you and harry haven’t been able to get a proper night’s sleep in a long time because your son has started sleeping in your bed...
ii. oh, honey
when harry is struck with writer’s block, you come to the rescue and inspire him to write a song, which later becomes known as ‘adore you’...
iii. through the warning signs
you first met harry on the set of dunkirk, but now you’re reunited on the set of his new film...
iv. i’d like to make you mine
{sequel to through the warning signs}
a glass of spilt wine leads to slightly different plans...
v. floating up and dreaming
you’re one of the first people who sees the finished ‘tpwk’ music video...
vi. i can hate you sometimes
you and harry have mutual friends, but that doesn’t mean you two are friends. but when harry gets caught in the rain and your the closest person he can turn to, it makes for a much more awkward night...
vii. got my devotion
{sequel to i can hate you sometimes}
you and harry work through your first argument as a couple...
viii. welcome to the final show
harry’s still not over your breakup...
ix. kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor
you and harry spend his 27th at home in lockdown...
x. in your rainbow paradise
harry’s your date to the premiere of your new film...
xi. you’re so golden
you’ve never been as nervous to perform as you were when your boyfriend’s family was in the audience...
xii. i get so lost inside your eyes
you and harry are alone on valentine’s day, so decide to spend it together...
xiii. comfortable silence is so overrated
in his drunken state, your friend, harry, makes a confession he would never make when sober...
xiv. crisp trepidation
harry is nervous to finally ask you to marry him...
xv. it’s just what we know
having your second child takes its toll on you and your relationship...
xvi. for your eyes only
harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...
xvii. you sunshine, you temptress
a night in jamaica and a morning in london change your life entirely...
xviii. plant new seeds in the melody
when you find out sarah’s pregnant, it prompts a very serious conversation between you and harry...
xix. but we’re still young
anecdotes of a relationship destined to collapse...
xx. tongue-tied like we’ve never known
two single parents try to start their lives again...
xxi. just let me adore you
a holiday in italy involves an unusual amount of shampoo and lusting...
xxii. she plays songs i’ve never heard
when you get a new neighbour and his dog breaks into your garden, it sets off a chain reaction of events that might change your life...
xxiii. while he plays pretend
harry agrees to pretend to be your boyfriend at your sister’s wedding...
xxiv. put a price on emotion
after a tiring day at the studio, harry comes home to a pleasant surprise...
xxv. an old lover’s hippie music
after a messy breakup, you see harry at a party and old feelings resurface...
xxvi. droppin’ into the deep end
when harry finds a negative pregnancy test, he’s surprised to find he’s a little disappointed...
warnings: talks of pregnancy + children, negative pregnancy test, kissing
word count: 0.7k
summary: when harry finds a negative pregnancy test, he’s surprised to find he’s a little disappointed…
The topic of kids was one that had definitely come up in conversation before. In fact, Harry had spent countless hours with you in bed, discussing whether or not kids were something the two of you wanted in your future. It always seemed to end in a ‘I guess we’ll see’ or ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it’.
And that always seemed to satisfy Harry. He never demanded a definitive answer, probably because he didn’t even know if he wanted kids himself. Having a mini you running around would be nice, he often told himself, but he had such a great appreciation for the moments you’d spend alone.
The midday sun bled in through the large windows of yours and Harry’s bedroom. The house was silent, bar the turning of your pages as you hunted for a recipe to hopefully replicate for dinner. As Harry was cleaning his face in the bathroom mirror, he went to put the wipe in the bin. Just as he dropped it into the bin, something caught his eye - a white plastic stick. He recognised it immediately to be a pregnancy test.
It was face-down. Anxiously, he scooped it up. It was negative. Yet he didn’t let out the sigh of relief he thought he would. He actually felt his heart sink in his chest a little bit. He walked through to the kitchen, placing it down on the kitchen counter in front of you. Your eyes fluttered from the recipes to the pregnancy test. You felt your stomach drop, expecting an oncoming argument, scolding yourself for not hiding it better. “What’s this?” he asked, yet his tone was surprisingly soft.
“It’s nothing,” you assured him.
“Well, you obviously thought you were pregnant…” he trailed off, raising a questioning brow at you. “Do you not think it’s something you should have spoken to me about?”
You shrugged, closing the cookbook, “If it was something to be worried about, I’d have told you. But it isn’t. My period was late, then I was sick in the morning. But I just think that was that dodgy lasagna you made.”
“I thought you said it was nice,” he mumbled.
“Doesn’t matter,” you sighed. “And anyway, if it turned out to be positive, of course I would have told you… are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” he said, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “I just wish you’d said something.”
“I know you don’t want kids though and, I don’t know, I thought you’d be angry at me for it or something,” you said quietly.
He furrowed his eyebrows, a small crinkle in his nose, “What do you mean I don’t want kids? What made you think that?”
She shrugged, “Well, neither of us have exactly made it clear we do want them.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want them, love,” he smiled. “Seeing the test… it made me a little disappointed that it was negative. A part of me wishes it was positive. Like, you’d be carrying my baby, we’d be parents.”
“What? Are you trying to say you want to have a baby?” you asked, confused and excited at the prospect.
“I’m trying to say that, if you’re ready too, I’m ready to make the next step in our relationship,” he said. “Because I love you too much, Y/N. Sometimes I feel like I love you so much, I might just die. But I’ve got so much more love left to give and I want to give it to our child.”
You laughed, “You’re so soppy, aren’t you?”
He huffed, his cheeks flushing red, “We were having a moment and you ruined it.”
“I’m sorry,” you smirked. “But you’re cute when you get all soppy.”
You squeezed his cheeks between your fingers, leaning up to kiss him. He squeezed your hands as you pulled away, smiling, “So, you want a baby?”
“Only if you want one too,” he said.
You nodded, grinning, “Yeah… yeah, I’d like that.”
warnings: mentions of a break up, alcohol, swearing, kissing, not thoroughly proofread
word count: 2.5k
summary: after a messy breakup, you see harry at a party and old feelings resurface…
You had been single for a few months now. Ever since that night when you marched out of the house at two in the morning after a screaming match with your boyfriend at the time, Harry, you felt a lot lighter. Less of the burden of a crumbling relationship to carry around.
At first, it had been hard to merely function without the presence of Harry, which you’d grown so used to over the years you knew one another - even before you started dating. You spent a lot of time on the sofa of your friend, Millie’s flat, but she quickly grew tired of your moping and offered to help you hunt for your own flat. Regain a bit of independence, she’d said. You finally found yourself a nice little flat in London and you soon settled in nicely.
Perhaps the flat was your first step to recovery from the heartbreak of the breakup. But, either way, you were back to your old self soon enough. Your friend was happy to see you smiling again.
There was no particular occasion that warranted a night out for Millie and yourself. But she arrived outside your flat, telling you to put something nice on for a party she was going to. And with nothing better to do, you slipped into some heels and a little green dress. Millie ran the curlers through your hair as you fixed your makeup. It had been a while since the two of you had been on a good night out.
Walking into the party, it was buzzing with dancing bodies and rock music from the seventies. The lights were flashing, illuminating sweaty dancers grinding on one another. “Come on,” Millie laughed. “Let’s get a drink.”
“I’m beginning to remember why I hate night outs,” you called over the music as Millie dragged you through a sea of strangers. She either didn’t hear you or chose to ignore you as she arrived at the bar. While she ordered some shots, you let your eyes wander across the crowd. You felt your stomach lurch at the sight of a familiar face. It took you a moment to place it before you realised it was Mitch Rowland. As in Harry’s Mitch Rowland.
It all clicked in your mind then. The seventies rock music and the presence of the guitarist you’d become well acquainted with during your relationship with Harry. This wasn’t just anybody’s party, it was Harry Styles’. You turned to Millie, leaning over to ensure she could hear you, “Mill, whose party is this?”
She looked over at you sheepishly, “Well, I was invited by Ny.”
“So it’s Harry’s party?” you scoffed, taking a sip of your drink that the bartender had recently placed before you.
Millie shrugged, “So what if it is? Let’s have a good time and just pretend it isn’t his. I mean, come on, we’re surrounded by all his rich friends, he’s not gonna notice us mingling in a corner.”
You sighed, throwing your head back in frustration, “Fine, whatever. Why did you drag me here, Mill?”
“Because you needed a night out and Ny invited me here so I thought you could tag along too,” she replied, finishing off her drink already. “Anyways, who cares if he’s here? You’ve moved on, Y/N.”
You nodded, “Right.”
You maybe managed twenty minutes of dancing with Millie before you excused yourself to go and find the bathroom. After pushing through drunks, as well as having your toes being stood on by an extremely apologetic man whom you did not recognise, you finally reached your destination.
In your absence, Millie busied herself at the bar. As she was ordering another drink, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see the one and only Harry Styles. “Hey, Millie,” he smiled politely. “Long time no see. How are you?”
She scoffed at his small talk. She could see what he was itching to really ask. “I’m good, thank you, Harry,” she replied anyway. “And you?”
He shrugged, “Good as can be expected, I guess…”
There was a small pause in the pathetic conversation before Millie finally said, “She’s here. She’s gone to the bathroom. She’ll be back soon, so I’d leave, if I were you.”
He nodded slowly, “Will you tell her I said hi?”
“Sure,” Millie said, though she knew she wouldn’t.
With that, he disappeared into the crowd to mingle with somebody else. Millie sighed, taking a sip of her new drink after she thanked the bar tender. Shortly after, you returned to Millie’s side, mumbling something about your sore toe. “Y/N!” a voice came from behind the two girls.
You turned to see Ny approaching them. The cheerful woman had her arms outstretched as she pulled you into a tight hug before promptly doing the same to Millie. “I didn’t expect to see you here, because, well, y’know…” Ny trailed off as she looked to you. “But I’m glad you are here! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I think my toe’s broken.”
“I don’t think it is,” Millie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, are you having fun, Ny?”
Ny shrugged, “Not really. Hey, Mill, can I borrow you for a sec?”
Millie nodded. You felt her squeeze your hand tightly before whispering something about being back soon. Miserably, you watched your best friend disappear into the darkness. The feeling of loneliness overwhelmed you all at once as you shifted nervously at the bar.
From where Harry was standing, he could see you perfectly. That’s perhaps why he hadn’t moved from that spot most of the night. “If you want to talk to her, you should,” one of his friends said to him.
Harry shook his head, “Her friend told me not to.”
“Fuck what her friend says. You’re still in love with her, anyone can see that,” he replied, nudging Harry towards your lonesome figure.
Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed his way towards you, thinking of all the things he wanted to say to you. But when he was standing in front of you, he felt his throat close up. “Hi,” was all he managed.
And when your eyes met his, he could feel himself falling back in love with you. It was like the moment the two of you first met, when he was sure you were the person he wanted by his side for the rest of his life. “Hi, Harry,” you replied, rubbing the sweat from your palms on the hem of your dress.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“If you want,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink to aid your dry throat, but it made no difference.
“You look well,” he said.
“Thanks,” you smiled softly. “As do you.”
“That was always my favourite dress of yours… is that why you wore it here?” he asked, not meaning for the question to sound as obnoxious as it did.
You scoffed, shaking your head, “I didn’t even know this was your party until I got here… Millie made me come.”
“Right,” he nodded slowly. “Well, you look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” you smiled. “How have you been?”
He hummed in thought for a moment, “Okay.”
You weren’t exactly expecting him to get down on his knees and sob as he told you how his life was torture without you, but hearing such a nonchalant answer almost broke your heart as badly as he did the first time. “That’s good,” you said, hating yourself for the crack in your voice as you said that.
“And you?” he asked. “How have you been?”
“Good,” you said firmly. “Got a nice flat and everything. I’ve been looking to adopt a cat, so everything’s been… nice.”
“Yeah?” he smiled, looking genuinely happy for you. “I’m glad. Hey, can we go outside? It’s hard to hear you in here.”
Almost reluctantly, you nodded. You followed him out of the club after placing your empty glass down on the countertop. The midnight wind was cold on your bare legs and arms, but it was a refreshing contrast to the sweaty, stuffy air inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you waited for him to speak. “How’s your mum?” he asked.
You chuckled, “She’s well. She misses you.”
He looked taken aback to hear you say that, “Does she? Tell her I miss her too.”
“You can always go and see her if you want. I’m not going to stop you from doing that,” you said, shifting on your feet as he leaned back against a brick wall.
London traffic whizzed past, despite the absurdity of the time. He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t think that would be appropriate. She’s my ex’s mum, it’s a bit weird, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” you replied. “Been working on any songs?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just loads of depressing breakup shit. I just want to write something happy.”
“Well, a good breakup song never hurt anyone,” you replied.
“Except the person it’s about.”
You shrugged, “Depends how good it is. Is it good?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Probably not. We can’t get the bassline to work.”
“But are the lyrics good?” you asked.
“They’re about you,” he replied. “It’s just some soppy bollocks about how shit the world is without you. Nothing special.”
You couldn’t help but smile, “Aw, you think the world’s shit without me?”
“Maybe a little bit,” he said, smiling a big grin over at you. “I have missed you.”
“Missed you too,” you replied nervously. “Only a little bit.”
“Only a little bit?” he laughed. “Wow, Y/N, my heart is aching.”
“Now you can write a song about that,” you grinned, pausing for a moment before clearing your throat. “I am sorry for how I left things.”
“Me too,” he nodded. “We shouldn’t have done that, I don’t think.”
“Yeah, the midnight screaming was a tad bit excessive,” you nodded.
He shook his head, “I mean calling it quits.”
That seemed to hit you like a sack of bricks. You could feel your heart stop in your chest and you realised that whatever you say next would change your life. “It?” you managed.
“Us.”
“You think we shouldn’t have broken up?” you asked nervously.
“I know what we had wasn’t working back then, but I’m hoping we can try something new this time. I love you, Y/N… I’m not ready to let you leave,” he said. “I can’t wake up another morning without you by my side. Please, I hate it.”
“Harry…” you trailed off, trying to comprehend what he was telling you.
“I don’t think I could ever be in love with somebody else when I know I lost what I had with you,” he went on as the London nightlife spun around the little bubble you and Harry had created for yourself. “All of this… I should have said it that night. We can start again, you know, pretend like we’ve never done it before.”
“You think?” you asked. “You think it would be that easy?”
“We can have our first kiss again and go on our first date. We’ll meet each other’s families for the first time all over again. I want to do it all again with you, Y/N. Nobody else but you,” he said, stepping towards you.
His hands were warm on your arms as he leaned down to press a light kiss to your forehead. And in that second, you didn’t want him to leave. If only you could have lived in that moment forever. “You know where to find me,” he said, “if you want to do it all again.”
Wishing you could call out and stop him, you watched him as he walked back inside the club. And again, you were left alone. The wind felt colder and the cars sounded louder and the streets looked darker. Sighing, you went inside to find Millie to ask her if the two of you could go home now.
It was midday when you woke. Your head hurt, but it wasn’t too severe. You’d kept fairly sober the night before. Rolling over, you came face to face with Millie, who was scrolling through Twitter on her phone. “Morning,” she hummed cheerfully.
Again, you were irritated by her ability to seem unaffected by hangovers. Just as you felt yourself really wake up, the night before’s course of events came flooding back. “I spoke to Harry last night,” you said plainly.
Millie shut off her phone, placing it down beside her, “How was it?”
“He said he loves me,” you explained. “He wants to try again.”
“What did you say?” Millie questioned, a sympathetic look on her face.
“Not much, to be honest,” you replied. “Nothing important, anyway.”
“Is there anything you wish you’d said?” she asked.
“A lot of things,” you said. “Like… I love him too. I’d like to try again as well. I’m not sure I ever really moved on.”
“I don’t think you did either,” Millie said softly, brushing the hairs from your face as you stared up at the ceiling.
“What do you think I should do?” you asked sadly, tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by it all.
“I think you should go and tell him,” she said. “Go and tell him how you feel.”
You nodded, sitting up. In no time at all, you were dressed and out of the flat. Millie had promised she’d make some food for when you return as she hugged you on your way. You clambered into an uber, telling the driver the address of Harry’s house.
The journey was twenty minutes or so. But it felt agonisingly long. Once the driver pulled up, you told her to wait for you. She nodded, switching the engine off. Cracking your knuckles anxiously, you approached Harry’s front door. You knocked, waiting and waiting. As every second passed, you had to convince yourself not to turn and run away from it all. Finally, the door swung open. Harry stood there in his black sweater and his pink beanie. His eyes practically lit up at the sight of you standing on his doorstep. “I love you too,” you said. “And I want to try it again.”
“You do?” he grinned ecstatically.
You nodded, “I do.”
He swept you up in a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder. He spun you around, pulling away to admire you. “That makes me so happy,” he said. “Can I… can I kiss you?”
You nodded. In fact, you leaned up to meet his lips halfway. With his arms wrapped around your torso, pressing you to his chest, and your hands on his cheeks, you knew you had made the right decision. “Do you want to come in?” he asked, pulling back slightly.
You shook your head, smiling, “I can’t. Millie’s making dinner. But thank you.”
He nodded, “Okay. I love you so much.”
“I know,” you grinned. “I love you too. And, hey, now you can finally write some happy songs.”
He laughed, nodding, “I can finally write some happy songs.”
summary: after a tiring day at the studio, harry comes home to a pleasant surprise…
Harry could feel a headache coming on. His eyelids were heavy and his throat was sore. The day at the studio was long and tedious and unsuccessful. Everything lyric he came up with didn’t seem to satisfy him. Nothing he wrote down seemed right. Nothing fit. By lunchtime, he was ready to come home to you and your son Ollie.
It was Ollie’s second birthday three days earlier and Harry still felt guilty for missing half of it. He’d been called away to the studio to fix up a mistake on one of his recently recorded tracks. He was frustrated, taking it out on his colleagues and collaborators, that they’d pulled him away from his son on his birthday. Perhaps he shouldn’t have raised his voice the way he did, but he was angry. And he came in the following morning to apologise.
The house was quiet. All the lights were off. He placed his keys down on the coffee table, walking through to the kitchen. He flicked the light on, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He finished it quickly, his mind wandering from what he’d have for breakfast tomorrow to when the last time he called his mum was. Quietly, he placed his glass in the sink before making his way upstairs.
A sense of warmth filled his heart at the sight of his son tucked under your arm, his eyes squeezed shut. He was asleep. He was snoring lightly, but that didn’t wake you from your own slumber. It was a hot night, so the covers were strewn halfway off the bed. He couldn’t help but smile to himself - you looked utterly content and at peace with the world.
Part of him wanted to curl up beside you and let sleep take him away for a moment of calmness. But he didn’t want to disrupt the stillness of the homely environment the two of you had built up for yourselves. He instead opted to have a shower, ridding the stresses of the day from his muscles.
When he was finished up in the bathroom, he walked out to find you running your fingers over Ollie’s hair as he slept soundly. “Did I wake you? Sorry,” Harry whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed, turning back to look at you.
You shrugged, “It’s okay. How was the studio?”
“Tiring,” he replied. “How’s Ollie?”
You couldn’t help but smile as you looked down at your son, “He’s good. He just missed you, so he wanted to sleep in our bed.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to get shorter days, you know, come home earlier,” he sighed quietly, running his hands through his unkept hair.
“Go to sleep,” you whispered. “I can see the bags under your eyes from here.”
He let out a quiet chuckle, “You’re so flattering, love.”
“You know what I mean,” you grinned. “Just lie down, close your eyes and go to sleep.”
He did as you said, laying his head down against the soft pillows. He turned to look at you, his eyes exploring every small feature of your face. “I love you,” he whispered, “and I love this little guy.”
Ollie stirred for a moment in his sleep before rolling closer to Harry, as if he could feel his presence. “He loves you so much,” you smiled. “All he does is talk about you when you’re gone.”
“All I do is talk about him when I’m gone,” he said softly. “My little angel.”
Lying in the simplicity of the dead of night brought Harry indescribable levels of joy. Shutting out the world and being with his little family was better than any drug. And he realised that there was nothing better than pure contentment. He wanted to spend the rest of his life like this because he knew this was home. This was where he belonged.
warnings: mentions of alcohol, briefly proofread, swearing
word count: 1.5k
summary: harry agrees to pretend to be your boyfriend at your sister’s wedding…
You had never been more grateful for Harry than you were now. He had his hand placed on the small of your back, engaging in small talk with your family. Whenever you chipped in, he’d made sure to watch you with love clouding his vision. So much so that it even warranted a ‘you can tell he loves you’ comment from your aunt.
Harry, of course, was not in love with you. As much as you wanted him to be, he simply wasn’t. Otherwise, you tell yourself, he would have made a move by now. After all, you’d known one another for a good few years now. The simple reason Harry Styles was sat beside you at your sister’s wedding, acting as if he’d never been more in love with someone as he was with you, was because of your grandma. As wonderful as she was, she was always on your back about being single. So, instead of being embarrassed by her in front of your whole family yet again, you asked Harry if he’d pretend to be your boyfriend for just a few hours. To your surprise, he agreed rather quickly.
As Harry was conversing with your brother across the table, you whispered something about being right back. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you internally swoon when he nodded and leaned over to kiss your forehead. You walked across the venue, weaving between your family and your sister’s new husband’s. “Y/N!” your sister grinned at the sight of you walking over. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since the reception. How was it?”
“It was beautiful,” you assured, squeezing her shoulder. “Really, Liv. It was amazing.”
“Have you had something to drink yet?” Liv asked.
You nodded, “I had a glass of champagne earlier. It was very nice.”
Liv’s eyes darted across the room, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “Have you spoken to Grandma yet?”
Liv knew Harry wasn’t your boyfriend. You’d told her when she initially asked you to bring a date about your plan to pretend to be with Harry. She had agreed it to be a good plan. You sighed, “Not yet. I know she’s working her way around the tables. I don’t think I’ll be able to escape her tonight.”
Liv laughed, “You’ll be fine. Harry should be an actor or something, he looks like he’s really in love with you. I couldn’t blame him - you look gorgeous tonight.”
“How can you say that when you look the way you do?” you smiled, returning her compliment.
“Shut up,” she smiled, never being one to accept compliments. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your boyfriend. I’ve got some mingling to do.”
You grinned, “Enjoy.”
As you returned to your table, you noticed your young niece sat in your seat. She was your brother’s daughter and you liked to pride yourself on being her favourite aunt. Tabitha looked up at you sheepishly when she noticed your return. “What are you doing in my seat?” you asked, picking her up. You sat yourself down, placing the giggling girl in your lap.
“Daddy said I could,” she laughed, pointing to your brother.
He held his hands up, shaking his head, “No, I didn’t.”
“He did! Aunty Y/N, do you believe me? He did, didn’t he, Harry?” Tabitha said quickly, looking at Harry.
Laughing, Harry nodded. He had only agreed to come to your sister’s wedding to spend some time with you. Getting to act like he was your boyfriend for a few hours was really a dream come true for Harry. He could get away with stealing little glances of you and intimate touches that were his way of showing you he cares. And, even better, you have to act the same in return. He’d adored being able to hold your hand and kiss your cheek or forehead. And seeing you now with your niece, treating her as if she was a child of your own, compelled him to tell you how he feels. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s sure he’ll tell you when you’re alone. Maybe he doesn’t need a definite answer, but he wants you to know how he feels.
He wasn’t exactly sure when he started feeling the way he does about you. Maybe it was the moment the two of you were first introduced. Maybe it was when you first hung out alone. Maybe it was when he first made you laugh. Or maybe it was when you first made him laugh. Maybe it was when you first saw him perform at his concert and you could do nothing but shower him in compliments afterwards.
You smiled politely at your grandma as she came and sat down at your table. She exchanged brief hellos before her eyes finally settled on you and Harry. The corners of her mouth tugged up into a grin. “Hello,” she smiled. “You must be Harry.”
He nodded, extending his hand to shake her own, “You must be Y/N’s grandma. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“And you,” she replied. “I’m glad to see Y/N’s finally found someone. I keep telling them to put themselves out there more, you know? I said you’ll never meet someone if you don’t try. You seem like a nice enough man. I’m sure you’ll make Y/N very happy, you seem to be so far anyway.”
Harry smiled, flushing underneath all the attention. He thanked her kindly, placing his hand in yours to squeeze it tightly. You had often complained to him about how rude your grandma could be sometimes. And now he was sat beside you, witnessing it in real life, he couldn’t believe what a disregard she had for your feelings.
She stayed and chatted for a while, quickly moving on from the topic of your love life, which you were eternally grateful for. But once she moved on to speak to your cousins at the other side of your room, the night seemed to pass by quickly. And, as it came to a close, you and Harry left to congratulate Liv and her husband one final time before leaving.
As he pulled up outside your house, you thanked him a final time for agreeing to be your boyfriend. “I really mean it, H. Thank you so much.”
He shrugged, smiling, “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun, Y/N.”
You grumbled, “I didn’t. Weddings aren’t meant to be fun... hey, do you want to come in?”
“Come in?” he repeated, feeling suddenly breathless. “Are you sure?”
You nodded, “Yeah. It’s dark and you live far away.”
“Okay,” he nodded weakly, getting out of the car to help you into your house. He kicked his shoes off by the door, taking off his suit jacket to hang it up by your coats.
He busied himself with getting a drink in your kitchen, he barely noticed you’d disappeared. He only realised you’d gone when you returned in some sweatpants and a t shirt. Your face was now free of makeup. You poured yourself a glass of chocolate milk, sitting down beside him at the table. “Seriously, thanks for doing this. I know it was probably uncomfortable,” you smiled softly at the man opposite you.
“It’s no problem. Honestly, you know I’ll always be there for you.”
“You mean that?”
He nodded, “I do. Listen, Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”
You hummed, “Me too… you go first.”
“For the longest time, you’ve unknowingly made me so happy. I feel like, in a way, you complete me. God, that’s so cheesy. But, I mean it.”
You couldn’t help the smile that graced your features, “I’m glad you mean it.”
“Seeing you today, pretending to love me… I knew I needed to tell you how I feel.”
You felt your breath catch in your throat, “I wasn’t pretending.”
“What?”
“Harry, I wasn’t pretending to love you… I think I really do love you.”
“You mean that?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, “I mean that.”
It was so quiet in your house. You were sure you could hear yours and Harry’s hearts beating in sync, echoing across the kitchen. He whispered, “Am I allowed to kiss you?”
As if your body was no longer your own, you nodded. As he leaned forward to kiss you, you were sure you were dreaming. The feeling of his hands trailing along your thighs, up your arms and onto your cheeks was one you wanted to feel forever. His large hands seemed to swallow your cheeks whole but yet fit so perfectly. When you pulled away, a sheepish grin engulfed your lips. “Fuck,” you whispered, “I didn’t think that would happen tonight.”
“Did it make the wedding worth it?” he asked softly.
She plays songs I’ve never heard was movie worthy!! Loved it, just wish it were longer 😩
thank you! 😌😌 i didn’t know how else to end it so i just ended it there, sorry!! but i’m always happy to write a second part or some blurbs about the fic if you want it? ❤️❤️
warnings: references to sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol, harry gets a lil pervy (pls don’t watch your neighbours get dressed), kissing, not proofread properly
word count: 1.8k
summary: when you get a new neighbour and his dog breaks into your garden, it sets off a chain reaction of events that might change your life...
The day he moved into the house next door seemed like a normal day for you. Sure, the sound of him actually moving in had woken you up early. The furniture being moved in through the small front door and the busy workers he’d hired banging about as if it wasn’t 8 in the morning. Begrudgingly, you had pulled yourself out of bed, poured yourself a glass of orange juice and buttered some crisp toast. Toast in hand, you watched from your kitchen window as grumpy Mr Bennet from across the road came out to shout at the new man and the workers. You’d managed to make out something about ‘too early on a weekend to be making that kind of noise’. Rolling your eyes, you went back upstairs to get dressed.
And that was that. You’d ordered a pizza for lunch and your mother had rung you during the afternoon to catch up. You told her about your new neighbour. And that was that.
It was, in fact, the day that the tattooed man’s dog broke into your back garden that your life seemed to change. You had been sat in your living room, watching The Sound of Music - a personal favourite of yours. Just as you were preparing to invest three hours of your life into the lives of the von Trapps, there was a loud bang on your door. Huffing quietly to yourself, you climbed off the sofa and left to open the door. And there, on the other side, was the tattooed neighbour. However, his tattoos were covered by a black hoodie but you could see a couple poking out beneath the hoodie’s cuffs. He was wearing shorts, exposing you to the tiny doodles of ink along his legs. His brown curls were hidden beneath a baseball cap. His features were hidden almost entirely in the shadows as it was dark outside and his cap sheltered him from whatever light there was. “Hi?” you said awkwardly.
“I’m so sorry, but my dog got into your backyard. Do you think you can go and get him for me?” he asked.
You were almost taken aback. Though not entirely sure what you’d expected when being confronted with your tattooed neighbour outside your house, you definitely didn’t expect him to be searching for his dog. You didn’t even know he had a dog.
You nodded slowly, “Sure. Come in, if you want.”
He thanked you, stepping in before you closed the door behind him. He shuffled awkwardly into the hallway, knocking your coat off the rack. It landed in a heap on the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said quickly, bending down to pick it up. “Fuck! Sorry for swearing!”
“It’s okay, we’re both adults,” you smiled softly. You moved forward through the house, unlocking the back door. And there, chasing a wasp around the garden, was a small black dog. He wiggled in your arms as you picked him up carefully. You carried him into your house and back to Harry, who you found in the living room.
The dog licked your face before you place him in his owner’s arms. “Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience - I know it’s late. I’m Harry by the way.”
He extended his hand for you to shake. “Y/N,” you replied, smiling up at him.
His grip on your hand was strong and firm. While you’d been away finding his little treasure, Gabriel (named after Peter Gabriel), he’d had a chance to explore your living room. The first time Harry saw you was when he happened to catch a glance of you reading in your back garden in your green shorts and sweater. It had been a hot day and you had a pair of sunglasses pushed up over your head. You looked ethereal with the sun highlighting your skin. From then, he’d tried to time his dog walks perfectly so he’d ‘accidentally’ bump into you on the way out. But, his attempts had come with little success. It was rather fortunate that Gabriel had escaped into your garden.
He’d actually jumped at the opportunity to come round and meet you in person. After all, he only knew your name because his other neighbour, Edna, had told him a bit about you after he asked. And when you’d invited him in, he was ecstatic. He couldn’t help but wander into your living room. He noticed The Sound of Music paused on your tv, wondering if he’d get to watch it with you one day. Maybe you’d exchange favourites - he’d watch The Sound of Music and you’d watch The Notebook. He then noticed a stack of books on the coffee table, with everything from Cervantes’ Don Quixote to Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Your current read, Sally Rooney’s Normal People, was being held open by the tv remote. He wanted to ask what you thought of Norwegian Wood, after all, it was one of his favourites. But he refrained.
There was a glass of wine on a coaster, a half-eaten bowl of cheese pasta beside it. The room was littered with lovely plants - some were hanging down from shelves and others were standing up high beside the sofa. The walls were a soft grey, but they were drowned out by the green of the plants and the subtle pink tones littered throughout the room. “What’s this little guy’s name?” you asked, tickling behind the dog’s ear.
“His name’s Gabriel.”
“As in Peter?” you asked.
“Yep. You a fan?”
“Who isn’t?” you grinned in response. He knew you were a fan of Peter Gabriel. He’d seen your rack of records in the corner and he’d been gardening a few weeks ago and heard you listening to one of his albums in your own backyard. Upon examining your record collection, he’d noticed some Beatles albums, a bit of Lionel Richie, some Taylor Swift, a few ABBA albums, a sprinkle of Bee Gees and a plethora of Elton John albums. Relatively mainstream, but a mixture nonetheless.
“Exactly,” he agreed, before gesturing to the wine. “Special night?”
“Huh?” you’d replied.
“The wine?” he responded.
“Oh,” you laughed, “that’s cranberry juice.”
He flushed bright red as you laughed quietly. You placed a comforting hand on his arm, guiding him out of the room. “I think you’re a bit tired. I guess I’ll see you around then?” you offered a hopeful smile.
“Yeah,” he nodded, holding Gabriel at arm’s length as the dog tried licking his cheek. “I’d like that.”
“Great,” you smiled, closing the door. “What an odd man.”
You couldn’t help grin to yourself. He was strange, yes, but very kind. You resumed your position on your sofa, taking a sip of cranberry juice, and pressing play on The Sound of Music. What a bizarre evening…
Come a few days later, Harry found himself busying himself in his bedroom. Gabriel was sat on his bed, barking at Harry as he worked away at his computer, sending emails back and forth to his boss. It was only when he saw your own bedroom light flick on in the corner of his eye. You wandered in, throwing your phone down onto your bed. A white towel was wrapped tightly around your body and your hair was wet and your skin glistening.
He knew he shouldn’t look. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t help it. He watched as you pulled a silky pyjama set from your dresser. You seemed to examine it briefly before deciding it was good enough. And when you dropped the towel, he knew he was wrong for staring. He knew you’d never speak to him again if you caught his gaze on your naked body. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
You sighed as you stepped into your silk shorts and slipped on the matching shirt. As you finished doing up the buttons, you happened to glance up and catch Harry’s gaze. He’d been staring. Once he realised you’d caught him, he went bright red; redder than when he’d mistaken cranberry juice for wine. You smirked, challenging him to look away.
When he didn’t avert his gaze, you leaned over to grab your notebook from your desk. Embracing your 2009 Taylor Swift moment, you scribbled down: wanna come over? You laughed as you watched him scramble away from the window and out of his room.
It was thirty seconds later that you heard his knocking on your door. You dashed down to open it. There he was. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him into your house and up the stairs. And there you were, standing in your bedroom with your tattooed neighbour. “That was super pervy, you know?” you whispered, your faces inches apart.
“But you’re so beautiful,” he choked out, revelling in the feeling of your hands dancing up his arms.
“What if I told you I did it on purpose?”
“What?”
“Yeah, what if I left the light on so you could see me? What if I wanted you to stare?”
He couldn’t resist you any longer. He pressed his mouth to your own, pushing your wet hair out of your face. He slipped his attractively large hands under your thighs, lifting you into his arms, only to drop you down onto your bed. You squealed as you hit the soft mattress, laughing as he buried his face in your neck, his fingers fiddling to undo your buttons. And that was that.
Before you knew it, you were lying beside his naked figure, panting loudly. Both of your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat. “That was amazing,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “You’re amazing.”
You smiled, kissing his nose, “Thanks. I think you’ll find you’re pretty sensational too. I need another shower now, though… wanna join?”
It was just after 11 when Harry left. The night had spiralled in the most perfect way. You switched off your bedroom light, slipping under your soft bedsheets. You were excited for the day to come - you’d asked him if he wanted to come over for a date. He agreed ecstatically.
The following morning, you woke up as you usually did. You were groggy, unexcited for the uneventful day to come. That was until you remembered your date that night with your tattooed neighbour. Up until 7, you had nothing to do but wait. You watched some episodes of a drama your mother had been raving about. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch. But finally, 6.30 rolled around and you peeled yourself off the sofa to get ready. At 7.02, Harry arrived. He knocked on your door and when you answered, his smile was bright and his eyes were alive with excitement. “Hello,” you grinned until you noticed something behind his back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
He held out a bouquet of roses, “I got you some flowers… and I brought round a bottle of cranberry juice.”
summary: a holiday in italy involves an unusual amount of shampoo and lusting...
The villa was somewhat quiet. The sound of solitary piano notes echoed through the halls. Harry’s hair was dishevelled from his heavy night’s sleep prior to the warm morning he found himself emersed in. While his fingers were busy working away at the grand piano, his eyes were preoccupied with following your form around the backyard of the villa.
You were sat by the pool, your book long forgotten. Your sunglasses were shielding your eyes from the unrelenting Italian sun. Your hair was pinned up, your skin exposed to the heat of the morning.
Harry’s attention was suddenly pulled away by the sound of your father emerging from the kitchen. “Morning, Haz,” he grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Any plans for today?”
He shrugged, “Might just, you know, work on some music.”
“A man committed to his career, that’s what I like to see,” your father said.
Harry nodded awkwardly, offering the older man a quick smile. Once your father disappeared into the lounge, Harry found his eyes wandering back to you. But you’d vanished. Had there not been wet footprints staining the concrete poolside, there would be no trace you’d been there at all.
Focusing on the lone notes the piano had no trouble emitting became an increasingly difficult task. All he could seem to focus on was you and the obnoxiously loud laughter of your mother and his own in the kitchen. He huffed loudly, pulling his jacket around himself tightly. He clambered up from the piano stool, stalking through to the kitchen to kindly ask if the two women could lower to volume slightly. However, he was soon silenced by the sight of you sat on the countertop of the island, your legs swinging beneath you, a peeled tangerine in your delicate hands. You were smiling slightly as the women couldn’t help but laugh at something Anne had said.
A bundle of nerves unravelled itself inside of Harry’s stomach when you looked up and locked eyes with him. Your mother and Anne quickly quietened down at Harry’s sudden presence in the doorway. “Morning, darling,” Anne smiled.
“Morning, Mum,” he replied, breaking his gaze away from your own. “Do you, uh, do you mind if you can keep it down a bit? I’m trying to work.”
“Work?” your mum asked. “Harry, dear, we’re in Italy! Why don’t you wait to work when you get home.”
“I know, but I feel most inspired when I’m away from my house,” he tried to explain.
“Just take a break, Harry. Relax… you know, unwind,” Anne said softly.
He sighed, “Okay. Fine. I’m going to shower.”
And with that, he spun on his heel and left the kitchen. You’d been silent throughout the entire exchange, glancing between Harry and your half-eaten tangerine. As you watched him leave, you averted your attention back to your book that was being held open by a mug you’d quickly put down so as not to lose your place.
Harry found himself running his hands through his dark hair, which was now coated in mango-scented shampoo. He’d just grabbed it off the shelf in the shower, assuming it came as a complimentary luxury with the villa. As the hot water trickled down his body, he allowed his muscles to relax. He knew his mum was right: he needed to separate himself from his music for a few days. But he was only working away tirelessly at the grand piano because it kept his mind off you. If it wasn’t music, it was you. If it wasn’t you, it was music.
These yearly holidays used to be enjoyable for Harry. Right up until he was fourteen and he realised he liked you. Then they became almost torturous. As soon as he began to see you in this different light, your presence and whereabouts became apparent to his senses. Before, you always seemed to swim in the pool with Gemma or play in her room. He’d occupy himself with your brother by going down to the beach or playing tag in the extensive gardens of the Italian villa. But you suddenly seemed to be everywhere. He’d go down to the beach and there you’d be with your parents or Gemma. He’d be running through the gardens trying to find your brother after an afternoon of hide and seek, and yet he’d discover you reading or gossiping with his sister. All of this, but the summer you didn’t come with your family because you were going away to Scotland with your then-boyfriend instead was utterly dreadful for him.
When he was finished in the shower, he wasted the rest of the day by the pool in hopes you’d venture out with your books and tangerines. But alas, you did not. It was only when the sun was dipping below the horizon did he next lay eyes on you. He was sat at the dining table, his plate before him. You grinned at him, sitting down opposite him. You kept quiet as your parents chatted away mindlessly with Anne, only sharing a brief and quiet conversation with your brother, who you were sat beside.
Gemma hadn’t come this year, leaving Harry and Anne alone with your family. Anne didn’t seem to have a problem with that at all. After all, she and your mother were such good friends and always had been. You had always been content in your own company. And your brother seemed to spend all his time with your father, something about inheriting the family business. So, Harry had found a companion in the villa’s grand piano, which had now been stripped away from him courtesy of his mother.
It wasn’t as if you were deliberately being cold to Harry. You actually quite admired him and you knew you always had. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t aware of his eyes following you everywhere you went. But you liked the attention. You wanted to know just what you could do to him. So, when your foot accidentally grazed his leg beneath the table, you didn’t even look at him. After all, it was a mere accident.
When, at last, your father was finished with his meal, you helped Anne clear away the dishes and your mother as she washed up. While your father and brother ventured through to the lounge to watch a football game, Harry went straight to his room.
An hour passed and he was too busy on his phone to notice you enter his room. When you cleared your throat, he finally looked up. His eyes were wide like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He hurriedly shut off his phone, blackness overtaking the screen that had once presented your Instagram profile to him. “Oh, hi, Y/N,” he said as you sat yourself down at the foot of his bed.
“Oh? Didn’t realise you were expecting someone else,” you smirked.
“No, no, no. I, uh, I wasn’t. I was just surprised to see you,” he said quickly.
“Right,” you grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He watched your face screw up suddenly. You leaned forward towards him, before laughing. “What?” he asked. “What’s funny?”
“Is that my shampoo?” you questioned.
“Shit. I just thought it was a, you know, freebie. I didn’t realise it was yours. Shit. I wouldn’t have used it if I knew it was yours. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
As he rambled, he remembered that the two of you shared the same bathroom. It was between your respective bedrooms, doors leading to both. Of course it was your shampoo. You chuckled at his ramblings, “It’s okay Harry. It’s just shampoo. You can use it whenever.”
“Oh,” he let out a sigh of relief. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought it smelt wonderful.”
You smiled, “Thanks. I have a pomegranate one in my suitcase that I think you’d love.”
“Really? Why did you bring two shampoos?” he asked.
You shrugged, “So I have options depending on my mood. Sometimes I’m feeling like a pomegranate, sometimes I’m feeling like a mango.”
He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes wandering up your bare legs that were only sporting a pair of silky shorts. Obviously, this didn’t go unnoticed by you. “The only thing is,” you started, “you’re going to smell like me now.”
He shifted slightly. You smiled to yourself.
“What if people, you know, get the wrong idea?” you asked innocently.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, “I guess you’ll just have to use your pomegranate shampoo tomorrow instead, won’t you?”
You leaned back, somewhat satisfied with his answer. His cheeks were flushed and you knew your job for the evening was done. “Fair play, Styles. See you in the morning,” you made a point of touching his shoulder as you left via the shared bathroom.
The following morning, Harry awoke, finding himself peacefully content for a moment before he recalled the prior night’s events. He was yet to decide if you were actually making a move on him or not. Or perhaps you were genuinely concerned that your families would smell your signature mango scent on Harry and get the wrong impression of the entire thing.
He dragged himself out of the soft sheets, getting dressed. He listened silently to the running shower. He could hear you humming along to Then He Kissed Me by The Crystals. And after the shower he stopped, he gave it five minutes before going in to brush his teeth. He couldn’t help but look over to see your bottle of pomegranate shampoo making its place beside your mango one. The red bottle was the one soaked in droplets of water, while the yellow bottle remained dry. You’d done as he’d said. In a way, Harry almost wished you’d used the mango shampoo. He almost liked the thought of people thinking he and you had been so close that he’d absorbed your tropical scent.
As he wandered into the kitchen, preparing himself some toast, he noticed the unusual silence of the villa. It was unnerving. He felt like the protagonists of those books and movies where they wake up and everyone’s gone or been evacuated. It felt apocalyptic. But, as his mind churned out immediate actions to take in this case of an unprecedented apocalypse, you walked into the kitchen just as his toast popped out of the toaster. “Morning,” you smiled, sitting down at one of the island’s stools.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, spreading butter onto the crisp toast.
You shrugged, “It was alright. You?”
“I slept wonderfully.”
“Good,” you said.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, sitting down opposite you.
“They left for the beach,” you explained. “I didn’t want to go and they didn’t want to wait around for you to get out of bed. Anne told me to tell you that if you want to go down, they’re the ones with the pink deckchairs.”
He nodded slowly, “I think I’ll pass. Not a fan of sand.”
“Right? Why do people enjoy playing in minuscule rocks, which end up in your clothes for the next two weeks? Sounds like hell to me,” you said.
He smiled at your aggravated tone, “Wow, and I thought I hated sand.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet, pal,” you joked, smiling.
Before a blanket of silence could fall on top of the two of you, Harry quickly said, “I saw you used the pomegranate shampoo.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him, “Yeah… I mean, you told me to, right?”
“Right,” he nodded quickly. “Of course. Well, at least we both smell nice now.”
You frowned, “If you say so. Anyway, I’m going for a swim. See you later.”
Harry watched you leave. His eyes roamed your figure with your legs exposed in a pair of shorts. You looked back at him over your shoulder, grinning to yourself at his longing look. He watched through the large kitchen windows as you rid yourself of your shorts and t-shirt, revealing your swimsuit beneath. He tried desperately to peel his gaze away from you as you settled yourself comfortably on one of the sun loungers by the pool. You placed your sunglasses over your eyes, opening your book.
As soon as he’d finished his toast, he wandered outside. At the sound of his footsteps, you looked up. “Hi, Harry,” you smiled.
“Hello,” he said softly, sitting down opposite you. You slid your sunglasses up over your head, settling them on your hair. You sat up, never allowing your eyes to leave his. “How can I help you?” you grinned.
He was fiddling with his fingers, his gaze alternating between them and you. Finally, you reached out and placed your hand over his shaky ones. You stood, pulling him up with you. You were so close. You could hear each other breathing. You could practically hear his heart thumping against his ribs. You reached up to whisper in his ear, “I know you adore me.”
You smirked, allowing him to revel in your confidence. Call it cockiness. Same thing, really. You slowly pulled away from his ear, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. And yet it was him who finally connected your lips to his own. He didn’t make any effort to pull away either. You smiled into the kiss, burying your fingers in his hair. And when he finally did pull away, he stared down at you, cheeks red, “Depends if you adore me too.”
You grinned, “I do.”
And, with that, he dove back in. You grinned as he wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up. He lay you down gently on the sun lounger, leaning over you. As you pulled his shirt over his head, he leaned back slightly. “I thought you didn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” he whispered.
You shrugged, “I guess we’ll just have to see what pomegranate and mango smell like together.”
warnings: dad!harry, swearing, not really proofread
word count: 2.3k
summary: two single parents try to start their lives again...
Mornings were always the worst for you. Trying to pry Tommy out of bed, and even yourself for that matter, was always an incredibly stressful task. But you’d learned to live with it and quickly come to accept it. After all, he was only young now. He’d be old soon enough and you knew you’d miss these youthful years.
You stood by the school gates, waiting for little Tommy to come bounding out of school to tell you all about his latest adventure. You always looked forward to hearing how his day went. As small children scrambled out of the doors after their teachers and straight into the arms of their parents, your eyes fell onto Tommy. He was with a boy you didn’t recognise. “Look, look! Meet my new friend,” Tommy grinned as he stood before you excitedly. “This is my mum.”
“Hello,” the little boy, dark-haired with perhaps the most striking green eyes, smiled. “I’m Oscar.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Oscar,” you smiled. “Are you new?”
The boy nodded, his cheeks flushed slightly. You couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Tommy had made a new friend. He’d been kind to the new kid and offered him a form of friendship.
You were tugged away from your thoughts as you heard a voice behind you. You quickly turned to see a man, a little taller than yourself. You figured this was Oscar’s father from the dark hair to the green eyes. “There you are,” he smiled warmly and it seemed to make your heart flutter, as if he was smiling at you.
“Daddy, this is my new friend, Tommy,” Oscar grinned excitedly.
For the first time, the man shifted his gaze from the two young boys to you. Your stomach lurched as you made eye contact with him. “You must be Tommy’s mum,” he said, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Harry.”
“Y/N,” you smiled, shaking it gently. You hadn’t felt like this since you first met Tommy’s dad. It was all of eight years ago now on a night out with your university friends, most of whom you didn’t even speak to nowadays. He had been kind then and polite and the sort of man you’d always envisioned yourself marrying. So, you ended up getting together and everything seemed great for the first year and a half. But then things began to decline and you both seemed to lose trust in one another and you felt as if you were putting all of your energy into this relationship. It was killing you. But then you fell pregnant with his baby and he broke up with you anyway. You went back home to live with your own parents for a while before you eventually found a proper job and moved into your own house.
Anyway, you found yourself walking down the street, Tommy and Oscar running ahead slightly, with Harry. You had Tommy’s light bag clasped between your hands, listening to Harry tell you about Oscar. “And yeah,” he concluded, “we moved down here a couple of weeks ago, just the two of us.”
“What about Oscar’s mother?” you couldn’t help but find yourself prying.
Harry seemed to tense slightly, before shrugging, “She was never really around much. Her parents thought she should have gotten an abortion but she didn’t want one and had the baby anyway. So, they kicked her out and she left Oscar with me and moved to Dublin with her friends.”
“That’s shitty,” you sighed. “At least you have Oscar, though, right?”
He nodded, smiling, “Exactly. What about Tommy’s dad then?”
“He was a dick. He broke up with me a couple of months after I told him I was pregnant,” you replied.
“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, “sounds like a dick. Does he see Tommy then?”
You shook your head, your eyes caught between Harry’s and your son's lively figure running up and down the path ahead of you with Oscar. “No. He’s tried to reach out a couple of times but I haven’t let him see him. I just feel like introducing him to his dad six years later could just, you know, fuck it up. Besides, if he didn’t want to be with me through all the shitty, difficult stuff, then I don’t think he’s allowed to enjoy all the joys of being a parent.”
“Well,” he smiled, “good on you.”
And that was how you met Harry Styles. Over the weeks that followed, you would walk Oscar and Tommy to and from school with him. Tommy would spend time round at Harry’s and Oscar would spend time round at yours. And it felt like every time you saw Harry, you felt simultaneously more comfortable around him but more and more nervous.
But you hadn’t dated anybody since Tommy was born. Having a young child seemed to be a deterrent for a lot of people. Or maybe had more to do with the fact that you didn’t have time for a relationship between work and raising Tommy. Sure, you’d been on plenty of dates and it wasn’t as if you weren’t ready to get back into the world of dating and relationships. If not for yourself, for Tommy. You wanted him to have some kind of parental figure that wasn’t you.
You found it difficult to focus on the book you were reading when all you could hear was the two boys laughing loudly upstairs. Oscar was round for dinner and Harry was due to pick him up any minute. And as a knock at the front door finally snapped you into a new state of consciousness, you got up to answer it. Harry stood happily on the other side, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. “Evening, Y/N,” he smiled.
“Evening, Harry,” you mocked. “Do come in.”
You opened the door wider, allowing the man to step into your home. You called down Oscar and Tommy, only to be met with groans. They appeared at the top of the stairs, their faces twisted into bitter scowls. “Why?” Tommy sighed. “Can he stay for a bit longer?”
You exchanged a glance with Harry, who shrugged. “Fifteen minutes,” you sighed. Really, all you wanted was to go to bed. They grinned and dashed back into Tommy’s small bedroom. You guided Harry into the kitchen, letting him sit himself down at the table. “Do you want a drink?” you asked.
“I’m okay, thanks,” he smiled.
You grinned, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice, “Suit yourself. So, how was your day?”
“Stressful,” he sighed. “Thanks for looking after Oscar.”
“Anytime,” you shrugged. “He’s delightful. Besides, you’ve looked after Tommy so many times, I kind of owed you.”
“Nonsense,” he laughed. “We’re not exchanging favours. We’re just… helping out a friend.”
You couldn’t help but let yourself deflate at ‘friend’. You had known all along that you were just two, young single parents that only knew each other through their six-year-old sons. But a tiny fragment of you hoped what was happening meant something more to Harry, like it did to you. There were instances of harmless flirting and subtle glances. “Right,” you nodded, forcing a soft smile. “Well, thanks for helping out a friend.”
His fingers drummed mindlessly on the table and your eyes wandered from their tips to the tattoos that peeked out of the cuff of his jacket. “Got any plans for tomorrow?” Harry asked and you almost cringed at the small talk.
But alas, you shrugged, “Not really. I have some work to catch up on, so an action packed day for me tomorrow. What about you?”
He shook his head, “I wish I had plans. Could go out for drinks or something, but I can’t because I have a needy six-year-old.”
“Treasure it while it’s still here,” you said.
“Believe me,” he grinned, “I am. God, I’m so scared for the day he just… stops needing me. You know, the day he just sort of realises that he no longer needs me to wash his clothes or walk him into town or buy him things. And it took me ages to get used to putting somebody before myself, I don’t think I could imagine living without him now. Like, one day he’ll go off to uni and get a job and only come home every other birthday or Christmas.”
You smiled gently. You were sure he’d never been so vulnerable with you before. “It’s weird to think that’s what we’re doing with our parents now. We fear the day our kids stop needing us, but our parents are living that day.”
He hummed in thought for a moment, “I should probably go see my mum soon. I haven’t seen her in months. And my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
He nodded, “Yeah. Gemma is her name. She’d love you.”
“I’m sure I’d love her if she’s anything like you,” you said.
You took a final gulp of your orange juice, your eyes beginning to feel heavy. You looked at the clock on the wall, noticing twenty minutes had passed since Harry arrived. “Right,” you smiled. “I’ll go get Oscar.”
And as you walked towards the kitchen door, Harry quickly said, “Wait!”
You turned back to look at him, your heart pounding heavily. All kinds of questions and hypotheticals raced through your mind as he paused for a moment. “Do you think you’ll ever meet somebody else, Y/N?” he asked.
“Meet somebody else?” you repeated, though you were sure you knew exactly what he meant.
“Yeah, you know… like somebody to replace Tommy’s dad. Somebody for you to settle down with and raise Tommy together. Do you think you’ll ever meet them?” he asked.
You were utterly confused as to what had prompted him to ask such a question. But you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t hear your heart in your temples or taste your blood in your mouth. “Maybe,” you shrugged. “Do you?”
“I hope so,” he said. “I’d like Oscar to have a mum.”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think that would be great for him. I’ll go get him.”
That night as you lay alone in your bed, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to share your bed with Harry. To feel his body beside yours on cold nights. To be woken up by his lips peppering your face in light kisses in the morning. To discuss all the trivial things when neither of you can sleep at night. Maybe he was trying to tell you something that evening…
Oscar had become ill over that following weekend. Nothing too serious, but something that warranted a day or two off school. So, after you picked Tommy up from school, you drove to Harry’s to check if they were both okay. Tommy sat at the end of Oscar’s bed, recounting everything the young boy had missed at school, while you busied yourself in Harry’s kitchen. You were heating up some of the soup you had made for the poor boy. “You’re really too kind. You didn’t have to do this,” Harry told you as he made you a cup of coffee.
You shrugged, “Well, Oscar’s like my second son at this point.”
He smiled, albeit his cheeks a little red, “I’m glad you think that. I’m pretty sure he thinks of you as a mum at this point too.”
Now it was your turn to turn red. Your face heated up at Harry’s passing comment. Did he really think of you as a mum? “That’s sweet,” you said. “About what you said the other night… about meeting somebody, my friend says she knows a guy she thinks I’d get along with. So, I think I’m really going to try dating.”
He stiffened slightly, “Oh yeah? That’s great, Y/N.”
He hugged you and you couldn’t help but feel so safe in his arms. The hug was perhaps a second or three too long, but neither of you pulled away. And, as your bodies were pressed together, it was almost as if you shared a brief but looming epiphany together. “But,” you began again, “why try dating a stranger when I already know somebody?”
“That’s a good point,” he whispered softly, finally pulling away to make eye contact. He explored your face and you felt his warm breath on your cheeks.
“I mean, this guy that I know, he’s sweet. Really sweet. He’s super funny and caring and so, so generous. And he has a kid himself, so he won’t be put off by the single parent thing.”
He understood what you were trying to tell him, “Sounds like an angel. Who is this fine man of whom you speak?”
You grinned, “I don’t know if I should say. He has tattoos and green eyes.”
“So he’s incredibly handsome as well as being an angel?”
“I suppose you could say that,” you chuckled. And, as if the sky were falling down, Harry wasted no time in pressing his lips to your own. He kissed you and you kissed him back. All of your prior dating worries just seemed to slip away as you buried your fingers in Harry’s soft hair. It was only when you heard a quiet ‘mum?’ from the doorway did you jolt apart. Tommy stood in the threshold of the kitchen and suddenly the microwave went off, notifying you that Oscar’s soup was ready. You and Harry turned back to each other, finally registering Tommy’s presence, “Shit.”
warnings: mentions of alcohol, references to alcoholism, swearing, brief mentions of death, sexual references, discussions of infertility, googled medical diagnoses, breakup, references to covid, not really proofread
word count: 7.2k
summary: anecdotes of a relationship destined to collapse...
01 march, 2013
“Just talk to her, man!” Liam yelled over the deafening music of the club. Harry sighed, his eyes drifting between the drink in his hands and you. You were dancing with your friends, laughing as the skinny girl tripped over her own feet. Snapping his eyes away from you, he glanced across at Liam, “Bit creepy, though, isn’t it?”
“You have been staring at her for the past five minutes. That’s creepier than just talking to her,” Liam shrugged, patting Harry on the back.
The band had been given the night off. Finally. Collectively, they’d all decided to go out together. That’s not to say they would be staying out too late, though - they had an early start the next morning. “Yeah, man,” came Niall’s voice. “Just go buy her a drink or something.”
“No,” Louis said quickly, arriving at the bar with Zayn. “Don’t do that. They’d rather you just spoke to them than try and buy them a drink. It makes it seem like you’re trying to get them drunk and, you know…”
Harry finished the rest of his drink, running a hand through his hair. Zayn glanced between him and the exit to the club, “Harry, mate, maybe you shouldn’t. If somebody sees you talking to a girl and leaks it to the press-”
“Well, then they’re a dickhead,” Liam said. “It’s your life, Hazza. Worth a shot, right?”
Zayn sighed, “Yeah, they’re a dickhead. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be her who faces the consequences for talking to you. You know what they’re like whenever we talk to a girl.”
“Too late,” Niall said quickly, gesturing over to the three girls walking over to the bar. One of the girls was considerably drunker than the others, both of them having to support her. The five boys tried to be subtle as they carefully watched you and your friend sit the drunker one down at the booth by the bar. They could just about hear your conversation over the music. After all, you weren’t sat all that far away. “Jesus, Eileen,” you sighed, examining your giggling friend. “What did you drink?”
“I think we should take her home,” your other friend said.
“No!” Eileen protested. “We’re having so much fun!”
“You’re so drunk,” the other one laughed at Eileen and your frustrated expression.
“You know me, Nelly, I love a good vodka and coke!” Eileen grinned. “Once I have one, I can’t stop.”
“Have you considered therapy?” Nelly joked. “An AA meeting, maybe?”
You scoffed, slumping back against the padded fabric of the booth. Brushing the loose strands of Eileen’s hair out of her face, you wrapped her jacket around her bare arms. “Come on,” you sighed, “let’s go home.”
You and Nelly carefully lifted Eileen up from the seat to guide her out of the club. The cold London air was refreshing against your flushed cheeks. Yes, you may have been slightly tipsy, but you were nowhere near as bad as Eileen. Besides, Nelly was entirely sober. The only thing she’d drunk that night was a glass of lemonade. She wasn’t much of a drinker. She’d have a glass of wine at fancy dinners and that was usually the extent of it.
Back inside the sweaty club, Harry was beginning to regret not saying a thing to you at all. He’d watched you leave the club with your friends and he suddenly just wanted to go home. “Tough luck, mate,” Louis sighed, smiling sadly at the deflated boy before him.
Fortunately for Harry, he noticed something on the table of the booth you’d just been sat at. It was a set of keys. He quickly snatched them up and ran out after you. There was hope for him yet. He ran down the street after you. Thankfully, due to Eileen’s stumbling, you’d yet to get too far. “Excuse me!” he called. “Excuse me, I think you dropped your keys!”
It was you who turned back to look at him. His arm was outstretched, the keys between his fingers. You thanked him as he dropped them into your hand. Once he straightened his back from being hunched over, trying to catch his breath, and his face became illuminated by a streetlamp, did you realise who he was. Harry Styles. You didn’t say anything, though. You assumed he probably got enough of people telling him who he was on the daily that he wouldn’t need an extra one from you. He reached out to shake your other hand, “I’m Harry.”
“I know,” you smiled. “Y/N.”
He grinned. Y/N. He knew your name. Your hand was soft against his. You were wearing this black dress, or maybe it was blue. It was too dark to tell. Your lips were red, maybe pink. You smelt of strawberries. “I think you look really pretty,” he said, thankful it was so dark to hide the red tint that graced his cheeks.
You smiled politely, trying to ignore the sniggering of Nelly and Eileen from behind you. “Thank you, Harry.”
He nodded, unsure what to say next. But he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip from his grasp. “Can I have your number?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. Of course you weren’t going to just give him your number.
You shrugged, “I don’t even know you.”
That wasn’t necessarily true. Your younger brother had given you a full debrief on the members of One Direction last time you’d gone back home to visit your family. He’d made sure not to miss a single detail. So, yes, you did know him. Not personally, of course. But it felt personal. He hung his head, “Yeah. Of course. Why would you trust me?”
You knew he wasn’t saying it in an aggressive or sarcastic way. Really, why would you trust him? You sighed, “You’re famous?”
It was a joke. You were joking. And it took him a split second to laugh. Well, he chuckled, really. “I’ll give you my number if you write a song about me,” you smirked. Again, you were kind of joking. And yet, he nodded.
“Deal.”
20 november, 2013
And write a song about you he did. You found yourself tangled up in the sheets of his bed five days before his third studio album was set to be released. Two months you’d been together now, and they’d been perhaps the happiest of your life. Running your fingers delicately through his mop of hair, smiling contently as he closed his eyes in utter bliss. It should have been sunny outside, the golden rays practically pouring in through the windows of his flat. But alas, it was pouring with bitter rain. “I have to go soon,” he grumbled, nuzzling his tired face into your waist, wrapping his lethargic arms around your thighs.
You nodded, sighing, “I know, baby.”
“So much fucking press,” he groaned, forcing his eyes open. “Same fucking questions. What’s your favourite off the album? Who is this one written about? Are you single? Everyone’s in love with you, how does that feel?”
You smiled down at him softly, “Good thing you love talking about yourself then, isn’t it?”
He grinned, “Exactly. Just wish they’d ask something novel and somewhat fucking entertaining. Podcast or songs in the shower? Would you ever become a classical composer? Hardback or paperback?”
“What, and ‘podcast or songs in the shower’ is novel and somewhat fucking entertaining,” you couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, a real exclusive for the journalists.”
He chuckled, dragging himself out of bed. He slipped into the bathroom, emerging in no time at all dressed in a t-shirt and some jeans. Unplugging his phone, he pressed his lips to yours. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
You threw the covers from your body, following him through the flat. Harry grabbed one of his coats, before hugging you tightly. “I love you.”
You pulled away quickly, staring up at him, eyes wide, “Really?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I guess I do.”
“I guess I love you too.”
When he returned, it was dark. You were lying in his bed, your eyelids heavy. He crept in, kissing you lightly. “I wrote a song about you,” he whispered.
You smiled up at him weakly, “You did? You kept your end of the bargain.”
He nodded. And so, he played it for you. You were curled up in his bedsheets, listening to a song a guy had written about you. And it was pretty fucking good. “When did you write it?” you asked as it came to an end.
“A few nights after we met. Do you like it?” he asked nervously.
You nodded, grabbing his face to kiss him, “I love it. What’s it called?”
“Little Black Dress.”
07 january, 2014
Months passed. And every single one seemed to get better than the last. It felt as if you were high, right up in the clouds, every waking moment. But you were nervous. Your fingers were practically shaking. However, as soon as Anne opened the door to greet you both with her warming smile, the nerves just seemed to disappear. Vanish. She hugged you first, squeezing you tightly as if she’d know you all her life. She hugged Harry next, hurrying you both in.
The house was warm and cosy and oh so welcoming. There were pictures on the wall of Harry and Gemma as kids and some of Anne and Robin on their wedding day. You couldn’t help but smile at them. Harry noticed you admiring the snapshots of history that had been framed and hung up on the wall. “Cute, wasn’t I?” he joked, squeezing your hand.
You shrugged, “Not as cute as Gemma.”
You had met Gemma before. You’d gone out to dinner with her and Harry when he decided he wanted you to meet his family. She was lovely and too kind to you. But this was your first time meeting Anne and Robin. Their warm smiles and kind words did nothing but make you feel at home.
After chatting for a while, they let you and Harry get settled in. You’d be staying for a couple of days before heading back down to London. He showed you around his childhood bedroom, which did nothing but fill you with joy. “Nothing’s changed,” he smiled, eyes exploring the room that still made him feel like a kid again. “I love coming back. Brings me back down to earth, you know? Back to home. I know it’ll always be here, no matter where I go.”
“That’s poetic,” you said. His lips curved up slightly and when he pressed his lips to your head lightly, you couldn’t help but smile too. It almost felt illegal to be so innocently intimate in his childhood bedroom, filled with long-forgotten memories of a life once lived.
Later, as the sun set over the house that you already felt so welcomed in, you found yourself sat beside Harry in the kitchen. You’d become acquainted with the cats that inhabited the home and Anne’s gorgeous cooking. As Anne and Robin got to know you, you made sure to ask plenty of questions about them. The smile that adorned your face throughout the evening and the following days never seemed to fade or die away. And, by the end of your stay at Harry’s childhood home, you felt as if you’d known Anne and Robin all your life. As if you’d known the walls of the house all your life. And the pictures of youthful ignorances and watercolours of distant landscapes. And the cats that purred loudly as they ran their head along your legs the last thing before you slept and the first thing before you woke.
And you were sure you could revel in the feeling of warm, welcoming homeliness of the home and the family for the rest of your life.
12 october, 2014
Nelly had looked truly ravishing on her wedding day. The white dress was an unusual contrast to her jeans and sweaters. You were convinced there was nothing she couldn’t pull off. Harry had been hanging off your arm all evening, like a lost toddler. He’d acted like one too, making comments about being tired and his feet hurting all day. You paid no mind to him, though. This was Nelly’s day and she was your friend and you wanted to be there to support her. You’d known the girl since your first day of secondary school when you were both a mere eleven years old.
Eileen plopped herself down beside you, her eyes exploring the faces that were lost on her in the large hall. Everybody was mingling now, catching up with people they hadn’t seen since 2010. Her presence pulled you away from your hushed conversation with Harry. “I don’t even know who half of these people are,” Eileen sighed.
“That’s how it usually goes at weddings,” Harry replied, taking a sip of the provided champagne, slumping back in his chair slightly.
“Like, who even is that?” she sighed, gesturing subtly to an elderly man stood with Nelly and her mother.
You sighed, “That’s her granddad.”
“Oh,” Eileen said. “Are you sure? I thought her granddad died last year.”
“No, that was my granddad,” you chuckled. “That’s Nelly’s Granddad Joe.”
“If you say so,” she sighed, finishing the rest of her gin and tonic. “They all look the same to me. White hair, wrinkly.”
Harry stifled a snort at Eileen’s nonchalant tone. You patted her shoulder lightly, also amused. Eileen had a habit of growing very tired of boring occasions very quickly. It had happened numerous times before and it always cracked you up. She started up again, “I never mind the actual ceremony, like that’s somewhat interesting. It’s the mingling I can’t stand. We’ve been here for two hours, Nelly’s already married, why do people care about this stuff so much?”
“Because it’s nice to catch up with people,” you replied.
She lay her head down on your shoulder tiredly, “That’s what Facebook is for.”
Harry chuckled, “Well, she isn’t wrong.”
You tried so hard not to sigh so loudly, but it still came out louder than you perhaps would have liked, “Will you two at least pretend to give a shit? Eileen, this is our best friend getting married and you don’t care. We’ve known her for ten years, liven up. Harry, this is my friend and I want to celebrate with her. Just suck it up and deal with it. We’ll go soon.”
You were quite literally dealing with toddlers. You looked up when Nelly finally came and sat down at the table you’d been huddled around. She finished what was left of her drink and threw her head back. “I’m so tired,” she sighed. Even the bride was beginning to act like a two-year-old.
“I can imagine,” you offered her your best smile. “So, how does it feel to be married?”
“Relieving,” she explained. “But somewhat anticlimactic. My feet hurt and I’m sick of having to say hello to every single aunt, uncle, cousin, nephew, niece. Just to get told ‘oh, I never thought I’d see our Nelly get married’ or ‘my, haven’t you grown’? Yes, Linda, I have. Because it’s been seven years since you’ve last seen me, I’m not thirteen anymore.”
The three of you exchanged amused glances at Nelly’s grumbling. She was throwing her arms about, staring down at the white tablecloth that had a big wine stain in it. Your mother had knocked over her wine when explaining to Harry how much of a teacher’s pet you were in school. Obviously, you had to interject and explain that caring about grades didn’t equal a teacher’s pet. “Oh, you never thought you’d see your Nelly get married, did you? Well, maybe that’s because gay marriage was only legalised last year. Fucking disgusting,” Nelly went on.
Eileen quickly held up her hand, “Please, we’ve heard this rant before.”
Nelly sighed, glancing boredly at Eileen. You all sat in peaceful silence for a moment, comforted by the feeling of Harry’s large hand on your leg. When your mother finally came over, telling you she was heading off, you decided it was time for your departure too. So, congratulating Nelly and her new wife, Emma, on their marriage and beautiful ceremony and bidding farewell to those you were sure you wouldn’t see again until 2016, you and Harry ventured back to your little flat.
Once you were showered and out of the dress you felt so beautiful in, you tumbled into bed, happy to finally have those heels off. Harry’s suit was stranded across your bedroom floor in little piles of shirt and trouser and sock. “Can I perform at our wedding?” he asked, turning to look at you as you lay your head back against the inviting softness of your pillow.
His question and casual tone is what awoke all the life in you. You didn’t sit up dramatically and make a scene about it. You merely rolled over to face him directly, smiling softly at him, “Who said we’ll be getting married?”
He shrugged, “I think it’d be quite nice if we did one day.”
“Maybe,” you hummed, finding a wonderful level of contentment in the discussion of the future with Harry. “But you’re not performing at it.”
He chuckled, “Why not? Me and the boys. The lads and I. A bit of Up All Night? Some more recent stuff? Come on, Y/N, you’d love it.”
“Not when my new husband is singing with his little boyband.”
Hearing you refer to Harry as your ‘new husband’ certainly made him light up inside. And his head was suddenly filled with all sorts of fantasies of what it would be like to wake up beside you every day. To come home from a long day and order food in because neither of you could be bothered to cook. To get your first pet together, probably name it after a character in a show you were presently obsessed with. To raise a family together. To fight through the sleepless nights of infancy, but knowing it would all be worth it because, at the end of the day, he knew you’d always be there. Just as he’d always be there for you.
And he smiled, because he knew this was where he wanted to stay for as long as he can. With you.
15 may, 2015
It felt different waking up under the sun in Italy. Same sun, just… different. It was Italian. It was glorious. Perhaps it was the peacefulness of not having management drag Harry out of bed in the early hours of the morning. Perhaps it was the refreshing release of the pressures of university coursework. Perhaps it was the mere fact that you were completely alone with nobody to interrupt you.
Harry’s hair was splayed out across the cool silk pillows that rested quite perfectly on the bed you wished belonged to you. His tattooed arms were slung lazily over your body and the thin sheets had been kicked to the bottom of the bed in your sleep. It was something about being on holiday that always made you tired, despite doing nothing but reading or lounging about in the sun or splashing about in the pool.
He was snoring quietly, still sleeping soundly. You were happy, though, staring out the large floor-to-ceiling windows that replaced a wall of the bedroom in the villa you were staying at. It opened up onto the pool and had a simply marvellous view of the blue sea. It was a short walk into town, but you and Harry had made a point of exploring it all within the first three days so you could spend the rest of your overdue holiday cuddled up together in the sunlight.
When Harry stirred, his tired eyes still full of sleep, you finally sat up. He wrapped his arms around your waist, trying to pull you back down. You laughed, trying desperately to pry his fingers off your skin. “I’m getting up now,” you said happily.
“Don’t,” he grumbled, closing his sleepy eyes again. “Why get up when we can stay here forever?”
“Why stay here forever when we’re literally in Italy and there’s a pool outside?” you countered.
“But why go swim in the pool when we did that yesterday?”
You shook your head at him, laughing. You pulled yourself away from the bed that could only be described as heavenly. He watched you leave, smiling away to himself. Was this what it felt like to be in love?
Carrying a bowl of fresh strawberries, you wandered out into the garden of the villa. Soon enough, Harry joined you in his yellow shorts. Of course there had been paparazzi pictures of you and Harry exploring Amalfi, hands clasped together tightly. But, for once, you paid no mind to them. Usually, you found it hard not to stare at the pictures of you and Harry for hours, picking apart all the pixelated details of your face and body. You would be lying if you said it didn’t take a toll on you mentally. But, when you were able to turn your phone off for a week and just enjoy the world around you, it left you feeling refreshed and cleansed.
Harry sat himself down by the side of the pool, letting his legs swing between the cool ripples of water. He lay his head back, letting his eyes flutter shut. No words were exchanged, for none were needed. You were both in silent agreement that this was where you wanted to go when you died.
When you finished your strawberries and your lips and fingertips smelt suitably like them, you clambered up from the bench and slipped quietly into the pool. The water was contrastingly cold compared to the sun that beat down relentlessly but perfectly. You swam towards Harry, interlacing your strawberry-scented fingers with his own. He looked down at you, smiling brightly at the sight of such. “I love you,” he whispered.
You grinned, “I love you too.”
“I’d call it more of an unhealthy obsession with me,” he replied, shrugging jokingly.
You scoffed, “If anyone has an unhealthy obsession with someone, it’s you. Let’s go to Italy, you said, you can finish your uni coursework later. You begged me to come here with you.”
He smirked down at you, “Begged? You seemed pretty eager to me.”
“Well, you never have been very observant,” you joked, squeezing his hands tightly, before dragging him into the pool with you.
When he finally resurfaced, brushing his long hair out of his green eyes, he reached out to grasp you. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your body submerged in the water. Placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, he held you as if he was scared you were going to be pulled away from him. As if was the last time he would ever get to feel your skin against his own. “When we go home,” he whispered, “move in with me.”
You lay your head against his shoulder, softly closing your eyes. All you needed was the sound of his light breathing and the increased beating of his heart as he waited for any kind of indication of a response from you. “Yeah, okay,” you replied, equally as quiet.
You didn’t want to make a deal about moving in with Harry. The setting wasn’t right. You were holding each other tightly in the pool of an Italian villa in Amalfi, the world around you warm and serene. So, you agreed gently, buzzing violently inside at the prospect of all the adventures you and Harry could get up to living together.
02 july, 2016
You’d lived in Harry’s flat for a month before you both decided to buy your own house. It was a lovely home in Chelsea that you and Harry had simply fallen in love with when you first saw it. It felt perfect in the sunlight and in the pouring rain. But, as you both returned from going out for drinks after your university graduation ceremony, you were quickly irritated by the half-painted walls and flat-pack furniture.
A week or two prior to your graduation ceremony, you had both been sat at the island in the kitchen, when you both decided that you wanted to renovate the house. Maybe replace the grey walls in the living room with a forest green and swap out the black and white furniture for navys and mustards. The modern style of the house had been nice at first, but it quickly began to feel like less of a home and more of an office building. So, you decided to change it up a bit.
Harry recently got back from America after finishing some last-minute shoots on the new Christopher Nolan film he’d been cast in. While you’d visited him once when he was shooting in Dunkirk, you still felt eternally grateful to have him back home. And, while you could sit and hear him talk about what it was like working with Christopher Nolan and the likes of Tom Hardy and Kenneth Branagh, you grew increasingly stressed about graduating and renovating the house. But now the graduation was over and you were officially free of education. The renovation was well underway and you were actively seeking a job with your English literature degree. “Thank God that’s over,” you sighed, sitting down at the kitchen island after pouring yourself a glass of chocolate milk. “Finally free of the tiresome shackles that are higher education.”
He snorted at you, “I’m proud of you. Just think, you were only in your first year at university when we first met.”
You couldn’t help but smile. So much had changed in the last three years of your life. You were sat with your boyfriend, who had just come back from shooting a movie, in the kitchen of your own house in Chelsea, London having just come back from your university graduation ceremony. One of your closest friends was married and had been happily for coming up to two years. The other had just got herself into a relationship after ranting to you about how she wanted to stay single forever countless times before. Life was good and you were content in where you were for your age. Who wouldn’t be? You’d just broken into your 20s and were about to enter the brutal world of careers. “I miss your long hair,” you said suddenly, pouting slightly at the sight of Harry without his hair you’d grown so used to.
“I don’t. Dries so much quicker after showers,” he said. “Stays out of my face when I’m doing stuff. Doesn’t get knotted so easily. So many perks to shorter hair.”
“But you looked so hot with it,” you said, mocking a sad tone.
He smiled, “Don’t I look hot now?”
You shrugged, “You always look hot. Just less hair to grab now.”
His cheeks flushed and you couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re so cheeky sometimes!”
“Just speaking the truth, your honour,” you raised your hands in surrender. “What shall we order in for dinner?”
“Up to you, it’s your day after all,” he smiled. “I’m just going for a shower, so just order me whatever.”
As he got up, he pressed his lips to yours briefly as he walked past, squeezing your shoulder. It was the domesticity of it that made you fall in love with him more and more. Late nights binging crappy tv shows and early morning leftovers and the moment of realisation that you’d forgotten to water the plants by the kitchen window. It was what you’d imagined the entire time you’d been with Harry. All of these hypotheticals that you had stored away in your mind were now your simply marvellous reality.
10 may, 2017
The topic of children had been brought up a few times before. You’d both agreed that you wanted them one day. Mid-twenties maybe, 25 or 26? You’d been together since you were both nineteen, but you were still young. That’s not to say that if you happened to fall pregnant now you’d be entirely opposed to becoming parents. Your house had long been finished and you had a decent job and Harry had his debut album and his film coming out.
But presently, you found yourself sat on the sofa, listening to Harry’s completed album. Anne was sat beside you, silently absorbing the masterpiece that her son had crafted. As Two Ghosts slowly became Sweet Creature, you felt yourself tear up, only to look over and find Anne in floods of tears. You knew, as you listened intently to the lyrics, it was Harry’s way of assuring you it was going to be okay. You didn’t need to worry about starting a family yet. You didn’t need to worry about arguing with him. It would all be okay in the end.
As the final note of From the Dining Table echoed across your living room, it was safe to say you and Anne were both desperate to hear it all again. Harry Styles being unapologetically himself was something you would be eternally proud of him for.
21 july, 2017
Maybe if you hadn’t gone to the Dunkirk premiere on Harry’s arm, you wouldn’t be feeling so uneasy. You were there to look nice and give the newspapers something to talk about the next morning. Always something about ‘HARRY STYLES AND LONG TERM GIRLFRIEND Y/N Y/L/N AT DUNKIRK PREMIERE’ which would be full of meaningless facts about your relationship, your education and career and family, who styled the two of you. Of course, you were excited to see Harry in a project he’d put so much life into and you were so proud of him. But it was when you and Harry were being interviewed that you began to feel uncomfortable.
It had started off fine with questions about what prompted Harry to star in a film, what it was like working with Christopher Nolan, that sort of thing. But, as usual, the interviewers managed to make smooth transitions into Harry’s personal life. “Y/N, you and Harry have been together since 2013, how does it feel to see him succeed on such a global scale?” one asked.
Your gaze shifted between Harry and the camera behind the interviewer, “Well, he’s happy, isn’t he? And, as long as he’s happy, I’ll always be proud of him.”
He couldn’t help but smile to himself at your answer, as did the interviewer, who knew they were getting some good footage. It wasn’t often you did publicity things. Obviously, you would have to be in certain places with Harry to spark some news articles, which were completely set up by Harry’s management. You didn’t mind that so much. But being asked about yourself and your relationship was something you didn’t like all that much. You’d go live on Instagram sometimes and you would get a couple of questions about Harry, which you were usually happy to answer. And if you felt uncomfortable answering them, you could just pretend you hadn’t seen it. But in real-life interviews, there was no escaping them and the hole the camera burnt into you. “So, you two have obviously been together for nearly five years,” another began, “is there any possibility of children in your future?”
Harry had been getting the kids question since he turned twenty, but this one seemed to make him flinch slightly. Maybe it was the recent tension you’d both been feeling about starting a family. Were you ready? Weren’t you? Should you get a home that wasn’t so central first? All these questions that neither of you knew the answers to. Maybe it was the recent loss of Harry’s stepfather and the ripple that had caused within the family. “I think we should get a cat before we have a child,” was your reply, your tone joking and your smile friendly, but your answer serious.
Harry chuckled, “I think we’re both still quite young and we’re both committed to our careers, so having a child right now would just be illogical and impractical. I think it’s healthy to focus on ourselves and our relationship for a few years more.”
But that wasn’t the last question about parenthood. And with each one, you began to feel the pressure of society to start a family more and more. It was actually such a relief to get into the cinema, sit down and just enjoy the film. When you finally got home and up into bed, you had to roll over and voice your thoughts to Harry. “Should we have a baby?” you asked quietly.
“Not if you’re not ready,” he replied in a hushed tone as if he’d been expecting you to bring such a topic up. And, truth be told, he had. He had watched your eyebrows furrow more every time you were asked about kids and your tone become an increasingly stronger mix of shakiness and aggressiveness.
“Everyone expects us to, Harry,” you said.
“Well, they’re not in our relationship. It’s your body, love, when you want a kid, we’ll have a kid.”
09 january, 2019
One year ago, you and Harry had decided to start trying for a baby. You had both reached a point in your lives where you were happy and comfortable. You decided it was the perfect time to start expanding your quiet little home. Neither of you were to know the stress that would come in the following months.
It had been a year. A year and not even a single sign of pregnancy. None of your periods were significantly late, you never felt the urge to throw up in the morning. No weird cravings, no weight gain.
You were round at Nelly’s house with Eileen. Her wife, Emma, was out for the day so Nelly had invited the two of you round. Six episodes deep into the latest craze of television, the three of you found more interest in conversation. “How’s Harry?” Eileen asked after she’d finished telling you about the new dog she and her boyfriend, Charlie, had adopted.
You sighed. You didn’t want to lie and say he was fine; that the two of you were fine. Because you weren’t. Every single negative pregnancy test resulted in an extra argument, more pressure and stress and lots more guilt on both ends. “Yeah, yeah, he’s good. We’re good,” you said.
“You’re such a liar,” Nelly laughed. “Tell us what’s wrong.”
Taking a deep breath, you prepared to explain everything to your friends. From the pressures of the media to the failure to conceive. The two girls sat and listened in silence, absorbing the piles of information you were presenting them with. And, when you were finally finished, Eileen said, “Maybe you should go to the doctors about that. If it’s been a year and you still aren’t pregnant, it might be something they can fix… you know, cure.”
“I’d rather not know if there’s something wrong with me,” you grumbled.
“I think you would. It would be better to know, right? As Eileen said, it might be something they have some pills for,” Nelly said.
“They have pills for everything,” you sighed. “But fine, I’ll go to the doctors. Only if you come with me.”
“Of course,” Nelly smiled softly as Eileen leaned over to squeeze your trembling hand. “Are you going to tell Harry?”
“I’ll tell him if something happens. If they say it’s nothing, then he doesn’t need to know,” you said quietly.
Nelly and Eileen exchanged a silent glance, before Eileen said, “It’s been a year, Y/N. It must be something.”
17 january, 2019
You sat nervously opposite the doctor. Your knee was bouncing and your heart rate can’t have been healthy. You had gotten up early, leaving Harry asleep in bed, to come and collect your results from the doctor. She smiled softly at you and it definitely made you feel more comfortable. “So, Y/N. Your results came back and it appears you have Diminished Ovarian Reserve, or DOR. Basically, you have a lower number or quality of eggs, which makes it harder to reproduce. Essentially, you don’t have as much reproductive potential left within your ovaries.”
Her words quickly became a ringing noise rooted deep within your ears. Your eyes fell from her own and found the horrible carpet on the floor far more comforting. You were alone now and you were beginning to wish you’d brought one of the girls or your mother or even Harry. “I-is there any kind of treatment?” you asked.
She leant back in her chair slightly, interlocking her hands on her lap, “We can prescribe some supplements, which will hopefully increase fertility. But if you want a child, there’s always adoption or we can even try IVF. It’s up to you, Y/N.”
You nodded, grabbing your coat from the chair beside you and slipping your arms into it. You thanked her quickly, taking the supplements and leaving. Everything seemed to pass you by in a blur. It took you a long time to collect your thoughts. And, as you reached your front door, it hit you that you were to blame for the lack of positive pregnancy tests. It was your eggs that were fucking it all up. You might even have a baby right now if it weren’t for you. You took a moment to wipe away the tears that were falling freely from your eyes. You rested your head against the front door before finally pushing your way through.
Harry was sat at the piano in the corner of the living room. He was still in his pyjamas and there was a glass of half-drunken orange juice on the coffee table. He didn’t turn to look at you when he heard you enter, he just said, “Morning, love. Where have you been? You weren’t here when I woke up.”
He was busy scribbling in his notebook to take any real interest in your whereabouts. This was the problem with the hole you and Harry had dug yourselves trying to conceive: nobody cared anymore. He didn’t care where you went or how you were. He didn’t care how your mother was. You didn’t care about how his day was. You didn’t care how his friends were getting on. Nobody cared anymore and it was driving you insane. “The doctors,” you said firmly, standing in the doorframe of the living room, waiting for him to turn around. To face you. To fucking look you in the eye and not be a coward for once in his life.
But alas, he didn’t. He kept his eyes trained on the scribbles of lyrics, “Oh yeah? How was it?”
“Shit,” you snapped. “It was fucking shit. I can’t have kids. We can’t have kids. If you cared to know.”
“How come?” he asked, his back paying you more attention than his eyes.
“Because, Harry, I’m fucking infertile. Okay? I’m infertile. I have Diminished Ovarian Reserve. So, we can’t have kids, so there’s no point in even trying anymore.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We can try again later.”
He wasn’t listening. He didn’t know what you were talking about. You finally snapped in that moment. You’d had enough of living like this. “Why are we trying, Harry?” you asked, the tears you’d tried so hard to hide resurfacing.
“Because I thought you wanted kids,” he replied.
“No, Harry. Why are we trying? With us. Neither of us cares about the other, we’re both miserable. You’d rather be anywhere but here. And I can’t stand this house any longer. We’re both fucking miserable so why are we still trying? Why are we still fighting for this? Why are we still fighting for a relationship that died months ago?”
He turned to look at you. The scribbling had stopped. The tinkering on the piano had stopped. He was silent. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, so he didn’t think about it, “I am happy, love. Can’t you see?”
You shook your head, stepping back, “No, you’re not. You’re angry at me and you’ll only blame me because I can’t give us children. I need to leave, Harry.”
“What? Y/N, wait,” he said, but you’d already marched up the stairs to your bedroom. He knew you were packing your things up and what you couldn’t pack you’d come back for later. He knew he couldn’t stop you from leaving. He knew he’d be wrong for trying. Maybe you were right, maybe he was miserable, but he still loved you. God, he was so fucking in love with you. And now he was watching the girl he’d loved since he first laid eyes on her dancing in that club with her friends in 2013 walk out of his life.
When you came back down the stairs, some bags thrown over your shoulder, you stood in the doorway to get a final glimpse of him. He looked up, meeting your eyes. Your pretty eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. But he knew you weren’t apologising for the outburst. He knew you weren’t going to come crying into his arms and apologise profusely. He knew he wouldn’t have the chance to explain that they could work through it together. As they always had done before.
“Me too,” he said quietly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And you were gone. You did love him. You felt obliged to tell him so. But you needed to leave. You were being strangled in that relationship, in that house. And you knew he was too. You’d grown to resent each other, but you were sure you would love him forever.
13 april, 2021
The baby gurgled loudly, clasping your hair between his fingers. You smiled down at the little miracle in your arms. He was only six months old. But what a little bundle of joy he was. You looked up at the sight of Eileen emerging from the shop, tucking her mask into her pocket, “Thanks for taking care of him.”
You handed him back to his mother. You had swiftly agreed to look after baby Oliver while Eileen ducked into a shop to buy Charlie his birthday present. You both wandered through the hot streets of London, patrolling the fresh fruit market that radiated a vast variety of marvellous scents. Oliver was asleep, the sun making him tired. You liked the little world you’d built up for yourself since 2019. You were a couple of years older with a flat of your own, with plants you still forget to water. And yet, you couldn’t help the prideful smile that took over your features when you heard that Harry had won a Grammy. Any bitterness you’d felt for him soon dissipated. It was your fault for the collapse of your relationship as much as it was his.
But, when you saw Harry Styles purchasing some fresh strawberries just a few metres away, it all came flooding back. A tsunami of forgotten memories. You felt like a young and innocent university student who fell in love too quickly again. Maybe that was the reason you approached him. As he turned to leave the stand, his eyes connected with yours. You smiled softly, “Hi, Harry.”
summary: when you find out sarah’s pregnant, it prompts a very serious conversation between you and harry...
You barely glanced up from your book when Harry clambered into bed beside you. More often than not, you were tucked up under the sheets before he’d even brushed his teeth. But tonight was different. Harry was tired and overwhelmed by the news the two of you had just received.
Mitch had called. It wasn’t unusual for him to do so. He and Harry were very good friends and he called fairly regularly. He’d just come out with it, blurting out ‘Sarah is pregnant’ before he’d even said hello. You were both stunned by the news. Of course you were. Sarah was pregnant.
It was hot. It was dark outside, but it was hot. The book that usually drifted between your nightstand and Harry’s, was clasped between your fingers as you sat up against the headboard. Your eyes were skimming across the words, but you weren’t comprehending any of the information the novel was offering you. Because of the unbearable heat and the future scenarios that were bubbling up inside of your mind, you couldn’t focus. And, when you felt Harry place his hand on your bare thigh, you finally put the book down. It was a lost cause anyway - you’d been reading the same sentence over and over and over. “It’s hot,” Harry groaned, kicking the sheets off of the two of you.
Usually, you’d moan at him for stealing the sheets on any other night. However, tonight, you were happy to be rid of the extra layer that trapped in the heat. “I know,” you sighed, reaching over to play with the loose strands of his messy hair. “I’ve opened the windows.”
He nodded, rolling over to face you. He threw his arm over your torso, nuzzling his face against your skin. You lay your head back, staring up at the ceiling of the bedroom you share. The long curtains blew gently in what little breeze there was. “Their baby is gonna come out playing the drums,” Harry said softly, an air of playfulness to his tired voice.
You chuckled, “With a great head of hair too.”
He nodded, smiling, “We should have one.”
His four word sentence was enough to make you feel ill. Your eyes snapped away from the ceiling and down into Harry’s. Dulled slightly by the little light in the room, he still looked doe-eyed. “What?” was all you could think to say in the moment.
“A baby. We should have a baby. Don’t you think?” he said, whatever playfulness in his tone had been forgotten entirely.
You could only manage a shrug. This was the first time you and Harry had ever discussed the prospect of having children together. That’s not to say you hadn’t imagined what it would be like to raise a child with Harry. But imagining is very different to the reality you find yourselves in.
His fingers were gentle on your skin. It made you smile. His skin on yours. “Harry, you’re only 27… you’ve got an entire career left ahead of you,” you said.
He sighed, “Yeah, but I have a whole life left ahead of me with you.”
“There’s plenty of time for kids later.”
“If you don’t want to have kids, you can just say. I won’t be angry.”
That did make you think. Subconsciously, children had always been part of your future. You’d grown up with your parents telling you things, followed by ‘you’ll understand when you’re a parent’ or ‘when you have kids of your own’. Your mother was never shy to gush about how excited she was to have grandchildren. “I thought you wanted a family,” you replied. You weren’t going to lie and say you hadn’t been slightly worried that Harry’s desire for a family and perhaps your lack thereof may be an issue between the two of you. He smiled softly up at you, “Not if it’s instead of you. I love you and I’ll never stop loving you.”
You weren’t sure if it was the sweltering temperature or the fact that you and Harry were discussing whether or not children would be a part of your lives, but you were beginning to sweat.
“I might,” you paused, taking a moment to swallow the lump in your throat that seemed to stop you from articulating proper sentences, “you know, one day. Maybe when we’re older and we’re ready. Maybe we’ll have kids one day.”
“Or we could just grow old and wrinkly together without them. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it, right?” he grinned.
You smiled down at him, grateful for him as he hugged your body tightly. No matter how hot and unbearably uncomfortable it was. “Or we could just do that.”
warnings: mentions of sex & alcohol, fwb, swearing
word count: 1.6k
summary: a night in jamaica and a morning in london change your life entirely...
They say it takes 66 days to form a habit. But you’d already lost count of how long you’d been sleeping with Harry. It already felt like an addiction.
His skin on yours. His lips on your neck. Your hands in his hair. His cold rings against your warm thighs. These were things you craved. And, at first, you’d felt guilty sneaking around with Harry. But that grew into pure lust and excitement at the very prospect.
No strings attached. It had always been no strings attached. Sex, drinks, maybe some more sex, and then do it all again a few days later. Sure, maybe it would get repetitive. Maybe it would bore you occasionally. It began to almost feel like a routine and that wasn’t what either of you wanted. You wanted spontaneous sex and moments of overwhelming lust. But it kept the two of you happy. What more could you ask for?
It started in Jamaica. On a holiday with your mutual friends. Maybe this wasn’t where Harry deemed the origin of your arrangement to be, but it was certainly where you did.
The two of you and a group of friends had gone back to Jamaica for a couple of weeks. Harry had settled on Jamaica as the destination because he’d had such a euphoric time the first time he went to write his first album. He simply wanted to return without the looming pressure of work.
Sarah had gone to find Mitch, leaving you outside on your own. You didn’t at all mind. It was hot, the sun warm on your bare legs. You had your book in hand, though you’d long forgotten it. Your eyes had fluttered closed, the heat making you tired despite the lovely sleep you’d had the night prior.
It went cold and, as you opened your eyes, you looked up at Harry, who was standing over you. He smiled down at you, tugging the book from your hands. He sat himself down opposite you, where Sarah had once sat. “I love this book,” he grinned, inspecting the cover. “What did you think?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me finish it,” you said, sheltering your eyes from the sun with your hand.
He chuckled, tossing it back to you. You watched him carefully as he lay back against the chair, running his hand through his unkempt hair. The two of you sat in silence for a good four or five minutes. He cleared his throat, “Soaking up the Jamaican sun, are we?”
You shrugged, sitting up to look at him, “Well, I can’t get a tan in England, can I?”
He laughed, “Suppose not.”
And that was that. But that was the first time you felt something different when speaking to Harry. Maybe you were just slightly weary from the sun, or maybe you actually felt nervous when he looked you in the eye. And, from that moment, nothing between you and Harry ever felt the same. Not really.
It was short-lived. When you were sat on the kitchen counter in the early hours of the morning, taking slow sips of a glass of water. You’d been watching the moon dance across ripples in the water of the sea you were staying beside. “Can’t sleep?” a voice came from the doorway.
It was Harry. He walked into the kitchen, leaning against the island opposite you. You shrugged, “Just thirsty. You?”
“I’ve been watching romcoms all night,” he said, chuckling quietly.
You smiled, “Well, you know what they say: people do travel to Jamaica to watch romcoms all night. Something about the atmosphere, I reckon.”
“Of course,” he nodded, grinning. “Had to embrace traditions, didn’t I?”
You watched as he poured himself a glass of orange juice, sitting down at the island. The silence between the two of you was comforting but perhaps the most excruciating thing you’d ever felt. It was undeniable that there was tension between the two of you. “Right,” you said, sliding off the counter, placing your glass in the sink, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Harry was very prepared to smile and nod and watch you leave as you made your way up to the bedroom you’d claimed as your own. However, he spoke before he even had the chance to think, “Y/N… do you… do you want to watch a romcom?”
You turned back to look at him, “Sure.”
So, you sat in his room, watching some cheesy romcom. It had been fine. It had all been fine. You’d told yourself it had been fine. That was until the characters on the television screen made the development in their relationship to which they became something more than friends. “See,” you sighed, your eyes trained on the screen, “it never happens like that.”
“It could,” he replied quietly.
You shrugged, “But has it ever happened to you?”
“Well, not like that. But it could still happen to me,” he said.
“Maybe,” you smiled. “Still hope for you yet, Harold.”
“Go on then,” he grinned. “Why are you such a romcom Grinch?”
“Until I feel the same way Rachel McAdams does when someone kisses me, I will continue to dislike these movies,” you said.
And when he kissed you, asking how you felt, you’d shrugged. Though, your actions contradicted your small smile before you leaned forward and kissed him again. It was risky and you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking. But perhaps that was the most delicious part: you weren’t thinking at all. Sarah and Mitch were in the next room over and you and Harry were kissing.
From then on, it had been secret quickies in the kitchen and deliberate stares in the garden. It was the best time of your life. The secrecy of it all, the hiding away from the rest of the world. You often wondered if Harry liked it because it was his own. This arrangement he had with you, it wasn’t anybody else’s. Nobody else could have it because it was kept out of the eyes of your friends and most definitely those of the media.
“I need to go,” you whispered, your eyes landing on the clock on the wall. You were meeting your sister for breakfast and, if you didn’t drag yourself out of bed soon, you were going to be late.
“Don’t go,” Harry said quietly, running his fingers up and down your arm. “You could stay for breakfast?”
“I can’t, I’m going to meet my sister soon for breakfast,” you replied.
“Orange juice?” he said, pouting.
You sighed, smiling, “Fine, I’ll stay for orange juice.”
You shrugged, “You don’t have to thank me.”
He watched as you clambered out of his bed, slipping into your clothes from the night before. He reluctantly joined you, the two of you finally venturing through to the kitchen. A moment of almost deja vu as you sat at his counter as he poured out a glass of orange juice. You noticed his smile - he must have felt it too. Thanking him for the drink, you took a large gulp, the citrusy liquid livening you up a bit.
The silence, unlike the night in Jamaica, felt extraordinarily domestic. There was no excruciation to it this time. It was only when Harry opened his mouth that there was a shift in the once perfectly serene atmosphere, “Are we gonna do this forever?”
“What?” you said. “Are we gonna fuck forever?”
He nodded, staring at you, waiting for you to say something. But you weren’t entirely sure what to say. So, you choked out, “If you want to call this thing quits, I’m okay with that.”
“No, no, no,” he shook his head quickly. “I was thinking of more of an… upgrade?”
“An upgrade? I’m not a phone,” you scoffed, grinning.
He chuckled, “Like… like a premium package?”
You snorted, “A premium package?”
“Yeah, you know, the sex with a couple of extra benefits,” he said.
“What are these extra benefits?” you asked, finishing your orange juice.
“Dates… cuddles… and… more sex?” he replied.
You laughed, grabbing your jacket from the counter. He followed you as you walked towards his front door. “Does the friends with benefits premium package come with a special name?” you asked, turning back to look at him.
“I like to call it ‘girlfriend’,” he said.
There it was. There it was. You’d been waiting to hear him say it and there it was. “Are you, Harry Styles, asking me to be your girlfriend?” you asked, grinning.
“Perhaps I am,” he said, shrugging. “Depends what your answer is.”
“Well, ask me and you’ll find out.”
“Do you, Y/N, want the friends with benefits premium package, ‘girlfriend’?”
Though your answer may have been nonchalant, it didn’t match the way you felt inside. Oh, inside you were screaming. You’d been waiting for this since that night in Jamaica, watching a romcom with Harry in his bed. Everything had built up to this. “Yeah, fuck it, go on,” you replied.
He smiled, his eyes exploring your face. As if it had changed in your sudden shift in relationship. He kissed you. You kissed him back. And, if you didn’t have breakfast with your sister, you were sure you’d never leave his side. “Feel like Rachel McAdams yet?” he grinned, pulling away.
summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...
You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home.
The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth.
All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon.
Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine.
You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this.
You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.
“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.
He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled.
“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”
You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”
“What? Where did you get that idea?”
“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”
He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out.
The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.
Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom.
He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close.
You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this.
You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep.
Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness.
However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left?
There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier.
The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten.
The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.
That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.
He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him.
He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”
You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked.
“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”
“Yeah? What did you tell her?”
“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”
He nodded slowly, “Right.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong.
He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”
Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred.
But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing.
It was like he was leading two lives.
“You are okay, aren’t you?”
He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”
You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”
“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly.
It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”
Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out.
“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”
He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”
“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said.
“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.
“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said.
It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.
You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”
“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly.
“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you.
You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”
He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”
“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked.
It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks.
The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry.
You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”
