_verastyles

(Y/N) wished she’d walked down the hallway ten seconds later. Maybe then she wouldn’t have heard what she did. 

All of the bridesmaids and groomsmen were at the fitting at the same time and before everyone went their separate ways to try on the dresses and suits to make sure everything fit just right, Harry had stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Let me see you when you’re dressed.” 

At that, she rolled her eyes but smiled and nodded. She wanted to see what Harry would look like in the suit he’d been asked to wear, so she didn’t mind too much. She had a flowy sage green dress that she couldn’t wait to slip into so after parting from him, she followed the other bridesmaids down the hall to where their dresses were being held. 

Their good friends Jesssica and Landon were getting married and they asked both (Y/N) and Harry to be in their wedding. It was an honor and (Y/N) was almost brought to tears when they asked her. 

It was the final fitting just before the wedding that would happen a month or so later. 

One of the other girls who (Y/N) is certain is Landon’s younger sister, helped her with the zipper on the back of her dress and she did the same for her before finding an empty mirror to look herself over in. 

Of course, she wasn’t quite done up yet because this was just a fitting but the dress was beautiful. It exposed her shoulders and fell all the way to her feet. The fabric was smooth and it clung to every curve of her body. She really couldn’t wait to show Harry. He’d love it. 

The dressing room for the guys was on the other half of the building, so it was a little ways down the hallway, but she didn’t mind the walk. 

Harry and (Y/N) had been best friends for just about ten years. She’s not sure when it happened but they just suddenly started incorporating each other into their daily lives and they realized that they really enjoyed the company. It’s strange when she thinks about it now because now there is no way that she’d let anyone know her the way Harry does. 

He always knows what she wants before she does. He calls her everyday, she’s sure of it. He sends her silly photos that remind him of her, he’s knocking on her door every Sunday morning to take her to breakfast. Wherever she goes, he does too. She’s never been closer to someone in her entire life and she loves the support he gives her for everything and anything. 

She stopped at the doorway before the guys’ dressing room, just about to announce her presence when she heard something. 

“I know your type, Harry, and she is not it.” 

“You don’t know shit,” She heard Harry laugh. “(Y/N)’s not my type at all, actually, thank god.” 

“She’s cute though, isn’t she?” 

“She’s like a sister to me, Matt, come on.” 

Her listening was interrupted by the other girls coming down the hallway to show off their dresses. She wasn’t sure why Harry’s words seemed to have hit her so deeply. Her stomach dropped when she heard what he said but she doesn’t quite understand it right now. If she was feeling a little less lightheaded, she might follow after the others and force a smile to get through the rest of the fitting but she doesn’t. Instead, she makes her way back to the room with her clothes and changes back into them. The dress fits nicely. That’s all she needed to know. 

“Did you even try your dress on?” She heard behind her. In the mirror, Harry is in the doorway, dressed in his suit. He looked like a dream, if she was being honest. The suit fit to his shoulders perfectly and tapered at the waist. Whoever took his measurements really wanted to do him justice. 

“Yeah,” She answered, trying to keep a casual expression as she zipped the dress back into a garment bag. “I just feel a little sick suddenly.” She shrugged, watching as his eyebrows drew together in concern. 

“Oh, no,” And then he was in her personal space, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, searching her face over intently, like he’d be able to figure out what was wrong with her just by looking at her. “I can get changed and we can get you home. Give me five minutes.” 

He left the room and she sighed, finding a seat to sit down for a second. 

She’s not sure why it makes her stomach churn in such a way. To hear that. She’s not Harry’s type? Not that it matters much because she never ever thought about him that way. Maybe right before she falls asleep when she’s in between consciousness and not but it’s never gone so far that she’s felt awkwardness with him. It’s just little what ifs. But hearing him completely shut down even the suggestion of it, made her heart drop. 

Harry is probably as attractive as attractive gets. She can’t believe he gives her the time of day sometimes. And she’d never want anything to ruin the friendship they’d been nurturing for the past ten years, so lines were never blurred between them. Strictly friends. Best friends. 

He couldn’t even call her cute though. Or attractive. Or pretty when Matt asked him. He just said she’s like a sister. And that should be fine. (Y/N) isn’t sure why she’s feeling nauseated at the thought of it but it ruined her day. Flat out. She’d just decided that. 

The other girls came back, dressing into their clothes and chatting amongst themselves but (Y/N) felt frozen. She hates the way that got to her. It doesn’t matter. Harry doesn’t think she’s his type. He’s right. She’s seen his type too and (Y/N) checks none of the boxes. The way that he was so sure and so quick to answer is really what’s nagging on her. Like he’s thought about it before and already deemed (Y/N) not good enough for him. 

She said goodbye to the other girls before making her way to the front of the building with her dress. She’s not certain she’ll be able to stand the sight of Harry. Not today at least. She needs time to ruminate and figure her feelings out. Why does it feel so weird to hear what she already knew? 

Before she could reach the doors, Harry was behind her, holding it open for her and then following her out. 

“I think I'm just going to head home on my own. I don’t want to get in the way of your plans.” She spoke up, already swiping on her phone screen to call herself a ride. Harry picked her up earlier and they were meant to go to dinner after the fitting but she can’t even think about eating at the moment. She just needs to be alone. 

“My plans were with you, (Y/N). I can take you home and make you something there if you want.” He offered, his hand rubbing down her back in a comforting gesture. She stepped away from him so he could no longer touch her and tried to remain calm. 

“It’s okay, Harry. Seriously. I just need to sleep, I think. And that would be boring for you.” 

“Well, I need to sleep too, so let’s go.” He took her phone right from her hand and slipped it into his pocket with a smirk. 

Harry is stubborn and as soon as he doesn’t get what he wants, he’s an annoying little shit and somehow the cards are always already in his favor anyway. 

So, she followed him to his car and let him shut her inside. The drive wasn’t too long but he kept the car quiet, like he was waiting for her to speak up and tell him what was really wrong but she didn’t. She just kept her eyes out the window and tried to keep her mind off of what he said only just shy of twenty minutes ago. 

“I’m just going to run a bath and go to bed, Harry. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

He’d helped her inside and was set on making her dinner and spending the night but she wasn’t feeling like being in his company right now. For the first time ever. 

“But you don’t feel good, (Y/N), and someone should be here with you,” He kicked his shoes off by her door, telling her that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “I’ll run the bath. You get comfortable.” 

She huffed as he walked down the hall to her bathroom and flicked on the light. See what she means? Stubborn. 

That was a month ago. And she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head the entire time. When she first wakes up and when she’s about to go to sleep, she’s thinking about what he said. She’s always had a hard time with letting things go. Even the smallest things. So she knows that conversation will be with her for a long, long time. 

She’s probably seen Harry five times since then. And she is positive he knows that something is going on now. She tried to be normal around him but it was too hard. He’d wrap his arm around her shoulders when they were sitting with friends at the pub and she’d make an excuse to get up and from under his arm. But he noticed, he just hadn’t said anything yet. 

The wedding is three days away. Jessica and Landon wanted to be married on the beach or near it anyway, so everyone would have to drive about an hour to get to the coast. It wasn’t a big ask, (Y/N) wanted to visit the beach first thing when they got there because it had been a while since she’s been. 

The wedding party was arriving two days before the ceremony so they could all help get things in order before the big day. (Y/N) was meant to drive down with Harry and Jessica had put them in the same room in the hotel because neither of them minded at the time. They’d shared a bed more than a handful of times so it wouldn’t be anything unusual. But now that (Y/N) knew what she knew, she had secretly asked Jessica if she could book another room, under the guise that there had been an extra room and to not tell Harry a word of it. Jessica was a little puzzled but didn’t ask and agreed. 

She wanted to hitch a ride with someone else but she doesn't want to hurt his feelings. Even though he unknowingly obliterated hers. For a reason she’s still not sure of. 

So, Friday after work, Harry came to help her finish packing and then they’d set out for the hour drive. 

When her doorbell rang, she was filled with dread. For the first time since she’s known him. But still, she opened the door for him and accepted his tight hug that he always gave her when he saw her. 

“Almost ready to go?” He pulled back, squeezing her shoulders and smiling down at her. 

“Almost.” (Y/N) stepped back so his arms fell away and started back toward her bedroom. He followed of course, and sat on her bed as soon as it was in sight. She was done packing for the most part, she just had a few things to shove in her bag and then they’d be ready to go. 

“Hey, babe?” 

She hummed because her back was to him as she finished stuffing a smaller bag with her toiletry items. 

“Who exactly are these for?” 

She turned, seeing her skimpy pair of black panties wrapped around Harry’s finger. Gasping, she stomped toward him so she could snatch them away. 

“Stay out of my bag!” Her hands shook as she shoved them down further into her bag where he wouldn’t be able to see them or get a hold of them again. He only laughed, relaxing further into her bed. 

“It’s cool. Can show me what they look like when they’re on. I think I’d like that more.” His smirk lessened none when she shot him a mean look before turning back to her other bag. 

“In your dreams.” She muttered, zipping the bag shut and tossing it on the bed. 

“Every night.” 

(Y/N) ignores him when he makes comments like that. He’s just a guy and they’re only friends, so she takes none of it to heart. Especially now that she knows what he really thinks of her. 

Once everything she could possibly need is in the duffle, Harry offered to carry it out to the car for her. She lets him, only because it’s heavy and he wouldn’t let her lift a finger for it anyway. 

They get comfortable in the car for an hour-long drive as soon as her house is locked up and everything is situated in the car. He always let her pick the music and this time was no different than any other. She connected her phone to his car and shuffled one of their usual favorite playlists before leaning back into her seat and shutting her eyes. 

There’s no talking until they get about fifteen minutes from the hotel. They both prefer the quiet sometimes and are totally always okay to sit in silence, nothing but music playing, and just be. Especially after a day of work, it’s nice to just mindlessly watch the scenery go by and not worry about much. 

Jessica and Landon arrived at the hotel hours ago, so the plan was to meet them in the lobby so they could get their room key. Jessica and (Y/N) had already smoothed over the plans for going about the extra room. It would just be a happy coincidence that there was another room and (Y/N) didn’t mind taking it. That’s how easy it would be. 

Harry, holding both of their bags on his shoulders, texted Landon and both of them met them in the lobby. Jessica hugged (Y/N) tightly and thanked her, once again, for agreeing to come all the way there for her special day. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jess.” She parted from the hug and from the corner of her eye saw Landon hand the key card to Harry. 

“Oh, right! We have an extra room if one of you wants it. It’s paid for so use it if you need to.” Jessica passed the other key card to (Y/N) and she smiled in thanks at her, trying not to look so relieved. 

“We don’t need that, but thanks.” Harry went to grab it from (Y/N)’s hand and give it back but she pulled away. 

“It’s paid for. I’ll use it.” She forced a convincing smile at him before nodding at Jessica again. 

Landon and Jessica left the lobby to go to the beach right across the street, leaving (Y/N) to get in the elevator with a now grumpy looking Harry. She paid him no mind as she pushed their floor number and hummed to herself. That was seamless. She really will have to thank Jessica again. 

“You’re really going to take that room?” 

“Why not?” (Y/N) can tell from the tense way that his jaw is sitting that he’s not exactly happy with the arrangement but she doesn’t think too hard about it. “It’s not that big of a deal, Harry. We’ll be right next to each other anyway.” 

He only huffed in response, grumbling something under his breath as he followed her out of the elevator to her door. 

“What if someone else needs it?” 

“Jessica wouldn’t have offered it then,” She shot back, trying not to seem so defensive about it. “Plus, it’ll be nice to stretch out.” 

“You do that every night anyway.” 

“Most nights, yeah.” She clicked the card in and pushed the door so she could step inside. 

“What do you mean most nights? Who the fuck do you have in your bed then?” He kept his grip tight on her bag when she tried to take it from his shoulder to set it down. 

Her eyes widened at his tone of voice. She’s never seen Harry like this and she’s not sure what to call it. But instead of asking, she laughed at him. 

“Set my bag down and let’s go to the beach.” Gently rubbing her thumb over his wrist like she liked to do sometimes, he released her bag, his face falling neutral again. 

“You expect me to go in that other room?” He pointed. “Because I’m not. I’m right here with you, I don’t want my own room, I don’t want to stretch out, I want to be here.” 

(Y/N) is unsure why he’s so adamant about it. She really thought he wouldn’t care and this would be her chance to get even more distance between the two of them. But Harry is unwavering in his declaration to not leave her room, so she sighed. 

“Fine. I guess you can stay in my room.” 

“Funny.” He dropped his bag before sifting through it to find his swim shorts. 

It’s evening now and they probably would need to stop somewhere at some point to get something to eat but she guessed Harry wanted to go to the beach first. She changed too, in the bathroom, into the orange bathing suit that she knew Harry was a fan of. He said the color went well with her skin and maybe it did, but she didn’t put much thought into those words either. 

(Y/N) put an oversized tee shirt on before she left the bathroom. She wasn’t sure they were actually going to swim since it was getting late, so she wanted to have something to cover up with. 

Harry led her back down through the hotel and out the doors that allowed you to step right into the sand. His hand brushed hers, earning him a look. 

“You don’t want to hold my hand?” 

“My hands are sweaty.” 

“So?” He chuckled, holding his hand out for her this time. The sand was a little hard to navigate in her sandals but she really doesn’t want to hold his hand either. She could manage on her own. 

“I’m okay.” She answered, thankful that they just reached Jessica and Landon so he wouldn’t force an explanation out of her like he often did with little effort. 

(Y/N) decided to just dip her feet in. That way, she didn’t have to take off the tee shirt and get wet. She’d much rather find something to eat after this and not be soaked while she does. 

Landon occupied Harry while (Y/N) got to whisper with Jessica for a little bit. 

“He refuses to stay in the other room.” She muttered, rolling her eyes. 

“What’s the issue with the room anyway? I thought you didn’t mind sharing a bed.” Poor Jessica. She should’ve given her a bit more information but she really didn’t want to explain to other people that Harry doesn’t find her attractive in the least. She’s already embarrassed, she doesn’t want anyone else knowing. Even though the entire room full of groomsmen heard. 

“We just need some space, you know? He doesn’t realize it now but…we do.” 

The water was calm at the moment. It just reached her ankles when it came up the shore and that was all she needed. The sun was just dipping past the horizon and everything was bathed in an orange glow. It’s beautiful and (Y/N) is so happy for her friends. And to be a part of something so special. 

“Aren’t you going to take this off?” Harry stepped beside her, his hand tugging on the end of her tee shirt. 

“I don’t want to get wet.” She kept her eyes on the sky. If she looked at Harry now in this light, she’d be a goner. And she needed to stay strong. He doesn’t want anything to do with her and that should be fine. She shouldn’t be wondering day and night what if things were different. What if Harry did think she was pretty? Would that change anything? 

(Y/N) knows that he enjoys her company. That part is evident. Her brain just won’t let the idea rest. Harry doesn’t think she’s good enough for him. It was as simple as that but it was a hard pill to swallow. 

There was little conversation between the two. (Y/N) knows he’s very aware that something had shifted, he just hadn’t brought it up yet. But Harry is not one to let things go either. He’d bring it up eventually. She tried to keep her eyes on the view in front of her. It was beautiful and it allowed her to relax for a moment and clear her mind. 

They said goodbye to Landon and Jessica on the beach and went to find something to eat. Harry suggested room service since a lot of the restaurants around the hotel were beginning to close. 

After eating, (Y/N) took a quick shower and snuggled into the sheets while Harry went off to take his own shower. She wanted to be asleep before he got back, but apparently, he wasn’t interested in being in the shower longer than five minutes. He was back before her eyes could shut so she was forced to interact with him. 

“Feel alright?” 

“Mhm.” She hummed, keeping her eyes sealed shut as he slipped into the bed beside her. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” She felt his body shift closer to her under the blankets. He’d moved so close that his chest was pressed to her back. Normally, this would never be a problem but now that she knows what she knows, she doesn’t feel as comfortable as she once did.

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her even further into him. 

“Goodnight then.” He said before settling his hand over her stomach. 

“Uh,” She interrupted the quiet after his goodnight. “Would you mind like…giving me a little bit of space?” 

“Oh,” His hand pulled away quickly. “Sure. I didn’t realize that…yeah. Okay. Goodnight.” He moved back toward his side of the bed, laying on his back now. 

(Y/N)’s not sure why, but she feels like she’s being mean to him. Even though she really did want the space between them, it wasn’t something that she was saying just to hurt his feelings. But she knows she did anyway. 

At the moment, it feels necessary, so she doesn’t apologize or curl up next to him like she’d normally do. She just shut her eyes again and tried to get to sleep. 

***

The next day, (Y/N) and Harry were rushing around, trying to make the final arrangements for the wedding before the rehearsal dinner. 

There wasn’t much time spent with Harry actually, she was too busy doing things centered around Jessica. She figured Harry was doing the same for Landon but hadn’t yet responded to his text asking if she was as tired as he was. She was busy. At least that would be her excuse when he pouted and asked her why she was ignoring him when they met at the rehearsal dinner in just shy of an hour. 

She made it to the hotel room, showered, changed, and left again before he ever made it back. So, she didn’t have to deal with his questions quite yet. 

(Y/N) tried to keep herself surrounded by bridesmaids while Jessica and Landon’s families went on with speeches and toasts. And then Jessica and Landon themselves had a few words to say. So, she was able to sip her wine and pretend like she didn’t feel Harry looking at her every few seconds. When he walked in, she did send him a wave but didn’t get out of her seat to go join him at his table near the back. It was full now, so there really wasn’t a reason to go over there. At least, that’s what she thought. 

When everyone broke up to get dinner at the small restaurant right across the street from the venue they were in, the same one that would be used for the reception, Harry caught a hold of her arm. 

“Fuck’s sake. Where have you been? Don’t you know you’re supposed to sit next to me at something like that?” His smile was still bright and playful like he didn’t mind much that she was practically avoiding him. Or he hadn’t noticed. Or he was just pretending he didn’t at the moment, she’s not sure. 

Dinner was good. Sitting next to Harry was as it always is. His arm was splayed over the back of her chair and he was making jokes the entire time only for her to hear. He made her genuinely laugh a few times but most of it was her rolling her eyes and nudging him with her elbow. Things almost felt normal. Until one of Jessica’s cousins who was gorgeous sat in the empty seat next to Harry and she had to listen to them talk for thirty minutes and she wasn’t invited into the conversation once. Those same feelings of self-doubt and not feeling good enough came hurtling back at her. And then she couldn’t even look him in the eye when the girl finally did saunter off after slipping him her number like she didn’t want (Y/N) to see or something. And that just made her sick. 

Jessica and Landon were completely occupied with their family and they probably wouldn’t need her anymore tonight, so (Y/N) considered just going back to the hotel to get rest for tomorrow. Plus, the time that she’s supposed to meet Jessica and the other bridesmaids is early enough for her to want to go to bed now. 

“Hey. Take a walk with me?” Harry rubbed his hand over her shoulder. She nodded, agreeing even though she shouldn’t have. She just thought it’d get her back to the hotel quicker. 

In minutes, (Y/N) and Harry are on the beach, walking side by side in the sand. They kicked off their shoes in the grass before stepping into the sand and they hadn’t said a word since. 

“You’re stunning,” He said all of a sudden. “I mean…truly. You’re beautiful, (Y/N).” 

She wanted to shoot him a look and tell him to stop lying to her but she didn’t. Instead, she shrugged, trying not to take him too seriously. 

“Thanks.” 

“I missed you today.” Another bright smile was sent her way. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” He sighed, reaching for her empty hand. “Weddings are always fun, huh?” 

“Sure. It’s a lot of work though. But Jess and Landon are so good together.” It was true. (Y/N) had never really seen anything like it. How in sync the two of them are and how in love they seem to be. 

“I’d like to be married one day, I think.” His hand squeezed hers. 

“Me too, I guess. Just because.” 

“Really?” 

“Eventually.” 

“Can I be honest for a second?” Harry stopped where he was in the sand, causing her to do the same. She’s not sure what he’d want to be honest about. She thought he was always honest with her. 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re my best friend, (Y/N),” Suddenly, his expression was serious, something that (Y/N) seldom sees. “And…I love you.” 

“I love you too, Harry.” It was something they’ve said to each other for years. But he shook his head as soon as she said it back. 

“No. Like, I like you.” 

“I’d hope so with how much time we spend together.” She chuckled. He grabbed both of her hands, another unamused look on his face. 

“(Y/N). Listen. I love you. I like you. I want you. Not like a friend. Not even close to a friend.” 

She snatched her hands away, taking two steps away from him. 

“Can we just go back to the hotel now? This was a waste of time.” 

“A waste of time? I just told you how I feel about you.” The very vulnerable expression he had is long gone now, replaced by something close to hurt and disbelief. 

“God, what did you do? Make a bet with Matt or something? Just to pull one over on me?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard what you said to him.” (Y/N) is ready to confess and get this entire thing over with. She can finally tell him that she heard what he said and confront him about it. 

“To who?” 

“Matt!” She took another few steps away from him but he followed. “Is this fun for you? Messing with me like this? This is why I didn’t want to share a room with you.” 

“I’m so lost—”

“Of course you are.” Turning, she wanted to make her way back to the room, collect her belongings, and beg one of the other bridesmaids to stay in their room for the night. Surely someone would take pity on her. 

“(Y/N), just fucking talk to me! What’s going on?” He gripped her arm, spinning her to face him once again. “What did I say?” 

“How could you forget?” She laughed, ripping her arm from him. “You’re just so thankful that I’m not your type, aren’t you? I’m just your best friend, like your sister, and you’d never even take a second look at me. Because I’m not worth your time.” 

Maybe she added in a few bits that she’d been stewing over in her own mind. He didn’t outwardly say most of that but to her, it all fell in line anyway. 

“When did I—” He started to ask but stopped himself, as if he suddenly remembered when he said those things. “You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“How else could you mean that? I’m not your type. Sounds pretty straightforward to me, Harry,” He looked helpless for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to make it better. For the first time in his life. “And then that girl! She’s your type! Go get her since you seemed so interested earlier.” 

“What girl, (Y/N)? Christ, what are you on about?” Now he looks frustrated by her lack of answering his questions but she really doesn’t feel like talking. 

“Jessica’s cousin. She gave you her number, I bet you loved that.” 

“I didn’t take her number, (Y/N). I was just being nice!” 

“You’re always just so nice, aren’t you? So fucking nice all the time!” She hated that. He was too afraid to tell someone to fuck off, so he just put up with anyone that decided to to talk to him even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just the fact that you dragged me out here to try and lie to me. You like me—love me—I don’t buy it for a second. I’m done with this conversation. Goodnight.” 

It would be almost impossible to avoid him like she wanted to but maybe she’d find another ride home. They do have to walk down the aisle together but she doesn’t have to talk to him, she can just try to keep her face pleasant as she walks beside him. It shouldn’t be longer than a minute. And then she can ignore him for the entire reception and when they get home, she can consider figuring all of this out. After plenty of time, of course. 

“You misheard me. It wasn’t like that.” He reached for her but before he could touch her or say much more, she was on her way back to the hotel. After grabbing her sandals in the grass. 

She felt like crying. But there was no reason to. Yes, technically she’s in a fight with her best friend and they’ve never really had one before. They have disagreed a few times but never anything like this. He’d never made her so mad or hurt her so deeply. Talking about something like that to someone neither of them really knows just crossed the line. Matt is far outside of their friend group, he shouldn’t have gotten any information like that. (Y/N) just wonders why Harry offered it up. 

Harry doesn’t have to like her or think she’s attractive. It would almost be strange if he did, considering how long they’ve been friends. But hearing it from someone who looks like him cuts deep. She wishes she could brush it off because Harry isn’t someone she ever thought of as a possibility. But now that she knows there’s not one, it stirred something inside of her. All of her insecurities came right to the forefront of her mind and no amount of self-soothing has been able to fix it so far. 

She was lucky that she caught one of the bridesmaids in the hallway on her way back to the room. She explained very vaguely that it wasn’t quite working out in her room anymore and she’d sleep on the floor if she had to. The girl was nice and very reassuring and even helped her grab her things from the room. And the best part: she asked no questions. She was just nice and they briefly talked earlier when they were all assigned tasks to do before the rehearsal dinner so she didn’t mind at all. 

She’s also lucky Harry didn’t catch her in the hallway. He wouldn’t have let her go anywhere until he said his piece but she’s not sure he’s made it back to the hotel yet. 

(Y/N) just wants to go home. She hates to be so down during what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of one of her best friend’s life. But it was hard to think about anything other than Harry. 

That night, she had to force herself to sleep. After thanking the girl ten more times. 

She just hoped that, even though she was upset with him now, everything would work out and they could put this behind them. 

****

(Y/N) ignored the messages on her phone for the time being. She was too busy getting herself ready and doing a few last minute things for Jessica. So, while she maybe wanted to see what he had to say, she didn’t give herself time to dwell on it. She’ll see him at the end of the aisle. 

He was there before she really knew it. Across the room, looking stressed. Like he tossed and turned all night. Like he wanted to run to her now and say a million different things. But he didn’t. He stayed put in line with the other groomsmen and sent her pitiful little looks occasionally when she’d catch his eye, while she kept a stoic expression, not wanting to give him any kind of false hope. She honestly didn’t know how things would be when she decided she wanted to talk to him again. 

Unfortunately for her, that time came too soon. She was already walking down the aisle with him. Their arms interlocked and pleasant smiles on both their faces, like they weren’t not talking at the moment. Like everything was fine. 

When they were meant to let go at the end of the aisle, Harry hesitated, but decided to do nothing more than give her another longing look. He was sorry about something. Or regretful. Something like that. She’d never know unless she talked to him. 

(Y/N) is almost certain that Harry didn’t hear a word of the ceremony. His eyes were locked on her the entire time. Every time she accidentally met his gaze, he was already staring right back. And that would make her force her focus back on the two people in front of them, only until she let her eyes wander his way again. 

The reception was only a short walk away, but she wasn’t sure she’d make it that far. He’d definitely catch up to her before she made it inside.

When the ceremony was over, Jessica and Landon walked back down the aisle and everyone else dispersed and made their way to the cocktail hour that was supposed to immediately follow. 

“(Y/N)?” 

There it was. 

“Can we talk, please?” A hand touched her arm, gently turning her toward him. She had no choice but to look at him and as soon as she saw just how sad he looked, she didn’t care about how mad she was yesterday. Maybe it was true. 

What if he did love her? What if he did want her, but not like a friend? Would that be so bad? She spent the past month making herself believe that she never stood a chance. Not that she has ever wanted to before now, but the idea was just so jarring. Him? With her? It didn’t seem possible. 

But here he is now, almost begging to make things right. 

“Yeah. We can talk.”

The relief that overtook his face made her own shoulders relax. It was only Harry, there’s nothing to be afraid of. A lot had been revealed in the last day but it’s only him. And she knows him. The fact that he’s willing to talk means that he cares a little bit about how upset he’d made her yesterday. Of course, he would though because that’s just who he is. He’s an amazing friend and he’s always there for her no matter what. Even when she completely overreacts and brushes off his feelings. 

They found a semi-private area away from all the wedding guests with the most gorgeous view of the beach with the sun setting behind it. In different circumstances, she’d comment on it, tell him to take her picture right here so she’d be able to remember this day. Right now, she’s not sure she wants to. 

It was quiet for longer than she thought it would be. He was thinking and she didn’t want to rush him, but the time for cocktail hour was ticking down and plus, she just really, really wanted to know what was on his mind. 

“How could you not believe me?” He spoke up suddenly, turning to look at her. “I told you I loved you and you just…blew me off. That took…that took a lot and I don’t understand how you couldn’t see it.” 

He put her on the spot. Did she really want him to know just how insecure she was? And couldn’t he see that they’re not each other’s type? At all. 

“I..I don’t know, Harry. I wasn’t expecting it and when you said it, it just reminded me of that time at the fitting. You were saying what I already knew, so I just didn’t think that you’d change your mind.” 

“What did you already know?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. She took a deep breath. 

“That you’re not interested in me. I mean, we’re supposed to be friends, so I don’t know why it mattered so much to me, but it hurt to hear you say that and I was so angry at you.” Looking back, she wants to roll her eyes at herself. It was pathetic how she acted. Why couldn’t she just talk to him? This could’ve been cleared up weeks ago. 

“But I am interested in you. I think I’ve said that six times by now,” When he stepped closer to her, he grabbed her hand, and she let him. That one night being on uneasy terms had really done some damage. She felt so lost without him when he wasn’t there for her to run to. He was such a support for her and she didn’t realize to what extent until he wasn’t an option. “I’m sorry that what I said upset you. I was pissed that day. Matthew wouldn’t stop talking about how hot you were and it just fucked with me…he asked me what I thought and I just…I said that. And none of it was true. I don’t know what I was thinking but I also wasn’t going to tell him of all people that I’ve had a crush on you since I met you.” 

She didn’t mean to do it, but she snatched her hand out of his to put it over her mouth. 

“You don’t mean that.” She shook her head. How couldn’t she have known? He chuckled, grasping her hand again and holding it to his chest, right over his heart.

“I do. It feels so good to finally tell you. I guess I didn’t do a good job at dropping hints, did I?” He squeezed her hand. 

She tried to recall every conversation they’ve ever had. And nothing came to mind. Nothing he did or said ever made her think that he might be thinking of her as more. In all their ten years together. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She asked, letting him pull her closer to him. 

“I did. Every time I told you I loved you I meant it. Every day for ten years.” 

That almost made her weak in the knees. None of it made sense. Either he really is the worst at dropping hints or she’s blind. Maybe a healthy balance of the two is what kept them apart. 

“But I thought…none of your girlfriends have ever looked like me. I’m so far out of your league.” She wasn’t expecting him to wrap his arms around her back and press their chests together, but she didn’t exactly mind it either. 

“You are so out of my league. Never thought I deserved you. And of course they didn’t look like you because…you’re you. No one can compare.” 

“You don’t mean that.” Her hand swatted his shoulder before she wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself melt into him. 

“I’d never lie to you and I would never play with your feelings either. You mean so much to me. I couldn’t not tell you yesterday on the beach when you looked like that…like this. You drive me insane,” He pulled them closer together, though it was almost impossible with how they were already standing. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

What was she to do? She had never given it much thought, but over the last month, convincing herself that she’d never be good enough for him, was torturous. But he’s here now, making all the wrongs right and making her chest feel tight. In the best way. She couldn’t help it. 

A tear hurried down her cheek and he gently wiped it away, shaking his head at her, telling her not to cry. He always said he hated that. 

“I’m so sorry,” Her eyes squeezed shut and she shoved her face into his shoulder, forgetting about her makeup that was probably going to be ruined by the time they were done. “I wish that I just talked to you so we didn’t have to do this right now. I’m sorry.” 

He shushed her, leaning his head against hers. 

“It’s okay. We’re here now, right? And you obviously don’t hate that I have a crush on you. Have a crush on me or something?” He nudged his nose against her temple. “Hm?” 

“Maybe. Now that I think of it.” She muttered, not moving from his shoulder yet. 

“Maybe? Come on, I know you love me.” 

“I do love you.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes again. He was smiling, looking relieved. She felt it too. This conversation had been a long time coming and now that they’re both on the same page, all the tension has left her body. She can relax and finally enjoy the wedding. 

“Then, kiss me.”

That had her freezing, looking up at him in shock. 

“What?” She breathed out, suddenly short on breath. Kissing him would make it all true. Not that she still didn’t believe him but it would mean it’s real. And that might just be too much for her. 

“You’ve never thought about kissing me? Now I know you’re lying.” He laughed when she shot him a look. 

“No, I just didn’t know you wanted to do that now.” 

“Well, I do. Right this minute.” 

“Really? Right here?”

“I think I’m speaking pretty plain English, yes. Right here, right now. Kiss me. I’ve been waiting for years, no exaggeration.” One of his hands left her back to tilt her chin toward him. 

“Wait. What if it’s a bad first kiss? I’ll probably ruin it because I’m so nervous. And then you’ll change your mind.” She didn’t mean to say all of that all at once but all her worries came pouring out of her when she really didn’t want them to. 

“How could it be bad? Are you stalling? Please, cocktail hour is almost over and I need to tell Landon that you love me and all that.” He tapped her chin, leaning down toward her, but she turned her head just in time. 

“Landon knows?” 

“Everyone knows. But you, my love. And maybe Matthew. Fucking idiot.” He rolled his eyes.

“How could I be the only one who doesn’t know? That doesn’t sound—”

He grew impatient with her and pressed his mouth to hers, effectively cutting her off and effectively making her forget any doubts she’d ever had. 

While it was a long time coming, it happened at just the right time. 

They pulled away, trying to catch their breath. 

“Fuck me. I think that’s my new favorite thing,” He pecked her lips two more times and then he checked his watch. “One more kiss and then we’ve got to get to cocktail hour. You can kiss me all you want back in our room.” 

****

I had this finished a week or so ago but I decided to wait because last week was a lot. I hope you are all doing well and I hope you like this one!! 🖤

tags: @vamprry @sunflowersloverr @tenaciousperfectionunknown @caynonmoondreams @elidoho @peterbenjaminparke07 @daydreamingofmatilda @kissitnhekitchen @amberbambridge @danaehldy @straightontilmornin @forgetdelaney @harrysonlylover @me-undiscovered @80s-outsiders @littlenatilda @outofthisworl-d @butdaddyilovehim-hs @cherrys4suckers @harrystylessslut @hssunflowervol6 @indierockgirrl @satellitelh @daphnesutton @opheliaofficial07 @nathalielovesonedirection @velvetballaspark @watermelonlover @kathb59 @harrysolaf @szoszi2004 @ellaorchard @trooooye @daylighthazzz @prettytulips @stylesfever @mayamonroem @slut-for-artists @in-omn1a-paratus @lunaharrygurl @uncassettodiricordi @a-strange-familiar @sassamanda77 @fangirl509east @voniikg @adore-you-hs2 @m0mmyfromtarget @savannahwendel @babyyhoneyyy @mrschanandlerb @illicitverstappen

-

It started with the barking.

Not the aggressive kind, more so the joyful, please-take-me-on-a-walk kind that excited dogs do in the morning. You barely pulled your front door open when your Golden Retriever, Maple, bolted down the porch steps, tail wagging as if she got into your espresso.

“Maple!” you called, half-laughing, half-exasperated as you hurried after her, hoodie half-zipped and coffee forgotten on the stoop. You rounded the hedge that separated your yard from the next and saw her, nose-to-nose with an enormous, fluffy Bernese Mountain Dog.

He was gorgeous, with a thick black coat, rust-colored paws and a white stripe down his nose. And clearly just as smitten with Maple as she was with him.

Then you saw the man holding the leash.

Your brain did a weird little stutter, making you briefly forget how to breathe. Because it wasn’t just some guy out for a walk with his dog. No, it was Harry Styles. A soft green Nike hoodie and curls that looked way too good for a Tuesday morning. He was looking at you with that lopsided, polite smile that said sorry about the dog ambush, and it nearly made you forget how to speak.

“Think your girl’s got a crush on mine,” he said as you jogged up, cheeks flushed, hair a little messy. He noticed how you looked surprised to see him, really surprised, and for a moment he wondered if he had some of his breakfast spinach wrap in his teeth or something.

But then you smiled, and it softened everything.

“She’s not usually that forward,” you said, voice light.

He chuckled, pushing his hand into his pocket. “Can’t blame her. Bear’s a bit of a flirt, too.”

“Bear?”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at the dog, who was currently looking at the golden retriever like she’d hung the moon all by herself. “Suits him, doesn’t it?”

You nodded. “It does.”

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he added. “Just moved in last week.” He gestured down at another house that you remember seeing moving trucks in front of, but never had the chance to snoop over. 

It’s a nice neighborhood within the Los Angeles area, so seeing celebrities isn’t exactly uncommon. You knew that much after your parents gave you this house so they could travel around after retiring. But Harry Styles? 

You clear your throat, pushing away your wandering thoughts and smiling at him. “I’m (Y/N). Maple and I live a few doors down.”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he said, letting the words settle between you.

Maple let out a bark and leaned her head into Bear’s side like they were already inseparable. He glanced down and shook his head, grinning.

“Think we’re in trouble.”

You laughed in agreement. “We might have to schedule a few more accidental walks.”

Harry met your eyes, already amused by the way you smiled like you meant it. “Or, you know, intentional ones.”

You felt your smile tug a little wider, heart doing something weird in your chest that you mentally blamed on the adrenaline of chasing Maple. “Intentional walks, huh? That sounds like planning.”

He smirked lightly. “I can be domesticated.”

You snorted at that, which made his dimples deepen, and for a second the quiet morning felt like something out of a romcom: Sunlight peeking through the trees, two dogs already acting like soulmates, and Harry Styles telling you he can be domesticated.

Maple flopped onto the grass dramatically, belly-up, clearly content with her new best friend. Bear sniffed her once before sitting down right beside her like a fuzzy, loyal guardian.

Harry glanced down at them. “I think they’ve already decided we’re a package deal.”

“Looks like it,” you said, following his gaze. “She’s picky too. Doesn’t usually warm up to just anyone.”

He tilted his head at that. “So I passed the Maple test?”

You nodded, mock-serious. “It’s more intense than a background check.”

He laughed, and the sound of it made your skin warm. You weren’t sure if it was his charm or just the way he seemed so real. No stage, no spotlights, just a guy walking his dog.

“Well,” he said after a moment, nudging Bear gently with the side of his shoe, “maybe we’ll see you and Maple around the block?”

You could’ve left it at that. Simple, casual. But your lips were already moving before you could properly think about it or stop yourself.

“Actually, if you’re not busy…Maple and I were headed to the little dog park a few blocks over. It’s usually pretty quiet this early.”

Harry glanced down at Bear, then back at you. “I think we could be convinced.”

“Cool,” you nod, trying not to sound as pleased as you felt. “It’s just down Pine Street, past the ice cream stand.”

“Lead the way, then,” he said, motioning you ahead like a gentleman.

As the four of you headed down the sidewalk, two humans and two new best friends, you realized that maybe mornings weren’t so bad after all.

- 

The dog park was tucked away between two rows of sleepy trees, quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and a few birds chirping away. The grass was still dewy beneath your sneakers, and Maple was practically vibrating with excitement as you unlatched her leash at the gate.

Bear waited patiently while Harry unclipped his leash, then trotted after Maple like he’d already memorized her every move.

“They’re kind of disgusting,” you muttered with a grin, watching the two of them chase each other in wide, giddy circles.

Harry raised a brow. “Disgusting?”

You nodded. “Like…love-at-first-sight disgusting. It’s been ten minutes and they’re already inseparable.”

He chuckled, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets as he stepped beside you. “Guess they know what they want.”

You glanced at him, just in time to catch the way he was watching Bear and Maple, but also a little bit the way he was watching you, too. Calm. Comfortable. Like he’d done this a hundred times, even though it was barely breakfast and you’d only just met.

He rocked back on his heels slightly. “So. You’ve lived here long?”

You nodded, arms crossed loosely. “Since last Spring. My parents bought the house a few years ago, then decided they wanted to live out of an RV and travel the country. Kind of random.”

“That sounds like a sitcom.”

“It kind of is,” you laughed. “They FaceTime me from parking lots all over.”

“I love that,” he said, smiling genuinely.

You turned toward him a little, curiosity tugging at the edge of your voice. “What about you? Moving to the suburbs a permanent thing…or?” You didn’t know how to ask the question without outright saying you know he’s famous.

He grinned, unsurprised by the question but clearly amused by the way you asked it.

“A bit of both,” he admitted. “Needed somewhere that felt like a break. LA’s fast. This felt slower. Quieter.”

You nodded. “We do have more trees than paparazzi, so you’re in luck.”

That made him laugh, shoulders relaxing just a bit more. “Yeah. And friendlier neighbors, apparently.”

You looked at him, then down at your shoes, cheeks warming despite the cool breeze. “Well, I don’t always chase people down the street in a hoodie, but…yeah. I guess I’m one of the nice ones.”

“Seems like it.”

“Just avoid the older man in the house right across from you,” You caution. “His wife is sweet, but he doesn’t like dogs very much.”

“Noted, thank you.” Harry chuckles at your warning.

You both went quiet for a moment, the silence not awkward but full in a way that felt like maybe something was starting to grow there.

Maple trotted up then, tongue hanging out and a trail of leaves stuck to her fur like confetti. Bear followed, slightly less disheveled but equally proud.

“They look like they’ve been married twenty years,” Harry said dryly, watching them collapse into a sunny patch of grass.

“She’s gonna sleep all day now.”

“Bear too. He’ll probably snore loud enough to shake the walls.”

You both laughed again, easily.

Then Harry glanced at his watch briefly, checking the time before sighing. “I’ve got a meeting in a bit, but…I was wondering-”

Your heart did a little flutter.

He cleared his throat, glancing at you, then down at the dogs. “Would you maybe want to do this again? Soon? Like…intentionally.”

You smiled, wide and easy. “I’d like that.”

-

You knew it was going to rain. You just didn’t know it was going to pour.

One second, you and Maple were strolling down the quiet street, her tail wagging, nose to the grass like she was on the scent trail of something very important. The next, the sky cracked open, dumping what felt like a whole ocean onto your head.

“Okay, okay, we’re going!” you laughed, tugging Maple gently as you both broke into a jog back toward your house.

By the time you got to the porch, you were soaked through. Hoodie clinging to your arms, hair sticking to your cheeks, sneakers squelching on the steps. Maple shook out her fur enthusiastically, showering you with even more water. You pulled your keys from your pocket with freezing fingers, heart set on dry socks and a hot shower.

Only...they weren’t your house keys.

You stared at the object in your hand. Your work keys.

“No,” you muttered, checking the other pocket. Then your hoodie pocket. Then your jeans. Nothing. “No, no, no…”

Maple sat down beside you with a soft whine, ears flicking at the rain that just kept coming.

Your heart sank. You hadn’t brought your phone. And your nearest family was hours away. You were officially that person: The one locked out in the middle of a downpour.

Then, through the rain, you heard the sound of soft footsteps on the wet sidewalk.

You turned just in time to see Harry walking down the sidewalk towards his house, Bear trotting beside him, both of them a little more dry due to the umbrella he was holding.

“Oh,” he said, brows lifting when he spotted you. “You alright?”

You stood there, dripping and mortified. “Not exactly.”

He glanced at the look on your face, half embarrassed and half panicking, and immediately stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“I, um…” You held up your key ring. “Wrong keys. Locked myself out. In the rain.”

His expression softened instantly. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Maple gave a dramatic sigh and rested her head on your foot like she was also emotionally drained from the ordeal.

Harry looked between you, the keys, and the sky that showed no signs of stopping.

“Alright,” he said, already stepping back. “Come on. You can wait it out inside mine.”

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Well, unless you fancy getting hypothermia on your porch,” he said with a crooked smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

You hesitated only for a second before following him down the sidewalk, Maple and Bear bounding happily behind you like this was the most exciting plot twist of their week.

-

Harry’s place was warm.

It smelled faintly like cedar and something citrusy, and there was a cozy, lived-in softness to the way the furniture wasn’t perfectly arranged, and the books were slightly crooked on the shelves. You didn’t know what you were expecting, a celebrity mansion maybe, but this felt like a home.

“You can dry off in here,” he said, guiding you toward the couch and tossing you a soft blanket from a basket in the corner. “I’ve got towels too. Hold on.”

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and sank onto the very comfortable couch with a quiet sigh, still catching your breath. Maple flopped onto the rug like she owned the place, and Bear sat down beside her with the same smitten expression he always wore around her.

Harry came back with two towels and handed one to you before using the other to wipe both dogs’ paws.

“Thanks,” you said, toweling off your hair.

“‘Course,” he replied, glancing over at you. “You okay?”

You smiled a little sheepishly. “Aside from my ego? Yeah.”

He chuckled. “You get points for surviving a full panic scenario.”

“Oh, good. Is there a badge?”

“Maybe I’ll make you one,” he teased.

You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the soft towel. The rain pattered steadily against the windows now, creating a sort of peaceful rhythm. The chaos of the last ten minutes faded into something strangely comforting.

Harry flopped into the chair across from you, stretching out his legs, one ankle resting casually on the opposite knee.

“Maple makes good chaos,” he said after a moment, watching the dogs.

You smiled. “She’s got a lot of energy. Especially in the rain.”

“Well,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly, warm and low, “you’re welcome to get locked out again sometime. If it means I get surprise visits.”

You looked up at him, cheeks still pink from the cold but now for a very different reason. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you held the silence for a beat longer than before. This time, it felt heavier. Like maybe something had shifted, something you hadn’t quite expected when you left the house with just a leash.

Then Bear barked. Loudly. 

You both cracked up.

“Guess that’s our cue to towel them off too,” Harry said, standing.

“Rainstorm or not,” you said, rubbing Maple’s ears fondly, “I think they’re both pretty happy with how this day turned out.”

He looked at you again, and this time, he didn’t look away right away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

“You’re shivering,” Harry added a moment later, frowning slightly as he stepped closer.

“I’m fine,” you lied. But your damp shirt that was originally oversized now clung to you like a second skin, and your fingers were still pink from the cold.

Harry raised a brow. “You’re not. Wait here.”

Before you could protest, he disappeared down the hall. Maple whined softly at your feet, then rolled onto her side, tail thumping lazily against the floor. You smiled and reached down to rub her belly, your fingers finally starting to thaw.

When Harry returned, he was holding something soft and dark in his hands.

“Here,” he said, tossing it to you. “One of my favorites, so don’t go running off with it.”

You caught it with a laugh. “No promises.”

It was a black crewneck sweatshirt, oversized and still warm from wherever it had been folded. You slipped it on without a second thought, grateful for the dry fabric. It smelled like laundry detergent and something distinctly him. 

Clean, slightly spicy, and comforting.

He looked you over for a second and smiled, like the image of you swimming in his hoodie was doing something to him he didn’t quite expect.

“Looks better on you anyway,” he muttered, turning away like he hadn’t said it at all.

Your heart did a weird, traitorous flip.

-

An hour later, the rain was still going strong.

The dogs had gone through two wrestling matches, one tug-of-war, and were now napping in matching positions on the rug. Maple snored softly. Bear let out a sleepy groan every now and then.

Harry was at the stove, stirring something that smelled delicious, barefoot and casual like this was just a normal Thursday night.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” you asked, hovering near the kitchen island, nursing the warm mug of tea he’d made you earlier.

“Nope,” he said without looking up. “I’m playing host. You got drenched and stranded. You sit there and be cozy.”

You pulled the hoodie sleeves over your hands and hummed. “Okay, but if you give me food and a hoodie, I’m never leaving.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, dimples flashing. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

You ducked your head, smiling into your mug.

He turned back to the stove, and after a beat, you wandered closer, peeking over his shoulder at the pan. “What is it?”

“Sort of a stir-fry,” he said, tossing the vegetables around. “Whatever I had in the fridge. Hope you like garlic and questionable improvisation.”

“Love both,” you said seriously.

He chuckled, then looked at you again. “You sure you’re alright?”

You met his gaze. There was something careful in the way he asked, like he wasn’t just talking about the cold or the keys. Something that hinted he actually cared, even if you’d only met properly earlier that same week.

“I’m alright,” you said softly.

And you were. Strange as it was, this, standing in Harry Styles’ kitchen in his sweatshirt while rain hit the windows and your dogs napped like they were a married couple, felt like the most grounded you’d been in a while.

-

Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the living room floor, plates balanced on coffee table books, laughter over shared stories echoing between mouthfuls of whatever magic Harry had thrown together.

“This is really good,” you said between bites. “Like, really good.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ve got more than one secret talent.”

“Oh yeah? What else you got hidden up your sleeves?”

He lifted a brow, gaze playful. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You nudged his foot with yours. “I would, actually.”

His smirk softened into something quieter, eyes lingering on you for a beat too long. You felt it in your chest. Something subtle but certain, like a shift in gravity.

Maple stirred in her sleep. Bear let out a dramatic sigh.

You glanced at the window. The rain had finally slowed, falling gently now, like the sky was tired.

Harry followed your gaze. “Still coming down.”

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“It’s late,” you said finally, your voice a little smaller.

“Yeah,” he said, just as soft.

But neither of you stood up.

Instead, Harry lit up his fireplace, and you two spent the next couple of hours just talking. You shared stories about your childhood, he shared stories about what being in the spotlight is actually like. 

It felt real. Like something neither of you had felt in a long time, if ever.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickers of light across the room. The dogs were passed out in the corner, belly-up and blissfully unaware of anything beyond their dreams.

You weren’t sure how the conversation faded, only that at some point, you both just…stopped talking.

Maybe it was the quiet hum of the rain, or the way your legs were still tangled near his under the low table. Maybe it was the comfort of warm food and dry clothes and the surprising ease between you.

Harry set his plate aside, then leaned back slightly on one arm, his other hand idly tracing the seam of his jeans. He looked at you like he had something on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say.

“What?” you asked, your voice hushed.

He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. You felt it in the shift of the air, the soft tension that hadn’t been there earlier. His eyes found yours and didn’t look away.

Your breath caught.

He leaned in a little, just enough to tilt the moment. Your heart picked up. The room, the rain, the sleeping dogs…everything else faded.

“You’ve got something…” he whispered, gaze flicking briefly to your mouth. He reached out, brushing his fingers near the edge of your lip, the touch feather-light.

You froze.

“So dramatic,” you whispered, teasing on instinct, because you didn’t know what else to do with the sudden electricity between you.

He smiled. “I told you, I’ve got flair.”

The space between you was nothing now. Barely a breath. Your knees touched. His fingers lingered near your jaw.

Your eyes dipped to his lips, and you knew, knew, that he was thinking about kissing you.

He leaned in, just slightly, and so did you.

Close. So…close…

But before your lips could meet, Maple let out a loud howl from her deep sleep, making even Bear jolt awake next to her.

You both pulled back, just barely, startled and laughing under your breath.

“Your girl’s got timing,” Harry said, sitting back with a light grin.

You ran your hand through your hair, heat blooming under your skin. “She’s basically my chaperone.”

He chuckled, but the moment still shimmered between you, not quite broken. Just… postponed.

“I should probably get home,” you said eventually, though part of you didn’t want to move at all. “I can try the living room window, I don’t usually lock it.”

“I’ll walk you,” he offered, already rising to grab his keys.

You stood too, Maple excitedly jumping after you, and as Harry held the door open for you, the smile you shared felt like a promise.

Not tonight. But soon.

That's about as long as their phone calls ever got. The pair sighed in unison before the call ended, the tension bubbling beneath the surface from the second Y/N saw Harry's name pop up on her phone screen. She hadn't seen him or heard from him for the past three months. 

Her and Harry had a complicated, long-standing situationship…and that was putting it lightly. A friend of a friend, a few drinks, a few months of connecting, heartbreak, and a mess of blurred lines. They were the kind of almost-couple that never quite got the timing right. 

Every goodbye was temporary, every reunion accidental but inevitable. The inability to stay away from each other? That was the real reason things never worked. Too much chemistry, not enough clarity. It was passion tangled with pain, affection mixed with avoidance, like trying to hold onto smoke.

Incompatible. 

Harry was consistently gone on tour and afraid of commitment. Y/N never left her tiny bubble of life and was emotionally unavailable. 

They didn't see eye to eye on most things. 

But...their sexual tension? 

It buzzed consistently like a live wire, twisting, crackling, and sparking to life. 

Harry was a constant thrum beneath her skin, rooted deep in her veins like a heartbeat she couldn't quiet. He had this way of making her feel like she mattered even if it only lasted a second. When he'd breathe into the curve of her neck, voice low and ragged, whispering how she was his, her walls would crack just enough to let him in. In those moments, she wasn't cold or closed off. She wasn’t numb. She could feel—really feel—something other than the dull ache that usually lived inside her. It was fleeting, sure, but it was real. And sometimes, that was enough to pull her back under.

Y/N was like a drug to Harry. He was always twitching, in desperate need of a fix. Being inside of her was addictive, his head in the clouds and far away from everything. But the comedown from the high? Brutal. The crash after they were done, after the kisses cooled, after the silence settled in, always hit harder than he expected. Each time left him hollow, questioning everything. Why had he stumbled back into her life again? What part of him kept confusing chaos for comfort, or her bed for safety? He’d lie there, heart still racing, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it never did. Just the same ache, the same regret, curling up beside him like a second skin.

Y/N adjusted the sleeves of her oversized jumper, fingers fidgeting for a moment before she stood from the couch. Padding toward the front door, she hesitated for just a second before pressing the buzzer to let Harry in.

The soft buzz echoed down the stairwell, but to her, it felt like a warning siren.

She had to stand her ground this time.

She couldn’t keep letting him drift in and out of her life like a tide she had no control over, especially not after this long. Usually, it was a few weeks, a handful of texts, and a night that bled into morning. But three months? That was different. That was silence she’d almost started to believe in.

Almost.

Harry’s lips curved into that familiar devilish smirk the second he heard the mechanical whirl of the front gate unlocking. That soft hum, the one that granted him access, always felt like the first drop on a rollercoaster. He pushed the door open once the metal gate slid back into place behind him, shutting it with a click that echoed in the empty hallway.

He practically jogged up the two flights to her flat, his pulse quickening with each step, a boyish eagerness he never could quite shake when it came to her. But when he reached her door, any fantasy he’d built on the way up hit a wall. Literally.

She was already there, standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, hips tilted, gaze unimpressed. No soft smile. No warm welcome. Just that unreadable expression he’d seen too many times before.

His grin only widened.

Of course she wasn’t amused. He couldn’t blame her.

But he was already in too deep.

“Aww, s’my sweet Bunny girl angry?” Harry crooned, voice dripping with mock concern as he looked down at her, eyes glinting with mischief.

Without waiting for a response, he brushed his shoulder past hers, slipping into her flat like he owned the place. The scent of her hit him instantly, intoxicating, wrapping around him as easily as her silence did.

"No." Y/N's tone was sharp and low, giving her away.

Harry clicked his tongue as he slipped off his shoes and hung his coat on the rack. Y/N followed him inside, closing and locking the door behind them. 

"Now, now, now...s'that what we're doing? Lying to each other? Thought we both agreed it’s just easier to be honest, did we not?" He tutted as he turned to face her. 

Before she could protest, his hands were grasping at the plushy flesh of her hips with rough vigor, tugging her frame flush against his own. Harry hummed, the sound gravelly and guttural as it rumbled through him. Y/N let loose a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones.

A simple touch.

Just one very simple touch. 

That's all it took for them to fall back in head first. 

That’s all it took for their resolve to crumble.

Harry leaned in slowly, his movements unhurried and deliberate. His nose brushed against hers, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down her spine. He breathed her in, sweet and familiar. That scent always did something to him, settled low in his gut and curled around his ribs. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, thudding so hard in her chest it might as well have been echoing in his own. The corner of his mouth twitched. "There's my little Bunny, so nervous and jittery around me. S'addicting, y'know that? God, three months without you has been fucking torture."

His voice held the kind of yearning that made her lips itch to feel his own. 

His words were a plea, needy and desperate. 

Her hands moved up to hold the sleeves of his t-shirt, curling around the fabric, trying to ground herself.

"Need you t'use your words for me, love. S'that what's the matter, hmm? Been too long without me?” 

His thumb and forefinger came up to gently grip her chin, tilting up her head. “C'mon, sweet girl. Y'know I can tell if you lie. You wanna be good for me, don't you? Bad girls don't get what m'about to give you." 

Her entire body felt like hot molten lava, and she looked up into his eyes. 

Harry blew out a breath. Those big doe eyes of hers were going to kill him someday and he was certain it would be a happy death. “Fucking hell. I missed you. There. I said it.” 

Now it was her turn to tsk and chuckle, her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. “I don’t even have to speak and you’re a sputtering mess for me, Harry. It’s pretty desperate, don’t you think?” 

She watched the way his jaw clenched, felt the way his fingers dug into her sides, and how his pupils blew out, his eyes darkening. “You’re playing with fucking fire, Y/N.” He growled, low and primal, before driving her backward until her spine hit the front door with a quiet thud. In one fluid motion, his hands gripped her hips and lifted her, catching her beneath the thighs. She gasped as he pinned her there, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

His body pressed hard into hers, firm and unrelenting, holding her in place like he had every right to. The force of it stole the breath from her lungs, but it wasn’t just the impact. 

It was him.

It was always him.

Their breaths tangled in the charged space between them, shallow and uneven, like they’d both run miles only to stop just short of the finish. Their lips hovered, barely apart, neither willing to surrender first, both waiting, daring the other.

“Good thing I’m not afraid to get burnt,” she whispered, her voice low and velvet-soft, brushing against his mouth with every word. “I missed you too, by the way.”

That was all it took.

Harry closed the distance, crashing into her like a wave pulled too long by the tide. His mouth found hers with a heat that trickled through her system and she met him there, fingers threading through his hair, the other hand locking around the back of his neck to hold him close.

A quiet whimper slipped from her as his tongue slithered past her lips, insistent and hungry, tasting the sugary remnants of the candy she’d had in front of the tv before he arrived. He groaned low in his throat at the sweetness, and the sound of it unravelled her, hips moving instinctively against him.

They acted with fluid precision, like two pieces made to fall into place. Her fingers tightened in his curls, pulling just enough to draw another sound from him, and before she knew it, she was back on her feet with Harry pressed against her and his hands grasping the dip of her waist to lead her.

She didn’t remember the walk to her bedroom.

Maybe it was because her frame never left the wall of his chest, or maybe because Harry’s mouth never once left her body—trailing down her jaw, along the curve of her throat, kissing and nipping at the skin until her legs turned jelly. She walked backwards, trusting Harry to lead her in the right direction. The door creaked open behind her, and the next thing she knew, her back was pressed to her velvet comforter and Harry was hovering above, his eyes hooded and stormy with want. Her jumper rose up to her midriff, just a pair of plain pink cotton panties with a bow on beneath. She wasn’t expecting company, not that she’d have dressed differently even if she knew he was coming.

“Look at you…” he murmured, more to himself than to her, tracing the outline of her collarbone with a calloused fingertip. “Laid out all pretty for me, like some dream I haven’t earned the right to wake up from.”

She arched towards his touch, her breath hitching when he leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss just beneath her ear. “Maybe you haven’t,” she whispered, breathless but teasing, her voice trembling with the effort not to beg. She said she wouldn’t crack, yet here she was.

Harry’s grin was all sharp teeth and wonderment, but his gaze softened as it swept over her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, “I’d spend the rest of my life tryin’.”

Then he kissed her again, slower now, deeper. It wasn’t just need anymore. It was months of silence, of missing glances, unanswered calls, aching spaces where the other used to be. It was apology and forgiveness, grief and hunger all tangled into one breathless moment. His hands moved with purpose, mapping out the skin he’d gone too long without, relearning every dip, every scar, every shiver he could draw from her with just the brush of his thumb.

“I can’t wait, I need you right now, Y/N, can you feel my cock? It’s fucking aching.” Harry grunted out, pressing his hips down against her core to prove his point. She could feel the outline of him, rock solid for her, straining against his jeans. 

She whimpered at the friction, a damp spot already present against the fabric of her panties from the second he walked through her front door and looked at her with those eyes of his. 

“I’m going to indulge in you properly later, take my time, bury my head between your thighs like your pretty pussy deserves after bein’ so neglected. But right now? I just need to fuck you.”

Harry’s hand slid beneath the back of her thigh, pulling her leg around his waist and tugging her panties to the side as he breathed heavily into her neck, his lips trailing hungry, greedy kisses along her skin. 

“Then fuck me already.” Y/N bratted through deep breaths, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging, needing him unclothed and fast.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he sat up just enough to look down at her. She was absolutely sinful like this, her pussy glistening with arousal, her eyes hazy with that smug, lustful expression. He scoffed out a breath as he ripped his shirt off from over his head, tossing it across the room as his fingers nimbly found his belt buckle. “Get it all out now, Bunny. S’not gonna be so funny when I’m pounding into you so hard you can’t breathe, and you know it.” He growled, his eyes meeting hers with stern warning. 

The metal clinking sound of his belt coming undone echoed in the small space, and he pulled it from the loops of his jeans with one smooth tug. He looked into her eyes as he looped the leather in half before snapping it together, the sound crackling the room. “Behave,” he warned.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her mind flashing back to the time that Harry had tied her wrists behind her back with that exact same belt. She gulped, a glimmer in her eyes as she nodded, deciding this was her time to be quiet if she wanted to get her way.

A devilish smirk coated Harry’s lips, the dimple in his cheek protruding. “That’s my girl.” He murmured as he tugged down his boxers, his hard cock now resting heavy in his palm. He leaned down, the head pressing against her entrance. He slicked through her folds, each of them sighing in relief at the feeling. Without warning, he thrust in, hard and deep. She cried out, her back arching, her head tipping back against the mattress as he tore through her without remorse.

“That’s my fucking girl.” He growled as his body rocked into hers. The pace was unhurried but purposeful, like he was trying to relearn her from the inside out. Their sweat-slicked skin was sticking where they touched, their breaths loud and shallow in the dim light of her bedroom.

Every move he made felt like a question. Are you still mine? Do I still fit here?

And every answer came from the way she held him, close and needy, her nails dragging angry red lines down his spine, her hips rolling to meet his like she was trying to etch the shape of him into her bones. She wanted him to remember. Each time he caught a glimpse in the mirror, or the hot water of his shower cascaded over his back, he’d remember her and the marks she’d left him with.

It was messy. A little unsteady. Every shift, every gasp, threaded with the weight of what they were too stubborn to say out loud. She whimpered when his mouth found that sensitive spot beneath her ear again, the one that always made her body quake.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dragging his teeth across her jaw. “You feel the same. Still so tight f’me. Still so fuckin’ perfect.” Harry thrusts his hips forward, burying his cock deep within her. Each movement had her bed creaking, the sound of her arousal gushing around the base of his cock obscene and lewd in the best possible way. It coated his pubic bone and thighs, sticky and wet.

Y/N bit her lip, her head lolling back against the pillow, exposing the long line of her throat. “You think saying shit like that makes this less complicated?”

Harry didn’t stop. Couldn’t. “No,” he admitted, voice rough and low, “but maybe it’ll make it easier when I leave.”

Her chest hitched, a shiver rolling through her—not from his words, but from the ache in them. That aching little crack in his voice that sounded like regret finally catching up to him.

She shouldn’t have answered. She knew she shouldn’t have. But her voice came anyway, soft and breathless. “You’re the one who always comes back.”

That struck somewhere deep within him. His rhythm faltered for half a second, just long enough for the truth to land. But then his mouth crashed into hers again, hungry, silencing the sting with his tongue. He kissed her like he could steal her words, bury them inside his lungs so they wouldn’t echo back at him later.

And she let him.

Because she needed to feel something that wasn’t heartbreak. Something real. Something alive.

Her legs tightened around his waist, and her back arched into him, her body shaking under his touch as her release crept closer, hot and consuming. Y/N’s moans were nothing short of pornographic, breathy and sultry whines. 

Harry cursed under his breath, the sounds she made unraveling his restraint thread by thread. He reached his hand between them, two fingers finding her clit with ease, puffy and swollen for him. He hissed at the way her jaw dropped open, immediately moving his fingers in fast, tight circles around the bundle of nerves. He knew how sensitive she was, her thighs trembling in their position around his hips. His thrusts never stopped, the sound of wet skin slapping wet skin echoed her bedroom as he fucked into her. Harry watched the way her tits bounced beneath her jumper, each of them still half clothed, having been too caught up in the moment to worry about undressing fully. He didn’t need her nude to know how her body looked, how she felt. Her soft, blissed out features and the warm squeeze of her cunt around his cock would be plenty for him.

“C’mon, Bunny,” he murmured, voice shaking, forehead pressed to hers. “Wanna feel you. Let go f’me.”

The weight of him pressed down, grounding her, anchoring her to the moment, where nothing else outside the walls of her flat existed. Just Harry, just Y/N, and the quiet crackle of something neither of them dared name.

She could feel every inch of him, his breath against her collarbone, his fingers rolling over her clit with eagerness, the slow, torturous grind of his hips as he buried himself deeper, like he belonged there.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he always had.

“Say it again,” she whispered, her voice a velvet thread in the darkness.

Harry blinked, chest rising and falling against hers, lips ghosting over the curve of her jaw.

“Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

His throat bobbed with the swallow. His voice, when it came, was rough with more than just lust. “I did. I do.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Every fucking day I miss you, Y/N.”

That admission cracked something open inside her. Not all the way, just enough to let the ache bleed out, soft and messy. Just enough to let him in again.

She arched into him, her arms circling around his back as if she could pull him beneath her skin, as if she could memorize the weight of him and keep it when he left again. Because he would. That much she knew.

Everything about Harry was too much yet perfectly enough. His teeth nipped at the column of her throat before his tongue soothed the ache, his panted breaths hot and heavy against her neck as he fucked into her. 

Y/N was practically mewling, whimpering and trembling as she got closer and closer. Her stomach coiled up tight with each deep thrust, the head of his cock punching through her walls, rough and gentle all at once as if he couldn’t decide which half of himself to give into. Harry’s cock twitched inside of her, a telltale sign he was close. 

“Fucking hell…this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, Bunny? C’mon, tell me who’s pussy this is and I’ll let you cum.” His voice was shattered, deep and sultry as his fingers slowed against her clit to a barely there pressure.

Y/N whimpered, the noise near pathetic as she tried to roll her hips upwards, desperately chasing her high. “It’s yours, Harry. I belong to you.”

Harry puffed out a breath as if her words were too much to handle. 

“Good fucking girl. My girl.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, his tongue flicking out to lick a strip against her jaw before, without warning, he sat up, his hands gripping the backs of her calves and pushing her legs up towards her head for an entirely new angle. 

She gasped, feeling his cock slip out to the tip in their shift. Harry smirked down at her, his grin devilish. He knew how much she loved this position, how perfectly it let his cock hit that spongy, sensitive spot inside of her. He didn’t waste a second before he tightened his grip and pulled back his hips before slamming them forward. 

Y/N cried out his name as he rocked into her with fervent need, groaning at the way her walls clamped down around his cock, desperate to milk him dry. He let one of her legs fall from his grasp, only to slip his hand between their bodies, his thumb rubbing messy, relentless circles over her clit. He drove into her again and again, burying himself to the hilt, never letting her forget exactly how perfectly she took him. His breaths were mixed with shattered low groans as he watched the way her chest rose and fell, how her cheeks had pinkened and her lips hung parted in a perfect, petal pink pout of pleasure. The headboard slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm, just barely drowning out the filthy wet sounds of his cock plunging through her slick, stretching her open and claiming her in every way. He found his home deep inside her pussy—exactly where he belonged, exactly where he was meant to be.

His Bunny let out a string of whined moans, her thighs quaking, and he knew she was right on edge. “That’s it, sweet girl. Cum all over my cock, show me how much you missed me.” He panted.

Between the desperation in his voice and the way he slammed into her, it only took seconds for Y/N to come crashing down. Her pussy pulsated around Harry’s cock as she let out a low, breathless moan, the sound like music to his ears. The way her walls clenched around him had him thrusting in as deep as he could possibly go, his body surging forward to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. His orgasm hit him hard, pouring into her in long, hot spurts that left him whimpering against her mouth. Sounds of raw yearning and need spilled from him, muffled by their kiss, as her nails dug into the muscles of his lower back. His hips stuttered against her, his body desperate to stay as close to hers as possible, every last drop of him filling her completely. He rolled forward, pushing his cum impossibly deeper as if it would keep it there, keep him there.

Harry stayed buried inside of her, his forehead dropping to press against hers again as they both struggled to catch their breath. Their chests heaved together, sticky skin sliding, the heat between them nearing unbearable. He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow just beneath her ear, murmuring sweet nothings too soft and slurred for either of them to really understand.

“Fuck, Bunny,” he panted, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure. “Missed you. Missed this. Missed being inside you.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, still feeling every delicious throb of him, every aftershock rippling through her sensitive body. She tilted her head back just enough to meet his blown, dazed gaze, smirking despite the lingering tremors in her thighs. She’d missed it too, but she wasn’t about to say it, not now, not when she hadn’t gotten her chance to have the upper hand and remind him why he kept coming back here, back to her.

“You better catch your breath, pretty boy,” she whispered against his damp temple, her voice a low, teasing purr. “Because it’s my turn.”

Harry blinked slowly, still half drunk off the high she had just pulled him into. “Your turn?” he repeated, the lazy smile that tugged at his mouth making her want to kiss it clean off.

Y/N grinned, sliding her hands down the damp, muscular plane of his back before giving his hip a playful little squeeze that made him grunt against her. “Mhm,” she hummed, shifting her hips beneath him just enough to make him hiss, his sensitive cock twitching inside her pussy. “You think you can just come in here, fuck me like that after three months, and not deal with the consequences of your actions?”

He let out a rough chuckle, his body still twitching with sensitivity, but his hands found her hips again on instinct, holding on like he already knew she was about to wreck him.

“You’re playing with fucking fire.” She murmured in a mock of his earlier words against his jaw, nipping at his scruff with her teeth, loving the low growl it dragged from his chest.

“Is that right?” Harry rasped, the words barely a thread of sound. “Well…It’s a good thing m’not afraid to get burnt.” He mused, humming out her own response to the same question. 

“Mmhm,” Y/N purred, and before he could say anything else, she rolled her hips up into his with a slow, devastating grind. His whole body jerked, a broken moan escaping his throat. “And you, Mr. Styles, are about to find out exactly what happens to bad boys who don’t think they can be outmatched.”

She tightened her legs around his hips, flipping them with a surprising surge of strength and adrenaline that made him grunt out a startled, breathless laugh. He fell back against the mattress, wide-eyed and grinning even as he tried to process the shift.

Y/N straddled him now, hands splayed on his chest, hair wild around her flushed face, a gleam in her eye that promised nothing short of absolute, blissful ruin.

“You think you can handle it?” she teased, rolling her hips again, slow and purposeful, making him gasp and clench the sheets beneath him from the overstimulation.

Harry let his head fall back, the cords in his neck straining as he fought for control. “Fuck, Bunny,” he groaned, voice breaking on the nickname. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She leaned down, brushing her nose against his before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging gently, making him groan again.

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink.”

That’s what he said last night. He was drunk, even though he insisted repeatedly he wasn’t, but she smelt the alcohol on his breath, a mix of beer and mint that was harmonious enough to smell good. His pupils were dilated, cheeks a shade of red they only are when he’s downright gone but trying to act like he isn’t.

She knows him like the back of her hand. Fourteen years together, every step of their lives since childhood. Elementary, secondary, early adulthood to now— all of it, she’s known him better than anyone. She’s seen all of his phases, however successful or downright devastating— she’s gotten to know all the cousins, all the girlfriends, all the enemies. They’re the it couple, the loves of each other‘s lives. In the most platonic way imaginable.

Last night he wasn‘t like himself. He spent most of the night keeping to himself despite the rare company of their friends, chucking drink after drink like alcohol isn’t the gateway drug it‘s known to be— so unlike the man who always paces himself so as to preserve his health. And then he spoke to her. And at first, it went like always.

“Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She breathes softly, turning to face him whilst pressing her back against the railing. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, having just thought of him as she looked over the scenery from her balcony thinking how nice it’d be for him to be by her side. “You okay, there, cowboy?”

“Never been better, Tink.”

And she remembers, even now, the smile that tugged at her face when she realized he was different. Because it wasn’t a bad different; it wasn’t like he became cold, or dismissive, or mean— no, he just seemed happy. Too happy, like there was nothing in the world that warranted enough importance to be worried about. A version of him she’s never fully gotten to know, but has seen snippets of. And it isn’t like he’s not a happy person— he is; never too worried, never too scared. But this was a different kind of happy.

He seemed lighter. Like the years of experience and maturity had washed away momentarily, leaving her with the eighteen year old Harry she once knew standing in front of her.

“Oh is that why you can’t walk straight?”

He shushes her, coming to lean his front against the railing. She inches closer to him, head falling comfortably against his shoulder. Then she says softly, “we haven’t spoken much today.”

“Yeah, we haven’t.”

She prompts her chin on his shoulder, staring hesitantly at the side of his face. There’s barely any lighting and she can barely make out the shapes, but it’s enough. She watches as his lashes flutter softly, as his facial muscles tighten a little. “And why is that?”

He looks ahead, breathing in and out gently, like he’s deep in thought.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Tink.”

“Okay,” she nods subtly. “Well if you want to talk about it…”

“…you’re here.” He finishes for her.

“Like I always am,” she emphasizes, the extra squeeze to his arm substituting for a thousand words she could be saying instead. But she doesn’t really need to. Never has.

Now she’s waiting. In the kitchen, back in the living room. Then in the kitchen again. She’s pacing, thinking, worrying about what Harry will say when he’s up. If he even remembers what he said, if he meant it the way she thinks he must have.

She never had to worry about losing him. Because she always knew, even at 12 years old, that risking it would mean losing it forever. It being the friendship; the bond with the kindest, most precious boy she had ever laid eyes on. So even though throughout the years sparks of feelings have crept up instantaneously, she’s never pursued that dream.

But it would be sucha dream, wouldn’t it? To be loved by the boy she grew up loving. To be loved by the boy who knows how to appreciate her without having to be taught. To be loved by the boy who always puts her first, treats her best, makes her feel whole.

It hurts sometimes to think she might never find someone like him again. It’s psychotic, really, the fact that she’s so frightened of losing him that she’s deprived herself of the best man on earth. Just so she can keep him a little longer. Even if it means walking down the aisle to him and not being the one wearing white.

For a lingering moment, all there is between them is silence. Dead silence, just the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat exposed underneath her fingertips.

He breathes in deeply, almost as though preparing himself to say something earth shattering. But then he doesn’t. His fingers twitch, she sees it.

“What is it, H?”

He looks at her, eyes filled with something indescribable. But she speaks his language, so even though he doesn’t say it, she knows what he means to convey. Thankfulness. Gratitude. And she feels it too, any time she’s sad or conflicted, any time she’s in a place she doesn’t want to be in— a glance of his eyes and there it is. All the words. Never spoken out loud, but crafted together perfectly in the space between their bodies.  She always wonders how. She knows he’s wondering it right now too.

But it changes something in his face. It pushed him over the edge, the look of determination solidifying into something more serious.

“You get me, Tink.”

“I do,” she says lowly, making sure to tilt her lips into a smile. “And you, H, get me.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it? How rare must a connection like ours be?”

“Pretty rare, probably,” she replies with an easy chuckle, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t even think it and you know. Y’know before I do, every time.”

Her breathing changes with his. It’s sporadic, slower, almost like otherwise she would be risking a solid ground to stand on. “Yeah, I… I guess so, H. Are you okay?”

“I’m always good when I’m with you. Which is—“ he laughs, almost like at himself, “which is kind of the point, you know. I—“ he looks away, running a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, “I’ve been thinking about how weird it is that we’re… I mean, I’ve never felt that way about…” he pauses again, taking a short leveled breath. “About anyone, really. Anyone but you.”

Her eyebrows pinch, pulling together to crease the center of her forehead.

She doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. Maybe then he’ll realize he shouldn’t be doing this right now, that he’s entering dangerous territory.

“And I saw you with… with that guy. Tim, you said?”

He nudges her when she remains quiet.

She clears her throat,”Tom, actually.”

He huffs a breath, “right, Tom. I see him, you know? I see what he could be, but it really doesn’t matter that he’s a good guy. It doesn’t matter that he picks up the bill, doesn’t matter that he opens your fucking door. I can’t shake this feeling that he could never be good enough. Because nobody is— not for you. Not even if he kisses the ground you walk on.”

And finally, it’s like she understands a little better what he’s trying to say. She snickers quietly to herself, but lenient worry spreads throughout her chest regardless. “well, that’s a little silly.”

“Is it?”

“If nobody’s gonna be good enough then might as well pick the next one in line, right?”

A pause. Then a cough. “Yeah, right,” he nods, but it looks and feels as though there’s something more to it.

Gently, she brushes a lone finger over his cold wrist. “Harry, what’s happening right now? I’m confused.”

He shakes his head, taking a breath to brace himself. “Is he the next in line?”

For some reason, her heart beats faster.  “What?”

And when he looks into her eyes again, they’re red. “Tom. Is he the next in line? The next best guy?”

For the first time, she allows her gaze to linger, to glide over his nose down to his mouth, then back up again. She swallows, the options of what to say made available to her in her head, yet both too risky to choose from. But she has to say something. “No, he’s not. You’re the best guy, you know that. But it’s different with you, with us.”

And he nods his head, taking in the answer with special consideration.

After a long pause, he takes a deep breath. “Would I be good enough?”

“Would you be good enough for what, H?”

“For you.”

And it was truly instinctual, her laugh. It was racked with nervousness, a sense of unease because she was left thoroughly confused. Looking back, it was probably demeaning of her to laugh— but then again, she still has no idea what happened last night. Where it came from.

She can picture it in her head now, the nervous look on his face as he asked her the question and probably the only time she’d ever recognized anything resembling insecurity in his voice. She’s pacing, a feeling of disgust overriding her stomach at the thought. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, to undermine him. But she didn’t know.

“Why are you laughing?”

She detaches herself from him, dismissal evident in her every step. Maybe it’s the kind of dismissal that needs to be expressed so that nothing moves and everything is left untouched— enough for him to just drop it. Because she’s terrified of it all falling apart. The first domino tile has been flicked; now it‘s only a matter of when will the rest fall in line? “Because you’re being ridiculous, Harry. Stop doing that, you’re freaking me out.”

But it’s not enough. He follows after her, struggling to walk a straight line.  “What’s ridiculous about me asking you a serious question?”

“I just— you know you’re good enough!”

“Do I?”

She glances at him shortly before continuing in stride. “Oh come on! Stop acting so oblivious and innocent.”

“What does that even mean, Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. Not when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“Yeah and the fucking pope isn’t catholic.”

He scoffs aloud. “Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She swivels around, her arms coming to hug around her middle. She looks at him as though repulsed, because frankly, she is. Things were fine before he had to go and get himself drunk and spurt things he couldn’t possibly mean.

He pauses, an expression of defeat on his worry-ridden face as he inches closer. And when he speaks again, it’s timid, not like anything she’s ever known him to be.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tink.”

“What are you even talking about, Harry?”

“I don’t want to be the guy you regret, or hate, or hurt over. When we’re old, I want to be the guy you look back on with affection. And I— I didn’t really care about anything when we were younger, but I always cared about that. About you.”

He‘s terrified, she can hear it. With every breath he takes, every word he sounds out, there‘s an undertone of hesitation that keeps poking through the surface. It‘s like he‘s fighting with himself.

“Harry,” she warns, because this is all becoming too intense.

And that’s when he said it. Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink. He said it with sincerity dripping from his words, a type of vulnerable that neither of them had ever demanded from one another. Who could’ve thought that he would ever reserve those words for her. Not for the women he’s dated, not for the woman he’ll marry. For her.

He must be kidding her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

She walked away then, slamming the door behind her with considerable force. She was ready to leave this behind. Ready to sleep and wake up renewed, indifferent to last night’s shenanigans.

But she couldn’t sleep. She left bed at seven this morning and now she’s just sitting at the counter waiting for the air to shift. She wants the reassurance that things will continue to be the same.  

But deep down, she knows things can never again be the same, not even if they move past it graciously. It‘ll always live on in their subconscious, gnawing away at their minds until either of them caves and decides it isn‘t worth the hassle. Because it doesn‘t matter how much she wishes she could deny it; there‘s always been something there. And that something has gotten bigger and bigger, becoming too enormous to stay invisible to the human eye.

The clearing of his throat snaps her out of a trance. He’s standing in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low from his hips, shirtless. His arms are hugging loosely around his frame and something about about it causes her stomach to stir. Last night, of course, but also just him. Seeing him on a bright summer morning in all his glory, just how he is. There‘s a sense of domesticity that she supposes became normalized in their friendship but is now itching for a different kind of attention.  

She wonders how long he‘s been standing there.

“Hey,” she offers a warm smile, the relief at the sight of him enough to ease some of the tension in her body. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. It’s just now that I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh! I actually thought you might so I— wait,” she rounds the island to her purse and fishes around for the pills, “I bought a new pack of advil yesterday—“

But the distraction doesn‘t work on him.

“Tink, I meant it.”

It’s abrupt. Even in his delivery, she can tell he’s been keeping it in, been aching to say it.

She freezes however, turning in her spot with a squint in her eye, “what?”

He releases a deep sigh. “I meant it. What I said about you last night. I know you’re hoping we can move past it but it’s been on my mind for a long time.”

“Oh,” she replies quietly, dumbfounded, “I’m sorry about how I reacted—“

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way. Usually I’m good at keeping these things to myself but there was something about last night that— it just fucked with me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You should always tell me when something’s bothering you, I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you have to keep things to yourself.”

He laughs. It’s subtle and soft, but it’s there, barely a release of breath. He pushes away from the doorway, coming to stand by the island next to her. “You don’t mean that, Tink.”

“Yes I do.”

“You didn’t even want to hear it last night.”

“I was just confused.”

He shakes his head. “And if I told you all of that now? Would you react any differently? Because however much you might hate it, I wouldn’t take anything back.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you’re confused.”

“I mean— out of fucking nowhere, you drop this bomb on me and it’s… fourteen years, Harry. That’s how long we’ve been friends.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Because if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that, I’ll drop it right this moment.”

And she can feel herself becoming increasingly more frustrated because she can’t really tell what exactly he’s trying to say. Communication has always been their strong suit, but this… whatever this has come to, it’s not like anything she’s ever experienced with him before. It‘s messy, slopey, unchartered territory. “Thought about what, Harry? I’m so lost right now and I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to be honest!” He exclaims wildly, running a hand through his hair whilst gesturing with the other. “There’s been so many times, Tink. The dance, prom, our graduation, fucking last week where there’s been this— this switch. And I feel like something is going to happen but you’re— it’s like you don’t want it to. So be honest with me.”

“Well I just— that’s not fair!”

“How is it not fair?”

“Because you always seemed too fucking good for me, Harry!” She cries out. “Everyone would say it, literally everyone— those fucking girls at school, people at home, the media. I mean, how could I ever think you would settle for someone like me?”

“Someone like what, Tink? Someone who loves unconditionally? Someone who has always put the happiness of others before her own? Someone who is so damn perfect and selfless and kind that I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough for her? Someone like that, you mean?”

She shakes her head, the words describing her thoughts heavy on her tongue but too vulgar to be spoken aloud. How could she ever be honest with him if honesty means admitting to every feeling of insecurity she has ever harbored at the prospect of her best friend? How could she ever be honest with him when honesty means making him realize she’s not nearly as perfect, selfless or kind as he believes? “Nobody has ever loved me. I don’t think it takes a degree to figure out why, Harry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Look around, will you? If nobody loves you why are all of these pictures of our friends hung up on the walls?”

A chuckle escapes past her lips, “man, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about.”

He scoffs, shaking his head to regain an inkling of composure and rid himself of annoyance - not of her, but her tendency to make herself the villain in every story, “you can’t possibly be blaming yourself for all of those failed relationships right now. Half of them fucking cheated on you.”

“Yeah, why? if I’m so perfect and lovable why would—”

“God, would you ever blame me if someone cheated on me? Why are you always treating yourself the way you would never treat anyone else, huh? Why are you always so harsh on yourself?”

“You’re perfect, Harry. I mean, perfect career, perfect family— there’s nothing wrong with you. You can’t possibly compare that to me, can you? I’m a fucking mess. I haven’t found my passion—“

He rolls his eyes. “We’re twenty four, for god’s sake—“

But she continues. “And I’m emotional. I get annoying and clingy, my family fucking hates every guy I’ve ever brought home— and even worse, they hate me. So I’m sorry if I’m a little pessimistic when it comes to relationships, but I can’t fucking afford to be all rainbows and sunshine about it.”

“I get it, Tink, I do—“

But she’s had enough of misunderstandings, enough of him pretending like it’s that easy to let go and trust. “No you don’t! And you don’t get to walk in and say all those nice things about me wasted off of your mind pretending like all along it’s you who’s been yearning! Ever since we were kids, Harry, it’s always fucking been you! All of it, everything. I was crushed when I met your first girlfriend, you know that? Fucking crushed!”

There’s fury in his eyes, a fire that keeps getting bigger and bigger, burning at the sight.  “Why didn’t you fucking tell me then?”

“What did you expect me to do? You had never even looked at me twice!”

“You must know nothing about me if you really believe that.”

And it gets to a point where all she sees is red. He’s blurry in her line of vision, spewing words she can’t possibly digest in this moment.

She begins to walk away from him, cursing to herself like he can’t hear her. But he can, and he follows her every step.

“Is this how it’s going to go from now on? You’re going to walk away and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Frustration anchors at his every word and she can tell, even though she’s only able to hear his speech, that his eyebrows are pinched deeply, his forehead creased with intensity. She knows that he’s hurting to some capacity, that his heart is going wild in his chest.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her back into his front. “Tink, just fucking look at me.”

Their chests collide, hearts equally beating faster for one another.

She stares into his eyes, waiting for something to be said, anything. But as seconds pass, and words still remain unspoken, her shoulders start to lose their tension and her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach.

He’s dangerous because she could never stay mad at him. She could never hate him, no matter how badly she wishes she could.

She clears her throat, but fails to move. She doesn’t find herself wanting to. “Harry.”

His eyes trail southward toward her mouth and she wishes so badly he would just kiss it. “Does it really matter what happened back when we were kids? Does anything other than what I said matter at all?”

She swallows around a lump in her throat, staring into the green of his eyes that have always had the power of swaying her in every which way. And as he’s doing the same to hers, the air shifts in a more familiar direction.

“I’m scared.”

He nods, “I know.” Interlacing their fingers with one hand, he allows the other to rest comfortably against her neck.

But she can no longer look at him, not when he’s so close, expecting her to open up to her like a flower in spring. “I can’t lose you, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I messed this up. I’ve wanted it for so long, but I’m bad at being more than a friend. I’m bad at saying what I truly feel, I’m bad at being the girl guys want to bring home to their parents. I’m bad at time management. I’m bad at being vulnerable . You know all this about me, but it was always different before. With you it was easier. But if this were to happen… you’d get to know my ugly sides.”

His eyes are glassy, as are hers. From the outside they probably look like a mourning couple, one at the brink of heartbreak. And in a way, this feels similar to every heartbreak she’s been through, only this time the risk of loss is much greater. And so is the sense of hope.

“Y/N, when I asked you last night about Tom,” he nudges a finger underneath her chin, coaxing her to look at him, “I asked because for fourteen years, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t enough for you. At first I thought you would never be into me. You were too smart, too confident. It’s ridiculous, I know, but we were teenagers,” he smiles at the memory. “But then I joined the band and I didn’t want to expose you to a world I hadn’t fully understood myself. I didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that, so I tried to protect you. I hid you from the cameras, lied to people when they asked me about you. Clearly I didn’t do it very well because you just told me it still got to you—“

“That’s not-“

He squeezes her fingers, a silent appreciation of her reassurance, “but I tried my best, you know? I’ve always kept my distance because I didn’t want this — everything I do and everything I am — to become a burden to you. Because I’ve always loved you. I’ve always wanted to make you happy, to be the best guy for you. There were times I didn’t know it, sure, but deep down I’ve always known it’d be you, Tink. These last few years I just wasn’t sure I was enough. Because you deserve the best a person could get.”  

“Of course you’re enough, H.”

“I still think you deserve better than me, baby, so much better. But if you give me a chance, I promise I’ll try my best. I love you as you are; whatever you call your ugly side, that doesn’t exist to me. You’re you, Tink, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m done cowering away because I’m scared of fucking up and I’m begging you to do the same. Let go with me and explore this. Please.”  

She supposes this feeling in her chest is so indescribable because she’s never felt it so intensely before, but it resembles sheer and raw admiration. There’s a hint of fear brewing in the deep abyss, but hope surfaces at the top. And as she looks into the eyes of the love of her life, she sees safety. Love. A Future. Together.

Her face inches closer, “I’m so terrified of losing you.”

He nudges his nose against hers. “Won’t let it happen, I promise. You’re never getting rid of me.”

A smile breaks out on her face.

“Then kiss me, H.”

And so he does.

—

The light of the sun starting to set spilled through the windows, golden and soft, washing the polished counters of Petal & Pastry in a warm glow. You sigh, exhausted but happy. It had been a good day: More traffic, lots of smiles, and a few regulars placing orders for upcoming events.

Still, one thought had been echoing in your mind all week: Harry.

Tall, mysterious, and entirely out of place in your world of pastel piping and croissants. You thought about the way he’d said your name, the way his eyes lingered like they were searching for secrets you didn’t even know you had. You’d barely spoken to him for an hour, but somehow, he was stuck in your thoughts like flour to your apron.

You moved behind the counter to tidy up, gently wiping stray crumbs off the glass display. Then, as if conjured by thought alone, the door chimed again.

“Sorry, we’re-” You turn, then freeze mid-sentence. “-closed.”

Harry stood just inside the entryway, still in a dark suit, though his jacket was unbuttoned this time. He looks like a wolf in a candy shop, both completely out of place and strangely at ease. His eyes are focused on you, the corner of his lips tilting upwards ever so slightly. 

“I know,” he says. “Didn’t really come for cupcakes.”

Your heart does something fluttery. “Oh?”

“Came to see you.”

You blink. “Me?”

His smile widened a bit, stepping closer as he surveyed the space. “Petal & Pastry,” he hums. “Fits.”

You flush almost immediately. “It’s...a little silly.”

“It’s cute,” he corrects, gaze falling to the marble counter you’d been in the midst of wiping down. “So’s the owner.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile while you mentally squealed over the casual compliment.

“This all yours?” Harry asks, gesturing around with a finger.

“Mhm,” you nod, unable to stop the slight swell of pride in your chest. “Took me two years of saving, a loan, and a lot of elbow grease, but yeah.”

He gives a soft whistle in response. “That’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you say, a bit shyly. Then, before you could overthink it, “Do you want a tour?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “A tour of a bakery?”

“Sure. Why not?” you challenge, already moving toward the back of the shop. “Don’t knock it till you’ve seen the kitchen.”

He follows you, amused. You led him past the prep tables, showing off your light pink mixer, your recipe shelf full of scribbled-on notebooks, your custom piping tips. He listened more intently than you expected. His eyes watched you like he was hanging onto every word that came out of your mouth, acting like you were the most important thing in his world at the moment. 

Which isn’t that far off, if he was to be honest. 

“And this,” you say, stopping in front of a triple-tiered cooling rack, “is my pride and joy.”

Harry studies it like an artifact in a museum. “All this...from today?”

You nod proudly. “Brioche rolls, shortbread, lemon tarts, a few cupcakes. I’ll donate the extras if they don’t sell by tomorrow.”

He reached toward a small red velvet cupcake, topped with cream cheese frosting that’s delicately swirled on. “May I?”

You nod encouragingly. “Go ahead.”

He took a bite, and you watched, weirdly nervous. His eyes closed briefly as he chewed, and then:

“Bloody hell.”

You giggle softly. “Is that good or bad?”

“Dangerously good,” he muttered, licking a bit of icing from his thumb. “If I knew your sweets tasted like this, I’d have shown up hours ago.”

“Not really your scene, though,” you teased lightly, leaning against the counter.

“No,” he admits. “But maybe it should be.”

You tilt your head, playful. “What, cupcakes and shortbread?”

He smirks, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of a stool. “Cupcakes, shortbread…and you.”

That flutter in your chest returns, stronger this time. You try to busy your hands with reorganizing the already-perfect stack of takeaway boxes, but your mind is spinning. No one had ever looked at you like that before; Like you were something worth seeking out, like you were more than flour and sugar and polite smiles.

“I don’t really get people like you around here,” you admit, glancing up at him.

Harry raises an eyebrow, resting one hand on the counter, his rings catching the fading light. “People like me?”

You gesture vaguely toward him, his tailored suit, the energy that seems to simmer just beneath his skin. “You’re…I dunno. Kind of intense.”

His lips twitch. “You think I’m intense?”

You nod slowly. “But not in a bad way. Just- like you walk into a room and everyone notices.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on you, quiet for a second. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You walked into mine,” he says, voice low. “And I noticed.”

Your breath hitches slightly. There’s a heat to his words that makes the air feel thicker, like the scent of warm sugar and spice clinging to the walls. You’re not sure how someone can feel dangerous and comforting at the same time. But that’s exactly what Harry feels like.

You look down at your flour-dusted apron and then back at him, squinting a little. “You’re not just saying that ‘cause I let you have a free cupcake, are you?”

He grins, wicked and beautiful. “Wouldn’t dare.”

There’s a pause. The kind of silence that isn’t awkward, but full of curiosity, of questions you haven’t found the words to ask yet. Then, without any pretense:

“Go out with me.”

Your heart skips a few beats.

“W-What?”

“Go on a date with me,” he repeats, a little more slowly this time. “Not a club. Not a drop-in. A real date.”

You blink. “Like…flowers and dinner and everything?”

His lips twitch again. “If you want flowers, I’ll bring a whole damn garden.”

You feel your cheeks burn, comparable to the feeling of opening the oven and getting blasted with hot air. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes soften, the sharp edges of his usual intensity melting just a little. “Because...I want to know the girl behind Petal & Pastry. The one who makes cupcakes that can make a grown man swear.”

You laugh, a light, melodic sound that makes him grin. “I’m just a baker.”

“No, you’re not,” he insists gently. “You’re different.”

You fiddle with the edge of your apron, nerves fluttering but curiosity shining bright. “Different how?”

He pauses, gaze drifting just for a second toward the window where the last rays of sunlight dimmed behind the city skyline. “You have a kind of warmth that’s rare. Like the sort of light that makes people want to come closer. That makes people feel safe.”

You blink, unsure if he’s being poetic or serious. “That’s…really sweet of you.”

“I mean it,” he says, stepping just a little closer, though still careful to respect the delicate boundary of your small bakery space. “And I don’t usually say things like that to people I just met.”

Your stomach does a little flip. “And I don’t usually meet people like you.”

Harry chuckles softly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Good,” he says. “Maybe that means you’re a little special.”

You swallow, wanting to believe him but also wondering what exactly it was about him that felt so elusive. He had said nothing about what he really did, only hinted. The shadows behind his smile told you there was more, something darker, but you didn’t ask. 

Not yet.

When  you don’t respond for a moment, he adds, “I promise it won’t be some noisy, flashy club. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can actually talk. I’ll get us reservations at a nice place where I know the chef.”

You look down at your hands, the faint smell of vanilla and sugar clinging to your fingers. “I’d…have to think about it a little.” You speak softly.

You want to. You really, really want to. But it’s clear that this man has his own skeletons in the closet, plus he doesn’t really give off the vibe that he’s inexperienced when it comes to women. You’re anxious. 

Harry’s gaze flickers down to your hands, then back to your face, as if memorizing every detail before you could fully retreat behind your shyness. He isn’t usually a patient man in any situation. It’s truly a wonder how he hasn’t even kissed you yet. 

But for some reason, there’s something about you that makes him want to wait. That makes him want to put in the effort to show you how serious he is.

“No rush,” He hums, giving you a small smile. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small slip of paper, sliding it across the counter with a slow, deliberate motion.

“My number. Call me when you’re ready.”

You stare at the handwriting, feeling warmth curl through your chest. Something about the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world who mattered, made you want to believe in fairy tales and happy endings, even if you didn’t quite understand who he was yet.

“I will,” you said softly, tucking the paper carefully into your apron pocket.

Just as you tuck the slip of paper into your apron pocket, the door chimes again.

You both look over instinctively, but it’s only the wind nudging it slightly. Poor latch, you mentally remind yourself. Still, Harry steps away from the counter with a glance over his shoulder, something unreadable flickering across his face.

You wonder, briefly, if it was instinct. A habit. Like he was trained to always look for exits. You make a mental note of this and file it away to think about later.

“Your door’s a bit touchy,” he says, smoothing his tone again as if it didn’t just dip into something sharper.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Old hinges.”

“Still,” he responds, walking back toward you, “You might want to get that looked at. You work late a lot?”

You nod, a little surprised by the concern in his voice. “Sometimes. Depends on orders.”

Harry is quiet for a beat, then: “You should lock the door when you’re closing up. Even before the sign flips. You can never be too careful, y’know?”

You hum, squinting playfully at him. “Do you always act like someone’s coming after you?” you ask, trying to keep it light.

He chuckles softly. “Only when I’ve got something worth protecting.”

There’s weight in those words. You feel it. Like something sharp wrapped in velvet.

Your smile fades just slightly. You glance around your little bakery, suddenly aware of how small it is. How small you are in comparison to him and whatever shadows might follow him around.

“Noted,” you say quietly.

Harry watches you a second longer, then softens again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

“You didn’t,” you lie.

He hums but doesn’t call you on it. Instead, he pulls his jacket back on with ease, the lines of his suit sharpening around him like armor being re-donned. The softness he’d worn in your kitchen begins to tuck itself away again, bit by bit.

But before it’s gone completely, he leans in, just close enough that you can smell something spicy and rich on his cologne.

“I meant what I said,” he whispers, voice low and warm near your ear. “I’ll wait.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The bell chimes, the door shuts behind him, and the bakery is quiet again.

You stand in the silence, the only sounds being your own breath and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Slowly, you reach into your pocket and pull out the slip of paper again.

You trace your thumb over the ink. Still fresh. Still warm from where his fingers had pressed it into your hand.

You know you shouldn’t be thinking about him as much as you are.

But you are.

- 

Across the street, Harry slid into the back of the black SUV, the soft click of the door closing behind him. The leather seats creaked as he leaned back, exhaling slowly.

Ash sat in the front passenger seat, arms crossed, his gaze already fixed in the rearview mirror.

“Well?” he asked without turning around.

Harry didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on the bakery, the faint golden light from the window casting a gentle glow onto the sidewalk.

Ash shifted. “She’s got no idea, does she?”

“No,” Harry said quietly.

Ash turned in his seat just enough to look at him. “And you’re not gonna tell her.”

“Not yet.”

Silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy in the dark interior of the SUV. Ash ran a hand down his jaw, clearly debating how much to say.

“You know how this goes,” he said eventually. “You get close to something soft, and someone else will use it to hurt you.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

“So why risk it?”

Another long pause. Harry's fingers drummed once on his knee before he finally spoke, voice low and unreadable.

“Because for once...I want something that doesn’t come with blood on it.”

Ash stared at him for a beat, then turned slowly to face forward again.

“Then you’d better be ready to bleed for it.”

It was a late night. Late nights in the office always felt strange—quiet and oddly intimate—but you didn’t mind at all. Just a few months ago, you had landed your dream job: Creative Assistant to the CEO of Pleasing. The title alone sounded impressive, but the perks? Even better. Flexible hours, generous benefits, and the freedom to manage your own schedule on certain days. It was everything you’d hoped for.

But the real dream? That was Harry Styles.

Harry was a force of nature—successful, sharp, and effortlessly charismatic. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that seemed to be his signature. The faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air whenever he passed by, a scent you couldn’t place but would recognize anywhere. And then there was his demeanor: respectful, composed, and so disarmingly kind that it almost felt unfair.

Tonight, though, the air in his office felt different. It was just the two of you. Everyone else had already gone home, but with the project nearing completion and half the marketing team either on vacation or out on maternity leave, the workload had piled up. 

“Alright,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rummaged through a stack of papers. “We’ve got the main framework done, but we still need to draft some scenarios for the campaign since the focus group couldn’t deliver.”

You glanced up from your laptop, frowning. “But how are we supposed to do that? We need feedback from the potential users for each specific scenario they proposed.”

Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, a small, confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it ourselves,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to make sense of his calm demeanor. “What do you mean we’ll do it?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile growing as if he was letting you in on some great secret. “Roleplay,” he said casually, the word hanging in the air between you.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, your brow furrowing as you tried to process his words.

“We’ll act out the scenarios ourselves,” he explained. “It doesn’t need to be Oscar-worthy, just convincing enough to predict how well each idea might sell.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay… I mean, I’m not exactly an actress,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping, “but if it helps finish this project, I’ll give it my best shot.”

His lips curved into a small smile— “That’s the spirit,” he said, glancing at the papers spread across his desk. “Let’s start with the luxury skincare line scenario. Imagine you’re the target customer—fancy, discerning, and effortlessly chic.”

You straighten your posture, pretending to smooth an imaginary designer coat, and adopted your best posh accent. “Oh, darling,” you began, with an exaggerated wave of your hand, “I simply must have that serum. It’s the fountain of youth bottled, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but tone it down just a bit,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Think confident, not cartoon-ish”

“Right,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying again. As the exercise continued, his focus on the scenarios was unwavering, but there was something about his presence—calm yet bossy—that made the small office feel more intimate.”Stop laughing!” 

“I’m not, i’m sorry…continue” he said obviously holding back a laughter that tried to disguise as a smile

Each line you spoke, each moment of collaboration, seemed to shift the atmosphere slightly. You weren’t sure if it was the late hour or the proximity, but it felt as though the boundaries between professional and personal had started to blur, ever so slightly.

Harry glanced at the next sheet of paper in the pile, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—anticipation, maybe? “Alright, now let’s switch gears,” he said, holding the paper up. “This one’s targeted at men. The campaign focuses on nail polish as a statement piece for confidence and individuality.” he read.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And who’s playing the confident, self-expressive man?”

His gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That would be me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the image of Harry Styles—polished, corporate Harry—role-playing as a nail-polish-loving trendsetter suddenly lighting up your night. “Alright then, Mr. CEO. Show me how it’s done.”

He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of nail polish. Black, of course. “We’ll use this as a prop,” he said casually.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“It’s from one of the older product lines,” he replied, shaking the bottle lightly. “Okay, here’s the scenario. You’re the interviewer, and I’m the guy explaining why nail polish isn’t just for women—it’s about breaking boundaries, blah blah blah”

You leaned forward, picking up a pen as if it were a microphone. “Alright, sir,” you began, adopting a mock-serious tone, “what inspired you to wear nail polish?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He extended his hand, pretending to examine his nails like a pro. “Confidence,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not about following trends; it’s about creating them. Nail polish isn’t just color—it’s an attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fully immersed in the act now. “And what does black say about your attitude?”

“It says I know who I am,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that momentarily made you forget this was all pretend. “Strong. Bold. Unapologetic.”

You faltered, your pen lowering slightly as you tried to keep the playful mood intact. “That’s... a very convincing pitch,” you admitted, your voice softening.

Harry smiled, uncapping the bottle and holding it out toward you. “Want to try?”

You blinked, surprised. “You want to paint my nails?”

He shrugged, still holding the bottle steady. “Why not? Consider it part of the roleplay.” You hesitated, glancing between him and the tiny bottle of polish. “Alright,” you said, holding out your hand with a mix of curiosity and nerves. “But if this ends up a mess, It’s on you.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle as they held yours. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping the brush into the black polish. “I have a steady hand. You’ll be fine.”

The first stroke of the brush sent a shiver up your spine, the cool polish meeting your nail while his grip remained firm yet careful. “You’re oddly good at this,” you said, watching as he filled in the nail with precision.

He glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Years of being in this business, love. You pick up a thing or two.”

Your heart stuttered at the casual “love” nickname, though you weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it. You shifted slightly in your chair, trying to play it cool. “So, is this part of your usual day? Painting nails after hours?”

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the task. “Not exactly. You’re the first.”

Something about the way he said it—low and intentional—made the air between you feel thicker. You swallowed, feeling his thumb brush lightly against your knuckle as he moved to the next nail.

“Done,” he said finally, releasing your hand and holding it up to inspect his work. The glossy black polish caught the light, neat and perfect. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

You looked at your hand, then back at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Styles. You might be working on the wrong department”

“Ready for the next scenario?”

“Ready”

He reached for another paper, scanning it briefly before meeting your gaze. “We’re supposed to act as a married couple discussing which products fit into their daily routine.”

Your stomach flipped, though you weren’t sure why. “A married couple?”

“Yep,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “We’ll set it up in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, and you…” He gestured toward the mock product setup on the counter. “You can decide which items fit into our routine, like something we both can share”

You followed him to the makeshift set, your polished hand still tingling from his touch. As he walked, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly looking far more casual—and far more distracting.

“So,” he said, moving behind the counter and grabbing a prop mug, “how long have we been married?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “How long do you think we’d last?”

His lips twitched into a sly smile. “Forever, obviously. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Your cheeks flushed despite yourself, and you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Alright then, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see how good you really are at this.”

You stood in the imaginary kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer from the array of products set out on the counter. Harry leaned casually against the opposite side, arms crossed, the tie around his neck loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome.

“So, darling,” he began, his tone dripping with mock affection, “are we really going to argue about whose moisturizer is better again?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up one of the bottles. “Well, Mr. Styles, when your so-called favorite leaves your skin looking like it’s been through a desert, I think it’s fair to say mine is better.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and picking up another bottle. “Excuse me, but this—” he pointed at the label, feigning offense—“is luxury. You just don’t appreciate the finer things.”

“Luxury doesn’t mean effective,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips. “And besides, we both know you’ve been stealing mine anyway.”

He smirked, setting the bottle down and closing the distance between you in two easy steps. “Caught me,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But can you blame me? Yours smells better. And…” His eyes flickered over you, playful but intense. “It works.”

You froze, the playful banter suddenly charged with something else. Harry’s presence was overwhelming, the way his voice dipped and the heat in his gaze as he looked at you made the air in the room feel heavier.

“So,” you said, trying to regain control of the moment, “does that mean you’ll finally admit mine’s the better choice?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, though the teasing edge in his voice had softened. His hand brushed past yours as he reached for the product, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the moisturizer as if it were your lifeline. “Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the moisturizer anymore. He was looking at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. His hand lingered on the counter next to yours, the proximity making your pulse quicken. He took a step closer. Inches away.

“Harry…” you began, but your voice faltered.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. “If this isn’t okay…”

But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your pulse racing. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“This doesn’t feel like roleplay anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Good,” he said simply before his lips met yours.

The kiss started slowly, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The desk pressed against your back, and all thoughts of work, scenarios, and professionalism melted away.

His lips left yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw and neck as his hands explored, his touch igniting every nerve. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he whispered against your skin, “pretending this wasn’t on my mind.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gasped softly. “We shouldn’t—”

“But we are,” he cut in, his voice firm yet laced with desire. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

“I do,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his lips finding yours again as the world outside his office ceased to exist. you could feel his growing thickness against your thigh, and a surge of anticipation shot through you.

It was risky. It was unprofessional. But god, did it feel right.

He pushed your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down. His breath was warm against your skin, the faint stubble of his jaw rough and enticing.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your heart pounding with every brush of his lips against your skin. and the heat and wetness between your legs just growing bigger and bigger by the second

As he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch, a new, raw sensation overtook you. He was unraveling you—piece by piece, moment by moment—until all that remained was need.

When his mouth finally found the place between your thighs, you had to bite back a moan. His tongue was slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you until he found the perfect spot. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as the sensations overwhelmed you.

His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you in place as he worked his magic. When your orgasm began to build, it felt like nothing you had experienced before—hot, heavy, and urgent. It swept over you, making your legs tremble and your breath catch.

Afterwards, he stood up and leaned over you, a smug grin on his face. "My perfect wife" he said in almost a moan before capturing your lips again "Fucking perfect sweet wife"

"Fuck, Harry..."

"I'm not done yet"

Before you could process his words, he pulled off his boxers, and his cock was right there, thick and pulsing and begging for attention.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. You licked your lips.

He reached into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out a condom and tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth. The sound of his belt and zipper being undone sent a fresh wave of excitement through you. He slid the condom over his hard length and pressed into you, filling you with one smooth thrust.

"Oh god"

"God has nothing to do with this" his voice thick with lust

"Fuck, Harry, please"

"Please what?" he asked, his tone low and teasing “Use your words”

"Just fuck me"

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips snapped against yours, driving him deeper inside with every thrust. It was primal, urgent, and everything you didn't know you needed. You gripped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pounded into you.

The tension coiled in your belly, hot and electric. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit and drawing tight circles.

"Knew right when i chose you to be my wife" he said as if he was still roleplaying but god both of you were too far from it.

"You're mine" he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine"

"Yes"

"Say it"

"I'm yours"

He thrust into you harder, the edge of the desk pressing against your ass. He was relentless, his fingers and cock taking you apart bit by bit. "Gonna knock you up, fill you up with my babies"

Your toes curled at his words, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. It was wrong, so wrong, but the taboo only made it more exciting.

"God, yes"

He drove into you again and again, his rhythm frantic and desperate. "Gonna put a baby in m'wife"

Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper, you felt one hand on your ass gripping you tightly, him calling you wife made things twist inside you, this was a roleplay that wasn't in the work papers.

"Turn around" he demanded as he pulled back.

"What?"

"Now"

You turned around, tummy on the desk and raising your ass up. He slammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you against him.

"That's it, love, take it"

His words were filthy, but they only fueled the fire inside you. He reached around, his fingers finding your tightest hole teasing just a bit to see your reaction.

"Mmm, fuck. I can't wait to ruin this pretty little ass too"

He spit directly into your hole. He pressed against your entrance, pushing the tip of his finger in as his cock pounded into you. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

"More"

"Can't do more love i don't have lube in here and i don't want to hurt this pretty hole"

"Next time..." you breathed

"Next time" he echoed, his voice full of promise

You clenched around him, feeling the tension building. His breath was hot against your neck, his thrusts relentless. "Gonna fill you up, m'pretty wife"

"Yes"

"Come around my cock, Gonna put a baby in this tight fucking cunt"

That was it, that was all you needed to hear. Your orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking and breathless. He followed soon after filling up the condom, his cock pulsing inside you.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, the reality of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air. He pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. He helped you off the desk, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, your heartbeat still racing.

“My nail polish it’s ruined” you said breathlessly looking at your nails. the nail polish, all smudged.

“Oh love, i’m going to ruin more than nail polish on you”

------

“Ahhh, oh my god, Harry! So good!”

A high-pitched voice echoed through the apartment, repeating his name like a mantra, until it melted into something almost sacred, less like lust and more like worship, a breathless prayer wrapped in need. From what you could hear, which was almost everything, Harry was undoubtedly good. Too good maybe. The kind of good that turned otherwise sane, put-together girls into a mess of tangled limbs, and desperate cries.

The old, squeaky bed frame gave out its usual protest, rhythmic and sharp thuds against the wall, punctuated by a wet, obscene slick of bodies moving in unison and his guttural grunts. It all added to the soundtrack of his filthy and flawless performance.

”I’m close, I’m so close!”

Harry was a man who knew how to use his hands. He knew the language of touch like the back of his hand, the map of a woman's skin. He traced every curve like he was fluent in desire, knew exactly where to dip and press, when to graze and when to grip. His fingers were long, and sure, curled in just the right places, showing the kind of precision he learned over the years. And his mouth? Absolutely filthy. He knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to say it so it hit the soul and the clit in equal measure. The dirty sweet nothings that made legs buckle and throats dry. He didn’t just make his lovers moan, he made them cry out, scream until it echoed into the early morning. Girls loved him. Craved him. Needed him.

It wasn’t just the way he looked. His golden skin covered in tattoos like a piece of forgotten art, sleepy green eyes that saw everything yet gave away nothing, the lazy, deliberate way he moved like he had all the time in the world. It was much more than that. He was effortless chaos wrapped in wild charm and just enough danger to make him irresistible.

“Harry!”

There wasn’t a week that passed without at least one night like this with Harry’s latest pretty things over until the sun came up. And oh boy, they were completely wrecked. Moving on shaky legs with tousled hair and smudged mascara, with clothes crumpled from their quick ministrations the night before and now clinging on their frames in all the wrong ways. Some tried to linger, trying to catch Harry like a fish on the idea of breakfast and potentially something more. But most barely managed to whisper a shaky goodbye and slip out of the door, especially after you stepped into the kitchen in your mismatched pyjamas and with sleepy eyes, immediately enveloped by Harry's strong frame from behind and his usual ‘How did y’sleep, sweetheart?’ in a British accent mumbled in your ear.

That was the moment every girl lost it. Every. Single. Time.

“Fuck, that was- ugh amazing, fuck! The best I ever had!”

Harry was a walking sex. A living, breathing wet dream that the entire campus, hell the entire university, dreamed about. Whenever he strolled through the crowded hallways with his arm draped casually around your shoulders, heads turned. Girls, younger or older, even some professors, cast looks your way, their jealousy written across their faces.

Because no matter how many girls he made scream and come undone not only on his fingers, at the end of the day, it was you he came home to. You, he wrapped those strong arms around in the quiet moments. You, he crashed next to at 2AM, slipping into your bed like it was his own after whatever girl had left or passed out in his. He’d curl into your warmth, still all sweaty from his night ‘workout’. It felt like the only place he truly belonged to, knowing you’d always let him and pull him close. His sweet best friend, the one he let himself be soft for, let himself be seen. Though he’d never admit that to anyone.

“You’re so good Harry…”

Harry stirred something primal in people - respect, arousal, intrigue, the kind of attention that clung to him without effort. He wasn’t the bad guy stereotype, quite far from it. He didn’t break hearts just to watch them shatter into little pieces. But he wasn’t boyfriend material, nor the guy you proudly brought home to meet your parents either. He was sharp-edged and wild-hearted. Unruly in a way that made you want to unravel beside him.

And even while he might have had a reputation for ruining girls in his bed, he was a gentleman. Never treated women like they were a doormat, never made them feel small unless they begged for it. The degradation he gave was wrapped in silk and whispered with affection and real care deep down. In everyday life, Harry was the opposite of cruel. In fact, he loved women. Admired them, respected their power and softness.

For him, there was simply something about wild and untethered nights without any promises, words of love and feelings involved. Just skin against skin, girl’s moanings and pleasure for pleasure’s sake. Harry easily slipped into this lifestyle, feeding on physical hunger without the need to understand the heart behind it all. Intense but shallow, passionate but uncommitted.

He was simple in the most complex of ways. A man of appetite and need. If something was freely offered, he never turned it down. Especially, when it meant getting his mouth on a pretty girl, drowning in her scent and juices and losing himself in the softness of her thighs. He loved it. The way they moaned his name, the whimpers, the gasping cries. Every sound they made was breathy and pure ecstasy, and it stroked his ego just right.

“Mhm, see you around then?”

But those nights were only momentary. A flash of heat, pure bliss and marks on the skin that in no time turned into a dusty memory. For others, a brief stint in his orbit. But none of them lasted. None of them mattered.It was always you. You, who he trusted with his whole life. You, who came back to, again and again, no matter who had warmed his bed before. It was always you.

You’d known Harry long before he became the person he is now. That lanky boy with big dimples, ruffled hair and a habit of chewing the pencil he’d stolen from you during lectures. Back then, he wasn’t the guy who made girls lose their minds. He was sweet and funny, awkward too, until he found cocky confidence over the years. And the rest? Mostly stayed the same.

His skin gradually adored more tattoos, more poems written in ink. His wardrobe shifted into something bolder, more distinctive, more him. He started putting more effort into his appearance - his hair, shaving, whatever it is boys do, and began carrying himself like he knew exactly how magnetic he’d become. You watched him change like a flower in bloom, mesmerized by nature’s own art.

The first time you met was in high school. He’d been running late, and the only empty seat left was next to you. And somewhere between stolen pencils and library study sessions that turned into other kinds of conversations, the two of you, in some strange way, became best friends. The kind of best friends who know each other’s coffee orders, wear each other’s sweaters (especially Harry, your big pink one), who fall asleep on the couch with tangled limbs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. One would think it’s quite a simple recipe for such a strong friendship.

Yet through all the years, you haven’t even once let in your mind the thought of you and your best friend crossing the line into something romantic. Not seriously, anyway. Not in a way you let yourself feel. Not even when his voice drifted through the paper walls in your ear every other night like a lullaby, moaning low and deep, mixed with someone else’s breathless gasps.

You never found your place in his bedsheets like the other girls did. You’ve never been a part of that rollercoaster of flings and one-night stands. He never really said it out loud, but you were such a precious creature to him.

Because out of all the girls on campus, why would Harry choose you?

You only knew the basics of sex from high school biology lessons, where Harry spent more time teasing and flustering you than anything else, and the blurry pictures on textbook pages told you nothing. You giggled through poorly shot porn at sleepovers with your friends, watching out of curiosity more than desire. You didn’t know much. How to touch, or move, or arch your back like the girls in those videos. You weren’t like the kind of girls Harry usually found for his (un)usual company.You were just and only his best friend! His safe space. The one he came home to, unafraid to spill his insecurities. The one he rambled to about professors and whined at when you tried to make him study. The one he let see his worst moods and softest moments. That’s who you were to him. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was another Friday. Lectures were done for the day, schoolwork pushed out of the sight, and casual clothes were swapped for pyjamas and worn-in sweatpants, which could only mean one thing. A movie night.

It has become an unspoken tradition over the years. Every Friday night, without fail, the two of you fell into the same rhythm. You ordered pizza or takeout, argued for a good fifteen minutes over which cheesy movie to put on, only to settle for an old classic or something completely ridiculous, and curled up together on the couch. Limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket, your head resting somewhere on Harry’s chest or shoulder meanwhile his fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes, you get deep in the hole of philosophical questions. Other nights, you let yourselves get lost in the memories.

It was sacred. Something that was only yours and his. The only night where time slowed down and the weight of reality was lighter than a feather. Just you and Harry, a movie, and your shared apartment. Whenever things got hard, exams and pointless arguments, this night steadied you. It let you find the ground again or reach the clouds. It soothed you, melting all the tension from your shoulder until it all turned into oxygen you craved. It was the calm between chaos of your ordinary lives, where you let yourselves simply be.

“Where’s the pizza? I think I’m gonna die from hunger!” You groaned, throwing yourself dramatically onto the couch, sinking into the pile of pillows and blankets you’d prepared for the night. Everything was ready for your cuddles and chats, except for the food. Harry was on food duty tonight, and it felt like an eternity since he’d called in your usual orders from your favorite pizzeria.

“Oh no! We can’t have that, can we?” Harry’s laugh echoed from his bedroom. And a second later, he appeared in the doorway, already changed into grey sweatpants that hung too dangerously low on his hips and an old, worn band shirt he bought on the first concert you two went to together. Every time you’ve seen him in it, pleasant memories flew through your mind.

“Soon, sweetheart” He promised with his typical boyish grin, ruffling your already messy hair in passing. You whined in reaction and (unsuccessfully) tried to swat his hand away, only making him chuckle as he wandered into the kitchen to grab something cold to drink from the fridge.

Your gaze lingered on him a second longer than you intended, than you realized. You watched his muscles flex beneath the soft fabric of his shirt as he stretched up to grab two glasses from the cabinet. It was almost ridiculous how effortlessly attractive he was and how oblivious he seemed to it sometimes. Or maybe he just liked pretending he didn’t notice the way your eyes followed him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking.

“You’re staring again, baby” Harry mused, the teasing tone in his voice obvious even without him turning around to look at you. He poured himself a drink, and even though you couldn't see his face, you knew he had that cocky little smirk plastered on his lips.

“Am not!” Your cheeks flushed instantly, betraying your lie before you even realised it, and you pulled the blanket up to your chin as if it could somehow shield you from reality.

“Whatever you say” There was the typical flirtatious glint in the wink he sent your way before he plopped down on the couch beside you, handing you one of the full glasses of soda with a cheeky grin. Harry sprawled across the couch like the whole world belonged to him, his feet propped on the edge of the coffee table and his arm immediately found its way around you in a casual side hug. He loved having you close.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional buzz of your phones and the faint hum of the city outside the open windows. It was moments like this that made you forget about everything else and left only the two of you in your own little bubble.

“You know,…” Harry began after a long stretch of quiet, his voice lower, more serious, “these nights, they are actually the best part of my week.”

You blinked a few times, trying to process his words, caught off guard by the rare burst of raw honesty.

“You tried smoking weed again or something?” You teased him with a sarcastic chuckle, trying to mask how much his confession was actually making your heart race.

Harry laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and shook his head. “No, no, sweetheart, I’m staying loyal to cigarettes,” He swore, grinning at the memory of his disastrous first and only attempt at getting high. “I’m serious. It’s just…easy with you. Don’t have to think too much. Don’t have to pretend. Don’t have to try so hard for you…”

Your chest tightened with every word, your heart thudding against your ribs. You didn’t know where this was coming from, but you were so grateful for hearing it. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat. And then, like if everything was against you or wanted to actually save you, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it! You start looking for the movie, okay?” Harry said, pointing at you with a playful wag of his finger before peeling his arm away from around your shoulders. The sudden loss of his warmth made you shiver, and you instinctively curled tighter into the blanket as he pushed himself off the couch.

You watched him disappear in the hallway, listening to the low murmur of his voice at the door a moment later. Laughter, easy small talk, a generous tip handed over without a second thought, and then the soft thud of the door closing and locking again, sealing your little bubble safely back up.

“My savior!” You sang loudly, throwing your arms wide open as Harry walked back, the unmistakable scent of cheese and Italian seasoning trailing behind him. Your stomach growled on cue, the smell making you realize just how hungry you really were.

Harry chuckled at your reaction, holding the pizza box just out of your reach in an attempt to tease (and frustrate you) a little more. “Patience, sweets”

You grabbed the box greedily when he finally gave in, your fingers brushing against his briefly, but neither of you seemed to notice, or just didn’t think of mentioning it. You were too busy setting your boxes down on the coffee table, flipping them open to reveal the glorious sight of melted cheese, golden crust and your favorite topping scattered across.

“What’s that?” Harry mumbled with a mouth full of pizza, nodding towards the TV where you’d already picked the movie for the night. You’d seen most of what Netflix had to offer by now, but this particular one caught your attention. It was a movie from last year, still relatively fresh and new, tagged under romantic comedies. Harry loved to protest whenever you picked a romcom, but secretly? He was way too into it.

“Some new romcom. The description sounded fun. C’mon!” A small pout from you was all it took for him to be fully convinced, and with a dramatic sigh and mumbled ‘fine’, he pressed play on the remote.

You were about halfway through the movie when things started to shift. Your pizzas were almost gone, drinks were finished, and you were snuggled beneath Harry’s arm, his fingers occasionally toying with the strap of your tank top or tracing idle patterns on your skin.

You’d been surprisingly quiet, fully absorbed in the storyline. Now and then, one of you would make a comment that would send the other into a fit of laughter, but otherwise, you were both content and cozy.

Until a particular steamy scene started.

Harry’s attention drifted from the screen solely on you. He noticed the way you whimpered softly under your breath, the way your thighs pressed together just slightly, searching for some sort of friction. That your fingers grew restless and your body curled a little closer into his.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” Harry murmured into your hair, his hand giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze, coaxing a response.

A man was kissing his lover. His fingers traced her curves with precise touch, mouth claiming hers in a kiss that made her moan quietly. After months of pinning, he was finally getting a taste of her lips.

“Nothing,” You said quickly, shaking your head and sitting up straighter, trying to get your body back under control. 

You were hoping he’d let it go. But he never did. His eyes stayed on you, quietly observing the way you stared a little too intently at the screen, pretending like none of this was affecting you.

“It’s clearly something” He murmured near your ear, his voice soft, warm, but with the edge that made your stomach twist. He wasn’t teasing, like you would’ve expected. There was no mockery in his tone, just quiet curiosity. “C’mon.”

“Just uh… It’s just the movie” You said, too fast, too light. There was a beat of silence. Then another. You cleared your throat, trying again, this time slower, with a more steady voice. “It’s nothing.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. He didn’t challenge you or call you out. Instead, his fingers resumed their soft tracing along your skin, gentle and grounding. It was patient, soothing, like an offer to breathe, to take your time.

He was quiet about it. Like he was registering every small reaction - every shift, every unsteady breath, every way your body leaned just a little closer without even realizing it.

Not to push. Not to rush. But to understand. Like he already knew what was going on, and he was just waiting for you to catch up. Open up.

“Why can’t I have this too?” You whispered, the ache in your voice unmistakable. You longed for that kind of connection. The late-night kisses that would leave you breathless, the hickeys you’d struggle to hide, the kind of touch that turned your stomach inside out. The intimacy. The sex.

Harry shifted beside you, his hand gliding up into your hair. He began twirling a strand gently between his fingers, his nails lightly scratching your scalp in that way he knew calms you down. He hated when you started spiraling like this and got too deep in your own head.

“What do you mean?”

“I just… I want someone to kiss me like this too. To touch me. To love me.” A long sigh escaped you, as if the admission had been sitting on your chest for too long.

“You should have that all. You deserve it, baby. Every. Single. Bit.” He said finally, his voice steady and sure. There was no trace of pity or sugarcoated empty words meant to soothe. Just the truth. Simple, quiet, firm. Said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry never understood how no one had seen you for what you truly were. How they could pass you by without even stopping, like if you weren’t something extraordinary.

You were sweet in the most effortless way, stunning even when your hair was a mess and your face was clean of makeup. You didn’t need to be polished or perfect, there was something real and raw that made you simply glow. You were like a walking angel. So pure and innocent.

Your kindness was performative. It was stitched deep in your bones. You’d drop everything if it meant helping someone else stand a little taller. And you were absolutely brilliant. So incredibly smart it sometimes left him speechless. Honestly, he didn’t know where he’d be without you. Lost, probably.

“I just want to finally have my first kiss…” You murmured, the words slipping out in a soft, wistful whine, like a little girl dreaming of her Barbie dream house.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, only thick with thought, stretched between you softly. Your attention drifted back to the movie playing on the screen, though the images blurred in your mind, your mind occupied the you'd just let slip.

“Would it be that bad of an idea?” You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, resting your chin on his broad shoulder, eyes flicking up to catch his reaction.

The steamy scene continued, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere. On-screen, the woman gasped each time her lover’s lips pressed against her skin with devotion, marking her as his own. The soft moans and rustle of sheets played like a soundtrack to your heartbeat.

Harry turned his head toward you slowly, his face lacking in emotion. Blank like a love letter that awaited to be written. Not cold, but impossible to make out either. He reached up and gently tucked a stray of your hair behind your ear with so much care, it made your chest tighten.

“You know I would do anything for you”

The words left his mouth without hesitation, steady and sincere, like he’d known the answer before you’d even asked.

“Yeah?” You breathed out, almost afraid to believe it.

“Of course. But uh…” He stuttered, his thumb tracing soft, slow strokes across your cheek. The motion made your eyes flutter, your body leaning instinctively in his touch like a kitten starved for affection. If you could purr, you would start immediately within a second right in his hands. “Do you want it to be me, baby?”

Your throat tightened, but your words came out anyway, trembling yet honest. “You’re better than anyone else.”

It scared you how true it was. How badly you meant it. Because the only thing worse than wanting him to kiss you was the thought of losing him.

“Okay, okay. We can try then… C’mere.”

Harry’s British accent broke the heavy hush in the room, grounding you, welcoming you, telling you that you’re safe with him.

“Um… like- like on your lap?” You asked in a whisper, the words catching awkwardly on your tongue. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, a little too hard, almost enough to draw blood, as you straightened up in his arms again. Everything inside you buzzed with nerves and anticipation. Your limbs felt foreign, like they weren’t entirely yours anymore, like they hadn’t adapted yet.

Harry let out a soft puff of laughter through his nose, not in a mocking way, just warm and genuinely amused. “Yeah, silly girl.” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve sat in my lap before. C’mon, it’s okay.”

You hesitated for a moment, just long enough to let your nerves crawl under your skin like a static, but Harry’s touch on you was steadying, grounding you. He slid his free around your waist, giving it the softest squeeze. A quiet, wordless promise.

You shifted slowly from your place, climbing into his lap like a muscle memory. Like all these years before in drunk slumbers and laughter, only this time there was humming something else beneath your skin than alcohol.

It felt almost clumsy at first, awkward in the most achingly human way. Your knees bracketed either side of his hips, and your hands instinctively found his chest, steadying yourself as your palms met the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat strong beneath your touch, rhythmic and calm. And Harry didn’t rush you. He didn’t tease. He just held you patiently and tightly, like if you weren’t toeing the edge of something so fragile.

“See? Nothing to be scared of with me.” he whispered, voice barely above the rustle of the blanket beneath you. “You can change your mind, you know. I won’t be mad. You set the rules here.”

“No, I’m fine. I just don’t know what uh, how-” You stumbled over your words, the weight of his gaze made you feel like a small, clueless girl who didn’t belong in this moment. Not when it came with your inexperience in something as simple yet monumental as kissing.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Harry murmured softly and began rubbing slow, soothing circles into your arms, trying to coax the tension out of your body. “You’re so tensed, baby.”

A quiet huff of frustration escaped your lips as you tried to shake out your limbs to force the anxiety out. You hated that your nerves were betraying you like this.

Once your breathing evened out a little, he reached up, his left hand gliding up to the side of your neck with practiced ease. His fingers were gentle but sure, angling your head just slightly to his wanting, thumb grazing the flutter of your pulse point from time to time.

Your breath hitched when he leaned in. His nose brushed softly against your cheek, dragging a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Then his lips joined the same path, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin, slow and deliberate, a wordless message of reassurance in each.

“Lemme kiss on you for a bit.” he whispered against your jaw, his breath hot. “We’ll get you calm. It'll feel so much nicer then, I promise.” Another kiss, this one closer to his final destination. “Don’t think too hard, sweetheart. Just… feel.”

As Harry pressed gentle kisses along your cheeks and jaw, your hands became restless. You didn’t know where to place them, what to hold onto, how to touch him in a way that felt natural. The slight tremor in your fingers didn’t help either. Eventually, you reached for his free hand that was resting loosely on your side, holding you in place, and laced your fingers through his, guiding your intertwined hands in your lap.

“You’re still doing okay?” he asked gently, pulling back just enough for your breaths to mix. His voice low and tender. “We can stop if you want.”

“Mhm… don’t- don’t stop.” It came out more shaky than you wanted, but still sure. You squeezed his hand in what was supposed to be (your) reassurance. He responded instantly, giving your fingers a firm but gentle squeeze in return.“Take a deep breath for me, yeah? In and out… That’s it. Good girl.” The words wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Harry tried everything to soothe you as much as it was possible. Yet your nervousness was adorable to him. how stressed out you were over something as kissing, something he did almost every night without thinking.

And a few moments later, his lips found yours.

They were warm and impossibly soft, like cushions brushed in the slightest trace of smoke he must’ve had earlier. It wasn’t quite a kiss, not yet. More of a hesitant touch. Lips brushing, delicate and unsure. A question, not a statement. You tilted your head slightly, testing the angle, testing the feeling. Trying to learn him.

The next kiss was fuller, a proper press of lips on lips. No longer just testing the waters, but committing to it deeply. You could feel the corners of Harry’s mouth curve upward into a subtle smile the moment you mirrored the motion of his lips with newfound confidence. His hand slid from your jaw to cradle your cheek, fingers spreading gently, thumb brushing over the reddening skin in soft motions. The softness of his touch grounded you, even when your heart felt like it could burst out of your chest at any given moment. He held you close like the most precious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but wonder, if he touched the girls he had overnight the same way or if you were special.

You exchanged soft pecks and gentle kisses for what felt like minutes, maybe more, you lost track of time right after his lips were on yours. Each kiss grew a little bolder and deeper. Every so often, one of you sighed into the other’s lips, or tentatively brushed in a curious lick. “You’re doing so good, sweets. Open up your mouth a little, yeah?” Harry murmured between kisses and with a small peck to the corner of your mouth dived back in. This time, his tongue flicked gently against your lower lip, tasting you, asking without force.

The room had fallen into a hush of quiet noises - occasional whimpers and wet sounds of your lips. The movie still played in the background, long forgotten, only the light coming from the TV reminded you of it with colorful shadows across the walls.

You parted your lips just slightly as he asked, enough for him to deepen the kiss, enveloping you like a warm cocoon in the moment. His tongue stroked gently past yours in a motion that made your stomach twist and your fingers clutch his tighter in surprise. Harry immediately sensed the shift in your body, the new tension clutching at your limbs, and pulled back just a little, replacing the intensity with a series of softer pecks, grounding you again with the calm rhythm of his thumb on your cheek. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, breathless and wide-eyed. “I didn’t know it would feel this… this intense,” You finally breathed out, barely finding your voice and opened your eyes to look up at him. And with the one single look full of something unspoken he gave you, you were completely gone.

Harry was quiet for a while, watching you, how your chest rose and fell too quickly and your shoulders still held the tension of uncertainty. But nothing about it felt wrong. Not even your lingering nervousness. Everything felt exactly as it should be. In this moment, with you two finally together.

“Intense?” His voice was quiet, like if he didn't want to startle you even more, not that he could. His touch grew even more gentle as he reached up, brushing a strand of our hair behind your ear. “Bad intense or good intense?”

“Good intense. It feels like… a lot. Right here.” You brought your intertwined hands up between you and guided his palm to your chest, right where your heart thudded wildly beneath your ribs. He felt the subtle moving of your muscles and you could see his smile softening, one corner of his mouth tugged up again. “But it feels so good.”

“That’s normal. Means it’s real. We are.” The words felt like the most precious thing you wanted to treasure forever. Lock it in the coffer and swallow the key. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, gentle and light, and it made you giggle, loud enough to ease the tense atmosphere.

“You’re my favorite person ever, you know that?” Harry murmured, his lips brushing barely against yours in a whisper of a kiss. His fingers were buried in your hair, mindlessly wrapping strands around them the way he always had. A habit he never seemed to outgrow.

“Do you tell that to every girl you kiss?” You couldn't stop yourself from asking. The question was laced with a vulnerability you didn’t want him to see. But it would burn your tongue if you kept it in a second longer. This situation was getting more dangerous with each touch and word, pulling you into depth you couldn’t crawl away from.

“Just you.” He finally leaned in and stole the breath right from your lungs with the touch of sincerity. There was no rush, no pressure. It was the kind of kiss that told you more than words could. It was everything.

Your lips moved with his, slow at first, but growing more confident as the time passed. The rhythm between you got bigger meaning than the word ‘natural’ had. Your free hand slid up at the side of his neck, fingertips massaging muscles on his neck with pressure and softness at once. Harry hummed quietly in response, a sound that vibrated more through your chest and down to your core than ringed in your ears. A wordless answer, a praise at how good you were doing. He kissed you again, and again, until your mind went quiet. Until you became the definition of being kissed senseless by the boy who knew your heart better than anyone else ever would.

Minutes slipped by unnoticed when you pulled back, just enough to let your forehead rest against his. Your breaths mingled in the small space between you, hot and uneven, slowly syncing as your lips tingled, still swollen from his kisses. Your brain felt mushy, your thoughts scattered somewhere between the couch cushions and the soft curve of his mouth. There was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. Held, tender and safe.

Your chest heaved in a shaky rhythm as you tried to find your voice again, managing only a breathless whimper that instantly caught his attention. “I- uh I think we have a problem.”

Harry blinked at you sleepily, still caught in the dazed haze of making out. “Huh?” His brows furrowed as he squinted at you, clearly confused, like his brain hadn’t fully caught up with the words that left your lips. His grip on you subtly tightened, grounding you both in case whatever was going through your mind might shatter something between you.

You glanced away for a split second, cheeks heating as you tried to gather your courage again. “I’m gonna need your kisses every day after that…” Your voice was light and honest, but laced with something deeper. It was more than just admitting a passing joke. It was real. And it felt too right to regret.

You saw emotions swirl and shift across Harry’s face. He was stunned, caught completely off guard by your words, frozen for a beat before a loud, genuine laugh burst from his chest, vibrating through yours. “Baby!” He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close like he couldn’t physically contain the joy bubbling inside him.

He peppered your skin there with chaste kisses and loud smooches that left big ‘mwah’ sounds behind, before pulling back just far enough to meet your eyes again, grinning like a fool.