Being Shady is My Only Defense @derangedangel - Tumblr Blog

long way down | 7: head over feet

Pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You finally get your happy ending with Harry.

Chapter Warnings: language, food and alcohol consumption, mention of periods (not sure if that's relevant), angst, mutual pining, sexual tension, fluff, mention of therapy, reader has hair (unspecified length), smut (18+ MDNI fucking finally), oral f!receiving, pussy pronouns, fingering, dirty talk, hand job, dry humping, thigh riding, protected piv sex, possessiveness, so much sappiness and love... I think that covers it. Enjoy!

WC: 17.8K

Series Masterlist

Two weeks morphed into two months when you had a tougher time than expected finding a new job. Naturally, Harry encouraged you to stick around until you found something, a suspicious offer considering he is still resolutely determined to prove himself to you.

It's been impossibly difficult to stay strong over the last several weeks. Having Harry send you flowers weekly would have been charming enough to anyone, but apparently he had much more in mind. For starters, he asked you out every single Friday. Like clockwork, before you left for the day he would ask if you wanted to go to dinner, or see a show, or take a carriage ride around Central Park, or see a concert, or go to an art gallery... every time he asked, it was different. And every time, you politely turned him down.

You're too weak for him and you know yourself: you'd fall into bed with him the moment he had you alone, completely forgetting the point of standing your ground in the first place.

Harry needs to work on himself, and so do you. You need to have some space to heal, and he needs to decide once and for all if he's capable of love.

Given that he's spent nearly fifty years thinking he can't, you figure it'll take more than a couple weeks to change that mindset. But you can't deny how cute it is to watch him try in the meantime.

Every morning, Harry makes a point to tell you how beautiful you look. Throughout the day, he will tell you something that makes your heart melt: he thought of you when he heard a song in the car, he ordered your favorite coffee drink so he could get a better idea of what you liked, he started reading the same book as you and would periodically bring up some plot point to discuss. Endless little things that rolled into one big thing by the end of the two months since you left his penthouse after your accident. Each day it was becoming harder and harder to ignore, but you kept reminding yourself like a mantra that just because he was doing or saying something sweet, it didn't mean the crux of the issue was addressed: could Harry fall in love?

"And what needs to happen for you to believe he can love, exactly?" Mia asks you over pizza one night. You shrug, mouth full of cheese and eyes glued to your small television.

"I don't know," you admit, "I figure I'll just know."

"That's not vague at all," she mutters sarcastically next to you, then makes a face at the screen. "This movie is so fucking sad, why did you pick it?"

"Because... sometimes the best love stories are a little sad. I mean, look at them! Look how far they've come. Look how long he waited for her. They're meant to be and nothing could ever stop that," you say dreamily as you both watch Ryan Gosling pour his heart out to Rachel McAdams in the rain.

"Babe, this isn't real life. You can't expect this kind of thing to really happen."

"I know," you sigh, "and I know I'll definitely never see something like this from a guy like Harry, but sometimes it's fun to imagine fairytales can come true."

Fairytales: concept Harry was staunchly against. One of the many reasons why the two of you would never work. You knew that years ago and yet your heart never let you move on, something you foolishly romanticized all this time.

Your phone buzzed somewhere in between your couch cushions, pulling your attention off the screen.

"Who is it? Harry sending you a good night poem, perhaps?" Mia jokes. But when she sees your face, her smile slips. "What is it?"

"It's a... job offer," you say flatly while you stare at your phone in disbelief. You should be happy. You should be celebrating. And yet...

"That's amazing! Where?" Mia squeals while hitting pause on the movie. You try to clear the lump in your throat before you answer. It's for a law firm, a prestigious one at that. You'd just be a receptionist but during your interview they offered to pay for your schooling if you were ever interested in becoming a paralegal, a perk you figured would attract hundreds of more qualified applicants than yourself.

"This is fantastic! I knew something would shake loose for you soon," she gushes, but when you're only able to offer her a weak smile, she narrows her eyes. "We are excited about this, right?"

"Yes. Of course we are."

"Then why does it look like someone ran over your cat?"

You sigh and toss your phone to the side. "I guess it just means this is it. I'll officially be done working for Harry."

"Yeah... but it doesn't mean he has to be erased from your life. Like, he's practically throwing himself at your feet every day. This apartment has never smelled better with the flowers he's sent. And you look happier than I've ever seen—"

"Okay, I get it," you say with a hand in the air. "You're still throwing me for loop with all this. You've told me for years I needed to move on and now you're telling me to give him a chance?"

Mia grins around a bite of greasy pizza. "I guess people can change, after all."

---

The following morning happens to be Friday. There's an exciting buzz in the air when you enter the office: the weekend is so close, everyone can taste it, and yet you're shaking like a leaf as you walk to your desk.

You have to tell him about the job and you're not sure how he's going to react. You slept on it and decided it's the right move, but a big piece of you feels dark inside, like you're losing something you'll never be able to get back with this next step.

Since you're amazing at your job, you already mentally ran through Harry's schedule today and you know he doesn't have anything until ten. He should be free right now. There's no use in waiting, you think, so you drop your bag at your desk, take a deep breath, and knock softly on his partially open door.

"Come in."

You slip inside and shut it behind you. When Harry turns away from his computer, his face lights up, making the guilt weigh even heavier in your chest. "Morning, Sunshine."

"Morning," you mumble, and immediately Harry can sense the distress in your voice. His smile falters and he leans back into his chair to give you his full attention.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Yes. Well, no," you say while wringing your hands. He frowns as he watches you sink down into the chair across from him.

"What is it?"

You clear your throat, fiddle with the hem of your skirt, and say to the floor, "I need to give you my two weeks notice."

Harry laughs, surprising you, so you look up. "You already did that," he reminds you, but you shake your head solemnly.

"I got a job offer. And I am going to accept."

The smile freezes on his face while he processes what you said. You can see the whole gambit of emotions: denial, confusion, disbelief, and then finally—acceptance.

"Where?" he asks, voice tight. You swallow nervously and tell him the law firm. He nods and plays with a pen on his desk.

"That's a good firm."

"I know."

He struggles with it for a few more minutes. Rolls around the words in his head, tries to think of something proper to say, but the words on the tip of his tongue aren't proper at all. They're filled with longing and ripe with desire. He knows he holds no claim to you, and yet he is fighting the urge to call up that law firm and ask them to retract their offer. He can't lose you, he can't lose you, he ca—

"Harry?"

He looks up and finds you watching him curiously. You're a hopeless romantic. He's known that for a while. And he's... decidedly not. But he's trying to learn more about you, about what you want and need from a partner, and if he were to do that, if he were to make that call and ruin your chances at something you so very much deserve for his own selfish reasons, then that would be the exact opposite of what you want. You want someone to hold you up, to support you no matter what, and as much as it pains him—you want someone who will let you go so you can explore on your own.

Without him.

"Congratulations," he croaks.

You blink, then smile. "Thank you."

Harry fidgets with the pen some more. "No one will ever be able to truly replace you. You know that, right?"

You nod and swallow down the sadness that lodges itself in your throat. "I know."

His mouth turns downwards as he thinks. "But I'll still need your help training someone."

"I know," you repeat.

A long silence lapses, but it's not thick with discomfort. It's filled with something else you can't name.

"I'm proud of you," he finally says, so softly that it has your heart stumbling. His eyes flicker up to yours. "You're so smart. And quick. They have no idea just how lucky they are to have you."

Tears sting your eyes. You don't know what to say. You expected some kind of pushback, maybe to be dismissed, but not this. It truly feels like the end.

"You're gonna make me cry," you sniffle as you swipe at your eye. His throat bobs like he's trying to fight back his own tears.

"There's no need to cry. You're doing the right thing," he tells you with a sad smile. You nod but his kindness just makes you want to cry even more. "And I'm sorry it didn't work out here. I really am. There's not a day that goes by where I wish I didn't handle things differently."

He looks so forlorn sitting behind his big desk surrounded by dozens of achievements and framed photos of Harry with senators and celebrities, yet he sits across from you looking like a man who's lost everything.

"It's not your fault," you say, and you mean it. It's not his fault you fell in love with him. It's not his fault he's emotionally unavailable. It's not his fault you spent years fantasizing about being the woman to fix him.

"I took you for granted. And now it's too late," he admits sadly. It breaks your heart to hear that but some part of you assumed he would give up trying the moment things got a little difficult. You sigh and stand up, grateful at least you aren't the one with your heart on your sleeve this time.

"I should get to work," you say. He nods, gaze still cast downwards with a small crease permanently seated between his eyebrows.

"Thanks, Sunshine."

It hits you like a punch to the gut hearing the affectionate nickname, but you force your feet to move until you're safely back at your desk.

Maybe when he said 'it's too late', he just meant about the job. Maybe he still plans to prove his feelings for you, to show you he can be good, like he promised. However at the end of the day, Harry doesn't come up with some clever way to ask you out on a date like he had done the last eight Fridays. You even linger a few extra minutes, but he's wrapped up with a work call and doesn't notice you pack up your things to leave.

It's pouring rain again. Fitting, you think as you walk to the subway with your thin coat clutched around your shoulders. You're drenched by the time you board but you're not risking another Uber fiasco.

It's a long ride to your stop and what feels like an even longer walk to your apartment, but you make it. Your shoes are probably beyond hope. You're chastising yourself for not bringing a pair of boots when you notice a piece of printer paper taped up in the window of your building.

Buzzer out of order.

You roll your eyes and dig around for your keys. By the time you make it up to your apartment you're soaked and hungry and annoyed.

"Did you see—"

"The fucking buzzer? Yeah, I saw. Fifth time since March," Mia barks from the kitchen. She's listening to Fiona Apple and stirring a boiling pot of pasta on the stove in her comfiest pair of sweats.

"Oh. That time of the month, huh?"

She tosses a scowl over her shoulder. "Do you want dinner or not?"

"Yes, please," you beg with your widest grin. You leave your water logged coat and shoes by the door and head to the bathroom for a long hot shower. By the time you emerge smelling like the coconut vanilla shampoo you love and lathered up with your favorite lotion, you feel worlds better.

"Do you wanna watch Jeopardy!?" Mia asks with a bowl of cheesy pasta balancing in her lap on the couch. She's flicking through the channels mindlessly for other choices but you don't feel like wasting time finding the perfect show.

"Sounds good," you say after scooping your own bowl and sitting down next to her. You each blow on your spoons, tendrils of steam curling and rising up past your heads while the rain continues to come down in buckets outside and the host drones on in the background.

"Look at us. Wild Friday night, huh?" Mia laughs.

"Could be worse," you grin. Then you take your first bite of food and moan. "This is fucking delicious."

"Thank you. I don't know what it's called. I just grabbed whatever cheese we had in the fridge and a bag of frozen veggies and hoped for the best."

"You should come up with a name for it," you say, then when you hear an answer on the television you recognize, mutter under your breath who is Medusa?

"Uh, how about pathetic girl pasta?" she tries, making you laugh.

"There's nothing pathetic about this," you argue back.

It's quiet for a while. You're both focused on inhaling your dinner and watching the game show. It's peaceful and you can feel the tension leaving your shoulders with each bite.

You're happy. You have a good life. You're fortunate and you have the greatest best friend and roommate anyone can ask for. It's greedy of you to want more. But your mind still drifts to Harry during every ad break. Mia must catch on when she notices you pick up your phone and scroll through your messages, as if it's possible you missed one in the last eight minutes.

"So..." she says, dragging out the vowel while stirring her food, "how was work?"

You sigh and drop your phone. "I told him. And then I formally accepted the offer."

Mia is quiet next to you. You chew thoughtfully while watching some ad about topical pain relief but nothing is really getting through. You're too preoccupied.

"How'd he take it?"

"He was... great. I mean, he was sad, obviously, but he was incredibly sweet and supportive and... not at all what I thought."

Mia hummed under her breath as she popped a piece of broccoli in her mouth. You arched an eyebrow at her, knowing full well she had some opinion she was dying to share.

"What?"

She shrugs as she stares at the television. "Seems like he's grown a lot, is all."

You groan and set your bowl onto the coffee table.

"What? Are we really so cynical that we can't believe people would change for the ones they love? That they would learn to bend and twist in ways they never knew they could just to make their loved one happy?"

You balk in her direction, completely taken aback. "What the hell are you talking about, Jane Austen?"

She laughs and sets her empty bowl next to yours. "Okay. So maybe your romcoms are getting to me. Or maybe it's my period. Regardless, it's something to think about."

You breathe deep and suddenly grow intensely fixated on a loose thread so you don't have to look her in the eye when you say, "I think I fucked up."

Mia sits up straight next to you and pauses the show, the only sound echoing across your apartment now is coming from the rain pattering against your windows. "Explain."

You bite the inside of your cheek and twirl the thread tightly around your pointer finger. "He didn't ask me out on a date today. He said it's too late."

The gears working in Mia's brain are practically audible.

"Did you... want him to ask you out?"

You shrug and keep playing with the thread.

"Because you've been shooting him down for almost two months now, so wha—"

"Maybe. I don't know," you whine, throwing your head back into the couch. "I don't know what I want. Well, I do. I want him, but he can't be who I want him to be."

"But how do you even know?" she asks, her voice rising. "How do you know he can't? Because from everything I've been hearing, it really sounds like he's been working on exactly what he promised. He hasn't been fucking anyone. He's coming up with these cliché date ideas to make you happy. I mean, fuck, this man knows you better than me! He's paid attention to every single story, every single factoid, every single random little memory you've ever shared." Mia rubs her palms down her face in frustration. "He has been paying attention this entire time. He's been that guy for you this entire time. You're both just too stupid to see it."

You stare at her, mouth agape while she huffs and crosses her arms tightly over her chest.

"Damn," you murmur, but then her face softens with a sigh.

"Sorry. I'm cranky."

"I guess you are," you reply, earning a sharp look that makes you wither.

"Just fucking call him, okay? Work it out and at least give it a try. If you don't, you'll always wonder," Mia says before standing to clear your plates. You bite anxiously on your bottom lip and stare at your phone, the dark screen taunting you, daring you to pick it up and grow a backbone.

But before you even lift your hand, divine intervention strikes and your phone lights up with Harry's name and photo.

"Oh, my god!" you practically scream. You hear a clatter of dishes in the sink and a second later, Mia is running into the room.

"What?"

"He's— he's fucking calling! Right now!" you yell while holding up the unanswered phone with a trembling hand.

Mia looks at you like you're stupid and yells back, "Fucking answer it!"

When you hesitate, she waves her arms dramatically in the air and yells at you again, so with a shaky breath you slide the bar on the bottom of your screen and bring the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Are you home?" Harry asks with no preamble. It's loud wherever he is but you can't place the noise.

"Uh. Yeah. Why?" Your eyes find Mia, who is holding her breath from across the room.

"I'm outside. Can you— can I talk to you?" His voice cracks and now the pieces click. The noise you're hearing is the rain.

"You're outside?" you squeak. In a heartbeat, you're both on your feet and racing to the window. Mia gasps when she spots the sleek Mercedes parked at the curb, but the shocking part is Harry: he's standing in the pouring rain, wearing the same suit he wore to work and holding a massive bouquet of bright pink peonies that look limp from the torrential downpour.

He's looking up at your window already and grins when he spots you. Even though his clothes are ruined, his smile is huge.

"Come down, Sunshine. Damn buzzer's broken," he pleads. You can see his mouth moving half a second before you hear him in the phone. Your heart is lodged in your throat and you feel so unsteady from the rush of adrenaline that you can hardly move, yet you nod and tell him you'll be right down before silently hanging up.

Slowly, you turn to look at Mia, your jaw hung open in disbelief. She shrieks and pushes your shoulder.

"Fucking go! You wanted Ryan Gosling in the rain, well now you got it!" She's jumping up and down as you uselessly spin around the apartment to find a pair of boots.

"I'm in my pajamas," you protest as you tug one rain boot on. "And my hair is still wet."

"It's fucking raining, who cares? GO!"

You stumble out of the apartment and race down the stairs after deciding the elevator would take too long. The small lobby is empty but there's a traffic cone maintenance sometimes uses to reserve parking spots, so you snatch it up and waddle to the front door. You kick it open and use the cone to keep the door ajar before turning to face him.

He's exactly where he was a minute ago: on the sidewalk, absolutely soaked and holding flowers while people dodge him walking past. They don't give either of you a second glance, they just hold their umbrellas close and ignore the crazy looking rich man in the rain and the even crazier looking woman wearing her mismatched pajamas and bright yellow rain boots.

You take a step forward, and then another, letting the rain envelope you until you're standing right in front of him, gazing up into his deep brown eyes.

You're both grinning like fools. You know how it must look yet neither of you care.

"Did you need something?" you ask with a teasing glint in your eye. Harry's smile widens.

"Yeah. I forgot to tell you something before you left," he says. Rivulets of rainwater drip down from his soaked hair and wind through his greying beard. It drips off his chin and the tip of his nose and you step a little closer.

"Yeah? What is it?" You sink your teeth into your bottom lip but it doesn't erase the grin from your face.

Harry scans your face, examines every imperfection and detail, then without a hint of hesitation he says, "I would love to take you out this weekend. We can do anything you want to do. Just— please. Please give me a chance."

A broken sob rips loose from your chest when you hear the words. You thought he'd given up. You thought you had ruined your chances by waiting too long, but you were wrong. He's here, standing in the pouring rain, begging for you. You.

Your face crumples. Harry quickly drops the destroyed peonies and moves to cup your jaw with both hands. He searches your tear filled eyes while every emotion in the book runs through you, waiting patiently for a response but a little uncertainty grows with each passing second until you finally whimper, "Okay."

Rain mixes with the tears on your cheeks when he pulls your face up for a kiss. His lips sear desperately over yours and it feels like the first gasp of fresh air after being submerged underwater for far too long. It breathes life into every cell in your body, filling you with a warm glow you've only ever heard about and never thought was real. Your heart hammers against your chest like it's trying to leap into his arms and you press yourself closer.

Above you, Mia is slapping her palms excitedly against the window, but neither of you pay her any mind. You're too lost in the feel of his lips against yours, the quiet strength behind each slow drop of his jaw as he gently makes room for his tongue. Your hands grapple for the front of his suit, fingers curling tightly around the fabric to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground, but when you squeeze and feel a gush of rainwater between your knuckles, you're reminded that you're standing in the middle of a storm on the sidewalk.

It's pretty romantic, but turns out even you have your limits.

"You're soaking wet," you giggle against his mouth. He grins and shakes his head, chasing your lips.

"I don't care."

Before he can lure you into another kiss, you take a step backwards and grab his hand, pulling him with you.

"C'mon. I have some of your dry cleaning upstairs."

He arches a wet eyebrow at you but follows you into the building.

"You wouldn't happen to have an in-unit laundry, would you?" he asks as he looks down at his suit. You shake your head, drops of rainwater flying from the your hair as the elevator door opens.

"What do you think this is? The buzzer doesn't even work. Besides, you can't put those clothes in a dryer, you'll ruin them."

Harry laughs and wraps his arms around you after you tap the button for your floor. "They're already ruined, Sunshine."

You tilt your chin up with a smile so wide that it hurts your cheeks. "Was it worth it? Ruining your clothes?"

Harry groans a little as his eyes drift down to your mouth. "Hell yes, it's worth it."

After you drag him into your apartment, the both of you dripping wet while Mia leans smugly against the kitchen counter, you tell him to change in your bathroom while you scurry around your room to try to look halfway decent.

It's still pouring rain by the time you each dry off. Without even asking, Mia scoops cheesy pasta into a fresh bowl and shoves it into Harry's hands.

"We're watching Jeopardy!. Come on."

"This doesn't count as our first date," he warns when he sits down on the couch between you and Mia. You grin and scoot closer as he picks up his spoon for his first bite while Mia presses play on the remote.

"Mm. This is good. What is it?"

"Pathetic girl pasta," Mia says easily.

Harry looks at you curiously but you just shrug.

He stays while it continues to rain with you curled into his side. His arm circles around your shoulders so comfortably, like it's always meant to be there. His other hand eventually finds your knee and when you glance at him, he's not even paying attention. He's looking at the television, grinning about something he just heard, yet his hands sought you out on their own. He's so warm and still smells so good despite all the rain that it has your eyelids growing heavy and your head dipping to rest on his shoulder. He and Mia argue over the answers to the next game show that comes on and you smile to yourself as they bicker.

This is what you've always wanted. This is safe. This is love.

When the rain finally stops, Mia excuses herself to give you some privacy, but not before telling Harry over her shoulder that he 'owes her one'.

By now, his shoes are mostly dry. He confirms as such when he slips them back on and you hand him a garbage bag filled with his ruined suit. He sets it by the door so he can gently cup your face and pull you in for a kiss. It's soft and slow and makes your knees wobbly. He doesn't rush it, same as before. You get the sense Harry likes to take his time and you really hope he applies that philosophy elsewhere.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?" he mumbles. He's barely broken the kiss. His lips still brush against yours when he speaks, as if talking isn't worth denying himself what he truly craves.

"I'd like that," you murmur back. You feel him smile before pressing another gentle kiss against your lips.

"I've waited a long time to hear you say that."

"You have no idea," you tease before melting into another kiss.

Eventually he tears himself away and picks up his bag with the promise to call you tomorrow.

"Anything in particular you want to do or should it be a surprise?" he asks from your hallway. He's lingering against your doorframe with a goofy smile that has your heart doing flips.

You pretend to think about it before you say, "I think I'd like to stay in."

Harry smirks. "Miss my cooking that much, huh?"

"Sure. Let's call it that," you say coyly before stretching up on your tiptoes for one more kiss. "Now go before you get towed."

He walks backwards down the hall, grinning at you with his messy hair that dried awkwardly and his mismatched clothes from his dry cleaning you forgot to drop off earlier in the week. And when you finally fall asleep that night, hours after Harry left and the excitement subsides, you feel like that piece of you from this morning no longer feels dark. In fact, it's brimming with hope and anticipation for what's to come.

---

What does one wear to their first date with the man they've been pining after for literal years who also happens to be their boss for two more weeks?

Mia tells you not to overthink it but also don't wear something you'd normally wear to work, so you find a dress you bought two years ago shoved in the back of your closet. It's a little too tight to wear to work and you feel too old to wear something like that to the bar, but dinner at Harry's apartment seems appropriate. As you size yourself up in the mirror, you feel pretty good. But when you turn to look at your ass, your eyes widen a bit.

Yeah, this is definitely not the type of dress you want to wear just walking around. Fortunately, Lou is supposed to pick you up around seven, when it's already dark.

But what if you end up staying the night?

Your heart skips a beat and you try not to think too much about that part, but you do toss an extra pair of clothes into your tote bag. Just in case.

Okay, and maybe you dab a little bit of perfume on your inner thighs, too.

Mia didn't harass you too much before you left. She must have been feeling pretty proud of herself already. But she did manage to find that discarded condom in your "first aid kit" and pressed it into your palm with a mischievous wink.

"I better not see you until tomorrow," she says, making your cheeks burn as you gather your things and head downstairs.

Lou is waiting in his usual spot at the curb. His hands are clasped at his waist and when you step outside, he quickly turns to open the door.

"You look nice tonight, Miss," he says, curiosity lacing his voice.

"Oh! Uh, t-thanks," you stammer as you slide into the backseat. Of course Lou doesn't know you're meeting Harry for a date. Why would he? Yet as he quietly drives the familiar route to Harry's building, his eyes keep shifting back to you in the review mirror. And when he pulls up to open your door, he gives you a soft smile and says, "I was wonderin' when you two were gonna take the plunge."

You grin despite the embarrassment flooding your bloodstream and step out onto the sidewalk.

"Have a good evening," he says to you before closing the door and hopping back into the driver's seat.

The ride up in the elevator to Harry's penthouse is surreal. It's something you've done a million times yet you can feel the shift in the air. It's is so different, but somehow still the same.

When the doors slide open you're met with several things at once: the sound of plates clattering gently in the kitchen, the soft sound of a female singer crooning at a low volume throughout the whole house audio system, the beautiful glow of the fire flickering in the fireplace, and the scent of something heavenly being cooked in the oven.

Tentatively, you step into his apartment on shaky legs. You drop your tote bag in its usual spot at the kitchen island as you watch Harry stir something on the stove. His back is to you and he's humming to himself, seemingly unaware of your arrival. You smile dreamily and lean against the counter while he picks up a spoon to taste whatever is in the pot. He looks good, too. He chose to wear a black sweater and black slacks. He's always looked good in black, you've thought so a hundred times.

When he swivels around to reach for his spice rack, he stops short in surprise at the sight of you. At first his lips part, then they pull into a smirk when it's clear he caught you checking out the broadness of his shoulders and the way his ass looked in those pants.

"Hey, didn't hear you come in," he says before dusting his hands on a dish towel.

"I only got here a second ago," you say, heart fluttering as he crosses the room in two long strides to pull you in for a kiss. Any insecurity you have about the newness of this relationship with Harry vanishes when he picks up right where he left off last night. There's no shyness or hesitancy to be found with the way he kisses you and it immediately puts you at ease.

Behind him, the pot boils. You can hear the liquid popping angrily. You giggle and give him a gentle shove on the chest. "Whatever that is, it's gonna burn," you warn. He has that love-drunk look again when he stumbles backwards, a look that briefly turns heated when his eyes rake down your frame, taking in your dress.

He whistles and forces himself to focus on the bubbling pot. "You're gonna kill me with that dress, Sunshine," he teases. But his voice is low and even if it's meant as an innocent joke, it sends a shiver down your spine anyway.

"Mm, that's the plan," you murmur to yourself as you look around the kitchen at what he's already prepped.

"What?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, then gasp when you spot a tray of sushi on the counter. "Oh my god! That looks exactly like the sushi from that place in Chicago!"

"That's because it is," he grins. Your jaw drops and you spin around.

"What? How?"

Harry shrugs, clearly pleased he's impressed you already. "I have my ways."

With one eye on the pot of red sauce and the other on you, he watches as you inspect the other items laid out.

"Oh, I love this wine. We had it—"

"During the Christmas party," he finishes for you, "I remember. You said you liked it back then, too."

You're speechless. It's becoming very clear Harry put a lot of thought into this date, something you know is outside the norm for him.

Maybe people really can change, you muse to yourself.

Harry turns the heat down on the stove and reaches for the wine. "Let me pour you a glass," he murmurs in your ear when he stretches around you. You quietly offer your thanks as you continue to nose around his kitchen.

He had already prepped a tossed salad in a wooden bowl with matching utensils, but what caught your eye was the salad dressing. It was in a clear plastic container with no label and curiosity gets the better of you, so you crack the lid and take a sniff.

The scent is recognizable instantly. It's the salad dressing made by the steakhouse two blocks from the office. You've gone there countless times with Harry over the years and you must have vocalized to him at some point how much you love their house made dressing.

Every little aspect of this meal holds some meaning. He listens. He remembers. You're so touched that you actually feel tears springing up, but you manage to blink them away before Harry returns with your wine.

"Cheers," he says, holding your gaze and clinking your glasses together before taking a sip.

You hum your approval when the sharp flavor hits your tongue. Your gaze drifts down to his throat as he swallows and you suddenly realize just how close you're standing.

"Is it as good as you remember?" he asks. You grin and gently place the glass down on the counter.

"Better. Thank you."

Harry sets his glass next to yours with mischief in his eyes when he says, "Have I mentioned you look beautiful tonight?"

You shake your head and stifle a sharp inhale when he lightly drags his knuckles over the bare skin of your arm.

"Well, you do. That's a very nice dress," he says lowly, his gaze dropping to admire the way it fits snugly around each one of your curves.

"Thank you," you say again. You crane your neck up as you lean closer and like an invisible thread, Harry's chin angles down so your mouths are just inches apart. "I wanted to wear something nice for our first date," you tell him as his palm finds the small of your back.

"I'm a lucky man," he murmurs, head tilting lower so your lips practically brush together. You hum and close your eyes when he finally kisses you, sighing into the firmness of his mouth pressed over yours. It's something you'll never tire of now that you know what it feels like to kiss him like this. You hardly want to do anything else. You've waited so long for this that it still feels surreal, like you may wake up any moment to monumental disappointment, but you never do. It's real. He's real.

"Shit," he groans when the timer on the oven rings and he's forced to tear himself away. You giggle as he hurries to turn it off.

"Can I help?" you ask, even though you're mostly useless in the kitchen.

"Nope. You just stay right there and keep looking beautiful, Sunshine," he says while taking out a tray of what appears to be breaded chicken with cheese melted on top.

"You made chicken parm?!" you ask excitedly as Harry moves around the kitchen. He's plating pasta with some red sauce before adding the chicken, all the while grinning ear to ear.

"It's what you get every time I take you out for your birthday."

"I know, it's my favorite," you groan when the smell hits your nostrils.

"I gathered," he chuckles, then juts his chin towards your wine. "Grab those and follow me."

He leads you to his dining room where candles are lit around a beautiful centerpiece of pink peonies.

"Since the other ones got destroyed in the rain," he explains when you lean forward to sniff one.

"Wow," you breathe, "this is... unbelievable, Harry. You didn't need to do all this."

"Yes, I did," he says while pulling out your chair. You murmur your thanks and sit down in front of your plate, mouth already watering. He leans forward and plants a kiss just under your ear with the promise to return, then he disappears back into the kitchen.

It's still so hard to believe this is really happening. Everything is absolutely perfect and beyond anything you thought he was capable of. You look around once more while Harry gathers the salad and sushi from the kitchen. The fireplace still flickers invitingly across the massive room and somewhere in the speakers above you, the music has changed to something soft and instrumental.

"The sushi was meant to be more of an appetizer," he says when he sets everything down, "but I guess time got away from me." He hands you a set of chopsticks with a coy smile. "Need help?"

You laugh, face flushing with heat at the memory of Harry showing you how to use chopsticks in Chicago. "Yes, please," you reply, and try to keep a straight face when he wraps his arms around you and cups your hand. You bite your lip as he manipulates your fingers, just like before, only this time he's muttering directions into your shoulder as he plants kisses in-between sentences.

"I'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive, Mr. Castillo," you whisper when his hand slips from yours the more distracted he grows.

"Me? Never," he quips. "Just making up for lost time."

He finally pulls away to sit down across from you, watching as you flick the white linen napkin across your lap.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asks. He seems perfectly content to watch you taste your food for a few minutes while his remains untouched.

You shake your head and cover your mouth while you chew the piece of sushi he helped you pick up.

"No, this is more than enough. This is more than any man's ever done for me, like, ever," you say after you swallow. The sushi is just as good as you remember, too. "You did too much," you insist after he finally picks up his fork to take a bite of salad.

"I want our dates to be romantic," he tells you, "and I'm beginning to realize that looks differently for everyone."

"Oh?" you ask, quirking your brow.

Harry nods. "Some women think fancy restaurants or vacations are romantic," he says while slowly twirling his pasta, "and others value being seen over materialistic things."

You're impressed but still curious. "Can I ask you something without it coming across as suspicious?" His gaze lands on you and he nods.

"What changed?" you ask bluntly. "I mean, just a couple months ago you were convinced you weren't capable of love, and now—" You look around the apartment, at the thoughtful feast he prepared, at the perfectly detailed setting, then laugh in disbelief. But before you can finish your sentence, he does it for you.

"And now I'm dramatically showing up to your home in the pouring rain?"

Words escape you when you remember how you first felt seeing him standing outside your apartment like that. Your heart does somersaults as you nod, then Harry grins and reaches across the table for your hand.

"I couldn't lose you," he says quietly, "and... you wanted to be swept off your feet. For a while, I thought it was just incompatibility, but then..."

He trails off and you wonder if he's thinking about Lucy—a woman who, by all objective measures, was perfectly compatible, but he still couldn't make things work. He takes a deep breath and gives you a sad smile. "Then I figured out it was me."

You open your mouth to protest but he stops you.

"It's Peter, too," he adds. Hearing his brother's name isn't at all what you expect so you fall quiet. "He's been having some trouble with Charlotte. He came over a couple weeks ago to, I don't know... vent, I guess. While we were talking we realized there might be a deeper reason for our cynical opinions about love." Harry pauses for a moment like he's considering whether or not he should tell you the next part, then—

"I decided to talk to someone about it."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. "Like, a therapist?"

He nods and you squeeze his hand.

"Oh. That's... that's very mature of you," is all you can think to say. Harry laughs and lets go of your hand to pick up his fork.

"Shocking for me, I know."

"No! I mean— it's impressive to be able to self-reflect like that," you tell him honestly. He shrugs.

"Well, when Peter and I were talking about our failing love lives, we realized there were a lot of parallels. Feels stupid to not have seen it before."

He doesn't elaborate and he doesn't have to. They both received the height surgery, something clearly driven by personal insecurities. He's told you how differently people treated him afterwards and how incredible it felt. There were times you could practically see his chest puff with pride whenever a beautiful woman glanced his way or strangers deferred to him in the street. But those insecurities just festered underneath all this time and manifested in other ways: namely, still not feeling good enough or worthy enough of someone's love.

"I also was willing to try anything to make this work," he adds, making your heart melt.

"Really?"

Harry looks at you like you're crazy. "Of course. This doctor I'm seeing, he spotted it the very first day."

"Spotted what?" you ask before taking another bite of chicken.

"That I've had feelings for you this entire time, I just didn't know what to call it," he tells you. He says it so simply, like it's just a matter of fact, but you're reeling with the knowledge that your love wasn't so unrequited, after all. Harry takes a sip of wine as he contemplates something, then sighs and sets his glass down. "I talked more about you quitting than I did about my breakup with Lucy. I guess I was pretty transparent."

It shouldn't make you feel good, it really shouldn't, but fuck—it kind of does. The idea of Harry being more concerned about you in his therapy sessions than his almost-fiancée had you getting a big head that you try to downplay so you don't come off as insensitive.

"Well, I'm glad you did all this because I really think it'll help, but you know it's never changed how I feel about you, right?"

A little bit of pink tints his cheeks as he rolls his eyes. "Don't get all cheesy on me now," he says.

You laugh and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "I'll do my best to keep it to a minimum."

Once you're finished eating, Harry stands to clear your plates as you thank him for what feels like the millionth time, but when you rise to gather some plates to help, he immediately insists you take your freshly poured wine to the sitting room while he cleans up.

"Remind me to thank Eleanor for teaching you that recipe next time I see her," you grin when he eventually joins you carrying two small plates.

"She didn't teach me that one, I learned it all on my own," he says. And although he doesn't explicitly say it, you get the feeling he learned it just for you.

When he sets the plates down and you see what's on top, you giggle and lean forward to inspect them closer. "Are these the cupcakes from that place you showed me?"

"The very same," he says while sitting down next to you and reaching for his. "I told you they're the best in the city."

"They are," you agree as you pick up yours, then laugh when he taps your cupcakes together as if you're toasting before taking a bite.

"Mm," you hum as the sugar hits your tongue. The icing practically melts from how smooth and buttery it is, balancing perfectly with the light and airy cake, just as you remember. Before you can take another bite, Harry stops you with a laugh.

"Hold on," he chuckles while setting his plate down, then gently cups your face and drags his thumb along your cheek, scooping up some smeared frosting from the corner of your mouth. He pulls his hand back a fraction to show you with a goofy smile on his face. You get the sense he has some snarky remark on the tip of his tongue based on his expression alone, but before he can speak you wrap your lips around his thumb, licking the icing off with a satisfied hum.

Words fail him in that moment. You can see it by the way his mouth opens and closes in surprise, but then his eyes grow dark and a slow smirk stretches across his face.

"Good?" His voice is huskier than before and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod.

"Mhm."

His hand finds your cheek again and he pulls you closer. "I want a taste," he says right before your mouths collide. You moan under the firm press of his lips, jaw dropping to allow space for his tongue to swipe lazily against yours. There's a dull ache forming between your legs, one that's been barely concealed under the surface for the last twenty-four hours. One that's been growing for six long years. One that's begging for relief.

Wordlessly, Harry takes the plate from your hand and blindly sets it on the couch an arms length away, never once breaking the kiss. You take it as an invitation to toss your leg across his lap so you can straddle him and instantly his hands find your waist with a deep groan that has you feeling dizzy.

You begin to roll your hips over his lap, whimpering into his mouth when you feel him start to harden. His hands slide down to the tops of your thighs and settle right at the hem of your dress for a moment before giving you a squeeze and gliding his palms back up. The tight fabric of your dress moves easily upwards until it's bunched up around your waist, completely exposing your lower half.

Harry tears himself away so he can look down with heavy-lidded eyes. When he sees the barely-there black panties you chose for the occasion, a soft curse slips past his swollen lips.

"It's gonna be hard not to think about this on Monday," he groans, big hands greedily stretching wide across your ass. Your lips drag down his neck with a smile.

"And if I said I've already been thinking about this at work, what then?" you tease with the tip of your tongue tracing the shell of his ear. Harry's grip tightens then he roughly spreads the roundness of your ass, punctuated by a playful slap on one cheek that makes you yelp.

"Then I'd say you're a filthy girl," he growls before his mouth finds yours once again.

The way he touches you sets your nerve-endings alight. Every brush of his lips is electric, every squeeze from his hands heart-stopping. He kisses you like he's prepared to spend hours seared to your mouth: he's in no rush, just like you suspected, just like you hoped. You slowly grind down on his lap while he makes no move to take things further. He just lets you take what you want while his tongue leisurely explores your mouth.

You don't pay much mind to his hands. They're gently massaging your ass and occasionally slide to the crease at your hips to pull you down harder so you can feel his cock straining against the confines of his pants. You're too focused on his mouth and how good it feels to grind against him, but then at some point two of his fingers hook around the top of your panties and they tug upwards. A wet gasp shakes loose from your throat when the soaked fabric wedges perfectly against your clit, then he does it again. Every time you circle your hips down, his wrist snaps up, pulling your underwear and creating mind-numbingly delicious friction that has your legs shaking in seconds.

The sounds pouring from your lips are obscene. If you had any sense left, you'd feel embarrassed, but you don't. It's impossible to focus on anything. You gave up trying to kiss him but he doesn't mind—he's content sucking marks onto your throat while you lose yourself to the pleasure mounting low in your belly.

"Fu-uck—keep doing that," you pant. Harry smirks against your neck then looks up.

"Yeah? You like that, baby?"

You whine an affirmative through your clenched teeth.

"You gonna come just from this?" he goads. Your brows pinch together tightly as you gasp. Hearing him talk like this for the first time does unspeakable things to you.

"Ha-Harry—" you stammer as you grapple at his shoulders. He just nods smugly, one hand still wrapped around your panties and the other clutching your ass, both helping you slide up and down in his lap.

"It's okay, you can," he murmurs, "go ahead and come for me."

How did this happen so fast? Just ten minutes ago you were sipping your wine in front of the fire, admiring the stunning view from his penthouse while he tidied up in the kitchen, and now you're falling apart, burying your face against his neck to muffle your cries as your orgasm washes through your body.

"That feels better, doesn't it?" he whispers in your ear while you struggle to catch your breath. Your chest is pounding and your skin feels like it's on fire but, yeah, you feel better.

"Wha—" You swallow and take a deep breath before trying again. "What did you just do to me?"

Harry chuckles and slides his hand from between your legs. "I haven't even gotten started yet, Sunshine."

---

In the back of your mind, as Harry leads you down the hallway towards his bedroom, that little devil on your shoulder speaks.

How many women had this view? How many women thought they were special? That they had what it took to lock him down?

But you really are special... right? Harry told you in not so many words. He couldn't lose you. He's going to therapy to make himself better. He wants to be good for you.

When you arrive in his dimly lit but perfectly kept bedroom, he turns to you with adoration in his eyes and you smile before he kisses you—of course you're special. Of course you're different. Harry wouldn't treat you like those other girls, you just need to get out of your head. You've seen too much and your own insecurities are now flaring up, but you know him. You know him better than anybody. This isn't just another casual fling.

"I need you," he mumbles against your lips. His hands drift down your sides, over your back. They cup your cheek and tilt your chin up so he can gain better access while walking you backwards towards his bed.

When your legs bump against the mattress, you melt. You sink into the sheets and he follows, pushing you up and covering you with his body while his tongue still tangles with yours. You moan and card your fingers through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp in such a way that it makes him groan, then you feel his fingers at your back, hunting for the zipper on your dress. You arch your spine to help and a moment later, the fabric loosens around your torso and his palms are pushing the straps down your shoulders.

The cool air prickles your skin when he shoves the dress down to the floor, but his hands are on you in an instant. He palms your chest and pinches your nipple between two fingers before breaking away from your mouth to greedily suck on your neglected breast. You have to bite back a moan—the wet warmth from his tongue is intoxicating. You want it everywhere. Every inch of your skin. You want him so badly, it hurts.

"I've never needed someone the way I need you," he continues, the words getting lost in the valley of your breasts. His eyes are closed when you look down, like he's lost in the feel of you. Your fingers trail up his arms and you frown when you realize you're nearly naked—he's wearing far too many clothes.

"Harry—"

"You mean so much to me," he's saying, and you realize he's shuffling down the bed. His mouth drags down your stomach and you clench when his exhale fans over your sensitive skin. "Will you let me show you? Hm? Will you let me show you how much you mean to me?"

You don't answer right away. Through the haze, you read between the lines. He cares about you, you mean so much to him, but he doesn't say the words you want to hear. It's asking for too much too fast but you're still struggling—what if you end up just like the rest? What if you allow him into your heart just to have him shatter it when he can't give himself fully to you?

Harry senses your hesitation and glances up. You're worrying your bottom lip and your focus is elsewhere. He pauses at your hips and sits back on his heels.

"What did I do?" he asks. Your eyes dart to his and you shake your head.

"N-Nothing. Sorry."

But Harry's a smart man. He figures it out a moment later and his expression softens.

"I just need a little bit of time," he says softly. Your breath stalls. He swallows nervously before continuing. "This is new to me but I'm trying. I—I feel it..." He touches his chest, right over his heart. Then he chuckles but there's no humor behind it. "I just can't say the fucking words. I want to, but—"

"It's okay," you tell him, pushing yourself off the mattress so you can cup his face. "It's okay. You don't have to."

"I want to," he repeats. His dark eyes look watery now as they bore into you. "I'm just so fucking scared," he whispers with a tremble in his voice, and when one stray tear trickles down his cheek, you lunge forward to capture his lips with yours.

"It's okay," you tell him again and again. You pepper him with kisses until he leans you back onto the soft bedding. He strokes your hair and makes a soft noise when he pulls away to look down at you.

"Can I show you, instead?"

You nod and he sears his mouth over yours for one more heated kiss before he shifts south. Your hips lift and his fingers hook into the sides of your panties, tugging them down, down, down until they crumple to the floor.

"Oh, she's pretty," he murmurs, sending a rush of heat directly to your face. You cover your eyes and giggle.

"Talk about cheesy," you grin, but then his thumbs part your lips and then his mouth is on you, stealing your laughter and replacing it with a sharp gasp.

"Oh, shit," you breathe, hands falling from your face to grip the sheets. Each lick is slow but firm, being sure to build you up properly. His hands curl around your trembling thighs to hold them open while he works. Much to your delight, he's so much more attentive than you anticipated. He takes his time, determined to make this about you and do exactly as he promised—show you how much he loves you, even if he can't say the words just yet.

Arousal drips down the back of your thighs but with a moan, Harry tears himself away from your center so he can messily lick up each drop. It's filthy and raw and has your spine curling off the bed. His beard is prickly and rough against your inner thighs but combined with the softness of his tongue, it's heaven.

"Feels so good," you moan with your eyes squeezed shut. He's licking slow, thick stripes through your cunt, then gives your clit a little circle with the tip of his tongue before he dives back down. He's too good at this. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire and it's difficult to breathe but you never ask him to stop, you'd rather pass out.

"So wet for me," he mumbles around messy kisses between your legs. "You taste so fucking good, baby, I can't get enough." Just as you're about to formulate some snarky remark, his mouth covers your pussy and his tongue darts between your lips, prodding gently at your opening, and all thoughts vacate your brain immediately.

His name flies out of your mouth and one hand reaches down to grab his hair when his tongue pushes past your entrance. He groans when your fingers tug harshly on his loose curls but it just makes him eat at you harder. He pulls you closer so there's no chance at wiggling away and devours you—alternating between sucking on your clit, nipping at your thighs, and heavy licks through your pulsating cunt. He's giving you just enough time to breathe but never letting that tension in your belly stop growing.

The heat is building up fast and there's no stopping it. You roll your hips against his face, panting for air while begging him for more.

You aren't even sure what you're asking, but he does. He knows exactly what you need. Harry drags his tongue up, pressing it flat against your clit, then a moment later one thick finger slides inside, stretching your walls just enough so as to not push you too far but still gives you the relief you need. You sigh and rock your hips faster, fucking yourself on his middle finger while his tongue plays with your clit. He's pulling another orgasm out of you like it's fucking nothing, meanwhile the skill at which he's tearing you apart has your head spinning.

"Harry, I'm—oh," you gasp when he teases you with his sharp teeth grazing over your mound. "Oh, f-fuck, I'm—right there, keep doing—please—"

You're not making any sense. You're babbling, but he still understands. He reads you so easily in a way you didn't think possible. He can feel your muscles tense with every curl of his finger and he can hear the way your breath stutters as you climb higher and higher. You're so close—he can tell from the way you're soaking his hand and squeezing the sides of his head with your thighs. You just need a little more to push you over the edge.

Harry looks up at you from his place between your legs. His mouth is still suctioned over your clit, drawing firm flat circles with his tongue, but the corners of his mouth still pull up when he slides a second finger inside. Your face contorts before your back arches off the bed and you practically scream his name, then a moment later your release is flooding his hand and beard.

The noise he makes is one you want etched into your brain forever. It's a rough sound filled with lust and appreciation, as if coming all over his face was more a gift for him than for you. He reads your body and keeps up the gentle pressure with his tongue until your muscles begin to twitch and your voice pitches up with a pained whine, and only then does he regretfully pull away.

"That's it," he coos, watching the way your body relaxes into the bed. Your chest heaves and your eyes close, reveling in the aftershocks with two of his fingers still buried knuckle deep inside of you. He doesn't move them, though. He keeps them still, just something for your slick pussy to cling to while the last of your orgasm rolls through you. Harry's eyes skim over your body—skin shiny with a thin coat of sweat, nipples tight and limbs loose—and his gaze darkens. He did that. He made you feel this good. He made you feel comfortable enough to let go and bear yourself to him. The power rushes to his brain like a bolt of lightning and then he's falling forward to kiss you with his fingers still shoved deep inside your soft cunt.

You moan and lazily kiss him back, breathing in sharp the scent of your release in his beard. When his fingers inadvertently flex, you whimper and spread your legs wider, making him pull back with a smirk.

"You need more?" he asks, moving his fingers again to watch your jaw drop and you eyes glaze over.

"Yeah," you whine as your fingers claw at his shoulders. Whatever shyness was there a few minutes ago is now long gone and you're perfectly comfortable spreading yourself wide for the taking. Your gaze drops to follow your hand as it drags down the front of his sweater. You bite your lip and circle your hips when your fingers come to rest on his belt and then your eyes find his with a coy smile. Harry groans and captures your lips in another heated kiss, arousal dripping heavy in his veins now, but when your palm flattens and slides down to cup his painfully hard length through his pants, his mind goes blank.

"Do you want my cock, pretty girl?" he growls through a lovesick haze. You nod and bite playfully at his scruffy chin. Harry's eyelids flutter and he allows himself to give into your touch for a moment. The way you're stroking him through the fabric feels too fucking good. It's hypnotic. He can't stop his hips from jutting forward with a soft grunt every time you give him a gentle squeeze. You're panting under him in anticipation, like you simply can't wait to know what it feel like to be filled with him, to memorize every vein and ridge, to mold your pussy to fit around the only cock you'll ever need.

His fingers slide out of you and he pushes himself up. You make a pathetic little noise when he stands that makes his cock twitch, so he takes a deep breath before pulling his sweater over his head. He needs to get himself under control or else this is going to end much faster than he'd like.

As he begins to work on his pants, you spring up and shuffle forward on your knees. His heart is hammering in his chest and he's too focused on not tripping over his slacks, but then your soft hands are on his bare chest for the first time and his breath stutters.

"You're so handsome," you murmur, running your palms all across his broad shoulders before sliding further down. His stomach tenses when your fingertips brush his belly. He wants you so badly that it hurts. He needs to get you back on the bed, he needs to pin you into the mattress and fuck the sense out of you. But when his pants hit the floor and your hand disappears down the front of his boxers to circle around the base of his cock, he nearly chokes on air.

"Oh, fu-uck," he moans before tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You grin and press yourself tightly against him, desperate to feel the heat of his skin on your own.

"I want it," you whisper in his ear as you stroke him, up and down, "I want you. I've wanted you for so long—"

"I know, baby," he gasps, "I'll give you anything you want. I'll fuck your pretty little pussy until you can't take any more. Til you can't fucking walk, I promise—"

In a flash you pull your hand from his boxers and drop down onto the bed, the comforter looking like a soft white cloud surrounding an angel as you gaze up at him expectantly.

"Come here," you plead, and he smirks before sinking his knees into the mattress and falling forward, caging you in. His lips find yours while one arm reaches out to his bedside drawer, a motion he's practiced too many times to count as he searches for a condom, but when his fingertips only graze against wood, he freezes.

"Shit," he murmurs against your lips. You frown and pull back to look at him questioningly as he sits up to get a better look in the drawer. His face hardens and he curses again.

"What?" you breathe, and he shakes his head.

"I thought I had..." he trails off and you watch him open another drawer when you realize what he's looking for.

"I have one," you say. His head swivels to you in surprise.

"What?"

You shrug with a playful grin. "Side pocket of my tote bag."

Harry's face floods with relief. He pushes the drawer shut and stands with a soft chuckle. "Came prepared tonight, huh?"

"Shut up," you laugh as he disappears out into the hallway. He returns a moment later holding the condom Mia had forced you to take before leaving.

"This looks familiar," he says with an arched brow. You shrug and prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him slide his boxers down his legs. Your mouth waters when you see him for the first time, all thick and hard, just for you.

"Guess the first aid kit came in handy, after all," you mutter under your breath, entranced. Harry grins as he rolls the condom down his length, letting the wrapper fall somewhere at his feet.

"I would've kicked down every door in this building til I found one," he says, crawling back on top of you, making you giggle. When his nose nudges lightly against yours, you toss your arms around his neck and pull him down for a gentle kiss.

"That would have been quite the sight," you whisper, lips brushing together tenderly as you speak. His forearms bracket the sides of your head, hips settling neatly between yours, and he smiles down at you.

"Should've been doing this years ago," he says, snaking a hand down between your bodies to position himself against your opening. "Now I only get to indulge in the cliché fantasy of fucking my assistant for two more weeks."

"If you don't hurry up, you're not going to be fucking anyone," you warn. Harry laughs, that very same laugh you've grown addicted to for six years, and your smile widens.

"Impatient," he tuts, but he doesn't make you wait. The air stills once his hips shift forward. It's just a couple inches but it seems both of you forget how to breathe. The stretch has your jaw dropping wider and wider the more he gives you, but his eyes stay locked on you—on the heaviness of your eyelids, on the sweat already beading at your temples, on the look of pure relief painted across your face—and he hardly even blinks until he's fully sheathed inside you.

You're spiraling. You feel lightheaded. Overwhelmed doesn't begin to cover it. This man who you've been madly in love with for years is finally yours. He's finally here, offering himself to you, begging you to be patient with him, to give him a chance all while worshiping you from head to toe. It's hard to even remember how the tables turned so quickly but you're not complaining.

The rush of emotions strangles you both. There's a swell in Harry's chest that is indescribable. It's a feeling he's not used to but one that he realizes has been hidden under the surface for too long. You can see it in his eyes—they dart back and forth across your face like he's silently asking for your help. It's too much and not enough, all at once. You cup his cheek and pull him down for a kiss, pouring every unspoken word into his mouth. His lips relax against yours and he kisses you back with a deep sigh, finally giving in and accepting what he thought all this time was impossible.

"Shit," he whispers. He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest and you swallow down the words that are desperately pushing past your lips.

Harry shudders when your fingers begin to toy loosely with the curls on the back of his head and you smile to yourself.

"No going back now," you murmur. His shoulders jump with a silent laugh.

"I wouldn't want to, anyway," he says before lifting his head. When you open your eyes and look up at him, he seems a little nervous. "Would you?" he asks.

You grin and shake your head. "No."

The tension in his eyes vanish. "Good."

Then he starts to move.

It's slow. His hips drag back before leisurely pushing forward again until your skin is pressed against his. He makes sure to move so that you feel every devastating inch. You can hear how wet you are—sticky arousal from the two orgasms he already gave you is painted between your bodies and he can hear it, too. You can see it in his face when he sinks back inside, pussy happily sucking him back in, because his eyes darken and a deep flush begins to crawl up his neck.

"Do you feel that? Feel what you do to me?" he says lowly before descending upon your neck. A soft moan slips past your lips when he leaves a sharp bite on your pulse point. He's still moving slowly but every thrust is so deep that it leaves you gasping for air all the same. "You make me so fucking hard, Jesus Christ," he rasps before dragging his teeth across your collarbone. You whimper and hitch your legs higher so your knees press against his ribcage. You want to feel him everywhere, as deep as he can go. You want to breathe him in, let him course through your veins, and you want to do the same for him. You want to be so intertwined that it's impossible to break apart. You want everything he's willing to give you—you want it all.

You moan his name and roll your hips as your mouth searches for its mate but Harry is too lost. Already his eyes look glazed over with heat as he kisses your skin, anywhere he can find—your throat, shoulder, then your chin. His arms pull tight around your middle and it's so fucking hot all of the sudden that it's stifling, but in the best possible way. It's exactly what you want: to be utterly consumed by Harry Castillo.

"Ha-harder," you manage to stammer in his ear, but your voice cracks and you're not sure he can hear you over the harsh slap of skin on skin. But then he groans and shifts his weight to rest on his forearms, allowing a tiny bit of oxygen to flow back to your brain. A moment later he gives you what you want—his knees widen, spreading your legs in the process, and starts to fuck you harder. Faster, but not too fast. Just enough to punch the air from your lungs every time he buries himself inside you.

"Oh, shit!" you cry out, back arching off the plush comforter like your body is magnetically drawn to his. It's too good. Better than you ever dreamed. He can read you like a book and knows exactly what you like—he listens to your body so he can give you what you need and all you can think is he's good, he's so so good, how could you ever doubt it?

If you could open your eyes, you'd see the effect you're having on him. They're wild as he stares down at you, completely transfixed with the way you writhe underneath him. Hypnotized from how well you take him. The fucking sounds you make and the way your body moves and adjusts to fit him is breathtaking. And—

"You're so fucking wet," he grunts, "so fucking wet and soft—fuck!"

In the blink of an eye, Harry withdraws from you entirely. Your eyelids snap open in surprise and the pained sound you make nearly rips his heart in two, but he'll fix it. His hands grip your waist and he flips you over. When your stomach hits the mattress, you obediently rise on all fours and it takes everything in him not to come on the spot.

"Yeah, that's it," he murmurs when you arch your back and spread your knees. He licks his lips and shuffles forward before pressing into you again. The angle has you both moaning, drowning out the soft instrumental music that still plays somewhere above your heads. Harry draws his hips back, watching in awe when his cock emerges wetter than before.

You whimper when he takes too long and he smirks. "You like that?" he asks, voice deep and rough to match the harsh thrust when he slams back inside of you. You cry out and throw your head back, hair pooling across your shoulders. "Sorry baby, couldn't hear you," he goads before flexing his hips forward once again. Your voice breaks over his name and it does something insane to him. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady so he can rut into you, over and over maintaining the same deep, punishing pace that has your back bowing while you beg for more, more, more.

The angle is so intense that it has your lower belly growing sore. The ache builds in such a way that it feeds the flames stoking deep inside and you just want him to keep going, to keep fucking you until that powder keg erupts.

When you fall onto your forearms, Harry follows. His thick arms bracket yours, his soft stomach presses against your spine and you've never felt so deeply seen by anyone before. His body blankets yours and it feels like home.

"You feel so good," he whispers, breath warm against your ear. "Too good. I—I... I can't stop... everything about you, it's just..."

He trails off, unable to finish his thought. Instead he buries his face in your neck, moaning your name into your skin, hips never once losing rhythm as they snap ruthlessly against your ass.

That heat inside you burns brighter with each second. It's harder to get there after you've already come twice, but somehow whatever Harry is doing is working. The wide stretch of his cock pummeling you from behind is exquisite and borderline painful, but he sees the line where you can't. He knows how much you can take without pushing you too far, so you give in. You let him fuck you whatever way he sees fit as you take it, mouth agape and gasping for breath with each deep plunge of his hips.

Harry groans behind you like he can feel your body giving up control. You writhe and grab at his sheets then begin to rock your hips back in rhythm with his.

"Fuck," you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. His teeth drag across your shoulder, the sharp sting snapping you back to reality. "Harry," you whine, hearing a soft grunt in your ear in response, "just like tha-at, oh god, p-please—I'm... I'm close—"

Harry rears up and hauls you with him, taking you by surprise. You're on your knees while he pounds into you, but then your thighs start to shake. Your body sinks down a little but his arms wrap around you, pulling your back tight against his sweaty chest.

Your head tilts to the side and your mouths collide in a wet, messy kiss before he suddenly pulls out, muffling your gasp. His hands twist you around and push you back onto the bed and then a moment later he's crawling on top of you, lips seeking out yours when he buries his cock deep once more.

You've never been manhandled in bed this way before and it's awakening something, fanning the flames that are already licking up your spine. He roughly pulls one leg over his shoulder, pinning the other flat into the mattress and you see stars behind your eyelids.

Your head flies back into his pillow when you pant his name. He has the nerve to smirk before dragging his lips down your throat.

"It feels good, huh?" he teases.

"Yes," you sob. The thick head of his cock is nudging against a sensitive spot inside that's leaving you breathless and dumbstruck. Your legs shake and your lip trembles as you claw at his chest.

Harry's gaze drags down your body underneath him, shaking his head in awe at how gorgeous you look all fucked out but still taking his cock.

"Look so pretty like this," he gasps, grinding his hips and watching the way your body twitches from the stimulation. "You're such a good girl. You're my good girl," he rambles as his impending high began to cloud his mind. Everything is growing soft and fuzzy at the edges. "I wanna watch you come for me one more time. Think you can do that for me?"

You whimper and he grinds his hips harder. Your eyes flash open in surprise and a second later his thumb finds your clit. He presses down gently before petting you with quick, firm circles. Harry winces when your nails dig into his chest but he keeps going.

"S-Say it again," you stammer. Harry blinks. He can't remember his own name, let alone what he just said.

"What, baby?"

You curse and strain under him. Your cunt is pulsing, the pleasure is climbing up but you aren't quite there.

"Wha— when you said—shit—" Your eyes squeeze shut and you draw in a ragged breath. It's fucking killing him. He's so fucking hard and he's so close. He groans and his hips still. Your shared desperate pants fill the air and then he asks again, "Say what?"

"Say," you lick your dry lips and force your eyes open. Jesus, you're a mess. You look like an absolute wreck and he did that to you. He's the only one who makes you feel this good, this lost. "Say... say I'm yours."

You sound so meek that it makes him melt. His face softens with a smile, then he starts to move again.

"You're mine," he growls, then your eyes flutter shut with a moan. Harry leans forward to suck on your neck, nearly bending you in half with your leg still tossed over his shoulder. You yelp and cry out something about him being deep, begging him to keep moving. "You're my good girl," he groans louder. Your pussy tightens, stealing his breath for a moment, but he steadies himself before his lips find your ear. "I'm gonna take such good care of you if you let me. I'll give you everything you want, everything you need, 'cause you're all mine, and I take care of what's mine."

The muscles in your stomach pull tight when you shatter around him. Your voice is garbled, hoarse and tired from crying his name, filling his chest with pride. Sweat drips down the sides of his head as he fucks you though it. He murmurs sweet praises in your ear while your pussy flutters around him, quickly drawing his own orgasm to the surface. Seconds later, Harry slams his hips into you with a loud smack and then seizes up. A broken moan rips from his throat as he spills into the condom. You squirm a little, sliding your aching leg off his shoulder to rest on the bed, wishing you could feel the heat of his release leak out of you. When Harry's shoulders relax and he collapses, you lift your trembling arms to hold him close. Your bodies are sticky with sweat. It's so hot, the way you're chests are fused together, but neither of you seem to mind. He buries his face in the side of your neck while he waits for his pulse to settle and you gently card your fingers through his tangled hair with your eyes closed.

"Stay with me?" he mumbles. He means it as a question but it sounds like a plea. You swallow down the tightness in your throat and nod.

Harry makes no attempt to move and you don't, either. The weight of his body pressing you into the bed and the steady thrum of his heart beating with your own is pulling you under.

He tightens his arms around your ribs and sighs. Music is still playing through the sound system but it's so soft that it's just relaxing you further.

You want to say it. You want to say the words that have been on the tip of your tongue for years but you hold back, too afraid of scaring him off when he's already made so much progress. You don't want to push him into something he isn't ready for but fuck, you want to tell him so badly.

But you figure he already knows. How could he not? He must see it in your eyes now when his head lifts to scan your face. His cheeks are flushed and he looks sleepy when he gives you a soft smile, and then his lips find yours once more.

"Your eyes are so beautiful," you whisper. He smirks, one loose curl falling limp against his forehead. The hand in his hair stills as you examine the color of his eyes, a deep chocolate so rich and bold that it pierces your heart.

"What'd I say about being cheesy?" he chuckles as embarrassment tints his cheeks. But you just shake your head.

"Can't help it," you murmur, still unable to look away from the color of his irises. The corner of his mouth twitches. He frees one hand from underneath you to pinch your chin, then leans in for one more kiss.

"I'm gonna move now," he tells you softly. You make a face then take a deep breath, steeling yourself. Harry shifts his hips backwards and slides out of you with a grunt. You gasp at the tightness in your hips and the cool air that cascades over your body when he rolls to your side. Your fingers wiggle, reaching for the sheets. He sits up and tugs them over you both before pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you under the covers. He nuzzles the top of your head when you press your face against his chest and he holds you just like that until your muscles relax and your breath deepens. Only when he's sure you're asleep does he gently remove himself from the bed to clean up in the bathroom, then turns off the lights and music. When he returns and sees the outline of your body through his silk sheets looking so sweet and tired, his chest aches. His feet can't carry him back to you fast enough.

He slips in next to you and your arms reach out for him in your sleep. Quickly, he wraps you back into his hold and he closes his eyes. His pulse slows. His body grows heavy. And he falls asleep with the knowledge that never in his life has it ever felt like this before.

---

The ache in your hips and legs wake you far too early, but you still smile despite the discomfort. It's the kind of ache you want to have. You want to walk around for the rest of the day with a tightness in your belly that reminds you of him.

One eyelid cracks open to look around the dark bedroom. The privacy blinds are down. They're impenetrable to sunlight. You realize it could be five in the morning or noon.

You roll over, arm stretching out and sweeping across the sheets for Harry, but his side is cold. Your eyes snap open now to search for him, then flicker to the bathroom. It's empty.

You frown and sit up, pressing the sheets tightly to your chest with one hand and rubbing your eye with the other. Where the hell is he?

To your right, you notice your phone on the nightstand. It's plugged into a charger next to a glass of still water. You grab both and pull the sheet back over you.

It's not even seven in the morning. Jesus, no wonder you still feel so tired. You drain your glass, set it back on the coaster, and open your phone. Aside from five texts from Mia celebrating the obvious reason you didn't return home last night, you had nothing.

An uncomfortable feeling settles in your chest. This is how all the others felt. Waking up alone, Harry no where to be found now that he got what he wanted. Did he even sleep next to you last night? You can't remember.

You drop your phone in the sheets and bury your face in your palms. This is it, isn't it? He's realized he made a huge mistake and he's distancing himself. He's setting expectations so you don't get your hopes up and think last night meant anything. For all you know he left the building. If you're lucky, maybe he thought to leave a note—

"Morning, Sunshine. Did I wake you?"

Your heart soars and you look up. The lights flicker on and then Harry's entering the room in just his boxers, holding a serving tray with a big plate, two bowls and two mugs, along with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He has a lopsided grin and his hair is a mess and you think he's never looked more perfect than in that moment.

"God, I somehow forgot you wake up insanely early," you grin as he carefully sets the tray down in front of you on the bed. He's made toast, eggs, fruit, yogurt, and coffee for you both.

"And I forgot you like to sleep in." He kisses your cheek before settling on top of the bedding next to you. He fans out the paper under his arm and reaches for his reading glasses next to the bed as you grab a piece of toast.

"Seven is not sleeping in," you remind him around a bite of food. He scoffs and picks up his mug, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"This'll never work. We're doomed, aren't we?"

You laugh and his smile curves around the rim of his cup.

"Probably. We had fun, though."

Harry's eyes sparkle mischievously when he says, "That we did."

You roll your eyes and tuck the sheet under your arms so both hands are free to take a sip from your own coffee. Beside you, Harry ruffles the newspaper, opens it to the financial section and scans the headlines. You watch him from the corner of your eye, dying a little inside at how domestic he looks in only his underwear and glasses, holding a cup of coffee and reading the paper like this were any other day. You must be looking at him too long because he twists his head and smirks when he catches you admiring his bare chest and soft stomach.

"Good?" he asks, jutting his chin towards the eggs. Your eyes lock and you nod.

"Great. Thank you."

He hums and watches as you pop a piece of strawberry into your mouth. His eyes darken a fraction when you lick your lips, but then he clears his throat and focuses back on the paper. Another few minutes go by in a comfortable silence—you're picking at the food and sipping coffee while Harry reads. His lips move slightly as he does and it makes you want to grab his face and pull him in for a deep kiss, but somehow you refrain.

"Do you want some?" you ask, holding up the bowl of fruit. He looks up, nods, and sets his coffee next to the bed. You're expecting him to take the bowl but to your surprise, he shifts to sit behind you, bringing the paper with him. His chin tucks over your shoulder as he continues to read and you have to bite your lip at how ticklish his beard feels against your neck.

"Grape, please."

You giggle and pluck a grape from the bowl to feed him. He makes a little noise when the fruit bursts in his mouth. His warmth feels so nice across your exposed back, so you lean into him a bit while you rifle through the bowl. His free arm snakes around your waist when you feed him a piece of kiwi and you're pretty sure you've never felt as happy as you are in that moment.

Eventually the fruit runs out but Harry stays where he is. He rests his head on your shoulder while he reads, and when you're full you pick up your phone to scroll. Next to you, Harry's leg is stretched out, partially covered by the sheets. You don't even pay it any mind until he shifts and the blanket falls. As if on instinct, his arm loosens around you to grab it, but then he stops. It takes you a second until you look and see his scars, fully exposed under the soft lights of his bedroom. His fingers hover over the sheets like he wants to hide them and you swear you can feel his chest still, like he's holding his breath. Then, slowly, his hand returns to its home on your waist.

The sheets stay where they are.

His scars remain uncovered.

And he starts to breathe again.

You drag your gaze back to your phone, hiding your smile. After another minute, he speaks.

"What do you want to do today?"

---

A farewell party at the Ritz-Carlton for a lowly assistant might seem extreme to some, but nobody attending bat an eye. Either they're already familiar enough with Harry's generosity or they're too excited to party in a swanky hotel with a top shelf open bar. It doesn't really matter to you and Harry knows that, but he wanted to do something special.

He's barely been able to take his eyes off you all evening. Everywhere you turn, someone is pulling you into some conversation before hugging you and sending you on your way. Meanwhile, he's stuck listening to the most boring men on earth yammer on about some potential client they swear they're going to sign this week. There's not enough tequila in the world to make these men interesting, especially when you're drifting around the ballroom in the most beautiful light pink dress. Everyone else is wearing black or navy, but not you. You wear what you want to wear—what you're comfortable wearing—and it makes you all the more stunning.

"Mind if I steal my brother for a minute, boys?"

Harry tears his eyes away from you when he hears Peter's voice. The three men stammer some combination of an apology and permission before Peter grins and leads Harry away by the elbow.

"Thank Christ," he grumbles before taking another sip from his glass. Peter smirks and turns to his brother once they find a quieter spot.

"You looked like you needed saving."

Harry rolls his eyes before instinctively scanning the crowd for you. "Any longer and I'd need to be resuscitated."

Peter laughs and looks casually around the room. "You seem distracted lately. But in a good way." Harry freezes and glances sideways at him.

At your request, the last two weeks you've kept your relationship a secret. There were certain implications that you didn't want drawn in regards to your leaving and finding a job. You didn't want people to assume Harry pulled strings for you when you worked hard for it, all on your own. He agreed, although it felt impossible to tear his eyes off you the last couple weeks. He probably had the dopiest looking smile on his face during every meeting you attended. So you had to resort to quick, secret kisses and shared looks across the room but honestly, he didn't mind it. It made the tension build up even stronger when you had to restrain yourselves and by the end of the day, neither of you could wait to tear each other apart. And sure, there was that one time in his office when things went too far and you both succumbed to temptation in the middle of the work day. Bending you over his desk when anyone could catch you turned you both on more than you could admit. But how could he not indulge in the fantasy at least once before you go?

Your last two weeks were certainly bittersweet.

"You think so?" Harry finally says with a shrug. "Must be the Chicago merger. Accounting's projecting huge amounts of revenue—"

"It's not that."

Harry sips his tequila and stays quiet. He scans the room again. His lips twitch when he sees you laughing and dancing with Clara, Peter's assistant. You look so happy and beautiful. He loves seeing you this way. He loves everything about you.

"You're in love."

Harry nearly chokes on his drink. He swipes his mouth and turns to Peter with wide eyes. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," he says. Harry looks at him, mouth agape, while he struggles to come up with something to say. Peter eventually sighs and turns towards him, creating more privacy. "It's fine. We don't have to talk about it. But I can just tell."

"Wha—what? How?"

Peter shrugs. "We've been seeing a counselor. Me and Charlotte," he says, scratching his beard and averting his gaze towards the dance floor. "She's been shedding some light on what we spoke about and, anyway... I don't know. The way this doctor talks about falling in love... lately, you look like what she's been describing, is all."

Harry blinks and remains silent. It's a lot to take in all at once and it doesn't help that he's a little tipsy. Fortunately, Peter keeps talking.

"Stuff like acting blissfully happy. Nothing sees to get you down. Putting more effort into your appearance. More agreeable than usual..."

"I don't think I've been—" But Peter cuts him off.

"You told Mom you would take her to lunch at the tennis club this weekend with the biggest smile on your face," he says, "I don't think you've ever done that without Dad threatening you first."

Harry thinks about it for a second, then slowly brings his glass to his lips.

"Alright. Maybe," is all he says.

"Is it Lucy?"

Harry's shoulders stiffen. "No. Absolutely not. She got back with her ex, just like you thought."

Peter waits for his brother to say something else, but Harry is determined to keep quiet. One day soon he hopes to tell him, but he wants to discuss it with you, first. Eventually, Peter pushes off the bar and claps Harry on the shoulder, ready to make his exit.

"I'm happy for you," he says with a hint of sadness.

"How's the counseling going?"

He sighs and lets his arm fall to his side. "Okay. Some progress is being made but not as much as either of us thought. We'll see, I suppose."

Harry nods. "I hope it helps."

With a wistful smile, Peter disappears into the crowd, leaving Harry alone for the first time all evening. With no one to bother him, he leaves his almost empty glass on the bar and walks slowly around the room. His hands slide into his pockets and he smiles when he finds you again. You're talking to someone from legal but your eyes are drifting around the room every chance you get. You're looking for him.

Harry continues to move. His gaze never leaves you, even when people get in the way, he doesn't see them. Not really.

He only sees you.

He pauses when he's on your side of the ballroom, finds a pillar to lean against, and keeps watching. You're nodding and smiling to the young woman in front of you but he can tell your heart isn't in it. You don't want to be there.

Finally, your gaze finds him and your face lights up. His heart skips a beat and his smile widens and suddenly, you're the only two people in the room.

He loves you. Always has, he's pretty sure. How he missed it is beyond him. It's always been you. You're the one he always calls first, always thinks about first. He tells you everything and you accept him, just as he is. Through everybody and everything, you're the only constant. You're the only thing that feels real. The only one he can't live without.

Harry straightens up. Smooths down his tie. Subtly nods towards the door and gives you a wink, then turns to thread his way through the thinning crowd. It's getting late and people are drunk, they shouldn't notice him leave. But Harry's not paying attention as he moves and doesn't notice Peter at the bar on his phone. Peter spots him walking by but doesn't say anything. He just waits. Watches. Then, five minutes later, he grins to himself when you slip by, following Harry's path out the door.

Outside, Harry waits in the back of his car. He asked Lou to pull around the corner and park. Now, Harry's impatiently tapping his fingertips on his leg, waiting for you to appear so he can take you home.

When he hears your heels clicking on the sidewalk through his open window, he stops fiddling with his emerald ring and leans forward. Sure enough, you round the corner holding your small purse and wearing a smile.

"Need a ride?" he asks. You bend down to peer inside with a giggle.

"Does that line work on all the ladies?"

He wiggles his eyebrows. "Hoping it works on this one."

You laugh and reach for the door. He slides over to make room and his arm naturally drapes around your shoulders after you close the door.

You roll the window up, lean against him and sigh. "I'm tired."

"Let's get you home," he murmurs, then nods to Lou in the mirror. "Brooklyn," he says. You pout but you don't have a change of clothes or anything with you to stay at Harry's place.

"How about you come stay the night Sunday?" he offers, kissing the top of your head. "I'd like to drop you off for your first day."

You nod and yawn. "Okay," you reply.

The rest of the ride is quiet. You close your eyes and rest on his shoulder while Harry looks out the window, at the street lights streaking by, at the dark water below the bridge, and he thinks. He thinks about all those signs he missed the last few years and how he wishes he could have seen it sooner. But then he looks down at you when Lou turns onto your street and he smiles—what matters is you have each other now. He pushes the what ifs from his mind and squeezes your hand when Lou slows to a stop in front of your building.

"We're here," he tells you quietly. You stir, yawn, and haul yourself up.

"Thanks, Lou," you say. He winks at you in the mirror as Harry slides out of the backseat, rounds the back of the car, and opens your door. You take his hand and stand, wincing when your aching feet hit the sidewalk. Harry smirks and shuts your door.

"Regretting some of those dance moves?" he asks as he leads you up the steps. You pull out your keys and shake your head.

"Nope. Not at all."

You look up at him then and Harry swears you have stars in your eyes. Something in his chest tightens and his hands lift to cup your face, all on their own. His thumb strokes your cheek and you melt a little before reaching up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Neither of you rush it. You let your lips linger together. There's no intent behind it, no lust. Just that little four letter word that hangs in the air above your heads whenever you're together.

You finally pull away first.

"Thanks for the ride," you say before turning to the door. He watches you fit your key into the lock and twist. The snap of metal on metal acts like a switch in his brain. Before you step into the lobby, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. You spin, lips parted in surprise, and blink up at him.

There is no fear. There is no doubt.

Harry smiles.

"I love you."

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare up at him, eyes wide as the words settle over you. He watches you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak.

"Say that again."

"I love you," he repeats without hesitation. In a flash, your eyes fill with tears. Harry chuckles and pinches your chin. "I'll say it as many times as you want, Sunshine," he says. A broken sob slips past your lips. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down, mouths crashing together like you're fighting for air, only breaking the kiss when your trembling lips can't do what you want them to do.

"I love you, too," you tell him fiercely. You press your foreheads together and grab the sides of his face. "I love you," you say again, voice cracking, "I've loved you for so long—"

"I know." Harry cuts you off and gently wipes your wet cheeks with his hand. His throat starts to close up but he pushes on. "I know. And I'm sorry it's taken me so long—"

"It's okay," you whisper, eyelids sliding shut. You roll your forehead over his like you're trying to ground yourself.

"Thank you for waiting for me," he says softly. The emotion in his voice brings a fresh wave of tears to the surface. "Thank you for not giving up on me," he adds, and you laugh a little before craning your neck to look up at him.

"I would have waited forever." You're smiling through your tears. Red rimmed eyes are shining with so much brightness and love. "I've always been yours, Harry."

He kisses you again, slowly, like he's trying to make up for every single kiss he never gave you. His hands cover yours on his face and he smiles before pulling them off and kissing each of your knuckles, one by one.

"See you Sunday?" he murmurs against the back of your hand. He looks up at you through his dark lashes. You're nodding and blinking away the rest of your tears.

"Ye-yeah. Sunday."

He drops your hand and straightens up. "Why don't you bring some extra stuff to keep at my place?"

You swallow and nod again. "That sounds like a plan."

Harry smiles and leans to the side, watching as you push your door open with trembling fingers. You whisper one more farewell before closing the door, and Harry doesn't get back into the car until he sees your light turn on upstairs.

On the drive back to his apartment, he gazes out the window, smiling at the irony of it all.

He used to think love was the most difficult thing in the world. Turned out it's so easy when it's with you.

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