#wroteshore

First Post, kinda nervous 😓 🙉 praying everyone likes it... feel free to give me requests, I am more than happy to write them. Hope you enjoy !!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never expected your life to intertwine with someone like Harry Lewis. To you, he was just a voice behind a screen at first—loud, sarcastic, and endlessly entertaining. Someone you watched on late nights when sleep wouldn’t come easy. But somehow, through a mix of chance, mutual friends, and a bit of fate, he became someone sitting across from you in real life.

It started small.

A group hangout. Nothing special. You almost didn’t go.

Harry had been quieter than you expected that night. Not the chaotic energy you’d seen in videos, but something more grounded. Observant. He’d made a few jokes, sure, but mostly he’d been watching—taking people in, choosing when to speak instead of filling every silence.

You didn’t talk much at first. Just a few passing comments, a shared laugh over something stupid. But when you did properly speak, it felt… easy.

“Wait,” he said at one point, leaning forward slightly, “you actually think that film was good?”

You shrugged, smiling. “It wasn’t bad.”

“It was terrible,” he replied, but there was no bite to it—just playful disbelief.

“Your taste is just questionable.”

He laughed then, properly this time. “Alright, we’re arguing about this another time.”

And somehow, you did.

---

The second time you met, it wasn’t a group thing. Not exactly.

You’d been invited out again, but most people cancelled last minute. It ended up just being you and him.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Harry said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets as you stood outside the café.

“Tragic,” you replied, trying not to smile too much.

But it wasn’t tragic. Not even close.

You talked for hours.

About everything—YouTube, yes, but also things you didn’t expect. Music. Childhood memories. The weird pressure of growing up in completely different worlds. He told you about how strange it was having millions of people feel like they knew him.

“It’s weird,” he admitted, stirring his drink absentmindedly. “Like… they know a version of me. Just not all of it.”

You nodded. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it is.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just real.

“And you?” he asked. “What’s your thing?”

You hesitated, not used to being the one asked. But something about the way he looked at you—genuinely interested—made it easier.

So you told him.

And he listened.

---

After that, it became a pattern.

Late-night messages.

Random memes.

“Are you awake?” texts that turned into conversations lasting until 3 a.m.

You started noticing the little things.

How he’d send you things that reminded him of you.

How he’d check in, even when he was busy.

How he’d call you out when you were overthinking—but gently, like he understood.

And then there were the moments in person.

Like the night you both ended up on a rooftop during another gathering, escaping the noise below. The city stretched out around you, lights flickering like stars that had fallen to earth.

“It’s quieter up here,” you said.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, leaning on the railing. “Better, innit?”

You nodded.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, “You’re different, you know,” he said suddenly.

You glanced at him. “Different how?”

He shrugged, but didn’t look away this time. “You don’t treat me like… all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if referring to everything—his career, his online presence, the noise of it all.

“I mean,” you said softly, “you’re still just you.”

He let out a small laugh. “Mad concept.”

“I know. Revolutionary.”

That made him smile—one of those rare, genuine ones that didn’t feel like it was meant for anyone else but the moment.

---

It wasn’t a dramatic realization.

No sudden confession. No big, cinematic moment.

Just a quiet understanding that somewhere along the way, he’d become important to you.

And maybe—just maybe—you had become important to him too.

It showed in the way he looked for you in a room.

In the way his voice softened when he said your name.

In the way silence between you never felt empty.

---

One evening, as you sat side by side on his sofa, some random video playing in the background neither of you were really watching, he nudged you slightly.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he asked.

“What?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between you. “Us.”

You tilted your head. “Weird good or weird bad?”

He thought for a moment.

“Weird good,” he decided. “Definitely weird good.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I’d agree with that.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter this time, “I’m glad I met you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him.

“Me too, Harry.”