#dbts

Despite winning a reality tv show and finding herself in a committed relationship with up-and-coming star Rafi Sayed, Rose Prichard was all too excited to go back to living a regular life after Love Island.

Rose loved her job as an event coordinator for a non-profit, despite the long hours and meager salary. After winning the prize money and moving in with Rafi, however, she no longer had to choose between a job that she loved and paying bills on time.

It had been Rafi’s idea for Rose to move in with him. He’d suggested it the night they won Love Island—before they were even technically a couple—and Rose resisted for as long as she could manage. It was far too soon, she knew that, but they’d been so close in the villa that resistance seemed futile in the end. She broke her lease and moved in with Rafi two months after the series finale.

Soon after the move, Rafi booked a breakout role and the job called him away for months at a time. In the year and a half that they’d lived together, Rafi had only been home with her for six collective months sprinkled throughout. Rose enjoyed spending her time alone or with friends in his lush flat— their lush flat—while he was away filming. It was idyllic, cooking meals in the fancy kitchen, entertaining guests in the well-decorated living room, and bringing her work home to a cozy spare bedroom turned home office. She hardly missed her boyfriend at all. That should have been the first sign that something wasn’t right.

On paper, Rose and Rafi made no sense. She was a private person, maintaining just enough social media presence to assure her distant relatives that she was still alive and, occasionally, using her fame after Love Island to promote charity events. Rafi, even before his stint on reality tv, had been a frequent purveyor of tasteful Instagram thirst traps and lifestyle vlog content. He thrived in the public eye and it was part of his career. It had been an uphill battle for him to get Rose to trust that the two of them could be compatible. 

Rafi had joined Love Island late, infatuated with the girl he’d seen on the show. Rose had been there since day one but had yet to be swept off her feet. Harry, the boy she’d been most interested in before Rafi, was indecisive and immature. Rose gave up on him before the third recoupling, ending up in a friendship match with Camilo until Rafi’s arrival.

Rafi was already committed to Rose before the two had even spoken. His beach hut interviews were convincing love letters to a woman he’d never met that charmed the audience and caused viewers to root for the couple even before their first date.

Though Rose was slightly overwhelmed by Rafi’s initial feelings for her, he was able to prove himself as a partner and deepen his feelings beyond a crush on a girl on the telly. The optics were good. Of Rafi’s crush working out so well, of Rose learning to appreciate and understand and then return his feelings. Of someone coming in so late and so quickly becoming part of a strong couple. When they won, everyone but Rose seemed to have seen it coming.

After the show, their relationship remained somewhat public, despite Rose’s protests. When Rafi got invited to red carpet movie premieres, Rose’s name was listed on the invitation. Rafi’s publicist also encouraged him to post pictures of him and Rose together. He talked about her in interviews, included short clips of her reading or working in his vlogs, and even once took a brand deal promoting an app for couples, using her name in the copy of the ad.

There weren’t fights, really. Rose expressed her need for boundaries, continued to share the bare minimum on her own socials, and declined every brand deal and interview she was offered. She’d ask Rafi for discretion and be disappointed when he could only provide so much.

Rafi was back home for a short stint between filming outside the country and a small press tour for his show when Rose hit a wall with him. He made dinner and opened a bottle of wine, she filled him in on gossip from work and her friends.

“Oh,” he said, sounding startled at his own abrupt change of subject. “I forgot to tell you. There’s a premiere for my friend’s movie in a couple of weeks. I’m gonna fly you there for the night so you can come.”

The verbiage bothered Rose the most. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. She took a sip of wine and gathered her thoughts before asking, “What are the dates?”

The charity that Rose worked for had its annual fundraising event coming up, an event that she had been working to organize for the better part of the past year. She wouldn’t be able to travel so close to that event, she’d be too busy. Rafi should know that.

“I don’t know, it’s a Friday. About a month from today.” Rafi smiled, reached to lay a hand over hers on the table. “It’s an artsy film festival thing, I think you’ll like it.”

Rose knitted her brows at him. If he was right about the day, he’d planned on attending an event outside of the country the night of her fundraising event. She gave him a moment of silence, hoping he’d remember and correct himself without her having to break the bad news.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want to go?”

“Rafi, are you messing with me?” She’d been talking about this event for months, complaining about vendors and guests and tablecloths almost every time she spoke to him about work.

“Why would I be messing with you? We’re going to a film festival. Four weeks from today. What’s wrong with that?”

“Friday, four weeks from today, is the day of my fundraising event.”

What Rose expected from this revelation was just a few meters short of overreaction. She expected a rush from Rafi to apologize, a hurried explanation. She expected him to get his manager on the phone and cancel with the film festival. Have his assistant send a fruit basket and flowers to everyone involved.

Instead, he shrugged, squeezed her hand on the table. “I’ll tell them you won’t be able to make it.” 

Rose withdrew her hand from his grasp, cradled it awkwardly in her lap as if nursing a physical injury. She frowned, giving Rafi yet another chance to self-correct. He raised a brow but kept his movie-star smile in place. Nothing. Rose hated conflict, even when it was unavoidable.

“What about my event?”

Rafi offered no solution, shrugged again. “You know I hate those things, anyway. Networking events.”

“Networking events?” Rose closed her mouth tight before she could say anything that might put her relationship in jeopardy. She was hosting a fundraising gala with a silent auction. Attendees certainly could network, but that was far from the focus of the event. Besides, his film festival certainly was a networking event. She didn’t argue, didn’t say any of this out loud. She stood, cleared her plate and his.

“Thank you for making dinner.”

Rose took the plates to the sink and started doing the washing up, her back turned to Rafi so that she didn’t have to keep her facial expressions in check. Rose was a terrible liar.

She could feel his eyes on her, though, watching her work to produce even breaths. 

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, keeping her back to him. “I have to run to the office tonight and get some last minute work done. We added a couple of new organizations to the guest list so I need to get some paperwork ready for them.” 

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Rose turned, facing him again. She decided that she didn’t care if he knew she was lying or not. “I’ve got meetings tomorrow.”

“Can’t be helped then.” Rafi shrugged. He was playing it cool, but Rose could see his shoulders tense as he took another sip of his wine.

“Thank you for dinner, again.” She kissed his cheek on her way to the door. 

-

Harry had never expected Rose to pick him in the first place, so he wasn’t surprised when she’d ended up with someone else in the end. He wasn’t surprised when she won, either. Rose Prichard probably could have won no matter who stood next to her.

If it had been anyone else, his first instinct would have been toward anger. He’d never understood the phrase, ‘if you love someone, let them go’ before. But he adored Rose. He was happy for her, despite everything.

After the show, when life swept them up in separate directions, he wasn’t surprised that they stopped talking. If her social media was any indication, she was happy and busy. Harry didn’t resent their lack of communication or push too hard to keep her in his life, he accepted her shrinking away. Eventually, he unfollowed her on Instagram.

It was hard enough seeing Rafi on movie posters, he had to draw a line in the sand and move on.

Some things were easier said than done.

Harry wasn't sure if his eyes were working properly when he saw her again. The last time he'd seen Rose Prichard had been at the taping of the 'Islander's Tell All' part of the Love Island finale. She'd been with Rafi all night, then, and had barely spoken to Harry.

But there she was, more than a year later, in the flesh. And she was walking into his office building.

Since letting Love Island and all its trappings fade into his past, Harry had continued his original life plan with some slight alterations. He’d landed a job at a tech startup, after learning that he was better suited for back end stuff, programming alone in an office rather than trying to hold the world on his shoulders.

It was rewarding, doing something he was genuinely good at. Even if his life was less glamorous than he’d once hoped, he was happier for the stability and self-assuredness that he’d earned in the pivot.

Rose scanned a key card at his building’s entrance and Harry watched in horror and confusion as his past collided with his present.

The large office building was home to multiple companies that paid to rent spaces or entire floors. It was entirely possible that Rose worked somewhere in the building.

Without thinking, Harry jogged to the door. He’d been enjoying a leisurely stroll before, early enough to work that he could enjoy walking the long way from the parking garage across the street. Seeing Rose had jump-started him like the espresso he’d planned on buying from the café next door. He scanned his badge and slowed to appear nonchalant as he walked in, he held his breath as he brushed past Rose and they stepped into the same elevator.

She looked up, eyes widening when she registered his presence and then his identity. He remembered nights by the pool, making her compete in staring contests just so he could swim in her eyes. 

“Harry?”

“Oh my god!” He tried to play it off like he hadn’t seen her, but he suspected that Rose might be able to see right through him. He found he didn’t care. Something in him wanted her to know that he cared for her, even at risk to his pride. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” she said. “Do you work here?”

He beamed. “I’m a programmer on the sixth floor.”

Rose’s eyes lit up and she laughed, shaking her head. Her hair had grown since Harry had last seen her and she was even prettier than he remembered.

“That’s so weird. My new office is on the sixth floor.”

She had to be joking.

“You have to be joking.”

Rose laughed again. “Nope.” She pressed the button for the sixth floor as if to prove her point.

“Huh.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Rose asked, stepping out of the elevator with some hesitation.

“Ah, I’ve been working from home…” Harry adjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder. Though he’d grown more confident, Rose’s clear gaze still had a way of making him self-conscious. He waved the question away. “Do you usually come in this early?”

It was just past five in the morning and they were among the only people in the building.

Rose frowned, seeming to take a moment to think about her answer. “I’m just trying to catch up on some things.”

Harry recognized the crease in her brow and wished she wouldn’t lie to him. He nodded, though, didn’t push the issue.

Harry had thought about seeing Rose again a terribly vast, innumerable amount of times. His imaginings ranged from the dark, where she laughed at him for thinking he might have ever had a chance, to the sweet, where she told him that she’d left Rafi and wanted to be with him instead. Now, in real life, none of those fantasies served him. He had no idea how to speak to her after all this time.

“What, um, company do you work for?”

The sixth floor was home to multiple companies besides Harry’s, since half of it was dedicated to a row of self-contained offices that served as overflow for higher-ups from other floors.

“The same charity as before,” she said, hesitating to say before Love Island. Harry nodded to communicate that he understood the impulse and she continued, letting their shared history remain unspoken, “I was promoted recently, though.”

“Oh, congrats!” The elevator doors opened again, depositing them on the sixth floor. It seemed that one had been round to turn on the lights, though. It was still completely dark.

“Thank you,” Rose said. Then, “Christ, it’s dark, still.”

Harry laughed and flicked on the torch on his phone, lighting Rose’s footpath. “I’m not sure where the switches are,” he said.

She walked forward confidently, finding a switch on the wall directly opposite the elevator.

Harry turned the torch back off. “Do you come in early a lot?”

Rose shrugged. “The new job is busy.” She looked off toward the hallway and Harry got the impression that she might be trying to shut the conversation down. He missed where he was a few seconds ago, trapped in an elevator where she couldn’t leave him.

In a desperate effort to preserve the conversation, Harry asked, “What is it you do, now? For the organization.”

“I’m still in event planning, but I’m pretty much in charge of the whole gala now. They made a position just for me, hence the office down here. They didn’t have room to give me an office where everyone else is.”

“It’s cool that you’re still doing the same stuff. Like, everyone else from the villa is basically an influencer, now.”

Rose laughed, shaking off the compliment. “Not you, though.”

Harry ruffled his hair, blushing. He occasionally helped with Nicky and Seb’s podcast, but Rose was right, he preferred the path his life had been on before Love Island—computer screens and tech startups. He could do with a bit more money, but he didn’t really enjoy all the attention of reality TV long term. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“We have that in common, then.” Rose’s smile was as genuine as ever, radiating warmth. She was gorgeous, inside and out.

Harry almost didn’t want to ask. “How’s Rafi, by the way?”

“Oh. Things with Rafi are good,” Rose said. Harry watched her hand toying with a loose thread that sprouted from the handle of her cloth tote bag. “He just got back yesterday from a shoot in Canada.”

“That’s good, then?” Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Rose would be at work so early instead of sleeping in with her boyfriend if he’d just returned home from a long trip. He didn’t voice the question, but it hung in the air regardless.

“Yeah!” Rose dropped the loose thread, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them still. “It’s a shame I’m so busy.” She laughed again, still a little stilted, and gestured lamely down the hall. “My office is number six, by the way—has a nameplate—if you ever need anything.”

Harry took a step back, taking the hint. “Of course, it was good seeing you, Rose.” He hurried to his desk, but her name lingered sweetly on his lips.

-

Rose didn’t know what to make of seeing Harry again. It was strange enough seeing people from the show on Instagram—Harry was right, most of them were influencers, now—or occasionally hearing about them from Rafi, who was better at keeping in touch with everyone. Seeing Harry at work was beyond strange.

For almost one entire hour, she did her best to throw herself into her emails. It greatly impeded her, though, that she hadn’t yet slept. Because of the disagreement with Rafi the night before and her subsequent all-nighter, she was both incredibly tired and almost three days ahead of her normal work schedule. 

When Harry had asked her why she was in the office so early, she hadn’t had the heart nor pride to tell him that she’d been there all night, only having left the office briefly to stretch her legs and grab a spare phone charger from her car.

Sighing, she stood from her desk. It was a large rectangular glass desktop on a stained wooden frame, identical to the desk in her office at home. Both had been gifts from Rafi to celebrate her promotion since he’d been abroad when the promotion was finalized. She remembered the bittersweet feeling of receiving the gifts but wishing Rafi was there to celebrate with. 

Harry wasn’t hard to find. The majority of the sixth floor was dedicated to large tables of open-concept desks where robust computers could be given sufficient room to breathe.

Rose smiled when she saw him. He was completely absorbed in his work, wearing a pair of large blue light glasses and over-ear headphones, staring dead into his monitor.

“Hey,” Rose said, waving her hand to get his attention. He removed his headphones and grinned up at her.

“What’s up?”

“Just needed a break,” she said. “And, I mean, what are the odds of us both working here and coming in early today? I felt rude for running off earlier.”

Harry gestured toward a rolling chair opposite him and scooted his monitor to the side so that he’d be able to see her past it. “Have a seat, then.”

“I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

He laughed, shook his head. “Nah, sit down.”

Rose sat, feeling at ease already in his presence. She’d liked Harry in the villa because he wasn’t intimidating. She had been instantly comfortable around him then too.

“What are you working on?” She asked. Harry kept typing, looking back and forth from her to the screen without losing pace.

He said, “I have a coding test coming up, I’m going for a better position on the programming team here.”

“Oh yeah?”

Harry nodded, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I’m the only person up for the position internally, so it’s pretty much a done deal.”

“I hope you get it, then.”

Harry stilled his typing and studied Rose. His face lowered into a slight frown as he asked, “Is there a reason you're here and not at home with Rafi?" He paused, catching himself, and quickly added, "I mean, not like it's really my business but if something is wrong, you can talk to me.”

Rose wasn't sure what compelled her to be honest with Harry. She hadn't spoken to him nearly since the villa. It wasn't as if she’d consider him a particularly close friend, or even a contender for becoming one, but that lack of closeness also created a lack of permanence to the conversation. If she really wanted, she could spill her guts and then avoid Harry for the rest of her life. It hadn't been so hard not to see him before now.

"I kind of ran out of the house to avoid an argument," she said, slumping in her chair. "I do actually have work to do, but..."

Harry folded his arms and leaned back, giving her his full attention. “So, you’ve been here all night.”

Rose nodded in the affirmative, caught.

“Don't you have work to do?" She asked, unsure whether she did so to dissuade him from pushing further or out of guilt at having interrupted him.

He shrugged. "I've pretty much got this in the bag."

"The confidence!" Rose giggled, feeling lighter at his easy reply. She liked that about him, too, even if it had been a little infuriating in the villa, the confidence suited him now that he'd grown up a bit.

He had grown up a bit, Rose noticed. He seemed more self-assured and quietly confident than he had before. If the villa confidence had been an act, this new attitude was completely genuine.

"So, the charity gala I've been planning, right?" Rose said, still not completely sure of her desire to vent to Harry but not unsure enough to fight the words from falling from her mouth.

"Right," Harry affirmed. He’d heard about the galas when they’d been a couple on Love Island, she’d been involved in their planning then, too. 

"It's literally all I do all year. I plan this event, it goes great, then I start over and plan the one for next year. Like, literally once a year all of my work gets to pay off."

Harry pushed his keyboard away and folded his hands in front of him, making a show of closely listening.

"So Rafi and I were having dinner and all of the sudden, he's talking about this movie premiere he wants me to go to..." Rose huffed, speaking faster as the irritation came back to her. "Which, like, fine. But it's the same weekend as my gala.”

Harry made a shocked face, covering his mouth with a dramatic flair. "No! Really?”

"Yeah!" It felt good to have someone validate her feelings, even if that someone wasn't her boyfriend. "Right? He didn't even apologize or anything. He just said that I didn't have to go and laughed it off."

"Wait," Harry said. "So, he's not even going to go with you?”

"Yes!" Rose felt more justified in her anger by the second, realizing she wasn't completely crazy for how mad she was. "At this point, I'm not even sure I want him to come."

As she said that, Rose realized that it sunk to the heart of the issue. She didn’t want Rafi at the gala if he didn’t want to be there. A small part of her, though, panged at the thought as a slideshow of her time with Rafi passed her by. The brand deals she didn't want to take part in and the press events she loathed. Rafi’s career at the cost of her privacy.

The first opportunity had come to return the favor and Rafi had fallen completely flat.

-

When Rose had coupled with Harry on their first day in the villa, Harry had felt like he'd won the lottery. He was stunned at first that she was interested in him at all, but he'd have felt that way about any of the girls. She was way out of his league, and he'd made a joke to her to that effect on the first day. But as time passed and they were able to get to know each other more, he realized just how lucky he was.

Rose was radiant and kind. She was able to keep the peace with people around her. She rose above the drama in the villa easily and always managed to come out on top of things. She was funny, too, and smart. Conversations with her were fortifying to Harry in a way that seemed rare and precious.

After just the few days they had together as a couple, he could see himself really falling for her. 

Then he'd messed it all up. He got intimidated, worried that she wasn't really as into him as she let on. He'd started to get the sense that she was further out of his league than he'd originally suspected, that she was starting to get tired of him.

When his insecurities got the better of him, Harry started entertaining other options. He flirted with girls he cared less about because they would hurt his feelings less when they moved on. It felt cliché beyond cliché, so he'd never admitted it to a soul, but he broke things off with Rose because he liked her too much.

She didn't know this, though, she thought that the breakup was mutual, that they both wanted to explore other options. If she was upset, she didn't show it, didn't even give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd made the wrong choice. He knew that she was being charitable and kind and thinking of others like always. She didn't want a disagreement, so a disagreement was avoided.

She had liked him, though, he’d realized all too late, and he'd blown it.

To add insult to injury, Rafi had stolen the show completely when he’d arrived.

Rafi made a spectacle of how much he liked Rose, throwing Harry under the bus while he was at it. Rafi was a real man, Rafi wouldn't take a diamond like Rose for granted, Rafi could show her just how made up his mind was.

It had made Harry want to leave the show early. But he’d stayed, made his bed, got nice and cozy in it.

He was happy that Rose was happy, but he’d never been Rafi’s biggest fan.

Now, hearing Rose complain about him so charitably after he'd done something so careless and needlessly mean, he had to hold back all of the harsh things he wished he could say. He’d always thought that Rose was too nice for her own good.

"Maybe he'll realize his mistake after you ran away in the middle of the night. Like, he has to, right?"

Rose shrugged, looking completely at a loss. "He doesn't pay all that much attention to my silly moods. He knows that if I really have a problem, I'll let him know."

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? You will?"

"Okay..." Rose blushed. "Point taken."

Harry wished that she'd be more assertive. So many mean people that didn't deserve to assert themselves so much did so all the time. People like Rose deserved to get their way more often.

“Look, maybe this isn’t my place but Rafi should already know he's fucked up. Like, you shouldn't have to tell him that the thing you've spent a whole year on means something to you." He leaned forward, speaking faster, hoping to keep Rose from interjecting before he’d convinced her of his point. He liked the feeling of having nothing to lose with Rose, being able to tell her exactly what he thought. “Like, what if he spent a year working on a movie and you wouldn't even go to see it because you had plans with a friend the night of the premiere?"

Rose blanched, seeming all at once to realize the extent of her own hurt feelings. She said nothing, let her shoulders sink with the weight of what she felt.

"Maybe someone should send him anonymous hatemail..." Harry spoke without thinking, blushing when he realized he was thinking out loud. Lucky for him, though, Rose found it funny. She shook her head at him but giggled despite incredulity.

"Please don't," she said. "Christ, though, maybe I’m more angry than I thought because I am tempted.”

"You should be! That was a dick move."

"God," she said after a moment. "You're right."

“Of course I am.” Harry chuckled, downplaying the moment to keep her from sinking again.

"You know, actually…” Rose smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. It was a good look on her, sweet Rosie almost never looked mischievous. "If he does decide to ditch me, I could use a date."

“Surely he won't completely ditch you," Harry said, brushing the insinuation off. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. "Come on."

"He might." Rose sighed, resting her chin in her hands, despondent. "He didn't even think twice before telling me that I could just go alone."

"God, what an ass." Harry paused, covering his mouth. "I didn't just say that."

A laugh slipped past Rose's lips at his serious reaction. Harry was relieved to see her laugh.

“It's totally okay, he is being an ass." She rubbed her face, collecting herself again, and added, "I'm sorry, by the way, if that would be weird... I just, I don't know."

"If what would be weird?"

"You coming to the gala with me. I didn't mean... You know."

Villa history hardly seemed like history, but Harry got her meaning. "No, not at all. I'd be honored to come.”

She smiled, radiant. Harry never realized before this that he could miss someone so much when they were right in front of him.

-

For the first time since she'd been hired at her organization, Rose left work early. She went straight home after lunch, practicing what she was going to say to Rafi the entire drive from the office. Harry was right, Rafi shouldn't have to be told how much the gala meant to Rose, it wasn't too much to ask for her to want him to be there. Or at the very least to expect some kind of remorse for not being there.

She knew he’d be home. During the weeks Rafi was off of work, he spent most of his time at the flat doing small press things over the phone and watching movies in his pajamas. Rose would almost envy all of his free time if she didn't love her job so much.

"Rose?" Rafi was standing in the kitchen, he called her name when she came in the door, surprised to hear her. "Put out all the fires?"

Rose resented the sardonic tone that crept at the edges of his voice. He had a bad habit of not taking her work seriously, of treating her just a bit like she was silly for working so hard when she didn’t need to be working at all.

She set her tote bag in a dining chair, keeping quiet. Rose didn't want to engage in an argument right away, even if she felt she had grounds to win it.

"I got a lot done," she said. "I want to talk, though.”

Rafi made a low noise in the back of his throat, a dismissive hum. “Aren’t you tired? You were out all night.”

He was right, she was exhausted. But as much as she wanted sleep, she didn’t want to do so before she’d at least attempted a resolution of the conflict. Part of her wished she'd taken a nap on the couch in her office. It wouldn't have been comfortable, but she might feel a touch more coherent if she had.

"You need your sleep, my love," Rafi said, his voice softening. He took a step toward her around the kitchen island and reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“Why don’t we talk after you get some rest? I promise it’ll go better if you’re not running on empty.”

Rose sighed, relenting almost immediately. As much as she didn’t want to have this conversation, she especially didn’t want to have it go poorly. She had a better chance of expressing herself properly if she was better rested.

“You’re right,” she said, letting him take her to bed.

-

The morning of Harry's interview, he was surprised to learn that he wasn't nervous. He was confident in the fact that he’d done good work. He deserved the job.

In his school years, working as an intern on the business side of things, Harry had always felt a little out of his depth. He’d never felt able to measure up to his coworkers or mentors, nor could he pinpoint what was missing. It was refreshing to be in a completely different position now, knowing he was the best man for his job. 

As a celebration of his newfound confidence and an indulgence in a guilty fantasy, Harry bought an extra donut and cup of coffee from his favorite café on his way to the office. He took them straight up to the sixth floor and to Rose Prichard’s office.

When he reached her door, he realized that his hands were too full to properly knock. He laughed, gently knocking his head against the glass door to get her attention.

Rose’s smile when she saw him could have launched a thousand ships.

"What's this for?" She asked, letting him in and accepting the coffee and pastry bag as he offered them to her.

"It's a good luck breakfast!"

“That’s right, your interview is today, isn’t it?”

Harry loved that she’d remembered.

"Yes! And I'm, like, not nervous at all." He'd done a lot of practicing. A lot of late night hours in the office hoping to see Rose. When she didn't show, he’d at least been able to focus his energy on acing the coding test.

"You're gonna crush it." Rose took the lid off of her coffee, blowing it gently before taking a careful sip. “I don’t know why you brought me coffee as a good luck charm, but thank you.”

"Of course." Harry blushed. He liked doing things for her. 

Harry took a seat on the small sofa opposite Rose's desk. In the time since he'd started working on her floor, he'd seen her reading or lounging on this couch just after the end of her work day. He'd wondered at first what she needed with a couch in her office, but it seemed that she got good use out of it. Her office was like a second home to her.

He wondered once or twice if she enjoyed being work more than she enjoyed being home.

"I meant to ask," Harry said, pulling Rose's attention back up from her computer monitor. She'd immediately returned to her email mid-conversation. She'd been a bit of a space case in the last couple of days, but her gala was approaching quickly and Harry knew she was constantly worrying about minor details. Harry knew she must be thinking about it all hours of the day. "How did the conversation with Rafi go?"

She gave Harry a guilty look and his heart sank. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“We didn’t really talk.”

“You didn’t…” Harry sounded more surprised than he felt. In the time that he’d known Rose, he’d never known her to be confrontational. She enjoyed keeping the peace, even if it meant swallowing her guts.

“I tried, but I was too tired that day to be coherent and then we only just brushed past it.” She resumed typing, keeping a level tone of voice as a show of nonchalance. “It just kept getting further and further away until it felt silly bringing it up again.”

“Are you still upset?”

She considered for a moment too long for the answer to be no, regardless of what she wanted to tell him.

“Rose.” Harry did his best impression of a stern parent. It didn’t suit him, but he persisted. “You’ve got to talk to him soon, doesn’t he leave for his trip this week?”

“Right.”

“Well there you are. He’s not going to fly back last minute if he doesn’t think this is important to you.” Harry kept what he wanted to say back. He wanted to remind her that Rafi should know better without being told. But he didn’t want Rose to think he was outright bashing her boyfriend by remaining so firmly against him. Even if Rafi objectively deserved the bashing.

“I’ll try to talk to him again,” Rose said. Harry wasn’t convinced.

“Promise?” He stood halfway to reach out to her, offering a pinky in a silly—but hopefully sincere—gesture of solidarity.

She rolled her eyes but locked her pinky with his. Her touch sparked electricity that traveled all the way to his bones. “I promise.”

-

Rose stormed into the apartment, dropping her keys and bag on the entry table with a clatter. She didn't want to lose any of the momentum she'd worked up in the car this time.

“We need to talk,” she said. Telling, not asking.

“What’s wrong, Rosie?” Rafi looked shocked, but he maintained a level voice. He was wearing nothing but a nice pair of silk pajama bottoms and had been relaxing in front of the TV when Rose barged in, flustered. All things considered, he was taking the intrusion in stride.

All in one breath, before she could even take a seat next to him on the couch,  Rose said, “I’m upset about you not coming to my gala. Like, I know you have other things going on—which is fine. But you don’t even seem sad about it or sorry you’ll miss it.”

Rose stopped speaking just long enough to sit next to him on the couch, pulling one leg up next to her so that she could face him in her seat. She continued, “It’s really hurt my feelings, Raf. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it before, but…”

She trailed off, trying desperately to blink away tears. It had been made into a joke on Love Island that Rose cried easily and often, which made her all the more self-conscious now.

“Rosie…” Rafi reached for her, pulling her to scoot closer and lean into his bare chest. He closed his strong arms around her when she complied. Rose hated how her easy tears always toppled the balance of these types of conversations. How quickly the other party stopped taking her seriously when she started crying.

She didn’t want to be coddled, she wanted to be heard.

“Rosie, come here.” Rafi smoothed her hair down as she tried to collect herself, but her efforts were very nearly in vain. She felt hysterical.

“How long have you been holding onto this?” He asked.

The tears came faster. It had been almost two weeks since he’d told her about the film festival.

“I didn’t want to make it a thing,” she whimpered, feeling pathetic.

“It’s okay.” Rafi smoothed her hair again, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright, baby.”

The angry, frustrated part of her wondered if he was ever going to actually apologize or if he’d just continue to comfort her meaninglessly. He acted like she was upset at someone or something completely separated from him. Like he was saving her from her own sadness, detached from all meaning.

“Do you know what I mean, though?” Her rising anger kept the tears at bay long enough for her to speak again. “I feel dismissed.”

Rafi shook his head. “I know, but you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”

Frowning, Rose said nothing. She pulled back, daring him to say what she knew was coming.

“Well, if I’d known sooner how much it meant to you I would have been able to change things but…” He trailed off. She got the gist. This wasn’t his fault anymore. He’d surely have been more considerate if she’d given him proper notice.

Rose cut him off. “So that’s it, then?” Her voice was soft, not malicious even if she deserved to be.

“I’m sorry,” Rafi said. He tried to reach for her arms again but she shook him off. “It’s out of my hands!”

Rose recoiled, sinking into herself once more. Speaking her mind hadn’t fixed anything, but at least she knew that she had a right to be angry. She stood, took quick steps towards the door. “I’m going back to work.”

“You’re not.” Rafi gave an incredulous laugh.

“I am.” She punctuated the sentence with the rattle of her keys being retrieved from the entry table. “This was my lunch break.”

“Rose, please.”

“If you can’t change anything, fine.” She opened the door, took a step outside. “Forget I said anything.”

Rose shut the door gently behind her, wishing she had the strength of conviction to slam it.

-

When Harry's interview ended and he was told that he'd be moved to the better postion, he was first thrilled, then struck by an odd desire to run directly to Rose's office to deliver the good news. He hadn’t even called his mother yet but, there he was, taking the elevator back up to the sixth floor.

He arrived to find that the lights had been turned off and Rose was no longer there. It was odd for her, to be gone this early in the day.

Harry knew that he should hope that she was talking to Rafi, finally getting the apology she deserved, but he wished despite this that she was just taking her lunch or in a meeting, that she’d be back before the end of the day.

Without Rose to share his news with, Harry went back to the first floor. He’d taken the rest of the day off for the interview, since it was scheduled after his lunch. His second instinct was to step outside and call his mom.

In front of the office building, Harry dialed his mom’s cell and took a seat on one of the large, concrete blocks that replaced actual benches in favor of a brutalist, corporate aesthetic.

“You have good news?” Harry’s mom had texted him a sweet good luck message that morning. She would be happy with him even if he hadn’t been given the job, but he was filled with pride to tell her that he had. 

“I got the job,” he said. He smiled down at the cracks in the sidewalk, warmth rising to his cheeks at getting to say the thing out loud. “I’m really excited.”

“I’m proud of you,” his mom told him. He was overjoyed. “Really, good job, son.”

“Thank’s mom.” Harry kicked his legs, feeling unusually boyish despite his grown-up accomplishment. He looked up at the sky, trying to take in the moment. So much of him had changed in the last few years. It was like he could feel his frontal lobe developing in real time.

He’d grown into a man his mother was unequivocally proud of.

Harry’s mom told him about what she was cooking for dinner and about some home-town gossip and Harry listened patiently, happy for the distraction from wondering where Rose was.

When he finally hung up the phone, he almost didn’t believe his eyes when he looked up and saw her. It was as if Rose had been conjured from his mind and placed in the street in front of him.

“Rosie!” He hopped up from the bench, waving to get her attention before she entered the office building. He wasn't sure why the nickname had come to him, but it felt comfortable, like he’d said it a hundred times before.

She turned and the corner of her mouth budged into a hint of a smile. “What are you doing out here?”

He held up his phone, shook it for emphasis. “Calling my mom.”

The realization struck her and she gasped, dropping all casual pretense for sincere excitement. “Ah! Did you get the job?”

Harry flushed, head to toe, warm with pride like he’d taken a shot of liquor. He was sure his cheeks were tinged with pink, but he didn’t entirely mind.

“I did.”

“Oh my god!” Rose beamed at him. “Harry, that’s amazing!”

He didn’t remember the last time he’d heard her say his name, but the sound of it made him dizzy. He looked down, kicked at the air in front of his foot. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m really glad.”

“I’m glad for you! Are you coming back inside?” She asked. “Or did you take time off for the interview?”

“They told me I could take the day.” Emboldened by his recent luck, he asked, “Have you eaten lunch already?”

-

Since she’d taken her lunch break to try to talk to Rafi, Rose knew that the responsible thing would be to grab something from a vending machine, go back to her office, and resume work. She found that she didn’t want that, though. In direct contrast to the last few weeks, where she had felt safest while locked away in her office, Rose didn’t want to go back to work.

She wanted to go to the Pho place Harry suggested for lunch. To stay with him for the rest of the day. She felt uncharacteristically carefree when she had his positive attitude to bask in, and a woefully neglected piece of her wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as she could.

As a compromise—because Rose couldn’t abandon the gala as much as she wanted to—she invited Harry up to her office and they ordered Pho to be delivered.

While they waited for their food, Rose answered emails and called vendors. She had no extra time to spare away from gala preparations. Harry was patient, chatted to her about her work when she could spare the focus and played a game on his phone when she couldn’t.

Rose enjoyed Harry’s company, even if they weren’t speaking.

When the food came, they cleared space on Rose’s desk to eat. It was cramped, since she didn’t want to get hot broth too near her computer. They had to sit on the same side of the desk, elbows bumping for the fact that Harry was left-handed.

“We could switch sides,” Harry said, giggling at yet another accidental bump.

Rose shook her head, giggling as she scooted a tiny bit away. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry my desk is only really built for one.”

“I don’t mind being cozy.” As if to prove his point, Harry bumped her elbow with his again, a playful jab. “But we wouldn’t have this problem if you traded me seats.”

“I didn’t know you were left handed.” She bumped him back. “Isn’t it weird how little we actually learned about each other? You know, on the show?”

In the nearly two weeks since they’d been reacquainted, neither of them had really mentioned the reality television shaped elephant in the room. It had been easy not to address their shared history, to let any past heartaches fade into the background. Rose wasn’t sure what made her bring it up, then.

Maybe it was getting harder to spend time with Harry without thinking about what it had been like to kiss him.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“I didn’t really know you were left-handed, to start.”

On Love Island, they hadn’t been allowed to talk about certain things early on. Their conversations were kept infuriatingly shallow until the end, manufacturing an artificial sense of closeness between the finalists and keeping drama front and center. Rose knew the basics; Harry was from York, he’d still been a student then. They’d swapped descriptions of their family dynamics and anecdotes about their studies. Harry had once bragged about how early he woke up every morning to recite positive affirmations.

Plastic kiddie pool shallow.

“To be fair, I was too busy trying to impress you to open up much,” Harry admitted. Rose stared down into her bowl, too startled by his honesty to meet his eyes. “I mean, that’s how everyone was, though.”

“Right, we didn’t get into a lot of deep conversations until the end.”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “I mean, everyone was trying to impress you.”

Rose turned, knitting her brows at him. She’d never understood this impression people had of her time on the show—that she’d been particularly well liked or desired. On some level, something like that had to be true for her to have won in the end, but she’d assumed that the popular vote had been won in large part by Rafi’s charisma, not her’s.

“Everyone was trying to impress everyone,” she told him. “But things were weird there, we had to be these silly, exaggerated versions of ourselves in order to stand out. I don’t feel like I really got to know anyone until after.”

“Does that include Rafi?”

“I think so,” Rose admitted. “Not entirely a bad thing, but... I don’t know, there’s a reason reality TV relationships don’t usually work out.”

Harry paused, a crease forming between his brows as he seemed to see through to the heart of Rose’s sudden nostalgic turn. “Did you talk to him?”

Rose sighed, nodded. She’d suspected that her feelings about the argument with Rafi would catch up to her eventually, but she’d hoped to at least finish lunch first.

“Here’s the thing,” Harry said. “If you don’t want to talk about it again, we don’t have to. But if you need to vent, I really do care for you, Rose.”

She could only bear to let the sincerity of his statement linger for a moment before it was too much. 

“It didn’t go well,” Rose said. She could start there, understated. “I mean, basically exactly what you predicted happened.”

“Meaning?”

Tears welled in her eyes already. Rose wished for the second time that day that her heart were just a touch further from her sleeve.

“He said that if he’d known sooner then he could have changed his plans, but…” Her voice cracked and she trailed off, looking away from him in an attempt to preserve her pride.

When she looked back, Harry’s face was twisted into a deep frown, barely holding back anger. Then, seeing her eyes again, his gaze softened into a look of deep concern.

“Can I offer some unsolicited advice?” He asked.

-

Harry hated to see Rose cry.

Only once in the villa had she cried in front of him, but her easy tears had been made into a running joke by the producers and the narrator on the show. Harry remembered hearing the narrator joke about it for the first time, how furious it had made him. That had been one of the first things that made him want to distance himself from the franchise entirely.

“If I grant permission I don’t think it’s unsolicited advice anymore,” Rose joked, a sad attempt at a laugh bubbling from her chest. “But go ahead.”

“I think you should consider what this means for the rest of the relationship.” He wasted no time getting to the point. In the time since Rose’s first argument with Rafi, Harry had been consumed with desire to fix things for her. But he had his reasons to hesitate to get involved. He didn’t want to seem like he was rooting for a breakup or judging Rafi too harshly, even if he suspected that Rose didn’t know he still harbored feelings for her. Here he was, though, past the point of no return.

He continued, “Like, if you think you can accept that your feelings were hurt and that he’s probably not going to fix this, then you can move on. But if you can’t…” The insinuation hung between them without Harry having to say the words. He didn’t want to tell her to break up with him outright. Even if that was objectively what he thought she should do.

He expected Rose to reel back or offer some kind of rebuttal or defense of Rafi. She didn’t, though. Instead, she twisted her hands together in silence for a moment. Then, “God, Harry, when did you get so wise?”

Harry blushed, surprised at the comment. He’d never once been accused of being wise. “Oh, you know…”

Rose took a moment, silently collecting herself, brushing her eyes with the backs of her hands. She must wear very waterproof mascara, Harry imagined, the corner of his lip twitching up at the thought.

“What are you smiling at?” She narrowed her eyes, but cracked a smile at the same time, only selling her attempt at annoyance halfway. 

“Is your mascara waterproof?” He asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Yes it is.”

Without thinking, he reached for her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You know, I hated how they made that a thing for you. On the show.” He pulled his hand back, cradling it in his lap as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. “It made me so mad seeing them trivialize your feelings the way they did.”

Rose gave him a doe-eyed look, like she didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, um…” She wiped her eyes again then looked around the room to avoid eye contact. He remembered how she fled from moments of sincerity in the villa. How much Rafi had been required to push her to make her realize his feelings were genuine. “I appreciate that.”

-

Rose had feared conviction like this when she’d first moved in with Rafi. The conviction that she should break up with him without knowledge of where she would go if she did.

She resented the fact that the name on the lease was his. Since he paid most of the bills, it meant that she would be the one who would have to leave. Even if she’d been the one that spent the most time in the flat, making it a home.

After her lunch with Harry, Rose told him that she needed time to think and to focus on work. Even though a tiny part of her wanted him to push back and not leave her to herself, Harry absconded without protest.

Rose thought about texting Rafi and preparing him for a conversation when she got home, but she couldn’t work up the nerve. She finished her work for the day, tried not to think about the conversation ahead, drove home without a plan.

As she walked up the stairs to the front door, her phone dinged. A text from Harry wishing her luck. She walked into the flat smiling, grateful for Harry’s support.

The living room was dark, though, and Rafi was gone. Because he wasn’t in town much, he didn’t drive, so there was no way to judge whether or not he was home by a car outside the building.

Rose went to the bedroom and her office, just in case, but he was nowhere to be found. She was halfway through typing a text asking where he was when she saw the note on the kitchen counter.

Rose,

I had to catch a flight, they need me on set early. I’ll call you when I get in tonight.

Rafi

-

so sorry this was way more self indulgent and much longer than it needed to be. cheers.

NOTES this is *technically* a sequel to 'different, but the same', but it can be read as a one-shot! there are a few references to Rafi, but you just have to know know that this is a post-villa fic in which Rose (MC) won Love Island in a couple with Rafi.

also, this is a Hanukkah fic and I am not sure that many people in the fandom are Jewish, so all of the terms that aren't defined in the text are defined below. the fic is entirely in Harry's POV so as to be easily understood from an outside perspective.

thank you for reading, if you do! this is one of those fics that was written because I, the author, am the target audience. so it's maybe a bit more niche than anything I've posted before.

*** glossary Shabbat/Shabbos - (Shabbat is the proper term, Shabbos is yiddish, used colloquially) a weekly holiday celebrated by Jewish people from sundown on Friday night to sundown on Saturday night. if the holiday is fully observed, certain tasks are forbidden in order to keep the holiday. in reform communities like mine (and the Prichard's), observance varies. some reform Jews may choose just to limit use of electronic devices in the spirit of the holiday, like Rose does in the fic. Chag sameach - (khag sam-ay-agh) lit. happy festival/happy holiday

“Good morniiing,” Rose drawled, traipsing into Harry’s new office with her coat slung over her arm. It was snowing outside and Rose still had a few telltale flecks of white dusting the ends of her hair that hadn’t been covered by her coat’s hood. She was still carrying her work bag, too. She must have come straight to him from outside. She was unusually chipper for so early in the morning.

Harry leaned back in his desk chair, regarding her with a questioning look. The giant office chair he’d inherited from his boss made him feel just a bit like a Bond villain. He’d be right at home with a mean, white cat in his lap.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Enjoying the weather?” Rose asked, avoiding his eyes as she crossed to the window. The sill was wide enough that she could perch comfortably against the glass and watch the steady traffic six floors below them.

When Harry had taken over as lead for his current project, his boss had pulled strings to get him an office on the same floor as Rose’s. Carl Sullivan, chief operations manager for LI-Com, had turned out to be a closeted superfan of Love Island. He’d told Harry on one or two occasions that Rose had been one of his favorite winners of any past season. That only barely lessened the blow of Carl having forgotten Harry’s appearance on the show completely.

Harry watched the snow fall just past his girlfriend, waiting for her to tell her why she was acting strange.

“I’m not a fan of snow,” he said, prompted by a too-long silence.

She whirled around, finally meeting his eyes, flashing an impish grin. “Me neither.”

“You’re acting weird, Rosie.” He reached for her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. It wasn’t often anymore that Harry had to worry about Rose being upset. They hardly fought and even when they did disagree, both of them were too honest to let things build for very long before addressing the issue. It helped that Rose knew he could see right through her.

Rose frowned, caught in playing up a carefree attitude Harry knew she didn’t mean. “I’m just a bit nervous to ask you something.”

This was a surprise. They’d been together officially for seven months and had overcome most of the big milestones, leaving very little to be nervous about. Harry had met her brother, she’d had dinner with Harry’s family when they’d come to visit. His parents loved her. That only left…

“The professors want you to come to Shabbos dinner during Hanukkah,” Rose blurted, confirming his suspicion before the thought had even fully formed.

The professors were Rose’s parents. Rose’s mother was a literature professor who primarily taught courses on Shakespeare while her father taught in the anthropology department at the same university. Rose and her siblings referred to them affectionately by this joint nickname, as did most of their family friends.

Harry had yet to meet the professors, but Rose spoke of them fondly. He didn’t see a reason for Rose’s nerves.

“I’d love to.” He dropped her hand, reaching instead to smooth the crease between her brows with his thumb. “What are you worried about?”

“Hanukkah’s late this year, Shabbos overlaps with Christmas eve.”

Harry failed to see the problem. He liked Christmas, sure, but spending a good portion of his childhood in the foster system had placed his expectations for the holiday nigh underground. He also enjoyed the parts of Rose’s religion that had seeped into his life through her. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the few Shabbat dinners she’d hosted at her apartment when her brother was in town.

He liked eating the food that Rose and John cooked and watching Rose light the candles, as well as the quiet evenings together that followed.

Growing up reform with lenient parents, Rose didn’t strictly keep the rules of the Shabbat, but she occasionally enforced a no-electronics rule for the weekends she held dinners. To an outsider like Harry, the traditions were ideal. Good food, no work, no outside distractions.

The only downside was not getting to play video games, but Rose and John made up for it by playing Magic the Gathering or short Dungeons and Dragons campaigns with him—analogue nerdiness, it seemed, was totally kosher.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “My parents are staying for Christmas in York and I wasn’t planning on travelling to see them this year.”

“You’re sure?” Rose perked up a bit but, as always, she was slow to trust an easy break.

Harry knew that the Holiday season was annoying to Rose and that she harbored some frustration about constantly being overlooked as someone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Her hesitation made sense, it might seem like a hard ask to prioritize one holiday over another.

He also wondered if, on some level, she saw this as another milestone itself. It could be difficult, he imagined, to let someone into a tradition that so few people understood.

“Of course I’m sure,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m excited to meet your parents. And Juliet.”

He had yet to meet Rose’s younger sister, either. From what Rose had told him, he knew that she was in her first year of University, studying Marine Biology and she sounded every bit as fun and interesting as her siblings.

Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure I’m ready for you to meet Jules. She’s probably got dirt on me that she’s dying to share.”

“That’s exactly why I’m excited to meet her,” Harry teased.

“God. Okay.” Rose laughed, standing from the windowsill. “I’ll let them know we’re coming, then.”

She glanced sideways, checking through the glass door of Harry’s office for watchful eyes. Finding the coast clear, she bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Rose was always chaste when she kissed him in the office and people were around, she was a rule-follower to the highest degree. Harry only sometimes wished she’d indulge him in being less careful.

She pulled away. No such luck today.

“Love you,” she said, ruffling his hair.

Harry grumbled, “Do you have to do that every morning?”

“I do.” Rose laughed. “It falls right back into place, doesn’t it?”

His coarse hair required very little styling, it fell in whichever direction it had dried. 

“Even still.”

She gave him an expectant look and he relented. He could never pretend to be mad at her for very long, even if it was funny.

“Love you, too. Give the professors my regards.”

“Attaboy. Will do.”

She was out the door, leaving just the faintest trace of her glow lingering around Harry. He was excited for this step in their relationship. He loved her, and meeting her parents and participating in her traditions were both new ways to experience her. He couldn’t wait to see his favorite person in a whole new light.

-

The train journey from London to Cambridge was just over an hour. Harry played games on his phone while Rose listened to an audiobook. She couldn’t read on the train or in a carwithout getting sick so, any time they traveled, she listened to books while resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, watching whatever game he was playing.

FuryStone mobile wasn’t as fun as the real thing, but it was good for passing the time.

“Are you nervous?” Rose asked, pausing her book when they were nearing their stop.

Harry considered for a moment, taking Rose’s hand and threading their fingers together. She’d painted her nails one of the usual colors—light blue, as opposed to her other favorite, sage green. He loved all the things about her that were becoming predictable to him now. The way she alternated nail polish colors and the way she checked on in him when she needed reassurance herself.

“I’m a bit nervous to meet your parents, yeah, but I’m mostly excited,” he said. “Are you alright?”

She squeezed his hand, grateful that he’d caught onto her mood. “It’s just been a bit since I’ve seen my parents. No big deal.”

“Then it’ll be alright, then?”

Harry felt her nod, her hair tickling his face as she did. She was still leaning to the side, head resting against his shoulder.

“You know how I was shy and hard to read at first?” Rose asked.

“At first?”

She let out a sharp breath, as close to a laugh as Harry was going to get under current circumstances. “Right. Well, my parents are like that. Mum’s going to ask you a hundred questions about your favorite Shakespeare play and Dad’s hardly going to speak at all.”

“What if I haven’t got a favorite Shakespeare play?”

Rose pulled away, face gravely serious. “Did you read one in school?”

“I don’t remember anything about any of them, bar maybe Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh god, don’t say Romeo and Juliet. Despite the fact that she named two of her children after characters from Romeo and Juliet, Mum’s got some strong negative opinions. Not pleasant.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“Hamlet. Just agree with anything she says about Ophelia or Gertrude and you’re golden.”

“And you couldn’t have given me time to study?”

Rose huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Not worth it. She’ll lose you in the first ten seconds but she’ll probably make a comment about that being my favorite Shakespeare play and then I can save you.”

“Hamlet’s your favorite Shakespeare play?”

“That and Much Ado, every Prichard’s got to have at least one.”

“Christ.” Harry chuckled. “I feel like I’m understanding you more by the second.”

Rose glared. “How do you mean?”

“You’ve got all these idiosyncrasies—which I love—but I think I’m beginning to trace the origins of them.”

“Hah.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, also, no referring to Hanukkah as ‘Jewish Christmas’ or anything of the like. That’s annoying and my dad will lecture you on the historical significance of the holiday. You’ll get a few words out of him but at great cost.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the train pulled into the station, Rose checked her phone. Her brother and sister were supposed to be picking them up.

“Jules says they’re already here,” Rose said. “Bless her. If it were just John in charge of being on time we’d have been waiting for ages.”

Outside, standing against the bumper of a little blue coupe was John and Juliet, recognizable only by the fact that she looked like if Rose were shrunken a bit and dipped in pink. The mousey brown hair shared by the twins was missing on Juliet, instead her hair was bleached and dyed a convincing strawberry blonde. Her bright raspberry coat was made even brighter by the light snow falling around them.

“Jules! Your hair!” Rose shouted, taking faster yet still careful steps toward her sister. So the color was new.

Juliet smiled, flipping the shoulder-length curls with the back of a well-manicured hand. “It’s cute, right?”

While the girls caught up, Harry clapped John on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too!” He smiled wide. Speaking with John Prichard was a little like looking at Rose in a funhouse mirror. If Rose’s usual energy level was a four or five, her brother broke the scale. He was lively, bordering on hyperactive. But the twins had the same crinkles around their eyes when they grinned.

He’d heard stories of Rose and John’s childhood escapades, and about John’s tendency to overshadow his sister in social situations. Harry saw that first hand, too. The insecurities Rose talked about sometimes made perfect sense when confronted with her twin.

Of course she didn’t feel like the brightest person in the room when she’d spent most of her life in lock-step with someone who naturally demanded so much attention.

Harry had grown fond of John, though. Even if he reserved the right to choose Rose as his favorite Prichard twin forever and always.

John asked, “Did Rosie warn you about Shakespeare?”

“Yep. Hamlet’s my favorite.”

“Is it really?” He bounced on the balls of his feet with the question. Golden retriever, this boy was. Full of energy.

Harry laughed. “Nope, but Ro’s got good taste.”

“Harry.” Rose pulled him by the hand over to Juliet, disregarding her brother entirely. “This is my sister.”

“Hello,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Jules, this is Harry.”

“The boyfriend!” Jules gave his hand a firm pump, she’d put every businessman Harry had ever met to shame. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

It was almost a farce, seeing his sweet, gentle, analytical Rose next to her own flesh and blood—two of the most energetic personalities he’d ever met.

The image became even more strange when Harry met the professors. In direct contrast to John and Juliet, Barbara and Martin Prichard were exactly what Harry would expect from Rose’s relatives.

They were shy introducing themselves, soft voices and careful smiles. Harry hoped they would warm up to him as he got to know them, he couldn’t imagine that they’d possibly stay so reserved all weekend.

There was also the other thing. The reality television consideration. Harry tried his level best not to think about the fact that the professors once watched him make out with their daughter on a roof terrace. And a daybed. And there was that time in the pool…

“Everything okay, baby?” Rose squeezed his hand as she pulled him aside to put their things away and wash up for dinner.

Rose led him down the hall and into a bedroom. The walls were painted a powdery blue and a shelf of young adult books stood in the corner. Otherwise, the room housed only a double bed and nightstand.

“Your old bedroom?” Harry asked, hopeful he’d get a good snoop in before their visit was finished. 

“Kinda. John and I switched a lot.”

He gestured to the bookshelf. “Your books?”

“Mostly.” Rose tried again, “Are you alright?”

“Just remembering how much we made out on the telly.” Harry shrugged, though the warmth of a blush found his cheeks. “Forgot about that ’til just a second ago.”

“I…” Rose giggled. “I’ve got to put that so far out of mind. I think Johnny made them skip steamier bits, at least.”

“Were we ever steamy enough to skip, you reckon?” He looped an arm around her waist, pulling her in. The question was mostly rhetorical, he knew that they’d only done just enough to make him embarrassed to meet her family. The real steamy bits would have been later, with Rafi.

Rose completed the embrace, tucking her head in the crook of his neck, soft giggles of embarrassment escaping as the absurdity of the situation occurred to her.

“I promise my parents aren’t being weird because of all the times they saw us snogging on Love Island,” she said, lips grazing Harry’s collarbone as she spoke. “They really are just aloof at first.”

“Do you think they’ll like me by the time we leave?” Just beneath the diverting tone of the question, there was a real hint at a fear there. Rose’s parents hadn’t just seen him kissing her on Love Island. They’d also seen him pieing her off for other girls, breaking up with her for silly reasons, angry and jealous when she chose Rafi over him. He wanted to make a good impression with the Prichards, but a worse version of him had gotten a head start.

“Baby.”

Harry loved when Rose called him that. Her soft voice instantly put him more as ease. He pulled her tighter to him, breathing her in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was nervous before but...“ He trailed off.

“I promise they love you already. They hear how fondly I talk about you.” Rose kissed his cheek and pulled back, looking into his eyes, cheeks tinged pink from the effort of sincerity.

“Alright.” Harry gave her a decisive nod, full of newfound determination at her encouragement. “Let’s get cleaned up, then.”

-

It only took Rose’s mother an hour of mingling in the kitchen to ask Harry about his favorite Shakespeare play. He answered as Rose had instructed, earning Barbara’s approval.

Rose swooped into the conversation before her mum could get too deep into the weeds of a dissertation on the women of Hamlet. “Are we making challah or did you buy it?”

She was rolling up her sleeves and rounding the kitchen island after a mixing bowl on the counter as if she anticipated the answer. When Barbara confirmed that, yes, they were going to bake challah fresh, Rose clapped her hands together.

“I’ll do it, then. Clear out.”

As Harry made for the living room with John, Rose stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not you, you can help,” she said. In direct contrast to her usual characteristic meekness, Rose seemed at ease with her family, holding her own and taking charge of interactions. He liked seeing the sense of humor that he usually shared with her in private come out for other people she cared for, too.

Harry washed his hands as Rose instructed and joined her at the counter where she was already assembling ingredients for dough from the cabinets and fridge.

“Doing alright?” She asked, passing him a metal whisk and a small bowl.

“Doing alright,” Harry affirmed.

Rose’s parents were already more cordial with him after a short time, so he reckoned he’d make it through the holiday dinner unscathed. He focused his attention on following Rose’s instructions, surprised she could put together bread entirely without a recipe.

“I love doing the cooking at things like this,” Rose said, finally breaking the silence as she folded the mixture in a bowl and dough began to form.

Harry hadn’t done much of the work, but he enjoyed the quiet moment with her while her family chatted without them a room away.

“For the same reason you like working at all the parties you attend?” He punctuated the question with a tap on her nose, purposefully leaving a tiny flour fingerprint.

Rose frowned, leaning over to wipe the dust on the shoulder of Harry’s t-shirt without missing a beat. “Exactly. it’s good stage business.”

“Stage business?”

“That’s what John calls it, at least. Like, stuff actors do on stage to seem busy. It’s nice to have something to do for the sake of it.”

“Ah.” Harry didn’t have a great grasp on the depth of Rose’s social anxiety. He’d seen the edges of it and heard her talk about it, but the thought of what she might be feeling always surprised him. She was put-together on the outside, so he never quite knew what to think when she shared coping strategies for problems he wouldn’t even guess that she had.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t an anxious person, that he couldn’t even guess at her feelings from personal experience. He was completely in the dark with no choice but to accept the information as it came to him and do his best to mitigate the effects when Rose allowed it.

He wished more than anything that he’d understood this when they first met. There may have been less heartache for both of them if he’d known about her tendency to duck and evade conflict or perceived her discomfort in social situations enough keep her from being overwhelmed.

For the most part, Harry did his best not to harbor regrets about how he and Rose came together. He’d needed the extra time between the villa and the present to become the right man for her, and she’d needed the time with Rafi to discern what it was she needed from a partner. Even still, it was tempting to imagine all of the ways he might have mitigated harm if he’d been a bit less self-absorbed.

“Would you wash these while I knead the dough?” Rose asked, gesturing with an elbow toward the bowls and utensils they’d used as she spread a layer of flour out on the countertop.

Harry nodded, taking the dishes to the sink, wondering presently if she was assigning stage business for the anxiety he’d expressed earlier.

-

With the challah sorted—Jules insisted that she do the braid instead of the elder Prichard sister—Harry and Rose went to the living room where John was engaging in a playful argument with his parents while scrolling through Netflix.

"We always watch the David Tennant one when we're together, I've seen it a billion times." Rose jumped in, catching the gist of the disagreement immediately. "We watch that one because it's good. I'm completely game."

"Ugh." John rolled his eyes with a great measure of drama before settling his gaze intently on Harry. "We should let the guest have a say." Harry laughed. Though he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, he trusted his girlfriend's judgement. "I'm going to side with Rosie, sorry."

"Dammit."

"You're outnumbered, kid." Barbara stood from the couch, smiling at having gotten her way. Harry recognized the expression from his own opinionated Prichard.

"I'm going to start dinner," she said, "but unless we want to keep Shabbat, I think we should follow tradition." "Exactly." Rose grinned, taking a seat on the couch and motioning for Harry to join her. "Tradition." Harry leaned over, murmuring to Rose for clarification, "What did I just agree to?" "We're watching a BBC dramatization of Hamlet after dinner. It's tradition."

"Oh good," Harry chuckled, "I'll finally get to see my favorite play."

John wheeled around, eyes wide with a facetious look of fear. "Don't let mum hear you."

At that moment, Rose's father, Walter, spoke, looking up over the top of a paperback science fiction novel. The man had yet to say more than five words since Harry's arrival. "Ro tells all her friends to say Hamlet. Mum sees through it anyhow."

"Then why does she still ask?" Rose ssked, though she didn't seem surprised to learn that her Shakespeare coaching had been in vain.

Walter shrugged. "S'pose she's holding out hope someone’ll say Romeo and Juliet. She loves to give that play hell."

"See." Rose took Harry's hand, giving him a playful smile. "Told you she's got nasty opinions about that one."

"Could be worse," John cut in, "she's even more weird about Macbeth—“ Rose darted a glare at her brother and he amended: “—er, the Scottish play."

It was at this point that Harry realized he was in just a bit over his head. The twins were trading inside jokes about Shakespeare, laughing about theatre traditions and their parents' superstitions. Strangely, though, Harry wasn't uncomfortable being left out. He liked seeing Rose like this. And, even if he only understood about half of what the twins said, the cadence and animation with which the jokes were delivered was enough to make him laugh and try to follow along.

“Anyway. We’re not in the theatre, I can say Macbeth all I want,” John concluded after a short pause.

“But all the world’s a stage,” Rose argued, “so…”

“That’s enough.” John chuckled. “You’re scaring your boyfriend.”

Harry shook his head adamantly, though he realized that he must seem shell-shocked in his uncharacteristic silence. “No, I’m enjoying the banter, even if I don’t completely follow.”

“It’s bad luck to say Macbeth in the theatre,” John explained, “but Mum and Rosie insist it’s bad luck in general.”

“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” Harry teased. He squeezed Rose’s hand for emphasis, giggling at the resulting pensive glare.

“I’m not, it’s just the principal of the thing, you know?”

“Right.”

Rose blushed, scrunching her nose as she glared between Harry and her brother. “Oh, now you’re both making fun of me. Forget it.”

“Forgotten,” John quipped. He tossed one game controller at the couch where it landed just next to Harry and then another gently into his sister’s lap. “Let’s play a few rounds before dinner, yeah?”

-

After a few rounds of FuryStone—and an agonizing conversation trying to explain the lore of the game to Rose’s father, who asked strangely specific questions about the game’s fantasy world—Rose volunteered herself and Harry to set the table.

Rose did most of the work, particular about the aesthetic of the place setting, while Harry stood back in the kitchen, chatting with Jules.

“Is this your first time celebrating Hanukkah?” Jules asked, rifling through a drawer in search of a box of matches.

“Yeah, my family did a non-denominational sort of Christmas growing up. They’re atheists, though.”

“Ah, well it’s nice of you to spend your Christmas here with Ro.” Jules paused, examining Harry as if sizing him up for what she was about to say. Finally, seeing him fit for the remark, she added: “She’s not invited anyone home for Jewish holidays before. It’s sweet she feels comfortable for you to be included.”

Harry could feel himself blushing. He gave Jules a noncommittal thanks and made a mental note to run this information past Rose later. He understood, though, the impulse to guard things like family and culture.

It wasn’t something he’d ever considered before meeting Rose, but he wanted to let her into those parts of his life, too, when he got the chance. Perhaps his parents would let them visit to celebrate the Lunar New Year in January. If not, he thought, he and Rose could still celebrate together at home. The idea excited him, the beginnings of building a life and sharing traditions with Rose.

“Jules, would you mind if Harry and I did the menorah candles?” Rose asked, ducking in from the dining room. “I know you usually do because you’re the youngest, but—”

“Nah, I’m not bothered,” Jules interjected, “I’ll do the Shabbos ones if Mum doesn’t want to.”

“Right, then, we’re all set up.” Rose checked her watch. “Sundown is soon.”

Jules took her hint, handing Rose the box of matches before moving quickly to gather the rest of the family in the living room. Left alone, Rose came to Harry’s side, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I love you,” she said, speaking into his chest.

Harry chuckled with surprise, squeezing her shoulders. “I haven’t done anything.”

She looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “I just love that you slot right in with my family.”

“Hardly. I feel a bit out of place.”

“No, I just mean... I don’t know—” Rose shook her head, frowned as she tried to find the words. “There’s no one I’d rather have here with me. Thank you for being here.”

“Ah.” Harry swallowed, overwhelmed just a touch by her declaration. He managed finally, “I love you too.”

-

Getting to help light the menorah felt only a little less special to Harry after Rose explained that it was a task assigned to children in their house. He didn’t care, though, he was excited to have a hand in the tradition.

It was the fifth night of Hanukkah, which meant that they’d only be lighting six candles. One, Rose explained, was the shamash or the helper candle, used to light the other five.

After listening to Rose’s family recite the blessing, Harry and Rose lit the candles. He held the shamash as Jules lit it with a match, then Rose covered his hand with hers to guide him lighting the other five. It was a bit cumbersome, since he was left-handed and therefore obligated to use his left hand while Rose helped with her right, but they managed it without major issue—Rose standing just in front of Harry so they could reach more easily.

By the time they finished, Harry was beaming, watching the lights flicker in the windowsill.

“Chag sameach,” Rose said, kissing his cheek. “Now, let’s have dinner.”

A similar ritual to the menorah lighting took place at the dinner table, this time one Harry was familiar with. The family again recited another blessing while Jules lit the two Shabbat candles on their holders placed at the center of the table. Then, they blessed the bread and wine before finally having dinner.

Latkes were Harry's favorite, little potato pancakes that he paired, like Rose, with sour cream. John favored applesauce with them, to which the rest of the family greatly objected.

In direct contrast to the picture Harry's anxiety had painted for him earlier in the day, Rose's parents were completely at ease--if a little quiet--around him. They asked him questions about his job and how he and Rose had come to be reacquainted, all of which were fun and easy to answer. They also tactfully avoided any mention of Love Island, giving Harry the benefit of having grown out of his broadcasted flaws. In the light of the candles, this moment was better than his best case scenario.

He took Rose's hand under the table and held it in his lap. He loved being hers.

Moving into a new flat had been an ordeal, but Rose was grateful for the newfound freedom of having her own place. As a parting gift, Rafi had also allowed her to take most of the furniture from their formerly shared flat.

“It’s more your style, anyway,” he’d told her, “and I think I’d prefer buying new things.”

He’d even helped her pack and move some of the furniture in the end. It was bittersweet, but after the final breakup conversation they agreed that they hoped to stay friends. Rose explained this to her brother when she caught him up on everything that had happened.

“It’s not that he’s a bad guy, it’s that we don’t work as a couple. I’ll be happy to still have him in my life in the long run, I think,” she’d told him.

John, carrying a potted plant up the stairs to Rose’s new flat had agreed. “I think this was the best case scenario, Ro, really.”

“Exactly.”

“And I really like Harry, you know.”

Rose did know. John and Harry had been thick as thieves since they’d been introduced. The three of them had already had multiple FuryStone game nights together since Harry and Rose had begun officially dating—though John resented the fact that Rose learned to play for Harry’s sake after refusing to play the game with him for years.

Three months after the breakup, at one such game night, Harry began an elaborate soft-launch campaign of Rose on his Instagram story. He posted an artsy picture of just her hands, one holding a glass of wine, the other holding a video game controller. Over the course of several weeks, he committed to this bit, slowly revealing more and more of her identity until enough people caught on that a couple gossip magazines announced their rumored relationship for them.

“I think I like it this way,” Rose remarked, reading one article that had so few actual details to report on that it had actually written a very sweet endorsement of Harry and Rose as a couple. “All the details being ours and ours alone.”

“Me too,” Harry agreed. “Makes it feel a bit more special.”

The greatest hurdle in keeping their relationship from being too public had been working together. Rose’s office door had always been glass, so she recognized that some people might have had their private suspicions, but things felt just that much more treacherous after the news of her separation from Rafi broke. 

Once things were out in the open, though, Rose greatly enjoyed having the ability to share lunch with her boyfriend every day. They sat next to each other at her desk most days, bumping elbows for the sake of a shared joke between them, stealing kisses when they knew no one was looking.

-

Harry told Rose he loved her a week before their six month anniversary.

The timing felt right, then, but he’d been falling for a long time.

He’d brought his work laptop over to her flat and had been doing some debugging work at her kitchen table while she made dinner. He always felt most at home with her in these pockets of domestic bliss. Loved admiring the peaceful air with which she moved around the kitchen humming her favorite songs.

Overwhelmed with affection for her, Harry stood from the table and crossed the kitchen to wrap his arms around her from behind. He stood there for a moment at the stove, silent, breathing in her scent as it lingered with the smell of sizzling onions and herbs in the pan.

“You alright, love?” Rose asked. She’d been long-suffering in listening to him complain all week about the new project he’d been assigned to. She probably assumed he’d hit a wall with debugging and was seeking solace from the lines of code on his screen.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, kissed her jaw through her hair. “Nope, just missed you.”

She spun around, catching him around the waist and scooting them away from the open flame to continue their flirting. “Missed me from two feet away?”

“Yep.” He kissed her, closing the line of questioning before she could tease him further. He pulled back, weaving his fingers into her curls. “Missed you terribly.”

“You’re funny.” Rose giggled, kissed his nose.

Melting under her clear gaze, Harry couldn’t hold his feelings back any longer.

“I love you,” he said. “I love spending time with you.”

Rose’s eyes shot wider for just a second as she failed to hide her surprise. Then, her face softened, a faint grin found her lips. Time froze for Harry as he hoped for her to return his affections. He so rarely felt nervous around her these days, but his pulse raced in the silence.

Harry had never said those words to someone he was dating before but, as soon as he’d said them, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to take the words back. They were true, they rang clear. They felt right.

“I love you too,” she said. She pulled herself closer, laying her head in the crook of his neck.

His face flushed, warm with joy and pride and an overflowing heart.

“I love you,” he told her again. He held her tighter, pressed a kiss to her temple.

Since being reunited by happenstance, Harry found that his former relationship with Rose had been transformed from something unattainable into something both wholly new and completely familiar. He remembered holding her like this in the villa for the brief time they were together, remembered what it had felt like to start falling for her for the first time.

Like the ship of Theseus, all the functions and feelings of the whole had remained the same, but all the parts had been swapped and upgraded. Harry felt all the butterflies for her, but none of the anxiety or uncertainty. He’d smoothed the edges that grated against her.

Harry and Rose had looked up together to find that they shared a stronger foundation beneath their feet.

- thank you so much for the love and support on this fic, I'm really happy that people enjoyed it. this was something I wrote purely for my own enjoyment, so it was such a lovely surprise getting all the sweet comments i did. I love Rose and Harry, so I mayyyy have another fic or two about them planned for the future.

The morning of the gala, Rose thought she might be sick.

So much time and effort had gone into this event—it was the culmination of almost an entire year’s work—and there were so many little things that could go wrong.

She was glad for Harry’s offer to pick her up and go with her, for the extra set of hands he’d provide setting up the venue and because it saved her the anxiety of driving on such an important day. Rose was, by nature, an anxious person and jumped at the opportunity to be driven by someone else, even on less momentous occasions.

After a nervous breakfast of plain buttered toast and green tea, Rose went to her closet and pulled out the dress she’d purchased for the event. It had pained her to purchase such a fancy dress rather than renting it, knowing that she had to save for an impending move, but she supposed she could always resell the gown if she found no reason in the future to wear it.

The gown was floor length, made of silky emerald fabric with long chiffon sleeves and a heart-shaped neckline. Besides being her favorite color, the woman who sold her the dress had complimented the way the green brought out Rose’s gray eyes and pale complexion. She unzipped the garment bag just enough to look at the dress one last time before hanging it delicately over the back of a chair by the door.

Harry, like Rose, was a chronic early bird. They were both consistently among the first people in the office building most mornings. So, when he knocked on her door twenty full minutes before she’d told him to arrive, she was unsurprised.

“Hey, sorry. I’m, like, ridiculously early.” Harry told her. He looked like he’d come straight from bed, his hair still feathered in the back from sleep. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Rose grinned, despite her nerves, at his hair. She remembered waking up next to him in the villa, teasing him for the same ducky tail that formed on the back of his head.

“You and me both,” she said, reaching to loop her arms around his shoulders, brushing her fingers through his hair to smooth the cowlick down. “You could have been less early if you’d bothered to brush your hair.”

Harry blushed, whether from the close contact or the teasing Rose wasn’t sure. He joked, “I brushed my teeth, at least.”

Without thinking, Rose pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. They had only kissed twice since the time in her office a few days ago—both on that same night—but she felt at ease with him when it came to physicality. They’d already done all of the awkward boundary-finding before, in the villa.

Beyond the inherent comfort that came from having been together before, though, Harry had always brought out a boldness in Rose that she didn’t experience with other men. She knew that he saw her as an equal and that he wouldn’t feel small if she took control.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “Let me just—” She took a half step away and retrieved the garment bag with her dress as well as her work tote.

“Let me.” Harry took the garment bag from her and threw it over his arm, taking her now-free hand in his to lead her to his car.

The venue, a rented ballroom inside a public civic centre, was empty when Rose and Harry arrived. According to Rose’s spreadsheet, the first volunteers weren’t slated to arrive for thirty more minutes. However, over-eager morning volunteers usually arrived early. 

“Come here,” Rose said, pulling him by the hand to a supply closet.

She handed him her coffee—they had stopped on the way, as promised—and opened the closet door with the set of keys the venue had given her. From it, she pulled a small folding table and two metal folding chairs.

“Let me do that,” Harry protested. But Rose shook her head and set the table up, working quickly so Harry didn’t feel too useless watching with his hands full of drinks.

“Fifteen minute coffee date,” Rose said. “Or, until-my-volunteers-start-showing-up coffee date.”

“Fine by me.” Harry set the coffees down and took a seat, facing Rose.

“Do you remember our first date in the villa?” She asked. “With the cheap champers and rose petals all over the table?”

As a rule, Rose tried to keep talking about Love Island to a minimum. She and Harry seemed matched in their desire to put the reality show behind them. However, she was feeling nostalgic. And the table setup felt somehow familiar. She spoke softly, as if to keep from scaring Harry away with talk of the past.

Harry laughed. “How could I forget? God, I was so nervous. I tore a poor couple of rose petals to shreds.”

“I remember…” Rose shook her head, giggling at the memory. “I thought maybe you didn’t like being on camera, I felt the same way.”

“Nah, it was mostly you that made me nervous. Not anymore, though,” he said. Then, defensive, he added, “I mean, in a good way! I’m comfortable around you but only because we’ve known each other and I think I can read you better now.”

“Shine worn off?” Rose teased.

“Not in the slightest.” Harry gave her a look, suddenly serious. Before Rose could reply, he spoke again. “What’s got you nostalgic?”

“You,” Rose said. Then, “Also, I was thinking about how you asked about my job right off. Like you knew that was important to me.”

“Of course I did! You talked about it really fondly when we were all getting to know each other. I always liked that side of you, the passion you have for the things you care about.”

Rose blushed, glancing away at the heat of his sincerity. “You’re too much for this early.”

“You brought it up,” he countered.

“I also remember you talking about all of your hobbies, how you hadn’t found the right thing yet.” She smiled, remembering the over-eager Harry in the villa, contrasting him to the self-assured man in front of her. “Do you reckon you’ve found the right thing, now?”

Harry smiled wide, clearly pleased she’d remembered such a small detail of something he’d said. “I do, yeah. I really like where I’m at now. It’s not, like groundbreaking, but I’ve found that it’s really validating being good at something.”

“Even if you’re not going down in history?”

Harry paused, thinking for a moment. He reached across the table for Rose’s hand, squeezed it gently. “I’m perfectly content at the moment, making an impression on just a worthy few.”

-

Once the volunteers arrived, Harry was quickly overwhelmed. In order to keep from getting lost and feeling completely useless, he designated himself Rose’s errand boy for the morning. He stood by her side and followed her around, happy to assist wherever she needed.

It was nice, getting to see Rose in her element. Despite a quiet and calm demeanor, she was naturally at ease giving orders and rallying her troops of volunteers. He could tell she was nervous, but only because he saw her tells. To the outside observer, he imagined she seemed perfectly put-together.

Just after noon, once the tables had been set up and the volunteer rotation changed from the furniture-moving corps to the decorating committee, Rose gave Harry an outside errand.

“Would you mind going to pick up lunch for us? And running to the office supply store? I can put in an order for pickup somewhere close to the store, but I need to accept that I need another clipboard.” She held up the clipboard she’d been using, demonstrating the loose hinge on the clip.

Harry nodded, trying to hide the relief he felt at getting a break from the commotion of setting up the venue. “Sure thing.”

The errand didn’t take long, though, and soon he was back where he started: watching Rose arrange centerpieces. 

“Are you going to take a break to actually eat the food I brought you?”

Rose checked her watch. “These volunteers are here for another 20 minutes.”

“Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“I ordered a salad.”

Harry frowned. “Your food’s gonna get hot.”

This earned a small laugh, filling Harry with relief. She’d been a touch more serious than usual in the rush to get everything done and Harry had to fight not to take it personally. 

“Twenty minutes,” she told him.

Twenty-three minutes later, the second slot of volunteers had dispersed, either for their own lunch breaks or to go home for the day. Rose joined Harry back at the table which had been pushed into a corner and would surely be put back in the closet before the event began.

“Thank you for this,” Rose said, unwrapping a plastic fork. Harry had unpacked her salad for her, laying it out next to wrapped cutlery and paper napkins. It had done a little to kill the time waiting for her.

Harry swallowed a bite of his sandwich hastily. He hadn’t ordered hot food either. “No problem. When do the volunteers get back?”

Rose checked her watch again. He’d watched her do that roughly three hundred times in the last few hours. “Like, thirty minutes? We have one more set of set-up volunteers to put out the silent auction items and their bid lists. Then we have an hour in-between their slot and the catering setup that will take until the start of the party. You and I will have to get ready during that slot.”

Harry blanched. “Shit. I forgot my suit.”

“Harry!” Rose exclaimed. She was still smiling, though, only half serious. “I made a point to remind you and everything!”

“I know, I know.” Harry frowned. He’d laid the suit out the night before, too, but had forgotten it in his excitement to pick Rose up. “I’m the worst. I’ll have to run home to change.”

“That’s fine, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s not?”

“Yeah, as long as you promise to come back.” Rose giggled, scrunching her nose at the absurdity of the notion.

They finished their lunch in companionable silence. Harry could tell that Rose needed a break from all the speaking she’d been doing to volunteers and he was happy to leave her be.

When he was done eating, he folded his sandwich wrapper into a neat square before taking it to the bin. “I’ll be right back, then.”

He came back to the table and pressed a kiss to Rose’s forehead.

She smiled up at him fondly. “See you soon, love.”

-

When Harry left, Rose was glad for the moment of solitude. As much as she enjoyed his company, she was nervous for the gala and frazzled from shepherding volunteers all morning. It was nice to take a moment to breathe.

Before long, though, the tell-tale creak of the back entrance to the venue sounded again. Rose turned, half expecting it to be Harry having forgotten his keys or something similar.

“Rose?” The voice registered before his form did in the doorway. Rose froze in place.

“Rafi? What are you doing here?”

He walked toward her in long strides. He looked just a bit disheveled, his hair flattened from the baseball cap he always wore while flying. He’d clearly just come from the airport.

“I went home,” he said. “And you weren’t there.”

Rose checked her watch, more as a pacifying movement than for truly checking the time. She wasn’t even sure what to say or where to begin.

“Why…” She didn’t have it in her to finish the sentence. She was afraid of the romantic undertone of this grand gesture.

Rafi took another step closer.

“I’m here,” he said, voice dripping with honey. He spoke like he was reciting a romantic line from one of his films. “I couldn’t miss your party.”

Unable to speak, still, Rose opened and closed her hands nervously as if grasping literally for a way out.

“You can’t just…” She tried, the words fizzling out. “I don’t…”

“Rosie.” Rafi smiled and Rose almost wished she were happy to see him. In many ways it would be easier that way. “I knew you wanted me to be here, so I’m here.”

“This isn’t what I wanted, Rafi,” Rose said, all in one breath. She was partially grateful that the words had shown themselves out from her chest, but partially wary of the finality of the argument that loomed because of them. “I don’t want you here like this.”

All at once, Rafi deflated. It was as if her words had been a physical blow to his gut. He crossed his arms like he needed the protection.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “I came all this way to be here and now you don’t want me here?”

“That’s right,” Rose said. She leveled her voice, sounding a bit like she were speaking to a child. “I wanted you to be here because you wanted to be here, not because you feel like you have to.”

“I want to be here,” he countered. “I’m missing the film festival.”

“And not so you can hold being a good boyfriend over my head, either.” Her voice cracked, but she kept tears at bay. “It shouldn’t be this hard to do the right thing.”

As painful as it was to get the words out, Rose was glad that her vocabulary hadn’t failed her. She was finally able to speak her mind now that she had nothing to lose.

“So what does this mean? Are we…” He gestured between them, a despondent look clouding his eyes.

Rose knitted her brows at him, wishing he’d make the connection without her interception. When he remained silent, she answered in the most straight-forward way she could.

“Yes,” she said. “I think that’s for the best.”

“Can we talk about this? I mean, this can’t just be—“

She interrupted him, “I tried to talk before and you ran away. Now, I have volunteers coming back any minute and a gala to run this evening. We can talk another day but definitely not tonight.”

Rafi pulled his shoulders back and squared his jaw, taking her rejection on the chin. “Fine.”

“Good,” she said.

“I’ll see you at home, then.”

“Right.” Rose wished she didn’t have to go home to him, but she put that aside for the moment, for the sake of her sanity.

She brushed past him, charging to the door. “I’ll show you out.”

Once Rafi was gone, Rose’s brave face went with him. She tucked herself into the employee bathroom and began to cry.

The past few weeks considered, it felt almost cruel to Rose that Rafi would overlook her feelings so thoroughly. Such a grand gesture may have worked before, but she’d hoped that she’d made it clear that her backbone had strengthened recently. It was frustrating and unfair that Rafi’s appearance had rattled her like this. She was supposed to be doing what she did best, reaping the rewards of a year’s difficult work. Instead, she was crying alone in the loo.

Her phone rang and she wiped her tears and sniffed before looking at the screen. Harry.

“Hello?” She tried her best to sound like she hadn’t just been crying.

“Rosie? Are you okay?” Mission failed.

She sniffed again and avoided the question. “What’s up?”

“I just got back, I, um, saw Rafi outside…”

“I know.”

“God,” he said. He sounded as angry as Rose wished she could feel. Her bad moods always tended towards sadness, even if she deserved a little righteous anger now and then.

“He’s not still there is he?”

It was just what she needed, her ex camping outside the venue, scowling at Harry and the returning volunteers.

“No, no. He left.”

Rose sighed, relieved, at least, for that. “Good.”

“Where are you?” Harry asked. “I’m coming in.”

“The catering bathroom, just outside the ballroom on the left.” She caught herself, not even hesitating to tell Harry where she was. It was a nice dynamic, feeling comfortable enough at the prospect of him comforting her.

“Okay.” He hung up without another word and a knock on the door soon followed.

“Come in,” Rose called.

She was sitting on the edge of the sink counter, a crumpled tissue cradled in her lap. Rose was sure that she looked terribly pathetic. This feeling intensified when she saw the worry in Harry’s eyes as he opened the door. Her second thought, following the shame of him having to see her like this, was that he looked incredibly cute in his formalwear.

He rushed to her side, taking her shaking hand in his. “Oh, Rosie…”

Being that she cried easily at almost every emotion, Rose was used to people dismissing her feelings. Telling her that she cried too much or for silly reasons. It had become a part of her public persona, a meme for fans of Love Island. She was used to people looking right past her while she cried—Rafi very much included.

But Harry never did. On the show, when she’d cried in front of him just because she’d been tired and overwhelmed, even when they were just friends. He’d always tried to see her. Rose hadn’t realized his care until that moment, when the worry in his eyes struck her as deeply familiar.

-

Harry was sure that Rafi had caught him staring. Though, he wasn’t doing so out of malice, but sheer confusion. He hadn’t seen Rafi in person in so long—though he’d seen him in stupid movie trailers a regrettable number of times—it took Harry a moment to place him out of context.

Besides, Rafi was supposed to be in Italy for an indie film festival.

“What are you doing here?” Rafi called. A fake movie-star smile plastered on his face, as if Harry couldn’t guess at the anger in his tense shoulders.

With boldness he couldn’t quite trace the origins of, Harry called back, “I could ask you the same, dude. I thought you were out of town.”

His voice was miraculously level, he completed the illusion of calm by stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets as he took a step forward.

“I was. I came back for Rose’s gala.” Rafi puffed up his chest.

“Did you talk to her?”

For just a moment, Harry worried that Rafi had talked Rose into letting him come to the gala. Or worse, Rafi’s grand gesture had worked and he’d somehow made up with Rose. Harry wasn’t sure where the latter option left him.

To Harry’s relief, Rafi visibly deflated. He looked Harry up and down, seeming to decide whether or not to give him the satisfaction of an explanation.

“I’m going home, now,” Rafi said, finally. “Have a good night.”

As soon as Rafi was gone, tucked into an expensive rental car and driving back to his flat, Harry called Rose.

She answered right away,  gave him her location in a tearful voice. He went right away. Scorched earth, in a rage, almost forgetting to knock on the women’s bathroom door.

He softened immediately at the sight of her, all the fire inside of him doused by a more immediate desire to comfort. He’d never been like this before her—soft, worried about another person’s feelings so thoroughly.

“Oh, Rosie…” He crouched, balancing on his toes to keep his nice suit pants from touching the bathroom floor. He took her hand both for comfort and balance.

Harry held her hand in his, quiet as she collected herself enough to tell him what happened. He looked up, tracing the line of her worried brows down to wet eyelashes veiling stormy gray eyes.

In the villa, he remembered being tempted to talk her out of her feelings and running from disagreements. He remembered not having the strength to weather tinier storms, then, how he’d felt out of control and out of depth with smaller problems. Something within him had bolstered, so slowly he hadn’t even noticed the change as it was occurring.

“Did you know he was coming?” Harry was certain he already knew the answer, but it felt like the most obvious question to start with.

Rose shook her head, wiping her eyes with the crumpled tissue in her free hand. “No, he just showed up.”

“Did he say something to make you cry?”

“No…” She shook herself, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s the bittersweetness of it all. Like, the fact that he flew all the way here but it doesn’t matter. The fact that I don’t even want him here anymore.”

Harry nodded, encouraging her. She was always choosy with her words but he knew that she was especially worried about saying the right thing in this moment to capture all of what she was feeling.

She continued, “It’s a lot harder to deal with the relationship ending when I’m not confronted with the good bits. He made an effort to fix things—a poor, last-minute effort—but it was an effort, nonetheless.”

“That makes sense.” He squeezed her hand, ran a thumb across her knuckles, waited for better, more encouraging words to find him.

Rose squeezed his hand back. “This doesn’t change anything, you know? With us…”

The words hung in the air between them as Rose searched his face, seeming to look for any reservations. He had none. Harry trusted her. Her Turning Rafi away at the door had shown him that much.

What remained was the rest of it. The conversation with Rafi to make the break-up official, the defining of relationship conversation that Harry would have to have with her after, the moving boxes to pack the last two years of her life into. Despite the excitement and relief that Harry felt for finally having her, everything else loomed just over the horizon.

He wanted to tell Rose that he would shoulder the burden, that he’d happily help her pack and carry boxes up and down stairs, that he’d hold her through all of it, that his romantic feelings were incidental to the care he felt for her as a human being.

“I know,” he told her, wishing he could manage grander turns of phrase, placing hope in the value of his hand holding hers in the silence.

-

Beyond the dramatics, there was still the gala to attend to, and Rose couldn’t let the situation with Rafi ruin any part of it for her.

Comforted by Harry’s sweet understanding, Rose returned to the ballroom and to the volunteers. As she worked, the stress of everything before faded into the background. Harry helped, leading the volunteers as he’d watched Rose do for the first half of the day. Setup was done in record time, and Rose found solace in her own aptitude for her work.

When time came to get ready, she was grateful that Harry had changed before her.

“Come with me,” she said.

Harry took her outstretched hand, following her wordlessly and without protest. She led him back to the catering bathroom, bringing with her the makeup she’d packed the night before and her dress in its garment bag.

“My favorite part about being an event organizer,” she told him, swinging the door open with the back of her arm, “is the privilege of knowing all the hiding places at big parties.”

Rose had never been a fan of big parties. In school, she’d been dragged kicking and screaming by her brother to every party she ever attended. She was a wallflower at best, well versed in the art of the untimely Irish goodbye at worst. It had been a surprise to most of her friends and family when she’d become a party-planner professionally.

It had been an even greater surprise when she’d applied for Love Island.

What people didn’t understand was that by inherently hating parties, Rose had become master of them. She could make events painless for others because she’d spent her formative years thinking of all the ways parties could be painful.

Some part of her believed that this principal had won her Love Island, too. She’d been too anxious to be herself the whole time, spent the summer trying to seem like the perfect girl instead of having fun. Had fallen into the best looking love story rather than chasing after the person she fancied most.

While it hadn’t all been an act, necessarily, Rose’s time on Love Island had in some ways been a practice in hospitality. She’d packaged herself into a product and sold a service, at the end of the day.

“Are you planning on hiding much of the night?” Harry asked.

Rose smirked, shrugging cooly. “Maybe a little of the night.”

-

While Rose unpacked her makeup next to the sink, Harry hopped up onto the bathroom counter to watch her. He’d steered clear of the dressing rooms for the most part in the villa, scared away by threats from AJ and Gen, but he’d always enjoyed watching girls—Rose especially—put on their makeup. There was a subtle magic to it, something in the sum of all the the steps that Harry didn’t feel quite privy to since he’d never learned the skill.

“Hey, you’re taking up my counter-space.” Rose protested, glaring facetiously as he made himself comfortable up against the mirror.

Harry made no move to remove himself from the counter. “I’ll hold things if you need me to.”

She rolled her eyes, but accepted, plopping her makeup bag in his lap before continuing to rifle through it for the first step in her routine.

“How are you feeling?” He asked when she took a step to the side, having found what she was looking for. Waiting for her reply, he busied his hands playing with a tassel on the zipper of the bag in his lap.

She certainly seemed better, but Harry wasn’t quite all the way comfortable yet. Since Rafi’s unexpected arrival, their relationship had taken on a gaseous form, like it could dissipate like fog any moment.

“I think I’m doing alright,” Rose said. She came back to the makeup bag, dropping the bottle she’d been using back in. Instead of going for the next, she lingered, placing her hands on Harry’s knees. “How are you feeling?”

Harry startled. He hadn’t expected her to ask.

She spoke again before he could answer, “It’s okay if you’re shaken up, too.”

“Oh.” Harry reached to his neck and pulled the tie he was wearing away just a bit, as if he needed more air. “I was a bit shaken up, I think. But it’s okay. Really has nothing to do with me, does it?”

Rose frowned, seeing right past his play at nonchalance. “It does have to do with you. If you have feelings about it, that is.”

“I’m alright, Rosie. It’s just that the timing of Rafi coming back is abysmal,” he said, using a dramatic, fancy word that Rose would usually tend toward. Abysmal. He was beginning to sound like her.

“Exactly that,” she agreed. “But I meant what I said.”

She brushed a hand through his hair, searched his face for words unsaid. Finding none, she sighed and leaned her head to rest on his shoulder.

“Tired?” He asked.

“Exhausted.”

“You’re not getting makeup on my suit, are you?”

Rose pulled back, giggling. “No, I literally just washed my face and nothing else.”

“Ah.” Harry blushed. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly.” She lingered in his personal space for a moment longer, tracing a line with her thumb from his ear to his jaw. Harry loved watching her watch him. Loved watching her try to solve him like a puzzle.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked. He also loved cutting to the chase.

-

Rose had worried that getting ready in front of Harry would ruin the effect of a grand reveal. She was happy to be proven wrong.

When she’d finished her makeup and curled her hair, Rose took the garment bag in hand. She checked her watch. It was almost time for the next round of volunteers and catering to arrive, getting them settled into their jobs for the night would lead all the way up to the beginning of the event.

“Do you want me to step out?” Harry asked, looking pointedly at the garment bag.

Rose shrugged. “You saw me in a bikini every day for two months. Up to you.”

Out of either some sense of obligation toward purity or for the sake of being contrary, Harry hopped down from the bathroom counter and made for the door.

“I’ll be outside.” He kissed her forehead on the way out.

One of Rose’s favorite parts of being in the villa had been the outfits. She loved wearing fancy dresses to casual cocktail parties at the end of every week. By the finale, Rose had also had to begin trading dresses with the other girls to disguise the fact that they were all running out of clothes. She’d loved that, too, and the illusion of intimacy and close friendship that the villa had created between them.

Though it was much less common for her, now, Rose still loved getting dressed up. And she still loved the look on Harry’s face when he saw her finally.

“This dress?” He reached for one of her gossamer sleeves, feeling the fabric as he took a step closer. “You look gorgeous.”

"You think?" Rose beamed. She loved the way she could see all the cogs turning in his mind as he looked at her. It was like she could read his thoughts.

"Give me a spin." Harry took her hand and spun her around. They'd danced before, in the villa, Rose had forgotten until that moment. Under twinkle lights, at Love Island prom. He'd stolen her from Rafi for a friendly dance at the end of the night. She remembered feeling so safe and warm with everyone together and finally getting along.

"You look really lovely," he said, admiring her still. "Really, Rosie."

She blushed at his easy sincerity. Rose felt she may never get over the way he always said exactly what he was thinking.

"Ground rules," she said, earning a questioning look, "you can't muss my hair or ruin my makeup. Or do anything that might wrinkle or endanger my dress."

"Okay?" Harry looked like he might be catching on, but let her continue.

She took his hand, pulling him down the hall, stopping just short of a metal door and turned to face him. She raised up on tip-toes to whisper, "If you accept my terms, you can make out with me in this storage room."

Harry's confusion turned to a sly smirk. He held out a hand for her to shake. "You've got a deal."

-

Harry's head was spinning as he followed Rose into the supply room.

If it had not been for the very real dilemmas that had followed them throughout the past few days, Harry would think that he was dreaming.

Rose herself was like a vision from his dreams. Ethereal moon-glow skin against a mossy green dress, makeup glittering on her cheeks under the florescent lights, hair falling artfully around her pretty face.

Soft lips wearing nothing but sheer chapstick.

"You're gorgeous," he told her again, pressing a hand to her back as if to push her faster into the private room.

Rose skipped out of his grasp, giving a cutesy twirl as she escaped him to lock the door behind them. When she returned, she threw her arms over his shoulders, letting her wrists rest against his neck. He could hear her watch ticking against his ear, reminding him of how little time he had, despite wishing he could keep her to himself all night.

"Where am I allowed to touch you?" He asked, blushing when the question sounded much more suggestive than he'd intended. "I mean, so as not to endanger your dress."

"Here." She guided his hands to her waist. "Just try not to ruffle me too much."

Harry laughed. "I'll make a valiant effort, I promise."

He kissed her, carefully pressing her against him so as not to leave evidence of the encounter. Harry wanted more of her, though, wished that he could take her home in the dress and quickly see her out of it.

The kiss, like many others Harry and Rose had shared in the past few days, was familiar in its way. Her smell—tart apples and sweet roses—was quickly working up the ranks to becoming Harry's favorite scent. The mix was nostalgic and intoxicating, only missing the coconut scented sunscreen she’d lathered on in the villa.

She pulled herself closer to him. Harry had always loved the way she'd smiled against his mouth when he kissed her. The way her hands went straight to his hair.

Harry pulled back, managed a breathy chuckle. "You're allowed to muss my hair?"

"Absolutely." Rose didn't give him the opportunity to reply, kissing him again with renewed enthusiasm.

He shuddered as her tongue sweetly parted his lips, as she threaded her hands through his hair again and pulled, just to tease him.

"Double standards." Harry tutted as he pulled away again, wishing he didn’t have to come up for air.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re not the one who has to give a speech. I can’t look like I’ve just been snogging someone in a spare room.”

Behind Rose, there was a spare dining table that looked suitably sturdy. Harry ushered her back a few steps to the edge of the table before swiftly picking her up and depositing her on the table’s surface.

Rose let out a surprised squeak, then giggled at herself before returning to her stern conceit. “You’re getting a little ruffle-y, there, babe. Mind treating me with care?”

He parted her legs as much as the gown would allow and stood between them. Visions of green velvet dresses on his bedroom floor danced before him. Mussed hair and smeared makeup. Rose Prichard, laid bare before him, in his bed, not thinking about Rafi or party planning or anything but how much she wanted all of this too.

“I don’t mind at all.” He kissed her jaw, trailed kisses down her neck and to her exposed collarbone. If he didn’t have so much respect for how hard she’d worked in service of the gala, he’d be more tempted to leave a mark. As it stood, he was content with the thought that he may someday be able to mark her wherever he liked.

“God,” she muttered. “I really wish we weren’t in a glorified closet right now.” She paused for a beat, laughed. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind too much if we had more time.”

Harry leaned back, studying her. She looked disappointingly put-together—kissed pink lips were the only evidence of his handiwork. She checked her watch, sparing a guilty glance up at Harry as untangled herself from his arms.

“Time’s up, loverboy.” She pecked his lips and smoothed his hair back down before hopping down from the table and adjusting her skirt. “Could have done with a bit less mussing, though.”

“I think considering all the things I want to do to you and that dress, you should be thanking me.” He brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger against her warm cheek.

She tugged his collar back into place and straightened his tie. She’d done a fair bit of mussing herself. “You’re right. All things considered, you were very good.”

“How are you feeling now?” Harry was unsure how much he’d be able to see her and talk to her for the rest of the night, he wanted to know that she was truly alright and not just putting on a show. “You seem in better spirits.”

She took his hand, gave him a convincing smile. “I’m just relieved that the gala is happening. I’ll get to rest on my laurels for, like, at least a month before I have to start planning the next one.”

“And about Rafi?”

“Not thinking about Rafi at all.” She squeezed his hand, started pulling him to the door. “I’ve gotta meet the caterers.”

-

The first half of the gala passed Rose by in a blur. She was pulled in a hundred different directions, by other members of her organization, by a problem with the catering company, by attendees who knew her from the name on the invitations and wanted a better picture of the girl behind the signatures.

By the time she gave her welcome address, a smaller, more logistical version of the welcome address by the president of the organization that she followed, she had shifted into auto-pilot. After checking in with the caterers again, Rose finally seated herself for dinner. She shared a round table at the front of the room with a handful of other staff, as well as Harry.

Harry, for his part, seemed to be thriving. He'd mostly been left alone, introducing himself as a volunteer or a friend of the organization if asked. Rose hadn't had to ask him not to hint at the fact that something was going on between them. The public nature of Rose's relationship with Rafi was obviously a hurdle to him, and he did his best to keep people from asking questions.

It wasn't until she was seated for dinner that Rose was finally questioned beyond her ability to artfully evade.

"I thought your boyfriend would be coming,” Marisol, a volunteer coordinator and administrative assistant for the organization, commented. "I'm a fan of his work, you know."

Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Marisol had worked her love for Rafi’s worst film, Liar Liar Pants on Fire, into almost every conversation Rose had engaged in with her. And the one time Marisol had seen Rafi with Rose at the office, she'd nearly broken a bone hustling down the hall to say hello.

“He couldn’t make it,” Rose said, swallowing the desire to tell the truth just to earn the privilege of holding Harry’s hand under the table.

Maybe she’d introduce Rafi and Marisol, once all was said and done.

“That’s a shame.” Marisol turned to Harry and offered a hand for him to shake, recovering her manners. “You’re Rose’s friend-date, then?”

“Yeah! Harry Zhōng.” He gave her hand a sturdy shake, not missing a beat. “I actually work in the same building as you, too.”

“Oh yeah? You do look familiar…”

Rose and Harry exchanged a look. It was entirely possible that Marisol hadn’t seen their season of Love Island, but fans of Rafi’s were usually fans of the show.

“I’m a programmer on the sixth floor, you might have seen me on your way to Rose’s office.”

“Huh!” Marisol laughed. “Small world.”

“Big office building,” Rose offered.

Similar encounters followed as the other seats at the table were filled. Harry repeated the same lines, shook hands with Rose's coworkers, generally did a great job of being a sweet, unobtrusive party guest. When Rose had to duck away from dinner for another catering emergency, she felt completely comfortable leaving him alone.

"I'm sorry, I know this is stupid," the caterer, a handsome man named Jake Wilson, told her when she entered the kitchen, "But I need someone to help lift one of the cakes from the walk-in. One of my guys called out sick.”

Rose looked Jake up and down, hands on her hips. She wanted to scold him for not telling her sooner, but she knew that this was likely as stressful an event for him as it was for her. She sighed, "I'll get someone."

"Thank you! Sorry again," Jake called after her, already leaving the kitchen in a hurry.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked when she returned to the table.

"Yeah, not a big deal." Rose smiled at her coworkers, not wanting them to worry for anything being wrong. "Would you come help me, actually?"

Harry excused himself, dropping his napkin from his lap onto the table. "Of course."

"It's really not a big deal," Rose assured him.

"Oh, so you do actually need my help?" Harry chuckled. "I kind of thought you were just sneaking away."

She gave him a sideways glance. "I need you to help the caterer lift the cake from the freezer onto a rolling cart. No big deal."

"What if I drop the cake and ruin your gala?"

Away from the main ballroom and hidden in the hallway, Rose was free to let her guard down a bit. She grabbed Harry's sleeve and gave it a playful tug as she tried to manage a stern tone of voice. "You better not drop the cake."

"Will you forgive me if I do? I think I'll be less nervous knowing there's an opportunity for redemption." Harry made his best puppy eyes at Rose, barely able to keep from laughing out loud as he did so.

Rose laughed. "Yeah, best I can do is promise I won't literally kill you."

"I'll take it."

They shared a laugh as they swung open the kitchen doors. Rose felt the stress of the gala fading into the background as she spoke with Harry. She loved how easily he brought her out of her shell and made her want to laugh and make jokes.

"I've brought you help," Rose called, knowing that Jake was right around the corner. "He's not the strongest lad but he'll do in a pinch."

"Hey," Harry muttered. He pretended to elbow Rose in the side. "I'm plenty strong, thank you very much."

Jake came back around from the hallway with the walk-in cooler. He jutted a thumb behind him. "Cake's this way."

Rose followed, knowing she probably wouldn't be much help but wanting to supervise the cake being moved anyway. Her anxiety wouldn't let her leave the boys to it. She joked with Harry again as they walked, "Pinky promise you're not gonna drop the cake?"

In response, Harry held out a pinky behind him for Rose to shake as they walked. She did so with some difficulty, giggling as she tried to grab hold of the digit on his moving hand.

"You're in a much better mood than you were two minutes ago," Jake remarked.

While she was startled by the observation, she knew he was right. And, by nature of having catered every gala Rose had been involved with, Jake spoke with authority. He’d seen her in much worse moods.

“Not worse than the year before last, though, right?” She asked, artfully changing the subject. That year, her boss had been sick and she’d had to do twice the work. Jake had walked in on her crying inside of the walk-in freezer.

“Right.” Jake laughed. “I’m just glad to see you really enjoying one of these things for once.”

-

Harry did not drop the cake.

In fact, he thought he’d done an incredible job of being Rose’s date. He was especially proud of the way that he was able to dodge questions about Rafi and not arouse any suspicion about Rafi and Rose’s impending breakup.

Because of Rafi’s fame, it was possible that the public breakup would become a scandal. It had been almost a little painful to friend-zone himself so thoroughly for the night, but it was entirely worth it if it saved Rose some heartache.

Besides, he felt a little like a secret agent on a mission not to disclose his true identity.

“I’m so tired,” Rose said, finding him lingering on the outskirts of a conversation with some volunteers. She’d been popping in and out of his vicinity all night, constantly being called away either to mingle with guests or by varied, ridiculous mini-catastrophes behind the scenes.

The gala had finished with its silent auction and the organization’s president had given her final remarks. The cleanup volunteers were waiting by the walls to descend upon dirty tables like hungry lions observing their prey. Harry could tell that they were as ready to finish with the gala and leave as he was—and none of them had been there as long as he and Rose had.

“Home stretch?” He asked.

Rose nodded. “Yeah, and technically I don’t have to stay for cleanup. That’s Marisol’s jurisdiction.”

“So we get to leave soon?” Harry did his best not to sound too eager, for her sake. He didn’t want her to think he was put out by having to be there all day. Getting to spend time with her and be there for her in a meaningful way had far outweighed the strain of essentially volunteering for twelve straight hours.

Rose gave him a sly look. “I’m gonna say goodbye to my coworkers and then we can slip out.”

“I’ll be here, waiting with baited breath.”

He watched the internal struggle of her wanting to touch him play out on her face and in her unsteady hands. She settled for squeezing his bicep in a friendly-seeming gesture, a shy blush forming on her face before she ducked away.

Before long, she’d returned, the garment bag from her dress and her tote slung over her arm. She nodded toward the door. “Let’s get out of here, before someone decides they need me.”

Harry resisted the urge to take her hand as he led her out to the parking lot. He waved his goodbyes to the volunteers and guests he’d briefly become acquainted with as he scurried out the staff entrance behind Rose.

“You are amazing at your job,” Harry told her, once they were safely tucked away in his car. “Like, that was so lovely.”

Rose beamed. “You think so?” 

“I know so.” Harry took her hand in his and pulled it toward him to rest their intertwined hands on his thigh. “Objectively that was the best charity gala I’ve ever been to.”

“You’ve not been to any other charity galas, have you?”

“That’s besides the point entirely.”

“I appreciate it,” Rose said, laughing at his joke. She leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. “Now, as a reward for my hard work, I’ve got to go home and break up with beloved movie-star Rafi Sayed.”

“Eh, have you seen Buff Ninja? He can’t possibly be that beloved.” Harry gave her a mischievous look. “Like, come on.”

“I went to the premiere red carpet for Buff Ninja.” Rose laughed again, despite herself. “But I’ve heard it’s got a thriving fanbase in some dark little corners of the internet, so.”

Harry raised her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to the base of her thumb. “Are you worried about what people will think?”

She considered for a moment, staring up at the car’s ceiling in silence. Then, she shook her head decisively. “I trust Rafi enough to know that he wouldn’t make me look bad. Even if people are upset, he’ll defend the fact that the breakup was mutual, I think.”

“That’s good.” He kissed her wrist, swallowed air as he psyched himself up to ask the next question. “You don’t think that it’ll look bad if you’re immediately with someone else?”

Rose turned, eyes flickering over Harry’s face as if she was seeing him for the first time. They had been so preoccupied with Rose’s side of the situation, that it seemed both of them had failed to consider the optics where Harry was concerned. She ghosted her free hand against the side of his face like she was wiping away invisible tears, trying to smooth the worry from his jaw. 

“As long as you’re alright not posting about us for a couple of weeks, I think everything will be fine,” she said, finally. Harry could tell that it was a difficult ask for her, knowing that she hated the idea of having a secret worth hiding.

Harry wouldn’t mind, though, he thought. After everything, some part of him enjoyed the idea of keeping her to himself for a while. -

thank you all for reading and for the kind comments!! the next chapter will be just a short epilogue, so this is technically the ending. I'm posting it very quickly because it was all pre-written but I am also a really big fan of how it turned out. hope you enjoyed <3