You walked over and tugged at the lapel of his leather jacket, catching the faint scent of his cologne - low-key earthy, and entirely comforting, without missing a beat, Harry tossed his phone onto the table and hooked an arm around your waist pulling you close, he rested his chin on your shoulder for a brief, quiet second before looking back up.

“Never” he murmured, his tone dropping into something far warmer than his usual banter, “you look amazing” he sighed “ready for this?”

“Honestly? A little weirded out” you admitted, resting a hand against his chest, “we’ve done press before, but this is the first proper panel since… well, they know we’re together off-screen too” you bit your lip nervously “what if they ask us weird questions, have you seen what happened with the guys from winx club? That got weird real quick”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, the sound instantly cutting through the nervous edge in your chestt as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, his thumb brushing against your wrist, “hey. It’s just us up there, same as always. We sit down, answer some questions, try not to spoil season three, thats easy”

“Easy for you, saying this as if you’re not the one who nearly leaked episode one in London”

“That was one time” Harry defended himself, a genuine grin breaking through, “and the question was tricky”

A knock at the door cut him off, a runner stepped in, holding a walkie-talkie, “Hey, five minutes to stage for Harry and Y/N, room’s packed”

“Right, thanks” Harry called back, he turned back to you, his eyes steady, “Ready?”

“Let’s just get it over with” you teased.

“Fair” he chuckled, lacing his fingers through yours, “let’s go”

The noise hit like a physical wave the second you stepped through the heavy curtain.

Thousands of people were shouting, waving flags, and holding up signs, the floor of the convention hall literally vibrated, you waved, keeping your smile natural as Harry led you out toward the seats, he gave your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go so you could both sit in the armchair setups under the bright stage lights.

The moderator waited for the noise to settle before lifting her mic.

“Welcome, everyone!” she shouted over the lingering cheers, “please give it up for house of the Dragon’s favorite couple”

The room blew up again, Harry leaned into his mic, raising an eyebrow, “so how’s it going, London?”

The crowd went wild as you laughed, adjusting your mic, “Hi, everyone, seeing this many people in one room is still bizarre”

“Right?” the host said, turning to you both, “we are so hyped to have you here, the dynamic between your characters has been a massive talking point online, but before we get into the heavy stuff, let's take it back to the start”

She looked at you first, “what was your reaction when you actually booked the job?”

“Honestly? total shock,” you said, “I think I just stared at my agent for about thirty seconds, my brain kind of rejected the information, you’re like, what the actual fuck, It didn't actually hit me until the first table read”

“What about you, Harry?” the host asked, “who did you tell first?”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “well my mum, immediately, I think I was in the kitchen when the call came through, I hung up and just froze, she was making tea, looked at me, and asked if someone had died. I just told her… mom I got the role and she nearly dropped the mug, total chaos”

The audience laughed.

“And that first day on set?” the host pushed, “what was that like?”

“Intimidating very very intimidating” you said glancing at Harry who nodded, “you step onto these massive physical sets and realize how huge the machine is, real stone, real fires, a lot of extras, my hands were shaking so much during my first take that I had to tuck them into the pockets of the dress”

“Yeah, same but with our the dress” Harry agreed laughing, “my first day was in the courtyard, I was trying to look brooding and important, but internally I was sweating, then you get thrown into the hair and makeup trailer an hour go get the stupid wig from season one” he groaned.

“Right, the transformation” the host noted, “how did it feel seeing yourselves in full gear for the first time?”

“It shifts your mindset” Harry said, “you put on the leather doublet, they pin the wig and suddenly you’re into medieval times, you look in the mirror and go, ‘Okay, cool I can get the plague now.’ It changes how you act completely”

“I honestly thought that I could make a lord fall in love with me” you added. 

“Literally” Harry laughed. “Zero thoughts, just waiting for her coffee and a lord”

“I mean you are kind of a lord, no? I mean prince, lord, noble man I could conquer” you giggles as you looked at harry.

He looked at you, a soft glint appearing in his eyes “oh, and you did”

“Speaking of sitting together in the morning” the moderator said, her tone shifting slightly as the room quieted in anticipation, “let’s talk about what everyone’s been waiting for…”

A subtle wave of giggles ran through the front rows, harry caught your eye, offering a quick and amused glance.

“The connection between your characters is one of the most popular parts of the show,” the moderator continued, “classic slow burn, how did you two build that dynamic on screen?”

You shifted in your chair, “we spent a lot of time doing reads and rehearsals before we ever filmed together but I think everything came naturally, we were friends before we even started filming”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded leaning back, “we decided early on that our characters had to be each other’s safe space, Dragonstone is chaotic, so they had to feel grounded with each other, we talked a lot off-set about their backstory, some stuff that wasn't in the script, just to make the connection feel real by the time we shot”

“Was the chemistry instant?” the host asked.

Harry laughed, “honestly, it was just really easy, which was completely fine until we had to do serious scenes.”

The crowd cheered, and you shook your head laughing along.

“No, seriously do you know how hard she makes it to not laugh?” Harry pushed on, grinning, “we just got on immediately, same dry humor, we could be in the middle of this intense, dramatic moment, and the second they called cut, we’d start messing around”

“It made the work so much easier” you said looking at him, “because we trusted each other, we didn't have to force anything, the hardest part was keeping a straight face during heavy emotional scenes because we knew each other too well”

“There was one scene in season two” Harry added, looking at the audience, “very, very serious the director told us with the straightest face possible that we could not mess around, so I’m supposed to give this grounded, responsible heir to the throne speech, you get me. And right before ‘action,’ a fly landed right on my nose, and the light was dying, so I couldn't break. I had to look into her eyes while being cross-eyed, trying to ignore this fly.”

“And I was supposed to be dead silent letting him break down” you laughed, “but I was literally shaking trying not to laugh out loud, we lost twenty minutes trying to stop laughing”

The crowd cracked up.

“You two basically grew up on this set together” the host said softly with a knowing smile in her face, “looking back, how has that experience been, well professionally and personally?”

Harry’s tone shifted, losing the quirky tone for something quieter, “It’s been huge, this industry is weird and moves really fast, having someone next to you who’s navigating the exact same madness keeps you grounded, Watching y/n work and grow as an actress has been brilliant, we basically grew up on set we spent 5 years filming together, but off set, we just helped each other stay normal”

“100%” you agreed. “It’s very easy to feel overwhelmed on a project this big, having harry there from day one made everything so much manageable, It felt like having a constant anchor on set”

The host smiled, “and now, of course, we have to mention the real-life side of things,.”

The room perked up again, “for a while the fans were guessing…” the host said, “…then a few months ago, you officially confirmed you’re dating in real life, congrats by the way, how did that transition happen from friends to you know, something more?”

Harry looked at you, letting you take it if you wanted, you gave him a subtle head nod, letting him go ahead.

“It was just slow…” harry said simply, “we were best mates for a really long time, purely platonic, I mean eating cold catering and complaining about 5 AM pick-ups isn’t very romantic” he mentioned pursing his lips.

“Strictly platonic,” you added, “even though my mum asked me about him every time I went home to visit”

“Oh did she?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised, “smart woman, thats why I like her so much”, you rolled your eyes at his phrase.

“So who realized first?” the host pressed.

Harry raised a hand right away, “Me, oh yeah definitely me”

A collective laugh went through the crowd.

“It wasn't a dramatic movie moment to be honest” Harry explained, “we were filming in Wales, terrible weather by the way, and freezing rain, we were stuck in a tiny holding tent for hours waiting for a reset, everyone else was knocked out, and she was just sitting across from me wrapped in about what,four coats? trying to teach me some terrible card game, which I completely forgot how to play by now” He smiled at the memory. “I just looked over, saw her laughing at some terrible joke I’d made, and realized, ‘Ah, right. I’m fucked’ It hit me all at once, after that I tried to play it cool during romantic scenes, but that was pretty much impossible”

“You never told me it was Wales” you said, looking at him in disbelief.

“I couldn't say anything back then” Harry joked, “we had three weeks of shooting left, It would’ve been weird”

“I wouldn't have cared” you replied, bumping your shoulder against his, “I was already struggling to keep it professional anyway”

“Wait, so you both were hiding it?” the host asked, amused.

“Completely,” you confessed, “It’s scary when your scene partner is your best friend, you don't want to make things uncomfortable on set if it’s one-sided…so we just spent months pretending everything was totally normal while internally stressing out”

“We were terrible at hiding it, apparently” Harry chipped in. “the cast knew way before we actually said anything, Tom literally pulled me aside one afternoon and told me to get on with it because the tension was annoying everyone, everyone! I was stunned”

The audience broke into a laugh.

“So how did it actually happen?” the host asked.

“After the wrap party,” you mentioned, “end of season two, we were outside the hotel in London around two in the morning, just saying goodbye because we weren't going to see each other for a few months, you know summer break”

Harry picked up the story, his voice quiet. “I just realized if I didn't say it then, I was going to regret it my whole life, so I stopped overthinking, and just said, ‘Look, I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for a year, and it’s ridiculous at this point.’”

“And your response?” the host asked you.

“I didn't say much…” you admitted giggling. “I just kissed him and said, ‘Took you long enough, Collett’”.

harry leaned over and knocked his shoulder against yours, the crowd reacting with another loud wave of applause “and now you’re public, doing press together…” the host said. “How’s that transition been?”

“Honestly fine” Harry said, “The fans have been decent about it, It’s actually nicer doing these press tours now because we don't have to act like we’re just very polite co-workers”

“Much less exhausting I must say” you agreed.

The panel shifted into fan questions shortly after, covering light topics like line memory, stunt mishaps, and costume blunders. Harry was sharp and easygoing the whole time, occasionally tossing in a joke or leaning over to whisper something off-mic to make you laugh. When the moderator finally wrapped things up, you both stood, waved to the crowd, and made your way offstage behind the curtain, the deafening noise of the hall faded into a low hum the second the thick fabric fell shut behind you. The quiet backstage hallway felt cool and empty.

Harry stepped into the space next to you, pulling you slightly to the side near the break room doors, he reached out, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist to pull you close, leaning his forehead against yours.

“That went surprisingly well” he muttered, a small smile on his face.

“not bad” you agreed, putting your hands against his jacket, “though telling several thousand people about Tom was a choice.”

“It was relevant to the story darling” Harry chuckled softly, his eyes staying on yours, “and as much as it pains me, he was right anyway”

“About what?”

“About getting on with it” He leaned down and pressed a short, soft kiss to your lips, quiet, simple, and entirely away from the cameras, just yours to see and feel. When he pulled back, his hand stayed on your waist, his thumb lightly tracing the hem of your top. The faint hum of the convention hall buzzed in the distance, but back here in the dim backstage corridor, it felt miles away.

“ Im starving” Harry said suddenly, the quiet romance instantly giving way to his usual pragmatic self, “are you starving? Because if I have to look at another piece of dried fruit or lukewarm catering sandwiches, I’m going to lose my mind”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his chest for a second. “I could eat an entire pizza right now”

“Say no more then” Harry unclipped his body mic and handed it to a waiting sound tech with a quick, appreciative nod, he grabbed your coat from the break room rack, draped it over your shoulders and took your hand, leading you toward the back exit where a tinted van was idling. “Jhon’s or proper wood-fired? I’m feeling proper wood-fired”

“Wood-fired, extra cheese” you specified, sliding into the back seat of the car.

Harry climbed in right after you, slamming the door shut with a satisfying thud that cut off the lingering noise of the venue completely, he sank into the leather seat letting out a long, dramatic exhale that made his shoulders drop two inches.

“God” he muttered, running a hand through his messy curls, “panels are brilliant, but my head is literally ringing”.

“You did great…” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Very charming, a little bit of oversharing...”

“I didn't overshare” Harry protested, though he immediately wrapped his arm around you and pulled you sideways so you were comfortable, “the people want authenticity, love”

“You told them my mum was shipping us before we were even a thing”

“And she was…” Harry grinned down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m definitely putting her in my speech if we ever win a couple award, ‘Special thanks to y/n’s mum for seeing the vision’”

“Ugh don't give feed her ego, she’ll never let me hear the end of it”

The car glided through London’s late afternoon traffic, the rain just beginning to smudge the windows into long streaks of yellow and red light, It was quiet in the back seat, just the soft hum of the heater and the low ambient chatter of the radio. After weeks of high energy promotion, long interviews, and constant fan interactions, these quiet pockets of time together were the only moments that felt entirely real. When you reached the quiet pizzeria tucked away on a side street in Soho, Harry shoved a beanie over his head, pulled his jacket collar up, and hopped out to open your door, he kept a steady grip on your hand as you both slipped inside, securing a small, dark booth tucked into the back corner away from the main windows. Within twenty minutes, a steaming pizza and two drinks were on the table.

“Right” Harry said, tearing off a massive slice, “No talk about season three, no talk about dragon CGI, no talk about press schedules, oh and talking my posture is completely forbidden, deal?”

“Deal” you agreed, giggling before taking a bite, “Just completely normal human talk, got it”

“Proper normal” he nodded, pointing a crust at you, “so… what are we watching tonight? Because if you suggest that dark crime documentary again, I’m going to have nightmares”

“It was very fulfilling for you information”

“It was terrifying dear” harry corrected, chewing with a deadpan expression “I feel like watching something stupid, a cartoon movie, oh or a terrible reality show where people marry strangers” he mentioned while rising his eyebrows.

“You hate realities” you said mocking him “what are you on about?”

“I hate it until episode three and then I’m emotionally invested and crying on the sofa because Dave didn't pick Emily” he admitted without a shred of shame, you shook your head, smiling into your drink. Looking at him sitting across from you, arguing passionately about trashy telly while wiping pizza sauce off his thumb, it was hard to reconcile this boy with the solemn, brooding prince millions of people watched on screen every week, but you guess that was the best part of it all, he was still just Harry, the boy who made you laugh until your ribs hurt in freezing holding tents.

“What are you looking at, do I have something in my face?” Harry asked, catching your gaze with a suspicious smile.

“Oh nothing” you said softly, “just glad we got through today”, Harry’s expression softened. He reached across the small table, his fingers finding yours beside the napkin dispenser. He squeezed your hand, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles.

“Me too…” he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, quiet warmth, “doing all of this… it’s brilliant, but doing it with you? It’s the only reason I stay partially sane”

“Don't get mushy now, Collett…” you teased gently, though your chest felt light and full, “you promised normal talk, remember?”

“Right, sorry,” he smirked, sliding another slice onto his plate, “so…back to Dave and Emily, I’m telling yo Dave’s red flags were visible from space”

lmao not me changing how they realised they were in love and how they confesssss, not sorry. 😭

You snorted, trying, and so failing, to hide a laugh behind your hand. "You're not shrinking H”

"You're laughing," he said, turning his head at a red light to look at you with deep, tragic betrayal written across his face, “my spine is disintegrating and my own girlfriend is laughing at me, cold-blooded, wow“

"I am accompanying you to a private doctor's appointment at eight in the morning on my day off," you pointed out, reaching over to pat his knee. "If that isn't true love, I don't know what is"

Harry’s face softened instantly, his dramatic panic melting into that soft, dopey smile he only ever saved for you. He leaned across the center console, catching your hand and pressing a quick, loud kiss to the back of your knuckles. "I know I know you're a saint, genuinely a gorgeous,” he kissed your cheek “perfect saint” he kissed you again “but if the doctor says I need a full back brace, im  not getting out of the flat”

"Deal" you grinned.

Moving Harry through a waiting room was always an event, mostly because he couldn't sit still when he was nervous. While you sat comfortably on the leather sofa scrolling through your phone, Harry paced the length of the room, adjusting his oversized hoodie, bouncing on his heel, and periodically stopping in front of an anatomical poster of the human skeleton to glare at it like it had personally insulted his family.

"Look at that" he whispered loudly, pointing at the poster's spine “straight as an arrow, mine's probably shaped like a bendy straw."

"Harry, sit down before you give me an aneurysm" you laughed softly, pulling him down by his sleeve until he collapsed onto the couch beside you.

The moment he sat, the clingy boyfriend kicked in. He immediately slid his arm around your waist, resting his head heavily against your shoulder, inhaling deep and burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

"Harry, we're in public" you teased, though you automatically ran your fingers through his soft hair.

"Don't care, I need emotional support," he mumbled into your collarbone. "If I'm dying, I want to be cozy."

"You're not dying, you dramatic idiot"

"Harry Collett?" a nurse called out from the doorway, holding a clipboard.

Harry jolted up, his eyes widening. "Right, this is it. If I don't make it out, tell Ryan Condal to give Jace a heroic off-screen death."

You rolled your eyes, pulling him up by his hand. "Come on, dramatic, let's go"

The consultation room was bright and clinical, dominated by an older, exceptionally patient-looking doctor named Dr. Evans. He greeted you both warmly, clearly recognizing Harry but remaining entirely professional as Harry sat on the examination table, looking like a nervous golden retriever at the vet.

"So… Harry," Dr. Evans began, clicking his pen over a chart. "What seems to be the issue today? Lower back pain? Sciatica? Any numbness?"

"Well, doc," Harry started, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, ironically hunching over completely as he spoke. "It's not really pain, It's more of a... structural integrity issue"

Dr. Evans blinked. “Sorry structural integrity?"

"Yeah," Harry said solemnly. "I think my posture is permanently ruined. I've been getting... feedback, thousands of people, actually. They've been making side-by-side edits of me standing next to a shrimp. And I laughed at first, right? But then I looked in the mirror, and I was like, wait?"

You had to bite the inside of your cheek so hard it bled just to keep from bursting out laughing. You covered your mouth with a hand, pretending to cough.

Dr. Evans looked from Harry's dead-serious, deeply concerned face over to you, catching the absolute hilarity in your eyes. The doctor's lips twitched slightly, but he kept his composure. "I see, so, social media feedback has led to a concern regarding spinal curvature?"

"Yes" Harry exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “exactly that, look, I'll show you." Harry stood up abruptly, stripping off his heavy hoodie to reveal a plain black t-shirt. “okay, so when I'm relaxed, I stand like this..." He slouched forward, rounding his shoulders dramatically until he looked like a medieval peasant carrying a sack of potatoes, “and when I try to stand straight, it feels so weird, like what's wrong with me?"

The doctor chuckled softly, standing up from his chair. "Alright, Harry, step over to the wall for me, let's give you a look"

For the next ten minutes, you watched in utter delight as the doctor performed a series of basic physical exams. He had Harry bend over to touch his toes, tilt his head from side to side, and stand up against a height board. You took out your phone and discreetly filmed a three-second video of Harry standing completely rigid against the wall, his eyes darting around nervously like he was being processed into prison.

"Well, Harry" Dr. Evans said finally, washing his hands at the sink and grabbing a paper towel "I have the official diagnosis."

Harry held his breath, looking genuinely tense. "Give it to me straight, doc, am I getting a back brace?"

"You have…” the doctor  said, turning around with a dry smile, “…a perfectly normal and healthy spine, excellent mobility, zero signs of scoliosis, and perfectly aligned vertebrae."

Harry blinked. "Wait, for real?”

“yes” the doctor said, smiling. "What you have, Harry, is what we in the medical field call... bad habits. You slouch when you're relaxed, likely because you're tall (lmao he wishes) and comfortable, and you probably spend too much time looking down at your phone."

You couldn't hold it in anymore. A loud, ringing laugh escaped your chest, and you fell back against your chair, shaking your head. "I told you, I literally told you!"

Harry turned to you, his face going a bright, furious shade of red, though a cheeky grin was already tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, alright, simmer down over there will ya?”

"A shrimp, Harry?" you teased, wiping a tear from your eye. "You made me come here at eight in the morning because TikTok made you think your spine was collapsing, and the doctor just diagnosed you with slouching?"

"It was a legitimate medical concern" Harry insisted, though he was giggling now, rubbing the back of his neck in deep, adorable embarrassment. He turned back to Dr. Evans. "So... no physical therapy? No crazy back harness?"

"Maybe just do some basic core exercises and remember to pull your shoulders back when the cameras are rolling," he advised, chuckling as he handed Harry a summary slip. “…and perhaps stay off TikTok for a bit."

"Yeah, definitely doing that" Harry mumbled, his ears burning as he grabbed his hoodie, “thanks, doc, really appreciate you not throwing me out."

The walk back to the car was a victory lap of absolute roasting.

"I can't believe this," you said, walking side-by-side down the sunny street. "The Harry Collet defeated by bad posture"

"Listen to me," Harry said, catching your waist with one arm and pulling you tightly against his side as you walked, dropping a heavy, affectionate kiss right on your temple. "If you ever mention this to anyone, I will personally leak all the embarrassing videos I have of you singing in my trailer"

You gasped, “you wouldn't dare" looking up at him.

"Try me love" he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so relaxed now, all that dramatic anxiety completely gone, replaced by that warm, infectious energy that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. He squeezed your hip, pulling you even closer as you reached the car, “seriously though, thank you for coming with me, even if I looked like a massive idiot."

"You always look like a massive idiot," you hummed, turning in his arms once you reached the passenger door, you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up on your tiptoes. "But you're my massive idiot, now with an officially certified, perfectly healthy spine.

Harry chuckled, his hands settling warm and heavy on your waist, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours for a quiet, sweet second before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You know I love you," he whispered against your mouth, sweet and genuine, all the joke dropping away for a fraction of a second.

"Love you too, Harry” you smiled, kissing him back lightly. “now, stand up straight and drive us to get breakfast, you owe me an iced coffee for this."

"Yes ma'am," Harry said, instantly pulling his shoulders back into a hilariously exaggerated, overly rigid military stance. “as you wish”

"Okay, I’m going to tape this here. I hope that looks good," Sabrina says on the screen, her voice filled with that signature bright energy. "The Juno arrest has been one of the most special memories of the whole tour by far..."

Harry squeezes your hip, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oi, look, It’s our bit" he murmurs, his accent thick and comfortable in the quiet room, "we're famous babe, this is like officially pop culture history"

"Oh please" you laugh, tilting your head back to look at him. "We were literally shaking dont act like you weren't terrified when she pointed those pink fuzzy handcuffs at us"

"I was acting, wasn't I?" Harry protests, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "love I am a proper serious actor"

"Right, a serious actor who almost tripped over the front-row barricade because you were staring at her boots" you tease, poking his cheek.

He catches your finger in his hand, lacing his fingers through yours and bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles "for your information I was staring at you, actually, you looked insane in the crowd lights"

Your heart does that familiar, ridiculous little flip. Even though you’ve transitioned from best friends to something entirely official, the way Harry looks at you still feels like a sudden rush of warmth.

On screen, Sabrina is explaining the origin of the bit. "...Basically, I have this line in Juno that says 'Want to try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs?' And I was like 'It'd be fun to give the fans pink fuzzy handcuffs every night'" She beams at the camera, smoothing down a photo. "...But I've gone to arrest a wonderful amount of people from fans at the shows to friends of mine that come... When I got to arrest Jack Antonoff and Margaret, they were like my first ever couple arrests, which was really, really fun." 

Then, Sabrina pauses, holding up a fresh Polaroid to the camera, It’s a picture of you and Harry, you’re laughing, your face completely flushed, while Harry has one arm hooked around your shoulders, holding a pair of bright pink, fluffy handcuffs up to the camera like a trophy, a massive triumphant grin plastered across his face.

“But honestly?” Sabrina says, leaning in closer to the camera with a massive, knowing smile. “My absolute favorite couple arrest of the entire tour, like, hands down, no competition...has to be Harry Collett and y/n, I am a literal, massive fan of House of the Dragon, okay? I watch it religiously on the tour bus, and when I saw them walk into the VIP section, I think I actually forgot the lyrics to my own song for a second.”

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in Harry’s chest as he bursts out laughing, his chest shaking against your back.

“Because if you watch the show...” Sabrina continues excitedly, gesturing with a pair of scissors, “their characters have the most agonizing slowburn, like, I’m screaming at my TV every Sunday for them to just kiss already, and then to see them show up to my concert, looking so incredibly cozy, and just being so loud and proud about dating in real life? I was literally obsessed. I told my security, ‘Bring them to the front right now, they’re getting arrested for being too cute.’ And the fact that they made it official recently? Yeah, the pink handcuffs did it.”

"See? Sabrina gets it...." Harry says, his voice vibrating against your ear as he kisses your temple. "...the slowburn was agonizing, she’s real for that."

"It wasn't that agonizing," you argue, turning around in his lap so you're facing him properly. You rest your hands on his chest, looking into his eyes, "they were just... figuring it out"

"Babe, we took three years" Harry says softly, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, "three years of me staring at you on set and off set, hoping you'd notice I was completely gone for you."

Your mind instantly drifts back to the beginning, you had been thrown into a whirlwind of massive sets, elaborate costumes, and intense, emotionally charged scenes. Your characters were written to be fiercely loyal to one another, childhood companions whose bond slowly, subtly shifted into something deeply romantic amidst the chaos of a brewing civil war.

Because the writers wanted the chemistry to feel completely authentic, you and Harry spent nearly every waking hour together. You memorized lines in each other’s trailers, shared endless cups of terrible set coffee, and walked around the backlots of Leavesden Studios still dressed in your Westerosi tunics, talking about everything and nothing.

He became your safe harbor in the middle of a massive, overwhelming industry. If you were stressed before a heavy scene, Harry would find you, gently bumping his shoulder against yours and offering a stupid, terrible joke just to see you smile.

Everyone else saw it before you did tho, the crew would smirk when Harry stayed on set on his days off just to watch your coverage. The fans parsed through every interview, clipping seconds of the two of you whispering to each other on red carpets, making TikTok edits set to Taylor Swift songs with captions like 'THEY ARE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE'

"Three years was worth the wait…" you say softly now, bringing yourself back to the present. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his, "..though, I gotta admit, Sabrina claiming she's the reason we made it official is pretty funny."

"Hey, the pink handcuffs were a catalyst love" Harry chuckles, his hands sliding down to rest securely on your lower back. 

On the screen, Sabrina is moving on to the next part of her scrapbook, picking up a customized beer bottle. “Okay, great. So this is our customized Sabrina, I guess it's beer... bottle for our tour. I don't even really drink beer, which is I guess the irony...” She goes on to talk about the spin-the-bottle game she plays on stage, singing covers like Mamma Mia and 9 to 5. 

Harry reaches over, lowering the volume on the laptop just a bit, his attention entirely returning to you, the soft, glow of the screen illuminates his face, highlighting the ridiculous, affectionate warmth in his eyes that still makes you feel entirely seen.

"You know" Harry says, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register he only uses when it's just the two of you, "I still get messages from the lads teasing me about it, Ewan sent me a text yesterday calling me a 'simp' because of how I was looking at you in that Variety clip they showed."

"Well, you are a simp..." you say, flashing him a wicked grin, "a certified one in fact"

"Only for you darling" he replies instantly, entirely unbothered by the label. He leans forward, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss that tastes faintly of the tea you'd brewed earlier, "only you"

You melt into the kiss, your fingers tangling in the messy curls at the nape of his neck. The journey from script read-throughs and nervous glances across crowded sets to this quiet, perfect moment on a rainy afternoon felt entirely surreal, yet completely inevitable.

When he pulls back, just a fraction, his forehead is still resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own "the best of friends to lovers..." he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips, "pretty good trope if you ask me."

He caught the packet without looking up, showing off his reflexes, and let out a frustrated sigh. "I don’t need 'em," he mumbled, his voice dripping with that stubborn british charm. "The font is just microscopic today. Seriously, who the hell printed this?"

You leaned forward and rested your chin in your hands. "you’ve been squinting at that same paragraph for ten minutes. We have a massive emotional scene to shoot in twenty, and you're going to walk onto the set looking like you just stared directly into the sun"

He finally looked up, his dark eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust his focus to you. A slow, sheepish grin broke across his face, the sharp, serious angles of his character instantly melting into the boy you had fallen completely head over heels for. "you're a menace, you know that? I’m trying to focus. Jace is supposed to be focused."

"Jace is also supposed to be able to see his love interest without tripping over a camera track" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, where are they? In your trailer?"

"Yeah, safe in their case where they belong."

"You are actively messing your own vision, and for what? It’s not cute”

He protested, throwing a gummy back at you. "The glasses make me look like a schoolboy. I’m trying to give adult not 'please sir, I forgot my homework’”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound echoing in the high rafters of the soundstage. "Trust me" you said, dropping your voice as a crew member walked past carrying a massive C-stand. "The glasses are a massive bonus point. You're just denying the world greatness."

"We'll see about that," he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours with a warmth that had absolutely nothing to do with Jace and everything to do with Harry.

"Hey, we are ready for Harry and y/n on set" the first AD's voice boomed through the megaphone, cutting your moment short.

Harry stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his leather tunic, and offered you his hand with a reverence. You took it, letting him pull you up from the low chair, for a second, he didn't let go, his thumb rubbing a reassuring circle against the back of your hand.

"Ready to pretend you tolerate me for the cameras?" he whispered, a cheeky spark in his eyes.

"Always my prince” you smiled. "Just try not to squint at me during my close-up. It ruins the romantic tension" You tease him while caressing his cheek.

He let out a quiet laugh, letting your hand slip away as you both walked toward the brightly lit reconstructed courtyard.

The transition from the hectic, stressful environment of the set to your shared London flat was always a breath of fresh air. After months of living out of suitcases and hotel rooms, now having a space that was entirely yours, and his, was the ultimate comfort. It was a cozy, slightly chaotic apartment in North London, filled with mismatched furniture, piles of scripts, a growing collection of vinyl records and a kitchen that was currently being neglected in favor of takeout.

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, the classic British weather beating a steady rhythm against the glass windows of your living room. You were curled up on the oversized sofa, buried under a mountain of knit blankets and reading a book but not paying much attention to it. Harry was sitting on the floor, his back rested against the front of the sofa, right between your knees. He was wearing a pair of faded gray sweatpants and a vintage band tee that you had definitely stolen from his closet more than once. Spread out on the coffee table in front of him were three different scripts for upcoming films his agent had sent over.

And once again, he was squinting.

"I am actually going to confiscate your eyes if you don't stop doing that" you said, reaching down to gently ruffle his messy brown curls.

"I'm not squinting" he lied instantly, his head tilting back to look up at you. From this angle, his face was framed perfectly by your knees, his dark eyes looking wide and innocent. "I'm digesting the text. It's a very advanced acting technique, you wouldn't understand" He said teasingly.

"Oh, is that what they call it now? 'digesting the text'? Because to me, it looks like you're trying to read a license plate from three kilometres away" You reached over to the side table, where his transparent-framed glasses were resting on top of a stack of books "put them on Harry, literally, what is the issue with them?”

"They're uncomfortable," he grumbled, though he didn't move away as you held them out to him.

"They are literally lightweight plastic, they weigh less than a single wig pin, stop being a baby"

Harry sighed, a dramatic suffering sound, and snatched them from your hand. "Fine, if my nose gets bruised, you're paying for the medical bills."

He unfolded the arms and slid them onto his face, adjusting the bridge with his index finger. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes a little magnified behind the clean lenses.

Your heart did a sudden, violent flip.

It was supposed to be a joke. You had spent weeks teasing him about the glasses, telling him he looked "cute”, like some niche movie boy next door. And he did, he looked incredibly adorable, the frames cutting through his usual sharp features and giving him this soft, boyish charm that made you want to squish his cheeks.

But as you looked at him right now, sitting in the dim, gray light of the rainy afternoon, something shifted.

The frames sat perfectly on his nose, highlighting the sharp, masculine line of his jaw and the dark, thick curve of his eyebrows. Through the glass, his eyes didn't look soft, instead they looked incredibly focused, dark, intense. It wasn't the look of a boy, no, it was the look of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

A sudden, unexpected wave of heat rushed straight to your chest, settling low in your stomach. Your breath hitched, your fingers freezing in his hair. 

Oh, you thought, a sudden panic rising in your throat. Oh, fuck.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice dropping a register as he noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse skyrocket. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, no uhm..." you said, your voice sounding a little too breathy, a little too strained, you tried to pull your hand back from his hair, but your fingers felt heavy. "You're... you're fine."

Harry’s eyebrows pulled together behind the lenses. He didn't look away. Instead, he slowly rotated his body, shifting so he was kneeling on the floor between your legs, his hands resting on the cushions of the sofa on either side of your hips. The change in posture was sudden, his physical presence suddenly filling your entire field of vision.

"You've gone completely quiet, do you know how hard it is to shut you up?" he murmured, his dark eyes searching yours. The glasses slid down his nose just a fraction, and he looked at you over the top of the  frames "Are you alright, love?"

"Yeah," you whispered, swallowing hard. "Just-just… tired."

"Liar" he said softly. A slow, knowing smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips. He was too damn observant. Years of studying each other's micro-expressions on set meant he could read you like an open book. He saw the slight flush on your cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling just a bit too fast, the way your eyes kept darting to his lips and then back to the frames of his glasses.

He leaned in a fraction closer, a faint, comforting scent of his clean skin and woody cologne wrapping around you. "You're acting weird. Is it the glasses?"

“No, no I told you, I think they're cute," you said, trying desperately to play it cool, to cling to the safe, playful dynamic you had spent the last two days establishing. "It's a wholesome look?" You said in a unppropriately unsure tone, your mouth working faster than your brain.

"Wholesome huh?" Harry repeated, his voice dropping into a low, raspy purr that sent a literal shiver down your spine. He leaned forward even more, his chest almost pressing against your knees, his face inches from yours. "Is that really what you're thinking right now love?"

"Harry-"

"Because you don't look like you're thinking about how 'wholesome' I am..." he whispered, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back to yours. He reached up, his long fingers wrapping around the side of his glasses, but instead of taking them off, he just adjusted them, pushing them firmly back up the bridge of his nose. The movement was incredibly deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. "In fact, I may say you look a bit flustered"

Your mouth went completely dry. The agonizingly beautiful tension that had defined your entire relationship, was suddenly back, but this time it wasn't on a drafty soundstage with fifty crew members watching. It was in the quiet intimacy of your living room, completely unchecked.

You realized that you had made a massive tactical error. You had spent weeks begging him to wear them, thinking it would be a cute, domestic aesthetic. But seeing him like this, looking at you through those glasses was doing things to your sanity that you were completely unprepared for.

"I'm not flustered" you managed to say, moving your gaze and finding your ceiling to be the most interesting thing in the world, the squeak at the end of your sentence completely betrayed you tho.

Harry let out a low, breathy chuckle, the sound vibrating through the small space between you. He shifted his weight, his hands sliding from the sofa cushions to your waist, his fingers gripping your hips gently through the fabric of your sweatpants. The touch was warm and solid, grounding you even as your head spun.

"You are...” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "your heart is beating incredibly fast I can see it."

"You can't see my heart Harry, it is biologically impossible"

"I can see your pulse in your neck" he countered, his voice incredibly soft, almost a tease. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin "and I can feel you shivering, so...tell me, do you still think they're just 'cute'?" His lips left a trace of kisses from the spot under your ear to your where your shoulder meets your neck.

You swallowed, your hands instinctively coming up to rest on his shoulders, holding onto him for support. The fabric of his t-shirt was soft under your palms, but the muscle beneath was tense and solid, you looked at him, taking in the sharp contrast of the glasses against his messy hair, the dark intensity of his eyes behind the lenses, the absolute confidence radiating off him.

"No..." you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I do not think they're cute."

Harry pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face, though his eyes remained heavy with a heat that made your knees weak. "No huh? what do you think they are, then?"

"I..." You took a shaky breath, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "I think you look handsome" a small giggle escaped your lips "…and I think you know exactly what you're doing to me"

His grin widened, a soft, triumphant laugh escaping his lips. “Oh, maybe I do" he whispered, one of his hands sliding up your waist to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping across your cheekbone. The plastic of his glasses brushed lightly against your forehead as he leaned in, his focus entirely and completely consumed by you. 

"Maybe I like seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"completely speechless" he murmured, his lips hovering mere millimeters from yours, "you're always so quick with your comebacks I quite like having the upper hand for once"

"Don't get cocky, Collett" you breathed, though you couldn't help but lean into his touch, your eyes partially closing as the anticipation reached a fever pitch.

"wouldn't dream of it" he whispered.

And then, he closed the distance.

The kiss was nothing like the gentle, sweet ones you shared when you were just waking up, or the playful ones you swapped between takes on set. It was deep, slow, and incredibly possessive, his lips moving against yours with a confident, lazy rhythm that left you completely undone. His hands slid into your hair, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, the slight edge of his glasses pressing against your cheek, a constant, electrifying reminder of exactly what had started this.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands moving from his shoulders to tangle in the soft curls at the back of his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to erase every single millimeter of distance between you. The rain continued to beat against the window, the world outside completely fading away until it was just the two of you, the warmth of the flat, and the electric fire that had finally, beautifully, consumed you both.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips flushed and your chests rising and falling in sync. Harry rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he took a deep, shaky breath. His glasses were slightly askew from the intensity of the kiss, but he didn't make any move to take them off.

"So" he whispered, a breathless, happy laugh in his voice. "I should... definitely wear them more often? yeah?”

"Yeah... I agree," you breathed, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the rapid, heavy beat of his heart. "but only in the house. If you wear them outside, I might actually have to fight off half of London"

Harry laughed, the sound warm and bright, and kissed your forehead gently, "deal" 

Harry’s chest rose and fell against yours, his hands still loosely draped around your waist, his thumbs lightly tracing comforting patterns over the soft cotton of your sweatpants. He didn't pull away, and honestly, you didn't want him to.

"You’re still staring love," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your forehead. He opened his eyes, those dark brown depths looking incredibly clear behind the transparent frames.

"I am not" you whispered, though your eyes instantly locked onto the way his dark eyelashes brushed against the top of the lenses.

"You literally are, your eyes are practically drilling holes into the plastic" He reached up, his long fingers catching the temple of his glasses to straighten them properly on his face. The casual, effortless motion made your stomach do another completely unwarranted backflip, "seriously, what is the vibe here? A minute ago you were laughing at me, and now you’re looking at me like I’m a three course meal"

"Well," you teased, sliding your hands down his shoulders to tap his chest, "I guess digesting the text takes a lot of physical energy"

"I’m starving actually" he admitted, his cheeks flushing pink, "we've been ignoring those scripts for hours, what are we thinking? Thai? Or should we risk the sketchy noodle place down the street?"

"Definitely the sketchy noodle place. I’ve been craving those greasy spring rolls all week"

"Unreal" Harry said, finally pushing himself up from the floor. 

As he walked over to the kitchen counter to grab his phone, you stayed sitting on the edge of the cushions, wrapped in your blanket cocoon, watching him.

He stood in the warm light of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his phone in hand, scrolling through the delivery app, he was completely unaware of the effect he was having, his curls messy, his shoulders broad under the vintage tee, and those glasses resting perfectly on his face. He chewed slightly on his lower lip as he searched the menu, his eyes moving rapidly behind the lenses. It was a completely mundane, domestic scene. But right now to you, it was pure torture.

"Do you want the spicy beef noodles or the pad thai?" Harry called out, not looking up from his screen, "and don't say both, because I know you won't finish either of them and I'll end up eating your leftovers for breakfast"

"Spicy beef," you managed to say, your voice slightly tight, "and... maybe some extra spring rolls."

"Standard" he murmured. He finalized the order, tossing his phone onto the counter. Instead of coming straight back, he poured two glasses of water, grabbing them and turning around.

He caught you staring. Again (ups).

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. He walked back to the living room, his steps slow and deliberate, the ice clinking softly in the glasses. He set the water down on the coffee table and then stood right in front of you, towering over you slightly as you sat on the low couch.

"Alright, out with it" he said, folding his arms across his chest, the action pulled his t-shirt tight against his shoulders. 

You pulled your eyes back from his chest just enough to glare up at him, though the effect was completely ruined by the breathless smile tugging at your lips, "you’re literally so smug, it’s actually painful, I created a fucking monster"

"You did" he agreed easily, his eyes crinkling at the corners, he tilted his head, looking down at you through those transparent frames, "but you’ve gotta admit, the monster is kind of eating this look up"

"Honestly, the glasses need to go back in their case, your head is getting too big for this flat"

"Oh, is it?" Harry’s smirk softened into something much more dangerous, he slid his hands from your cheek down to the side of your neck, his thumbs resting right under your jaw, tilting your head up, "I don't think you actually want me to take them off, In fact, I think you're holding onto my shirt like your life depends on it"

You looked down and realized your fingers were indeed tightly fisted in the worn fabric of his vintage tee, when you looked back up, he already moved to lay in front of you in the couch as his eyes were locked onto your mouth, the playful banter died in an instant, replaced by that magnetic pull that always made the rest of the world completely fade to black.

"Harry..." you breathed.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, raspy register that made your stomach do gymnastics.

"less talking"

He let out a soft, pleased hum, and then he closed the tiny distance between you, this time, there was no hesitation, the moment his lips met yours a quiet gasp escaped you, which he immediately drank in. He shifted his weight, pulling you fully onto his lap so you were straddling his thighs, his hands gripping your waist to secure you against him as you tangled your fingers in his soft curls, pulling him closer, completely drunk on the warmth of him and the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

The kiss was deep and slow, a perfect lazy Sunday kind of heat. He tasted like the sweet tea he'd been drinking earlier, his lips soft but demanding as they moved against yours in a rhythm that made your head spin, every time you thought you’d caught your breath, he’d tilt his head, deepening the kiss and sending a fresh wave of electricity straight down your spine.

As you pulled him closer, the edge of his transparent frames pressed gently against your temple, the physical sensation, the cool plastic against your skin while his lips were so incredibly warm.

If the previous kiss had been a lazy Sunday drift, this one was a category 5 hurricane. It was pure, unadulterated passion, the kind of heavy, desperate kissing that made your head spin and your knees instantly give out. You let out a soft sigh into the kiss, your hands sliding down his neck to grip his shoulders, Harry groaned quietly, his hands sliding up under the hem of your oversized t-shirt, his palms warm and slightly calloused against the bare skin of your waist and lower back, his thumbs traced slow, dizzying circles there, pulling you so flush against his chest that you could feel the rapid, heavy thudding of his heart matching yours beat for beat.

He pulled back for a fraction of a second, just enough to catch his breath, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke "still think it's... just a cute look?" he whispered, his voice incredibly thick and breathless.

"I think you need to shut up" you murmured, pulling him right back down.

He complied instantly, his mouth catching yours with a sudden, possessive hunger that made your toes curl, he nipped gently at your lower lip, making a soft shiver run through you, before soothing the spot with his tongue, It was the perfect, dizzying blur of comfort and desire.

You were so lost in the feeling of his hands on your waist and his mouth on yours that you almost didn't hear the sharp, rhythmic buzz of his phone on the kitchen counter.

Harry ignored it at first, his lips sliding down your jawline to press a string of warm, lingering kisses right under your ear, making you gasp and cling to his shoulders. But then, the intercom by the front door let out a loud, buzzing ring, completely shattering the silence of the flat.

Both of you froze.

Harry rested his forehead against the side of your neck, his chest heaving as he let out a long, frustrated sigh. His glasses were completely askew now, sitting crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

"the sketchy noodles" you whispered, your voice sounding incredibly raspy and dazed.

“Fuck…” he groaned “literally the worst timing in human history" as a breathless laugh escaped his lips. He reached up, finally taking the glasses off to rub his eyes, before sliding them back on and straightening them. He looked down at you, his eyes still dark and heavy, a soft, fond smile playing on his lips, "you look completely wrecked love, It's a very good look on you."

"Oh shut up," you laughed, burying your face in his neck to hide your flushed cheeks, "go get the food before the delivery guy leaves"

"Only if you promise not to move an inch from this exact spot" he said, giving your waist a gentle squeeze before you slid off his lap.

"I couldn't move even if I wanted to" you admitted honestly, "my knees are literal jelly"

Harry’s grin was absolutely triumphant as he stood up, adjusting his shirt. "That's what I like to hear", he turned and headed toward the door, throwing one last wink over his shoulder, the transparent frames catching the dim light of the hallway, "don't go anywhere”

He does not startle. He just turns his head, a slow, lazy smile breaking across his handsome face. It is the kind of smile he reserves only for you, one that completely erases the hard, serious line of his jaw and makes him look like the boy he is when the weight of a massive ranching empire is not resting on his shoulders.

"Is that right? mhm?" Jace tosses the halter onto a nearby peg and steps toward you, his boots clicking softly against the concrete floor of the barn. He is wearing his favorite faded flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal forearms corded with muscle from years of hard labor. "Maybe I am just waiting for someone to come drag me away from my chores."

"I highly doubt your mother would approve of me enabling your laziness, property heir" you tease, stepping into his space.

Jace reaches out, his large, calloused hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He pulls you gently against him, the scent of leather, cedarwood, and clean sweat wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. "My mother knows I work harder than anyone else on this property. Besides, Aegon is probably passed out in a ditch somewhere near the county line and Aemond is busy playing corporate soldier. I think I have earned a break".

The rivalry between the two halves of the family has been suffocating lately. Since Viserys passed away, the corporate board meetings for the family conglomerate had devolved into a war of words. The Hightower faction was doing everything they could to delegitimize Rhaenyra’s claim to the presidency, and by extension, Jace’s own future. They whispered in the town diners, in the livestock auction houses, and in the boardrooms in Houston, spitting that ugly, old rumor that Jace and his brothers did not have a drop of true Velaryon blood in them, pointing instead to the late Harwin Strong, the family’s former head of security.

But looking into Jace’s dark brown eyes, none of those boardroom battles matter. He leans down, taking off his hat and resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "Tell me you brought the horses, please" he murmurs in a pleading tone, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your hip.

"They are already saddled," you whisper back, leaning up to press a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. "Though I had to convince luke not to follow us. He wanted to show you some new rope trick he learned"

Jace chuckles, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. "I will deal with luke later. Right now, I just want you."

You lead the way out to the hitching post where your horse, a gentle buckskin mare, and Vermax (my poor baby) Jace’s spirited dun gelding, are waiting patiently. Jace checks the cinches with a practiced eye, his movements smooth and confident. He has lived on horseback since he could walk a true product of the rugged town his grandfather built from the ground up.

"You look exceptionally beautiful today by the way," Jace says casually as he adjusts your stirrup leather. He looks up at you through his dark eyelashes, a playful glint in his eyes. "just thought you should know before we head out."

"Are you trying to use your sweet talk with me, Jacaerys?" you ask, climbing into the saddle.

"Always" he says, vaulting onto Vermax with effortless grace. He settles into the leather saddle, checking his reins. "but it also happens to be the harsh truth."

You shake your head, trying to hide the blush warming your cheeks, and urge your horse forward. Jace falls in beside you, his horse stepping out with a proud trot.

You ride past the primary paddocks and out toward the open range. The air is warm and thick with the scent of dry prairie grass and wild sage. The sky above is a vast, uninterrupted canopy of brilliant blue, typical of a summer afternoon.

"How are things really going with the family?" you ask quietly, keeping your eyes on the trail ahead. You know how much the pressure has been eating at him, even if he tries to hide it behind quick grins and sweet talk.

Jace sighs, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "Otto is trying to freeze our assets. He is claiming there is an ambiguity in my grandfather’s will regarding the distribution of the northern acreage, the high country pastures. He wants to hand them over to aegon, even though he could not tell the difference between a Hereford and an Angus if his life depended on it."

"And your mom? How is she?" Rhaenyra had been like a second mother to you and watching the situation slowly consume them tore you apart.

"She is fighting..." Jace says, his voice hardening with a quiet pride. "...she will not let them steal her birthright. And neither will I. I spent all yesterday morning going over the land deeds from thirty years ago. There is no ambiguity dear. My grandfather wanted this ranch to remain whole, under her management. But Alicent is whispering in the ears of the local sheriff and the county commissioners. It is an absolute mess."

You reach across the space between your horses, offering him your hand. Jace takes it immediately, his grip strong and reassuring.

"They are also starting up the rumors again" he adds, his voice dropping to a low, bitter register as he murmured against your interlaced fingers. "they told me that Aemond had the nerve to make a comment at the livestock auction last tuesday. Said something about how strong the calves were looking this year, looking right at me while he said it. I almost jumped the fence to tear his head off."

Your heart aches for him. You know how deeply those whispers cut, even if he carries himself with the dignity of a king. "he is just trying to get under your skin jace. He knows you are twice the man, he will ever be. You dont need to prove your blood to anyone"

Jace looks at you, his expression softening dramatically. The tension leaves his jaw, replaced by a quiet gratitude. He raises your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your knuckles gently. "what did I do to deserve you?"

"You got very lucky," you tease, though your eyes are shining.

"The luckiest man alive," he agrees, letting go of your hand only to urge Vermax into a light lope. "Come on, last to reach the pond (? idk the word) pays dinner!"

"Not fair cheater!" you yell, squeezing your calves against your mare’s sides urging him to speed up.

The wind whips through your hair as the horses kick up dust behind them. The rhythm of the hooves beating against the earth is a comforting, steady song. You watch Jace ahead of you, his body moving in perfect synchronization with Vermax. He looks completely free out here, away from the corporate lawyers, the whispering townspeople, and the heavy mantle of his family name. He turns back to look at you, his laughter carrying over the rush of the wind, pure and untroubled.

You round the bend where the trail narrows, descending into a lush, shaded valley. The temperature drops instantly as you enter the canopy of ancient cypress and pecan trees. In here the dry heat of the open range is replaced by the cool, damp breath of the river.

The horses slow to a walk, their breathing heavy but relaxed. Ahead, the river gleams like a ribbon of silver. It is like a private oasis, tucked away in a deep bend of the property that few people ever visit. The water is deep, fed by a natural spring, and bordered by smooth, flat limestone rocks.

Jace dismounts first, tossing Vermax’s reins over a low branch. He walks over to your horse, offering you his hands to help you down.

"Need some assistance, ma'am?" he asks, his voice dropping into a playful drawl.

"I think I can manage," you say, but you slide down into his arms anyway.

He catches you easily, holding you suspended against his chest for a second longer than necessary. His dark eyes trace the features of your face, full of a quiet intensity that always makes your breath hitch. "You could manage, mhm sure," he murmurs, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "but where is the fun in that?"

"You are incredibly distracting, you know that?"

"That is entirely the point my love" He kisses you then, a slow, deep, bruising kiss that tastes of sweet sun and wild air. His hands slide up your back, anchoring you to him as if he is trying to memorize the very shape of you. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded.

"Come on" Jace says, his voice a little husky. "lets get in the water before the sun starts to set"

He leads the horses down to a shaded spot where they can graze on the lush river grass, untacking them quickly. You watch him as he works, admiring the broad expanse of his shoulders and the easy confidence in his movements. Jace has always carried himself with a quiet authority, a trait he inherited from both his mother and the man who raised him, laenor. No matter what the Hightowers say, Jace is a Velaryon through and through, loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and deeply tied to his land.

By the time he walks back to the water’s edge, he has already kicked off his boots and shed his socks. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to join me?" he asks, a slow, devastating smirk spreading across his lips as he tosses his shirt onto a flat rock.

"I am observing the local wildlife," you reply, crossing your arms with a grin.

Jace laughs, a bright, genuine sound. "Oh is that so? And what is your analysis of the local wildlife?"

"Highly unpredictable, mmm extremely cocky..." you say, kicking off your own boots. "...but overall, quite handsome."

"I'll take it" Jace says. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his jeans, leaving him in just his dark boxer briefs. He wades into the cool water, his sun-bronzed skin contrasting beautifully with the clear green of the river. He shivers slightly as the water reaches his waist. "Damn, it is cold today."

"Man up, Velaryon" you tease, shedding your own outer layers and stepping onto the smooth stones at the water’s edge. The cool water lapping at your ankles sends a pleasant shiver up your spine.

"Oh, is that a challenge?" Jace asks, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Before you can answer, he lunges forward, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into the deep water with him. You scream with laughter as you plunge beneath the surface, the shocking cold of the river enveloping you both.

You surface gasping for air, shaking the water from your hair. "Jace! You jerk!" you scream slapping his chest playfully.

He rises up beside you, his dark hair slicked back from his face, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes and collarbones. He is laughing hysterically, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close against his chest. "I had to make sure you got the full experience"

"You are terrible" you say, though you are smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your body float against his. The feeling of the water makes you feel weightless, and the cold is quickly forgotten as Jace’s warmth radiates into you.

"I am the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it" he whispers, his hands settling on your lower back. He guides you toward a shallower section of the pool, where a flat, submerged ledge allows you both to sit comfortably with the water reaching your chests.

The river is quiet, except for the gentle babble of the current and the occasional call of a mockingbird in the trees above. The dappled sunlight filters through the leaves, creating moving patterns of gold and shadow across Jace’s face.

He reaches up, his thumb gently wiping away a stray droplet of water from your cheek. His playful demeanor softens into something incredibly tender. "but being completely serious now, I do not know what I would do out here without you. Lately, it feels like everyone is waiting for me to slip up. Aegon is just waiting to call me a fraud. Aemond wants to start a physical fight every time we cross paths, and the board... fucks sake, they look at me like I am some kind of charity case."

"Jace" you say softly as you took his face in your hands. His skin is cool from the water, but his eyes are burning with a quiet vulnerability. "you are not a fraud and you have worked this land since you were a boy. You know every acre, every cow, every stream....you belong here more than any of them."

He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch of your hands. "Sometimes I feel like I am fighting a losing battle. They have the banks on their side, god they even have the corporate lawyers"

"And you have the truth, You have the legacy, and you have me..." you say firmly. "we are going to fight them, Jace, If they want a war for this ranch, we will give them one, but they will not take what is yours"

Jace opens his eyes, a soft, beautiful smile gracing his lips. The heavy shadow of his doubts seems to lift, replaced by the fierce determination that makes him who he is. "You are too good for me" he whispers.

"I know" you say, a playful spark returning to your voice. "But I decided to keep you anyway"

He laughs, a low, contented sound and leans forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is different, it is slow, lingering, and filled with a deep promise. His hands slide up your ribs, his touch sending a different kind of warmth through your veins. You part your lips letting him taste you fully, the gentle current of the river swirling around your bodies.

You shift closer, draping your legs over his lap as you sit on the submerged ledge. Jace groans softly against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The contrast between the cool water and the heat of his skin is intoxicating.

"I love you..." he murmurs against your neck, his lips tracing a path down to your collarbone. "...so much more than this ranch"

"I love you too Jace," you whisper, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the sensation of his hands, his lips, and the quiet security of his embrace.

For a long time, you stay like that, suspended in your own private world. The troubles of the Targaryen and Velaryon succession, the threats from the Hightowers, and the whispers of the town feel a million miles away. Here, in the shelter of the cypress trees and the cool embrace of the river, there is only Jace and you. As the sun begins to slide lower in the western sky, painting the clouds in shades of soft apricot and bruised purple. The light hitting the water turns the river into a shimmering sheet of amber, casting long, dramatic shadows across the limestone banks. You lean your head against Jace’s shoulder, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. His arm is draped over your shoulders, keeping you anchored against him as the cool evening breeze begins to stir the leaves above.

"We should probably get back," Jace says softly, though he does not make any move to stand up. Instead, he pulls you a fraction closer, pressing a warm kiss into your wet hair. "If we are not back by dark, my mother is going to send a search party, and Daemon will never let me live down the fact that I got lost on our own land"

"daemon would probably join us just to drink a beer and complain about the weather" you laugh, tilting your head up to look at him.

"True enough" Jace admits, a genuine smile lighting up his face. He reluctantly shifts, helping you stand up from the submerged ledge. The cool air hits your wet skin, making you shiver instantly. Jace notices immediately and quickly guides you out of the water and back onto the smooth, warm limestone rocks.

He grabs his discarded flannel shirt and wraps it around your shoulders, the thick fabric still retaining his warmth. "There, better?"

"Much better" you say, pulling the collar tight around yourself, inhaling the rich scent of cedarwood, leather and him. "What about you?"

Jace just shrugs, his chest and shoulders gleaming in the fading sunlight. "I am fine. A little cold never hurt a real cowboy."

"Oh, please," you roll your eyes playfully, though your heart swells at the sight of him. He is so utterly handsome, so completely comfortable in his own skin when it is just the two of you.

Together, you gather your clothes, dressing quickly but lazily. Jace helps you pull on your boots, kneeling in the grass before you with a focused, gentle expression that makes you want to melt. When he finishes, he stands up and offers his hand, pulling you to your feet and right into his chest once more for a lingering, sweet kiss.

"Thank you," he whispers against your lips. "for today. I really needed this, needed you."

"Anytime cowboy" you reply, squeezing his hands.

He smiles, then turns to lead the horses over. Vermax nudges Jace’s shoulder with his nose, demanding attention, and Jace obliges with a soft chuckle, scratching the horse behind the ears. He helps you mount your mare before swinging himself easily into his own saddle.

As you guide the horses back up the winding trail, leaving the river behind, the first stars begin to blink into existence in the darkening blue sky. The world is quiet, peaceful, and solid beneath your horses’ hooves. Jace rides close beside you, his stirrup occasionally brushing against yours.

You look over at him, his profile silhouetted against the dying light of the sunset. He looks calm now, the heavy burden of his family’s legacy finally resting easier on his young shoulders. He looks like a man ready to face whatever storms the Hightowers might bring to their borders. And as long as you are riding beside him, you know there is nothing you cannot face together.

The road ahead is long, filled with corporate disputes and family battles, but you both ride onward in silence, letting the quiet strength of the land wash over you. The cool air of the evening begins to take hold, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the valley behind. Every step your horses take brings you closer to the ranch house, where the bright porch lights are already twinkling in the distance like welcoming beacons.

Jace looks over at you, reaching out to clasp your hand one last time before you reach the main gates. His hand is warm, his grip firm and steady. "We are gonna make it" he says, more to himself than to you, but the conviction in his voice is undeniable. You nod, squeezing his hand in return, knowing that whatever tomorrow brings you will meet it side by side.

Luke was the first to spot you. He was perched on the top rail of the corral fence, lazily spinning a loop of lariat rope. When he saw the two of you ride in, his face lit up, and he hopped down jogging over to meet you.

"You guys took forever" Luke said, though there was no real heat in it. He looked up at Jace, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Mom was about to send daemon out on the ATV. He was already complaining about having to turn off the game"

"Tell him I saved him the trouble" Jace replied, his voice slipping effortlessly back into his protective, older brother tone, though his hand lingered on your thigh for a brief, reassuring second before he dismounted. He swung down from Vermax, his boots hitting the gravel with a solid thud. "And what about that new rope trick? Mhm? You better not have been practicing on the barn cats again."

You were currently hiding behind camera two, crouched next to a stack of extra mayonnaise tubs. Sarah, your lead publicist was standing right beside you, tapping her foot with a rhythm that suggested she was on the verge of a cardiac event. "Keep him on script," she had whispered before the cameras rolled. "This is a comedy show. Do not let him turn it into a soft-launch"

Amelia slowly reached into the box, picked up a single chip, dipped it into a tiny tub of sweet chili sauce, and chewed with agonizing slowness.

"So," Amelia finally said, her deadpan British monotone cutting through the hum of the takeaway. "Harry."

"Amelia," Harry replied, offering his most award winning smile. "Lovely to be here."

"Don't do that," Amelia said flatly.

Harry blinked, his smile faltering slightly. "Do what?"

"The...thing with your face. The dimples. It’s a lot." Amelia shifted her gaze down to her notes. "So you’re an actor, you play Jacaerys Velaryon in HBO, right?."

"I do, yeah."

“So you ride dragons."

"Yes."

"Do you find that riding a dragon gives you a sense of power that you lack in your everyday life? For example... when you’re being managed by women."

Behind the camera, you snorted softly. Harry’s ears instantly turned a spectacular, unmistakable shade of deep pink. He let out a nervous chuckle, adjusting his collar. “I- uh…well, I wouldn't say I'm managed by women" he let an awkward laugh escape. "I just have a very...efficient support system."

"You do a lot of romantic scenes."

"A fair few, I suppose."

"Do you find that pretending to be in love with people is easy, or are you just incredibly deceptive as a person?"

Harry let out a nervous, high-pitched chuckle, adjusting his collar as his ears instantly turned a faint shade of pink. "I wouldn't say deceptive It’s just... you kind of build a connection with your scene partner. It’s about trust honestly.”

"Trust mhm," Amelia repeated, her voice dripping with profound skepticism. "I've seen the bts footage from the official page"

"Oh, sweet mother of Jesus" Harry muttered, burying his face in his hands for a brief second before recovering. "Which footage?"

"The ones where you look like a Victorian orphan who has just been handed a warm bowl of soup whenever y/n enters the room." Amelia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "The internet says you’re obsessed. Are you obsessed Collett?”

"I’m not obsessed?" Harry protested, his voice cracking slightly as a massive, helpless grin broke through his defenses. He glanced instinctively toward your corner behind the camera, his eyes locking onto yours for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and looked back at Amelia. "We're just... we have a very close working relationship. We're the best of friends”

“Mhm friends, yeah… Im gonna act like a believe that” Amelia said. She picked up a chicken nugget and pointed it at him like a weapon. "I’ve seen how you look at her in interviews. If a man doesn't look at me like he’s trying to memorize my facial structure for a marble bust, then I don't want him" Harry completely disintegrated in his chair, he threw his head back, letting out a mortified laugh. The crimson flush traveled all the way down his neck. “Oh come on” He groaned “I’m just a very expressive person, thats all, I literally act with my face”

"You're an expressive person for one specific individual," Amelia noted, entirely unfazed by his panic. She took a bite of the nugget, chewed, and slowly swallowed. "If in whatever circumstance you had to choose between y/n and a lifetime supply of free chicken, who are you choosing?"

Harry didn't even hesitate. A brilliant, incredibly wicked smirk took over his face, the exact look that usually signaled he was about to drive his PR team completely insane.

"The chicken is great, you know..." Harry murmured, his voice dropping into a low, completely sincere, and entirely unguarded register as he looked directly into the lens. "But…well, who am I gonna film the romantic scenes with then” Behind the camera, your publicist let out a low, physical groan and covered her face with her hands. You bit your lip, your heart doing a strange, fluttering flip in your chest as Harry’s smile softened, entirely giving up on the media-trained lie.

Amelia stared at him for three agonizing seconds of silence. Then, she looked directly into the main camera with an expression of utter, clinical disappointment.

"Well," Amelia said flatly. "That was incredibly sickening. This date is over."

"Can I keep the chips?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No," Amelia said, sliding the box away from him. "Go find your co-star Collett”

-------------------

The heavy oak door of your flat clicked shut, sealing out the damp London evening and the lingering static of the studio lot. In your kitchen, the atmosphere was thick with the comforting, smell of garlic bread and cherry tomatoes bubbling away on the stove. You stood by the counter, quietly adding the rich sauce over a bowl of fresh pasta, finally relaxed. As Harry appeared into the warm light of the kitchen, having already shed his tailored jacket in the hallway. He was just in his soft white t-shirt, his dark curls slightly damp and uncombed. He closed the distance between you with slow, quiet steps, sliding his arms gently around your waist from behind.

He then leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a long, heavy sigh, releasing all the lingering tension of the media circus right out of him.

"I thought we’d never get back here," Harry murmured, his voice a low, muffled rumble against your skin. His hands rested flat against your stomach, his thumbs tracing slow, familiar circles through the fabric of your (his) shirt.

“I must ask... is pretending to be in love with me easy, or are you just an incredibly deceptive person?"

Harry buried his face in your neck, a helpless chuckle escaping him as his ears flared up to that brilliant shade of crimson all over again. "Oh dear god, please tell me you’re not going to quote the entire interview while we eat."

You leaned back into his chest giggling, letting the wooden spoon rest against the edge of the pot. A small, affectionate smile tugged at your lips. "You did great,” you said softly, giggling as you tilted your head slightly. "Even if you did completely terrify our publicist."

Harry let out a soft, boyish chuckle, his grip tightening just a fraction as he held you closer against him. "She was staring dead into my soul. I forgot the script within thirty seconds." He paused, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder as he watched the steam rise from the pasta. "Did I really sound that unhinged when she asked about the chicken?"

"Well," you murmured, turning around in his embrace so you were facing him, completely forgetting the pasta behind you, your hands coming to rest flat against his chest. You looked up at him, a tiny, playful glint in your eyes. "You did basically tell millions of people that a lifetime supply of free food wasn't worth losing your favorite scene partner.” You said making air quotes with your fingers. “I think Sarah was praying for a sudden power outage, I literally saw her soul leave her body.”

Harry’s ears instantly flared with a faint, familiar shade of pink, but a soft, dimpled smile broke through his mock offense. "I was under immense pressure. The woman didn't blink love, not a single time in four minutes” He sounded genuinely shocked.

"Mhm," you teased gently, your thumb brushing against the fabric of his shirt. "So it had nothing to do with the fact that you look like a Victorian orphan every time I walk on set?" Harry let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his head dropping into your neck for a second before he looked back down at you, his eyes incredibly soft, filled with a domestic warmth that belonged only to this flat and you two. He lifted one hand, his thumb gently smoothing over your cheekbone, his touch light and reverent.

"Alright, maybe a little bit" he whispered, his voice dropping into that private register he reserved just for you, entirely giving up the joke. "They can edit the interview however they want to make it funny. But there isn't a single situation in which I wouldn't choose this, cooking dinner with you... it’s literally only part of the day that does not feel scripted”

Your heart did a quiet, steady flip, the last bits of playfulness melting away into pure domesticity. You reached up, cupping the side of his jaw and caressing his freckled his cheek with your thumb. "I know," you murmured softly. "I would choose this too.” Harry’s smile softened into something breathtakingly sweet. He leaned down, closing the remaining inch between you to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips, one that tasted faintly of the sweet tomato sauce long forgotten in the stove and felt entirely like home. When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours for a quiet beat, his breathing synchronized with your own, a glint in his eyes showing all he didn’t say.

"Right then..." Harry whispered, a tiny smirk returning to his lips as his hands slid down to rest on your hips. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening with a playful shine. "Before the pasta gets completely cold... we” kiss “should” kiss “devour it” another kiss  “...damn, almost revealing to the whole internet that we've been dating for over a year has me starving." You couldn’t help but left a loud laugh escape your mouth. “Idiot” you murmured.

I honestly did not know how to turn Amelias interview into something related to a reader but this is the best I could do, hope y'all enjoy it!!

Until that moment, everything had been going exactly according to your publicist’s carefully curated, perfectly sanitized plan. You had already gracefully pulled out your favorite luxury lip balm (accompanied by a brief storytime about how it was the only thing that saved your lips during night shoots in Scotland), a heavily annotated copy of 'The Song of Achilles' (sorry I couldn't help it) you claimed to be re-reading for "inspiration," and a thrifted pair of vintage sunglasses. You explained the backstory of each item with a practiced, media-trained charm, navigating the interview with the precise level of warmth that kept audiences feeling included while keeping your actual private life firmly behind locked doors. You were doing a flawless performance of yourself. Then, your fingers brushed against something small and metallic resting at the very bottom of the bag’s silk lining, hidden beneath a stray pack of gum and a handful of loose hair ties.

Without entirely thinking about the consequences, your muscle memory took over. Your fingers closed around the familiar, cool contours of the object, and you fished it out before your internal censor could flag the risk.

You placed it gently onto the marble coffee table, the metallic clink echoing slightly in the quiet studio as the close-up B-roll lens immediately adjusted its focus to capture the detail. It was a crafted, vintage-style silver cardholder. The sterling silver was slightly tarnished around the hinges from daily use, giving it a beautifully lived-in character that contrasted sharply with the rest of the items currently in the table. A highly detailed, custom floral engraving entirely covered the front, swirling in delicate patterns that caught the studio lights. If one looked closely enough, the vines spiraled around two subtly interlocking, abstract initials integrated into the woodwork.

“And then I have this,” you said, a soft, incredibly fond smile slipping past your carefully constructed media guard before you could consciously catch and suppress it. You traced the cool lines of the engraving with your thumb, your eyes softening in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with standard brand promotion or the professional charisma you had deployed seconds earlier. “It’s a custom silver cardholder. A very dear friend gave it to me about a year ago, right before we started filming the new season, and it’s just become my little lucky charm. I never leave the house without it. It holds my life together, basically.”

The off-camera interviewer, tracking the palpable shift in your demeanor, cooed appreciatively. “It’s absolutely stunning. Is there a specific story behind that beautiful gift?”

You blinked, a sudden prickle of heat hitting the back of your neck as your media training kicked back into gear. You realized you were lingering a bit too long on the sentimentality of the object, and that the publicist in the shadows was likely checking her watch. Quickly pulling your hand back from the table, you offered a smooth and practiced deflective laugh. “Oh, it's just a local artisan in London, I believe,” you lied smoothly, your voice regaining its bright, professional cadence. “It was just a lovely bit of craftsmanship. I’m quite a sucker for small business” You quickly pivoted, reaching back into the bag for item number seven, a travel-sized bottle of perfume and finished the remaining ten minutes of the shoot without another hitch. When you left the studio that afternoon, you felt entirely confident that you had kept the details perfectly vague, safely wrapped in the anonymous, completely unassailable blanket of "a dear friend."

Exactly three weeks later, the sequel to your video dropped on British Vogue’s YouTube channel. Because the magazine’s digital marketing team loved capitalizing on the cast's onscreen chemistry to drive engagement, Harry had been booked to shoot his own “In The Bag” segment in the exact same East London studio, sitting on the exact same plush velvet sofa, staring into the exact same cameras.

You happened to watch the video from your own couch on a quiet Thursday afternoon, nothing like supporting your coworker (no one believes you girl). It was a rainy day, and you were wrapped in a blanket with a hot cup of tea in hand, entirely unprepared for the absolute, spectacular demolition of your privacy that was about to occur on screen. Harry was effortlessly charming from the opening frame. He joked easily with the audio technicians and began pulling out an assortment of thoroughly uncurated items, a tangled pair of old wired headphones you wouldn't catch him with a pair of big headphones outside a dj table, a heavily wrinkled shooting script with coffee stains on the cover, and a massive ring of keys.

But at the exact five minute mark, the casual trajectory of the interview broke. Harry reached deep into the small front pocket of his bag, his hand searching for something specific. He pulled out a small, pal-sized object and set it down onto the marble table with the exact same definitive clink your cardholder had made twenty one days prior. Your breath caught completely in your throat. Your tea was instantly forgotten, the mug resting precariously on your knee as you leaned closer to the screen "Oh fuck" you murmured.

It was a custom leather wallet, beautifully crafted from a rich, deep mahogany hide that had darkened and patinated with age. But it wasn’t just a standard piece of leather goods, no. Stitched seamlessly into the bottom right corner of the wallet was a sterling-silver accent piece. It featured the exact same intricate, swirling floral engraving as your cardholder.

The pattern was identical, same delicate baroque vine work, clearly done by the exact same hand. Even through a laptop screen, it was blindingly obvious that if the two pieces were placed side-by-side, the abstract metal initials on his wallet would flawlessly mirror and complete the interlocking pattern on your silver case. It was, without a single shadow of a doubt, the matching half of a highly specific, custom set.

“This is my wallet,” Harry said to the camera. His tone was entirely casual, but you noticed the subtle tell, his index finger was nervously tapping against the edge of the table in a rapid, rhythmic pattern you knew meant he was holding back a secret or trying to steady his nerves. “I actually got it about a year ago. It’s custom made by this brilliant little boutique in Soho. I’m quite sentimental about it, actually. It just... keeps me grounded, I suppose, when we're traveling so much for press and I miss home...”

The interviewer, possessing a razor-sharp memory and clearly recalling your video from prior, paused the momentum of the interview entirely. The off-camera voice returned, sharp with immediate recognition. “That engraving looks incredibly familiar, Harry. In fact, it looks almost identical to a piece we saw on this very table recently. Does it match y/n cardholder by chance?”

On screen, Harry froze for a fraction of a second, he knew he messed up. It was a micro-expression, clenching his jaw, a sudden stillness in his shoulders, before his eyes darted instinctively off-camera toward his publicist in a sudden, visible wave of absolute panic.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to process how a routine fashion segment had suddenly turned into an interrogation. Then, he forced a loud defensive laugh that fooled absolutely no one who had watched him act for four years. “Oh, really? Wow. Small world, isn't it?” he said, his voice a pitch higher than normal as he rubbed the back of his neck. “London’s a massive city, but I suppose good design travels fast. Must just be a popular place around here maybe?.” There was no way he was getting out of this one.

He might as well have confessed to a secret relationship on national television. The internet didn’t just notice the glaring similarity between the two items, they launched a full-scale, digital investigation within minutes of the video going live on YouTube. The fandom, armed with high-definition screenshots treated the two Vogue videos like pieces of classified evidence of a murder.

By Friday morning, only twenty four hours after the video dropped, the speculation had completely bypassed the boundaries of standard celebrity shipping. It had become a masterclass in digital forensics.

A viral thread on twitter analysed both videos in a matter of hours. The opening post contained side-by-side, high definition screenshots of your silver cardholder and Harry’s leather wallet, zoomed in to the maximum resolution. Further down the thread, an online graphic designer had taken the two images, isolated the metal engravings, stripped away the background textures of tthe leather and silver, and digitally aligned them on screen in a looping clip.

The animation demonstrated how the abstract, swirling lines of the floral borders easily interlocked, and how the negative space between the two patterns formed your first initial and his. It was undeniable proof that the two pieces were made together from a single piece of silver.

But the final blow, the absolute, undeniable gun that made any future PR denials completely useless came from a dumb TikTok. A fan who happened to collect independent British heritage goods managed to identify the highly specific style of the floral engraving. They recognized it as a signature technique of a tiny, fiercely private silversmith and leather boutique hidden away in the labyrinth of cobblestone back alleys in Soho. It was a shop with no website and a reputation for working strictly by appointment for local clientele.

Three days after Harry’s video aired, the elderly artisan himself, thoroughly bewildered by a sudden influx of thousands of digital notifications, emails, and direct messages, posted a video on his boutique’s official TikTok account. The video was unedited and raw, filmed by his apprentice. The old artisan stood in his workshop, surrounded by the rich scents of tanned leather, polishing oil, and old wood. Heavy magnification glasses were pushed up onto his wrinkled forehead, and he addressed the camera with a warm grandfatherly smile, entirely unaware of the internet culture storm he was about to seal shut.

“Hello to the lovely internet community that has been messaging my shop over the weekend,” the old artisan said, gesturing to his cluttered workbench behind him. “Yes, I can confirm that I hand-engraved those two specific pieces. About a year ago, a lovely man actor came into my shop entirely by himself. He spent nearly three hours with me right here at this bench, sketching out a blueprint for interlocking initials because he told me he wanted a specific, deeply private gift for his costar before they went away to film on location for months. He was very particular about the silver matching perfectly. I had no idea they would end up on Vogue!”

The artisan’s video gained five million views overnight, acting as the definitive confirmation the internet had been waiting for. Your personal phone became an unreadable, lagging blur of haptic vibrations. The group chat with your fellow castmates was a chaotic stream of capital letters, inside jokes, and screenshots of the viral metrics.

Simultaneously, your inbox was filling up with frantic, flagged emails from your management team and publicists, who were currently trying to draft a strategy for a situation that had completely evolved past their control.

The narrative was no longer owned by the studio or the PR firm. It belonged entirely to the internet.

The top comment on the official British Vogue YouTube video, pinned by the channel’s editors to maximize their engagement, captured the exposed reality of the situation perfectly.