#1dffquarantine

“Impressive,” you said, taking the cup as he handed it to you. “A Valentine’s Day Latte,” he said, and you frowned. “It’s March, H.” He smirked. “And?” You laughed, and took a sip, and he raised a brow. “Yay or nay?” You tilted your head from side to side, taking another sip before nodding your head. “Yay,” you decided, and he pumped his fist. “Success!” 

“Very Valentiney,” you laughed, and he shrugged, leaning back on the counter behind him. “That was the intention,” he told you. You peered into the glass, watching the rose petals float around in the pink colored coffee. “And pink,” you added. 

“Got something against pink, hm?” 

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Only makes it better!” 

Harry grinned. “Wicked.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you sighed, your smile fading a bit as you swung your legs. “So I just came from Niall’s…” Harry nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right. How’s the pub doing, then?” he asked, and you shrugged. “Eh. He was telling me about closing for COVID.” 

Harry bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Right… I’ve been thinking about that…” 

“The website’s up, right?” you asked. 

“Yeah, but… I don’t think…” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“We could do deliveries,” you said, cracking a smile. “Get a few bikes.” 

“Get a tandem,” Harry replied. “Go together.” 

You shrugged. “Or I could ride on your shoulders.” 

“Do it on a unicycle. Charge extra for entertainment.” 

“And get a monkey. Make it worth their money.” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head again and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” You sighed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be alright.” 

He shrugged, putting his hand on top of yours and squeezing back. “Yeah.” 

***

To be completely honest, you were nervous. 

It was a few days later, and the cafe was (temporarily) closed, and Harry had sent you a text. Cafe in ten, it had said, and that was it. You saw Harry on the counter through the glass walls as you walked towards the cafe, hunched over his phone. The sign was flipped to Closed on the door, but it was unlocked, so you walked in.

“Hey,” you said, and he looked up with a grin. 

“Hey!” he said. 

You raised a brow, watching him hop up excitedly and shove his hands in his pockets. 

“Right,” he went on, looking a little more nervous than you felt as he walked over to you and grabbed your hands. “Right,” he said again, “well, I have a question.” You laughed, nervously, and said, “You’re worrying me, H.” 

He bit his lip, holding back a smile. He stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, and then pulled something out. It was a little black box, and your heart stopped when you realized what it was. 

A ring box. 

And then, he got down on one knee, and your hand flew to your mouth as you stepped backwards. You loved him - of course you did - but you’d barely been dating a few months. You hadn’t even moved in together. It was way too soon for this. 

You began, “Harry -” but he cut you off, saying your name quietly as a smile tugged at his lips. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth…” He opened the box, so slowly, and despite yourself, you were curious about the ring he picked, and then - 

Your heart dropped back down to your chest from your throat. 

It was a key. 

You caught your breath, laughing in surprise as you buried your face in your hands. 

“... and quarantine with me?” 

“You fucking bastard,” you laughed, catching your breath and shaking your head. “I was getting ready to reject you, you fucking moron!” Harry smiled, so smug, and raised a brow. “And? Is it still a rejection?” 

“Of course not,” you breathed, still giggling as he stood up and you wrapped him in a hug. “Of course I’ll quarantine with you, idiot.” Harry laughed, kissing you gently but murmuring, “Somehow the insults don’t seem like a good beginning.” 

“Jesus Christ, we’ll kill each other,” you said with a grin. 

“And live happily ever after as ghosts.” 

“Whoever takes over the cafe will be haunted out of their minds.” 

Harry smirked. “Damn right.” 

***

Harry pouted, leaning into you. “One more.” 

“You said that ten minutes ago.” 

“But it’s so… hard,” Harry whined, kissing you again. 

You smirked. “Hard, huh?” 

“You’re not making this any easier,” Harry mumbled, glaring at your outstretched hand but then groaning and pulling himself up when you just walked away. “You’re a bloody tease,” he complained, following you down the steps. 

“And you’re bloody lazy.” 

“Maybe we should camp out in the cafe,” Harry said. “‘s empty anyway.” 

“Yeah, right,” you replied as you reached your car. “Neither of us could handle that - you look like you helped Frankenstein reanimate his monster with that posture, and sleeping on the ground would not help.” 

Harry scoffed, swatting at your shoulder as you grabbed a box. “If my back’s that bad, maybe I shouldn’t be carrying your entire apartment in a box, hm? Ever think about that?” He grabbed a box anyway, and you laughed, kicking the door open for him with your foot. 

“It’s a sign of how much you love, me, H, and it is not my entire apartment.” 

“Might as well be,” Harry grumbled, huffing exaggeratedly as you reached the top of the stairs. Living directly above the cafe was incredibly convenient, you were learning, in all times except moving. Then the two flights of stairs were just torturous. 

Despite that, you’d made your way through almost all of your belongings - which really wasn’t that much, Harry was just being dramatic - and only had a few more boxes to go. If you’d keep moving, it’d probably take less than an hour, but… 

“We deserve a break,” Harry declared, plopping down on the sofa again. 

“H, we just -” 

“Pretty please?” Harry said, giving you puppy dog eyes. 

“It’s gonna take -” 

“Pleeasse?” 

Finally you sighed, curling up next to him. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmured after a second, and he shrugged, kissing your forehead. “I can.” You smiled, looking up at him, and said, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he kissed you. You sighed, leaning into him. “Maybe we can get the rest of them tomorrow,” you mumbled, kissing him back. You shifted around to settle on his lap, and you felt him grin against your lips. 

“Your first good idea of the day,” he said happily. 

***

It only took a few days to fall into a routine. 

It wasn’t a very productive routine, but it was a routine nonetheless. 

Mornings were leisurely, spent in bed whispering nonsense under the covers or sharing lazy kisses. Lunches were ordered or made in the kitchen, fumbling over recipes and making a mess. Nights were the most action of the day, which was mostly just popcorn fights and giggly somersault competitions around the floor in front of the TV. 

You probably made it through every single show of interest on Netflix, plus every single romantic comedy on the face of the earth. TV show reactions varied. Sometimes they’d keep you quiet, entranced in the worlds they created, and other times they were too ridiculous and far fetched to be believed and the dialogue would get lost in your laughter. Rom-coms tended to be a mix of gushing tears and snickered comments under your breaths. 

You made competitions out of memorization, attempting to recreate the sword fights in the Princess Bride with chopsticks as you danced around his apartment and singing over each other as you rapped lines from Hamilton. 

So really, you thought, listening to Harry snore with a smile, overall, not too bad. 

***

“Pink walls,” you said, “with green trim and orange polka dots.” 

Harry shook his head. “All green. Plus mustard yellow.” 

“And orange polka dots.” 

“Pink polka dots.” 

“Fine. And blue stripes.” 

Harry snickered, leaning forward off the back wall of the cafe and propping his chin on his fist. “We’ll give them a headache so they’ll get coffee just to stop the pain.” You nodded. “That’s the plan,” you agreed, and Harry raised a brow, turning his head to look at you. “The plan, hm? I thought that was just your atrocious eye for color.” 

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk, mister neon green crocs.” 

“That was one time.” 

“One time too many.” 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “I’d paint the whole place that same shade of neon green just for something to do.” You bit your lip, then stood up, dusting your hands on your pants. “Let’s… let’s dance.” 

Harry just stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand. 

More staring. 

“Harry,” you whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please?” 

“We don’t have music,” he said. 

“We have our phones!” 

“Mine’s dead.” 

You grinned, pulling yours out of your pocket. “Mine’s not. We can slow dance to… uhhh… to Etta James.” Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. “I have no energy. We should sleep.” 

“It’s eleven.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s eleven.” 

“C’mon, old man,” you replied, plugging your phone in and starting a song. 

I Wanna Dance with Somebody started playing, and you held out your hands as you sang to him, “Clock strikes… upon the hour… and the sun begins to fade!” Harry laughed again, sliding down to the floor and watching as you pranced around the empty cafe. 

“This is hardly Etta James, love.”

“Well, I’m hardly slow dancing by myself…” You raised a brow, holding out your hand again. “Unless…?” Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m quite enjoying the show. I’d hate for you to stop on my account…”

He finally got up when the chorus hit, and you squealed in excitement. You pulled him around with you, laughing when he attempted a few moves and then encouraging him when he pouted at your mockery. 

You saw him biting back a smile, and you couldn’t help but kiss him when he spun you around and dipped you low as the song ended. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Harry said, grinning against your lips. 

You grinned right back, pressing closer. “And what a wonderful way to go.” 

“You know,” Harry began after a beat, “after all that dancing -” 

“- it was one song -” 

“- I don’t know if I can walk back up all those steps.” 

You smirked, leaning into him and sliding kisses against his jawline. “You know… the one place we haven’t quite broken in yet…” Harry laughed. “Hardly sanitary, what you’re implying, you know…” 

“We’re good cleaners,” you murmured. 

His fingers slid your sleeve off your shoulder. “And we do need something to do…” 

“Really doesn’t make any sense to go back upstairs,” you whispered. 

“No sense,” Harry agreed with a grin. “None at all.” 

***

“What if,” Harry mumbled the next morning, waking you up with soft kisses against your cheeks, “I left you… to go be a part… of the next Frankenstein remake...” You giggled, nosing into his shoulder. “Is it really that bad?” He pouted at you miserably. “Worse.”

You grinned, rolling over. “What’s the assistant guy’s name?” you asked. “Igor?” 

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “We gotta watch that movie again.”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you audition for the part.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry groaned as he sat up and cracked his back. 

“You sound like an eighty year old,” you laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.” 

“At least there’s coffee right there,” you said, sitting up and grabbing Harry’s discarded shirt as he pulled on his boxers. “And food…” Harry yawned, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “We should learn French,” he said as he opened the mini fridge under the counter. 

“French, huh?” 

“Or Italian.” 

You shrugged. “Or Spanish.” 

“Or Spanish,” Harry agreed, cracking an egg into a bowl. “Or Arabic.” 

“Mandarin.” 

“Gaelic.” 

“Czech.” 

“Russian.” 

“Urdu.” 

Harry smiled, whisking the eggs. “All of ‘em.” 

“We’ve got time.” 

“Wanna help out, lazy bum?” Harry asked, spraying a pan with oil with a teasing smile on his lips. “Or should I do all of this myself?” You grinned, replying, “It’s good practice for your role as an assistant,” but standing up and popping bread in the toaster anyway. 

“Think Frankenstein ate eggs?” 

“Wonder if he had chickens,” you said. 

Harry grimaced. “Probably had a few zombie ones.” 

“Think their eggs taste better or worse?” 

“Oh, better, definitely - they’re just green,” Harry said seriously, and you laughed as you slid the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate “Want some zombie eggs and ham, Sir Sam?” you asked, grabbing utensils. 

“But I don’t like zombie eggs and ham,” Harry said with a pout, coming around to sit next to you at the counter. You raised a brow, crunching on some toast. “What happened to ‘better,’ huh?” 

“Right, well, that’s my opinion,” Harry replied as he scooped some eggs. “I’m sure Sir Sam -” He frowned, pausing. “Wait, ‘sir’? He’s not a… he’s a knight?” You snorted, shaking your head. “I have no idea, babe.”

Harry tsked, giving you a disappointed look. “You should really be more knowledgeable about the classics,” he chastised. You raised a brow. “Classics, huh?” Harry grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.” 

You smiled despite yourself, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, Dr. Seuss, whatever you say.” 

***

You woke up in front of the TV, yawning as you sat up. 

The end credits of some movie were rolling on screen. It was a film, all in French, that you had, apparently, fallen asleep in front of. Harry was asleep too, curled behind you on the couch. 

The two of you had been going through movies in foreign languages for the past few weeks, and they hadn’t actually been that bad. A few of them were mildly interesting, a few downright boring, and a few, like this one, so tiresome that you’d both fallen asleep about halfway through. 

You started cleaning up, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl from the coffee table and walking into the kitchen to slide it onto the counter. When you walked back in, remote in hand to shut off the TV, Harry was awake and yawning. 

“Riveting film, hm?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Oui, oui,” you agreed, sitting down next to him again. “What time is it?” Harry asked, fumbling for his phone. You glanced at the clock, beating him to it, and said, “Ten. We should do something.” 

“Let’s go to France,” Harry suggested, stretching out on the couch. “Buy some wine.” 

“Or a vineyard.” 

“Or both.” 

You sighed, laying back against him and watching the ceiling fan. “Imagine quarantining in France. Or Italy, or something. On a vineyard.” Harry nodded. “Would certainly be easier to learn another language, yeah?” 

“We’d be drunk half the time,” you mused. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

You smiled, and you turned to look at him in the dim lighting. “Can you imagine? Frolicking around all day in our two hundred acres, half drunk?” Harry smiled back, shifting you slightly so he could sit up next to you. “Sounds like heaven.” 

“I don’t know about the two hundred acres part,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him, “but we could certainly do the half drunk part…” Harry shook his head, grinning against your lips. “Sorry, love, I don’t do anything half arsed.” 

“Oh, my mistake,” you giggled, kissing him once more before standing up. 

“Don’t bother with the glasses,” Harry called once you were in the kitchen. 

“What are we, barbarians?” you laughed, and Harry shook his head. “No, darling, just incredibly lazy. Don’t feel like washing dishes…” You came back in, handing him the bottle of wine, and then looked around, biting your lip. 

Harry took a sip, watching you, and then grumbled, “Oh, no.” You smiled, glancing at him inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” Harry sighed, looking at the wine mournfully. “You have your thinking face on,” he sighed, “which means we’re going to do something, and this bottle will be woefully full by the end of the night.”

“You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you laughed.

Harry looked up, smiling again. “And you’re not nearly dramatic enough.”

“We make a good pair.” 

“That we do,” Harry agreed, standing up as he stretched his arms towards the ceiling. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry raised a brow, nudging your leg. “C’mon, then, out with it, what’s the idea?” 

You grinned at him. “Cookies,” you declared. 

“Cookies?” Harry echoed skeptically. 

“Cookies.” 

“Too far away,” Harry said conclusively, plopping back onto the couch.

“On the contrary!” you exclaimed, pulling him back up. “We’ll make them ourselves,” you said, and then laughed at the expression of horror on Harry’s face. “My dear rose petal,” he said, holding your hand gently in his, “my gorgeous honey pot. We are not making cookies.” 

You scoffed. “Why not?” 

Harry pouted, holding up the wine. “Because relaxation.” 

“How about… relaxation… and cookies?” you asked, taking the wine bottle from him. He gasped indignantly and reached for it, and you giggled, backing up into the kitchen as he followed you. 

“You clever minx,” Harry mumbled once you finally stopped, leaning into you and pressing kisses against your lips with a grin. After a second, you pulled away, smiling when he chased after you. “Cookies?” you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

Harry sighed dramatically. “Cookies,” he relented. 

You shouted in victory and started rooting through the cabinets. Your favorite song came on after a moment, and Harry winked at you, coming around to help grab supplies. The two of you shouted along to the lyrics, spilling things as you measured and poured and scooped. 

It was a game of theft once the dough was mixed, stealing pinches while his back was turned and playfully slapping his hand when you caught him doing the same. Thankfully, you still had a decent sized batch when you slid the tray into the oven. 

Then you both stumbled back into the other room, and collapsed onto the couch. “We should have put wine in the cookies,” you murmured into Harry’s shoulder. Harry snickered, and then said, “That’s a grape idea…” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Harry giggled, nudging you. “Grape? Like, great? Because - wine?” 

“Jesus fucking -” 

Harry cut you off with a kiss, and you laughed despite yourself, leaning into him and letting yourself get carried away. His hands drifted, shifting you onto his lap, and your hands slid into his hair, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

It could have been seconds, or maybe hours, before you came up for air, breathless and red cheeked and way too hot and bothered for just a simple make out session. “You’re being a bit mean,” Harry whispered, and you raised a brow. “Am I, now?” 

Harry nodded, feathering kisses down your jawline and behind your ear. “Too many clothes. ‘s quite rude, actually.” You giggled, leaning into him, slipping your hands out of your sweater, and then frowned. 

Was something… burning?

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping off of him, and Harry gasped, reaching after you. You pulled yourself together, sprinting to the kitchen, shouting, “The fucking - the cookies!” Harry groaned, walking in after you. 

They were burnt. 

Well and truly burnt. 

Harry came and stood next to you, gazing at the charred lumps of dough with a deep frown. “Fucking cock block,” he muttered, and you looked up at him, and then burst out laughing. 

After a second, he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “This went well, didn’t it?” he said. “Oh, wonderfully,” you agreed, and you shut the oven door. “Say, Styles,” you said, turning to face him, “ever heard of Postmates?” 

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Harry replied with a grin. “You’ll have to show me!” 

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “I guess I will!” 

***

Between a few more cookie-baking-attempts, even more cookie deliveries, a couple more foreign-language films, twice that amount of romantic comedies, and even one or two morning jogs, quarantine dragged on as quickly as it probably could. Neither of you were sure how long it was going to last, nobody was, but you were constantly reminded of how happy you were Harry had asked you to quarantine with you all those months ago. 

In fact, you were being reminded of it at this very instant, because you’d woken up to an empty bed and a sticky note signed by Harry with only the words, In the cafe, scrawled in green ink. A bit nervous, you got up, and got ready, and then headed down the steps. 

The deja vu was unreal - he was sitting on the counter, hunched over his phone, swinging his legs. “H?” you said softly, and the deja vu continued. He jumped up, hands shoving into his pockets, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” you said back. “What’s up?” 

“I, er - I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and you grinned, coming around to stand in front of him. “You’re making me nervous,” you replied, and he bit his lip, fiddling with his pocket again. 

“Right,” he said, holding back a smile. “Right, well, quarantine has been fun, yeah?” 

You raised a brow. Slowly, you agreed, “Yeah…” 

“Well, I, erm - I was just thinking…” He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I was just thinking that I wouldn’t mind quarantining with you my entire life.” You laughed a bit. “I dunno about that,” you joked, and he flushed, shaking his head. 

“I mean - I mean, of course not - obviously, the pandemic, I just - I meant -” 

“Harry,” you interrupted softly. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling again. “Well, I have a question.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

He laughed, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. But somehow, you almost weren’t surprised when it was a ring box. You grinned, glancing at it and then back at Harry but keeping quiet as he knelt down on one knee. 

“You know,” he said, and all you could think was how much he was dragging this out, “they say you’re supposed to get down on one knee because of some old Norse tradition. Apparently, getting married is like taking an arrow to the knee and, erm - and, well, you know, falling onto one knee...” He dropped down to both knees, and you raised an eyebrow. “... but I’m getting down on both, because I’ve fallen… completely… for you.” 

Before you could roll your eyes, he opened the box. 

And this time, there was a ring inside. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed. 

“Well?” 

“I thought - I don’t - this is like - but I thought -” 

Harry laughed, leaning forward. “Christ, the suspense is killing me, woman!” 

“Yes!” you gasped, letting him slide the ring onto your finger. “Shit, Harry, yes! Yes, of course!” He stood up, kissing you deeply, and you laughed against his lips. “Jesus, I thought… I don’t know what I thought - I just -” 

Harry cut you off with a grin. “Shush,” he murmured. 

You giggled, kissing him again, and then pulled back, letting your forehead rest against his. “Harry?” you said softly. He smiled, stealing one more kiss, and then said, “Yeah?” You grinned. “That Norse mythology thing isn’t true,” you whispered. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned, laughing as he stepped away and shook his head. 

“Hey,” you said, pulling his back. “Hey, hey…” 

He shook his head again, still grinning. “Yeah?” 

“I love you,” you said. 

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mocking nonchalance. He nudged your shoulder, kissed you, smiled. “I mean… I guess I love you, too… Even if the legend isn’t true… I don’t know if I’ve fallen completely for you, though…” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

Harry smiled, and kissed you. “If you insist.”

***

and there you have it!!! really hope you enjoyed! and if you did, a reblog or some feedback would be very much appreciated. thanks for reading! 

Harry stops a safe distance from her.

“We close at three every day,” she stays seated but pushes another crate towards him with her foot. There are brown smudges of coffee grind all up and down her shins, and he guesses the black jeans she wears to work are strategic.

Harry squints at the sign on the window by the door, “Really?”

“You usually come in the morning,” Alex says pleasantly, waiting for him to sit down opposite her, “Here.”

Harry’s overwhelmed, he really is, by the sight of a white takeaway cup in her hand, he reaches for it carefully, “What? Alex.”

“Made it right before closing, had to put the tiniest drop of milk in there otherwise it would shit itself and taste horrendous,” she laughs at his wrinkled nose at the mention of milk, he sniffs the lid just to tease her or to get her to roll her eyes at him blithely, “It won’t kill you, promise.”

“Says someone whose intestines know how to handle lactose without making you shit yourself,” he borrowed her phrase. Sounded better when Alex said it, with the wideness and the breadth of her accent.

Alex tilts her head back and laughs. Really laughs and Harry doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed or scold himself for how he just spoke about his bowels in front of her, because the sound is marvellous and so Alex. It’s unapologetic and genuine and a touch off-beat, which he loves.

“Holy shit,” she lets out a long, shaking breath afterwards, holding a palm to her rib as if in pain. She’s pretending not to notice the way Harry stared at her while she was laughing as if extremely happy with himself. “You wear white bottoms far too often for that to be a daily worry for you.”

“Oh, it’s a worry,” Harry insists, mainly to keep the joke going. He feels like his face is about to crack in half, “I can’t have people spiking my coffees without my knowledge,” Harry takes a sip but then points his finger at her playfully, “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”

As if he wasn’t already.

++

Katie rolled her eyes, glad her mother couldn’t see her. She mentioned asking Niall for help before Katie even left the country. But she did not want to contact Niall. Her and Niall weren’t exactly friends. Sure, they’ve known each other for years, but Niall Horan was Josh’s friend, not hers. Did she have a crush on her older brother’s best friend? Well, that was a whole other story and not the point at all.

 She hadn’t even seen Niall in forever. The last time they were both back home was over a year ago. And now she was just supposed to call him up and ask for help? Katie did not like asking for help, having to rely on others, owe any favours. Especially from people who weren’t her family. Or family-like.

 “Okay, mum, I’m getting into the cab. Have a good night, yeah?” she said, partly because she did indeed hail a taxi, but mostly because she didn’t want to go in circles in this conversation, they’ve been over it already. Sure, Katie didn’t really have anyone close enough to rely on at times like these, she had a few colleagues, but those were mates to go to a pub with once a month or have a small chat in the break room, not burden them with groceries, because of the mandatory quarantine upon her return.

 Her mum sighed, knowing she couldn’t make her daughter do anything. “You too, sweetie. Keep in touch, please. Let me know if anything is wrong,” she said, the worry evident in her voice.

 “Of course, love you,” Katie replied, her irritation dissolving slightly. There wasn’t a doubt in her head that her mum’s heart was in the right place, but she hated when people worried about her like that, some part of her always felt guilty for making them feel that way.

  1st day of quarantine

 “Hello?” Katie answered her ringing phone, curious about who it might be. It was usual for her to get unknown calls on her work phone, but not her private one.

 “Kitty Kat!” She didn’t even have to ask to know who was on the other side of the line, not only the booming happy voice was familiar, but there was only one person who called her that. And even though she spent years telling him that the nickname was awful, after not hearing it for so long, it made her smile.

 “Hello Niall,” she said, setting her laptop down on the coffee table and focusing on the call.

 “Heard you need some help. I did hesitate to accept though, because I was quite hurt it was Josh calling me and not you.” He sounded exactly how she remembered, his voice laced with a joking undertone, his usual easygoing attitude seeping through.

 “I… I’m fine, really.” Katie was gonna kill her brother. Maybe he wanted to help, but he made her look incompetent to take care of herself, which she did not appreciate.

 “Oh, so you’re not stuck at home for the next two weeks with an empty fridge?” She didn’t even have to see Niall to know he just raised a brow in mock surprise. She could just tell from his tone. But she did wonder what he looked like now. Whether his hair was still natural brown instead of the blonde he used to dye it. Whether his shoulders were even wider than the last time she had seen him. Whether he still had a very small belly from all the beer he had been drinking or maybe he had abs now.

 “Umm.. No, I have some leftover takeaway from last night,” she assured, just slightly embarrassed.

 He sighed. “Look, it’s no problem, I promise. Just text me the list, I have a few hours before work anyway.”

 Katie hesitated for a moment, but no matter how much she hated admitting it, she really did need help. “Okay, thank you.”

 “Oh and text me your address, too. How does your brother not know where you live?” He sounded surprised, which she understood, considering she had a pretty good relationship with Josh.

 She chuckled. “Because he’s a little prick who hasn’t visited me yet. And surprisingly enough, he never orders me any gifts.”

 Niall snickered. “He’s twice your height, I think that’s barely ‘little’. And he’s older.”

 “Heeeey, he’s not that much taller than me!” She whined offended, even though he was.

 He let out a laugh, a true belly laugh, one she hadn’t heard in years actually. But she’d know that laugh anytime anywhere, he just had one of those special ones. “Sure, sure. And he’s not even that tall either, you’re just tiny.”

 “No, I’m not!” She disagreed, although she definitely didn’t count to the tall part of the population. But she was not that short.

 “That’s okay, you’re cute.” His words made Katie blush. She was sure he thought nothing of them, the words slipping easily off his tongue, like he didn’t even have to think about them. “Oh and don’t do that thing when you’ll try and buy everything for the next two weeks, I really don’t mind doing a few more grocery runs for you. Wouldn’t want you to get sick from unfresh foods.”

 She licked her lips to keep from smiling, because of how thoughtful he was. “Thank you.”

 “Okay, I’m hanging up then, it’s good to talk to you again, Kitty Kat.” The whole conversation made her heart beat a teeny tiny bit faster, the warmth of hearing a familiar voice and Niall being so nice, flowing through her entire body.

 “You too, Niall. And thank you, I’ll send the list in a minute.”

 So she did, trying to keep it as basic as possible, only the actual necessary products. Her intercom rang a mere hour later. She buzzed Niall in and waited behind closed doors, having to restrain herself from observing him through the peephole. He knocked on her door softly to let her know he was leaving the bags. She waited a few seconds, giving him time to leave safely, after all the whole point of this was avoiding interactions with other people. She brought the bags inside and pretty much sprinted to the window, hoping he hadn’t left yet. She was lucky enough to have a window going out onto the entrance of the building.

 It was a few seconds before Niall appeared outside. Katie didn’t have a clear view of him, especially not his face, but she noticed his hair was darker, long gone was the blonde he used to dye it into. He seemed taller, though that was pretty unlikely. More muscular. He looked grown up. Seeing him like this, after quite some time, she felt a slight flutter in her stomach. It made her excited. And Katie wondered whether he thought about her like that, imagining what she looked like now, whether she changed, what hairstyle was she wearing, whether she gained weight or slimmed down, what kind of makeup did she like now. Was he excited to find out?

 She didn’t like admitting it, but truth be told, she always had a little crush on Niall Horan. And Katie hated it, because it was such a cliche, liking your older brother’s best friend. But she did. Niall was funny and kind. He loved bickering with her, but it wasn’t like her brother’s teasing, it made her feel special. He had a nickname just for her. Kitty Kat came to be because Josh liked calling her Kate, knowing she hated it, it not being her actual name. But Niall’s nickname didn’t make her irritated, no matter how much she pretended it did. It made her warm inside, like she was important enough to be referred to in an individual way.

 But she had to stop thinking those thoughts Niall was helping her because he had a good heart. And because he was a family friend. That was it. He did not have a special place in his heart for her, no matter how much she imagined he maybe did in the past.

 She moved from the window a few minutes after he disappeared and went to unpack the groceries. She was irritated there was no receipt, Niall was supposed to let her know how much she owed him, having refused when she offered to transfer some money beforehand. But there was another piece of paper. A post-it note stuck to the carton of eggs.

 please let me know as soon as you need anything else. i’ll be doing some shopping for myself later in the week, so it’s no problem. happy to help, N xx

 She refused to dwell on the xs. But the note as a whole was very sweet. In fact, Katie may or may not have put it on her fridge.

  5th day of quarantine

 Katie was trying to work through the splitting headache, but it was not going well. The last three days, she felt like the headache and burning eyes were her only constant companions. Other than that, she was feeling okay. No cough, no temperature, nothing. It was just because she was staring at the screen all day (and some nights), working and working, crunching numbers, filling and checking spreadsheets. Her eye actually started twitching yesterday, which wasn’t a good sign. Unfortunately, she ran out of ibuprofen. And magnesium. She was quite desperate, the pain making it near impossible to focus on anything.

 So eventually, she gave in, sending a text to Niall.

 very sorry to be a bother, but could you maybe possibly go to the pharmacy for me?

 She did not expect her phone to start ringing just a second after. Since that first day, Niall hadn’t called her. He checked in on her a few times (almost every day, sometimes just sending her memes or funny things that happened to him, instead of starting the conversation with “are you alright?”), but it was always through texts. But now he was calling her and she was so shocked, it must have been at least a fourth ring when she answered.

 “Hiya, sorry, it’s okay if -” she started.

 He didn’t let her finish though, rushing out his questions, sounding a little bit worried. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?”

 “Yeah, I’m okay, just ran out of ibuprofen,” she explained.

 “Do you have any symptoms?” he asked, not entirely convinced.

 “No, no, it’s not that,” she assured. “Just a splitting headache from too much work and computer time. And also a magnesium deficiency, probably.”

 “Are you sure?” he asked again, but this time his voice was much calmer, almost back to normal.

 “Yes, I’ve been drinking a shit ton of coffee everyday to even attempt to keep up with my work and I’m just a bit wiped out.”

 “Okay, I can’t really go out right now, I’m at work, but -”

 This time Katie was the one who cut him off. “Oh, it’s fine, really.”

 “BUT,” he continued despite the interruption, his voice a bit more stern, “I just texted my roommate, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

 If only he could see her now, he would notice a look of horror that crossed her face. “No, Niall, I don’t want to bother anyone.”

 “Oh stop, he’s a nice guy and he can leave his work for half an hour. He owed me a favour anyway.” Niall made it seem like the most trivial thing and she really did need the medicine, so she gave up fighting.

 “Well, be sure to thank him for me,” she said instead. “Buy him a nice beer.”

 He chuckled. “Okay, I will. But you’re really okay? You’d tell me if you were getting sick, right?”

 “Well, it’s not like you could come take care of me anyway.” She meant it as a joke, expecting Niall to let out another of his signature chuckles, but he did quite the opposite, sounding a bit exasperated.

 “Why not?”

 “I can’t exactly see people at the moment, remember?” She said gently, not really sure about his mood.

 Niall huffed. “Do you really think I’d care about that? Just let you be alone if you were sick?”

 She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. All she wanted to ask was ‘why wouldn’t you’, but she bit her lip, too afraid, not wanting to make things weird just because she probably thought a bit too much about his words.

 Katie took a breath before speaking, trying to sound lighthearted. “Well, it’s good I’m not sick, so you don’t have to risk your own health.”

 “You’d let me know though, right?” He persisted.

 “Yeah, I would.” She wanted to add another joke saying she’d need someone to get her medicine, but the mood was not light and funny, the atmosphere suddenly very thick.

 “Alright, good.” It seemed like he finally exhaled after getting his answer. “Well, I have to go back to work, I’ll text you when Pete brings the meds.”

 “Okay. Thank you,” was all Katie could muster out through her fighting thoughts.

 ~~

 how’s the headache?

 completely gone, thanks to your brilliant roommate

 heeeey i’m the one who sent him on that quest!

 hahahaha

 i know

 thank you, again

 damn, i never thought i’d be saying so many thank yous to niall horan

 can’t say i’m complaining

 but on a more serious note, do you like pop quizzes?

 hmmm yeah? i think i only did pub quiz like once or twice, but it was fun

 why?

 me and a few mates are doing one tomorrow, you should join

 how bad is your memory? i can’t go to the pub

 who’s talking about a pub?

 we’re doing it on zoom

 oh

 it’s still staring at the screen, but it’s not work and it seems like you need some fun

 yeah, i guess i kinda do. thank you, but i don’t want to impose

 you won’t, i just invited you

 still…

 it’s just a few mates, i promise it’s all good. i actually already told them you’re joining

and they hate being blown off

 oh yeah, no pressure

 haha no but seriously, if you don’t want to that’s fine, but i think you’ll enjoy it

 okay. thank you. you’ll send me the details?

 of course

 should i prepare anything?

 nope, just yourself. and your brilliant mind

 we’re switching, someone else preparing questions everytime, so you have to wait your turn

 The mention of her becoming a part of their regular quiz made her stomach flutter slightly. She dared having this little hope of actually becoming friends with Niall, or rather maintaining some form of contact, but this was still unexpected. But also very nice to know he kind of wanted that too.

  6th day of quarantine

 When Katie’s phone started ringing and she noticed her brother’s face lighting up the screen, she smiled. The last time they had spoken was when she called to give him a piece of mind for calling Niall for her, but she actually loved and appreciated her brother very much. Maybe they weren’t the absolute closest, but they had a good relationship. There was this knowledge deep down that they’d jump through fire for the other, if need be.

 “Hiya,” she answered, wrapping up the email she was writing (she might or might not be getting some work done on a Saturday).

 “Why is Niall calling me asking about your favourite alcohol?” Josh asked right away, no hello needed. He sounded very curious, loving to pry into her life a bit.

 Katie laughed, having received a text from Niall informing her of a package waiting outside her door, which turned out to be three bottles of wine and a note saying quizzes are no fun without booze.

 “What can I say, he takes good care of my needs,” she replied, half-jokingly.

 “I told him it’s whiskey,” her brother informed, very much knowing she did not like whiskey. The only drink she was able to swallow was whiskey sour, but it was definitely not her favourite.

 “Wow, thanks for that, Jojo,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

 He whined at the nickname he hated, but had to endure since they were kids.

 “He did call bullshit though and asked about wine. So I told him red, naturally.” Just by his tone, she could say he had a shit-eating grin on his face, very proud of himself.

 Katie furrowed her brows. All three bottles that were sitting in her fridge currently were white. Either Niall knew her brother well enough to catch the lies, which he probably did after years of friendship, or he somehow knew her.

 “You’re a dick,” she laughed.

 “That’s what older brothers are for, Kate. But in a serious matter, I hope you’re not getting too buddy-buddy, I couldn’t stand you two ganging up on me.”

 She bit her lip, deciding it was probably best to not mention her plans for tonight. It wasn’t a big deal anyway, Niall was just a nice guy, who was probably feeling sorry for her, because she had no friends here and was sitting alone for days, spending most of her time working.

 “Oh we’re gonna be best friends in no time, you should be very scared.”

 ~~

 Katie was nervous. In fact, she was nervous about a number of things. First of all, the quiz with Niall’s friends. She didn’t know any of those people and she was scared of making a fool of herself. Secondly, she was about to skype with Niall. He offered to have a little chat before the quiz, so he could introduce the group a little, explain who’s who and all that. But it was going to be the first time she’d truly see him and he, her. Well, through the screen of course, but still.

 And now she was worrying she might have gone a little overboard with her look. It was nice to have a reason to dress up in something fancier than leggings and an oversized sweater, to even put some makeup on. But, because it was the first time Niall will see her in quite a bit (especially up close), she made an actual effort. (But she didn’t care about that, she was not wondering whether he’ll even pay attention to her looks, not at all).

 When the music she was playing suddenly cut off, replaced with the ringtone of an incoming skype call, her throat instantly dried up. She took a sip of her wine before answering, her laptop screen taken over by Niall’s smiling face, literally brightening it up.

 He was wearing a button down, it wasn’t necessarily an elegant one, but still a nice one, his hair looked styled, like he actually took the time to tame it. It seemed like he made sure to look good, like he cared. And it excited her because maybe, just maybe, he wanted to look good for her too. Or maybe he liked someone from his friend group and was dressing up for them.

 “I see you’re putting the wine to good use. Did I pick a good one?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer, a proud grin on his face.

 Katie smiled, her nerves slightly easing. No matter how much he might have changed and grown, he was still familiar.

 “Yes, thank you. Although I am a bit worried what kind of idea you have of me based on the amount of bottles you got me,” she joked, taking another sip.

 He let out a booming laugh, one that made something in her flutter. “Nah, there’s just never enough wine,” he shrugged. “Although personally I'm more of a beer guy. But you have over a week more of quarantine, you may need it.”

 “I heard you sought some guidance from my brother,” she inquired with a raised brow, sly grin taking over her features.

 Niall grunted, covering his face in embarrassment. To her, it was incredibly cute that he went to so much trouble just to get her something she liked. “Did he really sell me out? What an asshole.”

 “Yup,” she replied, actually proud of her brother for telling her. “But, surprisingly enough, you didn’t buy red wine. Nor whiskey, thankfully.”

 “Yeah, I figured he was lying, I remember how much you both loved teasing each other,” he chuckled just at the memory of many fights and banters. “Apparently, still can’t let the opportunity pass.”

 “Oh, never,” she laughed along with him. “Okay, talk to me about your friends. What should I expect?”

 “Wait, before we get to that, why do you actually need to quarantine? Were you on some crazy vacations?” he asked the question that’s been on his mind ever since his roommate asked him about it.

 “Oh. Well, not really, I was visiting Frankie, that’s my best friend from uni. She lives in Brussels now. I was thinking of cancelling, but we spent most of the time just staying in or being really careful, you know, not taking any unnecessary risks, so I guess the worst part was the flight.” She shrugged, constantly wishing her two best friends weren’t scattered around the world.

 “I see,” he nodded in understanding. “Had a good time, then?”

 “Oh yeah, very! Haven’t seen her in forever. Really needed that as well. I, um…,” she tucked her hair behind her ear timidly, looking down for a second. “I don’t have many friends here, really. As you might have noticed,” she chuckled nervously.

 “Finding it hard to meet people?” he asked with furrowed brows, but didn’t even wait for a response, another question coming to his mind. “Actually, how long have you lived here? I think the last I’d heard, you were in Chicago?”

 “Seattle,” she corrected. “Yeah, I left like 7 months ago. I got offered a transfer here and a little promotion, I guess, a chance to prove myself, which was an amazing opportunity. I had to go to San Francisco for 4 weeks of training, before coming here though.” She explained, hoping he wouldn’t dig deeper on the subject, because it was not a conversation she wanted to have with him right now.

 “That sounds amazing, congrats,” he said simply and she exhaled in relief.

 “Thanks,” she chuckled. “But yeah, so I’ve been here a while, but haven’t really made friends yet.”

 “I guess working from home is not really helpful, huh?” he observed.

 “No, it definitely isn’t.”

 “Well, I’m always around if you want to hang out. Or go out once this whole pandemic calms down,” he proposed and she smiled appreciatively. “Okay, let’s give you some dirt on my mates, then.”

 ~~

 The quiz was actually very fun. Katie hadn’t laughed that much in a bit, it would be a very long time if she hadn’t counted her time in Belgium. She met six of Niall’s friends, two of them were friends from work, plus a girlfriend of one of them, one was a friend from his little soccer team and the last two were friends from uni, who were also a couple. Everyone was incredibly nice, making sure she felt welcomed and included, going as far as explaining most of their inside jokes.

 They had this tradition of one question dedicated to each person taking part, so they gave Katie a minute to come up with her own question about herself, since they didn’t know her well enough. She panicked a bit, her mind going blank, so she went with what came to her mind first, which was who she went to prom with, the answers being her ex that she broke up with a week before, her best friend or alone. Surprisingly, no one got it right, not even Niall.

 “Did you really go to prom with your ex?” he asked, when they talked right after the quiz. It just so happened that they ended up being the only two left on the call, everyone else disconnecting as soon as they were finished.

 “Yup,” she laughed, filling up her wine glass. They were both pretty tipsy already, on their path to drunk. “But we were friendly! You know, we were just going to different unis and stuff, it just wasn’t that serious. And everyone else was already taken!”

 “Well, you could have always asked me,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

 “Are you kidding? You used to tease me about it whenever I saw you my senior year!”

 He did, whenever he came home from uni (which was a lot during his first year) and saw her, always asking whether she had a hot date yet.

 “Yeah, ‘cause I wanted to take you!” Niall exclaimed.

 “What? Now that’s just lies,” she chuckled incredulously.

“Absolutely not, I had a little crush on you.”  Niall’s eyes were focused on his fingers picking at the beer bottle label.

 “No, you didn’t,” she shook her head, although her mind went straight back to the question about him in the quiz - who was his first crush. The answer choices were his teacher, his friend’s mum or his friend’s sister. As soon as it was asked, he whined, a blush flushing his cheeks. But when it was announced that the correct answer was his friend’s sister, she was pretty sure his eyes were trained on her, like he wanted to see her reaction. As much as a rational part of her brain didn’t want to misinterpret the whole situation and get false hope, she did wonder if there was a possibility that it might have been her.

 “Excuse me, I think I know my feelings better, thank you very much,” he said, pretending to be offended. “I just hid it well. Maybe too well.” Niall added the last part as an afterthought, quietly, but not enough for her to miss it.

 Maybe it was the wine, or maybe just Niall’s (virtual) presence that had her feeling brave, like he made her giddily nervous, but also brought a sense of safety and calm. Whatever it was, she was feeling brave enough to say, “funny, I had a crush on you, too. What a cliche, huh?”

 He scrunched his brows in confusion. “How so?”

 She shrugged, little half-smile on her face. “Liking your brother’s best friend.”

 “More cliche than liking your best friend’s little sister?” He inquired, before taking a gulp of beer.

 She laughed, her mind a bit too fuzzy to comprehend that they just admitted to liking each other. Once upon a time, at least. “I guess we’re just a pair of walking cliches.” Katie quirked as she hid  her timid smile behind her wine glass.

  10th day of quarantine

 Katie was fucked, there was no other way to put it. She was usually so good with planning and thinking ahead, always trying to be prepared, but at the most unfortunate time, it slipped her mind. She forgot her period was coming, or rather she forgot she was running out of tampons. And now she was stuck in her apartment, pondering if the possible fee for violating the quarantine is worth saving her from the massive embarrassment. Even though she was actually too responsible to go out now.

 If Niall was a good friend, she wouldn’t have that much of a problem asking him for it. She would have no problem asking him if he was a woman. And she would definitely have less of a problem, if she didn’t like him.

 But, no matter what, she had a problem and he was pretty much the only person she could count on to help her right now. So she swallowed her pride, pulled all of her courage and rang Niall, because she felt like, no matter how embarrassing, the situation required a proper call, not a text.

 He answered on the second ring. “Hey, everything good? You’re not dying, are ya?” His words were joking, but his voice had a serious undertone, he even sounded a little worried.

 “A bit,” she chuckled nervously, “but not because of the obvious. You’re not going to the shop today by any chance?”

 “What do you need?” he asked, instead of answering her question.

 “Well, this will be awkward, but…” Katie started, but hesitated for a second, biting her lip.

 “Hit me,” he encouraged.

 “I got my period and I forgot I have like one tampon left.” Even though she obviously couldn’t see him, she closed her eyes, like her shame burned them, spitting out the words as fast as possible.

 “Oh,” he let out a little sound of surprise, clearing his throat right after to mask it. “Alright, just send me which ones you want and I’ll get them.”

 “I hate being a burden.”

 “Stop it, you’re not a burden,” he reassured right away. “I was actually going to the shop anyway, need a few things. Just text me, so I don’t forget and add whatever else you want, yeah?”

 Niall’s words made her smile, she wasn’t sure if he really was going shopping, or just said it to make her feel better, but she just appreciated his reaction, not making a big deal out of it, just accepting her ask and thinking nothing more of it. She knew a lot of guys who would be so lost hearing that kind of request, but Niall was nothing if not alright. And that was just another great quality of his that she needed to add to the list in her mind that was growing scarily quick.

 “Okay, thank you. You’re saving my life, kinda.”

 “Mmm, I’m sure we’ll figure out a way for you to pay me back, no worries,” he laughed, before ending the call.

 An hour later, Katie got the text to pick up the bag from her door. There was no sign of Niall, as usual, but there was a bag with not only the tampons she asked for, but also with two different types of pads, a bag of chips, frozen pizza, some fresh fruits, four different chocolate bars and cookies n cream ice cream. There was also another note inside.

 thought some of those might help make you feel better, N xx

 And there he was with the xs again. It was probably just the way he signed everything. Either way, the care package was incredibly thoughtful, so Katie picked up her phone to text him.

 was not expecting a package like that. that’s a lot of stuff. but thank you, that’s very sweet

 just wasn’t sure what you like. El always ate pretty much sweets only, while Lil loved stuffing herself with salty snacks and fast foods

 Elaine and Liliana were his older sisters, Lil was married and with a child on the way, five years older than Niall, while Elaine was just two years older than him. Maybe that was the reason why he had no problem helping her today, having grown up with sisters always made guys act a bit different, or at least that’s what her mum always said.

 wasn’t sure about the ice cream flavour though, so played it a bit safe

 cookies and creams is a good one

 what’s your favourite?

 pistachio

 okay, noted

 Katie couldn’t explain why, but even little comments like that made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster. It wasn’t just because he was attentive to details, but it was like he wanted to know more about her, to soak every piece of information in. And then there were comments like that, the kind that made her think about the future, not just the immediate one right after her quarantine, but the actual future. Will they just stay friendly? Become best friends? Or will one of them be brave enough to make the first step into more? Katie didn’t know if there was more in the cards. When it came to her, it wasn’t just that stupid crush from her youth that came back. The feelings grew and were constantly growing, as she got to know more and more of Niall. But she didn’t know how he was feeling. Maybe there were signs, but she was never that great at reading them. Time will tell if one of them will pluck the courage to take that leap of faith, or if she just misread the situations. A part of her was very anxious about it, but another part was excited. And all of her was hopeful.

  12th day of quarantine

 “Catch me up on your life. I feel like the last time I really knew what was happening with you was high school,” Niall inquired, folding his hands to rest his chin on top. He looked adorable like this.

 It was a Friday night and they were skyping. Just the two of them, having drinks over video call. As it turns out, they do their pop quiz every other week and so he asked her if she wanted to hang out with him to survive her last days of solitude.

 “Oh, you think you knew what was going on in my life back then?” Katie chuckled, a sly grin on her face.

 “Well, I was in your house like every other day,” he reasoned.

 “Please, even I didn’t know what was happening in my life at that time.” She joked, because, if she was being honest, high school was a mess.

 He laughed. “Yeah, okay, point taken. But still, how was uni for you? How did you end up at the company you’re working for now?”

 “Uni was fun. Stressful, most of the time, but I have some good memories. And the company was just a fluke,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her wine, the last bottle of the three Niall bought her last week.

 “Was it hard leaving Seattle behind?” he asked.

 “Um..” she got embarrassed, nibbling on her bottom lip, clearly thinking over her answer. “Yes and no, I guess. I mean… I had a boyfriend,” she admitted, going into the story she didn’t like retelling, but actually didn’t mind that much right now. Not only because she trusted Niall, but because she was over that whole situation, even if it still brought up some unpleasant memories. “We had been together for about two years. And he didn’t want to move here with me. Like, didn’t even consider it. Just outright told me to reject the offer, basically. And most of our friends took his side. I guess they were mostly his friends to begin with, but it still stung. So yeah, it was hard, but there also really wasn’t much left for me there.” When she finished, she shrugged again, hoping to look quite unbothered, as it really was just a thing of the past. Katie took another sip of wine, while Niall looked at her with a look that she couldn’t decipher. But thankfully, it wasn’t pitiful.

 “Okay, first, I’m sorry,” he said after a second. “But second, that was such a dick move. I mean, it was a huge opportunity for you and he expected you to just give it up? Like an ultimatum? Not even ‘we can work it out’ or something?” He sounded genuinely surprised, even a little disgusted, which made Katie smile slightly, his reaction making her feel better.

 “It was more like ‘if you’re even considering taking it, then fuck you’, so yeah, pretty much,” she said, her words feeling much lighter than before.

 “Wow,” Niall chuckled humorlessly. “He really did not know how lucky he was to have you.”

 “Stoooop,” she said, her face growing hot.

 “No, I’m serious. I’d say good riddance to him.”

 “I kinda see it now too, to be honest,” she admitted, a faint smile on her lips. “It did make me realise how he didn’t really love me. Noticed a bunch of not great behaviours, actually. So hey, it’s all for the better.”

 “Oh for sure.”

 “What about you? Any tragic love story?” Katie asked, reaching for her glass.

 “Umm…” he took a big gulp of his beer, while she raised her brow, indicating it was her time to grill him. “Kinda the opposite of your story, actually,” Niall admitted.

 “You’re joking,” she gasped, her eyes growing wider.

 “Nope,” he shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. “I followed my girlfriend here. She got a great job, so I came with. It wasn’t far anyway, but yeah, she was the reason. I did say no to a proper job opportunity myself for that, actually. And then she dumped me four months later. Taking most of our mutual friends with her as well.”

 Katie was pretty much speechless. She did hear he had a girlfriend, they moved in together here, but she hadn’t heard when it ended and definitely not how. “Wow,” a shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Bad breakup?” she asked after a second.

 Niall licked his lips. “Not the worst, I mean, there wasn’t any cheating or anything, although she did get another boyfriend like two weeks later. But it did suck. We got a flat together and everything. I get that you can fall out of love with someone or whatever, but I did rearrange my life for her, so you know, if she was having doubts back then…” He let his voice linger. It’s been a while since he thought about her, even the last time they accidentally crossed paths a few months ago, he hadn’t really felt anything anymore.

 “She should have said it,” Katie finished his thought and he nodded.

 “Yeah. It felt a little out of the blue. But it’s been over a year now, so I’ve dealt with that. It was the most exciting story about my life, though. Other than that it’s just work, footie, pub quizzes and booze,” he chuckled, taking another gulp of his beer, as to prove his point.

 “A boring life is the best kind, though,” she noticed. “I think it’s so underrated. I’d take stability over drama anyday.”

 “Yes! Thank you!” Niall got excited, scooting a little closer and even pointing a finger at her through the screen. “That’s what I think too.”

 “Great minds think alike,” she laughed, moving her finger between them two.

 It was probably the most personal conversation she had ever had with Niall. And it felt good. Maybe not exactly because their stories were good, but because she felt like there was a certain level of understanding. He was such an easy person to talk to, no matter the subject. And this conversation, hearing his story, made her appreciate him even more, especially his character. Being willing to sacrifice himself for love was a big thing. She just hoped that he still had it in him, that the past didn’t make him close his heart off, but by his honesty and vulnerability, she didn’t think that was the case. And that really did make her happy.

 They were quiet for a moment, at first just kind of looking at each other with soft eyes, feeling somehow connected, even through a computer screen. But then Katie furrowed her brows before crossing her eyes, which made Niall also pull a face, before they both burst out laughing.

 “Well, I didn’t know the friends who took her side, but the ones you have now are pretty great,” she said, closing the subject. “Thanks for inviting me to the quiz last week, it was a lot of fun.”

 “Thank you for joining us. And you know you’re already invited to the next one.”

 Katie smiled, looking down for a second. When she raised her eyes again, Niall was giving her a weird look, like he couldn’t figure her out.

 “What?” she asked.

 He shrugged. “You say thank you too much.”

 She chuckled, “well, I was raised right.”

 “Yeah, but you don’t have to say it for everything. We’re actually just hoping you won’t blow us off when your quarantine is over,” he said.

 “You? Never,” she said, her words making matching grins appear on both their faces.

  1 day after quarantine

 To be honest, Katie didn’t know what she was doing. It was the first day of her freedom and she invited Niall for dinner. She was making a dish that was his favourite when they were younger, her mum used to always tell Josh to invite Niall around, when she was cooking it. She wanted to do something nice for him, to repay him for all the help. Another reason might have been the fact that she really wanted to see him. As nice as texting and skype was, she wanted to be face to face with him, hear his voice clearly, not slightly distorted by her laptop speakers. Maybe even touch him.

 To say she was nervous would be an understatement. She went crazy yesterday, cleaning the entire flat, then ironing half of her clothes, because she couldn’t decide on one outfit she might want to wear. She eventually settled on a casual black skirt, with a slightly sheer, emerald blouse. Her hair was pinned up a bit messily, while she still hadn’t decided if she’s gonna keep it that way or let it loose, or maybe tie it up… She put some makeup on, but didn’t want to overdo it. It was just a casual dinner with a childhood friend, after all.

 Just seconds after she turned off the stove, her doorbell rang. It was like the sound went to her heart instead of her ears, making it beat just a little bit faster, excited about the person waiting outside.

 Katie pulled off her apron quickly and went to welcome her guest, finally.

 “Hiya,” Niall said as soon as she pulled the door open. He squeezed in next to her, handing her a bottle of wine and taking off his jacket. “Oh my god, do I smell chilli?” he asked, turning to face her as soon as he hung it up.

 Katie smiled, just seeing him made her happy, but his words and the excited glint in his eyes made her even happier. “Yeah. I got my mum’s recipe, so hopefully it’ll be at least half as good as hers,” she shrugged innocently, trying to check him out as discreetly as possible.

 He looked good, the screen did him no justice and he looked good even then. In the flesh he looked more buff, definitely spent his lockdown working out. His hair looked softer and more fluffy and there was a slight stubble on his face. The simple t-shirt he was wearing clung beautifully to his bicep.

 “That recipe is like your family’s best kept secret,” he said, eyes wide.

 She laughed. “It’s really not, my mum just didn’t want yours to have it, because she loved you coming over and praising her.”

 “Oh and you’re hoping for that same praise, aren’t you?” Niall asked, with a raised brow.

 She chuckled again, shrugging her shoulder like she didn’t even know what he was talking about. And then he took a step closer and wrapped her in a hug.

 “It’s good to finally see you properly. You look beautiful,” he said so close to her ear, she could feel his breath on her neck, raising goosebumps on its way.

 It only took her a second to settle into the hug, her arms around his waist, her face nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the mixture of freshly washed clothes and his cologne. The thing was, Niall was an amazing hugger. She knew it before, but now that he was slightly bigger, he was even better. And he smelt amazing. Katie had to force herself to pull away before it became an awkwardly long embrace.

 “You look good as well, it’s nice to actually hang out.”

 “Thanks for inviting me.”

 “Thanks for all the help. Come on, I just turned the stove off, so we should eat while it’s hot.”

 She gestured for him to go first into the kitchen, creating herself an opportunity to unashamedly look at his ass, which looked pretty good in his dark grey trousers.

 Katie had been stressing all day if they’d have something to talk about. They had skyped twice and texted throughout most days, they were about to run out of topics to discuss at some point, right?

 Well, apparently not anytime soon. They spent the whole meal talking between bites, Niall pretty much moaning at the first taste of chilli, which made Katie laugh unattractively, covering her mouth in an attempt to keep the food from spilling out. But the conversation just flowed so naturally between them. They actually sat at the table, in front of empty plates for almost an hour, just chatting, before they ran out of wine which eventually prompted them to move. They cleared the plates, opened another bottle of wine, this time the white one Niall had brought, and moved to the sofa.

 “Can I ask you something?” Niall asked, waiting a second after they settled, while she was quickly responding to a text from her mum.

 “Sure,” she said, putting her phone down and twisting her body towards him, one leg bent on the couch.

 He looked down for a second, then licked his lips, before meeting her eyes again carefully. “Is this a date?”

 “Well…” She bit her lip. “It was meant as a thank you, but I guess…” She hesitated for a second, but then saw a small flash of light in his eyes, which gave her that little bit of courage she needed. “It could be. If you want it to be.”

 “See, that’s a tricky question,” he said with a grin, which made Katie raise her brows in question. “Because yes, I would very much like to be dating you, but it’s also weird not being the one organising the date, especially the first one. I just showed up, while you planned the whole thing.”

 She laughed, her heart feeling instantly lighter, looking at him with admiration. “You can always take a lead with the second one.”

 “Deal.”

 He brushed the hair that escaped her updo out of her face, putting it behind her ear. Katie was pretty sure he was about to kiss her, but she didn’t want to wait a second longer, his earlier words giving her enough courage to lean in and be the one to initiate the kiss.

 He tasted like wine and chilli, probably exactly the same way she did, but somehow the kiss was sweet, their mouths finding their rhythm easily, almost like they were meant to work together.

 When they parted, she let out a soft laugh. One of disbelief. And happiness. She just kissed Niall. And now she had a bunch of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

 “What are you laughing about? Was it that terrible?” he asked, his voice a little bit panicked.

 “No, god no, it was great,” Katie rushed to assure him, in case he couldn’t tell her emotions by the huge grin on her face. “It’s just… Unexpected. I really did not think we would end up like this.”

 “How so?” His arm was holding her hip, as if he was making sure she didn’t pull away.

 “I mean… Well, did you ever think we’d be here?” she asked him, not really sure how to explain her thoughts.

 “Um… Not really, no. I used to think we’d date at some point, but when we had both gone to uni that hope kinda died,” he admitted.

 “Really?”

 “Yeah. Why are ya so surprised?” He chuckled at her reaction.

 “I mean…” Katie hesitated for a moment, reaching for his hand to play with the ring on his finger. “Yeah, we apparently had a crush on each other back in the day. And we’ve known each other forever, but we also didn’t know each other that well, not really.”

 “Yeah,” Niall sighed in understanding, “it’s this weird feeling of knowing someone for years while also just truly learning about them now. But it’s not necessarily bad though, is it?”

 “Not at all, I like learning more about you. Getting closer to you.” She gave him a gentle smile, which he returned right away,

 “That feeling is very mutual.”

 “Life just works in a weird way, doesn’t it? We’ve been living pretty close to each other for months without even realising. And we haven’t spoken for over a year, but now it just…”

 “Something clicked,” he shrugged, flicking her palm to trace mindless patterns on the back of it.

 “Yeah, it did.”

 “Maybe it was meant to be.” His words were so light, but at the same time, they held so much conviction, they made Katie’s heart soar.

 “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?” she asked cheekily. “I think it all depends on what you’ll prepare for that second date.”

 He chuckled. “Oh wow, well, that chilli is gonna be hard to beat. But I feel like all the shopping I’ve done for you should count for something, you know, like a little advance.”

 “Oh great, we haven’t even started dating properly and you’re already slacking. Nice one, Horan.”

 Her words made him let out a booming laugh, his head thrown back. And all she could do was look at him and admire the beautiful man beside her, thanking the universe for giving them a chance to find each other.

 ~~

 “Do you have a morning shift tomorrow?” Katie asked, when another episode had ended. They talked some more, then kissed some more, before eventually settling down to watch some tv, enjoying the quiet moments of just holding each other, having more than enough words between them that night.

 Even the small fact of him choosing a tv show to start watching together instead of a movie made her do a little mental note in her head. Because it was one more thing indicating that he wanted to do this again. If she even had any doubts still.

 “Mmmm, no,” he says, rubbing at his eye sleepily. “I’m starting at two in the afternoon.”

 Katie learned he had 3 possible work shifts when he texted her at midnight that he’s at the shop and they’ve run out of the cereal she wanted. He was an IT support specialist, which she found very interesting, although she didn’t understand a lot of his explanation when she asked him about his job.

 “Do you wanna stay the night?” she asked. When he looked at her surprised, a flush appeared on her cheeks. “Just to watch another episode and go to sleep, I didn’t mean… like..”

 “No, yeah, of course, I wouldn’t want to…” he rushed to say.

 “Oh, you wouldn’t?” She looked at him with an arched brow, playful smile on her face. “So you’re not into me?”

 “What? Shit, no, of course I am, come on, you should know that.” He raised his brows and both their minds went back to a moment when they were kissing earlier (well, some people would probably call it making out) and she felt his hardening dick on her tight.

 She bit her lip to sustain a smile, because it was nice to feel that way, to feel wanted, but also for the other person to be open about it, not afraid to admit his feelings towards her. It’s been a while since she felt like that. Sexy, free, confident. A bit vulnerable, but safe.

 “Yeah, I guess I do,” she said with a wicked smile, planting a kiss on his lips.

 It was crazy how comfortable she felt with him. She didn’t hesitate to cuddle up to his body, didn’t think about going in for a kiss, even despite it being just hours since their first one. With Niall, there were just no doubts, not anymore.

 “So sleep or one more episode?” he asked, his arm tucking her closer to him.

 “Are you gonna fall asleep halfway through?”

 “Nope, I’m pretty awake now, your proposal made me come alive again,” he chuckled, tickling her side, which made her yelp in surprise.

 So they watched two more episodes before eventually getting ready to sleep. Katie took pride in being a good host, providing Niall with fresh towels and a toothbrush, before he even got the chance to ask. She also made him take the bathroom first, so she could put the blanket covering her bed and all the extra pillows away. She did a quick scroll through her socials, deliberately avoiding a text from Frankie, asking how the night had gone. She could wait until tomorrow, when Katie would call her for a proper gossip.

 “Do you mind if I sleep in just my boxers?” Niall asked, walking out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped securely around his waist, his glistening chest on full display. He had definitely been working out. “I can wear a shirt too, if you want me to.”

 Katie shook her head. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m good with whatever,” she said, passing him with a smile to take her turn getting ready to sleep.

 She tried to be as quick as possible, removing her makeup and brushing teeth. When she emerged, Niall was tucked in bed, on the left side, which was exactly the one that had always been empty, since she slept on the right.

 Her pajamas were simple, consisting of cotton shorts and a simple t-shirt. After all, they still had time for something sexier, you shouldn’t play all your cards right away.

 “First date and you already got me into bed,” he said watching her climb under the sheets. “Damn, woman, you’re good.”

 There was a huge grin on his face, which made it impossible for her not to mirror his expression.

 “You took my side,” she said, fluffing her pillow before lying down. The bedside lamp was the only source of light in the room, which bathed them both in the golden glow. Niall couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, she looked stunning.

 “Oh shit, sorry, it actually looked less slept on,” he started explaining, making a move to get up. “We can switch.”

 Katie laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I’m just messing with you, you got it right.”

 “Uhhh I hate you,” he whined, burrowing his head in the pillow. For a second he wished he really was on the wrong side, because then the pillow would smell of Katie and not fabric softener.

 “Oh but you don’t. I’m pretty sure you said you liked me, actually,” she chuckled, loving the joking atmosphere that felt so natural between them.

 “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you,” he turned his head to look at her again. She moved closer, resting her head on the edge of his pillow, before moving after a second to plant a kiss on his lips.

 It was impossible to not feel how his lips stretched into a smile during the kiss. It seemed like they spent the whole night just smiling and kissing. But neither of them were complaining.

 With Niall it was all so easy. Sure, at times she might be a bit nervous, especially right before seeing him or talking to him, but once she felt his presence, most of it went away. She felt free. He had seen her do so much stupid shit over the years, she just knew he wouldn’t judge or be put off. It was just that level of comfort and familiarity, that was what he brought her. And she didn’t understand how, but at the same time he made her feel giddy and excited. It was like he calmed her and made her heart beat faster at the same time. It was against her logic, but she decided not to question it. Because there was no question to her that it was a good thing. She liked that feeling. She craved that feeling.

 It was crazy how unexpectedly things could happen. Two weeks ago she didn’t even want to call him, not wanting to bother him, any relationship between them vanished over more than a year ago. And now she wanted to keep in contact with him as much as possible. She wanted to talk to him everyday. Somehow, over such a short time, he became a constant part of her day, whether it was sharing memes, random thoughts or having actual deep conversations. She never even thought she’d be here, falling for someone so fast. Least of all, falling for Josh’s best friend. But that was a funny thing about life and love, it crept up on you when you least expected it. And sometimes, it did so in simply the best way.

The tip of her nose tickles the thin patch of hair at the bottom of his naval, and when she feels him hit the back of her throat and tears start to spring from her eyes, he lets out another guttural “Christ, Ryan,” and she knows he’s very close to falling apart.

They’ve spent the past two months getting acquainted with each other’s bodies. After Harry finally kissed Ryan in her living room, he carried her over to the couch and they snogged like teenagers—all bitten lips and roaming tongues, knocking teeth and wandering hands. When Ryan started rutting against his thigh and the tightness in Harry’s pants became unbearable, they separated and decided to take things slow.

But that was two months ago. Now, if things went any slower, they’d be stagnant.

Those first three weeks they kissed so much that Ryan’s jaw ached and Harry’s lips were permanently raw. He wanted to take things slow because he assumed Ryan would grow overwhelmed with each next step they took. But one night after Ryan came over for dinner and pretended to say goodnight to Jackson, she waited in the hallway until Harry was certain Jackson was down for the night, and when his front door ripped open and his hands grasped her arms, he dragged her onto his couch and kissed her like he did every other night before that. 

But Ryan was growing restless, and while she thought it was admirable the way Harry wanted to be patient with her, she was practically losing her mind with the way his hands stayed planted on her ass and never went anywhere else, the way his lips kissed every inch of her skin above the neckline of her shirt, the way she would be begging for more and Harry wouldn’t oblige. 

Even though Ryan could barely look at Harry those first two months they were tiptoeing around each other, she knew that right now—with his mouth licking at the underside of her jaw and his hands squeezing the thick fleshy parts of her ass—she was going to fucking lose it if he didn’t do anything more.

Because they’ve finally figured it out. The unanswered questions that were plaguing them in the beginning have slowly been answered with every moment she spends with him. The lingering gazes and unknown feelings finally meant something to both of them. But now—now that she’s had a taste and gotten a glimpse of what Harry could do to her, she’s practically gone crazy thinking about it all. 

Ryan’s never been more sure of one thing in her entire life. And it’s that if she and Harry go any slower, she’ll burst.

So in a blind moment of bravery, Ryan reached down between the pair of them and palmed the growing bulge in his trousers. His mouth ripped from her skin and his head fell back against the armrest of his leather couch, a deep moan working its way through his throat. And when it finally exploded from his parted cherry lips, Ryan could feel herself freefalling, losing sight of everything in front of her and crashing aimlessly below.

“Shit, Ryan.” His voice was strained and Ryan loved every second of it, and before she could have a conscious thought of what she was actually doing, her hands undid the black button with ease and her tiny fingers worked their way through his zipper, and suddenly she was reaching into his briefs and feeling him completely. 

That was the first time she ever heard Harry groan like that, and Ryan’s almost positive she’s been addicted to the sound ever since.

That first night on Harry’s brown leather couch started a series of sneaking in and out of each other’s flats during all hours of the day just to get a piece of the other. Harry would slip out of his own when Jackson was down for his afternoon kip, opening Ryan’s front door and tasting her until he heard his mobile buzz with the sounds of Jackson’s stirrings. He’d sneak out just as quickly as he came, leaving her with a mouth-tingling kiss and the overwhelming urge of wanting more more more. 

Ryan would come over for dinner almost every other night, keeping the hidden touches and stolen kisses between the two of them without Jackson truly understanding what was happening. And when it was time for Jackson to go to bed, she’d say her goodbyes and wait for Harry in the hallway until his grabby hands were on her own, dragging her back inside. They’d fool around in Harry’s bedroom quietly, swallowing each other’s giggles and grinning whenever stars exploded behind their eyelids. 

Harry knew that if he dragged his teeth around Ryan’s earlobe she’d practically become a writhing mess below him. Ryan knew that if she wrapped a dainty hand around the column of Harry’s neck and licked at the piece of skin where his collarbone met his shoulder, his eyes would roll in the back of his head. Harry knew that Ryan was shy whenever he’d start kissing at the skin just underneath her belly button, simultaneously making sure that his green eyes never left her brown ones—because direct eye contact while he was lapping at the most sensitive parts of her body made her want to look at the ceiling or close her eyes tightly. But when they would switch positions and Ryan was the one in between Harry’s legs, she knew that sneaking a glance up at him while her mouth was around him was the exact thing that would bring him over the edge.

And she loved every second of it. She loved being the person bringing somebody like Harry to his end, watching the way his cheeks flushed a deep red color and his mouth opened widely, the way his chest would constrict and his hands would grip the closest thing to him—which most of the time was Ryan’s hips that she happily allowed him to bruise—the way his eyes would shut at the actual last moment, making sure to remember the way everything looked around him before his vision blurred with desire and his body vibrated, completely spent. And when it was all over and he would breathe deeply, a quiet hum resonated through his body that made Ryan’s heart flutter and her body wrap around his own like two magnets with opposite polarities. 

Harry loved how confident Ryan grew around him in these moments. While her cheeks still tinged pink whenever he would compliment her as she removed a layer of clothing, she knew exactly what she wanted and felt comfortable enough to tell him. She would tell him that she liked when he gripped her hair, she would tell him that she liked when he ran his tongue down the front of her body, she would tell him that when he gripped her too hard at times that she didn’t really mind it—in fact, she enjoyed it, she wanted it. And with each time they explored a new part of one another, she would grow much more at ease, until she was the one encouraging him to try new things.

And he was fucking addicted. 

Ryan tried not to make a habit out of staying over, because explaining to Jackson what was going on while she was trying to sneak out of Harry’s bedroom wearing one of his obnoxious graphic tees was completely mind-boggling to her. She didn’t want to make Jackson feel uncomfortable—and while Harry and Ryan both knew that they had to eventually tell Jackson about their relationship, sneaking around and keeping things just between the two of them has made everything that much easier. Because everything felt new and different, and bursting that bubble just as they were exploring one another seemed a bit disheartening.

Which is why when Ryan feels Harry’s hands gripping the base of her neck while he tries his hardest to subdue another groan, she’s immediately brought back to the present. The present— which consists of her sucking Harry off under the covers of his charcoal-colored duvet in the early hours of the morning, wearing nothing except one of his bright jumpers with vibrant lettering and images of kittens littering the front.

And just before he grips her hair harder and is practically careening towards his end, she’s surprised when she can hear the excited pitter-patter of bare feet slapping against hardwood over Harry’s strangled moans.

Before she can even scold herself for accidentally spending another night in Harry’s sheets, his gold bedroom doorknob begins to wiggle. All at once, Ryan tears her mouth away from Harry’s twitching length, muttering a frantic “shit!” from her position underneath the duvet cover. The door springs open before she can even contemplate hiding inside the attached en-suite, and suddenly Ryan finds herself in a position that’s possibly more humiliating than getting rug burn in front of her attractive neighbor almost four months ago—face squished against Harry’s bare stomach, chest flat against his thighs, and legs stretched out around his own, completely buried underneath the duvet.

Harry sits up gently, making sure Ryan’s body is flat against his own and hidden underneath the darkness of his room. “Hey—hi! Bubs, uh, what’s up?” His voice comes out extremely high pitched, and Ryan can’t tell if it’s from the fact that they were nearly caught in a compromising position by his four-year-old son, or from the fact that he was seconds away from an orgasm that never came.

“Daddy! It’s my birthday! Why are you still in bed? We have to celebrate me!”

Scratch that. Five-year-old son.

Without thinking, Ryan pinches the extra skin around Harry’s waist, causing him to jolt upwards in shock. Her brain instantly starts whirring, working in overdrive to try and remember if Harry had mentioned his son’s fifth birthday to her at all during these past few weeks. And when she can’t think of anything, Ryan feels herself frowning against the rigid muscles of Harry’s abdominals, immediately feeling bad about overlooking this important occasion.

It seems that Harry feels the same, because she can hear him replying, “Of course I didn’t forget your birthday! How about you turn the telly on and wait for me, yeah? I’ll cook you my famous eggy bread and we’ll kick off your celebration properly.”

Ryan hears Jackson squeal excitedly and she almost wishes she wasn’t buried underneath Harry’s duvet so that she could see his gleaming grin. And just before she can hear the door shut, Jackson asks, “Can we still invite Ryan and Luna to my party?”

Ryan bites her lower lip to try and hide the smile stretching across her face. She wishes that Jackson already knew about their relationship, because if he did, she’d rip the duvet off of the bed and scoop him up in the biggest hug she could muster, tickling his sides until his arms were wrapped around her neck and she could carry him into the kitchen, waiting patiently for Harry to cook them both his famous eggy bread. 

But unfortunately, she’s supposed to be hidden, and that looming thought turns her concealed smile into a heavy frown. Somehow Harry can sense it, and before their cover gets blown, he tells Jackson, “Of course they can come. Why don’t you grab the invitation we started yesterday and finish decorating it. We can drop it off after brekkie, sound good, Bubs?”

Jackson must have nodded appreciatively, because suddenly Harry’s bedroom door clicks shut and the charcoal-colored duvet is thrown to the bottom of his mattress. Ryan looks up at him with wide eyes, her lower lip bitten and her eyes tinged with sadness.

“We’re dickheads, huh?” Ryan offers, clambering off the bed and trying to locate her joggers on his carpeted flooring. 

Harry watches her, tucking his erection uncomfortably into his tight briefs and selfishly wishing his son had better timing.

“Don’t say that. Just got carried away, is all,” Harry offers lamely, running an exasperated hand through his messy hair when he notices Ryan practically fully dressed in front of him.

“We need to tell him, Harry. He’s got to know something, considering I’ve been going to the park with you guys and joining you for dinner almost every other evening.” Ryan keeps her voice down as she exchanges Harry’s obnoxious jumper for her cardigan and vest combination she showed up here in the night before.

Harry nods, offering, “We’ll tell him. Tonight, I promise. Can you just—just come here, please?” He’s growing dizzy watching her run around his bedroom grabbing her discarded items, and all he wants is to have her close to him so that they can potentially finish what they started moments ago. 

Ryan can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s desperate for her touch. And when she rejoins him on the bed, straddling his thin waist and wrapping her arms around his neck in a quick cuddle, her chest completely flat against his own, she wishes now more than ever that they could wake up every morning just like this.

She lifts her head from the crook of his neck and plants a quick kiss to his temple, before untangling herself from his body and slipping her trainers on her feet. “You’ve got a birthday boy to entertain,” Ryan mutters with a wink.

Harry rolls his eyes from his position on the bed, moaning in frustration when the sudden shift of his body makes his length twitch unforgivably. “How am I supposed to cook with a full stiffy? I’m in pain here, babe.”

Ryan just snickers before throwing Harry the shorts and hoodie he wore last night. “Have a quick wank in the shower, you’ll be sorted in no time.”

“You’re cruel,” Harry complains, slipping the clothes on and adjusting his shorts so that his erection wasn’t so painfully obvious.

“I’ll see you later, okay? We’ll finish this properly,” Ryan offers, snaking her arms around his waist when she notices the smirk threaten to break across his face. His strong arms wrap around her middle, and Harry brings his hand up to wrap his long pointer finger around a stray piece of Ryan’s hair that fell in front of her line of vision. 

“Properly, yeah?” He teases, bringing her closer so that the tips of their noses are brushing against one another. 

Ryan nods with a pretty smirk covering her lips. “Maybe daddy will get a present, too.” Harry drops his forehead against hers, puffing out a frustrated breath that fans against her cheeks. 

“You’re killing me, baby,” he whispers against her mouth, before pressing his lips against hers with a forceful kiss. Ryan’s arms tighten around his body, and when she feels his tongue prod against her lower lip, she backs away, knowing they need to reign it in before they get too lost in one another.

“Later, I promise,” Ryan says, hinting at the one barrier that they haven’t crossed yet, praying that Harry understands what she’s implying.

And when his eyes light up wickedly and he gives her one last toe-curling kiss, she’s almost certain that he knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

He opens his bedroom door and heads out into the hallway first, making sure Jackson isn’t lingering in the bathroom or kitchen as they pass. When they encroach upon his position in the living room—telly blasting Paw Patrol as he lays on the rug with his tummy on the shag carpeting, flannel-clad feet bent behind him as his chin rests against his opened palms comfortably—Ryan gives Harry’s waist one last squeeze before she slips out of the entranceway and into the hallway undetected. 

When Ryan enters her own flat and greets Luna with a sleepy smile, she immediately heads to her bathroom and turns the shower on. As she’s undressing, Ryan peeks at her reflection in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognize the woman looking back at her.

This version has messy hair tangled at the back of her neck from greedy hands knotting themselves through the tendrils. This version has flushed cheeks—but not in the way she’s grown accustomed to. No, this version’s cheeks are flushed because she’s excited, she’s thrilled, she’s exerted her sexual prowess on a deserving man and she’s in awe of the way she can make him practically fall to his knees in front of her, begging for more more more.

This version has love bites littering the swells of her breast. And if she squints hard enough, she can make out the dents carved by fingertips across her hips and along her sides, permanent reminders of the way someone else could want her. Could need her.

And when she looks at this version’s face and takes in her swollen lips from overuse, the bags under her eyes from choosing to stay awake and fool around with her boyfriend instead of choosing to sleep, the smile that seems to constantly grace her lips whenever she leaves Harry’s presence—Ryan finds that she doesn’t want to look away. 

She wants to stare at it. She wants to remember it. She wants it to consume her.

Comfortableness is a look Ryan never thought would suit her, and with each day she lets her walls fall down, she falls more in love with the person she’s becoming. Someone who is confident, someone who no longer lets her social anxiety rule her life, someone who is finally happy with where she is at.

Because falling in love and feeling free somehow coincide with one another. And as Ryan lets the hot water seep into her skin, she knows now that this is where she’s meant to be. 

***

“Fiona, for the hundredth time, I’m not describing Harry’s dick to you over the phone,” Ryan harrumphs through her mobile, reaching for the emerald green wrapping paper and unrolling a significant portion to begin wrapping Jackson’s birthday present.

“That’s not fair, Ry! I’ve gone into exquisite detail about Roger’s!” Fiona exclaims back, pouting dramatically from her position leaned up on the coffee table of Ryan’s mobile.

Ryan rolls her eyes before reaching for the scissors. “Once again, that information was unsolicited.”

“Ugh!” Ryan giggles from her position on the floor of her living room, folding up the edges and covering her gift with the wrapping paper. “I can’t wait until this lockdown is over so I can come by and slap you upside the head.”

“Since when have you become so violent?” Ryan asks, securing the wrapping paper with scotch tape.

“Since my best mate won’t tell me about her apparent dazzling sex life!” 

Ryan puts the wrapped gift to the side and rests both elbows on the coffee table with her back to the juniper couch. Her arms cross at the middle so she can rest her chin on her wrists, giving Fiona her full attention.

“Well, we haven’t really—um, you know,” Ryan begins, her voice nearly a whisper as her cheeks flame in embarrassment. 

“Haven’t really what, Ry?” Fiona presses, always the over-eager one.

Ryan gulps. “Done that.”

Fiona pauses for a moment, observing Ryan through the FaceTime call as she patiently tries to read her friend’s emotions. “You haven’t shagged him yet?” It’s not asked in an accusatory tone, or even a shocked one at that—just complete and utter curiosity. 

Ryan knows Fiona’s testing the waters to see how she feels about it all, and she’s a bit grateful to her friend for not being so glaringly obvious. “Uh, yeah. Haven’t really gotten there yet.”

“Well, do you want to?” Fiona asks.

Ryan looks at her with a dumbfounded expression. “Of course I do, Fee. He’s my bloody boyfriend!” 

“So what’s the problem here, Ry?” Her prodding is nothing but gentle and calculated.

“There’s no problem. It’s just—” Ryan takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “It’s just that I don’t want to muck this up, Fiona. He’s great and he’s kind and he’s so patient with me, it’s incredible. I’ve never had that before. And I love that he’s taking his time—that we’re taking our time. But I just want to be at that next step with him. I want to be able to spend the night without having to sneak out the next morning. I want to feel so comfortable around him that having sex is just easy, and natural, and just—I don’t know if I’m making sense.”

Fiona blinks a few times with a gentle smile on her face, and suddenly Ryan is nervous about her response.

“I’m proud of you, Ryan.” It’s simple, somehow profound in a way, and Ryan just cocks her head to the side in confusion. “Stop looking at me like that, you twit!”

A smile breaks out across Ryan’s face, a laugh ripping through her throat. “You’re just so happy, Ry, and I think a lot of that has come from Harry. Because not only did you find someone who wants to be with you, but you found someone who wants you to be yourself.” Fiona pauses, leaning a bit closer to her screen. “And I think you just need to tell Jackson the truth. It’s not like he’s going to be upset—from what I’ve heard, that boy is already in love with you.”

Before Ryan can reply, she hears the sound of paper scraping against hardwood flooring from the entranceway of her flat, followed by a familiar high-pitched giggle echoing through the hallway. 

She waits a moment before grabbing her mobile and heading towards her front door, bending at the knees when she scoops up the hand-drawn folded invitation on the floor. 

“Should I be concerned?” Fiona asks surreptitiously.

Ryan smiles and shakes her head. “No, no. Luna and I have been formally invited to a very important five-year-old’s birthday party next door.”

She holds up the paper, smiling when she notices the capitalized scrawl at the top of the page, clearly done by somebody who can spell Quarantine Birthday Party without hiccups. Surrounding the handwriting are various images drawn by a five-year-old: a picture of Luna sleeping on Harry’s brown leather couch, two Nerf blasters along the bottom, a pizza with orange squiggles that Ryan can only assume to be bell peppers in the top right corner, and finally Harry Potter along the top. 

Ryan turns on her heel, heading into her kitchen and hanging the invitation up on her refrigerator with a magnet. 

“I’ve got to go, Fee,” Ryan says, slipping her Reebok’s on and gathering Jackson’s presents. 

“Alright, alright. But seriously, everything’s going to be alright, you hear me?” Fiona’s yellow-painted pointer finger is extended to the camera, and Ryan smiles at the sight of her mate trying to be stern.

“Yes, Fee. I know. I’m going to be okay.” Ryan responds, meaning every word. 

Fiona nods and drops her finger, before adding, “And when you finally do shag, I would love a full synopsis on how Harry—”

Ryan hangs up before the blush could coat her cheeks.

Scooping Luna up in one arm and balancing her two gifts in the other, Ryan makes sure the lights are off before slipping out into the hallway and knocking thrice on 4G’s heavy oak door.

Not even a minute goes by before the door is being ripped open, revealing a sight that still manages to bring a smile to Ryan’s face.

It’s Harry—dressed down in a casual pair of brown corduroy trousers paired with a yellow Swim Deep graphic tee that Ryan can’t wait to wear to bed later on in the evening. His hair is held back by a clip, somewhat familiar to the way he wore it the first time they met in the ghastly hallway. And when her eyes finally land on him and he’s grinning like a fool, Ryan can’t help but mirror it, wondering if they’ll always feel like this whenever they see each other.

“Hi,” he says softly, reaching out and grabbing the two wrapped gifts from her hands.

“Hi,” Ryan responds, hoisting Luna further up in her arm so that she’s resting against her chest.

“You look pretty,” Harry says, and when he reaches down to plant his lips on hers, he’s halted in his movements when Jackson appears, practically bubbling with excitement.

“Ryan! Luna! Hi! I’m five!” His chocolate brown curls are in small cloisters framing his face, making his almond-shaped sage eyes twinkle in the light. He’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that Ryan can only assume was gifted to him by his father, and when he skirts by Harry’s leg and stands right before Ryan, she can only grin right back.

“I heard! Happy birthday, champ. How do you feel?” Ryan asks, squatting down on her toes so that she’s eye level with Jackson.

She watches as he contemplates his answer, rubbing a small hand against the fur on Luna’s head. “I feel the same but bigger. I’m happy now that you guys are here, too. Do you think I could show Luna the toys daddy and Auntie Gemma got me? I’ll be quick.”

Ryan nods, handing Luna over to Jackson and watching as he holds her gently and carries her through the living room and down the hallway into his bedroom, chatting with her softly along the way.

When she stands up, Harry’s mouth is on hers greedily, pulling kisses from her lips and wrapping his arms securely around her body as if he was scared she was going to disappear. 

“Mmm, missed you,” he mumbles once they’ve parted. 

“You just saw me a few hours ago, crazy boy,” Ryan responds, tickling her fingers through the curls resting against the nape of his neck.

With one last kiss, he drops his arms. “Miss you whenever you’re not here.”

Ryan smiles shyly, taking a half-step back before Jackson can catch them. “I want to tell him today, Harry. Think he’ll be okay with it?”

Harry looks at Ryan with wide eyes, wondering how she could even fathom Jackson disliking that she was going to be a part of their lives. “Of course he’ll be fine with it. In what world wouldn’t he be?”

Ryan sighs. “I know.”

With one last look, Harry wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her body against his side, cuddling her closely until the tip of her nose was bushing against the veins pulsing in his neck. “I’m gonna miss having you all to myself, though.”

Ryan giggles loudly, hugging Harry closer to her body. “You’ll learn to be a good sharer.”

He pouts dramatically before dragging her into the kitchen, her body still tucked into his side. When she enters the threshold she notices the island countertop is covered with flour—three evenly spherical doughs spread out over top, with ceramic bowls filled with toppings littering the outskirts. 

Ryan leaves his side and looks at him with a quizzical look. “Pizzas on a non-Friday?”

Harry grins. “The birthday boy demanded it! How am I supposed to say no?”

Ryan just smiles before heading over to the sink and washing her hands. When she turns around after drying them on a tea towel, she notices a matching set of white feeding bowls on the tiled flooring to the right of the sink counter. And when she squints, she can make out LUNA etched in black writing along the front. 

“Is this…?”

Before she can get a conscious sentence out, Harry rounds the island countertop and meets her in the middle of the kitchen. When he notices the look on her face is a mixture of complete shock and adoration, he shrugs shyly at her and rubs his sweaty palm against the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Figured if you were going to start spending the night here, Luna could come too so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding her.”

It’s amazing how a simple notion of purchasing cat feeding bowls for your girlfriend’s kitten can somehow make Ryan’s heart beat wildly against her chest. But it does—and she’s left looking at Harry fondly, wondering if the wicked thumping of her heart and her shortness of breath and the deep look in her eyes can equate to something like love.

“You didn’t have to,” she offers lamely.

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I wanted to.”

The sudden sound of a phone ringing from the living room interrupts Harry and Ryan, and when he cranes his neck and notices the noise coming from the iPad strewn across the brown leather couch, he steps back from Ryan and starts following the ringing.

“It’s probably Rachel calling from New York. Wants to wish Jackson a happy birthday,” Harry explains as he grabs the device and answers the call with a simple greeting.

Ryan backs away and heads down the hallway into Jackson’s room, knocking on the opened door and crossing her arms against her chest when she notices him and Luna sprawled out on his rug as he attempts to build his brand new Lego set.

“Hey, champ. Your mum’s on the phone,” Ryan says from her position leaned against the doorframe. 

“Really? All the way from New York?” Jackson asks, standing up quickly and grabbing Luna so she’s securely nestled under his armpit.

Ryan nods. “Yeah, go say hi, okay? She wants to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Okay, Ryan,” Jackson obliges, hobbling past her figure and heading into the living room to grab the iPad from Harry. Making sure not to eavesdrop, Ryan returns back to the kitchen where Harry is spreading red sauce on all three pizza doughs. 

She watches him, taking in the way his arms strain against the thin material of his shirt deliciously. When he bites his lower lip as he makes a spiral with the tomato sauce, making sure each pizza dough has the same amount, ensuring he left space for the crust to lift at the edges, Ryan tries her hardest to keep her giggles at bay. She finds it incredibly adorable that Harry is such a perfectionist, even without an audience to watch him.

When he lifts his head up after feeling her hot gaze on him, he smiles at her bashfully before cocking his head to the side, gesticulating that he wants her near him. “C’mere and pick your toppings,” he says slowly, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she’s settled against his side. 

They work together in comfortable silence, working around each other in grabbing handfuls of cheese, chopped up pieces of vegetables, scattered slices of pepperoni. When Ryan grabs the bowl of pepperoni slices from Harry’s hand, he chuckles to himself before opening his mouth wide, waiting for her to feed him. She giggles at his immaturity, but eventually obliges, popping a slice into his mouth and letting the tips of her fingers graze his lips until he’s left shivering in his place.

Once their pizzas are finished, Harry starts spreading cheese on Jackson’s, before asking Ryan offhandedly, “Do you mind asking him what else he wants on his pizza? I want to pop these into the oven.”

Ryan nods, trying her hardest not to be difficult. But when she cleans off her hands and pops her head into the living room, she’s suddenly flushed with nerves. She feels bad interrupting Jackson’s conversation with his mum, especially on his birthday when she’s practically an entire world away. 

When there’s an appropriate lull in the conversation, Ryan clears her throat and calls out, “Hey, champ? Daddy wants to know what toppings you want for your pizza.”

She watches Jackson’s neck snap in her direction, an excited smile plastering his face. “Ok! Tell him I’ll pick them myself! Here, Ryan,” and with that he jumps off the couch, thrusting the iPad into Ryan’s hands without ending the call or saying goodbye to Rachel on the other end.

“Jackson, wait! Say goodbye to your mum!” After waiting a few seconds and hearing nothing but silence, Ryan sighs to herself before looking down at Rachel’s patient gaze on the screen. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for him to run off like that.”

When Ryan looks at the screen, she’s a bit astonished when she sees Rachel’s mouth begin to form a laugh. It’s the same expression as the photograph of her in Jackson’s room—full lips parted, mouth hanging open slightly, tongue resting against her bottom layer of teeth. She looks pretty with her straight hair clipped against her shoulders, and when Ryan takes in her bare face and fluffy white robe, she suddenly doesn’t feel as nervous around Rachel as she was in the past.

Because for once, she seems like a normal girl. And when her smile doesn’t break and she’s looking at Ryan without dark eyes filled with anger, Ryan’s not quite sure what to make out of it all.

“It’s okay, pizza is probably infinitely more interesting than speaking to his mum at the moment,” Rachel jokes, her laughter floating through the speakers in a way that makes Ryan crack a grin.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryan offers, trying to figure out how to end this conversation without making their already awkward relationship any worse.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Rachel responds quietly, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re there, by the way. You mean more to them than you could ever imagine.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Ryan takes in Rachel’s words. Her simple comment of approval somehow makes the nervous pit in Ryan’s stomach unravel, and suddenly she starts seeing Rachel in a different light. Maybe in the past, she was the villain in Harry’s story, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be that way. Because Ryan finally sees Rachel for who she is—a mum who simply is trying to do her best, no matter how many mistakes she’d made.

“Thanks, Rachel. That means a lot,” Ryan says with a smile.

“No problem. I should probably go, I’ve got a Zoom meeting in an hour. Tell Jackson I said goodbye?” Rachel asks softly.

“Of course. Bye, Rachel,” Ryan says, smiling when Rachel waves just before ending the call.

Ryan locks the device and places it on the end table before rejoining Harry and Jackson in the kitchen. When she pokes her head in and watches Harry appropriately place the pepperoni slices wherever Jackson wants them, she can’t help but smile like a fool at the sight of it all.

And just before Harry asks if Jackson was happy with his pizza, his son quickly adds, “Daddy, can I add bell peppers too? The green and orange ones, like Ryan has,” and Ryan tries her hardest not to gasp.

Harry grins before sprinkling the same amount on Jackson’s pizza, before popping all three into the oven. Ryan decides then to enter the kitchen completely, leaning her torso over the island countertop across from Jackson who’s happily munching on a stay pepperoni slice from his position perched on the leather barstool.

With a quick look at Harry, Ryan wordlessly tells him that now is the best time to tell his son about their relationship. Harry nods before sidling up to Ryan’s side across the counter from Jackson, looking at his son once he’s finished swallowing his snack.

“Hey, Bubs, Ryan and I have something we want to tell you,” Harry starts, watching his son nod happily on the barstool. 

“Okay, daddy,” Jackson says easily, looking between the two adults across from him with wide, inquisitive eyes. 

Harry looks at Ryan before speaking. “You know how we’ve been spending a lot of time with each other lately?” Harry starts, pausing until Jackson’s head starts bobbing up and down. 

“Right, well we’ve decided that we really like each other. And that we want to keep spending time with each other, if that’s okay with you?” It’s quiet as Jackson mulls this over, his hand resting on his chin as he tries to wrap his five-year-old brain around what his father just explained to him.

“Of course that’s okay with me. I like Ryan too, daddy,” Jackson says, his green eyes squinting in confusion as he struggles to understand what Harry is trying to tell him.

“I know that, Bubs. But I like Ryan the way adults like each other, do you know what I’m trying to say to you?” Ryan can tell that Harry is struggling, because his palm flies up to the back of his neck as he rubs it awkwardly, beginning to stumble over his words as his brain begins to work in overdrive.

“I think so,” Jackson starts, placing both palms down on the counter as he cocks his head to the side and looks at both of them from across the counter. “So you like her. And you kiss her, too? The way you used to kiss mummy?”

Ryan looks at Harry with wide eyes, hoping he can salvage the rest of this conversion before it implodes right in front of their faces.

“Yes, but I kiss Ryan because she is daddy’s girlfriend. Do you understand now?” Harry asks.

Jackson nods, looking down at the countertop before lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Yeah, I get it. What does that make mummy, then?”

Ryan blushes, looking at Harry nervously. She can tell that he’s thinking, because how do you explain the difference between a mother and a girlfriend to a five-year-old? 

After a minute passes in silence, Harry clears his throat and says, “Mummy is still your mummy. And well, Ryan is, uh. Ryan is your—”

“—Your friend. Your very best friend, who cares about you and will always be here for you whenever you need me,” Ryan says, interrupting Harry before he stutters all over his words. 

Without thinking, she reaches her hand across the counter and grabs Jackson’s smaller ones in her own, the same way he did to her the first day they met four months ago in the hallway. And once his eyes are locked on hers firmly, she adds, “Think of it as having two women in your life that care about you very much. Do you think that’s something you’d be okay with?”

Jackson squeezes Ryan’s hands tightly in his own before a ginormous grin breaks across his face. Harry can feel his shoulders slump in relief, and when he brings his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her against his side, Jackson just giggles loudly across from them, happily wiggling in his barstool.

“I think that’s just the bestest news ever!” Jackson exclaims, smiling so big that the tiny dimples carved into his cheeks deepen. 

The timer goes off, indicating that their pizzas are complete. Harry rounds the counter and begins pulling them from the oven. Ryan walks over to the barstool and lifts Jackson up from underneath his armpits, placing him on the ground so that he can settle into his spot in the breakfast nook.

After Harry places the pizzas on the table and grabs their beers and Jackson’s juice from the counter, the three of them sit around the table while Ryan cuts small pieces for Jackson’s little hands to grab. 

Once she’s made sure that Jackson’s completely settled, Ryan reaches for her own beer and begins cutting her into her pizza. The domesticity of it all no longer makes Harry or Ryan uncomfortable. Instead, they welcome the feeling with open arms, no longer batting an eye whenever Ryan wipes tomato sauce from Jackson’s grabby hands, no longer falling slack-jawed when Jackson asks for a piece of Ryan’s pizza instead of his own, no longer growing red in the face when Jackson grabs Ryan’s hand when she’s done eating her dinner.

Ryan offers to help Harry clean up, but once Jackson notices the two emerald wrapped presents in the corner of the living room, Ryan’s practically dragged into the living room so that he can excitedly rip open his gifts.

“How about we wait for daddy, champ?” Ryan asks, sitting cross-legged against the floor with Luna in her lap and her back against the couch while Jackson begins strategizing how he should rip open the wrapping paper. 

“I’m too excited I don’t know if I can wait!” Jackson squeals, reaching for the smaller box below to try and guess what’s hiding underneath.

After a few minutes of painfully waiting for Harry, he finally emerges and sits behind Ryan on the couch, caging his legs around her frame. When she feels him settle in behind her, Ryan leans back so that her head is closer to his lap, and Harry begins rubbing at her shoulders comfortingly while they both watch Jackson tear into the larger package.

“You didn’t have to get him anything, you know,” Harry whispers into Ryan’s ear.

Ryan turns so that she’s looking at him over her shoulder, rolling her eyes amusedly and repeating his words from earlier. “I wanted to.”

Jackson’s excited shriek causes both Harry and Ryan to look at him, and when he holds up the brand new Nerf blaster that he tested out with Ryan almost two months ago, she can’t help but grin wickedly back at him. 

“No way! This is so great, Ryan! Thank you!” The fluorescent orange plastic gun sits on his lap as he begins pulling the trigger and watching the empty ammunition compartment spin clockwise. 

“Should I be worried?” Harry asks ominously from behind Ryan, causing Jackson to look from his father to Ryan with nervous eyes.

With a subtle wink, reminding him to keep their secret between each other, Jackson giggles quietly before placing the gun back on the floor beside him. “Nothing to worry about, daddy,” he says, reaching for the smaller yet heavier wrapped package in front of him.

As he begins tearing at the paper, Ryan grows more alert, sitting up straight so that she can see the expression on Jackson’s face when he finally reveals the contents of his present. When the paper is finally removed from the top part of the gift, Jackson gasps when he notices seven varying sizes of books all with the words Harry Potter inscribed on the spine. 

“Whoa.” It’s the first time Jackson’s ever struggled with finding words, and when he turns the books over that are tied together with white tinsel, so that he can see each book separately, Ryan almost swears she can see his mouth open and close repeatedly.

“Figured you should have your own,” Ryan says quietly, reaching over to untie the string so that he can thumb through the brand new pages of his own books. 

“This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten,” Jackson whispers, dropping the books to the floor so that he can scramble up to his knees and wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck, engulfing her in a tight hug.

Ryan tries her hardest not to cry with happiness, because out of all of the hugs she’s ever received in her entire lifetime (including the warm embraces Harry has gifted her in the past two months) this hug from Jackson beats them all. His tiny fists knot together at the nape of her neck, and she can feel him squeezing her tighter when her own arms fall around his torso, bringing him closer to her.

“Thank you so much,” he whispers into her shoulder, letting her go and sitting back on the floor so that he can look at his brand new presents.

When Ryan sits back, she turns around so that she can see the look Harry gives her. She’s almost certain that it could be love, but when he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, thanking her profusely, she’s not sure if she’s overthinking it all. 

After the excitement of the party dwindles down and Jackson’s muffling yawns into the crook of his elbow, Harry decides that it’s time for bed. Jackson doesn’t put up a fight, and when he gets up and begins heading into the bathroom to start his nighttime routine, he turns around before Harry can get up from the couch and follow him.

“Ryan? Can you put me to bed tonight?”

His question makes the warmth she feels whenever he looks at her flush through her insides, and when his sleepy green eyes twinkle and he holds a hand out waiting for her to hold, she’s up and by his side without a second to spare. 

She lets Jackson pick out his pajamas, and when he’s too tired to put his head through his blue sleep shirt, Ryan holds it over his body so that he can stick his arms through the holes and she can push it down appropriately. She pulls out the stool for him in the bathroom so that he can step up and brush his teeth, making sure to reach the deep corner of his mouth and swipe his toothbrush over his tongue until his breath is minty fresh. And once he’s finished, she walks him into his bedroom and pulls down his covers, letting him slide in so that she can tuck him in tightly.

“Hey, Ryan?” Jackson asks sleepily, tucking his chin over the folded duvet against his chest.

“Yeah, champ?” Ryan asks, swiping a stray curl off of his forehead.

“Does this mean Luna gets to have a bed here, too? So she doesn’t feel alone in your home whenever you're here?” His question is a simple one, but somehow Ryan can’t find the words to answer. Because she’s spent a lot of time feeling alone in her own home, and in the past two months she hasn’t felt that feeling at all. She’s wondering what it all means.

Before she can answer, Harry pops his head in from the hallway. “Ready for bed?”

Jackson nods, yawning one last time before snuggling deeper into his pillow. “Mhm. Night daddy. Night Ryan.”

“Night, champ. Hope you had a great birthday.” Ryan doesn’t wait for him to respond, instead, she switches off his bedside lamp and flicks on the nightlight against the wall, shuffling across the room to meet Harry’s waiting arms. 

But before the door can fully close, they hear Jackson call out, “Love you both!” and Ryan halts in her steps.

It falls out of his mouth so easily, without question, as if it was something she should already know. And when Harry responds and Ryan’s left staring dumbly at the wall, she’s wondering if it really is that easy to fall in love with somebody else.

She’s thinking about this while getting ready for bed with Harry later that night, exchanging her jeans and jumper for the yellow shirt he wore all day. It smells like him—hints of vanilla and sandalwood, all citrusy shampoo and that distinguishable smell that follows him around. They work in comfortable silence in his en suite, sharing the one sink as best they can. Harry waits while Ryan washes her face, and when she’s hidden behind a face towel, Harry pinches her bum underneath the hem of his shirt and reaches for the toothpaste. Ryan squeals, and once Harry’s begun brushing she does the same, smacking his hands away whenever he tries to bring her backside against his front, dribbling blue foamy toothpaste onto her shoulder. And when they both spit into the sink and head towards the mattress, her mind is still reeling. 

It’s no secret that Ryan’s never grasped the concept of having a home. Growing up, she had two homes with two sets of parents in two different places. And when she became an adult, Ryan moved around more than anybody else—perfecting the ability to live out of cardboard boxes in different flats with different postal codes. 

But now, she’s actively thinking about what Jackson said about Luna having a home here in their flat. Because home isn’t a physical place—it’s a feeling. It’s that warmth, that feeling of wrapping yourself in a heavy duvet on your mum’s couch. It’s mixing up parcels on purpose with the perfect excuse to knock on their door and see them again. It’s that giddy feeling you get when you notice the other person’s tea mug resting on your drying rack, a piece of them seemingly interwoven with your own life. It’s reading a book you’ve read hundreds of times over again to somebody who’s never experienced it before, saying each word as if it were the first time you’ve ever seen them. It’s having matching food bowls for your kitten and a second bed for her in a place where she can make her own home.

Home is having two separate flats but feeling completely safe wrapped around each other on a juniper couch or in a king-sized mattress with grey sheets. 

And when they’re settled in these sheets, Ryan’s legs wrapped securely around Harry’s waist, Harry’s hands crawling further down her body until the tips of his fingers skim the hem of his shirt resting on her thighs, they both know that this is it. This feeling they’ve been running from suddenly makes sense—suddenly makes loneliness feel like the stupidest thing in the world. 

Just before Harry can rip the shirt off of Ryan’s body, they hear his doorknob begin to wiggle for the second time that day. Harry groans frustratedly underneath his breath, allowing his head to fall against Ryan’s shoulder before the door falls open. Jackson stands in the doorway, clad in the same blue flannel pajamas Ryan had just helped him put on, holding a red and orange book cover in his small hands.

“Everything all right, Bubs?” Harry asks once Ryan’s unwrapped her legs from his waist and rolled over so that they’re lying side by side. 

Jackson nods, shuffling into the bedroom inch by inch. “Since it’s my birthday and stuff, do you think Ryan could read to me a little?”

It’s timid and adorable and Ryan can’t help but start to smile, already knowing that she’s going to say yes without even acknowledging that his birthday is almost over as soon as the clock changes from eleven thirty to midnight. 

“C’mere, champ,” Ryan says, patting the mattress happily. 

Harry tries to argue, but when he sees his son’s sleepy grin and his girlfriend’s matching one, he knows there’s no use. So once Jackson reaches their bedside, he grabs him from underneath his armpits and plops him comfortably in the space between him and Ryan. 

Jackson shuffles under the covers, dropping the brand new hardcover into Ryan’s lap. Harry flicks the lamp on the nightstand before turning on his left side, releasing his head on his waiting palm with his elbows bent so that he can watch both of them. 

“Where’d we leave off?” Ryan asks even though she already knows from the dog-eared page in her own copy that Jackson clumsily marked off the last time they read together. 

“The map! Harry has the Marauder’s Map!” he squeals, turning his head so that he’s practically cuddling into her chest.

Ryan giggles and Harry feels himself melting into his mattress. “Oh that’s right. Okay, here we go.”

Before she can let the first word on the page fall past her lips, Harry interrupts, “Does this mean I finally get to hear the Hagrid voice?”

She looks over and rolls her eyes, ignoring the amused twinkle in his own.

Once she’s finished the first page, she can feel Harry’s arm extend over Jackson’s head and reach towards the messy plait falling past her shoulder. With steady hands, he removes the hair bobble and starts untangling the strands, wrapping a wavy tendril around his finger and letting out a quiet but relaxing breath that makes her feel more at home than ever before. 

And with Jackson curling further into her chest and Harry running soothing fingers down her scalp, Ryan should be feeling the complete opposite. 

But when she sneaks a look at Harry as she’s turning the page, she notices that he’s been looking at her instead of the black text carved into the book. And when their eyes lock for a brief moment, she feels time stand still. Her heart lets out a strong string of heavy thumps, her skin feels just the right amount of warmth, and she’s never been more sure of her place in the world. 

She thinks back to Fiona’s declaration of love at first sight, and wonders if the glimmer in Harry’s green eyes and the soft smile on his face is the same expression Roger wore the first time they met in that overcrowded club all those months ago. 

And when Harry scrunches his face, wrinkling his nose adorably and squinting his eyes, Ryan knows for sure that Fiona’s right.

It’s love. It’s always been love.

***

A/N: And just like that, we’ve reached the end of YFLH. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! I never thought Ryan and Harry’s story would go past a oneshot, and I’m so happy that you all have grown to love them as much as I have. I want to thank all of you who have reached out to tell me your thoughts, to those who have liked or reblogged, to those who have recommended this story to somebody else--I truly owe you the biggest thanks. You’ve made this process so easy and fun, and I’m so grateful to you all!

Don’t hesitate to reach out and let me know your thoughts about part eight or everything and anything in between. This story was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! Hope you all have a safe and happy Holiday season, and I’ll see you all soon! x

(In the meantime if you’re looking to do some more reading, you can click here for my masterlist!)

The hollowness grows deeper when Harry thinks about how most of this is mainly his fault. Because he has become so in tune with Ryan’s feelings in such a short amount of time, sensing her unease before she even knows she’s started fidgeting in front of him. And maybe that was his problem—he spent most of his time making sure she was okay, and in turn, forgot how to even act in front of her. 

It’s not like he didn’t try to speak to her on more than one occasion. After Ryan left his flat with his tea mug, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He could barely sleep that night, going back and forth in his mind of whether or not he should just knock on her door and kiss her. And the restlessness didn’t stop—the next morning he heard a crash on the other side of his bedroom wall, and his mind started reeling, wondering if she was on the other end of the abnormally thin plaster. Was she up all night thinking of him, too?

And then when he knocked on her door and she was wearing big glasses and her hair was a messy knot bound together by a flimsy pen and she looked so cozy, he’s not quite sure why he didn’t kiss her then, either. Because he wanted to—it was all he could fucking think about. It was as if his body movements were in sync with his heart, because they moved closer towards her on their own accord without asking his brain for permission, and it was only when he could feel her short spurts of breath on his neck when he realized he could kiss her right then and there if he truly wanted to. But her brown eyes were blown out and her bottom lip was quivering and her hands were shaking, so he backed away. He figured she was uncomfortable and how could he kiss her when he was asking her to watch his kid for a few hours?

He was a blushing mess that entire afternoon. And when he finally had the entire flat to himself and grabbed his guitar, plucking strings and making melodies that faintly sounded like Ryan’s giggles, he never wrote a song faster in his entire life. Harry found himself scribbling dark eyes and olive skin and scraped knees, messy hair and big jumpers and hallways in his leather journal. And when he pieced them together and finally started singing, the song was so obviously about her that he couldn’t even believe it. Has she always subconsciously been in every lyric he’s written since he’s met her?

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the song until he was standing right in front of her a few hours later, looking into her dark eyes underneath big lenses, her olive-skinned shoulder poking out of her oversized jumper. His heart took over again, and when they prompted his lips to blurt out an invitation for dinner, he couldn’t even be angry with his head for not kicking into gear. He had never been more nervous for a date in his entire life—was it even a date? Did he even say the word date? 

His mind was in overdrive. Harry cleaned his already spotless flat twice over, and when he looked at the clock and saw that he only had thirty minutes until she was knocking on his door, he panicked and jumped into the shower. The entire time he was shampooing his knotted hair, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was panicking, too. Was she staring at herself in the mirror, deciding what shade of lipstick to wear? Did she change her outfit three times? Did she want him as badly as he wanted her?

After changing out of jeans and a corduroy pair of trousers, Harry knew he was fucked. His confidence was slipping, and he almost laughed at how much of a teenager he was being. It felt like he was fourteen again getting ready for his first date—giddy and nervous and practically shaking at the knees. Ryan felt like a lot of firsts for him, if he was being honest with himself. Did he feel like that for her, too? 

God and when he saw her. Her dark hair was falling down her back and the color matched her twinkling eyes, and when he noticed the subtle shade of lipstick she was wearing, it looked as if she had just eaten a perfectly ripened raspberry that stained her pouty lips. He couldn’t stop staring at the tangled gold necklaces around her clavicle—he saw the year 1993, a Greek letter that he assumed was her astrological sign, and a pendant that looked as if it had been on her neck for her entire life. He was fascinated—completely and utterly transfixed with the girl standing in front of him in the hallway.

Kissing her seemed inevitable with the way they were dancing around each other in his kitchen, the way her bare shoulder brushed against his forearm when she leaned over him to grab the rolling pin, the way she looked at him underneath the curtain of her eyelashes when she was on all fours in Jackson’s bedroom. The way she cleaned up without hesitation, the way she seamlessly fit in his living room, the way she flirted with him to the soft sounds of Joni Mitchell playing in the background.

But then he was talking about Rachel and feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Talking about his unearthed hidden emotions he kept buried for five years, and suddenly Ryan was looking at him with the saddest look on her face and he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was fucking terrified. 

Because she was there and sitting in front of him and it was everything he could have ever wanted—but then she started talking about her parents and her breathing pattern shifted in a way that made Harry nervous. And when her hands started trembling and her cheeks were painted red and she couldn’t bring herself to even look at him, he knew she was panicking, so he grabbed her hand to bring her back to him. To them. To sitting on the couch with their knees touching and being surrounded by the comfort of one another. 

And he wanted to kiss her—so fucking badly that his entire body was shuddering with anticipation. But it didn’t feel right to him, not after he just unloaded his past relationship with Jackson’s mother, not when she just told him about her parent’s divorce, not when she was shaking so hard underneath his hand.

He wanted the moment to be perfect, and for the first time in days, he listened to his head instead of his heart.

But when he saw the look on her face, all downtrodden and blank eyes, he immediately regretted it. And when her hand left his and she ran out of the flat without even putting her shoes on, Harry had never been angrier with himself. 

In trying to find the perfect moment, Harry let the actual one slip right through his fingers. 

And he deserves it, he supposes. Harry’s always been a suffer in silence type of person, and after the way he treated her in his living room, he’s never suffered more. Because being with Ryan, even for the short amount of time he was given, made him feel alive again. She was quirky and different and somehow burrowed herself into his life without even truly knowing it, and when she left, he felt her absence everywhere.

Where Ryan was scared of the unknown, Harry was afraid of reliving it. Afraid of letting somebody into not only his own heart, but also his son’s, only to just leave in the end. He was afraid of needing somebody—because raising a child without much help forces you to become acquainted with the feeling of solitariness. Before he met Ryan, he felt as if he was swimming in an abyssal ocean, floating his way through life. But with one chance meeting, one awkward run-in in their shared hallway, it’s as if he’s come up for air—breathing in all the possibilities of what could be. 

Being alone is scary, but being left is even scarier—and even though he was never in love with Rachel, Harry tried his hardest to make it work because he assumed it was what was expected of him. He never wanted his son to suffer in the end, to feel neglected, to feel not good enough. 

He knows in his heart of hearts that Ryan would never treat him the way Rachel did. But for a split second, his mind went into that dark space. The space that warned him not to let his heart, or more importantly, Jackson’s, fall into the wrong hands. Because giving somebody else that power allows for the pain he shoved deep inside his chest to come back up to the surface, and he isn’t quite sure if he wants to relive it.

But the crippling feeling of regret after he saw Ryan hold back tears in the hallway was enough to make him hate himself just a little bit more.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Harry had been building up the courage ever since he told her he wanted to kiss her when she was in the lift to knock on her door and make it right. He wrote everything down, for fuck’s sake. An entire list of all of the things he had done wrong, of the things he wanted to do to make it better, of the ways she made his heart beat loudly inside of his chest like the bass drum to a rock song. 

But then Rachel shows up at his door unannounced, giving him the worst type of news he could have ever received. 

Without warning, she drops a napalm bomb on his front doorstep, informing Harry that she was offered a job position at her firm’s New York office. Before he could even hear her out, Harry instantly falls into defense mode—closing the door a few inches behind him so that Jackson remains unaware of his mother’s presence, folding his arms over his chest in a lame sort of protective armor, frowning deeply through his dried lips. Because once again, Rachel was choosing herself over her son. And once again, Harry was left to pick up the pieces.

So he tells her this.

“I can’t fucking hear this right now,” Harry whispers harshly, cutting her off just as the words temporary position falls from her lips. He didn’t even acknowledge it, didn’t even comprehend the string of sentences she was trying to explain to him.

“Harry, would you listen to me? I haven’t finished explaining. It’s only for a few—”

“—No! I don’t want to hear another excuse, Rachel! I’m the one that’s left to pick up the pieces whenever you fuck off to go do whatever it is you’re so passionate about. I’m the one that has to tell your son where his mum is. I’m the one who constantly puts Jackson first while he’s second, hell, practically fucking third on your list!” With every locution, he’s watching Rachel grow redder and redder with anger, and he knows it’s because he hasn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

But he isn’t in the mood to speak rationally. He’s had a week from hell, and just when he was about to go and make it better, Rachel had to show up and ruin it with ease. 

“Don’t you fucking dare accuse me of anything without even listening to what I’m trying to say to you! God, Harry you’re so bloody thick sometimes! I’m trying to speak to you like an adult, yeah? Like the way we always said we would talk to each other when we started co-parenting!” Rachel points a long finger into his face, waving it with each stressed syllable that falls out of her rogue-painted lips.

“You have to actually be a parent in order to co-parent, Rachel,” Harry spits out, and the minute he sees Rachel’s stony expression falter, he almost takes it back. 

He watches her take a deep breath, shaking the sadness from her eyes before the harsh expression replaces it. “Are you always going to make me the villain in your story, Harry? We came to the agreement two years ago that Jackson would stay with you while I finished law school. And for the past year, I’ve been doing the best I can, taking Jackson on long weekends so that you can have a break and I can spend time with him. We knew this would only be temporary until I became a practicing solicitor. This job will expedite that—I’m only needed there for six months, and then when I come back, I’ll permanently be in London. I’ll be working lesser hours, I’ll have more flexibility,” she pauses, eyes staring straight into Harry’s. “I can see Jackson for more than one weekend of every month.”

Harry’s head feels as if it’s about to explode, and suddenly he doesn’t want to be reasonable anymore. He wants to be angry. He wants to be upset. He wants to be irrational. 

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Rachel. You’ve been doing it all along.” He knows he’s being unfair, because even though Rachel has always been more selfish than Harry, she’s still a good person. She still tries her best to be a good mum to Jackson even when she’s buried in mountains of paperwork. She still tries to be a good friend to Harry even after all of the shit they’ve been through.

But Harry feels angry with the world, so he decides not to remember these attributes. Instead, he makes her the antagonist in his story—because being angry at her makes him a little less angry at himself. 

And when he sees messy brown waves behind Rachel’s shoulders in the hallway, it’s as if everything happens in slow motion. He watches Jackson run after Ryan, he hardly processes what Rachel says to him from his doorway, he watches Ryan comfort his wailing son with concerned eyes, and before he can even speed up time, Rachel’s yelling at Ryan, and Harry’s not sure how he hears it all over the sound of his heart dropping to the floor with a loud crash. 

Ryan’s gone just as quickly as she came and Harry’s left to pick up the remnants of his and Rachel’s disaster once again—scooping up Jackson with one arm to try and quell his chest-heaving sobs, closing the door on Rachel and telling her he’ll speak to her later, falling into bed with a heavy head and an even heavier heart.

That was three days ago. 

Now he sits in his dark flat, curtains completely drawn, lights still off. The wick from the sandalwood candle on the end table flickers from his position on the couch, the tiny flame creating swirling patterns along the slate grey walls, the crooning sound of Van Morrison from the record player the perfect backdrop for Harry’s dismal mood.

Gemma came to pick Jackson up for a few days after video chatting Harry and noticing the paleness of his face and the purple bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep through the grainy screen of her mobile. Her concern was evident, and after hearing Jackson mumble that daddy’s been sick for a few days (a lie both siblings chose to ignore), he didn’t even fight her when she told him Jackson was going to stay with his cousins for the weekend.

Now that the flat is empty, void of Jackson’s high-pitched laughter and tiny bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring, the loneliness is practically unbearable to Harry. He can feel it eating away at him, and sitting on his couch listening to Astral Weeks for the third time through isn’t making him feel any better. 

Harry knows he needs to do something about it—because Ryan isn’t sitting in her flat feeling sorry for him, and out of everybody who was hurt by what happened in the hallway three days ago, she deserved it the least. 

Because thinking of her messy hair and big eyes, small hands swallowed by oversized knitted jumpers, pouty lips and red cheeks, small quips of smiles and dulcet giggles, secret tattoos scattered on olive skin—thinking of those things makes the heaviness in his head feel a bit lighter. 

And even if he ruined any hope of them ever having something, he knows she deserves an apology. Because all of this agonizing waiting and tiptoeing around feelings is only making his head spin faster and faster like a brand new top on a granite counter, and Harry can’t bear feeling like this anymore. Not when there’s any inkling of hope left.

Harry remembers hearing the sound of Ryan’s heavy oak door close almost an hour ago, and ever since she moved in practically two months ago, he’s picked up on her habits. He knows that she delegates Friday’s as her food shopping day, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he opens the curtains and flicks the living room light on, waiting by his front door near the peephole to try and catch brown hair whipping past.

And when he sees it almost fifteen minutes later, he has to blink to make sure he didn’t miss it. But there’s no denying Ryan’s tousled locks, and without hesitation he opens his door, meeting her in the hallway where it all began.

“Ryan,” Harry starts, watching the way she starts shifting her shopping bags into one hand so she can reach for her keys in her jacket pocket with the other, seemingly ignoring him. She’s trying to get out of this conversation with everything in her, and Harry knows this. But he needs to apologize. He needs to talk to her—even if it ends with her slamming her door in his face. “Ryan would you please—”

“—I really don’t think you have the right to ask anything of me right now, Harry.” It’s short, clipped, absolute. She still isn’t making eye contact with him, and Harry feels as if he’s going to burst. Once she allocates her keys it’s as if Harry works in fast motion, grabbing her elbow that isn’t anchored down by shopping bags, practically begging her at this point to just fucking look at him.

“I know that. And I’m sorry. Just—fuck, Ryan—I need to speak with you. Please.” It’s the waver of his voice that forces Ryan to finally look into his eyes, noticing the way his skin looks taut and the bags underneath are more pronounced now than ever before. The pallor of his face is almost disturbing, and even though Ryan is still upset, the sight of him pleading with her is enough to make her concerned. 

His hand is still grasping her elbow, and when she tears her eyes away from his face and down in the direction of his hand on her body, he gets the hint and drops it, backing away slowly. Her door is ajar and with a silent nod of approval, Harry’s following her into the flat. 

Luna, upon noticing a new figure entering the flat, treks over to him happily, rubbing her body against his shins and purring loudly. He crouches down and pets her quickly, watching Ryan settle her bags down on the countertop. When she spins around with her lower back resting on the counter, her arms crossed over her chest defensively, he stands up quickly and rubs at the back of his neck timidly.

“Go on, then.” Her voice has never sounded so distant, and Harry’s suddenly panicking at the thought of her wanting nothing to do with him ever again. Not even for his own selfish reasons, but for Jackson. Because he’d never forgive himself if he ruined things with his son’s new friend due to his own idiocy. 

“I’m sorry. What happened in the hallway was entirely uncalled for. Rachel had no right to speak to you that way, and I should have done more than just stand there and watch it all unravel. You didn’t deserve that.” His voice is scratchy from lack of use, and he begins wringing his hands in front of his waist due to the onslaught of nerves flushing through his system. Suddenly he’s terrified of what Ryan is going to say.

“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t deserve that.” He feels the knife lodged into his chest start to twist, a pinching gut-wrenching pain shooting through his body. He hates it.

“I know, and I’m so—”

“—You’re sorry. I know,” she cuts him off and he’s left standing there completely unsure. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate something, anything, to get her to stop looking at him like that. 

But before he can find the words, Ryan’s voice carries from her kitchen into Harry’s position in the middle of her living room. “Jackson didn’t deserve that either. And I’m not trying to wedge myself into your lives, because trust me, the message was received loud and clear. But you don’t get to stand there and judge me, psychoanalyze me, just to go off and talk about me to your mates or your ex-girlfriend. You don’t get to voice any other insecurity I have to the people in your life, to put into your songs or whatever the fuck you do with that information. Because you’ve lost that privilege. You’ve lost every and all privileges to get to know me.” Harry flinches, his eyes squeezing shut at the rib-racking pain that echoes through his entire body.

“You’ve lost that privilege when you told your son’s mother that I was the nanny. That I was kind to you with the ulterior motive to fuck you. And even if that were true, you have no right to tell people that. Because I’m fully aware that my social anxiety is crippling at times. I’m fully aware that I’m better off on my own because people intimidate me. I’m fully aware that I’m not the type of girl who ends up with boys like you. And that’s fine. I can live with that. But what I can’t live with is you deciding that on your own, and judging me just because you feel like you can. Because that’s cruel, Harry.”

It’s the most she’s ever said to him without stumbling over words or breaking eye contact. Ryan’s standing strong in front of him, cheeks void of a crimson blush, lips in a straight line. Her hands are still and her feet aren’t shifting and Harry’s never felt worse about himself in his entire life.

Her words crush through his body, bulldozing any inkling of self-guilt and anger. Because suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with the feeling of self-hatred. He want to scream, kick, and punch through every fucking wall because he’s made this woman feel like complete and utter nothingness, and the only person who deserves to feel like that is him. 

He’s fucking heartbroken.  

Before she can send him on his way for the last time, he suddenly finds the words to speak. He needs to fix this, to salvage any inkling of hope between them. Because he’s never thought of her that way, and the fact that she thinks so lowly of him because of the false things Rachel said to her when she was angry gives Harry the push he needs to tell Ryan the truth. 

The whole truth.

“I had no right to make you feel like that, and I’m sorry for that. Truly fucking sorry. But I never, ever, referred to you as Jackson’s nanny. I never spoke a word about you to Rachel or to my mates. If anything, Jackson probably talked about you and Luna with her, because god knows that boy is in love with you. That was just Rachel making presumptions and taking her anger with me out on you, and I’m so sorry she made you feel like that, and I’m even sorrier for not intervening. I would never judge you for being who you are, I just—fuck.” Harry runs an exasperated hand through his messy hair before looking at Ryan, taking a deep breath and inching closer towards her.

“I panicked. Because everything was happening so quickly and for the first time since Jackson was born, I wanted to cradle you against my chest instead of him. And that’s a fucked up thing to admit, because he’s my fucking son and he was crying and he needed me, and all I could think about was how your heart was breaking and I needed to shove that feeling down before it took over. Because it fucking terrifies me.”

There’s a sudden silence between the pair, with nothing but mahogany eyes staring into emerald. Ryan’s aware that in all of her time knowing Harry, he’s never been this open and honest with her. He’s laying all of his cards out on the table, and that revelation alone is enough to make the empty hole in her chest start filling up with each subtle beat of her heart.

Harry takes a tentative step forward, and once he realizes that Ryan isn’t backing away, he takes two more so that he’s standing directly in front of her.

“I’m not used to wanting to be around somebody else besides Jackson. It’s been almost five years, just me and him, and then when you came into the picture, I suddenly wanted to be around you. Every second. Of every fucking day.” When Harry acknowledges that her eyes haven’t diverted to the ground, he can feel the hollowness in his body start to dissipate, the coldness in his veins start to thaw out with each beam of light that radiates off of the girl standing in front of him.

“It scares the shit out of me, Ryan. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. And I know I messed it all up by not kissing you, and I know I made you feel like I didn’t want you. But I just—I’m so scared of you leaving me, of leaving Jackson. Because no matter how many times I deny it, I’m so fucking scared of being left again. I don’t know if my heart can handle that.”

Ryan nods slowly, processing Harry’s biggest fear being laid out in front of her. She starts to feel bad for him all of a sudden, because maybe she was wrong in thinking that he didn’t want her. Because even though he’s in front of her and he’s here holding his heart in his shaking hands for her to have, part of him is terrified because he can’t only think about himself, he has to think about Jackson, too.

And that’s something Ryan possibly overlooked. Because she’s never been left the way Harry has, she’s never had to put all of her love and care into another human being who looks at her as if she hung all of the stars in the sky, she’s never had to be a parent by herself. 

There’s no rule book for that—no step-by-step instruction manual to describe how difficult that process truly was. And Harry did it because he had to. Because he needed to. Because he wanted to. 

And when she looks at him—really looks at him, at the small wrinkles around his brilliant green eyes that she wants to smooth over with the pad of her thumb, at his curly hair that somehow is still fluffy and tempting to touch, at his dried lips that she still wants to put on her own with everything inside of her—she’s mystified at how he could possibly think that.

How could anybody ever leave him?

With a small smile that somehow makes him feel whole again, she says, “Who said I was leaving you?” 

The weight that lifts from his shoulders practically makes him float through thin air. Harry takes a small step forward, testing the waters ever so slightly to make sure that she doesn’t cower away. And when she stands tall, looking at him as if she never wanted to blink again, he takes two more.

With one final step, he’s toe-to-toe with Ryan, so close that he can see the obsidian specks in her irises, the gold flecks when the light hits them just right, the gentle swoosh of her ebony lashes. He can feel her warm breath fannings against the column of his throat, and suddenly he’s reaching out, wrapping one long finger around a stray tendril of her dark hair.

“You’re wrong about not being good enough for boys like me. You’re wrong about being better off alone. Because I’ve done that, Ryan, and loneliness is shit.” His voice is low and deep, sweet like honey that seeps through her concrete walls. Ryan can feel them breaking apart inch by inch, and when he brings his other hand up to cup the underside of her jaw, she can practically hear them cracking, disintegrating beneath their feet.

“You’re so stupidly made for me, it’s fucking terrifying. And I know that I have Jackson. And I know that’s probably not in your plan. And I know this is going to sound absolutely insane,” with one last breath he leans down, the tip of his nose brushing against hers ever so softly. “But imagining another day without you is nearly impossible.”

Ryan tries her hardest not to gasp at his confession, and before she can conjure up the right words to say, Harry’s mouth is on hers. 

His left hand is cupping her jaw and the right is holding the back of her head gently and suddenly Ryan can feel the empty hole in her chest come back to life—thumping so loudly against her body she’s almost certain Harry can feel it against his own. 

Harry’s practically sweating at the rush of heat that swarms his insides, and when he feels Ryan reach up on the tips of her toes so that her chest is flush against his own and her arms lock around the back of his neck, he almost topples over at the feeling of it all. 

It’s everything and more, and part of him can’t believe that he waited this long to finally feel it—because he could write fucking symphonies about the way her lips feel against his own, the way the little hums in the back of her throat make his spine tingle, the way her fingers weave through the hair on the base of his neck so that she can anchor herself to him completely. The way he’s never felt this way kissing somebody.

The way he never wants to let go.

But they have to at some point, and begrudgingly he lets her go, watching the way she blinks against the apples of his cheeks. The flush that he’s grown to admire is back on her face, but this time it’s from another reason completely, and Harry’s almost positive that this is his favorite version of it yet.

“Should’ve done that a week ago,” Harry mumbles against her lips.

Ryan giggles and Harry’s almost certain he’s in love. “You’ve done it now, that’s all that matters.”

And when he brings his lips back to hers and wraps his arms around her lower back, hoisting her up and spinning her around until he’s swallowing her giggles with his own mouth, he knows that she’s right.

All that matters is them. Right now. Together.

***

A/N: Hi all, that was part seven of you feel like home AKA the penultimate chapter AKA the one that hopefully makes you guys smile instead of cry. I hope it was worth the wait! This was the story I wanted to tell, and I hope this clarified the frustrations we all felt about Harry in part six, as well as our first impressions of Rachel. I never wanted to villainize her, I just wanted to explore the possibility of a mother wanting to put her career first the way so many men have done in the past. I hope I did that justice.

Thanks for all the feedback and love you guys are giving this fic, it makes writing it that much more fun. Part eight will be posted on Thursday December 17, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime and tell me your thoughts! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! See you next week for the FINAL part, and stay tuned to watch me get emotional during the entire week x

Ryan feels a bit bad, because she knows she’s being selfish by leaving Fiona out after she promised to ring her the following day with a play-by-play of the evening’s events. But reliving those felt like some cruel sort of torture Ryan refused to bestow upon herself, therefore she’s decided to do the next best thing—sit in her flat with the front door locked wearing those ugly flannel pajama bottoms she buried in the bottom of her drawer, drinking cheap beer and ordering takeaway because she refused to leave her flat in order to do her food shopping. The slightest possibility of running into Harry in the fucking hallway was enough to keep Ryan inside, swallowing her pride and suffering in silence.

She feels like an idiot if she’s being honest. Because for the quickest of seconds, she let her guard down—her resolve that she’s built up and practiced purposely whenever she finds herself spiraling into a fit of anxiety and social awkwardness. For people like Ryan, people who feel their stomachs bubble with nerves and their brains whir with too many thoughts, people who over-analyze and plan their sentences because they can’t fathom feeling off guard, people like that need to have a protective layer. A perfectly practiced layer that allows Ryan to keep herself at a careful distance, so that she can act accordingly to whatever social situation is thrown her way.

But that night on Harry’s couch, she felt suffocated by his presence. She didn’t want to be at an arm’s length with him—she wanted to be smothered by his warmth and feel him crack through her walls, breaking down her barriers inch by inch and filling the gaps with everything she found herself liking about him. And for a split second, she did. She allowed her brain to turn off, finally welcoming the way her thoughts turned to mush around him. She completely opened herself up to the possibility of not knowing what was going to happen next. She let herself be vulnerable to the fullest extent around him.

And she figured that’s what Harry wanted her to do in the first place. Ever since she first met him, Ryan’s felt that he’s been chipping away at her wary exterior, scratching away at the concrete until his fingernails bled with every innocent query he had about her life. Whether it be her peculiar moving patterns, or her fascinating career, or how she spent her days in uni, he wanted to know everything about her. About the person she was buried beneath this protective layer she’s spent years curating.

But with one inch backward, one brief movement that ruined their almost-first-kiss, Ryan immediately realized that Harry did not want the same things as her. And she feels like an idiot because she was almost certain that he wanted her to kiss her, that he wanted her to make the first move and finally show her interest in him.

That’s the thing about infatuation, it allows for a momentary lapse in judgment, a brief juncture of blindness. It made Ryan’s tough exterior falter, but only just slightly—because the second Harry backed away from her, Ryan forced herself to close off completely, to rebuild her walls. 

The most aggravating part of it all is that she’s angrier with herself than she is with Harry. Because it’s not his fault he backed away—how could she be upset with him for that? He clearly invited her over for dinner to thank her for watching Jackson, just as he had said in her doorway that afternoon. Ryan let herself listen to Fiona in believing that it was anything more than just an amiable dinner between two friends, as he so reminded her when he defined their relationship as a “friendship” after she jokingly called him clumsy. Ryan couldn’t bring herself to be angry with Harry for not wanting her in the same capacity that she wanted him.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to not be wanted by somebody, because deep down Ryan knows that boys like Harry do not fall for girls like her. Girls who are far too awkward for their own being. Girls who feel more comfortable speaking to his four-year-old son than they do his father. Girls who misinterpret a comforting handhold as something more than a kind gesture. 

She just wishes it didn’t hurt this much.

After completing another series of the new Netflix show she decided to start bingeing at the beginning of her self-induced isolation, Ryan’s decided that it’s finally time to get off the bloody couch and change out of her horrid flannel pajama bottoms. 

Luna stretches on the rug beside her, curious in her owner’s newfound sense of urgency. She follows behind Ryan as she gathers all the empty beer bottles and takeaway containers, throws them into the appropriate bin, and wipes down the coffee table. When Ryan strips down and scrubs at her skin in the shower, erasing every remnant her abrupt downward spiral left on her, she feels ten times better than when she first entered the bathroom. 

She decides it’s time to properly stock her fridge, considering the only thing sitting on the shelves is an expired carton of milk and raspberries that are due to spoil by tomorrow. So with wet hair and fresh clothes, armed with a long grocery list and reusable bags, Ryan exits her flat for the first time in four days.

As she’s waiting for the lift to arrive on her floor, she tries her hardest not to focus on the voices coming through the crack under the front door of Harry’s flat. She can hear Harry’s low tonality through the thin walls of the hallway, and she can distinctly make out the words “please” and “Daddy’s very busy” and “I promise, later.”

Ryan knows it’s not her place, but when she hears the shrill sound of a toddler crying, she finds herself leaning a bit closer to 4G. She can’t really make out much over Jackson’s blubbering, but she can somehow piece together Harry muttering, “Bubs, please, daddy is so behind on work and I can’t sit here and read to you. Not right now. I promise when I’m done, just please stop crying so I can try and finish this song.”

She flinches when she hears Jackson’s wails grow louder, and suddenly she’s wondering how on earth Harry can manage to be a father while working at the same time. She starts to feel bad, because if she were in Harry’s position, taking care of another living, breathing human being all by herself, she’d probably go absolutely mental.

Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps overtakes Jackson’s cries, and before his front door flies open, Ryan makes sure to back away, pressing her finger repeatedly on the lift call button once she’s realized that the doors had already closed and moved on to another floor.

Ryan tries her hardest not to look over her shoulder when she hears Harry’s front door close, because the thought of facing him after she ran out of his flat seems far too unbearable. But when a moment passes and the lift still hasn’t arrived, Ryan caves and peeks, and the sight is enough to bring a frown to her face.

Harry’s back was pressed against the wall next to his front door, his neck extended with his head leaning upwards facing the ceiling, his eyes closed tightly. His hair a mangled mess atop his head, tufts of curls sticking up haphazardly from being pulled in every direction. Two big palms were pressed over his eyes, his arms causing his wrinkled jumper to look even more disheveled. Ryan’s almost certain this is the most distressed she’s ever seen Harry, and before she can say anything, he rips his hands away from his face and takes a deep breath that causes his chest to rise and fall. 

Harry can sense that he isn’t alone in the hallway. And just as he opens his eyes, his face shifts to the left and he realizes it’s Ryan waiting near the lift. He notices the frown on her face immediately, and he wonders if it’s because of their failed kiss or something else entirely.

“Uh, sorry. Sometimes Jackson’s just too much, so I come out here and—”

He’s not quite sure why he’s saying anything. Neither is Ryan, considering her face is blank, brown eyes staring into green wondering why she hasn’t turned her back to him yet. Because in any other instance she would have listened to Harry unfalteringly, but that was before she read the signs wrong and tried to kiss him. Now she’s just staring at him, blinking through her blurry thoughts, wondering why the lift is taking forever to reach their floor.

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly, and Ryan isn’t sure if it’s for this awkward moment in the hallway or for not kissing her back. She doesn’t really want to think about it at all, if she’s being honest.

The lift chimes and the doors open behind her, and somehow from her position at the end of the hallway, she can see Harry’s eyes fall and his head shake frustratedly. He seems to be upset, and Ryan’s not sure if it’s from Jackson or from the fact that she’s about to walk away from him again.

Somehow it’s enough to cause her to ignore the lift for the second time, her feet creating a determined path to her front door, key fitting into the lock and turning unceremoniously until the door swooshes open and she’s standing in the entranceway of her flat. She can hear Harry call her name in a questioning tone, voice laced with confusion and worry. But before she can respond, she’s standing in front of one of her bookshelves, plucking the red paperback from the middle shelf. Just as quickly as she arrived, Ryan locks up with the same gusto, extending the arm holding the book tightly in Harry’s direction. 

His wide eyes create a path from the book to Ryan’s eyes and back again, and after a few moments have passed and Harry still hasn’t taken the book out of her hand, she pushes it an inch closer, forcing him to grasp it. 

“What’s this?” Harry dumbly asks, even though he can clearly make out the shape of a paperback book in Ryan’s small hand, as well as the yellow lettered Harry Potter writing on the top half of the cover. 

“I bookmarked where we last left off,” Ryan mumbles, staring at the loose thread on his jumper instead of the wide look of his eyes.

When it’s still quiet, Ryan just nods, taking that as her cue to leave. But before she can make it past his frozen frame, Harry seems to snap out of his dumbfounded state, turning on his heel and grasping her forearm lightly.

Ryan stops, trying her hardest not to shiver under his touch.

“Ryan, I really think—”

“—Let me know when you’ve finished. I can lend you the next book,” Ryan forces herself to interrupt, before shaking her arm loose and beginning the short trek back to the lift.

With a brief pause, Harry defeatedly calls out, “It’s your thing, though.”

Her finger hovering over the lift call button freezes, and suddenly Ryan feels as if she can’t move. How Harry even knows that his son said those same words to Ryan a few days earlier in his pillow fort makes her heart drop into the depths of her stomach, and she immediately feels bad for the little boy inside 4G. She feels bad because not only did she let him grow attached to her in such a small period of time, but she let herself get just as attached to him. And knowing that she can’t read the rest of the Harry Potter books to him, something so infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things, leaves a dull ache in her chest.

She turns around then, feeling Harry’s heavy gaze fall on her. What once would make her shift uncomfortably in her boots from awkwardness now just leaves her feeling sad and empty.

“Just make sure you do the Hagrid voice, he’ll forget all about it being our thing,” Ryan says sadly, and both begin to frown, knowing that what she said held little truth.

He looks as if he wants to tell her something, but before Ryan can fall under his hypnotizing spell, can give him a second chance to chip away at her much thicker walls, she turns back around, jabbing her pointer finger into the lift call button.

She watches the screen count down from twelve, and she knows she only has about two minutes until it reaches the fourth floor. She’s praying that Harry will leave her alone, will reenter his flat and make sure Jackson is okay. But just as the screen reaches eight, she hears her name fall pleadingly from Harry’s mouth, and she knows she’s fucked.

Ryan doesn’t turn around, but she also doesn’t give him a reason not to continue. So as the number falls from eight to seven, she hears, “I really wanted to kiss you,” fall from Harry’s mouth, and suddenly her chest constricts, and she feels even sadder than before.

Because if he had said those words to her four days ago, Ryan would have turned around and ran into his arms, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard. But now, after four days of silence, four days of ignoring the world and rebuilding her walls, it’s the last thing she wants to hear.

She feels her skin warm with anger, because how dare he say that to her with her back turned to him? When she’s been replaying every incident they’ve shared together over and over in her head, analyzing every look, every touch, every word until she’s practically memorized them? When she finally decided that Harry wasn’t interested in her, that he was just another beautiful boy that Ryan could admire from afar?

So she buries it all—the anger, the frustration, the bitterness. She buries it until it’s hidden under every crevice of her insides, until the only thing that’s left is an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Because that’s truly all there is to it—a missed opportunity between two people who didn’t want the same things. 

When the doors finally open, Ryan doesn’t hesitate to throw herself inside, her back slamming into the wall with a clamorous thud. Her hands are shaking, and she misses the ground floor button on her first attempt, giving Harry the chance to step forward an inch and try one last time.

“I’m sorry,” he says despairingly, green eyes begging for her to listen to him. Ryan tears her eyes away before he can say anything else, pressing the button successfully and burrowing her hands into her jacket pockets.

Ryan gives him one last nod, her lips upturned in a juxtaposed sad smile. “Me too,” she says softly, closing her eyes just before the lift doors shut tightly.

***

The middle of the week brings a ridiculous amount of work for Ryan to complete, but she’s happy for the distraction. Because for a moment she can stop thinking about Harry, can stop thinking about all of the things he said to her, can stop thinking about what he truly meant when he told her he wanted to kiss her.

Because thinking about those things only makes the tear in her heart rip inch by inch, and she really can’t bring herself to break apart. Not when she’s rebuilt her walls. Not when she’s gotten so used to being alone, relying on just herself to get through the day. 

Because being alone is much easier than letting herself feel things. Vulnerability is a precious thing, probably the most precious thing Ryan has to offer. Her emotions are far too complex, her personality is sometimes fragile, therefore she keeps her vulnerability hidden under lock and key. So the only other option is to be alone—and it’s an option she’s been okay with for the better part of three years.

She hasn’t heard from Harry since his confession in the hallway, and Ryan figures it’s probably for the best. He’s confusing and he makes her feel things her heart hasn’t felt in a long time, and even though she feels an odd sense of emptiness in her chest when she considers her missed opportunity, she knows that trying to find steady ground with him will only make everything hurt that much worse.

Harry’s probably come to the same conclusion, and Ryan can sleep at night knowing that she did everything she could. She can finally put this odd relationship with Harry to rest, and even though she’s sad about it, especially considering she found a new friend in his tiny son, it’s something she has to force herself to deal with. 

A loud ping from her desktop shakes her out of her thoughts, and Ryan clicks on it to see a new email from her supervisor. Apparently, he’s sent over two parcels that require product testing, and Ryan sighs quietly, adding another thing to her overflowing to-do list. 

After sending over her recommendations on the Nerf blasters she and Jackson played with last week, Ryan heads over to her bedroom to find her ratty slippers. Her legs are covered in cashmere joggers Fiona splurged on for Ryan’s twenty-fifth birthday, and because she misses her friend a little more than usual, she’s wearing a white knitted jumper she borrowed from her closet and never returned before moving out.

Her hair is a mess of waves falling down her back, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s been wearing her glasses for most of the week, feeling far too lazy to put contacts in. With her mobile in one hand and her mailbox key in the other, Ryan heads out into the hallway, her brain already thinking about the next four things on her to-do list.

The sight in front of her makes her slipper-clad feet stop abruptly on the carpeted flooring.

Outside of Harry’s front door stands a beautiful blonde-haired woman, her hair much shorter than the long curly mane in the photographs around his flat. Instead of falling down her back, her hair is straighter now, clipped right above the tops of her shoulder blades. She’s donned in an impressive pantsuit with an expensive-looking briefcase resting on the wall near Harry’s door. From her side profile, Ryan can make out her perfectly constructed jawline, her exquisite button nose, and the edges of her almond-shaped eyes. 

Ryan immediately identifies the woman as Rachel, Jackson’s mum and Harry’s ex.

When Ryan looks a bit closer, she can see that Rachel’s pouty lips are in a straight line, and her eyes are downcast as if she were angry. Her hands are moving aggressively as she speaks, and when Ryan chances a look at Harry standing in his doorway, she can tell by his body language that he’s equally just as mad. His arms are crossed over his chest and his mouth is shaped into a frown and his eyebrows are furrowed, and suddenly Ryan feels as if she’s intruding on an intimate family moment she no longer is privy to. 

The Ryan before would retreat back into her flat without being noticed, but the Ryan after, the Ryan who understands that she and Harry have nothing left besides a tattered friendship, the Ryan who built her walls back up, the Ryan who promises herself to remain unfazed by whatever sight is occurring in front of her—that Ryan takes a deep breath and steps forward, heading for the mailroom because her job is much more important than her missed opportunity with Harry.

She makes sure not to make eye contact when she walks by Harry and Rachel, choosing instead to stare at the lock screen of her mobile as if the picture she took on the shores of Devon this past summer was infinitely more interesting than the arguing couple to her left. And just when she thinks she’s in the clear, a few meters away from the lift, she hears her name fall from the chipper mouth of a four-year-old boy. She looks over her shoulder, noticing Jackson’s curly head poking out from behind Harry’s legs, and suddenly he’s hobbling over towards her without a care in the world.

“Ryan! Guess what!” He’s in front of her now, head tilted upwards with a toothy grin on his face, excitedly waiting for her response so he can tell her whatever is on his mind.

Before she looks down at Jackson, she can feel the heat of a blue-eyed glare coming from the other end of the hallway, and she tries her hardest not to look up at Rachel. Ryan offhandedly hears Harry scold his son for running out of the flat, and just as Jackson begins telling Ryan his story, she hears the heated whisper of, “the nanny lives next door?” and she instantly flushes with red-hot embarrassment. 

When Ryan finally looks down at Jackson, she realizes that he’s been speaking to her for a few moments now, and she’s completely missed the first part of his story. She begins to frown, immediately feeling bad for focusing on Harry and Rachel instead of Jackson. All she wants to do is get out of the fucking hallway and into the lift, but her adorable new friend is making it that much more difficult to escape unscathed.

“Hey, champ. I’m sorry, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be. Why don’t you go hang out with daddy, okay? We can hang some other time.” It’s a promise she isn’t sure she can entirely keep anymore, but it saves her the guilt of ignoring Jackson completely. 

His excited babbling stops and he begins to frown, his bottom lip quivering slightly, not understanding why his new friend who always entertains him suddenly doesn’t want to anymore. 

“But, Ryan—”

“—Jackson, leave her alone. Come grab your things and leave with mummy,” Rachel says harshly.

When his face turns red and his big green eyes start to glass over, Ryan’s almost certain she’s the only person who can see his tantrum brewing, considering his back is to his parents and he’s completely facing her. Unbeknownst to her, Harry can feel it too, and he’s instantly regretting this entire situation.

“I don’t wanna go! I wanna hang with Ryan! And Luna! We play games and have fun and she reads me Harry Potter books, and I don’t want to go to mummy’s no more!” He’s having a full-on strop, tears rushing down his red blotchy cheeks. He’s gasping for air between belts and Ryan knows she shouldn’t console him because it isn’t her place, but fuck, he looks so sad and it’s utterly heart-wrenching. And before she understands fully what she’s doing, she’s crouched down in front of him, two hands resting gently on his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, champ. Whoa. Deep breaths, you’re all right, yeah? We’ll hang another day. You’ve got your mum now, don’t worry about me or Luna. We’re always right next door. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me?” Ryan can hear the sound of clipped heels echoing against the flooring, and when she looks up she’s met with nothing but a face of fury, blue eyes darted into slits and red lips thinned out in irritation. 

“What on earth are you saying to him?! You’re the nanny for Christ’s sake, not his mother! Stop trying to act like it just because you want to shag his father!”

The silence is deafening. Even though Jackson’s uncontrolled sobs are ear-splitting, Ryan can’t hear anything except for the sound of her heart sinking into her stomach. Instantly, she stands up, ignoring the feeling of Jackson tugging at the bottom of her joggers. She wonders if that’s what Harry thinks of her—if that’s how he describes her to his mates, to his family, to his son’s fucking mother.

This realization is entirely conveyed through her dark eyes, and Harry can practically feel her disappointment and anguish towards him. Immediately he starts to panic, eyes wide and mouth parted, struggling to find the right words to say, because shit—he’s never thought of her in that way ever.

But then he’s reminded of his wailing son and his angry mother. And instantly he goes into dad mode, delegating his son as his top priority and pushing Ryan’s hurt to the bottom of the pile.

Ryan knows this. And she suddenly wants, no, needs to be anywhere else but here.

With a muffled apology that she isn’t sure she meant to direct at Jackson or his mother, she skirts by them, stares straight ahead ignoring Harry’s gaze, and heads for her front door, shutting it tightly behind her before she slinks down to the ground and lets the first tear fall. 

She stays on the floor of her entranceway for a long time, muffling her cries with the sleeves of Fiona’s jumper until the tear in her heart rips completely open, flooding her insides until all that’s left in her chest is a gaping hole where her heart once was.

***

A/N: Hi all, that was part six of you feel like home. Please be patient, I know you guys probably want to slap Harry across the face (even though the chapter title sort of explained how it would go). This story is meant to explore how Ryan feels, and I really hope this part helped explain her reasoning. It’s a two-sided story, and I know you’re probably dying to hear Harry’s side! That’s the glory of mult-part fics, it’s his turn to shine next chapter. Thanks for all the feedback and love you guys are giving this fic, it makes writing it that much more fun. Part seven will be posted on Thursday December 7, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime and tell me your thoughts! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! See you next week my loves x

“You’re absolutely barking,” Fiona scoffs. Ryan places the wand back into the mascara bottle, running a shaky hand through her freshly-dried hair as she tries to remember why she even said yes to Harry in the first place.

When she thinks back on it now, she’ll blame it all on a rare moment of bravery. Or quite possibly, amnesia. Because for some strange reason, her brain momentarily short-circuited, completely forgetting about every other time she’s been in Harry’s presence and how she rarely can get through a few sentences around him. Now that she’s agreed to spend an entire evening with him, on his own turf, under the watchful eyes of his observant toddler? 

Ryan can already feel the bile rising in her throat.

“Fiona, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even sure I was thinking!” She’s panicking now, pacing back and forth on the navy blue tiled floors of her bathroom to try and quell the thumping of her heart. “He definitely doesn’t think it’s a date. I’m just making a fuss, because he didn’t even use those words! He only invited me over because he feels bad that I had to watch his kid for a few hours. That’s it. Nothing else.” 

She isn’t even sure who she’s trying to convince at this point, but she is sure that her pacing is causing her breath to come out in uneven spurts, her chest rising and falling as she slowly pushes herself to the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

“Ry, will you please stop moving? You’re giving me a bloody migraine,” Fiona calls out. Ryan acquiesces, coming to a stop once again and leaning forward on the countertop of her vanity so that Fiona can see the redness tinge her cheeks and her mouth fall open as she tries to catch her breath.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice sounds shaky and fragile, the same way Jackson’s did whenever he mentioned his mother in the past tense a few hours earlier. 

Suddenly, Ryan wishes she was somebody like Fiona. Somebody who didn’t overthink every situation she fell into. Somebody who didn’t have a near panic attack at the trivial notion of making pizzas at her attractive next-door neighbor’s flat. Somebody who could just be normal, without the added pretense of anxiety and social awkwardness that sometimes felt all too crippling.

“Will you stop with that? You can do this. You will do this, even if I have to drive all the way to Hampstead during a lockdown and drag you five meters to his fucking door.” Ryan frowns at Fiona through the screen, wishing for the first time since moving out that she was in the room across the hall from her, close enough so that she can hear her friend’s words of encouragement in person instead of through the tinny speakers of her mobile.

“Okay,” Ryan says quietly, reaching for her mascara and beginning to unscrew the wand before she stops abruptly, an afterthought on the tip of her tongue. “He probably doesn’t even think it’s a date anyway.”

Fiona groans loudly, frustration etched on her freckled face. “He wouldn’t have invited you over if he didn’t want to spend time with you, Ry.”

“But Jackson will be there, too. And he even called it ‘a proper thank you,’ so there’s really no need for me to be freaking out, right? I’m not even sure why I’m putting makeup on in the first place,” Ryan huffs, dropping the mascara on the countertop before releasing her forehead into her hands, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Ryan lifts her head slowly, wondering if Fiona hung up. When she sees her friend leaning closer towards the screen, her big, blue eyes wide and full of patience (an emotion that rarely crossed Fiona Kitchen’s face), Ryan cocks her head to the side in surprise.

“Ry,” Fiona says through an exhale, “I know you’re nervous. I know you’re scared. And I know this makes you feel uncomfortable and awkward, but Ryan—” the added stress on her name causes her to stare back at her blue-eyed friend unblinkingly, wondering how Fiona could be so understanding, “You said you felt something, yeah? This afternoon?”

Ryan nods, remembering the way Harry looked with a blush covering the apples of his cheeks, the way his body shifted in his trainers when he fumbled over his words, the way his eyes looked at everything else besides the brown of her own or the glasses on her face. The way she somehow made him nervous for the first time, and the way her brain seemingly shuts off whenever she’s in his presence.

The way she blinked and he was practically inches away from her face, his green eyes swirling with fascination and desire and all the other feelings that caused Ryan’s stomach to flutter—and she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she’s sure it had to mean something.

“See!” Fiona squeals, as if it were supposed to bring clarification. When Ryan stays silent, Fiona groans again in frustration. “He wants you to come! He’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

Ryan considers this for a moment, wondering if Fiona was on to something. “Stop harping on the word date, Ry, it’ll only drive you mad. He wants you there. You want to be there. Finish getting ready and have fun for once in your life!”

The proverbial kick in the arse from Fiona is exactly what Ryan needed, and in an uncharacteristic wave of confidence, she unscrews the mascara wand and finishes applying it to her other eye, brushes up her eyebrows so that they look somewhat even, and adds a bit of tinted lip balm to her pouty lips. 

She settles on her trusted pair of light wash, straight-legged denim, a white thinly strapped vest paired with a chunky, cropped camel woolen cardigan overtop that hangs off one shoulder, and finishes off her comfortable look with an old pair of Reebok Club C trainers. 

“Can’t you wear the brown booties I bought you last Christmas instead?” Fiona whines from her position propped up on Ryan’s dresser.

Ryan laughs, turning from the mirror to her friend. “It’s pizzas in his flat, Fee.”

Fiona scoffs and Ryan nervously pulls at the edges of her cardigan, obsessing over her outfit for the hundredth time, debating if she should have curled her hair instead of left it to air-dry into unkempt waves, or if she should add more makeup to her face, or if she should just strip it all off and wear leggings and an oversized jumper instead. 

“Ry,” Fiona says through her mobile, and the urgency in her voice causes Ryan to spin on her heel, her back against the mirror and her eyes falling onto Fiona’s. “You look great.”

Those three words cause Ryan to finally breathe clearly for the first time since she started getting ready, and the relief that courses through her veins unfurl the tension-filled knots on her shoulders, releasing the rigidity of her neck. She feels pretty and she feels like she’s going to be okay, and when Ryan smiles brightly at Fiona, her friend imitates it, and suddenly she feels ready for her almost-maybe-sort-of date with Harry.

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting. 

Ryan leaves the hallway light on and slips her mobile into her back pocket, opening the heavy oak of her door and closing it softly without turning the lock. She’ll only be next door, anyway.

With the last stretches of her confidence still flushing through her system, Ryan takes the short trek to Harry’s front door and knocks three times for good measure, leaning a bit forward when she hears the faint sounds of a record spinning on the slipmat, the needle creating that scratchy sound that only comes from choosing a turntable over a regular speaker. She can hear the indistinct echoes of Jackson’s giggles, and before she can hear anything else, the front door whips open and Ryan springs backward, standing upright as to not give away the fact that she was spying on her neighbors.

But the smirk on Harry’s lips and the upward arch of his eyebrows proves that she was caught red-handed.

So much for confidence.

“Hi, Ryan,” Harry says in that soft, slow voice of his that causes Ryan’s stomach to bottom out. When she finally lifts her eyes to fall onto his frame, she’s suddenly at a loss for words when she takes in his appearance.

His hair that was a disheveled mess earlier in the day with strands pulled upwards in every direction was now tamed, the ringlets forming perfect coils with the ends still a bit damp, as if he had rushed to take a shower before Ryan appeared. His torso was covered with another threadbare graphic shirt, the white sleeves falling just around the midpoint of his protruding biceps, with a blue tea towel hanging around his shoulder that had tiny flour fingerprints on the edge. Along his waist and down his legs were a pair of comfortable, camel-colored dress pants that Ryan would never think to match with a shirt that mentioned something about eating honey. And when Ryan’s eyes fall towards Harry’s feet, she sucks in a small breath when she realizes that he wasn’t wearing anything below—just the sight of his toes and what seemed to be lettering tattooed on his ankles.

Ryan was suddenly glad she chose not to add another layer of blush, because the way she was just so obviously checking him out made the colors of her cheeks flush a notable, deep pink. 

“Hi, Harry,” she finally manages to say. And when her brown eyes finally creep up towards Harry’s face, she can see that his eyes are blown-out a bit, the greenness of the irises a bit harder to detect. His gaze seems to fall on the area of skin uncovered by the neckline of her cardigan, where a few layers of gold necklaces are stacked, practically tangling together. 

Before they can redirect their gazes and gather their breaths, a loud “Ryan!” shouts out from behind Harry’s frame, where a messy-haired and bright-eyed Jackson can be found. He’s wearing pajamas and wielding a child-sized plastic rolling pin covered with flour, and the sight instantly brings a smile to Ryan’s face.

“Hey, champ,” she calls out, feeling herself regaining her composure.

“You and daddy match,” he says simply, his chubby finger floating between Harry’s trousers and Ryan’s chunky cardigan, the matching shades of brown distinguishable to the four-year-old standing in the entranceway. 

Ryan offers a shy giggle and Harry looks at the articles of clothing, smiling when he notices that they are, in fact, matching in an off-handed sort of way. The trite realization brings a wide grin to his lips, and he begins to wonder what else he and Ryan have in common.

“Have you finished planning your toppings, Bubs?” Harry asks, opening the door wider so that Ryan can enter his flat, shutting it behind her once she’s infiltrated the entranceway. 

Jackson goes off on a tangent, listing all of the possible toppings he could add to his personalized pizza. Ryan listens as she steps out of her trainers and leaves them near the shoe rack, trying her hardest to be polite. And when the trio enters the kitchen, she stops and watches Harry and Jackson fall into place behind the granite island, Harry lifting Jackson effortlessly on the barstool so that he can kneel on the leather cushion while spreading out red sauce over his much smaller dough, with Harry beside him beginning to roll out his own. Ryan averts her eyes to the floor when she notices Harry’s muscles constricting under his shirt when he pushes the rolling pin away from his body, stretching his long arms out just so that he can pull them back in. 

When the spot near Harry remains vacant, he lifts his head up to see Ryan standing under the archway, wringing her hands in front of her body nervously. “C’mere, Ryan. We’ve got you a nice little setup.”

She notices the pre-floured area on the other side of Harry and slowly enters it, noticing how close she is to his body. The area isn’t as large as she once assumed, and when Harry continues to roll out his dough, she can feel his elbows brush against her arms and suddenly she feels a bit warm in his kitchen.

Ryan unbuttons the top button of the three on her cardigan so that the sleeves fall a bit lower on her shoulder, exposing her sweltering skin to the cooler air. The last thing she needs is to be a sweaty, awkward mess in front of Harry.

Harry notices her fidgeting in his periphery and stalls his movements when the olive skin of her shoulder closest to his body is uncovered. When she lifts her arms and begins formulating the dough, more inches of her skin begin to show from the looseness of the fabric, and when she reaches for her own rolling pin, he can make out the etchings of a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder blade. 

He stays silent, gulping deeply when he realizes that he’s been staring for far too long.

“Ryan, can you help me with the pepperoni please?” Jackson asks from the other side of the countertop, and she stops spreading the sauce on her own pizza so that she can pop over and assist him. Harry’s a bit jaded, considering he’s usually the one to help his son make his pizza, but when he catches Jackson pointing at specific spots on the dough and Ryan placing the slices there expertly, sneaking a smaller piece into his hand so that he can munch on it quietly, Harry can’t help but sense that red-hot feeling of longing rush through his skin. 

When Ryan goes back to her pizza, Harry finishes adding the mushrooms to his own before grabbing her attention. “Want a drink?”

“Please,” she responds, suddenly noticing how dry her throat had been.

“I’ve got wine, beer…” Harry sticks his head further into the fridge, “Juice?” 

He smiles when he coaxes a pretty giggle from her mouth. “Beer works,” she calls over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’s a better combination than beer and pizza?”

Harry chuckles, grabbing two bottles of Carlsberg and opening them easily before handing one over to Ryan as she sprinkles cheese in a swirl over the red sauce of her pizza. He’s watching her as she brings the neck of the bottle to her lips and takes a generous sip, before reaching for the spinach and adding that to the dough.

“I lived off of this when I was at uni,” Ryan offers as she’s spreading her toppings generously, and Harry’s wondering if the distraction is allowing her to speak to him freely.

“Yeah?” he asks, coaxing.

She hums and takes another swig, and Harry finds that he can’t look anywhere else. “Every Thursday night during my final year. My best mate Fiona and I somehow got away with having no lectures on Friday, so every Thursday we’d order pizza and drink beer and watch The Only Way is Essex.”

“Sounds like my old flatmate, Niall,” Harry says between drinks. “Used to live above a kebab shack so we’d eat that almost every other night and whatever liquor was discounted at the shops.” Ryan sprinkles chopped up pieces of bell peppers over her unmade pizza. “Watched Great British Bake Off instead, obviously we were far more cultured.”

Ryan’s brown eyes lift to meet Harry’s, and she quirks her eyebrows in response to his obvious teasing. “Clearly you’re a far more sophisticated drunk than I gathered.”

“You gathered, huh? What were your predictions, then?” Ryan can’t tell if he’s flirting with her or not, because she’s never really found herself in this situation with Harry before. But when she takes in his direct eye contact and the half-smirk covering his face, and the way his attention only seems to fall on hers, she’s almost certain that he is. 

“Sloppy, for starters.”

“Hey!” Harry interjects, facing her completely so that his back is towards Jackson, which in any other circumstance, would probably be a very bad decision.

Ryan giggles before continuing. “I mean, you take up far too much space as it is, I can only imagine a drunk Harry Styles flopping all over the place.”

“Aren’t you the clumsy one in this friendship of ours, Ryan?” Harry says with a small chuckle, flitting his finger back and forth between the pair of them. It’s only when he catches Ryan’s smile faltering, her body turning back towards her pizza and her eyes focusing on adding more vegetables, when Harry realizes that he’s said the wrong thing.

Before he can right himself, Jackson’s captured her attention, and suddenly she’s left him again—floating to the other side of the countertop and away from his body, and he tries his hardest not to frown when he no longer feels the warmth against his left side.

“Daddy, can I show Ryan my room, please? I want to show her the fort we made last night!” Jackson asks, and Harry looks up blankly, somehow forgetting that his son was even in the same room as them.

When two pairs of eyes fall on his frame, he blinks quickly before responding. “Right, uh, go ahead, Bubs. I’ll just pop these in the oven.”

Ryan feels a bit bad leaving Harry alone with their mess, but suddenly Jackson’s asking her to lift him off the barstool and onto the floor, placing his smaller hand in hers once his bare feet have touched the hardwood, dragging her through the living space and down the hallway into his bedroom at the end. 

She takes in his room with childlike wonder, observing the deep blue walls and light wood flooring with a circular rug in the middle near all of Jackson’s toys. A twin-sized loft bed is nestled into the corner with a ladder leading up to the mattress. Underneath are two massive beanbag chairs surrounded by shorter bookshelves, and the hand-constructed fort put together by different items in the flat along with multi-colored quilts and stuffed animals.

When she cranes her neck up, Ryan can make out a cluster of stick-on neon yellow stars on his ceiling, and she smiles to herself, remembering how she had the same thing in her childhood bedroom.

Her neck swivels around the room as she takes in the little pieces of Jackson he’s left scattered around—Crayola-filled artwork hanging along the walls, small trainers and wellies falling out of the closet, a Paw Patrol juice cup on his nightstand. When Ryan takes a step towards it, she notices a picture frame behind the cup, an outline of three bodies upon first glance. It’s only once she’s stepped a bit closer when she realizes that it’s technically two and a half persons—a man, a woman, and a small baby.

With shaking hands Ryan clutches the wooden frame and immediately recognizes Harry as the body on the left. Albeit his hair was much longer and messier, there was no mistaking his boyish grin and sparkling eyes. This younger version of Harry still made her cheeks flush and her heart rate skyrocket, and for a brief moment she lets her mind wander at the prospect of potentially meeting this version of Harry when she was at a pub in uni, or out shopping around the city, or even running into him in the Underground. She wonders if she would fall for this version just as quickly as she did with the older version waiting right outside this very room, a version without a child and without responsibilities. 

Ryan’s gaze falls to the figure his arm is wrapped tightly around, and with one look at the shape of her eyes and the slope of her nose, she knows instantly that this is Jackson’s mother. She’s beautiful—the type of beautiful that you couldn’t help but feel envious of, because her button nose and almond-shaped eyes and pouty lips and perfectly structured jawline were put together in such a fashion that made it seem almost unfair that one person could possess that type of beauty. Her blonde hair fell in curly ringlets down her back, and her eyes were so blue that Ryan was almost certain she could see herself through the reflection. She had that type of smile where her mouth sort of fell open and you could practically hear the laugh fall from her parted lips. Jackson was swaddled inside a green homemade quilt in her arms, and Ryan could only make out thin wisps of chocolate-colored hair, and suddenly she felt as if she was looking at an image that wasn’t meant for her eyes to see. 

Before she could get caught, Jackson’s soft voice calls out to her from inside the fort, and Ryan’s forced to crouch down on her hands and knees and crawl her way through the opening.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asks once she’s seated across from him, her legs crossed underneath her torso so that the tips of her denim-clad knees brush against Jackson’s flannel ones. 

“I love it,” Ryan replies, smiling when he flicks on the spinning nightlight against the wall, illuminating the inside. It’s only with the new light that Ryan notices the personalized touches Jackson added to the inside of his fort—the Tonka trucks along the floor, two grey pillows that seem to fit in a king-sized bedroom set, an iPad in the corner with a Marvel film queued up on Netflix, and a glamorous assortment of stuffed animals surrounding the border of the tent. 

She’s quite impressed with his interior design skills, if she’s being honest.

“Me and daddy watched Spiderman here last night because we can’t go to the cinema no more. He asked me if I wanted to watch Harry Potter with him, but I told him no because we haven’t finished reading the book yet,” Jackson explains slowly. “I told him I’d only watch it with you anyways. I think he got a little sad about that.”

Ryan’s heart swells inside her chest. “Why will you only watch it with me, champ?”

“Because it’s our thing.” He says it so definitively that Ryan feels stupid for even questioning him in the first place, and the thought of him telling his father no, all because she spent an afternoon reading a few chapters with him, causes a warm feeling to rush through her insides. It’s a different type of warmth than the feeling she gets from Harry—instead of a sweltering wave of heat, it’s more subtle, more muted. It feels like wrapping yourself in a heavy blanket in the middle of winter when you’re laying on your mum’s couch, just before you’re about to fall asleep. It feels like comfort.

It feels like home.

Just as Jackson’s in the middle of telling her about the new Spiderman film, a fuller head of curls pops in through the front entrance. Ryan peeks over and sees that Harry’s smiling shyly, looking as if he’s afraid to interrupt their moment together.

“Pizza’s done,” he says quietly. Jackson practically jumps through the blanketed roof, pushing Harry’s shoulders so that he falls backward on his bum as he runs through the entrance with only the kitchen in his sight. 

Before Ryan follows him, she makes sure to turn off the nightlight and rearrange the pillows she and Jackson were sitting on. When she crawls out of the tent on all fours, she looks up from the carpet and sees Harry watching her from the doorframe, a comical look in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Ryan says from her position on the floor, shaking her head in silent laughter once she hears Harry’s loud chuckles from across the room. Before she can get up on her own, she sees large bare feet in her line of vision, with a strong tattooed arm waiting to be held on to.

Her right hand clutches the outside of his own while the left falls into his palm, and with practically no effort, Harry heaves her upright so that she’s standing a few inches away from him. She blinks in the low light of Jackson’s room and realizes that she can still make out the freckles in Harry’s eyes. They’re suddenly in the same position as earlier when they’re standing far too close to each other and breathing a bit too heavy and saying absolutely nothing. It’s only when Harry reaches his right hand out to move her cardigan back into place on her exposed shoulder when she realizes that she’s still holding on to his left hand for dear life.

She unlatches her tight grip and lets her hands fall back to her sides, wondering if she’ll always feel as if her heart was going to burst through her skin whenever she stood too close to Harry. He coughs unnecessarily into his fist, stepping back slowly and giving her a forced smile.

“Let’s go eat.” His voice comes out low and scratchy, and it sounds as if he’s forgotten how to speak. Harry desperately is craving for a beer or water or anything to reprieve the dryness coating his throat, because he somehow has forgotten how to breathe correctly around Ryan, especially when she’s looking at him with messy hair and blown out eyes and tinged cheeks.

When they arrive back into the kitchen, Jackson’s already seated at the kitchen nook, working his way swiftly through his first slice of pepperoni pizza. Ryan slinks in next to him, already reaching for the stack of napkins in the center of the table and wiping his sauce-covered chin as if the motions were practically ingrained in her system. Harry watches a bit slackjawed, before refocusing and grabbing the half-emptied beer bottles from the counter and falling into the seat across from them.

“Thank you,” Ryan mumbles once Harry hands her beer over, and when their fingers brush during the exchange, she tries her hardest not to quiver from the rush of electricity crackling under her skin. 

Harry nods and grabs a slice of his own, bringing it to his mouth and chewing. Ryan does the same, and when Jackson peers over at her pizza, squinting at each topping and trying to decide if he liked them or not, Ryan rips a small sliver and places it on his plate.

“What’s that?” Jackson asks through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

“Jackson, chew with your mouth closed,” Harry instructs from across the table.

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, trying his hardest to move his lips without opening his mouth, causing Ryan to giggle on the side of him.

“They’re bell peppers,” Ryan explains when Jackson holds a slice of green pepper in front of his eyes. He instantly squishes his face in disgust and places the vegetable back onto the slice, exchanging it for the pepperoni.

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ryan exclaims from Jackson’s side.

He shakes his head so quickly that the curls on the top of his head begin to flutter. “I don’t like vegetables.”

Ryan rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah? Coming from the kid who eats dried fruits as a snack. I don’t believe you for a second.” Her light tone indicates that she was only teasing, and when she tickles Jackson’s side and he begins to laugh loudly, she giggles right along with him.

But Harry’s confused as he’s watching them interact, wondering how on earth Ryan knew that piece of information. “Dried fruits?”

Ryan nods when she realizes that Jackson’s chewing. “Yeah. He told me his mum used to feed him that for snack time.”

When she looks up and sees a look of puzzlement across Harry’s face, she’s suddenly wondering if she’s accidentally pried open Pandora’s box, unassumingly spilling out memories that he had forgotten long ago. Memories of a pretty woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who fed her son dried fruits and has slowly become the elephant in the room that neither Ryan nor Harry seem to want to address.

Ryan reaches for her beer, tipping the bottle back until its contents are sliding down her throat. When she notices Jackson’s cup of water is empty, she grabs it and sneaks past him out of the kitchen nook, recycling her bottle and filling up Jackson’s drink. Feeling Harry’s gaze on her lower back, she looks over her shoulder and asks, “Need another?” and it’s as if the uncomfortable interaction never even happened.

Once she’s back across the table from Harry, she looks down at her plate and realizes that Jackson’s stolen her piece with the vegetables, chewing slowly as if he were trying to decide right then and there if he enjoyed the taste.

Ryan feels her chest puff with pride and she’s not quite sure why the site of Harry’s toddler eating the vegetables off of her pizza makes her feel important in some odd, inconsequential way.

“I guess it’s okay,” Jackson offers, causing both Harry and Ryan to laugh loudly across from each other.

Not long after their plates are emptied and their beer bottles a bit lighter, Ryan can see Jackson stifle a yawn from her periphery. It’s cute, the way his eyes squint and his small fist tries its hardest to catch the breath leaving his mouth before anybody can notice. But Harry does, and he’s looking at Ryan with a knowing look on his face. “Think you tired him out.”

Expecting a fight from the sleepy toddler beside her, Ryan suddenly stiffens when she feels Jackson’s head rest against her arm, his tangled curls tickling below her chin. When she angles her head downward, she smiles when she sees him rubbing his eyes, expelling another deep yawn for good measure.

“It’s alright, we had quite the day,” Ryan agrees, ruffling Jackson’s hair softly. “Go ahead and take him to bed, I’ll put these plates away.”

Harry pauses halfway out of the kitchen nook, looking at the pretty girl with his sleeping son practically on her lap in wonderment. The domesticity of her proposal surges through his skin, causing his heart to pump faster inside his chest. He knows he’s being ridiculous—she’s probably just being nice, offering to put the plates in the dishwasher because she didn’t want to intrude on Jackson’s nighttime routine.

But still, his cheeks flush at the thought that maybe this could be a normal occurrence, and for a slight moment, he revels in it, thinking of all the what if’s and could be’s. 

When he offers her a slight nod, Ryan places Jackson on the floor, before stacking the glass plates and bringing them over to the countertop near the sink. She turns around and smiles at the sight of Jackson holding Harry’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

But before he can get too far, Harry mumbles something that ends with Ryan’s name, and suddenly he’s ambling over to where she’s standing, blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he mumbles, “G’night Ryan.”

Ryan crouches before him, reaching him just at eye level. “Night, champ. Have a good sleep.”

All of a sudden, two tiny arms are wrapped around her neck, practically causing Ryan to fumble backward at the collision of Jackson’s small body falling into hers. She can feel his tiny hands gripping her brown hair, and after regaining her composure, her arms wrap around him fully so that she’s giving him a proper hug.

“Thanks fo’ today. I had the bestest time ever.” His sleepy admission causes Ryan’s breath to still, and that warm feeling is back—but instead of a warm quilt during winter, it feels like a heated blanket in the middle of summer, and suddenly she’s wondering what this all means.

And when he backs away slowly with a tiny wave, Ryan can only offer a shy smile, feeling far more confused than ever before. She’s too nervous to even look up at Harry’s face, because she’s almost certain that he’s probably horrified at the sight unfolding in front of him. Especially when he was fidgeting over her dried fruit comment, and the fact that Jackson’s mother’s beauty was incomparable to her own, and the fact that Jackson’s probably grown a little bit attached to Ryan, and she’s not sure if she can break his heart when she ultimately has to tell him the hard truth.

Ryan stands up quickly and gets back to loading the dishwasher, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand instead of the whirring sound of her brain trying to formulate meaning to the situation she suddenly finds herself trapped in.

It’s only once she pushes the start button and takes a deep breath when she hears the familiar foot pattern of Harry entering the kitchen. She turns around and begins to tell him that she should probably be heading out too, but before she can even think to speak, Harry’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion in his eyes, and suddenly she can’t bring herself to move.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” Harry says slowly, reaching for his unfinished beer that Ryan moved to the island countertop, before bringing it to his lips with ease.

“It’s no bother, really. You did most of the cooking when I was in Jackson’s tent.” It’s a lame excuse and thankfully Harry doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches into the fridge and offers up another beer, and how can Ryan say now when his boyish grin is back and she’s still trying to figure out what that look in his eyes means?

And that’s how they find themselves in Harry’s living room—with Harry perched on one end of the couch, watching Ryan fondly as she peers at all of the records lining his walls, figuring out which one to choose per his request. 

“It’s not rocket science, Ryan,” Harry teases after a few minutes have gone by and his record player is still void of a vinyl. 

“No, not rocket science. But it is quite an important decision,” Ryan counters, moving on to the next bookshelf and stopping at the K-N alphabetized section.

“Just pick what you like!” Harry exclaims through a chuckle.

Ryan stands up straight and turns around so that she’s staring at him head-on. “Music is your thing, isn’t it?”

Harry nods once he realizes that she’s waiting for a response.

“Right. So you’re going to judge me either way based on my decision—”

“—Whoa, who said I was going to—”

Ryan’s hand silences him. “It’s an internal judgment. Not a bad thing! I’d feel the same way if you were picking out a book in my flat.” She turns back around and bends at the knees, skimming through the M shelf. 

“Fleetwood Mac is too easy. You obviously are into classic rock with the way you wear graphic t-shirts and have two Rolling Stones albums framed near your guitar. Also, don’t get me started on the George Michael lyrics tattooed on your ankles.” Ryan’s still scrounging through Harry’s record collection, therefore she can’t see the look of astonishment grace his features.

She stops right in the middle of her search and plucks a yellow album with a colored picture of mountains in the background. It’s simple enough and the cover of the album is what drew her in, and when she squints her eyes and makes out Joni Mitchell in loopy cursive, she shrugs, deeming it okay.

When Harry grabs it from her hands and looks at her with a shocked look on his face, she smiles back, feeling confident in her blind decision.

“Joni Mitchell? I’m quite impressed,” Harry says as he’s placing the vinyl on the record player, bringing the needle to the outer-most edge and heading back to his position on the couch once the cracking sounds of the first song begin to play.

“Don’t be,” Ryan responds, gripping her beer and beginning to follow him. “I only picked it because I liked the color.”

Harry’s head falls back in laughter, before asking, “I’m supposed to believe that you know nothing about music?”

“Exactly,” Ryan starts, walking past an end table filled with picture frames. “I’m just observant. You give off the classic rock vibe with one look at your workspace, and it doesn’t take an idiot to recognize Careless Whisper lyrics—quite the bold choice, might I add.” Before she can say anything else, she recognizes Jackson’s mum in another photograph, and suddenly she’s forgotten her point. 

Harry’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders again, but instead of holding baby Jackson, she’s holding a beer and surrounded by four other people. Harry’s hair isn’t as long as in the first photograph, but it still falls well past his ears, so Ryan can only assume that this is from a time before Jackson was even a consideration. One arm falls around her shoulders, and his other arm is around the waist of a taller bloke with dark hair and a thick scarf around his neck. It seems to be winter, with the way everybody is wearing woolen coats and knitted jumpers. When Ryan squints, she can make out Christmas lights in the background, and she feels the elephant in the room come back, but this time she’s sick of running from it.

“Is this Jackson’s mum?” She’s not quite sure why she even bothered asking, because the way Harry’s eyes stop twinkling and the way his grin falls to a frown, Ryan already knows the answer without him having to speak.

“Yeah, her name’s Rachel,” Harry starts, placing his beer on the glass coffee table. “She’s just, uh, sort of not around anymore.”

It’s only once Harry’s still quiet, still looking pensive, when Ryan realizes how stupid she truly was. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She’s fumbling again and shifting her feet and averting her eyes, and suddenly she wishes she were anywhere but here.

“Wait, what? Oh. Oh,” he laughs, sipping his beer. Ryan stares at him wide-eyed, wondering how on earth he could possibly find this funny. “Christ, she’s not dead, Ryan. She’s just, uh, not really around.”

Ryan nods stupidly before falling onto the other side of the couch, finishing her beer easily and placing the empty bottle on the table. 

“We grew up together,” Harry starts, and Ryan brings her eyes up to look at his face and finds that he’s alarmingly calm. “When I came back home after uni we just sort of started hanging out with our sixth form mates again. Rachel and I never really were anything, but it was during that time after uni when you feel really lost and have no idea what you want to do with your life, so we just found comfort in each other, I suppose.” He pauses and Ryan wants to tell him that he really doesn’t owe her an explanation, but before she can say anything he’s shifted his eyes from the floor to her face and she knows that for some reason he wants to tell her.

“I hate to call it an accident, because Jackson’s the best little guy I could have ever asked for. But all of a sudden Rachel was pregnant and I was panicking because a kid wasn’t ever in the cards for me. Not so soon. And not with somebody I—”

Ryan nods, assuring him that she knows exactly what he means even if Harry can’t bring himself to admit it.

“So we… tried, I guess. She couldn’t bring herself to, uh, terminate it—him,” he winces softly and Ryan suddenly wants to grab his hand and never let go. “After he was born, we really tried. Got a flat near Finsbury Park and really did the best we could. And I was in, I was fully committed, one hundred percent. But, uh, Rachel. Rachel wasn’t.”

Ryan feels incredibly sad for Harry all of a sudden. Not the Harry that’s sitting before her—successful, kind, handsome. But the Harry she never met, the Harry she imagined when she first saw the photograph with Rachel in Jackson’s room. The one with long hair and big eyes, the one who didn’t really deserve to deal with the burden of raising a child on his own. The one who did it anyway, selflessly.

“She wanted to go to law school. Had all these dreams about being a career woman and living in a posh flat in the middle of the city. A baby wasn’t in her plans, either, I suppose.” He pauses and offers Ryan an encouraging smile when he sees the look of anguish on her face. “It’s okay, really. Didn’t want to stick around where I wasn’t wanted, right? Didn’t want that for Jackson, either.”

“We’re okay, now. Still friends and such. She sees Jackson one long weekend out of every month, and I think he’s getting used to it. But with covid and everything, she just hasn’t really been around much. So it’s an adjustment.” Ryan can tell that Harry really isn’t okay with everything, because how could you still be friends with somebody you made a child with? That same somebody who decided it wasn’t meant for her? That same somebody who let the responsibility fall onto one parent?

But one look into his eyes, Ryan can see that even after all that heartache and stress and pain, that Harry somehow did it. He raised a great kid, he figured out a career path, he ended up doing it all on his own—and suddenly Ryan feels quite in awe of the man sitting across from her.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” The words fall from her lips without a second thought, and she can feel the brightness from Harry’s grin, her own eyes squinting when she takes in the image of a beaming Harry with fluffy curls and strong arms and a stupid look plastered on his face.

Harry suddenly wonders if he should scoot closer towards her on the couch. Because she’s looking at him with bright, brown eyes, pouty tinted lips and a look on her face that he just wants to unravel. But he’s timid, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm her with the story he just told her and the feelings that are brewing in his stomach.

So he changes the subject.

“Jackson really likes you.” His words cause the apples of Ryan’s cheeks to raise.

“Yeah, well, guess I can sort of relate to him in a way,” her words come out so softly that Harry had to lean forward to make sure he heard her correctly. Because suddenly Ryan’s giving him information while looking into his eyes—not focusing on spreading out her pizza toppings, not mulling over which record to pick. She’s looking directly at him.

And Harry’s almost certain this is better than sitting closer to her.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Well, I was around the same age as him when my parents split up,” Ryan frowns when she realizes the direction their conversation is heading in. “I mean, not that you and Rachel were ever married or whatever. Or that you’re doing a bad job, I just, uh,” Harry encourages her to continue with a gentle nod, but suddenly Ryan is aware that her throat is closing up and her mind has gone blank. Her thoughts are just a swirling mess inside her brain, disappearing on the tip of her tongue the second she tries to formulate her response.

She can feel her social anxiety take hold, and she desperately needs a minute.

So she tells him. “Just, hold on. Give me a minute.”

Harry is nothing but patient, and when he can hear the breath lodged in her throat, her chest compressing as Ryan tries her hardest to push it out of her lungs, he reaches for the hand squeezing her thigh, rubbing soothing motions on the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down. 

Ryan’s eyes immediately look into green, and she can feel her chest fall as the breath finally leaves her parted lips. With one look into Harry’s eyes, one graze of his hand on the back of her own, she can feel her breathing regulate, and suddenly she’s calm for the first time all night.

“Lost you again,” Harry whispers.

Ryan nods thrice, feeling her skin prickle with goosebumps even though her insides are sweltering. “Sometimes I can’t think when I’m around you,” she admits.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?” Harry asks gently.

“Not really,” Ryan gulps harshly, forcing her eyes to look into Harry’s. “Not for me.”

It’s quiet, safe for the opening guitar riff of Car On a Hill playing softly in the background. Harry feels his body shifting just the smallest bit towards Ryan’s, so subtle that she can barely recognize it as it’s happening. She’s trapped in his eyes, swirling greens and golden hues spotted with freckles telling her to lean in, to come closer, to push herself into his personal space the way he’s been dreaming about ever since she left with his tea mug the day before. 

And she wants to, so badly, that suddenly it’s all she can think about. The confidence Fiona instilled in her hours earlier is back, and when her eyes dart down to Harry’s cherry lips, taking in the chapped ridges and the way his tongue darts out to lick the dryness away, she’s almost certain he wants the same thing as her.

His hand is still on hers and that’s all of the affirmation she needs, so with one fell swoop she makes a move to close the gap between them. And just as Ryan is centimeters away from his lips and her eyelids are about to shut—

—Nothing.

At the last moment, Harry backed away the smallest of inches, but it was enough for Ryan to understand that he didn’t, in fact, want the same thing as her.

So with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Ryan stands up abruptly, ripping her hand out from under his own warm palm, offering a lame, “I should go,” before grabbing her trainers from near the shoe rack and heading straight for his door without even stopping to put them on her feet.

Before Harry can hear his front door close, he kicks into high gear, running after Ryan before she can get away again. Because he’s an absolute fucking idiot for backing away, for his muscles turning rigid and his mind swirling with far too many thoughts. 

But once he’s reached the entranceway, he finds nobody there. Just the sight of his door half-closed and the hallway rug upturned at the corner. And when he peeks his head out into the hallway and hears the sound of heavy oak closing, he realizes that he’s missed his chance.

And there’s nobody to blame but himself. 

*** A/N: Hi guys, please don’t hate me. Here’s part five of you feel like home, aka the longest part I’ve posted so far. Originally I was going to have it be two parts, but because I didn’t want to create another title, it’s just one. I know this is probably not how we thought (or wanted) the “date” to go, but I promise there’s more to the story! Part six will be posted on Thursday December 3, so feel free to chat (or yell) at me in the meantime. This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! And to everybody celebrating tomorrow, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. x