s Car of the Year selection. (See Mar. 1961 MT; July 1961 HRM.)

Car Craft staffer Bud Lang’s sequence captured Ed Roth’s plastic bubbletop in action during the NHRA Winternationals car show that preceded the inaugural Pomona national event. A remote control box operated the canopy and started the engine. The unquestionable star of the show inexplicably came up empty in judging for the top trophies, scoring only Best Engine Compartment. That slight by NHRA officials was said to inspire Roth’s withdrawal from future competition in favor of guaranteed appearance money and/or free booth space for painting and selling so-called “weirdo” or “monster” shirts. (See May & July 1961 R&C; May 1961 & Feb. 1962 CC; June 1961 HRM; Mar. 2012 HRD.)

Charles “Boogie” Scott’s record-setting horsepower must have impressed chief HOT ROD photographer Eric Rickman, who tracked down the Olds-motivated Deuce in Pomona’s staging lanes for a rare, candid crew shot. (With just 12 frames per roll of medium-format 120 film, action shooters were understandably reluctant to devote film to mug shots unlikely to interest editors.) Also impressive was the long haul from Louisiana in a ‘51 Ford woody tow car by (from right) Henry Penedo, Cliff Smith, Scott, and Gary Lee. Boogie was denied a Winternationals trophy in the A/Altered final round but earned the national e.t. record in 11.15 seconds, while tying the class-record speed of 140.75 mph (See May 1961 HRM). NHRA Museum historian Greg Sharp reminds us that 45 years later, the 70-year-old chassis builder joined Bonneville’s 200-MPH Club in his Gas Modified roadster at 238.508.

A week after becoming Stock Eliminator at the inaugural Winternationals with his ‘61 Impala, Don Nicholson (right) was a logical choice to participate in Motor Life’s test of Chevrolet’s new 409/409 option. Amazingly, the Chevy that he brought—possibly even drove—to Riverside International Raceway was almost certainly the Pomona-winning race car (this license plate checks out). Unbelievably, he allowed a magazine guy to burn rubber and bang gears in it. Note Petersen’s analog “fifth-wheel” data logger and the dust storm stirred up by fenderwell headers. Bob D’Olivo shot the scene and believes the test driver to be former Motor Trend writer Wayne Thoms.

Petersen conceived Motor Life’s awards ceremony as an annual March event recognizing outstanding drivers, mechanics, car owners, promoters, and racing journalists from each preceding season. Neither the awards program nor the magazine would survive the new year, however. The first—and last—Men of the Year lineup included (from left): Carroll Shelby; Henry Banks (accepting for Official of the Year Harlan Fengler); A.J. Foyt, named overall Driver of the Year; Mrs. Robert Bowes (for son Bob Bowes); George Bignotti; Jack Chrisman; Louis Clements; Rex White; Bob Colvin; and Russ Catlin (for writer Max Muhleman). Not shown is Mickey Thompson, honored for his one-way 406.600 at Bonneville. After the November issue, Motor Life—a title intermittently produced by various publishers since the early 20th century—would be absorbed and replaced by a new Petersen monthly, Sports Car Graphic. (See June 1961 HRM & ML; Dec. 1961 SCG.)

Petersen conceived Motor Life’s awards ceremony as an annual March event recognizing outstanding drivers, mechanics, car owners, promoters, and racing journalists from each preceding season. Neither the awards program nor the magazine would survive the new year, however. The first—and last—Men of the Year lineup included (from left): Carroll Shelby; Henry Banks (accepting for Official of the Year Harlan Fengler); A.J. Foyt, named overall Driver of the Year; Mrs. Robert Bowes (for son Bob Bowes); George Bignotti; Jack Chrisman; Louis Clements; Rex White; Bob Colvin; and Russ Catlin (for writer Max Muhleman). Not shown is Mickey Thompson, honored for his one-way 406.600 at Bonneville. After the November issue, Motor Life—a title intermittently produced by various publishers since the early 20th century—would be absorbed and replaced by a new Petersen monthly, Sports Car Graphic. (See June 1961 HRM & ML; Dec. 1961 SCG.)

This series has spared readers the go-karts that commanded more pages in some Petersen monthlies of the era than hot rods and race cars combined. (You’re welcome!) Two rolls logged into the archive’s film index as simply “Jet Kart” earned this exception. Chief photographer Bob D’Olivo pulled the trigger on color photos for a Kart magazine cover story that none of our collector sources owns (thanks, anyway, Gary Medley and Greg Sharp). All we know is that neither the kart owner’s crash helmet nor his tuner’s crescent wrench dissuaded D’Olivo and fellow staffers from blasting around the company’s Hollywood Boulevard headquarters during the after-hours session in Petersen’s makeshift photo studio. At least Car Craft editor Dick Day donned proper headgear for his turn in the seat.

Before the champ-car industry gradually relocated to Indianapolis, suburban Los Angeles was home to countless open-wheel cars. Even so, it’s hard to believe that two different staffers, shooting for different Petersen magazines, would find such homey scenes on two unknown streets in the same city at virtually the same time—if not on the same April day. Oval-track experts Jim Miller and Greg Sharp each answered our plea for vehicle IDs, and then some. We learned that the Vatis Special was the first of three Kurtis-Kraft J-2 models delivered. At the Brickyard in early May, the brand new car was damaged when Chuck Hulse tangled with two drivers during time trials, repaired just in time for the final day of qualifying, then missed the cut on its only timed attempt. (Hulse also drove the adjacent Kurtis 4000 roadster on dirt tracks this year.) The backyard scene shows camgrinder and Indy veteran Dempsey Wilson aboard the Kuzma-built Casale & Greenman entry that did run the race, placing 16th after its 252-inch Offy’s fuel pump failed on Lap 146 (of 200). The photo archive’s film log reveals that respective Petersen photographers Al Paloczy and Eric Rickman turned their exposed film into the lab just one day apart. (See June 1961 ML & HRM.)

Al Paloczy was hired by Bob D’Olivo as a lab technician but proved capable of shooting creative car features, particularly of customs. Colleague Pat Brollier captured some foolishness while Paloczy was waiting for B&W prints to dry.

George Barris’ signboard insisted that his XPAK 400 “runs on a 5-inch cushion of air,” but spectators at the Tridents Car Club Show don’t seem to be buying it. Nor was satirical R&C contributor Joe Henning. Perhaps biased by his design work and fondness for arch-rival Ed Roth, Henning described a recent Bakersfield show during which George “personally conducted a demonstration of the fabulous air car, during which it rose to microscopic heights.” Harsher still was a subsequent Roth Studios ad hyping Big Daddy’s upcoming Rotar as the “only land, sea, air car to work without gimmicks (no hydraulic jack to make it lift), actually flies!” Barris’ addition of a billowing parachute added drama to the demonstrations, but we have yet to find evidence of the advertised elevation. (See Mar. 1961 CC; May & Sept. 1961 R&C.)

We were seeking some excuse—er, that is, a good reason—to share a negative shot for Motor Life that doesn’t appear in our incomplete collection. We found justification under a May HRM headline that looked like a leftover bit from a goofy April Fools issue: “Tragedy Hits Model Car Field.” The disaster turned out to be the theft of 1,200 cartons containing 15,000 AMT plastic kits of 1961 Ford “customizing convertibles” from a Chicago freight terminal worth $19,000. Coincidentally, when Motor Life visited this unknown factory a month after HOT ROD’s item appeared, the bodies stacking up in front of a lone assembly line worker happened to be hardtop versions of a ‘61 Ford.

Pikes Peak’s big story was the surprising emergence of Fords as contenders in the Stock Car class. Not coincidentally, four of them were freshly outfitted with the factory’s first four-speed transmissions, installed by Bill Stroppe on behalf of Colorado dealers anxious to end GM’s domination on the mountain. Fords qualified 1-2-3, ahead of the favored Chevys, but Curtis Turner (pictured) fell 2.4 seconds behind Louis Unser’s 409 bubbletop on race day. (See Sept. 1961 HRM; Oct. 1961 ML & MT.)

Wally Parks waited until Kent Fuller finished building the first four-engine dragster before banning four-engine cars—all except this one, effectively granting Tommy Ivo an exclusive exhibition act. “NHRA told me, ‘If this thing runs good, we’ll have four-motor cars popping up all over the place,’” Ivo explained in a recent e-mail. What appears to be a suburban L.A. neighborhood was actually an elaborate set on the 20th Century Fox lot (where Century City sits today). HRM’s chosen photo location was the fake street in front of the fake house familiar to millions of viewers of a 1961-1962 series costarring TV Tom and Cynthia Pepper as Roaring ‘20s teens. “It was Eric Rickman’s brainstorm to shoot it on the Margie set and get me grounded from drag racing after [studio execs] saw the car I owned. Nice idea, Eric—not! You might say this was the defining moment when I decided to change careers. I gave up acting for drag racing when the series ended because I never wanted to get grounded again.” A tire-wiper named Don Prudhomme graduated to the seat. The duo charged $500 per local appearance; the kid was paid all of 25 bucks. “Ron Pellegrini took Prudhomme’s place when his now-wife, then-girlfriend Lynn told Don that if he left town again, after touring with me and the twin-engined car in 1960, she wouldn’t wait for him anymore,” Ivo added. “He was grounded! After three years, Pellegrini told me the car was all done, so I sold it to Tom McCourry—who ran it nine more years!” It was restored with the aluminum station-wagon body that Tom Hanna attached in 1966 and resides in a private collection. (See Dec. 1961 HRM; Mar. 2012 & Nov. 2016 HRD.)

The so-called kustomizing kings sat down together with R&C editor Bill Neumann in early December for a lengthy, tape-recorded interview that inexplicably waited until the May and June 1962 issues to surface as excerpts entitled, “Mr. Barris, Meet Mr. Roth.” The show-car world was anxiously awaiting the debut of Rotar, Big Daddy’s answer to George’s much-maligned XPAK 400, and an inevitable battle between so-called air cars. Dig the following exchange: Neumann: Ed, Does Rotar actually fly? Roth: Yes. Neumann: George, does XPAK fly? Barris: Does it fly? It’s an experimental car that will raise in the air. Yes. The same two issues carry a related, two-part episode of Pete Millar’s popular Arin Cee comic strip (starring R&C’s answer to Tom Medley’s Stroker McGurk character in HRM) in which the editor assigns Arin the story behind each man’s desire to reign as the king of kustoms. The last two panels bring the contenders together, suddenly sporting each other’s distinctive style: Ed wears a suit; George has a goatee. Their true motivations are finally revealed at the end: Roth: I wanna be king so I can wear a shirt and tie. All my life I’ve wanted to be like George. Barris: … and I want to be like Big Daddy and grow a beard. (See Apr., May & June 1962 R&C.)

Just guessing, but hard times seemed to be a theme of the company’s holiday party in December. Staff artists produced life-size facsimiles of three bums wearing mug shots of PPC executives. The dummy holding the dismal sales graph appears to be Robert E. Petersen himself. While HRM reported unprecedented sales “crowding 700,000,” a tumultuous year internally saw Pete fold two other titles and replace the entire R&C staff after editor Lynn Wineland, a six-year employee, devoted much of the September issue to a newfound fascination with skydiving.

Mr. Petersen obviously got with the poverty program, panhandling for spare change while wearing a signboard showing discontinued magazines. The dapper dude at left looks like ambitious Dick Day, who’d advanced from contributing cartoonist to current Car Craft editor (later becoming a PPC publisher and vice president).

One of the last “car” features shot this year captured the much-anticipated, ill-fated Rotar. Here, Ed Roth shows the after effects of cramming a six-foot-four Big Daddy under the tiny bubbletop for Bill Neumann’s camera. Powered by dual, unmuffled 650cc Triumph engines sitting on their sides, the remote-controlled hovercraft would soon debut in a Pasadena show and remain a major attraction for two show seasons. Unlike Barris’ XPAK 400, Roth’s version proved adept at rising 4 to 5 inches while “blowing up girls’ skirts,” Roth noted proudly. The fun and the “air-car war” stopped suddenly in Detroit when an oil-starved crankshaft failed at full throttle, blasting bits of aluminum fan blades and plastic into the crowd, seriously injuring at least one bystander. (See Aug., Sept. & Dec. 1961 R&C; Apr. & June 1962 R&C.)

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[kennethherrerablog]

These 5 Tips Can Help You Snag a Job in Another State Before You Relocate

Tyler Hoyt used to dream of moving to Los Angeles.

“I always wanted to come out here,” says the 25-year-old software developer. “I felt at the time I had the skill set to compete with the people out here, so I kind of went for it.”

Earlier this year, he had enough of working his cybersecurity gig in Tampa, Florida, and started aggressively applying to openings in L.A. After about a month of searching, he received an offer for a six-month contract position with a tech company. He seized the opportunity and has been living in Los Angeles since October.  

For some people, the idea of packing up the car and heading to their dream city without a job lined up sounds like an adventure. But for others, including Hoyt, the idea of not having work lined up to pay the bills is crazy. “I have two dogs and my fiancée,” Hoyt says. “It took a lot of planning to find a house with a yard and make sure we weren’t going to be homeless within a month after getting here.”

If you’re ready to move to your dream city but have no idea how to get a job out of state, here are five tips to help your search.

Consider Getting a LinkedIn Premium Account

Hoyt says one reason he found a job so quickly was he decided to go all in with a LinkedIn Premium account.

LinkedIn Premium is one of the top-tier versions of the business-focused social media platform. This monthly subscription service allows job seekers to contact hiring managers directly and see how they compare to the competition.

After filling out an application and submitting a resume online, he went on LinkedIn to find the company’s recruiter, then sent an InMail message that was half introduction, half cover letter, to put himself on the recruiter’s radar.

LinkedIn Premium is free for the first 30 days, then costs $30 per month. “It’s not cheap, but I’d say it’s well worth the money if you’re actively searching,” he says.  

Don’t Lie About Your Location

When updating your resume, it can be tempting to put “New York, NY,” “Seattle, WA” or whichever dream city in your header. But that strategy can be risky.

Helen Godfrey, a career counselor with The Authentic Path, advises cross-country job seekers to be transparent about where they are and list their current location on their resumes. It may sound like a good idea to use the address of a friend or family member who lives in your desired town, but that might lead to false expectations. For example, you might not be able to quickly come in for an in-person interview because you live on the opposite side of the U.S.

“You don’t want that to be your first impression because it comes across as sneaky,” Godfrey says. “If you’re sneaky about that, you’re probably sneaky about other things. You get hired because people like you and trust you. “The trust part is on the line if you do that.”

Ease the Recruiter’s Fears

Dana Leavy-Detrick, founder of the Brooklyn Resume Studio, tells long-distance job seekers their main focus needs to be putting the company recruiter’s mind at ease.

The most significant thing on the minds of the HR department will be the transition, she says. Filling job vacancies can take a long time, and the last thing they want is for it to drag on longer than needed.

“You know part of the draw hiring a local candidate is the fact that they could probably transition very quickly,” she says. “So you have to keep that in mind, too, and try to shorten that timeline as much as you can.”

Your cover letter is an excellent way to express this. Leavy-Detrick encourages people to use phrases such as “I’m actively relocating to the New York City area,” or “I’m ready to interview immediately.” Any details that highlight that you’re treating this job opportunity as a top priority will look good in the eyes of the recruiter.

“They are taking a big risk by interviewing somebody who’s an out-of-state candidate, she says, “so give as many specifics as you can give them up-front. It’s going to increase the chances that they might consider you along with local candidates.”

Focus on the Job, Not the Location in the Cover Letter

Living in New York City might be your dream, but that means little to a recruiter.

Back in 2000, Godfrey was in San Diego looking for jobs after finishing grad school. During her search, she found a career counseling position at Florida International University in Miami. In her cover letter, she didn’t write about sandy beaches or warm weather; her focal point was on why she’d be an excellent fit for the role.

“That’s really your mission to show [during the screening process] that you’re going to be a great employee,” she says. But if there is a specific purpose to your relocation, such as being closer to family, then it’s okay to include it.

“If there is a reason, that might be helpful for them to understand that you’re not going to get there, be here a couple of months and decide you don’t like [the job],” she says. “There’s some compelling reason that you want to be there.”

Can’t Fly Out for Interviews? Try Video Chat

If all goes well during the preliminary phone calls, the next step will be the in-person interview.  Of course that’s going to be more of a challenge when the parties are on opposite sides of the country.

“The more senior, the more niche the role, there’s more of a likelihood they’ll fly you out,” says Leavy-Detrick. “But if there’s more competition, likely that responsibility is going to fall on you.”

When Hoyt was applying for jobs in L.A., he recalls, if a company wanted him to pay for his own airfare and hotel, he turned them down. “I’m not going to pay for a plane ticket on a week’s notice for a job I might not get,” he says.

One alternative to the high cost of a plane ticket is setting up a video meeting on apps like Skype or Google Hangouts. Hoyt says a lot of companies are flexible and open to conducting interviews this way.  

He recalls doing multiple Skype interviews from his car during lunch breaks because it was the only place he could get privacy while working for his previous employer. Although not ideal, he figured it showed that he was willing to go the extra mile to land a job in his dream city.

“Yeah, it’s not as good as face-to-face [interviews], but being able to visually see the body language at least from the chest up is much better than a phone call,” he says.

Matt Reinstetle is a staff writer at The Penny Hoarder. He covers career advice and side gigs. If you have a topic you’d like to see covered, send him a message on Twitter @MattReinstetle.

This was originally published on The Penny Hoarder, which helps millions of readers worldwide earn and save money by sharing unique job opportunities, personal stories, freebies and more. The Inc. 5000 ranked The Penny Hoarder as the fastest-growing private media company in the U.S. in 2017.

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Live Update: Weekend Sports in Brief | FOX Sports

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Live Update: Weekend Sports in Brief | FOX Sports

PRO BASKETBALL

CLEVELAND (AP) LeBron James is leaving home for Hollywood and an iconic team.

The Los Angeles Lakers have a new superstar – L.A.-Bron.

The four-time NBA MVP announced Sunday night that he has agreed to a four-year, $154 million contract with the Lakers, joining one of the league’s most storied franchises and switching conferences to try and dethrone the Golden State Warriors and grow his own legacy.

For the second time in his career, James is saying goodbye to the Cleveland Cavaliers, who drafted the teenage sensation from Akron in 2003 and have to be satisfied with winning just one title in the 11 years they had him.

Unlike his two previous forays in free agency, James did not drag out his decision and made the announcement less than 24 hours after NBA free agency opened.

His management agency, Klutch Sports Group, announced his agreement with the Lakers with a simple, short release. It was a stark contrast from eight years ago, when a poorly conceived TV special to announce his departure from Cleveland backfired and damaged James’ image.

James isn’t planning any more comments and there won’t be a welcoming press conference or celebration in Los Angeles, a person familiar with his plans said Sunday night on the condition of anonymity. James will make his next public comments on July 30 in Akron when he opens a public school started by his family foundation.

HOCKEY

TORONTO (AP) – Superstar center John Tavares is going home, agreeing to terms on a $77 million, seven-year contract with his childhood team, the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Tavares announced his intentions on Twitter on Sunday, posting a picture of himself as a child in Maple Leafs bedding. The team says the deal is worth $11 million a season for seven years.

The 27-year-old point-a-game playmaker met with the Leafs, New York Islanders, San Jose Sharks, Boston Bruins, Tampa Bay Lightning and Dallas Stars over the past several days in Los Angeles to hear their pitches for his services.

A native of Mississauga, Ontario, Tavares had 37 goals and 47 assists for 84 points in 82 games for the Islanders last season. He has 621 points in 669 career regular-season games.

Losing Tavares is a crushing blow to the Islanders, who have undergone an organizational makeover in recent months under still relatively new owners Scott Malkin and Jon Ledecky. They hired Lou Lamoriello as president of hockey operations and fresh Stanley Cup winner Barry Trotz as coach.

PRO FOOTBALL

RENTON, Wash. (AP) – Seattle Seahawks strong safety Kam Chancellor said scans on his injured neck have shown no improvement and declared it was ”time for the next chapter.”

Chancellor had been awaiting further clarity on his neck, which he injured in a game against the Arizona Cardinals in November. In a posting on his Twitter account Sunday night, Chancellor said his latest scans ”showed no healing.”

”I’ve played through all types of bruises and injuries at a high level. But this one, I just can’t ignore,” he wrote.

Chancellor never used the word ”retirement” in his statement, which may have been deliberate. Chancellor signed an extension through the 2020 season last August which contained guaranteed money in case of injury. An official retirement could open up the possibility of forfeiting some of that money.

Chancellor was named to four Pro Bowl teams (2011, 2013-15) and was twice a second-team All-Pro selection (2013, 2014). He appeared in 109 career games for Seattle with 93 starts after being selected in the fifth-round of the 2010 NFL draft.

SOCCER

MOSCOW (AP) – Russia shockingly eliminated Spain from the World Cup, surviving two hours of dominance by the 2010 champions in a 1-1 draw and then winning a penalty shootout 4-3.

Russia’s captain and goalkeeper Igor Akinfeev saved spot-kicks from Jorge ”Koke” Resurreccion and Iago Aspas, and four of his teammates all scored.

Spain dominated the ball during the game – completing more than 1,000 passes – but was too passive against a well-organized Russian defense.

Spain led in the 12th minute when captain Sergio Ramos helped force Russia’s Sergei Ignashevich into an own goal when his back was turned to the play. The 38-year-old defender diverted a crossed ball into the net with his heel.

An error in Spain’s defense let Russia level in the 41st, after Gerard Pique’s raised arm blocked a header by Artyom Dzyuba at a corner.

Dzyuba’s penalty kick fooled goalkeeper David De Gea to dive the wrong way.

Russia next plays Croatia or Denmark who play later Sunday. The quarterfinal is on Saturday evening in Sochi.

SOCHI, Russia (AP) – Edinson Cavani scored twice and Cristiano Ronaldo none, giving Uruguay a 2-1 victory over Portugal on Saturday at the World Cup.

On the same day Lionel Messi was sent home in Argentina’s loss, the other ”GOAT” at this tournament was also eliminated. It was two weeks ago that Ronaldo scored a hat trick in the same stadium against Spain, stroking his chin after the first goal to imply he was the ”greatest of all time.”

Uruguay, a two-time champion that reached the semifinals at the 2010 World Cup, will next face France on Friday in Nizhny Novgorod.

There was no goal from Ronaldo this time. Everywhere he went, the Portugal great was hounded by two or three Uruguayan defenders.

It was Cavani who instead took the spotlight. He combined with Luis Suarez to compete a series of precision passes to give Uruguay the early advantage with a header in the seventh minute. And after Portugal equalized on Pepe’s header in the 55th minute, it was Cavani again finishing a perfect Uruguay counter in the 62nd with a shot from just inside the penalty area that caught Portugal goalkeeper Rui Patricio slightly out of position and curled inside the far post.

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NEW HOMES  —  Townhouse style homes now for sale above Downtown L.A. with views of the skyline and the park.  #newhomes #dtla #3-bedroom

New Townhomes For Sale above Downtown Los Angeles

It’s very rare to see new 3-bedrooms within walking distance to Downtown Los Angeles.  Three bedrooms are ideal for city families or those who want extra space, real bedrooms with walls and doors that close for privacy and quiet, roommates or work at home with separate office space.  This new build gated community with large, spacious 1,800 sq ft 3-story townhomes with 3 bedrooms, 2.5 baths and fantastic views, patios, balconies and lawns has outdoor space that extends to the adjacent large park. Modern interiors, Bosch appliances, walk-in closets, secure covered parking, the new development is near Echo Park, Elysian Park, Chinatown, Silver Lake, freeways and Downtown’s Center Theater Group.  Residents can walk to restaurants, theaters, concerts and stage shows.  |  New Homes Interest List

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The Best of 2017: Top Sites, Apps, & Products of the Year

All My Faves presents the best sites, apps, and products of 2017.

It’s a new year. 2018 should be another year of growth and advancement in the tech space, with numerous developments already underway. It will, of course, be tough to beat all the amazing products that launched or were discovered in 2017.

This list represents the best of 2017’s “Weekly Faves,” our weekly feature of the best 11 sites, apps, games, and products found on the web. Each week, we collect and present 11 products across a series of categories, including health/fitness, entertainment, interactive, and many more. The only requirement is that the site or app needs to truly impress us and provide some benefit to society, even if that benefit is pure entertainment. Below is a collection of the best such sites and apps that we discovered last year. We hope that you can enjoy using these products throughout 2018, and we look forward to providing you with more transformative sites and apps in the year(s) ahead.

Embark

Companies such as 23andMe and Ancestry.com have altered individuals’ understandings of their own heritage and identity. With so many mixed breed dogs up for adoption at the shelter, it only makes sense that the same concept can be applied to our canine companions. Embark is, essentially, 23andMe for dogs. Owners send in a DNA sample of their pup in order to receive detailed feedback on their breed, as well as genetic health issues and traits. If you own a mystery mutt and are curious about its background, Embark is a great way to find out more information about your pooch’s genetic makeup. If you own a purebred, Embark can also be useful for learning more about the breed’s genetic history and overall health. Embark has the potential to transform and elevate our understanding of our pets, and for that reason has earned a spot atop our Best of 2017 list.

Neverthink

Neverthink solves an all-too-common “problem” of the streaming age: what to watch. For those who have spent way too much time browsing YouTube, Netflix, or your streaming platform of choice for something good to watch, Neverthink makes that difficult decision for you. The site does have several different channels to choose from, but all of them contain quality content curated by the Neverthink team. All of the videos are hosted on YouTube, but they play in a continuous stream on Neverthink. It’s not necessarily a bad thing that, as of 2017, we’ve gotten to the place where there’s too much content to choose from. But that’s the reality that we live in, and we should all appreciate that Neverthink can guide us along the right path to finding something to watch.

Finimize

The FinTech space is filled with apps and products that claim to help with your financial life but seem like convoluted ways to rip you off. Finimize is the rare financial advisor that only exists to help. It’s a daily email newsletter that explains financial news in a language that can be understood even by those with a low level of financial literacy. The company also launched FinimizeMyLife, a free financial guidance tool, last year to help users get a better sense of their financial plans and future. The company is geared toward the younger generation, which as of 2017 is starting to reach the age where they need to worry more carefully about financial security. That’s why Finimize is one of our top products of 2017, and it’s worth signing up for their newsletter in 2018 and beyond.

Jam

EdTech has made significant advances in the past several years. Technology is increasingly incorporated in the school environment, and teachers are becoming savvier and savvier at integrating technology into their lesson plans. Still, if kids are anything like I was back in the day, those lesson plans don’t exactly cover the subjects that interest them. Jam offers online courses for kids that should actually inspire them to learn on their own. With titles like “Drawing Bootcamp,” “Build Anything With Lego,” and “Host A Minecraft Video Show,” Jam is bound to be more exciting than the average classroom. It’s 2018 now, and it’s time we start getting kids interested in what they’re really passionate about. Jam is a great start for that.

Your.MD

In 2017, our doctors became robots. Well, not exactly. But we did get a new A.I. health assistant. It’s called Your.MD, and it could significantly alter the way health services are provided in the future. The app is basically like an interactive version of WebMD. You enter your symptoms as well as personalized information about yourself, and the app returns a list of possible illnesses or ailments, as well as some medical advice. Much like WebMD, Your.MD is not a replacement for an actual doctor (yet, at least). But it does provide a helpful way of checking your symptoms, and is smarter and more uniquely tailored to you than a simple search engine.

Crello

In 2018, no one should have to pay for expensive graphic design software ever again. Crello has made graphic design simple and easy to use. If you want to make a poster, banner, social media image, email header, or anything else, Crello is an easy tool to get the job done. Crello comes with built-in templates, design formats, and free photos and vectors to work with. It’s intuitive and helpful for any type of design project. There’s not much else to say, except that Crello is easy to use and incredibly worthwhile. Use it.

Cheddar

Cheddar, like Neverthink, solves the “what to watch online problem.” Rather than having to choose from a set of videos, Cheddar displays a constant stream. Like Finimize, it offers financial news for the internet generation. It also describes itself as “the leading post-cable network,” because it operates almost exactly like a normal TV station, except for the fact that it’s exclusively broadcast online. Unlike most online shows, Cheddar really feels like a news network. It’s like a millennial version of Fox Business or Bloomberg, broadcasting from Wall Street and profiling startups, companies, and everything related to financial news. In 2018, look out for TV to continue to evolve. In the meantime, watch Cheddar and realize how far the medium has already come.

Great Big Story

While Cheddar is the online equivalent of a financial news network, Great Big Story produces cinematic short films and documentaries. The videos on the site are all short, but each of them are informative and interesting. Great Big Story is updated daily with clips such as “The Reason Britain Loves Tea” and “L.A.’s Best Indian Food Is In This Gas Station.” Each of the videos reveals something unique about a specific place within our world. In 2017, the world became increasingly interconnected. With Great Big Story, we can learn more about our worldly neighbors through beautiful cinematic videos.

Earth 2050

Earth 2050 is a project dedicated to Kapersky Lab, which celebrated its 20th anniversary in 2017. But the site is much more than an ad for the Russian cybersecurity company. It’s a vision of the world in the year 2050, as imagined by a group of futurists and Kapersky Lab experts. Browse Earth 2050 for bold predictions about the future of humanity, like “Fashionable Clothes Hacking” and “Gold-bearing Algae.” Agree or disagree with each prediction, and realize that Earth 2050 will be here sooner than we all think.

The Kings League: Odyssey

The All My Faves flash game of the year is The Kings League: Odyssey, a game developed by Kurechii Studio. It’s long and involved, with complex elements not found in the typical flash game. The premise is that you’re leading a squadron of medieval fighters, and you must train and recruit them as well as fight. The game moves at a slow pace, with “days” passing in between matches so you can train and upgrade your soldiers. If you’ve got time to waste or need a break in 2018, The Kings League: Odyssey is the game for you.

Mini Metro

Have you ever wanted to design a city’s metro system? Mini Metro is the mobile game for you. Did you answer that question with “no, why would I ever want to design a city’s metro system? That doesn’t sound fun at all.”? Then you’re wrong, and Mini Metro is still the game for you. It’s a beautifully-designed mobile app in which the premise is, yes to design a working metro system. It’s almost like a mobile version of Roller Coaster Tycoon, where you have to do some imaginary industrial engineering in order to keep the city moving. If you’ve been to a major city like London, Paris, New York, or Cairo and want to redesign their public transportation system, Mini Metro will be a delight. If you just want to play a cool game in 2018, Mini Metro is definitely worth the download.

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