#pypfc

As soon as he hears his name Harry’s out of his room, throwing his guitar onto his bed, and running to where the sound came from. His roommate, y/n, had gotten into the shower about 10 minutes ago, so it’s most logically her calling out his name. 

He’s kind of freaking out because 1) Based on what Harry knows about y/n, she’s very calm, organized, and independent and 2) He and y/n rarely talk to each other -- so the fact that she's calling out to him, with so much panic in her voice, must mean something has really gone wrong.

He knocks on the door with more force than usual -- partly because the water’s still running and he doesn’t know if y/n can hear him, but mostly because he’s got so much adrenaline running through his veins. His mind is racing and his heart is pounding, and he can’t help but remember that the last time he felt this much concern for someone was when his older sister had fallen off a table at a family reunion.

“Y/n? Are y’alright?” he asks, voice failing to mask his trepidation.

“Please help me.”

It’s difficult for him to hear her response over the sound of running water, but he can clearly make out the pain and desperation in her voice. Millions of scenarios are running through his head, and he has no idea what to expect, surges of anxiety rushing through his body. Without a second thought, he’s pushing against the door, breaking his way in. 

He rushes to the flower-printed shower curtain, hurriedly asking again, “Y/n, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I f-fell,” she sniffles, “and I really hurt m-my ankle Harry.”

The pitch of her voice and her uneven, wavering breaths tell Harry that she’s perilously holding back her sobs. As panicked and worried he himself is, he realizes that y/n’s position is much worse, and that his entire focus should be on soothing y/n. “Can you stand up?”

“No, it hurts too much,” she answers, followed by an aching plea, “Harry, please help me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and apprehensive when he asks, “Is it okay if I open the shower curtain?” 

Just as quietly, y/n gives him the okay. 

Harry pulls the shower curtain aside and finds y/n sitting on the tub floor, leaning forward so that she can cradle her concerningly red ankle. Her position is fetal and vulnerable, yet she managed to shield herself from wandering eyes so that all Harry could see was the expanse of her back and her crossed legs -- plus her face if she hadn’t been crying towards the floor. There's still water streaming onto her head, getting into her eyes and mixing in with her tears, so he turns off the showerhead and kneels by the edge of the tub so he can look at her, face-to-face. 

Although her eyes are glossed over and filled with pain, she isn’t crying loudly. Silent tears fall down her face, clumping her wet eyelashes together and rolling down her cheeks onto her lips -- her red-bitten lips that she’s been continuously chewing on since she let out her first cry. She’s taking deep, shuddering inhales from the overwhelming amount of pain she’s in, and releasing them in choking exhales in an effort to contain her cries.

Harry leans forward and pushes her hair to the back of her head with his palms, moving the messy strands out of her eyes to see her clearly. He cradles her face and swipes his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears and she leans into his hold, finally feeling a little bit more comforted and at ease. 

She had been so panicked and worried when she first fell that the mere thought of it made her choke up again. She hadn’t taken her phone into the bathroom and wasn’t sure if Harry would be able to hear her calling out to him, and when the sharp pains in her ankle had begun to intensify, she had panicked. Her mind had been sent into a frenzy of worrisome thoughts, wondering if anyone would ever come save her or if she had truly rendered her foot useless, making her hopelessly distressed. 

Harry is quick to comfort her as soon as he hears her whimpers, cooing, “Oh darling, shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you now.” He stands up for just a second to grab her towel off the rack and sits back down next to the tub -- wrapping the towel around her body, tucking the edge of it under her armpit, and lifting her out of the tub and into his lap. Settling her on his thighs, he drapes one arm around her back and uses the other to support her sore ankle, preventing it from moving around or hitting anything. 

Immediately after being taken into Harry’s arms, y/n breaks down. She grasps his shirt and nestles into his chest, allowing sobs to take over her body. She’s gasping through her agonizing cries and fisting Harry’s collar more and more tightly as she recalls the extreme distress she felt when she first found herself helpless on the floor. Harry can feel her body shaking with every cry she heaves out, shivering with every weak inhale. His heart breaks for the poor girl who was in so much pain, and wants nothing more but to make it all better. Take all the pain away from her and shower her in lovely thoughts and sweet kisses. He rubs his fingers up and down her spine, coaxing her to let it all out, and whispering small words of empathy. Her ear is pressed up to his chest, right up next to his heart so she can hear it steadily beating. She focuses on the gentle thumping to assuage her racing mind and matches his breathing to calm her own, reducing her weeps into smaller gasps and mewls.

As she begins to calm down, Harry moves away a small bit to observe her. Her lips are still trembling and are perfectly pouty and swollen, and the tip of her nose has tinged pink, wrinkling upwards with each of her small sniffles. His button up is stained with her tears, but he’s more concerned with the fact that there are still tears brimming at her waterline. He noses at the side of her head and fits his lips at the shell of her ear to lowly query, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Peeking out from her resting position on his chest, she weakly whimpers, “I-I dunno really. I was washing the conditioner out of my hair and then somehow m-my foot slipped, and then it twisted underneath me and it hit the side of the tub.” She lets out another shaky exhale, “Harry, it really hurts.”

He lets her tuck her face back into his neck as he tells her, “Darling, it looks kind of bad. I think we need to call an ambulance or summat.”

“No!” she exclaims, “absolutely not! Do you know how expensive those damn ambulances are? I can’t afford to have an ambulance called on my behalf!” 

“Well we need to get you to a hospital, love, or else s’just gonna get worse.”

She thinks for a second, then pouts up at him, “could you take me there please?” 

Out of the two of them, Harry’s the one who has a car, and despite the fact that they go to the same university, she’s never gotten a ride from him. She usually just gets around by walking or taking the bus. 

Harry looks into her tearful eyes and knows that there’s no way in hell he could say no to her. So he gets off the bathroom floor with y/n in his arms, and walks them over to her room.

“Alright, let’s get you some clothes and then I can drive us to the doctors. Is it alright if I go into your room?”

Y/n just nods from her cradled position in his arms.

He pushes the door open with his back and sits y/n on her bed, asking her where he can find her some clothes.

“Underwear is in the top drawer, sweatpants are in the bottom drawer, and my sweaters are hung up in the closet.”

He contains the 12 year old boy in himself as he grabs her the first bra and panties he sees, only slightly ogling the lacy undergarments, then grabs the first pair of folded sweatpants from the bottom drawer. Going into her closet, he goes to her sweaters (all neatly hung up on the left) and picks out the softest looking one. 

“Isn’t this mine?” he questions, turning around.

She’s not looking at him, opting to lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling, sniffling, “Probably. Our clothes get mixed up a lot and you have comfy sweaters.”

He sets the pile of clothes next to her on the bed (definitely not eyeing the tops of her thighs where the towel has ridden up) and heads out of the room to grab an ice pack for her ankle while she changes. 

She’s able to put the sweater on and manages to get the panties right above her knees until she can’t shuffle them underneath her thighs anymore. When Harry knocks on the door, she gives him permission to enter, saying, “Harry, I need your help.”

He’s a teensy bit shocked when he sees her panties only up her thighs as he walks in, but he keeps his cool. “Er- yeah, what’s up?”

“Can you help me stand up please?”

He puts the ice-pack on the bed and wraps his hands around her upper body, circling his fingers around her ribs to hoist her up. Accidentally, his fingers slip up a bit too high and he pinches at her breasts, fingers grazing at the swell of her chest. He pulls away quickly, yelping, “Woah! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I-I thought I brought you a bra...”

“You did,” she quips with pursed lips, “I just didn’t put it on. I’m already in enough pain, I don’t need a bra on top of that.”

So, again, he wraps his hands around her body, thumbs pressing into the plushy underside of her breasts, and hoists her up so that she can balance herself on the leg that isn’t injured, shuffling her underwear around her hips. They repeat the process so y/n can put on her sweatpants, and once she’s fully dressed Harry runs into his room, grabbing his keys, wallet and phone, shoving them into his pocket, and swooping y/n back into his arms.

“Anythin’ you need before we go?” he asks her, bending down so that she can grab the ice pack from her bed.

She politely tells him she only needs her phone and guides him to its position on her dresser before Harry carries her out of their apartment, locking the door behind himself.

Y/n snuggles into Harry’s tight hold as he walks them down the parking garage, and is reluctant to hop out of his embrace when they reach his car. He was providing her with so much aide and comfort and she was feeling so thankful for him. Despite the fact that this was the most time they had ever voluntarily spent together, he was being the most supportive and loving person ever.

As Harry slides her into the passenger's seat, she softly voices her thanks.

His jade eyes flicker to hers when he hears her voice, frail and weak from all her crying, and he assures her, “It’s no problem, darling,” while buckling her up. “Now let's get you to the doctors.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

So it turns out that y/n had fractured her ankle, resulting in a wonky cast around her leg and firm orders from the doctor to avoid walking on it at all costs.

This makes her a bit more dependent on Harry than she was normally used to. 

You see, y/n and Harry hadn’t even known each other when they started living together. Y/n had initially moved into her apartment with her childhood friend, Katie, but after Katie dropped out of college and moved back home (something y/n had also considered doing during many of her 1 am procrastination sessions), y/n needed to find a roommate -- preferably within the span of that same month so that she wouldn’t be forced to pay rent on her own. She spread the word to everyone she knew until finally, three weeks into her hunt, the nice boy who sat next to her in her Aristotelian Philosophy class  -- named Niall if she remembered correctly -- told her that one of his best mates, Harry, was in desperate need of a flat to move into (His old apartment complex had caught on fire after the elderly woman on the top floor accidentally left a candle on, so he was forced to permanently abandon his previous place of residence).

Within three days of contacting Harry, he was moving his things into Katie’s old room.

At the very beginning of their roommate-ship, the pair made a mutual agreement to keep their private lives separate. It wasn’t anything hostile that kept them separated from each other! It was simply the fact that they were both keen on maintaining their personal space -- plus, they were in two totally different majors and didn’t hang out in any of the same social groups. The only time they really ever saw each other was in the mornings or at night, with the occasional run-in in the kitchen when they were both grabbing something to eat. 

That had been their system for the past four months. Now, however, things were entirely different. 

Within the three days since the accident, y/n and Harry had spent more time with each other than ever before. With y/n depending on Harry to help her move from room to room, and him being so willing to cater to her needs, it was inevitable for them to eventually start talking and getting to know each other. Albeit, it was still fairly awkward small talk... but still. They were talking with each other, learning more about their counterpart, and discovering new small details about the other. Instead of making food for themselves and eating it alone, Harry was now offering to cook her dinner and eat it with her on the couch while discussing different shows and music they liked. Or rather than isolating themselves in their respectful rooms and doing homework by themselves, they now did it together in a shared space -- like today. 

Right now, they’re both in the living room, quietly sitting in each other’s presence and completing their work. Y/n’s on the couch, wrapped up in one of those fuzzy blankets and closing a textbook she had just finished reading an excerpt of. Harry is at the dining room table -- typing away on his laptop doing whatever Political Science majors tend to do -- when y/n asks “Can you grab me my laptop, please?”

He’s up in a second, responding, “Yep. S’it in your room?”

“It is, thank you.”

Harry doesn’t mind helping y/n out -- he personally knows the difficulties of having an injury (He broke his wrist once after falling out a tree. Long story.), and wishes someone had taken care of him the same way he was taking care of y/n. Plus.. he thinks doting on someone and tending to their needs is endearing in a way. He wants to have someone to take care of, to feed, to coddle, and loves the way she’s so dependent on him. It’s the weird, protective nature in himself that makes him this way.

Handing her the laptop he retrieved, y/n thanks him again, making Harry let out a breathy chuckle. “Y’already thanked me once,” he says, eying her with a teasing grin.

“Well I guess I’m awfully thankful for you then! I’ve got you holed up in here, stuck with me -- all because I couldn’t stand on my own two feet in the shower! And I keep making you do things for me, I need to lay off for a bit. I’m sorry.”

Again he laughs at her, shaking his head, “Darling, I’ve told you already that I don’t mind. I needed to do my work anyway, I’m just doing it here instead of my room.” 

She almost thanks him for that as well, but catches herself just before she says it, turning to her laptop screen instead.

“Did you finish that literary analysis for Rockerfell’s class?” Harry asks her.

“Oh, er- no I haven’t finished it yet,” she answers. “How’d you know about that?”

“We’re in the same class, silly.”

“What?” She didn’t know about this. “How? I thought we’re in different majors.”

“We are,” Harry responds, “I’m in political science, but I took Rockerfell’s lit class as an elective.” 

“Oh wow! I didn’t… I didn’t know we were in the same class. Have you finished it?”

“Mhm,” he says with a proud smirk (he prides himself in being part of the small population that doesn’t procrastinate), “finished it yesterday.”

Y/n frowns at the thought of her unfinished classwork, really not in the mood to think about school. “I’ve got the conclusion left, but I’m shit at conclusions,” she huffs. “How many ways can I rewrite my thesis without saying the same thing over and over again?”

“Do you want some help?” Harry offers. “I could read over it if you’d like.”

“Oh would you? That would be so helpful, thank you!”

He sits next to her on the couch as she passes him her laptop, and begins reading. “Wow… I love what you did with transcendentalism and the whole ‘lack of spiritual connection with the physical world,’” he tells her. “This is golden.”

Y/n blushes from his compliment, and finds herself bashfully observing him. His left hand is unconsciously picking and prodding at his bottom lip while his eyes scan the screen, flickering back and forth. She’s startled when his eyes flash up to her, worried that he might have found her staring strange, but he says nothing of it and simply asks, “Is it okay if I type something out?” She nods her consent. 

“There were a couple of little grammatical issues here and there that I cleared up, and I typed up a little outline for your concluding statement if you want to use it. Other than that it was magnificent. You really know your shit, don’t you?”

Her cheeks flush once more as she grabs her laptop from him, timidly speaking, “I like the subject, I guess. It’s really interesting.”

He lets out a hum of acknowledgment and watches as she quickly types out a conclusion. Biting at her nails, she mutters underneath her breath, “This is good enough. I doubt Rockerfell even reads our conclusions,” then abruptly turns her head to him. “Is it time for dinner yet? I’m hungry. We can get some take out if you’d like.”

Her change in character is fascinating, and he finds himself in admiration of how cute she is. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs in amusement, “lets get some takeout.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

On Wednesday morning, Harry wakes up bright and early to complete his morning routine -- only today, rather than just making pancakes for himself, he makes a stack for y/n as well. 

He takes them to her room and carefully enters, barely seeing y/n’s head peeking out from under the covers, with her face smushed into her pillow and her hair messily splayed over her face. Underneath her blanket, he can see that her entire body is sprawled out on her bed, legs starfishing across her mattress, with her arms tightly clutching the pillow her head is resting on.

“Y/nnn,” he gently sing-songs, placing her plate on her bedside table and sitting next to her on the bed, “It’s time to get up.” Her face scrunches up for a second and she lets out a hum, momentarily gaining awareness, but it fades away just as quickly as it appears. 

“Y/n, darling,” he tucks a piece of loose hair behind her ear, “I’ve made you breakfast.” She takes a deep breath and shuffles from her side onto her back, drowsily blinking her eyes open. Squinting through the bright morning sunlight, her brain somewhat begins to comprehend her surroundings as she looks around her room, eyes landing on Harry. “G’morning sunshine,” he beams at her.

“Hi, Harry,” she says sleepily. Her eyebrows furrow, “Why am I awake?”

“We’ve got our Literature class in two hours, and I’m going to drive you. Eat up. I hope you like pancakes.”

She sits upright at the thought of breakfast, shaking the tiredness out of her system and knuckling at her eyes to clear away any remnants of sleep. “Oh gosh, Harry, you’re a right angel. I can’t remember the last time I ate breakfast before one of my morning classes.”

She makes grabby hands at the plate of pancakes as Harry passes it to her and stands up from her bed, telling her, “You’ve got an hour to get ready. I want us to leave early, since you and your broken arse are going to slow us down.”

“Hey!” she whines as he walks out, “Be nice to me, I’m injured! I can’t believe I’m living with such a bully.”

He just giggles at her dramatics.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

Harry was right in suggesting that they leave earlier than usual. Y/n hadn’t really practiced using her crutches since she had gotten injured (preferring to just be carried around the house by Harry instead) and found that she absolutely hated using them. They were a little too high for her so they uncomfortably dug into her armpits, and she didn’t understand the mechanisms of using them at all. Did she move the crutches forward and then herself? Was it one foot at a time or both of them together? How the fuck was she supposed to make her way accross campus while having to keep her injured foot off the floor for the entire day?

 So when she hopped out of Harry’s car and began her trek to class with the aid of her crutches… well, let's just say she wasn’t entirely the fastest. She was hobbling around, alternating between using one of her crutches as a makeshift cane, or using them to drag her fractured ankle forward -- at a speed of approximately two steps per minute.

Harry, being the angel that he was, patiently waited for her, not rushing her in any way and being so supportive she could cry. Almost like a father helping his child take their first steps, he encouraged her, throwing the occasional “c’mon love, you’ve got this” and “you’re doing great sweetheart” her way. 

“I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to get around with these damn crutches!” she utters during a breather. Her voice is laced with immense amounts of irritation, but it’s masked through her intense huffing and puffing. Who knew using crutches was so labor intensive? “Feel like I’ve ran a marathon and we’ve not even made it three feet from your car!”

They kept at this pace for 10 minutes, and as accommodating as Harry tried to be towards y/n’s condition, he was getting concerned that they would be late to their class. Dr. Rockerfell was one of those professors who was extremely strict on punctuality and would lock his doors the minute class started. Nobody was ever let into class if they showed up late. Plus, the guy who showed up tardy on the first day of the semester tells horror stories of unexplained failed grades and missing assignments, and neither Harry nor y/n want to deal with Rockerfell’s wrath. 

When there’s less than 15 minutes left until the class starts and they’re still in the quad (quite a while away from their class) Harry stops her. “Give me your crutches.”

“What?”

“Give me your crutches and take my bag. ‘M g’na give you a piggy-back ride.”

“Oh, goodie!” she’s squealing like a giddy little girl about to hop onto a rollercoaster and eagerly exchanges her crutches for his bag, slinging it across her back while Harry leans the crutches against a wall. He bends down so y/n can wrap her arms around his neck, the hoists her up, hooking his arms under her knees and tucking her thighs between his biceps and ribcage. With her on his back, he’s immersed in the way she feels against his back, encased in the scent of her perfume. She’s warm and soft, so soft! Her hands are soft as they rest on his chest, the material of her sweater is soft against his arms, her small breaths are soft against the shell of his ear. He’s only broken out of this trance when y/n hollers, “Onwards, my noble steed!” finally moving them forward at a normal rate. 

They make it there with five minutes to spare, and for the first time ever, they sit next to each other. Harry drops her down before the walk into the classroom because she “can’t have everyone thinkin’ I’m some damsel in distress” and they both sit at the first open spots. 

The first hour of their lecture is fine, with Harry typing up notes on his laptop and y/n writing them out in her notebook (they each have their own preferences in note-taking). They spend the period sharing notes and bits of information the other missed, with Harry frequently tilting his laptop screen towards y/n when she’s struggling to keep up. Going into the second hour of the lecture however, y/n is bored out her mind and Harry is dozing off. They both loved their literature class, but Rockerfell had the tendency to go off onto… irrelevant tangents. It’s been 15 minutes of Rockerfell describing his own experience of reading Catch 22 in college rather than actually analyzing the novel, and Harry’s on the verge of completely falling asleep -- but he’s woken up by y/n nudging his shoulder. He turns his head to her, but rather than being met with eye contact, he’s met with a blank sheet of her notebook pointed in his direction, with a tiny note scrawled onto the page.

I’m so tired of this story, she’s written. 

How did we go from talking about a war novel to Rockerfell’s college girlfriend? I’m this close to falling asleep. He writes back.

He observes how she bites her lip as she writes down a response, and then how she looks back up at Rockerfell with faux interest as she passes the notebook back. Can he not tell when people aren’t interested in his stories? MOVE ON!

Chuckling while reading her note, he scribbles something down for her. She glances at the page, and scoffs at the game of tic tac toe he’s drawn out. For the rest of the period, they continue passing notes and playing secret games until Rockerfell finally ends his story, and dismisses the lecture.

“Where do you usually go after class?” Harry asks her as he waits for her to pack up her bag. 

“Well, usually I go to the library, n’I try to do a bit of studying there. Mostly because the bus I ride home comes in two hours.”

“You sit around for two hours just ‘cos you have no way home?” he frowns, “We’re in the same fuckin’ class love, why didn’t you ever ask me to take you home?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. We just didn’t talk. Thought it might be too much to ask of my distant housemate.”

“Well you won’t be needing that anymore. Consider me your personal chauffeur, I’ll take you anywhere you’d like from now on.”

“Thank you Harry, that’s very kind of you,” she says through a giggle, cheeks tinging pink at his consideration.

“Now, did I hear your stomach growling during that lecture?” he questions, “Were my pancakes not enough for you, you ravenous beast? Let’s take you home so I can make you something to eat.”

“Oh! Can you make me some of that zucchini chicken thing you make for yourself sometimes?” she pleads with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, starting her straining trek on the crutches again. “I see your leftovers in the fridge all the time and it smells really good.”

“Of course, darling. Anything you’d like.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve been tempted to steal your leftovers. Take me home, I’m starving!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

As y/n’s ankle began to grow stronger, so did her and Harry’s friendship. Within the mere five weeks that Harry had started helping her around the house and on campus, they’d grown from barely acquantanced housemates to the bestest of friends. They spent almost all their time together. 

In the mornings, Harry would always make breakfast for the two of them. If y/n wasn’t awake yet, he would rouse her gently with kind words, soft touches, and promises of food and hot chocolate. If she had woken up on time, however, she would sit on the counter right next to Harry’s cooking station and engage in pleasant conversation, while observing him as he seamlessly made his way around the kitchen. 

She found that he could make the simplest actions more entertaining, creating a whole show of prepping their breakfast. He’d fiddle on his phone until his bluetooth connected to a speaker and would play them some music from his “happy morning” playlist, using his whisk as a makeshift microphone and singing along to the songs that played. Dancing around y/n, he’d perform a dramatic rendition of Queen’s Killer Queen until she was left in a fit of giggles, applauding him and cheering for an encore, before actually using the whisk to mix his batter. 

While waiting for the first side of their pancakes to cook, Harry would cut up fruit for the two of them, telling her to open up and feeding small pieces to her off the knife. He’d poke and pinch at her sides while she ate, making her squirm around on the counter until the pancakes were ready to be flipped (“Ok, are you ready? Watch this.” he’d say before flicking his wrist, flipping his pancake up into the air, and landing it on the opposite side. This was always followed by a shower of compliments from y/n, “Such a skilled chef. It’s like we have Gordon Ramsey himself in our kitchen!”) then plating them up so that the two of them could eat together. 

He’d drop her off at class, letting her play whatever music she wanted in the car, and he’d come back a couple hours later to pick her up, always creating a schedule compatible with her’s so that they could spend their days together. She’d come with him to the gym and play 2048 on her phone while Harry worked out, and he would help her stretch her leg when it started to cramp up after using her crutches all day (which she’s slowly but surely gotten better at using). They’d study together, with Harry quizzing y/n on her flashcards and y/n cluelessly nodding along to the Comparative Government lecture he would present to her, and they’d spend all their free time together -- talking with each other about the simplest of matters to their own personal concerns.

Most importantly, they had crossed the cuddle barrier. It started as them just watching movies together in y/n’s bed, which directly faced the TV she had mounted on her wall, only consisting of a small amount of contact, the most being y/n leaning over to Harry and stealing a sip of his tea. Over time though, it evolved into them sharing a blanket... then Harry lightly brushing their legs together... then y/n resting her head on his shoulder... until eventually, y/n was latched onto him like a leech. They would watch movies together and quip at scenes they were fond of, with Harry’s arm wrapped around y/n’s shoulders, her legs draped over Harry’s, and her head resting on his chest, right underneath his chin.

And, despite the fact that they had gone from barely seeing each other three times a week to spending a majority of time with each other for the better part of the past month and a half, they still weren’t tired of hanging out. They were just so compatible -- it shocked them that they hadn’t become best friends sooner.

It was a new fact in the world: Harry and y/n were best friends. Even everyone else noticed how friendly the pair were getting.

“Do you want to come out with us today, mate?” Adam asks Harry as the two of them (and Mitch) walk out of class together.

Harry responds mindlessly, more focused on his phone (aka where he’s texting y/n) than the conversating at hand, “Not today, I’ve got to get home.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at home,” Adam acknowledges, “barely spend time with us anymore. Seems like you prefer your roommate over us.”

“Yeah, I thought you two never talked. What happened to that?” Mitch pipes in.

“Dunno, she broke her foot so I’ve been helping her out. She’s really cool.” he mumbles, head still in his phone.

“Yeah a proper cutie too.” Adam hums, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Are y’planning to make a move on her or something?”

This catches Harry’s attention, as he looks up from his phone, lips parted in pique and eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve spent the entire month cooped up in your apartment with her,” Adam explains, “And when you aren’t in your flat, you’re still glued to her hip. Hell, even now when we’ve got you alone you’re off texting her like a puppy in love.”

“Either she’s doing your homework for you, or you’ve got a mad crush on her, lad.” Mitch resolves.

Harry thinks for a moment. Does he have a crush on her? Sure he loves spending time with her and would do everything in his power to make her smile. And, yeah he wants to dote on her and cook her food and snuggle up with her every night. And ok, maybe he spends an extra minute stroking her cheek when he wakes her up in the mornings, or admiring her lips, imagining how sweet they would taste, how nice they would feel to suckle on… but that doesn’t mean he has a crush on her! 

“Stop talking shit,” Harry grumbles, rolling his eyes and standing up, “She’s just one of m’really good friends. A lot more fun than you wankers.”

They let out offended squawks as Harry packs up his bag, “Anyway,” he carries on, “I’ve gotta run. Y/n’s class s’gonna get out soon ‘n I told her I’d pick her up.”

He gives them a parting wave and a ‘see you later’ before turning around, heading toward the Literature department. He doesn’t see the knowing glance his friends share in his eagerness to see y/n, and definitely doesn’t hear what Mitch says as he walks away.

“Just friends, my ass. He’s bloody in love with her.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

“I’m tired of this week, it’s been crap. I can’t wait to sleep tonight.” y/n says as she makes way towards Harry, who’s waiting next to his car, one leg propped up against his car with his phone in hand. 

“Rough day?” Harry asks.

“You don’t know the half of it.” she groans, climbing into the passenger’s seat of Harry’s car. “I don’t even want to think about my classes.” 

“Come on then,” he says, starting the car, “you can pick t’night’s movie, n’then I’ll give you a cuddle. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds splendid. Wake me up when we get home.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

Their movie night goes swimmingly well. Y/n chooses Pride and Prejudice  as their film of the night (the 2005 version because Kiera Knightley can like… get it), and like usual, they fall asleep half-way through the movie. Legs tangled together and y/n snuggled underneath Harry’s arm, fully latched onto his side.

It’s in the morning when they run into some trouble. 

Like almost every other morning, Harry wakes up earlier than y/n. He’s still in that sweet spot where he’s only somewhat conscious and (for the most part) is still unaware of his surroundings, not fully comprehending his thoughts. He can tell that the morning air is blissfully quiet, and that the warmth that he’s feeling on his face is the early morning sun shining through the window. He can tell that he’s bundled up underneath the covers, safe like the way his mother used to tuck him in. He can tell that he’s inhaling a familiar scent of roses and vanilla that makes his heart flutter. And he can tell that, overall, he’s feeling warm, fuzzy, and completely relaxed.

He can’t figure out what he’s cuddled up to, but he can tell that it's soft… and that if he shifts his hips just right, his cock nudges against whatever he’s cuddling so tightly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. It’s overwhelming for him to feel this good when he’s just woken up, and he really can't tell how or why he’s feeling this way -- but he knows that if he ruts his hips forward just a little bit, there's a delicious friction that sends his body into overdrive. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

He thrusts his hips forward once, and it’s heaven. He does it a second time, and feels nothing but euphoria. The third time he does it, he drags it out. Rolls his hips into whatever sensual thing is in front of him, completely nestling his cock against the plush seduction. His mind is still groggy but it just feels so good, and he can’t stop himself. Can’t stop himself from grinding forward. Can’t stop himself from groaning out in sheer pleasure.

Can’t stop himself until he hears y/n whimper out his name.

It’s only then that he comes out of his senseless state, understanding what he’s doing.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Harry had latched onto y/n and pulled her so close that her back was pressed flat to his front and his face was nuzzled into the back of her neck. The alluring object that he had been rutting his hips into had been y/n’s backside, the scent he had been inhaling had been the scent of y/n’s shampoo, and the dirty thoughts that had aroused his actions had been about y/n.

Even worse, in the midst of his unconsciousness, Harry had snaked his hand underneath y/n’s shirt to cup her bare chest. His palm had been encasing the swell of her breast, his thumb had been grazing her pert nippled, and he had latently been grasping onto her tit whilst grinding against her ass.

“Fuck.” He hadn’t meant to do this. Hadn’t meant to ruin the dynamic of their friendship. Hadn’t meant to let the tiny, niggling thought of an inchoate crush force him into a difficult position. Hadn’t meant to put y/n into such an uncomfortable situation. “I’m so sorry. Fuck.” 

There are thousands of thoughts running through his head (most of them scolding himself for being a perverted idiot who thinks with his dick instead of his brain) and he hears an incessant blaring in his head, screaming at him that he’s majorly fucked up. It’s horrendous and never ending, a terrible reminder that he’s ruined the best friendship he’s had in a long time. 

He’s hastily moving away from her, pulling his hips back and retracting his hand from the grip it had on her breast. Trying to make her impending rejection easier on the both of them. Flashes of regret pulse through his body, and he’s just about ready to fall off the face of the earth, until he hears the smallest squeak from y/n.

“wait…” 

It’s hushed, but Harry hears it. Pausing, he stays absolutely motionless to listen to what she says. “That's… it’s alright… you don’t have to…”

Her words diminish, in hopes that he’ll understand what she’s implying, but when he’s still frozen -- hand half-way off her tit and still in position to launch himself into the bathroom -- she utters it out.

“it’s okay… you don’t need to stop.”

Is she- is she telling him that she’s okay with him getting off on her? 

“What? A-are y’sure?” he anxiously wonders.

“Mhm. I want you to.”

And who’s he to refuse?

Gently, he lowers himself back down to her figure, grazing his nose against the slope of her neck and inhaling deeply, breathing in her scent. He’s grabbing her chest once again, fitting his hand around the underside of her breast, and delicately palming it. Dimpling the lush skin with his fingers as he fondles her breast, making her moan as he pinches at her nipple.

He drives his hips forward again, burrowing his cock into the curve of her ass, and shamelessly moans when y/n rocks her body into his. She can feel his erection rubbing against her, shifting up and down, and can’t help herself from shimmying backwards and pressing herself into him. He’s panting into her neck, “Y’so soft. Couldn’t help myself.”

The vibrations of his voice resonate through y/n’s chest, making her mewl out as she grinds her hips backwards, his hard cock snug against her ass. His fingers are still toying with her tits, rolling the hardened nub of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of pleasure down her body. It’s as if a wire connected Harry’s hands with her core, shooting electric ecstasy throughout her body with every touch of his fingertips. Her chest flutters every time she feels his hands groping her breasts, head spinning as she feels his length rubbing against her.

He releases her breast and traces his hand down her stomach, feeling it quiver as he skims his fingertips down her ribcage, to the waistline of her shorts. Toying with the material there, he whispers in her ear, “Can I touch you? Please, ‘m dying to.”

She moans out a ‘yes,’ voice dripping with desire, before Harry slips his hand down her panties, sinking his fingers in the wetness that's pooled just below her clit. They groan out in sync -- y/n at the shock of his cool fingers dipping into her warmth, and Harry at her soaked state. With his fingers coated in her fervor, he circles up to her clit rubbing tight circles onto her nerves, each swipe of his finger coiling the spring of her orgasm just a bit tighter. 

He dips two of his fingers inside her and she moans out as they deftly feel their way around, finding their way to her sweet spot of pleasure. The trigger to her climax. Her walls clamp down on his fingers as he strokes it once, twice, three times. Then he’s adding the sweet pressure of his palm against her clit for her to grind down on, igniting waves of bliss all throughout her body.

Each time Harry surges his hips forward, it pushes y/n forward just the slightest bit so that she’s pressing harder against his fingers, the arousement of her nerves intensifying in the most heavenly way. He keeps his strokes at her walls deep and his caresses consistent, nudging the underside of her clit where she’s particularly sensitive, until she’s cumming.

And god, it’s so good. She’s seeing stars and shuddering with pleasure as he continues to stimulate her clit. The anticipation that had led up to her climax had tipped over, sending a whirlwind of exhilaration through her body, her hips jerking forward to meet Harry’s movements to make it last as long as possible. 

Harry’s groaning into her ear, coaxing her through her climax, whispering nothing but filthy adorations. “Y’feel so good baby, s’pretty when y’cum.” Even through the confines of his sleepwear, his humping and thrusting has managed to kindle him, bringing him to the edge. It’s with her sweet moans and the convulsing of her body that he’s finally able to let go, releasing himself into his boxers. Sure it’s messy, but it’s absolutely mind-blowing. The build-up, the tension, the pure lust, had all escalated to an eruption of nirvana, in what Harry could only define as one of the best orgasms of his life. 

He lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment in a post-orgasmic haze, before he springs out of bed to get himself out of the absolute disaster in his boxers. Stepping into the bathroom, he wets two towels (one for his own thighs, currently covered in a copious amount of cum, and one for y/n), and hurries back to her figure in the bed, wiping her down so that she’s no longer messy in between her thighs. He rests his hand on the side of her face as he looks at her, cheeks flushed and eyes drowsily blinking up at him.

“M’sleepy,” she mumbles, leaning into his palm and snuggling under the covers once again. Despite haven woken up not even half an hour ago, she’s so fucked out that she’s ready to crash down once again. Plus, she would still be asleep if it weren’t for Harry’s… prodding. 

“Sleep then,” he whispers to her, “we have nowhere to be.” Wrapping an arm around her, he lays by her side and allows her to rest her head on his shoulder. 

He falls asleep engulfed in the scent of roses and vanilla.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

When y/n wakes up, she’s alone in her bed.

It’s not a particularly strange occurrence -- she’s been waking up alone for the majority of her life -- but on this particular day, she’d sort of expected to wake up next to Harry. Not alone. 

Was that wrong of her to expect? She’d just been fingered by her best friend that she’d secretly had a crush of for fucking forever, and he’d left her in the morning. Couldn’t she have at least gotten an explanation? A good morning? This just felt dirty and cheap… like a one night stand. Was she expected to do the walk of shame too? To where... the kitchen to get breakfast?

It’s disheartening. The small giddy part of her that had been excited about possibly taking things with Harry to the next level was absolutely crushed. Any fluffy feelings she had prior to waking up were replaced were embarrassment, disappointment, and honestly, a little bit of heartbreak. Wouldn’t anyone else feel the same way after being abandoned?

Was that a casual thing for him? Did he do that with all his friends?

Faintly she can hear the sound of music coming from the kitchen. The smell of breakfast is filtering through the room, inviting her to the kitchen, but she’s really, really dreading any confrontation with Harry.

Did he regret it? Did he not want that? Had he felt obliged to get her off? 

God, she doesn’t even want to think about it! She liked Harry so much! He was nice and gentle and he’d helped her when she was helpless. He’d cooked for her and watched movies with her and given her cuddles and hugs. And he was pretty -- so pretty! 

He had pretty green eyes that looked just like emerald gems in the light. Green eyes that made her feel at home, and all lovey dovey inside. That would gleam bright when he would wake her up in the mornings, and be soft and kind whenever she was rambling to him. 

And his lips were so pink and lush. He had the prettiest, most perfect taffy lips, she had decided. Round and plump lips that perfectly dipped into a heart shaped cupid’s bow, and pouted out whenever she wouldn’t finish her pancakes, or spread into a smile whenever she was clumsy and fumbled around their apartment on her crutches. Lips that were so soft whenever they brushed against her ear as he whispered something to her in Rockerfell’s class.

And his hair, don’t even get her started on his hair. His beautiful hair that she would run her fingers through whenever he laid himself down on her lap. His hair that tickled her whenever they cuddled, because his curls went down to his shoulder and she always rested her head on his shoulder. His hair that smelled like her, because “i just love the way you smell. Smell all rosy and vanilla-y, can’t blame me for wanting to smell like you.”

He was so nice and pretty and kind and soft, and then he had the audacity to let her wake up alone in the morning??

Her racing thoughts are interrupted by a knock at her door, and a happy Harry peeking his head into her room. “Oh good, y’awake. I’m making us some brekkie.” he says as he pops her a cute little grin. 

‘Damn him and his morning voice and his good cooking and his dumb dimples,’ y/n thinks to herself while he continues. “Won’t start without you, hurry up.”

‘He’s acting so normal,’ y/n thinks, hauling herself out of her bed, ‘does this mean he doesn’t want to talk about it? Are we going to pretend like it never happened?’

He’s plating a bunch of pancakes when she walks into the kitchen, and brings them to their breakfast table as she takes a seat. Flashing her a dimpled smile, he plops down into the seat right next to her, throwing out a “bon appetite” before he digs in.

She’s deep in thought as she takes her first bite, staring directly at Harry while she hyper-analyzes his every move. He’s just taken a massive bite of his pancakes, tongue peeking out the slightest bit as he shoves a forkful into his mouth, jaw defined everytime it clenches down, his cheeks absolutely stuffed as he chews with pursed lips. His eyes catch her’s, noticing her gaze, but she looks away immediately, dropping her sight to the plate in front of her, cheeks tinging red.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asks, putting his fork down. 

“No nothing,” she hums, eyes still downcast and voice a pitch too high.

“Yes there is,” Harry knows this. Y/n is never this shy and blushy, and she answered him too quickly. She’s obviously worrying herself, and it’s more than likely that she’s thinking about the event that occurred earlier that morning. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not if you don’t want to.” she replies, far too fast.

She’s clearly not going to be able to face the topic head on by herself, so Harry takes control of the conversation. “I think we should talk about this morning.”

She can’t bring herself to make eye contact with him. “It’s okay if you want to ignore it,” she quietly tells him, “we can pretend it never happened.”

Oh. 

Well he hadn't expected that. He thought she liked it… did he misinterpret the situation? Like she did say yes, but was it a pity yes? Did he imagine that they were having a moment or was she not as into it as he was?

“Do- do you regret it?” he timidly asks. Had she been grossed out? Did she think he was some sort of perv who couldn’t keep his prick in his pants?

“No,” she mumbles, “but I understand if I crossed a line.”

He doesn’t get it. How could she possibly think she had done anything wrong? “If you...what? If you crossed a line? I was the one who was dry humping you in my sleep...”

“I- well,” she blushes as she stutters, “I mean you wanted to leave. I was the one who told you to stay.”

“and then I was fucking beggin’ to get you off!” He doesn’t get it! Hadn’t he been obvious in his affection for her?

She’s silent, cheeks still tinted pink as she stares blankly at the table. “You weren’t there when I woke up. I just assumed…”

Oh. Oh no.

He’s such an idiot. He’d gotten out of bed to make them breakfast without even thinking of the way that might come off to y/n. He treasures her! He adores her! He thinks she’s the sweetest thing on the planet, the prettiest girl in the world! And yet he’d gone on and made her think that he’d just humped n dumped her. “Oh, lovie, m’so sorry I didn’t mean for you to feel that way. I was just gonna make us some breakfast.” 

Cupping her jaw he lifts her face so that he can look into her eyes. He pushes the small strands of hair that fell into her face out of the way so that their eyes could meet, and leans in close to her. They’re only a couple of inches apart as he softly tells her, “I should’ve stayed in bed with you. Given you the proper good morning you deserved.”

He brings his hand up to her mouth and gazes it at it longingly as he runs the pad of his thumb back and forth on her bottom lip. Mesmerizes himself with the way her lips feel, how soft they are, how plump they are. The way her bottom lip indents under the lightest pressure he puts against it, and how it bounces back into place when he tugs on it just the slightest bit. 

“Could’ve woken you up with cuddles and kisses, n’told you how much I like you. That y’my best friend, but you’re also the prettiest girl in the world, n’that I’m always thinkin’ about how cute y’are.” 

She’s listening intently to every word he says, watching him speak. Watching how his lips sculpt every word, and how he enunciates all his syllables. Looks at his eyes that flicker between her eyes and her lips as he pulls her closer and nudges their noses together.

They both shut their eyes as Harry rests his forehead against hers, taking in the intimacy of the moment. She’s just a breath away, so close to him that he can feel her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. So close that he can feel every breath of hers, every puff that leaves her tingling lips. He worships her.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers to her, grazing their lips together. She’s inhaling each of his words as he speaks them out into the meager distance between them, mustering up enough composition to respond to him with a delicate ‘please.’

He brings his hand down to the shadow of her jawline and rests his thumb on the curve of it, sliding his fingers into her hair as he captures her bottom lip between his, and suckles on it. And, god, she’s so sweet. She tastes sugary and syrupy as he licks at the seam of her lips, relishing in the taste of her. Her lips are soft and plush as they pucker against his, and her skin is warm and smooth underneath his thumb that’s grazing back and forth on the edge of her jaw. And when he starts to nip and nibble at the lip that’s slotted between his own, she lets out the sweetest little moans into his mouth, whimpering and reaching out to grab at him in any way she can. 

She mimics him and slips her fingers into his hair, tangling them into the curly strands and tugging at them in a way that makes Harry just groan out in pure ecstasy. He thinks that he’s been sent straight to heaven with this divine kiss from his angel, and really doesn’t want it to ever stop -- but he can tell that she’s running out of breath. So he pulls away slowly, lips clinging together as he pulls away, and just about melts when she whimpers into his mouth in protest of him releasing her lips.

Dreamily blinking her eyes open, she looks at him with heart-eyes, trying to catch her breath and huffing out small puffs of air onto his lips that she’d just been latched onto. She’s floating through Harry-land, and she’s all blushy and rosy while Harry gazes down at her fondly. She just can't resist from flitting forward to press the sweetest peck against his lip, and then nuzzling her cheek into the hold he’s maintained. “I think I really like you, Harry.” she dazedly tells him with a cute smile, blinking her doe eyes up at him.

* indicates mature content 

. . . 

YELLOW* :: [5D] by @andwhenshesays :: Pain Kink H - or, what transpired backstage after Tattoo Roulette.  

GIRL CRUSH* :: [7E] by @avhrodite :: Harry’s got a crush and it’s on his best friend, who’s making him blush.

THREE :: [8C] by @bfharry :: More than anything, Harry wanted his children to grow up around music. He wanted each of them to connect with it from an early age, just like he did. So, he chose a song for each of them. 

A LITTLE LOVE :: [11E] by @dallas-suit-harry :: Harry is your best friend and your coworker, but you see him as more. Maybe you both just want a little love.

DREAMY :: [8E] by @daydreamsofh :: Yearning, yearning, pining. More yearning, yearning, and some more yearning. Sometimes our wildest day dreams do come true.

A LONELY RED CARNATION :: [3G] by @decadentbellepoetrygoop :: In which florist!harry falls for a girl who always buys lilies but he’s got some issues. 

MY DATE WITH THE PRESIDENT’S SON :: [5A] by @eloquent--asshole :: How could this be happening? What did I do to deserve the position to role play as the President’s slutty son’s romantic interest?

WANNA BE YOURS* :: [3F] by @for-fucks-sake-h :: Bandana wearing sub H feat. edging, love, and a deep devotion.    

THE SWEETEST FRUIT* :: [11I] by @fromyourstrulyh​ :: In which Harry is craving for the sweetest fruit for breakfast.   

ALWAYS BE YOUR FRIEND :: [8E] by @gucciwins :: It’s easy to love your best friend but it’s not easy being in love with them.  Harry and Y/N became friends from the moment they first met. Will they take a chance and confess their feelings or will they watch each other fall in love with someone else? 

ROSES AND VANILLA* :: [5E] by @goldenfeelin :: In which y/n and Harry aren’t really close until y/n falls in the shower, and Harry falls in love. 

THE HONEYMOON* :: [8C] by @harolinastyles :: Breathe me in, breathe me out, they don’t think that they could ever go without.

WANT YOU :: [1B] by @harry-is-my-medicine :: Harry is June’s ex. June is Y/N’s best friend. Months after the break up they meet again, and there is an attraction Y/N is just not ready to address. (part 2*, part 3*) 

BAREFOOT IN THE PARK* :: [9B] by @harrysdodgyankles :: The enemies-to-lovers orchestra!au in which you and Harry are dueling violinists competing for the same prize, but you might just win something else along the way.

EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED* :: [7G] by @harrysonlyangelsss :: Live on Tour H with a few dirty dreams and a whole lot of pining. 

SO FAR SO GOOD :: [8A/G] by @harrytheehottie :: Sort of fake dating, lots of mutual pining. 

SEVEN SIX FIVE :: [2/9B] by @heart-attack-harry :: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again. 

(THE START OF) SOMETHING NEW* :: [1F] by @hsmuffintop :: It starts, as most things do, with a bet. Harry decided to go out with his fraternity brothers instead of staying in like he normally does on a Friday night, and a few drinks in, he spots a beautiful woman across the bar.

SUGAR & SPICE :: [8B] by @iconicharry :: Enemies to lovers, a hella cliché (oh no, there’s only one room and one bed!)

MILES & BLACK COFFEE :: [3B] by @idk-who-she-is​ :: You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before…. (read more of this series here!) 

PRETTY LITTLE ANGEL* :: [6I] by @imnottherealharrystyles :: Marcel, leather gloves, and edging.  

TEETH* :: [9F] by @kissesinthekitchen :: It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so.

CRAVE :: [2E] by @kiwi-stan :: AU Harry’s a struggling songwriter until a song about being in love with his best friend puts him on the map. 

BLACK & BLUE* :: [11G] by @oh-honey-styles :: A story of weathered love. Can it conquer any storm?

SOBER UP* :: [1B] by @punkcupcakestyles :: If someone were to ask, there was a lot of alcohol involved. A lot. It was too late to pretend it was never your intention. It was just that your courage tasted like margaritas. 

ALONE TOGETHER* :: [9E] by @rawmeharry :: A friends to lovers fic OU where Harry doesn’t want to quarantine alone and y/n moves into his place for the time being. Will the two of them finally tell each other how they feel or will they end up killing each other by the end of it? 

(GOD IS A) WOMAN* :: [6F] by @sparklygucciprince :: Dunkirk era/2017 Harry. She finds an alternative use for a makeup brush and he’s a very good boy.    

MAKE A MOVE :: [5G] by @stellarboystyles :: Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

IF LOVE BE ROUGH WITH YOU :: [9B] by @wonderrdies :: In which you and Harry are professors at a prestigious Art and Language university but can’t stand each other. Well, you can’t stand him. 

It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. 

Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. 

And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so. 

But aside from passes of food and medication through the door of your apartment and fuzzy Facetime calls, he hasn’t seen you. 

It’s been hard. The evening after you first slept together, you were taken away from him - a girl’s trip to Maui, for one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties. You’d given him time, moments tucked away in your hotel room when your mate was gone and you had an hour to yourself. An hour of grinning at him through the face of an unreliable internet connection to tell him that you missed him so bad. Selfies taken hidden in the bathroom. Cheeky voicemails. He’s kept them all.

Then, when your plane had touched down in California, there had been another road bump in your reunion when you’d come back ill. Your achy, trembling voice had croaked into the phone delivering him the bad news. “Harry, I’m sick.” 

You’ve been sick for the last week and a half and it’s been hard to give you your space, Harry will admit to that. But you’re adamant, serious. You remind him that he has rehearsals for tour starting soon and he can’t risk it. 

“Miss you,” he croaks into his phone when you touch down.

“Miss you more,” you tell him back, a cough slicing through your promise. 

“Let me buy you groceries. I can pick up your prescription-”

Harry watches your face soften through the video call, wanting nothing more than to touch your cheek. 

“I’ll pay you back,” you tell him, smiling as if you both don’t know he has a bank account worth millions of dollars. Later, you both stare at each other miserably through the window of your living room window as he places your groceries and medicine on your doormat. He blows you a kiss goodbye before he leaves and you pretend to catch it with your hand. 

But that had been a few days ago and now you’re on your way to his house, caught in Los Angeles traffic but on your way nonetheless. 

He wonders if you’ve thought about it too, thought about him. If you have missed him just as much. He doesn’t feel alone in this feeling, if the look in your eyes as he left your window is enough to tell him, but there’s something else gnawing at him-

Harry is sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a feeling that kindled inside of him before you slept together, but now it feels more palpable, real. Bigger than himself. The weeks without you have only cemented it for him. He loves you. He’s in love with you. He might have even written a few songs about it already. 

He wants to tell you. He likes the idea of feeling right, but he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to tell you when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, and he knows that feeling is dawning. The words feel like they are bubbling in his chest, nearing the tip of his tongue each time he talks to you. 

You’ve been together five months now. And he knows maybe that’s a bit of a long block of time to get into each other’s pants for some people - god knows he might have wanted to jump your bones earlier than that. 

But time was always in the way, the same way it feels now. A trip to take him across another country away from you. Your job making you stay late or taking you out of state. You’ve done other stuff together before - of course. Hurried handjobs when you were visiting the studio, his fingers tasting you, he might have even gotten his cock in your mouth when he went to visit you at work. But the real getting together, the real sleeping together - had taken five months. And now that he knows what you feel like, what sounds you make, how you look underneath him - Harry can’t think of anything else. It’s the only thing that has carried him through the last few weeks without you when he’s been miserably lonely. His need for you, and yes, his love for you. 

It happened in your bedroom, on the small - full sized bed in your apartment, rather than the massive mattress in his house. But he thinks it was perfect that way. He loves your apartment now, he knows it. He has his favorite mug and you stock a box of his favorite granola on top of your fridge. He names the plants in your living room. (“Bowie,” he points to a colorful succulent. “Obviously.” And then “Freddie” to the pothos sitting on your bookshelf.) And there are photos of you together tacked up with magnets in the kitchen and frames next to your bed. That night you had given him his own toothbrush to keep on the sink in the bathroom next to yours. 

Everything about him seems to ache without you here. His hands feel empty without you against them, music -even, he realizes- does not feel as vibrant without your voice there to sing along with him. 

You’ve kept him close though, and for that he is happy. He muses on this as he finishes some dishes in the kitchen, trying not to glance at the clock again. 

It started with the text messages. Then the photos you sent him from Hawaii. He has to stiffle a grin at the memory - A sex shop your friends had pulled you into a few days into your trip. You’d sent him a photo of a wall of toys - floggers, gags, dildos, chokers, blindfolds. Harry had barked out a laugh at first when he saw the picture unfold in front of his eyes. See anything you like? You’d teased. 

He remembers how he’d been sitting in his living room, the sound of the latest Packers game fading in the background. His ears felt hot as his fingers hovered over the letters on his phone. 

The choker. He’d typed out, teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. Maybe the blindfold too. 

For me or you?

Me. xx

Harry swears he must have felt all the blood rush to his groin when he saw your reply.

They have handcuffs too. 

Your talks and messages had only escalated from there. It was as if you were both daring each other to go further, but instead you were crossing new territory together, hand in hand. You made him feel dizzy with want, the way you were meeting him inch for inch. 

It’s the only reminder that Harry feels like he needs - he can trust you in a way he hasn’t been able to trust anyone before. He finds himself pledging devotion to the intrigue in your eyes, the way you don’t shy away when he teases you back or admits something through the phone. The feeling leaves him breathless, if he’s being honest. Most of all, it makes him miss you even more. 

His skin is buzzing as the minutes crawl by and your arrival gets closer and closer. He can’t stay still. He paces the hall until he sees the text banner on his phone announce you’re arrival. I’m outside. 

Harry’s favorite thing about you is the way you look perfectly at home in his house. Like you’ve alway belonged here. He swears sometimes that he must have dreamt you into life. It’s like you have just always been here. He’s reminded of this when he hears your voice over the security camera  - “It’s meee.” And when he pulls the door open -  

“Baby-” he opens his arms. 

You drop your bags on his doorstep. And you’re grinning as you launch yourself into his arms, your cheek flat against his chest and your nose buried in his neck. “Harry.”

“Oh baby,” he says, his fingers gingerly stroking your cheek, pushing your face up so your foreheads meet. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes are glistening as he presses your lips together. 

The last few weeks feel like a lie of nostalgia. Your memories of him have not done him justice. Not to the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, not to his warmth or his laugh and definitely not to the way he kisses you. 

He smells good, like something crisp and floral - his expensive aftershave and cologne, and something still so distinctly Harry. That’s the part you have missed the most. 

You kiss him with both arms around his neck to pull him down to your height and you don’t stop until his back hits the door, reminding you both that you need a break to breathe. He’s laughing as he grips your waist. 

“Sorry,” you muse, smudging some of the lipstick that you’ve gotten on his mouth and teeth. 

“Don’t be, love. C’mere,” he takes your groceries (you owe him, don’t you?) and bag from you.

You shuffle into the house, checking your keys twice to make sure you locked your car even though Harry laughs and reminds you there’s a gate and a security guard that patrols the neighborhood. 

Harry helps you unpack the groceries, while you work on relearning the map of his kitchen again, pulling drawers and opening cabinets, trying to get acquainted with his space again. He throws on some Fleetwood Mac and The Zombies filter through the space between you as you start dinner. He muses that the song could not be more perfect for the feeling inside his chest. “Should I try to hide, the way I feel inside? My heart for you? Would you say that you love me too? I can tell the way you smile. If I feel that I could be certain then. I would say the things I want to say tonight.”

He stares at you with something that feels like pride, watching the sun filter through the window as you work. He thought -maybe- it might be hard to look you in the eyes or to push the feeling inside him aside but this, it feels easy. Watching you and being together with you in this way. His house, he feels, it finally feels like home now that you’re here. 

The smell of garlic and olive oil begins to fill the kitchen as you prepare the ratatouille and pasta you promised him you would make. You smile when he leans down to rest his chin against your shoulder as you work, sometimes squeezing your side with his hands. 

“Smells good, love,” he says, a watchful eye hanging over your shoulder at the pots and pans on the stove. 

Harry pours wine into glasses for the both of you and you hum your thanks when he pushes the throat of a glass towards you, closing your eyes as he kisses the top of your head.  And when you unwrap the loaves of bread from the store, he laughs and barks out “Could’a told me to make some, love. I used ‘ta work in a bakery!”

You laugh as you tug on his waist, reaching up to catch his lips. “I know. You never make me forget.” 

You make tiramisu later, trying hard not to stare at Harry too much as you work together. His long fingers dipping the ladyfinger cookies into the espresso mix. And you know he catches you blushing when he asks you to taste the whipped cream from his fingers. It has not stopped catching you by surprise, the way he can make you feel beautiful and important and lucky all at once. 

And even though he knows this was the plan for tonight, he can’t help but beam at the promise in your voice when the words come tumbling later. “Brought my bag,” you tell him over your empty plates. “Packed an outfit for tomorrow. Hope you like my pajamas.” You smirk at him. 

“S’the ones with coffee mugs and lattes on them?”

You throw your head back and laugh at the fact that he remembered them. 

“Sexy,” he teases. You catch him leaning against the counter and taking you in. “Got you a toothbrush.”

You smile, memories of last time quickly flooding your thoughts, but don’t take your eyes off the napkin in front of you. You know he’s lost in the same memories. When you’re washing dishes later though, he leaves you to place the fancy -electric, you’ll notice later and expensive- toothbrush sitting on top of your overnight bag. 

After dinner, when you’re both feeling warm and giggly, you pull him back into the sitting area of his bedroom. Harry gulps hard as he watches you insist on lighting some candles, and the smell of teakwood and rosemary fill the room. Watching you makes his stomach clench, this is all he has wanted, craved, needed for the last few weeks. You in his arms and in bed, taking up his space again. 

He’s sitting on the small sofa next to his bed, the enormity of his room could almost beat the entire size of your apartment. But you feel at peace here, in the same way he feels comforted and hidden in your home. He’s more than the expensive, designer clothes in his closet, the guitars that line one wall, the pile of leather bound journals and gold and white accented bathroom. Here, he’s just Harry. Your Harry. 

When he’s finally relaxed, you push some gifts bags into his hands and insist that he unwrap the gifts you got him from Hawaii. There are books, boxes of chocolate, bags of pineapple candy, floral shirts from vintage thrift stores, and a kitschy keychain with hula dancers and his name on it - that looks so hilariously out of place next to the keys for his Mercedes and vintage cars. 

You look warm and inviting as you turn towards him, the candlelight taking your skin glow like amber. Your skin looks kissed by the sun thanks to your trip. And Harry’s suddenly overwhelmed with how he wants nothing more than to kiss you for your thoughtfulness, for the disbelief he feels at having you here, for the feeling bursting in his chest. 

“Got you one more thing,” you tell him as you close the distance between you, reaching around him to place a small gift box in his hand. 

“Another present? Or summat?” he smiles. 

You kiss the side of his face, humming softly in response, stroking the back of his hair and neck. You try to stay composed as Harry’s fingers gingerly pry the lid of the box open. 

The air feels like it has been sucked out of him. He hates that his fingers tremble a little as he takes the collar out of the box. It’s black and thick, feels smooth like leather, with a buckle that slides closed on the side. He swallows hard as his thumb gingerly runs over the loopholes, imagining the way it would feel gripping his throat or how you would look tying it in place - god, help him. 

“Thought we could use it sometime. Doesn’t have to be tonight. You mentioned-”

And then he’s kissing you. Kissing you so fiercely that your mind stumbles before your body can catch up. Both of his hands on your face, knocking the collar down between you. 

It’s what you have both been walking around all night and it feels like the feeling that had been simply growing in his chest is about to burst. His vision feels like it is swimming right now, but your hands on his face are the only thing tethering him to the ground, whatever is growing between you makes him feel like so much more than himself. The feeling in his chest feels bigger than he has words for right now. 

Your eyes search his. “Do you trust me?

“I do. Y’know I do.” 

“Then Harry?”

His pupils are so wide. “Yeah?” he says. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You watch him carefully as he moves to his knees on the floor, idly shifting closer to the bed. When he stills, you reach for the belt he had discarded on the way into his room. Your fingers rubbing against the leather. “This okay?” 

You listen to his sharp intake of his breath, watch the curls at the front of his face fall briefly in his eyes. “Y-yeah.” 

His hands are one of your favorite things about him. Their large, calloused - his fingers long and tapered. You reach down to press a kiss to the cross on his hand and then move to coil the belt so it loops around his wrists, biting into his skin. 

 Realistically, Harry knows he could get out of this, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t that thrills you. He’s patient and pliant beneath your hands, reduced to his knees and shuddering when your touch leaves him. The line of his neck arching as his eyes follow you. He uses his mouth to follow the line of your palm, kissing your skin until you let go. 

He crawls for you - and oh, you love that. The way his back arches, his long legs and knees hitting the floor, his mind unable to grasp what his body can’t right now - he’s so eager to follow where you go, to be with you, to be a part of you. 

“Harry-” you say, sitting down on the mattress and spreading your legs wide. You lean back to rest your weight on your elbows, thighs lazily spread wide so he can rest between them. You shimmy the end of your dress up, loving the way his nostrils flare and his pupils widen, watching your hands - your fingers grazing where he wishes his skin could go too. Have hungered to for days and days. 

“Harry, do you want to taste me?”

“God, love. Please-”

“Say it again.”

“Please?” he begs.

His nose and lips skim the same path your hands followed. His head of full dark curls turning under the hem of your skirt. You’re gracious enough to help make it easier for him by tugging it up and he groans a sound of thanks into your skin with his lips. 

He’s hungry for it. He inhales deeply, licking you through the fabric of your panties in a way that makes you shudder. He’s even more grateful when you take pity on him by raking your nails through his hair and shifting the material down so he can look at you bare. The tug makes his eyes flutter, it feels so good. 

He’s frozen though, stilling as he waits for your instruction, and you gingerly cup the side of his face in thanks. 

“Go ahead,” you whisper, when he’s almost at the point of whimpering. And then he moves forward, making a home between your thighs. 

Last time you did this, you learned that you love when Harry has both his mouth and his fingers inside you - but this is - well it’s lovely. It’s fucking heaven. Watching how desperate he is to get you off, the way he presses all of his face into your cunt - heeding the deepest part of you, where you’re so wet and just as desperate for him. He’s needy, messy with it. His lips and tongue remembering you all over again, his nose smashed against your cunt and the hint of his teeth against your clit - just enough to have you grinding down on him in a way that makes your brain feel fuzzy. 

Feeling the slickness of his tongue as he slides it inside you makes your cunt feel like it’s fluttering around him. Your face pinches every time he comes back to lick you deeper and you listen to the half garbled words that he’s sucking and pleading into your skin. 

“So wet. So fuckin’ wet for me. Tastes so good. Missed ‘yeh so much.” 

Without the help of his hands, Harry uses one long leg to push himself against the length of the bed- trying to be close to you, while also finding some friction against the mattress. He finds no relief, but when he hears you voice gasp out for him, your fingers weaving in his hair - it’s almost better than any vision he had of you these last few weeks. Oh, it’s so much fucking better. 

He’s so greedy for it. He wants to taste you, needs to feel you cum more than he wants it for himself. You can tell by the way he pushes his tongue between your folds, trying to get deeper, like he’s trying to reach inside you and be a part of you. If his hands were free, he would use his fingers to spread you wide and open. To stuff you full. He knows he would tug on your legs, wear your thighs around his neck like a fucking necklace but there’ll be more time for that - another time, another place - right now, he just wants to feel you cum.

“Harry,” you beg him. “Harry. I’m close-” 

He moans when he watches you slide your fingers down to help aid him, his jaw dropping down in awe as you rub your clit. He works hard to sink down and lick around your fingers before dipping inside of you again. 

“You’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna - I’m going to come in your mouth. God, I’m going to come in your mouth-”

He’s lost in it, but it’s when he looks up at you - his big, green eyes against your flushed pussy, that you feel yourself lose it. It’s simultaneously loving and yet so obscene - you can’t bear it. 

You fist your fingers through his hair, shoulders trembling a little off his pillow, your thighs shaking just as hard- and if his hands were free, Harry knows he would be forcing your thighs and your hips down onto the bed. But all he can do is take it now, take it as hard as you are giving it back to him. His face getting wet and messy with it. 

You could scream with how good it feels. And he licks you through it all, only stalling when your nails dig into his head and he feels you shift away from his incessant mouth. “Too sensitive,” you murmur, and Harry finally relents. 

He sits up on his knees, leaning his forehead against your thighs, trying to breathe through his nose. 

“Harry?”

He makes a sound in his throat, still gasping against your thigh. You touch his head, urge him to rest against your thigh and he’s grateful. He feels something hanging off the tip of his tongue-

“Harry. Harry, what’s your color?” Tell me. Where are you?”

“Green,” he groans, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “That was- that was just a lot. But I’m green. So fuckin’ green, love..” 

You giggle at that and when he finally does look up at you, he looks so pleased with himself. When you take his face between your hands, he feels warm against your fingertips, from the pressure of your hips and how deeply he was digging his face between your thighs. His lips and jaw are soaked, glistening with you and you’re more than happy to help clean him up, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth and pressing soft, appreciative kisses against his face. 

When you finally step aside, his eyes follow you. He’s appreciative of the fingers you still have in his hair and the way you use them to steer him up and onto the bed. 

“Harry?” His eyes look drunk as they meet yours.  He’s still kneeling. “Are you with me?”

“Always, love.”

You smile at him, giving him another pat on the head, your fingers running through his matted hair. And he nuzzles deeper into your hand. 

“Breathe, baby. Give me your safeword.”

His mind is swimming. He thinks of your eyes narrowing at him over dinner - a field - the bright painting on the wall behind your head. - Plastic crinkling around the bouquet of flowers he held clenched between his fingers on your very first date. The vase of them you keep on the island in your kitchen and next to your bed- smiling over at him, the smell of coffee drifting, the sun hitting the bare skin of your back, the name he has you saved under in his phone-

“Sunflower,” he says, the smile on his lips lazy and triumphant when it finally comes to him. “Sunflower. Sunflower.” 

You’re beaming as you stare down at him and he feels like he wants to sink into the praise in your eyes. 

“Good,” you tell him. “Good. You’re doing so good, Harry.”

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him. 

“M’cock’s hard,” he says, in the same lazy, almost dazed voice. “S’leaking.”

You make work of both your clothes and then unbuckle his pants and take him out and true to his word - he’s hard. So hard. His expression looks pained when you thumb the raspberry tip of his cock, your mouth watering. He’s too sensitive for that right now, but maybe- you think- hope blooms in your chest. In the future. You could use a ring or-

It’s endearing how reactive he is to you. Not only do his eyes always follow you, but it’s as if his skin’s instinct is to follow you too. 

“Harry, I’m going to untie your hands. Would you like that?”

“Yes-Yes Please.” And god his voice breaks twice around your name -you almost want to take pity on him. 

Almost. 

“I’m going to untie them but I want you to listen to me. Listen to me, okay? I want you to raise them above your head, hold onto the headboard. You’re still not going to touch me. Is that understood?”

“Ye-yes,” he stutters out. And oh you love that. Your golden boy, who has had the world at his feet since the beginning - he’s never been denied things. But this, this he’s doing just for you. And for himself.  

He gasps as you work to undress him, pulling his jeans down the length of the bed, then his briefs. You move to straddle his thigh first, leaning down enough to rub yourself against the tiger inked into his skin. At the touch of his thigh against your clit, you moan - and he moans with you - as if he can’t help himself, can’t bear it- feeling you spread open against his skin and being unable to touch you.

“So wet,” he whimpers. “Fuckin’ christ. You’re so wet.”

You allow yourself this moment, a few seconds to rub yourself against him like some kind of cat in heat. Using him until you feel more wetness begin to pool on his skin. You note that his arms are straining with the stretch of the angle he has against the headboard, the veins in his arms a flash of trembling light blue as his fingers shake. 

When finally you feel like you’ve had enough to bear, you swing your leg over his hip and draw yourself down to his pelvis. His face is almost flush with your chest, and you can see the restraint he’s trying to give you - the pupils of his eyes are so wide, and he’s biting into his plush bottom lip, trying not to close the distance between you to suck a beautiful, puffy nipple into his mouth or between his teeth - He needs to be good. He needs to prove to you how good he can be. 

You’re more patient and forgiving this time, spitting on his cock and taking him into your hand. You stroke him a few times, letting the tip of him - just the tip- graze inside of you. 

His eyes and forehead crease at your teasing. 

“You’re so big,” you tell him, and his skin flushes beneath the phrase, his hips bucking up to meet you. 

“B-biggest?” he stutters out and you don’t mistake the nervous lilt at the end of his voice for anything but what it is - a need for confirmation. 

“Biggest. Best I’ve ever had,” you affirm. “Harry. Fuck.”

Pride swells in his chest, making him gasp. 

“God, Harry. That first time we...I didn’t think I’d be able to-. It hurt something good the next morning. Felt like I was aching without you there anymore. - Missed you so much. Missed my baby boy, so much.”

He’s rutting up, hips lifting off the mattress and you feel equally pained for him, your cunt miserably fluttering around nothing too. 

“Fuck. Please,” he begs you, the deepness of his voice making you tremble from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. “Take me. Take me.”

You relent, letting yourself slide down the length of him - and oh, this is nice. A snug fit. Another memory of him gone unjustified. You can feel him in your belly. His cock is so thick and deep, it’s still new but comforting. Like coming home. 

“Feel good, Harry?”

“Yes! Yes. God. Christ. You feel so bloody good-”

You shift so you’re resting against him, the palms of your hands flat against his chest. - But not moving. 

“Please,” he groans, his jaw straining towards the side of the bed. “Please fuck me, princess.”

“What do you want Harry?” you indulge him. You’ve missed his voice just as much as his touch, and you need to hear him say it outloud. 

“Fuck me till I cry. Fuck me, ‘till I’m done for. Christ.” 

His skin flushes like he’s embarrassed, so you lean down to kiss his jaw and mouth. “I will. I will. I’m going to fuck you, Harry.”

You use your hands for balance as you lift your hips, sliding up and down the length of his cock. Moaning loud and gasping hard when he shifts up to meet you thrust for thrust. 

“H-Harry,” you call him, only continuing when his head shifts up, his eyes peering up to meet you and tell you he’s listening. The green intensity of them makes you clench around him. “What if I tied you up? Would you like that?”

His feet are flat against the bed now, his hips shifting up in response - he doesn’t trust his voice right now. He feels so wrecked. All he can say is your name as he impales you on his cock. 

“Or maybe- maybe we’ll go somewhere and you could wear a collar - your collar - tight enough around your neck. Something to take out, huh? Just between the two of us - so you’ll know you’re mine. And when I’m gone again, you won’t ever have a reason to forget.”

Harry could almost choke on his disbelief. Hope and lust seem to twine together and something that feels like hope has been freed from his chest. Your mouth - it’s every fantasy, every secret he’s had - coming alive, coming to fruition hearing it in your voice. 

“I’m going to come on you, going to come on your prick, baby,” you promise him. “Then-then you can come.”

“Yes,” he sputters out in response. “Yes-yes. Use me. Please. Please, love. It’s all I’ve been able to think about-since you’ve been gone. Wanting to make you come.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, and you feel yourself grow wet at the sound. He knows he’s safe. He knows he has you. His exhibitions are unraveling like a thread. They have been since that first message you sent him. 

He’s rambling now. “Wanna come too. Wanna shoot it in deep. But-need ‘ta feel you first. Need ‘ta feel you quaking around me-Baby, please-”

His eyes go wild when you press your hand against his throat, small tears slipping down his cheeks. Your red fingernails look beautiful against the paleness of his skin. And his knees lift up in a desperate show to fuck into you harder. 

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. Fuck please. Please!”

He’s too lost, plummeting into the safety of the haze you have taken him to - he doesn’t notice the way your eyes narrow in surprise as he gasps from between your fingers. Your heart feels too full, like it might smother your rib cage and you let that feeling take you under. He loves you. He loves you. 

Something overtakes you then. A wave of pride, and something territorial. You feel his words sinking into your bones, and you don’t feel afraid. In fact, you feel something like pride and adoration make a home inside your chest. You’re soaring. He loves you. Your teeth sink into the skin between his neck and shoulder and he groans, a heated sound that makes your skin flush, makes you feel impossibly wetter where you’re holding him between your thighs. It’s a mark to match the ones you have left on his left pec and his thighs, the line on his hip, and your handprints around his throat.. And for days to come, beneath the dim candlelight of his bedroom or the sunlight peeking through his bathroom in the morning - he will marvel at them, but now, now he’s too overcome. 

“Harry,” you rake your nails through the back of his head and grab a fistfull of his hair, harsh and tight. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me cum. I want to come for you. You’re so good.”

He chokes as he feels yourself clench around him, swallowing him deep. You’re shaking, tugging his hair, and saying his name - “Harry, you’re perfect. My beautiful-Harry.” And watching you come on his cock, it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

You kiss him through it all and as you come back down. You’re tired, slick, and still recovering but your hands grasp Harry’s. Your fingers clenched between his long fingers, squeezing tight around his rings and pressing down on his wrists. 

You lean down so your mouth is pressed between the pink wetness of his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Do you want to come inside me? You can, my sweet- Harry. You can. Only you. Come inside me Harry-.”

He doesn’t need much now. You’re grinding against him, lazy and slow. Licking into his mouth. 

“Come inside you,” he repeats your words, gasping against your face. You feel his arms flexing beneath your touch, his hips pistoning his cock in and out of you. Arousal -both yours and his- dripping between your thighs. It’s a mess, but it’s your mess. “All I want - ‘ta come inside you.”

You press your fingers against his throat again and his eyes roll back into his head again. You push the weight of your hips against his pelvis and then feel it - the first few spurts of his release inside you, warm and comforting-

“Fuck. I’m coming. Y/N. I’m fuck-”

You hold him as it happens, your fingers around his throat only relenting when his hips have stopped stuttering and he’s finally stopped calling your name. 

Spent, you collapse on him. Tapping his hands and wrists and loosening them. - “You can touch me. Harry- you can touch me.”

You stay with him for a long moment, it’s a space of time you both need. He’s coming down from where you took him so high, and you need to feel grounded, tethered next to him in every way you can right now. The bites and marks you’ve left on him pulse and throb, and his skin feels like it’s been lit on fire. He aches in the best way possible. He feels each throb like an ache under the intensity of a magnifying glass.

Your hair acts like a curtain over both of you as you plant soft, wet kisses over his neck, his temple, his face. Kissing away his tears. Your fingernails tracing over the tattoos on his stomach and chest as you tell him how well he did, how good, how hard he made you come. It makes him feel looked after, cherished, adored.

Your skin is a warm and comforting weight against his back, until he feels like he’s floated down again, his feet firmly planted.

It’s only when you’re sure he’s stopped trembling, and his heartbeat has slowed beneath the palm of your hand, that you break the surface of this bubble you’ve created together- 

“Harry?” you call to him. 

“Mmm,” he grunts. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fuckin’ perfect,” he says. “Love?”

“S’okay if I...I’ll be right back. Need to get us both cleaned up, babe.”

“I’ll-” he starts, and you can almost see his tall frame trying to lift from the  bed. 

“You don’t have to do anything, beautiful,” one of your hands comes up to press him back down against the mattress. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, handsome.” You press a wet kiss to his head again to soothe him and laugh as he makes a joke - “Think ya properly fucked my brains out. Can’t move, love.”

You walk to the bathroom on trembling legs and feet, and retrieve a wet washcloth to clean both of you up, only pausing to smile faintly at your reflection in the mirror - you look disheveled and happy. You hurry to grab a water bottle from the fridge and then patter back to Harry’s room and make him take a few sips from it. He stares up at you from beneath the throat of the bottle and you try to ignore the way you feel yourself flush beneath the awe in his eyes. 

Only after you’ve pulled a clean pair of underwear on him, do you join him on the mattress again. You crawl onto the bed knees first, and Harry’s breathing slows as he feels you tug him towards you, your face pressed between both of his broad shoulder blades. 

You listen to the heavy thud of his heartbeat through his back. 

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, finally. “Love you too.”

He makes a muffled sound, and then though he feels heavy and his body protests against the movement, he turns in your embrace so he can look in your eyes. 

“Heard that, did you?” he tries to laugh. But you feel worry cementing itself in your heart when he doesn’t look up to meet your eyes. 

“Don’t have to say it back, y’know?” he finally says. “Don’t have to say it just because I did. Don’t have to know what to do with it. You can have it- you can have me either way.”

You lean up a little to brush your hands through his hair, and so he can tilt his head up to meet you. The edge of his jaw against the cusp of your breasts, the pink of his mouth sitting so pretty against your chest, his eyes half lidded and still so fucked out. You wonder if he grasps exactly what he’s telling you. 

“I know I love you. And I know I missed you so much, Harry. I want to take care of you.”

His heart thrills at what that could mean. “Want ‘ta take care of you too. Want to make you feel good.”

“You do. You’re the best. I love you and,” you smile a little, fingers brushing over the bite you left on his neck. “You’re mine.”

He laughs a little, drawing a glance at the mark too. His big hand closing over yours. “I love you too. Been wanting to say it for a long time.”

“I’m glad you did right now.” You smile at him, and the anxiety he was feeling seems to falter. He smiles back.

“Did you mean what you were saying?” Harry says, reaching for you even as sleep looms over the edge of his thoughts. “About the choker and the ring and summat?”

“’Course, whatever you want,” you smile at him above the duvet pulled up over both of your shoulders. “Trust me?”

“Know I do,” he smiles, the dimple in his cheek deepening. 

Your face softens as you reach up to trace it with your fingers. “I’m many things, Harry Styles, but I’m not a liar,” you laugh. 

“Know you are,” he laughs back, the gravely sound of it making you feel light and wonderful. Bright and adored. “First and foremost though, you’re my sunflower.”

You seem to beam under the look in his eyes. You pull him close, tucking yourself under his chin, and kissing one of the sparrows on his chest. “I am,” you tell him. “I am.” 

A/N: If you’re wondering, yes, the story and title were both inspired by the song of the same name by 5SOS.

Chapters

Part One

Part Two

Part Three (coming soon)

Part Four (coming soon)

Extras

**April 25, 2020, 11:15am**

It’s a comfortable spring day in San Francisco. The windows are cracked, letting in sweet smelling fresh air and the moderate bustle of people out and about. Despite the perfect weather to be out at the market or taking a walk in the park, you’re currently at your neighbor’s apartment, slouched on the couch in the living room and in the midst of a New Girl marathon. Or rather, you are in the midst of a New Girl marathon, but your friend has not looked up from the guitar he is restringing for the past fifteen minutes.

You’ve been stealing glances at Harry from the other end of the couch. He has the guitar laying across his lap. He’s able to take all of the strings off and put three new ones on without a problem, but something about the fourth string seems to be giving him a lot of trouble. Every time he gets the string wound up on the tuning key, it snaps loose, like it can’t hold the tension. After several attempts with the same result, Harry sets his string winder on the coffee table and lets out a frustrated huff while scratching his forehead.

Although you know it’s probably best to not make a comment while he’s annoyed, you decide to make one anyway.

Just as he grabs the winder from the coffee table and goes in for another attempt at the string, you blurt out, “I thought the whole point of watching Netflix at your house instead of mine was so you could work and watch at the same time.”

Harry rolls his eyes and slowly cranes his head to look in your direction, “I am watching.”

“Right, so tell me what Miranda has been up to,” you challenge.

Harry lowers his head in concentration, making another attempt at winding up the string on the tuning key, “She’s like… going on a date or something.”

“Miranda isn’t even a character in the show!”

The tuning key once again snaps loose. Harry’s nostrils flare and he mutters a quick “Fucks sake.”

A moment passes where the only sound in the room is the TV. You’re trying to gauge whether or not you’ve actually pissed him off a bit. You decide to bite your tongue and see what he is going to say next.

Harry finally shifts his eyes from the guitar to you, “Obviously I can’t work and watch at the same time.”

You give him a pointed look, “You think?”

“I promise I can finish this project pretty quick, and then I’ll watch, like, four episodes, uninterrupted. I just need to go get some parts so… would you mind pausing it?”

Once the show is paused, Harry gets up from his spot on the couch, gently sets the guitar on the floor, and turns to exit the living room. However, he is stopped short since your legs are making a barricade between the couch and the coffee table. With a mischievous grin on his face, he uses his shin to slowly push your legs away from him so that your feet slide off the end of the table and onto the floor. Your jaw drops in exaggerated offense. Giggles erupt from both of you as he narrowly avoids your attempts to trip him while he steps over your legs and then jogs across the room to his workspace.

A huge benefit of living a couple of buildings away from your best friend is that any given day of the week can be spent like this. The both of you can always be found at either one of your apartments watching hours of Netflix, working on projects, or sharing meals.

Just as you were enjoying the moment of silence that fell onto the room, your phone and Harry’s phone buzz on the coffee table. With a quiet groan, you slowly sit up from the couch to see a text from your boss, sent in a group chat with yourself and Harry.

Would either of you be able to work the closing shift tonight? Sarah called in sick and the rest of the shift leads can’t work today.

Although you and Harry were both looking forward to having a Saturday off, you knew the bar was a little short-staffed this weekend, so you both kind of saw this coming.

“Is that who I think it is?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, Adam’s asking one of us to work the closing shift tonight. Sarah called in sick and I guess Charlotte can’t work today.”

Harry groans as he makes his way back to his previous spot on the couch and plops down with a screwdriver and a plastic bag containing what looks to be a new set of tuning keys in hand.

Harry takes a moment to look around his living room, taking in all of the instrument cases stacked around the small apartment, scratching his jaw in thought. “I mean, I would take it, but I’ve got a lot of projects that have to get done this weekend.”

“I guess that just leaves me then,” you say flatly, sinking further into the couch and staring straight ahead out of the window across the room.

“‘M’ sorry,” Harry says with a light chuckle at your dramatics, “I’ll owe you one.” His offer comes out more like a question.

You look back in his direction to see him with a wide, dimpled grin staring back at you. You know he’s just trying to make you feel better, and it works.

After sending a quick text to your boss letting him know you would be there tonight, you sit up straight and grab the remote from the coffee table. “That’s a really tempting offer. I’ve got a lot of sick days saved up, you know?”

“Heyyyy,” Harry draws out in a playfully offended tone.

You chuckle before asking, “Can we just finish this episode so I can go home and get some rest before work?”

“Yeah I think we can do that.” He sets the screwdriver and plastic bag on the coffee table and leans back on the couch, folding his hands together to rest on his stomach.

You press play on the remote and settle into another day with your best friend.

**April 26, 2020. 1:47am**

About ten minutes until the bar closes, and there are still three large, lively groups hanging around. You and your coworkers have done as many pre-closing tasks as you possibly could, aside from taking the drink glasses straight out of the customers’ hands. Now it just seems to be the longest waiting game ever until you’re officially allowed to kick everyone out.

While you’re all busying yourselves with wiping down counters and straightening chairs, the front door swings open.

Just as you’re about to put on your best customer service face that you can muster, you see a familiar blue and white plaid jacket and fluffy brown curls. Harry is strolling in, surveying the crowd of customers as he’s making his way to where you’re standing at the bar. You see that he is donning a form-fitting grey t-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face on it, light brown high-waisted pants, and a delicate looking pearl necklace. He always seems to be able to effortlessly look put together, even when he is making bold choices.

You look at him with raised eyebrows and ask with exaggerated charm, “Come here often?”

“Oh god.” He laughs at your ill attempt at comedy through a pained expression.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Same as always.”

Harry has made it a routine to walk home with you when you’re working the closing shift. Even when you insist that there’s no need for him to stay up so late when he’s not working.

He glances around before looking back at you, “Is there anything I can help with right now?”

You shake your head. “Just waiting for them to leave so we can clean everything.”

“Bollocks,” he mutters before puckering his lips.

You decide to go around the corner of the bar to the prep area where the music controls are. Hopefully the customers will take the hint that it’s time to leave once you lower the volume.

After a few minutes, all of the staff are breathing a collective sigh of relief when one group makes their way to the door and the other two groups shortly follow suit.

By the time you follow the crowd out and you lock the door, it’s 2:05 a.m. Considering how busy it was tonight, you’re counting this as a small victory.

Harry and your other coworkers are going around cleaning up glasses and bottles and taking them back to the sink while you make your way to the register to start your shift lead duties.

Once the tips are divided, you take a look around and see that your coworkers are steadily making their way through the cleaning checklist. With Harry’s help, things are moving along pretty quickly. You pull the first bundle of cash out of the drawer and start counting.

After getting the cash drawer sorted out, and counting out a new one for Monday, you hear your coworker saying your name. “I think we’ve done everything on the cleaning checklist. Is there anything else you need help with?”

“Actually, all I have left to do is inventory. I’m not gonna hold you hostage for that, so you guys are free to head out if you want to.”

Your coworkers are saying goodnight and clocking out shortly after. Once they're gone, you’re left with the faint buzzing of the refrigerators and the light music over the speakers. You turn around to face the shelves of bottles and notice a few that are running low and need replacing. You go down the ‘employees only’ hallway to the back stockroom and grab all the bottles you need. Hugging them to your chest, you make your way back down the hallway. You walk about halfway when a figure jumps out of the supply closet to your right, causing you to jump backwards and let out a scream.

Harry’s howling laughter echoes through the hallway as you try to catch your breath and will your heart to stop racing.

You finally regain some composure and turn to fully face Harry. His laughter has reduced to occasional soft chuckles falling past his pursed lips. If your arms weren’t full, you would most likely be smacking him for scaring the shit out of you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You do your best to give him death glare, but your voice is now shaking with laughter as well. “You’re lucky I didn’t drop any of this stuff, you idiot.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but you should have seen your face. Holy shit.” He opens his arms and slowly steps toward you to bring you in for a hug.

“Well if you’re so sorry, put these on the shelf for me.” You say as you thrust the bottles into his chest, making him grunt out a laugh.

You walk to the front with Harry trailing behind you. All you have left to do is make a few notes for Adam before finally clocking out. You’ve never been more excited for your head to hit the pillow when you get home.

As you’re making your notes, Harry is pacing about behind you, straightening out all of the bottles on the shelves. He lets out a long observant hum.

“What?”

“Just noticed this guy’s almost empty,” he holds up a bottle of tequila and swirls around what little liquor is left in it. One corner of his mouth turns up before he looks at you, “Enough left for two more shots, probably.”

“Is that so?”

“Y’ wanna find out?”

“I don’t know,” you say as you tilt your head up and tap your chin in thought “I don’t know how I feel about taking shots with people who jump out of supply closets to scare me.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that.” He’s exaggerating and drawing all of his words out as he walks over to you. He wraps his arms around you so that his hands are resting on your left shoulder and he rests the side of his head on the back of yours. “I’m sorry. Please take a shot with me.”

Although it's pointless since he can’t see your face, you roll your eyes in response, “Fine. Pour me one.”

His hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze before he moves away and reaches under the counter then puts two shot glasses onto the bar. He reaches behind him for the nearly empty bottle and pours the perfect amount into each glass. Taking them both in his hands, he extends one to you.

You don’t miss the chuckle that he lets out as you take the glass from him. After giving him a questioning look, you notice a slight blush on his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Was just thinking. This,” he gestures to the two of you and the glasses you’re both holding “reminds me of the day you got into the art institute.”

Around this time a year ago, you had spent weeks pouring over your application for the San Francisco Art Institute and months after that waiting to hear anything back. When you got the acceptance email toward the end of your shift at work, Harry was the first person that you told. Just over a year ago, you were standing with Harry behind this same bar when you told him the good news. Your chest filled with warmth at his reaction. He wrapped you in a nearly suffocating hug as he loudly declared, “I told you you had a kick ass portfolio! So fuckin proud of you.”

Right after he released you from the hug, he poured each of you a shot. Harry then made the impromptu decision of doing a bar crawl after you both got off, deeming the two shots “not enough celebration”.

After a night full of slightly over the top celebrating, you were practically dragging Harry home. It wasn’t until you got to his apartment building that he realized he had left his keys and wallet at one of the bars. Not wanting to drag him back across town, you ended up bringing him back to your apartment just around the corner.

It took a lot of coaxing, but you were able to get him to drink a big glass of water before helping him brush his teeth with your spare toothbrush.

You have a lot of vague and fuzzy memories from that night, but there are two that remain crystal clear. One is the moment when you were clumsily leading him to your couch and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Wish I could kiss you.” And the other is the way your stomach dropped and your heart nearly fluttered out of control at his drunken confession.

The conversations about that night always turned into jokes about you being able to handle your liquor better than he could. His comment was never brought up by either of you. You weren’t sure if he would even remember it, or if either of you really wanted to.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “we should never be allowed to celebrate anything after that. We were miserable the next day.”

You lock eyes with him and for a split second there’s something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize. Like a different kind of softness that you hadn’t seen before this moment.

It’s fleeting, however, because he glances down at your hands and clinks your glasses together. You tilt your heads back at the same time, feeling the burn in your throats and letting out sharp exhales once it’s passed.

Harry takes your glass from your hand and silently goes to the prep area. You hear the sink running as you finish up your notes to your boss and you clock out.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah I just need to get my-” you stop mid-sentence when you turn around to see Harry already holding out your bag that had been hanging up in the prep area. You mutter a ‘never mind’ as you take it from him.

Harry grabs his jacket from the pool table and you stroll to the front door together, turning off lights as you go.

You finally step out into the chilly nighttime air. The only noises are coming from the small scattered groups of people gathering in front of the bars on the block that are just closing.

After locking the doors, you and Harry start trudging along the sidewalk up the steep hill. If you had known that it was going to get so much colder and windier during the night, you would have brought a jacket with you. You fold your arms and grit your teeth as another cold breeze hits you from the front.

You don’t even notice Harry taking off his jacket until he’s holding it in front of your face. You pause your walking for a moment to gently take it from his hand.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“Well I’m not gonna watch you shiver all the way home.”

You frown a bit as you look at the jacket in your hands. You can still feel the warmth from Harry’s body heat on the hand that’s grasping the inside of it. Having that little bit of warmth already makes you feel better, but you hate to think that he’s going to be the one gritting his teeth against the cold.

He says your name through a chuckle and you look up to meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just put the jacket on and let’s get you home, yeah?”

**April 26th, 2020. 5:30am**

It should be considered a crime to be wide awake at this hour, considering the small amount of sleep you’ve gotten. The only thing you had the energy to do when you got home last night was change out of your work clothes and fall into bed. You remember glancing at your clock and reading 3:15 a.m. before your eyelids grew heavy and closed.

The reminder of Harry’s drunk confession that you thought was water under the bridge is now flooding your mind as you desperately try to fall back to sleep. You try to push down the memory of his giggles as you made the strenuous effort of finding the switch on your living room lamp while having nearly all of his body weight leaned against you for support. You try to push down the memory of his flushed cheeks in the glowing yellow light when you finally got him settled on your couch. You try to push down the memory of running your fingers through his soft curls and giving his hairline a soft kiss before going to bed. You try to think of literally anything else.

It isn’t until the very first hints of daylight enter your room that you decide to give up.

The floor is cold on your feet as you walk to your bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes.

After a quick shower and putting on your favorite t-shirt and jeans, you feel less sluggish. You focus on going through your kitchen pantry to find something for your growling stomach.

Although you wish that you were still sleeping soundly in your bed, you think of how rare it is to get to see this city both at the dead of night and when it’s slowly starting to wake up. To be able to greet the light in your living room as it dances across the pictures on your walls and you mill about with your bowl of cereal.

The pictures lined up on your walls remind you of the project that you started last week that you need new photos for. You go to your closet and get the bag that holds your digital camera. Your mind is buzzing at the thought of taking it to the park before it gets too crowded.

You put on a jacket and shoes, pull your camera bag over your shoulder, and head out into the chilly Sunday morning.

********************

You round the corner of your block and start making your way down the steep hill, admiring the multicolored houses across the street that are glowing softly in the morning light. A smile spreads across your face as you reach into your bag for your camera and your fisheye lens. Once you’ve captured a few shots that you’re happy with, you move on toward the park.

You’re coming up on Harry’s building, and you instinctively glance up at the second story bay window that you know belongs to his apartment. Because this side of his building is still in the shade at this point in the day, you can see that his light is on.

“What’s he doing up?” you think to yourself. He’s always been an early riser, but considering how late you both stayed up, you would hope that he had been able to get some extra sleep.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, Harry appears in the window. His blinds are wide open, so you can clearly see him stepping up to his record player and delicately placing the needle on the vinyl. A toothbrush hangs out of his mouth.

What your eyes are more drawn to, however, is his choice of clothing, or lack thereof. He’s standing in front of his window in nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of underwear. You knew the t-shirt too well as the one he found at a thrift store years ago and became obsessed with after reading the ‘Treat People With Kindness’ logo on the front. He steps back from the record player and tilts his head back to brush his teeth. You watch as his jaw flexes and is accentuated by the light scruff of facial hair along it.

It’s becoming alarmingly clear to you that you are alone in the middle of the sidewalk, about thirty feet away from your best friend’s window, ogling him as he’s minding his own business. As much as your palms are sweating and your stomach is doing somersaults at the prospect of being spotted, you cannot bring yourself to continue walking. You wouldn’t mind becoming a permanent part of the sidewalk if it meant having this kind of view.

Harry turns and walks away from the window. You finally snap out of your daze and hurry past his window, thankful for the help of the downhill slope to move you along. Once you get to the corner of the block, you stop and lean your back against the building. Lightly smacking your forehead, you mutter out loud to yourself, “What the hell was that?”

********************

The trip to the park turned out to be a perfect way to spend the morning. You ended up taking a lot of pictures of murals and flowers before the park started to get too busy.

With your favorite album playing through your headphones, your mind is now buzzing with the excitement of having new photos to edit.

Once you cross the street, you’re now standing on the corner of your block. One way would lead you once again past the window to Harry’s apartment. The other way would help you avoid another potentially awkward sighting, but was much longer and usually includes lines for overcrowded restaurants.

Keeping your head down, you continue walking straight ahead in the same direction that you came from.

As you’re hiking up the hill, you suddenly hear a voice that you know is not coming through your headphones. You turn your volume down and listen to your surroundings. Plain as day, someone behind you shouts your name. You rip your headphones out and whip around to see Harry waving at you from his window.

“Hey! You wanna come up for breakfast?”

Your feet are firmly planted to the sidewalk, much like they were about an hour ago when you stood in the same spot and ogled this man.

You opened your mouth, not knowing what to say, and pathetically jabbed your thumb in the general direction of your apartment. “Actually I… I-I was gonna-”

“I’ve got coffee from Trieste,” he says in a sing-song tone.

You internally roll your eyes and curse him for knowing that you can never deny coffee from your favorite place in town. Plus, wracking your brain for a good excuse to be on your way is becoming difficult due to the hunger pains starting up in your stomach. That bowl of cereal is only holding you over for so long.

You look up at his dimpled face and relax your shoulders, “Okay, yeah. Yeah I’ll come up.”

“I’ll unlock the door for you!” is the last thing you hear before he shuts his window and you make your way to the stairs.

You climb up to the second story and turn down his hallway. When you’re standing in front of his door, you can hear music playing.

You open the door and you’re met with the sounds of trumpets. Harry has Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” playing on his record player. He has it just loud enough to where it won’t annoy any of his neighbors, but it still fills every corner of the living room. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into a similar scene here. You know this to be one of his favorite songs to play in the morning.

You close the door behind you and take in the state of the room as you walk through. The instrument cases are a little more organized than they had been yesterday. Smaller ones are stacked up next to his workstation and the larger ones are stacked up in the corner next to his couch. His laptop sits open on the coffee table and a haphazard stack of blank paper repair tags sat next to it.

The camera bag on your shoulder is now starting to feel heavy, so you plop down on the couch. Your ears perk up at the sound of Harry singing along with the record from the kitchen.

“You can have an aeroplane flyin’. If you bring your blue sky back.”

Following the smell of coffee, you walk over to the doorway of the small kitchen. Harry is  standing at the counter. Thankfully he is not wearing the outfit that you saw him in earlier. He’s wearing brown trousers and a cream colored flannel with black and green stripes. He also has on his signature pair of scuffed up black vans.

There is a small table and two chairs in the corner of the kitchen next to the window with a vase of sunflowers and a couple of books sitting on it. You walk over to the table to inspect the books more closely. Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton & John Armstrong and The Course of Love, also by Alain de Botton. Before you get the chance to flip them over and read the descriptions, Harry clears his throat.

“Coffee’s ready.” He sets the kettle down on the counter and dances his way over to the cupboard where he keeps his mugs.

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face, admiring his ability to always be so energetic in the mornings.

He takes the filter out of the chemex and chunks it in the trash before pouring the coffee into two mugs. The way he turns with a mug in each hand, extending one to you, is extremely reminiscent of last night. After you take the mug from his hands, he scoots past you into the living room. The volume of the music lowers to a faint background noise before he appears again in the kitchen.

“So,” he pauses to reach into the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and setting it on the counter, “what are you doing up so early? Figured you’d be in bed till noon. Seemed pretty exhausted last night.” He takes a long sip of coffee, waiting for your response.

Suddenly you’re doing everything to not look in his direction. Your eyes are shifting from the table to the flowers to the mug in your hands.

“Um… yeah I woke up at like 5:30 for some reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I just decided to take a walk with my camera.” Your last few words echo from your mug before you take a big sip.

Harry clicks his tongue. “M’ sorry, that sucks. Did you at least see anything interesting?”

You involuntarily gasp at his question, causing the coffee to go directly down the wrong pipe. Several harsh coughs erupt from your chest.

Harry acts quickly, muttering a quick “shit” before taking the cup from your hand and setting it on the table along with his. He steps behind you and you hear a chair scoot out from the table. His hands gently wrap around your upper arms, prompting you to have a seat. You fold over in the chair, gripping the edge of the table for stability. After a few more strong coughs, you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Harry’s fingertips rubbing soothing circles on your back sends electricity up and down your spine.

His hand slides off of your back as he steps away from you, “Alright? Want some water?” He’s already walking over to his cabinet and pulling out a glass before you respond.

Once you clear your throat, you croak out, “Yeah I’m fine, that’s fine.”

He sets the glass on the table in front of you, turns back to the carton of eggs on the counter and starts cracking some into a pan.

After taking some sips of your water, you say, “So I was going to ask you the same question. What are you doing up so early?”

“Well, funny enough, I also had to wake up around 5:30. I’ve got a client coming to pick up her trumpet this morning and I had to get everything sorted and clean up a bit before she got here.”

Nodding your head, you tease, “Oh yeah, it looks really good in there. Was starting to forget what your floor looked like.”

Your heart leaps at the sound of Harry’s belly laugh. “Wow. Wowwwwww. Already giving me a hard time. At this hour. Jesus.”

You laugh at his exaggerated reaction while he simply shakes his head.

There’s a knock at the front door. Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Must be her, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to do those?” You stand up from your spot at the table and gesture to the pan.

“Sure, that’d be great, thanks,” he says over his shoulder when he exits the kitchen.

A moment later, you hear the sound of a woman’s voice greeting Harry. It sounds like they’re just standing in his entryway because you can’t really make out what either of them are saying.

Meanwhile, you go about scrambling eggs, making toast, and getting out plates and silverware. By the time Harry is back in the kitchen, you’re already starting to put everything on the table.

You pick up the books from the table and hold them up to Harry, “Where do you want these?”

“Oh uh, I’ll just put those on the coffee table.” When you hand them off to him, he holds up the copy of Art as Therapy. “This one’s for you though, make sure you take it with you today.”

You tilt your head in question.

“Just thought it looked like something you would enjoy. Saw it when I was looking for this other one.” He holds up The Course of Love.

Before you could say anything, he’s disappeared again into the living room.

Once you’re both sitting at the table and digging into your breakfast, Harry asks, “What are you doing tonight?”

You squint your eyes at him. “I mean, I don’t really have anything planned. Why do you ask?”

“Well that client that was just here offered me two free tickets to her jazz band’s show tonight as, like, an extra ‘thank you’.” He shrugs, “Might be fun to go to.”

With a straight face, you reply, “I can’t, I’m booked tonight.”

You stare at each other for a minute in silence trying not to crack a smile, until you both start snorting.

“I know you’re free because the bar is closed and Sarah is still sick.” Harry tosses his fork on his plate and leans back in his chair like he’s just won an argument.

You mirror him by crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “What if I have plans with Mitch? Sarah’s boyfriend?”

Harry furrows his brows and looks at you, baffled, “I know who Mitch is, why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Because I knew it would throw you off.”

“Alright, I’ll just take Mitch to the concert then.”

You drop your jaw and lightly kick his leg under the table. “What time is this concert?” You ask, slipping out of your teasing tone.

“It’s at seven.” Harry leans forward and lifts his coffee from the table, holding it up to you.

You grab yours from the table and clink it with his before finishing off the remainder of your coffee.

***********************

Back at your apartment, you’re leaning back in your chair at the desk in your living room, waiting for your pictures from today to upload on your computer. Your hands run over the smooth blue and green cover of Art as Therapy. In the few years that you have known Harry, you’ve swapped countless book recommendations back and forth, and the bookshelves in your apartments are constantly changing due to all of the borrowing you both do. You’ve even gotten each other books for birthdays and other holidays. This is the first book that he has bought for you completely unprompted. You hadn’t even heard of the author until today, so it’s not like he heard you mention in passing wanting to read his books.

You flip the book over and read the description, then flip to the first few pages to see a statement about the authors. “Their proposal is that certain great works of art offer clues on managing the tensions and confusions of everyday life and that, approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.”

Quickly shaking yourself out of your own thoughts, you check the progress on your photos. Approximately 20 minutes remaining.

You huff, slap the book closed, and toss it on the desk before getting up and walking to your room. There’s an old shoe box on one of your shelves that you like to go through when you’re feeling sad or having a weird day, which feels about right at this moment.

You plop down on your bed and set the box in front of you, opening up the lid. The rush of nostalgia and warmth that comes over you when going through this box is overwhelming sometimes. It’s filled with miscellaneous photos that you’ve taken on your film camera over the past few years. There are some that capture your favorite buildings and murals throughout the city. There are a lot from when you went to the pride celebrations last year. The majority of the pictures in the box capture candid moments of your friends and family. These kinds of pictures are the ones that remind you of why you love photography so much and even after getting high marks on your work for the institute, these are the ones that you end up feeling the most proud of.

You see your friends from out of state standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge from the time they paid you a surprise visit. Another one shows your cousin at his college graduation. There’s one of your friend and coworker, Sarah, and her boyfriend Mitch from the day you and Harry helped them move into their new apartment, proudly holding up the keys, smiling from ear to ear.

And then there’s quite a lot of Harry. Harry playing pool at a bar across town, Harry at the beach tossing a football with Mitch, a kind of blurry one of him going crazy at an Ariana Grande concert. You laugh out loud when you find the one of him proudly wearing your dress during a drunken game of truth or dare, and the one of him making a ‘kissy’ face at you in those obnoxious Gucci sunglasses that he wore for pretty much an entire summer. Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve experienced together until you go back and look at these pictures.

You’ve been flipping through them pretty quickly, but you come across one that makes you freeze. It’s from your friend’s birthday party a few months ago. You got someone to take a picture of yourself with Sarah and Mitch, but Harry decided to jump in. In the picture, Mitch is in the middle of you and Sarah, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and Harry has his arms hugged tight around your middle and his cheek is pressed to yours. It could be seen as a form of affection, if his face wasn’t covered in icing from your friend’s birthday cake. The photo is perfectly timed to capture everyone’s shocked laughter.

Just by looking at this photo again, you can feel his smile against your cheek and his arms holding you close. It’s a feeling you’ve been wanting more of ever since that night. Maybe that’s the ‘intimate question’ you’ve been asking yourself- Do you really want more with Harry?

**April 26th, 2020. 6:58pm**

You’re sure nobody on the street could miss you and Harry. After saying quick ‘thank you’s to the uber driver, you grab hands and start jogging toward the entrance of the SFJAZZ Center- a three story building with windows wrapping all the way around. The show is supposed to start in two minutes. You would have arrived much earlier if Harry hadn’t left the tickets on his kitchen table. You’re both dodging and weaving through people on the sidewalk, you in your favorite floral dress and Harry in a bold green suit jacket.

Once in the lobby, you both reduce your pace to a brisk walk and you readjust the bag on your shoulder. Harry’s hand is still holding yours as you’re both scanning the lobby for the right place to go. You spot a couple of employees closing doors labeled ‘main hall seating’.

“Over here,” you say, pulling Harry along with you.

Luckily, you’re able to catch the ushers in time to show them your tickets and be let in. The expansive auditorium is filled with the sound of chattering people and musicians warming up their instruments.

Thankfully, your seats are in a row toward the back and to the left of the stage, so you don’t have to make too big of a scene when scooting past people. Right when you settle in, the house lights dim, the chatter rapidly dies down, and the band on the stage goes silent.

The lull is soon replaced with applause when a woman walks out and stands center stage. She introduces herself as the director of programming and welcomes the audience. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means so much to this center as we continue to make music and art and do what we love to do.” She pauses to hold up a booklet in her hands. “As you may have seen in your program, tonight’s performance is a special one.”

For the first time, you glance around the room and notice almost everyone but you and Harry has a program in their lap or held in their hands.

The woman on stage continues. “Some of you may know this, and some of you may not, but April is the birth month of American jazz singer, Billie Holiday. So, to honor her legacy, this lovely band sitting behind me has put together arrangements of some of her greatest hits.” Applause fills the room once again.

“Some of the performances tonight will feature vocalists and some will be done with the band only, so I hope everyone will find something they enjoy. Now, without further ado, I present to you A Little Love, with Billie Holiday.”

There is applause for a third time, but your hands are suddenly too heavy in your lap to join in. As the director exits the stage and another woman, presumably the vocalist, takes her place, your mind is reeling at the situation you’re currently in. How have you wound up at a jazz concert dedicated to love, that you decided to attend on a whim, with your best friend that you suddenly have overwhelming feelings for?

All of the subtle signs and notions of feelings you have had over the years have turned into blaring alarms, and they’re all pointing to one person. The man sitting right next to you, who is also sitting stock still in his seat.

There’s a drumroll from the stage followed by a light and smooth saxophone solo that brings you back into the moment. The vocalist begins the captivating first verse of Billie Holiday’s You Go to My Head.

You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

You slowly sink about three inches down into your seat. You wish you had a program now so that you could at least use it to fan your face. You reach your hand up to dab at your forehead.

At the same time Harry takes a deep breath and lightly trills his lips while itching the bridge of his nose.

The vocalist continues to sing the lyrics that are hitting you directly in the gut.

The thrill of the thought

That you might give a thought to my plea

Casts a spell over me

Still I say to myself “Get a hold of yourself”

Can’t you see that it never can be

You glance around the auditorium as much as you can without turning your head in Harry’s direction, wondering if anyone else is feeling the temperature rise or the tension that seems to be wrapped around the both of you.

You go to my head

With a smile that makes my temperature rise

Like a summer with a thousand Julys

You intoxicate my soul with your eyes

Though I’m certain that this heart of mine

Hasn’t the ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

Your mind is reeling yet again at the situation you’re in. This must be some kind of elaborate prank that the universe is pulling on you. You’re half expecting a spotlight to fall on you and Harry that nobody in the room would even question.

The feeling doesn’t lift as the concert goes on. Soulful songs about a lover’s eyes, falling in love, how easy it is to live when you’re in love. Even where there is not a vocalist, you seem to know what the songs are implying.

Something that comes up in your rapid stream of thoughts is the author’s note you read earlier, “approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.” You ask yourself the question again: Do you want more with Harry?

You think about the pictures of the times you’ve spent together. Crazy shifts at the bar, days in the park, breakfasts, dinners, late nights staying up talking about god knows what. You know the answer. You’ve always known the answer.

It seems like your heart has caught up with your thoughts, because it’s pounding in your chest.

Halfway through the final song of the night, you decide to steal a glance at Harry. Slowly turning your head, you peek through the corner of your eye.

A quick jolt of electricity runs through your entire body when you see that Harry already has his eyes on you. You turn your head back to the stage, but you can still feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head.

When thunderous applause breaks out after the final song, Harry turns his head back to the stage as you both limply clap along with the audience.

******************

This is the most quiet car ride of your life. There isn’t even any music being played in the background. The only words that have been exchanged between you and Harry since the concert ended were when he asked you if it was okay for the uber to just drop you both at your building and you answered with a simple ‘sure’.

There are so many feelings swirling around in you that you don’t know what to do with, and you definitely don’t want all of them to spill out in this stranger’s car, so you keep your jaw clenched as you look out of the window.

The car comes to a stop outside of your building and you both mutter ‘thank you’s as you climb out. You both silently make your way through the lobby, up the stairs, and down the hallway to your door.

Just last night you were making the same trip. You were making light jokes about wanting to steal Harry’s jacket and he was joking back, accusing you of wanting him to freeze to death. You had to remind each other not to laugh so loud so you wouldn’t disturb anyone. Now the only sound in the hallway is your shoes on the floor.

Once you reach your door, you open your bag and start digging for your keys. “Thanks, um, thanks for inviting me. It was a really good show.” You find your keys and push them into the lock before turning your eyes to Harry.

He has one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… Yeah it was... it was fun. Glad you could come with me.” He moves his hands from their places and awkwardly moves his arms out for a hug.

You smile and let out a sharp exhale through your nose at the awkwardness of this whole situation, but you gladly reciprocate the hug. Your arms completely wrap around each other, your hands tightly gripping his jacket. You can smell his cologne, like ginger and honey and cedar, and it’s making your head spin. You embrace for a few seconds and then release each other.

Harry sighs, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and slowly takes a few steps to turn away.

You turn the key in the lock, then turn your head to watch Harry take his first few steps away from you. You don’t want him to get any further.

“Harry?”

He stops and turns around to face you. “Yeah?”

You cannot believe the question that’s coming to your mind, but it’s the only thing that’s been coherent enough to put into words. You gulp and take a deep breath before asking, “Do you… do you still wish you could kiss me?”

You watch about three different emotions pass across Harry’s face. His mouth opens, his head tilts to the side, then his mouth closes and his eyes shift to the floor.

You feel a flood of regret. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember. That was stupid. He doesn’t remember. Just play it off.

You know your face is flushed with embarrassment as you speak softly, “I’m sorry. I just. That night that you were really drunk and I brought you back here, you said that you wish- that you wished y-”

Hearing Harry say your name stops your rambling. “Don’t be sorry. I know what I said.” He’s eyeing you cautiously and taking a couple of steps toward you again. “And… yeah. I still wish I could kiss you. Felt that way for… a while now.”

Tears are brimming your eyes as you look into his, trying to absorb what he’s just said. Then it’s almost like the floor beneath you tilts in his direction, nudging you to move forward until you’re standing directly in front of him. You can smell his cologne again.

With your eyes still locked into his, you slowly raise your hands to place them on the back of his neck, thumbs stroking the corners of his jaw.

After taking a shaky breath, you whisper, “I wish I could kiss you, too.”

Harry gulps and shifts his eyes down to your lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose before you feel his hand lightly grip your waist and his other hand takes a similar position on your neck.

You both stand there for a few breaths, eyes roaming over each other’s faces.

You start to lean in and then stop about half way and close your eyes. You’re both just waiting to see who will close the gap.

After a moment, you feel Harry’s grip on your neck and waist tighten and you feel him leaning in. Then his lips are on yours. They’re on yours again and again. You tilt your heads to deepen the kisses and he takes a step toward you. You follow his lead until your back is pressed against your door.

As much as it pains you to do so, you have to stop so you can catch your breath. You reach one of your hands into his hair and lightly pull him away. Both of you are breathing  in sync.

Once your breathing is evened out, you lock eyes with Harry. Your heart flutters when you exchange shy but knowing smiles and his thumb gently strokes your cheek.

After clearing your throat, you move your hand to your door knob. “Do you want to come in?”

Harry glances at your hand then returns his eyes to yours. He purses his lips and takes a sharp breath in. “I just want to know what you want.”

What just happened a few seconds ago already seems monumental to you. After the emotional roller coaster of this day, you’re not sure whether or not you’re ready for more tonight.

You take your hand from the doorknob and run it along his shoulder to return it to its previous position on his neck. “Honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted from today.” You watch as Harry nods his head in understanding. “I think all I want tonight is to hold you,” you notice the softness in his eyes, the same softness that you noticed for a fleeting second in the bar last night. “And keep kissing you.” This makes a lopsided smirk pop onto his face. “And I want to talk in the morning. About us.”

Harry leans in and presses a sweet peck to your lips. “I think we can do that.”

*******************

If anyone would have told you that your day was going to end with you and Harry in your bed, your head on his chest, and him running his fingers soothingly over your back, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“Harry?” you say softly, just as your eyelids are starting to get heavy.

His fingers stop for a moment, “Yeah?”

Thinking over the sequence of events that led you to where you are now, you start to erupt into sleepy giggles. “Did you know that the performance was gonna be,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “that?”

Harry lets out a deep belly laugh and when you glance up at him, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t have planned that if I tried.”

Before you know it, you’re both laughing uncontrollably, recounting the insane timing of the whole situation.

Harry rolls to his side so that he’s facing you and places a lingering kiss on your lips. “I’ll have to tell that client that any repairs she wants are on the house now.”

You throw your head back laughing and he pulls you into his chest, smothering your neck with kisses before resting his chin on top of your head.

If this is all you could have for the rest of your life, just a little love from each other, you would never want anything more.

************************************************************

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Y/N looks down at herself; she's wearing a wide-leg jumpsuit, a rust color, and if she's being honest, she looks really good. Thankfully, no one wants to make a first impression under-dressed; at least that was what her mother taught her. 

She doesn't turn to look at him anymore and keeps her eyes in front of her. 

"Never seen you before, around from here?" His voice was slow and soothing. His accent is sweet as honey. 

He really surprised her with the accent, that might just have convinced her he must be the most perfect human from his tall, lean stature to the brown curls to the captivating green eyes. 

"I'm new. Jeff is my friend." She pauses. "Acquaintance met him a week ago at work, and we hit it off. I've been here two weeks officially." 

"Jeff's great, although his girl is quite popular."

She laughs and agrees with him. 

"Sorry, I'm Harry." He approaches her with his hand stretched out.

She smiles when Harry repeats her name back as they let go of each other's hands. He then takes a seat, and they fall into easy conversation. 

"I really love your tattoos, do you get them done around here?" She asks, genuinely curious eyes locked on the beautiful mermaid on his arm. 

"Most, done at this shop, a buddy of mine works at. He's really talented, and I trust him. A few, I've gotten when I was traveling."

She hums to let him know she's listening. 

"Got lots more than just these, but might be inappropriate to undress in front of a stranger." He says honestly, not wanting her to be uncomfortable. 

"Here I thought we were becoming friends," she teases.

He laughs, shocked at her response. She smiles, glad they share the same type of humor.

"Got any of your own?" 

"I've got two, but one no one knows about." She answers him honestly.

"I've got three stars behind my right ear." She pauses and looks at him before crossing her left foot across her thigh. She moves her jumpsuit higher and there on her ankle is a peach. "I got a peach when I was eighteen because I wanted a tattoo, and the reason I got a peach is still unknown to me to this day." 

"Peaches are sweet. So are you."

She blushes but stills looks at him. "That's your first impression of me."

He nods. "You could have ignored me and left or not even answered me or worse answered like a jerk for not knowing your name already but instead let a strange walk into your bubble." 

"I like you, Harry. Think the accent won me over."

"Oh, really," He smirks. "Wasn't the dimples or piercing green eyes."

"Eh.." She shrugs

She laughs, and Harry can't help but join her.

On a bench watching a sunset, Harry and Y/N become friends.

~

"Harry!" She screams as she walks through the backdoor. "I've run out of almond butter."

"Broke into my house, why?" Harry replies as he walks into the kitchen, hair wet. He's dressed in grey sweats and a black hoodie. He's got scruff growing, and as much as she loves to tease him about it, Harry knows how much she loves it. 

"I didn't break in." She's spreading Harry's almond butter onto her slice of toasted bread. "The back door was open which means come right in." 

Harry's standing there watching her take a bite of her toast. "Peach, how are you already eating when you've been here less than five minutes?" He narrows his eyes and looks at his unplugged toaster that sits next to his coffee machine that is surprisingly already brewing. "Did you run here with it in your hand?"

She scratches her neck lightly, index finger dragging slowly. "Umm...of course not."

"Right, you wouldn't because you live a thirty minute walk away. Running only means you'd get more germs on it."

She rolls her eyes at Harry's concern. "Are you hungry, I'll make you something. I have time on my hands before I have to run back home." 

Harry grins, allowing her to drop the topic and quickly agrees because he adores her cooking. "I'll have your egg whites special, please."

She nods, kissing his forehead before moving to the fridge to get the things out she'll need. Harry stares at her and thinks back to when he first met her. He thinks it's insane he went so long without her in his life. Harry owes it all to Jeff that he kept bringing her to their outings when she first moved here. Harry will never admit that to him, he doesn't want to have to name his first child after him. 

Harry furrows his brow in confusion. It's Saturday, and she always stays the weekend with him.

"You usually stay over?" He questions as she hands him his plate. "Why do you have to leave?"

"Cassie set me up on a date." She looks down at her nails and frowns seeing a few chipped and she knows it is from all the cleaning she has been doing at home because work has been slow and she needed to keep busy. "I'm going to cancel it." She decides instantly. 

She takes off her sweater and settles herself on the chair next to Harry taking a drink of his coffee. She hums at the sharp taste, one she learned to appreciate after being his friend for years. 

"Just like that," Harry is trying his best to hide his excitement but knows he's failing miserably.

"My nails look atrocious. It's like I'd be showing up naked" She physically shivers at the thought. 

"We can do face masks and each other's nails." Harry says after taking back his coffee, knowing she'd drink it all without meaning to.

She lights up at Harry's suggestion. 

"Yes, oh, can I use the candy apple one?" she asks her eyes locking with his and Harry melts in his seat at the innocent look she's giving him. He doesn't remember a time he's told her no.

As soon as she hears the word yes come out of his mouth, she's racing up the stairs to gather up the things they'll need. 

He hears a thump upstairs and is about to make his way up when he hears an "I'm good." He laughs and washes his plate before heading to the living room. Harry turns the tv on and decides on parks and rec because it's their favorite to watch together.  

"I got you black with glitter. Starry starry night is a beautiful color." She's admiring it as she walks down the steps with her arm full of things they might need, like the nail polish remover they'll need to take off her chipped color. "I know you were hiding this from me, which is why I will be using it on you." 

Harry takes some things from her and sets it on his old coffee table. "I got it a few days ago. Honestly, bought it with you in mind." He confesses. What he doesn't admit is that when he saw it, it reminded him of the first time they laid in his backyard and although that night wasn't clear enough she told him about her favorite constellations and that if she was an artist she'd draw the moons and stars every night. Looking back, Harry can say that is the moment he fell in love with her. Not that he knew that then, no, he realized much later.  

The smile on her face has his heart beating out of his chest. Harry swears she's going to kiss him. She leans in plants a big kiss on his cheek, which still makes his cheeks go pink, but his heart drops because he really wanted her lips on his. 

She pouts when she catches Harry staring at her. "You're staring because I smell right." She narrows her eyes at him as if judging him for making her self-conscious. "If I go shower, will you let me borrow some clothes?" 

Harry knows she has more than a change of clothes in her own drawer in his bedroom, but he agrees, and she's off once more up the stairs.

~

"Are you ready?" She screams walking in through the front door.

Harry had invited her out for Tuesday brunch seeing as she had the morning off, and he thinks he has the right to not be ready. He promised he'd be waiting for her on his sofa so that as soon as she walked in, they'd be off. She walks into the living room as if it's her first time there and smiles at the pictures he has scattered around. She finds a book on the couch and frowns because, of course, it's another Bukowski book. She walks up the stairs to his bedroom and walks in expecting him to be in bed, but instead, she finds him in a 'Women are smarter' t-shirt and a blanket on his lap, and she knows he's got nothing underneath. Harry's got the right earphone in, he's sitting at a makeshift table he made in his walk-in closet talking to his laptop. She assumes he's meeting with a client and is about to walk out when something catches her eye. It's a photo of her on his nightstand. Harry looks at her from the corner of his eye. He starts to fidget with a ring on his middle finger. He focuses back on his client, but he's not really listening, too busy admiring her. She doesn't feel Harry's wandering eyes on her back, but Harry knows he's been staring too long when his client repeats himself.

She approaches slowly as if the item would jump at her any second. She picked up a photo of herself from Los Angeles when they were there together in Autumn. She's smiling brightly at the cinnamon buns they made together when they were helping Jeff move into his house, and she told him she had to test out his oven. She didn't even know he took a picture of her. She's about to turn it over, but it's snatched out of her hand. 

"Hey," she pouts. 

"It's mine. Stop being so snoopy."

"I wouldn't be snoopy if you didn't leave your things out. I look really pretty there. I can see why you want me there to look at every morning."

Harry turns around to hide his blush. "You're there because I sent it to a friend of mine because I think you would be a good match." Harry wants to punch himself because out of all the lies, he had to pick that one. 

She stares at him with wide eyes. She doesn't want a date with a stranger. 

The person she wants to date is standing in front of her. Now, she definitely knows he doesn't like her because he's setting her up with someone else.

 "Is he tall?" Is her first question stopping herself from asking a second. 

"An inch or two shorter than me." 

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, that just won't do," she says dramatically. "My Flynn Rider is hmm..your height, or he could be taller. I don't mind." 

Harry chuckles. "He's a fan of ice cream and loves Sudoku." he states two of her favorite things. 

She narrows her eyes at him. 

"Is he a big handsome boss like you?" She jokes.

"He works in marketing in a company that works with us." 

"Marketing, I'm already bored to death." Harry gives her a pleading look. "I'll go, but only if you promise to get Anne to send me her recipe for her mince pie because I want to impress her this Christmas."

"Christmas is months away."

"I know, but I- I tried making some to practice and get better, and it was a disaster. Maybe because I'm not British, it's bad. I want Anne to like me." she says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Peach, my mum loves you. I can assure you. Those sticky buns you made on boxing day were all mum talked about for weeks after you left to spend new years with your brother's."

"Those were good. I haven't been able to make sticky buns that good. It must be the ingredients, we might just have to move to Europe, H."  

"I'll book the flight Peach, just let me know when." 

She walks out, so Harry doesn't see the blush on her face. She really loves this man and might die if she doesn't tell someone soon. 

~

"I brought ice cream!" She yells, walking in. 

She stops in the kitchen but doesn't see him or hear him. She checks his office, and it's empty, the same as his bedroom. She thinks he might be late getting out and starts The Great British Bake Off  because their conversation from days ago is still in her head. Also, it's her comfort show after a shitty date

She hears the door unlocking and is grateful because two hours she had been waiting for him. She stands up eager to greet Harry, but as she turns around, she's met with a pretty blonde she's never met. She's dressed in a black dress that reaches mid-thigh hugging her curves in all the right places with red heels, and the only thing missing is the matching red lipstick. 

Harry walks in with his hand on her back, and that's where she finds the blonde's missing lipstick. It's smudged all over Harry's lips. It’s obvious they had done a lot of kissing. She does her best to hide her shock.

The room is quiet, she thinks she can hear her heartbreaking. She reacts in a matter of seconds. Eyes wide and in panic, but she makes sure to move quickly. She shoots the girl a quick smile. She turns the tv that was on mute off, thankful to have already thrown her trash away.

"What are you doing here?" Harry practically screams at her. "Did you ditch the date?"

She's panicking, and if she doesn't stay calm, she might just pass out or better yet scream at Harry for sending her on the worst date of her life. She already let Sydney know what happened on the date but assured Syd she'd be fine at Harry's. 

Oh, how wrong she was. 

"I'm sorry it didn't go as planned. I'm leaving now." She picks her shoes up at the door and walks out with them in hand. 

Harry follows her out and is hot on her heels. 

"Did you ditch him for ice cream and movies at my house?" Harry's voice getting louder.

Harry's upset. She hasn't seen him this upset since the time she called Harry and told him she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire and how she didn't have a spare because she kept forgetting going to the shop and buying a new one. He had let a tow truck take her home and proceeded to yell at her when she went to his house two days later. 

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'll send him a fruit basket." 

She's in her car and in the next second driving down the street. 

She wants love but not like this, it isn't supposed to hurt like this.

~

Harry wakes up at seven to get ready for his daily run with his Peach when he sees a few texts on his phone. 

Sydney: I know you had good intentions but no more dates for her.

Sydney: Please, just do anything she wants. Give her all the ice cream she wants. 

Sydney: I'm assuming it all went well, and she's still sleeping because she hasn't answered my messages.

Harry's confused and does the only logical things and calls her. 

"Syd, what are your texts about?"

"The date you sent her on. She was supposed to tell you about it once she got to your house."

"I wasn't home. Peach said she ditched him for ice cream and movies at my house." He says, not mentioning the part where he screams at her. 

Syd sighs clearly hearing the strain in his voice, "I know there's some information missing there, but I won't push because she's my friend first. The dude basically met her and said her outfit wasn't revealing enough, but she could make up for it the next time. Then during dessert, he moved to sit next to her instead of across. He tried to put his hand up her dress. She told him to stop." Syd paused. "Then he tried it again, and she jumped up from her seat. She almost bumped into the waitress but he grabbed her waist too tight to let that happen. The waitress saw how upset she was and had the hostess and security walk her to her car.  She walked out crying because she just wanted to punch him but didn't want to cause a bigger mess." 

Harry doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. He does feel anger pouring through his veins and knows next time he sees this guy he's going to do more than yell. 

"She left last night saying she ditched and that she was sorry. I'm such an idiot." Harry knows Syd will yell at him for what he did next. "I yelled at her because I brought a girl home and she was there. I practically told her the date happened, so she'd give me space."

"You suck. I thought you were better than that. That girl is the kindest person on this planet. She loves you and she always puts your happiness in front of hers."

Harry knows she isn't coming, but a small part of him holds hope she will still show up for their run together.

He sits on his back steps, waiting for her. Texts her multiple times, leaves voicemails. Yet nothing in return. 

Peach: I'm busy.

Harry: Come over, please.

Peach: I can't. My boss asked me to come in. A presentation is due Monday.

Harry: We need to talk, call me or come over whenever. I'm always free for you.

It's almost been two weeks since she talked to Harry, but she's honestly embarrassed about how things happened. Harry implied he set her up on a date because she spent too much time with him. She's giving him what he clearly wanted. She also had to process what happened to her alone. Therapy was good, Dr. Stein was very kind. Dr. Stein didn’t make her problems feel small and it felt nice to let things out instead of letting it all bottle up. 

It felt horrible to be away from Harry so long. Since they became friends they’d never gone longer than a day without communication. She felt empty but the image of lipstick stains on his face kept her away longer than she liked to admit. She’s going to push the feelings aside because that won’t be the reason she loses her best friend. 

She's walking up Harry's steps but stops before she reaches the last one. What if he has the girl over? What if he ends the friendship? All these thoughts are running through her head and she hates having not knowing where Harry and her stand. She always hated confrontation.

As soon as she approaches the door, she sighs but squares her shoulder because she's strong. No one, not even Harry will make her feel weak. She's there to apologize for being in his home and overstepping a boundary. Then hopefully, they’ll talk it out. 

She knocks for the first time in years on his door, and it feels strange, but she sucks it up because this is the correct thing to do. 

She hears his light footsteps and takes two steps back.

He's surprised to see her when the door opens, but the smile he wears is bright before he frowns just as quickly.

"You don't need to knock Peach come in."

She steps in slowly toeing off her shoes carefully.

Harry approaches her and brings her in for a big hug. She stands there with her hands at her side. Harry lets her go when he feels her tense.

"What's wrong, Peach?" He frowns looking her up and down. "I've got lots of apologizing to do, but first, why'd you knock."

She looks up at Harry and pouts when she sees the eye bags he has. "You haven't been sleeping."

"It happens when your best friend is short with you for thirteen days, but it's okay because I deserve it." 

"I didn't mean for that to happen, but I was giving you space because I hadn't realized how much I actually bother you."

"Hey, stop that." Harry looks at her sadly. "That's not what I meant that night." 

"I can read between the lines. You don't have to hide anything. I can handle the truth." 

"Listen to me," Harry guides her head to look up at him. "I was a jerk. I let my dick do the talking. You are the most important person in my life. I love you, and I don't know what I'd do without you in my life. I was going crazy this week. It felt like an entire year went by without you."

That makes her laugh. "Stop lying."

Harry shakes his head with a smile. "I mean it. My days without you are long and boring pretty Peach."

"Well, I'm here now, and I smell something good."

Harry hesitates before opening his mouth to address the reason she was at his house that Friday night.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't be the person you go to when you're upset." She tenses up just as she was about to reach for a chocolate muffin. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk the one night you needed me most. I'm your best friend, and yet I couldn't tell that you had been crying because of an idiot I set you up with." 

She turns around to look at him, and there's no tears or anger in his eyes, only sadness. "One in three women get sexually assaulted. That's what Matt, Sydney's fiance, told me. He's a social worker.  Women have to fear men yet are never believed or seen as a victim. I told them he didn't hurt me, but Matt told me that it was harassment. I tried to belittle it but they told me it was okay to feel unsafe because it went against what I wanted.  Guess I needed someone unbiased to tell me that it's okay to be affected." She smiles. "I went to see my therapist. It felt umm…good to discuss everything that happened." 

Harry has tears running down his face, and he knows they won’t stop. Seeing her in person has made his guilt really come to surface. "I'm sorry sweet Peach. I'm sorry I sent you on a date that led to this. It's all my fault."

"H, don't cry. It's not your fault he doesn't know how to treat a woman. I'm okay. I will be okay." 

She's holding his face gently in her hands, and Harry falls more in love with her at this moment because she's never looked stronger. Although she was hurt, she won't let it break her but guide her. 

He pulls her in and hugs her tight. Harry kisses her head, whispering I love you, and I'm here for you. 

Harry knows this doesn't clear everything, but they will cross this bridge together and come out stronger. 

She squirms out of his hold. "The muffins are getting cold. I want the chocolate chips melting in my mouth."

~

Harry is sitting in the car on another business call. He's wearing a yellow shirt he woke up in and threw his black hoodie on. His sunglasses resting on his head keeping his curls from falling forward. He was in shorts and running shoes because he was supposed to run with Peach on this new trail, except this call prevented him from doing so, and she didn't want to wait around for him. He knows she doesn't like running when the sun is high, so early mornings are their go-to. Except Harry's job calls him too often on Saturday's because they know he's awake.

He's not sure how long he's been talking, but he's upset because he missed taking pictures of her for whenever they reached the top of whatever they were running to. His passenger door is pulled open, and it's Peach plopping herself down. Shoes taken off and on her feet are her Nike sliders. Harry snaps his head back into the call. 

"Look, H, I fell." She comments, not caring that he was still on his call.

Harry turns to look at her quickly and sees her knee pulled to her chest. She's rolled up her grey leggings, and there on her knee is blood rolling down. She's unfazed, and Harry knows she's clumsy but hates he wasn't there to help her up. 

"This girl helped me up and offered to walk back with me, but she could have been a serial killer for all I know and told her I was fine and ran off. Good thing I was on my way down already." 

Harry stares at this girl in disbelief because, of course, she doesn't trust anyone. "I know girls are less likely, but she was looking at my boobs, and I didn't like that." 

"Styles, you with us." His colleague asks. 

Harry looks away from her and stares back at his phone, resting on the steering wheel. 

"Sorry, my girl had an accident, and I got to take care of it." They end after that and Harry takes out the first aid kit she gifted him to have in his car for emergencies. He knew she did it for herself more and who was he to object. Harry missed the blush on her cheeks when he said, "my girl," and she's thankful for that. He cleans her cut gently but quickly with all the practice he's had on her. He puts a bandage on and smiles when he's done. 

"H, it's got daisies" She's smiling wide. She caressed it softly to not bother her injury. 

Harry did get her different types of band-aids because a new design each time makes her smile. 

“Kiss it better then I’ll be healed.” 

The smile on her face has Harry leaning in close. His lips are soft as they touch her skin. She wants to run her fingers through his hair and bring him up to kiss her lips but she settles for just her knee. 

~

"It's baking time, bitch!" She screams as she walks in with her Rapunzel grocery tote. 

Harry knows they are going to bake two or three things from the size of the bag. She huffs a little, placing it on the counter. She begins to take out her items and sections them out. 

"Today, young one-"

"I'm older than you."

She glares at him for interrupting. "Today, smart-ass. We are making banana bread and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies." 

"Can you do it on your own, I'm busy." Harry jokes, expecting a sarcastic reply in return. 

He looks at her, and she's looking sadly at a bag of chocolate chips. He frowned if she did not get the joke. 

"Am I annoying you?" She questions. Harry hates how often she asks him that, but wounds take time to heal. 

"Nope, I'm just a jerk."

She looks at his eyes and stares. "You're not lying to make me feel better." 

"My sweet Peach, it would be an honor to bake with you and will allow you to pick all the movies we watch tonight because I am an idiot who takes a joke too far." 

"Okay, sorry. I'm on overdrive in my head and came here to relax, but got too into my head." 

Harry pulls her into a warm hug, and they stay like that for minutes. He pulls away and pushes her to the sink because they had work to do.

"Your peanut butter chocolate chip cookies are my drug. I watched you make them, but I feel you do something extra when I turn around." Harry says on the couch chewing on his fifth cookie. She's laying with her head in his lap, she's sure she got crumbs in her hair but is too tired to care. 

"I put all my love for you in those cookies." she murmurs close to dozing off.

Harry stares at with a soft look in his eyes. If she had looked up, she would have seen it was love in those green eyes of his. 

"I wish the love you put in the cookies is the love you'd give to me."

She's asleep in his lap. He knows she missed his declaration if he could even call it that. She lets out a small smile. She grabs his hand playing with her hair and pulls it to her chest. "I love you."

Harry freezes, unsure if she means it or what because it didn’t feel like the typical ‘I love you’ that she tells all her friends. Y/N's never talked in her dream before. 

"Peach," he whispers, "you awake." A minute goes by, and he gets no response 

This might be his chance, but it could also ruin everything if she didn't mean it. 

Oh boy.

~

It's been a week since that night on the couch, and Harry is dying inside. He never has the balls to ask.

 It's the first Friday of the month, which means dinner and wine or in her case tea. 

Peach came over and had already cooked dinner claiming she had lots of time on her hand today. It usually means she didn't want to deal with Harry in the kitchen. Then proceeded to order Harry to set the table because he was no help.

The meal as always was delicious. She made spicy lemon pasta with chicken although she told him it was supposed to be shrimp, she didn't think she'd like it. Harry showed her in praise as he does after every meal. Jokes, she needs to open her own restaurant, then she melts Harry's heart by saying, "I only cook for you, darling." 

Harry decided to have some wine, and she settled on tea because she didn't like to drink. Harry was giggly meaning he was a bit tipsy because he hadn't drunk in forever and was half a bottle down. She knew it wasn't fair but decided now would be a good time for some answers. 

"Do you think I'd be a good girlfriend?

"The best," he replies, instantly letting her know he's not lying. 

She blushes and gestures for him to go on. 

"You're kind. A good cook, understanding, incredibly smart, and you've got a cute nose." Harry wants to go on and on but thinks he'd blurt out his feelings if he did. 

"Would you ask me out? If you didn't know me."

"In a heartbeat," his answer shocks her.

Does Harry like her like she liked him? 

She decides to get bold. 

"Why haven't you taken me on a date?" She looks down at herself dressed in black sweats and a blue vintage Mickey Mouse shirt she stole from Harry. "Am I that bad looking?"

"Stop that," Harry murmurs, always hating when she comments on her looks. "I did ask you out, and I got friend-zoned. I didn't pursue more." 

She shakes her head. "Stop shitting me, H." She doesn't believe him. "The first time we went out together, we split the bill." 

"Think back, Peach. We always hung out in groups then I asked you to go out alone, I picked you up, opened your door and then we split the bill because you said friends met in the middle." 

She sits back, her lips mouthing a silent 'oh.'

"I friend-zoned you." She starts laughing. "That's gold." 

She catches her breath and stops to stare at Harry. He's wearing an old white t-shirt and can't help but look at his curls framing his face. It's slowly growing out, and she knows he's growing it out for her. She loves playing with his curls and tying it in a small ponytail that sticks up. "H, if you had told me that during lunch, I would have agreed, but you decided to keep those pretty lips shut." 

Harry smirks, "You think my lips are pretty." 

She sighs, giving up. She stands up. "I'll pick you up at six on Friday. I'm taking you on a date." 

Harry sits there shocked but not surprised at her boldness. 

"How do you even know I like you?" 

Her smirk falters, and her eyes dull. Harry feels like he was just punched in the gut. He put this look on her face. 

"You're right, that was insensitive of me." She's scanning the room, trying not to meet Harry's eyes. "I'm going to go." She rushes out the door in the next second. Harry is sitting there stunned before he jumps up after her. 

"Wait," he screams, hoping she'll stop. She's in a hurry to leave, throwing her bag in the passenger seat. She shuts the door, but to his benefit, the window is down. 

"I'm sorry." he's panting. "I'm an idiot, I know. I didn't mean that. I just like to tease you." He's looking at her, but she's looking straight ahead. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

She takes a deep breath. "That wasn't nice."

He sighs in relief. "I know, hun. I messed up. We were both being honest and vulnerable, and you surprised me by saying you were taking me out." 

"I'm reconsidering taking you out." 

She finally looks over at him, her eyes not shining as bright looking at him. "I’m still going to go." 

"I'll let you go if you say you'll still take me out." 

She looks like she wants to say no. "I'll hang here if I have to as you drive away." 

"Do you.." she pauses, not being able to meet his eyes. Her hand reaches out to play with his pretty witch ring on his middle finger. "like me." she mutters. 

"Hey, look at me." Harry guides her face to look at him, and he's never seen her so vulnerable. So open. What he feels like her heart is on display. "I'm crazy about you." 

She can't help the blush that colors her cheeks. 

"For so long, I've had these feelings, and I've gone on dates, but it's never worked out, and I've always known it was because they weren't you." 

She smiles timidly. "Okay, H. I'll still take you on a date."

He leans his forehead on hers. "I can't wait."

"I really want to kiss you, but I'm a gentleman. and I want to do this right by you." Harry runs his thumb gently over her bottom lip. She releases a small sigh, her breath warming his thumb. 

"Can't tonight count as a date?" She's looking from his eyes to his lips. 

Harry laughs loving the extra attention. 

"I like to be wined and dined, too, Peach." 

She sighs. "I sure know to pick them." 

A kiss to her forehead and he backs away. "Drive safe, Peach."

She drives off a smile on both their faces.

~

"Okay, I know I was the one who was supposed to pick you up, but I really need you to come for me." 

She's sitting next to the steps that lead to her door cradling her wrist to her chest, cursing the last wobbly step she has yet to fix. 

Maybe Harry will help her fix it sometime soon. 

"I'm not going to ask why I'll be there in five," Harry replies.

"I live 15 minutes away!" she screams, "You better be driving safely, or I'll punch you." 

"Sorry Peach, I meant to say see you in ten." 

She hangs up and shoves her phone in her bag and ponders if she should get up or not. 

She pulls her hand away from her chest a little and sees that it looks okay, thankfully she didn't put rings on today; otherwise, they might have been stuck on her fingers. She looks at her nails and smiles because her lilac nails didn't chip. She did them last night because Harry loves this color. 

Harry arrives and gets out in a hurry that he almost trips over her. 

"Watch it, H." She mumbles, playing with a rolly polly that she found next to her bag. "You almost killed Eric."

Harry stares down at her, not sure what's going on, but gives her time. 

"Our date is for you to drive me to urgent care because I've had an accident." She smiles up at him like it's the most normal thing in the world. 

"Can't say I've ever had someone take me there," he answers, his gaze locked on her swollen wrist.

"I know you will remember me forever and ever for this. Now help me up, my butt is officially numb."

He walks her to his car and goes as far as putting her seatbelt on for her. 

"Want to tell me how it happened?" 

"I was walking down the steps, and my shoe got stuck in the bottom step I have yet to fix. Instead of landing on my face, I put my hands out, and now my left wrist is hurting," she pouts, looking at harry. "I was supposed to fix it this Sunday. I got the supplies in the doorway, ready to go.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, concerned because it is swelling up and the bruising only makes it look worse.

"Nope, I got a high pain tolerance," she winks.

"I'll keep that in mind." He jokes, but gosh, that sure got him tight in his pants.

"I know it's not broken because it doesn't look weird but also not a fracture because it would hurt if I touched my fingers, but they move fine. I just want to know what kind of sprain it is. How long I need to keep it rested and all that fun stuff."

Harry looks at her, not at all surprised she knows so much about the injury. 

"I wasn't always accident-prone. I did sports, and high school division one was tough. I went through lots of icing and taping. The trainer and I were on first name bases. I ended up helping her a lot. She made me take this short course where I learned the basics." 

Harry smiles because although this date is unconventional, he sure is learning more about his Peach. 

They are surprised to see the urgent care waiting room pretty empty. She gives her name, and she's handed a clipboard. Harry is quick to take it out of her hand and begins to fill it out. 

"I should be scared that you know my social security but I'm not." 

"Remember, two summers ago, you wanted to go to Lake Tahoe for a week, and we rented that cabin, and we decided to get drunk together because you didn't drink and only wanted to know how it felt. You only felt safe enough to do it with only me. Well, I decided not to get drunk that night so that I take care of you. You swore you were going to die and proceeded to sing your social security to me in a song until I could recite it back to you." 

She nods as if trying to think back to that day. 

"That day is nonexistent to me." she laughs. "Alcohol sucks. Don't need that in me ever."

"I drink it for the both of us to remember." 

"Yeah, cause your tolerance is high; it must be the British in you," she says, bumping his shoulder softly.

She peeks over to look at the question he's on, and it's asking when her last period was. She's about to answer when she sees he wrote in the correct days. She doesn't comment on it. 

"Do you believe in soulmates?." 

Harry turns to look at her with his bright green eyes. “Yeah, it’s a nice thought. Have someone who completes you and understands you like no one else.”

“I know it’s our first date, but we’ve been friends for over three years and since the moment we met I was hit with this ease and safety when I’m around you. I think you might be my soulmate.” 

"Oh yeah, what does being your soulmate entail?" He’s grinning because he knows she’s right.

"Lots of cookies and cinnamon rolls. Hmmm...cuddles laughs and lots of kisses. Like lots of them." 

Harry’s smile goes into full bloom because they haven't even shared the first kiss, and she knows she wants this with him. 

"I can live with that." 

"That’s cool, I wasn't asking." 

Two hours later, they walk out with a small bag from the pharmacy and her wrist wrapped in a bandage.

"Next part of our date is," she pauses and gestures to Harry to do the drum roll "Ice cream!" she shouts, and Harry cheers with her. 

"But there's a twist." she turns in her seat to look at him. "You have to guess the ice cream flavor I'm thinking of, or this date ends now." 

"We're going to Scoops," He sees her nod and continues on, "That is where you like to get a new flavor each time, but I know after an injury, you crave caramel."

"Final answer then, H."

"Gold Medal Ribbon"

She leans back in her seat. "That is correct," she says proudly. "Let's get some pizza too because I need food to take these pills."

"Pizza, ice cream. Then my place or yours." 

She thinks about it real hard. As much as she loves Harry's bed, she needs her favorite blanket tonight. "Let's go back to mine." 

Harry takes off in the direction of their favorite ice cream shop, Scoops, that is conveniently next to the place where they order their pizza. 

They are lying in her bed together, moving there after watching US per Harry's choice. Harry helped her with her night routine and even tried to brush her teeth, but she reminded him she was ambidextrous. A fancy way of telling Harry she was talented with both hands. That caused Harry to go red and leave her standing in her bathroom alone.

 She's getting sleepy, and she blames it on the painkillers. She doesn't want to sleep because then it would mark the end of their date. Although it was not a traditional dinner, she had a great time because it was Harry. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't wine and dine you properly." She's close to tears because no guy wants to go on a date to a hospital then go home to eat pizza. "It's probably been the worst date you've ever been on, and worst I didn't get to walk you to the door and kiss you." 

"Peach," he starts, and she looks at him with glossed eyes. "This was the best first date. It will always be the most memorable because it was with you."

She smiles slightly.

"Want to know a secret" he grins at her nodding her head shyly. "You're my last first date."

She blushes at his words because she knows the meaning behind it. He means she's the one he's going to be with forever.

"Then will you seal the deal, Mr. Romantic, and kiss me."

He pets her hair gently. "I want it to be perfect."

"Every moment with you is perfect."

Harry's heart skips a beat at her words. He's never said no to her before, and he isn't going to start now.

All their first date kisses have led them to this moment, the final one. All the heartbreak they went through was done so that when the right person came around, they would know how to cherish and protect that love. 

She feels her heart beating so fast she wasn't able to catch a proper breath. His head that just seconds ago was declaring his emotions to her was no buzzing with anticipation. She felt his breaths on her cheeks. He watched her eyelids flutter, then close. Then their lips met. 

Romance novels do no justice to how it feels to kiss the person you were waiting on forever to kiss. It's not fireworks and sparks.

It's better, it's much better. 

It feels as if your soul is at peace. A gentleness flows through them at the love that is being exchanged. It's the feeling of coming home, a sense of wanting, and acceptance. It was something explainable, and they can't wait to experience more of that. 

Harry pulls away far enough to look at her shut eyes and smile that's gracing her face. She opens them, and he's met with them shining as bright as the stars outside. 

"Perfect," she whispers, her right hand coming up to gently stroke the dimples on his face. 

Harry turns his head gently and places a kiss on her palm. She sighs in contentment. He settles on his side and brings her hand down to rest on her stomach as he intertwines their hands together. Her left arm elevated on a stack of blankets and pillows as to allow it to heal; her back pressed to his. They fit perfectly. 

There under the light of the moon, they fell asleep with their hearts full. 

It’s the start of a relationship, one with struggles, laughs, and many firsts together but most importantly filled with an ever growing love for one another. 

~

December 2020

"Do you think she'll hug you first or me?"

"I'm her son, Peach," he states as if her question was absurd.

"I bet you 50," she says. 

"Dollars, quid, kisses, or what" he replies with a smirk on his face.

"Spanks," she replies earnestly.

"Kinky" 

 "Start walking, I see your luggage that has all the presents." 

Harry arrives and parks the car, and she all dives out of the car. She rushes to the front door and puts Harry's key in to unlock the door. She knows it's as much her home as it is his. 

"Anne," she shouts, not seeing anyone in the living room. She takes her shoes off but leaves her coat on. 

Anne walks out of the kitchen, she rushes to give her a hug brushing off Harry standing right next to her. She smirks at Harry, and he just rolls his eyes, but honestly, he might just burst from happiness at how much his mom loves his Peach.

"Can you believe our dear Harold brought his girlfriend here to meet you, and he didn't even let you know." She begins her tale trying her best to hold in her smile 

Harry closes the door and is not at all surprised to see his mom pull her closer in a hug, thinking she was serious. 

Well, she was. 

"Hi mum, I would love a hug. Your youngest and only son is home." 

"Is she serious? Where is the girlfriend?" she questions him right away. "Do you have her waiting outside?"

 "You're holding her." He replies honestly to his mum.

Anne pulls back to look at the girl in her arms, and Harry can't help but laugh at his mother's face. She has a million-dollar smile on her face and nods to reassure Anne that it's true. Anne lets out a little scream before bringing her in for a tighter hug. Harry approaches, and Anne pulls him in to join the group hug. It's a lovely welcome home. 

"It's not even Christmas, and this is the best gift I could have received." 

Anne smiles and comes close to crying when seeing them reach for each other, like two magnets being pulled together. Hands intertwined and smiles wide. She sees their love loud and clear. 

"Oh, does your sister know." Anne suddenly worried if she was the last to know.

"Nope, Harry wanted to let you know together." 

"Well, she shouldn't belong. How long have you been together?" 

Harry grins, "Is it crazy to say it feels like forever." Y/N grins up at him and gives him a quick peck on his cheek. "Got together in March. When the klutz got her wrist sprained." Y/N elbowed him fast and hard enough to leave him gasping for air.

There's a knock on the door, and they know it's Gemma's boyfriend because she would have walked right in. 

"Darlin', go into the kitchen. We'll tell Gemma Harry wants to introduce her to his girlfriend, and that'll be your cue." 

Anne's so excited that they do as they say. 

It's safe to say that day was full of hugs, smiles, and laughs. 

It's cold out, but Y/N doesn't seem to mind. She's got a blanket around her as she sits on the back steps of the house. She looks out and knows she'd be happy here forever. 

"Peach, you're going to freeze out here."

"Not if you come sit by me" She smiles knowing he's not going to say no to her. Harry shuffles over to her quickly unwrapping the blanket to wrap them both in the warmth it’s providing.

"I meant it when I said I'd move across the pond with you."

Harry pulls her close and practically has her sitting in his lap. He rests his head on top of hers.

"I know you did." He stops to press a gentle kiss to her hair. "You've got family there and your job. I got mine too." He sighs as if he's trying to convince himself why they shouldn't

"Not to brag or whatever, but I work at one of the best companies. Top two in the nation, I'm sure they'd allow me a transfer or give me an excellent reference because not to brag again, but I'm amazing at my job. 

Harry acts like he's going to drop her causing her to scream, and she wraps her arms around his neck tightly. 

"You also want to expand your company. Who better to run the branch in London than the man himself." 

Harry groans. "You make it sound so easy."

"That's because it is, with you, it always has been." 

She nuzzles her nose into his neck, causing him to smile because it's cold, but he doesn't let her know because he likes having her this close. 

"You'd move across the ocean with me," he repeats as if still not believing it. "What's the catch?" 

"A promise of forever with you," she whispers, kissing his neck softly.

"With you forever seems too short." 

Harry lets her lean in to peck his lips. 

"I'll support you no matter what, I'm all in with you, and I'll always support all your dreams."

She lifts her arm to rest on his cheek, and she strokes him gently. He hums in content, knowing there is no better place in this world than in her arms. 

"I may be your lover now, but I will always be your friend." 

It’s true Harry thinks as much as their relationship has changed she always has his best interest in mind and vice versa. 

Best friends and lovers.

She leans in and brushes her lips to his. She laughs a little because hers have gone a little dry with the cold, but Harry's stay soft and welcoming. He closes the gap wanting to feel the heat her kisses bring him. Their lips move in sync, a dance only they know. It's soft, and slow just like this moment. Harry pours all his love into this kiss and feels her do the same. They pull apart close enough to still feel each other's breath. Small kisses, always being shared. 

There, in Harry's mother's backyard on a cold December night, Harry and Y/N promise forever and more to each other.

Thank you for reading Always Be Your Friend! I love this story that shows a story of two friends who loved each other but were never brave enough to say it until they finally did. A pinch of angst and a load of fluff later I’m still in love with loud  Y/N and workaholic Harry. Thank you to @oh-honey-styles @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays​ for creating Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge because it was a true joy to take time and write this story (even if there where times I did not like parts of my story.) 

Here’s the pypfc masterlist to check out everyone else’s stories!

**

Walking into his home you were greeted by Anne, who was already teary eyed just from simply seeing all of the people gathered together that make up Harry’s life. She jumped up from her seat once she saw you and wrapped you up in a warm hug.

“‘There she is! Always so wonderful to see you love. I’m happy you’re here, he’s been asking for you.’” She squeezed your arm and sent you a wink before leaving you to go find Harry.

Right as she was, once you turned your back from her his eyes caught yours and he made a beeline for you. Weaving in and out of the crowds of people he reached for your hand before pulling you in and burying his face in your neck. The gesture made you sway, having to brace his shoulders so you wouldn’t fall over. When he finally pulled back he had the biggest smirk on his face as his hand reached to cradle your head and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“‘Look who finally made it! Just in the nick of time like always. Hi Sweets.’”

Taking him in made you suddenly very glad you chose not to wear too high of heels tonight, because you almost fell over when you saw what he was wearing. Grey high waisted trousers, because why would anyone wear pants that actually sit on their hips correctly? A striped button top with the sleeves rolled up, and an over the top overly-grandpa sweater vest. His hair kept falling in his face and he had a content, soft, dreamy look on his face. Add the way he looked at you to the long list of reasons you loved him.

Looking up at him your stomach did a backflip before you breathed a small laugh and muttered, “Hi H, got quite the crowd tonight huh? It’s a shame more people don’t love you,”

“Oh yeah didn’t I tell you? I had to bribe everyone here with Gucci gift cards to get them to show up tonight,”

“Yeah I bet you did Gucci golden boy,”

That had him laughing deep in his chest before he playfully swatted at your arm, but just like always he was pulled in another direction as Jeff told him it was time to get the show on the road and get the listening party going.

“Gonna be okay on your own? Should I go grab you some tissues before we get started? Maybe some tea?” He said it with a shit eating grin on his face and a wink.

You narrowed your eyes at him before you replied, “You are a lot of things Styles but a comedian is not one of them! Get outta here before I change my mind and listen to it in the comfort of my own home,”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t make me miss out on that cute face reacting to my groundbreaking musical mastery would you?” He winked at you after his oh-so funny quip and you thought you were going to actually pass out and hit the floor from him calling your face cute. You knew your voice would give out and that your cheeks were burning so you just shook your head no and smiled so hard your face started to ache. With that he was finally gone to give his thanks to everyone for attending and for some more mingling before they would actually start the party.

After he walked away, you bumped into your mutual friend Sam, who actually introduced you to Harry at one of his shows years ago.

“Hey babe! I’m so glad you made it, I was afraid you would be too weepy to come today. No offense, but I know how he makes you. Especially with his music. Something about boys with guitars, right?”

After you smacked him in the chest for his hilarious reminder of just how much you pine for Harry and have for years, you muttered a very matter of a fact, “For your information it is not ‘something about boys with guitars’ it is about one boy with a guitar, and I think I have a pretty good handle on my weepy-ness today, so sod off.”

He gave you a knowingly smile and you shot one right back because he was absolutely right.

Everyone in your inner circle knew how you felt about Harry. Actually, anyone who was around the both of you for more than a few minutes picked up on it. From the way you bantered and poked fun at each other to the way you laughed at every one of his stupid jokes, to the way you longingly and very dramatically gazed at him pretty much all the time. And who could blame you?

He made everyone he spoke to feel like the most important person in the world. It was overwhelming how intently he listened and watched people. He was the most kind hearted, patient man. You’d lost count of how many times he talked you off the ledge, how many times he reassured you when you doubted yourself at work, or how many times he called to check on you after you swore up and down to him that you were okay. It was overwhelming how much he cared. It was overwhelming how much he radiated love and understanding. And most of all it was overwhelming how being in the same room as him even for just a second made you feel like you could breathe again. He was like coming up for fresh air, every single time.

And if anything made you feel more overwhelmed than just simply looking at him, watching him perform was a close second. He was ridiculously talented, a natural performer, and just so annoyingly amazing at what he does. No matter how many shows of his you went to you found yourself getting emotional watching him do what he was born to do, he exuded talent and the fact that you got to witness him in action was something you would never get over. He teased you about it each time he watched you from the pit or sides of the stage blubbering, but nonetheless he loved the fact that he could get such a reaction out of you. You also swore you saw his ears tinge pink each time you told him how great of a show he put on. You knew how hard it would be tonight to listen to his brand new songs in his house, IN FRONT of him and all of your closest friends and not cry the entire time. Damn him and his dreamy musical mastery ways.

You watched him hop onto his fireplace alongside Jeff to give one of his famous speeches. His eyes scanned the room and he gave everyone a slow, smirking grin. A slow, honeyed one that warmed you from the inside out and made your chest feel light and fluttery.

“I just want to thank you all so much for taking the time to come out and listen to my album, I love you all endlessly and this album is just as much for you as it is for me.” Harry's eyes found yours again and “You all know how I feel about you so I won’t bore you with a long speech, I love you and thank you for being here. Enjoy.”

And with that he was gone and you lost him in the crowd. After all of the headphones were passed out and everyone had their instructions on how to go about actually playing the album, you were sat in a loveseat near one of the many windows in his house, tucked away from the rest of the crowd.

Sam took the seat next to you and gave you a reassuring smile before he said, “If it gets too much you can get up and leave. I know that you know who most of these songs are going to be about and I don’t want to see you upset. I’ll even give you a ride home.”

You smiled back at him and sighed, “I really think I’ll be okay. I’m always happy just to hear his voice you know? No matter how hard this will be I’m staying. He has all of my support regardless of the fact that these songs aren’t about me. I just wanna be here with him, for him.”

Another smile, “Okay babe, whatever you want.”

**

Headphones were finally passed out and it was time to actually listen to the album. But before you could do that, Harry found where you were sitting and leaned up against the wall closest to you. Before you could ask what he was doing he just smiled, actually beamed at you and shook his head.

“Just wanted to lay my eyes on you before you started listening.” He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, kissed you on the forehead and chucked his fingers under your chin. “You know it means the most to me that you’re here. You’re pretty important to me, know tha’?”

It was such a simple, friendly thing to say, and tears pooled in your eyes before you knew it. “Yeah I've gathered that, I’ll come find you when i”m done listening. Go on,”

You squeezed his hand and gave him a smile while fighting back tears. “Go on,” Harry finally walked away and you looked over at Sam who pretended he wasn’t watching your whole exchange.

You know he didn’t mean to but every time you had a moment like this between the two of you it always just felt like he was dangling a carrot in front of you. Dangling the chance of you being together for real, dangling the chance that he felt the same way, and you know he didn’t mean it to be mean, but in a way it was. You knew there was no way he didn’t know how you felt, how could he not? And for him to be so touchy feely with you and look at you with those soft eyes it just felt cruel. And unfair. How could he not know? How could he not see it? Anytime he walked in the room your eyes lit up and you watched his every move. You supported him unwaveringly and jumped at the chance to do anything you could to help him. Not in a love sick puppy kind of way where you doted over him and thought he walked on the moon, you just wanted him to be as successful as he could be and you knew his potential, and never wanted him to settle for anything less. All you wanted was the best for him. And you’d be lying if you said you wished you were the best for him.

You took a deep breath and pressed play on the first song. You had heard samples of a few songs from the album and hearing the whole thing almost felt like an out of body experience. Golden, Watermelon Sugar, Adore You, and Lights Up filled you with so much joy, excitement, and a buzz. His new sound was unlike anything you have ever heard, and you’d still say that even if you weren’t ya know, embarrassingly in love with him. He had found his new groove and it was so poetic and imaginative and just so, Harry. But the farther you got down the list of songs, your stomach dropped.

Obviously you knew that quite a few of these songs would be about her, and obviously there was nothing wrong with that. It was Harry’s album and written from his life experiences, he had every right to write about whoever he wanted. You just didn’t think it would hit you so hard. Falling was a beautiful, raw, purely crafted song and you loved it. But what really did you in was Cherry. Everything from the soft, heartbreakingly warm guitar strumming to his reserved, falsetto voice, to the words that were so obviously meant for someone else, you were done for. Oh god and then his screams at the end. How many times had you felt that way about Harry? How many times had you left a dinner party or one of his shows and watched him leave with someone else and made yourself sick from crying so much and so hard? How many times had you yelled, screamed at the wall for being so invested in him? For loving him so much it made you sick? Too many times. You were able to get through the rest of the album just fine, distracted by the up beat, funky songs. But once you got to the end of the album, your heart cracked wide open again after hearing Fine Line. It was the most beautiful, ethereal, transcendent song you had ever heard, and you couldn’t believe that you knew the person who was responsible for its creation.

Once you were finished listening to the album, you found yourself going back to Fine Line, playing a loop of him saying “You Sunshine, you Temptress”. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, and you just sat there in awe of what you had just experienced.

You looked over at Sam who was already looking at you, and even he was crying. You had no doubt that there was a dry eye in the house.

Remembering that you had so foolishly told Harry that you would find him after you were done listening to the album you tried your best to slow your breathing and heart rate back down, and you wiped your eyes as best you could from the tears that took over a majority of your face. You knew how crazy you must have looked, and you hoped Harry wouldn’t notice that you looked the same as you did when you watched the episode of Grey’s Anatomy when Derek and Meredith FINALLY got together. You had cried THOSE kind of tears.

You stood up from the couch you were sat at and straightened your dress and shook out your hands. Taking a deep breath you wiped at your eyes once more and turned to look at Sam, who was already giving you a sympathetic smile.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. You shook your head and cleared your throat before you finally found your words.

“Well, you were right. Dammit why does he have to be so? So- just,” Throwing your hands up another tear rolled down your cheek.

Sam smiled and reached for your hand and brushed his thumb over the top, “I know babe. He is just so. I know you told him that you would go talk to him after you listened but you do not have to. I know how hard this was for you and I don’t want him to make you feel even worse. Do you want me to give you a ride home?”

You looked up at him and gave him the best smile you could. “No no I'm fine, I need to stay and go talk to him. I need to tell him how incredible this was, and that I love him. I think I can manage to do that.”

He gave you a reassuring smile and shook his head, “Whatever you need. I’ll be here for a little while longer if you change your mind.”

Before you got up you asked him, “How soppy do I look? On a scale of ya know 1 to soppy?” You asked him with the smallest laugh you could muster.

“You look beautiful. He’s gonna think so too.”

**

And with that you stood again and finally left to go find Harry. When you rounded the corner of his dramatically long hallway, you found him talking to Jeff and some of his other friends.

Just looking at him from across the room had you teary eyed and your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest. It was like you could feel it in your fingertips just how much you loved him, and every glance he threw your way had you weak at the knees. All you wanted to do was walk over to him and wrap your arms around him and feel his warm hands caress up and down your arms. But you stayed put like you always did, and had your little daydream’s like you always did. As hard as it was to not be “with” him, you’d take anything you could get. Just being in the same room as him made you feel special, and made you feel lucky to know him. Lucky to hear him, lucky to see him, just lucky to know him.

Jeff noticed you lurking behind the both of them and nudged Harry’s shoulder to get his attention. Harry slowly turned around and his eyes softened immediately when he saw it was you. He took off towards you not even bothering to tell the people he was talking to that he was leaving. His gaze on you warmed you from the inside out and you started sniffling again.

He closed the gap between the two of you and you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and looked up at him as his familiar warmth surrounded you. He noticed your weepy eyes immediately and his smile shifted to one of concern. He reached for the crook of your elbow and pulled you in. When he quickly stepped back his hands framed your face and he blurted out a raspy, “Why’re you crying? What happened? Is the album that bad?!” He snorted out a laugh and you gave a matching one, “No no no of course not H. It’s incredible. Really really incredible. I’m so proud of you.” You smiled at him as widely as you could and squeezed his biceps, and for the first time he got an actual look at your face. 

Your eyes were definitely still teary and your lips were a bright shade of red and swollen. Your hair was still curled despite you nervously playing with it all night, and it did a good job of hiding your tears. Harry took you in all at once and you smelled so sweet, devine, familiar. Your eyes bounced between him and the floor and he had decided in that moment you had never looked more beautiful. So real.

He started snickering and asked you, “Is that why you’re so upset? Love you look like-”

“Like I just got hit by a bus? Yeah I’m aware H, thanks. And it’s all your fault” you finished with a laugh followed by a whimper.

“I was going to say you look beautiful. And exhausted. Why don’t we go sit somewhere and you can tell me what you really thought. Tha’ sound good?”

He was waiting for your reaction intently when Ben clamoed a hand on his shoulder and told him someone needed his attention right away. “Sorry to steal you away, uh oh are you- is everything okay?” Ben’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two of you.

You spoke up first, “Oh yeah i’m fine, we’re uh- we’re good we were actually just about to go and talk” You shot Ben a small smile and looked back at Harry.

Ben leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear and that had Harry shaking his head in agreeance.

Harry glanced back down at you and said “Why don’t you go find somewhere to sit, where it’s uh- just the two of us and wait for me. I’ll only be a minute and I really wanna hear what you think”

His smile dimpled his cheek and carded his hand through his hair.

When you hesitated your reply he grabbed your hand and searched for your eyes again, he opened his mouth so say something else but you cut him off, “Yeah yeah sure I’ll just be uh where I was sitting earlier. Don’t take too long, I might start crying again” you laughed and Harry mirrored a matching one.

“I'll just be a minute, go get comfy” He kissed your forehead and then he was off. 

Turning around you tried to hide your squealing and practically ran back to the loveseat you were sitting at earlier. You weren't sure what your plan was, would tonight be the night that you finally, FINALLY confess your undying love for him? Would tonight finally be the night that you tell him what you’ve been feeling all of these years? He was eager to talk to you too, right? He was the one who suggested talking somewhere, alone? Oh dear god could he possibly be waiting to tell you the same thing?! Okay, okay no definitely not but still, maybe? He was awful eager to hear what you thought wasn’t he? Awful eager to go somewhere alone with you?

In your very long winded train of thought you realized you had been waiting an increasingly long time for Harry. You decided to get up and go look for him. You eagerly rose from the couch and padded down the hallway to go find him. Turning the corner your eager smile immediately dropped.

There he was, back turned to you surrounded by a crowd of various adoring women. You recognized a few of them, but not all. You stopped cold in your tracks. Your stomach fell to the floor as your tears clouded your eyes again, what the hell was he doing? This is what was so important that he had to leave you for? You weren't sure if you were more pissed off or upset. They all started laughing at something he said and as soon as Harry looked up from their reactions, his eyes caught yours. You felt your knees go weak and your chest start to heave.

Time to go. You held back your tears as you immediately went searching for your coat and your bag. You just wanted to get out of there, away from Harry and his bullshit lies about “wanting to know what you thought”. Clearly he was more interested in other things. You couldn’t believe he put you in this position, again. You felt so stupid for having hope that maybe he felt the same way about you. So silly of you to think, again that you were on the same level as the women that were in his league, in his world. You felt humiliated beyond belief that he put you here, again. You couldn’t stand to even look at him. You were hoping to leave without him seeing you again, weaving in and out of the crowd of people that filled his living room. You ignored people calling out your name to say goodbye, as you made a beeline for the back door. As short as you were Harry still managed to spot you before you reached the door.

He reached for your arm to stop you but you immediately shook his hand off. That caused him to stop you completely by jumping in front of you to get you to slow down.

His eyes found yours and as painful as it was to look at him.

“Oh my god love stop please what’s wrong? I was just about to go find yeh and talk to you- where are yeh going?’

You huffed. “Oh really? You were just about to come find me? Seemed pretty busy already Harry.”

He knew you using his full name instead of just H meant he was in deep shit.

“I was, honest! Why are yeh so upset?!”

You tried to push past him again but his strong hands on your biceps stopped you.

Looking straight up at the ceiling you squeaked out, “Harry I have to go. I can’t be here anymore and I have a work thing in the morning. “

“Tomorrow is Saturday sweets. I know you don’t have a work thing- and what the hell do yeh mean you can’t be here anymore?” He scoffed. “I thought yeh said yeh loved the album?”

Was he seriously using pet names with you right now? Was he looking to get his ass handed to him?

Looking directly at him you mustered all the courage you had left and said, “I can’t be here anymore and watch you get gawked over by other women, and I sure as hell can’t listen to you sing about her anymore. Please. H just let me go.” Your voice whimpered and a tear slid down your cheek before you finally managed to push past him.

Harry just stood there, dumbfounded. Had he heard you right? Christ had he heard you right?

He was quick to turn around and call out your name but you were already halfway out of the door frame. He begged you to stop but you just picked up the pace and practically ran to your car.

**

Driving home from the party all you could do was cry. Your tears clouded your visions and you were trembling, chest heaving trying to catch your breath. You were so incredibly proud of Harry, and his album. You tried to convince yourself that these were partly “happy” tears but you knew that wasn’t the truth. You knew it sounded cheesy but you have never wanted to be with him as badly as tonight. That was until you saw him with his new friend. But the more you tried to stay mad at him, you couldn’t. You still just wanted to be with him. And it wasn’t because he was Harry Styles and had a brand new (probably going to be platinum) album out. It was because he was Harry. Your H, your best friend, your favorite person. The man who put together a party where he was surrounded by everyone who loved him and who he felt the most safe around, all to just share his most personal album to date. He made this incredible piece of art and the first thing he wanted to do was share it with the people he loves the most, it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

You finally neared the street your apartment was on, and as soon as you got inside and pulled your phone out of your handbag, you already had 5 missed calls and voicemails to match. You knew you scared him with the way that you very dramatically stormed out of his place with tears in your eyes, but you just couldn't call him back. Or even begin to think to. Not only were you heartbroken and upset about the whole situation, you were also embarrassed for your outburst, or actual lack thereof. Damn him and his ability to make you lose all the words in your brain every time he looked at you. You put your phone away for the night, washed off your makeup and put on one of Harry’s old t-shirts you stole a couple years ago to sleep in. You pulled the covers over your head and finally drifted off.

**

The next few days consisted of Harry calling you every .2 seconds. He sent flowers, baked goods. He even sent you a loaf of bread, which he was sure would do the trick. A bit of an inside joke between the two of you and your shared love of eating your sadness away with the help of massive carbohydrates. He knew better than to actually drop by and try to see you, he figured he just needed to give you a few days and you’d call and tell him what was going on. His main reasoning for that actually was that he didn’t want to spook you or see you upset again. He knew you would come back to him, you always did.

By the 4th day of not hearing from you, Harry was getting increasingly worried. You got a call from Sam, your Mom, multiple mutual friends of yours, you even got a call from Jeff. All claiming that Harry didn’t tell them to call you and check on you, even though you knew that they all had orders to report back to him with whatever you said. Each call you either declined or gave a vague reasoning of why you sounded so unlike yourself. You weren’t really sure what your long term plan was, it’s not like you could just ignore him forever or the situation forever. Although, changing your name and moving to Bora Bora didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

The more phone calls you got the more you wondered about what Harry had told them as a reason to check on you. Being the blabber mouth that he is you were sure that he had told them about what you said to him. It’s not like literally everyone didn’t know how you felt about him, but the fact that he now knew how you felt made your stomach churn.

Maybe Bora Bora was still an option. You tried to busy yourself as best you could, but of course like always your thoughts circled back to Harry. Maybe he hadn’t heard you? Maybe he was too busy thinking about what’s her face that was rubbing her hands up and down his back to hear what you said? You hoped it was the latter.

By the 5th day of you hiding out in your apartment, Harry had lost all patience and grace. He decided to make his presence known and come over to your place. He was tired of waiting, and quite frankly he was terrified he had hurt you beyond repair. The two of you had had little spats and fights over the years of your friendship, at the longest it only took a day for the two of you to calm down and then you were okay. This is the longest the two of you had gone without speaking, and it was making him sick. He needed you, and he loved you. He just hoped he hadn’t ran out of time to tell you.

By the time he got to your apartment you had managed to actually get dressed for the day. For you that meant an old, ratty sweatshirt of Harry’s you stole along with your sleep shirt, a pair of yoga pants. You took your hair out of it’s bun and took a long look in the mirror at yourself. You looked pitiful. You pulled the sleeves of Harry’s sweatshirt over your hands, wiped your tears away and went to get comfy in your front room. You were one episode of Grey’s Anatomy deep when there was a knock at your door. Shit.

You stayed perfectly still and muted the TV. You knew exactly who it was knocking. You’d hope he hadn’t heard your TV and he’d assume you weren’t home. You held your breath as your cheeks started to warm.

It was when you heard that slow, honeyed rasp that your eyes started to leak.

Harry let out a long breath and knocked again. “Angel I know you’re in there. Please, please let me in. I just wanna see your face. I need to lay my eyes on you.” His voice was softer, slower. “I need to hear your voice love please.”

You stood at your feet. As mad and hurt you were by him you just wanted to fling the door open and fall into him. But part of you still wasn’t ready to come face to face with him.

Harry knocked on your door again and you moved closer. He let out another heavy sigh, “Love don’t make me use my key. Please open the door.”

Shit shit shit shit! Why had you given him a key?! Could you run to your bathroom and sneak out the window? Could you hide in your pantry? All viable options you thought.

“Okay, you’ve left me no choice. I’m coming in.” Harry all but barked at you.

Your eyes went wide and you ran to the door and put your hand on the lock. “Wait wait wait Harry just uh- give me, give me a minute.” You fluffed up your hair a little bit and straightened your sweatshirt.

Oh god. You were wearing his sweatshirt. Why couldn't you just melt into the ground instead of opening the door? You wanted to bolt but you knew you just needed to get this over with.

Opening the door you were met with a very somber looking Harry, but his eyes softened and he smiled once he saw you. He looked so sad, so concerned, so confused. He was wearing one of his sweatshirts from his first tour, black jeans and his checkered vans.

“There she is. Hi love.” Harry’s eyes raked over your figure and his eyes went wide when he saw you clad in his sweatshirt. He went in for a hug but you pulled away before he could close the gap and you stepped to the side of him. His brow furrowed but before he could speak you muttered a very small “Hi Harry.”

He was still upset you were using his full name. He wanted to hear your sweet, familiar voice saying the nickname that rolled off your tongue so easily. It was one of his favorite words coming from you, and it made his heart swell each time you said it. It instantly felt cold in your apartment, and you suddenly wish you wouldn’t have opened the door.

You walked behind your kitchen island to put a barrier in between the two of you and his eyes wouldn’t leave yours. The two of you just stood there in silence and you swore you had never felt so exposed. So uncomfortable. How many times had you stood in this very spot with Harry making breakfast together? How many times had he danced with you around your kitchen? How many beautiful and truly wonderful memories did you have of spending time together in your home? You couldn’t believe how detached you felt from him, and as hurt as you were itching to touch him. This strange silence felt so unfamiliar.

You smiled as best as you could and asked him, “What’s up? Are you okay? What’s got you so curious that you had to come all the way over here?” you laughed a little at the end in hopes of him not being able to hear you sniffle.

His eyebrows raised before he replied, “Love you scared the shit out of me. I’ve been worried out of my absolute mind the past couple days. I- I need to know what yeh really meant when you said you couldn’t listen to me sing about her anymore?” His eyes flitted all over your face as he waited for your response. “Please tell me. I’ve been out of my mind thinking about it all week.”

You felt your chest tighten and your eyes started to tear up again. You were just about to make up an excuse when you realized that’s what you’ve been doing all these years, and all it’s done is hurt you and not gotten you and Harry anywhere. Hang buildup. He had already heard you the other night. He needed to know how you really felt.

Looking up at him you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. You were half expecting you to chicken out and make up another excuse, but all that came out was, “I’m in love with you Harry.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up and you wished the floor would have come up and swallowed you whole. Where the hell did that come from?! Shit shit shit shit there was no way to take that one back. But you know what? Screw it. Hang buildup. The flood gates were wide open.

You took advantage of your rare bravery and kept going.

“Harry I love you. I’m in love with you. My heart is so full of you I can’t even call it my own anymore. I love you. I really, truly do. I love you so much I can feel it in my finger tips. And every time you look at me. You’re a piece of me. I dream of you. I don’t come without you. I take you with me, everywhere I go. I love you in a really big, stupid, annoying kind of way. Like in the way that I check the weather wherever you’re traveling to so I can know what it’s like where you are. I love you in the way that when you’re out of town I go and I visit with your Mom because I know how much she misses you and I take comfort in her home because it was once your home. I love you in the way that I save every voicemail and voice note you’ve ever left me and I listen to them when i’ve had a shitty day or when I just want to hear your voice and you’re not here. I love you in the way that is embarrassing and loud and over the top. You are the best part of any day.”

Floodgates, wide open. When you finally finished your speech you stood there, unmoving waiting for him to say something. When he stood there for a good minute not saying anything, you started to panic. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit way too much why did you say all of that?! This was not the finale of Grey’s Anatomy, who did you think you were? Maybe you could still bust out of your bathroom window.

You stuttered and very shakily tried to take it back. “Oh my god I’m so sorry- you, you don’t have to say anything. Maybe you should go, it's clear you don’t feel the same way and we can just try and forget what I said.”

Harry cleared his throat before he readjusted his stance. He went reaching for the pocket in his sweatshirt, and pulled out a pile of letters and notes with a rubber band holding them together.

“I uh, I've been adding to this since the first week we met.” He cleared his throat but he didn’t want to spook you so he just slid them across the island.

There were dozens of letters and sticky notes, even old receipts that had his handwriting scrambled all over them. You figured they were song lyrics and ideas he had, but then you saw your name. He had written you dozens of love letters and notes. He dated them too, and he was telling the truth. The first one was dated the exact day you two had met. You knew because it was the same night you saw him perform for the first time. Your face was red as a tomato as you started to read them and you were suddenly crying again. You hadn’t even noticed but Harry had closed the gap between the two of you and his warm presence was behind you. He brushed his hand against your arm and spun you around to face him.

“I’ve loved you for forever, angel. I’ve loved you since you set foot backstage at that show so many years ago. We had just met and we had had literally one conversation but I knew. I just looked at you and I knew I was going to be with you. Some way, somehow. I didn’t care how long it took. And for the first couple of years of us being friends I settled for just that because I loved you so much it kind of scared me. Hence the pile of notes of me confessing my feelings time and time again.” Harry grabbed your hand and brought it to his chest before continuing, “I love you I love you I love you. Yeh pretty much my entire heartbeat. Y’my girl.”

You were positively sobbing and you felt like you were on fire. Were you dreaming? Did he just? Did he just say all of that? Did he just swoop in here and basically say that he’s been in love with you since the beginning of time? You were in awe of the man standing in front of you. This man who you had loved for years and who you had watched grow into this incredibly understanding, resilient, unashamedly vulnerable man who exudes love and kindness. How lucky were you to love him, and to be loved by him? It almost didn’t feel real, like some sort of daydream. A beautiful, beautiful daydream.

Your throat went dry and you suddenly forgot how to speak. You broke out into an uncontrollable snicker and managed to choke out, “Me? You, you love me too?”

Harry cradled your face in his hands and brushed his thumbs over the tops of your cheeks and let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah I do love. Loved yeh forever. Don't know why it took yeh so long t’see it. Will yeh let me kiss yeh now?”

Oh, hell yes. Harry brought his mouth down to yours and sealed your lips in the sweetest, most sipping kiss. He tasted like his favorite mint tea and his scent over took all of your senses. He kissed you over and over, somehow buttoning your lips together even more perfectly each time. When you both smiled into the kiss it broke and you stood there holding each other with your foreheads pressed together, panting. Harry looked up at you and you had never seen him smile so wide. You were sure he was actually in pain. He looked you up and down and tugged at the bottom of your (his) sweatshirt. 

“What’s this hm? Another way you love me? By stealing all m’clothes and never returning them?” 

You started giggling and told him to “Shut up H.” You bashfully grinned and hid your face in his warm neck and breathed him in. 

“Hey now that’s not nice m’love. Thought yeh said you loved me?” he gave you a shit eating grin and you gave him a matching one.