#fancfiction

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn’t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

"What was that?" Grace asks. All of you were looking in the direction of the metallic sound.

"Sound bad." Rocky’s translator echoes through the ship. “Maybe outer shield.” Heavy footsteps follow as Rocky moves closer to the lab.

Y/N drags herself toward the doorway, clearly pulled away from something she was focused on moments ago. She looks half-awake, like the ship itself interrupted her brain mid-thought.

"It's a loose panel on the hull of the ship." She groans, Grace and Rocky, looking at her standing sluggishly at the doorway.

"We need to fix it immediately, or else other systems below it will be affected." Y/N rubs her eyes. "I'll fix it. Give me a few minutes to get into the EVA suit."

The thing about Grace is that he hasn’t fully processed it yet— but there is a pattern forming in his thoughts whenever she speaks. Whenever she moves. Whenever she fixes something too fast.

Something he absolutely refuses to name.

"Rocky, you go on comms. Grace you g—"

"I'll go." Grace interrupts immediately.

Y/N snaps her head towards him, confused.

“It’s just screwing something back onto the hull, right? I can handle that.” He shrugs. Rocky's carapace tilts, as if matching Y/N's confused energy.

“But Grace scientist,” he says through the translator. “Grace do tests in lab. Y/N engineer. Can quickly fix ship."

That comparison makes something in Grace shift immediately.

Not anger. Not offense.

Worse. Motivation.

“…Right,” Grace says, a little too fast. He clears his throat, already moving toward the EVA prep.

“I can do it,” he adds, like he’s convincing himself more than anyone else.

"You sure?" Y/N and Rocky following behind Grace. "Mayb... Yeah!" He says a little to quickly.

“Plus, you look tired,” he adds, then hesitates. “…and you were clearly interrupted from your robot thing.”

He lowers his voice slightly as they walk.

“Cute robot thing.”

"...Fuck you mean cute?" she says immediately. "And how'd you even know I was working on a robot?"

Grace freezes for half a second too long. 'That wasn't supposed to be audible' He curses himself internally.

“I said interesting,” he corrects way too fast. “You were hearing things. Also, language.”

Rocky’s translator clicks softly, like he’s observing a malfunctioning system. “Grace behavior: suspicious,” Rocky notes.

His pathetic excuse just flies by Y/N's ears. Because now—he’s thinking about it.

The last few days.

Y/N in the lab. Focused. Quiet. Always working on that robot thing.

He remembers standing a little too long in the doorway once. Just watching. Telling himself it was “quality assurance awareness” or something equally stupid.

He even remembers the moment one of its parts ejected unexpectedly, making Y/N jump. And with that, he accidentally drops a sample of Taumoeba on the floor, distracted by Y/N's reaction.

Now, walking ahead of her, that memory hits him again at the worst possible time.

Grace clears his throat, speeds up slightly.

Behind him, he is very aware of his own heartbeat. Which is inconvenient, because he would prefer not to be.

"Grace heartbeat fast. Is Grace sick? Question." Rocky asks.

"Don't worry, Rocky." Y/N says, leaning against the doorway of the EVA room with her arms crossed. "Maybe he's just nervous fixing the hull."

"No, I am not!" The slightly sweaty scientist answers a bit too quickly. "It's just a simple repair, I can do it."

He nods once, like that should settle it.

It does not.

Behind him, the EVA suit rack suddenly feels a lot more judgmental than it did five minutes ago.

Y/N lets out a small chuckle as Grace starts gearing up.

'God that laugh.' Grace thought to himself.

He shakes himself back to reality and actually starts getting into the EVA suit. Y/N and Rocky silently watching and judging him from the entrance.

"What are you both looking at?"

"Nothing. We'll handle communications now. G'luck." Y/N walks off towards the cockpit, Rocky following. "You've got the left and right boots mixed, by the way." she adds casually down the hallway.

Then she’s gone.

Grace pauses. Looks down, then fixes it.

Finally, for the first time in what feels like too long, he’s alone.

He exhales slowly, tension leaving his body in one long breath he didn’t realize he was holding. And unfortunately, his brain immediately fills the silence with the sound of Y/N’s laugh again.

He puts his face into his hands, calming himself down before he says something stupid again.

“Focus,” he mutters to himself.

The problem is, his brain is not cooperating because Y/N is… present in a way she really shouldn’t be right now. In his thoughts. In his timing. In literally everything that is supposed to be about fixing a hull panel.

She just has that perfect humor, energy, and intellect that Grace can't get enough of.

"The hell are you doing?" Y/N's voice echoes throughout the intercoms.

Grace jumps at the sudden voice in his ear and looks up at the CCTV positioned at the top-left corner of the room. "Nothing! Just finishing up."

"Quickly, man. Or do you want more problems with the ship?"

"Rocky want to go home. Rocky don't want ship go boom because Grace stupid." Rocky adds though the intercoms.

“Not helping,” Grace clicks his helmet into place. "Ready."

For a second, there’s quiet.

But not really. Because his brain is still replaying everything from earlier.

Y/N at the doorway. Y/N laughing. Y/N fixing things like she already knows the outcome.

The way she looks when something actually works.

The way she ties her (color) hair up when she's working on something.

'Woah' Grace talks to himself internally. 'Stop it, Ryland. Just fix the hull, then panic later.'

Then when he thought he was calm enough to get out of the ship, the intercom was filled with Y/N's laugh. "What are you gonna use to fix the hull with?"

'GOD THAT LAUGH'

"O-oh.." he says, grabbing the first toolbox within reach like it personally offended him.

"That's for internal ship repairs, silly." Y/N chuckles

'silly'

That nickname sent the scientist into a frenzy. All he wanted to do was sit on the floor and squeal like a teenage girl.

"It's the one on your left."

"A-alright.." Grace clears his throat and grabs the correct toolbox, carefully placing the other one back like it personally betrayed him.

"Opening the airlock now." Y/N announces.

The airlock begins to cycle, the heavy mechanism shifting open with a slow, mechanical hiss. Dark space reveals itself beyond the hull.

Grace takes a deep breath so sharp it almost hurts. "...You got this, Ryland." He whispers himself.

"I can hear you, you know." Y/N says immediately through the intercom, amused. Rocky lets out a short Eridian laugh in the background.

Grace freezes and forcibly shuts his eyes inside the helmet.

'Focus. Fix hull. Do not think about her laugh. Do not think about Y/N calling me silly.' He convinces himself.

'Especially do not think about the fact that it worked.'

Finally, he gets out of the hull, walking on top of it now. Looking around to find the damaged part of the ship.

"Have you found it?" Y/N asks. "Yeah." He stares at the damage.

"...It's on the side of the ship, though."

“Mm-hm,” Y/N hums. “Well. You were the one who volunteered to fix it, right?”

She stretches the last word just enough to be annoying.

Grace exhales through his nose.

Focus. Hull. Physics. Not voice.

He moves along the exterior, clipping himself securely to the ship before pushing off toward the damaged panel.

He opens the tools boxt and inside, there were too many screwdrivers. None labeled in a way that feels emotionally supportive.

“The one nearest to your hand,” Y/N says casually.

Grace grabs it immediately. “…Of course it is.”

He starts the repair. For a second, he thought that this wasn't that hard after all.

Back at the cockpit, Y/N was laughing out loud with Rocky. Yes, Grace was using the right screwdriver...

But he wasn't using it on the right screw.

"Alright, Rocky, time for me to go out there now." She wipes off a tear from laughing too hard.

"Okay. Rocky talk with Grace through intercom." Rocky chirps.

Y/N moves quickly toward the EVA room and starts suiting up.

“Good job, Ry,” she says casually through comms. She doesn’t see anything outside, but she hears—

clank.

A pause.

“Is friend Grace okay?” Rocky asks.

Grace is very much not okay.

'Ry.'

He hasn't heard that one in ages. The scientist immediately mutes himself on the intercom to let out a squeal. Supposedly, a release of the dopamine running through his veins.

"Ry?" Y/N calls off to confirm Grace's status. "You good out there?"

Grace takes a breath, forces his voice steady, and unmutes.

“Y-yeah,” he says quickly. “I just—dropped a screw. from the toolbox”

“…Everything’s fine.”

“Alright,” Y/N replies after a beat. “I’ll… go take a quick bathroom break.” Her tone is light. Almost normal, then she mutes comms.

Inside the cockpit, Rocky tilts slightly. “Why Y/N leave?” he asks.

“She didn’t,” Grace mutters to himself. “She said—”

He stops. A few seconds pass.

Something about that answer doesn’t fully sit right, but he doesn’t have time to unpack it yet.

“Rock?” Grace says into comms.

“Yes, Grace? Question.” Rocky replies.

And somewhere in the background channel—barely noticeable unless you were listening for it—

He sighs, not believing himself that he's asking rocky this. "Hypothetical. If a crewmate causes… persistent cognitive interference during critical operations, what is the recommended mitigation strategy?"

In the EVA room, Y/N pauses mid-motion. She’s still getting ready, but now she’s listening very closely.

Grace hesitates. "...Distraction."

And for the first time, there was silence all throughout the ship.

Rocky turns on the comms. "Grace behavior similar to mating behavior."

Grace and Y/N's eyes widen at Rocky's surprising answer. Leading to Grace dropping another screw into space.

"No—no, it is not—why would you say that—" He drops the screw in his hand. It drifts away slowly into space.

“Grace like Y/N.” Rocky cuts off the flustered scientist on the other side of the call.

This made Y/N stop tying her boots' laces. '"Is he being for real, right now?" She mutters under her breath.

Because Rocky doesn't joke. That's the problem.

"That is not— I don't— I mean—" Grace struggles to find the words to explain himself.

Y/N tries to shake off everything that is happening and goes out to space. She looks around and sees the usually— well, sometimes— composed scientist...

Floating near the hull.

Visibly malfunctioning.

Trying very hard to pretend his brain is not currently on fire.

The comms are still uncomfortably silent.

Grace is still trying to recover from the last thirty seconds of his life. Which is difficult considering he is currently floating outside a spacecraft, holding a screwdriver he is no longer emotionally qualified to use.

Then—

He hears footsteps.

He doesn’t turn immediately, but he freezes.

He already knows.

Of course he knows.

Footsteps.

Controlled. Confident. Annoyingly calm for someone entering open space.

"Grace." Her voice cuts through the comms system.

Just his name.

Nothing else.

And somehow that is worse.

He turns slowly.

Y/N is there now—fully suited, helmet reflecting the dull light of the ship, floating just slightly off alignment like she’s done this a hundred times more than she actually has.

She tilts her head a little and looks at him.

Then, very casually:

"So."

A pause.

"…Mating behavior, huh?"

Grace makes a sound that is not language. It is not even a coherent human reaction. Not even a coherent Eridian reaction.

It is something between a cough, a system error, and a man actively regretting every decision he has ever made.

"…That is not— I didn’t— I mean—Rocky said it—" He stops himself.

That was worse.

Y/N doesn’t move closer right away. She just drifts a little in space, stabilizing herself with one hand against the hull like this is a normal conversation and not whatever disaster this is for him.

"Oh." She says slowly. "So you’re blaming Rocky now."

"I am not— I am not blaming—" He gestures vaguely with the screwdriver.

Which is a mistake. The screwdriver drifts away again.

Grace watches it go in real time like he’s witnessing his own dignity leaving orbit.

Y/N lets out a small laugh through comms.

There it is again.

That laugh.

Grace immediately stops functioning for half a second.

"Okay," she says, finally moving in toward the damaged panel. "Let’s fix this before you accidentally confess something else to space."

"I am not going to confess anything to space."

"Sure," She replies, already inspecting the panel. "Space seems like it’s getting a lot of honesty from you today, though."

She starts working.

And she is fast.

Too fast.

Grace tries to recover by focusing on the repair.

He fails immediately.

"…You know." He starts, then stops.

Wrong time.

Wrong everything.

Y/N doesn’t look up. "No, I don’t know. Please continue your sentence, though. I’m curious which version of you comes out."

He physically freezes.

Then—

"Grace." Rocky’s voice cuts in through comms.

"Yes?" Grace says instantly, too relieved.

"Grace behavior: increasing instability."

"Thank you, Rocky."

"Not compliment.Statement."

"Noted."

Y/N laughs again, quieter this time, like she’s trying not to fully break.

And Grace, floating helplessly beside her, realizes something very important: The hull panel is not the problem anymore.

He is.

Grace tries very hard to be useful. This is, unfortunately, his first mistake. Y/N is already halfway through securing the panel when he reaches over to 'help.'

"Don’t—" She starts.

Too late.

He presses the wrong edge of the panel slightly off alignment. There is a pause.

A very meaningful pause.

"…Grace," she says slowly, "What did I just say about touching things?"

"I was aligning it."

"You were introducing new problems to it."

"That is not— I was helping."

"You were participating, yes."

That lands worse than he expected. Behind them, Rocky observes silently through comms.

"Grace efficiency decreasing." He reports.

"I’m aware," Grace mutters.

Y/N lets out a quiet laugh and adjusts the panel herself with practiced ease, tightening the correct sequence of bolts in a way that makes it look effortless.

Too effortless.

Grace watches.

That is his second mistake.

"You do this a lot." He says before he can stop himself.

Y/N doesn’t look at him, continuing the repair. "Fix things in space? Unfortunately, yes."

"No. I mean… EVA."

A pause.

Then she tilts her head slightly toward him.

"I don’t know." She says lightly. "Do you always stare this much at people who are just doing their job, Ry?"

That is his third mistake.

Grace goes still. He's cursing himself inside more than he ever was before.

"…That was not— I wasn’t— I’m observing the repair."

"Mm-hm," She replies, clearly not believing him.

She tightens the final clamp. The panel locks into place with a clean, satisfying click.

"Done." Y/N says.

Then, after a beat:

"You’re welcome, by the way."

Grace exhales. "I was also helping."

"You dropped a tool twice."

"That is irrelevant."

"It is slightly relevant."

"…Slightly."

She laughs again, and he immediately stops speaking for a moment longer than necessary.

They begin the return toward the airlock. Slow and controlled.

Space around them was quiet again, except for suit comms and distant ship hum.

"You know," Y/N says casually as they drift, "for someone who insisted on doing this alone, you didn’t actually do a lot of alone fixing."

"I did conceptual fixing."

"That’s not a thing."

"It is in my field."

"It really isn’t."

A beat.

Then, softer—almost teasing: "You were doing fine though."

Grace turns his head slightly toward her, slightly blushing. "That is not true."

"It is a little true."

That is worse.

Inside the airlock, gravity slowly returns. The hatch seals behind them, and air fills the chamber.

Silence shifts from space silence to awkward human silence.

Y/N pops her helmet off first, hair slightly messy, expression far too calm for what just happened.

Grace follows. And immediately regrets having a face again.

"Ry." She says, like it’s normal now.

He freezes slightly.

"…Yes."

"You’re worse in space."

"I am not— that is not—"

She smiles a little.

"I’m kidding."

Pause.

"…Mostly."

And Grace realizes, far too late, that fixing the hull was not actually the difficult part of this mission.

Rocky's voice crackles through the ship's intercom.

"Hull repaired." Rocky chirps. "Grace still malfunctioning."

From somewhere down the hallway, Y/N bursts out laughing.

Grace considers opening the airlock and trying again.

Harry tries to reason with himself, trying to get himself to be logical in this situation and understand it’s his emotions acting up because Theo is a candidate for an executive position and it is not only appropriate but a good move that he would introduce himself to YN.

She isn’t just Harry’s wife in this ballroom, she is the co-owner of the company, and even though she does not involve herself in the day-to-day of it, she still holds the same level of power and decision as he does which a lot of employees don’t consider at events like this. 

From his perspective as the owner, the CEO, there is nothing wrong about what is going on across the room, absolutely nothing that has him needing to react like this, and Harry is fully aware of that but is struggling to find the ability to logic his way out of the situation.

Nothing, not a single thought in his head is enough to calm the irritation building under his skin because no matter how he frames it, no matter how many times he reminds himself that Theo is simply doing what any smart candidate would do, Harry can’t ignore it.

When he finally always himself to really look over, Theo seems more comfortable than Harry would like to see.

He is pulling out the barstool like he was invited to take it, right next to her, and flagging the bartender over, gesturing casually toward YN’s drink even though it is still nearly full, Harry watches as YN waves him off at the offer of a refill, and it seems more than a basic introduction of names at this point.

Harry’s hand tightens slightly around the glass he is holding, he shifts his weight from one foot to another, antsy in a way he never is.

Though he keeps his demeanor put together as always to the men who were talking without realizing how disengaged he was with them, his shoulders have gone more rigid, his jaw setting to the point where his molars start to grind.

Theo leans in as he speaks, his body moving toward her with a relax body language that tells him that he feels entirely too fucking comfortable in the space of the co-owner. 

YN responds in a way that makes something in Harry’s chest pull tighter because she turns toward him, her shoulders loosening as her hand lifts to gesture while she talks, her expression open and friendly, he can see her tilt her head back and laugh.

It doesn’t allow him to come over and break it up because she doesn’t look uncomfortable, doesn’t look like she needs Harry to come over, and protect her from this man.

Harry notices all of it, the way she is interacting with Theo, the way the conversation is continuous, and what starts to bother him more than anything is that it seems like a normal conversation, not networking.

And that doesn’t fucking sit right with him, not when this is how she normally acts either because usually when any man approaches her, though she is kind, she struggles not to show how uncomfortable it will make her, especially if Harry isn’t by her side.

Harry has never struggled with jealousy before YN because there had never been a reason for him to.

As the women he had been with in the past had always been the ones pursuing him, wanting him, and he had never cared enough about any of them in return to be arsed about it, what they did outside of his presence, and there had never been any emotional attachment strong enough to make jealousy a necessary emotion for him.

He wouldn’t have cared if a woman he had slept with one night had shown up the next day with someone else because it had never been something that was important when there were no real feelings involved.

But now, as he stands there watching another man sit beside his wife and lean into her space like he has permission to do that, something unfamiliar begins to build in his chest, something uncomfortable and insistent that logic doesn’t get rid of.

The feeling twists together in a way he doesn’t fucking like, possessiveness was blurring with protectiveness and he cannot ignore the way it is making him feel as pushing it down isn’t working.

Harry had made a very intentional choice to keep their relationship as private as possible, to protect what they had from the constant scrutiny that followed him because of who he was and what he represented to a lot of people, he hadn’t wanted his relationship to be brought into that.

Hell, even bringing her into events like this had been something that he struggled with, he wanted her there, with him at all times but the idea of sharing her with anyone in this realm of his life felt wrong.

And now, watching someone else chat with her like this, in this setting, the fact that it’s this employee, it feels a little bit like he’s losing the sense of security or privacy.

He knew it was impossible to keep their relationship entirely out of the public eye, especially as who he was but Harry had always believed it could at least be someone maintained and kept on the down low.

But standing there now, he felt something uncomfortably close to a middle schooler watching his first girlfriend laugh with someone else, the reaction immature and irrational in a way he would normally have complete control over.

He wasn’t worried about YN.

Harry knew their relationship was fucking unshakeable.

And still, the feeling sat wrong with him.

Harry was not a controlling partner and he had never been the type of husband to try to tell her who she could or couldn’t speak to, he was never someone who would try to limit her interactions with other men or make rules about who she was allowed to engage with at events like this because he trusted her completely and because their relationship had never been affected by distrust or disloyalty.

It’s his own insecurities that he doesn't like to admit that he has.

At some point, he sees Theo roll up the sleeve of his dress shirt, showing off a tattoo along his forearm as he angles it toward YN, clearly explaining something about it, and YN leans in without hesitation to get a better glance at it. 

A second later she throws her head back and laughs as she sits back in her chair, shaking her head as he replies which only makes her continue to shake her head at him.

Harry’s patience doesn’t just thin, it fucking disappears entirely, snapping in a way that leaves no room for him to think about it for another minute before he’s just doing something. 

He finally stops pretending to listen to the men around him and simply walks away from the conversation mid-sentence, cutting someone off without so much as a glance and definitely not an apology.

It was the audacity of the situation.

The sheer fucking audacity of it.

That Theo thinks he can walk up to his wife and slide into her space like it is casual, like it is friendly, as if Harry does not hold his entire career in the palm of his fucking hand.

Theo acting like Harry couldn’t have him blacklisted from every serious position in this industry before the night is over if he wanted.

Harry knows that thought is unfair.

Who the fuck cares.

His jaw is tight as he moves, his stride confident, ignoring the people who attempt to grab his attention as he passes, hands reaching slightly as though they might stop him for a moment to chat but he’s moving to fast, voices starting to call out his name before quickly quietening back down when they realize he is not going to acknowledge them.

Harry does not spare any of them a glance.

He comes up directly behind YN’s barstool, close enough that his presence is felt as soon as he has arrived, his hand lifting without a moment of hesitation to rest at the nape of her neck, his fingers spreading there with deliberate touch as his thumb presses into the soft curve of her throat in a touch that is unmistakably possessive.

YN responds instinctively, her body easing back into him without thought, her head tilting slightly up to give him access as he leans down and presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, and she presses  further into the touch too because she’s so unaware of where his mind is right now.

Harry lifts his head slowly, his gaze settling on Theo over her shoulder, narrowing slightly, his expression steady but his eyes sharp in a way that he hopes makes his unhappiness known.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Harry says, trying his best to keep his tone casual and unassuming.

“No,” YN responds with a smile, her body still relaxed against him in a way that helps soothe him only slightly but this wasn’t about YN, the anger was solely directed towards Theo, “I didn’t know that this was your CFO candidate that you spoke so highly of.”

Harry immediately regrets ever saying anything positive about him.

His teeth pressing together for a brief second as his hand remains firm at the back of her neck, his thumb still moving slowly along her skin to make it seem like he’s just being an attentive husband to what she’s saying.

“You two know one another?” He replies without giving himself away but his shoulders were tense enough he knew they would ache when he laid down in bed that night.

Theo answers before YN can.

“YN was the first girlfriend to cheat on me,” He says easily, his eyes bright with amusement.

Harry’s attention is caught now, not in a positive way but he’s actually taken by surprise because it doesn’t make any sense.

It doesn't match with every little piece of information that Harry had come to learn about YN.

He and YN had always been up front and open with each other about their pasts, about the kind of relationships they had been in, and infidelity had never been part of that conversation because neither one of them had ever cheated.

That can only last for a moment though because YN rolls her eyes immediately, completely unbothered as she leans her head back slightly against Harry’s shoulder, her tone dismissive as she replies, “We were in fourth grade and you considered it cheating that I sat on the bus with Caleb Alder during a field trip.”

Theo laughs at that, clearly enjoying taking the piss far more than Harry is, and he adds on like it is a necessary justification for his accusation, “You also admitted to sharing your sweets with him.”

There is an ease between them.

And Harry doesn’t fucking like it.

“Theo and I dated in fourth grade,” YN explains, her tone evening out slightly as she shifts just enough to look up at Harry, “But we also dated from junior year in high school to sophomore year of university.”

Harry’s expression does not change on the outside but something in him tightens further, trying to make all the information he knows fit but it’s hard because he also feels slightly foggy right now.

“I thought that boyfriend’s name was Jacob,” Harry says, his tone still reasonable but struggling because Theo is not a name he recalls ever hearing from her before.

“He used to go by his middle name, which is Jacob,” YN explains, which does make sense why he didn’t remember it but also, YN didn’t talk about him very often either.

“I see,” Harry replies, his expression staying completely neutral, giving nothing away even though the irritation has settled deeper into his body instead of improving.

His hand is still firm at the back of YN’s neck as his thumb drags slowly along the curve of her throat.

Harry shifts slightly, his body turning more toward Theo now, ready to fully address him, he doesn’t need anymore backstory to know that he doesn’t like Theo talking to YN.

“You knew that YN was my wife, before the interview, correct?” He asks, his tone still undeniable calm but carrying a faint accusation beneath it that is impossible to miss if you could tell he was irate.

Theo laughs.

And that only makes it worse.

“I think everyone in the world knows you two are married,” Theo says, his tone light, missing the tension, “Your wedding was on the cover of every magazine in the world.”

He continues without hesitation, clearly comfortable in a way that feels entirely out of place to Harry, “No one believes me when I say my first girlfriend married a billionaire though.”

YN rolls her eyes at that but Harry can’t find the humor, doesn’t try to.

“You didn’t mention this in your interview,” Harry points out, losing the eveness as this interaction goes on.

“I didn’t want any special treatment because I know her,” Theo replies, his tone straightforward like it was a given that he would, that he assumes that would make Harry like him?

If YN were not standing right in front of him, if this conversation were happening anywhere else, he would have scoffed outright at that comment, at the fucking gall it took to think that knowing YN would somehow earn him a treatment like he was special, as though Harry’s based major business decisions off of personal relationships.

Fucking insultling.

He is already done with this interaction, done with Theo being in his wife’s space, done with the casualness of it all, the familiarity of it too, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep the irritation from seeping into his tone.

“Perhaps you should be spending this cocktail hour networking with the other executives in my company rather than socializing,” Harry says, his voice more scolding, more boss-like than easy, the suggestion clearly not just a suggestion at this point.

Theo’s expression shifts immediately.

The easy smile he had been wearing drops, replaced by something more cautious as he picks up on the change in Harry’s tone, the realization that he may have done something wrong even if he didn’t know what.

“Yeah, um—absolutely,” Theo replies, clearing his throat awkwardly as he reaches for his drink, his movements less sure now as he nods once, glancing briefly between them before stepping away from the bar.

“Go get ‘em, hot shot,” YN says lightly, completely missing the tension as she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, her tone encouraging, “We’ll catch up later. Text me?”

“Sure,” Theo answers, though the smile he gives her is much more unsure than it had been moments ago and he gives Harry a brief nod before turning and slipping back into the crowd, disappearing.

“I hope he does well on his one-on-one interview. He’s really smart, great for the position—” YN begins, her tone genuine and happy but Harry cuts her off before she can finish, his hand sliding from the back of her neck to cup her jaw as he turns her face toward him and presses his lips firmly against hers.

It is a little possessive in the way he holds her there for that extra second and it catches her off guard enough that she lets out a soft gasp against his mouth before melting into it, her hand coming up to rest against his chest as she kisses him back like she forgets where they are.

Harry remembers, he just doens’t fucking care.

Harry keeps his hold steady at her jaw, his thumb brushing along her cheek as he pulls back just enough to look at her, his expression composed again because he didn’t want her to know that this was bothering him, didn’t want her to feel any ounce of responsibility for his emotions right now when it wasn’t her fault.

“Dorothy’s around here somewhere and I know you wanted to ask her about the pound cake recipe before they have us sit,” He murmurs, his tone softer now, sweeter because she didn’t deserve any harshness and he was just happy to have her back to himself.

YN blinks at him for a second, still slightly dazed from the kiss, her lips parted as she processes what he’s saying, and then her expression brightens almost immediately, the distraction working exactly the way he intended.

“Oh my god, yes,” She nearly squeal, her voice lighting up with excitement as she moves in her stool, “She gave me the recipe for the cake but not the icing!”

Harry lets out a chuckle at that as he slides his hand down to help her off the chair, his palm settling against the small of her back to keep her close and right in the crook of his side.

He knows he should be doing something else.

He knows there are people here waiting to speak to him, conversations he is expected to have, relationships he is meant to check-in on and maintain like the CEO that he is.

But right now, he finds it difficult to put any distance between himself and YN, he was feeling clingy in a way that usually wasn’t there, of course he always wanted to be around her but this felt a bit different.

They eventually find Dorothy near one of the side tables, already in conversation with a few of the administrative assistants, and YN immediately slips into the conversation with her contagious friendliness that pulls Harry along with her.

He stays beside her, nodding along as Dorothy launches into an explanation about measurements and butter ratios, the conversation so far away from anything he should realistically be focusing on tonight that it would almost be comical under different circumstances.

He can feel the frustration around him.

The subtle irritation from people waiting for his attention, the glances, the quiet attempts to catch his eye.

He ignores everyone else in the room.

-

Dinner just so happens to place Theo at their table, something that had been arranged earlier in the day to give the candidate better access to networking to see how they would do, almost a test run.

A decision Harry himself had approved when the board brought it to him without much thought at the time though he finds himself regretting it now that Theo is pulling out the chair across by them and sitting down.

Harry’s arm rests along the back of YN’s chair, his hand wide and heavy where it cups over the curve of her shoulder, his fingers slipping just slightly beneath the strap of her dress.

YN brightens when she sees Theo sit down, her reaction immediate and easy in a way that draws Harry’s attention to it again, and he doesn’t miss the way her posture shifts toward him just slightly as she greets him, her expression soft with fondness for a friend.

Theo seems to have completely moved past Harry’s earlier reaction to him, whether because he had written it off or because he has had enough to drink to eliminate whatever caution he should be feeling.

Harry cannot even fault Theo for not networking with the rest of the table, not when the other executives seated around them are more engaged in half-drunk conversations about golf courses and crypto trades than anything remotely related to the business.

The conversation between YN and Theo flows, moving from one topic to the next without effort as they try to catch up on years in only minutes.

They talk about old college friends, high school classmates, and memories that Harry wasn’t a part of.

He can’t quite pinpoint why it irritates him as much as it does when the conversation starts to move from surface-level into something more personal, something that shows at one point, Theo was very much a part of her life whether Harry wanted to admit that or not.

Theo puts his glass down after a sip, “How’s Rosemary? I miss her. I see her when I’m visiting home, and she always remembers me.”

YN’s expression softens immediately, the fondness for her grandmother obvious as it sinks into her features as she responds, “Of course she does. I think she had a crush on you too. I didn’t forget the times she pinched your bum when I wasn’t looking.”

Theo laughs at that, his cheeks coloring faintly as he shakes his head, clearly amused, “Yeah, she was a bit handsy.”

“She’s good, loving retirement,” YN continues, her voice soft as she speaks about it, her hand drifting to rest on Harry’s thigh beneath the table, her fingers squeezing lightly.

“Oh really? I thought she’d never be able to stop working. I’m happy to hear that,” Theo says and there is nothing wrong with the comment, nothing inappropriate in the conversation, and yet Harry still can’t stand listening to Theo ask her private questions.

“Well, she put up a bit of a fight but Harry was generous and paid off her house, built her a beautiful new one, and supports her so that she doesn’t have to work anymore,” YN adds, turning her head slightly to look at him as she says it, her expression so loving that it makes him forget about everything for a moment.

She is so fucking pretty.

And the realization hits him all over again, it hits him at least once a day if he’s being honest with himself, that he would do absolutely anything for her, that every reaction he is having right now, every ounce of irritation and possessiveness is based on that one undeniable fact.

He has never loved someone the way he loves YN.

“Wow, no wonder you married him,” Theo jokes, his tone light enough but then he adds, “Money does buy love, huh? Was my gift to her of a new kettle not good enough?”

It’s supposed to be a self-depreciating joke on Theo’s end but it ends up feeling a bit like a jab to Harry.

His nostrils flaring in reaction as his grip tightens around the glass in his hand, the muscle in his jaw starting to tense and twitch again as his leg begins to bounce once under the table, a restless, irritated movement he does not bother to control.

And Harry’s restraint finally slips.

He does not snap directly at Theo, that would give him away.

Instead, his irritation moves outward, across the entire table as he shifts, his arm tightening slightly around the back of YN’s chair as he leans forward just enough to get everyone’s attention at the table without raising his voice.

“I didn’t fucking invite you all here to bullshit,” Harry says, his tone cutting through the table conversation, the words landing heavy and harsh in a way that shuts everyone up who was blabbering about meaningless, non-work related things.

The men around the table straighten, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as they realize that Harry wasn’t happy with them.

Theo goes still, in surprise, he hadn’t been around Harry enough to know what he’s like.

His eyes widen slightly as he glances toward YN, and Harry notices that too, notices the instinctive look in her direction like he is seeking some kind of reaction of understanding at his behavior and his hand pressing more firmly against YN’s shoulder, pulling her further into his body.

“If you all come into tomorrow’s meeting with no good ideas and a hangover, I hope you’re fine with getting a percent or two cut off your next bonus,” Harry continues, his tone calm but sincere with something that was obviously threatening, because he can say it, because he will follow through if he needs to, and each one of them knows it.

He lifts his glass and takes a slow sip of his whiskey as if he has not just scared the shit out of the entire table.

YN’s lips turn down slightly, her fingers pressing into his thigh with her nails slightly, in warning, in a way that pulls his attention back to her as he turns his head to look at her properly.

“Harry,” She says, her tone quiet but laced with disapproval, and it hits him in a way nothing could.

Because he had tried.

He had made an effort to keep himself in check around her, to keep the meaner traits of his work tucked away, and the fact that he let it slip like that, that she saw it, that she is reacting to it, frustrates him more than anything Theo has said all night.

Harry would not take criticism from anyone else in this room.

He would not even entertain it but the moment YN looks at him like that, even just from the corner of her eye, guilt starts instantly eating a hole in his chest at the idea of letting her down.

“What?” He replies, his tone innocent as he shrugs slightly, attempting to brush it off as though it had been nothing more than a passing comment, “S’just a lil’ motivation.”

“Don’t have to be like that,” YN tells him, her voice lower now to make sure no one else hears but firm enough that he cannot ignore it.

“They should be networking until dinner’s served, s’etiquette,” Harry mutters in response, the justification coming out more defensive than he intends as he lifts his glass again and takes a longer drink, the burn of the whiskey doing nothing to ease his nerves.

-

The entrees are served not long after that interaction, which naturally means the energy at the table eases as conversations quiet down and people turn their attention to their plates.

Theo has her full attention again, launching into a story about hiking somewhere across Europe, something that sounds long and detailed and entirely fucking boring to Harry.

Yet YN is listening with genuine interest, nodding along, asking questions because that’s who she is, that’s what she’s like with everyone around her, and it’s not just for Theo.

Harry just listens in, barely adding feedback when YN’s phone vibrates softly inside her purse, the sound just loud enough for her to notice as she pauses mid-conversation.

“Hold on a second,” She says to Theo, reaching down to fish it out.

Harry glances over briefly before returning his attention to the man beside him, trying to stay present in the conversation, trying to keep himself distracted from himself, from his stupid fucking emotions that he couldn’t control.

A second later, YN nudges him lightly with her elbow.

He turns his head toward her, his gaze dropping to where she is holding her phone just out of sight of the rest of the table, angled so only he can see.

The screen lights up with a notification that is impossible to miss with all the obnoxious emojis that follow it.

‘Today is your day, mama! Get to the bedroom and get to work! Today is your peak ovulation!’

Harry’s eyes linger on it for a second, considering as his focus hones in on it.

They had not started tracking at first.

It had been something fun and spontaneous in the beginning, something they assumed would happen easily but after months of negative tests, after disappointments that start to hit YN particularly hard.

Her doctor had suggested they be more consistent, more intentional with trying, and YN had taken that seriously, tracking everything with a diligence that sometimes made Harry’s chest hurt even more when they got a pregnancy test.

They are still in that stage where it feels exciting even if there is a quiet pressure sitting underneath it now.

YN looks at him with a small smile, something sweet and hopeful in her expression, and despite everything else that’s been fucking with him tonight.

The irritation, the jealousy, the frustration, YN giving him that looking fucking just makes him melt like a fucking ice cream cone.

Harry exhales slowly through his nose, setting his fork down on the table as his hand slides briefly over YN’s thigh beneath the table.

The jealousy is still there, the possessiveness sitting tight in his chest, and on top of all of that, the truth is really simple, the fact that he wants her, that he always does, that the reminder on her phone only gives him reason to act in this moment even if he shouldn’t.

Harry leans slightly toward her, his voice low enough that it stays between them.

“Come with me for a moment,” He says, trying to stay unassuming even though she’s completely oblivious, “Want to introduce you to someone, real quick.”

YN looks at him, clearly confused by the sudden thought, her brows pulling together slightly as she glances between him and the table but she nods anyway, trusting him without question.

Harry stands first, his hand immediately finding her again as he helps her up from her chair.

YN stumbles half a step trying to keep up with his pace, her heels clicking quickly against the floor as she glances up at him, confusion written across her face as she lets out a soft laugh under her breath.

“Harry,” She murmurs, confusion just becoming stronger in the moment, “Who am I meeting?”

He doesn’t answer her.

Instead, his hand presses more firmly into her back, steering her around groups of people without slowing.

YN’s confusion deepens when they make it into the back hallway, her steps slowing as she looks around, her brows knitting together as she tries to make sense of where he’s taking her.

“Who am I meeting back here?” She asks again, a bit of amusement slipping into her tone now because she knows something isn’t right.

Harry finally answers her by reaching for the nearest door and pushing it open.

A single stall bathroom.

Perfect.

Before she can process it fully, he is crowding her inside, not even bothering to look around, the door shutting firmly behind them as he moves her back until she is pressed lightly against the countertop, his body moving into her space in a way that makes her breath hitch in surprise.

YN lets out a soft laugh, her hands coming up against his chest as she looks up at him, her eyes bright and somewhat entertained. 

“Harry—” She starts, shaking her head slightly as she tries to piece it together, “What are you doing? We have ten minutes before you have to go on stage and give a speech.”

His hands grips at her waist, his gaze dropping to her mouth for a second before lifting back to her eyes, his hips pressing into hers as his hands start to gather her dress at her hips.

“You said it yourself,” He murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges, “We’ve got ten minutes to try to make a baby, yeah?”

YN’s lips part as she processes his words, another laugh slipping out as her grip on his suit jacket tightens, he doesn’t give a fuck that it wrinkles the fabric of the expesnive outfit.

“You’re insane,” She tells him even though there’s no resistance in it, and he can sense the excitement in her voice, “I didn’t mean we had to try now. You’re going to miss your speech.”

Masterlist

Notes: i dont speak Gaelic/Gaeilge and my russian is A1 but i have a degree in linguistics, i did the research. thank you for the likes and comments, all and any feedback is appreciated. If you come across any mistakes, do not be afraid to inform me. Inbox is open for requests or just to chat!

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“He was not only a poet, Marvell was also a representative of the House of Commons,” he explained, the both of them walking side-by-side at a respectable distance. James took one of his hands out of the pocket and vaguely moved it around as he spoke.

“But personally…”he placed a palm over his heart and turned to her, “personally, I find his poet identity more intriguing.” 

She stayed quiet and nodded; swinging her purse with each step. “You do not follow much of politics?” he inquired gently. Jame’s Irish enunciation made his voice even deeper, she liked the sound of his voice. She would love to observe him more closely—or anyone who is from Ireland really—how his jaw moved, how he placed his tongue producing different sounds–

“Mhm?” he gave her a quizzical look. She blushed and turned her head forwards. Y/n did not even realise she began to stare at him, paying close attention to his features.

“No,” she replied quickly, voice cracking slightly. She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” y/n said bashfully. “No, not much. I have to admit, I do not really understand it,” with a nod of her head she said.

Quickly turning her head y/n looked at him again. “I am not saying I do not understand politics,” she began to quickly explain herself, hand extending to him. “Just not yours,” y/n elaborated. “I closely follow what is happening in my home country,” she said softly as their eyes met. She dropped her hand to her side and they continued to walk in silence for a few moments. Then she spoke again.

“Your politics is confusing. For example, why so many reforms? Most of them cannot be achieved, the rest often contradict the already established ones?” she asked him genuinely, again extending her hand towards him. “So confusing,” she murmured.

“Greed, I presume,” James offered quietly. “Rich pigs like to get richer while others starve,” this time his voice was not soft, it was layered with much contempt. She noticed his expression hardening, jaw clenched and eyes looking intently ahead of him.

“Is that not how politics work everywhere?” she tried to continue the conversation. He did not answer her. Silence enveloped the two of them, the heels of her shoes making soft thudding sound on the cobble stone. It was a clear night, she noted; stars shining brightly, no clouds covering the sky. The lampposts lining the street guided them as they neared an intersection.

Y/n motioned to the right, hand still clutching her little purse. Looking over the street she began to cross it and James followed; he was quiet, body slightly tense, she noticed.

“They are not my government,” he finally said, his voice was deeper now. He spoke in a slow manner. “They subjugate the Irish,” he looked at her now. “They starved us, they did not care about the children or their mothers, they only care about power,” he continued. He was getting angry, she noticed. Scrunching his nose he turned his face away from her.

“Feckin killers,” James murmured and clenched his jaw. “That is what they all, every English cunt, every single sasanach,” his voice began to rise, anger seeping out of him. She stopped looking at him, head turned forward, she stayed silent. He was getting more and more agitated and agitated men often liked to express their feelings though violent acts, y/n thought. She took in a deep breath and tried to seem relaxed but her body did not listen.

“They all deserve what is coming–” he stopped mid-stentence, she felt him looking at her as they walked side-by-side. James took his other hand out of his pocket, ran both of his hands over his face and exhaled loudly. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you,” he spoke again, this time gently, like before. She turned her head to him and gave him a tight smile.

“I understand,” y/n nodded slightly. “There is no shame in feeling angry.”

“I do not think you understand, y/n,” he replied quickly, a slight tone of agitation coming back into his voice.

“As I said, there is nothing wrong with being angry as long as you do not”—she turned her head forwards—“lash out on those that do not deserve it.” He opened his mouth to say something, presumably how she should not weigh in on a matter she does not understand, she thought. But y/n quickly lifted her arm stopping him.

“My people are also subjugated," she replied, voice hard. “So, yes, I do understand, James.”

After that he halted, eyes looking into hers. An expression she had not seen before on his face appeared. A sort of look of realisation and understanding. 

“Forgive me, I did not take that into consideration,” he spoke again, voice deep but quiet.

“It seems like you do not think much about how others may be affected by what you say, Mr. Moriarty,” she replied in a petty tone. 

“It appears to be that way,” he replied in a steady voice. James nodded once then twice, turned his head to the side and huffed. “I must be reinforcing the label the English have placed upon every single Irishman,” he said with a sarcastic portrayal of a smile; his hands set upon his hips, stance wide.  

“I do not think so,” she replied softly, a gentle expression on her face. Y/n shook her head. “No, you are not validating anyone's generalization of your people, James. You are hardheaded because life made you this way.” With a slight shrug she continued. “A way of life created by the English,” her voice low, a furrowed brow appeared on her face. She continued. 

“Many think of my countrymen as coarse and uncultured; that we are trudging behind the rest of the world while it continues to evolve. To an extent that is true but what can a commoner do? We milk our cows, we raise our chickens and the fortunate ones are able to write down their own names,” she spoke softly, not rushing her words. Stepping closer towards him she put a hand on his.

“Yet we are still here, James. You're going to Oxford, you are going to be a learned man. And I know how to write my own name, read poetry,” she squeezed his hand in a reassuring manner. “We are allowed to meet the criteria they have set for us just as much as we are allowed to grow beyond them.”

After that they stood in silence. James looked at her and saw his equal. Maybe not to the fullest of extents but she was shackled too; premade assumptions shadowed the both of them. The only difference was he was proud to be an Irishman while she put on a front to blend it. He could not blame her. To be an other was alienating. To be a woman, as well, frowned upon by society could only be arduous at best. No, he did not blame her, if he were a different kind of man maybe he would try to blend in. But he was James Moriarty, and he did not wish to be anyone else.

He placed a hand atop hers and squeezed back. She was right to feel closeness to him during their first meeting, both of them do not fit well into the English society. This knowledge brought her comfort, knowing she was not alone. That is why she always visited the pub during her visits to Oxford. It felt nice to be in a room full of people who came here to look for a better life and a brighter future. James himself must frequent the establishment quite often, she thought.

“I also milked cows,” he brought her out of her thoughts. “When I was a lad I, too, milked cows. Later, I was hired-out as a shepherd," he added quietly. 

She nodded her head as a small smile appeared on her face. “Yes,” she said breathlessly as a soft laugh escaped her lips. “Once my brother forgot to take the scarce supper our mother used to prepare for us; we starved the whole day. I thought I would begin to eat the sheep,” she shared a little piece of herself with him.

“I was so angry at him, I did not speak to my brother the whole day. When we came back, way after the sun settled, we were cold and hungry, and irritated; the bread never tasted as good as it did back then.”

He smiled at her; he smiled with her. It was a genuine smile, the skin crinkling around the edges of his brown eyes. He let out a breathy laugh as he nodded.

“It was summertime, I sat down under a great oak and, well, I dozed off,” he said, still smiling. “The sheep scattered and I could not have come back with any missing and the farm-owner…” James shook his head that was now cast downwards, another huff escaped his lips. “God, the farm-owner reprimanded me like I was responsible for the Great Famine.”

“I am sorry, James,” she said softly, an expression showcasing her concern for him.

“No, no, I deserved it, I should have looked after them better. He did not take me back after that,” he cocked his head to the side shrugging. “Cannot say I blame him, cannot say I was not glad to be rid of that old fool.”

“A blessing in disguise,” she offered, taking her palm off of him, withdrawing from his palm set upon hers. 

“Most likely,” he nodded and chuckled. She liked his laugh, while he spoke his voice was deep, manly, raspy, his Irish accent adding to his charm; his laugh always came from the back of his throat, breathy. “I think we should continue, aye? Do not want to bring you home too late, looking as I am a gentleman,” he offered playfully.

With a nod she resumed their previous course. ‘“It is quite alright, James. Besides, when taking the shorter path I have to go through a park, the lodgings we are staying are at the very opposite side from the students’, so I think our evening will end just there,” she gestured with a hand clutching her purse. 

Down the street a dimly illuminated park interjected with her destination.

“Now, Miss y/n, I did not let you pay at the pub and you think I will let you go off alone”—he looked at her then back at the park—“into that?” he shook his finger at her.

“Who is going to protect you if anything happens?” he gives her an incredulous look.

“Well, I actually plan to run through the park,” she offered, a small laugh escaping her lips when she saw James’ expression. He began to shake his head. Momentarily he tightly shut his eyes, as if this will better help him intake the information. With both of his hands raised near his own face he looked like a man in disbelief. 

“To run,” he began to point at her heeled shoes. “In those? Now that is unsafe,” he stated, disbelief still present on his face; he smiled at her and shook his head.

“No,” his Irish accent thick, he said it in a dominant way. When a man spoke to you like that, you listened and obeyed. 

“What do you mean no.”

“Simply no. I am not letting you go alone. I am a gentleman, I have manners, y/n,” he said seriously, fixing the lapels of his jacket. 

“Since I cannot order you about, James, I will have to accept your company,” she said playfully.

They neared the short cobblestone wall that marked the territory of the park. James passed the entrance first, taking command of the situation. It was quite late, anyone who is anyone needed to be careful at this time; it was his way of protecting her, first in and first out. He did not want anything jumping out at her feet unnoticed or for her to step into mud. 

Nothing came across his feet, no squirrels or cats, and no puddles. With that he extended his left hand backwards—to her. Turning towards y/n he placed his palm on the lower part of her back.

“I am not trying to initiate anything just… keeping you safe,” he offered honestly, and she did not step back.

“Thank you.”

“How many times have you run through this park?” he inquired genuinely.

“Every time,” she replied quietly. She did not want to make any brash sounds to attract unwanted attention. Previous times she would just dash through it; she never had any troubles and it did not take long to merge out the other side of the park.

“Duine gan scáth, gan eagla,” he said, turning his gaze towards her. She met his eyes and could not look away. God, he was handsome, his dark curly hair falling and framing his face just right, defined jaw, big nose, brown eyes. She felt warm inside, his hand placed on her back fueled the fire even more. He did not shy away from her gaze. Of course, he wouldn’t. James Moriarty would never step down from challenge, and even if he knew he would not succeed, he would double-cross his way into victory, she thought. And for some strange reason that made him even more attractive. 

She noticed a smirk appear on his face, his eyes quickly darting to her lips the back to her eyes. He looked hungry and in a way needy. She felt her smile widen. When did she start smiling in the first place, she thought. God, her face must be red, donning a lovesick expression. Yet, she could not dare to look away from him. It felt nice to be looked at this way; the familiar feeling washed over her again reminding her of how he looked at her at the pub.

James’ fingers wrapped around her side gently, tightening their grip on her clothed body. He was intrigued by her, she was not like the women he encountered every day. She was interesting; she was shy yet brave when the situation expected that of her. She has lived a life, not a pampered one, he thought. Not like the ladies in Oxford or London. They had similar life experiences, yet their lives were extremely opposite. 

She challenged him; not boldly and certainly not outwardly, but she never hid her opinions. She worded them carefully, choosing the right tone, he noticed. Careful—always careful—but always honest. He was not an honest man, the very opposite of that. Hard and stout, where she was delicate and gentle. He liked this distinction between them. This relationship that has begun to bloom will be interesting, they will surely bump heads, they will debate and keep each other on their toes. An exciting friendship. Not stale or stagnant but ever moving, changing.

Jame’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of her smile. She looked pretty, even in this dim light. Hair braided and tucked in a bun, a few strands of hair poking out. Her hair was soft—he remembered—she was soft; he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. She looked at him with the softest of a smile lingering on her face. He could not see properly but he would bet away his last penny that at that moment her cheeks were maroon; he tightened his grip on her.

That had earned him a flashier smile, her face brightening. He did not dare to look away, to deny himself of this sight.

“What does that mean?” she whispered, slightly leaning into him.

“That you are reckless,” he whispered in her ear. She huffed. 

“I am not. Actually, I am a very responsible person, Mr. Moriarty,” she feigned seriousness. 

“Mhm. I am sure you are, darling,” his voice low, raspy. They kept walking, him embracing her, their eyes glancing at each other every now and again.

It stirred something within her; he only called her that once, in the pub. Ду́шенька. Darling. That was not her native language, the Empire had many countries under its rule, but it surprised her either way. It still brought warmth into her heart. The first time he said it, she is sure, he did not mean for it to have romantic implications. That was just an expression he knew, and he tried to connect with her. This time he said it differently, he drew attention to it by enunciating it. And she liked the sound of that.

They reached the other side of the park, and once again he exited first. James made sure she would not step onto anything unsteady or dirty and resumed his previous position. Left hand upon her hip.

She led them right, then left and right again.

“The lodgings belong to Mr. Wright's family,” she explained quietly as they neared the apartment door. A red brick building lined the whole street, several doors leading to different apartments. She came to a stop in front of the Wright family lodging’s.

James moved slightly, to stand in front of her. Hand still upon her, his thumb caressing her. He had a soft look upon his face, a slight open smile adorned it. His head slightly tilted to the side and observed her.

She mirrored him, taking in his face, the shape of his nose, the lines near his eyes, his soft curly hair. Her gaze lowered to look at his lips. She took a deep breath and met his eyes again.

“Thank you, James,” y/n whispered. “For the company, for the walk… for the poem,” she said coyly. 

“Aye,” he huffed, lips spreading in a wider grin. “Even when I scared you off?”

She felt him gently drawing her towards himself. 

“I was not scared.”

“Did not look like that to me.”

As he drew her to him, their chests almost touching, he leaned in and softly mumbled.

“I quite like to kiss you, y/n. But if you are not at ease, I will not pursue this further.” His voice soft, breath tickling her ear. He sounded, in loss of better words, attractive, she thought. Voice deep, manly. A shudder ran through her body.

She put her free hand onto his chest, the other clutched to her purse for dear life. She thought about it for a moment. She has never been approached by a gentleman, by an adult; she exchanged pecks with boys from her village. These were untested waters. But, god, she wanted to. 

Her body answered for her; head nodding slightly. His grip tightened and drew her in even more closely.

“I am a gentleman, y/n. I would love to hear an explicit permission to kiss you,” he said softly, his hungry eyes watching her. Truthfully, he did not care; he just wanted to hear her say it. He is not a man who waits for permission. James takes what he wants, when he wants. But sometimes special circumstances, like now, call for this. He would have preferred to hear her beg for him to kiss her, but she would not do that. Not today, at least. Maybe some other time, he thought. He would need to rile her up; tease her, caress her some more. Be at the edge of her finger tips and still not budge, until her patience ran thin and she would beg or take command of the situation.

Her breath shuttered and she nodded again. “James, I give you permission to kiss me,” she said softly.

He leaned down to her, gently capturing her lips with his. She was warm and soft. And, god, did he love when she said his name. His palm kneaded her hip, lips daring to explore more. He was slow and delicate. He did not forget what she said; she was a village girl, he was more than capable of reaching a sound conclusion. Carefully his tongue licked her lower lip; James was not met by any resistance or discomfort. She opened up to him, allowing to explore her further. 

He was careful with her, he was a gentleman—to a certain extent. She moaned into the kiss, that was not expected but extremely welcoming. James felt her hand raise from his chest to his head, stopping at the nape of his neck. He hummed into her. She was wonderful: soft and sweet, and so very responsive. 

Lightly tugging at his hair she deepened the kiss, his other hand shot to her back. He gripped the dress and palmed her hip, and he will enjoy it for as long as she lets him.

They kissed like that for a few moments—slow, careful, sensual—until she pulled away, breathing deeply. He flashed her a smile and placed his forehead on hers. They stood like this for a few moments just watching and embracing each other. 

He planted soft kisses on her temple and hairline, then slightly pulled his face away. As he tucked the few loose strands of her hair he looked her over; James did not find any evidence of discomfort on her face or in her disposition. He was met only by a big smile, he did the same.

He did not want to pull away first. One, James would be insulting her, he did not want that. Two, he was a greedy man and did not want to let her go. So he waited until she did it.

After a few moments she caressed his head and drew back her arm. He released the hold on her back as she slowly took a step back. Then another. His hand still on her hip, extended fully just to keep touching her. She was smiling still, a soft laugh escaping her pretty lips.

She took hold of his palm, and for a moment they stood holding hands and smiling at each other.

She was opening her mouth to say something but he spoke first.

“When would I be able to see you again?” his head tilted to the side, taking her in.

She blushed. “I am unsure. The Professor and I have plenty to do this week, maybe next week?”

“Aye, that works for me,” he nodded. “Will I see you at the University or should I come by some time next week?”

“University,” she replied abruptly with a shy smile on her face. “Mr. Wright would have questions,” she offered.

“Ah,” he nodded playfully. “Okay. I will see you at the University,” he raised her hand and placed a kiss, just like he did the first time they met. He waited for her to enter through the door, as any gentleman would. With his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune, he began to walk back, back through the dark park, towards the students dormitory.

He thought a lot about her on his way back; frankly, she was the only thing James was thinking about. He washed himself up, cleaned the blood stains completely. She did not make a single mention of that, either she did not care or she did not want to make him uncomfortable. James cleaned his teeth and went to bed, still pondering about her.

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Sasanach Sa•sa•nach

/ˈsɒːsənəx/