Nevertheless, any odd drunk flirtations that had occurred within the timeline of their friendship was thrown straight into the never-talk-about-it-again bin ever when Y/N moved in with Harry. Despite the intensified suspicions of their friends, the two had maintained their argument that decision was exclusively a supply-and-demand scenario. Y/N needed a new place after her landlord suddenly decided he was going to sell the apartment, and Harry was the only person with a spare room. At least, the only person Y/N wanted to move in with on such short notice.

The persistent teasing of their friends did somehow fuel a determination inside Y/N and Harry to make it work as purely platonic roommates. In the process, they'd become very open with eachother, about everything. But Y/N never thought she'd ever land in the situation she found herself in tonight.

"I'm so sorry Harry." Y/N said, her widened eyes fixated on Harry's pants. "...Does it hurt?"

Harry awkwardly upturned the corner of his lips. "Yeah, but it's not your fault, really."

"Yes it is! I gave you the Viagra!"

For Harry's birthday, Y/N thought it would be hilarious to give him a set of sex dice (the ones that give you a position and location after rolling them) and a packet of viagra she'd once spotted at the local sex store. Since terms such as TMI had been long foregone, Harry had actually told Y/N quite a lot about all of his erotic affair. Even the embarrassing ones, such as the ending of his last date before exam season, where he'd lasted an "embarrassingly short time."Harry was far from incompetent, it was only that he had been temporarily—involuntarily—celibate due to exams and holiday season. Y/N thought the present would be a good laugh, and it turned out to be the case. Harry had even jokingly said he'd try it out next time. Though, Y/N hadn't thought he was serious.

A few days later, when the weekend had finally rolled around, Harry went on a date with a girl. Both Y/N and Harry had known her from parties where she shamelessly hit on Harry. Y/N wasted no time making outdoor plans after learning who Harry was going on a date with. She wanted him to have the chance to redeem himself, sexually that is.

The date went well—Y/N learned from intermittent texts—and the girl ended up suggesting they both take the Viagra after Harry jokingly mentioned it to her. It didn't take long for it to kick in; Harry was already rock hard as he grabbed the both of them a drink. He was about to have the best sex of his life— and then the phone rang.

Harry didn't hear exactly what was being said, but only because the shrillness of the voice on the other side was inaudible. His date had to hold the phone a few inches away from her face in order to understand what was being said. Though, after learning what exactly made the caller sound like an ambulance, the girl rushed for her jacket and keys. Her best friend had just found her boyfriend cheating on her in her own bed, and she needed to pick her up from the apartment that she was trapped in with the boyfriend and the side chick. Harry offered to go with her, but she refused, and he wasn't reminded until he had sat down on the couch—disappointed that he couldn't test out his durability with the viagra—that he had taken the pill.

After a few stressed google searches and a meek attempt to sleep it off, Harry had concluded that he was just going to have to wait until it went away. He'd informed Y/N it was safe to come home, and to his surprise she walked through the door no longer than fifteen minutes later. Safe to say, she was shocked when met with the state of him.

"You gave it as a joke." Harry replied to Y/N, whose worry did not seem to lessen at the reassurance.

"It was a semi-joke!" Y/N's stressed voice making it seem as if she'd singlehandedly ruined his life. As she spoke, the nervousness of her voice began to subside into a muffled chuckle. Harry raised the brow at te sudden display of glee. She looked down, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to crack on her face. "And—there's... nothing semi about this situation."

It was only a split second that Y/N eyed Harry—just to check if she hadn't crossed the line—but as soon as she did, the both of them broke out in laughter. It took over a minute for either of them to gain their composure, but Harry was the first one to return to neutrality, the movement of his laughter straining in his dick too much. Even the friction from his pants hurt.

"No, I'm serious," Y/N said as the last of her giggles faded. "I feel guilty as hell. I swear, if I could make it better I would." She said with a smile, one that Harry returned. Y/N's eyes floated down to the tight crotch area of Harry's pants. Her tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper, Y/N swallowed. She could only imagine how annoying it would be to be so incredibly sensitive that every touch is almost too much. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way. Except... maybe—

Harry reached out his hand, sympathetically stroking Y/N's arm. The sensation of his fingertips sent an unexpected zap of electricity to her lower stomach, and her eyes widened as she felt the hairs on her arm stand up. She'd gotten goosebumps. From her best friend's touch, And— she was... horny? Oh my god! She had become aroused at the outline of her friend's boner! A pang of guilt flew through her at the speed of light, before it was trumped by something more powerful: a really good—potentially very bad—idea.

Y/N shifted from her position on the couch, and crawled onto Harry's lap. He quickly opened his eyes, hands flying to her hips. It had not been the first time Y/N had sat on his lap, but it was the first time she was facing him while doing so.

"What are you doing?" The resistance dripping from his voice echoed in her mind, but Y/N cast it away. No, this was a good solution. She was helping out a friend in need. Sure, a friend in sexual need, but must that make such a difference?

"I'm helping you get rid of this." Her eyes darted to the situation in Harry's trousers. "If you want to, that is."

It was as if time had stood still for a moment, except it hadn't. Y/N heard the ticks of the big clock mounted on their living room wall. It was Harry that had become frozen, then melted into movement with a sigh. "Y/N, you don't have to do this. It's not your fault. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin anything."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N tried to sound as convincing as possible in her response. "Harry, I want to do this. It doesn't have to mean anything, we'll just treat it like a one and done thing. We can forget about it afterwards."

"I don't know about that... I mean, I don't want to force—"

"Harry Edward Styles. If I was dying and you'd have to give me mouth to mouth, would you hesitate just because you were scared of forcing yourself on me? Exactly. I didn't think so," She interrupted him, engulfed in a wave of determination. Perhaps it was the combination of guilt and arousal that made her talk like a motivational speaker. Nevertheless, she was convinced of her own argument.

"I'm not dying."

"Your dick is."

"No it's not!"

"Well— it's a metaphor!" Y/N exclaimed, furrowing her brows. Harry let out a laugh.

"Your mouth is a metaphor for my dick?" He asked. Y/N opened her mouth to answer it, but was quick to close it again. Harry did his best not to break out in a smile as he watched her think.

"Yeah I can see how that could be confusing." She said after a moment of consideration, then shook her head. "But that's not my point."

"What's your point."

"My point is— will you just let me fuck you?"

Harry fell quiet, and as his eyes traced Y/N, something came over him. As if a thick hand of truth had slapped him in the face, Harry suddenly seemed to realize that he was actively rejecting a girl that was begging to fuck him. Not to mention, a ridiculously beautiful girl, who had participated—if not starred— in his fantasies more than enough times.

"Okay. Fuck it."

"I will." Y/N smirked mischievously. Leaning back, she reached for the display cabinet and grabbed the dusty dice she'd given Harry for his birthday. She settled back into his lap, and opened her palm. "But first... Roll the dice."

"Y/N..." Harry muttered, rubbing his hands over his jeans. He was being very shy about all of this, contrary to Y/N's expectations. From all the stories of Harry's sexual escapades she'd heard through the grapevine, she had concluded that Harry was very sure of himself, if not a bit cocky, in bed. It's why she knew he wouldn't be weired out by the silly birthday gifts in the first place.

"What? Just see it as an extension of your birthday gift."

Harry shook his head, sputtering out a laugh rooted in some sort of feeling of disbelief, and rolled the dice. The yellow one, depicting different positions, conveniently landed on the cowgirl position. The pink one rolled a little bit longer, but it stopped rolling right on 'living room'. Slowly, Y/N turned her head to Harry, and once she'd met her friend's eyes, she broke out in a fit of giggles. She never laughed as much as when she was with Harry, but this was different. She was nervous.

"Wow, this was really meant to happen." Y/N joked the nerves away, and began to unbutton her top. A short string of curse words sounded from just below her, and Y/N looked up to find Harry's gaze fixated on her upper body.

Y/N wasn't one for subtlety or prudishness. The constant objectification Y/N had been confronted with since she was a teenager had made her play into thisapparent promiscuity of hers. It was definitely an attempt to regain some of the control that was often taken away from her in the form of vulgar glances and rude comments, but eventually it just became a habit to be extra forthcoming about anything sexual. Especially within the friend group of Y/N and Harry, everyone was comfrotable enough to sleep in the same beds, eat from the same plates, and undress in front of each other. It was why she didn't understand Harry's shock at the sight of her in a bra.

"Oh c'mon," She gave him a little push on his shoulder. "Don't act like you've never seen me in my underwear before."

"I haven't." Harry's eyes trailed upwards, curiously roaming over her chest before they landed on hers. "I always look away."

If Y/N didn't know any better, she would've thought Harry was slightly offended at her comment. Looking in his eyes, it really didn't seem like he was joking. Something strange poured into Y/N's chest, and for a second she swore that her heart had grown an inch. Never before had she met a guy as respectful as Harry. One way or another, at some point in the relationship, any guy Y/N was friends with or had dated, managed to make her feel objectified. Harry was the only one who never had. When guys looked at her, all they concentrated on was a pair of tits, and in a strange, and somewhat sad way, Y/N had gotten used to it. She knew how to handle guys like that. A guy like Harry, however, she had never encountered in this capacity. So respectful that it actually frustrated her.

"God why do you have to be such a good person?"

In a swift move, Y/N grabbed Harry's shirt and pulled him forward, planting her lips on his. The surprising action delayed Harry's reaction with a second or two, but as soon as he had regained his senses, it was impossible to stop the escalation that followed.

His tongue slowly entered her mouth, taking his time to get to know every inch of it as the room heated up. Y/N's core wetted at the restrained passion Harry showered her with, despite his less than favorable situation. She thought he'd pounce on her like an animal, but he was being tactful, and that notion only made her want it more. Unconsciously, Y/N began grinding on Harry's aching cock. He let out a groan into her mouth at the friction, tightening his grip on the back of her head before leaning back.

"Can I just fuck you? I swear I'm normally very much into foreplay, but I really need to be inside you. I promise I'll make you come." Harry asked desperately, already on the edge of heaving. She felt a gush of arousal wetting her panties even further as he spoke, and was quick to nod.

"Yeah, just go ahead, don't worry about me. You're the one with the painful situation here." Y/N said, watching Harry take his cock out of his pants. She had to remind herself to keep her lips sealed, otherwise she'd be looking at it with a slacked jaw. He was even bigger than she'd imagined—because yes, she may have dreamt about it once.

"I can't do that, doll. I get off on making my partner feel good."

"Doll?" Y/N tilted her head, her pussy heating up. "Is that the nickname you use for every girl?"

"I just call them whatever they remind me of." Harry replied, his fingers running through the strands of hair near her face. "You've got big eyes, big lips, pink cheeks. Just like a doll."

Y/N hummed, her stomach flipping around as she tried to conjure up a clever response. But it seemed that Harry had rendered her speechless, at least in terms of any reply that wouldn't change the entire trajectory of their treasured friendship. She decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Smiling, she joked: "So... I'm your partner now?"

"Partner in crime." Harry nodded. A chuckle fell from her lips as she adjusted herself to line up with Harry's cock.

"More like partner in crisis situation." Y/N corrected before sinking onto his dick.

Harry threw his head back, letting out a groan. Whether it was one of agony or relief, she couldn't exactly tell. What she could conclude was how marvelous he felt inside of her. Sure, it hurt a bit, but he filled her up in a way she'd only ever read about. Now she knew what those filthy books of her were talking about. This was what being 'full' felt like.

"Oh..." Y/N moaned softly, rolling her hips in a soft pace. Harry seemed to agree with the statement, a small hum sounding right through his heavy breathing. Holding onto his shoulders, she began to move in an upward and downward motion. She knew she would tire quickly, but she also knew that this would feel the best for Harry.

She wasn't wrong in her assumptions. Harry clasped onto her ass, his fingers digging almost painfully into her skin. Maybe it was painful in its entirety, but Y/N felt a great deal of pleasure in the tight grip, and grew wetter at the flashing image of two handprints on her ass. Her concentration was accompanied by moans, and as Y/N dedicatedly rode Harry, she watched him fall apart, re-emerging a deluded man.

"Shit, shit—I'm going to come. Fuck it feels so fucking good..." He groaned the pleasure and pain seemingly lying on an equally thin line to him as to Y/N. The words were a bit of a surprise to Y/N. She had only been riding him for a few minutes. Had it truly been that dire of a situation? Clearly, Y/N had underestimated the workings of Viagra. Not being at her athletic limit yet, she decided to speed up a bit and try to make him come faster. Within a minute, Harry's sperm coated her walls, and his head was resting on her chest. She bit her lip, somehow feeling the need to throw a veil of nonchalance over her body, protecting her from the truth, which sounded an awful lot like she didn't ever want to forget about this.

"Feel better?" She asked.

"I'm not done yet." Harry looked up at her, his furrowed brows a testament of the determination that equally presented itself in his voice. Y/N rolled her eyes in a feeble attempt to maintain some of that indifference she'd burdened herself with, but her body betrayed her, clenching around Harry's cock that had still been stuffed inside her.

"Harry, seriously, you don't have to—"

"Can you please just shut up for once and let me take care of you? Please?"

Not only was Harry surprised by his stern words, he was baffled by the fact that Y/N did what he said. Some hybrid form of a choked laugh and cough left him, as he witnessed his best friend in pure silence, awaiting his next move. He leaned forward, his fingertips tracing the band of her bra, and unhooking it at the back. The room seemed to brighten at the bare sight of Y/N, or perhaps that had to do with the celestial power she seemed to have over Harry. Either way, it was a blessing, and Harry quickly took his own shirt off.

Harry had cursed himself more than enough times for insisting there was nothing more than frienship between him and Y/N. Harry functioned on a default setting of 'playing it safe.' Only like who likes you first and you'll never risk getting hurt. It was a simple and effective philosophy, but in the most important part of his life, it had bitten him in the ass. Y/N was perfect, and his fear of unreciprocated feelings made him park himself right in the friendzone, staking out the territory without ever even giving Y/N the chance to suggest she might be romantically interested in him as well. 

If it wasn't for his stupid actions and her daring move, they would probably never have crossed that delicately drawn line. For a moment, Harry's mind wandered off to the question of 'what if?' What if he had just told her how he felt before? How many times could he have seen her like this? Felt her this close to him? But he closed his eyes for a moment, wiping the questions from the front of his mind. There was no going back to the past, he thought, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take the present for granted. Harry leaned forward, holding Y/N with one arm as he grabbed the dice from the salon table. 

"Your turn." He said, putting the dice in Y/N's hand. Eyes slight squinted, she began inspecting the dice, and after carefully examining every side, pointed to a missionary position with the receiver's legs up and slung over the giver's shoulder. 

"This one.”

Harry threw his head back in a laugh. "That's not how it works." 

"Alright, I'll just take of this myself—" She sighed, and pushed herself upwards, Harry's cock slipping out of her. In a hasty move, Harry put another arm around her waist and pulled her back on his lap. 

"No! Fuck— no, no, stay." He put his head on her chest, breath shortened by the loss of contact. "We'll do what you want. You want that position, baby?"

Y/N's eyes twinkled at Harry's slip up of the pet name, and his heart grew at the clear sign that he had some type of an effect on her. Must've been equal to—if not better than—winning the lottery, he imagined. 

"Yes." Y/N nodded.

A beat of silence went by. 

"Please."

It would've been a fluke to pretend not to know what overtook Harry as he flipped Y/N and planted her on the couch. He knew exactly what sent blood to his cock, making it rock hard as he collected Y/N's legs and threw them over his shoulders. What made him groan— no, it was more animalistic than a groan. What made him growl at the smell of her vanilla scented skin. 

It was crude, all-consuming, irritatingly marvellous, almost embarrassing, primal desire that buried himself deep inside her. 

A hitched breath traveled from Y/N's lips into the low-lit room, barely sounding over the scraping of the couch over the floor. It didn't occur to Harry to feel any type of pity for the downstairs neighbors, but Y/N appeared to react differently, clasping a hand over her mouth as he harshly drilled into her. Nevertheless, her back arched in a frenzy of yearning, one that Harry gladly accepted. Taking ahold of Y/N's legs, he lifted her lower back, and continued his hypnotically harmonious movements. 

Y/N's knuckles turned white, sticking to her effort to keeping the volume down, but her moans far transcended the wall of fingers. Harry leaned forward, nearly folding his best friend in two as he grabbed Y/N's wrist and took her hand right off her mouth. 

"You are not going to make me miss any of those sounds. Keep that hand away from your face." He rasped, accompanying his words with forceful thrusts that the very sounds she had been trying to muffle. But she didn't argue it for a second— she listened. 

"Shit— Harry... so good." Y/N mewled, little gasps following every word that she forced from her mouth. Turning his head from one side to another, Harry scattered little kisses all over the back of her soft legs. 

"I know, baby, I know." He cooed her.

"Why does it feel so good, Harry?" She asked, her eyes fluttering shut. She was completely enveloped in him, taking him with jubilation and absolute surrender. She couldn't stay still; her body jerked violently as it met his frantic thrusts. 

"I don't know, doll." He responded, breathing as irregular as his movements were starting to get. "I think this pussy is just made for me, don't you think?"

"Yes... Ve— very deep." Y/N sputtered out, opening her eyes and meeting Harry's eyes. His front curls were slightly damp, and his forehead glistened with sweat. Her own flushed cheeks scrunched up as she smiled at her friend. In a flush of immense desire and an impending orgasm, her back arched, but quickly retreated; she was unable to hold her body up against the pagan rhythm of Harry's body. 

Noticing her failed attempt, Harry put a bit more distance between him and Y/N, and scooped an arm under her lower back, lifting her up. A shriek sounded through the room, and for a moment, it appeared as though Y/N had gone cross-eyed. 

"Oh my— god! F...fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

Harry contained the arrival of his own orgasm as he watched Y/N fall apart. His mouth hung slightly open, in wonder and shortness of breath, as he took in her cataclysmic response. She clenched helplessly around him as the waves of her orgasm seemed to possess her in its entirety. Harry was enamoured with the way she cried and shivered and spasmed, taking pride in the authoritative role he had in orchestrating her climax. 

"Oh fuck, doll, that's it. I'm—" His murmurs trailed off, losing any capacity to speak as he exploded. Having seen Y/N orgasm the way she just had, it was impossible for Harry to keep himself from spilling his own seed into her again. A strange sort of possessiveness caressed his soul at the thought of Y/N's walls being coated in his sperm, and all at once a shocking realization hit him. 

"Fuck." 

"What?" Y/N lifted her head, eyes tinged with worry as she propped herself up on her elbows. Harry looked up from his fixated gaze on her abdomen, and scoffed. 

"I'm still hard."

TEEHEE LET ME KNOW WHAT U GUYS THINK🤭

Growing up in a town where everyone knows each other had its pros and cons. Pros, the community felt like a large family. Cons, everyone knew about your dating life.

When you and Harry got together seven years ago, it was the talk of the town. For the longest time, your parents had (not so) secretly talked to each other about how nice it would be if you and Harry were to get together. The spark had been there since Harry's family moved a few houses down the street years ago. It was only in the last year of college that he finally dared to ask you on a date. The rest was history, until your relationship became history. Then it was all just tragedy.

About a year and a half ago, you guys had called it quits. You'd gotten a terrific job in another city, and the late nights and mixed schedules didn't do well for your and Harry's relationship. It was a mutual decision, and it had pained the both of you immensely. Harry never wanted to lose you, but it felt impossible to mix your lives in a way that was feasible for the both of you. Harry had offered to move with you, but you didn't want him to leave his life behind for you. You'd suggested moving back, but he wouldn't hear of it.

The relationship ended with Harry's words which you held onto dearly:

"If it's meant to be, we'll find our way back to each other."

Since then, you had in fact found your way back multiple times. There had been instances, parties or other functions, the both of you attended. More often than not, and by that you actually meant always, you'd end up in bed with each other. There was a magnetic pull that kept drawing him back to you, and vice versa. Sometimes, you were the first to cave, but most of the time it was him.

Tonight, was the first time it was perfectly mutual.

One of your high school friends, Sally, was getting married, and the both of you had been invited to the wedding. Harry had been dating someone new for the past few months. Her name was Sandra and he'd met her through a friend. She was nice, and fun, and Harry really wanted to try and make this work. Though, the second he saw you in that pink bridesmaids dress, he deeply regretted the decision.

You were furious, even though you had no leg to stand on. Still, you felt territorial over Harry. You hadn't even brought a date.

After the ceremony, Harry tried to go up to you, but you dodged his every attempt. You were annoyed with him and his date, and so you began shamelessly flirting with one of the groomsmen. It was incredibly toxic behavior, and you were aware, but it made Harry stare at you, and you couldn't rob yourself of that buzz.

When you went to the bathroom at one point, you hadn't even noticed Harry following you until you heard another pair of footsteps on the cobblestones. From that moment, both you and Harry knew there was a huge chance you'd end up with your legs spread for him, and that he definitely wouldn't be able to resist.

"This is very bad." Harry repeated as he stroked his cock over your entrance. Your heart was going a million miles an hour. You were sprawled out on the couch of a salon that had no locked door. Downstairs, there were loads of people chattering, but in this grand room, the only thing that echoed were their shaky breaths. You'd been bad before, what was one more time?

"We can stop, if you want to. I can go downstairs, find that groomsman—"

As soon as the words had left your mouth, Harry pushed himself into you. He swiftly clasped his hand to your mouth, muffling the moan that always escaped you when he got inside you. You loved that he anticipated that, you loved that he knew you.

This wasn't really a moment for slow, torturous sex. None of the events at which you hooked up were. Over the past two years, the both of you had mastered the art of the quick fuck. But something about this time was different. Harry was drawing it out.

"You're not going anywhere." He growled. His pace was slower than usual, but his thrusts were more intense. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the pleasure, fingers moving down to your clit. Wrapping your legs around him, you tried to soak up every second of the immense pleasure he was always able to bring you. You knew each other right to the last detail. For example, you knew how much he liked his hair pulled.

"Fuck I missed you." He blurted out as your hand clasped onto the locks at the back of his head. He grabbed onto your hips to pull you closer as he screwed you into the couch. You opened your eyes, nearly drooling at the sight of his flexed muscles that peeked through his unbuttoned dress shirt.

"What did you miss about me?" You pried, needing the ego boost. Harry was too kind not to share all his thoughts with you, especially during sex. You had him wrapped around your finger.

"Everything— fuck..." Harry cursed as you squeezed around his cock. "Your body, your face, your smile, these legs, these fucking tits."

A smile erupted from you. Harry's breathy ramblings warmed your heart and your pussy, and with a stark demand that you be on top, you began riding his cock after Harry sat down on the couch. His eyes shone as you tugged down the top of your dress, revealing your breasts.

"Touch me. Show me how much you missed me." You demanded, positioning yourself so you could bounce on his cock. It was only a split second before Harry's hands were your tits, and you moaned at the sloppy kisses he left all over your chest and neck.

"Fuck Harry, you're so good. You wanted it so bad, hmm?" You egged him on. It was such a pleasure to see him this way; worshipping every inch of your body.

"Yes baby." Harry nodded, slapping your ass. "Couldn't pass on this pussy, now could I?"

"Nah-ah, it wasn't about passing up. You just couldn't resist." You corrected him, rolling your hips into him, slowly opening the rest of his buttons to reveal that beloved butterfly tattoo he got upon your request.

"Don't act like you weren't gagging for it, babydoll." Harry argued, wrapping his hand around your throat. "Spend the entire night trying to find a replacement for me."

That ticked you off.

"You have a replacement downstairs and you still came looking for me." You dug your nails into his chest and began bouncing on his cock again. Harry cursed at your change of pace. "Knew nothing is better than me, didn't you?"

"Fuck baby, yes, yes..." Harry responded drowsily as you tried to pound yourself into him the best you could.

"Go on, then. Fuck me, and tell me there's no one like me." You said, exposing the one thing you truly wanted him to tell you. Seeing him with someone else was a blow to your ego. It was already satisfactory seeing him fall apart beneath you, but you needed the verbal affirmation.

You audibly gasped when he suddenly began fucking up into you. The bliss of his cock ramming into you overtook all your senses, and you couldn't do anything but clamp onto him as he spilled out the confession you wanted to hear.

"There's no one like you baby. No one comes close to his pussy. I fuck other girls and I think of you— shit." He began to ramble. "I close my eyes and imagine it's you baby, but it's never as good. Shit... tell me you think of me too."

"I think of you all the time Harry, you're the only one who makes me—" you are stopped in the middle of your sentence as Harry starts to pinch your nipples. You cry out in pleasure.  "F–fuck! I'm gonna come!" 

Holding onto his shoulders to keep your balance, you start orgasming around his cock as you say Harry's name in a muffled scream.

"Fuuucckkk, I love hearing you say my name." He drawled, continuing to massage your nipples as you felt his sperm shooting into you.

There wasn't much time to come down from the high, especially since you heard people walking up the steps. With the mixture of your and his cum dripping down your thigh, you adjusted your dress and put on your heels that had fallen off your feet somewhere in the middle of this hasty, wretched act. Then, a voice sounded from the hallway.

"Have you guys seen Harry?"

It was Harry's date, Sandra. You and Harry locked eyes, both a bit panicked. The sting of what the two of you had done prompted you to look down at the floor. It was always like this. In the moment itself, there was nothing but you and Harry, but the second it was over, the walls went back up and the shoulders turned cold. Harry felt terrible towards Sandra, not only because he had ditched her and fucked his ex behind her back, but also because he didn't want to return to Sandra at all. If he had it his way, Harry would be walking out the door with you on his arm, as his girlfriend.

But he knew you wouldn't budge. He knew you too well, so much that the thought of you not wanting him could hurt him like nothing else in this world.

AJ came over again and Harry reprised his role of acting like he was annoyed by him the whole time. 

(Y/N) could tell that he got even more bothered when she came fluttering down the stairs to say hi to him and only him. And then he asked for a recap of their week apart so she sat on the couch next to him and debriefed, not giving any details about Harry or the house at all really. Mainly because he’s his friend and because Harry is sitting ten feet away in the kitchen. 

She’s pretty sure he’s doing the shop’s number because he’s using the same notebook she saw him with weeks ago. 

She wished she were a little meaner because then she’d tell him about how Harry looked through her journal. But again, he’s right there and AJ seems like the type of person to not let him live down something like that.

“Any word from Lucas since Harry told him off?” AJ glanced over his shoulder at Harry and then hurriedly turned back when all he got in return was a glare. 

“Surprisingly, no. I don’t think he’ll call again though. Not after that.” (Y/N) hasn’t blocked his number yet either. Just because there is a tiny part of her afraid that she’ll have to go running back to him for a place to stay. The living situation now doesn’t seem sustainable, even if they occasionally do get along. She’s sure that Harry will want rid of her as soon as the lease expires at the beginning of next year.

She can look for other places in the meantime. Decide what area of town she wants to live in, what makes sense with her job and what life looks like by then. It seems like Harry only tolerates her most of the time so she’s sure he’s going to let her know that he doesn’t want to sign the lease with her again. Probably not in the kindest way either. 

Lucas wouldn’t even think twice about letting her come back. But that's the worst case scenario. Best case she never has to hear from or see him again. But that tiny part of her is still being cautious because things are afloat for now.

“I think I should get Harry to answer when the debt collector calls, damn. He’s mean as fuck.” AJ looked over his shoulder again, just to get a reaction, and Harry didn’t even budge. He just kept tapping away on the calculator and looking unbothered now. “So, anything fun coming up for you?” 

“Not really. I do want to try the new coffee shop that just opened. And I want to go to the bookstore next door, so I’ll probably do that this weekend. Nothing exciting right now.” That kind of stuff was exciting for (Y/N). Giving herself little things to look forward to, like trying the coffee at the coffee shop and maybe getting a pastry to go with it. She couldn’t really call it fun, but it just gave her something to do.

“That sounds cool. I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

“Want to go?” She spoke before thinking. She’d be going alone anyway, it wasn’t wrong to invite him. 

“I thought you’d never ask—”

“AJ.” Harry’s voice sounded before he could finish the rest of his sentence. He froze, looking over his shoulder. If looks could kill, AJ would be in a lot of trouble. 

“Sorry. My father said I can’t go. Have fun though. Let me know if the shop’s any good.” He rolled his eyes, shooting a glare of his own over his shoulder. “He doesn’t like to share, can you tell?” 

(Y/N) only smiled, not wanting to comment. It’d only piss him off and she hasn’t done much of that this week. And it all boils down to the skirt comment. She can actually feel her pulse hammering under her skin whenever she thinks about it. When she hung the skirt back in her closet after the wash, she almost collapsed in her room. It wasn’t even that nice of skirt and he didn’t have to say anything but he did. 

She’s been acting as normal as she can around him. She hasn’t fumbled over her words in front of him or done anything ridiculous, she’s actually been playing it really cool. 

AJ left not long after trying to rile Harry up again. He hugged her goodbye even. And then she disappeared in her room, not wanting to give him the time of day.

*****

Raven couldn’t go to the coffee shop so (Y/N) was stuck going by herself. 

She didn’t mind doing things on her own, sometimes she just preferred to be with someone else. Especially going to a new place, even though it’s only a coffee shop. New places intimidated her at times, but she was trying to get better at just doing things because she wanted to and not worrying about what she looked like doing it. She wanted to try out the new coffee shop, so she would. Alone or not, she was going. 

She decided on shorts and a tank top since it was sunny and warm today. And she needed a tote bag if she was going to the book store, so she stashed away her phone and wallet in the bag with a few other essentials before going downstairs to get her keys. 

Harry was at the table, tapping his foot, watching intently as she grabbed her keys and stopped for a beat to fix the tie on her shoe. 

“Where are you going?” 

She jumped like she hadn’t seen him sitting there and he tried to keep a smirk off his face. 

“Um, to the new coffee place and the bookstore.” She stood straight, shuffling awkwardly before speaking again. “What are you doing?” 

“Sitting here.” He shrugged, watching her run her eyes over the whole of him before nodding. He wasn’t in anything too extravagant. A pair of baggy jeans and a tee shirt but it was decent enough to go to a coffee shop or a bookstore. 

Harry doesn’t know why he did it, but he woke up this morning with every intent of inserting himself into her plans. He never gets out anymore and coffee sounded good. But he wasn’t sure what time she was leaving so he got up extra early just in case he missed her. 

Here she is now, just short of 11:30, tote bag over her shoulder and an outfit perfect for the weather today. He should just let her go and find something else to do, but he’d already made his mind up. 

“Do you want to go?” It was unexpected, her question. Though that’s exactly what he wanted her to say, he really wasn’t sure she would. 

“Hm. I don’t know. Kind of busy today.” A normal person would have said yes because he does want to go. But Harry isn’t normal. He has to play hard to get and nearly make her beg him to do something he wanted to do anyway. 

“Come on. Two hours tops. You can do whatever it is you’re doing later.” 

“Don’t know. I’ve got a lot to do.” He shrugged again, secretly enjoying the disappointed face she’s making. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll be—”

“Fine. I’ll drive.” He stood, keys already in hand, and didn’t stay to see her reaction. She joined him in the car a few moments after he got in and he started driving toward the center of town. 

“Wait, I need to give you directions.” She reached into her tote bag, feeling around for her phone he guessed. 

“Oh, right.” As if he hadn’t already scoured the internet to see where the newest and nearest coffee shop was that was also next to a bookstore. It wasn’t hard to find but he didn’t need her to know that he’d put so much effort into this. 

She told him what it was close to, again, like he didn’t know, and he only nodded. The ride was short but very quiet. From the corner of his eye he can see her just watching out the window. He knows she’s a talker so this is probably hell for her, to sit in silence for ten minutes. Not even the radio is playing. 

“What are you going to get?” He almost didn’t want to ask because then she’d go on a tangent about not knowing what she wanted and how she’s stuck between two drinks. And that’s exactly what she did. He just listened because there was nothing else to do. 

“I’m not sure I even want coffee. Maybe matcha. I don’t know. Maybe both just to try. Do you like matcha?” 

“Fuck no.” 

(Y/N) flinched at his tone of voice before laughing. Somehow she always found a time to laugh at him even when he didn’t do anything. 

“Seriously? Grow up, it’s so good.” She nudged his arm and it felt like his skin and everything underneath froze. Somehow he kept the wheel straight but from just the brush of her hand, his heart started racing all of a sudden. And he didn’t like that at all. He doesn’t think she noticed how it affected him because thankfully, she’s back to looking out the window. 

The coffee shop was nice enough. Nothing special. He followed her inside and looked over the menu while she started chatting away with the girl behind the counter. Of course. She can’t be quiet for more than three minutes at a time. 

“Order, Harry.” She waved him up next to her and begrudgingly, he stood beside her at the counter. He thinks he’ll just try a regular coffee. He knows (Y/N) will give him shit for it but it doesn’t take much more than a look for her to be quiet. 

Just as he thought, she turned to roll her eyes at him when he asked for a plain coffee. She ordered hers and then they stepped to the side to wait for their drinks. 

“Wow. You are really boring.” 

“I’m just here for a coffee. Nothing extravagant.” He leaned against the counter, turning his attention to the rest of the shop. It was small and the lighting was too dark for his taste but he could see it being a decent place for sitting in when you had nothing better to do. 

“What did you have planned before? I’m not taking you away from anything important, am I?” 

Harry was hoping she wouldn’t ask because there was no real answer. He didn’t have anything to do, he just had to make it seem like he wasn’t waiting up all morning for her. And he honestly wasn’t. It might have looked like that, but it wasn’t. He doesn’t know why he wanted to tag along in the first place. He just did. 

“Inventory at the shop.” Which he really should be doing. But it’s not urgent necessarily. He could probably even do it tomorrow. 

“Oh. Does that take a while?” 

“Depends.” Maybe if he stopped talking so much, she’d stop asking a question about everything he says. 

“Well, thanks for coming with me even though you were busy. Sometimes I just get a little nervous about going to new places alone.” So maybe her offer wasn’t completely selfless. She doesn’t like to do things on her own. He could’ve guessed that with how often she opens her mouth. No one to talk to when you’re by yourself. 

“Yeah. Hope I’m not late with the inventory.” Lie. Because he’d rather lie to her face than tell her that he might’ve wanted to go with her. Not specifically because she’d be there but that is a small part of it. But it’s not like he wanted to go just because she was going. That would be insane. 

Their drinks were done almost immediately after and she thanked the girl before turning to him. 

“Try.” She’d just stabbed the paper straw through the lid of her matcha and then basically demanded him to try it. 

“I’m good.” 

“Harry. You can’t not like matcha. That’s ugly and wrong. Try this one.” She extended her arm further toward him. 

“I’ll stick with this for now.” He took a step away from her, in the direction of the door, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. Another electric touch that had him jerking away from her all together. She looked at him weird but didn’t comment. 

“Don’t make me beg you. Really? I’m just asking you to try, not trade or anything.” Somehow she closed in on him again and since he wasn’t too keen on causing a scene in the relatively empty coffee shop, he pushed through the door, knowing she’d follow. “Harry!” 

She followed, laughing, brushing her hand against his shoulder. Another zap of something he knew he had to forget about. He doesn’t know what it is or why it is but he’s not going to put any energy into it. If trying her drink is the way to get this to stop, he’ll do it. 

“Fine.” He spun around and snatched the cup out of her hand. His face soured when he tasted exactly what he knew he’d taste when he grabbed the cup. He’s not sure how to describe it, but not pleasant is definitely up there. “Not good. Like I said.” 

“You and your preconceived notions, Harry.” She shook her head at him as if she was playfully disappointed and took her cup back. She sipped away on the straw like she didn’t care any about his germs and then she hummed in what he thinks was delight. “Lovely. You should get out more.” 

(Y/N) waved her finger at him and started toward the door of the bookstore. This time he followed, taking the door from her as she stepped inside. 

He’s seen this store before. It’s been here for years. He’s never been in, he’s not much of a reader these days, but he likes the atmosphere of bookstores. At least the ones he has been in. 

He still doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t have a reading list anymore and there really aren’t any books or genres he’s interested in, so he’s stuck with watching her browse the shelves and read the backs of romance novels. 

“That looks actually awful.” He wasn’t planning on commenting but the front cover of the book instantly told him what type of cheesy, unrealistic story it would be. He almost couldn’t help himself. 

“You don’t like friends to lovers?” She tilted her head at him, looking astonished. Like if he didn’t like friends to lovers the world might as well be over. So he rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know what that means but look at the front of it. Shitty illustration. Should tell you what kind of book you’re spending your money on.” 

“Harry. How dare you judge a book by its cover. That’s so incredibly messed up, I’m actually so disappointed in you.” Her disappointment faded almost immediately into a laugh. She knocked her shoulder into his and he stumbled slightly. He didn’t know he was standing that close to her. 

“Get used to disappointment. It’s all there is.” Especially with him. He doesn’t say that but he knows he’s already thoroughly disappointed her just by being himself. Most people come to the realization sooner or later. 

“Mm, not really. I’m buying it and you can borrow it when I’m done.” She grinned at him before tucking the book under her arm and walking further down the aisle, all while working on the matcha he couldn’t believe she was still drinking. Part of him wants to call it performative because there’s no way anyone with tastebuds would willingly drink that. But she does. Until it’s ice and then she laments to herself about it being gone already. 

By the time Harry considers complaining about how long she’s taking, she has a stack of eight books that he’s holding. Along with her melting ice cup from the coffee shop. She didn’t even ask. She just started stacking them on his arm until he got the hint to take them from her. She’s pushy and he’s not exactly a fan of it. 

He finished his coffee about fifteen minutes ago and now much of his focus is on balancing the books so they don’t tip over and watching her hair sway every time she turns a corner or gets minimally excited about anything at all. And of course, his gaze does occasionally fall to her ass. But he never said he was a saint. 

He starts reciting scripture that was drilled into his head as a child whenever she bends over. It’s torture, but a torture he would probably allow himself again. He doesn’t make any part of it obvious. 

“I think you’re finished.” He hurried to say when she gasped again over a book with the same boring cover of two animated people standing in front of a predictable background. 

“Are you getting tired of holding my books?” Her lashes fluttered. She was gearing up for a tease and he was well aware but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say back. Her smile is pretty and he knows he’ll do something to ruin it today. It’s what he’s best at. 

“Yeah. Actually. I didn’t come to stand around and hold your shit.” 

“Why did you come?” She shot back, flipping through the pages of the book quickly before setting it on top of the pile he’s holding. 

“I don’t know.” He could’ve been mean, he could’ve said nothing, but he honestly didn’t know. Like he’d been pondering all morning. It wasn’t something he could answer, pathetically enough. 

“Cheer up. We’re having fun.” She turned again, continuing to scan the shelves for more books when she already had enough to last her the rest of the year and into next. He sighed, walking after her. He didn’t have anything better to do, he guessed. 

“Can we stop at the grocery? I can make something for dinner if you want.” She offered, turning to look at him when he stopped for a red light. He didn’t look back, trying to look busy while staring at the dashboard in front of him. 

It was nearing two thirty. She’d done all that searching just to do an elimination at the end. He had to watch her decide between books for thirty minutes. He wanted to tell her he’d just buy her all the fucking books if it got them out of there quicker but she managed to finish right before he really got fed up with waiting. 

She looked a little teary when she had to put one in particular back that she’d talked herself out of and he thought it was a little ridiculous but he didn’t comment. 

And now dinner. The thought of ending the day with a plate full of her lasagna sounded like a dream. He didn’t know how to communicate that exactly without sounding too enthused so he shrugged in response. 

“What can you make?” 

He listened as she listed off everything but the lasagna and he almost felt like crying. That should be number one and he shouldn’t have to say it for her to remember how good it is. If any of these other meals are as good as the lasagna, he might have a problem on his hands.

“And I also make a pretty good grilled cheese.” 

“Yeah, that’s not really dinner. What else?” He tried again and she sighed. 

“Well…I could make lasagna again but I feel like I make it too often—”

“Lasagna? Sounds easy enough, sure.” He cut in before she changed the subject. It would’ve taken another ten minutes to get her back on the subject of lasagna if he hadn’t said anything. 

“Oh. Sure, yeah. It comes together quick.” 

The grocery store was dead for a Saturday afternoon so they were able to get into every aisle smoothly and collect everything they needed. He paid extra attention to each ingredient because he didn’t want to have to do this again. If he could make the lasagna himself in secret, he might not have to act like this just to get her to make it for him. 

“Just ricotta now.” She handed him a jar of sauce and he placed it in the cart gently, feeling so at ease just at the mere thought of a warm home cooked meal. It was different when someone else made it for you, despite him having his own meals at home a lot. Plus, (Y/N)’s lasagna always put him right to sleep. In combination with the garlic bread she picked up a couple aisles ago, he knew he’d be full and satisfied tonight. “Should we get dessert or something?”

“Are you really asking me that?” He squinted at her. 

“What? You’re going to make me a pie then?” She put her hands on her hips, squinting right back at him. 

“There’s not time to make you a pie tonight. But we could—” Every thought in Harry’s brain turns to dust as soon as a man walks up behind her and grabs onto her arm more rough than he would’ve liked.

“(Y/N)?” As if he needed to touch her to call her name. It makes Harry feel queasy just watching his fingers dig into the skin of her upper arm. “What are you doing here?” 

(Y/N) looks to be in the same amount of shock as the man is so she doesn’t move from his grasp quite yet but she does as soon as it registers who he is. 

“Lucas? Uh, hi.” It takes too much effort for her to remove his hand and Harry can already feel a prickling up his spine. Lucas. The asshole who treated her like shit. He doesn’t deserve a stitch of her attention. 

“Making lasagna? That’s my favorite, you know.” He must have already analyzed the cart when he came up. And if he paid a little more attention, he’d see just who is attached to said cart. And he knows he doesn’t look happy. 

And yeah, Harry kind of hates that bit. The fact that Lucas was ever allowed any of her lasagna nauseates him but he doesn’t get to put a tremendous amount of thought into it before he’s busy with examining every one of Lucas’s movements again. 

“Yeah…just something….quick.” She fixed her bag on her shoulder and took another step away from him and closer to the other side of the cart. 

“What? You’re not going to invite me?” It was playful, but Harry could hear a slight shift in his tone that he also wasn’t too fond of. But he didn’t want to intervene quite yet. “Anyway. What happened the other night? Some guy answered your phone and wouldn’t let me talk to you. Who was that?” 

Finally, his eyes shot to Harry and his expression was exactly as he thought it’d be. 

“Is this him?” His voice was thick with accusation, like that was his place to even ask the question. Harry couldn’t help the smirk on his mouth. 

“Who’s this?” Harry doesn’t know why he does it, but he grabbed onto the belt loop of her jean shorts and dragged her next to him. She stumbled a bit but fell into him naturally. And he didn’t mind the heat of her standing directly beside him. 

“Oh. This is my ex, Lucas.” She answered Harry first. He wanted to stick his tongue out at him, but he thought that might be too childish. “You know. I told you about him.” She met eyes with Harry and gave him this look. Like,  go along with it. 

“This is Lucas?” He tried not to act overly surprised, he wasn’t, but anything to get under his skin. “He looks exactly like you described him.” His hand curled around her hip and he didn’t miss the way Lucas watched intensely, like he had the guts to say anything about it when Harry was standing right here. 

“Oh, so this is the guy you’re fucking while you ignore my phone calls? How mature.” His voice raised more than Harry would’ve liked so he decided it was time to wrap this up. He can cry about it to someone else. (Y/N) doesn’t owe him a second more of her time. 

“We sure do. Watch your call come through during and as soon as the screen goes black, she cums every single time.” Harry crossed the line on that one but seeing his face turn that red felt like accomplishment. 

“Harry.” (Y/N) pressed her nails lightly into his back but he kept his attention to Lucas who was preparing himself to say something completely uncalled for. 

“I thought I told you to fucking leave her alone.” He decided to speak up since Lucas seemed to be short circuiting at the thought of them together. He would leave him knocked out cold in the dairy section but (Y/N) might not be too excited about that.  

Harry doesn’t really want an assault charge either but it would certainly spice things up a little bit. Plus, he doesn’t think Lucas is dumb enough to press charges if he did hit him (he really, really wants to) because then he’d go find him and do it all over again, just worse the second time. He wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to call anyone after he was done with him. And Harry knows he knows that. 

“Who is this guy? Seriously. He’s not safe to be around, why don’t you come with me?”

“Lucas, just go. We’re trying to enjoy our night and you’re ruining it.” He felt her flinch when he squeezed at her hip again for good measure. He’s not sure where this confidence came from but if he can send Lucas on a spiral without doing too much, he’ll do it as many times as he likes. 

“She asked you nicely. But I’m not going to ask you to do anything. Last chance.” 

He hesitated like he wanted to try something else but ultimately, he just scoffed, waving them off. 

“You changed. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He shook his head like he was so shocked by her behavior and walked off. Not without shooting Harry a glare that made him crack another obvious smile. 

“My god. What did you see in him?” One last pinch to her hip and he let her go in favor of grabbing the cart. Anything to steady his hands again. She was too warm and too real for him to have a normal reaction. He needed something to ground him for a second and the cart did a sufficient enough job. 

“Wow. That was so embarrassing. Let’s go.” She heaved a breath before walking off toward the registers. He made sure to grab the ricotta before following after her, checking the aisles to make sure Lucas wasn’t hiding somewhere so he could get anywhere near her again. 

(Y/N) was silent in line. She didn’t joke with him or smile at him, she just stared absently at the conveyor while deep in thought. 

Harry could grit his teeth. Lucas had ruined their day before he got the chance to.  And that was self-appointed his job. Now he has to try to make up for it before she makes him a sad lasagna. He knows it wouldn’t taste the same so he has to do something to fix it.

“What a loser.” 

She blinked at him and sighed. He was obviously talking about Lucas but she didn’t look like she understood him. 

“Aren’t I? That was the guy I spent so much time on, thinking he’d change for me. Just because I was so good to him.” 

“I meant him, sweetheart. You’re not a loser.” 

“Then why do I feel like one?” Her voice went down to a whisper and she faced forward again in line, her shoulders drooping like she was really taking it hard and contemplating. 

Harry wasn’t normally the encouraging type. If anyone else thought they were a loser, he’d probably agree with them to their face. But he couldn’t do that to (Y/N) when it wasn’t even close to the truth. 

She had already started loading their groceries on the conveyor, smiling fakely at the cashier but saying nothing when she normally would have gone off and complimented them for the hell of it. Just to be nice. She did none of that and instead stood there waiting for the total silently. 

“Hey.” She didn’t turn, didn’t react like she heard him at all. “(Y/N).” Nothing. So he grabbed onto her shoulder, facing her toward him now. Her attention was on him, for the most part, but he could still see her mind racing. Probably with lots and lots of regrets and what ifs. Like Harry subjects himself to almost constantly. (Y/N) doesn’t do that though and he’s not going to let her just because she saw her shitty ex in the grocery store. 

She’d do it for him in a heartbeat. 

“There’s a fresh key lime at the shop if you want to bring it home.” He knew the pie schedule. He didn’t want (Y/N) to know that was a thing because she’d laugh at him for being so meticulous about pie. 

“At your shop?” 

“Where else? We can drop by and get it on the way home.” If that would make the color come back to her face he’d do it. And probably more just so she’d stop acting so miserable. “I can even make some whipped cream to go with it.”

Her expression lifted the slightest and then she finally smiled. “Sounds good.” 

The shop was dead when he swung open the back door. No one was expecting him to come in at this time, but he knew that the staff on the clock always had things under control. 

She came in behind him, buzzing at the thought of going behind the scenes just to pick up a pie. They parked behind the building and when he got out, he knew she had so many questions she just hadn’t asked yet. He didn’t know why exactly but he figured she was still in her head a little bit.

He nodded at the shift manager that he barely sees because of her schedule now only has her weekends and evenings. He didn’t bother with a proper greeting because he was dead set on making sure (Y/N) had a good night still, despite Lucas’s appearance. 

The fridge was running a little low but there was still a fresh key lime sitting on the shelf. He grabbed it, shut the fridge, and turned to her. 

“Look good?” There was another if this one wasn’t to her liking. 

“So good.” She took it from his hands and her smile now made up for any hassle this might have been. (It wasn’t.)

They went home and (Y/N) got started on dinner and banished him to anywhere but the kitchen. His plan of watching her process was foiled almost instantly. He tried to argue but she wasn’t having it. So, he sat on the couch and ignored the tv playing in front of him. 

Today had been a lot but it felt…different. He thinks that spending time with (Y/N) isn’t so bad. So maybe next time she wants to eat in and do a puzzle, he doesn’t have to say no. She’s being nice and trying to include him. He should be grateful that anyone cared enough to. 

It scared him at first. That’s why seeing her outside the house was less pressure. There was much more to distract her. She didn’t have only him to look at and talk to. She didn’t have time to notice how terrible his people skills were if they were somewhere else. At home, he was all there was. And he knew she’d ask questions and have to look at him longer than a glance. It was intimidating. But he thinks he’d do a lot better now.

He had dinner together to get through. Their first dinner ever. It didn’t have to be weird. He’d just let her do the talking and bring up things she liked to discuss so he didn’t have to do much. She’d just talk away and he could nod along. 

“Your plate’s ready!” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He was taking it from her a second later. It was full of lasagna, garlic bread, and a mix of greens with a dressing drizzled over top. 

Harry doesn’t remember the last time he ate a vegetable on purpose. 

He hesitated when she looked at him expectantly. 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“Are we eating on the couch or at the table?” She shot him a look. Apparently her question was obvious. 

“Couch.” He answered easily. The table felt too formal. At least he could look at the tv instead. 

(Y/N) sat a cushion away from him and didn’t say much while they ate. The only thing Harry was thinking about saying was how good the lasagna was but he didn’t want to give her any compliments just yet. 

But he couldn’t stop looking at her from the corner of his eye. Granted, he couldn’t see much from the angle but that didn’t stop him from doing it. 

“I can take your plate once you’re done.” She offered. It was the first thing she said after such a long stretch of silence. He was beginning to think she was replaying the grocery store and then she spoke up. 

“I’ll take yours actually. I have to start on the whipped cream anyway.” He brushed it off, trying not to act like it was such a big deal to take her plate and rinse it off. He could be considerate sometimes. 

He knew she’d follow him to the kitchen so he didn’t tell her not to. And she watched the process to the very end when he was scooping the whipped cream expertly onto the evenly sliced pie. She watched it all quietly and grinned at him as soon as he passed her the plate.  

“Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

“I mean, thank you for today too. Lucas was being so….you know. You didn’t have to say anything but you did. So, thank you.” She kept her eyes on her pie that she still hadn’t tried yet. 

“Didn’t mind it. I wanted to hit him but I didn’t think you’d be too happy with me.” He tried to switch the conversation to a more lighthearted subject. Not her thanking him for telling off her terrible ex and how grateful she is. That was too much. Too personal. Harry just isn’t prepared for anything like that right now. 

“Next time, please do.” She chuckled. “I’m hoping there’s not a next time but…yeah. If there ever was. Be my guest.” 

“I’ll have to remember that.” Harry doesn’t know why he smiles but he does. Like he was enjoying the conversation. Like he had a good time today. Like he didn’t mind that he spent more than two minutes in the same room as her. He normally would’ve dropped his smile and distanced himself as soon as possible but he didn’t. 

He sat back on the couch with her with a plate of his own and tried to ignore the heat in his face when she praised his pie all over again, in addition to the freshly made whipped cream. 

“I think you’re the best roommate I ever had, Harry. I mean it.” (Y/N) muttered just as she started surrendering to sleep on the couch next to him. He thought about denying it as soon as she said it. 

It wasn’t true. Even if she thought it was, it wouldn’t be for long. Today might’ve been a good day but it didn’t mean anything had changed. 

(Y/N) was still a person he didn’t know much about and while she gave him glimpses in to see, often, he didn’t want to take it any further. 

*****

(Y/N) would give anything to be back in bed, but work felt pressing today. She’s pretty sure she’s running a fever along with bouts of chills every so often that came on at the worst time possible. 

She almost felt fine this morning. But somewhere a switch flipped and her nose was running like a faucet and her throat rubbed dry whenever she swallowed. It was hell and she knows she shouldn’t be here. 

Her coworker Desiree took one look at her and was halfway to the boss’s office before she could look up. 

“Work will be here when you get back, (Y/N). It’s important that you rest and stay hydrated or you’ll be worse off than you are now.” 

Any other time, (Y/N) would say she has the best boss in the world but right now it felt like too much. Sure, she doesn’t want to spread something around the office but in her defense it didn’t start until after she got there and started working. She felt normal only a few hours ago. 

It only took a little bit more convincing until (Y/N) was packing her things and starting the journey home. It was for the best, she knew, she just didn’t like getting behind at work. 

Harry’s car was in the driveway when she got home. But her plan was to hurry inside and not let him see her anyway. Because she felt awful and besides, she’d been on a self imposed break from Harry. Which really meant she was avoiding him at every turn. It felt ridiculous but that’s just how they handled things. 

He was nice to her the other day and ate dinner with her and stayed on the couch next to her until she was ready for bed and even said goodnight, all with an almost smile on his face. And if (Y/N) knows anything about Harry, he was going to draw away immediately. He always did. 

They had a decent time, but the next day they were like strangers all over again. He’d halfway joke with her one day and then not even give her a second glance the next. It was just how he was. And it’s fine. She just had to be the one to do it first. Make him wonder for once. 

It wasn’t her trying to be petty, she just knew if he did it to her like she knew he would, she’d think the worst. Like she often did whenever they had any kind of interaction. 

It felt dumb in hindsight but it’s exactly what he’d do to her. She just did it before he got the chance to. It felt easier, like she was beating him at his own game. Because that’s what it felt like, a game. 

So while he called her sweetheart and complimented her skirt and smiled at her like he wanted to be bothered by her, she knew that it didn’t stand for much. He’d get in another mood at the drop of a dime and look past her like she didn’t exist again. But at the end of the day, he’s still a man and she never wants to give one of those too much credit ever again. 

Somehow she managed to stumble to her room and shut the door behind her without bumping into him. She’s not even sure where he is in the house right now, she’s just glad she didn’t come face to face with him when she can’t see straight. 

It took five minutes total for her to change into something comfortable and crawl into bed. Sleep came so fast, she didn’t even have time to think about how awful she was feeling. She had all the time in the world for that when she woke back up. 

Which was sooner than she wanted it to be because Harry was standing at her bed and squinting at her. Well, at least that’s what it looked like through her hazy eyes. 

“What are you doing here?”

She decided not to answer him and turned over in bed instead. If he couldn’t tell she wasn’t feeling well, that’s his problem. And the last thing she wants to do right now is try to explain that to him. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“God, Harry. No.” She gave in. For someone who hates questions, he sure asks a lot of his own. “I’m sick so I came home from work early.” 

“Sick how?” 

“Fever sick. So leave before you get yourself sick.” She pulled the blankets further over her shoulder, waiting for him to leave so she’d have some peace again. 

“Oh. I’ll leave you then.” 

“Thank you.” It sounded impolite but she really meant it. (Y/N) is hoping sleep will quell most of what she’s feeling now, but she’s aware that isn’t always the case. Especially with a fever. She had already shut her eyes, and with how quiet it had gotten, she was sure he left and didn’t bother checking. Instead, she sank further into the bed and drifted off to sleep. 

*****

“(Y/N).” 

She doesn’t think she could guess how much time had passed since she fell asleep and now, Harry was waking her again. 

“What? I was sleeping, my head finally stopped hurting. Uh, what are you…?” (Y/N) actually couldn’t believe her eyes. She thinks the fever might be affecting her sense of reality because there’s no way that Harry is standing beside her bed with a bowl of what appears to be soup, steam rising from it and everything. He doesn’t look happy about it, of course, but he’s here. Standing right beside her bed, carefully holding the bowl like he was trying too hard not to make it spill. 

“Don’t look so shocked. Can you take this already, it’s hot.” He shot her a look, nodding toward her like he wanted her to take the bowl from him so he could just vanish and act like none of this ever happened. Like he’s never done a nice thing for her in his life. But nope. Even when sick, (Y/N) is going to milk this for every bit it’s worth. 

“I would but I’m so, so sleepy. I don’t think I can.” She fluttered her eyes like she was as tired as she said she was and he shifted, looking her over as if he couldn’t see right through her little act. 

“Okay. Well. Can I sit it here—”

“No, no, no. It’s too hot to sit there.” She hurried to interrupt him before he could sit it on the nightstand next to her. 

“Then what do you want me to do with it?” It only took him two seconds to regret asking. “You’re joking.” 

“Come on, Harry. It’d be so nice of you to help me out when I’m so under the weather. I didn’t even get to take my temperature yet.” 

“You didn’t take your temperature? What, is it your first time being sick or something? You should know that by now.” He almost looked mad at that fact on its own. More mad about that than her silent request to spoon feed her the soup. 

“I don’t have a thermometer. I was just going to let it happen.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Have you eaten? Had any water?” He pressed. 

“Well, no. I just came home from work and went right to bed.” 

“Christ’s sake. You’re eating this right now.” 

Somehow, with a bowl of hot soup in his hands, he kneed his way up on the bed beside her and held out the first spoonful. 

“What kind is it?” 

He scoffed. 

“The good kind. Eat. I don’t have to be doing this right now, you know.” 

“Then why are you?” She shot back. If he truly didn’t want to entertain her, why do it? She was completely capable of taking care of herself even when she didn’t feel well.

“Hush.” He tried again with the spoon and this time she just let it be. Even though she wanted to continue prodding about just why he felt like he had any reason to sit here with her when she was unwell. But she didn’t. Maybe he would explain himself eventually. 

The spoon feeding was a silent affair. He even wiped her mouth with a napkin after and he didn’t look too annoyed with her when he did. 

“Thank you, Harry. That was the good kind.” Her eyes were feeling heavy again, but she was trying to keep herself awake for a little longer. 

“I know. I made it.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t dwell on that properly because she was so sleepy all of a sudden. The soup was a good idea. Just filling enough to not be overwhelming. 

Her eyes shot back open when he placed the back of his hand to her forehead. He tsked. 

“We should really take your temperature. You feel really warm. Are you still cold?” He asked, moving his hand down to the side of her cheek. 

“A little. No chills anymore.” 

“Did you take medicine?” She didn’t even bother answering. “(Y/N). Do you do this every time you’re sick and suffer?” 

“I thought I just had to wait it out.” There really wasn’t much to do for a fever and she knew it wouldn’t last too long, they never usually do. He still shook his head at her. 

“So, when you were sick previously, no one has ever even tried to help you? Just a little bit? Medicine? Soup? Water?” 

“Uh, not that I can remember. I don’t really get sick a lot though.” She almost whined when he moved his cool hand away from her warm skin. 

She tried to think back to when she’s been this sick. Maybe once, a couple years ago. A flu went around the office and of course, she had to get stuck with it too. Lucas was more concerned with her staying away from him so he didn’t get sick to do anything productive. She can’t remember leaving the couch to do anything more than use the bathroom. And yeah. He made her sleep on the couch. But she doesn’t want to tell Harry that bit. He might fly off the handle. 

“That’s a shame then.” He grabbed the empty bowl and moved off her bed. “I’m going to run out and get you a few things. Try and get some rest.” 

“Oh, no need, Harry. I think I’m okay.” 

“You don’t look okay. I’ll just be a minute. Don’t move.” He disappeared a moment later and she sighed. Really feeling content now that her stomach was full. But she still felt shitty and achy and all the other things that come with a fever. As soon as the fever broke, she knew she’d feel much better. 

(Y/N) was in and out of sleep by the time Harry was back in her room with a bag full of things that he insisted she needed. A fever reducer, a thermometer that he opened as soon as he pulled it out of the bag, and he said something about popsicles down in the freezer but she didn’t really catch much of that because she was too concerned with the furrow in his brow. All because of her. 

He looked worried when he saw the temperature and shook his head at her. 

“If this fever isn’t gone by morning I should take you somewhere.” 

“I don’t think it’s that serious.” 

“(Y/N), trust me. You’re delirious because you can’t even see straight right now. I’m going to get you a glass of water and I want you to drink all of it.” 

(Y/N) did exactly as he said and he seemed happy with that as he told her to sleep again and that he’d be back soon to give her more water. 

Her fever broke sometime in the early morning. She didn’t bother checking a clock as she shoved all the blankets off and made her way to the bathroom. Her head was still pounding but the fever was gone she could tell and now a shower was in order. 

She had just started the shower when there was a knock on the door. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. My fever’s gone and now I’m all sweaty.” She’d have to change all her bed stuff and that was such a hassle just to think about, she might just go lay on the couch like old times. 

“Good. Don’t run the water too hot, alright? If you need something, just ask.” 

“Okay, thanks.” (Y/N) would bet ten whole dollars that he’s not going to move an inch from his spot outside the door the whole time she’s in the shower. 

The shower helped a lot. She felt less queasy and the headache had lessened some. She’d probably need another round of painkillers for that. She wrapped herself in a towel and was surprised that when she opened the door, Harry wasn’t waiting there for her. 

Instead, he was in her room, tucking fresh sheets around the bed and not looking her in the face while she stood there dripping wet. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I know. I’ll bring you more water once you’re dressed and back in bed.” 

She did exactly that. Maybe it was because she was exhausted and ready to go back to sleep that she didn’t fight him on it. Normally, she might’ve just told him to forget the water and that she’d be alright just going back to sleep. Or maybe it was the fact that he was kind of, sort of taking care of her. She hated to think like that when she knew he’d deny it, but it really did feel like it. Like he might feel bad that she’s under the weather and he wanted to help in his own way. It definitely was his own way because he still wasn’t the nicest about any of it, but she still appreciated every bit of it. 

Harry came back a few minutes after she settled back in bed and brought more water just like he said he would. He passed the glass off to her and looked as if he might just leave the room as quickly as he came, but she stopped him with another thank you, wanting to be sure that he heard her. 

He didn’t respond verbally, he just kind of looked her over, shrugged, and left the room. (Y/N) is betting that her thank yous are just too much for him to process. She’s not used to being taken care of and he’s not used to anyone being grateful for him. She could help that if only he allowed her to. 

That was a challenge for another time though. She set the water glass down and was back to sleep shortly after her head hit her freshly changed pillowcase. 

****

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that.” 

Harry said from over her shoulder. It was quite rude if she was honest because she’d tried her very best. 

She thought about turning around and giving him a dirty look, but he was standing far too close to her for her to do anything of the sort. 

Maybe it’s because he’s looking at her terrible rendition of what is supposed to be flan, but looks more like soup, on the plate in front of her. She doesn’t even know why she bothered trying to flip it out of one of Harry’s round pans. Because she could tell from the bottom that the consistency was off. 

She even asked him beforehand if he’d ever made flan and he just looked at her before turning back to the tv. She was secretly asking for advice and he ignored her which brought them to this. 

And now he wanted to criticize. 

“Shove off. I tried my best.” She felt her voice waiver the tiniest bit and she didn’t know why she was so upset about it, but she was.  

It was Raven’s birthday tomorrow and they planned to meet up and celebrate. (Y/N) wasn’t sure how yet, but she knew she wanted to make her something special. Flan is Raven’s favorite dessert. She’s mentioned it several times in passing and she knew as her best friend that she was responsible for getting some kind of treat for her birthday. Store bought wasn’t going to cut it this time. 

Harry seemed to know a lot of desserts but he must only want to make them when he’s not here because he barely does it. It’s annoying. He never brings home anything good even when he’s gone all day. 

But he was useless, of course. He had to come in right as she was flipping the pan. The way he tried to hide a smile made her sick. And honestly, it hurt her feelings very much. 

“I don’t think you cooked it for long enough.” 

“Well, I didn’t want it to burn!” (Y/N) threw her hand out and then took a deep breath. She’s getting far too emotional about this and Harry will only find humor in that. “I give up.” 

That alone took her three times as long to make. Never mind even putting it in the oven. All the prep, searching for the best recipe. And it was all for nothing and just a waste of time. 

“What’s this for again?” He watched her move around the kitchen to clean up the mess she made. 

“Raven’s birthday.” 

“Who’s that again?”

“My friend—my best friend. And I ruined it,” (Y/N) isn’t sure why she thought she’d be able to make it in the first place.  “She’s coming over tomorrow to pick me up for a night out and I wanted to have something ready for her birthday.” 

She might have slammed the pan in the sink too roughly because Harry shot her a look. 

“Don’t quit your day job, that’s for sure.” 

“You’re a dick. I was trying to ask for your help and you couldn’t be bothered with it.” (Y/N) wanted to apologize for name calling but instead she just let it simmer in the air with her arms crossed. 

“I won’t argue with you there.” He almost smiled at her. “You should’ve said something. I’ve made flan loads of times.” 

“Whatever. I’m going to bed. I don’t want to worry about it anymore.” 

(Y/N) left him in the kitchen to shut herself in her room. She would just have to find something else for Raven’s birthday. 

To her surprise, in the morning, Harry grabbed her by the front of her tee shirt and dragged her after him to the kitchen. 

And in the fridge a large pan, not flipped just yet, chilling since she’s not really sure. She looked up at him and felt herself frown, very overly done, and then she hugged him around the neck.

“Harry. You didn’t have to.”

“Someone had to. You’ve been pouting for the better half of the morning.” He didn’t try to pull away from her but his arms didn’t move.

“Well I didn’t expect you to make it yourself.” She finally let him go and then gently patted his cheek. “How sweet. I bet it’s really good.” 

“I made you a small one so you could try it first.” He reached back in the fridge and pulled out a ramekin. Her jaw dropped. 

“You did? Really?” 

“Just flip it and try it already.” His eyes rolled but he still looked very interested in her reaction. She grabbed a small plate and slid a knife around the edge of the flan, just like all the tips and tricks she’d read about flan said to do, and it came out perfectly intact. She gasped at the sight of it. 

“It’s breakfast time.” 

“So? Eat it.” 

(Y/N) did not need to be told twice. 

As soon as she closed her mouth around the spoon, she was swatting at him. 

“You’re unbelievable.” It was said like an insult, which that’s probably what made him laugh. It still shocked (Y/N) but she tried not to show it. 

“I can’t help it. I’m trained.” 

“Trained?” 

Then (Y/N) tried not to get too excited when asking questions about his time as a pastry chef. Professionally. 

“I just stick to pies now. It’s easy.” 

“Why are you just telling me this now?” She shoved another spoonful in her mouth and wanted to cry. Maybe they shouldn’t be roommates. This could be really bad for her. 

“It’s not something I like to talk about.” His entire demeanor changed when he answered and she let her smile that had been consistent for at least five full minutes fall flat. That was almost a record. 

“Oh. Well. Thanks. Raven will love this.”

He just raised his eyebrows at her and nodded. 

“Sure.” 

Raven came over around seven and hugged (Y/N) as soon as she stepped in the door. 

“I have something for you before we go.” 

Long story short, Raven loved the flan and hugged (Y/N) a bunch more before diving into her second piece. 

“Did you make this?” She pointed with the spoon. (Y/N) could take credit for it and Harry would never even bat an eye but there’s no need for that. Raven knows that she isn’t the best at baking. 

“No, Harry did.” She kept her voice low but Raven gasped and hurried from the kitchen to the living room where Harry was sitting on the couch. 

“Thank you for the flan, Harry. It’s amazing.” 

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” He half smiled and went back to the tv. (Y/N) was in disbelief for many reasons. At least three reasons. At the very least. The you’re welcome, the happy birthday, and definitely the barely there smile he never, ever offers her. Raven probably thinks he’s almost decent now. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping together again?” Raven whispered when she got back to her plate of half-eaten flan. 

“Because he hates my guts, maybe?” 

“I do think it’s something to do with your guts, but definitely not hating them.” She winked until (Y/N) waved her off. 

“Yeah, right. Are you ready?” She put both their plates in the sink and wrapped up the plate before placing it back in the fridge. She stopped by the door on the way following Raven outside and did one quick glance of herself in the mirror by the door. 

“Where are you going again?” He said again as if she offered up the information before now at any point and she didn’t. Not at all. 

“A couple bars, I think. We’re just going to get dinner and hang around Main Street.” Main Street was notorious for not being the best area to be in during evening hours, but (Y/N) and Raven had never had any issues and one of them is always sober enough to get them home safely. Tonight that would be (Y/N). Raven already handed her the keys. 

“Meeting your friends too?” 

“Yeah, a few. I invited Joseph. He’s waiting on us now I think.” She glanced at her phone screen and then back to him. 

“That prick from your job?” His mouth set into a line. 

“Since when is he a prick? No. He’s cute, he said he would come.” A total lie, but (Y/N) just wanted to see how bent out of shape he would get. 

“Don’t even think of bringing him here.” 

(Y/N) really had to reel it in and hold back a smile, a laugh, any surprise on her face. She just shrugged. 

“We’ll go to his then. If that even happens.” She shrugged like it was definitely a possibility when it wasn’t anywhere near the truth. 

“Fine.” As if he’s allowing it. “Be good.” 

“No promises.” She grinned at him before shutting the door behind her. 

****

(Y/N) stumbled in with Raven hanging onto her shoulders and muttering about some guy who was bothering them at one of the first bars they stopped at. He was shut down fast, but Raven just likes to relive the night from the very beginning. 

“Do we have to be quiet? Is your hot gardener slash baker sleeping?” She was shushed immediately by (Y/N) who wasn’t really sure if he was or not. 

“Just shh until we get into my room.” (Y/N) managed to get her upstairs and changed into comfy clothes before she passed out completely. She changed herself and went down for two glasses of water that she knew Raven would appreciate in the morning. 

But she was tempted on her way back up the stairs. The flan was still sitting pretty in the fridge. She set the glasses down and grabbed a spoon before opening the fridge door.

The spoon was halfway to her mouth when someone cleared their throat behind her. Her elbow slammed into the side of the fridge when she jumped. She was pretty sure he’d been asleep but of course not. 

“What, what? I’m just trying it!” She tried to maintain a whisper even though Raven is definitely out for the night. “It’s really good.” 

“Here I was thinking you didn’t like it.” He tilted his head. It was obviously sarcastic. “I really couldn’t tell by the caramel all over your mouth.” 

She wiped at her mouth with her wrist. 

“It is not.” 

“I’m the one that can see you right now.” 

These days, (Y/N) really has to choose her battles with him. She could buy into his little game right now or she could continue eating her flan in peace. That one sounded much better. She turned her back to him and took another bite of the flan. 

“See yourself out.” 

“Wait. How was tonight?” 

Why are you asking? She wants to go there, she really does, but she decided to be as kind as she could to him at this early hour. She still had to live with him in the morning. 

“Fun. Raven is passed out upstairs.” (Y/N) knew he wanted more than that but he should have to work for it this time. If he really wants to know, he should ask flat out. 

“No one else is here?” 

She turned back to him at that and gave the dirtiest look she could muster even though he looked a bit confused for some reason. But she knew what he was actually asking. 

“No, unfortunately.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, one because my roommate is a total dick.” She made sure to emphasize that part. “And two…he flaked.” 

“Probably for the best.” He quipped right back, the tiniest bit of a smirk on his face. 

“Why would that be for the best?” (Y/N) grabbed the plate from the fridge and took off toward the living room. This was definitely something to delicately unpack. She wanted to know what he meant by that because anything to do with her in that sense had zero to do with him so she’s unsure why he has any opinion on it. But if (Y/N) knows anything about Harry so far, it’s that he’s nosy. Terribly so. He probably doesn’t want to be but he asks the most obvious of questions and then pretends he never wanted to know in the first place. Just to make it seem like you offered the information yourself somehow. 

He followed her to the couch and plopped down beside her. He looked like he was thinking for a minute before shrugging. 

“Because.” 

That answer wasn’t satisfactory. And while (Y/N) really wanted to hone in on that, probably until he got up and stormed away because she pressed too much, she decided it wasn’t worth it. He was talking and sitting by her nonetheless. All on his own. She didn’t have to surprise him like usual by climbing over the back of the couch so he had no time to run away. 

It was quiet for several minutes, only the sound of her fork scraping against the plate, just until she’d had her fill again. (Y/N) thinks she’s had more flan in the past day than in her entire life, but that’s perfectly okay with her. For the first time, this feels normal. Sitting on the couch with Harry and not feeling so anxious about what to say to him to make him stay longer. What not to say. He runs off as soon as she even hints toward something he doesn’t want to talk about. But this felt casual and she really, really liked it. Maybe she could grow on him, maybe she wouldn’t have to rush out before the lease was up. 

“Did you get to try some?” When she turned to him he was already looking at her and he did even look like he cared that she technically caught him staring at her. 

“Didn’t have to.” He blinked but that was it. He didn’t try to pretend like he wasn’t staring and it wasn’t necessarily awkward. Just…unexpected. (Y/N) was sure he tried his best not to look at her ever, but more and more lately, he does. 

“We didn’t wake you, did we?” (Y/N) wouldn’t think he just be up at this hour but she can conclude from past experiences that he doesn’t sleep well, so maybe he had trouble tonight too. 

“I was awake.” His answer was very monotone, she was almost thinking he was mad at her. She’s not sure what she did, maybe he didn’t like that she was home so late. “Just thinking.” He finally said. 

“Oh. I hate when that happens.” It happened plenty. Overthinking, torturing herself with the same things over and over again. She hated when she finally got up in the morning and it felt like all she did was waste time tossing and turning and trying to clear her head. 

Very slowly, (Y/N) slipped the plate onto the table in front of her, trying not to disturb the peace and not to remind him that he should probably be sleeping right now. He didn’t move, thankfully, but he did give her face a break and looked at the blank tv instead. 

“You should’ve come out with us.” (Y/N) blurted it out, not thinking it through. Raven wouldn’t have minded at all, but he probably would. She just thought of anything, she didn’t want him to call it a night since there was no talking. 

“Not my thing much anymore.” 

“Anymore?”

“I’ve done my time. Trust me.” 

(Y/N) is sure he has. Especially with a friend like AJ but she didn’t say anything about it. 

“We should do something again. The bookstore was really fun.” Maybe that one drink did more than she thought it did. 

He only hummed, not looking at her yet. 

“Only if it’s something you really, really want to do and if it won’t be annoying.” She quickly added on. 

“I’ll let you know.” 

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll just…I should go to bed. It’s late. Goodnight.” (Y/N) hurried to wrap up the flan and replace it in the fridge before going to her room. 

She didn’t regret asking, she didn’t want to push either. Harry would let her know. Or he wouldn’t. And that would just have to be okay. 

****

this was a lot i know :) next part is going to much different though so stay tuned!

**A LOT OF TAGS DIDN’T WORK BUT LMK**

Y/N woke before the alarm she had forgotten to set. 

For a few seconds, she stayed still beneath the unfamiliar weight of the duvet, staring at the pale ceiling while her mind tried to place her. The room was dim, washed in the colourless light of an early morning that had not yet decided whether it wanted to begin. Beyond the curtains, the grounds were quiet. No voices in the corridor. No doors opening and closing. No distant laughter from Olivia or heavy footsteps that could only belong to Mason. Just silence. Then everything returned at once. The wedding. The house. Harry in the room next door. The conversation outside the night before. The chocolate tart. I never stopped wondering. Y/N closed her eyes again, pressing the heel of one hand against her forehead as if she could push the memory somewhere less immediate. She had expected embarrassment to be the first thing she felt that morning. Regret, perhaps. 

The uncomfortable certainty that she had said too much after spending six years saying nothing at all. Instead, she felt strangely light. Not happy, exactly. That would have been too simple. There were still too many things between them, too many years and assumptions and careful silences. But something had shifted. A knot she had carried for so long that she had forgotten its original shape had loosened overnight, leaving behind an ache that felt almost pleasant. At least now she knew. He had waited too. It did not change what had happened. It did not give them back the years they had wasted or erase the lives they had lived without each other. But it changed the memory of that night.

For six years, she had thought of herself standing outside that restaurant as someone who had been left behind. Now she knew Harry had been somewhere else, believing exactly the same thing. She turned onto her side and looked towards the closed door that connected their bathroom to his room. The door was ordinary. Painted white, slightly narrower than the main bedroom door, with a brass handle that caught what little light there was. It should not have felt significant. It was a door in a rented house. Nothing more. Still, she looked at it for longer than necessary. Then, deciding she was being ridiculous, Y/N pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. The floor was cold under her bare feet. She found the oversized jumper she had thrown across the armchair the night before and pulled it over her sleep shirt, gathering her hair into a loose knot as she crossed the room. She had no plan beyond finding coffee before the rest of the house woke up. If she was lucky, she could sit alone in the kitchen for twenty minutes and convince herself that the conversation with Harry had not changed everything. Or anything.

She opened the bedroom door slowly, wincing when the old hinge gave a quiet creak. The corridor remained empty. The house felt different when everyone else was asleep. Larger. Older. Less like a venue being invaded by flowers, garment bags and people shouting across rooms, and more like the kind of place that had been standing long before any of them were born. The wooden floorboards shifted softly beneath her steps as she made her way downstairs. Framed landscapes lined the walls, all grey skies and green fields, and the morning light fell through the tall windows in thin silver stripes. She could smell coffee before she reached the kitchen. Y/N stopped on the final stair. For one stupid second, she considered turning around. Then she heard the clink of a spoon against ceramic and knew retreating would be even more obvious than continuing.

The kitchen door stood open. Harry was by the counter with his back to her, one hand resting beside the coffee machine while the other held a mug. He wore dark grey joggers and a faded black sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair was a mess, flattened on one side and curling unpredictably on the other, and there was something so unguarded about the sight of him that she nearly forgot to be nervous. This was not the Harry who had arrived at the wedding with an easy smile and a sharp answer for everything.

This was not the version of him who leaned back in chairs as if he owned the room or looked at her like he was waiting for her to challenge him. This was just Harry. Sleepy. Quiet. Alone in a kitchen before seven in the morning. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. His expression changed immediately, surprise softening into something warmer. 

“Morning.” 

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, suddenly too aware of her bare legs and unbrushed hair. “Morning.” Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. “You know it’s barely morning, right?” 

“I could say the same to you.” 

“I’m a deeply committed member of the five a.m. club.” 

“It’s six forty-three.” 

“I joined late.” 

She smiled despite herself. Harry’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he looked back at the coffee machine. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“I slept.” She stepped into the kitchen. “I just woke up.” 

“Very informative.” 

“You asked.” 

“I did.” 

There was a brief silence, but it was not the kind that immediately demanded to be filled. Harry picked up a second mug from the drying rack. Y/N moved towards the long wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, trailing her fingertips across the back of one of the chairs. 

“You want coffee?” he asked. 

“Yes, please.” 

He did not ask how she took it. Y/N noticed that almost immediately. Harry placed the mug beneath the machine, pressed the button for a double espresso and waited. When it finished, he added one spoonful of sugar, stirred it, then reached for the milk. Not too much. Just enough to soften the colour. Exactly how she had drunk it six years ago. She watched him with an uncomfortable pressure gathering behind her ribs. Harry turned and held out the mug. “Careful. It’s hot.” Y/N took it from him, her fingers brushing his. “You remembered.” His hand remained near hers for a second before falling back to his side. Harry looked at the coffee, then at her. “I remember a lot of things.” The answer was too simple to defend against. Y/N lowered her eyes, curling both hands around the mug. “I changed to oat milk for a while.” Harry’s mouth twitched. “Tragic.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” 

“It tastes like someone whispered the word ‘milk’ over a glass of water.” 

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “That’s very dramatic.” 

“It’s accurate.” 

“I changed back.” 

“Good.” 

“You sound relieved.” 

“I was worried about you.” 

She lifted her gaze to his, and for one suspended moment, neither of them smiled. Then Harry turned towards the cupboards. “There’s bread somewhere.” Y/N looked down at the mug to hide the heat that had risen into her face. “I’m not hungry.” 

“You said that last night.” 

“And then I ate half your dessert.” 

“You ate more than half.” 

“You offered it.” 

“I didn’t realise you were going to treat the plate like disputed territory.” 

“You survived.” 

“Barely.” 

Harry opened one cupboard, then another, searching with the confidence of someone who had no idea where anything was. Y/N took a sip of coffee. It was perfect, which annoyed her more than it should have. 

“You’ve been in this kitchen longer than I have,” she said. “How do you not know where the bread is?” 

“I haven’t been looking for bread.” 

“What have you been doing?” 

“Making coffee.” 

“For how long?” 

Harry glanced at the clock. “That feels personal.” Y/N smiled into her mug. He eventually found a loaf in the pantry and placed it on the counter with a small, victorious nod. “There.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you. It’s been a difficult journey.” 

“You’re very brave.” 

“I know.” 

Harry put two slices into the toaster, then looked over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want any?” 

“I’m sure.” 

He added two more slices without comment. Y/N noticed. She said nothing. While the bread toasted, Harry leaned against the counter opposite her. The kitchen was large enough that they did not need to stand close, but the early hour made the space feel smaller, more private. Outside the window, mist clung low over the lawn. The trees at the edge of the grounds were softened by it, their dark branches blurred into the pale sky. Y/N looked towards the glass. “It’s going to rain.” 

“It’s England.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only answer.” 

“It wasn’t raining yesterday.” 

“A rare administrative error. It’ll be corrected.” 

She shook her head, taking another sip. Harry watched her over the rim of his mug. She could feel it even when she was not looking at him. The awareness settled over her skin, quiet but constant. Eventually, she turned. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m looking.” 

“At me.” 

“You’re in front of me.” 

“So is the table.” 

“The table’s less interesting.” 

Y/N tightened her grip around the mug. “You’re very irritating in the morning.” 

“You liked me in the morning once.” 

She looked at him sharply. Harry’s expression shifted, the teasing fading from it as soon as the words landed between them. Neither of them moved. Then the toaster sprang up with enough force to make Y/N flinch. Harry turned away, clearing his throat. “Toast.” 

“Right.” 

He placed the slices on a plate, spreading butter across them while it melted. When he set the plate on the table, two of the slices were closer to her side. Y/N stared at them. 

“I said I wasn’t hungry.” 

“And I chose not to believe you.” 

“That’s controlling.” 

“That’s breakfast.” 

She looked up at him. Harry pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down, taking one of the slices. “Don’t eat it, then.” Y/N waited three seconds before taking the other. Harry did not comment, but she saw the smile he tried to hide. For the next few minutes, they ate in near silence. It should have been strange. Perhaps it was. But beneath the uncertainty, there was something painfully familiar about it—something that reached backwards through time and found all the quiet mornings they had almost shared. Y/N had known Harry when they were younger, when mornings usually meant rushed coffees between lectures or sitting in the back corner of a nearly empty café while he complained about being awake. They had never lived together. Never reached the stage where mornings became ordinary. And yet this felt ordinary. That was the dangerous part. 

“So,” Harry said eventually, brushing a crumb from his thumb. “Are we going to talk about last night?” 

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee. He raised an eyebrow. “Good start.” 

“I didn’t know there was something left to talk about.” 

“There’s always something left to talk about with you.” 

“That sounds like criticism.” 

“It’s an observation.” 

Y/N placed the mug down carefully. “What did you want to say?” Harry looked at her for a moment, and she saw him choosing his words. It was unusual enough to make her nervous. 

“I don’t know.” 

“That’s helpful.” 

“I’m trying not to ruin it.” 

“Ruin what?” 

He gave a quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Exactly.” Y/N looked down at the wooden grain of the table. A small scratch ran through the centre, deep enough to catch the edge of her fingernail. “We cleared something up. That’s all.” 

“Is it?” 

She lifted her eyes. Harry was no longer leaning back. His forearms rested on the table, his attention fixed on her with an openness that made it difficult to breathe normally. 

“What else would it be?” she asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You’ve said that.” 

“I know.” 

Y/N swallowed. “Maybe we don’t have to decide what it means.” Harry’s gaze moved across her face. “That sounds suspiciously reasonable.” 

“I can be reasonable.” 

“I’ve heard rumours.” 

She gave him a warning look, and his mouth curved. Then Harry nodded, slowly. “All right.” 

“All right?” 

“We don’t decide what it means.” 

The relief she felt was immediate and disappointing. 

“Okay.” 

“But we also don’t pretend it didn’t happen.” 

Y/N’s fingers stilled against the mug. Harry’s voice was quiet. “I’m not doing that again.” She knew he did not mean the conversation. Not only that. For years, pretending had been the safest thing they had in common. Pretending they had misunderstood each other. Pretending the night had not mattered. Pretending the anger was easier than admitting what lay beneath it. Y/N looked at him. “Neither am I.” Something in Harry’s face softened. Before either of them could say more, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Fast, uneven footsteps, followed by the unmistakable scrape of someone walking into a wall. 

“Why is this house shaped like a maze?” Mason’s voice complained from outside the kitchen. 

Harry closed his eyes briefly. “And there it is.” Mason appeared in the doorway wearing plaid pyjama trousers, one sock and an expression of deep personal betrayal. He looked first at Harry, then at Y/N, then at the plate between them. His eyes narrowed. 

“No.” 

Y/N frowned. “No what?” Mason pointed at them. “Absolutely not.” Harry took another bite of toast. “Good morning to you too.” 

“You’re having a secret breakfast.” 

“It’s toast.” 

“At six in the morning.” 

“It’s nearly seven.” 

“That’s worse.” Y/N leaned back in her chair. “Why?” 

“Because six is an accident. Seven is a decision.” 

Harry nodded towards Mason’s missing sock. “What happened to you?” 

“I don’t want to discuss it.” 

“You came downstairs dressed like a divorced father on Christmas morning.” 

Mason looked down at himself. “This is comfortable.” 

“This is a cry for help.” 

Mason ignored him and crossed the kitchen, stopping beside the table. “How long have you two been down here?” Y/N shrugged. “Ten minutes?” 

“Twenty-three,” Harry said. She looked at him. “You counted?” 

“No.” 

Mason’s head turned between them again. “I hate this.” 

“You’ve said that,” Y/N replied. 

“No, but I mean specifically this.” He gestured towards the coffee in her hands. “Did he make that for you?” Y/N hesitated. Harry did not. 

“Yes.” 

Mason’s expression became theatrical. “Did he ask how you take it?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, God.” 

“Mason,” Harry warned. 

“He remembers the coffee.” 

“Most people are capable of remembering coffee.” 

“I don’t know how Olivia takes hers, and we’re getting married.” 

“That feels like a separate problem,” Y/N said. 

Mason pointed at her. “Don’t distract me.” Harry reached across the table, took the final slice of toast and held it out to Mason. “Eat something.” Mason looked at the toast, then at Harry. “Are you trying to silence me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fair enough.” 

He took it and sat beside Y/N, apparently willing to abandon the interrogation in exchange for carbohydrates. The peace lasted less than a minute. 

“So,” Mason said around a bite. “What are we talking about?” 

“The weather,” Y/N replied. 

“At length?” 

“Harry had some strong opinions.” 

“I usually do.” 

Mason nodded thoughtfully, as though considering their explanation. “You’re both terrible liars.” 

“We’re not lying,” Harry said. 

“Fine. You’re both terrible at telling the truth.” 

Y/N looked at Harry. “Is there a way to make him stop?” 

“Not one that’s legal.” 

“I can hear you,” Mason said. 

“That was intentional.” 

More footsteps approached, slower this time. Emma appeared first, wrapped in a cream dressing gown with Sophia behind her, both of them looking more awake than Mason but only marginally. Emma stopped when she saw the three of them. Her eyes immediately moved to Y/N’s coffee. Then to Harry. Then back to Y/N. She smiled. Y/N hated that smile. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re doing the face.” 

“What face?” 

“The one where you think something but pretend you don’t.” 

Emma walked towards the coffee machine. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You absolutely do.” 

Sophia opened the fridge. “She means your matchmaking face.” 

“I don’t have a matchmaking face.” 

“You have several,” Mason said. “This is the subtle one.” 

Emma turned to Harry. “Did you make coffee?” 

“He made hers,” Mason said before Harry could answer. “From memory.” 

Sophia slowly looked over her shoulder. Y/N closed her eyes. “Why are we making this a thing?” 

“No one’s making it a thing,” Emma said too quickly. 

Harry stood and carried his empty mug towards the sink. “You’re all making it a thing.” 

“Is it a thing?” Mason asked. 

“No.” 

Y/N and Harry answered at the same time. Silence fell. Mason’s face lit up. Harry pointed at him without turning around. “Don’t.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were about to.” 

“I was thinking it.” 

“We could hear it,” Sophia said. 

Y/N finished the last of her coffee and stood. “I’m going back upstairs.” Harry looked at her. “Running away?” 

“Protecting my peace.” 

“You don’t have any peace.” 

“Exactly. I’m going to look for some.” 

She moved towards the doorway, but Harry caught her wrist lightly as she passed him. The contact lasted no more than a second. Still, Y/N stopped. Harry’s fingers loosened immediately, though he did not move his hand away completely. “We start outside at nine.” 

“I know.” 

“Olivia said everyone has to be there.” 

“I heard her.” 

“Just checking.” 

Y/N looked down at his hand around her wrist, then back at him. Harry followed her gaze and released her. 

“Right,” he said. 

“Right.” 

She continued towards the door. Behind her, Mason made a strangled sound. Y/N did not turn around. 

“If any of you say a word,” Harry warned, “I’ll lock you in the pantry.” 

Mason’s reply followed her into the corridor. 

“You touched her for absolutely no reason.” 

“I had a reason.” 

“What was it?” A pause. 

“To remind her about nine.” 

“She was standing three inches away from you.” 

Y/N climbed the stairs quickly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. 

— 

By nine o’clock, the quiet house had disappeared. Every downstairs room had been invaded by boxes, ribbons, ladders, flowers and people carrying objects they did not appear to understand. The dining room had become a temporary storage area. The entrance hall was crowded with folded chairs. Somewhere near the conservatory, Noah was trying to convince Olivia that the arch did not need to be moved again. 

“It’s three centimetres too far to the left,” Olivia insisted. 

“No one will know.” 

“I’ll know.” 

“You’ll be walking towards me.” 

“I can multitask.” 

Y/N stood at the edge of the lawn holding a bundle of greenery while Emma attempted to untangle a string of small lights. The morning mist had lifted, but the sky remained overcast. The ceremony was due to take place outdoors if the weather held, beneath a wooden arch overlooking the gardens. Rows of chairs had already been placed across the lawn, though half of them would need to be moved once Olivia discovered they were not perfectly aligned. 

“You’re smiling,” Emma said. 

Y/N’s expression vanished. “No, I’m not.” 

“You were.” 

“I was looking at Olivia.” 

“That explains fear, not smiling.” 

Y/N handed her the greenery. “Can you focus?” 

“I am focused.” 

“On the wrong thing.” 

Emma examined the lights. “How was breakfast?” Y/N stared at her. Emma smiled innocently. “I mean the food.” 

“It was toast.” 

“Romantic.” 

“It was bread.” 

“Prepared by a man who remembers exactly how you take your coffee after six years.” 

“He has a good memory.” 

“He forgot Mason’s birthday last year.” 

“Mason changed the date of his party three times.” 

“He forgot the actual birthday.” 

“That’s understandable.” 

Emma stopped untangling the lights. “You’re defending him.” 

“I’m being reasonable.” 

“Dangerous.” 

Y/N turned away, looking towards the far side of the lawn. Harry was helping Noah carry one of the long wooden benches from the patio. His sleeves were pushed up again, and the sweatshirt he had worn at breakfast had been replaced by a white T-shirt beneath an open navy overshirt. He was listening to something Noah was saying, but halfway across the grass, his eyes found hers. The distance between them did nothing to lessen the impact. Harry held her gaze for a second, then lifted his eyebrows as if asking what she was looking at. Y/N immediately turned back to Emma. Emma had seen. Of course she had. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Emma announced. 

“You’re saying it with your entire face.” 

“I’m supportive.” 

“You’re unbearable.” 

“You love me.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

Emma looped the lights around her arm. “Do you want to help me put these around the arch?” 

“Yes.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“You’ve been staring at the greenery for five minutes.” 

“I was waiting for you to untangle the lights.” 

“They’ve been untangled.” 

Y/N looked down. They had. Emma’s smile widened. Before she could respond, Olivia clapped her hands loudly from the centre of the lawn. 

“Everyone, please listen!” No one did. 

“Everyone!” 

Mason dragged a chair across the grass, creating a sound so unpleasant that half the group turned towards him instead. Olivia closed her eyes. “Mason.” 

“What?” 

“Lift it.” 

“I am lifting it.” 

“You’re holding one side.” 

“It’s a heavy side.” 

Noah set down the bench beside the others. “What do you need, Liv?” Olivia pointed towards the arch. “We need the greenery attached before the florist arrives, because she’s only doing the flowers. We also need the lights around the trees, the tables brought out from the conservatory and the place cards sorted.” 

“Easy,” Mason said. 

Olivia looked at him. “You’ve done nothing.” 

“I’ve moved seven chairs.” 

“You moved the same chair seven times.” 

“It never felt right.” 

Harry came to stand beside Y/N, close enough that his arm brushed hers. She looked at him. He looked ahead, as though the contact had been accidental. It probably had been. Mostly. Olivia continued assigning tasks. Emma and Sophia were sent to organise the place cards. Mason and Noah were ordered to finish arranging the chairs. Y/N expected to be placed with one of the women. Instead, Olivia looked directly at her and Harry. 

“You two, arch.” Y/N frowned. “Why us?” 

“Because Harry’s tall and you have good taste.” 

Harry glanced down at her. “Apparently I don’t.” 

“You’re only there for height.” 

“Brutal.” 

Olivia handed Y/N the bundle of greenery. “Make it look natural.” 

“It is natural.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t think any of us do,” Harry said. 

Olivia ignored him and walked away. Y/N looked towards the arch. It was taller than she had expected, with a ladder positioned on either side and several coils of wire resting on the grass. Harry surveyed it. “This seems safe.” 

“You’re scared of ladders?” 

“No.” 

“You sounded scared.” 

“I’m concerned about the structural integrity.” 

“It’s a ladder.” 

“Exactly. Suspicious.” 

Y/N picked up one end of the greenery and walked towards the arch. “You can stay on the ground.” 

“And let you do all the difficult work?” 

“I’m capable.” 

“I know.” 

The answer came without teasing. Y/N slowed slightly. Harry took the rest of the greenery from her arms, leaving her only one end. “But Olivia said I’m here for height, and I’d hate to disappoint her.” 

“You disappoint her every day.” 

“She keeps me humble.” 

Together, they carried the greenery towards the arch. At first, the task required enough concentration that conversation came and went in small pieces. Harry climbed the ladder while Y/N remained below, passing him sections of eucalyptus and ivy and trying to interpret Olivia’s vague instruction to make it look natural but intentional. 

“More to the left,” Y/N said. Harry looked down. “My left?” 

“The arch’s left.” 

“The arch doesn’t have a left.” 

“Fine. My left.” 

“Your left is my right.” 

“Move it towards me.” 

“I’m above you.” 

“Harry.” 

He smiled and shifted the greenery. “Here?” 

“No.” 

“You said towards you.” 

“Not that much.” 

“You’re very demanding.” 

“You’re very bad at this.” 

“I’m doing all the dangerous work.” 

“You’re standing four steps above the ground.” 

“Tell my family I was brave.” 

Y/N folded her arms. “I’ll tell them you died arguing with foliage.” 

“A fitting end.” 

Harry secured the greenery with wire, then leaned back to inspect it. The ladder shifted slightly beneath him. Y/N reacted without thinking, grabbing both sides. 

“Careful.” 

Harry looked down. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the ladder. His expression softened. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I know. Just don’t move like that.” 

“Yes, boss.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I know.” 

For a moment, the humour disappeared from his face. He continued looking at her, and Y/N became aware of how close he was above her, one foot level with her shoulder, his hand gripping the side of the ladder near hers. Then Mason shouted from across the lawn. 

“If he falls, does that mean I have to make a speech at the funeral?” 

Harry glanced towards him. “You’re not invited.” 

“Bit harsh.” 

“You just planned my death.” 

“I planned the logistics.” 

Y/N shook her head, but the moment had broken. They continued. Once the greenery had been attached across the top of the arch, Y/N climbed the second ladder to arrange the lower sections. Harry stood below, holding it steady. 

“You know,” he said, “this is much more terrifying from here.” 

“You’re not the one on the ladder.” 

“I’m responsible for your survival.” 

“I was responsible for yours.” 

“You enjoyed the power.” 

Y/N smiled, reaching to thread ivy through the wooden frame. “Maybe.” The branch caught in her hair. She felt the tug near the back of her head and muttered under her breath, trying to pull away without making it worse. 

“What happened?” Harry asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re attached to the wedding arch.” 

“I noticed.” 

“Hold still.” 

“I can fix it.” 

“Y/N.” 

She stopped moving. Harry stepped closer. One hand remained on the ladder while the other reached carefully towards her hair. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he separated a strand from the ivy. The touch was light, almost absent, but every muscle in her body seemed to register it. 

“Don’t pull,” he murmured. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” 

“I’m standing still.” 

“You’re tense.” 

“That’s because you’re pulling my hair.” 

“I’m freeing your hair.” 

“It doesn’t feel very free.” 

Harry laughed quietly. “Nearly there.” His fingertips moved through the loose strands at the base of her neck. Y/N stared at the greenery in front of her with extraordinary concentration. 

“There,” he said. 

She felt the pressure release. Harry held up the offending piece of ivy. “Saved you.” 

“From a plant.” 

“It was aggressive.” 

Y/N looked down at him. He was standing close to the ladder, one hand still lifted near her shoulder. There was a leaf caught in his hair, small and bright against the dark curls above his forehead. 

“You have one too.” 

“What?” 

“A leaf.” 

“Where?” 

She pointed. “There.” Harry reached to the wrong side. 

“No. Other side.” 

He tried again. Y/N sighed and climbed down one step. “Hold still.” Harry went quiet. She leaned towards him and pulled the leaf from his hair. It should have been an ordinary gesture, but the moment her fingers touched the soft curl near his temple, both of them stilled. Y/N removed the leaf slowly. Harry’s eyes stayed on hers. The lawn around them seemed to blur into noise and movement: Mason complaining about chair spacing, Olivia giving instructions, the faint scrape of tables being carried from the conservatory. None of it felt close. Y/N held the leaf between her fingers. Harry’s hand was still on the ladder beside her hip. 

“You got it?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes.” 

Neither moved. Then Emma’s voice came from behind them. 

“You know the greenery is supposed to go on the arch, right?” 

Y/N stepped down too quickly. Her foot missed the final rung. Harry caught her immediately. One arm went around her waist, the other taking her forearm as her body tipped forward. Y/N landed against him, her hands pressed to his chest, Harry’s grip tightening instinctively to steady her. For one second, they were completely still. His chest rose beneath her palms. His arm remained firm around her waist. Y/N looked up. Harry looked down at her, all humour gone. 

“You okay?” She nodded. “Yes.” 

“You sure?” 

“I missed one step.” 

“You nearly fell.” 

“You caught me.” 

The words came out softer than she intended. Harry’s eyes moved across her face. His hold did not loosen. 

“I did.” 

Behind them, Emma cleared her throat. Loudly. Y/N stepped back. Harry let her go, though his hand remained briefly at her side, as if confirming she was steady before withdrawing. Emma stood several feet away holding a box of place cards. Her expression was far too neutral. 

“What?” Y/N asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“The face.” 

Emma looked towards Harry. “Do you know what she means?” 

“No idea.” 

“You’re both very convincing.” 

Harry bent to pick up the leaf Y/N had dropped. “Need something?” 

“Olivia wants to know if the arch is finished.” 

Y/N turned to examine it. “Nearly.” Emma’s gaze travelled up the arch, then down to where Harry and Y/N stood beside one another. “Take your time.” 

“We’re working,” Y/N said. 

“I can see that.” 

Emma walked away. Harry watched her go. “She’s going to tell everyone.” 

“She already has.” 

“Probably.” 

Y/N looked towards the tables where Sophia and Olivia were arranging place cards. All three women were now looking in their direction. Mason noticed them looking and turned too. Within seconds, every person on the lawn appeared to be watching Harry and Y/N stand beneath the wedding arch. Harry lifted one hand. “Can we help you?” Mason called back, “No. Please continue.” Y/N covered her face. “I’m going inside.” Harry caught the sleeve of her jumper before she could leave. “You can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“We’re not finished.” 

“Finish it yourself.” 

“You have good taste.” 

“And you have height.” 

“That’s not enough.” 

“It’s all Olivia gave you.” 

Harry smiled. “Stay.” One word. Simple. Quiet. Almost careless. But Y/N stopped. Harry released her sleeve, though his fingers dragged lightly over the fabric as he did. 

“We’ll finish quickly,” he said. She looked at the arch, then at him. 

“Fine.” 

They worked for another twenty minutes. Neither mentioned the way he had caught her. Neither needed to. 

— 

By late morning, the ceremony space had begun to resemble something intentional. The arch was complete. The lights had been wrapped around the trees. The tables were arranged beneath the large canvas canopy that had been brought in as insurance against the weather, and the place cards had been organised twice after Olivia decided the first order would create awkward conversation. Y/N carried a box of small glass candleholders from the conservatory towards the lawn. She had just reached the patio steps when someone came through the doors behind her too quickly. Harry’s hand settled at her waist and guided her to the side. 

“Careful.” 

A member of the venue staff passed them carrying a folded table. Y/N looked down at Harry’s hand. It rested against the curve of her waist, warm even through her jumper. Harry seemed to realise at the same moment. His fingers flexed once before he removed them. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

They stood there for a second. Then Harry took the box from her arms. 

“I can carry it.” 

“I know.” 

“You keep saying that and then taking things from me.” 

“It’s heavy.” 

“It’s glass.” 

“Exactly. Fragile.” 

“The candleholders are fragile.” 

Harry looked at her. “That’s what I meant.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. He smiled and started walking towards the tables. She followed him. At the first table, Harry set the box down. Y/N began placing the candleholders along the centre while he moved to the opposite side, mirroring her. They worked without discussing it, each picking up the rhythm of the other. When Y/N moved one candleholder a few inches to the left, Harry adjusted the one opposite. When he noticed a folded napkin sitting crooked, she straightened it before he reached it. After the third table, Mason appeared beside them. He watched in silence for a full minute. Y/N ignored him. Harry ignored him. Mason continued watching. Finally, Harry looked up. “What?” Mason gestured between them. “This.” 

“This table?” 

“No.” 

“The candles?” 

“No.” 

Y/N placed another candleholder down. “Use your words.” 

“You two.” Harry sighed. “Here we go.” 

“You’ve been together all morning.” 

“We were assigned the same tasks,” Y/N said. 

“No, you were assigned the arch. That ended an hour ago.” 

Y/N looked around. Mason was right. Somehow, without anyone instructing them, she and Harry had continued working together. The arch had led to the tables, which had led to the candles, which had led to Harry carrying boxes while she arranged what was inside them. Harry glanced towards the others, as if only now noticing the same thing. Mason’s expression became triumphant. “See?” 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Y/N said. 

“I didn’t say it did.” 

“You were going to.” 

“I was going to ask whether you realise you’ve been within two metres of each other since breakfast.” 

Harry frowned slightly. “Have we?” Mason stared at him. “That is deeply concerning.” Y/N thought back over the morning. The kitchen. The arch. The tables. The patio. She had been beside Harry for nearly all of it. 

“No,” she admitted. 

Mason pressed one hand to his chest. “I’m either going to cry or walk into the lake.” 

“Choose the lake,” Harry said. 

“You don’t deserve my support.” 

“We didn’t ask for it.” 

“That has never stopped me.” 

Mason walked away, muttering something about emotional repression. Y/N picked up another candleholder. “He’s going to be insufferable now.” 

“He was insufferable before.” 

“True.” 

Harry placed the next candleholder down but did not immediately move his hand. 

“Does it bother you?” Y/N looked at him. “What?” 

“That everyone’s noticing.” 

She considered the question. It should have bothered her. Normally, being watched made her instinctively defensive, especially when Harry was involved. For years, the easiest way to keep people from guessing the truth had been to deny everything before they had even asked. But the truth itself had changed shape. 

“I don’t know,” she said. 

Harry nodded slightly. “Me neither.” Y/N looked down at the table. “Does it bother you?” 

“No.” 

The answer came quickly. Too quickly to be careless. She raised her gaze. Harry held it. “Not really.” Something warm moved through her chest. Before she could respond, Olivia called from the lawn. 

“Everyone inside in ten minutes! We need to rehearse the entrance before lunch.” 

Mason groaned loudly. “We know how to walk.” 

“You don’t even know how to carry a chair,” Olivia replied. 

“That was one time.” 

“It was this morning.” 

Harry looked towards the house, then back at Y/N. “Rehearsal.” 

“You sound excited.” 

“I love being told where to stand.” 

“You do struggle without supervision.” 

“That’s why I keep you around.” 

The words were playful, but Y/N’s breath caught anyway. Harry seemed to hear the weight in them a second too late. Neither looked away. Then he reached past her for another candleholder, his arm brushing hers. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Before Olivia starts assigning consequences.” 

Y/N followed him towards the house. Not because he had asked. Not entirely. But when they reached the patio steps, Harry slowed just enough for her to walk beside him. And without thinking, she matched his pace. The rehearsal began fifteen minutes late and deteriorated almost immediately. Olivia stood at the front of the ballroom holding a folded sheet of paper that had been highlighted in three different colours. Noah remained beside her, calm in the way only someone deeply in love and entirely resigned could be. Mason had been instructed to stand near the doors and had somehow ended up sitting on the floor. 

“You’re supposed to be ready,” Olivia said. 

“I am ready.” 

“You’re sitting down.” 

“I can become vertical very quickly.” 

“That isn’t reassuring.” 

The ballroom had been cleared except for several rows of chairs placed to imitate the outdoor ceremony. Tall windows looked over the wet gardens, and the dull morning light spread across the polished floor in wide silver rectangles. The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained low enough that Olivia kept glancing outside as though the weather might reconsider if she appeared sufficiently threatening. Y/N stood near the back beside Emma and Sophia, listening as Olivia explained the order of the entrance for the third time. Harry was several feet away with Noah and Mason. He caught Y/N looking at him. She had not meant to. Or, at least, she had not meant to be caught. Harry raised his eyebrows in silent question. Y/N looked pointedly at Mason, who was now lying back on his elbows. Harry followed her gaze. Then he turned towards Mason and nudged his foot. Mason looked up. “What?” 

“Stand.” 

“You’re not in charge of me.” 

“Liv’s about to kill you.” 

Mason glanced towards Olivia and immediately got to his feet. Y/N bit back a smile. Sophia noticed. 

“You two have developed a language,” she murmured. 

Y/N looked at her. “We always had one.” The words left her before she thought about them. Sophia’s expression softened. Y/N turned her attention back to Olivia. 

“Right,” Olivia said. “Emma and Mason first. Then Sophia and Harry. Y/N after them. Noah and I last.” 

Mason frowned. “Why am I with Emma?” Emma folded her arms. “What’s wrong with me?” 

“Nothing. I just assumed I’d be with Harry.” Harry looked at him. “Why?” 

“We have chemistry.” 

“No, we don’t.” 

“You’re afraid of it.” 

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please just stand where I tell you.” Everyone moved into the corridor beyond the ballroom doors. Y/N ended up between Harry and Sophia while Olivia reorganised them according to a plan no one else could follow. Harry leaned towards Y/N. 

“You’re after me.” 

“I heard.” 

“You looked distracted.” 

“I was listening.” 

“To Mason confess his feelings for you?” Harry smiled. “Jealous?” 

“No.” 

“That was fast.” 

“It was easy.” 

Sophia glanced between them. “Should I move?” Y/N looked at her. “No.” Harry said, “Probably.” Sophia stepped forward and stood beside Emma. Y/N stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“You were the one having a private conversation across the ballroom.” 

“That was not a conversation.” 

“You made me save Mason’s life.” 

“From standing up?” 

“He could have died.” 

“You would have enjoyed the funeral.” 

“I would have given a beautiful speech.” 

“What would you say?” 

Harry considered it. “He had one sock and no sense of spatial awareness.” Y/N laughed. The sound drew Olivia’s attention. 

“Harry.” 

He straightened immediately. “Listening.” 

“No, you aren’t.” 

“I’m standing in the correct place.” 

“You’re meant to be beside Sophia.” 

Harry looked to where Sophia had moved. 

“She abandoned me.” 

“I protected myself,” Sophia said. 

Olivia sighed. “Fine. Stay there. Y/N, you walk after Harry.” Mason turned from the front of the line. “That feels symbolic.” 

“No one asked you,” Y/N said. 

“People rarely do.” 

The first attempt went badly. Emma and Mason walked too slowly. Harry entered before Olivia called his name. Y/N nearly collided with him because he stopped halfway down the aisle to look back at her. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered. 

“Checking you’re coming.” 

“Where else would I go?” 

“I don’t know. You have a history.” 

Her expression tightened. Harry’s changed immediately. 

“Bad joke.” 

Y/N looked towards the front of the room. 

“It’s fine.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“Keep walking.” 

He did, but the ease between them had shifted. At the end of the aisle, they separated and took their places. Y/N could feel Harry looking at her, though she kept her attention on Olivia. The rehearsal restarted. This time, Harry walked without turning around. For some reason, that felt worse. By the fourth attempt, they had managed something resembling order. Mason stopped waving at the imaginary guests. Emma slowed down. Harry entered at the correct time, and Y/N followed without almost stepping on the hem of her own trousers. Olivia lowered her paper. 

“Good.” Mason looked around. “That was good?” 

“It was acceptable.” 

“I’ve never felt so proud.” 

Noah placed one hand at Olivia’s waist and kissed her temple. 

“You can breathe now.” 

“I’ll breathe after the wedding.” 

“That seems medically unwise.” 

She smiled despite herself and leaned into him for a moment. Y/N watched them. There was something quietly reassuring about the way Noah handled Olivia’s anxiety. He never dismissed it or told her she was overreacting. He simply remained beside her until she found her way back to calm. Harry moved into Y/N’s line of sight. She looked at him. His expression suggested he knew exactly what she had been thinking. 

“Don’t,” she said. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were going to.” 

Harry leaned closer. “You want emotional stability.” 

“I want silence.” 

“That’s less realistic.” 

Y/N looked away, but the corner of her mouth moved. Harry noticed. Before he could say anything else, Olivia clapped her hands once. 

“We need to test the first dance.” 

Mason dropped into the nearest chair. “Why?” 

“Because the band needs to know where to set up.” 

“The band isn’t here.” 

“The venue staff are.” 

“They’ve seen people dance.” 

Olivia looked at Noah. “Why is he like this?” Noah considered Mason. “Lack of supervision during childhood.” Mason looked offended. Olivia moved towards the speaker near the windows. “Noah and I will start. I need another pair on the floor so we can see how much room there is when everyone joins.” Silence. Every person in the ballroom suddenly found something else to look at. Olivia scanned the group. 

“No volunteers?” 

Mason looked at his feet. Emma adjusted her sleeve. Sophia studied the ceiling. Y/N knew what was coming before Olivia’s eyes reached her. 

“No.” 

Olivia smiled sweetly. “I haven’t asked you yet.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Harry folded his arms. “I agree with her.” Y/N looked at him. “You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to.” 

“I know Olivia’s face.” 

“What does my face mean?” Olivia asked. 

“That you’re about to make our lives difficult.” 

“I need two people to dance for three minutes.” 

Mason raised his hand. “I nominate Harry and Y/N.” 

“No one is surprised,” Y/N said. 

Harry pointed towards him. “You’re closer.” 

“I have an old injury.” 

“You don’t.” 

“It’s emotional.” 

Emma looked at Y/N. “You should do it.” Y/N stared at her. “Why?” 

“Because I’m wearing socks.” 

“So?” 

Emma lifted one foot. “Slippery.” Sophia looked down at her own trainers. “I’m available.” Olivia ignored her. Y/N looked between them all. 

“You planned this.” 

“No,” Emma said. 

“Yes,” Mason replied at the same time. 

Emma glared at him. Harry shook his head. “Subtle.” Noah stepped beside him and lowered his voice, though Y/N still heard. 

“Just dance with her.” 

Harry looked at Noah. Something passed between them. Y/N could not read it. Then Harry exhaled and crossed the floor. He stopped in front of her. 

“Three minutes.” 

Y/N looked towards the doors. “There are easier ways to leave the country.” 

“I checked. The rain cancelled all flights.” 

“That isn’t how weather works.” 

“Then we’re trapped.” 

Olivia gestured impatiently towards the centre of the floor. Harry held out his hand. Y/N looked at it. It was the second time that morning he had offered it to her. The first had been unnecessary too. She placed her hand in his. Harry’s fingers closed around hers. He guided her towards the centre of the ballroom. The room seemed larger once they stood beneath everyone’s attention. Noah and Olivia took their places several feet away, Noah’s hand settling easily at her waist. Harry looked down at Y/N. 

“You know how to do this?” 

“Do you?” 

“I asked first.” 

“That means no.” 

Harry’s mouth curved. “Probably.” Y/N placed one hand on his shoulder. His gaze dropped briefly to it. Then his right hand settled at her waist. The contact was careful at first. Almost formal. His palm rested lightly against her side as though he expected her to step away. She did not. 

“Other hands,” Olivia said. 

Harry lifted his left. Y/N placed her right hand in it. His thumb rested against her knuckles. The memory of that same thumb brushing her hand outside returned immediately. Y/N looked up. Harry was already watching her. The teasing in his expression had faded. The music began. A soft piano filled the ballroom. Noah moved first, guiding Olivia into a slow step. Harry shifted his weight. Y/N followed too late and stepped on the front of his shoe. He looked down. 

“Excellent.” 

“You moved without warning.” 

“It’s dancing.” 

“You could’ve counted.” 

“One.” He stepped again. Y/N followed. 

“Two.” 

“You don’t need to do that now.” 

“Three.” 

“Harry.” 

“Four.” 

She tried not to laugh. Harry smiled. They moved carefully at first, both of them too aware of their hands and the small distance between them. Y/N kept her gaze near his shoulder, concentrating on the rhythm. 

“You’re staring at my shirt,” Harry said. 

“I’m avoiding your feet.” 

“My feet haven’t done anything.” 

“They’re suspicious.” 

“They’re barely involved.” 

“That’s what worries me.” 

Harry guided her into a slow turn. Y/N followed more smoothly this time. His hand tightened slightly at her waist when she lost balance. 

“You all right?” 

“Yes.” 

“You nearly fell again.” 

“I moved half an inch.” 

“I’m noticing a pattern.” 

“You’re the common factor.” 

“Cruel.” 

The piano was joined by strings, soft and warm. Little by little, the awkwardness began to disappear. Harry stopped counting. Y/N stopped watching his feet. Their steps found an easy rhythm, less like dancing and more like the quiet adjustment of two people who already understood where the other would move. It unsettled her. Not because it felt strange. Because it did not. Harry’s hand remained steady at her waist, warm through the fabric of her sweatshirt. Her fingers rested near his shoulder, close enough to feel the movement of his breathing. She looked up. His face was nearer than she expected. 

“Are they watching?” she asked quietly. Harry glanced past her. 

“Yes.” 

“All of them?” 

“Mason looks emotionally overwhelmed.” Y/N resisted the urge to turn around. 

“I hate him.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Harry smiled. The movement softened his entire face. Y/N felt herself smile back before she could stop it. His eyes held hers. The room became quieter somehow, though the music continued and their friends remained only a few feet away. Harry guided her through another turn. This time, Y/N moved easily with him. 

“You’re not terrible,” she said. 

“You sound disappointed.” 

“I had prepared several insults.” 

“You can use them anyway.” 

“That would be dishonest.” 

“You’ve never let honesty stop you before.” 

Y/N’s smile faded. Harry felt it immediately. His hand shifted at her waist, not pulling her closer, only reminding her he was there. 

“Sorry.” 

“You keep doing that.” 

“Making bad jokes?” 

“Apologising.” 

“I keep earning it.” 

Y/N looked at him. For years, Harry’s refusal to explain himself had infuriated her. He had always been quick with humour and slower with anything vulnerable, as though every honest sentence had to be disguised before he could let it leave his mouth. Now, he seemed determined not to hide from the damage he had caused. It made it difficult to remain angry. 

“I don’t want you apologising every five minutes,” she said. 

“What do you want?” 

The question came softly. Y/N’s breath caught. Harry’s gaze stayed on hers. The music carried them through another slow step. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Harry nodded. 

“Neither do I.” 

They continued moving. His thumb brushed once over the back of her hand. The touch was small enough to be accidental. It did not feel accidental. Y/N looked down at their joined hands. Harry followed her gaze. Neither spoke. The next step brought them closer. Her chest brushed his. Harry’s hand slid slightly towards the centre of her back, adjusting automatically to steady her. Y/N looked up. His eyes moved across her face. There was no humour in them now. Only concentration. And something warmer. She became aware of the shape of his hand against her back, the faint scent of his soap, the curl that had fallen across his forehead. Six years ago, she had known every version of his face. The amused one. The tired one. The one he wore when he was pretending not to be hurt. The one that appeared in the rare moments when he forgot to protect himself. This was that face. Open. Uncertain. Far too close. Harry’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Y/N forgot the next step. Her foot caught against his. He pulled her closer before she could stumble. They stopped moving. Her fingers tightened against his shoulder. Harry’s arm remained firm around her back. The music continued around them. Neither seemed capable of remembering what they were supposed to do. Y/N looked at his mouth. It was only a second. Perhaps less. Harry noticed. His breath changed. The space between them narrowed without either moving. Then the music ended. Applause broke across the room. Y/N stepped away. Their hands separated too quickly. Mason was standing beside his chair, clapping with inappropriate enthusiasm. 

“That was revolting.” Y/N stared at him. “Revolting?” 

“You were smiling at each other.” 

“People smile when they dance.” 

“No, they don’t.” Emma looked at him. “They do.” 

“Not like that.” 

Harry folded his arms. “What does that mean?” 

“It means I felt like I was witnessing something private.” 

“You were watching us.” 

“I couldn’t look away.” 

Sophia nodded towards the floor. “The space works.” Y/N looked at her gratefully. “Thank you.” Olivia was smiling. Y/N did not trust it. 

“That was perfect,” Olivia said. 

“It was three minutes of walking,” Harry replied. 

“You stopped walking near the end.” 

Harry looked at Y/N. She immediately looked away. Noah placed one arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “There’s enough room.” 

“Good,” Y/N said. “Then we’re done.” 

She crossed towards the doors. Harry followed. Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Why are you coming?” 

“I need water.” 

“The kitchen is the other way.” Harry slowed. 

“Right.” 

Y/N almost laughed. He smiled, apparently accepting defeat, and continued beside her anyway. They entered the corridor. The ballroom doors closed behind them, muffling the voices of the others. For several steps, neither spoke. Y/N stopped near one of the tall windows. Harry stopped too. Outside, the wet gardens stretched towards a line of trees blurred by mist. Drops of rain still clung to the glass. 

“They’re going to be unbearable,” Y/N said. 

“They already were.” 

“This gave them evidence.” 

“Of what?” 

She looked at him. Harry leaned one shoulder against the wall. The question had sounded casual. His expression was not. 

“You know what.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Why?” 

“Curiosity.” 

“You’re not curious.” 

“No?” 

“You know exactly what they think.” 

Harry looked down briefly, then back at her. 

“Yes.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” 

“Does it bother you?” He answered without hesitation. 

“No.” 

Y/N’s heartbeat shifted. Harry watched her carefully. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You’ve said that a lot today.” 

“It’s been a confusing day.” 

“It’s barely noon.” 

“That’s your fault.” 

Harry smiled faintly. Y/N looked towards the ballroom doors. 

“You looked at my mouth.” 

The words escaped before she could stop them. Silence. Harry’s expression changed. Y/N immediately wanted to take the sentence back. 

“When?” he asked. 

“You know when.” 

“During the dance?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry looked at her for a long moment. 

“You noticed.” 

“That isn’t an answer.” 

“No.” 

Her pulse quickened. Harry pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. Not much. Enough. 

“Would you like one?” 

Y/N held his gaze. The corridor felt suddenly too narrow. 

“What would the answer be?” Harry’s eyes moved across her face. 

“That depends.” 

“On what?” 

“Whether you want the honest one.” 

Y/N’s breath caught. The ballroom door opened. Mason appeared. He stopped when he saw them. His eyes moved from Harry to Y/N and back again. 

“No,” Harry said. 

Mason lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You opened the door.” 

“I needed the bathroom.” 

“There are six.” 

“I like this corridor.” 

Y/N stepped away from Harry. Mason’s face tightened with regret. 

“Sorry.” 

She looked at him. He was still ridiculous, but the apology appeared genuine. 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, I actually am. Olivia sent me to find you.” 

“Why?” 

“She says lunch is ready.” 

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s twelve.” 

“That’s generally when people eat lunch.” 

“You’ve been awake for five hours and suddenly understand time.” 

Mason placed one hand over his heart. “Growth.” Y/N walked past him. Harry followed a moment later. Mason remained in the corridor, looking between them with an expression that suggested he knew he had interrupted something important. He had. Y/N was not sure whether she felt relieved. Lunch took place in the dining room beneath the constant sound of rain beginning again. Olivia had arranged everyone around the long table according to no particular order, which somehow resulted in Harry sitting beside Y/N. Neither commented. Mason did. 

“This is becoming statistical.” Y/N looked at him. “Eat.” 

“I’m only observing.” 

“You’re always observing,” Emma said. 

“No one appreciates my emotional intelligence.” 

Noah looked up from his plate. “Because you call it emotional surveillance.” 

“It’s a misunderstood art.” 

Harry reached for the bowl of roasted potatoes and placed it closer to Y/N before serving himself. She looked at him. He did not seem to notice. Or pretended not to. The gesture was small. That was what made it dangerous. Y/N took one. Harry glanced at her plate. 

“You need more than that.” 

“I’ll decide.” 

“You’ve eaten half a piece of toast.” 

“I ate the whole piece.” 

“Still inadequate.” 

“You’ve become very invested in my food.” 

“You stole my dessert last night.” 

“You offered it.” 

“I’m protecting future resources.” 

Y/N took another potato. Harry smiled. Across the table, Emma watched the exchange with her chin resting on one hand. Y/N pointed her fork at her. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m eating.” 

“You’re not.” 

Emma took a bite immediately. Lunch was loud enough that Y/N could almost relax. Olivia and Noah discussed the weather with the venue manager. Sophia told a story about a disastrous work meeting. Mason repeatedly tried to convince everyone that he should be allowed to make a speech despite not being scheduled to do so. 

“You’ll speak for twenty minutes,” Noah said. 

“I have a lot to say.” 

“That’s the problem.” 

“I’ve known you since we were eighteen.” 

“You’ve already told every embarrassing story I have.” 

“Not every story.” 

Noah’s expression became concerned. Mason smiled. Y/N laughed. Harry looked at her. She noticed only because he had become so quiet. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m looking.” 

“At me.” 

“You’re next to me.” 

“So is the bread.” 

“The bread isn’t laughing.” 

“Neither am I now.” 

“That’s disappointing.” 

Y/N looked down at her plate to hide her smile. After lunch, Olivia allowed everyone an hour before the next round of preparations. Most of the group disappeared into the sitting room. Y/N remained in the dining room to help clear the table, more because she needed space than because anyone had asked. Harry collected the glasses beside her. 

“You don’t have to help.” 

“I know.” 

“You say that constantly.” 

“You tell me constantly.” 

Y/N stacked two plates. Harry took them from her. She stared at him. 

“What?” 

“I can carry plates.” 

“I know.” 

“Then stop.” 

“They’re going to the kitchen.” 

“So am I.” 

Harry considered that. Then he returned the plates. Y/N smiled in victory and walked towards the kitchen. Harry followed with the glasses. They worked in companionable silence for several minutes, rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. It felt oddly domestic, the kind of ordinary task that should not have carried any emotional weight. Yet Y/N was aware of him beside her at every moment. When she reached for a towel, Harry handed it to her. When he opened the dishwasher, she moved out of his way before he asked. When their shoulders touched, neither apologised. 

“You’re very quiet,” Harry said. 

“I’m washing dishes.” 

“You’re thinking.” 

“I do that sometimes.” 

“About the dance?” 

Y/N dried a plate more carefully than necessary. 

“No.” 

“Liar.” 

She looked at him. Harry leaned against the counter, one hand holding a glass. 

“You never answered me.” 

“You never answered me either.” 

His expression shifted. Y/N placed the plate down. 

“What was the honest answer?” 

Harry looked towards the kitchen door. The voices from the sitting room were distant enough that no one would hear them. He set the glass beside the sink. 

“Yes.” 

The single word seemed to alter the air. Y/N’s fingers tightened around the towel. 

“Yes, what?” Harry held her gaze. 

“Yes, I looked at your mouth.” 

“I already knew that.” 

“You asked why.” She swallowed. Harry stepped closer. 

“Because I wanted to.” 

Y/N’s breath caught. He did not look away. The kitchen became too quiet. 

“And now?” she asked. 

Harry’s eyes dropped to her mouth again. The answer was obvious. Y/N’s heart beat hard enough to make her feel unsteady. He moved closer by another small step. There was still space between them. Not much. Y/N could hear the faint sound of the dishwasher running, the rain against the window, her own breathing. Harry lifted one hand. For a moment, she thought he would touch her face. Instead, he reached past her and turned off the tap she had left running. The movement brought his body close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. Y/N looked up at him. Harry’s hand remained beside her on the counter. 

“That was cruel,” she whispered. His mouth curved slightly. 

“You thought I was going to do something.” 

“I thought you were going to turn off the tap.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Y/N looked away. Harry leaned closer, his voice low. 

“You’re blushing.” 

“I’m warm.” 

“It’s freezing.” 

“The kitchen is warm.” 

“It isn’t.” She turned towards him. 

“You’re very pleased with yourself.” 

“A little.” 

“You shouldn’t be.” 

“Probably not.” 

His smile faded slowly. Neither moved. This time, there was no one else in the room. No music ending. No Mason opening a door. Nothing stopped them. That seemed to frighten them both. Y/N’s gaze dropped to his mouth. Harry inhaled softly. He leaned in. Not enough to kiss her. Enough that she felt the intention. Y/N did not step back. His forehead almost touched hers. 

“Harry,” she whispered. 

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. They moved apart. Sophia entered the kitchen carrying three empty mugs. She stopped. Harry looked towards the ceiling. Y/N turned back to the sink and picked up the towel. Sophia’s gaze moved between them. 

“I can leave.” 

“No,” Y/N said too quickly. 

“Yes,” Harry said at the same time. 

Sophia placed the mugs on the counter. 

“I saw nothing.” 

“You saw us washing dishes,” Y/N replied. 

“Very intensely.” 

Harry rubbed one hand over his face. Sophia looked sympathetic. 

“Olivia wants everyone in the sitting room.” 

“Why?” Harry asked. 

“She’s decided we need to review tomorrow’s schedule.” 

He closed his eyes. “Of course she has.” Sophia left. Y/N continued drying the same plate. Harry watched her. 

“Are we going to talk about that?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

“That wasn’t the question.” 

“It’s the answer.” 

Harry’s expression tightened. Y/N looked at him. The disappointment on his face made her chest ache. 

“I’m not saying I didn’t want it to,” she said quietly. 

Harry went still. Y/N lowered her eyes. 

“I just don’t know what happens after.” 

For a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice softened. 

“Neither do I.” 

“That’s the problem.” 

“Maybe.” 

She looked at him. Harry took the towel gently from her hands and placed it on the counter. 

“Or maybe we don’t have to know yet.” 

The words were careful. Y/N recognised them as her own argument from breakfast. 

“You’re using my logic against me.” 

“I’m learning.” 

“That’s dangerous.” Harry smiled faintly. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” Y/N held his gaze. 

“That isn’t what I said.” 

His expression changed again. Hope appeared too quickly for him to hide it. Y/N stepped back before she changed her mind entirely. 

“We should go.” Harry nodded. 

“Right.” 

They left the kitchen separately. Harry still slowed in the corridor until she was walking beside him. The schedule review lasted forty-two minutes. Mason timed it. 

“No one needs to know what happens at six forty-five,” he said from the sofa. 

“You need to be dressed,” Olivia replied. 

“I’ll be asleep.” 

“Then you’ll miss breakfast.” 

Mason sat upright. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” Y/N occupied the armchair near the window, listening with only half her attention. Harry sat on the arm of the sofa opposite her, one ankle crossed over the other. Every few minutes, his eyes found hers. Neither smiled. Neither looked away quickly enough. By the time Olivia released them, the rain had stopped again and the house had begun to darken with the early evening. Most of the group decided to remain downstairs. Y/N went upstairs. She told herself she needed to shower. The truth was that she needed distance. Her room felt quiet after the noise below. She closed the door and leaned against it for several seconds, replaying the kitchen despite every attempt not to. Because I wanted to. Nothing had happened. That was the problem. Something almost happening had left her more unsettled than an actual kiss might have. She crossed the room and opened the bathroom door. The bathroom was empty. Y/N exhaled, relieved and disappointed in equal measure. She showered quickly, changed into soft shorts and an oversized university T-shirt, then stood at the sink removing the last of her make-up. The door leading to Harry’s room opened. Y/N looked up through the mirror. Harry stopped. He wore a dark T-shirt and grey sleep trousers, his hair damp from the rain or a shower she had not heard. For a second, neither spoke. Then Harry glanced towards the door. 

“I can come back.” Y/N looked at the counter. 

“No. It’s fine.” 

He entered and closed the door behind him. The bathroom felt smaller immediately. Harry moved to the second sink and opened his toiletry bag. Y/N continued removing her mascara, pretending his presence had not changed anything. They stood side by side in silence. It should have been awkward. Instead, it felt strangely intimate. Harry picked up his toothbrush. Y/N reached for her cleanser. Their eyes met in the mirror. 

“This is weird,” she said. 

“Sharing a bathroom?” 

“At the same time.” 

“We’ve survived worse.” 

“Have we?” 

“Mason cooking.” 

“Fair.” 

Harry put toothpaste on the brush. Y/N washed her face. For several minutes, the only sounds were running water and the quiet movement of objects against the counter. The domesticity of it unsettled her more than the near-kiss. Harry rinsed his toothbrush and looked at her reflection. 

“You look different.” 

Y/N dried her face. “Without make-up?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” He leaned against the sink. 

“Less angry.” She looked at him. 

“I wasn’t angry.” 

“You were furious when you arrived.” 

“At you.” 

“I noticed.” Y/N folded the towel. 

“I’m still deciding.” 

“Whether you’re angry?” 

“Whether I should be.” Harry nodded slowly. 

“That’s fair.” She placed the towel down. 

“You don’t have to agree with everything I say.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You’ve been very reasonable today.” 

“Don’t insult me.” 

Y/N smiled faintly. Harry watched her. 

“I missed that.” Her smile disappeared. 

“What?” 

“You laughing with me.” 

The answer was so simple that it hurt. Y/N looked down at the moisturiser in her hands. 

“I missed it too.” 

Harry’s expression softened. For a moment, neither moved. Then Y/N opened the small jar and began applying the moisturiser, more to occupy her hands than because it required attention. Harry remained beside her. 

“Are you glad you came?” he asked. She looked at him through the mirror. 

“Yes.” 

“Even with me here?” Y/N turned towards him. 

“Yes.” 

The word changed something in his face. He lowered his eyes briefly. 

“I’m glad you came too.” 

The bathroom became very quiet. Y/N looked towards the door leading into her room. She should leave. Harry seemed to think the same thing. Neither did. 

“I thought about calling you,” he said. Y/N looked back at him. 

“When?” 

“A lot.” 

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the sink. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

Harry leaned back against the counter. 

“At first, because I was angry.” 

“So was I.” 

“I know.” 

“You didn’t then.” 

“No.” He looked towards the floor. 

“Then I was embarrassed. Then too much time had passed. After that, it became easier to believe you didn’t want me to.” Y/N swallowed. 

“I thought the same.” 

“I know that now.” 

“It sounds stupid.” 

“It was stupid.” She laughed quietly. Harry smiled. 

“What would you have said?” she asked. 

“If I called?” 

“Yes.” He considered it. 

“Probably something terrible.” 

“That sounds right.” 

“I would’ve pretended I needed something.” 

“Like what?” 

“A book.” 

“You never returned my books.” 

“I returned some.” 

“You returned one.” 

“It was an important one.” 

“It had coffee stains.” 

“You liked coffee.” 

Y/N shook her head. Harry’s smile faded into something gentler. 

“I would’ve asked how you were.” The honesty silenced her. 

“And then?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

Y/N looked at him. Harry stepped away from the sink. Only one step. The space between them narrowed. 

“I know what I’d say now.” Her heart beat harder. 

“What?” His eyes moved across her face. 

“I’d say I’m sorry I waited so long.” 

Y/N’s breath caught. Harry lifted one hand slowly. This time, he touched her. His fingers brushed a damp strand of hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. The gesture was gentle enough to undo her. Y/N looked up at him. Harry’s hand remained near her face. His thumb touched her cheek once. Neither spoke. The air between them seemed to tighten. Y/N’s gaze dropped to his mouth. Harry noticed. He leaned closer. Slowly. Giving her time to move. She did not. Their faces were only inches apart when a door slammed somewhere downstairs. Y/N flinched. Harry stopped. For a second, they remained frozen in the almost. Then Mason shouted from below. 

“I’m fine!” 

Harry closed his eyes. Y/N laughed before she could stop herself. He dropped his forehead briefly towards hers, not quite touching. 

“I’m going to kill him.” 

“You say that often.” 

“One day I’ll mean it.” 

Y/N’s laughter softened. Harry opened his eyes. They were still close. Far too close. His thumb remained against her cheek. The humour faded from both of them. 

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered. 

“What?” 

“Looking at my mouth.” 

Harry’s gaze dropped deliberately this time. 

“Yes.” Y/N’s breath caught. 

“Why?” He looked back at her. 

“You know why.” 

The answer was quiet. Certain. Y/N did know. That was what frightened her. She stepped back. Harry’s hand fell slowly from her face. The disappointment between them was immediate. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

“Don’t.” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“Neither do I.” 

“I don’t want to ruin this.” Harry’s expression softened. 

“What is this?” Y/N looked down. 

“I don’t know.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. 

“Okay.” 

The gentleness of the answer hurt more than anger would have. Y/N lifted her eyes. Harry moved back towards his sink, giving her space without making a show of it. She closed the moisturiser jar. Neither spoke for several seconds. Then Harry said, “We don’t have to rush.” Y/N looked at him. He stared down at the counter. 

“I waited six years. I can manage a little longer.” Her throat tightened. 

“Harry.” 

He looked up. Y/N wanted to say something that would make the uncertainty easier. Something honest enough to reassure him without promising more than she understood. 

“I’m not asking you to stop.” 

Harry went still. The words hung between them. Hope moved carefully across his face. Y/N looked towards her bedroom door before she lost her courage. 

“Goodnight.” Harry’s voice was quieter. 

“Goodnight.” She opened the door. 

“Y/N.” 

She turned. Harry stood beside the sink, one hand in his pocket. 

“I’m not asking you to stop either.” 

Her heartbeat stumbled. Neither smiled. Y/N entered her room and closed the door softly behind her. She remained there with her back against it. On the other side, she heard no movement. For one irrational moment, she wondered whether Harry was standing in the same position. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, pressing both hands to her face. The room felt too warm. She could still feel his thumb against her cheek. Harry remained in the bathroom long after her door closed. He stared at it, half expecting it to open again. It did not. He dragged one hand through his hair.  

The day had been a collection of almosts. Almost telling her too much at breakfast. Almost kissing her in the kitchen. Almost kissing her again in the bathroom. He should have been frustrated. Instead, he felt strangely calm. She had not asked him to stop. Harry crossed the bathroom and stood in front of the door leading to her room. His hand rested on the handle. He could knock. He could ask whether she wanted to talk longer. He could tell her he had spent six years imagining what he would say if he saw her again and that none of those imagined conversations had prepared him for the reality of her standing barefoot in a bathroom, looking at him as if she wanted to remember how to trust him.  

He did not knock. Not because he did not want to. Because, for once, wanting something did not feel like permission to take it. Harry released the handle. He switched off the light and entered his room, leaving the bathroom door unlocked behind him. As he crossed towards the bed, he looked back once. The darkness beyond the doorway felt less like distance than it had the night before. There was still a wall between them. There was also a door. And now, at least, neither of them seemed interested in closing it. 

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You knew the moment Blake turned off the main road that this had been a mistake. Miles of dark, empty industrial buildings stretched along the old highway. She told you the event always took place out here (because technically it was illegal) but you really started to feel anxious the closer you got.

Then she pulled her little Ford into an industrial park, the tires hitting gravel. The hulking warehouse looked like it might've been forgotten twenty years ago if it hadn't been all lit up with dozens of cars parked in front and loud music pouring from the entrance. Deep bass vibrated through into the car and you swallowed as you watched out the window with wide eyes. A crowd spilled around a wide loading dock and people clustered in groups beneath bright floodlights mounted on the building’s corners.

Blake parked in a random spot between a dented pickup and a matte-black motorcycle before cutting the engine.

“You okay over there?” she asked.

“I’m just… taking it in.”

“Lot to see. Even more when we get inside.”

You glanced toward the warehouse entrance where a heavyset guy in a black hoodie stood beside a folding table collecting cash.

“I didn't realize it was going to look like this, like… sketchy. Dangerous…” you admitted.

Blake laughed under her breath as she grabbed her bag. "Well, I mean it is illegal fighting and betting in an old warehouse outside of town. If it looks sketchy… that's cause it is.”

That wasn’t reassuring. You climbed out of the car, your sneakers hitting the gravel as the cool night air hit your face, making you glad you'd grabbed your cat sweater last second, even if it screamed—this person does not belong here! The closer you got to the building, the more alive the place felt. The more real it all was.

There was a low murmur of people talking over the music, smoking, and a few guys leaning against the side of a truck passing around a bottle of something potent.

“Wait,” you said, catching Blake’s arm before she started toward the entrance. “How do know this is safe? I mean, look at these people. I'm not judging, but… Do you trust Victor?”

She grinned like she’d been waiting for that question. "Of course I do. I've been fucking him for like three months now."

You huffed a nervous laugh, not convinced that the act of sex made anyone all that trustworthy. “But just two days ago you said you hated him and that it was 'complicated' with him.”

“Hey,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t start. I like complicated. And I've been here before. It's fine.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “I’m just saying… we could have had a fun girls' night, like, out dancing or something. What does Victor do here again?”

She continued toward the warehouse as she spoke. "He trains here sometimes. Helps run bets on fight nights.”

“I am just not a fan of participating in illegal stuff.”

“It's only illegal… technically. Like, if the police show up, everyone will just get sent home. Don't worry.”

“Blake.” You stopped and stared at her in surprise. "Police?"

“Oh relax,” she said, looping her arm through yours and dragging you forward. “No one’s going to raid the place. It’s been running for years.”

The bass inside thudded harder as you got closer, the metal siding of the warehouse practically vibrating with it. The air smelled like cigarettes, gasoline, and beer. You had no idea what you'd just gotten into, and now you were truly wishing you hadn't been so curious about it in the first place.

At the folding table near the door, the guy in the black hoodie counted cash while another marked wrists with a black marker. Blake slipped him a couple of bills.

“Two.”

The man barely looked up before marking an X on both of your wrists and jerking his chin toward the entrance. Inside, the noise and the scene was more overwhelming than it had been outside. Your eyes widened instantly.

The warehouse had been cleared out except for a massive open space in the center where a makeshift ring had been taped off on the concrete floor. Heavy industrial lights hung overhead, casting everything in sharp white beams.

The crowd pressed in close around the edges as people shouted numbers and pointed toward a chalkboard. It was leaning against a support beam listing names and odds, next to a folding table that had stacks of cash, plastic cups, and a cooler full of beer.

You turned slowly, trying to take everything in. “This is insane.”

Blake just smiled like this was exactly the reaction she expected. “Told you.”

Your gaze drifted toward the center where two guys wrapped their hands with white athletic tape while others shouted words you couldn't make out over the music. It was sensory overload. The music was so loud that it was hard to hear yourself think, much less anything that anyone was saying. People were leaning close to speak into ears, bass vibrated under your feet, the occasional shout of voices carried, and the view of people crowded together…

The crowd suddenly roared, making you startle. “What—”

“That guy won that round,” Blake said, speaking loudly so you could hear. “Next round starts in a minute.”

You watched as someone near the chalkboard wiped away a name and wrote another. The crowd moved as bodies pressed closer to the taped ring, and you stepped forward almost without realizing it, curiosity pulling you along with everyone else.

A guy climbed over the taped boundary first… lean, quick-looking, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rolled his shoulders. He looked mean.

The music filtered through every shout and scream as another man approached. Your eyes followed the movement as he stepped into the light next to his opponent.

He was tall with broad shoulders, tight muscles marked with fading bruises and ink on his arms and chest. His hands were wrapped in tape, knuckles thick, and he rolled his neck. His shoulder-length hair was messy, falling slightly into his face as he calmly looked at his opponent. This one looked even meaner.

The other man was pacing, bouncing, shouting who-knows-what at the tattooed guy. Their demeanors couldn't have been more different. Mr. Tattoos was just standing there, eyes sharp and focused, like a man waiting to get something done.

You didn’t even realize you’d leaned forward slightly until Blake’s voice cut in beside you. “He's the one everyone’s betting on tonight. Main event.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “What’s his name?”

“Harry.”

Harry's gaze lifted from the floor and he scanned the crowd slowly. Shouts grew louder as he turned himself look toward his audience, eyes roaming over every head who stood just outside the space of the taped ring. It was as if he were silently telling everyone there to bet on him. That he would win and that a bet against him was a mistake.

Then the referee stepped between them, and someone shouted the final odds, as the music was lowered just enough to give you a subtle jolt of brief calm. And then the fight started.

The two men circled each other as the referee stepped back out of the taped square. The crowd carried clearly now that the music wasn't as loud, shouts, whistles, someone yelling out last-second bets. Your heartbeat picked up.

Harry didn’t bounce like the other man did. He stood loose and steady, shoulders relaxed, eyes locked on the man in front of him. Watching him up close made your tummy flip in half. There was a kind of quiet confidence in the way he held himself, like he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

The other guy rushed first. He lunged forward with a wild swing that made the crowd shout in approval, but Harry barely moved. He stepped back half a pace and the punch cut through empty air where his jaw had been a second before. The motion was so casual it almost looked lazy.

Then Harry hit him before you even saw his arm lift. The sound of it cracked through the space loud enough to make you flinch. His fist connected clean against the man’s ribs and the man grunted, stumbling sideways as the air rushed out of him.

The crowd roared excitedly, and you looked around at the insanity of people enjoying this kind of sport. “Jesus,” you said.

Blake leaned closer to your ear, grinning. “Jesus ain't here tonight.”

The other fighter recovered quickly, shaking it off as he came back swinging harder this time. Two quick punches flew toward Harry’s face. One grazed his shoulder, the other missed entirely as Harry ducked beneath it and stepped inside the man’s reach.

He moved differently than the other guy. You knew next to nothing about boxing, or fighting, or whatever this was exactly. But you knew enough to see how different the pair in the ring acted. Harry was controlled and patient. Every movement he made was practical, and every punch he threw landed. He didn't attack at the air or miss like the other guy.

Harry drove another punch into the man’s stomach, then followed it with one quick hook to the jaw that snapped the man’s head to the side. The sound of the crowd rose again as the fighters grappled.

The other one staggered back a step, blinking hard as he tried to reset himself, shaking his head like he was seeing stars. His chest rose and fell faster now while Harry's barely moved.

They circled again for a few seconds before the other man charged again, clearly frustrated now. His swing was bigger this time, reckless, and Harry slipped past it with a quick pivot that made the whole exchange look almost effortless. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at how easy he made it look and a surprised smile found your lips without you even meaning to put it there.

Then his fist came up from below. A brutal uppercut landed squarely under the man’s chin and the impact lifted him clean off his feet.

For a split second, everything went strangely quiet in your head as the man’s body crashed down onto the concrete inside the taped ring. You stared, waiting with your breath held, but the man didn't get back up.

The crowd exploded. People were shouting, cheering, slapping each other’s shoulders as cash started changing hands around the edges of the ring. The referee stepped forward immediately, crouching beside the fallen fighter while someone waved a hand in front of his face.

Harry stepped back, breathing a little heavier now but otherwise looking almost untouched. A thin line of sweat ran down the side of his chest as he rolled his shoulders again and flexed his taped hands. You stared at him, mouth dropped open, your heart racing like you'd just been given the biggest rush of your life.

“That’s it?” you asked, stunned.

Blake laughed beside you. “That’s it. None of the fights last very long.”

The referee waved it off a moment later, and the music blasted back to full volume again, the bass hitting so hard you felt it in your ribs. You wouldn't call yourself a convert or anything, you still didn't like that all this was illegal, but there was something so electrifying about what you'd just seen that made you want to watch again.

You kept your gaze on Harry as he turned away from the downed fighter and stepped over the taped boundary as if the whole thing had just been another routine task for him. A couple of guys patted him on the back as he moved through the crowd, someone pressing a plastic cup into his hand as he passed. He nodded to a man standing near the betting table before disappearing between bodies toward the back of the warehouse.

You swallowed, only then realizing you'd been following his movements from the ring all the way until he'd disappeared. You were a bit hypnotized by the whole thing. By him.

Blake nudged you with her elbow. “Careful,” she teased over the music. “You’re staring.”

You blinked, forcing yourself to look away as heat crept over your skin. “Hard not to.”

Your attention drifted toward the spot where he’d vanished, curiosity tugging at you despite yourself. The crowd was already shifting again as the next names were written on the chalkboard and more fighters began wrapping their hands near the edge of the taped square.

But Harry was gone, swallowed by the warehouse and out of your line of sight. And you couldn’t quite shake the image of him walking away through the crowd, sweat still shining on his skin and that same calm look on his face, like the fight had barely meant anything to him at all.

Blake wasted no time pulling you through the crowd once the next fighters were about to step into the ring. “Come on. Victor’s in the back.”

You followed her as she wove through the crowd, slipping between shoulders and ducking past a group arguing loudly over a bet they’d apparently just lost. The deeper you moved into the warehouse, the more the noise changed. The music still pounded behind you, but the roar of noise faded slightly as you passed through a doorway and into a long side hall lined with metal doors and stacked crates.

The lighting back there was harsher, fluorescent strips buzzing faintly overhead. You stepped past men leaned into walls and watched as someone sat on an overturned crate icing his knuckles while another guy discreetly counted money inside an envelope.

Blake pulled you into a room where you spotted Victor. He stood near a folding table with two other men. When he lifted his head and saw her, his face broke into a grin and he pulled her into a quick kiss before she even had a chance to say hello.

“There she is,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Havin' fun?”

“Of course we are,” she replied, already leaning into him.

“Couple of decent fights tonight. You missed the first knockout, though. Gray laid Shane flat in under a minute.”

Blake nodded. "I think we got here right after that one."

Victor’s gaze flicked to you then, giving you a quick once-over before he nodded in greeting. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, though the word came out a little breathless. “It’s… a lot.”

He laughed and nodded, and Blake slipped from his arms, heading toward the cooler where cups were stacked. A moment later she handed you a plastic cup filled with something amber and fizzy, and had one for herself.

“It’s just rum and coke,” she said when you hesitated. “I made it. It’s safe.”

You nodded and took a sip. You were glad it wasn't too heavy on the rum, but it was just enough to relax you a little.

The group fell into conversation, talking over the distant bass and the muffled shouts drifting from the main warehouse. You tried to follow along, but most of it sounded like inside jokes and betting talk you didn’t quite understand. Someone mentioned odds changing after Harry’s fight, and Victor shook his head, muttering something about people being stupid enough to keep betting against him. That part you understood.

You leaned back against the wall with your cup in hand, half listening and half letting your mind drift. Even back there you could still hear the rhythm of the event out front. The music suddenly dipped lower again, and a fresh wave of shouting carried through the building as another fight had apparently started.

Your heart kicked up a little at the sound. You pictured the taped ring again, the bright lights overhead, the moment Harry’s fist connected with that brutal uppercut. The image replayed in your mind as you took another sip of your drink to steady yourself.

It had been shocking to witness, but also… exciting. You shifted your weight, feeling electric nerves buzzing through you. It made you feel anxious and unsettled. You were in a place where you definitely didn't belong. But as you emptied your cup, another problem made itself known.

You leaned toward Blake, raising your voice slightly so she could hear you. “Hey… where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, uh… right," she said as she looked at Victor.

Victor pointed down the hall behind you. “Just follow the hallway you came down all the way to the end. There’s a door that goes outside. When you step out, go left and there should be two doors marked ‘employees only.’ One of those is the bathroom.”

“That’s it?” you asked.

“Pretty much.”

"Pretty much?" You looked at Blake, hoping that she would volunteer to go with you.

Instead, she gave you a quick squeeze on the arm. “You’ll be fine. Just come right back.”

You nodded and set the empty cup on the table, slipping out into the flow of people in the hallway. The space was tighter now than when you’d first walked through it, and you had to excuse yourself a few times as you squeezed past a group arguing over something.

The further down the corridor you went, the quieter it became, and the lights were dimmer. At the very end of the hall, you found the metal door with a sign that read 'EXIT'. It creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and it thudded shut heavily as you stepped out.

The back of the warehouse looked completely different from the front. Instead of floodlights and crowds, the space behind the building was dim and mostly empty. A single overhead light cast a weak yellow glow over a patch of cracked pavement and a row of dented dumpsters.

You turned left like Victor had said and spotted the doors almost immediately. Both were old metal with faded signs that read EMPLOYEES ONLY in peeling black letters. The first one opened when you tried it.

Inside, the bathroom was exactly what you'd expected from a place like this. Small, a little grimy, and smelling faintly of citrus and stale water. But when you checked the stall and saw an actual roll of toilet paper hanging on the holder, you felt an absurd wave of gratitude.

“Well… that’s something,” you whispered to yourself.

A minute later you stepped back outside, brushing your hands on your jeans as if that would somehow replace a sink with running water and soap (neither of which existed inside the bathroom). For a moment you just stood there, taking a breath and enjoying the brief quiet away from the pounding music and crowded hallways. It was almost too much inside.

Then you noticed you weren’t alone. Across the small stretch of pavement, someone was leaning back against the brick wall of the warehouse, one foot braced behind him. The overhead light caught the shape of broad shoulders beneath an open button-up shirt, the fabric hanging loose and open over his chest.

Harry lifted a plastic cup to his mouth and took a slow drink as he stared at you. You froze for a second, letting your eyes rake down his long frame. He was wearing jeans now too, instead of the athletic shorts he'd worn in the ring.

Up close, without the noise and lights of the ring, he somehow looked even bigger. Or maybe it was because you were alone out there with him. His presence was quite intimidating. The tattoos along his arms were clearer now from where you stood, and the muscles in his forearms flexed as he lowered his cup.

You managed a small, nervous smile and reached for the metal door behind you, hoping to slip right back inside before it became awkward. Only the handle didn't budge. You frowned and tried again, but it was locked..

A small rush of panic fluttered through your chest as you turned the handle a third time just to be sure, but the door remained stubbornly closed. And when you glanced up again, Harry was still watching you.

“You lost?”

His voice carried across the short stretch of pavement between you, calmly, like the two of you were standing in a quiet bar instead of behind an illegal fight ring. The words startled you enough that you stepped away from the door, letting your palm fall from the handle as you gave a small shrug.

“Just trying to get back in,” you said, forcing a smile that felt a little tight around the edges. “Didn’t realize it would lock.”

“It’s an exit.” Harry said as he tipped the plastic cup toward his mouth again, taking a slow drink without breaking eye contact.

You let out a short, nervous laugh. “Well, yeah… I should've figured.”

He watched you for another second, that same steady look from the ring now fixed on you instead of an opponent. Something about it made your pulse thrum, though it wasn’t exactly fear. It felt more like the kind of awareness you got when someone was paying very close attention to you and it felt like you were in the spotlight.

You shifted your weight and glanced toward the row of dumpsters, then back toward him. “So… I guess I just walk around the building to get back inside?”

“Probably easier.”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried a hint of amusement that made you feel like he’d already figured out exactly how out of place you were. He leaned his shoulder more firmly into the brick, the overhead light catching the line of his jaw as he studied you.

“You’re with someone inside?” he asked.

“My friend,” you said. “Blake. She knows Victor.”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly in recognition. “I know Victor.”

You nodded and looked toward the building again, unsure of what to do next. You should probably have started walking to head back around the building, but the cool breeze outside, the quiet, and the company of one handsome fighter seemed a lot more intriguing to you suddenly.

He shifted, letting the cup hang loosely from his fingers as his gaze drifted over you again. You couldn’t quite decide if the look was just curious or assessing. Maybe a little of both.

The silence stretched for a moment before you cleared your throat. “Your fight was… impressive.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be complimenting someone for knocking another person unconscious. “I mean… I don’t really know anything about fighting, but it looked like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Harry pushed one foot off the wall and adjusted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulder like the muscles were still unwinding from the adrenaline. “I do know what I'm doing. Yes," he paused, letting his gaze drift over your sweater. "You come to places like this often?”

You laughed immediately, shaking your head. “No. Definitely not.”

That earned you a real smirk full of dimples and a pretty row of straight teeth. “Oh, I can tell. I was kidding.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You can tell?”

“You don’t look like the kind that spends her Saturday nights in warehouses watching people punch each other.”

You glanced down at yourself. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, “you look a little out of place.”

The honesty of it caught you off guard, but there was something teasing in his tone that softened the words.

“Well,” you admitted with a small smile, “I did just get locked outside. I am a bit out of my depth here.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, still staring you down like he was trying to figure you out. “And the jumper." He motioned a hand toward your sweater. "With the cartoon cats and flowers… Declaration of innocence.”

You sputtered a laugh and looked down at your top. You lifted the bottom hem upward and flashed him a peek of the plain black t-shirt you had on underneath.

"Was just gonna wear a black shirt, but I didn't want to get cold."

He took another sip from his cup before pushing himself off the wall completely. The movement made your attention drift back to his arms without meaning to. Up close you could see faint bruising along his pecs where his shirt draped open, and a small cut across one knuckle where the tape had already started to darken.

“So, this is your first time at one of these?" he asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“What did you think?”

You hesitated for a second, trying to figure out how honest you should be. “Honestly, it was kind of terrifying,” you said. “But also… exciting.”

His eyes warmed a fraction at that.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s usually how people describe it their first time.”

You glanced toward the warehouse wall, listening as another burst of cheers rose from inside. The music dipped for a moment and then surged back again, vibrating through the brick behind him.

“So is this something you do a lot?” you asked.

“Sometimes. Once a month maybe.”

“Do you ever lose?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. For half a second you worried you’d said the wrong thing, but Harry just huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Not tonight, I didn't.”

Something about the confidence in his answer made heat creep up your neck again. You folded your arms loosely across your stomach, trying to look less like someone who was fighting for her life, not to let her nerves get the best of her.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “for what it’s worth… I’m glad I got here in time to see it. To see your fight.”

His gaze lingered, and you watched him slide his eyes down to your tennis shoes.

“You came just to watch, or did you put a bet in too?”

You shook your head. "No, just to watch. My friend said it was fun. I was curious, so I tagged along."

He nodded. "And you had fun, thought it was exciting."

You gestured vaguely toward the warehouse behind yourself. “It definitely was fun. More than I thought.”

Harry’s smirk returned slowly. “Careful,” he said. “People get hooked on the adrenaline. And especially once you start winning bets, gets hard to stop.”

You held his gaze, surprised by how much steadier your nerves felt now compared to a few minutes ago.

“I guess that could be true.” You shrugged and let yourself smile wider. "Is that why you do this? The adrenaline of fighting?"

He shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that.”

You were quiet for a moment. Not sure of what to say next or if you should say anything more. If you were wise, you'd have already gone back into the building and found Blake and then convinced her to take you home. But there was something about Harry…

“You not in a hurry to get back inside?” he asked, brows lifted.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your grin grow.

“I was,” you said. “Before I got locked out. Kinda nice out here. Quiet.”

His eyes flicked to the door behind you and then back to your face.

“Lucky accident, then.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter, and you couldn’t quite decide whether the feeling came from nerves… or curiosity. Harry didn’t look away as he lifted his cup again and finished the last of whatever was inside it, tipping it back slowly, and you noticed the movement of his throat when he swallowed.

For a moment, you were both quiet. The silence behind the warehouse wrapped around you again, broken only by the distant sound of cheers from inside and the bass vibrating through the brick and the metal. Suddenly the feeling inside of you was alive, charged…

“So what happens after this?” he asked.

You blinked at the question. “After… the fight?”

“After tonight.” He motioned vaguely toward the warehouse with his chin. “You heading home?”

“Probably,” you said with a small shrug. “I mean, that's the plan. Afterwards, my friend is gonna drop me off at home.”

Harry nodded slowly. His eyes dipped briefly to your sweater again before lifting back to your face. “Seems like a shame.”

Your brows lifted. “A shame?”

“You finally get a taste of the adrenaline,” he said, leaning one shoulder back against the brick again, eyes fixed on you, “and then you just go home.”

You laughed lightly. “What exactly would you suggest instead?”

Harry’s mouth tilted slightly, and there was something unmistakably playful in his expression now. “Burn it off.”

You stared at him for a breath, the words settling in your mind.

“Burn it off?” you repeated slowly.

He watched your reaction with obvious amusement. “Yeah.”

Your face warmed as the implication crept in, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were reading him correctly. “And… how exactly does one do that?”

The corner of his mouth pulled higher. “Couple different ways. Some more fun than others.”

You scoffed a laugh and shook your head, glancing toward the warehouse again before looking back at him. “You’re being very vague.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Harry pushed off the wall again and stepped a little closer to where you stood. “Let’s say,” he said calmly, “you’ve got a lot of nervous energy after watching something like that. Right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“You could get another drink,” he continued, “go back in and watch some more fights. Find a club to go dancing, work off the energy that way… Or, maybe you and I can get outta here, find somewhere private to burn off the adrenaline together.”

Your heart thudded as he watched the thought unfold in your head. You blinked up at him, shocked. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I'm… You don't know me and I don't know you. Like…" You looked at him as he moved closer, your head tilting back as he stood over you. "You mean… sex, right?"

He laughed. “What? You don't like sex?” he asked, a dangerous smile on his face that made your insides feel like hot slush.

You blinked. "Well, yeah… But… I—we…"

"You have a boyfriend?"

You shook your head, stunned that any of this was happening.

"You attracted to men?"

You nodded and tried to go for a yes, but the words didn't come out.

"Are you scared of me?"

You shook your head. "No, I just… we don't know each other."

He held out a hand toward you, brows raised. "I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you…"

You let out a laugh and slid your palm against his, still looking up at him. "I'm… Y/n."

He grinned. "Y/n…" He nodded and dropped your hand but didn't move back to ease the distance. "I think you're cute. I like your smile. I'd love to burn off some adrenaline with you, but if you don't want to, that's okay. I understand. I'm a stranger and you just watched me knock out another man. Should we go back inside?"

You nodded, releasing your breath but half disappointed in yourself, if you were honest. Because Harry looked like he'd show you a really good time. And he was hot as fuck. But you were a practical girl who made good, smart decisions with her life. You were definitely not someone willing to throw caution to the wind with a strange, hot fighter… who you'd just met… who was basically asking you to have sex with him.

Harry slipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small key ring, twirling it once around his finger as he stepped past you and walked toward the back door where you'd been locked out.

You watched in surprise as he slid the key into the metal door and then pulled it open halfway before glancing back at you.

You cocked your head and dropped your mouth open. “You had a key the whole time?”

He shrugged, a grin still on his face. “Yeah.”

“You watched me struggle with the door,” you said, incredulous.

“I did.”

“And you didn’t open it.”

Harry’s shoulders lifted. “If I'd done that, you’d have gone right back inside.”

You stared at him, half shocked and half amused. “That was dishonest of you.”

“It was. I apologize. But I wanted you to stick around a little longer. Thought you were pretty and figured it was a good way to get you to talk to me.”

The whole thing was flattering, even though it shouldn't have been. You should have just walked away and gone around to the front of the building and found Blake. You didn't know this man, but you were curious. And he was hot…

You let out a breath through a small smile, shaking your head as you stepped toward the doorway. “You’re a bit too confident.”

Harry’s smirk returned. “Probably. I mean, I did just win the feature fight, though.”

You passed the threshold as he held the door for you and smelled the scent of a dark amber and vanilla cologne he must have been wearing. A little sweet and a little masculine. Then you glanced at his pecs, the dark tattoos etched over strong muscle.

When you heard the door close behind you, you turned to make sure he was still there, and he just grinned at you before he was next to you, walking in stride toward the room where you'd left Blake.

And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand yet, the idea of walking away from him, of saying goodnight and it was nice to meet you… suddenly felt less appealing than it probably should have. The heat of him next to you, the way he seemed to know everyone he passed by in the hallway, the way he stood tall over everyone and guided you without so much as laying a finger on you… It made you wonder if you should give him a chance.

The music slammed back into your ears as you both neared the main part of the warehouse and then stepped into the room where Victor and Blake still were. They both looked up when you appeared in the doorway.

Blake’s brows rose immediately when she saw Harry behind you.

“You okay?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

Victor gave Harry a curious look but didn’t say anything.

You hesitated for a second as you looked back up at Harry, and it was either a moment of complete clarity or insanity, but you weren't about to miss out on where the night could go if you left with Harry. If you took him up on his offer.

“Hey… I think I’m actually gonna head out. With him…" You glanced up at him and watched his expression shift into surprise.

Blake blinked. “Already?”

Harry nudged you, eyebrows knitting together. "Really?"

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. You decided it was in fact a moment of insanity, but you were committed now.

Her eyes slid past you to Harry again, and her expression slowly shifted into something far more knowing. “Oh,” she said slowly. "You sure?"

Heat crept up your neck, but you held her gaze. “I’ll text you. Okay?”

Victor chuckled quietly under his breath while Harry stood, a bit stunned that you had changed your mind, his expression told you as much.

Blake looked between the two of you once more before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well… alright,” she said. “Be careful. Harry, Victor knows where you live, so… be nice.”

He let out a laugh, looking at you as if to double-check that you were serious. “I'll be as nice as she wants me to be.”

Victor stepped away from the table then and held his hand out toward Harry. "Before you leave, I need the key back."

You watched Harry reach into his pocket and drop the small key into Victor’s palm without a word before he handed over a thick envelope that was full of cash, you assumed. Harry took it, tucking it away without checking inside, as if he already knew exactly what was in there. Victor patted him on the back, and then glanced at you with a look that was hard to read but it felt a little like you were being sized up. Like maybe Victor was trying to figure out if you were gonna be able to handle Harry or not.

"Well," Victor said dryly, "that was quicker than I expected."

Blake shot him a look before stepping closer to you. The teasing in her face had softened some now that you were actually leaving. "Text me if you need anything," she said quietly. "I mean it."

You nodded, trying not to let it show just how fast your heart was beating now that everything had shifted from impulsive idea to reality. "I will."

Harry stayed beside you, quiet still, one hand in his pocket while the other hung at his side. You were already feeling awkward about everything after having just announced to the room that you were leaving with a man who'd just pummeled someone for money. A man you hardly knew at all.

Everyone in the room already knew what happened next, and that made you feel extra uncomfortable about the curious, amused eyes that slid between you and Harry. You'd go home with him, have a good time (hopefully), and then… well, you hadn't thought too much about what happened after but you were trying to live on the edge a little. A far cry from your usual daily life.

Blake looked between the two of you one more time, then let out a breath through her nose as if she’d already accepted that there was no talking you out of this now. "Alright," she said. "Go on then. Have fun. But text me if you need me."

You laughed nervously. "I said I would."

Victor smirked as he looked at Harry. "Try not to corrupt her."

Harry’s mouth quirked just at the edge, but he said nothing.

That sent another wave of heat creeping up your neck, and you shook your head a little as if that might calm the flutter in your stomach. Then Harry tipped his head toward the hall, soft green eyes on you, wordlessly asking if you were ready, and when you nodded, he turned and stepped into the hall. You followed him toward the main room and heard raucous shouting over the next fight. You wondered how many fights there were at these events.

The warehouse felt different now than it had when you first arrived. Maybe because you were leaving it with him. As you walked through the side corridor and back out toward the main entrance, people moved around you with drinks in hand, smoke curling into the floodlit space. The gravel lot was still full, cars parked at odd angles, bass vibrating faintly beneath your shoes as you trailed Harry outside.

He led you without a word across the lot, weaving between cars until he stopped beside the matte black motorcycle you’d noticed earlier when Blake parked. For a second, you just stared at it, then at him.

"This is yours?"

Harry glanced back at you over his shoulder as he reached down to the handlebars. "Yeah."

You opened your mouth, though you weren’t sure what you were going to say. Something about that made sense. Of course, he rode a motorcycle. Of course he did. He turned and looked at you, eyes narrowing briefly as if in thought, then his gaze shifted past you, scanning the lot. His expression lifted like he'd just realized something.

"Stay right here," he said, lifting a finger.

Before you could ask what he meant, he turned and jogged off across the lot.

You watched him in confusion as he crossed two rows over toward another motorcycle parked under a floodlight. Whoever owned it had left a helmet looped over the handlebars. You saw Harry glance around, then unhook it and head back toward you casually, as if he'd just grabbed his order from the counter at a Starbucks.

Your jaw dropped as he came to a stop in front of you, holding the helmet.

"Harry…"

He was already checking the strap, barely looking up at you. "Hold still."

You did, mostly because you were too startled not to, and he lowered the helmet over your head gently. His fingers brushed your jaw as he reached under your chin to adjust the strap.

You blinked at him. "Whose helmet is this?"

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes narrowed. "I just watched you take this off someone else’s bike."

Harry grinned, still wordless, as he snapped the buckle under your chin.

"Did you steal this?"

He looked at you then, close enough now that the overhead lights caught the almost transparent green in his eyes. "What," he asked mildly, "you want me to put it back?"

You stared at him in disbelief. "Yes. We can’t just steal somebody’s helmet."

"You don’t wanna come with me?"

The question landed in a way that made your protest skitter to a halt. His hands were still at your jaw, and there was something so calm in the way he looked at you that it made the whole thing feel completely surreal. The noise from the warehouse seemed farther away suddenly, the crowd and the smoke and the lights blurring around the edges while his attention stayed fixed on you.

"Well," you said, trying to hold on to your common sense, "that’s not really the point."

"Feels like it is. Cause I'm not letting you on this bike if you're not wearing a helmet. Simple as that. Not risking it."

You let out a breath of disbelief, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’ve heard worse."

You were still looking at him like you meant to argue more when he reached up, curled a hand lightly at the space where your shoulder met your neck, and kissed you.

It was quick, but it most definitely was not casual. His mouth was warm and firm against yours, just enough to leave you stunned by the time he pulled back. Every thought in your head seemed to scatter, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him.

Harry’s expression didn’t change much, but there was satisfaction in it now, like he already knew exactly what that kiss had done to you. Then he turned, swung one leg over the bike, and started it up. The engine rumbled to life beneath him, low and choppy, and he looked back over his shoulder as he held an arm out toward you.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, helmet slightly too big on your head, and shook your head at yourself. You could not believe you were doing this.

But your body was still warm from the kiss, your thoughts still tangled from the look on his face, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and climbed on behind him. The seat dipped beneath your weight and you carefully settled yourself, your hands hovering awkwardly for a moment before finally landing at his waist.

"Where’s your helmet?" you asked, leaning closer so he could hear you over the engine.

Harry looked back at you, one hand still on the handlebar. "After what you just saw me do in there, you think I’m worried about my own safety?"

You frowned behind the visor. "That’s not funny."

"I’m serious." His hand slid back and touched your knee, which felt way too sweet for what was actually happening. "Only one I’m worried about wearing one is you."

And that… it made you feel a little sad. There was no bravado in the way he said it. He wasn't bragging about being a tough guy. He was simply telling you that he didn't care much about himself.

Then Harry reached down, shifted the bike into gear, and pulled out.

The sudden motion made your heart leap and your arms tighten around him automatically. Gravel crunched beneath the tires before the motorcycle found the road, and then the night opened up around you, cool air rushing past as the warehouse lights fell behind. Every single sound was swallowed by the engine and the wind, and you pressed a little closer to him, clinging to the solid line of his body as he drove you away into the dark.

Once he took you off the industrial roads and toward the city, the darkness began to break away into streetlights, gas stations, late-night storefronts, and the occasional car passing by. You had no real sense of direction with the helmet on and your cheek pressed near his shoulder, but you noticed when the scenery changed.

But when he slowed the bike and turned into the parking lot of a squat little diner with a glowing sign that read OPEN 24 HOURS, you blinked in confusion. You had expected him to take you straight to his place.

Harry shut off the engine and the sudden quiet felt strange after the rush of noise and vibration under your thighs. You carefully climbed off the back of the bike and pulled the helmet off before he took it from you and hooked it over the handlebar, then glanced at you as if nothing about the detour required explanation.

You looked up at the diner and then back at him. "What are we doing?"

"Eating."

The answer came so simply that you stared at him for a second. "Eating?"

Harry started toward the entrance. "Yeah."

This had not been what you'd imagined at all. You’d assumed, maybe unfairly, that once you agreed to leave with him the night would move in one very obvious direction. The fact that he’d brought you to a diner first instead of straight to his place caught you off guard.

You followed him inside, everything about the place was classic diner vibes… including the smell. It was mostly empty at that hour, just a couple of booths occupied. The lights were bright, the vinyl booths worn, and behind the counter a radio played music because it appeared the place was not set up with any kind of modern sound system.

Harry led you to a booth near the windows and slid in across from you. A few seconds later an older man shuffled over with two menus tucked beneath one arm. He had a lined face, thinning gray hair, and the kind of posture that suggested life had worked him over more than once. But his expression was bright and familiar as he looked at Harry.

"Well, look who finally remembered this place existed," he said, handing over the menus. "Haven’t seen you in what, three weeks?"

Harry took his menu and glanced up at him. "Been busy."

You looked between them quietly, surprised by the ease in Harry’s voice. The older man made a face like he didn’t quite buy the excuse, and then he broke into a rough cough, turning his head away from the table as he brought a fist to his mouth. It lasted only a few seconds, but by the time he straightened again, you noticed Harry was already watching him with a faint frown.

"Sorry about that," the man muttered.

Harry leaned back slightly against the booth. "Need to stop smoking, Marty."

That earned him a laugh. "Do you see a cigarette in my hand, son?"

Harry pointed lazily toward the old man’s chest. "No. But I see a pack of Winstons right there, which tells me all I need to know."

You glanced where Harry's finger pointed and, and sure enough, there was the outline of a cigarette pack tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his shirt. The old man followed your gaze and then laughed again, shaking his head in good humor as he leaned down, bracing both hands against the edge of the table.

"Interesting," he said, looking directly at Harry, "how you think my smoking is worse than your own self-sabotage." He squinted his eyes. "We both probably got some lessons to learn. Difference is, I’m old and it’s too late for me. You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you."

Harry lifted his brows and shook his head, as if to say he wasn't going to be discussing life's hardships right then. It felt to you like this was a conversation they’d had before. It made you wish they'd keep going so you could learn more.

The old man’s attention turned to you then, and his face softened. "And who’s this?"

Harry glanced over at you. "This is Y/n."

You gave him a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Marty," he said. "Likewise."

There was a little pause after that, just enough for you to get the feeling Marty was putting pieces together in his head and deciding not to comment on any of them. Instead, he straightened again and tapped a finger against the menu in Harry’s hand.

"You eating the usual, or are you gonna surprise me?"

Harry didn’t even open the menu. "What’s good tonight?"

Marty looked offended. "Everything’s good tonight. You know that."

That made the corner of Harry’s mouth tug upward. "Alright. Then give me the usual."

Marty turned to you. "And for you?"

You looked down at the menu, then back up, a little embarrassed by how impossible it suddenly felt to make a decision. Everything on the page looked heavy and diner-specific in a way you weren’t used to ordering at nearly midnight.

Harry noticed your hesitation. "Burgers are good," he said. "Pie, too, if you’re a dessert person."

You smiled. "Okay, I'll go with the burger."

Marty looked between the two of you with open amusement now. "A burger for the pretty lady. Comes with fries, that work?"

You nodded, closing the menu. "Yes. That's fine."

"And what would you like to drink?"

You shrugged and flitted your eyes at Harry and then up to Marty. "Water?"

He smiled at you. "Is that a question? Or is that what you'd like?"

"Um. Yeah. Water, please. That… yeah." You looked down at the formica table top and the aluminum edging as Marty made a sound of approval.

"Alright. Harry's usual, and for the lady a burger and fries with water… and let me guess… no pie because young people don’t know how to live?"

You laughed softly, looking back up at him. "Maybe pie."

"If you're still hungry, we'll split a piece when we're done eating," Harry added.

Marty gathered the menus from the table, gave Harry some kind of knowing look, and then headed toward the kitchen.

Once he was gone, you looked across at Harry, who had stretched one arm along the back of the booth and was watching you with that same calm, unreadable attention that seemed to be a constant with him.

You smiled a little. "So you bring all the girls to late-night diners?"

Harry’s gaze stayed on your face. "No."

You tilted your head. "Then why’d you bring me here?"

He looked down for a second, dragging his thumb slowly over the edge of the table like he was thinking about how much truth he wanted to give you. When he looked back up, his expression had softened.

"You seemed nervous," he said. "Thought you might wanna eat first. Give you a chance to change your mind before it's too late."

You pushed out a half laugh and tilted your head at him like he was some kind of alien. "Before it's too late? What's that mean?"

"Just means I can tell you're not used to any of this. You've got this… good girl thing going on and so, this is kind of a buffer for you. If you need it."

"Okay… I guess that's true in a way. I'm definitely not used to watching fights in warehouses," you said.

Harry’s mouth lifted. "Or jumping onto the backs of motorcycles with men you don't know."

A scoff fell from you as you looked down again. "Who also steals helmets," you said, a smile creeping up on your mouth as you looked back at him again.

His grin lifted entirely then, and the dimples that carved into his cheeks made him look almost innocent. He nodded and ran a finger under his nose. "Who does a lot of things he shouldn't do."

You studied him for a moment, this man who had just knocked someone out cold in front of a screaming crowd and then stolen a helmet like it was nothing, only to bring you to a diner and make sure you ate before the night went any further. The contradiction of him was getting harder and harder to pin down.

"Marty seems to know you pretty well," you said.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I come here often enough."

"You always stop here after fights?"

"Sometimes after work. Sometimes late." He glanced toward the counter where Marty had disappeared. "He’s been here a long time."

You rested your forearms on the table and looked at him more openly now. "So you and Marty just became friends over coffee and burgers?"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Something like that."

There was a beat of silence, and then you smiled. "I didn’t picture you as a diner regular."

He looked at you like he was examining, though the teasing was back in his eyes now. "What did you picture me as?"

You looked at him over the smooth laminated table, the fluorescent lights catching the bruises peeking through the open collar of his shirt, the roughness in his hands, and the tiredness that seemed to sit just beneath all of his confidence.

"I’m still figuring that out," you said.

He pressed his lips flat before pursing them. "Fair enough." Settling his own forearms over the table he kept his eyes on you. "What do you usually do for fun?"

Licking your lips, you took a breath. You imagined you were about to bore the tears out of him. "Flowers." You nodded, clearing your throat and forcing yourself to feel more confident about what you were about to tell him. "I like to press flowers and frame them. I know all about flowers too. I even… work at a flower shop."

He huffed a laugh. "Flowers. I'm only a little surprised. Imagined you'd say something like reading and sipping tea, spending time with your family…"

You shrugged. "I like those things too. What, you don't like reading and tea? Or… your family?"

He lifted his brows, clearing some kind of unwanted thought from his head. "Not particularly. Can't remember the last time I drank tea. Or saw my family. And can't seem to sit long enough to read anything that keeps my attention either."

"Well, I make fresh chamomile honey tea and the recipe is pretty much perfected… There's a balance between dried and fresh… I have this method where I use honey to age the flowers. Anyway. We even sell it at the shop because people love it so much. I bet if I gave you some, you'd change your mind about tea."

"You make and sell homemade chamomile tea? What's the name of the shop?"

You laughed. "Lavendar Lane Florals. I hate the name, personally, but my aunt named it when she opened the shop like… 25 years ago. Can't go and change it now."

Harry nodded slowly. "You work at your aunt's shop. Okay…"

"Something wrong with that?"

"No," he said with zero amusement. "Of course not."

"I mean… I run the shop, so it's not like I'm just her employee. Well, I guess I am technically her employee since she owns it but I'm like… taking over and in a few years since she's planning on retiring." You paused as he continued nodding. "And… well anyway. What about you? Do you just… fight for a living?"

He let out a loud laugh that made his shoulders shake a few times before he shook his head and licked his lips. "No. I do not fight for a living. I'm a package delivery driver. Northline Logistics. Fighting is for getting out all the stuff in my head and making a little extra on the side."

You took a breath again, not expecting that at all. "Oh, wow. Northline…That one's like, the most expensive delivery carrier. We usually go with Rapid Delivery for the shop. How do you like it?"

"It's work. Keeps my mind occupied. Good benefits. Pay's alright. Steady schedule."

Just before you could respond, Marty appeared with a tray with all the food and your drinks. You watched him place your plate down in front of you. A steaming burger piled with lettuce and tomatoes, and a side of rough cut fries, piping hot just next to it. Then your ice water in a tall, hard plastic, opaque cup before he gave Harry his order.

He’d gotten a roast beef sandwich with gravy on thick toasted bread, a heap of fries on the side, and a little cup of coleslaw shoved into the corner of the plate. Beside it, Marty placed a plain black coffee in a heavy white mug that had seen better days.

"There you are," Marty said. "And don’t complain the coffee’s stale this time. I made a fresh pot just for you."

Harry looked down at it and gave a small nod. "I'd never complain to you, Marty."

The old man snorted as if he didn’t believe that for a second, then walked off toward the counter again.

You looked at Harry’s plate, then at your own. "That looks good. So, that's what you always get here?"

Harry picked up the mug first and took a sip of the coffee before answering. "Most of the time."

You reached for one of your fries and shoved it into your mouth. The food was hot enough to make you wince a little, but it was good, greasy just as diner food was supposed to be, and you realized only then that you actually were hungry.

Harry ate like someone who was used to being hungry—efficiently, without fuss. Quietly. He didn’t seem self-conscious about the silence, but you were because your nerves were still a little on edge over everything and silence felt too awkward for you at the moment.

"My parents would lose their minds if they knew where I was tonight."

Harry looked up briefly from his sandwich, then back down again as if to signal he was listening.

"They already think I’m incapable of making any good choices on my own," you went on, tearing off a piece of lettuce that had slipped from your burger. "And I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. But somehow they still act like I’m seventeen and can’t be trusted to cross a street without supervision."

Harry nodded, chewing.

You kept going, partly because he was listening and partly because now that you’d started, you couldn’t seem to stop. "They’re not bad, just… overbearing. My mom calls constantly. My dad likes to phrase everything as concern, but really it’s just because he's super controlling. And then there’s my aunt, which doesn’t help because if anything even remotely interesting happens at the flower shop, somehow my parents hear about it before I’ve even made it home."

That got the edge of Harry's mouth lifting.

You pointed at him with one fry. "See? That’s horrible, isn't it? They're so annoying."

"Sounds annoying," he said simply before taking another bite.

"It is." You sat back a little, shaking your head. "I moved out two years ago and they still act like I’m having some kind of extended rebellion. Like any minute now I’m gonna come to my senses and move back home and ask my mother what I should wear every day for the rest of my life."

That made him huff a quiet laugh, and the sound of it pulled a smile from you before you could help it.

"I’m serious," you said. "Blake stopped by the shop one time and my aunt told my mom she thought Blake looked…" you lifted both hands making air quotes, "a little too alternative and then suddenly I was getting a lecture over dinner about surrounding myself with stable influences."

Harry lifted his coffee mug and took another sip, eyes on you over the rim this time. "You seem stable enough."

You smiled and looked down at your plate for a second. "I feel like I'm going crazy. All I want is my independence. I'm a grown woman. I love them, it's just… too much at times."

He set the mug down again and reached for one of his fries. You noticed he still hadn’t offered anything about his own life beyond the delivery job and the fights. He listened well, though it seemed. He just let you talk, like he didn’t mind hearing you untangle your thoughts out loud.

"I know it probably sounds stupid," you said after a second. "There are way worse problems to have than parents who care too much."

Harry’s expression shifted. "Doesn’t mean it’s not still a problem."

You looked at him more carefully then. "You don’t talk to your family much?"

Harry picked up half his sandwich again and shrugged one shoulder. "No."

There was something in the way he said it that made it clear the subject was closed before it had even opened. You could have pushed, maybe, but it would have felt wrong. So instead, you just nodded and let the moment pass.

"I see," you said softly.

You switched subjects and talked a little more about the flower shop, about wedding clients who wanted impossible peony arrangements in the wrong season and the older woman who came in every Friday for fresh roses just because she liked them. Harry listened calmly as he ate and occasionally asked short questions that told you he was paying more attention than he let on. By the time you’d finished eating, your nerves had eased just a little. You weren’t exactly relaxed, because the part of the night where he took you to his place was still coming, and soon.

Marty came by just as Harry was drinking the last of his coffee.

"You alive over there?" he asked Harry, reaching for the empty plate.

"Barely."

"Thought so." Marty stacked the plates, then glanced at you. "How was the burger?"

"Really good," you said. "And the fries."

He gave you a satisfied little nod like he’d personally cooked every item in the place.

"How about that pie?"

Harry looked at you, brows raised and you shook your head. "I'm too full to eat another bite of anything."

"We'll just get the check then, Marty."

The old man nodded, reaching into his apron to pull out the bill and handed it to Harry. "You working tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Early."

"Then don’t be out all night doing anything dumb."

You looked between them, smiling a little at the way Marty said it, like he’d probably said similar things to Harry more than once.

Harry reached into his pocket for cash. "We'll see."

Marty took the bills from him, glanced down at the amount, and shook his head. "You tip like you’re trying to buy my affection."

Harry stood, sliding out of the booth. "Thought I already had it."

Marty laughed under his breath and gathered the last of the dishes. "Get out of here. And make sure she gets home safe."

You stood too, smoothing your hands over your jeans as Harry waited for you at the end of the booth. Marty headed back toward the counter, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder at Harry that seemed to carry a whole conversation inside it.

Then it was just you and Harry by the door before he pushed it open for you. You walked in step with him as you moved to where he'd parked. He stopped beside the bike and looked at you.

"Changed your mind yet?"

You looked at him, at the bruises scattered just beneath the opening of his shirt, at his tired eyes and the way he held himself like he was confident but had too many secrets to really bare himself to anyone. Maybe you should have changed your mind, but you hadn't.

"No."

He paused and looked you over for a moment before he reached for the helmet hooked over the handlebars.

"Alright then," he said.

And a few minutes later you were back on the motorcycle behind him, your arms wrapped around his waist as he pulled away from the diner and carried you deeper into the city night.

It wasn't but a few minutes later that he was turning into an older apartment complex and parking his bike in a numbered spot next to a utility van.

You climbed down slowly and Harry followed, taking the helmet from you and tucking it under his arm before leading you up a short flight of stairs and down a dim exterior walkway. He unlocked the door near the end and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could go in first.

The apartment was clean, but plain, devoid of any life aside from a weight bench near the wall, a rack stacked with weights next to it, and closer to the corner, hanging from a brace in the ceiling, a bright red punching bag. It wasn't messy at all, just otherwise stripped down to the essentials: a couch, a coffee table, a television, a small kitchen with almost nothing left out on the counters. No framed photos. No decorations. No books stacked anywhere. No little pieces of a person scattered through the room anywhere.

You stepped farther inside, taking it in while Harry shut the door behind you and tossed his keys onto the small table beside the couch and then placed the helmet next to them.

There was so little of him in the place that it made you turn to look at him again.

"What do you do in your spare time?"

Harry glanced at you as he plucked at the last few buttons on his shirt, leaving it hanging open so you had a full view of his chest up close. "Work out."

Obviously.

You let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "That can’t be all you do."

"Well, it’s most of it."

The answer made you smile, though there was something kind of sad about it too. The bare bones decor of his place suddenly made more sense if that was the case. If he was being honest.

You were still looking around when he crossed the room toward you.

The shift in him was so quick it startled you. One moment he was across the apartment answering you casually, and the next he was standing right in front of you, crowding into your space until your back brushed the edge of the counter behind you.

His hands came up and cupped your face, warm and large. You inhaled a soft breath.

"What?" he said, looking down at you with a not-so-innocent smile. "You trying to figure me out already?"

You swallowed. "Your apartment’s just… very plain."

"You saying it's boring?"

A nervous little laugh escaped you. "Maybe."

Harry’s thumbs brushed lightly at your cheeks, his eyes moving over your face in a way that made every inch of you feel noticed. Then his gaze dipped to your sweater, and his mouth curved.

"You really did show up at the fight dressed like this," he said softly, teasing. "Little cat jumper. Soft as anything. You look too innocent to be standing in my apartment right now, Y/n. Too sweet."

Heat rushed straight into your face. "It’s just a sweater."

"Mm." He leaned closer, the tip of his nose nearly brushing yours. "That’s not what I said."

Then he kissed you. It was nothing like the quick kiss in the parking lot just after he'd stolen the helmet. It was deeper, a little filthy with his tongue tasting slowly before pressing it over yours… like now that he had you there he meant to take his time and make you feel every second of it. His mouth moved over yours like he'd been yearning for it all night. It made your knees soften almost immediately, and when he let out a deep sound against your lips, it went straight through you.

"Fuck," he whispered, barely pulling back. "Even your mouth is sweet."

You could hardly think. Your hands had somehow ended up on his chest, fingers pressing lightly against warm skin and old bruises, and he seemed to like that because his grip on your face shifted just slightly, one hand sliding down to the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"I’m gonna have fun with you," he said, voice rougher now, his eyes flicking down to your mouth. "Been thinking about getting this sweater off you since I saw you outside the warehouse."

A small sound slipped out of you before you could stop it, embarrassed and breathy.

Harry groaned, lips brushing yours. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That sound. Want to hear that one again."

You felt yourself melting under the way he looked at you, under the press in his hands and the fact that he seemed so completely in control while you were losing your footing by the second. He kissed you again, as one of his hands slid to your chin, holding you steady exactly where he wanted you while his mouth moved over yours until you were clinging to him just to stay upright.

Then he took your hand and pressed it over the line of his zipper through his jeans, still kissing you, still guiding you with a calm confidence that made your thoughts go fuzzy around the edges. The heat and bulk of him through the denim made your world tilt just a little, and when he finally pulled back, you were left standing there dazed and staring up at him, hand still in place over him where he'd left it.

The grin that spread across his face was wicked and warm at the same time.

"You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Y/n?" he asked softly. "What is it you like?"

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up. "I… uh…"

Harry took your hand then, threading his fingers through yours as if the question didn’t need answering yet. He started backing you down the short hallway, eyes never leaving your face.

"I like, um…" You laughed nervously, already flustered by the question. "I don’t really… I uh…"

He pushed open the bedroom door and led you inside, amusement spreading across his face as he turned to look at you. "That’s what I thought," he said.

His hands slid slowly down your arms over the soft knit of your sweater, and the look in his eyes told you very clearly that he planned on finding out exactly what you liked. He backed away a step and clicked on a lamp that sat on a bedside table and suddenly something skittered past your feet and into the bedroom.

You jumped back and looked at Harry with wide eyes just as he bent and reached down toward something that had ducked past the table with the lamp and when he stood back up, you were completely shocked to see him cradling a cat in his arms.

The cat was older, gray all over except for a white patch at his throat and another at one paw. His face looked permanently displeased, with one ear nicked and eyes the color of bright amber.

Your expression softened instantly. "Oh my god."

You reached out toward it, fingertips barely lifting before Harry’s voice stopped you.

"Wouldn’t do that."

You looked up at him. "He doesn’t like being pet?"

"He doesn’t like people," Harry said simply. "Except me."

That made you draw your hand back to your side again, though your eyes stayed fixed on the grumpy-faced cat. He stared at you for a second from the safety of Harry’s arms, unimpressed and vaguely judgmental—if cats could be judgmental—then Harry bent and set him back down. The cat landed lightly, flicked his tail, and wandered out of the room at an unhurried pace like he had more important things to do than supervise whatever was about to happen in there.

You watched him disappear into the hallway before looking back at Harry. "What’s his name?"

"Tyson."

You blinked, then laughed. "Tyson?"

Harry’s mouth tilted. "Like Mike Tyson."

"You named your cat after a professional boxer…"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Seemed fitting."

You smiled and glanced toward the door where the cat had vanished. "He’s cute."

"He’s mean."

"He looked fine to me."

Harry stepped closer again, that calm confidence settling right back over him now that the brief interruption had passed. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lifted, green and far too pretty for a man with busted knuckles and countless bruises on his body.

He slid a hand down to your waist, the other settling at the back of your neck as he pulled you in close again, and when he kissed you, it felt like he was picking up exactly where he’d left off in the hall. You leaned into him and your hands rose to his chest, palms flattening over his sturdy muscles as he kissed you harder. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, and the hand at your waist tightened just enough to make your breath stall.

He squeezed harder, fingers sliding up under the sweater and you let out a breathy, nervous laugh that turned into another small, helpless sound when he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your cheek, his nose grazing your skin.

"Still nervous?" he asked softly.

"A little."

"Mm." He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands settling at your hips now. "Cute. So fuckin' cute."

That only made you more flustered, which he clearly enjoyed if the slow rise of the grin on his face was any indication. He dipped his head again and kissed you until your thoughts blurred, until the apartment and the bike and the warehouse all felt far away, and there was only the lamp-lit room, and his hands on you.

Harry’s mouth moved slowly against yours, like he knew what you wanted. Like he knew just how to make you melt into him, how to make you weak.

Your hands were still resting against his chest when he shifted them, guiding your wrists gently outward until your palms slid over the warm breadth of his shoulders instead. The movement pressed you closer to him, your body fitting flush against his.

His hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, fingers lifting, dragging the soft knit of it upward and over your head, making your arms lift before he tossed it away to the side. You put your hands on his shoulders again as his fingers spread over the bare skin of your waist under your black-t-shirt. He had rough calluses from training, and the contact made a heat trail up the notches of your spine. His mouth curved against yours as his hand slowly glided the thinner material up inch by inch.

"You feelin' shy?" he asked, amused.

"I’m not," you protested weakly, though no one would have ever been convinced by the sound of your voice.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, you are. Like it, though."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dragging slowly over your face, fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt.

"Arms up for me again."

You lifted your arms slowly and he tugged the shirt up and over your head. The cool air of the room brushed over your skin instantly, and your instinctive reaction was to bring your arms down across your stomach. You really, really couldn't believe you were doing this.

Harry took your wrists. "Hey," he said quietly, making you look up at him.

He laced his fingers through yours so you couldn't cover yourself. Then he lifted your hands and pressed them gently against his own chest, right over his heart.

"Don’t do that," he said.

Your nerves twisted even tighter as his eyes moved over you slowly. He grinned, gaze raking over your stomach and your arms, the line of your shoulders, and then over the swell of your breasts pushing at the soft fabric of the totally unsexy bra you wore.

"You’re fuckin’ adorable," he said under his breath. "Like a little treat for me."

He let go of your hands and reached around to the back of your bra before he paused and looked at you. "You gonna let me keep going?"

You nodded almost immediately. You were nervous, but well past the point of no return.

"That a yes?" he teased softly.

"Yes." You were boiling hot. Every inch of you felt like it was steaming, mostly because of the way Harry was being with you, but definitely also because you were a bit out of your depth with someone like him.

The clasp popped open under his fingers at your yes. He slid the straps slowly down your arms, letting the fabric fall away before tossing it aside. The moment your chest was bare, Harry inhaled, lips parting.

"Jesus. That is… you are so pretty."

His hands came up immediately, large, rough palms cupping your breasts, making your knees loosen again. His thumbs brushed slowly over the sensitive peaks, testing the reaction, and when a quiet sound slipped out of you he smiled.

"There it is again."

Before you could swallow the sound, he bent his head and his mouth closed around one nipple with a wet warmth that sent a jolt straight through you. You reached up to his shoulders as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, his other hand cradling the opposite breast.

"Sweet girl," he hummed against your skin, like he was enjoying himself far too much.

His mouth traveled upward then, leaving a damp trail of kisses over your collarbone, your throat, the side of your neck. Every place he touched lingered just long enough to make you want more.

You were barely aware of his hands sliding lower until the button of your jeans popped open. You gasped quietly against his mouth when his fingers slipped inside the waistband, brushing against the soft skin of your low stomach before tugging the denim downward.

"Step out," he said gently.

Your legs felt a little shaky as you moved. Harry bent to pull the jeans the rest of the way off, and when he stood again, there was something distinctly darker in his expression. Hotter.

For a moment he stayed a foot back, just looking at you. Almost completely bare from head to toe under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. His gaze dragged slowly down your body and back up again as you pressed your thighs together from the scrutiny.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching toward you as a finger trailed along your hip. "Even these panties."

You looked down at yourself, nipples peaked, goosebumps on your tummy, full coverage cotton panties with colorful flowers printed on the fabric. You swallowed and looked back up at him to see his eyes on your face.

"You weren't expecting to get fucked tonight, were you?"

You shook your head, a puffed laugh falling out. You thought you were going to shake out of your skin standing there like that, practically naked while he was still clothed.

He grinned. "Did not expect to meet such a nice girl tonight."

He moved closer and pulled you by your hips, eyes wandering over your skin and your breasts and then back up to your eyes. "I don't deserve anything this nice."

Heat rushed into your face and you shifted your weight as he lifted a hand up to your face, thumb smoothing against your bottom lip. "Shaking. Need a minute?"

You let out a sound, chest heaving. "No. I'm…" You swallowed, yet again. "I'm okay."

He groaned and leaned in, running his nose along your jaw as he spoke, heat trailing with his breath. "You are gonna make me want something I don't get to have."

You were far too gone to make sense of his words at that moment when he pressed his lips on your neck again, arms wrapping around your back before his hands slid down, fingers spreading over your hips before gliding around to the front of your body again. One hand slipped between your thighs, but only the ghost of a touch at first.

You inhaled a shaky sound and placed your hands on his shoulders when you wobbled.

Harry looked at you. "Relax for me, Y/n," he murmured.

His fingers moved slowly, tracing along your inner thigh before drifting higher. When he finally brushed against the soft, sensitive center of you, your entire body reacted with a small, involuntary jerk.

Harry chuckled quietly. "Just touching. Can we get these panties off?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah? Okay?" He teased, looking at you as he tucked his fingers into the elastic of your panties at your hips and began to slide them down. Once they were pushed just to your knees, they dropped by themselves to the floor at your feet.

He groaned as he put his hands on your hip and smoothed them down to the outside of your thighs before he drew his fingers again to the space between your legs. "Keep making those cute sounds for me. Yeah?"

You didn’t answer, mostly because the moment he touched you again your thoughts scattered completely. His fingers slid through the slick warmth between your legs, and he let out a low, satisfied sound.

"Well, look at that."

You bit your lip, skin hot yet covered in goosebumps as he drew a finger upward and found your tender bud, circling. "Even your clit is all wet," he said softly.

"H-Harry—"

He pulled in a breath through his teeth as he dipped his fingers lower. "Oh, sweet girl. Yes, that's what I wanna hear. Keep making those noises, keep saying my name."

One of his fingers pressed gently inside you, and he hissed when he realized how open you already were. The sensation made your head tip forward against his shoulder with a quiet gasp.

"Easy," he murmured before pushing in deeper.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt as he slowly worked his digit in and out, gushy. He pulled out his finger and placed a hand between your thighs, making you spread your legs the slightest before he pushed back in, adding a second finger. The soft stretch made a sound squeak from your throat.

Harry kissed your temple as he fingered you right there next to his bed. You'd never had anything like that happen to you before. Being fingered standing up was new, and the fact that you were stark naked while he was still wearing his clothes made it feel all the more intense.

"How long's it been since you've been fucked?"

You lifted your head to look at him, clinging tight as he fucked your pussy with his fingers. "I… Last year."

He blew out a breath, eyes locked on your face. "And you're sure you wanna be fucked tonight? Still all shaky."

You nodded and moaned, hips moving against his hand erratically.

"Mmm…" he moaned, amused, fingers still pumping.

His thumb brushed lightly against the sensitive bundle of nerves above where his fingers moved inside you, and the sudden combination made a helpless sound slip from your throat again, and he groaned softly at the noise.

"That’s it," he said.

He pulled his fingers out slowly before guiding you toward the bed. "Come on."

His lips found yours again as he eased you down onto the mattress, the kiss slow and deep as he followed you onto the bed. His hands immediately returned to your body, sliding over your stomach, your hips, your thighs like he couldn’t stop touching you.

"You’re so fuckin’ cute," he murmured.

His fingers slipped between your legs again.

"And you feel even better than you look."

Before he pressed his fingers back in, he pushed himself from you and stood back. "Rub your pussy for me while I take my clothes off."

You reached down at once, watching Harry as you found your clit and began sliding your fingers over yourself. He kept his gaze locked on the space between your legs as he shrugged his shirt off to the floor and then unbuttoned his jeans.

When he shoved them down, he was left in his boxer briefs. The thick bulge that sat under them looked so big and long already, the thin fabric stretched tight over the heavy outline beneath it. But his attention was fixed on you. On the way your hand moved slowly between your legs. On the way your thighs trembled slightly as you touched yourself.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Just like that."

You were feeling all flushed and exposed like that. You'd never done anything like it before… rubbing yourself in front of anyone. Especially a man you hardly knew at all. But there was something about him that made you want to just say yes to everything he asked of you.

"Look at you," he murmured.

You forced your eyes up from where you’d been staring at his bulge through the boxer briefs. Looking into his eyes hadn’t helped your concentration at all.

Harry stood at the edge of the bed, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly as he breathed. Up close you could see every mark on him now… deep purple bruises blooming across his ribs, light yellowed ones along his abdomen where older hits had been healing. A thin scar ran diagonally over one side of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Your eyes drifted over every hard dip and muscled curve. Across the hard lines of his chest, over the scattered tattoos across his skin, down the defined ridges of his abs that flexed when he shifted. He had laurel tattoos that curved low at his hips, just above the waistband, drawing your gaze right back to the thick shape pressing against the fabric there.

You stopped moving your fingers as you were too caught up in the way his body looked. There was so much there to see and explore.

"Hey," he said.

Your eyes flicked back to his face as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed with you in a smooth motion. The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved you gently toward the center, guiding your hips with both hands.

"Don’t stop touching yourself, pretty."

Your breath shuddered as you resumed the slow motion of your fingers, making the little gushy noises start up again. Harry watched for another second before lowering himself between your legs. The position made your heart gallop wildly.

And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your knee. Then another. His mouth traveled upward over your thigh, warm and lingering, his hands sliding along your hips to keep you open beneath him.

"You’re so sweet," he murmured against your skin as his lips moved higher.

"So fuckin’ pretty." Another kiss at your belly button.

"And you make the cutest sounds for me."

You let out one of those "cute" sounds immediately, accidentally, soft and breathy, and Harry groaned quietly.

"Yeah," he said under his breath.

His fingers slid between your legs again, replacing your hand. You gasped softly when he pushed two fingers back inside you without warning, the stretch somehow more intense now that you were lying open beneath him.

"You got this wet all for me," he murmured, almost impressed.

Your hips lifted upward, and you moaned. Harry dipped down to kiss your stomach then, while his fingers slid through you, deeper than before, his knuckles brushing against you with every thrust.

"God, Harry…" you whispered.

He leaned down beside you, his mouth brushing your ear.

"You feel that?" he murmured.

You nodded weakly.

"Yeah, you do. Little pussy is just sucking my fingers in, begging for more."

His breath was warm against your skin as he continued speaking softly against your ear.

"Such a good girl," he said.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets.

"So sweet for me. Letting me play with you like this."

His hand slid over yours then, guiding it back down between your legs.

"Here," he said.

His fingers kept moving inside you as he repositioned your hand over your clit again.

"Keep rubbing for me."

The moment your fingers began circling there again, the combination made your entire body jolt, and Harry groaned quietly at your ear.

"That’s it."

His fingers pumped deeper now, curling slightly in a way that made your back arch off the mattress. It was good. You were already feeling the rush of what he was doing to your body, and his deep voice vibrating at the lobe of your ear sounded like sex.

"Fuck," you gasped.

Your hand trembled against yourself, the rhythm becoming messy as your hips began chasing the sensation. You couldn't believe that you were on the edge of coming already. For you, it was unusual, especially when it included another person.

Harry’s voice stayed soft and close. "Look at you." His lips brushed your temple. "Already shaking."

You knew you were trembling already. Your thighs quivered around his arm, breath coming faster now as the pressure inside you built higher and higher. You gasped as he curled and you hastened the pace of your fingers.

"Mmm," he murmured, slowing his fingers suddenly.

You let out a broken groan but before you could even process what he was doing he slid down between your legs, his body settling against the mattress as he pulled your hips slightly closer to his mouth. Your hand hovered uselessly over yourself for half a second, then his mouth replaced where your fingers had been.

The first drag of his tongue over your clit made your entire body jerk violently.

"Harry—Yes!"

Your hand shot downward but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, and he guided it to his head where your fingers tangled in his hair.

Harry looked up at you from between your thighs, green eyes dark under the low light.

"Pull," he murmured.

You whimpered when he pumped his fingers deep.

"As hard as you want."

Your fingers tightened in his hair as his mouth returned to you immediately, tongue pressing slow, deliberate strokes against the sensitive bundle of nerves he’d just abandoned seconds ago. His fingers continued to glide into you as he sucked you into his mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. "Oh my god!"

Harry groaned softly against you at the sound. "Squeezing my fingers so hard," he murmured before leaning down again and wrapping his lips around your bud.

Your hips lifted helplessly, chasing his mouth as his fingers thrust steadily upward inside you again. His tongue moved faster now, every movement sending sharp waves through your body. Your legs shook hard around his shoulders.

Harry looked up again, watching your face as he continued licking you.

"Come on," he murmured against you.

Your fingers pulled harder in his hair as you let out a loud moan into his room.

"I know you’re close."

And you were already falling apart. Your back arched violently off the mattress as the tension snapped through you, your entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through you and Harry licked you through every wave of ecstasy. His tongue stayed on you, fingers still filling you, as your thighs trembled uncontrollably around him.

Harry didn’t stop working you until the tremors running through you started to soften. Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling as the last warm waves of your orgasm rolled through you. Everything felt loose and floaty, like your bones had turned soft under your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers from you, he lifted his head and shifted his hands to the backs of your thighs, nudging them apart again so he could look at you. Study your puffy, wet folds and everything else there between your legs. His eyes moved slowly over the flushed skin there, the slick shine still clinging to your thighs, and a crooked smile pulled at his mouth.

"Well," he said.

Your face burned from the scrutiny of his eyes on you. Harry brushed a fingertip lightly along the inside of your thigh before dragging it slowly through the wetness between your legs again, watching the way your body reacted to even that small touch.

"Look at that."

You let out a flustered sound and tried to shift your legs closed in embarrassment, but he caught your thigh easily and squeezed it.

"No," he said with a smile, amused. "Let me see."

His thumb brushed over your skin before he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the inside of your knee.

"Even your pussy looks cute," he added quietly. "All soft and shy."

You covered your face with your hands, and he chuckled under his breath.

"C’mon," he murmured.

He guided you farther onto the bed, easing you back against the pillows until your head sank into them. Your body still felt a little fluttery from the orgasm, limbs loose as you watched him move.

He stepped off the mattress for a second.

Your eyes followed him automatically as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed them down his legs. And oh god. He was certainly… hung.

You’d already noticed how thick he was through the fabric earlier, but seeing him fully now made your stomach flutter all over again. He was big. Heavy and thick in a way that made heat coil low in your stomach even through the lingering haze of your orgasm.

Harry grinned as he reached into the nightstand, pulled the drawer open, and took out a condom. He placed it on top of the wood before turning back toward the bed with you. When he climbed onto the mattress beside you, the movement shifted the bed slightly and he reached for your hip, making you roll toward him.

You were still a little stunned, mind a bit mushy when he leaned over and kissed you. He slid a hand down your thigh and pulled it, draping it over his hip so your body turned toward him.

He pulled you closer so that his cock was pressed against your stomach. You moaned against his mouth as Harry grinned, before shifting back just enough to take your hand. His fingers guided yours slowly downward and your palm brushed against him, making you freeze immediately.

He was warm and so hard. Your fingers wrapped around him and your eyes widened slightly as you felt just how thick he actually was in your hand.

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah," he moaned.

You glanced up at him, still holding him carefully, scared to squeeze too hard. You shouldn't have been surprised that his dick was as ample as it was. Because there was something about Harry that made it seem like exactly what you should have expected.

You began to move your hand slowly, gently. You stroked him carefully, your grip light and cautious like you weren’t quite sure how hard you were supposed to hold him. Harry watched you for a second as a small grin tugged at his mouth.

"That’s cute."

Your brows pulled together as you looked him, a little lost at what he meant.

"You’re being real gentle with it."

You slowed your hand uncertainly, and he brushed his thumb along your cheek.

"Don’t stop," he said softly.

You resumed the motion, still careful.

Harry watched your hand move along him for a few more strokes before his gaze lifted back to your face. "Let me see something."

Your paused your motions.

"Let me see those pretty lips wrap around it for a little bit," he said. "Wanna do that for me? Suck it a little?"

You blinked as you nodded and released his girth from your palm before shifting. Moving carefully, you sat on your knees between his legs while Harry leaned back against the headboard, settling comfortably against the pillows so he could watch you.

The truth was that you had some experience. But not like this. You'd given blow jobs, hand jobs, and even had sex in various positions before… This felt like an entirely different undertaking with Harry.

You rested your hands lightly on his thighs and looked up at him before leaning forward slowly. Then you dipped your head and ran your tongue along the underside of him.

Harry inhaled sharply. "Fuck."

You glanced up at him again to check his face. His jaw had tightened, pupils spread dark as he watched you.

"That’s good," he murmured, licking his lips.

You smiled and leaned down to try again. Your tongue traced another delicate path before you finally wrapped your lips around the head of him and suckled the tip gently as you peered up at him.

Harry swore under his breath as his hand came up to cup your cheek as he watched you. "You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen," he whispered, voice rougher now.

Your lips moved slowly over him, trying to take a little more. A soft wet sound slipped from your mouth when you tried again and Harry groaned quietly.

"It’s a lot for you, huh, pretty?"

His thumb brushed your cheek. "But you like that. Don't you?"

You tried to take him deeper, blinking your eyes and concentrating on not scraping your teeth against him. But he was a lot in your mouth and it felt like an almost impossible task.

You inhaled through your nose, forcing another inch of him into your mouth as you gripped the tops of his thighs. You coughed and pulled back to suck more air into your lungs.

Harry smiled. "Wish we had time to let you practice on it more."

His fingers slid gently into your hair. "Get you used to gagging on it a little."

You leaned down again, taking him into your mouth as far as you could, leading with your tongue and sucking as you went.

This time he pushed lightly at the back of your head, testing the movement and your throat tightened and you swallowed around him. A soft gurgling sound slipped out.

Harry’s head tipped back with a low groan. "Oh, baby…"

He held you there for another second before easing the pressure and guiding you back up. A thin string of saliva followed as you lifted your head and Harry caught your chin between his fingers and pulled you up toward him.

He pulled you to his mouth, kissing you hard and slow, tongue pressing against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes searched your face.

"What position do you like?" he asked.

You blinked at him. "I… I don’t…" Your words stumbled over each other.

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah… Fuckin' too cute for me."

Before you could answer, he pulled you further up, dragging you over his thighs and into his lap. You straddled his him as his hands slid slowly down your sides, warm palms smoothing over your ribs and around your waist.

"God," he said quietly.

His hands moved lower, spreading over the curve of your hips before sliding around to your bottom.

"You’re making this too hard for me," he said, lip parted. "Not gonna wanna say goodbye to you in the morning."

You weren't exactly sure what he meant, but there was something sad in his words just then. And you'd picked up on a bit of melancholy in him. Like he'd been really hurt by someone in his past. It made you wonder about him. Want to know more about everything, but he didn't seem the type willing to divulge his secrets easily.

His hands moved upward again, cupping your breasts as he leaned forward to kiss one nipple, and then the other. Slow and warm, his lips wrapped and wetted as he fluttered his eyes closed briefly.

"Fuck me," he groaned against your skin.

His thumbs brushed lightly over the sensitive peaks as he parted from them.

"Too sweet."

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone. "Too cute, baby."

You shifted in his lap, the movement sliding your body against him and dragging your sensitive clit across the hard line of him.

Harry groaned quietly and then he leaned over to the nightstand, grabbed the condom, and tore it open before rolling it slowly down over himself while watching your face as if he liked watching every little reaction that crossed it. The soft lamp light caught the green of his eyes as he smoothed his palm down the length of himself, making sure it was seated properly, before his gaze drifted back to your body sitting there in his lap.

He huffed out a quiet breath through his nose and shook his head. "Jesus."

He slid his hands back to your hips, thumbs brushing against your skin before he leaned in and kissed you again. His mouth moved lazily over yours for a moment before he pulled back and gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

"C’mon," he said softly.

He guided you carefully off his lap, turning you around to face away from him with steady hands until your knees settled into the mattress in front of him. His palms stayed on your hips as he moved you forward a little farther onto the bed, easing you down until your elbows rested in the sheets.

The position left you spread out with your ass up in the center of the bed and Harry shifted behind you as he got himself into position. Your skin prickled under the feeling of his eyes moving slowly over your backside, over the curve of your waist and the soft line of your hips…

Then he gently settled a hand at the small of your back. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin and his thumb traced the small inky design there carefully.

Right above the curve of your ass at the back of your hip sat a delicate little flower tattoo, the thin petals shaded softly against your skin.

Harry leaned down slightly to look at it closer, then he bent and pressed a kiss right against the ink.

"Is this a daisy?" he asked.

You turned your head, glancing back over your shoulder at him.

"It’s a chamomile flower," you said.

Harry looked at your face and then he let out a low groan of laughter. "Oh, my god."

He leaned down again and kissed the little flower a second time, open-mouthed this time, his lips lingering against your skin.

"You are so fuckin’ cute, Y/n," he moaned.

He slid his hand up the curve of your waist again. "Goddamn," he added under his breath. "You’re precious."

You felt his palm settle against your hip. "Got my heart pounding and everything."

Then he moved a hand lower, one stayed at your hip while the other drifted lower between your thighs. His fingers spread your cheeks slowly, his breath leaving him in a soft hiss when he saw you like that from behind.

"Jesus, fuck…" he muttered.

His hands nudged your knees a little wider.

"There we go… let me see that..."

You shifted, thighs parting a little more as you bit down on your lip hard to push down the heat of bashfulness. You'd never had anyone really take in the view of your bits like that before. Except your gynecologist.

Harry dragged two fingers slowly through your folds, the touch making you gasp softly as he gathered the lingering slickness there.

"Oh, honey," he said.

You felt his hand guiding himself behind you, dragging and pressing, before, he slowly pushed forward. The first press of him against you made your thighs wobble, your fingers tightening in the sheets beneath you.

Harry paused for a second and then he eased forward again, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper inside you. Once he stuffed himself into the hilt, he stayed there a moment, completely still.

You inhaled softly as your thighs trembled slightly, letting your body adjust around the thick stretch of him. You heard Harry let out a breath.

"Fuck," he moaned.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs and settled at your hips as he looked down between your bodies. From where he knelt behind you he could see the way the two of you were joined, the thick length of him slowly disappearing into the slick spread of you. He groaned quietly at the sight, hips giving the gentlest experimental roll that made you gasp.

"Oh my god. Look at that," he breathed.

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it, like he was half talking to himself about the way your body looked around him.

"So fuckin’ pretty."

He pulled back slowly, just enough that you felt the gradual drag of him sliding outward before he eased forward again, pushing back into you at the same slow pace. Your mouth parted around a shaky breath as he repeated the motion.

"You’re so wet."

Another slow thrust had your body rocking forward slightly from the pressure, elbows sliding against the mattress as you tried to steady yourself.

"Feel how your pussy wraps around me?" he said softly.

You let out a small broken sound in response, and Harry groaned again.

The pace stayed slow for a moment longer, the steady glide of him in and out of you filling the room with soft, slick sounds that made your face burn even as your body pressed back helplessly into the rhythm. The bed creaked faintly beneath the two of you, the quiet noise mixing with the sound of your breathing and the occasional low groan slipping from Harry’s throat.

Then, his grip on your hips tightened, and the next thrust came harder. Your breath punched out of your lungs as he drove into you deeper that time, the sudden force making the mattress shift beneath your elbows.

"Oh! Mmmm!" you cried.

His hips began moving faster now, the slow rhythm breaking apart into deeper, stronger strokes that pushed your body forward each time he buried himself inside you again. The sound between your bodies grew louder with every movement, wet and messy and impossible to ignore.

Your voice came out choked as you tried to breathe through it and Harry moaned behind you, like he was feeling the same thing.

"Oh, shit…" he muttered.

One of his hands slid down the curve of your hip and squeezed your ass firmly as he thrust again. Your whole body jolted before his palm tapped lightly against the soft curve of your bottom. Like a test swat. The sound popped softly in the room and your back arched immediately at the sensation, breasts dropping toward the mattress as your hips lifted higher into him without you even thinking about it.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Oh, baby… You like that?"

Another deep thrust had you pressing your cheek down to the bed, mouth dropped open wide.

"Sweet girl like you wants a spanking?"

Even if you had an answer for him, you couldn't. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a broken string of sounds as his hips drove forward again, the thick stretch of him filling you so completely it made your head spin.

Your thoughts had gone hazy and gooey and all you could feel was him. How big his cock felt in you. How achingly deep he reached inside you. The front of his thighs against the back of yours…

He swatted at your bottom again. This time a little harder so you really felt it. Your body jolted forward, a surprised sound bursting from your throat as the sting melted across your skin. Harry immediately thrust deep behind it, burying himself all the way inside you until his hips pressed flush against your ass.

Then he stopped moving. For a second the room filled with nothing but the sound of both of you breathing. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he stayed seated deep in you and completely still.

You lifted your head to turn and look at him over your shoulder and you saw that his eyes were closed. His face was twisted in concentration like the feeling of you wrapped around him had hit him all at once. When he opened his eyes, the expression in them made your stomach flip. He looked like he’d forgotten everything else for a second.

Harry leaned forward suddenly, his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, fingers curling there just enough to keep your head turned toward him as he bent, chest against your back, and caught your mouth with his.

The kiss was crooked from the angle. Your lips brushed his unevenly as he started moving again, hips driving forward, deep into your guts, each thrust pressing you slightly into the mattress as his mouth kept finding yours in messy little kisses along the corner of your lips and your cheek.

"Rub your clit again for me," he said against your mouth.

You reached down and slid your hand down between your legs and the moment your fingers found the sensitive bundle there your body jerked as Harry thrust deeper. Your breath broke into small gasps as delicious sparks filled your tummy.

The sound of your bodies filled the room now. The wet slide of him inside you, the creak of the bed frame, the rough rhythm of Harry’s breathing against your ear.

Your fingers moved faster and Harry groaned shakily against your mouth. "Just like that."

His balls pressed softly against your fingers each time he pushed forward, the sensation sending little shocks through your already trembling body. The pace between you kept building, his thrusts growing rougher, less controlled as you bunched at the sheets beneath you with the hand you used to keep yourself steady.

You could feel him starting to shake. Harry’s breathing grew ragged behind you, the sounds slipping from his throat deeper now as he rocked harder into you, lips still at your mouth but almost not kissing anymore.

Your own body tightened in response to him as tension gathered low in your stomach, spreading outward with every thick thrust, every drag of your fingers against your clit, until the pressure inside you felt almost unbearable.

Harry groaned your name under his breath, and suddenly your vision blurred. He let go of your neck and he pressed both palms down on the bed on either side of you as he fucked in and in. The rhythm was so sharp that it made your toes curl.

Your fingers were moving desperately between your legs while Harry’s hips drove into you again and again, thudding into your skin… and then your entire body seized around him, a sharp cry breaking from your throat. The orgasm rushed through you as your back arched as your thighs trembled beneath him.

"Fuckfuckfuck—" Harry cursed behind you.

He felt it the instant your body clamped down around him, the tight pulsing squeeze of you making his thrust stutter as a long, rough groan tore from his chest. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you there while your body shook beneath him, and you could hear the sound of him losing control right behind you.

"Jesus, Y/n— Ah…"

Your name broke apart in his mouth as your body kept tightening around him, the tremors rolling through you in waves. Harry groaned louder when you squeezed again, his hips driving forward one last time before he buried himself as deep as he could and came hard into the condom, his breath leaving him in a long, helpless sound against your shoulder.

For a few seconds neither of you moved. The room filled with the sound of both of you breathing hard, the mattress creaking faintly beneath your weight while the last little tremors worked their way through you both.

Your strength drained out of you all at once and your elbows finally gave out and you sank forward onto the bed, cheek turning into the comforter as your arms stretched out beneath you. Your body felt warm and heavy and pleasantly loose, like every muscle had melted at the same time.

Behind you Harry stayed where he was, still kneeling between your legs. You could hear him breathing, deep and unsteady. And then a moment later, you felt his hands return to you.

They settled gently on the backs of your thighs first, his thumbs brushing slowly over your skin as if he was using the feel of your skin to ground himself. One of his palms slid up over the curve of your bottom, the touch softer as his breathing gradually slowed.

When he finally shifted, you heard the quiet rustle of movement behind you as he carefully pulled away and reached for something near the nightstand. The motions were brief and soft and quiet as he helped you wipe up and then cleaned himself.

Your body still felt pleasantly hazy. The kind of warm, floating tired that came after a good workout or a long day when you'd finally laid down in bed, exhausted. But this was even better. It was because of Harry and the orgasms he'd just given you.

It had been… really good. Better than you expected. Better than you'd ever experienced. And he didn't even really know you.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared toward him, sliding his boxer briefs up his legs in silence. You hadn’t expected him to be like that at all. For someone whose hobby was fighting in a warehouse and walking around with bruises all over his ribs, he had been surprisingly gentle. And attentive.

Harry sat beside you on the edge of the bed, one forearm resting loosely across his thigh as he leaned forward slightly and reached for his phone. The light from the screen traced across the line of his chest and over his shoulders and the scattered bruises still blooming along his ribs, catching in the messy fall of his hair.

But he seemed different suddenly. He laid his phone down and stared toward the door of his room. He stayed quiet like that for a moment. Like he was deep in thought. His mind had drifted somewhere else entirely, and you didn't know if you should ask him if he was okay or if it was better to just remain quiet.

Slowly you reached a hand up to touch his back and when your fingers pressed against his shoulder blade he startled just slightly and stood up, running a hand through his hair.

"You can uh, get some rest. I'll be in, in a little while. Need to… do something." He didn't even look at you when he said it. You watched him step out of his room and you were suddenly filled with shame and confusion. After what you two had just shared, you thought this would have gone down a lot differently. It wasn't like you were expecting him to fall in love or anything, but the sudden disassociation had you on edge.

You climbed from the bed and picked up your sweater to bring it over your head and pull it down your body to cover yourself before you stepped into the hallway and then toward his living room to see what he was doing. He had his phone in his hand and he was looking at his screen like he was in pain. You didn't understand what was going on but part of you thought that he was acting this way because he was already seeing someone.

"What's wrong?" You blurted out.

He looked up at you, brows shot up before he closed his phone and set it down, shaking his head as he stepped into his kitchen. "Nothing. Just got something to do."

You followed him, now completely convinced he was cheating on someone with you and you weren't about to let it go now. You placed your hands on your hips and stared at him as he grabbed a cup from his cabinet.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

He stopped mid-motion and turned to look at you. "What? No. God, no. It's nothing like that, Y/n. Just… don't worry about it, okay?"

You hummed, still unconvinced, and leaned back into the counter, watching as he poured water into his cup. "Then what's all this? Why are you acting guilty?"

He sighed and shook his head before he took a long drink from his cup. He finally turned to face you, and the expression that twisted there made it look like he'd just been punched. "Damnit. You gotta wear that? Come on…"

Your brows knitted together as you looked down at yourself and back at him. "Wear the sweater? I didn't want to walk out here naked to confront you."

He weakly gestured at you. "It's just… It's too… You shouldn't even be here. You're way too good for me. So yeah. I do feel guilty. I should've…" He let his eyes drag over your sweater and down your legs.

Suddenly Tyson stepped into the kitchen and moved toward your ankles before brushing against you so lightly at first that you almost thought you imagined it. But then the old cat curved around the back of your leg and rubbed against you again, slowly, his tail flicking as he passed. You froze, looking down at him, just as Harry did.

His eyes dropped straight to the cat, and he looked genuinely caught off guard… shocked. Tyson circled back and bumped his side against your calf again.

Harry stared at him. "What the hell?"

You looked down, then back up at him. "What?"

"He doesn’t do that." Harry’s voice had gone flat with disbelief. "He doesn’t do that with people. I was surprised when he ran into the bedroom the first time because he usually just hides. But this…"

The cat moved around you once more, brushing against the other leg now as if he had decided you belonged there after all. You didn’t know what to make of it, and judging by the look on Harry’s face, neither did he.

"Oh," you said. Not really knowing what else to offer.

Harry let out a short breath through his nose and dragged a hand down over his mouth. "I’ve never seen him do that before."

You folded your arms over your chest, the confusion and embarrassment from the last few minutes still sitting in you. "Do you want me to call a cab?"

Harry’s gaze snapped back to your face. "What? No."

"You just said I shouldn’t even be here." Your voice came out tighter than you meant it to, but you couldn't help it. Your feelings were hurt. "And you feel guilty, and now you’re acting like something terrible just happened, so if you want me to go, just say that."

"It’s not that I want you to go."

"Then what is it?"

He looked away first, clenching his jaw. For a second you thought he might just avoid the question altogether, but then he muttered, "I just can’t be getting attached."

You blinked at him. "Attached?"

His expression shifted instantly, like he regretted the word the second it left his mouth. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, that's the word you used."

Harry exhaled hard and shook his head, already trying to pull back into himself. "Forget I said that. I’ll take you home in the morning."

You stared at him, incredulous. "In the morning?"

"Yeah." He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom with his cup still in hand. "You should get some sleep."

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "No, I don’t think so."

His brows drew together. "Y/n—"

"Why not just take me home now?" You pushed off the counter, the sweater bunching around your crossed arms as you looked at him. "I don’t want to sleep in your bed while you’re out here sneaking around being weird after we just—" You stopped yourself, cheeks heating, then pressed on anyway. "Like… I just don't know you all that well and this is… it's weird. The way you're acting."

Tyson bumped your leg again. Harry looked down at the cat and made a low, frustrated sound, raking a hand back through his hair. "Jesus Christ."

You stood there waiting, heart beating too fast, while he stared at the floor for a second like he was trying to get control of himself. When he looked back at you, some of the tension in his face had eased, replaced by something more tired than defensive.

"You wanna go home?" he asked quietly.

You swallowed and nodded. "I’d rather be at home if you’re going to act like this. Whatever this is."

That seemed to hit him. "If I lie down with you," he said, "will you stay till I have to get you home?"

You hesitated. "What time?"

"Five-thirty."

You stared at him for a second, unable to believe this was where the night had landed.

"I don't know, Harry."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm… I don't sleep well. I maybe get three hours a night. Four. And if I sleep longer, it's for… like two days. I'm all fucked up, Y/n." He looked up at you, and the look of apology on his face was sincere. "Got a lot of shit in my head. You're genuinely… really nice. I apologize for ruining the night like this. I just didn't expect…"

He trailed off and looked away, eyes blinking as he swallowed and shook his head. "I would prefer you to stay. We can get a little sleep, okay? Like four hours? Then I'll bring you home and you never have to hear from me again."

You frowned. Part of you wanted to wrap him up and comfort him. Have him tell you everything, lay it all out for you so you could just listen to him. But you knew better than to push at someone you didn't know well enough. Whatever he was going through, and whether or not any of it was true, you felt like at least you could stay for a few more hours until he was ready to get you home.

"Okay."

His eyes lifted, and he looked surprised and then relieved. His shoulders dropped a little, and after a long moment he set the cup down on the counter and reached past you to switch off the kitchen light. The room dimmed, leaving only the softer glow from the living room and the faint light spilling in from the streetlights outside.

When you both stepped back into the bedroom, Harry was moving silently, none of the teasing swagger from earlier left in him. He pulled the covers back, waited for you to climb in, and then joined you a second later before switching off the lamp, and the room dropped into darkness.

For a moment you lay there on your side, tense and uncertain, listening to the shift of the mattress and his breath as he settled. Then he moved closer behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you back against him gently.

He didn’t say anything else. He just held you there, quietly, his breathing gradually evening out against the back of your neck until your body gave in to the exhaustion of the night and you drifted off in his arms.

𑁍ࠬܓ

It was still dark outside when the two of you left his apartment. Neither of you said much as you stepped out into the early morning. Harry locked the door behind him and you followed him down the exterior walkway with your arms folded over yourself.

He had the helmet in one hand, dangling from his fingers as he moved. Sleep had softened him a little, but only on the surface. You could feel the sadness in him more clearly now. It seemed to emanate from him, to settle over the line of his shoulders and the way he moved, like something unseen had its grip at his throat and refused to allow him up for air.

You hadn’t known him long enough to say for sure what haunted him, and you knew better than to pretend you understood. But between what he’d said in the kitchen, the way he barely slept, the near-emptiness of his apartment, the hollow look that had crossed his face when he mentioned he hadn't talked to his family in a while… it all added up to something heavy, you were sure.

Harry handed you the helmet once you reached the bike and waited while you put it on. Then he climbed on, and after giving him your address, you settled in behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist and held him a little tighter than you had the night before.

When he turned into your apartment complex, you expected him to stop at the curb, let you off, and disappear before you’d even gotten your key into the door. But instead he parked properly, killed the engine, and climbed off first before turning to help steady the bike while you got down. You pulled the helmet off and blinked at him, surprised when he didn’t immediately reach for it.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he started walking with you toward your building.

He glanced at you. "Walking you up."

"It’s okay, you don’t have to."

Harry’s mouth quirked like he found that mildly ridiculous. "Not safe to let you go wandering around alone like that, even if it’s a decent neighborhood."

You didn’t argue. You just carried the helmet against your hip and walked beside him through the dim, quiet courtyard toward your door. You were tired enough that your thoughts felt a little loose at the edges.

You stopped at your door and turned toward him. "Thank you," you breathed.

Harry shook his head. "Don’t thank me. I'm sorry for how the night turned out."

Your fingers tightened around the helmet. "You don't need to apologize. I did have a good time."

His expression shifted at that, something tired and regretful passing across his face before it smoothed over again.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. "Are we gonna… see each other again?"

The second you asked it, embarrassment washed over you. You almost winced at yourself. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Either way, the question was out now, hanging there between you where you couldn’t take it back.

Harry smiled then, but it was sad enough that your stomach sank before he even answered.

"I don’t know," he said quietly. "We’ll see. Okay?"

You nodded and looked down, pretending to adjust your grip on the helmet so he wouldn’t have to see too clearly that you understood exactly what that meant. He hadn’t asked for your number. He hadn’t offered his. And now the simple answer only confirmed what some part of you had already known.

Then you lifted the helmet slightly toward him. "Here."

Harry looked down at the helmet and smiled. "Keep it."

A little laugh escaped you. "I can’t use this, Harry."

He shrugged. "Neither can I."

You lowered your hand and looked at him for a beat before dropping your gaze again, wishing you could just make this moment disappear forever. Then his fingers were at your chin, lifting your face back up until you had no choice but to look at him.

"Don’t be sad," he murmured. "None of this is worth being sad about."

You tried for a smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was. You nodded quietly, and he dropped his hand before you faced toward your door to stick your key in it.

Pushing at the door, you turned back to look at him as he stepped away, hands in his pockets. The edge of his mouth turned up into a crooked grin aimed at you before he finally turned, broad shoulders hunched as he led himself down the stairs and kept walking until he was gone.

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Hrafnvík had dressed itself for celebration. The majority of the townspeople were happy that their favoured Jarl was finally marrying, and that they might finally get some heirs from him. Smoke rose from the longhouse, carrying with it the scent of roasting lamb, pine resin and fresh bread where the women of the hall had been busy preparing for the festivities to occur later that day. Every doorway and arch had been covered in evergreen, the deep green boughs standing proudly against the weathered timber. Despite it being summer, Hrafnvík was cooler than Sólheimr ever was. The sea remained unusually still and the ravens gathered upon rooftops and fence posts instead of wheeling overhead, watching with bright black eyes as though even they had abandoned the hunt to witness what was to come.

The people prepared for a wedding.

The world itself seemed to be waiting for something else.

YN is getting ready in the back of the longhouse, in a room that mirrored the one they had at home, though rougher around the edges. The walls were darker with years of smoke, the beams thicker, the woven rugs beneath her feet older than any she had known.

She wondered, despite herself, whether this was where Harry weathered his Hunts. Whether the room still carried the scent of pine and smoke afterwards. Her gaze drifted towards the wide bed tucked beneath its woollen curtain. Larger than the one she had slept in growing up. Built to withstand long winters. Built, she realised with a flush rising to her cheeks, for two. YN forced the thought away before it could settle.

As she turned back towards the women fussing over her dress, someone frowned, “The silver clasp…”

One of the younger women looked around the room in confusion, “I had it only a moment ago.”

Before YN even realised she had moved, she crossed the room and reached beneath the folded fur cloak resting upon a bench.

Her fingers closed around the cool silver, “There.”

The room fell quiet for a heartbeat, and the younger woman smiled gratefully, “I didn’t even see it fall.”

Neither had YN. She looked down at the clasp resting in her palm. For some reason, she had simply known where it was. The thought unsettled her enough that she quickly handed it back and said nothing more.

Her mother and Harry’s mother were in the room as women from both settlements busied themselves with getting YN ready. She would be wearing both settlements on her day, the lightly coloured linen representing Sólheimr and the heavy dark fur draped across her shoulders representing Hrafník.

YN felt like a carved figure being wrapped and adorned for an altar, and she could not help but tug at the sleeves of the dress, unhappy with the way the fabric sat upon her wrists.

Lady Sólheimr reached forward to help her, but Astrid placed a light hand on the other woman’s hand.

“Allow me,” Astrid adjusted the sleeve with practiced hands, smoothing the linen until it sat exactly as YN wanted. Her fingers lingered for only a moment before she smiled, “He will stare.”

YN blinked at the older woman.

“My son…” Astrid clarified, her smile widening ever so slightly “But he simply won’t realise he’s doing it.”

Warmth crept beneath YN’s skin, thought she quickly lowered her gaze and pretended to study the embroidery worked into the cuffs of her sleeves.

As she did, a familiar warmth bloomed beneath the fabric resting against her hip. The rune. It did not burn, not painfully. The feeling was only enough that she suddenly became aware of it. A quiet warmth beneath her skin. Gone almost as quickly as it had come.

Without thinking, she rested her fingertips against it. Astrid noticed her movements, and only for a moment her eyes flickered towards YN’s hand before returning to her face. She said nothing, and YN was thankful for that.

Despite how gorgeous the dress was, the true masterpiece was her hair. Some of the elders of Hrafnvík had spent the morning weaving it. The braids were meticulous, all woven with gold and crimson thread, each representing the two settlements. On one side, a raven feather rested beside small amber beads, all hanging from one narrow woven cord.

YN did not quite feel like a bride yet, but when she caught sight of herself, she could no longer claim that she was not beginning to look like one. For the briefest moment, the reflection felt familiar. Not because she recognised it herself, but because she had seen something like it before. Golden thread, dark fur, ravens, sunlight. A memory that was not quite a memory, something out of her dreams.

It disappeared before she could grasp it.

As one of the elder women adjusts the brooch at her shoulder, she gives YN a smile, “Today you stop belonging to one fjord.”

Another woman, who had been braiding her hair gave her a light tap on her shoulder, “Today you belong to two.”

When the women finally stepped back, silence settled over the room. Light linen. Dark fur. Gold at her throat. Iron at her waist. Sólheimr upon one shoulder. Hrafnvík upon the other.

For the first time since arriving, YN no longer looked like the daughter of one settlement.

She looked like the future Lady of Hrafnvík.

At the opposite side of the longhouse, surrounded by some of his most trusted men, Harry was thinking many similar thoughts.

Harry was not afraid of being a poor husband. Whatever lay between himself and YN, he knew that he would treat her with honour. That had never been the part that frightened him. What unsettled him was the feeling that this marriage belonged to something older than politics. Older than either settlement. As though every step he took today had already been walked a thousand times in the minds of the gods.

The leather around his wrists bit into his skin as he tightened them. His father’s sword rested heavier against his hip than it ever had before. Even the fur across his shoulders seemed to settle like another promise he could not yet name.

Around him the longhouse was loud. Men laughed and tankards struck tables. Someone sharpened an axe somewhere outside. A child shouted near the docks. A gull cried overhead. Harry heard every sound as though it had been spoken directly in his ear. He rubbed absent-mindedly at his temple.

“Too much mead last night,” one of the warriors joked.

Harry gave him a humourless smile, “Must’ve been.”

Yet, he had barely drunk enough to dull the edge of celebration.

As he stepped outside, another sensation stopped him. Honey. Warm stone after sunlight. It drifted through the sea air so faintly he almost believed he had imagined it. He turned, and yet nobody was near him. Only villagers moving about their work. The scent vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Harry frowned before continuing towards the ceremony grounds.

An old warrior studied him for a long moment, “Your wolf grows restless.”

Harry shook the old man off, barely slowing his stride, “He’s only tired.”

“No,” The warrior gave him a smile, “A tired wolf sleeps… yours is listening.”

Harry sighed, “What is he listening for?”

The old man looked towards the gathering crowd before answering quietly, “The one he has been searching for.”

“I have not been searching,” Harry frowned.

“No,” the warrior agreed, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “But he has.”

His wolf did feel on edge. Harry couldn’t quiet explain it. It wasn’t as strong as during his Hunts but everyone could tell that there was something there. The hunting dogs that were lingering near the training yard did not rush towards him as they usually would. Instead, they stood several paces away, ears lowered, watching him with quiet uncertainty. Unsure whether they stood before their Jarl...Or the wolf beneath his skin.

Harry crouched and held out a hand. Normally they would have crossed the distance immediately, but not one of them moved. A strange unease settled low in his chest.

Of all the days for his wolf to stir...

He had no way of knowing that, at that very same moment, YN's fingertips rested unconsciously against the rune warming beneath her dress. Something ancient had already recognised them. Neither of them understood it yet.

The procession began at the longhouse, winding slowly through the timber streets of Hrafnvík before spilling out onto the clearing overlooking the fjord, where evergreen boughs, woven banners and carved standing posts had transformed the shoreline into sacred ground. The steady beat of the ceremonial drum echoed through his chest. It drowned the conversations, the gulls overhead, even the waves breaking against the shore. All that remained was its relentless rhythm.

YN arrived a minute or so later. He knew the moment she stepped into the clearing. He did not need to turn to know it. Every instinct beneath his skin had already recognised her presence. His eyes stayed firmly on the fjord and… then it came. Honey warmed by summer sunlight. Wildflowers. A sweetness that somehow belonged amongst the pine, salt and smoke of Hrafnvík. His wolf, restless all morning, suddenly felt silent. The knotwork carved into his skin beneath his collarbone pulsed once beneath the leather cord resting against it.

She stood between the two women who had escorted her, sunlight catching the gold threaded through her braids. Dark fur rested across her shoulders, though beneath it the pale linen of Sólheimr remained visible, as though neither settlement had been willing to surrender her completely. The raven feather woven into her hair stirred gently in the breeze.

If the gods had intended to fashion the perfect bride, Harry thought they could scarcely have done better.

Harry and YN stood directly opposite one another, separated by only the Gothi and the sacred fire that burned between them. Behind Harry stood the people of Hrafnvík. Behind YN stood the people of Sólheimr who had crossed the sea to witness the union.

Harry had stood in countless circles before. Training circles. Council circles. Circles drawn in the snow before battle. Yet, none had every felt as heavy as this one.

With his arms pread, the Gothi spoke, “Before those who came before us… before those yet to come. Before the gods who witnessed every oath… Two bloodlines have walked separate paths, and today they choose to walk as one.”

Harry’s fingers gippled with the tie on his belt, the one that held his father’s sword close to his hip. His fingers lingered upon the leather grip for a heartbeat longer than they should have. Its leather was worn from years of use in battle. At the pommel, sat a wolf, one that had been passed through generations.

YN’s sword was a little different. An old warrior from Sólheimr steps forward to pass it to her. The blade was lighter than Harry’s, with amber set into the pommel and a sun motif worked into the hilt. Harry recognised the amber worked into its pommel. Every child in Hrafnvík knew the stories of Sólheimr’s sun-blade. They were bestowed upon the strongest warriors of their settlement, the ones that protected them throughout anything.

Two different weapons, but ones that had been passed through generations.

YN moves first, holding her sword out to him. With both hands extended in front of him, his head slightly bowed towards the woman who extended it to him. She offers the sword, and he received it.

“Will you guard the honour entrusted to you?” The Gothi says.

Harry replies, “With my life.”

He then lifts the sword and places it against his chest.

As Harry offered his own sword, YN reached for it. Their fingers brushed, barely. Yet the warmth beneath YN’s rune stirred instantly, spreading through her skin before settling into something unexpectedly calm. Harry’s wolf, still reminding him of its unrest, fell completely silent. Neither of them moved. Neither of them understood. At the weight of the metal, YN flinches as soon as it is in her hands. She realised in that moment that it was not simply steel, but it was generations of Hrafnvík warriors.

“These blades have defended fathers, they have buried mothers, they have fed children, they have outlived kings,” The Gothi pauses, looking between both of them with stern eyes, “Today they are entrusted to new hands.”

As the Gothi speaks, Harry’s eyes dance over YN. His eyes fall on the gold thread in her braids, the raven feather that moved with every lick of the breeze in the air. The way that despite how heavy the sword in her hand is, she never falters. She held the sword correctly. The way that despite how nervous she is, her breathing is steady. It is the posture of a woman determined.

“From this day… his battles become yours,” The Gothi continues, “Her burdens become yours. His people become yours. Her people become yours.”

“Steel belongs to the blood that forged it,” The Gothi then adds, “Honour belongs to the hands that defend it.”

Then, the two turn away from each other. Harry returns the sword back to Jarl Leif, symbolising his promise to protect his daughter, that she will become part of his family. Jarl Leif holds Harry’s gaze as he accepts the sword back, a small nod of encouragement. YN gives Harry’s back to Astrid, the same thoughts swirling around her mind. Astrid reached out and rested her hand over YN’s, a silent acceptance of the sword and what it meant.

The Gothi brings them back together, “Offer one another your hands.”

Harry looked at her, properly. Not just as Jarl Leif’s daughter, not as a woman that might have been chosen by a prophecy. But, simply as YN. They reach out, their skin touching with meaning for the first time. Neither of them realised that they had both let out the same slow breath.

For the first time since the ceremony started, the drums quieten, the crowd disappears. Silence washes over the two of them. The warmth beneath YN’s rune disappears completely, seemingly completely at peace.

As the ancestral swords were returned to those who had guarded them for generations, two young women stepped forward carrying three carved ash bowls. Each was carefully decorated with knotwork blackened by age, their surfaces worn smooth by the countless hands that had held them before.

The Gothi knelt before the ceremonial fire that burnt between Harry and YN. He scattered fresh juniper and pine upon the flames, and almost immediately the scent changed. Sweet resin crackled beneath the heat, sparks dancing upwards as pale ribbons of smoke curled into the midsummer sun.

The gathered settlements fell into complete silence. Even the children, who moments before had struggled to remain still, watched with wide eyes as the Gothi lifted the first bowl.

Golden honey shimmered beneath the sunlight.

“Lady Freyja,” the Gothi began, his voice carrying easily across the clearing, “keeper of love, plenty and life’s sweetest blessings. May this union know kindness before hardship, abundance before want, and may no table beneath their roof ever stand empty.”

He dipped his fingers into the honey before allowing several thick drops to fall into the fire. The flames hissed softly, the scent of warm honey drifted upon the air. The bowl was offered to Harry first. He accepted it carefully, the carved wood beneath his palm. For a brief moment, he simply stared into the golden liquid before tipping a small offering into the fire.

The honey disappeared amongst the flames with another quiet hiss.

When the bowl reached YN, she mirrored his movements. As the final drops slipped into the fire, a familiar warmth bloomed beneath the rune resting against her hip. It wasn’t painful, or fierce. It was only enough that she suddenly became aware of it once more.

Her fingertips instinctively brushed against the fabric covering it before she forced her hand to her side. When she lifted her eyes again, Astrid was already watching her. Only for a heartbeat. Then the older woman looked back towards the fire without a word.

The Gothi lifted the second bowl. Dark mead shimmered within it.

“To those whose hands raised these halls before ours,” he said, “To those whose blood bought the peace we inherit. May they look kindly upon those who stand before them today.”

Rather than pouring the offering into the flames, the Gothi tipped the first measure upon the earth. The thirsty ground drank it immediately. Harry followed, and then YN. Neither spoke as the mead disappeared into the soil beneath their feet.

For a fleeting moment, Harry caught the faintest trace of something carried upon the breeze. Honey. Wildflowers. Sun-warmed linen. The scent vanished almost as quickly as it had come. His brow furrowed. His wolf, which had paced restlessly against his skin since dawn, quietened once more. Strange. He said nothing.

The final bowl held only a handful of barely. It was simple, ordinary. Perhaps it was the most important offering at all.

The Gothi gathered the grain into his weather palm, “Lady Frigg, protector of hearth and household. Spirits who keep watch over these halls. Bless every fire lit beneath their roof. Bless every child who sleeps within it. Bless every hand that labours so none shall know the hunger through the winter.”

Harry stepped forward first, grabbing and scattering a handful of grain into the fire. The kernels cracked sharply within the flames. YN followed, watching as the last of barley disappeared amongst the burning juniper. As the smoke rose, her gaze followed it without thinking.

For the briefest of moments… it no longer looked like smoke. It twisted together in long pale strands. Like thread. One of the ribbons drifted towards Harry, another towards her. High above their heads, the two slowly intertwined before disappeared into the summer skin.

YN blinked. The smoke turned to normal. Perhaps she had imagined it.

The Gothi stretched both hands towards the fire, “May the gods receive what is freely given.”

Silence settled once more over the gathering. More than one pair of eyes lingered upon Harry and YN, waiting. Waiting for the blessing everyone believed would surely follow. A mark. A scent. Some unmistakable sign that the gods had joined them as surely as the law had.

Nothing came, only the steady crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind rolling in from the fjord.

At last, the Gothi lowered his hands, “The offerings have been accepted.”

His eyes moved between Harry and YN, “The gods have witnessed.”

Another pause, “The oath remains yours to keep.”

The flames settled once more, burning steadily as though nothing remarkable had happened at all. Yet, neither Harry nor YN noticed the unease that they had carried since dawn had eased, if only for a heartbeat. Somewhere beneath skin and bone, something ancient had stirred. And it was waiting.

“To bind the joining before the gods,” The Gothi hands over two threads to them each, “For Lady Freyja to witness and bless upon this day.”

Another young woman stepped forward, carrying a carved wooden tray. Resting upon it were two lengths of woven cord.

The first was spun from golden thread, almost the same shade as the midsummer sun now threatening to break through the clouds above them. The second was a deep crimson, so close to the colour of fresh blood that it brought to mind the axes that warriors carried home after battle.

The Gothi lifted both cords before holding them out between Harry and YN.

“Separate threads,” he said quietly, “One weaving.”

Harry accepted the golden cord, whilst YN received the crimson.

“Offer one another your hands.”

Harry hesitated for only a heartbeat before reaching towards her. His thumb settled lightly against the inside of her wrist as though it had always belonged there. Her skin was softer than he had expected, untouched by years of sword practice and hard labour in the same way his hands had been. For a brief moment, he became aware of nothing except her warm beneath his fingertips.

Then he felt it. Her pulse. It was quick, and steady, but beating far faster than his own. He wondered, briefly, if she was as nervous as he was. Without a word, he turned her wrist over with surprising gentleness, careful not to pull too tightly as he wrapped the golden cord around her skin. His fingers worked slowly, fastening the knot upon the top of her wrist where everyone gathered could see it.

The Gothi inclined his head towards YN, “Now.”

Harry offered his own hand. Only then did he notice the slight tremble running through her fingers. It was almost imperceptible. Enough that anyone watching from gathered settlements would have missed it completely. YN drew a slow breath before mirroring the movements Harry had shown her. The crimson cord slipped around his wrist, but as she reached to secure the knot, her fingers faltered.

Instinct moved faster than thought.

Harry reached forward, gently steadying her hand beneath his own. His touch was fleeting, barely more than a brush of warm skin against warm skin. Yet, YN inhaled sharply, the sound so quiet it disappeared beneath the crackle of the ceremonial fire. The warmth beneath the rune upon her hip stirred once more before settling into an unexpected calm.

Harry felt it too. Not the rune, but something else. The knotwork upon his chest, his wolf that had been restless since dawn simply… stopped.

Neither of them understood why, neither spoke.

When YN found the knot once more, she tightened it carefully before lowering her hands. For the first time since they had stepped into the sacred circle, they looked directly at one another.

Not as the daughter of Sólheimr, or the Jarl of Hrafnvík, but simply as two people standing on the edge of something neither of them understood.

The Gothi stepped forward once more and proclaimed, “The joining is bound! The threads have become one weaving.”

He lifted the great drinking horn from the alter beside the fire, its polished surface carved with wolves, ravens, and twisting knotwork darkened with age.

“It is time for the shared horn!”

The Gothi lifted the great drinking horn from the alter. It had been carved from the horn of an aurochs long before either settlement had stood where they did now, its polished surface wrapped in silver bands worked with twisting knotwork. Wolves chased ravens around its rim, their bodies disappearing into one another until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.

A young woman stepped forward carrying a clay jug of honey mead. She filled the horn until the amber liquid caught the light of the afternoon sun, threatening to spill from the top.

“One cup,” the Gothi turned to Harry, “One hearth,” then to YN, “One hall.”

He placed the horn into Harry’s hands.

“Drink first, Jarl of Hrafnvík.”

Harry accepted the horn with both hands. The polished rim was cooler than he had expected beneath his fingertips. For a brief moment, he hesitated. Not because of the mead, but because he knew what came after. Every eye in Hrafnvík watched him. Every eye in Sólheimr watched YN. He raised the horn to his lips.

The honey mead was rich upon his tongue, warmed by herbs and sweet enough to linger. He only took a single swallow, no more.

He lowered the horn and, without thinking, turned it slightly before offering it to YN. Her fingers paused and in a quick second movement, she rotated the horn around, allowing her drink from the same place that he had. From the same place that his lips had touched.

YN accepted the horn, its weight surprising in her hand. She looked down only briefly before lifting it. As the mead touched her lips, the familiar scent of pine, smoke and cold sea lingered upon the rim. Harry. She swallowed, only once.

When she lowered the horn, her fingers brushed his as she returned it. Again, the warmth beneath her rune stirred, and again, Harry’s wolf settled. Neither acknowledged it.

The Gothi accepted the horn once more before pouring the final mouthful into the ceremonial fire. The flames leapt high, honey hissed against the burning pine, sweet smoke drifted skyward.

“May what has been shared never be divided.”

Then, the air changed. The Gothi, now standing between both Harry and YN had a look that only mirror completely seriousness, saved for the most sacred of movements.

The Gothi turned to Harry first, “Harry Björnsson… will you keep this woman beneath your protection?”

“I will.”

“Will you hear her counsel before your pride?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Harry’s features before he responded, “I will.”

“Will you honour her kin as your own.”

“I will.”

The Gothi inclined his head before turning towards YN, “YN Leifdóttir.”

Her voice remained steady, “I am here.”

“Will you keep this hall with wisdom?”

“I will.”

“Will you guard those who sleep beneath its roof?”

“I will.”

YN glanced towards Astrid, before back towards Harry, “I will.”

The Gothi stepped between them once more, “Then speak your oaths.”

Harry turned fully towards YN. For the first time that day, there was no ritual dictating where he should look. Only her.

“I swear,” he began quietly, though every soul gathered heard him, “That no harm willingly given shall come to you beneath my roof.”

He drew one slow breath.

“My hearth shall be yours. My people shall be yours. My honour shall remain yours to trust.”

YN held his gaze, “I swear that I shall keep your hall with diligence. I shall guard your people as I would my own. I shall keep faith with the name I bear from this day onward.”

Neither said they would love each other. Neither promised forever, only duty and only trust.

The Gothi stretched out both hands, “The swords have been exchanged. The offerings have been received. The weaving has been bound. The horn has been shared,” he looked towards the sea before back towards the gathering crowd, “Before the gods, before your ancestors. Before Hrafnvík and before Sólheimr,” he smiled for the first time the entire ceremony, “You stand as husband and wife.”

The silence lingered within the settlement before the first cheer came from somewhere amongst the warriors. Another followed, and shortly after the entire shoreline erupted into celebrations. The drums began again, louder than before.

Harry looked instinctively towards YN. She was already looking at him, but she wasn’t smiling. Neither of them were. But, something in both of their shoulders has shifted.

The Gothi stepped aside, “The hall awaits its lord and lady.”

Harry hesitated for a second before offering her his arm. Not because tradition demanded it, but because it seemed like the simplest thing to do. YN looked at the offered arm, and then to Harry. With a light exhale, she slipped her hand lightly around it. The warmth beneath her rune kept to a quiet stillness, and his wolf remained silence.

Side by side, without another word, they turned towards the longhouse. The settlement roared around them. Yet, neither of them noticed that, for one impossible heartbeat before the cheers began, the fjord itself had fallen utterly still — as though the gods had paused to witness the final words before letting the world begin again.

The celebration roared around them. They had feasted, and they had drunk and YN had sat completely still throughout it all. Something had changed in her, and yet she couldn’t quite decide what it was. Maybe it was just her body’s way of understanding what her mind had not yet caught up with.

She was a wife now. She belonged to somewhere beyond herself.

The thought scared her without even meaning to. She was a wife now, and she had a husband.

A husband who had seemingly consumed too many tankards of mead in far too short a time and was now laughing with the warriors seated beside him. His cheeks were flushed pink, perhaps from the heat of the longhouse, though more likely from the drink.

YN watched him, but said nothing. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Cups struck tables. Warriors called for more mead. Someone begun singing near the fire, his voice rough and already slipping out of tune. Yet beneath it all, YN could feel the weight of the eyes upon her.

Upon both of them. The people watched as though they were waiting for something to happen between their new Jarl and his wife. As though they expected fate itself to step into the hall. A touch. A look. Some sign from the gods that the prophecy had begun to move. It did not. Destiny did not appear.

Harry continued laughing with his warriors, and YN remained seated beside him, her hands folded carefully within her lap. She was simply a woman on her wedding day, wondering what would happen when the celebration finally ended and they were expected to enter Harry’s inner room together.

For the first time since arriving in Hrafnvík, YN felt untethered. Her parents had gone, her people would sail home with the morning tide, and though her husband sat scarcely an arm’s length away, she had never felt further from anyone.

For the first time, YN felt truly alone, and yet her husband was sitting right next to her.

YN watched as Harry finished another tankard of mead and dropped it down on the table with a loud thud. The warriors boasted around him, and they then turned to her.

“See that the hearth is properly blessed, Jarl!”

“Don’t keep Lady Freyja waiting!”

YN offered a fake smile and laugh, pretending to play along. She hated the way that the rune at her hip burned at the thought. She knew what was expected, every woman did. A husband and wife shared a bed on their wedding night. A Seiðr and Úlfr couple completed the bond the gods had begun. It was simply… what happened.

And yet, her husband didn’t look at her.

He didn’t look at her as the settlers called for them to leave, to retreat to the inner room before the night changed so they could celebrate their marriage as a husband and wife should. As Harry stood, he offered YN his hand. It was a grand gesture, but a gesture the settlement expected. They watched as the couple walk the entire length of the longhouse, older women smiling knowingly whilst the younger ones whispered. To YN, it almost felt like another procession. Harry kept ahold of her hand the entire walk, through the longhouse and into the inner room.

What she didn’t understand was that Harry still wasn’t looking at her, not even once the wooden door of Harry’s inner room shut with a thud and they were both left all alone. He dropped her hand the second nobody else could see them.

The celebration that was still buzzing in the longhouse was instantly muffled to a sound that YN could hear but not translate. They sounded happy. Their laughter reached the room only as a distant murmur, as though she had already stepped into a different life from the one still unfolding beyond the wooden door. From a quiet corner of the room, the fire that had already been lit crackled away.

There was nobody there but them. No servants, no parents, no Gothi, no warriors — just them.

They both stood still, almost like two carvings in the middle of the room, neither of them speaking and neither of them moving.

Harry glanced around the room, following her gaze. For perhaps the first time, he seemed to notice it through somebody else’s eyes.

After a second, “You can… put your things wherever you’d like.”

YN froze once more. This wasn’t just Harry’s inner room any more, it was hers too. This was a place that they were supposed to share, a place where they would rest their heads after a long day in Hrafnvík and yet.

It was all Harry. Every piece of wood, every weapon, ever fur seemed to carry traces of him.

Fur blankets covered most of the expanse of the bed, probably to preserve heat in the cold nights that often occurred here. The bed had not been build for one person, but for generations. For Jarls and their wives. For the children who would one day inherit Hrafnvík.

However, it had not been shared before and that was obvious. A part of boots rested beside the door, dust clinging to the leather as though they had simply kicked off after long days spent across the fjord. Shields and swords rested against the wall. Every blade had been cleaned, every shield freshly oiled — nothing had been left to rust.

But apart from that, apart from the few things left due to the sheer exhaustion that Harry often felt, the room was tidy. Fishing hooks dangled from pegs along the wall, maps of the fjord and surrounding areas too. The edges had curled with age, corners held flat beneath pins. Charcoal maps crossed familiar routes through the fjord, while fresh ink mapped new fishing grounds and neighbouring settlements. Upon the fireplace, sat nestled without taking too much room was a small carving in a piece of wood. It was of a small boy and wolf. The little boy had his hand outstretched, his fingertips hovered only a breath away from the wolf’s nose.

Her attention settled upon the small carving. Unlike the weapons, it seemingly had no obvious purpose. It wasn’t practical… it simply existed. Questions swam around her head as to who carved it. Was it Harry? But from the age of the wood it seemed older, maybe it was his mother, or his father.

“My mother carved it,” YN turned towards his voice, and he only shrugs, “She said even wolves need someone willing to reach for them.”

He walked over to the small bench near the bed and shrugged his cloak off. YN watched as he folded the sleeves in before draping it over the bench, making sure it didn’t crease as he did. His belt came next. His fingers worked easily at the leather tie before he eased it free of the loops, laying it carefully atop the folded cloak.

YN watched, her gaze frozen as he removed the leather straps from his wrist. His tunic came next, the billowy material slipping over his head in one swift motion.

As much as she tried to pretend she wasn’t staring, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze caught first on the breadth of his shoulders. Then the muscles across his back shifted beneath warm firelight as he reached to fold his tunic. Only when he turned did she truly see him.

She exhaled a light breath as her eyes danced over the skin once he had. The dark ink covered shoulders and chest, she could see the start of some on his ribs. As her eyes drifted lower, she couldn’t mistake the dark ink that slipped down beneath the waistband of his leather trousers as well, across the toned skin that even rested there.

YN dragged her eyes back up to his chest quickly, thinking that it would be a safer place than where they were. She was wrong. The dark ink that sat there, illuminated against his chest by the firelight was a knotwork unlike any she’d seen before. Although, maybe she had.

Its runes danced from the top of his ample right shoulder, down across his chest where it spread. The first thin she noticed were the twisted runes, which moved into branches. She traced the lines with her eyes, watching as they merged into a wolf in the centre of his chest. To her, it looked alive. The roots looked as though they were growing under his skin, woven together to depict his wolf.

A familiar warmth stirred beneath the rune at her hip. Once. Then twice. Then again. Her breath caught. She realised that it wasn’t responding to Harry, but it was responding to the knotwork. She forced herself to look away, not wanting Harry to notice the way her skin flushed at the sight.

She had wondered for years what the knotwork of an Úlfr-blooded man would look like. Somehow, the reality felt older than anything her imagination had ever managed to conjure.

YN tried to swallow but her mouth felt impossibly dry. She then noticed one of her chests resting in the corner of the room, next to a carved folding screen. It was cared from dark timber, its three woven linen panels stretched tightly between the wooden frame to offer whoever stood behind it a measure of privacy, With her eyes planted firmly on the ground, she padded over to her chest and flicked it open.

She rifled through the folded garments until she found the one that she was after. It was a gift from the elder women in the village, a linen night slip with thing straps and beads on the collar. They had given it to her with smiles on their faces under the instruction that it had to be worn on her wedding night.

Tonight was her wedding night, so she assumed that it was the time to pop it on.

She slipped behind the screen. Before she even reached for the ties of her gown, Harry had already turned his back.

“You don’t have to…” She said, her eyes dancing across the expanse of his back from above the woven panels.

“You deserve your privacy.”

The firmness of his words, mixed with the fact that he couldn’t even look at her stung. Perhaps it was now that he started to regret the marriage between them. She decided to instead busy herself with getting undressed. It had taken three women to dress her, and she understood why the more layers she peeled off from herself. The amount of fastenings YN hadn’t known had existed shocked her.

By the time the fabric of her wedding dress pooled at her feet, her eyes darted back to Harry who still wasn’t looking at her. What he was looking at she would never know.

She pulled the slip over her head in one fluid movement, the fabric landing at around her mid shin. It was a lot lighter than the fabric she usually dressed in, and the straps were so thin that the majority of her shoulders were exposed. The neckline fell into a deep V, so deep that she worried if she moved too quickly she would be exposing something she maybe didn’t want to. It felt too much, as though it was for a woman older than herself.

She worked on her hair next, pulling the feathers and thread out before working on untangling her braids. Once her hair was loose and slightly kinked, she inhaled a deep breath before slipping out from behind the screen.

“You are free to turn around.”

Harry turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes met hers immediately. They flickered only briefly over the pale linen she now wore before settling upon her face once more. Then they caught upon the rune resting against her shoulder — only for a heartbeat. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Before he looked away again.

His eyes hadn’t lingered, they hadn’t widened. He hadn’t smiled. He had simply looked away. Somehow, that hurt far more than if he stared.

“You can choose whichever side you’d like.”

The words caught YN by surprise. She was still standing by the carved screen, her fingers absent-mindedly twisting together, whilst Harry had already moved towards the bed.

“Choose?”

“I don’t mind,” he replied with a small shrug, lifting back the heavy furs before smoothing them down again, “Whichever feels more comfortable.”

“I’ve never…” YN hesitated, searching for the words before a quiet, nervous laugh escaped her, “I’ve never shared a bed before.”

Harry glanced up. For the first time since they entered the room, a small smile softened his features, “Neither have I… not like this.”

Something about the confessed a fraction of the tightness in YN’s chest. Not completely, but enough that she found herself nodding.

She crossed towards the bed, every step feeling strangely deliberate. The timber creaked softly beneath her feet before she slipped beneath the waiting furs. Warmth immediately surrounded her.

The mattress was softer than the one she’d grown up sleeping upon in Sólheimr. sinking slightly beneath her weight before settling. The thick furs trapped the heat from the fire, wrapping around her legs until she almost sighed in relief.

Perhaps this was one of the quieter privileges of leading a settlement. Not gold. Not riches. Just a bed warm enough to ease the ache from weary bones after long winters. She kept her hands folded neatly over her stomach as Harry rounded the opposite side.

He climbed beneath the covers with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to do everything else. YN waited, without even realising she was waiting. She expected him to settle beside her, close enough that their shoulders would brush, or she’d be able to feel the warmth of him through the blankets.

Instead, he stopped. There remained enough space between them for another person to lie comfortably. The distance felt deliberate. YN stared at the timber beams overhead. Perhaps this was simply how the people in Hrafnvík slept. Yet, something in her chest tightened all the same. .

She waited. Perhaps he was simply hesitating himself before moving closer to her. Perhaps he was nervous too. But, the longer she waited, the more she realised he had no intention of crossing the space between them.

Confusion settled heavily in her chest.

“… Are you not coming over here?” She asked quietly, uncertainty threading through every word.

“What?” His response mirrors her own confusion perfectly that it almost made her question whether she had misunderstood something.

“I thought...” She faltered, turning her head so that she was looking at him, “…I thought this was what married people did.”

YN watched his expression change. It softened. Not with pity, but with understanding. As though, only then, had he realised what she meant. His lips parted as if to answer immediately, before closing once more. He searched for the right words.

“No,” he says gently, “Not unless you want it.”

“They said…” YN trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I know what they said.”

“They said we’re supposed to…” YN swallowed, “They said we’re supposed to lay together.”

Harry turns his gaze away from her, staring at the ceiling, “They’re not the ones in this room.”

Silence settled between them once more.

“Oh.”

YN turned her own eyes towards the ceiling. She had expected relief and instead… something inside her quietly broke. Had she disappointed him that quickly? Had he looked at her and immediately realised she was not the wife he had hoped for?

Her mother had spoken gently of wedding nights. She had told YN they were nothing to fear. That if Harry proved to be as patient and as kind as he had already shown himself to be, then she would remember the night with warmth rather than dread.

She had prepared herself for nerves, for awkwardness. For the uncertainty of sharing a bed with a man she barely knew.

She had never prepared herself for rejection.

Perhaps the stories had forgotten to mention what happened when the gods paired two strangers. Or perhaps… the stories had simply never imagined a marriage like theirs.

She blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Carefully, she rolled onto her side until her back faced Harry, praying the dim firelight would hide the tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She would not let him see he had upset her.

Behind her, Harry remained still. He watched her turned away and quietly assumed she had found the distance between them comforting. It never crossed his mind that she believed he had rejected her. His only thought was that she had left everything she had ever known that day — her family, her home, her people. He could not bear the thought of asking anything more of her before she was ready.

Neither of them realised they were trying to protect the other.

YN’s fingers found the woven threads still tied around her wrist. She rolled them slowly beneath her fingertips, the rough fibres pressing against her skin. The knot felt impossibly heavy.

To everyone beyond the wooden walls of the inner room, they were husband and wife — bound before the gods. Yet lying there in the darkness, separated by scarcely the width of a blanket, YN had never felt further from him.

Sleep only came when exhaustion finally claimed her. Between them lay almost the width of an entire blanket, but to YN it might as well have been an ocean.

A silence washed over the room. The fire burned lower in the corner, allowing just a fragment of light and heat to still emit from it. Shadows danced across the carved beams overhead as the light dimmed. The feast had ended some time ago. The laughter had dwindled into a quiet conversation before even that faded, until all that remained were the distant footsteps of settlers making their way home through the sleeping village.

Then, Hrafnvík fell silent.

As the flames dimmed, a coolness danced around the room. The temperature dropped, not uncomfortably, not as cold as it often is in winter. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed YN draw the heavy furs a little higher around herself until only her face remained visible.

Harry exhaled quietly. Sleep continued to evade him.

YN had dropped to sleep hours ago, and yet he hadn’t managed to succumb to it yet.

Lying flat on his back, his hands folded over his stomach he stared. He stared at the timber on the ceiling, watching as the shadows moved and flickered with every flame. He stared at the lines across the timber that indicated its age, showcasing just how long the longhouse had actually been standing there. How many winters had those beams endured? How many Jarls had stood beneath them before him, carrying burdens that had once seemed impossibly heavy?

He wondered how many Jarl’s before him had wedding nights such as these.

As far as he could tell, the evening had gone well enough. It wasn’t a perfect evening, but as far as a wedding night goes in an arranged marriage — Harry thought it went quite well.

He allowed her to choose her side of the bed first. He’d left the decision up to her, only her. He couldn’t imagine other Jarl’s allowing that to happen, as much as it angered him to admit. To Harry, she seemed relieved when he respected her wishes, when he didn’t push her, when he gave her the space as he knew that was the honourable thing to do. Surely that had been the right thing to do.

His mother, like most he assumed, had sat him down before his wedding and spoken of the man he was, and the man he had to be. His mother had never spoken of wedding nights in terms of duty alone. She had spoken of patience, respect, kindness.

“Kindness first,” Astrid had reminded him, her voice steady, “The rest will come when the gods decide.”

The rest will come when the gods decide. The words refused to leave him. He had spent years wondering what the gods expected of him. As Jarl. As a son. As an Úlfr-blooded man. Now he had a wife sleeping scarcely a blanket’s width away, and still he had no clearer understanding of what fate had planned than he had as a body standing in the training yard.

Yet, there was comfort in believing the gods worked to a rhythm beyond his understanding. If they had woven a path before him, then perhaps all he had to do was keep walking it.

In the silence of the room, he realised that his mother had been right. Whatever the gods had planned for this marriage, one thing remained in his control. YN would never suffer because of him.

This had been decided for them, and he had to remember that. Whether it be by Jarl Leif, or the gods; they were tied together now. Harry’s thumb brushed against the knot of the band around his wrist. The woven band barely weighted anything against his skin. Yet somehow it felt heavier than the sword that now rested against the wall.

Then, something disturbed the silence. It was faint, and didn’t exactly sound like a cry. It was a sigh, a desperate one mixed with a small restless movement from his side.

He turns to the side, his eyes falling upon YN’s body from beneath the furs and blankets. Her body shifts slightly, turning her so she was on her back. The sound that had indicated to him that something was amiss increased into a whine, a delicate sound that left YN’s parted lips as her brows pulled together. Her lips moved almost as though she was trying to speak but couldn’t quite form the words. The furs dropped from her chest, exposing her collar to him. He could see the rapid movements of her breathing, increasing with every second he was watching.

Her hands tightened around the blankets upon her body, as though they were hoping to find some respite from the torment she was seemingly experiencing. She didn’t look settled, peaceful in her sleep at all. She looked the complete opposite of that.

He watched, his eyes never leaving the contours of her face as she whined. He’d never been in this situation before, unsure if he should wake her up or just leave her.

Perhaps she always slept this way. Perhaps waking her would only frighten her more. Perhaps she would think he was using the nightmare as an excuse to move closer.

Then her breathing increased, her lips parted once more before she began to whisper into the quiet room.

It started as the faintest whisper.

“…Don’t…”

Her fingers tightened around the blanket, a long breath escaped her.

“…the fire…”

The tension left her for a heartbeat before returning twice as fiercely.

“…wait…”

Another pause. Then, almost desperately—

“…the wolf… please…”

Louder, all in quick succession. His eyebrows furrowed. Harry remained where he was, one heartbeat, then another. He told himself she would settled. She didn’t. Another quiet whimper escaped her lips. That was enough. He sat up, and slowly started to decrease the gap between them.

The air seemed to thicken around him, heavy enough that each breath felt slower than the last. Then the fire cracked sharply behind him. The loudest sound that the room had heard all evening. Outside the small shuttered window, a raven called out into the wind.

Harry frowned, it was the middle of the night and yet something was amiss. This wasn’t normal — it couldn’t be. The air felt too thick for it to be normal. Ravens did not call at this hour. Not unless something had disturbed them.

Quietly, Harry whispered into the thick room, “YN…”

There was no response apart from the sound of her laboured breathing.

Again, he tried, a little more certain than last time, “YN…”

Harry looks at the significantly small space between them and sighs. It was the size of about half a blanket now, and although he knew he maybe shouldn’t, he inhaled a deep breath and crossed the space to her.

He eased himself forward, careful not to disturb the blankets between them. The distance that had seemed so vast only moment before disappeared one cautious movement at a time.

He tries again, this time closer to her than he had been before, “YN.”

Nothing. Only the uneven rhythm of her breathing.

He lifts his hand up, reaching out to brush against her. His fingertips rest against her hip, the only thing between her skin and his being the blanket that she was in the process of shaking off. Her body moved, and it slipped further down, exposing the skin to him where her slip had crumpled up.

His eyes narrowed. Beneath the pale firelight he could see something. It was dark, and it looked somewhat familiar to him. Before his brain could even process what was happening, his finger reached out against.

It rested lightly against the exposed skin, this time in direct contact with the dark ink dancing there. Nothing happened for the briefest heartbeat. Then, Harry thought he imagined it, but it grew warm to the touch, heating up the pad of his finger. It was a warmth like standing beneath the midsummer sunlight. A warmth that spread, rather than burning. It’s a feeling that felt familiar despite being something he’d never felt before.

He finger hesitates, only for half a second or so. Then his hand jerks backwards, his eyebrows furrowing. At the centre of his exposed chest, the wolf knotwork upon his chest tightens. Warmth radiates across the ink, almost as though something sleeping had opened one eye. It wasn’t a painful way, but one that shocks Harry.

What it was, he didn’t know. Why the rune upon her hip looked so similar to his own. Even in the dark firelight, the ink not only looked so similar but in parts almost identical.

When the burning dulled to only a throb, Harry reached towards her hip again. This time, however, before their skin could touch YN jumped awake.

She awoke with a gasp, her body jolting forward until she’s in a sitting position. Her hair is stuck to the sweat of her forehead and neck, her eyes full of tears. Harry couldn’t help the way his own eyes darting down to her chest, where one shoulder of her slip had dropped and exposed the top of the swell of her breast. It heaved up and down in the firelight as the tears started to stream down her face.

She’d awoken with a such a force that it worried him. He didn’t know if she was okay, or what had actually just happened. All he knew was that she didn’t look like herself, not the woman that had stood across from him this morning.

Harry hadn’t moved. His hand still hovered where the rune had rested only moments before. Neither of them spoke. YN’s tear-filled eyes met his, confusion mirroring confusion.

“YN?”

The sound of her name was quiet, almost swallowed by the crackling of the fire.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as she stared ahead, her eyes unfocused. It took a long moment before she seemed to recognise where she was. The carved walls of the inner room slowly came back into focus around her. The dying fire. The heavy furs tangled around her legs.

Harry.

Only then did her breathing begin to steady.

“Are you alright?” she looked at him as though she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

After a moment, she gave a small nod, “… I think so.”

Her voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

Harry studied her for another heartbeat before speaking again, “You were dreaming.”

YN lowered her gaze to the blankets gathered in her lap. Her fingers twisted absently in the thick fur, grounding herself in something she knew was real.

“I know.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence no longer felt awkward, it felt cautious.

Eventually, Harry cleared his throat, “Does that happen often?”

YN finger’s stilled. For the briefest moment, Harry thought she might actually answer him. Instead, she reached slowly towards the strap of her slip where it had fallen from her shoulder, lifting it back into place with careful fingers before folding her hands together once more.

When she finally looked back at him, her expression had settled into something carefully composed.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly, too neatly. Harry knew the moment he heard it. She was lying. It wasn’t out of malice, it was out of habit, out of pride. Or perhaps because there were some things she simply wasn’t ready to share with a man she had only become married to a handful of hours before.

He found that he couldn’t blame her. His chest gave a strange, unfamiliar throb. Almost instinctively, his hand rose to rest over the knotwork spread across his chest. The warmth had faded, and only the faintest ache remained beneath his ink. He frowned. He had imagined it, hadn’t he?

His thumb traced absent-mindedly over the twisting lines of the wolf. The skin felt no different now than it always had. Yet he could have sworn. No. He had felt it, he knew he had.

Across from him, YN quietly settled herself back against the mattress. Her head disappeared once more into the waiting furs, though she kept her eyes open, fixed upon the timber beams above them.

Harry’s gaze lingered on her for only a moment long before dropping towards his own chest. The firelight caught the dark knotwork. Every branch, every line, every rune exactly as it had always been. There were no new markings, nothing had changed. At least… nothing he could see.

Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the bed. This time, without really thinking about it, he stopped before returning to his original place. The distance between them had shrunk. Not by much. Only enough that, if either of them stretched out a hand, their fingertips would meet.

Neither of them commented on it. Neither of them acknowledged that he had not gone all the way back to his side. YN noticed, and Harry noticed that she noticed. But, still neither of them spoke.

Outside, the wind sighed softly through the pines. Somewhere beyond the walls of the longhouse, a raven called once before silence settled over Hrafnvík again. YN closed her eyes, not because sleep had returned, because she could no longer bear to look at him without wondering what he felt.

Beside her, Harry stared into the darkness above. He had crossed the space between them intending only to wake her from a nightmare. He had no explanation for what had happened afterwards. No explanation for the warmth beneath her hand, or the answering pulse beneath his own skin.

Yet, one thought refused to leave him. Whatever had happened… it had not been an accident.

There was exactly one person Y/N had hoped wouldn’t be at the wedding. Unfortunately, he was already standing at the entrance. 

Harry Styles leaned against one of the pale stone pillars framing the guesthouse door, a ceramic mug resting between both hands while he listened to something Ben was saying. The sleeves of his dark jumper had been pushed carelessly to his elbows, revealing his forearms, and the afternoon light caught the edge of his face whenever he tipped his head back to laugh. He hadn’t noticed the car yet. Y/N had. Her fingers remained wrapped around the passenger-side door handle, although she had stopped halfway through opening it. Beside her, Emma switched off the engine. The music vanished, leaving the inside of the car so quiet that Y/N could hear the faint ticking of the cooling engine. Neither of them moved. 

“Don’t,” Y/N said. 

Emma hadn’t even turned towards her. “I haven’t said anything.” 

“You inhaled.” 

“I do that quite often.” 

“You inhaled judgementally.” Emma glanced through the windscreen, then back at Y/N. “He looks good.” 

Y/N closed her eyes. “That was exactly what I told you not to say.” 

“You told me not to say anything. You didn’t specify what.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Outside, Ben said something else. Harry smiled into his mug, completely unaware that six years of carefully constructed distance were sitting inside a silver car less than thirty metres away. Y/N had spent most of the drive convincing herself that the reunion wouldn’t matter. They were adults now. They had careers, separate lives and an entire collection of experiences that had nothing to do with one another. Whatever had once existed between them belonged to university corridors, badly lit student bars and one evening neither of them had handled particularly well. She had been twenty-one. He had been twenty-two. They had been impulsive, defensive and too proud to admit how much the opinion of the other mattered. Six years should have been enough to make him ordinary. Instead, the sight of him had made her forget how car doors worked. 

Emma rested one arm over the steering wheel. “We can still turn around.” Y/N looked at her. 

“I’m serious,” Emma continued. “We fake a family emergency. Something dramatic but not tragic. Your aunt has locked herself in a conservatory.” 

“I don’t have an aunt with a conservatory.” 

“He doesn’t know that.” 

“Olivia does.” 

“We’ll say she developed an interest in gardening recently.” 

A reluctant smile tugged at Y/N’s mouth. “You’d drive four hours back home?” 

“I’d complain the entire way.” 

“Comforting.” 

“That’s friendship.” 

Y/N released the door handle and leaned back against the seat. The guesthouse stood at the end of a long gravel driveway, surrounded by colourful gardens, open fields and a thick line of trees that climbed towards the hills. It was larger than the photographs Olivia had sent, an old country estate converted into accommodation, with ivy crawling over pale stone and wide windows reflecting the summer sky. 

Cars filled one side of the courtyard. Music drifted through an open window, mixed with voices and an occasional burst of laughter from somewhere behind the house. 

They were among friends. People Y/N had known for almost a decade. People who had seen her drunk, heartbroken, overworked and once wearing a traffic cone as a hat because Mason had dared her to. There was no reason to be nervous. Except for the man at the entrance. 

Emma’s expression softened. “You knew he’d be here.” 

“I knew logically.” 

“And emotionally?” 

“I was hoping he’d catch a mild but inconvenient virus.” 

“Very mature.” 

“I’ve grown tremendously.” 

Emma studied her for a moment. “When did you last see him?” 

“Graduation.” 

“That was genuinely the last time?” 

They had lived in different cities after university. Harry moved to London for an architecture placement that became a permanent job, while Y/N accepted a position in Manchester before eventually beginning to work independently as an interior designer. The group had tried to remain close, but adult life reduced spontaneous weekends to carefully negotiated dates in calendars. Harry attended gatherings she missed. She attended the ones he couldn’t make. At first, the timing had been accidental. Eventually, Y/N stopped asking. 

She knew enough through the others to understand that he was doing well. He had become an architect, travelled often for projects and apparently worked far too much. She knew he had dated someone for nearly a year because Olivia had mentioned the breakup during a phone call. She knew he had moved flats twice and once broken his wrist while attempting something Mason refused to explain. She did not know the details. That had been deliberate. Mostly. 

Emma tilted her head. “You’ve looked at his profile.” 

Y/N turned sharply. “What?” 

“You have.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You did that thing with your mouth.” 

“What thing?” 

“The guilty thing.” 

“I don’t have a guilty mouth.” 

Emma laughed. “How many times?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“So more than once.” 

“Everyone looks at people online.” 

“Not everyone scrolls through six years of photographs at two in the morning.” 

“I did not scroll through six years.” 

“Four?” 

Y/N looked through the windscreen again. 

Emma gasped theatrically. “You did.” 

“It was one time.” 

“You paused.” 

“Fine. Twice.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Maybe three times, but one of them was because Olivia tagged him.” 

“Of course.” 

Y/N pushed the car door open before Emma could continue. “We’re going inside.” 

“Suddenly eager?” 

“I’d rather face him than this conversation.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Warm air met Y/N as she stepped onto the gravel. Her legs felt stiff after the journey, and she took longer than necessary to straighten the fabric of her cream trousers before walking towards the boot. Emma joined her, still visibly entertained, and began unloading their bags. Harry remained beneath the entrance arch. Y/N kept her head down as she lifted her suitcase from the car, concentrating on extending the handle. It caught halfway. She pressed the release button again. Nothing happened. 

“Need help?” Emma asked. 

“No.” 

“You’ve been fighting it for thirty seconds.” 

“I have it.” 

“You’re pressing the wrong button.” 

Y/N looked down. 

Emma reached across and pressed the button beside her thumb. The handle extended immediately. 

“Thank you,” Y/N muttered. 

“Any time.” 

When she finally looked up, Harry was watching her. Ben had disappeared inside. Harry stood alone now, his mug abandoned on the low stone wall beside him, and the easy smile had left his face. For several seconds, neither of them reacted. 

Y/N had imagined this moment occasionally over the years, although never when she was prepared to admit it. In some versions, Harry looked exactly as he had at twenty-two: curls falling into his eyes, a careless grin on his mouth and the restless energy of someone who believed every night could become a story. 

In others, she passed him unexpectedly in a crowded station or found him sitting at a table with their friends. He would look at her, she would look at him, and somehow she would know exactly what to say. 

Reality offered no useful dialogue. Harry was different. The most obvious changes were physical. His shoulders were broader, his features more defined and his hair shorter around the sides, though still long enough on top to curl in the warm air. Light stubble shadowed his jaw, and there was something steadier in the way he held himself. University Harry had demanded attention without appearing to try. This Harry didn’t seem to need it. 

The confidence remained, but it had settled beneath his skin instead of spilling from him. He looked like someone who had learnt when to speak, when to wait and how dangerous silence could be when used properly. 

His gaze moved slowly across Y/N’s face, as though confirming details his memory had preserved. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. Not the careless grin she remembered. Something smaller. Almost uncertain. Y/N’s chest tightened. 

“Still time to run,” Emma whispered. 

“Shut up.” 

Harry stepped away from the entrance. Y/N gripped the handle of her suitcase and began walking before she could reconsider. Emma fell into step beside her, the wheels crunching over the gravel. The distance between them shortened far too quickly. Harry greeted Emma first. 

“Hi.” 

She abandoned her suitcase and hugged him without hesitation. “Look at you.” 

Harry laughed as he wrapped both arms around her. “That sounds threatening.” 

“You look offensively healthy.” 

“I sleep now.” 

“Disgusting.” 

“I’ve also discovered vegetables.” 

“Marriage material.” 

“Don’t start.” 

Emma pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “It’s been ages.” 

“It has.” His attention moved past her. “How was the drive?” 

“Long. Y/N threatened to abandon me at a service station because I wouldn’t let her choose the music.” 

“I threatened to drive myself,” Y/N corrected. 

“You don’t know the route.” 

“I have maps.” 

“You missed the exit while holding the map.” 

Harry’s gaze settled fully on Y/N. There it was again—the pause. The sense that everyone else had slipped slightly out of focus. 

“Hi,” Y/N said. 

It sounded embarrassingly inadequate after six years. 

Harry looked at her for another moment. “Hi, Y/N.” 

Hearing her name in his voice was worse than seeing him. It was too familiar. 

Deeper than she remembered, but still carrying the soft rasp that used to appear when he was tired or had spent an entire night shouting over music. For one disorientating second, Y/N could hear that same voice beside her in the university library, asking whether she intended to ignore him forever because she hadn’t answered his previous three questions. 

She straightened her shoulders. “You look well.” 

“So do you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Wasn’t expecting that.” 

Her brows drew together. “What?” 

“A polite response.” 

“I can be polite.” 

Harry’s mouth curved. “You could always be polite. You simply chose not to be with me.” 

“I wonder why.” 

“That’s better.” 

The ease of the exchange irritated her. She had expected awkwardness, perhaps a stiff hug neither of them wanted or a greeting polite enough to confirm that they had become strangers. Instead, Harry slipped into their old rhythm as though they had paused a conversation six minutes ago rather than six years. 

Emma looked between them. “I’m going to take my bags inside.” 

“Coward,” Y/N said. 

“Survivor.” 

She dragged her suitcase towards the entrance. 

Harry glanced at Y/N’s larger bag. “Want me to take that?” 

“No.” 

“I didn’t finish the question.” 

“You were going to offer to carry it.” 

“I was.” 

“I can carry it.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why ask?” 

“Because carrying it would be easier than watching you fight another handle.” 

Y/N stared at him. 

He held out one hand. 

She tightened her grip. “I have it.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Harry.” 

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Still stubborn.” 

“Still interfering.” 

“Good. I was worried it might be awkward.” 

Before she could answer, the front door flew open. Olivia appeared in the entrance, barefoot and dressed in grey joggers and an oversized white jumper. Her hair was tied messily on top of her head, and she looked nothing like the composed bride from the photographs she had been sending for months. She looked happy. Completely, overwhelmingly happy. 

“Y/N!” 

Olivia ran down the steps. Y/N released the suitcase just in time to catch her, laughing as Olivia wrapped both arms around her waist with enough force to knock them slightly off balance. 

“You’re here,” Olivia said into her shoulder. 

“Obviously.” 

“You took forever.” 

“Emma drives like someone’s grandmother.” 

“Your life expectancy has increased because of me,” Emma called from the entrance. 

Olivia pulled back, keeping both hands on Y/N’s arms. “Let me look at you.” 

“You saw me three months ago.” 

“That was before I became emotionally unstable.” 

“You’ve always been emotionally unstable.” 

“Exactly. This is worse.” 

Y/N smiled, affection softening the tightness in her chest. “You look beautiful.” 

“I look like I’ve spent the morning arguing about tablecloths.” 

“A beautiful woman who has spent the morning arguing about tablecloths.” 

“I’ll accept it.” 

Olivia’s gaze flicked over Y/N’s shoulder towards Harry. Her expression changed almost imperceptibly. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Why is everyone saying that today?” 

“Because you keep reacting to things we haven’t said.” 

Harry picked up Y/N’s suitcase. 

She turned. “Put that down.” 

“No.” 

“I told you I can carry it.” 

“And I believed you.” 

“Then—” 

“But now Olivia is holding you hostage.” 

Olivia tightened her grip around Y/N’s arm. “He’s right.” 

“You’re both irritating.” 

Harry began walking towards the house with her suitcase. “Some things don’t change.” 

The guesthouse was even more impressive inside. Patterned tiles covered the entrance hall, leading towards a wide staircase framed by carved wooden banisters. Coats had already accumulated across a long bench, while boxes marked with words such as CANDLES, TABLE NUMBERS and DO NOT LET MASON TOUCH THIS were stacked beneath the windows. Voices echoed from somewhere deeper inside. Noah appeared through an archway carrying a wooden crate. He set it down the instant he saw Y/N and crossed the hallway with his arms open. 

“Finally.” 

Y/N hugged him. “You say that as though I’m late.” 

“You’re the last ones here.” 

“Because your future wife gave us the wrong postcode.” 

Olivia gasped. “I did not.” 

“You sent the postcode for a farm.” 

“It was near here.” 

“It had goats.” 

Noah nodded thoughtfully. “They’re nice goats.” 

Y/N pulled back from him. “I’m reconsidering the wedding gift.” 

“You’ve already bought it.” 

“I can return it.” 

Noah smiled before kissing Olivia’s temple as she moved beside him. The gesture was automatic and unselfconscious, the kind of affection built through years of knowing where the other person would stand before looking. 

They had been together since their second year at university. Nine years. Y/N remembered watching them fall in love gradually, then all at once. Noah began carrying snacks because Olivia became irritable when she was hungry. Olivia learnt to recognise when he needed reassurance but was too proud to ask. Their lives had slowly rearranged themselves until no one could remember what either of them had looked like alone. For a brief, unwelcome moment, Y/N wondered what six years might have looked like if one dinner had ended differently. She pushed the thought away. 

“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Noah said. “Mason is pretending to cook.” 

“I’m supervising!” Mason shouted from somewhere beyond the hallway. 

“That means Sophia is cooking,” Emma replied. 

“Correct,” Sophia called back. 

Olivia looped her arm through Y/N’s and led her towards the voices. Harry followed with the suitcase, ignoring every look Y/N sent him. 

The kitchen occupied the back of the house, with high ceilings, exposed beams and wide glass doors overlooking the gardens. A long wooden table stood beside the windows, large enough to seat the entire group. The central island was covered with bags, bottles and partly prepared food. 

Mason stood beside the cooker holding a wooden spoon as though it were a microphone. Sophia was chopping vegetables with the expression of someone reconsidering every choice that had led her there. Ben opened wine at the island, while several other friends from university sat on the counters talking over one another. 

The room erupted when Y/N entered. For the next several minutes, she was passed between hugs, questions and complaints about how long it had been. Mason accused her of avoiding them. Sophia inspected her hair. Ben asked whether she still made the same unnecessarily complicated coffee order. It felt easy. Familiar. The kind of affection that survived long silences without demanding an apology. Y/N almost relaxed. Then Harry stepped into the kitchen behind her carrying her suitcase. Mason stopped speaking. His eyes moved from Harry to Y/N and back again. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Y/N pointed at him. “Don’t.” 

“I only said a vowel.” 

“You said it suggestively.” 

“I didn’t know vowels could be suggestive.” 

“You’ve managed it.” 

Sophia took the spoon from Mason before he dropped it into the sauce. “Behave.” 

“I am behaving.” 

Ben looked towards Harry. “How long did the reunion take?” 

“Approximately four minutes,” Harry answered. 

“Before they started arguing?” 

“Three.” 

Y/N turned to him. “We weren’t arguing.” 

Harry placed her suitcase beside the doorway. “You told me to put that down six times.” 

“Because it belongs to me.” 

“Exactly. It gave us something to discuss.” 

Mason looked delighted. “This week is going to be excellent.” 

“It’s Olivia and Noah’s wedding,” Y/N said. “Try focusing on them.” 

“I contain multitudes.” 

“You contain mostly alcohol.” 

“Also true.” 

Sophia ordered everyone to sit down before the food became cold. The group moved towards the table in a noisy wave, carrying dishes, bread and bottles of wine. Y/N reached for an empty chair near Emma. 

Olivia appeared beside it. “That’s Mason’s seat.” 

Mason, standing several places away, looked confused. “Is it?” 

“Yes,” Olivia said quickly. 

Y/N glanced at her. Olivia avoided eye contact. 

“Where am I sitting?” 

“There.” 

She pointed towards a chair halfway down the table. Directly opposite Harry. Y/N looked at him. Harry had already taken his seat, one arm resting along the back of the chair beside him. His expression suggested that he had noticed the arrangement before she did and decided not to comment. 

“There are other seats,” Y/N said. 

“There are exactly enough for everyone,” Olivia replied. 

“I can sit at the end.” 

“That’s where Noah is sitting.” 

“I’ll sit beside him.” 

“That’s my seat.” 

“Convenient.” 

Olivia smiled innocently. 

Y/N lowered her voice. “You promised.” 

“I promised not to interfere.” 

“This looks suspiciously like interference.” 

“It’s lunch.” 

“With assigned seating.” 

“Because Mason keeps stealing people’s food.” 

“I do,” Mason confirmed. 

Harry reached for the water jug. “You could sit down.” 

Y/N turned towards him. “Thank you. I was waiting for your permission.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

She pulled out the chair and sat. Harry filled his glass, then held the jug towards her. Y/N stared at it for a second before moving her glass closer. 

“See?” he said quietly as he poured. “We’re already cooperating.” 

“It’s water.” 

“Small steps.” 

She resisted the urge to kick him beneath the table. Lunch began with several conversations happening at once. Olivia discussed the rehearsal schedule with Emma while Noah explained how many deliveries were still arriving. Mason criticised Sophia’s cooking until she threatened to remove his plate. Ben asked Harry about a project in Copenhagen. Y/N tried not to listen. She failed. 

Harry had become an associate at an architecture firm in London. He had worked on hotels, residential developments and the restoration of a theatre he described with obvious affection. He spoke differently about work than he had at university, no longer dismissing ambition with jokes whenever someone noticed how much he cared. Back then, Harry had often pretended not to take anything seriously. 

He finished assignments at the last moment, arrived late to lectures and spent most weekends moving between parties. Yet his designs had always been the ones professors displayed. He could stare at a blank page for hours, then produce something brilliant while everyone else slept. Y/N used to accuse him of wasting his potential. He used to tell her she worried enough for both of them. 

“You’re staring,” Emma murmured beside her. 

Y/N picked up her fork. “I’m listening to Ben.” 

“Ben hasn’t spoken for thirty seconds.” 

“I’m listening to the space where Ben’s words were.” 

Emma smiled into her glass. Across the table, Harry looked towards them. Y/N immediately focused on her plate. 

“Are we telling university stories yet?” Mason asked. 

“No,” Y/N answered. 

“Yes,” Olivia said at the same time. 

Mason grinned. “Excellent.” 

“We have four days together,” Y/N warned. “You don’t need to ruin everything during the first meal.” 

“I’m pacing myself.” 

Sophia gestured towards Harry. “Tell them how you met Mason.” 

“I’d rather not,” Harry said. 

“He climbed through my bedroom window,” Mason announced. 

“The front door was locked.” 

“You didn’t live there.” 

“I knew Noah.” 

“You’d met Noah twice.” 

Harry shrugged. “I had good instincts.” 

“You were drunk.” 

“Both can be true.” 

Ben laughed. “How did Y/N meet Harry? Was it at the student bar?” 

“No,” Olivia said. “It was at my flat.” 

Harry’s eyes moved to Y/N. 

She knew what was coming before anyone spoke. 

“He stole my chair,” she said. 

“I didn’t steal it.” 

“My bag was on it.” 

“You moved the bag.” 

“To get a drink.” 

“You created an opening.” 

Y/N looked at the others. “This is the sort of logic I had to endure for three years.” 

Harry leaned back in his chair. “You told me to move.” 

“You refused.” 

“You were rude.” 

“You were sitting in my seat.” 

“There wasn’t a name on it.” 

“My bag—” 

“Wasn’t a person.” 

The old exchange returned so perfectly that several people laughed before Y/N realised they had almost repeated it word for word. 

“He followed her around after that.” 

“I did not,” Harry said. 

“You absolutely did,” Sophia replied. “You appeared everywhere she was.” 

“We had the same friends.” 

“You joined a library session for a module you weren’t taking,” Emma said. 

Harry looked towards Y/N. “I needed somewhere quiet.” 

“You fell asleep on my notes,” she reminded him. 

“I was supporting you.” 

“You drooled on economic theory.” 

“Improved it.” 

“You also started bringing her coffee,” Olivia added. 

“That was for everyone.” 

“No,” Emma said. “You brought one coffee.” 

Harry reached for a piece of bread. “Perhaps I was financially struggling.” 

“You knew her order after two weeks,” Noah said. 

“It wasn’t complicated.” 

Y/N watched him break the bread in half. 

“Double espresso, one sugar, a little milk,” Harry said without looking at her. 

The table quieted just enough for the words to land. Y/N’s fingers stilled around her fork. Harry finally lifted his gaze. 

“Unless you changed it.” 

There was no teasing in his voice. 

“No,” Y/N said. “I didn’t.” 

Something passed across his expression. Satisfaction, perhaps, or simple recognition. 

Mason looked between them. “This is entirely normal.” 

“Eat your lunch,” Y/N told him. 

The conversation moved on, but the atmosphere had changed. Small glances passed around the table whenever Harry or Y/N spoke. Their friends remembered enough to know there had once been something between them, even if most had never understood exactly what happened. Y/N wondered how much Olivia knew. At the time, Y/N had told Emma almost everything, but she had reduced the date to a simple disaster when the others asked. Harry had apparently done the same. Neither had offered details, and the group eventually learnt not to mention it. Years softened curiosity. Until now. 

After lunch, Noah carried the plates towards the sink while Olivia opened a note on her phone. 

“Rooms,” she announced. “Before everyone starts drinking and forgets where they’re sleeping.” 

“I already know where I’m sleeping,” Mason said. 

Sophia looked at him. “Do you?” 

“No.” 

“Thought so.” 

Olivia began reading names. Couples were placed in the main house, while the single rooms had been divided between two converted wings connected by narrow corridors. 

“Emma and Sophia, rooms seven and eight in the east wing. Ben and Mason are opposite you.” 

“Why am I beside Mason?” Ben asked. 

“Because nobody else volunteered.” 

“Fair.” 

Olivia continued. “Y/N, you’re in room twelve in the west wing.” 

Y/N nodded. 

“Harry, room eleven.” 

Her head turned. Harry’s did too. Olivia looked suspiciously interested in her phone. Y/N waited. 

Olivia cleared her throat. “The two rooms share a bathroom.” 

Mason coughed into his wine. 

Y/N closed her eyes briefly. “Of course they do.” 

“It wasn’t deliberate,” Olivia said. 

“That sentence has never sounded less convincing.” 

“The rooms were assigned based on arrival.” 

“We arrived last.” 

“Exactly.” 

“What about the room above the garage?” 

Noah winced. “It smells damp.” 

“I don’t mind damp.” 

“It has no heating,” Olivia said. 

“I run warm.” 

Harry folded his arms. “It’s a bathroom, Y/N.” 

She turned towards him. “I’m aware.” 

“I think we can manage.” 

“I never said we couldn’t.” 

“You’re volunteering to sleep above a garage.” 

“That’s unrelated.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry’s expression remained infuriatingly calm. “Fine.” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Fine.” 

Mason looked between them. “Excellent. Resolved with no tension whatsoever.” 

“Do you want to sleep above the garage?” Y/N asked. 

“No.” 

“Then be quiet.” 

Harry stood and reached for her suitcase. 

Y/N moved at the same time. “Absolutely not.” 

“You left it by the door.” 

“I was going to take it.” 

“You were arguing about damp.” 

“I can argue and carry luggage simultaneously.” 

“I remember.” 

His hand closed around the suitcase handle before hers. For a moment, they stood too close, both holding it. Harry’s gaze dropped briefly to her fingers wrapped beside his. Y/N released it first. Not because she wanted him to win. Because the contact had sent an inconvenient warmth through her hand. 

Harry lifted the suitcase. “Room twelve?” 

“You know it is.” 

“I’m confirming.” 

“You could leave it here.” 

“I could.” 

“But you won’t.” 

“No.” 

He walked towards the hallway. 

Y/N looked at Olivia. “I blame you for everything that happens this week.” 

Olivia smiled. “I accept no responsibility.” 

The west wing was quieter than the main house, its long corridor lined with framed paintings of the surrounding countryside. Room twelve stood at the end, beside a blue-painted door marked eleven. Between them, each bedroom had a second door leading into the same bathroom. Harry carried the suitcase inside Y/N’s room and placed it near the wardrobe. 

The room was bright and comfortable, with exposed wooden beams, a pale quilt and a wide window overlooking the gardens. An armchair stood beside a small fireplace, and fresh flowers had been arranged on the dresser. Y/N remained beside the door. 

Harry looked around. “Nice.” 

“It is.” 

He glanced towards her. “You can say thank you.” 

“I can.” 

Harry waited. Y/N waited longer. His mouth twitched. 

“Thank you,” she said eventually. 

“There she is.” 

He stepped towards the bathroom door and pushed it open. The room beyond contained two sinks, a claw-foot bath and a large glass shower. Another door stood directly opposite, connecting to his bedroom. Harry tested the lock on Y/N’s side. 

“It works.” 

“I know how locks work.” 

“I’m making sure.” 

“Planning to protect your virtue?” 

He looked over his shoulder. “I was thinking of yours.” 

“My virtue doesn’t need your assistance.” 

“That’s reassuring.” 

Harry opened the door into his room, checking that it could also be locked from the bathroom. Y/N watched him move around the space with the confidence of someone who belonged anywhere he stood. When he returned, he rested one shoulder against the frame. 

“Lock your side when you’re in here.” 

“I was planning to.” 

“I remember you forgetting things when you’re distracted.” 

“I don’t get distracted.” 

Harry’s eyes moved slowly down the length of her body before returning to her face. The look lasted only a second. Long enough. Heat rose beneath Y/N’s skin. Harry’s expression remained composed, but his eyes had darkened slightly. 

“No?” he asked. 

Y/N folded her arms. “Get out.” 

He laughed quietly and stepped into the corridor. 

At the bedroom door, he stopped. 

“It is good to see you.” 

The sincerity in his voice caught her unprepared. Harry didn’t smile this time. He simply looked at her, one hand resting on the doorframe, as though the answer mattered more than he wanted to reveal. Y/N noticed the small movement of his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He had done that when he was nervous at university. She had forgotten. Or tried to. 

“You too,” she said. 

Harry held her gaze for another second, then nodded and left. The door closed behind him. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed and released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. 

“This is fine,” she whispered to the empty room. 

A knock sounded against the bathroom door. Y/N froze. 

“Thin walls,” Harry called from the other side. 

She grabbed one of the decorative cushions from the bed and threw it at the closed door. His laughter followed her across the room. The afternoon was spent unpacking decorations and preparing the guesthouse for the next few days. Olivia had brought enough candles, ribbons and handwritten signs to decorate a small palace, most of which now covered the floor of the main living room. 

Y/N sat cross-legged on the rug beside Emma, writing names onto place cards while Sophia organised the seating chart. Music played quietly from a speaker. Noah and Harry worked near the fireplace, assembling wooden stands for the table numbers, while Ben and Mason argued over a box of tangled lights. 

For almost an hour, Y/N managed to behave normally. She wrote, talked and laughed with the others. She avoided monitoring Harry’s position in the room, although she remained aware of it with an accuracy she found irritating. Whenever he laughed, she heard it. Whenever he crossed behind her, she knew. Once, when she looked up, she found him already watching her. Harry didn’t look away. He simply held her gaze until Y/N returned to the cards, pretending the interaction hadn’t unsettled her. 

“Your handwriting is still intimidating,” Emma said. 

Y/N examined the card in her hand. “It’s handwriting.” 

“It looks printed.” 

“That’s because I learnt how to hold a pen.” 

“Some of us developed practical skills.” 

“You learnt how to open wine with a shoe.” 

“And it has saved lives.” 

A shadow fell across the cards. Harry crouched beside them, one knee touching the rug. “Do either of you have a pen?” 

Emma looked at the dozen scattered around Y/N. “No.” 

Y/N passed him one. His fingers brushed hers. The contact was brief and accidental, but both of them noticed. 

Harry’s gaze lowered to their hands before he took the pen. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

He remained beside them while writing something on the wooden stand resting across his thigh. Y/N tried to concentrate on the next name, but his knee was close to hers, and she could smell the faint warmth of his cologne. When he finished, he held out the pen. Y/N reached for it. Harry kept his grip on the opposite end. 

She looked at him. “Really?” 

“Checking your reflexes.” 

“Let go.” 

“You used to be faster.” 

Y/N pulled harder. Harry released it without warning, making her hand fall back against her chest. He smiled. She hit his arm with the capped pen. 

“There she is,” he murmured. 

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, Noah called his name from across the room. Harry stood and moved towards the fireplace, passing behind Y/N’s place on the rug. His hand brushed lightly over the top of her head. Then he stopped beside her. Not looking at Y/N, Harry began answering Noah’s question about the wooden frame. As he spoke, his fingers found a loose strand of her hair where it rested over her shoulder. He wound it absent-mindedly around his index finger. Y/N became completely still. Harry continued talking. He wasn’t watching her. He wasn’t trying to provoke her or create a moment. His attention remained on Noah, brows drawn together as they discussed whether the frame would support the sign. His hand simply remembered. The strand of hair tightened gently around his finger, then loosened as he turned it again. 

Across from Y/N, Emma stopped writing. Her eyes dropped to Harry’s hand. Then lifted to Y/N’s face. 

Y/N didn’t know what expression she was making, but it caused Emma’s eyebrows to rise slowly. 

A memory slipped through the present. 

Harry had been arguing with Noah about a football match, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa behind Y/N. He wasn’t looking at her. 

He rarely looked at her when he did it. His fingers had found the ends of her hair, winding a strand around them while he insisted the referee had been blind. Y/N had glanced down at the curl trapped around his index finger. Olivia, sitting across the room, noticed. 

See? she mouthed. 

Y/N had rolled her eyes. She hadn’t moved away. 

Harry released the strand only when Noah asked him to hold the other side of the frame. He crossed the room without any sign that he had noticed what he’d done. 

Emma waited until he was out of hearing distance. 

“He still does it.” 

Y/N looked down at the place card in her lap. “I don’t think he realised.” 

Emma’s voice softened. “That’s exactly why it’s a problem.” 

“It isn’t a problem.” 

“Of course not.” 

“It was a habit.” 

“Yes.” 

“Habits don’t mean anything.” 

Emma glanced towards Harry. “Some do.” 

Y/N pressed the pen against the card, leaving a small dot beside the name. The rest of the afternoon passed too quickly. By six, the place cards were finished, most of the decorations had been organised and Mason had somehow tangled himself in a string of lights. 

Olivia eventually ordered everyone upstairs to shower and change for dinner. Noah had reserved a long table at a nearby pub, insisting that nobody should attempt to cook for seventeen people on the first night. Y/N showered early, locking both bathroom doors before stepping beneath the water. She told herself the additional check was sensible rather than paranoid. 

Afterwards, she returned to her room and changed into a black dress with long sleeves and a skirt that ended several inches above her knees. It was simple but fitted closely through the waist, and she paired it with small gold earrings and boots. She was applying mascara when someone knocked against the shared bathroom door. 

“Are you dressed?” Harry asked. 

“No.” A pause. 

“Should I come back?” 

Y/N looked down at herself. “I’m dressed.” 

“Why did you say no?” 

“Why did you ask?” 

“Because I need the bathroom.” 

“Then use it.” 

She heard the handle turn. Harry entered wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves folded to his forearms. The top buttons remained undone, revealing the base of his throat, and his hair was still damp from the shower. He stopped when he saw her. The teasing answer Y/N had prepared disappeared. Harry’s gaze travelled over her slowly. Not crudely. Not with the exaggerated appreciation he might once have used to make her uncomfortable. 

He simply looked. His eyes followed the shape of the dress from her shoulders to her waist, lingering there before dropping briefly to her bare legs. When he returned to her face, the intensity in his expression made the spacious bathroom feel smaller. 

Y/N set the mascara on the counter. “What?” 

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed. It was satisfying to know she could still make him lose a word. 

“You look beautiful,” he said. 

Y/N met his gaze through the mirror. “Thank you.” 

Harry stepped towards the second sink. “No insult?” 

“I’m capable of accepting a compliment.” 

“Another new skill.” 

“You’ve missed quite a lot.” 

His hands stilled briefly over the watch he had left beside the sink. 

“Yes,” he said. “I have.” 

The answer was quieter than she expected. Y/N picked up her perfume and applied it to her wrists. Harry fastened his watch, but she saw him looking at her reflection. 

“You changed it,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Your perfume.” 

She turned slightly. “You remember my perfume?” 

Harry glanced down at his wrist as he adjusted the strap. “I remember a lot of things.” The honesty of the answer made her chest feel tight. 

“Why?” He looked up. For a moment, the bathroom contained only the sound of distant voices moving through the house. 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. 

Y/N believed him. Mason shouted from the hallway that the first cars were leaving. Harry moved towards his bedroom door. Before stepping through, he looked back at her. 

“That one suits you too.” Then he disappeared into his room. 

Y/N remained in front of the mirror, staring at the perfume bottle in her hand. Six years ago, she had spent an entire evening wishing Harry would pay attention to her. Now every piece of his attention felt like a threat. 

The pub was a fifteen-minute drive from the guesthouse, built from dark stone and surrounded by flower-filled gardens. Inside, low wooden beams crossed the ceiling, candles flickered on the tables and a fire burned in a wide fireplace near the bar despite the warm evening. Their group had been given a private area at the back. A long table filled most of the room. Y/N saw the place cards immediately. She stopped walking. Harry’s card sat directly opposite hers. Again. 

Olivia moved beside her. “Before you say anything—” 

“You promised not to interfere.” 

“I didn’t choose the seating.” 

“Your name is printed at the top of the plan.” 

“Noah helped.” 

Noah, already halfway to his seat, looked alarmed. “Don’t involve me.” 

Y/N pointed towards the cards. “This is deliberate.” 

“It’s symmetrical,” Olivia said. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I don’t know. The wedding planner says it often.” 

Harry appeared beside Y/N, reading the cards. His shoulder brushed hers. 

“Still planning to sit on the floor?” he asked. 

Y/N looked at him. “I’m considering it.” 

“Your dress is too nice.” The compliment was casual, but his eyes lowered briefly as he said it. Y/N felt the look like a touch. 

“Sit down, Harry.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out the chair opposite her. 

Y/N took her seat between Emma and Sophia, while Harry sat between Ben and Noah. The arrangement placed them directly across from one another, close enough that their knees might touch if either stretched beneath the table. This time, Y/N suspected Olivia had planned every centimetre. Dinner began with wine and stories from university. The pub was busy, but the private section softened the surrounding noise, allowing the group to speak freely without shouting. Harry sat in Y/N’s direct line of sight. It was impossible not to notice him. 

He listened more than he spoke, resting one hand around his glass as he smiled at the others’ stories. When attention turned towards him, he answered without trying to perform for the room. The difference was subtle but unmistakable. 

At university, Harry had treated attention like oxygen. He had been a frat boy in every recognisable sense: popular, loud, invited everywhere and rarely seen leaving a party alone. His house had hosted gatherings so regularly that the neighbours stopped complaining and simply moved away. There was always a new story about him, often involving alcohol, a reckless dare or a woman whose name nobody could remember the following week. 

Harry hadn’t lied to anyone. He hadn’t promised relationships he didn’t intend to offer. That had almost made it worse. He had been charming, honest and casual enough to leave women convinced they had understood the arrangement, even when they secretly wanted more. Y/N had watched it happen repeatedly. She told herself it proved she had been right not to take him seriously. Then she agreed to the date anyway. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Olivia asked. 

Y/N looked around. “We’ve been here before?” 

“After the mountain trip,” Noah said. “Final year.” 

Mason pointed at Harry. “He nearly got us banned.” 

“I did not,” Harry replied. 

“You stood on a table.” 

“Ben dared me.” 

“I dared you to sing,” Ben said. “The shirt removal was independent.” 

Sophia laughed. “Y/N threw his shirt outside.” 

“It was raining,” Harry said, looking directly at her. 

Y/N took a drink of wine. “Consequences.” 

“I had to walk through mud.” 

“You found the shirt.” 

“It was ruined.” 

“It was ugly.” 

Harry placed one hand over his chest. “You told me you liked that shirt.” 

“I lied.” 

“When?” 

“When I told you I liked it.” 

His smile spread slowly. 

Mason watched the exchange with open fascination. “This is exactly how you used to talk.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Y/N said. 

“It absolutely is,” Olivia replied. 

Harry continued looking at her. “Some things don’t change.” 

Y/N broke eye contact first, turning towards Emma as the waiter arrived to take their orders. The conversation shifted, but Harry remained present across from her like a constant low heat. When the bread was placed on the table, he automatically pushed the butter towards her before she asked. Later, when onions appeared in the sharing salad, Y/N moved the bowl away from him without thinking. Harry noticed. 

“You remember.” 

She looked down at the bowl. “You complained about onions every time we ate.” 

“I don’t complain.” 

The entire table laughed. Y/N smiled despite herself. “You once sent a burger back because it had touched an onion.” 

“It contaminates everything.” 

“You’re dramatic.” 

“You moved the bowl.” 

“Because I didn’t want to listen to you.” 

Harry held her gaze. “Still counts.” 

The main courses arrived. For a while, the meal became louder, everyone speaking over one another as plates were passed around. Y/N relaxed enough to laugh freely, occasionally forgetting to monitor every exchange with Harry. That was when he was most dangerous. Not when he deliberately provoked her. When she forgot she was supposed to resist him. Harry reached across the table for the salt at the exact moment she did. Their hands stopped beside one another at the centre of the table, his smallest finger resting lightly against hers. The contact was insignificant enough that nobody else would have noticed, but warmth moved through Y/N’s hand as though Harry had touched far more than a single finger. 

“You first,” he murmured. 

“How generous.” 

“I’ve matured.” 

“That remains unproven.” 

She drew her hand away. Harry picked up the salt, but instead of using it, he placed it beside her plate. His eyes remained on her face, lowering briefly towards her mouth before returning to meet her gaze. Y/N’s pulse shifted. Then a woman’s voice came from beside the table. 

“Harry Styles?” 

The reaction inside Y/N was immediate and humiliating. Her body recognised the situation before her mind could remind it that six years had passed. Harry looked up. A blonde woman stood beside his chair, one hand curled around the stem of a wineglass. She was beautiful in a polished, effortless way, wearing a fitted red dress and the easy smile of someone who had approached him with complete confidence that she would be remembered. Recognition crossed Harry’s face. 

“Lucy?” 

The woman smiled more widely. “I thought that was you.” 

Harry stood to greet her. Lucy stepped closer and wrapped one arm around him, her free hand settling briefly against his shoulder as he returned the hug. The gesture was harmless. Familiar, perhaps, but harmless. Y/N lowered her eyes to her plate. It wasn’t the same. She repeated the words silently, forcing her grip around the fork to loosen. This was not their date. Lucy was not the woman from six years ago. Harry did not belong to her. He could hug whomever he wanted, speak to whomever he wanted and leave the pub with whomever he wanted. He could return to the guesthouse at sunrise with another woman’s perfume on his shirt and owe Y/N absolutely nothing. That knowledge did nothing to ease the instinctive pressure gathering beneath her ribs. 

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Lucy asked. 

“Wedding.” Harry gestured towards Olivia and Noah. “We’re staying nearby for the week.” Lucy looked along the table, smiling politely at the group. Her attention passed over Noah, Olivia and Ben before settling briefly on Y/N. 

“Sorry,” she said. “Am I interrupting something?” The question struck with the precision of a blade. 

“Sorry,” the other woman had said, although she hadn’t removed her hand from Harry’s shoulder. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Harry had glanced across the restaurant table at Y/N. 

Only for a second. 

“It’s just dinner.” 

In the present, Harry looked directly at her. 

“Yes,” he said. 

The single word silenced something inside Y/N. Harry stepped away from Lucy, increasing the distance between them with quiet deliberation. “Sorry. We’re all catching up, and I haven’t seen some of them in a long time.” 

His eyes remained on Y/N while he spoke. Lucy followed his gaze. Understanding seemed to pass across her expression, though her smile never faltered. 

“Of course,” she said. “I won’t keep you.” 

“It was good seeing you.” 

“You too.” Lucy touched his arm once in farewell before returning to the main area of the pub. Harry sat down. 

The group’s conversations restarted gradually, Mason deliberately asking Noah an unnecessarily loud question about the venue while Olivia became fascinated by the contents of her wineglass. 

Y/N stared at her plate. Harry did not speak to her. He did not explain what he had done or draw any additional attention towards the moment. He simply picked up his fork and returned to the conversation, allowing her to pretend that his answer had meant nothing. That should have made it easier. Instead, Y/N spent the remainder of the main course wondering why he had done it. 

Harry had been perfectly capable of speaking to Lucy for another minute without repeating the past. He could have introduced her to the group, exchanged a few polite sentences and let her leave naturally. He had chosen not to. More than once, Y/N felt his attention from across the table. Whenever she lifted her eyes, however, Harry was speaking to someone else or looking down at his plate. He knew she was thinking about it. He was allowing her to. The main courses were cleared, and dessert menus appeared. Y/N declined before opening hers. 

Emma glanced at her. “You always want dessert.” 

“I’m full.” 

Across the table, Harry’s hand stilled against his menu. The words had been ordinary. The memory attached to them was not. 

“I’m not hungry anymore.” 

Y/N reached for her wine, hoping nobody noticed the shift in her expression. Harry studied the menu for another moment before setting it down. When the waiter approached, he ordered a chocolate tart. Y/N looked at him. Harry did not look back. 

Perhaps it was coincidence. Chocolate tart was hardly unusual, and he had always preferred desserts that contained more sugar than seemed medically responsible. He might not even remember what they had ordered during the date. The possibility lasted until the dessert arrived. The waiter placed one plate directly between them. 

Chocolate tart. Two spoons. Harry stared at it. Every trace of casual conversation disappeared from his expression. Y/N felt the same recognition move through her. 

The chocolate tart had arrived after the woman finally returned to her own table. Two spoons had rested beside the plate. Harry and Y/N had sat in silence, the warmth that had filled the first half of the evening replaced by something jagged and defensive. 

“You can go after her if you want.” 

Harry’s eyes had narrowed. “What?” 

“She seemed disappointed that you were busy.” 

“I was talking to someone I know.” 

“You were doing more than talking.” 

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” 

The memory fractured before the worst of the argument. In the present, the tart remained untouched. Harry picked up one spoon. Then he lifted the second and held it across the table towards Y/N. She stared at it. The pub continued around them—glasses clinking, chairs moving, their friends talking deliberately about anything except the two people sitting in the centre of the table. Harry’s hand remained steady. 

“We never finished it,” he said quietly. He wasn’t talking only about the tart. 

Y/N could hear it in his voice. The dessert. The date. The conversation they had abandoned in anger. Whatever they might have become if neither of them had destroyed the possibility before it had properly begun. She should have refused. She had spent six years refusing in quieter ways. Instead, Y/N reached across the table and took the spoon from his fingers. Their hands touched. Harry released a breath so softly that she almost missed it. He pushed the plate until it rested precisely between them. Y/N took the first bite. The sweetness settled across her tongue, familiar enough to make the past feel physically present. Harry watched her. 

“Still too sweet?” he asked. Her spoon paused above the plate. 

“It’s too sweet,” Y/N had complained after stealing the first bite from his spoon. 

Harry had laughed. “You ordered it.” 

“You chose it.” 

“You agreed.” 

“I was distracted.” His eyes had lowered towards her mouth. 

“I noticed.” 

Y/N swallowed. “No,” she said. “It’s not.” A faint smile touched Harry’s mouth. 

“Guess some things change.” She met his eyes across the candlelit table. 

“Not everything.” The smile disappeared. Something deeper replaced it. 

They ate the tart slowly, passing the plate back and forth without speaking. Occasionally, their spoons touched at the centre. Neither apologised or pulled away quickly. 

When only one bite remained, Harry pushed it towards her. Y/N divided it with the edge of her spoon and returned half to his side. Harry looked down at it. Then at her. For the first time in six years, they finished the chocolate tart. The empty plate remained between them after the final bite. Neither Harry nor Y/N reached to move it. 

The spoon in Y/N’s hand had warmed from her grip, and she became aware of every detail at once: the candle burning between them, the low scrape of chairs from the main room and Emma’s knee pressing lightly against hers beneath the table. Harry looked down at the plate before lifting his eyes. There was something almost disbelieving in his expression, as though sharing a dessert had altered the shape of the evening in a way neither of them had expected. 

Mason leaned across the table. “Was that romantic, or are you both simply very committed to chocolate?” 

Y/N placed her spoon down. “It was dessert.” 

“Right.” 

“People share desserts.” 

“People who like each other share desserts.” 

“People who don’t want to order two also share desserts.” 

Harry leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “She’s financially responsible.” 

Y/N looked at him. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“I’m agreeing with you.” 

“That somehow feels worse.” 

Mason glanced towards Olivia. “Are we certain they haven’t been secretly married for years?” 

“We would have killed each other,” Y/N said. 

Harry’s gaze remained on her. “You say that as though it rules marriage out.” 

Several people laughed. Y/N did not. Not because the comment upset her. Because Harry had said it too easily. The words carried the comfortable rhythm of an old joke, but his eyes held hers for a second longer than the humour required. It created the strange impression that they were having two conversations at once: the one everyone could hear and another that existed entirely inside each pause. 

Sophia pushed back her chair. “I need the bathroom.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Olivia said immediately. 

Emma began to stand. Y/N caught her wrist beneath the table. Emma looked at her. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

Her friend’s mouth curved. “I thought you were fine.” 

“I am.” 

“Then why are you holding me hostage?” 

“Because I value your company.” 

Emma sat again. “How touching.” 

Harry watched the exchange, clearly amused. Y/N released Emma’s wrist and reached for her wine. The rest of dinner passed more easily than she expected. Perhaps the dessert had broken some invisible barrier, or perhaps she was simply too tired to maintain the same level of vigilance. She allowed herself to join the conversation. Harry did too. They still provoked each other, but the sharper edge had softened. When Mason told a story about Y/N accidentally setting fire to a tea towel during university, Harry corrected three exaggerated details without being asked. When Harry claimed he had once won a drinking competition against an entire rugby team, Y/N reminded everyone that he had fallen asleep in a laundry basket twenty minutes later. Harry denied it. Emma produced photographic evidence. The table dissolved into laughter. Y/N looked across at Harry and found him laughing too, his head lowered as he tried unsuccessfully to cover his face with one hand. 

For a moment, she forgot the restaurant from six years ago. She remembered everything that came before it. The nights when the group occupied the same corner of the student bar until closing. The mornings when Harry appeared at her flat with coffee and no explanation. The long arguments over films, music and whether cereal qualified as dinner. She had not merely lost the possibility of something romantic. She had lost one of her closest friends. That was the part she rarely admitted. 

When the bill arrived, Noah attempted to pay for everyone and was immediately overruled. Several cards were placed on the table, calculations became unnecessarily complicated and Mason insisted he had only consumed one drink despite three empty glasses standing beside his plate. Harry reached for Y/N’s receipt before she could. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Checking your share.” 

“I can read.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“Then give it back.” 

“You paid for the wine.” 

“I ordered the wine.” 

“And everyone drank it.” 

“It’s fine.” 

Harry examined the total. “It isn’t.” 

“Harry.” He lifted his eyes. The use of his name sounded more intimate than she intended. His thumb remained over the edge of the receipt. “You always did this.” 

“Did what?” 

“Paid for things before anyone could stop you.” 

“It saves time.” 

“It also means people forget to pay you back.” 

“I can afford a bottle of wine.” 

“That isn’t the point.” 

Y/N studied him. “You remember that too?” 

Harry gave a small shrug and returned the receipt to her. “I told you. I remember a lot.” Before she could respond, he stood and walked towards the bar with Ben. Y/N watched him go. 

Emma leaned closer. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Looking at him like you’re trying to solve a crime.” 

“He’s confusing.” 

“He was always confusing.” 

“No. He used to be simple.” 

Emma laughed softly. “Harry was never simple. He was just loud enough that everyone assumed he was.” 

Y/N looked at the empty dessert plate. Perhaps that was true. At twenty-one, she had believed Harry’s charm explained him completely. He liked attention, parties and women. He moved through life easily because very little seemed to matter enough to frighten him. Yet she remembered details that had never fitted that version. The way he became quiet before important presentations. The nights he stayed in the library after everyone else left. The fact that he always noticed when someone in the group was struggling, even if he pretended his concern was casual. And the way he had looked at her when she arrived at the restaurant. Nervous. Hopeful. As though the night mattered. 

Then another woman had appeared, and Harry became the person Y/N expected him to be. Or perhaps she had decided that before giving him the chance to prove otherwise. 

The group left the pub shortly after eleven. The warm evening had cooled while they were inside, and a fine mist hung beneath the streetlights. Everyone separated between the cars. Y/N followed Emma towards the vehicle they had arrived in, but Olivia called her name from beside Noah’s car. 

“Can you come with us? Emma’s taking Sophia and Mason.” 

Emma was already unlocking the driver’s door. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t sound sorry.” 

“I’m deeply upset.” 

Mason climbed into the back seat. “I get carsick in the middle.” 

“You’re sitting by the window,” Emma said. 

“I get emotionally carsick.” Y/N looked towards Olivia’s car. Noah was driving. Olivia occupied the passenger seat. Harry stood beside the rear door. Of course. 

He opened it and stepped aside. “After you.” 

Y/N considered arguing. Then she noticed the satisfied expression on Olivia’s face. She refused to provide additional entertainment. 

“Thank you,” she said, sliding into the back seat. Harry joined her and closed the door. 

The car was spacious enough that they didn’t need to touch. Still, his thigh rested only a few inches from hers, and when Noah reversed from the parking space, Harry placed one hand behind Y/N’s headrest to look through the rear window. His arm framed her. The scent of his cologne surrounded her before he settled back into his seat. 

Olivia adjusted the radio. “Everyone survive the first dinner?” 

“Barely,” Noah said. 

“Mason attempted to order another round after the bill arrived,” Harry added. 

“He considers financial consequences a problem for the future,” Y/N said. 

Harry looked at her. “He learnt that from you.” 

“I’m financially responsible.” 

“You bought tequila for twelve people during our final year.” 

“It was my birthday.” 

“It was a Tuesday.” 

“My birthday happened to be on a Tuesday.” 

“You had an exam the next morning.” 

“I passed.” 

“You fell asleep during it.” 

“I still passed.” 

Noah laughed from the driver’s seat. “You two remember an alarming amount.” 

The statement settled quietly inside the car. Y/N turned towards the window. Harry didn’t answer. Outside, narrow country roads curved between dark fields and rows of trees. The headlights revealed stone walls, occasional cottages and stretches of mist that seemed to dissolve as the car passed through them. Music played softly from the speakers. Olivia and Noah began discussing the deliveries expected the following morning. Y/N listened without contributing, watching her reflection in the glass. Harry’s hand rested on the seat between them. Not touching her. Close enough that she remained aware of it. 

The car turned sharply. Y/N slid slightly across the leather, her shoulder brushing Harry’s arm. His hand moved automatically to her waist. The touch lasted perhaps two seconds. Long enough to steady her. Long enough for his palm to fit against the curve of her body with unsettling familiarity. Neither spoke. Harry released her slowly. Y/N sat upright, smoothing her dress even though it hadn’t moved. 

“Seat belt,” Harry said quietly. 

“I am wearing one.” 

“I know.” She turned towards him. 

He was looking straight ahead, but the tension in his jaw suggested he had felt the contact just as clearly. The rest of the journey passed in silence. When they reached the guesthouse, the others were already gathering near the entrance. Emma’s car arrived behind them, music loud enough to make the windows vibrate. Noah parked beside the gardens. 

Olivia stepped out first, immediately calling Mason a disgrace when he emerged from the other car wearing Sophia’s scarf around his head. Y/N climbed out of the back seat. The cold air sharpened her senses. Harry followed. The group began walking towards the house, but Y/N remained near the car for a moment, searching inside her handbag for the room key Olivia had given her earlier. 

“You left it in the side pocket.” Harry stood beside her. 

“What?” 

“The side pocket.” Y/N frowned and checked. The key was there. 

She looked at him. “How did you know?” 

“You put it there after lunch.” 

“You were across the room.” 

“I saw you.” There was no reasonable answer to that. She closed the bag. 

“Thank you.” Harry nodded. 

The others were already halfway across the courtyard. Y/N began walking, and Harry matched her pace. Gravel shifted beneath their shoes. For several steps, neither spoke. The night felt different from the afternoon. Quieter. The fields beyond the gardens had disappeared into darkness, and only a few upstairs windows glowed against the stone walls. 

Y/N glanced towards him. “Why did you do that?” Harry didn’t pretend to misunderstand. 

“With Lucy?” 

“Yes.” His gaze remained on the house ahead. “Because I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.” The words landed more heavily after an entire dinner spent waiting for them. 

“You didn’t have to send her away.” 

“I know.” 

“She was only saying hello.” 

“I know.” 

“You could have spoken to her.” 

Harry stopped walking. Y/N took another step before turning back towards him. He stood beneath the faint light from one of the garden lamps, his face calm but his eyes fixed intently on hers. 

“I could have,” he agreed. “But I saw your face.” 

Y/N folded her arms. “My face was fine.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“You don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“I knew where you went.” Her defences faltered. Harry stepped closer. 

“You weren’t standing in that pub anymore,” he continued. “You were back at that table with me.” 

Y/N looked towards the guesthouse. “You’re giving yourself too much importance.” 

“Probably.” 

His calm acceptance irritated her. 

“But I wasn’t wrong.” 

“No,” she admitted quietly. The word remained between them. Harry pushed his hands more deeply into his coat pockets, as though preventing himself from reaching for her. 

“I should have done that six years ago.” 

“Done what?” 

“Told her she was interrupting.” 

Y/N released a humourless breath. “You told her the opposite.” 

“I know.” 

“You said it was just dinner.” 

“I was trying to stop the situation becoming awkward.” 

“For her.” 

“Yes.” 

The admission came without hesitation. Harry didn’t defend his younger self. He didn’t insist that Y/N had misunderstood or that the woman had behaved inappropriately. He simply accepted what he had done. 

Y/N looked away. “She stood there for ages.” 

“Eight minutes.” 

Her eyes snapped back to him. “You counted?” 

“I replayed the night enough times.” 

The honesty unsettled her. 

“You remember eight minutes?” 

“I remember you becoming quieter with every one of them.” A fine chill moved across Y/N’s skin that had nothing to do with the night air. Harry continued, his voice lower now. 

“I remember you looking down whenever she touched my arm. I remember asking you a question after she left and realising you hadn’t heard it. I remember knowing something had changed and becoming defensive instead of asking why.” 

“You knew why.” 

“I thought I did.” 

“You enjoyed the attention.” Harry’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. 

“Usually, yes.” The answer hurt more because it was honest. 

“But not that night,” he added. 

Y/N laughed softly. “You seemed comfortable.” 

“I was performing.” 

“You weren’t on a stage.” 

“I was always on a stage back then.” She studied him. Harry looked towards the dark fields for a moment, searching for words. 

“I knew how to be that person,” he said. “The loud one. The easy one. The idiot everyone expected to laugh with, drink with or take home. I didn’t know how to sit across from you and admit that the evening mattered.” 

“So another woman appeared, and you chose the easier version.” 

“Yes.” 

Y/N hadn’t expected him to say it. The bluntness stripped away the argument she had spent years preparing. 

“You made me feel stupid for thinking it was a date.” 

“I know.” 

“You made me feel like I was only there until something more interesting arrived.” 

“I know.” 

“You let her speak about things the two of you had done while I sat there.” 

“I know.” Harry stepped closer. His expression had changed, control giving way to something more painful. 

“And I hated myself for it before you even stood up.” Y/N’s throat tightened. 

“You didn’t follow me.” 

“I thought you wanted me to let you go.” 

“You could have asked.” 

“You could have looked back.” 

Silence settled over the driveway. The same old wound. Two people waiting for proof while refusing to offer any themselves. Y/N wrapped her arms more tightly around her body. “You told me the date was a mistake.”

“I wanted you to tell me it wasn’t.”  Harry looked down briefly. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“I was twenty-two.” 

“So was I.” 

“Yes.” His mouth twisted faintly. “That was the problem.” 

A memory rose between them. 

“If that’s what you think of me, why did you agree to come?” 

“Maybe I wanted to believe everyone was wrong.” Harry had stared at her, anger disguising the hurt she was too young to recognise. 

“And now?” 

Y/N had looked towards the woman returning to her own table. 

“Now I think they gave you too much credit.” 

Harry’s face had hardened. 

“Then maybe this was a mistake.” 

In the present, Y/N swallowed. 

“I waited.” Harry became completely still. 

“What?” 

“At the door.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I stopped.” 

“I know.” 

“You remember?” 

“I remember every second.” The intensity of his answer stole her breath. 

“Why didn’t you come after me?” Harry’s expression held six years of regret. 

“Because you had just told me exactly what you thought of me.” 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” 

“I wanted you to stop me.” 

The admission left her before pride could pull it back. Harry stared at her. His voice was barely above a whisper when he answered. 

“I wanted you to stay.” Neither moved. The light from the house stretched across the gravel but didn’t quite reach them, leaving the two of them suspended between darkness and the warmth waiting inside. Y/N’s heart beat hard enough to hurt. 

“Then we were both idiots,” she said. Harry released a breath that almost became a laugh. 

“Yes.” 

It was the first thing about that night they had agreed on. The front door opened before either could continue. Mason leaned outside with a bottle of water in one hand. His gaze moved between them, assessing the distance, the silence and whatever remained visible on their faces. 

“There you are.” Y/N stepped away from Harry. 

“Olivia’s threatening to begin the game without us,” Mason added. 

“That sounds serious.” 

“Potentially fatal.” 

Y/N moved towards the house. When she passed Harry, his fingers brushed briefly against the back of her hand. It might have been accidental. Neither treated it that way. Inside, most of the group had gathered in the living room. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, and bottles, glasses and bowls of snacks covered the coffee table. Mason had found a box containing old photographs Olivia had printed for the wedding weekend. Y/N stopped when she saw them. 

Olivia looked up from the sofa. “What?” 

“You have photographs.” 

“It’s nostalgic.” 

“It’s evidence.” 

“Same thing.” 

Y/N sat beside Emma, choosing a place at the end of the sofa. Harry entered a moment later. The only available space was beside her. She suspected that had not happened by accident. 

Olivia patted the cushion. “Sit.” Harry glanced at Y/N. She looked away. He lowered himself beside her. Their bodies didn’t touch, but the sofa cushions dipped beneath his weight, drawing them slightly closer. Mason held up a photograph of Noah asleep at a library desk with a highlighter stuck to his forehead. The group laughed. For the next half hour, old images moved from hand to hand. Parties. Graduations. Terrible haircuts. Trips where everyone looked sunburnt or exhausted. Y/N began to relax again. 

The earlier conversation remained inside her, but the comfort of the group softened its sharpness. Harry sat quietly beside her, occasionally leaning closer to see a photograph. His arm rested along the back of the sofa behind her, not touching. Then Olivia held up another picture. 

“Oh.” Y/N immediately disliked her tone. 

“What?” Olivia turned the photograph around. It had been taken during their final year at a house party. Harry and Y/N sat together on a kitchen counter. She was laughing at something outside the frame, her head tipped slightly back. Harry stood between her knees, one hand resting beside her hip while he looked at her rather than at the camera. The expression on his face was unmistakable. Soft. Completely absorbed. The room became quieter. Y/N stared at the photograph. She didn’t remember it being taken. She remembered the party, though. 

Harry had spent most of the night near her. Whenever she moved into another room, he appeared minutes later. At some point, he had stolen one of her earrings and refused to return it until she promised to dance with him. They had never danced. Or perhaps they had. Some memories had been damaged by what came afterwards. Mason leaned forward. “How did none of us see this?” 

“We did,” Sophia said. “They didn’t.” 

“We saw it,” Emma corrected. “They denied it.” Harry reached for the photograph. Olivia handed it to him. His fingers tightened around the edge as he studied it. Y/N watched his face. 

“What?” she asked. 

Harry looked at her. “Nothing.” 

“You’re making a face.” 

“I’m looking at a photograph.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

His eyes returned to the image. “I remember this.” 

Y/N’s pulse shifted. “I don’t.” 

“You were angry with me.” 

“That narrows it down.” 

“You thought I’d taken your earring.” 

“You did.” 

“I found it on the floor.” 

“You put it in your pocket.” 

“For safekeeping.” 

“You demanded a dance in exchange for returning my property.” 

Harry’s mouth curved. “You agreed.” 

“I did not.” 

“You did.” 

“Did we dance?” 

The question came out more softly than she intended. Harry’s smile faded. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

He looked at the photograph again. “You left early.” Y/N tried to remember. A flash of something returned. 

Harry had stood in the middle of the kitchen with her earring held between his fingers. 

“One dance.” 

“Give it back.” 

“After.” 

“You’re insufferable.”