#romanticfluff

This place—Rose & Thorn—had become your usual over the last few months. It wasn’t big, but it had high ceilings, vintage tile floors, plants dangling from copper rods, and deep wooden booths along the back wall. Enough character to feel lived-in, but quiet enough to focus. You loved it here. Not for any grand reason. Just... the peace of it.

You didn’t notice him at first.

Not until the barista stuttered a bit while asking for a name to write on the cup.

Then you glanced up. Casual, curious.

And saw him.

Tall. Slim. Hair long, dark golden brown, pulled half-up but some pieces falling around his face. A soft, oversized green sweater. Black trousers. Rings. A slow smile that looked both unsure and entirely too charming as he gave his name—Harry.

Harry.

Your brain didn’t immediately click. Not until he turned, waiting for his drink, and you caught the sharp line of his jaw. The eyes. The way he looked around the room like he wasn’t trying to be noticed but always would be.

Harry Styles.

You blinked.

You knew it was him. Of course you did. You weren’t living under a rock. But your mind scrambled to catch up with the realness of him. He looked... softer than you expected. A little sleepy, like maybe he hadn’t meant to stay out this late or wake up this early. And he was definitely looking for a place to sit.

There were two open booths. One next to the window, and one—yours.

He glanced toward the front, then toward you.

And started walking over.

You looked back at your laptop fast, pretending to type.

“Sorry,” a voice said, low and warm and just slightly hesitant. “This seat taken?”

You looked up. And there he was, closer now. Tall enough that the light from the window hit his cheekbone just right. Kind enough eyes that it made you forget how unfairly good-looking he was.

“Oh—no,” you said, heart skipping weirdly in your chest. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He sat, adjusting the chair with a quiet scrape. You tried to act normal. Just some girl in a café. Writing. Not freaking out. Not staring.

He took out a small notebook, leather-bound and worn at the edges, and a pen. No phone. No entourage. Just him, like this was his usual spot too.

A minute passed. Then five.

You tried to focus on your sentence again, but your thoughts were a mess. You could feel him. Not in a weird way, just... there. He had that kind of presence. Big but easy. Confident but not loud. And he was humming under his breath.

You snuck a glance.

He was scribbling something in his notebook. Brow furrowed a little. Lips parted. His tea sat untouched.

Your stomach did a small flip.

And then he looked up at you.

Caught.

You froze.

He smiled, slow and crooked, like he knew.

“Whatcha working on?” he asked, voice still soft. Like he didn’t want to break the quiet of the place too much.

You hesitated. “Just writing.”

“Mm,” he nodded. “Fiction?”

“Sort of.”

He tilted his head. “Sort of?”

“I write articles,” you explained. “But sometimes I write other things. Like... bits of stories. Stuff that’ll never see the light of day.”

Harry smiled wider. “I like that. Secret stories.”

You laughed under your breath. “Not on purpose. Just... never finished anything I felt was good enough.”

He leaned forward a little, interest plain in his eyes. “Can I ask what this one’s about?”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again. “A girl. She works in a little café. She’s just... trying to keep her life from falling apart.”

Harry looked around. “She work here?”

You shook your head. “Different place. Messier. Bad coffee.”

“Sounds real,” he said, nodding seriously.

You grinned.

He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry.”

“I know.”

He laughed, and it was a real one—quiet but warm, like it came from his chest. You liked that laugh.

You gave your name.

He repeated it softly. Then again. Like he was trying it out.

“I like that,” he said. “Suits you.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

This didn’t feel like some celebrity moment. It didn’t feel like you were talking to him, the Harry you’d seen in music videos or awards shows or late-night interviews. It just felt like... a moment. A strangely quiet, perfectly normal moment with a man who was making you smile too easily.

He nodded at your screen. “Can I read it?”

Your heart leapt. “God, no. It’s—just fragments.”

He leaned back, hands up. “Alright. Maybe next time.”

Next time?

You raised an eyebrow. “You planning on stealing my booth?”

He shrugged. “I think I just did.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “Okay, but I get the plug socket. It’s war if you touch my charger.”

“I’d never,” he said solemnly.

He took a sip of his tea, finally. Grimaced.

“Too hot?”

“No, just… chai.”

You laughed.

“You don’t like chai?”

“It tastes like someone dropped a candle in milk.”

You choked on your latte. “That’s oddly specific.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, still grinning. “It’s accurate, though.”

You shook your head. “Blasphemy.”

For the next twenty minutes, neither of you wrote. Or pretended to. The conversation was easy, weirdly so. You talked about little things—books, music, your mutual distaste for small talk. He asked you if you believed in ghosts. You asked him if he always talked to strangers in cafés.

“Not always,” he said. “Just the pretty ones.”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, no smirk this time. Just honesty. That kind that didn’t feel rehearsed or smooth.

“I mean it,” he said. “You walked in and I... I couldn’t stop looking.”

“I was already here,” you said, trying to make your voice steady.

He blinked. “Wasn’t I here first?”

You laughed, a little breathless. “No.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Means I really didn’t see anything else. Just you.”

Silence stretched. Not awkward. Just... tight. Charged.

You looked down at your cup.

He tapped a ringed finger on the table. “Can I be honest?”

You glanced back up.

“I was trying to think of something to write when I came in,” he said. “Lyrics or whatever. Been stuck for a while. But now I’m thinking I just want to write about this.”

You blinked. “This?”

He nodded once. “You. Today. The way you looked when I sat down—like you were about to vanish if I stared too hard.”

You swallowed. “That’s... intense.”

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He smiled, softer this time.

You looked at your screen. Then back at him. “Can I be honest too?”

“Please.”

“This is the weirdest day of my life.”

He laughed. “Fair.”

You hesitated, then added, “But also kinda the best?”

Harry tilted his head, curls shifting. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked down, then back up again, eyes a little shy now. “Would it be okay if I asked for your number?”

Your heart thudded. You didn’t answer right away, but only because your brain had short-circuited.

He waited.

You reached for his phone. Typed it in.

Handed it over.

He took it gently. Smiled as he saved it.

Then he looked at you again, really looked.

“I’ll text you,” he said. “Soon. Like... tonight.”

You smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

He paused like he wanted to say something else. Then stood, tea in one hand, notebook in the other.

“I should go. Leave you to your writing.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to ask him to stay.

As he turned, he paused at the doorway. Looked back. Gave you a smile that made your stomach twist in the best way.

And then he was gone.

You stared at the empty chair for a moment, stunned.

Then turned back to your laptop.

And started writing again.

But this time, the words came easy.

Because now, your story had a beginning.

Chapter 1

Dragonspine was cold and dangerous. An obviously obvious statement. And yet, Aether this one time underestimated it a little. A few snowflakes falling from the sky surprisingly fast transformed into a snowstorm which kept getting stronger and stronger.

"P-Paimon doesn’t want to become a flying icicle."

Even though she was right next to him, Aether could barely hear her through the storm.

"Well, technically speaking, at this moment, you’re not flying."

"An unremarkable detail," answered Paimon from under Aether’s coat. The wind would blow her away if she tried to go on her own. "Are we near?"

"I think so, it’s hard to notice anything."

To be honest, he had no idea where they were. All he could see was the whitest whiteness possible, with occasional spots of gray. Was he even walking in one direction, or just kept going round in circles?

Then he noticed something green. It was the weirdest possible color in a place like this, and the most beautiful one at the same time. A whole wall of green! He sped up.

Up close, Aether noticed that said green wall was in fact a densely growing ivy. He could think of only one reason why it was here: someone made it. And he knew someone incredibly good at alchemy who was his only hope in this situation.

"Albedo? Albedo, are you there?"

Silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Al-"

"Come in."

Aether carefully pushed the ivy aside and stepped in. The camp looked exactly like always, except the fact it was now cut off from the world. Even though he could still hear the wind, it was much calmer inside.

"It isn’t wise to stay in the mountains during such weather." Albedo stood with his back to Aether, looking at two bottles with  unidentified contents. Probably he was in the middle of some experiment, like always.

"I could say the same about you."

"But you would be in trouble if I wasn’t here, wouldn’t you?"

"I don’t deny that."

"Look, maybe that’s the reason I’m here – to save the lost wanderers?"

"Both of us know it’s pretty unlikely."

Aether couldn’t see his face, but he’s got the feeling Albedo smiled, at least a little.

"Sit down. I’ll be done with it soon. You’re freezing, I assume."

"And you’re right!" Paimon got out from under Aether’s coat and flew closer to the fire. „It’s a true nightmare outside, NIGHT-MARE."

Nothing was said since then for some time. Tired, Paimon fell asleep on Aether’s lap while he was silently watching precise, smooth movements of Albedo. Sometimes he muttered something under his breath. He was in his own world right now, and Aether definitely didn’t want to be the one who will get him out of it. It was weirdly relaxing to watch him like this. Finally, the alchemist turned around.

"Done. What are you doing on Dragonspine right now, again?"

"Just a commission."

"Just a commission isn’t worth your life."

"The weather was nice most of the time. It got worse after we started going back."

"I see." Albedo sat down next to Aether. „Why are you still wearing the hood?"

"Ah, I’ve completely forgotten!"

The moment Aether took off his hood, Albedo smirked.

"Your hair is a complete mess."

"Well, it was a hard day for them."

"Yes, indeed."

A bit of awkward silence. Crackling fire. Wind noise. Dim light.

"Let me braid your hair."

"Huh?"

"Just like you said: it was a hard day for them. They deserve some love."

"Y-yeah, sure."

Aether let his hair down and turned to Albedo. After a moment, he felt a delicate touch on his head. He shuddered slightly. It was this a little weird yet pleasant feeling when someone was brushing your hair. Kind of electrifying and relaxing. Suddenly a second felt like an hour.

"You have really long hair. I don’t notice it so much when you have them in a braid."

Aether didn’t know what to say, so he was just sitting still.

"It has to be kinda troubling to take care of them, isn’t it?"

"Well, yes, sometimes. To be honest, there was… someone who always was helping me with braiding my hair because it takes me so long to do it myself."

A few seconds of silence.

"Your sister, right?"

"…Yeah."

Thoughts of Aether gone very far away. Even he didn’t know exactly where. To the time when they were travelling together? To their first meeting in Teyvat? To the Abyss? What was she doing right now? Was Enjou with her? Was she safe? Why didn’t she want to be together with his brother, just like in good old times?

"Don’t slouch." Aether would probably have thought up a thousand more questions, but Albedo made him come back to the camp.

"Sorry."

"Don’t apologize."

Albedo was slowly finishing his hair. Aether didn’t know why, but he got the feeling the alchemist was deliberately taking his time with it.

"You know, my master gave me… a rather weird goal. But there must be a reason why, isn’t it? Sometimes we simply cannot develop when we stay forever with the same person. Just as flowers, we need time to grow."

Aether smiled.

"Kinda poetic."

"Maybe." Albedo moved away. Aether immediately felt emptiness. "I finished."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"No, not for this! I mean… also for this! But for your words, too."

„No problem, I said."

They sat just as before, but now it was more awkward. Out of nowhere, the silence was broken by Paimon’s snoring. They both burst out laughing.

"W-well… Now… Let me braid your hair," said Aether without looking at Albedo.

"But they’re perfectly fine."

"As a thank you!"

"You already thanked me a moment ago."

Aether sighed in frustration.

"Why do need to make everything so complicated, Albedo?"

He smiled. He must have smiled!

"Okay, if you insist so much…"

"I insist."

The roles changed. Aether mentally pleaded his hands not to tremble so much. It was normal. Perfectly normal. Nice and normal. Something all friends do.

Albedo looked up at the ivy. The snowstorm continued. It should be midnight by now.

"It looks like you will have to stay here till the morning."

"Yes, sorry about that."

"No problem." Albedo turned to face Aether. He hesitated about something.

"Hey, I didn’t fini-"

He came closer. And closer. And then their faces were as close to each other as possible.