“Some of the best memories are made with a cocktail in your hand.” 

Having just stepped into Mum’s garden for the summer celebration of Gemma and Michal’s 2nd wedding anniversary, I heard Wolf’s joyful boast to my sister Gemma. The girls sipped what looked to be Sangria. Wolf was the only one on the west-facing bench, talking with Gemma and Chloe who were sat on the opposite bench. When Wolf threw back her head and laughed, I drank in the sight of her as her hair swirled playfully with the toss of her head. The light from the setting sun shone on her face, making it shiny. Sadly, I was confident she wouldn’t take that as a compliment. “Shiny” seemed to be a dirty word to women when it came to their faces. The sundresses were clearly back in season, and luckily the weather was warm enough that I got to see her gorgeous shoulders. Not to mention the cleavage she was displaying. Unwilling to take my eyes off her, I nearly tripped over Dusty who was winding her way around my legs. Picking up the cat, I held her in front of my face as I soothed her angry meows. When Dotty scratched at my leg, I understood her worry about her friend. Scooping up the second cat, I made a beeline for my original goal, plopping Dusty in Wolf’s lap while I stroked Dotty. 

“Oh!” Because of her surprise, some of Wolf’s drink slopped over onto her hand. True to her usual good nature, she chose not to chastise me publicly. Licking off the remnants, she placed her glass on the table before settling Dusty more comfortably on her lap. “Hi, sweet one. I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” Let’s face it. There was no way I was going to allow the opportunity for that joke to pass me by. It was a line just waiting to be shared. Wolf merely rolled her eyes and twisted her body slightly away from me and more towards Gemma. 

“Your brother, the Queen of All Things, has arrived,” she announced, causing Gemma and Chloe to laugh. The announcement sounded rather regal, and I smiled too, knowing that she meant it as a joke with me and not about me. It had been her contention for years that things come easily to me. Little did she know...

“He always has to make a grand entrance,” my sister teased before rising and half-hugging me, carefully not to squish my passenger. “Give me Dotty.” Removing the younger cat from my arms, Gemma flumped back into her seat, where she and Chloe fussed over the cat. Michal joined us, settling in the single chair at the grouping, leaving me the lone person standing.

“What’s up, Wolf?” 

Wolf shifted to make room for me on the bench. “When are you going to give up on that awful nickname?” Burying her hand in Dusty’s fur, she scratched the cat gently behind the ears for a few moments before Dusty tired of the attention. Rising and stretching, Mum’s eldest cat took her leave, either stalking a new prey or desiring her soft bed. 

“Wolf?” Michal asked, bewildered, his gaze swiveling from me to the girl sat next to me. “I thought your name was…”

“Not when Harry is around,” Gemma dryly interrupted. “You’ve not heard the story?” 

“Oh, it’s a good one!” I chimed in. “Let me get a drink, and I’ll tell all!”

“I’ve brought you a drink, darling.” Mum to the rescue per usual. 

She handed me a bright red drink which I presumed to be sangria. “Thanks, Mum.” 

“You young people better behave over here,” she warned, both her bite and her bark without any rancor, before sauntering away to join Louise and the Mlykowskis. 

“Now, where were we?” I wiggled my bum until I was sat comfortably against the back of the bench, resting one arm behind Wolf so that I could tug on her hair (mostly because I know how much she hates it). Sure enough, she batted at my hand as I twirled her hair around my fingers. “Oh, yes. The nickname.”

Wolf punched my thigh. “It’s a stupid story, and a silly nickname, especially since there are no wolves in England. Honestly, Michal. Wouldn’t you rather hear about the time Harry had to go to the cosmetics counter when he was 10?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” My voice was raised in laughter as I set my drink on the table next to hers and turned to tickle her until she squealed. 

“I give up!” 

“Great.” Rubbing my hands together, I prepared to share the story while Gemma folded her arms and stared at me amusedly. “What?” 

“If you tell the Wolf story, and she tells the cosmetics story, then I get to tell the football story.” 

Shit. My sister was out for blood. But I couldn’t just leave my brother-in-law hanging. He deserved to know the truth about Wolf. Refusing to acknowledge Gemma’s comment (and confident I could change the subject once my story was done so as to avoid any potential embarrassment to myself), I cleared my throat. 

“We used to live next to this Chinese restaurant. It was my favourite place --” 

“OUR favourite place,” Wolf interrupted. 

Giving her the side-eye, I acquiesced. “Fine. Our favourite place.” I shook my head to indicate that she shouldn’t try to control the narrative on this one, knowing that she would anyway. “When we were about seven or eight, I convinced her that sweet and sour sauce was actually wolf’s blood. I was so insistent, and when our families went there to eat, I would purposely order sweet and sour just so I could slurp up the sauce.”

“It was disgusting!” Wolf wrinkled her nose. “And it was mean to tell me it was wolf’s blood. Of course, I was an idiot to believe it.”

“It got to the point where she would cry whenever I ordered it,” I laughed, “and Mum made me admit that it wasn’t wolf’s blood. She made the owner take us into the kitchen to show how it was made. But the nickname stuck.”

“Only with you,” Wolf retorted. “No one else uses that ridiculous name.”

“Mhm,” I murmured, “Not to your face anyway.” While the rest of the group dissolved into giggles, sipping more of their sangria, Wolf picked up her glass and took a long, deep sip. 

“But Michal, you haven’t yet heard the story of the cosmetics counter. Harry and I had gone to the pharmacy to return an electric toothbrush he’d bought without permission. Anne made him take it back, and when we walked in, the clerk told Harry to go to the Cosmetics Counter. Well, he threw an absolute fit. ‘I don’t want any cosmetics!’ He stomped his feet while he shouted the words, too. ‘I only want to return this toothbrush.’ It was quite the spectacle. Almost as big a splash as when he wore a dress on the cover of Vogue.” 

My smile tilted up the corners of my mouth at her retelling of our ancient history. 

“That’s when the clerk leaned over the counter and quietly said to him, ‘Harry Styles. Stop that caterwauling this instant!’ Naturally, he was so shocked that he stood still and stared at her. ‘Returns are only processed by the manager, and he’s at the cosmetics counter.’ Oh, goodness! The look on his face!” Wolf bent over at the waist, her laughter contagious as the others in the group also joined. 

I couldn’t stop my dimple from showing at her mirth. It was good to see her having fun like this. The last time we’d been in the same space seven months ago at Christmas, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, and she was quite in her feels. This was a treat compared to that night when I’d had to hold her hair while she puked and then drive her home to put her to bed. Alone. 

“My turn now!” Gemma yelled, and both Wolf and I looked at our empty glasses. 

Standing, I reached for her glass. “Do your worst, Gemma, but only after we’ve got refills.” With that, I stalked inside to the kitchen to pour some more drinks. As I stood at the counter rinsing our glasses, arms wrapped around me, and Wolf leaned her face into my back. 

“I’ve missed you, you giant dork,” she whispered, and I freed my hands so that I could clasp her fingers more tightly to my tummy. When the door behind us opened, she sprang away, grasping a plate and filling it with yummy goodies Mum had prepared. Another guest entered the room and approached the drinks, greeting us heartily. Since I was already pouring drinks, I paused with the container in one hand, offering silently to add more liquid to Mrs. Mathieu’s glasses. 

“Make one for me too, Wolf,” I insisted as she added cheeses and biscuits and fruit to her plate. 

“Only if you say the magic word,” she pouted. 

“Abracadabra!” 

“Ha. Ha.” Her dignified answer was accompanied by her picking up a second plate and loading it with more of the same. 

“Okay, okay. Please?” I begged, and she looked at me and smiled. Fuck. It was the same smile I remembered from the first time we met in primary school. Crooked and warm and perfect. Although it had a few more teeth this time. The past seven months, I had missed that smile tremendously. 

We traded drinks for plates so we held one of each, and Wolf looked up at me unabashedly. “How the hell do we get out of the football story?” 

“Well,” I attempted, grinning widely, “We could sneak away from the party and never return.”

She nudged my elbow, shaking her head. “It would never work. Someone would figure it out and hunt us down.”

“The other option is telling embarrassing stories about Gemma before she can start.”

“Oh, right. Because THAT will stop her.” 

The sarcasm was accurate. If anything, adding fuel to the fire would mean even more embarrassing stories about us. And truth to tell, there were plenty. My best friend since I was seven, Wolf and I had a million embarrassing stories that Gems could share. “Okay, so we’re agreed.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “We get her reminiscing about the wedding two summers ago.”

“Wait. What?” My elbow was on the door, prepared to close it behind us when she spoke. “That won’t work.”

“Of course it will work! Every bride loves to talk about her wedding.”

Skeptical, I stared at her. Blinking first, I nodded. “You take the lead. Let’s see if it works.”

“Deal.” Striding back to the group, Wolf went on the offensive, and it reminded me of the many times she’d learned more about my dates and my life than I had intended to share. “Hey, Gemma. Settle a bet for H and me. Were your bridesmaids’ dresses more peach or apricot?”

My sister tilted her head, staring first at Wolf and then me. Her gaze swiveled between us, and I knew the ploy hadn’t worked. “They were apricot. Kind of like that uniform you used to wear for football.” 

Shit. 

Ready to concede, I’d forgotten how tenacious Wolf could be. “I loved the band you had at the reception. Who was it again?”

Gemma blinked once. Twice. Her eyes narrowed, and I knew Wolf was done for. “You wouldn’t be trying to distract me from the football story now, would you?” 

Wolf swallowed before attempting to innocently sip her sangria. “Um, no. Of course not. Tell whatever stories you want.” 

Sitting up straight, Gemma surveyed her audience. “Okay. Here we go. Buckle in, folks. So it was a rainy, muddy day on the pitch, but Wolf here was insistent that she and I go see Harry’s football game. For whatever reason, Wolf decided we should get dressed up for the game. I was wearing a pants suit, but she insisted on wearing a sundress --” She squinted, “--not unlike the one she’s wearing today.” 

Chloe and Michal’s eyes roamed over Wolf, and I felt protective. They ignored the lasers I shot at them. Mum and Louise wandered to the edges of where we were sitting. Great. Just what we didn’t need. A wider audience. Casually, I returned my arm behind Wolf’s back, playing with her hair in a way that I hoped calmed her. 

“We set ourselves up with brollies, standing on the sidelines, watching the game. My trousers stuck to my legs around the ankles because of the rain, but Wolf wouldn’t let me bring up the topic of leaving even though she was shivering in the cold. Harry, being Harry, made his first goal of the entire season. In celebration, he chose to slide on the muddy pitch on both knees.” 

She paused, watching her listeners, and I was reminded how impressive she is as a storyteller. It’s one of my sister’s many gifts. Not that I wanted her to continue telling this particular story. I could feel the flush creeping up my skin, and I resolved to be good-natured about the ribbing that would come as a result. 

“But my idiot brother failed to take into account that the mud tends to be more slick than the grass which meant that when he slid in our direction, the mud flew all over both Wolf and me.”

Michal and Chloe started to giggle, and I knew they were picturing the pristine Gems covered in mud, but they hadn’t been exposed yet to the most embarrassing part. 

“The best, though, was that Harry kept sliding -- right into Wolf. He landed with his face right in her crotch, mud covering both of them.”

The crowd, which now included Mum and her friends, burst into laughter, chuckling loudly while Wolf and I attempted to make light of the past moment. We snickered with the rest of the group, but I felt her body stiffen next to me, and I knew she was reliving the abject embarrassment of the moment. As was I. 

“Goodness! That was hilarious,” Michal remarked. “Did I ever tell you about the time Gemma and I tried to take Olivia to the vet without her carrier?”

As he began the story, I glanced at Wolf to spy her looking my way. We shared a smile and then returned our attention to the tale being spun before us. Somehow we had survived. 

-----------

The night continued for quite a while, sangria freely flowing, and I cut myself off after three glasses of the sugary liquor. I noticed that Wolf took over an hour to drink her third glass until I finally brought her water to trade for her mostly-empty cup. 

“Thanks, H,” she whispered, reaching up to touch the curl at the top of my forehead, twirling it around her finger lightly. 

“You heading home soon?” I asked, and she nodded. 

“I’m getting tired. But I caught a ride with Chloe, and it seems like she’s planning to stay for the duration.”

Instantly I promised, “I can take you home.” 

“Aw, H. You’re sweet.” She wrapped her arm around my waist, which naturally led to me guiding my arm over her shoulder. Pulling her in closer, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Good. I’ve got you fooled.” 

When she yawned less than 10 minutes later, I pressed the point. “Really, Wolf. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

Sleepily and shyly, she nodded. “Thanks.”

Within minutes, we’d said our goodbyes to the stragglers, providing hugs all around. My hand on Wolf’s back felt like it was seared where it touched her bare skin, and I steered her towards my car. 

“You’re up from London then? Staying for some time or heading back?” she asked. 

“Haven’t decided,” I replied, and it was absolutely the truth. “I’ve got my flat above the pub.” There were things to do in London, but… Well, there were things I wanted to do in Holmes Chapel too. “How’s business?” 

“Booming!” she grinned. “The work of a solicitor is never complete.” 

“Ah, yes. True.” We climbed into the car, and I twisted the key before turning towards her. “You always were brilliant.” 

The blush that rose on her cheeks enhanced her beauty. “H --” 

“Shhh,” I interrupted. “No negative self-talk.” Pressing the ignition button, I reversed onto the road and steered towards her house. “I’m proud of you.” My words tumbled out, and as they did so, I examined them for lies. There were none. 

“I am so proud of you,” she responded. “You’ve made your own way, Harry. Celebrity crashed in on you like a flood from a broken dam, and you’ve managed to stem its tide and surf it.” 

I chuckled. “No idea how many metaphors you just butchered, but thank you.” Steering with one hand, I reached for her hand with mine. “Thanks for being such a brave duck about the football story.”

“Oh, goodness,” she gushed, grasping my hand. “That story shouldn’t be embarrassing. I mean, we were like 12 years old when it happened.” 

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But I had the biggest crush on you at the time.”

Her hand clenched around mine, and she went silent for a minute or two as I steered onto her street. “You did? Harry! I had no idea.” 

“Likely cause I tried to keep it from you. No sense in fucking up my relationship with my best friend over something silly.” Pulling into her drive, I killed the engine, listening to it tick in the cooling night air while she sat in silence, her other hand wrapping around our conjoined grip. 

“H--” she started, “I, uh, have a confession.”

Bewildered, I turned to her, only able to see her outline in the fading daylight. The meteorologists had announced a full moon for the night, and I wanted to see her face reflected in the light, but it seemed to be too cloudy for that to happen. Figured. 

“Yes?” 

“I, um, I had a crush on you that year too. And when you slid into the mud at my feet, all I could think was ‘my hero!’.” She withdrew her hands to bury her face in both palms, and I looked at her sharply. 

“Seriously?” 

She nodded, her hair falling around her hands still covering her face. 

“Wolf?” I wondered. “Do you…” Pausing, I didn’t feel safe saying more. We’d been best friends for more than 20 years. 

Her face, freed from her hands, turned in my direction. “Do I what?” 

“Do you still…” 

“Have a crush on you? Shit, H. The entire world has a crush on you these days. You’re everywhere, and any woman or man who gets to spend time in your orbit is lucky as fuck.” 

“That didn’t answer my question, Wolf.” My words were bold, but at this point, I was past caring. I wanted more from her, and she needed to know that so she could put me out of my misery -- one way or the other. 

“H…” she hedged. 

With my hands retrieved from her grasp, I tugged on the door handle and stood up, moving to her side of the car. Opening the door, I held out my hand for her. Gingerly, she placed her hand in mine, not taking her eyes from my face the entire time. Once she was standing in the open doorway, I bent my head and captured her lips. Without remorse or apology. Or permission. 

Warmth flowed between us, and I felt her startle slightly before she wrapped a hand around my neck and opened to me. Fuck. I delved inside. She tasted like summer and the berries we’d had at my mum’s house. Her tongue tangled with mine in ways that let me know she was eager for more. My hand snaked around her waist, drawing her closer to me as I ransacked her mouth more deeply. Fuck. This. This was all I’d ever wanted. 

When she moved her hand from my neck, I wanted to cry, but I gentled the kiss when she patted at my chest. 

“We can’t…” she began, and my heart fell, “...out here. Anyone could see.” Shit. YES! 

“Of course,” I agreed, calming my body which was already raging at the possibility of being inside her. 

She stepped around me, heading for the door of her home. I glanced around to see what eyes might be watching, but ultimately I didn’t care as I stumbled up the stairs behind her. As soon as she turned the key and opened the door, I took the opportunity to attach my lips to her neck. 

“Harry!” she yelped. “Let me close the door at least.” 

She was speaking sense, but all I could think was how much I wanted her. Allowing her to shut the door behind my hip, I immediately reached for her again. 

“Hey!” Wolf squawked. “Give me a second to breathe. We’ve waited a long time for this step, H, so is there really a rush?” 

“On the contrary,” I replied, “There’s an intense rush because we’ve waited too long.”

She smiled while she ran her hand over my chest. “I understand, but let’s do this right.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “By the way, I’m not looking to be a one night stand.” 

My right eyebrow raised. “Have I ever given you the impression that I go for quickies?” 

The devilish smile that roamed across her lips was all the permission I needed. “Music?” she wondered, stepping to the stereo and choosing a vinyl. When she placed the needle to the record, the strains of Steve Lacy’s newest filled the room. Removing her shoes, she beckoned me with one finger while undulating her hips. What the hell. She was right. We had plenty of time if we were truly going to try this on for a relationship. I toed off my Vans, my bare feet gliding in her direction until I was close enough to grasp her around the waist and pull her in. 

The song was sexy by itself, but add in this gorgeous woman and it would have been impossible for me to not press my lips to her neck. With my tongue, I tasted her pulse point before my lips closed over the flesh. Fuck, she tasted amazing. We swayed to the first song, her head resting on my chest. Moving together but not talking.

As the first song ended, Wolf lifted her head, catching my eye. “You’re sober, right?” 

Because I knew the reason she asked, I nodded. “I stopped two hours ago, and you nursed that last drink for at least an hour which means you’re not under the influence either.” 

“True,” she whispered, “I know exactly what I’m doing. You clean?” 

“Yep. Do you want a condom?”

“Not if you’re clean. I am too; also I have an IUD. Now, let’s do this.” With those words, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine with a hunger that matched my own. I pulled her into me, bending my head to allow her to take whatever she wanted from me. And take she did. Her tongue danced a flamenco with mine, and I didn’t want to breathe for fear she would stop.

While our mouths were engaged, her fingers moved to the hem of my vintage tee, lifting it up just enough for her hand to skim across my ferns before rising to brush over my nipples. Not gonna lie. I shivered. My nips were en pointe, and I couldn’t wait to return the favor, but Wolf was having none of it. As soon as she finished pushing my shirt over my head (leaving me to fully remove it from there -- or remain trapped in the arms), she skimmed her hands over my chest, sucking first the left and then the right nipple into her mouth. 

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, and I watched her fingers brush over my two extra nipples, “I know you’re important too.” 

A strangled cry left my throat, and I found myself staring at the ceiling because she wasn’t done yet. Her fingers fumbled with the button on my trousers, sliding the zipper down. Both hands reached under the fabric of my pants to scratch my arse before she peeled the trousers and pants down my legs. But did she allow me to step out of them? Nope. Not even remotely. Next thing I knew, she was on her knees in front of my cock. 

“Hi, there,” she cooed. “I’ve not seen you in decades. You’ve grown up quite a bit.” 

I chuckled at her silliness, but then sucked in air with the force of a hurricane as she used her tongue to lave the tip of my cock. 

“Fuck, Wolf. Have some mercy,” I pleaded. 

“I’ve been waiting way too long to taste this,” she announced just before my entire length was engulfed in her mouth. 

Oh holy fuck. I couldn’t breathe. My fingers tangled in her hair as my head tilted backwards to stare at her ceiling. That is, if my eyes had been open. Instead, they were closed as stars burst on the lids with the feel of her lips on me as she applied the perfect amount of suction to make me fully erect. 

“Wolf?” I attempted the single word, but it came out more like “wooofffffffffff”. She had just grabbed my arse while deepthroating me, and I couldn’t summon enough energy to enunciate her nickname appropriately. 

When my eyes were able to open and gaze down at her, I watched as she settled back on her heels, gently releasing my cock into her palm. Fuck. My best friend had very nearly brought me off with just her mouth. At that moment, I had choices, but I was going to look ridiculous doing any of them, so I chose the least offensive, reaching under her arms and raising her to her feet so that I could kiss her, tasting myself on her. It was heady. 

“You taste like bike rides in the park,” I commented, as I gingerly stepped out of my trousers and pants, kicking them to the side. 

“And you taste like a savory ice lolly.” 

My smile crept over my lips as I examined her sundress. Were there ties? Or did it just slip over her head? Could I…?

Slipping the spaghetti straps from her shoulders, I kissed the flesh revealed by first the left and then the right before sliding the straps further down her arms. As the dress started to fall, I was intrigued to find that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts were like pears, stood up tall and perky. 

“Haven’t seen you -- ever,” I hoarsely whispered. 

“Harry!” she gasped, giggling. 

“It’s true!” I protested. “When we were young, I saw them plenty, but once they started growing, you always kept them hidden from me. But fuck, Wolf -- they’re perfect!” 

Modesty perhaps is what brought the slight tilting of her lips, and she shook her head. “Harry --” 

The straps, trapped at her elbows, brought the dress just far enough for me to enjoy the pears, and I held one in my hand while teasing the other with my tongue. When I pinched one nipple between my teeth and the other between my fingers, she moaned. I knew exactly how she felt. 

“I’m so wet for you,” she choked out. 

“Yeah?” I stammered, coming up for air from my pear-shaped treat. 

She shifted on her feet, rubbing her legs together. “Mhm,” she murmured. 

Shit. I couldn’t wait much longer to feel that for myself. “Drop the dress,” I commanded. Wolf’s heavy-lidded eyes captured mine before she released her hands by her side, the dress falling to her feet. Standing in only her knickers, she widened her stance after kicking the outfit in the direction of my discarded clothing. 

Stepping close to her, I ran my finger along the strip of fabric between her legs. “You aren’t kidding,” I admitted, “Wet.”

“That’s just my panties, H.” 

Why was I surprised that she would know exactly what to say to make me drool? After all, she knew me better than other humans outside of my family. Hooking my thumb around the elastic on one side, I prodded the cloth to the side, gliding one finger just inside her personal folds, my finger quickly becoming slick with moisture. 

“Oh, my,” I forced the words through my increasingly dry lips. “You’re definitely ready for me.”

“But are you ready for me?” she teased, and I captured her lips as I pumped my finger in and out of her, my thumb flicking at her clit until she moaned into my mouth. My goal was to bring her to orgasm before entering her, and when she swayed under my movements, I knew I might be close to achievement. Her arm wrapped around my neck, her fingers playing with the hairs there while her head tilted backwards and she rolled side to side in time with the music. 

“Mmmmmm, H…” The purr she released sounded like a pleased cat who had been enjoying fresh cream. “I’m close…”

“Good,” I whispered, “cause I wanna watch you tip over the edge.”

“Will you catch me?” 

“Always.” With my reassurance, her legs started quivering and she cried out loudly enough for me to be grateful that her house had thick walks. No reason to attract the neighbors. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I continued working at her clit while her legs gave way until the shivers completely passed. 

“Goodness, Harry. That was --” 

“Life changing?” I ventured. 

“Perhaps.” Standing upright, she took my hand and twisted towards the hallway, coaxing me behind her as she led the way to her bedroom. 

“Wolf?”

“H?”

“We’re not being rash, are we?”

In all her naked (but for her knickers) glory, she halted inside her bedroom, propping her hands on her waist as she glared at me. 

“Harry Edward…”

“Did you just two-name me?” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t three-name you! Are you trying to tell me that you’ve not considered the idea of us in bed together before you kissed me tonight?” 

Before I answered, I examined her body language. After all these years, I know her reactions as well as I know my own. Hanging my head, I shook it from side to side before making direct eye contact. “Of course I’ve thought about it. Many, many times.” 

“Me too,” she shrugged. “I suspect we’ve both played through all of the possible scenarios in our heads and drew a similar conclusion in the end.”

“That if we were ever both in the same place at the same time -- emotionally as well as physically -- we would go for it?” 

“Exactly. Now, quit talking and fuck me, H.” Stepping to the bed, she sat down and scooted backwards on the duvet. 

Rubbing my hands together, I moved closer, reaching for the waistband of her panties, casually sliding them down her legs. 

“I shaved for you,” she smiled, and I ran my hands over her hairless legs before she spread them to show me that he hadn’t just meant her legs. 

“You knew?” I asked, “About this?” 

“I hoped.” 

No one could fault her for that response, least of all me. Sheepishly, I caught her attention on my cock. “Me, too.” 

“Thought you may have manscaped,” she laughed, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Totally worth it too.” 

My lips roamed over her body again, trying to ensure that every part of her felt loved. Squirming, she reached for my cock multiple times, but I always moved out of her reach. 

“Harry!” Her frustration was playful, and I giggled. 

“Not yet, Wolf. If you touch me right now, I might explode.”

“Ah. Not an optimal conclusion.” 

When my hands centered on her pussy, fingers working to bring her to a feverish pitch. “Ready?” my voice came in puffs as I perched over her. 

At her nod, I plunged inside, and her legs immediately wrapped around my waist. 

“Oh, fuck, H. Don’t move yet. Just let me…”

“Let you what?” My words were lost in her shoulder. 

“Adjust.” She breathed. “Feel this. Experience this. Celebrate this.” 

Now that she mentioned it, I realized she was absolutely right. It was a moment to be remembered and savored. Linking our hands, I locked gazes with her. When she nodded, I began to move, and stars exploded everywhere. We collided like two perfect atoms, smashing into a million pieces as we tipped into the abyss. I was breathing hard when I eventually rolled off of her onto the bed at her side. Raising my arm, she snuggled into me, her naked leg wrapping around me. 

“You should get some sleep,” she commented. 

“Wait. What about savoring the moment?” 

“Silly, H. That one was nearly perfect. But I’m going to be ready for round two soon enough.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “You’re just planning to use me for sex now.” 

“Duh,” Wolf chuckled, drawing a blanket from the foot of the bed over us. 

We both knew the truth, and I smiled as I drifted off to sleep. In the recesses of my brain, I could have sworn I heard her voice, but it was probably just my imagination.

It’s a small memory, nothing too serious to warrant a constant rethinking, but that night he falls asleep and dreams of it —dreams of it with so much vividness that when he wakes up, startling back into consciousness in the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend Amara, he can still see the hooded dark eyes looking up at him, can see his own shaky hand pushing back those locks before leaning in.

It takes a while for the dream to fade, and it’s Amara, always Amara, that Harry registers first; Amara’s spooning him, arms around Harry, and Harry can feel her even breathing tickling the back of his neck. It’s calming somehow, and if he really focuses for a moment, he will be able to hear Amara’s heartbeat. And he waits for the rest of the dream to leave like that, except it doesn’t, instead it shows him the same scenario as before but this time Amara hugs him from behind, her eyes closed and she’s begging him to stop pining for the guy before them.

◇

“Did you have a bad dream last night?”

This is Amara’s uniqueness, her ability to notice things even when it should be impossible for her, and then start a conversation that will make Harry almost trip over the mat outside their bath. Lucky for them, Harry’s able to stop the fall with a hand against the wall before instantly turning to Amara, already dressed and styling her hair.

“Well, not really—it was just a dream?”

Their morning routine is one of his favourite things. Amara would jostle Harry awake and next there would be a flurry of sheets and mumbles and toilets flushing, but it feels as if today’s conversation doesn’t fit anywhere and there is a sudden stillness when he perches himself on top of a kitchen island stool, taking in every detail of the kitchen —their kitchen—and marvelling at the fact that something so simple and wonderful like his mornings with Amara could be his.

It’s been enough months, but his eyes still catch on her ring.

It’s been more than enough months, where he hasn’t felt any different than to see it there, and know exactly what promises it bears for their future, suddenly what used to be a nice feeling in Harry’s chest—ballooning in his lungs at seven in the morning, the way it feels when he gets to the high notes in Sign of the times where the music swells and he gets to unleash his vocal chords’ full potential like an eagle spreads its wings ready to fly and just feel, just be. Now feels like he has a boa squeezing all the air out of him along with his life, that’s what being with Amara after dreaming about his old lover last night feels like. Pressure, none of his emotions in control, all of them cold.

The sunlight pouring into the kitchen, the breeze ruffling his curls. It doesn’t seem real, but it feels, more than anything, like acting in a movie.

But it is real, and that is the part where Harry stumbles on—on the fact that all of this is true, within reach, whether the ring is there or not—the fact that he has been sharing his life with Amara is real.

Little things like this—like Amara’s hand brushing Harry’s hair back, like Amara’s hand tracing her fingers on his neck until it tickles—those things take Harry’s breath away when they happen. They’re shocking reminders of how real all of this is, and how deeply and intensely he feels about her, and sometimes when he’s reminded of the things he does have, all he can do is stare.

He’s doing it now, but Amara, always is staring back with equal fondness.

“Just a dream as in a bad one or a good one?” she inquires.

“I did dream, but it wasn’t bad…”

Amara blinks. “Oh? Was it a naughty—”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Not that, either. Just a memory, that’s all.”

“A pleasant one?”

“I guess…”

The coffee maker beeps then, and Harry flounders—I guess what?

The longer he sits there, the faster the dream seems to be growing fainter, only the edges of the memory softening how it had felt to dream something from so long ago. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to get married next year at the end of June, but it just seems to fade in comparison to the memory of how years ago, he would get a kiss every morning along with a mug of tea instead of coffee.

There must be a story somewhere, Amara knows, about people her fiancé had not let go entirely. Or maybe he had and it was just a memory. She doesn’t want to feel like he’s keeping the truth from her, so without asking more questions, she leaves for work and leaves a quick peck on his cheek.

Reality completely falls on Harry’s shoulders the moment Amara’s out the door and he’s finally able to accept that last night his heart found his way to his throat, at the sight of whom he used to share his mornings with, all those years ago.

Harry sighs completely defeated, when it comes to Manjiro, love has really always been the most fitting word.

◇

Weddings aren’t supposed to be this easy.

It’s never, ever, by any means, a one-man or two-man affair; they’re both lucky to have a supportive circle of people more than happy to butt heads with everyone else about every single detail. But the exhaustive planning and petty arguments about the wedding’s coordination never come.

At first Amara thought that because Harry was someone that has spent his career finding the balance, good compromise, between what could only be called a perfectly choreographed schedule and heart, it was an easy task. There were people to call, suits and dresses to fit, neckties to ask Harry about. There were invitations and RSVPs and confirmation e-mails to be read and responded to.

Amara was honestly longing for it, the planning, the waiting, the itch that none of them couldn’t seem to scratch away, the urgency for it all to be over. It never came.

Mostly, if she’s honest, it’s just frustrating that Harry was able to take all that work and do it; it’s rare in life for her to feel uncertain in certainty, for her to second-guess every little flawless action Harry did for the wedding. Amara feels that no matter which angle she examines all this from, no matter how many times she changes her mind on the flowers and the cake, he will find a way to do it splendidly. It makes her blood boil, because she knows that something is wrong but she can’t know exactly what it is, not when Harry looks so certain about anything.

But she's completely wrong about his certainty.

“Harry?”

Harry blinks, thinks for a second that he’s imagined that voice. But when he turns to look over his shoulder, blinking a few more times just to be sure that his eyes are not deceiving him, to a very grown up Manjiro standing in the doorway of his favourite bakery.

“What brings you to this side of town?”

“I—” Harry hums, putting his wallet back in his pocket. “Just getting some fresh baked goodies for tomorrow’s breakfast. And thinking.”

“I see,” Manjiro says softly, he opens the door and motions his head to the street, an invitation. One that Harry has yet to refuse. "Is it about your wedding?”

“How do you know about that?” Harry retorts, but all he gets is Manjiro’s playful eye roll that takes him back to that summer when he was nineteen and so madly in love, so he lets it go. “Kind of?” He admits.

“Having second thoughts?” The shorter man fails to disguise the teasing from his tone.

“Yes and no.” Harry says, even as Manjiro smiles, chuckles a little as he pulls Harry to cross the street. “But I think she’s having second thoughts as well. About me.”

“Oh I don’t blame her for that.” Manjiro tilts his head up in a way that allows him to look at Harry from under his lashes, like he’s searching for something. It takes Harry back to the first time they kissed, so he looks away a bit flushed.

Sometimes, too, Manjiro felt flushed upon doing things he reserved for Harry and Harry alone. The first time he cooked dinner for someone that was not Harry was a disaster, that person saw him in tears before taking the first bite. After breaking up with Harry, he swore that the spark from his heart was gone, at times it felt like something unlatched from his chest and he couldn’t breathe properly. And no place in this world could ever be Harry-free, he knew after seeing his gorgeous face on a Shanghai banner announcing him as a part of a famous lingerie fashion show. Once Manjiro came to terms with him being the only one to blame for the situation he was in, he was finally able to move on. Little by little, harder than anything he’s ever done before, but able to do it at last.

Which is why upon hearing Harry’s doubts about his upcoming marriage, did not give him any wrong ideas.

“Is it the song for the first dance?” Manjiro says, as they find themselves in Bushy Park. “Is that what’s worrying you?”

Harry shakes his head in denial, marvelling on how easy it is to discuss this with him. “Not the song choice, no.”

“Then?”

“Mikey,” Harry lets the old nickname slip away. He allows himself the hesitation, even if he doesn’t quite feel like he crossed any boundaries as he would have another time. “It just bothers me, how easy it is.”

Manjiro hums, blinking wide and confused and pretty and affectionate.

“We agree on everything, then she decides to change everything about it and I agree. Then she changes it again and I agree and sort it out.” Harry says, slowly. It isn’t something that bothers him, it’s the fact that it doesn’t bother him, what he thinks is off. “And I didn’t even care.”

“Ah.”

It’s Manjiro’s thoughtful ah, his cute giggle that follows it, one of the few things he still reserved for Harry, always just reserved for the things they seem to understand about each other without voicing, the things they seem to understand through touch and eye contact and smiles.

It’s overwhelming to know someone like that. Harry has had all sort of physical intimacy with other people before, but the way Manjiro seems to get what Harry’s thinking, even if not precisely nor completely, but enough to just latch onto that thought process and know that they fit together smoothly in this, to be so knowable and vulnerable and yet not to be engaged to that person. It’s a thing Harry gets mad about, it bothers him, more than the stupid napkin colour matching the table cloth, this is important because it sets his heart on fire and makes him fall in love again.

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t have a complicated wedding,” Manjiro says, twirling like a ballerina around Harry without warning. It startles another disbelieving laugh out of the latter, and the corners of Manjiro’s mouth tug up as well. “Have a small one, or have many, one every year until you’ve forgotten about the ones you didn’t care enough about, because you will have more of those moments to remember.”

“But this one will matter to her,” Harry says quietly. “The date is set to be on the night that we—that we—”

“Fell in love?” Manjiro finishes for him. “You know how I feel about love and all that nonsense. But I’m sure it certainly wasn’t the only time you fell in love with each other, nor the last.”

I did too, you know, Manjiro wants to say. I fell in love with you every morning. I fell in love when you woke up in the middle of the night and left the hallway lights on. I fell in love when you respected my decision to leave. I fell in love over and over and over again.

“Even now, you can still find things about her to fall all over again,” Manjiro continues, as softly as Harry had spoken earlier, clearly not meant to be spoken out loud. “Like this.”

This could mean anything. Could mean the second thoughts, could mean the rays of the moonlight, could mean the quiet of this park that Manjiro seems to be familiar with. Harry doesn’t know how to fall in love again with Amara, not when someone he thought he’d never see again is walking by his side, completely unfazed by their meeting.

Harry would like to call it fate, a happy coincidence written in the stars. But it seems that his Mikey hasn’t changed enough to believe in all that nonsense. Just before he got sad and gloomy, the thought of Amara flashed, she would be the one to call this type of situation a sign of the universe. Amara would even mock him a bit more and say it's a sign of the times, innit? And just like that Harry smiles.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs after they reach the end of Hampton Court road. “I’ll take a cab from here.”

Manjiro’s quiet for a while.

“Thank you, Harry-kun,” he returns eventually. “Matane.”

It’s a reminder that Manjiro doesn’t like to say goodbye, not to Harry at least. He had thought about this, and it was a decision he made.

Separate lives chosen, love fallen into and out of.

“I love you.” Forever sentimental Harry can’t help but say, because he didn’t have a chance before, because he was waiting for the perfect moment, and because he was old enough now to bare his soul to the one that he loved before anyone else.

Harry blinks. Manjiro blinks.

And then they’re both smiling, and then there’s that sweet smile with his eyes closed that Mikey has saved all these years for this moment, and all Harry can think is that if he had to wish on a star now, if he had to wish for anything, anything at all, it will be this summer night, this pair of dark eyes staring right back at me, this, this.

Manjiro looks at Harry. He thinks; I love you.

◇

It’s a starry night, at the end of June in Holmes Chapel when their dream wedding happens.

A sky that Harry has grown up under, a sky that seems to stretch out above them as Harry repeats vows he’d already said in his head, agreed to fulfill promises he knew he wanted for their future, will want over and over for the rest of his days. A sky that has watched him fall in love with a gentle but cruel beautiful boy in the past, a sky that will watch how he falls in love over and over again with a strong and merciful woman.

A part of him does feel nineteen again, looking up, surrounded by new friends this time, by family, watching him get married.

Watching stars is far more infinite than the time he’ll ever spend thinking about the missing people tonight. Watching stars so ancient that could very well be the same ones he’d wished on when he was a broken hearted twenty-two year old. And stars so ancient that they’re also probably not at all the same. A lot of possibilities, a lot of things lost, but that’s fine with Harry. He has moved on.

Getting married in the hometown he loved this much, to the woman that has made him feel what it’s like to love and be loved so earnestly and so constantly and so real. This is all the certainty he needs.

Being with Manjiro and Amara feels like those evenings of star-gazing, if Harry really thought about it, that stillness, hand outstretched towards the stars. That feeling of being privy to that infinity, to something far larger than him. The only difference is that while Mikey made him feel small, Amara doesn’t, not like that. He feels secure, feels grounded, like he could close his eyes and it wouldn’t matter how far the stars are.

Pure contentment, sitting right at home in his chest every time he looks at her.

TROPES

enemies to lovers ( @calm-and-wine )

best friends to lovers ( @ihearthes )

childhood friends ( @adoremp3 )

highschool sweethearts ( @adore-laur )

friends with benefits ( @sunflwrvolume6 )

fake dating ( @hsogolden )

secretly dating ( @yourpolaroid07 )

workplace romance ( @tinyfelthat )

second chance love ( @niallgolden )

runaway bride/groom

best friends brother/sister ( @thefangirlingbarista )

love at first sight

one night stand

love triangle ( @bumbershots )

roommates ( @burberryharold )

OPENING LINES

“I don’t know how it gets better than this.” ( @yourpolaroid07 )

There is nothing more enchanting than watching it snow.

The universe is trying to kill me. ( @bumbershots )

Sometimes, I really wonder how I end up in these situations. ( @calm-and-wine )

“Don’t turn around.”

“I was really hoping it wouldn’t come down to this.” ( @hsogolden )

She was the cause of her own demise.

“Give me a day and I could list all the reasons why that would never work” ( @tinyfelthat )

She opened up the letter with trembling hands. ( @niallgolden )

Sweat coated his forehead as he felt the sand between his toes. ( @thefangirlingbarista )

Dehydration was definitely on the horizon. ( @sunflwrvolume6 )

Some of the best memories are made with a cocktail in your hand. ( @ihearthes )

Nothing will ever beat a classic summer barbecue. ( @adore-laur )

“Sunshine is the best medicine.” ( @adoremp3 )

The beach is my happy place. ( @burberryharold )

note: you are welcome to change your opening line around to fit your style of writing and your challenge itself. this includes changing the person (i.e. first, second or third person), tense (i.e. past tense vs present tense), changing pronouns, changing pronouns to a name, or switching it from dialogue to description or vice versa. as long as the basis of it is the very first line of the challenge, then it’s ok! 

for example, 

I’ve  decided  you’re  the  only  one  I  can  trust. —>  He decides I am the only one he can trust.