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Summary: YN is outgoing, Harry is shy. They become flatmates and don’t expect much. But shared silence, small routines and his unfinished music start to change everything.
——————
By the time morning came, the flat no longer felt like a stranger pretending to be a home.
It still wasn't quite comfortable. Nothing here had earned that yet, but it had started to settle into something softer. Less like a place she was passing through, more like a place that might, eventually, learn her name properly.
Y/N woke to silence.
Not the heavy kind from the night before, but lighter now. Cleaner. Like the building had exhaled and decided to behave.
For a moment, she just lay there, listening.
No traffic in her immediate thoughts. No unpacked emotional mess demanding attention. Just stillness and faintly, something else.
A creak in the hallway.
She sat up slowly.
Then another sound. A cupboard closing. Careful. Controlled. Like whoever was making it was trying not to disturb the idea of morning itself.
Y/N smiled to herself before she even knew why.
Harry.
Of course.
She got up, pulling on a hoodie and stepping into the hallway barefoot, the floor cool under her feet. The flat smelled faintly of tea and something toasted burnt at the edges, but in a way that suggested effort had been made.
When she reached the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway.
Harry was there.
He stood in front of the toaster like it was an unpredictable machine he hadn't yet earned the right to trust. One slice of bread had already popped up slightly too dark. Another was still inside, as if refusing to commit.
He looked mildly stressed.
Not in an obvious way. In a quiet, internal way that seemed to sit in his shoulders.
He noticed her immediately.
"Oh," he said.
Then, after a pause, as if remembering basic human function “Morning."
Y/N leaned against the doorframe. "Good morning, apartment ghost."
His eyes widened slightly. "I'm not ... I'm not a ghost."
"That's exactly what a ghost would say."
That earned her a very small, reluctant exhale from him. Almost a laugh again. Almost.
"I tried to make toast" he said, gesturing slightly toward the toaster like it had personally betrayed him.
Y/N stepped inside. "Bold first move for someone who hasn't been vetted by the kitchen yet."
“I thought it would be simple."
"Ah," she said seriously. "That was your first mistake."
Harry watched her approach, then shifted slightly to the side like he was giving her full ownership of the kitchen by default.
That habit already stood out to her.
He didn't take up space unless he absolutely had to.
She reached past him, popped the toaster up, and rescued the second slice.
"Congratulations," she said. "You've successfully created breakfast."
"It's a bit burnt" he admitted.
"It's character building."
He gave her a look. "That's not how toast works."
"It is now."
He nodded slowly, as if deciding this might be one of those new flat rules he would have to accept whether or not it made sense.
Y/N placed the plate down between them like an offering.
"So. How was your first night in emotional isolation chamber number two?"
Harry blinked. "Is that what this is?"
"Depends," she started, pouring herself tea
“Did you hear your own thoughts too loudly at any point?"
A pause.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Then yes."
That made something in him soften slightly, the way his posture loosened like he was realizing she wasn't going to judge him for existing incorrectly.
He sat down at the small table near the window. Carefully like the chair might react.
Y/N followed suit, curling her legs under her.
For a while, they just ate.
Not in silence exactly. More like a shared pause that neither of them felt the need to rush.
Outside, the light had turned pale gold. It made the kitchen look warmer than it was.
Harry spoke first, quietly.
"I heard you tip toeing around last night."
Y/N glanced up. "That's because I was trying not to disturb the ghost."
A faint smile. "Right."
“You didn't sleep well?" he asked, almost hesitant.
It wasn't intrusive. Just careful. Y/N considered lying. Then decided against it.
"Not badly," she said, “Just new place sleep. You know?"
He nodded like he did know. "Yeah."
That single word held more agreement than conversation.
Then after a moment he added, "I usually play guitar when I can't sleep."
Y/N perked slightly at that, "That's your coping mechanism?"
"It's not a coping mechanism," he said quickly, then immediately looked uncertain, "I don't think it is."
"It sounds like one."
He hesitated. "It's just, noise I can control."
That landed differently.
Y/N didn't push it. Just nodded slowly. "Fair."
Harry looked down at his toast again like it might offer him a safer topic.
Then he said softer, "Did it bother you?"
"The guitar?" she asked.
He nodded.
Y/N shook her head. "No. It was kind of nice."
That made him go still for a fraction of a second. Like he wasn't used to something he considered private being described that way.
"Nice?" he repeated quietly.
"Yeah," she said simply. "It sounded honest."
His gaze dropped to the table again, but this time it wasn't avoidance. It was processing.
"That's not usually what people say," he admitted.
"Well," Y/N said lightly "most people don't get the full emotional soundtrack of their flatmates at 2 a.m."
A small breath from him, something like amusement, but softer.
"I didn't mean for you to hear it," he said.
"I know."
A pause, then Y/N tilted her head slightly. "But I did. So now I get to have opinions."
That earned her a proper smile this time. Small. Slightly embarrassed. Real.
"Go on then," he said.
She leaned forward a little, pretending to think seriously. "I think you stop too soon."
Harry blinked "What?"
"In your music," she clarified. "It feels like you're about to say something and then you change your mind."
His fingers tightened slightly around his mug.
"That's intentional," he said, though it didn't sound convincing.
Y/N raised a brow "Is it?"
He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable, It was just open.
Finally he said "It feels safer that way."
Y/N's expression softened, just slightly. Not pity. Just understanding.
"Yeah," she said gently. "I get that."
That was the first moment he looked at her properly without flinching away from it.
Like he was realizing she wasn't trying to fix him. Just hear him.
——————
By midday, the flat had started to develop rhythm.
Not a perfect one. Not yet. But something was forming beneath the surface of their separate movements.
Y/N unpacked properly this time, books stacked on shelves, clothes folded into drawers that still stuck slightly. Harry moved between his room and the kitchen in careful intervals, like he was mapping out safe routes through shared space.
At one point, she caught him standing in the hallway holding a plant.
It looked, questionable.
"Is that alive?" she asked.
Harry looked down at it. "I think so."
"That's not very confident."
"I'm not a plant expert," he said defensively.
Y/N smiled. "What is it called?"
"I don't know."
She laughed softly. "So you adopted a mystery organism."
"I rescued it," he corrected.
"From what?"
"A shop," he said, as if that explained everything.
That made her laugh properly this time. Harry watched her for a second longer than he realized he was allowed to.
Then he cleared his throat. "It looked sad."
Y/N softened at that, unexpectedly.
"Yeah?" she asked. He nodded.
"Like it needed somewhere quieter."
Something in that answer lingered between them longer than it should have.
Y/N stepped a little closer, peering at the plant.
"It's very lucky then. Landing in this emotionally stable household."
Harry huffed a small laugh. "We're not emotionally stable."
"Speak for yourself," she said. "I am thriving."
He looked at her like he didn't fully believe that, but also didn't want to argue. Instead he carefully placed the plant on the windowsill.
"It doesn't have a name yet," he said.
Y/N considered it. "That's because it's waiting for you to commit emotionally."
He glanced at her quickly. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Sure," she said. "You just casually adopt unnamed plants and don't assign meaning to anything."
A pause. Then he says quietly "It's easier that way."
Y/N didn't tease him this time. Instead, she leaned lightly against the counter and said,
"Maybe. But it also gets a bit lonely."
Harry didn't respond immediately. He just looked at the plant.
Then, very softly, he said "Yeah."
Not agreement. Recognition.
——————
That evening, something shifted again, but smaller this time.
Less dramatic. More subtle. Harry played guitar.
Not hidden behind walls. Not accidentally. This time, he left his door slightly open.
Y/N noticed immediately.
She paused outside the hallway, listening for a second. The music wasn't fully formed yet, but it wasn't uncertain either. It had shape now. Intent.
She didn't announce herself.
Just walked closer, slowly, until she was leaning against the doorframe.
Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, guitar resting on his knee. When he noticed her, he stopped mid chord.
"Oh," he said, again, softer now. Less startled each time.
Y/N smiled gently. "Don't stop."
"I didn't think you'd-"
"Stay?" she finished for him.
He nodded slightly.
She shrugged. "You left the door open."
A beat. Then, carefully, he resumed playing. This time, he didn't stop as quickly.
Y/N stayed where she was. Listening.
Noticing how the music felt less like something unfinished now, and more like something learning how to continue. And for the first time since moving in, the flat didn't feel like two strangers sharing space.
It felt like something beginning to sync.
——————
The change didn't announce itself.
It didn't slam doors or arrive with conflict or clear, dramatic words that could be pointed to later as the moment everything shifted. It was quieter than that. Easier to miss. The kind of distance that only becomes noticeable once you realize you've stopped stepping into the same rhythm.
Y/N noticed it first in the kitchen.
Harry was already there when she walked in.
He stood by the counter with a mug in his hands, shoulders slightly hunched forward like he was trying to take up less space than the room required. The kettle had already clicked off. The toast sat untouched on a plate.
"Morning," Y/N said automatically, softer than usual.
Harry looked up.
"Oh, hi" he replied.
A pause. Then, like an afterthought he almost forgot to include yet again, "Morning."
It wasn't wrong. It just wasn't him from a few days ago.
Y/N moved toward the counter anyway, refusing to let the space between them grow without resistance. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he said.
She nodded. "Yeah. Flat's still doing that thing where it feels like it's not yours yet."
Harry gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah."
Silence settled between them. Not comfortable this time. Just present.
Y/N opened a cupboard, pretending to search for something she didn't actually need. "Did you play last night?"
"No," Harry said.
That was it.
No explanation. No follow up. Just the answer sitting there, slightly too final.
Y/N closed the cupboard slowly. "Oh."
Another pause. She turned toward him, leaning lightly against the counter. "Everything okay?"
It was casual. Light. Safe. Harry's fingers tightened slightly around his mug.
"Yeah," he said again.
Same word. Different weight.
Y/N studied him for a second longer. He wasn't looking at her properly. Not like before. Not like he was trying to figure her out anymore.
More like he was trying not to be figured out at all.
She softened her tone. "You're allowed to say if it's not."
A beat. "I know," he said quietly.
But he didn't say anything else.
And that was the problem.
The rest of the day didn't fix itself. It didn't get worse either. It just, stretched.
Harry stayed in his room more than usual. Y/N heard him moving around sometimes, small sounds, footsteps that stopped abruptly, the occasional drawer opening and closing. But no music.
No guitar.
The flat felt different without it. Not empty. Just quieter in a way that felt deliberate.
Y/N tried not to think too much about it. She told herself people needed space. That not every change meant something was wrong. That sometimes quiet just meant quiet.
But it didn't feel like that. It felt like something had been pulled inward. By evening she'd convinced herself it was nothing serious.
It was the kitchen again that broke that illusion.
Y/N walked in expecting nothing, just tea, maybe a quick meal, maybe the usual shared silence that had started to feel normal.
Harry was there, but this time, he wasn't at ease.
He stood by the counter with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering like he'd forgotten what he was meant to be doing with it. The light from the screen washed over his face in a way that made him look sharper than usual. Tired in a different way.
He didn't notice her at first as she slowed in the doorway.
"Harry?"
He flinched slightly.
"Oh, sorry," he said quickly, locking the phone and putting it down too fast, like it had burned him. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Yeah," she said gently. "I noticed."
That earned a faint, tense exhale from him.
He turned toward the kettle instead of her. "I was just making tea."
"You've been making tea a lot today," she said lightly.
"I like tea."
It came out sharper than he meant it to. The words hung there.
Y/N didn't react immediately. Just watched him carefully now, her earlier ease replaced with something more attentive.
"Okay," she said after a moment. "You don't have to talk, you know."
Harry shook his head quickly. "I'm not I- I can talk."
"You're just not right now," she corrected softly.
That made him stop. Properly. Like he hadn't expected her to see the difference so clearly.
The kettle clicked on. Too loud in the quiet.
Harry stared at it like it was easier than looking at her.
"I'm fine," he said.
Y/N let out a small breath through her nose, not amused, not frustrated. Just understanding the pattern forming in front of her.
"You keep saying that," she said.
"I am," he insisted, but it didn't land with conviction.
A pause. Then, quieter, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud, "It's just, easier today."
Y/N softened slightly. "What is?"
He hesitated. Everything about him hesitated.
"Being like this," he said finally. "Quiet."
That word felt heavier than it should've.
Y/N leaned against the counter slowly. "You don't have to disappear to be allowed to have a bad day, Harry."
His jaw tightened slightly, "I'm not disappearing," he said.
Awhile later, they met again in the kitchen, their usual meeting spot as it seems to be, but this time it was different.
The tea was made in silence. This time, it didn't feel shared. It felt parallel.
Two people occupying the same space but not quite meeting inside it.
Harry handed her a mug without looking at her properly. Their fingers didn't brush this time. Y/N noticed that too.
She took it anyway.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.
Harry stared into his tea.
"No," he said, after a pause.
Then, after another pause, quieter, "Not really."
Y/N nodded once. She didn't push. But she didn't let it drop completely either.
"Okay," she said. "But I'm still here."
That made him glance up at her. Just briefly. Like he was checking if she meant it. She did. He looked back down again almost immediately.
Later that night, the flat felt split in two.
Y/N stayed in the living room longer than usual, pretending to read, pretending to scroll, pretending not to listen for something that wasn't coming anymore.
No guitar. No unfinished melodies slipping through walls.
Just silence that felt too structured to be accidental.
At some point, she stood and walked down the hallway.
Harry's door was closed. She stopped in front of it and listened. Nothing.
For a moment, she considered knocking.
Her hand hovered, then dropped back to her side. Not yet.
Instead, she said quietly, just loud enough for the space between doors to carry it, "You don't have to be okay all the time."
There was no answer. But she stood there for a second longer anyway. Then turned and walked back down the hall.
And behind the closed door, Harry didn't move, but he listened, and for the first time since moving in, the silence didn't feel like absence.
It felt like distance.
Something that could grow if neither of them reached for it soon enough.
——————
Y/N barely slept.
She blamed the rain that had started sometime after midnight, tapping steadily against her bedroom window.
She blamed the unfamiliar mattress.
She blamed the radiator that clicked every twenty minutes like it was trying to start a conversation.
She blamed everything except the truth. She couldn't stop thinking about Harry.
Not in the embarrassing, teenage school girl way she refused to acknowledge, but in the quiet, worrying way.
He'd looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
Like he was carrying something too heavy to set down.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the ceiling.
The flat was silent. Too silent.
No guitar. No absentminded humming through the walls.
Just rain.
——————
The next morning arrived grey.
The kind of morning where the sky looked undecided, threatening rain without fully committing.
Y/N wandered into the kitchen in one of Harry's old university hoodies she'd accidentally picked up from the laundry pile the night before.
She froze halfway through making coffee.
"Oops." She looked down at herself.
It was definitely his. Slightly too big.
The sleeves swallowed her hands, and it smelled faintly of cedarwood and whatever washing detergent he used.
She laughed quietly to herself, "this is awkward."
Before she could retreat back to her room, the front door opened. Harry stepped inside. He looked surprised to see her.
Then his eyes dropped, to the hoodie. He stopped walking altogether. "Oh."
Y/N looked up. Then followed his gaze. Then groaned.
"Oh my God."
"I'm so sorry," she laughed, tugging at the hem. "I grabbed it from the laundry basket without looking."
Harry blinked "It's okay."
"I can go change."
"You don't have to."
"I promise I wasn't secretly stealing your clothes." She rushed out, embarrassed.
"I didn't think you were."
"You looked horrified."
"I was just," He rubbed the back of his neck "Surprised."
She smiled sheepishly "It does smell nice."
Harry looked away.
"Thanks."
She disappeared into her room a minute later to change anyway. When she came back, Harry had already made coffee.
Her mug was waiting beside the kettle. He hadn't asked. He just knew which one she'd started using. She smiled to herself before picking it up.
“Thanks." She smiled, he nodded.
"No problem."
It was a tiny thing. So tiny it almost didn't matter. Except somehow, it did.
That afternoon, the rain finally came.
Heavy.
Relentless.
The windows rattled under the wind, and the sky darkened hours before sunset. Y/N had settled on the sofa with a book she hadn't turned a page of in twenty minutes.
Harry emerged from his room wearing headphones around his neck. He hesitated when he saw her.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She raised an eyebrow. He sighed quietly.
"Yeah."
“There you are," she smiled.
"What?" He asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
"You used the real 'yeah.'" She laughed softly.
"I have different 'yeahs'?" He laughed a little.
"Oh, loads."
"I don't."
"You absolutely do."
He looked genuinely concerned.
"I do?" She laughed at this.
"There's your 'leave me alone' yeah."
"I don't have one."
"You do."
"And then there's your 'I'm embarrassed' yeah."
He folded his arms "No."
"And my personal favourite-" She pointed at him dramatically.
"your 'I'm pretending I'm okay because I don't want anyone worrying about me' yeah."
Harry's smile disappeared. Not because he was upset. Because she'd gotten it exactly right.
Y/N's own smile softened. She hadn't meant to hit quite so close to home.
"I'm not trying to call you out," she said gently.
"I know."
He sat down in the armchair opposite her. Rain filled the silence. After a long moment, Harry spoke.
"You're very observant."
"I like people." She said with a shrug.
"I've noticed."
"And I notice them."
He nodded slowly "That sounds terrifying."
She laughed "Only if you're hiding."
His eyes drifted toward the rain soaked window before he said "Maybe I am."
Neither of them said anything after that as the storm outside only grew louder.
And somewhere beneath the sound of the rain, the distance between them began to feel less like a wall and more like something waiting to be crossed.
Neither of them spoke for a while after that.
The rain carried the conversation instead.
It drummed steadily against the living room window, washing the world outside into streaks of grey. Cars hissed through puddles below, their headlights smeared by the rain-soaked glass. The radiator ticked every so often, old and stubborn, never quite deciding if it wanted to heat the room properly.
They never spoke about that day again, leaving it up to emotions being high over a new move, a new place and also trying to navigate life alongside someone you've never met before.
It wasn't long until things went back to somewhat normal (or what they assumed normal was, between two strangers)
The flat felt less tense in the days that followed.
The flat had its own language, it was slowly beginning to show.
The bathroom door that refused to close unless someone lifted the handle.
The kitchen tap that squealed every morning before settling into a steady stream.
Harry noticed things too.
Like how Y/N never drank the first cup of coffee she made.
She'd always leave it on the counter until it went cold while she wandered around opening curtains, watering the little herb plant she'd bought for the windowsill, or dancing absentmindedly to whatever song happened to be stuck in her head.
Then she'd make another.
"You know that's ridiculous," he'd said one morning.
She'd looked over her shoulder "What is?"
"The first coffee."
"What about it?"
"You never drink it."
She'd frowned down at the forgotten mug "I forget."
"Every day."
"I know."
He'd stared at her for a second before quietly sliding the cold mug toward himself. She'd watched him take a sip.
"Are you drinking my abandoned coffee?" She asked with a laugh of disbelief.
He'd shrugged "It seemed lonely."
She'd laughed so hard she'd nearly dropped the spoon she was holding, "You rescue coffee now too?"
"It was going to waste."
"You are impossible." She joked.
"I've been told."
It became routine after that.
Every morning she'd accidentally make two coffees. Every morning Harry would drink the forgotten one without either of them mentioning it
The flat slowly began collecting evidence that two people actually lived there.
Y/N's books spread from her bedroom onto the shelves in the living room, stacked horizontally because she'd run out of space. Harry's records appeared beside the television, organised alphabetically with almost concerning precision.
Her trainers ended up kicked carelessly beside the front door. His sat neatly underneath the coat rack, perfectly aligned.
She bought colourful tea towels because the plain white ones felt "depressing."
Harry didn't understand how tea towels could be depressing. He used them anyway.
She filled the windowsill with little plants she'd convinced herself she could keep alive. Harry quietly watered them whenever she forgot.
She never told him she'd noticed. He never mentioned that he knew she had.
Evenings soon became their favourite part of the day. Not because they did anything exciting. Because they didn't.
Sometimes Y/N would sit cross legged on the sofa reading while Harry worked on his laptop at the dining table, the only sounds in the flat being the turning of pages and the occasional tapping of keys.
Other nights she'd cook while he dried the dishes. He was surprisingly meticulous about it.
Every plate had to be completely dry before it went back into the cupboard.
He'd looked genuinely confused as he said "But I can dry it now."
"I know."
"So why would I leave it wet?"
She'd laughed. "I don't know."
He'd smiled to himself. "You laugh a lot."
She'd looked up from the saucepan she was washing “Is that a complaint?"
"No." A tiny shake of his head.
"I think-" He'd hesitated.
"It makes the flat feel-" He searched for the right word. "Lived in."
Y/N hadn't replied straight away. Because somehow that simple sentence had settled somewhere beneath her ribs.
Instead, she'd nudged his shoulder gently with her own "You're getting sentimental, Styles."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
He'd rolled his eyes but he was still smiling.
There were dozens of moments like that. Small enough that they didn't seem important on their own.
Harry knocking on her bedroom door before leaving for work just to say, "See you later."
Y/N buying an extra pastry because she'd started assuming he'd want one too.
The way he'd automatically move her favourite mug closer to the kettle after washing it.
The way she'd unconsciously lower the volume of the television when she heard him practising guitar.
Neither of them talked about these things. Neither of them noticed when they stopped asking permission.
Can I borrow the milk?
Do you mind if I put the heating on?
Would it be alright if ...
Those questions slowly disappeared. Replaced by an easy certainty. A quiet understanding.
A rhythm. Harmony.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't romantic.
It was simply two people learning the shape of each other's lives and without either of them realizing it, they'd already started leaving room for one another.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
